#broken dahls
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⁜ Il cielo guarda solo chi merita ⁜
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Kofi | Patreon
#oc#casity#broken dahls#knight#doodles#possessed by immense drawing energy in the middle of the night#Definitely the realm of the kinda art-vibes I wanna do more of--#edgey pseudo-catholic aesthetic tarot card sorta stuff o vo#mixed some of Casity's OG goth/angel vibes into the newer fantasy direction she and her world have taken these days#a good drawing night for me -- would love a repeat#lyric is from mahmood's ghettolimpo#for no reason other than i like how it sounds#cuz in reality i was listening to MCR and ibaraki while actually drawing c:
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Magical Girlies🌟✨
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Parallel OCs of mine and @juls-art
#Chronicles of Cassendenia#Lorista Mokom#Broken Dahls#Merci Hulin#OC#Juls' OC#MSPaint Draw#vast magical talent in the shortest of packages#//got my ass in gear to update lorista's design just to draw this#and now i'm compelled to do tahn+casity next
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i put mattie in the forcefemming machine and nothing happened? is it broken?
The idea of trying to forcefem Mattie is so fucking funny to me. He wouldn't even know what's happening. He would be like "Eugh is that skirt polyester? Dahling I have standards."
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my brain is fried i'm so overtired I've cried spontaneously at least once a day for the past three days will you please help a girl out with a soft cozy wholesome movie recc please and thank you
I’m so sorry my dear!! I dug to the depths of a bunch of old tag games and my film tag and this is what I came up with!
when I’m strung out I tend to gravitate to movies that will make me happy-cry so this list will at moments tend in that direction. I tried to sort by what was available to stream now, and the sub-lists are in no particular order
if you have amazon prime (the basic package):
Penelope (2006). highly recommend, a funny little modern fairy tale about a lonely young girl searching for a way to break her curse. this one heals something in my heart
Stardust. also highly recommend! a chaotic fairy tale about true love and what a person would do for it.
Street Gang. the Sesame Street documentary. sometimes people are good and they’re trying to make the world a better place and they’re doing it with their friends.
How To Train Your Dragon. it’s a perfectly executed film and the score and animation is gorgeous. (also available on netflix)
if you have netflix:
Feel the Beat. a dance flick about a seemingly cold-hearted ambitious young woman becoming a dance teacher in her hometown
To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. so so so rewatchable.
She’s the Man. the funniest movie on this list and possibly of all time. I have never shown this movie to a person who didn’t end up loving it. it’s Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night at boarding school as a soccer movie
if you have tubi?? you might not need a membership I don’t know how tubi works??
The Music Man. some of the best costumes and choreography my favorite age of movie musicals had to offer. a con man comes to a small Iowa town and starts to want to believe in the beautiful lie he’s selling.
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. this movie was written by Roald Dahl and it is buck wild. widowed inventor and his two children buy a broken down racing car and?? hijinks and musical numbers ensue
if you have disney plus:
Princess Diaries (1&2). we know them, we love them.
Sky High. if you haven’t seen this, I highly recommend it because it is silly fun but it understands the genre it’s playing with.
Newsies (1992). scrappy newsboys form a union, sing songs, punch each other, ???, profit
Holes. the single best adapted book to film ever? the cast commentary is also hilarious
Rodgers and Hammerstein Cinderella (1997). absolutely delightful. Whitney Houston as the godmother! Jason Alexander as the butler! Brandy as Cinderella! Bernadette Peters as the stepmother!
if you feel up for a trip to the library, things to look for:
The Hundred Foot Journey. I only saw this one once but it’s about a family who opens up an Indian restaurant across from a Michelin-starred French restaurant and it’s gorgeous
A League of Their Own (1992). sisters! best friends! married women and their disreputable drunk coach friends!
The Secret Garden (1993). highly recommend! this one fixes me down to my bones.
This Beautiful Fantastic. also highly recommend! a woman who’s afraid of the world falls in love with it.
Secondhand Lions. also highly recommend!! a boy gets dropped off with his great-uncles for the summer, hears possibly made-up stories of their wild and adventurous youth
August Rush. a young musical prodigy searches for his parents.
Sense and Sensibility (1995). if you need Austen energy, this is the one.
Cinderella (2015). this movie is so gentle and so lovely.
Little Women (1994). life is gonna be hard and sad but it’s gonna be beautiful and the love will endure!!!
I hope this helps and I hope you feel better! ❤️❤️
#I didn’t put Far From the Madding Crowd on here because it gets a little fraught in the middle there#but the ending is so so so comforting to me#I didn’t put love and monsters or speed on here because they are full of love BUT they are stressful#more so than the stuff here#asks
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Matilda
summary: Harry reflects on his time spent with professor and writes a song about it
The Professor Series
The Professor Series
Harry sat alone in the studio, his song journal opened to a blank page in front of him. Everyone had left for the day already, but he decided to stay behind. There was nothing worth going back to, anyway.
“What’s going on with you?” Mitch finally asked him an hour ago. It was the third unproductive day of the week. Harry remained unusually quiet all day, not wanting to contribute to any ideas being thrown around the studio.
Harry didn’t answer his friend’s question, because the truth was too painful to admit. He was heartbroken, and he only had himself to blame.
Not that Mitch or anyone else on his team would understand. No one knew about the extraordinary woman he met in Cambridge, his professor.
Why he thought not telling her who he really was would be a good idea, Harry had no clue. But he’d done it, and now everything was completely ruined.
Y/n was gone, she didn’t even want to see him before she packed up and left to move to a different country. That stung, and it made him frustrated that she didn’t want to hear him out, but he also knew Y/n. She was overwhelmed and he had broken her trust, something he knew she didn’t give to just anyone.
What hurt most of all was that he never wanted to be one of the people in Y/n’s life to hurt her. She had such a gentle soul, had put up with so much. So many people had already been so cruel to her, including her family, who was supposed to show her love. Harry wanted to be someone in her life that was consistently good.
Tossing his journal to the side, he went over to his bag and pulled an old, beat up copy of Matilda by Roald Dahl. Harry had never read the novel before meeting his professor, but now he never went anywhere without it.
It was Y/n’s, a favorite of hers, so much so that it didn’t live on the overstuffed shelves of her Cambridge townhouse. No, it sat on her bedside table where she had easy access to it at all times. Harry had seen it the night he slept in her room. He’d never seen the inside of her bedroom before then, but when he finally did, he soaked up every little detail like a sponge. The light airiness of it all, the antique furniture, stacks of ungraded assignments waiting for her on her desk, the plain, yet finely made bed clothes. But above it all was the little stack of novels by Y/n’s bed, Matilda sitting on top.
“I’ve read hundreds of books, but this one remains my favorite,” she said when she noticed him staring at it.
“Why?” he asked her, not out of judgement, but out of curiosity.
She shrugged. “I don’t know, I just...saw myself in Matilda, I guess.“
“Well, what’s it about?”
Y/n explained, had even recited her favorite parts from memory for him. Her eyes lit up the way they always did when she talked about something she was passionate about, and Harry couldn’t help but smile.
Looking back now, Harry was so consumed with being in her bedroom and seeing her face without the mask obstructing it, that he didn’t realize how sad it was that Y/n’s favorite book was Matilda. It hurt his heart to know that a soul as kind and gentle as Y/n’s had been hurt so badly by the people who were meant to love her. But he couldn't deny the similarities between his professor and Matilda.
His memories and recollections of his time with Y/n were painful, yet Harry thought of her often. Because with the pain was the warm, cozy feeling that he'd felt when he was with her. He missed laying on the floor of her townhouse and talking about books and stars and the origins of constellation names, he missed the blunt, almost harsh honesty with which the professor spoke, he missed her collection of sweaters and mismatched socks and the smell of jasmine that lingered in her apartment. He missed the Emperor, he missed the little snort Y/n made when Harry made her laugh.
But most of all, he missed the person he was around her. Y/n was quiet, and more intelligent than Harry would ever be able to comprehend, but she imbued him with a confidence, a sense a self that he'd never felt around anyone, not even his own family. Their relationship, their friendship, was technically built on a lie, but Harry had never felt more like himself than when he was with her.
Opening up Y/n’s copy of Matilda, Harry began to read. Again.
Sometimes Matilda longed for a friend, someone like the kind, courageous people in her books.
Harry didn't know how many times he'd read this book since he'd taken it from Y/n’s desk, but that line always stuck with him. For its poignancy and the notes Y/n had made next to it in the margins and on post-it notes she'd stuck there. There was different colored ink around the quote, marking a new thought for each time she reread her favorite book.
Matilda is like me. School is very lonely without friends.
Naive. Kind and courageous people only exist between the pages of books.
I think I met someone Matilda might have longed for. He's very kind. Nice eyes.
I was wrong. But it's fine. Everyone in my life has turned out to be a disappointment, why would this be any different?
The last two notes were obviously the most recent entries, and obviously about Harry. Reading it never failed to stir butterflies and make him feel even worse for betraying his professor's trust.
Tears sprang his eyes. He wanted her to know that she wasn't wrong, that he was the kind of friend she'd always wanted.
But he hadn't been, had he?
