#just a bit. has more hunter instinct ig

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

Being regularly but unexpectedly doused with sea water is an occupational hazard of having a Sea Monster Spouse™️ but Eclipse doesn’t mind, he just loves when ur affectionate like that. Absolutely adores u

[jackrrabbit]

Bloodlust /// Sanemi x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: A naive demon is waylaid by the Wind Hashira.

A/N: Might fuck around and get back into KNY…Sanemi is one mean bastard, and I’m here for it. Be warned—this is pretty brutal (not by canon standards, but still). ngl I’ve missed writing stuff like this 🥺

Tags/warnings: sadomasochism, noncon, hatefucking!!!! is def the best way to describe what happens in this fic, threats, violence, demon reader & demon things, primal, degradation, outdoor sex, bloodplay & marechi kink stuff, yandere? obsessive fixation ig, some creative liberties have been taken with canon

You’d almost forgotten what it feels like to be weak.

Strength came with the territory when you were turned into a demon, along with the hunger: all-encompassing, oppressive, like you’re starving every second you’re not eating. Apparently you’re better able to control your hunger than other demons, not that you’ve met many—none, actually, other than the one who turned you. He was the one who told you to exercise control, who told you that you’ve done well to stealthily pick off prey that wouldn’t be missed instead of attracting attention. He was the one who told you about demon slayers.

You almost laughed at the idea at the time. A group of humans who tried to resist demons? Tried to kill them? How? Every human you’ve encountered since you were turned—hunters, mostly, men who’d wandered into the woods looking for something to eat—has been pathetically weak against you. Life as a demon is simple. As long as you stay in the shadows and avoid the sun, you have nothing to fear.

Sometimes you daydream about making your way to a village and gorging yourself, but you don’t mind the hunger so much. You can get by on scraps. And besides, the demon who turned you warned you not to go overboard. He said to stay away from the humans’ notice—not that the threat of some human calling themselves a “demon slayer” bothered you. You know how strong you are; you can feel it in your blood, your muscles, your bones. You don’t understand how a flesh-and-blood human could threaten that.

You don’t understand…until you meet him. The Wind Hashira. You should’ve listened to the warnings about demon slayers.

Bitter.

It tastes bitter, and you try to ground yourself on that taste, the sharp, bitter-wet flavor of the grass and dew and earth because the slayer is shoving your face into the dirt and the copper from where you’re biting into your lip and holding back the sound of your voice. Not that he cares, probably. But you don’t think you could take hearing yourself moan for a human while he carves the shape of his cock into your pussy.

How did you…get here? Facedown, barely holding yourself up on your elbows, chest and stomach shoved into the grass with your back arched up and your kimono ridden above your hips… Fuck, you can barely remember the fight, his ability, him wrestling you into the earth and shoving his weight down on you and bringing his blade to his own arm and—

—his blood, so rich and thick and sweet that even recalling the smell of it sends a wave of heat through you and you whine under your breath. The hunger overtakes everything else you’re feeling, but only for a second before with a twitch of his hand the Hashira brings the edge of his sword to the tender skin of your throat. “Ah-ah,” he rasps out a laugh even though his voice is heavy and strained. “What was that? Are you starting to like it?”

“K-Kill you, I’ll—kill you,” you snarl, but you and him both know the threat is empty. You tried. And you failed.

“Fucking demon whore,” he spits, and the blade slips just enough to draw a hair-thin line of red across your neck, earning a yelp from you even though you don’t dare move any more for fear of letting it cut you deeper. When you go still, he grunts and you can hear him shifting position in the grass, angling your hips up so his cock can sink in again. “Asking for it…fuck…”

“I wasn’t—nngh—ah, ahhh, s-stop—you can’t—” Your words are coming out in babbles, barely intelligible but it’s his fault. He’s pushing up at your womb, pulling out in short, quick thrusts and slamming his cock back into your cunt so hard and rough it’s like he’s knocking the breath out of your lungs. It hurts, ithurtsithurtsithurts, an ache deep in your core and accompanied with a heat and tension that you hate even more than you hate the pain, because it means he’s right. You—no, your body, your traitorous pathetic weak body that submitted to his so easily—it’s starting to like this.

“How’s it feel?” He’s mocking you, fisting his fingers in your hair and wrenching your head back so he can look you in the eye. “Does it hurt?…it hurts, right? Good.”

“—i-it doesn’t—“ You don’t even believe it yourself.

“Yes…it does. Guess even a demon bitch like you can’t take me that easily.” Somehow the slayer’s hips keep pumping deeper, pushing his fat cock through your walls and against the entrance to your womb until you’re certain your unnatural healing can’t keep up with the bruising in your cunt. Your fingers are scrabbling in the grass, digging clawed nails into the earth—the little nick on your throat has already knitted itself back up, but the tension in your pussy is a dozen—a hundred—times worse.

“—stop, let me go—“ Debased. Lower than an animal. You’d be begging if you thought he would listen.

“‘Stop’? How are you going to...ungh, make me stop? Want to try to fight me off again?” He pulls out (you hate the way your cunt feels when he does, hot and slick and empty) and his grip on the sword slackens, easing up enough to give you a scanty inch of movement. “Go ahead, give it a try.”

The slayer’s taunting you—just like you taunted him at the start of this, when you first challenged him, when you thought he was a human—and, and somehow he is, still human and yet just as much a monster as you are. More. You’ve been cruel, you’ve done evil things, but you did them to survive. Fuck, you shouldn’t—shouldn’t have taunted him, shouldn’t have boasted, should’ve stayed hidden in the dark. You didn’t know. He wasn’t supposed to be this strong.

Your muscles are shaking from exertion as you brace your hands against the ground, trying to push up against the weight of his body so you can right yourself, but it’s futile. Within a second (less than a second) of your attempt to move, one of his scarred hands slaps over your wrist and crushes it back into the dirt, grip so tight you swear you can almost feel your bones grinding underneath. You snarl, try to twist yourself away from him but the hilt of his sword slams down flat against your other hand so hard you feel a dull pang of surprise that nothing actually breaks.

“So weak…try that again and I’ll use the sharp end.” His chest is moving back on top of yours, and you recognize the silent rhythm of the movement.

He’s laughing at you.

Weak. You know it’s true. You thought you were so strong, but compared to this Hashira you’re nothing. Pure unadulterated defeat is written in every cell of your body, and whatever animal instinct you have left from your human life is telling you to roll over and accept that he’s the predator, and you’re nothing more than prey. But the mockery, the ease with which he holds you down, the goddamn fucking laughter sparks a fresh wave of hatred and you thrash and squirm underneath his body. “You’re dead, you—I’ll kill you, I’ll tear you apart, they’ll be picking bits of you out of this forest for weeks—“

The red haze over your vision is so heavy that you barely notice the blade tilting into position—not over your skin, but against his. You only register what he’s doing when the glint of sunlight on the blade reflects brilliant white, and you catch a scarlet line of blood beading against it. You pull back, eyes going wide, trying not to inhale but your lungs betray you and,

oh ohhh fuck it smells good smells so good you want it you want it so fucking bad you’re going to die if you can’t taste it you need it you need it you NEED IT.

Your muscles go slack. You’re salivating already, dizzy from hunger, so intensely focused on the smell of his blood that you can’t help your compliance as he pulls your hips up into place and slips his cock back into your pussy. Only when it starts to hurt again—a dull soreness now, because he’s slowed his pace to push his thick shaft into you inch by inch—do you feel that same prickle of hatred and disgust, but who cares who cares that you’re getting fucked because the smell of his blood is driving you out of your mind with need.

You no longer have the self-control to hold back your voice, and when the slayer hears the pathetic little mewl dripping out of your mouth from the sensation of him filling you up, he laughs again. But this time you don’t care, you just want him, want his body, his blood. Your jaw snaps open and shut on instinct and you whine, pleading, because you’re past the point of believing that you can beat him.

“You like that? Want to taste?” His voice is softer now, but the vein of mockery still runs clear through every syllable.

Your head jerks up and down desperately and then he draws his hips back and slaps his cock between your aching walls, pushing a huffed “uhhn!” out of your lips—but you don’t pull away. You can tolerate this, if it means getting to taste that blood dripping down his fingers, over the sword grip still held in his palm, just to be wasted on the grass. Out of your reach.

“So docile now…think I could get used to this,” the slayer sighs, adjusting the position of his thighs so he can thrust into you lazily and deeply. “F-Fuck, you’re—tight, you know that? All hot and sticky inside…”

“—let me have it, need it I need it, why—“ Your head is spinning, feels like you’re…what? The intoxication is hitting some note deep in the recesses of your memory, a past life you aren’t supposed to be able to recall. Bitter taste on your tongue, liquid pouring, fuzzy edges bordering your vision. Drunkenness.

“Little demon bitch,” he growls, tapping the blade lightly against your neck when you snap your teeth at him again. “Said you were going to kill me, yeah? But now you’re moaning like a whore…”

You try to muster a denial, but you can’t.

The slayer’s other hand twists underneath the two of you to press up on your lower belly, pushing into the place where his cock is nudging up against your womb. You keen at the pressure, the slow friction against that little patch in your cunt that makes you slicker every time his cockhead passes over it. “Feel how deep I am in your cunt…? I can—feel your pulse on my cock, fuck.”

You can feel it too, your heartbeat echoed in the twitches of your pussy around his skin, quick and fluttering from the drunken stupor his blood has forced you into. Every sense is heightened, and the weight of his hand pushing up on your belly just makes it worse…or better. You’re not sure.

He swallows, and with his body on top of yours you can feel his heavy breathing puffing out over the bared skin of your neck. “Can demons even cum? If you can get wet, then you can cum too, right? I bet I can…bet I can make you cum, you fucking whore. Wouldn’t that be nice…get you creaming on my cock, make you my little fuckpet…”

His hand slips down from your belly to rub roughly at your cunt, pushing into your skin to seek out the little button at the top—and the feeling of his hands on you like this, the sharp jolt of pleasure somehow sends a splinter of clarity through your delirium. “No,” you wail, hearing how wanton you sound and hating it. “I can’t I can’t, please, please don’t make me—“

“Quiet.” His thick forearm wraps around your neck, tightening against your windpipe and cutting off your voice. “Learn your place, demon—the only reason you’re alive is because you’re a nice wet hole for me to use. So when I tell you to cum—“

His pace picks up, hips knocking yours deeper, splitting you apart while he swirls his fingers around that sweet spot—and then the smell of copper gets thicker and he’s pushing his bloody hand against your mouth—

“—you cum.”

