#wolf hybrid Odysseus

[somepsychopomp]

Wolf hybrid Odysseus who grows up wanting to stick his nose into people’s mouths so he can smell them and “greet” them as he’s instinctively inclined to. Only for little Ody to be reprimanded by his parents for behaving inappropriately with his teachers/nurses/etc.

The only exception is his childhood friend Polites. When they were very young and first introduced to each other, Polites yawned and Odysseus couldn’t help but stick his nose into his new friend’s mouth.

Polites not only took this in stride but reciprocated, thinking his new friend was funny and weird but in a good way.

Polites was also positively enamored with Odysseus’ soft puppy ears and his squishy toe beans. He didn’t think they were strange or off putting, only curious. As they played together, he even tried to run after Ody on all fours the way his new friend liked to, but for some reason, it was a lot harder for him.

Their parents looked at the wolf boy and the regular boy chasing each other in circles and thought, “Well, as long as he’s happy.”

[shidraoftheworldpillar]

I have an inexplicable urge to make fursonas for epic the musical characters so woe furry be upon ye:

Odysseus: wolf or fox (or both???)

Polites: firefly

Eurylechus (or however you spell it): badger or bull

Antinous: grizzly bear

Circe: red panda

Zeus: thunderbird

Poseidon: hippocampus

Hermes: jackolope

Athena: owl

calypso: tropical bird like a hoatzin or scarlet ibis

penelope: I'm not sure, if yall please suggest suggest good species thatd be awesome

Telemachus: a hybrid of Odysseus and Penelope's species

EDIT: Calypso is now a marine iguana cause we gotta have some reptile representation and antinous is a really scruffy stray cat that crawled out of an alleyway in the middle of a storm

[aboutanancientenquiry]

A review of a book on the werewolves in Antiquity, with a reference to Herodotus’ report of the story about the lycanthropism of the people of Neurians

“The werewolf in the ancient world

Daniel Ogden, The werewolf in the ancient world. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2021. Pp. 288. ISBN 9780198854319 $32.99.

Review by Scott Bruce, Fordham University. sbruce3@fordham.edu

Stories about werewolves, defined in this book as “a creature that changes form, or appears to do so, or can be inferred to do so, in whole or in part, between the humanoid and the lupine” (p. 7) are vanishingly rare in ancient Greek and Latin texts. Other than a vivid vignette told by Petronius in chapter 68 of the Satyricon (c. 66 CE), in which a soldier transforms into a wolf in a graveyard, terrorizes a local farm until it is wounded with a spear, and is later revealed to be a “skin-changer” (versipellis) by the persistence of that wound when he returns to human form, most ancient references to people changing into wolves and back again are pithy and laconic. Undeterred by this limitation, Daniel Ogden sets out in this book to examine ancient references to these skin-changers through the lens of folklore and to provide lengthy translations of primary sources that allude to “werewolfism.” The resulting book – part comparative history and part sourcebook – shares the hybrid character of its subject matter. The results are mixed as well. Readers lured by the title may be disappointed to find that not only are werewolves very scarce in this book, for the reasons cited above, but also in many places medieval, early modern, and modern comparanda overshadow the meagre ancient evidence.

