#teddy and ravage

[symbiote-siblings]

Tara held her face in her hands, her knees bunched up to her chest and she shut her eyes tightly. Her jaw clenched and every part of her body strained.

Everything felt wrong.

Everything was wrong.

Tara felt like sometimes she and Teddy were growing up too fast. She had to grow up fast. Ever since Teddy came into the family, they grew up together. Parents weren’t there… well… barely. Maybe some babysitters when they were to young but once highschool started… she knew there was no attempt at getting them back. Her parents, she meant.

For Teddy, it was easier, which she wish wasn’t true but it was. They neglected Teddy to much for him to care at this point.

So why did it still hurt when she was told that their… her… mom and dad were dead.

She would like to think, maybe long ago and she forgot, that her parent held her in their arms and cuddled and praised her simply just for being happy. Or at least be seen. Be noticed. She barely even recognized the people in the photo when it popped up on her phone for the funeral- distant relatives like aunts and uncles were hosting it across state. She didn’t want to go. She doesn’t think that the rest of the family knows she and Teddy exist.

Has it been that long? Has it been that long that she barely even recognized her own parents? Yes, yes it was. And it was infuriating. She was pissed.

In the darkness I will meet my creators

Tara raised her head up and let her hand drag down her face, rubbing her eyes and then holding it over her mouth. She didn’t cry about it, she just hated it. Like your favorite show ending but the writers complete screwed you over and wrote the worst ending to mankind.

But when you have no one, you instinctively reach out desperate to find something, anything, to keep you upright.

And that first came in the form of Teddy.

And when it was to much for both of them.

There was Karma… and there was Ravage.

Karma was the other half of her, Tara and Karma like to think.

And they will all agree that I’m a suffocator

For Teddy and Ravage, no doubt the same.

So she and Karma empathized with Gabe and Carnage.

And looking back at it. The mere thought of somehow being separated from Karma like her brother and Gabe were from their symbiotes? … she doesn’t like the word symbiotes, she just calls Karma her ‘half.’ So thinking about Gabe and Teddy being away from their half seemed bleak.

She wasn’t alone, ever. Which strangely gave her comfort. Tara and Karma didn’t need to speak to understand each other and what each other needed. There’s no word to describe the bond you have with your half, it’s just… there. If you truly understand each other and work as a team, you can be one.

Suffocator

And for a long time, Tara thought she’d never find that half of herself.

Suffocator

And thinking about someone trying to take that away from her… from them.

Karma didn’t like that.

Tara didn’t either.

Karma gripped at the edge of the building under her claws, her right hand raised as she gripped it into a fist and then flexed her claws, her eyes narrowed and her forever smile seemed more grim in a wish it could frown.

The symbiote turned her head when she felt a heavy body hit the surface behind her.

Oh, love

Carnage approached from behind before hopping and perching next to her.

I’m sorry if I smothered you

“This cannot continue.”

“It won’t.”

Carnage turned his head, “It won’t be easy,”

“Or legal.”

I’m sorry if I smothered you

Karma turned and looked back at Carnage, hissing through her teeth as she bared them and sized up the other next to her,

“But we will not be threatened because of our existence, we are happy now,” she snarled, “they won’t take that from us- from our brothers,”

I sometimes with I stayed inside

“They won’t.”

My mother

. . .

“You willing to pay the price?”

Carnage stood his ground, his eyes narrowing. Gabe had no doubt. Neither did Carnage.

And Karma felt Tara’s determination.

“We already have.”

Never to come out.

—

Metal mirrors concludes…

Eye For An Eye… begins

[symbiote-siblings]

Ravage: 😔

Athena: Oh yeah I totally forgot, today’s the day of that space launch.

Hopefully this time no more symbiotes hitch a ride back down to Earth.

[nkogneatho]

bear hybrid!toji who sleeps around most of the day. you met him in the most chaotic way. when you came home one afternoon, you saw a big hairy man with unusual features rummaging through your cabinets with a jar of honey and leftover waffles in his mouth. at first you screamed, threatening him with the pepper spray but he was quick to tackle you.

"just need some food, sweetheart. i'll be out of your hair. winter's been rough." you should be scared but you are intrigued. he is human but does have the resemblance of a bear with weird ears. you are still on the ground and he lets go, continuing his shenanigans. he is aware you won't make a move because he is quicker, and bigger.

"d'ya have any peanut butter?"

"i-in the fridge," you mumble. seconds pass away and you notice he isn't here to harm you so you let your guard down.

bear toji then tells you his secret while you put the peanut butter on the bread, insisting to because he couldn't ravage it straight from the jar. you let him live with you for the winter because he has no place to hibernate. he helps you around with chores but most of the time you come home to the big bear waiting at the door.

toji who makes it a habit to call you "baby bear". it's cute the way you fluster at the unusual nickname. he is so scared to touch you or hold you. he knows his size so what if he accidentally hurts you? despite his tough demeanor on the outside, he is quite the softie. when you allow him to touch you, he embraces you in the post perfect hug. it feels like you are hugging a teddy bear. well you are.

[wandering-pirate]

Mouthwashing Crew Headcanon

Congratulations! You're now the Tulpar Crew's Unwilling Therapist

Why? How? Everyone's a mess and they need you, so stop questioning >:(

One fortunate 2 AM morning, you were raiding a snack stash. Whose was it? You're here to eat not think

And while shamelessly munching on a yogurt coated oatbar like a man lapping his last meal on death row, the door hissed opened

You straight-up started choking to death, trying to secretly Heimlich yourself, and when you finally dislodged the oatgrain having it shot out your mouth and landing 3 ft. away from the couch, you looked up...

There’s Daisuke. Full-on ugly crying. Like he’s the one who almost got scythed by death

Daisuke so damn cheery 24/7 you were half-convinced his cheeks were sewn to back of his head. But now? Yeah, no. The guy’s face is doing this wet sad puppy thing, and honestly, you kinda miss the creepy sewn-on grin

"Y/NNN~"

Shit, it's his stash! You were ready to half-ass a reason to pin this to Swansea but he grabbed your collars and sobs on you neck

"Is it normal to cry on a wrench? Y/N, Boss gave that to me, it's like my cute little puppy. Except, y’know, it gives me nosebleeds when I’m tightening nuts on the ceiling."

Alright, at this point, the oatbar's been reduced to ashes and dreams, the hell is going on?

The door hissed again, and now you were scrambling, the position Daisuke trapped you in right now can get you a free hundred-day subscription for merciless bullying

"It's not what it lo--"

"Hey Y/N, is the kid finished?"

"Wha-- you mean Dai?"

"Yeah, if he's done then you gotta hear me out now. What's the worst thing someone said behind my back?"

Ok right now, your brain's all question marks. 'Cause a sobbing grown ass man is snotting on your neck and another's asking like he's some prep girl needing to beat someone up over some petty rumor

"No-none that I've heard of..."

"What!? No one's talking about me?? That's even worse!"

Somehow, you manage to wrangle these overgrown manchildren, putting them both to bed after they’ve successfully obliterated your snack time

Daisuke, of course, is still clinging to your arm like a teddy bear, overly needing reassurance

After that? Life... it wasn’t the same

The captain received some valuable intel from a certain co-pilot then starts stopping you at the lounge when you relieved yourself at midnight

“Y/N... do you think I’m a good captain?”

It's 1 am

"Well, no one's mutinied yet, so... yeah, you're probably fine."

"Of course! The absence of rebellion is the mark of true leadership! Y/N, you're a genius! I've been looking at this all wrong!"

You watched Curly skipping - SKIPPING - to his sleeping quarters after patting you in the head

The respect you had for Anya skyrocketed, and once being alone with with the nurse you asked her

"Hey, how'd you deal with all the crap with those rascals?"

She looked at you blanked, then you were unexpectedly given a fromt row seat to Anya's hidden and horrifying side

"I CAN'T! ONE MORE "CAN I EAT EXPIRED SPACE FOODS" QUESTION FROM DAISUKE, I'M RAVAGING THAT GUN FROM THE COCKPIT AND PU--"

"Hey hey hey, Anya, calm down, love!"

"IT'S THE 17TH TIME THIS MONTH, Y/N! SEVENTEENTH!"

After what felt like an eternity of inhale-exhale simon says with the nurse (for her, but mostly for you), her breathing finally slowed down. Thank the stars for that

"How'd you do it Y/N? Every time they ask useless nonsense or dump very emotionally overwhelming things... you send them off calm! It's witchcraft, I swear."

"Honestly, I'm as clueless as you nurse. But you've got too much on your plate, lemme handle this. I've got two ears and infinite tolerance."

"Infinite tolerance? You? The same person who chased Daisuke down for 5 minutes just for a yogurt cup?"

"Hey, that was the last cup and were still 200 days away fro--alright. Just trust me Anya, I got this."

Y'all laughed about the outburst, but you're secretly terrified of her now (respectfully, of course)

One day, you were helping the grumpy mechanic and the man's acting weirdly cryptic

“Why can’t people just…? Ugh, forget it.”

Finally, after handing him a screwdriver for the third time, his grumblings axed a huge ass crack in your patience

“Alright, Swans. What’s eating you? You’re gonna blow a gasket at this rate, and I don’t mean the ship’s.”

The man got two choices, save his non-existent high pride or just release it all

“It’s nothin’. Just Jimboy's been stickin’ his nose where it doesn’t belong, Cap’s stressin’ over somethin’ again, and Daisuke-- Why can’t they just… leave me outta it?”

Ah, he chose wisely. and you weren't gonna tease him for it (not yet, he's gotta pay for stealing your dinner twice)

“Maybe it’s because they think you’re reliable.”

The gruff old man had the nerve to squint at you, you can see it through your trusty side-eye (it made your eyeballs hurt)

"Me? Reliable? Bullshit. 'M just keepin’ this old horse from fallin’ apart.”

“'xactly. You keep the ship together, so... maybe... they figured you can keep them together too.”

This gotta break the record for Swansea's longest silence ever, no snorts, no sighs, no scoffs

The mechanic processed that like you just revealed the meaning of life and sprinkled some fairy dust on his dirty blond head (at least the color's just named dirty unlike jimmy's actual dirty ass hai--)

“Hmph. That’s dumb.”

Your eyes woulda twitched if it weren't for his shoulders relaxing and a small smirk on the mans perma-wrinkled face, you were about to leave when you heard a small mumble

“...Thanks. For the help. Or… whatever the hell that was.”

Men and their pride, however you gave him a pass and grinned

“Anytime, Teddy Bear."

Most days, you could never even breathe oxygen in peace

For the first time, you eyed Polle with a jealous-fueled burning gaze. All it does was blast you with warnings, and you don't even have to do anything! Just breathe in its general direction and you've rewarded yourself with "SAFETY'S A PRIORITY!"

Meanwhile, you’re over here, literally tweaking and that damn horse was living its best, noise-polluting and noise-free life

Eventually, they started dragging you into these "group venting sessions," basically just everyone talking over each other until it’s less of a calm-headed, adult and mature discussion and more of a competition to see who can throw the best threat (Anya surprisingly won thrice)

Until you bang your trusty pot and spoon,

“ONE AT A FUCKING TIME!”

a/n: this is what my rotting, sleep deprived, caffeine overdosed brain produced, hope y'all like it :,D

[dixons-sunshine]

Sleepy!reader falling asleep all the time on Daryl’s shoulder,Chest,Arm anywhere in car ride or meeting with group and everyone teasing him and her about it

Sleepyhead | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Life in a world ravaged by the undead was hard. Constantly wondering where you'd find your supplies, whether your loved ones were safe and whether you'd die that day was exhausting. That exhaustion caught up with you, but thankfully, Daryl was more than willing to be your temporary pillow, even at the expense of getting teased about it.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Prison, post season three, pre season four.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sleep deprivation.

Word count: 768.

A/n: This is really short, but I really didn't have it in me today to write anything long, so I wrote this little fic instead. I feel like this isn't exactly like what was requested, but I hope you like this nonetheless!

➳༻❀✿❀༺➳

“Aw, the two of you are so adorable.”

“Glenn, get your camera. We need to get a picture of this.”

“Who knew you could be so soft, Daryl?”

The sound of laughter pulled you out of the black abyss of sleep you were nearly lost in. As everyone continued talking to the archer who's chest you found yourself rested against, you could clearly hear the teasing tones in everyone's voices, and it nearly made you smile—however, that would blow your cover and show everyone that you had woken up again. You wanted to see how Daryl handled the situation.

Barely even fifteen minutes prior, you had been sat against the wall of the lower level of the cellblock as everyone participated in a game of truth or dare. However, not too long into the game, you had yawned and rested your head back against the wall. You were extremely tired, the nights of sleeplessness finally knocking on your door in the form of exhaustion. As you had closed your eyes, you could distinctly feel the arms of someone wrapping around your shoulders, and your cheek had found itself rested upon a firm yet soft surface—that surface you now knew to be Daryl's chest—and a blanket had been draped around you.

“If y'all dun' shut the fuck up righ' now, I'll throw this goddamn pot at yer heads,” Daryl grumbled, subconsciously tightening his arms around you and readjusting the blanket that he had draped around the both of you to fight off the chill the night exhibited. “She ain't been gettin' any sleep lately. S'the first time she's slept in days. If y'all wanna make fun'a me, do it tomorrow when ya dun' run the risk'a wakin' her up.”

“Aw, Daryl,” Michonne awed teasingly, sharing a small laugh with Carl, who watched the exchange in amusement. “You're so sweet. Who would've thought that you'd actually be a big teddy bear instead of this brooding, scary guy you pretend to be?”

“She did,” Rick laughed, motioning over to you. “Look at her. She managed to make Daryl hold her in front of all of us. I thought that would be impossible.”

“Piss off, Grimes,” Daryl replied, ducking his head to hide the blush that spread over his face. Somehow, without even having to shrug you off first, Daryl got up and held you bridal style, regarding the amused faces of his friends once more before turning around. “M'takin her to bed. Nigh', assholes.”

Laughter followed him as he climbed the stairs to your shared cell. You nuzzled your face into his chest and tried to hide your smile, vehemently amused by the situation Daryl had just escaped. You knew that the two of you wouldn't hear the end of what had happened downstairs, but you had no problem with a little teasing over something as tender as Daryl holding you.

