#thought i moved past this (so much shitty art after having gotten a skill down). it’s so fucking disappointing it’s such a huge let down

[iinmysights]

i hate making art (genuine) (lying)

[itzagothamcitysiren]

Welcome to the Family

Happy Mother’s day to all the mothers and motherly figures out there! This story is kind of inspired by my relationship with my older sister, who was honestly more of a mother to me than our actual mom. She’s awesome and I wish I could see her today but quarantine sucks lol. 

Also, too me Logan Lerman is Tim. He’s just so awkward and cute and nerdy, and I think he’d be a great Tim. 

Mother’s Day pt.1           

 “What the hell are you doing, Drake?” Damian’s snippy voice cut through the empty living room like a knife.

           The once comfortably silent room, now held an awkward and thick tension as Tim Drake popped his head up from his work, annoyed at being interrupted.  He looked back down at the paper and other supplies cluttered around the coffee table for a moment, not even embarrassed at being caught. It was a normal thing that he started doing shortly after moving into Wayne Manor all those years ago; Damian was still the one who was the odd one out.

           “Making Mother’s Day cards; what else does it look like?” Tim rolled his eyes, motioning his hand with a slight wave to the finished card at the edge of the table. That one was meant for his mother, he made sure to finish it first, wanting to drop it off at the post office tomorrow after school so it’d get to her in time.

           “Tt.” Damian shook his head, crossing his arms against his chest. He took a seat at the other end of the couch to look over the older boy’s work.

           Damian Wayne wasn’t the type for such sentiment. He scoffed at the idea of Mother’s Day. Could you just imagine him, an al Ghul, giving his mother a card? Though, he didn’t put it past someone as pathetic as Drake to be one to celebrate the commercial holiday. Even Grayson and his father celebrated, and their mothers were dead. They’d both journey to the cemetery and placed roses on their mother’s grave. But that made much more sense to Damian, than making a card, they were paying their respects, while Drake was just giving his mother a worthless piece of paper.

           “A simple piece of paper will really satisfy your mother? Tt.” Damian leaned back into the couch, arms still crossed but now lifting his leg to rest on his other thigh.

           “Yes. It. Will.” Tim gritted, not in the mood for Damian’s taunting and insults; he was actually in a genially good mood for once.

            He moved to open his mouth again, clenching the marker in his hand tightly; who did this kid think he was? He was glad the kid was over his phase of trying to actively kill him but he still found pleasure in making Tim’s life miserable. He tried closing his mouth, not wanting to get into it again but the third Robin still felt the need to defend himself against the spoiled blood son. He pushed the disappointed look Bruce would surely show him away after the old man would end of having to break up another fight between the two boys.

           “I’m not just giving her card; I’m also sending her a gift card to her favorite restaurant and another one for a trip to this day spa. It makes her happy and since I’m not around I want to make sure she knows I miss her. You know like normal mother and son stuff, not that you would know anything about that.”  

           Tim cursed to himself as soon as the bitter and smug words left his mouth. Shit.  He went too far; the dead silence that followed told him that much. He didn’t dare look up to see Damian’s face. He could practically feel the scowl, the deadly glare, beaming into the side of his head; it was like he was being blasted by Superman’s laser beams. Maybe that was being a little dramatic but Tim knew he shouldn’t have said that. He was better than stooping that low and saying something that brash. Even with the pair being fair from close, barely even being on speaking terms, Tim still knew how sensitive Damian was about his relationship with Talia.

           He was half expecting to feel a punch come down from him, or a shove, anything that would physically harm him in response but much to Tim’s surprise he was just met with Damian’s signature sound, ‘Tt’, and then him shifting in his place. Tim scratched the back of his neck, unsure why Damian reacted so calmly, not that his body and pride weren’t complaining. He mentally shrugged and went back to making his second card.

           The younger boy watched as Tim got back to work. He wanted to lash out at Drake’s dig at him and his mother’s relationship but Damian didn’t want to give Drake the satisfaction of knowing that he was insulted. He thought back to his father’s speech after their last fight about how they both needed to learn how to be the bigger person. Damian rolled his eyes at the memory and instead quirked an eyebrow up as he watched Tim begin to get back into making what appeared to be a second Mother’s Day card.

           “Correct me if I’m wrong but last time I checked you only had one mother, Drake.” Damian said, nodding towards the second card.

           “You would be correct.” Tim nodded, not looking up this time as he spoke. He reached for the blue Sharpie instead, filling in the bubble letters he wrote with it.

           “Then why are you making another card? Did you realize how stupid that other one is and are starting over?” Damian pressed, leaning back once again to get comfortable.

           Tim huffed, already over this conversation. It was times like this that he wished Dick and Halley still lived at home. Damian would be Dick’s shadow if he was here and not bugging him like this. With Halley, she’d swoop in the moment she felt a fight forming and would’ve gotten the demon spawn to shut up by now. But now that they were the only two left living at home Damian was all Tim’s problem. Maybe it was time to go back to the Titans?

           “No, my mother’s card is done. This is for someone else.” Tim said, using his minimum art skills to draw a decent flower next to the y in Day. He huffed again when Damian responded immediately asking who specifically it was for. Tim let the marker drop from his grasp, losing his nerve. Rubbing his head, he pushed the hair fallen in front of his face out of his face, letting out a deep breath. Why did he care what he was doing? Damian has shown more interest in his current activity than he’s shown in anything in Tim’s life since they met.  “It’s for Halley.”

           “Tt.” Damian rolled his eyes, smirking. “Halley isn’t your mother, Drake.”

           “No, but since I’ve moved here, she’s always been there when I need her and she’s done so much for me so this is my way of thanking her and showing that I love her.” Tim let himself get cocky again, snipping right back at Damian. He put emphasis in his speech, knowing that not only was it true but it would rub Damian the wrong way. “I do this for her every year and every year she gets all mushy and loves it.”

           Damian narrowed his eyes at the older boy. Was Drake questioning his relationship with his older sister? They may only be half siblings but that was more blood than she shared with anyone in the bat family. When the pair first found out they shared the same mother, Damian had been less then enthused about no longer being an only child and furious at his mother for failing to mention her having a child with Deathstroke. Halley had been just as shocked and angry, but at her father for never telling her. She wasn’t surprised but still angry. Though unlike him, she quickly rushed to try and get closer to the boy. Even though Damian wanted no part of it, Damian was clearly her favorite brother; right?

           Drake said this was a yearly thing but why has he never noticed before? He did know that they would occasionally spend what they grossly called Mandatory Sibling Bonding Day together, where’d they’d go out just the two of them, much to the annoyance of Damian. He didn’t understand why she wasted her time with Drake; what could they possible do for fun together? Granted, she did do the same with Grayson whenever they were around at the same time. The pair of them also being close, Grayson having been the one to help get her out of her old life with her father, Slade Wilson.

