#childhood poverty

[political-us]

[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

[wherepond]

Trump Made 3 Americans Greedier Again

Bernie Sanders took on Elon Musk and Donald Trump's 'oligarchy' in an intense speech

The senator for Vermont took to the Senate floor to expose the destruction of what remains of America's welfare state under Donald Trump and Elon Musk's stewardship.

"Musk has *now become $138 billion richer since election day.

Zuckerberg has *now become $49 billion richer since election day.

Bezos has *now become $28 billion richer since election day.

Musk in now* worth $402 billion

Zuckerberg is now* worth $252 billion

Bezos now* worth $249 billion.

These 3 people now* own $903 billion ie more wealth than 170 million Americans at the bottom of society.

[*18 Feb 2025]

60% of Americans live paycheque-to-paycheque.

85 milion Americans are uninsured, or under insured, for healthcare.

25% seniors are struggling to survive on $15,000 per year or less.

Highest rate of childhood poverty of almost any major nation on Earth.

Real inflation-adjusted wages for average American have not gone up in 50 years.

800,000 Americans are homeless.

Trump is moving America towards authoritarianism.

Capitalism rewards greed 🤑

Back to Contents

[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

[vintage-tigre]

[paradiseinternet]

I Hate Tony Stark: Chapter Four

pairing: Tony Stark x Soulmate!Reader

word count: 4.9k

triggers: foul language, childhood trauma, poverty.

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

Chapter Four: Many Familiar Faces

            The walk back to the motel room felt agonizingly long, even if it only took a maximum of ten minutes all together. As you entered the lobby again for the third time that night, she had less of an expression of confusion, and more one of shock. It could be assumed that this was because not everyone got to see Iron Man land right outside the doors of their workplace. Her eyes said a million things that you preferred not to answer, so you swiftly made your way up the flights of stairs after hanging up the raincoat and hat.

            He had let you go without so much as a word, in fact, he left you before you left him. You thought it would be hard to walk away as his eyes bore holes in your back, but this difficulty faded as he reentered his suit and flew away into the night sky.

            It took a few moments after watching him fly off to put your thoughts in an order you could understand for later deduction. You always liked to imagine your brain to be an office building with neat manilla folders and grey cubicles. Although the entire filing cabinet you labeled as “Soulmate” just expanded and will be needing an additional area for storage. Very little things required more than a single manilla folder. In fact, you can list on one hand what subjects have a metal cabinet to itself. Relationships (because they’re complicated), Soulmate (because the whole situation is complicated), Family (this wouldn’t require a section to itself, but you keep avoiding reorganization), and The Future (which isn’t complicated, but you aren’t entirely sure what you want to do in the end game so there’s a lot of suggestions).

            And so, after reorganizing a little bit in the middle of a cool New York night, you went back to the comforts of your temporary room. After everything you can’t help but feel a little dirty. You have gone up and down those stairs one too many times (even if you weren’t present for every instance). Additionally, being on the streets with socks on aren’t exactly the most sanitary precautions. There’s the option of taking a shower, but between being physically and emotionally exhausted, you choose to sleep. Besides, you don’t have work tomorrow so you can spend that time thinking about what to do now that the largest weight on your shoulders is not going to bother you anymore.

Sleeping under the covers felt like it would be putting you at high risk for bedbugs, so you chose to sleep on top of the bed instead. As a blanket you took the towel you used for your shower earlier along with an extra that was lying around. Your arm was used as a pillow after determining that the backpack would be too bumpy.

Sure, you could go back to your studio and be somewhat more comfortable there, but it would be a waste of money to buy the room and not use it. Besides, now you have a new supply of complementary soap, shampoo, and conditioner for the apartment when you get back.

Now if your next-door motel residents could just be a little quieter with their activities, that would be swell. But hell, this was a two-star motel for a reason.