Soon, Daryl layed you down on the bed and climbed in behind you, adjusting the covers around the both of you. The archer grumbled something to himself before pressing himself against your back, wrapping his arms around you.

Finding it the perfect moment to add some teasing of your own, you rested your hand over his that rested around you. “They're right, you know. You are really sweet.”

A few beats of silence passed until Daryl spoke up. “Ya were awake the whole time?”

“No, not the whole time,” you corrected. “I woke up because everyone was laughing too loud. I'm glad I did, though. I'd hate to miss any opportunity to see you get so flustered.”

“Yer the worst,” Daryl mumbled, nuzzling his face into your shoulder blade.

“Yeah, I am,” you giggled. “You love me, though.”

A long moment of silence passed. You thought that Daryl had fallen asleep already, but soon he tightened his arms around you and pressed a kiss to the exposed skin on your shoulder.

“Yeah, I do love ya, sleepyhead.”

[doitforbangchan]

hai hai haiii!! this has been stuck in my head for SO long, can we get chans reaction to reader surprising him with a skimpy outfit???

Hi darling! ofc you can! sorry it took so long! and to those waiting for drabbles do not fret there is an order and a method to my madness!! more to come soon!!

I want to take a moment to get a lil sappy (as if that never happens 🙃) and thank you all for going on this journey with me and supporting me all year. This blog has become my baby and so many of you have become very dear friends to me. To those who celebrate, happy thanksgiving, and to those who dont i hope you have a wonderful day anyways 💕

ABANB Drabble 05

Your nerves were shot. 

The reflection in the mirror wasn’t you. Or at least not the you that you’ve come to know. No, she was someone different. The lingerie you wore was soft, the sheer teddy framing you perfectly and the pastel pink looked delicate against your skin. It was cute- sexy even. 

Your hair was tossed around to give you a seductive edge and your makeup was done to match the lingerie, a pink dusting both your cheeks and a gloss on your lips. It wasn’t too much yet it felt like it was. 

This was not you. Standing in the bathroom you fiddled with the edges of the teddy as you stared at yourself in the full length mirror. You felt like this whole ordeal was way out of your league, like when you walked out of this bathroom all he’s going to do is laugh at you. 

Reasonably you knew Chan would never laugh at you for your effort, whether he approved of your look or not he would never put you down like that. But still.. Being sexy was not something you were used to or had even considered yourself to be so the lingerie was a new experience. 

You hoped your scent of distress was not leaking out of you like a faucet but that hope was tossed right out the window when you heard the alpha call your name from the adjacent bedroom. 

“Baby? You alright in there, my love?” 

You jumped at the sound of his voice, so stuck in your own head that you were not expecting the distraction. 

“Uh,” Your voice cracked slightly. Clearing your throat you continued, “Yeah, m’ fine.” 

His deep hum reverberated through the walls, “What are you doin in there, sweet girl? You’ve been in there for over an hour.” 

Shit, he noticed. 

“N-nothing, Channie.” You called back, cursing yourself for stuttering. 

“If you're doing nothing in there then how ‘bout you come out here so we can do nothing together, hmm?” His voice was amused, yet with a hint of confusion. You paused, weighing your options . You could go out there and make a fool of yourself, or you could stay in here where it’s safe. You never got to decide for yourself before Chan lowered his timber, using his alpha tone to draw you out. “Omega. Come out.” 

Your hand was on the doorknob before you even knew you had moved, slowly twisting the knob. You took a deep breath as you opened the door, the hinges squeaking as you did so (Chan never got around to fixing that damn squeak but that is a battle for another day). 

The patter of your bare feet on the wooden flooring drew the alpha's eyes to the bathroom door, his pupils immediately dilating at the sight of you. 

Your gaze was cast down as you entered the bedroom, unable to meet his eyes in fear of becoming even more embarrassed than you already were. It wasn’t until you heard the deep growl and smelt the sudden spice that emanated from the man that you finally let your eyes rest on him. 

“Omega… You tryin to kill me or something?” 

His hands were fisting the sheets that he rested upon, his knuckles white as he tried to keep himself in control. He felt his self control slipping away as he drank you in. The soft lace complimented your skin perfectly and the sheerness of it left little to the imagination. It was a delicate look, surprising but absolutely perfect for his sweet little omega. To him you looked devastatingly delicious and he wanted nothing more than to ravage you. 

The scent in the air was ever changing, the neediness was seeping out of Chan in thick waves, so thick you were sure it was stain the walls. You had never seen that look in his face before. It made you feel like an animal of prey that had been found by a hungry predator. It was a deep seated feeling you had only encountered when an alpha was in rut. 

Chan's growls never ceased as you got closer to him. His hand shot out to beckon you closer. You grabbed the hem on your teddy and looked at him shyly. “Do you like it, Channie?” 

Your hand fit into his and he groaned as if he had been burned when your skin made contact, yet he only pulled you in closer, hauling you into his awaiting arms and on top of him. 

“Like does not even begin to describe the way I feel right now, Baby.”  He purred, his strong hands running along the edges of your lingerie, then sliding up under it to touch your bare hips. His head leaned up to bury into the crook of your neck, his sharp teeth nipping and kissing along your skin, making your head spin. “Right now, all I want is to rip this pretty little nighty right off your perfect body and fuck you into this matteress.” 

His words made you tremble, a soft gasp escaping you when he bit particularly hard into you. “Alpha.. Please..” 

You could feel the smirk on his lips at your reaction. “Don’t worry omega, Alpha is gonna take excellent care of you.” 

Your night had only just begun.

©doitforbangchan

[bullet-prooflove]

Hangman + Mexican food 🌮 traffic light 🚦 teddy bear 🧸

Tagging: @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @calirindo @consisedictionaryofmistakes @alisbackalleybbq

Companion piece to:

Set Up To Fail - Jake reflects on how his past affects his future.

Jake’s stopped at a traffic light, picking up tacos for date night when he sees his father for the first time in almost thirty years, crossing the street in front of him. He’s wearing a neat button down shirt, jeans that look new and he has two kids with him, twins boys holding matching teddy bears underneath their arms.

It’s a massive shock to the system because honestly he thought the man was dead.

He doesn’t intend to follow him, he doesn’t intend to end up sitting outside a house in the most middle class area of San Diego he can think of, watching him eat dinner with a woman who certainly isn’t his mother. He’d just wanted to make sure that those kids were safe, that they weren’t being sold off for meth, the same way that he was when he was their age.

It takes him a while to accept that what he’s seeing right now, it’s a family, not a con but an actual honest to God family and that does something to Jake, it twists him up inside, it ravages him because he doesn’t understand why he couldn’t have this, why he had to grow up in foster homes unwanted.

It’s the chiming of his phone that draws him back to reality, he checks the time and realises two hours have passed and he doesn’t understand how that could have happened. You must be worried, he knows but in that moment he can’t bring himself to vocalise any of this so he lets it ring out and goes back to watching this family, the one he never had.

Love Hangman? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[demonsword586]

Tartaros pp headcanons! (Just the nobles)

Bimet

- I imagine he is one of the few normal sized pp owners amongst devils. (Still,they are naturally larger than humans,so normal for a devil is still pretty impressive for a human.)

-Anyway I belive he is around 15 cm in lenght .

-You see the charm about this man's shlong is not in size like most people think but in it's shape.

- You see his tip is sharp. This man is a whore. With enough money,you could probably buy a night with him. And as a proper gold digger....he needs a sharp tool for the job.

-You ever saw the part of a flute in which you blow? Yea that's his tip

-Not only is his tip pointy but somewhere in the middle of his shaft he has tiny bumps. They're small and there's not a lot of them...but just enough for you to feel it when he ravages your insides.

-He thought about dipping his pp in gold like he does to his feet but immediatelly stopped after the first try. Mostly because the gold was dropping down way too quickly because of the higher temperature.

-He settled on just wearing a few thin golden cock rings. Also has a simple prince albert piercing

-From all the gold in the air,I woudn't be suprised if he eats it too. After a few years of chewing on metal,his cum got a certain yellowish color to it.

-I do think he cums a lot tho and it's watery...very watery.

-He keeps himself groomed most of the time. If you're serving the richest man in hell as his right hand,you gotta keep a certain level of proper hygene and looks to match.

- Also yes his pp does smell like pennies.

Valefor

- I think he's pretty similar to Mammon. He already works hard to have a body like his. I woudn't be suprised if that applies to his dick as well.

-As you can imagine....big. Not as big as Mammon's meat srick but very similar. Thick,long and hard as a brick. He should register is as a lethal weapon. In and put of the bedroom.

-At least he is aware of his own size,comparred to some other careless nobles. He knows he could actually hurt you and does everything in his might to prevent that,even if it means sacrificing his own pleasure for yours.

-Speaking of pleasure and cumming,he's another one of those breeding bulls. His cum is a bit thick but actually tastes pretty good. The most similar thing to it is a lemon tart.

-Back to his cock. It's a bit more normal whrn it comes to the shape. It's the kind of a penis that is pretty to look at but also scares you with just how big it is. In other words,a teddy bear kind of pp.

-He keeps his pubic hair growing. Of course,he does shave it off every once in awhile. But only when it gets so unruly it iches. But every other time? He just let's it grow. He just doesn't pay too much attention to his hair when he has to put so much work into growing out his muscles.

-But somehow has one of the healthiest hygene routines? Has like 12 diffrent products,all for a specific thing on his body. He's a good boy who takes care of himself properly.

-He does work out a lot tho,so he can't always be smelling like sunshines and manly chemicals. Even after many showers,there is still a small sprinkle of the sweaty smell on him. He is trying to get rid of it since he knows humans are a bit more sensitive about bad smells compared to devils

Eligos

- Small...the smallest penis owner in Tartaros nobility and he is damn proud of it!!!

-He's actually really happy with his size since smaller pps are way cuter than those muscular-looking dicks. It gives him a very cute bulge too!

- It's size is 11 cm.

- Some of his coworkers suggested he starts wearing some more gold but he refuses. After all,ribbons are way cuter than gold and very flexible in their usage too! He can wrap them everywhere even on his dick.

-Has a collection of diffrent types of ribbon fabric,each for a specific part on his body. There is so many pretty fabrics after all but not every one fits more intimate areas. For down there he uses a very soft,silk ribbon.

- Has a very good hygene too. Probably owns a whole cabinet of showering items. My man knows his stuff. He follows Orias's social media and they even give each other beauty tips in DMs. Paimon joins in on some conversations as well.

- Anyway back to his pp! We already got out of the way that it's small. Well it's also really sensitive! Especially on the underside of his shaft and the point where his tip is the sharpest. If you rub or touch him there,he becomes quite vocal. I don't mean those little whimpers but full on moans. When Mammon first heard him,he had to ask later if he was okay and if he needed a headpat. Poor man probably thought Eligos hit his balls or something.

-Speaking of balls,his are pretty small and round. His ballsack is a bit tight which makes his balls appear very adorable,like little marbles. They fit perfectlly in your palm too! Ah,but don't squeeze them,he'll push you away and cover them for a few weeks if he sees you.

-Man waxes. You see those shiny thighs? Yea he wants all of his assets to be like that. Smooth like an infant. He actually does the whole process by himself. Unless there is a place he cannot reach *cough* his ass *cough*

-Overall,a very cute little thing and slightly squishy. The color of it is just as his skin with his tip being a paler pink.

[evansbby]

sneak peak of the captain's reward part 2, because fuck it there's only like two people online who will see this lmfao.

warnings for non-con, dub-con, daddy!kink, large age gap, dark!Steve Rogers etc. 18+ only, minors dni.

“Yeah? You ever thought you’d get fucked by a cock as big as this?” Steve asks, pulling out and admiring how his huge length is covered in your juices. And your blood, because of course, despite not going as hard as he had last night, he’s made you bleed once more. God, you were such a goddamned baby.

You shake your head, only earning a slap to your face and a menacing look that has you crying out: “No!”

“No, what?” He knows he has a sick gleam in his eyes, because he wants to hear you say it. “

“No, I never thought I’d get fucked by a cock as big as yours!” You cry out, your sentence ending in a piercing scream as he slams into you once more. The teddy – fucking Chester – slips out of your grip because of the force of which you’re being fucked. But Steve won’t have that, he grabs the stuffed animal and shoves it back into your arms, wanting to watch you hold it and cuddle against it. Use your little toy as the only source of solace while your daddy ravaged you.

“That’s right,” Steve says lowly, drinking in the sight of you crying into Chester’s fur, “Cuddle your fucking toy like the little baby you are. Getting fucked by a man more than twice your age,” he licks his lips when your pussy clenches around his cock at his words, “And you like it, you dirty fucking whore. You like how much older I am than you.”

“No, I don’t!” And yet you moan desperately, rutting against him now, clutching at your teddy bear yet at the same time thrusting your hips upwards to meet his animalistic thrusts.

Steve smirks, “Your cunt likes it.”

[schlattsdoll]

can we get some intense poly tedschlatt stuff… like them absolutely ravaging reader and like talking amongst themselves abt how good ur being while fucking the shit out of you…

can i be 💿 anon btw!!

absolutely!

minors dni

you on your back while schlatt's using your mouth and all you hear is ted groaning in between every thrust into you. jay smirks when he can see his bulge in your throat.

"dont we have such a perfect doll teddy? takin' us so well."

"s'pretty stuffed full of our cocks jay."

[pnfc]

20 or so years in the future, doof and perry talk in a pool, at 3am, about the past. for about 5k words. that's it

[ on ao3 here ]

~

Even in dead of night, sounds rattle up the tower’s old iron skeleton to the top. The noise of the residents below, their talking and thumping and TV, warps through metal pipes and chutes into a muffled mechanical soundscape. The aging building’s life functions, thrumming from underfoot, as the fan wheels gently in the air above their bed.

Perry wakes in the room to Heinz’s absence.

Alone like this, he’s left with the many necessities of Heinz’s sleeping arrangement. The carefully selected quilt with the chunky stitching, the snuggly texture. Systematic obliteration of the wrong lights, the wrong sounds. All the particularities that Perry loves. And there are remnants: the old teddy retired to a decorative chair in the corner. The grind guard she doesn’t wear so much now, some little weight has lifted.

