#spacie scribbles

[gubes-sweaters]

Fire on Fire

Summary: Spencer’s post-prison therapy session doesn’t go quite as planned. While discussing the ghosts of his past he becomes spacy, thoughts lingering on what could’ve been.

Content Warning(s): Talks of Spencer’s trauma, addiction, allusions to what cat did to spencer, brief mentions of Maeve’s death, a brief mention of what happened to the unsub from season 5 episode 12 ‘uncanny valley’ aka the living dolls episode. (I think that’s all but if there’s any more let me know) !ALSO ANYTHING THAT THE ‘THERAPIST’ SAYS IN HERE IS NOT ANY SORT OF SOUND ADVICE, IT JUST USED AS A PLOT POINT!

Word Count: 1.7k

Chapter 1: Maybe it’s all That i’ve Been Through

“Now Spencer, have you made any attempts to contact any of the people you’d like to reconcile with? At least the ones we wrote down last session,” the woman asks as she closes his patient file. She pushes her wide glasses up her nose with her nimble fingers, shifting in her seat before looking up at him.

“Yes, I um, actually got to everyone, except for one, but I don’t think I’m going to reach out to the one I scribbled off,” he says, trying not to fidget much in his seat. 

Despite the relaxing room equipped with a white noise machine, dim lights, along with the comforting smell and crackling sound of a candle, Spencer found it nearly impossible to do just that. It may be because these therapist seasons were the last step before he could fully return to the BAU. His anxiousness to bury himself in his work once again was clawing at him. 

He’s not used to having the watchful eye of a professional to pick apart his behavior at all times, at least while he’s in this room with her. He feels intimidated and paranoid, but those feelings aren’t as strong as they were while he was in prison. Which is the whole reason why he’s stuck in this room right now.

“Why was that?” The older woman inquired as she stares at him, her head cocks to the side as her wavy gray hair that frames her face shifts with her.

“I didn’t realize how many people there were that I wanted to connect with,” he says, looking out the window thinking of the difficult dinner he had just last night. They were the second to last on the dreaded list. As if she can hear his thoughts his therapist pipes up.

“Now I know you had a few people you wanted to speak to. There was a distant relative of a man named Tobias Hankle who was…” she trails off to let Spencer fill in the gaps.

“An unidentified suspect, an unsub. It’s what we call the people in our criminal investigations.” Spencer says.

“Right, and he was the reason for your addiction. Correct?” She asks in an attempt to keep him engaged in the conversation.

“Mhm,” is all Spencer musters up.

He looks out at the view from the therapist's office. There’s a park right across the road with large willow trees, casting shadows down at a happy family. ‘That could've been him,’ he thinks to himself. A dad playing with the older child. The kid bopping along happily in the lush grass. A woman sat at a park bench, not too far from the other two, with a baby happily gurgling on her lap, clapping along to the antics of the two in from of them. It pains him to know he has no memories of his own like that. Not from his own childhood and none from a family of his own.

“Spencer?’ The woman sitting across the mahogany coffee table asks him.

“Yes?” he responds, not even realizing she was still speaking to him.

“I asked you about the others on the list. Both of your parents, Derek Morgan, Stephen Gideon, Elle Greenaway, Mary and Joe Donovan, and one last one that’s scribbled over. Who’ve you reached out to?”

“Um, I sent Tobias Hankle’s cousin and letter, then I talked to my mom, but there’s not a lot to talk about with her. She hardly knows who I am anymore. I sent my dad an email and he sent one back, but I don’t know if I can bring myself to read it quite yet. I talked to Morgan. I actually had dinner at his house with his family and it was nice. Stephen Gideon didn’t pick up any of my calls and he didn’t email me back. Elle called me back, it was nice to hear her again,” he says before he cuts himself off. The last two, Maeve’s parents, that was the terrible dinner he had the night prior.

The memories were still so fresh and it hurt to think about for too long. The actual memories themselves were not terrible, they were content and happy, but something about seeing that Maeve came from such a happy family hurt even more. She was pure sunshine and now he knows where she got it from. 

“And?” She pushes.

“I talked to my ex-girlfriend's parents last night. After everything they’re been through I didn’t think they would’ve wanted to talk to me, but they did. They welcomed me into their own home. I think hearing them talk about everything made me blame myself a lot less,” he says trying to choke back tears. The lump in his throat seemed to swell.

