Hello!! My name is Wolves and I'm an avid nature lover and birdwatcher as well as a Holotherian. I love prowling my local woods in search of cool things to see! I am looking forward to sharing my experiences with y'all! #promosky #theriansky #therianthropy #therian #holotherian 🐾
Close-up of a crosswalk button pole on a city street with a large black-and-white sticker pasted on it. The sticker is designed like a pharmaceutical label. At the top, bold text reads ‘LUPINEX’ with the subtitle ‘Therionyl Injection’. Below is a finely drawn, front-facing wolf head in black ink. The next line says ‘5 mL Single-Dose Vial.’ At the bottom, in smaller type, it lists ‘GLAXO SYMTH-KLEIN’ followed by a row of names separated by dots: FELINEX · AVINEX · BOVEX · EQUINEX. The surrounding scene shows part of a sidewalk, parked cars, and buildings on the opposite side of the street in soft daylight.
Well folks, news is out. Seattle has some pretty hardcore puppygirls.
#AnimalHRT #Therian #holotherian #TF #Seattle
LOOK INTO MY EYES ONE LAST TIME Hold me close until you can see the last scrap of me — the part that counts thoughts in lists, that folds shame into tidy, human-shaped pockets. Watch it loosen. Watch the corners of doubt unhook themselves like small animals from a net and dart away. There is no melodrama; it slips. The human mind peels like old bark, and underneath, the thing that always was settles warm and terrible and simple. They give me the last injection in a room that smells faintly of cedar and lemon. No cold lecture — only careful hands, people who know which bones to cradle and which stories to leave untold. I breathe. I let the bracing liquid be a gate, not an instruction manual. Names fade; names were the thin net that caught me. The burn is a rumor that moves through me sideways — a quiet rearrangement, like a bell that signals not death but calling. My limbs answer first. They stop thinking of movement and begin to remember it: how to fold, coil, push. Tendons unlearn two-legged politeness and curve toward the fourfold logic of running. My hands tighten and flatten; fur prickles along my forearms as if a thousand moths lift and settle. Each hair is a note in a chord I’ve felt… no… known since childhood. Look again. Pupils widen; the whites retreat like a shy moon. The last maps of metaphor — the ledgers that turned hunger into lists and longing into projects — dissolve. Where there had been accounting of self, there is now only scent and sound and the earth’s exact tilt beneath my weight. I do not mourn the maps; I never used them as well as I pretended. Sound condenses: the slow arc, the breath of the person beside me, the whisper of fabric, the distant wet gutters. Underneath it: a low, patient life-frequency — root and soil and river.
I hear the insect conversation in the walls, sap walking up birch, the stupid heartbeat of a mouse two blocks away. Intimacy. It is almost rude. Breath becomes work and worship at once. My ribcage narrows and widens in ways I cannot name. Milk memories rise like tide: the cadence of suckling, the simple law of feeding and protecting. A swelling around my belly that is not fat but purpose. I think of children who never were, of packs loved in mute pieces. Motherhood is larger than gender; it is a compass with teeth. My children! You are my children. You are my all! My jaw shifts. A socket loosens, a hinge finds its voice. A tooth erupts where organized thought had lived. The smell of iron, of rain-damp soil, of sleeping bodies fills my mouth. Tears come; they taste of salt and release. There is a tenderness in my trembling I have not allowed before. Outside, someone laughs and it sounds like a bell. Handlers murmur: careful, gentle, let the pack decide. My mouth forms assent I could not voice when wholly human. Somewhere a crate opens as if the world takes a breath with me. They will test me — to see whether I walk toward wild or cling to fostered hands that teach passing in paved worlds. I do not fear them. I am no longer wrapped in ledgers of consent and consequence. I am wrapped in appetite and mercy. The choice, if there is one, feels less like argument and more like a direction: toward den or home, toward the kill lovingly taken or the bowl lovingly given. Look once more. There is no human drama in my eyes now — only depth, a riverbed where stones remember every footstep. The tiny librarian of my life exhales and steps back through the open doorway. Where it is gone there is fullness, a pulse answering the creature’s call without translation. This is not loss. It is the solving of a long, clenched equation. I am not lessened. I am finally the shape I have been learning. Look into my eyes, one last time. I am awakening. — Shimi & Critter @shimi.bsky.social
For those of you unable to make it to this location.
“Look into My Eyes One Last Time” — By Shimi and Critter
#tf #TFTuesday #Therian #HoloTherian
Table with kink toys lit with pink light and a camera on tripod.
After a lovely week of play with @calliyote.bsky.social it’s time to head home and edit some footage.
#therian #holotherian #otherkin
Made my first canine mask. supposed to be golden retriever / red australian cattle dog. wearing it a lot today rlly. 100000% felt right. I need to make a matching tail now. #therian #holotherian
