#long read sorry

[zombiewentz]

brendon knows what's happening. he knows what he's doing. he thinks that's maybe the worst part. he's not a poor, innocent, pathetic, clueless mormon boy like everyone seems to think he is. he knows when he thrusts into ryan shallowly, knows when he drops his head to ry's shoulders and asks for forgiveness, knows when ryan tugs on his hair as he threatens to find a better use for his mouth if he doesn't shut up. he knows when he slicks up his palm with his spit, the memory of the older boy's pale, soft skin lingering in his mind as he jerks up into his fist, groaning quietly. he knows when he goes to church on sunday, he knows he is sinful when he recites bibles passages and the gospel and everything that taught him he should be against this. he knows when ryan calls him straight after. he knows that there's a special place in hell for "people like him". people who go against what is "natural". people who's minds are clouded with lust. "dirty, no-good, filthy faggots" his priest informs him, a foul look souring his otherwise kind face. brendon repeats this in his head over and over, til it's ingrained in his mind. he thinks he knows he isnt like them. he isnt. not really. he was raised proper, he was raised christian, for crying out loud! he isnt like those people at all. he'll just pray more til his urges stop, til God forgives him and leads him back onto the correct path. until he's normal. until he can look at ryan without heat pooling in his gut, without getting sweaty palms and all the blood rushing down, making him dizzy. until he actually wants to fight back against ryan as he gets shoved against the nearest clear-ish surface, instead of struggling against the older's grip for the love of the game, for the small thrill it sends up his spine. but each time he brings it up ryan immediately shuts him down with shushes. "it's not gay if we don't actually like each other bren. i'm only doing this 'cause you don't have any experience, and nobody in school is worth my time of day. god forbid i take pity on some poor, mormon boy." ryan murmurs against brendon's lips one day, hands deftly undoing his belt, cool hands raising goosebumps along brendon's flaming hot skin and leaving sparks in their wake. he doesn't have a second to say a shocked "you don't like me?" before ryan's hand is stroking him, smearing precome over the palm of his hand and brendon's dick, bren's breaths falling in soft little pants against ryan's neck. when he returns home after ryan's kicked him out (per usual), he falls against his bed and sobs into the pillow. big, ugly, pained, watery sobs, that seem to loud for his too-quiet room. for the too-quiet house. too loud for his empty, aching, incomplete self. he thought he knew that ryan liked him back, just that he wasn't good at showing it. he thought he knew that he was more to ryan than a quick fuck, that ryan liked him for who he is rather then somebody who would keep quiet about it, unlike the pretty blonde girls ryan usually favoured who could not keep their mouths shut. maybe brendon doesn't know much at all.

[itsfungal]

MENTIONS OF SUICIDE BELOW

Gangle’s torture sequence in episode 8 hit me the hardest, mainly cuz I related to it so much. I have a lil theory on my dearly beloved Gangle.

I view the paintings of her mask surrounding and circling her as an interpretation of emotions overwhelming you, leaving you drained. Somethings that still happens to me from time to time.

Masking is already a draining thing, it can devastate your mental health but for some people, they NEED to mask, out of fear of being hated, to fit in with others, to make sure people don’t see you as a nuisance. For Gangle in the early episodes, she felt like she needed to mask, in her case she wanted to feel genuine happiness but never could, she was also afraid of messing things up and people not talking to her anymore (same here girl… same). Even though she’s doing better now, it still sits with her. Stuff like that doesn’t really leave you.

The paintings surrounding her gradually getting more distorted I feel is a sign of her emotional state deteriorating over time, similar to episode 4 when she disassociated near the end, ending with the truck hitting her again at the end.

I feel this is an allegory for a suicide attempt. I feel like in the real world, Gangle struggled so much with her emotions and possible bipolar/mania that it took a heavy toll on her mentally. Combined with working in fast food and having her dreams of being an artist crushed. She just couldn’t take it anymore.

The reason for the truck is because I feel that was her way of attempting to take her life. Running into oncoming traffic, specifically a truck, but she either;

A. Survived

B. Moved away at the last second

Either way, the truck coming back tells me that she’s still traumatised by it. Despite her healing and progression, it still lingers heavy on her mind… it’s a short scene but it helps add so much more to her possible backstory.

Gangle is a very special character to me because she hits so close to home (she’s also just a silly cutie pie), I relate to her every struggle and trauma that it just makes me wanna hug her even more.