He thinks about the tight hug her mom gave him. How she commented about how tired he looked as she dished out food for him. It was the first really good home cooked meal he enjoyed since before prison, other than at Morgan’s house the week prior. He thought about Maeve’s dad talking about Maeve when she was younger. It made his empty heart clench, sitting there imaging Maeve sitting next to him at the table, giggling along to her fathers stories. A shiny diamond ring on her finger, that catches the light from the delicate chandelier that hung over her parents' dinner table, as she lifts a glass of wine to her lips. The thought of that never happening made Spencer’s loneliness all the more soul crushing. He longed for that feeling of domesticity.

“That was progress. We talked about you alleviating the blame that you pile on yourself. Now, I would like to know who this is on the bottom you scribbled off?” she asks, pointing her pen to the writing at the bottom of a notebook. 

“I’m not too particularly keen on reaching out to her.”

“Why is that, are you afraid of rejection from this mystery person,” she inquires.

“No, everything with Cat Adams was very recent, and I know the investigation just stirred up her life. At least that’s what I heard from my team. I’m not sure if I want to do that again,” Spencer replies with a shrug of his shoulder before chewing on the inside of his lip. He knew he was partially making excuses.

“Well, this is your time to be a little selfish when it comes to your healing. We’re also supposed to be growing some more empathy for people like Tobias Hankle and Cat Adams. We’re not washing them of any wrong doings but,” is all she gets out before Spencer cuts in.

“I know, the bureau wants me to still feel bad for unsubs and in a lot of cases I do. Samantha Malcom is one that sticks out, sure she kidnapped women and basically turned them into living dolls, two of them she even accidentally killed, but she had also been physically, sexually, emotionally, and mentally abused by her father her entire childhood. Part of my heart hurts for her. There’s too many to count in all honesty. I look at them and it’s like looking in the mirror,” He says quickly.

“Spencer, I know you have a good heart, but after all you’ve been through in prison and your wrongful conviction I think it’d be best to speak with someone who knew Cat Adams and was going through similar things to her in order to not look at this all so… clinically. We can look at these peoples actions as monstrous, but we can’t paint everyone incapable of changing their lives. Abuse victims aren’t a monolith and if you think of what Cat has been through and think that her way out is justified, or any person's way out was justified, then we can’t have you working in the field with that mentality, given everything you’ve been through,” she says, trying to give him the softest, empathetic smile.

“I didn’t say that people seek vigilante justice or everyone reaches a tipping point. I never said those things were a healthy reaction either. I just,” this time it was the older woman's turn to interrupt him.

“You just poisoned men while in prison in the name of vigilante justice, or framed a man for assault, or told your unit chief Emily Prentiss that you would’ve had no problem murdering Peter Lewis a.k.a. Mr. Scratch. Spencer I know how your brain has been scrambled by being put in such a dog eat dog environment like that prison is. I just want you to exercise empathy by reaching out to her. I’m not asking you to ever justify any of Cat Adams’ behavior and I’m never going to ask you to forgive her for anything. You have a right to feel hurt, violated, and angry. I just want you to look at Cat Adams and see where her life went when she was hellbent on revenge. Then look at this family member of hers and see how she’s healed. At least I presume they’re a family member.”

“It’s her half sister. On her dad’s side.” he says shortly, feeling like a child who’s just been scolded by a parent. He knows she’s right in the effects of how it could help with healing, but a part of his heart that holds that hatred and content for Cat wants to project that onto her.

“Great, when you’re comfortable, reach out to her and simply ask to talk in a location that has brought you comfortability in your life other than your house. So you can feel a bit more relaxed and ready to open up. All of this is about doing what you can to improve your quality of life and your mental health. I care about you Spencer, I really do,” when she finishes her statement offers up another soft simple before opening his patient file backup once more.

“Alright.” he says with a gentle sigh.

“Well, that’s all for this week. Unless there’s something else you’d like to talk about. If not I’ll see you in two weeks,” she says, preparing to stand up.

When Spencer shakes his head no, they both wordlessly standup as he exits the room. He knew he already had the next appointment booked so he leaves with a polite wave and a tight lipped smile. Once he reaches his car, he takes a deep breath before cranking up his car. The warm August air causes him to shed his cardigan before pulling out his phone. He hovers over a number Penelope gave him. Dread fills his stomach once he hits the button to call her. Spencer once again looks at the happy family, now packing up their stuff as the line picks up.

