#trigger warning for poverty

[drarrily-we-row-along]

October 1: "I've Got You"

Draco Malfoy had had more than his fair share of humiliating moments. There seemed to be no shortage of things in his memory that made him simply want to crawl out of his skin with embarrassment, but this had to be one of the most horrifically mortifying things to ever happen to him.

His bank card was being declined at the check out. Face and neck heating horribly, he looked at the items he had to try to decide what to put back; a loaf of bread, sliced cheese, a jar of apple sauce, a jar of peanut butter, a dozen eggs, and a container of yogurt. "Oh," he said, heart racing as he tried to get past his anxiety to make a decision.

"Here," the man in line behind him said, "I've got you."

He turned, ready to decline his help, but those words fell away in favor of a spluttered, "Potter?"

"Hey, Malfoy," the other man said, nudging him out of the way with his elbow to insert his own card into the machine.

"No-" he started, too late.

Potter looked over at him, then back at his card, "I've got it," he said softly. And somehow there was compassion and understanding in his voice without any pity.

"I-" he tried again, looking at the fresh fruits and vegetables, the rice and potatoes, meats, and other delicious foods that Potter had piled on the belt behind him.

"Don't worry about it," he said before Draco could get any other words out. "Seriously," he added, looking at Draco from under his fringe, looking like he was the one feeling embarrassed as he pulled his card out of the machine and a receipt was printed.

Draco took his bag from the cashier and all but fled the store.

He wasn't too far, though, when he heard a set of footsteps jogging to catch up with him. "Hey-"

"Thank you," he said politely, "I-"

"No," Potter said, shaking his head. "Don't thank me. I just-" he broke off and Draco stared, waiting for him to continue.

When no other words were forth coming, he said, "If you were wanting to make fun of me-"

"No," Potter said, shaking his head vigorously. "No. Shit," he ran his hand through his hair. "Look, come to my house for dinner."

He blinked, "Excuse me?"

"I'm just making up a stir fry," he rambled on, "Nothing fancy just some rice, peppers, snap peas, onions, broccoli, steak, and some teriyaki sauce-"

"I'm fine," Draco said, even as his stomach growled at the thought of eating some actual fresh vegetables.

"Please," Potter said, grabbing his wrist to prevent Draco from turning away.

"Why?" he asked and he wondered if Potter could hear all of the questions in his head why would you help me? What's in it for you? Why aren't you mocking me? Do you just want to mock me in your home? What will this cost me?

Potter swallowed and looked down at his feet, "I know what it's like to not have enough," he said softly. "I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Just," he huffed, "Come on. Let me feed you dinner. Please."

"You have an insufferable martyr complex." he snapped but before he could go anywhere, Potter spoke up again.

"My aunt and uncle," he said, "they didn't feed me enough. I fucking hate peanut butter sandwiches. No one should eat them day in and out. Just," he shook his head, "let me make you some dinner. You don't have to stay to eat it, you don't have to talk to me, you don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"And that's it? You just want me to come to your house and eat your food?"

"That's the gist of it, yeah," Potter said, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I'm not going to drag you to my house or anything because that would be creepy," he said when Draco didn't reply, still weighing his options, "but I'd really like to do this for you."

"Alright," he whispered, still feeling embarrassed and overwhelmed but also a deep longing for vegetables.

Potter grinned at him, bright and charming, like it was the easiest thing in the world. "Brilliant. Come on then."

And that was the first time that Draco found himself having dinner with Harry Potter, but it certainly wasn't the last.

By the time he left that evening, with a full belly and a container of leftovers, he'd let himself be convinced to come back the following week. A weekly dinner on Wednesday became a Wednesday dinner and a Saturday dinner, which became dinner every other night. And then before he quite knew how it had happened, he was at his house every night for dinner, staying later and later like he never wanted to leave.

Because the truth was that he didn't want to leave. Harry listened to him talk about his dreams, about how hard he was working in the muggle nursing program he was enrolled in, about his shitty job that didn't pay enough. He loved Harry's cat, Milo. He loved looking at Harry's art and listening to him talk about the creative process of making it. He loved hearing about Harry's childhood and getting to talk about his own. He loved having someone to do the mundane things in life with like cooking, chatting, watching telly, even just having someone to sit on the other end of the couch while he studied.

Still it took him by surprise one evening when they were making waffles and bacon for dinner, Harry was at the stove and Draco was cutting up strawberries, when the other man said, "Hey, Draco?"

"Mmhmm?" he hummed around the strawberry that he'd popped in his mouth.

"You know how your job is shit?"

He laughed, "I do. Thanks for reminding me."

"Right," he said, glancing over his shoulder at him, "But what if you didn't have to pay rent, would that make things easier?"

"It would," he said slowly, not allowing his heart to rise, not allowing himself to hope.

Harry nodded, "Do you think you might ever consider moving in with me?" he asked. "No pressure or anything, but I have an extra room," he continued, "well, five, actually. And Sirius gave me the house, so I own it, and-"

"Harry," he said softly, fingers lighting on the other man's bicep to get him to slow down. "I would love to, but I can't take advantage of your generosity."

"You wouldn't have to," he said earnestly. "If you're not paying for rent, you could maybe help with the cost of groceries, if you feel like you need to. But I don't have a ton of expenses, and I have a stupid amount of money, and a ridiculously large house for one person," he babbled. "And I just really like you," he blurted before slapping a hand over his mouth.

Draco blinked at him, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "You like me?"

Harry nodded, hand still firmly in place over his mouth.

"I like you too," he said softly. "But I don't want you to feel like I only like you because of what you can give me."

He dropped his hand, a tiny smile blossoming on his face, "I hoped you might." Harry reached over and took Draco's hand, "I don't think that you only like me for what I can give you. You see me and hear my words, you know me. I'd really like it if you stayed."

And really, who was Draco to deny Harry Potter anything that he wanted? So he stayed.

-----------------

[alittlebitofdebris]

Poverty isn't always what people imagine, and I'm facing that really hard lately.

I grew up in poverty. I boiled water for baths when the gas was almost always out.

I lit bonfires in my living room to keep warm and cook finger foods.

I went weekends without eating until I could get to school on Monday for breakfast.

My house was littered with things we didn't use or need because my mom was afraid we might one day need them and not be able afford it.

Our animals often went without food.

I'd walk an hour to the library in any weather to charge a cellphone my friend had given me.

Now, I have a nice home. My pets are well fed and spoiled as much as they can be. I have a smart phone, a computer, a TV. I have pretty things that bring me moments of joy.

I have beautiful things, neatly organized all over my home.

But still, I find myself in financial stress and all the illusions come crashing down.

My friend passively mentions a phrase I barely remember the context of, "you're kinda still living in poverty". I know this was meant for validation of my struggles. I know there was no ill intent.

But now, I find those words echoing in my mind any time I try to spend $5 on something to bring me momentary joy.

I feel the weight of guilt knowing that being mentally disabled has forced this experience on my spouse. I feel like a burden to my friends for not contributing more or needing them to spot me for lunch.

Today was the second time I woke up from dissociating on the floor of the kitchen crying. Likely, I was triggered by having no safe foods.

I hate saying I have no food, I've had no food before.

I have mayonnaise and nearly expired deli meat. I have a can of beans, some ramen and some soup that I hate that got mixed into an old grocery pick up order that I was scared to throw away or donate just in case. There are two frost bitten corn dogs left in the freezer. I have running city water to drink.

But still, I'm sobbing on the floor of my kitchen because even if I wasn't autistic, even if I could stomach a food that isn't my safe food right now, I'm still so scared.

What if I eat the last bite of food I have for a while and forget to cherish it? What if I waste it by throwing up because I'm so anxious? What if my husband needs it to have the energy to get to work?

I have 4 followers here, but the thousands of followers I have on other platforms don't seem to notice or care that I keep spiraling about this. They think the free wigs I get sent, the medicine I take, the makeup and clothes I wear...

It all makes it seem like I'm okay. I'm doing just fine. Really. The looming debt we acquired, the bad credit scores, to get to a mildly safe point in life... It all doesn't seem to occur to them.

But the truth is I'm not. I'm not okay. I'm fighting the urge to beg for donations because I don't know what other choices I have. But I hate needing help. I hate it so badly it causes me physical pain.

[teafortarry]

Ever wanna KYS bc you're net worth is negative and every day is a struggle bc of finances, but you know you can't bc you would then put your family members into debt?

Ha! Me either. ( ´;ﾟ;∀;ﾟ;)

[tuliptiger]

I think I have to shift careers or in the very least look for a different job. Which is perfect. It's literally the perfect trajectory for me and my life so far, from child to adult.

The Forest Service is such a joke, every step they take is one step closer to their grave.

It went from, within a year, to we can't hire anyone the HR hiring process is a nightmare -to- hire everyone as fast as you can as many people as you want to hire hire hire, the HR process is still a nightmare -to- a hiring freeze for ALL positions past a specific date to rejecting previously offered jobs to no hiring within the next fiscal here from now until the end of September 2025 at the EARLIEST.

I respect myself too much to stay any longer playing the seasonal position game. Financially I can't do it, they don't pay enough during the 6 months I work to last the rest of the time. I need a permanent job, I need to start planning for the future and I have a house I'm trying to finish building, 2 years into it and 1 year living out of my car.

I was able to play a game with HR to stay employed for 2 full years with a 1 month break and that 1 month was hell. I might have to look out of state or something somewhere I can't keep doing this and I'd rather die than move in with my mom or grandma again. At least I have a 6 month heads up.

[ultramarine-spirit]

I was reading the novel and this time something caught my attention that I don't know why I had overlooked it before, and that is how Athy talks about her life in the orphanage. Athy says that the children in the orphanage knew things that the children should not know, that she had to fight for what she wanted and that when she left that place she felt a kind of freedom.

To me, that screams abuse.

It bothers me that the fandom so overlooked the fact that Athy was abused not only in her first life (neglect) but also in her second life and I'm sure it must have been hell. I wish the manhwa had put more emphasis on this because many fans overlook Athy's trauma when she is literally the character who suffered the most.

Yes, to me it's canon that Athy was heavily abused in her second life. Adding to what you said, I remember her mentioning having to literally fight for food (a bowl of rice), or how they got a single sad birthday celebration per month. That's also where her initial fixiations with candy, money and her genuine love for studying come from, as Athy herself admits, she never had those kinds of luxuries (she mentions having to eat expired food in a "haha funny" way, but if you think about it for two seconds, it's just tragic. Like, she died from overdosing on sleeping pills to deal with the cold). I know a thing or two about how orphanages operate from my field of work and acquaintances, and kids in those institutions suffer from abuse in all sorts of ways while being completely ignored by society. I'm not from Korea, but going by what Plutus wrote and reading about the subject, the situation seems to be similar or even worse.

If I want to get overanalytical, part of her depression while living alone could be a consequence of the treatment she received at the orphanage. It's super common for kids in those situations to end up with depression, PTSD, having issues forming emotional connections, facing prejudice, etc. It's also canon that she was verbally and physically abused at her workplace. Athy treats her death as an accident, but in my opinion it's implied that it was a suicide, perhaps not in an "active way", but her behavior was edging the line. Which is again, common for people with that background. I think this plot point is interesting, as to my knowledge suicide is a taboo subject in East Asia. Most manhwas don't have their FL reincarnate after that.

I get what you mean, that part of Athy's trauma is often overlooked, but it probably has to do with most people not reading the novel and with Athy herself not really acknowledging it. She mentions her life as Lee Jihye at the beginning of the story, and then very rarely brings it up. But if anything, that's pretty consistent with how Athy deals with her trauma and negative emotions, refusing to acknowledge they exist until their weight is too heavy for her to endure. I like this piece of characterization a lot, but it leaves us with many questions that are hard to answer when Athy herself doesn't remember or actively tries to forget the trauma from her past lives. You could draw some parallels with Lucas and Claude's respective ways of dealing with trauma, loss and trying to forget (but Athy's mindset is more healthy and not so self-destructive lol).

