basil ☉∇
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primalsnout.bsky.social
basil ☉∇
@primalsnout.bsky.social
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22 - archaeology major
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Reposted by basil ☉∇
shimi.bsky.social
Next Weekend I’ll be closing out this event at the sunrise. Lykaeon is a showcase of all-new material written for this event—an invocation of Chthonic forces through poetry, song, music, sound art & storytelling. Bring your expressions of you creaturely selves.💜🐾.

Come Back, Come Through, Come Home
A poster for a performance titled Lykaeon by Shimi. The illustration shows a large, black, anthropomorphic she-wolf crouched in profile, holding a tall staff. Her body is covered in rough, shaggy fur with visible nipples, indicating she is a nursing or maternal figure. She sits in a forest clearing under a full yellow moon, surrounded by dark trees sketched in scratchy, expressive lines. A faint pack of wolves appears in the background near the bottom right. The overall art style is rough, textured, and emotive, with a primal, mythic atmosphere. Text on the poster reads: LYKAEON BY SHIMI A SPOKEN WORD • POETR
July 12, 2025 at 4:09 PM
Reposted by basil ☉∇
shimi.bsky.social
Performing Lykaeon w/stories, poetry, monologue & music @ Terror In The Woods which became a transcendental Therian Trans Pagan & Queer night I’ll never forget. DJs & staff put on a show with community, pack & ritual. Our beautiful bestial audience brought love, warmth & howls 💜🐾
Pix credits in Alt
Image 1: A nighttime forest performance scene lit in vivid purples, blues, and reds. A large crowd sits on the forest floor, facing a Shimi, performing naked and masked, standing on a small stage adorned with flickering LED candles. Behind the performer, a glowing red pentagram and various neon occult symbols are suspended between trees. Tall LED light bars emit blue light, casting an eerie yet magical ambiance. Trees are lit dramatically with red and blue spotlights, creating a mystical woodland theater atmosphere. Photo: @wifewolf.bsky.social Image 2: A slose-up of the Shimi, naked and masked performing under intense blue lighting, standing on stage surrounded by battery-powered candles. The figure wears a canine mask and holds a staff, with visible body markings. They stand barefoot in the forest, illuminated by electronic stage lights, with audio equipment set up nearby. The scene evokes ritualistic and primal energy, blending performance art and forest ceremony. Photo @seerendipity.bsky.social Image 3: Another wide view of Shimi performing on stage during the night-time forest ritual. This wolf-masked figure plays a flute amid glowing candles, while a large red pentagram and other neon symbols illuminate the space. Blue vertical LED lights frame the scene, and fog or smoke adds depth and mystery. The ground is covered in forest debris, contributing to the raw and elemental mood. Photo @shade-the-ashclad.bsky.social Image 4: A dense forest at night, drenched in red and purple light. Strings of red fairy lights and intense beam lights cut through the trees. Small groups of people gather and move among the trunks, partially obscured by the shadows and light effects. The atmosphere feels alive and enchanted, reminiscent of a nocturnal woodland rave or otherworldly gathering. Photo @hazelzen.bsky.social
July 23, 2025 at 1:08 AM
Reposted by basil ☉∇
shimi.bsky.social
New #Zine — The Goddess of All Dogs

Before words, laws & leashes—there was she. She who came soft as breath, fierce as running, she who lay with the spirits of the early world giving us the ache of creaturehood, wildness as blessing. A Goddess whose paws still press gently into our #Therian hearts.
