#I'd like to read the poems and compare them to the text as well

[chronomally]

In the introduction, Stephen Mitchell is like "The Epic of Gilgamesh predates the Hero's Journey and yet it is somehow the antithesis of one" and like it really is. Gilgamesh goes back to Uruk having learned nothing and gained nothing - he failed to gain immortality, he's still afraid of death, he hasn't gained any insight into like the human condition or reflected on his own faults, he just shows up at the city gates with Urshanabi (who got fired I guess) and he's like look at Uruk the most beautiful city and that's it

#please feel free to ignore this #I'm reading Gilgamesh #It's interesting considering this is like The World's First Story or whatever #I'd like to read the poems and compare them to the text as well #I think it'd be interesting especially the one about Utnapishtim (I think his name in Sumerian is Atrahasis or something?)

[terresdebrume]

More fic covers | More fic recs

I mentioned I made fic cover in a recent post and it reminded me that I'd meant to make one for SJTrinity's Band of Brothers fic: Under Thunder and Rain which is THE Webgott fic, as far as I'm concerned. I've reread it something like five time in the past three months, it's ridiculous. You should read it to.

More about my thought process under the cut, with some spoilers.

So, the entire fic is amazing, of course, but the scene that keeps standing up in my mind is the one in chapter 4, where David is about to sail away on the Tusitala and Joe tries to convince him not to. I love this scene, the vulnerability in both of them, the fact that they find each other, the fact that Joe doesn't realize that it's him David was looking for in the sea. (I know David compares himself to the Shark from the Frisco chapter, but to me his fight to catch said shark is also an excellent parallel of the way he constantly has to reel Joe in and then give him some slack before he breaks the line in his struggle.)

All this to say: I had to have the Tusitala on the cover, if only because if this boat could talk it would be able to tell the tale of how Joe and David finally stop struggling and come together for good. The rain, of course, is a reference to the title and the poem David writes Joe in chapter 5, but I still wanted a bright blue sky as the background because I feel like the vivid and peaceful color are a good contrast to the way they struggle to find their way to one another (and also it reminds me of Episode 10 of BOB, where the color is back in the world and it feels like everything should be alright, but Easy is still losing men and none of them is free of the weight of the war.

The title and author name being on pieces of paper is, of course, a nod to Joe's box full of David's letters and notes, which is also featured against the title card. I wanted watercolor of a bag of groceries for the upper left corner, to further reference that first note and the fact that we don't know how significant it is until the end of the story, because Joe keeps all his cards fucking close to the chest, even if he also betrays himself in his struggle.

(Full disclosure, on my latest rereads the bits that caught my brain were

the time David asks Joe if his future wife does have a smile to die for and Joe says "yeah, it's a great smile. Drives me nuts." While running a finger over David's lips

"He wouldn't add or take away a single thing, and the people who read that book would know how fucking lucky he had been, how he had fought against it and gotten it anyways, this symphony of a life.")

Unfortunately, I couldn't find any graphic on Canva that fit the style of the rest of the cover, so I got a pastry instead. I picked the croissant because, while not extremely sweet for a delicatessen, it's very buttery, and, well: "Copious amounts of sugar and butter clearly loosened him in a way even sex couldn't achieve, because when David came and stood beside him by the stove, Joe threw an arm around his shoulder and bumped their heads together, then playfully tried to wrestle him off his feet." which I feel is also a delightfully deep insight into Joe in general.

And last but not least: the transparent text is the last note David writes Joe in the fic, standing in as the last page of Joe's unwritten book of them.

#Band of Brothers #Band of Brothers fic #Webgott #Joe Liebgott #David Webster #HBO War fic #HBO War #Matt makes stuff #Fic cover #Fic rec #15n #20n

[moinsbienquekaworu]

Hey! In honour of Speak your language day but mostly because I love my husband and he asked about it, I'm talking about a poem everyone who studied french literature knows (probably), L'Albatros by Charles Baudelaire. If you're french and you were a weird kid in school you probably imprinted on that one, and understandably so. I'm not writing in french despite it being SPYLD because I want people to actually be able to read the post lol

First, here's a link to the original text and some translations, so you know what I'm talking about. I'll spare you the boring details that I don't think are super relevant to analysis (the format, the rhyme scheme, etc.) and go straight for the fun stuff.

The metaphor here isn't super subtle: Baudelaire is comparing poets (himself really) with albatrosses, both being at ease in their given domain but awkward and mocked for it outside of it. The albatross is the "prince of the clouds", a majestic bird, but once it has to land (or is captured like in the poem) it's clumsy - the huge wings that let it glide effortlessly make it hard for it to walk.

