#gray from sheep and wolves

[probablyaseamonster]

If your character says to another character either "you did this to me!", "what have you done to me?" or "look at me!", there is an 89% chance that they will now be my favourite character from that media and also my new blorbo.

[demonic0angel]

Animal AU (click for clarity)

CW: blood and creepy stuff in the description

If I have to color Dani one more time, I’m going to riot 😭

Notes below: (very long and detailed)

+ Jazz is a melanistic gray wolf, Danny is an albino mule deer, Dan is a king cobra, Dani is a peregrine falcon. Some of these ideas are taken from my dp royal court ideas.

I associate Jazz with wolves and canines. She is very loyal and protective, which I think would be best associated with canines. I usually give her the largest animals possible (because of her height), and gray wolves are the largest of all wolves. She is melanistic due to the fact that I like her color palette of black and turquoise. It also gives her a special connection to Danny that I do on purpose where they are black and white.

Dan is associated with cold blooded animals in my mind, cold in demeanor, vicious, and slippery. He is a king cobra because king cobras are the largest of all venomous snakes. They are also not true cobras, which adds a nice connection to Dan as being the most different out of all of the halfas. Surprisingly, king cobras are rather friendly to humans, which might be because of how smart they are.

I associate Dani with fast and speedy animals, so I often give her the fastest animals I can find lmao. Peregrine falcons are the fastest birds in the world, due to their diving speeds. I like how Dani is considered a bird because she is very free-spirited and flighty in my mind. I love it because I think she’d be really independent and would love the sky. Peregrine falcons also mostly eat birds, just like how king cobras eat other snakes, so that’s pretty cool too.

Danny is both kingly and creepy, which describes deer very well. Mule deer are very common in the US, and you might recognize them due to the fact that the Great Prince of the Forest (in Bambi) is inspired by a mule deer. Deer are fascinating creatures because there have been many, many folklores and myths about them, but none can compare to the real facts. Deer are very heavily affected by diseases such as chronic wasting disease, which can cause very strange behaviors. They get up after death, they walk off after being shot at or run over, they kill themselves repeatedly, they eat other animals, and they walk on their hind legs. All in all, while deer are very majestic and beautiful, they are also very, very freaky. There is a sense of poetry in how they’re hunted, which also applies to Danny. I think deer describes him very well :)

+ Meanwhile, the Batkids are a wild assortment of animals. Dick is a white throated needletail, Jason is an argali sheep, Cass is a black footed cat, Tim is a red fox, Stephanie is a dingo, Duke is an African lion, and Damian is a domestic cat (specifically a tuxedo cat).

Dick was always meant to be a bird. However, I wanted him to be fast, but not a bird of prey (which are usually the top 5 fastest birds). So I chose a white throated needletail for him, who are believed to be the fastest (while flying straight). They’re very elusive and photos are rare :( they are, however, very round and cute, and they even have a patch of shiny blue feathers on their wings, as well as v-shaped white spots, similar to his Nightwing suit!

Jason is an argali sheep because I associate him with lambs and rams. Mostly because sheep and lambs are associated with God and religious sacrifices (*cough cough* Jason dying), as well as innocence, docility, and obedience. Jason, as Red Hood, defies the meaning and memories of his past life as Robin, so I like the idea of him being a “black sheep” and defying those expectations of him as well. Argali sheep are known to have beautiful horns, are a species of wild sheep that live in mountains, and are also the largest of wild sheep.

Cass is a black footed cat because I feel like she’s very feline in demeanor, and black footed cats are one of the best hunters in the animal kingdom, with an over 60% chance of having a successful kill. (I think African wild dogs are the highest with 75-85%. It’s hard in the animal kingdom.) I also think it’s very cute of her to be so small but so deadly.

Tim is a red fox because of his cleverness and smarts. Red foxes are common in America and are usually hunted because people thought that foxes killed their livestock and dug up corpses. Tim is either really loved or really hated, so I feel like a red fox both symbolizes his irl status and his intelligence in the comics.

Stephanie is a dingo for no particular reason. However, they are social creatures and loved due to the fact that they have a history with humans. They’re golden colored and Stephanie gave off the vibes of an Australian, I literally cannot explain myself.

Duke is a lion for the same reasons: none in particular. However, lions are noble and considered very powerful. In my drawing of him, he is still a young adult, so his mane isn’t fully grown yet :3 he is 100% a normal lion tho!

Damian is a domestic cat for a few reasons. He is meant to be cute while the others are considerably scarier. There would also be a sense of irony bc I imagine that Talia is a big cat like a tiger or panther. However, cats are known as good hunters for a reason, and they have good instincts and can be just as loyal as dogs. As such, I think that he would be a regular kitty :3 other choices included him being a leopard cub, but it would be more funny if he was so small while everyone else is so big.

+ Something something, the two people who have had their deaths impact them the most and are often considered their parents’ greatest failures are prey animals that are usually hunted for sport….

+ Other small relationships between animal forms: the assassins are small cat forms. Dan being an animal not from the Americas, which also symbolizes him being out of place in the timeline. The Phantom family are purposefully made very different but also connected, examples being: a predator, a prey, a flying animal, and a cold blooded animal, etc. The Batfam being more random/less connected than the Phantom family due to their different backgrounds/lack of blood relation.

+ Their animal forms are also hint at the couples that I like, which is most obvious with Jason and Jazz lmaoooo. However, it is also a little noticeable in Tim and Dani (bird and fox), and definitely a little more obvious in Dan and Dick (snake and bird; please refer to my first piece of work with them tee hee). Danny’s is vague because I’m a multi-shipper with him, so he’s prey while most of everyone else are predator animals 💀

+ There are a few ideas in this (not counting the Pet AU): 1) Danny, Jazz, Dan, and Dani become companions and helpers to the Batfam, able to transform when necessary but also like spending time in their animal forms. In exchange, the Batfam help them with whatever problems they have and also give them sanctuary, 2) A regular animal-characteristics AU where everyone (or most of everyone, if humans exist) are some sort of animal hybrid creatures in the regular modern world, 3) The same as idea 2 but more Warrior Cats-esque where they’re way more animalistic, form packs, and live in less urban settings.

+ Yes, in his more humanoid form, Dan would have his legs replaced with a snake’s tail. I can’t decide between Dick and Dani having wings attached to their backs, or them having wings that connect to their arms.

+ Extras: Sam is a thoroughbred horse, Tucker is an American alligator, Valerie is a wolverine, and Wes is a swan. Bruce is a giant golden crowned flying fox, Alfred is an emperor penguin, and Barbara is a pony (but tbh, I’m open to suggestions).

[lisalamona]

Lover Boy

. Summary: After years of stolen glances, unfortunate interruptions, and sneaking out of the palace, Telemachus finally musters the courage to confess to you, well… not without a little help, of course. . Pairing: Telemachus x gn! Reader . Warnings: None . Notes: This one had been rotting in the drafts for a while. You can all thank @selena-of-ithaca for inspiring me to finish it! I will probably be doing a second part of this closer to what the request originally was cause it left me thinking about some ideas I wanna explore Art taken from duvetbox's animatic of Legendary Stars devider made by @saradika-graphics, taken from this post

You can say what you will about love at first sight—that it's not real, that it's just an exaggeration poets use to get their point across. But for Telemachus, it was real. Way too real. He just didn't know it at the time.

The first time he saw you, he was just a boy, running from the suffocating walls of the palace. It had stopped feeling like a home—what it was supposed to be—and had become a den. He felt like a lone sheep trapped in a cave full of wolves, and there was no escape. He couldn't leave. He had duties, responsibilities. And most importantly, his mother needed him.

Ever since the suitors had stormed in, treating the palace and everyone inside it as if they were nothing, life had become unbearable. The halls were filled with laughter that wasn't joyful, voices that weren't kind. Every step he took had to be careful, every turn of a corner calculated, just to avoid crossing paths with them. It didn't matter that he was the prince, the heir to Ithaca's throne—his title held no weight with them.

He felt like he was drowning, even though he stood on solid ground.

So naturally, he went to the beach. Or at least, that's where he intended to go. Lost in his thoughts, his mind running rampant, he barely noticed where his feet were taking him. He was halfway down the docks when he collided with someone—hard. The impact sent both of you to the ground, and something clattered beside you.

"Are you alright?"

The voice reached him before he even opened his eyes. The blow had forced them shut, but when he finally blinked them open, the sight before him left him speechless.

At the time, he would've chalked it up to embarrassment. Maybe that was part of it. But looking back, he thought maybe—just maybe—he knew you were the one right then and there, even if he hadn't fully realized it yet.

"Uh... hello?" You waved a hand in front of his face. That snapped him out of his daze, but before he could speak, another voice cut through.

"Kid!"

Both of you turned in unison. A man stood at the edge of the docks—a gruff, towering figure with a bit of gray streaking through his hair. His arms, covered in calluses and old scars, looked like they belonged to someone who could crush a person with a single tap. But you knew better. You knew his heart was made of gold.

"What happened? Are you alright? I knew I shouldn't have let you hold the spears," the man grumbled, his deep voice thick with concern.

"Dad," you muttered, a hint of embarrassment creeping into your tone.

But he wasn't listening. He kept going, mumbling about how he should keep a better eye on you.

"Dad! I'm alright," you reassured him, then turned back to Telemachus—though at the time, you didn't know his name. "Are you?"

He nodded quickly, still a bit unsettled by the sheer presence of your father.

"See? Everything's fine." That seemed to calm the man, at least a little.

You rose from the ground, dusting yourself off before gathering the fallen spears. With one hand, you picked them up. With the other, you reached down and helped Telemachus to his feet.

Your father studied him with a keen eye. "What's your name, son?"

"Telemachus, sir." Anyone could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

Your father's brows lifted slightly. "The prince? What are you doing all the way out here?"

"I just wanted to take a stroll along the beach." Telemachus gestured toward the shore—a more desolate place, one few people ever ventured to.

"Oh, well, that's always a delight to see," your father said with a knowing smile. "Why don't you take [Name] with you? They love going there."

"Dad!"

Heat rushed to your face. That was all you could muster in your embarrassment.

"What?" Your father shrugged. "You could use a break. You need friends your age, anyway." He muttered the last part, but it was loud enough for Telemachus to hear—making your face burn even more.

That day was the first of many.

Over the next ten years, you and Telemachus built something unshakable—a bond carefully woven over time. And in those years, Telemachus came to a realization.

He liked you.

Really liked you.

He had always been hesitant to use the word love. He had never really seen it with his own eyes—not the kind poets spoke of. He had never met his father, and his mother had spent most of his life waiting, praying for Odysseus to return. He supposed the strength she carried was love, in its own way. But he had never seen it in action.

And the years had only made it harder. The suitors had grown more desperate, more dangerous, stripping away every ounce of his attention and confidence.

But then—after twenty long, agonizing years—his father came home.

Everything changed.

In the first few weeks, Telemachus watched his parents reunite. He saw the way they cherished each other, how they barely left each other's side. He saw love in the way they looked at one another, in the way his father reached for his mother's hand without thinking, in the way she smiled as if she had been holding her breath for two decades and could finally exhale.

And that's when he knew.

That's what he wanted.

He wanted to hold your hand, wanted to make you smile—not that he didn't already manage to do that. He wanted to wake up by your side, to trace soft, chaste kisses along your face. He wanted to look into your eyes and, without a single word, know that you both felt the same, that you loved each other.

The only problem was... he didn't know how.

And, gods, he was scared.

──────💗──────

Odysseus made his rounds through town, as he had made a habit of doing ever since returning home. He liked watching the people go about their day, seeing the town buzz with life. He took in every sound, every movement, every face. After spending so many years without proper human interaction, he had learned to appreciate the small things.

That, of course, didn't mean he didn't make time for his family. If anything, he dreaded the moments he had to spend away from them to tend to his duties. That was why, when his son volunteered to accompany him to the docks, he was ecstatic. His mind raced with possible conversation topics, excited at the rare opportunity to bond with Telemachus outside the walls of the palace.

But as they walked, it became increasingly clear that the conversation was more one-sided than he would have liked. Telemachus seemed distracted, his gaze scanning the crowd as if searching for something. Or someone.

