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transspecies.bsky.social
Transspecies
@transspecies.bsky.social
63 followers 44 following 36 posts
◇PRO Alterhuman otherkin transspecies therian #althsky

○Transhumanism|posthumanism|morphological freedom

♡it/its/she-disabled-queer/trans

Transspecies ➡️ coined in 90s

Banner by: https://sunwyvern.allium.house/creations/transspecies_flag.php
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Reposted by Transspecies
spiderqueenpc.desktopgeneration.com
frameacloud.tumblr.com/post/7274735... highly recommend this post on the matter (and the original coining post of the term alterhuman linked within)
Masterpost about the meaning and origin of the word alterhuman
Folks have been getting confused about the meaning and purpose of the umbrella term and identity label "alterhuman." Often, people wrongly claim it doesn't include groups that it was originally...
frameacloud.tumblr.com
November 26, 2025 at 12:03 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
reywoofs.bsky.social
therian con when
November 22, 2025 at 2:30 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
dogonychus.yaps.fyi
Nonhuman unity flag but make it pseudohuman.
The nonhuman unity flag (it's green on top with white in the middle with purple as the bottom stripe) but the theta-delta/elven star combination has been replaced with heta-pi.
November 22, 2025 at 2:55 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
dogonychus.yaps.fyi
Gonna tag #AltHSky plus include some keywords (nonhuman, therian, otherkin) that relevant feeds that may pick this up

tjezem.neocities.org/library/pseu...
November 21, 2025 at 4:02 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
gone-fish-mode.bsky.social
banging on the walls of my enclosure to get the attention of any transspecies or physical nonhuman/therians/otherkin who have ANYTHING to say about nonmedical transition. hello. can you hear me.
November 20, 2025 at 4:23 AM
Reposted by Transspecies
coastalclaws.bsky.social
‼️I HAVE THREE MONTHS UNTIL TOP SURGERY‼️

I need help raising funds to afford this VERY necessary surgery! I am 9% of the way there!

I am opening pre orders for therian + progress flag tags soon! Help this doggy get surgery! 🐺🪶

ko-fi.com/coastalclaws...
November 19, 2025 at 3:32 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
dieselbrain.bsky.social
www.badinternetbills.com#stop-csam

In addition to calling your reps, this website has both a lot of information explaining why these bills are bad/ why section 230 must be protected, as well as petitions to sign for each individual issue!

Signing petitions helps! Make your calls, sign petitions!
November 12, 2025 at 9:17 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
brushfeather.art
Feline time.

I wish I had enough capitol to make an enamel pin series. ✨ Alas.

#wip #therian #art
A theta-delta symbol shaped into a cat's paw. The center is a cat's nose. Retractable claws are represented with twisted knots that peek out of the top of each toe.
November 15, 2025 at 12:42 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
8bitliv.es
plurality and therian identities should be legally protected characteristics.
taliabhatt.itch.io Talia "Estro Junkies" Bhatt ♀︎♀︎ @taliabhatt.itch.io · 19d
"my least woke opinion is---"

That's enough. We've had enough people indulging in the "thrill of a little conservatism", as a treat. Of considering reactionary thought to be a salacious and taboo in a world descending into reactionary mania.

Give me your MOST woke opinions. We're bringing it back.
November 14, 2025 at 9:31 AM
Reposted by Transspecies
lovequeer.bsky.social
part of alterhuman oppression is the fact that its extremely lonely. There are so so many things about my life and relationships and who i am that i cant share with the majority of people i interact with on, and if i try, it requires so much educating before i can just talk about my everyday life.
November 9, 2025 at 3:42 AM
Reposted by Transspecies
exhuman-entropy.bsky.social
Happy therianthropy day to everycreature! You are valid, you are loved, and you deserve acceptance and celebration. What're you planning on doing to celebrate today?
#therian #alterhuman #transspecies
November 5, 2025 at 3:58 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
midnightmakers.ca
Another experimental piece! We used our ultra slim base to create a 'use your own eyes'/'puphood' style suit head!

