#we're probably never getting another thing like that again thanks to these wretched people

[deepsixsquid]

Finding out that the WORLD CHAMPS are a bunch of racist scumbags is really really draining

But, it is nice to see that splat twitter, for the most part, is dragging them out into the street for it

[cherry-gemz]

Summary: This is a continuation of the movie Before We Go and my interpretation and imagination of an A/U. Brooke is you (Y/N) and Nick is still Nick :)

Prompt: "Just admit that I'm right." for @the-ce-horniest-book-club Drunk Drabbles for Nick Vaughan.

Pairings: Nick Vaughan x Y/N

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: <2k...is this a drabble still? Oopsies XD

A/N: I watched this movie for the first time just last week. It's now one of my top 3 Cevans movies! While I'm all for a romantic, serendipitous, spontaneous trope...much like Before Sunrise *no spoilers*, the ending was great, but I wanted a different spin. No pressure...yah, right! Either way, hope you enjoy xx.

Tags: @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @tonystankschild @a-little-counter-esperanto

****************************************************************

You sniff and rub the end of your coat sleeve with your nose. Had to be the chill in the air, you thought. Not the fact that you just spent the most amazing and life changing night with a man you just met hours before and it was ending.

You stare out the train’s window; the gentle hum of the cart gliding across the steel tracks echoed in your thoughts. You shook your head in thinking that you made a mistake. I should have stayed...I should have told him how I felt…

“Nick. It's you again. Listen. I want to give you one more piece of advice. You're gonna be playing one night... Grand Central... thinking of every reason in the world to not go see the girl that broke your heart. Then, you're gonna meet somebody. And now, at first, she's gonna seem… icy. You're gonna know right away she's trouble. She's gonna take all your money. You're probably gonna get punched in the face. But stay with her; you're gonna need her a lot more than she needs you. And at the end of the night, you're gonna want to say some things, but don't. Don't ruin it. It's nothing she doesn't already know. Just give her a kiss. Wish her good luck. And thank her. Thank her for showing you that you can love more than one person in this life.”

He was unbelievably charming. You said so yourself. His raw talent with the trumpet was beautiful and different from what you were used to. The suburbia of the Boston bubble was what you were forced to live in now. You were from London, you were cultured and refined. Sure things with Michael were exciting at first, but the ho hum of the daily diatribe of routine became loathsome. Dépaysement. But you still never wavered in your marriage. Unlike Michael who had crossed that sacred line and lost your trust. It wasn't even fully the physical aspect that he went to another woman. It was the intimacy of telling her his deepest desires and then some that hurt the most. That he would want to share that with anyone else but you. But tonight. Tonight was what made you see clearly.

"It's possible, isn't it? It's possible that you could meet somebody who's perfect for you even though you're committed to somebody else," you asked as you bit your lip.

"No, no, see, I think if you're committed to somebody, you don't allow yourself to find perfection in someone else."

You found yourself blushing and cupping your cheek in thoughts of Nick. He was right. The whole night was a cluster mess of you trying to get home before Michael so you'd be able to throw away that wretched note. That he'd come to his senses and forget Linny. That he'd realized he was a fool and you'd start over. Just like old times.

However, slowly that feeling of reconciliation faded away little by little as each hour in the city passed. You couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but somehow the scrappy trumpet player Nick Vaughan etched his way into your icy heart and left an impression and stayed.

His fluffy, dark hair - so soft and inviting for you to rake your fingers through it was enough to drive you mad. His scruffy beard, which tickled when you kissed. You already loved ghosting your palms over it softly and imagined being able to do it whenever you wished. He said earlier into the night you weren't his type; you scoffed, but we're annoyed that it bothered you. You were a classic model of what guys were into, looks wise. Sure, your attitude was what rubbed some people the wrong way, but Americans really were too sensitive.

He however...he was the full package. Every toothy grin, wink, and full hearty laugh. He was addicting. He was a dead ringer for a heartthrob, but you also couldn't hate the guy for it. He was the friend you'd call to bail you out of jail at 4am and the boyfriend that you could see settling down with. It was nauseating really.

And then his lips. His soft lips...you can’t believe you kissed him in the hotel room. And then again at the train station. But you would have kicked yourself for not doing so in the first place. The way your fingers interlaced themselves on his terry cloth robe, how desperately you wanted to press your body against his. All you wanted was for him to feel that burning need within the apex between your thighs and extinguish it all night. But it was more than that, he was what you were missing. But you were kidding yourself. You weren’t running to Michael, you were running away from Nick.

