#handcuffed/manacled

[sociallyawkwardfoxwriter]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Major Character Death Categories: M/M, Multi Fandoms: Critical Role (Web Series), Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse) Relationships: Fjord/Caleb Widogast, Fjord/Caleb Widogast/Eodwulf, Eodwulf/Caleb Widogast, Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield, Orym/Dorian Storm, Orym/Will | Orym's Spouse (Critical Role) Characters: Caleb Widogast, Fjord (Critical Role), Eodwulf (Critical Role), Leon S. Kennedy, Chris Redfield, Piers Nivans, Ingrid Hunnigan, Dorian Storm, Orym (Critical Role), Chetney Pock O'Pea, Will | Orym's Spouse (Critical Role), Ashton Greymoore, Derrig (Critical Role), Melora the Wildmother (Critical Role) Additional Tags: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Alternate Universe - Evil, Vampire Bites, Blood Drinking, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt No Comfort, Chronic Pain, Comfort, Overworking, Strangulation, Torture, Concussions, Black Eye, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Mind Control, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Sobbing, Near Death Experiences, Major Character Injury, Hallucinations, Injury, Loss, Temporary Character Death, Afterlife, Survivor Guilt, Dissociation, Crying, Carrying, Parent-Child Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Human Sacrifice, Family Issues, Emotionally Abusive Parent

@badthingshappenbingo

[bluegreenamber]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Lucien (Critical Role), Original Characters Additional Tags: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Handcuffed/Manacled, Restraints, Whumptember 2023, lucien whump, Solitary Confinement, Imprisonment, Slave Trade, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fantasy Racism, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Hurt No Comfort, Pre-Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Series: Part 14 of Bad Things Happen Bingo (Critical Role), Part 11 of Whumptember 2023 Summary:

Lucien learns at a young age never to get caught by unwelcome parties in the Run.

[Day 16 of Whumptember 2023]

[submission4]

She Has Him Manacled and Cuffed

A PDI policewoman on escort duty outside Santiago, Chile

[devirnis]

Meet Me In The Dark

Sequel to The Shadows of Every Spark (aka, the restaurant au) Rating: M Relationships: Maddie Buckley/Chimney Han, Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Maddie Buckley & Evan Buckley Word count: 14.9k

“Hi, doll.” Ice pours into Maddie’s veins. She jerks her head in the direction of the voice, praying she’s just hallucinating after a long shift – She’s not hallucinating. There, standing beside the dining room table, is the one person she hoped she’d never have to see again. “Doug,” she rasps. And then she takes in the rest of the scene. Buck is sitting in a chair at Doug’s side. Duct tape is plastered over his mouth, his cheeks bulging in a way that means he must have something stuffed inside his mouth to further silence him, and his arms are pulled behind him and around the back of the chair, so he’s obviously restrained somehow. His eyes are wide and panicked, but he hasn’t moved an inch – probably because of the gun pressed against his temple. BTHB: handcuffed/manacled

(read on ao3)

[dragon-chica]

Wednesday Addams General NSF W Headcanons

Fandom: Wednesday

Warnings: Rough sex and kinks, fully consensual harm, idealization of death, it's Wednesday.

Bloodplay is one of her favorite activities. She loves seeing your skin covered in beautiful crimson and licking it off of you, the way your breath heaves as she becoming enamored with a simple cut and her blown pupils staring up at you while her tongue swipes across it.

"I've always enjoyed the phrase 'sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me.' don't you agree?" she says eyeing you up, a hint for later perhaps.

Choking. To the point of where she's about to/may pass out. She imagines you're really ending her, in the throws of bliss and dying by the hands of her true love.

Flogging or whips, she doesn't care for spanking but loves the marks or sometimes welts left behind.

Gods does she love to torment you, but she takes as well as she gives. From drawing everything out as long as possible to literally tormenting you.

She's not one for marking where others can see, and isn't happy when you happen to leave visible marks on her, but she's incredibly possessive and believes it should already be clear that she doesn't share.

You two switch regularly. Even if you usually are into bottoming, there's something about the way she's so prideful and stubborn that goads you into giving her a taste of her own medicine, and reveling in how she eventually crumbles for you.

She is a brat. You're not entirely sure if she's trying to piss you off into taking it out on her, or if she really thinks herself to be so high and mighty trying to talk down to you while she's pinned and handcuffed and your mercy but you remind her soon enough.

Overstimulation. Pain and pleasure, pleasure until it becomes pain is her favorite part. Bringing you the relief of a hard won orgasm then not letting up until you're begging her, that's it's too much. That it hurts. But you were just pleading for her not to stop? To give you more? She's only doing as you asked.

When you do the same to her it's so satisfying to watch her crack. It takes time and patience to make her fall apart but you've learned her weaknesses as well as she knows yours.

Very sarcastic and sadistic, talking down to you.

She's not into voyeur or other's seeing or knowing what you do together. You're hers. To know and have. You're dating an Addams, and that means devotion.

Her hobby of experimenting with sex largely includes her love of torture methods. Slightly adjusted for your enjoyment, but she's willing to try the real thing if you'll do it to her. She can take it. She gives you a challenging stare if you falter.

Honestly you probably find some of the things she's into pretty concerning. You trust her to not truly harm you, which shows a lot, but she wants you to do some hardcore things to her that are hardly sexual and just seem like she has a pain kink that's a little too far.

Waxplay. Specifically with vampire tear candles, but red will also do. She likes it to be candlelit anyway so it's convenient as well.

Wednesday can be sort of clinical in her observations at times. She likes to know exactly what makes you tick and will makes notes from time to time. You're scared to know what's actually in that book.

Bondage. Probably the biggest thing you do is tying each other up and having your way. From intricate shibari to antique manacles that hang in her room presumably for 'decoration'.

If you have a dick she would be ruthless with cock and ball torture. If you don't have a pain kink, you likely would soon without ever having expected it.

She loves the intimacy of knowing exactly what makes her partner tick and plans to learn everything about you.

I lied. I said I was going to work on other characters for a bit. Here's this. I'm sure I could go on, but that's all for now.

[sparkleresthold]

Ben 10 ocs because cringe is dead anyway.

Ryle and Basil are two petty crooks on the run from the Plumbers, but they remain stuck with each other because of the special manacles they were handcuffed with. Things don't get awkward between them... too often.

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Harry Houdini, handcuffed and manacled, about to jump into a pool in 1923.

