#grew up poor

[angeleyeswide]

White Trash Christmas

Going over to my mother's is simply dreadful. It smells distinctly of Lysol... Masking the horrible amalgamated scent of rot, cats, apathy, shit, delusion, and piss, inherent to the very being of her trailer now. The scent will never come out of the softened particle board cabinets and floors under peeling vinyl squares - it looks like a wet, warped cardboard box inside. I have to shower as soon as I get home and immediately wash my clothes.

Now that I've been out in the world, interacting with other humans and slowly becoming acclimated to them, the entire experience is incredibly alien and overstimulating.

I remember when I would unknowingly sleep over black mold growing from the wall under my bed... And when I found it, I was amazed that it was protruding so far- at least two centimeters from the old paint.

Now the place that used to be my normal is so disgusting to me. I can't fucking stand it. It makes me so sick that I grew up in that.

And what's worse is the constant negativity. I developed severe hyper-vigilance. I always memorize footsteps now, so I know who's coming. I would wake up to my mother screaming or yelling for us to get up, ready to have another tirade of some kind.

I had a phone she didn't know about, too. So I could try to have some contact with the outside world. And unfortunately, that came with its own set of consequences... Like being sexually exploited online as a teenager.

All of these painful memories... They flood back into me when I visit as an adult and steel my body. The tension coils up inside me - a stifled breath, a held in scream, a trip outside for fresh air, a bare minimum reply to another one of my mother's repetitive rants.

This is how I feel every single holiday. I go to her house and it's always a shit show. Something small goes wrong and it's the end of the world - a screaming match ensues.

And the impending doom of the impossible burden sets in... ready to crush me like a piano, splattering me across the pavement - I will have to clean up this mess once day. I'm the only one of my siblings able to work or live a semi-normal life. I will have to care for them as well. All three. When I can barely take care of myself.

That's not even half of the shit, but... Well, that's what I think about during the holidays. I get pretty depressed this time of year. All this to say... I don't really like Christmas. I really wish I could. But I can't. Just like a food I've tried to like because everyone else swears it's so good, that's what Christmas is to me.

I look at my mother's dilapidated trailer, trash piled and strewn about the yard and I sometimes think to myself, "I guess it doesn't get anymore Southern Gothic than this, huh?" Dysfunctional family. Cyclical destruction. Unspoken secrets. Festering decay.

Anyway, I hope your Christmas/holiday is going a lot better than mine. Cheers.

[reginamillls]

what's the best holiday you ever had?

ajsjdhdh this is such a depressing holiday

the only "holiday" I've ever had was camping holidays as a kid

we went to a waterfall in my state that you could walk in and climb, as well as some other lakes that were very clear and beautiful - I appreciate nature

I've yet to take any kind of real holiday

[aesthetically0b5essed]

I actually think all the trashy low class stuff I've done is pretty cool. I also think all of the posh luxury stuff I've done is cool too. But if you can't appreciate both of them, then you can't appreciate me.

[dont-read-this-im-dead]

When I was in 12th grade, a bunch of girlfriends got together and decided to go to prom. They wanted to do the whole shebang, with the dinner, the pictures, then the dance. And they invited me.

I said no, because I actually hate school dances. And the money for a ticket? Who are we kidding? My parents can't afford eggs. You think I have money for a prom ticket?

The girl who put it together was like, "okay, but what if you just came to dinner, not the dance?"

I reminded her that if I didn't have money for a ticket, I wasn't going to have money for dinner.

So she promised to pay for me. Her parents spoiled her to no end and she had a healthy allowance, and she said it would be her treat, and that I shouldn't worry.

I don't like accepting favors like this, but I hadn't done anything with girlfriends in a very long time, so I finally agreed. She said not to worry, so I tried not to worry.

Night of prom, we all go to her house and get ready, then go to dinner.

When the checks came, she made no move to pay. I felt uneasy, but I snuck over to her chair to have a whispered conversation with her, where I realized she had completely forgotten her promise to pay for me.

She had some cash with her, and she told me I could "borrow it."

As soon as dinner was over, I went home and hunted around for a babysitting gig that would help me pay her back. Two days later, I had the money, and gave it to her.

I never accepted another favor or invitation from her again.

I didn't stop hanging out with her at school, just outside of it. But my heart could never forget that moment when she told me to trust her, and I did, only to find out I wasn't even on her mind.

And from that day on, when people invited me out when I didn't have money, I never let them talk me into going under the premise that they would pay for me again.

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[the-winds-of-destiny-xxx]

.