Getting up wasn’t so bad, sure you have slept in better ways and places, but the beautiful thing about being groggy is that your mind has yet to calibrate for the previous events. The entire exchange didn’t register in your brain when you were packing up your stuff, nor when you ransacked the entire room for freebies. It still hadn’t surfaced even as you left the motel ten to eleven (because you need to get your money’s worth). In fact, it wasn’t until you were halfway through the bus ride back did it hit you like a ton of brick. The sheer force of the information was enough for you to give a verbal “OH MY GOD” to all the people on the bus. Naturally you didn’t intend to be caught so off guard, but with-it being New York, nobody paid you any attention. Not that you were worried about onlookers right now, you had other things to attend to.

Everything from that point on was a blur. Because of this, you got off at the wrong stop and had to backtrack to your apartment. Somehow when you did get there you took the elevator to your floor and managed to fish out your keys. Before you could however your neighbor across the hall managed to catch you.

“Dere yuh are! I was wonderin’ if yuh had gotten kidnapped,” said a gruff voice from behind you.

David is one of those old guys who have a rough exterior but a soft interior. He is bald with wrinkles to show he has frowned for most of his life. Although you can’t see them at this moment, he has several tattoos on his body, the most notable being the sleeve on his left arm. From how he explains it, he used to be on the bad side of New York since he was a kid up until his mid-20s but turned his life around after spending some time behind bars. Once he got out, he joined a biker gang and went to work. He had retired from being a mechanic at the age of 64 and has been enjoying retirement ever since. Never had kids, never had been married. Sometimes you think he talks to you because he wants to see if he was missing out on the whole no-kids thing.

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t tell you. Just decided to spend my special day elsewhere,” you replied, head still in the clouds.

“Ah, yuh got married?” He inquired, trying to catch a glimpse at your hands from where he was standing in his doorway. “Who’s dah lucky fella?”

The two of you don’t talk too much, just when one or the other gets lonely. So as far as he knows, you could be married. He doesn’t broach the relationship topic too much, taking you to be a loner (which he isn’t wrong).

You chuckled absentmindedly, “Ah, yeah, no. Just my birthday.”

He hums in acknowledgement and asks, “Was it alright, or what?”

How does on respond to that when it was absolutely not “alright”? The same way you respond to everyone when you don’t want people to pry into your life.

“Yeah, same old same old.”

Just then you felt a very sharp burst of electricity, like you had accidentally touched a person who had been rolling around on a carpet. This feeling was rather familiar, but you haven’t had it since you were barely 16 years old. Then again, he hadn’t met you until last night. The only thing he needed was a clear picture of your face, which his suit no doubt provided. If you have to guess, he is digging up information about you at this very moment and just now he has found out and said your name. This possibly may be your biggest nightmare. One screw up on your part of assuming you were never going to do a body swap again and look where that has gotten you.

“Well yuh missed quite a stir. Yuh with me? Shit was blowin' up and people were everywhere. Right?” He explained as if the entirety of New York wasn’t there to witness the same events on the screen.

You responded to him with a slight twitch, trying not to show the effects of the light shock as you started to walk into the studio, “I’ll try not to miss it next time, sounds eventful.”

Just as you locked the door behind you, you threw your backpack in no particular direction and pressed your back to the door as you slid down it. You buried your head into your hands as you curled up on the cold plastic tile floor.

That pull from last night is now an aching in your heart, like a nasty bruise that appears with no cause of origin. It reminded you of a string that is strained and has become weaker, its threads taring one by one. This isn’t a pain that is unbearable, but it is certainly stronger than what it felt like last night. No doubt this is connected to the conversation you had with him, but you’ve never heard of symptoms like this. If you had managed to somehow break the bond, then your heart should be in an astonishingly high amount of pain, yet it is not. Perhaps this is the sweet spot, a feeling that doesn’t go away, but one you can survive. Afterall, if there was a soul break you’d most likely have black ooze coming out of every hole in your body and be dead in the near future, just like your mother. Instead, you feel lonelier than normal with a touch of painful annoyance. If this is the price to pay, so be it. Fate or not, you cannot love that man—for both your sake, and your parent’s.