You’re not sure whether it’s your cunt or the taste of his blood smearing over your lips that does it, but as soon as he says the word you shatter like glass. The heat is brutal horrible delicious and so overwhelming you’re surprised you’re conscious through it—every hair is standing up on end and your body pulls tight like a bowstring, arching your backside into his hips so you can feel every inch of your cunt sucking around him.

It’s bliss—sickeningly sweet, burning like fire through you—without thinking, you eagerly lick the scarlet liquid off his hand and fuck somehow, somehow, it tastes even better than it smelled—feels like you could live off just the blood in your mouth but you want more, you’d die for it, you’d do anything, and your teeth are bared ready to puncture his skin deeper when—

Cold steel slides up under your jaw, almost nicking one of the veins pumping blood up to your hazy brain. “Keep—ahh, yesss…d-damn it—keep still,” the slayer rasps. “No teeth.”

He’s not finished.

Every muscle in your body aches for you to ignore him, but the knowledge of how easily he could separate your head from your body makes you obey, dragging your tongue over his still-bleeding cut instead of biting down. You can hear the noises of damp skin against skin issuing out from where your bodies meet, but you’re not sure whether it’s from you lapping at his fingers or his cock pressing in and out of your sopping-wet cunt. Probably both. Not that it matters.

The slayer’s head lowers—you know it by the angle of his cock inside your twitching pussy and the faint tickle of his hair brushing against the skin of your neck—and then you feel his teeth sinking into the side of your throat. They’re blunt, of course, as harmless as any human’s, but the primal dominance of the action sends a shudder through you.

“Not bad…looks like demons are good for something after all. I think I might just keep you,” the slayer laughs. His voice is too close—you want to flinch back, spit at him, bite—but you can’t. You’re helpless.

You’re weak.

[morganas-pendragons]

Long Story Short (I Survived) | Din Djarin

Okay, I apparently write for Din now. This is set after It’s A Long Way Down and will feature the same Grey!Jedi reader, I am done with finals and am intending to write a fic between this one and the first one for Chapter 13! 

i forgot that din took his helmet off in the first fic i wrote for him, so we’re going to call this - another separate instance in which reader could have seen helmet less din  - and change one saber to two 

if you’d like to be added to tags for when I write for din, please let me know! until then... 

@earthtokace / @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol​ / @kyber-queen / @kaikai1324 / @snippy-tano / @fractiouskat​ / @doctorsteeb​

SPOILERS FOR THE BELIEVER 

Din is staring down at the Imperial console when he feels it creep up upon him. It’s a niggling fear, one that sinks deep down into the pit of his stomach and very nearly disappears - which gives him hope that it’ll just dissipate and die - until realization smacks him right back into reality. 

  “You’ll have to take your helmet off.” 

He’d felt this same emotion when IG-11 had coerced him into taking his helmet off when he’d been injured. It had felt the same, affected him the same, paralyzed him the same. 

Panic. It’s panic. 

The last time he’d done this had been out of necessity, out of fear, and that had been the only reason he’d survived. He’d broken The Creed to save his own life and of those who had been with him when the Moff attacked. Now, staring at this console, the life of his son is at stake if he doesn’t take this helmet off. 

Din whispers into the corners of his frightened mind. I’m scared. 

You had accompanied Mayfeld and Din as the third party (since Boba and Fennec had Cara) and had displayed skill in aiding him with the bands of pirates who had attacked their transport of Rhydonium. His mind was still spinning with the sheer speed in which you had spun those lightsabers. He didn’t think a person could move that fast. 

Around the corner and turned away from Din, you allow yourself to feel the whispers of The Force encircling your mind - the newly acquired bond you’d somehow formed with Din since having seen Ahsoka - and whispered in reply I know. A beat of silence passes before you continue. Remember who you’re doing this for. 

In the moment that Din’s fear threatens to overtake him, you send waves of comfort and assurance through your Bond in the Force - which shouldn’t exist to begin with, it’s not that easy to create bonds with a non-force sensitive -  to coax him into doing what needs to be done. Your eyes are turned. Your focus is on Mayfeld and the dozens of Imperial Officers who surround you. 

As he removes his helmet, Din remembers. He remembers your boundless laughter playing with The Child. He remembers the way his son beams at you, the way he falls asleep on specific words of lullabies because that’s always the precise moment your voice goes just soft enough that he feels as if he needs no more comfort. Din remembers the way you’d watched on in silence, quietly mourning a relationship that had yet to reach its peak, and how breathless you’d appeared - and overjoyed, he still hasn’t recovered from the sudden hug you gave him upon return to the Razor Crest - when he’d brought Grogu back inside after Ahsoka claimed he could not be trained. 

Remember who you’re doing this for.

Maker help anyone who dared to cross him when his child, his son - the one attachment he has not verbally acknowledged yet, but everyone else has, including you - is the one in danger. When you are the one in danger.

Maker help them.

You are not anticipating what comes next. 

This was supposed to be easy. Get in, get the coordinates for the cruiser, and get out. Mayfeld had mentioned to you after Din had entered the mess hall that he’d need to take his helmet off in order to access the terminal, and on instinct you had turned away from the mess to survey the crowd around you. 

Your lightsabers - now meshed together into the staff slung across your back - lay comfortably and within reach as dozens of Imperial troops brush past you and congratulate both you and Mayfeld on being the only transport to bring back the Rhydonium. 

  “Trooper? Hey, trooper!” 

Mayfeld’s hand shoots out before you can protest, and your head is whipping back just enough to ensure that Din hasn’t been found out. “No.” Mayfeld murmurs, shaking his head. “Not yet.” 

You’re not focused on him. You’re focused on the dark hair that frames the very visible head of the same man you’d resigned yourself to falling in love with. 

His helmet is off. 

Dread curls itself in your veins as you and the former Imperial turn to the mess hall. You’ve managed to respect Din’s wishes in refraining from both seeing his face - and using his name, you’re only allowed to do that in private - since you met, but circumstances have ruined the reverential act he would’ve saved for marriage. That was when he’d had removed his helmet to allow you to see him. 

The thing is though.. You’ve always seen him. You don’t need to see his face to know Din Djarin’s heart, and his heart lays with you and that baby. The one he’s fighting to get back. 

  “No, son. What’s your TK number?” 

Lucky for you, you’d been alive during The Clone Wars. You can worm yourself and him out of this situation fairly easily. 

  “This is our Commanding Officer TK-593, and First Officer TK-616, sir.” Mayfeld slaps your back as the two of you enter the mess hall and flank either side of Din. You cannot bring yourself to look at him head on. It would not be fair, not in the midst of the pure fear that’s coursing through his mind. 

I’m right here. You whisper into the heart of the fear that plagues him, fingers idly tracing the inside of his hand as you stare the Imperial Officer down. As expected, Din visibly relaxes at the gentle trace of your fingertips against his palm. We’re surviving. 

  “I am Imperial Combat Assault Transport TK-111, sir.” Mayfeld continues, folding his hands over each other as he stands at relaxed parade rest at Din’s side. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to speak up to him a little bit since his vessel lost pressure in Taanab.” 

This gives you the brilliant idea of conversing with Din in Tusken sign, something he’d been adamant to teach you after your excursion on Tatooine. 

  “She’s our interpreter. We call her Whip.’’

While Mayfeld guides the conversation with the officer, you and Din are easing into talking in Tusken about however many ways this can go wrong, but then he changes the topic to something you’re not quite ready to acknowledge. 

You can look at me, you know. He signs, hands frantic as he tries and fails to find your eyes. You value him - and his heart - far too much to be the first person he knows to have seen his face.

No. You shake your head. I can’t. 

And you don’t. You only look at his side profile for the remainder of that trip, refusing to allow yourself the satisfaction of being the one person he cared about that has seen his face. Seen him. 

Like I said. You don’t need to see Din Djarin’s face to see him. 

*** 

Din is almost positive he’s ready to accept how he feels about you. 

The minute Mayfeld shoots that officer in the chest, you spring into action and whip that staff off your back - disengaging the lock that holds the two lightsabers together - and the world explodes in a flurry of blue as you perform the sword and shield method he’s seen you do flawlessly at least five times now. 

You don’t look at him even after you’re back in Slave One. He and Cara have escorted Mayfeld back to the surface of the planet, and it’s just you and Fett in the cockpit. Despite the clone and bounty hunter being so much older then you, there’s something oddly comforting knowing you’re sitting next to has suffered as much as you have. If not more. 

Long story short, we both survived. 

  “You know, I’ve been with you a grand total of a day and I can already see it in your eyes, Whip.” The nickname Mayfeld had come up with in the facility has already made its rounds on the ship, and Boba feels it’s more then appropriate for the first Jedi he’s met since the kids who put him in the Sarlacc to begin with. Being inside of that thing had mellowed him out. He had accepted his life for what it was now. Oddly enough.. Boba Fett is at peace. “You’re lovesick for the Mandalorian.” 

  “Boba-” 

The older man, one who mirrored what you’d always envisioned the clones - may Maker rest their souls - to look like as they aged, removed his helmet to look at you. “Take it from someone who knows. He gets you. You get him.” Boba turned his gaze back towards the ramp of Slave One where Din was talking in low voices with Cara. “Wish I’d had a jeti like you who saw me despite the armor.” 

He stopped speaking after that.  

Taking a deep breath, you descend from the cockpit just as Slave One takes off again, the coordinates for Moff Gideon’s cruiser inputted into the navi-computer. Fennec and Cara move by you to join Boba in the cockpit which leaves you and Din alone in the cargo bay. 

It’s deadly silent. 

