#i feel so bad for people who work in public health who are screaming into the void rn

[cowboyishbabe]

… we need to go back to showing vaccine cards + negative tests to get into venues again. Also. Masks. Everyone everywhere needs to mask up.

[icumpinkglitterxo]

Take me to church

warnings: angst, brief mentions of sh, homophobia, internalised homophobia, f slur, overall heavy topics. 🥰

a/n: whY AM I WRITING SLAXL 🥲 ts may be the most chronically online thing ive ever done. am i the only one who thinks axl and slash are like mickey and ian and am i also the only one who hates bottom mickey...

i like girls and guys i can say fag go away

enjoy ★

This was the worst thing that could've possibly happened to them. Or at least, that's what Slash thought. Axl and Slash had been secretly dating, but some dickhead soccer player at their school found out and told the entire school. It was bad enough that Slash had long hair, dressed in glam and occasionally painted his nails - he had a 'girlfriend' who was really his best friend who was secretly a lesbian. But now he was out as gay, and out against his will.

It had taken a serious toll on Slash's mental health, so much to the point that he couldn't bring himself to go to school and even took a blade to his skin.

The only thing that seemed good to him was when his mom found out and she was more than accepting. She was having an affair with David Bowie, and while it didn't affect him majorly, it was comforting to know he was accepting too.

As much as it didn't bother Axl, as long as it didn't get back to his parents, seeing how badly it affected the man he loved made him unbelievably angry.

Slash spent as much time as he could ditching class, staying home, or staying with Axl or his 'girlfriend'. Making sure he was never alone in public worked surprisingly well. Nobody came near him when he was with Axl, gay or not, people still avoid a hormonal bipolar teenager.

Of course, he would freak himself out when he he had to walk home. Alone. Axl hadn't been waiting for him at the end of the day like usual, so here Slash was, walking through an alley because it was the quickest way home. It was still light out, and no one was around, so he would be fine. Right?

Wrong.

It was fast. And slow. All at the same time. All it took was one punch for the loud ringing in his ears to start. Someone had grabbed him and shoved him against the wall. Hit. Punch. Shove. Kick. They pulled him up off the ground and shoved him against the wall again.

'Did you really think you'd get away with being a fucking faggot' one of them spat. The word alone hurt, but the way it rolled off his tongue with venom stung. The guy punched him again, he could feel the blood dripping down his face. Slash was more terrified than he'd ever been in his entire life.

They weren't showing any signs of stopping any time soon. Was being gay this wrong? Was he truly a bad person?

He was in unbearable pain. He tried everything he could to push them off, but to no avail.

They were genuinely going to beat him to death. He was going to die. He was actually going to die all because of who he loved. That was all he could think about. His final thoughts. Until the guy was pulled off him.

Slash slowly opened his eyes. Before him was Axl beating the shit out of both guys and screaming at them. "Don't you EVER lay your fucking hands on him ever again, understand!?" He was screaming so loud it actually hurt Slash's ears. But what shocked him most was that both guys looked absolutely terrified, maybe even more than Slash.

They nodded and ran away.

Axl turned to Slash, who had since sunk to the ground sobbing and shaking.

Axl kneeled in front of him, cupping his face. "Let me see, let me see..." Slash tried to pull away. He was ashamed. He couldn't stand up for himself. Axl sighed, "it's okay, you're okay... okay? I'm gonna take you home. They're gone. Okay? You're safe. I promise."

Slash was in a state of shock. He was hyperventilating. He was clearly struggling to breathe. "I- they- I was just - and then - and I- walking - and they - attacked -" Axl shushed him, grabbing his face a little more rough than before.

"Breathe."

They sat in the alley for at least half an hour as Slash tried to come down from his panic attack. Axl stayed with him the entire time, doing and saying everything he could to help him relax. He knew Slash was prone to panic attacks. He also knew he was in a great deal of pain, which he could only imagine were making things worse.

As promised, Axl took Slash home. The pair were now sitting in the bathroom, Axl cleaning the blood from his boyfriend's face.

"Do you think this is wrong?" Slash asks carefully. "What, beating people up for being gay? Course it’s wrong, it's a hate crime - " Axl started, but Slash interrupted.

"Not that. This. Us."

Axl froze.

He slowly looked down at Slash. "Is that a serious question?" Slash nodded. "Everyone thinks so. Maybe they're right." Axl scoffs, "you're not serious, are you fucking serious!?"

He nodded again. "I don't think we should be together." Axl stares at him, "don't... don't say that... don't you fucking say that..." Slash gets up and walks out of the bathroom, stopping in the doorway. "I think you should go. Don't try to call me."

He walks out of the bathroom, leaving Axl standing there completely shocked, hurt, and confused. He leaves Slash's house.

Instead of going home, Axl went to the abandoned house he crashed in when things got particularly difficult at home. While he knew Slash and his mom would always welcome them into their home, he never wanted to worry Slash with the abuse he was enduring at home.

Though, now he felt like he couldn't. Slash had actually broken up with him. When he got 'home', he started breaking everything he could, until he passed out from exhaustion.

Slash walked into his room, crying. He sat down on his bed, reaching for a blade.

[papermint-airplane]

I'm really not doing well guys. Tl;dr my life sucks a lot. That's all you need to know.

My job is still jerking us around on the layoffs. They started in October of last year with "we're selling the department and laying everyone off in February" then when March rolled around and nothing had happened yet, told everyone "lol just kidding the buyer dropped out". So a lot of people quit because this clown company just told everyone it was willing to sell their jobs out from under them and didn't give a shit who was affected or how.

My job is not a job that can function when short staffed. It was already short staffed before they pulled this fakeout layoff shit and now we're lucky to have two people scheduled at any given time. They're paying thousands in overtime, begging people to come in even for a couple of hours on their days off because we don't have enough people to cover one shift, let alone the three they need because the department is 24/7. Customers are rude and entitled. I've been threatened, I've been called horrible names, I've been told I'm a shit human being and don't deserve to live. I'm not allowed to hang up on them. I'm expected to sit there and just take it and not say anything. Most days, we're so busy that I can't take my daily fifteen minute break or even get up to go to the bathroom. And that's only scratching the surface of what goes on at my job.

I have had a history of overworking myself in that job and everyone knows it. I've had literally hundreds of public panic attacks, three full-on mental breakdowns where I was screaming and literally tearing handfuls of my hair out in front of my coworkers from stress, ended up in the hospital twice because I thought I was having a heart attack, and took off three months in 2020 to check myself into an inpatient mental healthcare facility all the way across the country. I have had countless meetings with my supervisors and their supervisors and HR about the toxic work environment and shitty management. I had to beg them to take me off my 8 day rotation (four days of ten hour shifts, four days of eight hour shifts, all in succession with no days off in between) because I started shaking and laughing uncontrollably around day 6 because I was having a literal fucking breakdown. I have literally had to be taken away from work in an ambulance before.

On top of my anxiety being the worst it's ever been (and that includes when I lived with my abusive father), my depression has gotten so bad that all I can do nowadays is work and sleep. Sometimes I don't even get fully in the house before I pass out because I'm so exhausted. I have woken up on my living room floor after work more than once. I told them that I could no longer work shifts like that nor could I take overtime for my own mental health. And they still act like I'm lazy because I don't work 14 hour shifts daily. Bitch, I'm barely holding it together with my weekly 40 hours, and I'm expected to work every Thanksgiving and Christmas but that's just not enough. Nothing I do is enough. And now I don't even have enough energy for the few things I have that I still enjoy. Want to know why my Sims story is on hiatus? Because I have to force myself to do literally anything other than sleep. My house looks like a disgusting hoarder's nest because I can barely move on my days off. I cry all the time. I can't stand to be touched. I shower excessively because I feel filthy when I come home from work in a way I can't adequately articulate. My eczema is so bad that my neck and face are literally covered in bloody red rashes. I look horrible. I feel worse. I have gained over 150 lbs since starting that job in 2006. My thyroid is busted. Some days, I truly believe that I died long ago and this is my own personal Hell.

Now they're telling us that "we definitely have a buyer for the department and all the contracts have been signed". They said there'd be a transition period, after which we'd be laid off but we'd be told when the transition period begins. Now, we got an email telling us we're halfway through the transition period and are probably getting laid off in August "but we don't know when in August, so stay tuned." At this rate, I'm likely to show up one day and be told to go home. I have no idea when that will be and I have no way to know how to prepare.

The only reason I'm still putting up with this bullshit is because...well, to be honest, I've put in a lot of applications and got absolutely no replies. I'm an unemployable useless sack of shit. My company is at least giving us a really good severance package. I'm getting 17 weeks of pay (one week for every year I've worked there) plus another four weeks of pay, plus a $1000 bonus for staying through the transition period. I think I will also qualify for unemployment. I'm trying not to freak out but I don't know what I'm going to do when my severance runs out. I have only had two jobs in my entire life: a grocery store job when I was a teenager for 3 years and this job that I've had for nearly 18 years. My resumé is one page. I have no skills outside of this job. I'm never going to get hired anywhere that's going to pay me anywhere near what this hellhole of a job paid me.

I truly wish I were brave enough to kill myself but I'm not. I keep living and it keeps getting worse and I'm bombarded with hundreds of news articles and Tumblr posts every day telling me how the world is falling apart around me, so even if by some miracle I manage to find a job that pays me enough to fucking live, I don't have a future anyway. I'm almost 40 and I keep waiting for my life to begin but it never does. And it never will. I will never be happy. I will never be safe. I don't deserve happiness. I don't deserve safety. My own fucking parents hated me from the moment my mom read the lines on her pregnancy test. If my own parents can't love me, nobody can. I'm on medication and in therapy but sometimes, I wonder if it's doing anything at all. You can't fix what's wrong with me. I was just born wrong. And no matter where I go or what kind of job I end up in, the same shit will just keep repeating over and over and over because that's all I deserve. I'll just keep on hurting until global warming or war takes me out and I end up in real Hell.

In an hour, I'm going to regret writing any of this and probably delete this post. Because I'm supposed to take it and not say anything.

My Sims are the only thing that gives me any comfort anymore. Even then, I don't have the energy or attention span to do the things I want. I'm just as irrelevant on Simblr as I am in real life. If I disappeared tomorrow, nobody would notice.

