Inkling Fictionkin Blog

Def my body. I miss having no bones and cute fangs and head-tentacles. Plus having photophores would be useful at night.

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Silver has her 3 month appointment, as her transition is going smoothly. Meanwhile she works to find an online support group and make new friends

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DO I EXIST?

(before I begin, content warning for a fictionalised bigoted newspaper article, and disclaimer that this is all fiction)

The following is a newspaper article in a lesser-known local broadsheet. It was not particularly widely-read, except for by other journalists for big newspapers looking for a scoop of their own. Little did the author know, this was the very first article about therian HRT to release in general news, and would indirectly cause the beginning of a period of fear and trepidation for those undergoing these treatments. Which is a shame, because the original journalist seemed very progressive and accepting for the most part.

New Horizons - A deep dive into those undergoing a radical new medical procedure.

By Vanessa M.

Part 1 - The Sighting

“Vanessa”, the portly gentleman I call ‘boss’ asked to me, globules of spittle flinging themselves in my general direction, “Why is it that I saw a bleedin’ werewolf on my way to work?”

“Um? A werewolf? I don’t know, sir, why do you ask?” I balked, unsure whether this was supposed to be a test or not.

“Gah,” he sighed, putting a palm to his creased, sweaty forehead, “Me eyes don’t work like they used to, but I know it was there. I was close to ‘em. But you, you’re young and spry, so I want you to be our… investigative journalist for this one.”

I gaped for just a moment before composing myself.

“You’re putting me on a case? Thank you, sir, I’ll get right to it and get you a story!” I couldn’t hide the smile on my face.

“Ah, grand,” he said gruffly, shaking my hand, “make it a good one too. Readership isn’t great at the moment.”

“Right…” As I slinked out of the office door, I heard the flick of a lighter and a mutter.

The high street wasn’t exactly bustling this time of day as I headed down… nor was it really bustling any time of day.

Where once proud department stores stood, shuttered shops stretched far, interspersed with the odd betting shop, kebab joint, and Turkish barbers’.

I walked briskly past the few groups of drunks that were dotted along the pavements, ignoring the hollers and cat calls made not to me but to a passing car most likely - I keep my head firmly down walking through here, not wanting to attract any unsavoury attention or associate myself with it in case of patrolling police officers.

I kept my pace, slowing only to let a stray plastic bag slowly amble its way across my path, until I reached the outskirts of the town, where this so-called ‘werewolf’ was last seen.

And so, I waited. The sun continued to slowly wheel its way around the sky as I accosted random passersby with the question “excuse me, have you seen… a werewolf, or any form of furry humanoid, pass by here recently?” The most common responses were either a confused glance, a handwave and a ‘sorry’, or an attempt to pretend they hadn’t seen or heard me.

A couple of hours in, however, as I was starting to lose hope, I received a peculiar answer: a narrowing of the eyes, a pull to one side, and a low ask of, “why?... Are you a cop?”

“H-huh?” Flabbergasted, I could not speak for a moment. I had to quickly try and regain my composure. “No?” That was probably a failure.

A spark of recognition, however, flashed across the person’s eyes, and I could see he was a small but stockily built man with a slightly unkempt face, and clothing that reminded me of a scene kid from a decade ago. “Oh. Ohhhh… Are you, uh…” He proceeded to wave his hands around in what looked like a type of… gang sign? It was a bisected circle and a triangle - which I recognised from my old Classics course as a theta and delta.

I didn’t know what the modern meaning was, but… this could be my only chance to find out what’s going on. I knew I didn’t have time or the possibility to question or falter at this moment. This could be a breakthrough, and after hours of nothing I was getting desperate. So, in what was perhaps not the best idea ethically in retrospect, I just said “yes.”

And that, dear readers, is how I ended up unintentionally infiltrating the Therian Community.

Part 2 - A Community

We established a bit of a rapport after that. For the sake of privacy, I will refer to him by a fake name - Keith.