Lifting your head up you find your vision to be blurry, not realizing that you had been crying. How odd, why are you crying? You felt your tears and looked at one on your finger to make sure it wasn’t black. Upon quick inspection you find there was no color other than the crystal-clear liquid that leaks out of your eyelids.

You got up off the ground as you came to the realization that you haven’t eaten anything today. Now that you think of it, you haven’t had a true meal since yesterday afternoon (because ice cream does not count as a meal).

The kitchenette is just to the right of the entrance, so you trudge across the murky yellow tiles and over to the off-white fridge. Opening it you find a half-eaten jar of pickles, the end pieces of some white bread you bought discounted the other day, a small stack of American cheese slices, and a singular hot dog. Giving up on the fridge you go over to the cabinet that is almost ready to fall off the wall and find a nearly empty container of peanut butter along with some packets of honey you’ve snatched from Popeyes. You already know your ramen supply is out and with the given choices, you make the decision not to make a disgusting concoction and instead head over to the grocery store. It’s been over a week since your latest grocery run, and even the last time could barely be called proper shopping. In an attempt to save money you’ve been restraining your diet. Not the healthiest, sure, but necessary to keep the heat on. As of late your consumption has consisted of ramen, pasta, soup, and beans with rice. You’ll be excluding soup from your diet soon since it’s May, and the weather is finally warming up.

The thought of going back out into society was a little draining, but that might just be hunger talking. Without further consideration you grabbed your wallet and keys that you left on the floor by the door and headed out.

Making your way to the store isn’t so bad, it happens to be within walking distance—well, most of everything is within walking distance. The only thing that put you off was the feeling of being watched. But on a positive note the area isn’t too crowded, so you won’t be bothered by too many crying children and instead be around the elderly whom of which enjoy shopping in the middle of the day.

Your list isn’t very long, so short in fact that you didn’t even need to keep a list. This proved to be a mistake when by the end of your shopping trip you had concluded that something was missing. No matter, you’ll remember when you get back home.

            When getting to the counter you crossed your fingers hoping you had enough money in your account to afford everything. However, this wasn’t the case. If it weren’t for the cost of rent and your low-paying position, maybe you could buy everything you needed, but today just isn’t the day and you don’t get your next check for another three.

            “How much more do I owe?” You ask in the way that many people ask when they’re short. Desperate, but mostly embarrassed.

            The man behind the registered looked at his little screen on the register and replied, “The remainder is $32.56.”

            Yikes, you could’ve sworn you had more money in the account than what it took off. Your total was a little over 70 because you were being frugal, and this trip was going to feed you for the next two plus weeks (hopefully). Thankfully prices have been going down ever since the housing market crashed a little over a year ago, but it still isn’t enough.

            After storing your card back into your wallet, you went to look for any cash you had on hand. Finding a ten-dollar bill, you decided that was all you could fork up and will need to figure out what items you’ll need to give back. You weren’t willing to use a credit card considering the current cost to take on debt.

            However, as you started to hand the cashier the money, a thick hand blocked your path.

            “It’s alright, I got it,” said the voice to your left with a crisp 100 being passed over to the clerk.

            Looking at the masculine voice next to you, you began to refuse until you took in his appearance. The man wore a nicely ironed suit with black tinted glasses covering his eyes. His hair was slicked back which exposed his minorly receding hairline. If it weren’t for how his face was structured, you wouldn’t have been able to tell if he was pudgy or very muscular. Spoiler: he’s pudgy.

            Instead of refusing his kind gesture, you were so caught up in his familiarity that the transaction was already complete by the time you came back to.

            “I—wow. Okay, thank you! That was incredibly kind but unnecessary,” you thanked gratefully.

            He gave a very, very small smile, “It’s alright miss, I assure you that it was very much necessary.”

