#from herri

[herri-writes]

*drops it and leaves*

Also an edit from oomf :

[luna-the-cretar]

Briggsy has seasonal allergies. To me.

Spring comes along and he uses an entire box of tissues in less than a week because he can’t stop fucking sneezing.

That’s one of the VERY FEW things that he likes about being undead. Can’t have allergies when all those receptors are dead.

[friszil]

i'm not much of a doorkeay shipper but every time i think about "anybody else" by dom fera as michael distortion and gerry my brain stops workingi'm like ndksodmrnwpalsnfne oh ogdo oh my ogooooood oh god oh ood please no

[kelxya]

He's just hanging out!

This is my entry for @callmeherry's DTIYS! My brain went 'what if the strings were around his legs instead of his arms' and... this happened lol. Might be too far from the original prompt, but I had lots of fun making it. I'm very proud of how it turned out.

First time participating in a DTIYS, it was a great challenge!

Congrats again on the 800+ followers, Herry!

[the-maker-of-monsters]

How did you first meet Herold, and what did you think of him at the time?

“I first met him when I was in medical school. When I was a young man, my genius had been recognized by the great Commander, and I had been saved from the more, mm, primitive wings of our glorious empire. The pillager corps. I had no place there, I was a scientist, an artist. Oh, I remember meeting him…”

He swooned.

“I shook his hand. He had such a soft, gentle touch. Almost motherly. Anyway, the Commander did not take kindly to him. He’s from the fallen house Gieselhart, you see, raided by Siegmund. Herry was kept for his scientific and medical prowess. His brother Conrad, the boytoy, a groom for his daughter. He often dragged Herold out for public beatings when he upset him. I liked to watch. I was one of the Commander’s favorites, you have no idea how much I wept when he passed away.” Theud clutched his chest like a churchwoman, genuine grief in his expression. “Hosts rest his soul. Anyway, it was sort of an idle crush, but my heart was truly set ablaze when I had my… Improvement.”

A horrible, crooked smirk creeps across the scarred man’s face. His icy eyes gleam with derangement, and beads of greasy sweat form on his brow.

“A.. A ravager had gotten the best of me. I was humiliated. Splayed out, bleeding, choking on my own marred body, in front of dozens of lords. My own creation, writhing in a bloody fervor.” He dragged his fingers down his scars, sucking in air through the gaps in his teeth, “Then I woke up. Softly embraced by white sheets, with an angel sewing my skin together. So deft, so skilled. Small and leporine. Beautiful green eyes, and a voice so warm and refined. The Thaumaturge… My doctor.” The man swooned, his snaggle-tooth digging into his ruined lip. “I woke up with a clearer mind than I ever had before. I was a new man. A new creature. The hosts had plucked an angel from the aether and promised him to me. Oh, Foresight! Knowledge! Action! Thank you!”

He raised his fists in religious ecstasy. “Glory be to the hosts! I am improved! My body is a vessel for religious alchemy! But of course..” He lowered his voice, his expression souring, “Not everyone understands that. Not everyone has the bond that Herold and I have. And Herold, oh, my cottontail, he’s so… He’s so kind. He’s so innocent. Corruptible.. Other people, interlopers,” He spits, utter hatred in his slurred voice, “Are trying to ruin him. And I won’t let them. But he won’t listen. So.. I’ll make him listen. All in due time.”

He smiles again, an ominous, perverse glint in his beady eyes. “All in due time…”

[storiesaremylife]

If anything Archie should be the LEAST scared of the water, he's descended from 1) a nymph 2) the guy who was made invulnerable by a river

If Archie is going to be scared of the water because Achilles fought a river god, should Odie not then be TERRIFIED of the ocean? Odie should be more scared of the water!

[dreadfulpolyculehell]

welcome to polycule hell. ✨ 🍇 ♦️ 🚂 ❄️

( ^ placeholder image until i can draw something better. soz. ty crow.

oh. and also the banner and pfp. This blog is stc. -zun)

A place where all 5 of us can ramble like crazy and post about the (dreadful) polycule. All of the characters here ( Code, Dionysus, Deuce, Trans & Choice ) respectfully belong to each of us operating the blog.

This blog will also be an archive for everything related to the polycule. Rambles, doodles, artworks, and even asks! We will also include the polycules' two kids (Orestes & Azure). Eventually we'll post lore about the polycule as well so keep your eyes peeled :]

ASKS ARE OPEN!! Ask whatever from us operating the blog or the characters!!

Credits and people operating this blog ;

@callmeherry - Code ✨

@javaxzun - Dionysus 🍇

@gutsroses - Deuce ♦️

@ken-tfc - Trans 🚂

@youregonnahavetime - Choice ❄️

A reminder that the polycule is non-canonical and not entirely associated with the original source materials the characters come from. But, we wanna make content for them anyway because we love the sillies :P We like being delusional and making stuff up.

