#the topic of this post was to find the origin of the Red SOUL

[tonythr]

The Watcher's telescope view is a social commentary and here's why

Ok so let's set some things right first. City of Tears is amazing.

(Yes, Pale Court is also an amazing mod)

I've played Hollow Knight many times, and City of Tears is probably the one location I never get tired of. The scenery, the lore, the room layout, the music, the atmosphere - it's all perfect. It's the culmination of Halllownest's beauty, the peak of the game's art style, and the narrative's most essential location. City of Tears is the heart of Hollow Knight.

This game is a story about a Kingdom and its death, a tragedy of a society that was built on dreams of light but ultimately was consumed by the light so much that darkness became its only hope. And City of Tears stands at the center of this story. So it's fitting that the themes of corrupted dreams, society flaws, and dark hopes are what shape the lore and atmosphere of this beautiful, gorgeous location.

Did you ever notice that the tears of this Kingdom are dark despite them originating in a glowing blue lake, and the waters that flood the streets are almost as dark as the void in the Abyss? Do you ever think about how the vibrant blue color of the City is basically a culmination of how the color blue is presented in other locations (Howling Cliffs, Forgotten Crossroads, and later Royal Waterways being more of a remix of it), and how it's tied to the very essence of Hallownest (and how Resting Grounds, the location that contains Blue Lake and also uses a bright blue color, represent the very foundation of Hallownest's history, that being Seer's story about the Moth Tribe's betrayal that started the war between Pale King and the Radiance)? Do you feel like Soul Master basically represents the thunder and the lightning in this never-ending rain? Do you get it????

Anyway yeah, there are many things that can be said about City of Tears, and this is hopefully not the last time I make a post about it. What I want to talk about here is the City's society.

Basically, Monomon said it better than anyone could:

It's a very complicated topic. The narrative basically explores the inner mechanisms of a free mind, how its primary need is finding a purpose, and how its purpose turns out to be a constant need of... something. Anything. As long as there is something to want, a free mind will want it. As long as there is something to yearn for, something to enjoy, something to dream about, our minds are going to move in its direction, never wanting to stop. Because a stasis is worse than death. Because a world without dreams is an empty world.

But then again, isn't constant yearning another instance of, well, constance? If dreams never end but also never evolve, doesn't that create another kind of stasis?

Like I said, it's very complicated. Let's go back to what I was getting at in the first place. What I actually wanted to say is this:

Theese guys fucking fucked up as a society.

It's classic dystopian shit (or maybe I'm using the wrong word, but you get the point). Rich people are living in luxury while the rest are suffering. They're making gold a fucking religion and are seeing it as the only beauty in the world. The corrupt upper class are using heavy gatekeeping on the lower class.

Literally.

What's interesting is that, at first, we barely see any lower class bugs in the City. There's suspiciously few regular husks in this location, compared to how many rich guys are on the eastern side. But then we get to Soul Sanctum and it all starts to make sense.

There are no red cloaks in those corpse piles. Only the poor were killed for those experiments. It can't be a coincidence. It's straight-up elitism-based genocide (again, I don't know if I'm using the right terms, correct me if there's a better way to say that, but the point is clear).

Also, see how many streets are flooded on the western side in comparison to the eastern side.

Point is, the bugs that ruined the kingdom by always wanting more (what Monomon wrote about) are most likely theese rich ones. It's a very fitting thing for this dystopian narrative: neverending greed that leads to the downfall of a civilization.

There's a note in the Hunter's Journal that describes it in the best way possible:

For every location in the game, there is a place that functions as the center of its essence, its narrative heart, the culmination of its themes. For Queen's Gardens it's the White Lady's cocoon, for Greenpath it's the Lake of Unn, and for City of Tears (or at least its eastern part, the one with the upper class) it's the Watcher's Spire. The tallest building of the great capital. The home of (evidently) the most rich and influential bug of the City's high society. Literally the top of this social hierarchy.

He is also arguably the most mysterious dreamer out of all three. I mean, why does he have only one eye? What type of bug is he? How did he get this much power? Does he really have some kind of connection with the Collector? Is he a motherfucking fluke? Why does he seem to have an obsession with serving the King?

That last question is kinda answered by the cut content though.

That last sentence is kinda confusing. Is it regret? Is it humility? Is it pride in his sacrifice? In any case, here we see that Lurien actually knew that the Pale King was literally a god, and desired to worship him, like any other bug yearns to worship some kind of deity. So while other bugs of Hallownest worshiped PK because he was a monarch, albeit a godlike one (for all they knew he could be just an extraordinary bug, but a bug nonetheless), Lurien worshiped him as an actual god. And the intricacies of worshiping a god are one of the central themes of the game. From the moth tribe's betrayal of Radiance leading to the birth of the Infection to the Godseeker's shenanigans leading to the birth of the Shade Lord - the game makes multiple statements about gods, religious devotion and the semantics of divine power. Just that one idea that a god takes its power from the ones that worship it deserves its own post - heck, it deserves its own book.

So yeah, Lurien's devotion to the King is an important part of the story. He sure is an important character in this narrative. He also got a cool house. Being able to observe the entirety of the Hallownest's capital is badass.

But there's one thing I find odd about all that, and it's the moment we get to actually look through his legendary telescope.

Is it just me, or does this feel kinda... Underwhelming? Almost disappointing? I mean, don't get me wrong, I love this view, it's beautiful, and I would certainly love to be able to see something like this with my own eyes irl, but, looking at this picture, I can't help but wonder...

Did he actually see anything from up there?

In cut dialogue, Lurien talks about how he loves the City's streets, and his hidden lore tablet contains words about his love for bugkind, but... I see neither any streets on this image, nor any bugs (that are not vengeflies). Only spiked rooftops and rainy fog, clouding the view of the actual City.

And sure, the Spire has many windows and even had multiple watchers who were helping Lurien with overseeing the capital...

But his own spot was always this one.

His telescope was sealed in one place, letting him see only a small portion of the City and its life. Almost like his own worldview was stuck in one perspective.

Notice the wording here. It's not "The Seals must remain". It's "Bonds must remain". He's not thinking just about the Seals containing the Infection. He's thinking about the whole Kingdom needing to stay unchanged. His dream is the stasis that the Knight (and also Monomon, Hornet and, in a sense, even Radiance) want to end. The stasis that the Pale King wanted to create in order for his Kingdom (and therefore himself) to be eternal. The stasis that would allow for both Pale King and Lurien's worship of him to remain forever.

But there is always a cost to ascending higher than others, and it's that you can no longer see what's going on below or who's suffering down there. I think Lurien, sitting atop the tallest tower, was actually detached from the struggles of regular bugs. He and his Spire are the culmination of the City's upper class' ignorance towards the ones who were below them on the social hierarchy. A dreamer who dreamt of watching over the very heart of the holy civilization lived so high up he could no longer see his beloved world in its complicated, detailed entirety – and the tears of the stasis created by those like him only blinded him more.

All those flooded streets, those broken buildings, those empty halls, those starving bugs, those sealed doors - even though he watched over them, he couldn't see them.

I'm pretty sure Lurien didn't even know about the Soul Master's experiments, despite the fact that the Soul Sanctum was located right next to his Spire.

Or maybe he knew but chose to turn a blind eye to it (pun intended).

But it's kind of poetic, isn't it? It's the beauty of the tragedy of this game's characters. A Beast who had to surrender everything to the opposing civilization. A Teacher who could no longer teach. A Watcher who couldn't see the truth.

And all that makes me wonder... How much suffering could the Pale King see, standing on that platform at the top of the Abyss, facing away from the pit where his children died?

TL;DR: Lurien's point of view was too high up to actually see what was truly going on down there, both literally and metaphorically. His desire to worship the Pale King made him ignorant of the struggles of regular bugs. Similarly, the extreme elitism of the high society of Hallownest lead to ignorance, discrimination and greed, which ultimately caused the sprawl of the Infection. This side of Lurien's story might also parallel the Pale King's with his ignorance towards the discarded vessels.

TL;DR²: Eat the rich

[tarotwithdanise]

Why are you still single?

A request from anon dropping an ask on my inbox.

༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ how to choose pile? ✧ . ˚

꒰⠀from left to right ; intuitively choose the pile your mind, heart and soul desire for. if you are having trouble choosing the right pile for you, here’s some tips you can do ; (1) take a deep breath (2) close your eyes (3) ask guidance from your guides (4) finally open your eyes and you can choose the right pile for you by the guidance you ask from your guides. if you are still having trouble by choosing the right pile for you let me know because i am willing to help and guide you.

PILE ONE PILE TWO PILE THREE

rules, disclaimer and notes ☆

[ 1. ] just a quick disclaimer : this reading was made for entertainment purposes only. this is obviously a general reading so takes what resonates and leave when it doesn’t, you don’t need to force your energy to read this and leave such a bad comment just to say it doesn’t resonates with you at all because the answer is very obvious! i don’t own any these pictures i collected them from pinterest so credits to the rightful owners.

[ 2. ] please ignore any grammatical errors on my reading since english is not my first language, thank you for understanding!

[ 3. ] third to the last one, if you are not an avid fan of this kind of readings and not totally 100% agree about the outcome of this pac please just ignore this post and don’t engaged anymore, this pac can contains harsh, hurtful comments about you or the other person that can trigger you if possible, so kindly read at your own risk and take how it’ll resonates.

[ 4. ] lastly, be happy and enjoy reading my works — feedbacks, comments, likes, reblogs and follows are really appreciated by the reader. (that’s me, lol :3)

for tips, donation, masterlist and paid readings ☆

TIP JAR DONATION BOX

MASTERLIST PAID READING SERVICES

[ ♡ ] check out my second account @danisetarot.

SOURCE AND CREDITABLE : All of the pictures are collected and downloaded from pinterest , i don’t own any of them but credits goes to the rightful owners however the reading goes and belong to yours truly.

(?) deck used : the antique anatomy tarot.

Pile one

You are still single because you still wanted to uncover the things you didn't know about yourself. You wanted to get to know yourself more deeper than you always sees, you wanted to heal yourself from every pain and traumas you've been experience from your past. You want to achieved and enjoy the life of being single before settling down in a relationship because you might think it might be a distraction to your personal goal. Because right now you may find yourself questioning how challenging is life is. You are still finding a balance when it comes to money, health and emotions. You still in the phase of life where you are improving. Focusing on yourself and needs is your number one priority right now. You are still single because you want to improve and transform yourself first into someone you wanted to be in mind. And might be your ideal type person is someone who is very original about themselves, someone who is very fond of adventure and creativity and someone who will help you to get out of your comfort zone.

Pile two

You are still single because you are still waiting for someone to reach out to you, this person can be your ex, a crush or someone who you currently manifesting. But as far as i see here, they won't reaching out to you anymore because they turning their back to you. You see many readings that they might reached out you with these previous months ends that never even happen because the truth is you are not the part of those topics, those readings wasn't made for you. You barely have self-love for yourself, you still need to find your soul before commiting in relationship. Find what's triggering your red flags and try to fix and heal them. Right now, your guides wanted you to find your purpose in life and be that person. Being a single is the best of option for you right now rather finding love to other people.

Pile three

Idk, pile 3 people but babes. You totally asking why? I mean you have a very high standard to the point no one or real people can't reached that out. It's better if you will get down that standard a little bit so those people who wanted to pursue their love towards you can be somehow suited and applicable for your love. You think very highly about loving someone because you are fond of reading and watching perfect ideal type person. Because you think you deserve better and deserve your deep love. Right now, you may find yourself being fine with your single life and not being in relationship. You somehow love and enjoy being single currently and you might doesn't even bother to find love because you know it always on the corner.

© daninixx ── all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, alter, or repost my work.

[veinsfullofstars]

Precious babies - I’m sure nothing bad will ever happen to them.

(ID: Reference sheet for my Kirby OCs, Para Dee and Bow Dee. Visually, Para is a young Waddle Dee with light orange fur, a pale beige face, peach cheek blush, brown eyes, and yellow feet. He wears large round glasses taped on the sides of his head and a green-and-brown plaid bowtie, and there is a little curl of fur swooping up from his forehead. Bow is a smaller Waddle Dee with red-orange fur, a beige face, pink cheek blush, big black eyebrows, brown eyes with a hint of sea-foam blue on the bottom, and gold-yellow feet. She wears a large navy-blue bow on the back of her head, the ribbon rimmed in pale-blue and wrapped around her head in the style of Kirby’s Fighter headband. Additional information below the cut. END ID.)

Just their kid versions at the moment, but there might be teen and adult refs for them in the future depending on how much story stuff I get around to showcasing. I got a couple other story-pertinent characters in mind as well, but they’re still deep in concept stages, so no refs for them just yet, haha. Also, if you guys want refs for young Dedede and Meta, lemme know.

