#poverty mention tw

[tefibetancourt]

it was conceited, but tefi knew that she was pretty. ever since she was a child, adults around her would coo over her long dark hair, or cat-like cheekbones. they’d say she looked just like a little model, call her bonita nena, and lavish her with compliments and attention. her mother would soak it up by proxy for the first few years, thank them profusely and blush like it was such an accomplishment to have a cute little girl, but soon grew tired of it. then her mother would no longer be by her side, letting tefi off a metaphorically leash to field the attention alone. no one encouraged to think about her schooling, no one told her not to let the attention get to her head, no one told her she had to be more than pretty. so yes, it was conceited, but it was true. she possessed beauty. most of the time, it was all that she had. the only tool for her to use to survive. the only reason why someone would let her sleep on their couch for the night, or give her a ride to work. the only reason why anyone would pay her any attention at all.

the truth was that tefi was used to men taking care of her. the affection, the attention that she ceased to get from her parents, transferred to her friends (and their families), then to boyfriends in high school, and then a husband in her early twenties. when she came to l.a., it was a series of fellow servers at whichever trendy restaurant she worked at, or men that wanted to be sugar daddies without actually giving her any money; they’d pay for things for her, but they’d never let off with their credit card or a wad of cash. they’d hold their wealth over her head, forever making her jump for it and always pulling it right out of her reach. she almost preferred that to the boyfriends that were just as broke as she was. no matter their status, they were all just rehashes of her marriage to foster. constantly fighting. constantly making up. go to bed in love, wake up angry. go to bed angry, wake up in love. start the cycle again. and again. and again.

until ralph.

well, her relationship with her former fiancé had its own version of toxicity, but it wasn’t like any that came before. tefi and ralph went into the relationship with eyes wide open—he wanted a trophy wife, she wanted to be a trophy wife. she was happy to play that role, and he was happy to bankroll her life as long as she stayed thin, pretty, and pliant. she learned to tamper that desire to cause a fight just for some attention, learned to keep her mouth shut until he wanted it open, and learned how to play housewife in a mansion that had a staff to run it, so she never really had to lift a finger. just how she liked it. that seemed like years ago instead of five months. now she was stuck in fucking illinois, crying outside of a bakery!

like most of the interactions she ever had with men through her life, she had to assume this man was only being nice to her because of her looks—despite the fact that her red nose rivaled rudolph, and her face was streaked with tears, leaving marks in her makeup. she had develop a skill to cry prettily—it was pretty much her only acting skill—but any notion to look forlorn and in need of a lover was out of her mind. she had been sobbing on the street like a nutcase, and somehow she looked okay enough to get a man to light a candle on her birthday cupcake for her. she wondered if phoebe would be impressed, or find that sad. she wondered if that would work on foster. fuck ‘em both (but her less so). she smiled knowingly at his comment, tucking her chin downwards and scrunching her nose at him. “let’s say twenty-five, and i won’t hear any answers to the contrary.” how badly she wished she was twenty-five again, still allowed to feel like a little girl without it being pathetic.

she thought suddenly about wuthering heights, one of the few books she actually read in high school: i wish i were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free.

ain’t that the fuckin’ truth, cathy earnshaw?

“mexico?” tefi parroted, brows slightly creasing. “how funny. i’m puerto rican—well, my dad is. i went a few times when i was a kid, but the only family we had left there were, like, really old.” everyone else in her extended family also lived in philadelphia, or were scattered throughout the rest of the united states. she pushed against his shoulder when he bumped into hers, matching the pressure. then she sighed, considering how exactly she felt about her birthday wish. like the thirty-one wishes she made before, it seemed entirely out of reach. she might as well have wished for the moon. “i hope so. it seems attainable, as long as the chips fall where they may.” tefi turned to him quizzically. “that’s the saying, right? let the chips fall where they may?” it conjured forth images of potato chips in her mind.

Antonio watches closely as the girl closes her eyes, lost in her wish. She’s flushed with emotion, still, the tip of her nose red and irritated the way noses do in the throes of weeping, but there’s something serene that takes over her expression for a moment right before she blows out the candle. He has to wonder what kind of wish would bring such a momentary reprieve from her sorrow: knows better than to ask, though, since he’d just suggested she not tell him. He hopes it’s a good one, in any case. He doesn’t think there are many people who deserve to spend their birthday like this; in tears, alone, their only comfort in the abstract possibility that something might, for once, go their way.

