Duck Prints Press LLC is delighted to announce that the Kickstarter for our second anthology, And Seek (Not) to Alter Me, has commenced!
InAndSeek(Not) toAlter Me, 16 authors and 16 artists have come together to create an exquisite, full-color collection of artwork and stories inspired by William Shakespeare’s play MuchAdo About Nothing. We encouraged contributors to stretch their imaginations, think outside the box, and put their own unique—and queer—twist on Benedick, Beatrice, Hero, Claudio, Don Pedro, and the whole gang! In true Shakespearean fashion, our creators utilize gender, sexuality, romanticism, and a host of costume changes to tell unique stories—some featuring original characters, some characters from the play—that show Shakespeare’s work in a whole new light.
So—grab a cup of tea and reread or rewatch your favorite version of MuchAdoAboutNothing to refresh your memory. Our stories and artworks feature wlw, mlm, poly relationships, trans characters, gender swaps, canon divergent tales, AUs…there’s even a two-page comic! Settle in with this delightful collection and enjoy visiting Messina (and elsewhere!) and falling in love with Leonato’s family and the troops of Don Pedro’s army (and many others!) again and again and again!
And Seek (Not) to Alter Me is a stunning zine, printed in full color, A4 size (8 ¼ inches x 11 ¾ inches/21 cm x 30 cm), approximately 150 pages long. It includes 16 stories, each up to 5,000 words long, and 20 full-page interior artworks. Creators share their visions with us, discuss their inspiration, and take us along on a journey to experience what this play and these characters mean to them.
Duck Prints Press LLC is delighted to announce that the Kickstarter for our second anthology, And Seek (Not) to Alter Me, has commenced!
InAndSeek(Not) toAlter Me, 16 authors and 16 artists have come together to create an exquisite, full-color collection of artwork and stories inspired by William Shakespeare’s play MuchAdo About Nothing. We encouraged contributors to stretch their imaginations, think outside the box, and put their own unique—and queer—twist on Benedick, Beatrice, Hero, Claudio, Don Pedro, and the whole gang! In true Shakespearean fashion, our creators utilize gender, sexuality, romanticism, and a host of costume changes to tell unique stories—some featuring original characters, some characters from the play—that show Shakespeare’s work in a whole new light.
So—grab a cup of tea and reread or rewatch your favorite version of MuchAdoAboutNothing to refresh your memory. Our stories and artworks feature wlw, mlm, poly relationships, trans characters, gender swaps, canon divergent tales, AUs…there’s even a two-page comic! Settle in with this delightful collection and enjoy visiting Messina (and elsewhere!) and falling in love with Leonato’s family and the troops of Don Pedro’s army (and many others!) again and again and again!
And Seek (Not) to Alter Me is a stunning zine, printed in full color, A4 size (8 ¼ inches x 11 ¾ inches/21 cm x 30 cm), approximately 150 pages long. It includes 16 stories, each up to 5,000 words long, and 20 full-page interior artworks. Creators share their visions with us, discuss their inspiration, and take us along on a journey to experience what this play and these characters mean to them.
Writing is not about ‘telling an epic story’ or 'making something that will outlive you’. Writing is about going “You know what would be fucking awesome?” and then committing word crimes
My original zine PIERCED BY THE SWORD OF GOD is finally available in print! Limited and open editions. For all of your sacrilegious queer demon humiliation kink needs. 18+
In spring of 2020 I overpainted a canvas reproduction of Carlo Crivelli’s 1472 Archangel Michael altarpiece. I spent two months looking at the tension of this painting.
The zine is illustrated with images of the painting and reveals the demon’s most secret thoughts and memories.
THE SINS OF THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN by “Jack Saul”, 1881
A strictly limited new edition of 5 handmade copies is now available for sale on my Etsy. After these copies are sold no more will be made. There are only two copies left, as of this writing.
The Text
Text is a series of explicit vignettes and gossipy short tales. It contains references to sex work, anal sex, spanking, underage sex, masturbation, oral sex. Mostly male/male.
This work was originally published London, 1881 in an edition of 250 copies. The work is now in public domain. If you’d like to get it in print but can’t swing my price, Valancourt Books has released it as a paperback. (Go and check out their incredible catalog of LGBT and horror lost treasures they’re bringing back into print! Highly recommended!)
Inside Design
The book’s layout and form factor are intended to mimic books of the late Victorian period.
The entire text has been reset using period appropriate fonts and the printer’s ornaments from the original edition. Title page mimics the original.
In this edition I have included a series of erotic cabinet photographs of two young adult males in feminine clothing, performing various sex acts. Their chemistry is readily apparent.
Outside
Each of the five copies has been bound in different complimentary cloth, paper and endpapers. Each copy is unique.
These books are 7.25x5.5″. I cut them by hand with scalpel and straightedge, then sand the edges down with sandpaper block.
Two identical infants lay in the cradle. “One you bore, the other is a Changeling. Choose wisely,” the Fae’s voice echoed from the shadows. “I’m taking both my children,” the mother said defiantly.
Once upon a time there was a peasant woman who was unhappy because she had no children. She was happy in all other things – her husband was kind and loving, and they owned their farm and had food and money enough. But she longed for children.