[ethan-acfan]

Fic idea where Arthur and merlin go hunting (the other knights can also be there. It's up to you, but I'm just gonna do merlin and arthur for this) and they end up having to stay in the woods overnight. Well, arthur gets cold in the middle of the night and reaches over to ask merlin to go get the spare blanket from the horses. He does this by saying some variation of "Merlin, I'm cold." Then merlin, who is half asleep and not really registering what he is saying, just rolls over and sprawls out over arthur and falls back asleep. Arthur has a moment of internal panic before realizing that he is, in fact, very warm like this and decides to just leave it for the morning. They wake up from the best sleep ever, and Merlin is mortified, and Arthur (who already has this whole panic moment) is kinda like🤷🏼‍♂️

[dreamsteddie]

Steve and Eddie who kind of flop in life and end up poor, living in a trailer in a different small town living quiet lives of no import.

The kids, Robin, Nancy, and Johnathan all seem to take the small handful of opportunities offered to them by the government in the aftermath of the Upsidedown to take off and make something of their lives. They're off writing headlines, making news, and living their lives to the best of their abilities, but Steve and Eddie find themselves stuck.

Steve stayed in Hawkins until the kids graduated and left for college. By then Nancy, Johnathan, and Robin are all in their second or third years of college. John and Nancy have their own apartment in New York together and don't reach out all that often, only seeing the rest of the Hawkins crew on Holidays and some vacations. Robin is flourishing at an all-women's college in Maine and has a partner and a cat and plans for graduate school brewing. She's always saying Steve can come out and join her whenever he's ready, but when the time comes it feels like he would just be trying to insert himself in the middle of a life he doesn't know how to fit into, so he turns to Eddie instead.

Eddie is permanently disabled in a number of ways following the events of season four. He struggles with chronic pain, has breathing issues due to the loss of part of his right lung, and lost enough muscle mass in his left leg that walking will never be easy or done without the use of a walker or arm bar crutches. The doctors said he recovered as well as he could have. The kids said he would get better with time. Wayne said it didn't matter if he never got better, he could do anything he set his mind to.

Steve is the only person who tells him the truth.

Steve tells him that it sucks. Tells him that it will probably always hurt. Doesn't give him false hope when he's trying to grieve the loss of the life he wanted to live. The goals he wanted to reach. When he falls deeper and deeper into himself, stuck in the muck of depression, Steve is the only person he lets in. The kids try their best but their lives are moving fast, and taking care of someone like Eddie is exhausting, no matter what they try to say. Eventually, everyone but Dustin gives up on reaching out, the younger boy showing up every Sunday to try and get Eddie out of the house. He always leaves disappointed.

When Steve asks him if he wants to use what's left of their partly government payouts and Steve's equally meager Family Video savings to buy a truly shitty trailer in a town an hour and a half south of Hawkins in the fall of 1990, it feels like the first boon he's been given in almost five years. He'll never be who he could have been if he had ignored Chrissy that day in 86', but he's always thought maybe he could be more than a ghost between Wayne's walls if he could just get out of this god-forsaken town full of people who know too much and too little of what's happened to him.

They get the trailer, pack what little they have, let Wayne hug them close, and leave.

Steve has already transferred to their new town's Family Video, moving up to claim the dubious honor of being the opening manager. Mostly he just unlocks the door, signs into the computer, and makes sure nothing catches fire. Eddie hoped that moving would miraculously make him fit to enter back into the world, but he spends most of his days with a blanket on the front porch, watching people pass by. He does, though, finally accept that he needs to apply for disability to help Steve keep the lights on and the water hot. That last little bit of hope that he could be what he used to be dies, but he's learning to be content with what he does have. He starts taking a walk, just ten minutes around the loop of the trailer park saying hi and trading polite nods with his fellow residents. He's not ok, but he's starting to build a new community of people not too different from himself.

The new trailer only has one bedroom. Eddie sleeps on a fold-out mattress in the living room. It had been a major argument when they first moved in with Steve insisting that Eddie needed the bed. Eddie argued that it wasn't fair for him to take the room when Steve was the one working 40 hours a week to keep them afloat. In the end, Eddie was the more stubborn of the two. It helps that Eddie has absolutely no qualms about crawling into bed with Steve on the nights when the couch bed really won't cut it for his aching body. Steve never questions it, just shuffles over a little and lets the other man in.

Steve doesn't question a lot of stuff.

