#plaudiusplants

Thank you! And lbr I don't even know if Gotham knows what Pennyworth is and frankly everyone else has been too scared to ask, up to and including the Batman.

I have a web between the middle and ring fingers on my right hand. It stops right around my knuckles. My parents could have had it cut when I was a baby and decided not to, and they were told it would only ever really stop me from becoming something like a concert pianist. For the most part I barely notice it but it does make wearing gloves tricky in winter and also when it gets randomly itchy it is Literally The Worst 😩😭

The reason I got into writing as a hobby is that when I was in fourth grade, we were given an assignment to write about a school field trip to a whaling museum and my teacher's comment on mine was that my writing had a real "voice." I don't think I had ever really sat down and tried to create stories before then, but after that I never stopped!

I wrote stuff for this one and forgot to post not only Sunshine but also Sink, Sank, Sunk so here come three more posts from WIP weekend! More like whoops weekend, amirite? Anyway, have 9 whole sentences of Sunshine!

The sun is shining, the kiddos are frolicking in Harrington’s pool to stave off the glimmering heat, and Eddie Munson is languishing inside like a damn Victorian.

Not that he minds the Harrington Household HVAC system. Central air and everything, not like the trailer, which only seems to get hotter by the day. But that doesn’t mean he’s not incredibly bored.

He’s gone through Harrington’s (Steve’s, he’d told him to call him Steve) room three times already, and that after last week’s get together, but there’s only so much he can do without leaving the room, and he won’t be able to do that until, like, nine thirty at the earliest to be safe. He’s napped, he’s found his damn vest in Steve’s closet and placed it back ever so carefully, he’s rifled through Steve’s desk enough to have his returned paper on The Hobbit memorized (a C+, but what a liar, acting like he’s never heard of Lord of the Rings when the kids ask after a surprisingly acceptable writeup).

Nobody wants to remember the smell of frying bacon that resulted from the last time he tried to push it a little, thought that the sun had set and he was set, but then there were some rays through the trees and—

Well.

(Also I have a painting of mothman that I painted if you want to see it. My mother says it's very spooky)