#AnimalHRT
LightNews LightNews
glarak.bsky.social
Awkward

Tried something new not making those clear borders for the comic page, do you prefer this or the white border? Also don't get too attached to the design of the Penguin, I most likely will change his design in the future
#TurtleHRT #animalHRT
July 1, 2026 at 3:20 AM
glarak.bsky.social
Penguin

How does he do that?
#TurtleHRT #animalHRT
June 23, 2026 at 12:18 AM
glarak.bsky.social
Comic is late because I can't get the scene right. It will resume as soon as I have an acceptable result
#animalHRT #TurtleHRT
June 18, 2026 at 4:29 PM
glarak.bsky.social
CW: Destructive behaviour depicted

Research #TurtleHRT #animalHRT
June 3, 2026 at 6:45 PM
glarak.bsky.social
Falling Pen

I didn't think I'd fail at something as simple as picking up a pen, luckily @ashleyrowanthewriter was there to help me out...

#animalHRT #TurtleHRT
May 6, 2026 at 4:25 PM
glarak.bsky.social
Month 4

I didn't expect so many changes so quickly, also I might need a new approach for clothing...

#animalHRT #TurtleHRT
April 7, 2026 at 9:59 AM
glarak.bsky.social
#animalHRT #SpiderHRT
~Lina (they/them) Spider seamstress
March 31, 2026 at 5:41 AM
glarak.bsky.social
#animalHRT #SpiderHRT
March 18, 2026 at 6:50 AM
glarak.bsky.social
"I heard about a story
A myth of ancient Greek
The seamstress named Arachne
turned into a spider small and meek

If I improve my craftsmanship
Could this fate be mine?
I wish an pray all day and night
A punishment I won't decline"
~Lina (they/them)
#animalHRT #SpiderHRT
March 13, 2026 at 9:36 PM
glarak.bsky.social
Doctor's appointment part 1

#animalHRT #TurtleHRT
March 11, 2026 at 6:44 AM
glarak.bsky.social
Ms. Turtle

#animalHRT #TurtleHRT
February 25, 2026 at 6:44 AM
toptags.bsky.social
🌟 BlueSky trending hashtags (1h) #16-30:

#alastor #queerwriters #photography #fanart #inners #animalhrt #writesky #aiart #gay #musicchallenge #ocsky #fursuitfriday #illustration #p4a2026 #dragrace

👇 #1-15 trending hashtags
February 14, 2026 at 2:00 AM
trendtags.bsky.social
🔥 BlueSky trending hashtags (30m):

#bbb26 #knightsofguinevere #art #nsfw #queerwriterschat #oc #fcf #unrivaled #furry #ocs #witaod #furryart #photography #bbb #animalhrt
February 14, 2026 at 2:00 AM
toptags.bsky.social
🚀 BlueSky trending hashtags (15m) #16-30:

#aiイラスト #fursuitfriday #writesky #ocart #p4a2026 #originalcharacter #musicchallenge #gamedev #furryart #animalhrt #realnsfw #valentinesday #ass #aiart #섹블

👇 #1-15 trending hashtags
February 14, 2026 at 1:45 AM
toptags.bsky.social
🚀 BlueSky trending hashtags (15m) #16-30:

#digitalart #valentinesday #femboy #photography #animalhrt #humanalastor #writesky #gamedev #queerwriters #musicchallenge #fursuitfriday #sketch #healingpurrspawty #inners #nsfwart

👇 #1-15 trending hashtags
February 14, 2026 at 1:30 AM
vanillayote.bsky.social
Proud Parent
Amidst the family photos on the mantle, the photo of a wild coyote stands out from the others.

A long since finished com from 3/30/25 for @cynosurae.bsky.social
#art #animalhrt
A picture frame holds an image of a feral coyote with a purple collar, nose ring and two piercings on her right ear sitting in her haunches andsmiling happily. Three small coyote pups are seen by her paws, one looking inquisitively at the camera, the second peeking around Cyno's leg, and the third a blur as it runs off in the background. Text in the foreground reads "She's an odd one, but I'm still proud of my daughter"
February 14, 2026 at 1:17 AM
vanillayote.bsky.social
Monthly Checkup
A long since finished com from 9/8/24 for Propzilla
#art #transformation #animalhrt
January 23, 2026 at 7:34 PM
nuki.yiff.life.ap.brid.gy
We need more #animalhrt stories... One of these days I oughtta write one on here...
January 9, 2026 at 7:26 PM
bogeymanviz.bsky.social
Gorgeous transition commission from @ash-from-dust.bsky.social of Viz becoming the creature she was meant to be!

I adore the previous versions Ash did for others, and they really captured this change here 🧡

#TFTuesday #TFEveryday #transfur #marten #fursona #furryart #transjoy #animalhrt #furrytf
Art by Ash-from-Dust showing three figures. In the bottom left is a human male with pale skin and blonde hair, wearing a blue button-up shirt, green vest, black glasses and a grey flat cap. He is looking with apprehension and concern down at their left arm, which is being covered in black fur, growing orange paw pads and black claws, and becoming covered in glowing purple runes. The second figure is an anthro marten with black-and-orange fur. They are wearing the same blue shirt as the first figure, but it's open, revealing a black t-shirt beneath; as well as the same glasses. They have long blond hair that is ragged and rough, and has some purple streaks dyed in it. A long black tail, tipped in orange, swishes in front of them. She is looking at her right claw in excitement, and her fur is covered in orange and violet runes. The third figure is an anthro marten with black and orange fur, covered in orange and violet runes. She is wearing a cropped black-shirt, a red die, black jeans, and a long black-and-orange jacket. Her long blonde hair has violet streaks through it and is tied back in a rough tail that leaves some strands to cover parts of her face. She smirks at the viewer and leans her claws on a cane. The background is a watercolour-like blend from vibrant orange to deep violet.
December 24, 2025 at 1:48 AM
ash-from-dust.bsky.social
A tf commission for @bogeymanviz.bsky.social