            Why is he so familiar?

            You chuckled lightly, “If you insist. Thank you, again, for your generosity.”

            “Your gratitude is not mine to take, but I’ll be sure to pass it along,” he said as he turned back to the cashier as his single item was rang. It was some fancy looking whiskey.

            Just as you were about to walk away with your arms filled with grocery bags, you turned back around and asked, “What’s your name?”

He looked back at you and replied, “Just call me Happy.”

Put off by the weird name, you continued your way out of the store and made your trek back to the apartment. Initially there was no sensation of being watched, but it came back after walking a block. However you brushed this off because everyone is being watched, it’s a busy city after all.

Ramen, what a delicacy. Except ‘delicacy’ isn’t the word you’d use as you slurp up the familiar chicken-flavored cardboard. More fitting words would be necessity, sodium, and empty calories. But this is life, and you are grateful to that man, Happy, for allowing you to buy everything you had picked out. Thanks to him, or more so the secret sponsor that was funding his choice, a quarter of your fridge is full and half of your cupboard has food. Granted, you have many cupboards (five to be exact), but when you can barely fill one up, what’s the point of using the others? So, you sat on your bed while gazing out at the blue sky through your window as you slurped up the noodles.

That earlier sensation of being watched disappeared instantly as you entered your building and hasn’t returned since. Not that you were missing it, of course. The sensation of being watched is always unnerving so with it being gone you felt more at ease. Now, you had the rest of the day to do absolutely nothing . . . or clean. You could do that. But that sounds like it requires motivation, which is something that just isn’t coming to you right now.

New day, same pain. Getting out of bed was a bit of a struggle. This is not a foreign issue to you, but it certainly hasn’t gotten any better over the past few days. It’s been years since you’ve gotten a solid night’s sleep without needing to get up for a glass of water. Sometimes you’ll just lay in bed after having woken up and do nothing. You could always see your ceiling due to the light pollution, so occasionally you’d make out weird shapes in the paint until you pass out. Trish claims that waking up a couple of times a night consistently is a sign of depression, but you fail to see the connection. Afterall, this has been a habit of yours ever since the incident.

Getting ready for work isn’t so hard, all you need to do is pin your hair out of the way, freshen up, and get dressed in the assigned uniform. The uniform is a T-shirt with the coffee shops logo on it. With it being so local, the dress code is a little more lenient to your delight. However, with you being the manager, you’re required to wear slacks and not jeans unlike the other associates. To be honest, you’re not entirely sure why you’re a manager. The increase in pay is nice and you think you’re doing your job just fine, but the owner is always on-site so there’s really no need for other management. But hey, whatever keeps your pay the same.

The café is within walking distance, because again, most things you need in New York are. In total it takes you almost thirty minutes to get there, which is not bad considering you don’t have a car. Although in a big city it’s not always great to have a car since with traffic it can take the same amount of time to get to point B as it would on foot. Normally the walk wouldn’t be so bad, but today you’re running late.

Squeezing by the pedestrians on the street, you hurry your way to the coffee shop. Your shift starts at nine in the morning and it’s currently 8:53. This wouldn’t be an issue if you only had a few minutes left of the walk, but you’re currently at least fifteen minutes away. Keeping at your typical pace would result in almost a 10-minute tardy punch-in, and that just won’t do. So, time to make up some for some time.

There’s a shortcut you take in between an alley that you don’t normally go through since it requires you to climb a fence, but you’re under pressure. Jerking left you jumped over a knocked over trash can and jogged over to the previously mentioned fence. Getting a grip on the metal wire you then climb over. The second part is more fun as you jump off on the other side with the short burst of adrenaline one receives when falling from a high place.

