#lmk if you need anything else tagged

[diapereddarling]

Dallus has subtle tells for when he's using his diaper. He's a fairly composed person and is good at pretending nothing is going on.

If he's peeing, he shifts his weight so his hips are ever so slightly pushed forward-I don't think he realizes he's doing it. His ears will droop the tiniest amount as his bladder relaxes, and as his padding warms he'll look to the side a little, because that's about when he realizes he's going mostly.

If he's loading his pamps, however, he notices the urge beforehand 9 times out of 10. He just doesn't really have time to react. His thighs tense, and he rolls forwards on the balls of his feet a little, trying to hold it in. His ears flatten just a little as he pretty quickly realizes that his mess isn't going to end up anywhere but in the seat of his diaper. His tail flags at the base a little; as he tries to keep it in a neutral position. He rocks back into a more neutral stance that's ever so slightly bent at the knees as his brow creases. And as the seat of his pants begins to sag, he straightens his knees again, because now that ball is rolling, nothing's gonna stop his mess coming out until he's done.

Again, unless you know these tells and movements you wouldn't see or notice it.

But a certain prince notices, every time.

[ruhrohrichie]

happy tuesday night/wednesday morning, here’s a brief werewolf!richie reddie snippet <333

content warnings: blood, gore, violence, possessiveness, dubious consent, manipulative and generally unhealthy ways of thinking

please enjoy monsterfucker reddie nation ily~

There is something about Eddie Kaspbrak that sharpens Richie Tozier’s teeth.

Maybe it’s the softness of his skin, so tanned and freckled and meticulously moisturized. Pliable. Puncturable. Maybe it’s the blush under Eddie’s cheeks that makes Richie ache to pierce the surface and draw the blood that rushes through Eddie’s body at the first sign of a lewd remark or a soft touch alike. 

Maybe it’s the way he smells, so sweet and rich, like the shea butter lotion he uses and the expensive shampoo he indulges himself in. Sweet enough to make Richie salivate, making him dizzy and unfocused with desire. With need.

Maybe it’s Eddie’s pretty brown doe eyes and the way his knees tuck together when he’s shy, when he’s scared, that makes the dark thing inside Richie think: prey. 

Richie loves Eddie. Richie pays attention. Richie knows that Eddie hates being coddled, and Richie is the only person Eddie told about how he laughed when Bowers broke his arm, how the pain had felt like freedom. How the pain had felt good. Incredible, even.

Richie just wants to show Eddie that he loves him, that’s why his fingers grow longer, why his painted black fingernails curve into claws when Eddie looks up at him with those puppy dog eyes, saying his name so sweet—shut up, Richie, he giggles, eyes sparkling even as he ducks his head and shoves lightly at Richie. 

Richie knows that Eddie does not want to be coddled, that Eddie likes pain, and that, he tells himself, is why when Eddie’s eyes go wide not with shock or shyness but with fear, Richie digs his claws into Eddie’s side before he can run away. He knows Eddie wants to be brave. He knows Eddie is brave, and that he will be able to handle it, that he will enjoy it as much as Richie does. Eddie does not want to run, no matter what his legs start doing. Eddie likes to hurt, and he’s so sweet and soft and hurtable, so Richie pulls him in and doesn’t let him get away. He sinks his claws through Eddie’s sweatshirt into his flesh and hears him cry out, then buries his face in Eddie’s neck, breathing him in. 

Eddie’s legs give out, and he clings to Richie’s shirt, which now strains against Richie’s chest, and Richie is so happy to have Eddie in his arms, where he belongs. Richie’s teeth grow sharper, and her grazes them against the back of Eddie’s shoulder, enveloping him where it’s nice and secure, where Eddie can be protected by someone who understands what it is that he wants and what it is that he needs. 

Richie grazes his teeth against Eddie’s skin, tearing at his clothes, and Eddie lets out the softest shuddering little breath Richie had ever heard. 

“Richie?” he asks, in that quivering rose petal voice, and Richie groans and sinks his teeth into his flesh.