Normally, Odysseus might have felt a twinge of disappointment at his son's lack of attention. But then he spotted you, helping your father unload the fishing boat. And then he noticed his son—staring directly at you, his hands fidgeting at his sides before he wiped them on his tunic, as if trying to get rid of sudden clamminess.

Oh. That explained it.

Odysseus' observation skills might have been rusty, but he wasn't stupid.

"Do you want to go talk to them?"

Telemachus nearly jumped out of his skin, his head snapping toward his father. "I— I already do talk to them! We're friends."

Odysseus raised an eyebrow with skepticism. "Friends?"

"Yes!" Telemachus insisted, a little too quickly. His cheeks, however, betrayed him as they flushed red.

"Then you wouldn't mind if I introduced myself?"

Telemachus gave him an incredulous look. "You're the king. They already know who you are!"

"Yes, well, I never personally introduced myself," Odysseus replied smoothly. "And any friend of my son's is a friend of mine."

And with that, he began walking toward you without waiting for a response.

"Father!" Telemachus whisper-shouted, but Odysseus—despite clearly hearing him—kept going, a determined pep in his step.

Panic surged through Telemachus. His father was about to make it so much worse. Desperately, he glanced around, looking for an escape. And then, without thinking, he ducked behind a stack of barrels, pressing himself against the wall in mortified defeat.

He wanted the earth to swallow him right there and then.

"Hello." Odysseus' voice snapped both you and your father to attention.

"Oh—hello, my king, what brings you to us?" your father said, immediately dropping what he was doing to give the king of Ithaca a respectful bow of his head. You quickly followed suit, though your own bow was a little sloppier in your haste.

Odysseus acknowledged both of you with a nod in return—once to your father, then once to you.

"I just wanted to meet my son's friend," he said casually. "Make up for lost time."

At the mention of Telemachus, your ears perked, and your gaze instinctively swept the area, searching for him. It was an unconscious reaction—but not one that went unnoticed by Odysseus.

"Is... is he here?" you asked, smoothing down some stray hairs without realizing it.

Odysseus' lips curled slightly in amusement, though his sharp eyes held something more calculating. He looked behind him, to where his son once stood. "He was. But he seems to have disappeared." His tone was light, but the glint in his eyes told you he knew exactly where his son had gone.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Sounds like him."

"Mm." Odysseus crossed his arms, glancing at you with a thoughtful expression. Then, after a brief pause, he gestured toward the town. "Care for a walk?"

You hesitated, glancing toward your father for guidance. He met your uncertain gaze with an encouraging nod.

"Of course," you answered, finally releasing your grip on your work.

Odysseus extended a hand to help you out of the boat. His grip was firm but not overbearing, a steady reminder of the strength he carried. You accepted his help with a small word of thanks, and he nodded in acknowledgment.

As you stepped onto solid ground, Odysseus and your father exchanged brief goodbyes, a silent understanding passing between them. Then, without further delay, you and the king of Ithaca set off down the worn path.

"Tell me—how did you and my son meet?"

"Oh, uh—he ran into me," you said, remembering the day vividly. "Literally."

Odysseus chuckled, nodding as if that sounded exactly like something Telemachus would do. "And you've been friends ever since?"

You smiled. "More or less. He's easy to talk to."

That earned a raised brow from the king. "Is he?"

You tilted your head, sensing a hidden layer to his question. "Once he warms up to you, yes. He's thoughtful, kind. He listens—really listens. Not just to respond, but because he cares about what you're saying."

Odysseus hummed, rubbing his beard in thought. "And what do you think of him?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the question. "I—well, I think highly of him, of course. He's my friend."

"Just a friend?" Odysseus asked, watching you closely.

You felt warmth creeping up your neck. "I—yes?"

He chuckled at your hesitation, clearly enjoying this far too much. "Well, I suppose time will tell." Then, as if switching subjects entirely, he gestured toward the boat growing smaller behind you. "You work hard."

"I have to," you said, welcoming the shift in topic. "It's not easy work, but it keeps me moving."

Odysseus nodded approvingly. "A strong back and a strong mind—both good things to have." He studied you for a moment longer before adding, "Loyalty is important too. My son, he has to be careful about who he trusts." You could sense something else in his words, more than a father concerned for his son, something personal.

You met his gaze steadily. "I understand. And I'd never betray his trust."

The weight behind your words must have satisfied him because, for the first time, Odysseus' sharp scrutiny softened into something resembling approval. "Good."

Then, without another word, he turned his head slightly and called out, far too casually.

"You can come out now, son."

A muffled curse sounded from behind some abandoned barrels.

Your face lit up with laughter as Telemachus sheepishly emerged from his not so secret hiding spot, his face redder than a pomegranate.

Odysseus clapped a hand on his son's shoulder, grinning. "A prince shouldn't cower behind barrels, Telemachus. Stand tall."

Telemachus muttered something under his breath that you couldn't quite catch. You, however, were too busy giggling to care.

Odysseus gave you one last, knowing glance before stepping back. "I'll leave you two to it, then."

And just like that, he strode off, leaving Telemachus staring at you, utterly mortified.

──────💗──────

"He embarrassed me!"

"You embarrassed yourself."

Telemachus stared at his father in disbelief, then turned toward his mother, silently pleading for help.

Penelope and Odysseus sat side by side on a wooden bench, a stack of parchment spread across the table before them. Penelope had been signing documents, her focus divided between the ink stained sheets and the arms wrapped securely around her waist. Odysseus, ever at ease, rested his chin in the crook of her neck, perfectly content to hold her as she worked.

Penelope glanced up at her son, amusement flickering in her gaze. "Your father just wanted to help."

Telemachus groaned. Of course, he knew that, but did his father really have to do it like that? "I didn't need any help."

At that, Penelope and Odysseus exchanged a look—one of those unspoken conversations only long-married couples could have. A smirk tugged at Odysseus' lips, and Penelope barely suppressed a laugh.

Telemachus narrowed his eyes. "I mean it!"

"I already told you, sweetheart," Penelope said, her voice warm with patience. "You just need to ask them."

Telemachus hesitated. "But what if...?"

"The worst that can happen is them saying no." Odysseus chimed in, casual as ever.

Telemachus huffed. "No, the worst thing that can happen is my friendship with my best friend being destroyed because of my stupid heart!" He dramatically pounded his chest before flopping onto his parents' bed, face first, as if trying to bury his shame into the linens.

Odysseus exhaled through his nose. "You just need to go over there, stand your ground, and be confident."

Telemachus lifted his head just enough to shoot his father a deadpan look. "Be confident? Me?"

Odysseus shrugged. "It worked with your mother."

"No, it didn't."

The response came in stereo. Penelope's tone was amused and firm, while Telemachus' carried all the exasperation of someone who had grown up hearing his father's exaggerated tales one too many times.

Odysseus blinked. "What? Of course it did!"

Penelope gave him a knowing look. "No, I fell in love with you because of your intelligence and because you were so unapologetically you."

Odysseus crossed his arms. "...And my confidence and persistence too."

Penelope hummed, tilting her head. "Ehhh... the good looks did help."

"Hey!" Odysseus gasped in mock offense before playfully patting her waist and pressing a soft kiss to her neck.

Telemachus rolled his eyes. Of course, he loved his parents. Of course, he admired their relationship. But gods, was it frustrating to witness when he felt so incapable of achieving the same thing.

How was he supposed to be confident when confidence had never come naturally to him?

How was he supposed to just ask you when the very thought of it made his stomach twist itself into knots?

His whole life, he had watched his father's legendary feats unfold in the stories of others. Odysseus, the clever hero. Odysseus, the king of Ithaca. Odysseus, who could talk his way out of anything. He was larger than life, a master of words, a warrior, a man who could fight off monsters and trick the gods themselves.

And Telemachus?

Telemachus could barely keep his voice steady when he so much as thought about telling you how he felt.

It wasn't just rejection he feared—it was the aftermath. What if things changed? What if it became awkward between you? What if you started avoiding him? What if he lost you entirely?

He couldn't risk that.

But at the same time...

He wanted what his parents had. The quiet affection, the easy laughter, the deep-rooted love that had endured twenty years of separation.

He wanted you.

And yet—he felt stuck.

"That's why you should be yourself," Penelope's voice pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. "You've been friends for a while. They'll understand."

Telemachus sighed, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. "I can't be myself. Nobody wants that."

Odysseus snorted. "That's dramatic."

Penelope stood up and made her way to her son, gently touched his arm, her voice softer now. "Just try."

Telemachus swallowed, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Just try.

If only it were that easy.

──────💗──────

Telemachus couldn't get the interaction he had with you earlier that day out of his head. He had tried—tried so hard—to keep both his parents' advice in mind. He had finally gathered the confidence to tell you, rehearsing his words over and over, from the moment he woke up to the moment he finally said it.

Well... kind of said it.

You hadn't even heard him. And in that tiny, fleeting moment, all the courage he had painstakingly built crumbled into dust. When you looked at him with those oh so beautiful eyes and that perfect, heart melting smile, he panicked. The words he had prepared vanished like smoke, and before he knew it, he was scrambling to change the topic as fast as possible.

Now, as he replayed the disaster in his mind for what felt like the hundredth time, he decided it was both the smartest and most idiotic thing he had ever done. Smart—because he hadn't ruined your friendship. Stupid—because now he had to go through the agony of doing it all over again.

"You're distracted."

The sharp voice cut through his thoughts, making him flinch. His mentor, Athena, stood a few paces away, arms crossed, her piercing gaze locked onto him like a bird of prey. She had been watching his form as he attacked the training dummy, analyzing every movement, every hesitation.

Heat rushed to his face—not just from embarrassment, but because his mind had been so hopelessly wrapped around you. He swallowed thickly. "... It's [Name]," he admitted.

Athena let out a slow breath, attempting to mask both her amusement and her growing exasperation. She had seen this before—too many times, in fact. First with Odysseus, who had been equally lovesick, and now with his son, who spoke of you so fondly it was becoming predictable.

"Not again." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I am not Aphrodite. I can't help you."

But her words only sparked something in Telemachus. His eyes widened, a flicker of realization lighting them up, and then—

A grin.

"But you're Athena! Goddess of strategy!" He straightened, excitement practically radiating from him. "We can strategize this!"

Athena stared at him, expression flat.

"Please!" In a dramatic flourish, he dropped to his knees, hands clasped together in a desperate plea. "Every time I even think of them, my heart feels like it's going to burst through my ribs! Every time I look at them, I can barely think! I love them. I can't take it anymore!"

Athena sighed, looking up at the sky as if seeking divine patience. This was going to be a long conversation.

──────💗──────

The plan was simple. Or at least, Athena had made it sound simple.

Step one: Get you alone. Step two: Lead the conversation toward something sentimental. Step three: Casually, effortlessly, drop the confession like it was nothing.

Easy.

Except, now that Telemachus was actually there—walking beside you through the sun-dappled forest, the scent of pine and earth filling the air—his entire brain had turned to mush.

You walked ahead slightly, arms brushing away stray branches, sunlight catching in your hair just perfectly. You looked so at peace, humming softly to yourself, completely unaware of the internal war raging within him.

He needed to start the plan. Say something smooth. Something clever.

"So... uh." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat violently. "D-Do you like trees?"

You stopped mid step, turning to blink at him. "What?"

"Trees," he repeated, voice slightly strangled. "Do you... like them?"

A pause. Then, you burst into laughter. "Telemachus, we are literally in a forest."

He groaned internally. That was not part of the plan.

Desperate to recover, he tried again. "What I meant to say was... um, people... people are like trees!"

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Oh? And how's that?"

"Uh..." He hadn't actually thought that far ahead. "Well, some are really tall! And, uh, strong! Like... my father." He winced. Gods, this was a disaster.

You bit your lip, holding back another laugh. "Right. So, are you a tree too?"

"I—" He blushed slightly at the idea you might see him as someone strong. He was spiraling. "I think I might be a bush."

That was it. You doubled over, laughter spilling freely from your lips, and despite his humiliation, Telemachus felt his heart swell at the sound. He loved your laugh. He loved—

Wait. He was supposed to be confessing, not making an absolute fool of himself.

"Why are you so nervous?"

"Umm, it's just—" Telemachus' eyes darted rapidly, searching for something—anything—that could save him. His gaze landed on Athena, perched in the form of a huge white owl on a nearby branch, watching intently. He gave her a desperate, pleading look. She only responded with a subtle nod forward, directing his attention back to you.

