something that I see many winged folks experience, including myself, is wing related dysphoria. more specifically, dysphoria relating to not being able to fly or not having wings physically. all my life this is a struggle I've dealt with, and I understand how painful it is. there are ways to relieve it though! here's some things that I've come up with and suggest to those who are struggling:
create mood boards, wallpapers, stim boards, and pinterest boards relating to the sky, your wings, theriotype, shifted form, etc
dive into media that has winged people/creatures (maximum ride, the maleficent movies, the croaking, just to name a few)
play games that let you fly, either with or without wings. bonus points if you're able to do it in VR (roblox, minecraft, feralheart, aer memories of old, superflight, fugl, etc)
practice lucid dreaming or astral projection
blankets!! especially weighted blankets, this can mimic the feeling of having wings
create or buy cosplay wings that look like your own (either typical cosplay wings worn with a harness/straps, or a backpack with wings, or a shawl in the shape of wings)
wear the colors of your wings, theriotype or shifted form
surround yourself with wing related themes or themes related to your theriotype or shifted form (buttons, pins, stickers, doodles, plushies, etc)
wear wing related accessories (rings, necklaces, hair pins, wings you can put on the laces of your shoes, etc)
if you're able to, get wings tattooed on your back or get a tattoo related to your theriotype or shifted form
if you're able to, participate in sky/air related sports or activities (skydiving, wingsuit flying, paragliding, hang gliding, etc)
draw/doodle your wings, theriotype or shifted form!!
meditate and visualize your wings. feel their weight, see their colors and textures, etc.
connect and talk to others who have wings if you need support and are looking for folks who have had similar experiences
carry around a backpack and make sure to give it some weight! having a backpack of a similar weight to my phantom wings tends to make my phantom wings go away, if you're looking to stop your phantom wings from existing for a bit for any reason
collect feathers that look like yours if you have feathered wings
connect with nature! this helps ground me and feel more connected to my natural self. I suggest going outside on a windy day or climbing trees.
stick your head/arms out of the car when you're going somewhere! this is one of my favorite things to do and it mimics what I imagine flying to feel like (pro tip, don't do this if you're driving)
make your room feel like the environment you belong in (using nature or wind ambient sounds, fans to get air flowing, that sort of thing)
watch flying POV videos
I'm sure there are more things that I could add, but I think that this is all my brain can think of at the moment. feel free to add onto the list if there's anything else that any of you want to add if I missed anything!
physical copies here (dw it will ship with the right book cover, thats barnes & noble's fault)
Some general notes about the printed copies of this book from Draft2Digital:
certain paragraphs will end/stop, then begin on the other side of the page, leaving a blank space where it is not intentional. this is not as big of problem as it is just the margins plus it leaves space for you to do whatever you want in those spaces like notes or drawing. it is a journal after all.
i have power regarding certain things about the inside of the book, but i cannot control everything. so there are possible errors from the printing that i cannot fix. this means that bullet points and lines will also be affected for unknown reasons, but they are never going to be placed on top of each other or misplaced on the page, everything looks good so far.
i compared the file and the print review for the inside of the book, and no where in the original file did the numbered citations appear. this is the fault of Draft2Digital, again. while it is not a big issue, it has never happened before in any of my other books and i am assuming it is something to do with the links itself.
Overall, the print book is worth having if you want to physically have the book there and be able to write in it your personal experiences, as intended. If you are not like me and want to just read it whenever, wherever and have your own ways of journaling besides the book, then maybe using the Gumroad version might work!
⚠️ NOTICE: INTERDIMENSIONAL MEMO ⚠️
Lost and needed for ongoing experiments:
- “Box of silver crucifix tongue depressors”
- “Unclaimed claw (possibly Cerberus, answers to ‘Lefty’)”
- “Memoir: ‘My Time as a Living Patient’ (Library overdue)”
Reminder: All memoirs must be returned, even posthumously.
