burninginthecoldnight

[burninginthecoldnight]

I just want unlimited whump content with the exact scenarios and tropes I want in the media format I want for the characters I want.

Is that too much to ask?

[burninginthecoldnight]

Short Prompt #1126

“There is so much we could achieve if we worked together,” The supervillain whispered, a sugary-sweet promise laced with poison. “Do you really think Hero is worthy of you?”

The sidekick leveled them with an equally lethal stare. “No, I don’t. I just have unfinished business here.”

[burninginthecoldnight]

we crumpled your man up like tissue paper btw. like we all took turns crumpling then uncrumpling him. sorry. couldn’t resist because he is just so crumpleable

[burninginthecoldnight]

Me watching my comfort character die for the 100th time because I watch the same shows over and over again:

[burninginthecoldnight]

Give meeeee: a whumpee that's desperately trying to hide a serious injury from a caretaker that's watching them like a hawk. Caretaker knows something's up, but all they can do is ask if they're feeling okay over and over again because they don't want to invade whumpee's space.

Whumpee replies almost the same way every time- "I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm just tired" but eventually when caretaker has their back turned, they hear a soft gasp coming from where whumpee is standing. Without turning around from what they're doing, they call out to them again, "Are you alright?"

They expect the same answer as all the times before. What they didn't expect however, was hearing their shaking voice weakly rasp out "I-I'm not fine..." before hearing their body crumble to the ground behind them.

[burninginthecoldnight]

Just to be clear: I can’t vote because I was informed too late this was even happening, but if I could, I would never, ever, in a million fucking years, vote Tiffany G. I don’t fucking care what you think she will do, censorship has no place in fandom.

If allowed to take root, queer representation is always the first to go, disguised as outting the “freaks” first. They do this systematically, they always do. First they go after the content that was already fringe and controversial and weird, the stuff that’s explicitly sexual and kinky with niche interest and even nicher writers. Then they move on to bigger targets once the minorities are no longer there to make some noise, having grown bold on knowing that we’ll abandon our own the moment they’re framed as “oh no, not you. Only those weirdos who’s content you already don’t like!”

They’ll cast their net of “icky bad weird stuff” wider and wider until you will get tangled in it for just writing your two favorite blorbos kissing each other while having male pronouns. And there’ll be no one to stand up for you because you let them silence them first. They will come for you, and no amount of “but I shipped/wrote/read all the right stuff!” will stop them.

Don’t vote censorship into Ao3. Don’t vote for your own demise. If you want to keep fandom, you’ve gotta keep it in its entirety, warts and all.

[burninginthecoldnight]

Nothing gets me more than a character’s body language completely betraying their words.

Like when they say someone can go, that they’re okay, but they still cling onto them, not willing to let them go even if they say so.

The contrast between the trained response and the actual emotion is just amazing.

[burninginthecoldnight]

BTHB #1

Bingo card | @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Crippling the Competition

CW: non-graphic injury, forced injection, implied stalking, implied kidnapping

Hero was sick of this. This game of cat and mouse that he was playing with Villain—it was taxing. And time consuming. And quite frankly, there were other things Hero would like to be doing, people he would like to take down. Awards he’d like to win. But no. He had to spend every breathing moment tracking down Villain, thwarting his plot before it went too far.

But that’s fine. He didn’t want to sleep tonight anyway.

If he wasn’t getting so much media attention and adoration from fans, it wouldn’t have been worth it. He made good money. People wanted his picture and autograph. He had fans, fame, and fortune. Everything he dreamed of.

If only Villain could behave for just one second, maybe he could get some sleep for once and get the newspapers off his back. What kind of hero can’t stop a menace like Villain?

It took some time—about a week, really—but Hero had a plan. He'd perfected it.

One night, when he knew Villain was injured and not thinking properly—so injured that he was limping, in fact—Hero followed him back to his hideout (or lair? Home?).

It was dark. The parking lot was poorly lit, but that worked in Hero’s favor. He watched from afar as Villain dragged his left foot. He reached the stairs, leaning against the rail for support as he went downstairs. Hero trailed behind him, only a few footfalls back.

It was cold down here. There were a lot of cobwebs, and trash littering the stairs. The stairs were steep. He could tell Villain was struggling to get down them. So far, Hero had been quiet.

“You can pass me, you know,” said Villain suddenly. “Don’t let me slow you down. No need to be polite.”

Villain hadn’t turned around. His back was facing Hero as he sat on the step, hand clutching the railing still, and gasping for breath. He was tired. Clearly.

