#some people just live in a completely different world

[celiababy]

Ain't Right part 3

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel thinks you deserve better.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (56/20), swearing, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral f!receiving, cockwarming, size kink, skinny dipping, angsty, kinda asshole/grumpy Joel, mention of alcohol

Celia's note: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG OMG. but i threw in that much request angst i hope yall enjoy!!!!! Also happy valentines day!!! peace n luv fr

Aint Right part 1 Ain't Right part 2

Recently, life has been great for you.

Winter was gone as fast as it came, and spring started to take root in Jackson. Your favorite season.

The months that passed since Christmas had been like a dream. You and Joel's relationship had been all unicorns and rainbows—well, to you, anyway.

Finally, you were starting to pry open the gates to Joel's thoughts. Becoming close with him meant so much to you, even when he would off-handedly share information about himself by accident, you'd immediately commit it to long-term memory.

He didn't like to talk about himself much, but when he did, you were all ears.

Joel, on the other hand, didn't have to try as hard with you.

There was a constant flow of words out of your mouth, especially around him. You couldn't help it, really. You talked when you were nervous, and you were always nervous around Joel—that never went away.

But all in all, you were overflowing with happiness.

Joel, however, was feeling a little differently.

Ever since this relationship with you started, he's had this subtle ache about it.

His insecurities of being an old man were eating at him, day by day. His conscious just couldn't stop pestering him with the idea that you deserved better.

He felt that by being intimate with you, as much as he liked it, was holding you back from living your life.

By allowing you to indulge in this relationship with him, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was setting your life up for failure.

He was picturing some White Fang situation where you were some wild animal that was getting too close to him, and in order to prevent you from getting hurt by domestication, he'd have to throw rocks at you and tell you to 'go on an' git'. Even though he deeply cared about you.

These insecurites really came to the surface whenever you two were in bed together.

He was 56 years old, for crying out loud. He had two rounds in him max, anything more might give him a heart attack.

He'd clock the little disappointed pout you'd make when he couldn't go again, even when you tried to act otherwise. He was just in his head about the entire thing—which was so unlike him.

You were doin' things to him, thats for damn sure.

Joel couldn't deny the affect you had on him anymore. You were starting to become a top priority; he was unable to stop himself from putting you first.

How was it so easy for you to become to important in his life?

He pondered this thought while coming back from a supply run, riding in on horseback. The sound of hooves crunching twigs and rocks was an oddly theraputic sound, one that helped stop him from thinking so much.

Upon his return, Joel drops off his supplies and guides his horse back into its stable. He gives it a few loving pats before leaving, walking down the main road with the breeze in his hair.

His eyes scan the people crowding the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of his favorite face.

And he does.

Eventually, Joel spots you, helping an older lady up her porch steps. You’re smiling, eyes sparkling like everything in the world was all fine and dandy.

It never got easier seeing you wear cooler clothes in public.

Sure, he's seen your naked body plenty of times, but there was something about you in a tank top, jean shorts and cowboy boots that just did things to him.

His heart tugs in his chest as he watches you complete the kind act, skipping back down the steps once the lady waves you goodbye.

That’s when you see him, across the street, just staring at you.

Your face lights up like fireworks when you notice. It always did. But Joel never got tired of seeing it.

He watches you jog his way, nearly running straight into him but managing to stop yourself last second.

“Hey! How’d that run go?” You ask, beaming up at him and trying your hardest not to smack his lips with yours.

“Good.” He nods, clenching his jaw.

Jesus, you looked so good right now—Joel was having a very hard time focusing on what to say when you were distracting him with your bangin’ bod.

“Good.” You copy, finding a moment to assess him. He seemed tense, more tense than usual. Joel knows you’re about to ask him what’s wrong—and he can’t face that question right now.

So he speaks before he knows what he’s saying. “You should come out with me again, next time, I mean. Actually try n' help instead of.. flirt.”

He's disgusing his intense feelings for you with an insult, because of course he is.

You scoff at his diss, rolling your eyes. “You loved my flirtin’.” You copied his texan drawl to mock him, earning you a glare.

“Well, I’d love to. Is it a date?” You purr, stepping into his personal space, prompting Joel to make quick use of his self control.

If he could act on his impulse, he would have bent you over and fucked you right there on the sidewalk.

He clears his throat before nodding. “Sure. Tomorrow. It’s a date.” He bites out like it pains him, because in truth, he'd rather take you out to dinner or something than another stupid supply run.

You’re smiling again, swaying on your feet. You make a few glances around to make sure no one’s watching before popping up and kissing him on his cheek.

“Kay, see you then." You chirp ever so sweetly, walking away in your small jean shorts.

You were really tugging on his heart strings.

When tomorrow comes, you're sitting on your porch swing, waiting for Joel to come and get you.

You were excited—mainly because you two would be out of sight from prying eyes. You could act on all your impulses.

You didn't mind people figuring you two out, you're kind of sure they already had, but you felt that Joel did care, and you wanted to respect his boundaires. Even though he never made those clear.

But, you felt you were pushing it with that kiss on the cheek yesterday, and you didn't want him upset with you.

The sudden thought made you worry.

Maybe he was upset with you. He did glare at you yesterday.

You probably did something, your anxious mind tells you.

You're snapped out of your thoughts due to the sound of hooves clopping against the road. Looking up, you're met with the pleasure-inducing sight of Joel.

He's walking with a horse beside him, holding its lead with a trained hand.

He's wearing that faded gray shirt and those jeans that seem like they're hanging on by a thread. So casual.

But, then you take a closer look at his appearance. He...trimmed his beard and attempted to slick back his hair...?

...Was he trying to look nice for you?

"Did you get all pretty for me?" You ask with a giddy smile, skipping down your steps.

He grumbles something incoherent under his breath before rolling his eyes. Yet, you swear you can see the faintest bit of blush on his cheeks. "You ready to go?" He asks, gesturing to the horse.

He's trying to change the subject, but you need to let him know you appreciate his efforts.

"You look really good, Joel. I mean—you always look good, but today especially." You bring your hand up to feel his hair, smiling happily. He can tell you're being geniune, but he's never been good with compliments.

"Thanks, sweetheart—now get on the damn horse." He sounds exasperated, but theres a small smile on his lips.

He helps you up onto the back before climbing on himself. "Wrap yer arms 'round me. Don't fall off." He murmurs, steering the horse towards the gates.

You slide up so that your chest is pressed against his back, and outstretch your arms to wrap around him. Once you two successfully leave the town and no one is watching, that's when you rest your cheek on his shoulder blade.

It's cozy. It's intimate. It's Joel.

You could fall asleep against him like this.

He remains silent because he knows how peaceful you feel right now. He wants to let you enjoy the moment.

You're admiring the forest scenary, occasionally resting your eyes. You don't know where Joel is taking you—maybe he's heading straight towards the middle of nowhere to drop you off and leave. Getting rid of you probably would've been in his best interest.

You're smiling at the thought because you know yourself. Even if he did do that, you'd find a way back to him. Like a loyal dog.

"Wait," Your voice cracks through the silence. Joel stops the horse, turning his head back to look at you. "Is that a lake?" He turns his head to where you're looking, his eyes catching the blue water that you're so enamoured by.

"Don't know what else it would be."

You roll your eyes at his smartassary. "...Can we go?"

"To the lake?" He reiterates, a confused look on his face. "'N do what?"

You shrug your shoulders, feeling stupid for asking all the sudden.

Immediately, Joel notices how you shrink into yourself. He wants to punch himself in the dick because he's being an asshole.

To fix his mistake, he makes a clicking sound with his tongue and steers the horse down to the body of water.

You're giddy again in no time, a soft but excited squeal escaping your throat.

He manages to find a small clearing within the brush; open tall grass, a fallen tree trunk perfect for sitting, and direct access to the lake.

"So pretty." You muse, simply in awe of the nature around you.

You didn't really leave town much—only when you had to. So, seeing stuff like this, really meant a lot to you.

Joel gets off the horse and immediately turns to help you down. His hands find themselves on your hips while yours latch onto his shoulders.

He lowers you effortlessly, his grasp lingering for longer than it needed to.

Your skin lights on fire at his touch, dirty thoughts instantly flooding your brain.

The lake, the seculsion, the tension...there was really only one thing you were thinking about right now.

"Hey, what if we just...didn't go on that supply run?" You muse, avoiding eye contact for a moment because no matter how close you've gotten with Joel, he still made you nervous.

