#tw poverty

[brainr0t-landfill]

🌃 Mercurial

ghoap x male reader

Chapter Four: Nausea

"I will poison all your happy times, I will love you like the ashes in my cigarette box."

-The Crane Wives, Tounges and Teeth

(money insecurity, unhealthy relationship, implied homelessness, anxiety)

The on the road life is better suited for you, you feel more secure with the peeling, old wallpapers of whichever hotel you end up in than the walls you had painted with Johnny the beds reeking of mildew feel more familiar than the wide warm one you used to share with them.

Faces forgotten before you can commit them to memory, places gone with nothing to mourn them by, nightly vigels to the best thing that ever happened to you spent anxiously looking out foggy windows for any silhoutte resembling theirs, listening for uniform footsteps louder than an earthquacke and as familiar as the little compartment you've sewn in your backpack, containing a new ID, fake passoport ,ever-changing burner phones and your unstable money supply.

You're in your element when no one knows you, when people don't commit your face to memory, when they're ingenuine and changing. it's familiar and homey when you know every escape route and every card in the deck, it's not so familiar too with the ever present threat of being found breathing down your neck, you know too well how attached they are and how many strings they have to pull, you've seen it firsthand.

Even then you can't blame them, they fell for someone they thought was good and from this distance it's easier then ever to paint yourself as the villan, the one who stirred the water when all was well, pushed buttons he knew he shouldn't have pushed, tested boundaries that had been set in stone when they were finnaly comfortable, when all was finnaly well.

It started out small, just a way to relieve your tension, just a way to adjust and get some breathing room;

It was the small ritualistic details you started neglecting at first, not stocking the pantry, keeping the house messy before they came home from deployments, not kissing them goodnight or goodbye. They didn't get mad, they didn't even notice, John stepped up readily when you neglected the house and Simon happily went out for groceries whenever you 'forgot', and that set you off worst. The little things you'd built your life, your place in the relationship around where unimportant to them, just something someone else could do without much fuss.

Then it was keeping the door unlocked on the night you knew they'd be coming home, sleeping on the couch by yourself with the excuse of 'feeling smothered', going out and not telling them whene you were going or when you'd be back knowing you were leaving then anxious and frazzled worried for your safety and nothing else, they were good, too good for somone like you. So good that Simon sat you down and explained that he understood you needed some space and that them being gone one day and then then being so present and loud could be hard to get used to.

"Me 'n Johnny just want ya safe angel."

Simon and that understanding smile on his face, always considerate and understanding to the people he loved like a wise parent lecturing a misbehaving yet well meaning child. You spat in the face of that.

"You both are overreacting Si, I know y'all got this skewed view of the world because the military n shit but I'm an adult, I don't need bodyguards."

His face fell, John turned around momentarily to check on the conversation.

"It's not like that, 'n you should know by now. We love you, we want you safe, you're the one with the skewed view and if you keep this bullshit up there's gonna be reprucussions-"

"Simon."

John cut in walking over to the kitchen table and giving him a look, Simon deflated running a hand over his face and you felt the familiar pain of being a disappointment, of misguiding and upsetting. It was wose when you know you love them and do it anyway knowing the things they'd been through.

"Sorry.."

You mumble, his dark eyes soft as they met yours. His bare hands clasped on his lap, he's rubbing his own knuckles.

"Jus' - jus' be safe yeah? Take care o' yourself when we can't, keep our heads clear? For us, angel."

You nodded knowing full well that despite your guilt you had found a nerve and you weren't the good person you had cruelly convinced them you were. You revealed in uncertainties and tension, you hadn't been anywhere this long since your teenage years when you got kicked out. You weren't deserving of this care, this love so you were doing the right thing driving them away or perhaps you just liked being cared for in such avident and raw way either way you were dead weight at best and a parasite at worst.

The tension rose when you kept doing it, John was the first to snap when you introduced them as your friends to some work acquaintances. He broke down, screamed raw and bloody, punched a wall and pulled out his hair as Simon desperately tried to play mediator.

"How could ye?! How fucking could ye, you ungrateful, lying cunt!"

John screamed as you stood leaning against the wall his knuckles were still kissed white and bleeding from the hole they had left in the drywall. His aquamarine eyes squinted and wet, his breaths quick and shallow like a wounded bird.

"We live together! We sleep in the same god damn bed, that's my sweater on ye back, 'n ye sit there and call us your mates?! Yer buddies?! I swear to fucking god ye better have brain damage or I wi-"

Simon grabbed him by the shoulders before he could go on any further. You understood why he was mad, he had opened his heart out to someone he had trusted for so long not knowing he was a snake in the grass, he wanted his love, his safe space, his importance in your life validated especially after all the anxiety you had put them both through with your planned recklessness.

And you broke, in retrospect it could have been so much better if you hadn't, maybe then you'd have some resentfull exs instead of this manhunt with every card stacked against you.

You sobbed, apologized over and over again, promised you'd be better, promised you'd behave, you loved them, you really loved them, the pain in Johnny's voice was unlike anything you'd seen and you meant it too. You didn't wanna be stranded and drifting again, by yourself in the world.

"Ye know we won't ever let ye go angel, promise."

You broke your promises time and time again, they snapped and you broke, but guilt wasn't enough to scratch this constant itch under your skin. Waiting, salivating for when they finnaly got fed up with you like everyone else, it enraged you when they didn't.