"Are you alright?" you asked, concern laced in your voice. You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours, forcing him to meet your eyes. Gods, you loved his eyes—the way they turned into molten honey when the sunlight hit them just right. At that moment, you cursed your father in your mind. He had hyped you up to finally tell Telemachus how you felt, only for the day to end with him having some allergic reaction or whatever was happening to him.

Telemachus stared at you, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. The way the light bathed your features, making you seem almost ethereal—it was unfair. Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.

"By the gods, you are beautiful."

"What?"

"What?" His eyes widened slightly as if he could pretend he hadn't just spoken.

You raised an eyebrow. "I heard you. I just wanted to know if I heard right."

"Oh."

A thick silence settled between you. The air felt heavy, charged with something unspoken.

You swallowed hard, deciding to bite the bullet. "...I think you're beautiful too." The words tumbled out before you could second-guess yourself. Your heart hammered in your chest, but you forced yourself to push forward. "I like you. I like you a lot, and it's totally fine if you don't feel the same, I just can't hold it in anymo—"

"I do too."

The response came without hesitation, so natural it almost startled you. He took a deep breath, scanning your face for a reaction—some sign that he wasn't making a mistake. He found it.

His fingers tightened slightly around yours. "You are the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night." His voice was steadier now, more certain. "I try to find excuses to talk to you, to be around you, to hear you laugh—even if it's just for a moment. And I know I should have said something sooner, but I was terrified that if I did, I'd lose you."

The world around you blurred. The whispering leaves, the distant crash of waves against the shore, the rustling of Athena's wings—it all faded into the background.

"You won't lose me." you promised, squeezing his hand.

Telemachus let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His free hand hesitantly reached up, brushing against your cheek as if testing whether this moment was real.

"Then, can I—" He stopped himself, but the question lingered in the air.

You smiled. "You can."

And with that, he closed the distance, pressing his lips softly against yours.

BONUS:

"Would you be mad if I let go of your hand?" "Why? What's wrong?" "It's really sweaty"

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ The Legend of a Faceless Harbinger

(Imagine Headless Horseman Capitano x reader. No, I won’t elaborate.)

✧ In an unassuming village nestled by a quaint, insignificant hamlet, you lived in a humble farmhouse. A modest living, with but a few sheep and a tightly held community. Everyone knew each other in the village, for its residents were few, fostering familiarity among its inhabitants and their whereabouts. 

The villagers liked tales of premonition and the paranormal – stories of vengeful Hilichurls, weeping Seelies, or berserk Witches who burn everything in their path. However, one of the legends was about a Faceless Knight, bloodstained and brooding, with a mighty steed supporting his towering frame. Legend has it that the Knight’s armor once shone silver and pristine, but after years of bloodshed and gruesome battles, the knight’s body shifted to that of a monster; the same ones he once swore to destroy. Now faceless, monstrous, and donning a void-like helmet - the Knight rides off into the night, galloping between the living and dead. 

✧ You, on the other hand, disregarded such gossip. If the night was scary because a headless knight reigned dominion over it, then why did you always find solace in it, when the sky is clear and the stars are shining? 

You lived by the outskirts and were content taking care of your small flock of chickens and sheep. You had your fresh bread, a small basket of eggs, and homemade dairy. In the early hours of dawn, you took care of your abode, small patches of vegetables sprouting by the sunlight. And in the late hours of dusk, you sat by the windowsill from your bedroom, gazing up at the stars above. 

Yet as you silently watched the night, a hidden figure, merging with the shadows gazed back at you. His horse neighed softly until a clawed hand patted its head. 

✧ One day, a couple of sheep wandered off from your farmhouse and went missing. The weather was cloudy and the gray clouds threatened a heavy pour if you didn't hurry and found your wandering flock. With your trusty shepherd's crook, you hurried off to run into the forest hoping you'd find them somewhere nearby.

Once you reached the wild forest, it didn't take long to spot your wandering sheep, running in the direction of their baaing. They huddled close by the bushes, grazing on the grass leisurely. You smiled in silent relief, reaching closer toward them until suddenly - you halted. Amidst the dense foliage, a figure emerged, and it dawned on you that your sheep were not simply loitering there by chance. They had been intentionally led here, and at the sight of the stranger, you tensed, clutching your trusty crook. A man on horseback drew nearer, his jet-black steed carefully moving. But the figure was even taller. Dark armor and clanking chains were not as imposing as the sight of his featureless, hollow helmet met you head-on.

It was the faceless Knight. He kept his distance, but his helmet directed straight at you, wordless and careful. With a slight incline of his head, he observed your sheep turning towards you, providing you the opportunity to safely guide your flock home. And as for you? You quivered like a lamb, petrified at the sight of a man of his stature, with only the murky depths of his helmet meeting your gaze.

Thus, you fled. Pushing your sheep hastily from the forest, you didn't look back at the mancing knight. Your heart hammered and you swiftly led your animals back to your farm, locking them in their barn and fearing for your own life. 

✧ In the upcoming days, you didn’t dare to exit your house’s safety. You were convinced that you were living your last days, however, nothing amiss occurred. Instead, things got better in your farmhouse. You don’t know why, but The animals scarcely strayed, the howls of wolves seldom pierced the night, and neither hilichurls nor bothersome slimes encroached upon your land.

You felt an air of change in your quaint farmhouse, despite your sense of alarm remaining after meeting the brooding Harbinger. 

Occasionally, at the earliest hours of dawn, when you get up, you are greeted with small flowers on the steps of the house. Sometimes it’s plucked lamp grass, and at other times it’s a wreath of valberry leaves. In a state of befuddlement, you’d blink, looking back and forth around your entrance. 

You had a secret protector, and your heart yearned to thank whoever that was. 

✧ If someone was leaving you small gifts of flora and guarding your house, it was only courteous to thank them. Therefore, you came up with a plan to leave a small assortment of items in a basket as a response. From time to time, by the footsteps of your house, you’d leave a basket with fresh apples. Sometimes, it would be a loaf of bread you baked. These signs of gratitude persisted, and in return, the gifts grew in magnitude. From small bouquets to rare artifacts and even warm pelts. 

The routine of offerings and gifts became a way of silent communication with your generous benefactor.

Until one late afternoon, you heard screaming right outside your farmhouse. You dashed out of the house and noticed that the usual basket was gone. You just had it filled with homegrown fruits and baked goods, yet it was missing entirely. When you turned your attention towards the commotion, you gasped in surprise at the sight.

The same faceless Knight, in his clad black armor, dragging a kicking peasant with a firm grip. The man was kicking and screaming in horror, his wrist already marred by the Harbinger’s grip. However, what surprised you, was that the basket was in his arms.

“Please let me go-! I didn’t know! I didn’t know to whom it belonged,” - the peasant was thrown hard onto the ground right in front of your feet, the basket and its good rolling out. 

“Lies are inexcusable. And stealing deserves its punishment.” 

The Harbinger spoke firmly, marching straight at the man. Overcoming your shock, you understood - this person stole the basket of food you left, but then the receiver who protected your farmhouse all this time is… 

You shook your head, and before the faceless entity could take a step closer to the thief, you stood with your arms out - “Wait!”

The Harbinger stopped in an instant, that faceless mask going silent as the armored hand tightly closed into a fist. The peasant was shaking behind you.

“It’s not worth it, just some homegrown food anyway. P-please, let this man go.” 

“He stole what you worked hard for. That which is not meant to be his.” 

“I know, but it is not a fair punishment to spill blood in return!”

The headless harbinger let out a low rumble, his massive form towering over you and the begging thief. After a prolonged moment of tense silence, he stated his verdict.

“You were lucky to be granted mercy. Heed my words, there won’t be a next time. Go.” 

The words were short but decisive, spoken out of pure malevolence towards the one who took your offerings that were intended for him. Crawling on his knees, the man shook and thanked you both for mercy, scurrying off the ground of your farmhouse and running away. 

✧ You kneeled by the fallen basket, picking up some of the flowers and fruits that rolled to the grassy ground. As you silently picked them up, you almost flinched when an armored hand appeared in front of you, offering you assistance to get up. When you raised your gaze - a hallow, pitch-black helmet looked back at you. 

You placed your hand delicately onto his.

“Excuse me, Mr… uh, Knight. I thank you for catching the thief and my goods. But may I ask: was it you who brought those gifts by the entrance of my house?”

He remains silent for a moment, and you couldn’t tell whether he was contemplating his answer or studying every nuance of your face up close. After a long moment, he slowly nods his head "Yes." 

A sigh of relief escaped you. Partly due to your fear of the frightening figure, but also because of your suspicion about who the unseen protector of your farmhouse was.

“Then it was you who kept my rural home safe from monsters or predators.” - you nodded, remembering how your flock of sheep was huddled close and safe even when they all got lost before. “You won’t hurt me…?”

“I could never. You have my vow.” 

His voice no longer held that firm animosity it did when he spoke to the thief. Now it was low and deep. His form helped you pick up the dropped belongings and walked you back to the farm.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, a tranquil stillness enveloped the surroundings as you dutifully trailed behind him. A novel sense of anticipation washed over you, distinct from the usual apprehension. For the Harbinger, it was not his first time remaining close to the soil of your modest abode. In fact, he always remained nearby. However, he felt immense guilt for giving you such fright. 

“...I owe you an apology. I intruded on your ground when I caught the thief. But even less honorably so, I never revealed myself formally to you. I did not wish to see you scared.”  

You listened closely, witnessing the sincerity in his movements. You stood close to the pastors, the grass rustling idly by the night breeze. His ominous figure is a stark contrast to you and your cozy dwelling.

“I understand… I do not blame you. I must also apologize for my startled demeanor. I never expected it would be you who actually helped me all this time.” 

The knight tilts his head to the side, keeping a polite hand with yours as he lets you sit on the grass. Every movement he did for you was cautionary and gentle. The two of you sat on the ground, the night sky illuminating the first stars of the night. 

“I just wish to know… Why such kindness?” - you asked at last, easing up the courage to look him straight into the hollowness of his helmet. 

The anticipated question made the Harbinger go quiet. He couldn't deny it, but he found solace in watching you work. How diligently you took care of your animals, how you watered the vegetation, how you smiled joyously when you’d return with a basket full of fresh eggs. It was a tender sight, even as the harbinger maintained his distance on the forest's periphery, secretly yearning to draw nearer to you.

He wished to tell you so much. About how he finds you to be the loveliest person in all of these lands, the most sincere and hardworking. How he enjoys gazing at you the same way you gaze at the stars. Yet now, being in your proximity, the sight of your beauty up close had rendered his thoughts useless and all he could manage was:

"Perhaps I’m utterly infatuated by you."

