#anthromorphic crocodile

[thephoenixandthecrocodile]

5 Facts about Queer Anthro Crocodile People

Queer Friendly: Anthro Crocodile, also known as Ilkhatal, reject the very concept of the gender binary. They support all genders and love experimenting with different form of gender expression. They also reject heteronormativity on principle, knowing very well the damage it causes those who embrace it full-heartedly

Fashion Can Be Challenging: Anthro Crocodiles live in a human-centric nation, which can make getting their needs met quite challenging. Fashion is just one place where this is keenly felt. The humans wear Ilkhatal skin and horns as a fashion statement and even though harvesting crocodile skins is illegal, there is a black market for crocodile body parts. The Ilkhatal themselves prefer wearing dresses, skirts, and wide legged trousers. They also prefer wearing clothes that display the ridges and colorful scales on their back.

Sexual Dimorphicism: The Anthro Crocodiles who are born with a uterus and more estrogen than testosterone have more pronounced ridges along their eyeridges and are taller and bulkier than those with penises and more testosterone than estrogen.

Crocodile People Live For a Long Time: A wealthy, healthy, Anthro Crocodile person can live up to 120-150 years old. However, because of the human-centricness of their state, an average anthro crocodile usually only lives to 60-80 years old. Because of their long life span, they divide childhood and adulthood differently than humans. An Ilkhatal's childhood lasts from birth to their 20s, then their "teenage years" are up to their 30s, then young adulthood until their 40th birthday when they finally reach true adulthood. Children and twenties are expected to depend on their elders for financial and emotional support, Ilkhatal in thier 30s are expected to be independent, but can rely on a safety net built by the elders, and those who make it to 40 are expected to be fully independent, although older Ilkhatal (60-100) will quietly extend help if needed, so as not to embarrass the now adult Ilkhatal.

No, Anthro Crocodiles Don't Eat Human Flesh. Don't be a Racist: Anthro crocodiles find human flesh to be bitter and chewy and thus haven't eaten a human in centuries. Still, they need to eat 5-7% of their body weight to be healthy and so they prefer big game such as elk, deer, boars, and other types of large animals.

Bonus fact: Crocodile people's health is tied to their access to water. They need to spend no less than 30% of their average day in water to be considered healthy. If they don’t, they will develop severe skin conditions, heart and lung disease, and stunted physical and mental development.

[sparkboyproductions]

Catstantinople: Lady Trouble.

Artwork with cartoon references based on the ending scene in the Wacky Races episode, The Super Silly Swamp Sprint.

Now living a free life from strict kingdoms and finding freedom on the island with his family, Ifsan (the protagonist), is still a very handsome sweet guy whose fight for rights bought attention to many ladies, including reptile ladies!

While wondering though the jungle, Ifsan is caught with surprise and fear as he's chased by a big lady crocodile who wants to drown the him with hugs and kisses.

Although this won't feature in the final written fable, this art is a development in Ifsan's character. A good natured cat whose fed up with greed and lust, wants to being the rights to all species. Free from harems or chains.

[fontzero]

one of my fav moments of princess tutu is towards the end. when duck realizes that the entire town is stuck under drosselmeyer’s control and we see the family entering turn into fantasy anthromorphs and not realize it. the horrific eldritch sense of drosselmeyer’s power is nauseatingly interesting. like the way we see characters slowly introduced as anthromorphs- the crocodile ballerina or the penguin pianist, as an example. no one acknowledges it- at this point it’s assumed to just be “natural” for the town. but the realization that, no, it’s drosselmeyer physically changing people and places and senses to create his narrative- how awful? how tragic?

but the way the entire time we see drosselmeyer he’s always in the gears and machinery of the clock tower but we don’t realize it until the end. the way drosselmeyer can manipulate the characters actions even if they’re aware of it, as long as it fits the narrative. his own self awareness of realizing that he, too, must be a character in someone’s story. the way he doesn’t really “die” but wanders off with uzura, to haunt a different story. how goldcrown town is safe and fine, even if bittersweet, there is another story being written that is despairing and tragic, and it is out of our control. there are people being changed and controlled to spiral into agony.

can you tell he’s one of my fav villains in media ever

[splendidbadger]

You mentioned a Badger OC between tags on a reblog of mine... I beg to know MORE 👀

HI HI SORRY I TOOK FOREVR TO ANSWER THIS!!

