#thephoebeyates

[tefibetancourt]

availability / @thephoebeyates setting / phoebe's apartment; saturday, july 7th, around eight pm.

she felt like a damn super spy. move over, tom cruise in those mission: impossible movies, whatever your name was! james bond, too, though she never saw any of those films and only really knew the name from other cultural references. anyway, she felt like a spy because she got an invite to the most forbidden kingdom. phoebe had invited her over for a little sleepover—tefi guessed that foster was working, it was doubtful that phoebe would’ve asked her over otherwise if her boyfriend was going to be hanging around—and tefi had jumped at the chance for two reasons. one: she would be able to snoop around phoebe’s apartment. sue her, she was curious about her new friend’s living situation and just how cozy her life with foster was. two: it got her out of cj and seb’s apartment for a bit. god love those two, but even tefi needed a night away from their den of hedonism. usually, she’d suggest a night out on the town, but phoebe’s request for a girls’ night was appreciated twice over. she got to play super spy, and she got to enjoy quality time with her new friend.

it was such a shame she had an ulterior motive because she did like phoebe. truly, she thought phoebe was a nice, cute girl. someone she probably would’ve naturally been friends with anyway. the duplicity of it all only bothered tefi when she was face-to-face with phoebe, so how was she supposed to get through the whole night without cracking into two, or letting her secret slip? her adrenaline spiked as if she was in line for the tallest rollercoaster in the world instead of standing outside of phoebe’s door and knocking. she took a steading breath right before it opened and phoebe was revealed on the other side. thank fuck it wasn’t foster on the way out for his shift, or that tefi had incorrectly assumed he’d be gone from the apartment for the night. “hey, mamas!” she greeted, leaning forward to place an air kiss alongside phoebe’s cheek. “you look so cute, girl.” tefi complimented as she pulled back, her arms full with a blanket, a board game (an old copy of dream phone, the best board game in existence!), and a few dvds she managed to find at thrift haven. “i’m so excited for girls’ night. i desperately need some feminine energy. you know i love the boys but if i see cj’s underwear on the floor of the bathroom one more time, i might just burn down the whole building. say bye bye to caffélicious, i’m serious.”

[saulweissberg]

availability / @thephoebeyates setting / saul's home in oak gardens; sunday, july 7th, around seven pm.

for once, someone was actually using saul weissberg’s kitchen! and it was actually saul! of course, he wasn’t really cooking. he had ordered takeout from the local chinese restaurant and set out the boxes on his kitchen counter, eating straight out of them like a broke college student, but it was a different venue than where he usually took phoebe. he thought she enjoyed coming over to his house, anyway. not just for his cats, but to judge his steely décor and expensive furniture. he was pretty sure she slept in his bed once while he was away, just to see what it was like, but that might’ve been marmalade and smokey messing up the sheets. saul liked his home, he felt proud of it, so let her (or anyone else) make their comments. he was happy to be in blue harbor—he just didn’t want anyone to know it. leaning against the counter, saul dug the chopsticks harder into the container after a wayward piece of chicken before he continued speaking to phoebe. “so, yeah… my first ex-wife has officially moved here. isn’t that just so weird? or am i overreacting?” he asked, though it was partly rhetorically. if he was overreacting, he wasn’t sure that he cared. the situation warranted it! “if my second shows up, i may officially have to move. then you, cookie,” he pointed towards phoebe with his chopsticks that finally caught the piece of chicken he hunted after, “will not be getting a birthday present this year that you refuse to let me buy you.”

[clementinebriar]

[ IT'S A MATCH! 🔥 YOU AND PHOEBE HAVE LIKED EACH OTHER ]

CLEM: 👀 CLEM: stepping out on your man, princess?? CLEM: didn't think you had it in you @thephoebeyates

[damianesco]

[ 📱 text ] damian & phoebe (@thephoebeyates)

DAMIAN: [Attachment: 1 Image] DAMIAN: trendy breakfast, casual y/n

[just-foster]

—Starter for @thephoebeyates Location: Phoebe's Apartment

They had never done anything 'the right way.' Getting a cat together before even defining the relationship. Ditching condoms before they had the talk confirming they were exclusive. But from a logistical standpoint, picking Phoebe up for their first official date when they spent most mornings waking up beside one another was the weirdest one yet. "Okay, I'm gonna go out in the hall, are you almost ready?" he yelled from the living room, grabbing his wallet, keys, phone, and pack of cigarettes on his way out the door.

