Despite Everything, I'm Still Rey

My parents tried to accept me as I changed. Bless their hearts, they really did. But they just didn’t understand why I needed to do it, why I was compelled to seek the doctors who could help me through the procedure. Especially since I’d done so without telling them first.

When they focused in on that point, I asked them if they would have tried to talk me out of it. They denied it up and down, but the lie was pretty plain to see. Ultimately, my changes drove a schism through our relationship, one that never really closed again.

My sister, however, knew from the moment I showed her that this was something I didn’t just want to do; it was something I needed to do. When faced with the choice to take this leap and blossom into my best self, or languish in a body that was slowly killing me, she knew I had made the right choice. More than that, she recognized me. Even when I had changed so much that my parents didn’t know me anymore, my sister still ran up to greet me every time I visited her.

This would be my first time home, at my parents' house, in my hometown, since my transition.

It was a sort of… welcome-home party; I guess. My sister and I planned it together, so that we could reintroduce me to the family and my friends. Of course, she and her husband knew about me, even though they hadn’t told their kids yet. My niece and nephew were little, and wouldn’t understand who I was as I transitioned. I hadn’t had a chance to see them since my transition finished, but my sister promised that we’d do it soon.

Sis handled all the invites and insisted we hold it at Mom and Dad’s house. I wanted to do it somewhere a bit more open. The park, I mused, would have been a perfect place to do it. Plenty of space to mingle, but more importantly, I could run away if and when things went wrong. My sister insisted we do it in my parents' backyard.

It was a place of familiarity; she explained. It was a place where everyone already knew me, and hopefully, seeing me as I am now in this familiar place would help them connect who I was and who I am in their brains.

At least, that was the hope. There was no guarantee that the plan would work.

So that was where I was headed. My home town. For the first time since my transition. I kept dwelling on that fact as I traveled, the scenery passing in a blur. My town had changed so much in the two years since I left, in the two years since my transition started. It looked the same, but it also looked so much different. Uncomfortably different. Trees were bigger than I remembered them, casting streets in deeper shadows than I was used to. There were new cars on old driveways. There were unfamiliar faces in familiar windows, watching me nervously. And yet, through it all, I still recognized this place as home. Even though I hadn’t lived here in years, this was where I grew up; this is where I spent twenty-five years of my life.

My tablet buzzed, and I fished it out of my bag. My sister was sending me rapid-fire texts, asking about my ETA. Five minutes out, I told her. It was a generous estimate, even as I strolled down the street.

Message me when you’re around the corner. We’ll introduce you, my sister texted back.

Thanks.

I dallied a little bit longer in the cul-de-sac, just admiring the place I knew so well yet no longer knew at all. This street had taken such good care of me. There was the corner where my friends and I played street hockey, and where I inevitably broke my leg playing street hockey. There was the hill where Dad taught me how to ride a bike and, inevitably, broke my collarbone when I crashed into a parked car going way too fast.

Okay, maybe this street hadn’t taken such good care of me, but despite the pain, these were still happy memories. Memories of love and friendship, of being surrounded by people who knew me.

Knew me as I was back then.

This was my first time home since my transition.

I was standing outside the fence, hidden from view by the nine-foot-high wooden walls. My sister was there with me. We hugged, as siblings sometimes do, and she complimented me on how well I cleaned up. I hadn’t done anything special, but I still preened at her compliment. I couldn’t help it; I’d become a lot more vain since transitioning, something that the doctors had warned me might happen. I was aligning my body with how I always envisioned it was supposed to look; it was only natural to take pride in my new appearance and find joy in its beauty.

My sister stepped back through the gate and got everyone’s attention. She thanked them all for being here to welcome me home, and asked them not to be alarmed when they saw me. That despite the changes, I was still the same person they all knew and loved. I was even more that person, actually, because I was finally happy to be me.

At my sister’s flourish, I stepped through the gate, and presented myself to the crowd. There were gasps and murmurs. My mother leaned into my father’s embrace, shocked at my changes even though none of this was news to her.