Also yes, to me Athy is the character that has suffered the most by far. Not like this is a competition, but *gestures at LP* and the fact that she was a working class woman in Korea while the other characters (sans Lucas and Diana, I guess) are and always have been rich aristocrats in pseudo-France says enough /hj.

[360degreesasthecrowflies]

I saw a very difficult art exhibition today. It was photography or a photographic study of the end of life experience of some terminally ill people who lived in poverty. Even in such a situation they faced hardship from unsuitable housing including mold and overcrowding, being forced to pay hundreds of pounds to attend hospital appointments, and especially during lockdown, being locked away cruelly from their families, partners and pets, with the extent that one man mounted an escape from his end of life care hospice to return home.

It was a harrowing view and I'm still upset by it but, I believe in this world those of us not directly affected or in such a position have a responsibility to be aware of such things so that at best we can help, and at the very least we can remember. This is our duty.

The artist is Margaret Mitchell and the exhibition title is 'Cost of Dying'. A twitter handle exists relating to the stories: twitter.com/Dying_Margins

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Chapter 3: Gems

Narrated by Krista.

~Content Warning: extreme poverty, loss, depression, emotional abuse~

Narrator: Once we passed through the narrow block, there were fewer people. After so many years, this place still looked the same as it was in my memory.

Narrator: The streets were as dilapidated as it used to be, and the air was so unpleasant. The poor and sick curled up in corners, shivering, even though the freezing winter had already passed.

Krista: Why are people still suffering from the cold and starvation with all these gems?

Louis: Life indeed had been better a few years back. Some people made a living by carving gems for nobles. But last year, the royal family launched a conscription campaign, taking men and property from civilian households.

Narrator: A biting wind still lingers in the slums, as though the spring has abandoned these people. There was a half-collapsed bungalow nearby with a touch of green color peeking out of the rubble.

Krista: That was... my home...

Narrator: What happened here...? The house in my dreams, the place where I spent those happy days with my parents... It held the only comforting memories I had of my childhood...

Narrator: The bricks scattered on the ground were like the broken pieces of my past, stabbing my heart like sharp knives.

Narrator: Another half of the house still stood, though barely. Then out of a small corner emerged a barefoot girl.

Narrator: She looks so skinny and delicate, clutching a few bouquets of light-colored flowers.

Little Girl: Fresh flowers for Worship Day. Want to buy some?

Narrator: I used to be just like her... It seemed nothing had changed here. The same despair that struck me years before had befallen another innocent child.

Narrator: Tears well up in my eyes. Two glistening gems fell onto the hem of the girl’s ragged skirt.

Narrator: As I was about to hand them to the poor kid a blade was thrust before me, with the cold voice of a guard.

Guard: Gems are a gift from Arionus. Only the nobles are allowed to touch them. I’m arresting you for the illegal possession of gems!

Narrator: Louis opened his way through the guards surrounding us, and shielded me and the little girl.

Louis: Sir, can’t you recognize the envoy’s clothes? As the Day of Worship approaches, everyone should heed the gospel of Arionus.

Narrator: As soon as that was said, the arrogant guard froze. In an instant, his expression turned from a vicious scowl to a cautious frown.

Guard: Still, a lowly commoner does not have the right to touch Arionus’ gift. Since you are the envoy who serves the saintess, you should be back in the tower.

Louis: Of course. And please take these two gems back to the temple.

Narrator: Louis turned around, his eyes filled with guilt. I knew what he was trying to say, so I nodded without a word.

Narrator: The guards escorted me back to the tower as if I was a criminal. They observed me and Louis closely to see if we were lying, but none of them dared to ask.

Narrator: I thought there would be severe punishment, but the High Priest just closed the gate of the tower with a sullen look in front of the soldiers and did nothing.

Narrator: The tragedy play was no longer performed in the tower, and I never saw Louis again.

Narrator: Days felt like years inside the tower. There was even a time when I hoped that the High Priest would come and condemn me for my transgression. That’d at least give me a chance to air the grievances bottled up inside me.

Narrator: But no one came, and I found the confinement even more suffocating. Finally, the Day of Worship arrived.

Narrator: It was a sunny evening. The rays of the setting sun filled the streets of the capital city, making everything glow like gold.

Narrator: They made me put on a cumbersome gown, and sat me in an elephant-drawn carriage made of gold to be worshiped by the people of Delmond.

Narrator: I was told to keep silent. As the golden carriage passed down the street, only those well-dressed people sang loud praises of God.

Narrator: When I looked up, I saw in the distance a bunch of people in ragged clothes praying in silence. They were being shunned by the rest of the crowd and seemed so far away.

Krista: “With a devout heart, I humbly pray to you and ask for your mercy. Please see the suffering of the masses and heed their grievances...”

Krista: “Please hear my prayers and forgive our ignorance. Please shower your blessings down on us and bring Delmond back to life...”

Choose either “How ironic” or “You can’t save them.”

If “ironic,” ...

You: How ironic! Those who truly need salvation are even never allowed to approach you, the saintess!

Narrator: But it is only my wish to preserve their happiness that supported me to bear the duty in this cold tower.

If “can’t,” ...

You: The gems bestowed by you will never reach the poor. No matter how hard they pray, you can’t save them.

Narrator: But why...? Arionus’ blessings even differ among the poor and the rich?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

[enter-the-darkside]

Just need to vent

I’m still so angry at my parents. Two people that came together to have not one but three kids for the most shallow reasons. One constantly complained about us and even abndoned Youngest Sibling so I had to take care of them for a period of time while I was still a teen. The other didn’t want to talk about anything except for the stuff they liked. Neither wanted to deal with the serious or hard aspects of having a long-term connection with another person.

And now look at us. Me and my siblings are all struggling. I’m on welfare because my health matters and trauma make it hard to carry a regular job, despite doing therapy. One sibling lives with a friend but still occasionally needs help because they could only afford a small house. Other sibling is still trying to find a place and stuck with one of the parents.

I know it’s partially the shit economy’s fault and blaming people I’ve cut out of my life isn’t healthy, but I’m just so angry. Because there was probably a better version of me that could’ve existed if my parents weren’t such irresponsible scumbags. A version of me that was murdered before they could fully form.

It makes it so hard to get out of bed some days, because I’m once again waking up to the life of someone who has to live poor just to be free.

I’m sure that I will eventually rise above and make a better life for myself, but that’s not where my life is at, now.

I wish that there was something I could channel my anger towards, instead. Not little hobbies that merely distract myself, but Something truly meaningful. Healing.

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want Masterlist

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe.

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader)

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

GENERAL TRIGGER WARNINGS/THINGS YOU CAN EXPECT

18+ MDNI, SLOW BURN yandere, romantic yandere with the 4 robin boys, rest of the batfam aren't yandere but still care about you, reader is a girlfailure, ex-step siblings (the dead mother trope), reverse harem, healthy dosing of enemies to lovers, my stupid romance novel tropes, fem!reader and afab!reader, all romantic leads 18+, the graphic violence, death and other such triggers of the original series, attempted sexual assault (chpt. 3), themes of depression/suicide, family death, themes of poverty, alcohol, mentions of alcoholism, my own mix of canon because honestly the canon right now is embarrassing, atypical/soft yandere behaviour, fluff and angst, suggestive and eventual smut, an eventual shared darling/polyandry, SLOW/INCONSISTENT UPDATES (aiming for once a month)

0. - The Second Worst Birthday Ever 1. - Not Quite An Isekai 2. - First (Second) Introductions 3. - Dreams And... 4. - Nightmares Too 5. - Meet The Adams Family 6. - Round Two. Fight! 7. - Black N' White Knight

Word Count as of the Chapter 6: 37k

Series tag (anon asks, snippets, updates and actual chapters all included): #series:WWW

More important asks/FAQ

Question about the boys being romantic or platonic Another question about the boys being hesitant or not Question about Damian being platonic or yandere Questions about Bruce being platonic or yandere Important note about the ex-stepsis thing Future sneak peek ft. Dames being stupid Question about happy/sad ending Future sneak peek ft. Dick being stupid

Fanart! Please give everyone here lots of love, their work is amazing!

Tim's Introduction Jason's Introduction Reader Under The Table SceneTM Reader Before And After The Worst Birthday Ever

[caturnmoon]

Astrology Observations #2️⃣

⚠️POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNINGS!! ED’s, Poverty, Abuse, Death⚠️

☢️Saturn in the 2nd house can highlight a scarcity mindset towards money, and values. Low self esteem is possible here, and so is the potential to experience poverty at some point in life. Dramatic financial losses. Also since Saturn rules restrictions and the second house is ruled by the throat and mouth, this can indicate a history with eating disorders. I myself have this placement and have a history with Annorexia.

☢️This placement can also get better with time and wisdom, as Saturn highlights naturally. With hard work and re-alignment of values (2nd house) this placement can indicate wealth, success, and a strong moral compass. Someone who know how to handle money quite efficiently.

☢️Lilith in the 2nd house can indicate sex work, and also unorthodox means of earning money in general. (Think Pablo Escobar)

☢️Neptune in the 1st house can indicate someone who can struggle with body dysmorphia. I personally have this placement and I can confirm that I struggle with seeing myself in the mirror like others do. Neptune rules illusions and in this case this affects the physical appearance and how you view yourself (1st house). Folks with this placement can also deal with a lot of projections from others onto them. People see them how they want to see them.

☢️Uranus in the 8th house can indicate sudden gains and losses as well. Either inheritance due to loss of someone or through handling the finances of another, like a partner. This can also indicate sudden abrupt deaths too.

☢️Cancer Mars isn’t necessarily the blubbering cry babies most people I see claim they are and I get really tired of it. Lol most professional athletes have heavy cancerian influence in their charts (Michael Jordan for example) and also in mars. Cancer mars is also fiercely protective of those the love and isn’t one to fuck with in a crisis. The crab is defensive and withdraws from threats cautiously and strategically when needed. Emotions aside. This placement indicates a survivalist who thrives in times of crisis.

☢️Whatever house you have your Pluto in is more personal to you than the sign, and can highlight where you experience the most transformation in your life.

☢️Honestly I personally look to houses more in general when looking for activity that’s unique to a persons actual life rather than the sign. Not that the signs don’t matter-they do-but I feel there’s waaaayyyyyy too much emphasis on signs at times in social media.

☢️Stelliums in signs can be significant and also in houses too. It can highlight an area of life ruled by either the sign or house that will be a major area of focus for you in this lifetime.

Until next time! 👽🖖🏼

[onceuponastory]

wanted dead or alive - bucky barnes x reader

Plot: In a city ruled by the villainous and greedy Sheriff Zemo, a hero emerges - Bucky Barnes. Together with his band of merry men, they steal from the rich and give to the poor. After doing it for a while, he’s come to expect that doing so makes him less than popular with the nobles. But he never expected to meet someone like Lady Y/N. (Robin Hood!AU) Pairing: Outlaw!Bucky Barnes x Noble/Lady!Female!Reader Warnings:  Mentions of poverty and starvation, period typical sexism and classism, mentions of a potential arranged marriage, reader's parents are assholes, and Bucky and his Merry Men threatening reader at first. But as always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know! Notes: I've had this idea in the works for a while, and finally got the motivation to finish it. Thank you so much to @mrsmischief209 for helping me work out this idea, for beta reading, and for helping me decide on the Nick Fowler look for Robin Hood!Bucky 👀

Once upon a time, in a city on the outskirts of a forest, Sheriff Zemo ruled with an iron fist, casting fear over the community. Selfish and cruel, he and his henchmen found a twisted pleasure in tormenting the people, whether by having his henchmen be deliberately rough with them, or by imprisoning those who dared to speak out against him. But what brought him the most joy was rising taxes and spending the money on himself and his lavish lifestyle. As the people starved, the Sheriff, his henchmen and the nobles flourished, untouched by his laws.