Ner jeti. He whispers. You can hear his thoughts as clear as you hear your own. Why will you not look at me? 

Your eyes slam shut as his fingers curl around your hips. You cannot do this to him, no matter how much you want to - no matter how much you desire to finally kiss those lips you’ve dreamt idly about so many times - because here’s the truth of it: You have suffered, parts of you have died, everything you have ever known has died, you have lost everything and didn’t even try to save those on the other end of those attachments you’d formed... but something, something good, put you right here. Right here in this moment with Din Djarin mere moments before plunging into the subject of your night terrors after months of being tormented by nightmares of your fellow Jedi being tortured by the Empire for simply existing. 

And quite frankly, there’s no one else you’d rather take that plunge with. 

That fact terrifies you. 

  “I can’t look at you, Din.” You whisper. “I can’t look at you because then that would be breaking your Creed for me... and I can’t let you do that when the baby hasn’t even seen your face yet-” 

  “Oh, believe me.” A clunk echoes in the cargo-bay as the beskar falls from his hands. Your heart stops and your breath catches in your throat as you tremble beneath his grasps, eyes still closed as he steps into the curve of your body - chest to your back - and lowers his entire head to your shoulder. “I intend for him to.” 

Din lays a kiss at the nape of your neck. Maker... he’s real. Your head starts spinning as his kiss ascends right to the shell of your ear, in which he then whispers, “Open your eyes, Sarad.” and it’s such an intimate act on the behalf of someone who has not known love until you and the baby showed up that you can’t not open your eyes. 

When you turn around, your world is enveloped in a mirage of onyx. Brown eyes. 

  “Din-” Din chuckles at your obvious reluctance because he is absolutely terrified to let you see him, the real him, vulnerable and waiting and desperate for the same acceptance. 

  “I told you my name way earlier then I ever anticipated I would.” He begins, taking your hands in his own to lay them against his cheeks. It has been so long since he allowed himself to accept touch, to accept that people in the galaxy were still gentle, that he trembles when your warmth seeps into his skin. “After what Bo-Katan told me and what Mayfeld kept saying in the transport... I’ve done alot of thinking recently, and I’m coming to the conclusion that maybe the way I was raised was wrong. There’s nothing wrong with taking the helmet off.” He exhales on a shaky breath and turns his face to kiss the inside of your hand. “But then again.. I’ve always wanted to around you.” 

Your voice is small as you ask, “Why?” 

  “Because you’ve always seen me.” Din replies. “Despite the armor and the helmet, you’ve always seen me for who I was. You saw me as a father for the-” He swallows the knot in his throat and leans inward until you are a hairs breath apart, forehead resting against yours as he pulls your body into his own. “As a father for our child. Not just as a bounty hunter, but as a man. A man I could never see myself as. When you came around, I stopped surviving. I started living.” He snorted sharply through his nose. “I almost forgot what that felt like.. I think you pulled me back right before I forgot entirely.” 

He’s so grateful. It’s hard to live feeling like you’re a ghost. 

Din tests the waters of this desire radiating from you both by applying just the barest amount of pressure of his mouth on yours. As to be expected, your entire body quakes at the contact and it takes all his physical control to not allow his spinning head to make his knees give out and send him falling on the floor. 

Oh.. he could get used to this. Used to this feeling.

He’s felt this before.

Joy. 

  “That’s the thing.” Inward, outward, forward and back again, you slowly allow yourself to succumb to Din’s kiss and grip his face in your hands just a little bit tighter. “I’ve always seen you.” You pull away just enough to force your eyes open, and then you are graced with the face of the man you love. You do. You love him, and you’ve accepted it. Kriffing Boba Fett. “And you know what? I thought I’d died before I met you. I never thought I’d make it here, much less be with you.. and I am so lucky.” There it is then, that breathless smile Din has pressed the sight of twice now into his memories, that presses itself into your aspect as the two of you look at each other. 

  “Why are you lucky?” 

You wink and shrug. ‘’Long story short?” You muse. “It’s a good thing I survived.”

Little to Din’s knowledge as he plunges into the mystery of his growing love for you - his flower, the one who made him bloom - that when he kisses you again, your eyes are wide open the entire time. 

There’s never been quite so beautiful a sight as somebody who’s survived. 

bonus: i am thinking about how beautiful pedro pascal was in this episode 

[mrek-inforg]

ok so i'm high and i was thinking about dissociation and like,, for me it gets spicy when i just feel like i am this weird alive thing, i mean i hear and feel my blood flowing through my heart,

fuck I get anxiety attack for trying to think more about

ok

so just I'm this cell sack on this big big planet and I feel her turning around the sun and she is so big and the sun is fucking roasting us but she is so protective of us she yeet his murdering rays and we just chill under the big big gaz cushion she hoarded for us

yeah I'm feeling really hot rn it's anxietyyyyy but also I really love the earth because I fell like she loves us back kinda maybe not all the time tho

and so there are lots of lots of other cells sacks all around me and some of those are like me but some others are so weird or so so small it's fuckimg crazy and rn I'm just on this big big cement thing, y'know??? Paris I mean,, a city and like a lot of other cities to grow it has to destroy things and I think about all thos living things we destroy and I feel those and I think about all the things we destroy on the whole planet and it makes me so so sad

and then I think about the universe

it's so big. we are so so small. we do not count??? it's ok ?? maybe all this is ok if we are nothing ??? there are so many planets, so many stars, so many galaxies and then I think about the multiverse and fuck,,,, every fucking world we can possibly imagine exists,,, so our world is just a fuvking bad version of human existence,, I'm sure that other humans in other universes did it better than us,,

I m getting lost in my thoughts now I can't write them,,, hhhjjb,,,,,,

it's just too much you know,, all the feelings of the world at once in my body, it's way more than I can handle

and I get it u know it's not really all the feelings of the world it's just my brain saying shhhhh fucjkkkk what is happening ooolloof existemcial dread ouch ouch what's this feeling likehejd and it gives me a little cocktail of bad sensations to make the thing believable

I mean I kinda feel like it's bad to think about my place in the universe because I'm not supposed to know

I mean writing those words fuckimg hurts me rn it's ouch time in anxiety town

by not being supposed to know about my place in the universe I mean

why the fuck am I being able to know about what the whole universe is like and how living things works and how the human brain functions I mean

I'm just this fucking produce of evolution I am here for no reason other than one day hunter gatherers started to think wow maybe agriculture is a great idea after all, let's do that baby !! and then we started living in cities all together and sharing things and it was fun at first but pass down about 12 thousand years and we are here at our golden age, capitalism time baby, humanity never had so much knowledge and opportunities to do great and we never made such bad decisions that would impact our lifes forever

I mean why do we call it climate crisis it's human crisis

we're sabotaging our home without knowing it because those who are responsible for this don't take credit for their actions???

I mean I could back this up with fact but like I said I'm high and having anxiety attack so be mindful,, and anyway u probably already know about it

so fucj that we are killing.g every beautiful things on this planet one by one and it makes me so sad I want to protect every bit of this planet I love every rock I love every leaf I love every little creature that inhabits it and fuck now I'm crying

we are all in this together guys and we aren't realizing all the bad we do because that is how we have been taught to act as individual that are part of the human species

I mean parasites like p. viticola (mildew ig) dies If they don't infect a host,, would u like to die ???? no ur first instinct as a living thing is to stay alive

I'm getting lost again help

ok guys I'm realisimg this post is so long I'm not gonna read it again before posting because if I do I won't post and maybe I want to get this out for once

okkkkkkkkkkk

I really want to write about what it means to be part of a species,, here specifically homo sapiens but I can't it's too complicated for my highed brain

well I just wanted to talk about dissociation and I had anxiety attack and now I'm tired

(also this is the first time I post on tumblr I think, maybe this weird weird rant about what it means to be human and alive in this weird world was the occasion to start)

[rebelsofshield]

Star Wars The Mandalorian: “Chapter Three: The Sin”-Review

The Mandalorian makes a fateful decision on a predictable but action packed episode.

(Review contains spoilers)

The Mandalorian returns to his nefarious Impreial client with his quarry, the mysterious child, in tow. Having completed one of the biggest jobs of his career, The Mandalorian is payed handsomely and leaves behind the baby to the unknown needs of the Imperial remnant. However, even with a new set of armor and Greef Carga’s insistence that he leave well enough alone, The Mandalorian has trouble reconciling the consequences of his sins.

The biggest struggle with “The Sin” is ultimately that it follows a plot trajectory that almost all viewers expected this would go in since the end of the first episode of the series. The Mandalorian has never really ever given us a reason to doubt that its titular character would leave Baby Yoda to the dangerous ends of the Empire. The instant that he gunned down his robotic ally, IG-11, to save the child’s life in “The Client,” we knew that our masked anti-hero would not stomach abandoning the little green infant to its potential death. The last three episodes have been building to this moment and “The Sin’s” first two acts are slow burn to the inevitable moment of rebellion. The fact that the episode functions in a sort of video game like logic isn’t lost either with different set pieces surrounding simply objective based plotting.

This doesn’t stop The Mandalorian from being an entertaining and gorgeous to look at show. “The Sin” marks the first live action Star Wars story to have a listed female director in Deborah Chow, who will take on Obi-Wan Kenobi in his own live action series in the next several years. Chow, who has worked on such shows as Better Call Saul, shows her strong storytelling instincts here.

“The Sin” continues the dense lived in environments from past episodes while diving further into the denizens living in the shadowy corners of this world. Sure, the various bounty hunters in Greef Carga’s bar and The Client may still lack names, but we are slowly but surely getting a better sense of the dangerous world of the galaxy’s outer rim.

In particular, writer Jon Favreau gives us our best look yet at the Mandalorian enclave and the current state of its warrior culture. We haven’t seen much of Mandalore and its citizens since during the events of Star Wars Rebels before the start of the Galactic Civil War. Apparently since this time, Mandalorians have grown even scarcer with various references to a cataclysmic purge that seems to have erased much of their populace. There’s not even a confirmation that further members of their culture exist outside of this particular covert. Favreau guides us through this with subtle moments of vernacular and the return of the mysterious armorer in “Chapter One,” still the only woman with a speaking role.

