Your gateway to endless inspiration
Community - Blog Posts
Exploring My Mouseness
The nonhuman community has a habit of only discussing and focusing on therianthropic identities, but I'd like to share how prevalent my rodent kithtype is in my life and to me (sometimes in ways more important than my theriotype).
Growing up, I was often left to my own devices due to a dad that came home late and a mother who could care less for my existence. My activity of choice was being in the yard from the moment I woke up until the moment it was dinner time. Laying on the concrete one summer day, I heard rustling in the window well which would unknowingly change my life.
On hands and knees, I moved towards the well and peered in, where my eyes met a scared mouse's beady black ones. It couldn't get out of the well it had fallen into and would surely die. My parents didn't like rodents, so I tip toed into the basement and got a long poled duster and a roll of duct tape. I put the duct tape along the slick pole and dropped it down into the well which the mouse quickly gripped onto and skittered up. It hopped off and, while I expected it to bolt immediately, it didn't. It stared at me for a moment standing on its hindlegs before finally leaving, and that would be the end of a mouse saving saga... Or so I thought.
The next day, a mouse was moving under the wooden step on the patio. Seed by seed, grass blade by grass blade, the mouse I affectionately named Mr. Kibbles would make a home poetically at the entrance of my own human home. I tossed out scraps of food, a cap full of water, fluffy bits of fabric or hair, and soon enough, Mr. Kibbles brought a Mrs. Kibbles.
Seemingly in a few weeks, I had gone from saving one mouse from the well to saving several mice which all lived throughout the rocks and dirt. Even as a kid, I had the intelligence to cover the well and so I did. All was well and my parents didn't mind, until one made it into the basement one day. That's when the mouse traps started, but I was cunning. I'd sneak the mouse traps into the trash when no one looked. If more appeared, I'd sabotage them by breaking them apart. My parents loathed me, but I was persistent and knew how to exhaust them. If I had to, I'd go into the basement and open the spider web infested well window and reach my hand in, grabbing mice myself and putting them in a box to bring back outside. It all began there that for once, I felt I had a family. A real one, even if it did no providing for me... Sort of.
Mice provided me life skills applicable to an abusive home. I observed every survival skill these mice had to offer. How to sneak and move quietly. How to store food. How to hide. How to make a safe den. How to hide weakness. How to turn a trashed box into a home and scraps into a meal. The rats in cities showed me how to thrive in a heavily populated environment. Capybaras showed me how to relax and enjoy life. Hamsters showed me the domestic side of rodenthood, of living in an artificial world and remain enriched. The squirrels showed me a world above the ground. Even in movies, rodents took a precedence in my mind and taught me things. Ratatouille taught me how to cook and I became quite good at it. Arrietty, who reminded me so much of a mouse, showed me how to be small and resourceful in a world that felt bigger than me. The Tale of Desperaux helped me be myself and Willard was incredibly relatable.
My biggest life teachers and what really raised me were often rodents of many, many kinds. The "pests" and "scum" that mice and rats are seen as taught me how to be seen as good for nothing, and yet survive. Even thrive. As an adult, the skills and lifestyle of rodenthood still helps me stay happy. I still love cooking and learned how to essentially be a chef because of Ratatouille, so I am always eating well no matter what I have. I can identify dangerous people because I analyze who moves like a predator and who moves like a mouse. You will find cups shaped like flower heads in my cabinet as an homage to my family of a million individuals, each unique even in a colony. I also feel that I am more compassionate because I could find such great value in something so small and unwanted by the majority, and yet I am capable of standing up for myself just as the mouse who stands off with the cat.
At times, I consider if I identify myself as rodent or if rodent is merely my imprinted family, but I value them no less regardless. If you have a kithtype, definitely share it with the community as they can be just as important, if not more so, than even a kintype.
Tech Fun Fact #7
The term “kin”, in contexts of fictionkin or otherkin, actually originated from a Lord of the Rings forum! Some members of the forum felt as if they where spiritually elves from the series, and thus coined the term “Elfkin”. When other kintypes appeared, Elfkins assigned them as “Otherkin”, which is where the term comes from!
Territory, and What it Is to Be a Dragon
That last essay I reblogged got me thinking about what being dragon really means to me, what the core of it is, so here I am writing.
