#oh okay but wait im thinking about it more and hermann being the one to develop the code to allow pilots to drift with jaegers

[camtankerous]

What if one day Hermann wrote to Newt how he'd like to study Newt's brain after he passes and Newt promised him his brain

I feel like it would be the other way around bc newt is the biologist but i also know full well hermann would specifically put in his will to not let newt anywhere near his brain just on the principle of fucking with him

[perpetually-sad-but-its-fine]

11x07 of chicago fire

i always loving seeing the girls on fire scenes

STEALLARIDE

they’re so cute!!

THIS ISNT FAIR

im so proud of Stella

she's fantastic and im in love

boden and kidd’s father-daughter relationship is something to live for

hermann and cruz are unofficial besties and father-son

we deserve more of them

we don’t see hermann in charge too often

i love it

who’s this guy that thinks it’s okay to make fun of a firefighter who’s doing his job????

also

thE FUCK ARE YOU DOIN TO HELP?

HUH?

w h o   i s   t h i s   g u y ? ? ?

oH SHIT

THINGS JUST GOT OUT OF HAND REAL QUICK

oHHHH NOOOOO

lieutenant kidd taking charge is everything i never knew i needed

oh who am i kidding

i always knew i needed that

‘hey, john, we’re gonna get you outta here’

john’s gonna die, isn’t he?

oh poor john

poor guy

they're making cry for a character ive known for 8 and a half minutes

john’s definitely dying

definitely

*snort*

‘an expensive midlife crisis... time for a minivan’

sev’s gonna take the bike???

John is sooooo dying

one hundred percent

carver and gallo would be good friends tho

like

if the writers stopped causing unnecessary drama around carver

i could see them being besties

‘weirdo of the week’ is an understatement

LMAOOO the ‘hypothetical’ with ritter and hermann is making me cackle

‘and the friend was maybe dying’

‘and not fun anymore’

‘he could pull through! it’s possible.’

‘what kind of hypothetical is this?’

hermann spiralling to ritter is hilarious to me

I FUCKIN KNEW HE WAS DYING

aw poor hermann

‘you tryna rub a hole through your equipment, cruz?’

‘it’s called cleaning capp. you should try it sometime.’

we love that interaction

kellY LOOKING OUT FOR CRUZ

I FUCKIN KNEW KELLY WAS GONNA GET THAT BIKE

oh wait

mouch???

ohhhh

it’s his midlife crisis

‘do you know how to write a bike?’

‘more importantly, do you know how to fix one?’

‘eh, i'll manage’

sure you will mouch

sure you will

mouch asking kelly for help just as kelly’s leaving?

peak comedy. golden.

fuCKS SAKE

THAT GUY AGAIN

THE FUCK DO YOU WANT MAN????

steLLA KIDD TAKING PICTURES OF HER GIRLS LIKE A PROUD MOTHER

stella looks good in her lieutenants uniform

reALLY GOOD

macy’s mom needs to take several seats

macy made her choice ma’am

either support her or get the hell out

goD STELLA’S GONNA DO SMTHING STUPID BECAUSE OF THIS, ISNT SHE???

hermann’s really showing his age

im living for his crusty father humor

ritter finding katherine in twenty seconds while hermann’s complaining is *chef’s kiss* we love to see it

sylvie brett looks absolutely gorgeous

mouch is giving me second-hand embarrassment and I DONT LIKE IT

capp smirking at mouch makes me cackle

gallo and hermann’s niece??

still??

reassuring husband!kelly is what stella needs

thank you kelly severide

stella please

baby

stop doubting yourself

oH MY GOD

THIS GUY

THE FUCK DO YOU WANT GUY?

