#hex answers

[casterhex]

ian . Thats it thats the ask

iam.

[hexyz09]

*pokes u* >:3

You shan't escape me now. owo

[braindepo]

Hello, I am an archiver of emoji tumblr information, I am making a list of active and inactive emoji blogs. Would you be okay with me tagging/linking your blog in the post? if you dont want to be included, that's fine, of course.

- sincerely @echo-sigh

sure :]

× Hex (any pronouns)

[honey-hexes]

💬

💬- Favorite Obscure TF fact!

fun fact about waspinator - his og toy actually had a normal, more bot style head! what you see in his design is his 'mutant mask' which was a gimmick in the toys, but the mutant mask look was the one that stuck around.

[kreampuffvt]

Gay and trans panic are terms to describe the legal defence of killing a queer person.

Stop pretending they're your silly cute lil names for being horny

Hmm weird of you to tell a queer individual how they can use words that affect a community I am part of. You personally can choose to not use any term how ever you want since I am going to assume you're also queer and not some over zealous "ally".

[h3exified]

twenties.. twenties has a fucking knot in that song, IT IS A FUCKING SEXY ASS SONG.. SUPER CREAMY

SO TRUE (SORRY FOR THE LATE ASS RESPONSE I FIDNT REALIZE THIS WENT STRAIGHT TO MY DRAFTS 💀💀💀💀)

BUT ANYWAYS

ON GOD THO

DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE GROWLS

RRRRAH (SCREAMING WITHOUT THE S)

I 🖤 TWENTIES

[viktorthemachineherald]

I've seen a few takes about how Jayce has been possessed by the Arcane, hence the whiplash of his vicious actions, and how seemingly unhesitating he was in killing Salo and Viktor.

But I think Jayce is still himself, main factor being the eyes:

Jayce's eyes are still the same golden hue, unlike Viktor's and all his followers, which have taken on the iridescent tone of the Arcane. I think Jayce has certainly been touched by the Arcane, and taken on some side-effects from it (one of which being a healthy dose of PTSD), but I don't think he's necessarily been corrupted by it.

One effect we do see is Jayce "glitching" into multiples-- could there be some multiverse situation where Jayce has lived multiple failed iterations, and seen what the Arcane can do and the destruction it lays waste to?

Before Jayce kills Salo, he seems resigned that he has to do so. I don't think this is the face of a man whose actions are being corrupted, but of someone who has seen things, and knows what has to be done.

I also don’t think it’s unintentional that Jayce shot Viktor right through his Hexcore heart.

It's not a coincidence that his visions are constantly interspersed with fractaled flashes of anomalous Arcane beings when he encounters Viktor's healed followers. We see this with Salo, and as he makes his way through Viktor's village.

And when he promises “I won’t fail, I swear it”, who was he speaking to? I think this Jayce has lived multiple iterations of the same situation and knows something we don't, something he learned when he was stuck in the Hexcore Anomaly.

TL;DR: This is a Jayce Talis defence blog, and he is here to DEFEND OUR TOMORROWS I will not take any Jayce slander in this house

[averycutesalamander]

pls write yan!boothill OMG WHO SAID THAT

ohoho....!! i must confess that im quite picky when it comes to yandere content, bc i don't particularly like the extreme end of the spectrum. physical violence and straight noncon in particular don't click for me (absolutely no shade to people who like that tho, you do you!!) buuuuuuut ..... i mean, im the one writing?? so i can do whatever i want??? so alright here you go :) also check my reblog for.. a lot of rambling lmao

may i present to you: my interpretation of boothill in love, but he has a few too many screws loose. warning for relatively vague descriptions of violence and, uh... yandere stuff. you know how it goes.

In all honesty, Boothill is not a "love at first sight" type. His attraction to you is a gradual, budding thing, built over many repeated encounters. He's emotionally isolated himself, after all - built a wall thick enough to muffle the whispers of his past, smothering it in a slurry of rage and sorrow. It'll take time for him to let down his guard for long enough to even register the feelings you conjure in him - a flutter in his chest every time you smile at him, a spark of joy every time he makes you laugh, a strike of fondness every time he looks at your pretty face when you aren't paying attention.

And beneath it all, a low, simmering greed, a hunger, a yearning; the urge to bite and devour and never let go.

