#pangnewtkey

[sharffffff]

Anyway can we comment on the fact that Newt was being a wingman during the Pangkey date today? Ik it was Hope as an admin, but they also left the sign with "Newt is poggers", so nah, that's our boy. What I'm saying is Pangnewtkey is real and strong.

[localbrhuery]

one day I will post about the pangnewtkey flower shop/mafia au on here. that day is not today but it may be sooner than I anticipated.

[hardsellingit]

thinking about the parallels between newtgi + pangkey and challengers n i was wondering if u think pangi is more like tashi or art? bc on one hand art and pangi both have such dog-like devotion,,, but on the other challengers is characterized by patrick and art's ability to have a sexual and romantic relationship with tashi but never cross that bridge fully with eachother, which i think fits newt and lukey's dynamic well

(soz if u've never seen challengers this ask kinda realize on u having watched it lmao)

-@realmrooikat

I'M RLY SORRY I HAVENT SEEN IT... it's been on my list but I haven't got to watching it yet lolll

I will open this one up to the public... thoughts anyone?

[localbrhuery]

Pussy willow

iykyk

[hardsellingit]

Hiii Bami

“You look good.” With pangnewtkey - Mossii :3

ask game!

"You look good."

He means it, though Newt is shaking ashes from the edge of his cloak and Pangi has smudges of gunpowder on his cheek, the both of them haloed in the distant fires of a world wiped clean.

He wondered if compliments had ever been offered in the ruins of worlds before, if there was precedent for tenderness in the aftermath of absolute destruction, but it's the truth of the moment for him, that as everything ends, they're somehow more beautiful to him than ever.

The lily of the valley tucked behind his ear feels absurd, white petals stark against the grey dust that coats everything now, whilst Pangi's cornflower crown sits askew from where he'd been helping Newt weave poppies in ceremony at the crater's edge, the three of them laughing together in the last minutes they offered this reality. They'd bound their fingers with copper wire rings salvaged from the OSC's remains, the metal still warm from the violent physics that had torn everything apart.

The words they exchanged weren't vows, exactly, moreso coordinates, reference points for finding each other again across whatever distances waited beyond this moment, so that when the wire cooled and the flowers wilted and the crater stopped smoking, though they would scatter like seeds on an impossible wind, this binding in the bones of the world would remain, an offer of new beginnings later.