#i don't know what to do with myself now that i've finished

[bitchesuntitled]

Wrong Delivery

Summary: Sleepin' with the hot construction guy doing the remodel at your work, he winds up buying flowers for someone else...

Warnings/Tags: 18+ MDNI go on get! No outbreak/pre outbreak(you decide), fluff, smut, miscommunication, cussing, oral f!receiving, unprotected piv(don't do that, make smart choices), cream pie, Joel being a dork.

A/N: First time I've ever actually finished a Joel story I started working on! Many thanks to @strang3lov3 for the encouragement and taking a look at this, @jay-zzle as always for giving me ideas and making moodboards for me because I hate doing them myself! ❤️❤️❤️

🌹This is for @morallyinept’s flora & fauna challenge! 🌹

Divider provided by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist||AO3 Link

As you rush into the building, trying to avoid the construction team surrounding the place, a timid smile crosses your face when you spot Joel, the man responsible for why you’re running late this morning. Instead of getting ready for work like you were supposed to, Joel Miller decided he wanted to spend his morning coaxing another orgasm out of you, as if the three last night weren’t enough. It’s been a couple of months of this. 

It had never been your intention to start sleeping with the hot contractor who had been doing construction at your place of work, you both just happened to be at the same bar one night. One thing led to another and now it’s been this, whatever this is.

“Mornin’ guys,” you say passing the crew, each giving their own sort of greeting back, be it a grunt of acknowledgment or repeating the greeting.

“Mornin’ ma’am,” Joel says with a cheeky smile, “Runnin’ a little late?”

“Yeah, woke up late,” you shrugged, feeling your face heat up.

“There you are!” Becky shouts, making her way towards you, “Angie is up my ass right now about where you are with those reports you said you’d get done yesterday.”

“On it,” you sigh, “Nice talking to you Joel.”

“Oh!” Becky said with a smile, grabbing his bicep, “Hi Joel! You guys sure have been working hard on all of this.”

You try to keep your eyes from rolling at Becky’s consistent attempt at flirting with Joel. She has definitely tried her hardest to get his attention, made cookies “for the crew” but only handed some of them to Joel, tries to talk to him every chance she can, wearing lower cut tops so her cleavage is on full display, batting eyelashes and laughing at any dumb thing he says. It’s starting to get on your nerves, if you’re being honest. Making your way to your desk you open the drawer, shoving your purse inside before closing it and turning on your computer. You open the teams app, sending Angie a quick message to let her know you’ll put the file with the reports in the folder outside her door, grabbing the file and making your way to her office.

Becky is still talking Joel’s ear off and you have to stifle your laugh, watching his eyebrows scrunch together and his polite nod before excusing himself. She catches you as you're on your way back to your cubicle to start the work day.

“That Joel Miller is a man,” Becky sighs, walking beside you, “The things I would let him do to me.”

“Oh jeez,” you laugh awkwardly, sitting down at your desk.

“I wonder what his dick is like,” she continues, “I bet it’s big.”

You turn to your computer hoping she can’t see the look on your face because then the jig would be up.

“Uhm,” you say, clearing your throat, “You better be careful. Don’t wanna get turned into HR.”

—

“Hello,” a frazzled delivery guy announces himself at the entrance to your cubicle. “I have a delivery for you, miss.”

“For me?!” Becky asks excitedly, seeing the bouquet of flowers. The delivery guy nodded, handing her the flowers. “Who are they from?!”

“Uh… Joel Miller?” The guy says, looking at his sheet. Your jaw drops upon hearing his words. Why on earth would Joel send Becky flowers?

“Oh my god!” Becky squeals with delight, grabbing the card, “Aw! Look! It says darlin’ on the envelope!”

Becky opens the card, reading it aloud:

“Figured a pretty lady like you should have some flowers to look at. Been havin’ the time of my life gettin’ to know ya and would love to take you out. He signed it off with a heart and J. Miller! How sweet is that?!”

Beside yourself on handling this, the only thing you could think of was finding the man himself. If this entire thing between you two was just for fun so be it, but you needed answers.

“Real sweet,” you mutter standing up, “I’m…  uh… I’ll be back.”

“Okay.” Becky hums dreamily, staring at the flowers on her desk.

You make your way to the front of the building, spotting Gus, one of the construction guys.

“Can you tell Joel I need to talk to him?”

“Sorry ma’am, he had to leave earlier, something about Tommy.” Gus shrugs. 

“Uhm… okay.” You nod, deciding to make your way to the breakroom, sitting at one of the tables trying to collect your thoughts. Maybe it’s for the best that he left. That way the entire building wouldn’t see you blow up. Are you even still supposed to see each other tonight? That had been the plan when he left this morning. What the actual fuck, you think to yourself, give annoying ass Becky flowers to ask her out, and then fuck you? That two-timing son of a bitch!

“So fucking stupid,” you mutter to yourself.

—

You make it through the workday, as best as you can, trying not to think of Joel and how mad you are all while Becky continues to talk about him all day. What should she wear, wondering where he’d take her, what they would do, should she sleep with him on the first date. Hopefully, the Excedrin will kick in soon to help with the teeth grinding headache you’ve had all day. Walking to your car Becky’s shrill voice rings out wishing you a good evening.

“Yeah, you too,” you grumble, pulling your car door open and throwing your purse inside. You’re still so mad, fuming, seeing red as you drive towards your place. Once getting home, you quickly change into comfy clothes, and see you have a text from Joel.

JMiller: Can’t wait to see you beautiful ;) Leavin’ Tommy’s

You scowl looking at the text. How do you even respond to that? Petty, that’s how.

You: K.

You see the text bubbles pop up, disappear then pop up again before his face shows on your screen with an incoming call.

“Hello,” you snap.

“Hey,” Joel says hesitatingly, “Bad day at work?”

“Well, Becky got some lovely flowers delivered at work.”

“Oh?”

“Yep,” you say with a harsh pop at the end.

“And?” Joel asks, “Is that it?”

“Delivery guy and card said they were from you.”

“Fuck me,” Joel groans “Those were not for goddamn Becky!”

“Sure about that?”

“I got them for you.” Joel argues.

“Yeah, okay.” You huff into the receiver, rolling your eyes. “Look, I get it. It’s fine if you didn’t want this going anywhere but you could’ve been honest with me about it.”

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel groans, “I do want this going somewhere! Like I said, the flowers were for you!”

“Sure,” you say, shaking your head, “Just be honest, Joel. This has just been fun, that’s it. You’re getting your dick wet, stringing me al—“

“God damn it! I am telling the truth!” Joel growls, cutting you off. “I even have proof!”

“What proof?!” You spit back, “The proof of the flowers you sent Becky? Yeah, I saw them, and the card too. Sweet touch signing it off with a heart and then your name.”

Suddenly there is a knock on your door. You cock your head to the side, hearing the knock sound through the phone as well. Of fucking course, Tommy’s is a five minute drive to your place, making your way to the door you swing it open to see Joel standing there. His nostrils flared, phone held up to his ear, dropping it and angrily stuffing it back into his pocket.

“Just give me five minutes, I swear, they were meant for you and I have fuckin’ proof,” Joel says, holding up a piece of paper.

“What the fuck, Joel?” You groan, smacking your phone onto the entry table.  “Why are you here?”

