Amarok/Akira ☉∇
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lupinevulpes.bsky.social
Amarok/Akira ☉∇
@lupinevulpes.bsky.social
180 followers 370 following 100 posts
A Fox Set Lose in New England’s Forests | Lvl 30 | 🏳️‍🌈 | 🦊•🐺 ΘΔ•☉∇ | They/Them/Fox | Taken 💖: @mithiawoo.yeenden.com
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lupinevulpes.bsky.social
Amarok/Akira ☉∇ @lupinevulpes.bsky.social · Feb 24
Akira: Red Fox
Amarok: Northwestern Grey Wolf

These are my two prominent theriotypes. Thank you @astarcis.bsky.social for bringing forward what I see on the inside!
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
Recognising my animal is one of the first things I’ve done to really discover who I am. I have much to learn, but I’m finally starting to take those steps after so long.

Happy Theriantropy Day; my fellow critters! 🐾
November 6, 2025 at 6:37 AM
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
Long Weekend; Tired Fox
November 4, 2025 at 1:07 AM
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
May have missed Furpoc this year, but seeing Yaelokre in Boston with fox friend @lyterkitsune.bsky.social was just as worth it!
November 2, 2025 at 3:39 AM
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
@mithiawoo.yeenden.com cooks THE ABSOLUTELY AMAZING BEST FISH IN THE WORLD!

Fox is LUCKY!
October 29, 2025 at 1:57 AM
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
Sly Cooper was my childhood (and very much a furry/therian flag)! So happy to be playing it again after all these years!
October 26, 2025 at 9:23 PM
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
If you haven’t guessed, autumn is one of fox’s favourite seasons!
October 23, 2025 at 11:06 PM
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
Eggy!
October 22, 2025 at 9:18 PM
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
Have a cinnamon roll! Have several!
October 21, 2025 at 9:25 PM
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
Monday Moods, am I right?
October 20, 2025 at 9:38 PM
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
For folks who still use Firefox (best browser btw), I’d imagine that this is what it looks like with multiple tabs open! 🦊
October 17, 2025 at 10:21 PM
Reposted by Amarok/Akira ☉∇
andewitt.bsky.social
me as a werewolf
October 16, 2025 at 10:36 PM
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
The best thing to happen this year by far was my new job! I feel like I finally found a company that cares about me and my growth!

Not to mention these office views are amazing!

Now time to focus on fixing my finances and focusing on some neglected personal growth <3
October 17, 2025 at 1:26 AM
Reposted by Amarok/Akira ☉∇
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
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
The potential sale of Moonlight has been voided. Any appearance of this character rightfully belongs to me.

With that, the name Moonlight will be retired, and I’m looking to revisit the character design for a much needed update.

More to come for our curious little DAD :3
October 5, 2025 at 5:12 AM
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
Soo… fox has been sick the past few days.

@mithiawoo.yeenden.com has been calling me a ‘plague bearer’ this whole time. My dumb animal mind kept thinking he was saying ‘plague bear’ and I’m like wtf does bears have to do with anything here? And why are you calling me a sick bear? XD
October 3, 2025 at 12:46 PM
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
How It Started v. How It’s Going with @mithiawoo.yeenden.com

This yeen and I met purely by chance! He’s now my life and I wouldn’t have it any other way <3

🎨: @orlandofox.bsky.social
September 29, 2025 at 10:53 PM
Reposted by Amarok/Akira ☉∇
mithiawoo.yeenden.com
Hey! That’s my head!

#fursuitfriday
🦌: @lupinevulpes.bsky.social
September 26, 2025 at 5:46 PM
Reposted by Amarok/Akira ☉∇
takaalive.bsky.social
happy national fox day !!! 🦊🍂
a red fox up on a ledge, smiling back at the camera. around him are lots of autumnal trees and mountains, clouds in the distance
September 17, 2025 at 11:48 PM
Reposted by Amarok/Akira ☉∇
nepeteaa.bsky.social
Fox's Happy Hikin Club 🦊🍂
September 17, 2025 at 3:11 PM
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
When you call into our center, just know this is what you’re gonna find :3
September 15, 2025 at 7:48 PM
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
M o o d
September 13, 2025 at 9:06 PM
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
This full moon I choose to let go of that which no longer serves me. I choose to move forward, leaving the past behind but not the lessons of it.

It’s time for me to do right for myself, my family, and those who were and are there for me. <3
September 8, 2025 at 6:20 PM
Reposted by Amarok/Akira ☉∇
shebatty.bsky.social
Friends who make you feel like this <3
a group of canids cuddling up and nuzzling each other. furry anthro therian digital art
September 8, 2025 at 5:11 PM
Reposted by Amarok/Akira ☉∇
berensreverie.bsky.social
art about transformation i guess

#berensart2025
February 20, 2025 at 1:12 PM
lupinevulpes.bsky.social
It is finally #Foxtember! Then of course you have:

Foxtober
Foxvember
Foxcember

Then who can forget:

Foxuary
Foxruary
Foxch
Foxril
Foxay
Foxune
Foxuly

And Foxugust
September 2, 2025 at 7:59 PM