#childhood poverty

[guilty-feminist]

[xtrablak674]

[Originally published in Fashion Fag Magazine, January, February Volume 2, Issue 1, Number 5, 1995, minor edits for clarity.]

Pride: A Deeper Shame

"I saw your momma at K-Mart trying to buy you sneakers with a two hundred dollar food stamp, askin' for change."

HA! HA! HA!

"Yo family so po that they can't afford the raisins in Raisin Bran."

HA! HA! HA!

"Did you see Tony's sneakers? That hole in dem was so big, the shoes were talkin'."

HA! HA! HA!

Rage is hard to articulate, but a legacy of poverty is not funny. Kids are cruel, no honest. But where do they get it from? I am pretty sure they got it from grown folkes.

"Did you see Joyce's kids? The ring around their necks been there so long, you'd think they were birthmarks."

HA! HA! HA!

"You know Linda is so damn cheap, she dye her girls hair with Cherry Kool-Aid."

HA! HA! HA!

"Do you know what I'm gonna get Marie's little girl for Christmas?"

"What girl?"

"...a comb!"

HA! HA! HA!

As I said in RAGE (Vol. 1, Issue 3) within the community of people of African descent there is an anger that threatens to consume us if we do not harbor that energy into more constructive things. For my people one of those things has been humor.

"Oh, Black folks are so funny" -generic white person

If we weren't we'd be dead. From the minstrel shows to 'Good Times' we've had to find the humor in our situation. Its manifested itself in the banter and jokin' we children hear from grown folkes.

What are the long term effects of this 'joking to express our pain?' There are many manifestation from PRIDE, to SHAME, to ANGER, to ENVY.

In me it has produced PRIDE and SHAME.

PRIDE in my heritage, and how my people have overcome so many insurmountable challenges.

PRIDE, that we are makin' wonderful progress in the sports and entertainment industry (But we do do more than just play ball and make you laugh, thank you kindly).

There is also SHAME; a deep SHAME. A SHAME that is rooted in my peoples false notion of what success is.

Success to my generation and me was defined through our television. As a young person of color, I grew up seein' images that were very false and not inclusive of my people.

TV does NOT portray the real world.

It showed content, happy rich white folks and the few images of Blacks were dysfunctional, lazy, and poor.

This had an effect on my young un-sculpted mind. The images on my television (to me, the real world) and the few affirmations I received were diametrically opposed.

Due to my financial and social upbringing, the television and my friends were my teachers.

I began to feel that it was NOT acceptable to be poor.

NOT acceptable to be poor and Black.

NOT acceptable to be poor, Black and on welfare.

On welfare?

Welfare or Public Assistance, was a fact of life in my early existence. I remember gettin' gifts at Christmas from 'Santa Claus'. (Like I really believed that this big jolly white man came to our house and left gifts, yeah right) knowin' even at eight years old that they were comin' from the 'social services people'.

I remember the 'social workers' comin' to visit, like in the 70's movie Claudine, and how mom would change, she would get all up tight as if she had something to prove to somebody or seek someone's affirmation.

"Goddamn, I can't have nuthin' nice without you kids tearin' it up."

This social worker who was always some youngish white woman, would come to 'visit' briefly to see how we kids were doing.

As if to say that my mother was too incompetent to take care of us.

I didn't know the word condescending till much later in life, but I knew what it felt like.

It felt warm, bitter and angry.

It gripped your stomach and jabbed at your heart.

("When you two grow up you wanna be my maids?")

and it would only go away when the social worker left.

Life would return to, normal?

Mom would relax and light up a cigarette or suck her thumb, which was a common self-soothing practice of hers.

These events always affected me greatly bein' a 'momma's boy' and da man of da house. I was greatly tuned into my mother's vibe.

...and her pain.

THEN

There were those painful moments when we did our grocery shoppin', Mom, Monte and Chaon, my two younger brothers, and me. My brothers would be naggin' mom,

'I want dis mommee, I want dat!'

(I am so happy that they have aisles at stores nowadays wit out candy and gum)

"Put it down, goddmann it, no!"

Her anger not comin' from her needy children, but a dissatisfaction with herself and 'the system' that she wasn't able to provide for them.

[It's OK MOM.]

"That'll be..."

The girl at the cash register would say over my pountin' grumblin' brothers. I would try to hush my brothers, as I watched the scenario play out.

Mom would open her little maroon change purse, I recollect so well her silver bracelets gigglin' with that familiar clink as she dug into her change purse and carefully took out her food stamps intermixed with a few single dollar bills. She would count and stifle a sigh as she would tell the girl at the cash register to put back the Count Chocula and the Jiffy Pop.

The second youngest Monte would suck his teeth and roll his eyes, while the youngest Chaon would stick his lips out.

I stood quietly, stoic.

Never lookin' at them Mom put the Jiffy Pop back and replaced it with the Ground Beef and The Chef Boyardee Spaghetti Mix.

The girl at the register sucked her teeth, as she fixed the over-ring.

NOW

I was out today buyin' a few things for my New Year's Eve event, I stopped at the fruit store to buy lemons for my ice tea and some apple cider. I floated around the store waitin' for the line to thin out.

Finally I got on, admiring the determination of the young women cashier to treat everybody evenly. No smile, no hello, but no shade or disrespect either. This woman of African descent stepped to the cashier.

Straightened hair, pulled tightly back in a stubby pony-tail. Gingerbread colored skin pulled taut to her skull. Eyes wide and desperate.

She put down the two items she had. The cashier rung them up and the woman handed her the young lady a ten dollar food stamp. The women's eyes were fixed on the cashier's hand as she put the food stamp in her drawer. She pulled out some single food stamps from under the dollar bills. She counted them, they weren't enough, she turned nonchalantly to the other cashier, who had a line comparable to her, and she asked if she had change for a ten.

All eyes in the line were transfixed on this transaction. Time was movin' really slowly and a huge spotlight was on this woman and her food stamps. Very carefully the cashier counted out the food stamps, put the excess bills under the other bills, and handed the woman her change.

The woman quickly took her change put it in her food stamp booklet. I remember so clearly her tight brows and determined eyes. As she walked away she stopped, took a few plastic bags looked around and continued out of the store. For the first time I saw her legs thin and lithe like young bamboo sticks.

I teared.

Earlier that day I was talkin' to my Aunt about how I understood the importance of food stamps, and never knowingly made anyone who used them uncomfortable, and actually promoted their usage by those in need. But personally I can't use them. She asked why?

I said, pride.

[Afterwords: I don't think I have a lot to say other than once again complimenting my own writing. The then and now stories in the supermarkets were so detail-laden it was like I was back in time, in both situations. I could nearly see the Shop-Rite my mom liked to frequent. Even the Williamsburg grocery store felt familiar and very close by.

As I transcribed this from the PDF I have to say I really enjoyed the paragraph breaks, the poetical repetition and even the formatting, really spoke to how I was utilizing the medium to tell a story. Not presented here, but my use of italics and even brackets versus parenthesis made it clear as to when I was within the story or outside floating above it and commenting. I am confused to how for a minute I could think I wasn't a very good writer.

Using 'playing the dozens' or as we called it 'ranking' when I was younger, and now as an adult just call it 'shade' was an interesting way to open the piece, albeit I think my comparison between poverty and humor tapered off by the end. I think it was a good way to pull the reader into the story. I think most of us can remember using insults as children and still now as adults as a form of humor.

The key points of the story were my discussing my feelings around pride and shame and the dozens did a good job of demonstrating how humor was used to shame those in poverty usually by other people in the exact same situation. The last part of the story intermixes the two quite well, further illuminating the over all message of the piece. Two very complex emotions with so much subtlety of detail within each of them.

I am not sure if the government figured out that there was such severe psychological trauma in publicly showing that you needed financial assistance to feed yourself, but they finally made the wise decision of moving to a card-based system that felt a lot more discreet than the little colored pieces of paper shaped like bills, but clearly not.