Fortunately, Hero was not in uniform, so it was unlikely Villain would recognize him. But he might recognize his voice if he wasn’t careful.

Hero smiled. Lightened his voice. Tried to look friendly. He took a few steps down and said, “Forgive me. I should have offered to help you.”

Villain shook his head. “Oh, no. You don’t have to do that. I can make it.”

“Please,” Hero insisted, holding out his hand.

Villain’s head was bowed, turned away from Hero. Whatever internal struggle he was facing, Hero didn’t know. Probably shame, if he had to guess.

Finally, Villain relented. He uncurled his right arm—the one he was holding to his chest—and took hold of Hero’s offered hand. Hero pulled him up. Villain wobbled on his feet, but allowed Hero to carry some of his weight as he leaned against him for support. Villain’s body was unexpectantly warm.

“It’s not much farther down,” said Villain, which proved to be true. Before long, they were standing in front of his door. Villain walked his worst enemy to his most discreet location. It was unbelievably easy.

“This is it,” said Villain. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a gold key. “Thank you for your help.”

“Do you think you’ll be okay?” Hero asked, watching as Villain’s fingers trembled. “I can get that for you, if that’s okay.”

“No, it’s all right. I got it.”

Hero took a step back but didn’t leave. He watched Villain fumble with the key once more before accidentally dropping it. Villain leaned against the doorframe.

Hero said, “Here. Let me get that for you.” He glanced at Villain’s pale face. Sweaty. He asked, “Are you sure you’re okay? I can call an ambulance for you.”

Villain’s eyes lit up. “No! No, I’m—no.”

“You sure? You look ill.”

“No. Please… don’t. It will pass. I’m fine.”

Sweat beaded down Villain’s forehead. His hair was damp with it, curling at the ends. Falling in front of his half-lidded eyes. Somehow, his breathing was worse.

Hero reached for his clammy hand, gently pulling the key from his fingers. Hero helped him up, since he’d bent down to pick the keys up. Hero opened the door for them. Villain leaned against him for support, albeit reluctantly, as they stumbled through the threshold.

Hero stopped.

Blinked once. Twice.

No, this was real.

“Where is everything?” Hero asked. His heart stopped. In his confusion, he’d lost his composure, and could only hope Villain was still out of it.

“What?” Villain said, looking up. “Oh. Right.”

It was empty. The entire room was empty. Not even a chair or a footstool. Just… nothing.

Villain didn’t elaborate.

So Hero asked, “Where can I walk you to?”

“My bedroom,” said Villain. “It’s over there. I have a mattress in there. Should be… fine.”

The mattress in question was just that: a mattress. No sheets. No blankets. No pillows. Hero was starting to think that this was some elaborate setup. The joke was on him, and he’d fallen right into Villain’s trap. Because this wasn’t a home. It was an empty shell, a husk, nothing like the chaotic dark lair Villain ought to live in.

Hero tried to turn on the light; it didn’t work. And it was cold in here. He should really turn the heat on. With that thought, Hero realized the fine line he was walking between friend and foe right now.

Villain wasn’t his friend.

He had a job to do. He’d best remember that.

Villain settled on his floor mattress. Shivered and curled into himself again, holding his arm close to his body. Hero wondered what it’d feel like to take his arm and twist it, just like Enemy had.

“Why are you doing this? Helping me,” Villain clarified.

Hero shrugged. “It’s the right thing to do. Help a person in need. You looked like you were in pain.”

“A little bit,” Villain agreed. “I’ll be okay.”

“Mind if I ask how it happened?”

“Nothing. Just a bar fight,” Villain lied.

Of course, Hero knew exactly what happened. He was there.

“You’ve never been good at staying out of trouble,” Hero said, approaching Villain slowly. His hand was in his pocket, his fingers feeling for the right position.

Villain frowned. “What?” He tried to sit up.

Hero pushed him back down, hands hard on his shoulder, with his other hand he pulled an object out of his pocket. Plunged the needle into Villain’s neck. He was too tired to fight back.

Villain slumped in Hero’s arms.

When he was sure Villain was asleep, Hero gathered him in his arms, stood up, and carried him to the van waiting outside.

Part 2

[burninginthecoldnight]

Hey guys can we get a non-human/hybrid whumpee who is literally the sweetest person you’ll ever meet about to be killed in front of their team because they’re seen as dangerous?

[burninginthecoldnight]

I want more villains who care about their henchmen. I wanna see the bad guy fly into a rage because the hero hurt their very favorite bungling goon and it was nearly his birthday.

[burninginthecoldnight]

seeing certain mutuals on the dash like thank god you’re here. i missed you.