So this is Kris!!

Img description: an anthropomorphic European badger with a red mohawk, eyes, nose and pawpads. He is wearing a plum colored vest and dress pants with a white shirt and tie.

Text on ref says: Kristov Petrov. 16. He/they/it

Likes: cooking, vigilantes, musicals. And dislikes: loud noises, bright colors, and hot weather.

My Badger Boi is Kristov Mishavich Petrov! He’s for a superhero story I’m working on influenced by MHA (pre-overhaul arc) and the movie Skyhigh. His own universe that doesn't have a name yet. Before I talk about him heres a of of lore.

The series is set in the year 2111, and everything up until 2026 canonly occurred within the world. So things like superman the series and sillybands existed/exist. The world was quite normal until a child in Sydney Australia suddenly developed ice based powers. This was referred to as the Sydney Incident. The child was taken away, and no one knows what happened to them. Over time more people began developing or being born with powers until 80% of the world has some sorta power.

In their world there’s three sentient races

Humans (who can look like regular humans, or be mutants aka humans with non human features) humans make up about 60% of the population

Anthromorphs: sentient animal people, who originated from lab experiments involving giving regular animals anomalies. Anthromorphs can be hybrids of any existing animal on Earth. They make up about 45% of the population. Have existed for about 80 years.

Arti-men: Short for artificial men, sentient robots who range from DBZ style androids to looking similar to Cybertronians make up 15% of the population. Have existed for about 16 years.

Kris is an anthropomorph! He’s a badger/salt water crocodile. He looks mostly like a badger but has the snout(but covered in fur with a badger nose), teeth of a croc with scales under his fur. Kris is a super sweet kid from a very broken home who desperately wants to be a superhero who goes into search and rescue! He doesn’t have much self-esteem and his story involves him becoming assertive and more aggressive something he fears due to his appearance.

Despite his upbringing hes determined to be a good person, he doubles down on being good because of how awful his life is. He really only has his big brother Sergio in terms of family. Kris also is sympathetic towards villains because he knows if it wasn’t for his friends and brother he’d be the perfect maelstrom to be a villain.

He’s a nosy kid who digs too deep into mysteries there's a saying about badger anthromorphs in this world! “If God didn’t want a badger to dig, she wouldn’t have given us claws.” There’s more but I feel this is already really long 😭.

One more thing actually he canonly loves Batman the Animated series, and TFA he loves Lockdown because he reminds him of his brother and his face reminds Kris of badger markings!

[delusionalpuffball]

[theblvckhorned]

Afterlife.

Cyberpunk Anubis, and Ammit.

[kaiyaru-art]

drew this for YzaiCreates for the Summer Secret Santa event @ deviantART | Character © YzaiCreates

Support me on KO-FI | Commissions

[gst95]

[thephoenixandthecrocodile]

Short Story: The Martyr and the Widow

Synopsis: Marcus, also known as Heva's Bane, is the most feared and wanted rebel in the Killbraugha. He is literally fearless except when it comes to professing his love for his best friend's and second in command's sister: Caroline. With his feelings growing harder and harder to hide each passing day, Marcus desperately desires to tell her how he feels, but how can he when she is still grieving her murdered husband?

This is a short story featuring rebel leader Marcus Galloway (he/him), his second-in-command Kerry McNair (they/he), and Kerry's sister, Caroline McDermott (she/her). They are three sides characters from the book I'm currently querying: For the Next Killer Who Dies (the one about queer anthro crocodiles giving the middle finger to colonial asshats).