The cry he lets out is piercing, but Richie just holds him closer, and he can feel that he’s made the right decision. He can feel his against his thigh as Eddie’s hips jump forward, so much smaller than Richie, even smaller than normal now, but obvious, and aching. Richie knows from the rhythmic way Eddie’s blood splashes over his tongue that he has made the right decision, that he knows best what Eddie likes.

Eddie Kaspbrak, whether he knows it or not, makes Richie Tozier’s teeth sharpen, because the basest parts of him have always been crying out for this.

[voltaical-art]

whatever it takes

[800db-cloud]

spare some spy hcs? 👀

OKAY. ok. so i have been putting off answering this ask because i’m admittedly very shy and very afraid of sharing my headcanons. and also because i have A LOT OF THEM.. but here we are!

here are my headcanon spies :) René works for RED and Jacques works for BLU!

where to start, where to start… i have a LOT of headcanons for them, i’ll be talking for FOREVER here. i’ll just start with story because why not! xP

René’s parents were also agents/spies, so he was always destined to be one as well. And he lives up to his parents’ legacies! He’s most notorious for destroying gangs and mobs and the like from the outside in. He was brought to America years ago to take out a dangerous mob boss, but unfortunately found himself infatuated (and involved) with the boss’ daughter. Luckily for him, the boss’ daughter wanted the guy dead, too.

René’s story is honestly a lot more fleshed out than Jacques’, but here goes anyway:

Jacques’ father was a very rich and powerful man in politics. Jacques himself was the result of an affair, and to keep it hush-hush, his father decided to raise him. Raise is a strong word, though— but he did help his father gain intelligence and blackmail on opposing political parties. Jacques proved to be a promising spy since childhood.

If anyone has any suggestions/ideas for Jacques’ story, let me know haha x) he didn’t have the greatest upbringing per se…

last thing on this section i wanna talk about is the Scouts. René is related to both of the Scouts; he’s RED Scout (Jeremy)’s biological father, and he’s BLU Scout (James)’ adoptive/step-father. Jacques has no relation to either scout, but acts as a guardian figure to BLU Scout.

anyway, this is the part where i continue talking about other miscellaneous headcanons! and these come with doodles :)

You couldn’t catch René DEAD without his mask, or his suit! He’d neeever take them off around other people (‘other people’ is mainly just Scout. For obvious reasons.) Meanwhile, Jacques is pretty lenient in letting his teammates see his face! Everyone on BLU’s seen his face at least once.

A big part of why René refuses to strip down is also due to the fact he has a LOT of tattoos. No doodle for this one because I’ve yet to decide on what tattoos to put on him (ideas are very welcome!!), but yeah! Most of the tattoos were ‘forced’ onto him/he had to get for jobs and ‘fitting in’ with bad crowds, but a good few of them were of his own accord, too.

Jacques doesn’t have tattoos, but he has a myriad of another thing: scars! Lots and lots of scars on this guy. Faded and old, sure, but they’re there. Most prominent ones are the one around his neck (from when the RED Medic beheaded him) and the ones on his forearms (those are from the LAST time he was imprisoned— looong story…)

René doesn’t cook very often for his team, but when he does, everyone’s always BLOWN AWAY by this guy’s cooking! René’s really bad at taking compliments, though— (“Cooking food that’s remotely edible isn’t a compliment, it’s basic survival.”) —but rest assured he’ll be thinking about it for the next month. Jacques, however… Do NOT let this guy into the kitchen. Ever. The BLU base has a special fire extinguisher “In Case Spy Decides To Turn On The Stove”

oooh, this one is an hc and a HALF to me. René much prefers working alone. It’s just in his nature, being isolated and whatnot. He likes to deal with things by himself– maybe he doesn’t want to burden others? On the contrary, Jacques NEVER works alone. It’s a trait he’s had even before being hired to BLU. You never know when things could go wrong, so it’s best to have someone else to fall back to… or someone else you can blame!

these hcs both have something to do with how René and Jacques show their trust in other people :) it’s a bit convoluted but it gets there:

René is, amusingly, very bad at remembering names. Almost laughably bad. There have been many-a-story of his days before RED where he’d get a target’s name wrong, even after he’d repeated it in his head dozens of times over. Names are difficult for him, so if he remembers yours, it means you mean a lot to him! He prefers using his teammates’ names rather than their titles. René is unaware of how charming this specifc trait is to his coworkers (they saw how much work and effort it took for him to memorize their names, they’re just happy with how far he’s come!)