But why? Because of the unknown? Because he actually knew who you were deep down inside? How could a man you barely knew, change you? Change what you thought was true, what you thought was love?

You dove your hand into your wool jacket’s pockets to push any thoughts of self-doubt, when you realize there was a piece of cardstock. You were puzzled to find it and immediately smiled in recognizing the hotel survey card. You bit your lip as you read down the survey questions one by one and notice Nick’s handwriting at the bottom, ‘turn over’ with an arrow.

Curious you turn over the hotel card and he’s written the word ‘yes’. Yes? You furrow your brow and contemplate further what he would be saying yes to. You think about the night - the time at the bar, helping him with Hannah, when you went to the psychic reading. Yes? What in the world - and then you turn the card back over and realize that on the second to last question it asked “Will you be likely to return?”

None of the boxes are checked, but he’d written ‘yes’ on the back. Yes. Yes he’ll return? Where? To the hotel? But when? You look up and rush to think about stopping the train dead in its tracks to return back to Grand Station. You breathe out heavily and come to terms that this isn’t a movie. He’s not chasing you down the tracks, jumping on the train to find you. Or is he? You wouldn’t put it past him. The whole night was filled with serendipitous concourses, this would be icing on the cake. You dart your head around to see if he’s in the cable car. It’s like in every rom com movie ending, the man of your dreams will be right there. He’s somehow charmed his way into boarding the train and found you waiting like a princess in her high tower. The train car is dark and bleak, only a few passengers are riding it as it’s the first route to Boston on a Sunday. You peer over to see if he’s in the next cart, but alas he is not. You slump in your seat and rub your thumb methodically over his words.

"Have you ever had a feeling that somebody was going to play a major part in your life?” you ask.

“Yeah."

“Do you know the most interesting thing about hotel art? It's what's on the back.”

It’s then you realize you have to return to New York. This story wasn’t about you and Michael anymore. No, it was about the man who selflessly helped you while you were in need, not only at your dire hour, but metaphorically as well. This was meant to be. You were meant to miss your train, break your phone, and meet the handsome man named Nick Vaughn. You knew he’d still be in the city because of his audition for the day with Duke at least, if you could just get to him somehow...

*

Your knees bounced as you sat on a cushioned chair in the hotel lobby. You had planned to wait there all day, but then realized the $13 train ticket was your only way of providing you security back home. So you went home. Confronted Michael. Cursed, cried, and then relief rushed over you as he had read your letter and how you knew about the affair. How you wanted to throw fists on his chest and tell him how much you hated him. But once you saw him, you found it didn't matter to you anymore. Someone else was worth fighting for. Your marriage was over. The hatred and spite you once had for your husband had dissipated. Your world didn't end like you thought it would. This wasn't your only chance at love. You were choosing to be happy, whether it was with Nick or not. This was the first time you were going to jump without having a net.

And Nick was wrong. Michael didn't want to work things out, he was coming to tell you that he loved you, but that and he'd be returning to Atlanta for good. The house, car, everything was yours: Nick said so himself, you gotta be okay with not being okay. So you walked away. You made the choice just like the psychic said and took it in stride, you faced the music.

However now you found yourself back in New York. Not the once stranded woman at a crossroads less than 24 hours before, but the woman that made a choice. You were worried that Nick would see it as you running away again. Running away because Michael didn't choose you. But in reality you didn't choose each other.

Still without an ID, you took your car and better against the four hour drive to the city and hoped a cop wouldn't pull you over. You thought of the night in the hotel. The laughs, the closeness you two encountered. The playful and cheeky way he could make you feel seen. You were starting to get nervous, what if he doesn't show up? What if I missed my chance?

"I'm an idiot," you murmur to yourself. "I can't believe I'm here."

You stand up and realize there Nick was there in your path. He looked a little worn, obviously from staying up all night. But he had changed and showered from the looks of it, and his signature trumpet case held in his hand.

"Well look who it is. The biggest loser in New York."

You laughed and blushed at the sight of him. He slung his trumpet case over his broad shoulder and walked over to close the gap.

“Just admit that I’m right.”

"Admit what?" You ask as you find yourself touching his jacket sleeve.

"Admit that you couldn't get enough of me." You hitched a breath from his words.

"You can say that."

"I can't believe you came back," he responded. His blue eyes gazed into yours as he brushed away a tendril of hair from your face.

