#but I’d rather my therapist do it

[autistic-earth-genasi]

Okay update on the therapy situation. I emailed my psychiatrist at Kaiser like the therapist recommended and he responded super fast and said he’d already sent a referral which is awesome. However, I got the follow up info today and apparently the referral is for an online therapy thing called Path Mental Health. It’s basically an online portal where you can search for a therapist which is fine but unfortunately it’s only for in network therapists and so the therapist I want isn’t on it. I do plan to give it a decent try and look through the therapists on there but a cursory look told me there are very few or none that specialize in autism and lgbtq issues which are two of the main things I want. Also the therapist I found is overall a much better match than anyone I’ve seen on Path so far. I might be willing to try someone else but it is only online sessions, no in person and I’ve done therapy on zoom before and I hated it. I don’t feel as much of a connection with the therapist and I find it really distracting to be able to see myself on camera.

So basically I’m starting to formulate how I’m going to push back. Like I said I will give it a serious try over the weekend when I’ve hopefully calmed down (I almost had a meltdown when I got the email and saw everything). But I know there is a good chance I won’t find anyone (after literal months of searching different therapy sites I found my list of maybe 4 therapists I was interested in contacting so chances are slim) so I need to figure out my arguments for why they should cover the specific therapist I found instead of any of the ones on that site. I know this is a thing they do because at my consultation, the therapist said one of his other patients was able to get them to cover it, you just have to fight. So far here’s what I have:

They only offer online services which I’ve tried before and found it difficult to really connect with a therapist. Also I don’t have the best internet connection and I live with a roommate so I am not guaranteed to have a private place to have my sessions (the last part is not entirely true bc I have my own room but I do have to be careful how loud I talk bc she can hear me and also past experiences have taught me that people are very afraid of confidentiality laws).

I cannot find someone who specializes in autism, anxiety, trauma, lgbtq+ issues, and family issues who matches my availability (it sucks a little bit because I have not talked to the psychiatrist or anyone at Kaiser about autism and I’m really not looking forward to it but needing specialized care is one of the strongest arguments I have).

Also if they push back would it be a bad idea to 1. Say I’ve already had a consultation with this therapist and 2. Say that he told me he has another patient that got Kaiser to cover therapy with him (in the case that they say they can’t cover it/there’s nothing they can do bc I know that’s bullshit)? Or would that make things worse?

Any suggestions or tips are appreciated! I really need this to work!

[scary-grace]

In the mood to make a personal post but all my ideas are bad

[tariah23]

I can’t wait to start estie school wha

[omotelie]

WHERE’S MY FUKING CAPO

[milo-is-rambling]

I LOVE YOU PAST MILO -current Milo nauseas head in a sparkling clean toilet I cleaned literally a half hour ago and then got too high while celebrating how clean it looked and feel sick now😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[joyfiorellino]

*

[barbiefaeg]

I think something a lot of cis ppl don’t realize is like. And I’m not saying this applies to all trans ppl but in my experience. I have experienced specific trauma that mainly cis women have experienced and so, when I look for guidance in how to heal from that trauma from generalized sources they will almost entirely only mention “women” having experienced said trauma. And thus two things. 1. It’s not that big of a deal but I feel I constantly have to remind myself I’m allowed to seek this guidance and heal even though the text isn’t technically directed toward me, a trans man. 2. It kinda sucks feeling like you relate to something and then consistently being reminded by the text that it’s directed at a demographic you feel very uncomfortable being grouped into 3. Sometimes the guidance doesn’t help! Some times integral to the guidance is something about celebrating womanhood… like even painful or traumatic experiences I’ve had and need to heal from are identical to many cis women’s experiences. I’m not a woman. And celebrating anything perceived as my “womanhood” would be very painful for me.

[ctommyisnt]

Nine days until move in. Haven’t talked much to crush. She canceled on my for something (seeing the Barbie movie together) which we’ve been planning for months but I went with my best friend instead so it was so fun! Still kinda upset at crush but we aren’t going to talk about it bc I refuse to confront anyone!

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil.

I know you are flooded with asks and this somehow became extremely long. Too long. “Why am I suddenly telling this poor man my life story?” too long. “I think I’d rather he work on the GO3 script than read this wild beast” too long. “He’s going to think you’re criminally dangerously insane” too long. If you never get to it, I’m good with never seeing a response from you. Maybe it’s better that way? Maybe an anon would have been nice here. But, it’s 2024, so I say “we ball.” It’s a privilege to be able to send this to you at all. You get a lot to this effect and I hope they give you good feels, so maybe what’s the harm, yeah? Because this is not an ask. This is a thank you letter.

First, thanks for reblogging my therapist post, I hope it amused you. I nearly sent you “How am i supposed to explain this to my therapist?!” But refrained. At that time.

So, therapy. What is therapy really? Well…

Things have been really rotten for as long as I can remember. Bad health, bad doctors, bad relationships, bad coping mechanisms, bad all kinds of things. (Yeah, bad is a weak and unhelpful word, my therapist reminds me, but we’re doing this.)

Well, things got even more really really rotten and BAD these last few years. Health declined further, coping mechanisms declined further and more intensely, packed up my life, applied for disability, moved back in with my parents across the country.

Then 4 years ago last week I watched my fiance die of a sudden heart attack. I was 29. Two years later my best friend died. Then last summer I sauntered vaguely into a cancer scare. Not long before an operation my cat who has been my companion through so much garbage died as well. I’m not entirely in the clear on the cancer scare front. All my attempts at going back to work, volunteering, going to grad school - they collapsed on me because I couldn’t get through this STUFF.

(Sometimes when I talk about this, when I tell people, I think “they are going to think you are a raging pathological liar.” Because I’m not sure I would believe someone if they told me all of this happened to them. In such a short time period. All before they were 35. And hell if that hasn’t been isolating. You know how it sounds? Lonely. And it is.)

I did the hypervigilant and sensation/experience chasing stage of PTSD. It got me in a lot of trouble in all kinds of ways. I had to do a lot of medical and psych advocating because things kept getting worse. That was exhausting. Then that peaked. I went into the thick of the “I feel absolutely nothing” stage for a long time. I didn’t feel fatigue or hunger or thirst. Not people, feelings, a reason. Not hope.

But of course, like seems be for a lot of us, I somehow found Good Omens at just the right time. I was a very “I’m so cool and intellectual I mostly consume non-fiction media” person for too long. Like, what? How is that even a real thing? And it wasn’t real. It was just part of this curated autism mask that I don’t think anyone really bought anyway.

I think I got to a point where I’d just had too much reality. I needed fantasy. I didn’t realize I always needed it. But I denied myself for too many odd and painful reasons. Maybe I thought it was an escape I didn’t deserve.

But as it turns out, it wasn’t an escape. I watched both seasons last fall, and then this light came on. I watched it again and again.

I came to tumblr because I needed more. I found this fandom. I stepped into this beautiful world of fanart and fanfiction and brain flexing meta writing and a sense of community and wonder that you and Terry created - that everyone involved in the show inflated - exploded in the right way - like fireworks if fireworks were some kind of autocatalytic reaction - a self perpetuating force.

It’s not a “saved my life” feeling. Not a “getting my life back” feeling. It’s been a “maybe it’s time for you to have the life you’ve always been denied - that you’ve denied yourself” feeling.

I’m creating. I’m not “great” yet. Not terribly “good” at all. Maybe “behind” as far as the “proper” timeline for starting. I know there isn’t one, not really, but boy does that society machine make ya feel like there is. And sure, I started and stopped a lot in the past. But the second it got hard I always gave up. I felt like if I didn’t get it “right” to begin with, then I just didn’t have it in me at all. But for once I’m really in it. I’m writing and trying to draw things that look less like fever dream five year old drawings. (Not that there’s anything wrong with those, is there? 🙃) I’m eating better. I’m sleeping better. I reach out to old friends more. I’ve made new friends who share this love of Good Omens.