WHADDYA WANT?

thank you boden

bro better leave

right. now.

good

he’s gone

‘hopefully that’s the end of it’

wallace

please

we all know that that’s not the end of it

that's nowhere NEAR the end of it

stella testing kylie is adorable

and the worry written on her face??

god it kills me

stella

stop doubting yourself

please

let kylie do what she wants

and SUPPORT HER

ritter is concerned

he’s gonna do something, i can feel it

hermann trying to talk to the automated message is peak father behavior

christopher rambling on the voicemail is so sweet and so cute

kelly you better help mouch

dude’s about to hurt himself

oh thANK GOD

mouch’s sly little shrug to cruz

kelly’s face of ‘oh great, now im stuck w/ it’

oH MY GOD THE HECKLER’S BEHIND THEM

WHY?

god

what the fuck do you want?

gallo and carver’s exasperated look

we love that

WHY IS HERE?!

dude just causes chaos and then leaves

brO GET THE FUCK OUT

thank you random police officer

get him outta here

please

i can't stand this asshole anymore

oh so john’s not dead?

brett’s reaction to hermann is so cute

oh they were serious about turning the washer/dryer area into kidd’s office??

looks nice

OHHHH

RITTER BACKSTORYYYY

oh poor baby

ritter

i love you honey

you’re perfect lovely

yes thank you ritter

you're helping stella w/ this

thank you

mouch wearing sunglasses while standing next to bike that he ‘fixed’ but can’t drive just SCREAMS midlife crisis

its also giving me second hand embarrassment and i can't stand this

truDY

trudy: ‘what’s going on here?’

me: ‘mouch is having a midlife crisis’

LMAOOO

I DID NOT EXPECT THAT

I THOUGHT SHED BE PISSED OFF NOT TURNED ON

LMAOOOOO

everyone in the background smiling and being confused is a meme waiting to happen

‘hop on baby’

GOD STOP

everyone cheering loudly for mouch and platt is adorable

y'all 

THEYRE SO CUTE

the fuck kinda name is edgar weston?

look

edgar

i get you're pissed off

but there are better ways to go about it

than to HARASS a bunch of firefighters

and paramedics

who are just doing their job

ooooo

stella and kylie

yes

aww their banter!!!

also

kylie’s so pretty!

ah god

the heckler

bro

theY HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT

THEY DIDNT START THE FIRE DAMMIT

also

god

viOLET

YOURE MAKING ME CRY

hanako’s performance is amazing

oh poor guy

i still don't like you tho

poor violet’s ‘you can’t’ just breaks me

oh john

he’s alive!

oh damn

then what’s gonna be the consequences of his actions

john

you’re overthinking this

hermann is great at giving advice

awwww

that’s so sweet

PFFT

‘i'm the guy who left that very long message’

there are better ways to introduce yourself

im shipping katherine and john and i barely know them

aw stella

awwww stellaaaaa

looking out for her girls!

THATS SO SWEET

cindy and hermann are adorable

oHHHH

THATS SO CUTE

they’re so cute!

awwwwww

AWWWWWW

ohhhh joeeee

how's this gonna go???

please tell me its approved

BRO?

THE SUSPENSE

YES

OH MY GOD

ITS HAPPENING

YESSSS

THATS AMAZINGGGG

THATS SUCH A BEAUTIFUL MOMENT

[hermannsthumb]

ooh haunted house and hayride? or maybe... haunted hayride? is that even a thing haha

3. Haunted House + 25. Hayride

from autumn fic prompts here

i am in SUCH a fall/halloween mood!!!! it’s getting chilly already where i am baby, im ready. this is loosely based on a haunted hayride attraction that was popular back in my hometown (thought it might actually be more widespread). unfortunately i was too much of a wimp to ever do it so im going off of my 15 year old sister’s account of it :/

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

“If you get scared, you can hold my hand,” Newton says.

He extends his right hand out to Hermann and wriggles his fingers. Hermann turns away with a snort, tucking one of his own mittened hands into the pocket of his parka. “Mm. I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“I’m just saying,” Newton says. “I’m here if you need me.”