[hopepunkhealer]

i work in medicine. im a kid. i have opinions and values. I'm a kid. i want to fucking scream at the world. but I'm a kid and who will listen.

this world fucking sucks and it feels like my only two options are to get mad and hurt people or to get mad and heal people. i choose the latter.

most of my family worked, or currently works somewhere in defence/military, I'm the first in about three generations to work in medicine and this fucking sucks. being the kid who works in a hospital is bad enough without adding in all the shit that's wrong with the world right now. it got brought up once that there is more funding going into defence and that extra funding is being taken out of health and education and I'm fucking pissed about it.

public education is a shitshow pretty much anywhere you go, but public health is worse. i remember mum telling me about funding being transferred from health to defence and I asked why because "if the world goes to shit, wont we need more hospitals and medical centers?" and you know what she said? "yeah well defence have mobile hospitals that they can set up anywhere, it doesn't matter."

the reason I'm so sure that I can get a job in nursing after highschool and uni and all that is because I KNOW that we're understaffed. they'll take anyone they can get who's qualified.

im really anti war and anti conflict. no I don't think people will ever be able to live in peace and harmony and hold hands or any of that bullshit. but they could at least stop killing each other.

[rezcowgirl]

-internal screaming-

My corp goth look this week. Everything is thrfited and mostly vintage except the Vivienne Westwood necklace. I got the authentic Burberry scarf for $6 btw.

External screaming:

cw: drug use, death

Just wrapped up a week of interviewing for the person who is going to be my new supervisor. After slogging through them (only occasionally crying in the bathroom), the VERY LAST interview of the week was the person we all unanimously agreed: "They're the one."

Which feels good.

They've been doing this kind of work for decades and still seem to function okay. Yay.

My work sucks sometimes. All the self-care in the world doesn't save us from the soulcrush of it. Because in year 8? 9? of the toxic drug crisis, we're still arguing about whether drug users* deserve basic human rights. Whether they deserve to live. Whether they're worth "the cost".

Hey. You know what would reduce the "cost" overnight? Safe supply. Unrestricted access to safe supply. Safe supply. It's safe supply.

Harm reduction has been politicized in a way that makes it almost feel unsalvageable. Now everyone thinks they're an expert on it because some conservative tiktoker told you a thing. Or hey, maybe you saw a Tumblr post one time that used it to explain elections. (DON'T. Still meaning to write a manifesto on that...)

Harm reduction belongs to drug users and sex workers. Harm reduction is sound public health policy based in science with years and years of research backing its efficacy.

But, oh no: drugs bad. And I like my public policies to be based in ideas of morality!!!

So: people die.

1700+ people died this year in BC alone.

I was kneeling in the middle of the street screaming for help during one of those 1700+ overdose deaths. I felt his pulse drop away when the naloxone I had wasn't enough (opioid-benzodiazepine overdoses are more difficult to reverse. Fent cut with benzos is becoming the standard). His death was ugly, undignified, traumatic, and completely preventable. I am furious. I hate that I have to be powered by fury. I know it's not sustainable. I sometimes want to look for another job because jfc.

We all have days where we're like "hahaha why am I doing this?" The heartbreak and frustration and exasperation in this article from yesterday sums up just...so much. Someone died of an overdose in a HOSPITAL BATHROOM.

I don't like being touched by people unless explicitly established, but when the street nurses come in, they always hug me and I hug them back and attempt to pour all the rage-y stubborn hope inside of me into them. Two of them have been doing this for 30+ years. Talk about rage-y stubborn hope. Through the AIDS crisis, and now through this.

Oh, and The Ministry of Mental Health and Addictions no longer exists so we're back under the generic Ministry of Health

I don't know what that means yet. (<-I do not work for gov, but gov adjacent public health. We do the work that the gov SHOULD be doing. :)))))

*"drug user", along with "people who use drugs", is the proper term, NOT "addicts". "Drug user" is generally used to refer to a very specific kind of drug usage, even though most of us are factually drug users. For some reason, it's just the ones that have to access illicit supply that get labelled as such...hmmmm. Can you imagine if we referred to everyone who drank alcohol and coffee as "drug users" and "addicts"???? If we called bars/pubs "safe supply sites"????? hahaha. Unless.

[thefiery-phoenix]

YANDERE DAICHI SAWAMURA HEADCANONS

Like Suga, he's a really protective yandere and he will do WHATEVER the HELL it takes to keep you safe 

He is a yandere who is aware of his abnormal yandere tendencies about himself for you and he knows that being really obsessed with you is really creepy ASF but he really can't help himself. It's not HIS fault you looked so cute in that jacket you were wearing today BUT that skirt of yours.... he gets really overprotective of you when you wear kinda revealing clothes EVEN if it's a cold shoulder top

Daichi is an intelligent guy and there's no WAY you'll be able to escape from his fervent stalking like, at ALL

He is a really terrifying yandere to be precise. He will not hesitate to murder someone if they do something wrong to you. Remember that crazy Karen who slapped you on the face a few days back while you were going grocery shopping? Well, looks like she went missing and her family had several 'accidents'

Daichi is a man who will make sure you feel safe and protected at all times when you're around him and before you ask me WHY, it's because of the protective aura that he gives off 

Daichi knows how to interact with you in public and he's the type of guy who always insists on holding your hand no matter where you go 

He gets paranoid as HELL every single freaking god damn minute of the day since he's really worried about your health and safety. Are you sleeping properly? Are you eating regularly? Are you taking good care of your health? And he's also the type of person who will freak the freak out if you're hanging out with someone else OTHER than him and though he knows what he's doing is wrong by following you wherever you go and stalking you here and there, he just doesn't care. It's all to keep you safe of course 

His mind will be revolving ONLY around you 24 FREAKING 7!!!

Daichi finds the things you do subconsciously really cute like when you bite your lip if you're thinking about something (Don't do that too often since if it starts bleeding, he's gonna but you the entire line of lip balms in a cosmetics store), when you pout when something happens and when you shift or pick your nails etc etc. He admires and respects your daring and outstanding personality and he'll go over the memory of how you handled yourself in a bad situation over and over again in his head 

Now, when it comes to rivals, he's not going to think twice to use his position and pin the blame for something HE did on someone else and it works 99 percent of the times and he does this since he doesn't want anyone else taking advantage of your wonderful personality. He just wants you t be dependent on him and not anyone else. And so, when people start avoiding you like the Corona, you'll of course be really sad and miserable but don't worry, your Prince Charming Daichi has arrived with tissues, a tub of your favorite snacks and made you some of his delicious home made cookies :)

He will kidnap you within less than a month if I say so myself and when he does, he'll know how confused and lost you're feeling and so, he'll be ready to hold and hug you when you scream and cry and sob. He's prepared for all your little tantrums and will make sure that you love him one day 

If you're trying to escape, he'll behave like he's punishing a little kid. Taking away their favorite items, gently scolding them and putting them in time out and unfortunately for you, that's the same way he's going to inflict punishments on you 

He will hug you after that and tell you how sorry he is and it was your fault since you weren't willing to cooperate with him 

He is awfully affectionate and really doting on you and so, the best thing you can do is just accept him for everyone's sake and if you don't, he's willing to pull you into a bone crushing hug. When it comes to keeping you safe from the outside world, believe it or not, he'll actually let you go out but you have to hold his hand no matter what or else, you'll be confined to the house for the rest of your life

[adhdnojutsu]

@theheirofthesharingan asked me how I write Itachi mid-psychosis. Being terrible with time, I didn't realize that was a while ago... but here goes...

I like writing from 1st person POV, so I tend to pick a character close to Itachi to make subjective observations.

An observing character would describe him as gloomier than usual, more withdrawn, sleeping or eating more or less than usual, glowering through unkempt hair, the Sharingan activating at inappropriate times because his acutely troubled brain feels threatened by anything.

OG Japanese Itachi is RUDE on his best days, so when he's in a bad place mentally (as in, worse than usual), I write him to be somewhere between his baseline and insufferable ("Go fuck yourself, Kisame"), or the opposite, completely submissive for lacking the capacity to impose, basically a ragdoll who lies around until someone flings him about.

I write him on meds a lot. I don't know why, but I have a medical "affinity", so that stuff plays a role a lot. From what little is known about his "canon" medication, it'd have him indifferent and "hot mess cheerful" a lot of the time, so I write medicated Itachi "idgaf cheerful" in a way Effy or Cassie from Skins are cheerful (think "wake up in a greasy alleyway with your mascara running down your face and not remembering whose jizz is in your panties, but smiling and thinking this is fine"). Even off Kotaro, he'd take stuff to numb himself or sleep through the days, or uppers if he has to perform. No, he doesn't wipe the occasional trail of drool in that state, and he will scratch his crotch in public without a care in the world or stare at his own barf for a while before deciding to clean it up.

He's more indifferent than usual to what happens to him, he s*lf-h*rms in ways other than "existing while Itachi", and drinks, which in my hc makes him clingy and expressive, so he seeks attention from people he usually avoids.

Sasuke is still his raison d'être, but it becomes hard to give him that much weight when his mental health is weighing more heavily on Itachi. So he may get mood swings from being torn between having to hang on for Sasuke, and the temptation to end his own suffering here and now. He could lash out during such times and be both short in his replies and snappy.

I use body language a lot, too, or I think so. I write Itachi making himself small a lot, like disappearing in his cloak or his clothing being too baggy on him. Like an animal retreating to hybernate or, well, die. Clothing size isn't necessarily body language, but used deliberately, it does work like a turtle shell. When he's around people he trusts, he responds to pain and emotional triggers, but when he isn't, he'd be stiff and irritable from self-restraint. So there's always some tension in his neck and shoulders, feet pointing away from the unpleasant situation, a 1000 yard stare or a gaze into a distance he'd rather be in.

He'd slouch a lot and an observer would think he shrank. I sometimes give him nervous habits like fumbling his lips or scratching, in one WIP he's found sucking his thumb in his mother's blood (granted, he's 12 there). If you gave him a fidget spinner, he'd probably break it, then try stabbing his hand with it.

TL;DR, I think mid-break Itachi would just struggle to retain all that dignified composure of his and the screaming, thrashing, shaking, vomiting inner child would leak in ways it often does with these quiet ones. Or in extreme cases, as Danzo calls it in one WIP, "a dumb sack of emotional incontinence beneath even animals".

Because Itachi isn't a psychopath. He feels. Intensely. Take away his strength to bottle it all up after all he's been through, this could be what you get.

[deadpuppetboi]

Goretober Day 5: Chains

There are methods for ensuring that someone stays in their place.

There are always ways to ensure that it is ethical and made with the right use of sanctions.

Due to their bad behavior, a child is forced to sit in the blank corner, a delinquent is forced to stay in one room, and a criminal is placed behind bars.

Each of them demonstrates a set of principles for individuals to follow to be respectable and honest citizens in society. Those who are unable or unwilling to contribute to society would be well cared for in mental health centers. With proper care, these same people would eventually walk among their men and grin like normal people.

