#A real groaner as the kids say
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The Concession - Din Djarin x f!Reader
gif from @rebeljyn 's gifset here
Din Djarin falls in love. Whoops.
The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)
AO3 Link
TAGS: S2 Din Djarin, "Who Did This to You?", P in V, Unprotected Sex w/o consequences because who likes those, m!Masturbation, Fluff, Pining, touch-starved!Din, helmet-less!Din, soft!Din, protective!Din, Grogu bein a sweet shit.
WARNINGS: Star Wars cursing/slang which I know annoys some people lmao, abusive shopkeepers.
A/N: "Shit" is Star Wars canon (thank you, Andor); Din is a groaner (Chapter 5 of TBOBF); & Din is a bit of a poet (thanks pledge to Bo-Katan in Chapter 23); I have cited my sources LOL.
"No," the Mandalorian snaps. "No droids."
A gloved hand flies to his holster and the rusty pit droids screech to a halt, beeping nervously.
Leaning against the frame of the Razor Crest, at the top of the boarding ramp, you roll your eyes at Din Djarin's back. His distaste for droids had been made clear to you the first time he'd stopped for parts.
Those droids had been considerably less polite about Din’s preference, and he had taken too much pleasure in enforcing it.
"Listen, buddy, they're my refueling dr-"
"Then I'll take my business elsewhere."
The attendant sighs loudly, glaring at the Mandalorian. The skinny, maroon male with a fin-shaped head rises from his chair behind his workshop desk. He walks toward a shaking pit droid and grabs the refueler.
"It'll cost you extra," the attendant's eye-stalks narrow at the bounty hunter.
Din comes to an agreement with the disgruntled worker, sullenly agreeing to a slightly higher rate.
As the Mandalorian keeps watch over his ship, your footsteps clang down the steep ramp, and you sidle up to him, saying, "We need some things. Ration packs are gone. And - don't tell him -" your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, "But I think Grogu deserves a treat."
"He would agree with you.” Din’s elbow brushes your shoulder, and he realizes he’d leaned closer as you spoke.
You continue, “And you need something to relax.”
At that, Din’s helmet turns. “I do not.”
“You’re even more impatient than usual. You’re on an anti-droid campaign; the last time we stopped, you threatened to yank out one’s navigator circuits just for bumping your foot.” You look up at him, raising a teasing eyebrow.
The Mandalorian goes as still as one of those droids he had deactivated. His intimidating, T-shaped slit brands into your vision. Behind it, you know he’s boring holes into your face.
“Alright. Nothing for you, then.”
Your shoulders drop when you turn away from him, almost relieved to be out from underneath his piercing, hidden gaze.
The Mandalorian had paid you a few days before, and this was your first real opportunity to spend your own money. You can’t stop smiling, even as you place the kid in his white pod and stuff your pocket with your credits. Grogu is as excited as you are - giggling in his quiet way.
As you pass the statue of Din Djarin, he extends a closed fist. Obediently, you hold out your hand. The tan-hide fingers of his gloves open and credits fall, clinking. You look up questioningly at him.
“For the food. Your wages are not meant to be spent on communal necessities.”
Your lips curve into a lopsided, sweet smile that Din immediately commits to memory, and you nod.
Turning to Grogu, his fuzzy ears perked and eyes wide, you ask, “Ready, kid?”
***
The marketplace is huge. Stretching the length of the entire square, it’s busy for a planet this remote, but the size increases the options.
Grogu floats along beside you, and you keep one hand on the lip of the pod, just to be safe. The responsibility of the kid is the greatest charge you’ve ever been given, in more ways than one. Grogu often holds your hand or squeaks to get your attention to point at something glowing or stinky or flashing. His outright affection is a lamp to your lonely heart.
After visiting several vendors, you’ve resupplied what was necessary (with credits left over), and now you move on to something for Grogu. You’d be buying that with your own wages. Din could say whatever he liked, but what else do you have to spend your money on except the cute baby?
You walk past a booth advertising repair supplies, but when you realize it’s for clothing repair, something clicks in your brain. Grogu’s ears flop forward with your sudden stop. Your eyes run over the objects, and you select some, a smile splitting your face. You hope he will be pleased.
Several minutes later, Grogu makes a bah! sound, pointing at a live amphibian display. You’re pretty sure it’s a pet vendor, but the look on the kid’s face tells you he won’t take no for an answer. And maybe you should parent him - tell him no - but that’s Din’s job, not yours.
“Hi. How much for the frog eggs?” You politely ask the vendor, digging in your pocket for credits.
The bug-eyed lady tells you in a language you don’t speak, but she holds up three short tentacles on her hand. She pushes six eggs toward you, which you gratefully take and set in Grogu’s pod.
When you try to hand her the credits, she’s pushed out of the way by someone behind her. A man with a smushed nose yells in the same language the lady had spoken, and points away, clearly telling her to leave.
You watch warily, and once the woman has gone, the man turns to you.
“My apologies. The price is one credit per egg,” he simpers at you.
Disliking the hike in price, you move to return half of the eggs, but he protests, “Once the item has left my possession, they must be paid for.”
“But I can give them back to you,” you assert. “I’m not paying that much for frog eggs.”
His smushed nose twitches up like a feral Loth-wolf, “Yes, you are.”
"I'm not." You set three eggs back on the counter.
The man seizes your wrists, holding you in place. The crowded market is loud, but your indignant cry and the vendor's screamed accusation of theft cause several people to stop and watch.
You try to twist out of his hold, but his scaly skin tears at yours. The snarling vendor suddenly ceases making noise, and he releases your wrists to clutch at his throat. Shocked, your head snaps to the child.
Grogu has one little, three-fingered hand raised and curled.
“No!” You gasp, slamming the button on Grogu’s pod to close it. Far, far too many eyes watch.
The vendor, choking and sputtering, recovers quickly and lunges at you across the table. His hands grip your upper arms, but you wrench out of his hold. Hoping to draw all attention to yourself, you punch the vendor with all your might. The vendor stumbles.
“Never seen someone pretend to choke over three credits,” your lie is an incredibly lame one, but you hope it’s enough for passersby.
He clutches his jaw; his spat insult is garbled, and he begins to inch around the long table, trying to get a better shot at you.
You turn and walk away with as even a pace as you can manage. Running would make his accusation true. The crowd swallows the two of you up well, and you lengthen your stride.
But the vendor is regaining his volume. Nervously, you check over your shoulder. You jolt when Grogu’s pod bumps into your hip, then zooms away.
“No,” you yell again, grasping for the white vessel, but it comes to a hovering stop in front of a tall, silver man.
“Thank the Maker,” you sigh with relief. “We have to go.”
Din immediately notices the red ring of heat around your wrists and along your knuckles. He strides toward you. The closer he gets, the safer you feel - his protective aura slowly engulfing you.
Din grabs your forearm and examines your wrist. There’s a raw quality to your skin where the man’s abrasive hands had clamped down and twisted. After a moment, his face locks onto yours.
“Show me who did this."
Cold, calm, his words are a promise.
Confused by his reaction, and still so used to answering when asked a direct question, you wince over your shoulder. Din finally seems to hear the vendor shouting in the distance as he searches the crowd for a ‘thief’ and her ‘dangerous pet’. Din abruptly straightens and steps past you.
Running after him, you reach for his gloved hand, fingers sliding home. “Din, please; we need to go.”
The familiar contact makes him stop and turn to look at you. He says nothing, so you use the opportunity to explain.
“The ki- I made a scene, and it would be best if everyone forgot about it. A Mandalorian publicly roughing up the very same shopkeeper would give them more reason to gossip.”
Din Djarin frowns the longer you speak. He knows you’re right. The kid is far more important than his sudden anger. He nods curtly.
The man’s vicious insults about your likely occupation and parentage echo down the street and make Din’s lip curl. But for the sake of the child, he manages to turn back toward the Razor Crest. It’s only when he passes Grogu’s stationary pod that he realizes he’s still holding your hand, fingers loosely intertwined.
He gently flexes his hand, letting go.
____________________________________
As the Razor Crest speeds away from the planet, you smile. Vacuous and bone-chillingly cold, space is the worst. For most of your life, the inhospitable conditions had been worsened by your constant transport in the dark hold of some Creator-forsaken vessel.
But the cabin of the Mandalorian’s ship is warm and full of life, occupied by the kid's excited babbling and your semi-nervous laughter.
The kid waves his stubby arms in the Mandalorian’s lap as the Razor Crest dips and rises through a relatively calm asteroid field. Expertly maneuvering the expanse, Din Djarin has little motivation to do so except the smiles on his passengers’ faces. If you ask, he’ll tell you it’s a shortcut to the next system, which is only mostly untrue.
It’s been three months since Din collected the bounty on your former master. During that time, the Mandalorian had found one of the kid’s kind. A Jedi who could’ve taken Grogu, she declined the task. She told the bounty hunter of a place, a Seeing Stone, where Grogu could reach out for a Jedi master himself.
Though a week has passed since learning of the Stone, Din had yet to bring Grogu to it, instead taking a couple of jobs. The stoic Mandalorian won’t admit, especially to himself, that he’s reluctant to let the child go.
Reaching a lull in the slow-moving asteroids, Din draws the thruster back to stationary level, then looks down, his helmet nearly touching his breastplate, at the child still waving his short arms. Din turns his silver face to you questioningly.
Before he can speak, you joke, "I don’t want to learn to fly out here, if that's what you're about to ask.”
He shrugs with acceptance. Your eyebrows pinch in surprise, wondering if he’s playing along or serious.
“Okay, kid. We're done here,” he tenderly lifts Grogu and passes him to you.
Grogu makes a protesting sound and hides one of his hands inside his robe.
“Big, mean Mandalorian is no fun,” you mutter to the child teasingly. Grogu coos in agreement.
Din shakes his head and swivels back to the control panel, flipping switches and entering data. The kid catches your attention, triumphantly showcasing a small metal sphere from his robe. You press your lips together and wink, silently promising you won’t tell.
The Mandalorian’s gloved fingers run over his ship’s control panel like he’s conducting the Coruscant Orchestra, and then, suddenly, his right hand freezes in mid-air as he reaches for the thruster.
“Grogu,” Din growls, spinning in his chair.
You laugh openly, “He’s a toddler, Din. You can’t close your eyes for a second.”
The Mandalorian rises, his bulk taking up the entirety of the cabin. He gently wrestles the ball from Grogu's fingers.
Long, soft ears droop, and massive, black eyes turn glassy.
“Oh, look what you've done,” you croon, looking up at Din with an expression mirroring the kid’s.
Though he doesn't move, you can somehow see when Din’s annoyance is overruled by something stronger. Then the Mandalorian’s wide shoulders slowly rise and fall, a long-suffering sigh leaving his body.
“You are both menaces,” the Mandalorian accuses. He extends his hand, palm upward, “Grogu. Take it.”
You hold your breath, allowing the child to focus on using his power. Grogu closes his eyes. The metal ball wiggles in the concave of Din’s large palm, then zooms to Grogu’s tiny hand.
Din makes a fist in excitement, “Great job, kid.”
Beaming at the Mandalorian, even more enthralled with him than the magic child in your lap, you wish you could see his proud smile.
Noticing your expression, Din's chin swivels to the side, clearly questioning.
"Nothing. It's just that - it’s good to see you like this.” You shrug, trying to minimize your staring. “I know you’ve been stressed.”
The silent moment draws out as he assesses your observation. Still standing, the Mandalorian’s right hand hesitantly rises to whisper across the left side of your jaw. The gloved softness of his thumb caresses your cheekbone for an instant and a lifetime.
Din drops his hand like it weighs as much as a rancor. He turns around and sits back in his pilot's chair. Silver armor reflects the red and yellow lights around the cabin as he finishes his navigational procedures.
Cheeks aflame, you duck your face down into the kid.
___________________________________
“‘Occasional repairs,’’' you quote at the Mandalorian. “Every karking week there’s a new hole in this poor ship.”
On the other side of the wing, busy soldering panels together, the Mandalorian's head snaps up. Unmoving, his expressionless mask simply stares at you. You bite your lip to prevent a grin and continue replacing bolts.
The beskar helmet remains for a while longer, hiding Din’s thoughts. He imagines what you’d look like if he put you on your knees and made you pay for your jokes. If he wiped that pretty smirk off your face. He feels a stirring in his flight suit, so he wrenches his mind away.