Shit hit the fan when you spent two nights at a friend's house and kept your phone on silent, came home with her perfume spritzed on your neck, then you ended up in the cabin and realized some bonds had to be severed phisicaly.

So here you are now, in the roadie lifestyle you're used to, overgrown beard and bloodshot eyes, feet bloody and swollen in your shoes, always cold, always tired, never quite clean. Walking home with a measly paycheck in your pocket and TV dinner in a shopping bag, you're always tense, always on edge knowing full well they've most likely moved on, hopefully.

Life on the road isn't as secure as it used to be, not when their love made you soft and comfortable.

You miss warm beds, you miss a stable job and your warm clean home but most importantly you miss them, you miss them like an amputated limb, like you can reach out and feel the muscles hanging loose, the veins burst and drooling where you hacked them off; it's easier to deal with when you remind yourself people like you don't deserve things like that.

You're just outside your hotel rooms door when some primal, animal instinct straightens your spine, something isn't right.

You look inside from the windows check inside, your measly possessions are all where they ought to be, just when you're about to close to door you see them.

Footsteps, on the snow, big, bigger than yours and deep, pure snow filthied by mud somone tried to cover them up but they're still there.

You can't tell if they're combat boots that John favoured or the hiking shoes Simon sweared by but it sets you off anyways, primal fear and anxiety, restlessness churning in your gut as you pack all of your belongings.

Same game, new rules.

<< Next Chapter / Next Chapter >>

#ghoap x reader #ghoap x male reader #cod x male reader #mercurial #cod x reader #john mactavish x male reader #john mactavish x reader #simon riley x male reader #simon x reader x johnny #tw poverty #tw implied abuse #tw violence

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hello

How can I write a story when the main idea is about a character and their internal conflict? I'm not sure what my problem is, but I can't get any ideas for this. It's hard for me to explain...

Like, the writing can't just be about the character's trauma. Of course, it's the core of the story and what I find most interesting, but other things need to be happening. I haven't even gotten any ideas for what exactly the trauma is. I just know how they're gonna struggle processing it. But, they still have a life to live, like studying/working, friends, family etc. Does there need to be external conflict too? Or am I just super indecisive and uninspired?

Struggling with Character-Driven Story

Stories can either be driven by an external conflict (plot-driven), an internal conflict (character-driven), or both. What you're talking about writing is a character-driven story, because it revolves around an internal conflict.

The type and level of external conflict in a character-driven story depends on the needs of the story. Quite often the external conflict in a character-driven story is a result of the internal conflict or tied to it in some way. For example, Jane Austen's Emma, features a "man vs self" internal conflict. She victimizes herself and others due to her own actions resulting from being vain, stubborn, being unable to confront her own feelings, and thinking she knows what's best for others. With the exception of the arrival of Jane Fairfax in Emma's village, most of the external conflict results from Emma's own foolish actions, many of which are influenced or affected by Jane's presence.

Today, it's not uncommon for stories to contain both internal and external conflict. Quite often, the external conflict simply provides a stage upon which the internal conflict can unfold. For example, you might have a story about four teenagers getting lost in the mountains and trying to survive mother nature (external conflict), but the story is really about who these teens are and exploring and resolving their internal conflicts.

I would suggest first trying to flesh out your character's trauma, as this could potentially inform your story's external conflict. For example, let's say your character's trauma was growing up in poverty. You could potentially find an external conflict that brings this trauma to the surface and forces your character to confront it. This external conflict then provides a framework through which the exploration and resolution of the internal conflict can play out. Alternatively, you could choose an unrelated (or mostly unrelated) external conflict, such as a big shake up at the company where your character works. In this case, the external conflict is more of a backdrop, but it still provides structure for the story as your character navigates the events of the company shake up while dealing with their internal conflict.

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

LEARN MORE about WQA

SEE MY ask policies

VISIT MY Master List of Top Posts

COFFEE & FEEDBACK COMMISSIONS ko-fi.com/wqa

#tw trauma #tw poverty #writing tips #wqaadvice

[18thcenturythirsttrap]

The briefing, by civil servants at the Department for Work and Pensions (DWP), says that under the plans, new applicants for disability benefits in England and Wales would only qualify for cold weather payments if they passed a much harsher assessment than exists at present.

“We recognise that this recommendation will result in fewer low-income people being eligible for [cold weather payments],” the briefing says, adding that some higher-income people will gain access to them.

Tories punishing those who have the bad luck to be disabled and poor again. And observe who's not all over this - the Labour 'opposition'. I imagine that Starmer's too busy taking notes.

#fuck this shithole country #uk #uk politics #england #wales #disability #poverty #welfare #benefits #tw ableism #tw poverty #tw dwp

[abubblingcandle]

Personal Beliefs and Headcanons about Jamie Tartt's upbringing

This is a continuation of a discussion with @fanficfanattic that was kinda derailing talk about Phil Dunster's approach to Jamie Tartt's accent but is something that I am super passionate about so did want to put somewhere and foster discussion with other people about it.