He claps for her quietly when he eyes open again, offering her a grin. “Nicely done,” he says. “Congratulations on turning — the age you’re turning,” he holds up a hand. “I’m not guessing. I know better than that,” he winks. At her question, Antonio feels his shoulders stiffen ever so slightly — his birthday wishes have, in the past, all been pathetic and selfish. Some version of a helpless maiden’s cry for love; every blown out candle, every 11:11, every stupid plane in the sky he’d pretend was a shooting star. He’s always sworn up and down he’s not a superstitious person, but in his desire, in his desperation, he’s found himself pretending maybe this time (or the next, or the next) wishing might work.

It never has.

What’s that they say, about the definition of insanity? 

“It did,” he lies easily to the pretty girl, because what kind of a monster would he have to be to dash her hopes when she’s already down? “I wished I could go back to Mexico for a visit. Hadn’t been since I was five,” he explains. “And I did.” Never mind that it’d been to bury his mom, to leave his dad behind — never mind that the only memories of his home country are now tainted by cruel nostalgia and melancholy, an unfair burden to place on such a beautiful part of who he is. “You never know about the power of a birthday wish, hm?” He teases, bumping his shoulder with hers. “Feeling good about yours?”

[intheholler]

what joke are you really tryin to tell when you make fun of appalachia and the greater south?

even when you "just" mock our accents (you and i both know what you're really implying when you take on the drawl), the punchline of your joke there is poverty.

those who prefer a more overt route over backhanded implication: when you laugh at our education, or lack thereof, the punchline of your joke is still poverty. systemically underfunded schools packed with underprivileged children who aren't getting the same standards of education as the rest of the country is a real knee slapper boy i tell you what

when you mock our dental health and start quipping about toothless hillbillies, you're still laughin at poverty. appalachia is disproportionately uninsured compared to the rest of the nation. fellas most of us can't afford the privilege of regular, preventative dental visits and checkups, let alone the cost of huge procedures when things finally get dire. beyond that, our poverty is generational. from the get go we inherit bad teeth from family who couldn't afford that shit neither.

in the same vein, when you make fatphobic comments about said disproportionately-uninsured region--one with few jobs available to begin with, let alone work that pays enough to afford wholesome, unprocessed foods that don't rot yer teeth for supper--the butt of your joke is,, u guessed it,, ✨ poverty ✨

but to me the real kicker is the cousin fucker jokes. how can you not see that when you snark about inbreeding, when you piss yourself over that infamous billboard and oh, how could anyone possibly need to be told that?!, your punchline is not only poverty and a lack of education enough to develop critical thinking skills and the ability to build safe support networks, but you're also usually guffawing at incestuous rape and vulnerable children on top of it. peak comedy.

really though, how is any of that funny?

what happens to everyone's class consciousness the moment we start talkin about the hollers n the deep south?

why does health insurance, quality education, and food security for all suddenly go from issues worth fighting for to punishments, and ones we deserve to be humiliated for on top of it?

i know im just a dumb ol hillbilly n all, but i reckon i just don't get what we're supposed to be laughin at here

[noperopesaredope]

Currently working on a video essay on Ever After High in which I talk about:

Classism (so much classism)

The poverty to prison pipeline

Religious abuse

Religious nationalism

The relationship between race and poverty (in the US)

American systemic racism

The history of racial oppression in the US

White privilege

Racial purity

And a general analysis in which I discuss how some of the themes in EAH relate to real world systemic oppression.

What the hell is wrong with me.

[onlytiktoks]

[tefibetancourt]

“what, are you going to arrest me?” tefi asked on an undignified snort, swaying from side to side—until she suddenly stopped. was he actually offended by the idea of a girl employing a five-finger discount from time to time? typically, she barely had enough money to eat, often taking home meals from whichever restaurant she worked at the time (a perk of serving, along with the fast cash). so what if occasionally she had to run out the door with a bolt of fabric in order to complete a costume, or repair some of her vintage clothing? the cashiers at joann’s never chased after her—she had worked enough retail jobs to know that they wouldn’t, unless they had hired security—and she knew better than to hit up the same fabric store twice! now, how to answer his next questions… this man seemed like someone that enjoyed a bit of chisme. the question was whether he could keep a secret. she had to careful with who she told about her true purpose in town; she was already taking a gamble with cj and seb, being phoebe’s friends. “i’m here on business, and my hopes and dreams are to be the next cher. or sharon tate, without the whole murder thing

… or sharon stone. i’ll take any of them.”

