#(which i mean you can kinda tell when i'm more in front than ivy but. yeah wsdfgh)

[moogghost]

i'm. sorry this is a long post just about myself (your uh. friendly scissors gijinka introject saxen who the brain just chucked into the headspace at one point because "fuck you you need a humanized pair of scissors") and the consideration of a personal sideblog because i don't feel particularly bothered to make a new whole-ass email for another tumblr account summed up so feel free to read if y'all want details SDFGHJ

ik we have a separate system blog for a reason and i mainly use it just because it still feels weird mentioning system stuff or plurality when most of our followers on here are singlets but,, am thinking of potentially making another sideblog specifically for myself and my own interests because i front too often to not have one i think i deserve it <3 and idk it isn't going to be system centric if i did make it it'd be my own specific interests (...it could literally be a combination of just several images of snakes, swords, cats, some source content from this blog since idk i don't feel that comfortable reblogging other's content on another blog specifically with my own individual interests even though i'm pretty sure most people would be understanding)

issues: i don't know what to fucking name it (i'm. not naming it after myself or my source i frankly just feel a little too nervous doing that simply bc anxiety </3 i definitely love my source and do enjoy the fandom itself though don't get me wrong like half the time if you are interacting with us. it's very likely you have talked to me before or at least in co-front with ivy and i haven't had a really bad experience atm? then again i could be downplaying some things because y'know i mainly formed after the wings of fire wiki shit </3), i don't have enough energy to do that both just in general and also i just got my wisdom teeth removed :), and also i just. ngh yeah we're a system that's really blurry at times so idk if it's worth it because sometimes everything feels like one big introject soup ASDFGH (y'know i. might actually look into more of those guides because the endo community has already helped us a lot with handling our own plurality and that might help us too. discord and tupperbox definitely helped but i was thinking we need more and i do have uh. other reasons for wanting to be more separate but they are slightly embarrassing maybe </3)

idk like. while it's usually ivy and me in co-front atm since. max just only fronts when we're 1) being ridiculous/"fighting", 2) needs to calm me down and ivy or day can't (which he is. good at. i don't get it he's younger than me in our perceived innerworld why), or 3) we need to have a schedule he is the only one with a sense of schedule in the system besides maybe natalie. he was the saving grace for our standardized testing and finals being finished, honestly. the others are here or there usually, so it's mostly just me and ivy reblogging shit and posting art on here anyways. i mean she technically has her wings of fire blog i should have my own i think. maybe i might have the others help or co-front because i'll be blunt while i do try my best i am. not the best person sometimes! so it's probably going to be a mix of just trying and hoping people will be patient with me ig if i go with it

[hermannsthumb]

for the autumn fic meme.. newmann #20 like newt chasing leaves and hermann outwardly is psh, childish and internally heart eyes and is crunching the leaves around his feet with his cane when newts not looking (this became really long lol feel free to just post it not as a request)

20. Crunching Leaves

from autumn fic prompts here

this is such a cute idea

-------------------------

"It's weird having a break from things, isn't it?" Newton says.

Hermann hums noncommittally. He prods the small fire in their chiminea with the end of a rusted poker (dug up from a garden shed that's seen better days), and moves his leg back just in time to avoid spraying his trouser hem with sparks. Newton tugs the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over his knuckles and gives him a small smile. "Even a small break," he amends. "It's like a mini vacation."

Hermann is not sure—if given the opportunity to do so—he would've picked the northwestern United States as his ideal vacation spot, nor would he spend three out of their four days there networking and lecturing at an international Kaiju Science conference, but he supposes he understands Newton's point. The location of their rental cabin is remote and wooded, which has made for rather calm, picturesque evenings by the living room fireplace, and everything (even their sparse accumulation of groceries) is on the PPDC's budget, which means it's hardly the hit to the wallet it would have otherwise been. Ideally, he would not have to handle Newton on a vacation, either, but Hermann supposes nothing can be perfect. He watches silently as Newton pours himself another cup of coffee from the rental kitchen's French press. "Mm," Hermann says.