We’re both autistic people who struggle with emotions, have had their dreams crushed and mask 🤝

[rubyboooks]

jane eyre is a comedic masterpiece and y’ain’t ready for it

it’s come to my attention that nobody knows about jane eyre being a hilarious read so here we go

1) jane literally draws a portrait of herself and another hot lady, painstakingly etches out their features, and then stares between the two of them thinking how ugly she is in comparison. like????? fucking hilarious !! instagram models could never

2) when rochester gets fuckign stuck in that blanket ????????? y’all !! he’s being all mysterious and like ‘oo i’ll tell you ur fortune, what do you think of mr rochester getting married?’ to jane, and then gets fucking stuck in his robe. 

jane: “mr rochester?” rochester: “jane, help me, im stuck” ICONIC

3) HOW THEY BOTH CALL EACH OTHER UGLY ALL THE TIME !!!

rochester: “am i handsome?” jane: “no.” we lov honesty and communication !

also crazy, how he likes that !!!! if someone told me that i was ugly i’d be like ‘get the fuck out of here then!!’ but this dude is just all ‘hubba hubba’ what ??? (also this is far from the most questionable thing mr edward rochester has done,,,,,,,, y’all kno,,,,, but still notable)

ALSO SHE SAYS THIS TO HIM (spoiler) STRAIGHT AFTER HE’S JUST BEEN TALKING ABOUT HOW SELF CONSCIOUS HE IS FROM HIS SEVERE BURN INJURIES !!! “am i hideous jane?” “u always were” LIKE ???? EXCUSE ME???? i mean it was lighthearted but jesus

4) jane just straight up leaving and walking on the moors til she nearly dies from exposure and like just fucking sleeping on the ground w moss for pillows ??? i mean, i feel that but ???

5) i can’t rly remember anymore actually but like, i was having a grand ol time, add more if u care to

[tomahachi12]

How quickly would the three Spinels’ curb stomp Steven? How could he even stand up to them in the end (even with his powers back?) also the mallet weapon reminds me of Amy Rose. Was that intentional?

That really depends. All three of them would probably destroy Steven in a 3-1 fight. You got Spinel with her rejuvenator, which was shown to easily slice through Steven’s shield, causing him to lose most, if not all, of his defense. Spade uses her elasticity to swing her mallet with 10x more force, and Club can pmuch punch through practically anything. Plus, all three of the spinel’s elasticity would be VERY DIFFICULT to keep track of . 

Now, a second round against all the Crystal Gems (the main three) and Steven would most likely end in a fair fight. Now that they knew what they were up against, they were able to use Spinel’s elasticity against her in the movie. Which is probably what they would do against the other two spinels.

Spade hits hard, but her tendency to swing wildly leaves her open to attack. Club has more fighting skill, but keeping her locked in a defensive stance really doesn’t allow her to do much else.

BUT LET’S BE REAL. Spade and Club have no grudge against Steven or anyone else. They didn’t go through the same experiences as Spinel, (which is why they don’t have a new form similar to Spinel’s). They wanted to help Spinel they only way they know how. By playing a game. They thought Spinel’s attack against the Crystal Gems was a game. To reset them, to make them forget Pink Diamond, and make them new friends. Once they figured out Spinel’s actual intentions to destroy Earth and Steven, they were very much against it. They would try to stop Spinel, which would most likely result in them getting reset as well lol

BUT if they WERE reformed like Spinel, things would probably be MUCH DIFFERENT (coughcoughjustwait)

Spade’s mallet was more so inspired by Harley Quinn. I like to picture her having Harley’s voice

[stonedscully]

I just want guidance from some kind of authority or adult to tell me what to do with my life next, just so I can feel like I'm doing the right thing instead of floundering, itching to take next steps but terrified of making a mistake. I've spent the last 2 months sleeping through the day to avoid its constant reminder that I still haven't found a job, because I'm scared that if I do I'll just be stuck there.

I'm an English major with no experience, no idea what to do next and no real plans other than moving out of this apartment and try to separate from codependency to my roommate. My s/o isn't graduating until next year, and he wants to move to LA to pursue entertainment. He wants me to come with him, and I worry I'm not going to be able to say no because of fear of being alone. I'm scared I'm eroding myself away to follow his dream just because I'm so scared and lost trying to carve one for myself. I know I have options; I could go back to school, become a teacher or try for an internship. But I honestly don't know what's going to make me happy, or what will quell this dull dread that's been chasing me ever since I got my diploma.