Sketch started some time in 11/23, render started 12/13/23, finished 12/20/23, updated 03/11/24, updated for color correction 11/02/24. NOTE: This was originally posted on my deleted account on 01/08/24. | Childhood Friends AU Masterpost

(OC info updated as of 08/28/24)

—

Some facts about Para Dee:

-His name is just a shortened version of “Parasol Waddle Dee” - in addition to reflecting his Copy Ability, he has yet to find another name that he feels fits him better, so he keeps it as a nickname for much of his childhood and beyond (a common practice among Waddle Dees).

-He is around DDD and Meta’s age, and a little older than Bow.

-He is the middle child in a pretty big family. While he cares for them all very dearly, being crammed in a veritable mosh pit of siblings gets to be a bit much for him sometimes. He hangs out with DDD and co. partially to get away for a while, partially because he was probably going to get roped in with them anyway.

-He shares a deep love of books and learning with Meta, though his interests lean more towards math, science, and mechanical engineering, with space being perhaps his biggest hyperfixation. Seriously, this lad can go on about nebulae and starships and quantum mechanics for hours if you let him.

-Para has an unfortunate habit of “Um, actually”-ing people about topics he knows (or thinks he knows) well, annoying his friends at best and making him an easy target for local bullies at worse…

-Unlike his friends, Para is not a very active or adventurous soul. He is easily startled, chronically un-athletic, and unlikely to harm a fly let alone another person. He much prefers quieter activities like reading and stargazing, especially from the comfort of his own home. The only physical activity he seems to enjoy is rollerskating, though all he does is leisurely roll around the park while watching the others fail at doing cool tricks.

-Though reluctant about most things, Para is especially afraid of heights. Even being slightly up off the ground has him scrambling to cling to the nearest solid object (usually DDD, who has probably picked him up, possibly with the intent to throw).

-While his friends go on about their lofty goals of being kings and knights, Para’s ambitions are relatively lax. He’d like to go to university off-world to study rocket science when he’s older, maybe even learn to build them one day, but that’s about as big as his dreams get, and even those could be narrowed down further to just seeing a real interstellar starship in person. Sometimes, he imagines flying through space on one, seeing all those stars he loves so much up close and personal, even if the idea of being up that high makes his little heart stutter in his chest…

—

Some facts about Bow Dee:

-She is named, unsurprisingly, for the bow on her head, which she has been wearing since she was a baby and practically refuses to remove without a lot of coaxing (stars help anyone who tries to take it off by force). She keeps both the name and the bow for much of her childhood, though she might not keep them (or her pronouns) forever…

-She is the baby of the group (a couple years younger than DDD, Meta, and Para).

-She comes from a relatively small family, taken care of by her two (extremely cool) moms and an older brother who is often away at school or out with his friends (usually to get away from his "obnoxious baby sister"). As a result, she is on her own more than she cares to be - hence why she follows DDD and his friends around like an overeager puppy all the time.

-She thinks Meta is the coolest person ever from the moment she meets him. She hovers around him constantly whenever the gang is together (to his slight annoyance), sometimes even mimicking his poses and gestures without meaning to (usually while Meta is mimicking DDD the same way).

-Bow was born with a Copy Ability atypical for Waddle Dees, that being Water. At this point in her life, the most she can do is manifest bubbles at will and maybe manipulate small puddles if she focuses hard enough. Sometimes, in moments of high stress, she can summon powerful jets of water from nearby rivers, lakes, or even pipes beneath the ground (something that has definitely gotten her into trouble more than once). She will get the hang of her powers with enough time and practice, especially as her interests in oceans, sea life, and sailing grow over time…

-Bow finds it hard to sit still and loses focus easily if she’s not already invested in something (much to her teachers’ frustration). But when she is invested in a task, she will go all in on it until either her energy runs out or something else grabs her attention.

-Bow loves sports and most outdoor activities, constantly bouncing between favorites (though she probably enjoys swimming and surfing the most) and getting super competitive when teams are involved (much to DDD and Meta’s delight, and Para’s dismay).

-On that note, she is the only one of the four who has ever successfully landed a kickflip without getting hurt (at least after the first time).

-Bow - who often forgets that she is the smallest person in the room - will challenge anything to a fight if it makes her angry enough. Literally, she will look a feral Gigant Edge directly in the helmet and put up her little fists like she has any chance at winning. The only exception to this is bugs - she will perish before letting a bug anywhere near here (something DDD never lets her live down).

-If she had a mouth, she would bite.

[2laffy2]

Me: *Randomly watch some genshin impact videos even though I don't play it because i have no patience for the game to get uploaded on my phone*

Me: *look at the fatui Harbinger* Why in the name of the holy Frogs they names are like this *point at Pantalone and Dottore* really who the frog name they Children, Pantalone and Dottore?! (Trousers and Doctor) Omg- 🤣🤣🤣

The Fatui Harbinger be like:

Pierro

〈pieró〉 (or Pierrot) sm, fr. [der. of the name Pierre «Peter»; owner «Pierino»]. – Character from Italian comedy in France, who originally represented the type of the foolish servant, who then moved on to French pantomime, where he gradually took on the character of a pathetic and unlucky lover.

Il dottore

(Unfortunately I can't post more than 10 photos so take this gif of Mr Bean 🙃, you guys can always look for it)

Balanzone, also known as Doctor Balanzone (Dutåur Balanzån in Bolognese), is a mask of Bolognese origin. He belongs to the ranks of the "old men" of commedia dell'arte, sometimes called Doctor Graziano or simply the Doctor.

Native of Bologna, he is the classic "serious", pedantic and presumptuous character. He is a doctor of law: he is in fact the caricature of the learned and pompous Bolognese lawyer. Its very name proves it, in fact Balanzone derives from the Bolognese balanzån, meaning balance, scales, meaning the symbol of the Law. A man with big red cheeks, he has a big belly and usually gesticulates a lot. He wears a small mask that covers only his eyebrows and nose, resting on two large moustaches. His costume represents the dress of the professors of the University of Bologna: black toga, white collar and cuffs, large Bolognese hat, black jacket and cloak. Fussy, quibbling, he finds every little excuse to start one of his endless meaningless speeches. Always ready to boast of his titles, he says he knows every field of human science: right and law first of all, but also history, astrology, philosophy; he talks about these topics in a boring and long-winded way, mixing them into an inextricable tangle. He enjoys a lot of respect among the other masks who often turn to him for legal advice: he does not deny his help but always takes the opportunity to do the thing he likes most: speaking and giving opinions of no value.

Columbina (Colombina)

Colombina is a Venetian mask from the commedia dell'arte, often the object of attention from her master Pantalone and the cause of Harlequin's jealousy.

The only female mask to stand out among so many male characters is Colombina, a lively and clever servant girl. She's lively, pretty, a liar and is from Venice. She is very fond of her equally young and pretty lady, Rosaura, and in order to make her happy she is willing to commit scam after scam.

Arlecchino

Arlecchino (in Bergamo dialect Arlechì) is a Bergamo mask from the commedia dell'arte.

Identified by his colored lozenge costume, his role is usually that of a carefree and cheerful, but also cunning servant, who acts to thwart the plans of his master Pantalone, in cahoots with his friend Brighella, and to pursue his interest loving, Colombina, with wit and resourcefulness. These characteristics make him assimilate to the typical role of the trickster.

(I'm pretty sure that i made a doll of him when i was in elementary school)

Pulcinella

Pulcinella (derived from Puccio d'Aniello, in Neapolitan: Pulecenella) is a Neapolitan mask of the commedia dell'arte.

Pulcinella embodies the Neapolitan plebs, the simplest man, the one who occupies the last place on the social ladder, the man who, despite being aware of his problems, always manages to come out of them with a smile. He is called to represent the soul of the people and their primitive instincts, he almost always appears in contradiction, so much so that he does not have fixed traits: he is rich or poor, he adapts to do all jobs in addition to being a faithful servant, here he is a baker, innkeeper, farmer, thief and seller of miraculous concoctions, he is either arrogant or cowardly, and sometimes presents both traits at the same time by making fun of the powerful. The quality that best distinguishes Pulcinella is his cunning, and it is precisely with his proverbial cunning that he manages to find the ability to solve the most disparate problems that arise before him, but always in favor of the weakest to the detriment of the powerful. Another famous characteristic of his is that of never being able to keep quiet and this is where the expression “pulcinella's secret” comes from, i.e. something that everyone knows. Pulcinella represents a character who has acquired within himself all the symbols and meanings of the popular and peasant world and has brought to all the scenes of Italian theaters, and beyond, a repertoire rich in movements, gestures, acrobatics, typical dances and rituals of the Neapolitan gestural code. In fact, they accompany him on the theater and carnival scenes: the broom, the horn, the cowbells, elements which for the Neapolitans have a propitiatory value and an antidote against the evil eye and jinx.

Scaramouche

Scaramuccia is a mask from the commedia dell'arte, derived from the Captain: boastful and boastful, he dressed in black according to the uniform of the Spaniards stationed in Naples. In truth, however, the mask was born in Naples with the name Scaramuzza, taking on the form Scaramuccia (Tuscan) in the eighteenth century.

(Oh and there is also a film that its called Scaramouche but it doesn't has nothing to do with the mask i think-)

Sandrone

Sandrone (Sandróun in Modenese) is the traditional mask of the city of Modena.

Sandrone represents the peasant of the past, rough, but smart and shrewd. He is the spokesperson of the most humble and mistreated people, and always looking for stratagems to make ends meet.

La signora

No mask found, but translated into English means The lady

Pantalone

Pantalone (in Venetian Pantalón) is a Venetian mask and a character from the commedia dell'arte.

Pantalone initially appears as a vicious old man who undermines the young lovers, the courtesans, more often the servants of the comedy.

represents the typical old, stingy and lustful merchant: his very name is the one typically imposed on the males of the wealthy families of the Serenissima.

Tartaglia

Tartaglia is a mask of the commedia dell'arte, born in Genoa at the beginning of the 1600s. It is similar to that of the doctor, from which it derives.

His main characteristic (hence the name) is stuttering.

Il capitano

The captain is one of the oldest masks of commedia dell'arte.

Reborn in other forms in the Italian theater of the 1500s, he sometimes personified the noble and imaginative soldier or the vainglorious braggart who boasted of titles he did not possess and of deeds never accomplished: in both cases he actually poorly concealed the terror of having to face a battle or a duel, contrary to what he continually stated in words.

Like they are almost all (-La signora) Italian masks for comedies?! I can't take them seriously anymore 🤣🤣🤣

I don't think that they the personalities match those of the masks but idk anything about them soo~ i could be wrong ^^

If you guys are interested in the Lore of the masks you can just look for them or ask me questions about them if i reamber something

Oh and I used the Google translator because I feel lazy right now

[chains-of-destiny]

Hi! Your introductory post is amazing?

Care to share some facts about the ROs?

Hey! I'm not sure if you meant this, but here you go (I haven't completed their character pages just yet, so this text might change in the actual game):

Barnabas

Barnabas's personality is a constantly shifting landscape, shaped by the winds of circumstance and the company he keeps. One moment, he can come off as overbearing and controlling, demanding that things be done his way without compromise. Then, in another, he would transform into a charismatic and charming figure, effortlessly winning over those around him with his quick wit and playful banter.

But within this ever-changing terrain lies treacherous crevices and volatile eruptions. The slightest inconvenience or disagreement can trigger Barnabas's explosive anger, causing him to lash out with insults and sharp remarks. This left a trail of fractured relationships in his wake, as those who had experienced his temper found it difficult to forgive and forget. Yet, there are moments of genuine kindness that shine through Barnabas's rough exterior. In those moments, he surprises both himself and others with acts of selflessness and compassion.

Loyalty is the cornerstone of Barnabas's values. He expects unwavering devotion from those in his inner circle and fiercely protects them in return. However, any hint that someone views him as inferior or disregards him will send Barnabas into a rage that can last for days.

As an officer in the Republican Army, his position was secured through his brother's influence and his own magnetic charisma. His comrades respect his tactical prowess but also fear his volatile nature. Many speculate on the origins of Barnabas's temperament, with numerous rumors circulating but none of them providing a definitive answer. Perhaps even Barnabas himself doesn't know the true reason behind his ever-shifting personality.

Zenon

Zenon is a gentle soul, always careful with his words and actions. At social gatherings, you can often find him tucked away in a corner, observing quietly from a distance. Just when it seems like he may finally join in on the conversation, Zenon instead flashes a shy smile and retreats further into his shell. But in the company of close friends, his true personality blossoms like a flower in sunlight. He becomes animated and lively, engaging in deep conversations that showcase his vast knowledge and passionate opinions. His eyes sparkle with excitement as he delves into his favorite topics, eager to share his perspective with anyone who will listen. In these moments, it is impossible not to notice the fire within Zenon—the burning desire to be heard and understood.

Loyalty and honesty are two values that hold great importance to Zenon. He treasures the few close friendships he has cultivated over the years, valuing their trust and unfaltering support above all else. A reliable friend, he is always there to offer a listening ear or lend a helping hand whenever needed. And if you ever want to see him flustered, just look in his general direction for more than a few seconds, and his cheeks will flush a bright shade of red.