My therapist has been floored by the change in me. After that first funny mini flop, he has been so encouraging about it. I saw him this week and I said “Maybe this is helping me get prepared to start living again. Maybe it’s a springboard.” And he honest to god said “But You ARE living. This is YOU LIVING. Why does it have to be a springboard? Why do you have to turn this into ‘work?’ Just let yourself have this for once in your life.”

But there were two more added elements that made it all work. And I can’t help but think this whole brainrot thing wouldn’t have happened without them. So many things just happened all at just the right time - a proper coincidence.

In all of the madness of the last few years I finally got the memo that I'm autistic. i figured I was for a while. But it finally sunk in for me and my docs and my people. So I’d been working on unpacking that. Grieving the life that could have been entirely different, shedding the mask. I let myself hyperfixate openly instead of hiding it and hating myself for “spiralling” or “obsessing” like others -!like ‘I’ always punished myself for before we knew that it was a trait and not a personality flaw.

Then over the last few months my therapist and I started trying this new exercise. One session he stopped me and said “in the last 20 minutes you have responded to what I’ve said with 9 ‘I knows.’” My response to that? “Ugh, I know.” So we started this “I know” swear jar type situation. Really, I’ve been afraid of not knowing. I couldn’t let myself “not know.” Because it meant I was “dumb.” I was just drowning for so long in guilt and self loathing for the “I knew better and screwed up anyway.” Or “I should’ve known better - I should know that by now.”

As it turns out, there’s a lot of things I don’t know. That I didn’t know. Things I will never know. And refusing to admit all of that kept me from learning a damn thing. Kept me from asking questions. Kept me from trying new things because it was scary to do something new - something unknown - and I "knew" how it would all turn out anyway. Kept me from connecting with people because it was painful or embarrassing when they knew things I didn’t and it seemed like I already should have. Kept me from getting better at making art, music, writing. Kept me from forgiving myself. Kept me from growing. And kept me from moving forward. Maybe not on. I don’t know if we ever “move on” from things. But we can move forward as we carry them. And as we do, the weight gets less. We’re able to carry it better. But only if we can admit that we don’t know how. Only if we don’t treat ourselves like this is something we do know or should know and we’re just failing because we’re less than. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not deserving. We have to be able to say “I don’t know how to do this.” And then we can start looking for the answers. We can ask. We can learn.

I thought about the apple. Being able to tell the difference between good and evil. Aziraphale’s years and years of watching what he “knows” to be true be proven wrong. Crowley’s need to ask questions…

The simple and enormous gift of “Knowledge.” The “Knowledge” of the difference between Good and Evil. The “Knowledge” that can only be gained by realizing, accepting, admitting that there are things we don’t know. Asking the questions. Sometimes we get answers we don’t like. Sometimes the consequences of asking hurt us. And unless you want to stay in that painful place that painful knowledge got you, well, you’ve got to let yourself learn how to get out.

So all of this good? I never expected this. I never thought I deserved it. Joy and belonging and this sense that “Yeah, maybe things can get better. Maybe things can be good.” Because I said those things, not truly believing them, to the people I thought needed to hear it. But it couldn’t save them. It was hollow. The proof for us wasn’t really in our orbit or on our radar at the time. And now they’re gone.

People always say “it’s never too late.”

One of the people I lost said “it’s later than you think.”

I jokingly would respond “it’s already too late.”

It was for him in the end. For them. For some people I guess it really is. But maybe a lot of the “too late” people are there because they think “they know” that things will never be good for them. So they stop looking, they stop asking, stop finding. And eventually they just stop.

Then there came Crowley’s “It’s always too late.” The first time I heard it I thought “For sure, Crowley-cakes, I KNOW.”

But then…I just needed to rewatch the whole thing. And lines like that…familiar things…familiar themes…I was suddenly identifying with these characters. I suddenly saw myself. And the realization hit - I connected with something! Something new. And I FELT THAT. And that tiny little crack that made in the wall was just enough to start breaking it down. Yeah, when you start letting yourself feel after not feeling for so long, opening up to the good feelings means opening up to feelings and then the bad ones come out too. But when there IS good … it helps you balance. You can deal with the bad a little better because you’ve got the good thing to lean against when it gets too much. And now you’ve got feelings. You’ve got good and bad. You’ve got sticky foggy grey. You’ve got life.

Whew.

So, TLDR, thank you. From the bottom of my slowly healing heart, thank you.

And to sign off with some shits and giggles… I couldn’t find this in existence as a sticker so I had to custom order. Perhaps this will spread misery and panic among the humans of my city - or at least a malignant and creepy sense of unease.

Or maybe they’ll say “wtf” and go home and google it and they’ll fall into the Good Omens hole they never knew they needed too.

Thank you for this. I never quite know what to say to messages like this apart from I am really glad that it helps. (It becomes the weird extra piece that I worry about when writing season 3 -- hoping that it will be that thing again. Not just a story, but something that helps people feel and helps with healing and helps with love.)

[almostempty]

Want You Bad

Self Esteem Part 2

Pairing: fuckboy!Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel ignores you at the lake until he can't. Loosely inspired by the song Want You Bad by The Offspring (to stay on theme, ya know?).

Warnings: fuckboy!Joel, dub con, smut, pwp, unprotected piv sex, fingering, creampie, dirty talk, public sex, reader is still sippin' on some dumb bitch juice for Joel (me), smash and dash, get railed against a truck, emotionally manipulative but sexually proficient Joel, toxic breadcrumbing Joel fucks, dirt, no use of y/n, AU no outbreak,

Notes: please leave feedback! open to constructive criticism or delusional inspiration

Thanks: major thanks to everyone who read part 1, as well as my muse @auteurdelabre , and my co-chair of the horny4joel club @lovely-vamp-princess for encouraging me

WC: 4.8K

AO3: Here | Masterlist: Here

Part 1: Self Esteem

Part 3: Kick and Scream

Part 4: The more you suffer

Your fingers hover over the brightly lit screen of your phone. Your friend, Katie, invited you to a barbecue at Toad Lake and assured you it would be a relaxed group. Just food, drinks, sun, and swimming. But how can it be relaxing if Joel is going to be there? If he was even invited. If he even shows up. He drives you insane. It’s her fault anyway. 

Katie’s boyfriend was friends with Tommy. Tommy invited Joel to some karaoke night at a bar a few months back. That was the catalyst for your personal hell. You don’t even know why he showed up; he refused to sing anything. But he did offer to give you a ride home so Katie could leave with her man. 

You were surprised by the gesture. The way he’d barely said anything to you all night made you think he wasn’t interested in remembering your name. But the way his shoulders filled out the green flannel he wore and then when he rolled up the sleeves? He was like The Brawny Man come to life. And that paper towel mascot lookalike was so your type. In fact, the way he nearly flat-out ignored you was also a turn-on but not one you thought your therapist would approve of. So when he offered a ride, you accepted. 

You tested the waters on the ride home, attempting to make some small talk. He was different one on one. Charmed you with his sharp wit and some flirty compliments. You couldn’t tear your eyes off him, his hands, his arms, his profile, and his dark features in the glow of the streetlights. You lingered when he pulled up to the curb in front of your place. 

“I’m glad you drove me home,” you said, “it was nice to get to know you a little bit.” 

“Was nice,” he agreed dragging his thumb under his bottom lip, pulling your attention to his mouth,  “I’d like to get to know you a little more.” 

You felt your cheeks warm at that and smiled back. “Would you like to come inside?” you floated the offer, and the look on his face sealed the deal. 