The pressure builds with time, as the two of you grow closer. He visits often, though not so often that it would catch the IPC's attention. You laugh and joke and tease, playfully flirting with him yet keeping a healthy, platonic distance. (He very pointedly and stubbornly ignores the way his heart soars when you look at him like that - like you want to pull him into your bed and let him take you apart, piece by ruinous piece. It's just harmless fun, after all.)

(Right?)

Despite the yawning fractures in the wall he's created, despite the increasing complexity of his feelings for about you, he still hasn't untangled whatever complicated web of feelings that's arisen around you, content to leave himself oblivious for the time being - until you make a joke about him marrying you and sweeping you away on some bizarre galactic adventure, and he damn-near bluescreens.

(He hates, hates, hates that the first thing he feels is something adjacent to the feeling a cat gets when it finally corners a particularly unruly mouse, akin to the thrill he gets whenever an enemy exposes a weakness. A sick, twisted kind of satisfaction.)

His mind churns as the wall cracks, wavers-

...and crumbles.

He panics. He makes a flimsy excuse about getting a notification through his neurochip, about needing to help out a fellow ranger - and he feels even better worse when you believe him unhesitatingly, sending him off with a sweet little "Be safe!" just as you always do.

It's only after he leaves the planet that he thinks about how much you've grown to trust him, about how damn gullible you are, about how often you give him the benefit of the doubt, about how kindly you've always treated him in spite of (or perhaps because of) his dozens of strange quirks. Everything unravels, threads spilling from his fraying mind and spilling between his fingers, and when the tattered fabric settles-

He simply can't deny it. He's in love with you.

It takes some time for him to piece himself back together - weeks of complete silence from him, your texts going unanswered. Every time he sees a fresh notification from you, his heart twists with guilt - but he's not ready to face the music. Not yet.

He comes crawling back to you, sooner or later. He knocks on your door with the most sheepish, guilt-ridden look on his face that you've ever seen, a rich bouquet laden with yellow roses and purple hyacinths tucked timidly in his arms. He lies about why he left - says it was all because of a mission that got more complicated than it should have, and it wasn't safe to reply to your messages - but when he tells you that he's sorry, he means it genuinely.

He's a bit disturbed by the sensation in his gut - that foul, wicked satisfaction when you accept his apology with barely a slap on the wrist, cheerily inviting him inside to catch up. You tuck the flowers neatly into a vase, chatting easily with him as you carefully arrange them.

"It's alright!" you say, waving dismissively at him when he murmurs another apology. "I know you're busy. I can't be your biggest priority, obviously. You've got more important things going on."

(You don't have a clue how wrong you are.)

He integrates back into your life like he never left. When he has the time, he sneaks his way back onto your planet, knocking on your door or searching for you in your usual spots. You get impossibly closer; your playful flirting goes from blatantly humorous to something foggier, something more ambiguous, teasing the line between platonic and something heavier. He matches you step by step, returning your advances with just a little extra spice, his eyes a bit darker and his smile a bit wider.

He tries to be patient - god, does he try - but there's an itch that's bloomed beneath his metal, impossible to scratch, impossible to sate, made worse by every little joke you make about kissing him or touching him or marrying him or letting him spirit you away. The pressure builds further and further, the tension winding tighter and tighter, the anticipation bubbling higher and higher.

(He will never, ever admit that he truly contemplates stealing you away, crowding you onto a ship and carting you off so he can always keep an eye on you, can always guarantee your safety. His paranoia has been building since he recognized his feelings for you; it's taken every ounce of restraint in his body to stop himself from giving into the urge, from crowding you, from suffocating you, from locking you away like a fragile songbird in a cage.)

(He's torn between his protectiveness and his understanding that you deserve freedom. You deserve independence and a life that isn't tied directly to him. He doesn't even know if you return his feelings. But...)

(But there's that nagging feeling in the back of his head, that pestering little voice that grows louder by the day. You'll be safer with me, it says, dark and tempting, bursting behind his teeth. I can make you happy. I can keep you safe. I can show you pieces of the universe that you've never seen before. I can love you like no one else ever could. I can hold you and cherish you and consume you and-)

(He takes that little voice and wraps his hands tight around its throat, frantically trying to suffocate the noise, terrified by its allure. But it's always there, lingering, lurking - because the call is coming from inside the house.)

Something gives, eventually.

When he inevitably breaks, his lips crashing heatedly and messily into yours, there are two paths ahead - but the difference is ultimately moot, because they collide not long after.

