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polarisbibliotheque · 1 year ago

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So like, less of a suggestion and more of a question - I recently found your works and have just been blown away by the details (like, seriously, you're on the top of my favorite writers list) and just how... perfect you craft everything? I genuinely inspire to be like you, but the problem is that I've hit a rut - I'm super unsatisfied with my writing, and whenever I try to get back into the writing zone, I just fall flat. Is there any advice you could give on how to improve one's writing? What would be your tips and tricks at getting into that writing zone?

(Do apologize me taking SO LONG to answer, but I had some health emergencies the last couple of weeks and ended up in the hospital – I’m doing better now, chilling at home and trying to recover. My doctor is 90% sure I have Crohn’s Disease and I’m having many ups and downs trying to find a proper treatment that I seem to respond to. BUT…)

…I hope you are aware of how much you made me smile, blush and almost indulge into my teary eyes upon reading this. Hahahaha seriously, thank you SO much!! I can’t even thank you enough, I’m just in pure awe that another being in this big ol’ world we live in thinks so highly of my writing!!

I mean, not even I think that highly of my writing. Notice a pattern? ;)

One thing I learned being an artist – not only writing, I also draw, play the piano, write music on my free time/when inspiration hits, everything creative, I’m there, doing it – is that we’re never really satisfied with our work. We will always think we could’ve done something better, and we’re definitely going to be pretty “meh” about a lot of things we do – even when other people think it’s a masterpiece.

And that is good! We’ll always strive to perfect our skills! You just have to remember to appreciate the work you do even when you’re not completely satisfied with it. You will get to where you want to – but then, you’ll wish to improve even more! And that is awesome!

But hey, I do have some tips and tricks on improving and getting into that writing vibe!

For the people getting to the party now, my main tip on improving is here, in the first part of the answer for this ask! Now, now…

(long post below, as expected YEE BEEN WARNED!)

Regarding improving:

Read. A. Lot. Hahaha I know that’s quite an obvious one, but it’s really important. Personally, I think reading mindlessly just to fill a quota of “I read 25 books a month” doesn’t work. It works when you absorb it – when you allow yourself to plunge into the world of the book you’re reading, feeling the characters, the emotions, the settings… That helps you build your “mental library” so to speak! And sometimes you’ll find things and expressions you like that you might use both on your daily speech and while writing – for instance, I have this awful thing of saying “there’s a lack of wings to my words” whenever I’m speechless, because of Homer’s Odyssey. I freaking LOVE that book, I loved that expression, I use it all the time, and it has definitely bled into my writing.

WRITE! A LOT! Write bad stuff, good stuff, short 2 pages thing-ys that you go “hey that’s a good idea!” but you’ll never actually turn into a full story, random scenes, fanfiction, stupid fanfiction, serious fanfiction, self-indulgent stories, stories for your family, stories for yourself, stories for whoever wants to read or not, dreams that could be great stories… The point is to write. It’s much like drawing or playing the piano: if you don’t practice, you won’t get better and you won’t develop your style. The more you practice, the better you get! So don’t be afraid to write bad stuff, cringy stuff, or ridiculous stuff – or even stuff you thought would be awesome and turns out bad, or stuff you think will never turn into anything that turn amazing! One way or another, you’ll be refining your craft!

Identify what you like on writers you admire. I started noticing that while reading The Silmarillion. The Lord of the Rings is my favorite book since I read it for the first time when I was 15, but I didn’t pick up The Silmarillion until I was around 22 – and by then, I started underlining with a light pencil all the phrases I liked most, something my mom did on her old books when she was around my age. I then started taking a look at what I liked about Tolkien’s writing so much – and in other books too: what kind of phrases seemed to resonate more with my soul. Which ones brought tears to my eyes and a smile to my face. And then I notice I tend more to the unconventional ways of describing things.

For instance, instead of going like “she was beautiful, with pale skin under raven dark hair, blue eyes shining on her fair face” I tend to go for the unconventional, sort of eerie, not so much taken for granted kind of describing “her beauty glowed like the first pale star to glisten in the evening sky, under a deep sea of dark, velvety hair, making her eyes twinkle like sapphires with a smart look while carrying the light she kept in her soul”. If I had to, the second one would be how I’d describe Arwen or Lúthien, giving them that ethereal otherworldly beauty they have. It's also the one that evokes more feelings inside of me rather than just a mental image.

That’s why I try to describe some things in a different light. When I’m writing, I want people to feel something – but how can you describe that feeling of joy when you hug someone you love and the whole world fades for a minute? That’s when I go for the “his heart bled with gold while his hands never wanted to let them go. For a minute, time seemed to stop and there was nothing else but his heartbeat intertwining with theirs, beating as the same song – even if theirs was more melodic while his was more melancholic. It was that kind of tune that made his lungs not remember how to breathe and his eyes pour – while his lips reflected all the gold that cascaded from his heart.” It’s a quick (rather ridiculous) example, but I do think about some things: how when I feel like that, I tend to have a hard time breathing and I do cry, but it’s because I want to smile so much I cannot contain it. Then I try to describe those feelings with metaphors and poetic stuff because I’m a melodramatic bitch.

Jokes aside, it’s because I like that sort of writing that has that beauty behind it – or more of a melancholic approach. It’s what resonates the most with me and I adopted it, even if sometimes it feels too… Abstract. I like that ability of people piecing the abstractness together and having their own interpretation – and that’s what makes people have different feelings while reading the same thing.

Is this for everyone? Absolutely not. I bet some people despise all that poeticness I like to put on words to lace them like a painting, you know? So, the more you re-read the things you like, you’ll start identifying what resonates with you and you can apply that to your own writing!

And that doesn’t mean you’ll have to be locked on that writing style as well. I’m currently trying to finish a book (I hope someday I can publish it) which is a cyberpunk style story, with lots of inspiration from Cyberpunk 2077, Blade Runner, John Wick (yes, Keanu Reeves sends his regards) and all that poetic writing doesn’t quite fit there. I’m using more of a direct approach, but there’s a lot of existentialism and reflecting on overcoming grief, trauma, owning your own life and contemplating one’s own mortality – and that’s where that poetic, metaphoric, melancholic, bittersweet characteristic of my writing style comes into play. And then everyone starts cursing and shooting each other again :)

Having a style doesn’t mean getting stuck in it – it means knowing when and where to use it!

Now regarding getting into the writing zone:

I freaking ADORE music and it helps me A TON while I’m writing. It’s like setting the mood. I’m trying to be sexy, or mysterious, or having that vampire-y vibe? Depeche Mode playlist it is. Fight scenes? Metal and Electronic. I need to freaking focus and get to work without thinking too much about the music (or start dancing like crazy whenever a song I love comes in and there I am, dancing and singing in my room at 3 a.m)? Piano playlists – classic, modern, everything and anything, as long as it is piano.

Playing music that goes with what I’m writing also helps. For my cyberpunk book, for instance, I put on the Cyberpunk 2077 OST playlist/radio on, or I search for “Cyberpunk Ambience/Playlist” on Youtube and let it roll while I write. For my King Arthur stories (yes, still working on them), I put on Celtic music compilations, Enya, Loreena McKennitt or the piano playlists. For my vampire stories, be the medieval or the near-future one, dark piano, Dark Wave, etc. Perhaps searching for that one playlist that has to do with your story setting and listening to it for some time might get you in the zone!

I also usually write deep in the night. Because I’m a spawn of Dracula. After everyone at home has gone to sleep, I make myself some hot tea, sit on my computer, start listening to music and write. That’s because I know I won’t be interrupted, and I can do just that. Sometimes, I start writing at 1 a.m, other times earlier, other times later. Try to notice when your ideas seem to flow better and when you get more into the zone – but please, don’t be unhealthy as I am and go to sleep at a decent hour. I’m not an example here with my sleeping schedule hahahaha

Cringy moment: when I’m stuck, I act the last scene I wrote as one of my characters in the shower and, usually, ideas start to come in (and I have to get off the shower). Hahahaha now that’s just a weird one, but I have NO idea why, my best ideas arise in the shower. Water has a weird effect on me, so sometimes I just stand there with warm water pouring over my head and, lo and behold, I’m exiting the shower in a hurry because I just got my writer mood back HAHAHA so maybe some very mundane activity – like cooking, taking the trash out, cleaning the room – might be where your writer brain will come to life. You never know.

Needless to say, I talk to myself a lot, sometimes as if I’m talking to the characters. That is a very bad coping mechanism I developed when I was being bullied at school – I used to pretend Dante was with me when I was alone or something had happened and I needed someone by my side, so nowadays I have a very easy time writing this man. I started doing that with some of my characters, and that goes for repeating lines or part of the stories I’m writing to see if I can get un-stuck. It’s not the greatest of things, but it works. My neighbors might think I’m crazy, though xD

When I’m completely unmotivated or I keep staring at the blank page without being able to write, I try to immerse myself in what I’m writing about. So, if I’m stuck on my cyberpunk book, I watch some Cyberpunk 2077 let’s plays, I re-watch the Edgerunners anime, I re-watch Blade Runner, I re-read some parts of Do Androids Dream of Electrical Sheep? or I, Robot, I listen to Blade Runner’s soundtrack, I even try to play Cyberpunk 2077 (while praying not to get motion sickness or not having my pc exploding from overworking). If I’m stuck on my King Arthur works, then I re-watch the 2004 movie (may the gods bless Ioan Gruffudd and his wonderful Lancelot and Mads Mikkelsen as my beloved Tristan), re-read the 3 books on the Chronicles of Arthur series, listen to some Celtic music, research Arthurian stories for hours on the internet, search for my encyclopedias at home to see if they have something on King Arthur, read obscure translated manuscripts from ancient times on it … So, immersing yourself on reading, researching, listening to music, watching movies, playing videogames, listening to stories, watching series, reading mangas, watching anime, documentaries, going to the movies, basically doing anything that has to do with the theme you’re writing, may get you in the mood. Next time you sit down to write, it might flow wonderfully!