“I was on my way home from Tommy’s. Figure I’d come here first,” Joel says, holding the paper out to you, “Go on, look at it.”

You grab it, glancing it over. Farrah’s Flowers printed at the top, with your name listed as the order’s recipient, eyes bulging out of your head as you look at him.

“Told you.”

“Wait, then how the fuck did they get to Becky then?”

“Somebody fucked up, that’s all I know but that is my copy of the receipt for buyin’ them in the first place, and that is your name on it,” Joel smirks in triumph, crossing his arms across his broad chest.

Your shoulders relax as you open the door wider, motioning your head for him to come in. He gives a subtle nod, making his way into your home, you slump against the door once it’s closed.

“Joel,” you start, “What the fuck are we?”

He cages you against the door, pushing his lower half into you. You sigh, looping your arms around his neck, looking at those dark chocolate eyes.

“Well,” Joel says, kissing your cheek, “I want you,” placing a soft kiss against your lips, “More than just for sex,” he whispers, against your lips breathing in each other's air causing you to feel a dizzying arousal. Lips collide with him in a hungry kiss, tongues rolling against one another, gasping when his hands creep down to hook around your thighs lifting you, grabbing onto your ass before pulling you away from the door and carrying you to your bedroom.

Joel lays you down on your bed hovering over you, never breaking away from your lips, licking into your mouth with desperation like this might be his last chance. Arousal begins pool in your underwear. Hands gliding down his back, feeling the warmth radiating from him, lifting the bottom of his shirt until he finally lifts to fling it off.

“Don’t want anyone else,” Joel husks, lightly biting your neck, causing you to moan at the sensation of his teeth against your skin, “Just you.”

“Joel,” you whimper as his hand travels down the length of your shirt, pushing it up to expose your tits, ducking his head down. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the stiffened peak before switching to give the other equal attention, kissing a trail down the soft flesh of your stomach until he reaches the top of your leggings.

“Can I?” He asks, looking at you, fingers hooking into your waistband. You give a firm nod and he pulls them off along with your underwear. He sighs once they are off, using his shoulders to spread your legs further apart, “So fucking pretty,” he hums, nipping and kissing along your inner thighs, slowly making his way to your center.

You can feel his breath against your folds, trembling with anticipation for his tongue and lips to make contact, letting out a soft moan Joel begins lapping at your folds, sucking your bundle of nerves into his mouth. Tongue massaging circles against your clit.

“Fuck,” you moan, raking your fingers through his hair and lightly tugging.

Joel’s hum reverberated into your core. His mouth opened and he began to fuck you with his tongue while firmly holding your gaze. You’re back arched at the sensation, letting out a gasp. You roll your hips against his face, his nose pressing deliciously against your clit. He grunts, moving his thumbs to spread your lips, licking a stripe up to your clit and sucking it into his mouth. Your legs begin to shake at the sensation.

“Oh my god, Joel!” You whine, arching your back, feeling the band tightening within your core, begging for release. Joel sinks two of his thick fingers into you causing you to cry out, moving them to massage that sweet spot against your walls, “Yes! Oh my god, fuck!” You could feel the smug smirk on his face, knowing you’re about to come.

“Come on,” he coos, firmly licking your bundle of nerves “Let me have it baby.”

You cry his name out over and over as you feel the waves of pleasure crashing through you. He continues lapping at your folds, wanting to make sure he gets every last drop before you push his head away. He crawls up the length of your body, the denim of his jeans scratching against your skin.

“Good?” He asks, you nod giggling and he smirks, grabbing the nape of his neck you pull him closer to your face, looking into your eyes he whispers a hi. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, surging forward to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groans into your mouth, grinding his bulge against your center, the rough denim providing friction against your core. His hand moves to his belt, swiftly unhooking it and unbuttoning his jeans. Hands sliding down to help him push the denim off his hips, boxers following suit. You grip his hard length, stroking it from tip to base. Palm spreading the precome over his long thick length. Joel lets out a soft moan at the touch.

“Want you inside me,” you whimper, rubbing his cock against your slick heat. “Please.”

He bats your hand away, grabbing his cock to tease your folds more, rubbing his tip up and down your slit. You let out a moan when his tip catches against your entrance. Only for him to slide back up to your clit, rubbing agonizingly slow circles against you.

“Joel,” you begged, titling your pelvis, “Please, please fuck me.”

Joel smirks, sliding his cock back down to your entrance, feeding you his bulbous head. You writhe, feeling the stretch. He sinks into you slowly, filling you up until his tip kisses your cervix. Fingers gripping his back, each of you letting out a satisfied moan.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Joel murmurs into your neck, nipping and sucking on your pulse point, letting you adjust to his size, “Best pussy ever,” placing gentle kisses along your jaw.

“Joel, move,” you plead, hitching your legs up on his waist, “Need you to move.”

He pulls out slowly before snapping his length into you again, letting out a shaky breath at the harshness of his thrust. Your grip on his back tightens, sinking your nails into his skin. He lets out a hiss as he rocks his hips into you, trying to find that spot that makes you see stars. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, “Don’t want anyone else, darlin’.”

Breathy moans shared between kisses, sweat slicked skin gliding against each other. He pushes your thighs back further into a mating press, finding that sweet spot inside your walls.

“Oh my god,” you whine, back beginning to arch, “Right there!”

His cock massages that spot with every stroke, causing your muscles to tighten. You can feel the coil in your belly tightening, walls beginning to flutter around his shaft as he drills into that spot over and over.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel growls, feeling the heat of his skin slapping against yours, “I need you to come, baby. Ain’t gonna last much longer.”

You moan wantonly as you feel his dick twitch inside of you. Joel holding out to make sure you come first. The coil in your belly finally snaps, sending you over the edge, white hot electricity flowing through every limb. He thrusts into you harshly half a dozen more times before his hips stutter.

“Only you, darlin’, only want you,” he grunts, as he empties himself inside you, painting your walls with his sticky release, “only want you.”

Joel collapses, holding himself up by his elbows on either side of your head, nuzzling his nose against yours, placing soft kisses against your lips.

“Only want you,” he sighs.

—

You spent the next hour, in each other's arms, talking, snuggling and kissing.

“I can’t believe you would think I’d want Becky,” Joel booms with laughter, eyes crinkling around the edges. You smirk playfully, slapping his arm.

“Look,” you giggle, “I didn’t know if her flirting finally wore you down!”

“Hi Joel!” He says in an exaggerated high pitch, batting his eyelashes, “My, you sure have been working hard!” he adds with a girly giggle, lifting his pecs to create some sort of cleavage.

“Oh shut up!”

“Did you see the flowers though? Like actually look at ‘em?”

“Not really,” you sigh, playing with a loose thread on your blanket.

“Purple tulips for new beginnings and love,” Joel says, planting a kiss on your cheek, “Jasmine for devotion,” he continues, kissing your other cheek, “and pink roses for appreciation,” he smiles before kissing the tip of your nose.

“Really?”

“Yep, the florist helped me pick them out,” Joel says, grabbing the back of your neck pulling you into a kiss, “Told ya they were for you.”

[samlizzy71]

I love your art! It’s so nice seeing trans art by a trans person about happy trans people :))))

Any tips for a beginner artist? What to draw, how to stay motivated, etc.