My grandfather arched an eyebrow at me, took off his glasses to clean the lenses, then put them back on. “Are they hiding behind the dragon?” he asked. “No, I am the dragon,” I said, with the confidence and resolve I could have only dreamt of having back before my transition. I sat on my haunches and held my head high, spreading my wings to display myself with pride. Sitting like this, I could easily see over the fence. I took pleasure in that fact and felt a reptilian purr rumble from within my chest. “Hi everyone, it’s nice to meet you all again.”

And with that, the barriers broke down. My friends were the first ones to step forward and congratulate me. They hugged me and told me they always knew, deep down, that this was what I was always meant to be. They took to referring to me within the context of being a dragon almost immediately. They didn’t need reminding or even gentle nudges from my sister.

“That explains the raw steaks,” one of them laughed.

“Yeah, I like my meat bloody now,” I joked. I wanted to pat them on the back, but I was a lot stronger now than I was back when we hung out regularly. I didn’t want to send them flying.

After my friends, my cousins stepped forward to talk with me.

“So do you go by a different name now? Something more dragony?” they asked.

“I thought about it, but I don’t really feel the need to go that far,” I explained. “I don’t hate my name, and the process to get it legally changed is such a hassle.”

They seemed relieved at that.

To everyone’s surprise, my grandfather was next. At nearly a hundred years old, the family patriarch was venerated, loved, and respected by everyone. I fully expected him to hate what I’d become, but to my shock, as I bent down to hear his wheezing whispers, he patted me on the nose.

“There you are, kiddo,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips. “I almost didn’t recognize you, but you've got the same eyes. Always sharp, they were.”

“Well, I’ve got slit pupils now.”

“Sharper now than they used to be,” he chuckled. He patted me twice more. “You look good. Shiny. Like a pile of coins.”

I purred at his praise. “Thanks! I just shed my old scales, so my new ones are really vibrant. We actually timed this party super well, because if I were still in shed, I probably wouldn’t have been able to make it.”

The look my grandfather gave me said that he didn’t understand a word I had just said, but he was trying very hard to be respectful about it. I appreciated that, and told him as much.

The last people to speak with me were my parents. They approached me almost nervously, and I lowered my head to be closer to their eye level.

“I think we owe you an apology,” my dad said.

My mother nodded. “We… we were jut worried about losing you. But watching you now, the way you move, the way you talk. You never used to be like that.”

“Like what?” I asked, tilting my head.

“Happy,” she breathed, closing her eyes. “Thinking back, you were always hunched over, slinking around like you were just trying to get from point A to point B. But now? You’re holding yourself tall and proud. There’s something so joyous in your every movement, but I can’t put my finger on what it is.”

I grabbed my tail and showed it off to them. “It’s this thing. It’s pretty hard for me to hide my feelings with this big ole rudder swaying around excitedly.”

My dad snorted a laugh as I relinquished my tail and let it right itself again. He hugged me, wrapping his arms around my neck. My mother joined in too, and I squeezed them both with my wings.

And with introductions out of the way, the party got into full swing. Everyone wanted to know what it was like to be a dragon.

“It’s right,” I said. “I feel more like myself than I ever had before.”

They asked me to do tricks for them. My draconic pride stung a little at the idea of parading myself around like a pony, but it soared at the chance to show off. I demonstrated my fire breath by igniting wood in the fire pit. I did some flying maneuvers I’d been practicing, including corkscrews and loops.

Through it all, I felt good. I felt right and, more importantly, I felt like my friends and family were finally starting to understand. The human they knew me as, that was never really me. Now that they’ve seen me as a dragon, they understood that this was always what I was meant to be. That I’d been trapped in my body and now, finally, I was free to be my truest self.

“So do you live in a cave now? You’re a bit too big to fit in a conventional apartment,” my friend asked.

“As stereotypical as it is, yeah,” I laughed. “The Therio Foundation, the organization that helped set up my transition, has some land set aside so folks like me can live in something approaching our natural habitat. I have a cave to call my own, but the inside is really more like an apartment. It’s got all the amenities you’d expect: running water, electricity, even internet.”

“But it’s still a cave?”