Your forehead is beginning to sweat but that isn’t something a damp paper towel can’t fix at work. Besides, sweat right now is not your largest concern. You glance down at the watch nicely situated on your left wrist, the one that is hiding his name from society. Typically you’d use a couple of scrunchies or hair ties to cover it up, but today you decided on a thick watch. In times past you thought about getting a tattoo over his name and hope that it covers it up good enough, but the risk of the artist spreading the word of who your soulmate is prevented you from doing so in the past.

‘This is not what I need to be thinking about right now,’ you reminded yourself.

The watch told you that there were only four minutes left until punch-in time, and you still have at least nine minutes to go. That means you need to make up for the five minutes difference.

Pushing your glutes to the limit you bolted to work while accidentally hitting into people on the way. However, the more you ran, the harder it was getting to focus. The ache in your heart was acting up again even though it has been slowly going away over the past hours. Nevertheless, the feeling is powerful enough to make you lose your concentration and bump into someone with a force strong enough to make you almost fall over. Thankfully whoever it is isn’t as easily swayed as they remain a standing structure while catching you. Reorienting yourself, you give a half-assed apology and go to keep making up lost time when you briefly caught a glimpse at the mans face.

So, now you’re stunned while standing in the middle of the busy street just gawking at this man. This man, whom of which, you distinctly remember being on the rooftop with you the other night after the body swap occurred. You didn’t get his name, but this is most certainly the same person.

“Hey, you good?” He asked, breaking you out of your hypnosis.

Hesitantly, you nodded. Then you turned and walked away, realizing that he doesn’t recognize you because you weren’t in your body at the initial time of meeting. The thought is surreal, meeting someone but not actually meeting someone. But pretending to be a complete stranger is for the best, for your sake.

Unfortunately you don’t make it to work on time, arriving three minutes late. On the other hand, the owner doesn’t seem to be in the building yet, which means you won’t get a headache until he checks the timestamps. To clarify, the owner isn’t a mean guy, he’s just particular about what hill he would like to die on.

“Hey! How was your birthday?” You hear Trish from behind the counter.

She must’ve been the opener for today, which means she’s been here since five. How she can remain cheerful after getting up so early is beyond you.

“It was eventful,” you lightheartedly replied.

The less she knows, the better. The less everybody knows is for the best. The sooner you forget, the quicker it all goes away. Following these three easy steps will hopefully result in successfully terminating the existence (or thought thereof) of your soulmate.

Looking around you do a quick headcount and find the café is slower than usual. Probably because of the mayhem that happened at the expo, and with it being so close, there is no doubt some debris still being cleaned up.

“Yeah? Isn’t your studio near the expo?” She offhandedly asked.

You walk towards her behind the register as you then explained how your birthday went while keeping out all the parts about your soulmate. Hopefully by explaining how uneventful your entire vacation was, she’d lay off a little. This unfortunately had the opposite effect as she then rushed you and grasped your arms, successfully pinning them to your body. She’s little taller than you, enough to loom over you and get right up in your face

“A motel? As in the same motel that Tony Stark’s soulmate was spotted at?!” She nearly yelled.

Your heart dropped. Did she know? Did everyone know? Who was the snitch? You bet it was that receptionist, what a bi—.

‘Stop it, if your face was captured then she would’ve already known it was you, calm down,’ you reasoned.

“Uh, I don’t know?” You said while trying to be as vague as possible. “Who’s his soulmate?”

Don’t be suspicious, don’t be suspicious.

She squealed like some schoolgirl who gets to spill the latest gossip, “That’s the thing, no one knows. The news has been flying off the wall ever since yesterday about conspiracies on who she is. Apparently, Mr. Fancy Pants flew over to her in front of a motel to meet her.”

Trish took a breath of air then continued, “But whoever tipped the news couldn’t get a good picture because the area was whether too bright or too dark. And you know how it is when an area is too dark. ‘But Trish! How can it be too bright if it’s too dark?’ Thanks for asking!”

Another breath. You apparently asked the wrong question; she can go on like this for days.