This one is not for sale! But we may offer this type of hood in the future after some refinement! ❤️🐶

#furry #fursuit #puphood #fursuitmaker

t.me/MidnightMkrs
November 4, 2025 at 10:20 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
shimi.bsky.social
After years of living, writing & drawing, GODBEAST is ready to take form — a feral memoir of survival & creaturehood. raising $1000 for the first 100-copy print run. help bring it to life: ko-fi.com/ArtByShimi 🐾 #Crowdfund #literature #therian #Book #Ko-Fi #WOLF

ko-fi.com/s/ecba5ebb8d
Cover: Book cover for Godbeast by Shimi & Critter. A dark, wolf-like creature sits against a swirling, ethereal background of greens, purples, and blues. The title appears in bold yellow type: “GODBEAST — A memoir of a small creature who thought she was a human boy.” A faint Therian sigil (or a Triangle and a Circle forming the Theta Symbol) overlays the wolf’s silhouette, lending a sacred, mythic quality to the image. Page with “Introduction: Godbeast”: Black ink illustration of a wolf’s head emerging from swirling, smoky lines, facing left. Below, printed text introduces the story’s mythic framing: animal spirits gathering at a child’s birth to determine who will guide them through life. The prose blends fable and theology, evoking creation myths and creaturely belonging. Page with full wolf illustration: Dynamic monochrome painting of a standing wolf, drawn in expressive ink strokes that dissolve into wild, flame-like tendrils. The text beneath describes the narrator’s longing for transformation—wanting to escape the confines of the human body and speech to become something freer, truer, more creaturely. The image mirrors that feral yearning. Page with “Interlude: The First Den”: Gentle black-and-white sketch of a wolf pup lying down, rendered in loose, textured lines that balance tenderness and energy. The accompanying text recalls early childhood—nursery school described as a “den” filled with color, softness, and warmth. It intertwines memory and metaphor, showing how the child’s earliest sense of safety was already animal, already part of the Godbeast’s world.
October 30, 2025 at 6:54 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
lovequeer.bsky.social
I respect Devin Proctor for doing the only serious ethnographic work on our experiences to date.
Otoh, I have a real fuckin bone to pick with the way he goes about studying us and then is given credit for having interesting ideas about species, rather than otherkin being credited for our perspective
October 30, 2025 at 4:55 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
lordpook.bsky.social
Next week - virtual + in-person! We've got sticker semiotics, post-Anthropocene gaming, sparklefur embodiment, trans-species critique, video art pup rituals, queer nerd pioneer Rod O'Riley, and so many brilliant artists! Plus, after dark, a black mass to plan how we'll corrupt the youth in 2026.
furrystudies.org Furry Studies @furrystudies.org · Sep 2
HOOT!

We’ve been a little quiet but we’re thrilled to announce that registration for Furry Studies 2025 in Pacific Lutheran University is NOW OPEN!
👉🏻 furrystudies.org

Hopefully see you there! 🦉
Furry Studies 2025 Conference
Furry Studies conference aims to promote global and cross-field collaboration among furry scholars and those invested in this fascinating and diverse community.
furrystudies.org
October 25, 2025 at 7:24 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
sergalfluffs.bsky.social
BTW, calling someone a species that isn't -actually- their species is probably not gonna be appreciated if they're therian or otherkin. Don't do that, please, unless you know they're ok with it.
October 26, 2025 at 5:58 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
shio.hates.school
reminder anti-otherkin people very often use transphobic arguments

