#It always comes back to Convex

[regularconvexheadcanons]

Headcanon 6

Vex like repeated (annoying) noises - like clicking pens, or honking a horn, or a squeaky toy - and it often either calms them down or makes them hyper-focus on that instead of possessing a vexling.

This can be great for stopping possession, or calming an upset Vexling, but also bad as the Vexling is often so entranced by the noise they just forget everything else except MAKE THE NOISE. And they just stare at the thing, making the noise, their eyes slightly glazed over.

Which means that:

A: Cub and Scar’s bases are littered with squeaky toys and stuff that makes noise, and always carry 20+ clicky pens on them at all time

B: whenever they need to use one of these item, or come across it accidentally, they can end up in the Vex-noise-trance

C: other hermits have complained in the past or got annoyed at the noise-trance, including Grian, which led to this interaction:

Grian: It doesn’t make sense, why can’t Scar just stop clicking that stupid pen?! Why would anyone have an instinct to press something

Cub: *places a single button*

Grian: *immediately presses* ooh button- wait- oh- I think I just proved your point

Cub: yep

[regularconvexheadcanons]

I can’t fault that strong and argument tbh

You agree. Reblog.

[msdk-00]

this is my problem. thank you 40 year old reddit man for putting into words my feelings better than i ever could

[calmcoldevening]

Back at it again with a prompt idea!

What if the slasher/s are trying to kill a victim but they are immortal and keep coming back

And the victim keeps following the slasher only to annoy and be a little menace to them >:3

(maybe they fall in love later O.O)

What ever slasher you choose is fine for me ;)

Art the clown x immortal!reader

Tw: blood, murdering, torturing? well, yeah. Art is an ass sometimes

• Art has always been a fan of violent and noisy 'games' that chilled the blood in his veins. That was his sadistic nature, and the whole of Miles County and people for hundreds of miles around had already heard a lot about it. A strange man in a clown costume, who sent at least a dozen unhappy teenagers and adults to the next world. He loved blood and horror, and no one would dare stand in his way, not wanting to become another victim of brutal violence.

• Maybe it was fate's will, or maybe it was just your bad luck or an accident, but one day Art saw you in one of the cafes late at night. He was watching you from a dark alley, so it's unlikely that you would have seen him even if you really wanted to. He clutched his garbage bag in his hands, and a cruel grin appeared on his face. You were a good little thing and you definitely could have brightened up this cold night for him.

• Without thinking for long, Art hit you on the head at the most unexpected moment and took you to one of his 'game rooms', which in fact was just a room of one of the old factories in the city. He wasn't in the mood to hunt you down and catch you in your own house for a long time. This game was supposed to be fast but colorful.

• The clown involuntarily licked his lips, watching you slowly regain consciousness and open your big innocent eyes. He walks around you like some kind of fancy Christmas tree. You're sitting on an old wooden chair, badly scratched and already soaked in blood from past victims. Your limbs are tied in wooden material with strong leather straps, and thick barbed wire with rusty, blunt teeth is wrapped around your neck, chest and abdomen. There was a smell of dampness and fear in the air, which made the Clown giggle noiselessly.

• Finally, Art stopped right in front of you and gestured at the trash bag to your right. Making a playful, almost pretended sweet expression, or reached into the bag as if looking for a Christmas present for a small child. In the flickering light, a long thin tool with a convex handle and a bizarrely curved metal tip appears, more like a sharply sharpened blade. A man comes behind you and caresses your tense shoulders with almost uncharacteristic tenderness. His fingers are rough and rough. The clown's palms slowly descend lower, sliding along your clothed back through the open part of the back of the chair. The movements are slow and measured. Suddenly his movements stop and in the next moment they are replaced by acute pain. Sparks dance in your eyes and you emit a strangled cry, reflexively your body gives way forward, blunt spikes painfully dig into your tender flesh. Art laughs soundlessly, continuing to press the blade deeper into your spine, and then abruptly moves his hand down. With a nasty creak, the fabric of your T-shirt is torn, and at the same time your soft flesh is torn. Art rejoices, seeing how his hands and white gloves are stained with maroon lingonberry liquid, flowing in a thick stream onto the concrete floor. Tears are pouring from your eyes as you desperately bite your lower lip in an attempt to control yourself. Your back, which was once a flawless canvas of pale skin, is now covered with a network of terrible red lines, each of which testifies to the cruelty of Art's tools and his relentless thirst for suffering. There is a pungent smell of iron in the air, mixing with the acrid smell of fear that remains on your sweat-soaked skin.With deliberate slowness, I pick up the razor-sharp instrument again, its sinister curves gleaming in the dim light. Your body is trembling, every muscle is tense with fear, while the man is preparing to inflict even more torment on you.In the flickering shadows, a grotesque smile appears on his painted face, a silent promise of future torment.

• Suddenly, the blade hits the blood-soaked concrete with a ringing thud and bounces off somewhere to the dark wall. Art goes back to his "magic" bag and takes out some kind of leather strap. With a deft movement of his hands, he hooks the clips connected by a strap onto your wet cheeks, the gloves wet with blood rub unpleasantly against your face. Art smiles his creepy smile and gently touches your chin with his fingers. Your eyes were swollen and your cheeks were wet from tears and saliva flowing from your open mouth. But not that you can complain here. All you had to do was mumble something, barely moving your limp tongue.

• An unpleasant crunch filled the half-empty concrete room. With a strong crack, Art broke off a piece of your tooth with pliers, the fragment unpleasantly scratched the already bleeding gum. All you had to do was mumble something indistinctly, to which Art just grinned madly and jokingly grabbed your tongue with the edges of the pliers, watching the despair in your eyes. He broke off tooth after tooth until a dozen teeth had been pulled out in his hand.

• Your throat burned from screaming, and your eyes burned unpleasantly from the tears you shed. You wanted it to be over as soon as possible. Realizing that Art won't get the right reaction from you anymore, noticing your exhaustion, he snorts soundlessly, clearly losing interest. With a graceful movement of his hand, Art deftly takes out an old battered pistol from a trash bag. He slides the edges of the gun over your cheek, drawing uncomplicated patterns. His movements are slow and upward. One. Two. Three. Finally, his hand reaches your head, the muzzle of the gun is pressed against your painfully throbbing temple. You wearily close your eyes, feeling a leaden heaviness in your limbs. His arms and legs were already blue from lack of blood.

• Art blows on the smoke coming from the shower of the gun and throws the weapon back into the bag. The man steps back, admiring his work and your smoking wound on his temple for a couple of moments. After that, he carefully removes the straps from the dead body and puts them in a bag, slowly leaving the building.

• Art pinned a young man to the ground, slowly cutting the meat from his face and putting the skin in his mouth. A soft laugh was heard abruptly behind him, and another pair of hands, softer and softer palms, covered his hands. The man raises his eyebrows questioningly and turns back, meeting your satisfied gaze. Your face still looked tired and tear-stained, and there were bruises and streaks of blood on your neck, but overall you looked almost.. normal?

• Without thinking twice, you grab the scalpel from his hand and with a sharp movement stick the blade into the clown's eye. He screams soundlessly, raising his hands to his face. You step back, watching his agony with a satisfied expression on your face. "You didn't think it would end so easily, did you?" You purred, folding your arms over your chest. The clown frowns, baring his sharp black teeth, and jumps up from the lifeless body. He walks towards you with quick steps and grabs your throat with his cold hands, lifting you off the ground. No matter how thin he looks, the guy has plenty of strength. You giggle, covering his hands with yours. You can already feel the air leaving your lungs, being replaced by an unpleasant burning sensation. Without thinking twice, you reach out your hands, touching the clown's face with your fingers, and scratch his painted face, mixing the paint with the blood from his wounded eye. He presses harder, enjoying the crunch of your airways.