Thanks! I hope you have a wonderful day.

Thank you so much!! w I wouldn't know what to say, the usual "keep practicing" doesn't look like much of a help x) but sadly, is the only thing that will make you better as an artist. I always say that a good sign is that, a while after you've finished a drawing, you start finding imperfections, mistakes, and things that can be improved. Don't be obsessive, and be aware that your drawings won't be perfect, don't think that it means you're useless or anything, is part of the process. Don't hate what you do if it doesn't look as nice as you'd like, that won't get you anywhere, but is fine if you don't like old drawings after a while. That's a sign that you're growing and getting better. You're now able to identify what you can do better, I would worry if after years you still think your drawings are perfect, that means you're stuck there. However, when you become aware of one of those things that can be improved (for example, you realize that in a previous drawing, hands looked weird), try to do it better next time. Don't say "I can't draw hands", just try it x) And you won't suddenly make them perfect, but now you know what you have to work on.

Use references, DON'T copy or trace, but as a visual artist, you have to be very *visual*, so, look at the way others have made their own art, and see what you like about different styles. Search for pictures of people doing activities you want to draw, doing different poses, etc., Is like writing or composing music, you need to read or listen, even if you will create something new, it's great to have references and guides. As for motivation, that's more difficult ^^ It is completely different for each. For me, the motivation at first was creating characters I could surround myself with when I was feeling awfully lonely and depressed, you know, to give them their own lives to get myself distracted from my own. Now my motivation comes more from knowing other people have found themselves in my characters and stories, and that somehow what I create has helped them, even if just a few, even if just a little. I like to compare my old drawings with the newer ones, just to see how much progress I've made x) This is my first digital drawing from 2012, versus one from 2024 (Some people improve a lot faster, I just took a lot of time because the first years I didn't draw as much, in 2018 I only made 3 drawings)

[anamoon63]

Hi guys, I am writing this in case anyone wonders why I have been kind of MIA lately. No, I haven't forgotten you, but I have had a difficult week, more than a difficult week, I have been through a real ordeal. Where or how it started it's a long story which I don't have the time or the energy to tell, so I'll just share a brief chronology of what happened during this past week.

Friday May 3 - I turned in my finished work and set out to do my sims posts, play and rest for the weekend since more work would be coming my way on Monday.

Saturday May 4 - My husband came down with the flu, I spent most of the day with him in the emergency room.

Sunday May 5 - I spent it taking care of my husband, who fortunately no longer had a fever. I barely slept two hours at night giving care and medication.

Monday 6 May - My birthday, we couldn't go out for dinner as usual, so we celebrated at home.

Tuesday, May 7 - My son comes down with the flu, too, another afternoon in the ER and sleepless night caring for him and bringing down his fever.

Wednesday, May 8 - My son starts to feel better, and begins to recover very quickly. I start working on the following translations, at the same time I take care of both my husband and my sick son, do food, laundry, order home medicines, and all kinds of small chores, including disinfecting things. It's like going back to 2020.

Thursday, May 9 - My husband no longer has a fever but does have a cough that won't go away and minor problems with his asthma.

Friday, May 10 - Mother's Day, my son was feeling fine, my husband still had a cough, and had a doctor's appointment at noon, when he returned, we celebrated at home just like on my birthday, I spent the rest of the day working, and juggling a thousand other things. In the evening my daughter started to feel sick, but still no fever.

Saturday, May 11 (yesterday) - My daughter woke up with a fever, another visit to the ER. She was prescribed flu medicine, painkillers and rest, and sent home.

And that's my odyssey so far. On top of it all, from Wednesday through Saturday we were in the middle of a heat wave with temperatures of 37ºC with real feel of up to 45ºC; at night we get a "cooler" temperature of 29ºC. So imagine a person with a fever of 38 ºC and with this heat, obviously it's not of much help.

Surprisingly, I haven't gotten sick so far, but I'm not claiming victory. I have been taking care of my family for a week, sleeping two or three hours a night, getting up at different times to check on them, or give them medicine. I don't have time for getting sick! Lol. Thankfully, everyone is better and last night for the first time in a week I was able to sleep straight through. Honestly, I don't need many hours of sleep, but I am routinely and usually I am in bed a 11 pm and up at 8 am every day, so all this did upset my sleep cycle a little bit.

Anyway, that is the reason why I wasn't here much, since the whole day I was too busy, and at night I was so tired all I wanted was to go to bed. I apologize if I've fallen behind on your updates, I'm not ignoring you in any way, I just didn't have the strength or the time, not even to play The Sims. If I did, it was just a little free play to distract myself.

Last week I told you that I was juggling a lot of things, well now I have even more things, lol, at times I feel really exhausted, and even a little cranky from lack of sleep, the first few days my feet and legs hurt so much from going back and forth, but I'm fine, healthy, and in good spirits. Today I believe, as never before, that the universe does not send you more than you can handle.

At this point my family is already in recovery, if I don't get sick too, it's likely by I'll be able to get back to my simming routine. Now, if I do get sick, I hope to recover as quickly as the others. Whatever happens, I'll be around. Know that, even if I don't comment, I read you, and I am with you, especially with those who are going through difficult times of any kind.

Ok, I said to myself this was going to be a short post, but I made a wall of text instead (for a change). My apologies if it's written in a sloppy or confusing way, I just wanted to write it quickly to let you know where I have been and what has been going on with me these days. I hope you are all well, please take care of yourselves, health is a treasure that can be lost at any moment, the flu is a nasty disease, we must never let our guard down and forget to take the necessary measures to prevent it.

Last, but not least, I want to thank all of you who have mentioned me, tagged me, sent me asks and/or stars to my inbox, commented and/or liked what few posts I could do these days, I appreciate it very much and I'll try to reply to you as soon as I can, though I've fallen so far behind that I don't know if I'll be able to find your mentions in my notifications. In any case, thank you very, very much to all of you for thinking about me in my absence. 💗 I'll see you soon, hopefully, with more sim adventures, stay tuned!

[baddieladdie]

♡ Companion Shorts ♡

Fallout companions react to depressed vault dweller

Rating: Teen

Part 1 of 2 Charon ➼ Arcade Gannon ➼ Hancock ➼ Nick Valentine ➼ Deacon

Charon [FO3]

"What are you doing?" Charon grumbled from behind you, annoyed at the sudden stop in broad daylight. The view was nice from this vantage point, but it also meant they were in clear view of any hidden antagonists.

The burden of your loneliness beckons you to the ground. You fall to your knees, though the weight off your legs does nothing for heaviness in your spirit.

Why? You didn't know why.

Perhaps you had been too optimistic. Believed so wrongly that you could bring change to the wasteland. Or at least bring some minor degree of improvement. It was futile, all along. The wasteland was ever hungry, taking everything it was given and reducing it to rubbish. Even with the few good deeds done, the Talon company just kept sending mercenaries to kill you for the very slight of fighting the good fight. No good deed goes unpunished, right?

You look down the chasm below, half-hearted imagining your mutilated body on the rocks. Would even your death make a difference? Or would it just be one more life taken by the wastes?

"Hey," A familiar firm hand gripped your shoulder, "It's not safe here."