[burninginthecoldnight]

Whumpee being so tired that they fall asleep against Whumper, making Whumper smile and run their hand through Whumpee's hair and Whumpee just not being able to pull away because sleep is the only thing on their mind right now.

(bonus points if its a defiant whumpee)

[burninginthecoldnight]

Prompt (71)

“And your greatest fear?” The villain asked with a purr.

Death. Abduction. Cancer. Cats. The hero could have said anything. But they couldn’t lie to the villain.

“Kites.”

[burninginthecoldnight]

Part two of your most recent work please! :)

Continuation of Hero goes to Villain for help

Tagging: @psychiclibrariesquotestoad

Warnings: captivity, referenced kidnapping, restraints, blood, violence, non-con drugging/sedation (mentioned)

Hero woke up with ropes tied around his arms, wrists, and ankles. He was also sitting in a very (very) uncomfortable chair. It shouldn’t have surprised him—and it didn’t, really—but he thought he’d have more time before Villain restrained him. Especially considering that Villain, in spite of his strengths, was never very good at tying knots. Perhaps Henchman taught him how to. Or maybe Henchman did it himself.

Maybe it didn’t matter.

There was a pounding at the back of his head that refused go away, but he was otherwise unharmed. He’d been awake for almost an hour now, he suspected, so any other ailments would have presented themselves by now. Still, that didn’t make it any easier. He didn’t know if it was a headache, or the result of being shoved onto the floor of a van, but it was almost unbearable.

He wished someone was here with him. He had a lot of questions.

He assumed he was in a basement of some sort. It was a small room with cement walls, no windows, a wide table, and two chairs. It was cold down here too, and he wished Villain would turn the heat up, or at least give him a blanket. But that was asking for too much, wasn’t it? Not to mention that there was an unpleasant, musty odor in the air.

Suddenly, the door screeched on the opposite side of the room. Someone was coming in. Hero’s head perked up.

“Oh,” said a familiar, disappointed voice.

“What?” said another.

“He’s awake.”

Henchman came striding into the room, and took up residence against one of the walls, like a shadow. Villain followed shortly behind him, but he came up to the table in front of Hero. He didn’t sit down.

Villain glared at him through thick eyelashes.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Hero asked. He didn’t think he was looking at Villain oddly. He was looking at him the way he always looked at him: with a sense of detachment, and a hint of apprehension. He added, “You’re the one who kidnapped me.”

There was a long pause. Hero almost apologized, foolishly, but then—

“It wasn’t my idea,” Villain said, so quietly that Hero almost missed it. He scanned Hero’s face, looking for who knows what. Then he abruptly looked away, searching for Henchman. “How long was he out?”

“About five hours, sir.”

Five hours? Was that how long it had been? Surely, it should have taken longer than that. They must have given him a small dosage to knock him out. It also meant that they were close the city.

Hero laughed. He knew it was antagonistic, but he said, “Really, [Villain]? Are you worried I’m going to fight back? Do you need to sedate me again to make yourself more comfortable?”

“No,” Villain replied. “I won’t have to. I know you won’t hurt me. In fact, I think you’ll stay here willingly.”

“And what makes you so sure?”

“You seemed desperate when we were at the restaurant.”

The blood drained from Hero’s face. He knew this would happen, but the foolish part of his brain hoped it wouldn’t. He’d never been good at concealing his emotions, especially when he was nervous. And now, because of his panicked state of mind, Villain had the upper hand.

He knew that Hero needed him.

Villain continued, “I may have… kidnapped you, but you came to me first. I don’t need you. I don’t need your information. So, if you have something ‘important’ to tell me, then you’re going to get on your knees and beg me listen.”

Hero visibly recoiled.

“Fuck off.”

There was no warning. Henchman glided from the wall and hit Hero square in the jaw. The impact was strong enough to snap his head to the side. When he looked up again, Henchman resumed his position against the wall. He tasted blood in his mouth.

“You know what? I think that’s enough for today,” said Villain. “Come, [Henchman]. Let’s give him some time alone.”

Henchman readied to leave, already moving towards the door. Hero didn’t give Villain a chance to turn around, let alone follow him.

“Wait,” he said. “You’re just going to leave me here? What about—”

Villain raised an eyebrow. “… About?”

“About…” Hero searched for the right words. No matter how he phrased it, it didn’t sound right. It had sounded so much easier in his head, back at his home, when he didn’t have Villain staring at him like a predatory animal. So he settled for something else instead. He finished, “Our agreement. You lied to me.”

