Kin Memories - Blog Posts

I think I understand what you mean, Jay. Or at the very least, the spirit of it. As alterhumans, we have found ourselves in such unlikely circumstances. Experiencing these memories that shake the very core of our realities, and then you’re expected to go on with life like everything is fine- because it is for everyone else around you.

You’re feeling the echoes of something a lifetime ago, and there is all this tension building up in your body, like you’re waiting for a punch that never comes.. And of course, when you try to explain this people will give their unwanted opinions of “seeking help”, or whatever else the anti otherkins say nowadays..

Sometimes when we’re sitting with that feeling of something being so terribly wrong in our heads, it’s only natural to want something to confirm what we’ve been feeling, if only to let go of the breath we’ve been holding for so long. I’m sure there’s something freeing in that, as you’d put it, because once you let go of that breath, it’s like you can finally let your life begin. You can actually experience things properly– presently, and in the moment rather than just feeling like you’re sitting on stand by for a beckon call. Life will come for us though, and it’ll pick us up off our feet. The adrenaline will be so overwhelming that we know for certain that’s why we’re here, and it’s what we’ve been searching for.

 I don’t think that’s unreasonable at all, Jay.

Sometimes, I almost wish I was in danger, if that makes sense. On the run, or being hunted by some entity, shit I wouldn't even mind an end of the world scenario. This boring circle of work, home, work, home with the occasional money spending to waste time can make me feel trapped, desperate for a crumb of adrenaline. Real adrenaline, the kind that sends you racing back out of the woods. I want to fight to protect a tight knit group, all scared but undoubtedly more alive than they've ever been. I want to sleep under the stars, be shocked by how vibrant the night sky is without all those lights. I want true freedom in a time where we're all chained to our desks, fucking explodes myself

helloooo jules! it is i coming to throw another idea into the pit, or more correctly, re-casting it out there. i have been pondering intensely over all kinds of media i know, trying to find anything that feels right with your Descriptions. then i thought to myself it would be somewhat amusing, in a way, if you turned out to be oc kin. then i thought of it some more. of course, i know that we've talked about me being oc kin before, but i figured bringing it up again wouldn't hurt. after all, not much to lose from it!

i think perhaps the issue of oc kin can seem a bit daunting, because you're essentially stumbling around in the dark with no reference to any specific media to guide you. the way i have dealt with this over the past 7 years of oc kin happenstances is no more & no less than essentially... envisioning a variety of Things that may or may not fit, & then keep/discard depending on what feels right (this is why i have so many kin mems of this kin, outside of the fact that obviously i know things about this Media since I Created it. there is actually a distinction, which i can attempt to describe in further detail if you need it). in crude terms, the process is more or less stumbling around in the dark & throwing random things at a wall to see what sticks. i would assume other oc kins may have Different experiences but i have never met another oc kin, or at least not one to my particular flavor of it, so i can only talk for myself.

i am realizing that this is getting quite Long so i will leave there & it may be somewhat confusing to read BUT you know you're entirely free to ask me whatever questions you want for more info & clarification so feel free \(￣︶￣*\))

tl;dr: re-suggesting the idea you may be ockin; possibly confusing explanation of how i navigated being from a Thing that doesn't exist except in my head in the hopes it may be of help to you

That is very possible, in fact it’s probably the most likely at this point, given the fact I’ve latched on to every recount of memories that have come my way thus far. Your memories and experiences have illuminated spots of my life where I would have otherwise felt lost, so I deeply appreciate that you trusted me enough to share those experiences with..  Another thing I’ve been mulling over is if I could be conceptkin. Nowadays I feel like memories are all that I am, could that feeling hold a deeper meaning? Or could I even be a simple manifestation of my own fears? The longer I go without answers, the more attractive that possibility begins to seem- though I guess it wouldn’t explain the odd dreams that have haunted me. You are right, having nothing to reference back to does make me a bit nervous, but I knew this whole process wasn’t going to be easy regardless of the outcome so I’m fully ready to face that possibility and come up with a plan to better organize and keep track of memories. I’ll definitely keep OC kin in the back of my mind as I go through all my notes, but I want to rule out all potential answers beforehand. Thank you for reminding me though

The Questionnaire

I've had some time to reflect upon this path I've been set on to find myself - and I realize I have been running aimlessly without a game plan, and that's all due to laziness. 