Perhaps you reciprocate. Perhaps you melt against his lips, your arms coiling around his shoulders and drawing him further into you. Perhaps you whimper when his hands trail downward, squeezing at your hips. Perhaps you pull away with a gasp, your pupils blown wide, your heart pounding when you see the look in his eye - dark and hot and desperate and hungry. Perhaps you accept his quiet declaration of affection with open arms, returning it in full, your eyes sparkling with joy.

Or perhaps you reject him. Perhaps you freeze like a startled deer before pushing him away, your face slack with shock. Perhaps you apologize, stumbling over your words, your heart thundering in your chest when you see the look in his eye - dark and cold and empty and hungry. Perhaps you gently tell him that you don't feel that way about him - that you only see him as a friend.

Ultimately, it doesn't matter.

...Because Boothill - careful, meticulous Boothill - has slipped up, and the IPC finds you.

After he leaves next, whether that be with a broken heart or a giddy one, a trio of IPC employees pluck you up from the street in broad daylight, shoving you into a dark transport ship for "questioning." And once they bring you to an IPC space station, they do indeed question you - though it feels more like an interrogation, considering that you've been tied ankle-and-wrist to a chair like you're a dangerous serial killer and not a regular civilian.

"Suspected colluding with the criminal known as Boothill," your "interviewer" tells you flatly, idly thumbing at the knife in their hand. "Camera footage, reports from neighbors, records from his Synesthesia Beacon... All clearly show that he has made repeated visits to your planet and your home. We're in the business of knowing why."

Perhaps you keep your mouth shut and refuse to divulge anything, no matter how close that knife gets to your bare skin. Perhaps you break when it begins to slice into your flesh, drawing blood from your body and tears from your eyes and stuttered words from your lips. Perhaps you grit your teeth and bear it, unwilling to betray the man you've grown so fond of.

Or perhaps you cave immediately. Perhaps you sell him down the river the first chance you get, frantic explanations spilling from your lips. Perhaps you tell them that you had no idea he had such a massive bounty on his head. Perhaps you panic when they find the information insufficient and draw the knife on you anyway, deaf to your begging and pleading as they wet your skin with blood.

Ultimately, it doesn't matter.

...Because a distant explosion rocks the entire space station, and the flashing lights from the silent alarms interrupt your interrogation.

You're left alone when the IPC agent flees, locking the door behind them with a heavy clunk. Minutes pass as you fumble desperately with your restraints, your body pulsing with pain; a cacophony of gunshots and screaming penetrates the thick walls, growing louder and louder, your heart pounding faster and faster.

There's a noise just outside the door - a horrifically wet noise, like raw flesh on tile. You freeze like a rabbit that's just heard the panting of a starving wolf, far too close for comfort.

Silence. Your head aches from the flashing red lights.

Suddenly, steel fingers wedge into the gap between the locked door and the wall, single-handedly tearing it open and breaking the hydraulic lock with inhuman ease. Metal crunches and squeals, piercing the quiet - and there he stands, right in the doorway, a silhouette of black and red.

Never in your life have you seen him this manic.

His white hair drips with scarlet and his teeth are bared; his eyes are alight with rage, a shock of bright crimson among the dark smears of blood and viscera that coat him head to toe. In the light of the alarms, he looks like the perfect picture of a killer from a horror movie; violence and slaughter, just waiting to be unleashed. When his gaze locks onto you, there is a long moment of utter stillness; instinctual terror floods your entire body in a cold flash, because there isn't so much as a glimmer of humanity in those eyes - only pure, boiling, ravenous, frantic anger.

For a heartbeat, you're convinced he's going to rip you apart with his teeth.

Then, as if he finally registers who you are, the madness evaporates, replaced by a nearly manic sort of relief. He rushes to your side, looking you over; you don't miss the flash in his eyes - seething, smoking fire - when he spots your injuries. In the same breath, he snuffs it out, focusing instead on breaking your binds with his bare hands.

You're already crying when he takes you up into his arms, cradling you close to his chest and unwittingly smearing IPC blood onto you. "It's alright, sweetheart," he murmurs, soft and reassuring, a beacon of comfort in a sea of terror. "I'm right here. I've got ya. No one's ever gonna take ya from me again, okay?"

(Maybe if you weren't in shock, you'd be startled by his words. As it stands, though, they're like music to your ears, like a warm blanket settled over your shoulders, like a tight hug from someone you trust with your life.)