           Damian thought about how his sister had a close personal relationships with all the Robin’s and Batgirl’s, even the failure that Damian deemed as Stephanie Brown; Halley was close to them all, all but him. Though that wasn’t completely true, they did have somewhat of a bond. They both had what she phased as shitty-ass parents, her father being Deathstroke himself while his was the Dark Knight, and they shared the same mother, Talia al Ghul. They’d never known about the other until Damian was brought to live with his father by their mother and Halley had long been taken in by Dick and Bruce.

           He still remembered their first meeting, they hadn’t yet known about sharing the same mother but yet she was still eager to accept him. He of course didn’t share her gusto, especially after Slade revealed that Talia was her mother after he attacked the League of Assassin’s and killed his grandfather. Damian wasn’t keen on having an actual sibling, especially one with the blood of Deathstroke. But they also shared the same al Ghul blood and was quite the efficient fighter. But they were both incredibly set in their ways and persistent, as she was dead set on getting the younger boy to open up while he was dead set to prove that he was the most worthy al Ghul.

           It infuriated him enough that she said she didn’t care about being an al Ghul, having  no memories of being with the League of Assassin’s, as Slade and Talia agreed that she would go off to live with her father for her training. Damian said she was unworthy of the blood they shared and she didn’t deserve it. Though even now, he wouldn’t admit it but sometimes he swore he could still feel the pain from the beating she gave him when he tried to kill her in her sleep his first few months staying in the manor whenever he looked her way.

           That was something he admired about his sister, again not like he would ever admit it, but her persistence was something he looked up to and even came to appreciate. Even after trying to kill her, being cruel, and treating her like how she treats Drake, at first even worse, she never gave up on him; a feat that no one else could say they’ve come close too; perhaps Grayson, but there were times where even the star-child of Bruce Wayne’s collection of wayward children would walk away from Damian’s outbursts because he simply had enough of the all give an no take. But not Halley; she’d stay every single time and with that she’d even give him a smile at the end of it.

           She understood what it was like. Being raised by Slade Wilson was basically the same as being raised by Ra’s al Ghul. They never had a conversation about it, Damian always calling her a fool, she didn’t know what his childhood was like and then brushing her off. But who was Damian kidding? She made her first kill by age eight, so did Damian. She had expectations placed on her that no child should’ve been held up to, as did Damian. They shared bruises, scars and nightmares.

           Grayson had tried with him, after his father failed but Halley was the one who truly helped him adjust to this new life he found himself in without even knowing it. What Grayson and his father didn’t understand was that you just couldn’t stop being who you were raised to be in a second, it took time, and Halley had been through the same transition. Granted she was looking to escape the life she had with her father whereas Damian was forced to be with his by his mother, but there were just some habits that where hard to break.

           “You good there?” Drake’s voice cut Damian out of his thought process.

           Damian snapped out of it, narrowing his eyes down at the card, noting Tim had stopped working on it and was looking at Damian as if he was a frozen computer screen. Scoffing, standing up to his feet, he uncrossed his arms, pointing a finger at the card for his sister. Trying to hid the fact that Drake caught him in such a deep thought, he cleared his throat before sneering,  

           “Her favorite color is purple, not red.”

           Tim watched, mouth left agape as Damian made his way out of the room without another word. He took another look down at the card and grunted, reaching for a new piece of paper, getting ready to start all over again. What a kid, he thought as he got back to work.

[randomoranges]

the other day i lost the friendly wagerino and @allbeendonebefore was like hey i want 70s stuff but maybe also make it not shitty?

idk if i delivered. i had this idea after she herself made an art and showed it to me revolving around the 70s. i figured id use it. it has a point of hope at the end? maybe it’s the origin story we all needed lamao

also please enjoy the repeated pattern of ed and ét forever saving the other a seat/making room for the other. 

also the running gag is how vague can i keep things about the 70s when also writing a fic about the 70s lewl

vague references to many things being made here

Empire of Ash Somewhere between 1971 and 1975

 He doesn’t know why he bothers – doesn’t know why he’s here. There’s no longer a point to any of this anymore. He feels the shift – feels it in the way the others look at him – the way they don’t look at him and it makes his blood boil.

 He used to run this show. Would walk in, grace the others with his presence, and they would fawn over him – trip themselves trying to be him. That or they would seethe behind their jealousy. They either wanted to be him or be with him and Étienne had always been willing to oblige. He understood their envy. Understood their want. He couldn’t really blame them. The proverbial world seemed to revolve around him and he’d reigned it with such ease and grace.

 It wasn’t always peaches and cream, naturally. He’d struggled – his people had struggled – they still struggled, but – overall, he’d been the example to follow – the one people wanted to emulate. Innovating. Exciting. The place to go – the one to be. An icon. He’d loved it. Loved the attention and the praise. The ease of it.

 It had only amplified when he’d been awarded the world exposition. It’d been a last minute decision, sure, but he’d thrived. He’d given them all a show they would never forget. Had put himself on the map for good. For years and decades to come, they would talk about Expo 67. This, would be a Moment never to forget. People would exchange anecdotes about what they had seen – what they had done. About how great and innovative it had been. How wonderful and spectacular. It was, after all, the type of work he loved – bettering his image and his city – thinking ahead. Planning. Putting on a show. Entertaining.

 He was very good at entertaining.

 He could entertain in so many different ways.

 Everyone had looked at him during Expo. Everyone had wanted him then. The stroke to his ego had been enormous. Had been satisfying. So satisfying. It had never been a dull moment. One giant party that had never ended for days and weeks and months. The afterglow had lasted – had pushed him through one winter and then the next. He’d drifted on his high – on his cloud, basking in it for days after, already a fond nostalgia settling in for the long run. The rose tinted glasses and such.

 And then it had skittered to a halt. Had come to an abrupt end. The proverbial rug had been pulled from under his feet without warning, leaving him with whiplash that had left a bitter taste in his mouth – that still lingered and rippled. Crept into his body and settled in; poisoned every last remaining good memory. Destroyed and shattered all his hard work.

 His empire had crumbled before his very eyes, leaving him with nothing but a pile of ash. Everything he had carefully built, everything he had worked for, gone, in a blink. Because, apparently, they could no longer trust him and there was now too much instability over some political variation of ideology. Because the people in a province that never felt like it cared for him wanted more. Because people dared to want to be recognised and had – taken – action.

 Years of loyal service discarded.

 It wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t called the shots. He was a victim. A victim of the system. Yet, he bore the lasting consequences of them all.

 It was ironic, in a sense, that after years of feeling the oppression of religion, after fighting to break from it – after starting to find his true voice in this world, it was all being taken away and he was being pushed back – returning to a nobody.

 However, now he has a chance – another one, to prove to them that he’s still relevant – that they’re all wrong – have been wrong to cast him aside. This will be his redeeming arc. This has to be his redemption. He has no choice. No cards left to play, his deck long ago discarded.

 On a good day, he pours every ounce of energy and time into the plans for the Olympics. It’s touch and go; not as flawless and easy as Expo was. He tries to find that same magic, but it seems as though it’s one problem after the next. If it’s not some delay in construction, there’s a strike. If it’s not a strike, there’s a delay. As the calendar ticks on, his anxiety builds and his passion for the project dissipates.