Baudelaire is known in part for the idea of spleen (which in french we call baudelairean spleen), after the organ linked to black bile and melancholy. I'll paraphrase the french wikipedia page because my memories of high school aren't super clear: it's about a deep melancholy born of depression, though sometimes it's more about rage at life than misery, but with a certain thirst for hidden beauty under it. Baudelaire had kind of a shitty life and he wasn't doing very well for most of it (that's a euphemism, he tried to kill himself a few times), like the other "cursed poets", and when you study Les Fleurs du Mal in school that's what you remember him for: being really depressed and writing depressing poems. That's reductive but it's most people's first impression when studying him I feel like.

I think this gives a better idea of what's behind the poem: the poet, like the bird, is misunderstood and attacked for being different (and better). They're both superior when in the sky, which for the poet is the more abstract and ideal spheres he usually frequents (as a poet who writes poetry and likes the arts), but they lose that superiority when they're dragged down by ill-meaning men.

Some critics will say the poem isn't subtle enough in it's metaphor and that it's a shame it's one of Baudelaire's most famous, and it's true that "le poète est semblable au prince des nuées" is telling and not showing. Personally though, I don't think the heavy-handedness is that unpleasant: probably if I read more Baudelaire I'd side with them, because I tend to hate when the one popular song by an artist is good but not their best work, but I don't read more Baudelaire! I was just weird in school and I felt like I didn't fit in among people there, as opposed to online fandom spaces where I knew I Belonged, so the poem just speaks to me even if the metaphor is kind of obvious. I mean, it is popular for a reason, isn't it?

Finally, as a bonus, here's me reading it, because I love reading poems :)

(tagging @ivory-coronet because the explanation is for hymn and @spyld because that would probably interest them)

#it's midnight but hey it's still the 7th somewhere! #it wasn't my favourite poem in school but it's certainly memorable #spyld #speak your language day #upthebaguette #wow i have a ramble tag now

[dame-nostalgique]

i loved the poem you posted, its beautiful, and relatable ? in a way. it made me think of "in plaster" by sylvia plath as well. id love to know what you think of the connection between them, i adore both. have you ever had your poems published? id love to read more from you!

Hi! First of all, thank you so much! It means the world to me that someone reads my poems at all, let alone with care and personal analysis. It is truly motivating for me to write more. I haven't published anything officially, I am kind of shy when it comes to sharing. I want to mainly reach people who can relate to my words. I spent the last night finishing my old poems and writing ideas for new ones, so I'll definitely be posting some in the nearest future! One that I hope you'll like, is called "Heretics in Love" I seem to be in a counter-religious phase in my work, so you can expect a lot of christian symbolism in them. I'd love to hear your thoughts once they're posted!

Oh, Sylvia... She can really take my own personal thoughts and write them as her own. I read "In plaster" for the first time and I can say that I associate myself with its subject a lot. The person speaking in this poem, just like the one in mine, seems to be infected with the illness of 'people pleasing', a never satisfied need to compete with yourself for the shiniest, yet most pitiful person in the room. When I compared these two texts, I noticed that my lyrical subject never even acknowledges the real feelings behind the facade, while Plath's is watching the other self as the real, "yellow" one, almost with sympathy. I think it proves, that for me, striving for being this perfect martyr is becoming indistinguishable from my own feelings and hopes, which is dangerous for the self image - we can't exist solely for others approval, look at ourselves with the imagined eyes of someone else. But then again, what's left? The sad, "yellowed" persona that is always worse than the perfect image in our mind. It is like a labyrinth, choosing between what you're doing for yourself, just for others to acknowledge, and what you're doing for others just to satisfy your own ego, and if there's a "real" life and choices between the two. That's definitely a subject I want to explore more. I'm currently writing a poem about romanticizing the suffering. I think it will be similar to this one. I still feel lost in these conflicting feelings. Should the "whiter" person be killed by the host, or should she kill the old self? And is it actually about the good of others at the end?

#I also connected her poem to lyrics by Florence Welch: #"And in my darkest fantasies; I am the picture of passivity; Waiting for you side of stage; suppressing all my private rage #ask #long post

[ckret2]

Heal Our Wounds

Long after the titan fight in Boston, Serizawa wakes up in a hospital bed, recovering unusually fast from radiation burns he only vaguely remembers receiving. Monarch immediately drowns him in love and attention.

Mark and Madison drop by to share a gift—and some of their post-Boston worries.