Harry hid a huge part of himself from Y/n, had let his own fears and insecurities get in the way of being truly connected to someone. It was nice to be a version of himself that he hadn't been in a long time around her, but she deserved the truth. Harry had just been too cowardly to own up to his mistakes. And by the time he worked up the courage, she found out by looking him up online.
He couldn't tell her everything he wanted to say now, but he could do it in a way that might one day reach her, even if he did never see her again.
“Nothing about the way you were treated ever seemed especially alarming 'til now,” Harry wrote, and from there he scribbled harshly in his journal until it was done.
Staring at the song in front of him, he didn't know if it should have a place on the album or if he should just keep it to himself. Either way, he felt the tiniest bit better after writing it.
Harry packed up his things to go home. As he walked to his car, he pulled up a contact on his phone and hovered his phone over the call button. To call or not to call. Y/n wouldn't answer anyways, but sometimes he would call just to hear her voicemail.
He didn't this time, thinking he'd tortured himself enough over everything that happened for one day. Instead he called Mitch, who did answer.
“Hey, I think I have something.”
#harry styles#harry styles x professor yn#harry styles blurb#harry styles x reader#harry styles fanfic#harry styles imagine#harry styles oneshot#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles x you#harry styles fluff#harry styles writing#harry styles angst#harry styles one shot#harry styles fic
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steve's parents kick him out for missing his college application and refusing to do a day of hard work (i.e. struggling after being tortured and watching billy get his chest ripped out) and robin takes him in and this is a WONDER to steve... robin's family eat together EVERY NIGHT, weird things steve has never tried like tofu and dahl and chilli with no meat in it and talk about their days - after a week with the buckleys steve knows all about mrs buckley's energy healing and how mr buckley hates his job but loves his coworker who was there the concert dylan went electric, once steve has figured out dylan is bob dylan and bob dylan is sacred to the three of them, even if mrs buckley prefers joan baez as a singer, but even when they argue he can see how much they all genuinely LIKE each other. sure, he puts his foot in it a couple of times, complaining about the cold or finishing the milk without thinking, but they are endlessly patient with him and, and this is the bit steve can't get his head around, endlessly curious about him - who he listens to, how he met robin, what he thinks of ronald reagan and where would he live if he could live anywhere on earth, things steve had never bothered to ask himself, and so at first he's tongue tied, offering to do the dishes and hang the laundry just so he feels he has something to offer because he can hardly keep up with them, three robins with thoughts spiralling off in all directions, and they do seem to appreciate it, because though steve would never ever say it and hates himself for even thinking it, their house is the messiest house he's ever been in. they go along like this quite happily, steve gets a job and starts paying rent and driving mrs buckley to dollar tree and driving robin round the bend as his sense of humour comes back to him, until one day steve decides he's gonna do something nice, partly out of gratitude and partly because it's his day off and if he doesn't do something, anything, to stop the thoughts of last summer and the look on his mother's face as his dad threw his duffel bag out the door after him he thinks he might fall apart, so he sets about deep cleaning the kitchen. he gets into it, bleaching the skirting boards and organising the spice rack (they have a SPICE RACK) and he even puts a record on for company - the beach boys - and it's all going so well until he starts on the fridge, until the sudden noise of the key in the lock makes him jump in sudden panic and drop the glass pane he's cleaning, which shatters on the floor. and steve's stood among all this broken glass he knows the buckleys can't afford to replace as robin and her mom burst into the kitchen, and oh god, his chest is tightening and his eyes are burning and he tries to speak to say sorry, i'm sorry but all that comes out is a gasp and he's on the floor among the glass having a panic attack, pathetic, pathetic, but then there's a hand on his shoulder and a laugh as robin says "you've got that one right Harrington, that fridge was pretty pathetic". Steve looks up at her, so grateful to have a friend like robin, but nothing prepares him for robin's mom, who crouches down in front of him and rests her hands on both his kneecaps and tells him to breathe, breathe Steve, we can fix the fridge, it's you that's irreplaceable.
#nicheposting joan and bob content#baez sings dylan is something that can actually be so personal#steve harrington#robin buckley#stobin#platonic stobin#stranger things#*mp#st
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Writeblr intro
Last Updated: Mar 2024
So, I realised I hadn't actually written one of these, and I had to fix it!
Name: Magpie, or Shelle, or Michelle.
Pronouns: she/her or xe/xer/xis.
Who: both a writer and an editor!
The Writing: I’ve been publishing since 2011, and I have a bunch of free and paid anthologies I’ve organized, but these are my most important/favourite works.
Except for The Meaning Wars series, all of my books are set in Canada!
The Meaning Wars (complete; And The Stars Will Sing, The Stolen: Two Short Stories, The Meaning Wars, Poe’s Outlaws, A Jade’s Trick, The Meaning Wars Complete Omnibus)
Similar to: Becky Chambers’ A Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet and Ruthanna Emrys’ A Half-Built Garden
Vibes: Space opera! Found family! Mature (30s) protagonists! Best friends! Sapphic and queer m/f romance elements! Friendly space raptors! Space pirates! A beach episode! Antifascism! Colonization (and inequality issues)! Fighting stuff with democracy and direct action!
The Underlighters (Book 1 of The Nightmare Cycle; Book 2, Monsters and Fools, is complete and in edits. Book 3, The Foundling City, is a current WIP!)
Similar to: Jean DuPrau’s The City of Ember, Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere, the Fallout series
Vibes: Coming of age/new adult themes. Spooky monsters. Post-apocalyptic. The importance and warmth of community. Friendship. Struggling with teen problems. Polyamory. Nightmares. Mental health issues. Trauma. Hope. Recycling.
After The Garden (Book 1 of the Memory Bearers Saga; Book 2, Within the Tempest, is also one of my WIPs)
Similar to: Margaret Atwood’s Oryx and Crake, The Wachowski sisters’ Sense-8, the Fallout series
Vibes: Found family. Gentle romance. Polyamory (m/f/m). Superpowers without superheroes. Sinister cults and religious extremism. Reincarnation. An alternate future. Adorable giant spiders. Silk-weaving and fiber arts. Post-collapse societal reorganization and politics.
The Loved, The Lost, The Dreaming: A Horror Anthology includes an alternate-ending version of The Underlighters, the novella A Shot of Vodka, and a dozen or so genre-crossing short stories. All of them have spooky elements.
Similar to: Neil Gaiman’s Smoke and Mirrors, Roald Dahl’s Skin and Other Stories (this is not an endorsement of antisemite Roald Dahl; I am antifascist)
Vibes: Underground living. Spooky dolls. Abandoned houses. Queerness. Sinister fey. Nightmares. Lovecraftian eeriness. Here be monsters.
Bad Things That Happen To Girls (Book 1 of the Memory Bearers Saga; Book 2, Within the Tempest, is also one of my WIPs) Possibly my most underrated work, this New Adultish story is a standalone novella about trauma and what happens when life breaks down.
Similar to: Emily Danforth’sThe Miseducation of Cameron Post and Miriam Toews’ A Complicated Kindness
Vibes: Broken family. Abusive mother. Being queer in a small city. Religious trauma. Forbidden cross-cultural love. Teen heartbreak. Coming-of-age. Sisters.
The Hell series (Unpublished WIPs; Dark as Hell, Uncharted Hell, Hope in Hell)
Similar to: Assassin’s Creed: Black Flag, Andrej Sapkowski’s The Witcher series
Vibes: Grumpy/sunshine romance! Mature protagonists! Queer f/m romance! Thriller elements! Immortal pirate! Marxist/anti-billionaire politics—with a billionaire protag! Lovecraftian ocean horror! Historical fantasy elements! Lots and lots of boat stuff!
Prairie Weather Trilogy (Unpublished but complete, in submission; Chinook Phase, Tornado Warning, Brushfire)
Similar to: Douglas Couplands’ Jpod,Nick Sagan’s Idlewild trilogy (without the sci fi stuff), Love Actually, Heartstoppers
Vibes: Aggressively Canadian! Found family! Cozy academia! University! Set in the early 2010s! Queer romance! Ensemble cast! Aggressively queer, diverse, and inclusive! Coming-of-Age/New Adult issues! Friendship! Drama! Sex work-positivity!
The Editing: I've been a professional freelance editor since 2013, with Top-Rated status on Upwork (a freelancing website) and several hundred books under my belt. (I don't know how many things I've worked on at this point. I've lost count!) Primarily into sci fi, fantasy, horror, and literature (and associated subgenres); enthusiastic about #ownvoices and all kinds of diversity/marginalised representation in fiction.
You don’t have to go through Upwork unless you want to; DM me if you’re looking for an editor who’s knowledgeable, enthusiastic, and gentle. I’m also budget-friendly!
Age: in my 30s.
Queer?: yes. Also poly! Happily married to two people; also have a girlfriend. Not looking for more partners.
Disabled?: yes.
Languages: English mostly, but some conversational Spanish (rusty), scraps of French, tiny bits of German and Irish. All my writing is in English, though.
Location: Southern Alberta, Canada. (Texas + Kansas + Colorado = Alberta, more or less.)