Tension swelled up in your sinuses as you shrugged his hand off. You clenched your hands together, digging your nails into the palm of your hand. The subtle pain was refreshing against the agony in your mind.

Charon was a victim even before the bombs fell; a constant reminder that humanity was corrupt well before apocalypse. Perhaps you really weren't so separated from the innate evil nature in the human spirit. You relied on Charon in nearly every fire fight. Taking advantage of his experience and strength through a contract you knew was akin to slavery. He obeyed every command, helped with every request. Never questioning you for a moment and always risking his life. You felt sickened on your reliance on that bloody contract. You should be finding a way to free him, and yet....where would that leave you? Dead? And what future what that be? Dead now or just dead later...

Charon grumbled as he sat beside you on the chasm's edge. He had seen ages pass, experienced more agony than he could ever be bothered to explain. For some employers, he'd leave them to their devices. But you? You are one of the few bastards crazy enough to help others selflessly in the wasteland. Even if wasteland was utterly indifferent to your efforts, it certainly be a darker place without the hope you brought others with each intentional good dead. Their very existence showed a brighter side of humanity that was a rarity in dark times.

"Tell me what troubles you," Charon's familiar gravelly voice was laced with an unfamiliar tone of... genuine concern?

"I just," You sigh heavily. "I don't know how much longer I can keep going on like this."

"I've wondered the same thing myself." Charon nodded with an empty stare.

You felt a pang of guilt at the possibility of bringing up painful memories for him.

Charon continued hesitantly. "I feel I must remind you; I am honor bound to keep you safe. From threats and, if necessary, from yourself"

"I don't want t-"

Before you can finish your thought, Charon scoops you up into his arms and walks you away from the ledge. "You need to be more careful," He complained. "You won't make a difference out here if you're dead."

He carries on walking through the awkward silence. "We passed a shelter not far from here. We could rest until you feel ready to continue again. We could uh, listen to that radio broadcast you like you so much."

"Maybe play game?" you tease.

"Don't push your luck, kid."

-Charon carries you to the shelter where he watches over you diligently until the worst of your depression episode passes-

Arcade [FNV]

You stare blankly at the ceiling above. Small particles of dust lazily hung in the air of the abandoned cabin you and Arcade took shelter in a few days ago. You really should leading the charge back out into the Mojave, but you simply couldn't find the energy to do so. Therefore, you simply rested.

Arcade knocked on the door and patiently waited for a response you couldn't be bothered to provide.

"Alright, guess I'm just going to let myself in then. I'll give you to the count of three," Arcade raised his voice from behind the wooden slat door. "You better be decent by then." you head him mumble.

Arcade cracked open the door, peering around to see your still body in the same position as when he gave you a mug of coffee hours before.

"In another one of our spells, are we?" His sarcasm brought you little comfort.

"Sorry. I just lose my heads sometimes," you sigh with a heavy heart.

"If by 'sometimes' you mean 'a lot of times', I agree. Please just....go easy on yourself, okay?"

You nodded, the vague emptiness you felt threatening to swallow you whole. Taking everything with it 'til you couldn't feel nothing at all.

"This is worse than before, isn't it?" Arcade pulled up a chair next to you. It creaked under his weight as he sat down. "Was it something I said?"

You shook your head. "No, nothing like that. I'm just....tired, Arcade. I'm fine, really." You gave a meager fake smile, hoping to appease the kindly doctor.

"Mmhm," Arcade paused for a beat. "Is that all?"

You could have sworn you were just tired, but now that you think about it, there were some troubles on your mind. Arcade waited patiently for you to open him to him about it. He did enjoy lengthy conversations more than most and always had his opinions ready.

"Ready to get back out there?"

"All right, let's not waste any time!" Arcade rested his doctor's bag on a shoulder, the enthusiasm in his voice giving away his excitement. "There are people out there to help, things to learn. Maybe not in that order, but let's get to it!"

Hancock [FO4]

Hancock chuckled, lounging on the couch next to you in the old state house. "I don't buy that shit for a minute." He shook his head, "No way, you can't fool me, sister/brother." He casually rested his hand on your thigh, immediately drawing your attention to him. "It hasn't been easy transition ya, has it?"

Your eyes began to water as Hancock looked you over with care. He nodded slowly with genuine understanding, "I didn't think so. No one should have to go through what you've been through." He gave your hand a little squeeze. "Ya always give me hope for brighter future. Cause I get to have you in my life." He smiled, "Cause the odds, it's practically impossible our paths would ever meet. I mean, you're pre-war, baby. The freshest smoothskin around and you wanna be a drugged out, dragged out ghoul?! That's how I know all that karma shit is bull, 'cause there is no way someone like you could ever end up with me."

You granted him a half-smile with the compliment. But the mayor didn't quite seem to grasp yet that you had burdens, very real and unconventionally heavy emotional baggage. Not that there was a trauma competition in nuclear wasteland, but you would have at least won a medal in most-fucked psyche. Your smooth nature stopped at skin level.

"It's been a Hell of road that brought us together, but aren't I glad I took up with you? 'Cause this person," Hancock paused, waiting patiently until you returned his gaze before continuing, " - the one I'm looking at right now. They're the one I love. I don't want to be without them ever again."

You wince slightly, his words a little too sweet. "You sure about this, Hancock? I mean, with everything I've been through...." You sigh heavily, your chest falling. "People are going to talk, Mayor" You give him a sly look, knowing how he enjoyed the occasional call to his title.

"Can't say I care much about what others think. Half the opinions out there aren't worth listening to anyway. The only opinion I care about, is yours." He grinned.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Are you sure?" "You kidding me? So long as I got you at my side, it doesn't matter the capacity. I'm with you all the way, rain or shine" "You're a damn fine man, Hancock. I'm lucky to have you at my back." "And God help any of 'em who get in our way."

Nick Valentine [FO4]

"In my line of work, you usually see folks at their worst. I can tell there's something troubling you. You want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly." You grumble. You swirled with antagonistic emotions, unable to tell where one pain started and the other ended. Guess that's just what happens after you go through one too many impossible tragedies. Losing the love of your life and child alone was unimaginable. Your years of service in the U.S. army gave you the 'gift' of surviving the nuclear attacks that transformed your home and country to a primitive wasteland. You've always tried to make the best decisions possible for your family. But if you hadn't signed up for Vault 101, would you have died peacefully alongside your love? Would that have been better? You stared into your hands, agonizing over the conversation you had with the Vault-tec sales rep.

"Not enough people out here are willing to try and do what's right. I consider myself awful lucky I fell in with one who is," Nick paused, the smoke from his cigarette seeping from the metal cracks in his feature. He glanced around the Boston shore, checking for any ne'er-do-wells. But the coast was clear, perhaps due to their combat efforts earlier that day. He cleared his throat, and continued with some insistence, "If there is something bothering you, I'd like to be the one to help lighten the load. I happen to know a thing or two about find yourself after losing the life you thought you had."

"Thanks, Nick," You snap out of momentarily. The Boston harbor air was foul. You couldn't escape the reality you were in, no matter how you tried. The smells, the sounds, the food - none of it was familiar. "I'll be fine. I just don't sleep well." That wasn't much of a lie. Whenever you try to sleep, the memory of your love screaming your name returned. Their blood painting the inside of their frozen coffin while you watched helpless from inside your own. When you eventually fell asleep, the unfamiliar sounds of gunfire, screams of terror from the wasteland, and shouts of mutants would wake you. It was all just too much.