Has it really been two and a half months since the last fic, wtf. Anyway this is part of an ongoing series of post-KOTM almost-everybody-lives AU oneshots. If you don’t wanna read the others, all you need to know is that Serizawa survived and nobody knows how/why (answer: because I wanted him to), and Ghidorah's been chilling with Rodan and possibly dating him. Links to the other fics are in the source at the bottom of this post.

###

The first thing Serizawa noticed as Mark and Madison came into the hospital room was that they both had dark rings under their eyes. Serizawa was getting used to seeing his friends and colleagues like that. But they both smiled and their tired eyes lit up when they saw him.

He returned the smiles. "So! You've finally made time to visit me, eh?" he said chidingly, as if they'd just dropped in on him and not as if Mark had scheduled this visit a week earlier.

Madison immediately ran up to him for a hug. Mark reached out for her, mouth opened to warn her back; but Serizawa held up a hand to prevent Mark's protests. "It's fine," he mouthed to Mark over Madison's shoulder as he hugged her back.

"Wow," Mark said. "You're looking better already. A lot better."

Serizawa nodded and shrugged at the same time. "The doctors say I've been very fortunate," he said. "I think Gojira had a hand in it."

He wasn't sure Mark bought that, but Mark had the grace to keep his mouth shut and just tilt his head indecisively.

"How are you feeling?" Madison asked as she stood up.

"A little sore," Serizawa said. "But mostly tired. I've been recovering well, though."

Madison circled to the other side of Serizawa's bed so she could sit in the guest chair next to him. Mark followed her, but leaned against the bedside table. Serizawa really did have to ask the nurses if they could bring some more chairs into the room. Since he'd been cleared to receive visitors, his room had become a nonstop parade during visiting hours: Monarch staff and their families, government officials and sometimes their translators looking for advice on how to deal with their respective nations' new gigantic residents, various journalists and reporters interviewing him on current events and his involvement in the mass awakening of the titans...

And everyone seemed to start out with the same question: "I know you've told everyone that you don't remember how you made it from the bottom of the ocean all the way to Boston," Mark said hesitantly, "but...?" He shrugged questioningly. "I mean—anything? Weird dreams? Things you heard while you were unconscious...?"

Serizawa shook his head. "Nothing. I don't even remember the bomb going off. The last thing I recall is getting out of the submarine and seeing Gojira. And then waking up in a hospital, burning."

"Huh." Mark let out a long sigh, mouth twisted in confusion. "Well—whatever happened down there—and whatever's making you recover from your burns so well—we're all glad for it.”

"Gojira," Serizawa said again firmly.

"He's probably right, Dad," Madison piped up. "I've been reading about the effects of titan radiation. It starts out like radiation burns, but something about it makes organic matter heal a lot faster instead of just... breaking it down."

"Really," Mark said skeptically.

"Really! It's the same thing that makes plants grow back so fast in the cities that titans have been through! The research has been out for like three years, Dad," Madison said, rolling her eyes.

"There's a great deal we don't understand yet, but—what Madison says is true," Serizawa said, trying not to smile too broadly. Madison had always been such a precocious child, always talking about whatever interested her. For the longest time it had been insects; recently it had been camping and survival techniques—something that only in retrospect Serizawa realized was so worrisome. He was glad to hear her talking about science again.

"But we're not here to talk about that," Madison said quickly, practically squirming in her chair with obvious eagerness to move on to the next topic. She gave her dad a pointed look.

"Right!" Mark took off a satchel he'd slung across his body and opened the flap. "We—'we' meaning Monarch, basically—wanted to give you a 'get well soon' gift. Rick mostly put it together, but we all contributed the pictures."

"Pictures?" Serizawa asked.

"Of your new friends," Mark said, suppressing a smile. He pulled out a tablet, scrolled through it a moment, and offered it to Serizawa. "From all over the world. I'll email it to you, but we wanted to show it to you in person."

Serizawa took the tablet. When he noticed Madison leaning over the bed to watch too, he held it out farther to allow her and Mark to watch. It was a slideshow, the first slide of which said in large letters, "GET WELL SOON!!" and in smaller text, "from Monarch and the titans."

He swiped to the next slide.

Godzilla stared back at him with eyes crossed and snout smooshed up to the window of Castle Bravo.

Serizawa laughed.

He swiped through the notes and images, pausing to read the well-wishing messages from Monarch agents and their allies—some close friends, some he'd only spoken to once or twice—and to examine the pictures and clips they'd put together for him.

A video of Rodan dramatically bobbing and headbanging in time to a Spanish song. An attached caption mentioned that after recording Rodan bobbing to over twenty different songs and sending them to a comparative psychologist in California, they could definitively say that Rodan was actually meeting the official definition for "dancing"—deliberately moving in sync with the beat of the music—and he was better at keeping the beat than parrots, one of the few other categories of non-human dancers.

