The bed

It’s uncomfortable to lay on my back.

When I get home, I remove my clothes and gaze at my bed. In these summer months, I will click on the ceiling fan, and fall chest-first onto the bed, arms spread. I relax. Completely.

And once my human body is relaxed, my gryphon body relaxes. My wings, no longer a heavy weight on my upright body, lay flat against my back, and I feel their wrists relax, fanning their feathers out slightly across the covers.

I’ll usually curl up with a stuffed animal to feel their fur, a comfort to me, a reminder of what it was like to play with my own tail, or embrace my kind. I don’t remember them, only sensations, smells, sounds that feel like seconds of dreams you remember when you first awaken.

When I stretch my arms, too many digits reach out. I grasp the edge of the bed, and my talons, feeling dull, sink into the soft covers. I can’t remember what my arms feel like. When I think about it, they feel cold, and I don’t know what that means. Sometimes I can see them, even just as a shade overlaid upon my human arms, ebony like the feet of a crow. I’d hope they would feel nice to touch, for the sake of my husband.

If I decide to nap, I assume my position on the left half, nuzzle my head against the pillow, and curl up on my side. This seems to be where I am most comfortable. My wings relax and stretch out, and I swear I can hear the fan rustle my feathers. My heavy tail swishes sometimes, perhaps just to feel the sensation across my legs. Sometimes it settles beside me. Sometimes it drapes over the edge of the bed.

I like to feel my talons between the sheets. Sometimes I’ll claw my hands in a crude facsimile of what they ought to be, but I never arrange them correctly. My arms will feel almost like sleeves, slim and compressed, and I can feel where they meet with the fur near my shoulders.

It is only when I close my eyes do I feel how elongated my feet are. A digitigrade stance is too painful on my human feet, but my gryphon feet are accustomed to the strength and agility it affords me. When I relax, they seem to stretch on and on, and I can no longer feel where my human feet end.

I’ve installed speakers on either side of my bed, and for my daytime naps, I’ll play sounds of the wind in the trees, and chimes stirred by phantom breezes. When at last I fall asleep, I am not human.

Name: Willow

Kintype: Griffinkin

Gender: Genderfluid/Female

Pronouns: they/them or she/her

Hi! I’m Willow, 14, and I’m Griffinkin. I’m really new to understanding this aspect of my life, so I’d love to talk to people about it, especially if you’re fictionkin, lionkin or birdkin.
I love rollerskating, and anything that makes me feel like im flying (swings, planes, etc) :)


Therapy for Aviankin

My husband and I were discussing various things on the way home from a repair job.

He had the beautiful idea of building a helicopter drone with a video camera attached. On the ground, I would have an Oculus Rift that could see everything the drone sees. I could lie down on a soft surface, or even suspended somehow, and have a fan blowing in my face. It would probably be the closest I could ever get to flying safely.

I’ve heard of wingsuits and all, but it looks extremely dangerous, and without the reliability of my wings, I’m not convinced it would be worth it. Despite being in the wrong body, I really do love my life, and besides the danger, the expense is quite tremendous. You need suits and training, not to mention the trips up to the sky to jump down, and it’s not exactly an activity you could participate in every day.

I do love rollercoasters, too. I have a very specific fear of heights that triggers when I am high up and unsecure. Secured into a rollercoaster cart, I feel quite safe and happy, but waiting on the platform, I feel exposed, weak. But rarely do I feel such peace as I do riding one. My anxiety just melts off of me, and instead of excitement, I feel calm, and serene.

But to get to the point of our actual conversation, I suddenly had an image of those giant round rooms with the huge fan at the bottom that you can pay to fly inside. They’re called vertical wind tunnels, and are essentially skydiving without needing to defy death. I’ve never gotten the chance to fly in one, and I have a tremendous fear of large fans (dumb, I know), which stifles my interest slightly. How wonderful would it be to wear an oculus rift inside one, while controlling a drone with your mind? Wealth is wasted on the wealthy, friends, for if I was a billionaire, I would create a sanctuary for otherkin and therians full of therapeutic rooms like the flying chamber. Free for all.

