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maddiethedogstories · 5 months ago

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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

#Ab/dl #ab/dl mommy #ab/dl story time #ab/dl diaper #ab/dl kink #ab/dl couple #ab/dl community #ab/dl caption #diaper regression #diaper captions #humiliation kink #humiliation captions #The Birthday

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whiskeynwriting · 2 years ago

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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

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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.”

#Paz baby please #oh my GOD #DADDY #Paz Vizsla #I need you.#Paz Vizsla x you #Paz Vizsla x reader #Paz Vizsla x female reader #Paz Vizsla smut #Paz Vizsla fluff #Paz Vizsla fanfiction

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dragonridernoobie · 10 months ago

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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!

#headcanon #dreamtale #dream sans #dream sans x reader #sans x reader

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symbiote-siblings · 5 months ago

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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!

#symbiotesona #symbiote sona #teddy and ravage #ic #furby the dog

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xoruffitup · 5 months ago

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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.

#Furiosa #Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga #furiosa a mad max saga #Furiosa meta #Furiosa analysis #Mad Max

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merinsedai · 27 days ago

Text

Rooftops of London snippet 5

for @dreamlingbingo

Snippet 5/5 for my WIP: The Rooftops of London :)

Square/Prompt: A4: Domestic (plus adoptable prompt: Humming)

Title: The Rooftops of London

Rating: T

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Warnings: n/a

Additional Tags: Second Chance, Mary Poppins AU, yes you read that correctly, Dream is Mary Poppins, Hob is Bert, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus is Good with Kids, popping in and out of paintings, teaparties on the ceiling, Developing Relationships, potential flying of kites, Will Roderick Burgess be redeemed? Is it possible? Who knows, read on and find out, fat pigeons

Summary: In 2025, Dream awaits Death as the Kindly Ones ravage the Dreaming.

In 1910, two young boys send out an advertisement for their perfect nanny.

or, the tale of Dream attempting to Mary Poppins his way out of his 20th century nightmare

Read the first chapter on AO3 here

And snippet 1 here

And snippet 2 here

And snippet 3 here

And snippet 4 here

Final snippet (I think) featuring a late-night moment between Dream and Alex

“Morpheus?” A tiny voice draws Dream attention back to the Waking world, and he blinks back into his body at number 17 Cherry Tree Lane. Alex is standing in his doorway, all sleep-tousled hair and bleary eyes. Bleary, wet eyes now Dream looks properly. And a tremor running through his small body that has nothing to do with the coolness of the night, and everything to do with fear. “I had a nightmare,” the child mumbles, clutching his Steiff teddy bear to his chest.

Dream takes a second to look into Alex and take in the shape of his nightmare. Amorphous shapes coalescing into normal childhood fears: darkness, an unknown, frightening creature giving chase. Nothing, fortunately, pointing to any of his adventures with Dream; and nothing, more surprisingly, about the loss of his mother. He holds his hand out to the boy and beckons him forwards.

Alex hesitates, visibility steeling himself before stepping forward. And Dream’s lips tighten at the realisation that part of this fear-perhaps the majority- is not from the residual memories of the nightmare, but of Dream’s reaction to his presence. The little boy thinks he is going to be scolded for disturbing him. Thinks he is going to be shouted out and rejected; sent back to bed with a brusque admonition and no comfort. And yet, still he has come.

And Dream has lived fatherhood before, and left it with many hurts and regrets. With his own son… with Orpheus… there had been a time, in the brief flame of Orpheus’s childhood where he had found being a father the most wondrous and joyous of gifts. No ask was too big, no comfort too small. But childhood flies quicker than the wind and now there is no way to fix what has been broken. No way to put right the wrongs of the past. Though he has not seen his son in countless centuries, he knows his wants and dreams as if they are his own. And what Orpheus wishes for, his father does not have the courage yet to face.