He doesn't question when all their effects are shared between them with no effort to distinguish between yours and mine, Eddie's and Steve's. He doesn't question it four months in when Eddie starts to get his feet under him and decides to take up cooking, always trying his best to have everything done just as Steve walks through the door. He doesn't question when a good chunk of Eddie's first disability check goes to buying Steve a sturdy, if not very fashionable, new watch for his birthday since his old one went bust almost a year ago.

He doesn't question it when Eddie holds his hand for the first time under the stars hanging above their front porch.

He doesn't question it when Eddie introduces him to one of his new neighbor friends with a hand resting comfortably on his lower back

He doesn't question it when Eddie starts sleeping in the bedroom every night.

Or makes him box mix cupcakes for Valentine's Day.

Or kisses him for the first time on the couch that's never a bed unless they want to spend the day binge-watching bargain bin films.

Because really, isn't this how it was always going to go? Wasn't this exactly what Steve was asking when he asked Eddie to skip town with him?

Isn't this what Eddie was hoping for when he said yes?

[littlechivalry]

Threshold

Post-UD, everybody lives. Established Steddie

-

Eddie couldn't do it. He turned, ready to run, but Steve's hand clamped down on his arm like an iron manacle.

"Fuck you, let me go," Eddie hissed.

"Like hell I will," Steve replied, just as harshly. "You have to do this, you're the only one who can."

"I'd rather die."

The sales clerk cleared her throat and Eddie snapped his mouth shut.

"Are you-- can I help you find anything else," she said softly, her hands open in front of her.

"No," Steve replied. "Just this."

'This' was a vacuum cleaner. An upright vacuum cleaner with hose attachment and a retractable cord. A one hundred dollar vacuum cleaner.

Eddie felt sick. He pulled his hand away and Steve let it go awkwardly. Eddie cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, just this." He pulled out his wallet and passed over the money. Signing the warranty card in a messy scrawl.

They walked out of the store and loaded the vacuum into the back of Steve's truck.

Steve and Eddie had gotten to the car in silence but once the doors were closed it started.

"Babe," Steve said, his voice soft but firm. "What was that about? We agreed we need a new vacuum. Wayne's old one gave up the ghost and the carpet sweeper does nothing. I thought this was cool."

Eddie groaned and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "It's not-- it's just..."

He couldn't find the words and Steve didn't press him. The interior of the truck's cab was quiet, windows muffling the noise of other shoppers moving through the parking lot, the occasional sound of their radios drifting on the air.

Eddie took a few breaths, heard Steve do the same beside him - in - out - in - out

"Can I check in," Steve says after a few breaths.

"Almost," Eddie replies and they go back to breathing.

This time Eddie breaks the silence. "It's real, right?"

"Real," Steve echoes. "The vacuum? Yeah?"

"It's -- the vacuum we have now? Wayne got it from the Johnsons before they moved to go live with their kids in Des Moines. It was a really good vacuum. Lasted, like. Seven years. The one before that Wayne found in the trash. It needed some fixing up and the hose had to be taped together but it ran for two years."

Steve hums, just a considering noise to show he's listening but leaving Eddie some spacw to talk. Eddie cannot explain how much he appreciates that.

"The stove was a store display they were gonna toss out because the wiring was bad. The couch was abandoned on a curb up in Loch Nora. Most of my clothes come from the Goodwill; Wayne's too, even his work boots. My guitar, my sweetheart, is a hand-me-down to I don't know how many degrees."

Eddie sighs and tips his head back against the headrest. The ceiling of the cab is upholstered in dark blue fabric. Eddie drags his fingers over it.

"Munsons don't get new things, Steve. Not nice ones, anyway." He blew out a rough breath. "I know this is stupid. It's just a vacuum cleaner, but--"

"Don't say that," Steve interrupted. "If I don't get to say stupid neither do you."

Eddie reached over the gear shift and clasped the hand Steve offered.

"Okay," Steve said. "Do you... should we return the vacuum?"

"No," Eddie said. "No, that's not the answer. We-- I have the money. I can afford a new vacuum, a nice one."

"A really nice one."

"And it's okay to buy new things."

"It really is," Steve said.

Eddie nodded. "We're grown ups now, Stevie. Got good jobs, a nice apartment, a fancy new vacuum cleaner. What's next, a picket fence? 2.5 kids and a dog?"

Steve smiled and pulled Eddie's hand up to his face, pressed a kiss against his knuckles before letting go and reaching for the ignition. "I'm allergic to dogs but let's get home and we can start working on kids."

Eddie reached out for Steve, pulling him across the armrest into a fierce kiss.