Villain blinked.

“You said that you would listen,” Hero continued. “You didn’t say anything about tying me up in your… dungeon. If you trusted me for even a moment, you would see that we’re on the same side.”

Villain smiled sadly.

“As if I would ever trust you again.”

He looked down at the table beside him, where his scarred hand rested on the surface. He tapped his fingers on the table one by one. First his pinky, then his ring finger, then his index and pointer. He stopped when he realized Hero was watching.

“You used to trust me,” Hero blurted out. The muscles in Villain’s jaw visibly tensed. The air was heavy between them.

Henchman looked to Villain with furrowed eyebrows. He asked, “What is he talking about?”

“Nothing,” Villain replied, standing deathly still. If Hero didn’t know any better, he might think Villain was unaffected by the question. But he did know better, and he heard the slight waver in Villain’s voice when he said, “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Leave us.”

Henchman directed a concerned glance at Hero, but was otherwise silent. He followed Villain’s order and left. Hero’s heart sunk when the door closed behind him. They were alone now and without prying eyes. Villain could say—and do—whatever he wanted.

Already, Villain had dismissed their past. What else would he do?

Hero lowered his gaze to the floor. He didn’t want to see Villain’s face when he turned to face him again, standing only an arm’s length away now.

“Let’s get one things straight,” said Villain. Each word was perfectly enunciated. “You are the last person I would trust, and you were stupid to trust me in the first place. In the past year alone, you have tarnished my name, beaten me, and threatened to have me imprisoned. The only reason I am not in handcuffs right now is because you are painfully desperate for my attention. But I know that once this is over, you won’t think twice about turning me in.”

He closed the gap between them, and leant over the chair—a hand on either arm—so they were eye level with each other.

“Remind me,” Villain said, “why I would ever trust you?”

Hero swallowed. He tried to ignore the overwhelming smell of cinnamon and sugar. He tried not to think about why Villain smelled that way. He tried not to meet Villain’s dark gaze. He tried and tried and tried.

And failed. He lifted his chin up.

“Not everything is about you,” Hero answered, finally. “Not all of it. You’re not… You’re not listening to me, [Villain]. There’s something I need to tell you.”

Villain shook his head slowly. Calmly.

“There is nothing you could tell me that I don’t already know.”

He pushed off Hero’s chair, and began to walk away, towards the door. His back was turned to Hero.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He couldn’t leave. Hero had to tell him. He had to, he had to know—

“He’s going to kill you!” Hero blurted out. “[Supervillain]. If he finds you, he’s going to kill you.”

Villain stopped in the doorway. He didn’t say anything for the longest time, nor did he turn around. And for a moment, Hero thought he wouldn’t say anything at all.

“I know.”

And with that, Villain walked through the door, letting it slam shut behind him.

[burninginthecoldnight]

A new blorbo when they see my whump loving ass advancing on them rubbing my evil little goblin hands together:

[burninginthecoldnight]

01-28-2022

[burninginthecoldnight]

Hero goes to Villain for help

Warnings: kidnapping, drugging (implied)

“[Villain], I know you don’t trust me,” Hero said calmly, “but please hear me out. You have every right to hate me, but just… listen, please. I figured out how we can defeat [Supervillain]. Together. I know it sounds crazy, but I know you are capable of good things. And I want to help you. Sure, we don’t know each other that well, but if I tell everyone that you’re… that I’m… This will never work!”

Hero turned away from the mirror, cursing himself for thinking this was a good idea. He paced a small circle around the coffee table before returning to the mirror again. He rubbed a hand through his hair, smoothing it.

He looked himself in the eye.

“You can do this,” he told himself. “It’s just [Villain]. He’ll listen. He hates [Supervillain] just as much as you do. Why wouldn’t he help?”

He straightened his jacket one last time. He was about to walk out the door, but then—

What if Villain didn’t like the way he dressed? Seriously, it looked like he was trying too hard. Maybe he should change his outfit, make himself more appealing to Villain, like they were more like-minded than he thought. Yes, he should—

No. No, he was just being dramatic. And on second thought, Villain might find that suspicious and refuse to hear Hero out. And then what would he do? This outfit was fine. Better. Casually Heroic, in fact.

He checked his watch: 8:04 P.M.

Shit. He was going to be late. Well, not late late, but late in the sense that Villain might beat him there if he didn’t get a move on. And if Villain had to wait for Hero for even a minute, then Villain might just leave, because he had always been impatient like that. Hero couldn’t risk it. Villain couldn’t leave, he had to stay. He had to—

Hero rushed out the door, hearing it slam behind him.

