#not to say there weren't homeless people then too but statistically it was not the same

[mxlxdroit]

one thing i find really interesting about watching old movies is seeing the economic differences. for example, i'm watching twelve angry men, and the crime they're discussing happened in a nyc slum. back then, inner-city slums were common: crowded, dirty, and terrible places to live. when a lot of those places got bulldozed and/or gentrified during urban renewal projects in the latter half of the twentieth century, we transitioned into a world where people that poor are simply homeless now. we've decided as a society that we prefer for people to not have a house at all rather than to have a dangerous and dirty one. it's the same reason we sweep homeless encampments: they're often dangerous and dirty, so rather than fix the problems of poverty, we remove the visible signs, making things worse for people

[maslows-pyramid-scheme]

tumblr.com/yyzma/722569973718040576/actually-heterosexuals-as-a-class-do-prefer

I REALLY REALLY hope this isn't being posted in terms of bisexuals being "evil" and a lesser form of hetero/homosexuality, they prefer bisexualism in order to settle with their homophobic ideals but that doesnt mean bisexuals are suddenly in their good graces.... bisexuals might be in the good graces of homophobes but still suffer from it too so I hope radblr gets over this sort of assumption that bisexuals are totally immune to discrimination

Oops I contradicted myself in my last bisexual ask, I meant to say bisexuals are favored for homophobic ideals but that doesnt wish away homophobia they're subjected to

Hmm, I don't actually agree that homophobic people prefer bisexuals over homosexuals. We may 'look straight' in some institutional settings (e.g. on an emergency contact form), but there are two problems with the idea that 'looking straight' gives us all the material benefits of 'being straight:'

Firstly, we know that state institutions 'blind' to a group's experiences may inadvertently disadvantage that group. Our state institutions weren't set up with 'straight-like' bisexuals in mind; they were set up with heterosexuals in mind and any recent pro-LGBT changes have come with a heterosexual understanding. The blindness to our specific needs has real life consequences for our level of social acceptance, our financial security, our housing security, our mental health, our sexual health, and so on (it's like how the legal system was set up with males in mind, which renders any gender-blind law inadvertently harmful to women). For example, did you know that bisexuals aren't protected under my state's anti-discrimination law?

Secondly, we know that groups shouldn't be expected to hide a part of themselves just to fit in with broader society. I think 'the closet' takes on a different form when applied to bisexuals (neither better nor worse); we can either hide our sexuality and suffer the shame of knowing we're different (which may explain our rates of mental distress, homelessness, and substance abuse), or we can open up about our sexuality and suffer the shame of being different (which may explain our DV and sexual violence statistics). I mean... do these people know that homophobic people don't like single LG people either?

I also think some underestimate how the negative stereotypes that homophobic people hold about us can have impacts on our lives. We're not seen as 'basically straight' or 'better than LG' when we're single or in a relationship with the opposite sex, we're seen as promiscuous, boundary-less, insatiable sex-seekers, and we're treated as such.

Homophobic people don't want LG people to act like bisexuals. Homophobic people want LGBT - yes, even transgender - people to be heterosexual(/non-transgender).

[yourcosmictimecop]

The sight of someone in clean clothes out this late at night stops Gael in his tracks far more quickly than the sense that something was terribly wrong. He studies the man's garb intently, seemingly counting stitches with how his gaze lingers on every cut and fold. When he finally looks up, his jaw clenches. Amber eyes staring out from rose-gold fringe narrow. He searches the other's face, looking for a sign that it was a coincidence they were here at the same time: a dingy overhang behind an industrial warehouse, barely enough shelter for one man, let alone two.

His gaze falls downward. Dress shoes. "Ah..." comes a slight noise from semi-parted lips, something between surprise and dejection. Even if it weren't for that detail, Gael still wouldn't have given benefit of the doubt (even if that innocence still clinging to life inside him aches to). This man is too visibly well-fed and clean to be a vagrant. He's too calm. Too easygoing with this tense situation. And it's far too convenient that the two of them, who stand out like sore thumbs, would happen across each other without reason. Lips purse and he stands up straighter.