But that is the past and the future. Here in the present, in this new century, there is another child who needs him in that simple, trusting way of the very young. Not a child of his own blood but one he is coming to… feel some affection towards nonetheless. And this is a comfort he finds himself more than willing to provide.

So Alex comes to him on hesitant feet and Dream lifts him onto his lap, lets the little boy settle his body against his, head tucking into Dream’s neck and little hand curling around his lapel.

“Would you like to tell me of it?” he says quietly, and Alex shakes his head, exhaling heavily and melting into Dream’s embrace.

“Very well,” Dream folds one arm around the boy, holding him close, and with the other he rubs soothing circles on his back. “Rest here awhile. You are safe with me.”

“Aren’t you going to send me back to bed?” Alex asks in a small voice. Dream turns his head to rest his cheek gently atop Alex’s head and closes his eyes briefly. “Not yet,” he whispers, “Not yet… you can close your eyes and rest. I shall not leave you. It is ok.” He looks to the banked fire and it bursts back to life; he thinks a rocking chair would better serve his purpose than this overstuffed armchair and so it becomes one. Manipulating the Waking still takes more effort than not, but it is worth it.

And though he could use his powers to send Alex to the Dreaming with just a thought, he does not. Instead he sits and rocks them both gently, humming an ancient, forgotten lullaby; one he had forced himself to forget for more than two millennia but has now returned to the forefront of his mind. Very quickly, Alex’s breathing slows, and his body goes heavy with sleep, fist going slack on Dream’s coat. He should get up and return him to bed, yet instead Dream sits and rocks them, holding Alex close, staring unseeing at the flames and thinking of little boys and the precious gift of their trust.

#dreamling #dreamling fanfic #sandman fanfic #Dreamling bingo #dreamling bingo 2024

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cozzzynook · 5 months ago

Note

Soundwave learning about the mech who didn't just steal Hot Rods art but dared to profit from the picture of his dead sparkling.

He immediately rushed to find Rodimus knowing he was having a hard time and needing to be with him.

The two of them end up cuddled together. Holding the picture of their sparkling as they traded memories. Discussing ways to make a memorial for their sparkling and the people of Nyon.

A Functionalist guard had been attacking a group of sparklings. When theirs got in the way wanting to protect their friends. The guard shoved them to the ground where they hit the edge of the curb and died on impact.

Soundwave had been enraged after. Grieving and wanting Cybertron to burn. That's when he decided to join the Decepticons. Wanting them to pay for what they did. He made the guard suffer for hurting his sparkling.

Without a doubt when Soudnwave finds out someone stole art of his sparkling he goes on a rampage and offlines the mech but only after torturing them.

He shows up to Rodimus place covered in life energon with his em field completely distraught and in disarray but only Rodimus can tell. He’s always been able to read soundwave and he knows what and how to look for his emotions behind what he’s projecting.

drift and ratchet are reasonably worried and a little afraid but Rodimus just walks right up to Soundwave and holds him.

They can’t see it but Rodimus knows Soundwave is crying behind the mask for the loss of their sparkling and the reminder that they’ll never have them back.

The two don’t know what to when Rodimus says he’ll be back.

He goes off with Soundwave holding the mech steady and they collapse in a nest that Rodimus makes. They hold each other, crying over the bitty they lost because of the functionalists and their cruelty.

Rodimus regrets not going with Soundwave and he regrets not helping him kill everyone involved. But soundwave could never fault him for doing nothing because thats all rodimus could do.

He didn’t eat. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t fuel or speak. He was just a shell of himself that held their sparklings teddy. He could barely bring himself to vent or online.

Rodimus did not do well and soundwave didn’t either.

They never hated or blamed each other and they never fell out of love..they simply went two different directions and it was too painful to come back.

“I should go..they’re probably worried,” Rodimus spoke. Soundwave shouldn’t ask him for more time not when Rodimus was with him for two days.

“Stay,” the words left before he could stop them. When it came to Rodimus he was always like this.

