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#please reblog <3
meichenxi · 1 year
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Speakers of non-English languages of the UK and Ireland wanted!!
Since it’s World Mother Language Day today (February the 21st), I’m thinking of doing a series of posts on the native non-English languages of the United Kingdom and Ireland, with some information and short interviews. 
For this, I am looking for both native speakers/signers and learners (with or without parentage/heritage of the language in question) of the following languages:
- Scottish Gaelic
- Irish
- Welsh
- Any sign language of the United Kingdom or Ireland (e.g. BSL)
- Any other minority language indigenous to the United Kingdom or Ireland. By this I mean primarily spoken only within the UK or Ireland as a minority, or spoken very little elsewhere. For example: Cornish, Manx, Shelta, or Anglo-Romani, not languages like Polish or Bengali that are minority within the UK but have a significant speaker base elsewhere. (I am aware that I am fishing for some of these *cough* Cornish *cough*...but you never know!)
- Any language or variety that you speak that you feel is linguistically / culturally distinct from Standard English that you would like to inform more people about. For example: Shetlandic, Scots, Ulster Scots. 
I don’t have anything finalised yet, but if you would be wiling to speak to me about some text-based interviews for the sake of qualitative and informative tumblr posts, please send me a message!
(NB: if I have used any names of languages that are not preferred, tell me and I will change them. I don’t know a lot about the non-Celtic and non-Germanic languages here, which is part of my reason for wanting to make this series of posts in the first place.)
Please reblog so more people see this!
- meichenxi
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echoes-lighthouse · 4 months
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Leaving the selfship community for a bit and then coming back means I have to block a bunch of antis in the tag all over again 😞
Could you interact with this post if you’re a selfshipper who is not violently antiship, tags common triggers on their posts, and doesn’t reblog too much shipcourse (or tags it)?
Bonus points for lesbians, neopronouns users, homestuck/magnus archives/star wars selfshippers, and people who have really elaborate meetcutes with their f/os!
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fennecfiree · 2 months
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AHH IM SO PROUD OF THIS!! <33
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mikaelaryder · 10 months
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Can we compile a list of WLW movies that have happy endings?
I'm fucking sick of lesbian films where someone dies, or they just ~can never~ be together because of whatever reason. Absolutely over it. I can only think of TWO movies where the girl gets the girl off the top of my head:
But I'm a Cheerleader
Happiest Season
would love for this list to grow, if you know of another lesbian movie where the girl gets the girl, and there is a happy ending, please add it!!!!
And ofc transgirls are included, if we have been blessed with a transgirl love story with a happy ending PLEASE add it.
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broflovski-brah · 4 months
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im being self indulgent so here’s a fix of kyle being sick and sheila taking care of him
“Care for You”
Warnings: Sickness, overeating, stomachaches, the works in a sickfic.
Kyle’s immune system had always been fucked. Ever since he was born he was burdened with having the immune system of a damn squirrel. So oftentimes he would be bombarded with an onslaught of different sicknesses. Fevers. Chills. Colds. Stomach bugs. Flu. You name it, he probably had it at some point. It also didn’t help that he was diabetic, so his immune system was even more compromised.
He knew something was wrong from the moment he woke up. He had felt a sharp throbbing in his abdomen. His stomach twisted inside him. He assumed it must’ve been hunger, though he couldn’t recall feeling hungry that quickly after waking up. He sat up and was instantly hit with a dizzy spell. He groaned and buried his face in his hands. He contemplated going back to bed but he knew that it was a Saturday. Which meant game nights with the boys. And Kyle had promised he would be there since he hadn’t been to the last few because of the unfortunate timing of his sporting events.
But there was another thing he had to get past now, besides the feeling of his stomach swimming inside him. His mom.
Kyle loved his mom to death. He really did. She was there for him whenever he needed her. She was his rock. She listened to his problems and made him feel better when he needed her most. But Jesus Christ could she be overbearing. Not to mention observant. He checked his clock.
“11:30?! Fuck…”
He hadn’t even realized he had been passed out for that long. He was surprised his mom hadn’t come barging into his room to make sure he wasn’t dead. Oh well. Up and at ‘em.
As soon as Kyle swung his feet over the bed, another wave of dizziness washed over him. He let out a low groan and a dry belch, which tasted like death. He scrunched up his face and smacked his lips a bit to get the taste out of his mouth. He knew something was definitely wrong. Probably some digestive issue. But would he admit that? No. No he would not. He powered through and managed to stand up, changing into a loose t-shirt and jeans. He noticed his stomach looked kind of bloated. Likely as a result of the sickness. He sighed to himself in a mix of frustration and annoyance before pulling his shirt over his head.