“Hello?”

A/N: AHHHH! So I fell in love with writing again. Part of my burnout was caused by not wanting to pick up my series “unexpected turns” again because I didn’t plan it all out ahead of time, which was the worlds biggest mistake, but I digress because in my free time I’m going to rework that series while I put out this one. This one is already fully planned out and all of the rough drafts are done for it. So, the only thing I have left to do is polish this series, while reworking the other one. Any who I hope you enjoy the start to this series, if you do please like, comment, and reblog my work. Any engagement is much appreciated!

Taglist: @striving4averagegirl @measure-in-pain @tvandfanfic @haylaansmi @rexorangecouny @sophiario

[justdrivee]

🤍🖤

[twisting-roads]

strato sphere (strato) [oc]

[arcadequeerz]

Mybrain is Melting.

[maidengame]

FIRE EMBLEM: THREE HOUSES|| Accepting

@executefaces​ said:  “  if you get sick of me,  i’m sorry ahead of time!  ”

A soft hum escaped her lips as she scribbled a couple notes down in her notebook, seemingly lost in thought, Haruka almost didn’t catch the words spoken to her. She blinked, furrowing her brow before looking up.  “Oh. Why would I get sick of you?” She pauses in thought. “Do you think I'm sick of you?” She couldn't quite place the reasoning of his words in her mind, until what she thought was a realization entered her thoughts. OH! maybe he had been talking to her for longer than she realized! Was she really that spacy? that she hadn’t noticed until now?  “Oh a-and you don't need to apologize! I, I wasn’t really paying attention! Really um I’m sorry actually.”

[starcourtscream]

“Well, I’d like to help but not as much as I’d like not to.”

          she’s   used   to   reluctant   participants   by   now,   mauve   &   rose   dusted   features   devoid   of   any   exasperation.   this   is   a   more   complex   problem,   one   that   requires   her   extrasensory   perception   &   clairaudience   —   something   anyone   normal   would   highly   doubt,   but   lydia   specializes   in   ghostly   frequencies   and   things   that   might   compromise   the   question   of   her   sanity.     ❛   fortunately   in   your   case,   i   don’t   think   this   is   something   anyone   else   can   help   me   with,   ❜   she   answers   cryptically,   deep   in   concentration   with   a   pen   poised   between   manicured   fingers.   there’s   a   long   spell   of   silence,   lydia’s   features   blank   as   if   she’s   lost   somewhere   in   another   dimension.   that’s   when   the   pen   starts   flying,   various   shapes   &   letters   scribble   wildly   across   the   paper   in   front   of   her   but   she’s   not   fully   conscious,   evident   in   the   spacy   glaze   to   juniper   hues.  SHE’S   DOING   BANSHEE   THINGS   AGAIN,   psychography   or   automatic   writing   in   this   case.   there’s   a   message   from   another   world   using   her   as   a   conduit,   something   ominous.

♡   @betdefined   /   that 70′s show   /   accepting   !

[swingsdown]

a catalog of non-definitive moments: part iv previous | first

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Marinette passes by in front of him, and Adrien’s not sure sure if she’s real or a dream. She had colored his world red with want, and he feels sick with fever every time he thinks he sees her. Maybe-Marinette reaches out, and her hand touches his shoulder. “Adrien?” Dazed at the contact—at the sound of her voice—he murmurs his greeting, asking when she’d come back to Paris. “I just got in yesterday, ” she pauses, studying the blond with a cocked head. “Are you ok?” “I—” he stops, “This is starting to sound familiar, isn’t it?”

Marinette’s voice is light, but the look in her narrowed eyes don’t fade, “Well, who knew you’d grow up to be the spacy klutz.” She steps around him and heads up the stone steps of the building they’re standing by, “Well this is me—actually, were you waiting for...?” It barely takes him by surprise, that he’d ended up where she would be even though he hadn’t...he is sure he’s never been here before— “What? No, I was just passing by, I’m on my way to class.” “Well, hopefully next time we bump into each other it’ll be on purpose. See you around, Adrien.” With one last bright smile and a little wave, Marinette disappears behind her door.

Marinette is bent over her portfolio, scribbling madly, when he lands on her tiny balcony. She looks up the second his feet touches the concrete, brows furrowed in surprise.

Kitty?