However, it wasn't long before a hero emerged from the shadows, filled with unwavering determination to aid the people and break free from the relentless grip of poverty. Bucky Barnes, witnessing the people's suffering under the Sheriff's rule, couldn’t bear it anymore, so decided to take action. 

It started small - he’d discreetly sneak a few pieces of bread and cheese to people whenever he could without being noticed. As time went on, he upped his skills, and stole more and more food. As time went on, he met various allies who wanted to help his cause: Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, and others. They formed their own band of rebels, aiming to help the people. Bucky’s Merry Men. As they continued to evade capture, Bucky's determination to dismantle the system grew stronger.

Because although it felt incredibly gratifying to help feed the people, that still wasn’t enough. Zemo's men were still freely attacking and tormenting the impoverished city and its people, with no fear of punishment, imprisoning anyone who spoke out. Bucky and his men knew there was still more to do.

So, they started stealing money from the wealthy and giving it back to the poor. And with each new theft, the nobles and higher-ups grew increasingly aware of their actions.

Especially Sheriff Zemo. First, he sent his henchmen out to get them, but each time, they just evaded his grasp, skilled at hiding in the dense trees surrounding the city, Bucky and his men’s archery skills serving them well. Consumed by anger, Zemo wasted no time in ordering their capture, declaring them as outlaws and placing tempting bounties on their heads to entice the impoverished population to betray them.

Of course, nobody did. So, Bucky and his Merry Men were free to help the people as they pleased, despite the Sheriff and his incredibly powerful friends breathing down their necks.

Yet, despite how gratifying it feels to help others less fortunate than them and enrage the Sheriff in the process… instead, Bucky feels lost. Despite his hatred for the Sheriff, Bucky finds the constant pursuit of him and his men for helping others infuriating, and it only serves to reinforce how insignificant the people are to those in power, and how much they need him. And the longer he observed the people's plight, with no action taken except by him and his Merry Men, the more disillusioned he became with the world.

But most of all, despite his gratitude towards the Merry Men, he secretly dreams of finding his own love and happiness, longing to escape the hardships of poverty. But how can he ever tell them that the heroic outlaw… doesn’t want to be one, at least, not forever?

~ * ~

“Did you see you’ve got a new wanted poster, Bucky?” Steve says to him one day, throwing one over as he and the others relax in the forest, counting the things recovered from their most recent haul. 

“He’s never going to give up, is he?” Bucky laughs. He peers down at the poster, laughing. “I have to admit though, I do look pretty good this time.” He smirks, striking a pose to match the one on the poster. 

“Mhm….” Steve rolls his eyes. “Glad we can see where your priorities lie. Show off.” He teases.

“You’re just jealous you don’t have a personalised one.” Bucky smirks. “I’m just in high demand, Steve.” Steve scoffs.

“Yeah, we’re so jealous that Sheriff Zemo isn’t actively encouraging people to hunt us down just for trying to help people.” 

“Technically, he is.” Bucky retorts with a smirk. Although he can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. Although grateful for their help, this fight is his alone. He doesn't want them to be hurt because of him.

He can do this alone.

He’s used to being alone, after all. By now, he’s come to expect it.

“Don’t give us that look,” Sam chuckles. “We want to help you. We’re in this together. No arguments.”

“But-”

“But nothing.” Steve cuts him off, and the others nod. Bucky sighs, nodding. 

“Thanks, guys.” He smiles. “It means a lot, you helping me with this.”

“Oh, is the big and scary outlaw suddenly going all gushy and cute on us?” Sam laughs. Bucky rolls his eyes, but can’t deny a small pink hue forms on his cheeks.

“Shove off.” He groans. “Now, come on. Let’s get to work.”

Bucky and the others get started on their training, completely unaware of how their paths would intertwine with someone they could never have expected. Someone else also seeking an escape from their life, this time on the opposite end of the social spectrum. 

~ * ~ 

“Are you sure this is safe, my lady?” Lady Y/N’s maid Rose asks. Y/N chuckles. 

“I’ll be fine. It’s just a ride in the forest.” She smiles, smoothing down her dress. “And I told you already, you can just call me Y/N. Only my parents expect their full titles.” She groans. “I hate it. It feels so impersonal. You’re just the same as me, regardless of our upbringing.”

Despite her noble birth, her life of privilege and wealth, being taught and practically raised by maids and tutors, wearing fine silks and eating quality meals with fine wine to wash it down with…. Y/N hates every single part of it. She hates how people around them flaunt their wealth whilst others suffer, and how her family expects her to find a smug, rich husband of her own to continue the cycle. 

Unlike her parents and everyone else in their social circle, she empathises with the plight of the poor, and longs to help them whenever and wherever she could. She sees her maids as friends, rather than staff. Unfortunately for her, she can’t help as much as she wants to. Her chances of changing society and making something of herself are limited, especially as a woman.

“Remember, there’s that outlaw. He does a lot of good, but-”

“Bucky Barnes.” Y/N sighs dreamily, her eyes sparkling. “Isn’t he exciting?”

Luckily for Y/N, a respite soon appeared in Bucky Barnes and his Merry Men. After being dragged to so many fancy parties and dinners with her parents, Bucky Barnes became a hot topic amongst her parents and their social skills. Either he and his Merry Men robbed them, or they knew someone who had been targeted. Of course, Y/N pretends to be horrified by the news of Bucky and the Merry Men’s escapades, but deep down, the stories of their bravery and heroism excite her. Finally, someone who understood how she felt, someone who could challenge those in power and help others where she couldn’t. 

Bucky was a warning amongst her parents and their friends, a dangerous threat to society and to their social standing. But to Y/N, he was her saviour: someone who showed her that there was a life outside of stuffy dinners, a way to help others. She dreamt of meeting him one day, explaining her story and how she wanted to help. Of course, in her dreams, he always took her under his wing right away, helping her flourish into a member of his team.

He was her hero before she even met him. 

And of course, the fact his wanted posters make him look easy on the eyes isn’t so bad, either.

“Well, yes, but he dislikes nobles.”

“With good reason!” Y/N retorts.

“But you’re a noble.” Rose reminds her. Y/N chuckles, waving off her friend’s worries. “I’ll be fine. I won’t stray too far, I promise.” 

Before Rose can say anything else, Y/N has said goodbye and is heading downstairs. “Where do you think you’re going?” her father raises a brow, his voice booming down the hallway. 

“Just for a ride, father. Rose already knows.” She explains, trying to ignore the steady increase of her heart rate. Her father scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“I do wish you would stop calling her that.”

“That is her name, father.” She reminds him. Asshole.

“Don’t backtalk me.” He snaps. “Regardless of whether that's her name or not, it's irrelevant.” He snaps. “I won't allow you to tarnish our family name with your wish for a happy ending and your equal rights nonsense.” He scoffs. “When will you learn they are lesser than us?” 

“Father, I was just being-” she insists, but he cuts her off, his expression twisting as his anger increases.

“I don’t care.” He huffs. “I suggest that you remember your place in this world. Sooner rather than later.”

With that, he storms into the dining room, slamming the door. The sound reverberates around the hallway, making her jump slightly. Her fists clench, both with anger and upset, and she has to grit her teeth practically to dust to stop herself from going after him and giving him a piece of her mind.

How dare he speak about her friend like that?

How dare he speak about anyone like that?

The quicker she gets out of this place, the better.

And with that, Y/N races to the stables and mounts her horse, riding towards the forest. The wind blows, her horse's mane flowing in the wind as her hooves pound the ground and the sun beats down, warming her skin. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the fresh spring air. She loves it here; the tranquillity is exactly what she needs after dealing with her parents and their horrible attitudes.

Yet as she rides deeper into the forest, she does not know she’s being watched.

“Think she’s a noble?” Sam smirks. Bucky raises a brow, staring at her dress as she rides by. The dress is quite simple (at least, by noble standards), but the expensive fabric and detailed embroidery gives her away. Bucky chuckles. 

“Oh yeah. This one should be easy enough.” He grins. “Come on.” He chuckles.

In the next clearing, Y/N lets her horse take a break, fetching some water from a nearby stream whilst she relaxes. “There’s a good girl.” She chuckles, stroking her horse’s mane. Her father’s words from earlier echo in her mind:

“I won't allow you to tarnish our family name with your wish for a happy ending and your equal rights nonsense.” He scoffs. “When will you learn they are lesser than us?” 

She groans, leaning against a tree. “I just wish he could see how I feel.” She sighs. “Realise the unfairness of having your life planned before you can decide what you want. I want to make my own decisions in life.”

Suddenly, a twig snaps behind her. Y/N frowns, raising a brow. “Hello? Is somebody there?”

No answer comes, adding to her confusion. “Maybe it’s just a wild animal.” She chuckles, trying to ignore the way her heartbeat is increasing. She turns back to her horse, ready to ride back…. But then, footsteps. Y/N turns back, seeing a figure approaching. His blue eyes focus on her, and he grins. Y/N’s eyes widen.

“You’re… Bucky Barnes.” She gasps. After longing for this moment for so long, she finally has it, as if given to her on a platter.

“Indeed, I am. I see my reputation precedes me.” Bucky chuckles. 

His wanted posters don’t do him any justice. He’s stunning.

“Oh, I’m Y/N.” She nods. Bucky nods, coming closer. 

“What is your business here?” He demands. Then, she notices other men are coming out of the trees now, circling her. They all stare at her, grinning. 

And then the penny drops. 

Oh. 

Oh, shit. 

After all, Rose was right. Everyone knows what Bucky Barnes and his Merry Men do to nobles. And despite her dress being one of the more simple ones she owns, she’s not exactly inconspicuous. “Take it easy…we’re not going to hurt you. We just want your money.” Bucky says. 

“I don’t have any.” She stammers, backing away once she notices the knives strapped to his waist and the bow and arrow on his back. Bucky is her idol, but she never imagined he would endanger her, even as a noble. “Bucky, listen, I-” she urges.

“Not good enough, sweetheart.” He smirks. “You nobles are always carrying wealth, or something expensive. You just can’t help yourselves, can you? You are always flaunting your wealth. So hand it over.” He orders, his blue eyes now focused on her in a glare.

“Excuse me? You know nothing about me.” She retorts angrily. Bucky chuckles harshly.

“I don’t want to know anything about you nobles.” He scoffs. “I already know your type. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.” He’s even closer to her now, staring at her curiously, weighing up which things he can steal. “Well, it ends now.” He declares, his voice deep and husky. Y/N’s heart pounds, and she tries to remain calm, despite the men approaching her. 

She’s dreamt of meeting and helping Bucky for months. And now he’s in front of her… it’s not living up to her expectations, to put it mildly. Yet…with the way he’s sizing her up, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t still the slightest bit attracted to him.

“Bucky, please. I believe in your fight. Let me help you.” She insists. “I’m not like them.”

“Yeah, right.” Bucky scoffs. “You think you’re not the first noble to tell us this? To scream and beg that they didn’t mean to hoard all that wealth? You just couldn’t help it?” He rolls his eyes, clearly sceptical, only making her angrier. “I want to believe you, but you nobles do nothing to change it. You just sit there whilst the people suffer.”

