Kiana Khansmith
Cosmic Funnies
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Origami Around
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YOU ARE THE REASON
RMH
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
tumblr dot com
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Jules of Nature
icyghini twinkie
pixel skylines
EXPECTATIONS
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
No title available
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
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@katriniac
Masterpost
@katriniac is my personal blog.
@ohtomatotome is where I post original content or reblog writing challenges/events. It's not very active because I don't get a lot of time to write. But it's mostly fanfics about otome game guys.
I am in the process of cross-posting my content to ao3, but it is slow-going. If you want to see what is there now, search for PellMellPublished.
Sokka: Aang y'know how you took away Ozai’s firebending?
Aang: I recall yes
Sokka: can I have it
Aang: …what?
Sokka: can I have his firebending. just for like ten minutes
Aang: what no
Sokka: why not I wanna prank zuko
Aang:
Aang:
Aang: okay five minutes
hi take everything I own
There’s more!
atla heritage post
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| Drink More Water |
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really fond of humans just from an appearance standpoint. the long legs. the manes of hair that can come in practically any colour and texture. those crazy high-contrast eyes with the white scleras and colourful irises. the fingers being so much longer than the toes. there's a lot to love. solid 10/10 animal species
hey there just out of curiosity are you not human, too?
hilariously enough, I am probably the most human out of anyone on this entire site. earlier today I was posting about getting "species euphoria" from doing human activities like ecosystem management. I'm the worlds first therian to have a kintype that aligns with his biological species. shirt that says "I ❤️ being a sapient omnivorous primate & bipedal persistence predator" on the front and booty shorts that say "largest gluteal muscles to body size ratio on the planet"
I have been practicing Live2d in more ways than one hehehe XD This is Vasily Beranek and he is chillin' in Kugane! He belongs to @barahawke <3 Hopefully I can offer animated illustrations as commissions soon, but I want to practice some more before then! ✨Vgen || Blue Sky || IG || Ko-Fi || Commission Queue list || My Store✨
Eldvin - Character Art Commission One of Dugren's companion in the story! Another Character Art Commission made for a fantasy story ^^
✨Vgen || Blue Sky || IG || Ko-Fi || Commission Queue list || My Store✨
The last of the three comrades for a fantasy story! ^^ Elineia! :3 The whole gang has been posted ^^ ✨Vgen || Blue Sky || IG || Ko-Fi || Commission Queue list || My Store✨
Silver and Ruggie taking a break from training. Because I like to drawing this kind of scenes. I'm trying to get back into drawing on my tablet and I feel like I finally found a set up that works for me! ^^ ✨Vgen || Blue Sky || IG || Ko-Fi || Commission Queue list || My Store✨
The first batch of Amethyst Sketches from May! ^^ I really love drawing soft scenes and cool outfits :3 Amethyst Tier Members (5€/month) get a monthly sketch (or a colored one if they forgo a monthly sketch)! There is still 2 slots available! Read more about it on my Ko-Fi! ^^
✨Vgen || Blue Sky || IG || Ko-Fi || Commission Queue list || My Store✨
WELCOME TO THE IKEMEN VAMPIRE 7TH ANNIVERSARY ELECTION
Starting on Wednesday at 6 am EST I will be posting links to a google form where you can vote for any combination of guys you would like.
You can give all your votes to one guy, or you can divide it up among the 17.
You get 15 votes a day for 7 days. Each day there will be a new link for you to be able to vote and the link to the previous day will be disabled. Think of it as one of those awards shows where you can vote once a day for multiple days
What will I be doing with these results? They will be going into the anniversary zine that me and many others are working on. If all goes well the top three guys will have bonus art in the zine as well.
If this is your first time hearing about this, then let me explain.
August 1st we will be releasing a zine in celebration mourning of what would have been the 7th anniversary. It will include art and fics from people int he fandom and each guy will be getting at least one piece of media to make sure everyone is loved and everyone gets something for their fave. After the voting is over, I will be posting little intros of everyone who is involved.