Adrien gives his best attempt at a smile, undoing the trick latch she’d installed months ago for him on autopilot. Sorry, I know I shouldn’t drop in like this but I was j-just—

An involuntary yawn cuts him off

—too tired tonight.

He stumbles in and sinks into the soft rug at her feet, every bone in his body turning liquid as she leans over him and ruffles his hair with soft fingers.

She laughs as he lazily butts her hand for more. You really are tired, aren’t you? I guess it’s fine if nobody saw. You can stay.

She settles back into her chair, and Adrien closes his eyes in contentment.

He knows he should have gone home instead; he should have at the very least released his transformation first, but:

The occasional warmth of Marinette’s hand. The scratch of her pencil on paper. The shape of her shadow thrown on the opposite wall—

Adrien has never felt so safe—he wouldn’t give these Wednesday nights up for anything, no matter how exhausted he is or what he’ll face when he goes home.

Je t’aime, he mumbles without thinking. A moment later he instantly freezes, bracing himself for Marinette’s usual stinging denial.

But there’s nothing, and the silence lapses into something so soft and fragile that Adrien begins to let himself hope...

He looks up, and the small smile curving Marinette’s lips stuns him, cripples him, rips his heart out of his chest and offers him something far better in return—

-

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tbc - part iv

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note: i apologize for the egregious abuse of the em dash.  

[bountyofbeads]

https://www.newyorker.com/news/current/democratic-debate-2019-kamala-harris-won-the-night

New Yorker: Kamala Harris is the Best Storyteller on the Democratic stage... Real time analysis of night 2 of the Democratic Debate from the New Yorker Reporter. 👇👏🖤👏🧡👏💛👏💚👏❤️👏💜👏💙

Democratic Debate 2019: Kamala Harris Is the Best Storyteller on the Democratic Stage

By Katy Waldman | Published June 27, 2019, 11:00 PM ET | The New Yorker | Posted June 28, 2019 |

We’ll remember the busing moment, but Kamala Harris dominated the debate from the start. She is fervent but deploys her anger precisely, like a flashlight. As Eric Swalwell and Joe Biden tussled over whether the elder statesmen of American politics should “pass the torch” to millennials, Harris calmly waited for her moment. Then she said, “Americans don’t want a food fight. They want to know how they’re going to put food on their table.” There was silence, and then applause, including from several of the other candidates—a recognition that, however the generational scuffle might shake out, an adult had spoken. Onstage, Harris, the former prosecutor, distinguishes herself as a storyteller, who conjures up images as well as arguments in ways the other contenders do not. Answering a question about health care, she spoke of parents looking through the glass door of the hospital as they calculated the costs of treating their sick child. Answering a question about detainment camps for undocumented immigrants, she hypothesized about a mother enlisting the services of a coyote, desperate to secure a better chance for her kid. “We need to think about this situation in terms of real people,” Harris insisted. She certainly demonstrated her ability to do so—to imagine policy as embodied in actual American lives. That narrative instinct framed the most powerful moment of the debate. Criticizing Biden for his past lack of support for busing, Harris began telling another story. “There was a little girl in California who was part of the second class to integrate her public school, and she was bused to school every day,” she said. “And that little girl was me.”

Democratic Debate 2019: Kamala Harris Won the Night

By Benjamin Wallace-Wells | Published 12:09 A.M. | The New Yorker | Posted June 28, 2019 |

“I would like to speak on the issue of race,” Kamala Harris said Thursday night, an hour into the Democratic-primary debate. She turned to Joe Biden, who, less than two weeks ago, had spoken warmly about his work across ideological lines with two of the last segregationists in the Senate. “I do not believe you are a racist,” she began. But then: “It was actually very hurtful to hear you talk about the reputations of two U.S. senators who built their reputations and careers on the segregation of race in this country. And it was not only that but you also worked with them to oppose busing.” Harris looked at Biden; Biden looked straight ahead. She described a little girl who had been part of the second class bused to integrate public schools in Berkeley, California. “That little girl was me.”

The rules gave Biden the chance to respond. “A mischaracterization of my position across the board,” Biden said. “I didn’t oppose busing in America.” But then he started to sound lawyerly. He had opposed only the intervention of the federal Department of Educationin busing. In fact, Biden opposed busing, then and now; it was a federal policy, and without federal intervention, Berkeley and countless other places across the country would not have integrated their schools. Harris noted that she was part of her pioneering class “almost two decades after Brown v. Board of Education.” “Because your city council opposed it,” Biden replied. That remark made Harris’s point for her: a city council should not have veto power over civil rights. It was the first turning point of the Democratic Presidential race.