“Sorry about the intimidation earlier - she’s kind of vulnerable at the moment, and I…” Keith looked somberly to the ground, clearly an empathetic man, “I don’t want her suffering any more than she already is…”

That was the point where I started to think ‘what have I gotten myself into?’ There were a lot of questions I wanted to ask in that moment. Her? This werewolf is a person? And, suffering any more? What’s going wrong?

I asked if it would be possible to see her one day - see if I could help, perhaps. He said he’d consider it. Naturally, I gave out a fake name and my journalistic burner number. I then asked if there was a way to keep in contact outside of that, and apparently there’s a small online community which he invited me to! Jackpot.

Before I decided to go any further, I wanted to do a little research.

In brief, this ‘theta-delta’ sign is not, in fact, a gang sign, but one for ‘therians’, a community of people that identify with animals, to some extent, and would rather be an animal than a human. The kind of animal you are is known as your ‘theriotype’ or ‘kintype’. Some of them wear costumes, some role-play, and some enjoy it sexually.

I did my research, and created a fake little profile - I picked my favourite animal, the skunk, and joined. Let me tell you, I’ve never had a more friendly welcome to any group ever than I did at this one. They accepted my fake persona entirely and treated her with absolute kindness.

And there were all sorts of people here. Cats, dogs, reptiles, cows… dragons? I was surprised by how diverse this phenomenon was - a lot of them were in the LGBTQ+ community, many were from minority or disabled communities, and many were neurodiverse or even something called ‘plural’ which seemed to be similar to Dissociative Identity Disorder?

I wanted to make sure I didn’t come across as suspicious or journalist-y, and while I did record all conversations, I won’t be revealing any names or identities, as it would obviously put these people at risk. Asking questions in a more friendly banter sense, I did get some answers.

“I suppose it’s a spiritual thing for me” said one of them, a friendly fox-man, “I feel a sense of kinship with foxes. I behave like one, and I dream of them. Sometimes it feels like I’m in the wrong body - I get phantom limb in my tail, too.”

“It’s my ideal form!” Said another, a goat person, “Who’d want to be human anyway? Sounds boring!”

I later learnt that this so-called ‘werewolf’ was actually a lemur girl. But here’s the kicker. She is on a treatment program to actually turn herself into a lemur. And I’m not talking about plastic surgery that breaks your bones and transplants butt hair and makes you look like Johnny Rotten at 200% punk. I’m talking about a real treatment program that transforms her on a genetic level. There’s a clinic on the ‘dark web’ that lets you start that procedure, which is officially listed as a clinical trial of various types of skin cream. That’s where this story, this journalistic opportunity, went from a piece about a strange community of people, to perhaps the scoop of my lifetime. How has this not been reported on before?

Apparently, this clinic, run by a ‘Dr. Erian’, running semi-legally, can prescribe you a treatment plan with only a few hoops needing to be jumped through. This worried me. I’d heard horror stories about people travelling to other countries to take on cheap cosmetic surgeries with fewer hoops to jump through and things being completely botched before. And the people taking this treatment are of so many different ages, from school-children to older adults. Are they being scammed? Are they in danger?

And thus, with this line of questioning, I decided to book an appointment with this ‘Dr. Erian’. I don’t think that’s his real name, however, as the profile gathered for him doesn’t line up with any birth records I could dig up. I got an appointment surprisingly quickly, only having to wait a few days. And those days were some of the most stressful of my career, and I’ve been at crime scenes and war zones.

I had to ask myself ‘how do I get answers out of this guy?’ I got the feeling that he wouldn’t have been particularly receptive to an interview if I told him I was a journalist. Getting the information I needed but not having him kick me out, or stop talking, or worse, turn me into some kind of animal, was going to be a huge challenge, but it was what I had to do.

Before the appointment itself, Keith recontacted me to say I could meet with the lemur girl. I prepared myself for another tricky interview.

Part 3 - Face to face

A few days passed, and it was time to meet with this lemur girl, ‘Kayla’ (not her real name). The day was bright, and I brought along some pastries and snacks from the local bakery to break the ice a bit.

