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when-we-drive-away-in-secret · 2 years

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What did the sugar bowl gen do with their commonplace books?

I realised that all of VFD must have had them, and then got to wondering what the individuals would have used them for and... I’m going to be honest, once again I had way too much fun with this and once again it got super long so I put everything under the cut

Beatrice

People watching. Each page is dedicated to a different person (sometimes people she knows, sometimes people she doesn't). The title is the date, location and either the subject's name or a brief description of them if they're a stranger ("woman. Big hat, dark glasses" etc). She'll write down little details and mannerisms that she notices, if they seemed stressed or happy or like they were hiding something. Later, she uses this to become a better actress, both on the stage and off of it

Olaf

Ruined it. Every time. He filled it with random thoughts, reminders to himself, shopping lists, anything - all in an awful chicken scratch that he could barely decipher later (if he ever even tried). He would spill things on it, use it as a coaster, and the pages would always be torn and crumpled. The others were horrified whenever they saw it and kept getting him new ones, but they all ended up looking just as bad within two weeks. He once went swimming in a filthy cannel while it was in his pocket, and Kit swears you couldn't even tell the difference afterwards

Bertrand

Inventions! Every time someone mentioned something that bothered them ("I wish we could just do X", "why is it so hard to do Y?") He would write it down on a clean double page. Later, he would try to invent a solution, and even go so far as to sketch out designs and list what he'd need to create it. Sometimes they resulted in incredible feats of engineering, but sometimes it's just a mostly blank page with a small coffee stain and a lot of half-erased pencil markings

Esmé

Records. If someone insulted her, it would be written verbatim in perfect handwriting, alongside their name and the date. If she revealed something about herself, she made sure she knew precisely who she told, and sometimes she'd make things up just to see who spoke about her behind her back. If someone told her a secret, it would be written in a code only she knew, based around what was In on certain days in the past (each correlating to a particular letter, and changing depending on the day it was written)

Lemony

Unfamiliar words. Ever since he was a child, every time he heard a word he didn't recognise (which, being raised in VFD, happened frequently) he would write it down along with the pronunciation. He'd try and guess at the meaning from context and write that down too, and every week he'd take a dictionary and copy out the correct definitions. This eventually evolved into his habit of defining the complex words he used so other people didn't have to do the same thing, because he found it rather tiresome

Jacques

When he was younger it was dedicated to his budding investigative talents, and he’d solves all sorts of mysteries that other people hadn’t even noticed were mysteries (including, most notably, that of Dewey Denouement - with the help of his sister, of course). When they graduated Prufrock, though, his books became focused on some very particular mysteries; the whereabouts and wellbeing of his fellow Volunteers. Lemony had the most pages dedicated to him, and Jacques was always determined to ensure the safety of the people he cared about (resulting in him sending letters to warn Jerome and investigating various accidents where someone claimed to have seen Lemony Snicket, or even anyone matching his description)

Kit

She writes down any quote that she likes, and precisely where she heard it. From books, plays, the radio, her own friends, or even overheard snippets of conversation from a stranger, she notes them down and will often spend hours at a time analysing them later. She refuses to admit that’s what she’s doing, though, and her frequent scribbling in her book has often been the topic of curious conversation among her friends

The Denouements

Anything about the other members of VFD. Stories, anecdotes, even a fleeting conversation - it would all get recorded to build up a picture of their fellow Volunteers, and so they all knew how the others saw them. To this end, they would make sure to distinguish between what people said and how they acted towards "Frank", compared to "Ernest". The triplets spent many nights comparing notes and ensuring that they could all imitate each other perfectly, if required. They kept up this practise well into adulthood, though Frank and Ernest stopped after the fire (or, more accurately, after they lost Dewey). Pretending to be twins suddenly felt so much worse when there wasn’t a third triplet in on the joke

Josephine

A bucket list. Every time she heard of something exciting that she wanted to try, she would add it on, and a surprisingly (and, some might say, worryingly) high amount of them were crossed off within the week. Her book was frequently damaged by her lifestyle, as she always kept it on her in case she got a new idea. For example, it sustained significant water damage from the time she went over a rather large waterfall in a barrel. The only reason the others didn’t mind too much about the state of her book was because it was practically pristine when compared to Olaf’s. After Ike’s death, she couldn’t bring herself to write in it anymore, and locked it away in her safe, refusing to even read about all of the dangerous things she once dreamed of doing, for fear of her old spirit overtaking her once again

Monty

Reptiles (obviously). He would plan expeditions in the back, and sketch new species he discovered with detailed descriptions and diagrams in the front. When the two sides inevitably met in the middle (which always ended up happening far faster than he’d anticipated) he would start a new one, but he had an entire shelf in his room exclusively for his old books, just in case he ever needed to refer back to any of them. The last entry in his final book was dedicated to adding extra supplies for his expedition to Peru - enough for three children to accompany him

Olivia

What other people liked. Every time one of her friends mentioned something they liked, or got excited when they saw something, she'd note it down in their page of her book. Every time she made a new friend, they'd get their own page. Favourite foods, songs, jewellery, clothes, places and just about anything else would be contained within those pages - including how they liked to be comforted when they were sad, or congratulated when they were happy (even going so far as to write if they preferred to talk about their problems or be distracted from them). She was, unsurprisingly, the best at gift-giving, and the others would always go to her for advice or companionship

Georgina

A coded book of everyone’s hypnotic trigger and release words, and their purposes. When she was younger, it used to be for any interesting piece of information she learned, but when she discovered hypnotism that became a far more productive use of her book. Because of it’s sensitive nature and comparatively small spatial requirement, she’s only ever had one book since she adopted this new practise, and she keeps it on her at all times. The most recent entry, if anyone had found the book and managed to decode it, would have involved Klaus Baudelaire and the word ‘inordinate’

#Various Fastidious Dissections #the sugar bowl gen #asoue #beatrice baudelaire #count olaf #bertrand baudelaire #esmé squalor #lemony snicket #jacques snicket #kit snicket #the denouement triplets #josephine anwhistle #aunt josephine #monty montgomery #uncle monty #olivia caliban #georgina orwell #a queue of unfortunate events

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

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Twelve Months - Good Omens fanfic

Happy 31st Anniversary of Good Omens! :D

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I have posted a slightly-sad, slightly-sweet Wake the Snake fic on AO3, because our demon has been napping for a whole Twelve Months, and sometimes Angel gets a little lonely!

Thank you all for another fantastic year in this fandom!

Twelve months.

Aziraphale pushed open the door to Crowley’s flat, a simple shopping bag tucked under his arm.

The lights were still off, the curtains drawn in the awful empty room he called a study. Nothing had changed.

He passed through the enormous, rotating section of wall and into the solarium. This was still bright—many of the plants flourishing despite being unattended so long, despite clearly not having enough water. A few had started flowering. They waved their branches at him as he entered, perking up eagerly.

The angel waved back, but first he peeked into Crowley’s bedroom.

He was still where Aziraphale had left him, on his last visit a month before. Bright red hair spilled across black pillows, grown into a stringy mop. Duvet pulled up to his messily-bearded chin. One hand curled up beside him on the bed.

Still asleep.

With a sigh, Aziraphale crossed over to the plants, who greeted him excitedly, unfurling their newest leaves, a few vines hanging down to brush his face.

“Hello, my lovelies. How are you all doing? Look at you, grown at least a foot since I saw you, I’m sure. And you! What beautiful pink buds. Very impressive.”

He didn’t think Crowley would approve of how he spoke to the plants, but the poor things had been so distraught on his first visit, straining to keep upright, trying to hide their yellowing leaves. So much healthier now, much happier for just a bit of attention. He picked up the watering can and gave them all a quick splash. He didn’t know how much water each needed, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“You keep it up, dears. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Picking up his shopping bag again, Aziraphale headed down the hall to the kitchen. The kettle sat on the island where he’d left it, and he quickly refilled it and set it to boil. While he waited, he pulled his latest creations from the bag: a small pumpkin spice cake from a recipe he’d been perfecting since fall, a lemon coconut cake, and a few apple cinnamon muffins.

Two plates—a muffin for each, a slice of the coconut cake for himself and the pumpkin spice for Crowley.[1] The rest went into the refrigerator, where they would never go bad or stale.

Aziraphale put the plates onto a tray, along with forks and napkins. Next he found two mugs and pulled the little tin of his second-favorite tea out of the bag just as the kettle boiled.

For himself, a teaspoon of the expertly blended leaves, steeped for exactly three minutes, resulting in a pale brown tea with a slightly spicy aroma. For Crowley, he dropped a tea bag into boiling water and let it sit until it was almost black.[2]

He carried the tray back to the solarium and selected a bright red-and-gold tulip that was nearly vibrating in its eagerness to be noticed. A moment to assure the other plants that they were still doing fabulously—particularly a self-conscious little succulent that had rather drooped over the winter but was making a fine recovery—and he once more headed into Crowley’s bedroom.

Crowley had rolled over, and now sprawled on his back, sleeping soundly. He’d apparently kicked a bit, too, as the blanket had slid down past his stomach. Aziraphale smiled as he set the tray on the chair he’d brought in some months ago and got to work.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, dear,” he started cheerfully, carefully rearranging the objects on the little bedside table. “I have a few things for you again, I hope you don’t mind.” Just enough space to slide the mug and the little plate. Perfect.

“I received a package from Tadfield again. Everyone wrote a note and then gathered them all together, really quite clever. They’re all doing well, if a bit bored.” The table was nearly overflowing with little items now, brought in by Aziraphale to cheer the place up. Framed pictures of their human friends, quarantining with their families, clustered in one corner so tightly you could hardly see them anymore.

He pulled the latest out of the shopping bag. “Anathema has started a garden,” he explained, pausing to show the photograph to Crowley’s sleeping form. It showed the witch, kneeling outside her little cottage, working on growing several rows of herbs. “I got the impression she was off to a rough start, but she hopes to send us some mint in the next package. Although Newt warned me not to expect too much, as they’d already forgotten which patch is mint and which is oregano.” He set the picture with the others, and slid the potted tulip alongside it. “I’m sure she could use some advice from you, when you’re ready to share.”

“Nnnnh.” Aziraphale spun eagerly, but no, just Crowley shifting in his sleep again, rolling onto his side.

The angel paused to pull the duvet back up to Crowley’s chin, tugging it straight and smoothing a hand down his back. In a way, his friend was nearly unrecognizable, with that hair and ridiculous beard, but in another way looked the same as ever. That was always Crowley’s way, of course, constantly changing yet somehow always the same.