“Because I can’t do anything!” She retorts. “What do you expect me to do? My parents don’t listen to me anyway, let alone other nobles.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. People are starving in the streets, but you and your rich friends live such pampered lives. This is only fair.” He scoffs, which infuriates her.

“For someone so keen to help others, you’re such a judgemental asshole.” She snaps. “Many things can be said about you.” She retorts. “You’re an outlaw, a filthy criminal.” She says. “Sure, you want to help people, but maybe you care more about how it boosts your image.” Bucky’s face falls, his firm resolve faltering. 

She briefly regrets upsetting him, aware of Bucky's dedication to his cause, but it fuels her determination to prove him wrong. “See, you know I’m wrong, that you can’t judge people by where they come from in life. Yet you do it to me. Being born noble does not mean I’m like them.” She says. “I despise the people around me, how greedy they are, and how willing they are to hurt others for their own gain. I try my best to help those in need wherever I can, even if it’s just treating my family’s servants with dignity.” She continues, impassioned.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like, listening to them boasting about all the money they’re making whilst the poor suffer? Being pressured to find a rich husband of my own to continue the cycle? Knowing I can’t do anything about it because I’m a woman, and nobody listens to me? I’m just expected to sit there and look pretty, because ‘I’m not smart enough for these discussions’?” 

“Well, no, but-” Bucky frowns. Of course, plenty of nobles have begged for their mercy before. It’s something he’s used to. But never like this before. This woman, she’s different, she has some fire in her.

And honestly, he likes it. 

“No. You don’t.” She snaps. “They’ve raised me to inherit a life I don’t want.” She tells them. “One full of misery. My parents want to pick out a husband for me, surely one as cruel and greedy as the other nobles.” She knows it’s not Bucky’s fault this is what her life is, but she’s using him as her escape, a way to unleash her anger. “I used to idolise you. I hear so many stories about you, about all of you,” she gestures to the Merry Men “and the good deeds you do. And whilst everyone else I know hates you, I admire you. I wanted so badly to join you. Because I understand your fight, Bucky. I want to help you. You were my escape from my life.” She admits. “But seeing you here, now? Judging me just like the way the nobles judge those lesser than them? And how they judge you? Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” She scoffs. “So fine. Take my necklace and keep doing what you’re doing, believing we’re all horrible people.” 

Silence hangs in the air as she finishes up, with Bucky and the Merry Men all watching her intently. “That was…quite the speech.” Bucky chuckles, lost for words. Heat spreads across her cheeks. Now she’s definitely going to get it.

“I was just…” Bucky shakes his head, smiling.

“No, no, please.” He reassures her. “You may be right. Perhaps we have become too judgemental over the years.” He nods. “You really mean that? You want to help us?” He asks, his voice softer. Y/N smiles. 

“Yes, I do.” She agrees, and Bucky nods. 

“Excuse me for a moment.” He steps back from her, calling his Merry Men into a huddle. They murmur amongst themselves. Y/N raises a brow, trying to discern what they’re saying.

“Are you sure about this?” One asks incredulously. “She’s still a noble.”

“She’s right though.” Sam nods. “We can’t do what we do and judge her, too. We barely know her.”

“And she told us she empathises with our fight and told us to just take her jewellery! They never do that.”

“I don’t know. We can’t just take her word for it. What makes you think she’s so believable?” 

“I don’t know. I just have a feeling.” Bucky smiles at his words, and Steve chuckles.

“Oh. I see.” He grins. “Well, I’m in if you are, Bucky.”

“Me too.” Sam nods. Other Merry Men nod, and soon Bucky realises that most of the Merry Men want Y/N to help them. 

He has a good feeling about this.

~ * ~

Soon, Bucky walks back over to her. Y/N watches curiously, hoping he didn’t notice her staring.

“I was expecting you to make a break for it.” He admits, seeming genuinely surprised. “Most of them do.”

“I told you.” She chuckles, the sound a happy burst through the trees. “I’m not like most nobles.” Bucky smiles.

“I can see that,” he whispers. “you’re special, Lady Y/N.” 

“Oh no, please just call me Y/N.” She shakes her head. “My title sounds so formal. I hate it.” But she won’t deny how good it feels to have her title leaving Bucky’s lips. It even makes her stomach flutter.

“You’re really challenging my expectations.” He chuckles. “Anyway, my Merry Men and I were talking, and…”

“And?”

“If you’re serious about helping us… we’d like to take you up on your offer.”

“Really?” she gasps. 

“Consider it a test of sorts, to see your true character, and if you really mean what you say.” She nods. Whilst it still stings to know they don’t fully trust her, this is good. It’s a start, an opportunity to prove herself. And besides, even if she’s not enough for them, at least she’s helping others… and getting to see the incredibly cute outlaw as she does. “We were thinking you could spy for us. Go to your fancy parties, listen in to their conversations, and report back to us.”

“Perfect. I can do that.” She nods. The thought of going back to those unpleasant parties with older men makes her stomach churn, but at least there is some potential for good to come from it. Bucky holds his hand out, and she shakes it.

Despite being an outlaw, his hands are surprisingly soft.

“Well, Y/N.” He says, a smile playing on his lips. “Welcome aboard. Let’s see what you’re capable of.” He chuckles, a glint in his eye.

~ * ~

Wanna see some more Robin Hood!Bucky? 👀

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[hoe4sports]

So Long, London

Leah Williamson x reader

A/N: Please be sensitive about this. This is how i grew up and I’m going through a rough patch with my mother. This is based on «So Long, London» by Taylor Swift. Feel free to listen to the added song as you read this for extra feelings. Even if you dont like her, take a listen.

Summary: You grow up with a mother that refuses to work. You have to leave football to pay rent at 11. Your mother tells you that life is supposed to be hard. Until one day, Leah’s dad tells you that it’s not supposed to be this hard.

Warnings/triggers: Angst. Childhood poverty. Verb abuse.

I saw in my mind fairy lights through the mist,

I kept calm and carried the weight of the rift,

Your hand was trembling on the door handle. It was hard to sort out if it actually was your hand that was trembling from nervousness or your whole body from exhaustion. Tears pressed on your eyelids, but you knew better. Your lungs opted for a deep breath to stop the shaky breaths that had been running wild since you started walking back home from work.

It was cold outside. The kind of cold that leaves your body shivering so bad that when you finally get inside, it feels like your core is frozen. God, you think. You are so tired. Yet, you cant seem to enter your own house. Well, it’s not really your house. It’s your mother’s house that she rents. Actually, she rents but you pay.

You take a deep breath before pulling yourself together. Building up your invisible shield to protect you from your own blood. Not physically, but mentally. “Just one more month”, your mother says. She says that every month. And every month, you believe her. The believing her is what keeps you going. “Just one more month, then you can focus on middle school again.” That’s what your mother always say. She has been telling you that for years. You continue to believe it. Maybe she will try to get a job next month. Except, she won’t.

“Life is supposed to be hard” is what your mother would always reply like it was the solution to all the problems in the world. To her, it was. To you, it was the cause of all your problems. You are only 11. You are supposed to be playing in the sun with your girlfriends from school. You are supposed to be chasing your dreams with your team. You are supposed to like to dress up in pretty dresses. You are supposed to go to tournaments with you bestfriends, Leah, Ella and Alessia. You are supposed to be free from adulting worries. You are supposed to be a child. But you cant. Your mother refuses to work, and your baby sister needs roof over her head. And your mother refuses. So you work. Because it’s just, one more month.

You are lost in your thoughts when your hand opens the door startling you. Your feet step inside the hallway, but it feels like your head is still outside. Like it’s floating away like a balloon, a million miles above your house. Your trembling hands puts your backpack down before it quietly unzips your coat. It’s soaked. But that is expected, you have been walking with the news paper for hours. The shoes on your feet gets neatly put away in the shelf. But you stop. You take them and the coat with you into your room, not wanting to take up too much space.

When you make it to your bedroom, you feel safe. It’s not really a bedroom, it used to be a pantry but it fits a bed and a small desk. It’s sad that it doesn’t have windows, but you like it regardless because it keeps the cold somewhat out. The coat gets put up on the pole of your bed and the shoes gets put next to the wall. You take your backpack off and place it down infront of you. The coldness of your hands are still present, but it’s okay. Life is supposed to be hard. You unzip your backpack to find the contents soaked, again. Your belly hurts. You promised your teacher to keep your books dry. Now, they are ruined. They are falling apart at the seam. You try to place it on your desk, standing up while you spread the pages hoping it will dry. Maybe you can try to glue it close when you get to school.

The door creaks and your head freezes. “Did you make any money tonight?” Your mother asks. You nod before emptying your pockets. 110 punds. Your shaking hand offers them to your mother. She smiles. She always does when you give her the money she needs. “Thank you, don’t stay up too late” she says as she leaves the room. You cant help but frown. You are so painfully tired. You get up at 5 every morning. You walk your neighbour, Mrs. Tiller’s dog for 5 p every morning. Then, at 6, you walk to school. You reach school just before 8. Your mother used to drive you. Then when she couldn’t afford the car, you catch the bus. But the cost of tickets rised, so now you walk. School is over at 4 every day. Then you walk home. Usually, you are home around 6.30 because you are tired. It forces you to walk slower. Sometimes you stop and sit on a bench to rest. Around 7, you head out to give out the news papers for tomorrow. There was no routes available close to your house, and most people won’t hire an eleven year old. So you take what you get given. From 7 to 11.30, you walk with the news papers. Sometimes, you get tips, explanations if it rains or if you are sick. Because people feel bad for you. But you don’t care, because life is supposed to be hard. Your eyes are tired as you try to do your homework from you soaked books. You end up sitting at your desk, close to falling asleep. But, it’s okay, you think. It’s only for one more month. Expect, it isn’t.

And you say I abandoned the ship,

But I was going down with it,

You are now 14. One more month, your mother still says. Every time you tell her that you feel like you can’t catch your breath. Just one more month. You now know that’s not true. That it’s forever. But you smile and keep quiet. You never make a fuss. You pretend to believe her. As long as you pay the rent, your mother doesn’t care. But, life is supposed to be hard, so it’s okay. You skip school to work at the local gas station. But your mother doesn’t know that you work there. She thinks you still walk with newspaper. It hurts to lie to her. She likes you, she says. But, she loves your sister.

Your mother hates lying. She yells at you if you lie. But your boss is your friend Leah’s dad. He gives you one check a month. Just enough to cover the rent. But he pays for your football with your friends. And he sneaks you cash when he can. That way, your mother doesn’t get suspicious. It hurts to lie, you think. It makes you feel on edge. Like you are always on guard. Like someone will come rip it all away from you. But it’s okay, life is supposed to be hard.

One day, you come home from work and from practice. You make sure to not come home too early. So you wait at the field, not wanting to cause any suspicion in your mother. It’s the same routine still. You come home, bring your clothes to your room, your mother comes in to ask for money and then she leaves.

One day, that goes all wrong. You come home too soon. You don’t mean to come home too soon, but you do. The exhaustion is ripping you apart and you need to sleep. So you sneak into your room with your clothes. But you forgot to change out of the pair of hand-me-down shorts Leah’s mom gave you and you are still wearing Leah’s brother’s old club shirt. It makes your mother furious. She tells you that you are an awful kid. That you are irresponsible. That she wishes someone could come and take you away so she doesn’t have to deal with you. And you don’t say anything back, you keep your head down and let her tell you how awful you are. She forces you to change and she then takes your shorts and t-shirt away. Then she slams the door shut. And she doesn’t talk to you for weeks.