"You're either here for me, or this." An ashen hand covers a makeshift sling sitting across his chest, cradling something that pulses warmth and phantom song. Without a moment's notice, fire hotter than the blazing sun roars to life along his free arm and curls at the ends of now-glowing hair. It leaves the fabric clinging snug to his bicep entirely unscathed, but the sparks that spit out from the blaze singe tiny holes through the other's shirt. Gael's eyebrows pinch together. He shakes his head. When he speaks again, his voice is civil, perhaps the barest hint of friendly, but entirely unyielding, too. "Whatever you're here for, please-- don't make me use this." His fire flares brighter as if to indicate that's what he's talking about. He doesn't move. He doesn't even blink. He simply waits.

Becca had once told him that, ‘if you want to see the real effects of the money-nexus, of the harm stress does to the body, brain, society and the environment... check out the inner-city’. With peeling paint and red-brown rust, the dumpsters took on rain and sunshine, witnessing each season pass. Huddled around them were the odd few homeless. Their sullen faces vacant, bandaged hands raised close to the stinking fires, fed with whatever was available and flammable, doing their best to stave off the first chills of the coming season. Part of him wonders why people end up in these situations. He knew the statistics, the societal and psychological obstacles that can lead to these conditions, but it still doesn’t make a lick of sense to him. That’s the problem with not being part of the equation though--you get to see everything but experience very little of it.

Around the corner, Ted could just pick up the occasional car engine driving past, the faint neon blink of signs creeping as far as possible onto the backstreets. The wind kicks up, blowing bits of garbage into the poorest excuse for snow flurries one can imagine. He just sighs the cold away, letting his breath fog curl over the lit up screen of his “phone” as he scrolls through the seemingly endless notifications. As if he hadn’t a clue that he was being meticulously picked over by his shelter mate’s gaze. Until he perks a pointed brow at him.

Meat and fabric sizzle wherever the fire licks, charring and smoking the first layers of skin like an old fashioned barbeque before the seasoning. The barest grimace curls his lip, but he does little more than tuck his phone into the back pocket of his jeans farthest away from the other. A melted phone would be a poor way to start off the evening. Somewhere behind him, he could hear the startled gasps and whispers of the folks around the bins. Quickly followed by the hasty scramble of shoes kicking bottles and stepping on broken glass in an effort to hightail it out of the area. Now there won’t be additional collateral if this goes south.

He clicks his tongue, muttering something along the lines of going shirt shopping, before turning more to face the other. “Hmmm,” that heavy southern twang rumbles out, the result of binging too many old western movies, “let’s say that fire of yours does manage to put me under… you think no one else is gonna come knockin’ if you do?” There’s no malice in his tone as he swipes ash away from the curling edges of the fresh holes in his shirt, the skin underneath suspiciously pink instead of burnt like it were moments ago. A large barracuda smile brandishes across his tan face, the kind of familial smile a man makes when he knows another well and for many years.

“Let me first say that you’re half right there, mister Campil. I am here for you and your brother there,” a jerk of his chin towards the bundle against Gael’s chest, “but I ain’t here to cause ya’ll any trouble. If anythin’ I’m trying to keep you two out of the thick of it. The name’s agent Theodore Andrews, by the way,” he stuck out his hand, unflinching against the embers that blister and bite his massive palm and fingers, “but ya’ll can call me Ted or Teddy for short.”

[youarejesting]

Curse.6 The last batch

[First] [Masterlist] [Next] Beta: @lunarlxve​, @sweetnspicy93 Rating: PG Pairing: Prince!Jin x Reader Genre: fantasy, romance, comedy, drama, mystery, and more good stuff

Summary: A modern-day fairy tale whereby seven young princes born under King Bang’s greed cannot find true love. Unless they break a special spell, called the ‘Bang curse’. In order to break the curse, Prince Seokjin must be loved by a ‘Blue’ blood, by a royal. That seems almost impossible when you have a pig nose. (based off the movie Penelope)

[Story Give Away]

The alarm on your phone was going off. The cursed Marimba pierced through your dreams with the same intensity it did your ears. You had come home late from the bar where you had barely made enough to cover rent and your bills. You weren't one to wake up before noon, you usually took night jobs as they paid more. You're sleep addled brain was trying to catch up to why you set your alarm so early today

Rolling over your back, you stretched and cracked each vertebrae into place. Opening a single eye, you attempted to read your phone screen and caught the alarm name through blurred vision. ‘Meet with Prince’. Snorting at the absurdity of such a name for an alarm and switched it off as quickly as possible, throwing the electronic device back onto the mattress, and nestling into the pillows to try to regain some of your lost sleep. At least that was the plan until your phone pinged.