Other hobbies: Knitting, making jewelry, playing Dungeons and Dragons (and other tabletop games), singing, reading (obviously), learning stuff; playing cello, clarinet, and violin
Interests: Jewelry, gems, metalworking, fiber arts, queer issues and social justice, environmentalism, drinking quite a lot of tea (usually black; I like an assam, Ceylon, or breakfast blends, though Golden Snail absolutely slaps when I’m in the mood for it, and I love Earl Grey Cream as well)
Other internet profiles: *Website * Mailing list * Magpie Editing * Amazon * Tumblr * Mastodon *Facebook * Medium * Twitter * OG Blog* Instagram * Paypal.me * Ko-fi
#writeblr#writers of tumblr#published#indie author#self published#science fiction#sf#sci fi#horror#anthology#queer#lgbtq#bi#sapphic#indie#editor#scifimagpie#about me#intro#intro post#who is this person#writer#writing#author#authors#publishing
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Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
12.16.1968
"Chitty Chitty Bang Bang", the British musical film loosely based on Ian Fleming's novel "The Magical Car" was released. Roald Dahl wrote the screenplay with Ken Hughes. In England, circa 1910, eccentric Caractacus Potts (Dick Van Dyke) works as an inventor, a job which barely supports himself, his even more eccentric father, and his two children, Jeremy and Jemima; but, they're all happy. When the children beg their father to buy for them their favorite plaything, a broken down jalopy of a car sitting at a local junkyard, Caractacus does whatever he can to make some money to buy it. Applying his inventing skills, Caractacus transforms the piece of junk into a beautiful working machine, which they name Chitty Chitty Bang Bang from the noise its engine makes. At a seaside picnic with his children and Truly, Caractacus spins a fanciful tale of an eccentric inventor, his pretty girlfriend, his two children, and a magical car named Chitty, all involved in the faraway land of Vulgaria. The child-like ruler Baron Bomburst, ruler of Vulgaria, will do whatever he can to get his hands on their magical car; but, because of Baroness Bomburst's dislike of children, youngsters are outlawed, even the unsuspecting offspring of foreign inventors of magical cars. The film was directed by Ken Hughes and produced by Albert R. Broccoli (co-producer of the James Bond series of films, also based on Fleming's novels). Fleming took his inspiration for the subject from a series of aero-engined racing cars called "Chitty Bang Bang", built by Count Louis Zborowski in the early 1920s at Higham Park. This photo of the movie car was taken at the National Motor Museum at Beaulieu in England during a 2022 visit.
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Watching the new Wes Anderson adaptation of Roald Dahl's 'The Swan', I realised something awful and funny. I read that story when I was very young (maybe 10), and reread it when I was a little older (maybe 12), and lots of it I remembered perfectly. All the vicious dumb cruelty of the tortures inflicted by the bullies on small, frail Peter Watson – tying him to the train tracks, rigging him up in the swan's severed wings, forcing him to climb the tree and shooting at him – I remembered. I even remembered the bullies' names: Ernie and Raymond, and the probably-pretty-classist way their speech was inflected. But what I didn't remember at all was the story's magical conclusion: Peter managing to fly on those broken wings, landing in his own backyard, and living.
If you'd asked me, I would have said that Peter died. There's an image in my head of bloodied swan wings smeared on railways tracks, which makes an utter jumble of the story, but it's what lodged in me anyway.
In the adaptation, they make this the most important line: "it came to him suddenly that he was going to win." For Dahl, and I think for Anderson, the point of the story is Peter's indomitability. But when I was a kid, that simply didn't register to me next to the thick, cold, compounded cruelty of the bullies. They felt real. The ending must have felt fake, like a cope, like a story Peters tell each other to feel better about things. So I put it in the bin. Peter was described as "a brilliant pupil", "no good at games", and "a stuck-up little squirt" – which meant that he was basically me – and I knew that in that scenario, I wouldn't win. I would die.
These Wes Anderson adaptations are interesting, and there's a lot to say about the way they sidle around Dahl being a despicable bigot. The Swan, though, really brought back some stuff. There's just something dismayingly funny / funnily dismaying about having been such a pessimistic child that I could read a story in which my archetype literally overcomes their tormentors, triumphs, and FLIES, and I would simply ... forget that happened, and instead go through life remembering him getting murdered. Sorry, Peter. You did fly.
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Top 10 BEST Movies of 2023
Happy New Year everyone! Hope you all partied hard and are now surviving a dreadful hangover by sitting with your family or friends and enjoying a well deserved marathon of Lord of the Rings.
2023 - what a year! In the movie biz alone there were those little minor events known as the strikes of the actors and writers. Just when we thought COVID was over and stopped affecting releases, these strikes were like “errr no, actually..!”. To be fair, the way the streaming services were underpaying their actors and the studios enforcing AI so much into the media, it was good that these artists stood up for themselves and showed it to the man so to speak! Anyway, we’re not here to talk Hollywood politics, but to celebrate all the quality filmmaking that was exhibited this past year. I’d say in all honesty this year felt weaker compared to 2022. To be fair last year gave us Everything Everywhere All at Once, Top Gun: Maverick and of course the legendary RRR, so the bar was high for 2023. That being said, I still enjoyed some solid films, so let’s rank my Top 10 favourite movies of 2023, but first some honourable mentions…
HONOURABLE MENTIONS:
Evil Dead Rise - one heck of a gore fest, and the best opening title card of the year hands down!
Past Lives - a simple yet brutally honest love story.
The Boy and the Heron - Wanna hear Robert Pattinson sound like not Robert Pattinson?!
The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar - Wes Anderson and Roald Dahl are a match made in heaven.
Barbie - I’m Just Ken…need I say more??
Wonka - Timmy makes for a good Willy.
Right, with that, let’s get into the actual fun stuff - The Top 10 Best Movies of 2023!…
10) GUY RITCHIE’S THE COVENANT - The least Guy Ritchie film Guy Ritchie has ever directed and I mean that in the nicest way possible. Away with the rough East End and grizzly jokes, and instead what we have is a very reserved and straight-faced war thriller. Honestly I was so surprised with how much I was engaged and invested in The Covenant - it is a thrilling pulse-racing story of survival that adds to the dread that elements of it are true to many people’s reality. Truly, this is a well-made movie!
9) TETRIS - You hear of a movie titled Tetris and one has to wonder if we have another Emoji Movie on our hands, where we get little tetra shaped characters goofing about in some animated mathematics world trying to force an unfunny joke upon our poor heads. Luckily that’s not the case, as instead this is a behind-the-scenes look at the legal drama behind the ownership of the game rights, and though that may not sound that fun, the movie is surprisingly very entertaining with some visual pixel tricks, a great soundtrack, delightful nostalgia, a fast-paced ante-upping narrative set in the backdrop of the Soviet Union and an adorable Taron Egerton in the middle of it all. Honestly, I’m shocked at how much I digged the Tetris movie!
8) GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY VOL. 3 - Marvel is evidently in a rut, but a rare bright spark in recent memory was the final instalment of James Gunn’s take on the fun dysfunctional space family. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 is a wonderful ride, bringing lots of great humour, character dynamics and emotion, and gets you hooked on a feeling…one last time. Oh, and Gunn finally managed to properly show Nathan Fillion’s face in a Marvel movie, and that in itself is a win!
7) MISSION IMPOSSIBLE: DEAD RECKONING - PART ONE - Tom Cruise - what a guy! I mean yes he’s a Scientologist, has a constant death wish by breaking his ankles on film sets and also guilty of jumping on Oprah’s sofa like a monkey, but my my is he a charmer! You guys know the drill with these Mission Impossible movies - Tom Cruise throws his body around like a potato fearing not for his life nor broken limbs, but you have to respect the man for wanting to give the audience their tickets’ worth of entertainment, and Dead Reckoning not disappoint! There’s never a dull moment, the action is constantly inventive and exciting, and honestly with how consistent the quality of these films are, I say keep ‘em coming, Cruise-man!
6) DREAM SCENARIO - Anyone who knows me knows how much I love me some Nicolas Cage! The guy’s an acting legend, and he’s had it rough a decade ago when he got stuck paying off hi tax money and starring in crappy B-movies, but recently he’s been on a hot streak of great original content, and Dream Scenario adds to that. I love this idea of a random dude suddenly appearing in people’s dreams for absolutely no reason. It’s so rare to have a new original conception in a film in our day and age, and the execution here is great. As a bonus, the movie features possibly the best fart joke in the history of the cinema.
5) OPPENHEIMER - On one had this is probably the most “well-made” movie of 2023 cinematically speaking. Christopher Nolan does not hold back in using his typical non-linear way of storytelling, with the film weaving narratives and different time periods seamlessly as it explores the profound depths of a man who’s actions altered the world’s trajectory forever, for better or worse. It’s an incredible historical piece of cinema, and the movie gets extra points for the whole ‘Barbenheimer’ phenomenon, but the reason this film is not higher on the list is due to the fact that I believe it is overrated. Cause every single person raved about how bloody amazing this thing was, I became tired of the positivity. Yeah, I know, I’m being a Scrooge but what you gonna do about it?? Oppenheimer is stuck at No. 5!
4) KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON - When a movie forces you to stay in the cinema for over 3 hours, it better be one epic film, as your man here was straining his bladder to health threatening levels. However this is a Martin Scorsese picture, as such this is event cinema! And this one may be up there with one of his best. Killers of the Flower Moon is a major saga of greed, murder, corruption and despair, told through the eyes of a filmmaker who somehow is still managing to mature more as a director even though he’s already over 80 years of age.
3) THE HOLDOVERS - The Holdovers is very much a vibes movie. It has that old-timey retro feel to it from how it is shot to make it look like it’s from the 70s (reminiscent of John Hughes films and Dead Poets Society). You also have the constant snow falling and the Christmas music just really delivers that cozy winter feel. It’s a wholesome Christmas movie through and through. Paul Giamatti gives a career-best performance and the writing is absolutely stellar, as such The Holdovers is destined to become a holiday classic.
2) BEAU IS AFRAID - A. 3-hour long anxiety attack that A24 spent $30 million to produce. For a movie studio to spill out such a massive amount of cash on a completely original IP that is divisively out-there and wild is such a unique thing to happen in Hollywood in this day and age, that like the film or not this act needs to be applauded. It just so happens that Beau Is Afraid is batshit bonkers and truly an act of madness, yet one that I will forever cherish. I bet David Lynch had the biggest hard-on when he watched this movie - you betcha!
1) SPIDER-MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE - Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse is, put simply, brilliant! It’s everything that made Into the Spider-Verse great dialled up to 1000%, and the result is honestly fantastic. Look, I watch a lot of movies. And yeah, movies are great and I love them deeply. But in watching so many films I have in a way lost that magic of being in awe every time I go to the cinema. Cliches and repetitiveness in films stick out like sore thumbs. However with Across the Spider-Verse I felt like a kid again, purely stunned in amazement at every single frame, engaged with the characters and story-line, not knowing where it will go next. Like I cannot reiterate how much fun I had watching this movie! The animation is phenomenal, the narrative so rich, a pulse-throbbing music score (I even have Pemberton’s score on vinyl now just cause I love it so much!) superb character development and so many fun and unexpected twists and turns. Across the Spider-Verse is THE movie of 2023 for me and I believe this is the first time ever an animation took a top spot on my list. Here’s hoping Part 3 of the Spider-Verse saga will play out like The Return of the King!
There you have it - my favourite films of 2023. Naturally I don’t expect my list to be the same as yours, so don’t go throwing a tantrum if I missed out a movie you loved. Or do throw a tantrum, see if I care. But also don’t, cause like we’re all friends here, right? Right??!
#film#movie#film reviews#movie reviews#Top 10#best movies of 2023#top 10 best movies of 2023#2023 movies#2023 films#beau is afraid#oppenheimer#dream scenario#tetris#spider man across the spider verse#the holdovers#killers of the flower moon#mission impossible dead reckoning#guardians of the galaxy vol 3#Cinema#2023 in film#2023 in films#guy ritchie’s the covenant#great movie
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Merci, new staff in hand!
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*✧Tip me for a job well done! ✧*
#oc#merci hulin#broken dahls#doodles#mage#used this sketch to test drive the staff design that myre made-- i like it lots#almost time for me to make her a ref sheet freal 😤#she's got the most design elements locked down of my broken dahls cast
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Batman: The Animated Series - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles
Killer Croc (New Adventures)
Waylon Jones, the villain and former professional wrestler known as Killer Croc, had numerous violent altercations with The Batman. Yet it was his battle with the mercenary known as Bane that nearly ended him. Mercilessly beaten by Bane, Croc remained in intensive care for months. The process of his healing appeared to intensify the congenital mutation that gave him reptilian features; thus leaving him appearing even more like a human/crocodile hybrid.
Following his convalescence, Croc was made to stand before a competency hearing where he was deemed sane and had his incarceration moved from Arkham Asylum to Stonegate Penitentiary. The police convoy transporting Croc to Stonegate was sabotaged by Mary Louise Dahl, the villainess known as ‘Baby Doll.’ Dahl had come to feel a great kinship with Croc, seeing them both as victims alienated by society over their looks. Dahl felt compelled to free Croc and succeeded, whereupon the two fled to a makeshift headquarters in the sewers below the city.
Dahl’s brains and Croc’s brawn made for a formidable combination and the two embarked on a crime spree that garnered the attention of the press, who dubbed the pair ‘Gotham's Bonnie and Clyde.’ The two managed to stay a step ahead of the pursuit of Batman and Batgirl, yet Dahl was broken-hearted when she discovered that Croc would sneak off to go philandering with other women.
Unhinged and enraged, Dahl orchestrated a plot wherein Croc believed they were going to take over Gotham’s central power plant as part of a ransom scheme. In truth, Dahl planned on blowing the plant up and taking her and Croc with it. Fortunately the suicidal caper was thwarted by the timely arrival of Batman and Batgirl who defeated the two villains. Croc was sent off to Stonegate to serve his term while Dahl was remanded back to Arkham Asylum.
Actors Aron Kincaid and Brooks Gardner provided the voice for Killer Croc, with the villain originally appearing in the twenty-first episode of the first season of Batman: The Animated Series, ‘Vendetta.’
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My dahling, you asked for a Rhett Abbott thought?? Maybe some thots in between?? (lol).
Spring is your favorite time of year with Rhett because the land around your house literally looks like The Shire. When you were building your dream home, Rhett kept asking if you could build a hobbit hole instead of renovating the place you got (lol). But the place is just as cozy and maybe more so.
It's old but you and Rhett make it your own. There's always some house plants in the windowsills and plenty of wide windows to let in the sunlight. The house is all full of wood and stone and the kitchen window has the pretty little yellow gingham curtains that Cecelia's mom made. Near the stairs is the old Swiss grandfather clock that Royal's mother brought with her from Switzerland after WWII (I'll have to send you the story I have for Oma Heidi, I cried while writing it) and in the living room is an old rocking chair that Royal's grandfather had made in the 1920s. Most of the other stuff is antiques that you guys have come across at the stores and shops downtown with Rhett and Royal having spent hours in Royal's woodshop restoring them.
You and Rhett love when spring comes because you can pack away all the heavy winter flannels and duvets and put out the ones for spring and summer. They're all soft pastel yellows, greens, purples and blues that you've collected and made over the years. You even taught Rhett how to knit and how to crochet even though he still insists his hands are too clumsy for it. You've made and fixed his shirts so many times that he's lost count and he always gives you "the look" whenever you give him a little twirl to show off the new dress or outfit you've made.
Your house has also become the ranch's unofficial animal hospital and nursery for the baby animals and strays. So far the nursery consists of Timothy, a little field mouse that was found in the chicken feed sack with a broken leg (Royal made him a tiny little leg splint from a toothpick, lol), Bambi, a little female dairy calf, Wilbur, the piglet who was the runt of the litter and needed to be bottle fed, Pinky and Alberto, a male and female chihuahua pair that Rhett found in an alley outside the Wabang General Store and Hazel and Clover, two little cream colored bunny rabbits that had escaped from a hoarder farm. One of the toughest yet was Chewie, a setter-spaniel mutt who's owner had given up on him because of a growth that had gotten really big on his mouth. You and Rhett immediately took him to the vet and had the growth removed and in no time at all, Chewie was eating again and had become your unofficial helper in the field when he had healed. And it's thanks to his sharp nose too that you and Rhett never have any trouble with pests or unexpected visits from your animal neighbors.
I may have to do a part two to this my dear because there's so much to go through (lol).
Stop, the animal hospital and nursery?! I’ll cry 🥺 I’ve been weeping over every animal video I’ve seen lately! Timothy the field mouse with the broken leg?! My heart can’t take it!
Ugh, I just want to live this simple, sweet little life with Rhett ♥️
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You Were Marked: Day Four point Five.
pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C
word count: 7.9K
chapter summary: If Din Djarin was going to be f----d to death by a crazy Dahl-woman, he wanted to be comfortable.
warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI!, Mando'a and English cursing, unprotected PiV sexual situations, non-con sexual situations, violent situations, past hurt, past misogyny, past child abuse
You Were Marked: Masterlist
<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter
Marathel kept up her high-speed march all the way from the chook pen to her hut. She was so angry, and Frith, it felt so good to be angry. Better to be angry than being so scared, so sad, so lonely all the time. The fact that she probably had no right to be angry at the Bounty Hunter mattered not one whit to her. How dare he! How dare he have the temerity to laugh at her as she struggled to climb down a tree! Tearing her only gown, no less. The gown that she had spent the entire of the cold season making, preparing all the plant fiber, spinning enough yarn to wrap around the Hold wall thousands of times, finding the perfect flowers to make the beautiful yellow that made her think of sunshine and warm days and freedom, warping and wefting and weaving that yarn into the deepest hours of the night because she was so excited to make something that wasn’t the colors of dirt and grass. Why in the name of Frith had she worn that gown today? It wasn’t even remotely useful, and she knew she was going into the chook pen today ... not the cleanest of places, but then she didn’t expect to be put into a tree by a little spoiled brat!