After pleading your mother to speak to you, to aknowledge you for weeks. She looks at you with disappointment in her eyes. You try to explain. Football is the only thing that brings you happiness. And your coach says that you have real talent. That you might make it. Your mother tells you that might dosent get you anywhere. That football is for immature children. That you need to be a responsible adult and work. You nod. But, you aren’t an adult. You are a child. You are 14. But, life is supposed to be hard, your mother says. And you quit football. Because life isn’t supposed to be fun. Life is supposed to be hard.

My white knuckle dying grip,

Holding tight to your quiet resentment and,

My friends said it isn't right to be scared,

Every day of a love affair.

You keep the schedule. Work-School-Work. Until you are 15. One day, you get called to the front desk. You feel scared. Maybe your mother finally got someone to take you away? So you could stop being a burden. For a split second, the thought of someone taking you away, relieves the heavy feeling you have in your gut. Maybe, just maybe, things will be better, you think. But, you find your old coach at school, Leah’s dad. Rather, he manages to pull you out of your class to talk to you. The sight of him makes you want to cry. You want to ask him to take you away. To find some other family that you can live in. Maybe one of the group homes you learn about in social studies isn’t that bad. But you lie. You tell him, The joy you felt playing football is gone. And you haven’t been able to feel that kind of joy since. But you tell him that it’s okay. That life is supposed to be hard.

He frowns and shakes his head. He says that life isn’t supposed to be this hard. That kids needs to get to play and have fun. That you aren’t supposed to work when you are 11. That your mother is supposed to be working. You think about believing him. That his word might be true. But you remember. Your mother warned you. That people will try to convince you otherwise. So you shut him down. You tell him that you just don’t life football anymore. That it’s boring. But all you want to do is cry.

You turn your back to him while he calls your name. But you continue walking all the way down the hallway. To the left and then up the stairs. To the right and to your classroom. You quietly slip into the room finding your seat, doing your best at being invisible. Leah furrows her brows at you and tries to whisper something about what happened. You try to smile to her, but it dosent look real. Not at all. You can’t really smile anymore. Because you are so tired. You work all day and do homework all night. Your grades suffers from that. But, you think that it’s okay. Life is supposed to be hard, you think.

A week later, after working a night shift, you go back to school. Still in the same clothes as yesterday. When you get into your classroom, you slip quietly into your spot next to Leah. She smiles at you. And you try to smile back. But, you are just so tired. She asks you if you are okay. And she knows about your mother. She asks if your mother is being tough on you. You think about telling her the truth. But you just shrug. You smile sadly at her, and tell her that life is supposed to be hard.

When you get to work that night, Leah and her dad is there. You light up. Are you working tonight, you ask. But you know the answer. She dosent work. She doesn’t have too. She focus on football. On getting better. On being a child. Leah’s dad shakes his head. He says that it has gone on too long. That you need help. That your mother needs help. You feel offended. You don’t need help, you think. You pay the rent, you think. You are responsible. But when you want to argue with him, Leah looks at you with her warm smile. She asks if you want to sleep over. And you think about it. Your mother wouldn’t know. But you have work, you tell her. She looks at her father, he says you can have the night off. You can’t afford that, you say. But he smiles, he says that he will make sure you get pained. So you agree. To go home to Leah and sleep at her place.

When you get to her house, it’s like you want to cry. You get a warm bath with bubbles and bathbombs. As you dry off, you smell dinner. Her mom has made your favourite. Spaghetti and meatballs. Red sauce. Salad and garlic bread with Parmesan. You look at the dinner on the plate and you dig in. The feeling of being full is something you don’t really get a lot, so you feel tired and warm and fussy. You and Leah go to bed in her room. But before you do, Leah needs to go get her backpack from the car. While you wait, her mom pulls you aside. She tells you that you can always tell her if you need help. If you need somewhere to stay. That she thinks of you as her second daughter. And if it wasn’t for you being so full and warm and fluffy inside, you would��ve gotten angry. But you don’t. You thank her. Then Leah comes back and you go to her bedroom. Her nice room with soft carpets. And curtains. And a nice mirror with lights on them. She even has a big bed with two nightstands. You borrow some soft pyjamas. They look brand new, and you decline. But Leah says it’s okay. That she can get new ones. So you accept. Leah has already fallen asleep. So you scoot into her for comfort. Her soft snores are comforting, you think. And you cuddle up to her. She wraps her hands around you in her sleep. Like when you were kids. She’s still your bestfriend. You close your eyes. But you hear the door of Leah’s bedroom going up. You open one of your eyes slightly. Just enough to see, but not enough to let them see that you are awake. It’s her mom. She comes in. She kisses Leah’s forehead. She moves around to your side and kisses your forehead too. Then she wraps the comforter around you both. Just like she did when you were kids. But you still are kids. You feel confused as you lay there with closed eyes. Maybe life isn’t supposed to be this hard.

The next morning, you get ready together. You get another shower and you borrow some of Leah’s clothes. They are nice and warm. You don’t really have warm clothes anymore. It’s too expensive. But Leah’s parents takes care of her, and of you. Her dad has already turned on the car to warm it up before he drops you off at school. When you stand in the kitchen, waiting for Leah. Her mom looks at you with tears in her eyes. She tucks your hair behind your ear. And you feel the tears pressing too. You throw yourself around her. She hugs you back as you cry. And she holds you. You look up at her while you shake. You both know that you are not going back to your mothers house. But you don’t know what to say.

Maybe life isn’t supposed to be this hard, you say. And Leah’s mother understands.

So how much sad did you think I had,

Did you think I had in me?

How much tragedy?

Just how low did you think I'd go?

Before I'd self-implode,

Before I'd have to go be free

You sit across from your mother. It’s an office. It’s bright and white and clinical. You stay with Leah’s parents now. And you don’t work. But you play football again. Your mother crosses her arms as the therapist talks. You look down at your shoes. The eyes of your mother is burning into your chest. You feel a cry gather up in your throat. And you want to run away. To hide. To never come back. A part of you wishes you never asked for help. But a part of you knows that, if you didn’t get help. If Leah’s mother didn’t help you. You wouldn’t be here’s

She’s making up things, your mother says. You don’t bother arguing. You just stare at the floor while your mother takes a verbal stab at you infront of the therapist. She’s irresponsible, she’s says. Ungrateful, she says. The anger is building up in her voice. And you feel scared. Like when you were 11. And walked the streets to hand out the newspaper. In the middle of the night. To pay rent. But you don’t say anything. You just look at the therapist. She raises a brow at you. And you nod.

The therapist smiles and stands up. A second later , Leah’s mom comes into the room. There aren’t any chairs close to you. But, she sits next to you. Moving the chairs around, arranging for you to feel safe. It’s nice, you think. Leah’s mom is perfect. She is kind. Helpful. And she won’t say mean things about you. Not even when you aren’t there. Her hand takes yours. It’s magical, you think. You feel safer. Warmer. Stronger. Just as if her hands have superpowers.

The therapist continues on talking. You can’t really underatand everything. You are just tired. Even though you have stayed at Leah’s for a few weeks, you still feel tired. Leah’s mom got worried, so she took you to the doctor. You hadn’t really been there before, but she came with her. The doctor did tests and took you blood. Then he told you that you were burned out. That he was pulling you out of school for a few weeks. That you needed to do something fun. Fun to you was football. Or used to bed but it was too late to play now. You got scared, but Leah’s mom said that she was gonna take care of it. You felt scared to believe her, but you did. And she took care of it. You got a tutor that helped you better your grades. You started football with Leah, and you loved it again. You feel like you might die if you have to go to your mother again.

The therapist talks. Leah’s mom says that you are kind. That you help out at home without being told to. That she sometimes stops you from overworking yourself. That she reminds you to be a kid. That you are respectful. And polite. And, easy to love. You feel warm inside when Leah’s mom talks about you. But you can see your mother’s face when you look up. She is angry. Her face is tight. And she’s smirking at you in a way that scares you, like payback.

The therapist then talks to you. He asked you questions and you don’t really know the answers to anything. You shrug and hold on to Leah’s mom. To comfort. To her love. The room is silent as you mother looks at you. Leah’s mom looks at you. The therapist looks at you. You gulp before looking your mother in her eyes. You hold Leah’s mom tight. Life isn’t supposed to be this hard, you say.

You swore that you loved me but where were the clues?

I died on the altar waiting for the proof,

You sacrificed us to the gods of your blues

You stay with Leah’s parents. Permanently, you decided. You get new clothes. And a bedroom with fairy lights. And carpets. And a desk. And a big bed. And clothes. And cleats and workout clothes. Even a new phone and a computer for your school work. You like it, but you feel scared. Maybe this is too much, you think. Maybe you are too expensive, you worry. But Leah’s mom reads your mind. She assures you that you deserve a space for you. That you need things. A room. Clothes. That you deserve dignity.

Life gets better from here. When Leah celebrates her 16th birthday with your 16th birthday, you feel sad. You don’t know many people. But you are happy for Leah. Because her family is coming over with gifts for her. You decide to wait upstairs as you sniffle before putting your new summer dress on. It’s pink and it’s the nicest dress that you own. The only dress you own. You hear Leah callling from downstairs, and you feel embarrassed that you made her wait for her gifts so you hurry down. But you stop mid stairs. Leah’s family has gather at the bottom of the stairs. They have gifts and cake and balloons in their hands. And they all yell, surprise! It makes you confused until Leah comes up and grabs your hand. She tells you that it’s your gifts. Your cakes. Your ballons. And your family. You feel grateful as you tear up. You blow your candles for the first time ever and her family hugs you. It feels safe. It feels like home. Home with Leah and her family.

She’s your bestfriend. But after your birthday party. You lay in the big swing in the garden together. Looking at clouds. Hearts. Starts. Balls. Cats. The skies has shapes. You haven’t really noticed it before. Leah grabs your hand as you both lay there. And you grab hers. It feels safe with Leah. She has been your bestfriends since you went to kindergarten together. But that changes. Leah kisses you. And you kiss her back. And suddenly, you are girlfriends.

At night, you get your makeup off and put your new soft pjs on. You start to think that this life is good. This is how life was supposed to be. And you feel like you might have accepted it. That it’s okay to feel happy. That this is what a family feels like. You start brushing your hair before preparing to braid it. You sit in the chair watching your hands brain in the mirror. You hear your phone buzz, and you look at it. It’s your mother. For the first time in a year. And you spiral. Immediately bursting into Leah’s room and her arms. She holds you tight. Her mother brings tea and you watch a movie together. Eventually, you pass out from exhaustion. And Leah, deletes the message. Leah says, life isn’t supposed to be this hard before she kisses the top of you head keeping you safe.

And I'm just getting color back into my face,

I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place,

For so long, London

You are 17 now, and you finally got an offer to play for a club. You and Leah, got an offer together. But you don’t know how to feel. You are leaving to play. Leah is playing for Arsenal. She has been for a year. You got accepted into the girls under 18’s squad, but you made big progress. You didn’t think that it could be this good, that you deserved a life like this. But here you are. Leah’s mom and dad comes to every game. If you and Leah play at the same time; they split up so you can have someone there for you. You are scared to admit it, but you love it.

But now, Barcelona is knocking on your door. Leah’s door aswell. Leah has set her heart to leave. Barcelona is the greatest women’s club in the world, and she is one of the greatest players of her age. You are not there yet, but you get there eventually. But you don’t know that yet.

You feel scared. If Leah leaves and you stay behind, then she might break up with you. But she reassures you that she won’t. Because she loves you. And she chose you. Then you feel scared again. If Leah leaves and you stay behind, then where are you gonna stay. Leah’s mom laughs and says that this is your home too. That you can stay here for as long as you wish before you grow up. She says that you can go and come back if it gets too much.