Renna

From the moment Renna opens her eyes in the morning to the second she collapses onto her pillow at night, she is in constant motion. She thrives off the adrenaline rush, the thrill of pushing boundaries and testing limits. Every day is a new adventure for Renna, an opportunity to conquer the world and leave her mark. She is charming and charismatic, drawing people in with her infectious energy and magnetic personality.

She values ambition and drive above all else. Renna has seen too many people settle for a mediocre existence, letting complacency creep into their lives like a disease. But not her, she refuses to let that happen. Renna has dreams of dying rich and famous, with her name sung by drunken strangers in rundown taverns. But for now, she settles for the thrill of the chase, the anticipation of the next big score. She knows that success doesn't come to those who wait; it comes to those who chase after it relentlessly and refuse to take no for an answer.

Along with her unwavering determination and infectious energy, Renna possesses proficiency with melee weapons. She wields them with precision and grace, but don't underestimate her ability to fight dirty if necessary. After all, winning is all that matters to Renna, no matter what tactics she must use to come out on top.

Iris

You can learn a thousand little stories and details about Iris without coming any closer to deciphering her true self. When confronted with personal questions, it's like trying to catch a butterfly with a broken net - often deflecting with a witty joke or steering the conversation elsewhere, leaving you more confused than before. Yet, on the surface, she emanates kindness and charisma with a constant smile on her face and a sparkle in her eye. From her parents, she inherited a sharp wit and a curiosity that seems to know no bounds, teetering on the edge of recklessness.

Above all else, she values connection, human connection. It's not the kind of connection that can be easily quantified or measured, but rather the intangible bond that forms when two souls truly understand each other. Iris craves these moments of genuine connection like a desert craves rain, and she will go to great lengths to find them. She would strike up conversations with strangers without hesitation, eagerly listening to their unique stories and uncovering hidden gems just waiting to be discovered. In Iris's eyes, every person holds a story worth hearing within them, and she relishes uncovering them.

Elaine

Elanie is strong-willed and assertive, and she will often come off as rude or abrasive to others, but she makes no apologies for her behavior. Trust does not come easily to her, and she always expects the worst from people. As a result, she tends to stay away from others and prefers to keep to herself in her own corner. With a sharp tongue and quick temper, she isn't afraid to speak her mind, often using sarcasm and biting remarks as her contribution to any conversation.

She values assertiveness and getting things done, no matter the cost. Though she may never admit it, she secretly respects those who stand by their beliefs, even if they differ from hers. However, weakness and indecisiveness are qualities she has no patience for. In any argument, Elanie is a formidable opponent. She will fight tooth and nail to prove her point, never backing down without a fierce struggle.

Along with her sharp mind, her skills in hand-to-hand combat are formidable, and she is highly proficient in using a variety of weapons.

These are the things that come to mind about the ROs without spoiling the story.

[innerbeast]

NAME / ALIAS: aiza ( eye-zuh ) AGE / AGE GROUP: thirty PRONOUNS: he/him, pls & thank u! TIMEZONE: est. WHERE ARE YOU FROM?: u.s. CHARACTERS IN THE GROUP:

dar'khol, raven (tov) & alarian (oc) been around before as multiple characters, but that was years ago!

A LITTLE ABOUT YOURSELF:

i'm terrible with talking about myself and my original follow/intro post was pretty small to begin with, but! i've been roleplaying well over a decade at this point, spanning across multiple websites and apps and have yet to fully lose my love for it! most, if not the majority, of the time ( outside of work ) you'll catch me in games until my eyes feel dry and i can't keep my head up anymore. my interests for that range from cozy sim games to soulsborne nightmares, with rpgs generously sprinkled in. i'll give just about anything a shot, especially if i'm offered a buddy to play along with. ( ex. animal crossing, stardew valley, bloodborne, dark souls, monster hunter, final fantasy, yakuza/like a dragon, guilty gear, blazblue, list goes on ) outside of that i'll draw on occasion or make a few edits. mostly my oc's as they take up 85% of my singular, over-worked braincell. i'm also really big on insects ( arachnids mainly -- scorpions, my beloveds ), monsters & horror, fight aesthetics & themes, purples / yellows / reds / greens, collecting tins of varying sizes and music, babey! ( crank it up until my ears are ringing ). i have a bad habit of yapping a lot when i really get going about some topics, but i'm always fine with ppl popping in to yap along if they want. you're free to find me on twitter @miqoway OR ya can hit me up for my discord, i just hope you like looking at my catboy because he is quite literally everywhere.

[undercover-author]

Marble Hornets + UnderTale soul color assignment list!!

Jay: Red - Determination.

No matter what, he never gave up, for better ... Or worse. Even before he was shot, he called out to Alex, determined to reason with him and to solve things non-violently. Though, because of this, his determination wound up being his downfall. Didn't anyone ever tell him that too much of a virtue could be a vice?

Masky: Orange - Bravery.

He certainly was brave, alright. Bravery isn't the lack of fear. No, true bravery is perseverance through your fears. Along with that, Masky's first solution to any problem is to tackle it. If that's not bravery, and maybe a little bit of stupidity, I don't know what is.

Alex: Yellow - Justice

While yes, Alex is a murderer; he was, in his own, sick and twisted way, looking for justice. He believed that because of this fact, his actions were justified. My opinions on Alex Kralie are a topic for another day, but I will say, I do not think he is a good person, nor do I think he was justified. Nonetheless, he tried to kill Tim in the name of justice. He tried to kill everyone he knew had the Operator Sickness to destroy the Operator. For Justice.

Jessica: Green - Kindness

I was tempted to assign her integrity, but she did lie to Jay a few times. Reasonably so, since at the time she had no idea who she was. But she was one of the kindest people in the whole series. She got a call from a stranger about her missing roommate and upon hearing that Amy was, in fact, not with Alex, she was willing to go to great lengths to help find her. The last thing we hear from her is that she wanted to meet Jay, asking where he was. Then, when Tim had fallen to the ground in a coughing fit, she asked, "Should I call an ambulance?!" She resembles true kindness in the hellish world that is Marble Hornets

Hoodie: Cyan - Patience

Oh, this man is nothing if not patient. Maybe a little god comlex-y but that's... actually, no, that's a part of my point. Hoodie seemed to feel that he was both in control of everything and in control of nothing. To me, he seemed to set up pieces and wait for them to all fall into place. He'd post a cryptic totheark entry and wait for Jay to crack the code. He'd lure people to places and wait for them to find whatever he sent them there for. He was patient with Jay and how thick his skull could be. Though, he was less patient with Tim in season three, when his control began to slip out of his hands, Hoodie still tried to give him time. Even in the end, when his fate was expressly clear, he simply waited for his time and when it came he let go.

Brian: Blue - Integrity

I define integrity with the definition I was told in the second grade; Doing the right thing, even when no one is watching, even when nobody asks. Now, originally, I was going to assign Brian kindness. He and Jessica would have been switched. But, going off the definition I just gave, kindness would be encompassed into it. I would like to say Brian had a lot of integrity. He invited Alex to go with himself and Tim to dinner, he auditioned for Marble Hornets in the first place, wishing to help his friend with his project, so on. But I'd like to turn your attention to entry 51, this is where I feel Brian's integrity is on full display. He is anxious about trespassing, but still wants to help Alex. Once he wakes up, though, what is his main concern? Finding Alex, likely to make sure he's okay. What does he do when he discovers Tim? Brian rushes to his side with worry very clear in his voice. He even tries to help him up to get Tim the fuck outa there. (It's very likely not Tim, rather being Masky, but not the point here.) Brian could have just as easily ran the hell away, but he wanted to help his friends, even if it was risky one way or another.

Tim: Purple - Knowledge

Prefacing this with the fact that I know the canon virtue for the purple soul is perseverance and while, yes, that would fit Tim, I personally like to say it's knowledge because determination and perseverance are essentially the same thing and I think knowledge or curiosity would fit the items better.

With this one, I'd like to focus on the fact that from the start, Tim had more knowledge than he let on. Of course, it was limited due to his amnesia and, for the sake of debate, dissociation. In this paragraph, we are separating Masky from Tim and going along with the popular theory that Tim has Dissociative Identity Disorder because that is how I, personally perceive his character. But, time and time again, it's hinted that Tim knows so much more than he lets Jay see and eventually, we, too, come to know most, if not all of what he went through and the knowledge he kept

BONUS!!

Seth: Blue - Integrity

Seth really was just trying to help Alex out. Even after Alex's whole blow up at him, he still apologized.

Sarah: Cyan - Patience

If there was a color for sass, I'd give her that, but working with hot-headed Kralie, you know damn well she had to have a hell of a lot of patience working with him

Amy: Green - Kindness

Even after Alex lied to her however many times she did, she still stayed with him. It caused her premature death, but until the very end, all she ever did was love him. GOD I LOVE AMY

Tunnel Guy: Blue - Integrity

This man saw a stranger in a tunnel and went to try and help him since he was concerned for Alex's wellbeing. This man!! Saw a total stranger!! And tried to help him!! AND HE GOT KILLED FOR IT!!! BRUHH???

[cinderthefallenmaiden]

Neopolitan's Fate

TW: This post contains discussion of possession, suicide and animal death reader discretion advised

Spoiler Warning: This post contains spoilers for RWBY Volume 9 chapter 8

After being reintroduced into the story in V6 Neopolitan has had her revenge on Ruby. Neopolitan stopped whatever the Curious Cat had planned for Ruby and our red hooded hero has taken her own life after Little is killed. Being denied his plans for Ruby, Curious Cat turned his attention on Neopolitan who has lost the will to live and has shut down. So, what will happen to Neopolitan?

Well before I get too deep into this topic and talk about the different ways Neopolitan's arc could wrap up, I want to take a moment to review some things.

The first thing I want to bring up is that Non-Afteran like Ruby can ascend. Whether or not this is because of Ruby's silver eyes heritage is as of yet unclear. However, for the sake of this post, let's just say that you don't have to be a Non-Afteran silver eye warrior to ascend, it would then be possible for Neopolitan to ascend.

Second thing I want to address is that out of the three major assumptions Jaune has made about the Ever After, so far only one of them has been proven true so far. We don't know:

Why Jaune was poisoned

If it was Lewis or Alyx who returned to Remnent

If the tree devours souls

With all this in mind I have come up with three possible scenarios for what will happen to Neopolitan.

Scenario 1: Neopolitan permanently dies

For Neopolitan to permanently die I think one of the following must be true:

The original Jabberwalker that Neopolitan encountered is alive to kill her

Jaune is right about the tree devouring souls for substance

Curious Cat has some other way of permanently killing Neopolitan

So I'm going to give my takes on this in order. I'm about 70/30 in favor of the idea that Neopolitan did kill the Jaberwalker and they are no longer part of the picture.

While it is possible that Curious Cat could sacrifice Neopolitan to the tree to escape the Ever After, we are again relying on something Jaune didn't see with his own eyes.

Again while it is possible that the Curious Cat might have some life ending power, I think it is more likely that on their own CC isn't that powerful and only made a move on Ruby and Neopolitan when they were weakened.

Scenario 2: RWBYJ vs CC possessed Neopolitan ends with Neopolitan ascending

After Ruby and Little return from the tree, they reunite with WBYJ. As a team they all discuss what to do about CC and Neopolitan. After much discussion they decide that CC must be stopped.

Finding CC still in Neopolitan's body, Ruby and company confront CC which leads to a end of volume fight. CC is defeated but in the process Neopolitan body succumbs injuries from the fight. RWBYJL see Neopolitan ascend hinting at the idea that Neoplitan will find a new purpose.

Scenario 3: Ruby uses the power of the silver eyes to free Neopolitan

This is similar to Scenario 3 but with major differences. Ascended Ruby and Rusted Knight Jaune both come to the conclusion that although what Neopolitan did was horrible, at the end of the day she is someone who was suffering through unresolved trauma same as them.

They fight CC and weaken them enough for Ruby to use her silver eyes to help free Neopolitan from CC.

After the fight Ruby asks Neopolitan what she wants to do now.

[joojconverts]

Getting to know better

quick little post before going to bed lol. Already did this game before but I really like it so why not do it again?

thank you @deniisu-sims for tagging me, uma querida kkk!

Rules: answer the questions and tag 9 people you want to get to know better.

• favourite color: as always, red!!

• currently reading: Right now I’m reading “O Livro de Ouro da Mitologia - História de Deuses e Heróis”, which is originally by Thomas Bulfinch, an american writter, but I can’t seem to find the original book in english... I guess this is a compilation of his three books, but for some reason it’s only on portuguese? I don’t know, but it’s a reeeeally cool book that talks about the entire history of the greek mithology, which is HUGE. I recommend it if you like this topic and if you’re brazilian/portuguese.

