A multi-muse blog for therianthrope/shapeshifter/were-coyote OCs. ...And OCs that are just plain feral. Independent, semi-selective, semi-active, multi-verse, multi-ship. Fandom friendly, super OC friendly - OCs are who I've been roleplaying against for 13+ years! Feel free to interact, even if we're not mutuals. Main blog for: vapidwastrel ● deathonsixlegs (now here) ● blu-coasts (now here) ● the-eddie-brock-show (inactive) Mun's art blog: vatama Mobile: guidelines ● muses ● navigation Desktop: Check out the symbols below to navigate through this tumblr.
A furious jingling sounded as the three bells beading the ends of a gaudy fool's cap Wade (begrudgingly) wore were jostled. He'd snapped his head around so sharply and severely to look at the other mercenary the tingling ache of tendons knitting back together flared faintly at the base of his skull.
The other was set with the narrowed stitching of his mask for a moment longer, index finger poised just as sharply on the keypad. Debating if he could kebab Grayson right then and there for the added smarm. He decided against it. "I'll remind you I'm only wearing this because I'm a man of high integrity. And always keep my promises."
Okay, and because he'd lost a bet against Grayson pretty badly. But that was neither here nor there.
Another discordantly cheerful cacophony from the bells as he turned back to safe cracking, hunched like a gargoyle in front of it. As if the weight of the cap also contained his unusually sour mood. "... and so birds know when I'm coming."
Considering how often Deadpool played the fool, the man should’ve taken to the get-up like a fish to water. The way he was acting now, he may as well have been gearing up to switch his moniker from Deadpool to Killjoy.
Grayson’s gaze was level and dispassionate in the face of the other mercenary’s ire. His mouth didn’t twitch even a little at the ridiculous tinkling of bells. He planned to save any expression of amusement for later, when the job was done and he was alone.
“…and so birds know when I’m coming.”
Said as if Deadpool’s chatter wouldn’t clue them in before the bells ever would. Grayson shifted his position, flicking his attention down to re-check the information displayed on the screen of his watch. “I’m sure the Florida scrub jays send their thanks.”
The main threat to Florida scrub jays was habitat destruction, not cats, but he wasn’t about to get into that.
“I was asking because we might be set to need a distraction.”
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@normallyxstrange thank you for being so patient! writing has been incredibly difficult recently. :S
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Purple-grey clouds mustered together on the horizon like sodden sheep, each rumble of thunder a herald warning of the storm to come. There had been a time when a storm would have sent her and her packmates scampering outside, whooping and laughing all the way as they shed their clothes and bared themselves to the elements. Even the eldest among them had turned into pups; they’d encouraged the swelling gusts to buffet them about like playmates oblivious to their own strength, stirring up the muddy ground and pouncing into swiftly forming puddles, yipping and howling their chorus to the thunder overhead. And once the pack grew tired, they’d settled down and let the wind ruffle through their fur as the rain licked them clean with a mother’s rough affection.
That had been then.
Now, Bailey took the hint and slunk off to the nearest movie theater, accompanied only by her shadow.
When it came to dodging a storm, a theater was a prime hideout. It was an all-inclusive sorta package: lodging provided via comfy chairs, a range of entertainment facilities, and even meals - if ‘all the popcorn a gal could get her grubby paws on’ counted as a meal. ...Which it did. And for the prim and picky types who wanted the five-star experience, i.e. when Bailey was feeling fancy, a theater also boasted bathrooms indulgently outfitted with indoor plumbing, toilet paper and hand soap. (The luxury. The decadence.) If she played her cards right, picking the right movies at the end of their run and slipping the attention of ushers, Bailey could reign queen of the theater for hours on end.
Bailey was dozing in her back row seat of choice, satisfied with the amount of newly stolen toilet paper packed into the cavernous space of her sports bra, when people began filing into the theater. She could pick out the run-of-the-mill flavors through nose alone: stoner human, human with dangerously low blood sugar, apparently-just-gorged-themselves-on-a-block-of-cheese human, menstruating human, elderly human with cancer, human feeling horny, human with a yeast infection. Here’s hoping those last two weren’t together.
Bailey’s nose gave a twitch. Before the pack’s run-in with the Circle of Swallows, the various scents of magic had been imperceivable to her. Shoot, that magic could even have a scent had been imperceivable. In Clueless Ol’ Bailey’s world, her packmates had smelled the way they smelled, humans had smelled the way they smelled, and it had never occurred to her that magic might be a part of the complex formulae that colored her scentscape.