I too faced my own pride and shame and sometime during the early aughts went on public assistance for the first time. I didn't look at it as something shameful but as something necessary, so that I didn't end up in an even worse financial situation, a life preserver until I could get back onto more stable ground.

My personal history with my mom, my father who never got off of public assistance, my brother and his wife who seemed to think it was a job, made me very reticent to accepting the assistance. But after the turn of the century I had much more experience under my belt, and had genuinely made all the attempts I could on my own to support myself, and just fell short. Unlike everyone except my mom, I made an attempt, and I think this is what made me feel differently about my time getting aid.

My college friend was telling me about all our peers who were getting food stamps in college, and I thought well that was brilliant, why didn't someone tell me? I would have gotten mines too, that was a time where it was totally okay for you not to have, as you were attending a higher educational institution to attempt to better yourself so you would never have to be a burden to the state or society.

My general stance remains the same today, if you need the help get it, but don't become dependent. I never saw my god-mother work, and now her daughter my sister has spent most of her own life on some form of public assistance. It feels sad to me that it has become in some ways an intergenerational inheritance, we pass the poverty and despondency from one generation to another.

Welfare isn't a career choice.

I probably am judging folks, but I still feel that we should all at least 'try' to support ourselves on our own. I am not saying you won't stumble or fail and I would not be mad at anyone getting on and off public assistance several times throughout their lives, but its important at least to me that they attempted to stand on their own.

I think we can all agree that this society isn't really equipped to support or nurture a large portion of its population but I don't think that means we totally fold. If you're still alive you still have the potential to make a better life for yourself and you should never give that up.

[Photos from the Interwebs]

Rage: Not Easy to Articulate

[1zashreena1]

What do you consider growing up middle class?

I am going to answer as honestly and sincerely as I can based on my own experience

If your parents told you to just focus on your studies instead of get a job because they need your help to pay the electric bill

If you were ever gifted a car of any age/maintenance state

If college was a given assumption and not a silly kid pipedream

If you had an icemaker, central air, and washer-dryer

If you didn't use every last edible centimeter of fruits and vegetables

If you paid someone else to clean your house

If you could get new glasses AND see the dentist in the same year

If ordering pizza was a routine event rather than a special occasion

If your back to school shopping consisted of completely new clothing

If you had hobbies that cost money or required your parents to invest time and effort (like traveling to tournaments or getting you specific gear/equipment)

You took a family vacation more then twice growing up and those vacations weren't just visiting extended family a little ways away because staying with them is free

You went on a class/school trip

You flew anywhere as a child

You had a passport

Your parents didn't hoard extra prescription meds so that the next time you got sick you could just take the leftovers and not require paying for another round of Dr visit and pharmacy costs

You had more than 1 bathroom in your home

You were allowed to pick something out every time you went grocery shopping

You didn't really worry about how you were perceived when walking into stores/restaurants because you weren't desperately hoping that no one could tell your financial status from the state of your clothes

You didn't have to learn how to run a household by 16 because you had parents who could afford to be home and awake to do that for you

Your only hope of escaping your hometown and breaking free wasn't selling your entire existence to a deeply disturbing national war machine by enlisting in the military or similarly selling yourself by marrying rich

The best paying jobs available weren't physically damaging or dangerous (like how I destroyed my back unloading trucks because it paid way more than cashiering or waiting tables or how I knew multiple people doing construction at the risk of severe accidents or corrections to get paid more while risking violence)

You could afford to take time out/off when sick, whether it be the flu or full on depression

I'm sure I could think of more but just some things off the top of my head. Please remember that my experiences are directly related to the specific area/culture/time period in which I grew up and are not universal. Do not come for my parents who were doing the best they could with what they had, understand that me working to help pay the bills was while they were working 2 jobs and 70 hours a week simultaneously, they were not abusing me in this regard, it was just our reality. Also, on that last point, I am not shaming people that can't or don't work for whatever reason, I am stating that the option of recuperating in peace was simply not available to me, and I was previously diagnosed with major depression, have attempted suicide multiple times, and am now known auDHD with pmdd. So I understand the need but could never have it (and yes this has resulted in huuuuge life problems for me).

I am lower middle class now at 38 because I was able to put myself back thru school twice while still working and "married above my social station" (lol) and my partner has been able to take care of me in ways I considered as fairy tale movie stuff (like pay for my health insurance so I could get cancer treatment). I could not have done so without them. So I get it. I do take time off now, I do have a passport and take international vacations, I do get my glasses AND contacts at the same time, I do buy myself new clothes and even expensive purses, I do get necessary medical care. Yes I am still a little bitter and I do have permanent damage/issues from this stuff. And don't get me wrong, I had a lot of privilege in other ways and I know it. But what I came from is part of who I am and that's just reality.

Here, have cat rewards for making it to the end

[amarisbella21]

CHIP’s Contribution To Reducing Childhood Poverty

The Children’s Health Insurance Program (CHIP) plays a vital role in addressing childhood poverty by providing essential healthcare coverage to low- and moderate-income families. Since its inception in 1997, CHIP has focused on improving health outcomes for children who may not qualify for Medicaid but still face significant financial barriers to accessing healthcare. By ensuring that children receive necessary medical services, CHIP contributes to reducing childhood poverty and promoting overall well-being.

Access to Essential Health Services

CHIP provides comprehensive health insurance coverage that includes routine check-ups, immunizations, dental care, mental health services, and emergency care. Access to these essential services is critical for children’s physical and mental health, allowing them to grow and develop without the limitations imposed by untreated health issues. When children receive timely medical care, they are less likely to experience severe health complications that can impede their ability to succeed in school and life.

Alleviating Financial Burdens

Healthcare costs can be a significant financial burden for families living in poverty. Many low-income families forego necessary medical treatment due to high out-of-pocket expenses associated with private health insurance. CHIP alleviates this financial strain by offering low-cost or no-cost coverage, making healthcare accessible to families who might otherwise be unable to afford it. By reducing healthcare expenses, CHIP enables families to allocate their limited financial resources toward other necessities, such as housing, food, and education, thus alleviating poverty.

Supporting Educational Achievement

Health and education are closely linked, and children’s health significantly impacts their academic performance. Health issues such as chronic illness, developmental disorders, and untreated mental health conditions can hinder a child’s ability to learn and participate in school. By providing access to preventative and therapeutic services, CHIP helps ensure that children are healthy and ready to learn. Improved health outcomes lead to better attendance rates, higher academic achievement, and ultimately greater opportunities for future success. This educational support can break the cycle of poverty by empowering children to pursue higher education and stable employment.

Promoting Mental Health and Well-Being

Mental health is a critical component of overall health, yet it is often overlooked, especially in low-income communities. CHIP recognizes the importance of mental health services and includes coverage for behavioral health care, including counseling and therapy. By addressing mental health issues early, CHIP helps children develop coping skills, improve their social interactions, and enhance their emotional resilience. This focus on mental well-being contributes to healthier, more productive individuals who can contribute positively to society.

Reducing Health Disparities

CHIP plays a crucial role in reducing health disparities among children from diverse backgrounds. By providing equitable access to healthcare services, CHIP helps level the playing field for low-income families, ensuring that children receive the same quality of care as their more affluent peers. This focus on equity is essential for breaking the cycle of poverty and promoting social mobility.

Strengthening Families and Communities

By supporting the health of children, CHIP indirectly strengthens families and communities. When children are healthy, parents can work more effectively and pursue better job opportunities without the burden of worrying about their children's healthcare needs. CHIP eligibility in PA is designed to include low-income families, ensuring that children from diverse backgrounds receive the healthcare support they need. This focus on children's health can lead to improved economic stability for families, which contributes to broader community resilience and vitality.

Conclusion

CHIP is a vital resource in the fight against childhood poverty. By providing comprehensive healthcare coverage, alleviating financial burdens, supporting educational achievement, promoting mental well-being, and reducing health disparities, CHIP contributes to healthier families and communities. As we continue to address the complex challenges of poverty, ensuring robust support for programs like CHIP is essential for creating a more equitable and prosperous society where every child has the opportunity to thrive.

