EXPECTATIONS
if i look back, i am lost
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official daine visual archive
shark vs the universe
Product Placement
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
we're not kids anymore.
noise dept.
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
occasionally subtle
🪼
will byers stan first human second
Andulka
#extradirty
𓃗
Origami Around
macklin celebrini has autism
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Russia
seen from India
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Thailand
seen from India
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Türkiye
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Italy
@iseriads-nonesense
Since there's been another "Tumblr is gonna die!" scare, let's do a poll...
If Tumblr dies, where will you go?
Waffle House
Dark alley
Swamp
Probably haunted house
Dashcon ballpit
Glasgow Willy Wonka Experience
McDonald's PlayPlace
launched into orbit
under the sea (with the fish)
Cardboard box
shouting my shitposts at random people
Living in the walls at Tumblr HQ
Rb for larger sample size appreciated :)
for april fools we’re deleting this entire site sayonara you weeaboo shits
Mever letting @staff live this down.
for april fools we’re deleting this entire site sayonara you weeaboo shits
Mever letting @staff live this down.
A lot of people were asking for the pitbull version of this post, so here you go
Reblog to make him lose another 200 billion, like to make him lose 1 billion
He's throwing a tantrum about it, too.
I cannot wait until this man snaps.
Does he really think he can just...cancel a holiday?
WelcomeToTheJungle.mp3
What do you mean the myth wasn’t exactly verbatim like this
I spent more time on this than im willing to readily admit
I didn't ask if it made sense to keep going. I said I'm going to kick your twisted evil ass.
@thatlittleegyptologist
USA people! Buy NOTHING Feb 28 2025. Not anything. 24 hours. No spending. Buy the day before or after but nothing. NOTHING. February 28 2025. Not gas. Not milk. Not something on a gaming app. Not a penny spent. (Only option in a crisis is local small mom and pop. Nothing. Else.) Promise me. Commit. 1 day. 1 day to scare the shit out of them that they don't get to follow the bullshit executive orders. They don't get to be cowards. If they do, it costs. It costs.
Then, if you can join me for Phase 2. March 7 2025 thtough March 14 2025? No Amazon. None. 1 week. No orders. Not a single item. Not one ebook. Nothing. 1 week. Just 1.
If you live outside the USA boycott US products on February 28 2025 and stand in solidarity with us and also join us for the week of no Amazon.
Are you with me?
Spread the word.
Organised by People’s Union, read more here:
When Donald Trump reentered office, one of his first calls to action was to end several DEI initiatives in the federal government.
Is the “fluffy one shot” pig doing whip its with those cans? Cause that feels accurate.
@skyholdherbalist Yup! XD
@frozensnares
Then… where do I go? I’m just at home muttering
into the void of an open word document.
@valkyrien Oh but there’s more to this party than sugar and sweets~ ♥︎
Fluff Fest on RedBubble: https://www.redbubble.com/people/kitten-kin/works/36582633
Dark Side on RedBubble: https://www.redbubble.com/people/kitten-kin/works/36634358
THE PIG IS EATING PINE TREES IN THE PINING I CAN NOT DEAL.
IT GOT BETTER
Where’s the lemon buffet
Third Comic, featuring the citrus-themed juice bar~ @alltheusernameiwantistaken
Available on RedBubble at https://www.redbubble.com/people/kitten-kin/works/37192337.
This has me in stitches !!!!! LOL ah mon dieu, woo, I needed that :-) Thanks @lodessa
@ashensanity
Literal FANFIC art. Art of FANFIC. I love this so much!
This could use another go round.
Always reblog
The “Protein” shot on the juice bar poster always makes me giggle.
Took this from Instagram because this is urgent US folks.
You need to call and email your reps no matter if you live in a red or blue state. This cannot be allowed to pass.
It will prevent anyone who has ever changed their name from voting (including their last name)
Here is an article explaining the ambiguous language of the bill how it’s intention is to strip millions of Americans their right to vote
& how its republicans top priority to get passed
Spread this far- this could end voting rights for hundreds of millions of Americans
The SAVE Act would require all Americans to prove their citizenship with documentation unavailable to millions and upend the way every Ameri
Keep sharing this folks. & take action. This is a major bill that has republican’s support. It is essentially the reversal of the 19th amendment using citizenship as a scapegoat
There will be a lot of distractions preventing folks from focusing on this bill. Because this is the one that will bring democracy down.
pokèmonize yourself!!!!
spin this wheel to see your pokemon type
spin this one to see how you'll look like
how did it go!!!
literally dream scenario
it's good!
i can live with that
could be better
hate. let me tell you how much i've come to hate this since i began to live.