The Werewolf in the Ancient World comprises six chapters. Chapter 1 argues that the metamorphosis of human beings into wolves and back again in ancient literature often involved the agency of witches, who could turn hapless people into animals, as Circe did to her visitors, or transform themselves in the same way, as Herodotus claimed the race of the Neuri could do. Much of the chapter is given over to the witches (striges) themselves, who were also known to take the form of animals, usually the eponymous screech owl (strix), but only rarely wolves. Chapter 2 explores the association between werewolves and ghosts in ancient thought. Here the tissue of evidence is very thin and largely associative. Ancient skin-changers, like Petronius’ soldier, often changed their form in graveyards, and individuals afflicted with medical lycanthropy, a condition that caused them to “go out by night in the month of February in imitation of wolves or dogs in all respects,” were known “to hang around tombs” (p. 71) until the sun rose. Chapter 3 examines some persistent motifs in premodern werewolve literature: the belief that skin-changers abandon their clothing to assume their wolf-form and must later recover them to become human again; the notion that some people are wolves on the inside, a fact only revealed upon their deaths when their hearts are found to be stuffed with hair; the claim that skin-changers in human form carry the wounds received when they were wolves; the idea that the ingestion of certain kinds of food, especially human flesh, precipitates the transformation from human to wolf or vice versa; and the impulse of the newly-changed wolf to abandon the city for the forest. While this chapter presents a rich summary of these folkloric motifs, most of the examples are not drawn from ancient sources. The reliance on post-ancient evidence also pervades Chapter 4, on the association of werewolfism with shamanistic soul-projection. Here Ogden dwells at length on late medieval, early modern, and modern examples, but contends that statements by Augustine and John Damascene and the feats of Greek shamans in the Pythagorean tradition hint at the ancient origins of this association. Building on the affinities presented in Chapter 2, Chapter 5 argues at length that the wolfskin-wearing ghost of Polites, a crewman of Odysseus, should be considered a werewolf, while Chapter 6 disentangles the myths and rites pertaining to the festival on Mount Lykaion in Arcadia, during which young men assume the lifestyle of wolves as a rite of passage. Both chapters provide dense textual analysis to make their respective arguments, but the werewolves themselves remain elusive. It is telling that the summary of “good stories about werewolves we can document, directly or indirectly, for the ancient world” (p. 206) barely takes up two pages of the book.

Unlike Ogden’s previous work on ancient dragons, which yielded a hefty monograph and a rich primary source reader, there is simply not enough evidence about ancient werewolves to sustain a treatment of this length.[1] The book’s frequent reliance on post-ancient source material suggests that a broader approach to the premodern werewolf that positioned the ancient sources alongside their medieval and early modern analogues would have reduced the significant burden that the Greek and Roman material struggles to bear in the present study.[2] Readers will most certainly find lasting value in the many long translations of primary source materials marshalled in The Werewolf in the Ancient World, which will provide a useful refernce for all future discussions of the ancient and mysterious versipellis.

Notes

[1] Daniel Ogden, Drakōn: Dragon Myth and Serpent Cult in the Greek and Roman Worlds (Oxford, 2013); and Dragons, Serpents and Slayers in the Classical and Early Christian Worlds: A Sourcebook, ed. Daniel Ogden (New York, 2013).

[2] For a successful example of this approach, see Mercedes Aguirre and Richard Buxton, Cyclops: The Myth and its Cultural History (Oxford, 2020), reviewed by Scott G. Bruce in BMCR 2021.07.10.”

Source: https://bmcr.brynmawr.edu/2021/2021.12.11/

I think that it must be clarified that Herodotus records the tale about the lycanthropy of the nation of Neurians who lived beyond the Scythians, in the fringes of the inhabited world as known to the Greeks, but he states that he disbelieves it (The Histories 4,105, as translated in The Landmark Herodotus edition):

“ It might well be true that these people [the Neurians] are sorcerers, for according to the Scythians and the Hellenes who inhabit Scythia, once each year every one of ther Neurians turns into a wolf, and, after a few days, changes back to himself again. Those who make these claims do not convince me, but nonetheless, that is what they say, and they swear it really happens.”

Aldo Corcella’s commentary of this passage (in D. Asheri -A. B. Lloyd-A Corcella “A Commentary on Herodotus Books I-IV”, OUP, P. 656) links the reported story to traditions of lycanthropism in the folklor of different peoples and proposes the explanation that perhaps the core of truth of the story about the lycanthropism of Neurians was some collective ritual of disguise, similar to the one practised in the festival of Lycaea in Arcadia.

[bloodgoddarlin]

Fluff time with Sweet Boy Odysseus =)

He is *so* protective. In general, but especially over the kids. What are you doing bringing kids into wars what the fuck. He absolutely hangs around snowchester and frets over the kids, being something between a mom friend and a cool older sibling to bench trio. They may not be as close with Purpled (bc I don't know much about his character) but you'd best believe they've threatened Quackity with blowing Las Nevadas off the map if they find out he's treating Purpled badly.