The act the two of you committed in that field has not been repeated. His dedication to his helmet - to his creed - is paramount. And you tempt him too much.
For the second time in the past year, Din has accidentally grown attached to someone - first the kid and now you. But with you, it’s a danger of a different kind.
Din had hoped that he just needed to get it out of his system. Get you out of his system. He had won that mock fight in the field, but he had yielded to his desire for you.
Instead of feeling sated, Din feels hungrier as the days go by. Useless information, such as the number of sonic showers you've taken, clogs his mind. He would be ashamed of his counting, but he's too battle-weary to care. He does not count how many times he's taken advantage of the privacy of his bunk, remembering your eager face, your receptive body underneath him.
All that armor wasn't worth a damn thing.
It’s easier for you. As inexperienced as Din but with your self-esteem already in the sarlacc pit, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine he'd had his fill of you and… well, that was that. Though you dream of it nearly every night, waking up to the strange feeling of both gaining and losing something.
Of course, the Mandalorian still needed you to care for the kid or help him replace several wing panels when he inevitably damaged them, as you were currently doing.
At dusk, white trees sway behind you in the biting wind. This planet is rather cold, and Grogu, asleep inside the Razor Crest, doesn’t join you for the lovely, young Gornt dinner that Din had hunted. The two of you butcher it in silence and place it on the makeshift spit.
You then plop onto a log and snuggle down into your clothes, shivering. Though the items Din had given you months earlier are sturdy and warm, some of the chill of the night manages to seep through. You cross your arms, rubbing them.
Din vanishes from the other side of the fire - the smoky, dark air impenetrable. Squinting, you try to spot his reflective armor, but it works against you in this instance, easily blending him into the flickering, dim light.
A heavy material suddenly falls onto your shoulders, and you jump.
"Oh!"
The Mandalorian stands directly behind you, the thick cloak he was trying to give you still partially in his hand.
"I was focused on trying to see you through the smoke. I didn't think you'd be there." You clutch the brown garment tight around you and softly smile up at him, "Thank you."
Din nods, the clinking sound of metal audible as he returns to his log across the firelight. Your mouth gapes for a moment when you realize that the material around your shoulders is his torn cape.
"Do you not get cold?"
"I do."
"Why not wear one yourself then?" You lift part of the cloak in indication.
"Mandalorians are taught to withstand uncomfortable circumstances. As a foundling, I frequently exercised in far less temperate weather."
"A foundling?" You query, your eyebrow raising.
The Mandalorian leans back and shifts his legs apart to better distribute his weight.
"My youth was upended by war. When my village was destroyed, I was found by a Mandalorian."
"The name is quite literal, then?"
"My people are quite literal," Din crosses his arms and his commanding presence is distracting.
He looks so big sitting on the log, his legs open, back straight, and arms folded.
"We have similar beginnings," you swallow, trying to ignore the burning inside that has nothing to do with the fire.
"I was a little more fortunate in who found me," Din states. He leans forward to finally adjust the rod holding your dinner.
You lose your gaze in the flaming light, remembering.
“I still can’t believe how much things have changed,” you murmur.
Din Djarin can’t either. He has a life-altering decision to make, and a child to let go of, and both thoughts weigh on him like a karking Mudhorn. Din sighs internally at his unintended choice of simile.
Your eyes stray upward to the navy sky, breathing deeply. The frigid air burns your lungs, but you only draw more in, relishing your freedom to do so.
"You did not deserve that life," Din’s rough, mechanical voice answers over the sound of the crackling fire.
You frown, "No one does."
Running with the Mandalorian was a great way to stay ahead of the slavers. Paid employment, constant movement, and no one besides Din knowing your name - it was too good to be true.
Dropping your head from the sky, you level the Mandalorian with the most heartfelt gaze you can manage, "Thank you. I would've never had the courage to run without you."
Unable to see his reaction, you feel the distance most acutely. It isn't just flame and metal that divides you.
"I-" Din starts, but you cut him off.
"But mostly it's thanks to Grogu," you grin, trying to lighten the mood.
The helmet bobs as though he's amused, then Din sighs dramatically.
"I need to separate you two."
"I love him," you giggle, remembering a moment a few days earlier when he had picked up a very dignified, sentient species of frog and tried to eat it. "He is such an agent of chaos." You laugh into your cloak-covered hand.
Grateful that you can't see the fervent emotion glimmering in his brown eyes, Din studies you. Your fond smile is lit by the glowing fire and the cold winds blow redness into your cheeks and nose. You’re secure in his cloak, and it makes his chest ache.
"Shit," he breathes. The hiss through his modulator doesn't pick up the word well, to his relief.
It's not a surprise if you do truly love the kid. He is adorable and you've been with him every waking moment for three months, but the word you've just introduced is jarring to Din.
Talking about Grogu brings the dangers you all face to the forefront of your mind. Your smile falls.
"Will you continue to teach me to fight?" You don't immediately register the sudden rigidity of Din's posture, so you press on, "It’s upsetting to me that I'm better with a blaster than with the skills I was taught and trained in by my family."
The Mandalorian is relieved. You've given him an excuse to say no.
"I cannot teach you the methods of your people."
“That’s alright; anything would be appreciated.”
Din shifts his thigh on the log, agitated, and you struggle to fill the silence, “You don’t have to, of course.”
Then, as the silence lengthens, and you watch his helmet glint as he looks away, you realize what he must be so uncomfortable about.
“Oh. I am not asking we repeat that. I’m sorry,” you raise a hand to chest height as if you’re trying to physically defend yourself from the awkwardness. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean-”
“I know.”
“I- Din, really I only meant the…” you grimace and clamp your lips together, unable to bear the tension. Standing, you insist, “I swear to you, I never expected more.”
Forgetting to return his cape, you unconsciously hold it closer as you retreat into the Razor Crest.
The Mandalorian does not watch you walk away. His conflicted eyes remain trained on the crackling fire. Sparring with you brings every heart tug, every little attraction he has to you to the surface, and that's too frustrating to manage while IMPs track him and he deals with letting go of Grogu.
But Din knows he really should continue to teach you. It’s in your best interest, as well as Grogu’s. His hangup is entirely selfish, and Din is not a selfish man.
***
Hours later, when the sun has started to rise once more on this short-cycle planet, the Mandalorian finds his brown cape hung on the door to the refresher. He jerks it off its resting place, and goes to tuck it back around himself, when he notices that something is wrong.
Frozen, the Mandalorian stares at the brown, rough material in his hand. There are no holes in it anymore, only stitches.
_________________________________________
Combined with the sound of intentionally-loud footsteps, Din places Grogu - who had jumped between the two of you all night - on the edge of your cot, allowing the child to wake you up. Din strides to his weapons cache.
You yawn, then snicker at Grogu’s delighted face as he babbles what must be his version of Good Morning.
“Morning, kid.” You pet his ear and he begins to purr.
“You should stop babying him,” the Mandalorian doesn’t look at you as he searches among the weapons.
“Why? He’s a baby.”
Din shuts the doors to his stash. “He is fifty years old."
“He's what?”
Din shrugs and inclines his head in humor. You stare incredulously at the middle-aged child who rotates his little head between you and his father.
“His species is unknown, but they age differently than we do.”
“Uh, yeah. Fifty?”
Din’s modulator makes a rasping sound. It could’ve been a small laugh, but you’re not sure.
“Is fifty so terrible?”
Something in Din’s voice makes you look up at him. He casually leans against the hull.
Unsure if you should have the gumption to even ask, you stutter, “A-are you also fifty?”
The beskar mask does not move as the man behind it debates his reply. He decides on honesty.
“No,” Din states. He clasps one hand over the other in front of him, adding, “But I will reach that number in less than a decade.”
You make a small, accepting gesture as you had subconsciously placed him around his early forties anyway. In any case, it doesn’t matter to you. He is the Mandalorian who (somewhat inadvertently at first, you’ll admit) saved you. Even without that gratitude, you would feel an attraction to him. He was strong and kind and protective. Ruthless, sure, but only when necessary.
Din pushes off the wall, “You didn’t ask why I woke you.”
“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to you, so used to being woken up - far more rudely or violently - each morning for the prior two decades. “Alright, why did you wake me?”
He reaches behind his back, unhooking an item, and holds out the fighting stick he had used in that skirmish between the two of you.
“I will teach you what I can.”
***
Din Djarin is careful not to touch you, even through his gloves. He doesn’t trust himself anymore. Instead, he instructs you in tactics. After clocking your strategy in less than three moves, Din is worried about your future opponents doing the same.
“You dislike giving ground, but there will be times you’ll have to. It’s how you will outmaneuver them,” the Mandalorian stands, hands folded, his knee cocked, as he speaks.
“How do you know that?” You ask in response to his first statement.
Din clenches his jaw at the memory so very close to other memories, and answers you in a contained voice, “You were not subtle.”
You smile, abashed. “See, that is why I asked you. I’m far too inexperienced.”
Din closes his eyes in frustration.
You continue nervously, thinking about how hesitant he had been to agree to this, “My master took me to many fights, and you’re the best I’ve ever seen. I value your opinion.”
Din is used to compliments. Those whom he returned quarries to often praised him for his work. But your praise is one he actually wants, and something throbs in his chest. Then he grows irritated with his rampant, immature yearning for you.
Din speaks harshly, “This is for the protection of the child. You are his guardian when I am not nearby.”
Locked onto that T-shaped, black slit, your eyes flicker a little at his callous, impatient pronouncement, but you nod.
“Of course. For the kid.”
__________________________________
Unhappy to be removed from where he had curled up on his father’s pilot seat, Grogu had insisted upon sleeping in the cockpit with his little metal ball. You had assured the Mandalorian that you didn’t mind staying in the passenger chair for the night. The cushions were comfortable enough, and it made the child happy.
An hour after Grogu had begun purring in his sleep, you’re brought to consciousness by a deeper, labored sound. Bolting to your feet, worried about the Mandalorian below, you descend the ladder.
The door to the Mandalorian’s bunk had not fully closed, apparently jamming on some loose junk part that Grogu must’ve picked up. There is no light on in the enclosed space, so you cannot see him. But you can hear the way he mutters your name once, rough and agitated. You can hear the sound of material jerking and his rasping, vocoded grunts.
Your throat tightens and your breathing stops. Eyes wide, you slowly back up, terrified for him to find you in this way. A molten weight in your stomach wants you to push open the door and take care of him, but after the manner in which he spoke to you the entire afternoon, and the obvious way he tries to forget about that day in the field, you can’t. You can’t even fathom why he would be uttering your name. It’s too confusing.
Dazed, you return to the cockpit and try to block him out. Sleep does not come to save you for far too long, and when it does, it provides you no escape from the Mandalorian.
__________________________________
Din’s tortured use of your name had kept you awake far into the night. When you groggily open your eyes the next morning, you know you won’t be able to let this go. You must talk to him. Bravery is a muscle you’re trying to flex anyway, so you might as well try it on the scariest thing you can think of: an angry Din Djarin.
While Grogu plays with a ship part you pretend to have never seen, one Din had pried out of the receiving slot of his bunk door this morning, you and he traipse down the boarding ramp, intending to save the rest of the Gornt meat for traveling.
Absolutely guessing at how you’ll begin this conversation, you decide you’ll just hope for the best.
“I- I heard you last night.” It’s barely more than a whisper.
The Mandalorian stops dead in his tracks and you stumble, trying not to run into him. He turns on you, a solid wall of muscle and metal, but says nothing. You swallow and force what shred of courage you have to the front.
“I heard you say my name. You don’t have to do that alone. I can help you,” your final words are almost inaudible.
The Mandalorian provides food, shelter, and companionship. Ignorant to any kind of normal relationship, friendly or greater, you want to show your gratitude. And if that was how you could help him, all the better.
Your inner self, the one that’s been unthawing since the day your master was frozen in carbonite, wants Din in a far more genuine manner. You want him. His compassion and honor, his fatherly love for Grogu, his non-pitying care for you, and his primal confidence have you in danger of becoming a hopeless devotee.
“Help me,” he reiterates, his tone worryingly neutral.
“Passage for assistance,” you try to ease the tension slightly with another old quote of his. “I can still assist you. It’s repayment for your aid.”
Even as you say it, you feel the depth of the lie. You want Din for yourself.
He’s silent. At his side, the fingers on his right hand fidget. The broad bounty hunter leans over you. As he tilts his head, the cold sun glints off his armor.