“The person who took the photos said that the light was emitting from the playboy and the lady, meaning they have that glowing SIA. But it went away after she, get this, slapped his hand away! That same person said they couldn’t make out what the conversation was about, but it didn’t look good.”

You were in too much shock to make an expression of fake shock, which resulted in you making an actual face of shock. This worked in your favor as Trish continued.

She almost snorted, “I know right, who does she think she is? If you happen to be the soulmate of the literal richest person in the world, why the hell would you treat him like that? If she doesn’t want him, I’ll take him. I mean, for one he’s a superhero, two he’s ultra wealthy, and three he’s ultra wealthy. And yes, I know two and three are the same, but it’s good to highlight important points.”

You do, in fact, happen to be the soulmate of the richest person in the world. But to you, his wealth holds no value and you’re not going to bend your back for someone like him. If it weren’t for this secret that you wish to take to your grave, you’d have explained to her that he is all hers.

The doorbell above the entrance chimed signaling a new customer. Trish half-heartedly glanced up at the person before returning her stare back to you.

“We’ll continue this conversation—,” what conversation? “—after I take this guy’s order.”

Then she released her grip to help the person who sat down towards the corner of the room. You, on the other hand, are still in shock. What tore you out of your mental state was the television lighting up, broadcasting the exact headline Trish was talking about.

“WORLD-RENOWNED PLAYBOY REJECTED?”

This is turning into a literal nightmare, and you’d like to wake up now. Everything that is happening is the exact reason why you didn’t want to met him. Well, not exactly, but it’s mighty good motivation to avoid him. You don’t feel like giving him your sob story, so saying “I don’t want to be famous” is a plausible excuse.

Just then you felt someone pat your shoulder as they passed by.

“Table 16, the person who just walked in, is requesting you specifically,” Trish informed as she went to ground some coffee beans.

You pointed at yourself and clarified, “Me?”

“Uh, yeah? I didn’t know you had any regulars, but kudos to you,” she released a snicker. “Besides, he looks like a sugar daddy in the making, work it girl.”

Not many things make you blush, but that got a rise out of you, barely tinting the tops of your ears which thankfully didn’t spread to your face. However, her statement did leave you a little confused. You have one regular, but she is not a he and doesn’t even come in at this time. Nor does she sit in that corner because (according to her) it’s a little too off-putting for her tastes and it’s away from where she can people watch from the windows.

Regardless, you make your way over to the corner of the café, pen and paper already in hand. The accessories are really just for style because you’ll typically make the order yourself and people don’t generally buy so much that you can’t keep track. But it comforts the buyer knowing that you’re paying attention and wanting to get their order right.

Reaching the table, you put on a smile and look down towards the man at the 4-person table. He is wearing tinted sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low. The back of your mind says he’s vaguely familiar, but there aren’t enough shown features to confirm the stipulation.

“Hello sir, my name is (Y/N) and I’ll be your server today. How are you this morning?” You ask in the fake enthusiastic stereotypical customer service voice.

Being a waitress isn’t your job; it never has been. You’re a barista, someone who makes the drinks and occasionally warms up pastries. But with the café being an open-floor layout, not everyone wants to order from the counter and that’s fine. Besides, those who sit down and want to be served typically leave tips, while those who come up to the counter don’t. So, although you aren’t a waitress, the tips are nice to have once in a while. However, you’re about to find out that this is a tip you’d be fine missing out on.

“Not too shabby,” he said as he looked up to you. His voice was smooth as brandy and polished like a granite countertop with a hint of confidence. If it wasn’t for your instant dawning, you’d have been breathless just from the sound of his immediately recognizable voice.

Instead, you let out a small whine mixed with a drop of dread, “No . . .”

This isn’t just a sugar daddy in the making, he’s your fated sugar daddy!

[franollie]

steph's relationship to class as an extension of her coping with her unstable childhood....take my hand..walk with me here..

[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.

[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].

[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

[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.

[political-us]

[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.

[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.

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