But today, you haven’t heard from Joel in over a week. He doesn’t usually last much longer than two weeks before you find him at your door. He disappears just long enough that you start to build up the courage to tell him off for being a flake. The only reliable thing about Joel, though, is that when he does show up, he always leaves you feeling completely spent. What’s the harm in enjoying what he can do with his body? You don’t think you spend an unhealthy amount of time daydreaming about him. 

You don’t want to anticipate seeing him at the lake and get disappointed if he’s a no-show. Instead, you’d rather your chest constrict with anxiety until Saturday while you debate sending him a text to ask him yourself. You decide against it. You don’t want to double-text since he never answered your last message anyway. 

Saturday arrives quickly, and it’s the perfect day to be at the lake. Clear skies and hot sun. Your car is an oven as you slide your beach bag and cooler backpack into the backseat. You sit in the driver’s seat and roll down all the windows. You flip down the visor to look in the little mirror at your reflection.  

It’s casual, you remind yourself. Just friends, food, and floating in the lake. You put on some waterproof mascara anyway, definitely not because Joel might be there. You look casual. You found your favorite black bikini last night and tried it on to make sure it still fits the way you like. Basic triangle top and bottoms with strings that tie on your hips. It still fits snugly but without cutting into your back or shoulders. It hugs everything in the right places and displays all the right skin. For your friends. At the casual barbecue. 

You stare at yourself, practically pointing a finger at your reflection to drill the idea into your head. If he’s there, it doesn’t mean anything. If he wants to be nonchalant, you’ll be nonchalant even harder. And you’ll look good as you do. Give him a taste of the same rejection you keep experiencing. 

Toad Lake is almost a secret. It’s small, outside of town, and private except for one small area with access to swimming and a small dock. When you and Katie lived together, you used to hit it up after work. Jumping off the dock unless there were people fishing. Or just floating near the shore with pool noodles while debriefing about the day. 

You pull off the main road onto the winding gravel road that takes you to the public access. It’s dense with trees and full of potholes. You bounce along in your car, listening to the gravel crunch under the tires. 

Parking is tight. The first lot only fits five or six cars on the gravel spots, and past that, maybe another seven or eight would fit in the dirt spots. You recognize most of the cars already parked as you pull into one of the furthest spots. You don’t see Joel’s truck, and your stomach drops with a wave of disappointment as you pull in between someone else’s truck and a jeep. You don’t want to think about him or feel let down. 

There’s a short but steep and winding path that leads to the water. You round the corner, finally able to see through the trees to the beach, and recognize him immediately. The unmistakable frame of Joel Miller. The shape of his body and that signature stance. You’d recognize him by the back of his head in a crowd with one eye closed. Butterflies stir in your stomach, and at the same time, your throat feels dry. 

He’s such a dick, you think as you trudge down the path in your sandals. Maybe you should ask him if his phone still works. No. That would blow up in your face. You’d just be broadcasting that it hurts when he rejects you. You do not want to face that fear. Maybe coming here was a total mistake. Regret and fear claw viciously at your throat with each step you take. 

Joel seems to dance around you, just avoiding being on your path as you greet everyone and catch up. Tommy is friendly and chats with you for a moment before getting Joel’s attention, forcing you to interact. 

“You remember Joel, right?” he asks. 

You laugh brightly. “Of course, the one and only,” you say with a smile. 

Joel nods at you. Doesn’t even say a fucking word. His dark brown eyes just bore into you for the longest second before giving you a curt smile. Tommy laughs at something while Joel turns away to find something to look busy with. Or someone. You gawk briefly as you watch him turn to chat with some woman you don’t know. 

Blowing you off on your attempts at dates is one thing, but acting like he doesn’t even know you? What the fuck is with this guy? Who’s the woman he seems so friendly with? 

You remember how to close your mouth and decide to set up your spot along the beach. You strip off your T-shirt and adjust the straps on your bikini. Rifling through your bag for some sunscreen, you find the lotion first. Smiling to yourself, you imagine asking Joel to help get your back. Would he refuse? Would his lady friend be jealous? You actually don’t want to know. You dig around until you find the spray sunscreen. You don’t need a man applying any cream to your back. 

You swear you feel his eyes burning into you, but when you look around, he’s turned and talking to her. Whatever. You figure it’s safest for your sanity to head straight for the water. You grab your pool float and start to blow it up. You feel that burning sensation again, but you turn, and he’s busy swigging down a drink. You grab one for yourself, and with a drink in one hand and the pool float under the other arm, you march right into the water. It’s perfect. Just warm enough, it doesn’t shock your system. Cool enough to ease the oppressing heat of the sun. 

“The water is perfect! Why am I the only one in here?” you call to Katie. 

“Alright, I’m coming!” she calls back. 

You laze in the water for most of the afternoon. Chatting with friends, cheering on a wobbly friend learning to stand on a paddleboard, and just resting peacefully. 

Joel sits in a beach chair, observing. You stare back under your sunglasses, hoping it’s not noticeable. Your thoughts spiral again. What is his issue? You aren’t good enough? He doesn’t wanna get caught talking to you? You consider cornering Tommy to dig up some dirt, but it’s too late. Joel is pulling his shirt over his head. You’re locked on. You fight to keep from reacting. His sun-kissed frame strolls towards the lakeshore. You watch as he gets waist-deep before he pushes off and glides through the water. When his head re-emerges, and he shakes the water from his hair, you feel your mouth drop open. You quickly fill it with the beverage in your hand. 

You keep staring. Watching the beads of water roll down his shoulders. You’d like to sink your teeth into the skin on his neck. You’d like to wrap your legs around his hips under the water—“oh, shit!” you yelp. 

A kid swimming behind you got a little too excited, kicking water and splashing it all over your face. You grimace. You didn’t mean to swear at the kid. It was just the shock of it. No big deal. Since your hair is wet now anyway, you might as well get all the way in the water. 

You drop off your floaty and empty drink on your blanket. Tossing your sunglasses off, too. You walk back into the water and dive under yourself. It’s refreshing. You’re close to Joel when you pop up again. He looks at you this time. Acknowledges you’re a real, live human in front of him. 

“All wet now, huh?” he smirks. 

“Oh, fuck off, Joel,” you scoff at him. You swim away before he can say anything else. 

You lay out, letting the sun dry your wet skin. Until you’re ready to leave. The idea of a shower and aircon sounds pretty good to you. You gather your things, say your goodbyes, and hike up the path to your car. 

With your bags in the backseat, you grab your towel. Your bikini and hair are still dripping wet. You squeeze your hair with the towel when you hear someone approaching. You look over your shoulder, and of course, it’s him. You turn away, continuing to towel at your hair. You can feel his body hovering behind yours. 

“Hey, baby,” he says, low and syrupy.

“Are you joking?” you spew incredulously, not bothering to look at him. “Where’s your girlfriend?” 

“My what?” 

“I didn’t catch her name.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, baby. It’s not like that.” His large hands wrap around either side of your hips. “Y’look nice in this,” he coos, ignoring your spite and toying with the strings tied at your hips. You turn and shove at his chest. He leans against the truck behind him. 

“Why are you up here, Joel? You want to ignore me around our friends, then follow me to my car like a dog? You’ve got fuckin’ problems, man. Why are you looking at me like that?” 

He’s smiling at you like it’s endearing that you’re telling him off. 

“Oh my god, let me guess. You think I look sexy when I’m mad?” 

“No,” he defends and steps closer. He runs his fingers under the strap on your shoulder. His touch burns white hot against your skin, branding you. You shiver. “You always look sexy,” he rasps. It’s not charming. He’s still an ass. But it feels so good when he says it. He’s so close you can smell the sunscreen and sweat on his skin. Everything about his presence chips away at your defenses. 

“Could barely stand watching you in the water,” he adds. When did his mouth get so close to you? His hot breath runs over the shell of your ear. “Want you bad.” 

“Liar,” you argue with less venom. 

