Denali Lobito
@denalilobito.bsky.social
170 followers 150 following 630 posts
That dorky red wolf behind LobitoWorks. He/they Current icon by Yote Coyote! Professional inquiries: [email protected]
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denalilobito.bsky.social
Slow period in dealer’s, doodling fanart fursuits I wanna make #monokuma #balto
Reposted by Denali Lobito
denalilobito.bsky.social
Denali got a small makeover (before photo is the first pic)! I still want a whole new head, but this tides me over a while. Looking forward to doing some suiting.
denalilobito.bsky.social
Oh, also some super quick hands, because I lost one of mine in my closet somewhere. 😭
denalilobito.bsky.social
Denali got a small makeover (before photo is the first pic)! I still want a whole new head, but this tides me over a while. Looking forward to doing some suiting.
Reposted by Denali Lobito
bimbo.phd
Similar to my post about "liberation means even for that annoying guy you hate" - weird art includes art you personally don't get, don't like, wouldn't spend money on, find unsettling. Games you wouldn't play. Books you wouldn't read. Decommercialise your preconceptions of what art deserves to exist
shaydh.bsky.social
Everyone saying "make weird art!" you better fucking mean it. There better not be an unspoken "but not too weird" tacked on at the end.
Reposted by Denali Lobito
denalilobito.bsky.social
Not me reworking a three year old piece the day before we leave for a con 😅 Still not perfect but it’s better.
denalilobito.bsky.social
Aw, kind of you to say! And yay will def say hi!!
denalilobito.bsky.social
Not me reworking a three year old piece the day before we leave for a con 😅 Still not perfect but it’s better.
denalilobito.bsky.social
I also personally can justify fun purchases better if it’s a functional item… thinking your work could be nice as wall-mounted headphones holders, pen holders, bookends, stuff that’s decorative but functional too.
denalilobito.bsky.social
I would give more attention to your custom paint job listings and use “YCH” language, maybe put it in the thumbnail image and put it on the first page of the shop. A wolf or other canine addition would be nice since there’s already a couple cats.
denalilobito.bsky.social
I'm so sorry you're dealing with this. I've had similar thoughts this year and it's really scary, crafting is all I'm qualified to do. The economic problems are affecting everything.

Are you open to any suggestions? I had a couple ideas for you.
denalilobito.bsky.social
Someone in my dream told me that fear is my master and I can’t stop thinking about it.
denalilobito.bsky.social
This packaging is so simple but it looks so freaking good aaaa
denalilobito.bsky.social
Might have to move soon 😩
denalilobito.bsky.social
I wish I had time and energy for this, been watching a lot of Project Runway and getting ideas hehe
goblfc.org
Are you ready to be BLTV's Next Top Model?

Be a part of the Fashion Show!

Show off that peak Contestant or Host fit at the Sierra Panel Room on Wednesday starting at 10:30am!

#BLFC2025
denalilobito.bsky.social
Brought me to tears, thanks for sharing.
Reposted by Denali Lobito
shimi.bsky.social
New zine: “Look Into My Eyes One Last Time”

A final love letter to the self I shed
A prayer for the creature. Becoming
A reckoning, a surrender. Homecoming

This is my deepest wish laid bare—needle, fur, breath, & mercy. Being held with a care I never found.

#AnimalHRT #Therianthropy #ShortStory
A hand-drawn black-and-white cover image in a sketchy ink style. At the top, large stenciled type reads: “LOOK INTO MY EYES ONE LAST TIME.” Below the title is a syringe and a small medicine vial labeled “LUPINEX – Therionyl – 5mL,” with a stylized eye logo on the label. The vial and syringe are crosshatched with vintage texture lines. Below the drawing, in handwritten script, is the phrase: “Homecoming, not vanishing” and the signature Shimi & Critter. [Art on Page] A detailed graphite drawing of a wolf’s eyes. One, the left is more formed than the right — indicating a near but not complete transition. The fur around them is dense and wispy, rendered in fine pencil lines that suggest softness and depth. The eyes are highly realistic and expressive, staring directly outward with intense, soulful focus. They seem alert but ancient—wide with instinct, watching as if waiting for something to begin. The drawing fades at the edges into blank white space, giving the eyes a floating, disembodied presence.