[reasonsforhope]

"Indonesia’s new government started an ambitious project on Monday [January 6, 2025] to fight malnutrition by feeding nearly 90 million children and pregnant women that is expected to cost $28 billion through 2029, although critics question whether the program is affordable.

The Free Nutritious Meal program delivers on a campaign promise by President Prabowo Subianto, who was elected last year to lead the nation, which has more than 282 million people and Southeast Asia’s largest economy. He said the program aims to fight the stunting of growth that afflicts 21.5% of Indonesian children younger than 5 and would raise the income of farmers.

Subianto has pledged to accelerate GDP growth to 8% from 5% now.

In his inauguration speech in October, Subianto said many children are malnourished. His promise to provide free school lunches and milk to 83 million students at more than 400,000 schools is part of a longer-term strategy to develop the nation’s human resources to achieve a “Golden Indonesia” generation by 2045.

“Too many of our brothers and sisters are below the poverty line, too many of our children go to school without breakfast and do not have clothes for school,” Subianto said.

Subianto’s signature program could cost upward of 450 trillion rupiah ($28 billion) by the end of his term in 2029. He said his team has made the calculations to run such a program, and “We are capable.”

The government’s target is to reach an initial 19.5 million schoolchildren and pregnant women in 2025 with a budget of 71 trillion rupiah ($4.3 billion) so as to keep the annual deficit under a legislated ceiling of 3% of GDP, said Dadan Hindayana, the head of the newly formed National Nutrition Agency...

Nearly 2,000 cooperatives will be involved in the free meals program by providing eggs, vegetables, rice, fish, meat, milk and other food, Cooperative Minister Budi Arie Setiadi said.

On Monday, a truck carrying food arrived at SD Cilangkap 08, a primary school in the Jakarta satellite city of Depok. The 740 students were provided rice, stir-fried vegetables, tempeh, stir-fried chicken and oranges.

“We will send a team to each school to facilitate the meal distribution to students every day,” Hindayana said, adding that the program will provide one meal per day for each student from early childhood education to senior high school, covering a third of the daily caloric needs for children, with the government providing the meals at no cost to recipients...

According to the 2023 Indonesian Health Survey, the national stunting prevalence was 21.5%, down around 0.8% from the previous year. The United Nations Children’s Fund estimated that one in 12 Indonesian children younger than 5 suffers from low weight while one in five is shorter than normal. Both conditions are caused by malnourishment.

“That’s so bad and must be solved,” Suwarso said. “Child malnourishment has severe consequences, threatening the health and long-term development of infants and young children throughout this nation.”"

-via Time, January 6, 2025

[severussnapemylove]

Sometimes I wonder if JKR even realises she wrote Snape as a victim of sexual assault. Because he unambiguously is, and she writes him as traumatised by the incident. So it seems mad to suggest that she might not have thought through the implications of her own writing, but if she did get it, I am baffled by how sympathetic she remains to James. Harry is never really made to confront how vile his actions were, because he looks for comfort from Remus and Sirius rather than telling Hermione who would react in horror and disgust, and he gets to skip over it completely in The Prince’s Tale. JKR clearly considers James a hero, and has confirmed that in interviews. She’s even more sympathetic to Lily, who is portrayed as an absolute paragon of goodness, morality and virtue, despite her being attracted enough to James *after* he publicly commits sexual assault on a less privileged kid to marry him! What a malfunctioning moral compass. JKR also has no sympathy at all for Tom Riddle Sr, who is a victim of rape, and his rapist Merope Gaunt, who is herself strongly implied to be a victim of incestual abuse, is condemned by Dumbledore and the narrative not for what she did to Tom but for not being as courageous as nice, pretty, middle class Lily Evans because Merope committed the crime of…dying in childbirth. The only conclusions I can draw from this is that JKR is the sort of ´feminist’ who doesn’t believe men can be the victims of sexual crimes, and that deep down she thinks being a member of the underclass who can’t drag themselves out of it alone is indicative of moral failure.

This! All of this!

I don't think she puts it together at all. She's incredibly tone deaf about a lot of the abuse she puts these characters through. And with the blasé attitude she has about male victims of SA in the books definitely goes along her brand of toxic radical "feminism". It looks like she just doesn't recognise the severity of what happens to these characters. On top of Severus's attack and Tom Riddle Sr, remember that Ron was roofied with love spell that was intended for Harry, and Moaning Myrtle is incredible predatory towards the boys. Sadly, this attitude carries over from the author to a chunk of the fandom too. I've seen so much dismissiveness of the assaults against the male characters, especially Severus. And it's even more disappointing when I see people who have experienced abuse saying that what Severus endured "didn't count" as abuse. Had someone today on another platform having an absolute meltdown at me, saying that what happened in SWM wasn't sa, and that he wasn't traumatised from his abuse and if his anger was caused by trauma then why wasn't Harry the same. Seriously, you can't tell another person that what they experienced wasn't "bad enough to be abuse", that's a very warped mentality. Survivors are supposed to support each other, not belittle each other's trauma. Also, what book did they read that they think Harry doesn't have issues from the life he endured? He has different issues than Severus, yes, because he had different life experiences and everyone's reactions to trauma are different.

"Merope Riddle chose death in spite of a son who needed her, but do not judge her too harshly, Harry. She was greatly weakened by long suffering and she never had your mother's��courage."

WTF is this!!!??? This is just plain victim blaming. "Your mothers' courage"? Lily had supportive, loving parents, was loved by her peers, admired by her teachers, had a very comfortable, secure life. Merope was physically and mentally abused for her whole life. They really criticized the poverty stricken, abuse victim for not being as "strong" as the Mary Sue of the Wizarding World??? Toxic as hell. Personally, as someone who has dealt with self-harm, mental illness and generational trauma in my family, this attitude of "they weren't strong enough" is nauseating and infuriating.

There really is a disturbing trend of extreme poverty equalling a dead-end life with no hope. Which is again an extremally toxic and judgmental attitude and a very dangerous message to put in a book aimed to children. The attitude towards abuse, poverty and indecent assault of men is beyond problematic, not only in the books but in far too many members of the fandom.

I could rant more but this will go on for pages.

[paradiseinternet]

I Hate Tony Stark: Chapter Two

pairing: Tony Stark x Soulmate!Reader

word count: 4.5k

triggers: death (mentioned, not detailed), childhood trauma, poverty, out-of-body-experience, swearing.

author's note: hope ya enjoy the update.

also posted on ->

https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/158293111?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_860724604

Chapter Two: Not the Best Birthday Ever

Naturally you were seething with anger. However, this anger only got worse as a second later had you spat out his name, did the very words ink into your skin. There, on the inner part of your left wrist, was the name Tony Stark. Taunting. Laughing. Pointing. You can’t recall if the tattoo had hurt, your boiling hatred was enough of a numbing agent. Something you noticed later was the way it was written. It was not a typical print but instead seemed to follow the characteristics of (what you presumed to be) his handwriting.

            Immediately following the print of his name on your wrist had you felt a light shock of electricity. The kind that told you that it came from the inside, and somehow communicated that the same feeling was sent to him. However, if this is anything like the SIA that you’re familiar with, a name is only printed onto the skin of the one who said the name. As in, he doesn’t know your name because he hasn’t said it, but he knows you know who he is.

            Nevertheless, these events are in the past and when you turned 18 you had a few things that needed to be done. First, you needed to arrange your mother’s funeral because she had recently passed away. Unknown to you, after a soul break the average lifespan of the surviving soulmate is decreased significantly and the survivor only lives for about two more years. Because of this, her health had been deteriorating rapidly resulting in you needing to get a job to help pay for the costs she was no longer able to afford. The government gave your mother a tax-free stipend of $100,000 as reimbursement for the death of your father, but that money was quickly put towards medical bills as your mother started to frequent the hospital as time went on. As bills began to increase, so did the number of hours you put in. It got to the point that you dropped out of high school at 17 to get another job just to afford everything.