That makes you feel safe. Leah’s family makes you feel safe. Her dad helps you make a decision. He tests your speed. Your strength. Your one vs one. Your dribbles. Your shots. Your agility. He watches Barcelona’s games on the tv with you. You analyse the team together taking notes to see if it matches with your current shape.

After a week, you call Barcelona back. You hang up after the call feeling empty as you walk down stairs. Leah sits down in the living room with her mom and her dad. They all look at you. Her dad looks worried. Leah looks terrified. Her mom smiles at you, like she always does. Always creating a safe heaven for you.

You gulp. Leah asks you, did you decline, she says. You swallow as you sight. Tears starts to press on your eyelids and your phone feels like it burns holes in your pockets. Leah takes a step towards you. You can see tears in her eyes too. You let out a breath and look at her.

Life isn’t supposed to be this hard, you say. I am going with you to Barcelona, you confirm and Leah breaks out in a huge smile. She pulls you in for a hug. Her mom and dad hugs you both at the same time. Your mom and dad hugs you both at the same time. A family hug.

A moment of warm sun,

But I'm not the one,

So long, London

You stare at your bags. You stare at Leah’s bags. Your dad looks at the bags before he starts shuffling them around to fit into the trunk of his car. Somehow, he makes it happen. You have dinner together for the last time. Spaghetti, meatballs, salad, garlic bread with Parmesan. Your favourite. It feels like the end of an era. You feel stronger now. Like you have grown into a woman. You have more respect for yourself now.

After dinner, you all drive to the airport. Ready to take on the world together. You and Leah, in your new apartment in Barcelona. As you pass through busy London streets, you pass people. Elders, youngsters, families and kids. You pass stores like Claire’s and primark. You pass a football field with little girls playing football. It makes you smile. You think about how one of those girls might be the next big thing. How all they need is one person who believes in them. One person to change it all.

You look over at Leah who is asleep. She always does this, falls asleep in rides. Trains, cars or planes; she always falls asleep. You grab your phone and go to the message section. You decide to type in a message. The message is to your mother, former mother. You tell her that you are moving to Spain. To play football with Leah. That your parents are diving you to the airport. That you hope she rottens away alone. And to never contact you again.

As you press send; you block her number. You look up when it’s done feeling 100 kilos lighter. Outside, the rain suddenly dries up and sun breaks through the heavy sky. You lower your shoulders as you breathe in the London smell for the last time, at least for a while. It’s good. You know that this is the start of your life. This is you prioritising you. That this is what you need. A place to call home, that doesn’t have any memories of your former mother.

At the airplane, you get to sit next to the window. You put your phone in airplane mode and watches as the flight takes off. The trees becomes small underneath you. The houses becomes like small sheds. The horses looks like grains of rice and you look over to Leah who is fast asleep holding you hand. You smile as you turn your head back to the window. The sun is shining more and more as you move higher up. You look at the familiar landscape while it disappears and whisper underneath your breath,

So long, London.

[cemeteryspider]

Counting Cards

Beginnings of Remy Lebeau x Fem! Mutant! Omni-Perception! Reader

Summary: You meet the one and only Gambit while counting cards at a blackjack table in New York.

Trigger Warnings: Manipulation, Mentioned Financial Hardships, Gambling, Threats of Violence

Word Count: 1.7k

You had once been a hopeful dreamer, a girl with aspirations beyond the impoverished streets of your hometown. But desperation often has a way of grinding the edges of ambition and of making sacrifices that would seem unthinkable in the cold light of day. The multi-millionaire you now worked for was the epitome of this sacrifice- a devil’s bargain struck in the shadows in an attempt to pull your family from poverty and homelessness. 

Draped in the guise of glamor, platinum blond hair that cascaded down your shoulders and a dress that clung to your every curve, you became a fixture of opulent casinos around the world. Your role was simple yet complex at the very same time, to work the system, to be alluring to wealthy men, and to subtly manipulate the games in their favor. Your powers that you once tried to hide from your few friends and family became your best asset, heaviest burden, and the thing allowing you to save said family. 

This casino’s ambiance in particular was a symphony of loud laughs, hushed whispers, clinking chips, shuffling cards, and soft hum of slot machines. You sat next to a man in a three piece suit, your perfectly rehearsed giggle punctuated the air as you played the role of doting oblivious girlfriend. The subtle squeeze of his bicep or playful slap on his shoulder after a crude joke were all part of the act. Beneath this ignorant charade, your keen eyes kept track of every card dealt, every chip moved, and every twitch of the dealer’s fingers. 

As the count turned positive, you leaned closer, your breath warm against the client’s ear as you rubbed his back in a soothing, almost hypnotic motion. He raised the bet and the game continued. The soft trail of your fingers on his thigh signaled him to play cautiously, to avoid drawing too much attention to the two of you. His decision to stand earned a small, approving smile from you, a reassurance he was making the correct choice. The dealer's cards came into play, and your silent communication continued, your touch a subtle command to the man beside you.

Your powers were a delicate instrument, a secret weapon that influenced the game in ways no one else could detect. The thrill of winning by proxy was intoxicating, but it came with a bitter aftertaste on your tongue. The money wasn’t for you; the small amount you earned went to your family, trapped in a cycle of dependency and fear, their safety hanging by a thread. 

The final hand was dealt. Your eyes flickered briefly, a faint glow that only those who knew what to look for would notice. Just then, a tap on your shoulder pulled you from your intense focus. A tall figure stood behind you, his presence commanding and enigmatic.

"Would you come with me, ma'am?" His voice was thick with a Cajun accent, smooth and charismatic. You turned, a polite smile forming on your lips even before you met his eyes. His auburn hair was tied back in a messy bun, and his irises glowed a striking red against the blackness of his sclera. Recognition flashed in your mind—this was Gambit, a mutant you had seen on TV, a member of the X-Men.

"Sure, let me just grab my purse," you replied with practiced calm. As you whispered a quick instruction to your partner to cash out and leave, you felt a pang of unease. What was Gambit doing here? And what did he want with you?

As you followed him through the labyrinthine hallways of the casino and into the adjacent hotel, you noticed the careful avoidance of security cameras and the strategic use of crowded areas. It was a well-practiced maneuver, one you recognized from your own experience.

In a quiet room on the first floor, the door closed behind you with a soft click. The tension in the air was palpable. Gambit, with his easy smile and relaxed posture, seemed unfazed.

"Usually, I wait until the third date to go back to a man's hotel room," you joked, trying to mask your nerves.

He chuckled, a deep, rich sound. "Nah, chere, we've been watchin' you," he said, his eyes locking onto yours. Your heart skipped a beat. How long had they been observing you? How much did they know?

"What do you mean?" you asked, your voice betraying a hint of unease. It was rare for you to be caught off guard, but this situation was beyond anything you had prepared for.

"Gambit, my name, chere, and I work for the X-Men," he began, but you cut him off.

"The X-Men, I know. How about we get to the point?" Time was slipping away, and you knew your employer would send someone to check on you if you didn't show up soon.

He nodded, acknowledging your urgency. "The Professor has been watching you. Your abilities are bein', let's say, misspent on petty crimes and swindlin'."

You considered his words carefully. Charles Xavier, the Professor, was a renowned advocate for mutant rights, a figure of immense power and influence. His offer carried weight, but it also came with strings attached.

"So, you want me to join your little team?" The question hung in the air, heavy with implications.

"Gambit was hopin'," he replied, his voice sincere.

You scoffed, shaking your head. "I'm not doing this for myself. I'm doing this for my family." The words came out sharper than you intended, a defense mechanism born of years of hardship.

You turned to leave, but Gambit's hand on your shoulder stopped you. "We know, chere. That's why we've brought them to the mansion. They're safe, chere."

For a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Your family—safe? It was a concept you had almost given up on. The weight of his words hit you like a tidal wave, your shoulders slumping under the sudden release of tension.

"What?" The question was barely a whisper, your voice breaking with emotion. Could it be true? After everything you had done, everything you had sacrificed, could your family finally be free?

"We're tryin' to take down the people you owe. In doin' that, we found you. Would you come to the mansion with me? No funny business, I swear, chere," Gambit said, his eyes holding a promise of safety and a fresh start.

The ride to the X-Mansion was a blur of emotions and half-formed thoughts. Gambit kept the conversation light, sharing stories of his past life in New Orleans, a thief navigating a world of shadows and secrets. You found yourself opening up, recounting tales of casinos and the intricate cons you'd pulled off. It was a strange, almost surreal connection, two kindred spirits from different walks of life.

As the mansion loomed into view, your heart pounded in your chest. The sprawling estate was both intimidating and inviting. Stepping out of the car, you saw your family on the lawn, your younger siblings playing tag, your parents looking more relaxed than you had seen them in years. Relief washed over you, bringing tears to your eyes. They were safe.

But as you reunited, the reality of the situation set in. Your family couldn't stay; the dangers were too great. They needed to leave the country, to start anew far from the reach of those who might seek revenge. It was a bittersweet moment, the joy of their safety tempered by the knowledge that you might have to part ways.

The Professor, Charles Xavier himself, approached you. His presence was calm and reassuring. "Or you could stay here," he offered, his voice gentle but firm. "Learn to use your powers, control them effortlessly for good. Be a part of my X-Men."

You stood at the edge of the mansion's expansive lawn, watching your family with a mixture of relief and heartache. The sight of your younger siblings laughing as they played, your parents' shoulders finally free of the burdens they'd carried for so long, filled you with a profound sense of peace. But beneath that peace, there was an undercurrent of something more—a longing for a life that meant something beyond survival and crime.

The choice before you was clear, yet impossibly difficult. The urge to stay with your family was strong, an instinctual pull toward the people you had fought so hard to protect. But as you looked at the X-Mansion, you felt the stirrings of a different kind of desire—the desire to be more than a pawn in someone else's game, to use your abilities for good and perhaps even change the world.

You took a deep breath, your decision solidifying in your mind. Turning to your family, you saw understanding in their eyes. They had always known the risks, the sacrifices. But they also knew the strength of your spirit, the potential you had yet to unleash.

With a sudden burst of emotion, you ran towards them, wrapping them in a fierce embrace. They hugged you back tightly, their warmth and love surrounding you. It was a moment of silent communication, a farewell and a blessing all at once. They understood your choice, even if it meant a painful separation.

Pulling back, you looked into their eyes, your voice steady but filled with emotion. "I would love to join you guys. Maybe change the world one day."

There was a beat of silence, then Gambit, who had been watching quietly from the sidelines, stepped forward. His eyes sparkled with approval, a lopsided grin on his face. "Good choice, chere," he said, his voice carrying a note of camaraderie and promise.

You nodded, feeling a sense of resolve wash over you. This was the start of a new chapter, a chance to reclaim your autonomy and forge your own path. As you watched your family wave goodbye and drive away, you felt a mixture of sadness and hope. They were safe, and so were you. But more importantly, you were free to finally make your life your own.

With a deep breath, you turned toward the mansion, your new home and the place where your true journey would begin. You were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, to fight for a better world alongside the X-Men. As you walked through the mansion's grand doors, you felt a sense of purpose you had never known before. You were no longer just a player in someone else's game; you were a hero in the making, with the power to change the world.

[keepittoyourshelf]

Since the algorithm on my various socials thinks I actually want to see a ton of people simping over Rhys and ACOTAR, let’s get down to the bones of why that algorithm is fucked beyond all comprehension, shall we?

I’ve never hidden the fact that I’m pro-Tamlin, not in the sense that I approve of what he did, but from the place that I believe he’s worthy of forgiveness in the same way any of the men that SJM otherwise glorifies in her work is worthy of it for any of their transgressions.

I shouldn’t have to do a paint by numbers thing here to make this obvious, but based on the actual text written by SJM in her own words, Tamlin has objectively done nothing better or worse than Rhysand has.

