#god that’s so fucking weird

[roraruu]

YOTO: April

Ignatz/Dorothea. Canon divergence/“no I’m not dating your brother”.

Derdriu was the last place Ignatz thought he’d ever seen Dorothea Arnault.

It was a momentary glance, as he left a client’s business on behalf of his parents. The gold jingled in his pockets, hitting against his thigh. His eyes trained to the ground, he focused on the salty, sour scent of the nearby sea, the cool winter air, the sounds of merchants advertising their wares and people passing and—

The softest, sweet tone took to the air. He listened harder. He knew that voice.

“Dorothea?”

A pair of jade eyes looked back at him, pleading and overjoyed.

“Ignatz?”

—

Dorothea is as charming and bewitching as she was in the academy. And she eats—her manners impeccable and conduct befitting of a lady—like she hasn’t seen food in a month.

The restaurant is warm and bustling. After noticing the cut of the dress Dorothea wore and her pale complexion, Ignatz requested a table closest to the hearth and speedily ordered a pot of tea.

She is all graces and thank yous, gentle inclines of her head in which her bangs fall into her eyes and she continuously pushes it behind her ears to stay away from her lovely mouth.

She explains, between a delicate sip of her tea that she had helped with the dispersal of the Enbarr Opera House and the Mittelfrank Opera Company, her alma mater.

“I wanted to help people.” She murmurs. “But…”

“I understand.” Ignatz says as another bowl of bread arrives, and with it another refill of the teapot with hot water..

“My finances aren’t exactly liquid. I managed to find a way from Enbarr to here. Bern was kind enough to convey me, without her father’s knowing, but she couldn’t come with me.”

“Why the Alliance?” Ignatz finds himself asking.

Dorothea’s face takes on a grave countenance. “I love Edie… Loved. But I cannot stand by while she murders innocents.” She says softly. “And the Kingdom did not seem much better.“ She forces, what he expects was to be a chipper giggle, but it’s a defeated chuckle. “I’d probably freeze passing over the border.”

“So you came here.”

“I had the pleasure of taking tea with Claude once or twice, and unfortunately, Lorenz too. They made this place sound beautiful.”

“It is quite breathtaking.” He says, glancing out the far-off window. If he squints, he can catch a glimpse of the grey sea.

“I crossed the Bridge of Myrddin and came here. Most of my funds are gone, but…” She forces a smile. “I’m here.”

“Are you going to stay with Claude?”

“My housing situation is… it isn’t fixed.”

“Well then you must stay with us.”

“Us?”

Ignatz nods. “My family.” He explains. “My brother is studying beneath my father to inherit the business—the Victor Trading Company—and he sends me out on small jobs.” He makes himself sound brighter. “Like today. I had just finished a commission before crossing paths with you.”

“I couldn’t impose.”

“Dorothea,” Ignatz says firmly. She meets his gaze. He notices that she’s grown thinner, her face pale. “I must insist.”

She heaves a sigh, reaches across the table and pats his hand. He feels his face heat. “At least… At least let me ask.”

Ignatz smiles. “Whatever you please.” He agrees and encourages her to take the last sweet bun.

***

A plan is worked out over steaming cups of tea. It takes a little lying—but with Ignatz’s newfound confidence—it is nothing more than a bent truth.

With his cut from the commission, he puts Dorothea up in an inn for the evening—specifically the Kristen Cottage run by his best friend, Raphael. When the jovial brawler sees Dorothea and Ignatz he pulls her into a bear hug and twirls her around. His little sister, Maya, almost drops her dishes upon seeing the famed Mystical Songstress herself.

Raphael closes the tavern, insists that Ignatz stay for a drink while Maya helps Dorothea upstairs and tends to her. They talk, and when Dorothea returns, she relays her story to the Kirsten siblings. At the end, Raphael asks the crucial question:

“So, what happens now?”

“Well, Raphie, that’s where you come in.” She says. “I need work. Have you any need for entertainment? I can sing, dance, I’ll even help in the kitchen!”

“But what about…” Ignatz falls silent as Dorothea grabs his hand beneath the table.