"Schrödinger's ship, it both is and isn't canon" - Herry

Tags (will add more later in the future if we have to) ;

General tag #the dreadful little polycule

Villain AU #the delightful little polycule

Human AU #the dreadful humancule

College AU #Polystudies

-

character tags yipee

#code sans

#dionysus sans

#deuce sans

#track sans

#choicebound sans

#🌺Orestes

#🫐Azure

-

This blog is inspired by @ shit-hell-no-radio ! (i like your stuff guys .. - 🍇)

Credit to this website for the textboxes used for the asks.

[0oolookitsme]

But Baby, It's Cold Outside

Type - One-Shoty Blurb!

Verse - Singer!Harry x Ceo!Y/n

Word Count - 1.2k

Warnings - None, just some tooth rotting fluff ;)

A/N - Y/n blushes so hard in this one I was legit smiling while writing the ending lmao. Hope you guys like it just as much! <3

MASTERLIST | Please rb to share!

Y/n was on her knees on the carpeted floor, her hands stacking things up on the Christmas mantel that she had been set on decorating since she'd opened her eyes this morning. Her knees hurt because of the hardwood floor, but it was better than having to bend down while standing up, nevertheless.

They were surprisingly late to decorate for Christmas this year because of their prolonged stay over at Anne's for a while. After all, Anne wanted the see her daughter-in-law who was pregnant with her grandson or granddaughter -- and Y/n was starting to feel more and more deprived of a mother's love by each day, making Harry take her to Anne.

She had put Harry to work currently with fluffing up the Christmas tree's leaves, and to decorate it with the string lights they'd bought just the day before. He was crouching just about beside her, facing her with the tall tree standing between them.

"I swear, this tree has got me working the hardest I ever have," Harry joked, wiping the sheen layer of sweat on his face. He chuckled when Y/n shook her head, laughing at him and not at his joke -- but he didn't need to know that. "So dramatic," he heard her murmur under her breath, knowing that she meant for him to hear it.

"I'm the one who's dramatic?" He questioned her with a touch of accusation to it. "You're the one who's been up my arse this whole month with 'let's do this, let's do that'!" Mimicking her, Harry smacked his hand on the tree and hissed in pain when a thorn pricked his finger.

A smirk appeared on Y/n's face as she continued to mess with the order of stuff she'd stacked up on the mantel. Shrugging, she said, "that's what you get for teasing me."

Herry scoffed instead of saying anything and went back to fluffing up the tallest bit of the tree. His armpits were moist with his sweat but he wouldn't even dare to think about putting out the crackling-fire in the fireplace. He might be a naturally warm body, but Y/n definitely wasn't.

Whether it was summer, or winter -- her body was never found to be hot. Hell, even when she took off her fuzzy socks last night her feet were freezing cold. And, with the baby growing in her body, Harry wouldn't even let Y/n remove the thin blanket he had wrapped around her frame when he woke up at the first ray of sunshine and realized that it had started snowing.

"H? Will you please bring me those mini-Christmas trees?" Y/n asked him, turning to give him some puppy-eyes but caught him watching the snowflakes on the windowpane instead. Tilting her head and joining him in looking outside, her lips stretched in a smile.

The snow fell soundlessly, drifting down like white and fluffy cold crystals. It brought an essence of magic in the world, falling softly into blankets that cover the landscape. 

"...'course," she heard him mumble, and turned just in time to catch the smile he passed her with a glint in his eyes that she'd come to recognize as admiration. Though she wasn't sure if what he was admiring then was the snow, her, or the 7-month baby bump.

In the time that Harry went to pick up the set of trees from the kitchen island, Y/n dropped the blanket from her shoulders, feeling too hot suddenly. The room had grown too warm for her current liking, and as she sat down cross-legged on the floor to give her knees some rest, she wished for Harry to be back by her side.

She slipped back on her bottom until her aching back hit the leg of the sofa and rested there. Patting the spot next to her, she invited Harry to sit beside her and whined internally when he passed her a knowing look and brought back the blanket with him. "Open the window if you're going to make me wear that blanket again," she told him pointedly, passing him a smile to tell him she didn't mean that behaviour seriously.

"But baby," Harry looked at her with a desperate look on his face. "It's cold outside!" he told her, wanting to open the window himself but he simply denied to because he couldn't have Y/n catch a cold. He sat down, spreading his legs and crossing them at the ankles.

He draped the blanket over both of their legs, making sure her bump is also covered. Leaning in, he pressed his lips on her pouted ones, smiling in the midst when she wouldn't back away.

Y/n reached for one of the kid's books that she'd been reading to learn some stories she could tell her little bundle of love when they were old enough to whine to her for just one more story. With some trouble, she caught the book on the sofa behind her and opened it, keeping it tilted just in case Harry wanted to join her.

But Harry was rather busy idly playing with her free hand, and as she continued to read, she felt him raise her hand up and press a kiss into her palm. Her cheeks, that were already rosy because of the cold, had now turned a shade of raging red and Harry couldn't help but cackle at that.