            The second thing on your list was to find new accommodation. You had decided that it was necessary to move as far away from Tony Stark as you could; so, New York was going to become your new home. Without a mother or father, nor any social life to speak of, it was high time to change your life and try to start anew.

            Finally, you made a promise to yourself to become better off than what your parents were. If you were to have any children to take care of in the future, you’d make sure they’d never ask for less on any holiday because of a financial burden.

            Your goals were obtainable and within reach, it would just take a bit of time.

            A few months after burying your mother you found yourself stepping out of the airport into New York. Coming prepared, you had already found a small studio apartment that would be called home until something more fitting was found. In the meantime, and one taxi later, you held the keys as you stepped into one of the cheapest rooms you could get your hands on. The floorboards squeaked almost as much as your neighbor’s bed every day late in the evening. The paint was peeling at the edges and bloated in some areas holding what you hoped to be runoff water. As for the ceiling, it was marked with occasional water damage and off-white splotches. This place was not nice, but you came from a life of not-nice things.

            It only took about a week to find a job, then another few days for an additional job. Many occupations required a high school diploma, so a GED was put onto your list of things you needed to do. For now, you were at the bottom of the barrel working as a barista full-time and pizza delivery driver part-time. Again, not ideal but at least you’re alive.

            You’d gotten into a groove of working and sleeping while somehow making time for studying for your GED. Getting the certificate didn’t take much time considering you were already good at school, the long part was just refreshing your memory and dealing with the New York state government. It was when you were about 19 years old had you received your GED, and in the meantime, you also managed to move into a nicer studio apartment in Queens (previously you had been living on the outskirts of New York City, which isn’t exactly known for being the safest). This new location at least didn’t have peeling paint, and no frisky neighbors were an added bonus. Also, since you now had a GED, your employer at the barista job was willing to pay more with the possibility of becoming manager. So now you only need to work one job. Things were looking up! You hadn’t even really thought about your mistake of a soulmate, at least not until you turned 22.

            Being 22 was apparently lucky, at least that was according to your coworker Trish. She was a bit superstitious and tended to become erratic, but otherwise she seemed sane. One day after asking for your age and replying with how you were almost 22, she had a grin grow on her freckled face as her hazel eyes seemed to shine under the coffeehouse ceiling light. Allegedly the numbers 2 and 2 together are incredible special and signify that big dreams were about to come true. Considering you didn’t really have any big dreams, other than hoping for the miracle of sleeping in, you brushed her off.

            Trish’s superstition, however, almost seemed viable when the news station began to release another round of new information. The little box TV was situated in the corner of the coffee bar so that both customers and employees could indulge in the latest information heap. This latest spill seemed to be about, you guessed it, none other than Tony Stark. Your mouth turned sour at the thought of such an evil man. So, he recognized his wrongs and changed his company entirely, so what? Your father is still dead, and no amount of philanthropy (or “hero” work) will change that. But the TV wasn’t discussing the latest scandalous acts of the billionaire, instead announcing his decision to re-instate something called a “Stark Expo” which would begin in roughly a month.

            What made you begin to believe Trish was how the playboy held himself. To the average person he looked fine, but something inside you said he was in pain. He was dying. And so, unsure whether to be uninterested or worried, you chose to ignore the footage they were playing from his announcement. Afterall, if we was dying, that means your days are numbered. You can’t do anything about his soon-to-be demise, and you weren’t planning on trying. Afterall, you ha—

            Wait, what did the news just say?

            “Hey, uh, Trish?” You called out to your sporadic coworker, anxiously adjusting the watch covering the fated soulmate name on your left wrist.

            There wasn’t a response which resulted in you looking towards a customer instead. There in front of you was a man who could’ve been mistaken for Kris Kringle, looking half-attentively at the TV.

            “Excuse me, sir,” you directed at Santa.

            He turned his attention to you and nodded his head in acknowledgment.

            “Do you recall where exactly the Stark Expo will be held?” You asked. “They just said, but I missed it.”

            “Flushing Meadows,” he said softly—perhaps this was old saint nick.

            You nodded in thanks as your mouth went dry.

‘Flushing Medows is in Queens,’ you reminded yourself. Even living in the state for about four years now, it still took time to remember all the subdivisions and boroughs inside New York City.

            No need to panic, this isn’t something you can’t handle. Sure, you live in Queens; but Queens is still large and if you take the day off you should be fine. Besides, when was the last time you stayed home and did nothing? Sounded relaxing to be honest.

            To clarify, this system you’ve worked out isn’t new. If you had gotten wind that the playboy was visiting Queens specifically, you’d effectively take the time off. However, he would typically spend his time in the heart of New York city and Manhattan. So, since he frequented the location so much, it would be expensive for you to take so much time off. Granted, if you had known that the billionaire came to New York so much you would’ve picked a different state, but nothing has happened so far. It’s more cost effective to stay put than move again.

            Typically your boss desired a reason for taking time off, and with your birthday coming up in a month, why not celebrate it this year? Granted, you couldn’t throw a party because you had no one (other than coworkers) to invite. But sometimes the best things are enjoyed individually.

            With the plan formulated, you informed your boss of your actions as everything moved into place.

            Finally, your birthday. As a present to yourself (and an expensive one at that), you had decided to take the whole week off. Might as well, right?

            The actual expo would last the entire year, but you had a hinting suspicion that the man himself would show up some time during the first week of launch—very typical for any orchestrator of events. Even if it was just a hunch, you were not willing to take the risk. Instead, you were huddled up in some blankets and eating ice cream on your second-hand bed/mattress while watching your favorite TV show. Your TV wasn’t anything special, just something you found on the side of the road with the word “FREE” on it. Maybe it was laced with cocaine or had human remains splattered on it, but free is free. Actually, a lot of your possessions were free. Since you rented a studio apartment the living room and bedroom became one, so you had to get creative with decorating. In the center of the room was a small coffee table that was given to you by another coworker who just didn’t want it anymore. Majority of your pots and pans come from the dumpster of a restaurant you pass by every day (that was a good day). Your bed (which currently lacked sheets) was bought from a local thrift shop and pillows from a nearby donation center (technically those are donations to the thrift shop, but it was just out in the open begging to be snatched). Your form of warmth came in the variety of blankets and hoodies gifted to you for holidays and previous birthdays. To save money you keep the apartment at a brisk 60 degrees Fahrenheit, so having many ways to warm yourself up was necessary. Thankfully you lived on the sixth floor, so as heat rises, so does your happiness.

Suddenly in the distance you heard some fireworks go off, most likely a signal to the rest of the city that the expo is live. Uninterested, you continued to binge your show for at least another hour, content with the discounted ice cream you found in the store earlier that day. That was until you heard sirens go by your apartment. This wasn’t unusual . . . except for when several other emergency services were following quickly behind.

Was there a fire nearby?

Glancing out the window you looked to take a glance at any orange light nearby, only to notice there was a lot of noise coming from the direction of the open building that the Stark expo was supposed to be held at. Outside there is what seemed to be tiny, self-driving fireworks almost circling the area of the event. Unable to properly make out what was going on, you deciding to pick up the remote and change channels until you find the news station. When finally getting onto what seemed to be a news report, you quickly discover that the expo was hijacked, rouge military robots were attacking everything (which was not the self-driving fireworks you initially thought), and somehow Iron Man was at the heart of it all.

            “Yeah, fuck that,” you mumbled while getting out of bed.

            Grabbing a backpack, you made the executive decision that you were a little too close to the chaos that followed Tony Stark and perhaps a motel a few miles out would be more suffice.

            Only packing the essentials one would need for a single night, you then made your way outside of the studio and towards the bus stop right across from your apartment. It was already dark outside and so it wasn’t exactly the smartest to be going out, but when facing a possible bump-in with a crook or an encounter with Loverboy, you decided to press your luck.