Giving her a couple more moments to put together the finishing touches, he counted to thirty before knocking on the door.

[jeanieinabxttle]

➥ location: latte love ➥ status: closed starter for @thephoebeyates

"Okay, I've been thinking and I've decided we should quit our jobs and start a pumpkin farm together." Plonking the tray down gracelessly on the table between herself and Phoebe, Jeanie slid into her seat. The lattes splashed menacingly in their mugs, frothy liquid lurching from side to side but fortunately not spilling over onto the muffins that accompanied them. She paid no attention to the near disaster, too focused on the thoughts that had gripped her since she left her friend to find a table while she ordered. "No, listen. It's a genius idea, right? We'd be rich. I mean it's only August and everything's already pumpkin themed. Pumpkin spice lattes, pumpkin muffins, pumpkin bread. Even the general store has a little fall themed aisle going, it's awesome. I got a little gnome with a pumpkin head for the fire escape. I've named him Greg. Think about it... our own pumpkin empire."

[elijahfalvey]

📱to → BEE BEE

ELIJAH: hey U stopping by today? Hats asked ELIJAH: [ FIVE MINUTES LATER ] U have a passport?

— @thephoebeyates.

[rorysanderson]

x. status -> closed for @thephoebeyates x. location -> blue harbor public library

Rory’s been watching Annie eye the book in her hand, glance upward, eye the book in her hand again, glance upward again, then rinse and repeat for approximately five minutes now. Truthfully, he’s been less curious about what she’s been up to than amused, though that changes the second it seems like she’s about to leave the vicinity and, in turn, his sight. He makes his way quietly over to where she’s been standing in the aisle filled with children’s books and leans downward, whispering in her ear, “Whatcha doin’?”

Annie jumps a little, turning over to quickly look at her father. She gives him a halfhearted glare, but it’s quickly replaced by a curious expression when she turns her attention back to the direction she’s been glancing at before. Rory follows her line of sight — a couple of aisles over, it seems, there’s a young woman leafing through a book in her hands. If he were to look closer, he may think she looks slightly familiar — but he’s got more pressing matters, with a six-year-old in front of him. He looks back down at Annie and raises an eyebrow. “You know her?” he asks, and Annie shakes her head. 

“She looks like a princess,” she whispers at Rory, eyes wide. “Can she come eat lunch with us?”

Rory blinks. “Monkey, you don’t invite strangers to lunch with you because you think they look like royalty.”

“Says who?” She demands.

“Says — well, Ireland, probably,” he mutters, which earns him a confused look from Annie. “I’ve got to start teaching you European history.”

She raises the book in her hands further upward, so that it may grace Rory’s eyesight instead of her face. The cover depicts a brunette princess in a white dress, surrounded by flowers and unicorns and something that looks like floating shit to Rory, but must be some other mythical creature he does not know the name of. “She looks like this princess,” she insists, as if this should be enough of an explanation for Rory to give into her request. “Dad.”

“Annie,” he quips back in the same tone. “Kiddo, she’ll probably say no.”

Annie shrugs. “Fine,” she accepts this possibility like a trooper, and for a second all Rory sees is Eliza, pushing him to expand his social circle beyond anything he’d ever had before. Most of his friends back in Scotland had been hers first — she was never afraid of social interaction, the same way he’s been. Of rejection. Of anything. And it seems like, somehow, this has managed to be more a genetic trait than a learned one, if Annie’s eagerness to delve into the fiery depths of socializing is anything to go by.

Before Rory can come up with another excuse as to why this is a terrible idea, Annie’s already turned on her heel, marching through the aisles. They leave the children’s section behind quickly, and Annie stops as soon as she reaches the young woman. She stares up at her, mouth agape, and Rory realizes she’s lost her ability to say words the way a starstruck fan might before a favored rockstar. He steps up and intervenes before it gets weird.