I hope to see everyone voting!
@weird-profiterole @rinaririr @ang3l-di @ana-leotorulus @natimiles @faustianartist @melodramara @queengiuliettafirstlady @thatvampireenthusiast @hariet436 @alby-rei @aquagirl1978 @foopet @acreattaviacco @pond-lilies @whatever-fanfics @stella42j1 @xxsycamore @notsoconfdkim @breadmercury @eventinelysplayground @rosie-in-the-garden
Ooh ooh ooh! This looks like an excellent excuse valid reason to talk about one of my favorite topics, matriarch trees!
So, when you see trees in a forest, they stick up outta the ground, some distance from each other, and you're like 'these are unconnected critters,' right? But! The thing is! Just like the trees in the picture are connected above-ground, trees in a forest are normally connected below-ground. There's this whole complicated thing involving a symbiotic relationship with fungi, but we're gonna simplify it to this: trees connect to each other through their root systems.
And they use it to share resources, across the whole forest.
If there's a tree over here growing in soil with a lot of, like, potassium, they'll pull up more potassium than they need, and send it out through the root system to other trees that are living where there isn't much potassium.
And one of the coolest things? Trees communicate their needs. If a tree is sick or damaged or starving, they send chemical messages out through the root system that tell the other trees to send them more food and tree-equivalent-of-immune-system.
Trees will share so much of their resources, they'll even keep trees alive that are almost entirely dependent. Like this tree! The tree above is getting some energy from its leaves, but no other nutrition of its own. And it wasn't able to link up to the shared root system. So the other tree reached out and hooked up to it directly, feeding it all of the nutrients it needed!
You see it more commonly the other way around: in an old-growth forest, where the roots are well-established, you can find stumps where a tree was cut down a century ago... but if you scrape the stump it's still green wood. The tree's still alive, without a single leaf. Because all the other trees in the forest are feeding it.
I promised to talk about matriarch trees, so here's where we get to them.
In a very old forest, you have very old trees. You have some trees that are so very, very old, their own roots cover entire regions of the forest. Their leaves reach up to the sky over everyone else. And after so long, they've developed to where they can take in way more resources than they need.
So what do they do?
They feed baby trees.
Baby saplings in an old forest can't reach up to the sun. There's no light down there. And their roots are too small and shallow to dig down to the nutrients they need. So the matriarch tree will draw energy from its towering canopy, and nutrients from its massive, ancient roots, and feed them to the little trees that are too small to feed themselves. For anything she can't get on her own, she'll act as a central hub, taking in spare resources from the rest of the forest and giving them to the little ones.
And one of the best parts - she won't just do it for her own species. She'll connect to all kinds of trees, because they're all necessary for the ecosystem to work. She'll adopt the whole forest's children.
Sometimes in forests you'll find a spot where there are a lot of small trees in an open space around an old, fallen tree. People generally assume they could find more light there, or maybe the soil's more fertile from the decomposition.
But no.
They're her children, and she's spent centuries keeping the whole forest alive.
Time to get to know a little more about one of my OCs... this time we're taking a closer look at:
Idony "Ida" Stonelot
For this first post, here are some memes and quotes we discovered saved in her phone.
The sweet, sweet Mitsunari. I guess it sometimes gets too hot by the fire to stay fully clothed while enjoying a good read :P <3
by Mikhail Ioannisian
write insane shit that’s way beyond your perceived ability and skill level even if you don’t finish it even if you think it sucks
The Worst Possible Men
Or: How Cybird Accidentally Invented Mothman Faust
The Cybird conference room had been prepared with the desperate optimism of people who still believed meetings accomplished things.
A long table. A projector. Three untouched coffees slowly cooling into regret.
And seated before the blank presentation screen were the worst possible men to assign a Faust event story.
William Shakespeare had already claimed the first chair like it was a stage and he had been cast as the storm.
Arthur Conan Doyle sat beside him, deceptively relaxed, eyes sharp with the bored delight of a detective praying the meeting would become a crime.