 And then of course, everyone is kind enough to remind him that he’s nothing but a has-been – that there’s nothing left to him. His light has shined and now dulled, time be shelved and replaced.

  So he decides to stick to what he’s good at. Stick to what everyone wants. What everyone expects him to do. Put his moniker to good use. He knows how to play up his part, after all. He’s never even liked his obligatory job. Never saw the point to the meetings he’s obliged to attend. In his opinion, they run too long. He’s always found them boring, but at least, before, he was able to go and have a good time. Everyone had wanted his opinion. Everyone had wanted him. Because he was the best. He was somebody.

 Was.

 He is no one now.

 In any event. There’s no point to it anymore. He’s found better and more lucrative ways to spend his time. Better ways to chase the thrill of before – to feel alive where there is nothing but decay and rot. He’s found a way to feel wanted, even if for a little while. He knows where to put his skills to good use and make some cash while doing it as well. It’s more than could be said about these sorry meetings.

 The best part about his side hustle is that it makes his mayor mad. Makes the tiny bald man seethe and rage. But it makes Étienne grin. He loves that it enrages his mayor. Loves that he can keep finding ways to tarnish his plans of “cleaning up the city.” Étienne no longer is the wide-eyed-bushy-tailed naïve man who had blindly followed him. He’s grown since Expo. (It is a shame though; they’d mostly gotten along then – he’d enjoyed chatting up the man about his vision for the city. He misses the camaraderie, if anything. They may have not always gotten along, but – the man had vision – had helped him make a name of himself. This, however, he disagreed on.)

 With Expo, he’d – broadened his repertoire, so to say. Gotten a taste for the more delightful sinful pleasures of life – the full range and experience – had really let loose. It had been thrilling, what with everything else going on from the change in fashion to the freedoms the rest of his people were finally allowing themselves to experience without the fear of God breathing down their necks. His little personal discoveries had proven to be useful now that he needed an extra escapism and a different way to earn his living. The face his mayor had made had been worth it.

 Étienne wouldn’t have bothered showing his face to this meeting; would have flipped everyone off and returned to his new life, but his sister had insisted. Had reminded him that with the Olympics looming forward, he had to get his act together. Look presentable. Make an appearance. Remind everyone of what they were. It was all bullshit. He was tired of the hypocrites – the ones who’d died to have his opinion who’d now turned their backs on him. Tired of the fake airs everyone gave themselves at these meetings. The redundancy of them and the lack of anything ever getting done. He could be spending his time in so many other better ways.

 But. Élyse had begged and insisted. So he’d gone.

 Except now, he itches to get out of the place and get some air. The cigarettes he’s been smoking nearly nonstop since he’s gotten here have done nothing to calm his nerves and even though he knows he could go for something a little stronger to help, he also knows that with these stuck-ups they would have a conniption and keep passing their snide remarks. He tells himself he’s doing it for Élyse. She’s been through enough and – he doesn’t want to make it harder on her. Yet, he feels like he’s either vibrating out of his skin or that suddenly his body is too big, or too small for the ricochet of thoughts in his head. He needs air, a distraction, a hit of something, before he causes a scene, and luckily – miraculously – a break is called just as he’s about to bolt out.

 He lights up another cigarette as he looks for somewhere to wait out the break and scowls when all the benches are taken. There are spots left, but the last thing he’s in the mood for is polite small talk. It may have been his forte once, but the idea of it now makes him want to hurl. Étienne considers taking a walk and maybe finding something better to do for the afternoon, but the sight of a familiar sulking figure draws him close.

 He recognises Edward after a beat and only feels slightly relieved. Edward is his friend, sure, but they’ve sort of lost touch over the past few years. There’d been a frenzy of letter exchange after Expo and even before that, but – he can’t be bothered to remember whose turn it had been to write back. Then again, Étienne’s got a lot going on in his life at the moment and Edward feels as though he’s part of his old life.

 Still, he supposes that Edward hasn’t been unkind to him even if they haven’t sat down to have a heart to heart and at the moment, it’s better than the sneering and jeering. However, the idea of sitting down with someone he knows and having an actual conversation makes him want to set the world on fire. He considers getting out of here again, but just as he’s about to turn on his heels, Edward seems to notice him as well and moves his bag over so that Étienne can sit if he so desires.

 He’s ever so thankful when Edward leaves him to his moody thoughts and Étienne is able to breathe a little easier for the first time all day. It might almost seem like companionable silence, but he knows better and takes it for what it’s worth.

 Étienne smokes quietly as he lets his thoughts wander for a bit. He reflects on his strange friendship with Edward and how unlikely they came to be. He’d honestly never thought that his own ennui back home would have pushed him to set off exploring the Great West only to stumble upon another lost soul who would turn to be a friend – a confidant really.

 He’d – never expected Edward to take him up on it, back then – when he’d told him to keep in touch and write to him. He’d jotted down the address, given it to his friend and then had headed off, not thinking of the hassles Edward might have with finding an actual post office. Yet, eventually, when he’d nearly forgotten about it, a letter had appeared from Edward and Étienne had been more than surprised, even if he’d been delighted.

 He’d taken to writing to Edward frequently – or as frequently as was possible at the time. Sometimes, he would run back to the post office to add more to his already long letter, always having more to say to his friend and over the years and decades, he and Edward had built a steady if bizarre friendship through their writing.

 It’d been – easy to write to Edward. Easier than it’d ever been to say things out loud, anyways and he’d opened up about many aspects of his life he’d kept close to his heart with the years. In his opinion, Edward knew a lot more about him than Emma and even Élyse – not that he’d let them know. Yet, despite being able to write to his friend about everything that had ever bothered him, this time, he wants to keep his new secret to himself. He’s rather proud of this one anyways and he’s – not sure Edward would understand. Not entirely, anyways.

 He sighs and takes another drag of his cigarette. It’s a complicated mess and he’s lost so much already – doesn’t want to chance this at the moment. In case.

 It’s strange to think that even though he feels as though he’s found some sort of kinship with the new people he hangs around with, he feels even more alone than before. He’s – different from them. It comes with his status and the fact that despite his appearances, he is not like them – not really human in the full sense and there are certain hurdles he’s gone through that he cannot simply open up about to them.

 His musings are brought to a halt when he hears exasperated grumbling from his side. He’s about to scoff and tell Edward to quit it, but then turns to find the other man patting his pockets looking for something. Étienne overhears the words “cigarette” and “forgot” and figures out that Edward must have left his pack inside. He watches the little tantrum unfold for a moment, taking pleasure in seeing someone else frustrated for a while, before it gets on his nerves.

 He has enough to deal with as it is. He doesn’t need Edward’s complaining on top of it. With another sigh, Étienne fishes out his own pack and takes a cigarette out before he can reconsider and before Edward can get into a real fit.

 He wordlessly hands it over and waits for his friend to realise that there’s an offering being made.

 It takes Edward a moment and Étienne gets to the point where he’s afraid he’s going to have to jab the other man’s arm to get his attention, but before that has a chance to happen, Edward sees the cigarette and accepts it with a grumbled thanks. Étienne is about to take out his lighter, in case, but Edward already has it in his hand and lights up his cigarette without much trouble.