• It quickly turned into a constant game of cat and mouse. Wherever Art was, you were always there. And I was in his way. Art was angry, cursed, and killed you. But you were coming back. Each time, your body was still decorated with old scars, but the man added new ones. He realized that the old scars would disappear. He had to make new ones. It was as if he was celebrating his favorite, best victim in this way. He can't be uninterested in your natural stubbornness and immortality.

• Over time, the clown really begins to look forward to your recovery and return, despite the slight irritation that you cause in him. He feels it in the pleasant piercing of his fingers. His hands crave you, your body, his fingers want to touch your scars and leave new ones.

• Your constant presence in Art's life begins to gradually change his thinking and thoughts, your image has settled in his head like a damn poison.

• Your immortality and lack of fear make you a really worthy partner for Art, he realizes this on an unconscious level. There's something about you. Something that makes his blood boil in his head. He's falling in love with you. Yes, in his own way, but he falls in love. Despite your initial maniac-victim relationship, Art is starting to see you as almost an equal. This is surprising. He loves you in his own twisted way.

• Art and you are in a love-hate relationship, constantly joking and arguing with each other. Despite the constant quarrels, you are united by a deep connection and understanding, which becomes apparent in your communication. You both feel extremely comfortable in such a relationship in your own perverted way (this is especially damn noticeable in sex..)

• Art begins to crave your company and gets annoyed when you are not around. There's something nice about knowing that after a bloody murder, he can properly combine his anger and passion on you. Especially in your intimate moments. Playing with blood, strangulation and other elements of bdsm is an integral part of your pleasure. You are a perfect match for each other, you are feared by all the states in the district.

[rapidwaterzzz]

random hermitcraft/ life series headcanons cause my brains rotting over both ;^)

OVERALL:

- after each life series all the members come back to hermitcraft and throw some form of a house party

-no one rlly dies on hermitcraft, they just tend to gets lots of injurys(broken bones, sprains, concussions, all the fun stuff)

- they definitely have an infirmary there somewhere

-each smps like a city, for example hermitcraft and empires smp r neighboring cities

INDIVIDUAL:

- Joel, Grian, and Jimmy are all siblings cause i said so

-grians oldest, joels middle, jimmys youngest

i imagine a good majority of them played some sport/ activity before coming to hermitcraft so heres some cause idk y this has been plaguing me:

bdubs: volleyball, golf

cub: some form of student council maybe??

doc: golf, lacrosse (definetly js whacks ppl w his stick)

etho: ice hockey, lacrosse

false: field hockey, track

gem: field hockey, wrestling, lacrosse

hypno: hockey

iskall: wrestling

scar: student council w cub (convex ;))

grian: tennis

jevin: football, wrestling

impulse: football, shotput

joehills: yearbook/ newpaper club(idk i get the vibe)

keralis: soccer,gymnastics(i could see him js doing a roundoff backhandspring out of nowhere dw abt it)

mumbo: golf, photography club

pearl: swimming, cross country

rendog: THE theatre kid

skizz: football, basketball, baseball

smallishbeans: soccer, volleyball, baseball

stress: cheerleading, wrestling, volleyball

tango: baseball

beef: lacrosse, football

wels: volleyball, golf

xb: swimming

xisuma: golf

zed: some form of a science club,

cleo: field hockey, softball

bigb: swimming(idk i get the vibe)

inthelittlewood: theatre kid, soccer

lizzie: field hockey, cheer, lacrosse

smajor: cheer, golf

solidarity: soccer, tennis

these could go for a highschool au or anything but i imagine they did these in highschool and then move to “hermitcraft city” or smth and they still like practice all these andn stuff

monthy hangouts are set up by the magic mountain group, usually consisting of movies and games(always sleepovers at someones base)

cleo is the best cook on the server,she host bi-annual seever wide dinners (w the help of beef and false for cooking)

bdubs and joel draw out there bases together, only time youll see them not beefin w eachother

the redstoners r covered in burn marks due to redstone lighting at wrong times or js blowimg up

cub and xisumas are the servers doctors, running the infirmary if needed

if a hermit gets a cast, crutches, a boot, splint, etc, gem, bdubs, keralis, skizz, and stress make it a goal to decorate it as much as possible(they have a competition to see who can get it done first)

after parties, xisuma, impulse, hypno, and false are usually the ones to make sure everyone gets home, being “designated walkers”(they dont drink so they can walk everyone home)(no idk where im coming up w this stuff either)

team zits definitely have movie marathons weekly(they play uno to decide who picks the series)

mumbo and grian love watching dance moms(holly is mumbos fave, kelly is grians fave)

doc, etho, beef, and gem play eachother in lacrosse all the time, getting way to agressive each time (always some form of an injury outcome)

jevin is a weirdly good baker, makes the best cakes(taste and decoration)

pearl is rlly good at anything art related (loves painting/ drawing other hermits doing whatever)

ren makes the server put on plays (hes director and the main character in every one)(hes hires whatever hermits he can get to also act in them)

75% of the times tango sneezes, something catches on fire (theres fire extinguishers everywhere imaginable)

xb is the fastest swimmer on the server by a landslide, every hermit has tried to best him but he always wins by atleast 2 seconds

zed collects little trinkets, and leaves them in peoples bases as gifts

[hermittea]

Introducing MumboJumbo's tea! Art by: @sutekiredux! (Go check out their Etsy for some cool Hermitcraft Fanmerch! I personally love their Keychains ^-^) Mumbo's tea is quite simple really- it has a pop of flavor right off the bat! if you like citrus, this is the tea for you. (Both Citrus Tea's back to back? *gasp*) The blood orange comes through quite well with a nice floral background notes. Would recommend either Honey or Sugar with this blend. Pairing it was hard. Honestly either a Terry's Chocolate Orange, Chocolate covered fruits (Like apricots) OR a nice cheese platter. Accented with hibiscus flower & raspberry, this is a Low Caffeine Tea. If you wish to give Them a try, or read more about the teas included in their blend: https://www.adagio.com/signature_blend/blend.html?blend=230323 The way we came up with his tea was based around two things. "Is the moon big" (Earl gray moonlight), and the head-canon some of the fandom has of Vampire Mumbo (Blood Orange). After all this is a project by fans for fans! It was a bit difficult to find a nice balancer between these two but the Rooibos Jasmine has that hint of floral and a complimentary red tea for the orange. ---- UP Next: Joehills, Stressmonster101 and Grumbot ;) GET A FREE TEA: https://www.tumblr.com/hermittea/772135235526803456?source=share Do you want Sneak Peeks? To help make suggestions for teas? To chat with other fans or the artists?Join our discord! https://discord.gg/yAWj39b5Xq And if YOU (or your friends) want to be a volunteer artist- go on and fill out this form! https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdFAS-pJHat-GcNfGUuvumLCpPatkj91vT6Kbn8M4g7hDljkw/viewform?usp=sf_link We are doing some places so if you aren't that confidence with Character art, feel free to submit background art! We have Scarland, Decked out, Convex and Joel's S10 base so far, as well as Mycelium war and Demise that could get some delicious tea one day! And as always, make suggestions if you want to see anything else. Thank you all!

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

Hello, robot and machine enjoyers out there. I'm a big tech guy and a huge sucker for computer things, but some of the things are so incredibly hot for me and I'd like to share it with you. I hope that I'm not alone in this and someone else can understand what I mean.