He lingered, taking in the shape of that face, leaning close, lips hovering above his cheekbone—

Aziraphale pulled back, quickly digging into his bag again. “Oh! Ah, the, um, the children have been making projects for their art class. This past month was sculpture, and they sent us some. Look!” He pulled out four little figures of oven-baked clay. “Ah, young Wensleydale has made a very clever model of a train car. Brian’s is…abstract.” He turned the next a few different ways. “And Pepper’s is, ah, either a very complex symbolic representation of the Patriarchy, or…a troll, I think.” They just fit on the edge of the table, all in a line, a very mismatched tableau. The fourth, on the end, was the best, in Aziraphale’s opinion. “Adam made a little Dog, and it’s very well done, don’t you think?” The canine figure posed with one leg raised and head cocked, ready to play, but the shadow it cast was just a little too large, too ominous, for such a small creature.

With a sigh, Aziraphale shifted the row this way and that. “I sent a letter to Warlock, over in America, but haven’t heard back since Christmas. I believe they’re very busy with something. Politics. You know how it is.” When the Dowlings had left England, they’d planned to return for a visit the following summer. A global pandemic had had other ideas.

“In any case, that just leaves Tracy and Shadwell. I understand he’s decided to hate the concept of literacy this month, so no word on how his war with the squirrels is going. And Tracy has declared she will spend the summer making a fairy garden. I thought her sketches looked very promising, and she promised to send us an update in June. I’m sure you’ll find it charming.”

“Hrrrrm.” Crowley sank under the duvet, nestling down a little deeper. Aziraphale smiled, settling into the chair with his plate and mug.

“Things are loosening up again,” he explained, taking a bite of cake. Delicious, if he said so himself. Sharp and not too sweet. “People are getting vaccinated, shops opening up. It’s really a lovely breath of fresh air, at least when you’re not wearing a mask.” A long sip from his mug, then he held it, fingers tapping. “It’s been nice walking through the park again, just in time for the baby ducks. And that record shop at the corner, they’ve had some wonderful new additions. Which reminds me.”

Putting aside his mug, Aziraphale dug through the bag again and pulled out a handful of square plastic cases. “They had a whole shipment of those little records the Bentley likes. Modern music. I picked out the ones with the rudest names. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.” He pulled out the first disc and placed it atop Crowley’s phone. The device blinked in confusion a few times, then obediently copied all the music.

“Of course, it’s not all good news.” He stacked the rest of the discs atop the phone and returned to his tea. “Reopening means the customers are coming back. Yesterday, this one individual spent almost an hour browsing the same three shelves. And then he tried to make off with one of my books.” Another long sip. “Granted, he offered to pay, but still. What sort of establishment does he think I’m running?”

Aziraphale paused, waiting for Crowley to respond, not that he ever did. The demon’s eyelids moved a little, but no more.

Sighing, Aziraphale turned to his muffin. “You know, many times in the last year, I’ve wished you were there. Particularly during reopening phases. You could have posed as a customer, and then I’d be able to tell people I was at the capacity limit. Oh, and the people who would call to try and buy my rarest books. Collectors, or so they claimed, but then they just turn around and sell to anyone for twice the price! I’m sure you’d have some biting things to say about such people.” He smiled at Crowley’s sleeping face. “I’ve missed that, and your jokes. Rather more than I expected to.”

When his plate and tea were finished, Aziraphale set them on the floor and reached again into the bag. “Now, I have been attempting to teach my computer how to use the internet. I think it’s going quite well. Adam and his friends gave me a ‘homework assignment’ to find articles on recent news events, and I made the most wonderful discovery. Did you know that humans now share their news through humorous pictures? I printed out my favorites to show you.”[3]

He flicked through a few. “Ah, to start with, a few months ago there was this American politician with amusing mittens who showed up everywhere for a few days. It was extremely droll.” He leaned closer, holding them up for Crowley to see. “Ah, a few more from America. The murder hornets arrived, though by that point everyone had forgotten them. The election became increasingly confusing, and it all ended in a parking lot. For a little while everything was ‘This-or-That Total Landscaping,’ and before that everything was cake.” He showed a few extremely clever illusions. “I did try to make my own, but couldn’t manage it without miracles, which I felt was cheating.”

Really, leaning like this was starting to strain his back. Aziraphale shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, the better to share his pictures. “Ahhh. Also for a time everyone’s calendars were stuck on ‘March.’ And then earlier this year, a group of people learned how the stock market works, but sadly not how to spell it. The whole situation seemed very much like the sort of thing you’d be involved in. And…Oh, this angel from a television show was sent to Hell for…reasons.” He glanced at the shape beside him. Crowley had curled in slightly, pressing against Aziraphale’s back. “Yes. Various reasons. And then this musician, I suppose, went on his own. Both had many people extraordinarily upset.”

The next few images would really tickle Crowley, if he could actually see them. “The biggest news is that a large ship got stuck sideways in that canal in Egypt. Stopped half the world’s shipping for a few days while they dug it out! I’m sure you would have liked that very much. Exactly your sort of trouble. The humans were all very excited.”

The final photo was another of the ship, an image Aziraphale had made himself, printing out a blank version and writing on it in felt-tip pen. The hull of the enormous ship was labeled, “An eternity putting up with the tedious bureaucracy and frequently conflicting commands of my superiors until I begin to doubt my own judgement and sanity,”[4] while the small digger working steadily beside it was “Crowley.”

Aziraphale watched the demon beside him, not really expecting a reaction, certainly not getting one. He reached over, brushing brilliant hair back from Crowley’s forehead. “I think you’d have had rather a lot of fun last year. Or perhaps you’d have been upset you could only watch from a distance. Or…”

He’d leaned much closer than he’d intended, hovering just above Crowley’s forehead.

“Well!” Aziraphale stumbled to his feet. “I suppose that’s just about everything.” He picked up the tray from where he’d rested it on the floor, starting to re-load it with everything he’d brought in. Crowley’s cake and tea sat untouched, as always, but Aziraphale wouldn��t dream of skipping them. “We’re all very optimistic for the summer. Two months and everything should be just…just tickety-boo. Perhaps we can go for that picnic soon, if…yes…”

They’d made such plans for 2020. All the things they would do now they were free. Plans, and other thoughts carried in their minds, possibilities that would play out in their own time. Not too fast, just a slow, steady exploration of everything they could be…

“Well. Pleasant as that idea is, best not to—to plan too much, as the previous year made fools of us all. I just…” He turned away from the tray and watched Crowley sleep, hands clasped before him. “I miss you terribly. And I wish…very much…”

He picked up his shopping bag. One item still inside. The same one he’d been carrying for months, trying to find the courage to bring it out.

With a shaking hand, he reached in and drew forth a soft hand-made doll. He’d spent much of the winter on it. Simple white cotton for the head and body, wooly curls for the hair, and stiff white lace for the wings. Dressed in waistcoat and bowtie made from Aziraphale’s favorite tartan.

He still wasn’t sure why he brought it. He’d stitched several little toys, particularly a lovely black-and-red serpent with gold button eyes that had watched him from the sofa since November. But this, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, this one was for Crowley.

“I, ah…” He shuffled closer, doll clutched in both hands. “I made, um…” Back to the edge of the bed, one hand fumbling across the duvet. “…thought you might like…”

Crowley’s face stood out in stark contrast to the pillow, pale skin and bright hair. Aziraphale wanted to drink it in, memorize every detail, to hold him over until next month. The curve of his nose, the sharp angle of his cheekbones. His lashes flickering as his eyes moved. His lips, pursed ever so slightly…

“Bless it, Angel, are you going to kiss me or not?”

Aziraphale gasped, pulling back from the bright gaze of slit-pupil eyes. “You—you’re awake!”

“Nnnh. Half.” Crowley shifted, head moving across the pillow, eyes threatening to shut again. “Wouldn’t miss your visit.” One hand reached out, plucked the doll from Aziraphale’s unresisting fingers. “For me?”

The angel nodded. “If…if…you like it…or I could—I could just…”

Without a word, Crowley pulled the doll under the duvet and curled up, tucking it under his chin, a faint smile on his lips.

“If you were awake you—you should have said something! I’ve been going—going off like a fool all this—oh!” Aziraphale could feel his face turning hot as he recalled a few times his tongue had been a bit too loose for propriety.

“Mmmmmh.” The golden eyes were shut again.

“Crowley?” No response. “Crowley!” Aziraphale scowled. “Anthony J. Crowley, if you’ve fallen asleep again, I swear, I’ll—”

He’d do what? The angel fumed, but what could he really threaten? To stay away? Never.

“Alright then, I suppose I’ll see you in June. I’ve had several new requests for extremely rare manuscripts and I need to go pen some responses reprimanding these vultures for their cheek. I can—”

“You can stay.”

He spun around. Crowley had one eye barely cracked open. Gently, he pulled back the duvet, showing there was just enough space for Aziraphale beside him.

“I…I couldn’t.” But he stepped forward, not back. “I have business tomorrow, things to—”

“Just tonight then.”

His fingers brushed the mattress and pulled back as if burned. “You—you don’t really mean this, you’re just talking in your sleep.”

“Nah.” Crowley settled the doll by his pillow, making space. “Why else would I give you my key?”

“I…to…water the plants?”

“They take care of themselves.” Crowley held open his arms, eyes shut once more. “I missed you, too.”

Well. What could he say to that?

Aziraphale took off his shoes and slid into bed, into Crowley's arms. They wrapped around him gently as Crowley wriggled closer. “Mmmm. Y’r softer than the doll.”

“Oh.” He’d been called soft many times, generally as a way to imply he was a failure as an angel. But just this once, it made him feel rather pleased. “Soft is good?”

“Verrrry good.” Crowley twisted a bit, trying to find a comfortable way to rest his long limbs, and finally settled curled up against Aziraphale’s chest, tucked below the angel’s chin with a leg hooked over his knees.

The angel smiled. “And you’re…you’re noodlier than a stuffed snake. Err…”

A chuckle, just a stirring of breath across his throat. “Can’t wait to hear the story behind that.” Crowley nuzzled against his shoulder with a sigh. “Good night, Angel.”

Aziraphale swept the brilliant hair back again and bent down, pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead. A soft, gentle kiss that made his friend smile a little more broadly. “Good night, my dear.”

Crowley drifted off again, burrowing close, as the angel continued to gently tease the back of his hair. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps tomorrow's work wasn't so very urgent. Perhaps a bit of rest would do him good. And perhaps...

Well. Don't plan too much. But for the first time, Aziraphale felt a bit of optimism about the coming summer and its possibilities.

“Sleep well, Crowley.”

[1] Crowley had invented pumpkin spice, and Aziraphale assumed he must like it. In truth, Crowley despised it, and regretted every autumn how it took over the entire world. He missed apple cider season. [2] Aziraphale had suspected since the early 1950s that Crowley secretly took his tea with several lumps of sugar, but would continue to pretend he didn’t know until Crowley confessed. Considering current circumstances, that was unlikely to be any time soon. [3] Aziraphale’s fax machine, revived after over three decades of disuse, had been somewhat confused to be asked to perform any task at all, much less to print memes onto photo paper with perfectly balanced color; but like the plants and Crowley’s phone, it couldn’t stand to disappoint the angel. [4] It was possible he hadn’t quite mastered this new form of communication.

