ext_7701 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
marag.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2005-08-05 06:02 am
marag.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2005-08-05 06:02 am
Survival by JB McDragon (R)
Fandom: DC COMICS
Pairing: None
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jbmcdragon
Author Website: McDragon's Lair
Why this must be read:
Loads of reasons, really. First, the DC universe is the perfect place for psychological horror (as the author describes this fic). Second, this is amazingly well-written, tense and believable. Third, it's Tim Drake, aka Robin III, aka my favorite DC character ::grin::.
This is the kind of story I figured I wouldn't like, but then I couldn't stop reading until I got to the end. See, Tim's been kidnapped and he figures he should be able to escape. Except that he can't.
There was a distant pounding. Rhythmic and steady. Someone playing their bass too loud, maybe. Or--
A heartbeat. No, *his* heartbeat.
Tim took a deep breath. He stopped, bile rising up the back of his throat. The pain in his head ripped into focus suddenly, leaving him trying not to scream. He breathed shallowly and didn't move.
The pain receded. Slowly, step by step, Tim was able to feel the rest of his body.
Nothing else hurt. His stomach was queasy, but that was bearable.
He lay still and listened, remembering. He'd been doing homework. At the park. By the pond. A young woman had asked him to help find her dog and then--nothing.
It was cold, wherever he was now. And rank. On a bed, but not his. He could feel lace under his body. Above, there were footsteps.
Slowly, fearing the return of pain but knowing it had to be done, Tim opened his eyes. His head pounded, but not as badly as he'd expected.
Dim light. A creamy ceiling, with pipes running along the corners.
He turned his head. A basement, obviously. There was a thick area rug in the middle, with a television, VCR and DVD player standing on the other edge. A door on each wall, except his. A baby monitor sat on the other side of the room, blinking red. He was lying on a bed, and a twist of his head, carefully, revealed a nightstand above with a lamp, and a dresser by his feet.
Someone had taken off his shoes. He was still wearing his jeans and T-shirt, though. So, he hadn't been Robin when he'd been taken.
Tim started to move. He stopped when pain flared in his wrist, and arched to look up.
Survival
Pairing: None
Author on LJ:
jbmcdragonAuthor Website: McDragon's Lair
Why this must be read:
Loads of reasons, really. First, the DC universe is the perfect place for psychological horror (as the author describes this fic). Second, this is amazingly well-written, tense and believable. Third, it's Tim Drake, aka Robin III, aka my favorite DC character ::grin::.
This is the kind of story I figured I wouldn't like, but then I couldn't stop reading until I got to the end. See, Tim's been kidnapped and he figures he should be able to escape. Except that he can't.
There was a distant pounding. Rhythmic and steady. Someone playing their bass too loud, maybe. Or--
A heartbeat. No, *his* heartbeat.
Tim took a deep breath. He stopped, bile rising up the back of his throat. The pain in his head ripped into focus suddenly, leaving him trying not to scream. He breathed shallowly and didn't move.
The pain receded. Slowly, step by step, Tim was able to feel the rest of his body.
Nothing else hurt. His stomach was queasy, but that was bearable.
He lay still and listened, remembering. He'd been doing homework. At the park. By the pond. A young woman had asked him to help find her dog and then--nothing.
It was cold, wherever he was now. And rank. On a bed, but not his. He could feel lace under his body. Above, there were footsteps.
Slowly, fearing the return of pain but knowing it had to be done, Tim opened his eyes. His head pounded, but not as badly as he'd expected.
Dim light. A creamy ceiling, with pipes running along the corners.
He turned his head. A basement, obviously. There was a thick area rug in the middle, with a television, VCR and DVD player standing on the other edge. A door on each wall, except his. A baby monitor sat on the other side of the room, blinking red. He was lying on a bed, and a twist of his head, carefully, revealed a nightstand above with a lamp, and a dresser by his feet.
Someone had taken off his shoes. He was still wearing his jeans and T-shirt, though. So, he hadn't been Robin when he'd been taken.
Tim started to move. He stopped when pain flared in his wrist, and arched to look up.
Survival
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