#tmrfic

[monttagues]

Hey I know you did this for someone else not to long ago,but I was wondering if you could write another Nalby smut. It would make me the happiest person in the world if you did!!!! Thanks

i just quickly want to add this is the first tmr fic i’ve writen in like. 4 or 5 years maybe. so there: have it. is there a fandom left to appreciate this? 

For their first date, Newt and Alby go out to get some drinks. Alby is so nervous he drops his jacket, his wallet (twice), and the glass of beer he was holding, spilling it all over Newt’s lap. Newt takes it all in stride, tells Alby it's fine and he shouldn’t worry so much. Then, with a wink, he adds their second date should take place somewhere safe. Maybe Alby’s place? Or Newt’s? He’s flexible.

Alby doesn’t take the bait. 

And that’s fine, really. Newt’s more than happy to take this thing at whatever speed Alby’s comfortable with. He’d been dropping hints for weeks when Alby suddenly realised Newt was serious about going out together. So what if they take things slow, take a couple of dates to get to know each other better. 

Their second date is the movie theater. Alby doesn’t drop things this time, but when Newt reaches over in the dark to hold his hand, he notices Alby’s hand are sweaty. 

“I’m sorry,” Alby mumbles. 

Newt just gives his hand another squeeze and holds it for the rest of the movie. Afterwards, he grabs it again on their walk home, and Alby smiles at him. 

The third date is dinner. Alby’s the one to reach out and lace his fingers with Newt’s this time. They split dessert. Alby occasionally feeds Newt a little bite of their chocolate brownie, making Newt smile, and when it’s all finished, Alby brings Newt’s hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to his knuckles. It absolutely makes Newt blush, which surprises him. 

Date four is a picnic in the park. Alby feeds him strawberries this time. When Alby lies down, Newt decides to use his chest as a pillow. Alby plays with his hair and tells him about all the places he’d like to visit. The cities he wants to see, the countries he wants to discover. 

When the sun begins to set, they gather their things and walk home again, holding hands. Alby drops Newt off at his place, says goodbye, takes a second to lean in and lean back again. Then leans in again and presses a kiss to Newt’s lips. Just a quick one, lasting maybe a few seconds. They’re both smiling when Alby leaves. 

Hiking marks date five, and another movie is date six. More kisses happen. Alby cups Newt’s cheek now when they make out. Newt sits close to him, rests his hand on Alby’s shoulder when he gets the chance. They hold hands, a lot. 

For date seven, Alby invites Newt over. 

Weeks ago, Newt would have thought that’s a clear invitation. You go on a date, you kiss, you go back to the apartment, you have sex. Isn’t that how it goes?

Now, the thought doesn’t even cross his mind. He doens’t even consider it when he knocks on Alby’s door, happy to keep the slow pace they’ve set. Kissing Alby is amazing, being close to him is wonderful, getting to know him honestly is a gift, no matter how sappy that sounds. 

Alby has cooked dinner for them, and Newt eats is all with a healthy appetite. It’s delicious, Alby’s gorgeous, it’s a great date. 

So it’s a surprise when, long after they’ve finished eating, after they’ve moved to the couch, after they’ve been making out for a while, Alby suddenly asks him: “do you want to stay over?” 

It could be taken a couple of ways, but Alby’s bashful look, nervous fingers, and tentative smile say it all. 

Newt’s so surprised it takes him a second to react. “Oh. Um. Yes!” he says, but his hesitation makes Alby frown.

“We don’t... have to...” he starts. 

Newt interrupts him with a shake of his head. “No, no! That’s not it! I didn’t think you’d ask,” he says.

“Well... you did say you wanted to go back to my place.”

Newt smiles, gives Alby another kiss. “You’re right, I did. And I do.” 

They kiss again, they smile some more. Newt lets his hands wander, now he knows Alby wants. He moves to sit on Alby’s lap, feels Alby’s hands on his hips, then his ass, smiles into their kiss. 

“This is nice,” Alby whispers, words almost lost between their lips. 

Newt makes a sound of agreement and tilts his head to kiss Alby again. 

When Alby’s hand start to wander under Newt’s shirt, when Newt starts to grind down on Alby’s lap, when they’re both breathing hard into each other’s mouth; that’s when they decide they should move this from the couch to the bedroom. 

Alby leads the way, holding on to Newt’s hand. When the bedroom door closes behind them, Alby is first to take his own shirt off. Newt follows his lead. 

Alby takes of his pants, gets them tangled around his shoes, has to sit down on the edge of the bed to take them off properly. “Well. That’s awkward.” 

Newt laughs, a soft and fond sound. He kicks his shoes off first, and then drops his pants. His underwear is next. He climbs back onto Alby’s lap. “If you kiss me again, I might forget.”

Alby kisses him again, with newfound determination. 

It doens’t take long for them to get back in the mood. Newt lets his hands explore, touches Alby wherever he can reach, and Alby does the same to him. They kiss until they can’t breathe, until they’re pressing closer to each other, Newt clutching Alby’s shoulder. Alby’s hands have gotten lost in Newt’s hair, tangling his head just right to kiss him deeply. 

Newt can feel Alby’s hard, has been for a fair while now, and he rocks down as best as he can. 

There’s hardly any finesse, but it’s good, and it’s hot, and they’re close. Newt can feel it, can hear it in the way Alby’s gasping, in the soft moans that escape both of them every once in a while. 

He manages to reach down between them, wrap his fingers around Alby’s dick, and within a minute, it’s over for Alby. He moans Newt’s name, trying to thrust up into Newt’s hand, and it’s so hot that Newt uses his other hand to touch himself, too impatient to wait for Alby to come down. 