She went to church and prayed for a child every Sunday, but no child came. She went to every midwife and wise woman for miles around, and followed all their advice, but no child came.
So at last, though she knew of the dangers, she drew her brown woolen shawl over her head and on Midsummer’s Eve she went out to the forest, to a certain clearing, and dropped a copper penny and a lock of her hair into the old well there, and she wished for a child.
“You know,” a voice said behind her, a low and cunning voice, a voice that had a coax and a wheedle and a sly laugh all mixed up in it together, “that there will be a price to pay later.”
She did not turn to look at the creature. She knew better. “I know it,” she said, still staring into the well. “And I also know that I may set conditions.”
“That is true,” the creature said, after a moment, and there was less laugh in its voice now. It wasn’t pleased that she knew that. “What condition do you set? A boy child? A lucky one?”
“That the child will come to no harm,” she said, lifting her head to stare into the woods. “Whether I succeed in paying your price, or passing your test, or not, the child will not suffer. It will not die, or be hurt, or cursed with ill luck or any other thing. No harm of any kind.”
“Ahhhhh.” The sound was long and low, between a sigh and a hum. “Yes. That is a fair condition. Whatever price there is, whatever test there is, it will be for you and you alone.” A long, slender hand extended into her sight, almost human save for the skin, as pale a green as a new leaf. The hand held a pear, ripe and sweet, though the pears were nowhere ripe yet. “Eat this,” the voice said, and she trembled with the effort of keeping her eyes straight ahead. “All of it, on your way home. Before you enter your own gate, plant the core of it beside the gate, where the ground is soft and rich. You will have what you ask for.”
A little old hotel in the middle of nowhere, with a creaking wooden sign instead of neon? Red flag.
A hollow-eyed, weary-looking young woman at the desk who seemed hesitant to let me get a room? Red flag.
A picturesquely old-fashioned room with a patchwork quilt on the bed that smells a little too musty? HUGE red flag.
Only they’re actually not. Not the first two, anyway. I travel a lot. There are a lot more seems-haunted old-house-turned-traveller’s-rest places than most people think, and in my experience most night auditors are hollow-eyed, faintly eldritch, and disinclined to let someone check in just before dawn.
Of course, the patchwork quilt should have been a dead giveaway. Tired 80s decor and a chenille bedspread? Entirely normal. Patchwork quilt and nineteenth century charm for less than $100 a night? Sus. Very sus. Should have warned me then and there.
In my defense, I was really tired. I’d been driving for two nights and a day, I was exhausted, all my car snacks were gone, and I just wanted to close my eyes and get horizontal. I handed over some cash, stumbled upstairs, made sure the blinds were down, and passed out.
I didn’t wake up until late afternoon, and I felt like shit on a shingle when I did. It took me a couple of attempts to put on my pants and stumble out of the room to look for some sustenance. My expectations weren’t high, but most places at least have coffee-making facilities, and in a pinch a cup of coffee and chugging all the available milk will keep me going for a while. There might even be some of those little packages of cookies, which usually give me an upset stomach but are better than nothing.
There wasn’t a coffee station. What there was was a vending machine with a buzzing, flickering light inside it that made the dusty snacks look even less appealing than they already did.
I was debating whether to risk a can of soda of unknown brand and vintage - sugar and caffeine don’t readily go bad, and I was starving - when I heard a little cough behind me. “Are you a guest, dear?” the old woman said when I turned around to blink at her. She was thin and tottering, faded-looking, and while there weren’t actually cobwebs on her, she looked as if there should be.
“Yes. Is there a kitchen or something where I can get some food from this century?”
Her eyes flicked away. “There’s a diner,” she told me. “Not far down the road. You should try there. I’m afraid the facilities here aren’t what they once were.” She sighed deeply.
Belatedly, my sense for the uncanny started to tingle. “So I should check out and keep moving, huh?”
“Yes, dear. If you can,” she added, and she glanced over her shoulder. “Before sunset.”
Summary: Oops, we’re still married… With plans to leave their small town, teens Leonora and Elsie eloped, but the marriage ended before it could begin when their parents had it immediately annulled. Ten years later, as Leonora is about to get married again, she finds out the annulment was never finalized. While the clock ticks away toward her wedding, she’s forced to reunite with Elsie to make their divorce official. When romantic feelings resurface, Elsie and Leonora must decide if their unfinished love story is one worth continuing.
Pairing: Leonora / Elsie (OCs)
Rating: M | Words: 25k
Tropes: friends to lovers, exes to lovers, romance, angst with a happy ending, hallmark movie AU, sharing a bed, disaster bisexual, pacific northwest vibes
There is a monster that steals voices, you live in a community where everyone is voiceless. one day a stranger enters your town, asking for directions… In a familiar voice.
Our village isn’t silent. We’ve made sure of that. We’ve hung wind-chimes, tamed songbirds, built fountains and little waterfalls. The dogs still bark, the cats still mew, the chickens and goats and cows still make sounds.
There are no human voices left, but our village is not silent.
It started two years ago. Every night, while we slept, one person’s voice vanished. When they woke, though they seemed perfectly healthy, they could not utter a sound. One every night, until even the babies cried silently. It was never a large village. Before spring came again, it was done.