I walked slowly, nervously across the town to a small apartment block in an average area. Normal human people walked around; I felt their presence drilling into me like they knew I was hiding something. I stood, finger hovering by the doorbell, for what felt like hours. I was about to step foot into a whole different world, and I froze.

And then she opened the door, and I could do nought but stare. She was almost like out of a fantasy novel. Fur covered huge patches of her body, rich whites, blacks, and greys. A furred tail hung behind her, swishing left and right. No socks on, her feet were like long hands, fidgeting with the carpet fibres. I describe the bottom first, because, well, she was shorter than me by quite some margin. Hoer slightly oversized head craned up to mine, giving an expectant gaze.

“Yes?” A slightly squeaky voice asked. I stammered out a quick apology, and said Keith had told me to see her, and she softened, asking if I was the one interested in ‘the treatment’, and that she know “that wishful gaze you gave me” well. On the inside, I was confused, but I just chalked it up to nerves.

She offered me tea, and set about making it. Her face was mostly furred except for patches without on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose - now more of a short snout, ending in a wet dark point. Almost glowing, her yellow irises searched the kitchenette. Fluffy, white, round ears poked up out of her grey head-hair which was tied into a high ponytail.

Using her hands and feet, both with opposable thumbs, she climbed onto the kitchen counter, filling up the kettle with two hands and grabbing mugs dexterously with her left foot, while her tail wrapped around a cupboard handle. Her whole kitchen routine was so elegant and awe-inspiring, and she shone so brightly while doing it. You can tell when someone is so happy it radiates out into the world filling it with colour for everyone else. Her tail uncoiled as she moved and waved, coiling again to another cupboard handle to keep balance. It was breathtaking.

After the tea was done, we started to talk. I explained that I was still new to the community, that I wanted to know more about Therians, how she knew what was right for her, and about Dr. Erian and the process. I tried to come across as someone who was innocently asking these questions, and I guess either my acting skills were great, or there was more to myself than I knew.

She asked whether a skunk ‘felt right’ to me. I said I wasn’t sure, and she asked whether it was because I could be a hybrid of some sort. I wasn’t aware that was even a possibility - apparently yes! It’s not just animals and dragons; there are also hybrids, slimes, fictional species, eldritch beings, and more. Even though the numbers of people undergoing this treatment is in two digits, the variety is more than I could even imagine. I stammered out ‘maybe kangaroo?’ and we carried on.

How did you find out about yourself? I asked. And the answer she gave was very enlightening. She said, tail almost wagging, that she first saw lemurs at a zoo when she was five. She stayed with them for the whole day, something feeling right. Like she belonged with them.

The pure authenticity and emotion in her voice and body language cannot be understated. And while it took her a long time after that to understand her feelings and that she wanted to be one, I could tell that with every fibre of her being, she really did feel like, maybe even was, a lemur.

“Of course, yes, they’re cute and sweet,” she told me, “but to me… it’s more than that. It’s a form of being.”

I said - “I’m guessing, then, that as soon as you heard of this Dr. Erian bloke, you were right on it.”

“That’s right!” she chirped, “I’m not the first, but I am an ‘early adopter’, to use that term. Half a year later, here I am! Finally the real me. Yeah, primate HRT is quicker than other mammals, and other animals too.”

She remained still for a moment, and I knew not to interrupt.

“The interview’s pretty simple. Convince him this is what you’ve always wanted. He’ll ask you if you’ve lived as your preferred species for a year or two. Fabricate some evidence for that, he doesn’t look too deeply. Stay strong, my friend.”

The process is apparently very strange. A mix of surgeries, hormone therapy, and gene editing over the course of months if not years. Watching your own skin change colour and grow thick fur or scales, or something else. Feeling your bones and limbs shift around, grow new ones, or have them wither away. Experiencing your whole body grow or shrink. It all sounds terrifying. You can’t deny the dedication of these people, and their bravery.