(Obviously my experiences of draconity and what it means to be a dragon are not going to be universal. When I say "dragon" in this post, I mean specifically my species of dragon; I just don't know what we call ourselves in our own tongue, so I only have dragon to call it.)
Disclaimer aside:
What is it to be a dragon?
Dragon is many things, many small things that come together to form a larger picture. Or at least, that's how dragon-in-human-skin is.
Flight, for one. Flight is the first thing I remember wanting so badly that it hurt all the way down to the core of my bones. What is there to say about it? It's home, it's life; a grounded dragon is a dead dragon. Flight is hard work, yes, but the sky is where we are safest, where the only thing that can touch us is another dragon, and it's difficult for even them to approach unnoticed. Hunting from above is the safest and most effective way to do it. Patrolling the territory is easiest when one doesn't have to contend with any obstacles but the currents of the wind.
I have to concur with Rook (@/words-of-wolf) in that aforementioned essay; the violence in me does not come from the hunt, it comes from the territory. Dragons are viciously territorial creatures, more often than not willing to die for our claim, our lair, our hoard. But the hunt... the hunt is swift, and lethal, and does not strike dragonbrain as particularly violent. A hunt isn't a fight. I don't know whether dragon!me thought of my prey as beings capable of fear and pain; we were sort of sapient (enough so to have names, at least), but only sort of.
Territory, though. Territory is core to being dragon, for me. A dragon needs to claim things and places as mine, and it will, whether or not that claim is appropriate. Much like a parrot, if it doesn't have an appropriate outlet, it will make an inappropriate one (and sometimes it will do so even if it is given an appropriate outlet - despite having an actual territory my brain likes to claim any room I spend a significant amount of time in as mine, even if it's technically shared space, and I've almost lashed out at a coworker for the crime of turning the fan off in my room when it was just as much his room as mine). There is a certain amount of possessiveness to a dragon that is inescapable.
My mother often questions why dragons hoard gold. I can talk about courting behaviors, I can talk about how it theoretically proves you're able to protect something precious to a mate, but in the end, the answer is simply because we must. Hoard is core to us, as much as allogrooming is to a primate or hunting is to a cat. My hoard serves no purpose now; I have no other dragons to court even if I wanted to. But still I am driven to hoard nonetheless, just as a cat is driven to hunt no matter whether it's actually hungry or not. Dragonbrain only sort of cares about why territory and hoard are important, how they feed and protect and offer mating opportunities. It just knows that they are important, and that it will fight to the death to defend them - why only sort of matters.
This is, I think, a lot of where my draconic pride comes from. Draconic pride is something we talk about in draconic spaces with some regularity; whatever the kind of dragon, there's more often than not some amount of pride and vanity associated with being a dragon, any kind of dragon. It's instinctive for many of us. It's probably culturally learned for all of us. But there is also a sense of natural pride that comes with this is mine, none can take it from me, I think. Pride, too, is core to draconity, in all its flawed glory, but it is integrally tied with these things, and perhaps that's why it's so core to draconity. (Perhaps that's why it's so common as well - I've rarely met a dragon who isn't some degree of territorial.)
Psychological therian not as in "this one circumstance from my childhood made me this one species" but as in "millions of tiny things over the course of my entire life from birth to well into adulthood added up to create a nonhuman identity that likely continues to evolve as my psyche changes, some of which I can identify but many of which will get lost as memories of unremarkable life events seemingly unrelated to my nonhumanity"
Reclaiming "Female" Through Therianthropy
This is my submission for the "My Gender is Not Human" zine. Here, I discuss how I realized I was not transgender because of my therianthropy and I hope that maybe someone else may relate and understand themselves in a new way. ♡
If you want to wait to read this until the Zine is released, then do not continue past the "keep reading" portion. Otherwise, enjoy!
PS: If this interests you, I'd strongly advise playing Shelter 2 (where I got the photo below from) as it relates a lot to my own experience.
CW: Body issues, misogyny
Can you imagine the scent of the velvet fuzz of a newborn animal? The experience of a dark den now filled with new life, life that hasn't even opened its eyes yet to the winter world just outside? Can you imagine the tiredness yet sheer love and comfort of having your children welcomed into the world, witnessed only by you and the Earth’s soil?