“Of course we do!” Maya exclaims happily.

“My, Grandpa hasn’t approved—”

Maya turns back to Raphael—she’s tinier than him but just as loud. “Raph! A former opera star in our joint? That would drag! The! Customers! In!”

Dorothea smiles softly. “It would…” she says. “I remember all of my best roles!”

Maya turns to Dorothea, eyes wide. “R-Really? Oh, even as Marguerite?” She asks. “She’s my favourite one of your roles… The songs were all so sad, I cried buckets!”

“Well I hope you have a pail,” says Dorothea with a wink. “if Raphie has me, I’ll sing them all for you.”

“Please?” Maya whines.

Raphael gives in. “Alright, of course.” He says. “But we can only put you up for a while. It’s sorta packed in here tonight. You could stay with us, we’re downstairs in the basement.”

Dorothea’s eyes grew glassy. “It’s more than I could’ve ever hoped for. Thank you Raphael.”

As the night drew to a close, Ignatz begins to say his farewells, promising to check-in on them the following day. Dorothea, unexpectedly, throws her arms around his neck and hugs him tight.

“Thank you Ignatz. For everything.” She whispers softly.

He feels himself blush again and promises anything for her.

Over the course of the next few days, in between Dorothea working tirelessly as the new—and showstopping headliner for the Kirsten Cottage—and Ignatz’s own duties keeping up client communications and other duties, they met a few times in the warm tavern.

It was after close and Ignatz comes for a sole glass of wine. Dorothea sits beside him, humming softly under her breath.

“Do you still draw?”

His ears grow hot. Guiltily, he replies. “W-When I have a moment of privacy, yes. But those moments are few and far between.”

“That’s sad.”

He remains quiet. “It must be gratifying to do what you love as a career.”

“I mean, look where it got me.” Dorothea muses. “Getting into Enbarr during the military lockdown was a nightmare, and then to break up my family… It was hell.”

Ignatz inclines his head. “I’m sorry Dorothea. I should’ve been more prudent.”

“It’s fine.” She says before tapping her nails across the table. “But…”

He looks at her encouragingly. She leans closer, glancing towards the kitchen where the Kirsten siblings clean up for the night. “Somedays I wished I never sang at all.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm.” She nods. “It’s… I love it, but constantly singing over and over… It takes all the meaning out of it.”

“But you do what you love.” He asks, surprised.

“Yes, and I get tired of it.” Dorothea says before hastily adding, “but I’m eternally grateful to Raphael and his family for giving me the work… I just wish… I wish I weren’t so tired of singing.”

“You…” Ignatz murmurs before meeting her gaze. “And it isn’t like you can afford to take a break.”

“No.” She confirms. “Unless I make up a paycheque in another way.”

Silence falls between the two.

“I still… I can’t believe you don’t love singing anymore.”

“I do it so much, the joy is stripped from it.” She confesses quietly to him.

The words stalk him all the way home and up to his room where he gazes at his painting tools before succumbing to sleep.

***

Ignatz’s mother—Cressida—and his younger sister a year his junior named Celeste—are more shocked when he says he’s met someone.

Cressida’s eyes widen and she lowers her teacup very quickly. Ignatz has always known his mother to be refined and ladylike: calm, quiet, watchful. He feels her brown eyes—the only thing he got from her—on him as Celeste prods him.

“A lady friend?” She smirks, at the age of 19, and still as annoying as she was at seven. “When do I buy a new parasol and lace and welcome a sister?”

Quickly, he insists, “She’s an old friend from Garreg Mach.” Ignatz explains, watching Celeste’s mischievous look.

“Probably some baron’s daughter. You could do worse, I suppose, Brother.”

“She’s passing through Derdriu.”

“Where to?”

“Gloucester. She will be singing for the Count and his son.”

Cressida studies her son’s face. He’s gotten too good with lying; for years, he’d fidget with his hands or look away… A small tic that would render him guilty. “She is a singer?” She inquires.

“Formerly of the Mittelfrank Opera Company.”

Cressida looks intrigued. “Oh. I recall seeing the company when they were in Derdriu before the war and when you were at the Academy.”