Hermann wonders whether Newton is being facetious, or if he’s managed to completely delude himself into thinking he’s the braver of the two of them. Because, arguably, he’s not—at least not in anything beyond the real world. (Hermann will begrudgingly admit many of Newton’s actions during the final days of the war, though incredibly foolish, were also quite brave.) Newton cowers behind his popcorn bucket when he drags Hermann to see horror films at the cinema; he shrieks at jumpscares, ghostly faces in windows, slasher killers stalking their victims; once, he watched a YouTube playthrough of some zombie video game, and showed up at Hermann’s bedroom five out of seven nights the following week to ask him to check to make sure the front door was locked, or if he heard that noise, or if Hermann was the one who left that hall light on and not an undead intruder who was probably hiding in the linen closet waiting to massacre them… “I’ll keep that in mind,” Hermann says, sarcastically.

The problem is that Newton hates being afraid of things. As a result, he feels the constant need to reaffirm to Hermann—and probably himself—that he’s not afraid of anything. It’s why the small octopus-shaped bowl on the entranceway bookcase in their flat is overflowing with movie ticket stubs from horror movies, and currently, why they’re in line for a Haunted Hayride.

“Do you realize we’re the only people above twenty years old here?” Hermann says.

“Young people know how to have fun,” Newton says with a smile. Hermann’s idea of a fun Friday night is taking a bath with a mystery novel and a glass of wine. He does not consider standing in the cold around a bunch of hormone-fueled and PDA-happy teenagers to be very fun. Newton’s added presence isn’t really helping much. “You know I worked a part time job at a haunted house when I was a teenager?”

“Did you scare people?” Hermann says.

“Nah,” Newton says. “I worked the fog machine. Hey, look, we’re up next.”

The line for the hayride has wound them through a Styrofoam-tombstone cemetery, “The Field of Terror” (dead corn stalks and angry-looking scarecrows swaying in the breeze), and now finally a small pumpkin patch. It’s too dark to see ahead where their ride will take them. “Tickets, please?” a vampire asks them in a hokey Transylvanian accent.

“Sick costume, man,” Newton says. He holds out his ticket, which has a little Jack-O-Lantern grinning away on it. Hermann does the same.

“You may…enter,” the vampire says, and steps aside with a whoosh of his cape.

“I should be a vampire for Halloween this year,” Newton says, as he helps Hermann up a few rickety wooden stairs to the tractor hitch they’ll be riding on, and then over to a terribly uncomfortable bale of hay. “But like, a cool vampire. Not a dumb Dracula one. Like Lost Boys. Did I make you watch Lost Boys?”

“Yes, Newton,” Hermann sighs. “You made me watch Lost Boys. And Lost Boys 2. And Lost Boys 3.”

“It’s insane how uncultured you were before I met you,” Newton says.

“I don’t want to talk about Lost Boys anymore,” Hermann says.

“Fine,” Newton says. He turns and begins squinting into the field ahead of them. “I wonder how this is going to go down? Like, are people going to try and drag us off? No, I don’t think that’s legal. Or maybe—”

Someone in an intensely gory zombie costume, holding a bloodstained, bladeless chainsaw, suddenly leaps out from below at Newton; Newton shrieks and lands on the wooden bed of the hitch. A group of teenagers seated a little further down from them begin laughing. “That is so uncool,” Newton says, as the zombie continues to gleefully wave their chainsaw around. “I could’ve, like, fallen off or something. I could’ve really hurt myself.”

“Get up off the bloody floor already,” Hermann sighs, and raps his cane against Newton’s boot.

Newton, to his surprise, stares at him in something like genuine hurt. Hermann feels a pang of guilt. He quickly puts on a show of rolling his eyes to offset it. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Are you alright?”

Newton dusts hay off his pumpkin-patterned sweater and sits back next to Hermann with an affronted sniff, though he does shoot a wary glance back down below. Looking for more zombies, Hermann presumes. “I’m fine,” he says. “It’s cool.”