Marathel stomped up into her hut, setting her basket of mostly broken eggs on the counter. Even worse, the whole morning had been a waste, food-wise. With a grimace, she poured the egg mess from the basket into her largest bowl. Out of all the eggs, only three managed to come through unscathed or uneaten by the gaping maw of the little green goblin. The rest she whipped into a scrambled frenzy, imagining it was the Bounty Hunter's liver she was blending into froth. She strained the whipped eggs through layers of cheesecloth to get out all the shells.
And what am I going to do with all this? she thought. All these eggs would make the largest omelet ever. Good enough for the Bounty Hunter and that bottomless pit of a son of his! All these eggs, I hope they both get terrible wind and just blow away to wherever they came from!
The image in her head of the Bounty Hunter and the little green boy flying due to wind made her laugh as she held her face in her hands. The laughter ebbed away into a single sob. Oh Frith, she was so confused and frustrated. She had worn the gown because she felt pretty today, and so, she wanted to look pretty. But trying to impress the Bounty Hunter? Oh, no no no, why would she want to do that? Her thoughts wandered back to the previous night, when she was under the spell of the Dahls. She had been mostly aware of what was happening the entire time – of what she and the Bounty Hunter were doing – but it hadn’t been her. Not fully. Sort of. Oh, it was so hard to explain, even to herself!
The eggs taken care of, Marathel looked down at her dress and smock, stained with pitch. She twisted around to see the tear in the back. Hopefully it was repairable. She quickly pulled both over her head and off, forgetting that she was standing in the middle of her hut wearing nothing but her shift and those two male-types could show up at any moment. With an exasperated grunt, she went behind her curtains. She just had to invite them to stay, didn’t she? Ordinarily modesty didn’t concern her much; no one came to bother her over here anymore. When she first came to live at the hut, she would either hide or chuck rocks to drive off the Cyiloggs the Hold sent out to bring her back. After a while, they stopped coming … so she assumed that the Hold and The Bishop wanted nothing to do with her now. Diwhyn Olba had come out to inform her that she would be left alone so long as she delivered Dahl eggs for the Elders each season. But then the Bounty Hunter appeared with his tiny metal whatever-it-was that had The Bishop’s voice within, telling her that he had not forgotten her, that she had an obligation in the Hold that he still expected her to keep.
Oh, Diwhyn Olba, I wish you were here right now.
Marathel indulged in a moment of tearful self-pity, calling herself foolish a thousand times over. She found some clean clothes and put those on. Looking down at herself, she felt as plain as the quack grass color of her clothing. Patched. Utilitarian. As frumpy as a Diwhyn. With a sigh, she left her curtains and picked up her gown and smock from the floor. The smock had a couple of snags and would be easily fixed. The tear in the gown was L-shaped and went straight along the grain of the fabric. This could also be fixed almost invisibly if she was careful. Marathel dug through her basket that held the remainders of her spun yarn, finding the ball of the yellow. She sat cross-legged on her table and prepared to weave the ragged edges of the fabric back together. Why had she worn this today?
Because you felt pretty. The Bounty Hunter made you feel pretty … even desirable.
Had he?
She thought back to the night before, when he had kept her pinned and unable to escape against the post, pressing his body firmly against hers, into hers, which had felt so good, so fulfilling, with her legs wound tightly around him, feeling his muscles ripple under her thighs … just the memory made her heart beat faster and she felt a flush creeping up her neck. And he had been willing, yes, he had been. And yes, Frith, that part had filled her with amazement, but it was after that had touched her heart: the care with which he covered her up, the gentleness of setting her feet back down to the floor, even just the simple act of asking if she were all right. Those kinds of moments, she didn’t know those could exist. Oh, what must he think of her? That she asked him to stay with her that first day? She hadn’t even been thinking about the Dahls rising to mate soon, she had only been thinking that she was so lonely, and how captivated she was by the little child and the strange, frightening man that had come looking for her.
Looking for her.
She had worth.
Marathel pushed the why of her worth out of her head, at least for now, choosing to remember the sight of the Bounty Hunter running to the chook pen because she had called for him. And then, him calling for her. Using her name. Calling her by her name for the first time. The sound of his voice coming from his helmet, saying her name. Marathel bent down to repair her gown with a better heart.
Marathel was almost finished with her sewing when she noticed the Bounty Hunter and the child returning to the hut. Frowning, she realized that they had been gone for quite some time. She watched them approach, Grogu on his father’s hip. She bent back down to her task and waited.
Din could see her as they got closer. It had taken a while to walk to their destination, but he had hoped that the time apart had calmed her temper a bit … not that her temper wasn’t justified. He also hoped that what they brought back for her would please her. Marathel sat on top of her table, the yellow gown in her lap, a needle flashing in her hand. She was now wearing clothing the color of dead grass, which did her coloring no favors, he thought. The yellow and charcoal combination had been so striking against her fair skin.
He and Grogu had made it to her steps. Marathel took a quick glance over and looked back to her dress. Din set Grogu down on the floor, and then bent down to whisper in the boy’s ear, “Now, just like I told you, okay? Go ahead.” He gave Grogu a little push on his back. Grogu toddled silently all the way over to the table, while Din removed his blasters and jet pack. Louder, he said, “Um … Grogu has something to tell you.”
Marathel looked up at Din, and then down to Grogu, noticing that he had clambered up on the bench, and was holding a few stems of yellow cup-shaped flowers, which he held out to her. Marathel knew that Grogu had no way of knowing that not only were these her favorite flowers, but they were the very kind that she used to dye the yarn for her yellow gown. Smiling, Marathel reached down and lifted Grogu up to the tabletop. “And what does Grogu have to say?”
Din walked over to her and stood rather like a boy who was in trouble, with one arm behind his back. Rocking back on his heels, he said, “Grogu says that he is sorry that he ate the eggs. He also says that he is sorry he put you in a tree. He promises that he will obey you if you need to scold him, and … he also promises not to move people unless they’re in danger or if they’re a danger to someone else.” Marathel watched Grogu’s face during this little declaration, and she didn’t think that the boy could make his eyes any larger or any more winsome as he held out the flowers to her.
Marathel took the flowers. “Grogu, I accept your apology. Thank you. And I am sorry that I was so cross. Thank you for the beautiful flowers.” She leaned forward to give him a soft, lingering kiss on his forehead, and then gave him a cuddle. Happy again, Grogu climbed into her lap into the pile of yellow fabric.
Din moved around the table, seeking out a tall clay cup from the kitchen counter, filling it with water. He took the flowers from her and placed them in the cup. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too.” Marathel looked up at him. “I’m sorry for laughing, and … I’m sorry your dress was torn. I hope it can be repaired.”
Marathel smiled and dropped her gaze back to her dress. “I suppose I was quite a sight, treed like a crazed dycwingen.”
“Yeah, you were.” Din gently picked Grogu up off the yellow dress, walking back to the steps. Marathel turned to the counter to look at the flowers, and then noticed three perfectly ripe gorugellys standing there.
A gift. He brought me a gift. She looked out to where the Bounty Hunter was sitting, playing with Grogu. He didn’t turn his head, but Din could see her smile from across the room. A smile as bright as the yellow dress.
Marathel finished repairing her dress to her satisfaction. She held it up and figured it wouldn’t be too noticeable unless someone was looking for a flaw in her fabric. Or were staring intently at her backside, something she could do little about. With a sigh, she got off the table, stowed her sewing gear, and put her dress and smock on to soak. The tree pitch would come out with a little work. As she considered what to make for dinner, she felt her hands and her shoulders tense. The Dahls were getting active again. She closed her eyes and did what she could only call reaching, sending out feelers from herself to the Dahls, trying to work out how many Dahls would be rising tonight, which ones, if they were her bonded Dahls. Marathel was dismayed to learn that there would be a great many rising tonight. Whatever should I do? she thought, dropping her face into her hands. At that moment, all she could do was take a deep breath in, which she released in a gasp when she heard the Bounty Hunter’s voice just behind her.
“Are you all right?”
Putting a hand on her chest, she said, “Not when you sneak up on me, no.”
“I have been standing there for quite a long time.”
“Oh,” she murmured, moving down the counter, keeping her back to the Bounty Hunter. She went to the same post as last night, leaning against it, wrapping her arms around it, her back to Din. Just like last night.
Din decided to keep his distance from her this time. “Is it the Dahls again?”
There was a long pause as Marathel pulled her hair over her shoulder, combing it with her fingers. “Yes.”
“Are they … rising to mate again tonight?”
“Yes.” She continued to stroke her hair. “You should just take Grogu and leave.”
Din suddenly found himself disappointed she would say such a thing … even though he had had the same thought himself. “You said yesterday … that you had always been alone before, when the Dahls would rise.” He paused, wondering the best way to put his question, whether he should ask it at all. “What happens when you’re alone?”
“I can only tell you what has happened to me before.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “When I first came to the hut, I could sleep through their mating. It would be difficult for me to sleep, though. I suppose that was before I realized what they were doing. Diwhyn Olba had to explain it to me.” Din watched a light pink flush grow from her neckline up to her hairline. “She even explained … ways … I could … take care of myself.” In a whisper, she continued, “I never found that to be helpful, though.” Marathel paused, looking out over the rocky field. “I have woken up, far from this hut, with no knowledge how I got there, sometimes a full day’s walk. I have tied myself to this very post to keep me from wandering. I simply chewed through the ropes to escape. I have tried to use objects …” She drew her breath in sharply and it was a moment before she could continue. “I have injured myself, sometimes badly. Once, I came back to myself because I had thrown myself off a cliff – this was out past the tidal flats -- into the ocean below. That was possibly the worst. That was a time when I had over twenty bonded Dahls, and it seemed as if all the Dahls on this side of the Hold rose at the same time.”