Page 1 (Title page): Plain white page with bold black text reading “THE GODDESS OF ALL DOGS.” Beneath it is a handwritten line: “May her paws press gently into every wild heart reading this.” Signed in handwriting style: “Shimi & Critter.” Page 2 of 4: A colored illustration at the top shows a mystical scene: a female wolf figure with a humanoid body and wolf’s head stands upright in a forest glade. She has long fur, soft brown coloring, and closed eyes, radiating calm presence. Two smaller wolves kneel before her in reverence, surrounded by trees that arch overhead into a glowing twilight sky with faint stars. Beneath the image, the story text begins: “The Goddess of All Dogs” The text reads” Before the age of words and names, before laws and rules, the world lay soft and breathing half dream, half fur. Mist pooled like milk in root- hollows, and young stars flickered, trembling close enough to taste. I'hrough that hrst twilight wandered the early spirits: beings not quite human and not quite animal, who shifted as desire moved them sometimes upright with laughing eyes, sometimes four-footed and swift as wind over moss. They met one another in glades of silver grass and beneath moon-tat boughs, touching without shame, choosing and being chosen, their bodies learning love in every shape that joy allowed. Some paired for a night, some for an age; their couplings were part song, part snowtall- a dance that gave itself back to the earth without regret. It was during one such moon-bright wandering that the Goddess of All Dogs first came among them. No one saw her arrive. One moment the glade was empty; the next there was a presence like a hearth longed for across winter miles. Her eyes were two brown dawns the colour of the early earth — and her breath a meadow after rain. The air around her tasted of warm fur and musk and the slow heartbeat of packs asleep together. She moved closer, and where her paws fell the flowers bent as if in reverence and then sprang taller, as if the very soil remembered its own creaturely heart. The spirits felt her before they understood her. A low yearning uncolled inside them not hunger, not fear, but the deep knowledge of a home long awaited and they went to her without words. She welcomed them with a muzzle-soft nudge and a tail's slow arc of invitation. One spirit neither woman nor wolt, neither man nor stag stepped forward first. The Goddess touched her nose to their brow, and the world tipped. The glade filled with a music older than language, a rhythm of gasp, breath and pulse that all creatures know. Uthers followed, each drawn by her same radiant gravity. They loved her, and she loved them, each according to the shape of their own becoming. Some lay with her as beasts, fur against fur, the earth cool beneath their flanks. Some met her as near-humans, hands and paws interlaced in wonder. With every embrace she wove their spirits deeper into the fabric of life until even the stars seemed to lean closer to listen. She came as dog, but the forest knew her as mother, and her love held the whole wild world From those nights of mingling from the soft growls and quiet laughter, from conjoined heartbeats and the warmth of many bodies new life quickened. The children born of this union were like no beings before them: not merely human and not merely animal. Their eyes carried the memory of moonlight on running water; their hearts beat to the music of both forest and fire-circle. They could slip between forms as easily as breath becomes wind, between thought and instinct without fracture. The Goddess watched over them with a devotion both wild and gentle. She taught them the speech of rivers and the silence of hunters. She showed them how to cradle the newborn and how to bare fan lesson. But defence. Page 4/4 (final Page) Each lesson was love; each love, she also knew the ache of time. The early spirits who had chosen her began to fade some into deeper forest, some into the long forgetting that humans would later call history. She did not chain them. Love, to her, was never a leash. But even the wild must yield to time. he glades grew quiet, and one by one, the early spints drifted away some into deeper forest, others into forgetting The world was changing. And the Goddess, who had given so much of herself, knew it was soon time to Let go. And so she lay, one last time, in the place where it all began. The grass still held their scent. Like rain hecy the was r gap wig the id ned the soil head and howled a blessing that rang trom mountain to tidepool: You are my beloved, neither bound to earth nor sky. Run as you will. Remember me in your bones. Carry the forest in more than creature answered. They howled back, a thousand voices braided into one timeless, endless vow. Those children are the ancestors of the ones who still feel fur beneath the skin when the moon climbs. Who sleep with beasts as beasts and rise in human form but hold their creaturelness preciously within as a pearl in a shell. They are the reason our hearts quicken at the scent of ran on heather and cedar and why our dreams are lit by paw-prints and warm dens and why some of us are kin to wolf and wind while others are creatures of scale, hoof and wing — all descendants of a night when love itself wore a dog's gentle face. I'he Goddess of All Dogs is not gone. She moves in who lifts their head and remembers. To know her is to ache and to be healed in the same breath; to love her is to understand, finally and forever, that you are wild, you are chosen, you are home. You are free. - Shimi & Critter
October 1, 2025 at 5:25 PM
Reposted by basil ☉∇
shimi.bsky.social
New #Zine Play date: Scratch & Me. 1/2: What starts as #animalhrt reintegration turns into a gay, feral mess. Tail-flags, enrichment-bot-humping, & creaturely flirtation they don’t have protocols for. #exhumanisn #therianthropy & finding love thru nosebumps, leg mounts, & disregarding clipboards.
