want to beat up a character but don't know how you wanna do it? same here, friend. behold, the whump wheel! it currently has 60 different prompts/tropes on it and is ready for use! 🎉 i...love this thing. it is wonderful for writing exercises. (if you wanna know what's on it before using it, take a peak at the screenshot below)
save me terrible horror movie from 2009
do y'all want to see my total replacement au of the haunting in connecticut
Listening....
looking at you with big wet eyes
I've seen it, go ahead.
So I have worked my nerve up and my hyperfixation has not gone away
Alright
I yelled about this on discord a bunch but hopefully this will be a little more cohesive.
You’ve been getting abducted by aliens at night for months now with the aliens performing all sorts of medical examinations on you. But, hey, it’s cheaper than health insurance.
“I think there’s been a mistake. Maybe you’re new here. Can you tell the receptionist that you have Heather Martinson in examination? Or you could just ask Mil’kan’it if she’s here.”
The insectoid alien stared at me for a long moment. It was funny how a look of stunned confusion was so often similar across species. All it included was a strange lack of movement and their eyes, whatever form they took, examining what was in front of them as if it might change into something more sensible. “I… What?” Their chittering translated back to me, as my English had to them.
“The straps aren’t necessary,” I told him, giving him finger waves from both immobilized hands. “Everything goes a lot faster if it’s easy to move the patient, right? And muscle relaxants and anesthesia mess with results. Plus, Mil’kan’it said some of the stuff they use on humans gets put on backorder so often.”
The alien glanced at the data on their tablet and then looked back to me. “If you’ll…excuse me.” With a final glance, they left the room through the automatic doors.
Leaning back into the headrest with a sigh, I stared at the smooth metal ceiling of the examination room in the alien spacecraft, feeling as if I were at the dentist. The biggest difference being that the lights in here weren’t shining directly into my eyes. One of the scientists had laughed when I told him about that issue. I guess when you’ve got a certain level of tech, needing sunglasses to have work done on your teeth would seem hilarious.
They had actually done a couple scans on me over time that took a while, leaving me laying down with nothing to do, but unlike the dentist, the folks here were delightfully generous in entertainment. I’d been able to see two movies so far that had hadn’t even been released on streaming services yet, projected on the ceiling above me. When I explained it was no problem for me to lay there for two hours if I had something to watch, they’d immediately asked me for my to-watch list. Apparently, there was even one special request from their psychology department for a brain scan to be done specifically while I was watching a movie, and the more complex and emotional it was, the better.
The doors smoothly opened, and I heard a familiar voice say, “Heather! How are you?”
“Ixira,” I said in surprise. “I thought you were heading back home?”
The scientist’s antennae flicked in what I recognized as irritation as she came over and used her graspers to unlatch the straps on my wrists, ankles, and forehead. “I did. Then I came back, because apparently this place falls apart without me. It’s a whole mess, forget it.” I sat up, stretching. “I’ll be off on my vacation for real soon enough.”
“All right then. Introduce me?” I asked, motioning to the alien beside her.
“Right. This is Unkiwar. He’s been with us for…about seventeen…Earth days? I think that’s accurate.” She motioned to me. “Unkiwar, this is Heather. She’s a regular here. We pick her up once every {six weeks} or so, ever since that first abduction when we worked out she’s fine with it.”
“Fine?” he echoed. “That’s not the typical…reaction.”
I chuckled. “This is free healthcare, my alien friend,” I said. “Free hyper advanced alien healthcare. You know what that means to an American Earthling?”
Ixira gestured her agreement. “Where she lives on her planet, the health issues she struggles with cost an extraordinary amount of currency. So, she’s happy to donate time to our research when she also benefits. It was an easy deal to make. Being able to pick up the same subject for repeat examinations, with full cooperation? It’s been fantastic. Two other humans have the same deal and we’re working to increase that number. Heather advised us to go to certain territories on the planet, where healthcare is sparse.”
“Yeah, and as soon as you explain the whole colonoscopy thing, you get a much less pervy reputation.”
“Pervy?” Unkiwar exclaimed. “It’s an examination of where your waste exits your body!”
I grimaced and glanced to Ixira. “Just tell him later.”
“Yeah,” she said dismissively.
“Teeth health is a big deal too,” I said, clacking my jaws together twice. “I lost the genetic lottery, and even brushing and flossing like it’s a religion only does so much.”
Unkiwar turned to Ixira. “I don’t understand. Why are the bones in her mouth difficult to maintain?”
“They’re not bones,” she explained. “Human skeletons are protein collagen and calcium phosphate. Teeth are dentin, enamel, and cementum.”
The male alien shifted in a way that indicated an irritated dismissal. “So?”
“So,” I sighed, “they need maintenance because they can’t heal themselves. If they get infected under the tooth, it can be agony. And if they get damaged it costs somewhere between my cell phone bill and a new car.”