He encourages you to press your face into his shoulder - mercifully free of blood - as he carries you through the carnage he's left in his wake, the jangle of his spurs and your muffled sobs echoing through the silent halls. Your entire body shivers at the noise of him stepping into some unidentifiable slurry of viscera, and he thumbs at your back in an effort to soothe you, speaking quietly into your ear about everything and nothing.

Time passes in a blur of tears. He takes you to the ship he, uh... commandeered to get here, ducking into the bathroom and settling you gently - so very gently - onto the floor. Or, rather, he tries to - because your fingers are frozen stiff in his jacket, your grip unrelenting.

"You just wait here for a sec, alright?" he whispers softly, the chill of his hand settling lightly against your wrist; the blood there still feels warm to your delirious mind. "Gotta get the autopilot started, okay? I'll be right back."

You're both surprised when you shake your head insistently, your eyes wet and pleading. In an instant, he softens, his heart aching in his chest.

"Alright, sweetpea," he breathes, carefully picking you up again. "I've got ya."

He keeps you cradled to his chest as he walks to the cockpit, holding you easily with one arm as he gets the ship moving. Reinforcements are on the way, no doubt - but you'll both be long gone by the time they get here.

(Maybe the IPC will get the message when they find the scene he's left behind - when they view the camera footage and see the rampage he went on. Decapitation and disembowelment is a new one, even for him...)

(...but he needed to make it clear that no one, no one, touches what's his and gets away with it.)

When the engine is purring beneath his feet and the rumble of FTL travel is humming in the walls, he brings you back to the washroom and settles you to the tile again, gently untangling your grip from his jacket. You're in shock, he's sure, so he's careful to continue talking to you as he wets a towel with warm water, murmuring soft reassurances as he wipes the blood from your skin, handling you like you're glass.

Once you're clean, he messily towels himself off to get the worst of the mess off, then brings you to the captain's quarters, digging around in the closet to find something comfortable for you. Your shaking fingers cause you trouble, so he gently eases your ruined clothes off, his eyes respectfully averted as he helps you redress. He takes one look at the messy, used bedding and promptly decides to change the sheets. (Something within him stirs and snarls at the thought of you smelling like anyone else.)

Finally, when all is said and done, he eases you beneath the covers, brushing away the last remnants of your tears. His heart is torn between singing with joy and aching with pain when you reach up and take his hand in yours, your fingers wrapping tight around his.

"Gotta go wash up, honey," he murmurs, watching you closely as you sink into the protective huddle of the blankets, exhaustion painting your features. "That alright? I'll be fast."

(He tries very hard to ignore the flutter in his chest from the look in your eye - like you're genuinely considering whether or not you need to stay near him, like you aren't sure if you can bear the distance.)

(He also tries very hard to ignore the little pang of disappointment when you slowly nod, releasing his hand.)

He cleans himself up with record efficiency, resigning himself to wearing clothes that are a size or two too small until he can wash his usual outfit. The clothes are for your sake, really; it's not like he has any, uh... equipment to expose - not yet - but he's relatively sure that it would make you uncomfortable anyway.

By the time he steps lightly into the room again, you're asleep.

For a long, long moment, he's struck stupid by the sight of you, by the softness of your face in rest.

Fuck, you're beautiful. He knows it in his heart, feels it in his core, senses it in his chest - you're the prettiest little thing he's ever seen.

(And you're all his, now.)

His fists clench, and he swallows down the thought like bitter poison. (You deserve better than this - better than him. He's a broken man, he knows - a messy reconfiguration of a thousand corpses, glued together by hatred and grief. He could never love you the way you deserve. He could never-)

He's broken from his rapidly spiraling thoughts when you twitch, a tiny furrow appearing in your brow. A surge of emotion nearly bursts in his chest - the urge to comfort, to protect, to soothe - and he slowly circles to the other side of the bed, climbing into the empty space and settling beneath the blankets. Hesitantly, he wraps one arm lightly around your waist, drawing you against him with your back pressed tight to his chest.

His heart soars when he feels you instantly relax, the tension fleeing your body.

(It's fine. This is fine. He'll make everything better. No matter what he has to do, who he has to kill, he'll make everything better.)

(He's not wrong - but he also doesn't need to disable the button on the inside of the ship that opens the exit hatch. You don't need to know that; he doesn't need to acknowledge that.)

A handful of days pass like that. When he stops by a market to get supplies for you, he gently tells you that it's best for you to stay in the ship for now; odds are that you actually have a bounty on your head as well, now.