The ride is jerky, uncomfortable, and—more likely than not—not very structurally sound. They pass through the rest of the pumpkin patch, where more scarecrows (these, animated) stalk them, and wave scythes; a large, fog-shrouded tunnel where hidden speakers play clattering chains and wails, and the occasional ghostly white hand grabs onto the edge of the tractor hitch; more zombies, more vampires, even a mad scientist’s lab, which does manage to rouse a burst of laughter from Hermann. He could imagine Newton being very much at home in it—in fact, it very nearly does resemble his half of their old Hong Kong laboratory. “I rather feel like I’m having deja-vu,” he whispers to Newton, watching a short man in a white lab coat plug wires into a monster on his dissection table.

Newton nearly jumps a mile into the air the second Hermann opens his mouth. “Gimme a warning next time!”

“Before I speak?”

“I wasn’t expecting it, okay?” Newton says.

Newton is jumpy the entire car-ride home, eyes continuously darting up into the rear view mirror, to the backseat, over at Hermann, and when they make it back to their flat, he locks the deadbolt and the chain on their front door. “Who do you think followed us?” Hermann says. “Frankenstein’s bloody monster?”

“Just taking precautions,” Newton says. He darts over to the window by their couch and peers out of it, then checks the lock on that, too.

“We live on the fourth floor,” Hermann reminds him. “Frankly, if someone manages to climb in through that, I’d be impressed. Oh, come on, Newton—” he starts, when Newton doesn’t so much as crack a smile, “Let’s put something on the telly. Whatever you’d like. We could watch one of those cooking programs you—”

“I think I’m just gonna brush my teeth and go to bed,” Newton says.

This, it turns out, is a lie. Hardly an hour later, while Hermann relaxes in bed with the mystery novel Newton so cruelly kept him from enjoying in the bath this evening, there’s a little knock on his door; in slips Newton, wearing green boxers and an oversized TU Berlin sweatshirt.

“I was wondering where that went,” Hermann remarks mildly. “Can I help you?’

“Can I sleep in here tonight?” Newton says, in a very, very small voice.

Hermann smiles, and slips off his glasses. “If you’d like,” he says.

Newton shuts the light off while Hermann makes room for him. He takes happily to the left side of the bed, and even more happily to pillowing himself against Hermann’s chest, eyes fluttering shut almost immediately. “Just for tonight,” he mumbles, as Hermann strokes back his unruly hair. “I’m not scared, though. That’s not why.”

“Of course you’re not,” Hermann tells him kindly. Truthfully, this is why Hermann can put up with the annoyances of double-checking the locks, shutting linen closet lights off, assuring Newton at four in the morning he hasn’t heard a thing: it almost always ends with Newton in his bed, which Hermann doesn’t think can be termed an annoyance in any universe.

“I just thought you might be,” Newton says.

“How terribly considerate of you,” Hermann says.

[hermannsthumb]

Nsfw prompt: The boys go for a swimming hall (Hermann finds swimming best form excercise for his leg) and Newton gets a bit handsy beneath the water.

im really in the mood for a prompt like this, i just got a nice ole (unused lol) pool off eb*y and i can’t wait to swim.....

18+/not SFW under cut

———————–

The thing about Hermann is that–no matter how often he and Newt argue, or how often he snaps at Newt, or criticizes Newt, or tells Newt to bugger off, or acts like a generally cold, unfeeling jackass–he’s still Newt’s best friend, which means Newt has a vested interest in getting into his business whenever at all possible. It’s what best friends are for, you know–having someone to always know your business. Newt always makes sure Hermann knows his business.

Anyway. Every Friday, without fail, Hermann will take a small, early dinner, clock out of the lab at 7:30 p.m. sharp, and speedwalk off down the hallway in the opposite direction of where his quarters are, a small tote bag in hand. Every Friday, without fail, Newt will ask where he’s going. Every Friday, without fail, Hermann will tell him to bugger off. It’s enough to drive anyone nuts with curiosity, let alone Newt in his official best friend status.