He began rummaging through his drawer, trying to find his insulin and blood sugar monitor. He set everything up on his desk. It was hard to focus with how dizzy he was and blurry his vision was. He managed to force his eyes into focusing by putting on his glasses. God he hated them. His diabetes had messed with his vision, thus he needed either glasses or contacts, which unfortunately, the former seemed like the safer option. He knew he probably didn’t have the stability to put in contacts at the moment, with how shaky his hands were. And he really didn’t have the time, nor patience to fight with contacts at the moment.
He squinted a bit as he set up his lancet. He pocketed the lancet, the insulin and the glucose monitor and went downstairs, praying Ike wasn’t in the bathroom. Kyle was sixteen and Ike was eleven, thus sharing a bathroom had become a lot less…convenient. He also prayed he wouldn’t pass by his mom. He didn’t want her to worry about him if she saw how sick he looked.
After managing to sneak downstairs, he knocked on the bathroom door, to which Ike responded. “I’m busy!”
“Fuck…” Kyle uttered. He sat down at the table, just as his mom walked in.
“Kyle, bubbi! I was getting worried about you. You don’t normally sleep this late!” she rushed over to him, putting her coffee cup down. He hoped she wouldn’t look too closely to his face. “Hey, Ma.”
Shit. His voice was croaky and clearly gave him away His mom’s smile dropped. She squinted at him.
“Kyle, dear. Are you feeling alright? You look sick.”
Kyle inwardly cringed. He would’ve much rather preferred to just go back to bed and not put up with Cartman’s bullshit, but it was Game Night. And he promised Stan he would be there. Kenny too. And he couldn’t let those two down. So he pulled himself together.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Just think my blood sugar’s a bit low.”
It wasn’t a complete lie. It could’ve been too low. Or high. The symptoms were really similar, albeit the sudden ravenous feeling inside that told him to eat. That was definitely a sign of low sugar. But it certainly wasn’t just that. It was also the fact that he felt minutes away from barfing his guts up if he had any contents in his stomach to throw up. His mom squinted at him, as if she were sizing him up. She had gotten off his ass a lot more now that he was older and could be trusted with more things, but she was very firm when he was sick.
“Okay…check your blood sugars and if you’re still feeling ill, tell me.”
He nodded. He knew he probably wouldn’t, regardless of whether he still felt sick or not. But he needed her to think he was okay enough. Especially if he was gonna be driving himself there.
After about ten minutes, Ike got out of the bathroom. He hugged Kyle quickly around his stomach, which sent a jolt of nausea through him. He kept a straight face though as he hugged back lightly. “Mornin’.” he smiled a bit as Ike went off to say hi to his mom.
He went onto the bathroom and sat on the toilet seat. He set up his lancet and lancing device after washing his hands thoroughly and drying his hands off. He knew that the sickness-induced clammy hands would probably mess up his reading, or it would ruin the stuff he was using, so he knew he needed to act fast. He set out his blood monitor and testing strips before inserting a clean lancet into his lancing device He set the puncture deepness to a level 3. He pricked his finger and watched a bead of red blood ooze from the wound. He quickly reached for the blood monitor, watching the blood be pulled into the testing strip. While he waited for his reading, he shakily bandaged his finger and threw out his lancet. The monitor beeped again.
65.6 mg/dL.
“Crap…”
That was the last thing he wanted. The biting nausea in his belly had been enough to nearly keep him bedridden on his ass, and now that he had to eat something sugary? With his stomach being as upset as it was? He honestly couldn’t tell if the grumbling in his belly was from the dull nausea that pricked at him or the hunger. Intense hunger was kind of an old friend to him. A symptom of low blood sugar, which was much more common in Type 1 diabetics (such as himself) than Type 2 diabetics. In the end though, he had chalked up the illness to his low blood sugar. It would explain a lot. He walked out of the bathroom where his mom was waiting.
“Are your sugars okay, bubbi? Do you feel okay?”
“65.6.” he replied, feeling a mix of biting hunger and nausea grabbing at his stomach as a loud, rumbling gurgle squeezed its way through his stomach. He felt his cheeks redden a bit. If there was one thing that set his mom off, it was that. Her eyes widened, both at the news of his low sugars and the rumble coming from her son’s midsection. She acted quickly and grabbed him a juice box. She tossed it to him before speed walking off to the kitchen. Kyle felt a bit guilty as he stood, but a sudden bout of dizziness caused a small groan to rip from his throat.