It doesn’t take much longer for him. He looks into Alby’s eyes and swears, spilling over his own hand, adding to the mess between them. 

Alby smiles, a slow and satisfied grin, and kisses him again. 

Newt can feel himself relaxing against Alby, equally is satisfied, and very pleased with himself. 

“Stay the night?” Alby asks him. 

Newt laughs. “I am never leaving again now.” 

[singt0me]

Upcoming Fic Series | Hard Rock & Callisto

“What will it be like, to watch the world end around him behind titanium glass? Will it be beautiful?”

insp: x

[makethiscanon]

Thank you for giving us more maze runner content the fandom is starved and your gally headcanons are so shucking cute. Ignore this if you it's not your thing but can you do headcanons for gally and a female glader on her time of the month? I love your stuff so much

How Gally Reacts to Fem!Reader Glader Suffering From Period Cramps:

Awww!!! Okay I know I said my requests are closed but apparently I can't say no to my comfort characters and soft prompts. I AM ABSOLUTELY DOING IT. AH.

Word Count: 880

------

Gally is king at dealing with your period cramps.

Well, maybe not on the first go.

That first time is horrifying and disastrous for everyone involved, and is never spoken of again.

But Gally is a quick learner.

He soon figures out there's only one thing that can stop you turning up for work.

And he knows where to find you when it happens.

So when he finishes the brunt of his tasks for the day, he takes a break to seek you out.

He finds you, as always, curled up in your hammock with a cold sweat and creased brow, whimpering over your stomach pains.

He doesn't speak to you.

All that comforting, sappy klunk isn't his thing.

He climbs into your hammock then drags you against him with your head nestled against his shoulder and your back flat to the hammock.

He makes you stretch your body out, no matter how much you protest, because he's trying to help.

Carefully, he lifts up your shirt until it bunches at your naval.

You whimper from the cramps so he waits, telling you to breathe through it.

He undoes your belt and the top button of your trousers, then shimmies them slightly down past your hips.

Should anyone walk by, this position looks compromising as shuck.

But you trust Gally enough to let him do it.

He rests his hand in the gap made by your loosened clothes, gently pressing down on your lower stomach to help ease the pain.

He's a notoriously warm-bodied Glader. His big hand is practically a hot water bottle so the relief is instant.

Gally doesn't understand why he starts smiling when you groan and snuggle your face into his neck to say thank you.

He also doesn't understand why his stomach flips when you grab his wrist, silently begging for him to stroke your stomach.

Despite his confusion at his own reactions, he does as you ask.

He's very gentle with you, massaging your stomach in small circles to ease the pain.

His hand is precise, using just enough pressure in his palm to keep you comfortable while his fingers tickle the skin of your inner hip.

Having the adept hands of a builder sure has its advantages.

He stays quiet to help you rest, only breaking the silence when you whimper from an especially painful cramp.

"You're okay," he says, willing his gruff voice to sound even the slightest bit soothing as he smoothes the clammy hair from your face with his free hand. "Breathe."

Hm. Maybe he's better at this comforting klunk than he thought. You're smiling, anyway.

He manages a whole ten minutes stroking your stomach and only has to fend off agonising hand-cramp once.

But he's the Keeper of the Builders and can't abandon the rest of the team all afternoon while they're still working.

He decides to leave you be. You haven't whimpered in a while so that's a good sign, right?

Only, when he tells you that he's going, he realises you've fallen asleep.

You're still smiling.

Your hand is still holding his wrist.

Shuck. There's literally no way to remove himself from the hammock without waking you.

Just... shuck. He's got to go back to work, one way or the other.

This isn't going to be pretty.

An hour later, Dan arrives at the Homestead in search of Gally, only to find him in exactly the same position, his hand still stroking your stomach while you sleep peacefully against his side.

And the glare on Gally's face promises Dan a world of pain should he accidentally wake you up.

Gally tells himself as Dan scarpers out of sight, tomorrow he's going to work twice as hard.

Tomorrow, he will make it up to the other builders.

Tomorrow, he will absolutely give them some of his special drink.

But for now, he is committed to keeping you comfortable.

Gally isn't the type to quit something part way through.

okay apart from today's building jobs. That's a one off, he swears.

He figures being the only female Glader comes with enough problems.

And since you trust him enough to A) let him touch you, and B) fall asleep on him, he's going to do what he can to help you out.

He likes the feeling of someone depending on him, anyway.

Especially when it's intimate, like this.

Gally is the last person anyone else will come to for support, so having you snuggling against him is a welcomed change.

Plus, everyone else's jealousy strokes his ego like nothing else.

Every month he gets to have a pretty girl snuggling into his side and the other guys can't hide their envy.

He loves it.

But more than anything, he loves the peace on your face as you sleep soundly next to him.

There's no fear of being trapped in the Glade. No pain. No exhaustion. Just a gentle face, so relaxed and comfortable.

Just don't expect Gally to ever admit that he likes having you cuddled up to him once you're feeling better.

Oh, you want that last bit of food? Tough klunk. You owe him for looking after you.

There's only one blanket left and it's getting cold at night? True shame. He's having it.

...fine. He'll share it with you.

Because he's the bigger man.

It's not because he gets to has to snuggle you close to him so you'll both fit inside it.

------

That's absolutely ridiculous.

[WRITING MASTERLIST]

[amazerunners]

-shit I kissed my best friend and booked it AU-

—

“Hey, Minho, can I tell you something?”

As is usual at midnight on a Saturday, they’re using Minho’s PS3.

