celosiaa

[celosiaa]

TW: MEDWHUMP/MEDICAL LANGUAGE

Welcome to Medwhump May 2025! This challenge was a success last year so I'm back here again for round 2!

RULES:

No AI-generated content

For completionists, you must fill in a prompt for all 31 days, whether this is the daily prompt or one of the alt prompts. The timeframe for completion doesn't matter (i.e whether you fill all 31 prompts in one day, or take a few months)

If you'd like your work to be featured on this page, please tag this account, @medwhumpmay , and use the tag 'medwhumpmay2025'

When tagging, please use the appropriate whump tag e.g 'seizure whump' instead of just 'seizures'. This avoids clogging important tags with whump content.

Have fun!

If you need any clarification, please feel free to send in an ask or reply to this post and I'll do my best to get back to you.

Thanks to everybody who submitted their prompts, and please reblog for reach!

Happy whumping ❤️

- @whumpetywhumpwhump

[celosiaa]

Chapter 2/2

When Jon wakes, it’s to the unpleasant feeling of perspiration sticking his face to the industrial carpeting. He’s damp all over, shuddering cold, eyes trying in vain to focus on anything before him before he realizes his glasses have fallen off. Dimly, he comes to the conclusion that he must have fainted after all.

“Fuck,” he mutters—to himself, to the empty lecture hall, he doesn’t know. But it’s as good a summary of how he feels as he can give right now.

His head gives a very unpleasant throb as he experiments with shifting slightly more upright, and he realizes he doesn’t know if he’s hit it. And that is a feeling he never, ever likes. Nor does Martin, for that matter.

Martin.

Martin had been right, of course, as always. He shouldn’t have come to work today. But he cannot seem to ever fully shake the need to dive headfirst into his work, spend more time than anyone else on it, and make sure his students are set up for success. That his research is on course. That he can make bloody tenure, and not have to worry so much about his ability to provide for his family. He had to come to work today. Didn’t he?

He doesn’t know anymore.

Jon rolls onto his back, groaning as he realizes both his right hip and knee have subluxated during his unintended respite on the floor. He lifts his thigh and brings it gently, gently to the opposite side of his body, until it shifts and pops, sending a brief bolt of lightning down his leg. The sharp intake of breath sets him off into another coughing fit—he rolls back onto his side to prop himself up on an elbow,  in an effort not to choke. To his immense irritation, his hip slides immediately back out of place, jostling with every ragged cough.

God, his chest hurts.

It’s getting harder to keep his eyes open.

…he might need help.

Blinking away the stars in his vision as best he can, Jon squints around his immediate vicinity, searching for either his glasses or his phone. A glint near the corner of his desk catches his eye—likely the light reflecting off his glasses. He reaches shakily for them, his heart pounding frustratedly at the effort. Placing them on his face helps him feel slightly more oriented, as the world comes into better focus. He takes a moment to breathe as steadily as he can, gathering strength before pushing himself more upright, shifting so that his back rests against the side of the desk.

He keeps breathing.

His heart rate climbs, and climbs.

He presses his lips together against the encroaching numbness, digging his tingling fingers into his legs in an effort to keep himself grounded.

Come on, come on, come on, he mutters internally, begging his body to find equilibrium.

His eyes drift closed for just a moment before he snaps them back open. And again. And again, his head starting to bob.

It’s not working. He can’t stay upright like this.

Jon needs to find his phone and call Martin before the fatigue takes him under. Before—god forbid—his next class enters the room. Breathing heavily, one hand on his heaving chest, he scans his surroundings again for his phone without luck. Starting to panic now, he fights back against the rising coughing fit he knows is coming—and realizes his phone is in his pocket. Cursing himself, he extracts it, limbs so, so heavy now, and lies back down before more damage can be done.

He can’t move his hands anymore.

He has to.

It pushes him beyond his limits, but Jon drags his hand across the screen and presses the call button.

“Hi love, you alright?”

It’s all so quiet, now. He’s floating away from his body, with no voice to reply.

“Jon?”

“M’tin,” is all he can whisper.

He must lose small amount of time, because the next sound he’s aware of is Martin’s tinny voice over the phone, calling his name over and over, begging him to answer. God, it’s all so heavy. He shoulders the weight as best he can, and speaks.

“M’here,” he croaks, fighting back against another coughing fit.

“Christ, Jon, what happened? Did you pass out?”

“Don’t…think so. This time.”

“This time?”

The sound of keys jingling and shoes being kicked on follows Martin’s tone of barely-concealed panic, and Jon feels at once both guilty and relieved.

“Sorry,” he says, and it sends him back into shallow coughing, for which he tries his best to lean away from the phone speaker.

“You sound awful, Jon.”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t—” Martin takes an audible inhale, exhale. “I’m on my way. Where are you?”

“Lecture…hall. English building. Bring—” he breaks off again, coughing raggedly, trying desperately to prop up a bit more,  finding the balance between letting his lungs take in as much air as possible and not passing out again.

“You okay?” Comes Martin’s voice, when the fit dies down at last.

