Just a little post to celebrate my BTHB blackout. It’s not a very significant accomplishment in the grand scheme of things, but it’s still one I’m proud of! 170,000 words of John Carter whump. 25 fics, written and published over the last 6 months. Thank you to everyone who has read and kudosed and commented and supported this depraved little series. I’ve locked Carter in a freezer. I tased him. Strangled him. Buried him under buildings. I even dropped him off a bridge. So many concussions. So many intubations.
My favorites? Probably the two big ones I started with and ended with. “Freezer Burn” and “The Found”. I’m also quite fond of “i will try to fix you”.
I think I’m proudest of “who’d have thought there’d be so much left to lose” and “The Old Days”. Also “The Found”.
Hardest one to write? Also probably “The Found”, lol. I also struggled a lot with “lights will guide you home”.
My least favorite is probably “The Rains of Kethos” or “Evacuation”.
Most underrated, in my opinion, would be “lessons learned” or “Cuffing Season”.
If anyone has any personal favorites from the series, I’d love to hear about it in the comments :)
Hopefully this post isn’t too self indulgent. Many many thanks to all my beloveds in the ER County General discord for being so lovely and encouraging throughout, from freezer fic to Africa fic. Ok, that's all!!
Here are all my fics from Bad Things Happen Bingo :)
Freezer Burn (17.8k) (Attempted Murder)
(un)friendly competition (3k) (Crippling the Competition)
Elevator Pitch (2.6k) (Claustrophobia)
words (un)spoken (3.9k) ("I'm Fine")
Civil Liberties & Head Injuries (2.7k) (Taser)
i will try to fix you (6.9k) (Catatonia)
lessons learned (3.4k) (Vertigo)
Look At Me (11.9k) (Ambush)
Cuffing Season (3.1k) (Handcuffed/Manacled)
who'd have thought there'd be so much left to lose? (2k) (Self-Harm)
Heat Wave 1995 (12.1k) (Ambulance Ride)
down for the count (4.4k) Confined to Bed Rest
Evacuation (4.7k) (Poison/Venom)
lights will guide you home (7.5k) (Tongue-Tied)
the leader of the landslide (4.7k) (Faux-Affectionate Villain)
Pathetic Life Forms (10.8k) (Domestic Abuse)
quarantined in a bad dream (6.3k) (Forced to Beg)
in consequence (8.5k) (Find the Cure)
a bad liar with a savior complex (4.9k) (Buried Alive)
drift off on the floor, i drag you to the shore (6.1k) (Race Against the Clock)
Tags: Ambush, Blood, Injuries, CPR, Near Character Death, Field Medicine, Guns, Shooting, Hydra, Crying, Kissing, Snuggling, Hospitals. Let me know if I missed one.
Word Count: 1000+
Written For: @badthingshappenbingo @whumpmasinjuly-archive
Squares/Prompts Filled: I4 - Ambush for BTHB | Day 6 - Field Medicine for Whumpmas In July
Dividers By: DNC and Support Dividers - @saradika-graphics | Black Widow Divider - @super-marvel-dc
“Negative. The Quinjet stays airborne. This is a solo recon mission. Do not engage.”
Fury’s voice crackled through Natasha’s comm, firm and cold as always.
She stared at the monitor, where your vitals had just vanished.
One second, steady heart rate and biometric data, and the next second, gone. Black screen. Silence.
Her heart stopped.
“I’m going in,” she snapped, hands already working the controls.
“Romanoff, stand down! We have assets en route. Extraction team-”
“I’m not waiting,” she growled, already plunging the Quinjet down through the clouds. “You can lecture me later.”
And with that, she cut the line.
The Hydra base loomed beneath her. Half-collapsed and flanked by jagged cliffs, quiet in the way that danger always is before it explodes.
She landed the jet hard and left it idling as her boots slammed against the ground one after the other. She sprinted through the rotting corridors, your last coordinates burned into her brain. The metallic scent of blood hit her before she found you.