1) Radio robots. If you ever tried to touch a radio antenna, you know that the signal will get stronger. It's because your body becomes a part of the antenna. Imagine fucking a robot with a radio signal, and when you touch its antenna, you can hear it more clearly, its feeling go through your whole body and interfere with it. Having the one whole signal with it. My god it's so hot.

2) Room-sized supercomputers. They are so complex, can count routs for space rockets and meteors, they have an incredible power. But at the same time they are so vulnerable. You can always see their inner parts, incredible amounts of wires and controls. Only a few people can be trusted to work with it. It's perfectly tweaked, no mistakes, the true perfection, but still so sensitive and big. You have to be so gentle and look for the perfect conditions for it to work. I want a supercomputer to trust me, I want it to try understanding human emotions and empathy.

3) Old tech in general. I'm fascinated by old computers in the 90s and 00s. Big computers with convex screens, old phones with full keyboards and weird shapes, very specific tech that nowadays no one uses. But I need them. I want it to work to its fullest, I want it to feel needed. They can do so much, a lot of lab equipment still runs on old computers. They're individuals, they have its own personality.

4) Transparent case. Do you remember old tech with colorful transparent designs? It was peak. I want it back on new tech and robots so bad. I want to see its innards, I want to know what it actually is. Seeing the work and processing in general, seeing something inserted like a usb cord or a memory card and how all the contacts are interacting with each other. Even more old analog stuff, with gears and cogs, seeing its perfect movement through the casing. Or a whole visible car engine?? Come on!!

.

[tibbycaps]

do you know if the time cub switch to vex skin corresponded with when the ore snatching happened?

i believe he was wearing the skin the night before docs second diamond was reported missing?

^ this is cub logging on and being in the vex/demise skin im pretty sure. bro doesnt elaborate and just comes back normal. ty evan btw

whenever vex stuff is mentioned convex are always like 👀🤨 at each other its rlly funny

[frozenjokes]

a new moon in the sun’s lonely system

convex week day 1 - sun/moon - next

Cub had always been sensitive to changes in temperature, he chilled easily, and he didn’t very much like company for a multitude of reasons, but it appeared today was his unlucky day.

It was cold. There was a moon around, maybe more than one. They had a pulsing sort of presence, fighting the heat of Cub’s star, and though ultimately dwarfed by it, a moon still left their mark. Well, whatever it wanted with him, it certainly wouldn’t find Cub just wandering around. Their silver frost stood out like a lone star in Cub’s domain, while Cub’s fiery orange blended right in with the rest of the landscape. Not to mention the cold. It wasn’t long before Cub found the inquiring soul.

“Hello-“ Cub didn’t even get to finish before the moon startled, yelling in a display of fright that was so exaggerated it couldn’t have been genuine. Cub pursed his lips, waiting for the moon to collect itself. He did not want to risk speaking lest the entity screamed again; Cub did not like the sudden noise.

“Well- Well hello there! Goodness gracious, you snuck up on me! I thought I was a goner!”

“Unless there are any new moon-eating predators roaming the skyscape today, I don’t think it’s untrue to say you don’t have anything to worry about.” Cub had to squint against the moon’s light, rather, his own light reflected back at him. Why was this one so bright? Cub didn’t think he recognized it, but with nearly three hundred in the system, who knew. Cub only remembered the names of the particularly annoying ones.

The moon laughed like Cub had said something legitimately funny, and it didn’t seem disingenuous, but still Cub felt his own walls climbing higher.

“Oh, this is great! I’m so relieved, I’ve heard bad things about- nevermind, you just seem like a perfectly nice guy! I’m Scar, newly promoted moon, and I thought I ought to trek out here and introduce myself!”

Ah, this made sense now. Moons didn’t typically come around to introduce themselves, even after recent promotions, but some were simply drawn to the sun. Or married to formalities, Cub supposed. Politely, Cub ignored that first comment, for the most part at least. He had a reputation to keep up. “You already know my name, then.”

“I do, but I’d love if you introduced yourself regardless!” Ah, married to formalities then.

“Well, if you intend on sharing all the boring, gory details of this encounter with your fellows, you can call me Cub.”

“Unfortunately, Cub, I have no fellows of which to share this with!” Scar’s voice took on an odd lilt, and Cub thought for a moment he might be making fun of him until the moon swiftly continued, “All alone, I'm afraid. A real shame! But it’s an important job, big deal, big deal, there’s all sorts of life down there on Earth that depends on me doing my thing!”

Cub made a valiant effort not to scoff, though given the light in his eyes, he was likely already scowling. The Earth moons were always the most obnoxious. Cub would miss the last one; she almost never visited, and what a reprieve that was, good grief.

Cub had nothing nice to say, so he said nothing. Scar seemed like he quite expected Cub to say something with that wide, wanting stare, but Cub didn’t want to say anything, he wanted Scar to go away and his sun to return to its proper temperature, he wanted to be alone, however, for a moon who had taken up one of the loneliest jobs in Cub’s system, Scar did not seem to share this ideal. A bad sign. A desire for company and an ego larger than Cub’s sun made for a disastrous combination in Cub’s quarters. If this moon was planning on bothering Cub often, he was going to have to start falling back on old tactics (hiding).

“You know, I don’t think you’re an asshole, you’re just like, really awkward.”

Cub blinked at him, slow, unthinking. “You’re mistaken.”

“No, you’re definitely awkward.”

“I’m mean.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“You’re not, really, you’re not,”

“I am mean!”

“You’re almost nice!”

“I am not nice!”

[regularconvexheadcanons]

What have I found

I just searched for Cub and this happened-

1: why is Cub watching me from the search bar

2: why is Scar the picture for Cub on the Hermitcraft Wiki? (I mean I can suggest a lot of Convex-related reasons but still)

3: what is that skin from the Reddit post? (Art from DearExam88 on r/Hermitcraft) I did not expect that.

[cowboyemeritus]

Shovel Bums (Cardinal Copia/Reader)

Shovel Bum (n): a slang term referring to a contract archaeologist; someone who works in the cultural resource management industry.

Or, you and Copia help each other get through a long week of fieldwork. (18+)

Tags: workplace relationship, secret relationship, outdoor sex, archaeology au

Read on AO3

Notes: this is so incredibly self-indulgent, but it is basically my life (not the affair part, lol). i hope it's not too niche.

still slowly working my way out of writers block. lots and lots of ideas that i want to share with you all :)

feedback is always welcome!

It’s only September, but fall is in the air. The mornings are chilly, the days are still annoyingly hot, but the nights, for now, are just right. The rest of the crew has already gone to bed, leaving just you and Copia sitting around the dying campfire. Though the sun has set and the day has been long — everyday, it seems, lasts forever in the field — there is still plenty of work for you two. Gadgets need to be charged. Data needs to be reviewed. Site forms need to be completed. If you had time, you’d make a plan for tomorrow that’s more detailed than “walk in a straight line and don’t die,” but it would be a fruitless endeavor. Seldom do your expectations actually come to pass.

This project, for instance, has just been roadblock after roadblock, mishap after mishap. Equipment failures, rough terrain, and perplexing sites merely scratch the surface of all the things that have worked to slow you down. That’s all par for the course in this line of work, but when you haven’t interacted with society in days, it starts to eat at you. When you know you’re sleeping in a tent tonight and your next shower isn’t coming for days, there are only so many transects you can walk, only so many rocks you can look at, before you lose your mind completely. And with two days left and still so much ground to cover, it’s hard not to feel the pressure building. You’ve already done two sessions out here, and there’s only enough cash left in the project budget for this week, a fact that haunts you and Copia like a specter. This thing has to be done by the end of Sunday, or else.