The Martyr and the Widow

Mars 21st 1825 – McDermott’s Cottage, Marston County, Killbraugha

Marcus knew this was a mistake but said nothing as Kerry led him down the winding road to Caroline’s cottage, the lush green hills of the Killbraugha offering an eternal peace and quiet found nowhere else. Even now, when Hevian forces flooded the land and the Ilkhatal rose up in righteous rebellion following Marcus’ and Kerry’s every command-even the foolish ones and there had been many. So many painful lessons learned, so many good Ilkhatal lost. A burden God gave to them for reasons unknown. A burden given or a burden taken? Were he and Kerry destined to this lonely, bloody life or was there another way, hidden from them by their pride and Kerry’s lack of faith? What did that matter on the road to lovely Caroline? Why bring that doom and gloom to her door, one who had already lost so much and would only lose more?

It was rare to see Caroline, the war making it unsafe to be with the ones they loved, so when Kerry asked Marcus if he wanted to tag along, how could he refuse? Only God knew if Kerry would see her again before the end. Now, however, it was clear that Marcus had been a fool, placing his own desires before the needs of his friends and the cause. He had plenty of chances on their journey to her cottage to turn back and return to his duties as a guerilla leader and bane of the colonial Hevians, but he said nothing, allowing himself to be led to his doom.

Caroline, oh perfect Caroline. Marcus would die happy if he could see her one last time and yet it would be the sight of her that killed him. Caroline, who was too pristine for any mortal of this world, including her late husband who Marcus led to his death. Not purposely, no, his feelings for Caroline made him mad, but did not make him a dishonorable traitor. No, Caroline’s husband met his fate the same way as many of Marcus’ other soldiers: a hate filled Hevian and a well-aimed bullet. The same way Kerry and Marcus would meet their fates, leaving Caroline alone with her grief and three young sons. Unfair, but that was the Hevian’s nature. Destroy everything beautiful and gentle in their unending quest for conquest and bloodstained wealth.

They stepped down a steep slope, Marcus’ already tight suit tightening further as he tried to keep his balance. It was safer to approach the cottage from the backroads then down the gentle, sloping main road, but it was also more difficult. Kerry cursed every time they got dirt on their usually pristine sack suit, the Ilkhatal taking great pains to maintain their appearance despite hating the flirtatious attention it attracted. “I do it for myself not them,” they said when Marcus asked them why they bothered if they wanted people to leave them alone. Marcus knew Kerry was a handsome Ilkhatal despite never finding anyone personally attractive, well, until Caroline anyway. Beautiful Caroline. For so long Marcus thought he was the Kerry type of asexual: no desire for anyone ever. Then he met Caroline and felt a desire never felt before, discovering that being ace was far more nuanced and beautiful than he originally assumed.

Not that he shared his thoughts with his prickly friend, half of their bad temper originally from the fact that Kerry stopped growing once they hit 5’4 (unlike Marcus who felt like he never stopped growing). If Kerry had been short and stout maybe they wouldn’t have felt the need to cut everyone down to size, but, no, poor Kerry never outgrew their lanky, scarecrow phase. Their body so thin it suggested they didn’t need to eat to survive. Their thin and sharp snout added a hint of standoffishness, but their glorious and meticulously groomed horns that curved in before flaring out added to everyone’s confusion. So many Killers would gladly trade in their ears and all their teeth for Kerry’s exquisite horns.

And so, the desperate and the arrogant tried their luck only to bleed from Kerry’s acerbic tongue and if they persisted Marcus would intervene, often times his reputation and his Minotaur like frame enough to scare them away. There were always those few though, those stupid few…Kerry, despite being able to fend for themselves, always came out of those fights worse for wear than Marcus, griping that they didn’t need help, but a sheepish smile betraying their gratitude. Occasionally Marcus would receive a thank you later in the night, but most of the time it was understand instead of said.