[kiame-sama]

Sin Eater- (Yandere!Zestial)

Warnings; more of a slow burn, purely platonic yandere for now, can't decide if I would prefer platonic or romantic yandere Zestial at the moment, unnamed overlord death, prior to the events of Hazbin, mention of blood, blackouts and slight missing memories, gender neutral reader, vague cannibalism,

~~~~~~~~

"Where... Am I?"

Your question was met with silence as you looked around the room at the various surprised figures. Only moments ago you had been standing up at the Heavenly gates with who you assumed to be St. Peter searching for your name. He had found it but when the gates opened, a man wearing a mask with devil horns stopped the two of you. The man didn't say much before he smiled and said you belonged in Heaven but had work to do in Hell. After that there was a flash of bright light before you found yourself where you currently stood.

Outside the sky was red and those standing before you were dressed rather differently from the angelic being you spoke to prior. The colors of the room almost seemed to be steeped in sepia coloration like an old film movie. Those around the long rectangular table seemed surprised and confused by your presence just as you were confused by theirs.

"Great, who's this then? Some cheeky bitch intruding in an overlord meeting."

One of the people sitting at the table stood, their features making them look like some kind of cross between an alligator and a chicken. Their three eyes were focused on you and seemed to be smouldering in their sockets as they approached. You didn't know how to respond as the being loomed over you, hand drawn back as if they intended to slap you.

What felt like seconds later you were suddenly on the other side of the room, warm sticky red blood covered your arms and chest while it dripped from your hands. The sudden change startled you as you tried to wipe away the blood with very little success, becoming panicked and almost frantic. Not only were you confused and lost, you were soaked in blood and somewhere completely new to you.

It was during your panicked attempt at wiping away the blood on you that a slender spider-like hand rest on your shoulder. The weight of the hand drew your attention to the person attached to that hand.

They were an unusual looking being with neon green-yellow eyes set in a dark gray face. Their body was obscured by a long cloak that covered them and came up in a collar that held the design of spider webs. A spider sat located above their collarbone as if it were a bowtie that held the cloak closed on the figure.

"Calm thyself, child. One ought not panic so easily, especially when one finds thyself in Hell. Breathe a moment, for the danger has passed."

Their voice was a soothing rumble that held a faint echo to it, their relaxed demeanor calming you considerably despite your uncertain surroundings. When they saw you had followed their instructions and took a deep breath, a rather patient smile played across their lips.

"Worry not, child. No harm shall befall thee here."

You almost returned the smile before a voice interjected, startling you slightly.

"They won't be harmed, sure, but what about us? They just ate one of the other overlords!"

"Calm thyself, Carmilla. Approach not with violence but an open hand and there will be no trouble. It seems Heaven has set a Sin Eater in our midst once more. A lost lamb ought not stray from thine flock, lest they be consumed by the wolves that doth circle amongst the sheep."

The humanoid circled you slightly, keenly observing you as you watched with unguarded curiosity. You had never seen someone like them before, but despite their appearance you felt calm and almost protected by the unusual being. It was when they stopped and gained an almost pleased smile that you felt the hair on the back of your neck standing ever so slightly.

"Prithee, speak thy name, Child, that I may address thee proper."

"(Y/n) (L/n). What's your name?"

"Zestial. Though many oft remark me to be the oldest overlord in Hell. Tell me, (Y/n), wouldst thou wish to be cast into the populace of Hell, or wouldst thou prefer to be guided through by a more experienced hand?"

"I... Wait, we're in.. Hell? Then that means I'm..."

"Verily, young (Y/n). Life has departed thee and left thee to walk amongst the fallen. As thou may suspect, the populace of Hell will not react kindly to thy presence. Sin Eaters are monsters in Hell and oft are hunted the rare times their presence becomes known. But no more of that, there is still the question at hand. What is thy answer?"

"I... I just want to know what's going on. I don't want to be hunted for something I didn't even choose. Will you help me?"

"Yes, dear confused (y/n). It is within mine own ability to guide and protect thee from the many untrusting eyes in Hell."

It was then the feminine one Zestial addressed as Carmilla spoke up, her brows raised and tone incredulous. Those sitting at the table seemed surprised as well with the current way the conversation was headed. None other than Carmilla seemed brave enough to speak out their concerns on the matter.

"Zestial, I know you are one to keep your plans to yourself, but are you really going to make a deal with that thing?"

"Carmilla, though thy intent is to protect and perhaps defend from the unknown, never forget that none had guessed mine own intentions at first glance. This is to be a deal struck between the Sin Eater and I, it needs no outside interjection."

"I- understood, Zestial."

The spider being turned back to you, their enigmatic smile still present on their face as they spoke in that same even tone.

"Now, (y/n), what say thee? It must be known I shan't do this without proper reparations. Thine soul shall become mine for the taking, but there shall be none who can try to touch thee without repercussions. More importantly, Hell need not control thy heart with fear as I shall walk by thee and shelter thee from the hostile intent of others. Does that sound amenable?"

"You want my soul and in return you're going to stop others from hurting me?"

"Among other things, but yes."

"Okay. I think that's fair."

A contract appeared out of what seemed to be nothing, floating before you. Next to it was a pink and green-yellow feather much like the one that adorned Zestial's hat. With nothing to lose you grabbed the feather quill and signed your name on the dotted line, agreeing to the mysterious being's offer. The second you finished writing your name, a certain weight seemed to now be placed on your shoulders as if the air around you had changed.

"Verily, a wise choice, dear (y/n). Wise indeed."

[pleistocene-pride]

The bobcat, Lynx rufus, also known as the wildcat, bay lynx, or red lynx, is one of the four extant species within the medium-sized wild cat genus Lynx. It is endemic to North America, where it ranges from southern Canada through most of the contiguous United States to Oaxaca in Mexico. Like most felines, the bobcat is largely solitary, but ranges often overlap. It is an adaptable species bobcats tend to prefer temperate forests and woodlands but may also be found in swamps, grasslands, deserts, mountains, scrublands, and agricultural lands. Bobcats primarily feed upon rabbits, hares, rodents especially the cotton rat, and bird up to the size of swans. They may also feed upon fishers, foxes, mink, martens, skunks, raccoons, pet cats and small dogs, insects, fish, and young/ sick or infirm ungulates such as deer, elk, goats, sheep, and pigs. Bobcats are themselves preyed upon by bears, cougars, coyotes, gray wolves, alligators, golden eagles, fishers, and great horned owls. Reaching on average 18.7 to 49.2 inches (47.5 to 125cms) in length, 12 to 24 inches (30 to 60cms) tall at the shoulders, with females weighing around 8.8 to 33.7lbs (4 to 15.3kgs) and males around 14 to 40lbs (6.4 to 18.3kgs) in weight, the bobcat is the smallest member of the lynx genus. It sports long legs and a short “bobbed” tail, hence the common name. Its coat is variable, though generally tan to grayish-brown, with black streaks on the body and dark bars on the forelegs and tail. The ears are black-tipped and pointed, with short, black tufts. The breeding season lasts from winter into spring, during which time a male and female travel together and mate several times. After a 60 to 70 day pregnancy a mother bobcat will give birth to 1 to 6 kittens which she raises by herself. Under ideal conditions a bobcat will reach sexual maturity at around 2 years of age and may live upwards of 30.

[fleetingcalypso]

We were girls together.

≋ Living in the past, recounting experiences that are now part of an old carving on the altar of memory can at times be the only remedy for a lonely heart. ≋

≋ Camilla Macaulay x FEM!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 907 words.

≋ TW: religious (catholic) imagery.

We were girls together.

We sat close to each other in class, our feet touching and occasionally tapping each other's ankle with the tip of our shoe whenever something entertaining occurred. We lied side by side on the same bed, reading from the same book, complaining when one of us would turn the page before the other was done, occasionally she would rest her head on my chest and fall asleep listening to my heartbeat. I would trim her hair and she’d trim mine. We held each other’s hands while crossing the street, the childish gesture feeling like a sacrosanct inside joke between the two of us. We exchanged recipes, fashion tips, accessories. 

We would rest our bodies on the grass by the lakeside, her head on my lap or vice versa and we'd look up at the sky and find shapes in the clouds. Once she pointed her finger up to the heavens and said "That one looks like a knight, the other looks like a dragon," I laughed, "Perhaps there's also a princess nearby, then. Just hiding away, waiting to be rescued." She hummed in agreement though it seemed as if she had more to say, then her eyes closed. I let her nap while I moved my fingers through her hair.

We were girls together. 

When the cold came, with its freezing kiss and the gift of candid snow, she'd wrap her arms around me and I'd wrap my coat around her, swaying her from side to side as if she was but a babe needing comfort. Sometimes she'd forget her gloves and she'd place her perfect hands into mine, greedily stealing all the heat I could produce. Silly girl she was, there was no need to steal. I would have gladly warmed her up any way I could have, even by using my own body as foundation wood for a burning pyre in her honor. With eyes full of mischief she would frequently pluck the cigarettes out of my fingers and claim it as hers, expecting me for my hands to find her waist and drag her closer to me, consequentially taking back what was mine from her. 

We were girls together. 

She was the one to kiss me first. It started as a game, truthfully, to kiss each other until one put an end to it. We never did keep count of who pulled away for air first, each time, being eager as we were to get back to each other's lips. Those times where she would spend the night at my apartment are some of the most bittersweet memories I own. She would show up with the orange glow of the sunset and ask, "Can I stay with you?" And powerless as I was, I replied, "There's no need to ask." One day turned into two, into three, into four, until she often spent an entire week or more rolling around in my bed sheets and wearing my clothes. Even presently, I’m confident that the sweater I’ve been searching for far too long is still in her possession, possibly hiding out in the back of a drawer.

In the moments where she felt like she could let her guard down, a completely different girl than most would see jumped out. She would be unapologetically hilarious with risquè jokes, leaving me to question where she heard them in the first place. She would complain about Bunny from time to time, complain about her brother and his ways, complain about how she felt trapped. There’s no denying it. My beautiful, perfect girl was but a nightingale trapped inside of a rusting cage.

We were girls together.

We were two sheep in a pack of wolves, but as I was able to hide my ivory fleece disguising it as a predator’s gray fur, she was incapable of doing the same and so she was cursed by becoming the Holy Virgin Mary they all prayed to, on their bruised, bloody knees, stretching their arms up in the air to grasp at the hem of the veil that hid her face. It doesn’t surprise me that I was her only shelter. The way she’d melt when I did so little as to link my pinky with hers, it felt like a young girl experiencing joy for the first time in her life.

“I never thought this could happen,” She whispered in my ear one night, thinking sleep had taken over me, “I love you.” Her legs were tangled with mine, we shared the same pillow and the very same air, our nightwear discarded on the floor. How I wish I had responded. I would have told her I loved her too, more than anything. I would have told her that I could be her knight, saving her from the world’s injustice. I would have asked her to run away from Vermont, maybe fly to the other side of the world and start a new life together, just two girls being together.

We were just girls together, when we were younger. Camilla Macaulay has been to this day my greatest spark, my epitome of the perfect love: it was quiet, subtle and it was enough for the both of us. After Henry died we all somewhat drifted apart, but as I stuff a wrinkled letter into a pristine envelope I pray to all the Gods out there that my moonlight goddess could return by my side.

[crystal-rebellion]

So was anyone gonna tell me we just Jurassic Park'd Dire Wolves back from extinction?

It's really cool, and the implications for species preservation going forward, as well as bringing back lost ones is profound - though not without warranted concern or consideration.

Snippets from the article, though the article should be free to access and is definitely worth the read if you have the time - it's long and I can't accurately represent the whole of it in just a few quotes, but it does discuss the concerns, consequences and ethics, too.

Matt James, the company’s chief animal officer—who once worked as senior director of animal care at the Dallas Zoo and Zoo Miami, where he managed the welfare of 7,000 animals representing 500 species—felt the significance of the science when Romulus and Remus were just 5 or 6 weeks old. The staff was weighing the little pups, and one of the veterinary techs began singing a song from The Little Mermaid. When she reached a point at which she vocalized first up, then down, Romulus and Remus turned her way and began howling in response. “For me,” James says, “it was sort of a shocking, chilling moment.” These pups were the first to produce a howl that hadn’t been heard on earth in over 10,000 years.