Their flight back to Hong Kong leaves tomorrow afternoon. Over their shared dinner of instant mashed potatoes and fish sticks from a box, Newton had suddenly become deeply incensed that they had not taken full advantage of the rental cabin, and dragged Hermann outside onto the small back patio to do some proper autumn things—to Newton, that meant finding two wooden deck chairs languishing under moss and ivy at the very back corner of the property, lighting a campfire in the dusty chiminea with an ancient book of matches discovered under the sink, and attempting to roast marshmallows with a broken tree branch. He gave up on the marshmallows after he kept burning his beyond recognition, too impatient to hold them anywhere but directly in the flames. Hermann had not bothered in the first place. He's always been somewhat repulsed by their texture. "Have you ever been camping?" Newton says.

Hermann shivers at the thought of willingly spending time inside a tent. Even sitting outside beneath trees right now (where twigs bounce from above onto his clothing, bugs keep landing on him, and all sorts of things to set off his hay fever) is pushing the limits of his patience. "Absolutely not."

"I used to go camping every October when I was a kid," Newton says. "I loved it. This place kinda reminds me of the campground we'd go to. So many—" He waves his hand around, and adds, lamely, "Trees."

Hermann privately thinks that all forests tend to look the same, but he doesn't tell Newton that; it's not as if they can take a stroll through the woods whenever they'd like back in Hong Kong, where they spend about ninety percent of their waking moments toiling away in the dark and the damp of the basement laboratory, and he's not keen to put a damper on Newton's good spirits. He knows Newton has spent more than a few days off of work hunting down the nearest hiking spots, always returning (often the following morning) with his pockets full of leaves and interesting rocks he looks up online. Hermann has always, quite frankly, found it endearing. Not that he would ever confess such a thing to Newton.

He pokes the fire again. This time, sparks shoot out at Newton's boots. Newton doesn't bother moving out of the way. "I never spent much time outside as a child," Hermann says. "Too busy with school, I suppose." When he was not doing schoolwork for his classes, he was practicing whatever his mother and father decided school was not sufficiently instructing him in (for the Gottlieb children were expected to be exceedingly accomplished and well-rounded in their skills)—advanced mathematics, languages beyond their native German, even piano, for a spell, before Hermann finally confessed he loathed the instrument, though he still retains enough of it he reckons he could play some Chopin should you sit him down in front of one. He used to have a treehouse—a hand-me-down from his elder brother, as most of Hermann's things were—he would keep his telescope in, and he would fall asleep there some nights, one eye still pressed to the eyepiece. That was when he still had the full capabilities of his left leg that were required to shimmy up and down a ladder, of course.

"Didn't you live on a farm?" Newton says.

It was not actually a farm, as Hermann frequently reminds Newton, merely a former farmhouse on what was, at one point, likely farmland, but that must've been at least a hundred years before the Gottliebs moved in. The house was certainly old enough. Newton never fails to roar with laughter over it anyway, and Hermann knows it's because he's picturing Hermann's in dungarees and milking a cow or some such nonsense. Hermann can see Newton's mouth twitching into a broad grin even now. "Hardly," Hermann says. "I really do mean I was too busy to have the time to do much else. My mother and father preferred it that way."

"'Much else'?" Newton echoes.

"Childish sorts of things," Hermann says. A dead leaf drifts from a tree overhead and lands near him on the patio. Hermann stabs it with the poker, debates condemning it to the fire, and then flicks it off to the side inside. He drops the poker back on the ground. "Er. Playing. Indoors, or outdoors."

This sobers Newton up. "You mean, like, being a normal kid?"

"I suppose," Hermann says.

"Jeez, dude," Newton says. "That's...kinda depressing."

Hermann shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee. He doesn't think much about it these days. He doesn't think much about his childhood in general, really, and certainly doesn't waste time moping over it—there are much more important things that require his attention. "Is it?" His coffee's gone cold. They've been out here for quite a long time; the sun has almost set on the horizon, and the chill of the October evening is settling upon them fast. Hermann suddenly wishes he'd thought to pack a thicker sweater. Or, oddly enough, a book. It feels like the appropriate setting to read something, perhaps even aloud to Newton (not that they would ever agree on what to read). Perhaps he and Newton might draw their chairs together, and toss a heavy blanket over themselves, and Newton would put his head on Hermann's shoulder and poke fun at Hermann's taste in literature, but listen intently anyway...

The fire pops. Hermann coughs and shoos his traitorous thoughts away. Another leaf drifts down, this one landing in Newton's hair, and Newton's smile returns as he extracts it. He clenches his fist around it with a satisfying crunch. "I love fall," he says. He raises his boot above another leaf and slams it down with an even louder crunch. His smile widens into a grin. "Hey, do you remember if there was a rake in the shed? I kinda want to make a leaf pile."