Jon’s vision is pulsing at the edges, even as he gingerly lies back down. His entire body is pulsing— he feels every heavy throb, every beat of the fractured rhythm his heart is trying to keep.

“Mmm,” is what he can manage in response to Martin, followed by another wheezing cough.

“Stay with me, okay? I’m on my way.”

“Bring—please—”

“I’m bringing your chair, love. I’ve got you. I promise.”

“Thank you,” he sighs, and lets Martin’s soothing voice wash over him, closing his eyes until he hears the door open, the footsteps behind it familiar.

“I’m here, Jon. I’ve got you.”

I would looooooooove to see a tma one and honestly I am so torn between prompts cause so many fit!!

Im gonna give you my top 3 and like. Idk hopefully something there is enticing.

I think 1. Miscommunication/trust issues/fear of rejection

2. In a bad mood/out of energy/at the end of their rope

And 3. Self sabotage/pushing through/collapse

Are all like so incredibly Jonathan sims.

No pressure to write anything though!!

hello my friend! thank you SO MUCH for the prompts!!! this is a bit of a conglomeration of prompts 2 and 3. there will be at least one more part to this.

This fic takes place in the Emmaverse AU. Jon has EDS and friends, including POTS, asthma, chronic fatigue, chronic pain. he is also Jordanian.

cw fainting, nausea, asthma attack

This Kind of Life Keeps Breaking Your Heart

Shakespeare class, of all things. Shakespeare is what will take him, in the end.

Jon had always been a bit overly exuberant when it comes to the Bard, especially when introducing younger students to him for the first time. Something in the way it sounds read aloud, something in the way each person interprets the intricate patterning of phrases a little bit differently will never fail to bring joy to his heart and a smile to his lips.

Even when catching ill. Which Jon, most definitely, is well into the process of doing today.

This morning hadn’t been bad at all, really—just a bit of scratchiness in his throat, his sinuses and breathing a bit wetter than usual. His energy lower by a good margin as well. It was honestly to be expected. Toward the end of term, Jon’s students are stressed, which subjects them to illness; ill students then subjected Jon to their unfortunate presence in class. Not that Jon blames them, really. God knows he had done the same during his uni days.

It is, however, the end of term. Which means a long, much-needed rest for both Jon and his students. They all just need to make it through exams in one piece—three more days. Jon could hold out for another three days, as he had told Martin this morning.

“Jon, hold on—you’re not seriously going to work, are you?” Martin had asked, hurriedly setting Emma’s breakfast cereal on the tray of her high chair, which she immediately knocked onto the floor. “Of course I’m going,” Jon replied rather snappishly. “I’ve got students to teach.” Martin was not hampered by his tone. “I know, habibi. I just thought you might teach online today instead. Since you…since you didn’t sleep well last night.” Jon scoffs at this, bringing an irritated blush to Martin’s cheeks instantly. “I’m sorry to have kept you awake.” “That’s not—“ Martin starts, voice rising in volume just briefly before clearing his throat, and changing his approach. “Nevermind. Lunch is in the fridge for you, okay? Just…be careful.” “Hmm,” was all Jon had offered in reply, silently taking his lunch, stalking toward the door…before thinking better of it, and returning to peck Martin on the cheek. “M’sorry. I’ll be alright, really.” “You don’t look well, Jon.” “Just three more days until the holiday. I can hold out til then, really.” “You are ill, then. I knew it.” “I’m alright. I’m okay.” “Yeah, sure, just up coughing half the night, no big deal.” Martin runs a hand through his freshly-shorn hair. “I don’t like this at all.” “It will be fine, Martin. I’ll see you tonight.”

Now, during his second class of the day, Jon can feel his body growing heavy. He’s already discovered that his heart rate has decided to keep ticking away at no less than 100 beats per minute today, even while sitting. He doesn’t know what it was running at when he had initially been standing at the podium to teach, but he does know that it caused the most intense near-faint he’s had in a while.

Jon has opted to not do that for the rest of today if he can help it, and so has been seated while lecturing since.

“Would anyone volunteer to read the next passage aloud for us?” His voice begins to waver, unable to steady itself on the fire of his throat.

“Until which page, sir?”

“To page…hang on, I—“ he shuffles through the text quickly. “I seem to have lost my place, ha—“

He lets a small chuckle slip past him, setting his throat ablaze. And sending his lungs into overdrive.

The air moves out of him in a swollen rush, the tightness he had not realized had been building quite so heavily brought to the forefront of his awareness—and he chokes.

He can’t cough. He can’t breathe, he can’t, he can’t—

Inhaler. Inhaler. Inhaler.

Spots gather in his vision as he reaches into his coat pocket, quickly shaking the medicine, letting as much air out as his swollen-shut lungs will allow, and breathes it in. For a moment, the tightness begins to loosen, the spots fade, his breath comes back, even if still rapid and shallow. Then, with a jolt—he feels the damp rising in his chest.

The rest is a blur of bent double, ears ringing, desperate attempt to make way for air in his lungs. Jon is vaguely aware of concerned murmuring around him—stop coughing stop coughing stop.

