#Bad Boll

[postcard-from-the-past]

View of Bad Boll, Baden-Württemberg, Germany

German vintage postcard, mailed in 1911 to Belgium

[slowtumbling]

Singing About Death

Monday Monday Songs I realized, as I was compiling the songs from the past thirty years for my all acapella album Sotto Voce, that a number of the songs were recorded at my home studio in my cabin in West Virginia. I called the place Bad Boll Productions after the healing retreat in Germany founded by the Blumhardts. With only a Tascam 4 Trac Studio, an Emu Orchestral, an Apple Mac with…

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

One of my favorite so-bad-it’s-good movies is “In the Name of the King 2: Two Worlds”, solely because you can tell where the production blew the budget.

Just to give you all an idea, Dolph Lundgren is sent to the medieval era where he has to deal with dungeons and dragons type shit. The final battle, however, sends Dolph and the main villain back to the present day. So this swords-and-sorcery movie literally ends in a brawl in Dolph Lundgren’s living room. It’s absolutely hilarious, especially since the bad guy is still dressed as generic evil fantasy king.

[itscooltoskate]

Timo Boll birthday post! 🥳

[a-dragons-hoard-of-stuff]

while I do also hate and block when people ship the bishops together (especially when they act like it’s not incest just because they’re not blood related grrrr)

but I feel like people get weirdly high-horsey about it for being in a fandom centered around a cult based game.

Like yeah, insest is a not-good-thing that’s gross and shouldn’t be romanticized… But so are cults???

Also, the bishops attempts to kill off an entire species (and being successful for all but one) in order to ensure their brother stayed trapped for entirety and they could keep their power.

How exactly does adding them having a crush on said brother dramatically increase the fucked up levels of that situation? Sure, it adds another layer. A rotten cherry on the sundae if you will.

But that’s still not a healthy sibling/family situation without.

Not to mention some ship the lamb with the bishops. Y’know, the victim of a geneocide with those that caused it?

To be clear i’m not hated on anyone who does ship lampxbishop or those that express their disgust with incest ships. It’s perfectly fine and natural to have certain Fucked Up Things that you enjoy in fiction and those that you just don’t.

But sometimes y’all make me worried you’re going to join a genuine cult or something.

[jakescakeislateforourdate]

Hey girly!! Im too shy to ask this without the anonymous filter but first of all I’ve been reading through your blog and I love it honestly. I was wondering if you are open to requests if you’d be able to write up something about joe rantz (I am absolutely LIVING for blonde callum) and maybe a coaches daughter trope? he saw her when he went to sign himself up, at the practices all that jazz and just them like becoming friends then more than friends, the boat scene where he gets his seat taken away from him maybe? thank you so much and again I love your work! xx

Hello, my lovely anon. Glad to see you in my inbox. I apologize for the wait but I've been coming out of an awful slump and I was trying to make this piece not total garbage. I hope you enjoy it and I hope I see you in my inbox again.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

Joe Rantz (Callum Turner’s) x reader

wc: 4,600

Joe finds himself utterly gobsmacked when he discovers that the pretty face he’s seen at the shell house is the coach’s daughter and not his wife.

Enjoy this garbage!

…

Joe Rantz had come to the shell house in search of work. He’d hoped that making the team would cover his tuition and get him a room and he needed it so desperately. Roger Morris stood next to him, chewing nervously at his nails. “Sorry, Joe, didn’t realize competition would be so tight.” He mutters, spitting out a shred of his fingernail. Coach Ulbrickson was going over the basics of practice. It sounded like absolute hell to Joe but he was out of options. He fidgeted with the number painted on his jersey. Sure, he was strong from a lifetime of rough labor but so were the other boys. Most of them were broke too and just as desperate. Joe didn’t know if he had what it took to stand out but he’d be damned if he couldn’t make a life for himself because he couldn’t muscle up some money for college. 

As Ulbrickson speaks, a shadow appears in his office window. It’s too far for Joe’s nervous gaze to actually study the figure. He tries to focus on coach but the shadow continues to draw his attention. Roger notices too. “Who the hell is that?” Joe just shrugs. The shadow never leaves the window even as Ulbrickson finishes up and the boys get split up. Joe can’t dwell on the figure any longer because he’s being herded into the middle of shellhouse. He begins a horrible set of workouts. His body is made for hard work but he’s never actually worked out before. His muscles aren’t used to straining this way. 

It’s not long before his breathing becomes labored and sweat is pouring down his back. His curls hang down his forehead, sticking to his skin uncomfortably. And just when the pain is becoming unbearable the coaches are swapping them out and Joe is put on a junky old boat and an oar is pushed into his hands. They start rowing and instantly, the only thing on Joe’s mind is how bad his back hurts. Pained grunts and groans echo across the water as the boys struggle to keep pulling the oars. 

Eventually, it’s all over. Joe stumbles onto the dock in front of the shellhouse and feels his knees shaking with excursion. Men begin to drain away from the shellhouse and as the numbers dwindle, the shadow in the window of Ulbrickson’s office reappears. It moves through the glass panes like a swan through water. Then the office door opens and Joe sees your face for the first time. 

“That was some tough practice, huh?” Roger bumps Joe’s shoulder, a crooked smile on his face. Joe cannot respond and Roger follows his gaze. “Washington, Washington, what finery you enjoy.” 

You descend the steps and take a place between Ulbrickson and Bolles. Ulbrickson puts and arm around and Joe feels his heart wither a little. You’re probably Mrs. Ulbrickson. Though he can’t shake the impression that you look a little too young to be with Ulbrickson. 

“Alas,” Roger throws up his hands, “Finery we cannot also enjoy.”

“Don’t be crass.”

“I’m not! How was that crass?” Roger purses his lips and nudges Joe. 