Two babies have been born since then. They cried on the first day, and then never again.
It took some time, but our scholar and our priestess made a language of gestures and signs, and we all learned. The language is still growing, we’re still finding new words to make, but it works. The youngest children don’t even remember speaking with words.
Now and then, travellers come through. The ones who remember the village before generally don’t come back a second time. Our silence frightens them. Strangers find it a little odd, but it’s a nice village. The inn is comfortable, and the food and beer are good. It’s not the biggest pass through the mountains, but there’s always a steady trickle of travellers in summer, who buy our goods and drink our beer and learn a few of our signs.
If I am going to make what started as my Thesis into a new story, I am going to have to drop more characters. Specifically, one of my twins.
They were the leading force in this tale. At first it was the boy who went on a grand adventure, off to save his sister from the clutches of evil. Now, with the tale in her hands, I had originally planned to kill her brother to throw her in despair.
But perhaps it would be better if he never existed at all.
The story feels cluttered, especially when I have to establish so much about this altered world in the beginning. There is simply no room for a set of twins. It’s got to be one or the other, and if I want to write for girls, this one’s got to be about the girl. It must be her journey. And thus it takes away a layer of complexity, but it also makes the story much easier. It makes her so much more.
Perhaps I’ve always had this split in my head when I needed unity.
And thank YOU! This is the most complete art depiction this character of mine as received, and I cannot stop marveling at how good he looks here, especially the tattoos, like WOW :D
Behold, Gossamer Trostark! He is, in character, damn awkward as hell, but he looks amazing here!
HardyGal’s DnD Experiences (Roughly) Retold
Session 4: Claustrophobia
yay I finally got a chance to allude to Gossamer’s backstory :]
WARNING: tight spaces, panic attacks, and vague childhood trauma
—
The walls of the tunnel were narrow enough that they had to walk single file. Narrow enough to make Gossamer slightly nervous. But not nearly so unsettling that he was unable to shove his nerves aside.
They trekked on, and on, and on through the dark, Queenie leading the way with her darkvision. There were no other sounds besides the rustle of clothing, the clinking of Vyalda’s chainmail, the steady tap, tap, tap of boots on the stone ground, and the occasional audible breaths. Gossamer remained aware of Queenie’s presence ahead of him and Vyalda’s presence behind him, tracing his hand over the grooves on the wall to his right in an effort to ground himself in the seemingly infinite darkness.
At some point Fredrick, who took up the back of the line, grumbled about the ceiling getting lower.
Gossamer did not know at what precise point his nerves began to slip. Perhaps it was when Vyalda’s horns began to scrape intermittently against the stone ceiling, the dragonborn joining Fredrick in needing to hunch over as they continued forward. Perhaps it was when the rasp of cloth against stone was added to the shuffling ambience as Fredrick was eventually forced to kneel in order to keep moving. Perhaps it was when Gossamer finally felt his hair brush against the ceiling.
Regardless, Gossamer soon found himself feeling rather dizzy. His breathing had become very audible. The urge to push Queenie in an effort to make her move faster was dangerously high, hand in hand with the urge to simply start yelling.
“Hey, Gossamer, you doing all right?” said teifling called out blithely from in front of Gossamer.
Was he doing all right…? Gossamer took a moment to swallow down his rising panic. No, he decided, he was definitely not doing all right, but he was not about to start screaming. (Yet).
“No, I’m–” Gossamer swallowed hard, trying to ease his dry throat. “It’s fine, it’s fine, I just… Let’s keep moving, please. I don’t wanna stay here for longer than we have to.”
“Just… find something to distract yourself,” Fredrick called from the back of the line.
The goliath sounded annoyed. Gossamer definitely couldn’t blame him.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s a good… Yeah…” Gossamer shoved his hand into his belt pouch and pulled out the first item he wrapped his fingers around. “Let’s just keep moving…”
They pushed on through the tunnel.
The ceiling was low enough now that both Queenie and Gossamer needed to hunch forward.
Gossamer fiddled with the item in his hand. A broken and slightly rusty padlock it felt like, one of many from his pouch full of arguable junk. He twisted and pulled the shackle with all the barely contained franticness of a caged animal, his breaths hissing out through grit teeth as he put one foot in front of the other.
‘Calm down… Calm down… We’re gonna get out of here soon.’ Gossamer clenched his hand around the padlock. ‘Keep it together, dammit.’
Then,finally, they reached the very literal light at the end of the tunnel. Up a slope, some one hundred feet ahead, sunlight peaked through a small cave opening.
“Looks like we’re almost out,” Queenie said slowly.
“Oh, thank the gods,” Gossamer gasped, in time with Fredrick’s relieved exclamation of “Finally…!”
Queenie continued forward, but at a noticeably slower pace. Her silhouette was hunched lower than was necessary to bypass the low ceiling, and her hands hovered over the handaxes at her sides.
It was all Gossamer could do not to push her.
“Can’t you move any faster?” Gossamer said tightly.
“I’m moving as fast as possible,” Queenie replied, her usual blithe tone carrying a bite of annoyance.