There is still a bit of strangeness to Mandalore culture as is here. Reference is made to heavy societal rules regarding when and where to remove one’s helmet. This seems to be a new development as Mando’s had not trouble showing their faces in existing media to this point. The current status quo only serves to continue the recurring strangeness about characterization in The Mandalorian. Having a faceless protagonist is difficult, but having him have an intense discussion with a roomful of other faceless characters is an incredible task. Deborah Chow manages to make it work somehow through some smart staging and direction. Pedro Pascal is still doing his best under the circumstances, but with each episode I grow more and more desperate to know a bit more about our leading mystery merc. Where do his loyalties lie? How much does he care for his other brothers and sisters in armor? (I would be interested if The Mandalorian sees a parallel between his own culture’s foundlings and whatever culture our little Baby Yoda looks set to continue.)

Minor quibbles aside, it’s beyond rewarding to see our army of Mandalorians take flight in this episodes thrilling finale. It’s a sight that is undeniably exciting and explosive. Sure, we’ve seen set pieces like this in The Clone Wars and Rebels, but rendered in live-action the result is the sort of spectacle that towers over most other TV. Chow excels at these battle moments with impressive editing and choreography with different characters often finding new and creative ways to upend the flow of battle. It’s also nice to see just the sheer variety of weapons and armor on display by the covert, it brings to life just how dynamic and diverse Mandalorian culture is.

Even before The Mandalorians and Bounty Hunter Guilds go to battle, “The Sin” offers a similarly intense showdown inside the Imperial Remnant compound. Instead of the in the streets Western brawl of the finale, Chow frames The Mandalorian’s infiltration like a slasher movie with our masked protagonist working his way mostly unencumbered and hidden by shadows.

The first act of this seaso has come to a close. The Mandalorian’s status quo has been upended and he has a mysterious, magic baby in tow. Where the plot goes from here is anyone’s guess. Although if we follow genre conventions, the lonely warrior protecting a young child from the world doesn’t usually work out well for the warrior.

Also, is it just me or is the little container holding the Beskar the same as Wilrow Hood’s infamous ice cream maker?

Score: B+

[lhugbereth]

Promptio on Ice Part 18

Ignoct’s First Date

So yeah, back by popular demand, more of Ignis and Noctis being absolute dorks, now in public! @goramidiot and @fandolover Thanks for these prompts, I tried to incorporate your ideas as much as possible ;) 

Noct thinks a lot about Iggy’s ass under the cut!  v v v

- Every time Prompto steps foot in Noct’s place, he feels overwhelmed. It’s less an apartment and more of a penthouse, located on the forty-seventh floor of the Caelum Residences (owned by his father, of course) and overlooking the bustle of the city. His bedroom alone is larger than Prompto’s entire apartment. Too big even with the three of them in it - Gladio lounging on the king-sized bed, Noctis standing in front of the mirror, and Prompto digging through his (well-stocked) closet for something to wear on his date with Ignis.

- “Are you even sure it’s really a date?” Gladio jokes from behind the pages of a hockey magazine he found on Noct’s shelf. His dark-haired friend shoots him a glare.

- “Well, yeah. I mean, obviously.” Noct tugs off the shirt he’s wearing and tosses it into the rapidly growing discard pile behind him. “Like, he gave me his number and everything.”

- “Your dad got his number for you when he was drunk,” Gladio retorts. “Maybe Iggy’s just being nice ‘cause he feels sorry for you.”

- “Aww, don’t be mean, Gladdy, Noct’s super nervous already,” Prompto says as he reemerges from the closet with an armful of new outfits. Noct shoots him a glare, too.

- “Am not! I’m just…. I want it to be perfect. I want him to really like me.”

- Gladio flashes Prompto a secret grin, and the blonde barely manages to contain himself as he pats Noctis on the back and hands him a suit jacket. “You’re hard not to like, buddy. Just smile a lot and he won’t be able to resist.” Falling quiet in thought for a moment, Noct shrugs on the jacket and adjusts it in the front. He turns, checks the side view, the back, musses his hair and practices his smile.

- “Hey, Specs,” he says, then straightens his posture and tries again. “Hi, Iggy. Um. Ignis.”

- “Iggy is better.”

- “Hey, Iggy. You look….really nice this evening.”

- “Tell him you like his ass,” Gladio chips in without looking up.

- “How the hell did you ever manage to get a date?” Noct says, glaring again.

- “I told Prom I like his ass.”

- Prompto snorts. “I probably would have slept with you faster if you had.” He turns back to Noct, who’s rolling his eyes hard enough to make Ignis proud. “Gladio’s got a point, though. Be honest, guys love that.”

- “Is Iggy really the kind of guy who wants to be checked out?” Noct’s voice is flat, disbelieving. Something tells him that too much honesty might just earn him a one-way ticket to ForeverAloneVillle. Like, for instance, if Iggy knew how many times Noct had jacked off to the thought of that sharp tongue massaging his balls, or how that lean body would look arching off the mattress, he would probably label him a pervert and never speak to him again.

- Apparently, Gladio disagrees. “How should we know what he’s into? Maybe he’s one of those dirty librarian types, y’know? Frigid on the outside, but a firecracker in the bedroom.”

- “So…,” Noct says, turning to him while Prom finishes styling his hair. “You’re saying there’s a chance?”

- “I’m saying you should go prepared. Never hurts.”

- At his side, Prompto offers a grin. “Yeah. Maybe you’ll get lucky, buddy.”

- Maybe in my dreams, Noct thinks to himself. With more confidence, he says, “Guess it’s worth a shot.”

- Ignis is already waiting for him when he arrives at the theater. Until now, Noct has only ever seen Ignis in two modes: his gym attire, or the formal suit he wore to the Gala. Tonight, then, is the first time Ignis has ever looked relaxed - underneath his dark coat, he’s wearing a light-colored buttonup and grey trousers. Combined with a pair of bright red sneakers, Iggy’s balancing a fine line between classy and casual. Noct simply thinks he looks stunning.

- “Ah, perfect timing.” Ignis smiles when he notices Noctis approaching. He steps back from the movie poster he’s been admiring to give his date the once-over. “You look nice this evening.”

- Shit, that was my line! Now he’s gotta think fast. “Hey, Specs. U-um, Iggy. Thanks, you look...hot. GREAT. You look great!” Shit, shit shit!

- An indulgent smile. “Hope you don’t mind, but I’ve already purchased our tickets.” Ignis withdrew two slips from his shirt pocket and handed one to Noct. It was surprisingly warm between his fingers. “Prompto told me you’re a fan of the Hunters’ Creed series, so I thought you might like to see the newest film.”

- “Yeah, definitely!” Forget the fact that Noct had already seen it (three times, actually, two of which had been with Prom), it was still easily one of his favorites. And knowing the ending would give him more time to focus his attention on Iggy - which was, in all honesty, probably Prompto’s plan anyway.

- But as they walk together into the theater (deciding that yes, one shared popcorn between them will be just fine), Noct has forgotten one crucial piece of information about the movie. It isn’t until they’re in their seats, smiling and laughing as they pass the popcorn between them, that he notices all the other young couples sitting around them. And then he remembers. And he curses Prompto because now he understands the real reason he suggested this show - the sex scene.

- It’s steamy, controversially so, and while Noct all but tuned it out the first three times (he was far more interested in the plot, thank you very much), he knows that will be impossible with Ignis sitting right next to him, completely unaware. So as the movie starts and the lights dim, he clutches the popcorn in his lap and swallows hard.

- “Y-y’know, Igs,” he starts in a hushed tone. “If there’s another movie you’d rather see….”

- But Ignis doesn’t hear him. The theme music is playing, and the scene opens with a car chase. By the looks of things, Iggy is already engrossed in the action - while Noct can only sink further in his seat and plot out how he’s going to get Prompto back for this.

- The movie moves fast, every bit the edge-of-your-seat blockbuster the posters promised, and halfway through even Noct can’t help but get into it. The Hunter confronts the demon overlord, he’s got him on the ropes, and Noct is so excited the bucket of popcorn is shaking in his lap. When the overlord transforms into a beast, Noct (even though he knew it was coming) nearly jumps out of his seat. Quick thinking by Ignis keeps the popcorn from flying all over the theater - but now it means his hand is positioned right between Noct’s legs just as That Scene starts up.

- There’s no preamble. Iggy lets out an audible gasp, and Noct feels his face heat up about a hundred degrees. It’s noisy, it’s wild, it’s why small children were banned from the screening. All around them in the theater, couples are exchanging heated looks.

- Iggy’s hand twitches in the popcorn, his wrist edging closer to Noct’s thigh.

- Noct is torn between wanting to run out of the room or climb into Ignis’ lap.

- When he forces himself to glance over, Ignis isn’t watching him, but rather staring at the blatant pornography on the screen with his eyes wide. Every time the woman on screen moans, his throat bobs a little and Noctis feels like he could ruin the inside of his jeans on the spot. Feeling bold (and too turned on to think better of it), Noctis rocks up every so slightly with his hips, rubbing against the tempting friction of Iggy’s wrist and startling the man right out of his trance. Ignis gasps, retracts his hand on instinct, and in the process knocks the popcorn onto the floor with a loud thunk.

- The rest of the theater turns to glare at them. But neither of them care. Laughing off their embarrassment, they drop to the floor and work together to scoop up the spill. The scene is over long before they settle back in their seats, and they enjoy the rest of the movie with their sticky fingers brushing together atop the armrest.

- “Well, what did you think?” Noct asks as they step outside into the cold evening air. It’s snowing again, and Ignis has his arm around Noctis’ shoulders in lieu of him wearing a proper coat.

- “Hm. Not terrible, but perhaps not worth ‘two thumbs way up.’ I’d give it a thumb and a half.”

- Noct snorts - snorts! - and turns a little closer against Iggy’s side. “Harsh critic. I’d love to know what kind of movies make it to the top of your list.”