“Ma, you don’t-“ she cut him off.
“Just sit there, Kyle. You need to eat. Drink your juice and get your sugars up a little bit. At least until I’m done here. Okay?”
He hated the way she looked at him. The worry in her eyes. The way she went into fight or flight mode as if he was gonna drop dead in a matter of minutes. He supposed it was because of both his premature birth and the fact he was a rainbow baby. It had caused Sheila to become very overprotective of him. But he hated seeing his mother worry. But he physically didn’t feel well enough to argue, so he succumbed to his ill state and began drinking his juice box.
His mom came back with a bowl of yogurt. There were some fruits in there, but she had been caring in the means that she didn’t add bananas. Kyle was not a picky eater, but he couldn’t stand even the sight of bananas. It was clear that this would surely bring his sugars up at least. The sight of food caused a dull ache of hunger to grip at his stomach as his mother sat next to him.
“Eat up.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He wolfed it down like he hadn’t seen food in a week. His mom couldn’t help but smile. Ever since he had entered high school his appetite had completely skyrocketed. By the time he was done, he was feeling a little better. Not as nauseous. He figured it would go away with time. He stood up to clean his bowl in the sink and gave his mom a soft hug from the side.
“Thanks, Ma.” he said, a small grin tugging at his lips. She smiled and hugging him back tighter, managing to squeeze out a hiccup, which was quickly followed by his hand flying to his mouth as he burped a little. This caused her to laugh a bit.
“Aww, still the same as you were little.” she commented, to which Kyle rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his curly hair. “Yeah, yeah…” he laughed a little before cleaning off his dish. He went back to the bathroom to finish getting ready He switched his glasses out with contacts. His hair was more messy and unkept than usual, but it was nothing that his trusty trapper hat couldn’t fix. He brushed through it as well as he could and went through his normal routine before throwing his hat on. He grabbed his coat and keys before hugging his mom goodbye.
“Don’t be home later than 10, Kyle.” she said firmly. “We’re having your favorite for dinner tonight.” Kyle nodded and smiled a bit. “Got it. Love you, mom.” He poked his head into the living room, where Ike was playing on the Xbox. “Bye Ike. Love you.” Ike got up quickly and hugged his brother. “Love you too!” he chirped before rushing back to his game. Kyle’s mom watched him walk out. “Drive safe, Kyle! Keep your eyes on the road! Love you more!”
Kyle couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he got into his car and drove off. He seemed to. be in the clear, sickness wise…
For now.
“God damnit!”
Cartman’s angry voice rang through the air as Kyle laughed. He had just kicked Cartman’s ass for the fourth time in Smash Bros. This had been going on for a while. Stan and Kenny were watching this all play out. Cartman was the first one out, just as he had been for the last little bit. Eventually Kenny was the second one out. So it came down between Stan and Kyle. The two trash talked each other a bit as they played before Stan eventually topped Kyle.
“Fuck!” Kyle cursed loudly, hitting his knee with his fist as he glanced at Stan. “Kiss my ass.” Stan commented, shoving Kyle lightly. Kyle rolled his eyes.
Eventually, Cartman’s mom had brought out a bunch of food. Kyle’s eyes widened. Stan looked a bit appalled and Kenny looked like his eyes were gonna pop out. It was a lot of food. A lot. And Cartman’s mom was an amazing cook…so Kyle kinda braced himself for overeating. But he didn’t wanna eat too much, he knew his mom was cooking something for when he got home but it was only six o’vlock. He figured it would be digested by then. So he sat down with the rest of the boys before he began to indulge himself.
He sat alongside the rest of the boys. Cartman was wolfing it down like he hadn’t had food in years. Kenny was too, but it was understandable for him. Poor kid was lucky if he ate at all on the weekends. Even then the only meal he usually got during weekdays that was ensured was the school’s lunch, which was free to those who couldn’t afford it. Other than that he could expect a pop tart or a waffle when he got home. But that wasn’t anything like it used to be now that Kenny was in his teenage years. Kyle felt awful for him. Stan seemed to be taking things in moderation. He already had a weak stomach that was easily triggered, so he knew if he ate too fast he would end up with a massive stomachache.