Photo: NY Daily News

[badthingshappenbingo]

Prompt Masterlist: Part 2

Part 2 of our prompt list ("Facial Horror" - "Lured into a Trap") is below the cut:

Facial Horror

Facing Their Phobia

Fainting

Fake Kill Scare

False Friend

False Sense of Security

Falling from a Great Height

Falling Through the Ice

Fantastic Racism (Speciesism)

Faux-Affectionate Villain

Feud/Rivalry

Fevers

Fighting from the Inside

Financial Trouble

Find the Cure

Finger in the Mail

Fingore

First-Aid Kit

Flashbacks

Flooding

Food Poisoning

Foot Torture

Force Feeding

Forced Out of the Closet

Forced Prize Fight

Forced to Beg

Forced to Hurt Someone

Forced to Kneel/Bow

Forced to Watch

Forcibly Stripped

Forgetting to Eat

Framed

Friendly Fire

Friendship Falling Out

Frostbite

Funeral/Memorial

Gangrene

Garrote

Gaslighting

Gave Up Too Soon

Get It Over With

“Get Well Soon” Gift

Gilded Cage

Go Through Me

Going into Hiding

Going into Shock

Good Intentions, Bad Results

Grabbed by the Chin

Grabbed by the Hair

Grief/Mourning

Guilty Conscience

Gunshot Wound

Hair Matted with Blood

Hallucinations

Hand Gagging

Hand Stomp

Handcuffed/Manacled

Hanging

Harassment

Harmful Healing

Hate Plague

Haunted Location

Hazing

Headache/Migraine

Healing Machine Malfunction

Heart Attack

Heatstroke

Held at Gunpoint

Hidden Scar

Hiding an Illness

Hiding an Injury

Hijacked Vehicle

Hives

Hogtied

Home Invasion

Homesickness

Hope Is Scary

Hostage Situation

Hostage Video

A House Divided

Human Shield

Human Weapon

Humiliation

Hurt Caretaker

Hurts to Breathe

Hyperventilating

Hypothermia

Hypnosis

Hysterical Strength

I Ain’t Got Time to Bleed

I Deserve This

I Have You Now, My Pretty

I Have Your Loved One

I Just Want to Have Friends

“I Know You’re In There Somewhere” Fight

I Should Have Been Better

I Will Only Slow You Down

I Will Punish Your Friend for Your Failure

Ice Pack

If I Can’t Have You

“I’m Fine”

Impaled Chest

Impaled Palm

Improvised Weapon

Incapable of Disobeying

Infected Wound

Innocent Bystander

Insecurity

Insomnia

Internal Bleeding

Internalized Prejudice

Interrogation

Intubation

Isolation

It Amused Me

It’s All My Fault

It’s Quiet… Too Quiet

Jaw Wired Shut

Jealousy/Envy

Journal/Diary Entry

Kick Them While They Are Down

Kidnapping

Killing in Self-Defense

Kind Restraints

Kneecapping

Knife to the Throat

Knocked Out

Lacerations

Laid on a Stretcher

Lassoed

Leave Me Alone

Left for Dead

Leonine Contract

Lifted by the Neck

Locked in a Cage

Locked in a Freezer

Locked in a Trunk

Locked Up and Left Behind

Losing a Bet

Losing a Job

Losing Their Temper

Loss of a Pet

Loss of Hearing

Loss of Sight

Lost Their Voice from Screaming

Lotus-Eater Machine

Love Potion/Love Spell

Lured into a Trap

[written-in-sunshine]

I have received my bingo card for the @badthingshappenbingo thing! I was gonna throw it to my followers first!

EDIT: This didn't really take off so I'm taking most of the leftovers!

RULES:

I will do these as I am able to and other events will take precedence. These count as requests and may even not get done, though I want to try and do them all.

Please only choose fandoms from the below list! This list may change at any time!

I will list ships that I write for each of the fandoms listed and would prefer if you choose one to go with one listed.

Please include specifics if there's something that you really want to see! Examples include: Caretaker!Strahm, Whumper!Lucas, I want to see x happen, etc.

You may reply here, send an ask (on anon or not!), or a DM to request a prompt! No more than five prompts per person, please!

FANDOMS AND SHIPS:

Saw Franchise

Chainshipping

Coffinshipping

Pintshipping

Shotgunshipping

Rustynailshipping

Any ship within Wrath Of The Gods + Adam/David/Specs/My OC Older brother for them Lukas. I have a headcanon for the unnamed members here. I also include Lark, who isn't in this image.

Resident Evil (4 Remake, Biohazard, Village)

Serrenedy

Jackthan

Luthan

Wintersberg

Wintersfield

Blair Witch Game/2016 Movie

Carver/Ellis Lynch

Emmett Lanning/Ellis Lynch

Ellis Lynch/Jess

PROMPTS:

I Have Your Loved One -

Cry Into Chest - Taken By Me; Blair Witch; Carlis

Voice Breaking - Taken by Me; Pirates of the Caribbean; Turrow

Ears Ringing - Taken by Me; Descendants; Uma/Harry/Gil

Anger Born of Worry - Taken by Me; Saw; Coffinshipping

Handcuffed/Manacled - Taken By Me; Resident Evil; Wintersberg

Setting A Broken Bone - Taken By Me; Resident Evil; Wintersberg

Nervous Breakdown - Taken By Me; Saw; Pintshipping

Barely Conscious - Taken By Me; Saw; Chainshipping

Taking the Bullet - Taken By Me; Blair Witch; Elless

You Can Scream All You Want - Taken By Me; Resident Evil; Luthan

Clawing At Own Throat - Taken by Me; Saw; Coffinshipping

Water Torture - Taken by Me; Saw; Coffinshipping

Hidden Scar - Taken By Me; Saw; Cherishshipping

Hurt Caretaker - Taken By Me; Resident Evil; Jackthan

Crying Themselves To Sleep - Taken By Me; Blair Witch; Emis

Crush Injury - Taken by Bug; Saw; Chainshipping

Journal/Diary Entry - Open

Hanging - Open

Self-Loathing - Taken by Me; Blair Witch; Ellis Lynch-centric, Emmett/Ellis

Hallucinations - Taken by Me; Blair Witch; Ellis-centric

Survivor's Guilt - Taken By Me; Saw; Pintshipping

Seizures - Taken by Bug; Resident Evil; Luncy

Isolation - Taken by penultimateagent; Saw; Coffinshipping

Lassoeed - Open

[tragedycoded]

My dear Jamie, hi!

I wanna ask you how Royston came to life in your head.

How/when he decided to stick around? Was he "born first"?

I guess no....?

Of course you can tell us about the others OCs too (I know he's gonna annoy the shit out of you and mention Sullivan at least, he's right !)

Take your time 😅😎🤗

@gioiaalbanoart my love hello! Thank you for stopping by!

I'm going to try to keep this brief so I don't dump an essay on you.

So I've mentioned this before but every time I re-remember it cracks me up:

Royston and Sullivan originally showed up in my office handcuffed together. Like, I sat down and was like "OK gonna write a novel let's see who shows up" and it was a man in a blue cavalry uniform and a squirrely outlaw type in a suit and the manacles were already on their wrists.

I was like "OK I'm writing a Western. That's fine. What's your guys' story you arrest him for something?"

They were like no this is your midpoint also I love him.

I was like OK that's nice what happened before that.

And that was how I found out Royston pushing Sullivan off a train is a fixed point. Before I knew anything else about them, I knew Royston pushed Sullivan off a train and almost killed him. Supposedly they still loved each other after whatever happened happened.

Originally I thought Royston was working with the Huston brothers, and there was a backstabby sort of situation going on, but that wasn't the case. I was like "Alright, that's fine, where's this damned thing set" and my brain spitballed "Current location but before it was a state." Which explained the cavalry uniform.

So... yeah. Like the codependent mess that they are, they showed up together. It would have been nice if I had figured out I was writing a time loop novel before the fourth draft but what are ya gonna do~

[prolix-yuy]

...advanced crab walk⁉️ I'm scared to ask

Lovely Nonnie, never be scared! Honestly I googled this one and got a myriad of answers, so I picked which one seemed to make the most sense. And for such a wildly named position, there's only one boy I could choose.

Pairing: Ezra x F!Reader

Position: Advanced Crab Walk

Word Count: 1394 (oops)

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, unprotected PiV sex (don’t be a fool, wrap your tool), oral sex (f receiving), fingering, allusions to bartering sex for freedom, side character death, Ezra is a filthy boy as always.

