NO MINORS 🔞 This is sort of a side blog of @osp-originals. I post whump stories & sickfics about my OCs there and fanfics here (see pinned post for more). There is some 18+ content on this blog. I am 21. They/them. Also if you think you know me irl, no you don’t. What happens on Tumblr stays on Tumblr.
I’m a whump/sickfic writer, and I post my stories about my OCs on @osp-originals. I write some fluff, some angst, but mostly comfort/happy endings because that’s what I like :) I personally like emeto and fainting, but I will absolutely include other stuff if you want it.
My boundaries for requests
I do sickfics and injury whump :)
Stuff I would love to write and please do request it:
Vomiting/nausea (my favor
This is (kind of?) a side blog, where I reblog stuff, posts prompts/inspiration, and interact with the community. I post fanfics here whenever I have a fandom to write for, and when I don’t, I sometimes post original stories on my other account. My current fandom(s) is/are: Superman (film, 2025), Superman I-IV (film series, 1978-87), Lord of the Rings (film series, 2001-03), Dispatch (Video Game), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), and Project Hail Mary (film, 2026).
Im also now selling emeto videos and audios, some with just me and some with me and a partner! That’s what I’ll be posting about the most right now. DM me for more info or to buy one! Here’s a post with links to all the previews I have up:
Tumblr is a place to express yourself, discover yourself, and bond over the stuff you love. It's where your interests connect you with your
Literally will sell my soul and give you my first born (child? Kitten? Whatever) for more PHM miserable grace 😭 I’ve been dying for some PHM whump/sickfic and lost my absolute shit when I saw you, one of my favorite blogs, write something. So thank you 🙇♀️
THE FIXATION IS STRONG. They are constantly rotating in my mind, beat up and suffering. There will likely be an amount of fic that suggests I am unwell. And if you have specific requests i am taking them!!
hellooooo okay so i saw your poll post (i am also an avid sickfic writer who is hyperfixated on phm) and wanted to share An Idea (not necessarily a prompt unless you like it, just a Thought): I like the idea of stress-sick Grace getting symptoms slowly that Rocky doesn't know to associate with illness. Headache? Grace gets those when he looks through the microscope or at his computer for too long. he takes a pill and he's fine. Nausea? Grace gets that when he goes too long between meals. he eats something and he's fine. Dizziness? happens when they switch around gravity levels. it goes away in an hour or two.
so he kind of writes the stuff off as normal human things, maybe even thinks he's whining, until grace either displays something new and concerning (i.e. chills and fever or fainting or something) or crashes out really badly and Rocky realizes that all these things in combination make Grace Big Not Feel Good and he needs a break :)
Yesss!! Yes yes yes. Thank you for the ideas!!! I will definitely be incorporating these…
I want to make some sort of whump centered game where you take care of & help several people with various injuries/illnesses,
idk what the setup should be tho. Like why the protagonist would be in the situation to help all these people. Maybe it could just be like a normal setting but everyone needs help randomly lol
I got h^gh for 4/20 with some friends and ate a lot of chips and candy. I felt very full so I decided to do this. Mostly brought up water though because I drank a lot of it to help it come up naturally.
In the full video you can see my face and I’ll include more of the buildup/full clips. Message me if you’re interested.
Anyway I hope you enjoy the cheeky editing style on this one :)
To be honest there's barely any lore about what happened to Aragorn in Moria (or when it happened, for that matter), just a couple throwaway bits of dialogue that imply that something bad happened, and there's only a couple of details that can be inferred from what the Fellowship knew or didn't know about Moria overall before going in, it's just something i like rotating in my mind from time to time lol bc i mean, it's canon trauma with absolutely no details given really, so a fun mystery box for me to poke XD also to be honest i keep forgetting what book details weren't included in the movies ':D
but as a less lore-heavy Aragorn prompt, if I may: pre-canon, he's traveling alone somewhere in the Misty Mountains when he's ambushed by a bunch of orcs. He manages to fight them off for the time being, but is wounded. Can he make it down from the mountains and somewhere safe despite the injuries, or will the remaining orcs or the harsh unforgiving weather and environment of the mountains prove to be his end? (you can choose freely how far north or south he is, and what other locations may or may not be involved; there's maps online that you can glance at to pick what sounds fun for you)
Over The Misty Mountains
Pulled this out of the drafts bc I just watched lord of the rings again! Thanks for the request and sorry it took so long for me to get to it. I hope you liked my Moria fic and I hope you’ll like this one too!
TW: violence, breaking bones, hypothermia
———
He was awoken from his sleep by guttural snarls echoing in the mountains.
Orcs.
He would recognize those disgusting sounds anywhere.
He picked up his supplies and started walking down the mountainside. It looked like the sun would rise soon anyway.
Not minutes later, the sound of the orcs snarls and footsteps in the snow changed; they were no longer on the other side of the mountain. He looked up behind him and his eyes confirmed it. The silhouettes of a small horde of orcs poured over the ridge, now protected from the rising sun.