Perry squints at the Big Ben miniature on the bedside table to confirm the late hour, and gets up.

He finds her out on the balcony, crosslegged at the side of the pool. The moon’s out of view, but it lights the clouds up like seedpod puffs, and they mirror on the water, underlit by turquoise pool lights. The air is hot.

Perry goes over and places a hand on her bare knee, makes an asking sound.

“Just the usual, Perry,” Heinz says in reply. “I had a stupid dream.” She slides a foot out into the water, where it glows, white in blue. Perry sits at her side. “You were out of character.”

“You’re always uncharacteristically mean in my dreams,” she continues, half smiling. “And you talk. You talk way too often, I think that’s the worst part. In like whatever stupid voice my subconscious thinks you should have. Which changes. I think you sounded French one time, which makes no sense.”

The light is enough for Perry to sign by. What’d I say?

“Oh you know,” she says, her tone compressing. “You regretted this.”

Perry sits with that, with her, pressed against her leg. It’s not an accusation, Perry knows well enough by now, not one made in earnest. They both have to live with Heinz’s self-ravaging mind. He rubs her hand with his.

Hard to know what to regret. He’s put a lot of work in, building this life for himself. Like his boys used to build those miraculous one-day contraptions in the summertime, or Heinz would make reality-cracking machines fueled on coffee and malice, so Perry had built something of his own, more common and slow, but something he was happy with. This partnership with Heinz, this thick-knit network of people he’s living for.

It’s a struggle to even remember the days when he’d been workshopping its contruction. Hard to blueprint a machine, harder to blueprint a life lived in flux, tripwired with secrets and obligations. He used to sweat through nightmares, trying to see the shape of his future, seeing only how easily it could be lost.

Her sitting next to him on smooth cement, 3 AM, poolwater ringing her calf, the bright night sky. He can’t express to Heinz how he never imagined having this much.

So he gets up, with a parting squeeze of her hand, and backdives into the pool, a lazy arc piercing silent and smooth. Might as well give her something to watch. He skims along the bottom, where the LEDs cast sixfold yellow shadows, overlapping like insect wings as he goes.

A few minutes of trawling the circumference, twisting, shooting through the duck-shaped floaty ring, rocketing off the sides with strong pushes of his feet. He weaves and skips between water and air in sinoid leaps. He’s learned to oscillate his body like a seal for these jumps — it’s proved useful sampling the broader animal kingdom for swimming techniques. They keep him limber, in this low-gravity environment his body was made for.

He pops up to check on Heinz, who’s looking. “No no no, keep it up, Perry the Platypus,” she grins at him. “You’re like my Windows screensaver right now. It’s soothing. I dunno if it’s putting me to sleep though, if that’s what you were going for.”

Perry floats over to where she’s sitting. She’s stirring both legs through the water. They’re pencil-skinny and they spirograph ripples that lap into Perry’s neck.

“Y’know what I thought when I found out this place had a pool?” she asks him.

“Well — I thought I’d be doing so much water aerobics. I definitely didn’t think I’d have someone semiaquatic in my life. But that didn’t pan out, the aerobics. So later I thought I’d put in some electric eels or piranhas, for you when you’d visit. Keep it zesty. But I always thought of it right when the aquarium was closed. And you know, after that first spark of excitement has passed, an idea like that just ends up being on your list. So it never happened. You got lucky.”

Perry rests with an arm around her calf, underwater. She’s wearing one of her long hotweather nightshirts, millennial neon geometries advertising a dance camp that Vanessa once attended. It has glow in the dark squigglies. So many little things to keep Vanessa around, her never-worn hand-me-ups.

Perry darkens the shirt fabric in his wet fist, and tugs it toward him. Heinz laughs. “You are not getting me in there,” she says, pushing a foot at him. “I came out here to brood, not swim.”

Perry doesn’t accept it. He pulls her in successfully, and she drops off the edge into the pool without much fuss, splashing him. “This is of my own volition,” she says. “You don’t get to boss me around in the middle of the night. You don’t own me.”

Yes he does. Perry swims a ring around her waist, framing her. The light’s playing off her grey hair, staining it teal. In this view you could mistake them for a matching set. He likes that.

“That is literally still on a list somewhere,” Heinz adds, “the piranhas. In one of my old notebooks.”

They’re piled in storage now, the plans and the blueprints, though she keeps a few sitting around from the later years. A while back they cobbled together a scrapbook of the better schemes, Heinz’s more impressive drawings, fonder memories. Perry got the B.O.A.T. schematic professionally framed, one birthday. Heinz had rolled her eyes at it and hung it in the foyer.

“I feel weird looking at those,” Heinz says. “It’s like oh yeah, that idea was living in my head for years. Thought for sure that one was gonna put one over on Roger, as soon as I got around to it.”

Years, multiple? Really?

“Oh yeah,” says Heinz, as Perry blinks up in question. “You know how I procrastinate, Perry the Platypus. But it was mainly the big plans that I kept putting off, over and over. The ones that required a real surge of hatred, to kick my scheming into gear. Ambitious stuff, you know,” she says, tilting her head. “Mind control, intimidation — stuff that works. Not like the stuff I’d do with you, most days.”

She lilts an arm out, snaring Perry’s hand. He lets her pull him through the water in a curve.

“The bad ideas were more fun — I think I was just trying to give you a laugh, at a certain point. Not that you ever did. The chicken replaceinator, the beam that made people’s ties comically long. I did not think turning everyone’s shoes into heelys would actually win me dominion of the tristate area, Perry, if I’m being honest.

“All those big diabolical plans, they kept me up at night. But I put them off, ‘cause it was more fun getting sugar high with you and bouncing off the walls. Making up an entire song and dance number for the satisfaction of watching you try not to tap your foot to it. Every year it was: oh, just a few more months with Perry. Next year I’ll get serious, for sure.

“And, you know. I can’t regret any of it,” Heinz says. “Because it worked. I got you to dance with me, spend time with me. I didn’t think that was my goal at first — but you know, in retrospect, what else could possibly stack up?

“. . . But I didn’t get to know that, that my time was well spent, until later. Because you can’t really know if you’ll regret something when it’s happening. Like all those bad relationships, all those times I went into debt. You have to wait until you can look back on it all in a decade or two and go: oh yeah, that was a wash.”

Heinz pulls Perry out in a slow-motion twirl, bopping at the water’s surface. She gives him a considering look as their hands detach.

“That’s why I think about you. Because you haven’t been around as long. It takes time to figure out regret. And you don’t have the luxury,” she says with a tight smile, “of regretting a decade. You didn’t fuck up the 90s. You didn’t even have the opportunity.”

Perry can tell she’s got some spleen to vent. Potentially a whole rainbow of humors. He sets up on a paddleboard shaped like a ducky foot — perches zen-legged in its center, balancing what little weight he has. He comes up past her chin now.

“Do you know how many times I’ve invented time travel, Perry the Platypus?” Heinz asks.

“Well, once. When I was in my twenties. For a generous definition of ‘invent’ — we all learned the Onassian principles in college physics. It’s not too hard to plug in the missing variables — sort of an open secret, in the evil science world, how to manipulate time. We’d all dabble, here and there. You overstep and there’s consequences, of course. By the time you met me I was using it for trifles and whimsies. Hyperspecific stuff, that’s less of a risk.”

She fidgets shapes through the water with her hands.

“You remember me, like — summoning the Roman army. That sort of thing.”

Perry remembers it going wrong, yeah, and him sending Heinz back 800 years, in a perfunctory brush-off of that day’s scheme. He remembers finding Heinz back at DEI the next morning, in a sour mood, with a tirade prepared on the difficulties of refining metal ores in 13th century Mongolia. Heinz had lived there a month. Her age was now out of whack with the present date, and she had said something incomprehensible about it, like:

You’ve made me a Leo, Perry the Platypus. A Leo. That’s . . . well I’ve always felt like I should be one, deep down, so thank you. But it explains why horoscope advice has never worked out for me, which in hindsight is just plain embarrassing.

Perry doesn’t recall there being a scheme that day. Even with the freedom to bubble out extra time, Heinz hadn’t bothered prepping more than a long complaining story for Perry — adequate payback for the thwart, he supposed.

“But the first time I got it working,” Heinz continues. “I did some stuff I never even told you about.” She glances up at Perry. “I didn’t even make a plan, I just went back first thing. To Gimmelshtump. Wasn’t even dressed for the weather. And I saw myself there, walking around the outskirts of town. Carrying old breadloaves and rags, and whatever else — I had to be a packrat, back then.

“And I wasn’t even that far removed, at the time, from that kid. But he had a whole system worked out to survive. If you plunked me down in his haferlschuhs now I’d just collapse where he stood, in a matter of hours. Or I’d go crawling back to the ocelots — which wouldn’t end well, I don’t think they’d recognize me.”

Perry’s rather agog. What a length of time to hold this information inside. He realizes he’s perched unstably forward, off the foam board.

What did you do?

Heinz makes a dismissive noise. “What could I do? Nothing. Could I have stayed? Been a parent to that kid? I guess. At least until causality cried foul and wiped me out. But who wants to be a parent at 23?

“And it seems selfish, right, wanting to keep what I made myself into, at his expense. He had to suffer so I could sit warm and cozy in the 80s, failing out of American college because I was too smart for it, schtupping my way through town, selling bratwurst. But I am selfish, Perry the Platypus.” Heinz sets a hard look on him. “All I did was confirm to myself that it was real, all those awful things that happened to that kid. I wasn’t making it up. And I never went back.”

Perry stares at her — he’s sitting pensive on the board, cross-legged, and pushes himself an inch closer with his tail ruddered in the water.

I would’ve stayed, Perry responds, for that kid.

Heinz gives him a quizzical smile. “Would you? That’s easy to say. Would you live out the rest of your days helping him put his rumpkinhosen on the right way? Explaining puberty, that it’s not really the devil growing out of his body, like Mother says? Stealing him acne cream?”

Heinz’s face angles in a mean way.

“Are you gonna convince that kid his parents will never love him? Because that’s all that was keeping me there, apart from Roger. The dumb, burning hope that they might, eventually.”

Ok, so it’s a terrible idea. Perry nods anyway, to be contrary, cheek squished upon his fist.

You’d run away with any cute animal you met, he signs. And I’d kick their asses.

This repairs the mood somewhat, makes Heinz giggle in surprise.

“Oh would you?” she says behind long fingers, eyes sparkling. “Because I’d kind of like to see that. Grizzled platypus with a mysterious score to settle shows up, terrorizes my childhood home. Makes my parents beg for mercy.”

Perry nods. I’d treat you like a princess. Heinz can’t see that he’s blushing. She laughs, louder than before.

“Oh that’s cute, Perry. The Vanessa treatment! Wow. I would’ve turned out different, that’s for sure.” She’s trailing her fingertips across the pool tiles. “But going back in time, taking care of each other . . . let’s not, okay Perry the Platypus? Let’s not and say we would.”

But you did, Perry signs, because once he’s chimed into conversation with Heinz it’s hard to stop himself. Even when he realizes, too late, that he shouldn’t have said anything.

He drops his shaking hands to his lap. Heinz cocks her head with the same pretty smile, now thinner. “You’re gonna bring that up? When we learned how they got you? That . . . that was a mistake,” she says. “We were just getting to be friends, back then. It was exciting. I didn’t have my head on straight. ... And that would’ve been a different situation, in continuity terms, that was . . . ”

She opens and closes her mouth. Perry sees her stare fall to the water, thumb still tracing the putty grooves between the tiles.

“. . . I never really explained to you the technical nitty-gritty, the physics of it. There’s time-space transplantation, moving a body in its current state back or forward through time — that’s what I did going to Drusselstein. But there’s other ways to slide around.

“See, Roger was getting into golf — just excruciating, trying to spend any time with him, it was always ‘Pencil in a timeslot with Melanie and we’ll hit the back nine,’ or whatever.

“I found a way to fast-forward him, that I never got to use. Premature inator-destruction. It happens to the best of us. Usually to me, whenever you got too eager.”

Perry’s propped on his fist, contemplative. I wouldn’t know anything about that.

“See I think you would,” Heinz says, narrowing her eyes. “I’m pretty sure you were my caddie. In fact I’ve gleaned that most, if not all, of the platypuses I encountered in my evil heyday were you. That little guy had your eyes, and he looked unusually hot in golf shorts.”

Perry blinks, mouth trained in a line.

“C’mon, Perry the Platypus,” she wheedles. “It’s not nice leaving a girl in limbo, for so many years. This’ll keep weighing on me.”

Okay fine, Perry signs, shrugging. I was the hot caddie.

“I knew it!” She grabs the foam board and shoves it hard, sending Perry backwards with a splash. “You are such a jerk gaslighting me all the time! Steven.”

Perry shakes water off his bill and punches forward into her, though the effect is more of a cuddle. She tangles him in her arms.

“So that means you know,” she says, scrunching fingers into his chest, “why I wanted to speed through that. And if you can isolate a body, move it forward and back, you can isolate a mind, or a consciousness.

“That was the technique I used, for when . . . you know, when I did the.” She falters. “Really, really bad idea.”

Except you didn’t, Perry signs up at her.

“Yeah, but like. I think about it. How I almost did. How I could’ve screwed everything up. For both of us.”

Perry remembers it more through her recollection than anything. The day she’d cracked into the OWCA admin portal and Perry had let her. The day she found the timestamped geolocation from which Perry had been acquired. He remembers Heinz’s outrage, mourning Perry’s fate at OWCA’s hands, and the wave of giddy revelation that had quickly taken over at the chance to go back, intercede, take Perry for herself instead.

From where Perry had stood Heinz hadn’t vanished, hadn’t even blipped. He just knew that one instant he was rocketing a punch toward someone diabolically driven and the next, post-inator, was socking his fists into the braced forearms of a downed Heinz, cowed under Perry on the lab floor. And Heinz’s eyes had been so haunted, looking up at him from behind those arms, that Perry knew something had passed.

