#im not saying it’s easy to answer but like

[raccoonrobyn-imagines]

Now, which Robin would be the funniest to have this happen to (and which era of which robin would be the best)? Cause like, in my mind? It's funniest if they sent Dick. The funniest answer to me though? Is if it's murderous Dick when he was joining Bats as a snarky and homicidal 9 year old.

Bruce hasnt been sacrificed before due to his overwhelming competence and the fear that he causes. The first Robin? While being known to be somewhat brutal with his quadruple front flips into enemies, he is still a small child.

And that means? Bruce is absolutely going nuts over the loss of his Robin. Maybe they got separated when they were trying to get the cult arrested, and Dick ran off to do recon, and he got captured and used as the sacrifice. Maybe Dick ran off ahead without telling Batman what he was doing and got sacrificed. Maybe the summoning was nearly complete and Dick was shoving the intended sacrifice out of the circle, only to be sacrificed instead. Who knows?

So Danny giving Dick a way to contact Bruce is a good thing, but since it would take a bit of time, I love the idea that Bruce called up any magic user he knew, and asked them to help him either summon Robin back, or send Bruce and the magic user to Robin.

So could you imagine that Batman and some magic user (im thinking Constantine for this since he has a lot of experience with summonings and demons and sacrifice and all that) just appearing next to Dick while Danny is mid working on making the BatComs work with ectoplasm so Robin could call his dad.

Meanwhile danny is not panicking, he's a 15 year old, he's got this, Jazz told him that babysitting is easy, hes a fucking King, hes got this in the bag, don't worry Robin, it's all gonna be ok, no I'm not panicking, ignore my rambles. Do you have any dead relatives that he can call that can make you feel more at ease? Your parents? Sure, if you want to go and just speak into this orb, it summons any ghosts that you ask for. You don't even have to say their real name. Just say who they are to you, and they'll appear if they became a ghost and didn't end up going forward into The Beyond. That's what happens when you "rest peacefully," he guesses, you go forward onto the next stage of... existence? So if you ask for them- HOLY SHIT DID YOU ASK FOR BATMAN?!?!?!? IS BATMAN DEAD?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?! WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!

DPxDC Prompt #17

There is a room Danny's Keep he set up shortly after defeating Pariah Dark. It became necessary when the broader magical community realized Pariah had be defeated and therefore a new King took his throne. Danny found himself briefly bombarded with waves of attempted summonings.

Which, the summonings themselves, wouldn't have been so bad. Turns out people can't just drag the King of Ghosts to themselves on a whim. Danny has to actively accept a summoning to get pulled to it. And if he just decides "No," the pull and whispers go away. No problem there.

No, the problem is the offerings. And sacrifices. The things that people put in the circle as payment for even attempting to summon him. Like having to put a quarter in the payphone just to listen to it ring and ring and ring as the person on the other end of the call doesn't pick up. Since the summoning magic regarded these things as belonging to Danny even if he rejected the summons, they usually ended up just materializing in front of him if he didn't go to them.

Which, okay. It was funny that time he got to end a fight with Vlad very fast when a whole gold bar materialized and dropped on his head. And the food was nice sometimes when it was late and everywhere was closed and his parents had left samples in the fridge to contaminate everything into animation again. But the goat head dropping from the ceiling onto his desk during on of Lancer's English tests was not appreciated. Even if it did get the test rescheduled and the whole school shut down for a few days to investigate the "potentially satanic activity."

So, yeah, it was a bit of a problem. Fortunately, it was a problem with a relatively simple solution. Danny set up an inbox. With a bit of help from Tucker and Pandora, and a couple tips from Clockwork; all summoning offerings and sacrifices would now go straight to the dedicated room in the Keep.

And! As a special touch, the summoners would also get a chipper, automated voice saying, "The Ghost King you are trying to summon has more important things to do than answer you right now. Please leave a message in the circle with your name, date, location, contact information, and reason for summoning. The Ghost King will get back to you at his earliest convenience." Sam's stupid fancy girl gala voice had been perfect for that little message.

It was the perfect solution. Danny no longer had to deal with randomly materializing offerings putting his secret identity at risk. Pariah's skeletons, who had been antsy for something to do now that they were no longer bent under the thumb of a cruel tyrant, were instructed to take care of all the offerings; making sure everything was always cleaned up and put away. And all Danny had to do was stop by periodically to check in and "Officially respond" -ie, write a fuck off note- to the summoning messages (Clockwork's insistence).

A perfect solution. Up until Danny checked in one day to find the skellies pampering a whole ass boy. No. Not just any boy. Danny recognizes that costume.

"Why is Robin here?"

[spencessocks]

bucky AND spencer??!!! are you my brain? my brain has a tumblr? but seriously im so happy you exist.

i was originally coming to say how in ‘through the silence’ the theme and the conversation could be the same (okay maybe just similar) with post prison spencer x reader and how he is trying to get back to reality and leave prison behind

love you xx

a/n: omfg what... im literally going to eat ur face... this sort of got a little longer than i intended and it took me a while because i was busy with work so im sorry!😭😭 but thank u so much omg i was reeling from this ask, ur so sweet and ilysm!!!

what remains

summary: after spencer returns from prison, the trauma he endured drives a wedge between him and the one person who loves him most.

pairing: postprison!spencer reid x reader

wordcount: 6.8k

warnings: sad spencer, sad reader, everyones sad, reader drinks like a sip of wine

the apartment is quiet when spencer walks in. it’s late—again. you don’t know where he goes, but he never offers, and you’ve stopped asking.

he drops his keys onto the counter with a dull clink, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion, and you watch from your place on the couch, heart aching at the sight of him. he looks different now. he's been home for months, but the man who walked through your door after prison isn’t the same one who left.

“hey,” you say gently, closing your book and setting it aside.

he glances at you but doesn’t hold your gaze for long. “hey.”

you swallow down the lump in your throat. “did you eat?”

“i'm not hungry.” his answer is clipped, automatic, the same response he’s given you almost every night since he’s been back.

you knew it wouldn’t be easy. that things would be different and he wouldn’t be the same. you had told yourself that over and over in the days leading up to his return, had braced yourself for the changes.

but you'd had hope—hope that, with time, things would settle. that he would come back to you—not just physically, but in the ways that mattered. that he would find his way back to the man he used to be, the man who used to curl up beside you on the couch, rambling about his latest case or a book he was reading. the man who used to laugh, used to smile, used to pull you into his arms like you were the safest place in the world.

but you had underestimated the impression this whole ordeal would leave on him.

it wasn't just in the way he carried himself, the way exhaustion clung to his frame or how the light in his eyes had dimmed. it was deeper than that. it was in the way he recoiled from touch when he used to seek it, in the way his voice lacked the excitement and curiosity it once held. in the distance that stretched between you, widening a little more each day, despite your best efforts to close it.

prison had carved something out of him, something you weren’t sure could ever be replaced. he had been home for months, but a harsh reality was starting to settle in you—that some wounds don’t heal the way you expect them to. some stay raw, lingering beneath the surface, invisible until they make themselves known in quiet moments—in the silence at the dinner table, in the way he avoids your gaze, in the way he flinches at your touch, in the walls he keeps building no matter how hard you try to tear them down.

he didn’t talk about what happened in there, and you didn’t press—even if sometimes curiosity clawed at you. but every laconic response, every empty stare, every night he disappeared without explanation told you more than words ever could. he was still there, trapped in a place you couldn’t seem to reach, and no matter how badly you wanted to, you weren’t sure you ever would.

you exhale slowly, measuring your words before speaking. "spencer, you know what i'm going to say." your voice is soft, careful, but it still makes him flinch, just barely.

"i'm fine," he mutters, turning away from you.

you hesitate, just for a moment, before the words slip out. a quiet, almost embarrassed whisper in the stillness of the room.

"will you at least sit with me for a little while?"

you regret the question the second it leaves your mouth, second-guessing yourself as soon as the vulnerability hits you. it sounds so small, so simple—sit with me, like it’s not asking for much, but in a way, it feels like you’re begging. you feel humiliation crawl up your neck.