Rolled got water and reroll for another got dragon and reroll for another so i am a water and dragon type. Cool. Then i rolled for looks and got reroll twice for combination. Cool cool cool that could be good. I got creature like snom. Then i got bug and not the type i get to be some nightmare combination of bug and snom type critter that is actually a water dragon. Good god this could be good or ver very bad.
glimpse into my beautiful imaginary world where arthropods are really big and we domesticated them
edit: people are starting to say some "my worst nightmare" or "eeeww no that one is yucky and scary" comments on this like they do on any bug post and id like to say. it's fine if you don't like bugs it's fine if you're scared of bugs but don't put that on MY post clearly talking about how much i like them and how cute i think they are. you can make your own damn post about how much you hate wasps or spiders or whatever. i'm blocking people who make these kinds of comments.
I want to pet a jumping spider ::::3
I love the idea and the art is great, however i believe i would firmly be one of those not for me people. Like you go but the mandibles and leggs and such are just a no, not to mention i am allergic to bees and not interested in finding out if it translates.
Don't Be Difficult
I've been noodling stuff around in my dome about casting and mold making (mostly for the miniataurs because holy crap there's like 200 of you wanting asterions and I gotta scale up if I'm going to get anywhere close to that many, which is awesome but daunting) and it occurs to me that the little tomb mouse would also be a relatively easy form to cast, maybe even press-mold. I know you guys are here in numbers (more numbers than I thought) for Asterion, but would there be any interest in little mouseoleums? You could literally inter your deceased beloved rodents in them if you wanted, or just put neat stuff in there.
Price point might be somewhere in the $100 range and it would come with a sword.
sarcophagus
yes I would buy that
i would not buy that but I do love you (no other option)
I would buy that, though if you make the sword fully battle capable and ready then I'd go up to $300-500.
Aliens would be weirded out by fiction or fantasy
So I KNOW this one has been done, but it bears repeating cuz the idea of it is HILARIOUS.
We wanna write/draw a fictional world, we just sit there starring at screens or a blank sheet of paper for HOURS vividly hallucinating intricate and complex universes that have never happened before and usually couldn’t happen in reality, with laws of physics that follow no known law in our existence. Imagine a species that’d didn’t really get it, say they’re more practical and less inclined to whimsy, a real no nonsense type of aliens.
Alien: human what are you doing?
Human: I’m thinking
Alien: about what?
Human: how a dragon could hoard so much gold it fills a mountain
Alien: …is that a normal occurrence on your world?
Human: what? No, I’m writing short stories for November. It’s a fictional creature, they don’t exist on earth. Think those big reptilian things on Trigor 7 and you’d be close tho, except they have wings and breath fire
Alien: that is inherently worse, I would not like to think about that at all ever again. Why would you want to inflict such a terrible idea on another sentient entity?
Human: I mean…mostly for fun
Alien: …deathworlders *shakes head and sighs*
This sparked a thought. And here is the result:
For nearly three thousand years, the great dragon Vaelzryth had hollowed out the mountain known as Hearthpeak, carving vast tunnels, sweeping caverns, and spiraling chambers meant to be his lair. He had once been young, wild, and reckless, soaring down from his mountain perch to demand tribute from those below—threatening flame and claw, demanding riches, taking what he desired.
But even a dragon can grow wiser with age. As centuries passed, he realized that merchants and blacksmiths, travelers and nobles, all had something he could use: gold. Not just coin, but gilded artifacts, ingots, crowns, and statues. Gold was power, and if power could be bartered instead of stolen, why waste the effort of terrorizing those who could be convinced to bring it willingly?
So Vaelzryth changed. He struck deals, exchanged protection for wealth, carried merchants to distant lands on his back in exchange for their fortunes. His claws, once used for rending flesh, became the means by which he inscribed trade agreements, and his fire, once used to raze villages, was instead offered as a forge’s heat for the greatest of smiths.
Over time, his hoard grew. And grew. And grew.
He never stopped digging his home deeper, hollowing out every chamber, carving out halls meant to hold more, and more, and more. First, he filled his great vault. Then his personal den. Then the tunnels leading to them. He lost count of the ingots that piled atop each other like dunes, the coins that ran like rivers through the halls. The wealth he had once sought to possess now possessed him, swallowing every inch of the mountain.
