#but bc it's not in the mines it's not counted in the adventuring statistics

[bragganhyl]

oh yeah i picked up stardew valley a few days ago

i know it's supposed to be a cute little *relaxing* farming sim but for my compulsive ass???

[obsessedwithspencerreid]

wrist

please excuse this it's my first time publicly sharing writing so yeah! also this is LOOSELY based on spencer but i tried to throw in enough pretty boy references haha // also the capitalization is cringe bc i wrote like half in my phone and half on my computer DONT HATE MEEEE triggers: slight language word count: 1,486 ______ he cheated. how could i have known you would cheat? well, if i said i never thought you could possibly be trouble i would be lying. it was a loud, raucous Friday night at the local bar when I first saw you. I went there almost every weekend, trying to drink away my feeling, my worries, my fears. the red strobe lights illuminated your tangled mess of dirty blonde curls. we were sitting to the side on an uncomfortable looking plastic stool, the kind you have to peel off of your thighs on a hot summer afternoon. who was he watching? a girlfriend? god, i hope not, i thought. i bit my lip as i saw you taking a hair tie off of your delicate, bird-like wrist, a completely unique wrist that was the only one of its kind in its utter perfection. i think it was that moment that i realized that you would break my heart one day. it was but a matter of time, my love. my life. my death. fast forward a few weeks. i took you on crazy, stupid adventures, and you muttered statistics in between passionate, heated kisses about how there are less germs on the face, so it's safer to make out than shake hands. of course it was probably just an excuse to kiss again. you were always good at words. you created a piece of art with every sentence, weaved a tapestry with each letter, each word being a thread of its own kaleidoscopic color. and when you finally said those three monumental words? it was Michelangelo and the Sistine chapel. we were idiotic, we were wild, we were living off of the unadulterated drug called happiness. we saw everything through the rose tinted tones of our youth, never imagining that we would have to grow up eventually. but for that year, we were stuck in our own private neverland, perpetually living the same twisted version of adolescence and adulthood. I waited, desperately, for someone to give a damn. for our parents, or our friends, to even care that we had no sense of real life. To tell me to finish getting my masters degree, or let that genius boyfriend of yours get you a job. our fluffy cloud of naïveté was soon becoming a furious, storming gray. so he fell, a big fat plop on the earth; he got a job. and not only a job, a job where he travelled constantly. at first i was proud of my one true love. yes, I took ownership of everything that he had become. wasn't it me who taught him how not to be afraid? to not hide from the bruises and scars on his back, and share his utter hurt and pain with someone? everything was fine at first. until his deep set eyes became sunken with stress, and bloodshot with exhaustion. those beautiful eyes that i spotted across the room and fell in love with. a swirl of amber and melted chocolate, drip drip drizzling on my taste buds, and the smell of fresh baked cookies, the sound of a clicking keyboard. now bitter cacao, burnt, smoking embers, the screech of the smoke detector that always seemed to go off at the exact wrong time. this exact moment, when he got of that jet for the 8th time, was the moment we broke. but like a broken glass that a child hastily tries to glue together, we tried to fix it. like the spiderweb cracks, it didn't work. we were always built to fall apart. the only problem was that we didn't fall back together like i had desperately believed. that's when the fights started. huge screaming matches, waking up everyone in the near vicinity of us. i smelled her perfume. lavender, rosemary, smells that disgusted me to the core. i've been allergic since i was 12. i dismissed it. said that maybe you were consoling a crying woman, who just lost her husband or her cousin or her daughter or her brother. but that was the problem. i was still stuck in the cloud of naïveté. every time you came home, i thought it would be