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visceravalentines · 2 years ago

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Medium Distance

A Gentleman and a Scoundrel, Chapter 6

Dilf Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

6.4k. Smut & drama. Some angst (I know I know, you'll be okay, he just cares about you so much baby girl). Bo's shitty attitude makes an appearance and he snaps at Reader. Oral (Fem!receiving), PnV sex. So soft and tender near the end omg. Bittersweet ending (this is NOT the final update!).

The time has come for you to go back to college. Bo does his best to be supportive. Unfortunately, his best in this case is not very good.

For you, a return to campus for the start of a new semester was bittersweet. It meant new classes, new routines, the combined relief and anxiety of a return to independence. It would be exciting for a week if you were lucky, and then the mundanity of homework and midterms would set back in for another four months.

For your parents, it was merely the change of the seasons. With you out of the nest, they had become snowbirds, spending most of the fall and winter months on a beach or a boat. In fact, they had left for Cancun last week. They no longer felt the need for tearful goodbyes, knew you were capable of packing yourself up, moving yourself in. Adults all around.

As far as Bo was concerned, it may as well have been your last day on earth. He was so anxious you would’ve thought he was the one moving 200 miles away. For the last few days he had hardly let you out of his sight, staying over every night, sleeping pressed tightly against you in your childhood bed. Truth be told, it melted your heart, the way he followed you around like a puppy as you packed up your things.

“I think that’s everything,” you said as you locked the front door of your parents’ house.

“Y’didn’t forget anything at my place, did ya?”

“No, I’m leaving a bunch of stuff there, remember?” He hmmed in response, hands on his hips. “Even if I forget something, it’s okay. I’ll be up here in two weeks and I can get it then.”

“Well what if you need it?”

You slipped your arms around his waist. “Then I guess you’ll just have to bring it down to me right away.”

That almost got a smile out of him, but only almost. He appraised the mountain of your belongings packed securely in the bed of his truck. “Y’sure that’s everything? Thought you had more shit.”

You smiled up at him. “This is not my first rodeo. It’s like, my seventh. I promise, we’re good to go.”

He sighed. “If you say so, darlin’. Just lemme check the hitch real quick and then we can go.”

Rather than letting you drive your car down, he insisted on towing the damn thing behind his truck. He had already checked the trailer hitch at least once if not twice. If it gave him some sense of control over the situation, you supposed you could humor him.

You meandered over to the driver’s side and leaned against the door. When he was absolutely sure the hitch was secure, he came around the side of the truck, frowned when he saw you.

“What d’you think you’re doin’, baby girl?”

“Figured I’d drive down since you’re going to have to drive back,” you said.

He snorted. “Oh, y’got jokes now?” You grinned and he swatted at you. “Get your ass in the passenger’s seat.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bo shot you a glare and you scurried away around the front of the truck.

His hand was on your leg before you’d even left the driveway. You put your hand on top of his, fingertips caressing the scars on his wrist. He turned a faint smile in your direction; said nothing. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet all morning.

For the last couple weeks, he had pestered you with questions, made you recount your weekly schedule to him five times, insisted you provide him with the names and numbers of your roommate and a few other friends. You talked about visiting each other on the weekends, phone calls in the evenings, meeting somewhere in the middle. To be sure, it would be an adjustment, but he seemed to be handling the transition as well as could be expected.

However, the silence in the truck this morning was stifling, taking up all the extra space in the cab. You glanced at him a few times. He did not look back at you, eyes fixed firmly on the road. Once he pulled onto the freeway, he turned on the radio at a volume that was not conducive to conversation. You chewed your lip and decided let him be for a while. It was a long drive; he couldn’t ice you out forever.

“We could stop for lunch at that cute place by the river,” you said when you couldn’t bear the tension any longer. “Maybe walk around a little bit?”

“Sounds good, baby girl."

You frowned. He sounded apathetic. "I thought maybe I could take you around campus after we unload. Show you a couple of my favorite places," you tried.

"Whatever you want."

He seemed detached. “You okay?” you asked.

“’M just fine, darlin’.” He squeezed your leg.

Evidently this was not the case. “Do you…want to talk about it?”

“No I do not, thank you.” The sharpness of his tone surprised you. He was never short with you. You watched as he took his hand off your leg to turn the radio up.

You frowned. “Bo.”

He turned the radio up two more clicks.

You sat up straight, turned it off. “Bo.”

“Don’t touch my radio while I’m drivin’, girl,” he snapped. He turned it back on.

You stared at him, taken aback. “Are you upset with me?” you asked loudly over the wail of Bon Jovi. He hated Bon Jovi; he wasn’t even listening to the damn radio.

“’M not upset with you.”

“Well then will you please just talk to me?”

He didn’t respond.

You smashed the power button on the radio with more force than intended. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“We’re not fightin’.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. It sure felt like you were fighting. The two of you had never fought before. He didn’t turn the radio back on, but he didn’t say anything either. You folded your hands in your lap and looked out the window.

You knew today was going to be hard, but you’d expected a sort of mutual sadness, not this abrupt hostility. You couldn’t fathom why he was lashing out at you; as far as you knew, he approved of you going back to school.

A defensive sort of anger flared in your chest. Whether he approved or not, it’s what you were doing. You weren’t about to abandon three years’ worth of hard work just because he didn’t want to have to drive a few hours to see you.

If he wanted to pass the next ninety minutes in animosity, that was fine with you. You reached over and turned the radio back on, scrolled the volume up even higher for emphasis, crossed your arms over your chest. He shot you a glance; you ignored him.

Streetlights flew by. Bo was taking his aggravation out on the gas pedal. The damn radio was so loud your ears were ringing. The fight went out of you fast. This was not how you wanted to spend this drive, this last day together for the next two weeks, this time with him that was now a precious commodity.

You looked over at him. His expression was blank. It hurt to know he was hurting. There wasn’t much you could do to fix it, but you badly wanted to try.

“Hey,” you said too softly to be heard above the music. Your fingers found the dial and turned the radio way down. “Hey, Bo.”

“Yes, darlin’,” he said, eyes on the road.

“Would you look at me please?”

He obliged, and his mask of stoicism slipped into a guilty expression at the forlorn look on your face.

All the sudden your throat was thick, eyes stinging. “Can you pull over?”

He did, and you stared twin holes in the roof of the cab, refusing to cry. You felt his gaze on you as you rubbed at your tear ducts, looked down, looked outside, anywhere but at him. He was patient, waiting for you to speak first; it was so unlike him it made you feel worse.

You cleared your throat and when you spoke, your voice was almost steady. “Look, I’m sorry that I have to go.” Despite your best efforts, the tears welled up and you made a frustrated sound as the dashboard blurred. “I-I’m sorry that—”

“No no no.” You heard the sound of his seatbelt coming undone, his seat sliding backwards, and then he unfastened your seatbelt and took you by the arm and by the knee and pulled you toward him. “C’mere, baby girl, don’t cry.”

You offered no resistance, straddling his lap and burying your face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, pressed kiss after kiss to your head. “Y’got nothin’ to apologize for, sweetness, don’t do that.”

“But I am sorry, I—”

“Stop it, darlin’. I’m the one should be apologizin’ for gettin’ snippy with you.” His hold on you tightened. “’M better than that.”

You nestled into him, hands tucked beneath your chin. His heart pounded against your ear. With every deep breath your nose filled with the smell of his aftershave, the indelible musk of cigarette smoke ingrained in the fabric of his clothes beneath the scent of laundry detergent. You’d joked about bringing your laundry with you on the weekends so it would smell like his house. At least, it had been a joke. Now it seemed like a desperate and necessary way to keep him with you.

“Hey. Baby girl.” Bo nudged you, curled his finger beneath your chin to direct your gaze to him. “I’m sorry I took a tone with you. If I do that again you flip me the bird and tell me I’m makin’ an ass of myself.”

You almost smiled, sniffled instead. “I just…I thought you were okay.”

“I’m fine,” he said. You furrowed your brow and he grimaced. “Alright, I been better.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” You put your hand over his heart. “We don’t have to talk about it, I just want to know.” He started to shake his head and you stopped him with delicate fingertips on his jaw. “Bo. Please. It matters to me.”

He looked pained for a moment before he masked it with a smile not quite free of sadness. His pretty eyes flitted over the features of your face one at a time and all at once. “I want you to go. I’m excited for you, I am. ‘S just….” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Just what?” you urged.