Y/n slapped his arm, an embarrassed smile dressed on her lips. "Stop it," she hissed, unable from removing the bashful smile on her mouth when Harry kisses the back of her hand the other time around. She turned her face away so that he couldn't see the cherry-red tint on her face, her mouth trembling because of the shy-giggle she was working hard to keep in.

Harry loved seeing the smallest gestures affect her in ways that she couldn't even control. Sputters of laughter kept falling from his mouth and when she didn't turn to face him after some while, he couldn't help but grab her chin and make her look at him.

Although she had shut her eyes tightly, the apple of her cheeks still suffused with a shade of pink that he decided was his favourite from now on. "C'mon!" He laughed when she wouldn't open her eyes.

He had only started getting such exquisite reactions out of her since he put a baby in her, and God, he would put another one in there if she would keep making him lose his mind like this.

Suddenly, a yelp flew out of his mouth, and he flinched away when she pressed her icy foot flat on his calf.

"Oh my god," he laughed with a surprised expression on his feet. "Baby, how the fuck are you so cold, still?" He shouted with laughter, his heart bursting with love when she started laughing profusely with her head thrown back. He, somewhere in the midst of it all, had stopped laughing, gazing at her instead.

But when Y/n didn't hear him laughing along with her, she opened her eyes only to find him looking at her as if she'd had hung stars in the room for him; and Harry swore her eyes were genuinely glittering and shimmering with something he was sure the poets would call love.

[smidge-doodles]

Continuing, continuing on, on my Class of the Titans art spree, I give you a render of Archie and Atlanta, and a small comic of the kids.

So, in my forward moving art-verse, Liam, Samuel, and Hannah are Archie and Atlanta's kids and they are triplets. For no other reason than I can, and at the idea or Archie passing out at the ultra-sound when they find out. He was hoping to maybe start with one, not three at once. And I'm also keeping to the idea that Archie is a natural dirty blond, so the kids get that from him. I'm wanting to flesh out more of a story here, but right now these are just for fun and to see if I can express a little of each kid.

So yes,

Liam, Samuel, and Hannah belong to Archie and Atlanta

Megan is Herry's

Mia is Neil's

Deanna is Odie's

And Titus belongs to Jay and Theresa

There really is no rhyme or reason to alot of this yet, so far its just for fun. But I will say that Liam is the bane of his fathers existence. I also have no idea what he did in the comic that he wants no one to know about, but I do know that it is within the realm of possibilities of D&D scenarios, and actually being true.

Also, sorry if the wording a little hard to read, I'm still learning some new skills like making comics and backgrounds, and it was just a fun little doodle.

There is another little comic of the triplets I wanna work on, but thus is what I got right now.

Enjoy the chaos!

****

Small edit/update to the "comic" part. I did a re-draw/clean up, and hopefully made it more readable.

[hanafubukki]

hana, i know you reblogged this post but please,

go wild and brainrot;3

Hello Herri 💕💜🌺

As you have asked for, so shall you receive. I AM STILL ROTTING OVER THIS MAN SO YOU HAVE COME AT THE PERFECT MOMENT (then again do I ever not rot over this fae????)

So that quote just hits me right in the feels, its one of the quotes that just steps on your heart, you know? HTTYD 2 is my favorite movie of the three as well

"Go on, shout. scream! Say something!"

"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you."

These two lines are just so so filled with emotions and then you can add so much more feels and angst as well, given how you set up the story line.

SO HERE WE GO, under the cut because I am going to go wild and I ended up writing a few different drabbles.

So, to start of with your idea Herri, I'm going to add a spin on it and more details.

What if Reader was a Fae in this scenario?

So, the situation is similar to HTTYD, but in this case instead of enemies being dragons, we are going with enemies being Humans.

Humans and Fae War will be the setting.

Reader develops sympathy/empathy for the humans, but know that during this time, the Fae are too prideful to sign a treaty with them.

Likewise, humans are just as stubborn.

but the Reader cannot and will not have humans die by their hands, not anymore.

but Reader knows that they are the only ones thinking this way, and knows that their beloved, Lilia, is stubborn and won't change his mind either.

As all problems require, time is needed.

So Reader leaves in the middle of the night without telling anyone.

Time passes, and the war ends, and we come to current times.

You have moved on to another land. You used your magic to hide your Fae features until everything has settled down between the Fae and Humans.

Now that peace has come, you can’t help but wonder, should you go back? Should you reveal yourself?

Coronation Route: You went back home once you heard that Maleficia is stepping down, and her grandson Malleus will be taking her place as King. You have heard how he has a fondness for humans, and even made friends with them. You have heard rumors about how his lover might even be human. You have heard rumors how Lilia is by his side, and so are two guards (one who is human and another who is half fae and half human). You can't help it. You want to go back. You want to see him again. So you go back to your kingdom on the day of the coronation, wearing a robe to cover you. You watch as Malleus and his entourage greet the people and then you see him. He has changed...yet he is the Lilia you love and cherish. You can't help it; you utter his name. He shouldn't have been able to see you, and yet his eyes snapped towards your direction. You turn to leave quietly, hoping against all odds he's hadn't noticed you. But of course, he is the Phantom General, he catches you. You could see that he still has the love he always had for you and then those lines are uttered by you both. You end up breaking down and crying in his arms. You missed him, all these years and your love for each other never faded. It seems there is more than one celebration to celebrate tonight. It was also a night of lovers being reunited after hundreds of years.