Who the hell is texting you this early? Whoever it was, you were ready to give them a lengthy and highly inappropriate response. Sneering at your phone, you sat up with a guttural growl, your body teetering forward before you regained your balance, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Just a reminder to all the ladies for the group meeting, it is today at Nine Thirty please be there on time for paperwork. The meeting with the prince is at Ten.” 

9:20

Realization fell over you, and you screamed, flailing out of bed, getting caught up in phone charger cords, blankets, and sheets. Crawling across the ground, you grabbed your closet doors, ripping them open and scrambling to grab the outfit you had picked out the night before. You paused, looking at the text, which told you to dress casually. You hummed, looking at the cute dress that would go well with the pink blazer. You instead chose a pair of ripped black jeans and a basic white Tee. 

Pulling them on, you splashed on the quickest and simplest makeup grabbing your bag and running. You ran across town, arriving out the front of the palace and getting pulled behind a van. Fists raised ready to throw hands at your attacker, you turned to see a weird-looking man and a small young lady biting her nails behind him, eyeing off the palace. “You are Suryeon, aren’t you?”

“What?” You shouted, lowering your fist as you remembered you were supposed to be pretending to be Suryeon to get a photo of the prince. “uh yeah. That’s me.” 

“You wore that?” The young woman asked, eyeing your outfit incredulously like she couldn’t comprehend anyone wearing these clothes.

“It said to dress casually, so I did?” Looking over her designer trousers pressed perfectly and the luxury brand shirt and jacket, she undeniably looked better, like royalty.

“Well put the jacket on, and head in you are running late,” You slipped the jacket on, and he explained, “When you want to take a picture, this button on the inside hem at your hip will trigger the camera to take a picture. The camera is here in the pin on your lapel.”

“Got it, Let’s go” you turned and ran off towards the gates when you heard them calling your name; you ignored them, they both seemed crazy, and you didn’t want to linger around them too long. This was just work, a job and your only task was to get a photo of the eldest prince that no one had ever seen.

You arrived in the waiting room and took the clipboard flicked through and signed on the bottom of every page without care, you read the words on the final page as you wrote the date. ‘If you agree to the terms within the contract and the repercussions if they are breached, please sign on the final line’. That was clear, but the line was not, there were three lines. Everyone was handing their documents over and you sighed, and signed the very last line and handed it over walking in last.

Everyone was staring at you as you walked in there. There were a total of perhaps twenty females, including you and Adora, who told everyone to get comfortable while she went to take the files away and said the chat room will be opened soon. The door closed behind her, and you looked around to see everyone’s eyes on you. Spotting a spare seat on the four-person couch, you sat down politely, respecting everyone’s space. 

The others were quick to stand up from their seats and walked away. One of the particularly rich-looking females sneered backing away from you as if you held her at gunpoint, “You have hair rollers in your hair?”

“Thank you for telling me,” You pulled the rollers free and shoved them in your bag.

“Cute bag, where did you get it?”

“The second-hand store,” you admitted before biting your lip regretting your words. “I like to dress like poor people, the street style, you wouldn’t understand. You don’t look like you are in the cool crowds, but it's all the new trends, the style you have is classified as grandmother style clothes compared to mine.”

They visibly squared their shoulders and glanced up from their phones suddenly all ears to this new trend. You walked around to the mirror, playing the room with your words trying to appear as wealthy and snobbish while dressed in absolute garbage compared. “Yeah, the trend is taking the ripped look to a whole new meaning. If you don’t look borderline homeless, you aren’t part of the cool crowd. I am only on the edge of cool because I am not ready to commit to such an extreme look.”

“The rollers are part of it, though. I had to trade my bejeweled ones for these because they were too fancy. You can try it if you want, the style is a poor leading lady. In dramas, they are always clumsy and messy, and they have the male lead come in and give them the makeover.” To say you were impressed was an understatement, the fact you had these women hanging on to every word you said. Perhaps you were a swindler in your past life. “If you want to marry a really wealthy man, the statistics say that the poorer and helpless the woman looks, they are more likely to go after them.”