Bo sighed, staring intently out the window. “I feel like I’m losin’ you and I just don’t know how to be alright with that.” He furrowed his brow, met your gaze with an expression bordering on desperation. “I’m tryin’, baby, I promise I am. I’ve just never been good at lettin’ go of things.”

You frowned, took hold of his face. “Bo, we talked about this.”

“I know we did.”

“You don’t have to let me go. You’re not losing me. You couldn’t.”

There it was again, that careworn look in his eyes. The one that made you feel like he knew something you didn’t. That heavy thing he held onto and wouldn’t let you see.

“Is there something you need to tell me?” you prompted gently, uncertain, not wanting to push him too far.

He said nothing, just looked at you for a long moment—too long. You searched his face, trying to transmute a growing anxiety into patience.

Finally he leaned in to kiss your forehead and said, “No, darlin’. Just wonderin’ how a grumpy ol’ fuck like me ended up with this angel right here.”

You offered a furtive smile. “You give really good head,” you said. That caught him off guard and a laugh burst from his chest. He had a smooth, booming genuine laugh and in spite of it all, it made you feel better.

“It’s going to be fine, baby,” you said, fiddling with his shirt. The fabric was soft in your fingers. “It’s just medium-distance for just a few months. We can do that.”

“We can do that,” he repeated like he was trying to convince himself.

“We’re gonna have an obscene amount of phone sex,” you reminded him. “Just a gross amount.”

“And you’re gonna show me how to use Snatchchat or whatever.”

“Fuck you’re old.”

Bo cracked a smile. “Nah I’m just playin’, I know what it’s called. C’mere.”

He pulled you close and kissed you, achingly sweet and hungry, his arms locked around you like he couldn’t bear to have you anywhere but pressed against him. “If it was up to me I’d lock you up,” he murmured. “Never let you go.”

“I know you would.”

“I mean it, baby.” He slipped his tongue in your mouth, trying to memorize your taste, squeezing the air from your lungs. “Alright, darlin',” he said breathlessly when he released your lips at last. “I think I can drive like this but you gotta stay real still.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” you said, grinding slowly against his fly. He groaned and shut his eyes. “I really don’t think I can.”

“I s’pose if we crash and die you ain’t leavin’ for college.” He leaned his head back against the seat. “Think your daddy will let ‘em bury me next to you?”

“I doubt it.”

“Damn. Ain’t worth it then.” You felt his dick flex in his jeans and he smacked your ass. “You best knock it off before I haul you outta here and bend you over the hood.”

You scoffed. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”

He chuckled, something like wonder in the way he looked at you. “Dammit, baby girl, I—” The words seemed to crowd one another in his throat and he just shook his head. “Get back in your seat, g'on.”

You kissed him one more time before disentangling yourself and struggling back into your seat. “You know, if you need me to, I could give you—”

He held up a hand to stop you. “Do not make me an offer I can’t refuse. I need you to sit there and look pretty, that’s all. You’re doin’ a great job.”

Beaming at him, you buckled up and switched the radio back on at a civil volume as he signaled back into traffic. Bon Jovi was playing again. Bo scowled.

“Anythin’ else, please.”

Hours later, after a stop for lunch and a walk by the river and kisses not stolen but eagerly shared on the bridge, you finally reached your destination. Bo pulled up to the row of brownstone buildings on the edge of campus where your apartment was tucked away.

"This it?" he said, scrutinizing the building with a critical eye.

"This is it. We should be fine to park here for a minute. I want you to come up and see the place first."

"'S this a sketchy neighborhood?" Bo asked apprehensively.

You rolled your eyes. "No, it's fine. Come on."

“Are you sure? Looks sketchy,” he said, locking the truck.

“I’ve lived here for two years, I promise it’s fine. The building’s just old.”

He shook his head ruefully. “We had all summer. I shoulda given you a gun and taught you how to use it.”

“Jesus, Bo, I don’t need a gun.”

“Everyone needs a gun.”

“Your redneck is showing.” He swatted your ass and you squeaked. “Do you have a gun? Besides the one above the fireplace?”

He smiled grimly. “Never you mind.”

You tugged on his hand. “What kind of answer is that?”

“The only one you’re gettin’, sweetness. I don't want you comin' home late in the dark," he persisted as you led him up the steps.

"I am absolutely going to be coming home late in the dark sometimes."

"Darlin'," he said sharply.

"Bo, I can take care of myself, I promise. Look, the front door is always locked and we keep the apartment locked too." You flipped through your keyring for the right key.

Bo grabbed the handle and rattled the door. "I could break into this in thirty seconds."

"Well then it's a good thing you don't have to do that because I have a key, you animal."

You unlocked the door and flung it open. Bo caught and held it, gestured for you to go in first. You led him up one flight of stairs to your second-floor apartment halfway down the hall.

"Your roommate's name is Sammy?" Bo confirmed.

"Yeah."

"And we like her fine."

You giggled. "Yes, we like her. We've been roommates for a year. She's great."

He grunted in response. You unlocked the door but didn't open it, turned around to face him instead. "This guard dog thing you have going on is really sweet, okay? It's very sexy. But I need you to trust me a little bit. You don't have to interrogate Sammy or anyone else down here. I'm a pretty good judge of character."

Bo snorted and shook his head. "Sure, darlin'."

"Just please be nice? I know you can be nice."

“I don’t think you know shit.”

You took half a step towards him, pressing your body against his front. “Daddy,” you whined, and he snapped to attention. “If you be nice right now, maybe I’ll be nice to you later,” you said softly.

"I can be so nice," he said. He almost managed to suppress the patronizing tone.

“Prove it.” You turned away from him and opened the door. “Hey Sammy!” you said brightly as you barged in with Bo on your heels. “How was your summer?”

Sammy, a dark-haired girl sprawled on the couch in a cloud of vape smoke that reeked of cannabis, swore and scrambled to sit up straight and shove the vape under a pillow. “Dude, you didn’t tell me you were bringing your dad!”

Bo rolled his eyes and scowled as you cackled. “I didn’t, this is my boyfriend. Bo, meet Sammy.”

“Pleasure,” he said dryly.

“Oo, a foreigner,” Sammy said.

“He’s from Louisiana.”

“Where’d you guys meet, Mardi Gras?”

“We met back home over the summer. He’s, uh…a friend of my dad’s,” you said at the same time Bo grumbled, “Mardi Gras is in February.”

“That’s kinky as fuck,” Sammy said, digging the vape back out from under the pillow. “Bet your mom is thrilled.”

“My parents do not know and it’s going to stay that way so some discretion would be much appreciated,” you said.

“Gotchu.” The vape hissed. “I’m all about discretion.”

You grinned. “I’m going to show him my room and then we’re going to bring my stuff up, so don’t mind us.”

“I won’t.” Sammy flopped back on the couch, flashed a peace sign. “Nice to meet you, Mardi Gras.”

“Charmed, Samantha,” he said as he followed you down the hall. "She seems fun,” Bo muttered. “She always high off her ass?”

“Since when do you have a problem with recreational drug use?" you shot back.

"I don't, I just–"

"Maybe Sammy will give you a hit off her vape and that'll chill you out." You pushed open the door to your bedroom. “Here we are.”

The air was stale from months of stagnation, but it was comforting to be back in your own space. You watched Bo meander around the room, looking at the photos of you and your friends stuck on the wall, the knickknacks on your desk, your closet overstuffed with clothes despite the fact you had packed a full summer’s wardrobe back home with you.

“’S cute,” he said. “Nice and cozy. Feels like you.”

You wrenched the ancient window open to air the space out. “I really like it here. It’s too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter, but it’s cheap and has good parking.”

Bo came over beside you. “This window lock?”

“Yes, it locks,” you sighed.

He put his hand on the small of your back. “Just makin’ sure my baby girl’s gonna be safe without me, that’s all.”

You leaned against the windowsill and slid your arms around his waist. His brow was lined with concern and you couldn’t help but be a little touched. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“Ain’t nothin’ sweet about it,” he said. “I’d have to beat the shit outta anyone who laid a finger on you and I’m real attached to my clean criminal record.”

“You're a selfish bastard.”

“I know it, darlin’.” He kissed your lips but didn’t linger, tilting your chin delicately to the side so he could work his way down your neck.

“Once we bring some things in I can put clean sheets on the bed,” you said.

“Don’t need sheets,” Bo murmured. “Hell, don’t need a bed.”

You laughed and ran your fingers through his hair. “We do need to unload though so you can move the truck before it gets towed.”

He froze. “Before it what?”

“It’s only thirty-minute parking out front.”