The big complaint is his temper, of course, and pro-Rhysies love to bullshit about how the red flags were all over book 1 and SJM is such a master at foreshadowing.

He locked Feyre in a house against her will to protect her, when she clearly didn’t want to be caged. How is that any worse than Rhysand…drugging her and making her give him lap dances, in order to protect her, when she clearly didn’t want to be dancing naked in front of strangers?

Go on. I’ll wait for your rationalization.

Rhysand’s whole shtick was that he’s only playing the villain to keep Velaris (and only Velaris) safe…those fucks in the Hewn City can eat a bag of dicks, right? But tell me again how Tamlin is the really bad one for enforcing a tithe because it’s unfair to those who can’t afford it (fair point). But Rhysand chooses to save the one city in his court that has zero problems. Let’s let those that might already be suffering from poverty get kidnapped and tortured by a psychopath. That’s probably better than a tithe, right?

And let’s not forget how Tamlin mocked Feyre and Rhys at the High Lords meeting. While funny, it was in poor taste. At least Rhysand didn’t publicly mock Tamlin. He had the decency to do it privately when he went out of his way to go to a deeply troubled man’s house and, in the midst of an obvious mental health crisis, not only had the gall to ask for resources from a man that has no resources because his own wife fucking destroyed them out of spite, but proceeds to rub in his triumph over a man that has nothing left. Nothing to see there, right?

Even if you could ignore all of that (and you’d have to be willfully fucking thick to do so, which a lot of these people are), I shall leave you with Tamlin’s role as a spy for Hybern. That’s obviously supposed to be a real shock because TaMliN BaD at this point, so why would anyone believe him? It’s not like he had a really good explanation like Rhys gave when he murdered literal children and innocents just to ensure Amarantha didn’t know how noble he actually was. Right? RIGHT?! And it’s not like anyone would have a harder time believing someone who had played evil and done actually evil things for the “greater good” (a collectivist dog whistle if there ever was one) for fifty fucking years over the dude that suddenly goes bad after being a progressive and respected high lord for the same period of time? I mean, it’s not like we’re dealing with severe mental anguish and trauma here. That’s crazy talk.

Shadow Daddy does no wrong. Even when he does. Because reasons.

Those idiots on TikTok making stupid videos showing their bf’s being all shocked and I KNEW IT when Tamlin “turns” can chew glass along with all those dipshits selling mugs that say “Tamlin’s Tears” on Etsy right next to merch glorifying a man that literally gaslit his soulmate into believing that forced drunken naked lap dances were actually a good thing, when you think about it.

SJM isn’t a master of foreshadowing. She’s a sloppy writer of moderately entertaining fiction that has a kink for glorifying severely unhealthy behaviors without the benefit of a trigger warning.

Fuck off if you think that’s all okay and think that anyone that says Tamlin isn’t any worse comparatively is the crazy one. Projection is a real disorder. Look it up. Right after you order your 543rd Rhysand candle.

[idyllic-affections]

achilles heel.

summary. the ninth harbinger takes on an... unexpected responsibility.

trigger & content warnings. references to poverty, [name] is a thief (at first), slightly ooc pantalone in some parts.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff, slight angst, hurt/comfort. pantalone & child/young teen!reader, arlecchino & child/young teen!reader. 3.4k words. they/them pronouns for reader. this fic is divided into six drabble-like sections.

author's thoughts. inspired by a silly conversation @aroacenezha and i had. i dad-ify this man a little too much but you know what? i will keep doing it idc he's so dad-able. this post is structured differently than my usual content but i think it's kind of cool!!!

i. an unexpected guest ♡

       Of all the possible unexpected things that could await the Regrator in his Snezhnaya residence—one of them, at least; the amount of properties he owned was certainly more than what one could count on both hands—this was... most definitely among one of the more shocking.

       He was speechless, really.

       "Please do humor me. How did you manage to get in?"

       Of all the unexpected things that could await the Regrator in his his home, in his office of all places... thievery in and of itself wasn't unexpected; rather, it was the fact that standing in front of him was undoubtedly a child no older than fourteen. Not only that, but additionally the fact that they were actually standing in his office. They had not been caught. A child, no older than fourteen, possessed more skill than all of the others in the past who had made poor attempts to steal from him.

       "You need better security"—they shrugged, making him somewhat annoyed at their nonchalance—"I really thought it would be hard to rob the richest man on Teyvat. It was harder to rob Lady Ningguang. I actually had to abandon that job, you know? Couldn't get to the Jade Chamber."

       Again, he was left absolutely speechless.

       Being compared to Ningguang made a bitter taste settle in his mouth. He made a mental note to drastically improve the quality of his security.

       "You..."

       "What? It's not my fault all of your agents are incompetent."

       They weren't wrong, he supposed. His agents surely could do better at their jobs. Their smugness still irritated him, though. "Do you routinely rob the wealthy?"

       They scoffed. "You all are hoarding wealth that should never have been yours in the first place. Archons forbid I steal from wicked people who couldn't possibly care less about anyone but themselves... Get over yourself. Seriously."

       He genuinely couldn't tell if they had no sense of danger or if they simply had that sheer amount of audacity by nature. Though, admittedly, he did have to respect the fact that they managed to sneak in completely undetected. If not for his sudden appearance, they most likely would have gotten away with it. Their audacity did irk him a little, but... that was also something he had to respect. It was impressive in its own right. No average Snezhnayan child would so much as dream of talking to a Harbinger the way they did oh-so effortlessly

       It did occur to him, however, that they did not look well-off; they were not the average Snezhnayan child.

       Their hair looked as if it had been haphazardly and unevenly chopped off so that it was too short to become tangled (he did recall doing such a thing himself—at the lowest point in his life, taking care of his hair was a useless endeavor, solely because it did not help better his chances of survival). They were clothed decently enough in layers adequately thick to keep themselves from freezing which, indeed, was also something he understood on a nauseously personal level.

       Most of the mora he managed to earn in his unfortunate youth was invested in... not freezing to death. Through them, he was forced to once again acknowledge his past, a past he endeavored to forget about because it made him feel pathetic.

       ...Or maybe it made him feel like an impostor in his wealth?

       What kind of sick twist of fate had the Archons cursed him with, forcing him to think about such trivial things?

       He should punish them. He should arrest them. He should send them off to Dottore and never spare them another thought ever again, even, but... somehow, he didn't want to. Much as he may have acted as if he couldn't possibly know why, he did.

       The brat reminded him sickeningly of himself.

       "Where do you think you're going?"

       They were half out of his window when he called out to them, having taken advantage of his pondering.

       "To sell what I've taken?"

       He almost rolled his eyes. Almost, but didn't. That would have been immature and inelegant of him. "Come here."

       They would have just left, but truthfully, it would not have been a smart move on their behalf. The only reason they had not yet been caught and apprehended was simply because no-one had spotted them in the first place. Not a single one of their 'victims' had managed to catch a glimpse of them. Now that a Harbinger had seen them...

       They figured it was in their best interests to avoid being pursued by anyone with that much power, especially by someone like Pantalone. A man with that much political influence was dangerous.

       "Show me what it is that you've taken."

       They did.

       A letter opener, a few picture frames... Nothing significant or extremely expensive (though, to them, anything at all from his office would likely be of high value), which is what left Pantalone completely perplexed. He honestly hadn't even noticed that anything was missing from his office when he had first entered.

       Perhaps that was what made them so skilled, combined with their capacity to avoid being seen.

       "Out of everything you could have taken," he mused, "you chose... these inconsequential items?"

       "They're inconsequential to you, maybe. To me and to my buyers, things like this are worth a ton. Whether I'll actually be given what is owed is... uh. More or less likely. I don't know, I just— can I leave yet?"

       "Not so fast, dear." He smiled, tilting his head slightly. They thought he somewhat resembled a fox.

       "...What? Are you seriously going to arrest me for something so little?"

       "Nothing of the sort. In fact... I have a proposal of sorts for you."

ii. the proposal in question. ♡

       "You know, when someone says something ominous like 'I have a proposal for you'," they began, twirling a defiant strand of their now neat hair—which the Harbinger had... shockingly, taken upon himself to cut properly rather than paying someone else to do it—around their finger, "they generally don't mean... all this."

       "Don't be difficult." He pinched their cheek like a scolding (or affectionate, but the nature of his gesture was debatable, given the fact that he tended to hide his thoughts behind a skilled mask of eerie calmness that they could only imagine took years to perfect) grandparent might. "Let the tailor take your measurements."

       "Ugh... fine. I don't even see why I'm doing this," they murmured, gingerly raising their arms when the tailor politely prompted them to.

       "Oh? Did I not say? My apologies. I intend for you to become a permanent resident of my household."

       Silence.

       "...So you're adopting me."

       "That is one way to look at it, yes."

       "Oh. I was... um." They paused, blinking a few times as if in an attempt to dispel the bewilderment they felt. "I was kidding. I didn't expect that response."

       He only smiled.

       They wondered if they would ever learn to understand that ambiguous smile.

iii. another unexpected guest ♡

       Between teaching the newest member of his house noble etiquette, conversational skills, and other important skills they would need to master, Pantalone had grown unexpectedly fond of the little orphan he took in.

       He should have been annoyed by how often they questioned his authority, by how unruly they were...

       Of course, he wasn't. It was endearing and even refreshing in its own way—when was the last time anyone had dared to speak so freely and honestly and daringly to him? The respect rooted in fear that his status as a Harbinger gave him became dull after a while.

       It really shouldn't have surprised him that he had become so fond of the little one who did not fear speaking in the most unfiltered way to him.

       However... he did wonder if his fondness was causing him to spoil them just a little too much.

       "...What is that?"

       They grinned brightly. In their arms, a small arctic fox sat contentedly, strangely unbothered by the fact that a random child decided to pick it up and bring it home. It seemed to snuggle further into them and their warmth, in fact.

       "It's an arctic fox!"

       "My dear, that is a wild animal."

       "And?"

       Silence. Pantalone was the first to break it:

       "I have the ability to acquire any animal you so desire of only the highest pedigree," he began, "the best available on the market—of course, assuming it could survive in an extreme climate such as this one—and yet, you chose to bring home a little street fox?"

       They pouted, lower lip jutting out in an exceedingly childish way that he would have chided them for had it not just been himself, them, and the various Fatui guards stationed around (who all knew far better than to say anything about whatever they saw or heard within their Lord's residence) present. "Don't be mean. I came from the street too, you know... look at her! Look at this little creature! Say hi."

       If it had been anyone else demanding such childish things of him, he would be appalled... but he supposed since it was them, he could tolerate it. He leaned down slightly.

       "Hello."

       Much to his apparent surprise, the fox barked back at him, to which they giggled.

       "Soo, can I keep her?"

       The silence returned for a brief second. Then, the Harbinger sighed deeply—it was undoubtedly comparable to the kind of sigh an exasperated parent might let out. As if he wasn't already going grey enough without this child around...

       He caved to their whims regardless.

       He was encouraging a bad habit, yes, but they looked so happy with that little fox. He could only hope that, in the future, they would not bring home any other wild animals.

       "Very well, but I expect you to learn how to take care of her properly, otherwise I will be forced to let her go."

iv. old habits die hard.

       The first event they ever had to attend with the Regrator was an annual event hosted by the Tsaritsa herself.

       Much as they weren't exactly... keen on going, Pantalone insisted—he had claimed it was for publicity's sake. The public would favor him more if he was seen as the caretaker of a child. They supposed they couldn't really argue with that, but the thought of being used as a device to build public rapport was uncomfortable at best and nauseating at worst.