It was years before she’d tell him the full story. How she’d run out of the house as her 41-year-old self, to track Perry down. The bluegreen and red at the riverside. How Perry’s mother had died on the shore, bleeding out of bite wounds, accepting Heinz’s touch as she cooled under frantic hands. The last look she’d given Heinz. The wariness of the OWCA-trained animal control agents who’d found Heinz sitting there, keeping vigil. How Perry had nestled in the palm of her hand, impossibly little, and ate up what milk of his mother Heinz brought to his bill, fingertip to mouth.

He can’t remember any of it, of course, how could he. But he would always carry close to heart the knowledge that Heinz had inserted herself, in this small and careful way. Had been the first human touch he’d felt.

But it made Heinz cry, retelling it. So Perry never brings it up.

He holds the back of her hand, as she winds a thumb through his fur.

“It would’ve been so easy to change what you were to me, and ruin the weird thing we had with each other — even back then, when it didn’t seem like as much. I didn’t know at the time, y’know, that you’d want to stick around this long.”

Perry gives her a sad smile.

“Time travel’s the worst, it’s like an automatic culpability machine,” Heinz says. “It’s a terrible idea to go backward: everything becomes your choice. Any pain in the past is now stamped with your approval, you don’t have the right to complain anymore. Choosing to leave you with Monogram, choosing to abandon myself in Gimmelshtump. It’s so easy to change everything, with a few key edits.

“And greed always makes me want both. I wanna give that lonely little kid a charmed life, and I want to keep the one I have. I want to get to raise you into my perfect little companion,” she says, cuffing the back of his neck. “And I want to get to fuck you, too.”

Her fingers threaten to pince a collar round his throat and he stares up as her words shock his gut, her sick rapacity bearing down on him, heavy. But her face is unplayful: tired and vaguely nauseated, a disgust turned back in on herself.

So Perry swallows down arousal and steadies his composure, in turn. Heinz just closes her eyes, with a sigh, and pushes Perry’s body away from her into the water.

“I dont know how it worked for him,” she says. And Perry doesn’t know who she means, which averted version of herself, so he waits.

“How he could stand to have that power every day, to make any possible reality. And to risk not having one that really matters.”

Oh. Of course.

“I never did got the full story out of him. Professor Me. I wished I knew more — but there’s something so off-putting, seeing yourself from the outside like that. It’s like listening to a voice recording.

“I don’t think he had any extra-special skills, didn’t know anything I don’t — except whatever it was that convinced him pinstripes and a pink cravat were the go-to look for branding himself a big time travel genius. That I’ll never understand, why I’d wanna look like I’m selling snake oil from the future to the past. In fact I get the sneaking suspicion that’s exactly what he was doing. I can’t imagine wearing that costume full time.

“But maybe he didn’t, you know? Maybe he got home at the end of each day and he put his stupid top hat on a peg and he . . . I dunno, worked on jigsaw puzzles with you. Like we do,” she says. “Maybe he was more like me than I knew.”

They never saw him again, after that year. A decade plus of Heinz waiting, stressing, disavowing, dreading. And then at a certain point it dawned on both of them that their trajectory had quietly split from his. And relief overwhelmed curiosity at whatever might have been.

But when she first found out, Heinz had been excited, in a cute nervy way. It was every delusional dream coming true at once and smacking her in the face — right at a vulnerable moment, when another close-call spacetime catastrophe had left her shellshocked and aimless, in need of reinvention.

It’s crazy, right? Heinz would ask anyone who happened to be in earshot. And they’d agree, that it sounded crazy.

It’s like I predicted it! I — I wrote a TV show about it, me being a time traveler. They ripped it off and made me a girl — and then they made Perry the Platypus a human and cancelled it after one season — but I did! I was this hero from the future, and I knew karate. Do you think he knows karate? I bet he knows karate, too, he’s just being low-key about it, because that’s what cool karate experts do, when they know karate.

But then there was the month, the lowest of her life, as Heinz described it, when they weren’t talking. And in the depressive wreckage of their falling out Heinz was left to ponder how, in that glimpse of the future, bright with glory and wealth and eternity, Perry had not been in frame.

He was off to the side, probably. Surely. Though Heinz’s then-drinking buddy hadn’t offered any reassurances. If the future included Perry the Platypus, he was no famous partner of the great Professor Time.

And that’s rookie mistake number one, Heinz had said to Perry later. Traveling through time without a trusty companion. You just don’t do it. I . . . I learned that from cartoons.

Back in the present Heinz is chewing her lip. “It’s just that I had all this baggage, around time travel, that I didn’t even realize — I hadn’t sorted through any of it yet. I just knew I couldn’t go back. And I figured if I couldn’t give myself a perfect past, I’d just have to give myself a perfect future. I never actually wanted to learn about it though, never wanted to skip ahead and spoil myself, in case I got bad news.

“But getting good news was like . . . weirdly so much worse. Like — all that glory I wanted, people shouting my name. He already got it. And with a stupider name. So I didn’t know what to want.

“Except for the uncertainties,” she says, quieter. “The stuff I didn’t know he had, that I knew I had to keep.”

She reaches out a hand. Perry takes it in his paws.

“That’s a lot, I guess, just to say —” Heinz says. “I’m really happy where I am.”

Perry spent years of his life not holding Heinz, not touching. He’d never admit that fear was a reason. It was just a matter of propriety, truly, of acting right under OWCA’s watchful eye, under the spycams they’ve long since eradicated from around Heinz’s loft.

Now he pulls himself into her and she sinks down in the water, so he can wind his short arms around her neck. And Perry feels all those years of idiotic professionalism like a permanent injury in his chest.

But he gets to hold her now, dig his clawed fingers in the clinging wet folds of her shirt and push his bill to the back of her neck, inhale her body heat. Which lessens the sting.

She clutches him back.

“You wouldn’t like the stuff I think about,” she whispers, “the stuff that woke me up tonight, that weighs on me. Stuff I know I shouldn’t say to you.”

Perry pulls back, to give her a sidelong look. It’s strange to hear. There’s no rotten part inside of Heinz that Perry hasn’t learned to love by now.

She elaborates. “I hate how long it took me to get here with you, to figure out my priorities. It took until you existed.

“But you’ve been stuck with me from the beginning. I’m your permanent assignment. In every life you get, you have to make the best of me,” she says. “And that’s when I’m not an irredeemable monster who makes you my slave.”

Perry takes a firm grip of her shoulder and rears back a bit, so he can turn his bewildered face on her.

She waves a defensive palm in front of him. “I know, I know, Perry. Let me get this out.

“I just think,” she says.

“If you wanted a do-over, I could give you one. At the end of all of this, when we’re finally puttering out — I mean we’re getting old, Perry. I could rewind you. You could go back to where you started, live a whole different life. Ditch OWCA. Go out and meet any number of people, around the world, do whatever you wanna do with yourself. Make a life on your own terms. Get to know who you could be without me.”

Heinz was right about Perry not liking this. He’s not sure exactly where his shock turns into anger, but the net effect is hurt, at what she’s saying.

He gives her his wildest are you kidding me look.

“You know I didn’t actually think you’d say yes,” Heinz says. “It was more a question of how hard you’d hit me in the face for saying any of this.

“But I think you deserve the option, if it turned out you did regret a decade of your life, or two. Because that’s all you got. All you got out of life was me and the dumb choices I made.”

She’s hunched into the curved pool wall, tugging at her elbows under the surface. She won’t quite meet Perry’s eyes.

“I could build you a machine and you could use it to go back without me knowing — so it wouldn’t hurt my feelings, it’s not like I’d remember,” she says, and there’s a wretched emptiness as she voices this thought, like it’s rehearsed.

“You could hold onto all of this, or I could wipe it, give you a clean slate. I just wish you could have, like. . . one choice in your life that’s not built around me.”

Perry stares at her. It seems she’s at the end of her speech. Her pool-lit image is ghostly, flickering like a hologram. Her eyes face down.

He racks a hand up his face with a sigh, the sound gurgling in his bill — not to dismiss her pouring out her stupid heart. But what else can he do, faced with such an unpersuasive offer?

She looks at him then, so he signs one thing. You’re too old to hate yourself this much.

“Oh Perry,” she rebukes, as he swims around her to the poolside. “That’s really not the point. You get that it’s unfair, right? Your life versus mine. I got to have all this time, and you — got me, and that’s,” she falters, as Perry hoists himself out of the water.

“I — I don’t think you’re unhappy, that’s not what I’m saying,” she quickly adds. She grabs Perry’s wrist, to make him look at her.

“I don’t know how to deal with you — living less,” she says, staring into him with benthic eyes. “And me being the most you ever got.”

Perry grabs the outside of her hand with his other paw, and tugs. Heinz acquiesces, allows herself to be lifted, and clambers the rest of the way out of the pool.

She’s like a bedraggled cat, long silver hair strands dripping on the pavement. Perry retrieves a fresh towel from the wicker caddy, pads back over and swathes it around her narrow shoulders.

“I should just accept that it’s romantic,” she mumbles, while Perry rubs the towel into her hair. “Like a destiny thing. But it’s a lot of pressure, the universe setting you up with me.

“Are you happy with that, Perry,” she asks. “I bet you are. I bet you feel all cheesy and warm about it.”

Heinz and Perry have been rewatching the same old telenovelas for years. Perry just rolls his eyes, to say you know I do.

Heinz nods. “That’s a problem, Perry the Platypus. So my offer stands. If you ever want to fix it.”

Perry presses his face to her cheek, in lieu of the slap she deserves. When he drags his soft bill across her face she tips it into a kiss, automatically, the deep-grooved pattern of their motions betraying whatever self-injuring case she was trying to make, about the awful tragedy of Perry loving her.

It’s not a choice, he signs, pulling back from the kiss. Taking you out of my life. It wouldn’t be my life anymore. So no.

Perry holds a paw to his chest. The fur’s mostly grey there — a way he really matches Heinz now, no trick of the light required.

If you weren’t in here . . . I don’t know who I’d be. Just a very good pet and a very good soldier. That doesn’t interest me, he signs, and he’s thinking, with less tact: fuck that guy.

Heinz is quiet, staring. She’s slumped so soft in the summer haze, a vulnerable thing in front of him. A whole city behind her. One she gave up ruling, because she liked Perry more.

I’m built around you. No fixing it, at this point. Sorry.

Perry shrugs, and draws his hands into snatching claws: I’m selfish, too.

[symbiote-siblings]

Teddy: Tara won’t listen to me when I say that something is very wrong with Furby

Not sick wise… quite the opposite. She’s been kicking around for years now. When we take her to the vet, even they are surprised by how… little cognition she has but at the same time some sort of intelligence that rarely registers every few weeks in her life

I dunno I just think it’s… freaky. She’s staring at me right now!

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

The Birthday - 5

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

I watch as my wife, with a smug expression smeared across her face, walks over to the couch and sits down. Staring directly at me, she spreads her legs, putting her panty-covered pussy perfectly on display to me. Her purple lingerie, so adult, so sexy, mocks me as I sit on the floor, trapped in the giant diaper she locked me in.

I then watch as Melody moves her hand to her crotch, sliding her manicured fingers into her panties. She bites her lip as she starts to gently work her clitoris. I can feel myself getting hard in my padded prison. Subconsciously, I feel myself start to thrust my hips into the floor. The frustration from not cumming after the hand jobs and blow jobs Melody gave me during the diaper change beginning to overtake my psyche.

Melody starts to moan and thrust her hips into her own hand as she rubs. Without slowly down, she looks down at me with a satisfied grin.

"Does the big baby like watching Mommy play with her big girl parts? Is he jealous of Mommy's fingers?" Her mocking was followed immediately by a deep moan. My wife was clearly getting off on the power she had over me.

In almost any other situation, this would be incredibly hot. Watching my wife pleasure herself for my benefit was one of my fantasies--one that Melody had never acted on before. However, internally, I couldn't enjoy the situation, knowing she was getting off on the idea of forcing me to regress and debase myself in front of her.

"No, I'm not jealous of your fingers, but I am happy that you are enjoying yourself," I said as cooly and maturely as I could muster from my position, diapered on the floor.

"Oh, don't be Mr. Pouty Britches, I can tell you like this. Mommy's always know," Melody said, pausing briefly to let out a moan. "Why don't you get off your high horse and show Mommy what watching this makes you want to do to her? Show me how you want to fuck me right now with Princess Bear."

"No," I said determinedly, pushing the giant bear to the side.

Melody sighed in disappointment at my refusal to obey. She pulled her hand out of her panties, placed both hands on her knees, and leaned forward, staring at me intensely.

"I didn't want to have to do this, baby. I wanted it to be your choice. But, clearly, you haven't learned who is in charge yet," she said. "But, I'll give you an out. If you are telling the truth, if you REALLY don't want to have sex with me right now, you'll get to hold on to that little bit of dignity you find so precious."

I swallowed nervously, calming my mind to try and fight off whatever hypnotic suggestion was coming next.

"Mommy says fuck Princess Bear exactly how you want to fuck Mommy right now."

I closed my eyes and tried to focus. I tried to convince myself I wasn't turned on and that I wanted nothing to do with the woman that was torturing me right now. Anything to fight the desire--the need--I was feeling to ravage the giant teddy bear sitting next to me.

Only moments after my eyes were closed, I heard the rustle of fingers pushing past lace and Melody's moans start up again. I opened my eyes to be greeted by the sight of my wife furiously pleasuring herself.

"Mmmmhmmmm, yeah, that's it baby, that's the spot," she said.

God, it was so fucking hot. I just wanted to crawl over and start eating her out until she was close, and then flip her around doggy style and fuck her until with both finished. That thought triggered to doom for my dignity.

Hypnotic command in place and triggered by my own uncontrollable horniness, my body went to work. I felt myself crawl over and grab Princess Bear. I then grabbed the giant stuffed animal and dragged it over to the couch where Melody sat. Melody, smiling at me curiously, slowed down the process of pleasuring herself. Once at the couch, I rose to my knees, picked up Princess Bear, and sat the stuffy on the couch with it's legs spread. I positioned my head between the teddy bears legs. Then, with an internal scream, I dove in.

I could hear Melody begin to laugh uproariously as I opened my mouth and started to drag my tongue across the soft, fluffy fabric of the bear. I could feel my cheeks turning red as I licked, sucked, and nibbled on the fabric that made up the crotched of the giant stuffed animal.