I don’t force myself to write, though. If I do, I usually can’t write a single decent word and I’ll hate it. If things aren’t flowing – and this I learned with my mom, who also draws – I leave it for a while and go do something else. Maybe I’ll have some warm tea, or watch a completely unrelated movie, or read my current book, or talk to my parrot in the kitchen, play some piano, draw a little, or just take a good nap. My mom says it refreshes the head and the eyes, and when you come back to it, you’ll be a lot more inclined to find things that weren’t working and let those creative juices flow.

I also have a very weird search history and I’m not ashamed of it. All writers do, and it’s better to have a weird search history than not knowing what you’re talking about, honestly. And sometimes, researching takes a lot more time than writing and might get you motivated – time spent learning is never wasted. Even if you’re learning what kind of dates grow in Greece and are offered to Apollo (bless his heart).

Sometimes, I write something completely unrelated, with a very different theme, and stupidly goofy – and that gets me back to the writing vibes. Sometimes there’s just this need of writing something for the sake of writing, and you just want something foolish to make you smile like a goof. It’s valid and it might be your ticket out of writing-rut-land.

Now some little uncalled for advices:

I spent too long being self-conscious and too serious about it. If it’s not your style, don’t force it. Some people need structure, other people thrive in chaos – know what’s your style and go for it. I hate planning novels, for example. But I will outline the main points of the story and the ending – the rest, well, the characters have to show me whatever else they’re doing, and I have to go with it. Sometimes there are huge arcs I didn’t plan as a main point of the story, but they pop up in the middle of it and they are important – I like leaving that room for impromptu writing/creating. So, find out how it works for you, not how it works for everyone else.

You don’t have to create masterpieces right at the first time you’re writing. Take my King Arthur thing-y for example. I wrote the full story when I was 15. When I was in college, I decided to re-write it. And then, when I was at work, I decided to re-write the re-write. And now, I just took all my files, read them, thought about it all, outlined a whole new story and decided to write anew. Not re-write, but take all that work and write as if I had never written anything before – in the original file, the main characters were 15 years old and in school, now they have their jobs at Universities and work on the secret society that is now a lot more fleshed out and built with loads of new characters around (including a new one I created yesterday after months not thinking about it).

If I hadn’t written the Twilight-sort of embarrassing thing when I was 15, I wouldn’t have this whole universe, characters and story to build upon nowadays. It wasn’t a masterpiece, but it was a good idea – and I’ll keep working on it until I’m happy with it. It’s been 13 years I’m working on it now, maybe when it reaches its 15th anniversary, I’ll be able to finally let it see the light of day!

Don’t listen to the “NEVER DO THIS!!” advices. Seriously. Writing is a form of art – and, as in all art, there isn’t a right or wrong. By all means, see what people are saying it’s bad and you should never do – I watch and read those advices so I can learn to be better too! – but don’t take it to heart. As Captain Barbossa would say, it’s more of a guideline than rules set in stone. Sometimes, something people say you should NEVER EVER do is something that works perfectly fine for you and your style of writing. Learn to make up your own mind: learn new things, listen to advices, but absorb those that resonate with you and leave those that don’t. That’s how you create your own opinion about things and how you find your writing style!

One fun thing to point out on this as an example: me, my mom, my sister and my dad ADORE reading. My sister loves Jane Austen, my mom is a super fan of Dostoyevsky and Russian literature, while my dad lives for Isaac Asimov and all things sci-fi. I love sci-fi, my mom can’t stand it. I read Dante’s Inferno in a week and my mom couldn’t get past the first verses. My sister can’t read poetry at all and is terribly bored by Lord of the Rings. My dad read my Chronicles of Arthur books and even told me to buy the complete the series. Me and my sister enjoyed Khaled Hosseini’s books a lot, but my mom never felt like reading them.

All of this to say: it’s not a matter of who’s more intellectual than the other, it’s a matter of who likes which kind of literature and writing styles. Some people are more comfortable with one way of writing or a certain kind of literature and can’t stand others – and that’s ok. Writing is pretty much the same. THERE ARE NO FIXED RULES! BE A REBEL!

If it helps you: character sheets. Around 8 years ago – or more – I searched and searched online for the character sheet that could help me the best. I had never done it before and thought it was quite useless, until I downloaded one and started filling the infos on my main characters of my Arthurian sort of story. Lo and behold, they became SO MUCH BETTER and that’s when I started rewriting everything: I understood all characters a LOT better and made better decisions when writing them. It doesn’t work for everyone, though, but it’s a lot of fun for me. Currently, I don’t use it much because I now know what are the main things I need for my characters to seem alive, but it’s always nice to have a reference when you’re writing.

My cyberpunk story, for instance, it has A BUNCH of characters with scars, different hair colours, different eye colours, the way they dress, birthmarks, cyber-implants, cyber-prothesis, dressing styles… And sometimes I get lost in it. So it’s nice keeping a character sheet when I go like “wait, she has burn marks on the left arm or the right arm…?”

And keeping a file on worldbuilding might be helpful as well. I noticed that writing my cyberpunk thing. The first thing I wrote was a huge file explaining the city, the factions, the districts, people’s styles, who are the viruses, the sub-types of viruses, the political parties, the police and secret police, the difference between artificials and organics, how does access to the world works, what is the Ocularis system, the most important corporations, their names, their owners… And all those things will probably never appear on this story.

But I felt a HUGE difference. Instead of info-dumping right at the beginning to make the reader understand how the world is built and how it works, I started it right at an important point in the story. No one knows anything about how things work, but, as the characters speak to each other, they talk about so many things that the reader catches things and pieces together how all things are organized.

Don’t try to explain everything. Tying with I said before, if you have a very good idea of how things work, how the characters relate to each other, how they react and how they think, you won’t need to info-dump. I usually think I’m seeing my characters going about their day and that is ALL I’m describing: what they are saying, feeling, thinking and doing. If I feel something is missing for people to fully understand, then I add something quite minimal to help. But I don’t overexplain: people are intelligent and they can piece things together.

Don’t go full Marvel movies and explain everything as if no one can understand unless you say it. Go Nolan and try to make people understand with images, feelings, glances, metaphors and such. It’s very effective in writing! (Don’t get me wrong, I do like Marvel movies, but they have become those kinds of movies that require little mental effort because literally everything will be explained in a huge monologue or through dialogue. You don’t always need dialogues – and if you say “oh that’s too ambiguous and people won’t be certain about it” that’s the beauty of art: it’s always up to interpretation)

Having someone to read and give you feedback might be very helpful too. I have a few friends every now and then I send some of my stories so they’ll read and give me an honest feedback. I try to listen to their opinions and refine my work – but if I think they critique doesn’t make sense, I thank them anyway and keep on doing my thing. Like I said, know when to take what makes sense and when let go of something that doesn’t. Also: feedback is NOT a personal attack. DON’T TAKE IT TO HEART. See it always as something you may need to improve – and you’ll improve quicker.

At the end of the day, writing is art. And all art is relative.

Your art will be great to some and horrible to others – and that’s ok! Again, learn to NOT make it personal (the critiques, I mean, because art is always personal and that’s wonderful, I think).

And repeat after me: you will not please everyone. The point is to make yourself proud. You’ll find your people along the way.

Do it because you love. Do it because it comes from your heart, from your soul. The world has become so filled with content, mindlessly created by artificial intelligence so we will keep consuming, that things have lost so much of their soul.

To make art, to write, is to have soul. If you have that heart, that passion in your work, it will show – and people will follow. When you sit to write, don’t make it a chore, don’t make it an aesthetic tiktok post, don’t follow the routine of this or that famous artist – do what you have to do and let your heart flow. Do it for you.

I think that’s the main advice I can give. Don’t do content to post on social media and look good, do your art. Push your boundaries, test new things, write in ways you never did before, but do your thing.

When everyone is doing the same thing over and over again, you’ll realize your words will stand out by doing what you want to do.

Again thanks for attending my TED Talk xD

#polaris speaks #writing advice #writing tips #writing #writing help #writing tips and tricks #answered asks #asks #anon ask #there we gooooo second part of super long post xD #do forgive anon #and do forgive taking so long #but I hope these will help somehow #I'm not the best person to give advices #but maybe these things I did for learning and refining my writing will help other people too #and the motivational speak at the end as well xD #we all need some of that

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hrodvitnon · 9 months ago

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Shimo Spicy HCs

(preface: Was originally gonna include this in a much larger Shimo submission analogous to the Ozzy one, but I later decided to separate them because I sat down to write that one and literally just wrote this. I think you’ve successfully transmitted the kaiju-smut-mindbug that you, Gemini, and lots of others on this blog share… and I’m all here for it. Shimo smutty stuff coming up.)