While Marcus’ size and strength benefitted him when it came to terrifying Ilkhatal and Hevians alike and attracting people whenever a leader was needed, it was a nuisance in every other aspect of his life. On the battlefield, he was at home, his presence often enough to turn the tide, but outside the battlefield, he was a misfit, unwanted and unwelcomed. Outside he felt he could breathe and move freely, but in establishments and other people’s homes he felt like a Minotaur surrounded by glassware. One wrong move and he would shatter everything. All of his clothes had to be custom tailored, and every normal sized utensil felt like it was made for children when he held it. Whereas Kerry purposely made a statement with their appearance but wanted to be ignored, Marcus purposely ignored his appearance despite wanting to belong.

Marcus’ razor-sharp teeth were chipped and one or two were missing. The scales that ran down his wide and flat snout were broken, missing, or dulled by dirt from the battlefield. He only took care of his bull-like horns because it terrified the Hevians, inspiring more than a few horror stories they published in their journals and newspapers. The horror stories that shouldn’t have inspired as much pride as they did.

They reached the bottom of the slope and walked around the mossy stone cottage built to withstand the ravishes of time. Faint smoke issued from its short chimney, the warm spices of a stew brushing across their nostrils. Frantic motion crossed the few windows as they approached the front door and two young boys in overalls burst out, squealing, “Uncle ‘Erry!”

The boys latched onto Kerry’s legs, nearly knocking them over.

Cathal, the oldest of the boys came halfway up Kerry’s waist, surely worrying Kerry who was exhausted of constantly being the shortest Ilkhatal in the room. Cathal’s long and narrow snout was too big for his head, and he looked like he was going to fall forward every time he took a step. That didn’t prevent him from swaggering with pride, showing off his first grown up teeth jutting from his lips, adding to his lopsided appearance.

Harry, the youngest of the two, came up to Kerry’s hips and was already as lanky and coordinated as a weathered scarecrow. His white fluffy ears were long enough to be used as wings and the thinner patches of fur revealed that he had taken to the habit of tying his ears back out of embarrassment. Wide yellow eyes took up most of the boys’ faces adding to the comical phase of early childhood every Ilkhatal went through growing up. Their horns were mere knobs on top of their heads (although as Kerry shepherded them inside, Marcus noticed Cathal’s horns were worn suggesting the impatient boy tried to file in the sharpness associated with adult Ilkhatal) and their scales were still soft and leathery.

“Here are my little monsters,” said Kerry, waddling into the stone cottage, Marcus awkwardly hovering behind him, just outside the front door, “Where’s your mother?”

“Putting Elliot te sleep,” Cathal false whispered, “So we have te be quiet.”

This was wrong. There was no place for him here. Fool, what a fool. Marcus half turned around to walk away when he heard Caroline’s throaty voice.

“Ah, Kerry, good te see yeh. Where’s Marcus?”

He swallowed, praying his heart would stop pounding against his chest, and adjusted his ill-fitting suit as she approached him.

“Marcus, what are you doing out there? Come in! I haven’t seen you in so long.”

Caroline was perfect in every way, a sign of God’s very existence, for who else could create a being like her? Tall and severe like the Kanas Mountains that surrounded Killbraugha. The roughness of the countryside and being married to a rebel had worn away all superficial beauty, but left behind a true and tested soul more beautiful than the most precious jewel in all of Telamacre. She shared Kerry’s thin and sharp snout, and (smaller) twirling horns. Her ears, however, were smaller and covered in less fur. Her high collared, grey and blue dress was stained and mended multiple times and her rough hands bore the scares of motherhood and poverty.

“Ah, yes, uh thank yeh,” he nodded hesitantly as he walked into the small cottage, his enormous size making it feel more cramp than it actually was.

His dark eyes instinctively swept the room, an exit plan forming in the back of his mind. The cottage consisted of one room, the only exit the front door and three small windows. Blankets lined around the roaring fire, the wooden crib resting before the warm flames.

“Forgive the mess,” Caroline whispered, resting a hand on his arm, “I tried te clean before you two arrived, but Elliot wouldn’t fall asleep and these two were fighting.”

“Fighting?” asked Kerry, sitting down on a splintering chair, the two boys jumping on his lap, “Now, what did I tell you two about fighting?”