“It makes them feel manly to provide for their woman, I am pretty sure in Hollywood they are calling it the ‘fixml’ which is like a side by side term they use for fixing up cars but means ‘Fix my love’. I wore the best with my rare one of only three made bags from this year's collection, and they shunned me. I had to learn quick” Seriously, you were making this up on the fly, perhaps you were an actor. This level of improvisation was amazing; you knew there were actors out there that wished for this skill.

One of the girls who looked really intrigued started inspecting your jeans commenting on how well it made you fit the ‘aesthetic’ and even let you put the rollers messily into her hair. You bluffed your way through it, telling her it accentuated certain parts of her face. 

“You see how this roll out here shows the almost childlike nature and makes you appear more youthful if I had to guess your age before this, I would say twenty-eight,” her mouth fell into a frown. “With this look, I would say a cheeky twenty-two.”

The other girls joined in complimenting her and trying out certain looks in the mirror. Everyone received a link for the chat room, all talk ceased, and they were on their phones. You were staring at your phone and trying to get it to load. Your phone was older and took longer to load up.

You were walking around the room trying to get some signal to help the app download quicker, the girls starting to murmur about the prince, your hand extended and you bumped into the side table. Your fingers curled around the nearest object to regain balance but soon you lost it and fell behind the couch taking the vase with you. 

There was a series of high pitched screams, each blood curdling and made you freeze behind the couch. Was this all a trap, lure women in with money and then kidnap them? Was the eldest prince a serial killer and had women brought to the castle for him to slaughter?

“Ah I promised I wouldn’t scare them away, I promised I would take this seriously.” The voice was kind of soft and sad. Whatever it was, the women had run off, the door shutting behind them. Peeking over the couch, the room was empty of the women, but there was a retreating figure. You had never thought there was any meaning to the term ‘prince figure’ but if there was a perfect example, this was it. He had broad shoulders and a thin waist, proportions other men would kill for, and women dreamed of in a man. 

So why did they run away, a door you hadn’t noticed in the corner swinging shut. Leaving you with just another mirror. You walked over to it and tried to see through the glass. There was no way to open it from this side, once it was closed. Or at least no obvious way to an outsider like yourself. The phone in your hand pinged a number of times, indicating that you had received the messages you had missed before all the ladies had run out. 

You sat on the couch, promptly lying across the cushions, reading through the texts sent between the ladies and the prince. You were prepared some unsolicited pictures of the prince. Something discriminating against him, there had to be something wrong; otherwise, there was something wrong with the ladies you had met today. Why would you run from such perfection? 

Even his voice was charming and beautiful, you wondered what he looked like. Imagining dark eyes and hair like his brothers wondering if you should try to Photoshop the brother’s faces together and try to come up with a face that felt right. Suddenly you wanted to see his face not for the photo, not for the money but simply to feed your curiosity.

It was when you started to read the messages from the rude women demanding that he show his face, and accusing him of being the ugly brother, some spouting past rumors that had once spread through the town that he was deformed or a cripple. You could almost imagine the voice you had heard earlier, getting frustrated, adopting a more clipped tone.

You reached the end, and all you could see was Adora, the woman running the meet going off at the prince for his behavior You couldn’t help but laugh at his response. “They made me mad ‘dora seriously you try being locked up all your life and have people spouting rumors about your cognitive ability and lack of limbs” You laughed at his words, you had felt the same way whilst reading the texts, empathizing with the prince. 

I decided to text him, show him some form of friendship. It must really suck to be locked away, never being able to hang out or have fun with friends. You honestly thought it was King Bang’s paranoia that had him locked away in fear that his eldest, who was to provide him with heirs and take the throne, would be killed.

But what would you send, you would have to think of an appropriate opening line for text. As you lounge on the sofa that was bigger and felt softer than your single thin foam mattress you had on the floor of your apartment. You called yourself a minimalist, but really money had just gotten tight, and you had to sell everything. 

Pausing between potential texts, you looked around spotting a gold candelabra, which would probably be worth a lot of money, but you shook your head. You just had to get a photo of the prince, and then you would get paid.

Turning back to your phone, you started the text.

Tags:  @knjkitten​ @wystfulaster​ @unadulteratedlyunique​ @sungiesangel​ @btsanonus​ @moccahobi​ @cloud-sitting​ @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d​ @bluehairedotakugem​

[Story Give Away]

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