After hoping on the mostly empty bus, you paid for your fare then rode it for twenty-two stops (the irony). The entire time you tried not to touch anything because who knows what this bus has gone through.

Soon you arrived at something like a Best Western Hotel but if it was a secret brothel. When walking inside you were met with an interior that wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it would be. When looking up motels nearby in a catalog, this one was cheap but only had two stars. Deep inside you found some humor because your brain formulated the idea of discolored carpet and orange-floral wallpaper, but the lobby wasn’t anything close to that. Instead, there was hard-wood flooring, painted walls, and the occasional house plant.

In front of you was a woman who seemed to not of noticed your entrance. Her hair was frizzly and blonde while her face looked to mirror the makeup style of the 80s. As you walked closer you saw a cigarette between her red lipstick-stained lips. Smoking indoors is most certainly not allowed, but you didn’t exactly look for a 5-star hotel, did you?

After making your presence known you then purchased the cheapest room of the night. The woman was completely uninterested but could at least do her job. In her eyes, she kind of reminded you of yourself—tired and barely getting by. Then again, isn’t that most of the citizens in New York City?

She handed you your key (which was suspiciously sticky) and you made your way up the stairs. Many places have elevators nowadays, but that doesn’t mean these older buildings have the same pleasure. So you made your way up nine stories and by the time you reached the top you were ready to fall over.

Jiggling the key into the keyhole you grasped the handle and pulled back like the lady instructed. Apparently, some of the locks get jammed and this was the only remedy. Like magic the key twisted, and the door opened.

That’s when you laughed. Sure, the lobby didn’t look retro, but this room sure did. The exact thought of discolored carpet and orange-floral wallpaper came to fruition inside this room. In fact, it even smelled ancient. If a chain-smoker had been living here for the past decade you’d believe it.

The bed looked innocent enough (even though you were skeptical of bedbugs), so you laid your backpack on it and pulled out your pajamas. Soon after you found yourself in the bathroom that looked to come straight out of The Shinning. Seriously, it was like a miniature version of the film’s bathing room—which made you uneasy. Spending as little time as possible inside the off-putting room, you took a shower and got your nightgown on. The nightgown was modest and was the color of baby blue. It hugged the cuffs of your wrist and ended mid-calve. Thankfully, you expected the floor to be a little suspicious, so you pulled out the fluffy socks from your backpack and put them on.

At the end of your nightly routine you found yourself sitting at the windowsill of the hotel room, gazing at the general direction of the expo. Your mind was running particularly fast. About what, you hadn’t a clue; it was like your brain was on steroids and you could think of a million better things to do than sleep.

            All things considered; this is actually not the worst birthday you’ve had. Sure, running from your soulmate isn’t exactly a pleasant pastime, but it sure does beat turning 16 only for two weeks later your father to die because of your soulmate . . . then your mother to die because your soulmate killed your father. In the grand scheme of things, life isn’t great but at least you’re not dead. At least, you question how long that’ll last when suddenly multiple large-scale bombs detonated and created an expansion of fire near the Stark expo.

Your view from the ninth story of a non-brothel made your jaw hit the floor in shock. Perhaps your slightly erratic choice of moving further away wasn’t insane, but your intuition.

He’s not dead, you know this for certain because your heart doesn’t ache from a soul break. Instead, you believe your increased heartbeat was due to being so close to something so dangerous. Unsure of what else to do other than gawk, you made your move away from the window. Perhaps the less you knew, the better. Everything that this night has given you can be re-thought in the morning after a night of restful sleep.

            Moving to bed you begin to feel your wrist burn—the one with his name on it.

            His name being on your wrist is rather strange; after all, it signifies that you have not one, but two SIAs. Anyone having more than one isn’t common. The first would be the SIA dubbed “In My Shoes” (not your choice in title, that’s just what the GSRA calls it) and the other is “Say My Name.” The second isn’t too harmful (at least in terms of your purpose of never meeting the man) and was most likely the one given to you at birth or one you inherited from him, but the first one is a reason for concern. You haven’t been living in anxiety because of it, however it does loom in the back of your mind. “In My Shoes” is often systematic but how often it occurs isn’t known until it happens a second time. It’s been six years and there’s a good chance that it is a one-off soul aid, which isn’t unhear of.

            Back on task you began to rub your wrist in hopes of soothing it. It wasn’t even a few seconds of trying to remedy the burn, when suddenly you felt like you were falling. Your eyes closed in an attempt to not only ground yourself, but to get rid of the feeling. Then, as quickly as it would be to blink your eyes, you opened them to something that wasn’t there a moment ago.

It was a woman with blonde hair and a well-matched lipstick to her black pencil dress. She had bangs that stuck slightly to the sweat of her forehead as she used both hands to convey a stress you didn’t understand. By the looks of it, she was talking, but her words only began to have meaning when you decided to tune in.

“—kill yourself or-or-or wreck the whole company!” She had yelled in frustration, continuing her rant with little mind to what you were doing.

Confusion laced your features at the odd word choice as you attempted to figure out what was going on. Did you know this woman? Did she know you?

You felt exhausted, sweaty, and out of breath. You’ve never run a marathon (never had the time), but this must’ve been what it felt like.

Taking in your surroundings you noticed you were on top of a roof. Not just any roof, but one that was a lot closer to the Stark Expo than you were a moment ago. Now you’re even more confused; how can this be possi—oh yeah, right.

Looking down you saw your body covered in a roughed-up red and yellow piece of metal. It certainly didn’t take a genius to figure out that the “In My Shoes” aid had taken affect. Definitely not at a good time, but was there ever a good time?

‘Fuck my life, man,’ you tiredly thought to yourself.

Trying to gather your thoughts you decided it was best too—did she stop talking? Opening your eyes after subconsciously closing them, you saw her looking at you.

Something in your brain shifted in place as you paused then tentatively asked, “Did I say that out loud?”

She nodded.

Yep, not the worst birthday ever, but it might just make it to spot number three.

A moment of silence passed both of you as words were exchanged between the intense eye contact. Then, before she could say anything, a voice to the left of you said, “You’re not Tony.”

The lady seemed to jump in her skin, equally surprised by the new voice on the roof. Looking towards the source of the statement you saw a man wearing a similar iron body of armor sitting on top of something metal. He seemed to look as tired as you felt.

“Uhh . . .” you quietly muttered, trying to formulate some type of a response.

The woman beside you seemed to almost snicker in realization, “Definitely not Tony.”

“He would’ve had something sarcastic to say by now,” the man added, seeming to continue the woman’s train of thought.

Baffled by the ease of flow in conversation between the two people, you tried to rack your brain to figure out who these individuals are. The one sitting down you may’ve seen on the news, but this other lady was only vaguely familiar.

“My name is Pepper Pots, but Pepper is just fine,” the woman introduced herself, seemingly reading your mind.

Ah, there we go, she was that chick who was almost always by Tony’s side (apart from the models that hung on his arms). There was skepticism that she was his secret lover, but other than that bit of gossip, you hadn’t paid much attention. After all, why keep track of someone’s love life when you have no intent in being a part of it?

Out of instinct you reached out your hand to shake hers and replied, “My name is—”

You stopped before you said anything revealing; then, before you could recoil your metal-covered hand, she took it while saying, “Don’t worry about it. You haven’t come for him after all these years, so I think I get the idea.”

A small smile appeared on your face in appreciation for at least one person to understand without knowing the full story. One time someone asked if you had a soulmate. At the time you decided to be truthful and answer with a simple ‘yes’. Then they started to ask more questions, and by that time you were already in deep, so you had to explain that you willingly chose to stay away from him. They got frustrated and almost mad at your choice. Again, you do not hold a popular perspective on how to approach soulmates. It got particularly scary one time when someone caught a vague glimpse of the “Say My Name” aid and felt inclined to ask about it. At this point you had learned from previous encounters, so you would just tell them it was a ‘trick of the light’ and that you don’t have a soulmate.