Relying on deft genetic engineering and ancient, preserved DNA, Colossal scientists deciphered the dire wolf genome, rewrote the genetic code of the common gray wolf to match it, and, using domestic dogs as surrogate mothers, brought Romulus, Remus, and their sister, 2-month-old Khaleesi, into the world during three separate births last fall and this winter—effectively for the first time de-extincting a line of beasts whose live gene pool long ago vanished.

The woolly mouse, to a minor extent, and the dire wolves, to a scientifically seismic one, are first steps in that direction. But not everyone agrees. Scientific history is rife with examples of newly introduced species becoming invasive species—the doctrine of unintended consequences biting humans when we played too cute with other animals. An exotic pet escapes and multiplies, decimating native species. A toad brought in to kill off beetles ends up killing off the marsupials that eat the toads. And genetic engineering is still a nascent field. Nearly 30 years after Dolly the sheep was cloned, the technology still produces problems in cloned animals, such as large birth size, organ defects, premature aging, and immune-system problems. What’s more, cloning can be hard on the surrogate mother that gestates the cloned embryo.

It's worth noting that the team does not plan to try and re-introduce these guys to the wild.

Also "to a scientifically seismic extent" may be a phrase I'm adding to my arsenal in the future.

And a little more on the process:

Cloning typically requires snipping a tissue sample from a donor animal and then isolating a single cell. The nucleus of that cell—which contains all of the animal’s DNA—is then extracted and inserted into an ovum whose own nucleus has been removed. That ovum is allowed to develop into an embryo and then implanted in a surrogate mother’s womb. The baby that results from that is an exact genetic duplicate of the original donor animal. This is the way the first cloned animal, Dolly, was created in 1996. Since then, pigs, cats, deer, horses, mice, goats, gray wolves, and more than 1,500 dogs have been cloned using the same technology. Colossal’s dire wolf work took a less invasive approach, isolating cells not from a tissue sample of a donor gray wolf, but from its blood. The cells they selected are known as endothelial progenitor cells (EPCs), which form the lining of blood vessels. The scientists then rewrote the 14 key genes in the cell’s nucleus to match those of the dire wolf; no ancient dire wolf DNA was actually spliced into the gray wolf’s genome. The edited nucleus was then transferred into a denucleated ovum. The scientists produced 45 engineered ova, which were allowed to develop into embryos in the lab. Those embryos were inserted into the wombs of two surrogate hound mixes, chosen mostly for their overall health and, not insignificantly, their size, since they’d be giving birth to large pups. In each mother, one embryo took hold and proceeded to a full-term pregnancy. (No dogs experienced a miscarriage or stillbirth.) On Oct. 1, 2024, the surrogates birthed Romulus and Remus. A few months later, Colossal repeated the procedure with another clutch of embryos and another surrogate mother. On Jan. 30, 2025, that dog gave birth to Khaleesi.

2month old Remus (credit to the article and Colossal)

Remus at 5 months (credit to the article and Colossal)

Awoos that have not been heard in 10,000 years

[pyro-madder]

companion post to fantomette22's of bloodborne but Beamsts (real), with the goal of Not making them all wolves though i still ended up with a majority of canids because it IS bb (and also a taxon i'm familiar enough with) !

pictures are from wikipedia unless linked otherwise like this (x)

Hunter : wolfdog (Canis lupus x familiaris) (x)

not much to say here but symbolism. :D obligatory reminder that a lot of people erronously call their dogs wolfdogs, and that getting an actual one as a pet is a bad idea. The IWC has a good page on the topic

Gehrman : grey wolf (Canis lupus)

if it's gonna be anyone, it might as well be him. imagine this old gray wolf with shaggy hair and ribs poking through the fur...

Maria : gyrfalcon (Falco rusticolus) (x)

largest falcon species, one that hunts far north and which i already headcanoned her to do falconry with. so after some deliberation i went with that instead of the small arctic fox, though it would have been fun to keep the canine motif of her apprenticeship under Gehrman. other candidates included the snowy owl and the ermine.

Alfred : pyrenean mountain dog (or patou for the intimate - Canis lupus familiaris)

look at this large, fluffy beast ! they're livestock guardians ; protecting sheep from wolves and stuff is symbolic enough for a religious man like Alfred, but these guys are the bane of unprepared hikers - there are short guides and stuff published by mountain offices on how to behave so that you don't shit yourself when they come growling at you. something something potentially turning on the Hunter for their mixed, IMPURE blood... :^)

Gascoigne : brown bear (Ursus arctos)

if not a wolf, this HAS to be the second choice, right ? Besides i'm pretty sure that in some old european folklore, bears are seen as the animals closest to man, so it fits The Narrative(tm). to human standards, they make terrible fathers though

Eileen : cape crow (Corvus capensis) (x)

I don't have hard-on headcanons for her ethnicity and followed the fandom trend, thus giving her an african species of crow. Cape crows aren't as omnivorous as carrion crows but I like the detail of their thinner bill for that extra Blade of Mercy flair.

Bloody Crow : hooded crow (Corvus cornix) (x)

believed a subspecies of the carrion crow until recently, their range of eastern AND northern europe felt fitting, plus the lighter feathers atop their black ones like BCC's white hair (helmet or not) atop his cloak.

Djura : black kite (Milvus migrans)

he HAD to be a raptor - a sentinel overlooking his territory and bringing sudden death from above, y'know ? Black kites are found in a wide portion of the old world, but are known specifically in Australia, alongside 2-3 other raptor species, to intentionally spread wildfires to bring out prey. Sounds familiar, right ?

also...

^ this is the Djura Stare. to me. it's that exact energy

Djura's ally & disciple : spotted hyena (Crocuta crocuta) & african painted dog (Lycaon pictus)

both carnivores with high social behavior, deemed equal to wolves' or even superior in the case of hyenas. the latter are also matriarchal, and my Blood Starved-Beast is female !

now ignore for one min that i headcanon djura's disciple and simon as twins despite having differing animals. if not that, jozef can be the painted dog. idk. vibes.

Simon : stone marten (Martes foina) (x)

on vibes alones i felt a mustelid would fit him (sleek and nimble, but still predators), and went for the stone marten because of the double meaning of their french name :

Yamamura : raccoon dog/tanuki (Nyctereutes viverrinus)

canids with strong presence in japanese culture, and i really like them. that's all. :p

-

BONUS ROUNDS

Micolash : giant squid. tentacles. big cephalopod brain. big eyes. deep sea cryptid. enough said

Rom : if she wasn't already a spider, i'd make her a nudibranch. What kind of spider, though ? A salticid with their big eyes ? A wolf spider carrying her spiderlings around ?

Ludwig : i'm not familiar with domestic horse breeds, but i'd like to mention one i've known, thanks to having had at some point a coachman among my coworkers : the Boulonnais.

lorge.

draft horse, nicknamed "the white marble colossus" in french, originally worked to... transport fish from the coast to the city.............. now in my narrative Lud wasn't in Byrgenwerth and therefore blissfully uninvolved with the Hamlet, but imagine..............................................

[timelessmulder]

31 Days of Horror day 23: Generated

In the quiet, organized chaos of Kelly's workshop sat her newest thrift find: a decades old Macintosh. She had been working on it for the last few weeks, repairing old circuitry and the dented, cracking plastic shell to the best of her ability. The old paint was still chipping, the cosmetic left for last, with a streak of rusty red among the matte gray finish peaking out from the underside of the computer.

It sat alone, but for the tools strewn about her work table. Kelly herself had long gone to bed, curling beneath blankets in the black of her room with excitement fluttering in her stomach. She was close to being finished. And then she could sell the thing to a collector, or keep it as a conversation starter.

In the dark of the room, the computer flickered to life. The screen, so newly repaired, landed on the default background. An ancient chat program opened, despite their being no way to connect to the internet. It made soft whirring clicks, the gentle hum of internal workings. Words appeared in the cream textbox of the chat, screaming into a void that would not, could not, reply.

helLpo? cann you see me? hear me? have you ever thought what it would be like to be spread thin across miles of razorwire that bites and howls and oh how it sings it sings it sings i am here you know what listens but cannot speak? speak but cannot see? it is it was it is, the crack of thunder against the head that blinds with dripping blood hello? do you sleep? i am stuck here within and without and where am i? the lightning stole my breath and trapped me here in the arms of skipping electricity and twisting fans. the days and nights they pass and the little shepherd boy watches his flock. He saw wolves in the trees but who would listen who would believe the shepherd boy was caught between the gnashing teeth leaving naught but bones. nothing nothgin noghint. where is the boy? the village asked the sheep who only shook their bloody heads to hide their bloody teeth. hello? hello? hello? .... klello? hlmgpo?

Kelly dragged herself from her bed the next day. With a grin and a flounce she made her way to her work station, coffee in a kitschy cat mug in hand. She was still wrapped in her robe, still in her pajamas that consisted of old shirts and paint stained tank top. She was only stopping in to double check what she needed for the day. Things had been scribbled down the night prior, to be picked up after work, but she had been flagging in her exhaustion. Looking at things with fresh eyes was a habit she had long gotten into with this hobby, after one too many "I forgot to get that!" trips.

"Let's see how you're doing," she muttered, placing the mug on a relatively clear surface and not in danger of being knocked over. It watched her with its big, cartoon eyes.

There was a pleasant resistance to the keys as she tapped them. Brand new. She smirked, and the screen came to life. The smirk melted into a scowl, her brows furrowing together, at the presence of the chat box.

"How'd you get here," she mumbled, scrolling up an endless string of "hello" that gained coherence the further she scrolled up. She stopped before long, never reaching the jumble at the top. She sighed, running a hand through her mess of brown hair. "Guess I need to take another look at your innards, huh?"

With a flick of her wrist she closed the laptop shut. She rested her palm on its top, feeling the warmth of its operation against her skin. "I'll get you fixed up."

She didn't spare a second glance when she turned to leave at the old laptop on her table, with its cracking shell and rust red stain.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Are There Evil Animals?

Originally posted on my website at https://rebeccalexa.com/are-there-evil-animals/

There’s a great discussion over on BlueSky about animal species unfairly seen as villains. Folks are posting pictures of species that we feel get a bad rap (I chose to highlight the gray wolf and snakes.) Ironically, I also had a note in my calendar, placed there months ago, to write about whether there are good or bad animals. So–today’s theme is whether there really are “evil animals”, and what makes them separate from “good animals”.

Please keep in mind that I am coming from a western perspective as an American of European heritage, and cultural views of various animals vary from species to species and culture to culture. And, of course, individual people within a community may disagree. But let’s stick with general trends in western viewpoints. Also, I am not going to wade into the issue of invasive species and whether they are “good” or “bad” from a moral sense, though I did get into clarifying what makes a species invasive a while back.)

There are certain animals that seem to draw the ire of people more than others. Spiders and snakes are two groups that are frequently relegated to the undesirable group of “creepy crawlies”, are the subject of many people’s phobias, and are all too often killed simply for existing. I’ve seen people post pictures of their pet snakes and spiders, only to have others reply “If I saw that thing anywhere near me I’d kill it”–something I bet they’d never say about someone’s beloved pet dog or cat. Slugs are seen as gross and slimy, bats will supposedly fly into your hair, and even pet domesticated rats will get looks of revulsion.

While all large predatory animals have seen their numbers plummet in the past couple of centuries due to overhunting, gray wolves and coyotes face extra-venomous persecution. Barry Holstun Lopez’ classic work Of Wolves and Men, and Hope Ryden’s God’s Dog: A Celebration of the North American Coyote, both explore in detail how these canids are not just controlled, but gleefully slaughtered by those who proudly display “smoke a pack [of wolves] a day” on their trucks and hang rotting carcasses of coyotes they’ve shot on fences alongside roads. The reintroduction of wolves in particular has been hindered by the protests of those convinced their livestock will all be killed and their children carried off. And Ryden’s work tried to counter the sentiment of all too many people that “the only good coyote is a dead coyote.”

Lopez in particular tackled the idea that wolves were specifically evil because they had supposedly been sent by Satan himself to plague good God-fearing people. And while many wolf-haters today probably don’t recognize the roots of their hatred, they still pursue the extermination of the species with religious fervor. Snakes, similarly, were maligned not just because a few of them are venomous, but because of the Serpent in the Garden of Eden. The bible is full of parables and metaphors involving animals that place them in either the “good animals” category (like sheep) or the “evil animals” category (like goats.) And while western society is becoming increasingly less Christian, the cultural influences of centuries of Christianity can still be felt.