Dazai occupied the final seat with the faint, resigned air of a man who had attended his own funeral and found the catering predictable.
The Cybird intern stood trembling at the front.
“Thank you all for coming,” she said weakly. “Management wants ideas for the next Faust event story.”
No one spoke.
Then Arthur did.
“No.”
The intern blinked. “Pardon?”
Arthur folded his arms.
“Faust is impossible to write for. Every romantic premise involving him becomes either a psychological experiment, a hostage situation, or foreplay with footnotes. Frankly, I refuse to be liable for any of those.”
Dazai lifted a hand lazily.
“Counterpoint. That’s what makes him marketable.”
Shakespeare’s head lifted, birdlike, as though marketable despair had entered the room carrying roses.
“O tragic alchemist of yearning and restraint…”
Arthur pointed at him immediately.
“No poetry.”
“You wound me.”
“You survive it every time.”
The intern cleared her throat nervously.
“So we just need something romantic. Popular trends right now are café dates, cozy intimacy, maybe some light possessiveness…”
All three men slowly turned toward her.
Dazai smiled first.
“That’s adorable.”
Shakespeare rose immediately in a swirl of theatrical purpose.
“Then allow me to demonstrate true romance.”
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose like a man preparing for incoming weather.
Shakespeare swept toward the projector with the confidence of someone about to commit literature.
“The heroine encounters Faust beneath moonlit roses,” he declared, already writing furiously, “‘whereupon he takes her trembling hand and whispers…’”
He cleared his throat dramatically.
“O fairest star that wanders through the cathedral of my despair, thou hast unstitched the sable veil around my immortal heart.”
The room went still.
Arthur stared at the screen like he had discovered a corpse and disliked the murderer’s handwriting.
“…What,” he said carefully, “was that.”
Shakespeare blinked. “Romance.”
“That was not Faust,” Arthur snapped. “That was a widowed vampire peacock.”
Dazai considered this.
“He does have peacock energy occasionally.”
“No he doesn’t.”
Shakespeare looked wounded.
“You object to poetry?”
“I object to evidence tampering.” Arthur stood, already pacing. “Faust would never begin with praise. Praise gives the other person footing. He would begin with an observation precise enough to sound clinical and intimate enough to ruin your week.”
Shakespeare folded his arms.
“Such as?”
Arthur adjusted his cuffs, eyes gleaming despite himself.
“Something like, ‘You continue returning despite ample warning signs. Fascinating.’”
The intern slowly lowered her pen.
Dazai nodded immediately.
“That’s unfortunately accurate.”
Shakespeare looked horrified.
“That sounds like a diagnosis.”
Arthur pointed triumphantly.
“Exactly.”
Shakespeare pressed a hand to his chest.
“You would put yearning in a filing cabinet if left unattended.”
“And at least then we could find it,” Arthur replied.
He turned toward the projector now, the expression on his face changing from irritation to professional hunger. A bad idea had entered the room, and unfortunately, it had clues.
“If any of you wish to write Faust without committing character assassination, you begin with circumstance, not moonlight.”
The intern brightened weakly. “That sounds promising.”
Arthur approached the screen like a detective about to accuse a duke at dinner.
“Simple. We begin with a locked-room mystery.”
The intern perked up. “A murder?”
Arthur smiled.
“Worse. Faust has locked himself in his laboratory for three days, and no one knows whether he’s dead, working, or sulking with scientific intent.”
Dazai looked thoughtful.
“So the mystery is whether he’s dead.”
“Or working,” Arthur corrected.
“Those are visually identical,” Dazai replied.
Arthur ignored him, already too pleased with the structure.
“The heroine investigates. She notices the untouched tray outside his door, the faint smell of chemicals, the absence of his usual condescending remarks. All signs point toward disaster.”
The intern nodded faster.
“And then?”
“She picks the lock and discovers Faust unconscious beside a failed experiment.”
Shakespeare perked up.
“At last. Tragedy.”