“Fuck. Cartman’s mom’s a damn good cook. If I got meals like this every day I would be just as fat as Cartman.”
That got a snort out of Kyle, who nearly choked on his food as Cartman yelled at Stan. Kenny seemed to be losing his shit before going back to stuffing his mouth and occasionally slipping a few bites into his pockets when he thought nobody was watching.
Eventually, the four finished up the meal. Cartman let out a huge belch, which caused the rest of the group to roll their eyes in disgust.
“That’s fucking sick.” Kyle snapped at the brunette, which just caused him to laugh.
“Like you’re so innocent, Kahl. God, you’re such a fairy.” Cartman retorted sharply. Kyle just rolled his eyes before hearing a much louder, more disgusting burp from the other side of the room. All eyes snapped to Kenny, He had his parka pulled over his face as he blinked innocently, as if he didn’t do anything. The silence was quickly broken by laughter as Kenny just averted his eyes as if he had done nothing wrong.
“God, you two are sick.” Stan said, wiping a tear from his eye. He stood up, stretching out a bit. Kyle followed suit, yawning a little. He suddenly felt very fatigued. A small headache ripped at his skull, but he ignored it for the time being.
It couldn’t be anything. Probably just from spending the last five hours playing video games.
Right?
After the meal, the boys went back inside to finish up their video game tournament. It didn’t take much for him to feel a pinch in his stomach. It felt like a sudden punch to the gut. A small, but low groan ripped at Kyle’s throat as he clutched his stomach. He hoped nobody noticed. Eventually, Stan noticed.
“Dude, are you okay?” Stan asked. “You don’t look so hot.”
Kenny suddenly approached too, to see what was going on. “Yeah, Kyle. You look like you’ve got a fever or somethin’.”
Kyle opened his mouth to answer, but quickly brought a hand to his mouth to muffle what might’ve been the kraken of burps. It wasn’t pretty sounding. Nor did it feel relieving like it normally probably would’ve. It felt wet. Like it was leading up to something. Stan’s eyes immediately widened and Kenny gripped Kyle’s arm. Cartman looked up from the TV and came over.
“That’s fucking sick.” he mocked Kyle’s tone from before. Nobody laughed though. Kyle’s eyes were wide as he felt saliva pool in his mouth. He shook his head. “Not now.” He managed. Cartman just rolled his eyes, not seeming to get the hint.
“What, are you gonna be sick or something? Too much food for you?” he teased. Kyle’s shoulders heaved as his stomach gave a low, sickly rumble. He glared daggers at Cartman, shaking violently. But not from anger, but from illness. He shoved Cartman back with the last bit of strength he had. It made Cartman stagger a bit.
“I said not-“
He was cut off by a much more retch-like belch. His shoulders heaved as he gagged. Cartman seemed to understand what was going on.
“Oh Jesus Christ, I swear to God if you throw up-“
And, as if in cue, a thick stream of vomit escaped from the ginger’s mouth and went all up the front of Cartman’s shirt. Cartman was frozen in place. Looking like a deer in the headlights.
“Kahl! What the fuck?!”
“Woah, sick dude!”
“Jesus Christ!”
Cartman shoved Kyle away from him, but he didn’t seem done there. He let out another retch before surprisingly, Kenny was the one who took action. He was used to sicknesses. His family couldn’t afford vaccinations (nor did they believe in them) and he was probably the most sickly teen in all of South Park right after Kyle. Karen used to get sick a lot too, and he was used to caring for her. Kenny grabbed Kyle by the arm and helped him to Cartman’s bathroom. He helped Kyle kneel down in front of the toilet and pulled his hair back gently. It was a bit too late though as Kyle got a bit of vomit on Kenny’s parka. He coughed up bile into the toilet and finally sat back.
“Fuck, I’m sorry…” he croaked hoarsely as he noticed the vomit on Kenny’s parka, to which Kenny just shrugged it off.
“It’s fine. I’ve had worse.”
He propped Kyle up against the bathtub and sat beside him. He closed the lid to the toilet and flushed down the vomit. Kenny crossed his legs.
“Didja feel sick this whole time, or?”
It was a simple question. But hefty, for Kyle, who sighed.
“I woke up this morning feeling like shit. I figured it was my sugars…” He hated talking about his diabetes. He felt like a ripoff version of Scott Malkinson while doing so. He preferred to keep his dignity. But he knew he could be honest to Kenny. Kenny was a better friend than he got credit for. “And my sugars were low this morning, so I figured that was why…I felt a bit better, but still felt like I had a weird cold or something, but no big deal. I guess it was a bigger deal than I thought, huh?”
