Padded Fops Disco~!

Overalls progress ✨ Which one do you like more?

Have surgery for a kidney stone in a few days
where i'm gonna get a stent or whatever put in and i'm almost out of dips ;-;

bwehhh

Mmnnnf @/////@

Woke up and started peeing without thinking about it >///<
Was still half way dreaming as i ket out my full bladder into my diapers without a second thought.... 💕

Really cannot get over this thing...

hold her hoof? :3 🦒

weird emo girl who works at the retro video game store and wants you to call her a good girl

👉👈

Sorry this is late, I had to go to the doctor's today.

A hand-drawn black-and-white cover image in a sketchy ink style. At the top, large stenciled type reads: “LOOK INTO MY EYES ONE LAST TIME.” Below the title is a syringe and a small medicine vial labeled “LUPINEX – Therionyl – 5mL,” with a stylized eye logo on the label. The vial and syringe are crosshatched with vintage texture lines. Below the drawing, in handwritten script, is the phrase: “Homecoming, not vanishing” and the signature Shimi & Critter.

[Art on Page] A detailed graphite drawing of a wolf’s eyes. One, the left is more formed than the right — indicating a near but not complete transition. The fur around them is dense and wispy, rendered in fine pencil lines that suggest softness and depth. The eyes are highly realistic and expressive, staring directly outward with intense, soulful focus. They seem alert but ancient—wide with instinct, watching as if waiting for something to begin. The drawing fades at the edges into blank white space, giving the eyes a floating, disembodied presence. Look into my eyes one last time Look into my eyes. Hold them close until you can see the last scrap of me — the part that counts thoughts in lists, that weighs choices against rules, that folds shame into tidy, human-shaped pockets. Watch it loosen. Watch the corners of doubt unhook themselves like small animals from a net and dart away. There is no melodrama here, no violent yanking; it slips. The human mind peels like old bark, and underneath, the thing that always was settles warm and terrible and simple. They give me the last injection in a room that smells faintly of cedar and lemon. No needles, no cold clinical lecture — only the careful hands of doctors, veterinarians and nurses who know which bones to cradle and which stories to leave untold. I breathe. I lost the ability to count days back. I let the bracing liquid be a gate, not an instruction manual. I do not want to name it; names are the thin net that caught me for years. The burn is a rumour. It goes through me sideways — a quiet rearrangement, like a convent bell that signals not death but a calling. My limbs answer first. They stop thinking of movement and begin to remember it: how to fold, to coil, to push.

Tendons unlearn the polite phrasing of two-legged steps and curve toward the old, fourfold geometry of running. My hands tighten and flatten; the knuckles find a new logic. Fur prickles along my forearms as if a thousand small moths take flight together and settle again. Each hair is a note in a chord I’ve felt… no… known in my bones since childhood. Look again. See how the pupils widen, how the whites retreat like a shy moon. My last maps of metaphor — the maps that turned hunger into lists and longing into projects — dissolve. Where there had been a ledger of self, there is now only the immediate ledger of scent and sound and the earth’s exact tilt beneath my weight. I do not mourn the maps. I never used them as well as the human world predicted and as I pretended. Sound changes. Those little, trivial noises of the room condense into a chorus: the slow tick of breath in the person beside me, the whisper of fabric, the distant wet confluence of gutters. And underneath that: a low, patient life-frequency — root and soil and river. It is not music so much as an acknowledgment. I find I can hear the insect conversation inside the walls, the sap walking up the birch, the small, stupid heartbeat of a mouse two blocks away. There is an intimacy to it that is almost rude. Breath becomes work and worship at once. My ribcage narrows, then widens in ways I know but cannot name. Milk memories — a thing to shame into silence when human — rise like a tide: the cadence of suckling, the doctrinal simplicity of being called to feed and to protect. A swelling around my belly that is not fat but purpose. I think of my children who never were, of the packs I have loved in mute pieces. The notion of motherhood is larger than gender; it is a compass with teeth. My children! You are my children and you are my all!

