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lyterkitsune.bsky.social
LyterLikes🔥ΘΔ
@lyterkitsune.bsky.social
160 followers 580 following 15 posts
Lvl 32, Furry, Fox/Kitsune, 3D modeling, fursuiting/making, attending SNHU for game design and development soon. Otherwise, just furry paw loving trash 🦊🐾💕
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godbirdart.bsky.social
「 FOUND FAMILY 」 🌠🌈
image is a digital illustration of a pack of lean canine silhouettes racing across a watery reflective surface. the sun radiates behind them, low on the prismatic horizon. warm clouds halo the starry sky. the canine in the center of the canvas looks hopefully upward to a shooting star as a broken chain trails off its throat. #furry #furryart
March 3, 2025 at 11:29 PM
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howdylake.com
Curiosity and Joy
#furryart
January 5, 2026 at 10:30 PM
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wolf.observer
william stafford
Coyote My left hind- foot steps in the track of my right fore- foot and my hind-right foot steps in the track of my fore-left foot and so on, for miles— Me paying no attention, while my nose rides along letting the full report, the whole blast of the countryside come along toward me on rollers of scent, and— I come home with a chicken or a rabbit and sit up singing all night with my friends. It’s baroque, my life, and I tell it on the mountain. I wouldn’t trade it for yours.
September 30, 2025 at 6:52 AM
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magpiebones.bsky.social
Last client project of the year.
A gunmetal gray was used on the face to allow for airbrushing in more facial depth. I'm going to highly recommend this for any stark black and white characters going forward.
November 30, 2025 at 5:41 PM
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joabaldwin.com
🐮💚 Happy Feral Flame release day! 🐺🔥

Book 4 of 6 of the #NossSaga ✅ ... Two more to go.
Help me spread the word, and good luck getting that mask!
#BookSky 🌈📚 #QueerBookSky
Release day giiveaway! Fɾee mask. Bluesky exclusive. Share + comment to enter rafflle for a fɾee mask (plus other goodies I’ll drop in the box). Yes, I’ll ship internationally. The mask has minor cosmetic flaws, but it’s cool as fuck. Background image shows the hardcover of Feral Flame with the buffalo illustration, and a dark canid mask over a moody illustration with a feral wolf.
November 11, 2025 at 2:52 PM
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jamzenn.bsky.social
The awesome @joabaldwin.com commissioned me to draw his characters Banook and Sterjall from the #NossSaga! This painting taught me a lot, and what a joy Joaquín is to work with ☺️ Thank you a million times!!🌻
Illustration created for the book series called The Noss Saga. Pictured are a bear with golden fur, cradling a dark anthropomorphic wolf on his lap. It is nighttime and they are outside, sitting in front of a campfire. They look happy and relaxed.
October 15, 2025 at 3:38 PM
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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
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decyl.bsky.social
Here are the final images of the painting of this majestic cat of @furryfursuitmaker.bsky.social I was commissoned to paint this lovely cat by @fuzzyfurcreations.com
It was a lot of fun and I hope you like it 🥰

Oil on canvas, 50 x 40 cm
August 18, 2025 at 3:01 PM
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obviousplant.bsky.social
Anxiety Wolf
July 14, 2025 at 7:02 PM
lyterkitsune.bsky.social
*Notices you looking at my tails*
July 11, 2025 at 9:48 PM
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dogs100.bsky.social
The daily routine
July 10, 2025 at 11:38 AM
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magpiebones.bsky.social
Ok so heres the plan- this will be my last opening for 2025. I will be accepting waggy tail orders as well as everything else I usually offer and I am going to be favoring creative freedom proposals. www.magpiebones.com/ordering.html <- for ordering info!
July 6, 2025 at 6:56 PM
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aerialsupernova.bsky.social
I'm alone in this~ 🎶 I'm as I've always been~ 🎶

Right behind what's happening! ~ 🎶

--

More of those doodles where I try to draw whatever comes to mind while listening to the first song that spotify plays in shuffle. I can officially say that I know one more Jimmy Eat World song lmao!
July 8, 2025 at 10:19 PM
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hearthfox.bsky.social
To Be Me
To Be Free
A charcoal fox dancing with a smile under the moon
July 9, 2025 at 6:02 PM
lyterkitsune.bsky.social
Was remembering all the fun at Confuzzled this year and forgot to share. This fox does love his time as a kitsune 💕
July 2, 2025 at 4:10 AM
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sterlingkato.bsky.social
I actually had clear stickers of this one made. Too bad they're a bit smaller than I'd of liked, but still... they are rather neat regardless 👍
July 1, 2025 at 8:06 AM
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yoji.ro
Many thanks to everyone, and I mean everyone, I saw at Pride in Manchester, NH yesterday
June 29, 2025 at 5:44 PM
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dustyfox.bsky.social
Let's gooooo! Manchester pride parade with @barks-and-rec.org was a blast! Can't wait for the after party tonight!
🐺: @fluke.bsky.social
🪡: @kilcodo.bsky.social
June 28, 2025 at 7:08 PM
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amras.me
Don't forget!
Image of a wolf receiving two-handed pets from what appears to be a human. Text reads: "Remember to pet your Therian friends" in a handwritten type.
August 24, 2023 at 3:19 PM
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shimi.bsky.social
I felt moved last night to make something… a Therian artefact… a poster? Manifesto? Handout? Flyer?

Whatevs. Its done. I’ll stick a few up over town.
A B&W poster” “WE WEREN’T BORN AS THEY SAID,” with poetic text about creaturely identity, defiance of naming systems, & embracing transformation. The design is chaotic & natural, with pencil-style animal drawings in each corner: a wolf (top left), a raven (top right), a rabbit (bottom left), & a cat (bottom right). Each is sketched with textured lines We didn’t begin in the clean white glare of their charts. We arrived—yowling-growling-baying-howling, cawing, snarling—our half-formed, paws still muddy from an older place. And they named us? No. They trapped us. In idea, in syllables that smelled of linoleum & sharp metal. They called us boy-girl he-she—as if they could ever know what had birthed in that room. But we're not names. we're poetry & motion. we're shedding. we're becoming again & again, slick with moulting skin & seasons that do not obey clocks. They cannot pin us to the wall like a dead moth & call it truth. We don’t owe our shapes to the ones who tried to bind them. We don’t owe our hearts to a category. We do not remember being born, so why should we carry the weight of that first cage? Let the forest remember us instead. Let our tracks in the dirt, our fur in the bramble, our voice in the long night be our real record. If we were once mistaken for something we're not—then so be it. we're not sacred because of what we were called. we're sacred because of what we're now. Breathing. Shifting. Choosing. Alive. Still reading this? Dearest creature: Are you eating enough? Are you sleeping with your back pressed to one who knows your scent, your musk? Are you helping your packs find water, safety, moonlight? Do not forget your teeth are not just for defence. They are also for grooming. For play. For love, for cracking open new things. Exploring your world. Be not defined nor categorised by those who tried to clip your wings or dull your teeth & claws. Define thyself by your every sacred heartbeat & keep going. Even when they wish us dead & gone.
June 18, 2025 at 5:25 AM
lyterkitsune.bsky.social
Happy pride from Manchester this weekend @barks-and-rec.org showed up strong #Manchester #pride
June 29, 2025 at 4:53 PM