• last song you listened to: Tony Bennett, Amy Winehouse - Body and Soul. Anything by Amy Winehouse just moves me. And Tony is just beyond words.

• last series you watched: The Crown, as I should

• sweet, spicy or savory: Sweets, obviously

• craving: Right now I want a hot dog or something lol

• tea or coffee: As deniisu said, as a brazilian, it’d be against the law if I said anything other than coffee. I’m addicted yes

• working on: The peaky blinders outfit, by HLS (it’s so hard help)

Tagging: @venusprincess-ts3 @keibea @bioniczombie @aisquaredchoco @faerielandsims @bast-sims @poisonfireleafs @purpurasims @danjaley

[severevoiddragon]

Some thoughts about my Minecraft world's lore / aka: me rambling about worldbuilding into the aether (note: this is the lore for my MC YouTube series, the channels called PixPickle if you wanna see, but this is NOT my headcanon for all worlds. Purely mine.)

Hidden under a read more so this Long Post does not take up Too Much Space

The Overworld is not a peaceful, idyllic, safe place to live. This is obvious because of the monsters and the lava on the surface and the water that can kill you. However, it is the most hospitable place for Players, Passive and Friendly Creatures and Villagers.

There is a distinction between Players and Villagers, not just because Villagers are AI. Villagers are humans, people who live in, well, a village. Players are more shapeshifters, with more advanced thinking. This is an Idea I'm fleshing out still so if you're reading this and have ideas lmk!

Zombies and Zombie Villagers are also different species. Zombies are, and always have been, zombies. Zombie Villagers are villagers turned zombie (wow, who'd have thought!) (Such an original idea ik don't murder me I'm making a semi comprehensive list)

Ancient cities and Nether Portals. Oooh this is Fun. So in my world, c!Pixie (my character) is alone, a lone Player. But there are shipwrecks, ruined nether Portals, buried treasure, and the Ancient Cities. Plus, there are Explorer's Guides. Any other book written is by the Villagers, but not the Explorer's Guides. The Ancient Cities used to be filled with Players. They built... Everything. So why are they gone?

The Explorer's Guides are still relevant, as the world hasn't changed much. The mechanics of the world haven't, at least. Ancient Cities didn't used to be underground, and the skulk really hadn't invaded so much.

Onto my favourite bit of worldbuilding so far, The Nether. The portals aren't safe methods of transport, they're tears in reality. The larger a portal is, the more unstable it is (yes, this includes the weird portal in the ancient city). The larger a Nether portal, the more Nether creeps in. This only works for activated portals.

The Nether wasn't always red and corrupted. But, as time wore on, it became hostile to people from the Overworld, with Insane temperatures, both hot and cold (only in Soul Valleys). Likewise, the atmosphere is so different that the Overworld is hostile to Nether creatures.

I've made another post on most of my Nether worldbuilding and if I find it I'll add a link here: Nether

Wither Skeletons are corrupted skellies, and Piglins & Hoglins are mutated pigs, with Piglins evolving first. Magma are slimes adapting to the hot environment, while blazes and ghasts evolved naturally.

Endermen. They are the only creature who can safely inhabit all 3 dimensions. (Second place is skellies who can safely inhabit 2 dimensions!). I dunno what to do about endermen lore-wise so. That's all for now.

The End!!! Strongholds were made by the Old Players in order to access the End dimension. Some people decided to move to the end, and created the Giant Cities and Boats. They evolved to be able to inhabit the End, but now they're gone and only the shulkers remain :( (shulkers evolved naturally, and were there before the End Players, only recently moved into the empty cities tho)

The dragon was an egg left to hatch in order to guard the End. Had the Old Players (inc. End Players) not disappeared, the Dragon would have been tamed to guard the End on their behalf.

C!Pixie has a basic knowledge of how things work, she's just stumbling around this crazy world they've found herself in. They're not really sure how she got here too, and neither am I (hope this helps)

Skulk!!! Is like the Nether!!! Both are corruption!!! Fun!!!

Except Skulk infects internally, so you don't notice it's infected until you cut it open and oh god it's dead, while Nether corruption is Very Visible on the outside (skulk blocks visible show Very Corrupted skulk things)

I haven't even got on to the topic of Wardens or Withers huh.

Wardens are skulk-corrupted Advanced Iron Golems. How much was the Old Players experimenting with Iron Golems to make a Very Powerful security system, and how much was the skulk? Ig we'll never know.

Soul sand. Skulk having souls in them. Those souls in the shriekers. All the same thing yep.

The Wither!!! I have no thoughts so come back to me later.

That's all I can think of for now, if you're reading this far please let me know because I'd be interested to hear your thoughts!!!

[mask131]

Dante’s Inferno: The game

Last time there was a big Helluva Boss release, I made a series of posts exploring the Hell depicted by Alighieri in his Divine Comedy. Today, in honor of the long-awaited release of the finale of season 1 I give you... Again, a series of posts exploring Dante’s Inferno. BUT this time it is the video game!

Everybody who was a bit interested in the topic of Hell heard of this game one way or another. Dante’s Inferno is, as the name says, a video game turning the Inferno poem of Dante Alighieri into a monster-burster wall-crashing exploration game inspired by the likes of God of War. It is a fun, short, simple game, which was very easy to play for the teenager that I was when I discovered it. But what truly got me into this game - what a LOT of people adored about this game - was the visuals. Such delightfully dark, morbid, but clever and inventive visuals! 

And it is not a surprise when you learn that the game was designed by FRIGGIN WAYNE BARLOWe HIMSELF! He, and the visual team of the game, made sure that each of the circles of Hell would be a twisted take on the sin it reflects and the landscape originally described by Dante.

Now, some of you might not know of the game or its story - so I will briefly recap it. Beware, this is a very LOOSE interpretation of Dante’s Inferno, turned into a dark fantasy, brutal and edgy epic. As I said, comparisons with God of War were inevitable. In this story, Dante is not a poet anymore, but a former member of the the Third Crusade (between King Richard and Saladin), a deeply faithful (and powerful) Christian warrior, who however was forced to commit all sort of atrocities and horror during the battle - but now he returns to his Italian countryside home where his father and Beatrice, his bride-to-be, awaits... Only to find them both killed. Not just killed - in the case of Beatrice, stolen away. You see, the soul of the deceased Beatrice appears one last time to Dante... before the Devil himself, as a dark wraith, appears near her, and snatches her away into the depths of Hell, invoking that because Dante broke a certain vow he doomed his lover... Dante, to get back the soul of Beatrice from the clutches of Satan, will plunge into the depths of Hell to get her back - he literaly bursts open the Gates of Hell (which were designed after Rodin’s Gate of Hell) to plunge, still alive, into Hell... 

But not before having a personal fight with the Grim Reaper himself, and DEFEATING HIM to take away the REAPER’S VERY OWN SCYTHE, which will become Dante’s main weapon - alongside the cross Beatrice gave him before he left for the Crusade, and still charged with the holy energy of Beatrice and Dante’s respective faiths... Yep, it’s this kind of game. 

Before going into the details of each levels, a few additional points that I think are part of the interesting style and framework of the game.

1) As you can see by Dante’s design (above), he has a red cross literaly stitched into his chest. This is not just an edgy detail - it is actually part of the storytelling of the game. In-universe, Dante’s stitched this red cross onto his own chest, as he was by the “dark forest” of the beginning of the poem, returning from the Crusade. He did this as a way to do a personal penance for the many crimes and atrocities he commited during the Crusade - the red-cross literaly representing the guilt and the burden of his sins, that he decides to openly carry onto himself. From a game point of view, the cross actually serves as a way to bring the flashbacks much needed for the gamer to explore the past of Dante and the actual plotline unfolding. Because the cross retells all of the sins of Dante in a stylized, Tapestry of Bayeux-format. And when it is time for a flashback to understand how we got there and what was this fictional Dante’s life, the tapestry “animates” itself for the flashback. 

2) There is at least one flashback per level in the game, because the storytelling itself is closely tied to the gameplay itself. When the game begins, we don’t know much. We know who the main characters are, and what just happened, but we don’t know anything about their personalities, or how we got there. In each of the Circles of Hell, Dante is forced to confront one of his personal sins (or how he was affected by the vice of the Circle he is in) - and so each flashback corresponds to the theme of the level Dante is in. For example, in Lust we discover that Dante was actually unfaithful to Beatrice during the Crusade, as he agreed to free a female prisoner in exchange for sexual favors ; while in the Gluttony circle we discover that Dante’s father was a horrible person, a gluttonous and greedy drunkard that abused his large wealth in a life of excess. Similarly, Dante will meet back in Hell several key persons of his life - members of his family, or companions of arms - as this trip through Hell is literaly about Dante fighting his own memory, actions and hauntings. In fact (mini-spoilers), the Devil confirms the self-exploration nature of Dante’s trip by the end, as he reveals that the path Dante took was the one of his personal Hell, which explains why he kept bumping into people closely tied to him. By exploring Hell, Dante had to explore the dark depths of his own soul. 

3) The gameplay system is tied around a form of evolution - by accumulating a number of points, you can buy new attacks or make your attack evolve. However, what is quite interesting is that there are two “evolution paths” disponible, based on your choices. As in the original poem, Dante meets a lot of “famous damned”, souls of historical sinners now reduced to weeping, begging carcasses in each corners of Hell. The game offers you a choice for each of them - you can either punish them or absolve them. If you punish them for their sins, you stab them with the Scythe of Death, destroyign their afterlife-body and making them burn with the fire of death (apparently Death is part of the hellish forces, or closely associated with them in this world?). If you absolve them, you use your holy cross to purify them of their sins and send their souls to a higher and more positive form of afterlife (purgatory probably given it is Dante’s cosmogony). 

But this choice has an affect on the “points” you collect, because absolving gives you “holy” or “positive” points, while punishing gives you “unholy”, “negative”, “hellish” points. The positive points are for the first path of evolution - centered around attacks from your holy cross. These are attacks of holy-energy and heavenly-magic, whose effects are destructive - but because they purge the demons of their evil and erase the very essence of wickedness of the wretched spirits of Hell. The other points, the unholy ones, are for the second path of evolution, about “devilish” attacks, where your scythe-based attacks evolve into becoming more destructive fueled with the hatred, evilness, and brutality of Hell itself. These attack-evolution paths are basically supposed to represent how the character of Dante evolves. They unfortunately do not have any actual influence onto the scenario of the game itself, but they will determine if you want to play a holy character, a truly good and Christian man who goes to Hell to absolve his crimes, save people, and fight evil in hope of bringing salvations to others (the holy path, which fills you with heavenly and angelic energy) ; or if you are just a brutal and sinful warrior that never truly redeemed, that in front of Hell itself becomes more devilish and demonic in nature, and finds his own strength in his own crime and the violence around him, fighting fire with fire - and evil with evil. 

[platonicpinotnoir]

Educated Monkeys & Flying Horses

Welcome to me blog sire...! I'll respond to any name, including Rhubi. Currently in my dragon ball phase.

This blog is new and this post is subject to change.

This blog is for disturbing things. But not exclusively - I have no allegiance to explicit taboo, and there is no point that I am trying to make in being deliberately gross (unless stated otherwise; and not to overshadow the artistic value, merit, and necessity of being purposefully counter or grotesque & macabre in a sensitive sense).

Things well within the range of acceptable/conventional and empathetic, and are still difficult and raw and honest and vulnerable, are of steep interest as well.

Even just things that I find BOLD! Given stigma or otherwise.

Anything piquant in a certain, potent way, frankly!

Also, this blog will GET PERSONAL. It's a mode to enable self-expression and self-comprehension, in the end.

This goes without saying but: This post is prone to change/replacement, as no one can tell the future, and who knows what features + atmospheres + intentions will move in and out of this blog (and in other words, myself). I don't know if I'll even have time to do what I want with this blog, or if I will even still care now that I've set my intentions and vented my passion. This is a personal journey that I'm already a ways into, and my opinions and mindset have changed a lot in that time. I would expect to post forward, toward deeper understanding and harmony, as well as in retroactive art-moods in order to express the backlog of ideas that I've entertained. But if the latter doesn't happen, that's alright. I'll try to let things pass with grace, then. I won't hold my horses, but I won't beat them, either.

It's unnatural, and natural given the unnatural circumstances: see it before you and accept reality. View it with due criticism, contempt, or aversion, and without taboo.

When it comes to fucked up art, my favorite themes are those of an inappropriate intimacy, a damning devotion, and misappropriated/forsaken parental/power dynamics - and/or anything that I can call "honey horror" as an aesthetic term.

I am also very partial to the patterns of freezing -> thawing and of a soul returning (hopelessness as felt by a character is one thing, but a true hopelessness by conviction of the author has never been my thing!). So the topic of health and healing will come up frequently.

Also there will be MORBIDLY SWEET THINGS as well because that is some real potent shit ...

Although - and I cannot overstate this - there will also be quite a fair amount of bullshit on this blog. It's what I do.

Healing is always in your loving hands.