“What I’m trying to say,” Newt says, “is that you drove me to this.”

He doesn’t know why Hermann’s acting so weird about it all and, like, trying to cover himself up. It was only natural for Newt–after weeks of being told to bugger off–to finally just followed Hermann out one Friday and got his answers for himself. And boy, is he glad he did.

“I didn’t even know we had a swimming pool!” he exclaims happily. “Does anyone else come here?”

Hermann continues to shield his body with his towel. Again, weird–he’s in a bathing suit, it’s not like he’s naked. And it’s not like it’d be weird even if he was naked. Newt’s seen him naked more times than he can count, and Hermann’s seen him naked just as much in turn. Lot of lab accidents, you know. (Most of which are Newt’s fault.) “N-not that I know of,” he coughs out. He breathed in a decent amount of water when Newt flung open the door and starting shouting, so Newt guesses he’s still recovering. “I imagine it was once part of the rangers’ gymnasium, but–it’s not as if there are enough of them left to warrant it being, er, exclusive. Newton–”

Newt begins to take off his shirt. “You have access to the rangers’ gym?”

“Not strictly speaking, no,” Hermann says, “but no one in LOCCENT ever uses decent passcodes on their computers, and– Newton, what are you doing?”

“Undressing,” Newt says.

“I can see that,” Hermann says. “Why?”

“What, you thought I wasn’t��going to swim in the super awesome private pool you hacked yourself credentials for?” Newt says. He kicks off his boots, and his socks and jeans and glasses follow. Boxers stay on–he doesn’t want to give Hermann a heart attack. “Okay, look out!”

“Technically, hacking isn’t--wait, no,” Hermann says, eyes widening in alarm, “no, no–!”

Newt does a cannonball into the deep end: the resulting wave drenches Hermann and his towel, which he finally throws aside and to scowl at Newt. “I think that was a ten out of ten,” Newt says happily. He splashes over to Hermann and settles in against the wall next to him. The water is warmer than he thought, which is nice. “So this is where you go every Friday night? You swim?

“Yes,” Hermann says through gritted teeth. “I find the exercise is good for my leg, and I like the quiet. Will you leave me alone now?”

“Nah,” Newt says. “It’s kinda dangerous to swim without a buddy, dude. I’ll be doing you a favor if I stay.” He stretches out his limbs and tosses his arm around Hermann’s shoulders. “You know, I haven’t been swimming in years. My dad used to take us to the beach a bunch when I was a kid, but we stopped when I started college, and it wasn’t like we could have a pool at the apartment, and...”

Hermann shakes him off. There’s a faint pink blush across his cheeks. “Yes, that’s all very fascinating. At least keep to the other bloody side, won’t you?”

Newt grins. “Why?”

“I said I come here for quiet,” Herman says.

Newt mimes zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

They don’t exactly keep to separate sides of the pool, but they do their own things to the extent that they may as well be: Hermann does a series of calm, even laps around the edge, while Newt entertains himself with attempting underwater handstands (he fails) and perfecting his backflip off the edge (he fails those, too, though his cannonball remains tried and true). He’s paddling over to the ladder for yet another try at a backflip when Hermann suddenly grunts, loudly, in discomfort.

Newt turns quickly, snatching his glasses up and cramming them back on. “Hermann?”

Hermann–face screwed up, eyes shut tight–has one white-knuckled grip on the side of the pool, the other on his left thigh. “Cramp,” he hisses through his teeth. “Bugger. No, it’s fine, don’t bother–”

But he goes easily when Newt guides him to the steps of the pool, and he doesn’t let go of Newt’s shoulder until he’s seated down comfortably. Newt hovers, anxiously, over him. “Are you good?” he says. “Do you need me to get your pain meds?” This sort of thing isn’t new for Hermann, and they’re both well-practiced in how to deal with it at this point (pain meds, sometimes a heating pad) but Newt can’t help but worry every time. Especially when they’re this far off from the lab and their bunks. 