Din stood silently. He had considered tying her up. He had considered taking her to the Razor Crest and locking her in his sleeping cubicle. He had even considered just leaving the planet altogether, leaving the bounty behind … but taking her with him. “You said that you could hear the Dahls. I assumed that meant just yours. But you’re able to hear more of the Dahls than just the ones you’re bonded with?”
“I can hear all the Dahls.”Marathel took another deep breath. “It’s usually not a bad thing, to hear them all like that. It’s just noisy, in my head. Confusing, sometimes. I know when they’re hungry, if they’ve found food, if they’ve laid a clutch of eggs. I get stronger feelings from my own bonded Dahls when those things happen.” She chuckled. “I feel their joy when the eggs are laid, when the kits hatch. Those times fill my heart with happiness. When the Dahls are mating, they are in such a frenzy that … they are so loud then. It’s amplified, it’s all I can hear and feel. And when one dies, especially one I’m bonded with … The pain is immeasurable. As if a very part of me has died as well. I’ve stopped bonding with so many because of that. I can’t bear their deaths. Rodanthe is the oldest of my Dahls. She’s the last of my original Dahls from the Hold. When she dies … I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Din could hear the tears in her throat. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than for Marathel to turn around so he could see her face. What a burden these Dahls were to her. “If this is the case, then why would the Elders want Dahl eggs?”
Marathel stroked her hair at a faster pace. “They want the power of control over another living thing. That’s all they ever want. And … now that I fully understand what kind of power the Dahls have over me, what I will do because of them … I can see them desiring that power as well.” She took another deep breath, and said in a rush, “Please, please, understand, that I had no knowledge of what would happen, of what I would do …”
Din looked down to the floor. “No, don’t say that. It’s … it’s all right.”
“I don’t want you to think that I lured you here, to stay with me.”
“I don’t think that.”
“Then,” Marathel said, wiping the tears from under her eyes, “you should take Grogu and stay on your flying ship. Stay away from me. Leave me here. When the eggs are ready in a couple of days, I will bring them to you, and you can take me to receive your reward.” She sighed, leaning her temple against the post. “That’s the best thing for you to do.”
Yes, that would be the sensible thing, Din thought. But the idea that she could do herself a grievous harm, perhaps even accidentally kill herself while under the control of the Dahls, upset him greatly, and not because of the potential loss of the largest bounty he would probably ever receive. “Will it be bad tonight?”
She swallowed. “Yes, I think so.”
“Are there a lot of Dahls rising?”
“Hundreds,” she whispered.
“Then I will stay here with you.”
Marathel's head snapped up straight, but she continued to keep her back to the Bounty Hunter. “Why in the name of Frith would you do such a thing?”
Din stepped closer to her, standing just behind her shoulder, mere inches separating her back from his front. “I will tell you … if you tell me who this Frith is that you call on so often.”
Marathel stammered, “Wh . . . Frith is the name of the Luad Dycwingen. He can see us all the time, being up in the moon like that. We were told as children that if we misbehaved, Frith would tell the Diwhyns on us. We also blamed Frith for things that happened in the Hold, like carrots growing where the onions should be. Or if a boy’s shoes went missing.”
“Or … loaves of bread going missing from the kitchen?” Din asked, trying to bring a touch of levity to this conversation.
“Yes, just so. Missing loaves of bread. Frith must be in my kitchen.” Marathel dropped her head. “Now, back to my question, Bounty Hunter. Why would you stay here with me, knowing what will happen tonight? Knowing what I will do?”
Din reached over her shoulder, taking her hair away from her nervous hands. He gently stroked it with his gloved fingers, fanning it out over her shoulders like a cloak of molten silver. His gloved hands remained lightly touching her shoulders. “Because I want to.”
Marathel stood stock still for a very long time. Din felt her shoulders rise and fall with each breath. Both remained lost in their mutual embarrassment, their mutual dread, their mutual anticipation. Frith and the Maker alone knew how long they would have stayed in this moment, which was finally broken by Grogu, who wrapped his little arms around Marathel’s ankle again. “Patu?”
Marathel lifted her foot, letting a giggling Grogu hang from it. “No, me not Patu, you silly gochgoch. Me Marathel. You Grogu. You probably very hungry Grogu.” She lifted her leg higher, bouncing Grogu up and down, making him squeal. Marathel tilted her head towards the Bounty Hunter. “Now, if your Patu would peel you off my leg, I can make you something to eat. Probably eggs. I have an exceptional amount of eggs.”
Grogu did not want to let go of Marathel, of course, since he was having too much fun bouncing up and down, so it took Din taking hold of her leg and physically unwrapping Grogu’s arms to try to make him let go. Marathel started laughing so hard that she fell to the floor, Din dragging her a couple of feet as he tried to get Grogu to release her ankle. Din threw up his hands in disgust. “Haar’chak, kid, let go of her." Grogu blew a raspberry as he swung back and forth.
Marathel’s laughter subsided to giggles. “Grogu. Grogu.” Her voice changed to that of a stern parent, and Grogu looked down at her. “Let go now, child. I have things to do. Go play with your Patu.” Grogu immediately dropped to the floor. Marathel sat up and kissed his ear. “Thank you, love. Go on now.” Grogu immediately complied, toddling back to the front of the hut.
Din watched him go, and then held out a hand to help Marathel up. “I need to learn that tone of voice.”
Marathel took his hand and let herself be pulled up to a standing position. She shrugged. “It only works if there are no trees to put you into.”
For dinner, she swirled the blended eggs into a boiling broth, filling out the soup with finely chopped vegetables and sliced fish cake, and then floating fluffy dumplings on top. Grogu, of course, ate more than Marathel ever thought a little body like his could hold. “Where does he put it?” she asked Din, who simply shrugged and led the boy out into the yard. He sat down with Grogu and produced the little round gear knob from the Razor Crest. He spent the next couple of hours encouraging Grogu to use the Force to move the ball, to toss it into the air, to raise it and the surrounding rocks higher and higher around him.
Marathel sat on the steps, watching. As the shadows deepened in the yard, Din could tell that she was getting more and more agitated. If he had passed her on the street on any other planet, he would have assumed that she was a spice addict in withdrawal: her hands shook, her head bobbed up and down, her toes curled and uncurled over the edge of the step. Grogu bleated for Din’s attention. He looked over and just managed to catch the gear knob before it smacked him in the helmet. Grogu looked quite grumpy. “I know, kid, but I am purposely trying to wear you out.” Din tossed the gear knob straight up for Grogu to catch in the air, making it hover about a meter above his head. “I need you to sleep like a rock tonight. It’s … it’s going to get weird around here.” He turned to look at Marathel again. She was gone from the steps. He looked past the hut, and finally saw her walking through the stream. He watched her until he felt the clonk of Grogu throwing the gear knob against his helmet. “Sorry, buddy. I’m paying attention now. Show me again?” Grogu harrumphed, but obediently raised the gear knob again, along with several stones and a large roly-poly bug, making them all swirl around each other in a complicated pattern. Din leaned back on his hands and watched. “Good job, kid.”
“I think I could watch that all day.” Din turned to see Marathel standing in the stream that coursed along the edge of the yard. Her hands were clamped hard on her arms, her knuckles white. “It’s mesmerizing.”
Grogu gave a little whimper and set everything down on the ground. Din took the gear knob and put it back in his pocket. “He’s not strong enough to do this for too long. It makes him very tired. But he’s getting much better at controlling his Force powers.” Grogu sighed, looking exhausted. Marathel came over and picked him up, cuddling him in her arms. Even though she was shaking, her lip trembling, she remained focused on the boy as she began to softly rock him, humming a quiet tune. Grogu closed his eyes and snuggled against her. Marathel continued humming and swayed as she hummed, turning in slow circles, stroking Grogu’s ear. Din watched as the waning sunlight reflected on her hair. Her features were so soft, her eyes closed, her lips tilted in a small smile as she continued to hum. If he had thought she would make a good wife before, he knew now that she would be a superb mother. She was so good to his kid. She was probably good to all the children of the Hold too, before she left, even though she was a child at the time herself. She would raise good children.
She could raise warriors.
He stood up and moved to take Grogu from her. She flinched away. “He’s all right, Bounty Hunter, I’d never hurt him.”
He held up his hand. “I know that.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and her hands trembled. “I’d tear my heart out for him.”
“I know, Marathel.”
The tears spilled over. “Then please … let me hold him a little longer.” In response, he put his arm around her and held her close. He put his other hand over hers, the hand that was supporting Grogu’s head, intertwining their fingers together. They stood that way, Din stroking her hair, their hands linked together on Grogu, until it became full dark. Together, they stepped up into her hut and laid the sleeping boy in his pram. Marathel gave him goodnight kisses and Din whispered quietly in the boy’s ear before closing the lid securely. They stepped back and away from each other.