Perhaps this young woman could provide some wonderful and much needed inspiration. Not that he needed help living his loud and eccentric life, but it would be nice to have someone to physically go to the thriftstores for him. But he was getting ahead of himself. There were many elements to being his assistant (it suddenly turned into a job interview, nevermind that she may not be interested) that required more than a good fashion sense. "Admitting to a low level crime right away? Interesting." He wasn't a narc. "All right, Tefi from L.A." Leonard made a few notes in his barely legible scrawl. "What about your hopes and dreams? What brought you all the way to tiny little Blue Harbor?" Not many people wanted to divulge all of their secrets to a stranger but they had to if they wanted an award.

[we-stan-adam-stanheight]

We've got a new headteacher at my school so tdy we had no normal lessons just talking abt rules n shit and she gave a while ass speech abt how we're all from similar houses and areas similar backgrounds and w similar upbringings. Now that rly pissed me off bc ik for a fact that some kids in that hall have multiple houses and *according to them* have parents earning 6 figures. However there were also ppl there who live in council flats, can't afford food, live in poverty and some that have fucking fled Syria due to the war. There were also ppl there who have loving parents who'll support them and care for them yet ppl in that room will also come from abusive families which could have affected them deeply. Let's not pretend that just because children go to the same school they've had the same experiences and challenges in life mk. You don't get to erase their experiences just so you can say we all have equal opportunities in life and equal beginnings.

[5-7-9]

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

[neurotypicalabusesurvivor]

"iT a ExPlaNaTIoN nOt A eXcUsE"

Mean while the same asshole do nothing about rampent amount of rape that happen to AFAB disabled people.

Or killer cops that kill disabled people.

Or an economy that causes extreme poverty and homelessness amongst disabled people.

Or the child predator (bullies) who abuses disabled everyday in school.

Or the mass incarceration of ASPD and NPD people.

Or the neurodivergent wage gap.

Yes you're "totally" a victim of disabled being abusive. (Sarcasm) Yes your neuronormative privilege should have zero consequences. (Sarcasm) Of course you don't have to learn how to manage your neurotype and neurodivergent people should go to therapy for you for free. (Sarcasm)

[annelouiseoosterhuis]

if it was a weekend, especially during the school year, anne-louise was at o’shea’s. it was actually kind of depressing. fifteen years doing the same job; slinging beers to the same crowd nightly, sidestepping any comments on her body or face by drunken college students, and catching up with the regulars. except for some random weekends here or there, she was going to be at o’shea’s. it had started out as sort of an experiment, thought up by her therapist and encouraged by her moms, to help salve her severe social anxiety. a trial by fire, perhaps. she couldn’t retreat into herself when people were counting on her to serve them, and how was she going to control a room of twenty-something kids if she was too afraid to talk to a stranger? it had been a trial by fire that she had survived, but it wasn’t meant to last for fifteen years. somehow, it had, and annie was afraid that maybe she’d never be able to leave o’shea’s. most of the time, she didn’t want to—without meaning to, it had become a home for her. it helped that the previous owner, david, let her get away with ruling the roost. the new owner, leon, wasn’t as acquiescent.

so, another weekend, another shift. what was a rare occurrence was that anne-louise was actually late. her daily nap after getting home from the school had accidentally ran long, as she somehow forgot to set her alarm. very out of the ordinary for her, which of course set her anxiety off, but she forced herself to take it slow and let her coworker know she’d be there in an hour. once she was finally ready, she took the short walk from her apartment to the bar, and then headed up to the bar at the back to tell her coworker all about her crazy nap situation before she’d head into the office and put her personal items away. giving a quick glance to the person next to her, they spoke to her before she was able to call over her coworker. turning her attention fully to him, a hesitant smile flashed on her face. she didn’t recognize them, which probably meant he was just passing through. their opening statement was further proof that they weren’t local.