It's something I often dream of, and it's that very experience that made me realize that I am not transgender. It's funny because in this community, it feels as though the majority of individuals here are transgender and that experience ties closely into their nonhumanity. For me, the opposite occurred. I had a top surgery letter in my hand after years of feeling “not quite right” in my body or in how people perceived me. I had every reason to feel this way and to want this, even if it felt imperfect. Looking back, I remember how I got to this point.
“Be skinnier any way you can, it’ll make you prettier” they’d say as they, themselves, were ironically obese and I loved them no less for it.
“Grow your hair long and change your clothes, you’ll look more like a lady.” A projection rooted in the ideals of someone who reads far too much Jane Austen.
“Women should be subservient and provide endlessly, or they’re selfish.”
Dread set in every time I filled someone’s coffee or plate of food due to expectation or demand and not out of love and kindness. Everytime the topic of how I looked in a dress or how my hair wasn’t as long as someone else wanted. The disappointment of my family when they learned I had dated other women in the past and their relief when I dated one man. The eyerolls and my teacher’s discouragement when I expressed an interest in physics or chemistry. Even my finance degree was achieved through apparent luck despite graduating top of my class. Every “right” I accomplished was met with a “wrong” in some new category. The very things that made men impressive made me disobedient. I starved myself to look a little nicer to strangers, cried in bed after being talked down to at work, slept away all of my sorrows in a curled up ball. Humanity didn’t take kindly to me.
It frustrated me, and combined with my general lack of identity at the time along with diagnosed CPTSD, it was easy to relate to the plight that transgender individuals experienced. Surely that had to be me, but the label and being perceived as something besides female never clicked entirely. I figured that I may just have mild gender dysphoria instead, but for the first time, I really deep dived into what it meant to identify as a gender as everyone was needing urgent, permanent decisions to be made on my end. Around this time, I took on my first mammal label which was a feline. Ironically, cats are often the first animals to be associated with femininity and to be mistreated because of it.
I wanted motherhood, but I wanted my own kittens to rear more than I felt like I wanted to raise a human infant after spending time in a daycare and at a cat shelter. I didn’t want my breasts, but not because I wasn’t a girl, that’s just how other animals are. Perfume was a method to mark the rooms I had been in, not for elegance. I still felt so female, yet I didn’t see another way out besides transitioning until it occurred to me: what if I didn’t have to be a “woman”, and instead, I could simply be female the way animals are female?
There were so many women like me such as in Brave, Princess Mononoke, Poor Things, or Wolf Children. The women who strayed from polite society to walk their own paths and stuck to their own desires. Even my own cat was female and yet held her chin so high and demanded when she would or would not be held. This realization was the first time I found myself feeling feral freedom and uninhibited beauty in the way I was. I was going to be the woman that rolls in the dirt, who is unapologetically beautiful in her own way, who chases after whatever her wild heart desires. I am not transgender, but I am not entirely a woman. I am an animal, and I am female in all of its unbridled ways.
Shedding my domestic cat label, I have taken up the title of bobcat. With it, I swear on my name that I will bite the hand of any who wish to tame or domesticate me ever again. I have been released out of the crate and back into the wilderness where I belong, and I shall never look back down the mountain. I feel the moss beneath my paws, the cold breeze kissing my nose, the smell of rain soaked woods and wildflowers. Ravens cry as I run on four legs towards the peak, released at last from the grips of mankind. I feel the warmth of a life suddenly worth living, growing along with the hair I now reclaim as my own fur without shame or expectation. I am home at the summit of my own world.
My spirit runs wild, and she is female.
hey!!
felinekin, caninekin, any kin of the sorts!!
please interact with me !! i need therian/alterhuman mutuals/friends :3c
please reblog (or just int) if youre on therian / otherkin / alterhuman tumblr im so desperate for more mutuals. pspsps. reveal yourselves
Does anyone else get "teeth shifts"?
You feel as if your teeth are larger and sharper, especially when touching them with your tongue or yawning.
I get that almost constantly and think it's really cool
Most underrated line in all of community
If you need a reminder we’re in the darkest timeline look no further than the outline of the adaption of into the woods we could have had back in the 90s
This version also would have had all the creatures in the movie played by puppets made by the Jim Henson company.
WE WERE F@*%#<€$¥ING ROBBED
All I want is a community movie where Troy and Abed are reunited and live happily ever after in a yacht making movies with Levar Burton. Is that too much to ask?
Gotta love how pierce is constantly called Jeff out for being gay when Troy and Abed are RIGHT THERE