Notes: Another one that got away from me! Ezra felt perfect for this position, though the way he gets there is very interesting.

You absolutely should not trust him, not after you caught him stealing your filters and running into the night. Definitely not after you tussled when you snuck into his camp, pinned to the dirt with his only functional hand and a wildness in his eyes that spiked fear through your stomach. Especially not after letting you go with a warning, threats of blood bubbling past your lips if you crossed him again. Never mind that he stole from you first, he would stop it with a finality that sent you stumbling back through the Green.

But now, both prisoners of misfortune, you have to consider what being allies might entail.

A larger band of prospectors with dangerous weaponry and even more dangerous smiles led you to your makeshift prison - a defunct transport pod. Your surprise doubled at the sight of your rival, handcuffed to the wall across from you. The space is cramped, barely able to stretch your legs from one side to the next, almost hip to hip with your fellow prisoner. He reeks of sweat and the stale recycled air they pump in to keep you both from choking to death. The sheen of perspiration on his skin amplifies the grime, but his features are strangely alluring now that they are not distorted by glass.

The second day you find your words, and he does too.

“Ezra,” he introduces himself, a foreign drawl tantalizing your ears. “And since we may never leave this sorry excuse for a prison, I will be the bigger man and apologize for my conduct thus far.” You roll your eyes at his half-apology, but accept. He speaks at length about anything, everything. His voice sometimes lulls you to sleep, startled back awake when the silence pervades. He’s always watching you, eyes sometimes sharply analytical, other times soft. You struggle under the idea that he may pity you.

You hunt for breaks in the panels, wiring to open the door, a way to release your manacles. Ezra lets you bounce ideas around like errant leaves on the wind. The cool tone grates at your nerves.

“Why aren’t you trying to escape too?” you snap, the short length of your restraints beginning to chafe your wrists. Ezra’s lazy lean, knees knocked wide and hand loose in his lap, only infuriates you more.

“Patience. I’ve always found striking a deal to be the best way to get out of a miserable situation.” 

“Easy for you to say. What do you have to offer them?” 

His eyes dance over you, contemplation parting his lips. A cold pit drops in your stomach.

“I have my plans,” he says simply. 

The fourth day you lose hope. Tears finally fall as you bury your face in your knees, choking your sobs back. You don’t want Ezra to hear your despair, use it as another way to bargain his way out at your expense. But the longer they fall, the harder they are to hide.

“Why do you cry?” Ezra murmurs, sidling next to you and pressing the warm length of his leg against yours. You’re as grimy and sticky with sweat as him now but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“How many more nights alive do I have?” you choke out, and his wide palm wraps around your shoulder. A placating touch before the killing blow. Maybe he’ll end your suffering quickly.

“As many as you please,” he says, his fingers coming up to tilt your chin. “I do have a plan, after all.”

“For you.”

“For us.”

You stare in silence, the assured smile on his face glimmering hope in your chest.

“Do you trust me?”

Not a beat before your answer. “No.”

Ezra chuckles. “Smart of you. Do you want to make it out of here?”

A longer pause. “Yes.”

Ezra’s fingers grasp your chin, satisfaction painting his lips.

“Then do as I say. Take off your pants.”

Your heart hammers into a race, body freezing. “What?”

Ezra tilts his head, and the sinful part of his lips wars with your fear. “If I tell you it’s part of my plan to pleasure you fully and thoroughly, would you trust my word?”

No, you say to yourself, but with the walls closing in around you, would it be so bad for your final moments to be orgasmic? 

Stepping out of your leggings, a shiver runs down your legs at the naked appreciation on Ezra’s face. His hand strokes the outside of your thigh, leading you to stand over his hips. Looking up at you, you’re struck to softly card your fingers through the tuft of white hair at his temple.

“I would be honored to prepare you with my mouth, and my fingers,” he husks, the simple straightforwardness buckling your knees. Your curt nod is all the permission he needs to drag his fingers through your folds and stretch you open on them, mouthing at your clit with fat swipes of his tongue and needy lips. Hands clutching at his shoulders, he pumps you with slow, thorough motions, burying his chin between your thighs to slurp and groan. Sometimes his eyes drift shut, focusing the tip of his tongue on your clit, but when they flash up to you your cunt clamps hard. The snarled wrinkle of his nose as he sucks harder pulls a cry from your lips. 

“Down,” he rasps, fingers sliding from your channel with a loud, slick noise. He grips your hip and drags you to your knees, pushing you back to sit on his thighs. Your feet plant by his hips as he angles his cock to press at your entrance. Looking up to gauge your expression briefly, he’s almost confused. You wonder if he’s only taken in the past, never expected to be offered anything.

“Give it to me, Ezra,” you ask, and are rewarded with bared teeth and his cock splitting you open. At this angle he can only shallowly thrust into you, but you lean back to roll your hips down on him. The reward is a healthy snarl.

“Be loud for me,” he orders, and you tilt your head back and let every high-pitched wail empty out of your chest. “Scream for me, and no matter what, don’t stop.”

Your focus narrows on the burn in your arms and thighs and Ezra’s cock breaching you over and over, the mouthwatering ridge of his head stretching you every time. He practically roars at your cunt squeezing him, roughly palming your clothed breast as his fingernail scrapes over your nipple. The only death you’re concerned about is the little one burning its way through your veins.

“What the fuck is going…?” A deep voice not from your lover’s throat fills the small room, but you follow Ezra’s instruction and keep fucking him. Closing your eyes you pray for what plan you’ve put your faith in to work.

“Needy thing, had to have my cock,” Ezra husks, splaying his hand over your chest. “See how greedy her cunt is? You can have her all to yourself if you ask nicely.” You squeeze your eyes tighter to hold your tears back. 

A rumble of a voice, three heavy steps, what may have been breath across your face but then a choking sputter, and a sickly rip. Finally a thud, and Ezra’s arm snaking around your back to pull you to his chest.

“You’re okay, brave girl,” he murmurs, cradling your head as you suddenly sob into his chest. Adrenaline shakes your limbs, makes your breathing erratic as he murmurs to you. “You did everything perfectly, exactly what I told you. And look,” He coaxes your head up to see blood-splattered keys tumbled on the floor. “We have our freedom.”

You take a moment more to compose yourself, Ezra’s cock softening to slip out of you. The loss aches surprisingly, the comfort of him inviting a strange introspection. He unshackles you both, and finds another key that brightens his face even more. 

“We may part ways here, and you will never need look on my face again,” he says, and in his eyes is a promise you never expected. Not of safety, or of peace, but excitement, and ambition, and maybe still a lick of something carnal that calls for you.

“But you can also escape with me, if you so choose.”

You shouldn’t.

But you do.

END

LJ’s Bangathon 2023

[jinmukangwrites]

Handcuffed/Manacled

Fandom: Nightwing, Batman - All Media Types

Rating: M

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Tags: Self-Sacrificing Dick Grayson, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt Tim Drake, Tim Drake Whump, Dick Grayson Whump, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Blood and Injury, Dick Grayson-centric, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Hostage Situations, Near Death Experiences, Protective Tim Drake

Ao3

Summary: What started as a quiet night quickly turned sour when Tim's comms cut off without warning.

----

"I think I have a pimple on my chin, and I'm about to get violent about it."