But she seemed so happy about it, saying that the pain and hassle was all worth it.

Our meeting did eventually have to end, and we bid farewell on good terms. It was at this point I began to feel pretty bad about the whole thing. I’m fine with talking to Dr. Erian, but… lying to these people leaves a sour taste in my mouth. These are marginalised outcasts for whom the one bit of hope they were looking for has finally arrived. What if my reporting contributes to something bad? But, I suppose my job does hang in the balance. Whatever happens, it was now time for me to meet with the infamous Dr. Erian.

Part 4 - Man of New Medicine

The infamous Doctor himself is located in [REDACTED]. Turning off the M25, I drive [REDACTED] and, realising that I’d held my breath for about fifteen minutes, I turned left into the clinic. It’s not a particularly fancy place - there’s no signage or anything, and the front just looks like someone’s house. But I knocked, sweatily, not knowing whether this would be my last knock or the beginning of a new journey. A few nerve-wracking seconds follow. And then, I hear it. A shuffle, then a cough, a sigh, and the door opening. And there he was. Wrinkles on his face beneath his glasses, a bushy moustache emulating that of Nigel Mansell at the front, and wispy strands on top the only stars in the void of hair between the graying sides behind his ears. A white doctor’s coat over tweed framed a beerbelly, situated in the center of his short, chubby body. Not the look I expected from a scientist and doctor in charge of a revolutionary new therapy. Holding a mug of lukewarm coffee designed with the familiar theta-delta sign, he gestured for me to come in.

Having sat down, I stared awkwardly at my own mug of coffee that he’d given me. It seems he wanted to give me the floor. But, for all of my journalistic training, for all of the advice I’d been given, for the script I’d made which I tried to memorise, I just froze at that moment. Was it his piercing gaze? The elderly-style room filled with decor that seems to have eyes that follow you around the room, judging you? The wallpaper, intricately detailed and patterned with - eyes? Who is this guy? Or, wait, is it just me seeing things?

“So, skunk, huh?”

I was dropped out of my stupor by that casual comment from the man. “Oh, um, yes. That’s what I was… hoping for.” Some of my confidence had been restored, but I just wasn’t in the groove yet.

“Look. It takes a lot of effort for someone to find my services - a lot of effort,” he repeated, “to go through, to seek it out, to search for someone who can recommend you, to fill in the form, even to come here. So, if you’re serious about this, which you have to be to go through all of those steps, I’d like you to open up a little more. We can do this more casually. This isn’t a job interview where I’m analyzing your handshake and posture, but I do need to find out what route is best for you.” Leaning back, he pushed up his glasses with his index finger, them reflecting the light from his weak sepia-toned incandescent bulb, concealing his eyes in the light.

I recentred myself with a few breathing exercises, slipped back into the persona I had crafted, and began. I told him about the desire to be a skunk my whole life, that I felt a strange kinship with them, everything that I’d been told before repeated through my mouth. We went on, me telling him exactly what my friends had said to, him asking me simple questions, easy peasy. I didn’t even make any jokes about skunks being smelly or farting. Then came the first obstacle.

Have you spent time living as your preferred species? Yes, I said. He asked for proof, but this is where I decided to go into journalism mode, and ask him something. Why is that required? He gave a sigh, and provided what I wanted.

“Technically, you don’t need it. And I’m well aware that not only is it impossible to really do so - given that in order to even make an appointment with me, you’d have to participate in society: something that you can’t really do if you’re properly living as an animal. The question’s more like a test. I know that most people lie, but it’s how they lie that’s interesting. Do they dress up? Act like an animal in public? Private? And so on. It’s just… interesting.”

We carried on after that for a little longer, until I reached the second of my journalistic questions. Are these procedures safe? Where did you get them from?

