(no subject)

[meatbrained]

( five + one )

how it works:

i. post a comment with the characters you play.
ii. go around and prompt other players with a 5 + 1 prompt (e.g. "Five times Hope said sorry and one time he didn't")
iii. write a fic for the prompts people leave you!
iv. enjoy your fic? we hope?

Comments

YES

[dedikated]

i. five times Newt & Hermann argued and one time they didn't.

Five Times Newt and Hermann Argued and One Time They Didn't

[fortunefavored]

i.
Newt isn't really sure what he expected, but it actually wasn't this. Well, okay, maybe he was expecting something. Someone who might have some ideas, who might be interesting for a couple of letter or two but this--this he wasn't prepared for. He wasn't prepared for a razor sharp wit and cutting rejoinders; wasn't prepared for the vicious way Hermann tears his papers and theories apart, pushes him to think clearer, faster, better. Newt had originally written on paper as a formality, but even two months later, they haven't switched over to emails. Newt's hand aches, ink smudging on his hand and a bit on the paper as his fingers, writing, try to keep up with his brain.

'I may need to revise the entire fourth page completely but I read that last article that you wrote in Annual Review of Astronomy and Astrophysics and I think you need to double check that whole bit about how the breach might allow a mass of kaiju size through it. You just can't scale it up and hope it works.'

That will piss Hermann off for sure, and he'll be certain to send back an equally cutting remark. Newt can't wait.


ii.
They agreed to meet at a convention in Amsterdam. Newt spends the entire month before in a constant state of nervous excitement. However, like every other massive disappointment in his life, the entire situations spirals out of control to crash and burn in a giant heap right there in the middle of the presentation hall. Where in letters, their constant clash struck sparks and drove them further, in person it seems that it's too abrasive. Hermann's stuffy attitude rubs at Newt like proverbial sandpaper, just as the grating pitch of Newt's voice seems to drag nails up Hermann's spine. It's a disaster from start to explosive, argumentative finish, and Newt leaves Amsterdam (and Hermann) behind, determined not to think about the miasma of disgusted disappointment churning in his gut, because there's nothing like thinking you've met your mental soul mate then finding out that it is nothing like you thought, and so much worse.


iii.
"Dr. Geiszler, this is Dr. Gottlieb."

Really, the Marshal didn't need to introduce them. Newt knew from the moment he saw the back of his head with that ridiculous haircut, clothes too big, his handwriting on the chalkboard--and he shoves his hands in his pockets as Hermann turns, can feel something like a sneer curling the corner of his mouth as Hermann turns, frowning when he spots Newt like he's some distasteful insect that's gotten too close.

"Oh, we're already acquainted. Right, Hermann?"

It's a little thrilling when Hermann's ears go red, bleeding blotchy and ugly into his cheeks. Newt can't help but feel a vicious twist of triumph.

"I would prefer Doctor Gottlieb." It's practically growled, and Newt can feel his smirks stretch wider.

"Sure thing, Hermie," he says, just so he can watch Hermann's eyes widen at first in shock, before swiftly narrowing in anger as Newt turns alway, already heading towards the other side of the room, speaking to the Marshal again as he does so. "So, this is the cool side of the room, right? I can tell because of all the biology and dissecting equipment--"

That first incident does well to set a precedence for them, and by the end of the day they've spent a good two hours screaming at each other and two pieces of chalk and a large glass beaker become the first casualties of their unending war.


iv.
They've been fighting in person for months now, but what ultimately brings things to a head is a vicious argument about Star Wars versus Star Trek. They both go away from it, having screamed themselves hoarse and still steaming mad. When Hermann returns the next day, Newt, for once, has beaten him there and has taped a line straight down the middle of their lab.

"Assholes who think Star Trek is better than Star Wars have to stay on their side of the room," he snipes, before turning and marching back over to the sample he's working on. Not that the division would do any good, in eventuality, but at that moment it served as a clear divide, and would later serve as the basis for several arguments thereafter.


v.
It's been a while, now. They're the last, the skeleton crew, all that's left. And they still fight always, like cats and dogs, but it's different, now. Because when you've fought with someone long enough that you know them inside and out, their likes and dislikes and the lines you would never, under any circumstances, cross, they've become more of a friend than an enemy. They strike sparks again more often than not now, like they used to in the letters. Hermann has learned to put Newt to bed when he's riding on a hyperactive high and hasn't slept in the last 36 hours, and Newt has figured out when Hermann's having a flare up and will push him, goad him, until he gets the frustration out that he needs.

This, though...this is different. They're down the wire and scraping the bottom of the barrel of ideas but this will work. Newt knows this will work, and he has to do it. There's no time for clinical tests and safety proceedures. There's no time to make sure the neural overload won't be too much. Newt knows it won't be (correction: he thinks it won't be, according to his calculations.) But neither Hansen or Pentecost will listen to him, not with Hermann over their shoulders--"And this is where he goes completely crazy," and Newt has to grit his teeth and content himself with the earlier thrown kaiju entrails on the floor, though he longs to pick them up and chuck them at Hermann's head as he walks back towards his side.

"It is going to work, Hermann, and I'll tell you something else. Fortune favors the brave, dude."

The look Hermann gives him as he turns is incredibly annoying, like he's certain that Newt's spouting noise out of his face again; ridiculousness to be ignored. "You heard them," he states, arching an eyebrow in that aggravating way that makes Newt want to just kiss kick him. "They won't give you the equipment and even if they did," and he turns away, and Newt wants to yank him back, make him finish, make him see, "you'd kill yourself!"

"Or I'd be a rockstar!" It's a retort to Hermann's retreating back, and the only response he gets is a snort. Newt turns away himself, then, glancing at the tank behind him as he does so. He's made up his mind, anyway. It's not as though not getting permission has ever stopped him before.


+1
It's been a pretty terrible day. Newt's dirty, grimy, unwillingly covered in bits that he has no idea what they are, his glasses are cracked, he aches in places he didn't know he could ache, etc, etc, etc. But he's got a kaiju brain. He's only got a couple minutes until brain death and he's all movement, all frenetic energy, because if he isn't and he stops and thinks about this and what he's about to do and the odds that going back in there will kill him, he won't do it. And he needs to do it. The world needs him to do it. Hermann's talking, as he always is, and Newt's only half paying attention ("There should be three--")

Newt programs the Pons for one and turns away, starts to grab at the squid cap and Hermann keeps speaking and Newt expects protests, arguments, reasons he can't, that he shouldn't--

--and yet, as ever, Hermann Gottlieb surprises him.

"I'll go with you."

And Newt's brain screeches to a halt, shocked into stillness despite his frenetic movement not moments before. For a moment, his mind is blank, scrambling to catch up (Did Hermann really just say that? Did Newt mishear?) as he turns to look at Hermann, who is babbling, now,

"That's what the Jaeger pilots do. Share the neural load."

When Newt finds his voice a stunned moment later, it feels torn out of him, voice cracking on his disbelief; hears his own words and rescinds and tries again and then--then--

Hermann smiles.

And in that moment the rest of the world doesn't matter. All Newt can see is Hermann, Hermann, who is smiling at him and yes, he'll go with him, they'll do this together, they're going to own this bad boy. There is no argument, no clash, no disagreement; not here, not now. They are completely in sync and Newt is giddy with it, and for a moment--one brief, shining moment, here, with Hermann--he feels whole.