“Well what the fuck are we waitin’ for?” He was out of your room so fast he all but left a cloud of dust in his wake.

The two of you made short work of carting your belongings inside and backing your car off the trailer. Unpacking could wait. Instead, you took Bo around campus and the surrounding neighborhood, pointing out your classroom buildings, the library, the patch of trees on the hill. If he couldn’t be there, if he couldn’t be a part of your everyday, you at least wanted to show him what it was like.

The tour ended at your favorite dive restaurant for dinner. By the time you walked out, the sun had begun its descent behind the trees.

Bo’s hand slipped out of yours and he paced a few steps away. He gazed down the road at the streetlights as they lit up all at once. “Well darlin’…think I better get goin’.”

You frowned, slowed to a stop, confused and caught off guard. “I thought you were staying over.”

“Yeah…thinkin’ maybe I should get home though.” He was not looking at you, looking instead at the part of your world unfamiliar to him, mouth set in a line, hands shoved in his pockets.

I feel like I’m losin’ you and I just don’t know how to be alright with that. Who was losing who?

Your heart sank. “You said you’d stay.”

He turned to you, met your sad eyes, and the furrow of his brow cracked his aloof expression. A quiet, resigned sigh slipped from his nose and he conjured up the ghost of a smile. “Dunno, y’think that bed of yours is big enough for two?” His hands found your hips and pulled you toward him. “I could sleep on the couch I guess.”

You shook your head. “Don’t be an ass. You’re staying the weekend. You said you would.”

“Did I?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes!” You thumped your hand on his chest.

Bo chuckled, wrapped you in his arms. “I know I did. Just wanted to be sure you ain’t changed your mind. I know you got a lot to get done before classes start.”

“No.” You squeezed him tightly. “Stay with me.”

“You sure?”

“Bo!”

“Alright, alright, y’got me.”

Tucked under his arm, you wandered home, clinging to him for fear he might disappear into the twilight like cigarette smoke if given half the chance.

Back at your apartment, he helped you make your bed and put away a few essentials and afterwards you curled up together in front of some early 2000s horror movie. Bo changed into sweatpants; you also changed into a pair of Bo's sweatpants. He spooned you on the couch, your back flush to his chest and his fingers moving lightly down the skin of your arms, over the curve of your thighs. His lips found the nape of your neck again and again.

"Can I help you?" you laughed as his teeth grazed your skin.

"Mm-mm," he said. "You just keep watchin' the movie."

"What about you?"

"Don't worry 'bout me, I'm entertainin' myself."

“We don’t have to watch this if you don’t want to,” you said.

“I’m perfectly happy, darlin’.” His hand snuck beneath your shirt, cupped your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple.

You arched your back and pressed your ass against his groin. "You sure, Daddy? You don't wanna go fool around a little?" You craned your neck to steal a lopsided kiss.

"I just want you to relax, baby girl. You been so busy." His fingers trailed back and forth over the exposed flesh of your stomach. After a minute, he shot you a sidelong glance. "Y'mind if I have a snack?"

"We just ate," you laughed as he sat up and scooted down the couch.

"I know, I just got a particular craving is all."

"Go for it, I don't know what we have in the pantry though."

"That's alright, me neither," Bo said as he tucked his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants and slid them and your panties all the way down your thighs in one fluid motion.

You jerked in surprise. "Baby!"

He shushed you, looping his arms under your legs and nestling in so close you felt the heat of his words on your skin. "Watch the movie, darlin'."

Grinning, you repositioned yourself against the pillow behind your head. "What if Sammy comes back?"

"Door's locked. I set the deadbolt."

You laughed. "You son of a bitch."

His eyes gleamed over the crest of your hips. "You know I get what I want, baby girl."

Biting your lip, you turned your attention back to the TV. A vocal sigh slipped from your throat at the first solicitous pass of his tongue. He lapped at your sex, teasing the breach of your slit.

You snuck a glance at him and smiled. His eyes were closed, his thumbs stroking your hips, his brow furrowed slightly as he devoured you with absolute devotion. He looked up at you through his lashes and slowly raised one eyebrow.

“You’re awfully distracting,” you said.

“Speak for yourself,” he murmured. He swirled his tongue around your clit and sucked pointedly and you threw your head back on the pillow with a groan.

He was relentless. You tangled your fingers in the hair at the base of his skull, squeezed it in your fist. Your hips lurched involuntarily against his face time and again and it only made him shift his weight to pin your legs down so he could redouble his efforts.

“Please,” you gasped, legs trembling. “It's so much…it’s too much.”

Bo trailed kisses down the inside of your thigh, letting you catch your breath. “C’mon, baby girl, Daddy ain’t done yet.” He licked a matching path up your other thigh. You whined and squirmed and he lifted his head, fixed his smoldering stare on you. "You want me to stop?"

"Uh-uh." You pulled his head back to you and he chuckled.

“You’re doin’ so well, sweetness. Just a little more.”

He caressed you with his tongue, slick and silky, slipped two fingers into you and adored you from the inside out. You were floating, bliss incarnate, twisting your hand in his hair and grinding on his tongue until at last something primal and powerful snapped deep in your core and you arched your back and melted on his lips, moaning, hot and sticky and sweet.

"That's my girl." He nipped the flesh of your thigh, made you jerk and whimper. "Goddamn, I love makin' a mess of you."

"Come here," you sighed, reaching for him. He sat up and took your hand and kissed first your fingers, then your wrist, leaning in to let you hang your arms around his neck and meet his lips. The combined taste of his mouth and your lingering pleasure was delectable, smooth and sharp.

You gazed up at him, the lines worn into his brow and the corners of his eyes, those lips, the scar on his chin. Something was tangled in your heartstrings, tugging at your diaphragm, words sitting precarious in your mouth.

"Bo…."

The knob of the front door rattled furiously and someone pounded at the door only seconds later. "What the hell?" Sammy yelled, muffled. "Are you guys fucking or something?"

Bo was off you and out of the room in mere seconds. Hastily you hiked your pants back up and tripped over yourself on the way to the door. The deadbolt was crusted in fifty years' worth of paint and you had to really throw your weight behind it to get it open.

"Hey Sammy, so sorry," you panted. "Bo's just, like…super paranoid."

"I would be too if I was whipping my dick out in the common living area," Sammy said without a hint of malice.

You bit back a laugh and felt your face heat up. "That is…not what was happening."

"Get it girl, why do you think I walked to Taco Bell instead of DoorDashing like a sensible person? I figured you had designs on that old man. I'm glad you locked the door. I don't need to know you like that." She took a hit off her vape. "Good for you, babe. 'Bout time you found yourself a man worth a damn. Bradley sucked ass."

"Bradley did suck ass, you're right."

"Baby girl, you get abducted?" Bo called from your room.

"No," you called back.

Sammy winked at you. "You better get back to it, I bet he gets real bossy when he's horny."

"How'd you know?" You rolled your eyes and retreated down the hall.

"I'll be out here minding my own business with headphones on," she grinned.

You ducked into your room and shut the door behind you. The string of lights hanging around the perimeter of the ceiling shone gentle and golden and Bo was tucked in your bed, reclining bare chested on your pillows. Goddamn gorgeous. You wanted to wrap yourself around him, map every inch of him with your mouth and hands.

"I missed you," he said with a crooked smile. He beckoned you with two fingers. “C'mere."

You shed your clothes as you crossed the room and crawled into bed. Straddling him, you nudged his half-hard cock with your pubic bone, pressing him between your skin and the palm of your hand.

"Pretty thing," he said. "Wanna take a ride?"

"Yes sir." His shaft was velvety soft between your lips, slippery with a mixture of your arousal, the gentle friction against your clit verging on overstimulation.

Bo made a contented sound. "Think I'd like to sit back and watch you fuck me, darlin', how d'you feel about that?"

With a hitch of your hips you took half his length, eliciting a startled, satisfied grunt from his pretty mouth. Another thrust and you groaned in tandem as he found his place inside you.

"Feels good," you murmured. "I feel good about that."

Ecstasy rolled through you with every rock of your pelvis. Bo pinned his lip between his teeth, glazed-over gaze fixed on the joining of your bodies. You splayed your hands on his stomach and reveled in each clench of his abdomen as you worked him in and out.

Arching your spine, flexing around him, you felt a flash of satisfaction when he threw his head back and inhaled sharply, face flushed. His fingers dug into the flesh of your thighs when you sighed his name.