"we don't have to talk," you add quickly, trying to soften the weight of your words. "we can just—"

"i'm tired," he interrupts, voice hollow. he’s already moving toward the bedroom, like he can't get away fast enough.

you stare blanky at him, his back already turned to you. you don't say anything. you can't. the words get stuck somewhere in your throat, tangled up with the shock and the sting of his dismissal. you just sit there, still as stone, the weight of his words settling over you like a thick, suffocating fog.

it shouldn't surprise you—this response, this distance, the way he shuts you out without a second thought. it’s been happening for weeks now, a slow unraveling of something that once felt unbreakable. and yet, it does surprise you.

because you still hoped—that he would just sit with you. that it couldn't possibly be that bad that your own husband couldn't sit on the the same goddamn couch as you.

you don’t know if your lack of response matters. maybe it does. maybe that’s why he hesitates in the doorway, fingers gripping the frame as if he's weighing his options. for a second, you think he might turn around, might give you something—anything. but then, just as quickly, he lets go and disappears into the darkness of the bedroom.

you sit there, motionless, as the door to the bedroom clicks shut behind him. the sound feels final, sharp.

the interaction plays in your head. "i'm tired."

the look on his face—or the lack of one. there’s nothing there. no fight, no frustration, not even the faintest trace of a desire to make things right.

you blink, once, twice, trying to shake the fog from your brain, but the shock is still there, thick in your chest. it’s like a pulse, steady and unrelenting, buzzing through your veins. you don’t know what to do with it. how to process it.

at this point, you can hardly recognize yourself. the person you used to be—before all this. you would have never let spencer walk away from that. you would’ve confronted him, spoken your truth, demanded that he listen. you were an opinionated person, it wasn't like you to let someone walk over you—spencer liked that about you. you would’ve never felt embarrassed by something so simple, so vulnerable, said to the man you loved.

the anger bubbles up, creeping through the shock like a slow poison, and suddenly, your skin feels tight. it feels wrong. how dare he? how can he just walk away, leave you in this empty room, in this awful, suffocating silence, after everything you’ve been through together?

surely, you wouldn't do this to him. that thought had crossed your mind before, only to be quickly pushed away by the reminder that you couldn't possibly know what he was going through—what he felt in that place.

but now, the thought clung to you, insistent, refusing to be ignored and with it came another. maybe he didn’t know how to let go of you—maybe he was too afraid to say the words, so instead, he kept hurting you without even realizing it. maybe he thought pulling away was easier than facing the truth. if the roles were reversed, you'd seek him out, wanting his comfort, his presence. so why wasn't he doing the same for you? why was he so unwilling to lean on you—when he had done it a million times before?

the pulse in your neck quickens, blood rushing, and you grip the edge of the couch, knuckles white. you don't even realize you're standing now, the instinct to do something, anything, pushing you forward. your breath comes quick and shallow as frustration and disbelief twist inside you like a knot that you can't untangle.

what are you supposed to do with this? what are you supposed to do when your own husband looks at you like you’re nothing—like you’re some kind of inconvenience he just can’t deal with tonight?

your body moves on its own, your legs carrying you to the door as if they have a will of their own—pyjamas and slippers be damned—the front door slams shut behind you with an almost violent finality. the apartment feels suffocating now, the weight of his absence, of his rejection, too much to bear. you need to leave.

you don’t bother to grab your phone. what would be the point? there’s nothing to say to him anymore—if he would even call. not when you’re standing on the edge of something you can’t even explain to yourself, a frustration and sadness mixing into something unrecognizable.

you walk fast, too fast, the cold air biting at your skin, and it helps. the briskness of the night, the sting of it, gives you a sense of purpose, something to focus on other than the gnawing emptiness inside you. you don’t want to sit in that silence any longer, don’t want to stew in your thoughts, trapped in that apartment where the echoes of your broken attempts at connection are suffocating.

jj’s place isn’t far—just a few blocks—but it might as well be a world away. the walk feels like an eternity, but it’s the only thing you can control right now. you don't have to think about spencer. you don’t have to think about him.

you find yourself at jj’s door, your breath coming out in white clouds, and for the first time tonight, you feel a brief flicker of something approaching relief. you knock twice, hard, before pulling back and pressing your forehead against the doorframe, closing your eyes, letting the coolness of it ground you. what the hell am i doing?

when she opens the door, her eyes widen at the sight of you, but she doesn’t ask. she doesn’t need to. she just steps aside, pulling you in with a soft, understanding smile.

“you okay?” she asks gently, though you know she already knows the answer.

you nod, but only because you don't trust your voice not to break if you speak. she doesn’t push, just closes the door behind you and leads you to the couch. you sit without a word, leaning back against the cushions, closing your eyes, and for the first time in what feels like months, you let yourself breathe.

jj moves toward the kitchen without a word, and you hear the familiar sound of glasses clinking, followed by the admittedly soothing pour of wine. she returns with a glass in each hand, her expression knowing. she hands you one and sits down beside you, settling into the cushions with the kind of ease that makes you wish you could do the same.

"talk to me,” she says, her voice quiet, but firm enough to break the silence that’s settled between you. it’s not a question, really—more like a gentle command, the kind that only someone who knows you can give.

you let out a breath, leaning back into the couch, staring at the ceiling for a moment, unsure where to even begin. everything feels like a mess. but her presence, her calm, makes you feel like you might find the strength to sort it out.

“spencer—" you stop yourself, the words catching in your throat. you shake your head, a laugh escaping your lips at the disbelief of your situation. "i don’t even know what to say anymore. i don’t know how we got here. it’s like i don’t even know who he is anymore.”

jj listens, her eyes steady, her hands wrapped around her own glass, but her gaze never wavers. she’s waiting. you know she won’t interrupt.

“i thought... i thought he’d come back to me, you know?” the words slip out before you can stop them, and the sadness that follows hits you harder than anything before. “i thought, with time, things would get better. that i could get him back, the way he was. but... it’s like he’s not even here anymore. i don’t know how to reach him. and when i try, it feels like he just shuts me out more.”

you swallow hard, feeling a sharp sting behind your eyes. it feels pathetic, but you can’t stop it now. you can’t stop the flood of everything that’s been building up, everything you’ve been trying to ignore.

“he’s gone, jj. and i don’t know how to be with someone who’s... not really here,” you say, your voice breaking on the last word.

jj doesn’t say anything at first, just lets you breathe, lets you sit with it for a moment. “i know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but he’s not gone. he’s just... changed. and change is hard. for both of you.”

you scoff softly, shaking your head. “i feel like i'm going crazy."

jj watches you carefully, her gaze unwavering as she processes your words. you feel exhausted—physically, emotionally—like the weight of the past few months has finally settled on your shoulders all at once.

jj studies you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. then, she exhales, setting her wine glass down on the coffee table. “you’re not crazy,” she says simply. “you’re grieving.”

that catches you off guard. you blink at her. “grieving?”

she nods. “yeah. you’re grieving the life you had before. the spencer you had before.” she pauses. “and maybe... the version of yourself that existed before all this.”

you open your mouth, but no words come out. you want to argue, to tell her it’s not that simple, that you’re not mourning spencer like he’s some lost cause, but—god—doesn’t it feel like that sometimes? doesn’t it feel like the person you knew, the person you loved, is slipping further and further away?

jj sighs, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “i know what it’s like to watch someone you love disappear into themselves. to feel helpless while they struggle with something you can’t fix.” her voice is softer now, careful, like she’s walking a tightrope. “it’s terrifying.”

your fingers tighten around your wine glass. “so what do i do?” the question comes out more fragile than you want it to, barely above a whisper.

she’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “you—" her words are interrupted by an abrupt sound. jj’s phone is ringing, sharp and sudden in the quiet of the room. you flinch, your heart leaping into your throat before you even see the name on the screen. but you already know.

spencer.

panic grips you, fast and unrelenting, and before you can think, the words spill out. “don’t answer it.”

jj hesitates, glancing at the phone on the coffee table. the screen glows with his name, the sound vibrating between you like a living thing. “he’s your husband,” she says gently, but her fingers hover over the screen instead of answering.

“i don’t care,” you whisper, shaking your head. “please, jj. don’t.”

she studies you, eyes flicking over your face like she’s trying to gauge just how serious you are. if she picks up, you’ll have to hear him—his voice, his clipped tone, his inevitable question: where are you? and what then? you don’t have an answer.

jj sighs, silencing the call but not declining it. the ringing stops, but the silence that follows is almost worse.