Despite my embarrassment, the act of eating out Princess Bear like my wife, while my wife watched, was turning me on. My cock pressed hard against the soft padding of my diaper. I let a hand slip down and stared to rub my plastic covered crotch to increase my own pleasure.

"That's it baby, eat out Princess Bear. Show her what a generous lover you are for Mommy. Show her how you want to take care of Mommy," Melody said as she sat next to the giant bear, watching me simulate giving her oral on the toy.

Despite not being capable of looking over to see Melody, I could tell she was enjoying my show from the sounds she was making. I could here her hand rubbing against the fabric of her panties. Further, as she encouraged me to keep going, I could here her breaths getting shorter and deeper. As I kept rubbing myself and eating the bear out, her once infrequent moans became more and more regular. After what felt like hours to me, but was probably just moment, I could tell that my wife was on the verge of cumming. That was my signal.

I stopped pretending to orally pleasure the giant, stuffed bear that Melody had bought for me. Internally, I sighed in relief. Licking Princess Bear's fabric crotch has really dried my tongue out. Externally, I moved to the next phase of my debasement.

"Oh, no, Mommy, you don't get to finish by yourself!" I said, as if I was fucking Melody instead of a stuffed bear.

Melody jumped at my suddenly words, the raised an eyebrow and looked at me curiously.

"Is that so little boy?" She asked.

"It is," I said unbidden, a growl of lust accompanying the words.

With that I grabbed Princess Bear by the hips, pulled the bear off the couch, the flipped it over. I then beant the stuffed animal over the seat of the couch, exposing the poor toy's behind under the tuel, ballet skirt, and gave it's butt a playful smack. I then pulled myself and mounted the bear, pressing my diapered crotch firmly against its stuffed rear end. Then, like I have done so many times to Melody in this position, I grabbed Princess Bear by the top of the head, where Melody's hair would have been, forcefully, but generally, pulled the bears head back, and spoke.

"You're going to like this," I growled.

I could hear Melody giggle as I then began thrusting my padded crotch into the exposed ass of the stuffed animal rhythmically. The sound made me blush, but, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop.

It only took a few of my thrusts into Princess Bear for Melody's giggles to once again be replaced by moans.

"That's right baby! Show me what you want to do to Mommy. Thrust that diapered butt!" She cheered me on between moans.

I blushed at Melody's taunts, but I still couldn't convince my body to stop. The pressure of thrusting my padded dick against the stuffed bear felt amazing. My member throbbed with pleasure with each press of my body into the toy. It felt so good, I stated to thrust harder. My moans of pleasured mixing with my wife's. If I closed my eyes, I found it easy to imagine that it was Melody I had beant over the couch rather than Princess Bear.

As I continued to hump Princess Bear just like the pathetic, diapered protagonists in the stories I'd written, I heard Melody's breaths begin to quicken as her moans lengthened. I closed my eyes, pretending I was fucking her with all of my imagination. I humped quicker and harder as she got close, imagining that it was me, not her fingers, pushing her over the edge.

My own pleasure crested as hers did. As Melody's moans shifted to the scream that signified that her body was being overtaken by an orgasm, I felt as if I was right on the edge of bursting as well. I increased the already frantic pace of my thrusts.

"That's right Mommy! Take that Mommy! That's what you like!" I said, cringing internally at my attempts to say 'Melody' transforming to 'Mommy' as they left my lips.

Melody screamed again. I opened my eyes to watch her body shake as her muscles contracted and relaxed uncontrollably as she came again. I stated thrusting harder, wanting to experience that pleasure for myself. However, no matter how frantically I humped Princess Bear, I couldn't force myself over the edge. The dry padding of the diaper offered too little resistance and just didn't feel right against my dick.

Tears started to roll down my face involuntarily as I continued to dry hump my stuffy. My frustration was overcoming even my shame. Melody, her orgasms over, turned to me, reached out a hand, and stroked the side of my face lovingly.

"What's wrong baby? Can't cum?" She asked, a hint of real concern in her voice.

"Yes," I panted as I continued to fuck the bear, unable to stop, "It doesn't feel right."

"You know what would help?" Melody offered, "If you wet your diaper. I bet a warm, wet diaper would feel an awful lot like Mommy's warm, wet pussy."

I cringed at the thought. Wetting a diaper just to be able to cum was exactly the humiliating behavior I would attribute to a character in one of my stories that I was trying to avoid. However, it was clear that my wife's command, that I 'fuck Princess Bear exactly how I wanted to fuck' her, meant I wouldn't be able to stop molesting the stuffed bear until I came. Cumming in Melody was precisely what I wanted to do.

So, with no other options, I temporarily ceased humping Princess Bear. I focused all of my attention on my bladder, and I pushed. A soft hissing noise filled the air as I felt a warm wetness spread across my crotch. My hypnotized body smiled involuntarily as I cringed inside. Why did this feel so good?

"Good boy!" Melody said, getting off the couch as walking up behind me, "Wet that diaper like the baby you are."

I closed my eyes as I finished, hoping that by shutting out the world, maybe I could avoid some embarrassment.

"Now, let's let you finish. Show Princess Bear what you really want to do to Mommy."

I felt Melody's hands on the sides of my hips, her thumbs pressing lightly into my back as her fingers wrapped towards my front. Gently, she started guiding my emotions, encouraging me to hump the stuffed bear I had pinned over our couch.

Desperate to get this over with, I complied. Starting slowly, I began to thrust my padded crotch into Princess Bear's ass again. Guided by Melody, those thrusts quickly picked up steam. As I jumped the bear, I noticed the sensation on my penis felt significantly different in a wet rather than dry diaper.

The padding was softer and easier to condense, making it easier for me to apply the necessary pressure to myself. The warmth and wetness also felt good. Just as Melody has suggested, those sensations allowed me to pretend, at least a little bit, that I was fucking a vagina rather than humping a stuffed bear.

Melody started to rub my back as I my emotions picked up steam.

"That's it baby! Cum for Mommy! Make stickies for me! Show me what a big boy you are!" She whispered in my ear.

It didn't take long after that. Within a few thrusts, I peaked. My dick pulsed in it padded prison as I shot warm, sticky cum into my already wet diaper. I laid all my weight on Princess Bear as I let my body convulse with pleasure. I groaned as I shot multiple loads of my hot seed into my waiting diaper.

I let my body go slack as I finished. As I felt my conscious brain retake control, I felt shame over take me. Without moving from my spot, laying on Princess Bear, dangling off the couch, I buried my face in the stuffed animals back and began to cry.

Once again, Melody had broken me. Not only had she forced me to debase myself by performing unspeakable acts on a stuffed bear, she had convinced me to voluntarily wet my diaper again. She has once again shattered my self-image as an assertive, unbreakable, daddy dom and shown me how easily I could be convinced to act like a pathetic man-baby.

As I cried, I felt my wife's hand rubbing up and down my naked back.

"It's okay baby. You were a good baby for Mommy! A very good baby for Mommy!" She said comfortingly. "I know this must be hard for you, but being my baby comes with some treats too. Are you ready for a treat?"

I didn't know how to respond. All I wanted to do was melt away and die. This all felt like too much.

"Let's get you your treat. I promise you'll like it," Melody said as I continued to sob into the stuffed bear beneath me.

NEXT CHAPTER

[whiskeynwriting]

Cabur

Paz Vizsla x Female reader

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Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, breeding kink, lactation kink, tiny daddy kink (I mean c’mon it’s me), oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, pregnancy, allusions to exhibitionism, cum play, tattoos, hickies, established relationship, marriage, brief mention(s) of reader’s hair but no description, fluffiesssss because he’s my big blue teddy bear

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A/N: pov - you have Paz’s first child

As always there’s tons of Mando’a with the translations right beside where it’s used because I’m obsessed with it.

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Paz Vizsla Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

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His lack of empathy is surprising, to an extent. But it’s not for lack of love, rather, a surplus of his senses. Focusing solely on this one goal, he holds you, grabs you, his motions rough and unforgiving. Every grab is possessive, his movements the product of his body’s full exertion. Your own feels raw, wet and used, but it’s everything you’ve ever wanted from him. He’s overwhelmed, and so are you.

“I’m going to take this body,” He grunts lowly, heavy breaths forced out of his nose. “Breed it and make it mine.”

“Paz,” Gasping, you reach for the blankets, searching for their grip in the darkness. 

It’s dim in your shared room, so far beneath Nevarro’s outer crust. Your surroundings are nearly black, but not entirely. He still wanted to see you, and you him. But the dimness has a purpose, serving to keep his facial features hidden from you. 

Repeatedly, you’re shoved into the mattress, feeling Paz absolutely ravage you. Both of those strong, calloused hands are centered on your hips, fingertips digging into the skin. His pelvis slaps against your backside with each deep plunge, your warrior’s chest heaving with passion. 

“Shh… cyar’ika, it’s okay.” He coos to you in that deep, desire filled voice. He’s quieting your cries, your pleading whines. “You can take it.” (Sweetheart) 

And then he’s pulling you up, linking one strong arm around your naked torso to pull you flush against him. Here, he stills, nuzzled his nose into your neck, and then your cheek. Still pressed entirely inside of you, he groans, twitching against your walls. 

Whispering gruffly into your ear, your soon-to-be tells you, “This is how it’s going to be… and this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” And you suppose he’s right, you couldn’t have expected anything less after you’d vehemently told him yes. “Now lay back down for me, lay beneath me…” Paz finishes, not allowing you a chance to speak. He knows you’re too dumb right now to do so, anyway. 

But outside of your bedroom endeavors, he didn’t consider you to be that way. Although, he did at first glance. Your introduction was… strange. Strange and uncommon. You’d been hiking the lava flats on Nevarro’s surface, finding and climbing the rare rock formations. And during an outdoor excursion, a group of Mandalorians stumbled across you, Paz being one of them. They’d claimed to be on a hunt, and immediately declared you foolish. What idiot would climb the crumbling lava flats? But as he sat back and watched, he saw how capable you were. He saw how expertly you navigated the terrain, the strength you had in your arms and legs, and the wherewithal to notice the Mandalorians without losing your grip. Coming down from the small mountains, you took a step back, stumbling into Paz’s chest. And before you could even utter a small hello, he was speaking - how did you do that?

It was then that you’d hooked him, you had his attention, his interest. And the more he discovered about you, the more impressed he became. Which genuinely shocked him, considering you show your face. 

“Gorgeous girl,” Paz huffs out above your body, “My gorgeous girl.” 

Maybe Paz could get over the fact that you didn’t follow the creed; he’s learned to respect your decision to show your face. But on the opposite end of that, that meant everyone else got to see you, too. And all those turning heads, it just didn’t sit well with him. It was something he couldn’t tolerate. Especially when those stolen glances often came from his own brothers. 

“Mine,” He seethes, dominant hand lifting in the air only to land firmly on your ass and fist it in his palm. “Mine.”

From the moment he brought you into the covert, every helmet turned your way, and their eyes haven’t left since. The excessive attention sharpened his senses, his possessiveness growing with every second. He never let anyone influence you, physically, emotionally, he made sure nothing could touch you. You’ve given his life so much more purpose, even more so than following the creed. You’ve promised him a legacy. 

And then, he asks you something that makes your heart pound, feeling him duck down to be even closer to your body. With his broad chest pressed into your back, he groans, whispering, “Do you like knowing my helmet is off?” 

The mere thought of his naked face made you quiver. He’s handsome, handsome in a way that would just kill you and you’ve never been more certain about anything.

“Like knowing how close my face is?” He continues, holding onto you tight. “How close my bare skin is to you?”

Paz’s voice is low as he says it, hot breath fanning over your ear. And it makes his own heart pound, being this vulnerable with you. He’s never been this vulnerable in his entire life, not with anyone, not even in private.

This purpose, his proposal, was made in private, with only the Armorer in attendance. He’d asked for her blessing first, as was custom. She was also to witness it. And while this was all perfectly intimate in every way, now, he didn’t want anything to be private. 

If he could, he’d fuck you in the gathering hall, for each and every Mandalorian to see. He’d take you in public, for anyone to see. As far as he's concerned, there’s nothing stopping him from pulling you aside in the market and claiming you in an alley. But most importantly, he wanted the covert to know. He was claiming you, mind, body, and soul. You were to be one for the rest of your lives, for eternity, and he didn’t want a single member of his tribe to be unaware of that.

“Yes,” You finally breathe out desperately, your voice cracking. “Maker, yes - yes Paz.” Even imagining your soon-to-be’s face feels wrong, sinful, but you can’t help it. Especially when he’s so close. Turning your head, you nuzzle gently into him, feeling the scruff on his cheek. But even this sweet gesture doesn’t distract him from his duty to you, to his house. 

“Paz, you - you’re,” Gasping, you cry out for him, eyes pinching shut. “Baby, you’re deep.” 

Sliding one hand around to your lower pelvis, he grunts, thick fingers finding your throbbing bundle of nerves. He only presses on it, and it’s enough for you to jolt back against him, shoving your hips into his body.

“Now I’m deeper.” He growls smugly, left hand still cemented to your hip. But he’s not as deep as he could be. 

Paz’s absolute favorite thing is bending you in half, making you even smaller than you already are to him. And now that he’s close to your body, he pulls out, massive hands gravitating to your hips as he yanks you around.

Plopping down onto your back, you sigh, a blissfully dumb smile on your face as he parts your thighs, sliding right back inside. It’s easy, your entrance slick and sore from him but ready, ready to be bred by him. And with your legs splayed open around his waist, he groans, thick fingers unforgiving on the thin skin of your hips. But then he’s reaching down, palms finding the bottoms of your thighs and shoving them toward your chest. Your knees flex up toward your breasts, thighs laying over your stomach and chest as he bends you in half. 

“Feel it deep?” And Maker, you could get lost in his voice. You have before - you are right now.

With heavy breaths, he releases one hand from your leg, using it to press into your lower stomach. He does so harshly, deeply, listening to your quiet yet pleasurable unff. He can feel himself, feel his tip prodding against the calloused skin of his hand. 

“That’s right where I need to be.”

Lifting your legs onto his shoulders, he presses his entire weight down into you. It forces you into a mating press, feeling him drive directly into your cunt, into the deepest parts of you that he can reach. 