 It’s the extent of their conversation for the time being and for that, Étienne is grateful. He’s in no mood for talking and he appreciates that Edward keeps to himself. For the first time since the start of the day, Étienne feels slightly less alone and even though they don’t do much, he appreciated the presence of Edward. It’s – familiar, in a sense, even though they haven’t spent all that much time together.

 He can probably count on one or two hands the number of times they’ve legitimately hung out together – or even seen each other in the last century, but despite that, Étienne has considered Edward to be one of his closest friends for years now. Yet, somehow or other, even though the live miles apart, they’ve – clicked and bonded and somehow or other stuck around each other.

 He supposes, not for the first time, that it must count for something. Maybe.

 He’s not sure he wants it to, but as he finishes his own cigarette, Étienne finds himself with the same sense of ennui from before. The idea of sitting though another few hours of meetings still makes him want to hurl and the appeal of getting the hell out whispers soothingly in his ear.

 He spares Edward another glance and takes in his friend’s own sour look and discontented face. He figures that maybe – just maybe, Edward might not want to be here too and might want an excuse to get out.

 “Hey,” He says, finally breaking the silence between them. “Wanna get out of here? I think I saw a diner worth the detour on my way over.” It’s as good as an offers as he’s ready to make, but Edward, after a moment’s hesitation, carefully nods and stands up.

 They walk towards the street and fall into step together, as Étienne thinks that maybe there’s an analogy to be made about misery loving company, but he’d rather hope that instead, maybe he and Edward have more in common than he thought they originally did.

 FIN

[stevie-steven-stevington]

Febuwhump Day 17: heartbreak

Fandom: MCU Characters: Peter Parker, Michelle Jones, Ned Leeds Relationships: Peter Parker/Ned Leeds Rating: T Warnings: none Words: 1.9k

read on ao3

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[Loser #1, 4:22 PM] can you come over

[MJ, 4:31 PM] why

[MJ, 4:32 PM] i mean sure but why

[Loser #1, 4:40 PM] i think ned and i just broke up

[MJ, 4:44 PM] i’m outside your apartment

[Loser #1, 4:44 PM] its open

True to form, the door swings open when MJ tries it, and she slips into the apartment to find Peter sitting on his living room couch, staring at nothing. He’s not crying, a fact MJ is eternally grateful for, because she’s already out of her element and definitely cannot deal with tears on top of it all.

MJ’s not really sure why Peter texted her, of all people. It’s not like she’s good at comforting - on the contrary, she’s skilled in the art of making herself scarce when someone is upset - and while Peter might not have many other people to call, there has to be at least one other person who could handle this better than she can.

A quick once-over tells her that Peter probably hasn’t left the house today, if the old sweatpants and ratty t-shirt are anything to go by, so whatever happened must’ve happened here. Likely within the hour, since Peter doesn’t seem to have gotten past the shock phase of the breakup.

Breakup. Damn.

MJ’s not exactly the romantic type, but even she was pretty sure Ned and Peter were going to last forever. Or at least until graduation. They’re that couple who makes other couples wish they had what Ned and Peter had, that couple that everyone loved to hate because they were always so blatantly and obviously in love.

Were that couple, apparently. Is this going to make things weird in their group?

Jesus. Six months ago, she wouldn’t have cared if Thing 1 and Thing 2 broke it off - she would’ve noticed, because she notices everything, but she wouldn’t have cared - and now she’s worried that this breakup is going to ruin the balance of their group’s friendship.

Whatever happened, there’s no way she’s picking a side. Unless someone was clearly, unequivocally in the wrong.

She has principles, after all.

Peter doesn’t look up at her as she walks over to join him on the couch. The only indication that he’s moved since Ned left is the texts on MJ’s phone.

It’s odd. Of everyone MJ knows, Peter’s the one with the most energy, the one who’s always moving or fidgeting, the one who’s always talking a mile a minute about anything and everything.

Seeing him this still and quiet is a little unnerving. She’ll never admit it, but it is.

“Parker,” she says, perched carefully on the armrest of the couch. When he doesn’t respond, she snaps her fingers in front of his face until the glazed-over look in his eyes dissipates and he turns to stare blearily at her. “Parker, you with me?

He nods, index finger and thumb of his left hand pinching the fabric of his sweatpants.

Fantastic. Progress.

One hand rubbing at her other wrist - one of her very few nervous ticks - MJ asks, “What happened, then? Did you and Ned have a fight about which LEGO set to build today?”

Shit, that’s mean. Normally, she prefers to toe the line between witty and rude, but the line always moves when people are already upset and she’s not the best at toning it down before she accidentally makes things worse.

She’d backtrack, but Peter doesn’t even seem to notice. MJ’s willing to bet he checked out as soon as she said Ned’s name.

“I, uh - we had an argument?” Peter says, almost like he expects MJ to confirm this. “I think we broke up.”

All things she had gathered, circumstances considered.

“Details, dude,” MJ prompts, since apparently Peter’s not going to do anything without provocation.

Peter’s forehead wrinkles, brows knitting together. It’s evident that he’s not processing at full speed, or even at half speed, which means that this is going to be grueling.

There’s a ridiculously long pause before Peter says, “I’m a shitty boyfriend.” This is not only not a real explanation, but also objectively untrue. Seeing as Peter and Ned are her only friends, MJ would know. Peter treats Ned like he hung the moon and the stars, looks at him like he’s the only person Peter ever wants to see.

If MJ believed in soulmates, she wouldn’t hesitate to say that Ned and Peter are each other’s soulmates, one way or another. No one who’s ever even laid eyes on the two of them would hesitate.

As is, soulmates aren’t real, but she still thinks Peter and Ned are meant for each other.

“You’re not a shitty boyfriend, Parker,” MJ tells him, and means it. “Did Ned say you’re a shitty boyfriend?”

No. She knows the answers before she even finishes the question, because Ned would never say that to Peter, even if he thought it. Which he definitely doesn’t, what with the constant gushing about Peter he does. MJ’s had to sit through way too many mostly one-sided conversations about how Peter said this or Peter did that or my boyfriend is the best person on the planet and no one will convince me otherwise.

(The last one actually happened, word-for-word. MJ doesn’t even remember what Ned was on about that time, but it was probably something stupid and mundane. It usually is.)

“No.” Peter scratches at the inside of his elbow. “No, he didn’t, but it’s true.”

“And you say this, why?”

“I don’t make time for him. I don’t give him as much attention as he deserves. I don’t tell him things that I should. I don’t -”

Yeah, that’s enough of that.

“That doesn’t make you a shitty boyfriend, loser. That makes you a high school student who moonlights as a superhero,” she says, because even if they haven’t talked about it, they both know she knows.

Peter shakes his head, frustration palpable. “That’s not - that’s not an excuse -”

“For not having all the time in the world to hang out with your boyfriend? Yeah, I’d say it is.”