Hermann shakes his head. “It’ll pass,” he says. He stretches out his leg and begins to work his fingers up and down his muscles, letting out the occasional grunt of pain. “I just need–”

“Let me,” Newt says.

Hermann stares at him skeptically. Then he drops his hands. “If you’re sure,” he says, and leans back.

It’s awkward at first, with Hermann breathing and glaring over him, but–after five minutes of squeezing, and testing different levels of pressure–Newt finally settles into a rhythm, and Hermann’s hisses of pain give way to small, pleased groans. “That’s–yes,” Hermann sighs. His head tips back, giving Newt a perfect view of his long, elegant throat. “Perfect.”

Newt grins weakly. He’d make some smart-ass comment, too, but he seems to be forgetting more and more of his vocabulary with each little sound that slips out of Hermann’s mouth, and he doesn’t trust himself to not just start squeaking. It’s not even just those little sounds that are making Newt feel funny, actually–it’s Hermann’s half-mast eyelids, the dig of his teeth into his wide lower lip, the tensing and relaxed sagging of his body every time Newt finds a new spot to work in his leg. It’s–well–you know. Newt’s only human. The pool water is too warm to help stop things from getting weird, but at least Newt’s crouched down low enough to conceal anything unseemly. “Good?” he croaks out.

Hermann nods. His throat bobs as he swallows. “Mm. Little higher.”

Newt obliges. Twice, by accident, his fingers dip beneath the hem of Hermann’s swim trunks and skim over the soft skin of his inner thigh; when he does it a third time, he reels back, blushing to the tips of his ears. “S-sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean–”

He stops short when he notices the tenting in Hermann’s trunks, eye level with him now. He’s not sure how he missed it before. He’s not sure how Hermann–with his heavy eyelids and parted mouth–is missing it. “Hey, dude,” Newt squeaks.

It’s a natural biological response to physical stimuli. Nudity–hands on that nudity, massaging out tension and getting just a little too close to certain parts of the human anatomy–shit, Newt’s having the same problem himself! Hermann doesn’t mean anything by it. Nothing personal. “Hm?” Hermann groans.

You have a boner, Newt thinks. I’m turning you on, Newt thinks. But he doesn’t say either of those things: instead, with a show of courage he’s not sure he actually feels, he moves his hand overtop Hermann’s dick.

Hermann’s emits a strange, low keen; his eyes shoot open. “Newton?” he says. He sounds a little dazed. More important, though, he also sounds excited, and when Newt gently cups him through the thin layer of polyester, he splays his legs wider and keens again. “What are you doing?” he breathes.

Newt moves his hand up and down twice, slowly, getting a feel for him. Hermann grabs onto the edge of the pool. “Newton,” he says again, but it’s a moan this time.

This is all the encouragement Newt needs. He shuffles forward on his knees, lifting himself just enough from the water to pull himself from his own boxers, and--tentatively--touches Hermann’s hand. “Hey,” he says, “will--will you--?”

Hermann’s fingers are cold and kind of clammy, and definitely unpracticed, and he doesn’t do anything but grasp at Newt for a minute while Newt continues to rub the heel of his palm up and down Hermann’s dick. “What do you want me to do?” Hermann says. His voice is maddeningly husky--nothing Newt’s ever heard before. God. Since when has Hermann been sexy? Always, if Newt’s being honest, but he guesses there’s a thin line between thinking someone’s sexy and knowing, definitively, that they’re really fucking sexy.

“Whatever you want?” Newt says.

Hermann blinks at him. Then--leaning in and draping the bulk of his weight on Newt--he kisses Newt. Their chins bump together, and their teeth clack, and Newt was not expecting it, but it’s awesome, so he kisses back happily and rubs Hermann a little faster. He likes how Hermann’s dick feels. It’s not scary intimidating or anything, but it’s good and firm, and the sort of thing he could (eventually) see himself enjoying getting his mouth on. “Oh,” Hermann moans into his mouth, “oh, that's--Newton--”

His own hand begins to move on Newt. Fucking finally. “Yeah, that’s perfect,” Newt says, and then winces. “Okay, don’t squeeze so tight, that’s--that actually kind of hurts. Hermann.”