“You would have missed her. She was one of my classmates.”

Cressida remains silent.

“So why’s she talking to you?” Celeste prods. “If she’s some big opera star…”

“She confessed that she always enjoyed my company.” He lies. “And I enjoyed hers, so we have spent a little time together.”

Celeste smirks, then murmurs under her breath, “here comes the bride…”

“Celeste.” Cressida says quietly. Celeste stops humming and turns back to her eggs which are now cold.

Her brown eyes fall on Ignatz, encouraging him to go on.

“I would like host her for a meal.“

“Very well.” Cressida agrees. “Your father and Atticus will be dining out tonight, so bring her around.”

Ignatz tenses. The plan was to have both his father and brother around. Without him, his mother will never offer accommodations, at least not without a push.

So Ignatz, for the first time in his life, pushes.

“Might she stay the night?” He asks, his face reddening. Celeste’s eyes go wide as if she’s about to snort at him. “I would like her to meet Father.”

Cressida narrows her gaze on him. “Why?”

“I think they would get along, Mother.”

Cressida pauses, sips her tea and then acquiesces. “Very well. Bring her to the manor at five and no later.”

***

If there was ever any doubt as to Dorothea’s charms, it was dispelled in the moment she met Cressida.

Ignatz had always known his mother—like his father—as hard-to-please, but Dorothea was the most satisfying creature to her ever. Even Atticus, who had always been her favourite, was quickly forgotten when Dorothea engaged her in conversation.

As Celeste serves the coffee, she murmurs to Ignatz, “Okay, maybe I doubt you, but never again.” She promises. “She’s gorgeous.”

Ignatz acquiesces. “She is. And she’s quite kind.”

Little lies and bent truths are shared that evening. Dorothea explains that she’s passing through to sing for Lorenz and his father—the name drop impresses Cressida—and then she details her roles, and as they sit in the drawing room, Cressida insists that Dorothea sing for her.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Ignatz insists, turning to his mother nervously. “We wouldn’t want to impose on our guest…”

“No,” Dorothea says gently. “I’d love to sing for you.”

Ignatz thinks back to the conversation in the tavern. How she began to loathe singing. But as she sings her bars and warms her voice up, Ignatz cannot help but long to paint her. Those jade eyes, that chestnut hair, the willowy frame and ruddy cheeks… She is an artist’s dream, walked off the canvas.

She sings beautifully for almost a half hour. Cressida is highly impressed and gives her ready approval, and even Celeste is shocked when Dorothea proves not only to be witty, beautiful and talented, but also kind.

Cressida insists that she will stay the night and tells Ignatz to set her up in the east wing of the house, prefacing that she may see the lovely sunrise that pales in comparison to her beauty. After they say goodnight, Ignatz offers her his arm and leads her up the staircase.

She reaches for his hand and smiles at him. She gives it a reassuring little squeeze, and he gives one back. As they reach the top of the stairs, Dorothea whispers to him:

“Will you show me your paintings?” She asks quietly. “I know art’s a personal thing… I don’t think I could ever show a half-finished song to someone else…”

“Y-Yes…” He finds himself taking her hand and leading her to his room. The moon streams into through the lone window of his sombre little room.

He turns to the closet and pulls from it a few sketches and his tiny easel which has a half-finished still-life of the view outside his window. Blushing and embarrassed, he practically throws them at Dorothea, hurriedly insisting that he knows they’re not good, that they’re nothing special.

“Ignatz…” Dorothea barely breathes. “These are beautiful.”

He looks up in shock. “B-But…” He scrambles for words. “I was so insensitive to your feelings about art!”

Dorothea smiles gently and touches his hand reassuringly. “Ignatz, I’m not me, and you’re not you.” She says gingerly. “We’re different people with different outlooks… You want to become a painter, right?”

He nods sheepishly.

“Then I hope, with all my heart, that you can become one someday.” She turns her eyes back on a sketch of Saint Cethleann. “You’d be a wonderful artist. I’m certain you would be.”