“I just want to get out of here as fast a possible…”
“Look, we don’t know what’s waiting for us outside. I’m just tryin’ to be cautious.”
“That is a good point,” Vyalda spoke up from behind Gossamer.
“I would also like to get out of here as fast as possible,” Fredrick grumbled.
“Be patient,” Queenie said casually.
“Perhaps we should come up with a plan first,” Vyalda suggested. “Just to prepare for whatever might be out there.”
“We don’t even know what might be out there,” Fredrick pointed out.
“Everyone quiet down,” Queenie hissed.
The slow forward pace had come to a halt by this point. The voices of his companions debating on what to do filled the tight space, yet they sounded muted underneath the increasingly frenetic rate of Gossamer’s heartbeat. It was getting harder to breathe.
‘Let me out…’
His eyesight blurred. He didn’t even realise he had been clutching the front of his shirt until he moved to press one hand against the right wall. Had… Had the tunnel always been this narrow…?
“Let me out…”
His neck and shoulders ached, but there was no room for him to stand up straight. A presence in front of him prevented him from moving forward. A presence behind him prevented him from moving back.
‘No, please…’
“Let me out, let me out… Let me out! Let me out!”
Stone turned to wood beneath his fingertips. His arms and chest and back itched and stung beneath the tattoos.
“Please, please, please…! Let me out! Please! Please let me out!”
Where was he now? What was happening? People were talking around him. They sounded annoyed. Oh, gods…
“Please,please…! Let me out!”
No, this wasn’t right…! He wasn’t supposed to be here! But he was too small, too weak, too fragile - a child’s hand slammed against the stone wooden wall and the voice of a young boy dared to scream for mercy.
“Let me out, let me out, let me out! Please! Let me out!”
A muscled arm wrapped around his middle. He cried out, had the audacity to try to pull away, but his struggles meant nothing. The arm pulled him back against a solid surface and pinned him there, his arms trapped at his sides.
“Please, please, please, please, please, please… Let me out, please!”
He was going to cry soon, he knew it, just as much as he knew that it would do no good. His tears meant as little as his struggles. He was supposed to have given both up a long time ago.
“Please let me out…”
A low, soft voice vibrated through the surface at his back. A slow melody drifted through the pounding of his heartbeat, pausing his rising tears.
“Please…”
Words registered in his ears. He recognised them - the lyrics of a draconic lullaby, soothing a mighty warrior to rest. He hadn’t heard it in years, but he still remembered every word.
‘Mom…? Dad…?’
No, the voice was too low to be his mother’s and too high to be his father’s. Nonetheless, every line of draconic acted to dismantle this waking nightmare. He could see light beyond the confines of this wooden(?) box. The arm around him was not restraining, but comforting. He felt scales beneath his fingertips as he grasped it.
‘I’m not… This isn’t before. This isn’t before…’
Another strong arm maneuvered beneath him. He could feel himself being carried. A child took solace in the strong yet gentle presence.
(An adult knocked on the edges of his nightmare addled mind, asking what exactly was happening.)
The voice trailed off, but he continued the lullaby in his mind, murmuring the words silently. Light struck his eyes as he finished the song, and he grimaced, curling in on himself slightly. The arms began to place him down, and–
Gossamer inhaled sharply as his arms came into contact with the unmistakable sensation of grass. He sat upright and looked around to see himself in a woody clearing, just outside a small cave entrance. Queenie was pacing along the edges of the clearing, one hand on her axe, Vyalda was stretching out her back and shoulders just beside Gossamer, and Fredrick was just crawling out from the cave, looking immenselyrelieved.
They were finally outside.
“Oh, my gods…!” Gossamer flopped back onto the grass, arms spread out, eyes staring at the sky. “Ohhh, my gods…! I have never been so happy to be outside before!”
“Yes, yes, we’re finally outside,” Queenie said placatingly, still pacing along the edge of the clearing. “Now you can quiet down a bit.”
Gossamer barely heard her. His chest rattled with a high pitched laugh, an edge of hysteria mixed in with overwhelming relief.
“Gods, look at that sky,” he breathed. “Damn, it looks gorgeous.”
Long buried memories tugged on the edges of his mind, urging him to search them. He ignored them and continued staring at the sky with a (likely) dopey grin.
Artwork commissioned from @bearanium(commission info) as a gift for one of my fellow players in my DnD group - thank you so much, he really liked it!
HardyGal’s DnD Experiences (Roughly) Retold
Session 4: For Want of a Shadow
The following retelling focuses on the above character of course, but told from the POV of my character because, well, obviously I don’t know the exact mindset of another player’s character :}
—
Fredrick stumbled slightly and leant against a nearby tree. Gossamer sat up from where he had been lying down in the grass, his relief at finally being outside again disappearing. He quickly got to his feet and met with Vyalda as the two of them stepped towards the rather ill-looking goliath.
“Hey, man,” said Gossamer, “are you alright?”
“What is wrong?” Vyalda asked.
“I’m not sure…” Fredrick shook his head, pressing a hand over his eyes. “I feel really weak for some reason… I’m also really hungry, not gonna lie.”