So he's not actually that much older kinda? (If I make him the same age as me that's only about a year older than Tommy (my birthday being April 2003 and his April 2004) and while that means I'm older/an adult, it's not by much. I feel way older than them(bench trio) but that's probably just ✨trauma✨. But I don't want him to have a weird age gap with Techno/Titus so. Idk) but he feels like he wants to protect them still getting to be kids while they can because he didn't get that option.

They have weird hormone cycles from their wolf hybrid part (and I'm making up the science here so don't expect accuracy) and during one part of their cycle they get a need to have all of their 'pack' in their sight. They can go without if needed but it makes them very anxious. They usually can be fine in any given day as long as they have a family dinner with everyone

A small problem arises from this though, as their pack is not just Techno/Titus, but Phil and bench trio (including Michael!!) as well. For them their pack isn't determined by blood, but instead just people that they care about deeply. Trying to get this lot to play nice together is not an easy task though

Little detour to talk about Michael because I love him and I'm giving him main character syndrome (plus some ideas for piglin lore)

Oddy *adores* Michael. They will always babysit, and they think he's the cutest. They also tend to coo at him in piglin from the bits they've picked up. It's not perfect and their grammar is horrible, but their pronunciation is surprisingly clear.

Speaking of clear speech! I hc that zombie piglins are almost always completely unintelligible to anyone who speaks piglin (though people who don't know it can't really tell the difference). So when Oddy said hi to Michael and got a clear response? And when he was able to answer questions at an appropriate level to his age? Color them impressed.

They aren't really able to teach him any more piglin, instead roping Titus into helping (and if Oddy also uses them as lessons, that's for them to know), but they try to teach him as many common words as they can (he can't say many, his vocal cords aren't really suited for the complicated sounds, but he's trying)

"I don't want to be a parent but I swear to God I will kill for these kids" -Oddy, probably.

Cuddle piles. Mandatory for family dinners. The blankets and pillows are all on the floor and it is cuddle city. He likes seeing that his pack is all around him, safe and comfortable.

(I have more,,, spicy thoughts about the rest of his hormone cycle but that's for another day😏)

One of his safe foods is mashed potatoes (and baked potatoes only if they're done right) so the mass amounts of potatoes they have at the cabin is very convenient. They try to eat other things when they can but when a bad sensory day hits, or if they're upset for another reason or anything like that? Nothing but potatoes baby. (Inspired by the fact that mashed potatoes is one of my safe foods)

🌌anon

oddy my beloved ; u ; this is so cute!!! i love him sm

[apictureofspace]

send me soul-crushing angst prompts!

@holdendadcliffe said: “WillsParker + whose blood is that?”

[ ...things go awry in the supernatural creatures au... ]

- TW: blood, gore, violence & character death below the cut -

The Hunters came in the night.

It had been so peaceful before the ambush. In a rare show of solidarity, both the Radcliffe pack and the Radcliffe-Tate pack had gotten together for the sake of finally putting aside the alphas’ differences - and because Agnes wanted to meet her granddaughter. Whether she was half-siren, half-monkey, or half-Loch Ness Monster, it wouldn’t have mattered to her grandmother. Beatrice was a tiny little miracle, and she refused to let Willoughby and Parker keep her tucked away in New York forever.

Somehow, the Hunters must have gotten wind of such a large gathering of Creatures. Wolf packs were normally good at staying under the radar, but a pair of wolf packs that now included a witch, a warlock, a vampire, a siren, and a wolf-siren hybrid baby? That was enough magical energy to set off even the oldest and most derelict of beacons.

They came in droves. It had to be every Hunter in Scotland closing in, and Willoughby and Holden were the first ones out the door to fend them off. It was in their nature, as alphas, to be protectors, but there was no way that just two of them could fight off so many Hunters on their own. It wasn’t even a full moon, so Holden was practically powerless. 

Inside, Parker left Beatrice under the protection of her aunts; Isabel’s magic could create a barrier shield if necessary, and Olivia was a formidable force to be reckoned with, full moon or not. 