That saying: Mount Massive Asylum for the Criminally Insane is one, if not the only, institution where criminals can go and stay to receive adequate treatment.

Mount Massive is committed to guaranteeing the public that the patients within the asylum would receive proper care and treatment, regardless of their mental or physical problems.

However, it is the same individuals who are blind to the genuine horrors that lurk behind the enclosure's walls.

The filth, deceit, and contempt for human rights run rampant, with no concern for not only the law but also the patient's safety.

Chris Walker was one of the asylum's most notorious patients.

Chris was an outlier.

A huge man who once served his country killed many people (innocent or not) during battle and returned with not only bodily scars but also mental scars. Although, at first, he appeared to be improving with his dedication to not only his therapy but also his job. However, it quickly proved fatal because he was responsible for the deaths of numerous people by putting their disembodied heads inside of coolers.

All of this, however, was kept hidden by the Murkoff Insurance Mitigation Department.

But even within the confines of the asylum, the man proved to be a problem from the start. He screamed, he struggled, and he tore through both guards and patients. No amount of counseling, discipline, or sedatives could keep the man down, especially because his behavior became more hostile as time progressed.

A steel door didn't appear to be enough to keep the man at bay any longer.

He'd be restrained with a slew of restraints, sedatives strong enough to knock down an elephant, and a door so thickly reinforced that it'd take a few minutes simply to open the darn thing. Even now, with the guards' laziness, they decided to test the man's boundaries by tying him down with chains.

Like he was a wild animal.

When someone entered his confinement, his enormous frame would rush forward with a deep snarl and shackles rattling as he continued to press forward. With only his legs and head exposed because of the straight jacket, he violently bit and leaped at any opportunity to shred and tear. He only stopped halfway through, yelling nonsense as the guards laughed at his position before tossing his daily meals on the ground, forcing him to eat on his knees.

Tonight, on the other hand, was much like any other night in Mount Massive Asylum, but something felt different. Nobody knew what the feeling was, but it was generally ignored to continue working as usual.

But it was felt by the patients…

“Christ, they just don't learn how to shut the fuck up.”

The night guard, Steve Dillon, grumbled, scratching the bridge of his nose as he heard the patients yelling and clawing at their doors. Jerry Hickman, the newcomer, shifted anxiously in his chair, his gaze fixed on the cameras in front of him.

Images of deformed males shouting and bashing themselves against metal bars or doors continued to play. It was like a fire, only a flicker landed on dried grass and then blew onto a frustrating mess.

“Are they always like this?”

Steve shrugged.

“Not this upset, I mean, you get nasty nights but this is ridiculous.”

Jerry watched as a man began to bash his head against the wall, blood pouring freely as his skull began to cave in on itself. Steve laughed it off, continuing to drink the rest of his liquor, which was cleverly covered by his water bottle.

“Fuckin’ psychos.”

Jerry yawned as he combed his hair back, rubbing at his scalp.

He would say he feels sorry for them, but after reviewing their files, he is more inclined to be indifferent. Besides, he's being paid for this, so he shouldn't be the one complaining about what he does or sees in this area. He hasn't gone far, but he's gone far enough to know he should keep his lips shut and his eyes closed.

Unless he's the next patient here with it without his consent.

He was ready to pour himself a drink when one of the cameras turned off. He looked at the static, perplexed, for a split second before another camera went dark.

“The hell-”

Steve seemed to notice Jerry's uneasiness, examining what was upsetting him before he, too, appeared perplexed. Two more cameras were turned off, and the night guards rose from their chairs, Steve stumbling for a minute, maybe due to his excessive drinking.

“What’s happening?”

“I don't know, hold on, let me just-”

Jerry grabbed for the buttons, entering whatever he could to try to restart the system before it crashed. He sprang back, stunned, as the cameras returned to normal operation, only to be faced with a blank static screen. They remained silent, wondering what to do or say until they heard a huge crash in the distance.

They both flinched, turning swiftly to see what had happened before a cacophony of screaming echoed down the corridors. It appeared to be a swarm of men screaming over each other, all of their fantasies or huge designs of horrible wickedness overlapping like a stream of water.

But they all seemed to be reaching out for the same thing.

‘The Walrider.’

Steve reached for his radio and called out to anyone who might be accessible. He cursed when he heard nothing but static on the other line before turning to Jerry, who tried his radio but had the same result. They exchanged glances for a second before another smash rang over the halls, this time close to where they stood.

Jerry rushed to barricade the door and hide the windows as best he could. Steve followed, but he took out his rifle and checked that it was loaded before clicking it into position as the clamor grew louder.

“Call again,” Steve commanded, “I’ll keep watch.”

Jerry gave a firm nod and continued to listen to his radio, checking out every channel in the hopes of attracting attention. Apart from the static, all he could hear was his frightened voice, trying to find out whether anyone else was experiencing the same problem he and Steve were. He appeared to be shivering, his fingers not properly grabbing anything as he struggled with the controls and attempted to get the weapon attached to his belt.

He'd never experienced anything like this before.

He picked up on a word form from the other line and ran with it. He was going to yell for aid when Steve grabbed his hand and shook him down. As the noises of clambering shouting became louder, his eyes widened and his lips clenched together to make a ‘shh' sound. Jerry was about to ask what was wrong when something hit the door hard, and neither of the guards liked what they heard.

They didn't speak.

They didn't move.

They didn't even breathe.

They just stared at the door, their eyes wide and their minds blank as to what might happen next.

They hadn't expected to hear the sound again, but this time portions of the door began to fall off. The hinges began to move as a result of the pressure, and the guards stood back, hands on their weapons, then gently raised them. Despite his intoxicated state, Steve had good aim, although Jerry's hands shook uneasily as his grasp on his rifle fluctuated.

Steve was aware of Jerry's distress but did not attempt to console him.

“aim and shoot,” he whispered, the younger man could smell the liquor in his breath.

Jerry fired once into the wall, away from the door, after another bang. Steve didn't have time to correct the man before the banging on the door became more intense. Steve pointed his gun and fired three shots, all aimed at the door, but the banging continued, the figure appearing to become angrier as more shots were fired.

The door began to splinter, revealing a person that Steve would not want to be alone in a room without sufficient security.

“Oh, to Hell with this-”

Jerry could only stare as Steve continued to shoot at the person at the broken doorway, eyes trying to stay open. He didn't appear surprised by Steve's reaction, but rather by the fact that whatever or whoever was behind the door had continued to fall through it. It appeared as if the bullets had only scratched the figure and then penetrated deeply.

Steve soon runs out of bullets and curses as he seeks to acquire more. He turned to face Jerry, who was looking at him with concern, his hand still on his rifle, still capable of doing so much damage.

“What are you waiting for,” Steve screamed, “Shot the damn thing!”

Jerry gulped, finally getting out of his useless endeavor, he quickly aimed and-

A figure stood at the broken doorway.

He was big and fat, his skin sagged at odd angles, and his face was entirely disoriented. His skin was pallid and covered in spider veins, and blood caked his mouth, claws, body, and clothes. His eyes were as white as clouds, his teeth were sharp and unbrushed, and his mouth was open with the mask pulling it back, transforming him into a full and utter monster.

Chains rattled with each move he made.

He was-

He was…

“Little pigs…”

Steve took Jerry's pistol and aimed it at the agitated man in front of him. He only got five rounds in before Chris reached across, seized it, and snapped his hand back at an odd angle. The older man yelled as pain spread through his wrist before his head was grasped and hoisted into the air. He struggled as hard as he could, kicking and punching with all his strength, cursing the creature in front of him as he felt internal pressure grow.

Blood raced to his brain, his eyes widened, and he tightened his teeth as his flesh ripped apart in one sweep. His breath caught midway as his vision clouded and ringing went through his ears, and blood spewed out in a flash. In the few seconds Steve was awake, he saw his own body being flung to the side and his head hanging limply in the muscular man's grip.

He was lowered, and he could hear shackles rattling as Jerry's screams rang around the room at the last second.

And then he thought nothing more.

[jacensolodjo]

I said it in the tags of a post I've got queued but I'm gonna go ahead and state it now: Being able to be 'apolitical' is a sign of massive privilege. You don't have to wake up wondering if today is the day your rights are completely (or in part) stripped away or that you'll be murdered in the street for the crime of being part of a marginalized group in public, or you get to see people who share your identity killed for the same reasons. Everything in your life from dawn to dusk is not dependent on your skin color/ethnicity or who you find attractive or what your gender is.

You're not apolitical. You just inherently have nothing personal to you to actually fight for in politics. The system inherently works FOR YOU so you don't even have to think about it and how it treats people who aren't you until such time you decide to actually listen to us. And yeah, getting your world view turned on its head can be alarming, it can make you feel really bad inside. But you know what it still is not the same as worrying if you're gonna be alive 10 minutes from now. Your discomfort from learning about how the rest of us live is not more important than our actual pain, our actual lives being stolen from us or watching people we care about hurt or killed for being who and what they are.

You're not apolitical. You're just sitting pretty on a hill while the rest of us are drowning in the valley. Perhaps consider finding a boat and pulling us out rather than sitting there with your fingers in your ears because to hear our cries of pain makes you uncomfy. And God forbid you be uncomfortable finding out we've always been telling the truth about what is happening to us and people like us.

Don't ask us why you've 'never seen it happen'. You have absolutely seen it happen. Perhaps the problem is with your ability to actually be aware of things around you rather than the idea we've been lying this whole time. It's kinda obvious if you just pay a bit of attention, we've told you and told you it happens and what to look for.

You're not apolitical. You're just ignorant of what the world is like for people who are not you and it is willful ignorance. None of us are required to educate you, it is up to you to decide to see what we see every fucking day.

We've been screaming for decades. It's time to take out the "apolitical earplugs" and hear us screaming. None of us have had the luxury of claiming apolitical status. But on the same token, us talking about our experience is not 'just politics'. It is our lives, our health. Our family, our friends. Politics murders us while you sit there saying you aren't involved in it.

[jungkook97]

decision to leave;; jjk

pairing: canon/idol!jungkook x hollywood socialite!female reader

word count: 5.8k

rating: 🔞 / mature audiences only

genre/tropes: angst, lots of pining, missed connections, forbidden love (they're literally fated to NOT end up together), emotional reunion, jungkook is selfish and a bit ✨ toxic ✨ (v cynical towards being a star)

trigger warnings: allusions to emotional trauma and explicit details of mental health issues, smoking, controlling entities in the form of the press, public opinion and hybe, hints of homophobia and blatant sexism, light allusions to sex

synopsis: being an idol is never easy. they work endlessly, and "fans", the media, and the company follow and critique their every movement. they're not strong enough, one could feel very trapped and suffocated.

jungkook was used to all of this.

what he wasn't used to was finding the right person at the wrong time.

notes: this has been in my consciousness for quite some time!! i always wondered if these men ever had moments where they found someone they could see a future with, but due to their current lives, they cannot be with them. maybe it's in fear of the company's reaction or rather, the world's approval.

this is set in the future where bts are even bigger than they are now, and their wealth is excessive. it explores jungkook's potential struggles with fame from the perspective of a guy who was 15 aka a kid when he debuted.