Dick laughed, swinging under a fire-escape—it creaked, but he had swung under this particular fire-escape enough times to know it could hold his weight.

At the other end of the comms, Tim sounded bored. Well, he must be bored if breakouts, and not the fun jail kind, had suddenly become the topic of conversation.

"It'll get better when you're older," Dick replied, smirking to himself, his eyes scanning the regular shady alleyways of Blüdhaven as his grapple retracted, then shot off to the next practiced ledge with a jolt down his arm. It looked like it would be a quiet night tonight, not a crime worth punishing to be seen.

"I'm literally almost 20, N," Tim replied, deadpanned. "Also you can't talk. I'm pretty sure you've never had a pimple in your life."

"Not on my face, not really," Dick agreed. He could hear Tim's weight land heavily on puddled Gotham streets through the other end of the comm. Seemed like he, too, was having a slow night. "But bacne? Whoah-boy. Pretty sure I have one right below my left shoulder-blade, it's driving me nuts."

"You said it gets better when you're older."

"I'm still young."

Tim snorted. Despite the empty streets being the only one to see it, Dick grinned.

"You literally asked me what gyatt meant the other day."

"In my defense, I said I'm young, not that I'm twelve. Believe it or not, I'm also not terminally on TikTok."

Tim laughed, and Dick followed.

It wasn't often he could just hang out like this. Somebody was always busy, or somebody didn't have the social battery, or was getting over an argument, or was doing something with someone else, or there was a storm over Gotham and the connection didn't hold despite the constant fixes Barbara made to the system, bless her. Honestly, when he contacted Tim, the response "yeah I'm free" was a very pleasant surprise, especially after he'd just gotten a "not tonight" from Cassandra a few minutes before.

"So, how's it going on your end?" Dick asked. He let the swing of his grapple slow as the ground came up. He took a few running steps, carefully bending his knees, coming to a stop on solid ground as the grapple fully retracted into his escrima stick. He attached the useful weapon on his back next to its pair.

Tim sighed. "Is it bad I'm almost hoping someone's getting mugged with every empty alleyway I check?"

"Probably," Dick responded lightly, "but also, same."

"Of course I don't want anyone getting hurt, you know? But like, maybe just a little bit of threatening? Some yelling? Some asshole with too much ego needing to be knocked down a peg? I'm itching to kick someone in the face and I don't think that's something people should itch to do."

"Trust me," Dick responded, "I think I'd rather hear gimme all your money than you won the lottery right now."

Hindsight had Dick wishing he had some wood to knock on.

Tim started to ramble about how the most interesting thing he'd seen that night was a cat messing with a rat outside a doughnut shop, and Dick was strolling the quiet streets, a city away, a thirty minute drive at midnight, listening with a smile. It could have continued like this the rest of the night, and he would have been content. He would have said goodbye to Tim, stumbled into his apartment, did some stretches, ate a toaster strudel, then gone to bed happy. Bored, but happy. Glad no one needed saving, Nightwing wasn't a factor in life or death, he could rest, knowing the quiet nights were rare and precious.

Tim cut off in the middle of his ramblings, and tonight wasn't rare or precious.

"Red Robin?"

"I heard something. Just a sec."

He was whispering, voice tight, Dick could almost imagine the narrowed eyes behind white domino lenses.

Warm pressure washed over him, the physical feeling of a happy moment turning stale, starting at his ears, settling threateningly in his stomach.

Nearly a minute passed, Dick had to remind himself to breathe during it.

"Huh," Tim said, finally, voice shaken a little. "I could have sworn I-"

Static.

Dick was on the emergency channels before his heartbeat could finish its first stutter.

"Oracle," Dick said, "I've lost contact with Red Robin."

-o0o-

And that was how the nightmare started.

The last time he sped this quickly across the distance spreading between Blüdhaven and Gotham—often times too small, at times like this, too long—was when Damian had fainted at school. Nothing serious, apparently he had forgotten to eat and it was a hot day.

This was serious. Bab's was able to report Tim's vitals spiking, then slowing into unconsciousness mere seconds before any signal between Tim and the family cut off.

Every bat in the city scrambled. A fine oiled machine, like students practicing drills for school invaders; a machine that shouldn't have to be this oiled.

Dick took the west, ignoring how his ankles ached and his back ached and his jaw ached. Fingers creaked, ribs squeezed, stomach clenched. The sun would rise soon. Maybe a citizen or two would wake up for work and see a bat out and be baffled by it for a moment, then wonder if it's a sort of bunker down and call out kind of day.

He followed Tim's footsteps, checking alleyways, passing the doughnut shop with a rat corpse in the gutter, looking up at the pipes and gargoyles that had scratches from grappling hooks, some fresh, some very not.

The sun rose. It hung in the sky. It set.

Nothing.

He needed to eat. Everyone needed to eat. Damian was the only one resembling someone who could stand on their own two feet and it wasn't from a lack of caring but more from a responsible butler forcing the kid to go to school. Damian wasn't happy about that, the family had to move to a different channel while Damian argued over the comms for a solid 30 minutes.

Dick kept returning to the alleyway Tim's last location had pinged from, like if he looked again, Tim would be there that time. He was exhausted, to put it plainly. He was tired to the core, from the lack of sleep, and from once again, fearing for the life of a younger sibling. His eyes desperately wanted to close, but he knew that if he stopped looking even for a second, he'd see Jason's grave, feel Damian's blood, hear the silence coming from Stephanie's empty chair.

Not Tim. Not Tim too. Not Tim again.

Can't the universe let him catch a break? Or, at least, let it be him instead?

A grim thought. He had to keep looking.

There wasn't any sign of a struggle. No Red Robin branded weapons stuck in the brick walls, no dented dumpsters, not a single speck of blood. It was like Tim was kidnapped by the fabric of reality itself; glitched and removed, plucked out of thin air.

The irony and deja vu wasn't lost on him.

He sighed to himself, searching around the alleyway, poking at the same clueless details until maybe his fingers would leave indents in concrete.

Something blinked. Faint. Red. Rolled under a dumpster, near unnoticeable.

Dick noticed it. His blood ran cold.

He could hear Alfred get on the comms, demanding everyone return home for dinner before they do Tim no good by letting exhaustion win, but he ignored it for a second as he crept to the dumpster, reaching his hand under to pull out a small device no larger than the tip of his pointer finger.

Tim's comm.

He'd checked under the dumpster before. Several times. This wasn't there before.

It had to have been returned here. Purposely.

It was blinking like it was connected to something, which was impossible because Oracle said the signal was completely disconnected, and only she could connect it back to the family again.

He took out his own comm, wiped off alleyway water from Tim's, then replaced it in his ear.

"Is anyone there?" Dick asked, not knowing if he wanted an answer.

A second passed, he felt like he'd throw up.

A shaking voice responded. "N, go to these coordinates. Come alone, or he's going to kill me."

-o0o-

Dick went alone. He was instructed to keep on the earpiece, and that the kidnapper would know if he muted to warn the others.

The coordinates lead him to no special location at all. A thirty minute walk from where Tim had initially disappeared, a nook under the freeway where flood water could drain.

Not a soul awaited him there.

A blue backpack, abandoned—no, purposely placed—awaited him there.

Nothing was good about this. Tim had sounded weak and frightened to his trained ears, brave to anyone else. Dick felt like getting stabbed would hurt less than this.