“There is a risk to any procedure. Anyone who has experience with transgender hormone replacement treatment, for example, knows it increases the risk of certain cancers. Therian hormone replacement therapy is much the same, except radically different in almost every way. And the process is elementary, my dear, um.” The man let out a light cough. “Simply take the essence of what that person feels on the inside, and let the medications do the trick for the outside! With certain species, surgeries are needed, especially when it comes to vertebrae - and the physical therapy is part of it too, but for the most part, it isn’t ridiculously complicated!”

I noticed he didn’t answer me on where the research from this came from, but I wasn’t sure how to tell him that without arousing suspicion. If he was dodging questions already then that might be a bad sign. Or was it that he just didn’t remember I’d asked? I tried a slightly alternative angle. “So what, is it like CRISPR or something?”

“I’m afraid it’s classified information, but you’ll feel it once you’ve…” He seemed to be lost in thought for a few moments, “started the treatment.”

A wall pushed down on my head. I righted myself and pushed further against it. “How many people are in your care?”

“Oh, many. A hundred, officially? Maybe a few more.” He lowered his head, the light reflecting off his glasses obscuring his eyes from me. “But who’s counting?”

I felt the wall’s pressure even more. Was I starting to buckle? Beads of sweat formed at my forehead. “Are they all animals or are some of them, um… fictional… creatures?”

“Oh, it’s ever so varied. Perhaps you’ve seen the results of some of my work, but there are others; others so beautifully different to everything we thought we knew about nature.” He let out a hearty chuckle. “We don’t need to constrain ourselves to what’s real any more. People can be whoever, or whatever, they want to be.”

“A-anything?”

“Anything.”

I stayed silent for a long time after that, eyes wide and unfocused, mouth hanging somewhat limply open. The wall pressed upon my hunched back.

“I’ve heard,” the Doctor broke the silence with a hoarse, crackly voice, “many peoples’ worries and trepidations over the years. People worry about the danger the treatment poses to them, and the danger they might pose to others. But I trust that my patients will do the right thing. Now all that’s left is for me to trust you. Are you sure you want to be a skunk? That you want to go on this journey? And that you can keep yourself safe and sane until you have finished?” Upon saying this, he leaned forward, eyes drilling into mine. 

The wall pushed and pushed, my back creaking under the pressure, until it all let go at once. I had decided my next plan of action. Of course, it’s all fairly straightforward. I was just here as an information-gatherer, and I’d found out quite a lot. The idea intrigued me, and perhaps in the ultimate journalistic sacrifice I should go through with it - though I’d certainly demand a higher salary to do so. But I needed time to think. To process everything.

“No.”

In retrospect, it was a simple answer, but perhaps the most difficult no I’ve had to make in my life.

—

And that was the end of the article. But not the end of the story. After this got published, a few days later another article was found in a national tabloid. It had poached items from this story without the consent of the author, and was eventually taken down, but the damage was done. Because instead of a deep and emotional look into one author’s journey down the rabbit hole of knowledge, it was merely a bigoted hit-piece against a newly forming marginalized community. Little did either of the authors know, that these two articles would be the first dominoes that brought about something much greater.

This is an extract from the tabloid article in question.

The new woke claiming to be ANIMALS, DRAGONS and FICTIONAL CREATURES, and worse, taking risky surgeries to become more DANGEROUS predators.

In a bizarre and disturbing twist of fate, there are people taking dangerous medical procedures on taxpayer money to turn themselves into disgusting animals.

“The woke left are finally showing their true colours”, a disgruntled co-worker of one of these so-called ‘therians’ said to our reporter. “My employee enters my fast food establishment and she’s covered in fur. Probably flea-ridden too.”

A story in the local news of the town of [REDACTED] was brought to our attention by our reporter. He contacted the author of this article but she declined to comment.

This reporter’s boss was almost brought to his knees by the sighting of a savage beast roaming the streets. But instead of a bigfoot rumour, this was once a human whom the author calls ‘Kayla’ - but as an exclusive, we managed to find her real name, which will be revealed at the end of this article.