His living room has been trashed as much as two teenage boys can trash a room; that is to say, quite a lot. There are crushed chips on the floor, an empty pizza box, foil wrappers covering up a soda stain in the carpet that Minho says he plans to “deal with sooner or later”.

He still made Thomas take off his shoes, though.

Minho keeps his eyes on the screen. “If you make some stupid headshot pun I will murder you for real.”

Thomas kicks his shoulder, “No, come on.”

Minho takes a sip of soda, chokes when he’s killed by an NPC, and coughs out, “Fine, what is it?”

��…It’s kind of… bad.”

“Ok, whatever, doesn’t matter.”

But Thomas says nothing.

Minho looks at him. “What? Just say it—”

A grenade flies out from nowhere on Minho’s half of the split screen while he’s distracted and he dies in a flash of red.

“Jesus chr—dammit, Thomas.” He pauses the game before he can re-spawn and turns to his friend. “Seriously? Bro, you know I’m with you no matter what, but if you killed someone or some shit, you have to spit it out so I can go out and buy a shovel and some lighter fluid.”

“I didn’t kill anyone!”

Minho’s eyes widen. “…Worse?”

“NO.”

Minho sighs, “Then what is it?”

Thomas plays with a loose string on his pants, mumbles something.

“What?”

 Thomas clears his throat. “…Newt and I… kissed.”

And Minho’s controller drops from his hands.

 “You said it wasn’t worse.”

“It isn’t!”

“Are you sure, dude? This is Newt we’re talking about. Like, our Newt. Best-friends-since-preschool Newt.”

“I know.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know.”

Minho runs a hand through his hair, “When?”

“Last night.”

“Jesus, how?”

“I was staying over after Brenda’s party, and I don’t know. We were just talking.”

He doesn’t admit what ‘talking’ involved. He doesn’t say how they were lying beside each other on Newt’s bed, legs overlapping. He doesn’t say exactly how dreamily they were staring at each other, or how they were both pretending to be more drunk than they actually were—as in, not very drunk at all—to excuse the soft brushing of their fingertips on each other’s skin.

(And he may or may not have had his arm around Newt’s waist, but even Thomas isn’t sure about that, so he’s certainly not going to mention it to Minho.)

Minho raises an eyebrow. “‘Just talking’? Should I just assume you’re going to kiss everyone you talk to? Are you gonna kiss me right now?”

“Shut up, okay? It was different.”

“Different how?”

Thomas swallows, remembering.

—

“I don’t know, Tommy. Sometimes I just feel kind of… empty, you know?”

“No, I don’t. Tell me.”

Newt turns to look at him. “Sad, I guess,” he says. “Alone.”

Thomas frowns. “You’re not alone, though.”

“If you say so.”

“You’re not,” Thomas says, propping himself up on his elbows and staring hard at Newt. “I’m here.”

“Not always.”

“Yes, always! Always, always.”

And Newt smiles faintly at that, shakes his head. “Always, always, then.”

And that was it. Lips on his.

—

“Just, different.”

Minho inhales deep behind his hands, “Okay, you talked, you kissed him, then what?”

“And then… I left.”

Thomas looks down at his lap, remembering how he had pulled away, grabbed his stuff and flown out of Newt’s house.

“You dick.”

“I know!” Thomas sprawls himself out completely on the couch, “Fuck, it was so bad, dude. You should’ve seen his face when I ran out of there.”

“I can imagine.”

“No, you can’t—shit, I’ve never seen him so upset before. And this is Newt so that’s—that’s saying something, you know?”

Minho nods. He does know.

Thomas covers his face with his hands. “Now he fucking hates me, fuck. Fuck, I fucked up, Minho.”

And there’s a short silence as the two of them take in the gravity of the situation. Thomas wants to scream, and Minho is chewing at his thumbnail, contemplating something.

“Thomas. Listen.”

“What?”

“I’m going to tell you something that Gally told me. About Newt, about you.”

Thomas groans, “Gally? What would Gally know about me and Newt?”

“More than you would think, I’m pretty sure.”

“What did he say?”

Minho clears his throat, “He said, and I quote, ‘Those two are gonna start fucking any day now.’”

Thomas stares at him. “Sure sounds like Gally.”

“True, but he’s right. I didn’t see it then, but I guess he’s called stuff like this before. He’s kind of got a knack for it.”

Thomas remembers when Brenda and Teresa had announced their six-month anniversary to them all a few weeks ago; of course, no one had known they were even together, except for Gally, who had rolled his eyes and said “Six? Could’ve sworn it’s nearly been eight.”

“Yeah… I guess.”

“I think he could kind of tell that Newt… likes you. Has liked you, whatever, which makes sense.”

Thomas looks at him. “It does?”

“Are you kidding me? Now that I think about it, you guys are way too touchy.”

“What? No, we’re not!”

“Plus he planned your last two birthday parties—”

“—Well, that’s what friends do for each other—”

“—And then the whole ‘Tommy’ thing.”

“It’s a nickname!”

“A pet name, you mean,” Minho corrects, and Thomas gives up, collapsing back down on the couch.

“…Newt likes me?” He says, supposedly to himself, but Minho says “Pretty much.”

Thomas sighs, “God, kill me.”

“What about you? Do you like him?”

And Thomas thinks. Thinks about how he collects notes from every class Newt misses when he’s sick, how he offers to carry Newt’s stuff every day—insists, until Newt gives in and hands him his lightest textbook.

About how he takes Newt aside on the days when he’s more quiet than usual and asks if he’s all right, how heartbroken he feels when Newt gives him a smile and says “No, not really.”