But who cares about that when there’s cool, old shit to look at?

“I’m telling you,” you say quietly, for the sake of your sleeping crewmates, “that point Dew found this morning? Elko Corner Notched.” It’s a fantastic specimen, knapped from one of the many chunks of petrified wood that erode out of the mesas, littering the landscape. This one is red, with bands of orange and yellow that, to you, resembles a sunset. To illustrate your point you hold up one of your (many) artifact guides alongside your tablet, a photograph of the projectile already on display. Copia looks up from his paperwork and squints at it from across the dying fire, eventually coming over get a better look. You gaze up at him as he takes the device from you, admiring how handsome he looks in the orange glow. Though he’s more diligent than anyone on the crew about applying sunscreen, you swear he gets more freckles every day. Not that you mind. His nose scrunches up a little as he looks back and forth between the screen and the book.

“I don’t know,” he says, a hint of teasing in his voice. “Still looks like Chaco to me. And wasn’t it by that room-block we recorded yesterday?” You put on your best faux-pout, secretly delighting in the mirthful look in his eyes.

“Well, yeah,” you acquiesce, snatching back the tablet so that you can zoom in on the stem of the point, where it would have been hafted to the shaft of an arrow. “But, look. The base is concave. Chaco is convex or straight.” Copia plops himself down next to you with one of his cute little grunts, resting his chin on your shoulder. “And look at how serrated it is.” He hums in agreement, at this point merely feigning interest in the artifact’s true identity. You feel an arm slink around your back, his hand coming to your hip and gently squeezing the flesh there.

“I love it when you correct me,” he murmurs into your ear. It’s meant only for you, but sound travels in strange ways out here and you can’t help the chastising look you give him. Copia flashes you a cheeky smile to show you just how not-sorry he is and you roll your eyes.

“You’re not gonna be saying that for long, ‘co-Project Manager.’” You laugh, nervous excitement bubbling up at the thought of your recent promotion. Copia had been instrumental in helping you get it, arguing to the company that he needed the help and you, already his right hand, could handle the responsibility. He’d held your hand throughout the process of applying for your state supervisor permit, too, a truly harrowing process that makes your skin crawl to think about. And while the change has brought a staggering increase in the amount of hours you work and corporate bullshit you put up with, splitting the project with him has definitely helped you ease into your new role. With his attention to detail and your obsession with efficiency, you make a pretty solid team. Copia has made this nightmare bearable; you’re grateful to have him, even if he’s a little shit sometimes.

Copia chuckles, finally closing the gap between you. His lips are chapped from the sun, but you’re certain yours are, too. Under the fresh coating of smoke from the fire is the smell of exertion mingled with the artificial scent of cleansing wipes. No one on the crew has had a proper shower in days; that’s just how camping projects go. They’re sweaty, and dusty, and seem to drag on forever, but the satisfaction of looking at a filled-out map at the end of the session (and the notion of several days off) makes it entirely worth it. At this point, though, you’re more-or-less blind to the sweaty human smell, and the feeling of having him so close, especially after the hellish few days you’ve had, is too tempting to resist. Pressing further into the kiss, you can’t help the quiet, contended hum that emanates from your chest.

There’s a rustling from Cirrus’ tent, and both of your heads snap in that direction. Copia, suddenly skittish, scoots away and a moment of tense, almost fearful silence passes over you. What you’re doing isn’t technically against the rules, but with the promotion, it looks a little suspicious. When the opportunity presents itself, you agreed, you’ll make… whatever this thing is, known to any affected parties. For now, though, it’s easier to lurk in the shadows, stealing kisses when no one is looking.

When she, when anyone, fails to emerge and spoil your fun, you give Copia a pleading look. He’s back at your side almost instantly, capturing your mouth again. Eagerly, your arm snakes behind his back, fingers twisting into the thick brown hair at the base of his skull. You lightly scratch at his scalp, and can feel the shiver that runs down his spine. Copia groans quietly into your mouth, then nips at your bottom lip. The lingering traces of warmth from the fire are nothing compared to the heat his advances stir within you. Suddenly needing him desperately, you allow your lips to part, tongue slipping through to prod at his. Copia’s mouth is sweet with the lingering taste of the candy you’ve carefully rationed all week, and you press into him greedily, wanting nothing more than to feel his hands on your body. You get a very risky, very tempting idea.

There’s a string of saliva connecting your tongues when you pull away. For a moment, you wonder how that’s even possible with how much you sweat all the damn time. “Let’s,” you start, nodding in the direction of the trees. Copia gives you a confused look. “Somewhere more private.” The realization hits him. He quirks an eyebrow, now looking rather bemused. Mischief is attractive on him.

“Bellissima, we could be seen… together. People will start to talk.” No one on the crew gets paid enough to care and you both know that. He’s just riling you up. You grunt, stealing another desperate kiss.

“Not if you’re quiet,” you grumble, planting your lips on his pulse point. Emboldened by desire, your hands find his, bringing them to your breasts. “I need you. It’s been…” You have to restart your count when he thumbs over your nipples, already hard through the flimsy fabric of your camisole. Your thighs press together as you recall the last time you had him; frantic, hurried, just minutes before mobilizing on Monday morning. “It’s been five whole days. That’s far too long.” Copia looks like he can’t help the laugh that escapes him. The only option is to silence him with your mouth, but when you finally let him escape for air he’s still got that shit-eating grin on his face. Suddenly, it’s not so handsome anymore. You scowl. “I’m dying here.”

“A snake could bite you on the butt.”

“I’ll bite you on the butt,” you say. Copia cocks his head as if to say don’t threaten me with a good time, and you roll your eyes. Huffing, you stamp your foot, kicking up a small cloud of dust. “All you do is fucking question me. Got me promoted, for what?” You stand up from the log and wince as your hip pops. When the session is over, you’ll need to thoroughly stretch every part of your body. “Let’s go.” You take a few paces away from camp, looking over your shoulder to find Copia tailing you. This is greatly satisfying, and you smirk at him as you saunter off into the forest.

“I’ve created a monster,” you think you hear him say.

The first step in your scheme is to put as much distance between you and the camp as is possible. To that end, you walk out about 50 meters into the trees, stop, decide it’s still too close, then trudge out another 20 or so. It takes a few tries to find a good spot; one large juniper has a colony of ants eating away at its base, the ground beneath another is pockmarked with rodent burrows. Eventually you find a tree about 75 meters out and decide it fits your needs. It’s tall enough for you to lean against, and one large branch juts out right around waist height. You’re only screwed if someone needs to take a piss and chooses the wrong direction to walk in. Liking those odds, you plant yourself down on the branch, watching impatiently, arms crossed, as Copia catches up. Without needing instruction, he slots himself between your parted legs.

In an instant your fingers are tangling into the front of his shirt, pulling him in. Now that you’ve gotten a taste, you need as much of him as you can get. His tongue pushes past your lips the moment your mouths meet, and when he presses his hips into you the hardness of his arousal is obvious. Encouraging him, you grind into him as best you can, planting a hand on the branch to steady yourself. On one stroke the zipper of his hiking pants catches your clit and you moan quietly, pleasure winding up in your gut like a rattlesnake waiting to strike. Copia chuckles into your mouth, cupping your cheek to stop you from following when he pulls away, glancing at his wristwatch.

“It’s already 9:45,” he observes. You stare at him, deadpan, needing only the exhaustion in your bones to tell you it’s probably too late to be doing this.

