Get over the shame and the lack of confidence and the fear of failure and the imposter syndrome. Nobody cares. Some people are cruel and mean and love to watch others fail. So what? Do you really want to prove them right? Get the fuck up, we’re chasing our dreams like our lives depend on it because, in case you forgot, they do.
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jealous simon but it’s in a self-destructive way.
how he isolates himself and forces his own desires into the yawning of his heart so that they won’t see the light of day because he knows, more than anyone else, how he doesn’t deserve you. and so he would rather burn with the ferocity of his unreturned love than burden you with his devotion.
how he draws away from the easy companionship that you two have; what were once hour-long phone calls peter into minutes of checking in, until they simmer into sparse messages. sometimes you two won’t even talk for months.
how he begins to avoid you. he misses out on cafe dates or movie nights, or hangs out with the squad almost everyday.
how he burrows at his safe house—he hasn’t been home (withyouwithyouwithyou) for months now.
he thinks time will fix him. he thinks distance will do him some good, but—
“please,” you whimper, voice trembling with the weight of your heartbreak. “please, just talk to me.”
(you are just as beautiful as he remembered.)
simon digs his fingernails into his palms, hoping that the stinging of his skin hurts more than the pain swelling in his heart.
of course it doesn’t; nothing will hurt more than leaving you.
and simon knows this, but—
“there’s nothing to talk about,” he finally replies, forcing the nonchalance in his voice. he fakes a smile. “what’s got you worryin’, huh?”
your lips wobble. “how could you?”
“c’mon,” is all what simon could force out, ignoring the way his tongue feels like it’s sticking to the roof of his mouth. “y’ve got no reason to be throwin’ a tantrum like this, kid.”
he sees the moment your hackles rise, hurt bleeding into fury.
“oh, fuck you, riley,” you spit out, vitriolic in the way it dribbles from your snarling lips.
(your anger will be the last memory that simon has of you. he knows he will regret this moment.
he already is.)
but—
this—you, leaving him, and him, forcing it all to fall apart—is for the best.
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Took the bus to the big city yesterday and it only stops near where I live in the early morning and late at night, so I left a bowl for Pandolf with enough food for his 2 meals of the day. He didn’t start eating because it was too early for breakfast and he’s punctilious about mealtimes, but I told him “Bon appétit” to Authorise The Kibble, then left. When I came home at night it was long past his normal dinner time yet I found the bowl half-full—he had eaten the breakfast portion but since he only got 1 bon appétit he didn’t dare to eat the rest for dinner. I don’t think if I had said it twice in a row he would have understood that one of them was a Bon Appétit voucher for his next meal unfortunately. But I’m always amazed by his scruples, he is the most principled animal I know. When he was a puppy he would try to stick his head in his bowl while I poured the food so I taught him to wait until he heard ‘bon appétit’ before going anywhere near it—and very quickly in his mind the words became an incantation that turns the contents of his bowl from a miasma of forbidden unthinkableness into edible food that belongs to him.
This is Pandolf waiting for me to cast the Legal Food spell:
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Someone comments on one of Eddie’s videos that you can ‘clearly’ tell that Steve is only with Eddie for the money and Eddie responds to it with a bunch of old pictures of them from when they lived with Wayne. Eddie’s just like, “Steve was a rich kid with a trust fund when we met. He got disowned and kicked out for dating me, and lived with me and my uncle in a trailer while putting himself through school way before the band was making anybody money. What the fuck are you talking about?”
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