Jacques has a… to put simply, very complicated relationship with food. But the one thing he’ll never turn down is sweets. His favorites especially being chocolate bonbons. Jacques has a hard time eating in front of others, let alone sharing his food! But if he genuinely likes and trusts you enough, he’d have half the mind to share with you. Admittedly, he hasn’t brought himself to share with most of the members of his team yet, except for a select few. Mostly BLU Medic and BLU Sniper.

—

and of course, eventually, EVENTUALLY, these two also become friends! it took a little bit but believe me, they both respect each other’s skill in their job :)

AHHg i could go sooo much longer about them— from things like their physical traits (how much teeth they have? it’s a pressing question) or different periods of their life (why did rené have to leave his family? why was jacques imprisoned for the last time?) BUT this post is so… so, so long. My fingers hurt from typing

If you’ve managed to read through this Beast, THANK YOU RAAHH!!! thanks so much for asking this, too. i hope to spare more hcs someday. hehe ^_^

[antoine-dcoolette]

You guys still fw t4t buntoine right

[shepscapades]

This one was a freaking doozy. If I keep talking i think i may be in trouble

[zorosdimples]

MORE, PLEASE, ALWAYS, FOREVER

pairing ༄ simeon x gn!reader

warnings ༄ minors: please do not interact! i will block you. suggestive content, religious/sacrilegious imagery, corruption, manipulation, dubious consent, drugging. simeon calls reader “little one” and “darling.” please let me know if i’m missing anything!

word count ༄ 771

notes ༄ this is my first time posting my writing, so please be kind! this drabble is darker than what i usually write; i’ve just been thinking about simeon and corruption for months… i have fluffier pieces in the works, i promise! <3

“but s-simeon,” you whispered, afraid to raise your voice lest desire drip from each syllable—as if the angel couldn’t see your trembling thighs or the glint of hunger in your gaze. your skin glowed, he observed, all dewy with want; he had never seen anything so beautiful, so vulnerable. your chest heaved as though you couldn’t catch your breath. “you’re an angel.”

“yes?” he hummed, trying not to sound too eager—all while his blood sang for you.

your tongue wetly floundered for a response, brain unable to comprehend anything other than the fierce fire that licked at your very core. oh, if he did not relish your sputtering, dumb state. you hung onto his every word as if he would lead you to salvation.

that’s what angels were created for, right?

“angels, humans, demons—we all have more in common than you think. we all have similar urges, similar needs,” simeon stated, lithe fingers traveling down your sides to dig into the soft flesh of your hips, forcing a breathy sigh from your lips. shame would have eaten you alive had it not been for your desperation.

“but you humans are rather self-centered, no?” he asked with an experimental squeeze that had your eyes fluttering dreamily. “you assume that your corrupted moral compass applies to the other two realms.”

you shivered as simeon leaned so close that you could smell the sweetness—caramel?—that clung to his skin. his lips brushed your ear as he whispered, “angels, as god’s chosen creatures, are encouraged to love deeply.” his fingertips grazed your belly as you swallowed thickly. his hot breath melted your resolve while his thinly-veiled words had your nerves thrumming in anticipation.

patience was a virtue that simeon usually embodied, but the thrill you inspired within him was cracking his restraint. he couldn’t help but push: push himself, push you. he needed to hear you to say it.

he gently cradled your chin between his thumb and forefinger, angling your face to meet his expectant gaze. if you had been in the right state of mind, perhaps you would have noticed how his azure irises were unusually dark, pools of midnight you could drown in.

the smile that tugged at his lips was almost wicked as he probed, “what do you need, little one? tell me.”

the endearment fell on deaf ears as you leaned into simeon’s grasp like a simpering pet. your eyes flickered down to his lips instead of answering his question, biting down on your own almost hard enough to draw blood.