[khiliad]

i forgive you.

i’ve spent so long thinking that if i just kept speaking, if i could just make you listen, maybe you’d treat me better. i thought everyone would treat me better, if only they would just listen. if i told them i deserve better, they would do better. but i was unkind, and i was rough around the edges, and i was hard to apologize to. because even when i forgave, i carried around that hurt with me like some sort of badge as if to say “you must be kind to me, for you have hurt me”. 

but not anymore. not now. i just don’t have the energy for it anymore. i wish i had seen months ago what i see now; that you are not the person you once were. your face, your voice, your phone number, your passion; they’re all the same. but you... you’re different. your words seem so much more harsh. your actions more careless, your response time delayed. or maybe it’s me. maybe i’ve changed. i hope i have. i hope you see it, too. i’m not going to force you to keep apologizing, i’m not going to wait for you to make it up to me. i was honest with you in the best way i knew how, and you are returning the favor slowly but surely. you are doing the best that you are able. and that is enough for me. so i forgive you. i forgive you. i forgive me, too.

[mr-leach]

Anyway, what was supposed to have happened, was that I got my pre-op assessment done so I could get approved or surgery, and then we would discuss my blood test results from the week before as well as our options for looking into my back issues.

One of the things we had to do for the pre-op assessment was to get my exact weight, I'm assuming for the anesthesiologist. The last time my doctor took my weight was in 2012, and I was about 180lbs then. This time I read at 195lbs. Not a surprise, as I've been gaining weight recently from all the exercise I've been getting, seeing as I've had almost no muscle since high school after becoming anemic in college and then being stuck on my ass depressed for over a year.

Anyway, you would not believe what this fucker said. He said this is a very alarmed tone as he was entering my new weight into his database (which, actually, was not required for the checkup--he only needed to write it down on the form I gave him). 

He said "Did you gain a lot of weight?!"

I could not BELIEVE it.

"I gained some weight." I tried to come off as incredulous as possible so that he could hopefully sense just how fucking far he leaped past the line. 

"Yeah, you did gain a lot of weight." What the fuck, dude?! Are you a doctor or the fucking tabloids?? "20lbs." He says.

I decided to ignore that he exaggerated the number and instead added "Since...?" 

"Since...uhh.." He was looking at the file right infront of him but I knew he did not want to say it because he'd realize how fucking ridiculous he was being.

"Since the first time I came in here, which was in?"

"2012"

"Two years ago."

"...Still, we should keep an eye on that." Are you fucking kidding me. Shut the actual fuck up. I gained 15 pounds over the past 2 fucking years. holy shit, he made it sound like I gained 50 pounds in three weeks or some shit.

Anyway, on top of that, I had to ask him what my blood results were like before he wold tell me. My iron was a bit low, though that's not a surprise since I'd just had my first period in three months and it was like homecoming with Carrie. Everything else was totally normal, he said.

He then went on to tell me that we had, apparently, done more exploration into my pain than any doctor would normally investigate in my situation. Wow. Really? An x-ray, an ultrasound, and a 10-minute interview with a rheumatologist. You're kidding me.

"What about an MRI?" "Well that isn't the procedure for this kind of thing." "Well we already apparently went through all the procedure for this kind of thing, and didn't find anything, so why can't we do that?" "Well you know the government of Ontario actually charges the doctor's office for doing MRI scans for lower back that turn out to find nothing."

I'm sorry, but as someone who lives on social assistance, I kinda don't give a flying rats ass about poor Dr. six-figure salary having to pay, what....isn't it about $800 to do a lower back MRI?

Hell, I would pay for it myself--no joke, but I can't. I can go to the US to do it, but if I bring it back, no one will even read the goddamn thing for me here, because they're not allowed to unless YOU GIVE THEM GODDAMN PERMISSION TO AS MY FAMILY DOCTOR

ANYway. I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere with that, so I asked "Is there seriously no other specialist you can send me to that might have insight into this?"

"I already sent you to one. That was the rheumatologist."

Oh, you mean the rheumatologist who seriously questioned why the fuck you sent me to him in the first place? Because my problem was clearly NOT arthritic? I asked again "Are you SURE there's no one else you could send me to?"

"No, that was the only person I could have sent you to."

"Nobody who might know anything about, say, fibromialgia?"

Hooooo boy. Okay so first thing out of his mouth "Well you know fibromialgia is one of those things that not many doctors are even sure exist."

Translation: I don't think it's real, so of course you don't have it.

"You could ask 5 doctors to diagnose you, and 3 would say you don't have it, while 2 could say you do"

Translation: I'm not going to bother facilitating the process for getting diagnosed with fibromialgia, even though there is a possibility other doctors might believe you have it.

"Besides, the treatment for it is the same as what you're doing--taking long term pain medication like Cymbalta"

Translation: Stop asking me to fix this problem for you.

I told him "The Cymbalta worked, really well, but it's slowly beginning to not work anymore."

And this guy. He has no poker face, I swear. He thought he had me--I could tell. His face lit up. "So what dosage are you on, again?" He thought he could up my dosage and get me to shut up.