“How many, do you reckon?” Willoughby asked his father, both of them focusing their highly attuned hearing on the footsteps advancing through the forest that bordered the family’s property. “Twenty? Twenty-five?”

“More than that,” Holden disagreed, shaking his head. “I count thirty-seven - no. Thirty-eight.”

Willoughby swore.

Jemma was outside next, her movements no more than a blur. Leopold and Matthew followed close behind, tailed finally by Agnes and Parker, both of whom looked equal parts furious and distressed. It was an entirely natural reaction for two mothers to have when their children were being threatened by a mob of Creature-killers. 

“I’ll kill every one of them,” Jemma stated, her tone matter-of-fact and her fangs elongated and ready to strike. Without missing a beat, she said, “And there are thirty-six, not thirty-eight.”

“Oh, that’s incredibly comforting,” Leopold said, rolling his eyes. “Thirty-six Hunters want to kill us, not thirty-eight. There are still only nine of us - two of whom are preoccupied with protecting a baby!”

“Hunters or not, they’re still just thirty-six humans.”

Parker stepped forward, lacing her fingers through Willoughby’s as they all stared out at the trees. The footsteps were growing closer; any minute now, the Hunters would break through the tree-line. 

Her gaze steely and her voice soft, eerily calm, Parker continued, “Thirty-six humans against five werewolves, a vampire, a warlock, and a witch - and a siren. They don’t even know I exist.”

Pursing her lips, she insisted, “We’ll be fine. I can’t say the same for all of them.”

But they weren’t fine. Not all of them.

The Hunters came prepared, but not nearly prepared enough to stave off a werewolf capable of changing at will, a vampire who hadn’t fed yet that day, and a warlock who wasn’t afraid to dabble in the dark arts when necessary. And then there was Parker.

Her voice captivated the humans; it turned them into puppets, practically immobile while Jemma worked her way through the group, slashing at throats with terrifying precision. 

For a moment, it seemed as though they were going to win.

Then a gunshot echoed through the night.

The assailant had wax plugging his ears, like a modern-day Odysseus; he must have known, somehow, to expect a siren’s song, mythical though they were believed to be. He’d managed to weave his way through the crowd as bodies dropped around him, and aimed one incredibly precise shot. It wasn’t enough to save his life; Jemma still tore out his jugular like the rest of his comrades. 

His was the last body to drop down into the grass, blood soaking the earth around them. 

Almost the last.

Through the adrenaline rush that always accompanied a kill, and there had been many kills that night, it took Willoughby a moment to register the pain. It was strange; he’d been shot plenty of times in his life, but it never really hurt. That was one of the perks of being a werewolf; inhuman healing speed and an extremely high pain threshold. Looking down, his fangs retracting, Willoughby noticed the bullet hole in his shirt, and then he looked behind him at a tree a mere three feet away. Embedded in its bark, having gone straight through him, was a silver bullet. 

The Hunters had stopped using those centuries ago when they proved ineffective; to a wolf on a full moon in full-wolf form, they did nothing more than leave a scratch. 

But, thanks to the inexplicable will of the Goddess, Willoughby was no ordinary werewolf.

He couldn’t help it; he laughed at the horrible irony of the situation, and then he collapsed into the grass.

Parker’s siren song cut off at the same moment that horrified shouts left everyone else’s mouths. Jemma, faster than the rest, was by Willoughby’s side first. Even when surrounded by so much spilled blood, she could pick his out; it was heady, with a hint of musk, so very much like Leopold’s. It appeared to run in the family.

“A silver bullet... a silver bullet...” Willoughby repeated with disbelief, over and over as Jemma did her best to stop the bleeding. She bit into her wrist and let her own blood trickle down onto the wound, but her venom proved useless. What healed his brother every time was doing nothing to close the bullet hole that went clean through Willoughby’s chest. His blood continued to pour out as everyone with humanoid speed rushed over.