Steve fell back into his seat, a bright flush in his cheeks. "Wow," Steve said, starting the car. "What are you gonna do when we buy a house?"

The radio came to life but Eddie could barely hear it over his own laughter.

[kittykatninja321]

The funniest thing about the fanon whump fics where Tim is getting locked alone in his house with no food by his parents or something is that a lot of the times they have Jason, a character who actually did experience neglect and starvation as a child be like “wow Timmy your childhood is so sad :(“ absvwjsbsa

[i-think-i-thunk]

I see so many posts talking about how Eddie can't wrap gifts or bake for shit and Steve is amazing at it.

Well I call bullshit.

Eddie had Wayne there to teach him. To sit down with him and answer his million questions and laugh when something turned out a little funky. Wayne would say it's wholly Eddie, which makes it perfect.

Steve didn't have that. He had parents who were barely around, much less teaching him these things when they were. Steve survived off school lunches, box dinners, and whatever Claudia Henderson made for him. Steve 100% buys gift bags for every present he gives.

Steve may have grown up with his parent's money, but Eddie grew up with Wayne in his corner.

[archerdepartures116]

Random question,

Of the transmigrators, who would be the most insane about holidays? And how would the disciples react to seeing their shizun going insane on an ostensibly random day?

Qi Qingqi, she used to be an influencer and she loved loved loved the holidays and loves decorating, giving and receiving gifts, she would decorate the entire mountain if let loose and allowed to run wild. During the month of December, she would turn the peak into a winter wonderland then throw a feast and gift giving session on new years eve (because she loves seeing ppls reactions)

(she's not celebrating Christmas but she just loves the vibes and looks of Christmas)

people usually held smaller celebrations for the new years so this wasn't really that jarring for the disciples, it was only when she brought out these strangely themed decorations that they started raising eyebrows

(sqh coughed blood when he saw the budget reports for that month)

[yeoldenews]

A mother's word for word transcription of the imaginary phone call her four-year-old made to Santa Claus in 1911.

(source: The Harbor Beach Times, December 22, 1911.)

Through some outrageous case of serendipity I found a recording of another phone call this same child made 60 years later. Though I have to say his choice of conversational partner is a definite downgrade from the first call.

[youareunbearable]

Tonight is a great night to think fondly on Haleth and Caranthir. I think they would make such a funny couple.

Imagine??? The Big Tall Broody Scowling Kinslayer Who Is Also The One Reason The Economy Is Functioning At All Between The Different Races/Elvish Factions Who Probably Is Dying To Tell King Thingol/His Cousins To Fuck Off At Any Given Moment and hes looming over this short human lady??

This short human lady that Can, Will, and Already Has told him to pull the stick out of his ass and bullies him into doing normal townsfolk chores??? Lord Carathir, Master Economist and a Weaver with the skill to rival his grandmother, sitting there and darning socks cause his tiny mortal wife told him too. His reward will be a kiss on the cheek but she'll scold him while he does it because he said a mean thing about his Cousin Finrod in his last letter to her while he KNEW Finrod was visiting her.

Only three things in the world keep Caranthir in check: His Eldest Brother, The Lord Himring, The Current Head of the Feanorian Faction of Noldor, and Former High King; the idea that if he didn't complete his brothers' tax paperwork and run the Trade Routes then the Nolofinweans and Arafinweans would become more economincally important And We Cant Have That; and his 4'11 wife he met bloodied and wrathful on a battlefield screaming at an orc over the corpse of her brother-- it was love at first sight

[brucewaynehater101]

Tim can't escape Robin. It's a self-inflicted curse brought about by his self-sacrificing tendencies, his need to feel useful, his continuous labor to Bruce, and the cycle of abuse.

He could be so much more than the mantle he chained himself to. Unfortunately, he hasn't healed enough to find self-worth outside of vigilantism and his ties to the Waynes. He also may not recognize that he's stuck in a cycle of abuse when he's (as far as I'm aware) only been hit by Bruce once. All abuse is horrid and has their own perils. Emotional abuse can be much harder to spot or acknowledge (especially when compounded by their situation as crime-fighter leading to easier excuses for drastic measures ["he psychologically tortured me to make me a better hero"]). Tim will need to willingly set boundaries and build his self-worth in order to flee the clutches of Robin. His love for Bruce makes this process extremely difficult.

Batman needs a Robin. Bruce needs Tim. Until Bruce can function without a child-made crutch, Tim will always be Robin (Red or not).

[ohno-the-sun]

Luca au Sun when he was a kid after uh the backstory stuff that might be spoilers