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brownandblackpearls · 3 years

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📜 🖋 𝒞ourting with 𝒟r. 𝒟evorak (Julian x BlackReader) Pt.1

PART 1 SUMMARY:

You are a reputable, young beauty of means in Vesuvia, enjoying the winter courting season. An odd letter from an odd doctor finds its way to your door. You decide to respond.

─── Julian x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── explicit smut

─── regency/historical/fantasy, courtship rituals, wealthy! MC, love letters, drama, handsome redheads

☾ next.

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

“Letters for you, Miss!” The scullery maid calls through the door.

You pause your writing, hesitating over your final line before turning to answer the call.

“Come in!”

The maid strides in with your daily mail on a silver platter. As expected, there is a heap of them from various suiters, all interested in seeking your hand.

Some young, some old, some men, some women, some wealthy, and some positively blue-blooded, they are all voracious. Usually, your interest tends to wane after weeks and weeks of these greetings each season. The feeling especially set in after getting the particular suspicion that the lords, duchesses and dukes reaching out to you were having their own maids and butlers pen these letters, a copy of an inquiry to every potential young beauty in the region.

Consequently, many of the letters did not seem to genuine, remaining vague and distanced. Polite.

Today, however, you find your lessons to be going slow. You decide to take a break and browse through the inquiries.

“Read through them for me, Delilah?” You call out the request as you lower your pen and clean your fingers in a warm, sudsy bowl of water on your desk. Drying your hands, you apply a spot of scented lotion on your fingers before smoothing it in and sliding your delicate gloves back on.

Delilah clears her throat, interested in the letters herself.

You had no doubt the contents of the proposals would make waves throughout the household by sunset, but all of your staff were well-meaning. Just bored during these slow winter months. Honestly, you didn’t blame them for indulging in your courting dramas.

“Well,” Delilah begins, “Here is a letter from a Clarence Dunford Winthrop, hailing from Bremens County! He greets you and wishes you a very warm winter. ‘I am most pleased to write to you, Miss ------. I possess a healthy 34 years in me, and I seek the opportunity to meet and possibly enter the idea of courtship with you. Are the tales true that you are quite fine and b-buxom…? Goodness, how forward!”

You bite back a chuckle, allowing Delilah her scandalized looks and comments. After she’s thoroughly read Winthrop’s letter, she moves on to the next.

“This one,” she exclaims, “is from a young, Fiorentina Agosti, hailing from the Suthlands. She greets you amicably and wishes you a cozy winter. ‘Dear Miss ------, I am most delighted to write to you. I am a young woman of etiquette and good breeding. I am 23 years old, and yet for one so young, I am more certain of my passions and ambition than most grown adults. I seek the window of opportunity to introduce myself and my estate to you, as I am seeking to build my relationships with the nearby families of standing. I favor women only, as I’ll need a good, feminine eye to steer my estate towards a glorious future…what a boastful girl! I hear she is very attractive, though…”

Delilah goes on, examining letter after letter, reading aloud excitedly. Finally, she lands on a slightly ragged one, with a wax seal bearing no crest. Only a simple plant pattern with dried flowers and ferns trapped to the note.

“My,” Delilah wonders, flipping the envelope, “what a...humble introduction. Let’s hope that the contents are more splendid than the package they came in!”

Delilah adjusts the paper before her and begins.

“This one,” she explains, “is from a young…doctor…in the capital, near the palace. Oh, I think I recall this one? He is of great renown, but markedly odd. Hmm…He greets you fondly and asks if…if you have ‘seasonal allergies’...? He is more than happy to forward any herbs or teas that can help soothe inflammation…as a ‘show of good faith and possible friendship’—yes, very odd...He would like to know if you would be interested in accompanying him as an honored guest to his annual medical tools gala. There will be anatomical displays as well as guest surgeon speakers. Afterwards, he would like to take you to attend the opening night of a Vesuvian theatre drama, and then dinner. I—that sounds more exhausting than eventful. Goodness….“

Despite Delilah’s somewhat opinionated concerns, your interest perks at the oddness of the inquiry and the oddness of the planned date. You’re not so sure a medical gala will be of interest to you, as you’ve never attended one before, but you would like to try.

“Delilah, please. No more commentary. What does the rest say...?”

Delilah harrumphs, moving on. “Well, he seems certain that you will find the engagement eventful and enlightening on his personage and he hopes to show you how good of a ‘provider he can be for a woman of your means’. He has ‘no grand heritage or acreages’, but he does have one of the ‘best practices in Vesuvia’ sporting several underling surgeons and plenty of business. New blood, instead of blue blood from the looks of it, if you ask me.”

You pause, thinking it over.

The letter all sounded personally tailored and individualized for your reception, and clearly not something that was drafted up in the monotonous manner of house staff doing as ordered.

The doctor seems very keen in meeting you...

...You can’t help but feel the same.

“What is his name?”

Delilah levels you an uncertain look, noticing your choice, before sharing.

“The suitor signed off as a Dr. Julian Devorak.”

“Devorak,” you try out, rolling the name around in your mouth.

It feels good.

“Thank you Delilah. You may place the letters in my box, save for the doctor’s. Please bring his to me, as well as my pen and good ink. I’ll also need the courting stationery.”

Delilah sours slightly before perking back up and doing as ordered quickly. She clearly does not approve of the choice but remembers her place, and knows that you are not one to be bossed.

You wait until she delivers the stationery and retreats from your room before turning to your pen and paper, glancing at the letter from the doctor.

You perfume the parchment slightly, and use a fine, shimmering ink to dot the thick, French paper. You being to write, peering at your refined, swirling letters.

“Dear Sir…I take the first opportunity to acknowledge the flattering letter with which you have favored me…your discernment is of my deep interest, as well as your detailed plans for our hopeful outing. I consent to the date and time, and I look forward to your academic gala, as well as the theater and subsequent dinner. I implore that you arrive to chaperone me long before the sun is high in the sky, as we may need much time together that I am wont to spend with you. I will admit, I find you very curious and am interested to learn more of you. Warm Regards, ------.”

You finalize the paper with a neat calligraphy of your signature, before cleanly folding and pressing the letter. You choose a lovely envelope and seal it with wax before stamping and sending it off with Delilah to be mailed.

“Hmm. Odd man,” you murmur to yourself, before moving on to send responses to the other requests of interest.

The days pass by, eventful.

You go on several dates, some of note and some not so much.

A few remain in your mind of potential. There was a beautiful countess seeking companionship after a split from her count…Nadia. Buxom and svelte, she was also the epitome of regality, and a brown-skinned beauty like yourself. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to her.

There was also Asra, a mischievous but enchanting merchant king. You suspected a penchant for the occult on his end, but his beautiful face was too good of a distraction to focus on what may hide behind it.

Then there was Muriel, a mysterious man with one of the largest claims of land in Vesuvia. He was fidgety and reserved, but you sensed a deep soul in him.

Portia, the jeweler of the aristocracy, and her passionate stares paired with her down-to-earth jokes were enough to make you lower your guards and raise your spirits.

Lastly, Lucio. Oddly enough, he turned out to be the count that split with Nadia. You found his countenance alarming at first, only to later find a subtle charm in his passion for life, luxury and you.

All of them were far more interesting than the duds you’d went on dates with the past few weeks.

Valdemar, the ambassador, had spilled soup all over your dress during a brunch while he spoke wildly about some conquest of his past. Then there’d been Volta, an odd little thing that insisted on trying all these unappealing, exotic dishes. There’d been Vlastomil, a weevil of a person who seemed more eager to gossip cruelly than to learn of you. And lastly...most memorably...there was Valdemar…you weren’t too sure what Valdemar did, but you were certain whatever it was, you wanted absolutely no part in it.

Weary from all the courting, you put your best face forward and hoped this day ended up being a delight instead of another disaster.

Foregoing flat-ironing, blowouts, presses, braids and twists this time, you decide to arrange for your servants to outfit you in lovely, long locs for the evening. You line them with fine silver trinkets, baubles, and rings before arranging your makeup to perfection and dressing in your finest, warm regards from the tailor.

Today was the day with the doctor, and you wanted to see exactly what kind of man he was.

You donned a beautiful gown beneath your long, furred coat and lined your neck with a shining collar of diamonds. The winter snow would reflect stunningly off of them, as well as you.

Perfumed, plucked, and preened, you stand, assessing yourself in the mirror.

Vesuvia’s treasure.

You laugh, satisfied with the show stopping look, before leaving your room. You almost bump into a servant, rushing in to announce to you that the doctor has arrived with a carriage for you both.

“Let him in,” you say kindly, glancing out the window. Sure enough, a large, black carriage awaits. You lift your chest, square your shoulders, and raise your chin, allowing your lashes to lower and your aura to project.

You descend the stairs of your home into the grand hall, your eyes pinning the man that entered and awaited below, greeted politely by your staff.

‘Oh,’ you realize.

He’s gorgeous.

Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him. Tall, tousled, and terribly attractive, Julian Devorak watched you, open-mouthed, as if you are some sort of ethereal being that decided to grace his mortal existence. Descending the marble stairs, you feel him watch every step you take until you finally reach the landing.

You decide to close the distance and break the ice when he makes no move, still in awe of you. No need for those stars in his eyes, you think. You want him dazzled, not anxious or elevating you to something or someone that is inaccessible.

He is here in your home, after all. If you were inaccessible to him, he wouldn’t be.

“Hello Dr. Devorak,” you grace easily, smiling. “I’m ------. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“J-Julian, please, no need for extraneous titles,” he insists in a light stammer. “The pleasure is all mine, I can assure you.”

‘Aaw,’ you think to yourself, looking fondly at him. You’ve heard the line so many times before, but somehow, the words sound so genuine coming off of his tongue. You also like the sound of his voice very much. He sounds like how he looks, you realize.

Julian mistakes your silence for something bad, and rushes to fill it.

“I-I can’t tell you how…how long I’ve anticipated today.”

“Oh?” You ask, tilting your head in wonder.

Were you the only one he was querying? That wasn’t possible. There had to be others. You respond pleasantly.

“I’m honored...’Julian’. But I’m sure an interesting man such as yourself is entertaining many acquaintances and possess many options.”

Julian blushes, surprising you. He shakes his head, fingers fidgeting at his sides.

“Not exactly,” he offers, leaving it there.

Your brow lifts in wonder.

“Really...? But I loved your letter. I’ve reread it several times and am not afraid to say so. I find you quite striking.”

If possible, Julian blushes even harder at that, daring to hold your gaze. You see an odd sort of mask arise on him then, a false yet endearing bravado. You don’t call it out and simply watch as he does his best to disguise his rampant shyness.

“Ah...thank you madam! But not nearly so striking as one such as yourself! Why, I remember the feeling of when I first laid eyes on you. It was as if lightning had struck me.”

Your eyes widen in pleasure, curious.