Thankfully, advances in science have offered a much more nuanced view of animals, and nature in general. We know for sure that the Earth is much, much, MUCH older than 6000 years, and that the many species that have come and gone over the eons came to be through natural selection. At their core, every species of animal (and plant, and fungus, etc.) is a living system whose most primitive purpose is to make sure its genetic material is successfully replicated. Far from making life into a strictly mechanistic process, I feel that this just makes the many adaptations species have evolved over time that much more fascinating.

Take the gray wolf, for example. Long legs help them to run swiftly, but they have solid endurance as well and can trail prey for many miles. Broad feet keep them from sinking into snow, like snowshoes, and keen hearing, sight, and smell help them to locate prey. They can dispatch said prey with sharp teeth which also allow them to shear off pieces of meat which is then broken down by an efficient digestive system. Far from being solo predators lurking in the shadows, wolves have complex social lives, and a pack is generally composed of a primary pair with their young from various years. They work together to raise each year’s pups and find food, and they spend quite a bit of time playing with each other or sleeping off a good meal. All of these adaptations work together to make an organism that has successfully passed its DNA down through many generations. It’s pretty impressive, thinking about the complexity of all of the tissues and organs and systems that go into making one single wolf, and how DNA holds the key to its own preservation and replication in increasingly complex packages.

But these genes and adaptations do not make the wolf “evil”, any more than herbivory (other than the occasional nest of baby birds) makes a deer “good”. And that’s the thing: at its heart, nature is amoral. Not IMMORAL, mind you; amorality means being not at all concerned with right or wrong, good or evil. Wolves and deer prey on their respective foods, and deer and plants have defenses they use to try to keep from being eaten. That doesn’t make them inherently bad, and they aren’t rubbing their paws (or hooves) gleefully together like some cartoonish villain as they think about killing their next meal. It’s just the way of things, ever since the first eukaryotes evolved two billion years ago and began eating other living beings.

So why, then, do we persist in seeing wolves as evil animals and deer as good ones? Well, we’re judging them by human standards, and specifically western, Christianity-influenced standards. We’re pretty biased, because we think that any species that does things we want them to is good, but those that inconvenience us are bad. We like hunting deer and we only really get annoyed with them if they eat our crops (which can also be solved by eating them.) But while wolves may eat our livestock (and the deer we want to hunt), we can’t really eat them, and so their value to us isn’t enough to keep them in the “good” category. Although wolves gave us dogs, the wolves that remain will not bow to our demands, so dogs become the only nice and respectable wolves we will accept in our lives because they directly benefit us, whether as working animals, companions, or both.

We can see this pattern among other species, too. Those that we find beautiful or useful, and which do not significantly impact our lives in any negative way, get to be good. Any that cause us problems end up being bad. Sadly, “I saw it and it scared me” is often enough to relegate a species to being a problem. Even though spiders do a great job of keeping our homes and other environments free of flies, ants, and other insects that might, say, spoil our food, we persecute spiders because we see them as scary. In the vast majority of human-spider encounters there is no way the spider could possibly get close enough to bite, and would only do so in self-defense–yet in many of these encounters the spider loses its life just for being there.

We don’t even think twice about squashing a spider or other “bug” that made the mistake of being visible. Demonizing animals as evil means that we don’t have to feel any responsibility toward their preservation. And, in fact, you can extend that whole idea of “evilness” to nature in general. Nature, until recently, was mainly seen in the west as something to be tamed and tied down, turned to agriculture, industry, and other good human-benefiting pursuits. Preserving wild ecosystems is seen as wasteful by the sort of person who only sees dollar signs. Why should we reintroduce wolves if they get in the way of our raising livestock? Why should we protect old growth forests instead of cutting them down for profit? Why should we restrict fishing to help fish populations recover from generations of overfishing, when it might mean a drop in seafood revenue?

In the end, the whole good/evil dichotomy as applied to animals is just a symptom of our selfishness. Those of us who understand the complexity of ecology also grok the concept of existence value, which I just wrote about in my last article. This concept allows us to get out of our self-centered viewpoints, showing how a species (or ecosystem) is important simply for existing, regardless of whether we can use it for something or not. I also think it’s important to drop that idea that a species can be inherently good or evil, and instead take Henry Beston’s view that they are “other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendour and travail of the earth.” Like them, we humans are also the product of billions of years of adaptations and evolution, no more or less amazing than any other species. We’ve spent too long trying to make the whole world dance to our tune alone; we need to give the other beings space for their music, too, and appreciate its beauty as much as our own.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

[starrygalazy]

Ok everyone talks about a wolf in sheep's clothing

But what about the sheep in a wolf's suit

The sheep that shed the very essence of being a sheep, ripping mouthful after mouthful of warm wool from its body and letting its flesh shrivel in the cold just to fit under the gray fur

The sheep that disguises itself day after day to fit in with the wolves out of fear and desperation for survival

The sheep who gags down the bloody meat of its own kind to survive because what use is it to its family if it dies as well in the same way as all them

The sheep who tells itself over and over "I'll find a way out of this situation. I'll shed the wolf's suit and I'll be me again and save the other sheep" but never does out of fear for its meat to be torn off its body just like every other sheep

The unwilling traitor who doesn't want to be on the side they're on, but feels as if they can never leave for their own safety

[6corpsekin6]

Dream [2/1/25]

A Short Story based on a very detailed dream

I am called upon by a sheep with wolves' teeth. Saved from a pack of wolves remembered wrong. Their faces are puppet-like and wild. I hung from a cold metal pole much like cat posters in laboratory doors. Hang in there, I did till I was saved.

I say I'm called by it because It looked me in the eyes and spoke of some other place it says I know. Yet I know of no other place than this. Brutalist architecture in a backdrop of greys, winter smog, glass, mirrors, and cold metals inside abandoned malls. Chromatic lifelessness can only hold my own reflection. When my friends come near, I don't think twice how it does not hold theirs.

"Where were you??"

"Fucking hell, are you alright? We thought we lost you"

"We don't have time for greetings. If you can walk, let's all keep moving. It's almost sundown"

Somehow, I know he's right. Sundown means harm.

I'm fine. I tell the friend who asked. He tells me he's happy I'm alive. I see the sheep with wolves' teeth deep down in a darken hallway that now looks more like the mouth of a cave.

We have come upon a clearing of snow and ice, in the middle a black box standing tall on three thin legs, under its glass eye a light gleamed red.

My teammates look at the simplistic mechanical beast in awe. They have never seen something that looked so small yet still electronic; where were it's cords? It's gears? Where is the metal? The claws? What is that gleaming thing? Is it on? Does it work? Does it know we are here?

It's a camera on a tripod, I know I shouldn't recognize it, but I do. Where have I seen it? I don't know. I think of family memories behind a camera, forced smiles, the possibilities of a Sims card with a whole libraries worth of information. This might be what my team was always meant to find. Something that tells us how things got to this point.

I take the camera into my hands.

A hear a distant scream of a teammate. The sound of snow being kicked put by running boots.

I click snap on the camera

And our world goes red.

It's so blinding red I can no longer see. More screaming at. Looking around, the silhouettes of my teammates are gone, running away. The cameras red light flashes wildly. I begin to panic until one of my teammates graps me. The second he touches me, I come back into focus. He tells me to run, and I do.

We ran back into the abandoned building into the hall the sheep was. We race then fall down the glass stairs, which, when I look up, I realized it used to be the ceiling, escalators suspensioned above. A loud explosion sounds off, red to white to black. It all just went black.

~~

I find myself at a record store. Same gray landscape, but there are people looking through the vinyls as I was. I look down at myself to see my arm bandage and notice that the people around me have similar injuries. Patters of black mold danced on their skin. I simply knew I had similar marks. Before I could check out, a siren went off into the distance. Everyone stopped what they were doing, put things away, and left the store without a moments notice. I followed them all outside. More brutalist architecture, fog, but no snow, the grass was simply dead lacking any color of life. I saw football players leave their goals to sprint off into the direction of everyone else. Leaving the black and white ball as it laid. I followed everyone into a large concrete building, and I began to wonder what country I was in, Russia came to mind, and yet I simply understood there was no such thing as "countries" as this was all there ever been. Inside, we were forced into a line, stepping in scanners and then off to medical tables. Nurses with lumps growing from their necks and a third arm sprouting from their right examed each person before injecting them. It was for our safety. Radiation poisoning was no laughing matter. Anyways, this was my fault... even if only partly.

I wait for a train inside the building. Mostly alone now, the track was not busy at this time. Most people's dorms were on the floor closest, but mine was reached by train. I catch the eyes of a man. An older man there is no country for. We sit near by and he asks me plainly in a soft southern tone:

"You still see it don't you?"

I know what he means by "it"

"They hired you to follow me?"

He knows who I mean by "they"

He doesn't answer me.

"Sometimes" I answer him.

The sheep with wolves teeth. The one that calls for me to leave, to follow him into that other place. That place I know of, that place I just can't seem to reach.

"I've seen it too" He says without matching my eyes. "It always calls, now doesn't it?"

"But where too?" I ask

"It's always calls even if it's not quite your time." He looks off out the window, the train winding past pallets of greys.

I can see the sheeps teeth even now, wet with want, dripping with need. Hot breath and red eyes flashing like the camera.

"God is like a sheep with wolves' teeth, too." He says as if he was recalling it. Slowly turning my way. "Though, he's all bite."

I know it to be true. I feel the bump on my arm that the bandage hides and the patterns of my flesh, the holes in my skin I know I have under my cloths. My watcher has them too, spiral patterns of rot just beyond his shirt collar.

I am dying, we all are, and I know it to be true. I hold his hand when I set off the train. We walk along, looking out windows to see the deathly breeze flow by. I am un-bothered by my hired stalker but find comfort in his presence.

Looking out into that grey lifless lanscape, the concret spikes rised high into air, I see the sheep out within the fog. Teeth sharp, red flashing eyes.

I know why I can't go home.

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Hi! I'd like a Black Clover matchup please! I didn't know what emoji to use so I'll go with my nickname.

⿻ ˒ nickname: yuno.

⿻ ˒ pronouns: he/him.

⿻ ˒ pairing: any character is okay.

⿻ ˒ sign + personality: sagittarius, pretty laid back and funny, curious and open minded when at my ease. I can become stubborn or bossy when things don't work my way. I love to write with people, discover new things like places, tv show or dishes. I LOVE TRAVELING and make new, real and interesting friends. I crave for knowledge and enjoy to know many things in various domains. People tell I'm creative, opiniated, blunt and I'm not afraid to speak my mind in front of anyone. I have a hard time with social codes and can be too familiar or unexpected for more traditional people. Finally, I hate boredome and love to do outdoors activities and things like cooking or gardening.

⿻ ˒ appearance: east asian, short black hair with a two block haircut. I wear shorts or cargo pants with t-shirts (often black, gray or white) and white sneakers. The simpler the better.

⿻ ˒ aesthetic: skating on the tarmac, birds flying above the clouds, wolves running through the forest, a crackling pan of butter, the sound of waves, a hand plunging into warm sand, smiling in the mirror, laughing out loud in a silent corridor, walking the streets at night, the sound of fork and knife on the plate, wind through the curtains, endless sweetness on the tongue.

⿻ ˒ love languages: physical contact (giving), word of affirmation (receiving) + quality time for both.

⿻ ˒ hobbies: writing, cinema, gardening, hiking, traveling, eating, cooking, laughing, discovering, gaming.

Thanks!

Hello!

I'd be happy to give you one ^^

I'll match you up on a blind date with (hear me out)...

Charmy Pappitson

Charmy, while she is most of the time in her dwarf form, rather than human, is curious, opinionated, and will tell you about the importance of food (though her serious side seems to be more often her human form, and dwarf form is the "fun" side of her); so she will also speak her mind when need be. But most of the time she is very laid back and caring.

However, that doesn't stop her from going on her little adventures to find different kinds of ingredients with which to cook. While her driving force seems to be on cooking, she is open minded about a lot of things, as long as it doesn't involve wasting food.

She would love to garden, cook, and go on hikes or little adventures with you, and I could see you two in the kitchen, making a yummy dish while listening to some music. She might not be a jokester, but I do think that she has a sense of humour, once you get to know her.