Din’s voice is as sharp as his vibroblade but twice as lethal, “You are no longer a slave - do not make me say that again. This is not a business transaction.”
Not a business transaction? While technically a rejection, his clarification makes you dizzy. Your breath comes out shakily, fogging in the chill air.
“Okay. What if that’s not my real reason for asking?”
That does it. Stunned, the Mandalorian might as well be a statue made of beskar. Din had found it easy to believe you allowed him to touch you because you felt in his debt, and he hated it. Made him feel as slimy as a Hutt.
“Tell me.”
Din watches your facial expressions run the gamut and he knows that whatever you’re about to say is the truth.
“I care about you.” Will you ever stop whispering? “For you, not just what you’ve done for me,” your second greatest act of bravery this morning is touching his cold chestplate. You swallow as you look up into that blank face.
Din doesn't move. Doesn't think he can move, but then his body responds before his mind does. Soft leather brushes your cheekbones as he takes your face in his large hands. He tilts his cold helmet to your forehead, and you instinctively close your eyes, sighing in relief. This was not what you were expecting when you followed him out here.
You can't hear the first thing he says, but it sounds like dank farrik. You laugh quietly in his hands.
"You are a menace,” he mutters a little louder, the modulator somehow enhancing the timbre of his voice. “You and the kid.”
Grinning, you open your eyes as he lifts his helmet from your skin. “Don’t bring him into this,” you joke.
Din’s thumb ghosts across your lips and you shiver. The Mandalorian is calm. This is inevitable now. He need not fight himself any longer. He grasps your wrist and brings it upward. Gently guiding your fingers underneath the edge of his helmet, Din presses them to his lips.
Utterly shocked at this new gift, you gasp. A scratchy cloth wraps around the bottom of his chin, but above it, his soft, scruffy facial hair and plump lips make your skin tingle. Nerves jumble in your lower stomach. He presses another kiss before slowly lowering your hand.
You tell him disbelievingly, "I thought there was no way -”
“What you thought was wrong.”
Your heat signature rises at the sincerity in his voice. Din tilts his head, watching your reaction to him. He lets his covered fingers drift over your lips again, then he drags them down the column of your throat and past your exposed collarbone, enjoying your whimper. Your pupils are dilated.
“You want me now, don’t you?” He asks, his voice hoarse.
You nod, whispering past your suddenly dry mouth, “Yes.”
The Mandalorian crouches for a split second, hefting you into his arms with no effort. Your legs automatically wrap around his middle, arms around his neck. His hands clasp underneath your thighs as he strides up the loading ramp as though every second he delayed was one wasted.
Din lays you out on his bunk and hits the button for the door without looking at it. He does not turn on the light. In the tiny, black room, you can hear him divesting himself of his flight suit and armor. It makes your heart throw itself against your chest. You sit up and struggle out of your own clothes, wanting nothing between you and him.
“Will I ever get to kiss you?” You ask timidly.
Din answers you immediately. His rough palms bracket your face, then he reverently pushes his lips into yours. His facial hair brushes against your skin and you weakly moan into his mouth, parting your lips for more. The Mandalorian groans, as well, enraptured by this new sensation.
Din wraps a muscled arm around your waist, crushing you to him in the small space. His warm, broad chest forces yours to mold around him. Your hands gently drag along his torso, mapping him. He shudders underneath your fingers.
His lips break like waves around yours. You could be floating above the bed and it would feel no different. He kisses you like it’s what he needs to survive; his occasional noises of desperation stake your heart and dampen your thighs.
“Need to touch you everywhere,” Din’s real, untampered voice knots your stomach.
“You can do whatever you want,” you breathlessly repeat the unspoken affirmation you’d given him the first time.
He chuckles, and you shiver again, drunk with lust. Din lowers you back onto the hard bed, settling over you.
His hot mouth surprises the sensitive skin of your breast. Din moans, involuntarily you think, as he tastes you there, gently pulling and sucking. You jerk, pressing up into him with a cry. Who knew that could feel so good?
His big hands flow down your sides, pressing into you, exploring, and you get a burst of understanding. This man is starved.
Your hands comb into his hair, and while you wonder what its color is, you’re choked up to find that it’s soft and wavy. Din groans loudly when your fingers rub on his scalp. He seems invigorated by it as he growls and returns to your lips with a fever. His tongue demands you allow him inside, but there is no resistance on your end.
Suddenly, Din breaks the kiss with a wet pop of his lips. He vanishes from above you, but then two large hands slide up your thighs. He pushes them apart and your breath hitches.
“You trust me?” The Mandalorian knows the answer, he just wants to hear it.
Nodding dumbly in the dark, you realize he can’t see you and squeak, “Yes.”
He shifts down and presses a row of kisses up your inner thigh. His nose brushes your coarse hair, and your breathing breaks a second time.
Din flattens his tongue and licks the spot he already knows you like. You jolt and his arms wrest around your thighs, holding you in place for him. You whimper as he buries his face in your folds, shocking your system. Your hands return to his hair, and his chest swells as he quickly shoves you toward your end. His nose continually nudges your bundle of nerves and each time it feels like you’re hurtling through hyperspace.
Your back arches when he traps your clit between his lips, and he responds with another obscene noise. This time, the vibration of his deep voice rips your orgasm from your marrow. Crying out his name, you quake, chest heaving through the waves of euphoria.
Too overwhelmed by all his options, Din moves back to your mouth, breathing heavily himself, “Incredible.”
He licks into you again, his hand cradling your face to allow him deeper. Taking advantage of his position, you wrap your legs around his trim waist, pulling him down. His hips cant toward you, and you feel his length fall onto your abdomen. You hadn’t forgotten how big he was, but the heft of it makes your body tremble.
The Mandalorian could be a patient man, but this would never be one of those moments. Din fists himself, rubbing once along your soaked seam. He pushes forward, steadily feeding his cock into your tight, forgiving heat. Din grunts several times, overstimulated.
“You don’t know what you’ve done, mesh’la,” he gruffly murmurs, his naked voice still so shocking to hear.
You have no idea what he means, and you file it away for later study. Solely focused on how he feels halfway inside you, you clutch at the back of his thick thighs, encouraging him. But then he snaps his hips, driving himself to the hilt.
“Din, oh,” you sharply gasp.
He grinds his pubic bone into your mound, stimulating you; his chin tilts up, proud, when you shudder. The Mandalorian grabs one of your hands and brings it to where he’s joined with you.
“You feel that?” Din’s voice is weighty, meaningful.
“Mhm,” you sigh, your fingers leaving his hand to explore his dark curls. He’s right. The deviant way his thick member disappears inside you is intoxicating.
He languidly draws himself out, letting you experience every ridge and vein, pulsing with your filthy sounds. He re-enters you just as intentionally, and when he’s given you everything, he leans down and drags you into a kiss. A kiss that means something to him. His tongue surges through your mouth in a single stroke before his full lips pull on yours, one hand gripping the back of your neck.
He lets you go, trailing his mouth down your throat, obsessed with the taste and the feel of you on his skin.
Din returns to your lips, his forearms framing your head. His fingers twist in your hair, and he begins to pump faster. His length strokes along a spot that makes your eyes flutter in the pitch blackness. Your nails carefully rake at his toned back, drawing a strangled moan from him as he shoves himself inside again and again. Losing a measure of self-control, he thrusts hard, placing a palm on the back wall for stability.
Your hands finally, finally, reach up for his face, expecting at any moment that he’ll stop you. His lips are parted as he pants in exertion, his facial hair fluttering with his breath. Din’s cheekbones are round and high; his nose is angular and fitting.
“I knew you were handsome,” you praise, the words fluctuating in cadence with his pounding strokes. “Wouldn’t have mattered.”
He scoffs, barely conscious of what you’re saying. His forehead drops to yours again, and he can’t believe the life he’d known had unraveled so drastically. In under a year, Din had gained a child and this.
“Turn over,” he orders.
Of course, you obey without hesitation.
His calloused fingers slide around your hips, pulling them upward. With your chest still pressed into the bunk, you moan when he slowly re-inserts himself. He nearly chokes when your body draws him in; the angle and drenched grip of you makes him shake his head in disbelief.
“You okay?” He rumbles.
Your chin scrapes on the metal bed as you nod, “Please move.”
He clasps an arm around your middle, hunching forward. His scruff and lips tickle the top of your spine as he begins to rut into you. It’s already too much - Din grunting, his chest hair scratching your upper back, his muscled arms holding you in place as he fills you over and over. You begin to clench around him again, crying out harshly in a rush of pleasure. Your legs shake, giving out underneath you.
The Mandalorian’s large hand splays across your breast, and he pulls you backward onto your knees alone, welding you to his perspiring chest. As his length plunges up into you, his lips brush your ear. He’s whispering something, but you can't understand the words.
Then, Din exhales with a groan and rolls several long, pulsing strokes, burying his come as deep as he can with a final, gravel-filled grunt.
***
In the dark, there’s only the sound of two people fighting for breath. Din has leaned against the cool wall; he tugs you to him. You sit somewhat beside him, your legs tangled together. Your head rests on his heaving shoulder, and every now and then, you feel the press of his lips in your hair. He laughs once, quietly.
“What is it?”
“Your life is not the only one that has changed.”
Blinking rapidly, your heart glows with warmth. Yours had changed the most. This Mandalorian had come into your non-existence and given you everything. Courage, freedom, responsibility, love.
“I know you like to fight, but this is one I’ll win,” you laugh softly.
___________________________________
Tagging:
@morks-watermelon
#the mandalorian#the mandalorian fanfic#din djarin fanfic#pedro pascal#the mandalorian fanfiction#din djarin#din djarin fanfiction#my writing#din djarin x you#din djarin x reader#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian x reader#my fics#personal#grogu
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Book 68, 2023
A thing about comedy is how quickly it evolves compared to other forms of creative work. Which means, I think, that unlike in film where you can still look back to movies made in the 1930s and 1940s and recognize it as a movie and it's likely still inspiring contemporary filmmakers in in the 2020s. "Classic" in the sense of film, literature, and music implies something that has a timeless quality, that continues to resonate long after the time it was created in. You don't get that so much in comedy.
We're aware of /old/ comedy, but, perhaps because there's a reluctance to dissect the frog, we don't reflect on it critically or with the same eye to its evolution as a source of interest. I've even heard people -- funny people, people I respect and whose work I enjoy -- say that they don't really find anything pre-1980 genuinely funny. (This is wrong, as much as any objective thing can be wrong.)
All of this is a long walk to say I don't know how familiar people younger than me are with Spike Milligan. I'm not sure how familiar people /my age/ are with Spike Milligan, especially in North America. But you're probably familiar with people who were inspired by Spike Milligan -- most famously, Monty Python. And if you've never actually engaged with Monty Python, well, they inspired The Kids in the Hall. And if The Kids in the Hall are too old for you and etc. unto infinity. If you've enjoyed anything in the English language that has bumped against the idea of alternative comedy, you can do a geneological comedy tree back to Spike Milligan and his 1950s BBC radio show, "The Goon Show".
I read the first of his war memoirs, "Adolf Hitler: My Part in His Downfall", which was on my shelf for reasons of issues in the relationship with my father. It's a short little book, covering Milligan's conscription to their arrival in Algeria in January 1943. It's shambolic and irrelevant, full of scribbled cartoons, but it brushes against sincerity and personal and archival photos also feature. It's at times manic, absurdity thrown after old groaner after dick joke. It's a real spaghetti at the wall approach to comedy but the spaghetti and the plates are infinite and being thrown by a pitching machine. You get a joke about how loose all the women Milligan knew and only a few pages later you get pastoral, pre-shipping out reflections like:
No matter what season, the Sussex countryside was always a pleasure. But the summer of 1941 was a delight. The late lambs on springheel legs danced their happiness. Hot, immobile cows chewed sweet cud under the leaf-choked limbs of June oaks that were young 500 years past. The musk of bramble and blackberry hedges, with purple-black fruit offering themselves to passing hands, poppies red, red, red, tracking the sun with open-throated petals, birds bickering aloft, bibulous to the sun. White fleecy clouds passing high, changing shapes as if uncertain of what they were. To break for a smoke, to lie in that beckoning grass and watch cabbage white butterflies dancing on the wind. Everywhere was saying bethankit. It was hop picking time. In 1941 the pickers were real cockneys who, to the consternation of the A.R.P. Wardens, lit bonfires at night and sang roistering songs under the stars.