- “The classics, mostly. I could show you, if you’d like.” He stops walking, bringing them to a halt just outside the parking garage. Green eyes go soft behind his lenses. “After all, the night is still young. And I did promise you dinner.”

- Dinner...at Iggy’s place?! Noct had been expecting a restaurant, maybe someplace with fancy wines and too many other people. He would have managed for the sake of his date, of course, but if he was hearing this correctly…. “You mean, at your place? Just the two of us?”

- Gods, why does his voice choose the worst times to crack?!

- Ignis merely smiles, almost as if he finds it...endearing? “If you’d like, yes. Not to brag, but I’ve been known to make a wicked stir-fry.”

- Stir-fry. That sounds like it has vegetables in it. Noct weighs the pros and cons - Con: a meal that isn’t deep fried and covered in cheese. Pro: The chance to spend more time with Specs. He finds that it isn’t a difficult choice at all.

- “I’m in,” he grins, and Ignis squeezes his shoulder. “Where’d you park I’ll follow you.”

- “Oh, I came by bus,” he admits. “Never saw the point in owning a vehicle in this city, not with such a convenient public transportation system.”

- Somehow, Noctis manages not to laugh. Ignis is a total hippie, and yeah, it’s cute, but now he’s terrified his dinner is going to be full of healthy, organic things. “We can take my car again,” he says, practically dragging Ignis after him into the parking lot, completely oblivious to the look of terror painted on his date’s face.

- They make it in one piece. Again, Iggy is convinced it’s a miracle, and decides a glass of wine each is the only way to ease the tension of the ride out of his shoulders. Leading Noctis into the kitchen, he directs him to a stool at the island counter and fishes out two glasses from the cabinet.

- “Nice place you got here,” Noct comments as his eyes scan the pristine room. A large dark sofa on a white rug in the living room, bookshelves lining the wall in place of a television, some exercise equipment neatly folded in the corner. It looks like something straight out of an interior design catalog. “Really clean.”

- “Yes, well. I’m not home that often, between my own lessons at the gym and coaching Prompto. Mostly to cook and to sleep - the bedroom is quite a mess, I’m afraid.”

- Please show me. Noct clears his throat. “I’m sure it isn’t that bad.”

- The challenge is palpable. Ignis watches him closely as he fills each glass with chardonnay, something tugging at the corners of his mouth - but whatever he’s thinking he keeps to himself. “Dinner will be just a moment. If you need the powder room, it’s around the corner.” And then he’s tugging on an apron and setting ingredients (as Noct feared, mostly veggies) out in preparation. While he cooks, they chat about nothing in particular - Prompto’s upcoming schedule, the kinds of classes Iggy teaches during the week (youth athletics for the most part), and Noct’s hobbies which include video games, comic books, and long naps.

- By the time they’ve both polished off their wine, the stir-fry is almost ready and Ignis is back in front of Noctis to set out the dishes.

- “Hey, Iggy, can I ask you something?”

- He smiles. “Of course, anything.”

- Deep breath. You can do this. “Are you seeing anyone?”

- Ignis stops. Above the counter, a plate hovers in mid-air where his hand has frozen in place, and his eyes are locked on Noct, curious, questioning. It’s not the reaction Noct was hoping for and he immediately stumbles for a recovery.

- “Sorry, that was dumb, forget it, um, what I meant was -- “

- “It depends.” Over his glasses his eyes are intense. Noct squirms in his seat, his heart racing.

- “O-on?”

- “Whether you’re interested or not.”

- Floored. No other word can describe the way Noct’s breath suddenly leaves him gaping and gasping with his knuckles white around the edge of the counter. For his part, Ignis interprets the stunned silence as he pleases, and goes back to serving up dinner as if nothing had happened. The steaming food (yes, vegetables and all) in front of Noct is a welcome distraction, and he stuffs the first forkful into his mouth as if it could prevent him from saying anything worse.

- Luckily for him, Ignis is an amazing cook. The first bite has him forgetting all about his embarrassment, and he digs in with enough gusto to make the front page of the tabloids - ‘Picky Caelum Son Eats Broccoli and Enjoys it!’

- His enthusiasm earns a chuckle from the seat to his right. “I’m flattered you enjoy the meal, Noct, but please remember to chew properly.”

- “Mff fhfmm.” He pauses, swallows noisily, and tries again. “You’re perfect!”

- He means to say ‘it’s’ - really, he does. His words are apparently intent on betraying him at every turn tonight, but this time the damage is done too quickly to take it back.

- Ignis blinks. Lays down his fork. Picks up a napkin and politely dabs at his mouth. Meanwhile, Noct’s heart thuds in his chest and he reaches for his (second) glass of wine. Knocks it back in one swift move. Then they’re both moving.

- Iggy’s lips are as warm and soft as Noct had imagined. Better, even, as they slide over his own in a kiss they both feel was long overdue. One or both of them surges forward, Noct’s hands tugging at Iggy’s shirt while deft fingers card through his black hair. They’re both breathless, but neither knows how to stop now that they’ve finally opened the floodgates.

- Eventually, cheeks a healthy pink, Ignis draws back just far enough to slip off his glasses. They’d been bumped askew on his nose, and are probably smudged up something fierce, yet Noct doesn’t have the presence of mind to apologize. On the contrary, he finds himself unable to look away from the powerful pull of Iggy’s unveiled eyes, piercing and beautiful and perfect and if he let’s out a little whine in his desperation, well, who can blame him?

- Those eyes soften in a smile. “Noctis. I hope I’m not being too forward, but would you like to -- “

- “I brought condoms.”

- “Oh, thank the gods.”

- When he tugs Noctis up (meals abandoned for now), the younger man goes more than willingly. Backwards, he steers them both down the hall, alternating between heated kisses and pausing to strip off another layer of unnecessary clothing between them. It’s hard, of course, with the way Noct’s arms are wrapped so tightly around him, or the way his hips are grinding against his thigh, but Ignis has always been good at multitasking. Noct doesn’t even bother to comment on the unsurprising tidiness of Iggy’s bedroom - he’s too focused on the bed itself, and on getting both of them naked and in it.

- They stop for a moment when Iggy’s calves hit the mattress. Green eyes meet dark blues and there’s a question there.  Noct swallows. Gasps when Ignis reaches down to palm him through the front of his boxers. “Y-you…want me to…?”

- “I do.”

- “Okay.”

- He watches in awe as Ignis strips off the last of his clothing and lays back onto the bed. His long legs fall open, he smiles and beckons Noctis to join him.

- Noct, for all his effort to restrain himself that evening, literally pounces at the invitation.

[Bonus]

- Then entire apartment is quiet when Noct wakes up sometime later to the blinking of his phone screen on the floor. He groans inwardly, tries to ignore it and curl up deeper in Iggy’s arms, but the little blue light is damn persistent. Reluctantly, he disentangles himself from Spec’s still-sleeping form and scoops the phone up as fast as he can.

- There are over twenty unread texts, most of which are from Prompto (surprise, surprise) but also a few from Gladio, too. As he settles back under the sheets, he checks the ones from Prom first. Lots of ‘How’s it going, buddy?!?! Enjoy the moooovie??’ and enough emojis to make a teenage girl’s eyes burn.

- Noct smirks and replies with a simple thumbs up and a wink.

- Gladio’s messages are less predictible. He sent several texts to check in, to make sure Noct was safe and made it home (either his own or Iggy’s in one piece). He also mentioned leaving something special in Noct’s wallet. Which, Noct recalls, is in his jacket which is still somewhere in Ignis’ hallway. Whatever the surprise is, it’ll have to wait until morning.

- Noct chucks his phone to the foot of the bed, yawns, and snuggles up once again in now-familiar arms.

- In the morning, while Iggy whips up some eggs and toast and hums to himself, Noct comes out of the shower feeling incredibly refreshed. He greets Ignis with a grin and a kiss (well, a few kisses, actually, until Iggy has to shoo him away lest the eggs burn). His jacket has thoughtfully been laid out across the back of the sofa, and he digs around in his pockets for his wallet, curious but also worried about whatever he’s going to find inside.

- Surprisingly, it isn’t anything incriminating. Just a folded piece of paper, with a message scribbled on it in Gladio’s messy handwriting. ‘Don’t forget to be honest’ it reads - and Noct can’t help but laugh out loud.

- “What is it?” Ignis leans over the island counter, a plate of breakfast in one hand and a carton of orange juice in the other. Noct smiles and carries the note over to him.

- “Just a little advice for our date last night.”

- “Oh? Well, I’d say things went swimmingly even without it. But out of curiosity….”

- “I think Gladio wants me to tell you how much I like your ass.”

- Iggy smirks and, without missing a beat, says, “I hope you don’t mind me holding it against you.”

- Yeah. Noct is most definitely in love.

[rocky-alex]

A Hunter’s Life For Me

Word count: 2273

Warnings: language, emotional Winchesters, hint at how dangerous they actually are.

Pairings: OFC(Jules) x Dean, Reader x Sam

A Hunter’s Life Masterlist

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Chapter 3: A little patience would be nice

Sam POV

Sam could fucking believe it. As soon as he heard the door close behind Dean and Jules he let it out.

“What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was cold, emotionless. As far as he was concerned, that’s what Y/N deserved. She didn’t bat an eye.

“Working.” He let out a loud, very sarcastic laugh.

“That’s rich!”

“Sam, it’s true. I didn’t come here for help.” “Then why are you here? Because I expected to never see you again, as you haven’t bothered to pick up the phone and let us know how you’re doing, not once in an entire year. For all we knew, you were dead.” Her face gave away nothing.

“I’m here to tell you to back off.” That was unexpected.

“From what?”

“You were just on a demon case, right?”

“What’s going on, Y/N? What do you know?”

“All you need to know, Sam, is to leave it alone. This is not for you and Dean.” She turned around and walked toward her bike. No fucking way. Sam followed her and grabbed her arm. And promptly had a gun pressed to his head. Nothing had changed, it seemed.

“I said, back off.” He was so close to her, felt her body against his, and it brought back memories he’d worked hard to bury. He didn’t doubt that she could hurt him if she wanted to, and tried to stay as still as possible.