"I'm on 60mg a day." The max dosage. His facial expression drooped. Sorry buddy, you're not getting off that easily.

He then went on to say that, well, maybe this breast reduction will help, even though, you know, the reason I'm getting the reduction is for heaviness, rashes, tense muscles and pain in my UPPER back, not my LOWER BACK AND LEGS, which was the pain we were talking about.

And then--oh, and then. I knew it was coming. I was prepared, even. 

"Also, weight gain can have a negative effect on your back..."

"I've had this pain for six years at the least, since I was 135lbs."

"Yes, but there's no telling--getting more fit and eating well..."

"I have gained weight since starting to exercise. 10lbs actually. And the reason I don't weigh 135lbs anymore is because I started eating better."

"Ah, that's the unfortunate part. Some people's metabolisms are just very slow and..." blah blah blah blah blah. By this point he was pulling things out of his ass and I'd decided I'd done enough arguing this time around. I sat with him in extremely awkward silence for a good 3 minutes before he just went with "well if the breast reduction doesn't help, I guess we can talk about it some more." And then sent me off.

I don't know, man. I don't know if he just doesn't get it, if every doctor is like this, or what. I discussed it with my mom, and I think I'm at the point where I've hammered into this issue enough with him, that even if he is actually an asshole with a nice guy smile, eventually he's going to get sick of me asking for treatment, and will hopefully actually recommend something.

[isoei]

Got a new story idea (long read sorry)

It's about a ruthless secluded area on Earth after some kind of apocalypse. My main character Toby 'Bug' Jackson is telling the story. This is just the opening chapter.

- - - -- - - - - - - -- - - 

Chapter 1: Post-World

  Have you ever wondered what the Earth would be like if everything was at peace? I’ve wondered it so many times, yet I know it’ll never happen.

  Not in Terra Mortua.

Terra Mortua is Latin, if you didn’t know. I like Latin. It’s an interesting language. I know lots of Latin, not really enough to put together sentences but lots of those odd words and phrases that help me understand the various names of this goddamn place. Terra Mortua means ‘Land of the Dead’. A cheery name, don’t you think?

No-one really knows why President Gus, the original President of this so-called ‘utopia’ called it that, though there were plenty of rumours. Most focussed around dastardly plans for damnation, though no-one truly found out. His plans died with him and his son took over, President Genus, who put to bed that his father had not planned mass murder or hysteria or anything of that kind.

Genus still rules now. He’s old but ruthless. He came up with the idea of the Canem Tracto and the Operarios. Canem Tracto means ‘hound handlers’. They’re the guards of this place, watching every movement, capturing any opposition, and we call them Canes for short. They rule by fear, and we are the ants that scatter when they arrive. We - me included – are the Operarios, or better known as Workers. We toil all day, every day to get a rubbish pay that only just gives us bread and enough rent money for our crumbling abodes. It’s worse for families, simply because there more mouths to feed, yet the kids work too. The kids hardly get a pay check at all. Only if the Canes are feeling generous.

I have a son, and a good deal of what I earn is spent on him. I get him a new pair of shoes as soon as I can when his feet grow, and his institution jumpsuit is always immaculate. I know several of the Canes well, and though we’re not friends, they often give me extra pay. Why? Because I’m useful. I’m smart. I can get into all the tight spaces and am willing to do the work they don’t feel like doing. Maybe that’s wrong, and my close friends don’t agree, but it gets me extra pay. I spend this on my son, and on getting extra foodstuffs for the bigger families in our block. Many of them don’t like charity or being pitied, but the times are hard, and they’ll take what they can get. I don’t mind helping. I quite like it actually.

The President’s morals are seriously warped if he thought he could rule over everything in this section of our dusty, burnt-out Earth. He and his family are all as ruthless as him and his bloody army of guard-dogs. If he thought we’d all just go ahead and comply against out wishes, then he was seriously wrong. Did I mention the Rebels? They’re proper name is Inutilis (that means ‘useless’ by the way) but most call them the Rebels. They’re people who did not agree with the ideals of President Gus and escaped underground, hiding it out. They had families and there are generations of Rebels, each revolting in their own way. Some disguise themselves as Workers and destroy machines, others just outright kill the Canes. We often hear of a Rebel death or arrest. We generally do not familiarise ourselves with them, though offering some kid of bribe for extra goods or betting with them is not unheard of. I try not to get involved. I keep my head down and my feet moving.

I’m a worker after all, as much as I hate it. My sole lot in life is to work, and though I’m meant to be aiding the development of this Hell, I’m really aiming to help my son grow up healthy and happy. I only live for him.