“you know he’s worried,” she says carefully. “you left without your phone. you think he’s just going to let that go?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping your glass like it’s the only thing tethering you to the moment. “i don’t know,” you admit. “i just—I can’t do this right now. fuck.”

jj shifts closer, her voice calm but firm. “running won’t fix this.”

you let out a short, bitter laugh. “staying hasn't."

she doesn’t have an answer for that.

jj watches you carefully, then sighs. “stay here as long as you need. but at some point, you have to decide—are you going home? or are you walking away?”

your arm is moving suddenly, the wine glass at your lips. her words settle over you like a weight. and for the first time, you realize—you don’t know.

jj's phone buzzes again, and you flinch at the sight of spencer’s name lighting up the screen. the call goes to voicemail, and for a few seconds, there’s nothing but silence.

the phone rings a second time. you can almost hear spencer’s voice in your head, the exact tone he always takes when he doesn’t know what to say.

“I’ll answer it,” jj says softly, but the words feel like a concession rather than a promise. she picks up the phone, and her thumb hovers over the screen.

you don’t stop her, but you wish you could. you wish you could shut everything down, turn it all off.

“spencer?” jj says, her voice calm, controlled.

you close your eyes, hearing his voice crackle through the speaker.

“jj... is she there?” spencer’s voice sounds worn, tight with something just beneath the surface. you can hear the familiar threads of guilt and concern tangled in his words. “i—i don’t know where she went. she just… she left without saying anything.”

jj looks at you, her expression unreadable. you can feel the heat of her stare on you.

“yeah, she's here.” jj finally responds, her words careful. “but she's not ready to talk to you right now, spencer.”

a long pause follows. you can hear spencer’s breath, shallow, like he’s holding something back.

“i just... i just need to know she's okay,” he says, the frustration and desperation clear in his voice. “please.”

you wince at the pleading in his words. it cuts through you in a way you hadn’t expected.

jj looks at you, her expression unreadable, before she glances down at the phone again. you can feel the heat of her stare on you.

“she’s fine,” jj says, with a note of finality. “but I think you need to give her some time. she’s been through a lot, spencer. you both have.”

“time?” Spencer’s voice cracks. “jj, i don’t—“

but she cuts him off. “i’m not getting in the middle of this. just... take care of yourself for now, okay? you’ll talk when she’s ready. she’ll come back when she’s ready.”

the phone goes silent for a moment, and then the faint click of the line disconnecting. jj pulls the phone away from her ear and sets it down on the coffee table with a soft sigh.

jj sits back, her gaze still trained on you, like she’s waiting for something.

the silence in the room feels heavier now. It presses against your chest, and the weight of it makes your thoughts swirl faster than they should. spencer’s voice still echoes in your mind—i just need to know she's okay. you don’t want to admit it, but the desperation in his words cuts deeper than you anticipated. you don’t want to feel guilty. but it settles over you, thick and unavoidable, as you sit on jj’s couch, the comfort of her presence fading into the background.

“he sounded worried,” you murmur, more to yourself than to jj.

she nods, watching you carefully. “of course he’s worried.”

you press your lips together, exhaling slowly. “i didn’t think he’d care that much.” the words taste bitter on your tongue, because the truth is, you had wanted him to care. you had wanted him to call, to ask where you were, to prove—at least to himself—that there was still something left between you worth saving.

and he did.

he did.

but now, sitting here, away from him, away from that apartment, the weight of your actions starts creeping in, cold and insidious.

you left.

you walked out without a word.

you knew what it was like to feel abandoned, to reach for someone and find nothing but empty space. and now you’ve done the same to him.

the realization makes your chest tighten, and suddenly, the fight, the frustration, the resentment—it all feels distant, overshadowed by something heavier. something closer to shame.

jj shifts beside you, her voice quiet but knowing. “you’re thinking about going back.”

you shake your head quickly. “i don’t know.” but it’s a lie. you do know.

you inhale sharply, pressing your palm to your forehead, trying to ground yourself. “god, what am I doing, jj?”

“you’re allowed to feel this, you know,” she says simply. “you’re allowed to be angry. to be hurt. to need space.”

you swallow hard, blinking down at your hands. they feel foreign to you, like they belong to someone else. “i just—” you hesitate, voice cracking slightly. “i just got so mad. he was so dismissive of me, and i couldn't be there anymore.”

“i know.”

you stare down at your lap, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your sweater.

you shake your head, guilt curling in your chest. “but that’s not me, jj. that’s not who I am. i don’t just… walk away. i got angry and i overreacted.”

she sighs. “one moment doesn't define you. things are different now. you've never been in a situation like this before,” she pauses. “sometimes you have to walk away, to get your thoughts in order."

"it would've been worse if you blew up at him." she added.

"i think i still might." you said with a dry laugh.

jj smiled slightly, her gaze softening as she leaned back, “you’ve always been the one to hold things together,” she said, her voice gentle but firm, as if trying to remind you that it was okay to break sometimes. “but you can’t hold it all in forever. and sometimes… sometimes you need space to breathe, to think. you don’t always have to be the strong one.”

you let out a breath, unsure of what to say next. jj was always good at cutting through the noise, but the guilt still sat heavily in your chest. you couldn’t escape the feeling that walking away—no matter how much you needed to—had been the wrong choice.

jj watches you for a moment, then leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “listen, i know it feels like you did something wrong by leaving, but you didn’t. you needed space. that’s not the same as giving up.”

you nod slowly, staring down at your hands, but you don’t respond.

jj sighs, then reaches over and squeezes your arm. "look, if there’s anyone who understands why you did what you did, it’s spencer. he has spent his life studying human behavior—figuring out how they think and why they do what they do. spencer knows exactly why you walked out, even if he won't admit it. he knows it was about needing space, about trying to make sense of everything that’s been building up between you.”

she pauses, giving you a reassuring look. “this isn’t the end. this is just a bump in the road—you'll go back when you're ready, and you'll start working through it all."

spencer knows why you left.

the thought lingers, easing the guilt that’s been clawing at you since you walked out. maybe that’s why he didn’t come after you. maybe, in his own way, he understood that you needed this moment to step back, to breathe, to process.

you hope—no, you need—to believe that he’s coming to his own realization. that in the quiet of your absence, in the stillness of an apartment that no longer holds your presence, he’s starting to understand. that maybe, just maybe, he’s replaying every word, every moment, and seeing where it all went wrong.

you want him to recognize that pushing you away was a mistake. that shutting you out, closing himself off instead of letting you in, only built more distance between you. and most of all, you hope he understands now—truly understands—that love isn’t about shutting doors, but about keeping them open, even when it’s hard.

the irony of the situation dawns on you. sitting here, hoping he comes to the right conclusion on his own, won’t change anything. no matter how hurt or frustrated you are, you know one thing for certain—you aren’t going to push him away the way he did to you.

you glance at jj, her eyes soft with understanding, and suddenly, you don’t feel as lost as you did before.

“i have to go back,” you murmur, the words feeling right the moment they leave your lips.

jj studies you for a moment before nodding. “yeah, i figured.” there’s no judgment in her voice, only quiet support.

you stand, but before you can say anything, jj speaks again. “i’m driving you.”

you blink at her. “jj, i can—”

"it’s late, and it’s cold,” she interrupts, crossing her arms. “and i know you. you’ll spend the entire walk overthinking, or worse, you’ll turn around and come right back here.”

you open your mouth to argue, but she raises an eyebrow, daring you to fight her on this. you sigh, giving in. “fine. i'll still overthink in the car though.”

jj smirks as she grabs her keys. "yeah, but at least this way, you’ll be overthinking with heated seats and no risk of getting hit by a rogue cyclist."

you roll your eyes, but there's a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "alright, alright. guess I’ll overthink in comfort then." you step outside, the weight of everything that’s about to unfold on your back.

the ride back is quiet, the streets nearly empty as jj navigates the familiar roads. you stare out the window, your finger spinning your wedding band, mind racing with all the possibilities of what comes next.

you wonder how it will be when you walk through that door. will he be surprised to see you? will he be angry? will he apologize? the questions swirl in your mind, but you push them aside—you'll find out in a few minutes either way.

jj pulls up in front of the apartment building and turns to you, her expression gentle. “you don’t have to fix everything tonight,” she reminds you. “just… put all your cards on the table. don't sugarcoat anything.”

you nod, feeling a mix of gratitude and nervous anticipation. "thank you, jj," you say softly, giving her a small smile. "i don’t know what i would’ve done without you tonight."

she smiles back, her eyes warm with understanding. "you’ll be fine. just be honest, that’s all you can do."

with a final nod, you push the door open, the cold air immediately hitting you as you step out onto the sidewalk. your heart is pounding in your chest, each step towards the apartment feeling heavier than the last.

you twist the handle, it's unlocked, but you hesitate before pushing the door open, gathering your courage in the silent hallway. when you finally step inside, the apartment is quiet—but not empty. a single lamp illuminates the living room, casting long shadows across the walls.

and there's spencer, sitting on the couch hunched over with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

he looks up at the sound of the door, and for a brief moment, his face is completely unguarded. relief washes over his features, followed quickly by something that looks almost like fear. he stands immediately, his movements stiff and uncertain.