different. that you would say "how are you honey" while i cooked a delicious meatloaf, as our two twin boys kicked a soccer ball around. "don't play in the house," i would have said. now i'm stuck in a choking cocoon of loneliness and despair and i can't get out. no matter how hard i try or struggle, i can't breathe, and no one can hear a sound. I remember the calm before the storm, the yellow sky in the eye of the incoming hurricane. We had just moved into our apartment, an utterly inexpensive, tiny, cramped room in the bad side of town. But none of that mattered, i thought. The only thing that mattered was that we were together, united to take on the world and all of the murderers, rapists, and kidnappers that it would throw at us, or our relationship. Our hairstyles were both messy buns, as we laughed, and threw empty boxes at each other, and we revelled in the reverie of innocence and cluelessness of our young adulthood. We bought our first furniture, and yelled, and giggled at Ikea. and we jumped on our mattresses to break it in. our stomachs hurt from laughing, we both twisted our ankles at least three times, but we were completely and utterly drunk on the potent poison of carelessness. Remember when we fought about the photos? Or did you forget them, just like you forgot how to love me? The photos, which under a glossy facade of perfection showed crimson liquid dripping, staining her blue face and everything pure and happy? That was one of your biggest fights. How did he look at that all damn day? That horrific display of how truly evil human nature can be, and what we can actually do to each other? That night, i had to change something in myself to survive. Or maybe it was always there, and it subtly revealed itself, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. I looked over my shoulder in grocery store parking lots, and i learned how to walk backwards up a stairwell. Who knows? Maybe that genial, stout looking middle aged man was a psychopath that would slit my throat, or sew my mouth shut. Maybe i would feel the burn and hiss of hydrochloric acid on my pale arms, while i syared in the crystal grey eyes of a blond haired, beautifully sadistic woman. I was never safe, except when i was in your comforting embrace. But i was never in your arms. That embrace. It could make me escape our neverland, with broken glass littering the white sand beaches and crimson colored water. The blood-thirsty mermaids and pirates that we ran away from every day. I forgot everything about you that was broken, or toxic, or told me that you were nothing. A sweet nothing nevertheless, an inkling of a dangerous thought. A bad idea. No, the worst idea. You rested your head on mine and i could hear you breathing, and i thought i could hear your thoughts and mine embracing as well, intermingling to create our own blithe, amaranthine idea of affection, and beauty, and joy. We were the definition of forever. then there it was. the fight to end all fights. the bleak thread of our still surviving relationship was snipped in half. you got a text from "maeve". some joke about physics or some obscure chemistry. i screamed. but then i cried. cried for the hazy innocence of our youth. when did we lose it? during our angry shrieks, or the ringing echoes after? i cried for your eyes. goddamn those eyes were gorgeous. what i'd give to go back to your apartment and retrieve that faded, lipstick-smudged Polaroid of me kissing you in front of the Mona Lisa, thinking that we were a more a piece of art than some half smiling old crone could ever be. it's in the top drawer of the dresser in the library, where i kept my stacks of memories. But it’s too late. There's no going back now. Not ever. I screamed. I planned to meticulously exact my revenge, and you would come back, and we would once again be in our unctuously sweet bubble of innocuous, ignorant love. but most of all? i cried your name. it was the tap tap tap of the rain on our apartment complex's cheap tin roof. it was the smell of the chicken lo mein we would eat during our chess games, or while we were watching doctor who (always your favorite). it was your wrist, your wrist that i fell in love with before i fell in pure, unmitigated love with the rest of you. "Spencer Alexander Reid." "spencer alexander reid" spencer alexander reid