“I…don’t know what that means,” Unkiwar said slowly, “but it doesn’t sound pleasant.”
Ixira looked down at her tablet to poke and swipe at it. “It’s all in this seminar lecture I watched a while ago,” she said absently. “There. You should watch that one and…this one. Human biology is fascinating, despite the nonsense their evolution has put them through.”
“Anyway,” I said, drumming a beat briefly on my thighs, startling Unkiwar, “what’s on the agenda today?”
“Let’s see… Standard examination,” Ixira said with a nod, reading something on her tablet. “We’ll also need four blood samples, because not only have the labs not gotten their act together about sharing yet, but we have a fourth lab that just qualified to assist in research.”
Grinning, I chuckled. “Ah, I’m just too popular.”
“Indeed. Today is Muscle Day, so we’ll be taking those samples as well,” she said slowly, “and it’s time for another full body scan.”
I sat up straight. “Do I get a movie?”
Ixira’s body language shifted to haughty delight. “I got you the new Mean Girls movie.”
My jaw dropped. “That’s not even in theaters yet!”
“Apparently stealing a film is not as difficult as stealing a human,” the scientist chuckled. “Go figure.”
/r/storiesbykaren
Hi folks, it's the holidays.
I'll write for original, terato, whump, anthro, and most nsfw-- just ask!
Fandoms are multifarious and I don't want to clutter this post up by listing them all but I'm willing to research in most cases where I'm not familiar. As far as terato goes, I've got experience with Norse, Celtic, and a little of everything else-- so your each-uisge x reader fic idea is more than welcome here.
Send me a DM if you're interested, and if you think you might know someone who is, a signal boost is always appreciated! Thanks!
--
It's flu season on base. Doc didn't really care about it, O'Malley even less so, but Oklahoma is a bit more invasive pushy overbearing stubborn infuriating thorough about preventive care, so on a rotating schedule at both bases, everyone's been shot.
She had put off her own dose until everyone else was out of the woods with their side effects; this new strain that's capable of infecting aliens and humans is so virulent and tenacious that the shot itself is nearly as bad as the sickness, albeit in a controlled environment and for days instead of weeks/months/the rest of the patient's very short and miserable life. It's... well... it's bad.
Out of the collected sim troops, mercenaries, and fellow Freelancers on both bases, she's had ten people faint, four of them with no history of syncope, five or maybe six-- she doesn't know how to count the AI version-- cases of severe nausea and vomiting, and upwards of a dozen severe fevers that set off biochip alarms and even got them a call from Command to ask if they needed to send someone from Recovery. The offer was appreciated, but ultimately declined, as the agent in question was being hosed down in a cold shower and given as many antipyretics as safely possible. You're not supposed to take them for a post-vaccine fever, but at this point, knocking down his immune response by reducing the fever was a smaller concern than the hundred and fourteen degree temporal artery reading and the possibility of severe brain damage. (Wyoming is fine, but his accent appears to have boiled off.)
Add in to that the migraines, regular headaches, bad-but-not-severe fevers (miserable anyway), and general malaise, and it's a really good thing the only threats to look out for in Blood Gulch are the guys on the other team. She's started more IVs and given more fluids and meds in the past week than in a month of typical missions. And yesterday, she finished out treatment for everyone else, did another round of checkups to make absolutely sure everyone was in great shape, then double checked again to be safe. Late that evening, in the medbay, she shot herself.
She can vaguely remember thinking, huh. That wasn't so bad. But then for most people it started after a few---
It was close to three AM when she woke up in the floor, dazed and dizzy, ears ringing. Groaning, she set her alarm and curled back up, face against the blessedly cool tile floor. Not sanitary, but she was a little too feverish to care.
Two hours later, at zero five hundred, the alarm went off, dragging OK out of a fever dream that may eventually require trauma therapy. She managed to get out of the floor, cleaned up, changed, and settled at her desk, but there's no energy left for anything else. Sounds are muffled as if they're underwater, overlaid with echoing ringing. It feels like her bones are melting. But as long as no one needs her, and no one gets sick, and there's no reason for her to have to move, talk, think, or breathe, she'll be fine.
i am not supposed to be at work i am supposed to be shoved roughly against someone's chest while they're trying to warm me up from hypothermia and yelling at me for being an idiot. blood spattered armor clunking together and they jerk theirs off, mine off, and zip me into their blacks, ice crystals and all, melting on contact, and I can smell their blood and mine mixing on their skin. and I'm coughing and whimpering and I'm never called by anything but a callsign or nickname when I'm being referred to; and people DO NOT talk TO me, except the one hanging onto me for dear life with a grip whose bruising strength is born of terrified desperation, and chewing me out for giving a patient my cold weather gear, thus making ME the one who was dying of hypothermia when the extraction team showed up. and he's the only one talking to me directly. everybody else-- they just talk over my head to the guy holding me and berating me and rubbing my back, how is she? gonna make it? and he growls at them and says probably fine. we got here in time to save her dumb ass. fucking idiot. but he says it a little bit fondly at the very end.