"I read your answer to the survey...on the back."

"The stay did exceed my expectations and I did say I would return," he smiles.

"And here you are."

"Here I am…" he pulls away slightly as he's reminded that you're married.

"I jumped," you replied.

He's taken back by your statement and furrows his brow.

"What? With what?"

"I told Michael it was over."

"Wow. I'm so...sorry, Y/N."

"Don't be. You said so yourself, at some point it was time to face the music."

He nodded, absorbing the information.

"Say what's in your head."

He shook his head and grinned,"I'm just glad you came back is all."

"Yeah? How'd you know?"

"I didn't. Just sure as hell hoped you would."

He intertwines your fingers with his and holds tight. Like a missing puzzle piece found, your hand fits perfectly with his.

"Whaddya say we get out of here?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"I may know a place," he smiles devilishly and gives your knuckles a kiss.

You grab his dress shirt collar and turn him towards you. He runs his hands through your hair and places his lips upon yours, kissing you deeply. It's a kiss so passionate, so perfect - that after you part, neither open your eyes for a few moments afterwards and he embraces you tightly.

"Good, because I'm not going anywhere."

[dadsbongos]

spiriting

Insert Coin - Chapter 2 / Series Masterlist

Waking up to the cursed sound of Monokuma’s voice, (Y/n) let her body remain in the warm confines of her duvet. Her eyes were heavy and burned whether she had them open or not. Turning, she let her back rest against the mattress, endless stare settled on the ceiling.

Every time she went to close her eyes, Byakuya’s bloody corpse was staring her in the face. His voice festered between her ears as it called her name. Quite possibly the last thing he’d said to anybody was him calling her name for help.

Stabbed over ten times between his abdomen and throat.

It must’ve been excruciating. To be working to bring everyone together only to be brutally murdered in your endeavors.

She can only hope death was quick to lay its merciful hands upon Byakuya’s soul.

And to be boiled alive, even.

A hand came up and over her heart, scrunching up the fabric of her sleepshirt, a new wave of misery banging at her brain as she thought of Teruteru. The Ultimate Cook. No, their Ultimate Chef. The least she could do was honor his wishes in her mind.

To be slathered in slimy batter and caked with breading was a mere inconvenience in comparison to being boiled - being cooked. The heat. The bubbling and popping of your skin as you quickly simmer.

It made her queasy just to think about.

All that pain, all that suffering - brought about by the hands of Nagito Komaeda. The sweet-faced, gentle-smiled boy of luck. The same boy she was planning on meeting in the dining hall.

Sighing through her nose, (Y/n) slowly rose from her bed before swinging her legs over the edge of her bed frame and pushing up to a complete stand. Her body felt like gelatin, mind in a foggy haze as she moved towards her closet, pulling off her makeshift pajamas and trading them in for cleaner versions of the clothes she already had on.

Exiting her cottage, (Y/n) was sure to lock her door before stowing the key away and heading towards the dining hall before anybody sent out a search party for her. The sand crunched under her shoes as she made her way to the dining hall, hopefully, the others had somehow forgotten about the entire night prior. If she could be the only one with the horrid memory of their friends’ deaths, she’d be happy.

Ultimate Peacekeeper and yet she couldn’t even keep two people alive.

Clenching her teeth, (Y/n) shook her head - if she thought like that then she’d be too busy throwing herself a pity party to focus on any of her peers. She reached out to open the dining hall door and stepped inside, and for a split second, her heart picked up at the thought of finding another body.

A corpse laid across the floor and Monokuma’s wretched voice bringing about another body discovery announcement.

Once again, she forcefully shook off her thoughts and pushed forward. Everyone was there. No, two people were missing.

Fuyuhiko, which was no surprise, seemed an avid supporter of being the “lone wolf” of their group. Nagito, on the other hand, was almost never by himself - despite his previous exclamations of being unworthy of a friend, he surely liked the company of the people on the island.

(Y/n) sidled herself up beside Hajime, giving the boy’s side profile a gentle, unnoticed smile - he looked exhausted, “How’re you feeling?”

“Hm,” Hajime flinched at the sudden noise, turning to lock eyes with the mediator, “I feel…” he looked down at his plate sadly, “fine.”

“Alright,” she pat his back, “if you need anything, I’m always available. It’s what I’m here for, Hajime.”

“Right,” the brunette nodded, he let his shoulders droop, defenses falling ever so slightly, “thanks, (Y/n).”