He shoots you a questioning look, which gives you the idea to show rather than tell.

You step closer to the waters edge, beginning to take off your boots. Joel's watching with that stern look, but it quickly fades, replaced with lust when you start shedding off your clothes.

First your shorts, then your tank top.

"Let's go swimming!" You say with that happy smile, the one that makes his heart beat soar.

He can't stop his eyes from devouring every inch of your stark naked body.

Not only did Joel enjoy your pert breasts and supple ass, he was also equally obsessed with the not overtly sexual things about you. Your hair, shoulders, collar bone, forearms, the curve of your spine—everything, he was consumed by it all.

He realizes that he needs to answer you, but all that comes out is a scoff.

"Hey—no. We don't know what the hells in that water." He huffs as his boner peaks through his jeans.

"Fine, guess I'll swim alone then." You say nonchalantly, knowing if you went in, odds were, Joel wouldn't be far behind.

And you were right.

As soon as you enter the cool water, you see Joel starting to undress in the corner of your eye.

You pretened you're not watching, and eventually he joins you in the lake.

You've waded out rather far into the water, waiting to speak until you know Joel is close.

"Doesn't it feel nice?" You ask, letting your body float above the surface, limbs outstretched while you stared up at the fluffy clouds.

If you could do this forever, you would. Naked as the day you were born, floating in warm spring water with Joel's company—maybe this was heaven.

Sure felt like it.

You almost don't even notice Joel's palm run up your shin and thigh, only when his hand lightly drifts over your lower stomach, is when you become all too aware.

Yet, he doesn't venture south.

Instead, he makes a path further up your stomach, then your ribs, then the valley of your breasts, until he rests his hand over your heart.

You stare at his face as he completes this insane act, completely baffled at the fact that he seemed so entranced and calm, while you were trying not to freak out.

He notices your stare, and finally meets your eye contact. No words leave his mouth—he can't seem to find any that feel right.

But he's thinking about how beautiful you are. How sweet and doting, how smart and witty. Everything about you encompassed into a few short words just didn't feel worthy enough.

But you can't just leave things the way they are.

Slowly, you situate yourself around him, attaching to his body like a koala bear. Your arms slide around his shoulders while your legs wrap around his waist.

Skin to skin, face to face, so fucking intense.

Joel's strong arms find themselves around your torso, keeping you close to him.

"Yeah, it does feel nice." Joel replies, his voice soft, his eyes even softer.

You smile, big and geniune, a feeling of bliss taking over you. "Isn't this so much better than some silly supply run?"

Joel rolls his eyes, which spurs you on even more.

"Come on, admit it; you'd rather be out here with me, than some stinky convience store looting pills." You tighten your legs a little around his torso, feeling your cunt become flush with his bare stomach.

You feel a surge of pride when his breath hitches and his erect cock prods at your ass.

But it doesn't take long for his expression to fall back into its natural scowl.

"M'not admitin' shit." He murmurs, bringing a hand up to move your wet hair over your shoulder and onto your back. It's an absentminded motion, one that Joel isn't really thinking about doing.

He just felt the urge to touch you.

You giggle at him, dropping your forehead to his shoulder to laugh.

Joel huffs, trying to stop smirking because your giggle is contagious. "Quit." Is all he says, shaking his head. "Can't believe you got me out 'ere doin' this shit." He grumbles, adjusting his hold on you slightly.

"What 'shit'?" You mimick him and his texan drawl, earning you a stern glare.

"Naked in a lake like m'some fuckin' teenager." He speaks with an unamused expression, before his eyes land back onto you and his gaze softens. "What're you doin' to me, huh?"

It's a rhetorical question, but he says it like he's truly desperate for an answer.

You're not sure how to respond. His eye contact is making your brain all foggy.

It's silent.

You can only hear the rustling water, your breathing, and the general nature sounds in the distance.

Joel knows he confused you with his words, so he takes a moment to look away.

"Alright," He huffs out eventually. "Time to go."

He doesn't give you a chance to protest because he's already walking back to the shore, his arm remaining secured tightly around your back, basically carrying you.

You're not ready to leave, but you know Joel is, so you just opt for a dejected sigh.

He lets you back down on your feet when you're both on the grass, lingering his hand on the small of your back when he picks up your clothes. He uncrinckles your shirt before opening it up so you could easily put it on.

"This is becoming a habit of yours." You murmur softly, putting on the tank top and cringing at the way it sticks to your wet skin.

"Mm?" Joel doesn't know what you're referring to. He's never realized his pattern of clothing you. It was a simple act, but one you found endearing.

"Nothin'." You chirp, sliding on your shorts and boots.

Joel looks at you assessingly while buttoning his jeans back up, sucking in his stomach to zip them.

You're looking right back at him, admiring the way his wet hair looks, how the grays peak out in the most perfect way.

In a nervous manner, you shift on your feet, sliding your hands down into your jean pockets. "You sure you don't wanna...fool around?" You muse, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

Joel smirks down at the ground as he continues to button up his shirt, shaking his head.

"You're too late kid, should've asked when we were naked." He's teasing, walking back over to the horse and gesturing for you to come.

You groan out, dragging your feet as you walk over to him and the horse. You were being dramatic, and Joel see's right through it.

"Quit whinin'. C'mon," He mutters, grabbing you by the hips to hoist you back onto the saddle.

"You're no fun, old man." You mumble, which freezes Joel in his tracks.

He doesn't know why, but that one off-handed comment ignites a blazing string of destructive thoughts.

As if he wasn't already insecure enough about being old and no fun.

His brain is jump-starting the self-depricating train of thought he had grown accustomed to, only this time, it had more fuel because you unknowingly confirmed it.

Of course, that isn't what you meant at all. It was just a teasing little comment, one you didn't think twice about. You weren't actually upset—at all.

Nevertheless, Joel's already in deep.

Slowly, he swings himself behind you onto the horse, grabbing the reins and starting forward.

You're quick to notice his demeanor, but choosing to keep your mouth shut.

The entire ride back is silent.

It was just like the ride there, only with a more suffocating air.

You have an inkling, but you have no idea the extent of his turmoil behind you.

Eventually, you two make it back to the stables. Joel helps you down from the horse, moving like a robot with no facial expression.

He's got that look in his eye that worries you. Every atom in your body wants to ask him what's wrong, but you also don't want to pry.

However, Joel would never open up to you unprompted. So, you at least try.

Your hand drifts upwards to his face, smoothing some of his hair down by his ear. "Is everything okay?" You finally ask, your voice purposefully soft and light so you don't startle him like he was some wild animal.

He inhales through his nose and clenches his jaw.

Oh.

Something was really wrong.

Your gaze goes from slightly weary to concerned in a flash, nervously biting down on your lower lip. "Is there anything I can do to help?" You ask, very evidently willing to do whatever he needed.

Joel had never been good with emotional timing. At the end of the day, he was still a man.

“We’ve gotta stop this.” He blurts.

You’re still for a moment, confused with his abrupt and vague words. You wait patiently for an elaboration.

Eventually, one comes, to Joel’s own dismay.

“We can’t see each other anymore—not like this.”

A beat passes.

Then another.

And then another.

You’re frozen with dread.

It’s like your body has forgotten all functions as you sit there and stare at him.

Surprisingly, the only thing you’re able to think of in this life changing moment, is the Christmas party at Maria and Tommy’s.

You’re thinking about how Joel fucked you in the guest bedroom, and how he said he didn’t want you having sex with anyone else.

You remember how happy you felt—like you two were exclusive or something.

How stupid were you?

With a quick intake of air, you swallow and look away.

“Did I do something wrong?” You croak, your voice akin to a wilting flower.

Joel is wracked with guilt the moment he hears you. But his mind is forcing him to do this.

“No—no. You haven’t done anythin’ wrong. This is all me, I fucked up and let this go on for too long.”

His answer provides no relief.

“But, I thought we—I thought you liked me?” You’re stumbling over your words because you’re so distraught, trying to blink away your persistent tears.

Shit.

Joel can hardly look at you. He would crumble and die if he did—the sadness in your expression is like several stabs to the gut.

Truth is, he did like you.

Thats why he wants to end things.

“I’m sorry.” Is all he can manage, head hanging down to look at the dirt.

You’re not looking at him either, instead opting to blankly stare at one of the horses in the stable.

“So,” You start, your voice cracking because you’ve started crying at this point. “You don’t wanna hook up, does that mean we can still hang out?”

Joel takes a big deep breath before answering.