Joe just buttons up his jacket and picks up his books, “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

The very next day, Joe is suffering through practice. He aches all over and his muscles scream at him. He’s already shaking when he gets done with the basic strength building exercises. Most of the boys are. There are fewer numbers today but this does not better Joe’s odds by much. They clamber into Old Nero and start rowing away. His wrists twinge and his knees spasm. He rows and rows until he thinks his body will give out and then Ulbrickson is directing them back to the shellhouse. Jow crawls out of the boat, soaked to the bone and stiff as a board.

Then he sees you again, this time your sorting registry papers with Pocock. Your back is turned to him, so you don’t notice his longing stare. He keeps telling himself that you’re a married lady and that he should be focused on making the team, but nothing seems to chase you from his mind. 

Coach Ulbrickson sweeps across the dock and places a hand on top of your head, an odd gesture between husband and wife but Joe wouldn’t know about those things. Since his group was the last to use Old Nero, they get the privilege of stowing the oars. Joe begins unlatching the mechanism when he shifts on his knees.

It happens so fast he can’t clock what’s happening. First there’s the sensation of slipping, the horrible thrust of his legs flying out from beneath him. He twists mid slip, and his side smacks the dock painfully before he’s swept off the dock by his own weight. He plumets into the cold water with a catastrophic splash and agonized shriek.

When Joe resurfaces a dozen hands are reaching for him. He grasps onto George Hunt’s forearm and allows Shorty to hoist him onto the sodden wood planks. A fluffy white towel is draped around his shoulders; firm hands rub his chilled biceps. “Are you alright?” You face appears before him.

Joe is almost too stunned to speak, “I—yeah, yeah I’m okay.” 

You tuck the ends of the towel into his hands, “Better get showered up and dressed.” Joe just nods and stumbles past you and into the locker room. Roger follows closely behind, teasing Joe relentlessly.

“You’re fallin’ harder than I thought.”

“Roger!” Joe grinds his teeth, huffing and puffing. “You need better jokes.”

Joe spends that night struggling to focus on his schoolwork. He has math homework that needs doing. He has books to read. The one in his hands now periodically goes in and out of focus as Joe’s mind wanders. On the page is the story of a western novel, a man had found a girl walking alone the road at dusk, all on her own. He didn’t want to leave her to the coyotes, so he offered her a ride into the nearest town. They were riding horseback across the prairie. Her arms wound tightly around him; her hands splayed over his chest. 

Her hands—

Her hands—

What is wrong with you, Joe?

Joe reads this line over and over again. Each time he nears the end his brain short circuits and all he can think about are your hands on your shoulders. You hadn’t even really touched him, at least not his skin.  Yet the only thing shooting through his neurons are the sensations of your fingers along his skin. That imaginary touch he can conjure up so perfectly. He eventually gives in and skips down a few paragraphs. He reads late into the night and the phantom touches are still nagging his senses when he closes the book and rolls over to sleep. 

…

Day after day, Joe sees you at practice. You congratulate him when he makes the team and help him with his technique every once and a while. “Roll your wrists just a bit more.” Your fingers would poke at his forearms and direct him in graceful strokes. It fries his brain. You give pointers to the rest of the team too, working closely with Bolles and Pocock to get them in racing shape. It’s not long into the season when Ulbrickson decides to switch coxswains. 

“This is Bobby Moch. Your new jockey.” Bolles announces one day. Bobby is short and slender and sharp tongued.  The second he climbs in the boat and starts barking out commands, Joe is flabbergasted. Who is Bobby to talk to the team this way? But they all find themselves obeying his every word. What really irks Joe about Bobby is how friendly he is with you. You exchange jokes and poke fun at each other. Joe tells himself that he just thinks it’s inappropriate to flirt with the coach’s wife but beneath it all he’s incredibly jealous that Bobby can make you laugh so easily. It makes Joe pine for attention in a way that he never has before. 

The day of their race against California, Joe is all jitters and nerves. He bounces on the balls of his feet and shakes his hands, trying to loosen the anxiety. Streamers and garlands of flags decorate the locker room and the campus. People have gathered in clusters along the course and wave flags of purple and gold. The smell of popcorn and peanuts permeates the air and Joe promises to indulge himself if they win.

As the crew carried their shell down to the water, they begin chanting to themselves. “Bow down to Washington!” They neglect the varsity’s jeers and clip their oars into position. They spot Coach Ulbrickson in the stands, you at his side. And then there’s another woman. And Ulbrickson hugs her. And then he kisses her.

Right in front of you! What is going on?

“Rantz! Eyes on me!” Bobby hollers. But Joe can’t help stealing another confused glance. “I said quite drooling over coach’s daughter and LOOK AT ME!”

Joe feels like an idiot. He puts his head down in shame and tightens his grip on the oar. Ulbrickson joins them on the dock and gives one of his famously encouraging speeches. Joe is only half paying attention. They push off and are left with lovely Bobby hyping them up while they wait for the race to start. They lean forward, like a bow drawn for a shot. And then the white flag flies and the boats shoot away from the docks.

There’s nothing but blur as Joe rows. He can only focus on the muscled shoulders of Don Hume in the stroke seat as Bobby screams at them. “28!”

About halfway through the course, Bobby demands the stroke rate be upped and Don performs. The shell lurches forward, eating up the distance between Washington and Cal until the JV boat surpasses the Berkeley blokes. Then the boat is cutting across the finish line, a clean win. Adrenaline rushes Joe’s veins. He throws his fists in the air as the team splashes and roars. They’re inevitably drowned out by the crowd who bursts up in a shower of peanuts and Washington flags. 

Coach Ulbrickson, the new woman Joe assumes his Ulbrickson’s wife, and you rush the dock as the boys climb out of the boat. “Excellent job.” Mrs. Ulbrickson shakes their hands as they unclip their oars. Bolles is compassionate enough to give them each a pat on the back as they hoist the boat over their heads and haul it off. 