Agnes choked on a sob, clutching tightly at Holden’s arm. Holden was trembling, but whether from grief or rage was indiscernible. When he reached them, Leo fell to his knees beside Jemma and frantically said, “Your venom, it will heal him-!” and when Jemma just shook her head, looking to him with red, bloody tears shimmering in her eyes, he began to tremble and hyperventilate. Slowly, Matthew lowered himself to sit at Leo’s other side, gathering him in his arms. It was all that he could do. No magic, not even the darkest of the dark arts, could stop what was happening.

Parker was the last to catch up to the crowd. In her attempts to run, her usual grace had been lost; she tripped twice, scraping her knees in the dirt and staining her skin green and a muddied red from the blood that soaked the ground. When she reached them, she fell to her knees once more, this time on purpose as she drew Willoughby’s head into her lap. Her hands were shaking as she looked down at her mate, at her lover, at her husband, at her baby’s father and asked, panic in her eyes, “Whose blood is that?”

It was a fair question. Willoughby had killed his fair share of Hunters, and his clothes were stained with their blood as well as his own - but the freshest of all was still soaking through his shirt and into the ground below him. She watched, horrified, as the canine-yellow faded from Willoughby’s eyes, leaving them the pale shade of blue that always reminded her so much of the ocean where she was born, where she was raised before her mother was killed. Looking at Jemma, she hysterically asked, “Whose blood is that?! You’re the vampire! Tell me!”

A bloody tear slipped down Jemma’s cheek and she swallowed roughly before whispering, “...it’s his. Parker, you know that it’s his-”

“No,” Parker cut her off, shaking her head as she looked down at Willoughby again. Stroking his cheek as he lay in her lap, she frantically repeated, “No, no, no. No. No. Wills? Wills, darling, look at me... You’re going to be alright...”

His eyes were hazy, but he managed to focus them on her face. Weakly, he repeated once again, “It was a silver bullet...”

“No,” Parker choked out, shaking her head. That didn’t make sense. Silver bullets were a human farce, a story made up to make them feel safer! They weren’t lethal any more than wooden stakes or holy water. Salty tears filling her eyes, she wheezed, “No! That’s not right!”

But no amount of denial was going to save him. She could see the focus slipping from his gaze, feel his head growing heavier in her lap, and she frantically drew him closer, grabbing for one of his hands as she gathered his body close to her chest. Blood soaked her through when she did so and she felt like she was going to throw up.

“No! Willoughby, no! You can’t leave me, you can’t-!” 

She’d already lost her mother and had resigned herself to spending the rest of her life alone; finding Willoughby, who had been so willing to love her regardless of her monstrous nature, had been a universal mercy, and their baby had been a miracle. She couldn’t lose him now, not when they had so much of their lives left to live; he hadn’t even seen Bea take her first steps, they still didn’t know if she would be more wolf or siren as she grew, and she couldn’t do all of it without him, she just couldn’t. She couldn’t be alone again.

Her sobs ripped through the clearing, horrible and beautiful in a way that only the tears of a siren could ever be. Clinging to him as if that would make him cling to life, Parker pleaded, “Don’t... Please, please don’t... Don’t leave me all alone...”

When there was no response, Parker’s incredibly precise hearing signalled to her that his heart had stopped. His heart, that he had given to her so willingly either to cherish or to devour, had ceased beating - and Parker ceased breathing with it. She held all of the air that was in her lungs, her body trembling, as she cradled Willoughby’s lifeless body to her chest - 

- and then she screamed. It was blood-curdling, deafening, powerful. Everyone, even the vampire who should have been immune to all bodily harm, clapped their hands over their ears in an attempt to shut the sound out, but it was everywhere. It was inside of their heads like her siren song, rattling around in their skulls, and with it came traces of madness.

The siren had gone mad, and she was going to drag down every living thing on land and in the sea with her.

[somepsychopomp]

More Hybrid AU thoughts ft. puppy Ody

Okay so let's just say that Odysseus, having been born from a long line of cunning tricksters from his mother's side, was quite the surprise when he was born w/ his wolf ears, legs, & tail. Laertes looks at Anticlea & her lack of wolf features and asks if this is normal. Well, the child's great-grandfather is Hermes...