Necessity and experience had taught Bailey different. The sharp ozone stench of the coven’s magic was burned into her memory, now - as was the way the stench had gradually morphed with each fallen packmate, taking on the pungent earthiness distinct to her pack. The smell of home, stolen and mutated into an abomination.
Whatever was currently tickling her nose shared enough of the canine that Bailey was half ready to dismiss it as another lonely, pining daydream. The next inhale challenged her for a reappraisal and she took another breath, focus narrowing, pushing everything else into the background. Canine, yes, shapeshifter, yes, but not coyote - and therefore just unfamiliar enough to tempt her eyes open in search of the source.
This movie was apparently popular, judging by the number of filled seats. Pinning the approximate direction of the scent only narrowed the possibilities down to a group, not a single individual. The result was that the audience watched the movie and Bailey watched the audience, absently craving a pickle like the kind they had at the movies back in Texas.
Nobody stood out until the alarm sounded. Bailey’s energy was directed towards looking, not listening, and she forced the blaring noise into insignificance with the same mercilessly stubborn focus that allowed her to zero in on the young man who had been the first to react, slapping his hands over his ears with a grimace.
The young man who, now, wasn’t making any effort to move beyond protectively curling into himself. Her attention narrowed thin like a blade, sharp enough to hear his panicked heartbeat thudding like drums, his breath staccato-short.
Shoot.
Scilly had been like that too, just after being turned - overwhelmed and completely unable to filter through the deluge of information bombarding her senses. It had taken the girl months before she could walk into a place like a supermarket without folding up like one of them lawn chairs, and even then the pack had always made certain she was accompanied, just in case. What in the hell had this fella’s packmates been thinking, leaving him all alone like this?
Indignation drove her to her feet. In a regular situation, Bailey’s mannish stride would have brooked no argument as to who owned the right of way; annoyingly, the tide of evacuees carried a momentum greater than the sum of its parts. She had to squeeze through and against the crush instead, annoyance building both at the humans around her and her target’s absent pack.
An animal cry broke through the noise of the evacuation and Bailey’s own internal cursing. Her stomach lurched. That wasn’t just a newblood shutting down from sensory overload. That was the start of a shift. Heads turned, a few humans lingering with the hesitant air of good Samaritans. Nope, nope. That could not be allowed to happen. She was putting her foot down and banning humans from committing inconvenient acts of kindness.
Or at least she would beat them to it.
Bailey changed tack, worming out of the crowded aisle and bolting over several rows of seats. Within moments, she was by her fellow shapeshifter’s side and reaching out to offer support, her skin radiating animal heat.
“Shh, shh, you’re all right. I got you, sunshine.” Her voice took on the whine used towards junior packmates in need of reassurance - a promise of protection, given from the strong to the weak. It had been a long time since Bailey felt qualified to offer it. If the threat had been witches, she couldn’t have even tried - not without lying through her teeth. Here, though, the pledge came as natural and pure as water flowing from a spring. “Here now, let’s get your furry behind away from all these people. You don’t have to worry your noggin about nothin’, sunshine, I promise. I’ll keep you safe. Can you talk? What’s your name?”
I’m forcing you all to bear witness to the raw TALENT of one of my best friends and confidants @feral-alchemy / @vatama
She DREW that. For ME. With her own TWO HANDS. The shading? The little details like the crinkle of Wade’s mask? His titties perfectly sculpted and prominent? The little highlight along the seam of his head? His little smile???? Perfection. Astounding. Cum-worthy.
#its on my fridge#I’m in shock whenever I go to get ice#its so beautiful#how#[ artsy fartsy ]#outofthepool#im pretending the little black suit tabs are my hands#lovingly holding his tits aloft
is that
DID YOU REALLY PUT IT ON YOUR FRIDGE
I AM SO.....
I THINK THIS IS THE FIRST TIME ANYONE’S PUT MY ART ON THEIR FRIDGE LMFAOOOOO I AM SO HONOURED
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is LIVE right now
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i like elephant seals IN THEORY cos they look so goofy but every time i watch any documentary about them all they do is fuck and fight extremely graphically and disgustingly to the death so i’m deeply afraid of them
I just googled “why do elephant seals fight” and got a video of one bashing himself in slow, rhythmic, dead-eyed crashes against a truck only slightly larger than itself while said owner just stood to the side, a defeated, perplexed look on his face