He didn't care. He didn't know what else to do.

Tim had long since stopped responding to Dick after giving the initial instructions—the comm was mostly for the kidnapper to keep Dick under control—but he didn't need instructions to know that whatever happened next involved that blue bag.

He stepped up to it, hands long past the point of shaking that they're deathly stable as he unzipped it.

A device about the size of a pen greeted him. Thin, sleek, nothing special besides the tip being a very threatening button the size of a push pin.

"Gloves off," Tim whispered. "I- Nightwing- don't do it- I'm-" he cut off with a shout. The line went silent.

Dick didn't hesitate to take his gloves off and press the button.

Two things happened. The first was quicker, while the second was more physical.

The earpiece shorted out, and anything powered on Dick's body—his removed comm, his tracker, the sensors to his vitals, even the batteries to his escrima sticks—went completely dead.

He had just a millisecond to process that before nausea washed over with a prick to his thumb.

His vision swam, and he collapsed, black consuming him before he hit the ground.

-o0o-

"Just my luck," A modulated voice said exactly as Dick found himself waking up enough to comprehend words being said to him, "I've always wanted to meet Nightwing."

His arms were behind his back, wrists locked with tight bands of cuffed metal. Gravity told him he was sitting up, spine slumped against a wall, but sharp tugs in his hair told him that a hand clutched the strands, holding his neck up. He knew before he opened his eyes that the face of the speaker would greet him.

Or well, the helmeted face. Close enough.

Dick glared through the grogginess of fading unknown drugs. His face felt numb, tongue heavy, but the movement at least assured him that there was still pressure over his eyes.

The attacker regarded him back, faceless, unmoving, as if waiting for Dick to make the first move.

Dick didn't have a lot of options in terms of first moves.

So he took the moment to get a better grasp of the situation. He had a lot of practice with this kind of situation, it didn't take long to assess himself, the villain of the week, and the surrounding room.

He, himself, was fine. A little woozy from whatever drug was shot into his system, but it was fading with only slight lingering feelings of nausea, numbness, and weakness to the extremities. His hands were pressed between his back and the wall, his shoulder blades touching the faded wallpaper, making it clear his weapons had been removed. Other places that held weapons and tools were suspiciously light.

The person in front of him had a large, muscular build, in-between the range of Jason to Slade. Tall, closer to seven feet than six, combat boots, armored fabric suit, a gun strapped to a thigh the size of a basketball. The suit was nondescript, black, with the occasional gray accent, the armored fabric mixing with armored plates where organs are concerned. The helmet was nothing more than a glorified biker-helmet that wanted to look sci-fi.

All signs pointed to human and male, though meta wasn't ruled out yet. All Dick knew for sure was that this wasn't a run of the mill criminal; maybe something closer to a bounty hunter, or assassin, or some disgruntled asshole with a vendetta and actual knowledge of how to carry that vendetta out. Truly, the Slade vibes were strong with this one.

Dick couldn't see any other weapons on the attackers body, but granted, he was sitting on his ass against a withering wallpapered wall, head held up by a fist of hair, a helmeted figure crouched down staring back.

Behind the figure, however, was where Dick's eyes settled. The room was small, a hundred square feet give or take, comprised of cement floor, walls water-rotted and peeling, a door chipped and unkept. Between Dick and the door, however, was a collapsed body, dressed in familiar colors, cape tattered and clothes twisted.

Tim.

He laid curled on his side, hair waterfalling over an exhausted face. His arms were wrenched behind his back, no doubt restrained. What made Dick's gut squirm was the trail of blood dripping down an obviously broken nose, over Tim's tight lips, down his cheeks, puddled on the ground.

Fresh.

Dick's face must have done something with that observation, because his captor chuckled and turned their visor at Tim. "Poor boy needed come company."

Even modulated, the extra words allowed Dick to pinpoint the accent as American, West Coast. Not necessarily useful information, but hey, accents sometimes identified.

Dick tore his eyes away from Tim and clenched his fists tight enough the cuffs dug into his tendons.

"What do you want, you bastard."

An amused huff. "Nothing you can give me. I have you right where I need you."

"Why here? Why us?"

"The boy happened to be the first one I saw. You happened to be the first one to find my next trap. This isn't personal, bat."

Frustration pooled. "If you think this will get you Batman, or-"

The man laughed, letting go of Dick's hair and standing up. "Batman isn't my goal. I just need you here."

This can't be good. A villain wanting to get at Batman is one thing, a villain not caring about Batman is another.

Why capture them if not to interrogate them?

The man stepped away from Dick, and Dick felt his whole body tense as he stopped above Tim's prone form. Tim swallowed, then glared up at their captor.

Then their captor, with no warning, lifted a leg and nailed Tim in the stomach.

Tim choked off a breathless scream, and Dick found himself on his feet in the next moment. His vision, however, jolted, and his legs twisted around each other, tripping him up and having him crumple disgracefully to the hard floor with an irritated growl. Damn side effects of damn drugs.

Their captor chuckled, amused, and stepped over to Dick while Tim coughed for breath. A large hand wrapped around Dick's bicep then dragged him back to the other side of the room. Instead of just leaving him there, however, his hands were pushed down to the floor and the chain between his cuffs were locked onto something solid and unmoving. Some sort of bolt.

"Don't worry, it'll be over soon," The man said, stepping away from Dick, sounding full of himself and confident. The prick. "Play nice, and you both will get out of this alive."

Then, he left, stepping over Tim and leaving out the door, a lock sounding in his wake.

"Red," Dick called, the moment they were alone. "Hey, look at me."

Tim, his expression more out of it than what Dick's seen in years, turned his face toward Dick. "N... 'm sorry."

What had that monster done to Tim?

"No sorry," Dick said, forcing his voice to remain calm as he ran another scan along Tim's body. Nothing visibly violent greeted him back, nothing but the broken nose. Perhaps everything else was hidden under his suit, and perhaps the cocktail of a weak immune system, drugs, and captivity, didn't mix well. "I'm here now. Talk to me, what happened before I got here?"

Tim took a deep breath, stealing his expression and shifting slightly. "I- not much. He kicked me around a bit, only took me out of the room once to use the bathroom—blindfolded. Then he told me to... tell you to find his trap."

"Nothing about his goals? No questions or anything?"

Tim shook his head, then winced, spitting some blood from his lips. "Nothing explicitly said. I... think he has a partner outside, and I think we're just distractions."

"For what?"

Tim shrugged with the shoulder he wasn't laying on, looking frustrated and tired. At least the more he talked, the more awake he started to look. "It's a good plan if we are just distractions. When was the last time you slept?"

Ouch.

"I don't think anyone's slept," Dick responded softly, feeling like an idiot for being so predictable. If a distraction was the goal, then them both being captured will run the whole family down to the bones, cause them to lock up inwards and assume another will be next, focus in on the areas they disappeared from.

It could leave any number of targets around Gotham completely ignored.

"At least," Tim continued, "I think he's not going to kill us when they get what they want."

No, helmets and voice modulators and blindfolded bathroom trips didn't usually predict a homicidal villain.

"And if they don't get what they want?"

A beat of silence. "When I tried to convince you to not come... he broke my nose. No hesitation."

Great.

"Alright. We either hope they get what they want and let us go..." Dick looked around the walls, a single camera blinked back, no microphone. He lowered his voice. "Or we escape."