Peter actually rolls his eyes. She’d laugh at him if she wasn’t so damn uncomfortable right now.

“Okay, scoot over.” MJ slides off the armrest and into the space between it and Peter, who shifts to his right to accommodate. She considers throwing her legs over his lap, like she tends to do when they’re studying together, but that feels insensitive here. Instead, she leans an arm against the back of the couch and rests her chin on her hands. Peter shifts again to face her better. “You’re busy. Of course you’re busy, you’re a high school junior with a secret identity who spends one evening a week in a lab with Tony Stark. Are you telling me Ned broke up with you because you’re busy?”

That doesn’t feel right either. MJ likes to think she’s good at sussing out people’s problems, even though she couldn’t care less about most of them, and she’s pretty sure she’s not on the money yet.

In a small voice, Peter says, “No. I...I did.”

“What?” “I…broke up with him because I can’t be the boyfriend he deserves.”

For the love of God. Seriously? Does Peter even know what he’s like around Ned? Does he even realize how fucking disgustingly in love with him Ned is?

It doesn’t matter how busy he is, not to Ned. Not if the amount of time the boy spends talking about Peter is anything to go by.

“Peter. You have to be joking.”

He shrinks in on himself, just a little. “It’s for the best! Ned deserves better and -”

MJ smacks him with a throw pillow. Peter jumps, then shoots her a look that’s two parts affronted and one part abashed. Good. At least he still has some sense. “Who are you to decide what Ned deserves? Or what he wants?” “I -” Peter’s hands wave around as he tries to figure out what to say. “Look, he was mad because I didn’t tell him that I got hurt on patrol, again, and he hates when I’m not upfront about this stuff, and I just - I got defensive and then we were fighting and I kept thinking...”

Here it is, whatever’s really going on.

“I kept thinking that all I do is - is fuck up, in this relationship and in general, and I’m - I’m stupid, and I’m not funny or cool, and I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend, and no one should be stuck with me -”

Oh.

That’s what this is.

Peter’s not a dumbass, he’s just insecure.

(Well, no, he’s still a dumbass. But that’s unrelated.)

MJ’s not good at comforting people, but she is good at telling it like it is. And she’d never say this to Ned, because all it would do is enable him, but Peter’s objectively the best person she’s ever met.

“You know I’m not one to sugarcoat, Parker, so believe me when I say that every single word that just came out of your mouth is false.” When Peter opens his mouth, she raises her eyebrows as if to say do you really want to fight me on this? His jaw clamps shut. “Well, except for the bit about being cool - you’re not, but you make up for it.”

Peter lets out a short laugh.

“Do you know how much Ned talks about you?” she continues, lightly kicking Peter’s ankle. He kicks her back and MJ barely refrains from shoving his shoulder just hard enough to make him fall back on the couch. “He literally never shuts up about you, it’s kind of annoying. Actually, it’s really annoying, because he’s not even saying anything big or important. It’s just Peter’s so wonderful, he brought me a Hershey’s Kiss today or Peter caught a spelling error in my English homework, I love him so much.”

Her imitation of Ned is spot-on, if she does say so herself. Peter’s seemingly too caught up in blinking away tears to notice, though.

“He adores you, Peter. Like, it’s gross how much he adores you. I’d say I don’t understand why, but I kind of do.” It’s almost definitely the nicest thing she’s ever said to him. “So don’t be an idiot and lose him because you somehow think you’re a bad person or something, even though every single person you’ve ever met thinks you’re a saint. Even Flash does, he just won’t admit it.” This gets a real laugh. It’s sort of teary and harsh, but it’s a real laugh.

Hm. Maybe she’s not so bad at this after all.

Peter leans forward, gently dropping his cheek onto the top of MJ’s head. He doesn’t try to hug her, fully aware that MJ doesn’t do hugs, but he presses a kiss into her hair and murmurs, “Thanks, MJ.”

“Yeah, yeah, no problem, loser. Now go call your boyfriend.”

Peter stays for just a few seconds, then moves, grabbing his phone from the coffee table and wiping tears from his eyes as he heads to his bedroom.

MJ hears him say, “Hey, Ned, can we talk?” before he shuts the door, and thinks, My work here is done.

[calmskiesfierynights]

Okay. Does anyone else on here or who happens to be one of my amazing followers get accused of having a “bitch-face” ? Am I the only one who finds it extremely condescending and demeaning? 

Let me throw you some background. 

When I got a job in a serious business atmosphere at around the age of 18, I was scared. Being a science major just wanting to pay the bills... I couldn’t be more out of my element. But hey, suck it up right? Parents won’t pay your tuition and you don’t have a back up trust. I started off super young, since I was about 10-12 years younger than a bunch of (albeit lovely) sales people and coworkers. 

I was nervous, and trying so hard just to keep my job - but apparently I was doing great work! I just wouldn’t... 

“Why don’t you smile more love?”

“Darling, you have such a pretty smile?” 

“You’re so unapproachable.” 

It’s the first time I had heard it from someone other than my mother lecturing me on how I would never find anyone since I looked like “such a bitch”. Great. 

18 years old and I have a meeting with five grown ass men in suits that cost probably more than my tuition for the upcoming year combined. They all stood while I sat, most likely shaking but refusing to stare look down. What the fuck could I have done? Did I miss a finance deadline? Did I misplace an invoice? 

No. 

“You’re a pretty girl with the nicest smile, and one of our clients said you didn’t smile at him like he wanted. Now, this causes some concern...” 

I cannot even remember the rest because I blocked it. Shoved it so deep into my thoughts and never wanted to process it again. My spine was rigidly straight, something I learned the past years before as I fought to have a restraining order against my teacher who made extremely inappropriate advances on me. 

By the way... he still has his job. I’m still the butt of the joke in the faculty lounge I hear. Not that I’d ever go back or think of high school... honestly. 

I gave them a nod, noting my understanding through gritted teeth and smiled widely. The owner was thrown aback. 

The day before I had gotten my braces put in for the first time. My mouth felt like someone had begun to pull and shove and throttle from every tooth. I was in undescribable pain. I explained this, naturally. 

They all then laughed and excused me, telling me they were going to call the client and apologize on my behalf. 18-year-old me bit her tongue, but let it be. It was the first time someone thought I was a bitch just because of my face, but I guess it was the first time someone tried to get me fired because I didn’t please them aesthetically. 

I stayed at that job far and far too long to realize my education was taking a toll and my resolve was shattering. On the upside, my confidence and communication skills mastered, and I could get myself out of any hard situation with an unhappy client. But, the money woes went on... so next stop was the world of waitressing and bartending. 

Amazingly, and probably not too shockingly - it gets worse from here. 

I was amazing at my job. Not just amazing, but fantastic - and could literally upsell any beer or meal better than anyone. Make the perfect Bourbon Sour? Only me. Old Fashion? I was Queen of them. I had gotten my braces off, and my teeth were perfect. I’m not even being a cocky snot, but man my ortho really did art! My “bitch-face” got comments here and there, but luckily my boss thought it was one of my quirks. Men liked it apparently, because it made me more fun to banter with. 