“Such flattery! Where did this occur?”

Julian smiles triumphantly, happy to visibly pique your interest.

“The theater! I noticed you in your private box and it was then I decided that I must inquire to learn more about you.”

Your smile broadens, and you can’t help but step closer. Julian feels very comfortable and warm, even with the pomp.

“So that’s how you knew I’d enjoy the theater!” You exclaim. You had wondered about it since his letter first arrived. He could’ve invited you to any event, any activity, and yet he knew the theater was the right choice...

Julian tenses as you near, unsure of where to look. You can’t tell if he wants you closer or farther away. You decide to hold firm and give him time to sort it out for himself.

“I-uh…yes.” He swallows thickly. “Allow me to enlighten you of the day’s activities in the carriage…?”

You nod, realizing that your questioning is holding the both of you up from your date. You step back, cowed.

“Of course! My apologies.”

Julian swiftly holds out a broad, gloved hand for you to take. The gentleman’s escorting hold.

“No need to apologize,” Julian insists, guiding your offered palm gently, “I...I actually should be the one to apologize.” He bites his lip, thinking of some unknown err.

You glance at him as the two of you step out the front door together, waved off by your staff.

“Whatever for…?”

Julian looks sheepish, rounding you both to the carriage door and opening it for you.

“I....well!” He pauses, the words sticking in his mouth. “I was...told by a confidant very recently that the medical gala may have some things that are not...er, conducive for a romantic atmosphere. So I must ask...you’re not squeamish of leeches, are you?”

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

AN: Do not copy, repost, or edit. If you see someone do so, please let me know.

☾ next.

☾ check my blog for more imagines.

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atmostories · 3 years

Text

Johnny Lawrence x Reader

Matter - Chapter Three Tags: Angst, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Alcohol Abuse, Depression That was how you found yourself falling into the routine. Each week you'd go to the dojo and work on all of the administration that needed to be done. Johnny would always call and say when he needed you to come in. Most of the time you'd be there while a class was going on, or when Miguel was training with Johnny by himself. Occasionally it would just be the two of you late in the evening. At least with the kids there was something to distract from his company. He was nothing but civil and polite, and that was the problem. You were beginning to hate how he spoke to you. The warmth and the intimacy your conversations used to have wasn't there anymore. It was like it had never existed.

There would be times when he'd make a joke, but there was always something reserved about it, like he was holding back, like he couldn't be himself with you.

It was devastating.

Sometimes you tried to convince yourself to tell Johnny that you couldn't make it, or that you were busy. But he wouldn't ask for your help if he didn't need it. In a way going to the dojo had become your punishment. You couldn't simply walk away from all the hurt and the damage that you'd caused. You had to watch firsthand how little you meant to Johnny now.

It was getting harder to sleep. No matter how tired you were after work your mind kept racing, endlessly imagining what could have happened if you'd stayed with him.

At least the kids started to warm up to you. They'd come into the office and give you their forms, most would smile or say hi. They seemed to be getting used to you being there. Miguel and Aisha would interact with you the most. They'd make small talk when the opportunity arose, ask how things were going, how much work you had to do. It was rather sweet of them. The kid with the mohawk, aptly named Hawk, preferred to keep his distance.

One day during the advanced class, the students were doing some practice fights. Johnny had got the medkit out in preparation and left it on the desk. Fifteen minutes passed without incident until one of the students got kicked in the gut and threw up on the mat. The class groaned in disgust. Looking through the window, you watched Johnny kneel down by the kid and help him up. He told Hawk to go fetch a mop. It looked as if he was the one who had kicked the other kid. Hawk wasn't happy about it but he did what he was told.

Johnny came to the office door with the kid, asking whether you could grab a spare shirt from the filing cabinet. There was some vomit on the kid's gi. He didn't wait for a reply before taking the kid to the bathroom. When you found the shirt, the smell of sick hit your nostrils and your body stiffened.

Suddenly your chest started to hurt, your heart was beating too hard. As you forced yourself to go to the bathroom, your hands started to shake so much that you dropped the shirt onto the ground. You were unsteady on your feet as you picked it up and had to brace against the wall for a brief moment. The door to the bathroom was open, the kid was washing his mouth out in the sink. Johnny barely glanced at you as he took the shirt and thanked you for getting it. He immediately turned his attention back to his student.

Rather than returning to the office, you managed to go out through the back of the dojo. You gasped in the fresh air, not quite able to get enough of it. Your back hit the wall and you slid down onto the ground. That smell, that smell, it was there for hours, all through the night, all through the fucking night. You couldn't leave Johnny to go clean it up, you couldn't leave him, you were too scared, you were terrified. His body started to convulse, he made that strange sound as he choked on his own vomit. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't fucking breathe.

He was okay, Johnny was okay now. You'd held onto him for hours, you had felt the constant rise and fall of his chest, you had made sure he was fine. But what if you hadn't? What if you hadn't gotten out of bed? What if you had woken up in the morning and found him lying there cold-

No. No, you couldn't think about it. You couldn't. He was fine. That's all that mattered. He was fine. He was helping one of his students, he'd probably be resuming the class by now. Focusing on the cars driving past and the people walking on the other side of the street offered a much needed distraction.

Your heart didn't seem to be beating as hard now, it was easier to breathe. A muscle car drove past, its engine loud and bassy as it stopped at the lights. Johnny would love to take a spin in that, thrash it down the highway to see what it's made of, turn up the music to full volume to see how the speakers-

“Are you okay?” You looked up and saw Miguel standing next to you on the sidewalk. He wasn't wearing any shoes.

“Yeah,” you mumbled. He didn't look convinced, if anything he seemed more worried. “I'm not good with sick,” you lied, hoping it would be enough of an explanation.

“Oh, that sucks. My Yaya's like that, a slight whiff and she's out of it for ages. Do you want some water or something?”

“No, I'm alright. I'll be back in a minute.” He went back inside before you could thank him. He was a good kid, you felt bad lying to him. Did you really say you'd come back in a minute? You supposed your hands weren't shaking that much now, your lungs still hurt but it wasn't as bad as before. Getting up off the ground, you were a little unsteady so you waited for a minute or two. When you walked back into the dojo, Johnny had his back turned as he watched his students practice. The mat had been cleaned. The kid who'd thrown up was sitting on the edge of the mat and was wearing the clean shirt.

You sat down heavily on the office chair. You hadn't thought about what happened that night for a long time, it had been buried away. You'd never really come to terms with it, you didn't think you could.

Not having the focus to do any work, you stared blankly at the forms on the desk and shuffled them round every now and then. Even though you'd calmed down from earlier, you couldn't settle. As soon as the class finished, you left the dojo, saying goodbye to Johnny with a glancing wave. Hopefully he wouldn't notice how little work you'd got done.

Later than night, you bought some weed which managed to calm you down and it helped you get some sleep. When things got bad, you figured you could smoke some. It would take the edge off.

Johnny called you only a few days later, explaining that there'd been some changes with the requirements he had to supply to the insurance company. Each student required two additional copies of their forms. You agreed and went back to the dojo later that day, unable to say no to him even though you were exhausted from work.

You were back in the office, trying your best not to yawn when Johnny or any of the kids were around. You sorted through the forms for the next few hours, with no end in sight. The phone finally rang, offering a welcome distraction.

“Cobra Kai Karate, how can I help?” You answered.

“Are you that teacher?” A lady questioned, annoyance heavy in her tone.

“No, Sensei Lawrence is busy with a class at the moment. Can I help you with something?”

“Help? You've gotta be joking! You can tell Mr. Lawrence that my lawyer is going to be in touch with him after what he did to my boy!” The woman on the phone angrily described how her son had come home one day with a bloody nose after Johnny elbowed him in the face because he was texting.

You tried not to swear under your breath, wondering how Johnny had done something so stupid. Holding your head in your hand, you kept pulling the phone away from your ear when she got particularly loud. She went on for the better part of ten minutes before she began to go through the story all over again. You half-listened as you searched through the files to find the consent form she signed.

“He shouldn't be allowed anywhere near children let alone teaching a class full of them!” While she was catching her breath, you took the opportunity to tell her that Sensei Lawrence doesn't use corporal punishment. You then began to cite the due diligence and individual liability clause on the form and personal injury waiver which states that the student agrees to be responsible for their own well-being.

You explained that if she was confirming that her child intentionally broke the liability clause by texting and not paying attention during class, then she has broken the agreement she signed on his behalf. She became even more agitated and continued to raise her voice. You pressed against your temple to try and relieve the growing headache to little success. She kept threatening to sue Johnny for aggravated assault and grievous bodily harm, saying that she'd make sure Cobra Kai was closed down for good.

You explicitly stated that there were no legal grounds for her to sue as she was responsible for the agreement being broken. Whether that was true or not you didn't know. You tried to calm her down by apologising for the incident several times over and insinuating that Johnny had done it by accident.

“I understand that it is distressing to see your child hurt, but there is always that element of risk in a martial art,” you told her. “That risk also exists in the real world and Cobra Kai is about being ready for the challenges that your child may have to face. I can assure you that the welfare and safety of every student is of paramount importance to Sensei Lawrence.”

Rather than mentioning her lawyer again, she said she would be writing a letter of complaint to the martial arts board, whoever they were. She continued to complain about Johnny's behaviour and made sure she got in the last word before hanging up. You put the phone down and huffed out a breath. The main class was over, through the window you saw only Aisha, Miguel and Hawk practising their kicks. Johnny had his arms crossed as he watched how they were doing.

You waved at him to get his attention and signalled him into the office when he looked your way.

“You need something?” He asked when he came in.

“Can you close the door?”

“What for?”

“I need to speak to you.” He didn't move and simply continued to stare at you curiously. “About something private.”

Thankfully he listened and closed the door behind him.

“Did you elbow a kid in the face because they were texting?”

“It's not like he didn't deserve it. He was disrespecting my class,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“I've been trying to convince that kid's mother not to sue you for bodily harm. What the fuck were thinking?”

“I barely touched the kid.”

“Things aren't how they used to be, Johnny.”

“They're just a bunch of pansy ass-”

“You can't pull this shit again,” you interrupted him angrily. “You can get sued, or they'll have you arrested for assault and they'll make sure you never go near kids again. And that includes Robby.” He stood silently. He clenched his jaw and pressed his lips together. Eventually he nodded in understanding. Johnny's eyes dropped away from you.

The frustration and the anger quickly faded as you realised how you had just spoken to him. You didn't stop to think how it wasn't your place. Rubbing your hands over your eyes, you stood up from the desk, knowing that you had to leave.

“I didn't. . .I didn't mean to raise my voice,” you told him honestly. He wasn't going to call you again.

“I just. . .” you trailed off. I care about you, was what you wanted to say, I care about you so much you stupid fucking bastard. “I should go.”

He didn't move from his position by the door as you approached him. Reaching around his body, you grabbed onto the handle but he placed his hand on top of yours.