"you came back," he says, his voice hoarse.

you close the door behind you, still standing near the threshold. "i started feeling guilty." you sighed, jj's voice in the back of your head—just be honest.

spencer swallows, his gaze flickering to the floor for a moment before meeting yours again. "guilty?" he repeats, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

spencer exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “you shouldn't feel guilty," he murmurs, then shakes his head. "i mean, it makes sense,” he says quickly, his words picking up speed.

“studies show that guilt is often a response to perceived moral transgressions rather than actual wrongdoing. it’s the brain’s way of enforcing social cohesion—an evolutionary mechanism designed to maintain interpersonal relationships by making us feel responsible for potential harm, even when no actual harm has been inflicted.”

you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of disbelief and amusement as he rambled on. it was as if, in the middle of all this, the man you once knew had momentarily resurfaced. even if what he was saying wasn’t at all what you needed to hear right now, a part of you couldn't help but recognize the familiarity in it—the way he always got lost in his thoughts, trying to explain things when he didn’t quite know how to connect.

he shifts on his feet, his words picking up speed. “and in this case, your reaction makes perfect sense. you removed yourself from a heightened emotional situation in order to regulate your response, which, psychologically speaking, is a far healthier alternative to reactive conflict. but then, the cognitive dissonance sets in—the part where your brain tells you that leaving contradicts your usual patterns of behavior, and that discrepancy triggers guilt, even if logically—”

“spencer,” you interrupt gently.

his mouth snaps shut, and for a second, there’s just silence. a flicker of something vulnerable crosses his face, and you realize—he’s rambling because he doesn’t know what else to say. because this is easier for him than actually talking about what matters.

you step forward, closing a bit of the distance between you. “i don’t need an analysis,” you tell him gently. "i just want you to tell me what's going on."

spencer’s gaze flickers for a moment, like he’s trying to find the words, trying to make sense of the situation. "i never wanted you to feel like you needed to leave," he says, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “but i didn’t exactly make it easy for you to stay.”

you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, the weight of everything you haven’t said pressing heavily on your chest. "no, you didn’t," you admit, your voice just above a whisper.

his expression tightens, a flash of something—guilt, maybe—crossing his face before he looks away.

"i've been trying," he says quietly. "i have."

"have you?" the question comes out sharper than you intended, but you don't soften it. "because from where i'm standing, it feels like you've been doing everything possible to push me away."

spencer's gaze snaps back to you, a hint of defensiveness in his eyes. "that's not fair."

"isn't it?" you take another step forward, emboldened by the surge of emotions you've held back for too long. "you won't talk to me. you won't look at me. you won't even sit next to me on the couch. what am i supposed to think, spencer?"

he runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "it's not that simple," he says, his voice strained. "i want to be the person you remember, but i don't know if i can be that man anymore."

the admission hits you like a physical blow. "i'm not asking you to be exactly who you were before," you say softly. "i know that's not possible. i just... i need you to be present. to talk to me. to not shut me out completely."

spencer is quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on some point beyond you. when he finally speaks, his voice is barely audible. "i don't know how to explain what it was like in there."

your breath catches. this is the closest he's come to talking about prison since he's been home. you don't know if you should say something. you hold your breath, afraid that if you move or speak, he'll retreat again.

his eyes are distant, far away, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s even aware of how much you’re hanging on his every word. finally, he exhales slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor as if the weight of it all is too much to bear.

“being in there… it broke something inside of me,” he says, voice low and strained. “i kept thinking about what it would be like to come back, to be here, with you. and then i just—" he paused for a moment. "i had to do something really bad. i had to do things in there that… things i never thought i would do."

"i hate myself for it. every second of it." his voice breaks on the last word, he shakes his head, hands shaking slightly as he runs them through his hair, frustration and guilt radiating from him.

"i wasn't just a victim in there—i became someone i don't even recognize anymore. i did things that went against everything i ever believed in, everything i told myself i would never do."

he looks at you now, and you can see the turmoil in his eyes—the deep-rooted shame and the self-loathing that’s consumed him. "and now i’m back here, with you, and i don’t even know who i am anymore. i’ve become this person who did unforgivable things. you don't deserve someone like me, someone who’s capable of—of that." he gestures vaguely, as if trying to encompass everything that’s happened to him.

"is that why you've been pushing me away?" you ask softly. "because you think i won't love who you are now?"

he doesn't answer, but the way he avoids your gaze tells you everything.

"baby," you whisper, shifting closer to him. "nothing could change how I see you."

you take a slow, unsteady breath, searching for the right words—any words—but everything feels inadequate. how do you explain something that goes beyond language?

"god, spencer," you exhale, shaking your head. "i wish i was better at this. i wish i had the right words, i wish i was some kind of poet, and that i could say the right things to make you understand, but i'm not."

you finally close the gap between you two and take his hands, gripping them tightly, pressing them against your chest as if somehow, if he just feels the way your heart beats for him, he’ll finally understand.

"it’s frustrating," you continue, voice thick with emotion. "because what i feel for you—it’s bigger than me. it’s bigger than words. i can’t explain it, and i hate that, because i need you to know. i need you to understand that this isn’t something breakable, something you can ruin, something you can chase away just because you think you should."

he swallows hard, his fingers curling around yours, but he doesn’t speak. maybe he can’t.

"i swear, spencer, if there was a way to pull this feeling out of me and give it to you, i would. if i could make you see yourself the way i see you, make you understand that what you did—what you had to do—doesn’t make you unworthy of love, i would do it in a heartbeat." your voice breaks slightly, tears now lining your eyes. "because i don’t just love you. it’s not that simple. it’s not just some feeling, some thing i could ever put into words. it’s more. it doesn’t begin or end with what you’ve done, or what’s happened to you, or who you think you’ve become. it just is."

he lets out a shaky breath, his eye are now wet, shining under the dim apartment light, his lips parted slightly like he wants to argue but can’t find the strength to. because maybe, just maybe, for the first time—he’s starting to believe you.

"i just wish—i wish you could feel it," you murmur, voice breaking. "i wish you could step into my skin, into my heart, and know how much i love you."

you don’t realize you’re crying until he reaches up, hesitantly, brushing his fingers against your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he touches you. his hand is shaking, but he doesn’t pull away.

spencer’s expression falters, something breaking inside of him, and when he finally—finally—pulls you into his arms, it’s not desperate or frantic. his arms wrap around you slowly, almost reverently, as though he's trying to let the feeling of your love wash over him, to understand it the way you do.

at first, it’s just the slightest tremble in his shoulders, so faint you almost miss it. but then you feel it—the shaky exhale against your neck, the way his fingers clutch at the fabric of your shirt like he’s afraid to let go. and then, slowly, silently, he starts to break.

his breath hitches, and before he can stop it, a quiet sob escapes him, muffled against your shoulder. his body shakes, all the pain and guilt unraveling all at once, and all you can do is hold him through it. his hands grasp at you like you’re the only thing tethering him to the present, like if he lets go, he’ll disappear into everything he’s been trying so hard to contain.

you don’t say anything. you don’t tell him it’s okay, because you know he wouldn’t believe it. or maybe because it isn't. but it will be. you'll make sure of that.

your fingers thread through his hair, your lips press against his temple, and you whisper the same words over and over, a promise and a lifeline: "i love you. i love you. i love you."

you stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other, the weight of everything that’s happened still lingering in the air between you. but it’s different now. lighter, somehow. not because everything is fixed—there are still conversations to have, wounds to tend to, pieces of him he hasn’t shown you yet.

but for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re on the same side again. you’re not standing in separate corners, silently blaming each other for things you can’t control.

the weight in your chest, the anxiety that has gnawed at you since that day you got the call about him being detained, begins to fade. you don’t need to fix everything tonight. you don’t need to have all the answers.

his breathing begins to steady, the tears slowing, but he doesn’t pull away. instead, he rests his forehead against yours, his voice a raw whisper as he says the only thing he can in this moment. “i’m sorry.”

you close your eyes for a moment, exhaling softly. “i know,” you whisper.

there's a beat of silence. "i've been having nightmares," he says, his voice so low you have to strain to hear him. "almost every night. that's where i go sometimes—i walk before going to bed. i walk so that i'm exhausted enough that my mind shuts down."

the sudden admission breaks your heart—but there's also a part of you that feels relief. relief that he wasn't turning to something worse or someone else to numb the pain.