© jungkook97 2023. do not repost or modify. please ask for permission to translate.

taglist: @bighitfics, @babymochipj, @minienglishofficial, @starscloser, @nathanscottscaptaina

spotify playlist

There she was.

"Jungkook."

He stiffened up at the sound of her voice, the carefully beaded ivory organza train glided through the plush deep red carpet. Instinctively, his hands extended forward to ensure her dress was intact despite his mind screaming at him not to.

If her dress gets utterly destroyed, maybe I could stop this wedding from happening.

Jungkook knew he was being selfish. He felt bad for being incredibly and stupidly selfish at these thoughts. It ruminated in his mind for months on end, ever since the first appearance on his private Instagram feed of her gleaming on his phone screen with her hand decorated with the most intricate engagement ring he'd ever seen. Her fiancée, the soon-to-be husband in a few hours' time, is a Grammy-winning producer and knew exactly her taste.

That was supposed to be my ring. I'm supposed to marry you.

Like usual, the loud, combating voices in his head lowered to an inaudible whisper as she extended her arms for a hug, now formally a tight squeeze around his shoulders, something that felt so foreign to him. His arms went for her waist, but his brain corrected itself to somewhere around the top of her back.

They weren't like that anymore.

We're not like that anymore.

"I'm so glad you could make it," he could hear her say. It was genuine, innocuous. As if they were simply friends, colleagues at best. As if...they didn't really know each other.

She let him go prematurely he felt, looking into his eyes with a sparkle that he had yet to find again.

His heart ached even more as he cleared his throat to prevent from getting even more overwhelmed. How could this happen to him like this? What exactly did he do in his previous life that led to experiencing Taeyang's "Wedding Dress" in this reality? Is it really that evil and that cruel to allow him to have so much fame and success at the expense of happiness in his romantic life?

Jungkook never asked for too much. At times, he felt like he was asking too little. Open communication, good sex, growing together. Hell, he looked past all of his exes and situation-somethings' body image, self-esteem, generational and familial trauma, etc. The list was never-ending, but he endured because, after all, these people chose to be with him despite being Jungkook of BTS.

That title. He learned to tolerate it, but at this very moment, the resentment was impalpable. As much as he loved ARMY and how much they gave him and the other members space for them to grow and be with other people, he felt trapped in his situation the other 80% of the time. If it wasn't a scolding about his tattooed arm, it was him drinking awfully too much for their liking, attending too many club events, or just breathing the wrong way.

Dating was near impossible as his so-called "fans" bombarded anybody he was interested in with death threats in every communication channel on the planet, scaring off potentially serious prospects. Jungkook couldn't be very casual if he wanted, because for some reason, being "too" sexually active go against the company's carefully crafted image of him as the youngest. It wasn't that they prevented him from fucking around (they organize secret parties and one-on-one gatherings for him to "have fun"), but how could he effectively be intimate with anybody if the company texted an NDA right after, or checking on them periodically to make sure they weren't pregnant. After all, as the company would say, you could never fully trust a woman's intentions.

It felt so transactional. Why did it have to be that way, Jungkook would ask. The company would simply reply, To protect you and your interests.

Yeah, my interests. My interest in getting married and having children would disrupt the flow of income for all of you and your shareholders.

It seemed time passed long enough to where there was an awkward silence between the two and so, Jungkook spoke.

"You seriously think I wouldn't be here?" he scoffed, making an effort to smile, even if it was one of those smiles for show. "This is the biggest day for you! You also rented me for 3 minutes," he joked as he chuckled lightly. Her fiancée had asked him to sing during their first dance.

"Stop," she laughed, slapping him playfully on his chest. His stomach turned at the sudden touch, biting his bottom lip. She caught on immediately, her eyes looking down toward the floor.

Fuck, I fucked up.

"You know, you don't have to do it," she whispered, her perfectly manicured fingers fiddling with her veil. It was gorgeous, but that was unsurprising. She always looked radiant in everything that she wore, an effortless well-dressed woman, Jungkook's type.

"Ah...no..." he stepped a bit closer, closing the gap. Unconsciously, he lifted her chin up with his fingers. "I want to...."

She pursed her lips at his sudden intimacy, her body tensing up. Jungkook noticed immediately, but he didn't care. He was being selfish. He knew what he was doing, making his eyes purposefully more doe-like just to mess with her emotions. He knew from the past few weddings he attended for his members that brides are highly emotional on their wedding day and have the highest chance of cold feet. All he needed was for her to get a serious case of it.

If you're gonna be selfish, just fucking say it. Say you don't want this for her.

"Jungkook..." she said softly as his finger rubbed at the base of her chin oh-so-slightly, innocuous really.

Just kiss her. Go all the way.

Before Jungkook could fully lean into his toxic boundary-breaking tendencies, his beloved pushed his fingers away. Shocked, they fell back on his side. She looked up, her eyes starting to well up in tears.

"Jimin was right. You really are trying to ruin this wedding."

Fuck.

"No," Jungkook pathetically denied, his breath hitched and body tensing up. "That's not what I'm fucking doing." That's exactly what I was fucking doing.

She was walking away at this point, a reversal he semi-knew was coming. He didn't bother to chase after her because what else could he do? He knew he was wrong, and it wasn't like he could fix her makeup, something he knew took forever to do.

She stopped in the middle of the room to turn around, taking a big inhale. Jungkook's eyes couldn't meet hers at that point, afraid to see the pure anger in her eyes. He could sense how much she hated him, how much she wished he changed a bit since they last spoke, since they last were anything but this.

"I'm going to let you stay and still sing, but I swear to God if you do anything else..." she paused, sniffling. "We're never going to see each other again, and there will be no way of me forgiving you."

How important was she to Jungkook? Nobody really knew, and Jungkook genuinely didn’t either. He wasn’t the type to articulate such deep feelings until well after, his mind always lingering in the past. It haunted him surely, as almost-relationships would happen on a semi-regular occurrence, pissing him off greatly. 

What was his deal, he thought. If his other members could find someone so easily, why couldn’t he? He felt the odd one out, being that member who was always chronically single. It wasn’t that he was trying (he very much was), but nothing ever seemed to work out. It was either he was bored or they couldn’t take it anymore. 

In some ways, Jungkook felt like he was a member of the British royal family, something that originally felt like a gag from a Twitter meme, but it couldn’t feel any more real to him. The public began questioning what was wrong with him, speculating that he was too much to handle (somewhat true) or gay (not entirely opposed to the idea). 

With all of these thoughts circling around in his brain, he wasn’t entirely paying attention the entire night. Surely, one would think winning a Grammy would snap someone out of their insecurities, but the win was a guarantee according to his staff, with the U.S. PR team relentlessly running “For Your Consideration” campaigns for months on end. Jungkook didn’t care much about the logistics of it: after all, he’s merely a musician like the rest of the group. 

And so, Jungkook found himself in the corner somewhere with an unspecified drink in his hand at an intimate afterparty with the members. The company wasn’t privy to send them to the official one as it would cause some controversy with the amount of press there.  None of the members cared: they were quite against what goes on with these Hollywood parties. They were, after all, Korean men. 

One would think that the members would recognize everybody in the room at these private parties, but not every time. She was there, a friend of that Grammy-winning producer (he helped produce their single). Jungkook barely noticed her before they stood next to each other at the latter half of the night, people watching their colleagues. 

She was wearing a mid-length gold laced gown, probably designer, hair did just enough to be formal, but still relaxed. He could smell a hint of her perfume, a dark sweet scent like toasted marshmallows, probably Rihanna’s favorite perfume (he, the perfume enthusiast, was a die-hard fan of Kilian). 

Eventually, she broke the ice and to Jungkook’s surprise, they spoke the same language. His tense muscles finally relaxed at the sound of her Korean with a slight American accent. Jungkook always felt anxious whenever BTS were abroad because, well, he never learned any other languages, much to Namjoon’s dismay. The constant nagging would get him highly strung, burdened by how complex the language was. 

Soon, they found themselves laughing with each other, finding some things in common. Her dad was from Busan so she was used to his Busan male energy, the countryside bad boy image that everyone knew pretty well. Jungkook suddenly felt two times bigger, subconsciously widening his broad shoulders and flexing his muscles.

If there was anything Jungkook felt quite confident about, it was how incredibly good looking and extremely fit he was. He took great pride in it, and frankly, it never failed to bag anybody he wanted. And he knew, he wanted her. 

Soon, the giggles and chuckles became physical touch, innocuous at first. Then, it became suggestive and sensual as his hands found her hips as he urged her to dance along with whatever R&B song was playing. They got very cozy, their eyes locked and bodies intertwined. It was a safe space: the company vetted through everyone with NDAs and several warnings prior.

It wasn’t long before he asked her:

“Do you want to get away with me for a bit?”

She felt good. Real good. 

She felt safe. Very safe.

He nearly forgot what he was thinking about all night, all week, really. Their Grammy win came a week after Namjoon announced to the entire world he was engaged, writing the longest letter known to man on Weverse to profess his love for his partner of four years. The fans took it incredibly well, after all, they had four other proposals before to get used to it. 

Yes, that was right: he wasn’t the only one. Hoseok was just as single as he was, but his older close friend had come out a couple of years ago. It was met with a bombardment of love and support from everybody, a step forward for LGBTQIA+ people back home. There wasn’t a single dry eye in the room when they all came together a month prior as Hoseok pitched the idea to the company for this public announcement because he felt strongly to “speak his truth”. 

Speaking the truth was all Jungkook ever wanted to do. In fact, he has gotten in trouble several times for being too honest, like making a witty, snide comment about the company’s easy acceptance of Hoseok's decision. His manager pulled him aside after all the male executives begrudgingly hugged Hoseok in support.

Jungkook hated it. They spent years trying to prevent him from coming out and it ended with his hyung losing his long-term partner as a result, a pain point that was remedied in their eyes by making it easier for Jimin to come out six months later.

Hoseok may be single now, but he was never chronically single for that long. Jungkook, on the other hand, wasn’t as lucky. 

And so, he found himself lost in his thoughts again as she was finishing washing herself up in his bathroom. Fiddling with her gown left on top of the bed, he sat up, exhaling deeply. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, emerging from the bathroom. She had enwrapped herself in the other pair of robes that he didn’t use already. 