“Make sure yeh can win before yeh start,” recited the oldest boy.

“Thank you, Kerry,” Caroline's sarcasm drawing a mischevious smile from her sibling, “Come, Marcus, sit down.”

He gulped as her hand glided off his arm and he bumped into a bushel of herbs hanging from the ceiling. He took a step back with ‘oh’.

“Sorry,” smiled Caroline, delicately pushing the herbs out of his way.

That sweet, warm smile inspired one of his own and he almost leaned forward before catching himself with an embarrassed cough and sat on Kerry’s right. The children stared at him curiously. He had only been here a few times before and they had been so young, no one could expect them to remember him. They slowly glanced back at their uncle and Harry grabbed his ear.

“Woah there! I need that.”

“Harry,” Caroline quietly scolded as she pulled the kettle from the fire, “We don’t grab ears!”

“You’ve got a strong grip,” said Kerry, rubbing his ear.

“They’re really fuzzy,” grinned the young Ilkhatal.

“Yes, Kerry inherited Grandpa Ross’s ridiculously hairy ears,” smirked Caroline, pouring three glasses of tea.

“They’re not ridiculously hairy,” frowned Kerry.

Caroline shot him a knowing glance. Harry stood up in his lap, stepping on Cathal’s hand in the process, and nuzzled his snout against Kerry’s furry ear, giggling.

“Ow! Harry!” snapped the oldest Ilkhatal, hopping off Kerry’s lap.

Quiet!” Caroline hushed as the baby made a noise.

The room froze as Caroline held her hand out, watching the crib like a hawk, but thankfully the baby settled back to sleep. Caroline sighed with relief before rounding on her children, “Behave you two or you can go outside and do your chores.”

The sons promised to be good as Caroline passed out the tea.

“How do you take yours, Marcus?”

“It’s fine like this. Thank yeh.”

“I can get you cream. I have a little left over.”

“Oh, no, please. It’s perfect,” Marcus stumbled over his own words and took a sip to settle his nerves.

He looked down in surprise as Cathal pulled on his sleeve.

“Cathal! Be polite,” snapped Caroline, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. How may I help yeh?” Marcus asked, ignoring Kerry’s amused smile.

“I don’t know yeh and Ma says I should introduce myself te strangers. I’m Cathal,” said the young boy, sticking out his hand.

Marcus wrapped two fingers around his small hand and shook it.

“Marcus Galloway.”

The small Ilkhatal nodded his head and looked him over.

“You’re big.”

“Cathal!”

“Yes, I am.”

“My Da was small. I don’t wante be small.”

“I want Uncle ‘Erry’s ears,” grinned Harry, curling up against Kerry’s chest.

“There is nothing wrong with my ears!”

“They could be used as carpet, Kerry,” said Caroline.

“Wow!” said Cathal, his eyes widening as he placed his hand inside Marcus’ large hand, “Ma, look!”

“Shh, Cathal. And well, he’s a grown Ilkhatal. You’re still young.”

“But look,” he moaned.

Marcus held out his arm as Cathal mournfully examined his muscles, Caroline huffing as she struggled to contain her embarrassment before jumping out of her chair, reprehending herself under her breathe.

“What’s wrong, Cara?” asked Kerry.

“I forgot Farmer Knealey promised me a bit of beef for our stew. I’m sorry, but Kerry, Marcus, could you look after the children for a half hour? He lives just down the road.”

“Woah!” said Cathal, hanging from Marcus’ arm as he rose from his chair.

“Yeh can’t go alone!” Marcus interjected before anyone else could, “It’s not safe.”

Another sound from the crib and Kerry throw him a crossed glare.

“She’ll be safer without us than with us,” he hissed, “We’re the wanted ones, remember?”

“I’ve been alone for a long time now, Marcus,” said Caroline, her warmth subsumed by a steely determination, “I assure you I can take care of myself.”

“Please, Mrs. McDermott,” he whispered, immediately wondering why he went with such a formal address, “Let me accompany yeh. No one will recognize me. I assure yeh. I am a master at disguises.”