Joe can’t help but notice the copious amounts of onlookers pooling around the shell as they carry it back to the shellhouse. They set it down on the stands and before they can even take their hands off the shell, they are bombarded by Washington fans. Girls reaching out to stroke their biceps or kiss their cheeks. Joe has never received attention like this once in his life. He’s as polite as possible, brushing off a few girls here and there and shaking the hand of the occasional fellow. Shorty has accumulated a few lipstick stains on his cheek. Don Hume is blushing from the tips of his ears down to the point of his freckled nose. Chuck and Roger accept a few hugs. They bask in the winners’ glory for only a few moments until the varsity team strolls by. They make a comment to Moch that Joe doesn’t catch but judging by the way Bobby’s shoulders square he can make obvious conclusions.

“You rowed so well today, Joe.” He hears your voice, and his palms start to sweat.

“Thanks, I uh—” It occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know a thing about you. “Sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten your name.” You smile at him, and syllables fall out but the crowd is too loud. “What?” Your grasp his shoulder and lean in, the sound of your name echoes off the shell of his ear. 

When you pull away, you’re still smiling but before Joe can ask you another question, Bobby is buzzing by with a play-by-play of exactly what happened in Bobby’s world. 

You shade your eyes and peer down at the docks, “Looks like dad is almost done with the varsity. I should get down there.” You say, and Bobby turns around to talk to Shorty. “Hey. Will I see you at the party tonight?” Your hand rests on Joe’s shoulder. He prays you can’t feel his heart skip a beat. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Good. You had better save a dance for me, Joe Rantz.”

You leave him breathless, the butterflies in his stomach so vicious that he shudders. He watches you disappear down the pathway to the dock and his heart starts hammering with anticipation. You want to dance with him. You want to touch his hands, touch him. And then he remembers that you already did that, he was too focused on the motion of your lips that he’d hardly registered the sensation of your hands on his arm. Damn! What had it felt like? He’d remembered it’d made him flabbergasted and choked his speech but he couldn’t remember how the grooves in your palm felt as they brushed over his skin. The warmth of your fingertips. He curses himself out and vanishes into the locker room to get changed.

…

The dance rolls around rather too quickly and Joe is swimming in nerves. He has to tie his tie twice because he messes up so badly, he can’t even draw it tight to his neck. Roger found out all too quickly and hasn’t let Joe catch a break.

“A date with coach’s daughter. Careful Joe, Ulbrickson might throw you off the team if he catches the wrong look in your eye.” 

“Shut up, Roger, I’m not greasy like you”

“Ouch, that hurts me.”

“Clearly not enough.” Joe hisses as he finally gets his tie right. 

“Feels like I’m a father about to send his kid off to prom.” 

Joe sighs and throws on his suit coat. “Oh, please—”

“Look at you fly, shooting out of your league.” 

Roger works a smile onto Joe’s face, and they set off for the party. Spring is finally warming the campus up from a brutal winter and a few couples mull around outside. Joe and Roger find their way into the crowded gymnasium, both shocked by just how loud it is. Joe can’t even hear his own thoughts. They spot the team almost immediately, clustered around tables, drinks in their hands. A few of the boys are dancing with some lovely dames, a few are leaned against the wall having close conversations. Don is sitting by himself on a bench a few feet away from the refreshment table, watching the dance floor. Joe is turning to follow Roger towards the other boys but an arm loops through his, “Thought you weren’t going to show.” You practically shout. 

Joe can’t help but grin as you capture his attention. “You weren’t joking.”

“Not a bit, Rantz, didn’t have any other dancing plans except for this one.”

“Guess I should make it worth your wait then.” Joe leads you into the thicket of bodies.

He prides himself on the laugh you let out, “please do,” you say as he takes your hands and spins to face you.  He places his hand high on your waist and cradles the other gently in his palm. He can feel the smooth plains of you hand against his. Each crease and each callous. His are no doubt unbelievably rough from the rowing and he would feel bad but right now all he can feel are your fingers lacing through his. “You’re not half bad.” You tease. Joe knows his cheeks are heating up to a flaming red. Probably his ears too. 

His hand migrates to the small of your back as the music changes into a soft slow song. “I’ll be completely honest,” he starts, “I had no idea you were the coach’s daughter.”

“Then who else would I be?” 

“I thought you were his wife.” He looks away sheepishly, but your laughter is so unrestrained and whole that Joe’s heart melts. You can’t stop laughing either and it’s contagious. 

“You’re an engineering student, right?” Your shoes brush as you sway with him. 

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Joyce.” Joe’s heart drops. In his infatuation he’d forgotten all about her. “She was trying to hit on you, but she figured out that your attention was elsewhere.”

“You too are good friends then?”

“Just since the start of the year. We have an English class together.” You and Joe talk for a while, it forces you to be close and neither of you care to separate. Eventually, you move outside and sit with sit with Joe on the steps of the gym. It’s still chilly out and you sit close to Joe which he doesn’t mind one bit. At some point your head rests on his shoulder and you close your eyes. Joe can do nothing but stare down at you, his mouth agape. 

“Why is your heart beating so fast?” You trace his knuckles with your pointer finger.

Joe’s head pounds, his mouth dry, “This has never happened to me before.”

“None of the girls from high school? Never?”

“Not one.”

You look up at Joe and reach to smooth back a blond curl. “Shame, they were missing out.” This makes Joe smile again and he’s immensely pleased with how easily you do that to him. Make him happy. He hasn’t felt like this since… he can’t remember when. Sure, he was happy when the team won but that was different. That was pride. So was making the team. This feels more affectionate, closer to the heart. He wonders if this is what love feels like but that would be silly; he’s only known your name for a day. He’s also never been flattered quite like this. Besides Joyce, he can’t think of anyone else who’s actually been interested in him. Certainly not one who compliments him the way you do. 

People start to drain out of the gym very slowly and Joe checks his watch. “So late already?”

“Guess I should get home; my dad will be wrought with worry.” You joke and straighten out your skirt. 

“Can I walk you home?”

“I would love that.”

Joe offers you his hand, “Where does coach live?” 

“Not too far.” You accept his calloused hand and direct him off campus. Surprisingly, Joe has read the book you’re reading for English and time flies as you discuss the book. Then Joe makes a sobering comment that makes you stop and study him. 