The reporter meets with Kayla, while pretending to be one of them, and is directed to the literal Frankenstein that conducted all of these procedures. It is revealed that not only do they ‘fabricate evidence’ of what seems to be a case of ‘species dysmorphia’ in order to get the surgeries they want, the doctor knows that and still goes ahead with these dangerous procedures anyway.

“You don’t need [proof of species dysmorphia]... I know that most people lie.” He told the reporter.

“There is a risk” he later says, regarding the procedure itself, which often takes months if not years and can be incredibly painful and debilitating, meaning patients often have to get themselves classified as disabled and live off the benefits our taxpayer money is spent on. Similarly to “transgender hormone replacement treatment… it increases the risk of…cancers.” 

The doctor himself even confesses that he and patients are worried about “the danger that [those very patients] pose to others”, but that he simply “trusts them to do the right thing”. He says that people can, and should, be “whoever, or whatever, they want to be.”

This man is not only creating dangerous creatures that are then let loose into society, he is trusting them to make their own decisions. How long will it be before one of these ‘therians’ murders or preys upon an innocent child? How can we protect our own families from those that seek to turn themselves into the very predators that used to lurk in the shadows of our ancestors, waiting to pounce and eat them? We at this newspaper urge the government to stop this madness before it is too late.

The real names of the people involved are as follows:

—

This was the second article written about therians. And things only got worse from there. While Dr. Erian’s real name was not found out or spilled, Vanessa and Kayla were targeted. Therians were outraged that Vanessa’s article would find its way into the national news as a hit piece. While some directed their anger at Vanessa herself, some were supportive of her. Kayla fled her home, and is now reported as being on the local missing person’s registrar. Keith was sentenced to minor community service after finding this out and assaulting Vanessa, who later moved away from her hometown after losing her job. Erian still works at his practice. The world is in a slightly more unstable place now, with public knowledge of therians pretty much guaranteed.

most inkfish in my canon would have 1-2 outfits they would wear while playing inksports. Mine was the Glassless Glasses, Annaki Bracelet Tee, and Blue Sea Slugs. A sporty outfit to match my blue ink.

I didn’t really wear makeup or any accessories though

turn into a dog? sometimes you gotta chew up shoes now.

(i.e. animal, fantasy creature, robot, etc.)

Those with humanoid* kintypes, what are you?

Elf, fairy, nymph, or other fae creature

Werewolf or other were-creature

Mermaid, centaur, or other humanoid-animal hybrid

Vampire, ghost, zombie, or other undead creature

Doll, statue, robot, or other object

Other/A humanoid species that isn't listed here

Multiple of the above

*I know these are imperfect categories, but I'm using "humanoid" loosely to mean any creature that l resembles a human in appearance but isn't one.

We add a see results button for people who aren't therians or don't fit into the theme of this poll (in this case, people who aren't humanoid therians/nonhumans) to press a button. Without adding one, there will likely be non-humanoid therians who just want to see results, and that will probably skew results more.

But, as per your request, anon, I won't add one.