“Be quick, then,” you mutter, reaching for the button on his trousers. He grunts when your knuckles brush against his hard length, but he lets you work without complaint. Your mouth fills with saliva as you pull him out of his briefs, taking a moment to admire his manhood and savor the weight of it in your hand. Even in the dark — it suddenly dawns on you that you didn’t bring a flashlight, which will make getting back to camp interesting — you can just barely see that the head is flushed a deep pink that blooms all the way down his shaft. He likes to tease, but you know he needs you just as bad. You spit into your palm, giving him a few quick jerks. Copia groans, head falling back as he starts gently fucking into your fist. Watching him, you’re overcome with the desire to take him in your mouth, but that’s not a good idea until both of you have had a date with soap and running water. Instead, you take his hand and again bring it to your chest, untucking your shirt so that he can reach under it. There’s a pleasant jolt when the pad of one of his fingers brushes across your bare nipple and you whine, tilting your head upwards so Copia knows he should kiss you. With a quiet hum he obliges. This kiss is more gentle than before, simpler, but that’s okay. It makes you slow down for what feels like the first time in days.

It’s an exquisitely beautiful evening. The sky is dusted with more stars than you could ever get in the city, twinkling like fine crystal beads against the faint backdrop of the Milky Way. Even in the darkness the forest around you is alive, a symphony of crickets scoring your tryst. An owl hoots somewhere, the sound carried on the cool, lazy breeze. Moments like these, when you’re able to liberate yourself from the demands of the job and appreciate your surroundings, have become increasingly rare. It’s hard to be mindful when you’re constantly, both physically and mentally, in motion, and the deadlines often overshadow your interest in the material. Sometimes, it’s hard to be thorough and scientific when all you want to do is lay down in a freezer and sleep. Sometimes, you forget that you chose to do this, that you’re an archaeologist, and not some drone at the mercy of whatever utility company is footing the bill.

Right now, though, none of that matters. If only for a little while, work doesn’t exist. It’s just you, him, and the endless night.

Soon, though, the moment is over. You grow impatient. Growling, you shoot up from your seat, fumbling with the fastenings of your own pants. Your mouth is still interlocked with Copia’s, the sudden motion causing your teeth to clack together. Somehow you just can’t get the button undone. The piece of plastic keeps slipping through your fingers, still slick with saliva and smears of precum. Suddenly, you want to fucking scream, to give up this game and go flop down in your tent and pass out, but then Copia’s hands are shooing yours away. He pulls back from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours, encouraging you to take a few deep breaths in and out your nose. You recognize the look in his eyes from the field, from the moments of stress and crisis you’ve had over these past few weeks. Your heartbeat begins to steady, knowing its meaning:

Chill out, baby. I’ve got you.

You sigh, eyes sliding shut as you let Copia take over the task of unbuttoning your pants. He nestles his face into the crook of your neck as he does, planting a kiss to the sensitive flesh. You feel the glide of his tongue, sampling the salt of your skin, and shiver. Once he’s done with your zipper he grabs your trousers at the hips and tugs them down your legs, leaving them bunched up at your knees. You feel almost childish, needing him to undress you like this, but can’t deny how arousing it is to watch him take care of you. As if to prove that point, the tips of his fingers ghost over your outer lips, just enough for him to feel the wetness soaking through your panties. Even the most simple touch is electrifying against your frayed nerves, and you whimper. Copia’s hand slips under the waistband, skilled digits immediately finding your clit and drawing tight circles around it. A choked sob leaves you when he bites down on your neck, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to evoke the image of him claiming you in your whirling, lust-clouded mind.

“Cope,” you whine, about to rag-doll against him. “Fuck. Come on.” He snickers into your neck, the stray hairs of his normally well-kept mustache tickling your skin, before leaving another playful nip just under your jaw. Grinding his hot, hard cock against your hip, he grunts. The hand pleasuring you retreats, his pointer finger hooking under your panties and tugging them down. He delves between your folds once more, gathering your arousal and using it to slick up his length. There’s a pinprick of loss, of missing having him close, as he turns you around to bend over the tree limb, but it’s quickly replaced by anticipation when the head of his cock prods at your center. Bracing yourself against the branch, you need only wiggle your hips enticingly and he’s pushing into you, a held-back moan rumbling deep in his chest. The stretch is heavenly, hitting all the spots that have gone so tragically neglected. Copia gives an experimental thrust and your head falls between your shoulders. “Oh, fuck, yes.” Your legs are already wobbling. You choose not to think about how the ten hours of hiking on tomorrow’s agenda will feel.

For the time being, both of his hands snake around to your front, sliding under your shirt to fondle your breasts. He latches onto your nipples almost instantly, and each time he pinches the little pink buds a shockwave travels down your spine. Already, that climactic energy is building, nestled deep in your belly. Copia’s pace is casual, unhurried, as if he wasn’t griping about the time only minutes ago. You can feel the heat of his body against your back, his still-damp field shirt sticking to your equally sweaty skin. When you get home, you’ll take the longest shower known to mankind. If Copia is lucky, maybe you’ll invite him to join you. Right now, though, you need more from him. Much more. Twisting your head back, you smash your mouth into his with a needy whine, nipping and tugging at his bottom lip.

“Faster,” you beg, pressing your backside into him so that he can reach even deeper inside you. “Please.” Copia chuckles against your lips, a hand traveling to the apex of your legs to toy with your aching clit. You swear there’s a glint of something wicked in his eyes as he watches your whole body convulse with pleasure, but before you can chastise him for teasing he captures your mouth once more, tongue pushing forcefully past your lips. He keeps you like that a while, using the hand at your chest to hold you in place until you see stars. Once he’s had his fill you finally get your wish, his hips bucking into you with earnest. The clap of skin-on-skin makes you a little nervous, but it’s just so hard to care about being caught when he’s doing you this good.

Copia grunts, pressing his cheek into yours. You can feel the sweat beading at his temples. “You make me work like a fucking dog all day, and still all you do is boss me around. I had better be getting overtime for this.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, you poor thing. Sorry I’m so-“ The head of his cock hits your sweet spot perfectly and you have to bite your lip to stifle a moan. “Demanding.”

Copia snickers, kissing you again. “Anything to please you, Boss Lady.”

At this pace, it doesn’t take long until you’re teetering on the edge of your release. From the intensity of Copia’s breathing and the small stutters in his thrusts, you can tell he’s not far off either. The tree bark, sun-dried and peeling off in strips, digs into your palms, but you cling tighter to the branch as your knees begin to knock together. He still has a hand on your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. One of yours, smaller and not nearly as worn (yet), comes up to rest atop it. Absentmindedly, you trace the thin line of a scar running down the length of his middle finger, a souvenir from his field school days. He takes that as a cue to intertwine his digits with yours. Something about that finally sets you off, and with a few more swipes around your clit you’re falling apart, shaking and cursing. It’s like every thread of tension in your body decides to relax at once, forcefully expelling the stress you’ve been bottling up all week. Copia says nothing but is with you through the entire ordeal, planting soft kisses on your cheek as you come down. Once you start squirming from overstimulation he stops playing with your clit, but keeps fucking you just as hard and fast. A few moments later he moans through gritted teeth, pulling out to jerk himself off the rest of the way. Over your combined breathing you can just barely make out the sound of his release spattering onto the sandy soil below.

You remain like that, him hunched over your bent form, for a few beats. After collectively catching your breath Copia straightens back up, stretching with a satisfied groan. Before either of you can forget, he kicks some dirt over the newly consecrated, cum-soaked ground, concealing the evidence of your rendezvous. “That do it for ya?” He asks, tucking his softening member back in his pants. Contented, you sigh, nodding as you pull your own trousers up. You don’t bother with the accursed button, choosing to have faith in just your zipper.