Disclaimer - Again I am not someone who grew up in this exact situation that we see Jamie in but it permeates through my life and my family. I can only talk about things like this from personal experience and how much I relate to Jamie being from a working class Northern family and currently being in my mid 20s with parents who were in poverty and one who lived in council housing. Those of you who have read my fanfics know that I put a lot of my specific experiences into talks about Jamie's backstory (I have literally today been writing more of a chapter where Jamie talks about cheap ways that his mum tried to keep him out of trouble during the summer holidays lol) and so I am always happy to talk about hyperspecific headcanons or my experiences if anyone wants to

So yeah, the discussion was about Jamie being a battler partially because of where he was raised not just because of his father

Jamie as a battler is something that is so so important to me. He even says it in S1 “do you think I could have got from a council estate in North Manchester to the Premier League just by doing what everyone else did” and it gets sort of brushed off as a teachable moment with Keeley saying people are just trying to help him and he needs to let them. It doesn’t get talked about much more than as a part of his smugness and selfishness in S1 but it is more than likely that given Jamie’s history there would have been so few if any people in his past that did just want to help him for the sake of helping him. It also ties into his obsession with Ted’s actions being mind games. Because having people genuinely wanting him to succeed just because he’s Jamie ... foreign idea. 

I can just see Baby Jamie at a criminally underfunded primary school in North Manchester telling everyone that he was going to be a premier league footballer and getting fond laughs and being told that maybe if he worked hard he might be able to get into a good trade, like an electrician. (For me I wanted to be an journalist and was told that maybe a simple good paying job like an air hostess or a hairdresser would be a much better target, not like that’s stayed with me or anything). 

Even if you take James Tartt Sr out of the picture, Jamie would have had to fight for everything and stand up for himself to achieve his goals. It is likely as a young single mum that Georgie would have been out a lot working leaving Jamie to look after himself from a young age and do things like making sure he got to football training (showing that drive and that fact he mentioned, he had to be different to other people to succeed) and little things like making sure he looked after his kit himself so it was ready and lasted as long as possible.

The second part to this is the fact that mindset is so so so hard to lose. My mum worked her arse off and got herself out of that cycle of extreme poverty through smarts and luck and even though we now have enough to live on, there are little things about being raised in an environment where you were an afterthought and didn’t have enough that don’t leave you - either through over compensating the other way (when you have money spending it frivolously because suddenly buying that nice thing you want wouldn't mean that you don't eat) or refusing to spend money on something because you don't need to and it's a waste to spend it (even if the amount of money doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things anymore). I see Jamie mostly in the first category (the designer clothes, fancy cars, sculptures in his house, willing to buy everyone PS5s to get them to like him without batting an eye at the cost) but likely with little money saving things that he just can't shake.

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #character analysis #tw poverty #personal experiences projected onto fictional characters #headcanons #candle writes

[munson-memories]

TW poverty, negl-ct, starv-tion? Referenced depression and lonliness

Wayne wouldnt eat readymeals because he wanted to retain some level of control over his life. Just because he was alone,didnt mean he wanted to be feeding himself just enough to get from one day to the next..

he was looking after himself, keeping himself together.

He didnt want to drop into a rutt and replay the same sad ballad he saw so many lonely men get trapped in.

Which payed off when Eddie needed someone who was stable.

Wayne home cooked but only lazy meals.

It was just him so it was still nothing fancy, mostly throwing canned vegetables and sort of pre prepared things together with seasonings to make it into something new.

But for Eddie, he gave him his first from scratch home cooked meal

and did so, every so many nights til they got older, when eddie gained more of an understanding of their living situation, with work and school.. and didnt care as much about what he ate, because this time, it was his choice to eat like shit.

#eddie and wayne munson #eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson headcannon #uncle wayne munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #wayne munson headcanon #wayne munson #stranger things headcanons #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson sad #tw poverty #tw neglect #¤-munson-memories-¤

[inkblot22]

All This Over A Notebook

I don't have any idea what's gotten into me. I seem to have lost my marbles. This will have a part two. I'd also like to mention that as I was adding the warnings, the little Grammarly emoji went from nervous to horrified.

Tw for captivity, implied bullying, referenced violence, item insecurity (like one of the reader's things isn't with them), fear, poverty, Floyd and Jade Leech being themselves. This is mostly for part two, but all characters have been aged up to 18+

Floyd wasn’t so bad to have around. 

That’s what you’d say if you were a liar. You aren’t. In the few months that you’ve known him, Floyd has been nothing but a menace.

It started out simple, of course, nothing too physical, just some verbal jabs, and then he got more and more physical to the point that your skin crawled when you barely thought of him. You’d pass by him in the hallway and he’d be in one of his moods. Not a good or bad mood, just a mood. The type where he wanted to pick on someone, that someone being whichever was unluckier between you and Riddle.

Let’s be real. It was you. It was usually you. Riddle knew Floyd, he knew what his schedule was like, and even though he was a stickler for the rules, he knew how to get in, finish his shit, and leave. That wasn’t to say that you didn’t try your best to avoid Floyd. It was just that you weren’t as perfect as Riddle, especially not when it came to keeping away from the eel menace.

You had a good streak going, though. You hadn’t seen him in several days, but there was a massive downside. You’d been paired with Jade for alchemy earlier, which was just your luck, and he had somehow managed to take your notes, despite you vividly recalling that you placed them back in your crappy little backpack. After changing out of your uniform, you sent him a message asking him to drop off your notebook. He left you on read for fifteen long minutes before finally responding with a message that read like a death sentence.

“you’re free to swing by and pick them up prefect”

As much as you wanted to just wait until the weekend where for sure Floyd would be off finding someone else to torment, you couldn’t. That was your only notebook. Grim didn’t take very good notes but was really territorial with his junk so you couldn’t exactly ask to borrow his, not even so you could write down notes for tomorrow. 