“Not until you tell me more.”

“Well, you’re out of luck.” She let him go and got on her bike. “Seriously, Sam. Leave it alone.” She pulled on her helmet, and before he could even blink she was driving down the road at breakneck speed. Fuck.

Jules POV

“Who’s Y/N?” Dean wouldn’t look at me. “Hey, tell me.”

“No offence, Jules, but you have no right to that story.”

“So there is a story?”

“Just please… Leave it alone.” I sighed, deciding to drop it. For now.

“What is with you, anyway?” Dean asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re bossy, and demanding. And you didn’t think twice about deciding to come with me and Sam.”

“Still not getting it.” He sighed and turned to walk down a small set of stairs into a hallway.

“Do you ever think that maybe you shouldn’t be so… forward?” Huh.

“Not really.”

“Well think about it.” He led me past several doors before opening one and gesturing inside.

“Home sweet home, for now.”

“Thanks.” I walked inside. The room was small, with a slim bed, a closet and a desk. That was it. After tossing my bag on the bed I turned back to the door and found Dean had left. Maybe I wasn’t as welcome as I’d thought. Oh well.

Dean POV

She was a piece of work, that’s for sure. At first, it was kind of cleansing. Most people Dean and Sam met were slightly afraid of them, like they oozed danger or something like that. Jules had taken to them right away. Was she somehow seeing past them or did she just lack a self preservation instinct? Because if those question kept up Dean wasn’t sure he could stop himself from shooting her.

He’d been sad when her mother died. He suspected it was the torture that was the final straw, but he’d been able to tell that the body was quite worn to begin with. The demon hadn’t taken care of it in any way, not that that’s something unexpected for a demon. What had been unexpected was the way Jules just packed up after they got rid of the body. She was ready to leave immediately, after writing her father a letter. When he’d asked about it she’d simply said she couldn’t stay, and that the letter would hopefully explain as much as possible to her father. There had been a moment, just when they came back up from the basement, that it seemed like she would cry, but she held back. Now she seemed downright detached. Was she dealing with this at all?

Dean was waiting for Sam in the war room. He wasn’t sure exactly what the fallout of Y/N’s surprise visit would be, but he knew it wouldn’t be a good one. After she left it had taken Sam days to say any words at all, weeks before he sounded less robot-like and months before he even cracked a smile. Dean didn’t think his brother had been sad or upset. No, Sam had been angry. During her short time in the bunker Dean had noticed the changes in him, how he’d come to depend on her, and when she left… Sam had fought to keep his anger in check, but sometimes he cracked and whatever was infront of him ended up destroyed. These last few months he seemed to be working past it, but Y/N coming back must have brought up memories that Sam wouldn’t want to deal with.

Dean looked up when the door to the bunker opened.

“So?” he asked. Sam walked down the stairs to the table.

“She wants us to back off the demon thing.”

“Really? That’s all she had to say?”

“Seems like it.” That bitch.

“Wait, what demon thing?” Dean asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Jules’s demon. You know that article we read that could have been a sign of more demonic activity? I’m thinking it’s something bigger going on, and Y/N is smack in the middle of it. And she wants us to back off.” Normally, Dean would’ve said something like “like hell we will” and packed them up to go after her, but this time he didn’t know what to do. They weren’t alone anymore, and he wasn’t too sure about what was the right thing. He trusted Y/N’s judgement, but it could also be that it wasn’t all up to her. Talk about a crossroads.

“What do you want to do?” he asked Sam. Sam looked him in the eye.

“I think that if we notice signs of demons, we don’t leave it alone.” Dean grinned.

“Atta boy, Sammy.”

Jules POV

I’d been in the room (was it my room?) for hours now, and at this point, I was pretty hungry. Dean’s behaviour earlier made me a bit wary to go poking around the bunker alone, but damn it I needed food. And I needed to know where the bathroom was. I walked out of my room and into the hallway, and ran headfirst into someone really tall. Just before I fell to the floor I felt two strong hands grab my shoulders and hold me upright. Just as soon as I was on my feet again, the hands fell away.

“Watch where you’re going,” a gruff voice told you.

“Hey, Sam?” you said as he walked away. He turned around.

“What?”

“Just wondering where the bathroom and kitchen are.”

“Bathroom is down the hall to the left, first door on your right, kitchen is the opposite end of the hallway.” He’d turned back around and started to walk away as he talked. I huffed, straightened up, and went to the bathroom first. Sam was kind of a dick. I mean, I get that seeing Y/N must have thrown him off a bit… Actually no, I didn’t get it, because Dean wouldn’t tell me about her. No, Sam was just being downright rude.

The bathroom was nice, if sparse, equipped with a shower, sink and toilet. Shower first, then food. And then sleep. Post shower and a change of clothes I walked out and headed to the kitchen, and found Dean at the table, tablet infront of him and a beer in hand. He looked up when I walked in.

“Is there any food I could have?” I asked. He gestured to the fridge in the corner.

“Help yourself, sweetheart.” I gave him a nod and tried not to dive toward the fridge. I opened it and found that the food they had occupied exactly one shelf.

“Help myself to what, exactly?”

“There’s stuff to make a sandwich, enjoy.” How generous.

“What’s your problem?” I asked and turned around. He looked up from the tablet.

“Excuse me?”

“You and Sam, behaving like total dickbags. If you didn’t want me here, you could’ve forced me out of the car at the bus station. Hell, you could’ve just not offered me a ride in the first place. But you did, so here I am.” Dean stood up and walked toward you, stopping just a few inches away. He was looking down at you, holding your gaze. His whole demeanour had changed, now bordering on scary.

“Sweetheart, my list of problems and things to do is as long as a crossroads contract, and my attitude toward someone I don’t know living in my home is not high on that list. We took you in, gave you a room, I’m sure Sam told you were the bathroom is, and now I’ve offered you food. And you find something to complain about. So yeah, sure, we are the dickbags.” So close, he was so close I could feel the heat coming off of him. Wait, is that what he thought of me? I took a moment to think back on my actions, and maybe they hadn’t been as obvious or easy as I thought. I had invited myself into their home, and I was forward when I asked questions all the time.

“Not gonna say anything?” Dean asked, breaking the silence. I swallowed, trying to get words out. “Oh look, she can shut up.” Dean turned back around and sat at the table. I wanted to leave now. Not just the kitchen, but the bunker. But I couldn’t. I didn’t have a car, or any idea where to go. So instead I stood my ground. Dickbag or not, I wanted answers.

“Who’s Y/N?”

“I told you to leave it alone.”

“And you said it yourself, I’m forward and demanding. And I’m pretty sure Sam’s currently shitty mood has everything to do with her showing up, not that he was a ray of sunshine before. So, who’s Y/N?” Dean gave you a long, scrutinising look, and took a swig from the bottle of beer on the table.

“Her full name,” he began. “Is Y/N Ritchie.”

“Ritchie? As in the swedish corporate family Ritchie? The one that crashed and burned about a year ago?”

“The one and only.”

“Hold on, I thought Y/N Ritchie was dead, as in died more than three years ago.”

“So did we. Until we crashed into her in a motel parking lot. She told us her name, and we knew we were about to go hit a shit storm. She’d left her home after her sister died and her parents declared her dead as well, and travelled the states for a while. She settled down and started working at a motel. Turns out, her boss was a…” He stopped talking, getting a look on his face that said the wheels were turning. He shook his head and picked up the story again.

“Turns out her boss was a demon. It found out mine and Sam’s real name and attacked her. We killed the demon and took her with us. She knew it wasn’t all because of the demon. It was because of who she was. Her name made her a target. We took her back to the bunker and thought she’d be safe. Then she got a phone call from someone she’d known a while back while she was travelling. The call was from Mica, who gave Y/N the message that her family was coming for her, and had Mica in their sights. Mica was living in Texas at the time, so Y/N convinced us to go. We… We didn’t make it in time. Mica was shot right infront of Y/N. Back at the bunker we tried to figure out what the hell Y/N’s family was up to, and eventually we did. Then me and Sam got a call from another hunter about a job not far from the bunker. No one else was around to deal with it, and we’d hit too may dead ends to not take the job. Y/N stayed behind, which turned out to be a big mistake. Her father contacted her. By threatening me and Sam he got her to do exactly what he wanted.” I held up my hand, interrupting him.

“No offence, but why would she do that? She hadn’t known you very long.”

“At that point Y/N had lost everyone in her life. During her time here she and Sam became very close, and it broke him when she left to go to her family. When we found her, after more than two weeks, her dad was using her to resurrect and ancient goddess in some vain hope of a perfect world. It was killing her. The only way to stop him was to kill him.” “I still don’t get why she left again.”

“Her family’s organisation dealt in more than what the human world knew. Her father made deals and trades with monsters, on a big scale. After his death, Y/N wanted to make sure the business stayed dead with him. So she left, and we didn’t hear from her again until today.”

Okay, now I understood. Wow… She must really have left a mark on them. This also kinda explained why they weren’t all that open to me. Repeated cycle maybe? Whatever the case, I was glad he told me.

“Thank you for telling me.” His lips twitched.

“You didn’t seem to wanna give me a choice, sweetheart.”

@carryonmyswansong you are amazing as always, darling, your reviews bring me such friggin joy :D 

Note: So I’m sitting here trying to be a literary mastermind, wearing a new bra which makes me feel kinda sexy, because who doesn’t dream of having their new nice clothes taken off by a winchester, when mom asks me to empty the dishwasher. Like, mom, you are interrupting genius. I should just have a Dr. Badass sign on my door and not answer to anything else... 