"spencer, you could have told me." you said, fingers rubbings patterns into his back.

"i didn't want to burden you more than i already have," he says, shaking his head. "you've already been through so much because of me."

"that's not how this works," you say, squeezing his hand. "just forget all of that, okay? things will be different now. you not talking to me hurts more than that ever could."

he leans into you, his eyes closing for a brief moment. "i'm sorry," he whispers. "for pushing you away. for making you feel like you weren't enough. you've always been enough."

you lift a hand to his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek as you take in the exhaustion lining his features—the weight he’s been carrying alone for too long. slowly, carefully, you lean in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. just a warm, quiet reassurance that you’re here, that you’re staying.

when you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours, and he lets out a quiet sigh, his breath warm against your skin. he looks at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. "do you want to go to bed?" he asks, voice low.

you pause for a moment, you hadn’t realized just how exhausted you were until his mention of sleep. your shoulders feel heavy, and your body aches from the emotional toll it’s taken.

a deep, almost instinctual sigh escapes your lips, and you nod softly, “yeah."

spencer squeezes your hand gently and leads you toward the bedroom. the moment the covers are pulled back, you slip under the soft sheets, the cool fabric against your skin offering the smallest comfort after everything you've been through. spencer follows you in, his body warm and reassuring as he settles beside you.

he moves closer, carefully wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into him with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. you rest your head on his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you. his presence, steady and constant, washes over you like a balm, soothing the frantic, scattered thoughts in your mind.

his hand moves slowly up and down your back, the rhythm soothing, and you realize just how much you've missed this—missed him.

you close your eyes, letting the weight of everything melt away as you drift closer to sleep. spencer’s voice is soft, a comforting murmur as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"i love you."

[curly-fry-3]

hey curly would love to see dean's daughter and uncle sammy interact!! wholesome goodness galore please!!

𖦹Bad Day𖦹

summary𖦹 Sam helps you cheer up from a bad day

pairing𖦹 Sam Winchester x Niece!Reader

word count𖦹 1,066

notes𖦹 ok I totally nerded out in the last half sorry if you don't care about batman lol hope you like it

not proofread

You were having a bad day, and your uncle Sammy knew it. He knew it would be rough for you before you even woke up, Dean wasn't gonna be home in time for your “weekly shred bedrotting time”-as you liked to call it. In fact, your dad wasn't gonna be home till the next day, his hunt taking longer than expected. So, it was no surprise to Sam when you came home from school all dejected. 

When you walked through the door of the bunker you immediately put your bag down and slipped your shoes off, not caring if they were in the middle of the walkway. “Sammy” you call out searching for a response. When you're met with silence you head to the kitchen to find something sweet, what a year today has been. 

You have your head in the fridge when you hear movement behind you and turn around to find your uncle making his way into the room. “Hey sammy” you say while shutting the fridge behind you.

“Hey kid, how was school” Sam responds

You roll your eyes and huff in annoyance, “you know, the worst”

He smiles at your answer, “you know, I could think of a couple ways to make your day better”

You lean against the counter with a questioning look “What are you gonna do, cause I could really go for some pie right now” 

He smiles knowingly “Well it's not pie, but i got some cake and ice cream”

Your face lights up, “you better not be joking”

“Why would I joke about this? That would just be cruel” He asks “I also got out the DVDs, you can pick what movie we watch”

You jump up from your position against the counter in excitement “Omg girls night”

He crosses his arms and gives you a look of confusion “Girls night?”

“Shut up and accept it” Your expression shifts to a playful smirk “if it's girls night can I braid your hair”

Sam pauses for a second “what?”

“Pleeeasseeee” you beg “ it's so much easier to braid someone else's hair and yours is so soft and long” You eagerly explain

He pretends to think it over “fine” 

You clap your hands together in excitement “yay! Ok so you get the desert ready and i'll get the tv on and the hairbrush out”

He smiles fondly at your excitement then agrees to your plan with a nod. While you left to set up in the Dean cave, Sam got to work at plating your sweet treats. He also prepared some regular food cause he knew you would want something savory after. He was glad you were so excited and that he was able to lift your mood, that's the whole reason he planned this. Sam didn't want you to have such a bad week, he could tell that Dean's absence was taking its toll on you–usually you two were attached at the hip.  

When he walked into the Dean cave, balancing multiple plates in his arms, You were waiting for him with the TV already on. He hands you your cake, setting aside your dinner, and sits on the couch next to you, looking up at the TV. “Lego Batman?” He asks with a smile

You look at him with a fake hurt expression “it is a cinematic masterpiece. Also I'm literally batman.”

He chuckles lightly “you literally aren't”

“Oh really, you can test me on this, im literally him” You say while picking up your spoon to dig into your cake

He puts his hands up in defence “ wow you want me to test you ok….ummm…name five robins”

You roll your eyes “that's easy; Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Stephenie, and Duke. Boom that's more than five, it's all of them” you finish with triumphantly taking a bite

He smiles smugly “your forgot one”

You look at him confused “no I didn't” you say with a stuffed mouth.

“Bruce's clone” He corrects

You swallow your food “That totally doesn't count”

Sam shakes his head in disagreement “oh, it totally does”

You roll your eyes and start the movie, accepting that you won't win this one. He lightly smiles at your defeat and turns to watch the movie. Before you both could lock in to the TV you turn back to sam and say “you're a nerd, and i'm still batman”

He turns to you and smiles “ok”

After that you both were silent throughout the film. When you were done with your dessert you had moved on to the dinner Sam had brought, claiming that the cake was too sweet,  just as he suspected you would. When you were done eating you had cuddled closer to Sam on the couch for the remainder of the movie, your knees to your chest and your head on his shoulder as his arm wrapped around the back of the couch.

After the movie You decided it was time to do sams hair. You forced him to sit on the ground in front of the couch as you got to work, sitting on the firm cousins behind him. “Thanks for this sammy” You say while separating his hair into sections.

He tries to look back at you to respond but you force his head forward so you can continue working on his hair. “For what?” He asks.

“I know you planned this night for me cause Dad isn't here, it's really sweet and I really liked it so, thanks” You answer

“Of course kid…You know, I really liked it two–even though lego batman isn't comic accurate” He teases

You sigh and continue to work on his hair, “ok that gets me a little frustrated too but the humor and homoerratic relationship between the joker and batman makeup for that”

You can feel him roll his eyes as he responds “whatever you say”

The night ends with you and Sam asleep on the couch, his hair braided, the TV left on, And dirty dishes left out. When Dean comes home the next morning and finds the state that you two are in he takes a couple (dozen) photos before waking you up and leading you back to your bed. Dean was sad he wasn't able to see you yesterday but if it meant that he would find you and Sam cuddled up like that, he would be ok doing it again.

sorry if there are any typos

@areswasneverhere

[angeliolo]

remember everything

y/n’s pov

an au by me and @sofisturns

𓇼 chap. 4 - easy

as my feet dragged along the cold sand, the only thing my mind focused on was him. the way the bonfire glow reflected onto his fair skin, the way he squinted his eyes whenever he laughed, the way he fiddled with his untouched drink, the way he looked at me tonight.

