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creaturemoira.bsky.social
Moira ΘΔ
@creaturemoira.bsky.social
41 followers 87 following 42 posts
Stupid dumb bitch from Seattle
Might woof at you
Will definitely sniff

Whose eyes are those eyes?

Minors DNI (I will consistently boost porn, please don't interact with or follow this account if you are under the age of 18)
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Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
shimi.bsky.social
New zine: “Look Into My Eyes One Last Time”

A final love letter to the self I shed
A prayer for the creature. Becoming
A reckoning, a surrender. Homecoming

This is my deepest wish laid bare—needle, fur, breath, & mercy. Being held with a care I never found.

#AnimalHRT #Therianthropy #ShortStory
A hand-drawn black-and-white cover image in a sketchy ink style. At the top, large stenciled type reads: “LOOK INTO MY EYES ONE LAST TIME.” Below the title is a syringe and a small medicine vial labeled “LUPINEX – Therionyl – 5mL,” with a stylized eye logo on the label. The vial and syringe are crosshatched with vintage texture lines. Below the drawing, in handwritten script, is the phrase: “Homecoming, not vanishing” and the signature Shimi & Critter. [Art on Page] A detailed graphite drawing of a wolf’s eyes. One, the left is more formed than the right — indicating a near but not complete transition. The fur around them is dense and wispy, rendered in fine pencil lines that suggest softness and depth. The eyes are highly realistic and expressive, staring directly outward with intense, soulful focus. They seem alert but ancient—wide with instinct, watching as if waiting for something to begin. The drawing fades at the edges into blank white space, giving the eyes a floating, disembodied presence. Look into my eyes one last time Look into my eyes. Hold them close until you can see the last scrap of me — the part that counts thoughts in lists, that weighs choices against rules, 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 here, no violent yanking; 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 needles, no cold clinical lecture — only the careful hands of doctors, veterinarians and nurses who know which bones to cradle and which stories to leave untold. I breathe. I lost the ability to count days back. I let the bracing liquid be a gate, not an instruction manual. I do not want to name it; names are the thin net that caught me for years. The burn is a rumour. It goes through me sideways — a quiet rearrangement, like a convent bell that signals not death but a calling. My limbs answer first. They stop thinking of movement and begin to remember it: how to fold, to coil, to push. Tendons unlearn the polite phrasing of two-legged steps and curve toward the old, fourfold geometry of running. My hands tighten and flatten; the knuckles find a new logic. Fur prickles along my forearms as if a thousand small moths take flight together and settle again. Each hair is a note in a chord I’ve felt… no… known in my bones since childhood. Look again. See how the pupils widen, how the whites retreat like a shy moon. My last maps of metaphor — the maps that turned hunger into lists and longing into projects — dissolve. Where there had been a ledger of self, there is now only the immediate ledger of 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 the human world predicted and as I pretended. Sound changes. Those little, trivial noises of the room condense into a chorus: the slow tick of breath in the person beside me, the whisper of fabric, the distant wet confluence of gutters. And underneath that: a low, patient life-frequency — root and soil and river. It is not music so much as an acknowledgment. I find I can hear the insect conversation inside the walls, the sap walking up the birch, the small, stupid heartbeat of a mouse two blocks away. There is an intimacy to it that is almost rude. Breath becomes work and worship at once. My ribcage narrows, then widens in ways I know but cannot name. Milk memories — a thing to shame into silence when human — rise like a tide: the cadence of suckling, the doctrinal simplicity of being called to feed and to protect. A swelling around my belly that is not fat but purpose. I think of my children who never were, of the packs I have loved in mute pieces. The notion of motherhood is larger than gender; it is a compass with teeth. My children! You are my children and you are my all! My jaw shifts. I feel the slow, inevitable rearrangement — a socket loosens, a hinge finds its voice. A tooth erupts where an organised thought had lived. The smell of iron, rain-damp soil, and sleeping bodies that have waited for me — flooding my mouth like saliva. Tears come and I do not know if they are human or creature; they taste of salt and release. There is a tenderness in my own trembling that I have never allowed before. Outside the window, someone whose scent I knew laughs and it sounds to me like a distant bell. The handlers murmur: careful, gentle, let her and her pack decide. My mouth forms the shape and bark of guttural assent I could not voice when I was wholly human. Somewhere a crate opens as if the world is taking a breath with me. They will test me further, yes. They will see whether my newness walks toward the wild or clings to the small, safe hands of fosterers who will teach me boundaries, how to pass in a world of paved things. I do not fear them. I am no longer wrapped in that ledger — of consent, of cost, of consequence. I am wrapped in appetite and mercy. The choice, if there is one, feels less like an 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, like a riverbed where stones remember every footstep. The last scrap of thought, the tiny librarian of my life who loved lists, things and order, exhales and steps back through the doorway we are leaving open. I feel it go, and where it is gone there is fullness, a pulse that answers the creature’s call without translation. This is not a loss. It is not my obliteration. 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
September 26, 2025 at 1:47 AM
creaturemoira.bsky.social
Haven't been on social media for a while, wasn't healthy for me
Just plan on using this to connect with my community
October 6, 2025 at 2:08 AM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
voicesbyzane.bsky.social
boss the fascism
August 14, 2025 at 9:42 PM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
zegg.bsky.social
Self portrait
August 23, 2025 at 5:58 AM
creaturemoira.bsky.social
You're not immune to flirting girl, you just hate yourself.
August 22, 2025 at 10:25 PM
creaturemoira.bsky.social
I'm so excited for Shuten Order.
Looks like the director of Ever 7 and Root Double is gonna be on it,,,,
that's so cool
#visualnovels #vn
August 20, 2025 at 4:58 PM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
moxole.bsky.social
Hey move out costs are kicking my ass, if you want to help me out it'd be greatly appreciated. If you want to you can message me after and once I'm settled in to the new place I can mail out stickers to people as thanks. ko-fi.com/moxole
Support Moxole
Support Moxole
ko-fi.com
August 15, 2025 at 12:42 AM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
venisin.bsky.social
Studies show that this method has a very high likelihood of improving someone's day. #furryart
June 26, 2024 at 8:43 PM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
venisin.bsky.social
I had the silly idea of making a little side by side comparison of D-VI and D-OS and their purposes, loosely based off an anime screenshot. #furryart