You didn’t want to wait for any longer than you needed to, either. That meant you were going right now. Grim’s big, glassy eyes watched you as you scampered to and fro, snatching up your backpack and what little amount of money hadn’t been used to purchase food for Grim and yourself just in case Jade was holding your notebook ransom. 

“Where are you going?” Grim asked.

“Jade has my notebook.” You responded, flatly.

Surprisingly, for once, Grim kind of just accepted that as what it was and went back to his homework.

Instead of asking if he could come along, he asked, “Are you gonna come back with food?”

“Uh, from the Lounge? Probably not. I don’t want to be there any longer than I need to. Maybe if the cafeteria is open or if Jamil is wandering around I can ask?”

Grim grumbled, something about him starving, and you smiled, thinking about how the two of you were basically living off of pennies. This was Twisted Wonderland’s hospitality, you guessed. 

“Okay, bye, Grim. I should only be a few minutes. Okay?”

He was still grumbling when you left, but you couldn’t hold it against him. You really hoped you’d bump into Jamil or Trey on the way back. Someone who understood your predicament and also had an excess of food, but first you had to go get your notebook.

The hall of mirrors was, as always, eerily silent. As you took a step forward into the soft beach sand that was somehow always littered around the entrance to Octavinelle, no matter how often it was swept, you swallowed and prayed to a god you didn’t think existed in this world, begging them to make sure that Floyd was somewhere else.

Then you stepped into the mirror.

As always, the lounge was busy. You’d sent Jade another message, asking him where your notebook was because you were here, and he replied instantly this time.

“it’s in my room on the desk” followed quickly by a “would you mind stopping in the lounge so i could unlock the room for you”

The last place you wanted to go was the Lounge. If Floyd wasn’t in there, Azul definitely would be, and you really didn’t have time for his bullshit today. All he did was hassle you to come work for him, and all you wanted to do was study, just go home and study, hopefully getting some food on the way back. In the larger scope of things, you suppose you’d also want to get back to your world but that was out of your hands entirely, so studying would have to keep your attention otherwise you’d die from the stress of it all.

Jade was in the middle of serving someone when you walked in. Surprisingly, Floyd and Azul were nowhere to be seen. You were impatient, but not an asshole, so you waited until he went back to the kitchen to follow him and grab his sleeve.

“Ah, how very nice to see you, prefect.” He smiled, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You have my notebook. Remember?”

“Oh, that’s right.” He handed the plate he had picked up to someone else, telling them which table it went to before turning back to you, “Well, let’s go.”

Jade didn’t say anything after that. You walked with him in silence up to his room. You’d never been in there before, since you mostly kept to your and Grim’s little bubble. Beyond that, everyone knew to keep their distance from the Leeches. They played off each other like a game of tennis from hell. Jade unlocked the door and held it open for you. You heard the sounds of a shower from the bathroom. You’d have to be quick.

You slipped inside with a quiet breath of thanks and made a beeline for the desk with the terrarium sitting on it, as well as your crusty old notebook, open on the same page you’d left it on, complete with doodles of Professor Crewel as a sea bunny in the margins. You slipped your backpack from your shoulders, closed the notebook, placed it inside, and turned back around.

Jade was smiling at you from the door.

“Thanks, Jade. I could have sworn I put it in my bag,” You said, walking towards the door. 

“Oh, you did.” Jade said, “I just took it back out.”

Before you could react, before you could get angry, ask why, anything, Jade slammed the door closed and you heard the telltale click of the lock. 

You dropped your backpack and ran towards the door, trying the knob before giving up and battering your fists against it.

“Jade, what the hell?! This isn’t funny!” You hollered.

You heard the shower turn off and your slamming became more frantic, now trying to break down the door. Why did all the doors have to be inswing? Why did this door specifically lock from the outside? You went back to the desk and searched for something to break the doorknob, and the bathroom door handle jiggled. 

You felt like a deer in the headlights, only able to look at the doorknob as it slowly twisted. All you could hear was the sound of your breath and heartbeat, roaring like an ocean in your ears. Your brain was screaming at you, begging you to hide or anything, but your limbs felt like lead, solid ice, something heavy and immovable.

As you expected, Floyd stepped out of the bathroom, looking about as disheveled as usual. He didn’t see you for a second, heterochromic eyes looking at the closed door before his head swung around to look at you. He grinned, and you felt your heart skip a beat, then kickstart back into a thundering pace as he walked towards you.

You stepped away and he didn’t follow, instead picking up his phone from his desk and flopping over onto his bed.

“Hey, Shrimpy.” He greeted, casually. 

You could barely breathe, much less respond. You had to get out of here.

“Jade’s not gonna come back until we’re done. Why don’t you relax for a bit?”

You could not. If there was anything more impossible, it’d be going back to your own world at this minute. Floyd sat up and put his phone down, staring at you before he finally approached, long, lazy strides.

His hand gripped your shoulder, he leaned down and you flinched back.

“C’mon, Shrimpy. I promise I don’t bite… too hard.” He punctuated that sentence with a laugh.

Part Two Here!