~TiiiDAN, Medical Overlord
Its okay young weres to not experience being nonhuman 24/7. It's perfectly fine to focus on your life, take a break, and simply not work on shifting anymore like you used to.
I literally abandoned the methods and am just doing my own thing now. You can do that too. Life isn't just about being nonhuman - being nonhuman is just one piece of your life.
We are p-shifting confessions. We are just like your other confession blogs, except it handles p-shifters and of the like.
We will not post anything other than these confessions, and perhaps a few other things. We also answer shifting questions of any kind best we can! We will apply what we know to such questions. If need be we will refer you to older confessions that answer the same or similar questions.
Please only use ANON to send us confessions. This will keep you safe, and we will not post your confession if it isn't.
Share your stories, ideas, thoughts, anything you might be afraid to say on your own blog. All with good intentions are safe here!
If you are clinical, sensitive to p-shifting, and/or triggered by it, *please block this blog.*
This is not a religious or spirituality blog. Although our experiences (as in, p-shifters as a whole) can be tied to either or, we do not promote or discuss ethics or reasons of thought around these topics.
Do know that we only follow other culture blogs!!
FAQ below cut.
Thanks for reading the intro, and happy confessing!
Can they teach me to p-shift?
Hell nah. That's personal to you, and you can only figure that out. Please do not message us for this, we will delete it and block you.
How do I put in a confession?
Set it to anon first of all! Then begin your confession with "p-shifting/p-shifter culture is..." and then say whatever you would like to say! Please, only send things related to your nonhumanity/p-shifting.
What isnt okay to send in?
Hate, methods, asking how to p-shift, misanthropy with action that is going to be behind it (harming other humans, etc.), self harm (we are triggered by it), discourse of any sort from the past / present within the community, your opinion on how horrible p-shifting is, and images of any type. All of these will be deleted, along with if your ask isn't anon.
You are allowed to send in confessions of any kind, and questions of any kind involving nonhumanity or p-shifting. We will not answer questions asking about us personally; we keep ourselves very private.
Why does this blog exist?
Well, we just felt like making a blog to allow others to share p-shifting confessions. There's a lot of stigma around p-shifters, and we hope that seeing a glimpse into our lives can help dissolve the hate and witchhunting. This also includes helping spread accurate information and share what we personally have learnt and understand about shapeshifting. If you want information, ask and we will help you out the best we can! It is a huge aspect of the community after all, helping each other through shapeshifting ^w^
Does this enable abusive p-shifters?
Of course not. This is a positivity blog for p-shifters, and we only allow people with good intentions to be here / share their experiences. We do not allow or think that people who claim to be p-shifters AND are using this to abuse/manipulate others should be given a safe place. We will not teach p-shifting. Do not expect us to allow others looking to become p-shifters to enable them. Being a p-shifter is incredibly personal and cannot be taught. We fiercely believe in learning your own path and abandoning the idea that there is a set method that works for everyone to shift to. As always, every community has abusive, or manipulative people, but not every single person in that community is abusive.
Do they support _______ ?
We prefer to stay out of the discourse that exists anywhere on the internet. Our opinions on the matters outside of this blog do not matter to this blog, please do not ask us to if we are pro or anti of anything.
Obviously, this is a support page for p-shifters. That is all that is required for you to know, and they will not cover any other topics that don't relate to p-shifting.
Tags?
#P-shift culture is: Informational to cover more on what p-shifting is or might mean.
#_____ confession: ID number for each confession. Uses the word, not the letter. (Ex. first, second, etc.)
#P-shift(ing/er) culture is: Usually just identifies what the ask started with.
#PSCI: A shortened version an anonymous confesser used. We loved it so much we will also allow this to be used. If it is used it will be tagged.
#pshiftconpsa: We need a tag to make announcements so here it is.
We also like to say a bunch of stuff in the tags, so please go read through the chat!
(More may be added as we may see fit.)
Who runs this blog?
One person only, who goes by 🐌🐾. They use we/they/it pronouns. They are a feline p-shifter. We may consider allowing others to join the team, but for now one person is sufficient.