Meanwhile Hermes himself catches wind that one his of family lines is up to mischief again and goes to check it out. He finds puppy Ody in his cradle and is ecstatic that one of his distant relatives is such a cute little freak. Come morning, Odysseus' nurse will find him cuddling with a toy tortoise that she's never seen before.

For context: hybrids aren't common in the world of this AU, but Odysseus isn't the only one around

(Ex. As a result of Leda & swan Zeus getting freaky, Helen is also a hybrid with flawless dark skin, piercing eyes, and pure white hair to match her splendid white wings. It's no wonder that she's regarded the most beautiful woman in the world. She doesn't often fly, but uses her wings to captivate audiences as she dances)

Laertes & Anticlea are also aware of the rumors that a king of Crete had his own hybrid son, a cross between a man and a bull. King Minos apparently devised a terrible underground maze to trap the poor hybrid in for the rest of its life.

Personally, they both think that's a terrible idea. How in the world could they condemn their own son, who's never wronged them in any way, to a lifetime of darkness? Or an otherwise equally cruel fate?

So they just... raise Odysseus. As if nothing's unusual or wrong about him. They have to admit though, he's such a cute baby. He's got the softest fur and the cutest little toe beans, and he whines in his sleep as if he's already dreaming of chasing prey.

Interestingly, hybrid Odysseus never had a phase where he leaned to crawl. His parents supposed that made sense. His legs are those of a wolf, and their shape isn't conducive to crawling. That means, to their chagrin, that toddler Odysseus was either wobbling on his two wolf legs or full-on sprinting through the house on all fours.

When his younger sister comes around, the king & queen think they're well prepared for another pup. They have a nice low-set cradle made with a heavy woolen canopy to mimic a wolf den, and had Odysseus roll around and play in the nursery so that it would smell of the new pup's kin. But when Ctimene pops out, Laertes and Anticlea gawk at her in befuddlement because she's completely normal. Where is her tail? Her ears? Her paws and fur? Why does she look like that?

At least Ody gets along well with his new sister. More than once, a nurse or Anticlea went to check on young Ctimene in the middle of the night, only to see a set of amber eyes in the moonlight holding vigil over her cradle.

As time goes on, it's quite difficult to organize safe play time between the siblings. Odysseus' instincts are to roughhouse with fangs and claws (which he's slowly starting to develop) & he indirectly teaches Ctimene to act like a wolf pup. She bites him back and yips like a dog when he treads on her toes. That does make their parents worry that Odysseus might end up as more wolf than man, but they'll have to wait and see. There's still hope for Odysseus, seeing that he's acquiring language at a rate comparable to most other children.

The two parents end up quite relieved as the years go by and Odysseus seems to growing up like any other boy. He speaks fluently without issue, had no difficulties learning to read, and in fact, is quite intelligent and curious. Since Ithaca is on the smaller side in terms of city-states, it'd be nigh impossible to keep his condition a secret from the public. So Ody is dressed in regular clothes and fitted with specially-made sandals to accommodate his wolf feet. The only adjustment needed in his clothing is a slit for his tail, otherwise when it wags or raises, Ody basically pulls up his entire chiton.

There are few wolves on Ithaca or the surrounding islands so Odysseus grows up as quite the novelty (I mean, more so than he already is). Most of his people have never seen a wolf and often mistake him for a dog, thinking he resembles the earth-colored farm dogs that are more common on the island, or perhaps the smaller swift-footed dogs that assist the fishermen. Laertes, having hunted big game before, including wolves from the mainland, is adamant that his child is a wolf. Odysseus' pointed triangular ears, stunning amber eyes, and his tawny-brown hair/coat are more similar to that of a wolf than a dog (I'm taking my inspo from the irl Eurasian Wolf btw)

As I mentioned in my first post here, hybrid Ody does have a ton of energy as a child. He loves to swim, run, and hunt with his father.

Laertes certainly takes Odysseus out hunting with him earlier than most would consider safe for a child. It turns out, not only does Odysseus love it, but he's also an exceptionally gifted tracker. His sharp nose and hearing mean that his father has no need for a hunting dog. And when they catch fresh meat, even though Anticlea insists that Odysseus must learn to eat and behave like a proper person, Laertes can't help but carve out a few strips of meat from the flank and let his son eat them raw. It's their little secret, he says with a wink.