#tw item insecurity #tw jade leech #tw: yandere #disney twst #twisted wonderland #tw: dark content #tw: dark themes #yandere #tw captivity #twst #tw: floyd leech #tw: jade leech #tw bullying #tw biting #tw poverty #yandere floyd x reader #yandere floyd leech

[surplus-of-sarcasm]

Number 28

TW: Injury, angst, exhaustion, mention of suicidal ideation (not sure if that's the right way to describe it, but there's also a wish to never exist), poverty, smoking

Notes: This came out a bit different from my usual style, dialogue is introduced later, dk exactly how long this, read-more used just to be safe. Hope u enjoy, loves <3 < 3

The villain's life had never been particularly easy, nor pleasant in general, but today, it had taken a disgusting turn for the worse even they weren't used to. It wasn't just the fact that they were injured; the wound wasn't too deep, wasn't life-threatening, nor did it really put much of a damper on their ability to move. The criminal was also alone, which wasn't a new experience in any shape or form, but it just wasn't utterly convenient now. They'd always sneered at the idea of teamwork, especially in their line of work because there was no actual guarantee that your so-called partner(s) would not stab you in the back the second it suited them. But still, it's not like little to no reliance on anyone else never came with a price.

The trouble mainly resided in the fact that they had no idea exactly where they were, just that they didn't belong. A high-end neighbourhood without many houses, because each one was the size of a castle anyway, well-manicured lawns and ornate, steel gates. All of it was too much of a stark contrast to the dirty alleyway harbouring Villain's down-trodden one-room apartment. Most villains weren't dirt poor, but most of them hadn't spent most of their money on a college degree, thinking it would lead somewhere, then had all their job prospects ruined by cascading waterfalls of unfortunate circumstances. People who were meant to care for them simply didn't, leaving them to fend for themselves when keeping them around was no longer convenient. The criminal had known nothing but poverty, and sure, there was definitely many a noble way that would pull them out of the squalor they were used to, but the villain was much too spent to care.

Ironic that this was meant to be their "money-maker" mission, pathetically easy too. Just steal some precious artifact from a museum, replace it with a decoy and get away before anyone found out

. . .except all they'd ended up with was Vigilante's knife wedged in their abdomen and swiftly pulled out. They'd run as fast as their exhausted legs could take them, finding themselves here, honestly surprised that there was no one around to judge them, to sneer at how out of place they looked. They just needed a map, anything to find out how far they were from home, a way out, anything to use a makeshift bandage.

Help. They needed help.

And they hated it. Hated the fact that they weren't invincible and hated how they hadn't realised it even sooner. They wanted to scream their throat raw, to tear their hair out, to collapse on the ground and disappear into nothing, like they'd never been. If only the ink on the pages of a miserable story could be erased, could leave its everlasting paper prison. Beautiful, torturous fantasies; where monsters had a life outside of the cages where they belonged.

The all-too familiar smell of cigarette smoke should not have snatched the villain so abruptly out of their thoughts; some of the other inhabitants of their area could starve just to buy a pack, almost always reeking of it wherever they went. They blamed the close proximity for their sudden distraction. Their gaze flitted over to the figure next to them, almost towering above them. The criminal's breath caught in their throat, but the person next to them wouldn't be able to tell. They were just about to force their body into a fighting stance when the person next to them let out a soft chuckle.

"Don't recognise me?" they called out, the corner of their mouth curled upwards in a cheeky smirk.

They'd never seen Hero without a mask on, but they could tell that voice apart from thousands more. There was nothing peculiar about it per se, aside from its strange calmness, the way it was so hard to discern any emotions in their tone.

If the hero's smirk hadn't morphed into a slightly bigger smile, the villain would have forgotten to close their agape mouth. In all honesty, they hadn't expected the crime-stopper to be rich. They'd seen heroes with much fancier super-suits anyway. In a stark contrast to the them, the hero's clothes fit them perfectly; a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up, left slightly open to expose their collarbones and a pair of slacks, both designer. An diamond-studded watch adorned their left hand, a cigarette clutched in their right, smoke trailing out of it in phantom shapes. They looked a bit younger than the criminal expected, a bit more carefree.

"Is the smoke irritating?' they asked, concerned, snapping the villain out of their thoughts once more.

It wasn't. The faux concern in the hero's tone was, though. Or that was how they saw it. Of course, like most of the elite, they were well-trained in the art of preserving their image with fake charms.

The villain merely shook their head, and at that, the hero gave them a small frown, one eyebrow raised up discontentedly. "You usually chew me out every time we fight. What's got you so quiet?"

The villain wanted to scream. Wasn't it obvious? What were they next to the crime-stopper in their goddamn territory, injured, exhausted and hungry, not having eaten a proper meal in days. They despised how immaculate the hero looked, with their freshly styled hair, their build that seemed to grow stronger as the villain's own simply diminished. "Shut up," they growled, voice dangerously low, "SHUT THE HELL UP, PLEASE!"

The hero's eyes widened, and they threw their practically dead cigarette into a trash can close to them, wanting to focus their full attention on the criminal in front of them. They'd never seen their feelings betray them like that before, as they bounced off of the hero with detached sarcasm. Something flashed in their emerald greens, an emotion the villain had almost never seen before. Not contempt or apathy, not even pity. Understanding. Raw, and if their weary mind wasn't playing any cruel tricks on them, more real than anything they'd ever seen.

"I'm just sick of it all," they breathed out, practically slouching against a tree.

"I know," the hero replied softly, gently laying a hand on the villain's wrist, and they were surprised at themselves for not pushing it away. Maybe it was because they didn't really remember an instance where a touch did not inflict pain.