“Exhaustion,” Arthur corrected. “Possibly self-inflicted. Very important distinction.”
“And the romance?” the intern asked carefully.
Arthur looked mildly surprised by the question.
“…He allows her to remain in the laboratory afterward.”
Dazai slowly covered his mouth.
“Arthur,” he said, almost reverent, “you accidentally understand Faust better than all of us.”
Arthur sat down immediately, irritated.
“It’s called deduction.”
Shakespeare looked deeply offended by the understatement.
“Deduction? Nay. That is devotion in a white coat, love translated into permission and proximity.”
Arthur looked at him.
“You just made a locked door sound indecent.”
Shakespeare smiled.
“Then the scene lives.”
The intern raised a cautious hand.
“What about something softer? Cozy domestic romance, perhaps? Baking together?”
Silence reclaimed the table.
“No,” said Arthur.
“Insufficiently tragic,” said Shakespeare.
Dazai looked thoughtful.
“Faust would measure flour with laboratory equipment.”
Arthur nodded reluctantly. “Accurate.”
The intern brightened slightly. “So maybe baking could wor…”
“No,” all three said immediately.
The intern deflated.
Shakespeare suddenly raised one hand dramatically toward the heavens.
“The event shall be titled…”
He let the title descend upon them like a chandelier nobody had secured properly.
“THE LABYRINTH OF DESIRE.”
Arthur immediately objected.
“That sounds like an erotic minotaur situation.”
Dazai nodded thoughtfully.
“I would read it,” he said. “Briefly. Then I would stare at the wall.”
The intern looked panicked already. “Maybe something less intense?”
Shakespeare pressed a hand to his chest.
“Nay. Picture it. A maze at night. The heroine wanders alone, guided by candlelight and the distant sound of a man refusing to process his feelings.”
Arthur frowned.
“Why is she wandering alone?”
“Symbolism.”
“Terrible security.”
Dazai rested his chin in his hand.
“Faust is at the center, obviously.”
Shakespeare’s eyes lit up.
“The beast in the labyrinth.”
Arthur stared.
“You want Faust to be the minotaur.”
Dazai shrugged.
“He already has the temperament.”
The intern whispered, “He doesn’t have horns.”
Arthur gave her a tired look.
“That has never stopped marketing.”
Shakespeare leaned forward, suddenly soft, which was somehow worse than when he shouted.
“The beast is not monstrous because he has horns. He is monstrous because he believes love cannot survive the sight of him.”
Arthur stared at him.
“Stop making marketable points.”
Shakespeare bowed slightly.
“I bleed value.”
The intern hesitated.
Arthur noticed immediately.
His eyes narrowed.
“Why did you hesitate?”
The intern clutched her pen.
“Monster romance is… performing well right now,” she admitted, with the haunted voice of someone watching analytics chew through the floorboards.
Arthur stared at her.
“Do not encourage him.”
“I’m not encouraging him,” she whispered. “I’m reporting market conditions.”
“You are supposed to be the adult in the room.”
“I’m an intern.”
“That is not a moral exemption.”
Dazai smiled faintly.
“So we agree,” he murmured. “Monster romance. Humanity returns to the forest eventually.”
“We do not agree,” Arthur said.
Shakespeare whispered, “The beast may yet be beloved.”
“No beasts.”
Dazai did not answer immediately.
His gaze had drifted past Arthur’s shoulder, unfocused and distant, as if some private tragedy had wandered into the ceiling tiles and begun performing for him alone.
The intern turned slowly.
A moth was circling the fluorescent light above the conference table.
Tiny. Pale. Doomed. Enthusiastic.
It struck the bulb once.
Then again.
Dazai watched it with the grave tenderness of a man witnessing prophecy make poor choices.
“…There,” he said softly.
Arthur followed his gaze.
“No.”
“It already chose him,” Dazai murmured.
“It is a moth.”
“So is fate,” Dazai said, “when the lighting is bad.”
The moth hit the bulb again.
Arthur stared at it, then at Dazai.
