LusciFox

country and my fursonas, striking a pose where i'm at her feet on a leash she holds the end of

each time we revolve around the sun i take a different shape, but i know i always have a home in your heart

happy anniversary @countrycurves.bsky.social lov uuuuuuuuuuu 🐴💖🐶

a title card for our HISTORY OF FURRY WEBCOMICS panel

illustrations of all our fursonas by cupsofjade. from left to right: Astrea, yours truly, Jade

BLFC ATTENDEES! Join Astrea and Jade (of the podcast Ink Fox and Paper Tiger) plus yours truly in the Teton room @ 6pm tomorrow for a not-remotely-exhaustive historical overview of FURRY WEBCOMICS-- their origins, evolution and context within internet culture at large! Expand your BRAIN. #BLFC25

trade piece for @squeakitties.bsky.social :3

A two panel comic featuring a pair of anthropomorphic animals. To the left a tall Lycañata in shades of greens, orange and fuchsia; to the right, a small koi fish dragon in monotone shades of blue grey. In the first frame, the Lycañata is leaned over grabbing the fin of the dragon's tail and asking: "Trick or Treat?" In the second frame, the Lycañata screams: "Both it is!" then yanks the dragon's tail before they can respond setting them off like a party popper with a loud explosion of confetti. The dragon has transformed into an Lycañata version of themselves.

Is there no better way to get into the Halloween spirit?
No really, there's got to be a better way then this!! 🎉💥

100% inspired by @squidinu.bsky.social and @knaveofclubs.bsky.social party popper comic!

Tizzie the Lycañata belongs to @ritzzybitzyspider.bsky.social

Released my first paid avatar!
payhip.com/b/VTdEn

Shy femboy waiter
Comm for Jampi !

Halloweenie dress meme!! 🎃🦇🦇

Sleep paralysis demon

Working on Something that's been going around

a digitally drawn tableau of my fursona helix the doberman having a tab put on her tongue and being fitted with an all-encasing rubber hood with a fuckable fleshlight toymouth while it hits. her hair is pulled through the hood and into a pretty bun with a ribbon around its base. she's also wearing rubber sleeves that end in paw mitts, rubber socks, and a flat chastity cage. both her fuck-mouth and her cage dribble with cum. she's been (consensually) made into an object. a cute little fuck doll to adore and use. she loves it

🎀

im going feral fucking anonymize me under layers of rubber and parade me around in front of an adoring crowd

make me an object and make that object the center of attention. bury it in praise and love and use it like it was made fo be used. erase me lovingly and leave a blissed out thing in my place

a stylized face-on sketch of Nine the doberman drone, with xtra wide hips

( drone )
a shapely unit

#ballpoint doodlet of Nine

i think @toothpastevixen.bsky.social looks much cuter like this… maybe she should stay this way

my fursona helix the doberman, wearing a latex hood, rubber sleeves with paw mitts, and matching rubber socks. her mouth is held open with a bit gag, and her hair is pulled into a bun and tied off with a ribbon. she's wearing a flat chastity cage with a fake cock mounted over the plate

best in show 🎀

GOOD NEWS! Researchers have developed a new mRNA vaccine that has been shown to suppress abnormal blood vessel growth in the retina, offering hope to MILLIONS of patients with age-related vision loss. The vaccine triggered strong antibody responses that REDUCED retinal damage by UP TO 85%.

bark-to-bark communication between stoned puppygirls is its own sacred language with surprisingly deep syntax

have we reached hell yet

donatello

biggerfox ????

typical weredoggirl struggle

Look, all I’m saying is that you’d look so much better if you were in a drone suit of my design and referred to as just a Unit Designation, and did my every bidding, no pressure

On a related note, if folks are using locktober to explore
𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇 and are taking fibre to help make that easier then don't take the meds within 2-3 hours of the fibre because otherwise your medication may not be absorbed correctly.

🎵Don't even know where I'm goin'
You couldn't reach me if you tried
The way I feel, I must be glowin'
Oh, it's a feeling I can't hide 🎵

Now in VRC as a trade with @forbiddenflrsh.bsky.social ! 🖤

(More photos in replies!)

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

Living suits up to no good 😈💗

so so many puppygirls

good morning I need serotonin have some Aurum from 2020 #art

"this bitch is oozeing red flags"
-willow
comm for @willowwoofer.bsky.social
#furry #furryart #commsopen

my fursona Halogen, a symbiotic fusion between a dog named Helix and a living latex symbiote

a continuation of the previous drawing in which the symbiote is mid-separation from helix, whose upper body is exposed. the symbiote slithers across the floor

helix, fully separate from the symbiote, stands on the left, and the symbiote, reconstituted into their anthro form that resembles a komodo dragon

self reflection

a trans fem au ra is offering a shield to a hrothgar woman, with the promise that this shield will make her impervious to attacks, and when the hrothgar equips the shield, she's excited find it grants her "auto-raise ex" and "regen++". but then it also grants her "dummy" and her face blushes bright pink as her eyes unfocus and she gets heart in her eyes and starts to drool happily. the shield continues to grant her "extra padding" as her tits explode out from her clothes, and "disarmed" which removes her arms entirely.

The hrothgar woman is now being used as a training dummy, her arms are gone, her legs are cut short as they turn into a wooden base. she's naked aside from a piece of paper over her crotch that says "no entry". She's moaning and yelling out passionately, begging for more, as an unseen warrior attacks her mercilessly with a sword, using her as a training dummy on a la noscean cliffside overlooking the sea..

Wing-it for @dragonoperator.bsky.social

Cho Kha promises a the best training routine for tanks. Learn to take hits like a pro!

#OrFiS.Art #RylefsSmenti #Transformation