Regardless of Paz’s pure strength, his brute force and mountainous size, you still yearned for him. Yearned for him in ways that could only be described as a sense of emotional aching. He’s breathing heavily above you, this mountain of a man, and it hurts your soul that you still cannot see him. But every inch of you can feel him, and for now, that makes up for it. And with this bulk of a man surrounding you, protecting you, you don’t think you’ve ever felt safer in your entire life. It’s clear to you, just as it always has been, that your place is here, beneath him.

But while you’ve never seen his face, and likely never will, he’s let you see every other inch of his body. He’s kept himself pure in that way and you’ve never pressured him to do otherwise. Never even asked for his name until he gave it to you, when he finally brought you home. And you’ve adored his body since the first night you saw him, his thick and bulging muscles, the tattoos covering so much of his skin. All over his chest, his sides, his thighs. His entire back is covered in them, his arms decorated with complete sleeves of intricate design. It made you shiver, seeing your warrior covered in this, in the stories of his past and his ancestors achievements. When he’s older, you're sure he’ll be included in the Mandalorian’s design. He’s everything a warrior should be, everything a father should be.

“Mesh’la,” He’s suddenly moaning out, head tilting down. “Mesh’la dala.” And then he’s leaning further in, kissing your ear while he declares, “A mesh’la buir.” (Beautiful, beautiful woman. A beautiful mother)

No one has ever stolen him in this way, his body and mind entranced by you. It’s taken everything in him to respect his creed, the thing he loves more than life itself, to not show you his face. And he has to remind himself that he should love it more than you, but he isn’t so sure anymore. 

The way Paz fucks you is sweet but raw, pure sexual instinct filling every ounce of his being. And while he’s fucking himself into you, he starts rambling, going on about your body, how well you take him, how well you’ve always taken him. 

“You will look angelic with my baby inside you.”

Leaning further into your body, his mouth finds your breasts, his lips warm and wet. They drag over your smooth skin, lips briefly sucking a nipple in. 

“And when these fill, mm…” Groaning, he lifts himself, biting into the space between your shoulder and neck. “Fill to the brim with sweet milk… so round and swollen… I will relieve them for you.” His promise makes you pulse around him, lips parting from your wanton moans. “I will suck on them when they are ripe and round in my hands, nourishing my ade into warriors.” (Children)

“Paz,” Gasping, you reach for him, clinging to the broadness of his shoulders. “Baby.”

Briefly, he mouths at them, worshiping their curves with his tongue and lips. He loved to lick them, suck on them as if they were already spilling with milk. His favorite thing was to fondle your chest, your beautifully soft and enticing curves. They drive him mad.

And between his filthy words he also promises himself to you. He promises to devote himself to you, telling you how in love he is with you, how badly he wants to become one with you, how badly he wants to breed you. He’ll stay by your side for the rest of his life, and whatever comes after it. He’ll watch you carry his children, raising them to be warriors alongside him, as many as you can make. He tells you that you’ll be a blessing to his family, to his clan. You already are.

“Alright, little one, my precious thing… daddy’s - ngh, daddy’s gonna cum, gonna fill you up…”

“Daddy…”

Forcing himself inside, an enormous breath leaves his chest, his girth throbbing against your walls and stuffed in to the hilt. You can feel the muscles in his abdomen twitch and curl as he presses himself against you, body weight crushing you comfortably. Sharp jerks perform from his pelvis, his biceps and forearms shaking as he groans. And you can feel it, the warm flood of his seed inside you, the thickness of it clinging to your inner walls and calling for home.

“Cyare,” Comes your lover’s deep, deep voice. “Ner cyare.” (Beloved, my beloved)

Leaning further in, he nuzzles you, rubbing his nose over your cheek affectionately. But you want more, and so you reach out for him. Grabbing onto those scruffy cheeks, you bring him in, finding those lips once again. 

“Ner riduur,” It comes out with a small cry, an emotional breath. (My husband)

“Soon.” Paz promises with another sweet kiss to your lips. 

And before you can say anything more, he’s pulling out with a groan and sliding down your body. Glancing down, you’re hoping to see him. But all you’re met with is darkness. Though, you already know what’s there, the sight of his glorious body. Thick and bulging muscles slick with sweat, shaft still half-hard and ready for you again. Paz’s girth was thick, veiny, and was always shiny with you after spending time in bed. 

“Baby…”

It’s not even a true thought, just something he does instinctually. Two fingers slide into his own mouth before moving through the mess he’s made of you, scooping any remnants up before plugging them between your legs. He wants to keep everything inside, but he also wants to make you cum. Sex with Paz wasn’t just about him, he always wanted to remind you of that. 

A low hum shivers through your entire being as he opens his mouth, tongue rolling forward to flick your clit. With his fingers stuffed inside, he curls them, warm mouth enveloping your pleasure center as he does it.

“Paz,” With your hands moving down, you quickly find his hair - it’s wavy, full of thin curls that make you grin. Absentmindedly, you wonder what color they are. You often daydream about him. Though, it’s hard to think about anything when he’s sucking on your clit.

He pleasures it, swirling his tongue around your most sensitive space until your juices begin to mix. Paz appreciates your hums, your girlish noises. Oh, how they come out so nice, pretty melodies swimming through the air. They give him clues, along with your fidgeting hips, to how close you are, how badly you’re wavering just on the precipice. And he knows how to coax you into that sea of bliss, with whatever part of himself he wishes. 

“B-Baby,” You’re stuttering, head falling back as your eyes close. And then he groans, feeling your nails dig into his hair. “Ner cyare, ner cabur…” (My love, my protector)

It’s almost like you’re working him, instead of the other way around. Because as soon as you utter those words, he’s hard again, mouth moving to devour you.

“Perfect,” He grunts, his entire body lighting up right alongside you.

His broad palm squeezes your thigh, massaging the meat of it while the fingers of his right hand keep his seed inside you. And while he’s focusing on handling you, you cling to him, grabbing onto his hair, his broad shoulders, anything you can. Your pelvis thrusts up against him, his moans muffled by it. 

It shivers through you, the entire sensation of it. Your insides hug the thick fingers penetrating you, your hips seeking more of his wet mouth’s touch. It’s almost as if your insides turn to jelly, your muscles giving out as he grabs onto your legs. And as you gradually begin to come down, the motions of your body slowing to a gentle roll, he finally detaches himself. 

“Cyar’ika,” A wet gasp is punctuated by the smack of his lips as he lifts himself from your center, crawling back over your body again. (Sweetheart)

Before his mouth returns to your lips, he lowers to your stomach. Paz’s scruffy chin and soft lips find the skin of your belly, placing gentle kisses. Both of those strong hands cup it, too, rubbing the area just above your pelvis. 

“Gedet’ye.” He whispers, eyes closing. Slowly, gently, he places his forehead against your belly, a sweet kiss to the child soon to be there. (Please)

And then he’s returning to you, that loving mouth finding your own with the wetness of your cunt smearing across your chin. Fervently, he kisses your face, all over it, every inch he can reach. And then his mouth is lifting to your temple, rubbing over your soft hair. But while Paz’s soft side is beginning to show, your more ravenous attributes are still out to play.

Continuing to miss the sight of your soon-to-be’s glorious body, you duck your head down, leaning forward to connect your lips to his skin. His thick pectorals are what you’re first met with, placing a sloppy kiss before biting in. And it makes him groan, his head dropping down. He wishes he could see you, too; you’ve always been the prettiest sight. But the two of you knew that when in bed, you had two choices. Helmet off, and in complete darkness, or, helmet on, with your bodies on display. And tonight, you both wanted kisses. 

“Dush dala…” Your lover grumbles, reveling in the feeling of your love bites. But his words are enticing, they betray him. (Bad girl…) 

Lifting your hand, you squeeze the muscles of his chest, sliding around to his bicep. And with his positioning, he’s still between your legs, his wet shaft sliding along your inner leg as he releases a deep, rumbling sigh. And you wonder if he’s hard again. You wouldn’t exactly mind it. 

“Have you practiced?”

“She has.” Paz answers before you even can. And it’s not out of a feeling of ownership or anything linked to misogyny. It’s because of his excitement. And you smile when she looks to you, wanting to confirm this.

“I have.” With a small nod, you keep your grin.

And it’s true, you’ve been practicing your Mando’a for years. You’re quite confident in your skills; even in front of the armorer, you have no sense of worry or fear. This is where you belong. Even if you cannot take the creed yourself, you are welcomed here. From now on, you’ll always be here with him. 

“And you wish for this trinket to be embedded with your words?” 

“I do.” Paz nods, handing the small piece to her. 

He never liked for you to go above ground, not without him, anyway. And so, he liked to bring you small gifts. Paz would be nothing if he weren’t as protective as he was doting. Nearly every day, he’d return with a present of some kind, flowers, beautiful stones, new books to read or songs to sing. His most recent gift was this ring. 

She chuckles. “I do not need it, not again.”

“Oh,” He sighs beneath his breath, looking down at the ring. “Right.”

It’s funny, you think. Funny and cute, just how nervous he is. She forged the ring, of course she doesn’t need to see it again. Made with the most sacred material, beskar. The closest you’ll ever come to taking the creed. Though, it isn’t plain; the precious steel has been painted a dark blue. And sitting atop it, a stone of aquamarine. Light and dark blue hues to match the House you will soon belong to.

With a small giggle, you reach forward, placing your tiny hand in his. “Cyare,” (Beloved)

And this seems to shake him out of that anxious state, his head immediately lifting to look at you. You, of all things, of all beings, that belongs to him, was made for him. He’s sure of it.

“Cyare.” He whispers gently in return, fingers curling around your hand. (Beloved)

“Are you ready to take your vows?” She then asks, turning her head toward you as she adds, “Are you ready to join with House Vizsla?” 

“Yes.” Is your immediate answer, looking directly into her visor with confidence and pride. 

“Are you ready to welcome this woman into your clan?”

“Yes.” And you swear you’ve never heard him speak so softly, so genuinely. Already, his voice has such sentiment behind it. 

Before this day, you discussed how your ceremony would go, since it had the slightly altered addition of your ring. And you decided together that it would go on first, with your vows to follow. So, that’s exactly what he does. 

Sliding it onto your left ring finger, Paz takes a breath, both hands quick to hold yours soon after. And then he nods, looking into your eyes. Together, you verbalize your vows, your promises, your intent. 

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde.” (We are one together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors)

With a wavering inhale, you release your emotions, taking your hands away from his and lifting them to the back of his neck. Paz’s strong palms find the small of your back, bringing you in just as you do the same to him. 

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.” Comes your hushed voice, eyes pressing shut as his forehead meets your own. (I love you)

He brings himself down to you, arms fully wrapping around your midsection as he gives you this gentle keldabe kiss. Quietly, he returns your loving words with just as much sentiment, his own voice faltering a bit. You can feel the firm squeeze of his hug, can hear the small, disbelieved chuckle he emits. 

“Thank you.” Suddenly turning your head, you give a firm nod to her, tears of joy springing in your eyes. She could have refused, had she deemed it appropriate to do.

“Thank you,” She responds, stepping forward. And now, Paz looks at her, too. “For aiding in the continuation of our most precious House.” 

Easily, naturally, his gaze returns to you, one warm palm reaching out to cup your face. “Riduur.” He nearly purrs, thumb stroking you lovingly. (Wife)

While meeting that familiar visor, the armorer speaks once again. As you gaze into the other’s eyes, she informs you of your results. 

“They have been delivered.” 

“Let us go.” He whispers to you, free hand reaching for your hip.

Nodding, you sigh, an eager smile forming on your lips. “Yes.” 

On the way back to your small, underground home, you’re greeted by many congratulatory cues. Proud nods, hands shaken and laid on shoulders as you pass. Vambraces clang together as you walk through the halls, echoing the sound of respect and admiration, and Paz couldn’t be more proud to have your hand in his. 

“What if it is negative?” You whisper to him, watching as he opens the doorway.

“Then we will continue trying.” He replies simpy, ushering you inside. 

Grinning, you eye the envelope, wandering aloud, “And what if it’s positive?”

A low hum vibrates into the air from behind your form, feeling those strong arms wrap around your midsection shortly after. Leaning down, he rests his chin on your shoulder, the metal of his helmet smooth and warm. 

“Then we will continue trying.” He rumbles, his tone sending a shiver up your spine. 

Displaying your amusement is your girlish hum, the thought of Paz breeding you without end a fascinating thought for both your mind and body.

The news of pregnancy was delivered via message, either physical or holographic, in Mandalorin culture. It was done this way for privacy purposes. The discovery of a pregnancy within a tribe was often an emotional revelation, and while you’re sure the entire covert will celebrate, you wanted to do so together, first. That is, if it’s positive. 

“Open it.” Paz then commands, nodding once toward the envelope. 

And with shaky hands, you do, inhaling a breath of confidence. His presence doesn’t leave you as you reveal the paper holding your results, his hold on you becoming tighter as the two of you read on. 

And the news is more overwhelming than either of you anticipated. 

This early on, you expected negative results. Though, it’s not like you hadn’t been trying before Paz’s proposal. But to immediately get a yes, a positive result, made a bout of tears spring to your eyes. 

“Paz…” 

But he’s already dropping to his knees. This ginormous hunk of a man falls behind you, arms still encircling your body. Turning in his hold, you grin, staring down at him.

“Cyar’ika.” And he almost sounds like he could be crying. (Sweetheart)

Immediately, his forehead is on your belly, his shoulders shuddering slightly. He’s nuzzling into you, rubbing his helmet over your covered torso, wishing with everything in him that he could rip his helmet off to kiss it, to kiss you.

“Thank you,” Your lover expresses, both in basic and traditional Mando’a. “Vor entye.” 

Lowering your hands, your tears follow, dripping onto his helmet as you hold the back of it, cradling him against you. “Paz,” Your voice is quiet, already cracking. 

Cabur, protector, and not only for you, but now for your child, too.

“Ner dala riduur, buir be ner adiik.” It’s like he can’t contain himself; whenever he was overcome with emotion, Mando’a became his only tongue. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.” (My beautiful wife, mother of my child. I love you)

He’s thanking you, praising you, repeating his love for you. Your doting husband, the love of your life. And soon, you’ll have a mini version of him. 