About how he’ d never gone more than eight hours without talking to Newt until they had kissed, how there hasn’t even been a text since then.

How hollow that makes him feel.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah,” Minho says. “That’s what I thought.”

—

Newt hasn’t left the house all day.

He hadn’t slept the night before—had tossed and turned for hours until the sun rose and he was left staring up at the ceiling, hopeless.

What had he done?

Thomas is—was?—his friend. His best friend. His sweet and beautiful and stupid best friend who would love him forever but not like that. Not like Newt wanted him to.

When he had gotten up that morning he had checked his phone for a missed call, a message, but there was nothing. He kept checking every thirty seconds after that, then every minute, then every hour until it was 10pm and Newt had thrown his phone across the room.

And at 12:53AM he hears it vibrating on his hardwood floor.

[Thomas]:  we need to talk.

(Punctuation. Thomas never uses punctuation, and this message couldn’t be more terrifying.)

[Newt]: ive got nothing to say to you

(Because Newt wants to avoid that conversation—the “Nothing’s changed, we’re still friends,” because Newt knows that’s not true, the “That kiss wasn’t a big deal, anyway,” because it was, it was, no matter how much Newt will smile and nod and agree.)

[Thomas]: well then think of something bc im outside

(…What?)

Newt looks outside his window and sees Thomas waving up at him, his bike thrown down on Newt’s front lawn.

And he runs his hands through his hair, nearly tears it out as he paces through his room—hops on the bed, whispers “Fuck, fuck, fuck” to himself before looking out the window again and pointing Thomas towards the yard.

He creeps through the house and meets him in front of their back door, not bothering to turn on the light.

“Newt,” Thomas says breathlessly when he sees him, and Newt can hardly stand it.

“Look, my parents are asleep, and I’m exhausted—I haven’t been able to sleep at all—”

Thomas’ eyes widen. “Shit, Newt, I—”

But Newt cuts him off, blushing, says “No, not because of you! I mean—well, yes, I’ve been thinking—”

And he bites his tongue, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Just—can this wait until later?” Much, much later. Maybe even never.

But Thomas says “No, it can’t,” and grabs onto his arm before he can turn around and shut the door in Thomas’ face.

“Look, I—I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it, either. And, fuck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to run out on you, man, I was just—it was—”

“A mistake,” Newt finishes for him, but Thomas’s fingers tighten on his arm.

“No, God, no! I was just… surprised? I don’t know, I didn’t know what to think. I panicked, and I’m so, so sorry.”

But Newt is quiet. So Thomas’ hand moves down Newt’s arm to hold tight onto Newt’s cold fingers, like he always does when Newt is too quiet.

And because it doesn’t look like Thomas has the heart to say it, Newt says, as calm as he can, “I still want us to be friends.”

“What?”

“I don’t want this to be a thing between us, okay?  I don’t want us to become weird around each other because of—of some stupid kiss that happened after a few goddamn drinks.” He looks down at bare feet on the patio. “Just forget it. Please.”

Thomas stares at him, open mouthed.

“No—Newt, you don’t get it. I don’t want to forget it. I’ve thought about it, a lot, and it definitely, definitely wasn’t a mistake. The only mistake I made was not doing it earlier, honestly, and I’m a moron and I’m sorry about that, too.”

Newt looks up at him. “Oh.”

“…Do you think it was a mistake?”

“No!” Newt says, so loud that he slaps his hand over his mouth and they stand in silence for a few moments to make sure Newt’s parents don’t catch them.

And when Thomas is sure they’re still alone, he steps even closer, so their toes almost touch and he’s near enough to count Newt’s long, blond lashes.

“Newt, do you like me?”

Newt flounders. “I—what kind of question—you can’t—I—”

He makes more choking noises, but Thomas doesn’t let go of his hand.

So he breathes. “—Yes. Okay? Yes. I like you. I bloody care about you.” He swallows, looking Thomas in the eye, though his expression is unreadable.

“Happy?”

And Thomas exhales, wrapping his arms around Newt’s shoulders and murmuring into Newt’s neck, “God, yes.”

And that was it. Lips on his.

—

—

Minho’s texting Gally a few days later.

[Gally]: Thomas and Newt

[Gally]: theyre fucking y/n

[Minho]: yes for sure

[Minho]: maybe not fucking tho

[Gally]: holding hands then idk

[Gally]: whatever pansies do

[Minho]: lol

[Gally]: so you owe me like $20

[Minho]: how about dinner? <3

[Gally]: what

[Gally]: fuck you dont screw with me minho

[Minho]: i thought you were good at picking up signals

[Minho]: guess not

[Gally]: what??

[Minho]: see u at 7 then?

[Gally]: WHAT??

[Minho]: 7 it is

—

—

—

First of all—notice how I can’t keep minho out of my fics, even my newmas ones jfc (also I hope you appreciated that not-so-stealthy stealth!mingally uwu)

Second—sorry for my attempts at gamer lingo?? I tried to avoid it lol

Third—so with this ive written for all variations of the trio wow these three will be the death of me

THANK YOU FOR READING//please tell me if there are typos?? i always say this but i really mean it pls tell me//also posted here bc I’m a dork trash lord obv//if you have prompts pls ask pls pls ily

[crankparadise]

✿The Scorch Trials: Untold Chapters

cue overly-dramatic title I’ve always been really curious about what actually happened in the Scorch Trials when the Gladers and Jorge were separated from Thomas for what must have been a few days. We never do get to hear what happened to them, since Thomas is the only narrative we get to hear throughout the whole series. So this fanfic happened! Picking up right after canon Chapter 29 in The Scorch Trials, this is the journey through the City that you didn’t get to hear. Jorge, Minho, Newt and the other gladers have been separated from Thomas and Brenda, and have no choice but to make their own way through the mountain towards the Safe Haven. Running parallel to Thomas’ side of the story in The Scorch Trials, have an alternate chapter 30. Hope you enjoy! Feedback always welcome ;u; & thanks to my lovely betas commodorenewt & tewanted​ ! ♥ Chapter Two here!