"It's nearly dark, Newton," Hermann points out.

"And?" Newton hops to his feet. "I'll be right back," he says, and, his scarf flapping behind him like a cape, tears off back in the direction of the shed, taking care to trod on each and every dry leaf in his path.

He returns a minute later empty-handed. "No rake," he says.

He jumps on another leaf. Then another.

"Don't be such a child," Hermann sighs, though his heart twists in his chest at the sight of Newton so unabashedly happy. He often envies Newton for how carefree he can be sometimes, though he has a sinking feeling what he's feeling now is nothing remotely like envy. Newton really is a thorn in his side.

Newton, rather appropriately, sticks his tongue out at him, and then jumps on another leaf. The force of it jostles his glasses so far down his nose they threaten to fall to the ground themselves. "I'm having fun, man. This is the first time I haven't been stressed out of my fuckin' mind in months." He pushes his glasses back up. "I wish we had another day here."

Oddly enough, Hermann finds himself agreeing with Newton. But he'd prefer an additional day without Newton, of course—Hermann would love to have a day all to himself here, where he could sleep in late, take advantage of the bathtub (which he's been too shy to so far, given that their cabin has only one restroom and he shares it with Newton), and devote as little time as he pleased to all things kaiju-related. Well, maybe he'd let Newton stop in for dinner. Or for a passionate debate or two. Or to share a blanket and a book, if only in Hermann's wildest fantasies. It does sound a bit like a bore without him.

While Newton's back is turned, Hermann uses his cane to crunch a few dry leaves littering the ground by his feet. The sound really is quite satisfying. "Can we go inside now?" he says. When Newton turns to him, his hair sticking up at odd angles, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes bright behind his glasses, Hermann must affect a frown to keep himself from smiling. "I'm—er—I'm getting a bit cold."

[dearest-sapphics]

Mmm yeah screw it

Jeff the killer rewrite chapter(?) 1

It doesn't make much sense on it's own but this section takes place a few years after the whole incident

My phone's alarm goes off, my obnoxiously loud signal to wake up. I silence the noise, but the damage is done. I'm awake and so is Keith. "You're gonna start sleeping somewhere else if you don't turn that shit off," he says.

"What do you want me to do, be late to class?" I ask. He kicks me under the covers, and I'm starting to remember how much of a bitch he is in the mornings.

I force myself up, grab a random shirt and pair of jeans out of the basket and go into the bathroom. I do all the morning jazz, hair, teeth, making sure I smell decent enough. I probably should've showered last night, I reek of weed and cigarettes. Not that I usually don't smell like weed and cigarettes, but I think Travis Gramble is starting to regret sitting by me in math or whatever they wanna call it. Colleges give everything weird ass names. I change and coat myself in cologne, which will hopefully mask my odor.

I walk to the very small kitchen and start a pot of coffee. I hate that I thought morning classes were a good idea. Oh I've done it since I was little, it won't be any different. Turns out it's a lot easier to sell drugs and stay up all night in high school than in college. More customers, though, so more money. Which means I get to rub it in Keith's parents' faces that I can provide for myself.

The coffee finishes and I fix it how I like (which is apparently to bitter if you ask Troy.) I need breakfast, but soggy cereal and a cold sandwich isn't to appetizing. Maybe we still have some leftovers. I open the fridge and it's the emptiness fridge I've ever seen. We need to go grocery shopping, I guess I can do that after classes. Guess I'll just starve myself until then. I shut the fridge and go over to the door, grabbing a pair of socks out of the sock basket. It's time saving to keep your socks and shoes by the front door. Troy hates it because ever time he comes over he knocks the basket over but who gives a shit about what Troy thinks?

I try drinking my coffee, but I burn my tongue. "Fuck!" I yell. "Shut the hell up!" Keith yells back from the bedroom. I'm regretting our bunking decisions.

I probably don't even have time to finish this coffee, I'll just put it in the fridge until I get back. "I'm leaving, I love you!" I call. I get no response. "Dick," I mumble to myself. I put my coffee up and leave, making sure I have my key on me so my lovely boyfriend doesn't lock me out again. There's some hipster couple in the courtyard making out, and some kid running with half a sandwich in their mouth. I kinda hope they trip. Is that to mean? I've been working on that, been trying to be nicer. It sucks ass. Why is being kind preached to us? I haven't gotten a single thing out of it so far, though I guess karma from high school is due. It's a shit tone of karma.