The restaurant was only a few minutes away from Hero’s home. In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have picked this location—it would be easy for Villain to follow him back—but he panicked, and Villain made him nervous, and Hero wanted to retreat somewhere familiar. He thought it would make him feel less vulnerable.

Upon seeing the restaurant, Hero’s shoulders relaxed, but he couldn’t rid himself of the nervous hum in his veins, infecting his heart with an irrational fear. He tried to control his breathing before entering the building.

The dining room was packed, but Hero would be able to spot Villain in any crowd. He sat down across from Villain in the booth, taking the side facing the bar.

“I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” said Villain. He eyed Hero suspiciously, obviously mistrustful of him.

Hero shook his head and leaned into the table. He said, quietly, “I’m unarmed. You can pat me down if you don’t believe me.”

“No need to cause a scene,” Villain said. “Besides, that’s not what I’m worried about. Are you alone?”

“Yes. Just like we agreed.”

It made Hero uneasy, at first. He’d sent a letter to Villain, practically begging him to meet up with him, and Villain responded. And he agreed—of course he would, he’s Villain—but only if two conditions were met: (1) Hero did not bring any weapons, and (2) Hero came completely and utterly alone. Hero, foolishly, agreed to his request without requesting Villain do the same.

Hero took a deep breath.

“[Villain], I—”

“You need to relax,” Villain interrupted. “You look nervous. It’s putting the waitresses on edge. Here. Take my drink. It’ll help.”

Villain slid the glass across the table to Hero. Condensation gleamed on the glass. From the looks of it, he’d been here a while.

“I didn’t poison it,” Villain said, noticing Hero’s apprehension. Hero still didn’t take it. “Fine, don’t drink it then. But I don’t know how I’m supposed to help you if you don’t trust me, even this much.”

That’s what did him in. He finally relented, and reluctantly took the glass of water with trembling hands. He hoped Villain didn’t notice, but he knew he did. He was perceptive like that.

He drank from the glass until it was empty.

“[Villain],” Hero tried again, “I need to tell you something. About [Supervillain]. He—”

This time it was Hero who cut himself off. Looking over Villain’s shoulder, he noticed something strange about a man sitting at the bar, a certain familiarity that was on the tip of his tongue…

All hope that Hero had—what little of it that remained, anyway—was snuffed out the moment he realized who it was. He frowned. Maybe Villain wasn’t worth trusting after all.

“Are you going to invite your henchman over, or should I keep going?” Hero asked. “Or were you hoping to take me out from behind? We can switch places, if you’d like.”

Villain’s jaw clenched. The jig was up. He turned to look at Henchman, who rounded the bar and stood beside their table. Henchman glared at Hero but was otherwise silent.

Hero was about to ask Henchman to sit down, when Villain moved to stand up beside him.

“Get up,” Villain told Hero. He looked around to see if anyone was watching them. “Quickly. We don’t have much time.”

“What?” Hero asked, not trying to hide his confusion. Villain wouldn’t meet his eye. “What are you talking about? I haven’t gotten a chance to tell you about—”

“Not here,” Villain insisted. When Hero didn’t immediately move, Villain gestured to Henchman, who promptly moved to grab Hero by the arm.

Hero resisted, shaking his head. “I don’t want to. It’s not what we agreed to.”

“Do you want our help or not? You came to me, remember? I decide where this plays out.”

Hero felt dizzy. He didn’t know if it was due to standing up so quickly, or if the stress of the situation was getting to him, but it made his head spin.

“Where are we going?” Hero asked, when they were outside. Neither of them responded. He felt a lump building in his throat.

They led him to an alley behind the restaurant. The farther they walked, the more unsteady he felt on his feet. He tried to convince himself it was just the nerves making him feel this way. Yet the sensible side of Hero knew this never ended well. He had a strange feeling that if he didn’t leave now, he may never get the chance run away again.

Not knowing what else to do, he nervously rubbed his hands together, and looked to see if Villain was paying attention; he wasn’t.

“Oh, would you look at the time?” Hero announced. He checked his watch, the movement exaggerated. The dizziness hadn’t subsided yet. He continued, “I should probably get going. Sidekick will be expecting me. So, if you’ll just excuse me…”

Hero made to leave. A hand on his chest stopped him. It was Henchman.

“You won’t be going anywhere,” said Villain. “Not until you tell me what’s got you so spooked that you’d risk asking for my help.”

Villain faded in and out of his vision.

He was too weak to resist the hands pushing him into the vehicle. He didn’t remember much after that.

Part 2