“His parents remind me of my own.”

Joe realizes what he’s let slip, “Don’t worry about it too much. I’m okay.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

Joe presses his lips into a line and stares down at his worn shoes. A wave of self-consciousness washes over him as he realizes how ragged of a life he has lived and just how much it shows. “Well—”

“Is this why you have a hard time trusting your team?”

“Hey now,”

“Sorry.” You take his hands.

He grimaces and squeezes your soft palms. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes.” 

Joe sighs and swipes a thumb across your knuckles. “My Pops just… left me one day. Told me I’d be fine on my own.” Joe gives you parts of the story. Mostly what he feels like stomaching at the moment.

When he’s finished you let go of his hands and cup his cheeks. He sinks into the touch, soaking it up like a flower budding in sunlight. You don’t say anything, you just look at him. You look at him like he’s the only thing that’s ever mattered and his heart trembles because he has never once known what it’s like to be that for someone else. And then you stand on tip toes and plant a hearty kiss on his forehead. “This is it actually,” you gesture behind you at the hosue that must be the Ulbricksons’. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice?”

“Yeah.” The spot on his forehead that you kissed tingles. “Nowhere else I’d want to be.”

…

The Poughkeepsie Regatta rolls around all too quickly and Ulbrickson has to make a decision. The varsity boat who deserves it. Or the JV boat who could win it. His hands sweat as he stands on at that pulpit and reads off his preplanned speech. As he talks, he thinks about the future of the rowing program. The jobs it has provided him and Bolles. About how Pocock would have to find work elsewhere and it’d kill Al Ulbrickson to send him away. 

He leans into the mic and spits, “and that boat is our JV boat.” It has to be them. They have to win. Moans and groans blow his way as the crowd rejects his announcement. Regret washes over him but he cannot take this back. He has to be right about his crew. He tips his hat and hustles off the podium as the JV bursts into celebration. He has to be right.

…

Joe is more than pleased to see you on the train to Poughkeepsie. He slides into the car with you, and you chat away. You were fast friends the night of the dance and have since become closer. The kiss on the forehead still lingers sometimes, especially when Joe sees your lips form your smile. You entice him into some card games and eventually a game of chess. At some point, he decides that he needs to sleep and bids you goodnight so that he can find a train car to sleep in. But before he does, he sneaks a chaste kiss onto your knuckles. 

His good mood is stamped out the very next day when the team takes to the water. They don’t row good, and frustration starts to build. Bobby and the coaches try and get them working together, telling them that it’s just nerves and new water. But tensions rise regardless. The days start to dwindle, and the crew is getting worse and worse. 

Blame starts to turn to him, and Joe is at a loss. He doesn’t want to believe that he’s holding the team back, but he thinks back to what you said that night he walked you home. But the most awful feeling creeps over him, not an ounce of care. What’s wrong with him. This crew has been the only family he’s had in years. He needs them. But he can’t bring himself to admit it. 

Before he knows it, it slips and Ulbrickson is exiling him from the boat. As the crew watches Joe storm away, their spare crawls in and they set off for another row. Bolles taps you on the shoulder, “you had better see if you can do anything. Enlist Pocock if you have to.” Your father nods along.

You set out to find him, not that it was hard there’s not many places he can go alone. He’s stuffing his suitcase when you find him. “Don’t start.” He snaps. Then he sees your expression and his anger sours. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t—”

“Don’t give up on your team, Joe.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, you’re quitting and throwing everything you’ve worked for away.”

“Don’t, don’t even start to pretend you know me.” He realizes too late that he’s made everything so much worse and before he can fix a thing Pocock is at the door.

“I could use some help putting another coat of oil on the shell.”

You duck past Pocock and leave Joe with a painful pit of remorse in his stomach. He follows Pocock and takes the talking to straight to the heart. As he lathers on a thick coat of oil, he figures he can bargain with Ulbrickson in the morning, but he should make a proper apology to you now. He racks his brain for anything that would make it right, but he’s horrifically inexperienced and it’s crippling him now. He feels like a child having a tantrum. He feels miniscule and insignificant.

After Joe dunks his brush into the whale oil can for the last time, he figures he’d better just confront the issue head on since he has no way of handling it delicately. He has no grace and he’s sure you’re aware of this. Pocock gives him an encouraging pat and takes the can from him. Joe winds his way back to the hotel and through the halls. Your room is on the second floor, third door down. He knocks gently, eyes lingering on the hideous carpet and tacky sconces. The door swings open after a moment and Joe is met with your disapproving glower. His tongue seems to swell in his mouth so badly that he worries it’ll flop out when he tries to speak. 

“Coffee?” You ask when you realize he will stand there silently forever if you don’t let him in. 

“No… I just wanted to—to apologize.”

“Oh really.” Your eyebrow quirks.

Joe is fumbling for words. You stand aside and motion for him to step inside so you can have this discussion in privacy. “I know that was wrong to take out my frustration on you. That wasn’t fair and none of it is your fault.” He twiddles his thumbs. How does he go about this without absolutely butchering it? “I just—” As he trails off, he notices a hurt dullness in your eyes. He recognizes it as pity. “You and the crew are really all I’ve got, and I’m so scared I’m going to lose it.”

“These boys aren’t going to leave you behind unless you separate yourself from them like today.”

“I know.

“Really?”

“Pocock made sure I know.”

The edges of your lips tilt up. You pull him down onto the foot of the bed and take his hand. “Are you actually going to try and trust them?”

“Don’t have enough faith to put it in anyone else.”

You squeeze his hand and trace a finger along his jawline, sweeping a knuckle under his chin. You force his stubborn gaze to you and find nothing but desperation. Wanting things like this doesn’t come natural to Joe and it shows, but he’s not so different from the other boys in that boat. 

You reach up and fiddle with a curl, “apology accepted.” Tears pool in the corners of his eyes and he tries to choke them down. You place a hand on his chest and rest your forehead on his. His breath fans over your cheeks. The tip of his nose brushes yours. His shoulders sag inwards and he reaches for your waist. 