well, insulting o’shea’s was a fast way to make an enemy out of anne-louise oosterhuis. though what they said was quite benign, she took any perceived slight against the bar personally. she hadn’t wanted to, trying hard every day to think of herself as a teacher first and bartender second, but it was impossible not to be a little fond of the place she worked at for fifteen years. “there are, actually.” quite a few, but she didn’t like to mention the competition to customers if she could avoid it. out of loyalty, of course. “i guess no one warned you that you’re in the bad part of town.” she laughed defensively. “i don’t think it’s that terrible, there are just some people here in blue harbor that really hate poor people.” the class divide was stark in blue harbor; oak gardens and weaver ridge were like two different worlds. “you must be new here—i don’t mean that in a bitchy way, i just don’t recognize you. that’s all.”

who: emrys & anyone! (0/3)

when: early september 2024 — early evening

where: o’shea’s irish pub

Since his arrival to Blue Harbor a couple of days ago (excluding the occasional sporadic visits he took over the summer to figure out the town), Emmy was feeling out of place—maybe it was the school year starting, maybe otherwise, but he felt out of place regardless. Thankfully, it was the weekend, and that meant some time to collect their thoughts before Monday. A curious glance to the right led his eyes to meet seemingly a pub, and piquing his interest, he parked his car and stepped out towards the establishment.

They never drank, never once thinking to try alcohol in their newly twenty-five years of life—so a pub was the last place they’d expect themself to be in. Yet part of this whole new-to-town thing was, well, just that, actually. He figured he should explore Blue Harbor as much as he could to get used to things. The interior looked nice, and it wasn’t particularly packed, either. Perhaps there were other bars in town, that’d be for another day, they supposed. He walked over to the actual bar, sat down on a stool, and tapped his fingers on the surface for a moment before waving over the bartender and ordering buffalo wings. Was it weird to eat at a bar without actually consuming alcohol? Emmy didn’t think so. He looked over, noticing a person beside him, and regarded them with a nod. “Are there more bars in this town? You’d think for the weekend it’d be packed.”

[pfhwrittes]

Hey P!

I hope you're having a good day - it's really cold where I'm living today! It was -1.5 C this morning, but the wind made it feel like -6 🥶 Its gonna just keep getting colder and colder. Which one of the 141 would you most prefer getting stuck with in cold weather? Who runs the hottest? Who would take the most pleasure in putting their cold hands on your stomach or back?

How do you feel about the cold? What's your preferred temperature? I like the cold, but the wind kills me! It's very common for Midwesterners to talk about winter weather and say, "It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the wind!"

-💚💚

hiya 💚💚!

oh boy. i do not handle being cold well. i'm lucky that i live in a milder climate in the northern hemisphere but i still struggle when the outside temperature dips below 5*C (that's 41 Freedom Units *F).

honestly my perfect temperature is somewhere between 18*C-22*C (64*F-71*F) but in winter i'll take 10*C (50*F).

as for the 141 i like to think that the order of cold weather tolerance from "would wear shorts in -5*C" to "if you turn that thermostat below 18*C and i'll peg you out on the washing line" goes: soap, price, gaz, ghost.

i'll explain below the cut.

(trigger warnings for a brief mention of calorie counting in gaz's headcanon and poverty/childhood neglect in ghost's headcanon)

soap tolerates the cold the best as a native scot. he automatically factors windchill into outside temperatures and thrives in the cold. however he will quote still game when it is icy outside, you've been warned.

price in my headcanons is a liver bird so he's alright with a chilly temperature. plus, he has the facial furnishings to ignore jack frost nipping at his nose for longer than wise. also i just like the idea of price packing on some winter weight to counteract the cold like a bear. (hat tip to @/ceilidho for the glorious fic "landscape in honey" for the visuals there)

gaz will tolerate cold but he's not happy about it. i like to think gaz factors in how many extra calories he'll need to eat to keep his macros perfect when the temperature dips. i wouldn't say it's a problem but he's well aware that to maintain his baseline and not go into a caloric deficit he needs to up his protein and carb intake.

ghost doesn't tolerate cold. he might've been born and raised in manchester but i think the cold fucks with his head. he spent too many years huddled up with his brother in all the clothes he could fit on his body under a shitty duvet when the gas meter was out of emergency credit to ever be happy when it gets cold.

and now i'll answer your other questions!