“Oh! I can actually help with that…!” Gossamer dropped down onto one knee and began rummaging through his pack. “I still have some bread leftover from the supplies Altova gave us.”
“Uh, that’s really not necessary,” Fredrick protested.
“No, no, it’s fine, just give me a second.”
Not finding the bread anywhere in top layer of supplies, Gossamer shoved his hand deeper into the pack. Something small and rattling fell out amid the disorganised rummaging, and he just barely caught it before it hit the grass.
“Oh, shit…!”
It was a money pouch. A bit of a surprise considering Gossamer had fully resigned himself to being broke since arriving at Kusik.
“Something wrong?” Fredrick asked, voice coming out a little tight.
“Um, uh…” Gossamer shook himself and shoved the pouch back into his pack. “It’s nothing. Not important.”
His parents must have slipped something extra into his pack before he left, but he would have to leave being grateful (and worrying about what Queenie and Vyalda’s reactions would be to him not, in fact, being broke) for later. Gossamer continued to search his pack for the bread. He continued to come up empty handed.
“Dammit,” Gossamer muttered, confusion giving way to frustration as he all but shoved his pack aside. “I can’t find it anywhere…!”
“That’s fine,” Fredrick said quickly. “I don’t need to eat anything right now.”
The goliath brought out his own pack and removed a waterskin from it, gulping down the contents as though he had just escaped from a desert.
With a sigh, Gossamer stood up straight and turned to Vyalda. “Hey, Vyalda, you know how to heal people, right?”
“Yes,” the dragonborn replied. “I suppose I could try removing whatever ails him, but…” Her stoic features furrowed as she hesitated. “I have a feeling this is more than some common ailment.”
“Hey, it’s still worth a try…!”
“I agree,” Fredrick added, before quickly returning to his water.
“All right.” Vyalda stepped forward.
A slight breeze brushed past the dragonborn as she raised her hand to place it on Fredrick’s arm. Then, she glanced downward and froze.
“Oh, shit,” she muttered.
Gossamer looked down and nearly recoiled as he immediately noticed what had startled Vyalda. “What the hell…?!”
Fredrick lowered his now empty waterskin, frowning at the two of them with a mixture of confusion and nervousness. “What? What is it?”
“Fredrick,” Vyalda said, her peculiar pronunciation of the goliath’s name coming out slowly, as though trying to calm a child. “Do not panic, but your shadow is missing.”
Fredrick threw himself at the orc, attempting to restrain him in a tight bearhug. Despite the goliath’s superior height, though, the orc slammed his elbow back against Fredrick’s head and wrenched himself out of his grasp. Queenie was quick to swipe at the orc with her greataxe, easily grabbing his attention while Fredrick stumbled back, looking more frustrated than hurt.
“Shit!” Fredrick glanced back at Gossamer. “Help me pin him down!”
For a moment, Gossamer could only stare up at Fredrick incredulously. His eyes then flicked back towards the orc, who was still engaged in combat with the raging Queenie. The orc was clearly worn out from his previous battle, perhaps even on his last legs, yet he met the tiefling’s attacks with no less fire and zeal.
Gods, just what the hell was Fredrick expecting him to do…?!
Sure, the orc was a bit shorter than the absolute tower that was Fredrick, but meant nothing when the orc was still nearly two and a half feet taller than Gossamer. And that wasn’t even considering the fact that Gossamer was a damned stick compared to literally everyone else in the group, including Queenie, and she was was somehow shorter than him!
“Gossamer, help me out here!” Fredrick shouted.
“All right…!” Uncertain, dubious, but not knowing what else to do, Gossamer rushed forward.
There was no way in hell he would be able to tackle the orc. Even if he had the height, he certainly didn’t have the strength, and Gossamer was not so stupid as to think he could pull something like that off. His best bet was to stagger the orc and give an opening for Fredrick to try and restrain him again.
Brandishing the shortsword that Vyalda had given him, Gossamer darted right past the distracted orc, slashing at the back of his knee. The orc let out a slightly gurgling roar. Without breaking momentum, Gossamer spun around and prepared to stab his dagger into the other leg, just in time to see the orc collapse.
The impact of the orc’s massive body kicked up a poof of dust from the bloodstained grass. For another millisecond, orc’s eyes still burned with an anger and defiance to rival Queenie’s, and then that light was gone. The orc simply lay there, unmoving, unseeing, and a bit more than simply staggered.
‘Wait a second…’ Gossamer stared down at the massive body(!?). ‘Wait a second…’
“Hey, good job, Gossamer,” Queenie said, sounding a little breathless.
‘Wait, I didn’t… That wasn’t…’
“Someone is coming out of the cave…!” Vyalda exclaimed suddenly.
That didn’t sound good. Gossamer could hear Fredrick’s heavy footfalls fade into the forest, see Queenie and Vyalda rush past his peripheral vision. He was aware of all of this, but it was all a little faded and fuzzy, like a bad alcohol buzz. Yet by some miracle, Gossamer was able to put one foot in front of the other, though it felt like it took an eternity of effort, and he swiftly stumbled past the body and into the shadows of the trees.
As soon as Gossamer met the rest of the group behind the trees and pressed himself against a trunk, a pair of orcs emerged from the cave. They both ran into the forest, weapons drawn and teeth bared, running right past the group and quickly fading away from both sight and hearing.