Several pictures showed Kraken hanging out next to various Monarch ships, mimicking the ships' paint jobs. In some of the pictures, he even displayed unintelligible lines across his head that looked like attempts to copy the text and symbols printed on the ships' sides.

The Chen twins included a selfie of themselves and Mothra, as well as a message they said was translated directly from Mothra herself: a sincere wish for Serizawa to either get well soon or have a smooth reincarnation if he didn't, and a thank you from both her and Godzilla for saving Godzilla. Apparently Godzilla thought of Serizawa as "the flashy human." (Serizawa had to pause to wipe his eyes before continuing to the next slide.)

Pictures of Behemoth moving heavy objects around for humans with patient amusement. A photo of "Quetzalcoatl" half obscured by the sea with a brief message informing Serizawa that, in action, Quetzalcoatl appeared to more closely resembled myths about a creature called "Manda." Poems, with an apologetic note that they were better in Arabic, that one of the Monarch agents at Outpost 75-B had written about Mokele-Mbembe.

A short note from Admiral Stenz that wryly said, "Even the Navy is having to adjust to your new friends," followed by an image of Ghidorah reclined on an aircraft carrier like a vacationer on an inflatable pool lounge.

From the corner of his eye, Serizawa saw Madison flinch. He looked up at her; her face had gone blank, but there was a terrible fear in her eyes. Mark put a hand on her shoulder.

Serizawa turned off the tablet and set it down on the bed. "Perhaps I should look at these when I don't have visitors."

Madison's gaze dropped. "I'm gonna..." She slipped out of her father's hand and circled around Serizawa's bed. "Gonna get a soda. M'thirsty."

Mark reached out for her. "Maddie..." But she'd already disappeared down the hallway. He sighed, sank down into the seat she'd vacated, and ran his fingers through his hair.

Serizawa let the silence settle for a moment before he quietly said, "She's been through a great deal."

"Has anyone told you that she got up close and personal with the Three Stooges? They saw each other. They interacted."

Serizawa shook his head, sitting up a little straighter. He'd heard that she'd made herself quite the hero—sneaking away from Jonah's terrorist gang with the ORCA; single-handedly breaking whatever control Ghidorah had over the titans; luring Ghidorah, Godzilla, Mothra, and Rodan to Boston where they could settle their differences. It had been clear just how much danger she'd been in; but he'd never imagined that danger.

"She says she was as close to him as..." Mark looked out the window and pointed, "as that tree." The tree was near enough that Serizawa could see how the surfaces of individual leaves curved and rippled. "He looked directly at her—all three heads. He tried to kill her. Blasted..." Mark tried to pantomime with his hand in front of his mouth. "Blasted that lightning of his."

A chill ran down Serizawa's back. He'd known Madison since she was born. The thought of her ending like that, incinerated by an enraged titan...

"She's changed so much," Mark went on. "She's having trouble sleeping. She's sullen, she's so serious... Even the sound of the air conditioning coming on makes her jump. And I don't know how much of that is everything she went through, how much of it is whatever—whatever eco-fascist brainwashing Jonah put her and Emma through, how much of it's just her being a teenager..." Mark trailed off helplessly.

There was frustration in his voice and guilt in his eyes.

"I—maybe I'd know if I'd—been around. If I'd seen her often enough to know what she's like."

"You're around her now," Serizawa pointed out. "You cannot change your past actions, but you can support her now when she needs you."

Mark nodded reluctantly. "I just... wish I knew how."

That was where Serizawa's sage advice ran out. His child rearing experience capped out at entertaining agents' kids with titan stories and pocket watch jokes in fifteen-minute bursts of babysitting. "Have you... looked into therapy?"

"I'm her father. I should be able to help her through this myself," Mark insisted. He shifted his position uncomfortably. "And everyone's booked up."

Serizawa tisked.

"But Maddie's... she's strong." Mark sounded like he was repeating something someone else had told him, not something he quite believed himself. "She'll pull through this."

Serizawa could remember all the times over the past couple of years that Emma had boasted about what a strong young woman Maddie was developing into—a boast that, knowing what he knew now about what Emma had been training Madison for, was more chilling in hindsight. He wondered if Mark had been visiting Emma in jail to talk to her about Maddie.

Strong or not, though, facing down a titan attack and being responsible for saving the world was an astounding weight to put on anyone's shoulders, much less a twelve-year-old's. Pile enough weight on even the strongest structure, and eventually it buckles.

Mark muttered, "I can't believe he's still running around."

