#practically comatose

[softquietsteadylove]

What if the episode of Thenas Mahd Wy‘ry was stronger this time? Gil fighting her and trying to calm her down for many hours? What if Thena wakes up the next day and sees Gil laying and still sleeping beside her, very exhausted and injured. But as soon as she touches one of the deepest wound on his arm his eyes opens but he can’t move because he is sore, exhausted and in pain but trying not to show it to Thena? Her taking care of him and his wounds and him apologizing.

Give us your best hurt,comfort and soft thenamesh :)

Gil pried his eyes open, even that causing a certain amount of ache in him. His bones felt like they were screaming, his skin was on fire from head to toe. He half expected to be faced with the merciless Australian sun, but he was under some sort of canvas. He did his best to look around him, finding a lot more than just barren wasteland around him.

There was a canvas tied over him, to protect him from the sun, not that he could get a sunburn anyway. A linen sheet was thrown over him and there were a few vessels of water sitting around him in no particular arrangement.

They had only gotten the house built recently. They weren't exactly rich in supplies.

"Don't move."

Thena padded over to him, her feet bare in the sand and her hair billowing around her shoulders in the breeze. Her dress danced around her ankles, although it had a few more rips and tears in it from their fight.

She knelt down beside him, holding yet another mug of water in her hands. She leaned over to get a better look at him. She was frowning.

"Hey," he smiled at her, although even that took some effort on his part. He couldn't believe how sore he was--how exhausted he felt. This fight must have really done a number on him.

He could remember it starting like always, him and Thena fighting it out as her eyes washed over. It was a fierce one this time, he recalled. He didn't know what had set her off, but she was as deadly as always. It had taken hours, he knew that. It was much like the fight they had endured when first arriving on this continent.

Thena was silent, as he might have expected. She had never been a talker, and Mahd Wy'ry didn't exactly encourage her to start voicing her feelings.

Gil sighed as she helped tip his head up, letting him lap up just a little water at a time. She laid him down again, and he mustered the energy to turn his head. "How long have I been out here?"

He could practically see Thena trying to force the words out. Sometimes it took a little nudge for them to form properly. He just missed her voice.

Thena looked around, counting the cups she had left beside him instead of bringing back to the house with her. Her lip wobbled faintly before getting out, "four...almost."

Three days he had laid out here. Three days Thena had been caring for him out here, drained of strength and energy just as much as he was, if not moreso. He looked at her again, seeing that anguished expression that came over her after every episode of Mahdness.

His hand felt like it weighed too much for even him, but as soon as it so much as twitched Thena picked it up in hers, eager to see to his every want and need. He smiled, "you been taking care of me?"

She nodded. Her hands tightened around his. "I did this."

"Hey," Gil frowned, but her tears took to the air and hit his skin like rain. He missed the rain.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, looking down at him as if he were already lying in his grave and she had been the one to put him there. This had happened a few times since Tenochtitlan, and their departure henceforth.

He knew it was hard on her. Not just whatever the condition itself made her endure, but he knew that it was hard on her to fight him--to see him like this, by her own doing. He couldn't imagine it. If he woke up from a sleep and discovered that Thena was hurt because of him?

He would rather Arishem just take him away.

"Hey," Gil whispered again, pulling her down to him by letting his hand become heavy again. She leaned over him, her head resting on his chest as she truly and genuinely wept. He moved his other hand to her back, holding her as best he could. His poor Thena. "It's not your fault."

"It is," she whispered again, only because she didn't have the breath to scream. Her hand grasped a handful of his shirt, clenching it desperately.

"Well," Gil paused, rubbing her back. He wasn't going to just lie to her about it. "That doesn't mean you have to cry over it."

Thena at least lifted her head and looked at him. He wouldn't have blamed her for giving him the look she always gave him when he told a particularly silly joke. But she shook her head at him, "it seems all I am able to do for you in this state."

Gil brought his hand up to her cheek in a newfound wave of energy. She held it with her own to support him. "That's not true. I mean, look around."

Thena's eyes dropped again, her other hand still on his chest, "felled by me, you mean?"