We are not plural, nor endo. We simply prefer these pronouns.
Thank you for taking an interest in our blog, and enjoy confessing :]
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester
Word Count: 2630
Prompt: Cupid's Got A Shotgun by Carrie Underwoods
Summary: An encounter with Cupid forces you to face your feelings for the Winchester Brothers.
Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, unresolved romantic tension, fear of emotional vulnerability, self-doubt, internal conflict, unrequited love, intense emotional introspection, defensive behavior, discussion of emotional scars, mentions of past relationship trauma, slow burn, protective behavior, Cupid intervention, romantic frustration.
The bar’s dim, sputtering light casts a weak glow overhead, barely illuminating the worn wooden tables and the scuffed floor beneath your boots. Shadows cling to the walls like old memories, and you sink deeper into your chair, swirling the last of your whiskey in the glass before taking a slow sip. The liquid burns as it slides down your throat, spreading a fleeting warmth through your chest, but it does nothing to calm the storm raging in your head. It never does.
It’s the same pattern every time, isn’t it? Men with honeyed words slip into your life, leaving behind promises as thin as smoke, promises they never intend to fulfill. Before you know it, you're left standing in the wreckage of something that wasn’t even real, just a mirage of what could have been. All those "almosts" stack up like bricks, weighing heavy on your heart, and even though you’ve never had a real relationship, it feels like you've been left shattered more times than you can count.
The scars are there, even if no one else can see them. They linger in every moment a guy brushes you off, in the hollow smile you force when you know it's not real. You feel the sting in every glance that sizes you up like you’re a prize to be won rather than a person to know. So you’ve built your walls, layering them high and thick until nothing, no one, can break through. Not even him.
Or them.
Sam and Dean Winchester—they didn’t just walk into your life. No, they crashed into it, two forces of nature that bulldozed right through your carefully constructed defenses, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in a way you swore you’d never be again. At first, you tried to play it cool, act like they were just hunters, comrades in arms. But the months blurred together, and now you can’t even tell how long it’s been. And that scares you because losing track means losing control and losing control means letting them in.
And letting them in? That’s not an option.
Even now, you can feel their eyes on you, the weight of their presence lingering in the air like a storm cloud ready to break. Sam’s by the pool table, his lean, tall frame moving with practiced ease as he lines up shot after shot. There’s a calm to him, but it’s the kind that keeps you on edge, like he could switch in an instant and suddenly be dangerous. Then there’s Dean, perched at the bar with a half-empty beer in hand, his eyes flicking between the room and you, constantly scanning for threats, always watching.
Always watching you.
They’re protective. It should comfort you, but it drives you insane. Because the truth is, no matter how many monsters they face, no matter how many battles they fight, they can’t protect you from what matters most. They can’t protect you from yourself.
You think back to the last hunt, to the ridiculousness of it all—a damn Cupid, of all things. The little winged freak zeroed in on you from the moment you stepped into that abandoned church, those bright, beady eyes tracking you with unnerving precision. He wasn’t cute, not like the Valentine's Day cards would have you believe. No, this thing was more like a demented cherub, armed with arrows dipped in cosmic mischief, and he had you in his crosshairs. You could feel it in the air—the tug, the weight, as though Cupid himself was hell-bent on forcing you to confront feelings you’d buried so deep even you were beginning to forget they existed. Each arrow he loosed sent your heart racing, as if you could sense the emotional mess he was trying to weave. But you dodged them all, every last one, determined not to let some glorified matchmaker unravel everything you’d worked so hard to lock away.
You're not stupid. You know precisely what the little bastard was aiming for. It’s not like you’ve been blind to the way Sam’s gaze lingers on you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, soft and curious, like he’s trying to piece you together. Or the way Dean’s jaw tightens, a flicker of possessiveness in his green eyes, whenever some random guy at a bar edges too close, his whole demeanor shifting to silent warning. You’ve been dodging these unspoken glances for months now, sidestepping their care, their questions, like someone dancing around a minefield. Because you know that once you stop moving, it’ll all explode in your face.