Serizawa didn't have to ask who. Mark's gaze was aimed at the tablet's black screen.

"If that thing was dead, maybe... I don't know, maybe Maddie wouldn't constantly feel like she has to watch her back. Like she's afraid he'll come back and finish the job."

Serizawa shifted to sit up higher. "I understand how your daughter's pain must pain you too," he said. "But that's no reason to condemn a living creature to death."

"It's not just that. He's dangerous, you know he is." Mark held up a hand before Serizawa could say anything else. "I know, I know—I should be making peace with the titans. I have with most of them. I don't think I'm at the point where I'd invite Godzilla to my birthday party, but he's on my Christmas card list."

From what Serizawa understood about American Christmas card customs, he was pretty sure that making someone's list was faint praise.

"But Ghidorah? He's not like the others. The others just... accidentally flatten human cities. To them it's like stepping on an anthill without looking. Ghidorah is that sick kid who holds a magnifying glass over an anthill. He's evil. Even you've felt it!"

Serizawa couldn't argue with that. He had seen Ghidorah up close in Antarctica—seen the way his eyes darted about, picking out humans across the ice so he could crush them. He'd seen the malice in Ghidorah's gaze. He'd seen the rage, too—a fury that had smoldered for eons, a fury that was older than the human race. He'd seen the light flashing off Ghidorah's eyes and teeth as he'd singled out Vivienne and devoured her.

But was what he saw in Ghidorah's eyes so different from the rage he'd seen in Mark's eyes when Mark had set foot in a Monarch facility for the first time in years, when Mark had snarled that all titans must be executed? Or the cold malice in Emma's eyes when she'd declared from the safety of a terrorist's bunker that human civilization had to be scoured from the Earth? If either of them had been Ghidorah's size, would Mark have been any kinder to Godzilla or would Emma have to Boston? Serizawa had his doubts.

There was no anger that wasn't somehow inspired by pain, by suffering, by fear. Even though Serizawa could still see Vivienne disappearing into Ghidorah's jaws over and over when he closed his eyes, there was some part of him that wondered what it was Ghidorah feared so deeply. And for that, Serizawa pitied him.

"You yourself called Ghidorah a false king," Mark went on. "You know he doesn't belong on this world."

"That is true," Serizawa said. "But he could belong. There is room enough on our world for him to find a place he fits."

"Wh—" Mark leaned away from Serizawa, blinking in disbelief. "How does a false king fit in on Earth?!"

"By learning to act like a citizen, instead of a conqueror."

"I—Wh—You don't think he's going to just do that, do you? Out of the goodness of his big, lightning-spewing heart? Before he floods the planet, or—or challenges Godzilla for leadership again?"

"What has he been doing since Boston?" Serizawa thought he already knew—although he wasn't currently working, he was receiving regular reports from several outposts, mainly from people who thought he'd enjoy hearing them—but he wanted to hear the answer in Mark's own words.

"Well, he—he's been skulking near Rodan's volcano, mostly. Throwing any trailers or tech we try to so much as get on the edge of the volcanic rock back into the village. He's been learning Rodan's language—did you know Rodan has a language—?"

Serizawa nodded. "I'm subscribed to Dr. Flores Rosales's YouTube channel."

That almost got a smile out of Mark. "Of course," he said. "Rodan's even been teaching him... more complicated calls. So the next time he tries to take over, he's going to be able to give the other titans direct orders. And he's been exploring the planet. Learning the landscape. Playing with our weather—he diverts entire hurricanes like they're nothing. He turns over tanks like they're toys. Experimenting with human technology—our technology. Studying how we work."

Serizawa nodded again, absorbing that analysis.

"Getting a better understanding of our planet," Mark concluded. "He's going to be better prepared the next time he attacks it. The longer we wait, the more prepared he gets."

Serizawa took a moment to process that, collect his words, and then reply carefully. "I can understand how his actions appear to you," he said. "And perhaps that is what Ghidorah is doing—studying us, toying with us. But when I look at those same things, here's what I see. Ghidorah has found a home—perhaps a temporary one, perhaps more permanent. He's established the borders of what he feels like is his territory, and when we respect his boundaries, he has respected ours. He's learning to communicate with his neighbors through words instead of through violence. He's shown us that his species sings—that he understands art. He's shown us he has a sense of humor. He's discovering that the earth is covered in unique, fascinating places, and that humans aren't playthings to torture and kill but inventors and engineers. He's made a friend—a friend whose lessons and advice he will sit and listen to, a friend whom he goes to great lengths to protect from discomfort, and a friend who he seems to care for."