And right before the villain could ask the hero incredulously just how they knew precisely what was wrong with their life, the crime-fighter was quick to answer. "I always do a bit of research on the people I fight. I have to admit, you're kind of a ghost, but I have my ways."

The villain knew their face had rapidly turned an embarrassed shade of scarlet at the hero's statements, subconsciously pulling her hand away from them.

"I want to help," they clarified, "I can help."

Villain let out a hoarse, empty laugh. "I don't need you to throw your cash at me. What's the point? For me to be indebted to you for the rest of my life? To be nothing and only have any value because of you and your money?" they hissed, nostrils flaring.

"Do you really think that someone offering you help makes you weak or worthless? No matter how high-achieving you are, some things are left to chance. Love it or hate it, you'll never hold totalitarian control over your life."

"That doesn't change anything!" Villain cried out incredulously, inching closer to Hero, practically in their face, their bated breath warm against their skin.

"I wasn't born rich," the hero attested, "I grew up on the streets. One thing they don't tell you about getting rich is that you also need to get lucky as hell. Hard work alone won't just cut it. I used to steal to eat, too. So stop being a bastard and let me help you."

"Please," they added hastily, laying their hands on the villain's shoulders their grip firm but gentle.

"Why?"

"Because you don't deserve this? Because I know how talented you are with a keyboard, but you can't even afford a goddamn laptop? Damn it, Villain, you let me live, that time you could have killed me, so now we're even."

They actually used to have a crappy, old machine, being a STEM major, but when they'd somehow become even more broke, they'd had to sell it to not starve to death. They had an under-the-radar hacker phase, if you will. And about letting the hero live, it had been an impulse. Killing the only human being they interacted with made no sense to them, no matter how solitary they claimed to be.

The villain's ego desperately wished for them to refuse, but then what were their options again? They didn't just have their dilapidated life to come back to, there was the wrath of their powerful, mysterious employer. Pride is simply a luxury when one has nothing in their life beyond struggling to survive.

Still, Villain wasn't impulsive. "Say I agree. What does your 'help' entail? How do you I know you won't screw me over?"

"Live with me, and I'll give you your own source of income. Put your skills with a computer to good use. And if I really want to 'screw you over', aren't there faster, easier ways to do it? Like not shutting Vigilante up with some hush money and a few, well-placed threats? Like kicking you in that injury they gave you?" the hero reasoned.

It terrified them, just how much the crime-fighter knew, all those goddamn tricks they had up their sleeve. And maybe it wasn't the 'purest' of comforting thoughts, but the villain knew that if the hero ever decided to stab them in the back, they could use those 'computer skills' to make sure they really payed, that is, if they didn't kill them first.

"Fine," they answered, and the hero smiled at them, an expression that was so incredibly soft, that the villain wondered how they were ever capable of any violence. They snaked an arm around their shoulders, and by God, they were so horribly tired that they didn't care they were practically leaning against the crime-fighter.

✨Time skip✨

The hero's hands were unbearably gentle with their wounds, attentive to the subtle ways in which they expressed pain; the tension in their jaw, the way their fingers tightened around the blanket. Maybe for once, they didn't hate the hero's gift of seeming to notice everything. The moments that went by were quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way. They had to admit they appreciated what the silk sheets and the warm shower did for their body, and subconsciously, how they calmed their anxiety, if only by a fraction.

"Just get some rest, and whenever you wake up, I'll have someone make you something to eat downstairs. Up in your room even if you feel like it, just text me if you need anything," the crime-fighter said, setting down an older phone of theirs. Rich people don't need to sell their old stuff, probably. "I'll get you a new one, among other stuff tomorrow, okay?"

The villain nodded their agreement, sinking back into the pillows as the hero walked out. "You're a good person," they blurted out suddenly, shocked at voicing their own impulsive thoughts out loud. Maybe they didn't trust the hero blindly yet, but something completely unrelated to their usually rational approach to life, the same part of them that had let the crime-stopper live told them that they could at least trust them a bit more than they used to.

"I try to be," the hero replied, but they were smiling softly at them again before they closed the door.

Self-sufficiency is powerful, important to the life of anyone who wished for true freedom. But it is not to be confused with the stubborn ignorance of help, with fruitless attempts to be solitary. Refusing the hand that pulls you up from a raging ocean will not grant you any strength, only serving to leave you drowned. Even broken lives can get second chances, don't throw yours away.

✨End✨

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakiii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi @those-damn-snippets @whatiswhumpblog

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

#what the hell is wrong with me? #why is it so goddamn long? also idk the exact word count bec I typed this straight into tumblr #hero x villain #prompt #snippet #angst #rich hero x poor villain #natalia's writing #female writers #writers on tumblr #tw injury #tw poverty #tw suicidal ideation #tw unhealthy figure #heroes and villains community #tw knife #fiction #slight fluff at the end #h/c #I just wanted to write smth without that much romance in it #don't get me wrong writing romance is fun but yk change is nice #STEM references bec I'm a STEM kid hehe #Idk what this piece is #but I genuinely hope you enjoy #I swear I will work on my asks #I'm sorryyyy #I love you guys <3

[5-7-9]

here’s an alternative idea: Jason Todd is a loner street kid. His mother is sick, so his father takes up a quicker way to get medication. His father is ashamed of his work, so Jason never talks about it. Jason doesn’t get along with the other kids, except he does get along with a few kids who are just like him, but Jason is too worried about his family to hang out. So he spends time picking out books from the library to read at home alone. Jason pickpockets money, breaks into houses to steal clothes, steals shit to sell, uses his stolen money to buy music thingys (idk) and likes to sing and read by his mother’s bedside. He buys groceries and cooks lunch and dinner since it’s difficult for Catherine, making sure to always remind his mom to eat, sometimes even feeding her himself. Never getting enough sleep because he stays up all night looking out the window, waiting for Willis to come back home alive.