"It would be best if we didn't see each other at all." Finally, he makes eye contact with you, and immediately regrets it.

You look like you've just been shot, for christsake—might as well have.

It was like he just tore your heart out, threw it to the ground, curb-stomped it, and kicked it down a gutter.

"Okay," you murmur, nodding slowly, trying to seem some-what chill about things. Inside, however, it was like World War III. "Uhm, I'm just gonna go home." Your voice is a croak, and Joel watches with the utmost remorse as you walk away.

It feels like shock.

Was this a break up? Were you even together in the first place? Why didn't he want to see you at all? Questions, questions, and more questions rattle in your brain as you shuffle away, hands shaking and eyes pouring.

You look down at the ring Joel gifted you on your finger, debting whether you should take it off or not.

Joel feels awful.

And it's not like the awful he felt the very first time he regected you—this time it's far more painful. It's a deeper wound, an uglier, gross, puss-infested cut that keeps getting worse the farther you walk away.

He thought he'd feel some relief.

He thought that after ending things, he would be rid of that nagging voice in his head.

But no, it remained.

Only now, it barked thoughts of wrong-doing.

'Why would you do that? Things were going great, you've fucked everything. You just broke her heart—’ and it goes on and on and on.

For a moment, the panic he feels registers in his mind as a heart attack. Thats what it felt like, anyway.

He has to brace himself against one of the wood beams in the barn, aggressively rubbing his chest to try and get his heart rate normal. Joel loses his breath in the process, not realizing that he's having a panic attack.

Whatever happens next, you don't see.

You never looked back after you walked away. *** "I don't know why you're all caught up about this, Joel." Tommy admits, a disappointed expression on his face.

Joel glares at his younger brother from the bar top, clearly disgruntled by Tommy's inability to understand his side of the situation.

It had been exactly 17 hours since Joel cut things off with you. He'd been drinking for at least 10 of those hours.

Somewhat drunkenly, he had told Tommy a very short and curt version of what happened.

But he got the picture. Tommy sighs, hanging his head for a minute before bringing it back up to speak again. "All m'sayin' is, it's the end of the damn world, Joel. Her 'future' ain’t graunteed; she'll be lucky if she makes it past 30 with the way things are. She's been 'round long enough to know that herself, n'for some fuckin' reason, she wants you—"

"She don't know what the hell she wants."

"See—that's where you're wrong, Joel." Tommy slams the whiskey glass that he was cleaning down on the bar, fed up and frustrated. "I've known 'er longer than you. She's a smart girl n'you're sellin' her short. Wake the hell up." He bites out before walking away, clearly finished with the conversation.

He had been watching and listening to Joel mop and groan about it all day and night—he had enough.

Other than the anger from being talked to in that manner welling inside of Joel, there was also a moment of clarity.

As much as it killed him to admit, Tommy was right.

He was selling you short.

The world is too ugly and fucked up for him not to act like everyday might be his last. He would be stupid to not just settle down and be happy with you for however long he had left.

Shit.

All alone in Tipsy Bison, Joel was slowly beginning to realize how majorly he screwed up.

He ruined things because he was too damn scared.

He didn't think there was a worse feeling than this—dealing with this huge fucking mistkae.

He wasn't sure if he would be able to come back from how things ended.

That look that you had in your eyes...Fuck. Joel didn't think he even deserved a second chance.

But goddammit if he didn't try.

After throwing the rest of his whiskey back, Joel got up from the barstool and hurriedly walked out, slamming the doors behind him.

He marches all the way to your place, ignoring whoever tried to talk to him on the way.

He had to do this. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't.

Finally, he makes it to your quaint little home, haulting in front of it. There is some imaginary force stopping him, something pulling him back.

It's that nagging voice in his head again, the one that caused this whole mess in the first place.

But this time, he ignores it, and trudges up your porch steps.

Joel knocks rather forcefully, his jaw clenching when you don't answer within seconds.

He bangs on the door again with his fist, hard, his patience wearing dangerously thin.

When you still don't answer, he enters anyway with your spare key (he always kept it on him), calling out your name as soon as he steps inside.

You hear him from your bed upstairs, though you honestly think you're hallucinating. You've been crying for hours, the only sound in your ears were your sniffles and sobs.

His heavy footsteps seem to get louder and louder, and when he calls out your name outside you're door, that's when you realize you weren't hallucinating at all.

You sit up just as Joel opens your door, your eyes wide with shock and tears.

He takes a couple steps inside before he sees how utterly devastated you looked. The sight of you renders him immoveable.

He feels…like the biggest asshole-asshat-douchebag-fuckwad-dickhead thats ever walked the planet.

“Why…are you here?” Your broken voice asks, trying your best to hold back tears.

Even after all he did, you still spoke so softly, all your respect for him still there.

He had talked himself up the entire walk over, but all his words were dying on his tongue.

He was beginning to think that there was nothing he could say that would make what he did right.

“Babygirl I—”

He sees you psychically flinch at his voice, and it makes his heart break all over again.

His feet carry him to the edge of your bed, hands coming out to hold your face.

You’re not sure how to process his touch, not sure how to process any of what’s happening, but you’re trying your best.

“I was wrong,” his thumb is wiping off the tear stains on your cheeks, a forced gentleness to his touch. “So fuckin’ wrong, babygirl. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Upon hearing his words, you can’t stop the floodgate of your tears. You start bawling, your shoulders shaking with each sob.

“I was so scared.” You cry, bringing your hands up to latch onto him. You wanted to explain more, explain why you were scared—because having Joel and then suddenly not having him, was like ripping your heart out.

He can’t scoop you up in his arms fast enough.

He gets in the bed with you, lifting you onto his lap while he cradles your head to his chest, kissing the top of your scalp.

"M'not lettin' you go. I promise." He husks, his grip on you strong.

And Joel kept this promise.

He held you the entire night, ensuring that you were secure and warm.

In the morning, you immediately asked what changed his mind.

"I was frustrated." He starts, exhaustion etched into his face. "I couldn't understand why you wanted me. Felt I was keeping you from some great life—a young husband n' some white picket fence. But..life here is probably as good as it's gonna get. And this," He looks to the both of you, alluding to the relationship you shared. "Is really fuckin' good."

Your heart is crumbling at his confession.

Discovering that he spent so much time insecure about things, both infuriated and saddened you.

When you were about to respond and explain away his worries, he speaks again.

"M'not lettin' you go. What I did was a mistake. M'sorry."

You're crying again, sniffling softly against him.

"You should've just fuckin' talked to me," You whimper, burying your face into his neck. "I could've—”

"Ain't nothin' you could'a done. You never did anythin' wrong." Joel reassures, pulling you from his shoulder so he can look at your face. "You gon' forgive me?"

"Obviously," you mumble, looking at him with a fake frustrated expression. "I meant it when I said I've always been yours."

And just like that, things were resolved.

You brought your hand down to grip his flannel, sighing into his chest. Joel also sighed in relief, realizing that you weren't going anywhere.

To raise the spirits in the room, you crane your neck up to look up at him, a soft smile playing at your lips.

"M'still mad at you. How are you gonna make it up to me?" Initally, you weren't really insinuading anything sexual—you were thinking he could take you for dinner or ice cream or something.

But Joel has something different in mind.

He gently grabs your jaw, angling your face so he could kiss you how he wanted. His tongue is warm in your mouth, his mustache prickly against your face.

When he breaks away, you're out of breath, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"I got an idea." Joel mumbles, carressing your jawline with his thumb.

Slowly, he sits up only to position himself between your thighs. With his calloused hands, he slides his palm up the planes of your legs until he reaches your pants.

You shiver when he dips his fingers under your waist band, pulling them down agonizingly slowly.

"This okay?" He asks in a gentle tone, one that makes your stomach do flips.

"Yes," You say immediately and breathlessly. "Very okay."

The corners of his mouth turn up to resemble a smirk, before his gaze returns back to the area between your legs. He runs his fingers down your clothed slit, feeling the way your wetness coated the stringy fabric.

You let out a soft gasp, slightly bucking your hips, hungry for more of his touch.

He plays there for a while before finally taking your underwear off, setting it somewhere on the bed.

Joel inhales through his nose when he sees your glistening cunt, trying to not cum in his pants at just the sight. He doesn't stop his impulse to pull your folds apart, running his thumb along your lips.

He's being so slow and gentle—it’s making your heart rate each dangerous levels.

His thumb then ventures up to lovingly rub your clit, his eyes scanning your face to watching your reaction.