“Darlin’,” he mumbled, “angel, beautiful, fuck.” With gentle hands on your waist he stabilized you so he could rut up into you, meeting each sway of your body with a rise of his own. “I adore you, baby girl, you know that?”

Your nails pressed into his skin. You met his eyes, pupils blown and glassy. “I know that.”

“Nah, you got no idea,” he said breathlessly, with a small shake of his head.

Your hands found his wrists, fingers wrapping loosely around them. “Then tell me.”

Bo licked his lips desperately. “Best thing I ever had. Y’hear me? Best thing that—shit—that ever happened to me.” The snap of his hips grew frenetic, his grip on you tightening. “I’d do anything for you, anything you want.”

His scars were smooth and uneven under the delicate caress of your thumbs. Your head lolled to the side and you graced him with a sultry smile. “Come for me?”

He moaned. “Hell, baby girl—”

You moved like the tide, steady, relentless. “C’mon, Bo, come for me.”

A grunt escaped his throat in pieces as he bucked beneath you, wringing your name out on his lips, clawing down your sides. His climax resolved into a low whine and he stared up at you with that heartrending astonishment you always hoped for, like he couldn’t believe a sweet thing like you could make him feel like that.

Goosebumps flared across his skin as you ran your hands up his arms to meet in the middle of his chest, bending over him to press a kiss between his eyes. The words came quickly, unbidden, all your thinking over and done with. “I love you, you know?”

You felt the air catch in his lungs. “I…I know.” He was holding onto you like a lifeline, something bewildered and exultant blooming in his expression. “…I love you too, darlin’.”

You smiled. The phrase was foreign to him; you could hear it in the way his tongue touched each syllable like he was afraid he might break it. “Say it again,” you whispered.

His hand came to your cheek and he grazed your lips. “I love you,” he said carefully, like maybe you might tell him he was doing it wrong.

You kissed the pad of his thumb. “One more time?”

Those blue eyes seized you, held you, intense and ardent, and quietly he said, “I’m in love with you, baby girl. ‘Course I am. You’re everything to me.”

He pulled your mouth to his and kissed you with an unexpected tenderness. It made you shake inside. It wiped everything from your mind but thoughts of him, thoughts of his rare laughter and that damn smirk, the thought that you wanted to commit to memory the way he tasted so you could never, ever forget it.

He rolled onto his side, taking you with him, strong arms wrapped tightly around you. You could feel a peculiar tension in his body even in the wake of his orgasm and you tried to soothe him with caresses on his chest and collarbones. He pressed his lips to your brow and held you to him for a long time, breathing slowly, like he thought maybe if he let you go you might slip away.

You had to wonder, curled up with his heart pounding under your hands, if he had ever given it to anyone else. You were almost certain the answer was no, and this gave you a secret sort of satisfaction. You knew he had never been married, and he’d been a bachelor as long as he’d known your father.

Now that you thought about it, was it odd that he’d never settled down? That a charming, charismatic man with a James Dean jawline and a steady job hadn’t ever found himself a long-term partner?

And were you certain that was even the case? He didn’t talk about his past, about his younger years, about Louisiana. There was trauma there, a time when the scars on his wrists were fresh, a time when his brothers had been his whole world. Maybe there had been a time when he hadn’t been alone.

It occurred to you suddenly that you knew almost nothing about his life before he moved to your town. That was odd, wasn’t it? Or was he just protecting himself, the part of himself that was painful and private? And if so, did you have any right to go poking at it?

Bo hmmed softly. “Why so quiet, darlin’? Thinkin’ some big thoughts?”

You tilted your head back and met his gaze. The way he looked at you—with hunger, with reverence—no one had ever looked at you the way he did. Like he wanted to dismantle you piece by piece and then lovingly put you back together just so he could become intimately familiar with every last part of you. Most people lived their whole lives without someone looking at them like that.

What did it matter that he was a mystery? He was yours, and you were his.

You smiled and kissed his chin. “Just thinking about you.”

A faint smirk settled on his lips. “Well now, ain’tcha always?”

Your fingers wandered through his hair, brushing it back off his brow. “Yes,” you answered truthfully.

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Good.”

He left Sunday evening, hours after the sun had set and the roads were dark.

You knew he needed to get home, had a long drive ahead of him, but every attempt you made at a goodbye was casually but firmly shut down. Bo would not be leaving until he decided to leave.

You sensed he was struggling; you could see it in fits and starts of alternating detachment and clinginess. But he shrugged you off if you tried to pursue it, and so you stopped pressing him. Everything would be fine once he adjusted to the change, once he realized you weren’t going to forget about him just because you didn’t see him every day.

Finally, he let you walk him down to his truck. He took your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, possessive, almost aggressive. It left you flushed and gasping. "I'll see you in a couple weeks, baby girl," he said, drawing his thumb across your cheekbone.

“Just a couple weeks. Text me when you get home?" you asked pleadingly.

"Sure thing, but you best be sleepin'."

"I will."

"Good girl."

You embraced him tightly. "I'll miss you."

"I know,” he said. “Miss you already."

You tugged him close for one last kiss. "I love you."

His eyes moved over your face like he was searching for something. You wished you knew what it was he was looking for. You believed—you hoped—when he was ready, he would tell you.

"Love you too."

With one final peck on your forehead, he pulled away and climbed into the truck, and then he was gone.

Taglist at the bottom bc this is a monster post already: @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @slutforguts, @brandnewhuman, @fluffy-little-demon, @cypressnmarigolds, @slasherlouvre , @g0thl3zz, @frankiethedarkangel, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @likeacidrainn, @thatoneidiotlol, @jdbxws, @confused-gender, @xhorror-nerdx, @uwunuzzleowo, @spicysimpura, @gremlinfuck, @the-pinstriped-hood, @vixorell, @hope4rain15, @hamburgerslippers. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair fanfiction #dilf bo sinclair #slasher x reader #agaas #a gentleman and a scoundrel #my writing #bo sinclair

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batboyblog · 9 months ago

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just stumbled upon your weekly democrat roundup and some of your other political stuff. I actually have no interest in Superhero stuff 😅, and was wondering if you had any suggestions for good places to source stuff like that!

hello, well good news I play on doing the weekly round up every week, and publish stuff I see as it comes up, so feel free to follow if you want I'll only be posting a little of the superhero stuff really

so as far as "good places to source stuff like that" not 200% sure what you mean, but if you're looking for a good politics follow on here @mariacallous is the best on Tumblr, you'll get a lot of international affairs, pictures of dogs, and gifs of beautiful women being offended by stupidity.

outside of Tumblr I follow Electoral-Vote and Political Wire both by the same guy EV is once a day more of a blog-editorial of what he's thinking, Political Wire is always updating through the day more a news digest of brief stories. Wake Up To Politics is where I got the idea for my weekly list and has been very helpful in making the lists. it's run by a college kid one of those kids who knew when they were 9 what they wanted to do so he's been running it for 10 years now, every day run down of the stories but he has a real love for under covered technical stories

for making the lists I always check the White House website, they have a page every everything they do is up in order, when something is policy they usually do a "fact sheet" that runs down everything about it, like this "FACT SHEET: Biden-⁠Harris Administration Celebrates Third Anniversary of the Reestablishment of the White House Office of Faith-Based and Neighborhood Partnerships" I also check the news rooms of the Departments of Transportation, Energy, HHS, and the EPA, I check Education as well and some times HUD but both have amazingly poorly laid out web pages, Transportation is easiest to use

I also follow a lot of people on twitter, like Bidenwins Biden-Harris HQ Brent Peabody Olivia Julianna and Isaiah Martin

#politics #sorry this is kinda a politics blog now #Joe Biden #election 2024 #news #information

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queerstake · 11 months ago

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Hey there! Hope y'all are doing well. I have a small question that, I guess, is kind of a big one in the end. I'm a transgender queer person who feels drawn to the LDS Church and have been investigating for a while. I'm just kind of hung-up on nerves and the current doctrine towards queer people it has. Do you have any advice or reassurance for me? Any food for thought? P.S. Sorry if any of this is worded inappropriately, and thank you in advance. :-)

Hi anon! Your ask is worded perfectly, you have no need to worry. I'm transgender and queer myself, so you're in exactly the right place!

I totally understand your hang up about the queerphobic policies the church is pushing right now. I wish I could tell you to just jump on in, the water's fine haha, but church leadership is definitely struggling to know what to do with us right now. It can be terribly painful. I'm sure you know what you're getting into, but I'd feel remiss if I didn't tell you that as much as I love the church and I'll live and die a Mormon, it can hurt. It's hurt me, in fact, in ways I've only begun to unpack within the past few years. I've had to put forward a concentrated effort to develop my understanding of Mormonism as a queer person and how it relates to me because my experience is often not prioritized. I've had to DIY it a little bit in order to make it fit.