when i finally arrive back home, im greeted with nothing but uncomfortable silence and the slight hum of the air conditioning. i check my phone. 1:43 am. i let out a deep sigh as an attempt to break the silence. no messages, no missed calls, no greeting at the door. a part of me wished my parents would’ve shown some signs of worry of where i was, but i knew they wouldn’t- they never do

after taking a shower, i lay on my bed- the warm sheets almost replicating the feeling of chris’ presence. it’s a poor substitute but i let myself sink into the illusion that we are still together, walking along the shoreline.

i grab my phone without thinking- my mind working on autopilot as i pull up his instagram. I convince myself that i’m just checking, just taking a brief look, but before i realize it im scrolling. I can’t help myself, i’ve never been so invested in a person before- let alone a boy. I catch myself smiling as i tap through his highlights, seeing photos of him and his brothers, various sceneries, snapshots of his life.

before i know it, im in too deep. rewatching his highlights for what feels like forever. suddenly a wave of confidence rushes over me, i swipe to open my dms and type in his username. the words “hi there” are on my screen, my thumb hovering over the send. what if he didn’t want to talk this late. what if he wasn’t even up. what if matt or nick said something about me. my inner thoughts and anxiety take over, distracting me from noticing i sent the message. shit.

y/n and chris dm’s

hi there: @y/n.y/n/l/n

@chrissturniolo: what’s up

couldn’t sleep lol plus i missed you :@y/n.y/n/l/n

@chrissturniolo: missing me already y/n? and you think i’m the bold one

@chrissturniolo: anyways, you trynna do something tomorrow?

send me your address. i’ll meet you tomorrow morning, i’ll show you around the shore. :@y/n.y/n/l/n

suddenly the silence in my room didn’t feel so heavy, i couldn’t wait to see chris again. i couldn’t figure out why i was so drawn to him, his presence- why the thought of being around him made my chest feel lighter, like i could finally be my full authentic self.

i stayed there in my bed, lying on my side as i tried to answer the big question in my mind. why was talking to him so easy? i had known all the guys down here at the shore for years, i’d grown up with them , yet when it came down to it, every conversation felt forced, like i was caught in a riptide unable to keep up.

maybe it was the way his initial demeanor was reserved, like he was someone worth uncovering. or maybe it was the way his voice was welcoming, steady like the waves lapping against the sand reminding me to stay grounded while everything else had drifted away.

although we’d only known each other for a short period of time, our conversations were some of the best i’d had in a while. our words flowed effortlessly, as if we were currents pulling each other back to shore. With Chris, i didn’t have to second guess what i was about to say, never had to hold my breath, or pretend to act like i cared about what he was saying. He made the space around us feel open- like the sea stretching far beyond the horizon, leaving more to be discovered- both unknown and thrilling.

i roll over onto my other side, allowing the warmth of my blankets swallow me, a small smile tugging on my lips. Tomorrow, i’d get to see him again. I close my eyes as the thought of him washes over me, providing more warmth than i already had.

ᝰ hey luvs! i hope we are all enjoying remember everything so far

posted early just for @sonnysturns <3

⋆.˚ taglist

@chrissturniolossidebitch @chrissweetheart @m00nl1tgh0st @mothstvrnz @stvrniolotrxpl3ts @espressqe @chrepsi @samwinchesterisawhore @sonnysturns

[blossoms-phan]

dan is so fake he’s always like “this is your chance to ask us important, hard hitting, deep philosophical questions” someone asks how do you feel having an entire generation look up to you and he’s like physically? yeah haha we’re so tall 🤪

[empyreansentinel]

never understood why jack had a portrait of moxxi up in his casino. the place went under after BL2, and at that point they hadnt been together for years. and its not like what they had together was particularly happy or long lasting, either. they were together for maybe a month before breaking up pre-TPS, and thats not even mentioning what happens between them during the game itself, so... maybe its a trophy? it doesnt feel like one when theres also one of angel. but its all i really got because presumably hes been in a much happier relationship with nisha for years, even though the portrait does feel too sentimental for a woman hes hated for the past Forever. speaking of nisha, there's no portrait of her or his wives. which is doubly weird because surely theyd be here too if moxxi is. idk, moxxi and angel are just a strange pair to have it just be them. by themselves is fine, moxxi alone is easily a trophy. and imo its just weird for a portrait of angel to be in the casino in the first place. some secret siren, huh? but together? idk. it gives mixed messages.

[beatcroc]

Mecha-Sonic, Dr. Robotnik has created other robots based on Sonic and thrown them away before he created you. Do you have any thoughts on this?

[ratatatastic]

quite honestly we should have a canadian whos sole job it is to make a finn giggle do pressers together more often just for the chaos

if i had a nickle for everytime this happened id have two nickles which isnt a lot but its weird that it happened twice.

2024 nhl global series finland game 1 postgame interview | 11.1.24 (x)

[ra-vio]

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[basslinegrave]

thinking about the sonic movies and my biggest 'critique' summed up, i think they tend to present them as this huuge thing, bigger than ever, movies for all audiences and then the actual focus audience is kids under 10 and you get these simple characters and a plot that feels dumbed down at times

however. i feel the same way about some of the marvel/avengers movies. focus is kids to sell toys, at least partially, (if you say no go look into a toy store lol) the stories can be quite simple etc yet it still works out well if you play the "something for everyone" card (colorful characters for the kids, the actors for the moms, the references for the fans) i just sometimes wish they made it more "smart" the kids wouldnt mind plus the audience grows. if they want to do more then your 10yos will be angsty teens that wont give a fuck about it anymore unless you make it angsty and serious for a moment

[icewindandboringhorror]

"We can get through this by working together, reach out to your friends, community is all we have, a social network will be your security in the world, now is the time to lean on others!"

I do agree, and it's scientifically sound (pretty sure there is data about how people with better social networks live longer and etc) but also....augh..... what about the severe social issues, difficulty to leave the house, physical issues which lead to like zero socialization energy a majority of the time, etc. etc. Social support can be a replacement for structural support, but.. I guess I just wish it didn't have to be. Community is extremely difficult to build, even moreso if you're someone who has issues with social cues or group conversations or even just being around others in the first place. And blah, nuance, of course I'm just complaining or maybe being too negative or maybe misunderstanding, but, I hardly have the energy to brush my hair once every 2 months.. how am I supposed to maintain a wide social network and be active in a Community and Join Groups lol... sometimes it kind of feels like "er.. well if thats my only option then...... ruh roh". It's overwhelming

[xxplastic-cubexx]

OKAY SO- AHEM

There's this game??? i think it's a game I'm not into marvel games called Marvel Rivals and there's x-men characters in it (not many tbh) and there's magneto

i just saw it on twitter. bro. BRO

magneto's thic, like, he's literally a fucking wardrobe in terms of size, he's a big boy literally-

if theres anything marvel rivals magneto has got its the fact he's built ASTOUNDING and thats the only point it gets from me

[heph]

Hey, I remember you mentioning on your IG something about two types of popular artists and one being good at social media and the other being good at art or something like that (I can't really remember lol). But it got me thinking, any tips for how to be good at social media? Cuz I'm certainly not even after posting art for six years lol

Heya!

What I meant by that is that there are traits that allow you to grow on social media, and traits that determine what a highly skilled artist is, and those traits do not always necessarily overlap.

I've seen so many amazing artists that post artwork that blow my head off, and yet they don't have many likes. On the other hand, some artists at the same skill level who draw more popular things will get way more attention.

That is not to say that either is the correct way to create art, but there is definitely a formula to social media that is in play.

There are a lot of posts about how to grow a social media account, particularly on TikTok, YouTube and Instagram art spheres, and imo you really need to examine what you want from your art before jumping into social media mode

The stuff you create to pander to social media might not be art that you want to create at all - I'm lucky, because I am less artist more storyteller, and what I enjoy is telling jokes and silly stories to liven up people's moods :] this, of course, conveniently does well on social media. On a personal note, I have a history of being a recluse and not connecting well with people, and art is my way of trying to communicate my feelings, one way or another.

So of course, if you draw for any reason other than my own, my approach to art and it's relation to social media might be inappropriate for you.

All that being said, if u take a look at those "get big on social media" videos they always cite the same few points... And you can look into that, for sure, but this video sums up how I feel about all that.

