(A close yinglet friend of mine was really feeling really down recently, stress combined with body dysmorphia really put them through the wringer. I can't really help with the stress, but I can write, so I made this in hopes helping to shake off some of those bad species feels. I think the other yinglets on here could probably use some of that, too, so I'd like to share it.)
It’s ironic, your worst recurring nightmare is about a dream. Specifically, that your current life has been a dream, and that you suddenly wake back up in that life you left behind, in the body you left behind. The nightmare never really goes away, but it’s happened less and less as time has gone on. You know how to handle it, even if it’s hard to shake it off at first.
Getting out of bed is the first step, and perhaps the hardest one, but you manage, kicking off your heavy blanket and rolling to the side. You always roll a few more times than you expect after a nightmare, as your smaller frame needs to travel proportionately farther than a human one.
You keep rolling at the edge and fall onto all fours with a satisfying plap as your thick pads make contact with the cool floor. Even though you usually stand upright, this position isn’t uncomfortable in the slightest, now that your arms are almost as long as your legs. In fact, it’s the perfect posture for a good stretch.
Arching your back like a very long cat, you revel in the increased flexibility of your spine, loosening up tense muscles and letting yourself fold in ways that never really get old, no matter how often you experience them. You push yourself up onto your fingertips and feel a satisfying little pop as all your extra vertebrae align just right. You think about how you probably wouldn’t need to do this every morning if you had a better mattress for your body, but you haven’t found any proper research yet on Yinglet sleep needs beyond the basics of the one-hour naps. You don’t mind that much, though. You really do like to stretch.
Unfortunately, you discover upon standing up that it’s going to be one of those days. A day where that horrible nightmare lingers in your emotions and senses for a bit like an invasive, vengeful ghost. It hangs off your limbs, making them feel heavy, stumpy, and slow, while your vision seems to tunnel a bit, as if to try and limit your fantastic field of vision.
Things would be so much easier if you went back, whispers the horrid little voice of doubt in the back of your head. The one from your nightmare that tries to tell you that every choice you’ve made and every idea you have about yourself is wrong. You stand out so much like this, and struggle with so many simple things.
“Zhe important part is zhat I feel like myself,” you say aloud, relishing the sound of your own voice more than enough to remind yourself of why you love being you. The weight on you lifts as your true feelings reassert themselves. You love being visibly A Yinglet, and the part about struggling with random physical things was especially silly. Being minorly inconvenienced by things made for bigger people with human hands occasionally just emphasized all the things about your form you loved, more often than not. You wouldn’t trade it for the world.
You turn to your dresser and eye the top drawer that you rarely open anymore. Today was your day off, and there was one outfit better for taking it easy than any other. The drawer is heavy and at an awkward height for you, forcing you to grip the sides of the dresser with your foot-hands and push, scraping it open. Then, feeling very good about making that work, you pull out the much lighter bottom drawer to use as a step, allowing you to peek inside.
This is the drawer where you keep all of your old human clothes, or at least the clothes that you didn’t want to throw away or donate. None of it fits you anymore, obviously, but that only makes your reason for opening it more appealing. You spot your prize in the neatly folded stacks and grab it, scrambling back down to the floor to put it on.
On your old body, a graphic tee was just a graphic tee, but to a Yinglet, it was a flowing gown. A gown made of soft, well-worn cotton with a faded picture of Twilight Sparkle in a standard clip-art pose across the front, but a gown nonetheless. Perfect “relax and do nothing” clothes. It hangs off you comfortably, draping loosely off of your arms and tail and slipping partway down your nearly non-existent shoulders. You can’t help but sigh contentedly as you settle into it, the fabric highlighting the sensations of the inhuman contours of your torso as it lays against your fur.
There was only one thing left to do to really start your day. You needed to head downstairs. The omnipresent tap tap tap tap of your claws on the floor as you descend puts a huge dent in the funky mood you woke up with, and the feeling of your ears, tail, and long limbs bouncing as you perform the hop-skip movement necessary to swiftly move down the stairs almost put it to rest. You take a big leap at the bottom, skipping the last four steps, and easily stick the landing. Soft, but enthusiastic applause from one of your housemates completes the moment.
“Ahhh, yes, zhere we go.” You do a quick bow, playing up the theatrics and causing your oversized shirt drag amusingly on the ground in front of you. “Zhe day off has successfully started! Unless…” You halt partway through your trot towards the kitchen and turn back to your housemate. “Did we get a new jar of clams with zhe groceries yesterday?”
“Yep!”
“Perfect!”