“ah ah,” he chided, pinching your chin, still a hair’s breadth from your face.

you looked like a wounded animal for a moment, eyes wide and shimmering, staring down the barrel of a hunter’s gun. you tried to wriggle from his grasp in embarrassment.

the angel’s grip was unyielding, though. he was certain there would be bruises on your tender flesh come morning—the thought only heightened his arousal. his honeyed chuckle, like a potent sedative, lulled your movements.

“as much as i appreciate your enthusiasm,” simeon said with featherlight strokes to your burning cheek, “i need you to use your words, darling.”

you whimpered in response. your brain was fried, incapable of intelligent thought. all you could do was feel and act—instinct usurping rationale—more animal than human. all you could muster was a breathy and pathetic “please,” punctuated by the unshed tears that sparkled in your eyes.

“please what?” he cooed with faux sympathy. his free hand skimmed down the slope of your shoulder and the curve of your arm to ultimately settle on the fat of your thigh. the movement caused a tremor to ricochet through your body.

he looked at you like he wanted to devour you, to pick your bones clean, to consume you so wholly that not even your soul remained. and maybe it should have frightened you. but all you wanted was to lay yourself bare and let the angel feast on you until there was nothing left.

“i need you, simeon,” you finally breathed, soft as a prayer.

as soon as the words left your bruised lips, he lifted you onto his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist. you exhaled a warbled moan when he dipped down to scrape his teeth against the column of your throat. “that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” he murmured into your skin.

you were too far gone to answer—not that simeon cared. he finally had you where he wanted you, writhing and whining prettily. he made a mental note to thank solomon for the spell that had his little human begging for more, please, always, forever.

[southern--downpour]

WIRED

[spaceistheplaceart]

In which Gordon finally realizes all his friends died long before he met them

Previous

[vulpinesaint]

I really like your writing style. Do you have any literature you can share that you use as inspo?

going to start by disclaiming that from a specifically stylistic approach, i don't know if i have any writers that are distinctly similar. i do have writers that i find inspiring, though! if none of these are helpful for style, i hope they can inspire you in the same way that they make me aspire to achieve fantastic things with my writing :) i am always a poet first and foremost, whether it's poetry or prose (which is often just poetry hiding in a longer form), so most of my recommendations are poems; i have a few books at the end, though, just in case. everything that i link here should be free to access!

i am like 90% sure that anyone seeing this will already know that i keep all my poetry over at @trickstersaint, but just in case you're coming direct from a quiz, that's the place to read more of my writing! now. onto my list of a bunch of other trans poets with tumblr platforms 🖤

keaton st. james (@boykeats), i think, was the first modern poet that i really found and loved. stumbling across some of his dictionary poems as a younger poet was so revolutionary to me, and reading his poetry changed the way that i thought about and approached poetry as a whole. inspiration in the way of seeing the things that someone can do with poetry. opening up all the limits. this is what every good poem will do for you a little bit, i think, but keaton st. james is always my first recommendation for a modern poet. highly recommend his collections growth and light (i personally really love light. guy who is normal about religion voice) and rural boys watch the apocalypse is to me what that one richard siken poem about being in a car with a beautiful boy is to everyone else haha

other poets whose work i really enjoy and admire include silas denver melvin (@sweatermuppet) and dante émile (@orpheuslament)! recommending the poems an impractical marvel and dioscuri from them, respectively. sweatermuppet also has a full collection called grit, and orpheuslament has one called misplaced organs and various saints (this particular one isn't free but linking it here!) :)

my favorite poem since high school has been gravity by maura o'connor. life-changing. that poem is just like me for real.

for more of a narrative style, if you've read + liked my piece aromanticism, i definitely recommend with those we love alive by porpentine! really gorgeous twine piece with a kind of mysticism to it that could definitely tie back into the kind of stuff you'd see in my little quizzes too :)

if you're looking for actual literature-as-in-books, i can point you towards our wives under the sea by julia armfield and white is for witching by helen oyeyemi. both are novels that i've enjoyed for their kind of eclectic and poetic writing recently! i will also take any chance to recommend my favorite book, which is the hours by michael cunningham; regardless of similarity or inspiration, i find the writing of this book gorgeous and heartbreaking and i think it scrapes at the human condition in a way that draws blood. gently. if you know what i mean.

i hope this was helpful! i constantly feel as if i don't read enough poetry so if anyone has any suggestions they want to give me. i am more than happy to hear them <3 happy reading everybody!