He wiped stray ribbons of saliva from his mouth before standing up with Kenny’s help, who nodded understandingly. “I’m not gonna tell. Do you wanna go home?”
Kyle checked his watch. It was 8:30. He kinda did wanna go home and just be in the comfort of his own bed, with his family…so he nodded a bit. Kenny stood up and held his arm gently. “Let me help you out.”
As soon as he got out of the bathroom, Cartman walked in. Kyle glared a bit, half expecting some smartass comment, but none came. He noticed the puke stain on Cartman’s shirt. He didn’t feel the same feeling of guilt he felt after vomiting on Kenny. In fact, he felt a strange sense of pride. Cartman had it coming.
Kyle brought his fist to his mouth and burped dryly into it. It wasn’t anything like the previous ones. It was airy and quiet, almost as if it was all his stomach had to offer. Cartman glared harder, folding his arms a bit as he mumbled “Weak tit.”
“Fuck off, Cartman.” Kyle snapped. Even in his sickened state he was sure he could beat the snot out of Cartman. Cartman just rolled his eyes. Stan got in the middle before the fight could escalate. Normally they would’ve let this play out but Kyle was visibly shaking and sweating. He was not physically able to fight back like he usually would.
In the end, Cartman stormed off without another word, pissed that his shirt had even ruined. Kenny wished him a quick recovery, while Stan helped Kyle into his car. Kyle handed over the keys before the car ride faded into silence, aside from an occasional gurgle from Kyle’s middle or a dry burp that tasted and smelled of rotting turkey. . Stan had to pull over three times because of how sick Kyle was getting. He didn’t complain (much) at all though. He simply held Kyle’s hair back and allowed him to get the gross stuff out of his system. Eventually, Kyle got home.
The moment his mom saw him, she freaked out.
“Kyle?! Oh my God!” she hurried over to him. He weakly waved. “Hey, Ma…”
Stan explained everything. Kyle getting sick. The times he had to pull over. All of it. Kyle interjected a few times to add in a few missed details (i.e. the low sugars and how he didn’t think he was actually sick) and in the end, Sheila thanked Stan for bringing her son home safely. When Stan left, she turned to Kyle.
Oh God. Kyle hated that look.
She looked genuinely worried.
Kyle would’ve almost preferred it if she had been angry with him. At least it wouldn’t tug his heartstrings like the look of pure sadness and worry on her face did.
“Kyle, bubbi, why didn’t you call me? Or tell me you weren’t feeling well? I would’ve come to pick you up…”
Kyle wanted to retort back with some snarky comment. He was sixteen! Calling his mom to take him home?! Because he was sick?! He couldn’t deal. But he didn’t wanna tell her that.
“I…don’t know.” he opted. He couldn’t really talk past the sudden lump in his throat.
Sheila must’ve noticed this. She hugged him gently. It was a bit awkward because he was so tall and lanky, but he hugged her back lightly.
“I’m always here for you. You know that, don’t you?” she reached up to push some of his damp-with-sweat bangs out of his face. He looked down at her, seeing the genuine care in her expression. He simply nodded, not being able to speak.
“I don’t care if you’re six, seven, eight, sixteen, twenty five, forty…I’m here for you. You are my son. And I love you more than anything.”
She helped him up the stairs and to his bed. He was too weak to check his own sugars after vomiting up nearly everything in his system, so Sheila did it for him. She was much more careful and soft than he was with himself. He often rushed it just to get it over with. It was such a chore to him. But to her? She seemed to genuinely care about his health. She always did. She tsked a bit and went downstairs, grabbing him a juice box. She brought up some soup she had made for dinner as well.
“I know you’re sick, sweetheart, but you need to eat. Just get a little something in your system.”
He couldn’t even protest. Even though he had thrown up what felt like seconds ago, his stomach seemed to disagree, giving a small gurgle of hunger. He groaned in response. His stomach was really beginning to piss him off.
He felt a sudden warm hand on his shoulder. His mom had grabbed a chair. She sat beside him. His hands were shaking. A lot. So eating was a bit of a struggle, but she had helped him. He felt her gentle hand rubbing at his stomach as the food slipped down. It helped him digest his food. Ever since he was a baby she would do stuff like that, not so much anymore, but whenever he was sick. By the end, he had eaten as much as he could manage, and felt more tired than anything. His eyelids drooped. Shiela laughed a bit.