“Of course,” she nodded, looking around the dining hall once again and quirking a brow, “is it just me or… are there people missing?”

Before Hajime could answer her question, Monokuma appeared suddenly inside the cafeteria - frightening a few of the students. Hajime’s brows furrowed, “You can't just pop up out of nowhere like that!"

"Puhuhuhu, but I can!" what a high-pitched drawl, (Y/n) suddenly thought - she’d always been taught that villains have sickeningly deep voices and here Monokuma was, proving her entire life wrong, "I'm here to deliver the next motive!"

"A motive?" Hajime tilted his head in the midst of his confusion.

"It's not that I don't think you all love participating in my super fun killing game or anything..." Monokuma fidgeted, faking a new shy persona, "But, of course, I thought it would be even more fun to give you guys a motive!"

"Well, we've taken care of everything,” Kazuichi immediately rebuffed, “No one is going to kill anymore, no matter what your motive is!"

(Y/n) swung her head to look at the Ultimate Mechanic, “‘Taken care of’, what are you talking about?”

"Whatever you say!" the black-and-white bear waved off, clearly in disbelief of the boy’s words anyway, "If you're interested, there's an arcade machine in Jabberwock Park with a game on it that might have some cool info for you! And that’s as much as you’re getting from me, bye for now!"

"Ooh, fun!" Ibuki blurted out as Monokuma disappeared.

"Fun?” Hajime shook his head, irritation clear on his face, “No! Guys, we absolutely cannot play that game. This is Monokuma's attempt to trap us. Who knows? The game could be filled with lies to get us to kill each other!"

“Hajime’s right,” (Y/n) nodded, “If anyone plays that game, a murder is likely. I know it’ll be hard but we have to do our best to keep alive.”

Hajime could be a good leader. Strong, independent, commanding - a good man. He could be great. Then again, so was Byakuya.

Mahiru looked around and asked the question (Y/n) had before Monokuma arrived, "Wait, where's Nagito?"

Hiyoko giggled, covering her mouth with her hands as she did so, "He's probably too ashamed to show his ugly face around here.”

"No," (Y/n) interrupted, “I don’t think he’d be so self-conscious.”

"Don't worry about it,” Kazuichi waved off, locking his hands behind his head, “He isn't going to bother us anymore."

"What did you do?" (Y/n) pushed herself away from Hajime and toward the mechanic.

"Kazuichi, you probably shouldn't say stuff like that..." Nekomaru’s voice was strange - hasty, as if he was trying to hide something.

"Nekomaru, Kazuichi," (Y/n)’s brows furrowed as she looked between the boys, “Tell me, right now, what did you two do?”

"Well, we..." Kazuichi glanced at Nekomaru, "Took care of him this morning."

"You guys killed someone?" Mahiru exclaimed, face running pale.

"No! What the hell? Of course, not, we didn't do that!" Nekomaru shook his head as if he couldn’t fathom how his suspicious behavior could lead to that conclusion, "We found him on the way here and... tied him up. So he couldn't do anything drastic again! He's on the floor of the room we had the party in, he's- he'll be fine."

"So you guys - without telling anyone - kidnapped Nagito this morning and just left him tied up?" Hajime turned his head between the two, obviously done with the idiots, "Do you understand why that possibly wasn't the most fantastic idea?"

"What were we supposed to do, just let him run around acting like that?" Kazuichi asked, exasperated, "It's fine! He'll live, we just have to bring him food or something once in a while..."

"Now that we're in this mess, it will be difficult to pull us out," (Y/n) crossed her arms, thinking over the situation, “I’ll keep watch over him. I was going to do so anyway, but two people,” she glared directly at the boys of the hour, “decided to act without consulting the group,” as Mahiru prepared a plate, (Y/n) continued, “Just leave Nagito to me, I’ll be a babysitter for him - if anybody has an issue with him, please don’t act on your own until necessary. It could do more harm than good.”

Handing over the plate, Mahiru gave the peacekeeper a nervous smile, "Be careful, okay? Just run outta there if anything weird happens."

“Right,” (Y/n) nodded, taking the plate, “Kazuichi, Nekomaru,” the two hesitantly looked over to her - it felt horribly similar to facing a disappointed parent - she pursed her lips before giving a sympathetic grin, “I get where you two were coming from and I appreciate it, but don’t do something like this again. It’s dangerous.”

The two murmured out their agreements as (Y/n) left.

