Jack Poignet

Nice! But yes, also a bit confusing. That’s what experimental texts are for! thanks for sharing!

Oh, I just realized that my statement that I had ideas for two werewolf/shifter stories actually only meant the „romantic“ ones. Let’s do a little pitch for some other ones here: 1) A horror/comedy/action style one set in Vichy France. „Le Loup-Garou vs. Nazi-Scum“ Seriously, would anyone be interested? Think American Nazi movies villains at their worst, hunted down by the „Beast of Gévaudan“… 2) A grand epic involving the eternal city, Rome, and two thousand years of history. A special military unit / body guards consisting of more or less immortal wolf-shifters are looking for their lost purpose all over the world. All these years weigh heavy on their minds and their numbers dwindle until one of them, half mad already, at the edge of the old empire, finds … someone. Is it him? They all must return to The City before it‘s too late. 3) A pure comedy story (The name would give too much away). It’s a rather original idea I think. Not wolf but shifter, with the amazing potential to offend a lot of people. What do you all think? Is any of these three stories tickling your fancy?

I'm cleaning up the worst spelling mistakes at the moment, adding small, inconsequential bits here and there. In this case, I've added: “I'm also pretty sure I saw your friend in a zombie costume last night, but couldn't get a good look at that moment. I didn't connect the dots back then but ... that was him, right? I hope I didn't scare him off,” she said, looking lost in thought for a moment.

Just a nice bit of glittery entertainment, as two drag queens battle for supremacy. Funny.

The name is intentional, but it‘s not the same person. I was toying with including Marie Laveau in the prequel as Lucien‘s confidant, she had a great storyline, but the most likely dates of her birth just didn‘t match up with Lucien’s life (which I then decided to cut short)

There are non vampires, werewolves etc. in this book. The only monsters here are the worst of all, humans. I will allow for spirits, lost and corrupted souls etc. I have two different werewolf/shifter stories in my head, which might feature vampires. I also must admit that too much sex in a story just bores me and I tend to just skip over it when it’s not integral to the story. I decided to post short stories of that kind on Nifty and Patreon. But no worries, there’s still the promised mirror scene and .. well … the hand 😱

There will be no musical episode. That part was me breaking into song when I was searching for a door color … and therefore a totally normal reaction, right? So I just had to put that in. Also, my BF has written a musical episode in his book, so I really don’t wan’t to do that. (Info: My BF now also decided to publish on here … first short story is in the moderation queue. But expect something totally different)

Any surprises here or was I too predictable? Did the little history lesson add to the story? I‘ve actually written character sheets about the factions, their histories, their agendas and what their dealings with each other are …. Not sure I can fit that in somewhere. Tomorrow, I‘ll put it up as „behind the scenes“ material on my Patreon for now (not that I expect anyone ever to become a member 🤷‍♂️) There‘s probably one or two things in this chapter that you‘ve missed or found odd… I can assure you it‘ll all be addressed later.

The early November sun was high and bright, casting the French Quarter in almost deceptive cheerfulness as Solomon led Jacques and Alex to their destination. With some apologies, they had sent Marcus on a stroll through the quarter, planning to pick him up later, after the meeting was over. He wasn’t happy but understood the reasoning. Ahead of them was a building Jacques wouldn’t have given a second glance if not for the strange silence surrounding it and the two massive guys dressed in bl

Spoiler alert! I'm afraid, Marcus won't feature much in the next chapter, he simply has no place at that table... I'm always looking forward to reading your comments. You're scarily good at guessing what's up... but then again, you muse about so many things that the bits from your comments that I eventually will pick up in the story are probably not the ones you expect. Wait another two or three chapters and you'll see

Oh dear, the length of the next chapter could easily be a short story in itself... and I haven't even begun to put in nearly enough exposition yet 🤯

The dining room of Maison Noir seemed alive, yet it was quiet as ever. Alex sat in his chair, his fork spearing a piece of scrambled egg without conviction. The morning sunlight streamed golden through the windows, accenting the delicate patterns of the dark wood-paneled walls. Everything about the room—about the house—felt like it had shifted since yesterday, since that incident. Alex couldn’t explain it, but he could feel it: Maison Noir wasn’t just aware of him. It was somehow connected to hi

Note to readers: In the end, I stole the “hungry bottoms” idea and parts of a private message wondering about a possible “vampiric” nature of the whole thing and turned it into my “Hungry for Gains” short story (which in turn has the potential to be turned in to a novel)