TAGS:

Reblog - all reblogs (others' posts)

Art - reblogged art (mostly visual)

pinotnoirposts - all original posts (even if reblogged from another blog of mine--tagged at my own discretion)

rhubi arts - personal art tag

Trauma - Posts that are predominately or explicitly about trauma in a visible way, moreso than the rest (all posts will have an undercurrent naturally!)

Healing - Posts that predominately or explicitly carry the theme or hope for healing

SWEET - Things that are so very sweet and wholesome, or morbidly sweet

BLOOD - blood! An aesthetic tag. Red blood (literal and visual), flesh, intimacy, devotion, damnation

Categorical tags, like "Quotes," "Video," and "Music"

Fandom tags, like "dragon ball"

CONCEPT TAGS:

Castor & Cain - Tarble and Vegeta tag (dragon ball)

Table - I like Tarble so he gets his own tag. Mutually exclusive with the previous tag

Stay GORE-geous!

[agyrius]

a Red SOUL and a Knight

a somewhat sequel to "What even is the Red SOUL?" in which I talked about what I believe to be the Human SOUL, which basically concluded with:

-An Human SOUL that is fully independent in its existece and not Kris or Frisk's actual SOUL being possessed, instead a Red SOUL of unknown qualities that has retained sentience and upon inserted into a human can possess them

and having all that in mind, the question I want to answer about the Red SOUL is:

What is the Red SOUL's Origins?

The Red SOUL isn't the Player, not in a 1:1 kind of way atleast

The Red SOUL IS meant to be representative of us the players, but only in a Meta way, Kris isn't being possessed by Frank from the Marketing department

Kris is being possessed by weird eldritch entity that has travelled here from a different universe and is pretty much immortal and unmurderable

Which begs the question, if the Red SOUL is a character within the world, then does that mean that it existed and keeps on existing even when we are not around playing?

in other words...If the Red SOUL isn't the player...then Who are they?

as I've said the Red SOUL is a Human SOUL

And Red SOULs are something that people can be born with...Tho their capabilities are entirely unknown other than what the Ball Game Flag flavor text, which says:

Which implies that Red SOULs are like...on a whole different level in terms of capabilities unlike the rest of the common Human SOULs

in other words, Red SOULs are special...Which just makes it harder to understand what they can actually do since this would mean that the limitations of the other Human SOULs might not really apply to them

so there's that

so let's focus again on the question...What is the Red SOULs origins?

well assuming that it's not something along the lines of "It's the Player's SOUL"

this leaves us with 2 options on its origins:

1. The Red SOUL was artificially created, which basically means that someone made it, which would explain all the wacky stuff it's capable of doing...Like Possessing people, or travelling between different universes or in general being fully sentient, things that normal human SOULs...don't do

As to who could do such a thing...It's entirely unknown, we haven't met anyone capable of creating SOULs, not even Gaster, who when meeting us treats us like a soon to be partner or something like that, not like we are his creations....so yeah, no way to know who would be capable of creating a Red SOUL

but again, this could just be explained with the fact that the Red SOUL....Is Red, apparently being something entirely above all other SOUL traits.

and on the other side we have:

2. The Red SOUL once belonged to a Human....Because it's a Human SOUL, it would make sense that it once belonged to a Human

but to who? The KFC gang are all confirmed to not be the owners Red SOUL, so who does that leave us with?

are there any other humans that we've seen that could possibly be the owners of the Red SOUL?

....Well there is one...

THE (human) KNIGHT

-images from undertale collector's edition booklet drawn by Temmie (aka they are mega-canon)

As in the Human Knight that has a sword and fancy cape and seemed to be the Leader/Hero of humanity during this war

which would mark them as quite the important figure and not just a random stand in for Humanity (Like they are literally there about to face off Asgore, I think that's telling)

and they even were present when the monsters were about to be sealed, right next to who I assume is the Head Mage

which make it even more convincing that they are not a random human warrior but rather the Leader/Hero of the humans that fought the monsters during the war, and here they are, overseeing the entrapment of the defeated monsters

....and as you have just noticed...They are...Very Similar to Kris

and well I have 2 different ideas as to why:

1. Is that, IF the Red SOUL is or once belonged to the Human Knight from UT, then when Kris enters the Dark World while they are being possessed by us, the Dark World would choose an outfit that wouldn't be meant for them, But for us, in other words

think of it like some sort of "advanced possession" , where the possessed person's appearance begins to twist and change in order to match the one of the person possessing them when they were alive....Which would mean that if Kris entered a Dark World without us they would get an entirely new armour, which would be dope!

personally speaking seeing as Kris has an interested in the occult and one of their searches in their guest room in Queen's palace was about magic, it could be argued that their preferred class would be more akin to a Mage (which might have some implications for the Human Mage that stood along the knight)....But then again the Dark Worlds might just be racist and humans cannot become Mages cuz they are made out of meat

...But also this could explain certain details...Like the fact that Kris can no longer play the piano, it's not like Kris forgot how to do it, its just that they can no longer use the skill they learned

...And why is that? The Red SOUL doesn't tamper with Kris' mind in any way, only their body and we are not given the option to play it either, meaning that it was Kris themselves playing it....but they just cant...

My theory on why is that, is that Kris' skills have been Replaced, which would explain how they are a capable combatant even thought they are lacking in magic like the other Monster and Darkners of the Fun Gang (like come on, Susie uses her Rude Buster spell on everything she considers alive and an enemy and her normal attack seems to be more dependent on raw strength rather than skill)

...Because Kris' only method of attack are the standard melee attacks, which are purely physical

...So...

What if the Possession took away their own Skills like playing piano and replaced them with all the sword fighting skills of a Human Knight (even during the Snowgrave Spamton Neo Fight, Kris' new Damage attack is still purely skill based, they didn't get more powerful, just more talented in their sword use)...And the Dark World would on top of that give them the equipment and weaponry they wore during their prime to best use said skills (although changed a bit to fit Kris' Teen self)

...So that would mean that the Human Knight upon their death underwent some as of yet unknown event that lead them to end up underground and in Frisk more 1000 years after the war that trapped the monsters in the same Underground, and from there the rest is history

....Tho an issue arises with the idea that....The Knight can choose to befriend the monsters...and date a skeleton....and even in deltarune want to hug a fluffy goat boi.....So yeah, their personality will need some explaining as to why that is thing they can choose

2. Would be that....Kris IS the Human Knight, as in Kris in the world of Undertale WAS the Human Knight

Kris is neither Frisk or Chara and neither a combination of the two...since nobody else undergoes a change in personality or appearance other than clothing so I highly doubt Kris being the exception

And as for why the Human Knight that lead the humans that trapped the monsters beneath the earth of untold generations....Is now devouring Toriel's pies at 3AM, more than a 1000 years into the future....

Well the short answer is that time seems to also have been greatly shifted in DR than the one of UT, since you have Undyne being the same age she was in UT being older than Asriel who died like a 100 years before the event of UT even though Undyne and many of the other monsters weren't even alive at that point in time

....and if that can happen then I think it's more than possible for a Knight from a thousand years to be present in here during their Teens

...Soo yeah!

Either the Human Knight is who the Red SOUL once belonged to....Or they are who Kris was in the world of UT

Can't really find anything to make one option more likely than the other...So...I guess we can leave it at that...as unsatisfactory as it is...

soo in conclusion:

The Human Knight that appears in the Intro UT is the most likely candidate to be the one to who the Red SOUL possessing Kris and the one we play as belonged to

thank you for reading!

[dacompanionreactions]

Hi! Your posts bring me so much joy, I love reading them! How would the inquisition companions react to an inquisitor who is expecting that they will die in the fight against Corypheus? An inquisitor that has fully accepted death, isn't happy about it but doesn't see a way out, and is making their final goodbyes with everyone, because they know that they won't survive this, and that the hero always has to die in the end

Cassandra is no stranger to death. She hails from Nevarra, where death is a common topic of conversation. She has seen death take her parents and she has watched it take her brother. Yet she has never before seen someone so easily give death their hand and allow it into their embrace. That someone being the Inquisitor, no less. Cassandra is terrified. And she is so, so proud. "This is not goodbye forever," she says. "Only goodbye for now." She means it.

Varric knows shitty odds like the back of his hand. What were the odds that he'd survive Corypheus, or Meredith, or even the blasted Thaig his brother trapped him in? It takes courage to face shitty odds and more courage to be realistic about them. Doesn't mean Varric has to be happy about it. Why does the hero always have to die in the end? He can see there's no talking the Inquisitor out of this one, so he says his goodbyes and plans to write a book about a hero, the dangers they face and their very happy ending.

Solas is numb. It's better than feeling anything else. He can't have any regrets about his original intentions with the veil... but that doesn't mean he can't regret the circumstances the Inquisitor finds themself in. And regret he does, but in his own time, in a quiet place that doesn't reflect the fight to come. "Perhaps you may survive this yet," he offers, but his words are hollow and tinged with sadness.

Dorian doesn't know what to say. For a man with many words, he's not often rendered speechless. And it's not like he's not seen this before. Felix was of the same mind... so Dorian offers them a drink. If it is their last hours together, they may as well have fun. And he's going to make damn well sure he cherishes every moment, and to not let his best friend go without a fight.

Sera wants to yell until she's red in the face. Not at the Inquisitor, but at the circumstances that put them in that position. It's not fair. She knows life isn't fair - the people she helps are a demonstration of that. But the Inquisitor, her friend... they've beaten the odds before. They have to beat them again. They have so many more pranks to pull, cookies to bake and precious time to spend together. Fuck Corypheus for taking that away from her.

Blackwall doesn't want to say goodbye. Goodbyes are too final for his liking. Far too final for someone he cares about. So he decides to give the Inquisitor a gift. A good luck charm of sorts, carved from wood by his own hand and delicately painted in the Inquisitor's favourite colours. It's not a goodbye, not really. Just a very fond farewell.

Cole has watched a lot of people die. Some of those people he killed himself. Always they fought against death, clinging onto life like they clung onto his hand. Then Cole moved on to the next person who needed his help, never thinking back, never grieving for the soul that slipped from his grasp. This time is different, and oddly enough he finds himself mourning someone who hasn't even left. He sits with the Inquisitor, says goodbye, and makes sure that they will be remembered... that no one will forget.

The Iron Bull doesn't know what to say. What do you say to someone who's going to die? What does anyone say? 'You will get through this'? A lie. He doesn't lie anymore. And, as Bull is finding out, he hates goodbyes. So he sits there in silence, a mug of ale in his hand, and tells the truth - he's glad to have the Inquisitor with him, here at the end of all things.

Vivienne suspected the Inquisitor would come to this conclusion. They are smart, realistic, and not shy about their odds. It's part of what she likes about them. She sits them down, takes their hands into her own and tells them she is very, very proud of them. "You have taken us further than I could ever have believed, my dear. Thank you for everything... and be safe."

[atundratoadstool]

Hi, if you happen to be taking asks right now, do you have any thoughts on Jack Seward and his place in the story? A lot of people doing Dracula Daily seem to find him creepy and off-putting and expect him to become a villain. Was he maybe intended as a sort of red herring? Especially his odd arc, which flirts with him becoming a full-on mad scientist? Are we intended to be waiting for him to fall into that behavior or was Stoker doing something else with Seward?

[Spoilers: Extended discussion of Jack Seward, his patient, and later portions of the book under the cut; also CW for mention of medical abuse]

I have many many many thoughts about Jack Seward, his arc, and his multitude of personal and professional failures. He was the topic of my Master's Thesis, and I feel that if I keep up with Dracula Daily through September I will be revisiting a lot of old posts about him and writing a lot of new ones.

I do think Seward's poor medical ethics and his temptation toward even worse medical ethics are incredibly significant to what I see as being as the major themes of the novel, and I think the reader should be apprehensive about his potential for villainy. The basic argument of my own work as regards him is that both he and Renfield are both committed to fundamentally materialist views of reality at the opening of the novel and are dehumanizing one another within those paradigms. Both of them treat the other, at some point, as experimental animals, with Seward explicitly discussing Renfield in terms of vivisectionist research and Renfield attempting to include Seward in his vitalist project by literally consuming him. I hold that Dracula asserts the reality of spiritual existence by allowing each man to have a transformative moment as regards the human soul. Jack, in being confronted by a Lucy who is not Lucy, can see a physical body in which a soul is absent--which affirms the soul’s existence as something beyond the physical contours of the brain. Renfield, in being confronted by Mina’s overabundant empathy, is made to confront the horror of his own vitalist project to the extent that he abandons his attempts to extend his own life in a profound moment of self sacrifice. I also believe that Seward and Lucy (who were a couple in the original outlines of the novel) can be read as a failed version of Jonathan and Mina, with Jack’s skepticism and Lucy’s passivity making them vulnerable in ways that the Harkers are not. I feel that poor Jonathan--for all the flak people give him right now--is a character who adapts to the reality of the supernatural with a grace that Jack cannot.