Your legs are shaking as you kept them apart for Joel, your hands fisting the sheets as you cope with the sensations he's allowing you.

Your chest is heaving up and down and your eyes are glazed over with a hazy fog—one that Joel loves to see.

Then, out of nowhere, Joel lowers his head and connects his lips to your clit.

The act makes you jolt, mostly because you weren't expecting it.

His tongue laps at you, slowly at first, but then something shifts in Joel.

It's like the hunger for your cunt overwhelms him, and his grip on your thighs tighten. Within seconds, he's devouring you like a man starved, licking long strips up your cunt before focusing on sucking your clit.

You can't stop the moans and mewls slipping past your lips, and you don't really want to. You want Joel to know how good he's making you feel.

"OhhhfuckJoel," You whine, shooting your hands down to grab his salt and pepper hair. He focuses solely on your bundle of nerves with his tongue, using his fingers to give your desperately empty hole some attention.

When he slides two fingers inside, you effectively fall apart.

Tear prick in the lining of your eyes, your thighs clamp around his head as you cry out his name.

The fact that he's never eaten you out before and he's been this good at it the entire time, felt criminal. You honestly might've been more offended that he waited so long to reveal this talent than when he tried to end things.

"Dontstopdontstopdontstop," You sob, feeling yourself reach that climax you craved.

You come with a loud moan, and Joel lets you ride it out on his tongue and fingers.

When your body goes limp, thats when Joel lets up. He brings his head out from your legs and slips his digits out of your spasming hole.

You mewl at the feeling, looking at him with teary eyes.

"Where the hell did you learn to do that?" You asks, voice quiet and cracked.

"M'fifty-six years old—been around the block, babygirl." He's face is glistening with your juices, and his mouth is wearing that lopsided smile of his. It makes you wanna smile back.

"...Damn. So I'm not the first, huh?" You huff, not upset in the slightest, just wanting to tease him a little.

He chuckles and unzips his pants, letting his cock slap against his stomach. "No sweetheart, you ain't the first." He rasps, effortlessly manhandling you to straddle his lap. "But you are gon be my last."

His hands caress the plush surface of your hips, kneading them like dough while his eyes scan your face.

You're blushing so hard, your face probably looks like a spanked ass.

He really did have a knack for leaving you breathless with those one-liners of his.

You steady yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders, looking back down into his big brown eyes. All you can do is stare, because your brain is too focused on how hard your heart is beating to come up with a response.

"What? Now you ain't got nothin' to say?" He husks, his massive palm venturing down to your grab and squeeze your ass. Your back straightens and your lips part like you want to say something—but you're not quite sure what. "C'mon, use those pretty lips."

An idea pops into your brain.

"I'd rather use these lips," You whisper close to his mouth as you raise your hips up to hover over his member, slowly dipping his tip inside your warm hole.

"Fuck," Joel grunts, exhaling through his nose.

You grin at his reaction, lowering yourself down further with bated breath. You watch as his head lolls back and his grip tightens on your waist.

"What? Now you have nothing to say?" You mock, even though you're equally as breathless as he is.

He flashes you a glare before sliding a hand up to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a searing kiss. His hand doesn't let you break away from his lips, and you don't plan to.

His tongue establishes dominance in your mouth, which you eagerly let happen. It's passionate, deep, bordering on punishing—sometime during, he manages to rip your top off, leaving you completely nude. But sooner or later, you both decide breathing might be a good idea.

You break away, chests heaving, mouths panting.

Eventually, you sink all the way down on him, giggling deliriously when you make eye contact again. You decide to forget your fake little fued, nuzzling your head into his neck.

"Have I ever told you how big your dick is?" You mewl, squirming your hips around a bit but not lifting them up and down. It has Joel reeling.

His hands are holding you so tight, you're sure that it'll leave a bruise. "No," Joel huffs out rather distractedly, his eyes laser-focused on the way your cunt is gushing all over his lap. But you swear you can see the faintest blush on his tan skin.

"Well—your dick is real big." You whisper nearly inaudibly, making Joel snap his gaze back to your face. A lazy smile curls at your lips before you begin dragging you tight cunt up and down on his violently erect cock.

Joel shakes his head in disbelief, as he often does, but is unable to answer becase the feeling of being inside you is rendering him speechless. His hand absent-mindedly dips down to rub your clit—the act has you doubling over onto his shoulder, starting to bounce on him like your life depended on it.

"OhJoel, Iloveitsomuch," You blabble into his ear, noticing how he had taken the reigns at this point. He was manually lifting your hips, bringing them down with intense vigor.

He was stretching you out so good and his tip was so fucking deep—you were having a hard time staying conscious and not going brain dead.

It appears Joel's in the same boat too. "Fuck—you're killin' me." He grunts, bucking his hips up to meet you.

You giggle airily before immediately getting your karma—his dick paired with the position and the way his face looked—your cunt clenches down on him and you cum hard.

Your body jolts as you grab onto him, not expecting him to keep fucking you. But his grip on your hips doesn't falter, and Joel continues to bounce you up and down.

The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt. Just letting him manhandle your body and do what he wanted was a surprising relief—even if you did just come.

You're reduced to whimpers and moans as you slump into his chest, letting him ground you and fuck your abused cunt.

Finally, slams you down one final time, unloading deep into your warmth. His groans sound like music to yours hears, especially because you know it's you that's making him feel so good.

He's panting in your ear, slowly starting to move his hands up to wrap around your torso.

He's hugging you before you can register it; his big arms securing you tightly to his chest while you both tried to catch your breaths.

Seconds pass...which turn into minutes, and you're wondering if Joel ever plans on letting you go.

He's made no efforts to remove his dick from inside you—it's soft now, but still buried deep nonetheless.

Your pussy will occasionally flutter around him, which'll earn a soft sigh from his lips.

You place a soft kiss on his temple before straightening your back to look at his face. "You tryin' to make sure your seed takes or something'?" You murmur, that teasing lilt in your voice that Joel is all too familiar with.

"Somethin' like that." He mutters into your chest, pulling you down with him to lay on the bed. "Want me to pull out?" He asks after a moment, scanning your face for any traces of displeasure.

You nestle into his chest, hooking your leg over his waist to lodge him deeper inside. "Never."

You and Joel fuck all day, all night and even into the morning. With, of course, breaks in between so Joel can recharge his stamina.

It happens multiple times in your bed, in the shower, on the couch, in the hallway, and even in the kitchen come morning.

Joel was making coffee while you were traipsing around with just his flannel on—humming along to some made-up song. It was like you two were an old married couple; him hovering over the moka pot and you scowering the fridge for some breakfast.

"Blueberry pancakes orrrr...." Joel watches as your head is stuck in the fridge, trying to find ingredients for meals. "Blueberry pancakes."

He snorts. "Surprise me." He huffs sarcastically, knowing he'd be eating a plate of blueberry pancakes.

You grinned and started making the batch, feeling Joel's eyes all over you because of the way his flannel was slipping off your shoulder because it was far too big on you.

His stare was turning you on—so you just bent yourself over the cool surface of the countertop and Joel did the rest.

Eventually, your safari of fun had to stop sometime during lunch. You both had succesfully cleaned yourselves and had started dressing for the day.

"I just told Maria I'd help set up." You murmur distractedly, tying your hair up in the bathroom mirror. Maria was holding a little town party in one of the recreational centers, and asked you, as well as some others to help her with the decorations.

There's a pause before Joel steps into the tiny bathroom, situating himself behind you and sliding his large hand over your stomach. He places a soft kiss to your head before dropping his hands to softly squeeze your hips.

"I'll walk you there."

A beat.

"You will?" He nods in confirmation, which has you turning around to look at him. You smile and tilt your head playfully. "You gonna walk me to first period too?"

Joel immediately rolls his eyes and scoffs, though you swear you can see him smirk.

"Smartass." He huffs out, grabbing your forearms to move you out of the way.

"Kidding." You chime, leaning on your tip toes to kiss his cheek. You weren't sure why you were so surprised by his offer, but you could tell it was a sign of something.

Maybe he wasn't stressed about people finding out about you two anymore. He never said that he was—but you could tell.

And it wasn't like he was embarrassed of you or anything—he's just always been a private person. It wasn't anyone's business who he was falling asleep next to every night.

But you—he'd be willing to change that for you.

When you both are ready, you exit your house, locking the door behind you. You look up to see your neighbor watching as you and Joel descend your porch steps.