“Hi,” he greets the young woman, then narrows his eyes slightly. “Oh, I know you, don’t I?” He points at her, as if this’ll help the memory come quicker. “Happy Tails. Guinea pigs,” he finishes, a little lamely. “Er, sorry to bother, but,” he gestures downward to Annie, who is still staring at Phoebe up in awe, clutching her book like a lifeline. “This is Annie,” he introduces her. “She usually has more to say by now, but she—”

“Are you her?” Annie blurts an interruption, practically shoving the book in her hands toward the woman. “Are you the princess?” Her voice is a whisper and filled with anticipatory awe, and all Rory can do is scratch at his jaw awkwardly.

[tonibeltran]

x. status -> closed for @thephoebeyates x. location -> o'shea's why are you even asking at this point

Far be it from him to judge anyone’s alcohol preferences, but Antonio can’t help wondering why so many people enjoy the taste of vodka. He can appreciate it for what it is — a means to an end, that is — but when it comes to taste, surely literally every other alcohol in the world surpasses it by miles and miles. It seems every time Antonio glances back up at the man bartending today, he’s pouring some more vodka into a glass. It’s gotten to the point where he’s begun to doodle the bottle itself in the margins of the prose he’s attempting to write, a fanciful distraction in the face of rhyming block. 

No one’s asked him to write this song. It’s one of those he’ll never finish — he’ll start it, optimistic that maybe he’ll get somewhere this time, then he’ll abandon it as soon as something more profound than what he’s ready to face on paper crosses his mind. He’ll let it gather dust with the rest of his unfinished verses, somewhere in the bottom of his bedside drawer. Though he supposes it’s something. More than he could write sober, anyway.

He’s shading the bottle illustration with his pen when his ears perk at someone mentioning the names Lorde and Charli. Two names he’s familiar in the industry, of course, especially since he’s started moonlighting as a pop songwriter. But mostly, what catches his attention is the fervor in which the names are being spoken, almost as if they’re stumbling right over the other. Antonio peeks to his right and finds a young woman — can’t be more than twenty-one, if she’s allowed in here — with her laptop situated in front of her, seemingly explaining something about the pop stars’ most recent single. Toni can’t help the small twitch of his lips in amusement — he misses being this passionate about something. Even if it is for something as frivolous as a pop song.

Moreover, she’s doing this while seemingly also typing away on her laptop, a feat that impresses Toni so much he has to pipe up when she seems to finally end her conversation with the two men. “Sorry, I have to ask,” he leans forward a bit, a curious expression on his face. “Were you…transcribing your conversation? Or were those two things,” he gestures between the laptop and the two older men. “Completely unrelated?”

[themissing-linc]

who: Linc & @thephoebeyates where: Phoebe and Foster's apt, sans Foster

The rules of rom-com night were simple and sacred: Come bearing snacks, do at least one face mask or spa treatment, and air out all your shit to the tune of Notting Hill or something else they'd seen a dozen times before. Tonight, Linc came bearing two Dreamland paper bags full of snacks-- Drumsticks, Hot Fries, Nerds Gummy Clusters, the works.

He'd only been in Phoebe and Foster's shared apartment a handful of times, but Linc busied himself sliding the ice cream into the freezer and fishing for a bowl to dump the chips in. "What's your movie recommendation for tonight?" he asked, plopping a hot fry into his mouth and pulling a bottle of cheap Champagne out of his bag. "You want a glass?" he asked, opening the bottle with his keychain corkscrew.

Linc spied Phoebe's spa night spread on the coffee table and he dutifully made his way into the living room, balancing a wine glass between his fingers and snacks in his arms. He dropped a raspberry in his Champagne, then Phoebe's, and tapped his hand on the coffee table. "I.... think I fucked up," Linc admitted, words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. "With Dante."

[theodoranowak]

x. status -> closed for @thephoebeyates x. location -> blue harbor animal shelter

Maybe it’s not the best idea to adopt a dog right after she’s moved here — Theo thinks the loneliness might lessen, if she gives it, like, another week, even. But she still finds herself at the animal shelter, because she was in the neighborhood anyway, and she’s always been a sucker for a good petting session.