Banter, I can dig it. 

But the other comments, I guess you can say they got to me? 

“Such a pretty blonde, why don’t you give me a smile?” That came with a tap on the tush. Perhaps I was too new or young? Because in the same setting three years later I stapled a man’s hand for doing that. This time however, back then, I could only muster a small smile. 

I could go on for ages about that place, but it was mostly good memories clouded with patrons calling me the “fuck-you face chick” or the “I wonder if I could do something to make her smile” with every innuendo intention. 

Le grand sigh. 

As my life began to move on, and I traveled and lived in different incredible places, I realized I had a lot to smile about. Also? I was so approachable apparently, and could make friends anywhere! 

That made me think - did I always have this face? Or did the many many men who fucked me over throughout my life make me not so willing to give their entire gender a smile? I thought about it a lot, and moved back home to once again search for my dream job locally, and work in a new bar. 

Alas, the demeaning mentions of my bitch-face didn’t come from patrons or drunks! No, but from management. Female management. 

After being booked during my first week for six doubles (not weird but super tiring!), I guess you could say I was overwhelmed? Apparently, that translated right to my face. 

My male GM sat me down for a formal meeting to tell me one of the owners, (female), thought I made too much of a scowling face when I worked and I looked absolutely miserable. 

“She said that? I looked miserable?” I asked, genuinely shocked and appalled. I only wanted to do a good job to well... make money of course! 

“Well... she used other words.” He said lightly, “You have a bit of a bitch-face.” 

Boom. There it was again. Hook, line, sinker. 

This time however, I wasn’t going down. I gave him my million-watt perfect smile and cocked my head to the side. “Whatever do you mean?” I responded with sickly sweet inquiry. 

I was out for blood, and they didn’t know it yet. I guess, neither did I? 

I still needed to fund my life and my research, so I accepted the criticism and promised to do something about my face right away. 

You know that petroleum jelly beauty pageant ladies use? Oh honey, I bought it and brought it to work. Before I went to any table, you could see me applying it in the staff alcove with exuberant enthusiasm. I was far too old for this bullshit of being afraid of my face, and a little too tired of hearing it. So hey, why not make a scene out of it? 

It worked for a while, but I guess me becoming more comfortable and happy with my coworkers really made it all better in the end. I was genuinely smiling, which was lovely... I guess? 

It lasted all of two months. 

A new GM came in I don’t remember his name but it probably was misogynistic asswhipe, but don’t quote me on that. I’m only partly sure. 

He had heard about my elusive face from upper management and greeted me as bitchface. Great. I didn’t speak to him for two weeks, and you know what men HATE? When you don’t acknowledge them. It’s not cute in their opinion. 

Too fucking bad M. Asswhipe!

Having been a main bartender before, and now working with a co-bartender, I could be happier. Alas, this lovely new GM decided my bitchface was a little too strong. 

“She’d be so much fucking hotter if she just smiled and did what I said.” 

He said this, as if I wasn’t standing next to him, about to pour wine. 

“He’d be so much hotter face-first in the deep fryer.” My comment won a lot more appreciation, naturally. 

It didn’t get better for me, as all staff had a meeting while I was out of town, and their new job was to remind me to smile more and not have such a bitch-face. 

This was a real topic. At a serious meeting. Of a well-known business. Led by Asswhipe GM and Not-so-Feminist Assistant Owner. 

When the person I had been dating reminded me one night with a tinge of snark, I dropped all the plates in my hand. That was it, the straw that broke the camel’s back. I ran outside a cried. It doesn’t seem that dramatic right? Like why was THAT the moment I lost it? 

I cried because I was so so so tired. Everyone I worked with was in on this against me, and I guess you could say I felt bullied. Every smiling demand, every leering man, every drunk creep, every sexual harassment... assault. It all surfaced in one giant clusterfuck of a Friday night dinner rush. 

So I quit. Simply. 

I got an incredible job in research that not only pays the bills well, but is giving me the most amazing experience to further my passion and goals in life. And you know what? Not one of the women or men I work with (who, might I add... especially about these incredible ladies... have more letters after their names than any of my ex-manager’s FULL names ever did) have ever even mentioned an inkling of my so-named Bitch Face. Not one. It’s never come up. I don’t need to smile to impress anyone, it’s what I can bring to the table that’ll blow their minds. 

So, what the fuck was this little spiel? 

Men have put me down for way too long. Women, well they have too, and I will do everything in my power to make sure I never become them. 

Listen, I truly don’t know why I wrote this. But If I could even help one person out there understand that it’s not you it’s their shitty fucking asses, man job well fucking done go me!

Please embrace each other. Please lift each other up. Please pick us up. Please love yourselves. And fuck anyone who says you have to smile more or fix your bitch-face. Fuck them, find your place and I promise you - no one there will five a fuck if you have a little bit of a icy scowl in your bones. 

- Lila. 

[parabellumrpg]

                                         CHARLOTTE SINCLAIR

                             THIRTY-TWO – OWNER OF THE BLACK CAT – SINCLAIR

Charlotte Abrams was born and raised in San Diego,‌ California. She grew up with two free-spirited parents who couldn’t seem to ever get it together. She couldn’t adapt to their bohemian lifestyle with so much ease, but she tried. She spent her childhood surrounded by her mother’s art and her father’s writings. It was all the culture a person could ever want, only her parents failed to make a profit off of their works. They were distracted, uninspired individuals. As a result, Charlie was in and out of school rather frequently. Most times her parents couldn’t even afford a warm meal, let alone new school supplies. She ran around barefoot most days, with tattered hand-me-downs from the donation boxes. Eventually, teachers started to notice. Not only was Charlie’s home life a concern, but her absences were putting her education behind significantly. Charlie wasn’t eating enough, either – she’d have one meal a day, if that.‌‌ Her parents weren’t bad people, necessarily. They just weren’t ready to have a daughter. They weren’t ready to care for someone other than themselves.

Charlie was taken away by child protective services at nine years old and spent the rest of her childhood in foster care. Thankfully, the worst of Charlie’s life was behind her. She missed her parents deeply, wondered about them often. But then Charlie would remember how hungry she’d be, and the blisters on the bottoms of her feet from the walks home. It was a conflicting time for Charlotte, and she decided it was best to lock those memories away, in the back of her mind.‌ She could unpack that when she was older, when she was ready for it.  Charlie underwent mandated counseling which helped. High school eventually rolled around and she made friends with an interesting group of people. At sixteen, Charlie came out of her shell.

Getting in to trouble was new and exciting. Charlotte was a beautiful girl, and she never found it difficult to gather the attention of others. She quickly learned how useful this was, and she had no issues using it to her advantage. She started off pocketing wallets from the rich kids in her school. She and a small group of friends would split the profit evenly. After high school, Charlotte graduated onto bigger jobs. She didn’t just want to pocket a few hundred dollars – she wanted a fortune. She was never cruel in her endeavors. She went after the people who could afford to lose. At twenty-six, Charlie was earning thousands of dollars per job. She was making enough to quit the shitty receptionist job that she’d been at for the last few years. Now, Charlie was thriving on the adrenaline rush that came with each con. She had several different aliases and backstories. And she never frequented the same area more than once. Her targets were usually older men who didn’t stick around for very long.