"How?" Tim asked, his voice going unimpressed, hinting that the boy had already been trying that.

Dick slowly sat up, angling his body so it didn't look too obvious he was hiding his hands from the camera. He wrapped his fingers around his anchor to the floor, the bolt wobbled a bit.

"Bolt's loose. I'll get my hands free, then I'll get us both out of here."

Tim relaxed a bit, relief a visible wave. "Sorry, but I'm glad you're here."

"It's okay," Dick responded, throwing a reassuring smile. "I'm glad too."

He'd rather be here with Tim than back outside, not knowing.

At least here, he had a chance to protect Tim.

-o0o-

The kidnapper, which Tim and Dick had worked together to nickname "Visor", returned about two hours later. Dick couldn't help but tense when the door opened while Tim gave a hard glare from where he had worked himself up into a seated position.

"The bats are widening their search a little too close to where I don't want them," Visor said as he walked in. "I need some incentive to drive them away."

Tim stiffened, his eyes traveling over to something Visor held, previously hidden from vision but now fully in view.

Dick stiffened too.

One of his escrima sticks was held in the enemy's hand, and the reason why wasn't hard to guess.

It wouldn't be hard to lure someone away from somewhere you didn't want them to be if you plant something elsewhere that would catch attention.

"You really think Batman would fall for something as obvious as that?" Dick asked, putting bravado into his voice and succeeding in catching Visor's full attention. "He's probably already figured out that this whole kidnapping thing is a distraction, planting something like that is just going to make it obvious that there's somewhere you don't want him to be."

He wished he could see Visor's face as the large man blankly observed him for a moment, it made it all the more unnerving when Visor broke into a low chuckle. "This is what I admire about you, Nightwing," he said, a smile in his voice, bringing his hands in front of his chest and running his fingers over the stolen weapon. "And what I was most looking forward to when I found it was you who fell for my second trap."

Cold fear settled in his belly. "What?"

"Your martyrism."

Then he turned and hit Tim across the jaw with Dick's escrima, causing the younger hero to fall onto the ground with a cut off shout, the blow coming as a surprise, the thud of his shoulder hitting the cement sounded like a distant roar of thunder to Dick's suddenly ringing ears.

"Hey- HEY!" Dick snarled, he couldn't help it, if Tim was shocked by the sudden violence, then Dick was caught in the whole lightning storm. He went to his knees, straining against the cuffs and the loose anchor. "I'm talking to you!"

Visor laughed, and it dug the pit deeper. "Now this is the cherry on top."

Dick had met plenty of sadists. He'd been held hostage by many of them. And yet, they usually took the bait, they usually ignored who Dick wanted them to ignore and went after him just to wipe his arrogance off his face. Sure, it cost him a straight nose, a scar here and there, a few weeks bedrest, but it was always worth it, because it meant he was the only one who got hurt. He did his job as the first Robin. As Nightwing. As the oldest brother.

But Visor had anticipated that, and instead of taking Dick's bait, he immediately found that the exact way to hurt both hostages the most was to keep Nightwing perfectly untouched.

He hit Tim again, but Tim didn't shout. He probably figured out Visor's goal was to make this hurt for Nightwing and had decided that keeping stony and quiet and brave would hurt Dick less. Tim had been through worse, after all. They all have. A beating with a glorified stick was nothing.

Somehow, it hurt more to see Tim glance at Dick, forgiveness and bravery and determination shining through those white lenses, than it would have been to hear him scream.

Dick wanted to scream.

He met Tim's eyes, and grinded his jaw shut.

By the time Visor had a satisfactory spray of blood across the escrima stick and left, humming to himself, Dick's wrists were slick and red beneath bands of silver, the anchor looser without him even intentionally trying.

And Tim laid still on the floor.

-o0o-

Hours passed again. Tim remained unconscious for most of it, even after Dick had tried and tried again to stir him with voice alone.

He watched Tim breathe, terrified one lungful would be the last, images of corpses and funerals flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinked.

He couldn't do this again. He couldn't endure another sibling's funeral. A part of him died with every one—there couldn't be much more of him left. Them coming back to life didn't revive those parts of him. Those parts haunted him in his nightmares, and if Tim... if Tim didn't survive this one... if Tim didn't survive because some fucker knew it would hurt more to watch... those parts would drag him under, and he knew he wouldn't try to swim back up.

He worked at the bolt holding him down. Visor wouldn't have another chance to hit Tim again. When he came back in the room, Dick was going to end this.

Near the end of the third hour, Tim stirred, groaning.

Dick quickly called for his attention, and Tim, bless him, did his best to respond.

"D..ik?"

His jaw was swollen. A tooth had been spat out a blow or two before the blow that knocked him out.

Dick didn't even care about identities right now.

"Hey, hey, you're okay. I'm gonna get us out of here."

Tim took a few deep breaths through his mouth, spitting blood onto the floor, not daring to move what must be an aching body.

"... kay..."

"Just hold on a little longer. You're being so brave. Just a little longer, I promise."

Tim, half conscious, in pain, put on something that must be intended to be a brave face, but it only broke Dick's heart more. Tim lost the fight with consciousness, and fell back into what couldn't be a painless slumber.

About an hour later, Visor returned.

The anchor wasn't loose enough to escape yet, and Dick had to swallow his panic.

Even with the helmet, Visor didn't look happy.

"How did they know," he growled, striding forward and grabbing Dick by the neck. "How did you tell them."

The pressure wasn't strong enough to choke, but it was just shy of becoming so. Dick should feel afraid of that, and yet, he only felt relief that in Visor's true anger, he walked straight past Tim.

"I told you," Dick hissed, the fingers oh so close to squeezing, he could feel it inside his throat. "You're an idiot to think they wouldn't catch on."

The replying sneer was audible, physical in a twitch of fingers. "That's where you're wrong, we planned for this. I have two hostages, you're my bargaining chip for a prisoner exchange."

Dick thinned his lips to keep from vocalizing that in the end, when it came to the Batfamily, prisoner exchanges never worked in the enemy's favor.

"I just have to show them I'm serious first," Visor continued, his voice lowering to an eerie promise, like rolling fog in ancient mountains. "I only need one hostage."

The words processed milliseconds too late, Visor had shoved Dick away and had walked back toward Tim, kneeling, hands reaching towards his younger brother's neck.

Something untamable tore out of Dick's throat, taking control over his body. His heart was a beast clawing at his ribcage, panic swallowing him whole. As Visor began to choke Tim, the boy too unconscious to give more than the body's sluggish, natural reaction, Dick began to pull at his chains, at the anchor, the pain in his wrists meaning nothing to the mere feet between him, and the monster killing his little brother.

"You fucking bastard," he roared, vocal chords straining with his wrists, his own shouting thousands of miles away, drowned out with the suffocating panic and the ringing in his ears. "Touch him and I'll kill you!"

Visor ignored him. Tim was twitching, eyes opening with pain and confusion, legs jolting and arms tugging at his own handcuffs.

Seconds passed. Seconds that engrained themselves into Dick's soul like an unwanted tattoo. Finally, as Tim's face turned red under the blood smeared on his cheeks, as his eyes began to flutter back shut, the anchor fell loose.

It was as easy as breathing to contort his body in a way that allowed his wrists to pass under his legs and in front of his body. He was running the next instant, crashing into Visor, bodies colliding in shouts and struggles, shoulders hitting the cement away from Tim.

