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wallacepolsom
★
roma★
Not today Justin
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
occasionally subtle
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
JBB: An Artblog!
izzy's playlists!
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Peter Solarz
sheepfilms
Love Begins
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
tumblr dot com
Sweet Seals For You, Always
YOU ARE THE REASON
d e v o n
noise dept.
seen from Poland
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seen from T1
seen from United States
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seen from Türkiye
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@aurorathebear
tumblr angels do not support ICE btw 🩷🪽
tumblr demons don't support ICE either ✨
tumblr fallen angels DOES not support ICE too
vampires DO NOT SUPPORT ICE
Vultures DO NOT support ice.
Dinosaurs DO NOT support ICE
Wolfdogs DO NOT support ICE
Hyenas DO NOT support ICE
Werewolves DON'T support ICE.
Tigers DO NOT support ICE
Merfolk DO NOT support ICE
Unicorns DO NOT support ICE
Dragons DO NOT support ICE
Kobolds DO NOT support ICE
Bears DO NOT support ICE
I’ve always been really enamored with the concept of dragons who shapeshift into human (or humanoid) form, either for interacting with people or blending into society or for any other reason. There’s something about looking at a girl who, for all intents and purposes, appears perfectly human, but knowing that what you are looking at is a dragon, with all the power and poise and myth and ability that implies. There’s also something about her own confidence and knowledge, that even without her wings or horns or tail or scales, she is still a dragon.
Which… probably says a lot about my own feelings on being a dragon.
*covered in blood* i will.... *trembling* CHOOSE TO BE KIND... *in pain* i will be... NICE to others... *wanting to kill* i will see good in EVERYONE *yelding a knife* i will NOT be like those who hurt me... *screaming* i will be BETTER than who i was...
dragons can do anything they want forever. dragons can do gender however they want. dragons can look however they want. dragons owe you nothing. majestic beasts
if you get into therianthropy enough you can unlock secret menu DLC bottom dysphorias
So if for some goddamn reason you still have tiktok? Maybe delete it
This shit is dystopian as fuck
Delete it as soon as you can do not fucking use the app at all
Yeah, so, "TikTok is officially under the control of a cadre of pro-Trump billionaires including Larry Ellison."
what the fuck
a dragon is basically a living weighted blanket and pillow combo that loves you
wait so that's why i love lying on top of people?
dragon therian experiencing collaborative grooming for the first time
girl looking at the dragon sprawled out on her roof. the big beast is basking in the sun and gently licking herself, and the girl can't stop thinking about that long tapered tongue as she watches it gently curve across the reddish-orange scales. she's dreamed about being a dragon and curling up with another one as they gently nibble and lick each other. she wants it more than anything, and she wants to ask, but she's scared to. what if the dragon rejects her because it only sees her body? what if-
the dragon's head snaps up as she sneezes, head tilting to the side, frills fanning out as she snarls in a quiet threat display. the girl looks down and mumbles something about how she didn't mean to offend, she was just curious and-
there's a muffled fwump as the dragon jumps down from the roof, landing on the ground in front of her and stalking towards her. she backs up, but not quickly enough, and then its sinuous tail is curling around her waist and pulling her off-balance, and she falls forward into the dragon's waiting arms
she makes an embarrassed squeaking sound as the dragon's head (longer than her legs) presses against her ear, snuffling and snorting as it tries to figure out how to clean her weird tiny frills that don't come forward right. it settles for just licking her ear clean, and she blushes. its snout moves lower, tongue happily laving at her neck, and then she gasps with surprise as it playfully grabs her arm in its hand-length teeth, pulling gently. she grips one of its horns and wiggles its head slightly, and it makes a curious chirping sound
moving slowly and anxiously, she lifts its head up to her mouth and gently licks a line up its snout, and is immediately bowled over as it purrs and rolls its entire body onto her
Writing Prompt for my fellow dragonkin:
Tomorrow morning you wake up and you are your dragon self. No conditions to achieve it. No necessary hardships. The transformation was so painless you didn't even wake up during the transition.
Tell me about your first day as a dragon.
The morning is not the dawn. Dawn's light brings with it warmth and motion, the steady rotation of the celestial vault heralding the inexorable course of the day from one moment to the next. But I wake to starlight and still-black skies, to the shrill scream of alarms I do not trust myself to rise without. They pierce, they ring, and it is a well practiced motion that ghosts my finger over the screen to turn them away. There will be another, in ten minutes' time. Because I know myself. I know my habits.
Today, though, I will take another moment. There is a weight at my side, cradled softly in my arms. It emulates a dream ever beyond my reach. Echoes fantasies closely held for all they cannot be fulfilled. I curl in upon it, feel and hear the shifting of my body against layers of loosely draped fabric. I move awkwardly, sluggishly; there is more of me than I expect, and the blankets are a tangle overtop. But my dreams were vivid enough that whispers drift through to the waking, and so I pay it no more heed than I must.