“Paz,” Chuckling, you adjust your hold on his helmet, tilting his eyeline up. “Did you read all of it?”

“I read positive.” He says, then shrugging and shaking his head. “What else is there to read?”

Smiling sweetly, you stroke the cheeks of his helmet, forever wishing it were instead his skin. “We are having a son.”

For a second, he stills, a pause in time. “A… son.”

And it’s not the fact that he wouldn’t be just as happy to have a daughter, it’s the fact that you already know the gender. It just makes everything that more exciting, that more real.

As soon as he’s standing, he’s hitting the switch, consuming you in pure darkness. The heavy thud of his helmet jostles the dirt floor, distracting you briefly before both of those broad hands grab your face. And a kiss like this doesn’t show lust, it shows love.

“I love you,” Paz’s deep voice rumbles, body pressing against your own. “I will always love you.” 

Just like that, just that easily, he’s pulling you into bed. But not for sex, for your warmth and presence. He strips down to his kute, you in your underclothes, too, before he wraps you in his arms beneath the blanket of your bed. You wouldn’t have the smallest clue by looking at him, but Paz was one, giant snuggler. It’d always been his strongest love language, physical touch. After all, it was the one sense he was denied the most. 

“You’re such a teddy bear,” Laughing, you wriggle against him, cuddling right into his hold. “I wish I could see you.”

It comes out before you can even stop it. You’ve never said anything like it and as soon as it comes out, you regret it.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Paz.”

“Don’t be.” His voice soothes you, shaking his head softly before kissing your temple. “If I were you, I’d feel the same way.” 

Something about that truly touches you. Not once did you ever expect to hear anything like that come from him. 

“R…Really?”

He only nods, releasing a small hum. “I wish I could show you. I’m not afraid to admit that.”

“Will… I ever know?” 

And to this, he smiles. “When you give me a baby,” He says, bulky arms holding you tight. “You’ll know when you see them.”

Inside, your heart chokes with affection, body curling into his chest. And while facing you, he holds you, legs intertwining with your own. And he can feel the curl of your lips against his skin, pressing forward briefly to kiss him.

“What should we call them?”

One warm hand runs down the back of your head, a low, thoughtful hum coming from him. 

“Ixtal,” He then decides on with a firm nod. “For a girl.”

“Ixtal Vizsla.” You accounce, your tone voicing your favor of this name. “What about for our boy?”

“You tell me, cyar’ika.” Paz coos to you, rubbing your back sweetly. (Sweetheart)

And you smile. You were wondering if he’d ask. 

“I like Ragnar.” 

[dragonridernoobie]

How Dream Sans act when they meet someone they like/love.

My request are still open!!!!

💫Friend Faze💫

How you guys met was by you finding him. You where walking home when you found him in a alley holding a broken arm.

He just got done fighting the bad sans(es).

Being the nice person you are you take him home and help him

This is where you're friendship starts.

He will come by alot to check on you to see if you where ok.

He loves being around you since you are filled with positive feelings.

I can also see him as that friend that will always make you happy and will help you to get out of a dark place.

Eventually you guys will get close enough together that he will tell you bis story and his happy that you don't judge him.

He will always come to you when he is free, since being with you almost feels like at hoke.

💘Crush Faze💘

When he realized he had a crush is when you where comforting him after a nightmare.

It was a dream about how he lost his brother.

When you held him, calming you down, you started to hum a soft tune.

This is where he is like (oh shit....I'm in love....)

Expect him to be more shy around you and trying to make you laugh.

He will always get you coffee and doughnut in the morning

He will always try to keep you more safe since he dosent want to lose you to nightmare.

He will also be a giant goof ball and stutters when talking to you.

This dude, fell HARD

💞Dating Faze💞

When he Confessed his feelings, he actually asked you out.

Came to you with roses, chocolate, a teddy bear, and got on one knee and asked you for the honor to take you out.

Obviously you said yes. (If you didn't, shame on you)

When you guys started to date, awwww man.

This dude is a cuddles.

Like, 24/7 no space, only cuddles.

I would say he Is a massive simp in certain situations.

He will always look Hella scary behind you if somone florts with you.

Did I mention cuddles?

He loves making you happy.

He also likes cuddles.

🚫NSFW🚫

Ok, so this is where I don't know which he is.

Because I see him as a bottom and a top.

I see him being horny and not horny.

So I'm gonna do this.

This dude is horny when you are. If you want to be top, he will be bottom. If you want to be ravaged (😏), then he is top.

I don't see this man into nest, probably just fine with cuddling on a bed or couch.

But dude....even tho this man is only horny when you are, he is kinky.

Kinks: edging, oral, anul, 69, toys, praise kink, magic use???, bandage, public sex.

This dude is packing a whole 7 inches. His gurth is also good.

Gonna do nightmare next since the poll was 50/50. Hope you enjoyed this! Please request if you want to! I'm always open!

[xoruffitup]

The Complementarity and Divergence of Furiosa & Dementus, A(n Obsessive) Meta

Fresh off Furiosa Round 4, I’m full of thoughts about how the film mirrors and contrasts Furiosa and Dementus’ hero/villain journeys. We see both characters evolve and grow through the 5 chapters of the film, moving through distinct phases of change. We see them each fighting a similar struggle to keep not just their lives, but some shred of humanity amid the ravages of the wasteland.

Their journeys are intimately intertwined, their decisions wreaking profound effects on the other. Their parallel arcs explicitly converge in their final confrontation, not just physically but thematically:

(Forgive the vaguely remembered dialogue lol)

“I was just like you, craving a belly full of vengeance after my beauties were taken from me so cruelly, immutably.” “I’m nothing like you.” “You are. Searching for some sensation to push away the inky black. We are the already dead, Little D.” 

Dementus’ color-changing cloak and the teddy he and Furiosa each, at some point, possess are the physical symbols of their progression along what is ultimately the same character trajectory.

Dementus is coded first in white, then in red, then in black. Though more subtly, Furiosa progresses through the same three stages: innocence -> trial -> temptation/corruption. The question, however, is exactly when, where, and whether Furiosa is able to disentangle herself from the example Dementus has laid before her.

So let me break this down one movie chapter at a time! I’m going to try to hit their key qualities at each stage, and explore how they move in ways both in complement and opposition to each other as the film progresses.

1. The Pole of Inaccessibility  Consider two lesser-used definitions of “pole”: 1) "each of the two opposite points on the surface of a magnet at which magnetic forces are strongest"; 2) "one of two opposed or contradictory principles or ideas." This first chapter is where the two mighty opposing forces of Furiosa and Dementus are introduced. Furiosa: Youthful, innocent, brimming with a vibrancy of compassion. The first shot we see of her, she’s taking a risk to pick a second peach – the peach meant for Valkyrie. Even as Valkyrie whispers “We should go,” Furiosa is resolved to carry through this act of altruism. 

Dementus: Maybe, once upon a time, he wasn’t The Worst. :) Even though in Chapter I he’s already halfway there, there’s a distinct difference between who he is at the start of the film vs its end. No question, he’s already power hungry and reprehensible. What he does to Mary and Furiosa is plenty proof of that. However, we meet him as a man in control. Control over himself, over his people, over his rage and his passions. We’re first introduced to him as a pseudo-scholar, even, as he sits in his white cloak listening to the History Man’s oral treatise. He is the single calm, steadying presence in the tent, as his men whip themselves into frenzy trying to find a bearing to the Green Place. He’s a self-assured, calculating figure, set on achieving his goal – no matter the gruesome means. 

Convergence: Dementus recognizes the strength and fire in Furiosa, in her determination to hide her home. He then inflicts Furiosa’s character-defining loss and trauma. (“You must not look away.”) It bears noting, though, that his torture of Mary is not for its own sick sake – he does it in attempt to get information out of her, or out of Furiosa by forcing her to watch. He has a practical goal in mind. But later, he will become increasingly willing to engage in sadism for lesser justifications.

2. Lessons From The Wasteland  Furiosa grows up exposed to Dementus’ ‘lessons’ of what constitutes strength in the wasteland. Will she adopt his teachings?

Furiosa: We cover a lot of ground here. Her captivity in Dementus’ horde, her being traded to Immortan Joe, and her slipping out from both her captivity and her female-presenting gender as she begins her rise through the power hierarchy of the Citadel. Without doubt, her time in Dementus’ horde refines her hatred towards him (recall that shiver-inducing moment when she’s sitting in her cage and muzzle, glowering at Dementus with absolute abject hate in her eyes), but her defining trait at this point appears to be apathy as a pointed form of resistance.

She never responds when Dementus speaks to her. When he first tries to give her the teddy, she drops it in the sand. She turns away even from the History Man, when he offers to teach her. Her silence, her refusal to acknowledge her situation or surroundings, is a constant and restless rebellion. She does not and never will accept these people as her own, will never allow herself to become part of Dementus’ world. She builds invisible yet impenetrable walls around herself – in self-defense, to some degree, but also to make sure Dementus never forgets. She does not and never will belong here, nor will she belong to him. She sure as hell will never forget. This sense of self-separation from her surroundings as a form of internal resistance continues once she enters the Citadel. She draws resilience from her seed, holding it against her forehead and hardening her resolve to become whoever and whatever it takes for her to escape this place. She cuts her hair, slips away into the ungendered shadows of the Citadel, and then begins her rise from invisibility to dogman. She may be willing to strip away all outer signs of her true self, but all is in service of ultimately returning to that identity in the only place where it will be safe to do so – back home in the Green Place.

Dementus: The first scene of this chapter (the five-bike teddy), establishes two crucial aspects of his character. 1) This man looooves to put on a fucking show. He loves to yap in as theatrical and over-the-top a manner as possible. He thrives on having an audience, and will gas up both his charisma and brutality as much as necessary to hold it. 2) He once had and lost a family. The first time he hands the teddy to Furiosa, he tells her it once belonged to his little ones. 

Then, the scene where he meets the lone war boy and learns of the Citadel. The moment when the true games of power commence. Here, Dementus ascends into a new playing field – a grander, more high-stakes cause. His formerly white cloak is dyed red by the flare of skyblood, as he thrills at the idea of a new class of power, as he tastes a new form of greed. The corruption takes him quickly. To besiege Gastown, he’s willing to sacrifice his own men. The Octoboss’ outrage (“You’re scum, Dementus!”) shows this to be a decisive break from whatever level of collateral damage Dementus accepted up to this point. Then, with Gastown under his thumb, he seizes his place among the rulers of the wasteland fortresses. He wants to be called “the great Dementus” now.

Convergence: Dementus doesn’t just try to claim Furiosa as his daughter, he tries to remake her in his own image. In giving her the teddy he carries as a memento of his own children, he attempts to saddle and shape her with the same mantle of loss. She’s lost her family, just like he has. In a twisted way, he thinks that by tearing her mother from her, he’s helped strengthen her. (“It made this one tough enough to survive whatever comes. I did that for her. I did that for her,” he says to Immortan Joe and partially to Furiosa herself, admitting that he did, as Furiosa clarifies, “slaughter my mother.”) He knows what havoc that loss wrought on him, and expects it to warp Furiosa in the same way. He calls her “Little D” not really because he sees her as his child, but as a burgeoning version of himself. Yet despite all his alleged suffering, he’s resolute and powerful enough to command his horde. He holds himself in high regard, and seems to think that in time Furiosa will come around to see things his way. In time, she will become like him – a bit unwound, a lot formidable. She’ll rise to the mantle of “Little D,” no matter how viciously she rejects and decries the name now, along with any association with him at all. 

But this changes when she at last speaks – as she voices her firm “No” when Joe asks whether Dementus really is her father. With one word, she decries and rejects the path Dementus has tried to lay before her – the path mirroring his own. While it’s clear that Dementus, to some extent, entered the negotiations with Furiosa as a back-pocket bargain chip (why else is she swathed in bridal-veil white, like an offering), I’m not convinced it was all a negotiation tactic when he objects, “No, she’s not for sale. She’s mine.” But after she speaks, after she rejects his claim on her, his resistance evaporates. He trades her without a parting word, and snatches the teddy back from her hands – the mantle of his grief and his struggle; the symbol of lost innocence, replaced with demented, heartless violence.

This is a burden she rejects. She will grow from her loss and her trauma in her own way. She’d rather throw herself into unknown dangers, onto the questionable mercy of Immortan Joe, than remain under Dementus’ influence. In this, she will not be apathetic or distanced.

3. The Stowaway  In a sense greater than just stowing away under the war rig, Furiosa stows away amid the operations of the Citadel itself, waiting until the time is right to steal away from this society completely.

Furiosa: This is her crucial period of independent growth, separate from any warlord’s influence. By escaping from the vault (and from Rictus), she begins to define survival on her own terms. By working her way steadily, stealthfully up the Citadel’s ranks, she strives for the access to resources and freedom of movement that will enable her eventual escape. Everything she does is calculated, everything serves the long-term utility of making her way home. 

She becomes a part of the hierarchy and ecosystem of the Citadel, now, breaking from her earlier self-isolation. Yet her driving force, her values, her purpose never waver. She remains steadfastly fixed on her goal of escape. She cares only for ascension and status if it serves her ultimate purpose of returning home. Her loyalty is first and solely to the Green Place and the sisters she left behind there.

This does not change, per se, when she makes her deal with Jack and becomes Praetorian at his side. What draws her to Jack, what inspires her trust and devotion to him is the way he embodies the very qualities of her home and her people – the very things she’s fighting to return to. In Jack, she rediscovers a bit of that comfort, that compassion and selflessness that has been her dream for so long. He brings a piece of the home she’s fighting for into her life at the Citadel, and with this reminder comes reassurance that her dream is real, her dream is possible. 

He wants to help her while asking nothing for himself in return. He is the first to see her for the true version of herself – the version that belongs not to the Citadel and Immortan Joe, but to some distant, unknown place of promise. He believes in this true version of her even before she confides its evidence in him, when she shows him the peach pit. Her loyalty doesn’t become split between Jack and the Green Place; they reinforce each other. She cherishes him and their bond because he represents all that she’s been fighting towards all this time: the truth that there is moreto her existence, more to the human heart than the raw, selfish lust for survival and sustenance. 