“Well, yeah. But it’s a lot nicer than it sounds! You should come by for a visit. One of my neighbors is an ogre, and as weird as that sounds, he makes the best chili!”

“What do you do for work now? I’m guessing tech doesn’t really suit you anymore, does it?”

“Aha, no. I got fired from my last job once my transition took me out of commission for two weeks. My wings were growing in, and it was probably the most painful experience of my life,” I said, making the growling noise that was a dragon laugh. “The Therio Foundation helped me find a new job, though.”

“Let me guess: security?” my friend asked, incredulous. They all burst into laughter as my cheeks burned with a blush.

“Is it really that much of a stereotype?” I asked.

“Dragons sitting on gold? Yeah, absolutely.”

“I don’t sit on gold! I just… sit in front of the vault. And sniff people for guns,” I muttered. “It’s really easy to smell gunpowder through clothes.” I blinked slowly as the realization dawned on me. “Oh shit, I’m a dragon stereotype.”

That got more cackles from my friends. “It sounds like it suits you just fine, though.”

“Yeah. I mostly get to sleep through the entire shift, which is shockingly both okay and entirely necessary, since I tend to stay up late playing video games.”

“And the bank is okay with that?”

“Oh absolutely. Honestly, just having me in the building has probably stopped most attempted robberies alone. I have had to get involved once or twice, but nobody really needs to wake me up. I can hear and smell enough even when asleep, and a little bit of smoke out the nostrils is enough to scare off most would-be-criminals.” I gave them a little demonstration, letting twin columns of smoke waft up from my nose. “Honestly, the best part about the job is that, aside from paying rent and utilities, I don’t really spend much money. I don’t need to buy clothes anymore, and I usually hunt for all my meals. So I’m putting a lot of money into my savings!”

“You’re building a hoard!” one of my friends blurted.

“Oh my god, stop that,” I giggled, blushing. “But yeah. I’ve started working on getting a proper hoard going. Turns out there is actually a biological reason dragons hoarded treasure. I've gotta eat metals now and again to keep my scales healthy, and the different metals I eat have different effects. So to get them all shiny like this, I had to eat silver, which is frustratingly expensive,” I explained. “I don’t have to eat metal very often, only before I’m about to shed. That’s usually the first warning sign that a shed is coming, actually.”

“Sweet. Think we could get some of your shed scales?”

“Nah, sorry. I traded them with the ogre next door for his incredible chili.”

That got more laughter out of my friends, and I felt a warm feeling inside that had nothing to do with the fire in my belly. It felt good to have people I cared about not only accept me for what I was, but take an active interest in my life.

As the party wound down for the evening, people took to their cars to drive away. One of my friends expressed interest in a possible transition of their own, and I conveniently had the card for my Therio Foundation doctor in my neck satchel. When I asked about what they thought they wanted to be, they shrugged and said that they didn’t know, just that seeing me as a dragon made them recognize that they probably weren’t human.

“The Therio Foundation will at the very least help you explore that side of yourself,” I told them, smiling warmly. “Hit me up if you come by Theta Acres. If I’m not at work, I’ll be in my cave. I can help introduce you to some people.”

“Thanks,” they said, genuinely moved by my offer to help.

I said goodbye to my relatives and friends, as one by one they left. Finally, it was just me, my parents, my sister, and my grandfather. The old geezer was fast asleep in his lawn chair, so we decided it best not to wake him up. I whispered him goodbye, then embraced my parents. My sister gave me a particularly strong hug, praising me for being so brave and sharing myself with everyone.

“So when do we show your kids?” I asked her.

“I was thinking we could have you make a grand entrance at their birthday party in a couple of weeks. One of my son’s friends has been bragging about their grandfather being a vampire, so I figure we should one-up him by showing off the dragon in the family.” My sister grinned devilishly, and I couldn’t deny the idea had some appeal.

As I took a few steps out into the street, I glanced over my shoulder to admire the house I grew up in. It looked a lot smaller than I remembered, but that was to be expected. I was nearly twice as big as I was ‌before my transition. I couldn’t fit inside anymore, but that didn’t really matter. I had outgrown this home, both as a person and, quite literally, as a dragon. I smiled at the notion, spreading my wings and allowing my impressive wingspan to dominate the road. I flapped them twice, then leapt into the air.