He does, at last, hold it off for the moment by heaving braced, shallow breaths, head tilted to the sky.

“Class…dismissed.”

“Professor? Do you need us to call someone, sir?”

“Do you need—“

“What can we—“

Well-meaning students everywhere. Closing in. No, not intentionally—but closing in all the same, and it causes a dread to build in Jon that he cannot fully explain. But he does know that they need to be out of here, immediately.

“Dismissed. I’m—okay. Just under th—ha—the weather.”

He’s nearly certain they don’t buy it, but all the same, they have exams to study for and papers to write. He’s giving them nearly half of their class time back to catch up, to rest, whatever they would like. It’s too good of a prospect to decline.

Jon keeps his eyes down as the students begin to shuffle out. His heart is pounding, vision pulsing around the perimeter in time with it. Perhaps if he can just take a moment to allow his lungs to throw a tantrum, he can be ready for his next class of students within the half hour.

Students anticipating a thorough review before their final exam.

Damn it.

“Feel better, sir.”

The words float down to him from above, interrupting his musings. A woman with a long blue plait hanging over one shoulder smiles, and sets down a plastic cup of water on the table. In her other hand, she grasps a shimmering metallic cane, complete with stickers trailing up and down its length, reminders of things that she loves. Armor. Jon recognizes this with a smile of his own, grateful for the act of kinship.

“Thank you. That’s very kind,” he rasps before coughing raggedly into his shoulder. Vision blurring again.

Fuck.

The student doesn’t seem to be bothered, merely pushing the cup of water towards him again before giving a nod, and exiting the room. The door clicks behind her, the sound echoing in every corner of the hollow room.

Alone at last, Jon lets his head drop fully onto his arms, leaning hard on the table and causing it to slide forward with a scratch. His entire body feels alight in this moment, screaming fire even as he sinks into the earth. And he is sinking. The weight of his still-heaving chest, his head, his neck, his overworking heart is threatening to plunge him down. He knows with frustrated certainty that this fatigue is going to pull him under. It’s only a matter of time.

Keep moving.

If he can manage to make it to his office on the third floor of this building, he’ll be able to use his nebulizer. Perhaps even lie down, if his lungs will let him. Jon knows from experience that the longer her sits, the more unbearable it will be to consider standing. So, grabbing his cane in one hand and bracing himself on the table with the other, he slowly pulls himself to standing.

It was a terrible idea.

The racing of his heart in his chest turns into a stuttering rhythm, one he can feel all the way back between his shoulder blades. He takes a shuddering inhale, exhale—sometimes that is enough to get his body through the initial shock of movement, enough to recalibrate—and he tells himself that it helps a little. He tells himself that the tunnel vision is passing, the tingling of his fingertips is normal, his stumbling step is just clumsiness.

Then the sudden nausea rises in his gut, and he knows he either needs to sit now, or his body will do the sitting for him. Painfully, and without further warnings. He makes his way to the floor, wondering distantly over the last time this carpet was cleaned. Doesn’t matter, he’s not going to…

His lips are numb.

He barely feels himself fall.

[celosiaa]

«Michael was protective of the frail old woman he believed her to be. So… so delicate, so forgetful, yet gently wise. He cared for her. He trusted her...»

The Magnus Archives 101

[celosiaa]

In a stunning turn of events, I’ve been diagnosed with ankylosing spondylitis and have to start a biologic immunosuppressant

Time to channel my complex feelings about this into fic I suppose so be on the lookout probs for some Arcane shit

[celosiaa]

I would looooooooove to see a tma one and honestly I am so torn between prompts cause so many fit!!

Im gonna give you my top 3 and like. Idk hopefully something there is enticing.

I think 1. Miscommunication/trust issues/fear of rejection

2. In a bad mood/out of energy/at the end of their rope

And 3. Self sabotage/pushing through/collapse

Are all like so incredibly Jonathan sims.

No pressure to write anything though!!

hello my friend! thank you SO MUCH for the prompts!!! this is a bit of a conglomeration of prompts 2 and 3. there will be at least one more part to this.

This fic takes place in the Emmaverse AU. Jon has EDS and friends, including POTS, asthma, chronic fatigue, chronic pain. he is also Jordanian.

cw fainting, nausea, asthma attack

This Kind of Life Keeps Breaking Your Heart

Shakespeare class, of all things. Shakespeare is what will take him, in the end.

Jon had always been a bit overly exuberant when it comes to the Bard, especially when introducing younger students to him for the first time. Something in the way it sounds read aloud, something in the way each person interprets the intricate patterning of phrases a little bit differently will never fail to bring joy to his heart and a smile to his lips.

Even when catching ill. Which Jon, most definitely, is well into the process of doing today.

This morning hadn’t been bad at all, really—just a bit of scratchiness in his throat, his sinuses and breathing a bit wetter than usual. His energy lower by a good margin as well. It was honestly to be expected. Toward the end of term, Jon’s students are stressed, which subjects them to illness; ill students then subjected Jon to their unfortunate presence in class. Not that Jon blames them, really. God knows he had done the same during his uni days.