Gossamer looked down at his hands, which were still gripping his dagger and the shortsword. The wraps were stained with blood. It looked like his hands were shaking slightly. There was a slight pounding in his temples. He felt just a bit dizzy.
A heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder, making Gossamer jolt with a yelp. He looked up to see Vyalda regarding him with just a bit less stoic-ness than usual.
your classic piratin’ axe wieldin’ knife carryin’ belt bucklin’ one-hoop-earring wearin’ badass tiefling for @hardygalwrites. thanks for the commission, hope i did this gal justice ;)
i will make tasty art for you…come fill out my snazzy google form and tell me about your characters….
Hell yeah you did her justice, she looks truly badass and amazing! The player to whom this character belongs really liked this art piece, and I thank you :3
HardyGal’s D&D Experiences (Roughly) Retold
Session 2: In Which My Character Nearly Got Punched
The following retelling is a moment about the above player character, told from the POV of my player character (due to the fact that I do not have access to the precise mindset of another player character)
—
“What the FUCK!”
The words thundered through the clearing in a painfully loud roar, making Gossamer jolt as he covered his ears. He spun around and immediately saw Queenie, pointing her greataxe, the red aura around her flaring as she glared at him with an unbridled fury. It was objectively intimidating, but Gossamer was far too distracted by the ringing in his ears to even consider taking a step back.
“What the hell?!” he exclaimed incredulously, hands still pressed over his ears.
Queenie did not dignify his question with a response, instead swinging her greataxe down and stomping towards him. Now Gossamer felt intimidated. He stumbled back, instinctively raising his arms in preparation to defend himself from the punch he absolutely knew was coming.
“Woah, hey!” Fredrick shoved himself in between Gossamer and Queenie, just as the latter pulled back her fist.
Before Queenie could make good on her strike, Vyalda also shoved herself into the conflict, catching the tiefling’s wrist in a clawed hand.
“That is enough,” Vyalda said sharply, her accent making her words even harsher than her tone already did. “The battle is over, we do not need to fight amongst ourselves.”
Queenie jerked her hand from Vyalda’s grasp. “He nearly got us all killed!”
“Yeah, that was pretty stupid,” Fredrick said, looking down at Gossamer with a frown.
Gossamer said nothing. No words came to mind as he stared at Queenie in shock, arms still held up in front of him.
“But we are still alive,” Vyalda emphasised. “The boy made a mistake. That does not mean we should start fighting.”
Queenie simply let out a huff and turned away. The red aura around her had dissipated, but she still looked pissed as hell as she dug through her pack and pulled out the last health potion she had been given. Looking at her now, Gossamer realised just how bad a condition Queenie was currently in. Her eyes were slightly cloudy, her shirt was slashed and bloodied in several places, and her arms seemed to be trembling ever so slightly.
Gods, he had been so focused on helping Hubie that he hadn’t even considered what the rest of these guys would do once he ran into the fray…
Queenie downed the potion in one gulp and shook herself as some vitality returned to her eyes and body. Gossamer glanced down, pulling at the wraps around his hands agitatedly.
Yeah, just saying sorry didn’t sound like a good way to make up for anything. He probably should have taken that punch.
Artwork commissioned from @myrmyr21 - thank you so much for creating one of the very first art pieces of my character here :D
HardyGal’s D&D Experiences (Roughly) Retold
Session 1: A Social Faux Pas
This moment has haunted my character more than his actual background at this point :]
—
While Vyalda and Queenie checked on the old lady who had suddenly fallen asleep at her table, Gossamer turned to where he had last seen that young elf girl. It had been perhaps five minutes since he had first taken note of her presence, but as he scanned the tavern for her now, he saw no sign of her.
‘Oh, crap…’
Gossamer quickly approached the bar. “Hey, Hubie!”
The old dwarven bartender made a grunt of acknowledgement, looking up from the glass he was currently cleaning.
“Hey,” Gossamer said, tapping a finger on the bar, “have you seen that girl, umm, Maya?”
“She should be just over there, lad.” Hubie pointed in the direction Gossamer had last seen Maya, then paused. “Well, she was just over there.”
“Yeah, that’s the thing, we were just talking to Miss Mary, and she told us Maya was planning on entering the forest. Do you know where she could be right now?”
Hubie’s furrowed brow somehow furrowed even further. “She’s… probably gone to Edaline Forest, then…”
“Shit.” Gossamer ran his hands over his face with a low groan before quickly turning back to the bartender. “Do you have any idea why she would do that?”
“Probably to search for her younger brother,” Hubie murmured, setting aside the glass he had been cleaning.
“Yeah, that makes sense…”
Gossamer would very much admit that he would do the exact same thing if he were in Maya’s position, as stupid as he knew it would be. But surely, if Maya was looking to enter Edaline Forest, she wouldn’t do without supplies. And Gossamer didn’t recall seeing a backpack or weapons, anything to indicate that Maya was planning on embarking on a dangerous mission.
“Hey, do you know where Maya lives or stays?” Gossamer asked quickly.