Mark also took a long moment to think over Serizawa's words. He was growing a little bit, Serizawa thought. If they'd had this conversation before Boston, Mark would more than likely have steamrolled over Serizawa's interpretation and clung to his own—as he had with so many other opinions he'd had for so many years. Maybe discovering he was wrong about Godzilla had made him a more thoughtful person. Or maybe he was just working to be more respectful because Serizawa was in the hospital—time would tell.

Finally, Mark said, "A 'friend' who he fights with. All the time. Rodan clawed his wing up pretty good in Antarctica."

"And then kept him warm through the night, stayed near him for the next few days, and reactivated a volcano that's been dormant for four thousand years to give him a place to rest. I don't think it was a fight fueled by hatred," Serizawa said. "Have you been watching Rodan's language lessons as well?"

"A few. Not as many as I should," Mark admitted. "It's hard to look at—I mean—Ghidorah tried to kill me and my daughter."

Serizawa nodded understandingly. He had just about gotten used to the sight of Ghidorah curiously ask Rodan to clarify what the word "many" meant, and even at that Serizawa still sometimes instead flashed to a memory of Vivienne's last moments. "You should ask Xochitl if she has transcripts," Serizawa said. "Ghidorah and Rodan squabble over which fights 'count' and 'don't count' like two children trying to cheat at a board game. They see their battles as play."

"Huh," Mark said. "Like...?" He didn't finish the question.

Serizawa gestured encouragingly at Mark to continue. He had a feeling he knew where Mark had been heading.

"Well." Shrugging self-consciously, Mark said, "You know the joke theory that Outpost 56-B's been putting forward."

An amused smile broke out across Serizawa's face. "That Rodan and Ghidorah might be...?"

"Courting," Mark mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief. "That what we're seeing is courting behavior. Or—or dating, are they intelligent enough to date? I mean, Ghidorah's building radios..."

"I think there's some potential to the theory," Serizawa said, still grinning. "Outpost 56-B has collected some very compelling evidence. It's not conclusive, but it's certainly suggestive."

"Suggestive." Mark shook his head again and rubbed his eyes. "There's no way they're reproductively compatible."

"Not all couples are. Either in the animal kingdom, or in our own species."

"So, is that the bet you're wagering?" Mark asked. "You think we shouldn't try to kill Ghidorah while we still have a chance because if he decides to settle down and make a big fiery nest with Rodan, he won't destroy our planet?"

Serizawa sobered up. "No," he said. "I think we shouldn't try to kill Ghidorah because his behavior suggests he no longer wants to kill us. It suggests that he is trying to leave conquering behind and trying to behave like a fellow citizen of our planet—cooperative, respectful of the other species he shares the world with, communicative with his neighbors despite the massive language barriers. If that changes, through Mothra we can call Gojira for help. If it doesn't change... then if Ghidorah is seeking redemption, I think we should let him seek it. Whatever his motive may be."

Mark thought that over, lips pursed. Finally, he said, "I hope you're right. You've been right about a lot of other things, but..." He sighed.

It would take Mark some time to accept. That was understandable; Serizawa saw no need to rush him. Ghidorah had directly threatened Mark's family, after all. But Godzilla had ultimately helped cause far greater harm to the Russell family—harm that couldn't be healed with time—and Mark had made peace with him. If Ghidorah's recent behavior really was indicative of a change, Serizawa was sure Mark could eventually make peace with Ghidorah, too.

For now, though, Serizawa should probably lighten the mood. A bit of humor creeping back into his voice, Serizawa said, "But, if it does turn out that what we've been observing on Isla de Mara is courting..."

Mark gave Serizawa a wary look. "What?"

"Do you remember what you said when we were trying to figure out why Ghidorah was heading toward Isla de Mara?" Serizawa asked.

"Oh no." Mark buried his face in a hand, but not before Serizawa got a glimpse of him fighting back a smile. "Not you, too. Nobody's let me live it down."

"You said he wanted a food, a fight, or a..."

"I know! What about it?"

"Well, then." Serizawa sat back, shrugged permissively, and said, "Let them fuck."

Mark huffed.

The conversation drifted to how their respective extended families had weathered the attacks and the corresponding changes to their daily lives, to Mark's tentative plans to balance getting back into Monarch against keeping Madison away from any active outposts, and to Serizawa's goals for once he was back on duty. Serizawa planned to return to work as soon as he was allowed out of the hospital.

"And to visit all of them," he said firmly, "the moment the doctors allow me on an airplane. If I can't take a plane, I'll ride a boat."

 Mark chuckled. "All of them? Even the mean ones?"