“You are not basing an entire Faust route on an insect with poor survival instincts.”
Dazai’s smile barely moved.
“It understands longing.”
Shakespeare rose slowly, eyes shining with religious disaster.
“A creature drawn to radiance though it knows the flame may kill it…”
Arthur pointed at him.
“Do not make it good.”
“Too late,” Dazai said.
Shakespeare clasped his hands together with terrifying sincerity.
“Gentlemen. For once, we are not enemies.”
Arthur looked up.
“We are absolutely enemies.”
“Nay. We are midwives.”
Dazai murmured, “To something that should have been stillborn.”
“To art,” Shakespeare corrected.
The room became dangerous.
The projector flickered ominously.
Dazai leaned forward slightly, as if the moth had handed him minutes from a meeting no human should have attended.
“Suppose,” he said, voice mild as rain on a grave, “Faust attempts to improve human transportation and accidentally worsens himself.”
The intern blinked. “…Why.”
“Science,” Arthur muttered bitterly.
“A terrible accident occurs,” Dazai continued. “A moth enters the machine with him.”
The intern stared.
“…A moth.”
“He avoids sunlight,” Dazai said reasonably. “Sleeps in cocoons. Appears silently at night to say psychologically devastating things.”
Arthur slowly looked up.
“…You’ve thought about this before.”
Dazai’s eyes returned to the moth.
“Not before. Beside.”
Arthur frowned. “Beside what?”
“The idea,” Dazai said. “It arrived early and waited for us.”
Shakespeare looked spiritually enlightened.
“THE MOTHMAN OF YEARNING.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“No one has ever said those words before because God was merciful.”
The projector changed slides.
EVENT TITLE: Moonlight Metamorphosis: The Mothman’s Desire
The intern whispered:
“We’re going to lose our jobs.”
Dazai almost smiled.
“No. You’re going to break sales records. The market has always loved a beautiful warning sign.”
Arthur stared at the slide in visible pain.
“No.”
Dazai tilted his head. “You haven’t heard the mechanics.”
“I do not need to hear the mechanics. The word ‘Mothman’ has already assaulted both literature and God.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed.
“…Unless the transformation is gradual.”
The intern stared at him.
“You’re helping?”
Arthur straightened.
“I am preventing worse people from helping.”
Shakespeare clasped his hands together.
“Ah! The detective enters the monster’s chapel.”
“The detective is filing a complaint,” Arthur snapped. “If we are committing this crime, we are at least giving it internal consistency.”
Dazai smiled.
“Of course.”
Arthur approached the projector with renewed purpose, already trapped by his own cleverness.
“At first, the symptoms are subtle.”
The projector changed again.
SYMPTOMS: • heightened nocturnal activity • attraction to light sources • increasing cocoon behavior • judgmental fluttering sounds • emotional vulnerability under moonlight
The intern made a strangled noise.
“Judgmental fluttering?”
Dazai nodded.
“You can hear disappointment in the wingbeats.”
Arthur tapped the bullet point with a pen.
“Actually, the first symptom should be attraction to light. He begins standing under chandeliers and claiming it improves his concentration.”
Dazai nodded gravely.
“Second symptom: cocoon behavior.”
“Already present,” Arthur said. “The man disappears into blankets and calls it recovery.”
Shakespeare whispered, “A chrysalis of sorrow.”
“A duvet,” Arthur corrected. “But yes.”
The intern’s pen moved against her will.
Arthur leaned closer to the screen, almost smiling now.
“Third symptom: heightened irritation when disturbed.”
Dazai blinked.
“Isn’t that normal?”
“For Faust, yes. Which is why the heroine mistakes the transformation for his personality at first. Clean misdirection. Very efficient.”
The intern looked horrified.
“That’s… actually good.”
Arthur pointed at her.
“Do not sound surprised.”
Shakespeare had begun pacing again, drunk on possibility.
“The heroine discovers him wrapped within silken bedding, hidden away in moonlit chambers like some wounded creature of longing…”
Arthur muttered:
“Or a haunted camping larva.”