As time passes, he tries not to suffocate you, tries not to hover, wary of putting you under any more stress - but it's ultimately a useless task.

When you finally, tentatively ask him about going home, his brain goes numb, the world snapping into sharp focus. He turns his gaze to you, disturbingly absent of emotion.

"It ain't safe for ya there, now that those IPC dogs know to look for ya," he says, his voice far too even.

When tears begin to bud in your eyes, it finally sweeps up some sympathy in his chest, his entire face softening. He takes your shaking hands in his, tenderly grazing your knuckles with his thumbs.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he rasps, reaching up to wipe away your tears.

(He's barely sorry.)

"I don't like it either, but..."

(Yes, he does.)

"It's safest for ya to stick with me, alright?"

(Wishful thinking. He could find somewhere for you to stay - some quiet planet outside of the IPC's reach, where you could live without worry. He could send you credits regularly. He could make sure you were happy and secure, independent of him.)

(He won't.)

(He could. He should.)

[breelandwalker]

Hey Bree, I’m moving into my first apartment on July 15th! I want to set some wards with a kick up, but don’t have a clue where to start. Mind pointing me towards some resources?

Funny you should mention! I have some posts and podcast episodes and a book I can recommend that I think you'll find helpful.

Tips on How to Visualize and Construct Basic Wards

Practicing Your Warding Technique

Cleansing Before Warding / Warding A Shared Space

Refreshing / Patching Existing Wards

Non-Appropriative Herbs for Smoke-Cleansing

Smokeless Cleansing / Other Methods

Hex Positive, Ep. 024 - Warding A Witchy Home (Dec 2021)

Hex Positive, Ep. 045 - Warding A Witchy Home Pt 2 (April 2024)

"By Rust of Nail and Prick of Thorn: The Theory and Practice of Effective Home Warding," Althaea Sebastiani, 2017.

Hope this helps!

[casterhex]

can you tell kevin i say hi. especially fond of that one

I think he got the message

[dodgesgirl]

how do you get your text that soft pink shade? tutorial?

BABY PINK TEXT TUTORIAL !

hi babe!! here's a short and hopefully easy to understand tutorial for the text i use in my posts ᥫ᭡

also, just a little disclaimer: the images on this post might not be visible because they exceed the limit of 10 images per post on mobile app. should be fine on a laptop or pc though!!

okay firstly, make sure you're using a laptop and open your post in one tab and in a seperate tab open jsfiddle.

you should be able to see this coding somewhere on your screen:

you're gonna replace the two hex-codes (highlighted text) with whichever colours you'd like. to do a gradient, like this, the two codes will be different, but i like to do a solid colour like this so my codes will be the same.

the hex code i use for the baby pink is D2A3BE, or you can use your own. if you don't have a hex code you like yet, you can use the colour picker on this site to find one!

just copy and paste the hex codes into the code so it looks like this:

make sure it looks exactly like this. you still need all the spaces, quotations and other code. only change the hex codes.

in the top left of your screen, there should be a "run" button, and when you press it, the colours in the bottom right should change from the default ones to the ones you chose.

next, you're going to open your tumblr post in your first tab.

your post will start like this. you'll go to the settings button in the top right (circled) and change the post from rich text to HTML

this will enable coding on the post. you'll still have 'preview' where it will look normal and you can still type and edit the post as you usually would.

once you've typed something it will show it in the HTML option just in a different way:

you want to go to the preview page and make sure you've got the text looking exactly as you want it (bold, italic, small, etc.). also note that colours look especially good and show up well when the text is bold. i set mine to bold as an example.

when you switch to HTML it will look something like it does above.

next, you'll copy the text between all the coding prompts (e.g. <p><b> and <b><p>). only copy the text you want to be pink or another colour!! don't highlight any of the coding. then paste it this top box on jsfiddle so it looks like this:

press "run" on the right, and it will spit out a line of code in the second box that will look something like this:

you're gonna copy that line of code and switch over to your tumblr tab. on your HTML version of your post, find the text you're changing and highlight it. then paste the code into that spot. make sure not to highlight any of the surrounding code - only the text you've written and want to change.

it will look super weird and long because it's colouring each symbol and letter, if you look closely, each letter of "example text" is separated and surrounded by code. when you switch to preview it will look like this:

for gradient, the process is the exact same, but on jsfiddle, when you're replacing the default hex codes with yours, the second hex code you plug in will be different to the one you start with. for example:

this second colour is C45494 btw!!