I spent like 20 minutes drafting words after the above paragraph, but I really ended up regurgitating sentiments from the video... So really don't listen to me, listen to that video

EDIT:

I just realised I didnt actually answer the question with my anecdotal experience, so here's a list of things I did

1. Posted like 3 doodles a day on social media

I did this for 6 months on a side account on Twitter recently and got the account to 11k followers... And I did this for 3 months on Instagram a few years ago and I think got 3.5k followers. Of course, do not spam maliciously and make sure your art is still of good quality, but for those artworks I posted quickly, I did not colour, and mostly did clean sketches. This also trains you in the matter of line confidence haha. Again, this worked for me because of my set of circumstances (love for the media, want to tell stories, simple art style)

2. Focus on my favourite aspects of media

This helps with respect to burnout - kinda hard to burnout when you love what you're making! For me, it's character interactions and comics. I want to see my blorbos kiss and if I'm not the one drawing it who will?!

3. Interact with people

People eat up work that they can interact with. A choose your own story situation, one of those like/rt to strip a character 😭 those do numbers for a reason.

Additionally, if you post stuff people love, people will respond to it with comments, maybe their own headcanons, adding on to the work... I've gone into long looong Twitter thread conversations with people who added onto my ideas that I threw up onto the screen and I think it's also a nice thing to do to respond to positive comments haha... I'm not very good at this (read: bad at communication)

I think that's the key points... Hope this helps!

[cheemken]

Greetings! What would be the outcome of the au? A bad end where everyone is defeated by the Timekeeper? Vertin sacrifices themself to protect everyone or do the suitcase fam capture her and attempt to free her ? this au is kinda stuck in my head now lol, like the idea of arcana revealing herself like the geto scene with the brain if u seen jjk.

Hi hey, I'm so glad you're interested in my au hahaha

Idk much abt jjk tho like idk what scene that is but that sounds cool hahah

Anyways

My initial concept is that Vertin came back yeah, and a few starts to notice, I think it'd come to the point where Sonetto and Regulus confronts her?? Bc there's clearly smth wrong w Vertin

Ofc, Arcana plays her part well, and as Vertin, she deflects, saying she's fine, just tired and still a bit shaken after escaping from Manus Vindictae. It was a miracle how she escaped, she thought she'd die then and there

But they know there's more to that. It'd be funny tho but also on brand if Regulus herself knew smth was amiss bc ofc, Vertin using her wand more and more, but the thing that set Regulus off was the fact that Vertin was using her left hand, she's right handed as far as Regulus knows, and ofc, how she uses her tuning arcane skill, how it's like a seasoned magician

And it got to the point that while they're still in the Foundation, Vertin kept her distance, always wandering off by herself, wandering the halls like a ghost, everyone was starting to get worried

And until one night, where Vertin was there in the courtyard, well,, Madam Z and Tooth Fairy tried to talk to her, to go back inside, it's dark out already, and hey c'mon, she's their daughter at that point, and they just got her back from Manus, so seeing Vertin like this, it worried them

Imagine as they try to approach her, Z just stops dead in her tracks, grabbing Tooth Fairy's arm, stopping her, as they both hear Vertin chuckle darkly, slowly turning towards them, and as she did, Arcana's wand formed at either sides of Vertin's head, and her silver eyes turned pale yellow, and she smiles ay them, the same godforsaken smile Arcana always has on her face

And ofc, that lil drawing comes to play, the strings on Vertin, it would be so so fun if like,, w those, and w the influence of Arcana's magic, she managed to take control of a few arcanists too. Like can you imagine her just attaching the strings on the arcanists Vertin had saved, and taking control of them like puppets, that'd be so cool and bc ofc in c2, wasn't there a part titled Puppet, and bc if I remember right, Arcana also called Vertin her puppet

Like that'd be such a cool concept, Arcana using Vertin as a puppet, and w Vertin's hands she uses other arcanists as her puppets too

But also the mental image of all of the arcanists in Vertin's suitcase just fights off Manus followers on each floor of the Foundation buildings, look, I have a concept, I wanna write it, I just don't know how to execute it well, it has Schneider in it, Arcana brought her back or smth to make it hurt more, and the Schneider and Sonetto fight is just cbmxnd ough

But yeah, her defeat, idk, I want it to be some temporary defeat, ofc me being biased, as Sonetto was fighting off Schneider, Regulus rushes to where Vertin is, and ofc, she and Arcana fight lmfao

But do you see my vision when I say Arcana uses Regulus' line against her, y'know the thing Regulus says before her ult right

Imagine Arcana using that, just having Regulus pinned, one hand on her neck, the other on her cheek, her thumb trailing upward to her lower eyelid, pressing down hard, as she whispers in Vertin's voice, "are you ready... To be blinded?"

And Regulus spats out, "are you?" And uses her ult on both of them

Look look it's good on paper and it's a good mental image I can't just execute it well here but I hope you see the vision cbsmnd

But yeah, after that, and more psychological mindscape stuff of Regulus trying to save Vertin, Vertin was saved! That's a good thing right? Arcana was gone, so were the Manus followers, but it was so sudden, it shouldn't be that easy, right

Ofc it's not, Vertin wasn't saved, she never will be. Arcana's wand was still w her, lying dormant, waiting to be called out again, waiting till it finally corrupts their precious little Timekeeper.

[lucabyte]

uhh 7 for the ask game 👍🏻

(For (x), list of characters here (x))

7 - which of your ocs would you be the LEAST willing to befriend irl?

Hmm okay so there's some copout answers here in the form of villains like Cobalt because even outside of him being a shitty moneyman i don't know that "befriend" is One Of The Verbs he's Capable Of. (Like, I'd gladly get into his inner circles to scam him but I genuinely don't think i could pull that off. He simply would not give me the time of day.)

So exlcuding antagonists, even if i WOULD be down to chill with approx 50% of them, we'll stick to good guys...

I think... most of the celebrities kind of suck. Giles and Hainu especially are both grimly megalomaniacal. Almost everyone in the 'Moraine' folder/story/location has some level of either Real Stardom or Internet Stardom and are thus all a little bit tetchy in that way. That whole cast is meant to rub up against each other's egos and be prickly.

But out of all of them there, I do think Giles is the worsstttt. He's the most likely to try and use you to bolster his own ego, and will *also* come crawling back the moment he hits a low point. He sticks around and simply will not go away once you let him in.

He's also just generally the kind of guy to push your boundaries and be skeevy. However, he IS charming and famous, so unless you've kept up with what his former friends have said on the downlow, it'd be easy to be starstruck and bowled over by him...

This was a hard question lol because I write a lot of characters i'd find insufferable IRL, even good guys. Gabriel, Naga, Lollie, Chrome... Though with enough effort I think i could befriend those guys and maybe talk some sense into them. But with Giles that ship has saaailed.

(and as for hainu? ehhh 50/50 that i could fix him by tearing his ego asunder and building him back up again. otherwise he may be just as hopeless)

[royalreef]

you're the top of a mountain, the bottom of a well, the deepest darkest pit in the ocean. sublime and dangerous, terrifying and distant, many want you, many need you, many die because of you, of you, for you.

you're the blood they spill, their last breath, their final moment, and that fills you with pride, and fear, and guilt, and hate, and love, so so so so much love you can't keep much more.

are you keeping those gifts or are you those gifts to begin with? was that last moment yours? it should've been yours.

you want it to be yours

Is it love? Love is such a strong word. She's fairly certain she would know if it was love, theoretically, at least.

She's not the most experienced in love, not really. When she was younger, she didn't really experience even the puppy love crushes that others might speak about. Not many candidates for that in the first place, after all. It was just her and Bellanda for so many years, the two left together because it was just easier to treat them as one entity which offerings of basic necessities were made to, to be tossed to the nanny staff to ensure they didn't manage to get themselves killed in the interim.

Neither of them were allowed around other children, children which would've come from other families, other lineages, and thus would be expected to be loyal to them. That would pose a risk, could muddy things as they got older, either distracting from their duties or creating another avenue from which their positions could be exploited. It was just her and Bellanda, and Bellanda didn't like anyone else enough to get close to them, so Miranda followed suit and kept her nervous distance.

When they got older, even Miranda's entrance into romantic fancies could never be called one of love. Education, maybe, if she was being kind. Once Miranda had settled into her new lessons, was permitted around those who began to show an interest in her, then still yet, could she call that love?