       (He was very adamant on reassuring them that he didn't take them in solely for such a shallow reason. Though... he still did not tell them why exactly it was that he chose to take them in, which admittedly did make them doubt the sincerity of his words.

       They decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, given how kind he tended to be with them.)

       They absolutely hated being surrounded by so many pompous rich people who only ever turned a blind eye to the struggling of every low-income family in Snezhnaya. How these people could live with themselves, hoarding the majority of the wealth of an entire nation, they would never know nor understand.

       (What made Pantalone any different, they sometimes wondered?)

       However...

       They were all viable targets, even including the other Harbingers present.

       Columbina... there was nothing they could steal off of her without getting caught, and the idea of making a scene, especially one involving the third Harbinger herself, made their stomach churn anxiously. She was not an option.

       Dottore... stealing off of him was unwise. They wondered if Pantalone would lose favor in them if they did. The Doctor, like the Damselette, was not an option, despite the many things they could take off his person without him ever knowing that something was missing (probably; they weren't truly sure if they'd like to test that theory).

       Arlecchino... her silver hairclip was awfully pretty. Surely she wouldn't miss it? She didn't like the Regrator much anyways, so—

       "Dear."

       "Oh. Um." They cleared their throat, embarrassedly looking anywhere but at him. They tried their best not to pick at the threads of their sleeves. "Sorry. Force of habit."

       He hummed, gloved hand raising up to rub reassuring circles on their back. The bubbling anxiety and discomfort in their chest subsided slightly.

       "Come along. There is nothing to be afraid of, and please... do not take anything off of anyone. Leave the Knave and the other Harbingers be."

       Of course, upon passing Arlecchino, they did end up stealing her hairclip regardless.

       Though annoyed, she said nothing of it, because even though their audacity to steal something from a Harbinger at an event such as that one agitated her beyond belief...

       It seemed to make them happy, and she didn't see them take anything from anyone else the entire night. She decided that she would let it slide just this one time.

       (She also took it upon herself to secure it in their hair—which had grown longer and healthier ever since the Ninth took them in—after the event, claiming that it was a gift from her...

       ...And that, if they knew what was good for them, they would not dare to pull another foolish stunt like that ever again.)

v. achilles heel.

       "What is it that plagues your mind?"

       "Huh?" They blinked, sitting up a little straighter in their place on one of the soft sofas in the Ninth's personal library. Most of their time was spent in there, absorbing all the knowledge that they didn't have access to earlier on in their life. "What do you mean?"

       "You've been withdrawn lately," Pantalone said, approaching them slowly as if they were some kind of skittish animal. He tenderly caressed their cheek upon seeing no signs of discomfort. "Have I done something to drive you away?"

       "...No," they admitted quietly, looking outside of the large window and watching the snow fall. It looked... peaceful, but they knew from experience what it was really like out there. They gnawed on their lower lip, searching for a way to word their concerns without sounding ungrateful. "I just... ugh, it's nothing. I don't know. I don't know how to say it without it sounding... bad."

       He raised an eyebrow. His hand moved away from their face, now stroking their hair calmingly. "You speak to me so freely all the time. Why the sudden change of heart, hm?"

       He did have a point there. They never once thought twice about the way they spoke to him up until that point.

       A sigh left their lips, and they shifted their gaze to meet his.

       The way their eyes glistened with the sheen of unshed, frustrated tears made Pantalone feel a sort of fatherly protectiveness that he wasn't sure he should have been able to feel, and yet... their expression flipped some kind of switch in him.

       "Why did you take me in?"

       "I—"

       "Wait, I'm not done," they interrupted. He went quiet. "What benefit do I provide to you? What kind of rich guy sees a random orphaned thief and decides to take them in? Who does that? No rich person I've met before you, that's for sure. People like you don't care about those of us barely scraping by in poor conditions, so why—"

       If it were anyone else Pantalone was speaking to, his tone would have been harsh and commanding, but... that was how it always had been with them. They could get away with things that others could not. They were always shown a side of him that others were not. Perhaps that made them the Regrator's one single Achilles heel, and if that were the case? So be it.

       "Stop. Listen."

       His tone came out very gently. It was more akin to a comforting hush than a demand. He kneeled down to their height—never once had they seen him voluntarily get so close to the ground. Most nobles didn't, and yet, here he was. With his ungloved knuckles, he wiped away the tears that they hadn't even noticed were beginning to fall.

       "I was you once, little one."

       "I don't believe you," they sniffled.

       "You should. I was not born into this life. My bloodline is not noble and my birth name holds no significance," he mused, tucking a stray strand of hair behind their ear. "I also used to steal from people, you know."

       Their hair fell over their shoulders, to which they quickly raised a hand to the back of their head. The clip—once belonging to Arlecchino—was gone, now settled in their caretaker's open palm.

       "H— huh?!"

       "Admittedly, I haven't done so in quite some time, so what you saw just then was moreso the skills I've learned as a Harbinger than my thievery skills."

       He kindly secured their hair back once again.

       "Ah... I never would have guessed."

       "That is the point." He nodded, going on to tease: "You do very much remind me of the younger version of myself... you have quite the awful amount of attitude, though. I was never so difficult."

       They huffed, patting their face dry with their palms, to which he chuckled.

       "Hmph, I doubt that. I'll bet you were worse than I am."

       "Whatever you say, dearest."

       He was, but he had no plans of telling them that, of course.

vi. enrollment.

       "My orphans seem to like you, [Name]."

       They smiled up at Arlecchino from their place on the ground, one of the much younger children sleeping against their thigh. Their hand absently toyed with the child's hair in a manner that seemed akin to that of a loving older sibling. "I like to think they do. They're lucky, then, because I happen to quite like them, too!"

       The ghost of a smile graced her lips at that.

       "You know," she mused calmly, placing a firm hand on their head. They squeaked slightly at the force behind her display of affection. "You are publicly viewed as the Regrator's child."

       "What?!" they gasped, a mix between shocked and embarrassed. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but... "Wait, people are saying that? Actually?"

       "They are," she confirmed, "but I mention this for one very particular reason: do you know how to defend yourself, [Name]?"

       "Somewhat, but not entirely," they admitted. "I learned a lot in my time... um, wandering, shall we call it..? Anyway. I can defend myself, but not really well. Not at all well enough for the place I've found myself in, I think."

       She nodded in understanding at that.

       "Have you considered enrolling in the House of Hearth?"

       "I've thought about it. Would I even qualify, though..? I'm technically not an orphan..."

       "No, but consider it a favor from me. You would get an education of equal rigor to Snezhnayan private schools, as well as learning how to protect yourself."

       "...You would do that for me, Arle?"

       Her cheeks tinted red at that, and she groaned, lightly pushing them away by the head. They giggled at her annoyance.

       "Don't call me that"—she coughed into her fist, trying her best to mask the good-natured embarrassment such a nickname caused her—"but... I would. You need to learn how to handle yourself."

       She then got on one knee, meeting their gaze with intensity that made them a bit nervous. Both her hands sat firmly on their shoulders.

       "What you need to understand, however, is that you will automatically be drafted into the Fatui at your graduation. I do not believe that the Regrator would let you out of his sight at your young age, so you needn't worry about being separated from him, but... you will be exposed to wicked things."

       "...But I need to do this for my safety, right?"

       "You don't 'need' to do anything," she clarified. "I would advise it, though. You are an annoying little brat, but I—as well as the Ninth—would loathe to see anything happen to you."

       "Well... I don't mind enrolling."

       "Oh?"

       "I really don't mind," they repeated, offering her a pensive smile. "I've already seen pretty rough things, and, I mean... I know what you all do for a living. I'm not oblivious, Arlecchino. Any kid born and raised in Snezhnaya would know."

       "I didn't think so," she assured. "No, I never once believed you to be oblivious... that much, I agree with. Childhood innocence does not thrive in this nation."

       "You're right. It doesn't."

       A comfortable silence settled for a moment. Arlecchino's battle-hardened hands were a calming force upon their shoulders.

       "...Soo, how exactly are we planning on convincing Pantalone to let this happen?"

       "Ah." She went quiet. "...That is the question."

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot! taglist: @m1shapanda, @kaichuuu, @zeldadou, @aroacenezha (aka the beloved moot who inspired this fic. say "thank you maji" everyone 🫶🫶🫶🫶 /hj /lh)

[charmedreincarnation]

My sucess story

Trigger Warning: Abusive, homophobia, mentions of suicide

Hey there, Maya! I just had to take a moment and express my appreciation for all the fantastic posts you put out. I can now confirm, without a shadow of a doubt, that shifting is real, manifesting is real, and so is the void. Our desires and ambitions aren't in vain.

I've been part of the shifting community since 2020 when it exploded on TikTok. It might not matter much, but as a gay man, I rarely saw other guys in the community (though Reddit and Amino have a more diverse crowd). I've always felt more comfortable in women-centric spaces because they tend to be less judgmental.

I never saw success stories from guys, especially the kind I wanted to see - like waking up in a new world, not just manifesting money or a girlfriend (or boyfriend in my case >.<). I've always been spiritual and interested in witchcraft, voodoo, deities, and now manifesting and shifting. But it felt like nothing would let me shift.

Growing up with homophobic and physically abusive parents, struggling with poverty, depression, homelessness, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, and more, I began to feel like you could only manifest and shift if your life was okay. I didn't have the luxury of time or safety to practice methods, constantly dealing with noise, verbal abuse, or physical violence.

Then, I read this post

https://www.reddit.com/r/shiftingrealities/comments/14v4lw3/how_to_shift_the_next_time_you_go_to_sleep/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=ioscss&utm_content=2&utm_term=1

It led me to your Tumblr because OP used some of your old posts and talked about the concept of the void. All searched lead to tumblr. A couple of months ago (2.5 ish) after one of the worst days of my life, I went to bed sobbing, trying to block out the noise around me, praying and crying for anything - death, shifting, a new identity...

Everything around me started to fade - it was as if I was being engulfed by a white, serene blanket of nothingness. It was completely silent, and I couldn't see or feel anything. The only thing that seemed to persist was my awareness.

Now, I've read about the void before, but mostly in the context of it being a black, empty space. So, I'm not entirely sure if what I experienced was indeed the void or something altogether different. The concept still baffles me a bit, but I'm learning and growing through these experiences.

Regardless of where I was, my heart was set on reaching my dr.I kept praying and hoping, to wake up in my DR.

I woke up in my Twitch streamer DR! I found myself in a completely unfamiliar yet perfect place. My room was equipped with a high-end PC, top-notch gaming gear, and quaint decor items. Milo, my dog, was there too. I was sharing a mansion in LA with my boyfriend and four other streamers. The house was beyond my imagination, and streaming here was a dream come true. As night fell, my friends and I explored the vibrant LA nightlife, creating lasting memories.

After a week, i can’t lie I almost forgot I had shifted here. Then, I set an intention to shift back into this reality but where I had moved out, lived with my best friend and their supportive parents, mastered shifting and manifesting, had my desired looks, and money came easily to me. And it worked!

Since then, I've been living my best boujee gay life, and I shift all the time. I even created a waiting room where I'm immortal and use it whenever I need a break. I wish I could offer better advice, but like everyone says, there isn't a key to shifting. It's different for everyone. But you can and will shift. You can manifest your dream life. You can and deserve to be happy

Oh my god, I'm so happy for you, love 💕💕. I also completely related to what you felt. I know it can seem like your circumstances are holding you back, but believe me when I say this - that couldn't be further from the truth.

It's that same resilience, and your ability to persist despite the odds, that paved the way to your dream life. There’s nothing, I mean nothing that can stop you. Not wavering, crying, or doubt. Nothing. If you want it, it’s yours.