Jan. 15th, 2017

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missanthropicprinciple replied to your post “*stumbles into Pacific Rim fandom three years late with Starbucks*

Welcome to the madhouse. The ship is Newmann…but also Newtmann or Newtlieb

THANK YOU KIND STRANGER and sorry it took me like three days to get to this because I never turn on the damn PC jeez your blog is an amazing wonderland and I’m just so happy to be here

Awww thanks! This ship systematically destroyed my life. Seriously.

Hi! I do prompts for newmann, so feel free to drop me an ask if you have an idea for a fic you want written!
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Bastien sticks his tongue out as he works, carefully lining down the glue on the card, and picking through the tissue paper and glitter set on the table between the four children.

“Make sure you write something nice inside!” Ms Kepple chirrups, she taps the board, “We have some messages you can use here.”

Bastien puts down the tissue paper- green, Hermann likes green, and cuts away the excess with the little pink craft scissors.

“Bastien?” Ms Kepple’s voice comes from just behind him, “that’s very nice, Bastien.”

Bastien nods. It does look nice. He’s got the dark blue paper over the card, and the green for the ground. Now he just needs the stars. He spreads the glue over the paper, and dumps a handful of glitter on it.

“Is that for your father, Bastien?” Ms Kepple continues.

Bastien scowls, and shakes the card clear. The glitter has left bright trails of sparkles in silvers and gold and pink across his night’s sky. It looks brilliant.

“’s for Hermann.” He picks up the felt tip to draw a little Hermann and Bastien on the ground.

“Let it dry first,” Ms Kepple admonishes gently. “You’ll tear the paper if it’s wet. Why don’t you write a message inside first?”

Bastien nods, glances up at the board. There’s a lot of fathers and dads on it. I love you dad! You’re the best father!

Bastien bites his lip, tries to remember how to spell brother.

“Here.” Ms Kepple writes it helpfully in a tiny corner of the board.

He nods, and decides You’re the best brother would make a nice message.
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Newt sinks down on the hillock and tries to choke back a sob. The forest is still, almost like a normal wood, but when Newt focuses on the trees, he can see the canopy doesn’t always attach to a trunk, and the trees seems to blur and fade into each other like fog. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees two shuffle away, and spring out into four trees.

He’s never going to get out of here. He’s completely lost.

Newt brushes down the folds of his blue and white dress. There’s a pinkish stain on the apron- probably from the mad tea party. Newt rubs at it, but it doesn’t budge- probably raspberry jam.

Newt licks the apron, grinds his nails into the cloth and picks and picks and it’s still there he can’t get it clean-

The tears burn his eyes, he screws his eyes shut but they sear their way through and he rubs at them hard but they streak down his cheeks and he can only curl up and bury his face in his hands.

“Are you cold?”

The words come, very softly, from behind Newt, he sniffs, rubs his nose. “What?”

“I said, are you cold? You can come in, if you want.”

Newt turns, behind him is an enormous coat.

It’s green, and puffy, and has a huge hood and basically looks like something a giant might wear in the arctic. No one seems to be wearing it. “Um, hi?”

“Hello.” The voice comes from inside the hood.

“Are you invisible? Like the cat?”

“Oh no.” The hood ruffles, and a broad head bobs up from the coat. “That cat is aggravating, always disappearing.” Large eyes blink at him. “You look cold.”

“Yeah.” Newt rubs his arms. The night is drawing in and the dress is thin cotton.

“Come on in, please.” The wide mouth quirks in a smile. Is it a frog? A snake? “The coat is big enough for two.”

Newt looks at it, and sighs. “I probably shouldn’t. I went into someone’s house and got to big for it and the house broke. And I got raspberry on my dress.” He pushes angrily at the stubborn stain. “I might wreck your coat.”

“Oh, I doubt that.” The frog-snake smiles and the smile just goes on and on and on. “The coat belonged to the bears. They said since I was cold so much I should have it. If it can survive bears, it can survive you.”

It’s the most sense Newt’s heard anyone make since he got here. It’s nice. He gets up and walks over to the coat. It’s got large wooden toggles and he undoes them carefully.

“Be quick,” the frog-snake shivers, “You’re letting the warm out.”

Newt nods, opens it enough to step inside. The coat is furry inside, and very warm. The frog snake is so thin he barely takes up any space inside at all. Newt pokes his head out from under the hood, and does up the buttons.