At this point, they had spent a few hours talking about their lives. It turned out they had even more things in common. Although she was never a child star, her close friend was one, a Disney Channel one, to be specific. This fascinated Jungkook: Namjoon always pointed out the similarities between BTS and them whenever he got too meta after several rounds of whiskey, with Yoongi nodding in complete agreement before asking to clack their glasses together to cheer for that. 

What was there to cheer for, Jungkook wondered. If he remembered anything from those conversations, these stars end up being so fucked up. He, along with the members, were lucky to have a good head on their shoulders, avoiding unfavorable and distasteful situations. 

She understood this lifestyle, allowing Jungkook to rant endlessly about it. Just when he thought he couldn't articulate as well as his meta-filled hyungs, he went on for an hour about it. At that point, he was no longer being that press-friendly and cute maknae Jeon Jungkook, but a late twenty-something with a degree in broadcast media and over a decade and a half of experience in the industry. He felt old just thinking about it, which strangely comforted him. 

For once, he felt older and wiser. No longer was his young age being seen as a gauge of nearly-impossible success being possible. Perfection, as Jungkook saw it. 

Man, she’s so good. 

“I don’t know, just thinking about Namjoon-hyung,” he exhaled through his nose, his head leaning back against the plush headboard. “He’s gonna get married soon and have kids. I know this because he told me last week he started looking into names.”

She laughed softly, sitting down on the bed lightly. The smell of the hotel soap smelled so intoxicating on her. There was a continued sweetness, a warmth that felt familiar and comforting to him. 

“He’s just excited, Jungkook-ah. It’s his first.”

Jungkook sighed. 

“I know, but…” he trailed off, trying to find the right words. He was baring his whole soul to this woman he barely met, an impulsive and rather stupid decision to make. Jungkook always had the problem of saying way too much after the first fuck. “What if…what if I don’t want him to have a kid yet?”

She frowned. Didn’t seem very pleased about that. 

“And why do you feel that way?” 

A question Jungkook’s therapist always asks him. Surely, it was a question that popped up quite often in his ramblings to them too. He had been going to see them for two years at this point at the request of the company. 

“It’s for you and your health.”

Code: your depression and unearthed trauma is getting too annoying for us to deal with, so here’s a mental health professional. 

Maybe I don’t like seeing people getting their life together because I’m not put together. Like, Namjoon has everything: brains, body, a lifetime term partner, rich, famous, etc. The list never ends. Although I respect him as an older brother, I could never be him, not even a little bit. I lack so much compared to him, and how dare he be happy before I am?

“I don’t know.”

LA had become their official second home. The company had decided to buy a home somewhere secluded enough for them to spend long periods of time in the U.S., a city that Jungkook barely remembered the name of. One would think he’d remember more of his new home’s backyard, but it wasn’t his hometown no matter how long and how often he stayed there. The home was also bought for their own good, because as the company’s therapist pointed out, prolonged time in exclusively hotel rooms can deteriorate an artist’s mental health. 

As the members returned back to their new home, Jungkook invited her to come along. They had a few weeks to decompress, a well-deserved rest. It was BTS’ Balmoral Castle, a large piece of property along the ocean line with a personal private beach. The company paid top dollar for it, and to the press to prevent them from sneaking into the property for some juicy photos. 

Jungkook loved it at first sight, not for its grandiosity or the sheer wealth the company continued to flex, but for the scenic violet, reddish-pink sunsets it provided. It reminded him of Busan, except this was where the 1% lived and not his local neighbors who, at a time long ago, just knew him as Jeon Jungkook from Busan. 

The members slowly vacated the property to leave the two alone, mostly taking trips up the coast with their significant others (except for Jimin, Jimin’s partner, and Hoseok, who were heading over to Palm Springs for some R&R with a rich white gay couple they met last week). Taehyung had planned a whole horseback riding adventure with his fiancée, Seokjin and Yoongi, and their wives heading to a winery in Napa Valley, and Namjoon and his newly engaged beau to look and stay at some ancient castle (Jungkook couldn’t recall, but Lady Gaga raved about how incredibly gorgeous it was).  

And so, the two spent the entire time together. In between spontaneous fucking and strolls down the beach and plazas, it was quite literally the Balmoral test, an infamous initiation ritual that the Royal Family had for those who wanted to be in The Inner Circle. 

Well, in a few weeks’ time, she was in Jungkook’s.

Jungkook could feel his teeth grinding loudly in his ears, pounding at the same beat of his ever-growing headache. He hated it, all of it.

He thought that maybe, just maybe, he could stomach it once he got a few drinks in, but he was terribly wrong. The youngest was jealous as fuck, and he did not make any efforts to hide it.

His hands were balled in fists as she and her newly married man made it toward the dance floor, waltzing and laughing in each other's arms. She looked stunning in her ivory mermaid wedding dress, her veil entangled around her sleek frame and her new man.

That should've been me, he thought. I'm supposed to be that happy.

Jungkook heard a sigh from his left, a warm tinier hand extending out to caress his.

"Jungkook-ah, you need to let it go," Jimin leaned in to whisper. He had been checking on the kid all night, or rather, all year.

He wasn't the only one, of course, Namjoon was excessively checking on him almost every night. It was annoying of course, despite the fact that Jungkook deep down appreciated it. Even if they're not as close as they used to be, the team was his found brothers, a family away from family.

However, if there was anybody who kept Jungkook in check, it was Park Jimin out of the members, as his tender voice seemed to get to him somehow. As Hoseok once quipped,

"Jungkook never listens, but he sure is handsome."

Let it go...how could he let it go? Jungkook spent the past couple of years trying to forget her, only for her to not only find someone new, it was someone who he knew.

It was natural, as Yoongi would say. They had been friends for quite some time and their Grammy hit was a love letter to her. Jungkook and him wrote it together, unaware that they both had feelings for her.

Surely, it had to be because of money, he thought. Producers will always get royalties no matter what it is, and the guy was on his way to being inducted into some hall of fame for it. Meanwhile, boy band members like him had an expiration, aging like milk depending on how problematic or fast you aged, whichever came first.

Although Jungkook was fortunate enough to be well-loved, the newer generation was becoming the new "It Boys", something that Jungkook had relished in for quite some time. It was his Leo Moon after all that loved the spotlight, whether he liked to admit it or not.

Perhaps it was the loneliness he felt when he was younger that got him to crave the spotlight, the years he spent being alone in Seoul while his parents were back at home, praying every night that he'd do well, but couldn't reach him due to differing schedules. As the phone rang too long to voicemail on very late nights trying to call his mother, Jungkook felt almost abandoned, unsure if this path was meant for him. Of course, he didn't give up as he became the center of the biggest boy band in the 21st century, but that loneliness was never filled. Just his arm filled with ink and his stomach filled with alcohol.

Talk about mommy issues.

Soon enough, Jungkook was snapped out of his daze and pulled up on stage. Of course, the song that his "friend"/newly married groom requested him to sing would be one of Jungkook's favorite songs too, and would describe how he felt about her, but whatever. This isn't his night.

As the predominantly white crowd of industry folks and company people cheered on, he began singing:

"It's like you got superpowers Turned my minutes into hours You got more than 20-20, babe Made of glass the way you see through me"

All Jungkook could do was close his eyes to get through it, trying his best to restrain himself from breaking down. Maybe it'll sound more beautiful if he channeled it the right way.

Wherever that is.

"You're so fucking selfish."

Maybe I am.

"I'm not," Jungkook lied.

Her eyes glittered with tears at this moment as she sniffled, wiping up her nose hastily as she shook her head in disbelief. He knew he fucked up at that point, standing there silently hoping that this wasn't it.

At this point, they had been "seeing each other" for two and a half years, but even that is questionable. It was too much chemistry to be just a fling, but too surface-level to be dating, but Jungkook didn't know how else to describe it. Jungkook hated situationships with his entire being, and he swore to her that it wasn't gonna be that (it ended up being so).

And so, they fought regularly, sometimes more eruptive than other times. This time, it was a lack of physical touch, something Jungkook desperately needed at this point. He was trying to curb the habit of mysteriously disappearing to America just to see her every other month in 3 week spurts when the “coincidental meetups” during the tour wasn’t enoug. At this point, the company warned that TMZ was on him. Unlike Dispatch, TMZ wasn't keen on getting paid off to not leak some photos of their rendezvous.

This time, Jungkook gathered all of his courage to ask her to get hired by their company in some unspecified position. It was how the company could protect her, and they would see each other often, or that is, that’s what he thought it was. She had been resistant to the idea, mainly because it sounded like a very roundabout way to appoint her as Jungkook’s main escort. 

“I’m not your fucking whore,” she emphasized again, sitting down on the white leather couch, setting her wine glass on the glass table and crossing her legs. “That’s literally what HYBE was going to hire me for.”

“You’re not gonna be that,” Jungkook reassured, unsure of the position himself. 

The company could’ve put her somewhere in the executive positions with her Masters in Business from USC. She was, after all, a nepotism baby, a stark contrast to Jungkook’s humble beginnings. Her father owned a chain of Korean pubs in Los Angeles, and the company had planned to expand their reach out to the food service industry (using BTS as their main driving force, as usual). 

But, like clockwork, the company didn’t see her as a strong fit compared to her older brother. An odd choice he felt, considering that the guy was a loose cannon, spending the family’s money away with cocaine and prostitutes. He was, at some point, affiliated with Seungri’s people before the guy’s imprisonment, which for some reason, the company glazed over. 

Anyway, the details and the politics seemed rather hazy and confusing to Jungkook, but there was a compelling reason why the company wasn’t completely shutting their relationship down. After all, Jungkook was the Crown Prince of the company, the guy who you could find a well-positioned wife to inherit the throne. 

Jungkook hated this. After all, he was as rebellious as Princess Diana and couldn’t be controlled that easily. This wasn’t like acquiring a whole country or keeping good relations. This was his life, and he was losing more and more of it as time went on.

“If that isn’t it, then what are we then?” she pressed once more, her lips pursed. “What the fuck are we if we’re not dating?”

There it was again. The question that Jungkook dreaded hearing. 

It wasn’t because he didn’t want to give her that label. In fact, he very much wanted her to be his and maybe, just maybe, be serious about marrying. At this point, Seokjin, Namjoon and Yoongi were married. Even Jimin and Taehyung have long-term partners and on the fast pass track to getting married. He was losing out on time, as his goal was to have kids by the time he hit his early thirties, but it seemed like with every passing year, the chances of that happening were getting slimmer and slimmer. It also didn’t help that the company didn’t want him to confirm the relationship despite everyone and their moms know they were together. 