She’d never been allowed a dog growing up — not even as a consolation from her parents, for making her grow up so isolated from the most of her family, extended and immediate. She had, however, interacted with many of the dogs in the equestrian center back home, taken in as therapy dogs for the horses. It was such a fantastically sweet sight to behold — she thinks maybe Autumn might like a dog friend, again. Maybe she’ll implement the program in her own center, if she can find the help.

She’s cooing at a big dog, black as night, whose eyes had immediately widened at the sight of her in excitement — she’s a sucker for a good puppy dog face, and had immediately sat in front of his cage to try her best to pet him through the holes. The receptionist had given her ample space to look at the dogs on her own, only once in a while looking up from the paperwork she seemed to be drowning in to make sure she was still fine, or that she didn’t need anything.

“What a sweet boy you are,” she whispers to him, scratching at his chin. “You might just be as big as Autumn!” She doesn’t notice the presence of another beside her until she tries to glance back at the receptionist and is instead met by two very human legs. “Oh!” she looks up to find a young, pretty girl looking down at her. “Sorry, did you want a turn with him?”

[tefibetancourt]

availability / @thephoebeyates setting / earthwave timeline / sunday, september 22nd, 2024 at 9:35 pm.

strawberries, cherries, and an angel’s kiss in spring… nancy sinatra crooned into her ears from her airpod knockoffs—complimentary of the local t.j. maxx’s electronics section—and made her completely unaware of who was sharing the aisle with her. having recently moved into halide dursun’s house, she was currently shopping for some snacks to replace the ones she already took out of hali’s pantry over the last week. she hummed along to the song, placing a box of cheddar jack cheezits into her basket when she suddenly looked up to find her former friend just a few feet away. phoebe yates, looking cute as a button despite her heartbreak. tefi froze. what exactly was she supposed to do when faced with the woman that was dating her estranged husband, and now finally knew that she was her boyfriend’s long lost wife? phoebe would probably punch her in the face for deceiving her, and tefi supposed she would deserve it. should she turn tail then? turn right on the heel of her white go go boots and just walk straight out of earthwave?

or, a second choice: confront her. walk right up to phoebe and explain that while she had betrayed her, she had done her a favor in doing so. foster wasn’t worth feeling a minute of heartbreak for, as tefi had personally known. breaking up was the best thing for phoebe in the long run. maybe she wouldn’t see it now, but eventually—hopefully—she’d realize that tefi, while she went about it in an underhanded way, had actually bestowed a blessing upon her. better to get rid of foster on her own terms instead of waiting for him to abandon her, like he did to his wife. he wasn’t worth it. any of it. tefi had gotten her revenge, and while that was satisfying in itself, she could concede it was a waste of time. 

well, time was all tefi had, stuck in a limbo called blue harbor, illinois. it was hers to waste.

so, she had two choices, but tefi couldn’t pick either. she didn’t have to, because phoebe was suddenly looking her right in the eyes and tefi made no move in either direction. confront her, run away, disappear into a cloud of smoke—none of it happened. she simply stayed put, hand flexing its grip around the basket handle. tefi exhaled forcefully, air puffing out her cheeks. this was going to fucking suck. “um… hi.” she broke the ice, tension thick as she ripped one earbud out and shoved it into her jacket pocket. the dreamy sound of nancy sinatra abruptly ended, replaced by the tinny sounds of hoobastank played over the grocery store’s radio speakers.

[saulweissberg]

availability / @thephoebeyates setting / rise 'n' dine, around ten am.

“you’re supposed to put your phone down at the table, you know.” saul chided phoebe, his fork clattering against the plate as he cut up his waffle. despite his tone, there was clear affection in his eyes for his faux-niece, and he wasn’t exactly innocent when it came to reading emails and answering phone calls during meals. he was sure that was why his son grew to resent him: the distractions at dinner and the broken promises, among many reasons no doubt. (if he was in micah’s position, he’d probably feel the same, but it still hurt.) in order to salve the wound of his relationship with his son, saul transferred his paternal affection to others. that included phoebe—in fact, she was at the top of the list. their frequent breakfast meetings at rise ‘n’ dine were a highlight of saul’s busy workweek and when he didn’t have to cancel them (something he often did to micah in his childhood, naturally), he intended to get all the gossip from his young friend. “texts from foster, i’m imagining?” he gave her an accusatory squint of his eyes, then broke into a knowing smile. ah, young love. at her age, he was in his second marriage with a five year old son. he hoped foster and phoebe would be able to keep things slow.