Chapter One

After the unidentified explosion, it became as if any established leadership had been lost somewhere among the dust and metal debris. Minho, Newt and the other eight or so Gladers who had escaped the explosion the same way, didn’t have time to think about any alternative plan that wasn’t following Jorge at speed down a splintered and narrow hallway. The sound of metal pulling from it’s frames and the crash of wall against wall was still ringing in their ears as they ran in a small crowd. Minho was further up front with Jorge taking lead.

If Jorge had any uncertainty about where he was heading or what had caused the explosion, he certainly didn’t show it. He was impossibly fast, and although he didn’t show any indication that he cared who was following him, he appeared to be calculating their escape as he ran, Gladers included. Due to his speed, most of the boys had quickly fallen behind Jorge; even Minho was struggling to keep up, making him clench his jaw in frustration. He told himself it was due to the pain in his body from the burns and not because the crank was faster, better, than him. Right now, his pride blinded him before all else, this lousy Crank was threatening both his position as leader, and his speed; which were things he had to firmly establish. There was a voice in the back of his head that told him he’d probably be dead sooner than be anywhere near the decent leader his friends needed him to be.

They turned another sharp corner and Minho’s wounds burned at the abrupt twisting of his joints. This new hallway was significantly wider and unlike the rest of the ruined building, it also seemed to be becoming less and less damaged the further they ran into it. He’d already checked briefly to see if Newt was following and with that soon confirmed, he became absent to his surroundings and beat on with nothing on his mind but matching Jorge’s speed. As they reached the end of the hallway, it opened up into an aged but unsettlingly plush and out-of-place room which, although without a staircase, looked like the landing of some sort of abandoned luxury mansion. This couldn’t possibly be part of the building that they had thought looked like an underground train-station, where they all ate before the explosion, could it?

Jorge then stopped abruptly with a raised hand, as still and calculated as a wild cat preparing to pounce. The strength in the man’s tensed body caused Minho to smash into him, but the hard collision barely affected Jorge’s rigid stance. Minho however, toppled backwards with a thud, much to the dismay of his burns. He spat out a breath from his gritted teeth as he glared up at Jorge’s back.

"The shuck was that about, man?" He barked at him, saying it before he actually knew what he was questioning: whether it was the explosion, the running or the sudden stopping.

Jorge span a quick 180 degrees to face Minho, but he didn’t look at him, he didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. His sight was no doubt somewhere in his ears as he seemed to be listening all the more intently for… something. His thick brows were knotted and his sharp jaw was clenched in hesitation, or perhaps apprehension. Then, as if on cue, Jorge snapped his fingers, and what looked like a huge balcony above and in front of them them, which would have crushed them had they ran just four feet further, collapsed.

The balcony and the fixtures that held it, crashed down behind Jorge and broke through to the same floor they were standing on. Decorative metal and wall fixture crashed through the wooden structure of the ground, it must have been rotting to have fallen through so easily. As the ground shook, Minho heard some of the other gladers fall behind him, shaken off their feet by the impact. The balcony fell into some further floor below them, which unsettled Minho as he had been sure they had been on a ground floor. The sinking feeling that he couldn’t even grasp the layout of a building nevermind a City, made him suddenly long for the maze for a moment, but only for a moment.

His jaw fell slack at the man ahead, mostly due to the sheer absurdity that Jorge had basically predicted the fall of the balcony. The man looked inappropriately smug as he stood about an inch before the crater. The whole floor was now impossible to cross, any alternate routes had been cut off, with the exception of one beat-up, but strong enough looking plank on the right-hand side. The plank looked to be their only way towards escape. Beyond the plank could only have be an opening to the City. The light of the outside glared in from large slits in a loosely constructed boarded-up wall. It was so weakly constructed that it either looked as if it had been badly boarded up or roughly torn down.

Falling like the debris, the remaining gladers and Aris flopped on the ground behind and at either side of Minho. Or at least he assumed them all Gladers, he didn’t even think to look behind for Cranks that might be following them. While struggling to normalize their breathing, some of the boys lifted themselves to gape at the crater caused by the balcony collapsing. Minho had to remind himself once again that not all of these kids were runners.  He could clearly see it now how some of them looked like they were about to pass out from the running or were nursing stitches from running so soon after eating, and most of them were panting like their lungs were endless vaccuums.

He let his contempt for Jorge burn away and he jumped back to his feet in front of the others, who were still jutting to breathless stops and hitting the floor as soon as they could. Newt followed last, dragging his limp along as his eyes darted around the faces of each glader, frantically counting them as he did almost every 20 minutes, to Minho’s every frustration. In Minho’s head, whoever was a dumb enough shank to get lost at this point was only a burden, and definitely deserved to be left behind. But that wasn’t Newt, he never wanted to leave anyone behind no matter who they were. Despite the obvious discomfort that Newt ran with, he didn’t appear out of breath. Either he hadn’t been running for the last stretch or he was too busy confirming the well-being of the others to breathe himself. His mouth was still loosely forming around names Minho didn’t care about before he finally counted Minho and met his eyes.