NRC Route: I'm thinking of reasons why Fae Reader ended up at NRC and I'm going with they are a professor there. NRC is nothing, if not perfect at hiding secrets and they hid your identity well. That is until you attended the ceremony for the new students and lo and behold, Malleus and Lilia are both part of the new class. You have to force yourself from shaking. You have to stop yourself from looking at Lilia again and again. You can't look at him again. You can't drink him in as if he is water and you are very much parched for him. You try to act normal as you feel eyes on you, and you know it is him. You leave the ceremony right after is it finished, hoping to evade him just a bit longer. What can you say? What can you do? How would you face him after so long? But you have missed him so. Time is taken out of your hands when you see him in your room, while he may not look the same, he is skillful and has been known as the Phantom General after all. He is a silent as the shadows and you can't help it. You break first. You say those words, only for him to call you beautiful in return. You sob as he cups your face and wipes your tears. His arms as warm and comforting as you remember. You two have many years to make up for, and lucky for you both, you two have all the time in the world.

NO ONE LOOK AT ME I AM STILL FEELING SOFT AFTER WRITING THAT JKLWJEDLJFLJL

Now, what if Reader was human?

There's so many different situations I can come up with, but I'm going to go with two of them. One is going to be with a Human and reincarnation trope and another is going to deal with my Yume Hana Asteria.

Reincarnation Route: You were a human who had met the General on the battle field. He was ensnared by a trap set by the humans, but had gotten free. At the cost of grave wounds, you chose to heal his wounds instead of leaving him. You knew that you should have left him be, knew that he would likely kill you. but you couldn't, at the end, he needed help and you wouldn't leave him. He ended up in your care. He wasn't the...greatest patient. He snarled at you and demeaned you, but you let him be. He had many chances to kill you, but never did and that was good enough for you. You ended up dying protecting him. He had tears falling down his face while he cradled you. You told him it was okay and that you cherished your time together. You prayed you two would meet again. You did not know it, but you were the start of why he started softening towards humans. Hundreds of years passed, you had returned as the magic-less Prefect. You two made a connection as if you were soulmates, but neither of you knew why. It was only in the dream world did you both finally understand. After Malleus' OB had been settled, you yelled. Not at him, never at him, you yelled at the unfairness of it all. But he just uttered, how much you haven't changed and how you are as beautiful as he remembered. And you both knew, No matter the situation, this time you both would have a Happy Ending in this life.

Hana Asteria Route: Hana tried to stop the war between both sides, but no matter what she did, it was never enough. Hana eventually gets captured by the Fae, and in time, she forms a camaraderie with them. Eventually, she has to leave, her powers were used too much and she would shatter if she stayed any longer, so she said good bye. When she finally returned, she did not remember her time in the past. But as the story progressed as in canon, she remembered. It was then that she shouted. She felt useless. She couldn't even help those she loves, but Lilia comforted her. The stars had granted him his deepest wish. He would meet her again, and so they were reunited. This time though, they both would work together to bring forth the world they dreamed of. This story Anonie wrote speaks to me on so many levels on how Hana and Lilia met. It is beautiful and I recommend everyone to check it out.

PLEASE I AM STILL SO SOFT. IT IS SOMETHING ABOUT IMMORTALS AND MOTALS LOVING EACH OTHER. ABOUT HOW, THROUGH TIME, THEY WILL MEET AGAIN AND AGAIN. HOW THEY WILL CONSTANTLY FALL IN LOVE THAT HAS ME GO FERAL 💜💚💚💚💚

Going to stop here because then I will never stop at this rate lolol I want to hopefully write one of these ideas one day but we will see.

I hope you enjoyed what I wrote Herri and that it helped with your writer's block.

Your ask certainly has me going feral again, but hey, at least this time I'm not stating how bad I want to...uhhhh ah-hem.

Thank you of sending this in 💚🌺

Additional Credit for the Quote by @aqua-beam

[samwisethewitch]

👀 would you ever publish a cookbook by chance?

I would absolutely publish a cookbook! Cooking is one of my favorite hobbies and I love collecting new cookbooks to try recipes from.

I'm actually currently writing a cookbook based on my spouse's homebrew Dungeons & Dragons setting. Basically, any time our characters are in a new part of the world I ask them a bunch of questions about 1.) the ecology, bioregion, and native plant and animal species (they have canon answers to this because my baby is on some Tolkien level worldbuilding) and 2.) the culture(s) present in the area and their food traditions. Then, I create recipes based on those answers so I can serve food at sessions that mirrors what our characters are eating in the game. The cookbook draft is on a shared Google Drive for all our players, so everyone has access to the recipes.

I'd absolutely be down to share some of those recipes here, but I worry they won't be as cool to people who haven't been playing an ongoing campaign in this fictional world for 5+ years.