“Sorry,” Hermann pants. Is that how he usually jerks himself off? No wonder he’s so tense all the time. “Oh, oh, you’re very good at this.”

Newt grins against his mouth. “I know. Hey, you want me to--?”

He was planning on offering to use his mouth, because he’s getting more and more curious about how much he’d enjoy it (and he’s really good at using his mouth, and he knows Hermann would enjoy it) but--hips jerking erratically, kissing Newt hard enough to draw blood--Hermann suddenly cries out and goes still. “Holy shit,” Newt says. “Did you--?”

“Yes,” Hermann says, through deep, heavy breaths. His hand slips off of Newt; he slumps backwards. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Newt says. “That’s hot. Okay, I can finish myself, no sweat, just sit there and look pretty--”

He jerks himself off quickly, eyes roving all over Hermann and committing every goddamn inch of him like this to memory: his heaving, blush-pink chest, his blown pupils, his wide-open mouth, the obscene splay of his legs. The top of his dick, spent, but still a little pink, poking out over the waistband of his swim trunks. How his mouth felt on Newt’s. How the soft skin of his thigh felt under Newt’s fingertips. “Yeah,” Newt grunts, and he comes over himself.

He slinks back under the water, panting. The pool filter will take care of the mess. Probably. Anyway, it’s not like anyone but Hermann knows this place exists in the first place. “Newton,” Herman begins.

The gymnasium door swings open. Newt stuffs his dick back into his boxers in a flash. “Hey,” a ranger Newt recognizes only in passing says, as two of his equally tall and equally built friends loom in the doorway behind him, “what are you guys doing here?”

“Leaving?” Newt says.

He and Hermann hustle out as fast as they can, Newt not even bothering to put his pants back on first, Hermann’s towel flapping like a striped bird behind them. They stop three hallways away just long enough to catch their breath; then, grinning shyly at each other, they dissolve into laughter.

[hermannsthumb]

Would you please write 24.  you looked uncomfortable with that person all over you so I went to pretend to be your partner so they’d leave, except they were actually your significant other, and they dump you on the spot

ok so i’m like, 80% sure ur from an alternate universe bc i swear to god i can’t find this anywhere on the prompts i reblogged or any of the old spring/summer/fall/etc ones either, but it made me gasp aloud when i read it so im doing it anyway LMAO

send me winter writing prompts from here

i make newt and hermann go to so many parties. like when do they even work at this point

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

The whole event was meant to be a sort of morale-booster, apparently, mandatory only in the sense that they received a base-wide email strongly encouraging them all to attend. (Guilting them into attending.) Hermann can’t really see what’s so morale-boosting about it: the music is annoying, the alcohol is watered down, the Christmas lights strung everywhere are hurting his eyes, and the knowledge that they’re losing this war miserably is hanging over his head like the plastic mistletoe in the corner. He would’ve much rather taken the money they undoubtedly cut from his paycheck to throw this and stayed in bed.

Even Newton doesn’t appear to be enjoying himself. Hermann’s caught glimpses of him all night (it’d be difficult not to—he’s wearing light-up reindeer antlers) wandering back and forth from the open bar and dodging small talk, and he’s been frowning all the while. It’s unnerving, really; Newton always enjoys himself. It’s further unnerving that Newton isn’t by his side cracking annoying jokes and refusing to leave him alone, as Newton always does, too. It’s their routine for these sorts of things by this point.

Nothing better to do with himself, and hoping to dodge small talk himself, Hermann lurks in a shadowy spot by the bar until Newton returns with two (two?) empty cocktail glasses and accosts him before he can lose him again. “Newton!”