- Short Explanation for her first times (will probably be elaborated on in a future submission) ○ Her first (straight) time was with Ozzy, as previously established. Idk what that translates to in Shamhat because Ozzy’s existence is up in the air; if he doesn’t exist in that universe then we can just say that it was with some random Gojiran comrade of hers. ○ I don’t really have a good answer yet for who her first female sexual encounter would be with. It could just be that she never got around to laying with another female until getting captured and thus can’t until the modern day. In which case it may be a fun idea for her and Mothra or Vivi to give it a shot together. - Sex was always a luxury for her, not something she did super often way back when she was youthful. She had a war to fight and felt the need to focus. She wasn’t afforded too much time with Ozzy or any other mates (but the time they did have was always *very* well spent). Getting back to the modern day and finally not having a war to fight is- strange to her. She never, however, drops her soldier-like loyalties and knightly composure. - Speaking of composure, Shimo’s not a very loud lover. She’ll let you know she’s having a good time through grunts or a well-timed breathless moan- but she’s never really crying out to the heavens like a choirgirl. She sees it as disciplined to control herself a little bit, and also finds it a little undignified when she hears Tiamat or someone just starts screaming from across the island. There are exceptions, of course, times she just decides to indulge or even people she’s ok being a little loose and louder around (hint: rhymes with Cinqueilla). She’s also very good at controlling her orgasm and general pleasure intake to prolong sessions. This goes hand in hand with something later so we’ll touch on it again. - Tiamat and Ghidorah aren’t the only ones with sexy tricks up their scales… Shimo’s biology grants her an interesting ability in conjecture with her ice powers: she can self-regulate her body temperature. Running cold (or at least chilly) is her natural state; where she can use Frostbite Breath, her muscles contract and toughen, and her scales harden up into their naturally armored state. She also has the potential to run warm. She can’t force her temperature up to what a kaiju like Rodan is capable of, but the ability to run warm comes in handy when she’s in extremely cold environments (like any created by herself) to preserve heat and not freeze to death. Another way it comes in handy: when she wants to act as a giant heated blanket for someone beneath her. Flipping the heat switch also turns what would be a subtle warmth in her loins into a disarmingly warm cavern that wets extremely quickly and potently. Of course- this can also be utilized in the other direction… ○ She naturally has an affinity for temperature play- but also recognizes this is a fairly extreme kink and only pulls it out on willing participants. It can be anything from running a cold tongue from navel to neck whilst holding her lover in place- or fucking right in the eye of a snowstorm with the only protection being Shimo running as warm as her body lets her and surrounding her lover as best as she can. § Her favorite trick to pull is on the less extreme spectrum. Essentially she’ll work to service her partner (whether through fellatio or eating them out) going in with a neutral mouth and tongue, then dropping the temperature just enough to be sufficiently uncomfortable for a brief moment, only to instantly heat up hotter than she was when she started. Such a sensation can be described as ‘jumping between a jacuzzi and a swimming pool but with your genitals’. The few that have had this used on them have been brought to orgasm in record times, as the brief dip into bitter cold heavily spikes sensitivity levels. ○ This leads nicely into her 'Weakspot’. See, it’s kind of a tricky answer, as her Weakspot becomes her entire body whenever she runs warm. Her muscles relax, her scales soften into something more like flesh, and her sensitivity levels go up. So it’s a double-edged sword whenever she gets warm with someone in bed- it feels way better for her partner and helps her assert dominance over them, but it also makes her feel everything magnified. Thankfully, very few lovers have caught onto this (minus one (hehehe puns)); they’re usually too busy with their one-person symphony performance underneath her. - Typically prefers to be on top. Whereas Ghidorah or Tiamat usually do because of a domination alpha-complex, her fierce protective streak, maternal/paternal chimera disposition (I’ll explain what that means… later), and general service-based identity manifests into a powerful need to wring as much pleasure as she possibly can out of each and every person she gets with. She may not be a very loud partner herself; but moans, cries, powerful orgasms, clenched teeth, curling toes, sweat- seeing it all feels as good to her as the act itself. Having the knowledge that *she’s* the one utterly rocking and sending her partners into a bliss-induced trance is like a drug to her. - The pinnacle of this takes the form of a skill that is very rare to pull off reliably and successfully: The Amazon Position. If you don’t know what that is, it’s essentially a piledriver or mating press but with the penetrated partner on top driving the penetrated one. It’s hard to explain in text so just look it up if you wanna know ig, but it’s really difficult to pull off without proper strength or agility; especially with giant lovers like Godzilla, Ghidorah, Kong, etc. Suffice to say this gets on Tiamat’s nerves a lot- the fact that there’s even a single thing that Shimo can do in sex that she can’t is very annoying, and she’ll half-heartedly attempt it only for her partner to either slip out, her to get tired, or even fall over. Anyways- it’s an incredibly domineering angle to have over a partner and Shimo *loves* pulling it out on Titans that would usually be the tallest guys in the room, only for them to end up with their legs hiked towards the sky, her pounding her heated flesh onto theirs, and them essentially helpless underneath her. - Of course, she’ll occasionally take a less domineering role when the mood takes her- but she has a special trick for demanding lovers who refuse to settle underneath her and instead demand to top. See, she thinks tough talk is cheap and would rather they prove to her that they should be above her. So, she lays back, legs open, hands behind her neck, and orders the offender in question to get her to squirt in 5 minutes or less. If they can’t, she tops and she will *not go easy on them*. This became known as Shimo’s Trial amongst those who slept with her way back when. It’s something she had planned to retire upon returning to the surface- only for Goji to bring it up in a conversation with everyone. Of course, whether out of pride, spite, or sheer horniness; basically everyone on the island resolved to give it a shot. Shimo basically shrugged and went 'sure’, figuring it would be good practice and would help her get back into it after 2 million years of no sexual contact. - Very few have actually passed Shimo’s Trial, only one manages on their first try. Ozzy and Goji eventually do, but it takes them a few attempts (and sore hips). Here’s how this went on Infant Island specifically: ○ Rodan called first, and Kong got second. Both did not pass. Rodan because he thought if he just rawdogged in she’d squirt all over him really fast (he did not anticipate how warm it would be and actually came himself), and Kong because of his relative inexperience in pleasing a woman (usually he can get the job done, but Shimo was actively trying to resist the pleasure and endure in any way she could). Suffice to say, Shimo *severely* punished Rodan for chasing his own pleasure when he was told to bring her to a high. She went a little easier on Kong, but not by a lot. For him she at least made him a bath afterwards (like Rodan did for Ilene in Shamhat). ○ Vivienne 'attempts’ next. She kind of didn’t even try and just used the trial as an excuse to get dommed by Shimo. Task failed successfully on her part. ○ The Crawlers are next, and actually get pretty close. Shimo figured she’d be able to take on 3 inexperienced lesser Titans easily, only for them to pull out a three-fold attack on her- one focusing down her clit while the other two spread her open on their tongues. They get pretty close, but fall short just barely. Shimo somewhat bit off more than she could chew here, she admits, and it thankfully didn’t cost her. She resolves to be more careful next time as she lays between all three of them, each one sufficiently ridden out of their minds. ○ Ghidorah steps up to the plate next- and seriously catches her off-guard. He’s ravenous from the start, employing tactics that even make Godzilla melt to putty. It’s seriously difficult to resist two heads on her loins while San claims her mouth and neck very aggressively. However, she’s just about to pull through and hit her time limit when a golden claw ghosts to her throat and sends an Thundergasm (yes I named it Thundergasm. It is absolutely the peak of my creativity.) conducting through her body. She had no idea he was even capable of this and it cost her the Trial. Of course, Ghidorah is no humble winner in the slightest, intending to lord this over her and Goji’s head until they die- that he was the first one to pass the Trial on a first attempt. It annoys Shimo to no end and she makes an oath to pay him back for it- right after he’s done pounding his dual rods into her at a bruising pace… ○ Tiamat goes next- fully with the intent to win and humiliate her rival. This was her domain, her playing field, and she meant to win. However- she ultimately falls short for one simple reason: she was planning to work her up and then hit her with her own Thundergasm at the last minute- exactly Ghidorah’s plan of action. Because Shimo got tricked by that tactic once before, she’s fully expecting it from her. When she goes for it, Shimo freezes a layer of ice between her point of contact and her scales- basically grounding the electricity and stopping the shock from hitting her. Once she’s out of her pounding session she is irate at Ghidorah for playing that card before she could. ○ Mothra’s up next- and although she didn’t actually pass in the allotted time (she made Shimo cum at 5:04) Shimo sorta makes an exception and counts this her real first time with another girl. Mothra was so good at pleasing her that Shimo didn’t actually know she failed until she checked the timer. Shimo decides to go easy on her that night and they end it snuggled together happily instead. ○ Godzilla gets last. For Shimo, this was the big one, the only one she was truly excited about. The two of them hadn’t been together in 2 million years at least; and Goji had been constantly telling her that he’s changed since then. She teases him about it, but honestly does believe him. He’s taller, faster, tougher, more mature, the scars on his body have only multiplied, and he has a new family now- one significantly more loving than the one he left behind. It- actually makes Shimo a little emotional thinking about it. He’s *so* different from the loud and irritable boy she used to 'discipline’ way back when, who she taught how to survive in a cruel world, whom she treated like a younger brother. She’s not changed a bit under Skar’s rule, and he’s a whole new person. Although, she does get the sense of nostalgia when he enters the arena- nostrils flared and posture held as high as his height allows. It’s the same glare and cocksure grin he’d flash right before putting his all into a final match of a spar session, ones that usually ended in her defeat. His eyes were trained upon her, as well as the victory he hoped to reap. As he meets her in the middle, Shimo actually realizes she’ll be disappointed if he *doesn’t* win. She’s lost in her own thoughts until he speaks. “We doing this?” “Yes. I apologize. You’ve just- gotten much taller.” Godzilla gives her a smirk, a genuine one, just for a second before the old one comes back. It’s very comforting to know that the younger man she called her best friend is still in there. She gets on her back, and oh does he get to work. He’s like a bull- barging through every single wall she tries to set up, every failsafe she uses comes crumbling down under his ministrations. She tries not to make it easy for him, but it seems like he hits her everywhere she’s not expecting to be hit. He even uses a dirty trick of heating up his tongue with ambient energy to trigger her Weakspot requirements. He even wrings a moan out of her a little while in, causing her to cover her maw with a paw. Despite all this, Shimo endures up to 4:28- but it’s still a record. Ozzy (if he exists) got her at 4:49. After he’s done, he rises back on his haunches and tilts his head at her. “Whatever happened to 'wanting to hear every noise you make’? What makes you think I don’t want to hear you in return?” Shimo chuckles and takes her paw down. “Forgive me, I’m sure I’ve made you wait long enough.” Nevertheless, she gets on one knee before Goji, looking him in his aged eyes. “I mean it truly, my King. I’ve never felt true pride like this towards another in all my life. Seeing you now, seeing who you’ve become, it warms even this frostbitten soul. I will always be proud to call you my King.” She ducks her head in reverence. Goji grins a genuine smile and rests a hand on her shoulder. Even kneeling down she’s up to his chest. He cups her chin and turns her up to look at him. “As I will always be proud to call you my right Crystal Blade, my Frostbitten Vanguard, *my* Shimo. Now as you’ve said, we’ve waited long enough.” Her heart swelling at being called his sadly had to take a backseat to being gathered up and kissed roughly and aggressively by the monster King. That night (as well as the following day- neither of them left that section of the island for at least 36 hours) was magic. Goji brought his A-game not just to the Trial, but to the aftermath he knew awaited him afterwards. He let his rut fester and swell for a day before this, intentionally letting it build up so he could let it loose right here and now. He didn’t mean to just win, he wanted to show Shimo the best fucking time he was physically able to- both because he wanted payback for the 'vocal performance’ jokes getting thrown his way by Rodan and Ghidorah, but also because he truly did love her. She gave him a warmth in his life that was very rare to him at the time, was kind and didn’t overlook him when many others did. She would always tout that she owed her life to him and Kong for freeing her from Skar until the day she died, but Goji felt the same towards her, and this was his way of showing it. He hits her with every trick in his arsenal, every little technique he picked up over 2 million years, every ounce of stamina he’s able to muster goes into working her into as many orgasms as was physically possible for her. On her end, she just lets herself run warm and enjoy it all. He has her against every single surface he can find for her, beds, rocks, trees- she warms herself at full blast for him the whole time, and she actually lets herself moan and make noises she’d deem unacceptable to flow from her mouth with anyone else. He even exaggerates his own cries and moans as he knows it does wonders for her. He destroys her in every way possible and she loves all of it, finally letting herself be swept along and treated for once; and he pours all of himself into his ministrations, wanting her to fell loved, to welcome her home. When all’s said and done and the two have somehow managed to curl up together in a bed somewhere, Goji requests that she stay with him so that he can truly call her his, an offer Shimo would be very hard pressed to deny. In addition, she also requests his help for getting back at Ghidorah for his little cheating shenanigans during the Trial…