You never liked her—gossipy woman who was always sticking her nose in places it didn't belong.

Quickly, your gaze snaps to his face, wanting to see if he was okay or anxious or whatever it may be.

But Joel's just looking right back down at you. "Lead the way, pretty lady." He murmurs lowly, his jaw clenched but his eyes soft.

You smile, and fall into step with him as you both walk down the sidewalk. The birds are chirping, the breeze feels amazing, and Joel is cracking smiles at your jokes.

Life felt good again.

Suddenly, Tommy appears out of nowhere, as he often does, blocking you and Joel's path.

You freeze, trying to keep a neutral face. You still weren't sure how to act around people with Joel, so you were just planning to play if off like you guys were just two buddies walking or whatever.

"Hey," Tommy greets, looking at you and then Joel, his eyebrows pinched together like he was confused at seeing the two of you in the same vicinity.

Oh. He probably knew what happened, or bits and pieces of it.

For some reason, you feel anxious that Joel might be feeling anxious, so you look down at your feet and nervously fidget with your hands.

"What're you two doin'?" Tommy asks, a detective look in his eyes as he shifted on his feet.

Joel clears his throat before looking down and grabbing your hand, intertwining your fingers with his calloused grip. He can't help but glare at Tommy with a stern face, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

Your breath catches.

Tommy's eyes venture down to your joined hands, then you, then Joel.

After a beat, a sharp and knowing grin spreads across his face.

"Well I'll be damned." THE END.

[dukeofriven]

Posts like these remind me of the time Bill Nye's 'show for adults' did an episode on why people don't like GMOs. After Bill amused himself and his braying audience by mocking some strangers who were just trying to buy vegetables at a farmer's market for not being able to articulate the science of why they didn't like GMOs, he brought Monsanto's CTO on to his show to shill for the wonder of buying Monstanto projects. Bill Nye was dead to me from that moment on, it was utterly sickening. Anyone who knows a thing about agriculture knows the harm Monsanto has done to farmers - the sheer capitalistic evil and legislative bludgeon that patenting seeds has created for the world, and it reflect a particularly repugnant form of intellectual smugness that identifies very real, very present distrust of mega-corporations and capitalist consumerism, and narrows it into a wretched 'lol everything is made of chemicals, dumbass' bit of self-congratualtory waffle. Acting like what Monsanto does and what Norman Borlaug did as equivalent is vile. In a word: you're not better the other people because you did better at high school chemistry and it doesn't make you special. The average consumer may not be able to particularly put a finger on what it is about the long and deliberately disingenuous ingredients lists of sodas or potato chips they find unnerving, but they are completely correct to mistrust it. Capitalist food production does not, in any way, have your best interests at heart, it never has, and we've had decades of fact finding that they have prioritized addiction over nutrition every time. These are the people who responded to the clarion call for more healthy options with 'salads' that came with dressing that contained more sugars than anything else on their menu - and that's not even to touch on these so-called organic companies who equally prey on people with misleading and false health claims. It really, really does not matter that the average person doesn't know the difference between seven different grab bags of Greek and Latin root words when they are correct in being mistrustful of living off of products of multinational mega-corps, and if you'd rather mock people for their ignorance than the corporations exploiting that ignorance, you are part of the problem.

"ingredients you can pronounce" "all natural" "organic" "no chemicals"

[redwinterroses]

muddling on some differences between dsmp fic and hermitcraft fic today and just...

have you ever noticed how much BIGGER the world is in dsmp fics? Like, even in totally in-universe fics that happen in the span of canon events, there will be townspeople, visits to neighboring villages, extra NPCs (some that even cross stories -- possibly from the source material? sorry, I've only ever really explored dsmp stuff via fic) and discussions of large groups of people.

Then, with HC/Life Series/etc, it's usually like... just them. Obviously that makes sense in the Life Series, unless it's hugely AU, but with the hermits -- like, bruh, they build cities and villages and apartment complexes and factories staffed with workers but fics generally still tend to treat hermits like... well, hermits. A small group of people living in near or complete seclusion.

There are exceptions -- ParanoidPugs' "Of Wings and Watchers" series comes to mind, with its populated "world hubs" and servers treated almost like different planets -- but for the most part, non-AU Hermit fic usually tends to forego large numbers of NPCs or populated urban areas. Meanwhile dsmp fic often has characters visiting villages, interacting with non-player citizens of l'Manburg, having large faceless casts of soldiers and court nobles, etc.

Genuinely, I think most of it simply spawns from the heavy-RP nature of the dsmp (which makes it feel like a separate fantasy world) vs. the more "we're just a bunch of folks playing a game together" vibe that Hermitcraft often has. But I think it's an interesting fandom-culture thing and would love to hear if anyone has any other thoughts on it.

[itsgiovanna]

playing for love (chapter 3)

pairing: fem!character x mason mount

summary: injured and lost, mason mount begins his recovery with the help of adeline alderidge, a tough yet brilliant physiotherapist with secrets of her own. he becomes determined to break through the walls adeline has built around herself. but some wounds don’t heal easily, and the closer they get, the more mason realizes she might need saving just as much as he does.

notes: i'm so happy so many people are enjoying!!! really, it means the world. here's another one to cheer you up and thank you 🤍 :)

word count: 3.2k

warnings: cursing, angst.

teaser |chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 (soon)

Adeline sat at the small wooden table in her living room, her laptop open in front of her, a notebook filled with scribbled notes and a half-empty cup of coffee she’d long forgotten. The morning light filtered through the window, casting a soft-glow over the space, but her attention was fixed solely on the screen.

She had worked with athletes before — semi-professionals — but never someone of his level.

A Premier League footballer. An England international.

This was different. The stakes are higher, the expectations heavier, and Mason? He wasn’t making things any easier.

She tapped the end of her pen against her notebook, exhaling slowly. Mason Mount was guarded. Irritable. Completely uninterested in her presence. Not that she expected him to be overjoyed about working with a physiotherapist — especially one who had been assigned to him rather than chosen — but the coldness in his eyes, the short responses, the way he made it clear he wanted nothing to do with this whole process… It didn’t exactly set a promising journey.

Adeline had learned to navigate stubborn patients before. But, Mason Mount? He was a whole different kind of challenge.

A sudden giggle pulled her out of her thoughts.

On the floor, just by the couch, Lilith sat cross-legged with her stuffed animals spread around her in an organized mess. She was speaking in a serious voice, clearly in the middle of a conversation between her toys.

“No, Teddy, you can’t eat all the biscuits! It’s not fair to Bunny.” she huffed, arms crossed as if truly scolding them. “We share in this house, ‘kay?”

Adeline felt her lips twitch into a small smile despite the weight pressing on her chest.

Lily. The biggest reason why this job mattered.

Her usual routine was simple: drop Lily at daycare in the morning, pick her up in the late afternoon, spend the evening together.

Her heart clenched at the thought of missing their usual evenings — cooking dinner together, bedtime stories, Lily’s constant chatter filling the flat.

She needed this opportunity. But, at what cost?

Her eyes flickered back to her screen, back to the scans of Mason’s knee. The damage was significant, but the surgery had been successful. Now, it was about getting him to trust her, to listen, to push past the frustration and actually engage with his recovery.

Her fingers tapped against the table as she read the list, then underlined the last point "step 5: slowly reintroduce movement".

Mason didn’t strike her as the patient type. He’d want to push harder, move faster, prove to himself that he wasn’t broken. That was the real battle. Not just the physical recovery — but getting him to accept that it'd take time.

She sighed, glancing at Lily, who was now making Bunny and Teddy hug it out, completely unbothered by the world around her.

Her pen was poised over the notebook, underlining key points in her notes, when she suddenly glanced at the clock. Her stomach dropped. She was late. Again.

“Shit.”

She was juggling too many things at once — her bag, Lily’s tiny backpack, her keys between her teeth — when Adeline finally swung the door open, only to freeze mid-step.

Because standing in the hallway, just locking his own door, was him.

Elliot Sinclair.

He was new to the building, had moved in a couple of months ago, and ever since, Adeline had definitely noticed him. Tall, dark-haired, built like he actually used that gym membership most people just don't mind. Always dressed effortlessly in fitted sweaters and well-tailored trousers, like he walked straight out of a magazine.

And he had this smile — like he knew exactly how good he looked but wasn’t an asshole about it.

“Morning, Adeline.” His voice was smooth, polite, just like always. His green eyes flickered down to Lily, who was hopping beside her mum, struggling to get her arms into the straps of her backpack. “And good morning to you, Miss Lily.”