(No text version included cause it was cute on its own)
An image of Doebots D-VI and D-OS standing side by side holding hands in silly poses. There are hexagons around their head and text boxes that explain the purpose of each unit. D-VI Unit - A general purpose unit intended to work in large scale environments. Examples include business secretary or head maid of a household. Typically has a personality centered around her role, and will not adapt based on user interactions. D-OS Unit - A specialized unit intended to accompany one individual, serving as a partner for long periods of isolation. Helps with day to day tasks, planning and logistics, and user mental health. Due to the bonding process, her personality adapts to the primary user. May experience issues in large groups or crowds.
August 6, 2025 at 10:30 PM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
venisin.bsky.social
Always wanted to make a nice pinned post for my account and this seemed like a great time for it! #furryart
October 18, 2024 at 12:59 AM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
impactraves.org
🎉 THE FULL LINEUP FOR FIRST IMPACT IS HERE 🎉
🎟️ BELOW

After so much blood, sweat, and tears getting here, I have nothing else to say. I think it speaks for itself :3
Thanks to everyone at Impact! who stepped up to make this happen. 2 weeks left. Can't wait to see y'all on the floor ❤️🖤🤍
August 3, 2025 at 5:59 AM
creaturemoira.bsky.social
Monday was my 2 year HRT anniversary. I thought it was today until I checked my medical history x3 eheheh
Exciting!
August 6, 2025 at 10:58 AM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
coral.dog
Private time
August 4, 2025 at 8:44 PM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
ghoulpus.bsky.social
Currently on the phone with Visa

Instead of starting with a complaint, I approached this as a Confused American Consumer who doesn't understand why they can't buy things off a website they use

The call center rep immediately asked if it was about Steam/itch

(cont)
July 26, 2025 at 8:53 PM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
kimkelly.bsky.social
Hulk Hogan died, huh?

One less scab. Unionize your workplace, brothers (and sisters, and siblings).
July 24, 2025 at 4:05 PM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
mongrelist.bsky.social
Stream warmup. CMYKberus (inkbeast)
picarto.tv/Mongrelist

#furryart #furry
Digital sketch of a black cerberus with magenta, cyan, and yellow highlights.
July 25, 2025 at 1:29 AM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
takeo-arts.bsky.social
A Growing Artist page 5
July 24, 2025 at 4:02 AM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
phobia.bsky.social
Butch4femme, rat4mouse
A butch rat girl looks down at her cute femme mouse gf who is burying her nose in the rat girls armpit. The rat girl says "babe, I must smell rank right now" to which the mouse girl replies "yes" in a heart speech bubble
July 24, 2025 at 7:09 PM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
draekos.bsky.social
So I know my normal stream time is LATE for a lot of people so.
Tomorrow.
2pm Pacific

Gonna see if that's good for folks who normally can't make it <3
(Yes, still offering sharks!)
July 24, 2025 at 3:34 AM
creaturemoira.bsky.social
Wowee, I'm feeling so eepy today. Depression hitting hard. At least my tits are fat.
July 24, 2025 at 7:59 PM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
quakeroc.bsky.social
straight up cancel a subscription you dont need and split that money per month among like the various disenfranchised creators that make 90% of the niche material you get to enjoy mostly for free. im not asking anymore
July 24, 2025 at 4:34 AM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
councilmember-amr.bsky.social
Tomorrow afternoon Councilmember Hollingsworth and I will be restoring “Hot Rat Summer” in Cal Anderson Park. This mosaic was wrongfully painted over and we are going to fix it.
Mosaic of a patron saint rat with a sun behind it and a little heart. Below it states “Hot Rat Summer”
July 16, 2025 at 12:54 AM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
koboldfactory.bsky.social
Basically I think all art should be “do what you want forever” and not “here is an unattainable standard of what is considered Perfect Good Art. Try to do that”
July 14, 2025 at 8:56 PM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
koboldfactory.bsky.social
oh no... i can feel the itch. it's late on a sunday night and i wanna make art.......
July 14, 2025 at 4:54 AM
Reposted by Moira ΘΔ
puppyywife.bsky.social
hot buns
July 12, 2025 at 10:47 PM