---

I’m sorry (not sorry at all), but it must be said:

Thunder... Thunder... Thunder! THUNDERGASM! HOOOOOOOOOOOOOO~!

Well, we certainly can’t say that Shimo isn’t having a fun time on Infant Island; the amorous denizens vary between getting pounded in the hubris to wanting to be dominated to providing her with a genuine challenge - and then there’s San being an outright cheeky bastard pulling a trick like that just to technically beat the challenge.

But my word does Goji make the two million year wait worth it. The big lug really is a romantic at heart and he shows it masterfully here, alongside the obvious massive improvements to his bedside manner since the first time.

#submission #tosho89 #frostbite814 #in the footsteps of shamhat #spicy~!#en ess eff dubya

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earlgreytea68 · 1 year ago

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How do i get better at writing, if ur willing to- do u have any tips or tricks?

I think everyone has their own writing tips or tricks and so what works for me might not work for you, and you should definitely experiment and figure out what you like or don't like, but here are some tips/tricks I swear by personally:

Write what you want to write. Unless you're being paid to write something, there's no reason to write something you don't want to write. So write whatever you want. Let it be as self-indulgent as possible. If you are enjoying it, it will come across in your writing, and then your readers will enjoy. They will feel your love for what you're doing and they will be inclined to regard it with similar affection. I only ever write what I want to read in the world. In fact, usually my fics start with me having an idea and being like, "Argh, has no one else done this yet?! If I want to read it, do I have to write it myself????"

Think about the writers you admire most. Whenever I read something written by someone I think is really good, I try to figure out why I think it's so good. What is it that I admire so much? Sometimes it's something I feel like I will never be able to achieve, but sometimes thinking about it makes me realize I could do it, too. Or at least try. The difference in my writing before and after I discovered The West Wing is so striking, I will forever be grateful I found Aaron Sorkin and he taught me how to write rapid-fire dialogue as well as those grand, big, emotional speeches that no one ever delivers in real life but he does SO well. I devoured everything I could find that Aaron Sorkin had ever written, and I didn't do it to consciously mimic him, but inevitably I started to sound a little more like him, mostly because I'd begun to realize what he'd been doing so effectively. I do the same thing with anything else I read that I love (mainly pieces of fanfiction these days). Like, if I'm impressed by a particular scene or plot or whatever, I take note of what that writer did that I loved about it so much.

But also: be you. You learn from other people, but you don't need to reinvent YOURSELF. I think working hard to be someone else will just exhaust you and not be fun for you. I don't think of writing as being super-different from talking. Slightly more polished, but however I would tell you the story in person, that's how I want to tell the story in type. If you feel comfortable talking and uncomfortable in front of a keyboard, maybe do some dictation to open yourself up. That doesn't personally work for me, but I could definitely see it working for some people.

Don't skip writing the boring parts to get to the good parts. Better: Don't write any boring parts lol. Like, if you're too bored to write the bit, then your readers will probably be too bored to read the bit. If the bit's so boring you want to skip it, maybe you don't even need it.

Be wary of cutting to black too much, or too soon. A lot of times it can be really tempting to just write something like "They talked all night," or "Over the next few months, they grew closer." Whenever I find myself writing something like that, I pause and think about it. Sometimes, that really is what the story needs: You can't write down every single thing the characters do, of course. But sometimes what you're skipping over is actually where the meat of your story lives, if you're telling a love story. What they talked about all night, or over the next few months, is what makes your readers (and you!!) believe in them as a couple. Like, I find myself writing those moments instead of letting myself skip over them because I'm looking for the part where they click for me -- and then I'll know that they clicked for each other. A good example of this is in "Next Christmas," when I threw in all those text conversations between Pete and Patrick. I skipped those months in the narrative, but I felt it was extremely important for all of us to see how much they interacted over those months. I could have just said "They'd been texting constantly for the past six months," but I personally think it was more effective to write out the texts. Maybe you disagree! Like I said, everyone writes differently! But I point it out just on the off-chance that you might not have thought about why I spent the time to write all those text conversations. I thought they made a difference to the story, so I put them in. They also made a difference to me. I like it when I can pick up inside jokes for the characters to have with each other lol. Another thing in "Next Christmas" was I needed Pete to talk about something, rather than put in a fade to black, and I'd just learned about opossum genitalia, so I had him say that, and then look at how much in the story came off of that. SO MUCH. And that was only in there because I felt like Pete needed to keep talking but I had no idea what to have him say so I just picked something random.

Just write. The only way I know how to write is to write. I never outline. Or not the way other people seem to. I know some people would never, ever write by the seat of their pants, which is why all writing rules are only suggestions, and if that thought terrifies you, don't do it. But I tend to believe that outlining becomes procrastination for me. Same with research. I'm doing it to delay writing. It's never a good thing for me to do. Just write. Even when I don't feel like writing, I try to make myself write just a few sentences. Sometimes it's just not coming that day, and I'll give up, but I always try, because sometimes once you start, the continuing is much easier.

Keep writing. I am a much better writer today than I was ten years ago, and an incredibly better writer than I was twenty years ago. The more you write, the more tricks you learn, the more you grow to understand your brain and your process, the more you can lean into it.