Early on you learned that convincing others of a lie is easier than admitting the truth.

“I’m curious,” pried the man on the side. He was sarcastically raising his hand (if that analogy was even possible). “Why haven’t you made contact? Tony said he’d given you his address.”

Here it is, the questions. Except this time it’s not going to be as simple as ‘I don’t have a soulmate.’ These people know who Tony is and you are the only one who can do this body exchange.

Pepper chimed in, “I’m also curious. He was so excited about finding out you existed that by the time he got his mind straight, the only thing he could do was write down an address.”

How innocent, this line of questioning. These people seemed so kind, completely contrasting the allies you’d think Tony would’ve made. It almost implored you to give them the whole story, but something inside you said it would be best to just keep it short. The truth didn’t work well in the past, and the less they know, the harder it is to find you.

Licking your lips, you tasted that strong flavor on his tongue again, just like last time. Similarly, it wasn’t great and reminded you of a bad aftertaste that wouldn’t go away. However, now as an adult, you recognized that aftertaste to be some form of liquor. Alcohol never really tickled your fancy, the substance not tasting too great and being an unnecessary cost was enough of an incentive to ward you away.

How depressing, you’ll need to give these two intrigued individuals a condensed version of your store. And if they are his friends, as you suspect they are, they’re going to turn around and tell him the moment you get back into your body. Then again, maybe this is for the best. Perhaps he will get the hint. So, looking up at these people and trying your best to keep a steady tone, you said without a batted breath, “To be honest, I hate Tony Stark.”

Just like that, the water gates have been busted open. You haven’t ever told anyone your opinions of the man, and certainly not with this kind of context. However, without even seeing their reaction, you blinked, and the scenery changed again. This time you stood in the lobby of the motel with the hardwood floor beneath your fuzzy socks. How did he get down all nine flights of stairs so quickly? If he was trying to get outside, he obviously failed, which did comfort you knowing he was unable to spot any street signs. The only downside will be the journey back up.

Glancing around, you saw the frizzy-haired receptionist from before in front of you looking mildly curious about your antics.

“So, is that everything you needed?” She asked with a lack-luster tone.

Confused, you looked at her for a sign as to what she was talking about, only to feel one of your hands holding onto something. Looking down, you saw a rectangular piece of paper which you held up to your face and analyzed.

It was a business card from the motel. The front displayed the company name, phone number, and address. It was then that the printer in your brain began to print out a new message:

This business card has an address and 22 is not a lucky number.

[morganbritton132]

Do the boys do anything for Easter? I feel like Eddie would hide eggs with treats in it for Ozzy to hide.

Eddie had only been living with Wayne for a few months when their neighbor across the way came knocking on their door. She was a single mother with two unruly children and always tried to flirt with Wayne when he was leaving for work.

The way Wayne tells it, she’s organizing an Easter egg hunt for the kids in the trailer park. Ain’t no reason why they shouldn’t get to have the same experiences as better off kids just ‘cause the price of eggs went up a bit. If the Munsons can afford it, she’d appreciate if they donated.

Wayne’s seen Eddie’s notebooks – there are more drawings in them than school work – and thought he might get a kick out of decorating eggs. He even went out and bought a dye kit.  Eddie was a little too old for something like that, but he could see an olive branch when it was being extended.

Him and Wayne hadn’t yet found their footing with each other, but Wayne was making an effort. No one has ever done that before, so Eddie accepted with one exception, “You gotta paint them with me.”

They boil eggs on the stove and argue about how long you’re supposed to keep them on for. It turns out that Wayne is just as meticulous with his artwork as Eddie is because they spent hours painting and dip-dying eggs. Wayne even broke out an old paint set he had so they could use actual paintbrushes.

Eddie painted a dragon on one egg and an orc on another one. Wayne painted Tweety Bird on one egg and Garfield on another. They were a big hit at the egg hunt (even though Wayne insisted that Eddie participate and he wiped the floor with the other kids).

The extent of Easter in the Harrington house was: Get dressed, go to church, don’t embarrass anybody. That was it. They didn’t do a big dinner. There was no Easter Bunny visit. They never stayed long enough after church services to participate in the church’s easter egg hunt. When he got older, he’d go to Tommy’s, but they then they were too old for the fun Easter traditions.

When Steve taught second grade, he would buy candy and make Easter baskets for his students. He would organize an Easter egg hunt with the other second grade teachers with – much to Eddie’s supreme disappointment – plastic eggs. He was more disappointed to learn that middle schoolers don’t have parties.

So the first Easter after Steve got Ozzy, Eddie was celebrating Easter the right way.

The whole holiday is still kind of lost on Steve, but he’s entertained Eddie enough to just go along with it when he’s this excited about something.

The first year, they learn very quickly that you should not let your dog eat a lot of boiled eggs (also Eddie forgot when he put all of them and Steve nearly killed him). Every year after, Eddie has gotten more and more elaborate and Ozzy gets more and more excited. Steve has woken up to this dog prancing in place with excitement, waiting for them to get up to see what the ‘Easter Bunny’ left him.

A couple years ago, they started putting treats and snacks in plastic eggs and hiding them around the house for Ozzy to find. And then when they got Joan, they started including catnip and toy mice in some of the eggs.

Steve and Eddie continue their tradition of buying each other the most fucked up chocolate bunnies they can find.

[scavengedluxury]

Winter clothes, 1928. From the Budapest Municipal Photography Company archive.

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

‘Did everyone get cake?’ 🍰 I am continually and utterly fascinated by Ed’s psychology around food

[xtrablak674]

Never asked for a thing

Noticing that there had been some manicuring of the landscape around the edge of the road that served as a bike, pedestrian and jogging path, I recalled my first Summer Youth Employment job where it seemed I was working under the Parks Department's purview.

We did similar kind of clearings of paths in this area in the Bronx near a roadway that headed towards the Bronx Botanical Gardens. But the early job wasn't on my mind, what was the monies I made that year and what had become of them. I am sure that my grandparents put those funds into the investments that would become my college dowery. The thing that struck me as sort of odd, was I don't recall asking for a penny of it.

This is something you may not know about growing up living below the poverty level, you learn very quickly not to ask because we you know we just don't have it. I learned this lesson in the Shop-Rite watching my younger brothers beg for the sweet sugary cereal that they had probably seen on television. I had grown out of that behavior I had learned that isn't what you do. Mom would get upset and sad and start talking about making ends meat, it would take me a lifetime to learn what she was really saying. I am sure as a single working parent taking care of three tender-aged boys was a task in itself just keeping them fed, clothed and sheltered.

We took hand-me-down toys from the whyte children who lived in some upper floor in our building never complaining, because second-hand toys were better than no toys at all. My home never looked like my friends Robert's house with posters on the walls, shelves, all the latest toys and his own furniture and desk in the room he shared with his older brother in his middle-class home where his mother was a homemaker.

Our room included our mom's six drawer dresser made from compressed wood, with a mirror and three steel-framed beds reclaimed from a closing nunnery. Other than the blue-green paint no other decoration adorned the room. This was something I always noticed about the households of the poor, they seem to alway lack personal expression or future expectation. These spaces always seemed to live in the current moment not knowing if they would actually ever survive, they lacked permanence. I guess that is what being poor is, living in the present, not being able to afford the past and forsaking a future which may have more of the same.

All of this just made me more aware of my behavior in my grandparents home, I don't recall asking for anything, other than wanting my own phone line, which I was told the building couldn't support. I recall being hungry as a teenager and just got a job so I could just feed myself, and have money in my pocket that I earned. I never requested or asked for a Nintendo, a bubble goose coat or those fly new sneakers that everyone else was wearing.

I just accepted what I was given. Understanding when you don't have it makes no sense to even ask. I was now living in an upper middle-class household but I wasn't told this, my grandmother acted as if every penny was going to run away, making sure she never paid full price for anything, whether it be groceries or clothes for her ever growing grand-child.