Crossing from the dining hall to the old building, (Y/n) flexed her fingers as she walked, gut knotting up inside her. Byakuya died there. Her friend, and to some extent, a role model. All because of the man she was going to be spending the rest of their stay at Jabberwock with. She had to. She needed to keep tabs over him if they wanted to avoid something like the party again.

Her hand stopped at the door handle, fingers resting against the cool metal.

She could just let him starve, it’s not like anybody would care. Nobody would check the old building anyway.

Shaking her head, (Y/n) pushed the door open - she’s supposed to be the Ultimate Peacekeeper and she was already dropping the ball with two deaths and a kidnapping. Letting Nagito starve was just a cruel and unusual punishment. An impulsive thought she'd never act on.

And so, putting one foot in front of the other, she continued down the hall Teruteru did. To find Nagito.

[hermannsthumb]

Can i request post-pitfall one of them looking at the clock and being like "oh shit we're late for work get up we need to go" before they realize that they won. Especially if the other person talks them down from the anxiety

didn’t quuuuitttte get “anxiety” bonus but

light M for suggestive 👀 themes, references to alcohol (at the world not ending party), and for pantsless scientists. thanks to @k-sci-janitor for talking over ideas for this w me heehee

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

It’s always nice to wake up warm and cozy, in Newt’s opinion, even if he can’t strictly recall why it is he…well, is. It’s less nice to wake up to his alarm clock, but he’s used to that by now. The warm thing he’s not, and it’s really screwing with him; his Shatterdome bunk has been freezing for as long as he can remember, and no amount of fiddling with the A/C controls has managed to make any difference. Did he sleep with some extra blankets last night? He doesn’t remember it, but he doesn’t remember much of last night, period—there’s a bitter, dry taste in his mouth and a slight throbbing in the back of his head which is giving him a hunch as to why. Binge drinking. But why? Was he upset about something?

Someone groans and rolls over in bed behind him. Newt’s suddenly away he isn’t wearing any pants. Oh, god, that explains the coziness. He got drunk and hooked up with a stranger?

“Turn that bloody thing off,” Hermann groans, voice thick with sleep.

Oh, God. Newt got drunk and hooked up with Hermann.

No, that’s probably not right. There are plenty of reasons as to why Newt’s pants could be MIA, coincidentally at the same time Hermann (???) is in bed with him. Newt lost his pants and Hermann was helping him find them, and they both got really tired and called it a night halfway through. They were having a sleepover and Newt spilled booze on them and took them off? Newt swallows down a small yelp of surprise as Hermann’s arm suddenly sneaks over his waist, drawing Newt back flush against him; Hermann isn’t wearing any pants, either. Hermann also isn’t wearing a shirt. Or underwear. Newt remains deathly still as Hermann plants a kiss to the back of his neck. “Good morning, Newton,” Hermann murmurs.

Hermann goes still, too.

“Newton?” Hermann says, sharply.

His arm drops away. Newt rolls over to face him, already planning for some serious damage control, though he’s not even really sure what damage he’s supposed to be controlling. Binge drinking together turned messing around? Newt blinks owlishly at Hermann’s blurry shape, wishing for his glasses. “Hey, dude,” he says.

A whole host of different emotions play out across Hermann’s face, mostly confusion, though he finally settles on mild embarrassment. “Oh,” he says. Just like that, it’s gone—back to business. He sniffs. “Right. I’d nearly forgotten. Well, I’m afraid I can’t offer much productive feedback about your performance, but I’m sure you were grand.” He tests out his limbs with a few tentative stretches, groaning lightly. “For goodness’ sake, I’m sore. Mattress pads do these wretched old cots wonders, you know. You ought to consider investing—”

“Uh-huh,” Newt says.

He finds his jeans on the floor and pulls them on, one leg at a time. They’re filthy, and torn in about five different spots, and for the life of him—in is sleep and hangover-muddled mind—he can’t remember why. Hermann yawns. “What are you doing?” he says through a second yawn. He tugs the comforter (which Newt had knocked askew) back down. “You’re letting all the cold air in. Did you know your bunk is freezing?”

“Gotta get to the lab,” Newt mumbles. He crams his glasses onto his face, and squints and frowns. Shattered. Must’ve stepped on them or dropped them or something last night. Luckily he has a spare pair in his dresser. “Got shit to do.” Did he tell anyone about his clone theory yet? He can’t remember. Or the drifting theory—

“You most certainly do not,” Hermann says.