“It's okay,” he murmured. You stared at his hand, unable to pull away from him even though you knew you should. “You're right.”

He gripped onto your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. Neither of you moved for a long moment as you stood right next to him. He sounded so sincere. You wanted to close your eyes, savour the feeling of his touch. The urge to put your arms around him was growing more intense with every second. This had to stop, you didn't trust yourself. Wrenching your hand away, you moved back to the other side of the desk, putting as much space between you as possible.

You didn't sit down, you didn't know whether to leave or to stay. At least with some distance from him it was easier to think clearly. He seemed to have listened to you. It was unfair that he had to be threatened with the prospect of not being able to visit his son for him to actually see reason. He found it so difficult to navigate past the depths of his rage, it always held him back. But in a way it had been the only thing that had protected him for so long.

“I'll be more careful,” he said wearily. “I should get back.”

He opened the door and resumed his teaching, telling Hawk to adjust his footing. You leant against the wall by the window so no one could see your hands covering your face. You were so fucking tired.

- - -

The tension with Johnny got worse. He seemed to be keeping his distance more than usual. You tried your best to ignore it, to put a polite smile on your face and keep focusing on the work at hand. But it was becoming exhausting. Each time you came back from the dojo, you smoked some weed, otherwise you wouldn't get any sleep.

You weren't able to keep up with the paperwork like you used to and frequently making mistakes certainly didn't help either. Sometimes you wondered whether there was a point in you being there at all. Johnny didn't say anything about it. But the fact that he was regularly asking you to come in twice a week rather than just the once, said more than enough.

You'd been in the dojo for about fifteen minutes and had made a decent start on processing a batch of student fees. Class wouldn't start for another half hour, but Miguel was already there doing some stretches. You heard Johnny tell him he was going next door to the mini-mall. A few moments later, Miguel was in the office saying hi to you again like he hadn't said it earlier when you came in. He didn't quite seem to know what to do with his hands.

“Are you um. . .you know. . .dating anyone?” He asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. You raised your eyebrows at him. “I mean I know you and Sensei used to. . .be together.”

“He told you that?”

“Uhh yeah.” Your hunch was proven right, it explained those meaningful looks Miguel had given you after first meeting him. “So. . .are you?”

“No. I'm not.” Miguel nodded and pursed his lips together. There was a weird sort of brightness in his eyes.

“Sensei isn't either,” he informed you. “In case you were wondering.” Before you could reply, the bell above the front door rang and Miguel promptly left the office without another word. Through the window you saw Johnny hand him a bag of ice to put away. You turned back to the paperwork, trying to convince yourself that he wasn't purposefully keeping away from you.

Miguel tucked the bag of ice into the freezer compartment of the refrigerator. Johnny called out to him from the dojo, asking him to grab his bag. Johnny had left it on the fold out chair on the other side of the desk, his black gi was in there. Did he want to avoid you that badly? You rankled at the thought and managed not to heave out a sigh until Miguel had left.

Over the duration of class, little progress had been made with the student fees. You couldn't focus on the numbers, only on the bleak thought of Johnny actively avoiding you. The next time he called, you needed to tell him you couldn't make it. This wasn't working out, maybe you could go once every couple of weeks, or once a month, it wouldn't be as bad then. You didn't know how much longer-

The sound of a hushed argument interrupted the thought. Hawk was almost brimming with anger as Miguel and Aisha spoke to him. Class must have finished a little while ago, a fair number of the kids had already left. Hawk then turned his attention to you and he glared. His body was tense, his hands were twitching like he was going to ball them into fists. The other two spoke to him for a few moments until he brushed past them to grab his bag.

Returning to your work, you briefly wondered what he was upset about, dismissing the idea of his anger being directed at you. It wasn't long until Aisha and Miguel came into the office and stood in front of the desk, neither of them bothering to take the lone seat.

“Is Hawk okay?” You queried, glancing through the window and noticing that he seemed to have left.

“He's fine,” Miguel replied but he didn't elaborate any further.

"We're all having a movie night next Saturday here in the dojo, and we were wondering if you wanted to join us?" Aisha asked, a hopeful expression on her face.

"Here?"

"Yeah, my dad's letting us borrow his projector.”

“It's kind of you to ask but-”

“Oh and we're gonna bring pillows and blankets for the mats rather than using chairs and Sensei's going to order pizza for us,” Miguel chimed in, doing his best to convince you to accept the offer. You wondered whether this was their way to try and break the tension between you and Johnny. Had they been picking up on it? You hadn't even considered whether it might be affecting them.

“I'm sure you'll have a great time,” you replied, wanting to let them down gently. “I won't be able to make it but thanks for asking.”

“Why? Are you busy?” Miguel questioned, he wasn't going to make this easy for you. There was a smug expression on his face when you hesitated to answer, as if he had caught you out and you supposed he had. You had to be honest with these kids.

“It's really not my place. If your Sensei is okay with me being there, then he can ask me,” you told them, hoping that they'd understand. Thankfully they appeared to and Miguel nodded before the two of them went back into the dojo. They were trying to clear the air. Were things really that bad? Was it that noticeable? Maybe coming back once a month was too optimistic.

You finished things about half an hour later and hoped you could leave without another awkward encounter with Johnny. He was holding up some pads for Miguel to kick. You waved them goodbye as you walked past and left the dojo. Before you could open up your car, Johnny called your name. You turned around and saw him approaching you, he stopped on the sidewalk.

“You're coming to movie night, yeah?” He asked obviously expecting a yes. You nervously played with the car keys, unsure of what to say. “The kids asked you, didn't they?”

“Yeah, they did.”

“So?”

“Um. . .I don't know.”

“We're watching the Last Dragon. None of them have seen it, can you believe that?” Johnny grumbled jokingly. He'd made you watch that cheesy action movie with him before, it must have been a couple of times at least. He moved closer until he was standing only a few feet from you. “Come on, it'll be fun.”

“The Last Dragon, huh? How many times have you made me watch that now?”

“Clearly not enough if you haven't said yes already,” he countered, you couldn't help but smile. The smirk that pulled up his lip made your heart ache pleasantly. He wasn't politely asking on behalf of the kids, he wanted you to be there.

“Next Saturday?”

“You can make it?”

“Yeah. . .I think so.”

“Great. I'm ordering pizza, you want your usual right?” For a moment, his casual question took you back but you were able to thank him. He said goodbye after that and your eyes followed him intently as he walked back into the dojo.

- - -

You were nervous.

It was stupid really, you were only going to watch a movie with a bunch of kids after all. But you hadn't done anything casual with Johnny for months, not since. . .before.

The work you did in the office held a level of civility and professionalism that you could hide behind. Now there would be nothing. On the way to the dojo, you stopped off at a grocery store and bought seven big bottles of soda for the kids and a couple stacks of soda cups. If they were having pizza, you figured soda wouldn't do too much damage. It wasn't as good a contribution, but at least it was something.

The Firebird was already there when you parked up. You hefted a few bags with all of the soda in and elbowed the front door open without dropping anything. Miguel and Aisha noticed you coming in and said hello, it looked as if they were in the process of setting up the projector and a laptop. Johnny's voice was coming from the office, but there was no one else around. Were you early? You got chatting to the two kids as you put the bags down in the corner. While you unpacked the soda and the cups, Miguel complimented the selection and joked whether he should hide a bottle or two from the others.

Before you could ask if they needed any help setting up the movie, Johnny walked into the dojo.

“Pizza's gonna be ready by the time I get there,” he announced, stopping when he spotted you. “Hey.”

“Hey, Johnny.” You offered something a little warmer than a polite smile as he came up to you. He was wearing jeans and a Zebra shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It had been a while since you'd seen him wear anything aside from the gi.

“You got all this?” He asked after he came up to you and took in the soda.

"Yeah, it's not much."

"Not much? This will keep them on a sugar high for a week," he joked. Johnny pulled out his car keys and went to move to the door but he hesitated. "Would you. . .mind coming with me? I could use all the help I can get."

"How much did you order?"

"Ten. . .extra large." Your eyebrows raised at his admission.

"You trying to feed them all week too?"

"I don't know how much these kids can put away." You were amused by the clueless expression on his face. “Let's go.”

You followed Johnny out to the Firebird and got into the passenger seat. It wasn't until after he'd pulled out of the lot that you remembered what happened the last time you were here. You had met him at some diner. He didn't say anything for a while, and when he did, he never apologised. After a brief look of guilt, he got angry at you, angrier than you'd ever seen him. You hadn't thrown away his apartment key like he'd suggested, how could you? Instead you'd kept it, for some reason holding out hope even though it was futile. Forcing your leg to stop bouncing, you concentrated on Johnny.

He was driving fast as usual with one hand on the wheel, he had some music playing at a rather low volume. For the most part he seemed pretty relaxed, he was strangely being more friendly with you than he had been for weeks. Slowly shifting in the seat, you tried to angle yourself slightly in his direction so you could see more of him. As it was almost dark outside, you hoped he wouldn't notice.

He looked good, much better than he was the last few months you were together. Part of you felt distraught, knowing that he was doing better without you, but those selfish thoughts needed to be ignored. His happiness was far more important. You just wished you could have given him that, you wished you could have given him the life he deserved. Maybe you'd been the one holding him back the whole time. Listening properly to the music, you recognised the song was one of Van Halen's, you couldn't quite remember what it was called but Johnny had played this one before.

The streets weren't busy so he could stretch the Firebird's legs out. The silence between you wasn't uncomfortable, but you were already missing that easy flow of conversation from earlier.

“What, no Zebra?” You wondered out loud. He glanced at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road.

“Huh?”

“Your shirt,” you explained. You almost laughed when he looked down at himself, like he'd forgotten what he was wearing. Automatically you reached over to the glove compartment, but stopped yourself to check whether he minded.

“You don't need to ask,” he replied, something a little off in his tone. Did he catch the amusement on your face? You didn't want him to think you were mocking him.

After rifling through the cassettes, you found one of Zebra's and got 'Tell Me What You Want' playing. Johnny turned up the volume and that was all the confirmation needed to know that he approved. Your feet started tapping in time with the music, the bass from the speakers was reverberating through your chest. You kept wanting to look over at Johnny to see whether he'd start singing, he couldn't help himself when a good song came on.

When he used to take you on long drives down the coast, he'd sing his heart. Sometimes he'd over do it and his voice would be hoarse by the end. He used to encourage you to sing and gently prod you if you clammed up with nerves. He was carefree, he didn't give a shit about keeping in tune or staying in the right key, it was about enjoying the moment.

You didn't realise how much you missed this, the open road, the music, just you and him. After the guitar solo, there was something about the shift in the song's rhythm and the lyrics that made your chest ache in longing. Somehow you always seemed to miss him the closer he was. Looking out the window, you tried to imagine that everything was okay, that you were still together and he had convinced you that he could splurge on some pizza tonight and when he took you home you'd have an Iron Eagle marathon long into the night.