Din shifted his weight to one hip in that way he had. “So … now what?”
“Oh, your guess is as good as mine.” Marathel, already breathing hard, put her face in her shaking hands. “There’s never been so many rising at the same time. My heart is already racing. And it’s so hot. Aren’t you hot? I’m so hot.” She turned away and went behind her curtains. Din turned his back, but he could hear her clothes sliding against her skin as she stripped them off. He took a deep breath himself, listening to her moving about behind the curtains. Haar’chak, he was already aroused with just the thought of her. Oh, he had a bad feeling about this. He felt as nervous as a first-timer at a brothel. No, scratch that, he was as nervous as a first-timer sex worker at a brothel; that was a more appropriate feeling for his situation. He heard her step down from the platform, then a splash. He could just see Marathel in the darkness, wearing her thin nightgown, walking quickly away from the hut through the stream as she held her hair on top of her head. She disappeared into the tall grass. Din stood still. She would come back, right? Yes, of course she would. He was here. She would come back for him. He was her prey tonight.
How does one prepare to be prey? he wondered. What the shab should he do while waiting for her to come back? Anxious to be doing something, he found the lantern and shook it. The lantern gave off its pale glow. He carefully moved Grogu’s pram until it was tucked against her loom, fully out of the way. Out of the way of what, he was unsure, but out of the way was good. He looked out over the landscape with his thermal vision. She was out there in the tall grass. He watched her pace back and forth, continually turning back to look down into the valley where the Dahls were. The Dahls were very loud now with their yip-yehs and occasional keening wails, piercing enough to make him wince. If the noise was almost unbearable to him, how must it be for her? Then he saw her turn in his direction. The Dahls quieted. He watched her breathe, chest heaving. Her heat signature was much higher than a humans should be. She took several steps towards him. He instinctively took one step back despite the fact she was a couple hundred meters away. There was a sudden shrieking howl of several Dahls at once, and Marathel clapped her hands over her ears, emitting a howl herself, and dashed away down into the rocky valley, out of view.
Din didn’t realize he had been holding his breath until he let it out in a rush. He was relieved for a respite. Being this far out of control was anathema to him. He had been relaxing the limits of his comfort zone ever since he met his ad’ika, but this half-crazed woman possessed by freaky dog-lizard-cat things was really pushing it. He tried to take some deep breaths, but it seemed to do no good. He became aware that he felt warm, almost feverish, when just a few moments ago he was quite comfortable, temperature-wise. Now he felt as if he was in the Dune Sea in high summer at midday.
Osik, why was it so hot?
He pulled off his heavy cape and undid the cowl at his throat. The night air was cool and refreshing, but now his armor was so damn heavy. He stripped his gloves off his sweating hands and dropped his cuirass and cuisses to the floor. Still too damn hot. He jerked open his jacket, pulled out his arms, and stripped his thermal shirt off, relishing the cool air on his bare chest, on the throbbing bite mark. He pulled his jacket back on, only halfway fastening it back together, and swept his discarded cape and armor out of the way, still not sure what out of the way meant, and put his hands on the edge of his helmet. Here, he stopped, closed his eyes, and struggled for self-control. No. The helmet stays on, the helmet stays on. He took a deep breath and dropped his hands to his sides. Feeling better, he sat on the steps to wait for Marathel to return, as the yip-yehs began again.
She finally reappeared on his thermal vision, walking back into the tall grass. He watched her stop and raise her head, appearing to look directly at him. She began walking again, this time back towards the hut, walking with great purpose, much like her angry marching earlier today. Was that really just today? he thought idly, not quite noticing that she was moving faster and faster until he realized she was running at a full tilt straight for him.
He had just enough time to half-stand, thinking oh kriff oh kriff oh kriff as she reached the hut and leapt at him, planting her knee in his chest and laying him flat out on his back. His breath was knocked out of him, but he was still able to make an automatic defensive move as he used her own momentum to flip her over, and she rolled hard against one of the benches, ripping her nightgown from hem to waist. She grunted in surprise and pain, and got up into a crouch, snarling at him. Din turned to her and got to one knee as she leapt at him again. He jumped up and grabbed her by the wrists before she could get to him. She cried out in dismay, stretching up on to her toes, trying to break free. Din swept his leg under her feet, knocking her to the floor. He held her down, his knee in her gut, holding her wrists as she struggled. His knee slid on her nightgown, and she managed to slide out from under his knee, trying to twist herself free of his grasp, getting one foot under herself before he swept his leg again, knocking her back down to the floor. This time he pinned her down under his full weight, grabbing her nightgown and ripping it free from her shoulders before pinioning her wrists to the floor with his large hands. She shrieked with fury. She raised her head, baring her teeth, seething, snarling, spitting at him as she struggled beneath him. Her eyes were completely dark, her face was flushed red, her breasts were heaving, she had bitten her lip at some point in the struggle and there was blood in her mouth.
Osik, she was so beautiful.
He had to take her right there or die trying, he thought, and he let go of one wrist to open his breeches. She immediately sprang into action, using the leverage of her free arm to get a leg loose from under him, trying to flip him over off her. But he had about fifteen kilos on her, and her advantage was short-lived as he simply rolled her right back over and slammed her flat on the floor, holding her wrists tightly over her head again. Crazy bitch! He shouted in his head, or he might have said it out loud, he was beyond rational thought beyond wanting to fuck this pretty piece of flesh, fuck her right into the floor, to fuck her right until she split in two. But she kept fighting, wailing, tears streaming down her temples.
Haar’chak, this was what she wanted!
Wasn’t it?
She took a deep breath and with all the force she could muster, she got one leg out from under him, twisted it around his leg, and with a strength he didn’t know she had, flipped him over, planting her knees on his hips, slamming his hands to the floor, screaming into his face like a wild animal. He pedaled with his feet, trying to slip out from under her, actually getting about halfway free before she forced him down again, this time setting her weight down heavily on his crotch, breathing hard, snarling.
Now he understood. She needed to dominate him. She needed to take him. She needed him to be terrified of her.
Well, I’m scared shitless, so one out of three so far, he thought, panting. He looked to his left and saw that they were actually fairly close to his bed tick. If he was going to be fucked to death by a crazy Dahl-woman, he wanted to be comfortable. His brain was so fevered at that moment that he actually started laughing. She shifted her weight backwards, confusion crossing her face, allowing him enough freedom to backpedal more with his feet, dragging her with him into his curtained cubicle. She fell off her knees and ended up stretched out fully against his body, gripping his hands, both breathing hard in point/counterpoint. He let go of her hands, laid back, and stretched out, to let her do what she would. Surprised, she scooted back until she was sitting on his legs. She snarled again, her hands gripping his thighs, squeezing, daring him to defy her. He gave her no struggle. She knee-walked up his body, sitting on his chest, pushing his shoulders down to the sleeping tick. Again, he did not struggle. She made her way back down his body, scrabbling at his jacket and laying it open, dragging what was left of her fingernails down his ribs and belly to his waistband. Here she tried to pull at his breeches, but they were secured by his belt buckle; he had to quickly get that loose for her but immediately laid back down in his supplicating pose. He felt her forcefully drag his breeches and under thermals down, which hooked briefly on his erection on their way down to his knees. He closed his eyes, because he was scared of her, oh yes, he was terrified, the only words he could manage in his fevered mind were please don’t bite me over and over.
He felt her warm breath on his thighs, on his crotch, and he began to whisper please don’t bite me when he felt her soft cheek stroke his erect penis from base to tip. His eyes opened and he gasped; it was the most exotic feeling he’d ever had, and he felt her face move to the other side, and he felt her eyelashes against the side of his shaft as she stroked her face against him, the feathery touch driving him mad. She nuzzled her nose into his pubic hair and then she stretched out her neck to stroke him again, up one side and down the other as she breathed deep, her exhalation soft and warm on his skin. Oh, he sighed, she was getting his scent, marking him with her scent, taking possession of him. She dragged her breasts up his thighs, her nipples tracking on his skin, bringing out goosebumps on his legs, softly rubbing her body up his cock, squeezing her upper arms together to capture him between her breasts, and she moved up and down there several times, his precum seeping from his tip as he marked her with his fluid down her breastbone. As she moved her breasts down his cock one last time, she dropped her chin and took the whole of him into her mouth, causing him to groan. But she did not close her lips, she did not use her tongue on him, all she did was breathe, just like the Dahl did with his hand, breathing in his intimate scent, tasting it with her inhalation, exhaling against him like a hot summer wind. She removed her mouth just before he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep from moving, lightly grazing her teeth on him, and he whimpered. She moved back up his body, smelling him, softly rubbing her face against him as she moved, brushing against his erection with every motion she made, and he could not help it any longer, he arched his back to thrust at her, at any part of her he could reach, he was so desperate to be taken by her. But she would continue to deny him as she leaned forward on her knees, nuzzled his chest, working her way up to what she could of his neck, not trying to remove his helmet but holding her face just under the lip of it, breathing softly into his helmet, taking his exhales into her mouth, her erect nipples dragging on his chest, her hands sliding down his arms to hold them down when all he wanted to do was take hold of her, and he murmured, “Please Marathel, please Marathel, please,” as she completely dominated him, laying mostly naked and exposed on his back on a planet beyond the edge of nowhere, pleading, promising to kill for her, promising to die for her, promising to set the universe on fire for her if she would just please, please take him now.
