i debated how to fill this one for a while but i finally decided. heres some RIPPED hermann. and im assuming u mean this art!
There’s a loud, persistent knocking at Newt’s door.
Newt’s confused for all of one second–the only person who would ever willingly and rarely) seek him out in his bunk is Hermann, but it’s waypast when Hermann would still be working, Newt had almost been asleep–when Hermann’s voice is calling “Newton, open up immediately.”
Which is just more confusing, but whatever. “One sec,” Newt calls back, hopping out of bed, tugging his pajama bottoms up over his boxers, and switching on his bedside light. Hermann’s knocking gets louder. Newt can’t imagine what he did to incur the wrath of Hermann this intensely. He shoves his glasses on his face as he fumbles with his lock. “Jesus Christ, Hermann, I said one second–”
He swings the door open.
Hermann stands there, soaking wet, pissed, and totally nude except for a towel wrapped around the lower half of his body.
the only way i can reconcile newt’s scenes in the movie with actual biology lab practices is by believing that every time we see him work with samples he’s just pretending to be busy because he’s out of funding for real experiments like
hermann: stacker is coming by in half an hour for an update
newt, already grabbing a preserved specimen at random: uh great just in time for me to look at these… intestines…
Hermann steps into the interrogation room cautiously, his cane gripped tightly like a lifeline. Inside is dark and cool, lit only by a series of blue lights around the edges. It is cold and menacing, surrounded by eerie silence. Earlier he was told there was screaming. There isn’t anymore.
It’s been exactly one week since Newt was captured; one week since Hermann’s life fell to a series of pieces so broken, he wonders if he can ever reassemble them again. His chest hurts. His heart hurts. He wants his Newton to come home.
Newton is sitting in a chair, strapped down by a series of bonds and steel plates on his hands and body. He is looking up at the ceiling, but glances over when Hermann comes in.
Hermann makes the first move. “Hello, Precursors. I do hope you don’t expect me to—“
“OH THANK GOD,” Newt screams, his voice cracking in several places. “YOU’RE HERE. GET US OUT OF THIS CLUSTERFUCK RIGHT THE HELL NOW.”
Hermann takes a step back.
What?
“I- er- excuse me?” he tries, not really knowing what to make of this. Newt rolls his eyes.
“UGH YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE WHAT THIS HUMAN HAS PUT US THROUGH. HE IS SO BAD AT BEING ALIVE. AND ANNOYING. DID WE MENTION THAT? HE IS VERY ANNOYING.”
“I’m sorry,” Hermann says, completely off his footing at this point, “are you trying to—“
“WE TRIED TO MAKE HIM DO CROSS FIT BUT HE KEPT WHINING AND THEN PASSING OUT DURING THE HARD PARTS. SO WE TRIED NOT FEEDING HIM, BUT THAT MADE IT IMPOSSIBLE TO DO ANYTHING, BECAUSE APPARENTLY THIS IDIOT DOESN’T FUNCTION ON A DIET OF ANYTHING BUT TWO METRIC TONS OF CAFFIENE AND OYSTER CRACKERS. SO THEN WE JUST TORTURED HIM A BIT, BUT HE WOULDN’T SHUT UP ABOUT HOW YOU WOULD COME AND SAVE HIM.
“HE WOULD NOT STOP SHOWING US ALL OF HIS DUMB MEMORIES ABOUT MOVIES AND TRYING TO MAKE US PLAY MENTAL JENGA. WE DO NOT CARE ABOUT FUCKING MENTAL JENGA, WE JUST WANT TO GO HOME. THANKS TO HIM, WE HAVE SEEN EVERY GODDAMN FANTASY ABOUT YOU, INCLUDING THE ONE WITH THE DECONTAMINATION SHOWER, THE ONE WITH THE LAB DESK, AND THE ONE WITH THE BIOENGINEERED TENTACLES. WE ARE SO TIRED. HE WON’T STOP SINGING MITSKI, AND HE’S PLAYING THE MEMORY OF GROUNDHOG DAY IN THE BACKGROUND ALL THE TIME.”
Hermann hasn’t understood anything up until this point, and he’s considering ceasing to try. They’re so… loud. And, come to think of it, looking incredibly drained and tired.