One day, when Odysseus is perhaps seven or eight years old and on a hunting trip with his father + a few other men, he's hot on the trail of a herd of deer when he suddenly stops dead. Laertes is confused and asks Odysseus if there's something wrong. All of a sudden, Odysseus is trembling from head to toe and crying softly about wanting to go home.

"It must be a bear," a friend of Laertes says. It's about the only animal that could possibly spook Odysseus. The only issue is that, while wolves are rare on Ithaca, bears are even more elusive.

Laertes tries to coax his son to keep moving, but Odysseus can only cower with his tail between his legs and his ears flat against his skull. He starts to cry and insist that he wants to go home, even clinging to Laertes' thigh out of fear.

Having no idea what's wrong and never having seen his son like this before, the king decides to call off the hunting party and return home. As soon as they escape the mountainous forest, a sudden storm rolls in from the sea and pounds Ithaca with fierce winds and heavy rain. Laertes thinks that, had they stayed, they surely would've lost a man or two in their attempts to escape the storm.

A year later, Laertes is attempting to teach Odysseus how to tend to the land. A good king doesn't just lead his people, but feeds them as well. As the prince and heir, Odysseus should know useful skills such as farming, animal husbandry, and how to raise olive trees. Odysseus follows along with only a mild interest, finding it not nearly as exciting as hunting, when he sneezes and covers his nose with his hands.

"Papa!" he says, "The ground here smells bad."

Not having forgotten Odysseus' instincts on the mountain, Laertes tries to find out exactly what his son means, but Ody is still too young to fully explain himself. So Laertes conducts a test. He organizes for all the usual farmlands to be tended to as usual, but only puts half as much man power into the patch of land that Odysseus insists "smells bad".

Come harvest time, and that particular patch of ground failed to produce anything useful due to a blight hidden deep underground. It's an unfortunate loss, but it was only a few acre's worth of land. Laertes is glad that he spared the poisoned land his people's efforts.

By the time Odysseus is like 10-11, he's out hunting and exploring the woods on his own. He hears tale of a massive boar terrorizing the mainland, some beast so huge that spears and clubs have no effect on it. He thinks little of the stories, assuming such a huge creature wouldn't be able to swim. That is, until stories from the costal villages reach the palace of an unkillable boar ravaging their farmlands.

The boar might have a great deal of stamina, but so does Odysseus. Without his father or anyone else, he tracks the boar all over the island for days at a time, never losing his way home since he paws at the trees and leaves a scent trail to follow. Odysseus hunts small game like birds and rabbits to keep him sated and sleeps in tree boughs so as to not be caught by surprise.

It's a game of attrition, to see who can outlast who. At last, muddy and disheveled but no less excited by his greatest hunt yet, Odysseus finds the boar. It's been driven mad by the scent of wolves wherever it goes and is looking for a fight. Odysseus had been carrying a bow and quiver with him, but had been saving all his arrows for the boar. He spots a gash in the creature's hide, a few inches deep, from where a spearhead might've pierced it but failed to deliver a lethal blow.

Odysseus narrowly dodges the boar's first few charges until he can get a safe distance away. With the proper footing and stance that his father showed him, he raises his bow and fires just as the boar turns to face him. The arrow hits true and fresh blood spurts from the old wound.

An empty quiver later, and Odysseus is attempting to gnaw off one of the fallen boar's legs with just his teeth. He's so hungry and surely, his mother and father wouldn't reprimand him for enjoying the fruit of his labor even in such a messy fashion. If only he had a long knife to carve out the truly valuable meat like the organs...

Odysseus freezes as he catches a new scent on the wind. It's like nothing he's ever smelled before. It's like an oncoming storm, but hotter? It's electric, kind of like the tang of metal, and makes all his hairs stand on end. What is that?

"Show yourself!" he says, leaping to his feet with blood in his teeth, "I know you're watching me!"

Despite not hearing or seeing anything, he knows that someone else is with him.

"I can smell you!"