And you’ve had enough explosions in your life.
But there’s only so much running you can do before the inevitable catches up.
“Hey.”
Dean’s gravelly voice slices through the whirlwind of your thoughts, rough but steady, anchoring you as he slides into the seat beside you. His presence is a weight that presses into the air, solid, almost suffocating in its certainty. The chair creaks beneath him, but all you hear is the pounding of your own heartbeat, thundering in your chest.
“Are you alright?” He’s asking, but it’s more than that. It’s the question beneath the question, the one you’ve been dodging for longer than you can remember.
Your heart skips a beat—a betraying thud that echoes in the hollowness you’ve tried to keep locked down. You’d never admit it, not even to yourself, but he makes it impossible to pretend. You glance at him, careful to keep your face neutral, masking the fluttering in your chest with a look you’ve perfected over years of pretending. It’s almost second nature by now—the practiced nonchalance. But with Dean, it’s always been different.
There’s something in the way his green eyes bore into yours, piercing through the walls you’ve built brick by brick, layer by layer. It’s as though he sees right past your armor, straight into that small, fragile part of you that still aches for something real. Something more. But you can’t let him see that. You won’t. So you shove it down, hard, pushing that flicker of vulnerability back into the shadows as you lean casually into your chair. Your body language distant, closed off.
“Yeah,” you shrug, the lie slipping from your lips as easily as breathing. “Just tired. Long day.”
Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just watches you with that familiar intensity, and you know—you know—he doesn’t believe a word you’re saying. He’s seen you fight, seen you bleed, seen you crawl out of the wreckage of hunts that should’ve killed you. He’s seen you at your worst, and somehow, he still sticks around. He and Sam both do, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? They’ve gotten too close, wedged themselves into your life in ways that make it impossible for you to keep pretending.
Pretending that you don’t care.
Pretending that the way Dean looks at you doesn’t unravel something deep inside.
From across the room, you feel Sam’s eyes on you. His quiet gaze tracks the shift in the atmosphere as he casually leans his pool cue against the table and makes his way over, long strides slow but purposeful. His expression is calm and unreadable, but you see the concern in the tightness of his jaw and the subtle way his brow furrows as he joins Dean at your side.
“You’ve been quiet,” Sam says softly, folding his arms across his broad chest. There’s no judgment in his tone, just that frustrating gentleness, the kind that makes you feel seen when you’d rather stay hidden. “Is it… about earlier? With Cupid?”
The mention of Cupid sends a sharp twist through your stomach. You swallow, forcing down the surge of emotions that threatens to rise, burying it beneath layers of practiced indifference. You won’t let some stupid angel with a bow and arrow undo everything you’ve worked so hard to keep locked away. You won’t.
“I’m fine,” you snap, the words slipping out too fast, too harsh. The crack in your voice betrays you. “That was nothing. Just another hunt.”
Dean raises an eyebrow, and you can feel the weight of Sam’s stare, too, both of them pinning you with that all-too-familiar look. The one that says they’re not buying your crap, the one that makes your pulse quicken, and your chest tighten. You hate that look because it leaves you nowhere to hide.
“Bullshit.” Dean’s voice is low, steady, cutting through the silence with calm certainty. He takes a long sip from his beer, but his eyes never leave yours, and it feels like he’s peeling back every layer you’ve carefully put up to protect yourself. “You’ve been dodging that thing like it was the plague, and don’t think we didn’t notice.”
You clench your hands into fists in your lap, frustration bubbling up like a rising tide. “Look,” you say, your voice sharp, defensive. “I don’t need some magical arrow telling me how I’m supposed to feel. I’m fine the way I am.”
Sam shifts beside Dean, his arms still crossed, but you see the way the muscle in his jaw tenses, the way his hazel eyes soften as they search yours. “It’s not about what you’re supposed to feel,” he murmurs, his voice quiet but firm. “It’s about what you do feel.”