“Am not,” he hums. A hand slides up your neck, thumb under your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. His eyes are heavy with lust. He’s still smiling. You wonder if that’s how he’d look if you woke up next to him. A dreamy smile with his tousled hair and scruffy cheeks. 

He takes your hand, so delicate compared to his. Slowly, he brings it towards his body and wraps it around the stiff bulge in his swim trunks. “Feel like I’m lying?” He watches the tiny muscles in your face twitch as you suppress your reaction. Then your brows pull together, and you glare. 

“You think you can just follow me up here, get your hands on me, and then what? You’ll have me on my knees in the dirt for you? You think I wanna catch some dirty lake water disease from your cock in my mouth?” 

He squeezes your hand harder like his dick will argue for him. Maybe you’d hear it out. 

“You gonna tell me you don’t want this?” he asks, narrowing his eyes, “bet you’re wet from more than just the lake, pretty baby.” He’s not wrong, but you’re not going to admit it. Wait, did he say pretty? A laugh, shriek, and loud splash from the lake below breaks you out of his trance. Your tunnel vision expands. You pull your hand from his grip. 

“Why are you up here, Joel?”

“Couldn’t just watch you leave.” 

You scoff at him and whip back around. You’re quick, but he’s bigger and stronger. His hands pull at your hips, slamming your body back into his. The damp skin of his chest sticks to your back. 

“We’re not fucking in the parking lot,” you snap. You can feel how hard he is. Pressed against the curve of your ass. His swim trunks and your wet Lycra bikini are the only barriers between you. 

“Maybe s’what you get for being a filthy fuckin’ tease,” his gravelly voice rumbles in your ear. 

“How am I a tease?” you squirm against him, but the friction only makes both of you more pathetic as you gasp and he groans.

“Wearing this.” He pulls at the string of your bikini on one shoulder and lets it snap back. “Laying on that towel, ass up, like you were waiting for me to fill it,” he squeezes a cheek for emphasis, “floating in the water with these perfect tits barely hidden.” He pulls at the triangles of fabric covering them, sliding them apart until your breasts pop out. Exposing you under the shade of the trees. 

“You’re delusional,” you accuse. But all the venom is gone. The words come out breathy. His body is wrapped around you, constricting. His hand travels down your stomach, slipping under the bikini and between your legs. His fingers find exactly what they were searching for. Your slick folds part easily, welcoming his fingers deeper. 

“Doesn’t feel like a delusion to me, baby.” Wretched man. Always has to prove a point. You’re running out of the mental fortitude to argue. You also feel ridiculous, standing between someone’s truck and your car, tits out, his hand between your legs. 

“Isn’t someone gonna wonder where you are?” you try to find a reason you should stop. 

“No, said I had to make a call.” 

“A call? So your phone does work,” you chide, using your last brain cell. He plunges two fingers into your aching pussy, effectively shutting you up. A moan is the only noise you can form. 

“Thought I already taught you to quit arguing with me.” His irritation is muffled by his lips pressed into the skin of your neck. 

“Fuck you, Joel.”

“You wanna try askin’ nicely?” he goads in your ear. His fingers curl as he drags them in and out of you. You let yourself focus on the sensation. Your head falls, chin to your chest, and you watch the muscles and tendons in his arm flexing and rippling while he works you into a needy mess. It’s hot. His arm is firm and tan from days spent working in the hot sun. Against the soft, cushiony flesh of your curves, it’s almost menacing, but it provides you with support. Like he could balance you forever against his one arm. He might have to if your knees give out. 

The noises coming from you both are obscene. You feel his chest rising and falling against your shoulder blades, slowing down time. Joel moves shamelessly, his hips roll and grind into the swell of your ass. He’s curled around you like a wild beast claiming his prize in the forest. It gives you some kind of sick ego trip; he hurt you, but now he’s here attached to you with desperate want. You slide a hand behind your head, feeling for his soft, damp hair on the back of his head, confirming this whole perverse scenario is real. You tug at his hair, eliciting a rough groan from his lips. He seems to have forgotten his own question, entranced by you. 

Joel watches the sweat beading on your chest and runs his hot tongue up your neck into the hinge of your jaw. He savors your sweat-salted taste with a deep hum that vibrates from his chest into your spine. It lights sparks along your nerves. 

You grind back against him as his palm presses firmly into your clit, and his fingers keep stroking at just the right spot. The pressure building feels overwhelming. He’s all consuming the way he surrounds you. The sound of his breath, his scent, the way your skin sticks against one another, it floods your senses. Your breath quickens, and your muscles coil tight with tension, buzzing with need. 

“Give it to me,” his words scrape across gravel. The tension in your core snaps, abdomen spasming, and your pussy clenching at his fingers for more. The hand you have on the back of his neck clings tightly for support. He loosens his grip around you and slows his movements as you start to take deeper and deeper breaths of air. Fresh air. Because you’re in the parking lot at the lake. Your senses sharpen, and your vision clears. You fix your bikini top in a rush, adjusting the fabric and straps fighting through your tangled mess of limbs crossed with Joel’s. 

You can hear other footsteps on the path. Turning to face Joel, you flash a smile on your flushed face at him. 

“Good timing,” you quip as you look beyond Joel and past the bed of the truck to see who’s coming up the path. You wave at a couple of friends as they carry their bags to their vehicle. Joel doesn’t turn to look. Doesn’t seem to move a muscle. You look back at his face. 

One brow raised; he looks like he knows something you don’t. A frown pulls at your face. He executes his maneuver before you can devise a retort for his expression. He yanks hard on the ends of the bows that tie your bikini bottoms together. Your jaw drops as the fabric falls. Your hand flies out to slap his chest at the audacity, but he grips your wrist in his hand. 

“Not nice to hit people, baby,” he condescends as if you were the one in the wrong. You’re fuming. Blood boiling. 

“What–” you’re cut off by his other hand grabbing your jaw with a vice grip. 

“Quiet,” he snaps. You hear the sounds of the car backing out and pulling away. Tires kicking up a cloud of dust. You can’t see past Joel’s wide frame as he holds your head in place. You grab at his forearm, but it’s useless. You’re defenseless in his grip. Vulnerable between the vehicles and the trees. Why does that make your cunt ache and throb? You squirm. “You gonna behave?” he asks, but you know it’s not a question. 

“Uhuh,” you respond through your clenched teeth, your lips unnaturally squished and parted between his fingers and thumb. You give up on prying at his arm and run your hand down his bare chest towards his swim trunks instead. Your touch brings a smirk to his face. 

“Yeah, you are,” he agrees. Reading your sordid motives like a love letter, he carries on. He drops your jaw and readjusts your positioning. Joel moves you with ease. He lifts you and backs you into the window to the backseat of the truck, his hands under your thighs. If you had any sense left, you might consider it vulgar to be fucked wide open in a parking lot, but the animalistic expression on Joel’s face wipes your mind blank. You lock your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck as if he were the one caught in your trap. He looks at you like he’s trying to etch all the details of you in this position into his mind. It stirs that depraved sense of pride in your chest. 

“Take it out,” he orders. You obey. Snaking a hand between your bodies to free his cock from his swim trunks. Both of you watch, chins tucked to your chests as your hand wraps around his stiff shaft. The sight makes your mouth water. He seems similarly affected. You think you’ll have hand-shaped bruises on the back of your legs the way his grip tightens and his fingertips dig into your skin. He leans closer, seeking your slick, wet entrance. You guide his leaking tip with your own pleasure in mind instead. He watches as you use him like a toy. You swirl the head of his cock around your swollen clit. The pressure and heat blur your vision. You slip him through your folds until he’s coated in your glossy arousal. You keep playing, creating lewd noises between your legs. He’s talking to you, you realize, and tune back in. 