"I think it's time we take a break from the case, friend."

"What?!" You jump up from the bench, "We can't stop now! Not with the progress we've made!"

Nick flinched in surprise, but quickly settled to a concerned frown. "You haven't been yourself lately. We-," Nick sighed, committing to genuine honesty as he often did. "Partner, I need you at your best to solve this case. Come on, let's go back to the agency. I'll review the case files and you get some rest."

You look away, anger and guilt fuming within you. "I don't feel much like resting, Nick. I want to finish this."

Nick let your words marinate in the pregnant silence. "Is that what you want? To 'finish' this?" He gripped a metal hand your shoulder and looked down into your eyes. "I understand, you must feel angry. You have every right to be. But hurting others won't bring them back."

You simply couldn't hold it in anymore. Tears of grief, rage, and pain streamed hotly down your face, pooling at the apex of your chin. Nick pulled you into a tight embrace, rubbing your back as you cried into his signature detective trench coat.

"I'm sorry, friend. Truly."

Deacon [FO4]

You take a long drag off your cigarette, savoring that ever-so-familiar lightheadedness. The weather was shit, as it always was in Boston. Cloudy, and damp. You wrapped your cloak a little tighter around yourself, but it didn't do you much good. The bitter cold you felt reached deeper than your bones and left you frozen to your core. Just an icy fraction of the vibrant person you were before. Before you lost everything you had fought for, everything that had mattered to you. It all was gone. And along with it, any reason to carry on.

You exhaled slowly, watching your frozen breath drift aimlessly away from your cracked lips. Deacon watched quietly from aside, nursing a chilled Nuka-cola. He cleared his throat awkwardly. Genuine words never did come easily to him. Deacon had always found it more comfortable to flirtatiously avoid the truth. Kept him safe from every getting hurt....and ever making close friends. Deacon, being a loner himself, recognized the loneliness you dwelled in.

"I know what I feels like to wear a mask. That kind of protection only ambiguity can give you. But really - are you feeling okay? Cause you can talk to me"

"Another one of your little lies?" You sigh, tapping the ash off the butt of your cigarette.

"No, not this time," Deacon kept an uncharacteristically straight face

You pause, stirred by the sincerity present in Deacon's voice. He loved the way lies could crack your usual composure. You watch his expression carefully, checking for any usual hint of his usual mischievous nature. But all that saw on his face was genuine concern for a companion he cared deeply about.

"Well, look who's acting out of character now," you tease. "Thanks, Deacon. I appreciate that. And I'll be fine. It just, uh...." you take in a deep breath. "It takes time, building up this new life. Making these new memories. Building these new relationships. Just sometimes, I uh, miss my old life. My old friends. Sometimes I see something, and I just know my spouse would have loved to see it."

"I know. But we'll stop the Insititute. For them."

"Right," You nod, filled with determination. "For them."

To.Be.Continued...

[dandelion-wings]

This ficlet is @theabysscomeshome's fault twice over. First, in 2022, we were talking about the wingfic, and wing-grooming, and they suggested the specifics of this piece. Then, a few days ago, we had another discussion about grooming-as-affection that reminded me of that older conversation. I've been telling myself for two years that I couldn't write this until I finished the wingfic, but I don't know if I'll ever finish the wingfic, and you know what? I don't need to in order to write this. If I ever DO, I'll probably clean this up and throw it on AO3 as a short coda, but for now I've had fun writing it, and it can live on Tumblr as an exercise. :>

---

It takes Diluc a while, once he returns to Mondstadt, to notice the state of Kaeya's wings.

They aren't in notable disarray. But neither are they at all well-kept. He keeps them tightly closed against his back, the cape of his new uniform half-falling over them, eclipsing them with its ornate cut and dramatic tones. There's no gleam of oil, and his feathers are dry and brittle from the lack, more always broken when Diluc sees him than can be accounted for by battle alone. They're brushed back with a ruthlessness that no doubt is only breaking them further.

And Diluc has never once seen them decorated. Kaeya doesn't wear any wing-clasps, even though Diluc can easily imagine several designs that would nicely match his outfit, and whoever he commissioned it from would surely have offered to add them in. Not once has Diluc seen even the ends of the primaries painted. Father used to love painting their wings, and unlike Diluc, Kaeya would hold still for an hour or more, both wings stretched out behind him, while Father painted each primary with a peacock's eye in full and natural detail.

Perhaps Diluc can understand why he doesn't paint them, at least.

The rest, though, makes no sense. If this were the Kaeya he thought he'd known as a youth, shy and soft-spoken, always a step behind Diluc so that Diluc could attract the attention, he could wave it away. But not for this new Kaeya, with his flamboyant clothing and his cheerful, talkative guise. A Mondstadter's wings should be one of the *anchors* of their style, not a disregarded afterthought.

He mentions it to Jean, once, during one of the quiet moments in the midst of Dvalin's unexpected violence. Diluc is careful not to bring up Kaeya with her most of the time, afraid of prying into the friendly trust he can tell exists between them. But in that encounter in the Temple of the Wolf Kaeya had spread his wings, briefly, mantling at him over the Abyss Mage, and the feather-breakage had been unexpectedly brutal on the underside. It niggles at him more than the mantling itself.

"I know," Jean says. "He maintains them well enough to glide, though, and their condition doesn't break the Knights' uniform regulations. I have no grounds to reprimand him for it."

Her expression is carefully composed in the way that means she's holding back some emotion or extra comment. Diluc bites back a more demanding question. He's not her superior anymore, and he can't insist she not treat him as such if he interrogates her like one. Though even if she can't discuss the subject with Kaeya as Acting Grand Master, he doesn't see why she wouldn't speak up as a friend-

Or perhaps that's gone as poorly for her as disapproving of Kaeya's new drinking habit tends to go for him. If Kaeya has set a boundary around the topic, Jean would no doubt be better-mannered than Diluc about crossing it. He only wishes that she could tell him why.

Could, or would. She changes the subject swiftly back to Dvalin, and as soon as she does that closed-up composure falls away. Diluc swallows his frustration and turns his attention, too, back to the task at hand.

***

It eats at him still every time he sees Kaeya, whether it's in his bar applauding his deception of Huffman or roaming the islands of the Golden Apple Archipelago together or at his dining table one evening during the Weinlesefest, making terrible jokes and gesturing to emphasize them with his hands only, not a twitch of wing or feather even when he laughs at his own jibes. Adelinde looks as pained as Diluc feels when Kaeya pins them against the back of the chair at the table instead of slotting them through the notch down its center and draping them comfortably over its curves.

He's not *comfortable* at the Dawn Winery, that seems to say, and Diluc knows that's his own fault. Adelinde and the other staff have never done anything that would make him think he shouldn't feel at home.

The day Kaeya comes by with the Honorary Knight and a variety of gifts from Sumeru is the day Diluc loses his patience at last.