Trust your characters. I'm not great at plotting (or outlining), because for me I just go where the characters want to go. If I'm having a really hard time writing something, it's probably because I'm fighting against what the characters want to do. That's just an unpleasant way to write, I think. Let them do what they want, even if it's different than what you have planned. I just have this theory that being true to the characters will in the end serve your story better than whatever plot you want to jam them into. Of course, they might fit perfectly well within your plot! Cool! But sometimes, you've gotta give up on the idea you were in love with because a better idea has come along. Another example from "Next Christmas": I truly did not know if they were going to break up that Christmas they got together or not until the scene was written. I could see it going either way, and making sense both ways. My natural instinct once characters get together is to let them stay together, and I always worry that I will therefore put characters together too soon (what I did wrong with the dystopia, too). So what I did was start writing the scene where Patrick shows up freaking out to see what he would say and what Pete would do. And when it was done, they were broken up. And I think that was right. I don't think it was contrived, I think if I'd done what I wanted to do and let them stay together, Patrick never would have trusted what had happened and eventually it would have ruined them and it wouldn't have been as satisfying a story because that would have been looming over them.

Read your work over, not just for typos. If there's any moment you hit where you find yourself a little confused as to how it reads, fix it. If you're confused over something that came out of your head, your readers definitely will be. Also, as you read it over, think about the pacing of your story. If some emotional thing has just happened that you really want to make sure your readers notice and absorb and relish, something that you love and want to highlight, add in some character reaction, to let the moment breathe more and not move on too fast.

Finally: Have a good time! I do not believe that writing should be emotional torment through which you perform therapy on yourself or other people. If that's what you want, cool! But if you just want to have a good time, then please, have a good time.

#writing #long post

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briefmusicbouquet · 1 year ago

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more thoughts on miguel because i am obsessed with this man to an unhealthy degree

i'm a fan of the "miguel never had a wife and kid in his home universe," school of thought

but like just picture this: miguel just feeling super alone in his universe, and halfway certain of that idea that "being spiderman is responsibility and suffering and isolation", and then figuring out how to look into other universes, and then seeing one where he has a family

so miguel, who's already partly written off the idea that he could ever be that happy, bc even the way he became spiderman was something meant to Other him and keep him from being able to go to other people, thinks this is the closest he'll ever get to that and is content watching a version of him be happy

and then alternate him dies

he knows how much it'll devastate his alternate univ wife and daughter, how much it'll hurt

and how much it'll hurt losing this one thread of hope that happiness is possible for him

so he jumps into that universe, brings the body back to his and hides it, and then comes back with similar injuries that aren't enough to kill him and dials an ambulance

he comes to in a hospital bed, and for the first time outside of a self indulgent dream, there's two faces hovering over him and asking if he's okay and if he's in any pain

it turns out that watching his alternate wife and daughter is WAY different from actually living with them

even though he feels he knew them before, he's constantly finding out more and more things about his daughter and wife that he hadn't known before, and that just increases how much he cares

and there's a annoying little doubt in the back of his mind that he didn't do the right thing, that he should've just settled in his life back in 928 and stopped keeping tabs on them after the funeral

but then his daughter pulls on his arm to show him a cool trick she just learned and he knows that there's nothing that could make him regret this

occasionally, there's little movements out of the corner of his eye

colors split and things divide in two and he whips his head to the side but it's gone, so he writes it off as a coincidence and learns to ignore it

the first time his wife glitches out of the corner of his eye he nearly has a heart attack, and like a switch, things start getting exponentially worse after that

the lamp in the corner of the living room is permanently split into a jagged mirror of itself, there's a pixel flickering in the corner of his eye and leaving him with constant headaches, and he starts quietly sneaking out of their bed in the middle of the night to try and make a bracelet or something that could stabilize the glitching, but it's hard to work when his tools keep glitching and jumping out of his hands and even harder to focus when the glitching gets heavier and starts creeping outside of the corner of his vision and overtaking everything until the table he's sitting at completely fizzles out of existence and takes his tools and the prototype bracelet with it.

there's a small pinprick of black where his bracelet was two seconds ago, and then world starts dissolving around it

#shit i accidently lowkey started writing a fic #oh well #miguel o'hara #astv spoilers #atsv miguel #spoilers #spiderman: across the spiderverse

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astraystayyh · 11 months ago

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Eek more questions hehe I really like this new set

Really curious for #1, #7, #8, #10, #13, #21, #24, #28, #34, and #35!!

These were really good questions hehe

-💫

What inspired you to start writing fanfiction?

it was i think my 3rd month of being a stay? and I really loved reading ff on here even tho I had no idea how this app worked LMAO I've already told her but @rachalixie's hurt/comfort drabbles were my fav thing to read, she was one the first ppl I followed on here, and so, tmi, I was feeling so anxious and I wrote a channie helping u through an anxiety attack drabble (that I never posted AJSNJSB) and I was like hold on! this is fun! i can write what I want??? and post it for people to read...... like I was already writing some poems for a couple of years now but they were just for me yk, so i got super ambitious and i posted a long ass OT8 saying ily for the first time as my first fic akssjnjb i was so nervous like actually shaking and refreshing the notif bar every two seconds, i still rem the very first two comments i got, i think that's when it hit me that people actually READ stuff I wrote.

short answer, i've always loved writing and then stayblr -mainly anny inspired me to start writing too hehe

10. What's your favorite part about the fic writing process?

wahhhh probably coming up with lines i'm proud of?? i also loveee weaving parallels into my fics and for everything to come full circle, I love the symbolic aspects of fic writing in a way, thinking of mundane things and giving them an important significance for the characters!!! someone commented underneath Orange that they cannot believe they're crying over oranges and that rlly made me giggle!! that's the point HEHEH

13. What's the most challenging aspect of writing fanfiction for you?

for me it's descriptions ;;;; especially when it comes to sceneries or clothes or omg PLACES like decor and all,, I can't envision these things in my mind so I always worry I'm not describing them well in my fics,,, also the little transition scenes where nothing MAJOR happens but that are still pivotal to the right flow of the story ;;; yeah these mess with my head the most

21. Have you ever used fanfiction as a way to explore your own emotions or personal experiences?

hiii heyyy ofc i did ZJKNJD i think a lot of authors will relate but art cannot be completely separate from the artist, every work u read of mine has a little (or big) piece of me in it, that's why it's so vulnerable for writers to share their works on this scary place because u are perceived and judged for them and u hope that someone will find solace in ur struggles or relate to ur worries,,, and this is really helping me mend back my rp with love!!!

24. What advice would you give to someone who wants to start writing fanfiction?

JUST DO IT!!!! seriously go for it, you'll 100% cringe at ur earlier works later on but u will also improve and learn and discover things about urself that u would've never known otherwise!!! be self-indulgent and write things for urself and there will be always someone who will appreciate them

34. Are there any fic writing tips or tricks you've learned along the way that you'd like to share?

im trying to think of smtg i never mentioned before mmmm.... oh I think that trying to include bits and quirks of the member u are writing about is always so fun and makes the story more enjoyable for the reader!! ofc we don't know what these idols are like irl BUT there are some aspects of their personalities that we know of (like their interests or small habits) and it's always fun to incorporate into ur story, also helps with the characterization hehe

35. What do you enjoy most about being a fic writer?

THE FEEDBACK!!!!!!!!! nothing beats the feedback for me it's literally what makes the entire thinking, writing and editing process worth it!! the feedback is what keeps me going and fuels my motivation, it is so so important for writers I can't stress this enough,,, I'm so so grateful and lucky to have such sweet readers who leave me the most THOUGHTFUL feedback, like with just one rb u could erase SEAS OF DOUBTS in the writer's mind. i always say this but the only way for me to know if my fic is good is by reading u guys' opinions,,, so yeah the feedback is my fuel ;;;;

7. How do you handle writer's block or moments of creative stagnation? 8. Do you have any rituals or habits that help you get into the zone? 28. What's the most ambitious or challenging fic you've ever written

i answered these here and here <33

#THIS WAS SOOO FUN #THANK U BABY FOR SENDING THESE IN #i hope this isn't too long i had to ramble AJKSNJZD #sahar's.asks <3 #💫 anon

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jinxthejubilee · 2 years ago

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Hey there!! I’m come here as soon as i saw that you write nd draw for Villain recruiters bc there is not enough writes of the babies,,so, i remember seeing on a post (don’t really remember if it was yours or if it was other person) a headcanon that said “Malfie has a soft spot for children” and that make me think about how would the other recruiters be with children (platonic ofc), could you write some headcanons abt it? Whatever makes you feel comfortable!

First of all, thank you so much! I'm also glad that you've enjoyed my work so far! Second, I'm not quite sure if I headcanoned that or not, BUT! It sounds too cute to not write about.

So, in honor of your ask, let's get into the cuteness!

The Villain Recruiters with Children

Apple Poison 🍎

Before his inevitable character development, Apple kept his distance from children whilst on the job.

He didn't hate children, but his aloof nature definitely gave an ominous vibe towards guests. Though his politeness and bluntness were, somehow, what drove kids to Apple.

As his icy exterior melts away, Apple begins to indulge in the children's games, silly requests, or just them asking for company.

This was made possible thanks to his crazy, vibrant coworkers who became a family. Especially Pretty Scar, who, in all her annoyance, helped train Apple to adjust to children's behavior. He's dealt with the hyena girl's shenanigans on a regular basis, dealing with normal children is a cakewalk compared to her.

Jack Heart ❤️

Oh, Jack loves these little buggers!

Entertaining the kids during the stage shows is the highlight of his day. The laughter, the cheers, the excitement! It practically fuels him with joy and the strength to keep performing.