“Woden” is actually a compromise, I should have used “Wotan” to be more in line with local traditions, but then again I neither explicitely named a place nor a time. If you look through the images before Woden manifested, you might be able to identify Herne (at least my image of him)

The next morning dawned softly, the sky behind the jagged peaks painted in pale ribbons of cool light. The forest’s frenetic howls quieted long ago, leaving behind a world that seemed emptied and wiped clean. Fresh snow glistened, untouched except by Elias’s single set of tracks leading down toward the village. He still felt the weight of what had passed in the clearing, what he had seen and been forced to let go of, but it was not the crushing weight it had been before. No, this weight was diff

Elias’s outstretched hand trembled, hanging in the empty space between him and Adrien. His lover, his Adrien, stood before him, so close and yet so impossibly far, and now Elias was paralyzed by a command that left the night impossibly still. The voice lingered in his mind, its ancient authority pressing down heavy and immutable. He faltered, his hand withdrawing inch by inch. His lips parted, a question forming, but the voice spoke again before any sound escaped him. “Do not touch him.”

Not much to say about this story, really. Last weekend (8.Dec.2024) I heard on the radio that they held the "Perchtenlauf" in the pedestrian zone (in Munich) again. They expected 50.000 spectators. It's quite popular, but definitely a very confusing "Christmas" tradition for non-locals (demons, devils, pure terror at Christmas?). So I looked up its origins on good old Wikipedia and... diving down the rabbit hole... soon came across "the wild hunt" and it's various local forms. And whack, this story just hit me. I'm currently writing another story, but this one just didn't stop bothering me until I started writing it. Hope you'll like it. Obviously, it's about "The Wild Hunt" and a few bits of the local alpine variant, but also about loss and grief and in the end it goes off on a religious tangent. I know, that's a bit much, but hey, that's what the story wanted to be. Who am I to argue with a story? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Elias sat hunched in his chair, eyes fixed on the mantelpiece where the wolf figurine stood like a sentinel, its carved body faintly luminous in the firelight. Cold sweat on his forehead reflected the stunted flames that crackled half-heartedly in the hearth, as though the cold were too vast, too consuming to fight. The chill crept into every crevice of the cabin, slithering under the door, seeping through the windows—not merely the winter’s frost, but the oppressive presence of something far ol

Morning crept into the cabin like thin mist, gray light spilling across frost-rimed windowpanes. Elias sat hunched on the edge of his bed, his hands clenched between his knees. The cold pressed against his skin, sharp and unyielding, and his breath formed faint clouds in the icy stillness, each exhale dissipating into the silence like words he no longer had the strength to speak. The night before lingered vividly—the horn’s mournful wail, thundering hooves, and the storm that split the sky

@Danners There‘ll be a scene with Alex and Jacques in front of a mirror that you‘ll probably like … it was actually part of the short story, but so far I had no place to fit it in. It might come up in the next chapter.

Time for a little recap. The timelines are more or less aligned again, Alex hangs around and Jacques has decided to stay. Time to get the story going. What do you want next? Meeting the other factions? Another info dump on Lucien? A little insight into Solomon? Find out what the boys actually can do?… Please leave a comment with your preferences or ideas. While the main story points exist *(and are unfortunately abundantly clear), everything up to here was just foreplay.Come on, spice it up a bit … *This does not imply that you already know most of the story

Alex woke to the warmth of the sun. It gently caressed his skin as he lay on the lounge chair by the pool. The air was more liberating here than in the house—perfumed with traces of earth and water. He could hear faint, ghost-like sounds from beyond the high brick walls, a cheerful song piped out from something like a carnival organ. Obviously, it was played live, judging from the occasional stray notes. What could play so loudly? Those sounds felt far away, like they belonged to another world.

Thanks, I hope that compliment is still valid by the conclusion of the story … I know how I want it to end, I‘m just struggling a bit with getting there (Guess I really should keep it short to retain the atmosphere)

The mountains loomed over the valley, their jagged peaks slicing into the slate-gray sky. Snow had fallen steadily for days, burying the forests and paths beneath thick drifts. Even at midday, the sun struggled to rise above the jagged peak and the dim light barely reached the valley floor before vanishing into the long, bitter night. The few houses nestling in the shadow of the mountains were quiet, smoke curling from chimneys as people huddled indoors against the cold. Farther up the slop

It's cold up here in the mountains. Elias mourns his lover, but in these darkest of days between the years, strange things ride on the wind and the old tales come alive.