So that’s the very very brief rundown as to what I think is going on with Seward. I will hopefully be revisiting a lot of this in the future.

[littlemisspascal]

Little Red’s Shadow Part 1

Pairing: Werewolf Pero Tovar x Female!Reader

Word Count: 8000+

Summary: I posted an idea about werewolf Pero and this fic grew from there. Hope you like it 💖

Warnings: no beta all mistakes are my own, language, werewolf/shapeshifter AU with little red riding hood elements, pining, angst, Reader has a crush and is oblivious to the obvious, Pero’s got a secret so he’s a bit grumpy, injury description with blood, death of a rabbit, setting and time period? who knows lol it is what it is

Author Note: First time writing Pero and there’s been a lot of interest in this fic so I’m nervous posting cuz this is super self-indulgent. Originally I wanted to post the fic from start to end, but this week hasn’t been a good one and posting fics always makes me feel better so yeah. Here’s Part 1 and Part 2 is a few scenes away from being done.

Part 2

“The gaze of the wolf reaches into our soul.” – Barry Lopez

Twilight is fast approaching as you walk along the forest trail between your village and the neighboring one to the north, glimpses of a dark purple and red sky visible overhead through the branches of pine trees bracketing either side of you. There is a chill in the air, the last lingering side effect of the winter season, and you adjust your scarlet-colored cloak tighter around your body, fighting back a shiver. 

Being in the woods this late isn’t a wise choice and you’re sure to receive a lecture from your father when you get home about time management, but in your defense once Mrs. Tate starts talking, it is virtually impossible to make the widow stop until she talks herself into a state of unconsciousness. You were held hostage in her living room for hours listening to her prattle on about a variety of topics ranging from a drought that occurred forty years ago to a new recipe of cake she’s eager to try baking. 

Fortunately you’d had the forethought of completing your other deliveries before taking Mrs. Tate her new sewing kit, otherwise you would be making the walk home completely in the dark.

Although twilight isn’t much better, you think to yourself after tripping over a stick obscured in shadow, accidentally untying one of your shoelaces in the process. You bite back a curse, knowing that walking through the woods with untied shoes is a guarantee you’ll wind up with a sprained ankle. A lesson you’ve unfortunately learned the hard, painful way more than once over the years. 

Sighing, you bend down to retie the knot only to freeze when it occurs to you just how quiet the woods have become. The air has frozen still, not even the faintest of breezes ruffling the tree branches. You strain your ears to hear anything over the anxious thumping of your heartbeat, but it is as if the whole world has been turned on mute.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle, and you become very uncomfortably aware of someone’s gaze watching you. You swallow thickly, dread forming a heavy stone in your stomach, regretting dismissing your father’s advice of carrying a knife with you for protection. 

“There’s nothing dangerous out there,” you had told him, pulling the hood of your cloak over your head while concealing an eye roll. “Just rabbits and squirrels and deer.”

What is that saying about hindsight? 

The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to take off running, to try and put as much distance between yourself and the threat as possible. But you’ve always been a slave to your own curiosity, that insistent pull in your chest telling you to investigate, and right now it wants you to turn around and find out who or what is about to potentially kill you.

Mentally counting to three, you slowly twist your shoulders to look behind you, trembling like a leaf about to be blown away from its branch, and scan the foliage for unfamiliar shapes or shifting shadows. 

Nothing immediately stands out as dangerous or suspicious looking. You start to think your imagination is playing tricks on you, only to gasp when a twig snaps, echoing like a gunshot. A bolt of fear strikes your chest, adrenaline surging through your veins, and every instinct you possess is on high alert.

The wind picks up again, nearly knocking you over with a strong gust, and as you struggle to maintain balance you think you hear a quiet huffing sound right before a clump of bushes shake in front of you. Like something brushed past them.

You wait a few more seconds before finishing tying your shoelace, no longer feeling eyes upon you. Whatever it was watching you had left, apparently deciding you weren’t worth killing. 

There is barely enough sunlight left to guide you home, but your curiosity has not been sated yet, pulling you in the direction of the bush. You crouch and push away the branches, squinting to make out the shape of pawprints in the dirt, a bit messy and overlapping like the animal had backed up quickly. 

“Oh my God,” you murmur, stunned to realize a wolf had been spying on you. No way a regular dog could leave behind tracks larger than the width of your hand.

But what is a wolf doing so close to the village? You can’t remember hearing about sightings of one in the area anytime recently. It’s probably just a rogue passing through, you think as you start walking again, but the sensation of its intense gaze upon you continues to linger the entire journey back, replaying on loop within your mind.

When she was still living, your mother taught you not to believe in coincidences. There are some encounters too strange and remarkable to have occurred by random chance. They are instead controlled by the strings of fate, as inevitable as the changing of seasons each year. 

When you reach your village at the end of the trail, you pause for a moment to look over your shoulder into the dark depths of the forest. Your heart weighs heavily in your chest, burdened by a sense of certainty you can’t ignore.

The wolf was intended to cross your path. 

And you can’t shake the feeling it will happen again.

“Wolves in shells are crueler than stray ones.” ― Gaston Bachelard

When you’re not out delivering orders, you can usually be found behind the counter as the cashier of your father’s trading depot. Years spent helping your father has made you a master at recognizing faces. Whether the person is a frequent visitor or they only swing around every few months, you take pride in recognizing each customer and trader that comes through the door, greeting them by name with a smile. 

You’re in the middle of reading a field guide on woodland animals you’d plucked from the shelf of mishmash genres in the corner when the bell over the door jingles, signaling a new arrival. You look up, a welcoming remark ready on your tongue, only to be caught off guard by the haggard appearance of a stranger.

The man is a couple of inches taller than you, broad-shouldered and thick with the sort of muscle mass that comes only from harsh work conditions. His dark brown hair is long and in desperate need of a thorough washing, and the bottom half of his face is concealed by a thick, bushy beard of the same coloring. 

He carries a bundle of pelts with him, slamming them down upon the counter in front of you with a heavy thud, confirming his employment as a hunter. Up close you notice a nasty looking scar dissecting his left eye, the mark slightly raised and pinkish red. A couple months old, maybe. You wonder what caused the injury, if it was an animal or another human.

“I didn’t come to be stared at,” he says bluntly, accented voice rough and scratchy with disuse, almost like a growl.

Embarrassed, you avert your eyes to the pile of furry pelts. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean any offense.”

The stranger walks away wordlessly, perusing the stocked shelves with a scowling face like he’s dissatisfied with everything he sees. You keep a subtle eye on him as you start sorting through the pelts, identifying all the creatures in the collection. The majority are rabbits and squirrels, but your father will be happy when you show him the few badgers and foxes that have been skinned in perfect condition.

“I’ll need your name to complete the transaction,” you tell the bearded man when he returns to the counter and sets down a handful of items, including a new knife and pair of leather boots. 

“What are you reading?”

You blink at the non-sequitur, then follow his gaze down to the open book in front of you. “A field guide,” you say, moving to push it aside only for him to snatch it away with unexpected swiftness.

Impossibly, his scowl seems to intensify with every line of text he reads, lips twisting into what you can only label as a snarl. Coupled with his shaggy hair, he resembles more of a beast than a man at the moment.

“Careful,” you tell him mildly, the corners of your lips curling into a teasing smile. “You might get stuck with that face.”

The stranger’s eyebrows shoot up with surprise, dropping the book as if it burned him, before he lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. “If only you knew,” he mutters cryptically. Then he gathers up his selected goods and heads for the door, only pausing long enough in the entryway to say, “It’s Pero,” before he leaves as mysteriously as he came.

It takes you an embarrassingly long moment after he’s gone to realize he’s given you his name. 

“Nice meeting you Pero,” you say to the empty room, scribbling down the name. It’s as unique as the man himself, easy to commit to memory.

You reach to shut the field guide and then change course, instead pulling it back across the counter to look at the page Pero had been reading. The way he’d scowled and glowered made you think he wanted to set the whole thing on fire if he’d possessed the power.

The eyes of a gray wolf stare back at you, sending a shudder down your spine. You trace your finger along the outline of the triangular shape of its ears, its sleek and furry torso, all the way down to its bushy tail. 

How strange and remarkable, you think, closing the guidebook and putting it away. A thorn of disappointment digs into your chest when you wonder if this was the second encounter with the wolf you’d been anticipating. 

A paper wolf crumples in comparison to a real one. 

Literally. 

“Some girls are full of heartache and poetry and those are the kind of girls who try to save wolves instead of running away from them.” ― Nikita Gill

The ground beneath your boots is muddy and slick from the overnight rain. Every step threatens to send you tumbling to the earth, making you exceedingly cautious even though the consequence is your delivery trip is taking twice as long. A thin layer of fog has settled over the forest this morning, giving your surroundings an almost mystical appearance. Everything is a bit blurry, like looking through your father’s spectacles, forcing you to rely on the mental map of the trails etched into your brain to keep you from getting lost.

A low, rumbling growl has you stopping dead, heart lodging in your throat. 

There is no mistaking the wolf’s presence even if you can’t see it. No other living thing inhabiting the woods could produce such a fierce and throaty sound. Clutching the parcel tighter against your chest, you peer into the dense undergrowth, searching for signs of movement.

Another growl weaves through the trees, but this time there is an audible note of pain laced within it. The wolf is hurt, you realize, a wave of worry crashing into you. 

After a beat of hesitation, you set the parcel on the ground and step off the path, ignoring the warning bells in the back of your head, angry with you for disobeying your father’s strict instruction about never veering away from the trail. The trail meant safety and certainty, the quickest route from Point A to Point B. By entering the woods, especially with the present fog, you risk never being found again.

But it is not in your nature to abandon someone in need of help. Even if that someone is a wolf of all creatures.

You push through a tangle of thorny bushes, muttering a curse when they snag on the fabric of your cloak, and stumble into a small grassy clearing with all the clumsiness of the village drunk. 

Then you see the wolf.

Describing it as big would be offensive. It’s colossal, hackles raised and ears drawn back against its skull, all its teeth bared in a threatening snarl. The color of its fur is a shade of brown so dark it could pass for black, except for around its right hind leg which is coated in a sickening amount of crimson blood.

The metal spikes of a hunting trap embedded in its flesh keep it from lunging at you, slicing through muscle and sinew right into the bone. Blood seeps out of the wound, staining the blades of grass beneath the wolf’s leg, and it takes all your self-control not to gag at the disturbing sight.

“Damn it,” you breathe, unsure what to do, fingers clenching and unclenching restlessly. You have no medical expertise, especially not for helping massive predators who can tear off your hand with one bite of its sharp fangs.

You inch closer a step, only to immediately tense when the beast’s low growl intensifies in volume and it snaps at the air in your direction. Raising your hands in a pacifying gesture, you slowly crouch down low, trying to appear as non-threatening as physically possible. It isn’t a challenging feat considering you’re about as dangerous a threat to the wolf as a baby deer has the potential to be.

The wolf’s growling ceases, amber-gold eyes glinting with suspiciousness. You never knew animals could express human emotions so clearly, almost as if there is a human soul trapped beneath all that fur. You toss the ludicrous idea out of your mind instantly, shaking your head at your own foolishness. 

“So you stepped in a trap, huh,” you say, biting your lip as you study the ugly piece of metal, convinced whoever invented it is a sadistic monster. “That’s not good.”

The wolf huffs through its nose and tilts its head, looking at you like you’re the biggest idiot it has ever encountered. 

You stare back at it incredulously. “Wait. Do you...understand me?”

For a long moment, the wolf just stares at you, nose faintly twitching as it scents the air, then eventually dips its muzzle in a nod. 

Honestly, you don’t know whether to be amazed or frightened by the confirmation. Or perhaps even a mixture of both. You’ve read wolves are intelligent creatures, capable of learning new skills to help them survive, but learning human speech beyond simple commands is a talent you never could have guessed was possible.

“Well, alright then,” you say, wetting your lips and trying to find the right words. “If you really can understand everything I’m saying, then…” You look at it straight in the eye. “I want to help you get out of here. But to help you, I’ve got to move closer, okay?”

The wolf remains wary, hackles still raised with alarm, but it doesn’t try to lunge at you again when you creep forward and you think a tentative bridge of trust is starting to form.

There is an iron chain attached to the trap wrapped around a nearby tree trunk acting as an anchor, keeping the wolf from escaping with the hunter’s equipment. The wolf silently watches you unwind the chain, loosening the tension of the trap, then looks between its still-ensnared leg and you as if to ask, What’s next?

“My father used to take me hunting when I was a kid,” you explain, moving in close enough you feel the heat emanating from the wolf’s body. The stench of blood floods your nostrils and your stomach clenches with nausea. “I know how to get you out, but it’s going to hurt. Please don’t rip my face off.”

One of the wolf’s ears twitches in acknowledgement, but the gesture doesn’t inspire much confidence. What the hell do you know about wolf communication though? Maybe an ear twitch is a promise of good behavior.