But! Where the church has been a force of pain in my life, it's also uplifted me tremendously. I love our doctrine and our scripture and, most of the time haha, I even love our unique religious culture! I really, sincerely believe that the church is true. In spite of bad policies, the church has brought me closer to God than anything else in my life. This might be the part that's appealing to you, so it's probably something you're familiar with. What's more is that our community here of queer Mormons is nothing short of fabulous. Interacting with the queerstake and tumblrstake tags have really made a positive impact on my life. You'll meet some awesome folks here. A burden is lighter when you share it!

So here's the sum of my life as queer Mormon: church policy sucks really bad. But policy isn't doctrine, and our doctrine is life changing and beautiful to me. The policy will one day change--it's just a waiting game until then. Church members I meet at my ward weekly are lovely, friendly, understanding. You'll meet the occasional asshole, but for every asshole, I've met 3 other members who go out of their way to greet me or express solidarity with me. The membership of the church is, on the whole, sweet and eager to be loving. The community of queer Mormons is all the more so, and they make the burden of a painful church policy easier to bear. My real life, day to day experience with the church members near me is positive and uplifting.

Deciding whether or not to be baptized is a big choice and I can't perfectly vouch for a church who's policies are so upside down right now, but I can pretty confidently tell you that Mormon churches are generally positive places to be. Come hang out in the tags with us on Sundays! If you're nervous to go to church alone--been there done that--try to sit with the missionaries. They've always been very sweet to me as a visibly queer person and they'll introduce you to folks. You might be interested in the book Queer Mormon Theology by Blair Ostler, which I'm in the middle of right now and loving. I've also been obsessed with the book Living on the Inside of the Edge by Christian Kimball, which is about how to be a Mormon who doesn't fit the mold and still be happy here. And if you have any more questions or want to chat about it more, you can always send more asks or even DMs. <3 And keep me updated how things go! I hope you have a really good experience at church! And welcome to Queerstake!

#queerstake #tumblrstake #lds #mormon

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therealitychecksneakpeek · 1 month ago

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The Reality Check: Chapter 1

I started writing a new book with the plan to release chapters on Kindle Vella, only to learn it's shutting down in December!

That said, I've made the decision to post the first ten chapters for free here on a weekly basis leading up to the book being available on Amazon in 2025. I'll post updates on my author instagram and I hope you'll follow, comment, and share if you enjoy the story!

Here's what The Reality Check is about:

After coming in second on United States of Talent, plus size fan favorite and singer Mandy Thompson signed on to her very own reality show. Now, ten years later and nowhere closer to being a pop star, her show is on the brink of being cancelled.

In a last ditch effort to save everything she’s worked for, the network casts Casey to play the role of a supportive boyfriend.

But things get complicated when Mandy’s dreams don’t seem to work without Casey.

Chapter 1

“Viewership is declining.”

Those are not the three little words I was hoping to hear this morning. Not that Ben of all people would be the one to confess his undying love on a random Tuesday at the studio’s midtown office. I realize it’s been some time since I’ve heard an “I love you” from a man and while Ben’s a total catch, he’s not for me. Beyond being my boss of sorts as the executive producer of my reality show, he’s also a close friend.

I can tell he’s been working too hard as his hair has grown out and his usually clean-shaven face looks like it hasn’t seen a razor in some time. He’s wearing his typical uniform despite the fact we’re not on set – a black t-shirt and jeans with an unbuttoned flannel over it, sleeves rolled up.

Looking at him now, it’s surprising to me that no woman has managed to take him off the market in all the time I’ve known him. Sure, he’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s got that kind of Clark Kent/Superman potential in his looks and he’s a great guy.

I would know.

My reality show Mandy’s Big Dreams is in its eleventh season and Ben has been with me since the start. I remember that he was once an inexperienced and hungry-to-learn producer that was totally out of his depth with trying to figure out how to make a body positive, girl powered series following my stint on United States of Talent where I lost to Alexia’s pint size pop star act.

At the time, I didn’t care.

I was just over the moon that so many women saw me representing big girls in the way we deserve to be represented. I’m not shy about being fat, curvy, and beautiful. Nor am I shy when I sing. And I was thrilled to have the opportunity to let America get to know me – even the haters.

When all this started I was 22 and taking the leap to move to New York from the small city where I grew up. Like half the cast on United States of Talent, I started singing in church and high school theater productions and the show was really my first glimpse at what it meant to be a professional singer. Between the reality show and USoT I had a leg up with my music, but somehow in the past five years things have changed.

The network seems to care more about me exploring weight loss (I’ve lost none) and fitness (I do yoga and hit my daily steps goal) storylines than making music. And since season six, the reality aspect of my show has been null and void. Ben and a team of producers loosely script every scene and get it approved based on metrics and stats and focus groups until a version of their plan is enacted by me and the cast, which has gone from my real family and friends to a group of pseudo-friends and entertainment professionals like my assistant Katrein (an aspiring actress herself).

“I’m sure we won��t be cancelled,” I say, trying to brighten Ben’s mood. “What genius storylines have you cooked up for me this season?”

Ben shakes his head.

“Not me. The network.”

“Whatever – hit me with it.”

“They’ve decided that the viewers want a fairy tale romance. Apparently, they love that you’re not on the ozempic bandwagon but they want to believe love is possible…”

“…for a fat girl. I get it.”

Ben always looks uncomfortable when I call myself fat. At this point it’s sort of funny because it’s been years of me opting for fat instead of plus size or curvy when the network and advertisers push what they call “softer adjectives”. It makes me snort laugh a little when I see his familiar grimace.

“So, what’s the plan? I wish I could deliver but as much as I’ve tried to manifest a good man the universe just seems to be fresh outta stock.”

Ben opens a folder that’s been sitting on the table in front of us and pulls out three headshots. I notice that they’re not the usual actor headshots I see when we cast a new role on the show, but more like a good photo that some intern blew up to headshot size and threw in a folder.

“Here’s their selects – the network’s favorite is Casey. But if you object for some reason they’ve given their blessing for Marcus and Tommy as well. They’re all here for you to meet if you want to interview them too. You know, to see if there’s potential for chemistry on screen.”

He slides Casey’s photo to me and I’m struck by how this man looks like Jason Mamoa and one of the Hemsworth brothers had a baby. On the back of his picture, I see he’s tall – 6’2” and 210 lbs with most of his weight coming from muscle. While I read his bio, Ben mutters about how the network believes on-screen his size will work well with my 5’3” and 300 lbs frame and that he’s “the perfect ‘aspirational’ boyfriend for a woman my size”.

I know that’s the network talking and not my friend but I really hate hearing that shit.

According to his bio, Casey is not an actor and works at a bar/restaurant that’s been in his family for 2 generations. He works there with an older brother, younger sister, and his parents who have taken a step back now that the siblings have mostly taken it over. His interest in appearing on television is to help their business in Providence, RI which is struggling, and create more stability savings-wise for him and his long-term girlfriend Kelly.

My eyebrow instinctively raises when I get to that part.

“Girlfriend?”

Ben nods, “It’s an acting job Mandy.”

“He’s not an actor.”

“I know. But the network wanted real and untrained. They think viewers will be able to spot a plant a mile away. But Casey? He’s just a guy who you met at a bar on a weekend trip and hit it off with.”

“And we really think that a regular couple is going to be cool about everything television involves? Come on Ben, that’s why we transitioned from my real social network to a curated one…”

“I know, but they’ve all signed NDAs and Casey assures me that Kelly is on board.”

I glance at the other two headshots of Marcus and Tommy, but it’s all too obvious why the network prefers Casey. I’m already on thin ice with the numbers being bad going into this season and it’s not smart to rock the boat. Not like Casey is bad to look at either.

“So, that’s our back story? I went out to eat and what? He waited on me?”

Ben grins and his whole face lights up in a way that tells me he’s written this part of the season. I love that he’s so transparent when he’s proud of his work and it strikes me that he’s come a long way from the young guy who would complain over drinks that he felt like he was walking on eggshells managing a team of older writers to this sure-in-his-skin version.