"Tommy." He breathed out rather than spoke. His eyes heavy with dread. "We bloody lost Tommy.” Any of Minho’s remaining hope sunk then, and he cringed with guilt at the fact that he had so nonchalantly included Thomas in his apathy towards those who made it, and those who didn’t. "And Brenda." Jorge said, probably more fiercely than necessary. "Who"Tommy" will be fine with, it’s yourselves you need to worry about.” Jorge turned back towards the crater again. Minho watched him, it was all he could do as he was apparently lost for words. His mouth felt dry, and not with his usual sarcastic tone. Listening to Newt pat the backs of some breathless Gladers behind him, Minho still watched Jorge. He watched him adjust a compass on his wrist and then another watch-like device that clicked twice; he then he took a quick look around at the boys, before adjusting his pack and kicking with feeling at some of the fallen debris that he had apparently predicted.

"It’s been fun, but the last thing I’m doing is going back to the crank party to save your ugly friend. Turn around now and you’re on your own, see you moochers in hell." His words were dark, but hard to read as he toyed them in his mouth with a hint of playful cruelty. Then Jorge started walking with a stride in his step across the single plank of wood, the only solid foundation across the hole that the fallen balcony had left. He gestured what was probably a rude sign towards the Gladers as he strode on. Minho noticed how some of the other boy’s bodies lurched towards Jorge’s lead before they stopped to look at their leader for command.

He felt the hopeful eyes of his friends burning into his skin stronger than lightening ever could.

"We need to go back for him." Newt said quietly, and some of the eyes dispersed to him then. Some still looked at Minho and some looked on ahead where Jorge was walking, all of them searching desperately for leadership. Aris was looking at the ground.

Minho knew he was meant to be the leader but here he was completely torn with no idea what to do: Thomas was who knows where, possibly dead, and cranks were probably homing in on them to pounce any second. Not to mention the shady guy who knew the area was taking off alone. The tattoo on his shoulder suddenly felt very heavy. Jorge must have heard Newt because he barked out a laugh and span around on his heels to face them. "You bunch of babies really have no idea what kinda shit you’re in now, do you?" He strode back towards them again. Again, there was that definite malicious quality in his words, but the colour in his voice, his theatrical stride and the slight lean back in his posture was all unsettlingly playful. "That explosion? That was a bunch of some real nice Cranks breaking in all good and ready to eat your little baby cojones.” Minho noted how the man used a lot of hand gestures as he spoke, as well as leaning back and forth in rhythm to his words, as if movement was vital to get his point across. "Your little friend is either dead right now, or smart enough to trust Brenda and get himself out of here, and towards that mountain. ” He pointed in the direction of every emphasised word, before he shrugged. His expression was still brooding and teasing. "I realise the latter is unlikely, but Brenda’s no idiot, and she’s a real leader too." His dark eyes flashed to Minho. He turned again and continued walking away.

Despite all the anger in him, Minho could only stand and glare, his mind was everywhere. He willed himself to speak, to say anything, show the Gladers they still had a leader, but nothing came out. He wasn’t intimidated by Jorge, not in the slightest but it was becoming clear to Minho that his actual leadership abilities didn’t live up to his pride. The immense pressure he had put himself under, to be the best for the sake of them all, was really beginning to cause cracks. Newt, however, was losing patience behind him. "Well you two can bloody play alpha here all you want, I’m goin’ back to find Tommy." Minho instinctively threw his hand behind him to grab Newt’s wrist. His eyes dropped to the ground and darted around it as if an answer would be among the torn wallpaper and shattered bits of wood. He needed to get himself together, the lack of leadership was so unlike him, or maybe it was always like him. If he would just speak, what was stopping him from taking lead? "I wouldn’t do that angelface." Jorge said, stopping with his feet spaced wide and confident. He then let out a low chuckle, the distance in his voice meaning he was quite far from them now, obviously basking in the upperhand he still held. He turned to wink at Newt and mock-shuddered before turning back the way he was heading and walking again. "Especially not you, cranks have special fun with their dinner if it happens to be pretty.” The comment made Minho’s stomach lurch and his head snap up, and some of the Gladers must have felt the same way, as they had riled up and edged closer to Newt. Newt just ignored them all, unfazed by anything that wasn’t the object at hand. When Minho looked back towards him, he was surprised to see that it was his own wrist that was being held by Newt rather than the other way round. It seemed despite his statement before, Newt had barely turned away to leave at all and was looking at Minho sternly.

"Remind him of the bloody deal. Sound confident, I was sure you could do this. Don’t make me remind you of your buggin’ tattoo again."

"Hey shuckface!" Minho finally shouted ahead as he turned back towards Jorge. Despite feeling unscripted and suddenly cold inside, Newt’s push had helped him rebuild his weak attempt at leading the group. "Last I checked, we had a shuckin’ deal!" Jorge stopped walking, though still not facing them and Minho let out a breath of relief.

"Remind me what I get out of being your personal tourgide." The man called back from where he stood. "Without, your monkey words.”

Minho dropped his voice to Newt. "Why can’t we just follow him? I don’t see why we have to beg the shuckin’ shank." Minho muttered to his friend, his pride felt like it was seeping out of his every nerve. Newt was still at his ear. "He’s just playing the upperhand, and trying to scare us. He knows more than we do about this place and he just wants us to prove we need him. Don’t you think he would have done something about the plank if he didn’t want us following him? It’s a game, Minho, just don’t say anything stupid.”

"C’mon man!" Minho called out to Jorge again. "You know this place better than we do, and you know that we’ve have a cure waiting for us with your name on it. Don’t bail on us now, we had a deal!”

"A deal that I was sure didn’t involve baby-sitting.”

