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#but the ending ugh
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Glad You’re Here - Martin (The Rain)
I fucking LOVED this show, and I was so disappointed to see that there wasn’t much of a fandom for it. I swear I will build a fandom for this show up from the ground if I have to.
My Masterlist.
angst, hurt/comfort, x gender neutral reader
Word count: 1.3k Warnings: Injury, canon violence (if any). Not proofread.
Summary: Reader and Martin get into an argument, and Reader breaks off from the group on their own, hiding a nasty wound. It gets infected and they get terribly sick.
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"You know what? Fine. Okay. I'm not going to die with the rest of you." I grit my teeth, glaring at the soldier in front of me. I took one last look at everyone, before turning away and tucking my knife back into its sheath on my thigh, limping off into the forest.
The previous fight against the people trying to take Rasmus had taken a toll on all of us, but they had regrouped quickly; and my own group was already more than ready to fight for him again. They were a bunch of idiots. A bunch of idiots that were willing to get themselves killed for that stupid boy. I told myself. I wasn't going to lose anymore people for him. Not again.
My foot suddenly caught on a tree root, sending me tumbling to the ground. I panted, clutching the now open wound on my side and rolling onto my back. I blinked hard as my vision spun, noticing the dark clouds begin to roll in. Cursing under my breath, I staggered to my feet and set off in a random direction at a clumsy pace. I had no idea where I was.
Maybe I was going to be the idiot to die.
I shook my head at that thought, stumbling forward and gripping onto trees for support. I had been severely injured during our last fight, being shot once, and winged another time, as well as breaking my ankle. I had lost a lot of blood, and I was still weak from it and struggling to recover. Being too stubborn to accept help, I hadn't even set my ankle, to avoid suspicion. Our medical supplies were limited, and everyone else had been injured worse.
I suddenly spotted what looked like a school in the distance, and I breathed out a sigh of relief, picking up my pace. And not a moment's too soon I opened the door forcefully, as a heavy downpour began. I wandered around aimlessly before heading straight for the nurse's office. There wasn't much left-it had been looted already, it looked like-but in a drawer, I found a half empty bottle of painkillers. I immediately shook some out into my palm, downing them with a gulp of water. I began to search for other things I would need; bandages, and antibiotics for the winged shot on my side that I was sure had been infected by now. I managed to find bandages and gauze, but only empty bottles of antibiotics. Not even any alcohol.
I grimaced as I opened my water bottle, which wasn't even half full. I tugged my shirt up, removing the bandage with a wince. The wound was an angry, swollen red all around it and it was hot to the touch. With a grimace, I poured about half of my remaining water over it, which did little to clean it. I did all that I could do, securing a gauze pad over it and beginning to work on the one in my abdomen. Afterwards, I wrapped my ankle tightly in gauze and tape, stabilizing it the best I could, and curled onto the cot tiredly.
I woke up shivering and burning. I turned onto my side with a small groan, pulling the thin blanket over me. The amount of energy it took just to do that should have been concerning to me, but a fog had settled over my brain, and I would have felt almost in a dream-like state had it not been for the terrible pain I felt all over. Each breath was difficult and painful. My mouth was terribly, painfully dry, but I was unable to reach for my water bottle. I stared at it longingly until I finally succumbed to fatigue once again.
A shuffling awoke me this time, and I jolted up in alarm, struggling onto my elbows with renewed strength. My eyes darted around, and my hand hesitantly went to the knife on my thigh before I realized it had an IV hooked to it. Footsteps rounded the corner, and I shrank back, hastily pulling the IV out and swinging my legs over the cot. I immediately regretted it as a wave of nausea hit me, hard. I hunched over, fighting the urge to throw up, until I felt a hand on my shoulder. I flinched back, my head snapping up to meet the threat.
"Martin?" I croaked out, my eyes slowly bringing his face into focus. Completely forgetting our argument, I slumped against him in relief. He wrapped his arms around me, tenderly rubbing my back, before he suddenly pulled away, resting the back of his hand against the side of my neck and frowning. He pressed a hand to my chest, gently urging me to lie back on the cot. For once, I complied, feeling weak and helpless. I relaxed into the cot with a small sigh, watching as he stood up.
"Don't leave me." I mumbled, managing to catch his fingers with mine. He looked at our intertwined hands for a moment, before taking his hand back and leaving the room without a word. The feeling of regret hung heavy over me, making it even harder to breathe. I drew in a labored breath, closing my eyes, and knowing that I was at least safe now. I trusted that, no matter what terms we were on, Martin wouldn't let any harm come to me.
Before I could drift off again, I heard his footsteps coming back down the hall. I forced my heavy eyelids open, eyeing him wearily as he approached me with something in his hands that I couldn't make out. He sat on my bedside, taking the IV I had tugged out into his hands carefully, and holding his hand out for my arm. I groaned, tucking my arm under the sheets.
"They're antibiotics." He insisted. He knew about my fear of needles.
"I'm fine." I protested, attempting to sit up again. He eyed me carefully as I did so, but made no move to stop me. My jaw clenched, and my face screwed up in pain, but I managed to prop myself against the corner, a pale, shaky hand settling over my injured abdomen. I tried to ignore the burning heat coming from the wound.
