still thinking about childhood best friend simon and that lake house
thinking about how simon is so forceful at pushing your boyfriend out. he’d wake up early in the morning and shoot you throngs of messages, things like if you wanted to take a morning walk with him, and take the dogs out or something.
and when you roll over, plucking your chiming phone from the nightstand, ignoring your boyfriend’s grumbling, you see simon’s messages and think nothing of them.
(simon would never—you told your man; you told him that simon’s just clingy because it’s been years since the two of you met again, that simon’s a good man.
“please trust me?” you whispered, and he had to hold back his glower because of course he trusts you.
it’s simon he doesn’t trust, but it’s not like he could say anything when your parents adore simon; when your mom pinches simon’s cheek before giving him extra servings, or when your dad claps simon on the back, telling him how he’s grown so tall and how he dearly remembers when you used to tower over simon back in your youths.
simon’s so woven into your family so how could your boyfriend ever say anything against him? he’s fucking royalty at this point—beloved by everyone.
even your nephews stare at simon with starry eyes more than they do their own dad.)
so you agree to every little outing that simon proposes—morning walks, drive to the local shops, going to liquor stores together, completing errands alone for your family.
you tried to include your boyfriend but simon and him never got along, and you just got so tired of of trying. this is your long-awaited vacation, so why the hell are you playing telephone with your two boys?
so you divided your attention then, with how the two of them are so stubborn when it came to you.
but—
simon knows you. he knows how to catch your attention.
so night dates with your boyfriend turned into a hangout with simon inviting himself in. he would always walk with you two to your room, crash in the bean bags and ask what would you all watch tonight. or he would tug you all to the family game room and make up a game that would end in you and him teaming up against your boyfriend. or he would propose a night swim in the shallow ends of the lake, and it’s always his shirt that he’d hand to you when you get chilly.
it’s these little things that add up; little things that you never really questioned because you grew up with simon, you grew up doing all of these with him, but—
simon’s different now. he’s a lot taller, a lot broader. he’s a lot more beautiful than you ever remembered.
and something in your chest unfurls, choking the threads of your rationalization—
oh god.
(simon walked in on your boyfriend packing his bags, his chest heaving and his eyes red with tears. and all simon ever tells him is, “y’need a ride?” because finally.
finally the motherfucker got the hint.)
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I am sick to DEATH of "attractive" celebrities being cast in period dramas. The "face that knows emails" problem is so much more pervasive than people acknowledge. Even actors who haven't had obvious plastic surgery have shaved, waxed, and polished their faces into absolute submission. Bring back actors who look 1000% suited to living in a time period before the inception of Sephora.
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so one time i got bit by a brown recluse which is one of the only types of spider in my area that's actually dangerous and at first i didn't know what had happened to me, only that it was nasty. the swelling wasn't going down and the wound started to get ugly. i don't want to like get into the details because that's gross but it got to the point 2 weeks later that i was worried enough to go to the doctor, which i hate doing.
i am not afraid of spiders but other people are so i'd been covering it with this big ole square bandage (i needed more landscape coverage than a simple bandaid) and sat in the university medical waiting room, kicking my heels and playing BOTW. the nurse who admitted me was like, oh, we have got to get Tom to cover this one. she wrote spider bite under my ticket.
i waited in the near-empty building for like an hour and then nurse tom shows up in spiderman scrubs, out of breath. "sorry," he says, "i saw - your slip - and I had," he heaves in a breath, "to run home and. get. these scrubs. i literally. ran. felt like a job. for. spiderman."
i laugh. he puts his hands on his knees, thumbs-ups at me. fishes a pamphlet out from under his clipboard that basically says spiders can be scary but you don't need to be scared, there's very few dangerous spiders in new england. "honestly," he wheezes, "we probably don't need to get you into an exam room. just..." he waves his hand at the pamphlet, "read that."
i look down at my arm. then back at him in his scrubs. and then down at my arm. i like that he made an effort to make a joke, but now it does not feel like a good joke, because they are mistaking my calm for a lack of injury. "can i. like. at least show you the bite?"
he gives me kind of a weird look, which is fair, but then says. "if. i mean, if you have to."
i peel the bandage off. his face goes green.
"oh," he says.
"yeah, man."
"a... spider bit you?" his voice is high and tight and trembling. he backs up a few steps.
"i think a brown recluse," i offer. "i know it's nasty, sorry."
"excuse me for a moment." he looks over to the administering nurse on the other side of the small room. "i need to find someone else to take care of you."
the administering nurse smiles over to us with a degree of pleasure that is almost salivating. for a moment, like a window opening, i am briefly aware of what must be a psychic message floating amongst the in-between. her jaguar teeth all say this is like a party for me and i know exactly what i'm doing.
"oh no, tom," she says, grinning. "i gave her to you specifically."
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