His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, it’s all too much. The weight of their concern, the intensity of their gaze, the truth that they’re trying to force you to admit—it presses down on you until you can’t breathe. You stand up abruptly, the legs of the chair scraping loudly against the floor as you push it back. The sound is harsh, jarring in the quiet of the bar, but you barely notice.
“I don’t feel anything, okay?” you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Not for you, not for him, not for anyone. And I won’t let some winged freak tell me otherwise.”
The tension in the air thickens, suffocating, hanging between the three of you like a storm cloud ready to break. Dean stands up slowly, his movements deliberate, his face carefully neutral, but there’s something in his eyes—something raw, something that cuts deeper than you want to admit. Hurt, maybe. Disappointment. You can’t think about it. You won’t.
“Y’know,” Dean says quietly, taking a step toward you, his voice low and steady, “you keep saying that, but you don’t believe it. Not really.” He’s close now, too close, the heat of his body radiating off him in waves, and it makes your pulse spike. “You’re just scared.”
Your heart slams against your ribs, your breath catching in your throat. Fear coils tightly around your chest, but not the fear of them. No, it’s the fear of what they’re asking you to do. To let them in. To trust them. To stop running.
And running is all you know how to do.
“I’m not scared,” you whisper, but the words feel weak and empty, even to you.
Dean’s lips twitch into a small, humorless smile, his eyes softening just a fraction as he watches you. “Yeah, you are,” he says, his voice gentler now but no less intense. “And that’s okay. But maybe it’s time you stopped running from it.”
Sam steps closer, his presence steady and calm, grounding you in a way that you don’t want to admit you need. His voice is soft, full of quiet understanding, but there’s an unshakable strength beneath it. “You don’t have to do this alone, y’know,” he says. “We’re here. We always have been.”
The words sink into you, settling deep into the cracks of your carefully guarded heart, and something inside you shifts. Just a little. It’s terrifying, the idea of trusting them, of letting yourself hope, but there’s also something achingly beautiful about it. About the possibility that maybe, for once, you don’t have to be the one to leave first. That maybe, you don’t have to protect yourself from the inevitable heartbreak.
But still, the fear—the bone-deep, soul-crushing fear of opening up, of letting someone in only to be left behind again—is overwhelming and paralyzing.
“I can’t,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper now, trembling under the weight of the truth you’re too afraid to admit. “I can’t risk it.”
Dean’s hand reaches out slowly, cautiously, like he knows one wrong move could send you running. But he doesn’t stop. His fingers, calloused from years of hunting, gently find yours, and instead of just holding your wrist, he entwines his fingers with yours, locking them together with a quiet but unspoken promise. The touch is soft yet firm, his thumb grazing the back of your hand in slow, soothing strokes, as if he’s trying to reassure you with every heartbeat. The warmth of his skin against yours sends a shiver up your spine, igniting something deep inside you, something you’ve kept buried for so long you almost forgot it was there.
You feel the weight of his presence settle over you like a blanket, heavy with meaning, but there’s nothing suffocating about it. It’s grounding, steady—safe. And yet, that safety terrifies you because it’s the kind you’ve convinced yourself you don’t deserve. But Dean, he isn’t giving you a choice. Not this time.
His other hand comes up slowly, his movements deliberate and gentle, as if he’s afraid you might bolt at any second. His palm cups your cheek, warm and rough, but his touch is tender, almost reverent. His thumb brushes across your cheekbone, wiping away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen. The simple motion cracks something inside you, and for a moment, it feels like the walls you’ve built so carefully over the years are crumbling under the weight of his touch.
"Maybe you’re not the only one taking a risk here," Dean murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, barely above a whisper. His words hang between you, heavy and raw, filled with all the things he’s never said but has always felt. His eyes search yours, and in them, you see it—the longing, the fear, the desperate hope that you’ll stay, that you’ll finally let them in. That you’ll choose them.