There was a light shower accompanied by the gentle pitter patter of daylight, the sky untarnished by any cloud or dreariness. The earth was laid bare to a dance of shadows and puddles as light fluttered about the scene, parading through the golden leaves and across the white bark that rivulets of water meandered down. The forest was quiet; no bird song or noise pollution, not a rustle or even a buzzing. Yet the wind was there. The scent of roses that drifted with its whispers was carried through the towering woods that seemed to stretch forever. But in these woods there would be a grotto of tall grass and the most lovely of flowers, roses of such amazing hues that the petals did rise in celebration. In the middle of the grotto there was a stump whose rings numbered in the hundreds and branches curled up high like eager hands. The light wreathed the field in shining gold. And sitting upon this stump atop a nest of pristine cloth bedding was a creature of fur with reddened fur and black. Her tails curled around her graceful legs all draped in shining white and colorful silks. Her fur rustled with the breeze, speckled with crumbs from flaky pastries. Other creatures sat around her enjoying tea and cakes aplenty. Dainty fingers were stained with strawberries and peaches as petals lightly fell around the party. The bears and the wolves were cloaked in mantles of cloud and a frog drank gold from a saucer. Wordless chatter curled throughout the party. The vixen sat prominently with legs curled under her and eyes squeezed upwards. With grace, onto her snout curled a silver smile that broke with heavenly laughter. Laughter and Smiles. Echoing, and curling, off into a grey distance. Sleep fell off ungracefully thudding onto the hardwood as only a boulder could. I groaned with my eyes screwed shut. I peeled from the sheets and rubbed the crustings from my eyes. Those pale blue eyes and the blunted nails with chipping nail polish. Pale grey light oozed through the broken blinds as morning made itself known. But as I laid half swaddled in sheets, surrounded by plush toys, my only thoughts could go to her smile. Her laughter. All I could muster was a frown as I conjured forth my energy to rise from the bed as cotton foxes and other creatures watched. "...That was a nice dream." My nails dragged across the flesh of my arms leaving red marks that sat across older such markings. I yawned and stretched, sliding my phone into my hands from the place it fell the previous night. I turned on videos as wakefulness slowly drew itself together. "That was the fifth time this month already. They've been getting worse," I thought. A sigh escaped my lips as I dead scrolled through social media. "How can anyone focus like this?" At that moment I saw posts come into view. Over the past year or so, a new kind of medicine had hit the stage, but all of the new drugs were filed under a singular umbrella: "Humanity Removal Therapy". Pictures of people showing scales and growing to a gigantic heights, tails, claws, horns, all kinds of new body parts. I even saw people become human or things stranger than any typical animal. I was slackjawed. I had heard of the medicine, surely. But to see so many people more get onto it, I couldn't do anything but stare at the screen with legs pulled into my torso. Cows. Dragons. Fish. "It's that effective?" I begun to get dressed. It wasn't as if I'd never taken such a leap before. Estrogen was what gave me my chest and lower proportions. It didn't do everything I could have hoped for, of course not, but it was something! I was happier. It was... "Something like from a dream." I sat there upon my knees for minutes. The phantom sensations of a bundle of tails drifted behind me, the ethereal fur almost taunting me. At first I wondered if I was allowed to have it. Then, thoughts of money. I had so little, could I afford the many months? But the idea of those dreams haunting me for years and years on wrenched my gut into a spiral. I couldn't live like that. I couldn't.

When I sat at my computer, I pulled up a tab to begin researching. After a moment's hesitation, I pulled open another window. "Kitsune Transition: Week 1."

------------------------------------------------------------------------ Thank you so much for reading! And huge shout out to @ ayviedoesthings and all of the other people who have made Animal HRT art. It helped us figure out that we were therian, and we're making that to express the feelings we've had in our head. Will be posting more over time!

Here are some tips I'd recommend to help:

1. Mimic the diet of your kintype/theriotype. You are a shark? Eat seafood. A dragon? Maybe try to burn some food a little (or turn it black like my own preference if you want). You kin a character from [Insert source]? Try recreating foods/dishes from their world or dimension.

2. Listen to relatable music. I'd recommend making a playlist of any songs that feel species affirming/euphoric, or even echo that dysphoria further, therefore turning it relatable. (Few of my favorites are Bones by Imagine Dragons, Control by Halsey, Ancient Dreams in a Modern Land by MARINA, Momento Mori by Fish in a Birdcage, among other songs that feel therian coded to me).

3. Do vocals. Howling, barking, screeching, or roaring are very relieving if you are in the correct space to do them! If you are in a quite space or do not want to out yourself to anyone, try purring, growling, hissing, or other unnoticeable sounds. You have an object kintype? Mimic the sounds of the object, like beeping, clicking, etc. (I personally make microwave sounds just because it is fun). Recite voice lines of your kintype from the source they are in. Mimic their voice and volume to match.

4. Move and physically act like your kintype/theriotype. Quadrobics, mimic the flapping of wings, walk bidepedally, whatever you do, turn your mannerisms and motion to reflect your kintype/theriotype.