Another sentence that made him want to kick himself, especially as he registered Kerry’s judgmental look. Caroline glanced at her fussing baby before saying, “Very well, Marcus, if you insist.”

One could hardly call this his most successful disguise, a battered and mended cloak draped around his suit and a large harvest hat that barely fit his head, his horns piercing through the straw, ruining it for any future use. Kerry told him it made him more conspicuous but Caroline said nothing and so he followed her out dressed like the fool he was. They walked to Knealey’s farm in silence, Marcus trying hard to swallow normally as his heart pounded in his long ears. He did his best not to spend too much time watching Caroline’s every move, but his eyes naturally gravitated towards her. She no longer wore her black mourning clothes, but the sorrow and lost was still palpable, as if it replaced her bones and blood and she would disappear without it. He was a fool and a sinful Ilkhatal for coveting a widow still trapped in her loss. Her husband died only two years ago. He didn’t even get to meet Elliot before the end. Selfish idiot!

“Thank you for coming with me,” she said, holding a wicker basket containing the small, wrapped piece of meat and random vegetables.

“I could not let yeh travel alone.”

Thick, white clouds crawled across the clear blue sky, softly blanketing the gentle slopes, and shielding them from the burning sun. In the distance stood the towering and jagged Kanas Mountains, their peaks lost in the lazy clouds. Unmoving, intimidating but beautiful, so much like Caroline.

“If it was out of nothing more than your misguided sense of duty, then you insult me,” she snapped with uncharacteristic defiance and anger, “Imagine being arrogant enough te think I need protecting because I am lowly mother and a widow, as if I haven’t survived without yeh or Kerry for months at a time. Or did yeh imagine I’d be grateful that I finally had a strong partner te protect me. That I spend every day terrified for my life and the life of my sons and if only someone would come save us-”

She stopped short and her ears flickered in embarrassment as she held her basket closer to her body and avoided his astonished gaze.

“Mrs-Caroline,” he began, his tongue unable to move without tripping over itself.

Oh, to speak what was in his heart. To embrace her and tell her he loved her and that he came because to be separated from her for even a moment was pure torture. How he wanted to beg please, please love me too.

“I’m sorry I offended yeh,” he settled, avoiding her gaze, “I-It grieves me that I’ve convinced yeh I could ever think so little of yeh. I know what yeh are capable of and I-“

Worship you for it.

“Whatever your reason,” she began, her full on accent disappearing as she regained her composure, “I’m glad you are here. It is nice te have company now and then.”

“Yeh sound like Kerry.”

A rare half smile flirted across her snout.

“I hope they help more than they cause trouble.”

“I would be lost without them. They are the leader I wish I could be.”

He felt her gaze travel over his large form, and he chose to believe it was a gaze of compassion.

“They are fond of you,” she said, “I’ve never heard them praise anyone but you.”

“There isn’t much te praise.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

He raised his brows in unexpected joy, and she added, “Kerry tells me you were once part of the Order of St. Thomas, is that true?”

“Yes,” he replied, wondering why he always had to feel unstable around her.

Why couldn’t he just be honest and risk the shame and rejection?

“I was raised by the monks, but I never took my vows. The Hevians saw te that.”

“And now you’re a rebel," she said and Marcus frowned at the unspoken question.

“When the Hevians burnt down the monastery, they not only took everything from me, but they also took away our god. I had no other choice but te join the IFM. We will only be free te preach the true religion, amongst other things, once they are destroyed.”

“Will God forgive you for that?”

“It is God who placed me on this path. This is His plan for me.”

Her face softened as she glanced his way.

“And what will you do once we are free?”

“I will rebuild the monastery and leave it in proper hands.”

“You will not preach there?”

His frown grew.

“I cannot, in good conscience, preach His Word on such holy ground.”

“Where will you go once the monastery is rebuilt?”

“I don’t know. Wherever God needs me, I suppose.”