Page 1 – Cover Alt text: A black-and-white illustrated zine cover titled PlayDate: Scratch & Me by Shimi & Critter. A wolf and a coyote face each other playfully, their tails raised, mouths open mid-bark, arrows curving between them. Text at bottom: “Research notes remain property of Glaxo Smyth-Klein. Page 2 – Foreword Alt text: Typed text under the heading Foreword: This field account represents an early-stage observation of cross-species affective integration during post-theriomorphic rehabilitation. Following the administration of Lupinex (Therionyl–5mL, Dose 9), subject WLF-7 was introduced to a controlled interaction zone for social re-acclimation with subject CYT-3 (‘Scratch’), a coyote-type who had successfully completed full human sentience-divestment protocols two months prior to these events. What ensued was neither anomalous nor unexpected… While not explicitly designed as a courtship environment, the enclosure nevertheless provided adequate stimulus for instinct-led affiliative behaviors, scent-sharing, and what supervisory logs delicately refer to as ‘non-target arousal states.’ This transcript has been preserved in its near-entirety as a rare qualitative snapshot of joy unburdened by language, love untroubled by taxonomy… For the record: the enrichment bot did not survive.” At the bottom: “– Journal of Transitional Companion Species Studies, Vol. 12, Issue 3. Field Editor: Dr. E.J. Cark. Catalog Ref: WLF-7/CYT-3/PLAY-009. Page 3 – PlayDate: Scratch & Me (Opening) Alt text: Reused cover Illustration of WLF-7 and Scratch a coyote facing each other playfully above the title PlayDate: Scratch & Me: They told me the playdate was species-safe and therapeutic integration support. A “familiarity session,” they said, smiling, holding clipboards. No cages, no needles, no species-adjusted stress-testing. Just me, a freshly-run wolf girl, still sloshy with Therionyl, and my best friend, a coyote who’d gone in two months earlier, now known, simply, as Scratch. I think we used to be inseparable? Back before paws. I don’t remember what we called each other then. It’s like remembering hands. She says her name used to be “not important.” Feels about right. Scratch has two different coloured eyes — one pale amber, one glacial blue — and an extra dewclaw on her left forepaw that clicks too quickly when she paces. She used to love David Bowie, I just about remember that much, which makes the whole mismatched eye thing feel like fate. The handlers dropped me into the lab-run enclosure with the usual checklist: tail relaxed, ears perked, no visible signs of trauma. It was a “juvenile” range, meaning the fences were padded and the water bowl was comically oversized — a playground, basically, with fake grass and one of those motorised rabbits for enrichment. I sniffed the hell out of it. But I forgot all about the scent dummy the moment Scratch came bounding through the mesh gate like she was late for a bar fight and excited about it. Woof! She smelled like joy. Dust, musk, golden resin sun. Her tail spun like a pinwheel as she barrelled toward me, skidding on the synthetic turf and immediately nose-bumping my flank like we were resuming a conversation mid-sentence. We tumbled together, yipping and clambering in a fur-pile of mutual recognition. She nipped my ear; I bit her scruff; she rolled onto her back and kicked like she wanted me to see the ridiculous length of her tongue. She’d always been like this. Just… more Scratch now. Less girl-who-was. I don’t think either of us realised we were flirting. We’d no plans. No script. But we kept getting closer. Like, crotch-sniffing close. Tail-swishing, back-arched, “hey is this normal” kind of close. I mean, we’d always had that slightly-too-long eye contact thing going back in the human days — long nights in dorm rooms, secrets with no outlet, the kind of affection you could only channel into shared playlists and ill-advised tattoos. But we never did anything. Turns out, animal brains don’t care about inhibition. Turns out, tails are loud. She winked one of her mismatched eyes and flagged her tail up so dramatically I thought she was trying to signal aircraft. I made the kind of low, breathy whine I used to reserve for art-house movies and midnight texts. Then she circled me, brushed flanks, and made this tiny little hop like “tag — you’re in heat.” I was not in heat. I was ready for problems. Awrrfff! It just escalated from there. At some point, I hiked my tail too fast and knocked over the handler’s little enrichment cam-bot. Scratch pounced it and started biting and humping it like a squeaky toy possessed by heat and bad decisions. It made a noise like a drowning coffee grinder. I was cry-baying with laughter and half-lunging at her side, and somehow we both ended up in the crash-mat tunnel
October 6, 2025 at 9:15 PM
Reposted by basil ☉∇
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