It is, however, the end of term. Which means a long, much-needed rest for both Jon and his students. They all just need to make it through exams in one piece—three more days. Jon could hold out for another three days, as he had told Martin this morning.

“Jon, hold on—you’re not seriously going to work, are you?” Martin had asked, hurriedly setting Emma’s breakfast cereal on the tray of her high chair, which she immediately knocked onto the floor. “Of course I’m going,” Jon replied rather snappishly. “I’ve got students to teach.” Martin was not hampered by his tone. “I know, habibi. I just thought you might teach online today instead. Since you…since you didn’t sleep well last night.” Jon scoffs at this, bringing an irritated blush to Martin’s cheeks instantly. “I’m sorry to have kept you awake.” “That’s not—“ Martin starts, voice rising in volume just briefly before clearing his throat, and changing his approach. “Nevermind. Lunch is in the fridge for you, okay? Just…be careful.” “Hmm,” was all Jon had offered in reply, silently taking his lunch, stalking toward the door…before thinking better of it, and returning to peck Martin on the cheek. “M’sorry. I’ll be alright, really.” “You don’t look well, Jon.” “Just three more days until the holiday. I can hold out til then, really.” “You are ill, then. I knew it.” “I’m alright. I’m okay.” “Yeah, sure, just up coughing half the night, no big deal.” Martin runs a hand through his freshly-shorn hair. “I don’t like this at all.” “It will be fine, Martin. I’ll see you tonight.”

Now, during his second class of the day, Jon can feel his body growing heavy. He’s already discovered that his heart rate has decided to keep ticking away at no less than 100 beats per minute today, even while sitting. He doesn’t know what it was running at when he had initially been standing at the podium to teach, but he does know that it caused the most intense near-faint he’s had in a while.

Jon has opted to not do that for the rest of today if he can help it, and so has been seated while lecturing since.

“Would anyone volunteer to read the next passage aloud for us?” His voice begins to waver, unable to steady itself on the fire of his throat.

“Until which page, sir?”

“To page…hang on, I—“ he shuffles through the text quickly. “I seem to have lost my place, ha—“

He lets a small chuckle slip past him, setting his throat ablaze. And sending his lungs into overdrive.

The air moves out of him in a swollen rush, the tightness he had not realized had been building quite so heavily brought to the forefront of his awareness—and he chokes.

He can’t cough. He can’t breathe, he can’t, he can’t—

Inhaler. Inhaler. Inhaler.

Spots gather in his vision as he reaches into his coat pocket, quickly shaking the medicine, letting as much air out as his swollen-shut lungs will allow, and breathes it in. For a moment, the tightness begins to loosen, the spots fade, his breath comes back, even if still rapid and shallow. Then, with a jolt—he feels the damp rising in his chest.

The rest is a blur of bent double, ears ringing, desperate attempt to make way for air in his lungs. Jon is vaguely aware of concerned murmuring around him—stop coughing stop coughing stop.

He does, at last, hold it off for the moment by heaving braced, shallow breaths, head tilted to the sky.

“Class…dismissed.”

“Professor? Do you need us to call someone, sir?”

“Do you need—“

“What can we—“

Well-meaning students everywhere. Closing in. No, not intentionally—but closing in all the same, and it causes a dread to build in Jon that he cannot fully explain. But he does know that they need to be out of here, immediately.

“Dismissed. I’m—okay. Just under th—ha—the weather.”

He’s nearly certain they don’t buy it, but all the same, they have exams to study for and papers to write. He’s giving them nearly half of their class time back to catch up, to rest, whatever they would like. It’s too good of a prospect to decline.

Jon keeps his eyes down as the students begin to shuffle out. His heart is pounding, vision pulsing around the perimeter in time with it. Perhaps if he can just take a moment to allow his lungs to throw a tantrum, he can be ready for his next class of students within the half hour.

Students anticipating a thorough review before their final exam.

Damn it.

“Feel better, sir.”

The words float down to him from above, interrupting his musings. A woman with a long blue plait hanging over one shoulder smiles, and sets down a plastic cup of water on the table. In her other hand, she grasps a shimmering metallic cane, complete with stickers trailing up and down its length, reminders of things that she loves. Armor. Jon recognizes this with a smile of his own, grateful for the act of kinship.

“Thank you. That’s very kind,” he rasps before coughing raggedly into his shoulder. Vision blurring again.

Fuck.

The student doesn’t seem to be bothered, merely pushing the cup of water towards him again before giving a nod, and exiting the room. The door clicks behind her, the sound echoing in every corner of the hollow room.

Alone at last, Jon lets his head drop fully onto his arms, leaning hard on the table and causing it to slide forward with a scratch. His entire body feels alight in this moment, screaming fire even as he sinks into the earth. And he is sinking. The weight of his still-heaving chest, his head, his neck, his overworking heart is threatening to plunge him down. He knows with frustrated certainty that this fatigue is going to pull him under. It’s only a matter of time.

Keep moving.