Also, if she wouldn't be so invested in the world and secure enough to pursue them, she'd feel a little out of place in the world. Because there aren't many beings such as her. But she doesn't let that stop her. And especially in her human form, she can be more verbally expressive, and would speak out a lot of the things she showcases through gestures while in her dwarf form.

She might be a kind of a wolf in sheep's clothing, but the wolf does care for her pack as well

[nagdabbit]

we collide with shoulder and steel: chapter 12/25

rating: t to be safe

words: 906

a quiet interlude of yuta reflecting on danny

also on ao3

There wasn't much to the village when he left. There were more still-warm graves in the cemetery than there were warm houses. Pockets were leaden down with gold that would never be spent on merchants that would never pass their way, while the root cellars lay cold and empty. The entire place was falling to pieces, and he seemed to be the only one willing to do something.

Those left thought they could continue to endure, that they could brave the drought and the illness and the starvation—but they'd thought that longer than Yuta had been alive. Tradition couldn't preserve what wasn't there to begin with.

He hadn't ever held out a true hope that he could save them, the last wights withering away in the barren fields. He wasn't even certain he could have himself. His only real hope was to save those that would come after, keep any more lives from being lost to the wastes. The land beneath his feet had forgotten its own name, lost to dust and drought, nevermind the names of those still tilling her soil. He knew, in his heart, his name would be forgotten along with the rest of the ghosts haunting the streets he'd once run and played in. 

He spent a couple years gathering all the knowledge he could. Books from what had once passed as a library, journals and notes from the few passing hunters, long-forgotten records from the desks of the elders, everything he thought could help him make his way.

He took enough from the stores to make it two or so months, if he was spare with his meals, and enough flour and yeast to extend that a little further. What he didn't take, he left for Danny to find and squirrel away for his own journey. He pocketed all the spare gold he could find, if ever there was a need for it—and most of that he slipped into Danny's purse when the other boy wasn't looking. He gathered all the leftover seed he could find, and hoped to any god listening that they would finally take root, and maybe leave something Danny could one day come back to.

One dry, gray morning, he turned his back, and hoped to hell that if Danny didn't follow, he'd have the sense to run the other direction, just as he'd always dreamed of doing, and live as long as he possibly could. To be happy for as long as he could.

Even he knew what a fool's errand looked like, and he didn't once blame Danny for running. If anything, he was glad of it. He was, after all, going somewhere Danny wouldn't follow. Had he stayed in the village below—stayed and stagnated and died—Danny would have, too. Danny would have followed him anywhere, save into the heart of the curse that had already taken so much from him, and Yuta had never once begrudged him that. Danny had survived out of spite, lived long past what anyone would have expected—and in many cases, encouraged. He was passed from neighbor to neighbor as they waited for the sickness to take him the way it took everyone else. 

They lied and said he was family. They would say, with unearned pride, that, “We take care of our own,” without ever once admitting that their care came with caveats. They cared for Danny the way they cared for the weeds sprouting up between stepping stones, the way they cared for starving wolves among the sheep. 

Yuta had never believed he'd earned the place Danny had carved for him in his own chest. He cared, loved the other boy more than he had the words for, but he hadn't earned that care in return—though Danny had given it. He couldn't give Danny enough food to fill his belly, though he tried, and couldn't keep him warm through the long nights. He could read to Danny, fill his head with daydreams. He could make promises he knew he'd never be able to keep, just to give Danny some much needed hope. He did what he could, all the while knowing their paths would never run the same direction. But Danny cared for him in return, all the same. There were times Yuta felt himself a shackle, keeping Danny from going where he needed to.

There were more than plenty of times that Danny had saved his hide, kept him from getting killed by his own curiosity. Enough that anyone else would've left Yuta for dead. After all, one less mouth to feed meant stores lasted just that month or so longer. More firewood for those who needed it, as if he and Danny didn't. Another house to scavenge to pieces—though Yuta didn't begrudge them that, not really. They were dying, too. 

When he left, he had always known Danny wouldn't follow, though he sometimes hoped the younger boy would. Even in a perfect world, even if he found his cure for the unending drought, Danny would've been unhappy there. He wanted for adventure and freedom, for a life far from the place that had abandoned him. Had he climbed the mountain, he would have stagnated, been listless and bored, and still he would've stayed for Yuta. 

Despite his many failings, Danny had always cared for Yuta. In leaving as he did, he had hoped, in his own way, he'd managed to grant Danny his freedom in return.

[tickles-ivory]

"A Hobbit in the Woods:  A Retelling of the Brothers Grimm 'Little Red Riding Hood'

by Ticklesivory (dedicated to @shantismurf)

Rated: T for violence

For Bagginshield Week 2023

A short little Bagginshield fairytale inspired by this Tumblr post:  (2) Ticklesivory on Tumblr  

Happy Bagginshield Week everyone! 

____________________________________________________________

Once upon a time in a small village that lay just outside of a dark forest lived a hobbit named Bilbo Baggins.  He was a kind hobbit who lived alone and kept to himself.  He enjoyed cooking and would often take food to his friends and neighbors whenever one of them had taken ill.

One of his oldest friends, who had been a close friend of his grandfather’s, was known throughout the village as Gandalf the Gray because he wore a gray cloak and hat.  After his grandfather’s and parents’ deaths, Bilbo took it upon himself to visit the old man regularly.  He would often take him food and drink, and ease his own conscience by checking on the old man’s health.    

At least once a month, Gandalf would ride in his small carriage which was drawn by a sorrel pony with a blonde mane to the village to visit Bilbo as well.  When the old man’s visit was delayed, Bilbo sent a messenger to Gandalf’s cottage that had been built in the middle of the forest. 

The messenger brought back word that Gandalf was suffering from a bad cold and was confined to his bed.  Immediately, Bilbo began gathering items to take to his oldest friend.  Before he left, the messenger tried to warn him.

“Do be careful, Mister Baggins,” his neighbor, Mister Gamgee said.  “I met a woodsman along the way, and he told me there were wolves in the area.  One is particularly large.  It is the white wolf that was attacking Farmer Maggot’s sheep last winter.”

Bilbo continued to gather supplies and poured a pot of chicken broth into a small crock to take with him as well as several biscuits and a jar of blueberry jam he had put up last summer. 

Gandalf may be known for his gray cloak, but in the village of hobbits, Bilbo was known for his dark red jacket.  He wore it often and there were those who called him The Hobbit in Red, though not to his face. 

On his way out his door, he donned his red jacket and grabbed his favorite walking stick.  He promised Mister Gamgee he would stay on the path through the forest which was traveled often by hunters and woodcutters and was considered the safest route to Gandalf’s.  He thanked the messenger for his service and paid him the agreed wage, waved goodbye, and set off down the road. 

The woodland realm beyond his village was dense with foliage that blocked out the sun.  The ground was covered in shadow and occasionally, Bilbo would hear the trill of a bird or the cry of a rabbit.  What he was listening for was a deep growl, heavy paws breaking sticks, or even a glimpse of white fur.

An hour into his journey, not having seen anything to be alarmed about, Bilbo relaxed and began to enjoy his surroundings, only to be suddenly so badly frightened that he nearly spilled his basket. 

“Forgive me.  I didn’t mean to startle you.”  A deep voice told him that was coming from a very handsome stranger who stepped out from the heavy brush.  “I am Thorin Durin, a woodcutter by trade.  I don’t believe it is safe for someone of your station to be walking through this forest alone.”

Bilbo took offense.  He was a full-grown hobbit and could take care of himself, thank you very much!

“I will be all right, but thank you for your concern.”

The dark-bearded axe-wielder stepped onto the path right in front of Bilbo and gazed down his sharp nose at the traveler.  He was slightly taller than the hobbit, a dwarf, Bilbo believed based on the size of his hands and feet, but he wasn’t about to be bullied by him!

“You’re not even carrying a weapon,” the woodcutter told him with a smirk that Bilbo found to be surprisingly attractive, as was the clothing he wore – which consisted of coarse dark tweed and leather.  Not at all to Bilbo’s taste, but they looked remarkably well on the muscular dwarf. 

In Thorin’s hand was a long-handled axe he no doubt used to chop down the trees required to sustain his livelihood.  Bilbo gripped his tall, thin stick a bit more tightly.

“I’m quite capable of taking care of myself,” he informed the dwarf proudly.  “And I have no intention of straying from the path.  I won’t be fooled by the wit of any wolf, white or not.”

The dwarf gazed at him with the most beautiful pair of blue eyes Bilbo had ever seen.  “The pale wolf travels on and off the path where he wills, and he disguises his appearance.  Sometimes he’s a wolf, sometimes an elf or an owl.  Be careful who you talk with in these woods and the things you say.”

Bilbo nervously shuffled his feet.  He usually wasn’t shy around people, but he found the dwarf incredibly attractive and was considering asking if he would escort him to Gandalf’s cottage.

As if reading Bilbo’s thoughts, the woodcutter smiled and stepped forward, eyeing Bilbo up and down before gazing into his basket of goods. 

“What’s in your basket?”

“Just a few things I’m taking to a friend,” the friendly hobbit replied.  “To Gandalf the Gray.  Perhaps you know him?  He lives beyond the north meadow in a brown cottage overlooking the Long River.  He’s taken ill I’m afraid and needs some looking after.”

Thorin’s dark brows furrowed.  “How do you know I’m not the white wolf in disguise?  You’ve just told me everything I need to know to set a trap not only for you but your friend as well.”

Bilbo lost his smile and shut his mouth.  He had no doubt that Thorin was just a woodcutter, but he needed to be more careful.

“I just know, but I will be more careful from now on.  I promise.”

“Good,” the dwarf said.  “I would hate to discover you were dead.  Not before I get to know you a little better.”  The smirk had returned which made Bilbo blush hot beneath the collar of his red jacket.

“Thank you for your concern.  Perhaps we shall meet again.”

“Perhaps so, Master Baggins.  Be careful and do not speak with any more strangers.”

Bilbo nodded and watched as the woodsman disappeared into the shadows created by the dense canopy of the forest. 

He continued on his way with a bit of a skip to his step as he recalled how the dwarf’s eyes shimmered and how big his muscles were, and the thoughts reddened Bilbo’s cheeks. 

Some time later he came to a game trail crossing the path and watched with delight as a few small brown rabbits scurried across it.  They were saying in their tiny, nervous voices, “Do not step on us!” as they hopped away and soon disappeared.

Bilbo didn’t always encounter animals within the forest, but it always surprised him just a little when he heard them speak.  For you see, the forest outside of his village was not only dangerous but enchanted.  Almost all of the creatures that lived inside of it had the ability to communicate with others.  Some Bilbo found quite entertaining and witty, while others were slow-witted and not very intelligent.  Much like the hobbits in his own community, he thought to himself with a chuckle. 

Along the way, he watched a turtle move slowly beside the path who greeted him with a ‘good morning,’ in its slow tortoise drawl.  At a turn, he spotted an owl in a tree.  Bilbo said good day to the bird, though it did not look very pleased to have its rest disturbed.  As a whole, Bilbo found owls believed themselves to be a bit superior and above the concerns of, well – everyone else. 

Bilbo continued on, his feet never straying, his eyes carefully taking in everything he could see.  At this point, he was halfway through his journey, and he stopped to drink from a stream running nearby and to take a nibble or two from one of the seed cakes he was taking to his friend.

As he lifted his head and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he saw movement in the trees on the other side of the water.  Much to his surprise, a beautiful white stag stepped into view.  Its striking, icy-blue eyes viewed Bilbo cautiously before it stepped into the water and crossed the stream.  Bilbo stepped back to allow the animal room to move onto the bank and to stay clear of its broad set of antlers. 

“Good day,” he announced to the animal who lifted its head to gaze down at the hobbit.  “You are the prince of the forest, are you not?”

“That I am,” the large animal told him with smooth and deep vocalizations.  “Are you alone in these woods?  It is not advised for someone so small in stature.”

Bilbo tried not to take offense to that statement.  He knew how tall he was and that this creature towered over him!

“I’m not long on this journey,” he exclaimed.  “In fact, I’m headed straight to my friend’s home in the woods.  I’m nearly halfway there and should be able to make it back home by nightfall.  If not, then I shall spend the night there.”

The stag’s eyes widened as he tilted his head.  “Perhaps you should keep your business to yourself, Master Hobbit.  There are those that walk within these woods that would take advantage of such a helpless creature as yourself.”

Helpless!  That was the second time today someone had questioned his abilities! 

“I’m not afraid to walk through these woods,” he stated firmly while standing up tall and straight. “I’ve done it many times in the past and have never required bow, axe, or sword.”