You were crumpled against a rusted support beam, unconscious, your gear shredded, wounds soaked through with blood. The floor beneath you was dark and sticky. Your skin was so pale and dread seeped into her veins like ice.
“Y/N!” Her voice broke as she dropped to her knees, pressing fingers to your throat. “No, no, no… come on.”
Your faint, thready pulse fluttered against the pads of her fingers, barely there.
She touched your face, her gloves now slick with your blood. “Baby, can you hear me?”
You groaned faintly, your eyes trying to open.
“I got ambushed,” you rasped, barely audible. “There were more...trap…”
“Shh,” she breathed, tearing open your vest to check the wound on your side. It was deep, too deep. “Save your energy. I’ve got you now.”
She opened her field kit with trembling hands, applying a coagulant to slow the bleeding, tying another wound on your upper thigh with pressure bandages, whispering reassurances through gritted teeth.
And then, your breathing faltered. Your chest stilled.
“No.” Her voice cracked. “No, no, no, please…”
Your eyes slowly shut and then...nothing.
She stared in frozen horror for one heartbeat, then launched into action. The heel of her right hand pressed repeatedly against your chest, counting compressions, desperate breaths between each cycle. “Don’t you do this to me. Don’t you dare leave me.”
“Come back to me,” she whispered again and again. “I can’t...I can't do this without you.”
You didn’t respond.
But she didn’t stop.
Until finally...finally, you gasped, choking on air, eyes flying open in panic before collapsing back.
“Oh god,” she sobbed, her forehead pressed against yours, her tears mixing with your blood. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
A familiar voice sounded in her comm as her earpiece crackled back to life.
“Romanoff, it's Rogers. Fury said you went off-script. We’re two minutes out. Bucky’s with me. Where are you?”
Natasha exhaled a shaky breath, cradling your head in her lap. “Sublevel three. She's hurt...badly. I need evac.”
“Sit tight. We’ve got your back,” Steve replied.
A moment later, she heard the distant echo of boots. Gunfire. Metal groaning. Hydra was still crawling in the dark like rats.
She tightened her grip around your body.
“You stay awake, okay?” she whispered. “Help’s coming.”
Steve and Bucky crashed into the hallway moments later, Steve’s shield reflecting light like a beacon of hope. Bucky panted as his eyes darted around to stay vigilant.
“Nat-” Steve’s eyes locked on the two of you. “Oh my god.”
“She’s lost too much blood,” Natasha said quickly, her voice steel even though her hands were shaking. “I lost her briefly...I got her back...barely.”
“I'll take her,” Bucky said, moving to scoop you into his arms.
“No,” Natasha snapped. “You cover us. I’m not letting go.”
Bucky nodded silently, stepping forward to clear the corridor ahead with his rifle. Steve took the rear, shield raised as Hydra agents began pouring in behind them.
Natasha carried you in her arms, blood soaking through her suit, her face set in grim determination.
“I’ve got you,” she whispered again and again. “I’m right here.”
They made it to the Quinjet under fire. Steve held the ramp, deflecting bullets. Bucky mowed down the last squad as Natasha brought you in and laid you down gently on the floor.
You were unconscious again. Breathing shallow. But alive.
“Get us out of here!” Steve shouted, jumping aboard as the hatch slammed shut.
The Quinjet roared into the sky.
Natasha sank to her knees beside you, gripping your hand like it was the only thing anchoring her to this earth.
“She stopped breathing,” she whispered to Steve, barely able to get the words out. “I had to bring her back. I-”
“You did,” Steve said gently, crouching beside her. “You saved her.”
Hours later, you lay in the med bay, patched and stabilized, heart monitor beeping softly in the background.
Natasha hadn’t left your side once.
When your eyes finally fluttered open, her head was resting against your chest, her hand gripping yours.
“…Nat?”
She jerked up. “Hey...hey, I’m here. You’re okay.”
You gave her a faint smile. “You cried.”
She laughed through the tears, pressing her forehead to yours. “Yeah. I did.”