"No," he chuckled, determined to wipe that worried look off her face. "I mean look at what you've done for me here."

"You brought all this from the house, right? You didn't have the strength to carry me inside so you set this up, for the sun, and the wind? And you brought me all these cups of water to keep my strength up."

He could imagine her, dragging her heavy feet back and forth and back and forth. Bringing things from the house as needed just for him.

Thena's eyes changed slightly, but he took it as a good sign. "You do so much."

For her--he did so much for her, was what she was saying. She was thinking about how he would care for her after an episode. He would carry her back to bed, or perhaps in front of the fire, let her sleep it off. Sometimes in his arms, if she was still particularly fragile. He would cook her things that were gentle on her stomach and braid her hair for her.

"I'd do it again," he was quick to assert as Thena leaned away from him. He wanted to pull her back to him, to have her settle against his side again. But she tugged up the sleeve of his shirt, then checked his ribs, then prodded his thigh. He groaned as she tested the worst of his sensitivities. "Easy, Sweetheart."

Thena breezed right over the endearment, leaving his clothes rumpled. She turned, still crouched, having to gather a little strength in order to stand properly and make the short trip back to the house.

He was right, she had no more strength than he did after their fight.

She returned with yet another thing of water, but he saw the steam coming off of it. It was boiled. She dropped to the ground beside him again, holding the scalding hot clay in her palms. "It will sting."

And it did. Gil hissed as she poured the boiling hot water over his cuts and wounds. Even if they were made with Cosmic Energy instead of human steel, they were still cuts, and they had to be cleaned. Ajak wasn't here to heal them.

Gil's eyes shot open as he heard the ripping of cloth. He looked over at Thena, but blushed to find her tearing the skirt of her dress apart. He looked back at the sky in favour of the length of long, pale leg staring him in the face. "You don't have to."

Thena ignored him again, using the linen of her dress to wrap around his wounds in place of any real bandages. They really did need supplies--and new clothes, now.

Gil sighed as she wrapped another scrap around the wound on his thigh. Maybe it was for the best to get her out of the dress she had been wearing since Tenochtitlan. He would go out and find her something new--something lighter, for the hot weather, here. Something pale and pretty, just like her.

Thena, now with her knees exposed to the sun, folded them under her and laid over his chest again. "Better."

He nodded, moving his hand to her back again. "We should get you inside."

Thena shook her head before burying herself away from the sun in his chest. "Rest. Here."

"Okay," he sighed, his eyes also falling shut again. Maybe when he woke up again he would have the strength to move them both inside. "Just for a little while."

Thena sighed, all but purring, leaning over him, half seated on the ground beside him and half laid over top of him. She gripped his shirt in her hands, as if scared he could vanish if she didn't. "Just for a little while."

[2hoothoots]

been chatting with a friend who's playing through PN2 again and i want it to be known i will not hear anyone say a WORD about Hollis giving Raz a hard time at the beginning of the game. if anything she is OUTSTANDINGLY accommodating to this random ten-year-old who wandered in unattended off the plane in the middle of an extremely tense situation

[moonilit]

Tiny Jote doodles, you can tell me 6 yo Jote ‘nursed’ a comatose Joshua all you want SE that what SHE thought she was doing because she was a kid

[horsetailcurlers2]

the most upsetting thing to me about sam on private practice isn’t even that he started off as a somewhat likeable character and ended up being the worst. it’s that the entire show keeps trying to tell me what a “good guy” he is. like every character on the show is always going on and on about what a great person he is and what a decent man he is but his actions just tell me the exact opposite. it drives me absolutely nuts when a show just tells you how you’re supposed to feel about a character regardless of what their actions tell you.

[therighthandofvengeance]

Ivanova: hold my vodka and watch this!

Sheridan: why am I so scared right now?

Garibaldi: karma, mostly.

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Eclipse, having backlash from the star’s wish: *starts coughing and throwing up, shaking and having chills with a fever high enough to start a fire*

Sun: What are you faking now? You already have the star, you made your wish, you can stop faking now.

Eclipse, incredibly sick: *passes out, whimpering*

Sun: STOP FAKING!