Tim erupted into very painful coughs, and Dick... Dick couldn't bring the monster back in.

His fists wanted impact. His fingers wanted pressure. His skin wanted blood that belonged to the man below him.

Visor didn't make the bloodlust easy. He put his weight into struggling. There was a reason this man was able to capture not one, but two bats within their own city. He fought back like a demon fresh out of Hell, his own blows landing with promised swelled purple bruises across his jaw, shoulders, neck, stomach. At some point, he even managed to kick Dick off with a heavy boot, knocking Dick across the small room and slamming his back into the water rotted walls. He said something, something prideful and angry and arrogant, something that turned to static to Dick's angry ears.

He went to kick Dick in the stomach before Dick could get back up, but while Visor fought like a demon out of Hell, Dick had an older devil inside of him, one that's been caged for much, much longer.

Dick will make him wish he went for the gun.

The pain meant nothing, it didn't slow him down as he scrambled to his feet and jumped onto the larger man, wrapping his legs around his torso and flipping him down onto the ground, back under Dick, at the perfect angle for Dick to bring his bound hands up and down over and over and over again until the helmet cracked, visor shattered, splinters going into bloodied hands below bloodied wrists controlled by a bloody hatred that, after this, he knew would haunt him.

Visor tried to fight back, and he tried until he couldn't. He tried until his helmet fell off and his face was exposed, cheekbones cut, nose cracked, jaw loose, eyes terrified and half-lidded and losing focus.

Dick didn't stop.

He wanted Visor dead.

He didn't stop until a body crashed into his own, arms large and strong wrapping around his waist and tearing him from Visor and pinning him down to the ground, heavy hands on his shoulder blades, pinning his bound hands between the cement and his heaving stomach. Dick struggled, brain screaming at the sudden change.

"Get Red out of here, B!" A voice shouted above him, "I got him!"

The voice was familiar. Through blurred eyes, the form that stooped down to Tim was familiar too.

Batman undid Tim's restraints and carefully lifted the limp body into his hands, eyes barely casting a second torn glance back at Dick, who was completely pinned under Jason's weight, before leaving the room.

Dick breathed. He breathed like he'd been deprived of air for hours on end, windpipe bursting open, the edges fading.

His brain caught up with him. Jason had positioned himself perfectly, almost purposely, to obscure Dick's view to Visor. He didn't release Dick, and Dick knew why.

Jason understood this anger. This fury. This rage that took everything that made you you and replaced it with something you wouldn't recognize in the mirror. He kept Dick pinned, not speaking, not accusing, not comforting, just there until Duke and Cass arrived to drag Visor out of the room, eyes very carefully avoiding Dick like if they looked, everything they thought they knew about him would be destroyed and replaced with something unstomachable.

When they left, Jason jumped off like Dick was on fire, and Dick scrambled away like he was acid.

Silence filtered between the two of them. Jason stood near the door, as if afraid Dick would bolt, but in all honesty, Dick didn't have even a fraction of the energy to do something like that, even if the anger hadn't suddenly been replaced with exhaustion and self-hatred.

"Was he breathing?"

"Tim? Or Zeek?"

Zeek. That was his name? Of course they figured that out too.

"Tim first."

"Yeah, B has him back at the cave. Alfred's got him stable."

Dick swallowed. How long had he been here? How long had Jason been here making sure Dick didn't murder someone? 

"Zeek is also alive, GPD has him handcuffed to a gurney on the way to the hospital."

Dick brought his knees to his chin... and he could only bring himself to nod.

Jason approached a second later and finally got the cuffs unlocked around Dick's shredded wrists. As he bandaged them, talked to him about getting him back to the cave... Dick felt nothing.

-o0o-

"Hey."

"... Hey."

"You weren't answering your phone, so," Tim shrugged, looking all too comfortable and normal standing in the entrance doorway of Dick's apartment.

"Tim, I'm..." Dick had his hand behind his neck, wrists achy. He regretted opening the door, he thought it was the landlord or something. "You look good."

Makeup covered the bruises on his neck, that much was obvious, and Tim wore a high collar hoodie. Everything else looked about as healed as Dick's wrists.

"Yeah," Tim smiled, pushing his way inside. "A few weeks of Alfred-enforced-bedrest can do that. Finally escaped."

"Tim, now really isn't a good time," Dick said as Tim took off his shoes and raided the freezer.

"Knew you'd have some," he said victoriously, ignoring Dick and pulling out a tub of ice cream. "You always have a stash. What are you feeling? I'm feeling a Lord of the Rings marathon."

Dick sighed, and closed the door. "I don't have the extended."

"That's alright," Tim pulled two bowls out of Dick's cupboards and set the tub of ice cream on the counter to thaw. "I brought them."

"Tim, what is this?"

"I think you know," Tim said lightly. "Bruce keeps saying that space is what you need, but I think ice cream will help quicker."

"I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about."

"Liar. Well, that first bit is a lie."

"I'm dealing."

"With me, and ice cream, and Lord of the Rings."

Dick, defeated, sank into the sofa and grabbed the remote. "You're impossible."

"No, I just know you. You blame yourself for me getting hurt, and you blame yourself for not getting us out of there. I also know you want to wallow in your guilt for as long as you can, and you know the second I tell you I don't blame you, it's not your fault, you're human and you're a victim too, yes I know you still blame yourself so I'll forgive you for you, etcetera etcetera you won't be able to wallow in the guilt. Hence, the ignored phone-calls. Hence, ice cream. Lord of the Rings."

Dick sighed. "You can say that, but I still feel awful, Timbers."

"That's okay," Tim said, joining Dick on the sofa, handing him a bowl of ice cream, and pulling out the first DVD of Lord of the Rings, the extended version. "I'm here until you don't anymore. Keep in mind, I'm also feeling Pirates of the Caribbean."

That wormed a smile. It almost felt traitorously real. "And Star Wars?"

Tim stood up and went to the DVD player, opening the case.

"Star Trek too if you want."

"Thank you, Tim. And I'm sorry."

"I don't blame you, and believe it or not, it wasn't your fault."

He slid the disk in, and sat down next to Dick, leaning on Dick's shoulder with a content sigh, pulling his own ice-cream bowl up to his chin.

Dick couldn't help it. He melted, allowing Tim to get comfortable, allowing himself to get comfortable.

It felt vile to allow any kind of comfort, but Tim was right, they've had this rodeo before, and with quiet conversations during the quiet scenes, he wasn't surprised he felt a little better by the time they put in The Return of the King.

Not all the way. That would probably take a few more marathons, and maybe a hug, another bowl of ice-cream.

And for a whole night and most of the morning, the guilt went forgotten, and he knew it would be okay. He would be okay.

Because Tim was beside him. Breathing, alive, softly snoring as sunlight filtered through the window.

And that wasn't changing, not any time soon.

[whump-or-whatever]

Sam Beckett Whump - Quantum Leap (1989)

Whump scenes for the main character, Sam Beckett, in the 1989 TV show Quantum Leap.

Spoilers ahead!