The essential arguments of Thursday night’s Presidential-primary debate were about the past. The explicit argument between Biden and Harris was over the racial politics of the nineteen-seventies; the implicit one was about which of them could claim the legacy of Barack Obama. Biden invoked his former boss early and often. “Build on what we did,” Biden said, and later he praised Obama for having done a “heckuva job.” But, although Biden may have some claim on the underlying reasonableness of the Obama years, he has little relation to Obama’s political character—on his sense of justice, his introspection, and his transformative promise. Just before the debate began, the cameras had captured nine candidates scribbling notes. Biden was just calmly looking around.

In randomly assigning Presidential candidates to each night’s debate, the Democratic Party did not divide its talents evenly. Thursday night got almost all of the front-runners, and also the personalities: the slightly spacy Marianne Williamson, the interrupting  Kirsten Gillibrand. Things got a little shouty, twenty minutes in, when Eric Swalwell, a young congressman from California, challenged Biden to pass the generational torch. The candidates shouted over each other—“As part of Joe’s generation, let me respond,” Sanders said—until Harris, not for the last time, seized the stage. “Hey, guys, you know what? America does not want to witness a food fight,” she said.

Harris, long presumed to be a front-runner, was not at her best during the first months of the Presidential campaign, when the candidates began to introduce policy proposals. Hers had a slightly speculative feel: early on, she came out in favor of abolishing private health insurance, though she did little to explain why. But now we are beginning the next phase, perhaps a full year of regular debates, and Harris, a former prosecutor, and the most vigorous interrogator on the Judiciary Committee, stands out. Her language, more than any of the others’, is direct; she has an oppositional energy. What would Harris do on her first day in office? “Release children from cages,” she said. In recent weeks, it was possible to imagine that a three-way contest was emerging, between Biden, Elizabeth Warren, and Sanders. Reread Harris’s statements about race on Thursday night and some of them seem aimed at all three of them. “I will tell you,” Harris said, “that on this subject it cannot be an intellectual debate.”

Kamala Harris at the Democratic Debate: “I Would Like to Speak on the Issue of Race”

By Eric Lach | Published June 27, 2019 10:57 P.M. | New Yorker | Posted June 28, 2019 |

There are moments in political debates that get overblown, spun, or misconstrued. Thursday’s exchange between Kamala Harris and Joe Biden on race won’t be one of them. The mayor of South Bend, Indiana, Pete Buttigieg, was asked about the recent shooting in his city of a black man, Eric Logan, by a white police officer. Congressman Eric Swalwell and the author Marianne Williamson offered their thoughts. But then Harris’s voice came in and quieted everyone. “As the only black person on this stage,” she said, “I would like to speak on the issue of race.” Harris turned to address Biden, who, last week, at a fund-raiser, waxed nostalgic about the segregationists he once served with in the Senate. “I do not believe you are a racist,” Harris told the former Vice-President. “But I also believe, and it’s personal, and it was actually very hurtful, to hear you talk about the reputations of two United States senators who built their careers and reputations on the segregation of race in this country.” But Harris wasn’t done. She raised Biden’s opposition to school busing in the nineteen-seventies, and then said that it mattered to her because she knew of a little girl in California who had been bused to school back then. “And that little girl was me,” she said.

Biden tried to respond, invoking his long-ago work as a public defender and his support for civil rights as a senator. “Everything I have done in my career—I ran because of civil rights,” he said. Harris has faced questions about her time as a prosecutor in California, where she fought to uphold certain wrongful convictions, championed a law to prosecute habitually truant children, and legally defended the death penalty despite her opposition to the practice. But, on Thursday, she clarified the stakes of discussing race on the debate stage in the race for the Democratic nomination in 2020. “It cannot be an intellectual debate among Democrats,” she said.