[hairpintvrns]

STARTER FOR: @thephoebeyates LOCATION: a hiking trail / forest lake

“Don’t move.” 

The words cut through the air, armed and precise, but silent. With their free hand, Terry gently gestured towards the small bird foraging in the ground—what they’d identified some ten minutes earlier as a Carolina wren. While fairly commonplace in deciduous forests, this wren species was typically heard than seen on account of their loud, whistling birdsong (teakettle, teakettle, teakettle) and it was rare for them to nestle themselves outside of a nearby water source. 

That early morning, though, the wren was busy foraging in the ground and sifting through the untamed wildflowers and leaf litter in the hopes of finding some sustenance. “He hasn’t registered your presence yet. I need to just—” They cast their gaze down, issuing a silent answer. Sat down on a mossy tree stump, with their journal balanced on their knees, Terry continued sketching the bird with their left hand, brow furrowed in concentration as they made the finishing touches. 

The bird’s structure in itself wasn’t particularly complicated. In the absence of color and armed with only a 2B graphite pencil, the more challenging task was building on the bird’s details through shading. Its pale throat might have been flanked by slightly tan undersides, but its plumage, from its wings to its rumps, were decidedly darker, almost chestnut-like. The color carried over to the crown of their head, but their eyebrow stripes were decidedly pale, too, sharp and distinct, like cornices standing out against a building’s facade. Here: the customary task of dark and light strokes, changing the firmness of their grip on the pencil when necessary. 

“There. There we go,” a hum of satisfaction left their throat as they completed their sketch, turning over the page as they did. Keenly aware of the request they’d made to the younger woman some minutes ago, Terry’s gaze lifted from their journal to the bird and said, “You can move now, sorry about that. I think he’s just about done foraging, too.”

“You know, there are some carolina wrens who mate for life, and even forage around the territory together.” Terry added, unable to quite stifle their knowledge, not when they’d just saved the poor bird from being potentially uncoupled from its life partner.

[damianesco]

x. status -> closed for @thephoebeyates x. location -> phoebe's apartment

Damian’s not sure what he expects when he arrives at Phoebe’s apartment. She’d warned him about the mess, but where the mess the last time he was here had been almost deliberate, this time around it just looks — in shambles. The place is small, so walking through it doesn’t take too long, nor does it take too long to spot exactly what feels off  this time around. There are a couple of trash bags full of what Damian can only imagine are Foster’s things, and in the kitchen, some sort of powder all over the floor coated with splattered glass shards, to boot. His immediate instinct is to berate Phoebe for leaving glass on the floor, but when he turns to look at his friend, she’s sitting on the couch staring at the wall, barely acknowledging his existence.

Grimacing, he sends a quick text to Grayson, telling him he’s gonna have to bail on their plans today. He sends a picture of the scene in the kitchen, explains it’s for Phoebe, then pockets his phone and gets to work. He knows what this is like — he’s been in this state, or something similar to it, before. It’s never easy. It’s never pretty. And coming out of it to a mess? Just makes it worse, in his experience.

He carefully dusts up the glass shards, vacuums the powder. He does the remaining dishes in the sink, dries and puts them away. He folds the remaining clothes in Phoebe’s laundry basket, careful not to touch her intimates. (He’s not super sure she’d appreciate that.) He wipes down the counter, empties the trash, vacuums the rest of the apartment. He works around Phoebe, allowing her her space, and it all leads to him grabbing all the trash bags with Foster’s things and setting them outside of the apartment door, so that Phoebe won’t have to look at them anymore. When he’s done, it’s been over an hour, the place is spotless, and Phoebe hasn’t moved an inch.

Carefully, he approaches her and drops a soft kiss to the top of her head. “Hey,” he greets her for the first time. “You want something to eat?”

[thephoebeyates]

TASK 002: SUMMER LOOKBOOK

@thephoebeyates — recent searches:

Cottage-Core

Jorts Summer

Art Hoe

Fairy Core

Y2K Aesthetic