“Is he… alright?” Hermann ventures.
“HE’S FINE,” Newt says, rolling his eyes again. “HE JUST WON’T SHUT UP ABOUT HOW HAPPY HE IS TO- YEAH I KNOW WE ARE TALKING TO HIM NOW, GIVE US A MINUTE- HOW HAPPY HE IS TO SEE YOU. ITS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE.”
“Ah- may I speak to him?”
“YEAH WHATEVER, JUST GET US OUT OF HERE FIRST. FIND A PONS, HOOK IT UP, AND DRIFT WITH HIM. SHARING THE NEURAL LOAD WILL BREAK OUR CONNECTION. JUST DO IT QUICK BEFORE WE LOSE OUR GODDAMN MINDS.”
Hermann blinks. “Er. Thank you. I think?”
Newt bangs his head on the back of the seat. “AGAIN, WE DON’T CARE. WE JUST WANT TO GO HOME.”
“Right. Well,” Hermann says, wringing his hands together and taking a few steps back. “I’ll, uh, go find a PONS then, shall I?”
“GREAT,” says Newt, looking happy for the first time since the world almost ended. “WE’LL BE WAITING.”
Posting the Winter Soldier Arsenal made me realize I’ve never made a rebloggable version of the other posts. You can find this (and all the other crap, JFC) on AO3. But here it is.
This is an M1 Garand rifle. And a Steve. Hi Steve.
It’s the rifle all US Infantry were issued, because it was sturdy and dependable. It’s the gun Steve went through his training with before he was turned into Captain America. They would have been issued to everyone and also all over the place to scavenge. It is not, however, the kind of rifle Bucky is ever shown shooting in The First Avenger.
“Why is your murder boyfriend stripping his weapon at the kitchen table?”
Bucky didn’t look up from where he was doing exactly what Tony had said. He didn’t answer, either, because Tony wasn’t talking to him. Though they weren’t fighting, things were decidedly cool between them and that meant Tony talked about him, or around him, not to him. That was fine by Bucky, since if Tony wanted a real answer – like that Bucky preferred the kitchen table’s size and proximity to Steve – he shouldn’t have asked Captain Sassy Pants.
“I don’t really care,” Steve answered with a shrug. “At least he’s not going off alone to play with his Johnson any more.”
Though he felt Steve’s gaze, Bucky didn’t so much as let his lips twitch in amusement. If he did, Steve would think he was funny. If Steve thought he was funny – which he did – he would keep telling these fucking jokes from the fourties. God damn future and it’s new audience of people who had never heard Steve tell this particular joke twenty dozen times.
“His Johnson?” Tony repeated, only a slight squeak in his voice.
“Yeah, his Johnson.” Steve’s delivery was perfect; slightly over eager and completely dry, like he didn’t know exactly what he was saying. “He used to go off and play with it every night. Sometimes during the day.”
“His Johnson,” Tony repeated, voice edging toward hysterical.
“He loved that thing.” Steve bobbed his head. “Glad they gave him a new model. Much easier to care for.”
Steve must have been waiting for Tony to take a sip of coffee to deliver that line, as a spray of it shot across the kitchen floor.
“You okay, Tony?” Steve asked, pounding Tony on the back.
“Fine,” Tony wheezed.
“You want to see it? We keep it in the bedroom.”
“No-” Tony began, but Steve was already moving.
“Its fine; it’ll just take a second to find.”
Bucky chanced a glance up from his work and found Tony staring, jaw hanging open, after Steve. It was a good look. Much better than self-importance, or sadness, or that weird almost guilty look he sometimes got when looking at Bucky. Bucky hated that one.
Tony’s mouth snapped shut as Steve hollared, “Found it!” and came marching back with Bucky’s Barret M107A1 sniper rifle.
“That’s…”
“Bucky’s new model, yeah,” Steve said blythly, as if he was unaware Tony thought he would be holding a detachable, metal dick. “That Johnson was a pain in the ass.”
Bucky snorted. Damn it. Now Steve was gonna pull this on everyone.
^^points at extended pun.
@cleo4u2 don’t you ever dare put your hand over my mouth again.
It IS an innuendo. Innuendos are hilarious. Puns are evil
Avelera 