And then, one day, Vaelzryth left to stretch his wings, to take in the skies as he often did, and when he returned, he realized something terrible.
He could not get back inside.
The entrance, once a towering gateway into the heart of his domain, had been buried under the weight of his own greed. He landed before it, golden eyes narrowing as he swept a claw against the vast mound blocking his way. Coins spilled, an avalanche of wealth tumbling down, but it was useless—there was no clearing a way through.
He tried another entrance—one he had carved high upon the slopes, a narrow shaft leading into the deepest chambers of his hoard. But when he reached it, he found it just as impassable, choked with the same golden flood.
A growl rumbled in his throat, and for the first time in centuries, he felt a twinge of something foreign. What now?
He paced. He muttered. He thought. And as he sat there, perched atop a mountain that was now a fortress of nothing but gold, he realized the absurdity of it all.
I have spent three thousand years amassing this hoard, he mused, and now I cannot even enjoy it.
For days, he brooded upon the summit, glaring at the sky, snapping at the wind. He refused to admit it was a problem—he was a dragon, and dragons did not have problems. Dragons were problems. And yet here he sat, locked out of his own hoard by his own hand, with no solution in sight.
Then, a thought.
A wild, impossible, utterly mad thought.
If his wealth had trapped him, then perhaps it was time he let some of it go.
At first, the idea repulsed him. Give up his gold? The very thought was sacrilegious. But then, what good was it if he could never reach it again? Slowly, reluctantly, he began to devise a plan.
He sent word to the merchants he had once traded with, to the kings and lords who still whispered his name in awe and fear. He offered a gift—not a demand, not a deal, but an outright boon. Chests of treasure, artifacts lost to time, statues of pure gold—all to be taken from the endless hoard that now imprisoned him.
In exchange, all he asked was for the hands of craftsmen. Dwarves, humans, elves—those skilled in stone and steel, in architecture and artifice. He called upon those who had once feared him and those who had once revered him, and for the first time, he did not ask for gold in return.
The response was immediate.
They came in droves, some hesitant, some bold, some awed by the sheer impossibility of what they saw. They carved new pathways, tunneled new halls, reshaped the mountain into something livable rather than just a vault of greed.
And in doing so, they built something else—something new.
A city.
Not of man, nor elf, nor dwarf, but something entirely unique—a place where all who had aided in the great reshaping could find a home, a stronghold that was part dragon’s lair, part golden metropolis.
And at the heart of it all, Vaelzryth remained—not a king, not a tyrant, but something more.
A guardian.
A patron.
A dragon who had learned, after three thousand years, that wealth was not meant to be hoarded—it was meant to be used.
At the culmination of their magical career, each wizard is told to look deep into their heart and develop a personal spell, a spell only they know that truly reflects who they are on the inside, all their virtues and vices incarnate as magic.
It's always Fireball. The wizard schools live in fear of their apprentices figuring it out.
The Icebreaker (Or: How I Accidentally Started a Revolution)
The Great Hall of Arkanheim Academy was packed. Every graduating student, every professor, and even a few junior years who had snuck in despite the very clear No Unauthorized Entry wards (which, honestly, were far too easy to bypass).
Tonight was the Final Spellcasting Rite, the grand test where each wizard, after sixteen years of grueling academia, would craft a spell that embodied their very soul. It was supposed to be a moment of great revelation, a defining moment in magical history.
Except everyone already knew what was going to happen.
It was always Fireball.
Oh sure, every student insisted they had made something unique. They would tweak the incantation, add an extra hand motion, change the temperature slightly—maybe even make it a cool shade of blue fire—but in the end?
Fireball.
The faculty didn’t mind. In fact, they were counting on it.
It wasn’t that wizards were incapable of creativity. It wasn’t even that they lacked ambition. The problem was efficiency.
Everyone knew you could modify spells. The formulas were flexible enough that, in theory, a skilled enough mage could completely rewrite a spell into something new. The issue was that doing so was a massive pain.
A spell like Fireball was finely tuned. Changing it required painstaking adjustments, testing, recalibrating the arcane weave so it didn’t misfire. It was like taking apart a clock, replacing every gear with something slightly different, and then hoping it still told time.
