"PROMPT": plzzzzzzzzzzzz write something. anything. a 200 word drabble. a sentence a quote. a title. a word. anything about spoby. dyingggggg without any of your writing.

RESPONSE: Hi anon. I love you with every fiber of my being. And because you asked so nicely, I produced a short drabble for you that just occurred to me on a whim. I'm sorry if it's terrible. But I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Please let me know if you like it. PS - I'm hoping to write some more this week. My husband just got a new job so A.) that's some stress off our household and B.) gives me more alone time to do what I love.)

STRENGTH IN DESPAIR

He hated when Spencer cried. The sounds of her anguished sobs wracking the insides of her body was likened to pins and needles piercing the sensitive layers of his flesh, prodding him into a state of hyper vigilant anxiety.

He could not stand to hear her in such agony, gasping desperately for the air the continued to evade her.

But despite how much he hated to see her in such pain, the vulnerability that came with the open flood gates often made her more beautiful than ever.

The image of tear tracks cascading down her face, shimmering along the planes of her cheek bones. The way that her fiery russet eyes fizzled and burned out beneath the pools of saline that coalesced against her bottom lids, balancing precariously for but a moment before they spilled over. How the beads of moisture clung to her eye lashes and bled out the ink of her mascara.

She was exposed. Every pretense torn away in unceremonious disregard, only authentic rawness remnant in its place.

She was alive. Despite all the daily hoops she jumped through, she was not immune to overexertion.

And most importantly, she trusted him to see this side of her. And this hauntingly beautiful occasion only made him love her all-the-more.

In the past she may have been far more wary of allowing him to witness such a delicate unraveling, but not anymore. Somewhere along the line, she had grown to understand that he accepted her for everything: her perfections, her imperfections, and anything in between. She had realized that there was nothing wrong or disreputable about allowing him to just be there for her, pulling her close to his chest and smoothing down her hair as her heart palpitations slowed back to their usual rate and her ragged breathing was reduced to slow, even inhalations. He would sometimes hold her long after she had stopped crying, just enjoying the notion that his own arms provided her sanctuary.

These moments - these tiny, temporary moments in which Spencer Hastings allowed herself to break down and reflect on her humanity for a brief period of time - they were both precious and humbling, and served to remind Toby that even the strongest person he knew could sometimes break down. She may have perceived her emotional undoing as a weakness - but he saw it as just another facet of her being that strengthened everything she stood for. After all, strength is not solely defined by a person's capacity to endure countless hardships simultaneously and subsequently deal with them in relaxed stride. It is defined by their ability to submit to the feelings of overwhelmed distress and still persevere despite the urge to shut everything off.

She was the strongest person he knew. And as much as it pained him to see her cry, he knew that these rare occasions were merely additional proof of such endurance. He would always be there to comfort her in these times of crisis, but in the back of his mind he would always be watching in wonderment, utterly amazed by the fact that such a big heart dwelled so comfortably in such a small girl.