My jaw shifts. I feel the slow, inevitable rearrangement — a socket loosens, a hinge finds its voice. A tooth erupts where an organised thought had lived. The smell of iron, rain-damp soil, and sleeping bodies that have waited for me — flooding my mouth like saliva. Tears come and I do not know if they are human or creature; they taste of salt and release. There is a tenderness in my own trembling that I have never allowed before. Outside the window, someone whose scent I knew laughs and it sounds to me like a distant bell. The handlers murmur: careful, gentle, let her and her pack decide. My mouth forms the shape and bark of guttural assent I could not voice when I was wholly human. Somewhere a crate opens as if the world is taking a breath with me. They will test me further, yes. They will see whether my newness walks toward the wild or clings to the small, safe hands of fosterers who will teach me boundaries, how to pass in a world of paved things. I do not fear them. I am no longer wrapped in that ledger — of consent, of cost, of consequence. I am wrapped in appetite and mercy. The choice, if there is one, feels less like an argument and more like a direction: toward den or home, toward the kill lovingly taken or the bowl lovingly given. Look once more. There is no human drama in my eyes now — only depth, like a riverbed where stones remember every footstep. The last scrap of thought, the tiny librarian of my life who loved lists, things and order, exhales and steps back through the doorway we are leaving open. I feel it go, and where it is gone there is fullness, a pulse that answers the creature’s call without translation. This is not a loss. It is not my obliteration. It is the solving of a long, clenched equation. I am not lessened. I am finally the shape I have been learning. Look into my eyes, one last time. I am awakening. — Shimi & Critter @shimi.bsky.social

New zine: “Look Into My Eyes One Last Time”

A final love letter to the self I shed
A prayer for the creature. Becoming
A reckoning, a surrender. Homecoming

This is my deepest wish laid bare—needle, fur, breath, & mercy. Being held with a care I never found.

#AnimalHRT #Therianthropy #ShortStory

Stupid UTI/Kidney Stone means I can't wear dips for the time being, and I'm almost out anyway...

Coming up on a hard time of the year to not be able to be little really ;-; i lowkey wish diapers weren't as important for me to get in that headspace

My girlfriend was cleaning and dressing my booboo, and the whole time, she pretended she was an elementary school nurse

It plummeted me into little space it was so w̶o̶n̶d̶e̶r̶f̶u̶l̶ rude

✨ WHAT IS IT?! 🤩
Ready to learn more about our newest diaper design? StarCast LIVE is online NOW! 🎬 Missed it?

Click for the replay! We'll see you there! ⭐💦
#StarCastLIVE #ABDL #MiddlesVibe

🎥 Watch Now: www.pretendagain.com/blogs/preten...

I love how my job is forcing people into regressing by making them complete infantile tasks in exchange for screen time. Like you wouldn’t be regressing so hard if you weren’t addicted to your phone. Too bad you have no choice but to be a thumb sucking poopypants baby just for more phone time🖤

June is wearing purple striped pajamas with the zipper in the back. What a baby. She’s gonna need some help in the morning for sure.

Hey just because I can’t unzip these jammies on my own doesn’t make me a baby or anything! They’re just soft and comfy is all! Now could I get a little hand? I kinda hafta go…

Lineart C0mm~~~~
Would you like your own?

Single character- fandoms are fine! Simple objects/charm points are ok. DM me if interested- you pay 100 USD when your turn comes up and not a moment before.

Wait list can be found here tinyurl.com/RayaDL

23!

Just a girl and her best friend ❤️

4 panel comic, une bunny and a witch cat are sitting around the fire, preparing dinner. Dialogue goes : "So, you're a Brush bearer, an Artist" "Are you still painting?" "I am" "Hah! No way ! with the world on the verge of collapse and hoe fading day by day, you think art still matters?" "Now more than ever..."

Be safe, and don't you dare go hollow.

its AWFUL like i cannot seem to block enough people to make it worthwhile for even a few mins

tried to look at something on twitter and tried just for a few mins to scroll beyond the post and see new stuff from kink folks there

kink stuff that is missing from here is still just fine and it is still surrounded by the most noxious shit you can imagine

Goodness gracious… if anyone needs @emopamps.bsky.social she’s too small to even know what social media is anymore…

Cute muzzle~
How bout you bury it in my crotch until you're lightheaded 😘

My kidney stone from july is still around and messin me up v.v and now i have a UTI, the doc said

so no diapers for a while ;-; i asked him and he said it would be best to pull back on them for now to make sure the UTI goes away

am on a buncha meds and @.@ bweh

It Is Journalism’s Sacred Duty To Endanger The Lives Of As Many Trans People As Possible The task of reporting is not a simple one. Each and every day, reporters and editors at publications like The Onion make difficult decisions about which issues should receive attention, knowing that o...

From ‘The Onion’ Editorial Board:

We back in there

Science Stopped Believing in Porn Addiction. You Should, Too Research finds that porn-related problems are predominantly caused by religious conflict. Clinically, this means people need help, but not necessarily with the porn.

Science Stopped Believing in Porn Addiction. You Should, Too. (fascinating, via @stilgherrian.com)

honestly yea i was just thinking about this last night

that we need more freaky shit than ever

gonna work on doing my part for that for sure

Boundaries: I don't want to see that thing so I will block it for myself.

Censorship: I don't want to see that thing so I will block it for everybody.

:0 o yea

gotta be careful @.@

yea! i don't wanna think about where the silly goes if you don't get it out of you!