They walked around a bend and saw her house, a little less than a mile away, the black smoke crawling across the cloudy sky. He awkwardly scratched the bridge of his nose as Caroline broke off a piece of wheat and played with it.

“Thank you for coming over. I know it is unsafe and you are busy, but I enjoy having you and Kerry around. It is good for the boys.”

“They’re good boys. Rambunctious, but good boys.”

“They’re excited. They love Kerry.”

“They’re good with them.”

“They’re an ideal unty.”

They walked in silence before Caroline threw the piece of wheat away and refused to look at him.

“Do you ever see yourself with a family?”

He choked on his own breath as he stumbled forward, tripping over his large feet. She grabbed his arm and he swallowed, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest, his mind screaming at him to escape before he did something foolish. Her grip warm, even though the cloak and suit, and he wanted to shift deeper into her arms until she held him close, stroking his back and telling him it was ok. He was home. He was hers.

“I’m sorry if it’s a forward question,” she said, her ears lowered and her own snout twisted and turned with embarrassment, but there was a wild and determine look in her eyes, as if she had been wrestling with a great beast and this was to be the end of them both.

“It’s a surprising question,” he said, swallowing his fear and desire.

She looked down as she slipped her hand from his arm.

“An Ilkhatal who sacrifices everything for his god and country, should not die alone.”

“Such a Ilkhatal is not made for a family.”

She stared at him, her cold, grey eyes flashing.

“Why?”

It was an accusation as much as a question.

“I already married one rebel and we had three boys. Why would it be different for u-”

She caught herself and looked away, her face twisted in embarrassment.

“Caroline!”

He didn’t know how or why, but he held her close by her arms, one of her hands resting on his broad chest, the other holding the basket between them.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a step back, his mind spinning, his world no longer making sense.

She placed the basket on the ground and grabbed his large, callused hands.

“Marcus?”

By God, she was beautiful, the only pure being on Telamacre. So much like the Kanas Mountains, a towering figure of strength and untouchable virtue. No, not a being of stone, but a living, breathing woman who could shatter God himself with a glance, but who also needed trust and love. Someone to share the burden of this world with. He was the wrong Ilkhatal. He had only known the demanding righteousness of God and the brutality of war.

“Caroline, if things were different, if I was different. I would…”

She took off the harvest hat and let it fall to the ground as she gently rested a hand on his scaly cheek.

“I don’t think you are destined te fade away after this war nor are you meant te carry that burden alone. Our God is not that cruel.”

“It is our own foolishness that invites cruelty inte this world,” said Marcus, avoiding her gaze.

“Then don’t be a fool who thinks he can decide for the both of us,” she said, a harshness entering her voice, “I know what you are, who you are, and what that means for us. I’m no fool, but I love you.”

His eyes widened as he met her earnest gaze.

“And that means embracing you for who you are, the good and the bad.”

He wrapped his hands around her own and brought them to his chest.

“Long have I loved yeh, Caroline,” he said gasped, her own strength and courage providing him the push he needed, “but I cannot give myself te yeh, just yet. Not the way a husband should. The war…it requires too much of me.”

“Then we marry when we are free,” she said, closing her eyes and nuzzling her snout against his, almost as if she was searching for forgiveness or acceptance.

He tightened his hold on her hands and nervously returned her affection.

“But know this, Marcus. From this moment forth, I am yours and you are mine. Whatever you can give me, I will accept. You’ve lived a dark and lonely life for so long, Marcus, but no more.”

He rested a scaly and clawed hand on her cheek and closed his eyes as he nuzzled his snout against hers. His arm snaked around her waist as she grabbed at his suit, their snouts rubbing and nipping at each other’s scales. How long had he wanted to hold her like this? To speak of his love and have it returned. To submerge himself in her warmth and love and know that he had a home when this war was over. That he had a purpose beyond the battlefield.

He slowly opened his eyes and took a step back, his arm still around her waist, and their snouts barely touching. She looked at him expectantly, her dignity and discipline slowly returning.

“I am yours and your are mine,” he whispered and they both smiled and he knew God heard their vows and accepted them.