I guess this is a good thing for future me, since I inherited her estate and have been living off of it for the last four years. I am very curious what kind of child would I have been if I had actually been able to want and need things like any other affluent child in a first world country. I am also curious about what kind of adult this makes me. And how does all of this still influence the kind of choices I make about the things that I purchase and the things that I want to purchase. How does depravity shape our identities and influence our future and present selves?

I can't say I have the answers to these questions, but will continue to ponder them. And feel blessed that I made it though, thank goddess I made it through.

[Photo by Brown Estate].

[mindblowingscience]

A one-off experience of poverty is enough to impact on a child's development, according to a new study conducted by sociologists in Trinity College Dublin. Parenting stress and reduced ability to invest in healthy activities, such as reading to young children, have been identified by the researchers as the key factors impacting children's development. The study used data for more than 7,000 children from the Growing Up in Ireland 2008 birth cohort, tracking them at ages 9 months, 3 years, 5 years and 9 years. This covered the period from 2008 to 2017, when the living standards of many Irish families fluctuated with the recession and recovery. Reporting an experience of poverty at just one of these interviews was classified as "one-off poverty" while those who reported poverty at three or four interviews were in "persistent poverty". The research investigated the connections between exposure to poverty in early to middle childhood and children's cognitive and behavioral difficulties assessments at different ages.

Continue Reading.

[16woodsequ]

Something that's hard to articulate, but I think about sometimes when I see Tumblr polls about culture and childhood, is the way you fit into a strange 'I missed out on this but it was there' box when you grow up poor.

Like, did you ever have a flip phone? No, but my classmates did. Did you ever play a DS? No, but my classmates did. Which of these classic shows did you watch? We couldn't afford cable. What was your first video game console? Well, my friend had a Game Cube. Did you have MySpace? We didn't have internet until I was in grade seven.

I don't know. It's just something I think about.

[grimvestige]

Since art fight is soon, Satoru gets an updated ref sheet! :3

I included dango this time since the party has learned he really likes dango.

[kavehpilled]

there is a visible difference between people that grew up poor and people that grew up fortunate and it always stands out around the holidays

[paradiseinternet]

I Hate Tony Stark: Chapter Three

pairing: Tony Stark x Soulmate!Reader

word count: 3.1k

triggers: foul language, childhood trauma, poverty, anger (although reasonably justified).

author's note: another chapter in the bag :)

also posted on ->

Chapter Three: My Darling, You Are Glowing

For a birthday, this one has turned to shit and has officially claimed spot number two. Quite remarkable considering second place was originally rewarded to the birthday you realized your family couldn’t afford nice things. There isn’t necessarily a tier for these types of birthdays, but considering how your life has been going, you’re making one up on the way.

As a recap, you are currently standing in front of the reception desk inside a questionable 2-star motel. Your room is on the highest level, that being the ninth floor, and there is no elevator. Tony Stark, your deadbeat of a soulmate, decided to rush down to the lobby to obtain a business card with an address on it—while still being in your pajamas. This leaves you with a rather limited set of options for when your soulmate (a genius) will most likely arrive in his high-tech, attention-drawing Iron Man suit.

Run out of the building and try to hide in an alleyway or find a crowd to blend into.

Run up the stairs to gather your backpack then run away.

Ask the receptionist if she’s a snitch, then hide behind her desk.

Do nothing.

The first option, although the most appealing, isn’t the smartest. With you being a lady in a nightgown running into the night, there will be no doubt some predator waiting to attack. Additionally, without so much as your flip phone and keys, you stand no chance of getting back into your apartment while also sacrificing your most expensive possession (the phone).

Looking at the second option makes it seem plausible, until you’re reminded that you have never run a marathon, much less bolted up nine flights of stairs. Even if you managed to get to your room in time, the great genius most likely noted your motel room number and will be bee-lining it your way.

Although the third option wouldn’t be your first choice, considering how the others are lining up, it seems to be a worthy consideration. There is a lot of room for error, and you run the chance that she is a snitch. Afterall, when facing the boy-billionaire, it’s hard for any woman to say no. Even if she isn’t a snitch, doesn’t the suit have some form of heat-radiation-detection-thingy? It would be rather naïve to not have all the military gadgets installed to resemble a Mission Impossible movie. Now that you think about it, it’s going to be remarkably difficult to hide from someone who has a toolbelt that rivals Inspector Gadget.

Which leaves you with the final option. You are not doing the final option.

This is as much analyzing you can do because you are wasting precious time!

Without further consideration, you turn around inside the lobby in hopes of finding something to cover yourself with. In the corner you spot a raincoat that doesn’t fit the evening’s weather but is better than nothing. On top of the coat rack you took the raincoat from, there was a bucket hat. Perfect! Quickly putting everything on, you begin to make your way outside.

The receptionist behind you yelled something in which you shouted back, “I’ll bring these back! I promise!”

Stepping outside into the mildly brisk New York night, you felt confident in your abilities to blend in with the night people. Sure, you don’t have shoes on which is a bit of a red flag in your disguise, but hopefully the night will mask your socks.

‘I got this. I got this. I got this,’ you repeated to yourself as you depressingly realized there were no people around.

One of the things you learn in horror movies is to never look behind you, and since you wished to take no chances, you maintained that fact of fiction. Another thing is to never go into the darkness, but since you were wearing fuzzy socks instead of shoes, the darkness would be a better bet.

You tried to stay out of the line-light of the streetlights, but this part of town seemed to be nicely lit to your dismay.

Correction, insanely lit. The area around you was constantly brightened up and it seemed that the more you walked down the sidewalk, the brighter the light got. There was no in-between darkness like how streetlights were typically separated.

Looking up in confusion, you gasped in bafflement.

It was at this moment you heard something like a putter become silenced as the sound of heavy metal dropping temporarily replaced it. This noise seemed to be coming from where you had just left—in front of the motel’s main entrance. He has arrived.

This new piece of information got swept under the rug as you continued to gaze up at the sky. The streetlight-less sky. As in, there is no light above you to light your path. In fact, as you tilted your head to look in front of you, there wasn’t a single streetlight on this side of the sidewalk.

Your face is contorted to one of amazement and terror as you slowly let your head fall down to your body. There, from under the thick raincoat, you could see a light shining from the bottom of the coat. Reaching for the clasp that you had used to close the coat previously, you then noticed that your hand was glowing. Not letting that stop you, you undid the clothing you stole only for a beam of light to escape from every corner that you opened.

You are, for lack of better terms, a fully lit Christmas tree. Every inch of your skin is glowing, and it was so strong that it was emitting through your nightgown creating a bright silhouette of your body underneath.

Squeaking in embarrassment, you tied the raincoat back up to try and shield away possible onlookers and save your dignity.

This is when the noise from before was taken out from under the rug and presented to you on a silver platter.

Whipping your head back up from gazing at the lighthouse that is now you, you twisted your body to stare at the reason for the clanking metal from before. There, a few yards away, was the Iron Man. From breaks in the suit you could see glimpses of a light shining through. The light that was no doubt emitting from your soulmate.

‘Oh god,’ you thought in bewilderment. This is the person you were destined to be with, the one you have cast away because of what his genius mind has done. The man you hate.

There the two of you are, separated only by a few steps in the night. You stand like a deer in headlights except you aren’t the deer but instead the headlight. He wasn’t doing anything, just looking at you from inside his dented-up mask.

‘Can I outrun this?’ The answer was no but that didn’t stop you.

You don’t know what it would be like to run in a marathon, but this might be a casting call. You went from headlights to car really quick as you ran as fast as you could down the street. Granted, you knew that outrunning him is impossible considering his clear advantage, and it also doesn’t help that you’re a thousand glowsticks taped together. But when the very man you have been running away from since the age of 16 is now behind you, any idea is worth taking a chance on than possibly encountering that wild Pokémon.

As could be expected, you didn’t make it very far. Deciding to chance a look behind you, and saw nothing there, you turned back around only to run full force into a wall. Except this wall is metal. And alive. And 100% not what you want to be dealing with on your birthday.