If he can manage to make it to his office on the third floor of this building, he’ll be able to use his nebulizer. Perhaps even lie down, if his lungs will let him. Jon knows from experience that the longer her sits, the more unbearable it will be to consider standing. So, grabbing his cane in one hand and bracing himself on the table with the other, he slowly pulls himself to standing.

It was a terrible idea.

The racing of his heart in his chest turns into a stuttering rhythm, one he can feel all the way back between his shoulder blades. He takes a shuddering inhale, exhale—sometimes that is enough to get his body through the initial shock of movement, enough to recalibrate—and he tells himself that it helps a little. He tells himself that the tunnel vision is passing, the tingling of his fingertips is normal, his stumbling step is just clumsiness.

Then the sudden nausea rises in his gut, and he knows he either needs to sit now, or his body will do the sitting for him. Painfully, and without further warnings. He makes his way to the floor, wondering distantly over the last time this carpet was cleaned. Doesn’t matter, he’s not going to…

His lips are numb.

He barely feels himself fall.

[celosiaa]

I would looooooooove to see a tma one and honestly I am so torn between prompts cause so many fit!!

Im gonna give you my top 3 and like. Idk hopefully something there is enticing.

I think 1. Miscommunication/trust issues/fear of rejection

2. In a bad mood/out of energy/at the end of their rope

And 3. Self sabotage/pushing through/collapse

Are all like so incredibly Jonathan sims.

No pressure to write anything though!!

hello my friend! thank you SO MUCH for the prompts!!! this is a bit of a conglomeration of prompts 2 and 3. there will be at least one more part to this.

This fic takes place in the Emmaverse AU. Jon has EDS and friends, including POTS, asthma, chronic fatigue, chronic pain. he is also Jordanian.

cw fainting, nausea, asthma attack

This Kind of Life Keeps Breaking Your Heart

Shakespeare class, of all things. Shakespeare is what will take him, in the end.

Jon had always been a bit overly exuberant when it comes to the Bard, especially when introducing younger students to him for the first time. Something in the way it sounds read aloud, something in the way each person interprets the intricate patterning of phrases a little bit differently will never fail to bring joy to his heart and a smile to his lips.

Even when catching ill. Which Jon, most definitely, is well into the process of doing today.

This morning hadn’t been bad at all, really—just a bit of scratchiness in his throat, his sinuses and breathing a bit wetter than usual. His energy lower by a good margin as well. It was honestly to be expected. Toward the end of term, Jon’s students are stressed, which subjects them to illness; ill students then subjected Jon to their unfortunate presence in class. Not that Jon blames them, really. God knows he had done the same during his uni days.

It is, however, the end of term. Which means a long, much-needed rest for both Jon and his students. They all just need to make it through exams in one piece—three more days. Jon could hold out for another three days, as he had told Martin this morning.

“Jon, hold on—you’re not seriously going to work, are you?” Martin had asked, hurriedly setting Emma’s breakfast cereal on the tray of her high chair, which she immediately knocked onto the floor. “Of course I’m going,” Jon replied rather snappishly. “I’ve got students to teach.” Martin was not hampered by his tone. “I know, habibi. I just thought you might teach online today instead. Since you…since you didn’t sleep well last night.” Jon scoffs at this, bringing an irritated blush to Martin’s cheeks instantly. “I’m sorry to have kept you awake.” “That’s not—“ Martin starts, voice rising in volume just briefly before clearing his throat, and changing his approach. “Nevermind. Lunch is in the fridge for you, okay? Just…be careful.” “Hmm,” was all Jon had offered in reply, silently taking his lunch, stalking toward the door…before thinking better of it, and returning to peck Martin on the cheek. “M’sorry. I’ll be alright, really.” “You don’t look well, Jon.” “Just three more days until the holiday. I can hold out til then, really.” “You are ill, then. I knew it.” “I’m alright. I’m okay.” “Yeah, sure, just up coughing half the night, no big deal.” Martin runs a hand through his freshly-shorn hair. “I don’t like this at all.” “It will be fine, Martin. I’ll see you tonight.”

Now, during his second class of the day, Jon can feel his body growing heavy. He’s already discovered that his heart rate has decided to keep ticking away at no less than 100 beats per minute today, even while sitting. He doesn’t know what it was running at when he had initially been standing at the podium to teach, but he does know that it caused the most intense near-faint he’s had in a while.

Jon has opted to not do that for the rest of today if he can help it, and so has been seated while lecturing since.

“Would anyone volunteer to read the next passage aloud for us?” His voice begins to waver, unable to steady itself on the fire of his throat.

“Until which page, sir?”

“To page…hang on, I—“ he shuffles through the text quickly. “I seem to have lost my place, ha—“

He lets a small chuckle slip past him, setting his throat ablaze. And sending his lungs into overdrive.

The air moves out of him in a swollen rush, the tightness he had not realized had been building quite so heavily brought to the forefront of his awareness—and he chokes.

He can’t cough. He can’t breathe, he can’t, he can’t—

Inhaler. Inhaler. Inhaler.