 I thought I didn't have any control in these dreams/memories I've been experiencing, but in this recent one I shared with you all I was able to yell, if only for a moment. That's gotten me thinking about the nature of these dreams, and the potential they have to uncover the parts of my life that have always felt like a mystery. Clearly there is something my subconscious has clinged onto. I can no longer sit idle and expect the answers to come to me. So, what exactly is it that I am after?

I want to get to the point where I can consciously ask questions in my dreams, and to better understand the entities that have shown up in said dreams- I think it's the only way to help me better find my identity. I however have to compile a questionnaire in order to set a baseline in my questioning, and I need to train my brain through repetition in order to ensure some consistency. I think if I ask enough fictionkin and fictives about their experiences using the same questionnaire, the likelihood of me being able to force lucid dreaming through questions will increase. 

Through these questions, I will be sorting my findings into four categories;

 Familiarity in topics- I will be looking for specific topics and themes that speak to my memories, especially any recurring symbolism that appears in the source material. I will also be looking for familiarity in those who reach out to me, through their memories and their overall fictionkin/fictive experiences. 

Emotional Response- I cannot deny that there is an emotional aspect to this whole kinsidering journey, to completely divorce my emotional reactions from my findings would be silly, so I will be taking it into account- especially my own dread and guilt since that was a large factor of what started me on this journey in the first place. 

Attraction or “Draw”- Sometimes there are aspects within a source or within the topics we discuss that draw me in. I feel a natural pull to it- be it craving or a gut feeling- it may possibly be even adjacent to kin shifts, but I’m hoping to further explore these feelings by documenting them. Sometimes intuition is your best guidance. 

Roles- I have been taking into account what you have all said to me so far, and I have noticed a large majority of you have reached out to me with an identity in mind of who I may be. I will be examining these suggestions at a closer level and seeing how I fit into their roles. Could I see myself taking the actions they had in their source material- and better yet, do I show a pattern of echoing their behaviors in this present life? 

That being said, I have noticed a disturbing trend in my dreams that involves people who feel preyed upon by a malevolent force, so when I am considering what questions I want to practice on you, I will also have to hold the double intention of  what I may want to extract from said dream apparitions, and for this I have a completely different set of criteria;

Defense/Offense- Do those that make an appearance in my dream seek out targets to attack, or are they rather trying to protect something that they fear is vulnerable, and if so what is it? Why do they exhibit the behaviors that they have in previous dreams, and how can that be traced back to any source material that I have been kinsidering?

Craving- It's colored a large part of my experiences. It's a core theme that I've been meaning to focus on, so I want to know if those that feature in my dreams seek out their victims for fuel and survival, or if they are simply craving the entertainment of watching someone’s hope die in their eyes. This may help me better research new possible sources.

Method- Just as there are themes that I am looking for that feel familiar to me in source material, I am also looking to draw comparisons on what I see in these dreams. I've noticed the entities all have specific themes for how they appear in my dreams; An eye deep in the ocean’s floor, a deadly conglomeration predator and prey animals that stalks the woods in hunt for those who dare disrespect the fragile balance of nature, the haunting pull of an eternity in silence, with only your fears to keep you warm- these are all very distinguishable visuals, so if I can just categorize them, maybe then I can look up sources through these recurring themes.

There's only one noteworthy conclusion that I can say with certainty about these memories. The thing about these anomalies is that they pick their victims, and they seldom choose someone who has the tools to fight back. It is an exposed vulnerability that they needle, and once they realize that you aren't able to defend yourself against it? It's open season.  I need to learn how to make myself dangerous to the things that have been haunting me, and remove the danger from interacting with whoever is caught in the crossfire- namely you, the reader. What better of a way to do that, than to talk my fears to death? A surefire way to defang any horror is to remove the mystery, and make it known.

A Dream About A Moose

I would like preface before we begin with the details of exactly what I dreamt the other night, that I am uncertain if this is in fact a memory or if it was simply a stress dream brought on by my anticipation of finals, and the steady balance of the different aspects of my life that all come to a head around the holidays. This is going to be a fairly dark read. It taps into the very real horrors of the waking world and yet it was abstract, and so odd in the way these concepts presented themselves. So if you're easily disheartened by themes of body horror, hunting, and losing your sense of self, it's best you turn away from this particular post. Last of all–

I'm aware how bad this looks for me if it is a memory. I'm aware I may lose some friends I've made online, but after talking it over with someone who gave me a new perspective to look at it from, I've decided I'm going to share anyway.

 I remember it started off with me feeling dazed, like when you're lost in thought for a while and suddenly your focus is violently broken. The room was so dark that the shadows stretched and overlapped with each other, making ominous pulling figures that looked like they could snatch you at a moment’s notice. 