Jack adores children! He'll play tricks and pranks to make them laugh. He doesn't mind babies either! If they start crying, he'll make goofy faces or dance to help them smile again.

Just a warning, though, chaos always follows Jack wherever he goes, being from Wonderland and all, so if he somehow ends up babysitting, know that your house will end up burning down.

Malfi (Malfie) 🪞

Malfi's not super into kids, but he enjoys their company more than Apple.

He's more than willing to show himself in all of his handsome glory off anytime for them, but he's not used to all of affection they tend to give him. They ruin his hair!

He does have a soft spot for them, though. They may ruffle his feathers from time to time, but he can't bring himself to dislike them at all.

Malfi had a difficult childhood, on account of his parents following nature's guidelines in throwing him out of the nest because they deemed him as "weak." He never had anyone to look up to, other than Maleficent, and his days before her were quite lonely.

Beauty and childhood innocence are sacred to Malfi, so if he can brighten up a kids' day with his gorgeous self, whatever happens is worth it.

Eight Foot Joe 🐙

Joe's not the biggest fan of kids, nor does he have the energy to deal with them.

Before he became more socialible, he would do everything he possibly could to get away from the kids.

If someone, particularly a little girl, is wearing an Ariel costume, Joe will scream at them to try and get them to go away. It's not the kid's fault, he just has trauma surrounding the royal family and Ursula back at home.

Eventually, Joe will realize that making a decent impression on the public is part of his job, so he'll get used to it. Again, he's very socially awkward, so interacting with anyone, let alone children, will take some getting used to.

That "I have no idea what to do" phase will fade soon enough. He'll accept children in a very "tired uncle" way.

Mr. Dalmatia 🐾

Dalma is surprisingly good with kids despite his slight prissiness.

Dalmatians themselves are a very energetic and active breed, so most kids enjoy having the dog recruiter around.

He may get scolded for running around like a dog in his human form, but no one can or really cares to stop him. By playing with the kids, he's technically still doing his job, so why bother?

On some days he will be more irritated than usual, like if the babies are too loud, his coat gets ruined, or is just having an off day, but other than that, bring them over!

Pretty Scar (Mzuri) ✨️

Children are adorable, and so is Mzuri, so of course, she loves kids to pieces!

Being a hyena and all, she's used to interacting with dozens of kids at the same time. Playtime is funtime, so long as her hair, dress, or makeup don't get ruined.

While her colleagues might find her obnoxious, she finds solace in the fact that the kids like her, so that's more than enough!

Ms. Hades 🔥

As the designated mom of the group, Ms. Hades is quite the expert at dealing with children responsibly.

She may not understand everything, given that she's spent all of her immortal life in the Underworld and heard all kinds of stories about betrayal, family murder, and massive family drama from Olympus, but upon realizing that their world is massively different than hers, she understands soon enough.

Sometimes, she'll spot children and their parents having fun and doing family things, and eventually, she gets a better understanding of human life and culture.

She becomes more friendly and hospitable towards the kids, and while she's still fairly strict with rough housing, she won't get too heated over it.

Veil 🔔

Veil was once incredibly uncomfortable towards children while she was still in France. Her childhood was full of abuse and neglect, and she found refuge in the church with the infamous Claude Frollo. All of this put together made her socially inept outside of her normal duties.

Despite that, however, working with the recruiters and talking to staff and customers has improved her social skills. She's even found that children are far easier to talk to once she grew to understand them.

Her singing voice often puts fussy babies or rambunctious youngsters to sleep, much to the parent's delight. The praise she earns for it sends her over the moon with joy.

Lady Hock (Hook) 🪝

Ah, the suave and adventurous pirate lady! A lover of the seas and of boisterous little tykes!

Similarly to Malfi, Hock wishes to protect the innocence and wonder of children. As such, she will grant the desires of any child who asks of her, whether their requests be sword fighting on the roof or singing sea shanties on stage.

Faja (Farja) 🌹

As much as Faja likes kids and their enjoyment of her magic tricks, she's still the hothead of the group. Patience is most definitely not her virtue.

Babies crying can get on her nerves real fast, and she doesn't have Ms. Hades' calm and collected nature, or Jack's funnyman persona, to help her out. But since she's around kids a lot (again, this is Disneyland), she gets more used to it. It still annoys her, though.

Faja will make the kids laugh, unintentionally, when her spells backfire, and she'll either be furious with them seemingly making fun of her for it, or she'll droop down like her flower in defeat.

But! If the spell, by some miracle, actually works and the kids applaud or demand an encore, Faja will be more than happy to oblige.

She may be more of a"spunky aunt" type than a "mom" type, but that doesn't mean she won't get all sappy when the kids say that they love or that she's their favorite out of all the recruiters. She'll just start bawling.

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lohstandfound · 8 months ago

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🥝🍔🍊

this got kinda long so

🥝Who are your literary influences, and have they shaped your own writing? I've said it before how M.L. Rio influenced the way I write dialogue. And playwrights and poets in general have had a slight influence on my fiction writing.

It feels easier to list influenced for my poetry. The main one for poetry is probably essa may ranapiri. Their first poetry collection, ransack, was focused on exploring gender through a non binary lens. Their second poetry collection, Echidna, is a mash up of Greek and Māori mythology and Christianity.

Also, in regards to poetry (mostly). My museum studies lecturers placed so much emphasis on being poetic and creative and bring wordsmiths when it came to writing assignments I had to convince myself to not write a 2000 word poem for a material culture study. However, the assignments focused on making museum labels gave me an idea for a poetry collection of writing museum labels for people I know. (Also, everything about my museum studies degree has 100% influenced deities au and I don't think I tried to hide that)

🍔What's a headcanon that hasn't made it into a published fic yet? I think most things find their way into a fic??

I think the only thing I haven't put into a fic is a potential concept for a few character's cultural heritage that is very much me projecting and very self-indulgent. The one I've put the most thought into is Jake and it is. Very much. Me projecting similar circumstances. I made a post about it a total of one time ages ago.

It stemmed from a random thought I had that if bmc was set in new Zealand, Jeremy and Michael would 100% go to Armageddon (which I guess is basically like comic con or any other convention). To which it lead me on a train of thought of what else would it look like if it was set in NZ and one of those concepts involved imagining them as Māori. The only one that really stuck with putting the characters back in, y'know, new jersey was Jake being white passing Māori with a huge disconnect from his whakapapa, knowing next to nothing about it. I have a lot of thoughts on it. But. y'know. Self indulgent projecting headcanons that will never make it into a fic. so ive never properly talked about it

in summary, i dont think there's a headcanon that i haven't managed to put into a fic yet.

🍊What's a story that changed significantly from its initial idea to the final draft? The basis of the poets fic is the same: Michael, Jake, Brooke, and Rich make up a poet quartet, working together to workshop poems and spitball ideas and perform at open mic nights. There's still a few unresolved issues between Jeremy and Michael, and Brooke and Chloe. And the poems are still the same.

The original version was so much more rushed and was resolved by Jake and Christine tricking everyone into a group therapy session.

I figured I could do it better, make it less rushed and actually take the time for mostly Jeremy Michael Brooke and Chloe to work out their feelings. Jeremy and Michael have already started, but I have plans for Brooke and Chloe (and Jake).

(In my mind, Rich and Jake have already worked through everything. Brooke and Jake are super close in this fic and I imagine Jake has written so many poems about Rich as a way of processing (what's this? Jake Dillinger has a healthy coping mechanism?) so by the time Rich approaches the trio to ask for help with his own poems, Jake doesn't hold as much anger and is much more willing to talk things through with Rich).

But now that I've taken it so far from the original plot, I'm not sure where it's going. I have a plan for an argument between Brooke and Chloe, and I want a Jake-centred chapter (but I need to write a Jake poem first)

#lohst.txt #ask tag #theabyssgazesalsointoyou

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tea-and-tickles · 1 year ago

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i am going to be VERY self-indulgent here before work and bang out some mnhr tkl headcanons from the ask game i reblogged!!

1. Who has the cutest tickle laugh? i think... i have to give it to minori (am i biased because minori is my favorite? yes. but haruka is my second favorite so its not that drastic) i think her tickle laugh gets even squeakier and gigglier than it normally is; she also definitely tries to talk while she’s being tickled and it really comes out as more of a babble than anything else lol.

haruka’s laugh is a lot more restrained i think, definitely covering her mouth with the back of her hand and trying to hide her face

2. Who is ticklish in unusual places and where would that be? much like kanade i also hc minori as being a bit of a walking tickle spot, though i don’t think her more ticklish spots would be particularly unusual. haruka wouldn’t really have anything super unusual either!

