Hello! In Yith-lars verse, I can imagine little newt wanting to learn how to grow/engineer a shoggoth, so perhaps taking Hermann to meet one? Maybe a baby one?

Not quite the fill, but it fits the continuation of this fic.

It is getting darker, and colder. The sky is a bruised-grey-purple that makes Hermann back up against Lars. It gets colder still, and the darkness is speckled by the first flakes of snow.

“We’re going back.” Lars says with a sigh. “We’ll go back when this is over. Come on Hermann.”

Hermann manages to stifle his sigh of relief, slips his hand into Lars’.

But it’s getting darker fast, the world turning vague and indistinct, the snow coming faster. They’re cut off from the world in a sphere of vague grey. Hermann backs closer and closer to Lars, tries to ignore his steadily rising curses.

He stops. Hermann looks up at him, full of dread and desperate, frail hope. He knows they’re lost, they’re at the end of the world in a snowstorm and no one is looking for them. But some part of him, the part that still furiously believes in the infalliability of parents, wants to be able to see determination there, an answer to this horrible situation.

And he sees it.

“Oh garthak,” He groans. “This is going to go down badly, but they can’t be far. Tekeli’li!” He shrieks the last word, high and shrill and piercing. “Tekeli’li!”

Hermann huddles against him, looks up in a panic. Lars puts an arm around him.

There’s a cracking sound, a hissing like steam escaping. The sounds shudder towards them like a train, the ice and permafrost cracking as though under something impossibly hot.

The freezing temperatures thaw suddenly, a blazing, feverish heat, that tasted of sickness and radiation. Hermann wonders wildly if they should have a giger counter.

“Sit down.” Lars whispers.

“Why?”

“Because their creators can’t.”

Hermann sits. “Is that bad?”

“They’ killed their creators.” Lars stares fixedly through the murk around them.

Hermann shifts, “Is this safe?”

“They entirely deserved it, trust me.”

Hermann nods, and follows his gaze as something slowly lurks into view.

It’s huge, the size of a bus. A black, liquid morass of teeth and swollen, staring eyes. They roll and burst forth like bubbles from the glossy black jelly of it’s body, focusing on them.

It doesn’t seem about to attack, just watching them warily. Then Lars starts to pipe again, high and bursting. The Shoggoth lurches forward again, gradually. Lars gets up, and nods at the thing, pulling Hermann up with him.

Hermann nods, too, looks up at Lars.

“Good evening.” Lars say softly, “Thank you for meeting us, but we are somewhat lost.”

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