The ceiling fan is nothing more than a dark star, churning the heavy, high tension that's in the room, a tension I almost don't understand…almost, until I saw her. She looked to be in her thirties, a mousey little thing with beige brown hair in messy curls around her crown. Her gaze is locked on me, and she is terrified. I mean it makes sense that this dream person would be scared; a random person showed up in her room, but even stranger is that she doesn't make a single move to get up and confront me, make a run for it, or show any self preservation. She just lays there, head propped up by an almost absurd amount of silken pillows, her eyes wide and nearly unblinking– like she's afraid if she does, something awful will happen.

It's then that I realize with a start that she should be scared. I'm here for a reason, and I'm only delaying the natural progression of this dream. I read a study once that said you cannot create a new face in a dream. Every face that appears in a dream is one you once seen and retained in the subconscious parts of your mind. Yet she seemed so real, and so distant in my memories. So I move closer. I don't know why, but I'm waiting for some sort of revelation. Like she’ll suddenly remember me, or maybe she'll tell me how she found herself in such a predicament in the first place. Most of all, I'm holding on for her words. I need it, like a damn second wind. I feel it like an ache in the pit of my stomach, and only she can make it right, if she just tells me why I'm here. 

Why am I here, Cassandra? 

Why am I here? 

Instead, she just sucks in a sharp breath, in that way that makes the collarbone have more depth and prominence. I can see it in her eyes, she knows why I'm here. She stares up at me, her pupils trembling in the brown iris, the pallor of her face. I reach up my hand to her face- and really it's a wonder how I'm so calm during all this. I look at my hands.. I don't know if they're my hands. They look wrong. They don't look human, but of course I don't even have time to panic over such trivial things, when more important things are right in the room with me. So I gently wipe the stray tear that's running down her face, and then, I jam my finger right into the pupil of her eye, and watch my fingers melt down into the dark space, far off into fragmented realities we dare not revisit, for fear that history could repeat itself.

And then just like that, I'm in the woods. Have you ever heard of Golden hour? It's around the time when the sun is level with your eyes and everything is awash in yellow. It's actually one of the better times to hunt deer because deer often use the sun's position to their advantage. Deer will move into the setting/rising sun so any potential danger that could be dangerous ahead of them is silhouetted. I knew this because I was a deer hunter, and in fact I took so much pride in being a female hunter that I had several bumper stickers on my car referring to this fact.

..But that wasn't right… I am not a deer hunter, and I'm certainly not… but I look at my shaking slender hands, with chipped nude nail polish, and a wedding ring, and it's all true. More importantly, I am without my hunting rifle, and I'm running from something, farther and farther into unfamiliar territory. The woods are quiet, so deafeningly quiet, but somehow I was certain that I had not lost whatever was chasing me. My heart racing, I look around for somewhere to hide, and am only greeted by a vast sea of thin pines, with sparse branches. There is nowhere to hide. This is the last gasp of breath I give, while looking down the barrel of a shotgun. 

But I'm not- Cassandra’s not ready to die. She watched her husband die to that thing, that stalks the treeline, that may have once called itself a moose. She wasn't going to let it kill her too, not without a fight…but the hunting rifle was gone, and I was greatly outmatched in terms of strength. Have you ever seen a normal, average moose angry? Do you even know how much they weigh? I feel my breath hitch in the back of my throat in a sort of frenzied crescendo, when my eyes finally lock on a smattering of large, jagged rocks there hidden amongst the trees, on the incline of the mountain. Cassandra was definitely small enough to squeeze between the rocks. All she needed was to arm herself. So that's what she did, she frantically did a once over the forest floor before finally grabbing a sturdy enough fallen branch, and wedged herself in between the rocks, sitting low with her knees up, her back pressed against the rocks as she tried to control her breathing.

Somehow she knew the moose was watching her, she could feel its sour breath on her soul, hunting her, ready to take back from her what she had taken from the forest’s precious ecosystem. As dusk settled into a burning red in the last dying light, the malnourished outline of the moose took form. The moose was malnourished, yes. That much is true, but it was large, and it's limbs seem to bend in ways a moose’s legs should not be able to, the knees going back farther and farther as it drunkenly stumbled amongst the trees, eyes glowing in it's feverish search for Cassandra, who was now holding up her stick in a position to strike. 