It isn’t the time, Jungkook, they say. The fans would be really upset if you did. 

But they didn’t for the others. Why was it just him?

It’s different. You’re…Jungkook.

Right. Like that makes any damn sense. 

“Jungkook, answer me.”

He turned his head slightly at her to see her eyes stained with tears. At this point, she stood up to walk over toward him, bag in hand. It seemed like their already short meeting was coming to an end. The last thing Jungkook really needed was to fuck it up to the point this might be their last time seeing each other. 

“I…” Jungkook trailed off as she rolled her eyes, his fingers fidgeting his own jean pockets. “I don’t know…I don’t know what we are. I don’t…” he laughed nervously, “I don’t even know who I am.”

Trauma dumping wasn’t what Jungkook had in the books for this conversation, but it was true. He felt like an empty vessel of a human being, but not in the same way as fans would fill him up with all the personalities of his members, but rather, unfulfilled, exhausted, done with everything. 

What is there to do once you have accomplished everything? The other members seemed to have an answer for that, but Jungkook never did. 

She was walking out at this point, exhaling sharply as her heels clicked against the tile floor. Jungkook was losing time, and it was the point of no return. 

“Don’t leave.”

She stopped, letting out a small laugh. Turning around with the hand on the door knob, she delivered the last blow.

“We’re done, Jungkook.”

It was getting late. His cover of “pov” garnered a standing ovation lasting several minutes with tens of people with teary eyes. He captured the lyrics so well, they said.

Well, it’s not that hard to relate to the material and singing to the love of his life that he lost.

Jungkook found himself sitting by the end of the hill in the grassy field, his eyes watching the riverbed ahead. Her taste truly never failed: a destination wedding in the island of Sicily. He wanted to marry her in Jeju and if he wasn’t wrong, he mentioned it to her once.

He needed to take a breather, but more so, a cigarette. For the longest time, he was against tobacco after his dad reeked of it every waking moment of his life. But as he got older and more jaded, Jungkook found himself reaching for all the vices that were legal, smoking and drinking just enough to not cause concern. He was careful to be right under the radar. After all, all eyes are always on him.

The cool air was fogging up the vision in front of him as he exhaled, his hands slowly buried into his hands. Although he felt buzzed and danced through the night, it wasn’t enough to be angry about the wedding, about losing her…about everything, really.

Where did he go wrong? Did he make the wrong choice in choosing this life? Was he doomed to not be with anybody or have happiness? Or is it the reincarnation curse that he was fated to live a life so unhappy just like his supposed first life did, minus the tragic car crash? 

Or maybe, just maybe, there was something else that he isn’t getting…something that has been in front of him all along…

“Need a cigarette?”

He looked up, his lips curving into a bittersweet smile.

“Hey,” he greeted her. She was wearing a shorter dress without a veil this time, a modern ivory hanbok to dance easier. 

“Hey you,” she smiled warmly, kneeling down. 

“Ey, you’re gonna ruin your dress!” Jungkook held his hand up in protest, but she continued to plop herself down next to him, laughing. 

“You know I don’t really give a fuck about that,” she chuckled, putting her arms on her knees, mirroring him. 

She really didn’t. If it was anything Jungkook knew, she was just as rebellious as he was, something that he loved the most about her. In fact, she said no to the merger between her father’s restaurant chain and the company, causing a major rift in priorities. It was also the time when the two broke up, which made it even more suspicious for the fans to think it was all a PR relationship.

It wasn’t. Not that it mattered anyway, the fans don’t know everything about him, regardless of what many wished to be. 

“Here.” 

She gingerly took out a cigarette from her dress pocket. Without hesitation, Jungkook took it, pulling out his own lighter and lighting it up. With one slow drag, the warmth of the tobacco hit his lungs, instantly calming him down.

Exhaling, his fingers fiddled around the wrapping paper, his head tilted back. There was a serene silence between the two, and for once, it wasn’t awkward like it was the other times with lingering glances during the engagement party and the wedding rehearsal. 

“Thank you,” he said, although it felt like the thanks was more than just for the cigarette. He was thanking her for everything, the emotional support, the sex, the healing. Although their time was cut short, he felt like he knew himself a bit better now, progress in his eyes. 

She nodded in acknowledgement, taking the cigarette to take a huff of her own. He dropped his hand down to touch hers. This time, she didn’t flinch.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry we couldn’t make it work.”

Tears started welling up in his eyes. 

“It’s okay,” he sniffled, trying his best to blink the tears away. “I mean…it wasn’t meant to be and it’s fine.”

He turned to her with a weak smile and to his surprise, a more distraught look on her face. His stomach lurched forward, butterflies filling up in his stomach. He knew it. She still loved him even after all this time, perhaps just as much as he did. 

She leaned her hand on his shoulder as she gripped his hand tighter, the tobacco smoke engulfing the both of them. They took turns to finish it off to the end before doing a couple of more in silence. There wasn’t much to say, they both thought, as they already said enough.

After the third cigarette, Jungkook finally broke his silence.

“I think I’m going to leave.”

Her head lifted up from its resting position to look up at him. God, her eyes were beautiful, so full of life. He wanted to kiss her, but he restrained himself. He didn’t want to be selfish in that regard anymore. 

“Leave?”

“I’m going to end my contract and retire. I’m leaving the industry behind.”

Her eyebrows scrunched up in shock as they pulled apart. The contract renewal had been a looming topic amongst the company for quite some time. While the group had been less active in the recent years with the birth of Seokjin’s firstborn, it has been the general consensus that the group would continue to perform until they all passed away. At first, Jungkook was open to the idea, but as time went on, he felt tired, exhausted. 

Done. 

“Are you sure?”

He nodded.

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know what I’d be doing after, but I want to find myself. Maybe, I’ll find another you,” he grinned, a tear leaving his eye.

She inhaled, her lips pursed into a small heart. She sat up, blinking furiously before exhaling sharply and laughing. 

“Well then! I support it, Kook,” she smiled, patting him on the shoulder. It was a pang to his heart, but it had to be done. They weren’t lovers anymore, but rather, formerly intimate lovers turned lifetime companions. 

Jungkook was unsure where it would take. Surely, he just thought about it on the spot. He wondered how the fans would take it. After all, he spent twenty years as a member of BTS, a successful solo artist and actor and was one of the most well-loved celebrities from his home country. He was seen as The Pride of Busan as he never once got into a scandal despite having an arm littered with tattoos, face piercings and a drinking habit. His fans were fiercely protective of his privacy against stalkers and delusional fans alike, and a move like this would piss off the company for sure. 

He didn’t care though. After all, he never listens but he sure is handsome.

It was time to take his life back.

“Me too.”

[END]

[notmuchtoconceal]

women tend to resent that i have the choice and the ability to speak my mind when they don't. the truth is they do. they'll just get called bitches or condescended to if they do. i don't get called names, i just get shunned by people who think they're better than me without feeling like they need to explain why. everyone feels rage. nobody is allowed to express it. i think that's cruel. i think everyone suppressing their rage is collectively far worse for the public health than people just suckin up occasionally gettin screamed at. mostly, you don't want to hilariously mislead people with fear tactics. you don't want to implant false theories of human nature which make them crazy. you don't want people so warped by their sensitivities, they're living in self-isolating different dimensions with their own insular logic-traps where hatred feeds into hatred.

it comes down to a lack of respect. a lack of a willingness to see past their own experiences. i've been prioritizing the experiences of women since birth, and while this is right and good when i'm in a good mood and can care for others :-- when i'm in a bad mood and too volatile to expect or accept care, women can just fucking deal with the fact that i and other men have our way of seeing things, our own way of feeling things.

i supported women, encouraged them, helped them talk out their feelings, explained why the bad man was bad, and none of these women could help me lift my own masculinity, helping them was ultimately a way to help myself. none of that shit matters when i'm in a good mood. it's not a pool you can pay into and collect. when you misstep, you're out.

a woman's mind is calculating so many discreet probabilities at once, they're so entangled in the collective emotional psychosphere, having so many relations, they need to rely on cheats and shortcuts.

this is why they're so hyper-sensitive to certain seemingly superficial stimuli. they're not reconstructing a model of the other person's thought process in their head, like a logical man, they're playing back past encounters on repeat and sensing points of tension and danger, rationalizing largely from sense impressions or subconscious attitudes.

men also make assumptions. the male emphasis on logic has its own limitations. this is why men and women need to talk to one another and work out the differences in the logistics of their thinking, but this seldom occurs because each party is too sensitized by past experiences to see what's directly in front of them, and anyway, both people are trying to bullshit themselves to get away from each other anyway, cause nobody wants to give up their freedom and everyone's just looking out for themselves. this is what makes marriageable love so special.

when both parties focus on the other, they merge.

when one party focuses on the other, he gets absorbed.

if you won't love me, i'll absorb you. it's fun, simple and easy.

absorbing you is still love. we both enjoy it. you want to be absorbed and i want to absorb you. it feels good. our attraction is perfect and beautiful.

not all loves were meant to last, bro.

gonna enjoy u as long as i can.

reprogramming him to be loyal to the alpha state

[talkintrashcann]

Breathe with me - Xavier Thorpe

Summary: While studying for your upcoming exams, your boyfriend helps you get through a panic attack.

Warnings: anxiety, panic attacks, hyperventilating, slightly choking, hair pulling, pinching, crying, change in appetite, lmk if i missed any

Word count: 1.5k

A/N will be at the end of the story because i feel like i talk too much in here, but it's important to read though!

Disclaimer: this is based on my personal experience with anxiety and panic attacks, this does not mean everyone experiences this the same way.

———————

You knew your mental health was getting bad again, the stress of your upcoming exams eating you from the inside out. It has started to affect you both mentally and physically. Your hands constantly shaking, legs won't stop moving, you haven't been able to have a good night sleep in days and even your appetite has suffered due to the immense pressure you're under at that moment. There was no cure for this really, the only thing you could do is find ways to keep your stress under control to prevent yourself from having panic attacks on the daily. This was easier said than done. You knew plenty of tips and tricks to prevent those horrifying moments, but in reality those don't always work. Most of the time you are too busy panicking to even think about getting your breathing under control. So you end up sitting there, hyperventilating and crying like crazy, just waiting for it to pass since there was not much you could do.

Nervously turning around to see Xavier busy at his desk, trying to study for the exams you have. He looks really focused on his books and don't want to disturb him now that he's finally concentrated. Looking back at your own desk, you swallow the big lump that has been stuck in your throat for about a minute now, biting your lip out of stress. You could feel the panic attack coming, trying your hardest to keep it from happening. Your eyes were stinging from the tears in the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall any second now. Your breathing was becoming unstable and your heart was beating way faster than it should be. You were so scared you'd make a sound and catch Xavier's attention, really not wanting him to know what's happening now.