It's a strange little book, absolutely written by a man of its time who has no interest in puffing himself up, and the fact that this book ends just as Milligan and the rest of his artillery unit are being deployed means it's light. Milligan doesn't bog down his anecdotes with much in the way of dwelling on who won't be coming back from the war. He's focused in the moment of the thing.
I'm not a war guy, but I am a comedy guy, and Milligan doesn't really give you time or space to NOT enjoy his reminiscences.
#2023 books#spike milligan#adolf hitler: my part in his downfall#comedy#wra#memoirs#a long walk to a short point
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please post april first.
remember me, edward? that guy you knew from all those years ago? i have been doing well, all kidding aside. love the weather here — it’s just like gotham, always brisk and cool, not too warm; maybe the fact that it’s new york city has something to with it. you must be aware by now that it’s your birthday — no, i haven’t forgotten (i could never forget!). more than ever, i hope you enjoy your day. and every day after that, my dearest edward. more than anything. every day, especially today, i implore you to look to the stars and consider how far you’ve made it, edward. second time i’ve said something as cheesy as that, if you count my little speech in city hall. that one was a real groaner, don’t you think? goes without saying. by golly, what am i droning on about — the important thing is that i want to wish you a happy birthday.
yours, oswald. (P.S. : remember the letter trick from when i was in arkham? try it on this one. maybe you already picked up on it?)
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Chapter 31: Truth
Finally, after all those chapters with various forms of lie in the title, we reach the truth.
Kaya’s having nightmares after the trauma of Usopp coming to abduct her, and wakes sweaty and upset. She goes to find her main comfort in life, her rock, her support: her faithful butler Klahadore. When entering his room she finds the corpse of her other servant, Kaya is put into a bit of a state.
Fortunately, Merry was tougher than he looked, and survived Kuro’s vicious attack. Phew. He confirms that Klahadore, he of the scary shiny anime glasses, really is an evil pirate and Usopp wasn’t fibbing at all.
Usopp, redeemed! Kaya’s distraught at how Usopp was treated, what with Merry literally shooting him. Remember, all that sniping he’s been doing against the Black Cat Pirates, he’s been doing it the day after catching a bullet in his arm. She and Merry make up their minds: if Klahadore is doing all this for her estate, it’s worth giving it up to him to save everyone.
She may have a non-specific anime disease, but Kaya’s still got some guts. Good for her. As she heads out, she’s seen by the Usopp Pirates, who think their captain was acting weird yesterday and suspect pirates really are going to attack. This is a team-up for the ages: three kids with no displayed fighting ability, and one young woman who’s breathing heavily and sweating as she shuffles along. Hopefully Luffy and friends will have the pirates cleaned up before they reach the beach.
While Django and the remaining conscious catboys seem to have a lot of faith in the Nyaban Brothers here, it doesn’t change that they look like huge weirdo losers. For real, these guys suck. Ah well, part of the charm of One Piece is the extremely varied character designs. For every slick ice-cold villain like Kuro, there’s a completely bizarro dude like Butchie and Siam.
Also, along with not looking cool, they’re huge Usopp-ish cowards? They’re not fighters, they’re guards! They just guard things, not go out and battle! Siam does follow Django’s orders and charges at Zoro, but he’s flailing wildly and crying as he does it. How embarrassing.
Or so it seems- Siam’s cowardice is a feint, and Zoro barely blocks his slash in time. If he’d been hit, that would definitely have been added to the Zoro’s Sword Injuries count. Yes, Siam’s not actually a scaredy-cat. Pun not mine, that’s what Siam actually says. The catboys are laying it on a little thick.
Butchie’s even got another groaner ready. Oy. Anyway, Zoro’s down to one-third his regular sword level after the first strike of the fight. Siam calls him ‘me bucko’, to add insult to injury. Now I don’t remember how this fight turns out, but I will point out that Zoro lost 2001 matches with his two-sword style against Kuina’s one-sword style, so I’m pretty sure he has an idea about how you’re supposed to fight with a single sword. We’ll see how it goes next time.
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What'd be the current ranking of KH games for you?
Haven’t played the assorted X mobile games or Dark Road, otherwise:
9. Kingdom Hearts 3D: Dream Drop Distance
The only Kingdom Hearts game I got kinda bored with and stopped playing in the middle of for awhile (other than Chain of Memories, but that’s not the same because there I was stuck on Captain Hook, this I just plain lost interest in). The gameplay is slick enough, but that barely matters in the face of the at first unbelievably frustrating and later unbelievably tedious Drop mechanic, and more importantly, it steals what needed to be several subplots and reveals threaded through Kingdom Hearts III proper and crams them into the retread climactic world here, stretching out an entire game worth of padding before getting there. This ranks at the bottom because it’s the only one I can earnestly say the series would be better without.
8. Kingdom Hearts: 358/2 Days
This has a lot going against it; the gameplay’s pretty tepid (though I do appreciate that different weapons have different combo strings for once), the mission structures while initially inventive by series standards become repetitive, there’s a lot of it I simply can’t recall, and it’s the only one in the series where I’d say you do in fact outright have to read the Ultimania guides and interviews to entirely get what’s going on. But it redefines the role of the antagonists in the narrative for the better and gives the series some of its most heartbreaking moments and characters, so it’s definitely not the worst.
7. Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories
There is a very real argument to be made that Chain of Memories has the best story of the lot - I wouldn’t make it, but it’s there to be made - but god, the cards were A Mistake. Also in its PS2ification Riku’s big badass line in the final battle against Ansem, possibly the coolest moment in any of these games, is turned into a complete groaner, and Axel no longer says hell, so that docks it major points.
6. Kingdom Hearts: Coded
Underappreciated! The story’s thin at best, but it still does some interesting, inventive things with what space it’s allotted, the dialogue is conspicuously a league above its brethren, and for my money it has the best gameplay in the series.
5. Kingdom Hearts: Birth by Sleep
Had to put on my thinking cap as to whether this came out ahead of the next entry, but I decided in the end that there’s fairly little in here I remember prior to the run-up to the finale, Terra’s voice actor is painfully phoning it in, and the upgrade/ability system here is the absolute pits. Still, said finale is gangbusters, the overall arc of the conflict and its major players are defined here, and upgrades aside the command deck system was brilliant.
4. Kingdom Hearts
The original has aged awkwardly in the ways such things always do, but it remains likely the best-paced, the emotions and ideas it digs into remain palpable enough to propel the story forward almost 20 years later, its platforming remains much-missed, and there’s an ineffable atmospheric, fairy-tale quality to it that’s never quite been recaptured outside A Fragmentary Passage and maybe Chain of Memories at its best. Perhaps it requires a level of stripped-down that its ever-expanding world would go on to render impossible, or maybe it just needs a fresh injection of mystery.
3. Kingdom Hearts III
Ah, the poor kid who could never live up to the expectations its older siblings foisted on it. It indeed has problems, partly due to content belonging in here being stripmined by 3D through no fault of its own, but partly due to a wonky beginning, impatience to achieve closure in pursuit of the next ‘saga’, its bizarre shortchanging of central characters, gameplay that while fun still discarded the most important innovations since II, oddly structured DLC, a couple dud worlds, and David Gallagher cold giving up on giving a shit. Still, in retrospect without the weight of expectations on it this game is a total blast that brings plenty new in its own right to the table gameplay-wise that even fixes some of the series’ longstanding issues, offers some of the *best* Disney worlds, sets up genuinely fascinating things to come, and ends on a finale of jaw-dropping catharsis that managed at the last to successfully reframe basically every major villain without feeling like a last-minute jab at depth. It’ll forever be defined by what it failed to be, yet at the same time I suspect age will be kind to it.
2. Kingdom Hearts 0.2: Birth by Sleep - A Fragmentary Passage
The most limited in scope, this turned that into an advantage with the chance to do something radically different tonally, a miniature odyssey through nightmare and depression unlike anything the other entries approach. While the very same out-of-the-way status that gave it room to experiment bars it from the top spot, it represents the fruition of some of the franchise’s most potent aspects and hopefully points towards further things to come.
1. Kingdom Hearts II
The one all others are defined against. Yeah, yeah, press triangle to win, we totally owned you lamers, did somebody say Door to Darkness, all of it. This is where Kingdom Hearts fully defined its aesthetics, conventions, and concerns going forward, and fundamentally still holds up well as an experience 15 years later as a game and as an emotional narrative. The worst I can say is that a lot of the combat systems like magic/summons/limits feel fairly redundant; the entire identity of these games as a whole, the general understanding of them among even those who don’t play them as something other than simply an odd kiddie crossover cash-in, spins backwards and forwards through the series out from the baseline formed here, and it has yet to be comprehensively exceeded.
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Bangtan in bed (Hyung Line)
BIG NSFW WARNING
Don’t read if you aren’t over 18, smut begins under the cut
How would Bangtan be in bed? (Hyung Line)
(Credit to the owner of this gif)
By: Admin Sunnie ☀️
Maknae Line
Seokjin
He isn't that much into the dom/sub thing
This guy is all about intimacy, sharing love and being with each other
But don't let that fool you – he‘s one kinky guy
He's that guy who openly admitted that he likes the feeling of choking on food – so I think he'd be into choking in general too
He even admitted that he likes to be restricted (the moment where Cop!Jungkook wanted to arrest him)
He likes to restrict with his hands the most and choke with his hands too
He likes to get restricted and choked too
So, he isn't as vanilla as everyone says
He's into very intimate eye contact too, especially when he's working those delicious hips of his against you, as it's making everything even more intimate and passionate as it already is
Even though he likes to be choked, he still is in charge
I don't see him as a baby boy, he rather allows you to do these kinds of things with him
His fave position is, HANDS DOWN, missionary
Most say it's vanilla, but damn, he just likes to see all the reactions he elicits
Every. Little. Reaction.
He likes to be choked the most when you're riding him
He loves to eat you out too, but he's not that much into oral
Of course, he won't ever say no to a blowjob and sometimes, he just gets the urge to give you head too
But he loves the real deal too much, loves to be buried in your dripping heat, making you squirm and cry on his cock
He lowkey doesn't think that he's a dom, although he is pretty dominant
He gives his everything when he's fucking you and sometimes he doesn't even notice how he's overstimulating you:
You're begging him to stop, but he still pounds and pounds and pounds
Please stop, I-I can't-
But I am not finished. I know you can, princess. Do it for me.
He always calls you princess
And as soon as you both are married, you're becoming his queen
His moans start very restrictedly and deep, not wanting to let go so soon, but the closer he gets to his release, the higher and clearer his voice gets
He loves cream-pies
Seeing you drip with his cum
Having owned you in such a raw way
He's into quickies and that's the only time the both of you use condoms (stay save kids!)
He likes lingerie on you
And costumes too
Likes uniforms and tiny dresses, he likes cute things on you
Yoongi
He's very intimate, absolutely passionate and lovely
Many see him as the dom type, which he definitely is, but for his love, he'd even get on the subby side, but not too much
Only when his s/o wants to try it out
He's very into the dom/sub thing
He likes to be close to you at all costs, eye contact isn't that important to him however
Everyone says he is the worst when it comes to punishments, but honestly, he hates to punish you for the things you want
It makes him feel like he's above you in that relationship, which he doesn't like
He is your equal
He wants you to have as much fun as he has and he doesn't want to punish you just because you're liking it
Punishments are sometimes just too much
When he deeply and utterly loves you, he can't punish you
But he doesn't show it
His face is mostly harsh and he threatens you with his eyes only
And that's when you start to beg
He LOVES it when you beg for him
When your eyes get all big and pleading, nonsense bubbling out of your mouth because, damn, does his cock feel good!