She pecked his cheek before breaking away and picking up her basket, glancing at him shyly as she offered her hand. He took it and kissed it before they walked towards the cottage, hand in loving hand. 

[bisayawitch]

🌿 A B'laan weaver. . . The B'laan are well known for their textile weaving, in particular making cloth made out of hemp. Two motifs prominently embroidered on blouses, skirts, and trousers are figures of the crocodile (binwaya) and human anthromorphic figures(tau). The other set of symbols are the hook like motifs called "kumang". These hooks are said to keep the binwaya and its powers in place. Interesting enough, the term Kumang is also found among the Iban of Borneo as the name of their weaving goddess. Where as the term "kayumang" or "great crab" is a mythological figure among the Manobo. These motifs are found in similar forms throughout the Philippines with the crocodile being the universal motif representing the spiritual realm and the ancestors. . . Their garments and techniques of weaving are similar to their neighbors, the T'boli, however among the B'laan they differentiate themselves in terms of the color of their garments. Whereas the T'boli typically wear more bright colors such as bright red, the B'laan tend to prefer darker tones. . . Reference: Sinaunang Habi Philippine Ancestral Weave by Marian Pastor-Roces Photo: morodiary.com https://www.instagram.com/p/Bvea-MFhKMs/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1p2c8od5nduk6

[searsage]

Artfight: Your Crocodile Tears Artt attaaaack for @sanpaku-i Such a soft pallette 😳 ArtFight! Im on team Nightmare! Ill be doing digital and sketch attacks! Ill be avoiding feline OCs just a heads up! Ill return attacks of equal quality! Hit me up! https://artfight.net/~ChemicallyAbsolute I want gore!😩 #furryfandom #fursona #furry #anthromorphic #anthropomorphic #dogsofinstagram #dogs #dog #dragon #horns #emo #punk #metal #piercings #wip #wolf #digitalart #digitaldrawing #artistsoninstagram #pfp #oc #originalcharacter #originalspecies #alpha #ClosedSpecies #demon #darkartists #artfight #artfight2019 https://www.instagram.com/p/B0o-RCYJUfT/?igshid=1r1v5l8hdr1g3

[nuttyrabbit]

Can someone just have Penders thrown in the looney bin with his idiotic statements and anthromorphic echidna fetish?

I’d rather feed him to the crocodiles

[thephoenixandthecrocodile]

Hello!

I'm Sam also known as Pepper (the phoenix ) and I write fantasy noir with elements of horror, conspiracy thrillers, and historical fiction. Right now I'm working on the Queer Croc WIP and the Demon WIP.

The Queer Croc WIP is Les Miserables meets Peaky Blinders. Only defeated rebels get tried for war crimes. That’s why Kingsley, an anthro crocodile, is facing the empire’s noose. To save his life, he’ll have to lie through his teeth and manipulate Alex, a traumatized journalist whose wife Kingsley tortured. What? He’s done worse

The Demon WIP is the X-men meets Penny Dreadful Meets Hannibal meets Babylon Berlin meets V for Vendetta. A group of Demons, warlords, "mad" scientists, and intrepid scholars must work together to overthrow a corrupt theocracy while avoiding the Church's (un)holy assassins.

When I'm not writing about queer anthro crocodiles and Demons, I study asymmetrical warfare and colonialism with help from my buddy: Professor Boris Valerian “L’Train” Massie.

He has the Ph.D. I do not (not yet at least). Right now I host the Art of Asymmetrical Warfare podcast but hope to produce a series of videos with Boris in 2023

Where to Find Me

If you're interested in my writing, you can find me:

On Twitter: pepperdaphoenix

My Writing blog: www.pepper-writes.com

On Instagram: pepperdaphoenix

If you're interested in my history stuff, you can find me:

On Twitter: aoawarfare

My History Blog: www.samswarroom.com

On Instagram: aoawarfare

My Podcast, Art of Asymmetrical Warfare on:

Spotify

Itunes

Amazon