In the meantime, if you want more recipes for food that tastes like what I post on here, here are some of the cookbooks I use most often:

An Unexpected Cookbook: The Unofficial Book of Hobbit Cookery by Chris-Rachael Oseland (my favorite cookbook ever, everything I've made from it is delicious)

The Redwall Cookbook by Brian Jacques (100% vegetarian! And has more simple, kid-friendly recipes I can make with my nephews)

The Southern Foodways Alliance Community Cookbook edited by Sara Roahen and John T. Edge (THE BEST collection of regional cuisine from the Southeastern USA. If you aren't from here, your tastes may vary, but I can testify that the recipes are authentic and delicious. The brisket recipe I make for my Christian and Jewish family at our Easter/Passover/Spring Equinox gathering is from this book and is approved by my beef farmer in-laws.)

Chez Helene Cookbook: A collection of New Orleans family recipes by Ellen Chenevert Herry (Picked this up on my most recent trip to NOLA and I like to whip it out whenever I miss the city. I adjust the recipes based on cooking tips from my friends in Louisiana.)

Happy cooking!

[herri-writes]

LOOK AT HIM

[theaceace]

Hob is woken, not by the shrill cacophony of his alarm or the sunlight hitting his face where they'd forgotten to pull the curtains last night, or even the warmth of Morpheus' hands and mouth, but by the sudden dip in the mattress as another person flops onto the bed with them.

Several lifetimes' worth of instincts see him jolting awake in an instant, heart racing and sweat already beading on his back and brow. Hob may not be able to die, but he's been ambushed in his sleep more than enough times to be getting on with, ta very much, and he's not keen to do it again. Suddenly he's twenty-five, and exhausted after days of marching on Troyes, feet sore and heart sorer, waiting on a battle that never came. He's twenty-eight, and the knife that flashes in the darkness misses his throat only because Herry has ears like a bat and enough blind-foolish loyalty to leap on their attacker's back. He's seventy-three, and lying barely-conscious among the dead that need burying or burning, and he knows that he needs to rouse himself even with the arrow still in his chest, or he'll be burnt or buried with them. He's two-hundred and sixty-four, and they've come to the home he'd made for his family, to drag him from the bed he had shared with his wife some thirty years before, and haul him away as a witch.

He's gripped now by the same fear, and it has him up and moving, one hand fumbling at the bedside table for anything with enough heft to dent a skull before he realises that none of his attackers have ever smelt like peaches.

Beside him, Morpheus shifts just enough to free his face from the clutches of his pillow.

“That key was given to you for use in emergencies, my sibling,” he says, voice thick with sleep and the cotton pillowcase.

Desire stretches luxuriously between them and smiles, fox-sharp, at Morpheus. They roll their head to look at him – beneath the perfume and sweat and wet pavement smell of them, Hob catches a sour waft of alcohol.

“Oh but my dear brother, this is an emergency,” they say, and – look, Hob has been drunk enough to recognise the exquisitely deliberate care at the edges of their words. He huffs a little, pushes himself up so that he can slap a hand on the bedside lamp and blink furiously against the sudden light. It takes a few seconds for his vision to clear, and he rubs his hands over his face in a vain effort to convince himself that this is some new nightmare that Daniel is testing out, before he gives in to the inevitable and turns to examine their guest.

"And what could possibly be so pressing at –" Morpheus snatches Desire's wrist up to stare blearily at their watch "– two thirty-seven in the morning? That could not be expressed in a phone call or wait until a reasonable hour?"

"Do you know, brother mine, how many partners I found to dance with? Whose desire for me, once so integral as to be a given, I had to simply guess at? To read in the curve of a smile or the enticing lull of a question? I didn't know them, not a one, and can you guess, sweet Dream, how many of them took me to their beds?"

And Hob has heard quite enough of that. He stretches and tosses back the sheets, while Morpheus shoots him a filthy glower that softens immediately into a plea for respite with his sole visible eye. Desire either doesn't notice this silent communication, or doesn't care.

“None!” They crow gleefully, clasping their hands, and Morpheus scowls as he's jostled in place.

It's not that Hob wants to leave him to fend for himself against his sibling, only that he doesn’t fancy being in the firing line when Morpheus inevitably snaps and thumps Desire with a pillow.

Doing an admirable job of ignoring Morpheus' wounded expression, Hob groans and lurches himself in the vague direction of the kitchen. Might as well put the kettle on for this.

"Jasmine or apple tea, love?" He calls. No sense having any caffeine now. If they're lucky, Desire will wear themself out quickly and they'll be able to go back to sleep before the alarm goes off.

"Apple, if you would," Morpheus replies.

"Ooh, I'll have jasmine if you're making."

"Didn't ask you!" Hob shouts back, already adding a spoon of sugar to the third mug he'd fetched down for them. 

“Oh, so forceful! You know, if you ever get tired of my stick-in-the-mud brother here…” Desire trails off meaningfully, and Hob snorts, smiling a little to himself. They know full well it's not going to happen, however much or little they remember about his desires, and even if he were – impossibly – to change his mind about Morpheus, they'd get bored of him soon enough. 