He melts when that happens and drills into you even faster
The only punishments he gives you are some spanks here and there
And the fact that you love to be spanked by him, makes it even better
If you like it a little harsher he wouldn't mind using a belt on you too – but only when you two talked about it beforehand
But oh my oh my, when he starts to get jealous, he tends to lose control
He trusts you – but he doesn't trust other guys
But when you do something to tease him and elicit something out of him – that's when you should prepare for some serious punishment
Because that's the time you didn't yearn for him in particular, you yearned for the thrill that he can give you with one look only
If it really comes to that, he wouldn't mix too much pain into the punishment
It'd either be overstimulation or cum denial
Oh yeah? Little baby can't take it anymore? How sad that she has to, after making daddy so angry
He mostly seems so cold and untouchable but he isn't – especially not with you
When you start to moan he feels like he's in heaven
He'll get so many goosebumps
He'll probably lean over you and whisper into your ear
That's the only thing you're allowed to say, so keep going
He loves all of your sounds
All in all, he's a very loving dom
Calling you his pretty baby doll
He loves to praise you
And oh hell, when you start to praise him, he puts even more effort in it but tries not to show how affected he is by it but lowkey fails miserably
He can handle any sub, from bratty to obedient
He has this aura, this authority aura which maximizes in bed too
Just because he's soft for you doesn't mean he can't put you in place with one single look
He knows how to put you in your place again
If you cum when I say so you'll get a reward from me
He rather catches you with rewards than scaring you with punishments
He doesn't want to scare or intimidate you (especially because he is ALWAYS seen as the most grumpy and intimidating one), he wants you to put effort into it and enjoy it
Because I know my baby girl can do it the best, can't she?
He loves to take you from behind and add a finger into it
He doesn't have a favorite position, because As long as I am fucking you I don't need a special position
He loves to eat you out for hours
Making you drip on the sheets and on him
Making you cum so often you're about to cry
Just to then bury himself in your welcoming and dripping heat
He likes to have sex for hours
He doesn't like quickies, he wants to put his everything into it for you and to properly treat you too
He lives for the slow burn
Making you drip on his tongue or fingers before even entering you
He loves to stretch your sex sessions out
He won't push you too much over your limits, if you aren't acquainted with that type of long-lasting sex, he will help you to get used to it
He doesn't want to drag you behind him – he tests it all with you
He likes to give oral more than he likes to receive because Nothing comes close to that tight pussy of yours.
I mean, he won't ever say no to a blowjob, but he'd rather eat you out first and then fuck you
He likes anal, more than he likes to admit
He's an ass and boob guy, he loves it all
He's a groaner and growler, moans aren't that often to hear with him
He isn't quiet, he's more on the breathy groans side
He cusses way more than he's groaning or moaning
He starts to moan when he can't bear it anymore
When you clench around him so tightly he has to stop in his motions
He lives for dirty talk
He loves to tell you what he's doing right now, groaning it into your ear or, when he wants to truly tease you, moan into your ear
He likes double penetration and he loves to use his own fingers for it
Gliding into your pussy with his cock and sliding his finger into your forbidden hole, stretching it out and making your pussy even tighter for him
Curling his fingers inside of you and feeling himself
He likes to use sex toys on you too
And he isn't ashamed to go into a sex shop
Buying vibrators and maybe some nipple clamps for you if you like them
He'd even ask you beforehand if you want anything in particular – he will buy it for you
He likes to tease very much – but often more with words than actions
He doesn't mind if you're wearing the most expensive lingerie or some panties from the convenience store – you're always sexy to him
No matter what you wear
Okay, maybe when you're wearing one of his shirts he finds you even sexier
And he really likes to make you cum in his shirts too
Yoongi likes it raw
And he almost always wants to finish inside of you
Lemme taste us and clean you
Yes you read it right
He is into cum eating, but mostly when he creampied you
But that mostly happens when he's in a subby mood
Which doesn't happen so often and it mostly happens when your relationship is already very long
He needs very much trust to let himself fall into someone else's arms
Isn't the one who's overly submissive and starts to wear lingerie or anything like that
He just likes to sometimes give you the lead, letting himself fall into your embrace
Hoseok
Our Hobi likes it kinky, dirty and risky
He likes public sex, such as:
Car sex
Road jobs
Blowjobs/Handjobs in semi-public places
He's very into the dom/sub relationship
He's the dom
At all times
No submissive trait is in this man
He's into punishments, especially when you're into them too
Not that he would punish you for too many noises
Just when you behave overall bratty and don't listen to his commands
He can get very unforgiving then
Denying you your release for days weeks, but still playing with you
Eating you out
Fingering you
But when you're close to the edge, he would stop and grin at you
Only good girls are allowed to cum
Of course only when you're into that kind of thing
He likes to see you squirm and beg for him
He's a pretty strict dom
He loves when you're on your knees for him
He loves facials
He fucking loves to make you squirt like a fountain for him
He likes it pretty messy
He loves to leave his marks on you
Hickeys, love bites, you name it, he does it
He likes to be marked too
You both would definitely have a save word
He's very into pet play
You're his kitten
Seeing you in a collar, on your knees, waiting for him like a good girl makes his blood run south in seconds
He loves to show you off
You guys would often wear matching jewelry sometimes only that
When you'd wait for him like the good girl you are, on your knees, wearing your beautiful collar, only waiting for him
He'd be over the roof
His sunny persona gone in seconds, traded for a dark and promising expression
He'd tilt his head to the side
A cocky smile on his lips
His voice raspy and very dark
Did kitty miss me?
He would play hours with you if you greet him like that
Giving you multiple orgasms with his fingers and tongue
He lives for oral, giving and receiving
He likes when you beg, but he mostly likes it when you're behaving
He's a moaner, sometimes he tends to groan when you clench extra tightly around him, but he mostly moans
He cusses under his breath pretty often
Raw or not is absolutely up to you
He is okay with it, either way, the most important thing is that he gets to be with you
He likes to praise and be praised too
When you praise him during sex he probably goes even harder on you
Taking up a notch and getting faster, drilling into you
He likes to stimulate your g-spot so he really does his best to always find it
He loves the way your breath hitches and your face gets all red as soon as he finds it
He's very vocal
He likes to have some nicknames too, master, sir, daddy, he likes it all
But he isn't one to punish you when his real name slips from your lips
He loves you way too much to punish you for such a thing
He's still very loving and passionate and will only do these kinds of punishments when you're really into it
When you're not, he won't punish you too much
Maybe a few spanks here and there
He's a switch
But more on the dom side
Let's say 65% dom and 35% sub
But he needs someone to show him that it's okay to put the lead away for once
He's so used to always lead and guide, he's used to taking control so he just knows how to do it
And giving control away somehow scares him but excites him too
And once that door to the subby world is opened, he is loving it
He's a natural dom, he just knows what he has to do to make you work for it
He's a very thorough lover
He can get rough pretty easily
Especially when you ask him to be
He likes anal and doggy very much
His first priority is to make you cum
He likes to lose his control in the velvety and soft walls of you
He loves to call you babe
He loves to receive head, even more than giving it
But damn, it would be a shame if he wouldn't use that lips of his to eat you out properly
He loves every position there is
But he loves the ones where you can have eye contact and kiss
He loves to kiss your whole body
And leave hickeys in their wake
He loves the way your body looks covered in his hickeys
He doesn't like bite marks that much, but if you like them, you can bite him
Somehow he likes to be nibbled on
May it be his shoulder, earlobe or collarbone
Or even his chest
He really likes it and goes crazy over it
When you do that to him out of nowhere
Expect him to sport a boner in a few minutes
When he's on the subbier side he wants you to ride him
He wants you to use his body to pleasure yourself
He wants you to take control and just work yourself on him
He lives for praises when he's a sub
He gets putty in your hands as soon as you call him a good boy
When he's a dom, he's a groaner and he swears a lot, but he doesn't moan that much
But damn when he's a sub
He gets whiny
He starts to beg
Rather under his breath and very quiet, but he begs
He'd be so ashamed that he begs, but damn, it would make him twitch so much
P-please, g-grip me t-tighter, h-hold me, I-I'll b e a good boy, please, please, play with me!
His face would be so flushed
His lips all wet from his own drool
His body glistening from his sweat
He'd be so fucking whiny for you to touch him and bring him to his release
He doesn't like punishments
Not as a dom and not as a sub
Especially not as a sub
He needs much trust to let himself fall, so when he would be punished for something like that, it would heavily backfire and he wouldn't do that anymore
He likes to spank you very much, but not that much as a punishment, rather as a reward
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Hubie Halloween (2020)
While promoting his excellent performance in Uncut Gems, Adam Sandler said he would make all critics pay by making a bad movie on purpose if he didn’t win an Oscar. Is Hubie Halloween what he warned us about? Hard to say. This is very much a Happy Madison film. Those who like that style of comedy will enjoy this holiday special. A fair number of jokes work. There's a certain innocent charm. To non-members, some of it feels like a parody of an Adam Sandler movie. Is this intentional? More importantly, does it work?
Hubie Dubois (Sandler) is dedicated to safety on Halloween night, for which nearly everyone in Salem, Massachusetts ridicules him. When his new neighbor, Walter (Steve Buscemi) begins acting peculiarly, a patient escapes from a nearby mental institution, and some of the city’s rudest residents vanish, only Hubie’s attention to detail makes him notice.
Each of the Sandman’s trademarks is here. Cameo by a sports celebrity? Shaquille O’Neal counts. Funny voices? Hubie speaks in one. Juvenile humor? His mother (June Squibb) always wears shirts with randy slogans she doesn’t understand. Unbelievable love plot? Violet Valentine (Julie Bowen) would never give Hubie the time of day in the real world. A cast largely composed of Sandler’s buddies? Kevin James, Rob Schneider, the Sandler children, and others all appear throughout. What makes this different from “The Wrong Missy”? The humor is generally less mean-spirited. There are even some funny recurring gags, such as the unanimous hatred Salem’s children have for Hubie. Everywhere he goes, he has to dodge increasingly deadly projectiles.
This last point made me wonder if this movie wasn’t made “bad” on purpose. The first scene has the escaped mental patient pad his bed with a dummy that comes complete with a hotdog wiener… wiener. The cheap sentimentality with Violent Valentine’s children wasn’t necessary but it’s there. A twist of the knife for critics perhaps? I’m probably giving him too much credit. Or am I? The cast and crew knew what they were doing. They know Happy Madison films are beloved by some and hated by the rest. Sandler tried to appeal to the “serious” crowd. It didn't work out. Can you blame him for making a movie for his fans instead of those snobs instead?
So is this a good movie? I still can't say "yes". For all the gags that pay off, there are twice as many groaners. While it's good to give your audience what they want, this is the bare minimum. We expect more than just serviceable origin stories from superhero films because the genre has evolved. There’s no reason for this movie to be so unambitious. Hubie Halloween could be smarter, better, and still appeal to its intended crowd.
You could do much much worse than Hubie Halloween and what it does well will make it satisfactory to Adam Sandler’s fans and for kids. For everyone else, it’s just more of what you didn’t like all over again. (October 10, 2020)
#HubieHalloween#movies#films#movieReviews#FilmReviews#FilmCriticism#StevenBrill#TimHerlihy#AllenCovert#KevinGrady#AdamSandler#KevinJames#JulieBowen#RayLiotta#RObSchneider#JuneSquibb#KenanThompson#ShaquilleO'Neal#SteveBuscemi#2020movies#2020films#halloween
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YBN CORDAE FT. ANDERSON .PAAK - RNP
[4.86]
2019 XXL Freshman meets 2016 XXL Freshman...
Alfred Soto: The up-and-comer and the star have chemistry, enjoy filling each other's blanks, and that's the trouble: all the obvious care (J. Cole behind the boards!) to produce blank.
[6]
Ryo Miyauchi: The sunny boom-bap laces "RNP" with a communal vibe like an invite to a summer block party, but I can't tell if I'm supposed to be celebrating with Cordae and .Paak or if they're excluding me from their celebration of luxury living.
[5]
Kylo Nocom: YBN Cordae gently straddles the line between refreshing sincerity and groan-inducing self-importance on The Lost Boy, and "RNP" confuses me because I'm frankly not sure which camp this would fall under. The verses following the second chorus are the most noteworthy, a conversational exchange between both artists humorously exchanging boasts. Even then, though, there's still a feeling of rigidity, as if every single bit had to be constructed exactly right rather than any simple natural spark between .Paak and Cordae. Any believable chemistry between YBN Cordae and .Paak evaporates with that eye-raising foot rub chorus. "Let the hook sing" shows that .Paak is probably very proud of it. He should not be.
[5]
Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: .Paak says "just let the hook sing" but the question that brings is which one? The chorus itself isn't anything special: despite his talent as both a rapper and an R&B singer, Anderson .Paak isn't that great in the Nate Dogg role -- his ambitions reach too far beyond just hooks. Instead, his chemistry with Cordae is the main attraction here. They aren't an obvious fit on paper, with the pair even admitting that there's 13 years separating them. Yet in practice, their traded lines and verses mesh together well, with .Paak smoothing out Cordae's roughness and Cordae inspiring .Paak to get out of autopilot.