“Can I—may I kiss you?”

Joe’s sweetness never fails to amaze you. You cradle his face and bring him closer. “Yes, Joe.” His breath hitches and his lips finally meet yours for the very first time. He’s gentle but generous and lets you kiss him for as long as you like. His arms wrap around you fully and hold you to his chest. He gets the feeling that he’ll be craving these moments all the time now, finally understanding what Roger and Chuck rave about. He’s hooked on your lips and your weight against him and when you pull away it breaks his heart. 

“You should get cleaned up before you talk to my father, you smell like whale oil.”

...

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading this. If you'd like to request, feel free to do so. I always love you in my inbox. I hope you enjoyed this fic and if you like it please check out my masterlist for more. Have nice day.

-the author

[fascinationstreetmp3]

James Spader as Michael Boll BAD INFLUENCE (1990) dir. Curtis Hanson

[gamblersdoll]

I LOVE YOUR WRITING! I just know that fem!reader asks genya to try something new, and it's her using the strap on him, and he loves it so much he cries 🙏

cw: slight pup play, pegging.

and he feels so embarrassed by it, because he’s supposed to be this big strong man that doesnt want anything to badly happen.

yet, here he is with his legs spread wide and on his back while he gets fucking pegged, by someone so much smaller than his size. he can’t believe what’s happening, he doesnt know what to feel— but he knows his cock is hard as a rock, and how bad he feels like hes about to cum.

“does this feel good, baby?” you mumble in his ear, black laces around your hips and groin as your pretty pink strap just plows into him. he silently thanks kanroji for her stretches, because holy shit– do you know how to work your hips.

he nods, fat tears just rolling down his face and he moans like such a boyslut. “s-so good! cant take it!” he says in a rush, eyes crossing but you snap in his face, drawing his eyes back to you.

“eyes on me, pup.” you say, watching his nipples harden and he cant even stay stable, unable to pull the strap out. “relax, ba—“

“cumming! i cummin’!” he cries, hardened cock just spurting ropes of white and his bolls visibly empty. he pants, back arching as you kiss his sweaty skin.

“poor baby, was i too much?” you ask, tweaking at his nipple and massaging his hip.

he shook his head no, eyes rolling to the back of his head as you pull the strap out.

[baddingtonbitch]

James Spader as Michael Boll in Bad Influence (1990)

[floridensis]

I was reading about upland cotton (Gossypium hirsutum) which is apparently a Florida native plant and was wondering if you’ve ever encountered it in the wild before? It seems like there’s also still a law in place from the early 1900s that technically criminalizes growing it because they attracted boll weevils that threatened the commercial cotton industry. Pretty depressing the extents to which these plants were purposely destroyed as well… But anyways I’m just searching for as much info as I can get on them!

okay so i fear im incredibly late with receiving this and i am sorry. the good news is that i think that i obtained some cotton some time after you apparently sent me this ask (shhhhh). i have never seen it in the wild, but apparently the ones i have are wild types, but i wont know until they grow up more. some lady grew them to sell as a fundraiser but then read about them and decided selling was a bad idea and jst handed some off to me for free, assuming maybe its not illegal for me to possess as long as im not producing or selling any? im choosing to trust her judgement dont post about your illegal activities online but i seriously dont think anyone will enforce this considering there is apparently no longer any boll weevils OR cotton industry anywhere near me! but the law remains! its pretty fucked up. the lady who gave them to me was repeatedly expressing her bafflement that they are native, ENDANGERED, and illegal to grow for outdated reasons!

a friend of mine said he saw some in the everglades, but the flowers didn't look quite right so its possible they might be feral descendants of crops

EDIT: additional commentary in replies!

[im-notbean]

wsg bestie r reqs open cuz if they are

can I ask (willing to beg) for aizawa x male reader where the reader's a fellow teacher/hero and he hobo-looking-save his ass and he starts feeling them palpitations

if they rn't open, that's why I'm anon HAHAHHA (also can I be known as orange anon that sounds fun)

Hi orange anon! Requests are open! (also your my first request lol)

Aizawa x Male!Pro Hero!Subsitute Teacher!Reader

Also I'm assuming that reader also is somewhat Aizawa, you'll see the resemblance soon, sorry if I messed it up a bit or it's not to your liking-

(╯﹏╰)

Aizawa: Purple

Reader: Red

Aizawa leaped across the two buildings, the villain he was chasing was fast. Must have some endurance quirk Aizawa thought, then came you. You cut the villain off so fast and was on-top of the villain so fast that Aizawa couldn't keep track of you. He walked up to you slowly, he felt like he had seen you somewhere before. Question was, where? Where did he see you last?

"You gonna just stare their or ya' gonna help me." "Uh- Shit yeah I'll-"

Aizawa found himself stumbling to the side. Making a groan of annoyance he looked to his side. A knife, presumably a dager was lodged into his side, and did I mention he was losing blood. And fast. When did he get that, not important right now, all Aizawa knew was that he was loosing blood and fast. He felt his head spin, you had detained the villain earlier so you walked over to Aizawa.

"Got hit eh?" "No shit-" "Don't move so much. It'll make it worse." "Got it...what are you doing exactly..?" "Trying to make sure you don't die of blood loss."

You pulled off your shirt and tied it around Aizawa's side, right above the wound. You made sure it was tight but not tight enough that he couldn't breathe. You picked Aizawa up from the ground and walked back to the villain who you threw over your shoulder. You started heading to the police station, once you were their you looked at the guard who took the unconscious villain off you arm. You could tell the guard was staring at you, I mean, she wasn't that bad looking. But you knew she probably wanted to use you for money, before she could come back you left for the hospital. Despite all of Aizawa's protesting.

"Seriously. I'm fine" "No. Your. Not, you could bleed out, your wound could be infected, you could make the wound larger which becomes more of a pain to deal with, and you could pass out. All of which can kill you." "Well none-" "I don't give two shits if you'd be extra careful, it's a risk I'm not willing to take." "..."