I want to go ahead and let you all know that I don’t know how much of motels reader is gonna show herself... There might be some reader and Sam time, but the main character is still Jules. But who knows? I might feel inspired one day :P

[dreamin-of-somewhere-else]

To Become A Hunter [4]

*The Final Chapter*

Previous parts

Characters: Dean Winchester, Winchester sister!reader, John Winchester, Sam Winchester, Jess Moore [mentioned briefly]

Words: 2900+

Warnings: Violence, a bit of a language, John’s A+ parenting, implied verbal/physical abuse, sort of bad mental health (I don’t really know how to describe it)

A/N: We made it to the last part! Thank you all so much for reading this & all the nice comments <3 So, it might seem odd to post two parts within two days, but it’s just because I promised you last week to post the finale early this week. And then it turned out to be so long that I had to split it into to two, and I didn’t want you to feel played, so I decided to do it like this, to sorta keep the promise :)

(I’m out of fitting John GIFs)

Not my GIF

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”YOU!” Dean screams, his finger threateningly pointing at John, who scrambles to his feet from where he’s sitting, backing away, hands in the air.

You come to a stop, staring at the situation forming in front of you not knowing what to do. On one side is Dean; the older brother who always has looked out for you, and you can tell he’s doing this for your sake. On the other is John; your leader and biological father who you should trust and listen to. Shouldn’t you?

You are frozen. Paralyzed. Your eyes travel to Dean, who’s angrier than you think you’ve ever seen him. His usual bright, gentle eyes glimmer dangerously, and his freckled face is twisted into pure rage.

”What did you do to her!” Dean roars inching closer to John, who continues backing away.

Dean’s a little bit shorter than the oldest Winchester, but he bravely raises his chin, nailing John’s gaze with his own. He’s muscular and, well, not really short at all despite this. Conclusion is that Dean’s not to play with — not at all. Not even if you are John Winchester. Especially not when Dean is angry, which he is right now.

”Answer me!” He demands getting closer and closer, and then John drops the scared look, just like that.

”I turned her into a hunter.” His face breaks into a content smirk, that sends so strong chills through your body that you cringe into yourself, almost bending over double. ”You and I both know she was useless before. Now, at least she can kill.”

”You stupid son of a bitch.” Dean states, almost in disbelief to what really escaped his father’s mouth. Is this his real dad? Is this who he really had been all this time? Or has he just been introduced to the father you knew? Every possibility hurt to think about.

John only smiles in a dark, twisted way and another wave of fury washes over Dean. Then he does something else; he steps backward as couple of steps and grab the unmonitored gun — that you hadn’t even noticed — of the tabletop and point it at John.

And no matter how nauseous you feel, that’s what makes you spring into action, apparently. You don’t know exactly what you’re doing, you’re not in control of your body. It feels like someone took the wheel, and you just had to sit back. Because a second later, you find yourself in between the two men, facing Dean — the gun directed at you. You stare into Dean’s round, surprised eyes; not even blinking. You’re not sure why you’re doing this, why you’re protecting John. Because, now you’re sure — you hate the man. But still, you protect him. And if he had told you an order, you wouldn’t have been able to ignore it — because that’s what you’ve been drilled into doing: protecting and listening to John.

”Don’t.” You say, voice low, hands raised.

Your heart is throbbing against your ribcage, pounding like the one of a humming bird, and you legs are weak. But you don’t show it, not at all. Instead, you just look at Dean, knowing that the deadly gun is pointing at your chest. Because, although your body is going into survival mode, with the adrenaline pumping, your mind wins the battle, and you remain still, concentrated. Just like John had taught you.

Maybe, one month ago, you would have had no problem standing in front of a gun Dean held. Now, it’s a little bit harder. Because John had shattered your trust in others.

Behind you, John himself continues smirking. The last week, he had doubted his actions, what he’d done to you. He had almost realized that he wasn’t the father he should have been to you. Almost thinking that what he was wrong. But now, seeing the result, he’s pleased. And with that, he fully gives into the darkness he has lurking inside, that’s been pulling at him, stronger and stronger, ever since he lost his beautiful wife and his perfect little life along with her all those years ago.

Dean looks at you with sad eyes and a heavy heart. He really can see now, the power John has over you. And it breaks his heart.

He knows, to a certain extent, what it feels like. John has some power over Dean too. Dean always did follow his orders. He always did trust his dad. Hell, what he’s doing right now goes against everything he’s been trained to do, his instincts. But never, ever, has he been this brainwashed by the man.

Dean gently pushes you out of the way, but surely does lower the gun, putting it into the rim of his jeans, taking the intensity of the fight down a notch. Although, he is not finished.

”I want to shoot you, in the leg or something. Hell, I should. Though god knows you deserve more. Know that.” He spits at his ’father’.

Then Dean looks at you.

”Go and get your stuff.” He mouths, and you look between him and John for a moment, back and forth, unsure if you should leave, because they just might kill each other. But then you nod and leave.

”She’s pathetic,” John scoffs. ”All this training, and she still gives in, just like that.”

”Don’t talk about her like that.” Dean warns, eyes sharp and once again glimmering dangerously, shooting daggers.

His pulse picks up. Anger is filling him up, and he almost gets scared of himself, but shoves the thought away, clenching his sweaty hands into fists.

”You’re just as pathetic as her.” John pushes his oldest’s buttons.

Dean then quickly closes the distance between the two of them, and grabs John by the collar with two forceful fists. Then he uses all of his weight and shoves the older man into the wall, hard. It’s like the whole cabin quakes at the collision.

You return just in time to see it happen, and you feel sick again, as you’re torn about what to do. Your brain is telling you to protect John, but your emotions — that you kept locked down for weeks now — screams at you to not, to let Dean take care of him. You’re too tired to do it yourself — at the same time, you don’t know if you could.

”Dean!” You call, but you’re not telling him off, just alerting him that you’re ready.

Dean nods once, not letting go of John. Instead he raises his arm, and delivers an especially violent punch to his face, and John’s head is thrown backwards as he falls to the floor when Dean releases his grip, almost knocked out cold.

Dean stares at the man at his feet for a second — hoping that that’ll leave a mark — before turning to you, who’s staring with your mouth hanging open.

”(Y/N)! Come on!” He runs up to you, envelops your smaller hand in his and drags you out of the door, just as John lets out a groan.

He pulls you with him to the impala, and you’re running so fast that it feels like your legs are going to buckle under you, send you to the ground.

Dean rips open the passenger car door, and you sit down, in shock. He grabs your duffle bag and throw it into the backseat, before closing the car door. He runs around to the other side, his necklace swinging back and forth over his chest as he does so, and jumps in behind the wheel. He immediately starts the car and then floors the gas pedal, the car starting to move with a lurch. Dean quickly turns it around, driving in a sharp circle across the grass, pieces of the green lawn getting ripped up and thrown away by the sheer force and speed of the wheels. And then, he drives off, fast.

You turn around in your seat, looking out the rear window. And when you see John stumble out of the cabin, blood running from his nose, your stomach twists painfully. You expect him to jump into his truck and follow behind, but he doesn’t. Instead he just stands there, looking at the retreating impala that once used to be his own. And you look back at him, until you can’t see him because of the distance and the dust from the gravel the car’s driving on. The cabin disappears out of view as well as you leave it behind to never return.

Then you turn forward again, and stare out the window at the endless road in front of you. You withdraw into your own head — as you’ve spent so much time doing these weeks — looking but not really seeing what’s in front of you. The roaring of the engine and Dean’s rapid breathing melt away and you just kind of feel empty inside.

Every now and then Dean glances over at you, and he sees that blank expression and it really does break his heart.

After a while, you don’t know how long exactly, Dean pulls the car to the side of the road and parks — probably because he’s sure enough that John’s dark-as-the-night truck won’t show up in the rearview mirror.

It gets quiet for a moment, before Dean speaks up.

”I’m sorry.”

His voice is trembling and that’s what makes you look at him. He looks defeated, and his green eyes hold unshed tears.

”I’m so, so, sorry.”

And now it’s your heart that shatters. It hurts, a piercing pain shots out from your chest. He looks you in the eyes and you feel how a lump forms in your throat, and your own eyes start stinging. All these emotions, that you’ve tried so hard to keep in check, wants to come out. They’re coming flooding back to you — like a tsunami. You’re tired — exhausted — and you used up the last of your energy during Dean and John’s fight where you stepped in front of a loaded gun. Your body is exhausted from the run, the rest of the training, the hunts and the nights of limited sleep. You feel like a broken, useless shell of a person. You’re so done with all this crap, because no matter how hard you’ve tried nothing worked. And now Dean’s here, sitting next to you, and he saved you and he wishes you so well and you’re just so thankful and happy that he’s here you can’t even put it into words.

A tear falls from Dean’s glossy eyes and that’s when your bottom lips begins to tremble violently. Your whole face twists and your cheeks turn red as tears fall from your eyes too.

And that’s when Dean grabs ahold of you, pulling you towards him. You flinch by his touch, but both of you ignore it. Your big brother holds you against his warm, solid, chest and wraps his arms tightly around you, and it feels like home and safety and comfort and brother. And it only makes your cry even harder, sniffling. You’re a train wreck — that’s falling apart.

Dean cries too. And you haven't seen him do that many times — you know Dean’s strong, so much stronger than you. But seeing you like this crushes him from the inside and out. Adding the loss of his father, because that is what happened, and you get a defeated Dean.

He slowly cards his fingers through your hair. You hiccup from crying so much. Your head is throbbing. He hushes you gently and whispers comforting words to you, as heavy tears roll down his own red-rimmed eyes. He keeps apologizing as well, like he’s having some sort of a glitch, stuck on repeat. You tell him not to, and soon he does.

You’re ashamed for crying like this. Even before John’s training, you still hated crying in front of others, as you felt weak and embarrassed. Now, you just want to sink through the ground, completely wiped away from the surface of Earth, to never return. Everything just hurts, and not just physically.

But Dean’s here and he cares so much about you. If he wasn’t, you don’t know what you would have done.

”I love you, (Y/N).”

”I-I love you, D-dean.”

Soon, your sobbing dies down, and tears just quietly slide down your cheeks. You’ve shifted by now, lying with your back against Dean’s stomach and lap.

Dean himself turns on the ignition again, and start driving, one hand still patting your hair. It might not be the safest position you two are sitting — or lying — in, put there aren’t any other cars as long as you can see, so it should be fine.

After a while, you ask where you’re going. Dean’s answer makes your heart skip a beat in your chest.