e.g.
"you were born human, you can't change that!" / "you were born your assigned sex at birth, you can't change that!"
October 25, 2025 at 6:32 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
shimi.bsky.social
Elder Wolf at the Table is a love letter to aging, faith, & creaturehood—to the slow holiness of growing softer without losing wildness.
It’s about what happens when we grow old but not tame; when we learn to share the table & stop guarding.
Part reflection, part #therian prayer: a guide to gentler.
Black-and-white illustration titled Elder Wolf at the Table: Growing Older & Softer & Staying Wild by Shimi & Critter. A cozy tabletop scene shows a teapot, mugs, bowls, and a plate of bone-shaped biscuits. Scattered among the cups are three pamphlets with hand-drawn covers: Quality of Life for Wolves & Working Dogs (featuring two wolves), Preparing an Elder for a Pack (showing wolves greeting each other), and Senior Wolf Care (with a wolf portrait). The image evokes warmth, care, and companionship in aging, blending domestic gentleness with wild themes. Black-and-white zine page featuring typewritten text over a wood-grain background, bordered by mock medical paperwork and labels. A small pencil drawing at the bottom shows three wolves sitting together affectionately, one nuzzling another. Text reads It begins with a kettle whistling and rain against the window. The air smells of mint tea and wet coats. I sit at the table, paws folded over paperwork that asks impossible questions: species, temperament, prognosis. Outside, a squirrel chatters at the fence. Inside, my reflection in the mug looks back - tired, yes, an elder, yes - and still wild. Aging has not made me less creature. It has made me gentler, slower to bite, quicker to rest. There is grace in that, I think - in softening without surrender, in learning to share the table instead of guarding the door. So pour a cup of tea for an old wolf. There's space beside me. We can talk about medicine, memory, and the art of staying wild while growing older, softer. Shimi & Critter Black-and-white zine page titled Elder Wolf at the Table. At the top is an illustration of a table with a steaming cup of tea, a plate of bones, and several pamphlets reading “Senior Wolf Care,” “Quality of Life for Wolves & Working Dogs,” and “Preparing an Elder for the Pack.” Below the image, the text reflects on aging, identity, and transformation—interweaving themes of wolfhood, gender, and creaturely belonging. The narrator speaks with tenderness about yearning to shed humanity, to live as their true inner wolf, and to hold that yearning as a sacred and private form of prayer. ELDER WOLF AT THE TABLE It’s raining outside again, and the kitchen smells of wet coats, peppermint tea, and the faint paper-dust of leaflets. Someone has spread them out across the table: Senior Dog Care, Quality of Life for Working Breeds, Preparing an Elder for a Pack. They’re glossy, cheerful, full of photos of happy grey-muzzled dogs. My human pack-mates know I’ve been thinking about these things. All my life I had been questioning myself: my sexuality, my gender and now my very species. I was always the one to bark back at the dog passing by as he barked at something or other, and I would howl at the moon and watch the coyotes rifling through our trashcans with unhidden longing. And then my best friend one day announced she too was joining the Therionyl programme, I knew it was only a matter of time before I would put my name down for the Human Sentience Divestment protocol. I ached, I yearned to slough off my humanity like an ill-fitting skin and finally, become one with the critter, the little wolf inside my head. My pack-mates know I come at them slantwise, halfway between myth and medicine, halfway between church and den. It isn’t morbid. To me it’s a kind of secret and closely guarded prayer. One of them picks up a leaflet and reads out loud, “Wolves live, on average, six to eight years. Captive wolves can reach sixteen.” They pause as they do the math in their head mouthing silently one human year to every seven canine years and suddenly they look at me and beam: “Well! You’re already an elder.” We all laugh. It’s a warm sound, clinking mugs and spoons. Someone says what everyone is thinking: “You’ll only be with us for a few more years if you complete this treatment.” “I’m not really afraid,” I tell them, dunking a dog-bone shaped homemade cookie into my tea. “I just think about how different the pacing is. If I have twenty more human years ahead as a woman, that’s a long wait to become what I want to be. But if I were fully wolf — eight, nine, maybe ten — that’s an elder’s life already. I’d join a pack as an elder. Nothing much changes. The apprenticeship’s already done.” Silence settles for a heartbeat, soft and not uncomfortable. Someone says softly, kindly, “You already are. You’re already the elder wolf at the table.” I reach for my mug. The rain taps the window. This, right here, feels like liturgy to me. I am the only religious one in the room, but over time my prayers have grown fur. I no longer picture heaven as a clean marble hall. I picture it as a warm, dry, muddy den. Not a throne but a breath on my neck. Not a hymn but a low throb of slow breathing packs through the soil. One asks, joking but not joking, “Will this…this Therionyl…will it get your hearing back?” and I shrug. Deaf wolves exist in the wild. I’ve been deaf for years; I would love to hear better. But that’s not the point. The leaflets don’t say, hearing restored. They say, quality of life is measured in moments of joy. Wolves don’t measure in years. They measure in seasons, in pups raised, in the smell of the den when everyone’s safe.
October 21, 2025 at 3:14 AM
Reposted by Transspecies
acentrics.bsky.social
a zine about queered bodies (1/2)
#zine #myart #werewolf #transsexual #lycanthropy #originalart
Two red hands come together and form a shadow puppet approximation of a dog head. The shadow it casts is distinctly more canine than it should be. Text reads: A zine about queered bodies: lycanthropy and it's sibling, transsexuality. A red wolf jumps across the bounds between two pages. Text reads: Lycanthrope (noun): A person who can transform into a wolf, as described in folktales. Synonym: werewolf. The lycanthrope is many things, but "heterosexual" or "cisgender" is not one. To understand the lycanthrope, you must acknowledge it's nature. It cannot be easily categorized as "man" or "beast". Further, the lycanthrope, as it is caught between worlds, cannot be sexed. With a body that changes so willingly, human ideas of how bodies should look or perform simply do not apply. A werewolf is a transient thing. Transsexual (noun): A transgender person, especially one seeking sex reassignment. Synonym: werewolf. The transsexual is a kind of werewolf, then. It, too, is caught between worlds. "Man" and "woman" are just as arbitrary as "man" and "beast". The transsexual cannot be sorted. It's transformation may be slower, more intentional, but it is a transformation. The transsexual becomes othered in body and mind, just as the lycanthrope does. So I ask you: Do you see the beauty in a queered body? A clawed hand covered in blood on a gradient background. Text reads: A queered body represents a threat, and so is vile to many. It's very existance is an offence to decent society. But there's no fault to be found in the body of the lycanthrope nor the transsexual. Even if shocking, or disgusting, or gross, there is not inherent harm done by the werewolves. A queered body is no less desirable than a typical one. In fact, it can be more desirable.
October 15, 2025 at 1:42 AM
Reposted by Transspecies
wolf.moda
PROJECT: NUZ ZINEZERO.5