Kaeya is still there when he returns from his meeting--which he'd rather have left to Elzer after all, ill or not, if he hadn't known that Kaeya would be more comfortable if he wasn't there. He'd expected Kaeya to have left already. But instead, while the Honorary Knight has apparently gone back to Mondstadt with Klee after she made an unexpected appearance, Kaeya has lingered to help Adelinde clean up after lunch. Just as he's apparently helped Tunner pick grapes, and Connor check on the fermenting wine, and Elzer handle an unexpected merchant.

He's taken his jacket and cape off by this point in the afternoon, sitting on a bench outside and sharing a bottle of wine with Connor and Elzer, chatting idly about the current projects at the Winery. Finally, unlike that dinner, his wings are spread a bit, low and drooping behind his back. There's grape leaves stuck to the broken feathers, a bit of soot streaked across them, and even a piece of vine tangled around two primaries. He looks up at Diluc, and the ease of his smile makes it clear he's drunk.

"You aren't staying for dinner in that state," Diluc tells him in a flash of utterly unjustified irritation.

That easy smile goes wry and pained in an instant, and the loosened wings draw tight. Kaeya sets his glass down and starts to rise, one hand on the table to keep himself steady. Connor and Elzer both look dismayed, Connor holding out a hand as if to stop Kaeya and Elzer giving Diluc a frowning look.

"I've enjoyed this visit," Kaeya says to the men, waving off Connor's hand, "but it seems it's time for me to take my leave. Thank you for your hospitality."

"I didn't say that." He regrets his tone already, though it still grates at him to see how quickly Kaeya takes that as a dismissal, and not--not jealousy, Diluc admits reluctantly, chagrined by his own reaction. It's not *Kaeya* that casual display makes him frustrated with.

"Oh?"

"I said *in that state*. You ought to clean up first. So should you two. Adelinde won't serve any of you still in work clothes."

The other two hasten to stand, Connor collecting up the glasses while Elzer picks up the bottle. Connor smiles knowingly at Diluc, while Elzer simply looks relieved. Kaeya, though, scoops up his jacket and cape and shrugs.

"I'm afraid these are the only clothes I have on me."

"You can at least straighten up your wings. Come on. I'll brush them for you."

Diluc gestures for Kaeya to follow as he strides through the door, and deliberately doesn't look back. He's aware all the same of Kaeya's hesitation, and then the sound of his footsteps as he does, indeed, follow.

Upstairs Kaeya hesitates again on the landing, and Diluc opens the door to his suite wide and beckons him impatiently in.

"I'm sure Adelinde could give me a hand, if it matters that much," Kaeya says, still standing there. He looks oddly lost.

"Adelinde will be down in the kitchen insisting the cooks make all your favorites. All the ones she trusts them with, that is. She'll make as much as she can by hand."

Kaeya winces and mutters, "She's already made me lunch," but the distraction is at least enough for him to finally acceed to Diluc's impatience and step into his suite.

The front room is half study, but it's also where Diluc does what toilette he requires. He pulls the stool out from under the dressing table and waits until Kaeya has sat down, somewhat awkwardly, upon it before dragging the chair from his desk across the room and sitting down behind him. He can see Kaeya's face in the mirror, and it's clear Kaeya is watching him through it as well.

After a long, silent, wary moment, Kaeya loosens his wings from where they're clamped tight against his back, leaving them half-unfolded and relaxed enough that when Diluc reaches for the left one, the one where the vine is tangled in, he can tug it into a good position to preen.

He untangles the vine carefully, slowly, taking his time. Kaeya's unoiled feathers are just as fragile as he'd presumed, and despite all his care a few barbs still do snap under the slight pressure of him tugging the vine free. Diluc grimaces and pinches the barbs around them gently to draw them straight before collecting up the grape leaves scattered all across Kaeya's coverts.

The soot he has to pat off with a damp towel; if it were his own wings, he'd brush it vigorously off, but whether Kaeya cares or not he doesn't want to break any more barbs than he has to. Then, with the same concern in mind, he ignores the stiff preening brush and picks up a bottle of oil, sitting back down to hand-preen Kaeya's feathers.

Kaeya shifts on the stool when he sees Diluc pour the oil over his hands, but he doesn't say anything in protest. Doesn't say anything at all, in fact, neither light commentary nor teasing jokes nor even any complaints about the tugging as Diluc maneuvers his wing this way and that, oiling his hands over and over again as he runs his fingers delicately over and beneath and between feathers.

The primaries are in the best shape, kept straight and clean for gliding even if too many of the barbs are broken, and the secondaries are close enough to his back to stay more intact, though they're still brittle. The coverts, though, range from in disarray to very nearly matted. He pulls them apart with hands that only force of will keeps from trembling, biting his tongue on sharp comments about their neglected state.

Kaeya is tense in front of him, his shoulders stiff. He watches Diluc in the mirror like he's waiting for the moment when Diluc grasps the delicate bones under his hands and snaps them. Diluc doesn't know how to say what he wants to say without sounding angry, and he knows how Kaeya will take that.

At last, though, the left wing is in good order, every feather fluffed and preened and oiled. Diluc shifts the chair a little and starts on the right.

Kaeya goes even more tense when he takes the leading edge to pull it out. For a moment he resists--Diluc almost lets go, afraid he *will* snap it if Kaeya keeps pulling back--and then he sighs, his face in the mirror resigned, and his wing relaxes as he hunches his shoulders forward. No less tense, he's still sitting like he's waiting for the blow, but he drops his gaze from the mirror and stares down at the dressing table instead.

Two of these primaries are folded oddly inward, their barbs tangled, pinning them together in a way that leaves gaps in the bottom line of the wing. Diluc frowns at that and separates them, carefully as he can, though even that doesn't keep one barb from snapping as he tries to free it from the one it's tangled with. They're bound so close he'd almost think someone had interlaced them deliberately. When they part, it doesn't reveal the third primary that should be hidden between them. The feather just isn't there.

Diluc traces the gap upwards, pushing back the coverts to find the root. He expects the shaft to be broken somewhere high. Maybe this was from a recent blow, because more of the coverts are tangled around the root. He parts them carefully, too, and realizes that two of them are missing, and some of the feathers around and above, and where they're gone, the bare skin of the wing, is- scarred. An old, rough, patch of skin, pulled tight and knotted where fire had burnt first feathers and then flesh away.

He rests his fingers against the burn scar for a long moment. Kaeya is rigid as a board, his left wing clamped in tight again, looking down at his hands in his lap like he has the secrets of the universe folded between them. But he doesn't twitch his wing away from Diluc's hand.

It feels like something is trying to gnaw its way out from Diluc's chest. He takes a deep, slow breath, then pours more oil onto his hands and carries on with straightening the feathers. It's clear now why they were so deliberately matted together, but he doesn't fold them in again. Everyone in the Dawn Winery knows what he's done. There's no point in Kaeya hiding it here except to salve Diluc's guilty conscience, and as much as it burns, Diluc wants to see.

There's more on the underside, a whole burnt streak from top to bottom that isn't nearly as easily hidden. Kaeya has made what efforts he can, enough that Diluc hadn't spotted it before this in the times they've encountered each other in the urgency and chaos of emergencies and battle. At rest, though, he'd have to keep his wings tightly closed to hide that scar. Which, of course, is exactly what he's been doing.