“Get some sleep, honey. I’ll check on you tomorrow.”
Kyle couldn’t even muster up the strength to reply. He simply nodded and let his head sink into the plus pillow beneath him. He nodded a bit. As his mom was on her way out, she heard a soft noise. She turned her head.
“Hey, Mom?”
“Yes, sweetie?”
“I love you.”
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[Edit] rushed ending I know- if you enjoyed this be sure to leave any ideas you may have in your inbox!! I have more coming <33 i’m sorry if it’s not in character, i did try-
please reblog, it would help me loads <3
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kkavehs · 1 year
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url change: lordrexlapis >> kkavehs
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vielu · 7 months
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apowersodivine · 11 months
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rowan-ravenlake · 1 year
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Moodboard - Ember
16.1 hand, 18 year old Jorvik Warmblood gelding and Rowan’s soul horse, semi-retired eventer.
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crombld · 1 year
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[reblogs appreciated !!]
hi so i'm doing a bunch of studies about environment and how i can convey stories in details!!!!!!! if you could help me by filling out this survey (which asks a few questions about your "home"), i would really really appreciate it! it's not mandatory to fill out the entire thing :)
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fennecfiree · 2 months
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GUYS BOOST THIS AND SHIT
COMMISSION ME FOR 5$ IM TRYING TO SAVE UP FOR A DRAWING TABLET <33
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systemgoblincore · 2 years
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same character, different fonts
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they both like red, I've seen so much art of tord with ram horns and ram eyes, they both like guns, they both tried to take over the world / a country, they both hate a dude named Tom(my), evil dictator, they both like big booty women (and men-), both are PROBABLY republican (slash joke)...
sure schlatt has facial hair, but tords hair flaps vaguely look like mutton chops
but what about the scared face and fucked up arm?? that skipped a generation for schlatt and went right to his son, Tubbo
I rest my case. . .
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mazegays · 10 days
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could've followed my fears all the way down
i have been listening to ttpd on repeat since it released and like. i thought listening to this is me trying on repeat while writing multiple sections was as angsty as it could get, but i was wrong. this could have been worse than it is, and depending on who you ask it's already too whumpy lmao
Chapter 24
Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23
“Thomas, you need to eat something.” Minho shares a look with Gally. Thomas isn’t doing it on purpose— he’s thrown up everything but applesauce for the last week— but they don’t have any left and he needs to get something other than water in his system.
“Don’t want to throw up again.” Thomas hasn’t moved from the bed much in days. With the vomiting he’s been doing, he’s at risk of re-damaging his ribs and diaphragm, and no one wants that.
Thomas might know the risks better than anyone but Anya. Someone’s been bringing him the extra tablet they picked up, and when he’s not sleeping, reading on it is all Thomas has been doing.
Minho doesn’t want to take Thomas’s only source of entertainment away, but he’s not sure it’s a good thing that Thomas has daily access to all this information. What if he just stresses himself out more?
“Try a slice of bread. Please.” Gally tries, and Minho knows that he’s remembering when he had to feed Thomas to a mostly-healthy weight. He’d never quite gotten there, and now he’s starving.
“Okay.” Thomas eats the bread slowly, taking nearly twenty minutes to finish the whole thing, but Minho doesn’t care how long it takes, he just wants Thomas to be able to eat again.
Not being able to eat will affect the rest of his recovery as well, and Thomas has already complained about  how  he’s going to be in bed for a few weeks already, just to be on the safe side. 
At least during Gally’s few weeks in bed, Minho had been there with him most of the time. And now Gally can move around, as long as he uses his crutches.
Thankfully, it stays down long enough for Thomas to fall asleep.
“How long has he been sleeping for?” Anya asks, holding the tablet that’s been dedicated to medical records. Including their old WCKD files, though Minho’s still not sure how he feels about that.
She’s been adding to them. WCKD shouldn’t be able to access those additions, and it’s good to have records.
“Maybe fifteen minutes? He managed to eat a slice of bread and keep it down before he fell asleep. It’s more than he’s eaten lately.” She types it in and then checks Thomas’s pulse and breathing rate, and draws some blood.
“I’ll check to see if there’s an electrolyte imbalance. Hopefully, it’s not too big, because we don’t have supplements here.”