5. Dress like your kintype/theriotype. Is your kintype a character? Cosplay them, or mimic their clothing style, clothing color, hairstyle, etc. If they have tattoos, scars, or patterns on their body, copy them on your physical form with paint or pens. (PLEASE USE NON TOXIC MATERIALS. STUFF SAFE FOR YOUR HUMAN SKIN.) Are you a species of animal(s)? Dress in your species' colors, or, once again, paint or color yourself like it/them. Are you perhaps any other form of creature or object? You can use the same tips as the others, and another idea that works for all is that you can buy costume pieces of your kintype/theriotype. Masks, headbands, just normal clothing in general, the options really are infinite.

6. Express your dysphoria through artwork. I love doing art when I am heavily species dysphoric. Drawing, crafting masks, origami, painting, collages, all are forms of art. If you are skilled in music, then you could even create some songs of your own!

7. Go out and explore nature. This one is mainly targeted towards therians, whose types are grounded on the life on earth rather than other dimensions or universes, but just like the other methods, it can be universally used by any types of nonhumans. Collecting things is my favorite way of exploring nature. Collect rocks, shells, sticks, leaves, bugs, plants, anything that makes you feel more comfortable in your own (unfortunate) physical body. Stay grounded in the world around you and you may find the dysphoria slips away. Hiking and going on short walks can also help, building a den, smelling the scents of the outdoors. All great ideas that I personally recommend.

8. Write about your feelings. Whether you are good at expressing yourself through poetry, you keep a diary/journal, or you can project onto OCs for new backstory lore like I do, writing can truly help with any dysphoria. Not only that, but it is sometimes refreshing to come back later and read about what you were feeling before. It can serve as a great reminder that you are a powerful being and you will always overcome the feelings if you try.

9. Research about your kintype/theriotype. It does not matter if you are an animal, concept, or object from earth, a being from fantasy, or a character from the greatest book or show, you learn something new every day. So why not learn about yourself? Read books or watch animal documentaries of your theriotype(s), same thing for you otherkins and your fantasy species. Fictionkins can look up facts about themself as a character, their book, show, game, etc.

10. Talk and interact with other alterhumans/nonhumans. Remember, we are a community, and while you are experiencing horrible episodes of species dysphoria, there are many other beings going through the exact same thing at the exact same time. So why not talk to them about it? Share your experiences, help eachother cope, you may even connect with more individuals that way, building more relationships with others and meeting new beings.

11. Past life meditation. If you are a nonhuman who has a past life/lives, you may find comfort in meditation, where you can truly tap into what you once were, and still are in this life as well. Look to the forgotten, and turn in to remembered. Open up your past and live over again.

12. Listen to sounds. Nature sounds, voices of other characters you know from your world, vocals or sound effects of your kintype. These are all good options to turn to if you want to feel at ease with yourself.

13. Let your emotions out. Sometimes this is all you really need to do when species dysphoria hits hard. Cry, bite things, claw at pillows, LET IT OUT. There is absolutely no problem in being yourself and expressing your heavy emotions in your own, unique, nonhuman way. You may find you feel much better after.

The specialest of special thanks to @ayviedoesthings for creating the original Dragon HRT story, and a big shoutout as well to @kaylasartwork, @welldrawnfish, @nyxisart, and @deadeyedfae for their takes on the concept! Every one of you is inspirational, and your work gives me so much second-hand gender euphoria!

NEXT

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"Miss Alexis, please come in."

I look around as I walk inside. Between the doctor being a balding middle-aged man and the office looking like any generic doctor's office, I'm honestly a little disappointed. I was hoping the infamous source of therian HRT would be a little more… I don't know. Exotic? Unique? I was half expecting the walls to have before and after photographs of clients, but I suppose when it comes down to it, this is a serious medical facility, not a beauty salon. I walk up to the desk and sit down in the chair.

"Now I understand you wish to be a… a tiger?"