“Hi, Mr. Elliot!” Lily beamed, finally getting the backpack on and standing up straight, proud of herself.

“That’s quite the bag you’ve got there. Off to save the world?” Elliot chuckled.

Lily gasped, as if she’d been caught in a secret mission. “How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.” He winked.

Adeline cleared her throat, clutching Lily’s tiny hand in hers.

“Morning, Elliot. You heading out?”

“Yeah, work calls.” He lifted the leather briefcase in his hand, his watch catching the light. “And you? Big day ahead?”

Adeline hesitated, not quite sure why she suddenly felt… nervous.

She spoke to people all the time. This was normal.

But something about the way he looked at her — genuinely interested, not just asking for the sake of politeness — made her stomach flip.

“Uh, yeah. First session with a new patient today.” she answered, shifting the weight of her bag on her shoulder.

“Physiotherapy, right?” Elliot nodded, intrigued.

“Yes.”

“Must be rewarding.” he said, eyes warm. “Helping people get back on their feet.”

Adeline blinked. Most people didn’t really say things like that. They either assumed she did massages all day or made some joke about her working with sweaty guys.

But Elliot… he actually seemed to get it.

She cleared her throat again, feeling the heat creep up her neck. “There’s a mix of highs and lows.” But, before Elliot could say more, a known voice cut through the hallway.

“Well, hello.” Adeline groaned before even turning around. She strolled down the hall, coffee cup in one hand.

Stella.

“Oh, Ady.” she drawled, stopping beside her with a dramatic sigh. “You never told me you had such a fit neighbor.”

Adeline wanted to die. Right there. On the spot.

“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.” Elliot chuckled.

“You should.” Stella replied, giving him a once-over that was far too obvious.

Adeline needed this moment to end. Immediately.

“Well, we should go.” she rushed out, gripping Lily’s hand a little tighter. “We’re already late.”

“Right. Have a good day, both of you.” Elliot smiled.

“You too, Elliot.” Adeline muttered before practically dragging Stella towards the lift.

The moment the doors closed, Stella burst into laughter.

“God, Adeline. You like him.”

“What? No, I don’t.”

“You so do.”

“Can we not?” Adeline groaned, pressing the button for the ground floor.

“Are you kidding? He’s gorgeous. Tall, dark, polite, successful — what’s his deal? Lawyer? Architect?”

“I don’t know. Finance, maybe?” Adeline shrugged. “He’s always in suits.”

“Oh, even better. A rich, hot neighbor? Babe, this is prime romance novel material.”

“Stella.”

“Adeline.”

Adeline sighed, praying for patience.

Stella just smirked. “Alright, fine, I’ll leave it — for now. But, one day you’re gonna admit I was right.”

Adeline rolled her eyes. Like that would ever happen.

“Now, let’s talk about something far more important,” Stella continued. “I’m taking Lily today, and before you argue — yes, you need me to, and yes, you’re going to accept it.”

And just like that, the conversation smoothly transitioned to Stella’s plan to help with Lilith.

But no matter how much Adeline focused on her friend’s words, she couldn’t quite shake the way Elliot had looked at her.

(...)

Mason sat on the edge of his bed, the TV droning on in the background. He wasn’t really watching, just trying to drown out the mess of thoughts in his head. The injury, the disappointment, the endless pressure. His leg was still sore, the heavy weight of frustration pressing down on him.

A sports program came on, the ESPN logo flashing across the screen. Mason’s eyes drifted lazily to the TV as the host started talking about him.

"Mason Mount, still struggling to make an impact at Manchester United after his move from Chelsea. Following a difficult start to the season, and now, a injury that’s going to keep him sidelined for a while, the question is: can he come back from this?"

The words hit him like a slap. He could feel his blood boil as they moved onto clips of his missed shots, his poor performances. The commentator, as usual, was so eager to make it sound worse than it was.

"Come on..." Mason muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the remote.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. With a grunt, he hurled the remote across the room, the clattering sound echoing off the walls as it hit the floor. His chest was tight, his anger bubbling up, and he hated that this was how it was playing out. He wasn’t supposed to be in this situation.

The door creaked open just as he leaned back against his pillows, still seething.

“Mate, you alright?” Ben’s voice broke through the silence, and Mason looked up to see his two best friends, Ben and Declan, standing in the doorway.

Ben grinned, looking around the room. “What, did you lose a fight with your remote or something?”

Mason couldn’t help the small huff of laughter that escaped him. “I’m fine.” he muttered.

“Sure you are, mate.” Ben said, tossing a sideways glance at Declan. “We just thought we’d swing by before practice. Check in on the walking wounded.”

“How’s it going, mate?” Declan gave him a quick, sympathetic smile, his hands in his pockets.

“Not great.” Mason replied honestly, rubbing his eyes. “It’s been a hell of a couple of days.” Ben flopped down into a chair, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

“We’ve been planning a trip, actually.” he said, leaning forward, clearly excited. “Something to take our minds off football. Thought we’d do a lads’ weekend in a couple of months, when you're good to go. Get away from the madness for a bit.”

“Yeah, somewhere warm, maybe a beach. You’ll be back on your feet by then, no problem.” Declan joined in.

“I hope so, but we’ll see.” Mason leaned back in the bed, his eyes scanning the ceiling.

“We’ve all agreed, you’re coming. No excuses.” Ben shot him a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah.” Mason replied, trying to smile. “If I can even walk by then.”

“You’ll be fine. You’ve got this.” Declan gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Just as Mason was about to respond, the door opened again, and Adeline stepped into the room. Her presence immediately changed the atmosphere, her calm demeanor cutting through the tension.

Ben, always the cheeky one, didn’t waste a second. He stood up, flashing her a grin.

“Oh, I see… this is her, huh? The one who’s gonna fix our mate up.”

“I’m here to help, yes.” Adeline raised an eyebrow, her cool expression not missing a beat.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Declan.” Declan, ever the polite one, extended his hand with a warm smile.

Ben, on the other hand, gave a small wink as he took a step closer.

“Ben. Good luck with this one, Adeline.” he said, his grin teasing, though there was a hint of genuine admiration in his voice. “He’s a tough one.”

“Nice to meet you both, boys.”

Mason rolled his eyes slightly, already bracing himself for whatever would come next. His mates were clearly a bit too comfortable.

“Alright, well, I think it’s time to get to work.” Adeline said, glancing back at Mason. “Shall we start?”

Ben leaned in toward Mason with a wink. “Good luck, mate. We’ll leave you in her capable hands.”

“Yeah, take care of him.” Declan said, nodding seriously. “Catch you later.”

The door closed behind them, and Mason was left staring at Adeline, a mix of frustration and reluctance settling in. This wasn’t exactly how he imagined his recovery would go, but here he was. Time to face the music.

(...)

Mason sat on the edge of the treatment table, gripping the sides with both hands as he tried —really tried — to focus on the exercise Adeline had set up for him. His leg ached, the resistance band wrapped around his foot biting into his skin as he attempted another slow lift. He exhaled sharply, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

“This is pointless.” he muttered, dropping his leg back down with a huff.

Adeline, standing beside him, barely flinched at his tone. “It’s not pointless. You need to strengthen the muscles around your knee to stabilize it.”

He rolled his eyes. “I know how injuries work.”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. “Oh, do you? Because, right now, it looks like you’re giving up before you’ve even started.”

Mason clenched his jaw, glaring at her. She was pushing him, and he didn’t like it. She wasn’t one of those physiotherapists who offered sympathy or let him get away with half-arsed attempts. No, she was standing there, waiting — expecting him to do better.

“I’m not giving up.” he gritted out.

“Then prove it, Mount.” she said smoothly, adjusting the band’s tension before stepping back. “Five more repetitions, no complaints.”

He wanted to argue, to snap back with something snarky, but instead, he exhaled through his nose and lifted his leg again. The burn in his thigh was immediate, his knee stiff and uncooperative, but he pushed through. Adeline watched closely, her gaze sharp.

It was strange — he was used to people watching him, analyzing his every movement on the pitch. But this was different. He wasn’t performing, wasn’t at his best, and yet she wasn’t looking at him like he was broken. Just… fixable.

He pushed the thought aside, focusing on finishing the set.

As soon as he was done, he dropped the band with an annoyed sigh, leaning back on his palms. “There. Happy?”

Adeline checked the angle of his knee and nodded. “For now. But we’ll push further tomorrow.”