[ongreenergrasses]

just started screaming

[theanonymousninja247]

Sick

Favorite line of today:

Me: Be honest. How bad are my eye bags

Roommate: ���☝🏼😐✊🏼😬😅

Me: *blinks and walks into bathroom to see my reflection before hooting* DANG! My eye bags are so heavy they look like they’re carrying last generations trauma!

calling out the bestie @anobodyinabog

[sprinklethetangerine]

I think this is a pretty reasonable situation to cry in, right?

[fastasyoucan1999]

I never really know what tf is going on in the x files but I enjoy myself nonetheless

[ennaih]

Every Film I Watch In 2023:

128. Photograph (2019) - a rewatch

[sob-dylan]

realistically i'm probably only happy with 30% of the dribble that comes out of my mouth.

[vancilocs]

i think i narrowed down danas job as a legal secretary, so what he does is helping lawyers around by pushing papers like appeals n motions, drafts things like wills and divorce papers, deals with correspondence and does legal research to help with cases

[chuluoyi]

✎ forever

- gojo satoru x reader

the three times he asked you to marry him

genre: slightly suggestive, fluff/comfort, silly and lovesick gojo, wedding proposals, mild angst, mentions of injury and protective gojo

note: i was inspired by some fics with this kind of trope and i can totally see gojo asking you to marry him while he's dead drunk—

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

"Why don't we get married?"

The first time Satoru brought this up was right after you both had exhausted yourselves in an intense, passionate lovemaking session.

His bare skin was against yours, and the intimacy of it almost made you want to go along with his suggestion, until you grasped the profound meaning behind his words.

"Satoru," you breathed out, still breathless as you came down from your high. "Are you seriously asking me that now?"

A dopey smile was on his face. "Yeah, is there a problem with it?"

You blinked. The nerve of this clown-head—

"Not even a proper proposal? Or a ring?" you scowled. "Considering your usual flair, this is a rather lackluster attempt at a proposal."

Of course, you weren't a material girl, but considering his big ego and tendency to go overboard, you just had to call him out.

"Hmm? So if there's a grand proposal and I bought you a ring, then you'll say yes?"

There was practically a twinkle in those bright eyes of his now, and you were a bit caught off guard because well, so he is for real?

You’d be lying if you said that the thought of marrying him hadn’t crossed your mind. But to be frank, Gojo Satoru didn't strike you as someone who was interested in anything as cliché as marriage and everything that comes with it.

Which brought you back to this point—you had absolutely no idea what possessed him to bring up this question.

"Hah," you let out a sardonic laugh. "Not that easy. I'll think about it."

When he let out a “Ehhh?”, and started sulking, you were quite sure, and dismissed the question as one of his passing whims.

The second time he posed the question, he was a babbling, slurring mess of alcohol and hiccups.

"Can't we—hic!—" His face was flushed, and he was pitifully wobbling on his feet. "—just get married—hic!—already?"

This time you scoffed, partly out of disdain, crossing your arms in front of you. Satoru seemed to pick up on your unfavorable reaction and attempted to convince you. "I'm being—"

"No," you sternly interrupted, supporting him as he struggled to stay on his feet. You shot an unapologetic look at the other patrons in the bar who were watching you both with disapproving frowns. "Satoru, we're going home."

"I'm—hic!—asking you to marry me!"

"I said no."

"Why?!"

You sighed. "You're dead drunk."

"What will—hic—make you say yes?"

You let out another sigh. It already took a great deal of patience to deal with his immaturity as his girlfriend, and you could only imagine how much more challenging it would be as his wife.

"I'm so heartbroken," he whined, crocodile tears pooling in his eyes as he peered at you like a kicked puppy. "I got rejected twice already... How could you reject me twice?"

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics.

"Marry me."

The third time around, he was neither bringing it up on a whim or drunk, also he wasn't quite asking—his tone was almost pleading.

And you just woke up from your comatose state after a mission gone wrong, still in your bloodied uniform, eyes barely adjusting to the bright room.

Satoru let out a grunt, clasping your fingers in his warm, reassuring grip. It was evident how deeply distressed he was from the furrowed brow and the quiver in his lips as he looked down at you, as well as the gentle way he was stroking your hair.