The blood of her husband still stained the moose, the matted coat clotted in dark red and made a macabre crown around his head. The beast’s lips curled into a snarl revealing the sharp teeth of a carnivore, much like a big cat’s or even a bear. The moose began to circle the boulders, nose snuffling as it took in the bursting embers of Cassandra's mounting dead, and as the moose slipped out of her line of vision between the gap in the rocks, time seemed to stop. Every second seemed an eternity, as twilight slipped slowly into night like a forming bruise. I watch the sun set, as the eye of our tormenter eclipses our view, having finally found us-

And then Cassandra is screaming me awake, screaming as if she was right back in that moment of being prey to something bigger than she could ever dream of being. She knows screaming is her only chance of being rid of me, and she's apparently right because that's when I woke up from the dream, having felt like she was so very real. Maybe it was bit naive, but I actually had to sit up and look to make sure I was in my room and not that dream. There was this sour acid taste in the back of my mouth too- and I downed about three glasses of water right there at the kitchen sink that night. 

This dream has left me shaken and lost. That's not the right word though, lost. I know exactly where I am, but I'm so fragmented, so stretched thin that it can hardly count that I am here, right now. All I have is my words, and I hope that's enough for you.

Mostly sensations and images. I can remember some of the words spoken to me, but I can't fully remember the voices

It changed as I went from one phase of my life to the other. As a Deity I had tanned skin; golden eyes; wavy dark hair, and black wings. I often wore a heavy cloak with furs, wherever I went.

The Hearth and Home

I had my share of followers, yes. It was... Warm. I was grateful for each and every one of them, and loved them dearly.

I currently work with the Nordic Pantheon: in part due to the familiarity.

Anything involving fire and runes resonate strongly with me.

I believe I was considered benevolent, and I very much was.

They are my equals, and I want nothing but the best for them as a whole.

I'm not sure, actually. From what I remember... I suppose one could describe it as a familiar presence? I don't think they could ever see me, but many seemed to be able to feel when I was around. If candles were lit, their flames would lean in my direction- I remember that.

I did blessings, yes. Though those were to keep my followers' homes sturdy and warm, things of that nature. I couldn't do anything to/for them, directly.

Reveared is such a strong word, haha... I was definitely not feared, however.

Hmm, I'm not quite sure.

Large-scale? Oh, I'm not sure... Same things they'd leave on the altars in their homes, I'd assume. Homemade foods, comforting objects, crafted pieces, candles, crow feathers, etc.

I'd never demand anything- but anything the follower made, gathered, or owned that brought a sense of nostalgia or comfort would do nicely. Green candles and crow feathers would also be very nice

Probably the forest, and the coziest corner in their home.

(See 9)

I had one friend of mine, more beloved than anyone else in any realm... Trying to label them and us in any way would fall short, I fear. They were my Dearest One- the one who's old domain I was gifted, and the one who showed me everything my Creator had kept hidden.

(See 2)

I do, yes. I still feel as though I must provide those protections and comforts for those that I can. It makes me feel the same as it did, back then.

The Gods of my pantheon had their own realm, yes. As did my Creator. I, in turn, also resided in these realms.

Deitykin/Godkin Question List ᯓ★

Do you have memories of being a deity? If so, what are they like?

Do you remember what your divine form looked like? If so, describe it!

Did you have a specific domain or aspect you ruled over (e.g., love, war, nature)?

Did mortals or other beings worship you? How does that memory feel?

Do you feel a connection to specific myths, cultures, or religions in this life?

Are there particular symbols, rituals, or practices that resonate with you as a deitykin?

Were you considered benevolent, neutral, or malevolent in your divine role?

How do you view mortals and humanity now compared to your past divine role?

Did you have a specific way of manifesting to mortals, such as dreams, visions, or physical apparitions?

Did you grant blessings, curses, or other forms of divine influence?

Were you revered or feared more than loved by mortals?

What song do you associate with yourself?

If you had a shrine today and were worshipped on a large-scale level, what items would people leave as offerings?

What offerings would you demand in today’s world?

What place would mortals associate with you (e.g., beaches, forests, mountains)?

Did you have a specific way of manifesting to mortals, such as dreams, visions, or physical apparitions?

Did you have relationships with other deities, mortals, or beings?

Do you remember what your divine form looked like?

Do you feel like you still have a purpose or role tied to your divine identity?

Did you reside in a specific realm or plane of existence as a deity?

These questions were inspired by @/courtroom-confession. Feel free to reblog and share your own questions, I encourage you to do so as I am curious as well.

I am also always open to answer any questions to those who seek knowledge, my friend, as I am open to all that you wish to know.