They came in two varieties. The suitors were the first to make their gestures towards her, curtailed at first as her suitors' court opened. They were gentler then, but firmer in a certain way that's hard to name. They spoke and moved with experience, expertise, did not leave Miranda room to question nor doubt them. She thought she had loved a few of them, eager and ready to guide her and to provide structure into the new pains of settling into her title and her duties for what they were.

And if she had entertained them for longer than they really deserved, then, well, that was just to be expected as well. Nothing new was being written at that point, and there had been plenty of other Crown Princesses who had come before who had first enjoyed flights of fancy and impulse with the first suitors to swim beside them, so when Miranda's mistakes came, they were brushed away with ease and forgotten.

Miranda learned quick, as such lessons tend to do. Bellanda learned quicker, and it was Bellanda's education that drew the tentative early period to a close quickly, that taught Miranda to respond first with her jaws and not to entertain sweeter bait. Romance was for physical benefit, after all, and that was why they came.

The second were those who came to her not bearing romantic intents, and the second were those where she learned the swiftest. Like all others of her station, it was best not to spend too much of her time among her fellow royals, all ulterior motives and their own lineages to tend. To keep commonfolk around her was to find someone who couldn't pose such a risk to her, who she didn't have to worry about overstepping or watching what she said around them, and that was a great benefit to any royal needing someone else to occupy their time.

They would come, as staff or as notable individuals that she invited in, offering her time or treats with which to sate their appetite, and they would be thrilled at the attention she lavished onto them. A Crown Princess like her doesn't just pay attention to anyone, after all. To capture her eye was to have something special, something that had to suggest that they were special too. Crown Princess Miranda, Cees'rril'ta Yhtun-Tswe Slz'Exkii, was right at their fingertips, and they could taste the decadence that dripped off her, could have her at their beck and call, were so close to her that they could dip their fingers in and drink it up from the tap. She was a drug, exhilarating, thrilling, the cusp of danger cradled in the hand and burning hot against the thigh, greater and grander than they would ever again touch, and she got them high.

They would come to her, debase themselves for her, beg her for more of her time, more of her attention, more of what she could give. They would think they could keep her, could hold something like her tight in a little box, keep her tucked to their chests and never let her go. They thought they could take her home, that she was something that ever could exist in a home, and if she even so much as vaguely alluded to the idea, they took it as confirmation.

They were cute. Miranda could pick her favorites from among them, select which ones she thought looked the prettiest, or complimented against her scales the best, or said the nicest things about her, or entertained her the most. She wouldn't even pretend that they provided her the same deep need that she fostered in them, but not for lack of trying.

She did try. She had to try, that time was filled with the pangs of loneliness, the deep and desperate urge to find connection, to find a place in the world. Maturity had done something to her that it did to all merfolk pups when they came of age, and it had filled her with a new and sudden interest in people, and that was when she really began to notice the lack of it elsewhere. She depended on Bellanda still, yes, but she was a void, a massive sucking pit of need, and she was starving, hopeless, lost, clinging to Bellanda tighter and tighter as neither of them found they could survive without the other.

But it never worked. Miranda couldn't have explained why it didn't work, only that it didn't. Maybe they didn't, couldn't, understand her? Maybe there was something that was lacking in them, something that made them speak and talk as though speaking to someone else in Miranda's place, someone other than Miranda herself. Maybe there was something in Miranda, still hiding behind the projection of someone so much larger than herself.

Or maybe it was that they had fallen in love with that image of Miranda, the Crown Princess that lavished them with everything they could ever want, the same image that made her enemies quiver and made the courts look upon her when she spoke.

She didn't know. They ended poorly, irregardless. At first Miranda attempted kindness, but something like her is never capable of full kindness, not really. Then she gave up, and stopped trying, and focused solely on the dual needs of keeping them away from anything they might ruin and entertaining herself. It was entertaining, really. Pretty things remained just as pretty when they broke, and Miranda enjoyed the long tease, the leading up, the betrayal, the sharp cut of emotional high as adoration spilled over into the deepest fear. If they loved her for her danger, then they should expect to eventually face it. It was only common sense.

No... She found the ideals of love to be more enticing. After all, just because that need couldn't be met in her suitors' court or in toys, didn't mean the need for connection went away. It just grew and grew, stubborn and furious in her chest, a deepening want that swallowed up the ocean around her as she imagined all the theoretical people who would be able to meet it for her. Someone who would listen to her, hear her, see her first and foremost for what she was and not get lost in what she pretended to be. Someone who could comfort her, and hold her, and knew exactly what to say. Someone who would keep her safe, make her feel secure, could vanquish the yearning from her heart and leave her whole enough to become her own person again.

That was what love was supposed to be, wasn't it? Someone that she could rely on. Love wasn't worth anything if it wasn't someone meeting her in kind. Everything else would be so much easier, so much simpler, if she could find someone to love, someone to confront the world with her.

Maybe she had done something wrong? That could be one reason why love hadn't come to her yet, wouldn't come to her. That she had made a poor nest for it inside her heart, so that it couldn't nestle inside, couldn't make it a home. Or, maybe she had driven her love away? It could've been in any of the people who had come before, people who Miranda had tried to love, who she had thought she had loved, but now wasn't sure. If she had loved them, then surely it would be more potent than that, and so maybe she just hadn't gone far enough, pushed along longer and deeper and simply tried harder to love them.

This was around when her training for her ambassadorship had begun, and the fairytales her tutors had given her to help her learn English only furthered this point of inquiry. Maybe there were only a few people in the world who she could love, select and special people, and she just hadn't found them yet? That made sense to Miranda. That maybe love was something she was destined for, but it just hadn't happened yet, so it floated around unfulfilled until Miranda managed to luck up and find them.

Or maybe find her? She liked the thought of them finding her. That maybe this need for love in them was felt too, great and massive and despairing, and so they needed her too. And maybe they needed her so much and so badly that they'd do anything for her, risk anything, run blindly into danger if it meant simply looking upon her face for once, for just the potential of knowing, oh! That's who I love!

And she had felt the want again on land! Which was not to say it had ever really gone away, no. If anything, it had gotten worse in the span of time she spent away from Bellanda for the first time in her life, a rampant loneliness that threatened to kill her with no one else in the world who would check up on her.

But, after a year, the want did come, and it came directed and purposeful this time, pointed in the direction of other people, other people who she could say she wanted! She could not say if this want was love, but wanting had to be the first step to love, right?

Well. Except that her love, the love that she wanted, the love that she was speaking of, was the wrong love. The thought would've been preposterous earlier in her life, that there could ever be a thinking, feeling person who did not have such a love, such a need for others there in their life, but Miranda had learned better quickly.

She had learned that landfolk do not, could not, love that way. They did not arrange themselves in groups, did not become one with their loves, focused on unimportant things like kissing or sex, things which only ever existed to serve the love, by all of Miranda's accounts. The love that she did have, the love that she had for Bellanda, was something different to the landfolk, and she couldn't explain it to them, because they never would feel that way for anyone else and never could.

So it was want. Miranda would not allow herself to be tricked into thinking it was love again, even if she wanted it to be, and even if the way the landfolk touched her and talked to her made them act very much like the love was supposed to act. And love did require a mutual aspect, Miranda had learned that already, from all the times she had tried to make herself love but failed when someone else said they did.

Times which were rapidly repeating, Miranda was learning. Sure, they might not know love and might not be capable of it, but they were just as capable of everything that had come before. Plenty of landfolk wished to own her, and they were just as willing to try everything that had come before to do it. It didn't really matter if they wanted to shine her and put her on a shelf or if they wanted something more substantial out of her, it was all just a different form of ownership.

They would talk about possessing her, wanting her. They would discuss the ways that they would do it, ways that they could capture her attention and her time, and sometimes Miranda would humor them. Most of her usual company was back in the Merkingdom, after all, and they were harder to call up and insist that they come keep her company now that she was on land. She still had her other needs, other forms of enjoyment, and landfolk were just as capable of providing, even if she never grew any more interested in them.

She really didn't know what to do at this point. The love had to be coming, there had to be someone out there who would love her, who she could love, that she could sink into and close her eyes and be able to relax for a moment. But if her love was coming, then it had to be a terrible tower they were traversing up to her. It had been so long now, and Miranda was getting so cold.