“Guess I’m special.”
“The most special,” she whispered, cupping your face. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
“I’ll try not to.”
She leaned in, kissing you softly, like she was afraid you’d break. Her lips trembled against yours.
“I love you,” you murmured.
“I love you more,” she said, voice thick. “You have no idea how close I came to losing you.”
“But you didn’t,” you whispered. “You came for me.”
My first Bad Things Happen Bingo space! Prompt is Russian Roulette!
Characters: Jason Todd, Roman Sionis, Dick Grayson
Words: 1121
Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, Gun violence
Enjoy!
(cross--posted on ao3)
Click.
Jason doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look down at the pistol pressed into thigh, right above the rope keeping him bound to the cold metal chair. Black Mask leans in,
“Eight chambers, one bullet.” he drives the gun in harder, “How lucky are you feeling, Red Hood?”
Jason sets his jaw, breathing hard through his nose. He couldn’t answer that if he wanted to, with the wad of fabric shoved behind his teeth and tied in place. It’s a bad situation. A stupid situation, tied up for Roman Sionis in just his cargo pants and his mask. But he doesn’t show his hand. He glares right into Roman’s eyes.
Pull the damn trigger. See if I flinch.
Sionis’ lip curls, he pulls the trigger.
Click.
Jason tries to smile around the gag at Sionis. He wonders distantly if he even can die. If the universe would even let him go back to sleep.
“You’re fuckin’ nuts, kid.”
Roman withdraws, half-smiling, and stalks around Jason slowly. The room behind him is dark, dirty, a garage. A couple fluorescents dimly flicker above them, making the tools on workbenches, covered in rust, or blood, gleam.
Roman’s dress shoes halt behind him, as if he’s done thinking.
Fingers wind into his hair slowly, deliberately. Sionis likes to gloat, especially over the Red Hood, especially since Jason’s pretty sure the last time they met he made Roman piss himself. Or was it the time before? The memory makes him chuckle, or what passes for a chuckle around the gag.
Roman yanks his head back sharply, bending his neck at an uncomfortable angle, and before Jason can get his bearings the pistol is jammed under his chin.
“Somethin’ funny, asshole?”
Jason can’t control the way he grunts in surprise, or the ragged inhales through his nose caused by the awkward angle of his neck. Roman talks close to his ear,
“Remember, kid, I don’t need anything from you.” He yanks Jason’s head back harder, presses the gun further into the soft flesh beneath his chin, “You’re here because I wanna see you squirm before I drop you in the fuckin’ river.”
Jason swallows hard, trying to will his composure back. He’s not someone who squirms.
“You feelin’ brave?” Roman pulls the hammer back on the pistol, “Feelin’ lucky?”
Jason holds his breath.
Click.
“Ha!” Roman releases his hair, patting him firmly on the shoulder, “Look at that—look at that.”
He takes slow steps back into Jason’s view, and sits heavily on the stool facing Jason. Roman takes a long swig from a beer bottle, draining it, and then lets it clatter to the floor.
“Let’s try again, huh?”
Roman lunges forward, shoving the gun into Jason’s ribs.
“This is your last dance, Hood.”
Click. The gun moves to his kneecap. Ice slides down Jason’s spine—how many duds have they gone through? Three? He’d almost rather take a bullet to the head than his––
Click.
Sionis sucks on his teeth, “I’m almost sad to see you go, honest.” The gun comes down on the back of his hand, the one they broke earlier, pinning it to the arm of the chair with the barrel. Jason can’t stifle his pained yelp behind the gag,
“Almost.”
Not his hand, not his fucking—
Click. He lets out a breath, twinging his broken ribs. Four? That was four, he thinks? How the fuck did he lose count? Did Roman say six or eigh—?
CRACK. Jason sees stars, his head thrown into his shoulder when gunmetal hits his cheekbone. Rough fingers latch onto his chin, forcing him to look right at Roman as he holds the gun against Jason’s shoulder.