You felt the sweat dripping down your bare back and some blood from Aizawa's side as you ran down the street towards the hospital. You entered the hospital with Aizawa in your arms and you told them the situation. You placed Aizawa in one of the emergency room beds. You sat next to him and sighed, running a hand through your slightly bloody hair.

That's when Aizawa realized the situation he was in. One you basically saved his ass. Two you were shirtless. And three nobody should be as hot as you were. Aizawa face was three shades of bright red and he slumped into your shoulder, party out of embarrassment and partly out of exhaustion. You let out a soft laugh that left Aizawa even more embarrassed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

☆Extra☆

☆At UA High, The Next Day ☆

"Hello students."

Class 1-A was surprised to see instead of their normal sleep deprived teacher with his usual cup of coffee that was pitch black (which always smelled sweet for some reason). A different male with H/L H/C hair who obviously did not really want to be their currently, was leaning on the black board with the words "Y/N L/N" in big bolled letters to the right of his body. All the students took their seats quietly, except Mineta. Who took one look at your upper chest region and said to himself "That is one fine woman" you took one glance at him and was blushing profusely. You narrowed your E/C hues at the boy and geustered to the class, more specifically the empty seat you pre-assumed was his. You looked at the clock and made a mental note of his lateness. As Mineta walked in he seemed to be in a daze, you slamed your fist down on the desk and that seemed to snap him out of his daze.

"You're 3 minutes late Mineta. I expected better from a hero corse student." "Huh?!!" "Awe poor little boy is confused, take your seat whatever you were thinking about isn't important currently." "Yes ma'am." "THAT'S A MAN MINETA..." The rest of 1-A said in unison. "Oh shi-"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you all so so SO much for reading ♡

[gremlingirlsmell]

"video game adaption curse" actually just statistical error. average video game adaptation is pretty good. Bad Video Game Adaptations Uwe, who lives in cave & makes over 10 bad movies a decade, is an outlier and should not have been counted

“The video game adaption curse is broken since The Last of Us is successful!”

Witcher 1 season 1, Sonic The Hedgehog, detective Pikachu, arcane, Cyberpunk, etc

[wallterwall]

POSTAL

(2007)

By Uwe Boll

MAN:

Tower two.

Stand by.

[ speaks indistinctly ]

That's affirmative.

Congratulations, Nabi.

We are at the doorstep

of our martyrdom.

Praise Allah.

Praise him!

Soon we will be greeted

by Allah, the one true god,

and by the cheers

of our forefathers

and by 99 perfect virgins

who will worship us

for all eternity!

I thought it was 100.

What's that?

they promised me 100.

what's the difference?

If they're telling you one thing

and they're telling me another,

maybe they don't know

for sure.

Maybe.

Maybe the exact number

of virgins is not precise.

I mean, if it's in the 90s,

I can live with that.

Or 75.

Hey, I'm not greedy,

but what if it's 10?

Well...

What if it's 10, but we have

to split them between us?

Then you'll have

five more virgins

than you have right now,

right?

We're talking

about eternity here!

How long will five virgins

last you -- maybe a month?

They're not going to be virgins

for long, right?

Look, would it make

you feel better

if we called the big guy?

Yes.

Take the stick.

- Okay.

It's ringing.

Osama, yes, it's Asif.

No, we're on it.

It was fine, but security

takes forever, you know?

What are you going to do?

Anyway, look,

Nabi has a question.

Will you talk to him?

No!

[ mutters indistinctly ]

You do it!

Hello!

Yes.

Uh, it's about the virgins.

Really?

It was 100 when I signed up.

[ sighs ]

He said

it's not that many anymore.

Too many martyrs

in the first go-around.

You've got to be kidding me.

Does he know where we are here?

Give me the phone.

Take the stick.

Osama, it's Asif.

Right now, can you tell me

the number, absolutely,

that you can guarantee

Nabi and myself,

as far

as virgins are concerned?

[ pounding on door, indistinct talking ]

No, that's fine.

MAN:

Do it!

Come on, man!

He can't guarantee

more than 20.

MAN #2:

Open the goddamn door,

you bastards!

MAN #3:

We're gonna f***ing

kill you, you motherf***er!

MAN #4:

Lying pieces of sh*t!

MAN #5:

Open the door!

MAN #6:

- Open this f***er!

Screw this, right?

I'm glad you said it first.

Okay, get on the intercom

to the passengers.

We are changing course

for the Bahamas.

Bahamas!

Aah!

[ indistinct shouting ]

We're going to the Bahamas!

[ indistinct shouting ]

Aah!

[ whistling ]

[ gunshots ]

MAN:

...Has again expanded

the definition of marriage,

this time to include any union

between a man and a woman,

a man and a man,

a woman and a woman,

a man and a collie,

or a woman, a polish sausage,

and a long weekend.

The standoff��with Mr. Cruise

Has now stretched

into its eighth day.

Cruise continues to insist

that police are violating

his parental

and��religious freedoms,

citing human sacrifice

as essential...

Today on

"Good Morning Paradise,"

mayoral candidate Eugene Wells

joins us to talk about

the new political landscape,

and the newest toy craze

of the year --

Krotchy dolls.

Stay tuned. It's gonna be

a super-dupe show.

Turn down that f***ing TV!

I can't hear my show.

[ indistinct shouting on TV ]

Yeah,

nothing's good on anyway.

Just, uh, preparing

for my interview.

Fight!

Aw, you fight like a p*ssy.

No one's gonna hire

your sorry ass.

Why don't you go suck up

to your Uncle Dave already?

[ gagging ]

God damn it!

What the hell

is going on out there?!

Ugh.

Nothing.

Make sure you pick up

that welfare check!

Kiss, kiss,

sweetie pie...

[ speaks indistinctly ]

[ squishing ]

Come on!

Come on!

No.

Bad boy.

Bad boy.

I told you --

no poopies in our yard.

No poopies in this yard.

You only poop in

the next-door neighbor's yard.