Falling on your butt from the sheer force that was the Iron Man, you couldn’t help but yelp as your tailbone seemed to get the worst hit. That’s going to hurt later.

So there you are, laying down on the cold New York sidewalk in a stolen hat and raincoat with nothing but your nightgown and fuzzy socks to keep you warm. Your heart was beating considerably faster, but whether that was from the run or the soulmate being in proximity, you were unsure.

He took a few steps back then released himself from his metal body, stepping out onto the brightly lit sidewalk. His face was a little banged up and wetsuit-type clothing in possession of some minor rips, but he was no doubt glowing as bright as a star. It seemed to be that by proximity, the shine that the two of you emitted was growing ever stronger as the distance was being closed.

Reaching his hand out, he gestured for you to take it as a means of being helped up off the dirty ground. Then, something twisted and snaped inside your heart. Your brain no longer clouded by adrenaline but of an equally powerful drug—rage.

“Hey--,” he began but was cut short as you slapped his hand away, perhaps with a little more force then necessary.

You watched as his face went from shock to confusion, like the mere thought of anyone touching him in a way that wasn’t gentle, was taboo. At the same time, the glow started to fade away, as if the skin contact was enough to flick a light switch into the off position. Within a few seconds of stunned silence, the only light remaining was of a distance streetlamp and the faint glow of the metal handicap within his chest.

Quickly getting up from the ground by yourself then taking a step back, you stood as tall as you could while in the presence of such a highly regarded individual. You hate him, for good reason, but he is still a man with power, lots of power.

Even after straightening your spine you can’t help but note he is a whole head taller than you, very contrary to what you believed from watching the TV. Additionally, the screen didn’t do justice to his good looks, up close he looked even more spectacular . . . wait, what?

He chuckled, “Okay, you’re probably confused. I get it, lot to take in.”

Whatever he was referring to, most likely the slap of his hand, you couldn’t care less. He was talking to you, the person you have been avoiding religiously, and you are saying nothing.

“Wow,” he continued. “You . . . you’re really here.”

What is there to say? At least a million and two things. You could start by introducing yourself, but that would defeat the point of remaining anonymous.

Tony released a breathless chuckle, his voice soft but charged with excitement, “I just can’t believe it. It’s—this is it! We’ve finally met.”

How do you explain to someone who thinks they’ve done nothing wrong that everything is wrong? That your life has been a rollercoaster of emotions and bad deals because of him? Anger boiled in your chest, but something was suppressing an outburst. You couldn’t pin your finger on the emotion, but it was strong.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” You came back to reality as he asked you a question, staring at you expectingly.

His eyes looked . . . hopeful. Like a child has just been shown a bucket full of candy and the only thing that could damper their mood is to take the candy away.

You’re going to take the candy away.

Your tongue swept across your dry lips, readying your first words to this increasingly intimidating man. Perhaps the reason he was becoming intimidating was because you never actually planned for an accidental meeting. There was the thought that you would yell at him, scream, curse, give him an earful. Yet here you are, a thousand things to say but no words to say them. He is intimidating because you are in the presence of the great Tony Stark, and your mind has already built in a program explaining to you that he is nothing else but a celebrity on a screen. You and he have nothing in common—except you do. You two have a very big something in common.

“Forget . . . ,” you started, struggling to make words connect. “Forget that you saw me.”

This was for the best. If he really is your soulmate, he’d respect your wishes. Afterall, what are soulmates for if not servants to each other? Besides, this really is for the best. He’s oblivious to the pain he’s caused and is ignorant of the full story. As far as he’s probably concerned, this is the best day of his life. The first day of a long life spent with someone else, forever not alone.

His eyebrows knit together as he makes an interesting face that mimics a comical expression of confusion.

“I don’t follow. What’re you talking about?” He asks. “How am I supposed to forget something so captivating?”

The compliment goes over your head, too focused on managing this situation and tilting it into your desired path.

“This meeting shouldn’t be happening,” you struggle to maintain a steady heartbeat as your head began to drift down.

“I completely agree,” he replied.

Your head whips back up, shocked by his response. Did he understand? Is this some form of soulmate ability you’re unfamiliar with? Maybe this birthday is starting to brighten up.

A smirk is perched on his lips as he continued, “Dinner then? I didn’t mean for all this to happen while you were in your pajamas, so let’s start out fresh where we’re both prepared.”

The hope dies quickly as now you need to clarify what you meant.

“I was thinking about a steakhouse. You like steak? There’s this place that holds a constant reservation for me so--,” he was starting to talk again but you interrupted him.

“I don’t want to go out for dinner,” you tried to clarify.

He paused as his eyes showed something like a processor going through his brain.

“Yeah, good point. It’s a bit formal to start out with. Besides, probably best to avoid the crowds after the show I made,” he chuckled while pointing in the direction of the expo. “PR is going to have a field day. However, I do have to warn you, I make an impression everywhere I go.”

Towards the end of his statement he then made a motion to himself as if saying ‘I am Tony Stark, after all’.

The overinflated ego oozing out of this man was almost intoxicating, making it hard for you to breath. Not to forget that everything that was could out of your mouth was going over his head.

You tried to reinstate your point, “I don’t want to go out with you.”

This sent him into a moment of more analyzing, trying to decipher the latest bit of words you sputtered out. Everything you’ve said so far made sense to you, but it didn’t make a whole lot of sense to him.

“Okay . . . I can work with that,” he paused. “So, what do you want to do?”

“I want you to leave me alone,” you replied bluntly.

A few seconds passed by while both of you stood at an impasse. You’d like nothing more than to go back to your motel room and pretend none of this ever happened, but if you do this right, you’ll never have to worry about your relationship with Tony Stark ever again.

“Now why would you want something like that?” He asks suspiciously, slightly tilting his head to the right in curiosity.

Well? What’s your response? Sure, you have a reason (a damn good one at that), but is he worth reliving that terrible experience? Honesty is most likely the best response, but he just isn’t worth your time.

“Once upon a time I asked for this—a connection. But now, I don’t need it,” you sighed in frustration. “And frankly, I don’t want it.”

This took him back, not expecting someone to reject him. Him. Tony Stark. Surely rejection isn’t an often-had drink that he has.

“I’m not following,” he said, you could hear his voice raise in equally matched frustrations. “We’re meant to be together. That’s literally the whole idea of a soul—sorry, were you not educated on this topic?”

Your face changed into one that looked to be light anger, for this man who doesn’t know a thing about you, is questioning your knowledge.

“Yes, yes, I do know what soulmates are along with their premise. I don’t want one,” you solidify the statement with a subtle nod on your part, mentally confirming to yourself that this is what you wanted.

He seemed to almost scoff, “What? Fate has put us together; this is something you don’t just throw away. It’s something you accept, what everyone accepts.”

This bull is not going down without a fight, so it’s time to put your game face on. You tried to do this civilly, but if you need to play a little dirty, so be it. He should be familiar with the premise, considering his previous line of work resulted in the death of so many. The primary executioner of your father needs to know exactly how much you don’t need him.

“Yeah, just like how I accepted--,” you bit your tongue, the thought of your parents passing still stinging your heart. You almost slipped, almost admitting to him his own sins. Instead you say with a little wetness in your eyes, “I don’t owe you anything, nor an explanation. You’re just a problem I don’t need. Soulmates are your reality, Stark, not mine.”

The band aid has been ripped; you’ve given him your thoughts. And based on his silence, you’ve managed to say the right things. It only took a few moments after your statement, however, before he spoke again.

“Please rethink thi--,” he began softly, only to be cut off once more.

“I don’t need--,” here it is, the salt into the exposed wound. Time to cut the head off the snake. The venom was practically dripping down your chin as you finished your sentence, “--some overinflated ego telling me what my life is supposed to be like. This is my future, mine.”

In that moment, you felt something in your heart strain. It didn’t hurt, but it certainly couldn’t be ignored. And then, for a split second, you thought maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

No going back now.