“Uh, I absolutely do,” Newt says. Where are his shoes? He finds one on his bedside table, laying on its side like it’d been tossed there, but its pair is nowhere to be seen. “And so do you. C’mon, hurry up, find your clothing, we gotta—”

“Will you listen to me for three bloody seconds?” Hermann says.

Newt folds his arms.

“Please recall,” Hermann says, “exactly what happened yesterday.”

Newt presses on through the boozy fog of last night: he remembers drifting with a kaiju brain, he remembers being sent out into the city, he remembers the kaiju bunker, he remembers Otachi’s baby— “Oh, shit,” he says. “Hermann, we totally kissed!”

“That’s not—” Hermann shuts his eyes, and sighs. “We closed the Breach.”

“Oh,” Newt says. He sags onto his bed as an immense feeling of relief courses through him. They did close the Breach! That’s right. The Breach is closed, and the world is saved. “Oh. Yeah, right.” He laughs sheepishly. That would explain the drinking. And the Hermann. Well, it sorta explains the Hermann, but he still hasn’t really managed to figure out why Hermann hasn’t fled yet. “Oops. Habit?”

The Breach is closed, and the world is saved, and Newt is allowed to sleep in now. He doesn’t have to go into their lab today. He probably doesn’t ever have to go into their lab ever again, at least not for anything important. He eases back into the bedsheets (Hermann’s arms spread wide to welcome him, and to re-engage their spooning). “There we are,” Hermann says. He nuzzles against Newt’s neck and kisses his collarbone. Newt’s never seen Hermann this…cuddly, or heard his voice laced with so much sleepy affection. It’s kind of bewildering. And endearing. And hot. “Isn’t this lovely, now?” One of Hermann’s hands begins to creep down Newt’s chest; he kisses Newt’s chin.

“Yeah,” Newt admits, his mouth twitching into a goofy smile.

“I fully intend to keep you here all day for a proper celebration,” Hermann murmurs. His lips are pretty close to Newt’s own now—wow. Maybe Newt will even remember this kiss. A proper celebration, he likes the sound of that. “The Breach is closed, we haven’t got a single damn kaiju left to worry about, and—"

A thought suddenly strikes Newt. “Oh, shit,” he says. “I need to arrange samples.”

“Hmm?” Hermann says. His hand had almost reached Newt’s waistline.

“Samples,” Newt says. The last known kaiju in the fucking universe are laying dead across Hong Kong, and Newt’s in bed. “The kaiju they took down—I need samples.” He wiggles out of Hermann’s grasp (much to Hermann’s groaned displeasure) and scrambles for his shoes again, and this time manages to shove one on. “This shit is about to get rare, dude, I can’t let anyone else beat me to them!”

“I can assure you that absolutely no one wants your kaiju samples,” Hermann says. “Now, come back here.”

“No can do,” Newt says. He pulls on his other boot.

“Newton,” Hermann says. His voice has gone lower—more sultry. Newt can’t help the way his ears his perk up, and he turns back to Hermann sharply, suddenly hyper-aware of Hermann’s naked and very hot bod. Aside from the obvious fact it’s the first time he’s ever seen it naked, it’s the first time he’s ever seen it so…languid, too. Hermann has always been so stiff and proper, but now (hip propped up just so, sheet draped over his pelvis to conceal just enough), he could be on the cover of some porno mag. “Please come back to bed.”

Is Newt really gonna turn down that invitation?

Yes, unfortunately.

“I’ll be half an hour, tops,” Newt sighs. “I just have to call a few people about a stomach. And a skin louse. And maybe some eyeballs.” And, if he’s really lucky, Otachi’s baby, because that’s the most intact kaiju corpse Newt’s ever seen. And also just for sentimental reasons. He can’t help but think of it as his and Hermann’s baby, really, not so much Otachi’s. “Maybe an hour.”

“An hour,” Hermann groans, even as Newt mentally—and guiltily—amends that to two hours. “How am I meant to entertain myself for a whole hour?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Newt says. “I have some DVDs. Culture yourself.”

Hermann blinks twice, his long, dark eyelashes fanning delicately across his cheeks, in a pseudo (and much more effective) pout. Newt’s heart feels kinda funny, like maybe it’s just twisted over a few times. Hermann has a point, really—the odds of anyone snatching up kaiju remains before Newt is pretty slim, especially in the current chaos of basically the whole world. And they do have plenty of celebrating to do.

“But maybe it can wait another ten minutes?” Newt says.

“At least,” Hermann agrees.