“You went on a girls’ trip to Providence for Katrein’s 30th and night of, did a bar crawl. A few drinks later you end up in a karaoke bar and of course you grabbed the mic and rocked a version of your own hit song from the USoT days. Casey and his friends were there and he remembered you from the show, approached, and invited you out for a drink – just the two of you…”

“You’re making me pretend I ditched my girls on a girl’s trip for a guy?” I ask, immediately imagining the nasty comments flooding my socials.

“Well that’s just it – you would never do that right?”

“Never!”

I can feel myself smiling. This is the part of my job that I really love. The part of working with Ben that’s made these years fly by even when things were tough. We get into this kind of flow where I can see the season start to play out in my mind well before I even step foot on set.

“But Katrein sees you guys together and insists. She plays matchmaker even – sending a text when you’re out with Casey that you’ll have to get a ride back to NYC because the gang decided to head back early for her brother’s show.”

I gasp, jokingly clutching my imaginary pearls, “You’re not going to imply, that with a hotel room free, I invite a man back that I barely know, are you!?”

“Yes but! With the room free you talk all night because you make it clear you’re not a one-night stand kind of woman and Casey respects that. And when day breaks you’re both already in love. It’s obvious that this is a once in a lifetime connection that you just can’t say goodbye to…”

“Why Benedict Robinson, if I didn’t know better I’d say you’re a romantic.”

Ben blushes at the use of his full, given name but pushes through the discomfort to walk me through the rest of my love story with Casey.

“Anyway, we start the season with a confessional with you and Casey talking about how you’ve been doing long distance for the past four months but things are going really well. We make it so it feels like he’s a bit more into you than you are into him.”

“And what about my music?” I ask, not being able to hide the hope in my voice.

“Going on dates and talking about the relationship with Katrein and having the friends and family meet him will likely trump any music making. Our season finale is going to be in Hawaii where he’ll propose. Then, when we get renewed because this plot is so good and everyone loves a love story, we plant seeds of discontent in season 14 ultimately leading to you making the decision as much as you love him the relationship isn’t right. It’ll re-enforce your brand of being a woman who stands on her own two feet despite all the judgement from the rest of the world and still show plus size women they can date whomever. A win-win.”

“What if we break up because I want to start performing again? Maybe the relationship ignites a desire to write love songs…and then break up songs?”

Ben knows I’ve been a good sport since my last album flopped seven years ago and the network distanced me from the thing that put me on the map in the first place. They even forced me to say that these days music isn’t as interesting to me anymore which couldn’t be further from the truth. The influencer marketing is a nice income boost and the small roles in made-for-tv movies only help the network I already work for, but music is still the thing that has me waking up in the morning.

My only problem is I have had a bit of block when it comes to writing. Perhaps some apathy too, considering I don’t need to make money the way I used to and that has me less interested in chasing platinum and more interested in making something that speaks to me.

On paper it sounds like the dream, but the truth is I’ve felt a bit lost these days. I’m a 34-year-old reality star with one hit album, one flop, and what feels like one more chance with mainstream music success. While I can afford another flop, I know that will sign my fate as a washed up, one-hit wonder which is where the block probably comes from. I wish I could not care what people thought and just create for me, and financially I can, but that might not be smart. Every time I put pen to paper the stakes feel so high – this could be my last chance.

Do I go out with songs I doubt will resonate with the masses but make my soul happy or do I write what works?

I’ve yet to be able to answer that question, so I’ve written very little the past couple of years, but Ben doesn’t know that. And I need him to believe I have a trove of songs ready to go to pitch to the network so they might finally green light storylines that take place in the studio. After all, I could use the free studio time and it would help plant the seeds with our television fan base.

“I’ll pitch it to them, but no promises.” Ben says. “Are you on board? Ready to make season eleven the best one yet?”

“Let’s do it,” I saying, extending my hand in jest to Ben who shakes it without a hint of irony.

“Great! I’m excited,” he says beaming. “And I can’t wait for you to meet Casey. I’ll go get him…”

Ben leaves the room and it dawns on me that I’m feeling nervous. I’ve never faked a relationship on air before, mostly because I didn’t need to. I was with Tobey for the first couple of seasons, and then Katrein introduced me to Bart, and then there was just a focus on fashion, fitness, and weight loss where I guess I didn’t realize how long I’d been single.

I’m suddenly incredibly aware of the fact that I’m wearing no makeup, my glasses, hair in a messy ponytail, and a maroon athletic set I was gifted two seasons ago that I’ve never worn to the gym. To make matters worse, I’m just now noticing that I spilled a little coffee on the zip up hoodie and can’t decide if I should remove it or if meeting someone in a tank top that doesn’t have nearly enough build-in support for the girls is a worse first impression.

I opt for the tits-out version, considering I am meeting a man and I’ve never met a man who wasn’t at least a little enticed by a full chest – big girl or not. But when the door opens and I lay eyes on Casey in the flesh, I realize that I’m in deep, deep trouble as it’s me who has never been more enticed in my life.

Read Chapter 2!

#book blog #authors #bookish #booklr #books & libraries #books #romance #love story #falling in love #fake dating

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lia-life-lounge · 1 year ago

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Hey there, beautiful humans!

I'm Lia, and I'm stepping into the Tumblr world for the first time. Excited to share my thoughts and learn from this diverse community! 🌟 I figured I'd begin with an introduction since it just didn't feel comfy to start posting or reblogging content with zero prior context. I'm new to Tumblr, so I'm still getting my bearings. There's a bit of a learning curve, so bear with me as I get situated and figure out how to set up my blog and website theme. 😅 (p.s. tips and unsolicited advice are always more than welcome. Feel free to share; I'm all ears). And with that being said...

Quick Facts:

Name: Lia Majors: Philosophy & Asian Studies Minor: Ethics Path: Pre-law

MBTI/Enneagram: ENTP 3w2

So, what's this blog all about?

In short, it's a smorgasbord of my interests. Philosophy, recipes, beauty tips, you name it. If it's caught my attention, you'll find it here. It's also a way for me to keep track of my productivity and learning to ensure I never forget a new interesting piece of information.

Why a 'Life Lounge'?

Because life's too short to be confined to a single niche. I don't want to limit this space, and thus, my thoughts, to a specific subject... although, if it gets too clogged up, I'll consider setting up some niche secondary blogs.

What can you expect?

Well, to be completely honest, I'm not entirely sure yet! But I do have some content ideas you can look forward to. Here's a sneak peek of what's in the pipeline:

Today I Learned: A series where I share bite-sized pieces of random knowledge; could be daily, could be weekly—let's keep it spontaneous!

Learning Code as a Non-Techie: It's never too late to learn coding, right? Follow my journey as a liberal arts student—with no background in tech—learning how to code and program. I'll share resources and tips helpful for other non-techies!

Devblog: I'm developing an RPG game with a few software engineer friends of mine. So expect updates on programming with Unreal Engine's Blueprints, AI-learning, 3D modeling in Blender, and more.

Philosophy Corner: Delving into philosophers and their philosophies is second nature to me, thanks to my major. I'm already knee-deep in dissecting original texts and applying their concepts to real-world scenarios due to my varsity Debate Team commitments. So... why not share some of those insights?

Ethical Dilemmas: I'll pose ethical questions to you guys and discuss the various viewpoints and responses. Depending on the participation, this should be very fun! (Note: this is a judgment-free zone for all perspectives, questions, ideas, and opinions—all will be evaluated and criticized fairly. I am a stout supporter of John Stuart Mill's Marketplace of Ideas).

Study Tips: Pretty self-explanatory. I have a lot of tips I could share with you guys on how to maximize productivity!

And More: There's a lot more I want to share, but let's maintain some mystery!

___

And on that note...

I can't wait to explore your blogs as well! 🌟 Feel free to reach out, whether it's to share a thought, ask a question, or just to say hi. I'm all ears and can't wait to connect with you! 💖

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cellsshapedlikestars · 2 years ago

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Please, help me understand? What is your side project that you are glad people liked? Also, I miss your weekly updates :(( I hope you'll find soon one crazy powerful inspiration that will urge you to post :))

once upon a time, about ohhh like 8 months ago, I was having a real crisis about my writing that I don't think I ever talked about on here because I try pretty hard not to and usually if I do anyway I end up deleting it. Anyway, I decided to create a new account thinking I'd post under there, basically anonymously. I didn't for about 4 months, until I had another crisis and took a small-ish break from posting on ganymede. in that time, I posted a fic under an alias. it was to practice both canon and smut writing, but also just me getting in my own head

I've debated a few times making it public because I really ended up liking what I posted. One time on here, I answered some end of the year questions, and mentioned the other accounts I have (ganymede, this new one, and one for my old fandom works). Then responded to an ask about it, then deleted both the next day. I guess because I thought I'd want to keep the account anonymous in case I ever decided to post there again.