[ gunshots pinging ]

Feces in the yard.

[ sighs ]

That's a violation

of trailer-park

ordinance number 101-40.

Stop eating the poop.

I'll add that to the list.

Th-the list?

The list. Great. The list.

W-what else?

What else

you got on the list?

Ordinance number 143-11.

Yesterday around lunchtime.

Now, I don't care what you two

do in your own bedroom,

but ordinance number 143-11

says if I hear your lewd

lovemaking after 10:00 a.M.,

I get to file a grievance

against your sorry ass,

which is

exactly what I'm gonna do!

Oh. Oh.

- Oh, okay.

Well, at least I wasn't boning

my sister, you inbred hick.

Oh, for your information,

hillbilly,

I wasn't even here

yesterday afternoon.

[ laughs ]

[ sighs ]

I hate this town.

Matt!

- Whatever!

This f***ing sucks.

And NASA,

The National Aeronautics

and Space Administration,

does not exist.

All the space missions

that we've heard about

since we were little kids

in school --

creations of Hollywood.

We did not land on the moon.

There is no John Glenn.

Well, there's a John Glenn

who's a Senator...

Hey, hello?

You, professor.

What is this,

a reading library?

Yeah, yeah.

Two minutes, buddy.

Ah, no "two minutes" now.

You buy now, or bye-bye.

Bye-dee now now.

Ah, go on, bye-bye.

Go on.

Bye-bye.

You bye-bye.

Goodbye. Goodbye.

- Hey.

Don't let the door

hit you on the way out.

Daddy, Mohammed says he needs

to talk to you again.

What about?

What else?

Okay, so, what did she say

about me exactly?

That slut.

# killer, yeah,

and rhyme till I die #

# with an AK-47

from side to side #

# jihad killers #

# man, it's hot in here #

# you just to stake that

out of this atmosphere #

# jihad killers #

My brother.

Any police come around today?

Anything suspicious?

No, nothing, Mohammed.

Trust me...

you are safely hidden here

for as long as you want.

Well, that may not

be for much longer.

Oh?

We have news

from Afghanistan.

News? Oh.

It is all coming together.

The shipment

left three days ago.

Oh.

Praise Allah.

When, uh, will be it here?

Tomorrow!

The time has come for us

to place our swords

to the genitals

of the infidels.

[ exhales deeply ]

Whoo-hoo!

[ chuckles nervously ]

[ groans lightly ]

[ keys clacking ]

Gah.

I see

you noticed the heads --

motivational.

Those are

every f***ing bastard

that I had to climb over

to get this job.

Jesus.

[ laughs ]

Foul.

They're paper-mache.

They're --

he thought they were real.

[ chuckles ]

Sit down.

Let's get started.

So, I hope you don't mi--

I hope you don't mind

the recording.

Uh, we're gonna use it

as training later.

Ready?

Uh, yeah, yeah.

It's good.

What the f*** is wrong

with you?

It's, uh --

the chair is actually --

All right,

we're on a time clock,

So let's get started,

shall we?

Yes, sir.

Good.

Well...

Um, so, I'm here

for the job, sir.

Right.

You're a factory worker.

I was.

I was a factory worker, but

the factory got closed down,

so I got laid off, and --

I've interviewed 15 other people

for this job.

What makes you think

you're better than them?

Well, I don't know

if I am better than them.

Well, god damn it, pal.

If you want this job, you better

reach out and grab it.

You better put

those f***ing heads on the wall.

You know what? F*** it.

Let's go to the questions.

What is

your greatest strength?

Um...

I'm a really good team player.

Wrong.

[ keys clacking ]

What is

your biggest weakness?

Um, I'd say I work too hard.

Wrong.

How would you move a

mountain using only a spoon?

A spoon?

If you were in a box,

how would you think outside it?

I bought all these goddamn English CDs

For you

to say f***ing "glass"?

It's "glasses."

You f***ing foreigners

come over here,

and you f*** up

the language,

and this b*tch

is f***ing up the traffic!

Come down, Greg.

You f***ing calm down!

This flat-ass b*tch

comes over here,

she takes over

the convenience stores,

and they eat up

all our goddamn dogs!

Go and help her.

Come on.

WOMAN:

What's the holdup?!

You're right.

I'm trippin'.

I'll just get out of the car

and make sure she's doing okay.

She's an old lady.

[ sighs ]

I feel bad now.

[ woman shouts indistinctly ]

Hi.

The light is green.

[ speaking native language ]

The light is green.

You could have

went through the light.

The light turned gr--

what did you say?

[ speaking native language ]

What'd you say, b*tch?

Aah!

Why don't you stir-fry that?

[ man laughing ]

WOMAN:

Holy f***!

MAN:

Damn!

Yeah, that'll get her moving!

Man.

What happened over there?

B*tch called me n*gger.

[ indistinct conversations ]

Ooh.

Whoa-ho-ho!

Did you see that?

Yeah.

[ chuckles ]

One date with me,

she'll look like she's been hit

with a mayonnaise truck.

[ both laugh ]

That's right, Mr. Stickum.

[ both laugh ]

Yeah, I hope she comes back.

You got to hold it.

[ whimpers ]

Thank you.

Okay.

All set?

- Yes.

What do you got?

- I will have a medium...

[ inhales sharply ]

[ squeaking ]

No, you know what?

I'm gonna have a large.

I'll have a large mocha.

Okay.

No.

No, you know what?

Maybe a -- maybe a vanilla.

Okay.

W-w-what do you think

goes better with bagels?

Unh!

You had 10 minutes

to make up your f***ing mind!

What is it with you people?

Can somebody please tell me?

I mean, we sell coffee.

That's it, nothing else.

You're not buying a car,

I mean, right?

Make a f***ing decision, huh?

How about it?

I know.

Here we go.

You're gonna have

a regular coffee.

Careful -- the beverage you're

about to enjoy is extremely hot.

Next?

Uh...

What?

I, um --

Two lattes,

no foam, please.