So i see we’re being normal on this day
do you think you could hush
Hi folks, I want to try getting my feet wet with commissions but my turnaround time can be pretty variable, so I'm starting with really simple and quick ones.
Simple blueline sketch (or whatever color you want! it's just called a blueline) for
which is a pretty great deal! I know I've got a lot of mutuals with oc legacies; you could get the entire legacy done for less than a bad trip to the dollar store. The color and 'medium' (brush type) are your choice; the choices used below are pink for color and rough charcoal for medium, respectively. Your sketch will be cleaned up slightly, and will have major details and basic shading. It will be intentionally, stylistically, loose compared to a finished rendered piece. Here to model this kind of sketch for us is @grandninjamasterren 's oc, Ivanye.
awww, he's so cute! He was such a good model too. Very still. (Thanks to the two mutuals I dm'd at 6 this morning for help so he could be a surprise, too.)
I'll write for most original prompts and some fandoms, and I specialize in accurate medical whump-- I'm an RN BSN IRL, and medicine is something of a special interest.
covers 100 words of original writing or 250 words of editing.
--
Not super great with asks, so please dm if you'd like to work with me! Due to my current slower turnaround time I'll be opening one slot at a time and working with whoever I hear from first. This would help out a lot for various reasons. Thanks!
When two characters are injured, badly enough to be confined to bed, but they have to be kept together, in the same room or even the same bed, otherwise they'll wake up and go frantic trying to look for the other- calling out for them, struggling upright, crawling out of bed, staggering from the room; desperate to find the other and panicking to know they're alright- so if they're to get any rest in order to recover they need to be within sight and reach of each other, so when they wake up they're right there, able to reassure each other that they're alive and safe and healing.
Whumptober - 05: Buried Alive
Simon Riley x reader
A/N: Laptop finally fixed but now I'm sick!! Motivation at zero too but I hope y'all enjoy.
You woke gasping for air, coughing as your lungs filled with dust particulate. Taste was the first of your senses to return, an unpleasant mix of ash and plaster stuck to the linings of your mouth.
Your head aches something fierce and though your vision is still slightly blurry you can still see the blood that covers your fingers from after you’d touched your hairline. The ringing in your ears is almost unbearable and it makes your head ache even more.
Your memories are even hazier than your vision and it takes more than a few minutes before you remember where you are. You remember Gaz’s voice, far more frantic than was typical of the usually cool man, as he’d yelled at you to get out of the building.
obsessed with characters being saved against their will. being knocked unconscious and carried away from a danger they won't stop trying to fight. being shoved through a portal somewhere far away and safe right before it closes. trying to self-sacrifice only to have the exact person they're trying to save swap their places at the last second. getting the only cure to the disease or curse bc the person administering it loves them too much to give it to anyone else, including themselves. being thrown to safety right as they had accepted dying. someone else they thought had gotten to safety running back to drag them out of danger. it's so fucking tasty
shared with permission, my medic being extra snarky at @grandninjamasterren 's oc, who's trying to give himself stitches...
When you can’t find what you need, you write what you need. Here’s a little piece because I am sick and feel like shit and this is so wildly self indulgent it should be a crime. Full of medical inaccuracies (fever, abdominal pain, basically all my current symptoms 👍) and horrid UK slang, I’m sure. But cut me a break, I wrote this in a feverish haze lol. Also, barely proofread because, again, fever.
Simon x Johnny x F!Reader (because having one muscular military man look after me right now would simply not suffice). Established Throuple!!!
I would be remiss if I did not tip my hat to the Queen and Mother of the Ghoap Throuple™ herself: @peachesofteal If you need more Throuple in your life, like me, you have got to read her stuff.
________________________________________
“We have e’ry fucking right to go see her.”
Johnny was defensive, on guard. A bloodthirsty side that only showed itself in the most dire of circumstances. “We’re her next of kin,” he all but growled, glaring daggers at the poor charge nurse who was unlucky enough to be the one delivering bad news to the two hulking men in the corner of the deserted waiting room. She wasn’t sure who was more intimidating: the masked man sitting stoically in the chair, his eery silence in stark juxtaposition with his tense posture, stress radiating from him in waves. Or, the temperamental Scott who hadn’t stopped pacing since they stepped over the threshold of the waiting room.
A character with the mentality, if I’m not dead I’m fine. They hold out under torture, go through extreme conditions like starvation and dehydration, and don’t shrink back from danger. Every time they feel themself getting scared they rebuke themself, sneering contemptuously at the fact that they would even think to act frail when they know better. Getting hurt is never a problem for them. It can’t ever be a problem for them because they have to.
Even if they do start to sniffle a little when they’re alone out in the cold, rocking while cradling a broken bone, knowing no one is coming to help them.