(I also one time accidentally responded to a comment as ganymede because I didn't realize my phone was still logged into that account lmao)

Anyway, when I saw that post today, I was like, oh, that's my fic. it was honestly too funny not to reblog with some vague tag. I probably should have deleted it, but oh well. cat's out of the bag now I guess

#cellsshapedlikeasks #will i go back and delete everything?#who knows!#my anxiety does fun stuff like that #i also felt weirdly guilty when i'd get comments from people i recognized #like i was somehow tricking them #even though the account/fic was literally a product of my own mental health nonsense

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silver-wield · 1 year ago

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im the one from before, i've seen the update about the Nomura statement. So it seems they didn't get it wrong in spirit or meaning BUT the decision to implicate "not so pitiable" is like saying it's pitiable but not so much. Compared to "they have a good relationship" which is more direct and doesn't sound 50/50 like they're not so sure. You don't have to be a genius to see that the translation isn't exactly doing the right job of conveying Nomura's statement. Hence why people still hone it in that "she is pitiable" in the comments. Dumb cleriths or not. I've seen it once on discord (under the stars), a member of that shinra archeology stating for example that they're well aware that Cloud DID NOT imply to have feelings for both women, like 0% proof BUT they got to say it and cop out due to not wanting to sound biased on other sides. I suppose they decided onto the 325 version and an implication that doesn't sound as good as " she's not pitiful, she has a good relationship with cloud" because it might sound biased. But in doing so, they're creating more havock than good. Shipping matters or not, they're not helping Tifa's character at all, neither Cloud's. Until they get a clearer canonical confirmation that Cloud is into Tifa and that he isn't into aerith etc. They cannot move pass being 50/50 when pushing out statements and I'd say. Fck them, it's like it's better if they actually just shut up to begin with.

and the people conveying "its stated in the source/website" that there's a LT going on is like sating you lost the part where it was clearly a red herring all along. Words and statements are powerful... Why else would we be so pissed with SENA to begin with. I mean it when I say people have their eyes closed and lack empathy to understand FF7 and it's characters. It's a real shame. I hope moving forward EC and the trilogy or more would completely just put a nail in the coffin in all these. I'm tired of the weekly basis of defending a story that's so easy to comprehend. Sorry, my statement is long, I just wish to convey my disapproval to someone who knows more than me but I as a private person being anonymous is the best I feel like doing it due to my anxiety. Thank you for this opportunity.

They deliberately fucked with the phrasing to alter the meaning and make it more negative than it is. The statement is actually quite positive, but you'd never know it from the way they talk. They're always trying to make Tifa out to be this pitiful figure who "deserves better", even though she's really happy with Cloud and they have a good relationship.

And you'll also notice the only time they ever share anything about Tifa is when they think they can shit on her and Cloud's relationship. There's so many quotes for cloti, but they never include them. They only focus on being negative and trying to inflate their non existent bullship instead.

And when we call for sources they make bullshit claims about copyright. Because a 20+ year old magazine, which was issued in the thousands and we're asking for a snippet of would really piss off SE, who have no affiliation with the company in question, and said company also wouldn't give a shit about a tiny extract being shared when people have in the past shown entire page scans, but sure, y'all hide behind the word "copyright" like we don't know how copyright laws work 🙄

Btw, I'm a copy editor, so I know how copyright laws work for several countries 🤷

#ship war #for the fandom

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introvertbard · 20 days ago

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@grison-in-space @mysteryteacup What's up, this post has been SERIOUSLY updated! I also have a section SPECIFICALLY on warhorses, and why everyone who rides and/or knows history is begging writers to 'PLEASE stop putting your medieval knights on Basically-Modern, Chunky, and Slow Draft Horse Breeds! Real warhorses were not like that at all!' https://www.tumblr.com/introvertbard/752832508636332032/your-weekly-reminder-that-ive-updated-my-nerdy Also, I've seen both sides of the "are horses cheap, expensive, or BOTH" coin. (I'm in the United States, for reference.) There are many Americans who DO think horses are "for rich people," and others say that "horses are cheap to buy and expensive to own." A horse CAN cost as little as 1,000USD... but you'll need more money for the horse's basic needs (boarding stables or "the land, food, and a barn/stable for you to keep your own horses in," and a vet who can both treat horses AND head to your place for emergencies).

The "cheap to buy and expensive to own" saying seems largely like a caution sign, to keep starry-eyed people from naively buying a horse because "wowwwww, it's only X much money!", and then going bankrupt trying to take care of it.

Usually, the ones who say horses are "cheap to buy and expensive to maintain" are in rural areas, while the ones who say horses are "just expensive in general" are in cities. It may also be a generational thing, because a lot of older folks expect "good basic horses" (ie, not champion athletes or breeding prospects) to be like 3,000USD, while younger folks see a horse for the same price and think "uh-oh, what's wrong with them?" Because "cheap horses" are commonly expected to be "problem horses (medically or training-wise)."

And then the stuff you need to actually USE THE HORSE will eat up even more of your time and money. A saddle, bridle, and saddle-blanket/pad set alone can easily cost you several thousand dollars, unless you shop around for secondhand ones and KNOW HOW TO AVOID GETTING SCAMMED. If you want to DRIVE your horse, I don't even know how much you'd need for a cart/buggy, the harness to hitch your horse up, and "places that are suitable to DRIVE your horse the old-fashioned way." As for when "driving your horse to different places" means "you need to transport the horse to shows, parades, or to far-off trails," you need a good horse-trailer and a VERY strong car (generally a pickup truck or an SUV). Alternately, you need to know another farmer or horse-owner.

Preindustrial travel, and long explanations on why different distances are like that

I saw a post on my main blog about how hiking groups need to keep pace with their slowest member, but many hikers mistakenly think that the point of hiking is "get from Point A to Point B as fast as possible" instead of "spending time outdoors in nature with friends," and then they complain that a new/less-experienced/sick/disabled hiker is spoiling their time-frame by constantly needing breaks, or huffing and puffing to catch up.

I run into a related question of "how long does it take to travel from Point A to Point B on horseback?" a lot, as a fantasy writer who wants to be SEMI-realistic; in the Western world at least, our post-industrial minds have largely forgotten what it's like to travel, both on our own feet and in groups.

People ask the new writer, "well, who in your cast is traveling? Is getting to Point B an emergency or not? What time of year is it?", and the newbies often get confused as to why they need so much information for "travel times." Maybe new writers see lists of "preindustrial travel times" like a primitive version of Google Maps, where all you need to do is plug in Point A and Point B.

But see, Google Maps DOES account for traveling delays, like different routes, constructions, accidents, and weather; you as the person will also need to figure in whether you're driving a car versus taking a bus/train, and so you'll need to figure out parking time or waiting time for the bus/train to actually GET THERE.

The difference between us and preindustrial travelers is that 1) we can outsource the calculations now, 2) we often travel for FUN instead of necessity.

The general rule of thumb for preindustrial times is that a healthy and prime-aged adult on foot, or a rider/horse pair of fit and prime-aged adults, can usually make 20-30 miles per day, in fair weather and on good terrain.

Why is this so specific? Because not everyone in preindustrial times was fit, not everyone was healthy, not everyone was between the ages of 20-35ish, and not everyone had nice clear skies and good terrain to travel on.

If you are too far below 18 years old or too far past 40, at best you will need either a slower pace or more frequent breaks to cover the same distance, and at worst you'll cut the travel distance in half to 10 or so miles. Too much walking is VERY BAD on too-young/old knees, and teenagers or very short adults may just have short legs even if they're fine with 8-10 hours of actual walking. Young children may get sick of walking and pitch a fit because THEY'RE TIREDDDDDDDDDD, and then you might need to stay put while they cry it out, or an adult may sigh and haul them over their shoulder (and therefore be weighed down by about 50lbs of Angry Child).

Heavy forests, wetlands and rocky hills/mountains are also going to be a much shorter "distance." For forests or wetlands, you have to account for a lot of villagers going "who's gonna cut down acres of trees for one road? NOT ME," or "who's gonna drain acres of swamp for one road? NOT ME." Mountainous regions have their traveling time eaten by going UP, or finding a safer path that goes AROUND.