Mason groaned. “You’re relentless.”

“It’s part of my job.” She smirked.

Before he could come up with a response, her phone buzzed on the table beside her. She grabbed it quickly, glancing at the screen before stepping away to answer.

Mason wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but the room was quiet enough that he could hear the soft tone of her voice. Whoever was on the other end, they were clearly important.

“No, it’s alright, darling.” Adeline said, her voice dropping slightly. “I’ll be there later. Don’t worry, everything’s fine.”

There was a pause. A softness in her expression that Mason hadn’t seen before.

She hung up and turned back around, slipping her phone into her pocket like nothing had happened.

“Is everything ok?” Mason raised an eyebrow.

“Just sorting a few things.” Adeline shrugged.

He eyed her for a moment, something about the way she deflected making him curious. But he wasn’t about to pry. Not yet, anyway.

“Well.” She said briskly, checking her watch. “That’s enough for today. You did alright.”

He scoffed. “Alright?”

“Considering you acted like a sloppy teenager, I’d say it was a decent effort.” She smirked.

“Cheers for that.” Mason let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

Adeline only smiled, grabbing her notebook and writing down something down before stepping towards the door.

“See you tomorrow, Mount.” she called over her shoulder.

Mason watched her go, his mind still stuck on that phone call. There was something she wasn’t saying. But then again, he barely knew her. It wasn’t like she owed him an explanation.

Still, as he ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the clock, he realized something.

The sessions weren’t getting any easier. But for the first time since the injury, he wasn’t just dreading them — he was thinking about them.

About her.

And that was unfamiliar territory.

(...)

The flat was quiet when Adeline stepped inside, the kind of silence that settled deep, reminding her of what she had missed. She dropped her bag by the door, exhaling as she toed off her shoes. The warm glow of the small lamp in the living room was the only source of light, casting soft shadows on the walls.

Stella was curled up on the couch, scrolling through her phone, but at the sound of Adeline’s arrival, she looked up with a small smile.

“She tried to wait for you.” Stella said gently, tilting her head towards Lilith’s room. “But her little eyes kept shutting, poor thing.”

“What time did she fall asleep?” Adeline’s chest tightened.

“About half an hour ago.” Stella replied, standing and stretching. “She kept asking if you’d be back soon. I told her you were working hard, but you know how she is.”

Adeline swallowed the lump in her throat. She wanted to see Lilith, to wake her up just for a moment — to press a kiss to her chubby little cheek and whisper apologies into her curls. But she knew better. Lily needed her sleep. And that only made the guilt feel heavier.

“I hate this, Ella.” She sighed, running a hand through her hair.

“I know you do.” Her friend gave her a knowing look.

“I feel like I’m barely seeing her. What’s the point of doing all this if I can’t even be here for her?” Adeline lowered herself onto the couch, rubbing her face.

“You are doing it for her, Ady. This job means better opportunities, more stability. And you’re not alone. I’m here. Lilith is happy, she’s loved. She’s not going to resent you for working hard.”

Stella sat down beside her, nudging her shoulder.

But that didn’t stop the ghosts from creeping in. The voices from her past saying that she’d ruined her life by keeping Lilith.

"You’ll never manage."

The memory of her father’s cold stare. Her mother’s disappointment. The way they turned their backs on her the moment she decided to raise her daughter alone.

"You won’t be able to do this. You’ll fail. That little girl deserves better than you."

Her throat tightened, her fingers curling into the fabric of her jeans.

“Adeline.” Stella’s voice pulled her back, gentle but firm. “You’re an amazing mom.”

“Sometimes, I don’t feel like one.” Adeline forced a breath, blinking rapidly before turning to her friend.

“Because you’re exhausted. But trust me, Lily adores you. And when she wakes up, you’ll still be her favorite person in the world.”

Adeline nodded, though the weight in her chest didn’t lift.

Stella patted her knee before standing up, grabbing her coat. “Alright, I should get going. I'll wake up early tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Adeline murmured, standing to walk her to the door.

“Always.” Stella shot her a wink. “Oh, and by the way… I still think you should try and have a bit of fun outside of work. That neighbor of yours? Very easy on the eyes.”

Adeline let out a soft, tired laugh, shaking her head. “Go home, Stella.”

“Fine, fine." Stella grinned. "But you should think about it. You deserve something good, babes.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving Adeline alone in the quiet once again.

She glanced towards Lilith’s door, contemplating sneaking in just for a moment. But instead, she walked to her own room, changing into something comfortable before slipping beneath the covers.

She had a long day ahead tomorrow.

(...)

[pleasantspark]

GAH! WHY THE FUCK CAN'T I COMMENT OR REBLOOOG ON THE NEO-NAZI POST!?!!?!

Well you guys did it, you have restricted my replies to EVERYTHING. Shitting up and sperging and defending blatant neo-nazi rhetoric and shitting up my comments with your complaints ruined any sort of productive conversation.

Instead it resulted in defending or blantly disregarding the seriousness of Shota and Loli and all and all being a spectacle and disrespecting my main wish of not forcing me to repeat myself.

I will clarify.

She has not responded to the allegations and she did TWICE and defended that behavior

If you think its fine because its a character in the movie, and try to pull the "South Park DID IT DEFENSE." you're a idiot, because Viv isn't South Park nor the levels of Sasague Party, she's supposedly a staunch supporter of POC and LGBTQ+ Rights but drew shit that goes against it, thus making her a hypocrite

If you wanted to debate bro me, do it to where you're not adhomeiem me nigga seriously, I am a BLACK POC and I find it annoying most of y'all act brand new because of a accusation she can debunk.

Kiss my ass

VivziePop is never gonna answe, because she already implied her fans were neo-nazis and if she were to address it now, it's too little too late.

She defended the subhuman tweet as them being "exhausted of criticism." Ah yes, because I am exhausted of people saying Cell x Orion is shit so I like a tweet calling an entire group of people from different walks of life (including Jewish heritage) a term that Nazi's used. That's completely fine!!!1!!!

I am only accepting asks for Dragon Ball now, because two people have ruined my day and misconstrued every single point, if you really think she's not a neo-nazi ask her to respond, do it and come back to my profile.

You can still reblog from me but reblogging to start shit or inboxing me to start shit will result in a full scale call out once again starting an infight I am fucking done bringing assessments to a table and having the knee jerk response times of a people who consider these statements and drawings as fine or not enough, y'all niggas need to settle the fuck down and understand that these are allegations and not fucking claims.

Comments are restricted to mutuals and I hope KiwiFarms sees this SHIT. Because I am READY for the Critical Community to get a fucking thread.

Y'all have become an oboros of constant sperging and harassment to the point y'all wanna harass others who try and claim their sides or downright harass others for their involvement with another creator you don't like, you need to all grow the fuck up and block one another.

I am welcoming to this thread because everyone wanna claim I am a POS for one singluar fucking post, this is why I hate this community and I rather die then justifying my claims, she's a fucking neo-nazi and I'd kill myself on this hill for that, she's never gonna change and you need to accept that, instead of living in lala world.

Sorry if I am mad, it's just that those shitting up comment threads been going on for three days with no end.

I am done giving the benefit of the doubt, so if you wanna talk to me about DBZ go ahead, but for now only mutuals can mention and comment, do not drag me into infighting circles or talk shit about me to other critics because you got mad I called a racist and general transphobic woman a neo-nazi. Grow some pairs and learn to grow the fuck up.

I'm leaving this for you guys.

[autism-autobot]

Jing just wants his son to be happy 😭

Nezha’s out and proud! Even if jing may not completely understand, Nezha’s comfortable with who he is and how he lives. And honestly the way he explained his relationship to jing is just so wholesome. 🥺

Makes you wonder if their love sparks a desire for Jing to also have a partner 👀 (jkjk)

(Also i noticed how much Jing seems to emphasize that he loves Nezha. Guess the world nearly ending makes you realize how dumb pride is eh?)

I have a habit of projecting onto Nezha, so I gave him one thing I've always wanted but never had the chance to have: a parent that's safe to come out to and is supportive.

And yeah, the world nearly ending will show you what's really important (for some people).

Everyone ought to have someone to go through life with; Wukong has Nezha, DBK has PIF, and Sandy has Mo. That relationship can be very different depending on who it is and what they want from a partner, and if Jing ever wants one, maybe he'll get one, but who knows who or how that'll play out. If it happens, it likely won't be featured in FloaPS.