Had a dream of an old woman. Her home was dark and made of wood, and the air was full of the smell of rain. She had white hair, and the wrinkles on her face danced as she smiled her millionth smile, looking at me with soft eyes. As if we were old friends, reminiscing on older times. She hands me a well-loved child's toy. Nothing fancy, nothing flashy or intricate. It was a simple doll, made of old simple fabric, with a kind simple expression. Its hair was made of yarn, and it was small in her thin hands, which had held countless other things. But those hands held this doll so preciously, so gently- like a young babe; precious, and loved with the full capacity of the human heart. And she hands it to me. Places it gently in my hands, saying not a word, that expression unwavering. She was showing it to me, sharing the decades of memories and love stored inside every fraying thread.

The fire is a comfortable warmth for the woman, despite her gentle body being easily chilled. The rain thudded against the old wood of her home, which gave it's life for her to continue her own- and, in a way, she gave it a new one. A life it would've never known otherwise. And so they took care of each other. And I took care of them.

She calls me a strange name, one of the many I've been called- one of the many that had been forgotten as generations had come and gone. I say her name in a tongue I do not recognize, though it passes by my lips easily. It is not the first, nor the last time I have said this name. I am one of the few who remembers it.

I gently put the doll among the other things she has given to me over the years, all holding an amount of love only a human could carry, and I cherish them all. She lights candles that she made herself, dyed green for the forest I so dearly love. I stare at them a while, watching the flames flicker gently, tilted slightly in my direction.

As I look around the home, tend to the fire and make sure the home is steady, the woman sits in the chair her son made for her, gazing out at the rain. We both know this will be her last storm, and so I do not bother her. Only keep my presence nearby. She may take her time, enjoy the world a few moments longer. Enjoy the world for as many moments as she may wish.

I held her hand and shared with her memories of when she was young. Of when she first said my name, and when she first offered me a little flower crown she made, to her mother's delight. I shared with her memories of her children, and her children's children- and of the children who've yet to come. Her family is all in good health, and happy.

She hopes, with a smile, that her passing does not interrupt that.

It will, but only for a moment. They will learn to be happy, because she would want them to be. And so they will, and they will do so with all their hearts. She will remind them just how important happiness is.

She rests, then. And I stay until the candles' flame dies out one last time.

Had a dream of an old woman. Her home was dark and made of wood, and the air was full of the smell of rain. She had white hair, and the wrinkles on her face danced as she smiled her millionth smile, looking at me with soft eyes. As if we were old friends, reminiscing on older times. She hands me a well-loved child's toy. Nothing fancy, nothing flashy or intricate. It was a simple doll, made of old simple fabric, with a kind simple expression. Its hair was made of yarn, and it was small in her thin hands, which had held countless other things. But those hands held this doll so preciously, so gently- like a young babe; precious, and loved with the full capacity of the human heart. And she hands it to me. Places it gently in my hands, saying not a word, that expression unwavering. She was showing it to me, sharing the decades of memories and love stored inside every fraying thread.

The fire is a comfortable warmth for the woman, despite her gentle body being easily chilled. The rain thudded against the old wood of her home, which gave it's life for her to continue her own- and, in a way, she gave it a new one. A life it would've never known otherwise. And so they took care of each other. And I took care of them.

She calls me a strange name, one of the many I've been called- one of the many that had been forgotten as generations had come and gone. I say her name in a tongue I do not recognize, though it passes by my lips easily. It is not the first, nor the last time I have said this name. I am one of the few who remembers it.

I gently put the doll among the other things she has given to me over the years, all holding an amount of love only a human could carry, and I cherish them all. She lights candles that she made herself, dyed green for the forest I so dearly love. I stare at them a while, watching the flames flicker gently, tilted slightly in my direction.

As I look around the home, tend to the fire and make sure the home is steady, the woman sits in the chair her son made for her, gazing out at the rain. We both know this will be her last storm, and so I do not bother her. Only keep my presence nearby. She may take her time, enjoy the world a few moments longer. Enjoy the world for as many moments as she may wish.

I held her hand and shared with her memories of when she was young. Of when she first said my name, and when she first offered me a little flower crown she made, to her mother's delight. I shared with her memories of her children, and her children's children- and of the children who've yet to come. Her family is all in good health, and happy.

She hopes, with a smile, that her passing does not interrupt that.

It will, but only for a moment. They will learn to be happy, because she would want them to be. And so they will, and they will do so with all their hearts. She will remind them just how important happiness is.

She rests, then. And I stay until the candles' flame dies out one last time.