He sets all three mugs on a tray, and grabs a pack of chocolate digestives while he's at it. Morpheus would never admit to being fond of them, but he doesn't need to. Hob's watched him absent-mindedly devour most of a packet while he pecks one-handed at the keyboard. Besides, Desire could probably do with something to line their stomach. 

“Is being human always this delightfully contradictory? So baffling and solid and… damp?” Desire asks, lifting their head just enough to peer at Hob as he re-enters the room. It's a moot question, of course. They've been human long enough now to know that the answer is, largely, yes. 

“Often. But do you know, my sibling, the very best part of being human?” Desire turns lazily to look at Morpheus, smiling wide. Their lipstick today is dark purple, and smudged at the corners of their mouth. 

“Mm, do tell. You know how much I crave your… wisdom,” they say, rolling the words indulgently over their tongue. Hob sighs and nudges Morpheus’ book to one side so he can set the tray down on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

“It is that it is no longer against the Old Laws for me to do this,” Morpheus says, planting one foot against their side and shoving hard enough that they topple off the bed with an outraged squawk and undignified thump. There's a blessed moment of stillness, the same kind of breathless anticipation that Hob remembers from the battlefield, before the charge and the mud and the pain. Then they pop back up over the side of the bed with a cry and launch themself at Morpheus. He'd be more worried if he couldn’t hear the laughter in their voice, nor see how their outstretched hands target Morpheus’ ribs and armpits, rather than his eyes.

Hob's sisters have been dead for centuries now, but he remembers this well enough.  Maybe if the Endless had ever been anything like children, they might have gotten all of the murderous posturing out of the way before they grew up enough for it to be a problem, he muses. Still. Better late than never.

He takes a sip of his own tea and grabs a biscuit. Lord knows he won't get a look in once Morpheus has finished trying to jam his elbow into Desire's stomach and realises they're there.

“It was never against the Old Laws for you to be a bastard, which is lucky because you always were one!” Desire gasps, writhing away from Morpheus’ pointy limbs. Hob's been at the receiving end of those elbows before, and even when Morpheus is being gentle, they're decently sharp. He wonders idly if either of them'll tire of this before their tea goes cold, and decides not to intervene either way. Serve them both right if they have to drink cold tea.

“You tried to kill me!”

“Don't tell me you're still hung up on that?”

“I am, because you tried to kill me!”

“Well it's not like it worked!”

Not really the point, Hob reckons, but then again he's had plenty of mates that have tried to kill him. 

“More by good fortune than good judgment,” Morpheus hisses.

“Oh, so you admit to your poor judgment?”

Hob snorts, and the wounded look Morpheus swings towards him would fell a lesser man. Hob takes another biscuit.

“Ha!” Desire takes advantage of his momentary distraction to lock their arms around his shoulders and blow a loud raspberry against his cheek. Hob doesn’t think he's entirely successful in hiding his smile. Morpheus doesn't even try to hide his look of disgust. 

Well, he had to learn the downsides of being an older brother at some point, Hob supposes. 

Judging that the worst of the scrapping is over, he perches on the edge of the bed and pats Morpheus’ flank idly. Desire, loose-limbed with alcohol and triumph, flops over him to reach for their tea. Morpheus magnanimously doesn't jab his fingers into their exposed side.

“Thank you, Robert darling,” Desire says, eyes half-lidded as they drink. It comes out far less coquettish than Hob imagines they intended; too genuinely content. Morpheus sighs, and frowns, and doesn't quite do a good enough job of hiding his own ease as he sits up and leans against Hob. 

“I suppose you intend to stay the night?” Morpheus asks. There's nothing of the dignified dreamlord about him now, with his hair flattened on one side and just a little lank, and pillow creases on his cheek. He peers at Desire, half of his weight still supported by Hob, who takes another slurp of tea and polishes off the last of his biscuit. It's still unbelievable, sometimes, that he may see his dour and distant old stranger like this. Something tangible, something grounded, something he can hold. Unbelievable, too, after the way they had almost parted, after the way Morpheus had almost –

Well. Doesn't bear thinking about, really.

“Mm, yes, if you'll have me.” Do they have to work to make everything they say sound like a double entendre,  Hob wonders, or does it come naturally? He's not entirely sure they even notice they're doing it. 

“You're always welcome,” Hob says. “Guest room's all made up, and there's a spare toothbrush under the sink you can have.”

“How very kind. Dream, dear, isn't your man kind?”

“Unreasonably so.”

“Ta, love,” Hob says, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Desire rolls their eyes theatrically, as though that might mask how their expression softens. “Now drink your tea, I'd like to get a few more hours’ sleep before I need to get up.”

Morpheus grumbles but straightens up, plucking his mug from the nightstand and cradling it in one hand while he reaches for a biscuit with the other. 