Masterpost

[creature-wizard]

Found some stories from people who realized their SRA/repressed memory therapists were a bunch of quacks. Lots of CWs for talk of severe abuse and some occasional disturbing activities. If you can stomach it, it's worth a read because it shows just how bad these therapists could get with malpractice and quackery. If you don't want to read the whole thing, here's some key takeaways:

Many therapists just decided their patients had repressed memories. The patients were not allowed to question or disagree with this. The therapists basically flexed their professional authority and told them they were just in denial. Former patient Deborah David described her own experience as being like constantly told that she had once seen a bear climbing a candy cane, told that other people had seen bears on candy canes, and constantly being asked leading questions about her experiences with bears on candy canes, and told that she was in denial if she said she'd never seen one.

Not all patients appear to have been put under hypnosis, but the therapists' insistence that terrible things must have happened to them and their insistence that the only way to heal was to "remember" all of it basically had a number of patients just imagining up all the horrible scenarios they could think of. Former patient Laura Pasley realized after getting out that a number of her "memories" actually came from the book Sybil, the movie Deranged, and from a story she'd written when she was seventeen.

(Worth noting here that a study showed that people who believe they have past lives are more likely to forget where they learned information. It would make a lot of sense if many people who "remembered" SRA under therapists like these have the same issue.)

Many patients were told that their bodies stored memory of this alleged repressed trauma, and any physical sensation they felt was a "body memory" surfacing. So for a hypothetical example, someone who experienced an aching ankle might be told that this is their body "remembering" parental abuse. A patient might imagine a scenario where a parent broke their ankle, and the therapist would treat this as a "recovered" memory.

A number of patients were diagnosed with MPD (as it was called at the time) regardless of whether they initially showed any symptoms. Patients were pushed into "uncovering" these alters that allegedly remembered all the abuse. One patient (Robert Wilson) actually began acting out the alters his therapist told him he had outside of the therapist's office, in some very harmful and destructive ways. (CW for prostitution and animal death if you want to read his story.)

Another patient (Nell Charette) said that while her therapy was ongoing, she had "eight different people telling [her] what to do."

Another patient (Susan) reports:

I mapped an elaborate system, virtually every emotional state or conflicting world view was an alter, plus the male protector and little girl and little boy that went with it. There were sets of 12 for every ego state, complete with names. In the end, I had about 200 "alters." ... Now along with all these alters is the question of how did they get here? Now, we've all heard the story that you can't be this way without severe, repeated, sexual or physical trauma from before you were 5. I'm really pissed about this part, because look how they did this: 1. Your symptoms mean you have MPD, the first step to getting better is to admit this. There is no other thing this could be; if it walks like a duck it's a duck. 2. Since you have MPD, you had to have been sexually/physically/ritually abused. There is no other way you could have this, so you need to admit it to get better. 3. You have to bring these "memories" forward to get better.

This confirms exactly what I've been saying for months: that the mythology of SRA and Project Monarch-type alter programming permits any uncomfortable feeling, any unwanted impulse, and any conflicting beliefs to be attributed to an alter, and therefore to trauma-based mind control, extreme abuse, or whatever you want to call it.

Robert's unfortunate case also confirms that if you go telling a sufficiently unstable person that they have certain alters that do certain things, they will effectively develop them. (This is why convincing a child that they might have a prostitute alter is not only unethical, but also incredibly dangerous!)

If you try and make yourself uncover certain alters, or if someone convinces you that you have them, you will almost certainly "find" them. The simple act of imagining an alter can be enough to make your brain start generating one, or at least something that resembles one close enough to convince people like these therapists.

Many of these former patients describe their mental health deteriorating as their "therapy" progressed. Many who came in without severe issues were completely dysfunctional by the time they left, and if they did have issues when they started, they were exacerbated. This was treated as a part of the healing process, with patients being told that "you have to get worse before you get better" and "the only way out is through."

As retractor Stephanie Krauss put it:

They get hold of this impressive-sounding theory and it goes through some metamorphosis in their minds and is transformed into fact. Then they go treat patients with this new information that only causes more havoc in the lives of persons with normal problems. They have this zeal to treat a disorder that doesn't even exist-at least, not until after treatment starts, and that's when the suffering really begins.

I know brainwashing techniques, and what these people experienced was 100% brainwashing. Each patient had their very sense of self torn apart and each was led to believe that they couldn't trust their own minds. They were led to believe that they had a serious problem that only the therapist - the one with all the power - could fix. They were only "healing" when they complied with the therapist's desires. They were told to cut off anyone who challenged the therapist's narrative.

In other words, the real programmers, the real practitioners of mind control, were the therapists.

[non-un-topo]

Slept on it and I'm actually still a little pissed at the girl(s) in my class yesterday who kept misgendering me and obviously had no idea what a pronoun was even after I explained mine very kindly and casually, because tbh it was embarrassing for me. And kudos to my prof who also couldn't care less. Let's hope today's class goes better.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

winston my quant of billions

[tiffanybluesclues]

Every week someone makes a post about how annoying it is that Dick Grayson fans don't acknowledge his flaws, and every week someone replies with an explanation that the flaws OP listed are entirely fanon and inconsistent with canon as it actually happened and at this point I have to assume that none of those explanations are ever going to stick because clearly some people just want the fanon to be true.

Anyway, I'm just putting this here for me to edit and add relevant-to-the-topic links later so I'll have them nicely at hand to read and sooth my frustrations when it gets real bad out there. (Echo chambers are good when we use them to drown out character mischaracterizing fanon.)

[swagging-back-to]

call me crazy but i wish we saw even more of katniss grieving prim.

i dont think ive finished the second Mockingjay book, but in the movie esp it feels like 'the sister i sacrificed EVERYTHING to save was blown up and burnt to a crisp in front of me. im kinda sad, ig. im way more excited to get knocked up and have that baby tho!!!!!!!!!!!!'

[vigilskeep]

Whenever I think about your Keir I think about Bethany telling Anders he reminds her of Malcom. I’m sure that won’t ever affect Keir ever.

bethany is my favourite mage bc she never misses with that psychic damage

but really he and anders aren’t even a thing in act 1 so it’s less like “PLEASE stop comparing my crush to our father” and more like “oh fuck off i spend my entire life trying to act like our dad and one (1) mage rolls up and suddenly he’s dad??”

[basofy]

i feel a little bad remembering how in my mother days there was this rly common perception of thinking 'well lucas would be so pessimistic after what happened and he would hate flint cuz he sucks and he would hate everything!!' and i would believe it just cuz i was still relearning a lot of things i didnt know if that was what i was supposed to think but it always felt like people who saw things this way wanted to force others to do too

[arolesbianism]

Finallly got around to properly designing Demonstrator! She’s silly

[phoenixcatch7]

Always interesting to see how each fandom handles death and justified violence, because it varies a lot more than you might expect.

Some take it more seriously, for some it's barely a thought, some don't really care if a character is a murderer. Basically no one gets legally punished for murder, like, EVER. Or legally punished for much of anything. When you see it you can't unsee it! So many characters should be spending at least a few months in prison!!

I gotta say, though, if I had to make a list? When it comes to understanding mortality and grief and guilt, death and its consequences for the survivors, I don't think I've ever seen a better fandom than Final fantasy 7.

This is in strong contrast to my experience with Game of thrones, whose fandom will brutally and viciously kill off named and main characters by the dozen without batting an eyelid.

It seems to be a combination of canon's death rates and in universe morality, that particular fandom quirk that inverts the happiness of its source material, but most importantly The Implications. You'll have seen this with horror games, you'll have seen this with comedies. It is FAR from guaranteed that a fandom will carry the same tones as its canon (just look at Danny Phantom 🤭).

What other fandoms have wildly varying tones?

[harrowharkwife]

i am SO fucking exhausted by mainstream media opinions lately and i don't understand why they're frequently SO different from my own? like i genuinely don't think i am approaching anything from that unique of a perspective as a viewer? maybe it's just that i'm too easy to please when it comes to stories or something but like. how is the mainstream, widely accepted consensus on yellowjackets season 2 is that it's "bad" and "doesn't work as a season" and is "riddled with problems." literally what the fuck are you talking about. this is the most fun i have had watching television uhhhhh literally Ever? you're telling me people hated Burial? how? why? like i don't...i just don't GET it. and i'm not playing dumb for kicks here im like genuinely honest to god confused. that was the single best episode of television I've ever watched in my life. like i get that people have different opinions about things and that's fine but HOW am i in the minority here what am i missing