You've always been ashamed of having panic attacks so often, especially if you're having one in public. Everyone keeps telling you it's nothing to be ashamed of, but that doesn't help with feeling that way. Even having them around people you're closest with is hard, not wanting them see you this way. You were scared of what they might think of you after that, scared to be judged. What if they think you're being weak? Or think you're just exaggerating? So you tried to hide it for as long as you could, but most of them found out at one point.

Your boyfriend witnessing a panic attack for the first time was hell for you. It happened in your dorm when you were suddenly stressing over a presentation you had to give in class the next day, you were overthinking too much and it didn't take long until you sat there chocking on your tears as you started hyperventilating. Walking around the room while tears rolled down your rosy cheeks, hands pulling at your hair before sinking through your legs and falling to your knees. Xavier didn't know what was happening and wanted to help you, but he honestly had no idea what to do. He tried to talk to you, telling you to calm down and reminding you that everything was going to be alright. As sweet as that may sound, but telling someone who's having a panic attack to calm down doesn't help at all. None of the words even made any sense to you, you were so overwhelmed that you couldn't understand what he was saying. You were screaming on the floor, tears still streaming down your face and your hands pinching at your arms. It scared Xavier to see you like this, it pained him that he couldn't help you. All he could do was embrace you and hold your hands in his, waiting for the heavy moment to pass. After about 15 minutes of screaming and crying non-stop, the room finally turned silent. You were still in his arms while he was rocking you bsck and forth, his head leaning on yours, and you sat there looking emotionless and numb.

Later that day, you explained to him what happened and why it happens so often. He was very understanding and was ready to help you in every way he could, not wanting you to go through that alone ever again. So you told him all the tricks you knew about preventing panic attacks and he wrote them all down in the notes on his phone, keeping them on him at all times. It did give you some comfort knowing how much he cared about you. But that didn't stop you from hiding symptoms whenever you felt them coming, not wanting to be a burden to him all the time. However, the boy has caught on quickly. Being able to spot symptoms without you having to tell him, and he's become pretty good at helping you through those tough moments too.

"Are you alright, love?"

You turned back around to look at him, seeing him already looking at you. He had a feeling something was going on and when you made eye contact with him, those feeling were proven right. He could see your red eyes and face, fighting back to urge to cry right then and there. Slowly getting up from his chair, he calmly walked over to you and pulled you into a soft hug. You finally allowed the tears to fall as you couldn't hold them any longer, staining his red shirt in mere seconds. His hands were tracing figures onto your back to try and calm you down, but you're afraid it was already too late for that. You started chocking on your breath, it felt as if your airway was closed shut and no air could make it to your lungs.

"Can't-... Breathe-...", you managed to say while grabbing at your throat as you hyperventilated in his arms.

Without saying a word, he brought you towards the bathroom and turned on the sink. You knew what he was doing since you were the one telling him about the cold water trick. While you held your wrists under the running water, your boyfriend started rubbing your back and asked you random questions to distract you from your worried thoughts.

"Can you name four objects in this room that are the color red?"

Your eyes darted around the room to look for any red objects, landing on a shampoo bottle first. Speaking was too hard so you tried pointing to it instead, Xavier following your shaking finger to see what you were trying to say. He was so proud of you for trying but it was clear this wasn't going to help you that much as you were still hyperventilating, he decided to try something else out. He was worried about not getting you to calm down since nothing seemed to help, but he knew that if he had to stay calm himself in order to help you. So he tried all the tricks he knew on the top of his head until one finally worked. What was most important to him was controlling your breathing, knowing that without this being controlled you could sit here for an hour.

"Hey, hey, look at me please. Everything is going to be alright, I'm here with you.  Breathe with me okay."

You looked at his calming eyes as you tried taking a deep breathe. Inhale for 4 seconds, holding it for 7 seconds and then exhale for 8 seconds. That was the trick your therapist taught you, but it wasn't an easy trick to do. It was always quite difficult to do this while you're still hyperventilating, but the longer you did this, the easier it got to follow along with his breathing. Your breath slowed down, hands still under the cold water in the sink. The tears stopped coming, everything finally calming down. But what comes next is not a fun fase either. After just experiencing a panic attack, you start to feel empty inside. It was like for a moment, there was nothing left of you. Xavier would be stuck with a soulless doll in the room for the next few hours, but he didn't mind it. As long as you were okay now. Were you really though? No, not really. But at least you weren't still stuck in your endless spiral of anxiety.

"It's time for you to take a long and well-deserved break, studying like this has no use anyway. Your mental health is way more important than your exams, so let's call it a day."

He turned off the sink and carried you to his bed, spending the next couple hours cuddling until you eventually fell asleep in his arms from exhaustion. You are so lucky to have someone like him by your side. What would you do without him?

———————

A/N: did i write this after having a mental breakdown and panic attack because of my own upcoming exams? you bet.

(my first exam is actually in like 10 hours from now so yeah im still really scared but i can do this!)

a few months ago i wrote a poem about what it feels like to have panic attacks and i found it in my notes last week so that's what inspired me to write this, it really helps me cope with my own mental issues and that's why i mostly wrote this for myself. Because of that, this is an extremely personal topic but i wanted to share this with others since i know im not the only one going through this and i find it so important to spread more awareness about it. like i mentioned in the story, there really shouldn't be any reason for people to be ashamed about having panic attacks, so many people experience them throughout their life and its completely understandable to have them.

if anyone needs someone to talk to, for whatever reason, my dms are always open for everyone. love you all <3

[morlock-holmes]

What exactly are we trying to solve?

The incuriosity and fuzziness with which people look at the west coast homelessness crisis drives me fucking batty.

Now look, I admit up front that I am also both incurious and wool-headed about this issue, but I work in a fucking restaurant for minimum wage. If you write a book about the fucking homeless crisis or run the city government I expect you to think a little bit harder than the average schmoe on the street, and I think that's reasonable.

One thing that pisses me off about the way people talk about homelessness is that they don't seem to know why it's bad, or what it would look like to solve it. Which I know sounds crazy but hear me out.

Scott Alexander helpfully reviews San Fransicko for me so I don't have to punch any holes in my drywall, but I want... Well, actually I was composing this as I finish Alexander's review, and I got to his utilitarian discussion at the end that cuts to the heart of the matter:

Along with all the problems and preaching, San Fransicko offers solutions. These won’t come as a surprise to anyone who’s read this far: they’re basically the Amsterdam plan presented earlier. Break up open-air drug markets. Force addicts into rehab by threatening prison sentences for noncompliance. Ban camping on streets and force the homeless into shelters. Offer permanent housing when appropriate, but make it contingent on good behavior. Have a strong psychiatric system with ability to commit people who need it, and enforced outpatient treatment when appropriate.

Would these work?

I’m pretty sure they would work well for housed people and the city as a whole. Homeless people would no longer block the streets and assault passers-by; they would be safely out of sight in shelters or in mental institutions. A new generation of tough DAs would crack down on crime. Stores could reopen, and citizens could walk the streets without fear. It’s hard for me to imagine this not working.

...

I have to admit - I talk a good utilitarian talk on this, but I don’t know if I live up to my ideals. An addictionologist interviewed in San Fransicko heaps contempt on well-off liberals who get the benefits of virtue-signaling while externalizing the costs onto poor people in bad areas:

[You] sit in the suburbs and feel smug about the fact that you oppose the war on drugs and have a Black Lives Matter sign in your yard. But you don’t have homeless people taking a crap on your front stoop every day or [have] all your packages stolen every single day

So I imagine - what if I lived in the worst parts of SF, had people crap on my front steps every day, had all my packages stolen, and (by the bounds of this hypothetical) wasn’t allowed to move to the suburbs, ever? I think I would last two weeks before I sacrificed all of my principles on the altar of “less human feces, please”.

Maybe, as a lefty, I'm supposed to read that and gasp and say, "How can you be so heartless?" or maybe I'm supposed to say, "Gosh, when you get right down to it, doesn't the poor guy have a point?"

But instead I'm going to ask:

Do you have any studies showing how effective those policies are at getting rid of human feces?

I'm not being a smart-ass, I'm genuinely wondering how Alexander didn't notice that so much of the criticism he himself quotes in Shellenberger's book has nothing to do with any of that stuff.

This is the particular quote from Shellenberger that caught me up short:

"An experiment with 249 homeless people in San Francisco between 1999 and 2002 found those enrolled in the city’s Housing First program, Direct Access to Housing, used medical services at the same rate as those who were not given housing through the program, suggesting that the Housing First program likely had minimal impact on the participants’ health."

Did it have an impact on how often they took a shit on a public sidewalk? Did it have an impact on the amount of litter they dumped on streets? Did it have an impact on time spent chasing people around and screaming obscenities? Did it have an impact on how often they injected heroine in the subway? Did it have an impact on how many sidewalks they blocked with tents?

All that fucking soul-searching, all that "Gosh, perhaps to solve the problem we simply must be cruel" and this reluctant commitment to reducing the effect of homelessness on tourists and housed locals, and realizing that, gosh, we might have to sacrifice the well-being of homeless people if that's what it takes, an utter commitment to ignoring anything but the reduction of social harm from mass camping...

And the criticism of DAH is that it doesn't improve the health outcomes of the people enrolled in it?!

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

This kind of goalpost shifting is RIFE within the discussion of west coast homelessness, where opponents of current policies or even speculative ones waffle back and forth about whether or not they give a shit about the health of the homeless or not.

Before all that soul-searching I quoted this is Scott's assessment of Housing First policy:

Conclusion: Housing First seems to work in getting people housing. It probably also helps people use fewer medical services, and it might or might not save money compared to not doing it (probably more likely when treating very severe cases, less likely in areas with high housing costs). It probably doesn’t affect people’s overall health or drug use status very much.

So... Housing first policies probably actually do a pretty damn good job at making the Homeless less obnoxious to tourists and housed people in a number of concrete ways related to litter, camping, public defecation, etc.?

There's good reason to think, pending further research, that they might actually do a pretty good job at reducing some of the problems that, after all that soul-searching, we decided were the only priorities we have?

I'm furious and unhappy at the way Portland is being covered by tent cities, mounds of trash, and grafitti. But I have this utterly baffling conversation with people where they go,

"This camping is shameful, the city should crack down on it!"

"So, get people into stable housing"

"Well, if you get people into stable housing it only puts a band-aid on the problem, they still can have health and behavioral problems that are really important."

And I always go, "Right, but I thought we were trying to reduce camping."