“What else can we try? This is the first time he’s been able to eat the bread,” Gally asks. Minho knows he’s been going through Thomas’s file, trying to figure something out. He still spends time in the kitchen, but not nearly as much as when they thought Thomas was dead.
Minho  hasn’t been working much, either. If he could work up some emotion other than relief, he might be a little upset about it. Not too upset, though. He’s perfectly fine with not having to work hard another day in his life.
He will eventually, he’s sure, but since they’re here, it’ll be something he enjoys. Hopefully.
Thomas had told them both to take on lighter tasks here and there, though, so that’s all Minho’s been doing. He doesn’t want Thomas to feel crowded or too closely watched.
“The bread is a good idea. If he handles that well, a little jam might not be such a bad idea. Water, of course. Nothing significantly solid for a while. I’m concerned about his throat and esophagus getting damaged with all the vomiting he’s been doing. His lips and mouth are already showing signs.”
Gally nods. When she leaves, though, his shoulders slump and he lowers his head.
“Minho, how can we help him with this? It’s not something we can fight. I’m scared that he’ll start thinking it’s better not to eat again.”
“We’ll make sure he doesn’t.” Truthfully, Minho’s not sure those thoughts have really left Thomas’s mind, but he had been gaining weight and was better about eating— at least around them.
He’s not sure that there’s been a time Thomas hasn’t had those thoughts. Minho still doesn’t know the full story about what happened with the storm and the river and everything, but he knows Thomas has scars that don’t come from the Maze.
When did he make those? How old was he when he started?
Chances are, he’s never going to know the answer. He doesn’t think he wants to.
“I’m worried too. I think there’s something he’s not telling us.”
“Like what?”
“Not anything too big, but I noticed he was a little weird after Rosa visited. She might have said something to him.”
“I didn’t even notice,” Gally mumbles, likely not intending for Minho to hear. “I should have noticed.”
“Gally, you’re still healing yourself. It wasn’t a crazy difference, I just… I’ve been watching Thomas for a long time.”
Gally at least laughs at that. “Sounds creepy when you put it that way.”
“Maybe a little, but it’s true. I knew after he announced that he was going to sacrifice himself that I either wanted to strangle him for saying that or kiss him so he couldn’t. Never decided which I wanted to do more.”
“He told us he’d built the Maze and you wanted to kiss him?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t have done it. Especially not the way he did. Alby was acting all weird from the Changing, still, and Winston wouldn’t shut up. And then he goes and says he should be the one to go in, all noble-like. But then when he said why… that’s when it got really heated.”
“I don’t think anyone liked that one.” Gally agrees. “Newt was pissed.”
“Yeah, he pulled me aside later and told me to keep an eye on him. Didn’t want Thomas going off and doing it anyway because he felt guilty about it.” Minho had been kind of tempted to make Thomas stay in the Slammer so he couldn’t pull a stunt like that again, but if he’d said that to Newt, he would never have heard the end of it.
“He still does. He told me a little about it, how if he hadn’t built the Maze we wouldn’t all be here. Like a kid could control any of that.”
“He wants to save everyone.” Minho figured that out when he ran into the Maze for two people he didn’t even know. At the time, he’d just thought Thomas was an idiot, because he had also been that. But then he’d put more work in to save Alby than Minho had, and managed to keep himself alive, too. “Sometimes it works. Most of the time, it doesn’t.”
finish on ao3 or keep reading
Minho kisses him on the forehead— something he’s still trying to get used to— before he heads out for the day. Gally is learning to make bread (or trying to), so he’s going to be gone most of the day; despite rising times, he can’t risk his leg by moving back and forth a lot.
So really what Gally is going to be doing is sitting.
Thomas is left alone a lot more than he’d thought he would be. Sure, Harriet or Anya pop in every few hours, but now that he’s out of danger and healing well, they don’t have to come by as frequently. Sonya visits, too, but she’s busy running the greenhouse.
Minho left him some strawberries, but he’s not sure he wants to risk it. As horrible as throwing up in front of other people makes him feel, if he gets sick while no one’s here and hurts himself, he’s out of options.
He’ll just wait for someone to come and visit. That’s his best option. Jorge had mentioned coming again this week, if he wasn’t too busy, and he knows he’s due a session with Jamie. She’ll insist on talking about this, even if he doesn’t want to.
(He really doesn’t want to.)
“Hey, Thomas, you up for us?” Rosa knocks on the door. Frankie’s with her, probably.
Now, he doesn’t think he wants visitors anymore.