She settled back on her heels, tilted her hips, and took him fully within her in one smooth stroke as she quietly inhaled and softly exhaled.
He, suddenly enveloped in her sweet hot wetness, died for a full second, and then was revived as she moved her hips in rhythm, slowly, so slowly, too slowly, thinking that he would die for real this time as a sob escaped him and tears slid down his temples. He bucked at her, desperate for more than what she was willing to give, when she dropped her dark eyes to his helmet and snarled, and she slapped the palm of her hand sharply on his bite wound and pressed hard. He cried out with the pain, and this must have excited her, for she moved a little faster on him, and he grabbed at her hand on his bite wound, which she slapped away with a hiss. She rocked faster, throwing her head back far enough that he felt her hair brushing against his legs, and her hair wasn’t soft at all, but was coarse like the mane of a running beast, like sheaths of dried summer grass, and her hands clutched at his ribs and her thighs squeezed him tightly as she began to climax. He lifted his hands and slid them up her legs to her hips as she bucked against him, his thumbs pressing into her soft round belly, his fingers clasping at her hipbones hard enough to leave marks on her supple flesh. He arched his back, flexing his hips upward, balancing on his heels, trying to get as deep into her as he possibly could, losing all conscious thought as he whimpered “Mara … Marathel … my mesh’la …" as she cried out with her own orgasm, collapsing down towards his chest, thighs trembling, her hair falling over his visor, her hips still pulsing against his as he drew his knees up, thrusting his pelvis against hers, clutching her tightly to his chest as he finally came, grunting, tangling his fingers into her hair, sobbing her name, “Marathel … Marathel … my mesh’la Marathel …" And then he laughed as she gasped against his shoulder. She pushed up just enough to look into the visor of his helmet, and she was Marathel again, with her silver hair all in disarray, tears leaking from her silver eyes, lip trembling as she reached up and placed her hand on the helmet where his cheek would be. He laid his hand over hers as they breathed in time together. Then her eyes fluttered closed as she collapsed on his chest. He felt every muscle in her body release their tension as she melted off him to the bed tick, rolled to her back beside him, and threw her arms up above her head, unconscious.
Oh, Marathel, he thought. You are the Queen of the Universe.
He gazed at Marathel's still face for a long time. He got up to one elbow and watched her slow breathing, a lock of hair lifting and falling on her collarbone with each breath. His eyes skated down her naked body, her round breasts, just nicely proportioned to fit in his hand if he so dared, her middle softly curved with a slightly rounded belly, a little extra flesh at her hips, her long legs, one stretched out straight, the other bent at the knee with her toes touching her calf, legs that were heavy but were so much more muscular than they looked, legs that could break a tree in half, strong rounded calves with finely turned ankles. He sat up on his hip and reached with his bare hand, thinking, forgive me, Marathel, but I must have this memory of your skin as he lightly skated his hand over her flesh starting at her ankle, moving up her leg. She stirred slightly at his touch but did not wake. He stroked her gently, passing over the already-forming bruises that he had given her in their struggle tonight, flinching that he had injured her so, but continued his hand up her bent leg onto her inner thigh when he felt a patch of puckered skin near the apex of her legs. His hand stopped. Her skin until now had been as smooth as liquid beskar, but this texture was different, like scar tissue. Curious, he bent down to look closely at the place on her inner thigh that he had found, thinking maybe a very old injury, perhaps a birthmark. He turned on the light on his helmet, blocking it as much as he could so as not to wake her. Focusing the beam on her leg – and the lovely silver thatch of hair next to it – he could see that the puckered area of skin was not a birthmark at all, but the remnants of a brand. The brand was latticed, stretched, signifying to him that she must have received this mark as … a very, very, young child. He turned off his beam immediately, but the mark was already burned into his retinas. It was square – or had been at one time – with an arrow-head shape in the middle, but it was so hard to read, as old as the mark must have been.
Someone had held her down, opened her legs – a little girl’s legs – and held a brand to her delicate child’s skin, burning it to leave this mark.
He'd heard screams of children before, many times. Too many times to count. He felt physically ill as he thought of her screaming as a tiny child, probably even younger than he when his parents had been killed before his eyes. A little girl, tortured by the very adults who were supposed to have protected her. Was Diwhyn Olba there? Did Diwhyn Olba have to hold her down? Did Diwhyn Olba tend to her wounds while little Marathel screamed in pain?
Din rolled away from Marathel and stood up, closing his jacket, pulling his pants back up, ashamed to have exposed himself to her, who suffered as a little girl at the hands of men. She must have sensed his movement; she rolled to her side, curling up with her hands in front of her face, curling up like a child. He grabbed one of the blankets she had given him and unfolded it, gently tucking it around her, covering her, wishing in some way to protect the child Marathel from the unnamed unknown evils that must have taken place in that Hold. Marathel sighed in her sleep, took hold of the blanket and pulled it over her ear as she snuggled down deep in the sleeping tick. Din carefully lifted a wayward lock of her hair from her face and put it behind her shoulder. He stood and then passed through the curtains to the center of her hut. He sighed. The room showed no signs of their earlier struggle, other than the pile of his cape and removed armor, and the bench at the table slightly askew from when she crashed into it. Din picked up his discarded clothing and armor, quietly saying the proper old incantation for each piece as he replaced them on his body, ending with the words this is the way as he straightened his helmet. Feeling stronger in his soul with the remembrance of his Creed, he sat down against the post closest to where Marathel slept, vowing to protect her until the hunt was finished. Crossing his feet at his ankles, he stared at the stars above him until he dozed off.
You Were Marked: Next Chapter
#din djarin smut#din djarin fanfiction#din djarin#the mandalorian angst#the mandalorian x reader#Mandalorian fanfic#Mandalorian fanfiction#the mandalorian#the mandalorian smut#the mandalorian fanfiction#star wars smut#mandalorian smut#star wars fanfiction
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saw your oc lore post.... my time to shine >:3
the big 4! little moon, cupid, permanent hole, and fortune!! what the heck are those sillies!!! do they know each other?
oh my gosh dsfsdfI'm flattered you'd ask hehI'll write in the undercut and try to keep it short.
Before all this tho, I think it's important to understand that my ocs and the world they inhabit dont need to make sense logically.
Think of it as a children's book. Roald Dahl's books, for instance, or something like 'The Chocolate Touch' etc
All in all, my ocs dont make logical sense. They live in a world where stuff just IS.
So! Fortune and Cupid do know one another, and Fortune loves Cupid very much. If you've ever seen a kid just fawn over an actor (like I did when I was a kid over Leonardo DiCaprio) that's the vibe.
Cupid lives in a well, and Fortune visits often to throw in a coin to see him. He's generally nice to her, but a little confused and just rolls with it like 'ok this little dog wants to run around my well and look at me for a few minutes. That's fine.'
Fortune on her own is a little wandering dog. She was born from a sentient "blood" puddle, perhaps a puppy fell in and was blessed with sentience as well. Fortune remembers her first moments of life, but has lost her way back to the puddle. She longs to see it again, and she wanders to find it.
She may "tell your fortune" if you happen to meet her, however, it may or may not be a reliable reading. Her strongest and most accurate predictions are usually bad omens or looming tragedy. If you're in danger, Fortune will certainly tell you.
I draw her in many ways that don't relate to her lore, of course. She is fun to explore with, and often ends up expressing many of my emotions etc!
( People ask me often if the puddle is a SCP inspired thing, but its inspired by the birth of Lurtz in LoTR and Shadowmere who is born from a tar pit lol)
Cupid on his own IS a bad omen, perhaps why Fortune is so aware of him, whereas others only glimpse him before disaster strikes. Cupid is not evil, nor is he good. He is indifferent, guided by a nature one cannot relate to. If you see him, you are likely at the finale of your life.
If you're lucky enough, Fortune may help you avoid your terrible fate by guiding you to Cupid's well. If you throw down a few coins or something of value, Cupid will spare you by not appearing to you at all, therefore successfully evading your disastrous end.
Permanent Hole is more symbolic than Fortune and Cupid. He represents being at your absolute worse. He represents that constant drag that threatens to bring you into the darkest pit of yourself, thats why he is a 'cat' living in a hole. You could be grabbed at any moment, or simply fall in. He will try his hardest to tempt you to come his way because it feels easier to be in a dark hole and let yourself go. He knows you personally, and you him. He remembers you, he will try to bring you back to that hole again.
But never fear, his arms can only reach so far and you can avoid him if you can find it in yourself to walk right by.
Ideally, someday you can fill that hole and bury him forever.
Little Moon is also more symbolic I guess. He brings back your fondest memories, though they can hurt sometimes. You might try to let a memory go, because it has been broken, but he will bring them back to you in dreams and thoughts you have quietly before bed. He can only come to you during the full moon, he crosses the sky for you and slips into you. He can feel what you feel, he knows what you love and what you need to keep. He won't let you forget.
(Cats have always been something I relate myself to idk why)
Anyway, thank you for asking :~) I hope you like them!
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