Ignatz blushes softly and moves closer as she asks a question about the next sketch—of Saint Cichol, his wife and their daughter—and he explains the details. His hand brushes against hers, their fingers intertwining briefly—

“And who is this?”

Ignatz jolts at the deep voice, his blood running cold. His face goes red. In the doorway is his elder brother, Atticus. Dorothea glances his way and smiles softly, curtseys and introduces herself as the evening’s guest and her credentials.

Atticus studies Dorothea before making a comment beneath his breath about his “useless drawings” and leaving the two. Dorothea’s smile fades.

“He’s exactly the type of man I’d hate to be with at the opera…” She whispers to him. “And exactly the one who’d pay for a dinner with me.”

Ignatz’s stomach rolls with anxiety.

Dorothea steals a glimpse at his expression and laughs softly. “Don’t worry, I’m not dating your brother.” She promises.

“Thank the goddess…” Ignatz whispers.

She hugs him. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He hugs her back and smiles. “Anything for you.”

He shows Dorothea her room, and upon returning to his, takes charcoal to paper and attempts to sketch the likeness of her face, falling asleep in his art before long.

***

Ignatz’s father, Augustus, makes quick decisions. It is, perhaps, what has kept him in business for so long, and flourishing for just as long. And that morning, when Ignatz nervously introduces the two, he immediately takes a liking to Dorothea.

She turns on the charms quickly, and as she’s about to collect her bags and return to the Kirsten’s Cottage, Augustus asks to see her in his study. She winks at Ignatz and he waits nervously outside, in the drawing room with Celeste as the plays the piano.

When Dorothea emerges, she wears a self-assured smile. Ignatz quickly gets up and meets her in the hallway.

“Your father says the garden is pretty. Will you show me?” She asks.

“Of course.” They go outside to the frosty garden and walk a few paces away from the windows.

“Well?”

“Your father… he asked that I shadow you. He thinks that we could be a good selling team.” Dorothea says. “What do you say, Iggy?”

“Iggy?”

“You needed a nickname. Your name, though it is handsome, is a bit imposing and long.” She says. “You okay with it? You can call me Thea, if you’d like?”

“No no,” He declines respectfully. “Your name is too beautiful to be shortened.”

She smiles softly. “You think so?”

He nods. “I do. And as for the partnership, I don’t think I could ask for a better match.”

Dorothea smiles, and then stands on the tips of her toes and pecks him on the cheek. Ignatz goes bright red.

Gazing at her, he smiles and confesses, “I don’t think I could either.”

***

In Imperial Year 1185, on the day of promised meeting, Ignatz Victor and Dorothea Arnault arrived at Garreg Mach Monastery together. The three years since their reunion in Derdriu had proved fruitful: Dorothea joined the Victor Trading Company as a sales agent, working alongside Ignatz. She easily used her wit and charms to seal deals with particularly hard-to-please clients. She’d also passed on that charm and confidence to Ignatz, which his former classmates noticed immediately.

In addition to his newfound confidence, Ignatz had gained a deeper reverence for his artistic side. After being found one night attempting to paint Dorothea’s likeness, she modelled for him. His parents, finally understanding the depth of his talent, allowed him time off—though minimal—to study and paint.

In their moments of peace, it was said that Dorothea and Ignatz would share their talents together—Dorothea, who had retired from the stage, would sing only for him, and Ignatz would happily draw anything she wished.

After the war, when Dorothea completed an opera—called the Crimson Flower, based upon her late, dear friend—Ignatz was the one to paint the posters and served as creative consultant. While not singing, Dorothea directed the opera to critical acclaim, and acted as a guardian to the new talent she selected for the show.

When the two had grown tired of the stage, they departed for new lands. Ignatz’s work, which grew in popularity thanks to the production and his own skills, was in demand and often peddled by Dorothea. It was often remarked, by friends and complete strangers, the couple were an odd, but well-suited match.

[evelynpr]

Congratulations My Hero Academia for providing, possibly, the biggest and longest legit straightbaiting yet in shonen history.

Bonus points that their final chapter was released on yaoi day.