If only Charlie knew that her last con would be the great love of her life.

Jackson Sinclair had been in the California area on a business trip, though Charlie definitely didn’t run in the same circles as he did. She did some research, found out about his father’s criminal empire in Chicago, and the ongoing war that they were all involved in. Not only that, but Charlie quickly learned how wealthy the Sinclairs were. She wanted some of that cash. Jack was the perfect target. They met at a fundraising event. Charlie had invested in an expensive, designer dress that certainly turned heads. It was no surprise whenever Jackson approached her. He was smooth talking and magnetic. Charlie had never really felt attraction to any of the people that she’d conned in the past.‌ He made it difficult to keep her head clear. She’d been trying to convince him to buy a seat at a high stakes underground poker game. He agreed. Charlie thought she’d gotten away with it, but by the end of the night, Jack was asking for his wallet back with a smug grin on his face.

For the first time in a long time, Charlie was at a loss for words. She ended up in Jackson Sinclair’s bed that night, and that was it. Charlotte was always there for Jack, supporting him every step of the way, regardless of what he was doing. The pair eventually married when‌ Charlotte found out she was expecting their first child. It was an impromptu Vegas wedding, but it was perfect.

Before long, Charlie said goodbye to California and moved to Chicago with Jackson. She was six months pregnant with their first son -- Jackson ‘Jackie’ Sinclair (named after his father), and life couldn’t have been better. Over the years, Charlie had more children with Jack -- a girl and another boy. She started involving herself in the business, eventually taking charge of the Black Cat and ensuring that only the best performers were hired. By day, she was an incredible mother and a supportive wife -- knowing that, one day, Jack would pass down the family business to their children.

Whenever her sister in law announced her engagement to Luca Costello, Charlotte wasn’t sure what to think. Her maternal instincts told her to talk Paityn out of it, to make her see what an awful, stupid idea it was. But it wasn’t her place. She did have to talk Jackson down from blowing up (he wasn’t happy, not at all). There was nothing that anyone could do -- Paityn had made up her mind, and it was up to the rest of the family to support that decision or let her go forever. 

Letting Paityn say ‘I do’ was clearly the worst decision they could’ve possibly made. Only hours after the marriage ceremony, Paityn went missing, without a trace. No one knew what had happened, and it was so easy for the Sinclairs to point the finger at the Costellos. Who else could’ve been at fault for this? It was a set up -- a way to weaken their family. And even if Luca hadn’t been involved directly in her disappearance, someone on their side must have been. The last few months have been awful -- the city is struggling. And her husband is, too. Paityn’s absence has been felt deeply by the entire family, and Charlie’s starting to wonder if they’ll ever get her back. She’s always been confident in the skills of her husband, but she worries now for the safety of her own children… including the one she’s pregnant with now. She hasn’t told Jackson. She’s afraid to tell anyone. It’s not the right time for another baby, given the state of things in Chicago. But Charlie knows she can’t keep this a secret forever.

                                           CONNECTIONS

-- Relationship Status: Married to Jackson Sinclair -- Children: Jackson, Mila, and Eric Sinclair (NPCs)

FC: Inbar Lavi

The role of CHARLOTTE SINCLAIR is currently TAKEN.

[wumbo-boi-blog]

9/13/19

Hello World! It’s been a long ass time, and for that I’m sorry. I fell behind on writing for a few days and then I just kept getting busy so this got put on the back burner, but I’m back! Here’s a (somewhat) brief synopsis of every day since I wrote last...

8/30 - Went over to Parker’s house and drank for the first time! It was ok. His roommate got supper drunk which was amusing. I stayed the night. 

8/31 - There was a home game (1st one of the season) and Parker went to that while I went back to my dorm and listened to the game. I ended up feeling kinda sick and stuff, so I took a nap in the middle of the game lmao. Later Parker’s dad took us out to supper and I had a massive pretzel. Later that night I asked parker to go get me some allergy meds and some ice cream, which he kindly supplied. I then passed out for 12 hrs!

9/1 - Mostly just hung out in my dorm and did a little bit of homework. I called all of my parents and told them about my first week of classes. It was nice to tell them about it.

9/2 - It was labor day so I didn’t have anything to do, and my roommate was still out for the weekend. I did more drawing homework, cleaned up a lil, and went on a nice walk around campus with Parker. I read him some letters I had written for him and we talked a bit about marriage and shit. I gave him a gold turtle pin as a token of my love or whatever. We crossed paths with a fat raccoon and a kid showed us a  ~ magic trick ~ where he split a stick using his forehead. College is wack. All in all a good day. 

9/3,4,5 - I can’t remember much from these days. Mostly just doing class work and shit. I had planned to go home the coming weekend so I was trying to get as much done as possible before I went. I spent a shit ton of time in the studio on Wednesday night and had a great time with the buses (I did not have a great time). I hoped on a bus thinking that it would take me to one of two places close to my dorm, and I’d just get off at whichever stop came first. Neither of them did. I rode the whole route for like 30 min and got off one stop from where I had originally gotten on. I hadn’t eaten supper yet, and it was 9:50. The dining halls close at 10, and I was 10min away from my dorm. I managed to stop by a little shop and get a sandwich 5 min before they closed, and I angrily walked my way home. I sat in the common room, ate my sandwich, and then promptly returned to my room and fell asleep after a shitty 16hr day. Thursday I just spent more time in the studio getting shit done.

9/6 - I didn’t have class until noon so I spent my morning packing and getting laundry done before I went home for the weekend. I tried to get the washers to work but they wouldn’t take cash or debit, so I had to download an app, put a minimum of $10 worth of credits into it, and THEN I could start my laundry. I was going to eat breakfast while my clothes were being washed, but the dining hall closed right when I got there, and I almost had the gate shut on my head. Instead, I went to my room, read the book Parker let me borrow, and had some granola bars. When my laundry was done I went to put it in the dryers, only for the dryers to not fucking work. I drug my still wet clothes up 4 flights of stairs and got to let everything air dry in my room. I went to class, came back, folded as much as I could, ate some shitty dining hall food, folded the rest of my clothes, got my bags, found my car, and headed out. On my way back home I happened across a dinky little town called Stanhope that apparently has ‘watermelon days’ every year in July. I took a bit of a scenic route compared to the interstate and I greatly enjoyed my tiny bit of isolation. I made it home just before 4, talked to my dad for a bit, refueled my car, got groceries, and made it back in time for some pork burgers for supper! Afterwards Chance and I talked about movies and shit for a long as time before we finally picked out a movie for family movie night. We ended up watching Heathers, and after that we all went to bed.