"Where's everyone else?" I asked tiredly.
"At the bunker." He replied shortly, looking away.
"I'm sorry." I started, my timid voice barely above a whisper. "It's just..We've lost so many people already and seeing that almost happen to you…" I hesitated. "..yesterday..? I can't…I don't want to lose you-" I broke off before my voice could crack, looking down at my feet.
"I know. I understand, but we're in this together. Nobody gets to go running off." He finally met my gaze, looking exhausted.
"I'm sorry." I repeated, breaking off with a cough and a wheeze. He gave me a concerned glance.
"That happened three days ago." He eventually informed me, eyeing me up and down for my reaction.
"Oh." I whispered. "How long have you been here?"
"Two days."
"Martin I-" I began. He immediately cut me off.
"Don't, not right now. I'm just glad you're still here. I thought you were gone."
He took me in his arms, holding me tightly to his chest, the gesture admitting how scared he had been at the thought of losing me. I held onto him as tight as I could, sucking in a shaky breath and then wincing. His hands began to gently run across my back in a comforting manner. I relaxed into him in exhaustion. He was careful as he gently pulled me down onto the cot with him, tucking an arm securely around my waist. I sighed contentedly, knowing we were both safe right now, in the current moment. That was all that mattered.
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theoldkyokodied · 1 year
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One wedding and three funerals
Background paintings under the cut
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#tomgreg#succession#tom wambsgans#greg hirsch#shiv roy#roman roy#kendall roy#yeah no im not tagging everyone thats too much#this is me going 'how much implications themes and symbolism can i fit in one painting'#yes i gave rose shivs haircolor. if we ever find out how she looks like and its not like this im just gonna pass away i guess#but yeah i hope yall connect the dots#i put waaay too much thought and work into this. i was googling pictures of all the actors as kids just for reference (sigh)#honestly kinda wanted to make tom and greg link pinkies as like. a pinkie promise. but that was too hard to draw in this angle#at least not without obstructing the view of the ring which is important to see so ya#my fave is actually the tomshiv wedding pic i went off with that. i love them... they should have run away to become sheep farmers fr fr#anyway im so glad im done with this UGH!! finally i can draw smth else without being like oh noooo i need to finish this#i see a lot of you wondering why there is no portrait of logan but one of ewan#it's bc the placement of the painting represent their standing. logans portray would not hang next to the stairs#his present portrait hangs at the end of it. all the way up at the top. alone and withering away#basically the picture you see underneath ewan to the right? its where toms parents would be. the right side of the wall is tom and gregs#and the left one is the roy siblings theirs. since they grew up rich rich. and tom and greg didn't#but ya thats why ewan hangs here and logan does not :)
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hussyknee · 10 months
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my disabled ass, after (1)good day: "obviously I am cured. in fact it may have all been in my head. who can say? now to rejoin society!"
me, the next day: "it has come to my attention that i may be chronically ill."
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sevenlersiniz · 1 year
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You turn on the light.
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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year
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Wayne Munson can’t read beyond a very basic elementary level, enough to read warnings and food labels, road signs, small notes Eddie leaves for him, but that’s it
But he tells stories. Always has. That’s where Eddie got it from
So when Eddie is in the hospital, in a medically induced coma so he can heal properly without pain, Wayne struggles. He knows he can tell Eddie stories, but he wishes he could read to him, give him something familiar to grab onto
One day he walks in to see Steve reading The Hobbit to him, blushing when he’s caught like Wayne would give two shits about anything when it comes to someone supporting Eddie
It happens every day after that and Wayne listens. He hears the way Steve stumbles over words sometimes, how he pauses after a complicated paragraph as if he needs to read it silently again to understand what it said
And he realizes Steve isn’t a strong reader either, but he’s pushing himself for Eddie
He doesn’t say anything outright, but he starts sitting next to Steve when he reads instead of across the room, watches his fingers glide across the pages and associates words with what he says, starts to feel like maybe he wants to try reading to Eddie too
Steve doesn’t say anything outright either but he recognizes what Wayne’s doing, hopes he’s able to find the confidence to try because Eddie won’t care how fast or well he reads to him, he’ll just be happy that his uncle is trying
Steve intentionally leaves the book on the bed when he leaves to get food at the cafeteria and hopes Wayne tries
When he comes back he quietly peeks around the doorway and smiles to himself when he sees that Wayne is trying, he’s going slowly, sounding out words and names that are actually difficult for anyone not just people like them
Decides he doesn’t want to interrupt today, gives them privacy for this
Doesn’t say anything when the bookmark is only three pages ahead of where steve was the day before, just smiles and picks up where Wayne left off
When Eddie wakes up, Wayne is the one reading to him, Steve asleep in the corner
Wayne still prefers telling his own stories, may never be a great reader, but Eddie will never forget the way it felt to see Wayne so engrossed in his favorite book
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tadfools · 4 months
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Wyll Ravengard deserves the world (writers that care about him) rb if you agree
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thewalrus-said · 9 months
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One thing that was really driven home for me this season was how much power Crowley has. How much influence.