"Dude, we’re not as dumb as we look, we’ll fight if we have to and you need a group out there.” Minho said through gritted teeth. The self-directed insults must have worked because Jorge had slowly lifted his chin back towards them, raising an eyebrow. "Alright muchacho, I’ll bite, but no more baby games. You, limpy, and the rest of your hairy friends will follow my orders from here on out.” Minho didn’t want to argue in the slightest, he would be more than relieved to hand over leadership, even to this twisted crank. But he felt the burn of Newt’s eyes, careful breaths at his ear, edging him on as always. "You and I lead together for now, until we all fully trust you." Minho responded.

"Fine, fine. I only guide." Jorge waved the words away before he turned around fully and his waving hand fixed into a firm point, directly at Minho. "I’m getting that cure. I’ll kill you, and all your little friends personally before I die a Crank.”

Minho shrugged. "I’ll hand you the gun myself." He said solemnly.

”And.." Jorge’s whole figure was drenched in shadow. He jutted his pointed finger out further at Minho. "We don’t go back for bird-face. We don’t go back for anyone who gets killed out there or worse. I can do my best out there, but I can’t guarantee a single thing.” Minho heard Newt adjust his footing, but otherwise the room was deathly silent, his stomach knotted. Thomas would be fine with Brenda, surely? ”Fine." Minho finally said, his jaw aching from how hard it was clenched. Jorge smirked and his eyebrows moved to a satisfied raised position. Then his eyes narrowed and his pointed hand ran along them all before he turned facing his original direction. But it wasn’t over, as he only tucked one hand behind him and the other was raised, cupping his ear in their direction.

"Thank him." Newt whispered. "Can’t I just punch him? he isn’t looking.” Newt gripped the trapped wrist tighter with the strength that Minho always forgot he had.

”Thank you." Minho said through gritted teeth, unwilling to offer even the slightest sense of satisfaction to Jorge. Jorge visibly nodded the opposite way before tucking his hand to join the other at the small of his back, then he confidently strode on once again. The other Gladers followed him immediately in a jog, crossing the same plank one-by-one as Jorge had done without even so much as a second thought.

"Good that." Newt said from somewhere behind.

"You can let go of your monkey now papi, he did good.” Jorge called back as he cackled further ahead of them. Newt quickly dropped his hands that were holding Minho’s wrist, which Jorge surely shouldn’t have been able to see, as it was firmly out of his line of vision. Minho didn’t care, as skeptical as he was of this Jorge guy, he was just glad the crank wanted to take the weight of leadership that he had never asked for. "Tommy will be fine.” Newt muttered, pulling the words apart in the way he always did when he needed to be reassured. Though it was more to himself than to anyone else because he knew Minho wasn’t even thinking about Thomas right now. Then, crossing the same plank, the two of them started walking, following the outstretched shadow that Jorge left as he lead them towards the City. They moved through chunks of building foundation, their shoes crunching over bits of splintered glass and what was once ceiling plaster. Minho didn’t see how Newt’s eyes shook, or how he looked back multiple times, because he never drew his own eyes away from their new, show-off, cocky slinthead of a leader, hating the guy from every corner of his faked ego and with every inch of his wilting pride. The two of them quickly caught up with Jorge and the other Gladers.

"First stop, gather weapons, we left a lot of them behind. Also food. We head through the other side of the city towards the mountains.” Jorge said as he and some of the other Gladers tore an opening through the loosely constructed wall, each squinting as they came into the glare of the sun once again. The city ahead of them seemed surreal compared to the blazing nothingness of the Scorch, Minho had no idea what awaited them there, none of them did.

The City was deserted-looking, entirely devoid of people and caked with dust, but at least it would protect them from the baking sun, any other forms of vicious weather and of course, Cranks. As they all timidly stepped into to the scalding light with Jorge firmly ahead of them, Newt gently nudged Minho and pointed, Minho focused his eyes to follow Newt’s shaking finger which pointed to a large sign, imprinted in bold on the side of a crumbling wall:

"THOMAS, YOU’RE THE REAL LEADER."

Minho sighed, too tired of this sort of thing to let himself be unnerved by the startling coincidence, maybe the heat was making him hallucinate. He saved a second to glare once more at Jorge, who’s image swayed in the tangible heat of the sun.

"Couldn’t agree more." He muttered, and the Gladers followed their new Crank leader, making their way towards the impending City.

[newtttheglue]

Newmas w/ #22

22: "After way too much tequila I tried to hook up with you but instead you tucked me in and brought me coffee in the morning"

The walk back from the party was mostly quiet on Thomas’part, Newt was talking enough for the both of them. That was something Thomashad learnt from watching Newt get drunk, he got a lot more confident in himselfand with that he got a lot more talkative. Thomas couldn’t help but admit thathe liked this side of Newt, he seemed much happier like this and a happy Newtmade for a happy Thomas.

Newt had jumped up onto Thomas back about half way back totheir shared dorm on campus, declaring that his legs were wobbly and Thomasshould carry him instead. Not that Thomas minded, any excuse to be closer toNewt was fine by him.

“You’re like my noble steed!” Newt stated, laughing at hisown comment. Thomas tried not to shiver as Newt’s warm breath spread across theback of his neck.

“If I’m the steed, what does that make you?” Newt seemed tocontemplate that for a few seconds, resting his chin on top of Thomas’ head.

“A Princess.” Thomas let out a huff of laughter at Newt’sdecision and Newt, seemingly offended by his response, slapped him on the arm.“Hey, don’t laugh! I can be a princess if I want to be.”

“I’m sure you’d make a beautiful princess, Newt.”