“Keep teasin’ like that. Gonna fuck you til you can’t walk. Give it to this needy little pussy the way no one else can, right, baby? Stretch you out and fill you up. Send you home dripping.” He rambles on with his threats. They make you dumb. 

“Fuck, please, please, please,” you respond with tight exhales. 

His head shoots up. 

“You hear that?” he asks, and you freeze. Straining to listen. You can hear the birds in the trees. The muffled voices down at the lakeshore. You listen for voices or footsteps getting closer, but they don’t exist. 

“Hear what?” you pant. 

“The sound of you begging for my cock.”

Your face heats. You feel another surge of arousal flood your already-soaked center. 

“Fuck off, Joel.” 

“It’s a pretty sound, baby. Want you to be bad.” His words light something fierce inside of you. You need him inside you, now. He doesn’t help as you wiggle in his grip, trying to slip him inside of you. He exhales a puff of air in amusement at your struggle.

“Do it again. Beg.”  

“Please, Joel.” 

“Please, what?” 

“Please, fuck me. Need you to fuck me hard.” A twisted wave of humiliation and need for approval courses through you. Begging for him, trying to tug him closer. You’re a mess for him. 

“There she is,” he smiles. It’s devious, but it makes your heart flutter and your pussy throb even harder. 

You line him up with your entrance, and he fills you in one motion. 

“Fuck,” you mouth as your head slides back against the truck. He fulfills his threats and splits you around his cock over and over. His hips snap into you with a force that sends shockwaves rippling across your body. Joel fucks you like a man possessed. Driving into you brutally, rocking the truck behind you. You try to stifle the cries pouring out of your throat, focusing on breathing, squeezing your eyes shut, and digging your nails into his shoulders. Pinning you with his body frees his hand, and he wastes no time using it to grope at every inch of you he can. 

He slows and rocks into you more tenderly, confusing you. He peers around the cab and waves at someone. Oh, shit. They can’t see you through the cab windows, right? Fuck. 

“Hey, put me down,” you hiss. 

“It’s just Tommy,” he replies. How is that better? 

Then you hear him calling to Joel.

“Hey, you see my sunglasses on the dash?”

Joel looks through into the driver’s window as if you didn’t even exist. 

“Yeah, you want ‘em?” Joel calls back to Tommy. 

“Yeah, you comin' back down?” 

“Yep, be there in a minute if you want me to bring them.” He calls back to Tommy. Still rolling against you, just grinding at a mind-numbingly slow speed. 

“You’re sick,” you whisper at Joel while you grind back into him, and Tommy shouts a thank you in the distance. Joel thrusts up into you more harshly. Your breath catches as his eyes lock onto yours with his full attention. 

“Felt to me like you enjoyed the risk.” His voice sounds like a taunt, but he’s not wrong. Joel talking to Tommy like you weren’t wrapped around his cock sent a rush through your veins. You decide not to admit that out loud. 

“This is Tommy’s truck?” you ask between gasps. 

“Yep.” 

You had some snarky comment to make, but you give up as he resumes his pace, and your thoughts fade away. Joel’s filthy stream of consciousness starts up again between low grunts and groans. His voice and the noises he makes bounce around in your skull. He makes you feel weightless. 

Each time his hips meet the cradle of your pelvis, you nearly burst, complimenting his movements with an enthusiastic rhythm. You arch your spine, angling just a little deeper, chanting out breathy prayers of fuck, fuck, fuck, and yes, yes, yes, when he slips a hand down to draw circles around your clit. 

“That’s it. Let me feel it,” he demands as you writhe. 

You give in, and it drives him crazy. The way your nails dig into his shoulders, your brows pinch, your mouth hangs open, and your body involuntarily shudders against him. He feels the way you start to relax, but your body jerks and clings tighter to him a few more times. He can’t slow down. It fuels his unbridled urge to come inside you as deep as he can. 

“That’s my baby,” he husks. My baby? You feel butterflies as you try to catch your breath while he ramps up his force. 

“Gonna fill you up. Fuck you full.” 

“Yes,” you reply, not sure he’s even listening with the intensity of his look as he barrels towards his release. When he stills, and you feel it, you can’t stifle the sounds in your throat. You feel his cock pulsing inside you, and his hips lurch into you as if he could fuck his come any deeper. He smothers you as he comes down. With his chest crushing you into the truck, you can feel when his breathing starts to slow. You rake your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp and breathing him in. Your pussy might be sore for a day, but your ego is full, and you feel sated. 

Joel pulls out of you with a barely audible pained noise and asks if you can stand before releasing you fully from his grip. 

“I still have two legs,” you joke. But you look like you might topple over if he lets go. He hugs you into him for a tender kiss; it’s quick, but you drown in it. He props you up and presses another kiss to your sweaty temple. 

Then it’s happening again. He pulls his shorts back up, opens the truck, and grabs Tommy’s sunglasses. You grab your towel to wrap around your naked lower half. The truck door slams, and you turn. He’s already walking away. 

“Drive safe,” he calls over his shoulder while you pick up your bikini bottoms from the dirt. 

An empty feeling starts to shroud your satisfied glow as the sound of his footsteps fades away. He did call you “my baby,” though. He doesn’t say that to just anyone, right? 

[luckykiwiii101]

ONE THING ABOUT BEING THE QUEEN OF DELUSIONS? IT GIVES YOU A LONG WAY TO FALL

p.s. this post isn’t pretty, it wasn’t worth my time, or effort.

Hey Upper East Siders. Gossip girl here. Usually i’m here to help you fix your life, but @loaisacult, this one’s for you. And I can’t name any upper east siders more desperate than, well…you. It’s pitiful I know. But you can cry about it later, if you haven’t ran out of tears already, that is.

I don’t mean to start a fight, but there’s a weak link in every chain, and it just happens to be you.

I know you express your belief in the law of assumption being a cult. The funny thing is, when people don’t like something, they usually walk away, unless it bothers them that much. And the even funnier thing is, you complain about bloggers “preaching” the law of assumption, and getting others to follow. But what are you doing? Preaching your ideologies, in hopes that others will follow you too. Oh what’s that word again…hypocritical was it?

And oh sweetie, no one cares about your irrelevant opinions enough to affirm “@loaisacult doesn’t exist, @loaisacult doesn’t exist…” Talk about a weak argument. I hope law isn’t your major. But you know what is major? Your idiocy.

Calling people on this app suicidal? Pathetic. Although I can’t tell you that isn’t true. Because to some extent, it is. And i’d agree with you if you weren’t so ignorant. But I guess changing self in terms other than just loa isn’t your cup of tea. Bloggers are not meant to be personal therapists for people in the loacommunity. And yes there are and were previously some bloggers who would get suicidal asks from anons and just respond to them to persist. But why are you generalising EVERYONE in the community? Your point is immediately invalid. So because there were some immoral bloggers who would act that way automatically means that the whole entire practise of the law of assumption is a CULT? Hello? Do you hear yourself?

Let’s use your “logic” here. Say gossip girl makes a post telling her followers to worship satan. Therefore the whole entire loa community must ALL be satanists! Now how ridiculous is that…

Yes there are liars, everywhere. Oh i’m sorry, did that come as a surprise to you? You didn’t think the world was rainbows and sunshine did you? Well unless you assume it is. But at the same time, there are honest people too. Yet you like to pick and choose what to focus on. Look me in my virtual eyes and tell me that Lady gaga isn’t one of the most famous people on the planet. Oh wait..you can’t! News flash, she manifested that. And so did many of your other favourites. Yet you choose to focus on liars, because that’s what you want to believe. Of course a close minded, one sided argument is your way to go. Disregard everything else in the process why don’t you.