At this moment, you wanted to cry. The fact that he was so genuinely concerned for you filled you with warmth and emotion.

. . .

He saw it happen right before him—the crimson blood flowing out of your wound like waterfall. He had screamed at you to breathe and not let go of his hand. The moment he felt your head loll back in his arms and you lost your grip on him, he could swear his own heart had stopped too.

He had never been more grateful that you—his best friend, love of his life, the only one he had left—awoke from that horrifying ordeal. Seeing you stained red by your own blood had undoubtedly distorted his point of view, but his desire to marry you, as what he had been suggesting as of late, clearly was not just a mere passing thought.

Because he is acutely aware of how cruel this world is. This damned world has always taken everything that's important to him, and before they can snatch you away too, he will claim you as his first.

"Marry me," he repeated, his voice now sounding more hoarse, not as confident as it had been the first time.

As you gazed into his beautiful eyes, it occurred to your hazy mind that you very nearly died. That you were that close to not seeing him ever again. You had been apprehensive with how he had phrased his proposals so far, and you didn't want your marriage to be a split-second decision forced by some sort of looming omen.

And yet, falling in love with Gojo Satoru had never been the easiest, but you did anyway. He still held onto your hand, patiently awaiting your response—

—but suddenly, like a sharp whiplash effect, what shocked you was that who you saw then wasn't your boyfriend.

But rather, the man with the mantle of the strongest sorcerer alive.

You could lose him just as much as he could lose you. Sooner or later, who knows? His title is both a blessing and a curse. Up until now, it has been a blessing, but who can say when it might suddenly turn into a curse that tears him away from you?

. . .

This time, you didn't snort or doubt his intention. Instead, you smiled, embracing the profound flutter in your chest as you were being proposed.

"Okay," you whispered, voice dry. "Yes… I'll marry you, Satoru."

[fourfuckinghorsemen]

I feel like I shouldn't ask. Have a good night, Five! - 🕰

Thanks. I'll hopefully crash after finishing these milkshakes. Sugar highs never last long.

[sufrimientilia]

healing but with downsides

Caretaker with healing powers but every second of it is excruciating for Whumpee. Burning, convulsing, screaming, the repair of flesh coming with fire or electricity or the burst pop scatter of darkness from every synapse rupturing with over-stimulation

A resurrection spell that brings Whumpee back from death but it’s like dying in reverse, shaking and gasping and horrible, so wretched and miserable all over again

Bloodletting to save Whumpee from poison or infection. Toeing the line between bloodloss and dying from whatever toxin needs to be drained

Trying spell after spell to reverse a curse or hex. Whumpee so beaten and abused by magic their body just shuts down or violently rejects it all

Whumpee with the power/affinity/etc to heal fast but practically goes comatose in the meantime. Caretaker fretting as Whumpee sleeps and can’t be roused for hours or days at a time until their wounds seem to heal on their own

Whumpee with the power/affinity/etc to heal fast but it’s like they’re dying. Maybe Whumpee fights off wounds the same way they would the flu, their body getting so feverish and sickly every time they get hurt. Maybe the energy of healing drains Whumpee entirely, leaving them all sweaty and limp and lifeless

Whumpees with the power to heal immediately on the surface but feel the pain indefinitely

Whumpee who can heal so fast they're used for organ harvesting, cut open and ripped apart again and again and again

Herbal concoctions used to make powerful healing potions that taste putrid, forced down Whumpee’s throat as they choke and struggle, too out of it to really fight back

Concoctions that save Whumpee from fatal stab wounds but feel so bad. Poultices and salves that burn or ache, tinctures that make them so restless and disoriented they dream about such horrible things while Caretaker wipes sweat off their brow

Caretaker having to soothe and look after Whumpee as they give them dose after dose of something that makes them feel terrible. Maybe it’s the only thing keeping them alive, but Caretaker feels guilty all the while

Drugs that promote healing but have a whole slew of side effects. Anxiety, heart palpitations, overstimulation, allergic reactions, horrible withdrawals after Whumpee heals

Whumpee’s wounds getting better in every physical way but they just feel so much worse