3. Who gets cheer-up tickles? they both would in pretty equal amounts! i think a lot about that exchange from the painful hope after-live where haruka agrees to tickle minori the next time she gets anxious before a show. in my brain this has already happened. im kind of sort of writing a fic about it but i’m putting it on hold til i finish the lee!tsukasa fic (YES i am still working on it)

minori also learns that tickles are a fun trick to get haruka out of her head. i think haruka still has some insecurities around her ability to be a good idol and sometimes minori just... tickles her and tells her all the things she loves about her while she giggles away

4. Who takes advantage of the other one getting their arms stuck while taking off their shirt? this is haruka behavior. particularly when minori is changing out of that complicated-ass idol costume she can’t help but sneak a little poke to her sides

5. How did they discover each other’s ticklishness? i think minori never exactly kept it a secret! i’m sure it came up at some point when mmj were just kinda chatting one day, and minori mentions off the cuff that she’s pretty ticklish. haruka absolutely takes advantage of this admission and quick little tickles during breaks while they’re practicing or rehearsing become pretty common! but surely haruka doesn’t have a crush. no. not at all. minori doesn’t admit that she likes it until they start dating, but it’s not like she ever told haruka to stop in the first place...

as for haruka, i like to imagine that minori found out while trying comfort haruka on a bad day. maybe she’s rubbing her back and she notices haruka twitching a little bit... then a giggle slips, and minori catches on and starts tickling her back instead. minori is so cautious about this and pretty much always asks before she even tries to tickle haruka; which is a double-edged sword. haruka appreciates the consideration but is also horrifically flustered at having to admit that she wants to be tickled </3

6. Who can’t take tickle bites kisses? changing the prompt a little bit for this one! minori’s super weak to that kind of thing, not only because she’s real ticklish but also because she just gets soo flustered when haruka gives her affection! kisses and tickles?? at the same time?????? oh she’s gone

7. Who has to be tickle-forced out of bed in the morning? absolutely minori. her ass is NOT getting out of bed any earlier that 8am, and that’s pushing it. now, does she sometimes pretend to be asleep so haruka will tickle her awake? maybe. maybe not. she’ll never tell.

i feel like haruka would be a generally playful ler but in the early morning when she tries to wake minori, it is just the sweetest and gentlest touch she can muster. haruka falls a little bit more in love each time she hears those quiet, sleepy giggles emanating from her girlfriend

8. Who gives up in a tickle fight? neither of them, really. minori in particular really won’t give up, but she does generally lose the tickle fight lol. haruka’s definitely less ticklish. that, combined with haruka’s sheer athleticism, she’s a tough opponent to beat. minori’ll try, though! on a good day she might get the upper hand for a few moments

9. Who is in danger of getting hurt when attacking the other? haruka. 100% haruka. minori flails. she really really tries to keep it under control because she loves haruka!! she doesnt want to hurt her!! but haruka has definitely taken a stray arm to the face a couple of times. haruka’s taken to tickling her when they cuddle to try and mitigate this

10. Who always provokes the other into tickling them and how?between the two of them minori is more likely to ask directly (not that that’s saying much, she’ll ask maybe 2 times out of 10.) most of the time she provokes. of course, before shows, sometimes she’ll feign a little bit of anxiety to get haruka to tickle her. but! i think minori would also try to “instigate” tickle fights with every intention of not fighting back whatsoever.

it’s not so much that haruka provokes; more that she has dead giveaways. she gets a little bit snugglier than usual and, if minori asks what she wants or if she needs something, she will not answer and her face will turn bright red. if minori’s lucky she might get a “you know...” from her. minori’s insistence that haruka doesnt need to be embarrassed, especially while she’s being tickled, doesn’t help either lmfao

oh the brainrot is strong lately. i am still totally accepting prompts for the ask game or headcanons requests, if you like reading my silly little thoughts feel free to drop a note in my ask box!! :)

#project sekai tickle #project sekai tickling #project sekai tickles #project sekai tickle hcs #project sekai tickle headcanons #atti.txt

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honey-tongue · 1 year ago

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PHEW. I REWATCHED REBELLION AFTER FOREVER. ANOTHER RAMBLE!

I'm so glad it is recognized that Homura is putting on a front about being evil and stuff.

Like, after sitting through the whole movie with a fresh and more developed mind, I don't know how people can say that she isn't AT LEAST morally gray. She isn't pure evil, even though she makes herself sound so spooky and dark. Girl hasn't unpacked so much trauma and hatred of herself. And I'm not even trying to be super biased here.

Throughout the the movie, there's so many signs where she sees herself in a bad light or is suicidal. Her pointing the gun to Moemura's head because she sees that part of herself as weak and a failure, her black taint she left on MadoKami's statue because she views herself with disgust, Madoka falling over as she poses like a crucified Messiah, and Homura unable to save her from falling, so a larger Homura punches the smaller Homura into the ground, her fake suicide to trick Mami, THE WHOLE HOMULILLY SEQUENCE, the end where she falls off a cliff, her risk with her soul gem and her goodbye with Kyoko, I'm probably missing more.

Yes, when she grabs Madoka, she talks about not wanting to be away from her anymore. Obviously she is indulging a bit in her own desires here, but she's also wanting Madoka to live a normal life without living as a concept. (Not gonna lie though, Homura, you didn't need to sound so creepy about it. Lol. Anyways! Her response to making tough decisions seems to be putting on a front that's confident and distant so I can let it slide.) But because of that, I can see why people will instantly think she's completely selfish, but... then you realize that the scene JUST BEFORE the magical girls try help Homura not kill herself, that... She's literally willing to suffer so Kyubey doesn't lay a hand on Madoka. Even if that means she can't see Madoka anymore. (OUCH.) Gotta put those pieces together, my dudes.

But Madoka, being her good self, insists on saving her (Thank you, based Madoka). So Homura needs to a new way of protecting her. And hey! Madoka gets to live that normal life and doesn't have to make that "scary choice" anymore that she would ”never want to make". (I hate having to put that in quotation marks, but, unfortunately, Madoka is a little TOO self sacrificial which is something I could write my thoughts about another time...)

I've already read other people analyze and dissect scenes, so I'll avoid repeating them. That and I don't really so confident with my own interpretations and thoughts a lot of the time, heh. But it was a very enlightening rewatch. After rewatching the series and reading into the wraith arc, as confusing as it was, certainly helped A LOT. That and, as I said, having a more developed mind. (I was basically 15 when I watched it the first time 😵)

BTW LOVE CRISTINA VEE AS HOMURA HERE ESPECIALLY. WOW. She is working overtime by having different voices for Moemura, Homura, and Demon Homura. Wonderful as always. And special mention to Sarah Williams for that scene with Sayaka and Homura. Wowowow. I know people stick with subs, but these two's voice work for the show shouldn't go unrecognized ❤️❤️

#ash says stuff #ash watches pmmm #pmmm

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peterxwade24 · 2 years ago

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Bugs and Katten

For Maribat March 2021 day 26 prompt Not Soulmates.

This is only over 21 months late, sorry? I dunno man. I just kinda fell out of love with writing. Anyways, I hope you like this 1196 word long fic featuring basically just Marinette and Adrien.

This is just a self-indulgent found family/chosen family fic about Marinette and Adrien being a chaotic sibling duo.

Kattendame is supposedly Dutch for Cat lady.

Okay, I've rambled enough. On with the story.

Marinette and Adrien had been superheroes — vigilantes Marinette’s brain would traitorously supply — for just a few months when a girl in their class, Alya Cesaire, came across them on patrol and her face lit up with glee.

“I didn’t know Paris had superheroes!” Her voice rose with every word, causing Marinette – Kattendame – to flinch away.

Adrien – Monsieur Punaise – clenched his teeth before clearing his throat. “Ma’am we are citizens, just like you. We may don masks and super suits, but that doesn’t make us not people.”

His whole speech seemed to go in one ear and out the other as Alya took a picture of the way they were standing, Monsieur Punaise in front of Kattendame. “Oh my gosh! Are you two together? Are you dating?”

“No.” Monsieur Punaise stared at Alya with disbelief. “Kattendame and I are simply colleagues, like the members of the Justice League” – Monsieur Punaise watched Kattendame flinch at the mention of the Justice League and filed that information away for later – “and nothing more.”

Kattendame nodded her agreement before her eyes flicked over Monsieur Punaise’s shoulder. “There’s an Akuma in the ninth arrondissement. We’ve gotta go.” Kattendame didn’t spare Alya a glance as she lept from rooftop to rooftop.

Monsieur Punaise offered Alya a soft smile and an uttered, “get home safe”, before he followed his partner over the rooftops.

Alya’s face grew into a sneaky grin, “they are so soulmates.”

---

It had been just under two weeks – twelve days, nineteen hours, forty-seven minutes, and a handful of seconds – since Alya had put a post on her blog about how Mr. Bug and Chatte Noir – where Alya had gotten those names Marinette (and Adrien) didn’t know – were soulmates and were secretly dating.The blog post had nearly two million hits, and climbing, and someone had started a comment thread about how obvious the supposed couple was.

Marinette couldn’t believe her eyes, she was sure she and Adrien had kept their relationship professional. She could have sworn that she had kept her distance from Adrien while they were in their suits, unless it was time to fist bump. She kept refreshing the page, hoping it was just a trick of the lighting, but no matter what she did she just kept seeing the same picture of her and Adrien in a compromising position.

Adrien sunk down in the seat next to Marinette, his eyes skimming the blog post before looking over the class. “So, who do you think trusts it explicitly?”

“We know Alya does, for sure, and maybe Rose. Because she loves romance. I’m not sure about anyone else, I haven’t heard anyone else talking about it.” Marinette frowned before switching tabs. The other tab she had pulled up was the live feed of a Wayne Enterprises press conference, Adrien settled against her side and kept a running commentary of wether or not everyone’s outfit was red carpet worthy.