”Palo Alto.”

To Sam.

It takes a few days to drive to Palo Alto. But, you’re thankful for that, liking that things don’t move too fast.

You spend much of that time absentmindedly staring out the window. You feel awkward, as if you’ve lost your ability to act calm and casual around people. You’ve recovered from your meltdown though, and it actually feels better having all that darkness and stomach-twisting sadness out of your system. You still aren’t happy, exactly. But, better.

Dean looks over at you ever so often, concerned. You can understand why, but it’s annoying. At last, you tell him as politely as you can to ’wipe that look of his face’. Dean only chuckles at that.

After that, Dean slowly starts making jokes, trying to get a laugh out of you. You appreciate this, but find it hard laughing. Dean understands.

Those few days passes and soon you and Dean stand outside the apartment Sam told Dean is his.   You look at each other, kind of nervous both of you, before Dean rings the doorbell. The door almost immediately opens, to reveal Sam. He looks much like himself with that floppy chestnut hair and lanky build, only maybe a little bit taller and a little bit broader over the shoulders.

In a second, you find yourself wrapped in your second to oldest brother’s arms. You can’t help but to stiffen when he touches you — kudos to John — and Sam releases his grip when he notices that, scared that he’s done something wrong. He knows there and then that John must’ve done something really horrible to you.

You look up at your towering brother, and into his soulful yet sad, puppy-dog, hazel eyes, and you feel that you would actually really like that hug. So, you open your arms and step closer, and he takes you into his embrace once again.

Closing his eyes, Sam lets out a shuddering breath of relief.

”I was so worried, (Y/N), you have no idea.” He states quietly, before placing a kiss on the top of your head, and then hiding his face in your hair. He clutches you so tightly, and you don’t want the warm hug to never end.

For the first time in a long while you feel almost safe — having your brothers by your side — and it’s sort of foreign to you. The last time you felt comfortable and calm like this, felt like an eternity ago — although it’s really only less than a month.

”I do, now.” You whisper in response. ”I-I’m sorry.”

Sam then shakes his head, ”I’m still glad you called, (Y/N). If something happens, come whatever, I’m always here… Even though it might not seem like that—”

”Thanks.” You say, stopping him from rambling.

Dean watches his kid siblings with a small smile on his face, feeling his heart swelling. This and this only is his family. Although, Sam already knows that. You do too. And Dean’s sorry that he was the last one to realize that, but he plans on making up for that from now on.

It takes a while for you to get used to human contact again, but soon enough you do — you stop flinching every time someone touches you.

Dean takes you hunting once, thinking that it might help you to get back to your normal lifestyle. But, after you run straight to the danger — because John said that killing the bad guy was all that mattered, all that you were here to do, that was your job — Dean decides that you’re going to take a break. To be honest, he’s still haunted by the cold expression he saw on your face that day, how you mercilessly put a bullet into that shapeshifter. It’s true, you’re stronger, concentrated and even faster than Dean, and that bullet hits bullseye, but the price for this was all too high.

So, him and you settle down, renting an apartment in Palo Alto, close to where Sam lives, and it almost feels like it’s you three again, standing together as a team against the world.

You and Dean visit Sam every now and then; and you do fun stuff together. Going to the movies, ordering pizza and going on little adventures and day trips — just doing fun, non-hunting stuff together. Sam introduces you to his new girlfriend, Jess, as well.

And, it almost feels as if you are just normal siblings.

The memories of John’s cruelty are pushed further and further away, but more nights than not, you have nightmares. It’s a good thing Dean’s always there for you, right by your side.

And soon, you start becoming yourself again, although the road there is long. Becoming the real you that Sam and Dean love endlessly, just as you are. Because, how can they not?

To Become A Hunter Taglist: @phantastic-i​ @simsguruforever2580​ @assbutt-still-in-hell​ @wordshowers​ @mackenziewinchester​ @mandylove1000​ @steve-rogcrs​ @youre-alive-and-thats-your-job​ @lovisathelins​ @prettyboy-spn​ @raes-dream1and​ @pad-awan​ @to-stars-and-back​ @honeybeetrash​ @imfrancesfryer​ @caederu​ @lena-lightwood​ @thoughtful-llama-hologram​ @dreamwhisper87​ @zeusmyster​ @negan--is--god​ @akimi-youngblood​ @spn-imagines-fics​ fuzzyiguana77 @deanwinchesterisamazing​ @professionalphangirluniverse​ @ohphillip​ @of-virtuoso​ @laurykat23​ @are-you-sure-its-me-you-see​ @stilesneedsprotection​ @forevershadeddark​ @sprinkleofbooty​ @legend-o-zelda​ @f10pc​ @justanotherteen12​ @possumus-now @peddlergirl @annabethgranger123 @mariahoedt @sammysflannels @phonegal

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Sisfic Taglist: @evyiione @samanddeanshotsis​ @darkestgrungeuniverse​ @fabulouslycassie​ @delessapeace-blog​ @mariairwin666​ @1amluke​ @saveprettydays​ @cookee50​ @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou​ @infamati--et--obliterati​ @stillcooli0​ @sammysbeanie​ @jamric​ @deepbreathssammy​ @extreme-supernatural-lover​ @lemonadegazeelle​ @mogaruke​ @winchestersmut​ @i-kdog-posts​ @steve-rogcrs​ @wordshowers​ @27bmm​ @jjsoccer11​ @ivebeenraisedfromperdition​ @bluecookiesandbooks​ @disappointeddinosaur​ @nicolevanderstar​ @frayedphan​ @jared-jensen-misha-are-lovelyy​ @straightestgay-voice​ @legend-o-zelda​

[cryptodictation]

Episode 1 changes the Star Wars universe forever

The dream of a Star Wars series in live action garb was already pursuing George Lucas after completing the prequel trilogy. Due to logistical and financial problems, he could be “deadwood in space” as it was a producer Rick McCallum Once described, but never implemented. Instead, George Lucas focused on the animation series Star Wars The Clone Wars.

Many years later, his dream came true: With The Mandalorian starts the first real series from the Star Wars universe on Disney +. Lucas himself is no longer involved in the production, but the journey to the edge of the galaxy captures the spirit of the star saga that was released in 1977 in the form of war of stars conquered the big screen for the first time.

Three observations on the pilot episode of The MandalorianYes, The Mandalorian feels like Star Wars, especially with regard to the original trilogy, nostalgia and references included. Series creator Jon Favreau and his team blend modern technology and handmade effects in an atmospheric way. The opening of The Mandalorian still seems a bit choppy. A lot happens and at the same time far too little.

© Disney

The Mandalorian

We get to know three new planets in the first episode of The Mandalorian, during that of Pedro Pascal embodied bounty hunters silently performed their day's work. He is a lone fighter and professional who reliably carries out his orders and is therefore by Greef Carga (Carl Weathers), the head of the Bounty Hunter Guild. In the very first scene, we witness his uncompromising and efficient approach.

Werner Herzog in the Star Wars universe is a gift

His latest assignment brings the Mandalorian to an imperial client who is from Werner Herzog is played, which is a sensation in itself. As a filmmaker, Herzog usually takes us into the abyss of the human soul when he is not examining nature in all its extremes. In the course of the Star Wars series, he steps in front of the camera and embodies a holdover of the old order as if he had his Jack Reacher-Baddy never left behind.

The empire no longer exists in The Mandalorian. Five years after the events of The Return of the Jedi let's dive into history and get to know a part of the galaxy that isn't necessarily blooming. On the contrary: dodgy figures are up to mischief on the remote planets. The scene is shaped by run-down stormtroopers, offworld jawas and kowakian lizard monkeys, which are grilled in the middle of the street.

© Disney

The Mandalorian

The Mandalorian creates a truly gruff, hostile environment for its taciturn protagonist who can't stand droids, prefers Calamari Flan instead of Imperial credits and has a tragic past, as a flashback suggests. He has found a new family among the Mandalorians, but this too follows strict rules and lives in seclusion underground.

A Star Wars hero without a face or name

Although the main character of the series hides vehemently behind a helmet, has so far no name and only reveals her voice in a distorted form, we do get a lot of information here that gives us a more precise picture of the Mandalorian. The most interesting thing is how he moves: calm and controlled. Nevertheless, he is not always in control of the situation, which is quite surprising.

The first encounter with a Blurrg turns out to be extremely disadvantageous to maintain his reputation as a bounty hunter. Fortunately there is the humble farmer Kuiil (Nick Nolte), who not only delivers the most memorable quote from the episode (“I have spoken”), but can also teach the Mando a lesson or two before that of Dave Filoni staged episode included in an action-packed finale Taika Waititi when IG-11 crashes.

© Disney

The Mandalorian

Here at the latest, The Mandalorian arrives in its western element. How Clint Eastwoods nameless gunslinger in Sergio Leones Dollar trilogy, the Mandalorian makes his way through the most spectacular minutes of the episode. A special attraction is to experience the talkative IG unit in motion. Nevertheless, it is difficult to really immerse yourself in the events of the episode.

The Mandalorian presents: The Baby Yoda Chronicles

Even the stopover at Kuiils Farm and the Flashback Intermezzo seem quite choppy. On the one hand, the short runtime for such a complex blockbuster series is an attractive proposition. On the other hand, it has so far been difficult to completely fall into this world – despite monsters and plenty of bounty hunter action. The Mandalorian shows a lot at the start, but explores little.

And yet there is something that will change the Star Wars universe forever. At the end of the episode, a 50-year-old child lies in a floating cradle and stares into the Mando's helmet through the eyes. No Star Wars fan should have missed the arrival of Baby Yoda in recent months. Not only was a meme generator born here, but also a precious little being.

© Disney

The Mandalorian

A nice contrast to the hard, closed title hero who ultimately unpacks his protective instinct and gets rid of the IG-11, which Baby Yoda would have eliminated according to the protocol. Here The Mandalorian suddenly combines his raw tone with something unexpectedly fragile and pulls us with just a careful gesture, a touch of the fingertips à la E.T. – The alien, into the space fairy tale.

How did you like the first episode of The Mandalorian?

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