#jason todd #willis todd #catherine todd #tw poverty #tw food mention

[brainr0t-landfill]

🌃Mercurial

ghoap x male reader

Chapter Two: Hunger

"...you had these compelling magnetized eyes you must've lost when you got older."

-The Taxpayers, I Love You Like An Alcoholic

(tw: aftermath of violence, poverty, alcohol, implied past addiction)

It started in an alleyway your aching back against the cold bricks, blood from your nose ruined three times over slowly dripping onto your lap, staining threadbare jeans, headlights occasionally blinding your left eye.

You don't look around, you keep your dry, itchy eyes on the filthy floor wondering if they'll finnaly fire you for missing work tomorrow or showing up looking like a battered street cat, you wonder if you'll be able to keep the lights on with whatever measly savings you've got left, you wonder if mom will clear out the basement for you, you wonder if you'll need the E.R if you can even afford that.

The thought of prescription pain meds brings about that familiar spike of excitement, of desperation you thought you had burried a while ago but it's short lived. Your head is fuzzy, almost cloudy with the rush of the recent bar brawl, if you can even call it that when in reality it was little more than you running your mouth in a place you knew not to when in reality it was you getting battered and thrown out of your fifth pub in this town. This is what happens when you stay in one place for too long, you get restless, you get mean. İt's no excuse, it's just how you are.

You hear footsteps approaching and before you can look up a hand is under your scruffy chin lifting your face up.

The first throughout in your head is 'He's beautiful' and he is. Blue eyes and thick baby cow lashes, a well sculpted face, overgrown stubble, thick shoulders and a surprisingly fitting mohawk.

"Ye alive laddie?"

He asks, thick accent and scotch on his breath but all you can focus on us the scar curled like a snake nestled in the scruffy stubble of his chin then you notice the other man behind him, taller or at least you think he is, you can't tell where he ends and the shadows begin untill a headlight passes over, illuminating a juvenile skull mask, thick shoulders, wide arms straining against the sleeves of his jacket.

He seems like a guardian angel, like the grim reaper himself.

"Yeah, thanks mate,"

You groan throat scratchy and dry as you pull yourself up, no energy to dust yourself off as you pat his shoulder.

"Looks like ye could use some help, we'll drop ye off."

You shake your head instinctively

"Nah, thanks, not my first, 'be fine."

He frowns, it's akin to a pout and you're stuck with the thought that he can get anything he wants when he does that.

"Nah, yer in no state to be walkin' home by yeself, plus we insist, don't we?"

He turns to the man behind him who shifts either nervous or stiff and nods.

"Yeah, we do, c'mon."

His words are clipped, voice gravell not that much of a contrast to the other man's like sniew and heartstrings.

You haven't got much left to lose and help is always appreciated -never really deserved - so against whatever better judgement you've got left you let them hold you up by the shoulders and half march, half drag you home.

They're strong, much stronger than you and they carry you with an ease that embarrasses you, you do your best to not look desperate between them, not look needy.

The first one -John- fills the awkward air with small talk and jokes, the other one watches as if he's thinking you through, writing down the pros and cons and although you slur and stumble through your words and laugh way too much you dare to think a favourable judgement has been passed on you when you wake up to a band aid on your busted bottom lip and a note with two numbers on it signed John and  Ghost.

<< Next Chapter / Next Chapter >>

#cod x male reader #cod x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x male reader #john Mactavish x reader #john mactavish x male reader #tw violence #tw alcohol #tw poverty #tw implied addiction #ghoap x male reader #ghoap x reader #simon x reader x johnny #cod hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #meet cute #ig?

[wildestdreamcatcher]

TW: Mentions of poverty

A few of y'all asked about this but yes, apart of the effects of Andrew growing up in poverty is the fact that he's very tight with money at times. He grew up seeing how tight his parents had to be with money and even he and Ruby were lower middle class and their jobs paid decently well, he just didn't know how to feel comfortable spending their money freely even if it was something they could afford. When Summer and Lennon were in 5th-6th grade and him and Ruby had been together for years, he started to feel more comfortable spending money but he still struggled a lot with it.

@sadlonelyyogurt @bfluva @blowflygrls

#andrew curtis #ceanna's ocs #cece's ocs #tw poverty #tw mentions of poverty

[ghostofaudhdpast]

i have nowhere else to put this so it’s going here.

it’s so hard to see so many of my friends and loved ones struggling financially, because they’re disabled/mentally ill/parents/were in a recession/etc. etc. etc.

and it makes it worse because i’m doing better financially than i ever have in my entire life.

like im not out here with wads of cash, but all my bills are paid and i have some left over. that’s NEVER been the case for me.

a year ago i was waiting for an eviction hearing and cycling between which bills i could pay, my gas and/or electricity kept getting shut off, i had two near repossessions of my car. i *get* it. i’ve been IN it.

i don’t want to brag about my situation because it’s so unsympathetic to do so, but it really drives home that money ABSOLUTELY does buy happiness.