“How are you doing?” He asked, pulling you out of the daydream. He'd turned the music down so he could hear your reply.

“I'm alright, how about you?”

“Just alright? Work causing you trouble?”

“It's not too bad at the moment. And you?

“Are you taking it easy like I said?”

“When I can, but how are you doing?”

“Hungry.”

“Not for long.”

“Those kids are Cobra Kai and they work hard so they're gonna have big appetites. Come to think of it, maybe ten wasn't enough. . .”

“We'd struggle to eat one large pizza between us, so I'm pretty sure there'll be enough.”

“Yeah but we had popcorn too and those stupid little candies that you like.”

“They're not stupid.”

“Yeah, they are, and don't even get me started on your pizza toppings.”

“My taste buds are just more developed than yours.”

“Developed huh? Isn't that what kids these days say to mean stupid?” You couldn't help but laugh heartily as Johnny pulled up to the pizza place. After he turned off the ignition, he gave you a strange look before getting out of the car. Though he didn't ask for you to go with him, you went anyway, figuring he'd need help carrying everything. He was walking a few steps ahead and you weren't sure if it would be weird to hurry up and match his pace.

There wasn't much of a queue in the pizza joint so it didn't take long before Johnny was taking out his wallet and paying for the order. You knew ten pizzas would cost a lot, but to see him hand it all over made it hit home uncomfortably. There was a crumpled up twenty in your pocket, it would barely make a dent but it was better than nothing. He wouldn't accept it so you'd have to find a way of sneaking it to him, maybe you could shove in the glove compartment when he wasn't looking.

Rather than putting the pizzas in the trunk, you offered to hold them as you got into the car. Johnny didn't protest and balanced the rest on top of what you had. Though the boxes were hot, they smelled damn good. He turned up the music and he drove to the dojo without striking up another conversation. You couldn't help but feel disappointed by that.

After parking up in front of the dojo, Johnny took half the pizzas from you and headed inside. You quickly grabbed the twenty dollars from your pocket and tossed it into the glove compartment before following him. He held open the door for you and your quiet thanks was drowned out by the sound of cheering.

All of the kids had turned up and the mats were covered in blankets and pillows. The soda had already been divvied out, the cups were everywhere. You wondered whether to get the mop out ready for the inevitable spill. Miguel and Aisha had set up the projector and the movie was paused on the opening credits. There were a couple of speakers on the floor too which you hadn't noticed before. Johnny coordinated handing the pizza out to everyone and made sure each of them got a slice of their choice.

With most of the kids settling down on the mats, you moved towards the empty space behind them. Hawk bumped into your shoulder, giving you a sarcastic woops before sitting down close to the front. You tried not to think much of it. He was being protective of his Sensei after all.

Sitting down behind the kids, you leant up against the wall. Johnny gave Aisha the go ahead to start the movie and turned off the main lights. The kids were still chatting amongst themselves whilst the credits played.

Johnny came over with a box of pizza, a blanket and two pillows. He didn't hesitate to settle down right next to you and hand over one of the pillows. Weren't they from his bed? While you eyed him questioningly, he went in for a slice and then encouraged you to do the same. As the movie got going, both of you made good progress on the pizza before you had to call it quits. You couldn't remember the last time you'd eaten this much.

When Johnny had finished, he put the box to one side and unfolded the blanket. He covered up his legs before doing the same to yours. For a moment, your body stilled, but you soon realised from the neutral expression on his face that you were assuming an intimacy that wasn't there. He was just being courteous, there was nothing more to do it. After taking off your shoes, you laid down on the floor to get more comfortable. You breathed in the smell from the pillow and barely stopped yourself from groaning. That was all Johnny, that was his smell. Fuck, you'd missed it, and the blanket smelled of him too.

Pulling up the blanket to reach your face, you watched Johnny as he enjoyed the movie. He'd have to turn his head and look down to get a proper look at you. A particular loud scene had you focusing on the movie for a while. You tried to appreciate the fight scenes, but it was a struggle to keep your eyes open. You were just too comfortable, and you were in that haze after eating too much food.

You closed your eyes and figured you could rest for a little while. When another particularly good scene came up, the kids would wake you up soon enough with their hollering and cheering and their oohs and ahhs. You snuggled against the blanket, more relaxed than you had been for a long time.

Johnny was close enough that you could feel the heat coming from him. He was warm. He always had been so warm. He'd never let you get cold. Even when you couldn't afford the heating bills.

On those rare cold winter nights, he made sure you were wrapped tight against him. . .tucked under the blanket and the bed sheets.

He always kept you warm. . .kept you safe- z z z Hope you enjoyed this one! I had originally planned to write my own story for Nanowrimo, but I figured I would get this one finished for you guys instead. Thanks for your support, it really helps me focus on getting each chapter finished. Was the angst sufficient for you? Hehe x Taglist: @whyhaveyouwritten-mehere @lacontroller1991 @stressedstark @wndrcarol @carissakingofthecastle92 @witchcraftandwit @magicwithaknife @80strashbag @jem-my-greatest-sin @masonsbitch @wholesomehen @chlqefrazer @actuallydrew @jem-my-greatest-sin @masonsbitch @wholesomehen @deadpoolgirl23

#johnny lawrence #johnny lawrence x reader #william zabka #cobra kai #atmo-x #i finally finished this chapter!#it's about 6k so enjoy #and happy halloween!!! x

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dunedan-estel · 3 years

Photo

Because I’m trash for Aegis and I should really include more Aer content because he’s a wholesome bean.

It took me a painstakingly long time to find a few KH IG post things and then copy and paste each individual letter because I could not find the font anywhere.

As always, some writing beneath the cut.

Aegis leaned back in her seat with a sigh - making sure she had contact with Riku and Mickey ready for their next descent into the realm of darkness, plus making sure she was available for when Sora needed help, and speaking to the wind at Keyblade Graveyard in the hope Lingering Will would even hear the update was exhausting.

She had just returned from such a trip - the last time she had set foot on that world was a month before: she had managed to take Terra’s body there but Xehanort came… once again, a fight with a Xehanort possessed Terra that ended up in failure. She still had the makes of chains, a bruise from The Guardian now faint. Only, this time, Lingering Will was waiting. A disturbance - perhaps Organisation XIII.

The update was given, she apparently fell asleep for an hour - she was still groggy from that absolute wipeout - and she had just sat down in the Gummiship.

“How’s Dad, Mum?”

Yen Sid had… encouraged Aer to go with Sora despite Aegis’ protests - he had just turned twelve but no. Yen Sid wouldn’t listen. Aer wouldn’t listen. She relented. Eventually. Though she would hardly admit out loud at the moment that his presence was a soothing one.

“As determined to right wrongs as always.” She turned her head to look at Aer - it was clear by the look in his eyes he had a question on his mind. She had an idea of what it was - he was always afraid that Lingering Will would forget of his existence. “He asked if you were okay.” Aer’s face relaxed into a smile.

“He did?”

Aegis hummed. “Third question behind ‘what’s wrong’ and ‘are you okay’.”

“Did you tell him about me helping the mission?”

“Yeah.” She spoke through a sigh. “Didn’t agree with it, but also said I shouldn’t worry so much since you’re with Sora.”

“See? I told you not to worry.” Donald chimed in with an amused undertone to his voce. Aegis rolled her eyes.

“My son is not yours, I can worry as much as I like.” Aegis folded her arms with furrowed brows - she knew she wasn’t perfect. She just wanted him safe - he was too young, he had only recently mentioned to her in a timid voice so foreign to her.. that he was struggling. Putting him so close to darkness was stupid and if he fell to it she would want blood. And Yen Sid would be number one on the list.

The thought alone squeezed her heart so tight it hurt. She heard Aer get out of his chair, ignoring Donald’s and Goofy’s protests, and stride to her. He hugged her a little awkwardly - with Aer being talling than her, with the edition of a seat in the way, it was more like he may as wel have just placed his chin on top of her head. Having such a show of affection wasn’t a rarity for her son, but it was certainly when he was worried that he didn’t hold back in the hugging department.

“I posted something on the social when you were gone.”

“Oh yeah?” She went onto her phone with a speed that was best described a excitable, though he tone was more one of interest.

“Yeah. I think it’s a nice first post. Better than complaining about Donald’s lack of being able to read a room.”

“Yeah. Complaining doesn’t suit you much.” When the app finally loaded, the first post was Mickey talking about Yen Sid, then there it was: a picture of her smilling, leaning against a wall in Twilight Town. Aer had called out to her when she was laughing at a bird looking around, figuring out how to fly out of a tree they were arguably to big for.

“Read the caption.” Sora was looking over the top of his seat, kneeling with his back turned towards the window.

“ ‘I know I can have hope when you smile, mum.’ “ Aegis pushed out her bottom lip with a smile, water starting to haze her vision. “Awe, Aer…”

“It’s true. When I told you I was struggling a little, like darkness was appearing in my heart, you smiled at me as you comforted me. You smile every time you talk of Dad and Aqua and Ven. Yen Sid asked me what hope means to me, and I said it was your smile. Because whenever you’ve forgotten how to smile, you’re on the verge of giving up…”

Aegis reached up and ruffled the twelve-year-old’s hair. “I’m able to smile because you’re smiling. Seeing their hid smile gives parents strength. I’m lucky to have you.”

Aer’s laugh was an embarrassed chuckle and he scratched the back of his head with a hand on his hip. “What’ so funny?”

“Nothing. You just never stop having Terra’s mannerisms. Never change.”

His eyes widened in surprised and then he grinned. “I’ll try my best.”

“Now go sit down. We can’t go anywhere until you park your butt down.”

“Alright, alright. I’m going. Now I’ve got to beat this level. Hey, Mum, you’ll help if I get stuck again, right?”

“Always.”

#my art #cataegis (aegis)#aer #kh ocs #kingdom hearts ocs #kingdom hearts fanart #kh fanart #oops my hand slipped and it toon me over a week uh oh

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sylvanfreckles · 3 years

Text

Eye of the Beholder

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: Sam encourages Cas to try to express himself by taking up drawing. It seems to be a lost cause...until Castiel tries to draw Sam’s soul.

(Something warm and soft and hopeful after FebuWhump)

* * *

Sam leaned against the low wall surrounding the picnic area park and let his head tip back to catch the warmth from the sun. They'd hit this town to check on rumors of a demonic possession at the local college, only to find Claire and Kaia had beat them here and pretty much had the whole thing taken care of. Now, he was enjoying just keeping an ear on the banter as Dean checked over the girls' gear and Jack chattered enthusiastically about the old fantasy novels he'd found on one of the rooms at the bunker (apparently Kaia had heard of the author and they were bonding, much to Claire's amusement).

A hint of movement at his side had him cracking one eye open to see Cas settle into a similar posture. Watching Dean and the kids with a fond look on his face, Cas caught Sam's eye with a smile. “He's good at that.”