Mentally bracing yourself, you drop onto your knees next to the trap, the pool of blood seeping into the fabric of your pants. You swallow a noise of disgust, closing your eyes briefly to focus and bring to mind the details of your father’s explanations about the mechanics of a foothold trap. There are two coiled springs exerting force onto two levers which hold the trap’s serrated jaws closed. To free the wolf you’ll need to depress the levers and release the pressure on its leg. 

Simple.

The metal is slick and warm with the wolf’s blood, and your fingers struggle to keep a tight grip. You curse under your breath when you accidentally jostle its leg, a stream of scarlet oozing out of the shredded wound. The wolf’s breath hitches, muscles shuddering along its flank, but it doesn’t snap at you.

You try again, carefully grasping the levers on each side of the trap, and pull with all your strength, arms burning with strain. Slowly, groaning with reluctance, the jaws open little by little until there is enough space for the wolf to slip its leg free. You turn away, not wanting to see the mess of torn flesh, and toss the trap aside with a grimace. 

A wet nose touches the side of your neck, just under your ear, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You stare straight ahead, lips pursed to hold back the whimper in your throat, as it scents you, snuffling softly. And then that nose becomes a warm, rough tongue licking a long line from the base of your neck up to your jawline.

You’re unable to keep from gasping. “You—you’re welcome,” you stammer, all the thoughts in your head dissolving into static. What do you do? Should you turn around and face the wolf? Or push away its snout first? You don’t think it will hurt you, but the risk of losing a finger or two makes you hesitant.

Before you can make up your mind, the wolf moves away and goosebumps rise on your arms as it takes its warmth away with it. You tilt your head towards your shoulder, wiping away the spit with your cloak. 

“Look,” you start to say, turning around, “I—”

The wolf is gone. No sign it was ever there except for a trail of blood drops disappearing into the foliage. 

“The wolf changes his coat, but not his disposition.” — Proverb

The blacksmith’s workshop is distanced from the other buildings in the village due to the risk of causing a fire from its blazing forge. Its owner, William, is the type of friendly man who has never met a stranger in his life, eager to help anyone who asks him to create weapons or horseshoes or even cooking utensils. And as long as he’s lived here—almost five years now—he’s always worked alone.

Which is why, when you arrive at the shop early in the morning to pick up supplies for the depot and come face to face with a different dark-headed man wearing a leather apron and gloves while hammering away at a horseshoe, you raise an eyebrow of suspicion and confusion.

For all your pride when it comes to your talent for recognizing faces, it’s not until the man’s lips twist into a scowl at being stared at that you realize he’s not a stranger at all.

“Pero,” you say blankly. He’s cut his overgrown hair since the last time you saw him a few days prior, and also sports a neatly trimmed mustache and a faint dusting of scruff along his chin instead of an unkempt beard. 

Oh, good Lord, you think, taking in the sight of his sharp jawline and the flexing of his biceps as he adjusts his grip on the hammer. He’s gorgeous.

Did the temperature suddenly rise a thousand degrees? 

His brown eyes glow golden, reflecting the firelight. “You remembered,” he says, mocking your bland tone. His brow furrows when he looks at your cloak, a flicker of an emotion you can’t identify crossing his face. “What are you wearing? You look like the stupid little girl in the fairytale.”

“Does that make you the big bad wolf?” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest and simultaneously fighting back a wince when you realize how sweaty your underarms have become in the mere minutes since your arrival. 

Pero smirks then, mean and teasing, making you feel like prey about to be consumed. When he speaks, the rough edges of his voice send a chill down your spine despite the intense heat pressing down on you from all sides. “It just might.”

You roll your eyes, unamused. “What are you doing here anyways?”

“Mr. Tovar needed a place to stay and I needed a second pair of hands. It’s funny how life is sometimes, isn’t it?” William shuffles in from the doorway connecting to his house at the back of the shop. He slaps Pero companionably on the shoulder as he passes by, eliciting a grunt from the Spaniard.

“Hilarious,” you agree, looking between the two men, different as night and day from each other. You estimate the arrangement lasting three days. A week, at most.

“His skills are almost better than mine,” William admits. He pinches his index finger and thumb together. “Almost.”

Pero shakes his head, mock reproachful. “Careful pissing someone off who's holding a hammer, amigo.”

“I thought you were just a hunter,” you say, an accusation laced within your tone. 

He turns back to you, a shadow of that same teasing smirk making a reappearance. “Can’t a man be two things at once, little red?” 

You tell yourself the sudden burst of warmth inside your stomach is a side effect of possible heat stroke and not because of how the nickname rolls velvety smooth off his tongue. “Anything’s possible, I suppose.”

He grunts, as if he expected that response, and returns to his abandoned task without another word.

You’re starting to think the man actually likes coming across as odd and mysterious.

William attempts to reclaim your attention by gesturing towards the corner of the room. “I have your father’s order ready, if you’d like to take a look?”

You nod, but instead of listening to the blacksmith’s excited rambling about the tools he had crafted, your gaze keeps being pulled over your shoulder to look at Pero as he moves to grab tongs to handle the horseshoe.

He’s limping, you realize, immediately noticing the odd way his right foot drags along the ground and how he barely leans any weight upon it. His injury reminds you uncomfortably of your wolf, alone and hurt, somewhere out there beyond the pine trees. You hope it's alright.

Against your own better judgement, you find yourself mouthing a quiet prayer of healing for both of them.

And then immediately wonder when the hell did you start thinking of the wolf as yours?

“The wolves in the woods have sharp teeth and long claws, but it’s the wolf inside who will tear you apart.” — Jennifer Donnelly

A month passes and you do not see your wolf again—it’s officially your wolf now, if only to properly distinguish it from any other wolf in existence—but not for lack of looking though. With every delivery that takes you through the forest, you keep your eyes peeled for the slightest of movements and examine every animal track you come across. Except you’re only met with consistent disappointment when every rustling bush is caused by the wind and the marks in the dirt belong to the local creature inhabitants. The hunters passing by the depot haven’t reported any news or rumors of a wolf in the area either, living or dead.

In a way, you’re glad your wolf has seemingly vanished. It probably means the beast has moved on to find somewhere devoid of cruel hunting traps. You try to keep a positive attitude, although you’d be lying if you said you didn’t stay up late worrying. Is it eating enough? Is its leg bothering it? Is it safe? 

The only thing interesting enough to distract you from these questions swirling round and round in your head is Pero. 

You catch glimpses of him throughout the village, buying groceries and delivering orders for William and handling other day-to-day tasks. He’s quiet and more than a little intimidating, but he’s also polite to the village elders and doesn’t bother anyone by causing unnecessary trouble. His injured foot seems to no longer be an issue, but when you try asking him about how he hurt it he brushes off your concern, says he wasn’t watching where he was going and he won’t make the same mistake again.

Whenever you stop by the blacksmith workshop to pick up orders and supplies, you’re continuously surprised to find William actually seems to enjoy Pero’s sarcastic quips and gruff countenance. Listening to their banter quickly becomes something to look forward to and sometimes you even find the courage to toss in a witty remark of your own, enraptured by the dimpled smile appearing on Pero’s face as a result.

There is something magnetic about Pero that makes you want to be near him. You’re curious about Pero in a way you’ve never felt about anyone else before—certainly not the other village boys. And you hope, more than anything, this crush you’re developing isn’t totally one-sided.

William isn’t at his shop today when you arrive to collect a box of hardware pieces needed to make some repairs around the trading depot. Without his presence, there is fortunately nobody around to witness your horrible attempt at flirting.

“So,” you drawl, rubbing your palms on your pants. “You’re not from around here.”

Oh God. You grimace, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you.

“Was it the accent that gave me away?” Pero asks sardonically from across the room, back facing you as he double-checks the contents of your package are all packed. “Or my roguish looks?”

“You know, when we first met I pegged you as the silent and brooding type,” you say, aiming for coyness while looking him over from head to toe as he approaches the counter. “But surprise, surprise you’ve got quite the sharp tongue too. What else is there to learn about you, Pero? You seem like a man who conceals many secrets.” 

You mean to peer at him seductively through your eyelashes, only instead you’re caught off guard by the way Pero suddenly appears...young. Expression raw and open, lips slightly parted. A tuft of his dark hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. Then he blinks and shakes his head hard enough you fear his neck snapping.

When he finally looks back at you, his searing gaze burns through your clothes, setting your skin ablaze, and you nearly choke on your spit as he says, “If you want to see me naked you’ll have to do better than that, little red.”

Did he...really just say that?

“I…You...” Your mouth opens, then falls shut with an audible noise, incredibly flustered.

And then he lets out a low, raspy breath of laughter, shoulders shaking and crow’s feet appearing at the corners of his eyes, amused by your naivety. Hurt slices through your body as if he’s stabbed you with one of the weapons lying about. You can’t believe you thought for even one second that maybe he could be different from the rest of the village assholes. God, you feel like such an idiot.

“Fuck you, Pero,” you spit at him, grabbing your package and spinning on heel towards the exit.

You don’t look back. Not when he pleads for you to wait, not when he calls your name, and not even when you hear an angry curse followed by the deafening clang of metal striking metal.

“Even a wolf knows how to be polite when animalistic humans have no clue about politeness.” — Munia Khan

You hum quietly a few notes of a song your mother used to sing, weaving together wildflowers you’d collected on your walk into a crown. The forest is quiet around you, leaving you to work peacefully in the same grassy clearing you’d encountered the wolf over a month ago. 

Still angry with Pero, you’ve started spending longer hours within the sanctitude of the woods, the only place you feel you can hide from him. Not that he’s even tried to seek you out at the depot or your home to apologize which is just further salt in the imaginary wound leftover from the incident. 

Sunlight filters through the overhead branches and your red cloak lays discarded at your side, too hot to wear the extra layer. If Pero were with you and saw it, he’d say some stupid line like About time you used what little common sense you possess because he always scolded you for risking heatstroke by wearing it in the forge.

But Pero isn’t here with you. 

“And ain’t that a good fucking thing,” you mutter under your breath, ignoring the tightness in your chest.

A twig snapping to the right of you has you freezing as you’re reaching for another flower. Out of the corner of your eye you catch a shadow of movement and you slowly turn your head to look just as a familiar, gigantic wolf steps into the clearing just a few feet away from where you’re sitting.

Your breath stills in your lungs. That’s your wolf.

It stares back at you, silent and unmoving with its head slightly ducked, almost like...it’s nervous? Your gaze roams over its body, noticing the wound on its hind leg has mostly healed since your last encounter, just the faintest bit of scarring the only evidence there was ever an injury at all.

“You’re back,” you say, needlessly pointing out the obvious. Its ears twitch at the sound of your voice. “It’s good to see you’ve been staying out of trouble. I’ve been worried about you.”

Your wolf perks up, tongue lolling out of its mouth and tail wagging as if it’s a puppy and not a two-hundred pound behemoth. 

You are unable to resist cooing at it, finding the attempt at smiling adorable despite the sharpness of its teeth. And then that coo shifts into a gasp when the wolf closes the distance, a few feet becoming a few inches until it’s close enough to nuzzle the side of your face, cold nose rubbing against your cheek.

You hesitate to move or breathe, thinking of all the violent stories you’d heard growing up from hunters and trappers who said wild animals couldn’t be trusted. It’s a dog eat dog world and predators will always choose to go down fighting to the bloody end. 

But then, almost like an unseen force is controlling your limbs, you lift a shaky hand to brush against the thick, dense fur of its neck. Your wolf practically melts at your touch, a pleased growl rumbling from deep within its chest, and all but collapses across your lap, burying its face against your middle.

Laughing, you start scratching along its shoulder and flank, and the smile on your face grows wider when your wolf tilts its head to lick at your chin, as eager to return affection as it is to receive some. “You’re pretty adorable for a ferocious beast,” you say, awe and wonder slipping into your tone. “How did I get picked to be so lucky to meet you?”

Your wolf lets out a low half-whine, half-grunt in response and licks at the veins along your wrist.

An hour passes with your wolf lying pressed against your leg, massive head resting atop your thigh, watching you craft a few more flower crowns you hope to sell at the next Market Day for some extra pocket money. For your own entertainment, you gently set one of the crowns upon your wolf’s head. Its ears swivel a bit, grazing the petals, and a heavy sigh passes through its nose like it’s exasperated with you, but otherwise the animal doesn’t seem to mind the accessory.

If you could, you'd spend another five hours in the woods with your furry companion, but the sun is starting to descend in the sky and your father will be expecting you soon.

“I’ve got to start heading back home.” You stand up and stretch your legs to get blood flowing again after such a long time spent sitting. Your wolf’s golden eyes follow your every movement as you pack away the flower crowns and slip your arm through the basket’s handle to rest it in the crook of your elbow. You pet its head one last time. “Hopefully we meet again soon.”

Not even twenty steps away from the clearing, you spin around when you hear movement behind you and find your wolf sitting in the middle of the trail, obviously following you.