[arcanegifs]

ARCANE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS: ↳ "So was I. I was angry, just like you. I led us across this bridge, thinking things could change. If I hadn't… your parents would still be alive. I know you wanna hurt the topsiders for what they've done to us. But who are you willing to lose? Mylo? Claggor? Powder? Nobody wins in war, Vi."

[meggn]

i had to draw them at some point smh

[lazycranberrydoodles]

english translation book 5 baby we are in the ‘people assuming kid form hua cheng is xie lian’s son’ era 🔥🔥🔥 / follow for more hualian silliness

[sheerakk]

[bree-paints]

My copium where they all survive and they are an iconic one eyed trio

Also some random sketches because 266-267 have been killing me emotionally thank you

[ghost-proofbaby]

can y'all please come into my humble abode and imagine something with me i don't yet have the wits to write a full fledged fic out of (yet)?

so, everyone knows how when you get a tattoo, part of the healing process is the itchy phase, right? and for obvious reasons, you can't scratch it. favored method, in my experience and fellow tatted friends, is to just give it a good old slap.

perfect. so now, with this in mind, can you imagine having gotten a large hip/ass piece, and how mortifying it would be to smack your own ass to soothe that itch? and it's just plain painful. you want your new ink to heal properly - it's gorgeous and you put a lot of time, pain, and money into that damn thing - but it just sucks.

enter best friend eddie.

he loves your new ink. thinks it's fucking sick. nearly creamed his damn pants when he found out you were doing a hip/ass tatt (because how can he ask to see it without being weird? how can he react to that without being weird when he's spent the last several years with the world's most pathetic crush on you?) at first, it's fine. you show him the tattoo in a totally friendly, totally platonic way. he hypes you up, he calls you 'the most metal person he knows'. flourishes you with all the compliments and looks at you with starry eyes out of sheer awe at the way he's managed to snag a person into his life who is just so. damn. cool.

but the days pass by, that new ink begins to heal, and it fucking itches.

when you first proposition him, you're even more embarrassed than he is. stumbling over all your words, the request coming out contorted every wrong way. you don't want to make things weird, but is it really that weird for a friend to help a friend? it is really that weird to ask your best friend to smack your tattoo to help with that itch you can't even really properly reach?

it's just friends helping friends.

and that's the mantra you both repeat to yourselves - as you request the embarrassing favor of him, as he agrees almost too eagerly, as you find yourself face-planted in your bed wondering how deeply you can bury down your shame as he tries to make jokes to make it all a bit less awkward.

it's just friends helping friends, until eddie's hand lands down on your ass with a resounding smack, and that first little whimper escapes your lips.

[chiakery]

Dropout newsletter this week:

Me:

[professorjirt]

I’ve discovered my favorite genre of Bagginshield art is where Thorin is a lovesick idiot who is Losing It and Bilbo is unbothered or oblivious to Thorin’s suffering LMAO

[spoopdeedoop]

that twitter meme thing but make it them

[paperglader]

watching ep 104, listening to laudna talk about Whitestone festivals and crops, and watching Imogen just look at her so smitten… I can’t help but feel like it’s funny that they got roped into this whole god eater thing, cause they really are the most build-for-domestic-life motherfuckers I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

Like tell me that you cannot see it in Imogen’s eyes how badly she just wants to elope with this woman on a little farm where they can raise horses and garden and have small little quiet lives in a place that doesn’t suck like gelvaan and where they can get their peace but also get to enjoy the little things in life??? And she looks this way anytime laudna like breathes.

Meanwhile they have to go off and try to kill a god and maybe die in the process or whatever

[heartofarcanum]

Cain’s 100 diamond scene might not have had sex, but it did have:

Him taking pleasure in defiling her while there was an imprint of a cross pressed into her back

Her thinking of him as her god while he’s choking her

Him making her a halo with his own angelic feather

The implication that for them: a corrupted heart = obsession = true love

Which, really, isn’t that better than sex anyway?