“Oh, yeah.” Once you’re confident your pants will stay up, you pull him in for another kiss. “Thank you for indulging me.” He smiles gently at you, green eyes twinkling like the stars above. All of sudden, the entire day seems to hit you at once, your eyes growing heavy. You and Copia yawn at the same time, then share a laugh. He checks his watch again, letting out another amused huff.

“9:57,” he notes. “That’s a new record, I think.”

“Congrats,” you say, stepping around to give him playful smack on the ass. “We’ll get you a medal.” He smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“How about a raise?” At this you both crack up again, giggling until your sides begin to hurt. After a few deep breaths, you shake your head, taking a few paces back in the direction of camp.

“This project will kill us first.”

Still basking in afterglow, the journey back to the tents is comfortably quiet. The silence remains as the two of you go about packing up all the tools and papers you left around the fire, now completely dead. To be safe, though, Copia grabs a shovel and dumps a load of sand onto the coals, stirring the whole mess around until he’s absolutely sure it’s been smothered. You watch as he does, already dreading the chill the morning will bring. A decadent thought, that of curling up next to him and drifting off to sleep, crosses your mind. Something in your chest flutters, and you quickly stamp out the idea, lest you get carried away. With a sigh, you sling your pack over your shoulder and shuffle towards your tent.

As you’re unzipping the rain-flap, you hear Copia approach from behind. Turning to acknowledge him, you have to stifle a surprised squeak as he cups your cheek and presses his mouth to yours, keeping you there for a good, long while. Even after making him fuck you, and though you’re exhausted, you can’t help but feel at least a little excited by it.

“See you tomorrow,” he says. It is, sadly, bedtime.

“See you tomorrow,” you whisper, already missing him. Unable to help yourself, you lean in for another chaste kiss, relishing in the warmth and softness of his lips. Before it can turn into another, you open the tent the rest of the way, flopping down on your mattress pad. After sealing yourself inside, the last of your energy is spent shucking off your dirty, sweaty clothes and crawling into your sleeping bag. As soon as your eyes shut, you’re asleep. When you wake in the morning, the only dream you can recall is of Copia, gazing up with wonder at a sky full of shooting stars.

You’ll tell the crew, and maybe HR, eventually. For now, though, what you two have is precious. It’s all yours, and you wouldn’t give that up for anything.

[togglesbloggle]

There's a discussion pattern that floats by every now and then. Stop me if you've heard this before:

LIBERTINA: These regulations about proper utensil manufacture are onerous, odious, and condescending. People already know that they are taking a risk by buying double-bladed knives that have a serrated handle so that there's "more knife per knife". You don't need to pass a law dictating the minimum convexity of a butter knife handles.

DESPATRICK: You say that, but there were six thousand cases last year alone of people hospitalized with hand injuries for improperly grabbing a novelty omnidirectional fork. You say that people 'know' they shouldn't do this, but there's obviously a problem here, and it's a public health risk that needs common-sense regulation to fix.

LIBERTINA: But that risk was deliberately chosen by these people! If they didn't want to participate in the Forb Challenge, where TikTok teens eat with fork orbs, then they could just not do that. You're not protecting people from anything other than their own preferences.

DESPATRICK: That's a specious argument. First, it presumes that nobody has a compromised ability to provide informed consent- that they're mentally fit, adult, that they understand the risks, and so on. You say 'people already know' but I think what you mean is 'most people already know'.

LIBERTINA: Everybody who's mentally fit to engage in cash transactions, anyway. What I mean is "if you understand that currency can be exchanged for goods and services you can also be presumed to understand that grabbing the pointy end of a sword is bad." DESPATRICK: Okay, fine, but what about the people that aren't buying these things, but are still exposed to them? How many of these customers are also parents of small children?

LIBERTINA: Sooner or later you always use this excuse! Yes, won't somebody think of the children. That somebody ought to be the parents, we've already had this conversation a million times, and every time we just come back to the fact that we entrust parents with a huge amount of responsibility for childcare and there's no viable alternative, political or practical. And anyway, you're obviously using this as a post-hoc excuse to regulate my experience, whether I have kids or not.

... and so on, and so on. Most recently, in this corner of the internet, it's the "building windows in bedrooms" regulations.

Anyway, my basic nature is to be sympathetic to Libertina here; at the bare minimum, she should probably always have the benefit of the doubt. But I there's a corner of this conversation I don't see explored as often, and I want to explore that corner out loud a bit to find out how I feel about it.

Basically, I think that describing people as having a preference for "more knife per knife," or whatever, is formally true but hiding a lot of complexity about what is actually preferred, and that Despatrick's regulations intersect with that penumbra of values in complicated ways. Libertina frames this as a case of purely restricting people's preferences (or in the case of cost-saving measures, of letting them make their own tradeoffs between risk and expense), but I get the feeling that she's making a mistake by limiting her analysis to preferences of consumer goods.

Just to break frame a moment, consider the case of laws banning businesses from racial discrimination against their own customers: for example, a ban on a "no blacks allowed" sign in a department store. The most confusing thing about these laws, from a certain perspective, is that we needed them at all! Why would a business decline custom on the basis of irrelevant demographic information like race?

To which the answer, of course, is that local profit-seeking, and indeed the pursuit of individual preferences with full generality, is embedded within a dense fabric of social expectations and semantically rich rituals. For every prisoner's dilemma, there's a mafia ready and willing to break your kneecaps if you're a snitch.

As long as you could discriminate against black customers, you faced tremendous pressure to do so, because so many white customers wouldn't shop at 'that kind of store. The short-term pursuit of your preferences in one case (selling clothes to a black family) would conflict with those preferences in the long term (selling lots of clothes to lots of families). But once segregation was banned by law, black shoppers were no longer a signal of being 'that type of person', and there were no white-only alternatives, so the downsides vanished and only the upsides remained.

This is at its most consequential (and useful) in the case of positional goods; red-queen races where people don't care about the commodities intrinsically, but are locked in to arbitrarily growing expenses in pursuit of what they do want, which is to have 'more' or 'better' commodities than others in their community. It's particularly common where people are trying to sort themselves by social class or wealth, but it's all over the place in general.

And the thing that both Libertina and Despatrick miss, I think, is that this works in reverse as well.

Think about it: if it suddenly becomes legal to build windowless bedrooms, then basic economic forces tell us that such bedrooms will likely be built (and a new style of architecture will spring up to accommodate it). We can guess, further, that windowless rooms will be cheaper on the margins than windowed rooms, that people considering new homes will be able to decide whether or not they'd rather have the money or the window.

Let's even grant the (~dubious, but not unreasonable) premise that this wouldn't cause the cost of windowed rooms to go up, that this would purely represent an opportunity to save a little cash by opting out of this feature.

But something else happens, too: it's now possible for somebody to resent you for having a window in your bedroom, or to admire you for it. As of now, this is not an option! Everybody with a bedroom has a window. But once this is deregulated, there are people-with-windows types of people, and people-without-windows types of people. And the people-without-windows type of person is, in a word, poor.

There will be studies released, showing the strong correlation between windowless bedrooms and substance abuse, criminality, unemployment, you name it. There will be weird political battles about zoning for windowless structures because they attract the Wrong Sort. Millennials will be accused of valuing their fancy windowed bedrooms over saving for a house, and students with access to natural light will be thought of as frivolous and unserious. There will be dating advice, and it will be the most rancid dating advice you could imagine.

By making the 'worst possible apartment' worse for most people, we have made minimal constructions cheaper and expanded access to the housing market for the very poor. But we've also added a moral dimension to a quality-of-life feature where there was no such moral dimension before, and initiated contests over that space in which community members will use all the strategies at their disposal to sort themselves by social status.