You feel your breath catch in your throat as his fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours, anchoring you to the moment. His thumb continues its slow, tender sweep across your cheek, and the tenderness in his gaze is enough to break your heart. This man, this infuriating, stubborn, protective man, who has fought demons and monsters and everything in between, is standing here with his heart wide open, asking you to stop running. Asking you to be with him and his brother in a way that terrifies you more than any hunt ever could.
For the first time, you feel the weight of what’s at stake—not just for you, but for him, for Sam. This isn’t just about you being afraid of getting hurt. It’s about them too, about the risk they’re taking by loving you, by wanting you to be a part of their lives. And it hits you with such force that you almost can’t breathe. They aren’t asking for your walls to come down—they’re asking to stand beside them. To hold you through the fear, through the pain, through whatever comes next.
You stare up at Dean, his hand still cradling your face like you’re something precious, and for the first time, you allow yourself to wonder—really wonder—if maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one with something to lose.
Because you can feel it now—the risk they’re taking, the way they’re holding their breath, waiting for your answer, waiting for you to finally say yes. And in that moment, you realize that they’ve already decided. They’ve already chosen you.
In early Japan, there was a deity named Inari that created intelligent foxes that he let roam the earth. Each one had a unique and specific title that was tied to the earth in some way, shape, or form. There was a sound, thunder, forest, mountain, ocean, river, earth, wind, fire, spirit, celestial, and dark kitsune. The only reason why they are so powerful is because of their connection to the Deity, who lived to trick people himself or send his pets to do it for him. Another reason why their so powerful is because of their tails. The more they have, the more powerful they are. The limit is 9 btw. Lastly, whenever they go into a human body and become one with you like every other spirit, you'll have the ability to use some of their elemental abilities. No, you can't use their abilities to become aang, but you can manipulate them to a certain extent. Moving wind with a thought, spreading fires that have already started, etc.
Warning: The majority of them ARE tricksters. So if you wish to summon one, protect yourself at all times.
After awhile I gave up and sided that p-shifting was fake. All the members I knew none would ever show a p-shift. No one got into details of how it was. No one really tried to show this supposed success. Sadly though while I could walk away from an online cult its mantra stayed with me.
(Apologies if you sent an ask before this, I don't see it and this seems like it might have been the second part to one? I'm going to answer what came in though, if that's okay. )
I'm sorry you had such a poor experience in the community. From what it sounds like, you might have encountered a more cultish or immature community and suffered in it, which I'm sorry to hear. I hope you can recover from it.
For better or for worse, the community tends to avoid showing shifting evidence even to each other. This is both to prevent abuse of power (there's been many times where someone has claimed to shift and shown "proof" only to be leading people on) and just because it's not really needed all that much when it's just shifters interacting with other shifters. If two shifters know they can shift or have had shifting experiences, they're typically fine with taking each other at their word or validating each other based on their own experiences. Showing proof is also likely to garner the wrong sort of attention, if people don't immediately deem it fake or impressive CGI. Many shifters want to talk to other shifters and use the internet as a medium to do so, but they don't want to be known by the rest of the world as shifters.
(I know this is going to sound like an excuse, but I mean this as more of an explanation as to why proof is so hard to come by in the community, if found at all. )
That being said, you don't need to physically shift in order to live out nonhumanity. If you're therian/otherkin or a person who simply wants to change their form (or have the experiences of another creature) you could try costuming or fursuitting, or spiritual or astral shapeshifting practices. Art, quadrobics, and lifestyling could also be another outlet, if you can't get into the other activities.
I'm sure you must have heard of these things already, but I think they really can be helpful for those who want to experience another form but can't do it physically. I know you said that the mantra stayed with you (and it might be weighing heavily on your mind or causing distress, by the sounds of it) so I wonder if it might also be therapeutic for you to funnel that energy to these other practices (to a healthy extent in healthy spaces, of course) and over time, get it out of your system. Then it might be easier for you to move on, or not feel like you're missing out on the nonhuman experience.
Whatever you do, I wish the best for you anon! I hope this helped!