Spots gather in his vision as he reaches into his coat pocket, quickly shaking the medicine, letting as much air out as his swollen-shut lungs will allow, and breathes it in. For a moment, the tightness begins to loosen, the spots fade, his breath comes back, even if still rapid and shallow. Then, with a jolt—he feels the damp rising in his chest.

The rest is a blur of bent double, ears ringing, desperate attempt to make way for air in his lungs. Jon is vaguely aware of concerned murmuring around him—stop coughing stop coughing stop.

He does, at last, hold it off for the moment by heaving braced, shallow breaths, head tilted to the sky.

“Class…dismissed.”

“Professor? Do you need us to call someone, sir?”

“Do you need—“

“What can we—“

Well-meaning students everywhere. Closing in. No, not intentionally—but closing in all the same, and it causes a dread to build in Jon that he cannot fully explain. But he does know that they need to be out of here, immediately.

“Dismissed. I’m—okay. Just under th—ha—the weather.”

He’s nearly certain they don’t buy it, but all the same, they have exams to study for and papers to write. He’s giving them nearly half of their class time back to catch up, to rest, whatever they would like. It’s too good of a prospect to decline.

Jon keeps his eyes down as the students begin to shuffle out. His heart is pounding, vision pulsing around the perimeter in time with it. Perhaps if he can just take a moment to allow his lungs to throw a tantrum, he can be ready for his next class of students within the half hour.

Students anticipating a thorough review before their final exam.

Damn it.

“Feel better, sir.”

The words float down to him from above, interrupting his musings. A woman with a long blue plait hanging over one shoulder smiles, and sets down a plastic cup of water on the table. In her other hand, she grasps a shimmering metallic cane, complete with stickers trailing up and down its length, reminders of things that she loves. Armor. Jon recognizes this with a smile of his own, grateful for the act of kinship.

“Thank you. That’s very kind,” he rasps before coughing raggedly into his shoulder. Vision blurring again.

Fuck.

The student doesn’t seem to be bothered, merely pushing the cup of water towards him again before giving a nod, and exiting the room. The door clicks behind her, the sound echoing in every corner of the hollow room.

Alone at last, Jon lets his head drop fully onto his arms, leaning hard on the table and causing it to slide forward with a scratch. His entire body feels alight in this moment, screaming fire even as he sinks into the earth. And he is sinking. The weight of his still-heaving chest, his head, his neck, his overworking heart is threatening to plunge him down. He knows with frustrated certainty that this fatigue is going to pull him under. It’s only a matter of time.

Keep moving.

If he can manage to make it to his office on the third floor of this building, he’ll be able to use his nebulizer. Perhaps even lie down, if his lungs will let him. Jon knows from experience that the longer her sits, the more unbearable it will be to consider standing. So, grabbing his cane in one hand and bracing himself on the table with the other, he slowly pulls himself to standing.

It was a terrible idea.

The racing of his heart in his chest turns into a stuttering rhythm, one he can feel all the way back between his shoulder blades. He takes a shuddering inhale, exhale—sometimes that is enough to get his body through the initial shock of movement, enough to recalibrate—and he tells himself that it helps a little. He tells himself that the tunnel vision is passing, the tingling of his fingertips is normal, his stumbling step is just clumsiness.

Then the sudden nausea rises in his gut, and he knows he either needs to sit now, or his body will do the sitting for him. Painfully, and without further warnings. He makes his way to the floor, wondering distantly over the last time this carpet was cleaned. Doesn’t matter, he’s not going to…

His lips are numb.

He barely feels himself fall.

[celosiaa]

btw i totally recognize that the previous post was supposed to be for April but i like the prompts anyway!!

[celosiaa]

Disabled Whump & Hurt/Comfort 2025 Prompt List

These are the prompts for the 2025 Disabled Whump & Hurt/Comfort writing challenge, a 30-day challenge running from April 1-April 30, 2025.

Below the read more are the content and posting rules for this challenge.

Feel free to start writing your works before April, but please only post on and after April 1st.

The prompts are divided by themes, but can be mixed up or taken out of order or only a few at a time. See rules for more information