In other words, repealing laws that mandate access to natural light in every bedroom may well lower (or raise) the quality of life of many people, even if they didn't move or see a change in rent.

As long as our preferences extend beyond commodities, to social values about our community and our place within that community, then regulations on commodities should probably be considered in light of their consequences on that axis as well, and not just in light of their immediate costs in production efficiency. Which status competitions do they open, or close, and what are the likely consequences of those status competitions? If you weigh those contests against the efficiency gains of deregulation, is it still a net good for <all, most, some> people?

[xoxo-ren-xoxo]

convex and how I headcanon vex hybrids <3

cw: past abuse, cannibalism mention (yayyy)

there's something about the hierarchical and controlling nature of the evoker / vex relationship that is really speaking to me right now. mostly because I like my blorbos (scar and cub) to have a weird thing going on but also just because I like it when metaphor. something about only existing to be summoned as a weapon. something about not having a choice in what you do. something about...

ok wait I have thoughts I must ramble under the cut

I'm headcanoning vex (hybrids) as very easily controlled. if someone with enough grandeur and power (or perceived power) comes along they can get swept up in that person's instruction and lose themselves. I think vex hybrids have little vex voices bouncing around in their minds, and leaning into subservience pleases them just as much as violence, trickery, and cannibalism do.

I like to refer to them as 'the vex', a sort of abstract concept that is basically just the same as saying 'instinct', except they can definitely hear those little guys. example: 'this action pleases the vex'.

obviously this can be exploited and abused. vex hybrids love taking orders and being subservient but it is obviously unhealthy to do as a person with autonomy. those who know how to exploit the vex instincts can do some real damage.

so a way of resisting / lessening the risk is for the vex hybrid to make themselves their own master. scar uses this approach masterfully. he likes to take control. to speak with big wide gestures and hold so much energy and charisma that he himself couldn't listen to anyone else. he tells himself he is the one giving the instructions. he holds the power and no one can take that from him. he is always a leader, a conman, a mayor, a theme park designer, a zookeeper. someone who holds a certain amount of power. and that makes the vex happy enough on its own. there's very little risk of getting hurt.

cub sort of goes the opposite direction. I see him as more well-adjusted anyway, more able to stay in control of himself. but when he falls, he falls hard. he goes a bit crazy and manic with vex instincts. but to keep it at bay he acts unfazed and nonchalant about everything. holds power in the art of not giving a damn. no one can control him because he simply does not care.

he just has a much better grasp of the little vex voices in his head.

anyway, the potential for tragic backstories and metaphors <3

so, I headcanon scar as a born / summoned vex. vex hybrids aren't natural, they have to be summoned by an evoker hybrid. some evokers are fine. nice, even, to their vexes. but they have ultimate power and control over them, and vexes are usually summoned to be used as a weapon, or bodyguard. there is a power dynamic at play and it is inescapable.

scar's evoker, I think, was not very kind. it could be seen as an abusive relationship, in a way. and I think that could be taken in either the abusive parent or the abusive partner direction, depending on how you want to look at it. I think scar was summoned and came in fully grown - as in, he didn't quite have a childhood and he didn't have the same learning curve a child does. the reason for an evoker summoning ritual necessitates that the vex hybrid has some base knowledge of the world and is capable of acting independently. you can't exactly summon a bodyguard who doesn't know how to fight.

still, it can symbolise several types of relationship, depending on if the evoker takes a more guiding (parental) role, or a more intimate (partner) role. the latter has definitely got more potential to basically always be bad, for obvious reasons.

anyway sorry scar for the trauma. this is why he's so vigilant now. but he will also have moments where he reverts back to a mindset where he wants to just find an evoker (or anyone) to guide him, so he can stop being in control. it sounds nice, to his vex. good.

if he fell into a bad place for whatever reason, and stumbled upon someone willing to take advantage of that, he would so easily go back to old patterns. yeah <3

I see cub as a turned vex. someone who was once human but decided to become a vex. and I think he did it because of scar. they're freaks like that. I think this means that cub doesn't have the same tragic backstory as scar, but he still understands where things can go wrong.

also I think they sort of can communicate telepathically. not with words, but more with feelings. just one Look can show everything. they're so vex ^-^

(END NOTE: because I cant stop making things about stupid Grian and his stupid ocd. imagine the absolute horror the poor bastard goes through when scar says 'oh yeah Im really easy to manipulate I basically obey any order given to me by anyone with too much authority ^-^'. Grians dumb ass starts running through every interaction they've ever had like ohhhh no </3 did I do that ?!?!?!) (he didn't)

[francixoxoxo]

୨ৎ Dream a little dream of me ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .

Billy The Kid x fem reader

Desc; billy can’t stay awake when your voice lulls him to sleep so easily.

This is my very first short fic to go on tumblr that wasn’t originally just for ao3 and also my first Billy the kid 🫶 enjoy!!!

Billy worked long days full of physical labour and mental stress. You knew how much of a toll it took on him by how exhausted he was when he came home to you. You saw it in the way he’d hang his hat with a heavy sigh, in the way he’d grimace from sore muscles as he slipped off his boots, in the way he looked at you as if you were an angel that’d lull him to sleep.

Partially because you were. Maybe not an angel, (though he’d beg to differ) but you had a certain effect on him that made him drift off the moment he had you in his arms. Quite a feat, considering most nights without you were sleepless and nerve wracked. Your presence in his bed after a hard day was like melatonin.

You had a particularly fond memory of him slipping into bed, his head on your chest. You lulled him to sleep by humming softly a lullaby from your mother, the timbre vibrating in your chest soothing him like a baby in a warm blanket. Your love filled every corner of his soul with warmth, your soft humming filling his ears as he slipped into the first good dream he’d had all week.

He’d asked Tunstall for a day off at your request. You knew he’d work himself to the bone if you didn’t, and you could tell he needed a break.

So here he was, back against the bark of an oak tree you’d claimed as yours and his spot. You were slotted between his legs, back against his chest and your knees folded to keep up a heavy book you brought. Billy was nosing the back of your neck, humming in thoughtful acknowledgment as you read to him. Your horses were tied to the trunk of this tree, grazing a only few yards away. You spent the morning half in bed, in all honesty.

Billy's chin had come to tuck perfectly atop your head as you'd curled up against him; and the steady thrum of your voice reading to him had him smiling softly in contentment. His thumb lightly swept across the page of the book as he wrapped himself around you further, breathing in the sweet scent of lilacs as he rested with you, the sounds of horses huffing and the tree’s leaves rustling lulling him into a sense of pure bliss.

One of his hands slipped across yours as you read, idly twining his fingers with yours; a small gesture, but one that still managed to bring a gentle flush into his cheeks. You read in that soft voice of yours, “He greatly admired the graceful arch of his antlers, but he was very much ashamed of his spindling legs.”

Billy pressed a loving kiss into the nape of your neck, but he could already feel sleepiness creeping into his bones. He laid his head back against the rough bark of the tree, the movement making you lean back further as he let his eyelids close.

You had always been a big reader, you were in love with books. And when you met Billy, you were eager to share that love with him. The way he listened to you with his whole heart made you feel so important. “"How can it be," he sighed, "that I should be cursed with such legs when I have so magnificent a crown."” The soft lull of your voice was something he heard even when you weren’t around. Even in his dreams.

Billy opened his eye a crack. Your hair was pulled into a French braid over your shoulder, sleek and neat.. Sunlight poured over the convex slope of your nose and your thick eyelashes.. Billy thought you were a work of art. His attention fixated on your every word, taking in every syllable of your voice like a child with sweets. As you continued to read, his fingers lightly brushed over the skin of your leg, moving slowly up to where he reached the bare skin of your knee.