[robo-dino-puppy]

horizon forbidden west | scorpion!

[diapereddarling]

Currently imagining Dorian and Steven spooning and Dorian not realizing he needs to poop until he's currently messing in his diaper with Steven hips pressed against his diapered butt.

He gets flustered and embarrassed and goes bright red and tries not to get teary eyed as he apologizes profusely. Stevens just trying his best to calm him down because, " hey, accidents happen " and he's truly not bothered at all.

Not to mention Steven would think it's hot if it hadn't stressed Dorian out and made him super upset. But he's hardly gonna point that out while the poor thing's upset is he.

[thatgoddamngingerundercut]

Agust D 'Amygdala' MV

[chazz-is-a-zelda-fan]

too late to start, got your heart in a headlock (i don’t believe any of it)

oh my GOD was this a fight to finish 😭 the idea initially came to me so quickly that i knew i had to do something for it, so i chopped up a photo of myself and drew on top of that. i’m not super happy with how it turned out but :( not much i can do about it now

i think my clip studio hates my speed paints because i can never seem to have enough file space for them AND my drawings 😭

[mercless]

i would like to know more about hn talon's feathery ailment ... is it their demonic nature clashing with the angelic blood that is resulting in their worsening condition ? is there a reason why it is specifically feathers / bird-likeness as opposed to anything else ( i.e. would other demons undergo similar transformations if they also got contaminated with angel blood ) ? can you share more about how you envision the progression and prognosis ? will it kill them or will there be some sort of final stage of their transformation ( whether that's a bad thing because it only gets worse and worse , or a good thing because maybe now that it is complete , they won't be in as much pain and discomfort 🥺 ) ? is it at all affected by whatever they're doing / thinking / feeling / experiencing ( tamagotchi talon ... ) ? what do they do to manage their condition ? does it make them self-conscious or feel badly about their physical appearance ?

"-But it looks like the angels ain't done with you."

I don't recommend that anyone ingests angel blood (good thing that's a difficult thing to do these days) but I wouldn't want to definitively say how it works for anyone else either. and I think it makes sense if talon isn't too sure either, with not meeting anyone else in a similar predicament as they (yet... will get to this later) but say if it were another angel Talon had attacked and drank the blood of, I believe they would still be having similar symptoms, as angels are quite feathery beings (varus with his arm of feathers, irelia with her wings and other choicely placed feathers.) But the particular angel they stole from has had a specific impact on just how the blood has changed them.

The reason for their worsening condition is because the blood has a powerful influence, like an undiluted acid. And it is so dramatic of an change because this influence is the polar opposite to their demonic existence. The more that Talon fights against the changes, the less symbiotic the blood and their demonic nature melds, the more violent and painful the experience is for them. And without any interference either with understanding or other experiences, I see it as a bitter, drawn-out struggle. Just wallowing in fatalism until Talon is nothing more than an unrecognisable pile of bile, blood, and feathers that tore itself apart...

Fortunately for them, the more Talon interacts with their rotting world and the people (and creatures) also struggling in it, the more they will come to terms with their own potential, and reflect on how they can be something more than what they once were. Learning that they don't have to let their worst action define their existence. More than just accepting what they did, and putting in the effort to understand emotions and how to be an active part of life, will mean they are not stubbornly fighting against their affliction. This will increase the speed of it's progression, but also be far less painful of an experience since they won't be actively fighting against it. When Talon is unable to call upon any of their demonic abilities anymore, the physical changes of the affliction will be complete, but they will continue to learn and better themself in an attempt to make up for all the wrong and pain they have caused in their existence. I can picture this happening in two or three decades time, in which there is no longer any hellfire, brimstone or summoned weapons. Talon is no longer a demon, but maybe by then they'll also know if the powers that be would accept a malformed, inexperienced, makeshift samaritan as a stand-in. But that's a hopeful thought, thinking they'll live that long.