9/7 - The next morning my dad got the whole house donuts, and he and I went to the farmers market to pick up eggs and banana bread. Upon returning home he gave me a whole bunch of art stuff for me to use, and I packed it all into a little leather messenger bag he gave me. So now I have an art bag! I worked briefly on some of my studio homework, and just hung out at home. I watched netflix briefly and cuddled with my cat for a bit, which was nice. A little before 4 my dad and stepmom left for a concert, leaving me alone in the house. At 4 I headed over to my mom’s and talked about college with my stepdad for a bit. Then my mom came down from taking a shower and we talked further about college stuff. After that we went to supper with my grandparent’s in a nearby town. When we returned home I got to pop open my senior yearbook that my mom had picked up for me. It mentioned some of my big accomplishments of the year, and it felt really nice to be recognized for the hard work I did. When I was done I headed to bed.

9/8 - On Sunday morning my family went to our town’s local flight breakfast at the little airport just outside of town. Idk what it is about mass produced pancakes on a supper old griddle, but they SLAP. I got to see some kids I graduated with and some coworkers too. After breakfast I made energy bites for a while, and around mid-afternoon we went to my grandparent’s house. My grandma had made me scotcharoos and rice krispie treats which was really sweet. We got to check out a room in the basement that my grandparents had redone, and it looks pretty good! We also got to look at some old pictures my grandma was going through. After that we all returned upstairs to watch NASCAR and talk about everything under the sun. When suppertime was rolling around, we returned home so my mom could get started on the spaghetti. After supper was done and stuff was being cleaned up, I packed my stuff up and got ready for the 2hr drive back. I listened to the Heathers musical soundtrack and now I can’t stop listening to it. Whoops. When I got back I started the 2 block ‘trek’ back to my room with 2 bags and a heavy laundry basket full of snacks because I ain’t no bitch who takes two trips. I should’ve taken two trips. I had to take a break 3 times before I got to my room. It’s important to note that while I was walking down the hall to my room a guy stopped me and told me to vote for him as treasurer and another guy for hall president (which I did). As I finally made it into my room and set down all of my shit, I realized I couldn’t really move my arms. I ended up asking Parker if he could come help me unpack, which he kindly did, and I repaid him with some energy bites. We sat and talked a little bit about our weekends and the coming weekend, and then we parted ways and went to bed.

9/9 - Waking up for class was a bitch but class was alright when I got there. I didn’t do much other than attempt to catch up on the homework I didn’t do over the weekend for my studio.

9/10 - Tuesday was pretty ehh. I wore a super cute outfit and got complimented on it by a lot of people which was really nice. I would’ve had a supper shitty day without it, and I truly appreciated it. I was freaking out a lil all day because I hadn’t completed a drawing yet that was due the next day, so I spent a few hours working on that. I went to my studio lecture and had a small panic attack and a bit of an identity crisis. I also thought heavily about if I’m actually capable, worthy, and skilled enough to be and do what I want to be. That was fun. I was finally able to calm myself down enough to go eat quick, finish up my drawings, and then go visit Parker. It was really nice to see him again and it really helped just being with him for a lil bit. I returned to my dorm, showered, and went to bed.

9/11 - It was pretty rainy and gross all day, but I luckily missed most of the rain and stuff. My studio took a bit of a toll on me mentally. I guess I hadn’t realized just how stressed I was and that I really wasn’t giving myself a break. For the past week I had been stuck on a ‘if I don’t stop working I’ll die’ kind of mindset. I broke down a little in class which was great. It doesn’t help that it’s my period week either. It was basically just my eyes constantly dripping tears and me being unable to stop it without going somewhere to cry for a bit (which wasn’t an option). This carried on until like the last 10 minutes of my next class (so 1.5 hrs of crying). After class I went to lunch, went back to my dorm to do homework, and went to the College of Design to work on a sketch for like an hour. I couldn’t focus so I said fuck it, went and got myself some half priced sushi from hyvee + some other little things, returned to my dorm, and watched Natural Born Killers. I honestly had a really nice night just sitting for a bit and relaxing briefly. When the movie was over I showered and went to bed.

9/12 - On Thursday I had a plan for the whole day + Friday. I was determined to get everything on my list started at the time I had listed, and finnish everything around the time I wanted to be done with it. I got up and got breakfast at 8:30, had class at 9, lunch at 11, did math homework at 11:30, went to class at noon, did more homework in the CoD, worked on a sketch there, went to my lecture at 3:20, and had a meeting at 4:30. My meeting got over at like 4:50, and I booked it back to my dorm as I could see a storm coming and I didn’t have a rain coat or umbrella. I made it back to my dorm shortly after it had started sprinkling, and had 2 min to spare before the heavens opened up and it POURED. I took a lil shower so I could keep on track with my schedule without getting off track.I went to supper at 6ish, left for the CoD at 6:30, and made it there a little before 7! I had snacks packed for when I would inevitably get hungry, and was fully prepared to finish my first sketchbook assignment. I left the CoD at like 9:30 and returned to my dorm at 10ish. I had another snack and started a book my dad had given me before I went to bed.

9/13 - Today I attempted to wake up at 6:30. This did not work, and so I slept in until 7. I didn’t have a class until noon, but I wanted to spend the morning in the studio. I went to breakfast with a former classmate, and then got to the CoD just after 8am. I spent from 8-12:20 working on sketches and taking little breaks every hour or so. I received an email at like 10am from my math prof. telling us class was canceled, which was fucking stellar. At around 12:50 I met up with my dad to go out and eat sushi. I had a pretty good time talking with him and the food was spectacular as always. After that we took a brief trip to the Earl May across the street before he dropped me off at my dorm. I had hoped to get back to work on studio stuff, but I decided not to since I had already done that all morning. I instead went to the Club Fest thing held in a building near me and I signed up to hear more about a bunch of clubs such as birding, film making, theatre, and even fencing! I’m excited to join a club and actually meet people. After that I went back to my dorm to grab some cash so I could then return to that same building and do a pottery painting workshop! It was Stranger Things themed, and I got to paint a mug with some cute lil shapes on it. I’ll have to wait until next week to see what the finished product looks like, but I’m excited. While I was painting I got to talk to a couple of girls next to me who seemed cool. We didn’t exchange info so I’ll probs sadly never see them again. Oh well. After painting I returned to my dorm again and read a couple books on the outside steps leading into the building. When I felt like I had had enough, I went to supper and had some cereal. I came back to my dorm and listened to music for a little bit and sang to myself and just did fun weird shit that I can’t do when someone else is here. I then showered, and started writing this big ass post! I’ve currently been writing for like 2 hrs, but It’s so worth it. It feels really nice to finally have this crossed off my to do list and to just write about stuff. I really do enjoy writing, and I think I’ve been needing this. I’m kinda figuring out how to balance work with play in a healthy way that works for me, and I think I’ve partially gotten the hang of it. I’m hoping to finish most, if not all of my homework sometime on Sunday so I can give myself time to relax tomorrow. I’m so ready to let loose a little and have some fun. I think everyone else is too lol. It’s like 11:52pm and it seems like everyone in my dorm is still up and doin shit. It’s fine with me though. I’m ready for a batshit crazy gameday. I’ll likely catch y’all up to speed on Sunday. Until then, Bye for now!