“She stays here, in the tavern,” Hubie answered gruffly. “Just like everyone else in the town these days.”
“All right… Could you tell me–”
There was a brief moment in between the question Gossamer was looking to ask. A fleeting instant in which he realised that what he was about to ask, the question that was leaving his mouth at this moment, could be construed as potentially creepy.
But too late, he finished the question without getting a chance to stop himself, saying, “Could you tell me which room is hers?”
Hubie stopped, his rough hand hovering over another glass, and he slowly looked Gossamer in the eyes. “Lad…”
Gossamer began to wave his hands frantically. “No, no, no, I know how that sounds, but I just want–!”
A heavy presence loomed over Gossamer’s shoulder, and he turned to see Vyalda. The dragonborn’s already stern features appeared somehow sterner as she looked down at Gossamer, not saying a word. Her presence was uncannily similar to that of Gossamer’s father whenever Gossamer was caught doing something especially stupid. Standing a little behind Vyalda, Queenie was regarding Gossamer with a combination of bemusement and mild distaste.
“That’s really creepy, Gossamer,” the tiefling said slowly.
“No…!” Gossamer protested. He could feel his face starting to become warm. “That’s not why I was–!”
“Word of advice, lad,” Hubie cut in, bringing Gossamer’s attention back to the bartender in time to see Hubie place a hand on the bar and fix him with another stern look. “Keep it in your pants.”
Series originally started under the URL @shsl-whump from 2018 to 2020, continued under the URL @agentangst in 2021, and now being continued here
Thisfantastic art piece was commissioned from @piamio on July of 2021 and I still cannot get over how good it looks
Team SA37 is an investigation team under the employ of Double Eye, an independent organization that hires out teams of highly trained private investigators for a hefty fee. These investigators are called “Agents” and are each given a code designation to protect their private lives.
Team SA37 consists of Agents SA37, Tigress, 707, and Jam, making up an investigation team that has a pretty good track record as far as completed cases go. They also get hurt. A lot.
So here is a masterlist of all the sh*t they have gone through thus far. Note: most of the pieces focus on Agent Jam, cause he’s kinda my favourite.
“I think your arm is broken,” B says sharply, stepping up to their injured friend, who immediately recoils.
“I can handle it,” A chokes out.
“You’recrying.”
A shakes their head, moving their free grip from their injured arm to over their mouth. It does nothing to suppress the tears and sobs.
“No, it’s fine…!” A smiles, a terribly shaky and not at all convincing show of bravado. “It’s just my pain tolerance, ’m just being a bitch right now…”
There was a brief moment when the two of them saw each other, when their eyes met, and for just a moment they could each see a spark of joy and excitement in the other’s eyes. For just a moment, they were both kids again, finding solace in each other’s company. And then the moment was gone. Guilt, confusion, and resentment replaced the spark, and they both looked away.
The funeral was short and not at all sweet. It was cold and formal. Rather appropriate, honestly. The Brother was the only family member who spoke for the deceased, and the only family member to actually attend. Well, save for his Sister, but he tried to avoid looking at her again…
But besides the Sister, the Brother saw no one he recognized among the funeral attendees. And there were so few of them as well…
The Brother’s speech was stiff and awkward. He talked about how hard the deceased had worked. How dedicated the two of them had been to their work. How much greater good the two of them had done through their work. The speech was devoid of any personal anecdotes or any talk of who the deceased were as parents, or siblings, or friends.
Had they even had friends? the Brother wondered.
No, he decided, looking at the sparse and bored looking attendees. They almost certainly had never made any actual friends.
One or two other people gave speeches after the Brother. He barely paid any attention, but what little he happened to hear just sounded like carbon copies of his own speech.
Oh, they were good workers. Oh, they were so dedicated. Oh, they had done so much in advancing their career field.
Very touching stuff.
No one stayed behind after the funeral was over. A few people offered the brother condolences, and he just nodded politely. Soon, the Brother was all alone, standing in front of a pair of gravestones.
Until a familiar person walked up beside him.
“‘Son, brother, and father,’” the Sister read blandly. “‘Daughter, sister, and mother.’”
She scoffed and nudged one of the gravestones with her shoe. “Left out the ‘loved’ and ‘loving’ prefixes. How appropriate.”
The Brother hummed in response.
The two of them just stood there for what seemed like an hour, in tense and palpable silence.
“It’s been awhile,” the Brother finally said.
“That’s an understatement,” the Sister replied drily. “You finally got that acne under control.”
“Uh, yeah.” The Brother scratched his cheek, a habit he thought he’d dropped after high school, but apparently not. “Your hair looks nice.”
“Damn right. Curls suit me, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
More awkward silence.
“So, um–“ The Brother coughed. “Why didn’t you visit?”
“Studies,” came the short and blasé reply.
“Oh…” The Brother frowned. “But the holidays, and between high school and uni–“
“Oh my god,” the Sister grumbled. “I started studying overseas to get away from this, why the hell would I have wanted to visit?”
The Brother fought the urge to press a hand over his suddenly aching chest. “I mean… for me…”
“I…” The Sister began rubbing her arm, discomfort radiating off of her, before she suddenly turned on her Brother with a sharp stare. “Well, what about you? Why didn’t you ever visit?”