Democratic Debate 2019: Kamala Harris Interrupts a “Food Fight”

By Eric Lach | Published June 27, 2019 10:24 P.M. | New Yorker | Posted June 28, 2019 |

“America does not want to witness a food fight. They want to know how they’re going to put food on their table.”—Kamala Harris

On the stage at Thursday’s 2020 Democratic Presidential-primary debate, the contrasts between the candidates have been starker than the previous night, the tactics clearer, the cross talk messier. The candidates who support Medicare for All made their case, those who oppose it made theirs, and several split—or tried to split—the difference. Michael Bennet, the Colorado senator who came into the night polling between zero and one per cent, tried to jump right in and interrupt Bernie Sanders, the Vermont senator, on the very first question, which was about taxes and health care. Eric Swalwell, the long-shot California congressman, tried to bait former Vice-President Joe Biden into an argument over generational differences and passing “the torch.” Biden brushed it off, though Sanders seemed interested in having that fight. Kirsten Gillibrand, the New York senator, has tried to contrast herself with her opponents by making herself the compromiser, showing herself as a third option between left and center. Kamala Harris, the California senator, in what will probably go down as one of the news clips of the night, played not peacemaker-in-chief but rebuker-in-chief. “America does not want to witness a food fight,” she said, as the people around her argued about the future of America’s health-care system, “They want to know how they’re going to put food on their table.”

The Opportunities and Chaos of the Democratic Debates

By Benjamin Wallace-Wells | Published June 27th, 1:01 P.m. | New Yorker | Posted June 28, 2019 |

There was a second event for the Democratic Presidential candidates in Miami on Wednesday night, after the debate was over. One by one, the candidates made their way across the street, to a twenty-four-hundred-seat opera house, where the press waited: the spin room. (“Spin room and filing center,” the printed signs read, though in fact it was a gracious theatre.) If the debate was for messaging—for the candidates to explain what they stood for—then the spin room was for positioning, to say who they were against. A candidate would arrive, and a jostling cluster of reporters would swarm, like white blood cells recognizing an intruder. Their basic aim was to persuade candidates to stop talking about themselves and start talking about someone else. Most eventually obliged. Amy Klobuchar was put out by Jay Inslee, who had bragged of his accomplishments on reproductive rights while women with deep résumés on the issue stood onstage. Julián Castro, with a shiny pate and a triumphant look, doubled down on his case against Beto O’Rourke, who does not back Castro’s call to decriminalize migration into the United States. Bill de Blasio, who arrived with his wife, Chirlane McCray, poised and attentive at his elbow, lit into Pete Buttigieg (who wasn’t in Wednesday’s debate)—one mayor against another. Perhaps tonight Buttigieg will argue back, or perhaps he will find a point of contrast with someone else.

None of the candidates have experienced anything this chaotic before. General elections mean one opponent; a competitive primary might mean two or three major ones, and there are a few recognized roles for a candidate to take: agent of change, steady hand, moderate, radical. A contest among two dozen has no fixed roles at all. The only recent model for winning in a primary field of this scale is Donald Trump, who swallowed the race with his constant, hideous transgressions. Who is each Democrat running against? The press had ideas beforehand, and so did some aides, but on Wednesday evening the candidates seemed to be feeling it out. Some of the contrasts drawn in the spin room depended upon happenstance. There was no natural reason for Klobuchar and Inslee to be arguing—their profiles are different, and they are chasing different voters—but Inslee had spoken about his support for reproductive rights early, and a little brazenly, and Klobuchar had found a foothold. Some arguments were planned. Others just happened.

Thursday night’s debate will have the bigger characters, and the more obvious frame: Joe Biden versus Bernie Sanders, center versus left. But there’s also a Colorado senator (Michael Bennet) versus a Colorado governor (John Hickenlooper), and an online phenomenon (Andrew Yang) versus a spiritual guru (Marianne Williamson). Wednesday night suggested that, with ten candidates onstage, the points of contrast will be more opportunistic and less predictable than we might expect—a knife fight, not a duel.

[spaciebabie]

i said i was gonna do this earlier

[spaciebabie]

RGAGRAGRGAGRGAGRGAGRAGRGAGRGARGA RIPS APART MY PILLOWS WITH MY TEETH

[spaciebabie]

dont ask me what this pose is idk and also im still trying ta figure out howta draw him orz

[spaciebabie]

papyrus does his taxes ☹☹☹☹☹

[spaciebabie]

auuuugh he has no fucking idea how much i love him

[spaciebabie]

he makes me

[spaciebabie]

not bad considering i havent drawn him since september guaguhaghhehaga

[spaciebabie]

learning 2 draw new things is hard but I WANNA DRAW PONIES DAMMIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

thank you @wynnibee for the wing refs this would have been so much harder without them 😭😭😭