Diluc takes a moment to breathe after that, too, and then goes back to straightening and oiling feathers, the guilty ache gnawing ever stronger beneath his ribs. He doesn't have anything to say that still wouldn't come out angry--he *is* angry, and he can't let that spill out at Kaeya when the anger is at himself. Once the feathers are straight, he stands, touching Kaeya's shoulder when Kaeya shifts to do the same, and picks up his softest brush and a different oil to pour over it before he sits back down.

As a child, he'd rarely had the patience for this part. But Kaeya had loved it, the same way he'd loved Father's feather-paintings. Diluc regrets, now, not often letting Father administer this final gloss, unnecessary as it might have been. If he had known when he wriggled free of Father's ministrations on his eighteenth birthday that he'd never get the chance again....

Maybe no one's done this for Kaeya, either, since this day. He hunches further under it at first, visibly uncomfortable, though he still doesn't protest. Diluc stays silent too, focusing on his work, brushing the oil into Kaeya's feathers in long, slow sweeps. At the burn, he hesitates a moment, then runs the brush down over the scars as well, the rough dark skin taking on the same gleam as Kaeya's feathers, though not as iridescent as this particular oil teases out of that dark blue. Slowly, gradually, Kaeya unhunches, relaxing under the brush, his wings falling into the same comfortable droop that Diluc had seen at that table outside.

When he's finished, he caps both bottles and rises, setting them and the brush back on the dressing table. Kaeya hasn't tried to rise this time, which leaves him room to circle around and double-check his handiwork from multiple angles. A few final touches, pushing feathers that the brush had disturbed back into perfect alignment, and then Diluc can't resist touching the worst of the burns one more time.

He swallows all the anger and guilt and regret that threatens to claw its way up and says, his voice as soft as he's ever been able to make it, "I'm sorry."

Kaeya looks up at him with his eye wide. Then a faintly ironic smile eclipses the astonishment. "Why? They aren't real, remember?"

That feels like a knife twisted in his stomach, and Diluc closes his teeth on an angry retort. Kaeya's shirt is buttoned close around the base of his wings, but he knows that older scars still lie beneath that, the long thin lines of a knife in a wedge-like cut. The gouges, he knows now, as he hadn't as a child, not of attempted removal but of their original installation.

Had it hurt? Diluc doesn't think he's ever asked. He certainly doesn't have the right to ask such a question now. But he can't imagine it didn't.

When he presses a little harder against the burn, he sees Kaeya flinch. "*This* is."

"Ah." Kaeya swallows hard, the smile vanishing. "That's true."

"And if it is, then they are, too."

Diluc can't quite read the expression on Kaeya's face before he looks away. He resists the urge to check it in the mirror. Instead he lowers his hand and steps back, giving Kaeya space.

"I have to change. I'll meet you downstairs for dinner."

And then he flees, putting the door of his bedroom between them. Kaeya will probably dig through his desk behind his back--Diluc would, in his place--but there's nothing there that he can't stand Kaeya seeing. Nothing that his brother doesn't already know, in any case. Kaeya has always been adept at digging out his most mortifying secrets.

He'd rather Kaeya dig through his desk before going downstairs. The other option is that he decides Diluc has been too overbearing and leaves.

When he comes down to dinner, though, Kaeya is there, waiting in the chair beside Diluc's and chatting companionably with Adelinde. He looks up at Diluc and smiles, the friendly mask right back in place. Diluc frowns at him and braces for another evening of bad, teasing jokes. He can live with that. What matters more is that Kaeya has his wings draped over his chair, neat and oiled, arranged loose and comfortably behind him.

[bestworstcase]

Hi again. I've continued to read through... well, whatever the almighty algorithim feels like suggesting (searching here is hard even when you have an idea where to start, which I don't), and my mental state can be best represented by this little gem: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pZWK5IBuVMM&t=298s (Is this necessary? No. Do I think it's funny and worth sharing? Yes, and to an extent that's kinda what this site is all about)

Anyway, a pretty common thread I've noticed in your theories is "Summer is an up-to-now-offscreen agent of Salem by choice." While you definitely make a good case even from the limited amount I've seen, I have to ask: when and where did these thoughts originate from in the first place? I mean, I can *kinda* see where you connected some of the dots, but it's still a huge leap compared to the initially perfectly sensible conclusion of her being dead or otherwise incapacitated.

(Oh, and if this could be answered similarly to my last question, then I can at least say that I have loose plans for a thorough notepad-and-magnifying-glass rewatch of the whole series over the imminent summer after a warmup with Spirited Away, so we'll see how that goes. Maybe I'll look back at myself a few months from now and laugh at my relatively foolish ways; wouldn't be the first time, anyway)

i’d joke that it’s about the Vibes TM but what it comes down to really is the way rwby handles foreshadowing. as for the "when and where" part i couldn’t remember so i went looking.

let me take you on a little journey

these messages on 7/27 are my first direct reference to the idea of summer joining salem but i think (based on my phrasing) that i must have had it in mind for a while prior, which given that this was eight whole days after i’d finished watching the show at all. well. if i had to guess i’d say i probably went "okay so yes but also no" after ruby went "that’s what happened to mom" in 8.11

and the reason for that is pretty simple:

there is a lot of build up in v1-8 to summer’s fate being a Big Fucking Deal; this, in combination with the careful phrasing the narrative always uses regarding her disappearance—she "never came back” or she was "taken," it’s never said that she died—means she’s still alive.

salem met summer rose 12-14 years ago. the hound is a novelty to everyone, including salem’s own inner circle, and salem herself describes him as an "experiment." ruby jumps to a conclusion that doesn’t add up with information the audience knows that she doesn’t.

but, it’s unlikely that ruby is entirely wrong: think about tyrian waxing poetic about his "goddess" and ruby with no hesitation saying "cinder." she was both incorrect (his "goddess" is salem) but partially right (cinder is salem’s protégée and tyrian is here at all because cinder asked salem to deal with ruby).

in v4 we get a look at salem’s evil boardroom (there are two seats conspicuously left empty) and then see salem receiving a seer call from someone stationed at beacon, after it’s been firmly established that none of the agents we know about is there. we don’t see who is on the other end of this call, and we only hear salem’s side (note the incongruity with how seer calls are depicted in every other case; the identity of the beacon agent is withheld from the audience deliberately).

in v5 raven is so scornful of summer rose that she decides "you sound just like your mother" deserves an immediate fireball from cinder fall to the face. in v9 she was big goofy grins at summer. SOMETHING REALLY BAD HAPPENED. and i don’t think this dramatic change is explicable by raven simply watching summer fail and die or be captured; else she’d just be calling summer a fool the same way she does qrow and tai. that says betrayal.

so we know that summer met salem. we know that she did not die and cannot have been made into a hound-like creature (because he’s a new experiment). summer being alive probably rules out her being a ‘failed’ experiment, since that would undoubtedly have been fatal. ruby’s assumption that summer was twisted into a grimm-thrall by salem is incorrect but likely not too far off from the truth, and we know SOMETHING happened during that last mission that shattered raven’s trust in summer, and the simplest answer there is that summer is with salem but willingly.

and salem has a Mystery Lieutenant who’s been stationed at beacon since it fell. math! to my mind the only real questions are why and if summer might have been partially grimmed a la cinder, because in v8 the narrative starts telegraphing "summer is with salem in some not-enslaved-or-imprisoned capacity" without any subtlety at all.