LIFE IS LIKE THAT Established disability

1. Hurt: Hitting a weak spot | “I knew this would happen” | Exacerbated injury

2. Comfort: Challenged expectations | Relapse recovery | Disabled comforter

The Long Haul

3. Hurt: Chronic pain | Forced endurance | “Aren’t you better yet?”

4. Comfort: Support network | Recognizing the signs | Reassurance

Acquired disability

5. Hurt: Accident | Deliberate injury | Medical aftermath

6. Comfort: Accommodation | Physical therapy | Learning curve

Recovery

7. Hurt: “I feel like I’m going backwards” | Exhausting recovery | Side effects

8. Comfort: Long-term treatment | “New normal” | Healing from trauma

Adaptation

9. Hurt: Destroyed assistive device | Painful healing | Go it alone

10. Comfort: “My own way of doing things” | Work-arounds | Assistive device

PAIN AND PERIL Environmental

11. Hurt: Extreme temperatures | Mobility restriction | Isolation

12. Comfort: Safe place | Survive together | Coming home

Sensory

13. Hurt: Flare-up | Relapse | Adverse reaction

14. Comfort: Quiet place | Helping them calm down | “Hang in there”

Trapped

15. Hurt: Painful restraints | Chemically subdued | “No one’s coming”

16. Comfort: Rescue | “It’s alright, you’re safe” | Support/carrying

Medical

17. Hurt: Emergency/field medicine | Hospitalized | Medical trauma

18. Comfort: Being believed | Symptoms relieved | Diagnosis

Breaking Point

19. Hurt: Self-sabotage | “Pushing through” | Collapse

20. Comfort: “You’re not alone” | “Give them time” | Loyalty

EMOTIONAL HURT Loss

21. Hurt: Frustrated ambition | Something lost permanently | Missing out

22. Comfort: Adjusted expectations | There no matter what | New paths

Autonomy

23. Hurt: “I know what’s best for you” | Defiance | “My body’s not mine”

24. Comfort: “It’s your decision” | Leadership | At home in their body

Psychological Effects

25. Hurt: In a bad mood | Out of energy | At the end of their rope

26. Comfort: Moral support | “You can rest now” | “Give them space”

Stoicism

27. Hurt: Hiding a condition | Impossible standards | “I’m used to it”

28. Comfort: Explicit support | Opening up | “I won’t leave you”

Intimacy

29. Hurt: Miscommunication | Trust issues | Fear of rejection

30. Comfort: Adapting intimacy | Let it all out | Kiss (or more) and make up

Rules below the cut:

This event will be centered on characters with disabilities and chronic conditions, both visible (ex, paraplegia; limb differences) and invisible (ex, migraines; CFS). For writing to qualify, please have one or more disabled/chronically ill characters as the focus of your story, rather than a side character/cameo in a story about abled characters. Prompts are meant to facilitate stories about disability and disabled characters in the genres of hurt/comfort and whump (also known as hurt-no-comfort).

"Disability" can have a broad definition, and many conditions can be disabling. The moderator will not be filtering or rejecting submissions based on what medical conditions "count"; the only parameter is that the central character lives with a chronic condition of some type which is disabling for them in some way. Disabililties which come about in a fantasy or sci-fi setting are welcome as long as they are portrayed as being disabling in some way which is anaolgous (eg, a permanent problem caused by magic, or vampirism as a fantasy-disability).

Please do not TAG your posts/links with the names of disabilities you are writing about, or with “disability” or “chronic illness”, as those tags are used by disabled folks to talk about our RL disabilities and in the past there have been issues with writers inadvertently clogging those tags with fiction/writing advice.

Please DO tag your posts and links #disabledwhc2025 and, in a second tag, the day (eg, #day 1: established disability) so the mod can find and reblog them to the blog!

Original work and fanfic are both welcome; anything goes in terms of settings and genres (fantasy, sci-fi) as long as it’s h/c or whump.

You do not have to write for every prompt (that’s why there’s a mix of hurt and comfort!) or every day to be featured. If you don’t have time for 30 days, do as many as you feel like. If you only write either H/C or Whump, you can do a 15-day challenge, reinterpret the hurt prompts to include comfort, and/or find a whumpy spin on the comfort prompts.

If you write prompts out of order please still tag which day you are writing for and the title of that prompt set. So if you decide to post the prompt “frustrated ambition” from the set “Loss”, which is day 21, on April 3, please still tag your April 3 post “day 21: loss”.

There are no restrictions on what content can be posted, but please use content notes for the following topics: "Rape/noncon" "Underage" "Graphic Depictions of Violence" (ie gore), and "Major Character Death" before the start of your piece. You can also use the warning "Creator Chose Not to Use Content Warnings" if you do not want to spoil fic. Please use a "read more" for these pieces.

Please tag any NSFT works (explicit sexual content) as "NSFT". Please use a "read more" for these pieces.

[celosiaa]

[celosiaa]

I always wanted my friends to call me Gerry

[celosiaa]

supple-MENTAL am I right-

I love how fast Jon spiraled between seasons

[celosiaa]

Other Heartstopper Skating AU tidbits:

Nick is hard of hearing and wears hearing aids. He lost a significant amount of hearing due to meningitis when he was middle school. They weren’t sure how much hearing he’d ultimately lose so he and his mum both took BSL classes. His brother was dragged there and knows the basics, but nothing else. His dad never showed up and still tries to speak to him on the phone in French. Charlie will later be horrified by this blatant disregard for his own son

Charlie and Ben met in secondary, shortly after Charlie came back from his hospital stay. At first he was really supportive of Charlie through his struggles with his mental health, but he soon grew tired of it—which is exactly what Charlie has been afraid of all along. Ben and Charlie have moved in together at the beginning of their first year of uni, which is causing Charlie a great deal of distress. One of the only places he feels like his brain can be still is on the ice

Nick has realized that he’s probably bi for a while, but has yet to really engage with the queer community. He’s been tempted to join a student group while in uni, but he’s too anxious about what his teammates might think if they heard about.