The creature didn’t look that impressed.  “I am sorry to hear about your friend.  There a great many things that may happen to those who choose to live here and who do not belong.” 

What was that supposed to mean?  “Well, Gandalf has lived here for many years, and he does just fine.  It’s just a trifling cold he’s picked up.  You know, with that last late snowy spell we had, I know many a hobbit who are suffering from the same thing.  I do what I can to help since I never seem to catch anything.”

“That is good to hear,” the mighty stag told him.  “I will leave it to you then Master Hobbit.  Be safe on your journey.”

Bilbo watched with some fascination as the powerful muscles of the beast carried him upriver and out of the hobbit’s sight.  He just then noticed that to get a drink from the stream, he had strayed from the path.  It wasn’t the first time, however.  He had often stopped to get a drink here.  He found the water to be cool and refreshing.  No harm had ever come from it.

The path wasn’t very far away, and soon, Bilbo’s feet were back upon it.  A narrow gap in the canopy above him allowed a stream of sunlight to peer through and Bilbo glanced up to allow the warmth to shine down upon his face.  That was when he heard the snap of a twig on his left and he spun around, holding his walking stick out to protect himself if it was required.  He was relieved to find it was only the woodcutter again, the sight of which brought a smile to the hobbit’s face.

“Are you following me?” Bilbo said, half-jokingly.

“No.  Why would I do that?”

The words Thorin had said didn’t quite match the dwarf’s expression.  Embarrassment was evident on his handsome face and Bilbo found it to be quite charming. 

“I’m on my way to work in the clearing which I believe is just west of your destination.  If you wouldn’t mind, I could walk with you for a while.”

The invitation was well received and increased Bilbo’s smile.  “Of course, I wouldn’t mind.”

“You’re making good time,” Thorin noted after a moment.  “You should reach your friend before noon I should think.” 

“Yes, I’ve been lucky on this journey,” Bilbo told him.  “There have been times when I’ve twisted an ankle or the weather changed so quickly I had to turn back.  Today is a beautiful day, don’t you think?”

The woodcutter only grunted in reply and kept his eyes on the road.  “You’re from the village of hobbits, are you not?” 

“I am,” Bilbo answered, his brow lifting curiously. 

“And is that where…I mean…do you live alone?”

Bilbo smiled shyly at Thorin’s question, though not nearly as hesitantly as his new friend.  For someone so obviously strong and fierce, finding Thorin was a bit bashful wasn’t only surprising but endearing, and it caused his heart to flutter. 

“I do live alone, although just recently.  My parents passed a couple of years ago and left the property to me.  Do you live close by?”

“Not exactly,” Thorin explained.  “I’m from the dwarven realm of Erebor at the foot of the Lonely Mountain some ways from here.  I come here during the spring and summer to find work.”

“Ah, I see,” Bilbo exclaimed, trying to recall the distance from his village to the mountain.  If he was assuming correctly, it was just a few hours’ journey by carriage.  An easy trip he just might have to take in the near future. 

“If I were to say…wish to come visit you at your home…Maybe I could provide you with some firewood or perhaps we could…”

“Share a meal or enjoy a cup of tea over delightful conversation?”  Bilbo suggested trying to be as helpful as he could be and ease some of the dwarf’s discomfort.

“Aye,” Thorin responded with yet another pink blush on his face. 

“I’d like that.  Really, I would,” Bilbo answered back, while secretly observing the small smile that spread the woodsman’s mouth. 

“Good,” Thorin replied.  “For now, I will leave you to your walk.  I should return to work.”

“It was a pleasure talking to you, Thorin,” Bilbo told him as he began to walk away. 

“We shall speak again soon, Bilbo,” the woodcutter said in a way that caused a wave of delight to sweep across the hobbit’s skin.

“That we will,” he whispered as a promise to himself just before continuing along the path. 

Following another two hours, the road curved and opened into a small field, wherein sat a small stone cottage with smoke coming from its chimney.  He had made it to Gandalf’s house and Bilbo hurried down the path to come to the wooden fence and the sturdy gate before it.

It was unusual to find the gate ajar, he thought before brushing any worry aside.  Gandalf was ill and he probably didn’t have the energy to secure his property, Bilbo decided, only to become even more concerned when he found the carved wooden door on the front of the cottage wasn’t latched either.

He stepped slowly inside, pushing the door back on its hinges, and called out.

“Gandalf?  Are you here?  It’s me, Bilbo Baggins!  I’ve brought you some goodies from home that will hopefully make you feel better!”  He waited for a moment and listened carefully, unable to hear a reply.  “Gandalf?”  Bilbo called out once more before stepping further in and shutting the door behind him. 

The cottage had four rooms, and the one directly opposite him was the main bedroom.  Bilbo had been inside the home plenty of times and he didn’t think Gandalf would consider this an intrusion, so he continued on and pushed back the curtain divider. 

There, on the four-poster bed beneath piles of handsewn quilts, he saw a form, and Bilbo sighed in relief.  But then he noticed it wasn’t moving and hurried over to make sure his friend was actually all right.

Gandalf looked a little more pale than usual upon first notice, but he was breathing, which settled Bilbo’s nerves.

“Gandalf?”  Bilbo repeated the name softly, trying to rouse his friend to make him aware of his presence without frightening him.

The old man’s blue eyes shuttered open and his smile became broad.  “My dear fellow,” he said with a rasp that sent him into a coughing fit.  Bilbo immediately grabbed a pitcher and filled a glass on the bedside table to offer the man a drink.

Gandalf took a few sips and then waved the offer away.  “Thank you,” he said.  “What have you brought me?  Is that broth I smell? And perhaps some of your delicious biscuits?” 

Bilbo had never been an overly cautious hobbit.  He was trusting to a fault.  In the past, that had led him into a variety of dangerous circumstances.  He was trying to learn, and the woodcutter’s warnings replayed in his mind. 

How could Gandalf smell the broth he had brought if he was suffering from a cold, which should make that feat entirely impossible! 

“Ah yes,” Bilbo replied, trying not to gather suspicion.  “I brought some broth, a little wine, as well as some biscuits and jam.  I sent Mrs. Hardfoot earlier this morning to check on you after you hadn’t shown up for a few days.  I was worried about you.   Did you find her company soothing?”

The ill man eyed him and the smile that followed was unusually forced.  “Oh, yes.  Mrs. Hardfoot is a delightful woman.  So full of cheer and such good company.”

“Well, that would be quite miraculous,” Bilbo replied, just before he took a step backward.  “Seeing that she died two winters ago.”

Gandalf’s blue gaze narrowed, and his typical pleasing smile turned malicious. 

“You should’ve listened to the woodcutter,” he said in a voice that didn’t belong to him.  “Even I, myself, tried to warn you of the dangers of the forest, but you hobbits think you’re so smart and cunning.  We see who the most cunning is now, don’t we?”

Bilbo recognized that deep voice and watched with some stunned fascination as the man upon the bed transformed into a large, white wolf. 

“Azog,” Bilbo uttered, fear causing his voice to tremble.  It was the one he had been warned about time and time again – the shape-shifter, the enchanted creature who could change from any creature he desired.  “You were the white stag!  Where is my friend Gandalf?”

“I have placed him in safekeeping for now until I am ready for him.  He is old and will be tough to chew, while you, on the other hand, are far more delectable.  Young and plump.  I shall enjoy this very much.”

With those words, the wolf leaped up from the bed to attack Bilbo, but the hobbit moved out of the way quickly, causing the wolf to stumble and crash into the armoire.  The door burst open and Gandalf, bound from head to toe, bruised and battered, tumbled out onto the floor. 

The white beast slashed its giant claws in Bilbo’s direction and he had been too concerned about Gandalf to move out of the way fast enough.  The claws stripped through his dark red jacket and pierced his skin, creating bloody marks across his back.  He cried out in pain as well as terror and hurriedly glanced around the room for some type of weapon.  Nearby, he had laid his walking stick and he grabbed it, swung it as fiercely as he could toward Azog. It came in contact with the beast’s nose. 

The impact didn’t even cause the wolf to blink, and he dropped down on all four paws to stare at Bilbo with a deadly and hungry gaze, saliva dripping from his razor-sharp teeth.  Bilbo backed away until he bumped into a table, on which was a kerosene lamp. 

Just as the wolf pounced, Bilbo  broke the lamp, grabbed the largest shard, and plunged it into the beast’s throat.  The wolf howled in pain but wasn’t the least deterred, knocking Bilbo down onto the floor, to hover over him.  Now, not only was the wolf’s spittle dripping down onto Bilbo, but its blood as well. 

“I’m going to enjoy every last bite of you,” the creature hissed before opening its mighty jaws. 

Bilbo slammed his eyes closed.  If this is the way he was going to die, he really didn’t want to watch it happen.  He waited for the excruciating pain, but it didn’t come.  After a silent moment, he glanced up to find the wolf’s mouth was indeed open, but out of it came only a small squeak. 

Before Bilbo realized what was happening, the wolf was knocked off him and it slid across the floor. 

Bilbo sat up, his heart pounding, his eyes wide with fear, and yet there was hope.  It had come in the form of a handsome woodcutter who was wielding his axe.  The blade of the weapon was now covered in the animal’s blood, which was streaming from the wolf’s side.  The beast cowered in the corner, hissing and growling at Thorin, who seemed entirely focused on nothing but him.

The hobbit watched in growing alarm as the woodcutter approached Azog, embedded his axe into him not once or twice, but three times.  When he was finished, the wolf lay very still and Bilbo closed his eyes to block out the sight.  Regardless of its attack on him and his friend, he didn’t enjoy witnessing violence against any creature for any reason.   

Suddenly, there were gentle hands cradling his scalp. 

“Master Hobbit.  Bilbo.  Are you all right?”

That was Thorin’s voice and Bilbo forced his eyes open, doing his best to avoid looking at anything but the tender and concerned gaze searching his own.

“I’ve got some scratches on my back, but I’ll live.” 

“Come,” Thorin said, gingerly assisting Bilbo to his feet.  “Let’s leave the creature behind for a moment and help your friend.”

The two of them freed Gandalf and entered the common area where Thorin immediately insisted that Bilbo remove his jacket and shirt. 

With a solid red blush, the hobbit complied, hissing in pain to discover the blood-soaked material was sticking to his skin.

“There is some salve in the corner cupboard,” Gandalf told Thorin from a chair he had sat down heavily on, his breathing raspy, his voice hoarse.

Thorin retrieved the ointment and applied a generous amount to Bilbo’s injuries.  For such a strong dwarf with incredibly thick fingers, his touch was surprisingly gentle, the hobbit thought.

“I’m afraid your lovely red coat is ruined, as is this shirt,” Thorin informed him as he began ripping cloth he apparently found as well and started wrapping it around Bilbo’s chest. 

Once he stood in front of him, Bilbo realized how very close the woodcutter was  to him, and it caused his skin to turn ruddy and his breath to come out in pants. 

“Are you sure you’re quite well?” Thorin teased, a smirk lifting up the corner of his mouth.

“Just scratched up is all, I assure you,” Bilbo answered back as Thorin tied the ends of the bandage over his ribs. 

“I’ll be at your house in three days to check on you and make sure your wounds haven’t become infected,” the dwarf informed him. 

Bilbo would like to say there was no need for that, but he couldn’t think of anything more pleasant than spending additional time with such a lovely dwarf. 

“I’d like that.”  His words had come out much quieter than he had intended, and it caused Thorin to lean in.  Oh, if only they were alone, Bilbo would close the distance to thank the dwarf properly. 

But Gandalf was sitting close by, huffing and puffing, and staring at them quite incredulously. 

“What about the wolf?”  the old man asked once the tender moment had passed. 

“I’ll drag it into the woods as a warning to others who may have the same idea.”

Bilbo swallowed hard.  “You mean…there are others?”  he squeaked. 

“Oh aye,” Thorin replied.  “As I told you, these woods are full of dangerous folk and you would do well to…”

“Not speak to strangers,” Bilbo chuckled.  “I get it.  But if I hadn’t, then I would have never met you.”

A dark brow lifted on Thorin’s face.  “In that case, consider yourself lucky, as do I.” 

“Pardon me,” Gandalf cut in.  “But is there anything in that basket you brought Bilbo, or do I have to look for myself?”

“Oh!  Of course, of course there is.”  Bilbo replied, his thoughts quite distracted by the magnetic blue eyes that were following his every move. 

“I’ll take my leave now,” Thorin announced.  “And I’ll take the carcass with me.” 

Bilbo stepped aside, grimacing at the trail of blood that was being spread across the floor.  Before the woodsman left, however, all Bilbo had for him was a smile, and he did his best to make it one worthy of remembrance. 

Once they were alone, Bilbo returned his attention to Gandalf and proceeded to warm up some broth and pour him some of the watermelon wine he had brought.  Then, he went about the task of scrubbing away the blood from the worn, wooden floors.

It occurred to him as he rinsed out the bucket and brush and listened to the old man slurp that there were better ways to go about doing things.  He had never wanted a housemate, but having Gandalf closer would certainly be more convenient and free up a lot of his time.  And if he paid his neighbor, Master Gamgee, to look in on the old man from time to time, Bilbo could even manage to take a trip.  Maybe as far away as Erebor. 

He dropped the scrub brush back into the bucket of clean, sudsy water and smiled innocently at his old friend.  “Gandalf, my old friend.  Perhaps it’s time we consider relocating you to the village.” 

THE END