Marinette still couldn’t believe that she and Adrien were going to attend the New York Fashion week with Nathalie and Gabriel. She was hoping that while they were there she’d be able to get in contact with a member of the Justice League, as much as she dislikes the organization she hoped one of them could help them take on Hawkmoth.

Adrien nudged Marinette and pointed to where the class was gathered around Alya. “Do you see how they’re gathered around her like some sort of queen bee?”

Marinette nodded against his arm. “Who do you think believes the rumor the most?”

“Mylène, Rose, Sabrina and Kim seem to be the most into the rumor. Nathaniel seems to be on the fence about it, almost as if he wishes it isn’t so.” Adrien brushed the hair off of Marinette’s forehead and let out a chuckle. “If only my father could see you now. He would disinvite you from our trip.”

“Gabriel loves me more than he loves you-”

“-ain’t that the truth-”

“-and he would never disinvite me.” Marinette laughed at the face Adrien made. “You know it’s the truth.”

“Just because he’s scared that your mom would break in and steal his precious design book.” Adrien nudged Marinette, “class is about to start back up.”

---

Kattendame and Monsieur Punaise stood side by side in front of Nadja Chamack, smiles across their faces.

“So, tell me, are the rumors about the two of you true? Is what the LadyBlog posting about the two of you being soulmates true?”

Kattendame looked at Monsieur Punaise, the Batman to her Catwoman, before frowning at Nadja. “Monsieur Punaise and I are just friends. He’s like my annoying twin brother, and I love him so much more than any of those rumors are saying.”

“Kattendame is definitely the younger twin of this duo.” Monsieur Punaise smirked before ruffling Kattendame’s hair.

Nadja smiled at the duo and how they acted with one another. “How did you go from your first suits to these?”

Kattendame’s hand went up in the air immediately. “It was my idea! I took the idea from, well, Batman-” here she gestured to Monsieur Punaise’s suit “- and Catwoman.” The ears atop her head seemed to twitch. “However, unlike the inspiration for our suits, we’re strictly friends.”

---

Marinette scrolled through the article Nadja wrote about the heroes of Paris. She smiled at the screen before she nudged Adrien’s leg with her foot. “Hey, hey, listen to this.” She cleared her throat and straightened up. “‘Monsieur Punaise and Kattendame, not Mr. Bug and Chatte Noir like some sources would have you believe, are not soulmates, at least not romantic soulmates. This reporter was given an exclusive interview with the hero duo and can confirm that the duo is the most sibling duo this reporter has ever seen. Their suits are inspired by Gotham city’s masked duo of Batman and Catwoman, however unlike Gotham’s masked duo Paris’ masked duo interacts like most sibling duos we all know in person. While Kattendame is more soft spoken and Monsieur Punaise is definitely the figure head, they both fill every possible role on their team and could use our help. I implor you, my fellow Parisians, to do the best you can to help our heroes take down Hawkmoth.’”

“Wow. She’s on our side. Most adults aren’t on our side.” Adrien hummed before changing the topic. “Are you excited for our trip?”

“Yeah. It’ll be fun.” Marinette smiled at her friend – brother in all but blood – before looking around his room, where they were hanging out that day because they usually tried to avoid her house – and as much as they joke about it Gabriel actually seems to like Marinette – and her father and step-mother. “Hey, we should hang at mine before patrol tomorrow.”

Plagg and Tikki, who were playing foosball, looked up at the suggestion.

“Why?” Adrien asked before looking at the kwamii who had fallen over. “How does the ball always get you? You can fly.”

“I want to make us some new clothes to wear, Papa G and Nathalie too.”

“Please don’t call him Papa G.” Adrien groaned.

“Anyways, you and I are the only ones with changing measurements. I’ll get Papa G and Nathalie’s measurements from Nathalie.”

@maribatmarch-2k21

#maribat march 2021 #maribat march 2k21 #maribat #mlb x dc #ml x dc #mlb crossover #ml crossover #adrienette siblings #marinette and adrien acting as siblings #gabriel likes marinette #gabriel actually lets marinette visit the agreste home even when he's not home

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arabellaflynn · 2 years ago

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Advent Calendar 14: Nintendo's Crazy Ex

Greetings, and welcome to Advent Calendar 2022! This year we're being self-indulgent and rambling about video games.

As usual, the Advent Calendar is also a pledge drive. Subscribe to my writing Patreon here by TOMORROW for at least $5/mo and get an e-card for Ratmas; subscribe for $20/mo (and drop me a mailing address) and you'll get a real paper one!

I hope you're all having a happy winter holiday season. Let the nerd rambling commence!

Gather 'round, children, and let me tell you the story of How The Playstation Came To Be. Once upon a time, there was a Super Nintendo Entertainment System. The SNES was a shiny, shiny thing in 1991 (1990, as the Super Famicom, in Japan). A spiffy new 16-bit games console that played all the latest Mario and Castlevania and Metroid games, its main rival was the slightly older Sega Genesis (né Sega Megadrive, 1988 in Japan, 1989 in North America). The two coexisted for some time with only the usual sibling rivalry, where Sega pulled an attitude and claimed to do "what Nintendon't", and Nintendo pointedly ignored them while pointing at some plumbers from Brooklyn with an inexplicable hatred of turtles.

One day, Sega learned a new trick. The older Nintendo bro, the Famicom, had come up with an add-on device that let it play games off diskettes; the little Sega Megadrive thought about this and went, yes, but what if I used CDs instead? CDs were super cool, cutting-edge, space age tech at the time, which was not coincidentally also 1991. Compared with cartridges, CDs had an unimaginable amount space to fill, and since they were for music first, Sega threw in a nicer sound chip to sweeten the deal. Thus was born the Sega CD.

Nintendo looked at that and grudgingly admitted they had a point.

Obviously the thing to do was steal this concept, so Nintendo got to work on a CD add-on for the SNES. Neither company worked with CDs or audio tech themselves; Sega had partnered with JVC for the Sega CD. (JVC stands for Japan Victor Corporation, by the way, the Japanese subsidiary of RCA Victor, the people who used to use the painting of a terrier listening to a phonograph as their logo. The original painting was titled "His Master's Voice", which title eventually ended up, through a complicated series of divestitures and acquisitions, as the name of the HMV record stores in several Commonwealth countries.) Nintendo phoned up Sony, who had developed the original CD standards in conjunction with Philips Electronics. Together they started work on a prototype equivalent of the Sega CD, accurately if boringly titled the Super NES CD-ROM.

The unveiling at the Consumer Electronics Show was an event. Sony proudly unveiled the fruits of its labor, a combination SNES-cartridge/CD-ROM machine they called the "PlayStation". It received many oohs and ahs from the audience. The very next day, Nintendo revealed its half of the project, a CD-ROM add-on for the SNES, produced in partnership with... uh, Philips. Philips Electronics. You know, Sony's best friend.

To say Sony was angry was an understatement. They were livid. It just wasn't working out, Nintendo said. Sony kept asking for things -- licensing fees, rights, content control. Nintendo and Philips just had long term goals that were so much more compatible! Mainly because they made Nintendo more money. Surely Sony would understand. It was just better for business.

Fine, said Sony. We'll just make our own console! With blackjack! And hookers! I'm not actually kidding about that part, a lot of the early Playstation marketing centered around the fact that Sony would let you publish games including adult things like sex, violence, drugs, and naughty words, which were all still very much banned in Nintendo titles. This ultimately led to Sony landing the Grand Theft Auto console ports, and we all know how that turned out.

The SNES CD-ROM project eventually stuttered to a halt, and nothing of the sort ever came out, even in Japan. The backlash soured Nintendo on CDs so much that they refused to make the switch with everybody else for their next console generation, opting instead to use ROM cartridges in the Nintendo 64. This bout of sour grapes actually lost Nintendo several of their loyal publishers -- the Golden Age of JRPGs started on the Super Nintendo, but chafed at the space restrictions of the N64. The biggest, fattest rat to jump off that particular sinking ship was Squaresoft, who started developing for the N64 but ultimately opted to publish the smash hit Final Fantasy VII on Playstation, where the game could span three CDs.

Nintendo continued to drag its feet on disc technology through the DVD era, declining to include DVD-Video playback on its GameCube, Wii, and WiiU systems, even though all three use DVD drive mechanisms, and are physically capable of reading DVD discs (mini-DVD in a GameCube, without a case mod). Sony, in contrast, coughed up the licensing fees and advertised the shit out of the DVD player function of their Playstation 2. The PS2 didn't just wipe the floor with the Wii (and the Xbox), it became the best-selling video game console of all time.

The Nintendo/Sony PlayStation fell into the black hole of history. For almost a quarter century it was thought that none of the prototypes had survived, but in 2015 a single example was discovered in a bankruptcy auction of random stuff from a completely different company where a Sony CEO had once worked. The creaky, dusty, substantially-broken thing was presented to Benjamin Heckendorn, aka "Ben Heck", a passionate nerd who accidentally invented a career for himself about two decades ago by hacking apart an Atari 2600 and reassembling it into a handheld.

youtube

He did a full teardown of the machine on The Ben Heck Show, a series he filmed for the content provider element14, and managed to get it working, in conjunction with a boot ROM mysteriously leaked to several prominent members of the retrogaming/emulation community. There is no known surviving software for the machine, but several people have verified that homebrew games will play.

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littlemisspascal · 3 years ago

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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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