Look into my eyes one last time

Look into my eyes. Hold them close until you can see the last scrap of me — the part that counts thoughts in lists, that weighs choices against rules, that folds shame into tidy, human-shaped pockets. Watch it loosen. Watch the corners of doubt unhook themselves like small animals from a net and dart away. There is no melodrama here, no violent yanking; it slips. The human mind peels like old bark, and underneath, the thing that always was settles warm and terrible and simple.
	They give me the last injection in a room that smells faintly of cedar and lemon. No needles, no cold clinical lecture — only the careful hands of doctors, veterinarians and nurses who know which bones to cradle and which stories to leave untold. I breathe. I lost the ability to count days back. I let the bracing liquid be a gate, not an instruction manual. I do not want to name it; names are the thin net that caught me for years.
	The burn is a rumour. It goes through me sideways — a quiet rearrangement, like a convent bell that signals not death but a calling. My limbs answer first. They stop thinking of movement and begin to remember it: how to fold, to coil, to push. 
Tendons unlearn the polite phrasing of two-legged steps and curve toward the old, fourfold geometry of running. My hands tighten and flatten; the knuckles find a new logic. Fur prickles along my forearms as if a thousand small moths take flight together and settle again. Each hair is a note in a chord I’ve felt… no… known in my bones since childhood.
	Look again. See how the pupils widen, how the whites retreat like a shy moon. My last maps of metaphor — the maps that turned hunger into lists and longing into projects — dissolve. Where there had been a ledger of self, there is now only the immediate ledger of scent and sound and the earth’s exact tilt beneath my weight. I do not mourn the maps. I never used them as well as the human world predicted and as I pretended.
	Sound changes. Those little, trivial noises of the room condense into a chorus: the slow tick of breath in the person beside me, the whisper of fabric, the distant wet confluence of gutters. And underneath that: a low, patient life-frequency — root and soil and river. It is not music so much as an acknowledgment. I find I can hear the insect conversation inside the walls, the sap walking up the birch, the small, stupid heartbeat of a mouse two blocks away. There is an intimacy to it that is almost rude.
	Breath becomes work and worship at once. My ribcage narrows, then widens in ways I know but cannot name. Milk memories — a thing to shame into silence when human — rise like a tide: the cadence of suckling, the doctrinal simplicity of being called to feed and to protect. A swelling around my belly that is not fat but purpose.
 I think of my children who never were, of the packs I have loved in mute pieces. The notion of motherhood is larger than gender; it is a compass with teeth. My children! You are my children and you are my all! My jaw shifts. I feel the slow, inevitable rearrangement — a socket loosens, a hinge finds its voice. A tooth erupts where an organised thought had lived. The smell of iron, rain-damp soil, and sleeping bodies that have waited for me — flooding my mouth like saliva.
Tears come and I do not know if they are human or creature; they taste of salt and release. There is a tenderness in my own trembling that I have never allowed before.
	Outside the window, someone whose scent I knew laughs and it sounds to me like a distant bell. The handlers murmur: careful, gentle, let her and her pack decide. My mouth forms the shape and bark of guttural assent I could not voice when I was wholly human. Somewhere a crate opens as if the world is taking a breath with me.
	They will test me further, yes. They will see whether my newness walks toward the wild or clings to the small, safe hands of fosterers who will teach me boundaries, how to pass in a world of paved things. I do not fear them. I am no longer wrapped in that ledger — of consent, of cost, of consequence. I am wrapped in appetite and mercy. The choice, if there is one, feels less like an argument and more like a direction: toward den or home, toward the kill lovingly taken or the bowl lovingly given.
	Look once more. There is no human drama in my eyes now — only depth, like a riverbed where stones remember every footstep. The last scrap of thought, the tiny librarian of my life who loved lists, things and order, exhales and steps back through the doorway we are leaving open. I feel it go, and where it is gone there is fullness, a pulse that answers the creature’s call without translation.
	This is not a loss. It is not my obliteration. It is the solving of a long, clenched equation. I am not lessened. I am finally the shape I have been learning.
	Look into my eyes, one last time.
	I am awakening.

— Shimi & Critter
@shimi.bsky.social
Reposted by Denali Lobito
remywolf.bsky.social
🐺 PSA on TWP (Tailless Werewolf Prevention) 🐺

Please spread awareness!!
Text reads: "PLZ ABIDE BY T.W.P. THIS SEASON! 
MAKE SUREVYOUR LOCAL WEREWOLF HAS THEIT TAIL

IF UR COLD THEY'RE COLD

DO NOT MAKE THEM CRY!!"
denalilobito.bsky.social
Reposting some old Inktober art... A lot of these came out really cool. Definitely don't have the time to do a drawing a day this month though. Prompt for this one was "Blind".

#furryart
Ink drawing of a young anthro gryphon and an adult rabbit. The rabbit peacefully has eyes closed with a symbolic third eye open on her forehead as colors flow around her. The gryphon looks frustrated, eyes screwed shut as his third eye manifests as an "X". Pure black smoky ink flows around him.
denalilobito.bsky.social
Money has been tight for like two months, if anyone needs random fursuit parts right now HIT ME UP pls… More professional ads will be on @lobitoworks.bsky.social in the coming days so don’t worry about reposting this post 😅 But yeah can do anything but bodysuits right now.
Reposted by Denali Lobito
ericmgarcia.bsky.social
Ok. So there's A LOT of misinformation about the government shutdown, the continuing resolution and gender-affirming care. There was one article in PinkNews that was VERY shoddy about what Trump said. So let's breakdown what's true and what's BS. 1/
www.thepinknews.com/2025/09/29/t...
Trump threatens to shut down US government unless all trans health care is banned
The US government's looming shutdown hinges on anti-trans measures after Donald Trump refused to speak to Democrats unless they were passed.
www.thepinknews.com
denalilobito.bsky.social
I like dancing at con raves in fursuit, and I think it would be a fun way to get in shape if I did it more often but I hate the idea of dancing alone in my house to practice 😭 It's embarrassing.