“It's ironic how some boast about manifesting luxury items like Lamborghinis, which could easily be rented, yet they fail to manifest meaningful change for their followers who are in abusive situations.” - l.o.s.e.r

“Want to prove to your followers who are spiraling about the American election rather than post persist hehehee how about you manifest for them….. change the election revise life’s an illusion while you’re crying about having your rights taken away lol but you can’t.” - l.o.s.e.r

Run upper east siders, we’ve got an idiot on our hands. Making a point on something completely false. If you really understood the law, you’d know that you can’t manipulate somebody else’s reality, unless they assume you can. But it’s not to my surprise that you didn’t know that, of all people. Last time I checked, it’s YOUR imagination, and nobody else’s. So WHY would YOUR 3D reflect THEIR imagination? And you claim to be a blogger educated on the law…quite a “big” one too. I cant name any “big” bloggers who’ve misinformed the law THAT bad. Talk about liars now…

In short, you make points about “why don’t you manifest for your followers 🥺” Well, I don’t know if you knew this but…there’s this concept called free will. And just because someone chooses to not do something, doesn’t mean they can’t. Is common sense just not part of the package for you? It seems the point flies right over your head faster than you can catch it, and the only thing that doesn’t land, are your “points”.

But if you still don’t understand me, let’s use a little bit of your so -called logic here.

‘Loa is real manifesting is real shifting is real but most people in this community lie and are culty 99.999% of the stories here are lies the people doing that shit don’t even post abt it probably think they’re in some dream most of the success here are creative writing and living in the end.” - l.o.s.e.r

From YOUR logic, couldn’t I just ask you to manifest that the liars don’t exist and that you no longer view the law of assumption as a cult? So why haven’t you…? You’ll ask anyone questions but yourself. And if they think it was a dream…then how did they send their success stories to bloggers? Did I miss an update because last time I checked, you can’t do that in a dream.

And don’t get me started on how statistically IMPOSSIBLE that is. Do I even have to explain why? I promise you, thousands of people are NOT lying for the pure fun of it. That’s just not how the human mind works. Wouldn’t they rather shit on loa just like you rather than posting success stories hoping it’ll happen?I didn’t know talking out of the wrong hole was in fashion these days. But then again, not everyone has style. And if there’s one thing money can’t buy, it’s class. Was that a moth? Must’ve flewn right out of your wallet.

Now don’t get me wrong, i’m not bothered to read your whole blog and all the nonsense you cry about and debunk every little thing you say. Because trust me, common sense does the job for me.

Have fun continuing to “preach” your delusional idea of the law being a cult to yourself and your little followers. Like sheep. One after the other.

Don’t even think about trying to respond to me, as if anything you say makes sense.

P.S. I’ll delete this post later, I don’t like having drama on my blog. This is my first and last time addressing you. I just don’t want people in this community, including my followers to listen to idiots like you telling them that all the success stories they’ve read are fake, when that is so obviously not true. Only someone who hasn’t consciously the experienced the law for themselves would doubt others so badly, and you used to be a “big” blogger you say…The fucking audacity. But then again, it’s hard to believe in something you haven’t experienced for yourself (is it?), but at-least don’t get caught in a lie. Disrespectfully, shut your mouth and don’t open it again.

- gossip girl

[samimarkart]

hey all. I really struggle with asking for help about this situation and balancing what amount of detail to share regarding it, but I’d like to share some information right now as I’m feeling fairly level headed. I am working with my therapist to remove me from my current toxic living situation with an emotionally immature and toxic parent, and this post my be deleted as needed for my privacy in the future. My independence is severely limited right now and I do need to get out and move sooner rather than later. Key things that are making this difficult for me is my inability to drive, I do not currently have a local support system other than my therapist, and the fact that I have not been able to get hired for a more stable basic job where I live currently I am looking to move to Chicago proper (currently in the suburbs) to be in a walkable area with public transit. I am okay and safe currently but this is starting to feel urgent to me.

I am currently self employed through running my online shop and art business. This leads me to asking: If anyone has the means or generosity to buy anything from my shop I would massively appreciate it as this is my only form of income at the moment. Trying to do some odd jobs around my neighborhood to get some extra cash saved up to cover the first few months of rent somewhere else while searching for a job. Even a single sticker will help me out, and joining my sticker club on Patreon would give me some extra flexibility. These are some things I currently have for sale and they’ll be linked below!

I truly have been struggling big time and I feel guilt in asking for help but I am very isolated right now. I was not allowed to move for college, and so have no experiencing living away from my family, but doing so is really pushing me back in terms of my mental health and seeing me lose my progress makes me feel sad and scared. My family member is not making this easy on me as they rely on me to regulate their emotions and do not want to allow me to leave. I really would like to be able to experience the rest of my 20s not being treated like a child.

If anyone has tips for first time renting, first time really doing much of this on my own please send it my way. And if you have any Chicago contacts who might be looking for a roommate in the next few months (🤞) i would be eternally thankful. reblogging helps too. love you guys

Etsy shop | Patreon and sticker club | Available original art

[maxdibert]

Well, after reading Snater arguments on Reddit, there’s something I’d like to comment on. I mean, I’m a lawyer, and I’m a lawyer who advocates for social reintegration, not punishment. So when I think about morally questionable characters, I always think like a lawyer. It’s something I can’t avoid because I spent years memorizing laws, and that fries your brain, so you’re just going to have to bear with me here.

The point is, I don’t give a damn that Snape hung out with the bad guys. I don’t care that he followed Voldemort because, from a legal standpoint, Severus more than paid his debt to the community. First of all, there’s no evidence that Severus killed anyone before Dumbledore asked him to perform a rather shady kind of euthanasia. That means his involvement with the Death Eaters was essentially collaboration with a criminal group. If we take into account that he later switched sides and became cooperative with the “good guys,” then in any trial, that would already significantly reduce his sentence, which, considering that he didn’t commit murder, wasn’t involved in any attempted homicides, and didn’t directly collaborate in major crimes, would already be pretty short.

But if we also consider that after switching sides, he worked as a double agent, then we can count his service as a kind of probation with community service. In other words: serving a sentence. For me, Severus Snape served both time and punishment for the actions he committed. A sentence that was much longer and harsher than his crimes warranted. So I don’t give a damn what he did before because he’s already paid his debt to society, and any democratic legal system would see it that way. And I don’t believe in life sentences or the death penalty because they’re useless, capitalist punishments, so whatever. The point is that Severus paid. He paid with his life, both metaphorically and literally, because from the moment he joined Dumbledore, he had no life of his own. He had no future. His entire world became focused on doing whatever it took to pay his debt to society. A debt that, in the end, led to his death. So, yeah, he might seem like an asshole and a bad person to you, just like I see plenty of assholes and bad people who come into my office, but the reality is, if they serve their sentence, they settle their debt. And Severus paid more than he owed. Honestly, I wish there were lawyers and therapists in the wizarding world—maybe that’s why things are such a mess there, lol.

[alisonsfics]

his peace

pairing: carmy berzatto x reader

summary: when carmy meets you at an al-anon meeting, he’s surprised why how safe he feels with you immediately. but with that comes the anxiety of scaring you away.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: carmy and the reader meet at an al-anon meeting, but no actual discussion of sensitive topics

Carmy took yet another deep breath. He could hear his heartbeat pounding. He wiped his sweaty palms off on his jeans. He saw someone start walking down the hallway towards him. They gave him a small sympathetic smile, noticing his obvious nervousness.

He tried to take more breaths, as though it would give him a fresh perspective and a boost of confidence.

He ran his hand through his hair and reminded himself why he was there. Before he lost his courage, he walked past the “Al-Anon Meeting Today at 2pm” sign and in the door.

He breathed a sigh of relief once he entered the room. He’d been dreading the inside of this room. He was expecting to be met with cold stares and judgmental glances. Instead, the room seemed peaceful, and no one even seemed to notice him.

He picked a spot along the back wall and stood there. He casually leaned back against the wall, wanting to observe the meeting today instead of participate.