Most students, when faced with the choice of creating something entirely new or just tweaking a classic, chose the latter. Why go through the agony of reconstructing magic when you could just rename Fireball and be done with it?
That was why I was making waves before I even stepped up to cast.
Everyone knew I was doing something different.
I had told them.
And that terrified them.
The Whispered Reckoning
I had spent the last few days leading up to the test openly discussing my plan. It had started as an idle conversation with my best friend, Darian, but quickly spread like wildfire (or, in my case, icefire).
"You’re actually going to do it? Change Fireball into something else?" Darian had asked, wide-eyed.
"Why not?" I had shrugged.
"Because it’s a massive pain in the ass?"
"That’s a wizard’s excuse," I had countered. "I’m a sorcerer."
That had shaken him.
It wasn’t that anyone disliked me—I had spent sixteen years pretending to be just another wizard, after all. But when I reminded people that I wasn’t just studying magic, that I actually was magic, it unsettled them.
Wizards were craftsmen. I was a forge.
News spread fast. By the time the night of the test arrived, the entire graduating class was waiting for me to either succeed spectacularly or explode violently.
The March of Fireballs
The test began.
Lorik the Bright went first. He stood tall, chest puffed out like a rooster who had just learned what an ego was, and proclaimed:
"Infernal Sunstrike!"
A perfectly round Fireball shot forward, exploded against the stone target, and reduced it to rubble.
The faculty nodded. One down.
Seraphina Moonwhisper was next. With a graceful flourish, she whispered her incantation:
"Aetherial Pyre!"
Fireball.
The professors barely reacted. Two down.
And so it continued. One by one, every student cast some version of Fireball. Some made it bigger, some made it hotter, some made it spin like a flaming pinwheel of doom, but in the end, all roads led to incineration.
By the time it was my turn, the faculty had settled into their usual Fireball-Induced Apathy™.
My Moment to Shine (Or Freeze, Technically)
I stepped forward.
The room buzzed with anticipation. The other students sat forward in their seats. A few bets had been placed—mostly on whether or not I would survive the attempt.
I took a breath.
I felt the power in me—the mix of wizardly discipline and sorcerous instinct—meld together.
This was it.
I raised my hands, felt the arcane weave shift in response, and spoke the words.
"Glacialis Orbis!"
A shimmering blue sphere shot from my hands, trailing mist as it soared through the air.
Instead of an explosion of fire, there was a sharp, crystalline crack.
And then—
Frost.
Ice rippled outward from the impact, spiraling across the target in delicate, fractal patterns. Within seconds, a massive crystalline flower of ice stood where the target once had, its petals glistening under the hall’s torches.
The Aftermath (or How to Break a Faculty in Three Seconds)
Silence.
The professors sat frozen (metaphorically, thankfully).
Professor Yelwin, the head of Evocation, was the first to react. He sputtered, making a noise somewhere between a dying cat and a man having his entire worldview shattered.
"You—" He pointed a shaking finger at me. "You can’t just—just—change Fireball!"
I blinked at him. "Why not?"
"Because—" He flailed, gesturing wildly at the massive ice sculpture I had just created. "Because—it’s—it’s Fireball!"
"It was Fireball," I corrected. "Now it’s Cryoball. A modified version that uses liquid nitrogen instead of pure heat, dispersing on impact to instantly freeze the target instead of incinerating it."
Professor Valdrin, who had taught me runic theory, made a strange wheezing noise.
Professor Eldrin, who had spent an entire semester teaching us how to alter spells but then immediately discouraged us from actually doing it, looked like he had just witnessed the arcane equivalent of heresy.
The students, however, were losing their minds.
"That was insane!"
"Wait, can we all do that?"
"Hold up—does that mean Fireball isn’t the only answer?!"
The faculty huddled together, whispering furiously. I caught snippets like "Dangerous precedent!", "Rewriting the curriculum?", and "WHAT IF THEY START THINKING?!"
The headmaster turned back to me, visibly pale. "Listen," he said, forcing a smile. "You—er—pass. Congratulations. Now—" his voice dropped to a whisper, "—please, for the love of all that is arcane, do not tell next year’s students how you did that."*
I met his gaze, barely containing my grin.
"Oh, of course, Headmaster."
A pause.
A long pause.
"You’re going to tell them, aren’t you?"
"Absolutely."
A chair exploded behind him.
Professor Yelwin screamed.
And that’s how I accidentally started a revolution.