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

warlock wizard Wally scribbles... Thinkings! oh and a bonus bard-ish Barnabys in the corner for flavor

outfit ramblings:

first of all that is a Terrible rendition of what Home looks like in my head. i just needed to fill empty space </3

the staff was the toughest part honestly. bc it Had to be paintbrush-themed, but then halfway through scribbling i was like "oh shit. there are only so many ways to draw a paintbrush-wizard-staff and Weevmo already hit it out of the park." so if you're seeing similarities! you're right! i tried to make it as different as i could! there is Inspiration from their marvelous design, however accidental or subconscious! Apologies!

he gets a pointed hood instead of a hat because a) it looks great on him! and b) it has less of a chance of messing up his hair! also c) it helps muddle the difference between Wizard and Warlock. typically hoods have evil/duplicitous connotation - blur the lines! i want his long gloves and forearm wraps to have the same vibe. his neckerchief is a big help in hiding Home's seal!

his layered (loosely apple-themed) capelet (which the hood is attached to) has a nice high collar & hides the details of his loose shirt - eye embroidery! and some flowers on the shoulders but yk, mostly eyes. on one side of the shirt buttons has open eyes, the other side they're closed! there's also one big eye on his back!

his belt buckle is two halves of an apple! he wears tall thigh-high boots w/ low heels to feel Taller! he has a book-holster hooked to the back of his belt, which holds his grimoire! and he has a lil thigh-bag that has been magicked to be Bottomless and warps size! he can fit pretty much anything in there! canvases! paint! apples!

his half-skirt thing (idk what the word for it is!) is really plush, like a quilt - his capelet is the same fabric. soft, cozy. sometimes he'll use the skirt thing as a blanket in a pinch, or as a picnic placemat!

is his outfit a little Complicated? is it annoying to replicate? yes and yes. but im a maximalist at heart and Nothing But The Best for the blorbo <3 layers my beloved <3

[crimescrimson]

Leon S. Kennedy in Resident Evil 6 (2012)

[necrotic-nephilim]

what's fun about shipping Tim with Dick, Jason, or Damian is he has, at some point, hallucinated all of them to comfort himself. even when he doesn't like them or particularly get along with them, he has to imagine/hallucinate them just so he has the power to go on. Tim's concepts of the Robin mantle and what it should be is so fun, because he respects the others through the Robin mantle. Tim worships Dick because he was the first Robin. he wouldn't be Robin if Jason hadn't died in the mantle. and a lot of his frustration with Damian is he feels Damian isn't honoring the mantle correctly. when you ship Tim with the other Robins you can't divorce their identities as Robin from it because Tim will always see them as a Robin first and that's so fun and fucked up. like.

batman (1940) #456

Tim perceiving Dick as *Robin* cheering him on, not Nightwing, which is the version of Dick that Tim actually knows? that's just. wild of him. he will always view Dick as Robin first, his personal hero but also the original of the legacy. his love for Dick is shaped by that.

and then of course, even when he's hallucinating/imagining Jason cheering him on, it's *still* through the lense of being reminded how Jason failed? subconsciously believing that Jason got himself killed because of his actions, and that being a lesson for Tim to learn from? Jason isn't a person to Tim, he's a moral lesson about how to be Robin. any potential idolization he could have of Jason isn't because he loves Jason, it's because of the lessons Jason's death taught him.

and then, even though him hallucinating TIm is from the New-52, which makes characterization all kinds of questionable, i do think it makes sense for TIm to hallucinate/imagine Damian after Damian's death in an attempt to cope with it.

teen titans (2011) #18

to an extend, he sees Damian's death as in part his own fault. and even hating Damian, Tim needs the comfort from this to cope with Damian being gone. he's angry that Damian even was Robin, and has to learn something from Damian's death and how it impacts the Robin mantle, and teenage heroes as a whole. like, Tim can pretend he hates Damian all he wants, even getting taunted by the image of Damian, but there's still an underlying love to their relationship.

i think that's just the fun of shipping Tim with any of them. you will never divorce Tim's views of them from the Robin mantle and how fucking Unwell he is about anyone else who's been Robin before or after him, to the point he has to hallucinate them comforting him when he's at his lowest. it's always going to be a little unhealthy, a little toxic, and driven by Tim's relationship with being Robin as well. i need more Tim being weird about Robin in these ships.