[7]
Nortey Dowuona: A screeching wail pulls in a flat, plump bass line as washed out synths prod the stillborn drums. Anderson coos, whines and hisses across the bass as YBN Cordae politely prods him back into the narrow lane left across to the end.
[5]
Oliver Maier: "RNP" is transparently designed to delight hip-hop fans who lament the genre's supposed decline in Real Rappers who rap over Real Beats, but it's a throwback with nothing to say. There's shades of early Mos Def in YBN Cordae's commanding yet blasé vocal tone and hints at A Tribe Called Quest in the traded bars between him and Anderson .Paak, but these reference points mean nothing when the lyrics here contain none of the wit or insight to match and the chemistry is so forced. What we do get are ballistic groaners like "Swear to God, me too, no Harvey Weinstein" and nonsensical brags like "Drippin' in my feng shui, sippin' on a sundae," delivered in tedious, pre-school flows. But it's not just that "RNP" is corny and shallow, which wouldn't be enough to disqualify it from at least being fun. It's that it tries so desperately to engineer joy that it ends up feeling totally joyless. J. Cole's beat is characteristically dull, .Paak still fumbles as a rapper, and Cordae can do better so early in his career than to pander like this.
[3]
Joshua Minsoo Kim: Step into any American high school today and you'll find that kids who are really into rap music aren't rapping like kids did ten years ago. Two years ago, I listened to students accomplish an open ended project by making rap songs, and what they created sounded more like Playboi Carti than some generic old school boom bap stuff like what we hear here. Cordae and .Paak have chemistry, sure, but the lyrics are only impressive if you're sitting in a cafeteria eating some chicken nuggets.
[3]
[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]
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A Couch Potato's Guide to Poker on TV!
I love Poker. I love to play it. I love to read about it. I love to watch other people play it, especially on TV. It's an inexpensive way to learn from the pros. You can see what they do in real-world situations, not just what they say they would do in their books. Watching Poker helps improve your game. You can learn pot odds, combinations, order of hands and many other basics as well as advanced, psychological strategy such as tells.
I watch a lot of Poker on TV. Yes, I do. Apparently, the networks are taking notice of the TV-viewing public. A lot of us are crazy for Poker. In this article, I'm going to discuss several, TV series that are still running now, that I highly recommend and regularly watch.
1) Celebrity Poker Showdown. This is on Bravo, usually on Thursday nights. Poker Pro Phil Gordon and comedian Dave Foley (Kids in The Hall, News Radio) are the moderators for this light, fluffy show featuring celebrities such as Alex Trebek, Ben Affleck, Rosie O'Donnell and Camryn Manheim. Some of the celebs are really very good. Of course, there is also that wonderfully evil moment when you can watch someone on the D-List or above sink on the river.
Phil gives expert commentary. There's a short film each week in which the basics of No-Limit Texas Hold 'Em and the betting rules are explained. It's entertaining TV even for newbies, pros and the star-struck alike.
2) The World Series of Poker. ESPN is currently showing episodes of the 2005 WSOP. The other night, I saw Johnny Chan win his record 10th WSOP bracelet in the Pot Limit Hold 'Em event. It was awesome. He beat out Phil 'Unabomber' Laak to take the lead against Doyle Brunson and Phil Hellmuth, who were both present during the match, for the all-time record bracelet wins. Hey, don't feel too bad for Mr. Laak. His girlfriend, the beautiful Hollywood actress, Jennifer Tilly, won the Ladies' Event at the WSOP this year.
A week or two prior to that, I got to see Josh Arieh, a very good player who doesn't get too much airtime (yet), play - and win - the Omaha tourney. It was great to see Omaha Hold 'Em played on TV for a change. I loved it.
Even if you're not a poker junkie like I am, you can appreciate the epic nature of the World Series of Poker with its international field featuring the best of the best - and a few Cinderella stories thrown in for good measure.
3) World Poker Tour on the Travel Channel. Travel the world from your chair and watch pros play in the World Poker Tour. They play in exotic locales such as Aruba and Paris. Host Mike Sexton is so knowledgeable wm บาคาร่า about the game that he makes up for his co-host Vince Van Patten's shtick. The man tries to give nicknames to any hand combination possible. Some of his groaners include:
QQ - Siegfried & Roy or Paris & Nikki (Hilton)
55 - Sammy Hagar (after the song, 'I Can't Drive 55')
Rounding out the commentator group is the lovely Shana Hiatt. She interviews the pros and showcases different aspects of the poker-playing lifestyle on each episode. The WPT hosts names like Phil Hellmuth, Daniel Negreanu, Doyle Brunson, Howard Lederer and more. It's a veritable who's who of Poker and it comes fresh and new into your home each week.
These aren't the only Poker shows on TV. ESPN has a drama called TILT starring Michael Madsen (Reservoir Dogs) and Eddie Cibrian (Third Watch) which is a fictionalized version of a poker pro's dirty and dangerous life.
E! Entertainment Network, beginning on St. Patty's Day 2005, aired several episodes of E!'s Hollywood Hold 'Em Game. Laura Prepon, of That 70s Show, produced the show and starred in one of the episodes with her live-in love Chris Masterson (Malcolm in the Middle) and some friends, including Chris' brother and That 70's show star, Danny Masterson (Hyde). Other episodes had Mila Kunis (Family Guy, That 70s Show), Macauley Culkin - yes, that Macauley Culkin. He's Mila's beau - and Shannon Elizabeth. I haven't seen it on recently; but, I desperately hope that it comes back. It was pretty good poker and Phil Laak was the dealer/mentor/host.
The Game Show Network has Poker Royale. This is a 6-person tournament that runs for several weeks. There are several elimination rounds, then a finale. The first had all pros. It was men vs. women. The men won each individual match; but, the ladies, led by Kathy Liebert, Jennifer Harmon and Cyndy Violette took the final - and decisive match. The second installment had Celebrities vs. Poker Pros. I found it to be a watered-down version of Celebrity Poker Showdown. I missed Phil Gordon and Dave Foley, gotta admit. The third installment, which is currently airing, is the Comedians vs. Poker Pros. I didn't find this one too fun or funny; but, I've had other things to do lately.
Actually, I dropped watching that because the Fall Season picked up; and, well, I'd rather watch the Poker Superstars Invitational on FSN! This is awesome. It's a turbo tourney - the blinds go up really quick and the play is fast - featuring Johnny Chan, Carlos Mortensen and other luminaries. It's action-packed, high-stakes poker that goes by in the blink of eye.
If you can't find a good online or home game, why not sit down and watch one on TV? Chances are - there's one on the television right now. Go. Watch! Visit site
http://wm.bet
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Might as well get these out of the way, it’s all glowing honestly. I guess I should see “The Mummy” out of obligation, but after that many shitty reviews . . . I’m not sure anymore.
I got a big Universal Monsters think piece brewing either way so here’s some thoughts on these. In order of viewings.
Guardians Vol. 2 - Really tempted to say that this is somehow my favorite so far. Really solid, in fact probably better than the first. Works as a standalone, honestly. I am amazed at how much character development they managed to get in there, everyone has something to do.
The best part is that it’s entirely about the characters, and doesn’t have anything to do with an infinity stone or Thanos, etc. Also, it probably has the best Stan Lee cameo out of all of them, even the non Marvel Studios films.
Really got me back into the swing of things, looking forward to “Ragnarok”.
Wonder Woman - Granted, I wish it had happened sooner, but I think the timing on this couldn’t have been better. With the stinky taste of “Suicide Squad” and “Butt v. Shit” still lingering, Wondie somehow managed to escape and be really traditionally executed. Edited properly, tonally together, actually had a cohesive plot, etc. My only real complaint is a one or two groaner jokes I didn’t think were that funny, but the fact that this even has attempts to be fun and have characters smile is a fucking godsend.
I wish the rest of the DC stuff could be a bit more like this, I hope they start taking notes. I also hope that more female directors and female lead vehicles get pushed out the door because of this. I heard it even did well overseas, so that’s cool.
Captain Underpants - I guess I wasn’t really the demographic when the books were on fire, but I remember perusing them fondly, and reading about their amusing commentary on the public education system, but this was all afterwards when it sort of disappeared (They still reprint them, I think?).
Granted, I was worried what Dreamworks was going to do with it, but I think they made the best damn adaptation they possibly could. The sense of humor is nearly identical, the biting public school commentary is very prevalent (I even think it went over some people’s heads, because at times I was the only person laughing), and there’s even direct lifts from the book, as flip-o-rama makes an appearance. Even the art direction looks like Dav Pilkey’s artwork. I especially liked the many 2D and even sock puppet sequences.
The voice acting is really top notch, I didn’t even recognize some of the people, but they really were their characters for this. I couldn’t imagine the characters sounding any different.
In a lot of kids movies, I’m usually the one complaining about fart jokes and scatological humor being rampant and unfunny, but they managed to keep that all entertaining and really relevant to the point. I can see some parents or adults being annoyed, possibly, but I’m probably too old for this and I was laughing my ass off, so give it a shot. I just hope it does well enough to get a sequel, because I really would love to see something even crazier with the same great characters.
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“Diary of a Wimpy Kid: The Long Haul” - My review
(***WARNING!!! May contain positive opinions!!!!)
I walked into this movie feeling two separate emotions: 1) I was prepared to despise it and whatever downgrade that came along with it. And 2) I still wanted to approach this with as much of an open mind as I could and give it a chance. Apart from the recasting controversy, the surge of downvotes on the film’s trailers on YouTube that surely make A Christmas Story 2 blush (yes, that actually exists), and the scathing reviews it has received on Rotten Tomatoes, you must ask yourself a few questions…does it really warrant the critical thrashing it’s being given? Does it deserve to be shunned away from the rest of the franchise? Is it worth my time just to check it out and see what all the hate is about? Is this just a shameless cash grab to make a quick buck for Fox? Well, let’s dive in and find the answers to these harrowing questions, shall we?
This latest installment in the Wimpy Kid films follows protagonist Greg Heffley (now portrayed by Jason Drucker) and his family getting ready to embark on a family road trip for his grandmother’s 90th birthday. But after a ballpit mishap forever brands Greg as an internet meme known as “Diaper Hands”, our hero decides to use this family trip to his advantage. His plan is to reroute the van GPS to a video game convention so he can meet his favorite YouTuber, an obnoxious, catchphrase-spewing gamer named Mac Digby, and appear in his next video with the hopes that everyone will eventually forget the “Diaper Hands” incident. As the Heffleys hit the road, numerous hijinks ensue, including: another vacationing family with a crazy bearded patriarch who has it out for Greg, faulty car engines, dive-bombing pigeons who have an insatiable hunger for Cheese Puffs, disgusting roach motels, a technology ban that the mother Susan (now played by Alicia Silverstone) reinforces with an iron fist, a baby pig, and several other road movie inconveniences.
Seeing as how multiple DOAWK fans, or at least the ones I’ve come across in my life, can attest to the fact that The Long Haul is one of the weaker books in the series, the fact that they chose to adapt this book for the screen was baffling at best. To pad out the runtime, the screenwriters (one of the them being Jeff Kinney himself) borrow elements from the other books to make everything balance out and have a “cohesive narrative”. For me, the better part of the movie is the last half because that’s where the story gets you hooked and it keeps your interest in just what will happen to these characters on the rest of their journey. It’s the only portion of the film where they feel like they’re a real family and it delivers some heartwarming moments that actually got an “awwww” out of me! The first half is more plodding and meandering, confused on whether or not it should give the characters something funny to say or do and is where a solid chunk of the expected gross-out humor and groaner jokes are, playing out like a Disney Channel recut of the 2015 Vacation reboot/sequel. Be warned, easily disgusted…there’s a barf scene that will literally make you thank the sweet lord that this DOAWK movie was not released in 3D. That doesn’t mean there are ZERO laughs to be found. The comedy is present but is executed awkwardly at times, isn’t exactly up to par with the original movies, and is more scattered and sporadic. You just have to really keep focused to find the particularly humorous moments. Plus, four words: Psycho shower scene homage.