What is Hoard Time?

Hoard time is any activity that simply involves playing with your hoard. In my case, my hoard largely consists of crystals and pretty rocks. Hoard time for me is any activity that involves actively handling the contents of my hoard.

I hold my crystals in my hands, feel their textures and admire their colours. Sometimes I polish them with a soft or damp rag, just to make them shine all the brighter. This combination of sensory input triggers something in my brain, because no matter how depressed I am, I always leave hoard time in a better mood than when I started.

For every dragon, hoard time will be a different experience. A dragon who hoards plush will experience hoard time differently than a dragon who hoards books. My own experience of actively handling my crystals and rocks may not translate even to another dragon that has a similar hoard. To them, hoard time may simply be observing their hoard.

Whatever form it takes, one thing is abundantly clear: the act of enjoying one's hoard is as important as the act of having and building ones hoard.

Why Hoard Time?

In my experience exploring draconity and what it means to me, hoarding has become an easy way for me to feed my dragon. To practice safe draconity, one could almost say. It's a way for me to express being a dragon safely and without disrupting either my day to day life or days of those around me.

Hoard time, ultimately, is both a way for me to feed my dragon while indulging in the things that make me a dragon.

Consider, for example, other expressions of draconity. I could wear a tail and wings, but that's not something I can do safely and without judgment from outsiders. I could write about being a dragon, but that's not something material. With both experiences, there is something lacking. Something that cannot be achieved without further stimuli. Costuming requires a safe environment. Writing requires an extra physical expression.

Hoard time, by comparison covers both bases. A non-dragon might raise an eyebrow at draconic hoarding tendencies, but nobody is going to tell me off for collecting rocks. That's a socially acceptable collection to have, after all, and in no way addicting or dangerous like my other collection (trading card games). Likewise, nobody is going to tell me off for playing with my hoard, because who wouldn't want to see their crystals shine?

The same can honestly apply to any other kind of hoard. It is somethig you have, but something you can feel.

Building your Hoard

This is probably the hardest step anydragon faces when it comes to hoarding. How do you build your hoard? How do you determine what you want to hoard? Sadly, there is no easy answer to this question. As stated above, hoards are a deeply personal thing and will differ from dragon to dragon.

My advice to you is to consider what it is would make you happiest to have in abundance. For a lot of dragons, this may be treasure. I know I would personally love to have gold and silver in my hoard, but they're both prohibitively expensive and many substitute metals wouldn't suffice. Seriously, why are pretty much all coins made with Nickel (derogatory) these days? Blech.

Once you know what it is you wish to hoard, now you can go about amassing it in quatities. In the case of crystals, my best advice is to order those large grab bags of crystals that you can get off amazon. Many of them come pre-tumbled, but you can also find assorted raw gems. I personally find a lot of raw gems a more enjoyable experience in hoard time thanks to their more varried textures. They're also more satisfying to polish, as you can really make them shine. Avoid malachite, though, as it's toxic. Dragon or not, you don't want to hoard something that'll make you sick.

If you hoard other things, try to determine the most accessible way to expand your hoard. For example if you hoard books, try buying used books from thrift shops and libraries. They tend to be cheaper, but no less worthy of love. If you hoard plushies, try to seek out garage sales where old plushies in need of a good home can be found.

Remember, half the fun of having a hoard is watching it grow over time!

In conclusion

Hoarding is a safe expression of draconity that anydragon can participate in without fear of judgment or reproach. It's a way to explore what being a dragon means to you, and of building something that you can be proud of as a dragon.

It's becoming increasingly clear to me that hoarding isn't just an expression of greed for dragons, but an active way to manage their mental health. In a world where mental health is becoming harder to manage and resources to improve it are becoming less accessible, it's more important than ever that dragons have a way to heal themselves.

The bigger my hoard gets, the more I get to play with it. The more I get to play with it, the happier I get. No amount of day to day torment takes away how good I feel after ten minutes of hoard time.