There's this kind of baffling goal-post moving. Alexander has a lot of paragraphs of hand-wringing over whether or not we should accept that sometimes we have to be TOUGH and HARD to really solve these problems, and accept that we may just have to care less about what Homeless people do or want, but he somehow hasn't noticed that he actually has very little data on whether or not Shellenberger's preferred policies work better than what he calls "Housing First" in terms of these metrics.

This is a wild guess and armchair psychologizing, but what seems to be happening is that in cities like San Francisco or Portland, as the problem gets worse, you, as a relatively better-off housed person, start thinking of Homelessness less and less in purely charitable terms with worries about how it effects the homeless, and more and more things like, "I don't like crossing the street because the sidewalk I was going to use is blocked by tents and piles of garbage" and "I don't like how often people chase after me screaming obscenities" and that feels somehow hard and uncompassionate, so you sort of start to assume that the only way to solve these problems is through policies that also feel hard and uncompassionate.

But I'm going to be honest, the case for that strikes me as extremely flimsy and I don't think I've ever seen anybody make it in a very convincing way.

[1111jenx]

yeah yeah give us more tea on Virgo rising dear <3

Thanks, luv!

Hey cutie,

I'm really weak when it comes to mercurian placements tbh but i'll spill some more tea for ya 😉

This is my on-going rising sign series

Virgo Rising 🫖:

More aggressive than they look. RBF but will also bite you if they can. A lot of Virgo Rising I know have BAD anger issues😍

They know that they're a lil self-centered HAHAHAHAHA they cant shut up about their amazing lifestyle like we know you have amazing schedule and work ethics, shudduuppooo

health conscious to the max. i touched base on this already but omg they actually care sm abt their health its crazyyyyy

naturally sarcastic. that 3H scorpio never stops working. their minds and jokes are hella dry but HILARIOUS bro would make a joke and start giggling by themselves like excuse me?😭

critical💓🥳 will give you shit for what u did like they gonna give it to u straight up<3 like if they don't wanna do something they're just gonna say no LMFAOOO no one can makes them do shits

surprisingly very into venusian people, they find harmony with them (Libra + Taurus placements)

*disappear for 3 weeks* "hey guys im back whats good how u doing do u need my help with something?"

just wanna help u out, let them.

uhhhhhhhhhh they're actually very stubborn. esp in love LMFAOOOO who says they're simps? if you wrong them in love they will deadass become hella scary💀

surprisingly calm and great at saying shits to get out of trouble. lie without blinking twice. master of communication but they don't look like that

also VERY good with high authority.

nostalgic. harder time letting toxic people go🤡

very very very forgiving. after a period of screaming and hate they will forgive you if you are sincere and make it up to them.

attract emotionally volatile people💀💀

a need to shelter, heal, change and ground stucked up people. they love love lost people too sksksksk

random af. will just be watching something and just start talking about wanting to travel to cuba and have a new job there or something

love sensitive people, secretly very judgy and hate people who are emotionally absent

naturally drawn to Pisces placements (7H) and tend to have a VERY soft spot for these people. will always justify their wrongs.

loners or a long term relationships no in between🙂

SEX APPEAL. HOLYYYYY IT SEEMS LIKE PEOPLE JUST WANNA SUBMIT TO THEM

actually are pretty demanding. when they say they want something , they gonna get it💀

can actually see sides of issues easily. pretty objective if it doesnt involve them. can become amazing peace makers.

lowkey people pleaser tho. will feel bad if they abandon u

a secret love for the occult. love tarot readings and thinking abt philosophical ideas

HATE feeling unseen. they rly don't like it when others dont acknowledge their presence

mom friend. people love being around them cause its so warm and easy

severe anxiety. once their minds wander theres no turning back💝💕💝

cry so easily in private. but sometimes its so hard for them to cry in public. thinks their emotions are broken sometimes

These are some extra observations I can think of right now<3

I'd love to add more in the future if you guys ever wanna HAHAHAH, but fr, appreciate ur virgo rising friends more guys🤡

loveee,

saint jenx🪐

[hjellacott]

I have ALWAYS said this, having been a teacher for children with severe autism (non-verbal, unable to do anything for their own well-being, not even going to the loo unaided), and I've sometimes gotten told off by the kind of autistic person who is highly skilled and intellectual and thinks people like us who point out not every autistic person is a genius are giving them all bad publicity or something. But you're right, all this does is continue to ignore the severe challenges people in the other end of the spectrum face daily, as well as their families.

I speak about this because I've got deep experiences and my time as a SEND teacher changed my life forever and affected me deeply. In that time I saw cities, even those as big and rich as London, are not built for families with children with severe autism. I've seen parents struggling to get to the end of the month, unable to pay for the special education their children require, parents in absolute despair because their child won't do anything but sit in the corridor crying, kicking, screaming and biting for weeks on end just because there was a minor change in their routine and the only people capable of managing these challenges are specially trained teachers that our school was losing for lack of funding, I've seen children severely ill who depended on specially trained teachers' unique skills to realise something was wrong and get them medical attention before they could become too unwell, I've seen teachers who developed tight bonds with these kids crumbling once the kids went home because they couldn't bear to think of how the kid was going to manage alone in this cruel world once they were too old for school, or crying because we were too few teachers for our amount of students and we couldn't manage, or emotionally struggling and needing a moment because a 6-year-old deeply autistic child had such a challenging moment that they slapped the teacher hard and drew blood out of their noses. I've seen little children with severe autism and a parent who was violent at home and made the child violent. I've seen normal families cross the street to move away of our autistic students because nobody taught them anything about autism in school so they fear it instead of knowing how to behave around it. I've seen all kinds of shit, and I've even had to step in to save a child's life on a couple occasions because the first victims of their autism were the kids themselves and sometimes they truly have no idea that what they're doing is life threatening, and I've seen families deeply struggling with the whole thing, specially immigrant families who don't speak our language and don't know how to assist their child nor have the money to help them.

Sometimes cruel people like to insinuate that I got fired, when in fact, that never happened. My school still wants me back three years after I quit, but I quit because I couldn't afford to continue to work there. It was doing my own mental health in severely, I was in over my head at times, and without enough funding, enough teachers and enough help, I feared one day something devastating and disastrous would happen to a child and I'd feel it as my fault and it'd kill me. I have such tremendous admiration for my colleagues and friends who still work there, who are tremendous professionals and experts and who have taught me everything, and I have a lot of love for some kids I am never going to forget about, so I'm continuing to fight for them, campaign for them and spread the word, in hopes that this will help the world gain some awareness of what's going on and intervene.

Let me be clear. SEND SCHOOLS NEED MORE MONEY. They need more help, more support from councils, governments and communities, but people who don't have SEND (special education needs and disabilities) also need better education about SEND and to stop fearing it. If we let the autistics of high intelligence and skills dictate how people with autism should be treated, then nobody will ever understand how hard it is to give SEND, how much money is needed and how severely underfunded SEND schools are, how underpaid SEND teachers is. Therefore, it's super important to keep speaking out, keep telling the world what it really is like to try and educate a severely autistic child who lives in a world truly not built for them, where they'll struggle to ever work, ever fend for themselves, to even make themselves a sandwich. You know what their only hope is? Schools like the one I worked at, where specially dedicated and trained teachers taught them everything, from tying their shoe-laces to cooking, and never gave up on them even if each year they had to remind them the same tasks.

One of the things which annoys me the most about the recent neurodiversity and autism awareness movements is the lack of consideration for people who have incredibly severe forms of autism.

Like, there’s a statistic which autistic people like to use which says that 85% of people with autism don’t have a job and yes it’s good to talk about the fact that autistic people might burn out more easily in certain work places which makes it harder for them but also what percentage of that 85% is capable of working? Because there’s a vast difference between someone with autism who struggles but can function completely independently even if they struggle with certain things and someone with autism who is completely non-verbal, can’t communicate well, and does not have the mental capacity to ever live independently.

I am glad that people who have autism are understanding themselves better but I hate that they are ignoring that there are so many autistic people who cannot stand up for themselves and will never be independent because the condition is not the same for everyone.

[paperboy-pb]

i just wanted to say that i’m so incredibly happy to see a comic that talks about special ed, i spend my entire late childhood to preteen-hood in the sped department, most of the staff members who would follow me around would physically and emotionally abuse me, i ended up having to be homeschooled and developed all sorts of mental issues as a result, and it took me years to heal from everything, i’m still working through my mental health, and knowing that i’m not the only person who went through this makes me super happy

...Makes me happy too :]

I wish you the best! It's true-- we really aren't alone. Even when it seems it. When I was a kid in the 2010s, I used to google "help, special ed makes me feel bad" or "special ed makes me sad" and I wouldn't be able to find anything except articles about how 'wonderful' of an environment it is, & why you should put your kids in there if you can. I thought I was going nuts for a while.

Kid-me felt so alone, I actually started Paperboy *as a child*, as a last-ditch way to cope. Summer between sixth and seventh grade, I would draw out all the terrible things that happened to my peers & I, but with different names and faces. In a little blue notebook. And I never stopped. Thank God other people are more vocal about it today, though. I don't want to be the only person who talks about this.

‼️[Heads up-- vague discussion of ableist abuse against a child & SA going onward!]‼️

I was in it for K-8, so ages 4-13. I was never hit by adults, but the emotional abuse & isolation ran so rampant that by 5, I was asking teachers, "Am I *good enough* to play with other kids yet? :D"

Needless to say, I was always noted to have self-esteem issues. (And staff had the audacity to wonder why?)

I'm so sorry, anon. Kids like you & me went through way too much. I remember it all: the screaming, the following, intimidation, condescension, EXTREME public humiliation, force-feeding, isolation, disabled kids bullying each other, botched education, violent situations, some times where I genuinely almost died, and then... well. I was sexually abused while I was in there, to say the least. And nobody would let me separate from the people who did it because the school insisted on keeping all their "special little things" together, away from everybody else. So I had to just... stay there. And take it. For months on end.

An adult even saw it one day. You could tell I was in trouble, I even screamed, "HELP ME!" at the top of my lungs. She looked right at me, straight-up eye contact, but... she turned her back. To talk to some General Ed kids on the other end of the recess yard.

Normal talk, too. She didn't send the girls to get help or anything. They had a pleasant little chat while I had the worst moment of my life.

I haven't healed up fully, but I'm doing... better? Working on Paperboy helps! My family wouldn't help me, but I did well enough that I got to be transferred out into General Ed at 13. And I got a therapist helping me out now at 19. But that environment genuinely took my entire childhood away from me; and that sucks! 4 is pretty much a toddler. 13 is a teenager already.

I will never understand why people think disabled students are to be treated like nothing. Special Ed & many of the people involved in it have some serious reform to do.