Going back to the symptoms of the affliction. Previously, Talon's form was one of shadow and brimstone, and they were able to phase in and out of being corporeal at will. Over time, this ability has been weakened - only able to vanish as a shadow for a moment at a time. Brimstone skin was made brittle until it fell away to soft flesh, hollow bone, and hair. Feathers have begun sprouting through this softer skin too, mostly across their left shoulder, arm and chest, but are beginning to sprout along their throat too. Talon used to pull them out by hand, but has forfeited the fight. Back to the left arm, a sort of carapace has begun to form over their left hand, along the thumb's metacarpal and back of the hand in layers of grey ash and weathered gold. This and the growth of the feathers is very similar to Varus' - the angel in which Talon killed and drunk the blood of - own feathers and angelic arm. But without any of the matching powers, it is a far less grand sight.

Although still considerably hot to the touch, Talon's core temperature has drastically lowered compared to the past. Whatever organs of malice and bile a demon has have made way for a growth in their chest, helping pump the foul angelic blood and pesky emotions around their body routinely, and push out more of their demonic essence every day, little by little. With this, it has already made their demonic powers incredibly weakened. Previously Talon also used to be able to disintegrate bodies with a slice of their hellish blades, but they just do not run hot enough anymore. The final physical symptom are their eyes. Once filled with hellfire, it is far more likely nowadays to see their extinguished, golden-brown irises instead. It is slightly controllable with their emotional state, or when using their powers though.

In other ways, the blood has made Talon far more empathetic, given them a conscience. Troubled with how their actions will effect others now, the suffering and cruelty of the world has become a pain all it's own. Dulling the delight in spreading fear and even disturbing the once simple exchange of souls, Talon is often contemplating their next course of action instead of only giving thought to their best interests. And how their previous, often violent actions, have caused so much.

The agony and illness of coughing up feathers and demonic bile leaves talon haggard and frail. Getting sleep and relaxation would help the most, but with their paranoia it is difficult for them to find places to fully lower their guard and properly rest. Talon's tried to get a room in the crossroad saloon before, but it's... never really worked out (Gragas doesn't let them). Hating and damning the ailment only makes it worse, since it's basically like trying to separate themself from something that has already been mixed in. Feathers get stuck in their many teeth, skin itches from keratin growing in. Fatigue and sensitivity to their own heartbeat. Talon tries their best to hide the majority of their symptoms. Their coughs and exhaustion are the most obvious.

For how the changed made by the affliction is making talon feel... I'm going to paraphrase from a previous message;

I say its dysmorphic but the more I think about it, it's also… having your health decline and your body changing along with it, at least with talons perspective right now since they're losing their demonic powers. dysphoric in the way that they're still holding on to the thought that this isn't what they're supposed to be, they're Supposed to be a being of shadow and hellfire not flesh and bone, let alone feathers and sympathy. so I want it to be much more about accepting that this is their body now moreso than finding a way to reverse the changes. That it's okay to change with age and wisdom as you open yourself up more to the world.

At this time, Talon misses being completely monstrous, of being frightening and having that implicit respect. They feel weaker than they really are because they continue to compare themself to the long-gone height of their power, and because their new physical changes make them feel vulnerable. Being constantly exhausted also doesn't help with any of this. Beyond this though, the only other thing they don't like about these changes is just that; it's different. The uncanny features still don't feel like that that's who they are, and there is this disconnect when others react to them, or comment on their looks.

poses I don't know, maybe Talon just needs some sort of big motivation to no longer see this affliction as a curse, but as an opportunity to be more than a demon that skulks in the shadows. And some encouragement that yes, that is in fact a good thing. Maybe like an ultimatum of some sorts.

[frothyghosts]

a single dead pixel.. it's always on the back of my mind