To recap:
Shax, despite hating him and being his literal replacement, is constantly asking him for advice and help.
Furfur comes to the magic show in 1941 to arrest him and Crowley, like, laughs at him and goes back to sleep. "We shant, this is ridiculous."
In a room (the bookshop) with both Heaven and Hell's top brass, somehow Crowley was in charge of that meeting.
Both Furfur and Saraqael really really wanted him to remember working with them.
The Metatron knew he had to separate Aziraphale from Crowley in order to effectively manipulate him.
Like. He's unafilliated from both Heaven and Hell at this point, everyone (but Aziraphale) hates him, and yet people listen when he talks. People do what he says. It's incredible.
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demaparbat-hp · 1 day
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Character design for Katara in Soundless.
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noodles-and-tea · 28 days
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Sam from stardew valley you will always be my first love
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chalkeater · 2 months
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i have NOT drawn enough talk sprite redraws. Heres some warm ups!! RAAHH 🦖
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ruporas · 10 months
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wolfwood redraws (ID in alt text)
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drdemonprince · 3 months
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people who are obsessed with passing are gonna be the death of our community i swear
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It's not that hard Gege
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wigglesdtuff · 10 months
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My arms around his neck My fingers laced a crown I was a heavy heart to carry But he never let me down
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knific · 2 months
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and then they all left their boxes and kissed
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messiahzzz · 7 months
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i have been thinking a lot about mystra’s relationship with gale, how reducing her to “his ex” really is an understatement. she was and still is so much more than that. moreover, using the term “ex-girlfriend” in relation to her plainly feels wrong and diminishes the influence she has over him, as well as the role she played in his life since his childhood (and it also trivializes the abuse he suffered through her).
there are several instances where gale gets defensive when his companions mention or ask him abt mystra. he claims that their relationship was no less real even though most of their interactions were incorporeal.
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we have already established that gale is an unreliable narrator in this particular case, still not having fully come to terms with the fact that he was groomed, manipulated and abused. he ping-pongs between bouts of realization (even in his romance), gaining clarity that he was merely used and eventually discarded and that mystra never truly cared for him, back to making light of his situation, idealizing her once again. realizing the extent of his trauma, that he is indeed a victim in this scenario, unlearning what he has been made to believe from a young age is a slow and painful journey. he is in the process of healing, but it takes time. time he deserves just like anyone else.
which makes me wonder what their relationship really looked like, once the lines between teacher, muse, and lover began to blur. i also feel like one of the reasons why part of the fandom still struggles to identify mystra as his abuser, is because she is a white woman who initially presents herself in a soft-spoken, benevolent manner… and well, the fact that gale himself is ambitious to a fault and a lil insane about the promise of power. he also briefly mentions "crossing mystra’s boundaries” when he confides in tav and tells them about his folly. (“i am, after all, the villain in this story.”) which led to a looooot of misinterpretations.
leaving the overall lore and mystra’s treatment of her other chosen aside — what we can discern from her interactions with gale in-game, is that mystra is civil as long as she remains in control and gale follows her demands, but as soon as there’s even a slight mention of challenging her power or defying her rule, she rather quickly changes her tone.
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there is also one particular exchange between them that just won’t leave my head:
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“you were many things to me, but never a threat. and never a savior."
even if we choose to blatantly ignore the fact that mystra is a deity, his goddess - there is no possible way that their relationship ever could have been equal by any mortal standards. the power imbalance that comes with her being his teacher and a symbol of his admiration, plus the sheer control she holds over him and his powers are simply too great. don’t even let me get started on how it is a common tactic of abusers to isolate their victims from any outside influences so they can exert full control over them. and how up to meeting tav and their merry band of misfits, every single soul he was close to was inevitably tied to mystra in one way or another. he briefly mentions his colleagues and then there’s elminster, also mystra’s chosen and former lover, and tara, who is a fine wizard in her own right. he spend so many years in service of her, dedicating his life to her, that now there is no one left he can truly call a friend. most of his little anecdotes and stories he tells are restricted to his childhood and university days, everything else was mystra.
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evidently, ordering gale to detonate the orb is the most efficient course of action in her eyes. he is just as expendable as any other mortal, after all. maybe once significantly more useful given his status and the extent of his powers, but she doesn’t feel sorrow nor remorse for ordering him to end his life. his death is simply the most convenient means to an end.
another thing i would also like to briefly touch upon is the trigger/detonator itself. a dagger to the heart. it could have been literally anything else, a simple incantation. it is well within mystra’s power to stabilize the orb and also to remove it from his body entirely. but no, what she requires of gale is to stab himself. one might argue that it was simply a cinematic choice meant for a more dramatic effect, but it really leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. especially considering the fact that she is commonly known and referred to as a jealous goddess. it almost makes it seem like yet another form of punishment or mere pettiness. after his long period of isolation, gale is now surrounded by fellow humans. people he cares about, even perhaps people he might eventually consider good friends — which is enough of a reason for him to not want to die, to keep going and try to find another way, rather than to blindly follow mystra’s bidding. now there’s a group of people who support him and are genuinely invested in him staying alive. hmmm...
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