And a woman, taller and more grand than any being Odysseus has ever seen before, appears out of thin air. Somehow, Odysseus doesn't yelp in surprise when she appears.

She doesn't necessarily smell hostile, despite her towering presence.

She smells... like a friend.

[somepsychopomp]

More Hybrid AU thoughts w/ wolf pup Odysseus who was a menace as a child. He's not a dog, he's like 50% actual wolf and will behave like one. So he's fiercely independent and never calls on his nurse, servants, guards, etc. for anything bc it literally never occurs to him to do so.

He wants candied figs but they're on the top shelf of the kitchen?

3 y/old Ody is gonna try to jump and scamper his way up the shelves until he can knock that jar down.

He doesn't want to eat cooked meat?

If the palace servants won't provide him with raw meat, he'll dig around the gardens until he can find something like a mouse, snake, or mole. He’ll even try to snatch low-flying birds out of the air.

He wants to play outside even though it's midnight?

Odysseus is going to use his whole body to push one of the chairs or chests in his room under the window so he can get at the latch. From there, it's an easy trot across the palace roof, a somewhat scary climb down the nearest trellis, and boom- he gets to run around the entire courtyard and howl to his heart's content.

That is, until his parents find out.

Laertes and Anticlea can barely keep up with him sometimes. Little Ody hates wearing clothes, has the most energy at sunrise and sunset, and doesn't play with his toys so much as gnaw them to pieces. But they both still love their pup & want to try to teach him how to behave.

As I've mentioned in one of my other posts, Laertes brings Odysseus hunting with him. He makes Ody wear clothes but permits his son to romp around barefoot. Honestly, it's mostly Anticlea that insists he needs to wear shoes. Odysseus has the legs of a wolf so Laertes doesn't think he needs footwear.

But the hunting is a great way for Odysseus to blow off steam & to start learning how to take orders/obey his father. It helps that the king gets up early and is out in the woods by dawn, when his son is most active.

And to encourage him to walk on two legs, Laertes will hold a strip of juicy, raw meat over Ody’s head and won’t let him have it until he stands all the way up. Odysseus doesn’t even notice his dad taking baby steps backward, forcing him to walk forward on two legs if he wants his snack.

At home, Anticlea instructs the servants to cook Odysseus' dinners as lightly as possible. No matter the meat- whether it be lamb, bird, fish, etc- they heat it up just enough to stay warm on the plate. Odysseus loves it. But slowly, so slowly he doesn't even notice, his mother commands the servants to cook Ody's food more thoroughly until he can stand to eat as any other person would.

She'll also permit him to walk around the palace barefoot if he wears shoes when they have guests over.

Anticlea will also purposely leave her shawl out in the garden every night so that if Ody escapes, he'll be drawn to her scent. It's easier this way, knowing that if he wants to have one of his midnight romps, she'll be able to find him in the same place every morning, snuggled deep in her shawl.

[somepsychopomp]

Hm. Werewolf AU where Ody turns into a massive tawny wolf every month under the full moon. The Greeks during the Trojan War r like “this is so rad I bet he’ll be really good at killing our enemies”

Only to be kept up all night bc all wolf!Ody does is howl at the moon bc he misses his mate/wife. Just the most pathetic, heart-wrenching crying imaginable. He’s like a massive puppy crying for milk.

Eurylochus & Polites take shifts each night to stay up with their captain and give him treats + pets in an attempt to calm him down.

Alternatively, who among you shall stop me from writing a hybrid AU where Odysseus is born as a little wolf pup hybrid with floppy ears, a button nose, and teeny tiny pink toe beans on his feet. He grows into a gangly teenager with fur that never seems to want to stay neat and combed, plus a sharpened sense of smell and hearing. He hunts Athena’s boar bc at that age, his prey drive is through the roof and also, he’s got too much energy and desperately needs an outlet.

Athena, attempting to take the severed boar’s leg from Odysseus: “Give it here, boy. Come here! Come on, Ody. Give me the leg!”

Only for him to scamper away with his prize.

Also there’s several huge holes in the palace grounds/gardens bc those were his attempts at digging a den.