Jack Poignet
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It’s unclear from the story, but actually the wolf changed ito human n his sleep, he was also dreaming (a rather nice dream ) I assume some things that seem funny to me when writing are lost on most (eg. Hibernating bears jumping on him).I put them in for my own enjoyment anyway. But every once in a blue moon I come up with a line I really hope someone catches. Thanks for spotting this one !
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Yes, I'm well aware that some of the attempts at humor here feel a bit off. But I really don't want this story to become as dark as my usual writings ... bear with me, there'll be enough and better opportunities for more humor.
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Ray sat hunched in the snow, his body still trembling from exhaustion and cold, his mind barely functioning. This was it. This was how he died. Alone. Forgotten. Probably ugly, too, because his face was frozen stiff, about to fall off. This was it. This was how he died. Lost in a frozen wasteland, curled up like a tragic hero in some grand, miserable tale of suffering. The black wolf—his savior—stood a few feet away. He watched Ray in silence. The moment stretched on. The massive beast
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Shadow‘s Reach is slowly coming to an end (maybe another 4 or 5 chapters) and I‘m connecting all the obvious dots, so I‘m willing to admit your theories are quite spot on there lately (I still reserve the right to add a few surprises). Here however I‘ll let you keep guessing … Be assured that I have set up a completely new mythology / origin story for the shifters… That‘ll be at least one original thing I‘ll add to the usual shifter story 🤷♂️
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If with "well paced" you mean very hectic and sometimes confusing, I agree I promise I'll immediately slow down in chapter two and write in longer sentences
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Hello Reader. Does this work for you? I'm a big shifter story fan so I just have to try writing one too. My other stories tend to be a bit darker so maybe I'll try to go into the romcom direction. Not sure how badly I will fail ... Of course I'll (ab)use lots of shifter story tropes. Tell me what you think. The whole outline is set up so - with time - I should be able to write down the whole thing ... If you're wondering if this story is for you, maybe read Chapter 4 and 5. While the style changes with almost every chapter, these two chapters are a good enough sample of the story. Also: Please leave your likes and comments, even if it's been a while since the chapter was published. I read and appreciate them all.
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The cold gnawed at him like teeth. His lungs burned. His legs ached. Every breath came in ragged gasps, raw from the effort of running. But he couldn’t stop. He didn’t dare. He had been running for days. …Hadn’t he? His mind was a haze, a blur of snow and trees and the ever-present sound of something following him. He didn’t remember when he had started running, only that he couldn’t stop. His body screamed for rest, but fear was stronger. He knew—knew—that if he stopped
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Lost in the snow, a runaway with no memory stumbles into the path of a fierce protector. A fated encounter, a forbidden bond—can love break the chains of destiny?
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A Dance of Death and Other Revelations
Jack Poignet commented on Jack Poignet's story chapter in A Dance of Death and Other Revelations
We try to stick as close as possible (=as good as we can remember) to the original Discworld books. Concerning the elves, the most relevant book is "Lords and Ladies". Yes, elves are rather nasty. This book also contains the "Standing Stones" Death talks about. The "incident with the guitar" references the book "Soul Music". -
It began, like many unforeseen tragedies in Ankh-Morpork, with an enthusiastic twirl of questionable skill. The crowd gathered outside The Ring & Forge had been upgraded from ‘a few onlookers’ to ‘a developing situation’—men, women, dwarfs, trolls, and even a couple of bewildered Igors—bobbing along to the disco beats emanating from Helmhold’s pink trunk and his imp orchestra. The dwarfish smith hammered to the rhythmic four-on-the-anvil thud of the music, while sparks shot across the worksh
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Have you read the next chapter already? I don’t remember posting it… Oh well 🤷♂️ Be assured that it’s still gonna be “interesting” 😱
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The tires screeched in the drive as the limo lurched to a stop. Jacques was already moving to the front passenger door before the sound had fully settled. He ripped it open, his breath coming fast. He didn’t know what he expected—he had felt it in his gut, the creeping dread that had been growing all evening, but the moment his eyes landed on Marcus in the driver’s seat, white-knuckled, shaking, his face streaked with tears—he knew. And then he saw the backseat. His whole world na
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Who? Me? I‘m totally innocent! I tried to warn you in the comments 2 chapters ago. I told you I didn‘t want Marcus to become too popular. I used/quoted Marcus‘ nasty laugh after the comment that Alex should be safe in the mall with Solomon and Marcus. Yes, I more or less gave this twist already away! And Marcus‘ frequent message checking … Seriously, you had been warned. But ok, here‘s a very direct warning: Things are about to get seriously nasty in the next and (especially) the then following chapter. I‘ll post these two chapters the coming two Mondays.