“Fifty–fifty shot.” Jason hears the hammer pull back, “It’s this, or the next one goes in your head-–”
BANG.
Jason screams behind the gag, head lolling forward, body trying to curl inward as Sionis howls with laughter. Blood pours down his chest, his ears ring, his eyes water at the burning, clawing agony of a point blank gunshot.
While Jason struggles to draw down a breath, Roman reloads the pistol, saying something Jason doesn’t quite catch. Not that he thinks he misses much, when the gun barrel presses into his other shoulder.
Fuck. He protests behind his gag, he can’t help it, but at the same time he forces his eyes up. Forces malice into his expression as Roman leans in again, digging the still hot gunmetal into his collarbone,
“You gonna sing for me again?”
Jason swallows around the cotton in his mouth. He won’t. Not if he can help it. Roman grins.
Click.
This time, Jason’s breathing stays even, his mind focused on his bleeding shoulder. He thinks the gun clicks again, but things start to go fuzzy around the edges.
Shutting down would really piss Sionis off, but it would be a resignation. Giving up on not dying this way.
But Jason can’t always help it. Sionis’ words start to melt together, his mind no longer tracking how many times the gun clicks against his wrist, his temple, his sternum.
Fuck, Jason, focus.
Maybe it’s the blood loss, his shoulder steadily draining his awareness away. He slips, and slips, and–
Reality snaps back into sharp, agonizing focus. Jason can’t make sense of it though, there’s shouting, and his shoulder hurts, it hurts so fucking bad and…
Someone has their fingers in his shoulder.
He yells through clenched teeth, jerking against his restraints in a vain attempt to get Roman off of him.
“--It’s me, Red Hood, breathe.”
Who?
Jason can’t seem to get his eyes to focus properly, but he finds the fingers driven into his shoulder. Blue and back fingers smeared with red.
Dick?
“Don’t look at it.” A hand—a much gentler hand than Roman’s—turns his jaw away from the sight, “Backup is coming.”
Jason finds Dick’s face. Nightwing’s mask. He looks serious, and Jason finds he has to focus hard to follow what he’s saying,
“--Hey, Can you hear me? You’re losing a lot of blood, I need you to stay awake.”
Jason hears himself agree. When did he lose the gag? Dick’s free hand snaps in front of his eyes,
“Focus.” It sounds like Bruce. Before Jason knows it his head is lolling forward again,
“Red Hood.”
Jason blinks hard, trying to clear the black dots spotting his vision.
How did Dick find him? What happened to Black Mask?
He thinks he hears other voices, and Dick shouting. He tries to stay awake, he really and truly does.
“Red Hood.”
A car engine, the smell of blood and leather,
“Jason!”
Someone digs into his shoulder. He tries to stay awake…he tries…it’s fucking cold.
When warm darkness embraces him, he can’t find it within himself to keep resisting.
I Just Might Have a Problem That You'll Understand
aka The Buck Sleeps in the Jeep fic
wc: 10,500
tags: Cold!Buck, Insomniac!Eddie, light angst, comfort, truly the mildest bad thing to ever bingo, Buck logic, Season 2, ever since the beginning they've been weird about each other
Not sure if you're still taking prompts, but if so, would love to see something about Toothless + disability/chronic pain. There's so many wonderful fics abt like, Hiccup having a bad pain day and Toothless comforting him, but I'm really hungry for one where they're both hurting bc there's a snowstorm or something <3
Sorry this took so long to get done! I wrote this in the midst of one of the worst flares I've had in a while, so a looooot of that went into this fic (also a lot of research about amputation/phantom/scar tissue pain). Hopefully it's worth the wait!) Thanks so much for the ask! (Also, I'm using this fic to check off a BTHB square, too!)
‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚
Hiccup's Reason by Emachinescat (AO3)
HTTYD | Link in Title
When a bad pain flare hits both Hiccup and Toothless at the same time, dragon and rider take care of one another - and Hiccup learns a valuable lesson from his dragon along the way.
Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon (Animated Movies), DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon)
Words: 4,898 | Chapters: 1/1 | Rating: General Audiences | Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply | Category: Gen | Part 2 of Bad Things Happen Bingo, Part 23 of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Hurt
Relationships: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Toothless | Characters: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, Toothless (How to Train Your Dragon)
Additional Tags: Chronic Pain, Phantom pain, Fibromyalgia, Scar Pain, Hurt/Comfort, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III & Toothless Friendship, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III Whump, Hurt Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III Needs a Hug, Hurt Toothless (How to Train Your Dragon), Friendship, dragon cuddles, Worried Toothless, Worried Hiccup, Amputation, wrote this fic during an awful flare up, so much of it is deeply personal to my own experiences, Pain, Scars, The boys taking care of each other <3, Whump, Angst, a lil, because i can't help myself
‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚
Excerpt below; read the whole fic on AO3! <3
‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚.‧⁺ ⊹˚
Even before he opened his eyes, Hiccup knew it was going to be one of those days.
He hadn't moved yet, hadn't so much as shifted his legs or turned his head, but he could already feel it, descending upon him like a heavy shroud, wrapping his body in layers of pain and fatigue, scrambling his mind and setting his senses on fire. And the warning buzz in his lower left leg — which didn't even exist because he'd lost it three years ago — painted a grim picture of what was to come in the next few hours.
Nausea settled itself in the pit of his stomach, skin crawling and joints preemptively aching at the thought of moving, of sitting up, of strapping on his prosthetic leg and forcing himself to stand. Of dragging himself to the Clubhouse and subjecting himself to the chaos of breakfast with the other riders. Normally he enjoyed eating with his friends, but when he woke up feeling like this, the laughter was always too loud, the overlapping voices too overwhelming, and any degree of touch too grating on his already shredded nerves.
And so Hiccup didn't move. He didn't rise. Not yet. Just for now, for the next few minutes, he could rest here in this in-between state, where the full weight of the pain and fatigue had not yet crashed down on him, where he hurt but not too much, where, if he focused hard on something else, he could almost convince himself that this was going to be a normal day with a normal level of pain and a normal amount of exhaustion.
Being an amputee on Berk was not unusual by any means — though Hiccup was definitely the youngest — which meant that Hiccup had already known a bit of what to expect when he lost his leg. Especially growing up with Gobber as a mentor. Hiccup knew all about phantom limb pain, and how the scar tissue on the stump often hurt, especially if there was bad weather brewing just over the horizon. Between Gobber and his two stumps and Bucket and his, well, bucket, the village had never been struck by a storm unprepared.
(A storm was on its way now; he knew this already. He and the others had spotted it on a scouting mission, blowing their way from the east. They'd hoped it would blow itself out by the time it reached the Edge, but based on the agony in Hiccup's stump, it was good that they'd made preparations just in case.)
So although Hiccup had dreaded the possibility of long-lasting pain after his amputation, he'd at least had an idea of what awaited him. Or so he'd thought.
Because what he had not anticipated was the full-body assault that had accompanied the phantom and stump pains. It, much like the amputation pain, ebbed and flowed, though it never fully receded. It usually settled like a coiled viper in his joints, stretched along his muscles, and brought with it a fatigue so staggering, so all-encompassing, that it had a physical presence, like millstones had been tied to his limbs and hung around his neck, like enormous, unyielding hands were pressing against his shoulders, pushing him down, wringing him out.
Characters: John Carter, Peter Benton, Doug Ross, OMC
Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Sexual Harassment, Abuse of Authority, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Violence, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, John Carter needs therapy, Self-Blame
MIND THE TAGS
Summary:
“Frewer’s been hanging around here a lot.” Doug peers at Peter from behind his safety glasses.
“He’s just observing the ER.”
“That man isn’t observing much besides John Carter.”
Peter clenches his jaw. “What are you implying?”
-
A newcomer at County takes an interest in John Carter.
Read on AO3
Written for Bad Things Happen Bingo square: It's All My Fault