“…I can’t do that to them…”

“I should’ve taken you with me,” Soudnwave left him with the autobots so he could get the help he needed to live again. By the time he was better Megatron had become a tyrant and Soundwave didn’t want him in danger.

He doesn’t say anything because he knows it’s a betrayal if he does.

“Stay with Ravage and Megs for awhile, I’ll come check on you,” he can’t help smooth Soundwaves cheek and make sure all four of his optics were healthy. Sometimes two of them could become strained or lazy.

“Eat a little more too,” he couldn’t help himself, taking care of Soudnwave was like the stars hanging in the galaxy.

He felt a prick on his neck cable and felt embarrassed, “thanks,” he looked away smiling.

He’d forgotten his spark medicine.

“You still carry that around? Doesn’t it take up space?”

“I’ve always carried it with me. It could never be a waste,” he felt thin digits brush his neck cable and he stopped himself.

“I should go,” he kept his optics from meeting Soundwave, “we should meet again…maybe its time..maybe its time we made a place for them. For..for him and our friends..Krusher would love a scare popper for his memory,” that made Rodimus and Soundwave laugh. Krusher was a friend of Soudnwaves when he was a gladiator, the mech used to love scaring people and he loved when Rodimus made cookies.

“Lets,” Soundwave brushed a digit along Rodimus’s helm and the two stared at each other for a long until Rodimus looked away.

“I have to get back…thank you Soundwave. For everything.”

He didn’t let his em field reveal anything but he didn’t have to.

Soundwave already knew.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long we-”

He was wrapped in a tight hug from Drift and he felt Ratchet scanning him for injuries and lack of nutrients.

“Roddy! Are you okay?”

“Get yer aft on the chair now, you need fuel and you took yer meds late!”

Ratchet gripped him gently and brought him over to the chair where he sat him down and put a medical grade fuel in front of him.

“Sorry…I..we just..we didn’t do anything! I swear! We just…we’re gonna make a memory spot for them..all of them and our..for all of them.”

No matter how long its been, he still could never say it.

“Kid..it’s alright..everyone has a history..though we didn’t expect it to be that or with soundwave of all mechs. I mean seriously how do you go from his type to us?”

“Ratty!”

“What?! I can ask can’t i?”

That made Rodimus giggle and he covered his face before laughing. It was real and something like out of the past.

“Its fine Drift, I mean..you guys only know him from the war so he has a point,” his optics looked different and the two noticed. They noticed by the way he laughed. He’s never laughed like that before.

“So, you’re okay?”

Drift looked uncertain but there was something else in his optics that Rodimus couldn’t catch.

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay.”

“No ya aren’t. The tear tracks are still on ya face plate,” Ratchet sat down heavily beside him and Drift make a hissing noise at Ratchet making his finials flick but Rodimus just smiled.

“I will be,” he looked to the mug of energon, he didn’t want to fuel, he didn’t really want to do anything. But he didn’t want to scare them like that or fall into that hole again.

Ratchet held the mug up to his intake, optics concerned as he tried to soften them. Rodimus took the expression of love and drank the fuel. Taking the mug himself, he felt guilt eat away at him.

“..I-”

“Don’t kid..we know..its just like Drift with Wing and me with Optimus..we know.”

He..didn’t think of it that way.

“We know you didn’t do anything and we know you still love him. Its clear as day but..you still came home and you still picked us. We know you wouldn’t hurt us.”

“I’m so sorry,” he kept his optics closed to keep from crying.

Drift laid a hand on his and he looked his direction but not at him.

“We love you Roddy, always,” Drift didn’t stop touching him and Ratchet leaned just a little closer to him.

He smiled a little and nodded.

In the back of his mind he couldn’t help but feel it.

The distance he could forget so long as he avoided being besides someone so close.

Their reassurance and touch meant a lot to him it really did.

But he hated himself knowing deep down..it just wasn’t like soundwaves.

#dratchrod #past soundrod #soundwave #rodimus prime #dratchet #drift x rodimus x ratchet #soundwave x rodimus

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