Which one of the 141 would you most prefer getting stuck with in cold weather?

hands down the answer is gaz. he's not going to tell me that "it isnae cold!" like soap or shut down emotionally like ghost and i won't have the patience to listen to price tell me to put on another layer. plus i want to snuggle up with gaz to "retain body heat" and if we happen to need to get naked because skin to skin contact is the best thing to counteract hypothermia? whoopsies there go my pants.

Who runs the hottest?

ghost or price. the amount of body mass and layering these men do would mean they run the warmest. i'm not saying gaz and soap are delicate flowers but i am saying that they prefer having abs over a healthy layer of fat. in fact, just sandwich me between ghost and price when it dips below 10*C.

Who would take the most pleasure in putting their cold hands on your stomach or back?

soap. and i'd strangle him. jokes on me though, he's into that shit.

[degeneracyismylegacy]

My room stinks of cat piss from being unable to buy litter for my cat.

I'm so fucking ashamed.

I just packed a box full of my books to sell because I desperately need money.

I try to write and put some zines together that maybe some people may buy but the constant anxiety because of money makes me almost incapable of making art.

I have enough writing for the bext issue but I have to draw and I struggle with it big time.

When I came home from my appointment with the social worker my partner was disappointed that she couldn't provide an urgent aid and was upset which brought me down a downard spiral of self hatred and split like they think that whatever I do is never fucking enough, even though I rationally KNOW they don't think that but still.

I just wish we could go shopping for cat litter, some more food and some beers to numb the pain but we can't and it'll be another excruciating week before we get our money that will disappear just as quickly as it did this month.

Fuck this life.

Fuck everything.

I'm exhausted of having to explain over and over and over again that working full time drives me into psychosis and have the social worker in front of me look worried because they KNOW that in this economy if I only work part-time I won't be able to live.

Might as well end it if it's how it's going to be at 26yo. Fuck that. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

[acup-oftea-isall-youneed]

Iroh smiles brightly back. "It is the least I can do." When she remarks that he is too sweet he continues to smile but gives a light shake of his head. "There was a time in my life where I survived off of the kindness of others until I was able to recreate my life. I know that for some, every cent helps them get through the tough times."

"oh thank you." mel offered the other a thankful smile as she took the coins from his hand. she didn't quite understand why he was being so polite, when most people would have taken what seemed like an unsubstantial amount of money "you're too kind."

[mxshr0mz]

Yes! let’s focus on banning tiktok and continue to ignore homeless, gun violence and stagnant wages. I sure am glad our government cares so much about us.

[br1ghtestlight]

I always forget the general view of euthanasia is soo different for people outside of canada like an american leftist will be like euthanasia should be legalized its the morally correct option and im like EXCUSE ME??? before I remember in other countries it's mostly viewed as a humane choice for ppl who are terminally ill and already dying in a hospital etc

somehow canada decided it would be a good idea that anyone who is mentally ill or disabled or homeless or a drug addict has free access to killing themselves BEFORE they get any access to treatment or social services so euthanasia here is like..... seen as a bit of a conservative way of uhh encouraging poor people to kill themselves so we dont have to deal with them anymore <3 its not very popular in leftist circles

[tefibetancourt]

estefania crystal betancourt was pulling off the heist of the century! the moment the door opened to phoebe’s smiling face, she was taking stock of her apartment. tefi had a critical eye for fashion and décor—though her taste was considered eclectic by people who didn’t understand her affinity for all things mid-century modern—but there was a secondary reason for her appraisal. she had been intensely curious about what phoebe’s interior life looked like, and just exactly how much foster was involved in it. blatantly looking around, it seemed the influence of her estranged husband was regulated to various accouterments strewn about the living room—a hoodie discarded there, a pair of shoes here, a picture on the shelf. much different than the shitty philly apartment she had shared with foster ten years ago, barely indistinguishable from a trap house and bordering on being condemned by the city. her own style was still developing then, but no rainbow curtain beeds or groovy velvet couch would distract from the peeling wallpaper or rusted faucets. she felt a stab of latent jealousy. phoebe and foster got to share a cute apartment with fairy lights and fluffy throw blankets? it hardly seemed fair.