to do specific text in a paragraph as if bolding it (which i do in a lot of my posts), you just want to find that text in your HTML post, and copy and paste the specific word/s into your top box on jsfiddle, and then proceed as normal. example:

hopefully this helped!! let me know if you have any questions or need me to go over anything ( ˘³˘)

[hexonthepeach]

Do you have nct fic rec? Or anything you are currently reading or have read?

i haven't been able to read much nct fic lately since writing/editing has been sucking up all my free time outside of work, and lately i've been reading more ateez (yunho just has a grip on me) but there are a few authors i'll drop everything for so here's the latest i've read from them/started reading but haven't gotten around to reviewing:

@sluttyten - you in my arms (haechan voyeurism/exhibitionism, haven't had the strength to read the last chapter but absolutely a work of art in terms of longform storytelling and mixed perspectives)

@ncteez - expert adversary (taeil office au, adorable read i went down a taeil hole lately for obvious reasons)

@jnnul - ric flair drip (jaehyun college au, this was so fun/fresh/flirty i enjoyed it even though campus/frat stuff is kind of low interest for me)

@yutaholic - there will be blood (yuta assassin/thriller vibes, beware major character death warning. luna writes villain!johnny the best, control is my all-time favorite fic in this vein, it haunts me, i will never be over it)

anything omegaverse, anything johnny, anything at all from @neopuppy, like that's the GOAT there, another godtier johnny fic that lives in my head is dumb, dumb dilf johnny with an age gap ilu i've been meaning to revisit

also i accept recs if you ever want to send anything my way!

[honey-hexes]

📽- What was your first TF series?

Transformers animated! The whole #revivetfa thing was still going strong around 2019 when I happened to catch a stray post. Locked onto bumblebee like a heat seeking missile and now we’re here lol

[enbysiriusblack]

"the marauders would be the annoying popular chavvy boys in school"

THEY ABSOLUTELY WOULD NOT BE.

[mxchineherald]

[@violetgleams asked :: "There's no verbal response, but a point at Viktor, followed by a questioning thumbs-up and a concerned expression. (For modern or Gotham verse, whichever you're feeling!)"][ask meme here.]

 He had just gotten another one of his headaches. They usually came on after a long day of work at WayneTech. Long, dead-end work on a middling project he had no passion for. He just wanted to return to his designs on the BlueClaw, but management insisted his mind was needed elsewhere. He was beginning to feel improperly utilized. And lonely. So very lonely. Without a soul from his home world to accompany him, he was left feeling like he was on an alien planet. Well… He was, technically.

 He was on the bus home, thought the ride wasn’t necessarily efficient, since they were suck in a heavy rainfall. Several times they had to slow down because the driver was trying to navigate in a torrential downpour that made other cars far more dangerous. When they finally reached his stop, he took up his crutch and slowly climbed off, though not without his foot clinging to the last step and making him trip. As he fell to his knees, the bus drove off, followed by a speeding car that hit the puddle behind him. A wave of dirty water splashed over his back, making him tense up in a freeze.

 Anger boiled over, and he fought to his feet to take his crutch and slam it against the ground a few times. it was durable, more durable than he was, as it swung back up and bonked him hard on the shoulder. Fury took anger’s place, and Viktor let out a loud grunt of aggravation as he threw the crutch across the pavement with a loud clatter.

 That was when he caught sight of the stranger, cautiously giving him a questioning thumbs up. He stared for a few seconds, taking deep and heavy breaths to clear his lungs, then stood as straight as he could and held his thumb up in return. There was no smile, but an acknowledgement that he’d just had an outburst. Embarrassment began to creep in, and he quickly started to limp for his crutch to fetch it.

[determunition]

I just remembered a second question i had about oldfolks home so im attacking you again

DOES Irving also work at the home or does he work at gamefuna? Cause hes a product of gamefuna like Rust and Shrew, but hes also more of a manager/maintenance type like Rebecha.

irving's a middle-management type for the home! though he'd definitely have the vibes of someone who's done/is doing a few sus gigs on the side; it would certainly make sense for him to have worked for gamefuna at some point but rebecha has no affiliation with them for the time being, so who's to say!

he's not likely to show up in OFH as of writing this, so in case he never does i will say that his primary role in this universe would be showing up randomly to assess how rebecha's been maintaining the home and generally being an out-of-touch annoyance to everyone in the process lmao