They didn’t seem to be slowing. It’s almost like they were headed for Rivendell, same as he was.
He picked up his pace and immediately heard the orcs yell and start to run after him. He scanned the area for a place to hide. There was nothing but the blank canvas of snow ahead of him. He’d have no choice but to paint it with orc blood.
•••
The white mountainside was splattered with black and red, and littered with the bodies of dead orcs and a wounded ranger. As the battle was over, he allowed himself to fall backwards onto the snow. It was over a foot deep and pillowy soft. He almost wanted to go back to sleep, but he stayed alert. Now was no time to let his guard down.
He assessed the damage. He wasn’t severely injured besides his legs. His left leg was battered and his knee almost certainly broken. His right leg was slashed through the thigh and bleeding rapidly. He hurriedly dug through his pack and pulled out the bandages. He knew he had to address the bleeding quickly before his strength started to wane. He tied the bandage around the wound tight as he could manage, which was quite painful, but it wasn’t quite tight enough to stop the flow of blood entirely.
This is when his hope started to falter. If he was already too weak to tie a bandage properly, would he make it anywhere near Ilmadris? He could just barely see it in the distance. Nevertheless he must keep going. He could not give up so easily. He wrapped another bandage around his left knee, which, by the pain, he could tell was certainly broken. There was no chance he could walk, so he would have to crawl.
And crawl he did. No longer could he see the towering castles of Rivendell through the gaps between the mountaintops. He plowed his way through the thick blanket of snow.
Every now and then he would prop himself up with his arms to see how far he had made it. He do this more and more often as time went on, becoming more disappointed each time as he realized it wasn’t nearly as far as he’d hoped. Occasionally he’d look up at the sky to see what time had passed. It was only when he looked up and saw the sun nearly at its apex that he realized he had not yet eaten that day.
His hands shakily unwrapped a piece of lembas bread he had saved for times like this. He took a bite of the magical bread, then put it back in his pack and carried on dragging his own body behind him like a corpse.
He carried on, and on until the sun set. He was utterly exhausted, but there was not a place of respite in sight. No cave openings, no rocky outcroppings. To make things worse, it was getting hard for him to think. He tried to think of how he would recount this once he reached Imladris, or if he was somehow rescued. All he could think of was ‘cold,’ but the word cold would not remotely do it justice, and he knew so.
He eventually decided that there was no way he could continue on, and so he simply turned on his side, curled up as much as he could, and laid there hoping to eventually fall asleep. The foot-deep snow protected him from the thrash of the frigid winds, and the thick winter ranging clothes he wore insulated him against the ice. Still, he could not stop shivering.
The night was quiet but for the howling of the wind through the valleys. Stars dotted the ink-black sky. It was eerily serene, the land untouched by man, orc, or beast. He had never felt more alone, and never would feel so for the rest of his life.
•••
He awoke to the sound of wind, no longer the calm howls from before, but the violent shrieks of a snowstorm. He rubbed the icicles from his eyelashes. A fresh layer of snow coated the ground and lay over him like a wet blanket. The cold had penetrated his mask and gloves. He could barely feel his nose.
He would surely die should he stay here.
Stretching out to crawl again felt like pulling every muscle in his body until they were about to snap in half. He put one arm in front of the other and pulled himself forward, then again and again, each time dragging himself down the mountainside by half a foot.
The pain in his legs became dull. He wondered if he’d ever walk again. He wondered if he’d make it out of this alive. If he was to die today, he would die fighting until the last breath. If he was to die today, he would die of wounds inflicted in battle, pulling himself towards his love. If he was to die today, he only hoped that someone would find his body perfectly preserved by the ice and tell the story of this effort in a manner fitting of a hero or warrior. And if he was to live, he would tell it himself tomorrow.
This thought kept him going. Even as his hands went numb, his lungs would barely take in air, and his arms could hardly lift off the ground, he pushed forward. The snow eventually stopped falling and the wind slowed down. He began to feel warm. Uncomfortably so, in fact. Was it just in comparison to the bitter wind that blew not long ago? Or was it a trick of his mind?
As his thoughts became more and more muddled, all he could think of was Arwen’s face, eyes staring deep into his soul, begging him to hold on just a little longer.
He couldn’t move anymore. He was utterly still. He had stopped shivering long ago. He was just a speck on the canvas, listening to the tranquil whistle of the wind through the mountains. His body wanted to sleep, but he clung desperately to consciousness. It was all he had left. He had to hold on, for her. He could almost hear her voice.
“My love, come back to me,” she would say. “Come back to me.”
And he would feel her arms around him, wrapping him in a blanket, and he would feel the soft wool against his skin.
He opened his eyes. He wasn’t sure when he had closed them, but he saw the same thing as he did in his mind: Arwen’s angelic face looking down at him, now with tears in her eyes. A smile grew on her lips.
“Oh, love,” she breathed. “I thought I had lost you.”
She laid her head on his chest, her hands on his shoulders. He could feel them through the thick blanket. Could this be real? He tried to lift his hand to place it on her head, but he couldn’t move it.