i am content. i am pretty happy. and almost all the problems i’ve ever had could have been fixed by money.

for months on end i tossed and turned due to anxiety over money. i’ve worried myself into physical illness. i’ve had suicidal ideations not because i actually wanted to die, but because it was the only way i could think of to get OUT of the stress of poverty.

and there’s no bootstraps happy ending here. i just happened to find a job that pays a living wage (BARELY, but a living wage nonetheless) that hired me out of 1200 candidates. i still don’t know how or why, i know there were better suited candidates. and jobs aren’t foolproof, i could lose it at any point for any reason.

and i’m SO lucky it’s a job that works for my audhd, so it doesn’t usually increase my burnout.

i got lucky. and i could be right back in it at any moment. and i am VERY aware of that.

i wish i could help my friends. i send them $20 for dinner here, donate to a gofundme there, support their small businesses when i’m able. but i can’t give them the help they need and it tears me up.

this is not how we’re supposed to live. it’s not meant to be like this. it could be so different and i’m so angry every day that it isn’t.

#tw sui talk #tw sui ideation #tw money #tw poverty #its the neurodivergency #audhd #disability #poverty #i hate capitalism

[itsxcowboyrocksteady]

Living in poverty is one of the most exhausting, soul-crushing things a person can go through.

I've been doing it my whole life.

MY. WHOLE. LIFE.

I'm in my 30s.

I've never known a moment's peace.

I'm tired.

I don't want to do this shit anymore.

I can't do this anymore.

When the fuck do I just get to fucking live my life???

What is the point of anything if all I do is struggle???

I've got so much shit to do today, but I already want to go back to bed and it isn't even noon yet.

#tw poverty #tw depressing thoughts #tw depressing stuff #tw depression #about me #i sincerely hate my parents for bringing me into this world #because now im stuck here and i have to live in a fucked up world that they didn't bother to prep me for #idc how much you want kids. if you cant handle it and youll be a bad parent... don't have kids #we spend a lifetime dealing with your fuckups because you wanted something you werent capable of having

[atlas-library]

@artmistersealy & @heartvexer Here's some raw notes for you. 👀​

I still haven't written this part, I'm at the one right before actually. 😩​ It's still right at the start of chapter one, and it pretty much shows the main conflict Yuuta faces in the entire story. 😔

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #romance #fanfiction #wip #jujutsy kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jjk fanfiction #yuuta #yuta #okkotsu yuuta #okkotsu yuta #yuuta okkotsu #yuta okkotsu #tw poverty #atlas posts #atlas writes #atlas wips #atlas brainstorms #raw #brainstorming raw

[ginandtoxique]

For unhoused folks, at risk folks, or people who are just having a real bad time:

Alright, fam. I’ve been through the ringer of life and want to share some of my survival tips. I’ve been in deep poverty and also experienced homelessness. Gone are the days of “find a food bank!!” or “ask family or friends for help!”. This is for those of us deep in the shit, when you’re on your bottom rung, against the ropes, or at rock bottom. Please reblog with more if you have any of your own.

- Corn starch is extremely cheap, easy to find, and a great resource for refreshing hair and skin when you don’t have access to hygiene products. Baby powder also works but is more expensive. Baby wipes are cheap and can be used in a pinch for full body care.

- If you don’t have access to food for long periods of time, use some change to buy gum or tic tacs. Keeping your mouth moist and consuming those tiny amounts of sugar can stave off headaches and fatigue. It also prevents the sore and sensitive gums that you get from malnourishment. Walmart sells water bottles for a dollar or less. Keep hydrated as best you can.

- To avoid being accosted or harassed by law enforcement, try to blend in as much as possible. Simply appearing to be homeless or in crisis puts a target on your back. Avoid walking by schools, as you might be mistaken as a truant student, especially with a larger bag (I say this from experience). 

- If you use drugs or alcohol, DO NOT just abandon your paraphernalia or trash. Keep your trash to yourself until it can be disposed of properly. DO NOT use in public spaces, ever. You are less likely to be hassled if you mind your business in public and keep courteous to those around you.

 - Most fast food places have power outlets close to booths and tables. They almost always have public Wi-Fi. If you need to charge something, try to buy something like a coffee or snack to avoid being asked to leave.

- A small pocket knife or multi-tool is innocuous and can be used to defend yourself if you are ever attacked in public. Make sure you know your state laws on concealed carry and self defense.

- Even if you aren’t religious, some churches can be used as a lifeline into the world. If you need help, or just want someone to have track of you, attend some services. It’s a place where you can sit and rest without much judgement. Someone is eventually going to approach you, and may offer assistance with food or keeping tabs on you. The riskiest part of homelessness is not having anyone aware of your location and movements. 

If you have any more suggestions or tips, please reblog and add them. 

#tw homelessness #tw poverty #tw drugs #unhoused #homeless #at risk #lgbt #lgbt+ #lgbtqia #lgbtqia+ #poverty #survival #at risk youth

[18thcenturythirsttrap]

#tw infant death #tw racism #tw poverty #nhs #uk politics #fuck this country

[mordcore]

i've been eating SOOSO much and it's scary but i've been out of food & also restricting for a while so it's normal to eat more than 3 meals a day for a while i think

also i don't actually know how much food i would need to have enough food.

and idk why i'm so scared of eating "too much". but that's probably at least in part because food is fucking expensive and i totally went over budget this month.

#tw ed #tw poverty