#this is A Joke but also i’m dead serious | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iwoulddieforher · 21 hours ago

Note

Here’s an ask! (For Casey x Alex obviously lol)

You’ve mentioned a couple times Casey tends to be self deprecating. How does Alex support her?

When/how does Alex realize Casey uses the batting cages/gym as an outlet (and takes it too far sometimes)? How does she handle it?

Oh! And while I’m on firsts! How about the first time Alex sees Casey in one of her shirts that say Cabot? (Loved the stealing clothes stuff btw!)

Thank you so much for the ask <333 I LOVE ASKS I LOVE TALKING GRAAHHHHH

This got hella long!!! Warnings for discussion of self harm, self hatred, blah blah blah and also implied sex below.

Have this picture of upset Casey (fittingly for what I ramble borderline incoherently about here) so the reply doesn't seem so short above the divider

It's always difficult for me to write more comforting interactions between the two, because as much as it feels natural to make them comfort each other to a really high degree, I want to keep the characterization provided by the show as closely as possible and thus despite my intrinsic urge to project the way I personally as an author want someone to treat me if I was in the high-stress scenario these two find themselves in, the reality of it is overt comforting probably would not work well on either of them. They're both strong, independent and emotionally resilient women- and the flaws they have oftentimes probably could not be directly addressed or they'd just withdraw and become defensive.

Thus, since Casey slips self-loathing comments into casual conversations, it always comes off more as a wry joke, and that's why other people such an Olivia or Elliot just assume she's poking fun at herself or venting frustration. Alex, too, initially perceives similar, but then she starts registering Casey's 'tells'. The way her hand flexes as though she wants to bite the fingernail on her thumb and has to consciously hold herself back from doing so, the way she refuses to make eye contact with anyone and if she is forcing herself to do so anyway her gaze is very blank because she's not actually looking, the angle of her shoulders and collarbones in relation to her spine- stupidly specific, intricately tiny things in Casey's body language that show, no, she's actually really stressed. When the correlation between these minor actions and Casey's comments jumping to a more frequent pattern emerges, Alex realizes this is actually an issue and although Casey conceals it by jesting she's being dead serious, she does believe she's unworthy of what she has or incapable or whatever else negative Casey believes about herself.

Since noticing it at all used such attention to detail and the actions are so minor they're unexplainable, Alex realizes that if she approached this issue head-on Casey would probably do a wonderful job at gaslighting her into believing she was making up problems, so she doesn't. Instead, she simply begins peppering praise and reassurance throughout daily interactions, enough that Casey realized it had increased but not much that she'd grow suspicious. Little things, like staring at Casey's figure for a little bit extra long so Casey would notice Alex was admiring, making sure to smile down at the legal notes Casey had asked her to review so when Casey studied her face intently while Alex read she'd know Alex was beyond proud of her, or just straight on whispering compliments into Casey's hair when they passed eachother in hallways.

Eventually, she did see Casey's deprecating comments decrease, and instead when Casey was stressed she subconsciously sought out Alex because she knew she'd find gentle praise and reassurance from her when Casey felt as though she was lacking.

I think your second ask is somewhat asking for a continuation of Softball to the Ribs (Kiss it), so I'll just talk about the storyline I would've written had I decided to make a next part (which I won't, all my fics exist solely as one-shots);; Alex finds out because Casey did tell her in the bathroom that it was a softball, she just didn't know the details of how the injury occurred. I think Casey would never tell her, Alex would find out from something like Life360/Find my Phone since it would make sense to me that at some point they start sharing locations due to the nature of their job. Casey vanishes for random hours at a time when she's grappling with heavy caseloads and Alex checks it to find her location as being at the batting cages. The first time she sees it she does nothing, she just makes sure a warm bath is already all set up for her when she comes home and drops by an Apotheke (what the hell is Apotheke in English????? nOt my language) to pick up muscle rub and then pretends she's initiating sex as an excuse to massage it into her. Casey is nonethewiser.

Eventually, though, when Casey has been gone too long or it's happened back to back on multiple days, Alex goes to the batting cages and sort of just sits in the corner with her legal notepad and despite being uncomfortable in the weird sporty setting proceeds to try to work there. Her presence is grounding for Casey and it makes her want to push herself less because she doesn't want Alex to watch her get hurt- and when Alex gets bored of faux scribbling random shit she just starts being the one who controls the batting cage so she can press the button to stop it if she thinks it's going too far.

Self-harm is a very difficult issue and I wrote Casey to be using exercise dependence as a means to do it, and I have a concern with many fics in which a character's romance causes them to suddenly lose interest in what is a destructive coping method, and I think at least in my experience that's unrealistic. Self harm is wildly addictive and Casey is dependant on this to make her feel as though she's coping with stress she otherwise can't, and although Alex would obviously love to step in and pull that feeling out of her, that's just... not how life works, most of the time. If it was something like cutting or burning one self, obviously that's an entirely different story, but where the line between healthy exercise and an overt dependence that leads to self destruction ... that's hard to differentiate at times. What athlete hasn't accidentally gotten injured? The same story could exist in which Casey uses exercise as a healthy method to deal with stress (literally in the show that's what it is.) and the whole thing happened by genuine accident if it wasn't for the fact Casey simultaneously wasn't eating. If her ribs weren't visible in that fic Alex probably wouldn't have known something was seriously wrong. But I wrote Casey as intentionally putting herself in positions in which the risk for it is very high, and not caring for herself after- but how could Alex read Casey's internal dialogue and draw the line somewhere? It's complicated.

Alex focuses, then, on fostering a nurturing, loving environment and accepting every part of Casey as she is.

She can't directly stop Casey from participating in sports but she does ensure Casey eats and sleeps to a healthy degree and if she realizes something like Casey skipping meals more than is normal for people with inconsistent work schedules she'll do something to make sure Casey gets the care she needs.

Eventually, through this environment and Alex's comfort, Casey can build the emotional skill set required to cope with stress adequately - that's the ultimate goal, because even if Alex did somehow twist exercise out of her grasp, there's always the possibility something in their relationship would break and Casey would fall straight back into it. Alex is smart enough to avoid that possibility.

Finally, the first time Alex realized Casey was wearing something of her's was one of the first times the accidental swapping of blazers occurred that I described in the other post. Alex had stopped by Casey's office with food during a lunch break and while they ate Casey extended her arm to reach for something, and Alex realized her name was on the sleeve. Cabot suddenly becomes very bothered and jumps Casey's bones the second they're somewhere more private because holy shit does the idea of Casey being her's and similarly labeled do something for her.

#calex #casey novak #alex cabot #casey novak x alex cabot #svu

15 notes · View notes

roraruu · 2 years ago

Text

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.

#year of the otp #FE3H #dorothea arnault #ignatz victor #ru writes #listen i know this is a weird ass ship but i thought about it in passing in november and havent been able ot think of anything else.#this isn’t an April fool’s joke I’m dead serious I think they could work and i may fuckindie on this hill #still crazy into dorovain though #Ignatz X Dorothea #god that’s so fucking weird #but fr dorothea throwing herself dramatically on a couch like ‘draw me like one of your derdriu girls Iggy!!’ And he’s just sobbing and #covered in charcoal bc he’s been drawing for hours and can’t get her nose right and he just wants to sleep #there’s potential i swear there is #also i may write the other idea i had which is essentially like. The above but in a uni au where they’re both broke #and dorothea is a struggling actress who only gets roles to play a dead body on crime shows and a dramatic soapy villain who dies on a soap #opera. Yes i am projecting about Aileen Ashby’s death on GH and stealing from my FWB au #anywyas i work in like. 7 hours bye.

8 notes · View notes