“I– Studying,” the Brother responded lamely, looking away from his Sister. “And Mom and Dad wanted me to focus on my career–“
“And you always did do what Mom and Dad wanted,” the Sister said with a barely concealed sneer.
“Better than always being snippy and trying to aggravate them,” the Brother sniped back.
“As if anything you did actually made them love you.”
The Brother clenched his hands. “That’s not–“
“Look at their fucking graves.” The Sister all but kicked one of the gravestones again. “Even in death, you weren’t good enough for them to acknowledge as being loved.”
“Yeah, well, you’re in the same fucking boat then, Sister,” the Brother growled.
“At least I’d already figured that out years ago,” the Sister retorted. “Unlike you.”
The Brother tensed and stuttered, but he couldn’t think of any way to respond. The two of them lapsed back into a tense silence. As they both stared at the two graves in front of them, the tension ebbed away and was replaced by an air of unrelenting melancholy.
The Brother could feel his chest continue to ache and his eyes begin to sting. A soft sniff drew his gaze over to his Sister, who, to his great surprise, he saw attempting to discreetly wipe away tears.
“H-Hey,” the Brother said hoarsely. “It’s… Don’t cry. You’re right, you’ve always been right, and they’re not worth it…”
The Sister let out a slightly bitter laugh, turning her teary gaze up towards the grey sky. “Oh my god, this isn’t for them, or because of them. If you want the truth, I honestly feel nothing. I felt nothing when I heard about them dying, I felt nothing throughout that stupid funeral, and I feel nothing now, looking at these stupid gravestones–“
A small sob cut the Sister off, and she quickly covered her mouth. After a moment in which she composed herself, the Sister dropped her hand down to her side and looked back down at the gravestones.
“This is for you, you dumbass. For us. I’m sorry I didn’t visit, I’m sorry I left you behind, and I… I’m just sorry…” The Sister buried her face in her hands and her shoulders began to shake softly.
“Hey, no, no, no, no, it’s…” The Brother’s voice cracked as he slowly and hesitantly wrapped an arm around his Sister’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, nothing was ever your fault, and–“
The Brother choked, and the Sister leaned into his one armed embrace.
“I’m sorry too,” the Brother said tightly. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t brave enough to go with you, I’m sorry that I was too afraid to visit you, I’m sorry that I got angry with you for wanting to leave, oh god, I’m sorry about so many things…”
He trailed off, and once again the two of them just stood there, leaning against each other, no silence in between their soft cries as they mourned not for the graves in front of them, but for the relationship that had wasted away long before.
When at last the two of them began to quiet down, the Brother murmured, “You wanna know something…? I don’t feel anything either.”
The Brother let out a humourless huff of laughter. “Ironic, huh? I spent so many years trying to earn their love and in the end I can’t even make myself feel anything at their funeral. The only time I felt anything was when I saw you… I…”
The Brother paused and thought about it. “I think… Even though I was also mad… I was– I am… very happy to see you…”
The Sister hummed. “…Same. Alongside the being mad part.”
The Brother laughed again, this time with an actual tone of levity, and the Sister joined in.
When they both quieted down again, the Sister said, “I really missed you, y’know…”
“Same…”
And for one final time, the two of them stood there in silence, ignoring the gravestones in front of them as they both simply enjoyed each other’s presence and company.
“And if we could do that,” A concludes, turning towards their goal, “then yeah, everything will work out. It’ll be great…!”
B stares at A. Their eyes go from their friend’s back, down to their hands. “You’re shaking.”
A tenses slightly, then clenches his hands. He turns back towards B and smiles. “That’s probably the adrenaline, right? Can’t jump into danger without some of that.”
Even with his hands clenched, the tremors can be seen trailing their way up from his fists, to his arms, to his shoulders. B steps forward and places a hand on A’s arm.
“N-No really,” A says. The shaking becomes more obvious and makes its way into his smile. “I’m doing fine…”
Scenario 2: Antagonist
“So I guess we’re supposed to be working together now.”
“Yeah,” A mumbles, gaze locked determinedly on his work.
“And how do you feel about that?”
“It’s… whatever.”
B allows a smirk to creep onto their face. They walk up to A until they are standing a mere three inches from him. A doesn’t look up from his work, but he isn’t actually doing any work either, not anymore.
“Back off,” A says through grit teeth.
B trails their eyes up A’s body. “You’re shaking,” they coo.
A slams his hands against his work station and turns on B with a glare that does not quite match his stance. Like a rabbit attempting to snarl.
“Back off,” A snaps again.
B crosses their arms, meeting A’s glare with a widening smirk.
“…Please,” A adds quietly.
B lunges forward, and A recoils, arms rising instinctively to shield himself. B steps back, laughing.
“Awwww, you’re still just as much fun as you used to be!”
A’s face reddens and he opens his mouth, likely to give some yip of a retort. B lunges forward again, and A’s retort dies as a choked gasp as he again flinches back.
Allowing another short laugh, B leans back and sighs contentedly. “Well for the record, I am very much looking forward to working with you.”
A doesn’t reply or look at B. There’s a tremor in his still raised arms.