"Randy!" I turn my head and almost fall when Troy knocks into me. "Dude, watch it," I say. "Sorry, thought I was gonna stop sooner," he says, "But hey, now we can walk to English together." "It's to early for me to have a conversation," I say starting my way to class. "That's fine, since I wanted to talk about this cute girl I met a few days ago" Troy says. "Another lesbian?" I joke. "Shut up, this one isn't going to be a lesbian," he says. "You said that about the last one," I tell him. "Yes, but I have a good feeling about this. I got her number!" Troy says. "What's her name?" I ask. "It's Ivy, and she's super cool! She's a huge sports fan, but she also reads a lot of comics. Mostly DC, which I don't get because I like Marvel more but whatever. Oh! and she has the cutest dog I've ever seen! His name is Brutus, and I think he's a bulldog mixed with a pitbull. And she recently started her own business, she help people decorate their homes," Troy explains.

"Mhm, how old is she?" I ask. "She's 28," Troy says. "She's nine years older than you," I say. "Yeah, but it's not like she's old," he says. "28 is pretty old," I say. "Sure it is," Troy says. He holds the door open for me and I walk to the classroom. "I hope Mr. Grays' hungover so he won't make us do anything," I say. "We already don't do anything," Troy says. "Yeah, but I'm tired of asking Madeline for notes," I say. "Then write your own," Troy says. "To lazy," I say. I take my seat, Troy settling beside me. Mr. Grays is holding his head at his desk, so I'm leaning to no work today.

After a few minutes, everyone else is in the class. Half of them have coffee from the cafe, lucky bastards. I take my phone and text Keith.

R: tell me what you want from the store

R: I'm going some time today

He surprisingly answers fairly quickly.

K: A new boyfriend

Asshole.

R: they don't sells those

R: dick

He sends a picture of him giving me the bird, but I could care less. He's just upset because my alarm woke him up and he can't fall back asleep. He'll go back to normal soon.

"You guys can do whatever, just do it quietly," Mr. Grays says. "Guess you got your wish," Troy says. "Mhm, do you think he'd care if we left?" I ask. "I mean, Carlos usually does and he doesn't say anything," Troy says, "Why?" I put my phone up before standing up and grabbing my bag. "I've got somewhere I need to go," I say. "Where? Back to your dorm?" Troy asks. "Nope, somewhere else," I say. "Can I know?" Troy asks. He sounds genuinely curious, but I'm to stubborn and proud to tell him. "Maybe later," I say.

I leave out of the classroom and head to Ms. Winifred's room, the campus counselor. I knock the door, just encase she has someone else in there. Look at me, being considerate and shit.

"Come in!" she calls. I open the door and walk in, and Ms. Winifred looks pleasantly surprised to see me. "Randy, you're back. I'm glad, got worried you wouldn't," she says. "Yeah, well I guess I have more I want to get out," I say. I sit down, setting my bag beside me. "How have you been?" Ms. Winifred asks. "Uh, okay. Nothing really big has happened. Well, Keith's parents want us to come visit for Thanksgiving," I say. "Ah, the parents who don't like you?" she says in a way that's a mix of a question and statement. "Yeah, those ones,"I say, "I'm not looking forward to it." "Mm, well there's no real doubt they'll be rude, but there's ways around it. You could give very short hand answers to anything they say that's weird or wrong," Ms. Winifred tells me. "Yeah, I guess so," I say, "but I actually wanted to talk about something else."

She swirls in her chair a little and grabs her coffee cup, "What is it?" "Well..." I'm fidgeting with my hands, and flashes of all of it are coming back to me. I tried to help, I did, I just... didn't.

"There was an incident when I was in high school, me and my friends were involved in it. A kid got hurt, really hurt. There wasn't anything anyone could do, I guess, but I wanted to help. I couldn't, or I-I didn't. I really did try to, though," I say, "It just didn't work."