now if we add in to the mix certain things v9 did ("an invincible monster who took your mother!" OH BOY) ("she lied, she left with raven! why would she–?" OH BOY!!!), there’s a clear narrative trajectory developing in the direction of summer rose not having been the Perfect Martyred Fairytale Paragon that everyone has put on a pedestal for the last 12-14 years; like anyone else she was a real person with flaws, and narratively the strongest way to drive that point home is to present to us (and to the characters who’ve been mythologizing summer as a flawless hero for more than a decade) a summer rose who decided that siding with salem was the right thing to do and then exploring why she did it.

summer being with salem of her own volition also makes it a lot easier to get to the narrative turning point of negotiating with salem; summer is the bridge, someone who has people she cares about on both sides. it is much harder to form a truce with salem if she tortured two of the main characters’ mother to death and/or enslaved and/or imprisoned her (because then you need to have an arc about saving the mother and that pushes further down the dead-end road of trying to defeat salem, who can’t be meaningfully defeated). but if summer chose to side with salem she can open that door to "maybe we can reason with salem."

so thinking about it just from a writer perspective… if i were the one writing this story and making these creative decisions with regard to the summer rose mystery, the reason i would set things up in this specific way is to develop toward a twist that summer freely chose to join salem with the intention that this precipitates the negotiation. that was true in v1-8 and then v9 ticked off literally every box on my mental checklist of things i would expect v9 to do if this was the direction they were headed—another hint about salem "taking" summer in conjunction with a reminder that salem is "invincible," surfacing ruby’s self-identification with The Idea of summer rose and how very harmful this is, a peek through the looking glass at The Person summer rose who is flawed in ways that shock and distress ruby, and an explicitly-stated "who knows why?" in reference to summer’s flaws and her final mission.

shrug. it’s just the explanation that makes the most sense taking into account all the clues that we have.

as a further point of interest, neither summer nor tai have an obvious ozian allusion (in contrast to qrow and raven who are the scareqrow and the woggle bug respectively)… which by process of elimination with the cast of marvelous land of oz, probably makes them general jinjur and jellia jamb. jinjur conquers the emerald city and occupies it for most of the story; jellia is a serving girl in the emerald city’s palace who remains with jinjur until very near the end when she gets roped into mombi’s schemes. which tracks with the idea that summer is holding beacon on salem’s behalf and tai is…there.

and i am kicking myself for not clocking tai-as-jellia until B4 dropped because it’s so. obvious. in hindsight. lol

(bonus first time reaction to 7.2

because it made me snort)

[sirenjose]

So I've been really into your analysis lately and I'm a huge fan now, wanted to ask some questions, feel free to not answer any

1- what was your favourite idv story/event to analyze?

2- your least fav of the latter?

3- are you into anything else besides idv?

4-how do you find the motivation to analyze stuff? I've tried before and it was very draining :')

Thanks for your time, hope you have a lovely day

I'm very happy to hear you're enjoying yourself despite my own low opinion about much of what I put out. I'll do my best to answer!

Hmm I always dislike picking favorites because I'm bad at picking eheh... But the ones I liked most... I honestly enjoy T&I and COA (1-5) even more than the main story. So I think I might pick... Atropos' Ropes for T&I and for COA, thats harder... 3-5 are my faves but I might pick 4 just because of how it felt it had the most story/details given than all the rest. Even the *SONG* had story. I loved it.

Least fave, eh... Orfeo and Zinaida immediately come to mind, though Orfeo I'd say was worse... COA 1 is another primarily because of how DIFFICULT it was for me to figure it out enough to put together an analysis. And I had to rewrite that thing at LEAST 3 times to the point I'm just hoping it's good enough and leaving it alone. Time of Reunion I think is another that comes to mind, mainly because I didn't appreciate how they treated Norton in there, especially in the videos (but at least those aren't canon like the in-game event was). So based on all that, I might say Orfeo if I really had to pick 1. Then rank ToR 2nd and Zinaida/COA1 3rd.

FF14 and Honkai Star Rail especially I'm playing actively these days, but I honestly like a lot of stuff. Like Persona (espeially 4), 999 aka Zero Escape, and Star Ocean Til the End of Time. Least in terms of games.

Hmm... Maybe because the 1st reason I play a game is because of the story, and gameplay is always 2nd to me. If the story and characters are good, that gets me interested. Issue with IDV is we only get bits and pieces. Really need to look deeper to really understand some of the characters. I actually only started analyzing because I challenged myself (partially out of curiosity for the answer) to see if I could prove if Norton wasn't as evil as people thought (based on all the comments I saw when I 1st joined the fandom a long while ago). From there, there was Jose who I wanted to analyze because he honestly had so many plot holes I couldn't (and still can't completely) solve. So I get the most enjoyment analyzing something that doesn't have a clear answer. Which is why I don't always post for every letter. A big part of it is I enjoy history and culture and such, so it's fun for me to learn about different foods, or time periods, or how bad the environment was for miners or sailors back in the day, etc... I dont think I have an easy answer (I can see I'm rambling). Norton I actually only began to like because I was spending so long working on my 1st analysis for him (and my perfectionism made me analyze all of Norton's essences before i could call it finished). Jose was because I love Captain Hook, and then after because of the plot holes that bothered me. Then for others, I think I enjoy making analyses to... try to sometimes change people's opinoions/beliefs. Like with Margaretha or Vera. With Edgar was because I was more interested in his story and him as a character only once I put together all his lore. Sort of goes on from there. I could ramble on but I'm going to get even more guilty. I hope this helps somewhat, but let me know if it doesn't and I'll keep going. Maybe the simple is A) I like history/culture/research, B) I like to convince people that certain characters arent as evil as they think or change beliefs I think aren't quite accurate, C) I like solving puzzles and I love story, D) I already think too hard about literally everything, and combined with my perfectionism, we get analysis

[hwiyoungies]

welcome back kang younghyun 💕

[byanyan]

for munday... lemme show u the lil space I spent so much of last week getting set up

[tardis--dreams]

You know what? I give up on this paper once and for all. I'm not even ashamed anymore

[shima-draws]

I had a conversation with my mom about commissions--she’s of the opinion that you shouldn’t have to wait super long to get what you paid for. I’m the opposite; I think artists should be able to take as long as they need to finish a commission, and I’m totally cool with waiting for months even for them to get back to me. Surprisingly enough I’m very patient when it comes to commissioning other people lol. Maybe I just think that way bc I’m an artist myself so I totally get the struggle. (And I also take time with my comms too.) My mom is not an artist so she doesn’t really grasp the amount of time and effort it takes, so she expects results immediately. Which like. I get that too? I dunno. What do you all think? Are you the kind of patient person who’s totally chill with an artist taking months to finish your commission? Or do you want it to be done within a reasonable amount of time, like 2-3 weeks?

[running-in-the-dark]

quietly freaking out right now :)

[apocalypticdemon]

ughhhh writing hard

[youremyonlyhope]

why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up why won't my brain shut up

[torchickentacos]

So. I had been listening to a song and thought, 'Huh. This is going on for a while, isn't it?" So I checked, and.... hm.

[swankpalanquin]

i wish i could just be happy with what i have in my life.. like this is it and it's not even that bad, so why can't this be enough?