“Should we expect any of our other siblings to join us tonight?” He asks, managing somehow not to spray crumbs everywhere as he does so, which is a bit unfair. Hob has centuries more experience talking through mouthfuls of crumbly biscuits, and he still can't do as good a job of it. “I take it you did not venture out alone this night.”

“No I didn't, but don't worry,” Desire says, tilting their head back as they drain their mug, a neat ring of purple left behind on the ceramic. “My sweet twin is unlikely to make an appearance. I certainly hope, at least – she went home with that little exorcist friend of yours. If she comes here, then something’s gone dreadfully wrong.”

They grin, cat with the cream pleased at the expression on Morpheus’ face, and flick their hand in something like a wave. “Well, goodnight brother! Robert.”

They flounce away towards the spare room, and Hob presses his smile into the curve of Morpheus’ shoulder.

“I hate them,” Morpheus grumbles. Hob kisses the bony jut of skin where his t-shirt has slipped, once, twice.

“No you don't,” he says. Morpheus sighs, sets his mug down, and returns to hold Hob's face still for a proper kiss. Not that Hob would try to get out of it. 

“No,” he agrees softly, pulling Hob down with him for a cuddle onto pillows that still smell a little of peaches. “No. I do not.”

[ciaossu-imagines]

What do the COTT character's handwriting look like?

Jay doesn’t do cursive writing often. It’s something he does know how to do, but 90% of the time, he’s printing everything. He really only uses cursive if it’s required or if he’s signing his name. His cursive slants to the left. The letters are large but tightly packed together. The loops aren’t really at all visible. His printing is a lot tidier and he’s really kind of proud of how neat his printing is. Again, the letters are on the larger side. He never forgets to cross his t’s or dot his I’s. It’s pretty picture-perfect printing, like something you’d see in an old workbook. The most notable feature is that his w’s, m’s, and n’s are on the sharp side, pointy instead of rounded. In my head, it looks like a large version of Raline.

Theresa uses cursive almost all the time, not only because she was taught it from an early age but because she genuinely likes the way it looks. She’s even learned calligraphy just because she wanted to find ways to make her writing look even prettier. Her cursive leans on the fancier looking side of things. It resembles a lot of the handwriting fonts you’d find online and just ooh and ahh over how pretty it looks. She puts a lot of extra’s into her writing, just to make it look as pretty as possible, and it’s very looping and graceful in its letter. To me, it looks a lot like Gista Danes.

Archie’s handwriting is a mixture between printing and cursive, leaning a lot heavier towards the printing. It’s not because he particularly thinks his printing looks better or anything but because when he writes, it’s normally hurried. He writes like he’s running out of time, like death is right at his heels and he’s only got seconds to get all the thoughts and ideas in his head out or only has seconds to convey some bit of information. Because of this, his writing tends to be scrawling. He’s light in his strokes so some of his letters are more bold than others and not all of his letters close up properly, plus he has a bad tendency to not properly cross his t’s all the time and the I’s are always missing dots. In my head, his writing looks a lot like Biro Script Sloppy.

Atlanta truly does mix up cursive and printing all into one. Unlike Archie, it’s a true mixture, where she uses elements of both styles at the same time. A lot of her individual letters resemble more printing, but she strings them all together in a way that most closely resembles cursive writing. On top of that, specific letter, like those with tails, are loopy and more closely resemble the cursive versions, just because she likes the way those look more. To me, her writing looks kind of like September Spirit.

Neil’s handwriting is just as bold as he is. It truly fits his character and he makes sure it stands out just as much as he does. He’s practiced his autograph a million and one times and because he fears anyone judging his writing style or accusing him of being sloppy, he’s taken pains to learn to write legibly and in a way that he thinks looks snazzy. A lot of his letters are kind of sharp…it’s the best way I can think of to describe it. They don’t loop either at all or very little. His w’s and m’s have pointy tops and bottoms, his t’s have very little lines and the lines tend to slope down. He’s really heavy on his writing utensil, making sure to leave deep impressions on the paper. To me, his writing most closely resembles Duffy Script Demi-Bold.

Herry prefers writing with pencil rather than pen. It’s easier to erase mistakes that way. His handwriting is a little messy and the letters are unevenly spaced. Some are close to each other while others, especially vowels, tend to be spaced a little bit away from the others. His i’s have big bold tops and his letters are often fully closed on things like o’s. He accidentally often presses harder than he needs to when writing, so the letters leave deep impressions on the page and are rather bold. To me, his writing most closely resembles Conte Script Plus Bold.

Odie’s handwriting is almost always printed, not cursive. His cursive is a little bit terrible, to be honest, and somewhat illegible. He can always read his writing but other people do struggle. His handwriting comes across as hurried and scrawling, but also meticulous at the same time. You can tell he goes back to close letters or improve the looks of some of the letters. In my head, his writing looks almost identical to Skribblugh SS1.

[draw-ren-draw]

Avantris Fan comic Scripts #1

Often when I get ideas for comics, I break my panels into scripts first. For one reason or another, some of these projects never get finished. These scripts are less prose-y than fics but still contain dialogue and basic interactions.