"No such thing," Serizawa said confidently. "Maybe hurting, maybe distrustful of humans—or maybe so far removed from our cultures that they don't yet recognize humans as feeling people—but not mean."

"So you gonna go open up diplomacy with the titans on behalf of humanity?" Mark asked. "Go say 'hi' and have a little chat like you did with Godzilla?"

Serizawa smiled. "If they'll let me."

Madison finally came back in the room, smiling shakily but clearly calmer than when she'd left. She didn't have anything from the vending machine. Neither Serizawa nor Mark commented on it.

"Afraid this is leaving with me," Mark said, picking up his tablet from the bed. "But I'll email you the slideshow. They let you have your phone in here, right?"

"I have a new one." His old one had been with him during his meeting with Godzilla. It hadn't shared Serizawa's miraculous survival. Rick Stanton had helped him get all his old data out of "the cloud" onto his new phone, and once he had his photos back he liked his new phone better. It was bigger.

"We'll come back as soon as we can," Maddie said as she leaned in for a hug, then looked to her dad for confirmation.

"Of course," Mark said, nodding, "unless you manage to talk your way out of here before we find time to come by again."

Serizawa grinned. As much as he might want to, he probably needed to be able to walk out the door by himself before he could go. "If you don't come see me before I get out, I'll come see you." He had a whole list of people he needed to visit.

The last thing Mark said before he left was, "Get some rest. You've still got a lot of recovering to do."

On more than one level. "I will." Glancing between Mark and Maddie's tired faces, Serizawa said, "So do you."

###

(Do you guys know how long I've been waiting to write Serizawa saying "let them fuck"? Like half a year. Anyway so the “titan radiation heals injuries instead of making them worse” is, obviously, a lot of BS and Not How Radiation Works, but it’s consistent with KOTM’s “titan radiation heals nature and grows plants!!” and with Legendaryverse’s overall lack of people getting severe radiation burns from being so close to confirmed-radioactive kaiju all the time. If canon’s gonna act like kaiju have some made up form of Magical Healthy Radiation, okay, I’ll roll with that.)

(Replies/reblogs are welcome and greatly appreciated! Check the “source” link below for my masterlist of KOTM and Rodorah fics, as well as my AO3 and Ko-fi links.)

#serizawa ishiro #madison russell #mark russell #godzilla #kotm #fanfic #my writing

[squaredancing-weston]

text || Brobastian (Week 2)

Bas: Okay fine - strategically placed mirrors, then, that get all of my best angles. But I mean, worst case scenario, we get a shitload of reflections of me. I don't see the downside. No, Brodes, /you're/ missing the point. It'd be far more humane to actually give me the relief I need rather than leave me in a permanent state of frustration. I mean, I don't know about you, but that sounds like more exertion than having someone tease me by opening me up, only to leave me wanting more. And, I mean, it's really only teasing the other guy, too. I'm sure he'd rather just pound me until I'm screaming his name while watching myself come apart in several different angles - god. It'd be so hot. So in what way does teasing me make more sense for either party, really?

Bas: The only person you're making laugh is yourself, so you have an audience of one. Which is you. How does that not sound sad to you? Nobody even showed up for your stand-up show, Brodes. Shame. I don't know - I find mocking other people hilarious. Take Hummel for example. Guy's so easily stirred up - it's great.

Bas: What, you think that just because I'm not interested in romance that I can't appreciate The Sound of Music? I know, I know - more nazis Surprise, surprise. Point is, if I went through life trying to avoid every single show that has romance, I'd be left with very little to watch. I'm not /that/ tired. Sleeping is boring. Seriously, it loses its appeal after the first few days. Trust me, I know the people I've slept with. Like I said, I go for quality. I mean, I might have had a few 9s, but I've never dipped lower than that. Yeah, well, one of the reasons I learned to sneak out a little quieter - to avoid shit like that again. Experienced or not, it sounds like you could've used someone to break you back into the world of hooking up - and what better way to start than me? Although there is that saying about saving the best till last. I said I tried whips /once/, moron, and I wasn't into it.

Bas: Didn't say that I couldn't be, but I'm not gonna die from having sex. Like you'll have any say what goes on my grave, unless it involves a poem about how hot I look naked. I'll draft something up for you, too. It'll probably involve chaps. You haven't seen me in weeks. For all you know, I look perfectly fuckable. I've seen the shows - I read /some/ of the books, but honestly, I'm not really into glorified food porn, so I gave up. No, you chose the old woman. "Girl" isn't the right way to describe her.

Bas: I wouldn't go that far. His ass /does/ rival mine, but I still think I've got the edge. Please - Blaine's everyone's type. You sure about that? I mean, I've known the guy since high school, Brodes. Plenty of time to corrupt him on some level. I have my ways.