I saw a brilliant post that contrasted Dementus and Jack’s influences on Furiosa. On one hand, there’s the narcissism in which Dementus tried to “train” her as a child into his same brand of hatred and violence – how Furiosa had to become “indispensable” to Dementus if she wanted his protection. By contrast, Jack trained her in road war so that, one day, he would become dispensable to her. (hahaha kill me please. ;__;) 

With Jack at her side and his presence reminding her that what she seeks is something real, something tangible, she is driven by hope more powerful than ever before. Her return to the Green Place – to its physical abundance but also the altruism, compassion, and kinship it represents – feels closer at hand than ever before.

(No Dementus or Convergence section here, this chapter belongs to her and Jack alone <33)

4. Homeward Bound  More than just her and Jack’s plan to make for the Green Place together; forging her bond with Jack already brings her closer to the memory of the Green Place (closer to home) than she has been since she was taken.

And now…. THE PAIN.  Furiosa: I would argue this is the chapter of the film where her character arc is most sharply and deeply altered. As she and Jack approach the Bullet Farm, their joint purpose is clear: leave all of this behind and drive off together to something better, something kinder. 

But then, Jack is trapped inside, she outside, enemies between them. Furiosa is immediately torn. She has her escape vehicle, bikes, food and supplies all ready for the leaving. Her route back home is literally laid out before her feet. But driving away would mean abandoning Jack behind that gate, leaving the person who made it all possible to certain death. 

He fires the green flare in a bid for her to leave him behind. He’s going to stay, he’s going to keep Dementus and his horde occupied while she escapes, he’s going to fight for her and her Green Place in his own way. 

But seeing that green flare is what makes Furiosa realize she couldn’t possibly drive away. Because what would she be driving towards, if she abandoned him? If she leaves behind the one person in whom she’s confided her true self, her greatest secret – wouldn’t that mean that the part of the Green Place she’s carried with her all this time has finally died away? 

We’re reminded of Mary choosing to spare the woman’s life when she rescued Furiosa in Chapter I. This post beautifully pointed out that the narrative never frames such acts of mercy as wrong or foolish, no matter their tragic consequences. As the audience, we want to see Mary’s essence live on in her daughter. We want to see that mercy survive – that belief in the inherent good in people that separates the Vuvalini from the wasteland warlords. That is the mantle we want to see Furiosa carry with her as she grows. 

What Furiosa chooses here isn’t about the pragmatism of survival. This is the wasteland. Stupid, reckless, suicidal decisions are made every single day without a moment’s hesitation. When she makes her choice and backs the car up, she shows a kind of strength most in the wasteland have forgotten. She proves that she remains faithful to all the Green Place represents – she proves that she is incorruptible, indominatable.

Dementus: Meanwhile, Dementus is having a rough week. While he might excel in the kind of kamikraze maneuvers that won him Gastown, turns out he’s not so great at running things. When Furiosa sees him through the window of the rig during the nearly-disastrous supply trade at Gastown, it’s the first time she’s seen him since childhood. He’s grey, grizzled, and worn down. As then becomes clear through his behavior in the Bullet Farm fight and ensuing chase, his hold on reason and control is becoming ever more attenuated. 

He has little to no boundaries anymore – everything is acceptable collateral. He uses one of his men as a human shield against Furiosa’s sniper rifle. He taunts and mocks his own henchman. (“The other arm! Have you lost your touch!?” when his people string up Furiosa by her uninjured arm.) His grandstanding evil-villain speech once Furiosa and Jack are caught no longer feels commanding or delightfully bombastic – now it rings of the desperate ravings of a mad man on the edge. 

He knows he’s losing control – of Gastown, and his ever more tenuous hold on his position in the tripartite trade route. He needs to bargain for more food and water for the people of Gastown if he wants to avoid a full-scale riot, but can’t increase guzzoline output to get it. In taking over the Bullet Farm, he’s made a desperate move from which he knows there’s no going back. Either he consolidates his hold on two fortresses of the wasteland and forces the Immortan to agree to his terms, or he’ll be destroyed by Joe and the Bullet Farmer in alliance. 

Convergence: And then Furiosa and Jack arrive, and blow the Bullet Farm sky high. (“The day I take over the Bullet Farm, these two destroy it!”) Dementus’ risky new conquest is worth nothing, and he’s left with nothing but the consequences – an army surely soon bearing down on him. 

But then, even after being caught, Furiosa and Jack commit what is, to Dementus, an even graver crime. They strip him of the power on which he relies most: his eager, fearful audience, hanging on his every word. They render him invisible, utterly inconsequential as they refuse to listen or even look at him, as they refuse to break down in the misery and hopelessness he so desperately tries to instill in them. They are beyond his reach, absorbed in only each other. Dementus captured them, yet he finds he has no power to disrupt, destroy, or even to intrude into their final moments together. (What’s that on my keyboard? Oh just TEARS)

He makes a big deal out of the bond that clearly exists between them, yet does not show contempt towards their shared devotion. Instead, it is an ugly, raw kind of envy. They remind him not only of what he once had and lost in his family, but how bleak of a destination the path he forged through his loss has led him to. (“Look how they fought for each other, this army of two. Where were they going, so full of hope? There is no hope!”) 

For him, loving another person leads to only one thing: loss, darkness, hopelessness. All that remains to him is his crusade for conquest, growing more empty, more futile by the day. But now, even as Furiosa and Jack face certain death, even as they find themselves at the end of their shared road, they don’t succumb to the inky black. They’re untouched by it, invulnerable to the ravages Dementus is so convinced await anyone foolish enough to love. How dare they continue to believe in their love, continue to draw strength from it, even when its life has been cut short?

“You two break my heart. You make me the dark Dementus,” he says, sounding not only enraged but distinctly mournful. And so he descends even deeper into his own darkness. We were first introduced to him shrouded in white, then witnessed his transformation into the Red Dementus, as his lust for power took a taste to warlord status. Now, his cloak accumulates more and more black, his soul growing more tarnished by the day.

But what of Furiosa? Her moment of resolve at the gates of the Bullet Farm was her strongest commitment yet to the values and compassion she’s secretly harbored in her heart all this time. Those final moments she shared with Jack were also proof that acting in love and tenderness grants a singularly invincible kind of strength - a kind the wasteland cannot touch (even if only for a moment).

But something happens to her here, as she witnesses Jack’s torment, as she watches her dream of escape broken across the sands. 

“Rage, fueled by grief,” says the History Man’s voiceover, as Furiosa cuts her hair (with Jack’s knife, stab me plz) back at the Citadel, reborn as the avenging angel she’s about to become. 

Before this moment, though, we see her choose to return to the Citadel. She’s out in the desert on her own, with a bike, and she conceivably could have gone anywhere, even headed east as she originally planned. (Though the blood loss from her arm and lack of supplies considerably narrowed her choices…) Even after she crawls out from the maggot den, she could have easily blended into the anonymous mob and slipped away forever. Immortan Joe would never know what happened to her and Jack on that ill-fated supply run, after all.

Instead, she makes her way to the platform and demands entry to the Citadel. “I am the Praetorian Furiosa!” she screams. This moment is the first time she lays iron-clad claim to her identity within the Citadel’s ranks. This is the first time she vocally embraces her status within its power structure. As a dogman, she was silent and efficient, earning her keep while doing her best to avoid undue notice. Even being Praetorian was merely a disguise for what she and Jack both knew to be her true motives, her true allegiance. After being ambushed and losing Jack, she could have walked away from the disguise and this whole world for good. She could have decided that there was nothing here worth fighting for, and let herself wither away beneath the weight of all her loss.

She decidedly does not. Dementus’ attempts to break her, to crush her spirit and her hope for good, had the exact opposite effect. He gave her a reason to put her own skin in the game at last, a reason to finally leverage the influence she’s slowly accumulated over all these years towards a new goal – to take her place shoulder-to-shoulder with the men who claim dominance over this land and its resources. But unlike them, her goal is not hegemonic control and enforced subservience. Her goal is vengeance.

At this juncture, she stands on a razor-thin precipice between finding and losing herself. Jack’s death has tipped the scales towards tying herself, in some way, to the power struggles of the wasteland. But remember, her love for Jack is one and the same as her enduring love for the Green Place and all it represents. They are each borne of her compassionate heart. But it is now that same heart that craves glorious and bloody vengeance for the loss of all that was dear to her. 

Now, after this devastating blow to her fragile, ever-threatened faith that people can be different from the cruelty of the wasteland, will that faith endure? Or will it be snuffed out for good – leaving her a dark, revenge-ridden fury who decries feeling as weakness, just like Dementus?

5. Beyond Vengeance  The final stage in Furiosa’s journey – transforming into someone driven by, yet neither defined nor consumed by vengeance. She is strong enough to control its force, and to discover a new life beyond it.

Furiosa: This post brilliantly pointed out the parallels between chapters I and V. Furiosa grows from captive to huntress. Like her mother before her, she pursues a lone group of bikers across the sands, sighting them in the scope of her sniper rifle. Like in chapter I, the chase ends with Furiosa coming face-to-face with Dementus. Only this time, she is the one in control and he rendered powerless. 

She appears as a vengeful, righteous force – the darkest of angels. Her pursuit will not be stopped, her hunger for retribution will not be slaked.

Dementus: “I have nothing. I am nothing,” he tells the approaching Furiosa, holding his hands in the air. And it’s true. He’s lost his fortresses, lost his horde. He’s even, by his own doing, lost the most loyal of his former followers. Without a second thought, he offered them each up as bait in effort to escape the justice he knew was coming for him alone. He has no morals, no scruples, no power, no defenders, and no heart. 

Convergence: Furiosa first appears to Dementus swathed in his own blackened cloak. For all that she refuted his attempts to shape her in his own image as a child, his murder of Jack and destruction of her dream of escape have awakened in her the exact kind of ravenous, pitiless black hole Dementus was convinced lay in her future after her mother’s death. The black hole of vengeance to whose edge he tried to drag her to, right along with him. Now, she removes her face covering and looks down at him with eyes brimming with all the fervor of that black, icy hate he once tried to instill in her. It’s a satisfying kind of poetic justice, perhaps, that he himself becomes its target in the end.

Here, appropriating his blood and shadow-soaked cloak, she becomes the dark Furiosa – complement to his dark Dementus. But will that darkness consume her, the same way it has him? Or will she become its master, tempering its edge and its fury to serve her own ends? 

It bears remembering that it is only after Jack’s death that her path shifts from escape to retribution. Her hatred for Dementus never faded, but she long understood that to pursue vengeance against him would be to tie herself to the hateful, heartless ways of this wasteland world; it would threaten not just her physical but her spiritual escape – it would jeopardize her ability to reawaken a softer, kinder version of herself that knew the love of the Vuvalini. 

But now, Dementus has foreclosed that choice to her. She can’t return to who she used to be, because of all he’s taken from her – not just her loved ones, but the heart that loved them in the first place. “My mother, my childhood, I want them back.” Her heart and soul are world-weary; her faith in the promise of the Green Place struggles to endure. For how can such a place, in all its beauty and abundance, truly exist in a world where both her mother and Jack were tortured to death? How can she keep her faith in a world where the kind-hearted meet such grisly ends?

But then: “I’ll hear it. I’ll hear it for the rest of my days. I’ll feel the kickback in my hand.” Her course is set. There is no question that she’s going to kill Dementus, right here and now. But the larger question begins to come to the fore: what will killing him do to her? Will it heal her or only further hollow her heart? Will this vengeance be what defines her forevermore?

She sheds the cloak. She cuts the teddy from Dementus’ belt and holds it in her hand, regarding it. And this is the moment where she must confront her future. When Dementus at last recognizes her as the girl whose life he destroyed, and she must choose her path: to follow his or to leave it, for good.

“I’ve been waiting for you, for someone worthy of me,” he says, seeing himself in her, at last. Trying to wrest some small victory from this. He is in awe of her, but only as an extension of himself.

“I am nothing like you,” she spits. She says the words with blistering conviction, but the tear that slips down her face belies her certainty. Because she knows that he has chipped away at her soul, that she stands before him, tormenting him in her own way, only because of all he’s done to her. She knows, in truth, that there’s no possible way for her to claim victory from this confrontation. Whatever she does to him, whatever “righteous perversity” she inflicts on him in the name of justice, it will have been his influence that made her capable of it in the first place. She hits him again, again, again, and with each blow she only chips away at herself a bit farther; her soul only becomes a bit more enervated.

“You can never balance the scales of their suffering. … You’re never going to get anything close to what you want,” Dementus taunts her. Inescapably, he’s right. Furiosa’s strength lies in her difference from the violence-hungry men of the wasteland, who dole out only savagery and hoard all else for themselves. No matter how much Dementus deserves torment and execution, killing him will only draw her deeper into the midst of such men. 

She drops the teddy into the sand. She steps off the path he tried to set for her. She glares down at Dementus for the last time, her eyes at once hard with hate for him and soft with tears for herself.

And here: the film’s masterstroke of a conclusion. The film’s core premise is not simply a matter of warmongers vs pacifists; male violence vs female nurture; good vs evil; justice vs chaos. This world is not so black-and-white as all that. In the end, Furiosa’s moral convictions are treated with the same mercurial fluidity and indefinability as her gender presentation. In the film’s final minutes, in the way her final vengeance takes on the elusive shape of myth, she is transformed into a being superior to all such reductive classifications. 

She need not choose between the ways of the Vuvalini and the men of the wasteland – she can be both. Her presence and power are vast enough to harness the dichotomy for her own empowerment, her own self-determination. She can harness her rage, her blistering fury, her spitting hate – and she can channel it towards a cause of protection, even an act of creation. She can inflict a singularly gruesome, twisted form of torture on Dementus, and from it grow fruit to nourish faith in the future. She can seize and co-opt the male-dominated levers of power, and turn them towards her own ends. She can wield savage “male” strength to challenge all that makes it “male” to begin with. 

And yet, for all this bold indeterminacy, one thing remains concretely unquestionable. Her faith and her love endure. More than that – they are her driving force. They are what sets her apart, what makes her singularly formidable even beneath the weight of loss and heartbreak. Such is her final triumph. At heart, she ends the film unchanged from how she began: plucking a piece of fruit, the priceless treasure to be gifted to another.