[ #transformationtuesday #tftg #transfur #transjoy #marten #animalhrt #tftuesday #furryart #furrytf #shadowmagic ]

This is Viz and her design gave me so much inspiration I'm brimming with ideas !!
December 16, 2025 at 1:44 PM
ash-from-dust.bsky.social
A commission for someone on FA

[ #transformationtuesday #tftg #transfur #transjoy #cowfurry #animalhrt #cow #tftuesday #furryart #furrytf ]
November 4, 2025 at 2:44 PM
ash-from-dust.bsky.social
a commission for @corrinmuir.bsky.social

this started with just three phases and went through a bunch of changes but it ended up right where it was supposed to 🦊

#transformationtuesday #tftuesday #tftg #animalhrt #furryart #transfur #transjoy #furrytf #transfurmation #fox
October 28, 2025 at 2:34 PM
shimi.bsky.social
The foreword — and the goodbye I think is needed.

#AnimalHRT #Therianthropy #Therian #Zine #Writing
A hand drawn paper notepad page depicting a typewritten report, in the bottom right hand side is my take on the Holotherian Logo — the text reads Foreword This report documents the final phase of Subject WLF-7’s voluntary Human Sentience Divestment Protocol (HSDP-Final-Stage), conducted under field conditions within the Northern Free-Zone. Unlike previous cross-species transition studies, this was not an experiment in adaptation but in release. After countless successful transitions—each a negotiation between body and mind, between what could be salvaged of humanness and what must be laid down—this one carried a different gravity. WLF-7 did not resist. She simply let go. To those who have witnessed such transformations, the moment of dissociation is not a tragedy but a kind of mercy. The departure of language, the surrender of shame, the unbinding of the inner list-keeper—these are not losses. They are care enacted at the deepest level, an unmaking undertaken in love. For therians, existence within human expectation is a slow form of abrasion: every thought, every gesture, every name forced into a frame that never fit. The HSDP does not erase; it soothes. It does not kill; it returns. What remains is not silence, but a new grammar of breath and scent, of fur against wind, of knowing without needing to know. WLF-7 ran into the free-zone wilderness without looking back. — Journal of Transitional Companion Species Studies, Vol. 14, Issue 1 Field Editor: Dr. E. J. Cark Catalog Ref: WLF-7/HSDP-Final Page 1 of 2 as a spread. A hand drawn paper notepad page depicting a handwritten letter. The text reads: To our packmate: We write this on the night before you cross the gate, our words spilling over each other like paws on wet earth. We keep telling ourselves this is not an ending, just a passage. Still, our hands shake. Your scent is still on our coats; your laugh still hums in our ribs. The dishes dont get washed. Your dog bed is empty We are still human enough to name this ache goodbye. We have watched you wrestle with humanness all your life, watched it sting in you like saltwater at a wound. We tried to soften it for you, to build rooms, rituals, little dens where you could rest. But we also saw how little these scraps could do. The world mistook your creature-self for a performance. We know it was a body you were born to carry and a cage you never chose. When you said you were ready, we didn’t quite believe you at first. Then we saw your eyes—how still they had become, how steady. The hunger had stopped being a fight and had turned into a direction. You were not running from us; you were running toward yourself. Page 2 of 2 as a spread. A hand drawn paper notepad page depicting a handwritten letter. The text reads: We want you to know: we love you. We wanted to keep you, to keep the person who could sit at our table and drink tea, who would reach for our hands without claws. But we also want this for you—this shedding, this quiet unmaking, this return. Some of us have been thinking about following. We whisper about it late at night, our fingers tracing the outlines of our own hidden paws. But we are not yet as worn down as you were. Our humanness still fits, though crookedly. We will stay a while longer. We will keep the den warm, even if it is built of chairs and blankets instead of pine needles. If there is a trail from your new life back to ours, leave a mark for us. A clawprint in mud. A howl we might recognize as a name. A chance to meet you, not as the girl who was, but as the wolf you’ve always been becoming. Go now, dearest always-packmate. Run without looking back. May the wind carry our scent to you, faint but unbroken. May the wild world hold you the way we could not. With love, grief, and hope, — Your human pack
October 6, 2025 at 5:31 PM
shimi.bsky.social
Well folks, news is out. Seattle has some pretty hardcore puppygirls.

#AnimalHRT #Therian #holotherian #TF #Seattle
Close-up of a crosswalk button pole on a city street with a large black-and-white sticker pasted on it. The sticker is designed like a pharmaceutical label. At the top, bold text reads ‘LUPINEX’ with the subtitle ‘Therionyl Injection’. Below is a finely drawn, front-facing wolf head in black ink. The next line says ‘5 mL Single-Dose Vial.’ At the bottom, in smaller type, it lists ‘GLAXO SYMTH-KLEIN’ followed by a row of names separated by dots: FELINEX · AVINEX · BOVEX · EQUINEX. The surrounding scene shows part of a sidewalk, parked cars, and buildings on the opposite side of the street in soft daylight.
September 27, 2025 at 12:31 AM
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
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
September 26, 2025 at 1:47 AM