#this had me sobbing bye

[djo]

My parents didn’t want kids. My mother especially. So I went from being an accident to an inconvenience to an afterthought and then, I think the worst thing of all... Which was what? Competition. But you know, all parents fuck their kids up. I don’t really want to be responsible for doing that to someone else. And that’s why you won’t.

[asterdust]

i just finished ep 6 and this is the fastest ship ive ever shipped in my history of shipping. this is NOT a ship. this is a goddamn torpedo.

[cosmicqvake]

Dear whoever first said that Daisy saw Coulson- the real, non-LMD Coulson- in the “afterlife” so to speak when she died for those few moments in the finale… I’m in your walls.

[xiaoming56]

Alexa cue boulevard of broken dreams by green day

[doriansdismay]

KINDNESS AND FORGIVENESS 😢

[komashkathesilly]

ithink i hauve covid

[todayisafridaynight]

so magical that yakuza 1 and shadow the hedgehog came out the same year........ 2005 the best year for sega honestly.....

[mahariel-s]

i forgot about the flashback scene in majora’s mask where link tells zelda he’s leaving hyrule and she says she’ll miss him & gives him the ocarina to keep him safe and it’s got me SO deep in my feelings, like

imagining the two of them feeling so trapped as they have to relive their adolescence a second time. link leaving hyrule to find himself, because let’s be real--he can’t relate to anyone around him, he no longer feels like a kid but he’s not an adult either. zelda encouraging that, because of course she would, while fully knowing that she was saying goodbye to the one person that really, truly understood her.

of all their incarnations, with ocarina of time, I often wonder how lonely they must have felt at the end, having waged a war with destiny and just... having to move on like nothing happened. they barely got any resolution with one another before link left hyrule. zelda grows up alone, in a castle surrounded by people that still look at her and see a child. link goes off to find himself and fucking majora’s mask happens. like, these kids had 0 breaks.

though, knowing that ocarina of time’s incarnation of link canonically dies in his knight’s armor, on hyrule grounds (as he’s the hero’s soul that trains twilight princess link how to fight properly) -- it gives me hope that they found one another again, and found a way to be happy together. that nothing could keep them apart. that after it all, link found his way back to her, to zelda, like he always, always does.

[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.

[koishua]

my mom sitting there nodding along to my very emotional retelling of how i was chased by my classmate (actually my crush but she doesn't have to know that) who kept shoving a dead lizard in my face in ninth grade

[millecrepe]

gundam suisei no majo been killing me i just caught up on the 5 eps of s2 today and wooo emotional rollercoaster i will talk in the tags but here i’ll just say the pacing and stakes of the story and characters arcs have been so consistent i wonder how they’ll wrap it up i’m going coocoo

[rageborne]

10   INPUT " @lunaetis​​​ ",     A    $ IF  ASK (Q  $)  =  0   THEN GOTO REPLY PRINT  “ don’t just stand there, looking at me. ” ,   A   $ INPUT  "unprompted_message";   S " if it hurts too much, you don't have to feel. " arms were wrapped around him despite her own stature being much smaller than his own. it didn't matter, though, hae-in realized. how it didn't matter as long as he was here. quietly, she rested her lips to his temple in a kiss, leaving it there while words came in a whisper. " if it's too much to feel, you don't have to. just stay here with me for a while. you're safe here, i promise. "

his moments halt, frozen in the moment as though he were a statue. and perhaps he could be considered one if the circumstances were different. if he was simply standing still for hours on end rather than frozen in surprise. his circuits are nearly frying, he realizes. safe ... she says he's safe here and yet it scares him; to let down his guard and consider himself at peace. there has never been safety before. he was never allowed to let down his guard before. but he wants to, wants to try. and he wants to feel again - ridiculously enough, he comes to see that even with his emotions shut off that pesky human side of him is never truly dormant. that wanting things, wishing for things was utterly, foolishly human in nature and not what the codes in his mechanical parts were made for.

he looks at her owlishly, unblinking before reminding himself it might be odd if he doesn't, and so he blinks. once. twice. three times before he stares blankly. or at least he wants his expression to be blank, if it weren't for the miniscule way his eyes are ever so slightly widened and his lips have parted the tiniest bit. he's wanted to feel safe for longer than anyone could possibly know, and here hae-in was, promising him exactly that. if he could cry he might have, but instead there's the tiniest shake of his shoulders before he trembles like a leaf, even when he melts into her embrace, when the tension leaves his body. it's too much and he can feel something dormant slowly waking up, as if the machine in him knows it could not possibly process everything that his memories and thoughts are putting him through at the very moment.

「 i just want to be someone again. 」

he mutters, shimmies out of the embrace before he can take gentle hold of her hands, close his eyes and lower his stance until he can rest his forehead against hers - until he can lift their hands to hold hers near his chest where his heart would be beating if it were still there. where instead a pump whirrs and works away to keep him going. he sounds deflated, tired. but also hopeful, a little. as though there's something that's been sparked to life with her words and genuine actions. he sighs - or at least lets out a sound that sounds like it - and opens one eye, carefully scanning her face for any trace of deceit. and yet, against all expectations, against every ounce of his body wanting to be wary and distrust her like he distrusts everyone else he can't find it in himself to be worry of someone so sincere. so he lowers their hands again slowly, holds hers like they were a precious treasure that could break with the faintest hint of pressure. when he speaks again his voice is low and as soft as he can sound with his artificial voice box.

「 i was scared of my emotions because of you. 」

the admission makes him hesitate and if he could feel nervous he might, but his emotions are returning slowly at the pace of a snail and for now he is stuck feeling surprisingly at ease with the words he's said out loud. he offers a tired smile, one that unlike any other smile he usually gives is sincere even if it is thin. he shut his emotions down in an attempt to fix what he would have rather forgotten, to quiet the noises in his head. but he could never compete with those. even when his emotions were dormant they were there, haunting him and taunting him and ruining him. and yet ... they were drowned out when he focuses, when he can pick out the faint sound of a heart beating. and for once he is so glad that he was turned into a machine because the very sound of that calms him more than anything ever could, makes him feel at ease even with the overwhelming dizziness that comes with emotions slowly returning to the surface, more than they had before he shut them down in the first place. his expression, despite being mostly unreadable from a distance is almost soft from close up. mostly neutral except for the tiniest quirk upwards in the corners of his lips and the faintest trace of an actual smile to usually dead eyes.

「 i like you. and that scares me, more than anything. 」

it's such an ironic thought, considering that their entire time knowing each other it was just mutually beneficial facades and lies playing a part. and yet here he was, caring about someone he was supposed to only be a helpful little alibi for. and yet a hopeful little part of him hopes that perhaps she likes him, too. she wouldn't be this kind if she didn't, would she? but even so, he feels at ease. whether it's because his emotions aren't fully back or because at least he finally got these pesky thoughts that burdened him for a while now out ... he isn't sure. but he doesn't bother thinking about it either, instead focusing his hearing on every little sound that comes from her. the way her heart beats, the way she breathes. he doesn't usually notice these sounds because usually his enhanced hearing is bothersome and doesn't help, but now it quells the noises and thoughts that threaten to flood his mind and that's all he could possibly need right now, no matter her reaction.

[tahdashi]

my day has been so stressful and it’s only 1 something….!. ??.! i will write myself a fwb!tadashi comfort piece when i get home

[missmorosis]

haha california

[noxtivagus]

T__T final fantasy

[todayisafridaynight]

weird detail #98 masato's necklace is lower than everyone else's. for whatever reason.