Another alarm trips, and it almost hurts to let it go for longer than a few moments. I fumble, something catching against the sheets, but I manage to lift my phone and lift my eyes, and were it not for the alarm I would have stopped for a good, long moment. As it is, I hesitate, wincing at the anthem of wakefulness that slips into its fifth stanza. The screen protector is scored deep by the point of a talon as I hurriedly slide the notification aside, dismissing one more notification among dozens. I lift my blankets, throwing them over to the other side of the bed and looking down at my erstwhile sleep-aid, still grasped beneath a wing I did not have when I finally fell asleep.
A violet dragon plushie looks up at me, innocent and inanimate. My wing twitches and withdraws, as I idly consider the grace with which the muscles of my back and chest and in the newfound limb itself pull and twist like another arm in its own right, and just as naturally as any limb with which I was born. I reach for the toy, holding it against the scutes of my belly, laying my head down beside its own. I hug it close, snugly, tightly, proving my digits as dexterous as my claws keen. My tail wraps around, the tip within easy reach of my forelimbs, and I just take a moment to drink it all in.
There is a weight to my body, not of pure mass but in tightly-corded muscle and a softer layer that cushions my frame. There is a shimmering sheen to my scales, not simply in the hue of my armor but in subtle markings I can just make out in the starlight - so much brighter than it has any right to be - playing across my body and spanning my wings. There are a multitude of scents that commingle in my room - the two strongest being my own; one from before, with an oily tang I decide I do not much like, and one newly minted: softer, subtler, filled with information because somehow I understood what the layered notes convey. Warmth flushes my cheeks as I make another realization, a flicker of glee stirring the loose heat that pools within my chest. A scent and taste I know in my heart as dragonfire - my dragonfire - stains the room, embers and vapors escaping the nares of my snout as I giggle, shaking with the attempt to contain myself. I can hear my own breath, stuttering with mirth, and the way my movements cause my bed beneath to groan and grumble, wood and steel holding firm.
My laughter fades away as a tension I'd forgotten I always carried finally loosens. I yawn wide, a quiet, keening whine escaping my throat before a low, rolling rumble sings a rhythm of joy into the early hours of the morning. A brief stretch leaves my tail smacking against the dresser by the far wall and my wings bumping against the walls, and I idly muse that I have a wider range of motion than an obligate quadruped before it hits me that I'm probably going to be relearning how to walk, rather than deftly striding out reborn.
That's the thought which grounds me.
Outside.
Because even if I'm not hallucinating with such vigor to have broken myself, today I won't be making it to work; can't, even. Brilliant, beautiful wings does not a gift of flight yet make, and I doubt I would fit in a conventional car seat anymore. Let alone carry the backpack which holds my computer and the trappings of my trade. And while I could still use my computer - at least, probably - my poor phone disclaims the assertion that I might do so with any ease.
I reach across my bedside table, finding the pencil cup and my collection of writing implements, finding one of the handful of pens that had a stylus tip. My hands are deft, but it takes a second as I settle on my side - one wing splayed awkwardly behind me - to arrange my device and type out a request to my supervisor. Slow, steady, but precise.
Calling out sick today.
It'll probably be more than just today, but I can navigate tomorrow when it comes. I grab my plushie, and hold it like a precious hatchling as I wait for the sun's brilliant gaze to peek through the window and warm my scales, settling first back on my side, and then rolling and adjusting until I found something that felt more right, more comfortable, and which didn't threaten a limb with pins and needles. Horns I hadn't noticed before jabbed into my pillows, but thankfully not the wall. My nest would need to be remade, anyway.
(part 7 of this comic)
I mean obviously I would fuck a monster but more than that I would bond emotionally with a monster over our shared sense of alienation and rejection from a hostile universe. together we would explore our deep-seated fear of being inherently unlovable, and reassure each other of our innate value as sentient beings deserving of love and kindness. i will hold them gently, and wipe the tears from their googly eyestalk-tentacles, and something will begin to heal
and then we fuck nasty, im not a saint
You can only reblog this on the 3st of January
the 3st huh?
the 3st.
The Thirst.
doesn’t it feel so good to fuck your dragon? now imagine how good it would feel if you were a dragon too and your genitalia just matched and you didn’t have to do all this work to try to be compatible down there. you can say yes. the dragon hrt is right there. all you have to do is pick up the needle
it’s never too late to become a dragon
[ID: Twitter post by Morbi/@morbi.bsky.social that reads: "I have always said it, I will continue to say it, we are limiting the productive potential of million of freaks by demanding they earn a wage to survive instead of enabling them to do whatever thing their brain is broken for. " A response, again from Morbi, reads: "not just in art, either, there are guys who would go around obsessively fixing every clogged pipe in a 10-mile radius if they had the free time and social infrastructure to do so". Another response, from Ceci [1st place golden medal] Bicampeon de [rest is unreadable] that reads: "if only society was organised in some way to divide the labour that needs to be done instead of making everyone suffer forever exept from 10 assholes" END ID]