“I don’t think your legs are spin’lin’.” Billy mumbled, distracted, his voice gruff and low as he pulled you in a little closer. His lips, pink and plush, lightly pressed to your temple; and a smirk spread across his face as you melted just ever so slightly into his arms.

Turning your chin, you pressed a kiss to his stubbled jaw to repay the one to your temple. You giggled, furrowing your brows. “Well, s’ about a stag, not me!”

Billy’s gaze settled over you with adoration and affection as you pressed a kiss to his jaw; and another breathless laugh slipped through his lips as you pulled back. He loved your laugh, a melody he’d grown used to and completely addicted to. “Mm. My mistake, pretty.” He murmured, a smirk spreading over his face as he stared intently at your lips. You realized that he was a bit distracted from the story. You could do nothing but oblige his silent request, pressing your lips to his for a lingering moment. He smiled fondly, softer at you as you broke the kiss, letting you turn back to the book. “Keep readin’.”

With a soft smile, you did just that. “At that moment he scented a panther and in an instant was bounding away through the forest..”

Your voice was just the perfect lullaby. You thought you heard a soft snore from behind you, making you turn your face. A grin tugged at your lips as you watched him jolt at your stirring, his long lashes fluttering and his lip twitching. “‘M listenin’.” He mumbled.

“You’re sleepin’, baby.” You snorted lightly at Billy, making a sleepy smile stretch across his lips.

His voice was low and gruff as he shook his head, lips parting to reveal his front teeth in that sweet way of his. “No, m’ invested.”

“What’d I just read?” You jeered. You honestly didn’t mind, you found it cute that he was already falling asleep at noon. You couldn’t resist teasing him, not when he looked so cute.

Billy hummed, squinting at you. His hands moved to knit over your belly, the warmth seeping into your skin. He chuckled through his words, “‘S about a stag. N’ he’s got nice antlers.”

You laughed a little, the fable being retold to you in simple terms making it sound a bit silly. Another soft chuckle rumbled from his chest, if not from the simple joy of having made you laugh.

“I knew you wouldn’t listen to the book.” You cooed, settling your head back onto Billy’s broad chest. He nosed the crown of your hair for a moment.

“Wait, am I dissapointin’ you?”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Most definitely. Cannot believe you’re fallin’ asleep on me, William.”

Billy laughed at that, one hand moving to pinch your side. You chirped out, the sound of surprise delving into a cheery giggle. God, you loved this man. This man who spent his day off listening to you read a silly book to you even when he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Billy pressed a kiss to your cheek, nosing the outer corner of your eye. His arms tightened around your middle as his head leaned back against the oak’s trunk. “You want me to keep reading?” You spoke softly, not wanting to rouse him.

He hummed affirmatively, unable to resist the exhaustion finally catching up with him. So you continued, in a gentler voice. “But as he ran his wide-spreading antlers caught in the branches of the trees, and soon the Panther overtook him.” You grimace. Perhaps it wasn’t the sweetest fable to be reading your lover to sleep with. But you glanced up at him. Knocked out, the poor boy.

But not too sleepy to murmur drowsily, “Love you.” Billy’s eyes were closed, eyelashes dark against his sun-freckled cheeks. You took the moment to appreciate the sheer beauty of him. The gentle set of his mouth, the stubble covering his jaw and chin, the protrusion of his damn perfect nose. How could a man be so beautiful?

You decided to shut the book right there. You didn’t need to read the old print to know the next lines, and the moral of “appreciating the ugly yet practical things over the beautiful and inconvenient” seemed unimportant right now. You snuggled into his chest with a contented sigh, fixing to take a nap right there with him. “Love you more.”

Billy snored softly again, utterly succumbing to your ambrosia voice and calming presence lulling him to sleep. Not for the first time, and not for the last.

—

Yall I really like The Stag and His Reflection by Aesop lol

[vampiregothicc]

How do you paint cellulite? That's something I've always struggled with, it always ends up looking like pits or acne or, at best, wrinkles

So I'm still figuring out the techniques but there's a few things that might help

1 - Cellulite is concave. It's little indents in the skin, so you shade it the opposite way you'd shade something that is convex. Basically, that shadow is on the same side as where the light is coming from, and the highlight is opposite that

2 - Don't make it all equally as dark as the rest of the shading. The cellulite that is near the shadows can be, but if it's all the same tone it looks unrealistic. Most of it should actually be pretty light, just barely a bit darker than the skin tone so it looks like slight dips in the skin. Having all equally dark spots of cellulite ends up making it look wrong

3 - Know where cellulite shows up the most. The areas where it appears the most are the butt and thighs so those are the spots to focus on. The underside of the butt and the backs of the thighs are usually the heaviest/deepest, but also the outer sides of the thighs and underside of the belly. The inner thighs can also have heavy cellulite but it kinda depends. The bigger your character the more likely they will have cellulite in other heavily fatty areas like the upper arms.

4 - Reference. I know this is a boring artist answer but seriously. Look at photos of people with cellulite. People with body types similar to what you're drawing. Just keep some photos handy for when you're drawing to see how it looks. Also look at the way other artists do it

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

(Sorry for the back-to-back asks, I was looking through your blog and got distracted by the postman)

I've been trying to find a post I swear I remember you making explaining the rules of Tali, but am coming up empty when I try to search for it on your blog. Can you help me out? All good if not, tumblr do be tumblr. Hope you're having a good day!!

i too suffer from 'cant find my own shit in tumblrs garbage search" disease i had to pull this from the laoft discord server akjsdhaksjdh

Tali, named for the game pieces, which are the talus bones of ruminants.

Each bone has four sides - a broad convex side, worth one, named "Iron," a concave broad side, worth 2, named "Stone," and convex narrow side, worth 3, named "Gold," and a concave narrow side, worth 4, named "Silver." (yes silver and gold are in that order on purpose, humans consider gold more valuable but fae are the other way around)

(when i play these games myself or write them, i just use a d4, but technically talus bones are not equally likely to land on every side. a closer (but still not perfect) analogue vis-a-vis probability would be to use a six-sided die and treat 1 and 2 like Iron, 3 and 4 like Stone, 5 as Gold and 6 as Silver)

you roll four tali - most rolls, you simply add up the total value of the sides, but certain combinations of sides are treated different

First combination roll - 1, 1, 1, 1, or four irons, also called "Cursed Irons." this one varies the most in behavior depending on exactly what game youre playing but its always bad, and usually not worth any points, sometimes worth negative

and there are three categories of trump rolls

Akind (4 of a kind of 2 or 3) which are worth double points,

Doubles (2 pairs), 1122 is lesser doubles (worth 15), 1133 is odd doubles (worth 20), 1144 and 2233 are both middle doubles (worth 25), 2244 is even doubles (worth 30), and 3344 is greater doubles (worth 35)

Finally, Crowns, also called high trump - four 4s, called Silver Crown OR one of each (so 1234), called a jeweled crown

The game Remus and Io play is called "Riches" and is a simple first-to-100 game. the only real odd mechanic is that Cursed irons "robs you" and cuts your points in half.

a variation of Riches called "Iron Riches" has multiple rounds, and is played somewhat in reverse - the first to 100 in each round immediately loses all their points, while the rest keep theirs. at the end of all the rounds, whoever has the fewest points wins.

there are other games you can play but thats the only ones i have real concrete ideas for. "playing blank" means to play without magic, on chance alone. most games can be played in such a way to incorporate some element of gambling, but its not an inherent component of any of them