Then, within moments, his arms and legs went from numb to searing, from silent to suddenly screaming. Every part of his body started to shiver violently. He let out an involuntary sound of pain that his stoic face may not have betrayed.
“It’s all right, love,” said Arwen, lifting her head and gently stroking his hair. “I’m here.”
“My love,” he breathed, his voice shaking and strained.
“Shh,” said Arwen. “You need not speak. Rest, my dear.”
As he tried to piece together where he was and what was happening, he looked to his left and noticed a gently crackling fire in a hearth, though its heat felt more like a roaring furnace. Feeling returned to his limbs in the form of tingling, pain like a thousand tiny knives stabbing him repeatedly. The worst pain was in his legs, which he remembered were both injured. He noticed they were now each wrapped tightly, much better than he was able to do after the battle. His mind turned back to where he was and who was caring for him.
As soon as he noticed the beautiful architecture and swirling motifs surrounding him, though, he knew where he was: Rivendell, perhaps in the House of Elrond. He breathed a shuddering sigh of relief. No matter what had happened, or how he felt now, he knew he was safe here. It must be real. Every little detail was just right, and most saliently, Arwen was here. She would not let any harm come to him.
Soon another figure appeared in his periphery. An elven man with hair dark like Arwen’s, and a face he knew well. He carried an ornate teacup and bore a warm smile.
“Aragorn. It is good to see you awake.”
“Lord Elrond,” Aragorn greeted him, ever formal, despite the situation.
Elrond knelt down next to him. He could see the light steam rising from the cup and its sweet scent made his mouth begin to water. Arwen helped him sit upright, and as the blanket slid down and freed his arms, he reached for the cup without a second thought. He took it in his trembling hands and brought it to his lips, then drank it down with the fervor of a starved animal. The warmth of the tea traveled down his throat and filled him to his core. He immediately felt reinvigorated, although his muscles would not stop shaking.
“Thank you,” he breathed, unable to say much more in his state.
Elrond nodded in acknowledgment. “I am glad to see you recovering. When you had not arrived this morning, Arwen requested I call upon the eagles to search for you, and she insisted on leading the search herself.”
“Yes,” said Arwen. “And good that I did. When I found you on the mountain, I believed you to be dead!”
“I believed so as well,” Aragorn said.
He was confident he had been moments from death, and her finding him when she did was nothing short of a miracle.
———
The end yaaay hope u liked it!!
Here’s a link to that other Aragorn fic mentioned in the ask:
Tumblr is a place to express yourself, discover yourself, and bond over the stuff you love. It's where your interests connect you with your
had a dream the other night that my girlfriend was ill and throwing up, and i had to help her. it lasted a while, and afterwards she admitted to me that she was kinda into it. and I was so shocked and tried to be casual about being into it too lol.
a question for anyone who reads this: is there a ‘liking fingers pushed into your mouth/throat to emeto pipeline? because she definitely seems into that. we only stop when she gags but sometimes she asks me to start again afterwards. it just feels very emeto coded to me but that’s because I’m always thinking of that obviously.
My partner is into fingers in their mouth, and they are very accepting of my emeto kink. The first thing they said when I told them I was into that was something like “oh, that’s not that bad. I’d let someone make me vomit.”
guys how am i supposed to find a loving lasting relationship when he just wants to fuck me and i just want to see him puke like wtf cursed with the art of seduction only frfr
do you all question this too or are you managing fine
It’s been so long.. I feel like I should exercise my writing skills. I might write more LotR fanfic… do I have any LotR nerds in the house who’d like to give me ideas?
Sickie that throws up easily, getting everything up in 3-4 massive waves of vomit
Sickie that can only get up a little at a time, puking up mouthfuls a in quick succession, easily vomiting 5, 10, 15 times in a row, hardly getting time to breathe
Sickie that gets nauseous very suddenly and has to urgently run to the bathroom, not always making it before they vomit on the floor
Sickie that always struggles to puke, dealing with hours of awful nausea and unproductive gagging before they can finally get relief
Sickie that coughs and coughs until they cough up a wave of sick. Choking after every time they retch or vomit
Sickie that burps a lot, patting their back to help them burp up the trapped air, until they start to gag. Long, wet burps turning into streams of vomit
Sickie that vomits so violently that they get dizzy, see spots, and often faint from the exertion
Sickie that gags and vomits weakly and quietly, exhausted and barely awake
Sickie that can't help puking loudly, their retching and moaning clearly audible even with the door shut and the tap running
Sickie that's afraid to throw up, crying and shaking when they feel queasy, squeezing your hand when they pant and heave into the toilet bowl
This is from that Friendsgiving event I mentioned previously. I have so many other videos but this one was just too good not to edit and post first.
The full version includes one more natural and a bunch more with my fingers, and shows my face. You can see how relieved I was after that first one… seriously I felt so much better after each one.
DM me if you want to see the rest!
PS does anyone know a better way to share files privately than Google Drive?