Newton jumps a foot into the air and drops one of the glasses. It shatters on the floor. “Shit, dude,” he says. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

Hermann points to a small, equally shadowy corner, which houses the single table and two chairs he’s taken up residence of for the night. One of them was meant to be for Newton. “Over there. Would you like to join me?” He adds, a little desperately, “Please?”

“Uh,” Newton says. His eyes dart over to the other half of the room, to something (or someone) Hermann can’t quite see. “Can’t. Sorry. But I wish, dude.” He takes two cans of beer and holds them up with a sigh, as if that means anything, and hurries away into the crowd.

“Can’t?” Hermann echoes to himself. He bristles a little. Is Newton really consorting with someone who’s so much more interesting than Hermann that he can’t even hang around for a little commiserating? Bloody ridiculous. Hermann’ll just have to find out who it is for himself.

And he does, almost the instant he pushes his way through the same crowd (with the aid of, perhaps, some gentle swiping at heels with his cane, but no one would dare accuse him of it). Newton is standing off to the corner, quite obviously uncomfortable, with another man literally hanging off of him and laughing his head off. Intoxicated, it looks like. Or getting there. Newton’s strange parting comment and his low spirits certainly make more sense now—the man, whoever he is, clearly can’t take a hint. Poor Newton, fending off unwanted advances all on his own.

Well. Not on his own any longer.

A strange, red-hot urge of protectiveness bubbles within Hermann, and he waits until the man finally lets go of Newton to sidle in, slip his arm around Newton’s waist, and tug him very gently closer. Newton stumbles against him like Hermann’s bloody yanked him or something; his glasses almost fall off his face. “Newton,” Hermann says anyway. “There you are, darling. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Uh,” Newton says.

“Excuse me?” the other man says.

“Oh, who is this?” Hermann says. He narrows his eyes—for show—and tightens his grip on Newton’s waist. Newton squeaks.

“Who’s—?!” The man scowls at Hermann, and then he scowls at Newton. “Guess all those rumors about you k-science weirdos are true after all.”

“Wait,” Newton says, “uh—”

Hermann hadn’t known there were rumors about him and Newton. Privately, he enjoys the idea of being thought of in such a way—of someone looking at the two of them and thinking they’re involved in some way. “So it would appear,” he says, swelling with pride just a little bit.

Then, to his surprise, the man slaps Newton across the face. “You’re such an asshole, Newt,” he declares.

Newton and Hermann watch him storm away together. Hermann drops his arm and even gives Newton a smile; he must say that went considerably more interesting than the rest of his night, and he thinks Newton might agree, even if he does have a rather large red welt on his face now. Maybe now they can fall back to their usual routine of drinking alone in the corner and arguing and Newton can tell him all about it. “There we are,” he says. He pats Newton’s back. “You looked terribly annoyed, so I thought I ought to—”

“Dude,” Newton shrieks, “what the hell? That was my boyfriend!”

Hermann’s smile slips, very quickly, from his face. “Your what?”

“My boyfriend!” Newton shrieks again.

Hermann’s mouth works soundlessly. “Oh,” he finally says. “I didn’t—”

“Fuck,” Newton says, “okay, I gotta—” Wringing his hands, he makes to plunge into the crowd to chase after his—apparent—boyfriend, but stops right at the edge of it. Searching for him, perhaps.

“Since when have you had a boyfriend?” Hermann says, because it’s the only thing he can think to say.

“I have a life outside of you, okay?” Newton snaps. “And, uh. Since last week.”

“Congratulations,” Hermann says weakly. Why hadn’t Newton told him about it? And, furthermore, why is Hermann so hurt he didn’t? Hurt—not jealous. Hermann is not jealous. “Aren’t, ah, aren’t you going to go after him?”

Newton makes a quiet, thoughtful humming sound. He takes a step back towards Hermann. “I mean—he wasn’t a very good boyfriend. I’ve been wanting to break up with him for—well, for a week.”

“Ah,” Hermann says.

He coughs.

“I have a table, if you’d like,” he says.

Newton shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”