“Dean's always been good with kids,” Sam agreed. “Probably because he still acts like he's twelve.”

Cas gave a very un-angelic snort, and Sam shifted around enough to watch the angel now. He couldn't remember when life had been this peaceful before. There were hunts still, sure, but it finally seemed like there wasn't some big bad pulling the strings behind it all. He couldn't remember a time in his life that had been like this—just the routine of the hunt and home, with their own network of friends and family.

It took him a moment to realize Cas's attention wasn't on the others anymore. The angel was looking out across the park at a mural painted on higher wall that ran around the park's perimeter. He was pretty it was a memorial to the town's history as part of the underground railroad, based on what he'd learned before they got here.

“I think the high school kids work on that every year,” Sam commented, nudging Cas with his shoulder. “When I was researching the town I found an article that said it was one of their graduating projects, and every year a group of students repairs and restores the mural.”

Cas shook his head and looked back at Sam. “Humanity's capacity for creation will always amaze me.”

Sam blinked. He hadn't...thought about it like that. Dean had always said Cas was just a weird little nerd, but was that why he always seemed to stop when he saw a statue, or a carving, or a painting? That it wasn't a type of art he preferred, but he was appreciating the human act of creating art?

“Have you ever tried?” Sam asked, trying to be casual about it. “Making something, I mean.”

The look Cas shot him was quick, but Sam thought his friend looked grieved. “Angels weren't made to create. We can only replicate.”

Sam started to protest, but hesitated. Zachariah's Beautiful Room...he'd offered Dean things from Dean's past, not some idealized thing he'd want. Gabriel had pulled from human television to make his TV world. Even Lucifer, in creating Jack, had used a human body to impregnate a human, not some celestial act of creation.

“Have you ever tried?” he repeated.

Cas pushed away from the wall. “There's enough in this world to admire,” he replied, though he wouldn't meet Sam's eyes and his shoulders remained tense. “You don't need my...'pitiful scratchings'.”

* * *

Cas's words twisted through Sam's head as he followed the others through the small downtown area back toward the hotel. Had Cas ever tried to make something around them? Had one of them said something like that? Or was this some distant event from heaven, some other angel stomping out any fraction of individuality?

He pulled up as they passed a small, disorganized craft store. “Hey, go ahead without me,” Sam called when Dean turned around. “We need a couple things.”

Sam waited until the others turned away, giving Jack a reassuring nod and smile, before pushing the door open and slipping inside the store. It was cramped inside, with shelves and bins overflowing, and the smell of cinnamon and beeswax filling the air. It wasn't completely a lie...they always needed things like natural pigments and scraps of leather for hex bags, and some places sold essential oils or crystals he liked to keep on hand for emergencies.

It just wasn't why he was here now. He squeezed past a rack of wooden beads and nearly knocked a dressmaker's mannequin over, but finally found the drawing section. The sketchbooks were easy enough to sort through—he grabbed a large one with a dark cover that had an elastic band to keep it closed when not in use. The pages were about the size of a standard sheet of printer paper, so it was big enough for Cas to have lots of room to experiment on each page but small enough to travel with him. The drawing supplies, though, were a little harder.

Sam stared at the selection of pencils, paints, and markers. If Cas had truly never tried something like this before, where could he even begin? Would he want something like colored pencils, that would have a smooth texture on the page but need to be kept sharpened? Or paints, which might be easier to blend and shade but wouldn't be portable? Or start with the very basics and get a box of crayons and hope Cas didn't think it was too childish?

A long, flat box at the end of the shelf caught his eye. Pastels. He had a flash of memory of one of Jess's friends in college who worked with pastels, the way their hands swept over the canvas to leave bright ribbons of color and then darted back to smooth and shade. Sam could suddenly imagine Cas, pastel stick in hand, a smear of pigment on his chin, brow furrowed in concentration as he filled a canvas with bright color.

He bought the sketchbook and pastels plus some silver charms to make a stronger protection hex bag for Claire's car, to make it seem like the drawing supplies had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. By the time he got back to the hotel Dean had already ordered pizza, while Kaia and Jack had Claire sandwiched between them on the couch as they tried to convince her to watch an old fantasy movie with them (Sam was on their side, Willow was awesome). Cas looked up from picking at the label on his beer bottle when Sam walked up to the table, eyes widening further in surprise when Sam set the bag from the craft store down in front of him and presented the drawing supplies with a flourish.

“I thought you might like to try,” Sam explained as he pulled out a chair and sat down next to Cas at the room's little table. “I mean, I'd kind of be interested in seeing an angel's...uh...'pitiful scratchings', you know?”

Cas hesitantly ran the tips of his fingers over the dark cover of the sketchbook. “Sam...”

“Just try?” he suggested. He scooted closer so that his shoulder brushed Cas's, knowing the physical contact helped when the angel was dealing with something new or difficult. “No one's gonna laugh if you can't do it. Well, maybe Dean, but he's an ass.”

“I heard that!” Dean shouted. As far as Sam could tell, his brother was completely focused on something on his phone. That was obviously just an automatic response.

The angel was quiet. Then, slowly, he tugged the pastels out of the bag and lifted the lid of the box. The colors almost seemed to glow under the room's overhead light, and Cas gently brushed the bright gold stick with the tip of one finger. “I'll try.”

“Good,” Sam bumped Cas's shoulder with his own, then leaned a little more closely against him, grounding him. “I can't wait.”

* * *

Sam bit his lip as he flipped through the first few pages of Cas's sketchbook. The angel leaned against the table almost despondently, arms folded across his chest and head tipped forward so that Sam couldn't see his eyes.

“These are good,” Sam said, trying to sound encouraging. “I mean, they look just like the, uh, things you were sketching. That's...that's good.”

Technically speaking, the sketches were good. There was a vase of wild flowers Kaia had put on the kitchen table the second day of her and Claire's visit. The bust of one of the old Men of Letters. Jack's profile as he read from a large leather-bound book. They were perfect and lifelike and exact, yet somehow...empty.

Cas took the sketchbook out of his hands and gently folded it closed. “Angels weren't given the breath of life,” he said, his voice quiet in the stillness of the library. “We can't...we can't create, Sam. All I can do is copy. These are copies of life.”

Sam winced. “Maybe you just need some practice. I mean, this is your first time, right? Nobody's perfect their first time.”

His friend's smile was sad when Cas finally looked up at him. “I feel no inspiration, Sam. I look at the world and nothing calls to me. The flowers and Jack...I chose those because I knew that was what a human might choose. I could have just as easily chosen the scalpels in the infirmary, or the backseat of the Impala, or every doorknob in the bunker. There's no...it's not creation, Sam. They're just copies of life.”

With a sigh, Sam ran one hand through his hair. “Cas, a lot of artists struggle with that. Maybe you just haven't found the right thing yet. With some more time I bet you could find the, the soul of a vase of flowers, or whatever.”

Cas grunted. “Flowers don't have a soul.”

“You know what I mean. Artists, they...they capture a part of themselves in the world around them. Their art reflects their own soul, you know?”

“I don't have a soul either, Sam.”

“You know what I mean.” Exasperated, Sam took a few steps away, then paced back again. “When you look at something that kind of pulls at your heart, you can make something that has a bit of your soul in it, you know? It's what humans have done for thousands of years, even longer.”

Cas let out a mournful sigh and rubbed one hand over his eyes. “If you could see your own soul you might understand,” he said wearily. “Compared to that even an angel's true form is inadequate.”

Sam huffed out a breath. He'd just wanted Cas to have a new experience, maybe find a hobby that could bring him joy. He hadn't meant to start some kind of identity crisis. Then his friend's words caught up to him. “Wait...Cas, are you saying you can see my soul?”

His friend gave him a flat look. “I am still an angel.”

“No, no, I mean...you can see my soul?”

“Of course, Sam.”

Heart pounding, Sam spread his arms out. “Then draw that!”

Cas stared at him for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “Why would you want to see something like that?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I want to see it!” Sam turned in a full circle before grabbing one of the library chairs and dragging it in front of Cas. “Is this good? Or, wait, do you need better light?” His soul through the eyes of an angel...who wouldn't want to see that?

There was still hesitation in Cas's movements as he slowly picked up his sketchbook and lifted the cover off the box of pastels. “You're sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Cas flipped to a clean page and stared over the top of the sketchbook at Sam. Sam waited, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Do you need me to do something?” he asked, when Cas made no move to start drawing.

Cas frowned, then reached in the box for a pastel. “Just talk. About one of your passions.”

A passion...okay, Sam could do that. Like Dean had always said, he was a huge nerd. “Oh, I found that book about cuneiform we were talking about,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. “You were right, the author was completely ignorant of the language schism toward the end of the Bronze Age....”

He talked on and on while Cas drew. The angel glanced up at him from time to time, a little smile brightening his face. It was almost exactly the image Sam had conjured in the craft store...Cas with a smear of pigment on his chin, bright colors filling the page in front of him. As he drew the angel seemed to relax, the perpetual slump of his shoulders easing back, the worry lines in his forehead smoothing out.

Sam could have pumped his fist in victory. He knew this had been a good idea.

Then Cas set the pastels down and hesitantly pulled the lid over the box. He seemed unsure of himself again, tipping the picture up to makes sure Sam couldn't see it.

“Is it done?” Sam asked. “Can I see?”

For a moment he was afraid Cas would refuse, then the angel slowly turned the sketchbook around.

Sam had seen human souls before...or at least he thought he had. They'd been wispy balls of bluish light, nothing too amazing. This was...this was something else.

The page was a riot of colors. Sweeping and dazzling, greens and blues with threads of red twisting through them, all turning back in on themselves over and over. There were jagged cracks in the swirling shapes, but they'd been filled in with a golden color so vivid he almost brushed his finger over the page to see if it felt warm.

“In some cultures,” Cas's voice was quiet as he explained, “when an item is broken they mend it with gold, so it is more beautiful and valuable because of the cracks.”

Sam drew in a breath. “This is how you see my soul?” The cracks...memories of Lucifer and the Cage, everything they'd lost, the darkness he'd hidden for so long...Cas saw them mended in gold?

“Oh, Sam,” Cas's hand was warm on his shoulder and he looked up, surprised to see tears in his friend's eyes. “This is you.”

He swallowed and looked back down. There was so much...so much hope. Despite it being almost incomprehensible swirls of color on paper, he could feel the hope and faith and trust nearly radiating off the page. Was this...was this really what Cas saw in him?

“Whoa, am I interrupting something?”

Sam pulled back, scrubbing a sleeve over his face. He hadn't even heard Dean coming. “We were just,” he tried to explain, gesturing at the page.

Dean was staring, tilting his head to one side. “Okay, man, call me crazy, but why does this look like Sammy?”

He let out a shaky laugh and ran his hands through his hair. “That's my soul, man.”

“You drew this, Cas?” Dean was leaning in even closer. “Ha, yeah, there's the little part that died when I told you Santa wasn't real. It really is your soul.”