Bas: Well, you could, but the question is - would it be as fun as talking to/about me? I doubt it. Who says you can't have it both ways? Now, Brodes, don't tell me you're going back in the closet. Sleeping with just girls is no fun. I /could/ stop answering, but where's the fun in that? As you keep insisting on reminding me, /I'm/ stuck inside with nowhere to go. Question is - what's your excuse?

Bas: What I had in mind didn't really involve mayonnaise, but I know that sometimes you get easily confused. She won't have /time/ to eat. They're /kids/ - they don't need to learn that shit until college, and it's really not all that hard to bend over in front of someone. I don't need Reese Witherspoon teaching me how to do it.

Brody: Fine, fine-- we can get you a bunch of mirrors so you can always see yourself fucking straining and hot and sweaty with this sensual sex monkey keening all over you. Better? But Bas-- the whole point of this was the fact that you're on your back for the next week-- and not in a good way. So you're not getting relief. We were trying to create a scenario that made it more manageable, remember? Not to get you fucked. So we found you someone that could manage that level or restraint that would drool and lave all over you without actually getting you off-- because you're sick and can't get off right now. So rather than put you at risk by giving in to his base instincts and spreading you open and just fucking slamming into you so hard that you can taste him cumming, he's choosing to wait for you. It's kind of romantic, really.

Brody: You only think that because you're only hearing one person in this conversation-- lots of people at work think this whole thing is hilarious. But even if they didn't, isn't it more important for me to find me funny? I'm awesome. Of course you do-- seriously, Kurt's just a kid, Bas-- you really don't need to be so hard on him. I mean, I know that's the only type of //hard// you can manage right now, but still XD

Brody: You're a Julie fan? Damn, that's sort of cute, peacock-- now I'm going to have to put together a compilation to have someone follow you around with at school. Hide a running playlist in your classroom... You do seem to enjoy your thwarted Nazis. That's true-- you'd be stuck with Annie and The Wizard of Oz and Chicago-- neither of which featured Nazis. Very disappointing. Okay-- so now Sleeping Beauty plotline in your South Park movie. Got it. Well, technically you //don't//, since you've just met them XD But yeah, I get your point, and if you think that there are enough 10s to keep up with your lifestyle, I'll believe you. Trust me-- sneaking out of the state was the only way to avoid it. Considering you were still a barely-drinking Bas, I would have felt bad for taking advantage of your innocence, but I appreciate the thought. God, I hope you're not my last, Bas-- that would just be depressing as hell. No offense. Uh huh-- just the once; not into it. Got it ;)

Brody: You could die from over-exerting yourself, punk. That's how people die in marathons-- their hearts give out. And you're sick, so sex would be your marathon, and then I'd catch all sorts of flack that, let's be honest, wouldn't be //that// great to begin with. Well then how can I say I told you so if you're dead and I can't write it on your tombstone? And thank you-- I will not be responsible for your boasting from the grave. Your body won't fit in the casket with your head still inflating. The chaps again Bas? Seriously, maybe I'll just buy you a pair and //they// can relieve that frustration for you. I know what sick looks like-- I don't need to see you daily to know how crappy you still look. So you've seen the shows, but you didn't follow "You murdered and raped my sister" between the bouts of, you know, murdering and raping? And then DYING? Were you having sex while you were watching? No-- my choice were the Tyrell siblings, and I chose the girl. I said if I were //you//, I would choose the old lady, since she wouldn't split me in half, first with her dick and then with her sword. And plus SHE'S NOT DEAD.

Brody: Yes-- your ass is straight as an edge. Definitely shapeless, especially compared to Blaine. I don't know-- I feel like I'd be corrupting him or something. He's just young, you know? The guy doesn't have a favorite sex position, for pete's sake. Takes off from the physical appeal. Yeah, I'm sure //some// ways-- just not all of them.

Brody: I guess that's up for debate. I mean, no one's projecting their freaky kinks at me if I'm talking to normal people at least. I was never in the closet, asshat. I was just kind of standing unawares in the doorway. And quitting this tete de tete with you is hardly shuffling back inside. I'm on lunch.

Brody: Well, I figured you had that weird thing about food play, so maybe you could make use of her excessive condiments. So you're going to reduce her to fainting from hypoglycemia? Rude. So you're saying you never batted your eyelashes to get what you wanted until college? Why do I doubt that?

#ttl #smut #text #Sebastian Smythe #txt. Sebastian #Brobastian #plot drop #pneumonia #bedrest #txt_003