I can imagine the rooms for all manner of aviankin - beautiful jungles accessible to human limbs, soft perches, and vast pools and waterfalls. For wolves, thick forests with soft, dark grasses, free of biting and crawling insects. Carnivores could smell meat and blood in the air, they could run naked across plains in pursuit of elusive prey, be rewarded with clean carcasses and fresh meat, wild and unjudged. Gryphons and dragons could finally sit upon great hoards of gold and gems, and hunt for hidden treasures all across the sanctuary. There would be a home for everyone. All people and creatures. A place to live the life they must spend their days yearning and thirsting for.

A place we will never truly have as humans, but at least we could feel the winds in our wings again, our paws on the earth, our fins in the ocean.

The Heart-Burden

I just want to tell everyone, all the time.

I want to tell Facebook things that people are afraid to say. I want to tell them what I am, and who I am. I want to be free to talk about the wind in my feathers. I want to be free to perch where I am comfortable. I want to be free to make the avian sounds that resonate in my throat, sounds that I choke down for fear that I will be seen as insane. I fear I will be questioned, that I will be seen as a fool with an overactive imagination.

Maybe it is true. Maybe I am insane. Maybe I find myself to be so boring that I had to invent a new self. I suppose it’s all possible. I’d be sad to discover it, and I doubt it would change the way I feel, but it’s possible, and others will surely tell me it’s not merely possible, but the truth of the matter. Ultimately, though, the doubts and accusations of others are meaningless, even if they hurt. It’s a superficial hurt, one that will scar over, and leave the muscle and bone of my convictions intact.

While others may be free to post pictures of their children, gossip about celebrities, and spout bits and pieces of carefully-chosen scripture without any trepidation, if I were to say those four simple words, what would happen?

"I am a gryphon."

In all honesty, probably nothing. For the half of my friends and family who would even notice it as they scroll through their newsfeed, I might get a like, or an “lol”. It would almost be worse than being shunned, to be trivialized. Ignored. It wouldn’t be their fault. It’s a strange concept, in defense of their hypothetical indifference. My close family and friends are used to my strangeness, they’d think nothing of it. I’ve worn furry ears and tails, even collars. I’ve been known to meow at them, caw back at the neighborhood crows, and I have an unusually large collection of stuffed animals.

But what would I gain, anyway? I don’t need validation. I’ve already gotten it off my chest. I suppose it would just be nice if I could be truly honest with the people I care for. It would be nice to have acceptance and understanding. It would be nice if I just knew that there was some hope for me to be what I am, without covering it up with my flawed attempt at being human.

I’m not honestly quite as bitter as I make myself seem. I have a light heart, but my secret is a burden on it.

Hints of Another Life

A random thing that has been brought to my attention. It seems as though there are two levels of fascination that apply to my therian form.

There are things I love, and things that I am unreasonably attracted to. Attraction, in this situation, meaning a desire to be near, or look at.

Things I love are things I genuinely feel an affection for. Crows, for example, are fascinating to me, and I love them. I feel like they are important to my life, like they can teach me, like they know me. I genuinely love video games. They’re a daily part of my life - I like to play them, collect them, learn about them, etc. Things I love are things I learn EVERYTHING about. I research them, watch videos about them, collect pictures of them, and just generally involve myself in them often.

Things I am attracted to are simply things that I am interested in, but can’t explain the fascination. My current gryphon-body appearance reflects this concept. Currently, I see myself as a gyrfalcon/snow leopard gryphon. Neither of these animals are animals I’m particularly interested in. I just saw them, and it clicked and made sense. These aren’t animals I love. I think they are beautiful, but I have no love for them like I have love for the crow. Things I am attracted to are things that just resonate with me. I feel like they belong in my life somehow, but they don’t have a special place. It’s the sort of feeling you might have for the decorations on your wall, or your favorite lamp, or the necklace you wear every day. They are things that I feel I have seen often, things that are familiar to the point where I admire them and enjoy being around them or looking at them.

Things I love are things I wish applied to my therian identity, because of how strongly I feel about them, but they often don’t “click” with my therian identity. Things I am attracted to, without developing a love for - moths, big cities, certain geographic formations, gems - always seem to turn up to be a part of my therian memories. They’re familiar and comfortable, even though my human-brain might not even like them. It’s a strange feeling.