“There.” The frog snake smiles again. “Isn’t that better?”

Newt nods, yawns.

“You can sleep here.” He continues. “The forest will be moving all night- it’s the square roots you know, it makes them multiply, but in the morning the dogs will come to lick in new roads for the queen, and you can go home.”

“Thanks.” Newt sits down. The walls of the coat rise up like a tower around him, and the frog snake coils himself down to sit next to him. “I’m Newt by the way.”


Newt yawns again, and puts his head on his knees. He can sleep. Tomorrow maybe they can find their way out together.
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The fish are browning nicely. Bastian is in his elements, feeding the fire twigs and bits of leaf with no one to tell him not to. Karla is watching the fish with hungry eyes and Dietrich is off somewhere, exploring.

Hermann is looking at Newt. The other boy is dressed in leaves and rabbitskins and bits of clothes that might have fitted him when he was five. “Does no one grow up here?”

“Hmm-? Oh.” Newt shakes himself. “Of course yes. Everyone does.” He smiles. “You go home, eventually. But then you’re grown up, and the other grown ups can’t hurt you.”

Hermann thinks of Lars, shudders. Newt looks at him, and Hermann can see the firelight reflecting in his eyes. He knows. Hermann sighs.

“Will you stay?” Newt perks up. “It’s much nicer here. The pirates moor here sometimes, but they’re okay. Just don’t bother their treasure and bring them coconuts. And parrots, they like parrots too.”

Hermann hesitates, pirates are hardly safe, even from a distance.

Then again, Lars was hardly safe, and they never had the opportunity to keep him at a distance. 
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“I am surprised you are not sleeping off last night.” Hermann demurs, smiling. “You were rather, enthusiastic.”

“Well yeah,” Newt shrugs. “Halloween, dude! You made a great xenomorph.”

“I am a xenomorph.” Hermann huffs. 

Newt leans in and kisses him. “A really sweet, adorable xenomorph.”

Hermann kisses back happily. “You made a lovely Ripley. Did Hermine mind being your prop?”

“She loved it.” Newt puts his arm around Hermann. “I kept sneaking her sardines. Now, we’re going to be late.”

Hermann looks up, the massive, gaping fissure leading into Boneyard. “In here?”

“Yep.” Newt strokes his arm, “It’s cool dude, you’ll love it. It’s Tendo’s idea.”

Hermann shivers as they pass out of the gold Anteverse sunlight, and into the cold cold cold of the Boneyard, the pits. The great walls rear up around them, damp and still as they round the corners, burrowing in and deeper into the old Master complex.

Tendo is waiting for them a turning away from the Kaiju graveyard, he smiles. “Hey Hermann! My man!”

He steps in, and throws something around Hermann’s shoulders. Hermann reaches up and his fingers find warm, rough wool, it’s a sort of poncho and Hermann buries himself in it, glad for the relief.

“Here,” Tendo leads him around the bend, and out into the sprawling, hollow darkness of the Kaiju boneyard.

It’s so huge here that it takes Hermann a few moment to notice the candles. There’s a cluster of them, just off the path, into the maze of bones. Hermann frowns, and steps off the path. He has to get on all sixes to climb over the skeletons and his heart tightens in his chest, a silent apology to the dead.

The candles mark out a little circle, and there are blankets here, two baskets. He looks back at Newt, frowning, and Chris and Alison are here too, and Diane. They climb over carefully and join him, sit down on the blankets and opens the hampers.

One is full of sandwiches, rice, last night’s cake. The other holds the remains of a skinmite and some local fish.

Hermann looks between them, then back into the expectant faces of his friends and oh, oh.

“Dia de los Muertos.” He murmurs.

“De los Difunos,” Tendo corrects him gently. “Yeah. We thought we might spend some times with your dead, today.”

Hermann looks around. The searchlights are dim, out here, the candles glint in empty eye sockets, broken teeth, shattered bones. Hermann rests a hand on the smooth curve of a fingerbone, then settles down beside Newt on the blankets. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Newt smiles, “Never a bad excuse for a party.”

It’s a huge chamber, a Jaeger could get lost here. Their little firelight is a tiny pinprick in the miserable darkness, the heavy, oppressive sense of loss and pain that still weighs on this place.

But it is a pinprick, a tiny hole. And maybe in time, little by little, that might spread, grow and warm until the Boneyard will be- yes, a graveyard. A place to ponder and remember the dead and celebrate them, unnamed as they are.

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