“Are you going to be my shadow all the way home?” you ask incredulously. 

A nod.

“Do I have a choice in the matter?”

A grunt.

You shake your head at its antics, but a smile tugs at your lips, betraying your inner amusement. You could never really be upset with someone so adorable. “Well, come on then, Shadow. Let’s at least walk side by side as equals, okay?”

Your wolf trots forward, snout grazing against your elbow as softly as a kiss, and doesn’t leave your side until the trail’s end.

A new routine develops over the next two weeks between you and your wolf. Shadow becomes your new delivery escort, greeting you when you enter the forest with a toothy grin and then spends the next few minutes nuzzling and rubbing against every inch of your body. You realize after the third time that he is scent marking you, claiming you as his own by making sure you smell like him. You don’t mind the aggressive cuddling session, thinking it is a much better experience than being peed on everyday.

The more time you spend with Shadow, the more you start opening up and sharing your thoughts and secrets with him. You’ve always been a lonely soul, feeling like nobody truly understood you, especially after your mother passed away, but with your wolf at your side you don’t feel quite so alone. He listens to everything you have to say, responding in his own quirky way with growls and whines, so eerily humanlike with his expressions.

You want to know more about him, where he came from before entering your life and how long he’s been on his own. According to your books, there isn’t a single good reason or explanation for a wolf to be traveling without a pack. But whenever you try to ask him about his past he gives you the silent treatment, pointedly turning his gaze away from you until you change the topic.

Whatever happened, clearly the pain is still fresh for him.

“I don’t like to talk about the past either,” you tell him, your mother’s face flashing through your mind.

Shadow makes no noise, but licks at your hand in acknowledgement, coating your fingers with saliva.

“Aw, wolf spit!” You wipe your hand on your pants, face scrunched up in exaggerated disgust. “Gross!”

He circles around you, quicker than your eyes can follow, and catches hold of the hem of your shirt.

Your eyes widen. “Hey, no, Shadow don’t you dare—”

One strong tug and your balance is lost, falling backwards onto your rear at the same time the fabric rips. Shadow wastes no time pushing his face against yours, noses briefly smooshing against each other, wagging his tail when you start giggling. His lips pull back into a grin, tongue lolling out, and it’s your only forewarning before he starts licking you in earnest. Unthinkingly, you bare your throat when he dips his head to lap at the tender patch of skin right above your collarbone. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, you sensitive and giant furball,” you say in-between bouts of laughter, shoving at his chest to push him away. The effort is pointless, like trying to physically push against a brick house, but Shadow takes pity on you, rumbling a noise not unlike a raspy chuckle. 

A sense of familiarity pricks the back of your mind, but the feeling doesn’t linger long, dismissed as easily as a thrown away splinter.

You look down at your torn shirt with a sigh. This will be the fifth piece of clothing you’ll have to mend with your sewing kit. Your father’s been suspicious lately of your extra spending on thread and your list of plausible excuses is dwindling alarmingly quick. 

“I could probably blame Pero somehow,” you mutter to yourself, but there is no real heat in your tone. Instead there is just a faint pang of hollowness beneath your ribcage. “Can you believe I actually miss talking to that asshole? I thought maybe he liked me, but I found out the hard way I was wrong.”

Shadow whines, sensing your change in mood.

“Love is easy for wolves. You find your perfect match and then you’re bonded for life,” you say quietly, running a hand over his head. “But it’s different for humans. It can be so beautiful and sweet, but it’s also messy and difficult and confusing...” Your voice trails off as a connection is made, two puzzle pieces clicking together in the back of your mind.

“Maybe humans are meant to experience both. The dark and the light. Love isn’t skin deep, after all. If you fall in love with someone, you’ve got to be willing to love their inner monster too.”

"Have you seen what wolves do to their prey? But they do mate for life." — Donna Lynn Hope

Spring always seems to bring out the best in nature and people. Flowers start to blossom, as if eager to greet the humans who have been tucked away within their warm homes for so long, and your neighbors in the village wear friendly smiles upon their faces, reveling in the sunshine. 

During Market Day, the village square becomes a hive of activity with people coming from dozens of nearby towns to check out the rows of vendor stalls. You’ve been shopping less than an hour and already your basket is full to the brim of a plethora of unique goods.

The crowds are always thick once the last stubborn traces of winter have finally disappeared and you’re having to nudge people aside with your elbows in your quest to reach a seller known for their honey buns. Your goal is within sight, closer with every step, and you can practically taste the sweetness on your tongue only to instead collide face first into a broad chest appearing out of nowhere.

You let out a quiet oof of surprise, stumbling backwards on your heels. Large hands reach out and hold onto your upper arms to steady you.

“Careful, little red.”

You straighten up in an instant, eyes wide, and choke out a hoarse, “Pero.”

It’s been weeks since you last spoke to him in the blacksmith workshop, but he’s still just as unfairly attractive as you remember. He wears a red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, baring his toned forearms to the world, and dark trousers. On his feet are the leather boots he traded his collection of pelts for when he first arrived. 

He looks nervous, you think, watching the way his tongue swipes at his bottom lip and how he seems reluctant to maintain steady eye contact.

“I haven’t seen you in awhile,” he says at last. “You stopped coming by the forge.”

“I’ve been busy making deliveries elsewhere,” you reply stiffly, clasping your basket in front of you with both hands. Pero’s expression spasms, as if he restrained himself from wincing.

You don’t like it—this whole kicked puppy look he’s conveying. Pero’s the one who hurt you by behaving so mean before, laughing at you like you were the last person on earth to have a chance with him, and yet you can’t help feeling guilty for being cold towards him. 

He clears his throat. “You’re mad at me.”

“Yes.”

“Because I was an insensitive ass.”

“Two for two, do you want a gold star?”

Pero’s eyes flash, either with anger or hurt, you can’t tell. He crosses his arms, glancing around the square like he’s wary of anyone overhearing your conversation. You keep staring at him, knowing everyone is too caught up in their own shopping to pay either of you any attention longer than a passing glance.

He clears his throat and says with all the bluntness as a punch to the sternum, “You’re too good for someone like me.”

You blink once, twice, then arch an eyebrow at him. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” he says slowly, like he can’t believe you’re dumb enough to ask him, “I’m not someone you should waste your time on. You deserve better.”

Realization clicks in your brain, followed shortly by a burst of anger, red hot and boiling.

“I’m a grown woman, Pero,” you say despite fighting the childish urge to stomp your foot. “I can handle rejection. If you don’t have feelings for me then just tell me so.”

Pero runs a hand through his hair, mouth twisting with frustration. He probably had hoped you’d just take his excuse and carry on with your life, but you refuse to let him get off easy. He’s not wrong: you do deserve better.

“I didn’t say that.”

Your whole body goes still, because if that means what you think it means then—

Pero won’t meet your eyes, his discomfort clear. “I just...can’t be with you, little red.”

So it hasn’t been a one-sided attraction all this time. He has feelings for you, but he made the preemptive choice to crush them rather than let them keep growing and evolving into something potentially serious. 

And he also made that choice for you.

“Hell no,” you blurt out, startling him. “I’m not letting you give up on future us with that piss poor reason. I deserve better than you can’t.”

“Future us?” Pero echoes, head tilting. “You really think…?”

You wait a beat for him to finish the trailed off sentence, but he seems incapable, staring at you like he’s having trouble believing you truly exist. 

“Yes.” You take pity on him, nodding your head. “Yes, I think you’re different from anybody else I’ve ever met. Yes, I think you are grumpy and sarcastic to prevent people from getting to know you. And yes, Pero, I think you and I could have a future if you’d quit making bad decisions trying to push me away.”

Pero’s lips purse into a thin, angry line. His brown eyes have turned hard, frigid cold. “You think I’m different from everyone else? That’s because you don’t know shit about me. I’m a liar and a thief. There is blood on my hands, little red. More than you could possibly fathom. I have become something no one—not even my own mamá—could ever love.”

He’s looming over you now, breathing hotly against your face, and you can only stare straight ahead over his shoulder, unable to think of something to say. 

“You don’t belong in my world. Is that a fucking good enough reason for you?”

You swallow, carefully arranging your thoughts before answering. “It’s better,” you admit, because it’s true. For the first time you’re aware of the possibility he could be dangerous. That he’s someone you should run away from instead of chase after.

Unwittingly, Shadow comes to mind. You think about how he’d snarled at you when you first approached him, when he’d been trapped and cornered, lashing out instead of accepting the help he needed. You think about how you’ve developed a bond with him now, the way he smiles instead of growls, protecting you against nonexistent threats on your walks. You’d never have that bond if you’d chosen to run away from him. 

“My choice hasn’t changed though.” You tilt your head up and he’s close enough your noses lightly graze each other. It takes all your self-control not to smirk at his sharp inhale of air. “I still want to take the risk, even if it’s true I’m not fit for your world. Just, tell me one thing, Pero. Are you going to break my heart on purpose?”

Pero’s already shaking his head before you finish, looking lost and pained. “What? I—That’s not—” He cuts himself off, looking away to gather his composure. When he looks at you again, he’s not quite as panicked, but the pain persists in the lines of his expression, “No, never purposefully. But—”

You press a finger over his lips, silencing him. “I’ll see you tonight at the tavern. You better not keep me waiting for our first date or I’ll tie you to a tree and let the wild beasts eat you.”

Pero stares at you, expressionless and frozen still, and just when your anxiety is about to consume you, he smiles, a soft, precious little curl of his lips. He takes your hand and presses a featherlight kiss upon each of your knuckles, maintaining steady eye contact the whole time. Your heart starts beating so fast you feel it in your throat, the sweetness of the gesture sending a pulse of warmth throughout your whole body.

“I’d prefer your company over any wild beast’s, little red.”

"There is no greater love than the love the wolf feels for the lamb-it-doesn’t-eat." — Hélène Cixous

You’re grinning like an idiot as you enter the forest, eagerly looking forward to your date with Pero later that evening. You can’t remember ever feeling so giddy before, like your blood has become electric, and you swear there are literal sparks shooting off your bare arms. 

You expect to see Shadow waiting for you at your usual meetup spot by the grassy clearing, but there is no sight of him as you approach. Your steps slow to a stop, telling yourself not to worry just yet about his absence. He’s a wild animal, not a pet, and there are dozens of justifiable reasons for him to be missing. 

But still...This change in routine is more than a little unsettling. Shadow has always been the one patiently waiting for you to arrive.

You hesitate for a moment, torn between waiting a few minutes longer for Shadow or carrying on with your task, when you hear a noise behind you. Thinking it’s your wolf, you spin around with his name on your tongue, except your heart nearly leaps out of your chest instead.

Shadow lopes up to you with a bloodstained muzzle and a dead rabbit hanging from his mouth. He looks as smug as a wolf can be as he drops the prey at your feet and puffs his chest out, clearly expecting praise.

Gross, you think, biting your lip to refrain from grimacing. The kill is fresh, blood still oozing out of the gaping wound on the rabbit’s neck where Shadow’s teeth tore into it. 

“Is that your lunch? It looks, um, tasty,” you say before the silence stretches too long. “My mother used to make rabbit stew, but when I try to copy her recipe it never tastes the same, you know?”

Shadow tips his head with a low whine, like he does understand your nostalgia for the past, and then nudges the carcass closer towards your feet with his nose.

You look from Shadow to the rabbit, then back again. “Are you...giving this to me?”

His happy bark of confirmation has your stomach feeling queasy. Not just because the offering is disgusting, but also because of what it represents.

This is step one of a wolf’s courting ritual. You’ve read about it in field guides where a male wolf will present a fresh kill to a female in order to prove himself as a strong and suitable mate. 

But a male wolf presenting a courting gift to a human girl? You doubt there’s any book out there that will guide you through this scenario.

“Shadow,” you begin, nervously holding the package in your arms tighter against your chest. 

Your wolf’s happiness fades, tail drooping and going still. His eyes narrow with wariness as he senses the impending bad news. Your heart crumples at the sight.

“I know what this gesture means. And it’s sweet, really.” You reach out your hand slowly, threading your fingers through the soft fur on top of his head. To your relief, he leans into your touch rather than ducks to avoid it. “I can’t accept it though.”

He whines, a heartbreaking sound that cuts right through you, and his ears fall flat against his head, as if to quit listening to the rejection. 

“I love you,” you say, your voice shaking, the beginnings of tears forming in the corners of your eyes. “But what you want, it won’t work.”

Shadow’s entire body seizes up as a ripple of some unseen force washes over him from nose to tail, and his eyes close shut. He pulls away from your hand, shaking his head hard enough you worry about him hurting himself.

“Shadow?”

With his head hung low, he peeks up at you, eyes flickering in the sunlight from amber to a soft shade of brown. What the hell, you think, wondering if you’re imagining the change.

Then he’s gone, sprinting off into the trees, leaving behind the dead rabbit and you feeling far more lost and confused than you’ve ever felt before.

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