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The tension from the car ride clung to them as they stepped out into the mall. Alex kept his arms crossed as they entered, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed straight ahead. The air inside was pleasant, perfumed with a touch of cinnamon and synthetic pine, but it did nothing to ease the stiffness in his spine. He still wasn’t over what Marcus had said at Maison Noir. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be. Marcus, for once, held his tongue—a silence as comforting as alarm bells swaying gently in th
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On a personal note I find it rather funny how worried I was about mentioning the curse connecting the Blacks and the Soigneurs in chapter three. A true Deus Ex Machina moment… which then turned into a major plot line. Guess in hindsight it turned out alright.
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Often I think my readers are a lot smarter than me… or maybe just overthinking? But I admit, I‘m trying to make Jacques‘ upcoming personal story climax (no question what he’ll gain in the end, right?) more believable so most of the babbling about magic is setting up that twist. But now I think I have everything in place, so let’s get some nasty action going, readers have a right to expect more of that stuff after the beginning chapters… I‘m pretty confident I will connect all the major dots in the end and only leave a few minor dangling ends and baby ideas for the sequel.
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I‘m rather happy that the football analogy works for you because I must admit I have zero knowledge of the game and googling some position hasn‘t exactly left me confident I got it right (enough). On another note, I‘m surprised you didn‘t dig in to the one or two things I put in there especially for you @Danners As more or less mentioned, the next arc is fully written (but still unpolished) and then I‘m on to the climax. The end is in sight (even if a few months away) I plan to write and polish it in the next weeks and then just put it in the publishing queue. And then I‘ll probably do some revision and try my luck with Amazon KDP. And then … prequel or sequel first? Both could be fun.
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I actually wanted to do a longer chapter, switching back and forth between Jacques and Alex, but this part here has just gotten too long and needed some more stuff crammed into it before I run out of time in this story and we hit the climax (in about 6 or 7 chapters)...
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The wooden table groaned under the force of Jacques’ fist, the sharp crack echoing through the dimly lit room. The tarot deck rattled from the impact, a few cards spilling onto the surface—The Hanged Man, The Five of Swords, The Tower. Ominous. Fitting. He couldn’t care less. Madame Marie, seated across from him, remained entirely unshaken. She simply watched, her dark eyes steady, fingers lightly tapping against the table’s surface as if waiting for the storm to pass. But the storm in
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Helmhold awoke the next day feeling more level-headed, if still faintly rattled by the memory of his hammer’s rebellious jig. He had banked the coals overnight—like one’s sense of self-preservation after an evening in the Mended Drum—and it left the forge subdued and sensible once again. He nodded in satisfaction. This morning, he promised himself, there would be no nonsense. No un-dwarfish foot-tapping, no swirl or flourish in his hammer-strikes, and absolutely no thinking about multi-colored s
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Ewww! He Touched Your Junk?
Jack Poignet commented on Jack Poignet's story chapter in Ewww! He Touched Your Junk?
Aahahaa! -
Ewww! He Touched Your Junk?
Jack Poignet commented on Jack Poignet's story chapter in Ewww! He Touched Your Junk?
Retrieving the hand is easy now that they know where it is… it might also be somewhat useful, but for Jacques to make it his own, he first has to „voluntarily sacrifice“ his old hand (that he already lost). Neither he nor anyone else has a clue on how that might be possible… (although I‘m already dropping hints left and right) Don‘t put too much stock in an AI generated Cover … that line on his arm is painted in there by myself (DALL-E completely ignored every request for Jacques to have his left hand missing) Funny thing, I now try my best to match the story to the cover, it sure had an influence… -
Ewww! He Touched Your Junk?
Jack Poignet commented on Jack Poignet's story chapter in Ewww! He Touched Your Junk?
Let's just say I didn't want Marcus to become too popular. And Jacques will let him know in the next chapter what he thinks about him. A fat lip and/or a black eye are totally on the table. I'll keep your thoughts about Alex's and Jacques' growing relationship in mind, but I have lots of "action" stuff I wish to pack into the story before the end and there'll be limited time for the guys to explore each others feelings. -
The air in the locker room was heavy with heat and the scent of their exertion. Alex scrambled back up to his feet again and leaned over the sink, his chest rising and falling, fogging the mirror with each labored exhale. His hands gripped the edge of the counter, the cool stone a stark contrast to the fire still simmering in his veins. Behind him, Jacques also dragged himself up from the floor and pressed his bare skin against Alex’s back, still slick and warm. His arms wrapped loosely around A
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The sun—or the yellowish smear that Ankh-Morpork generously referred to as the sun—prodded its way through the morning smog like an uninvited guest at a riotous party, uncertain whether it should remove its top or crawl back into the nearest cloud and pretend it had never been there. Helmhold Hammerfest, metalsmith of the Stronginthearm Clan, trudged through the bustling streets, his boots thudding against cobblestones slick with something better left unidentified. He moved with the kind o