Ms. Winifred looks sympathetic, which I guess it's her job to be. "Can I know what the incident was?" she asks. If I tell about the house fire, I'll have to say I caused it, which would tie me to him getting burned and someone loosing their home. And sure, legally she can't tell anyone, and it's been years but still. Someone else would know what I did, someone else would know what I caused. "No, I can't say it," I tell her. "Randy, this is a safe place to talk. No one else will know what you say except me-" "I just can't tell you, not now," I say. She sighs softly but nods, "Okay, well can you tell me why you think it was your fault?" This was a bad idea, there's no way to talk about it without her knowing. I'll have to tell her if I want help for this. "I hurt him, the boy, and it caused him to get hurt more. I tried helping him before he got hurt again but I couldn't." "And you blame yourself for him getting hurt?" she asks. "Yes."

"You tired helping him, though," Ms. Winifred says, "just because you weren't able to doesn't mean it's your fault. You can't blame yourself for something you couldn't have controlled." That'd be more comforting if it was true, but it's not. I'm sure when I said I hurt him she thought like a punch or two, which is far off. I beat the shit out of that kid, probably didn't help that he couldn't fight back. Always get your friends to hold back your victim, life lesson kids.

"I still could've done more," I say. "You *tried*," Ms. Winifred says, "You can't beat yourself up over the past, especially if you tried changing it. You can only heal, only learn from it." If I told her the truth, the full truth, she wouldn't be saying that. She'd be calling the cops on the boy who caused another to go crazy and... I'd be thrown in prison, that's the important bit. And as tough as I'd like to give myself credit for, I wouldn't survive in jail. I'd end up dead on the shower floor. Plus I leave Keith alone in the real world, he can't handle himself without me. Or maybe I'm just telling myself that so I don't think about him finding someone his parents like and doesn't have a troubled past. Those assholes probably wouldn't approve of anyone, though. Whatever, parents shouldn't be so expecting of their children. Keith is great person, his parents need to realize that. Maybe they have and just still hate me.

I spend the rest of English in Ms. Winifred's, the rest of my classes for the day I actually work in. Not to fear, though, I still have plenty of grocery shopping to do. I walk to the small store down the block from the college. It's owned by this very sweet old lady who I can never remember the name of. I grab one of the green baskets and go to the milk. Keith's weird ass doesn't drink actual milk, so I have to get almond milk. He's actually lactose intolerant, so it's not his fault but it's still a dollar-fifty extra. Damn him and his health conditions.

"I believe it, I mean he went mad."

I look over my shoulder to see a girl talking to another. "The cops are saying it's just a copycat, and I'm gonna take their word first," the other one says, her hair's in bun. "Well, do that, but the cases were basically the same," the first one says.

What the hell are they on about? Cases of what? Who the fuck watches the news to find this out? Why do I even care? I don't, curious but not enough to research or ask. I grab the expensive, fake milk and put it in the basket before moving on to the eggs and grabbing a carton. I grab some mixed vegetables in a bundle since it's cheaper than buying them all separate. So what if it's a small pack and will only last two nights, I'd argue that's better. I get some 99 cent noodle packs for us to barely live off of and some cereal. I grab some other small things for us and then check out, making my boring way back to the dorms. I walk in, almost hitting Keith with the door. "Welcome back, dick," he greets me. "No way to talk to the man who just bought your groceries," I say setting the bags on the counter. "It is a way to talk to the man that woke me up, though," he says. "God, Keith that was hours ago," I say, "It doesn't even matter." "It matters to my beauty rest," he says. I put the cold stuff away in our barren refrigerator. "That beauty rest ain't doing much in the beauty department," I say.

I feel a shoe get thrown at my back, it doesn't hurt but it does startle me. "You're being an asshole," Keith says. "I was messing, baby, you know you're the prettiest person I know," I say. "I better be," he says. He kisses my cheek, "I'll see you later. Don't forget we're going to my parents tomorrow for Thanksgiving." I groan, "Do I gotta? I mean Thanksgiving isn't until next Thursday and your parents don't like me. I could just spend it with Troy and his moms, I mean I have every other year." "Randy, I didn't argue with my parents for you to drop out last minute. C'mon, we're always talking about proving them wrong," Keith says. "And your siblings?" I ask. "Fuck 'em. *Ignore* them, they won't bother us," he says. I sigh, "Fine."

Keith grabs my hand, rubbing his thumb over it. "If it gets bad we'll leave. I promise," he says. I kiss him and I feel his hand move to my face to cup it. I pull back from the kiss, "Okay." Keith smiles at me before leaving for his classes.