Howdy!! I updated our nonhuman information zine for more information about physical nonhumanity and some change in grammar, plus a couple new pieces of my writing! This is made in the hopes of helping others better understand nonhumanity!

RTs appreciated!!
October 9, 2025 at 1:12 AM
Reposted by Transspecies
lovequeer.bsky.social
Seconding this , unfortunately the misconception that alterhuman = nonhuman has erased a lot of different experiences from view and made people forget that plurality is also included along with many other potentially human alterhumanities and many other independant groups.
October 7, 2025 at 11:17 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
cyberpunk.dog
im bad at asking but
October 7, 2025 at 5:42 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
pi-the-dog.bsky.social
Speciesqueer Pride Flag

The colours of the flag take inspiration from both the Genderqueer flag, by @marilynroxie.bsky.social (2011), and the Nonhuman Unity flag, by @coyote.tel (2020).

The sinusoidal geometry of the flag references the shape of the DNA double helix.

This design is free for use.
Speciesqueer Pride Flag. The flag has a 3:2 aspect ratio. It has 3 colours: green at the top, purple at the bottom, and white in the center. The green and purple meet on the left and right sides of the the flag, along the shape formed by two sinusoidal lines that trace horizontally across the flag, referencing the shape of the DNA double helix, and visually suggesting mutual overlap. In the center, the aperture between the two sinusoidal lines is coloured white.
October 7, 2025 at 2:17 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
vinchenzojackal.bsky.social
The thing that is most conflicting for me is society is willing to allow genital surgeries, removals, and transplants for transgender people with gender dysphoria, but surgeries that help otherkin and therians by giving us cybernetic tails isn't approved for treating our dysphoria.
October 4, 2025 at 9:07 PM
Reposted by Transspecies
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