Seeing as I've been under the weather, I thought you might like to see some in this stage anyway. I hope they inspire or entertain! Enjoy~

The Reason Why [My indulgent thoughts over why Kremy continues to remain distant from Torbek (aside from comedy and the Warlock's genuine fear over the other's Witchlight abilities) flavored with a smattering of Coalecroux.] * * * *

Establishing shot- Carnival Lecroux are walking through a forest clearing. The crew has had a long day of traveling and are eager to set up camp. It seems as though their latest victory is due to Torbek. Frost and Gricko are congratulating the bugbear for a job well done. He looks at each in turn, in surprise. Gricko: "Good job Torbek! You really nailed it today!" Frost: "Yes, with this, we might finally get to the next town ahead of schedule. You really gave it your all." Sensing the Alligator Warlock coming up behind him, Torbek whips around, unable to help but anticipate more praise. Kremy doesn't even look at him. Kremy: "Good night Torbek." The lizardfolk wanders off, leaving Torbek to sag with disappointment and a sad groan. Gideon enters the frame, looking inquisitive. He follows to where Kremy went and finds the other already sitting by a campfire, on a log, fishing out something to smoke. The warlock doesn't bat an eye when Gideon strides up to join him, both comfortably doing as they have done for years now; an expected and normal routine. As the genasi settles next to him, he turns to Kremy, curiosity more than judgement furrowing his brow. Gideon: "Hey, how come you're so hard on Torbek?" Kremy continues to look ahead, puffing a smoke "I don't know whatcha mean, Gid. I've treated him like I always treat him." Gideon: "Yeah, exactly, even after all we been through?" He can't help but crack a small laugh at that. Gideon: "I mean, yeah, he's Torbek. But ain't telling people what they like to hear something yer good at? That's kinda your thing!" He pulls out his own cigar to take a puff, still jovial and relaxed. Gideon: "You know even one nice thing would have him ready to die for ya! It's like you can't even look at em!" Kremy breaks, finally looking at Gideon, flustered by the subject (and possibly how handsome Gideon looks in the previous panel) Kremy: "That's precisely why I can't, Gid!! Do you know what I see every time I do? Do you know what I SAW when I looked him over? Every time he gives me that big stupid hopeful smile?!.. My mistakes."

"…" Gideon pauses. Who is this and what have they done with Kremy? He breaks the tension with another laugh. Gideon: "What are you talking about, man? I thought we all agreed, we were only like, a little at fault and he's already forgave us for that!" Kremy, turning serious: "I ain't talking about just the witchlight."

Gid goes quiet.

Kremy: "Do you ever stop to think about why Torbek was picked? Out of everyone in the whole carnival?" Gideon: "Well yeah, we all said, the thing with the herris whee--" Kremy: "It's because they thought nobody would miss him. No one would notice if they took him away." A look of disgust fills Kremy's face. Kremy: "He was poor, he was stupid--" Gideon: "--Smelly?" Kremy: "Smelly. He was living in a dumpster!" The Warlock angrily tosses his cigarette, we follow the action as it hits the ground and bounces at the bottom of the panel. Kremy: "Cause I wasn't payin him! He was my employee Gid, and if he was just a little more put together, maybe so much might not have happened to him! How am I supposed to look him in the eye after that?!"

We hold on Kremy for a beat. Gideon offers his cigar from out of frame and Kremy takes a drag hesitantly.

Kremy: "Thing is--" He puffs out the smoke "I keep thinking about how much time gets thrown around here. And I ask myself… if I went back to those times, if I'd still keep his checks and end up handing him over all over again. And I think I would. I'm at war with myself for that." Gideon stares at Kremy, expression carefully guarded but concerned. For a bit of meta humor we hear the DM represented as a text box above him. Nikki: "Gideon not being good at words but knowing Kremy enough to understand his conflict and that it takes a lot of guts to admit that to yourself and know yourself that well puts his arm around the alligator." Gideon: "Well. That's a lot of maybes for ya Kremy. I didn't think you even thought about those. But you can start by making it up to him now. Then, maybe one day? Those maybes might be different."

We view the pair from the back now. With the genasi's arm slung around alligator's shoulder we finally see a flash of a smile from the other con artist.

Kremy: "Reckon you may be right gid. Reckon you may be right." (But he still isn't paying him any time soon)

[the-maker-of-monsters]

If you created a homunculus with Herold (ahem, a son), how would you raise him?

“I am more inclined towards the idea of turning Herold into a homunculus. I wouldn’t need to change much, but I think he would be gorgeous as some kind of hooved animal. An antelope, something like that. A man-telope.” Theud snorts. “Unfortunately, since I’m only allowed to experiment on villagers (and if I’m a good boy, a few imperial traitors), I would be in trouble if I did that to Herry.”

“Going back to your original question, I would forge it from a beautiful combination of our flesh. Herold will probably have to go down a leg or two, but hey, that just means he’ll have to commit! I would raise it to embody the best attributes of us both. My strength, passion and charisma, and Herold’s pretty eyes.”