#rip !

OMGG JULES tysm umm lets talk about,,, my violin recital !!! which i am not at all ready for !! i have. until next wednesday to practice it uum

ok listen i dont rly take commissions rn bc i dont have energy with work but if u wanna pay me for something i actually plan on doing (when am i not thinking about drawing feral beat up tim) then u can donate to my kofi weeeee

          “ sit still. “     the words are a near – silent hiss at her ear, elizabeth hale’s fine strands of yellow – butter hair tickling at the side of her daughter’s face as she leans in close, a warning edge in her tone that is all too easily recognized by one accustomed to its weight. pale hands tuck underneath her thighs, between the white cotton of her dress and the rough upholstery of the church pew she’s perched upon, knees pressing together, instinctually leaning further away from her mother, in spite of the chiding look she receives in response.     ❛   I’ve got to pee.    ❜    she whispers it back equally quietly, keenly aware of the fact that this is not a good enough excuse  ---   it’s hardly a moment before she’s met with an impatient sigh, and her mother once again lowers her head, lips looming close to the curve of claire’s ear as she parries ;  “ you are not going to walk out in the middle of service. you should have taken care of that before it started. “   it’s uttered with finality, and an irritability claire finds herself struggling to evade, anymore. she feels her mother’s perusal on the side of her face, prickling, an uncomfortable kind of stinging warmth, like chapped skin exposed to whipping winds.  she hates the way that she looks at her. like she’s something to be fixed.

          she senses the hand before it ever enters her periphery: the adjusting touch. the tugging fingers. she feels the flyaway strand her mother is no doubt after curling lazily about the base of her neck, stirring in the stale, muggy air circulating downward from the fan overhead   ---    she means to tuck it back behind her ear. to put her appearance to rights, as she considers claire incapable of upholding the standard herself. elizabeth shifts, and claire withdraws, her own hand meeting her mother’s in the air, swatting the overattention away, one brief flickering moment of childish rebellion that for a fraction of a moment swells in her chest. leave me alone. it’s a demand she dreams of delivering, but doubts she ever will  ---  she’s quite familiar with the way her mother approaches backtalk, and disrespect. her cheek is often left stinging for lesser remarks.