You were across the room. You were at the “snack” table that was topped with bottles of water and little packaged snacks, along with fliers full of resources like hotlines and therapist offices.

You caught a glimpse of the man lurking in the back of the room. You noticed the way his eyes avoided your gaze and focused on the floor.

You slowly walked over towards him. Everyone else was having side conversations before the meeting started. He was the only one who was alone.

You’d been coming to these meetings for a while, but you remembered how alone you felt at your first one. You didn’t want him to feel like that.

He only looked up at you once you were standing a few feet in front of him. He gave you a quick anxious smile. He could feel his palms start to sweat again. “Am I not allowed to just watch? This is my first time. I don’t know how these things go.” He rambled, nervously.

“No no no, feel free. It’s totally up to you. I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Y/N.” You said, holding out your hand to him. His eyes darted to your hand, which he quickly grabbed and gave a firm shake.

“I’m Carmen. My friends call me Carmy though. It’s nice to meet you.” He said, smiling at you. He didn’t know why, but he felt lighter. Like some of the pressure had been taken off. Surviving this meeting felt like less of a big deal when he looked into your eyes.

His thoughts usually operated at a thousand miles a minute, but they seemed to still in your presence.

“I remember how anxious I was at my first meeting. I’m not trying to force you to do anything. You do whatever feels right. But, nothing bad will happen if you come sit with us. I know you probably have all those worst case scenarios in your head right now, but I promise none of them are going to happen.” You tried to assure him as best as you could.

Carmy slowly nodded his head, thinking about what you said. He considered it more than he thought he would. It sounded less scary when you talked about it.

“I’m just not really ready to share or anything yet. I think I’d rather just stay back here and watch.” He told you, hesitantly. The thought of having to talk to a room of strangers about his dead brother was almost enough to paralyze Carmy.

“You can come and just listen, if you want. No one will force you to share. Again, absolutely no pressure, but I’ll save you a seat and leave it up to you.” You said, giving him a small smile and heading towards the circle of chairs.

Carmy watched as you walked away. Something about you made Carmy feel calm. You were encouraging enough that he felt like he could do anything.

He watched you for a few minutes. You were sat down and quietly talking to two other people next to you. Your warm smile made him feel optimistic. He was already looking forward to seeing you once a week.

You looked up and noticed he was watching you. He softly smiled at you. You went back to your conversation, not wanting to pressure him in any way by staring.

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw him walk up to the chair and sit beside you. You looked over at him and gave him an encouraging smile. You knew how massive a small step like that could feel.

You continued to check in with him throughout the meeting. After each person took their turn sharing, you’d look over at Carmy to make sure he was alright. You felt strangely protective over him, considering you’d just met.

After the meeting, he pulled you to the side. “Thank you for encouraging me today. I’ve been really worried about this meeting, but you helped me feel a lot more comfortable.” He said, genuinely. There was a certain sparkle in his eye that he didn’t even know was there. He felt hopeful for the first time in a long time.

“Of course. I’m glad I was able to help. I’m always here to talk, if you want.” You told him. You were met with a grateful nod.

“Do you maybe want to go get lunch? You’re just really easy to talk to.” He asked you. All of a sudden, you had butterflies in your stomach. You couldn’t hide your smile. “I’d love to.” You told him.

You both walked through the city talking about your lives. You both talked about why you went to Al-Anon meetings. You were one of the first people Carmy told about the Michael stuff.

It became a weekly tradition. Every week you both would sit side by side and then go out to lunch afterwards. By the third meeting, you’d gotten Carmy out of his shell enough to share with the group for the first time.

Carmy was trying really hard to appreciate how good it was with you. Especially since he knew he had a tendency to expect bad things to happen. It also meant he was scared of screwing it up.

So, he kept it separate. You and his life at The Beef were two completely different spaces in his head. You were peace, and The Beef was chaos. You were stress relief, and The Beef was stress-inducing.

That worked fine until he was bickering with Richie at the cash register, as usual, and he saw you walk in the front door.

Realizing it was you, Carmy froze. He’d forgotten all about the argument with Richie, and his eyes were glued on you.

You watched as his cheeks turned a soft shade of red. Carmy was mortified that you were seeing this side of his life. The side that involved screaming and chaos and arguments.

“Not right now, Richie,” Carmy mumbled, pushing past Richie and walking into the kitchen. Carmy’s thoughts started racing. He walked past Sydney and Marcus and Tina as they yelled different questions at him.

His mind was on one thing now. He marched towards the office after he spotted Natalie sitting at the desk. He needed to talk to someone about you, finally.

He barged into the office and closed the door behind him. The yelling of the kitchen was slightly muffled, blending in with the thoughts bouncing around his head.

“Carm, what’s wrong?” Nat asked, looking up and seeing her brother out of breath. Carmy immediately sat down on the couch and put his head into his hands.

He could feel himself spiraling and was trying to stop it before it got too far. All his emotions were bubbling to the surface. He truly thought he was going to scare you away.

“Carm, seriously, what’s going on? I’m getting worried.” Nat repeated.

He looked up from the floor, and she could see the panic in his eyes. “I went to a meeting. And I met this girl. She’s really been helping me. I just feel so calm when I’m with her.” He said. Nat noticed a glint in his eye when he talked about you.

“Carm, that’s great. I’m really proud of you. I know it took a lot for you to go. So, what’s wrong?” She asked, sitting beside him. She held onto his hand, encouraging him to explain.

“She’s umm…outside right now. I didn’t tell her about this place, but she just walked in.” He mumbled, glancing back towards the closed door. Nat slowly nodded, trying to piece together what he was so worried about.

“What’s so bad about that?” She asked, cocking her head to the side. Carmy shrugged. He wasn’t quite able to explain why he had this pit in his stomach.

“She’s the one thing in my life that just feels pure and completely separate from all the shit here. I haven’t let her see this side of me, and I really like her, Sugar. But if she sees this side of me, she’ll know how fucked up I am.” He said. His eyes were desperate. He was begging Nat for a solution. He needed to know what to do.

She pulled Carmy into a hug, rubbing his back slowly. “She sounds really good for you, Bear. I think you should tell her how you feel. She’s not gonna run away because you’re complicated. Everybody’s complicated. It’s just life. And if she makes your life better, you should go for it.” She said, giving Carmy the perfect sisterly advice.

“You really think so?” Carmy said, looking back towards the door. She just nodded and patted Carmy on the back. He slowly stood up from the couch.

Deep down he knew Nat was right, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared out of his mind.

He walked back through the kitchen, ignoring the chaos surrounding him as he walked towards you. As long as he stayed focused on you, he could drown out all the chaos.

He walked back into the front of the restaurant. You weren’t in line anymore. His eyes searched around for you until he saw you sitting at a small table in the corner.

Richie was still at the cash register taking another customer’s order. “I’m sorry, cousin. We can talk later.” Carmy said, patting Richie’s shoulder as he walked by. He knew if he wanted less chaos in his life, it would take a lot of effort on his part.

He walked over to where you were sitting. When you looked up at him, you noticed his hesitant smile. “Please, sit,” you said, gesturing towards the seat in front of you. He quickly nodded and then sat down.

“Hey, umm, I’m sorry that I kinda ran away earlier. I was just surprised to see you here.” He said, sheepishly. He scratched the back of his neck. You felt a small smile creep on your face. Bashful was a cute look on Carmy.

“It’s totally fine. I was shocked to see you too. I didn’t know you worked at a restaurant.” You said, smiling at him. He quickly looked up to meet your eyes and then shook his head. “I actually own the restaurant. This was Mikey’s before he died, and he left it to me.” He told you.

You noticed how happy he was when he was talking about his brother. Carmy was still bracing for you to storm out the door, and he didn’t even know why.

It was probably because in his life, good things never lasted.

Until you.