[ rock music plays ]

I can't believe

this is the first time

you've ever been here.

Huh.

I mean, all these f***ing idiots

calling me Uncle Dave,

And here I am --

I actually am your Uncle Dave.

[ chuckles ]

Yeah.

So, when was the last time

I saw you?

The bachelor party,

right before the wedding night.

Oh, f***, yeah, right.

That was fun.

I wonder

if that donkey survived.

[ inhales deeply ]

Well, what do you think

of the place?

Ah, it's -- it's amazing.

Yeah. I kind of owe it

all to you, you know?

Me?

Well, we always talked

about running a con like this, right?

- Yeah.

[ why did you have to send like seven of these ]

[thesilverlady]

Judging by how Ryan love to show his feminist ideals by making female characters go through unspeakable amount of non-canon abuse and violence. And the only way for Rhaenyra's story to be a progressive/feminist tale is by making her get abused by the men around her. I am going to assume it's wouldn't be that far for Ryan to change Rhae's death and makes her gets raped in 4k scene by aegon (who should be disabled but we know Ryan loves to ignore source material) like show Rhaenyra's got zero respect from the writers. Like even her relationship with Daemon which wasn't healthy in the book to begin with , is now not really about her but because Daemon got the hots for Viserys (some leaks implies it for Aemma) he started projecting into her and entered a relationship with her bc it's the closest he can get to Visussy 🤓 f&b was already bad for me personally but Ryan is such a talented mf he managed to come up with much worse

*sorry for the rant I don't really ship daemrya but I really hate watching a female character get non-canon abuse just for the writers to prove a point about a male character *

Edit: My answer became very negative so for the pookies who want to avoid discourse and negativity pls scroll past ♥

it's alright! no need to apologize! 🫶

tbh with you I do enjoy daemyra very much in the book but I fully acknowledge their dynamic has its toxicity (tbf it's super rare to find a wholesome, sweet, "healthy" asoiaf couple and I probably wouldn't even get that hooked compared to how I get with the dark ones)

That being said, the couple lost me already by s1 ep4, so it terms of shipping I've given up waiting anything from them

Now about the writing, hotd has been misogynistic from the start so I'm not exactly waiting for a transformation to happen in s2.

in s1 Alicent’s character was rewritten - in such a way that the new version of her doesn't even experience a moment of happiness or a second of having autonomy or power. She's always someone's punching bag while also her being hypocritical and nasty to Rhaenyra

Laena's way of death was completely unnecessary and brutal, similiar to Aemma's. And the fact they made getting burnt alive being "a dragon rider's death" already gave a hint about how Rhaenyra's death will be seen if it follows canon.

asoiaf established how brutal dragon fire is when Rhaegal bathed Quentyn after he tried to tame Viserion. It's not "honorable" as hotd tries to make it be, it's torturous. And my concern with Rhaenyra's death is that it won't be seen for its brutality.

To continue Baela & Rhaena were barely given any lines, their role as kids was getting dismissed but their dad and as adults they were just standing silently - you'd think they were background characters.

Mysaria's character was brushed off by erasing the child loss she went through due to Viserys - which debatably worked as a trigger for the events she also did in the plot.

Rhaenys was downright written as an idiot who was envious of Rhaenyra and instead of supporting her, she was trying to "humble" her by being an asshole. When she got the opportunity to destroy the greens during the coronation she walked away because.... *check notes" she made eye contact with alicent and the power of motherhood won? her granddaughters being engaged wasn't enough for her to act I guess.

Then there's Helaena, who while she did have an extremely tiny role in the book, it doesn't justify making her extra passive. I've talked about this before but making her having "dragon dreams" is useless and a waste of time and it's also a great excuse to have her be dismissed and ignored.

Helaena in the book was said to be pleasant, motherly, patient and calm. I won't mention the leaks I've read about b&c but if they're true they paint her in a very weird light.

Rhaenyra deserves an entire post of her own. If alicent was the punching bad Rhaenyra is the bing bong boll being tosses from one person to another each second.

So yeah, the issue isn't about shipping or even which teams anyone sides with. The writing is atrocious to all the female characters, and what's the cherry on top is the showrunners constantly patting themselves in the back for being "feminist" and GA falls for it!

I'm so burnt out 😩 This is why I've decided to attempt turn off the media analysis for the show 'cause it's like kicking a dead horse. My goal for this season is to try to vent less and enjoy whatever I can put of context without thinking too hard about it.

[grub-s]

once again I'm too lazy to get up and take photos (I am in bed with dracula: the voyage of the demeter, which is as bad as I thought it would be but not worse) but I did a little experimental spinning w some cotton i nicked from my workmate. It was decorative dried stems of the cotton bolls in their flowerheads and I dyed them by chucking into procion dye without pre-wetting so only the outside of the bolls took colour. then I blended on hand cards with angora and spun long draw and it's so soft and fluffy and this great heathered pink. I'll show you tomorrow. I've got a little bit of prepped angora left which i don't seem to be allergic to like the raw stuff so I may make some more

[arokel]

you can ignore this if someone beat me to it but i would loveeee to know about only harbor

charlotte beat you to it BUT i'll put another snippet here just for fun

“It’s good for them not to be together all the time,” he overhears Bolles say to Roger, lingering just beyond the door after bringing Don his lunch. “He needs to get used to trusting that Bobby is okay without having to see it to believe it.”

Roger hums, sounding unconvinced. Don is grateful; Roger has seen Don’s nightmares and his waking anxieties. He knows that what Don needs is to see Bobby. Not all the time, just every once in a while. Just to make sure.

“My uncle had shell-shock real bad. Nightmares, times he’d just stare into space or cry and we couldn’t do anything to help. Took him a long time to get better,” Roger says. “Don’s not a soldier, but… I see that, a little. If seeing Bobby helps - if anything helps - I think we ought to.”

It’s a ridiculous notion, Don having shell-shock, but it gets him what he wants: his forced convalescence is lifted and he is free to go where he wishes. He goes to Bobby.