S1E1- anxiety, amnesia, emotional

S1E2- crying

S1E3- grabbed by the neck, punched in the face, bloody nose, punched in face and falls to ground

S1E4- hit during boxing repeatedly, cut on brow, ko’d

S1E5- falls off a horse, fakes hurting his thumb, sore, punched in the face

S1E7- razor held to neck

S1E8- punched in the shoulder several times, then in the gut

S1E9- hit with bag, almost falls down an elevator shaft, bullet graze on cheek

S2E1- falls out of a tree, in a fight, shot at

S2E2- thrown back in stunt, hanging off building, in a burning building, coughing

S2E5- blinded by flash

S2E6- shocked hand, slapped

S2E8- hit and shoved back

S2E10- moustache ripped off, has guy fall on him

S2E12- glass smashed over head, punched in face

S2E13- briefly restrained

S2E14- in a fight

S2E15- cut by shattered glass, hit in back of head with board

S2E16- beat up, knocked out, shot, in another fight

S2E19- slapped, kicked in the shin

S2E21- hit by door and slapped, punched, hit by door more times, hung from ceiling, pushed into trash compactor, punched

S2E22- falls off short drop

S3E1- wind knocked out of him

S3E3- hit while boxing, knocked down, shot at, bleeding from head, dizzy

S3E5- falls down the stairs, car crash, choked, passes out

S3E7- strangled, severely beaten

S3E9- falls off motorcycle, punched, manhandled, in a fight

S3E11- bullied by his sister

S3E12- pregnancy, labour

S3E13- falls out of spaceship, twists ankle

S3E15- hits knee, shot in the leg

S3E16- thrown into a wall, beat up

S3E17- knocked down, hits head

S3E18- thrown into wall, punched in stomach, punched, hits head, handcuffed, in another fight

S3E19- almost executed, slapped

S3E20- wrestling

S3E22- hit in face, given shock therapy, losing his mind, distress

S4E2- punched in the face, black eye

S4E3- in a fight

S4E4- attacked, tied up, thrown by explosion

S4E5- punched

S4E6- in a fight

S4E7- treated like an animal, put in a cage, shocked, hit with cattle prod, choked, shot with tranquilizer

S4E8- edgy, nightmares

S4E9- in a fight

S4E10- in manacles, hit in the back, exhausted, strangled, hit again, punched

S4E11- punched

S4E12- knocked down, knocked out, manhandled, thrown against wall, punched, black eye, tied up, rope around his neck

S4E14- drunk af

S4E17- headbutted

S4E18- punched in the face

S4E19- pushed against wall, hands around neck, knocked out with a frying pan, chained to bed, jumps out a window

S4E22- pretends to have stomachache

S5E1- smacked in head, in a fight (beat to a pulp)

S5E6- strapped to bed, drugged

S5E7- slapped

S5E9- knocked out, beaten

S5E10- pain in chest

S5E12- punched in the gut

That’s all folks!

[devirnis]

What is meet me in the dark? 👀

Hi Brittany! And anon who is definitely not @princessfbi ;)

I should have saved the tumblr post that inspired this, but it was basically talking about how "cool" (is that the right word?) it is when someone who is handcuffed ends up using the handcuffs to strangle/overpower their kidnapper, turning the tools of their imprisonment into the means of escape - and my brain went HEY! I have "handcuffed/manacled" on my BTHB card, AND THEN I decided to make it a self-indulgent dramatic sequel to the restaurant front AU where Doug comes back for revenge

So it'll be a remix of 2x13 except with kidnapped Maddie AND Buck, and the 118 crime family desperately trying to track them down. I've been trying to be good and focus on the first installment but I was inspired this weekend and had to get bits of it out of my head

“Maddie,” Buck rasps, his eyes bouncing between Eddie and Chimney. “Where’s Maddie?” Satisfied there are no threats lurking in the basement, Chimney hurries over to help. “We found you first,” he says to Buck. “Is she here?” “Up–upstairs. I think Doug took her upstairs.” Eddie shifts so he can lean around the beam and get a look at Buck’s hands. “Fuck,” he swears. “Handcuffs. I can’t pick these.” “I’ll send Hen down,” Chimney says. “You’ve got him?” “Yeah.” Eddie curls protectively into Buck’s side. “We’re good here. Go find her.”

[igiveupmiss3]

Femdom Hotel

This piece of femdom digital art needs no supporting text. Ira9085 only occasionally produces fm bondage images, but this fantasy is first class. A female police officer transporting a handcuffed male prisoner books into a hotel, seemingly staffed only by women. They have clearly hosted prisoners before, because check out the house rules: the officer has to keep her captive cuffed, manacled and gagged at all times! Clearly Hotel Femdom!

The art here is wonderful, particularly the uniforms of the hotel staff. If you like ff and (occasionally) fm bondage, check this artist out on Deviant Art.

Source: ira9085 on Deviant Art

[fissions-chips]

More whump prompts for myself cause I like to horde them and I want to put the Bois in Situations:

Animal Attack

Attack the Injury

Attacked in Their Sleep

Biting

Bleeding Out

Blindfolded

Blood from the Mouth

Bludgeoned

Bound and Gagged

Bridal Carry

Broken Angel

Broken Limb

Bundled Up in Blankets

Captivity

Carved Mark

Caught in a Snare

Chained to a Bed

Chained to a Wall

Choking

Claustrophobia

Clawing at Own Throat

Cold-Blooded Torture

Collared and Chained

The Collector

Compelling Voice

Creepy Crawlies

Crush Injury

Damaged Wing(s)

Defeated and Trophified

Drowning

Drugged

Electrocution

Enemy Turned Caretaker

Falling Through the Ice

Faux-Affectionate Villain

First-Aid Kit

Flooding

Forced Prize Fight

Forced to Beg

Forced to Kneel/Bow

Forcibly Stripped

Garrote

Grabbed by the Chin

Grabbed by the Hair

Gunshot Wound

Hair Matted with Blood

Hand Gagging

Handcuffed/Manacled

Hanging

Headache/Migraine

Hiding an Injury

Hogtied

Hostage Situation

Human Weapon

Humiliation

Hurts to Breathe

Hypnosis

I Ain’t Got Time to Bleed

I Have You Now, My Pretty

Impaled Chest

Impaled Palm

Improvised Weapon

It Amused Me

Kick Them While They Are Down

Kidnapping

Killing in Self-Defense

Knife to the Throat

Left for Dead

Leonine Contract

Lifted by the Neck

Locked in a Trunk

Made a Slave

Manhandling

Medical Torture

Mercy Killing

Mind Control

Mistaken Identity

Mouth Stitched Shut

Mutilation

Neck Injury

Nightmares

No Anesthetic

No-Holds-Barred Beatdown

Non-Consensual Touching

On a Leash

On the Run

Paralysis

Paranoia

Parasite

Pinned to the Wall

Pleading

Poison/Venom

Public Execution/Torture

Public Humiliation

Pulling Teeth

Reluctant Caretaker

Rendered Mute

Rope Burns

Self-Harm

Self-Surgery

Sensory Deprivation

Shaking and Shivering

Sickbed Slaying

Slowly Running Out of Air

Stabbing

Starvation

Stitches

Strangling

Strapped to an Operating Table

Stress Position

Struggling Against the Caretaker

Suffocation

Tampering with Food/Drink

Taser

Taunting

Terms of Endangerment

Tied to a Chair

Tied to a Pole

Touch Starved

Toxic Gas

Trampled

Trapped in a Net

Traumatic Haircut

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Unwilling Suspension

Used As Bait

Used in Sacrifice/Ritual

Vampiric Draining

Vertigo

Vivisection

Vomiting

Water Torture

Whipping

Wiping the Other’s Tears Away

“You’re Safe Now”

Zip Ties