He felt a little bit of imposter syndrome with you. Like he’d been pretending to be this person with his life put together. And now, you were seeing what his life really looked like.

“I think that’s really beautiful, Carmy. You know, you running this place to honor your brother. I bet he’d be really proud of you.” You said. You gently reached across the table and let your hand rest on top of his. He quickly looked between you and your hand on his.

“Really? You don’t like…think this place is a total shit hole? With all the screaming and everything. Everything here is fuckin’ chaos.” He said, chuckling to himself. Self doubt had always been something that haunted Carmy.

You quickly shook your head, assuring him. “Just because it’s a little messy doesn’t mean it’s not beautiful. Nothing’s ever tied up neatly in a bow. Especially not when you’re dealing with family. I think it just means you care, not that you’re doing a bad job.” You said, running your thumb along the back of his hand.

He could hear his heart beating as he looked at you. Your hand touching his had goosebumps running up his arm. And when you looked at him with that smile, he felt his heart skip a beat.

“Hey, do you maybe wanna— I uhhh… nevermind, I’m probably reading this wrong.” He said, quickly standing up from the table and starting to walk away.

You giggled to yourself at his shyness. You stood up and grabbed his hand to stop him. He spun around to face you, with hope in his eyes. Because you had stopped him from leaving, which had to be a good sign, right?

You tugged him closer to you. He could feel his eyes go wide. He was trying to read every little part of your expression. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His stomach did a flip. He noticed how the warmth lingered on his cheek.

“Do you want to go get dinner sometime?” You asked, finishing his question for him. His shocked expression turned into a smile. “I would umm— definitely, I would really like that.” He said, fumbling through his words.

Something about you made Carmy forget how to speak. “You’re cute when you’re blushing.” You said, cocking your head to the side and admiring him.

One of his hands flew up to cover his cheeks. Carmy hadn’t realized he was so easy to read. “No no, I’m not blushing. It’s just uhhh— from the cold, y’know,” he said, failing to convince you.

You giggled to yourself. The sound was angelic to Carmy and made his stomach do somersaults. “We’re inside though.” You said, smirking at him as he was caught in his excuse.

“Oh, yeah, would you look at that,” he said, pretending to be shocked. You jokingly rolled your eyes at him. He stepped forward, cupping your cheek and kissed you softly. You rested your hands on his sides as his lips softly moved against yours.

You both pulled away with giant smiles on your faces. “I really like you.” He admitted, interlacing his fingers with yours. You felt your smile grow even wider. “Likewise,” you said, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“I want to introduce you to someone.” He said, leading you back to the office to introduce you to Sugar.

It seemed like a weird choice, but for Carmy, it was him bridging his two lives together. He didn’t want to keep them separate anymore. He wanted you to be in his life, his real life, not the life he pretended to have.

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[bomber-grl]

Flufftober 2024

Day 1: Can’t sleep

Pairing(s): Sal Fisher x Gn!Reader

Despite how busy the day had been you couldn’t sleep. You’ve been staring up at your ceiling for god knows how long and you decided to change that.

You got up and swiftly made your way to sals room. Ever since you moved in with Larry, Sal, Todd and Neil, going to sals room was sort of a nightly occurrence.

Between your boarderline insomnia and his reoccurring nightmares- you’d both pay eachother visits.

Not like those went unnoticed by the other residents either… Larry really needs to get his mind out of the gutter.

Upon standing to the entrance of sals room you quickly went inside. What you weren’t expecting though, was seeing Sal have his arm out- as if it was going to twist the doorknob but you beat him to it.

Well, that’s exactly what happened.

“Oh” he sort of jumped in surprise “I didn’t expect you haha” he sort of chuckled in an awkward way, it was cute.

“Yea I can tell” you replied back, though not with a malicious tone. “Where were you headed?”

“With you actually” he lift his arm and began rubbing the back of his neck, almost as if you’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t.

“Oh well then let’s sleep together” the phrasing clearly caught Sal a bit off guard (if his sputtering was anything to go by) but he followed you under his covers nonetheless.

Once you both got comfortable you couldn’t manage to say anything. I mean sure, silence wasn’t exactly foreign to you two but there was this expecting air in the room.

“Hey Sal” you turned to face him directly. “Yea?” Your voice piercing the silence clearly caught his attention. “What happens in those reoccurring dreams- rather nightmares of yours?-“

You continued “I know you told me that they’ve been tame ever since- yknow back in highschool, but they’ve been acting up lately right? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to”

He smiled and you couldn’t help but gulp like those characters did when they were stereotypically in love. “I mostly dream of my mom” you perked up and Sal let out a small laugh at it “mostly of the moment when this” he motioned to his face “happened.”

“Oh” you said softly “how does that make you feel- reliving it I mean.” Sal was quiet for a bit, thinking, but then he spoke again “it’s complicated.”

“Why do you ask?” He turned to you. “Well since you can’t really disclose much of your trauma to normal therapists for obvious reasons then I figured I’d listen, I mean someone has to.”

“Yea I guess you’re right” silence followed after but once again, you broke the silence.

“Hey” in response Sal hummed in acknowledgment. “What if I kissed you?” Rather than the cool hum he previously let out- Sal reacted violently. He jerked and out of the corner of your eye you could tell he was made flustered out of that one comment.

That alone made you laugh out loud- and once you started you couldn’t stop. Despite Sals pleads and asking you to quiet down you really couldn’t. Gosh he was going to be the end of you. Sal was so cool headed but when it came to actual romance he was totally out of left field.

You finally calmed down after a bit but that didn’t mean you had forgotten what you had asked. “So, about my question. You’ve got an answer?”

His flustered demeanor came back full force. Even if he was a bit shy despite having kissed you many times before, it was still endearing.

Once Sal nodded and gave a small “yea” you leaned in and obviously completed what you had asked for. Maybe a little more too. Sal made no protest and despite his tense body and slinking away- he kept leaning forward.

The kiss would’ve lasted forever had it not been for Sal gently pushing you away to get some air.

Teasing him would’ve been your next course of action but you knew better than to embarrass him further with making him speak- especially with the stuttering that usually follows such “intensity”.

Funny how someone who could often be a bit devious could be so easily riled. Let’s pray Larry or any other residents didn’t hear your little “sleepover” because if sleeping in the same bed wasn’t “scandalous” enough- you had the noises (rather laughter and chit chat) to accompany the silent allegations.

-

A/n: genuinely sorry if this sucks 😭

[cleolinda]

Every time I get super positive about how the new herniated disc is gonna be fine and not as bad as last time, I get a phone call that’s like, no, it’s worse than you thought. So I am having to retrench now and actually get hold of the surgeon I was recommended—I was going to anyway—but do it ASAP, and accept that he might say, “You do need surgery. Again. In fact, let’s do a spinal fusion. I feel cute today, let’s send you back to the worst pain of your life.” So I am having a totally normal morning feeling sad and anxious about that and I don’t think anyone around me wants to hear it. Literally anyone, not even my therapist yesterday. I think people want to support me with 100% positivity but I also think the situation scares them. But I’d rather fight off tears deal with the idea now than get slapped in the face with crushing reality again. And I can at least say that here, I guess, because I know you guys (gender neutral) are caring people, but you have enough distance from me that there’s space to talk about it.

Maybe it’s just my perception that people won’t let me be afraid, honestly—maybe we just have a cultural insistence on being positive, being A Fighter when you get the diagnosis, and I’m performing that on my own steam. Even online I keep being like, “listen, it fucking sucks but it’s fine, I don’t want to make this sound like it’s life or death.” I don’t know. I want to give an accurate impression of how serious it is or isn’t separate from my feelings, but also write about physical and emotional experiences other people do go through and might want to hear about. At excruciating length. Welcome to hell, it’s my medical ordeals! I baked cookies, grab one in your way in.