While many fans will disagree, the replacement cast doesn’t really bother me as much as I thought they would (except for a certain rock music-loving older brother in the family but we’ll get to him in a minute). Jason Drucker is aware he’s got some pretty big shoes to fill in taking over the role of Greg but you have to give this kid credit where credit is due. He’s got a bit of a young Zachary Gordon flair reminiscent of Greg in the first DOAWK movie but still manages to make this interpretation of the character something all his own. As for the parents, they aren’t too bad, either. They’re no Rachael Harris and Steve Zahn, but their acting abilities appear to be on both ends of the spectrum. Tom Everett Scott, playing dad Frank Heffley, looks slightly ashamed to be a part of the project but he toughs it out the best he can like a champ, and Alicia Silverstone on the other hand seems like she genuinely had a blast on the set and just enjoyed every second of being there. Bottom line, the brand new cast DOES pale in comparison to the original but they’re decent replacements and don’t half-ass their performances on screen. They were a pleasant surprise.
But then you got Rodrick, played by Charlie Wright. After the trailers were first released, the recasting of Rodrick was what pushed Wimpy Kid fans over the edge. “#NotMyRodrick” was a hashtag that blew up all over social media, resulting in countless upon countless internet memes and edits. I will admit, a lot of those memes are really hilarious. But one would put themselves in denial and figure, “Maybe they’re saving all the funny Rodrick scenes for when the movie comes out but now we’re just saddled with the unfunny material”. But putting the controversy aside, does Charlie Wright do the character any justice? Um…they got that Rodrick is in a band called Löded Diper and likes rock music. That’s really about it. Now, in the books and movies, he obviously isn’t the brightest bulb in the tanning bed but he was still fun. Devon Bostick was clearly going to be a tough act to follow because he brought likability to a character we’re supposed to hate. Plus, he was the original emo dreamboat in many a pre-teen/teen girl’s eye. Wright, however, either over exaggerates his lines or is way too laid back. And even then, he doesn’t really seem to take the role all that seriously and is basically winging it. Out of everyone in the film, they wrote him the laziest by dumbing him down to Patrick Star levels (oh yeah...PATRICK STAR LEVELS!!!) He confuses a hotel safe for a microwave *insert immediate facepalm here*, he literally has the line “We’ve got a pet pig, now that means we’ll get bacon every morning” *insert double facepalm*, eats nine sticks of deep-fried butter only to go on a ride at the country fair and declare “I could totally go for another stick of butter” after PUKING IT ALL UP on said ride, and plenty more but if i list everything, we’ll be here all night. The only “A” for effort he gets is for a freak-out scene near the end of the film and it’s one of the few parts that got me to laugh but I dare not give it away here!
I’m decidedly half-and-half so far, but what are the other elements of The Long Haul that need no nitpicking? The music score and the soundtrack are a lot of fun, the color palette and atmosphere pops off the screen and you feel like you’ve been transported back into the world of Greg Heffley again, and the final scene does get your heart in bizarrely sweet way. I don’t know, maybe I’m just a sucker for that kind of stuff.
My overall thoughts in general?
PROS: Most of the cast is alright, Jason Drucker is a passable Greg Heffley (I think Zachary Gordon would be very proud of him), the soundtrack, the last half is better than the first half because of its heart, only three laugh-out-loud scenes, and its aesthetic certainly feels like a DOAWK film.
CONS: Majority of the comedy comes off as confused and unsure, Charlie Wright as Rodrick (seriously, man, what did they do to your character?), the gross-out humor is too much, most of the jokes fall flat, the first half could’ve been written better, and it somehow feels much longer than the past films but yet it has the shortest runtime out of them all (90 minutes).
FINAL THOUGHTS: I can most definitely understand why critics are tearing this movie apart and why fans would do the same, too. Personally, I’m glad I at least sat down and gave The Long Haul a chance. Is it as great as the original movies? No. But for what it is, it could’ve been waaay worse! Would this have fared better by going direct-to-DVD, done as an animated special for Cartoon Network, or as a Netflix Original Movie rather than be released theatrically? Yes. Is it the trainwreck we all anticipated it’d be? Not really. It’s bad but not horrendous. Am I gonna watch it multiple times like I have with the past films? Nah, one viewing is good enough for me. While it is an unnecessary installment, The Long Haul is harmless and if you watch it only to find yourself loving it, then that’s awesome; it doesn’t make you an idiot or a bad person. It means that at the very least, you were able to find more to love in it than I could. So, if I had to give this a letter grade, let’s make it a “C” or “C-”.
#diary of a wimpy kid#doawk#the long haul#greg heffley#review#me#mine#rodrick heffley#jeff kinney#susan heffley#frank heffley#manny heffley#rowley jefferson#don't hate me everybody#i wanted to give this movie a proper review#dog days#rodrick rules#movie review
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Stealing screen time: Ocean's 8 and the rise of female crime gangs
New Post has been published on http://getyourgossip.xyz/stealing-screen-time-oceans-8-and-the-rise-of-female-crime-gangs/
Stealing screen time: Ocean's 8 and the rise of female crime gangs
In 1924, a 19-year-old girl in a seal fur coat strolled into a Brooklyn grocery, asked the clerk for a dozen eggs, and pulled out a gun. The newspapers went wild for the Bobbed Haired Bandit, and they mourned when Celia Cooney’s string of brazen thefts put her in jail. How dull. Cooney was the first famous female crook of the Hollywood age, a symbol of a major cultural shift where women left the home to earn an independent living just like a man. (Even illegally.)
Consider Cooney the wicked godmother of the all-female thieves in Ocean’s 8, a sequel to the hit heist franchise that stars Sandra Bullock as George Clooney’s ex-felon sister, Debbie Ocean. Together with Cate Blanchett, Helena Bonham Carter, Sarah Paulson, Mindy Kaling, Awkwafina and Rihanna, she schemes to slip a $150m diamond necklace off actor Anne Hathaway’s neck at the Met Gala. Gary Ross’s slick comedy is designed for fabulous gowns, not factual accuracy. According to the FBI, while male thieves scheme in packs, criminal women tend to work either with a boyfriend or alone.
Still, Hollywood has drooled over girl gangs ever since, well, 1954’s Girl Gang, an exploitation flick about a Fagin-esque mobster who hooks beauties on heroin to manipulate them into doing his evil will. Fierce, yes – feminist, no. Soon after, schlock legends Ed Wood and Roger Corman got into the act with the B-movie nasties The Violent Year and Teenage Doll, which at least let brutal women call the shots. Like Rebel Without a Cause, these drive-in movies tried to tap into larger themes about nihilism and bad parenting. Unlike James Dean, the actors were cast for their ability to fill a push-up bra, and their films mainly marketed to men with taglines like: “See what happens behind the locked doors of a pajama party!”
Faster, Pussycat Kill! Kill! starring Tura Satana, Haji and Lori Williams. Photograph: Alamy Stock Photo
These trash flicks claimed to be ripped from the headlines, promising audiences that real life wild women stalked the earth – and if you were lucky, you could be their next victim. The iconic Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! makes that pledge upfront. Its opening narrator swears: “This rapacious new breed prowls both alone and in packs, operating at any level, any time, anywhere, and with anybody. Who are they? One might be your secretary, your doctor’s receptionist – or a dancer in a go-go club!” Faster, Pussycat! director Russ Meyer knew his three buxom thieves were on the wrong side of the law, but the right side of the 1960s culture war. Sure, they’ve barged into an old man’s house armed with knives and cleavage to loot his hidden fortune. But to audiences, the coot deserves it for sniping: “Women! They let ’em vote, smoke and drive. Even put ’em in pants! And what happens? A Democrat for president!”
Alas for Faster Pussycat! lead Tura Satana and her fellow femme fatales, they usually ended the film dead. Just like the hardliner judge who feared Cooney could inspire a generation of bombshell bandits, these early B-movies couldn’t let criminals go free. Not that actual women were running headlong into a life of sin. Today, only 7% of bank robbers are female, which makes real life lady villains so rare that many do get turned into flicks that can truly claim they’re ripped from the headlines.
Take the 1999 Kingwood stick-up spree where four middle-class high school girls grabbed rifles and robbed a string of fast-food restaurants in Texas. “We kept saying: ‘I can’t believe this,’” the arresting officer told People magazine. “It was like a movie.” Two years later, it was: the teen comedy Sugar & Spice, in which a clique of cheerleaders sticks up a bank in order to fund their best friend’s accidental pregnancy. The girls coordinate their plan with Barbie dolls and study Point Break like a blueprint. As ringleader Marley Shelton chirps: “All we have to do is watch a bunch of movies and learn from their mistakes.”
Israel Broussard, Emma Watson, Taissa Farmiga, Katie Chang and Claire Julien in The Bling Ring. Photograph: Allstar/Studiocanal/Sportsphoto Ltd./Allstar
This time, the ladies live. So do the spoiled snots in The Bling Ring, based on the true story of a pack of gossip magazine-obsessed girls who break into celebrity mansions to steal Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan’s designer threads. Unlike the earlier exploitation flicks, today’s girl gang films are less interested in punishment or titillation. (Unless they’re the critically panned 2004 groaner Taxi, which concocted a posse of bank-robbing Brazilian supermodels headed by Gisele Bündchen just to watch them strip their disguises down to bikinis.) Instead, directors like Sofia Coppola are interested in the satire of a cabal of superficial kids stealing from people who aren’t much different. The joke is that no one deserves designer loot – and when chief troublemaker Emma Watson gets caught, she convinces the media that crime was merely part of her “spiritual journey”. To Coppola, society is the ultimate mark.
Jada Pinkett Smith, Kimberly Elise, Queen Latifah and Vivica Fox in Set it Off. Photograph: Channel 5
On the opposite end of the moral spectrum, F Gary Gray’s 1996 thriller Set It Off is an attack on how capitalism consistently finds ways to pay women less money than men, particularly women of color like leads Queen Latifah, Jada Pinkett Smith, Vivica A Fox and Kimberly Elise, who play four janitors desperately trying to scape together a living wage. To them, holding up a bank is fair revenge – banks and bosses have forever skimmed from their paychecks, too. In Set It Off, ladies steal simply because they don’t have better options, as though the promises of Celia Cooney’s generation of working women never came to be. Twelve years later in Mad Money, another semi-biographical flick riffing on the 1992 Loughton Bank of England thefts, where a female janitor at an incinerator convinced her co-workers to smuggle £600,000 in set-to-be-destroyed bills, woman are still weighing the cost benefits of being wives, serfs or crooks. When Queen Latifah (yes, again – she also stars in Taxi), asks Diane Keaton what she calls trading sex for money, Keaton quips: “A good percentage of marriages.”
What separates these all-girl gangs from all-guy heist flicks like Reservoir Dogs, The Usual Suspects and Lock, Stock & 2 Smoking Barrels is the sense that men go looking for a fight. Women in these films, however, are used to fights coming to them: a world that demeans their work, limits their opportunities, hooks them on smack, and forces them to single-handedly support their children. Crime is merely the best of bad choices. Even Tura Satana is just looking for a better way to make cash than go-go dance for goons – and you sense she’s been putting the con on men since puberty. Kidnapping and robbery are just the next level up.
[embedded content]
Oceans 8 is the first all-female flick that makes crime look glamorous. Finally, Sandra Bullock’s girl gang is allowed to be smart, capable and sexy – a rare combination in an already rare illegal career path, which is what convinces her the ladies can get away with the jewels. As Bullock smirks: “We will not be the prime suspects.”
Soon, however, women like them will. Ocean’s 8 is launching a new trend in ladylike larceny. Next year, Elizabeth Moss, Melissa McCarthy and Tiffany Haddish will team up for DC adaptation The Kitchen, about a cabal of 1970s wives who take over a gangster syndicate when their husbands are sent to prison. Before then, Viola Davis and Michelle Rodriguez lead a four-lady team of bandits when their spouses are slain in Steve McQueen’s Widows. “The best thing we have going for us is being who we are,” swaggers Davis in the trailer, “because no one thinks we have the balls to pull this off.” If their crime wave is a bigger success than Celia Cooney’s drugstore muggings, maybe they’ll inspire more real-life girl bandit gangs – who in turn will inspire even more movies.
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An April Fool's Commitment
By David Himmel
My father is committed to the craft of foolishness. He can out dad-joke any dad any day. Everyone who knows him knows to expect to hear some sort of groaner before the conversation is through. He is an attorney, so many of his friends and clients have gifted him with lawyer-specific joke books over the years. The man knows more bad lawyer jokes than you might have thought even existed. This is not to say that my dad isn’t funny. He is. Even when he tells you the groaner, you will genuinely laugh.