Charlie is exploring his gender identity, and sometimes swaps between skating with white skates or with black skates. Not that these define someone’s gender on the ice, but for him, it’s a display of genderqueer-ness that gives him euphoria

[celosiaa]

Another heartstopper idea (tw needles and hospitals)

I’m imagining a Nick and Charlie who are in college, and Nick gets the freshers flu. He’s doing his best to be tough about it but there comes a point where he just feels so awful, and can’t really stand up on his own anymore, so Charlie drags him an urgent care clinic. He promptly gets sent to A&E after he faints in the office.

When he gets there, they go to start an IV, and Charlie didn’t think he could go any more pale but he manages it somehow.

“You okay?” Charlie asks, rubbing a hand up and down his leg.

Nick doesn’t respond, not trusting himself to open his mouth at the moment.

“Is the needle bothering you?”

When his poor, sick-as-a-dog 6’2” rugby boyfriend nods woozily, Charlie’s heart breaks. He starts tracing the pattern of a square on the back of Nick’s free hand.

“Square breaths, okay? In, 1, 2– and out, 3,4.”

Nick does his best, but when they don’t get the IV on the first attempt due to his level of dehydration, he can’t help but quicken his breaths.

“You’re okay, baby,” Charlie soothes, trying to bring him back to the present.

“M’fingers…numb.”

“Okay, that’s alright,” Charlie says, switching to massage each of his fingers on his left hand, trying to ground him. It’s not enough.

When Nick’s head finally smacks back against the soft pillows, unconscious, Charlie can’t help but feel a little bit relieved.

“There you go. You’re alright,” he murmurs, reaching behind him to lower the head of the bed. His words go entirely unheard, but it doesn’t stop Charlie from saying them while waiting for Nick to come around again.

[celosiaa]

Another heartstopper idea (tw needles and hospitals)

I’m imagining a Nick and Charlie who are in college, and Nick gets the freshers flu. He’s doing his best to be tough about it but there comes a point where he just feels so awful, and can’t really stand up on his own anymore, so Charlie drags him an urgent care clinic. He promptly gets sent to A&E after he faints in the office.

When he gets there, they go to start an IV, and Charlie didn’t think he could go any more pale but he manages it somehow.

“You okay?” Charlie asks, rubbing a hand up and down his leg.

Nick doesn’t respond, not trusting himself to open his mouth at the moment.

“Is the needle bothering you?”

When his poor, sick-as-a-dog 6’2” rugby boyfriend nods woozily, Charlie’s heart breaks. He starts tracing the pattern of a square on the back of Nick’s free hand.

“Square breaths, okay? In, 1, 2– and out, 3,4.”

Nick does his best, but when they don’t get the IV on the first attempt due to his level of dehydration, he can’t help but quicken his breaths.

“You’re okay, baby,” Charlie soothes, trying to bring him back to the present.

“M’fingers…numb.”

“Okay, that’s alright,” Charlie says, switching to massage each of his fingers on his left hand, trying to ground him. It’s not enough.

When Nick’s head finally smacks back against the soft pillows, unconscious, Charlie can’t help but feel a little bit relieved.

“There you go. You’re alright,” he murmurs, reaching behind him to lower the head of the bed. His words go entirely unheard, but it doesn’t stop Charlie from saying them while waiting for Nick to come around again.

[celosiaa]

Heartstopper Skating AU

yay thank you for expressing interest

I'm imagining Nick as a hockey player at university. He's in his second year, majoring in education, and struggling more than he'd like to admit with finding ways to cope with his new level of responsibilities and commitments whilst having ADHD. He's at a phase of life where everyone around him seems to know who they are, and what they want to do. It's But it's right before the beginning of a new term, and he's looking forward to meeting his new teammates.

Guess who's a newbie on his team? Ben fucking Hope.

Ben who is late to their first practice, complaining loudly to everyone that it's because his partner was having a "fucking breakdown." Nick hates him immediately. But is interested in the choice of the word "partner...."

After practice, Nick stays behind a few extra minutes to help out one of the other newbies, and sees Ben talking to someone at the boards. This so happens to be the most beautiful man Nick has ever seen--and he wonders if this was the partner that Ben spoke about. Nick can see that. he's got figure skates on as he leans over the boards, smiling and bit and laughing. But the smile fades quickly when Ben replies with something Nick doesn't hear, and Nick can feel the anger at Ben rising again as he gets off the ice.

Ten minutes later, as he's leaving the rink, Nick glances back at the ice to see the boy he will soon know to be Charlie, warming up his edges, sunlight gleaming off his beautiful dark curls. And he won't be able to escape the feeling that he's seen him before, knows him somehow. Maybe in another life.

He hopes he'll get to know him in this one.

[celosiaa]

(emerging from the bushes) anyway if yall wanna talk about my heartstopper hockey/figure skater AU that I’ve been cooking up in my head. please feel free to let me know

[celosiaa]

Viktor in a wheelchair to scare off all those people who make him "healthy" in their AUs...

I think that they're just scared that they find a disabled person attractive, but it's just my opinion 🤷