other than a few pieces that were undoubtedly foster’s, it was obvious it was a girl’s apartment, and that made tefi feel a little safer. she could be a girl’s girl. she could be the fun one; the one that was always up for a night at the club or to go to a concert of a band she’d never even heard of before; the one that was adept at cheering anyone up with a ‘men ain’t shit’ gossip session over margaritas or aide in a bit of retail therapy to mend a broken heart, but no one ever seemed to want to do the same for her. tefi spent hours listening to her friends cry about their boyfriend cheating on them, or not being cast in some reality show, but her friends seemed to disappear into thin air whenever tefi had a moment of doubt about her future or when her parents once again told her she didn’t need to come home for christmas this year because they already bought tickets for a cruise to the bahamas. 

always good for a good time. and that was it.

so, that was what she planned on doing. she was going to turn on the charm, have some indoor fun, give phoebe a good time, and engage her sneaky subterfuge. “only the best board game ever invented! i know you’re all moon-eyed over your man, but you’re just going to have to forget him tonight because we’re finding you a new boyfriend with a pink plastic phone. it’s the version with chris evans modeling as one of the guys, too.” tefi giggled girlishly, then offloaded her bundle into phoebe’s awaiting arms, but kept her hold on the dvds. stepping further into the living room, she turned on her heel and fanned out the dvds in her hands. “i’ve got twilight, mean girls, sleepover—i know, a little on the nose, but it’s cute and nostalgic—desperately seeking susan, the sweetest thing, and one of my personal favorites, valley of the dolls.” movies across all genres and decades, tefi valued variety.

at the offer of drinks, tefi squealed lightly as expected of her, but there was an internal flash of panic in her chest. she was a notorious lightweight and getting super drunk could prove dangerous—she might let her secret slip, or overstep and seem a little too eager to discuss phoebe’s boyfriend. she needed to play it safe. “hmm, i’m feeling kind of chill tonight, i think. let’s start with wine and see where the night goes, maybe?”

Though their interactions had only been few and far inbetween — usually just passing each other as Phoebe was linking up with Seb as Tefi headed out to work — Phoebe really did like the waitress. She had this infectious, bubbly personality, and despite all the shit she had gone through, never seemed to let it get her down. The intern thought that was extremely admirable and, whilst she knew Seb and CJ were trying their best, really meant it when she offered to have a girl’s night at her place. Tefi needed somewhere less chaotic to relax on a night, and so long as Misty was distracted, Phoebe liked to think her place was the ultimate hub of calm.

Apart from a few touches that were primarily Foster, though evidence of him really only existed in the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom, Phoebe often called her place the ultimate girl’s-girl hub. There were accents of pastels — pinks and yellows and lilacs — across the light space, different art pieces hung on the wall, throw blankets on almost every surface, fairy lights strung up in little crevices the paintings and pictures wouldn’t fit. There were a few plants; though most were fake due to her inability to keep them alive and worry of Misty eating them, dotted around, the bouquet of flowers Foster had got her from their date the night before sitting proudly on the coffee table, the small surface usually adorned with paperwork pushed to the seldom used dining table. There was a picture of her, Foster and Misty she had printed out and framed, pride of place on the bookshelf, next to the classics and rom-coms she bought second hand. Her guitar covered in its glittery stickers collected over the years stood in the corner by the TV; on as always, some show playing in the background. A scented candle was lit, Foster wouldn’t be back until well after Tefi had left (not that he cared if Phoebe had friends over, even if it seemed like he was only half listening as she sleepily told him her plans for the day as he got up for work), and there was plenty of wine. The only thing missing was the guest of honor herself.

As if on cue, the intercom buzzed and then not long after, a knock on the door. “Hi!” She greeted, “Oh my God, is that Dream Phone? I haven’t played that, in like, forever!” Phoebe reached to take the bundle from Tefi’s arms, scrunching at the compliment. She was in her rarely seen matching PJ’s for once; string tie pants and a little matching tank adorned in little strawberries. “Thank you, you look glamorous as always! And trust me, I get it, it’s why I tend to just meet them downstairs. Come in, come in.” She ushered her into the apartment. “Make yourself comfy; Misty is settled in the bedroom so you don’t have to worry about being potentially clawed. Bathroom’s just through there —” She gestured to the door near them, “And kitchen just in there. Drink? I have wine, vodka...I think I have those frozen cocktail pouches too? Whatever you want!”

[wildestdreamcatcher]

TW: Mentions of poverty

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

@sadlonelyyogurt @bfluva @blowflygrls