His delivery is part of the hilarity. He’ll try to pass of the joke as an anecdote within the casual conversation but his voice changes tone, his face shifts — his eyes widen, the corners of his mouth perk up. It’s like he can’t contain the humor despite how badly he wants to disguise it and how hard he tries. Part of what makes great comedy is the element of surprise. Where my dad lacks that element, he makes up for it in hit-you-over-the-head obviousness. It’s endearing and yeah, it’s funny.
April Fools’ Day is my dad’s Christmas, his Super Bowl, his Cubs winning the World Series. My dad is so committed to April Fools’ Day that when he called me, a few years ago now, to tell me that he was engaged to Patty — my now step-mother — I double checked the date. I informed him that it was November first, not April. I really thought he was trying to pull one over on me.
When my brothers and I were kids, we easily fell for the April first wake up that it had snowed 30 feet the night before, or that an alien spaceship landed in the backyard, or that the minivan had been stolen off of the driveway. When I went away to college, dad would call me first thing with falsities I couldn’t immediately disprove because I was 1,700 miles away: the house had been robbed, my brother Eric had been kicked out of school, the alien spaceship had returned.
The best April Fools’ joke my dad played on us was during a spring break family trip to Costa Rica. We were staying in a two-bedroom bungalow, he and mom in one room, me and my brothers in the other. He ran in with carefully contained excitement.
“Boys, wake up. There’s a tiger walking around outside. Wake up. Be quiet. Don’t scare it. Come look at the tiger. There’s a tiger outside.”
Dad understood that the best way to fool someone is to get them first thing in the morning while their brains are still groggy and they can’t process the lack of evidence. However, being that our resort was located deep within the Costa Rican jungle, a big cat prowling about was completely plausible. Never mind that technically, Costa Rica doesn’t have tigers. It is home to other wild cats and it’s fair enough to say that Dad could have easily mistaken an indigenous cat for a tiger. Of course, none of that matters. The whole thing was a hoax. Still, all three of us leaped out of our beds and ran to the window in hopes of seeing a roaring tiger. We were older than we had been when he offered the spaceship in the backyard — I was now a sophomore in college — but we believed it more than any of the other jokes. It seemed the most realistic. And when he shouted, “April fools!” we were genuinely disappointed and felt incredibly fooled.
Good for Dad. It was perfect.
So when no phone call or text message came early on April 1, 2017, I figured he was biding his time, trying to throw us off our game, building toward something really spectacular. My wife, Katie, had grown accustomed to Dad’s April Fools’ pranks in the five years that she’d known him. She and I went about our Saturday as usual, her occasionally asking, “Have you heard from your dad yet?”
And then it came via group text to me and my two younger brothers. It was shortly after nine o’clock.
Dad: I was in an accident. But I’m okay. My van. Not so much.
Me: There it is.
Steven: Yup.
Me: Katie has been waiting for this all day.
Then Dad called me. “She’s been waiting for what?”
“Your April Fools’ joke.”
“It’s not a joke.”
He told me that he and Patty were driving his van in Tinley Park and some jackass was tailgating him. He tapped his breaks and the guy slammed on his. Dad could see the guy shaking his fist and screaming at him from his rearview mirror. The other guy then moved to the left lane, speeding up to Dad and Patty, and managed to scrape the side of the van. They called the cops, the guy was hauled off in the back of a squad car.
“Send pictures,” I said.
The photos followed almost immediately. There was a blue van, just like Dad's, with scrapes and dents just as he had described. And there was the other car with scrapes and dents just as he had described.
Me: Pretty elaborate. I commend you on the commitment to the spirit of the day. Totally worth the wait.
Eric: LOL. Interesting angles on the van… I told the story of the tiger in Costa Rica a bit ago. :)
Steven: I like the one where dad’s van ACTUALLY gets hit by another car! That was the best prank! Haha! Fooled us without even trying to fool us! Best prank ever!
Me: I think they were driving along, passed the Tinley Park Police Station, saw a blue van that looked like his, genius struck, he whipped his van into the lot and took the photos.
Dad: It’s not a prank.
Me: Did you have to leave the van with the police?
Dad: No. The van is home.
Me: Send photos.
Again, almost immediately, Dad delivered the proof. The van with the scrapes and dents sitting in his driveway.
Me: Really, really well done, Dad. You stole the lookalike van. Bravo.
What followed was a series of gifs from Steven and I congratulating our father on the commitment. After a dozen or so gifs Dad responded.
Dad: Face it. I’m the best prankster. I’ll go to the ends of the earth to make it the best. Next year I burn down the house.
I’m not entirely sure how real or fake this accident was. I don’t think my father actually stole a lookalike van out of a police station parking lot, but then again, he is seriously committed to the joke. And he knows he has to step up his game if he’s going to fool his grown sons and their wives. We’ll have to wait and see if he actually does burn his house down this year. If so, it will prove that my dad is the world’s greatest April fool. And I would be so proud of him.
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I’m gonna start occasionally posting bad jokes up in this.
#Grumpy Old King#Bad Jokes#This is me not trying very hard#come back later and I'll drop a true dud#A real groaner as the kids say
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Stealing screen time: Ocean's 8 and the rise of female crime gangs
New Post has been published on https://getyourgossip.xyz/stealing-screen-time-oceans-8-and-the-rise-of-female-crime-gangs/
Stealing screen time: Ocean's 8 and the rise of female crime gangs
In 1924, a 19-year-old girl in a seal fur coat strolled into a Brooklyn grocery, asked the clerk for a dozen eggs, and pulled out a gun. The newspapers went wild for the Bobbed Haired Bandit, and they mourned when Celia Cooney’s string of brazen thefts put her in jail. How dull. Cooney was the first famous female crook of the Hollywood age, a symbol of a major cultural shift where women left the home to earn an independent living just like a man. (Even illegally.)
Consider Cooney the wicked godmother of the all-female thieves in Ocean’s 8, a sequel to the hit heist franchise that stars Sandra Bullock as George Clooney’s ex-felon sister, Debbie Ocean. Together with Cate Blanchett, Helena Bonham Carter, Sarah Paulson, Mindy Kaling, Awkwafina and Rihanna, she schemes to slip a $150m diamond necklace off actor Anne Hathaway’s neck at the Met Gala. Gary Ross’s slick comedy is designed for fabulous gowns, not factual accuracy. According to the FBI, while male thieves scheme in packs, criminal women tend to work either with a boyfriend or alone.
Still, Hollywood has drooled over girl gangs ever since, well, 1954’s Girl Gang, an exploitation flick about a Fagin-esque mobster who hooks beauties on heroin to manipulate them into doing his evil will. Fierce, yes – feminist, no. Soon after, schlock legends Ed Wood and Roger Corman got into the act with the B-movie nasties The Violent Year and Teenage Doll, which at least let brutal women call the shots. Like Rebel Without a Cause, these drive-in movies tried to tap into larger themes about nihilism and bad parenting. Unlike James Dean, the actors were cast for their ability to fill a push-up bra, and their films mainly marketed to men with taglines like: “See what happens behind the locked doors of a pajama party!”
Faster, Pussycat Kill! Kill! starring Tura Satana, Haji and Lori Williams. Photograph: Alamy Stock Photo
These trash flicks claimed to be ripped from the headlines, promising audiences that real life wild women stalked the earth – and if you were lucky, you could be their next victim. The iconic Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! makes that pledge upfront. Its opening narrator swears: “This rapacious new breed prowls both alone and in packs, operating at any level, any time, anywhere, and with anybody. Who are they? One might be your secretary, your doctor’s receptionist – or a dancer in a go-go club!” Faster, Pussycat! director Russ Meyer knew his three buxom thieves were on the wrong side of the law, but the right side of the 1960s culture war. Sure, they’ve barged into an old man’s house armed with knives and cleavage to loot his hidden fortune. But to audiences, the coot deserves it for sniping: “Women! They let ’em vote, smoke and drive. Even put ’em in pants! And what happens? A Democrat for president!”
Alas for Faster Pussycat! lead Tura Satana and her fellow femme fatales, they usually ended the film dead. Just like the hardliner judge who feared Cooney could inspire a generation of bombshell bandits, these early B-movies couldn’t let criminals go free. Not that actual women were running headlong into a life of sin. Today, only 7% of bank robbers are female, which makes real life lady villains so rare that many do get turned into flicks that can truly claim they’re ripped from the headlines.
Take the 1999 Kingwood stick-up spree where four middle-class high school girls grabbed rifles and robbed a string of fast-food restaurants in Texas. “We kept saying: ‘I can’t believe this,’” the arresting officer told People magazine. “It was like a movie.” Two years later, it was: the teen comedy Sugar & Spice, in which a clique of cheerleaders sticks up a bank in order to fund their best friend’s accidental pregnancy. The girls coordinate their plan with Barbie dolls and study Point Break like a blueprint. As ringleader Marley Shelton chirps: “All we have to do is watch a bunch of movies and learn from their mistakes.”
Israel Broussard, Emma Watson, Taissa Farmiga, Katie Chang and Claire Julien in The Bling Ring. Photograph: Allstar/Studiocanal/Sportsphoto Ltd./Allstar
This time, the ladies live. So do the spoiled snots in The Bling Ring, based on the true story of a pack of gossip magazine-obsessed girls who break into celebrity mansions to steal Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan’s designer threads. Unlike the earlier exploitation flicks, today’s girl gang films are less interested in punishment or titillation. (Unless they’re the critically panned 2004 groaner Taxi, which concocted a posse of bank-robbing Brazilian supermodels headed by Gisele Bündchen just to watch them strip their disguises down to bikinis.) Instead, directors like Sofia Coppola are interested in the satire of a cabal of superficial kids stealing from people who aren’t much different. The joke is that no one deserves designer loot – and when chief troublemaker Emma Watson gets caught, she convinces the media that crime was merely part of her “spiritual journey”. To Coppola, society is the ultimate mark.
Jada Pinkett Smith, Kimberly Elise, Queen Latifah and Vivica Fox in Set it Off. Photograph: Channel 5
On the opposite end of the moral spectrum, F Gary Gray’s 1996 thriller Set It Off is an attack on how capitalism consistently finds ways to pay women less money than men, particularly women of color like leads Queen Latifah, Jada Pinkett Smith, Vivica A Fox and Kimberly Elise, who play four janitors desperately trying to scape together a living wage. To them, holding up a bank is fair revenge – banks and bosses have forever skimmed from their paychecks, too. In Set It Off, ladies steal simply because they don’t have better options, as though the promises of Celia Cooney’s generation of working women never came to be. Twelve years later in Mad Money, another semi-biographical flick riffing on the 1992 Loughton Bank of England thefts, where a female janitor at an incinerator convinced her co-workers to smuggle £600,000 in set-to-be-destroyed bills, woman are still weighing the cost benefits of being wives, serfs or crooks. When Queen Latifah (yes, again – she also stars in Taxi), asks Diane Keaton what she calls trading sex for money, Keaton quips: “A good percentage of marriages.”
What separates these all-girl gangs from all-guy heist flicks like Reservoir Dogs, The Usual Suspects and Lock, Stock & 2 Smoking Barrels is the sense that men go looking for a fight. Women in these films, however, are used to fights coming to them: a world that demeans their work, limits their opportunities, hooks them on smack, and forces them to single-handedly support their children. Crime is merely the best of bad choices. Even Tura Satana is just looking for a better way to make cash than go-go dance for goons – and you sense she’s been putting the con on men since puberty. Kidnapping and robbery are just the next level up.
[embedded content]
Oceans 8 is the first all-female flick that makes crime look glamorous. Finally, Sandra Bullock’s girl gang is allowed to be smart, capable and sexy – a rare combination in an already rare illegal career path, which is what convinces her the ladies can get away with the jewels. As Bullock smirks: “We will not be the prime suspects.”
Soon, however, women like them will. Ocean’s 8 is launching a new trend in ladylike larceny. Next year, Elizabeth Moss, Melissa McCarthy and Tiffany Haddish will team up for DC adaptation The Kitchen, about a cabal of 1970s wives who take over a gangster syndicate when their husbands are sent to prison. Before then, Viola Davis and Michelle Rodriguez lead a four-lady team of bandits when their spouses are slain in Steve McQueen’s Widows. “The best thing we have going for us is being who we are,” swaggers Davis in the trailer, “because no one thinks we have the balls to pull this off.” If their crime wave is a bigger success than Celia Cooney’s drugstore muggings, maybe they’ll inspire more real-life girl bandit gangs – who in turn will inspire even more movies.
0 notes
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