If you are traveling in winter or during a rainstorm (and this inherently means you HAVE NO CHOICE, because nobody in preindustrial times would travel in bad weather if they could help it), you run the high risk of losing your way and then dying of exposure or slipping and breaking your neck, just a few miles out of the town/village.

And now for the upper range of "traveling on horseback!"

Fully mounted groups can usually make 30-40 miles per day between Point A and Point B, but I find there are two unspoken requirements: "Point B must have enough food for all those people and horses," and "the mounted party DOESN'T need to keep pace with foot soldiers, camp followers, or supply wagons."

This means your mounted party would be traveling to 1) a rendezvous point like an ally's camp or a noble's castle, or 2) a town/city with plenty of inns. Maybe they're not literally going 30-40 miles in one trip, but they're scouting the area for 15-20 miles and then returning to their main group. Perhaps they'd be going to an allied village, but even a relatively small group of 10-20 warhorses will need 10-20 pounds of grain EACH and 20-30 pounds of hay EACH. 100-400 pounds of grain and 200-600 pounds of hay for the horses alone means that you need to stash supplies at the village beforehand, or the village needs to be a very large/prosperous one to have a guaranteed large surplus of food.

A dead sprint of 50-60 miles per day is possible for a preindustrial mounted pair, IF YOU REALLY, REALLY HAVE TO. Moreover, that is for ONE day. Many articles agree that 40 miles per day is already a hard ride, so 50-60 miles is REALLY pushing the envelope on horse and rider limits.

NOTE: While modern-day endurance rides routinely go for 50-100 miles in one day, remember that a preindustrial rider will not have the medical/logistical support that a modern endurance rider and their horse does.

If you say "they went fifty miles in a day" in most preindustrial times, the horse and rider's bodies will get wrecked. Either the person, their horse, or both, risk dying of exhaustion or getting disabled from the strain.

Whether you and your horse are fit enough to handle it and "only" have several days of defenselessness from severe pain/fatigue (and thus rely on family/friends to help you out), or you die as a heroic sacrifice, or you aren't QUITE fit enough and become disabled, or you get flat-out saved by magic or another rider who volunteers to go the other half, going past 40 miles in a day is a "Gondor Calls For Aid" level of emergency.

As a writer, I feel this kind of feat should be placed VERY carefully in a story: Either at the beginning to kick the plot off, at the climax to turn the tide, or at the end.

Preindustrial people were people--some treated their horses as tools/vehicles, and didn't care if they were killed or disabled by pushing them to their limits, but others very much cared for their horses. They needed to keep them in working condition for about 15-20 years, and they would not dream of doing this without a VERY good reason.

#writing #long post #medieval #horses

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healthhubforyou · 4 months ago

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markooby · 4 months ago

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#genshinimpact #storyquest #genshinlore #gaming #gacha #anime #genshincharacters #topstarcharacters

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randomclam24 · 11 months ago

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I think I've started to realize the actual nature of why I haven't been able to learn properly the past few years, but it's probably still too early. Before, in trying to fix this, I worried so much about what used to make it work incidentally and what not. In reality, it was the state of focus *within* that incidence, and if you recreated it without actual circumstances, since I've already gotten the General Transfer Studies degree and have no further aspirations to be having in life with these people - that's objective - there would definitely not be that same integration from a real scenario to actually engage something from myself *over* the fact of this generation [like "AAANYWAY!"].

In reality, I'm focusing down on the little words like it's Qabbalah. The reality is, liberalism has conditioned me to accept everything that I read as if it were the following out of Harry Potter book three: "Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed herself to be caught no less than fortyseven times in various disguises." The point is, this is a statement not of directions but of the world we live in. Occasionally, when you're poring through your college textbooks, on all but fundamentally unrelated subjects, the writer will suddenly openly declare themselves Communist. That's what you're conditioned to be lapping up to be living under like Harry Potter fanatics and gender "intersectionality", which stems from that somehow. Now look at the words after the very most introductory part of the second part of the book I'm using: "While building this game, you'll also learn how to manage large projects that span multiple files. We'll refactor a lot of code and manage file contents to organize the project and make the code efficient."

In what way is that Qabbalistic?

You could be reading this, but if you're reading past 2022, it doesn't mean much that it's doing these things not being Qabbalistic. That just isn't how it works. Not these days.

Update Last Sunday, my mom came home from the new church I never went to because from staying back and casually tuning in to the online stream of the service, I didn't like the feel of the guy. I asked her what the subject was, and she just said it was JOY. Ultimately, she gave me out a band from that service with "Phillippians 4:4" written on it. Today while she was taking the dog out back with the new fence they just installed to encapsulate, I looked up that band and referenced the verse. Pretty much what I felt about that she just reverberated back at me, saying you're not going to get the sermon from just that. So let's read Phillipians 4

There is "Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord is at hand. Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God."

"Be careful for nothing", this being after days of dealing with her come home from errands she's doing, to me seeming out of nowhere because they're in any case things you can just do in due time, where she specifically had me set up so that when I hesitated, knowing that I would encourage her bad behavior coming back flustered, she went over the top going crazy because she wasn't sure I was set doing it

And of course actually communicating this, the power structure at hand is that you don't appeal to the authority they're coming presumptively from; that's all there is to that religion structure - it's tempting to call these Bible-thumpers, but that's clearly not the case when they're these typical casuals, granted they are attending weekly

It's already down the *drain* saying it: *do you even know what this versage means*

We all know *she's* in the right in the end from the beginning in this: her appointment at the bank drew out, signaling that passage through life, disqualifying all religion, is contingent on the weakest link of server software (optional online banking)

But yeah, religion: JOY is a virtue-signal: "I'm entitled to it" (as in, have been from the *beginning of time*, all things(all things call out to the glory of what **makes** me right))

I really think she's sticking to the principle that you should sooner keep your mouth shut and not be seen as a fool than open it and remove all doubt, because that word is all she would tell me. She's *really* anal-retentive. She won't allow this subconscious virtue-signaling to be pulled down by **any means**, even if it's by accident

"Let your moderation be known to all men", the phrase itself indicating the compulsion to let loose even if it has to come directly out of your behind before that proverbial junction that it's "too late"(?), is of a moderation on a level that any level of bad-heartedness is acceptable because it was all hinging on this, something

She's virtue-signaling to *me* that the new pastor is, compared to the rejected old guy, the mature guy. All i saw him doing was showing that his rise in life is smacking down the badthink - that's all it was

So what other energy do you *expect* of a nation?

It's like, "they're going according to a *'schedule'*, and you're *not*-doing this", whatever that implication means as an active-deliberation indicator of simply not doing things

To what extent is this the gangstalking that's bugged my parents since senior year of highschool and not the nation speaking? I can't tell.

But she almost routinely apologizes after her actual fits - she didn't use to do them in that particular augmentated raging either

But at the end of the day, after the dust settles from all this, the everyman of this country apologizes that *they* didn't do things according to schedule - it was their fault and they (trail off because it's no longer Qabbalah)

Unspokenly, there is a *way* we are supposed to be doing things in our lives, and we're (I guess in the sense of our status) **suffering** not upholding them.

People go off looking for jobs, only to find that they can't get past the automated system conditioning their entry with questionnaires? I could get interviews, but it looks like nobody cares.

The way we are supposed to be doing things in our lives - that's what they used to call Christianity, at least in its origin - the Way - that's not what this is, but it *is*, and it is disaffecting every one of us

That's true - all the world's religion *is* is being making yourself right - in my case, it demonstrates that it doesn't even matter if that *gets* anywhere - it's all that *matters*, that you existed making yourself right(*they don't care if you have to stay in a group home ten years or for the rest of your life* - that's just what was appropriate(*no harm has been done*(Alright *look* - if you were in a group home, that was **your** fault - that's what you were doing (And gather - **everybody** needs to see this) - **if you were doing a group home, you were in over your own *life,* and that's the finalityingness**)))

Update by night The way I see it, religion, every line, as it is, which is specific, feeds the bad wolf (as in "in you are two wolves") of people who are insecure, like my mother - as it is, religion runs rampant across the United States in the mouths of people who curbstomp badthink.

And it begs the question, if the interpreting of scripture contains itself under the means of interpreting systemically by the people curbstoming badthink that contain it, at a stage like this, then why have religion? (In fact, at this stage, that goes for the ability to articulate just as well, even not having any scripture in mind. (It's like, *do you want them to use it?*)) *What weird people call appropriating isn't even a word for it, because there's no active process required for it* - they will use your words as-said, word-for-word as-is, exactly as it pertains to their dichotomy successfully.

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