[dreamyfiction]

wrist!!

let me just emphasize that this is prob rlly bad bc i wrote it at 2 am / also this isn’t SUPER heavily based on spencer but i tried my best to throw some pretty boy references in there triggers: slight language, nothing too bad (i think oops) word count: 1,486 _______ he cheated. how could i have known you would cheat? well, if i said i never thought you could possibly be trouble i would be lying. it was a loud, raucous Friday night at the local bar when I first saw you. I went there almost every weekend, trying to drink away my feeling, my worries, my fears. the red strobe lights illuminated your tangled mess of dirty blonde curls. we were sitting to the side on an uncomfortable looking plastic stool, the kind you have to peel off of your thighs on a hot summer afternoon. who was he watching? a girlfriend? god, i hope not, i thought. i bit my lip as i saw you taking a hair tie off of your delicate, bird-like wrist, a completely unique wrist that was the only one of its kind in its utter perfection. i think it was that moment that i realized that you would break my heart one day. it was but a matter of time, my love. my life. my death. fast forward a few weeks. i took you on crazy, stupid adventures, and you muttered statistics in between passionate, heated kisses about how there are less germs on the face, so it's safer to make out than shake hands. of course it was probably just an excuse to kiss again. you were always good at words. you created a piece of art with every sentence, weaved a tapestry with each letter, each word being a thread of its own kaleidoscopic color. and when you finally said those three monumental words? it was Michelangelo and the Sistine chapel. we were idiotic, we were wild, we were living off of the unadulterated drug called happiness. we saw everything through the rose tinted tones of our youth, never imagining that we would have to grow up eventually. but for that year, we were stuck in our own private neverland, perpetually living the same twisted version of adolescence and adulthood. I waited, desperately, for someone to give a damn. for our parents, or our friends, to even care that we had no sense of real life. To tell me to finish getting my masters degree, or let that genius boyfriend of yours get you a job. our fluffy cloud of naïveté was soon becoming a furious, storming gray. so he fell, a big fat plop on the earth; he got a job. and not only a job, a job where he travelled constantly. at first i was proud of my one true love. yes, I took ownership of everything that he had become. wasn't it me who taught him how not to be afraid? to not hide from the bruises and scars on his back, and share his utter hurt and pain with someone? everything was fine at first. until his deep set eyes became sunken with stress, and bloodshot with exhaustion. those beautiful eyes that i spotted across the room and fell in love with. a swirl of amber and melted chocolate, drip drip drizzling on my taste buds, and the smell of fresh baked cookies, the sound of a clicking keyboard. now bitter cacao, burnt, smoking embers, the screech of the smoke detector that always seemed to go off at the exact wrong time. this exact moment, when he got of that jet for the 8th time, was the moment we broke. but like a broken glass that a child hastily tries to glue together, we tried to fix it. like the spiderweb cracks, it didn't work. we were always built to fall apart. the only problem was that we didn't fall back together. that's when the fights started. huge screaming matches, waking up everyone in the near vicinity of us. i smelled her perfume. lavender, rosemary, smells that disgusted me to the core. i've been allergic since i was 12. i dismissed it. said that maybe you were consoling a crying woman, who just lost her husband or her cousin or her daughter or her brother. but that was the problem. i was still stuck in the cloud of naïveté. every time you came home, i thought it would be different. that you would say "how are you honey" while i cooked a delicious meatloaf, as our two twin boys kicked a soccer ball around. "don't play in the house," i would have said. now i'm stuck in a choking cocoon of loneliness and despair and i can't get out. no matter how hard i try or struggle, i can't breathe, and no one can hear a sound. I remember the calm before the storm, the yellow sky in the eye of the incoming hurricane. We had just moved into our apartment, an utterly inexpensive, tiny, cramped room in the bad side of town. But none of that mattered, i thought. The only thing that mattered was that we were together, united to take on the world and all of the murderers, rapists, and kidnappers that it would throw at us, or our relationship. Our hairstyles were both messy buns, as we laughed, and threw empty boxes at each other, and we revelled in the reverie of innocence and cluelessness of our young adulthood. We bought our first furniture, and yelled, and giggled at Ikea. and we jumped on our mattresses to break it in. our stomachs hurt from laughing, we both twisted our ankles at least three times, but we were completely and utterly drunk on the potent poison of carelessness. Remember when we fought about the photos? Or did you forget them, just like you forgot how to love me? The photos, which under a glossy facade of perfection showed crimson liquid dripping, staining her blue face and everything pure and happy? That was one of your biggest fights. How did he look at that all damn day? That horrific display of how truly evil human nature can be, and what we can actually do to each other? That night, i had to change something in myself to survive. Or maybe it was always there, and it subtly revealed itself, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. I looked over my shoulder in grocery store parking lots, and i learned how to walk backwards up a stairwell. Who knows? Maybe that genial, stout looking middle aged man was a psychopath that would slit my throat, or sew my mouth shut. Maybe i would feel the burn and hiss of hydrochloric acid on my pale arms, while i syared in the crystal grey eyes of a blond haired, beautifully sadistic woman. I was never safe, except when i was in your comforting embrace. But i was never in your arms. That embrace. It could make me escape our neverland, with broken glass littering the white sand beaches and crimson colored water. The blood-thirsty mermaids and pirates that we ran away from every day. I forgot everything about you that was broken, or toxic, or told me that you were nothing. A sweet nothing nevertheless, an inkling of a dangerous thought. A bad idea. No, the worst idea. You rested your head on mine and i could hear you breathing, and i thought i could hear your thoughts and mine embracing as well, intermingling to create our own blithe, amaranthine idea of affection, and beauty, and joy. We were the definition of forever. then there it was. the fight to end all fights. the bleak thread of our still surviving relationship was snipped in half. you got a text from "maeve". some joke about physics or some obscure chemistry. i screamed. but then i cried. cried for the hazy innocence of our youth. when did we lose it? during our angry shrieks, or the ringing echoes after? i cried for your eyes. goddamn those eyes were gorgeous. what i'd give to go back to your apartment and retrieve that faded, lipstick-smudged Polaroid of me kissing you in front of the Mona Lisa, thinking that we were a more a piece of art than some half smiling old crone could ever be. it's in the top drawer of the dresser in the library, where i kept my stacks of memories. But it’s too late. There's no going back now. Not ever. I screamed. I planned to meticulously exact my revenge, and you would come back, and we would once again be in our unctuously sweet bubble of innocuous, ignorant love. but most of all? i cried your name. it was the tap tap tap of the rain on our apartment complex's cheap tin roof. it was the smell of the chicken lo mein we would eat during our chess games, or while we were watching doctor who (always your favorite). it was your wrist, your wrist that i fell in love with before i fell in pure, unmitigated love with the rest of you. "Spencer Alexander Reid." "spencer alexander reid" spencer alexander reid