“Yeah, but I might fall asleep on you.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that!” Rosa takes the seat closest to the door— Gally’s chair, though Thomas knows he’d prefer to be able to see the door— and Frankie takes the one on the other side of the bed.
Thomas is very glad she doesn’t take Minho’s chair. Only Sonya and Minho have actually sat in it so far, and he doesn’t know why but he wants it to stay that way.
It would feel wrong to have someone other than them sit there.
“What have you been doing, all cooped up in here?”
“Reading, mostly.” Some of the WCKD files weren’t files, but books. Thomas knows he’s read some of them before, but he’s bored. “Sleeping. Eating what I can. Minho and Gally are good at keeping my mind off of things.”
“Thomas, you know they moved you, right?”
“Yes, I do.” He’s in his cabin— their cabin, now, but they haven’t actually talked  about that— and not the medical cabin. “It’s perfectly fine with me. The medical cabin is smaller and I’m going to be in bed for a while, others need to use it too.”
He eats a strawberry to avoid saying anything else.
“Thomas, you don’t have to stay here.”
“Again, Rosa, I’m not scared of them. They don’t hurt me, and they’re not going to.”
He can tell that Rosa is still convinced that the bruises she’d seen, even with explanations, are from Minho and Gally.
Of course, his not being found earlier didn’t help Minho’s case at all. Maybe she’s going to try and say that Minho missed him on purpose.
As if Minho would do that.
“I mean it, Thomas. Frankie and I can handle it for you if you want.”
“No, Rosa.” He eats another strawberry.
He should really tell Minho and Gally about this, or at least Jamie.
“I know you’re trying to help, but you’re really not helping at all. If this is all you want to talk about, then leave.”
Maybe they’re good for something, though, because Thomas is on his fifth strawberry now.
“Thomas, I’m not leaving. You might be safe for now because Anya is monitoring you twenty-four/seven, but you’re not always going to be safe. If I have to, I’ll take extreme measures to make sure you are.”
Miyoko’s actually been talking to him now. Maybe he’ll tell her, and she can decide to tell Harriet and Sonya if it’s bad enough. 
She used to be their leader, after all. Thomas doesn’t know what WCKD did to her, only that the others were surprised to see her alive.
He'd like to think that that means that maybe more Gladers survived than they know about, that they're safe somewhere.
“Frankie, please tell her I don’t need help.” Frankie reaches out to take his hand.
“You do, Thomas. You can’t see it yet, but we’ll help you. Even if it means we have to kidnap you and take you into the forest.”
Are they… threatening him?
That feels like a threat.
He pulls his hand away and eats another strawberry. He might get sick later, but probably not because he eats too much: the rising panic at the thought of going into the forest again isn’t going to be something he can ignore for long.
“I don’t really want to go to the forest anytime soon. If you’re going to mention that again, just leave.” He can’t force them out, he can’t even get out of bed. What is he going to do if they refuse?
He can’t do anything.
He’s helpless, and there’s probably no one close enough to hear him if he screams.
Well, if they do kidnap him, they won’t get away with it for long. Someone is always coming to check up on him.
He eats another strawberry and fumbles the bowl on purpose when setting it down.
“Are you okay? Should we get someone?” Frankie asks. He thinks she’s just going along with Rosa at this point, but he isn’t sure.
“Just tired.” Thomas has been using that excuse a lot lately. (Usually he’s not faking, either.)
“We’ll come to talk to you later, Thomas.” Frankie stands up first, and she has to pull Rosa out, but at least they’re gone.
He really has to tell Minho and Gally about this.
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duckdotimg · 4 months
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Got tired of seeing moeblob young catgirls. Give me butch and GNC catladies in their 40s and 50s (more will be drawn)
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nightwinginflight · 1 year
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finleycannotdraw · 5 months
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No Place Like Home
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Sometime after everything, Mobius ends up in Don’s place on the timeline and settles in. Loki is slowly but surely figuring out a way to leave the tree for longer periods of time. He wasn’t sure if Mobius would remember him, but loves him too much to stay away entirely even if he didn’t.
But Mobius does remember him, and his script flies out the window.
I’m so utterly obsessed with these guys,,,, they just need to be silly dads in suburban cleveland,,,
for some reason I could not find any reference pictures for the kids? that’s why they’re a bit less fleshed out than loki and mobius. plus I don’t usually draw children, so 🤷‍♂️
I might have to make this a continuing au because my need for domestic fluff is already outweighing my need for sleep
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