Sam couldn't help but smile at his brother's antics and looked up to meet Cas's eyes. “Can I have this?”

“No way,” Dean interrupted, putting his hand on Cas's wrist.

“Dean, it's my soul.”

“Yeah. We're framing it,” Dean took a step back and held his hands up, like he was envisioning the drawing in a frame. “This is going next to the family pictures, Sammy.”

“We don't have family pictures, Dean.”

“We do now,” Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder. “You should do Jack next. I'll get 'im.”

“Wait,” Sam lunged after his brother. “What about you?”

“Not happening,” Dean replied, easily twisting away from Sam's hand. “Let me go get the kid.”

* * *

Jack, predictably, was thrilled. He sat in front of his adopted father, eyes bright, as he talked about his first memories of Castiel. Sam stood behind Cas's shoulder and watched the picture take shape—all interlocking golden halos bursting out of a dark shadow, radiating a light that was somehow yellow and blue at the same time that banished that darkness away. It was peace. It was strength. It was family.

It was Jack.

Claire and Kaia were next, crowding together into one of the big armchairs with their fingers intertwined. Sam had been expecting some kind of double drawing, maybe two pages side-by-side, but the drawing Cas produced was somehow Claire, somehow Kaia, and somehow a blend of the two of them that went beyond anything the human eye could see.

“That's what it looks like to be soulmates,” Cas explained when Sam asked.

When they went back to Jody's house with the girls, Jody sat for a drawing. Her soul was all graceful arcs swooping around a central, solid core. Sam could almost feel it extending beyond the page, pulling them all together around the woman who had chosen to care for the motherless.

There were others, as hunters checked in at the bunker or they met them in the field. Eileen's soul was a fury of purple and silver, sharp with the kind of love that dove into battle with sword held high. Bobby's was a blend of muted shades that spoke to the loss the older hunter had experienced, and his determination to carry on.

Sam was dropping a new sketchbook in Cas's room one day, a few weeks later, when he spotted a few loose papers that had fallen out of the old one. Meaning just to pick them up and shuffle them back in, he was startled to find he had a picture of Dean's soul in his hands.

It couldn't be anything else. While Sam's had had cracks mended with brilliant gold, Dean's looked like it had been broken and pushed in on itself over and over, more like overlapping plates of ice from a lake that had been melted and refrozen. There were layers and sharp edges, and a few twisting shadows of darkness that lingered in odd corners.

But it was warm. Despite the cracks and the broken parts...despite the trauma and ache and pain it was good. It was the soul of a man who loved so completely he would—and had—lay down his life for his family.

He heard a shuffle from the doorway, and turned to see Cas was standing there, staring at the paper in his hands with something like guilt on his face. “Sam, I...”

“When did you draw this?” Sam asked in a whisper. “He kept saying he didn't want you to do it.”

Cas hesitated, then approached close enough to gently take the drawing from Sam's hands. “It was from memory. Dean and I have always had a connection, since I pulled him from Hell.”

Sam almost laughed. “A more profound bond?” he teased. Cas's lips twitched in a smile and he nodded. “We should hang it up with the others.”

Shaking his head, Cas frowned down at the drawing. “He keeps saying no one would want to see it.”

“Well, he's wrong,” Sam looped an arm around Cas's shoulders. “Come on, I know where he stashed the extra frames.”

#supernatural #fic #sam winchester #castiel #dean winchester #jack kline #claire novak #kaia nieves #fluff #angst #souls #headcanon #artist castiel #sam is a good friend

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thatgamefromthatad · 3 years

Text

Seen these ads? (Dress Up! Time Princess Review)

This is primarily a dress up and interactive fiction game.

The storylines and character interactions are not as dramatic as the ads would suggest, the gameplay mechanics are different from what you see in the ads and it is not a “makeover” game as some of the ads state. There are also a lot of other features in the game, although the primary focus is on dress up stages and interactive plot lines.

The characters are heavily “Elsafied” as shown in the ads, but this is actually a much better game than one would assume based on how it’s advertised.

Read my full review below:

***

👸 Is the game still fun? Yes, it is fun! The game is very well fleshed-out, from the dress up system to the storylines and characters, and the graphics are very nice as well. The outfits especially are very pleasant to look at - the fabrics have texture and motion, there’s a wide variety of items and you can even customize your own clothes with dyes and patterns and stuff unlocked along the way, which I don’t think I’ve seen before in a game except maybe the Sims and Animal Crossing lol.

The storylines are mostly based around historical events and fairytales which is pretty unique and makes for a surprising bit of edutainment - there are even little factoids throughout on different historical figures, locations, events and items etc. The decisions you make actually affect the story routes, endings and your relationships with other characters, and the characters themselves are well-developed with their own personalities and designs (although they are still Disneyfied/Elsafied designs.)

The characters emote and move throughout the dialog in a way that makes the stories more engaging, and the relationship system is really well-done; your decisions throughout the story effect your relationships and your relationship stats affect the story routes in turn. You can also improve relationships by giving characters gifts based on their individual preferences and you even get little letters and rewards from them as your relationships improve.

The dress up stages are woven into the story, usually with you dressing up to attend an event or meeting with the stage objectives related to the type of event/meeting it is (formal, informal, outdoors, you’re trying to impress someone, you’re trying to appear humble etc.) There are even items based around the specific time periods and locations of the stories.

In addition to the dress up stages and storylines there are a lot of other things to do in this game - crafting, minigames, events and contests, side stories, pets and items to collect that can boost your points during dressup stages, etc. I would say there’s almost too much to do, with a busy home screen covered in notifications that can be a hassle to go through if you’re like me and want to clear all your notifications before you do anything else lol. There are also a lot of different in-game currencies involved for different parts of the game which can be confusing. But the game gives you a good amount of guidance with tutorials explaining each feature along the way (and not thrown at you all at once), and if you can get past the sheer overwhelming quantity of things to do, you can either figure out how to organize and optimize your tasks, or just ignore the more complicated stuff and enjoy the main story stages/dress up aspects.

I was really surprised by the quality of this game based on the spammy/clickbaity/fake ads and the fact that on its face it seems like something that would be geared more toward younger children. It still isn’t exactly my cup of tea since I’m personally not that into dress up games and historical fiction, but I have to admit it was pretty enjoyable and impressive, and definitely something I would recommend to those who enjoy these specific genres.

👗 Is this a free game or a “free” game? I would definitely consider this a free game, you can pretty much do everything for free and play for a long time without hitting a dead end. You need stamina to play the main story/dress up stages but this renews over time and the stages themselves are long enough that you might not even play enough in one sitting to run out of stamina completely. I personally never ran out of stamina, especially since I racked up a lot of extra stamina (I think from earning it from different tasks I completed along the way but I’m not sure exactly where it came from).

Even if you did run out and had to wait to play more main stages, there are so many other things you can do in the meantime. And there are tons of opportunities to earn crafting materials, dress up items, experience and in-game currency, which lessens the pressure to pay in order to get more items or progress through the stories.

Probably best of all is that there aren’t paid choices in the storylines, unlike in a lot of other interactive fiction/visual novel games, where more favorable/consquential options require premium currency to make.

🕰 Features

There are a ton of different features in this game but I’ll try my best to list the ones I remember.

Dress up stages (you put together an outfit using clothing items/accessories in your inventory, and earn more points for higher-rated items as well as items with attributes that match the stage goals)

Storylines (there are different “books” to choose from with their own themes, plots, characters and dress up stages, which are mostly based on history or fairytales with the overarching plot being that your character is a time traveler who can travel into storybooks and take on the role of a historical figure/protagonist, kind of like a “past life” thing. Your character is always female and you can customize their facial features, skintone and base hairstyle but not their name since it will always be the name of whatever main protagonist you’re taking the role of. Each book is pretty long with dozens of stages and you unlock them with tickets you can earn from progressing through other books; there are also a few shorter stories or spinoff stories from the main books that cost less tickets)

Character relationships and interactions (with each main book comes a set of main characters called “companions” with their own personalities and preferences, who you can build your relationships with through story choices, giving them gifts they like and other interactions. You can get letters and rewards from them as your relationship stat increases and there’s also something called “encounters” where you make a choice based on a single line of dialog from a companion or generic NPC and get a reward, but I don’t think this affects the relationship stat. There are romantic plot lines but I don’t think there’s a separate stat for romantic relationships, it just comes out through the narrative/dialog. I’ve only played partly through one main story so far so I don’t know if your love interests are always male or not.)

Crafting (you can use materials and blueprints earned by completing stages and other various tasks to craft dress up items and gifts to give to companions)

Gacha mechanic (there’s a gacha mechanic where you get free draws each day to get crafting materials or dress up items. You can pay other currencies for more draws with guaranteed rare items.)

Friends/community (you can make friends with other players and gift them stamina and friend points which can be used for draws in one of the gacha pools. You can also borrow dress up items from friends to complete dress up stages, although this costs in-game currency. There’s also a global chat and other public chat rooms, and you can chat with or message your friends.)

Avatar and customization (You have a main customizable avatar displayed with the storyline dialog that you can also dress up with any of the items you own for a photobooth type thing, where you can make images of them in different poses to share on social media or what have you. You can also customize some clothing items using dyes, patterns and stamps you’ve unlocked and use those to dress up your avatar. The customized items can also be used in stages though I’m not clear on whether customization affects your performance or is only for visual effect.)

Events, minigames and contests (There are countless events going on at any given time, including log-in events, contests, puzzle/arcade minigames and more. These provide an abundance of opportunities to earn crafting materials, dress up items, in-game currency etc., pass them time while waiting for stamina to refill or overall engage with the game community.)

Pets, relics and research (I haven’t explored these part very much but you can get pet cats that can be attached to outfits to boost their stats and be sent out on missions to passively bring in rewards over time. Relics are another type of point-booster for dress up stages and research can be done on categories of dress up items to increase the points they yield.)

Edutainment (there’s a “memories” area where you can read through the different historical facts and trivia you’ve come across throughout the storylines)

⚖️ Ad Honesty Rating: 2/5 (the ads rely on overdone tropes and melodrama, and blatantly copy from other games/game ads. For example the ads where her eyeliner is all smeared are basically the same exact ads used for Project Makeover. The art style and basic gist of the game’s genres are relayed through the ads, but they scarcely include real gameplay and really don’t do the game justice.)

⭐️ Overall Rating: 5/5 (other than the game being overly busy and having an Elsafied art style, there’s not much else to complain about, and there’s a lot of great stuff going on here. The visuals especially really caught my attention and the complex storylines and ability to play for free unhindered really make it a 5/5 for me. Overall one of the best games I’ve reviewed so far even if it’s not my personal genre preference.)

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#dress up games #fashion #historical fiction #mobile games #tumblr ads #game ads #instagram ads #in-game ads #fashion games #dressup games #interactive fiction #romance games #gacha games #fake ads #full review

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ckret2 · 4 years

Text

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

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