Dazai actually smiled.
“Premium avatar item: Cocoon Sleeping Bag Faust.”
The intern dropped her pen.
“No.”
Arthur’s head snapped toward Dazai.
“…No, wait. That sells.”
“Arthur,” the intern whispered.
He looked disgusted with himself.
“I know.”
Shakespeare ignored them completely, now pacing not like a poet but a director watching scenery rise into place.
“At the climax of the route, the transformed doctor descends from the night sky itself!”
Arthur frowned.
“Moths don’t fly that high.”
“Rule of cool,” Dazai replied.
“That is not a rule. That is a confession.”
“No, no,” Shakespeare said suddenly, holding up one hand. “Not the sky. Too distant. Too heroic. Faust is not thunder. He is the shape waiting inside the room after the lamp is lit.”
Arthur paused despite himself.
Shakespeare stepped toward the projector, eyes narrowed in horrifying concentration.
“The heroine should not look up and find him above her. She should enter the laboratory believing herself alone. The lantern flickers. The shelves breathe shadow. Then…”
He lifted one finger.
“The shadow should reach her before he does.”
Arthur looked genuinely wounded.
“…Unfortunately, that is good staging.”
Shakespeare bowed.
“I accept your surrender.”
“I did not surrender.”
“Your pause did.”
The projector changed one final time.
PREMIUM CG: Faust beneath glowing lantern light. Dark wings spread behind him. Green eyes luminous. One hand against the heroine’s throat.
And in the corner:
DO NOT TOUCH THE COCOON.
Arthur studied the proposed CG with the grave focus of a man examining footprints in wet clay.
“…The lantern placement is clever.”
The intern whispered, “Please don’t say that.”
“It draws the eye to the wings,” Arthur continued, unwillingly captivated by the craft of the disaster. “Establishes motive. Explains why the heroine approaches despite every instinct screaming against it.”
Dazai smiled.
“So you like it.”
Arthur recoiled.
“I said it was structurally effective. Do not make me vulgar.”
Shakespeare pressed both hands over his heart.
“A monster bathed in forbidden light! A heroine trembling before the silhouette of appetite! Desire itself takes wing!”
Arthur pointed at him.
“Too much.”
Shakespeare lowered one hand.
“A little wing?”
“Acceptable.”
The intern stared at the screen.
“So… the route is Faust slowly becoming a mothman because of a failed experiment, while the heroine tries to save him, but he keeps being drawn to light and wrapping himself in bedding?”
Arthur nodded, grimly proud despite himself.
“And the emotional arc,” Dazai said softly, “is that a man who hides in darkness mistakes light for danger until someone refuses to look away.”
Arthur stared at him.
“…Annoyingly usable.”
“I know,” Dazai said sadly. “Awful, isn’t it?”
Shakespeare whispered, “By the lantern.”
Arthur sighed.
“By the heroine, you incandescent nuisance.”
The intern looked down at her notes.
“This is the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
Arthur glanced at the screen again.
“…The worst part,” he admitted quietly, “is that people would absolutely bark for this.”
Dazai folded his hands.
“Especially for this.”
The moth struck the fluorescent light one final time.
No one looked up except Dazai.
He gave it a small, respectful nod.
Shakespeare looked radiant.
“Then we have done our duty.”
Arthur sat back, looking ill with competence.
“No. We have solved a crime we committed ourselves.”
Meanwhile, somewhere deep beneath the castle, Faust looked up abruptly from his research notes.
His green eyes narrowed.
“…Why do I suddenly feel as though someone has put wings on my dignity.”
Credit to @crowmero, who stood beside me at the fluorescent altar and said, “Yes. Give him wings.” Blame her too.
BLUE EYES WHITE HAIR LI RAHHHHHH
I knew I had a good feeling about the one in the middle
Meanwhile, I want a better visual on Mr. Broody Tits Out. He's going to wreck me.
“Mr. Broody Tits Out”
No but why are they so big