“You’re damn right I would.” 

Newt wrapped his legs morefirmly around Thomas' waist as he started to slip down Thomas’ back a little;Thomas hooked his arms under his Newt’s knees to keep him in place. “You know,you’d make a very beautiful horse too, Tommy. The most beautiful in all theland!”

“You think so?” Thomas questioned, talking a left turn atthe end of the path to head in the direction of their dorm building, which wasnow only at the end of the road.

“I know so, the whole Kingdom would be jealous because Ihave a beautiful horse and they all have lame horses.” Newt stated, fiddlingwith the collar of Thomas’ shirt, his fingers occasionally brushing against theskin of his neck.

The two of them fell into a comfortable silence and soon,Newt's fingers stilled and his breathing slowed, Thomas wondered if Newt hadfallen asleep. Thomas sped up his pace a little, as much as he didn’t mindcarrying Newt in the slightest, he wasn’t exactly the lightest person in theworld so the sooner he got them to their room, the sooner he could put him downagain.

By the time Thomas reached the front door of their building,Newt was most definitely sleeping, mumbling words he couldn't make out againsthis hair. Thomas really didn't want to wake him, but there was no way that hewas going to be able to carry Newt up the four flights of stairs they needed toget to their room without a little bit of help.

Thomas punched in the code to open the door, careful to keephold of one of Newt's legs with his other hand. The door buzzed to indicate ithad unlocked and he pushed it open, closing the door gently behind him so asnot to wake up anyone on the ground floor.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs for a few seconds,contemplating his skills to carry Newt up there, but he decided that the riskof dropping him was too high. Thomas silently cursed whoever it was thatmanaged to put the elevator out of commission as he patted Newt's leg gently inan attempt to wake him.

"Newt?" He tried, his voice not much more than awhisper, but he didn't stir. Thomas sighed, letting go of one of Newt's legs sothat he could reach up and take hold of his hands, squeezing them gently.

He heard Newt groan and move to bury his head againstThomas' neck, Thomas tried his best to pretend that he wasn't affected by themovement.

"Newt, you need to get down." He spoke a bitlouder this time, he could feel Newt moving against his back as he started towake up.

"Why?" Newt grumbled against his neck, his hairtickling Thomas' skin.

"I can't carry you up the stairs, I don't want to dropyou." Newt seemed to wake up a bit at that, lifting his head from Thomasshoulder to look up at the stairs.

“Can’t we just…” Newt trailed off, waving his hand in thedirection of the elevator. Thomas shook his head, releasing his grip on Newt’slegs so that he could climb down off his back.

“It’s broken, remember?” Newt stumbled a little once hereached the ground again, he took hold of Thomas’ hand to keep himself upright andThomas didn’t have the self-restraint to bother letting go once he was steadyon his feet. Newt frowned in the direction not elevator, letting out a huff ofair before he started pulling Thomas towards the stairs.

“I swear, once I find out who broke the bloody lift, I’mgoing to kill them.” The two of them climbed the stairs mostly in silence, onlyhaving to stop once when Newt tripped up a step on the second flight of stairsand broke out into a fit of laughter, unable to pick himself up of the flooruntil he’d calmed down.

“You know what we need to do?” Newt asked as they reachedtheir room, letting go of Thomas’ hand so that he could lean up against thewall next to the door. Thomas took his keys out of his pocket, trying to findthe right one to unlock the door.

“Well, I think you need to go to bed and sleep off all thattequila.” Thomas found the right key and unlocked the door, pushing it open. Hereached out and grabbed hold of Newt’s arm, pulling him into the room. Thomas musthave pulled a little too hard, because Newt stumble through the doorway,eliciting a laugh to erupt from his lips.

“Tommy, you’re no fun!” Newt responded, taking hold ofThomas’ hands and pulling him towards his bed on the other side of the room. Newthad perked up a lot since he’d woken him up, almost as if he hadn’t been asleepnot five minutes before. “No, if I’m going to bed, you need to come to bed with me.” Thomas felt a blush rise up onhis cheeks at Newt’s words, Newt obviously noticed because a smile was suddenlyspreading across his face.

Thomas knew Newt was drunk, he knew this was a bad idea, buthe was lying to himself if he said he didn’t want this. He couldn’t let thishappen though, not right now, not when Newt couldn’t be sure if this was whathe wanted. With a sigh Thomas reluctantly let go of Newts hands, taking a stepback from him.

“I can’t, Newt. Not whilst you’re drunk.” Thomas felt hischest tighten as he watched the smile fall off Newt’s face, his eyebrowsfurrowing in confusion.

“But I’m not drunk, I’m completely fine.” Thomas shook hishead, taking another step back from him, but Newt just followed, reaching outto hook his fingers into the belt loops of Thomas’ trousers. Newt’s eyesflickered down to his lips and Thomas felt his breath catch in his throat whenNewt leant forward, his lips pressing against Thomas’ in a gentle kiss.

Thomas instinctually kissed him back, pulling Newt in closerby the front of his shirt. He could feel Newt smiling against his lips as hetook another step forward, pushing Thomas so that the back of his knees hit hisbed, causing him to fall backwards.

The fall helped Thomas to realise that he shouldn’t be doingthis, Newt was too drunk to be thinking straight. A grin spread across Newt’sface as he climbed onto the bed after Thomas, moving to straddle his hips.Thomas reacted fast, grabbing hold of Newt’s hips and flipping them so thatNewt was now pressed against the mattress.

A laugh escaped Newt’s lips as his head hit the pillow,reaching up to pull Thomas down towards him. Thomas grabbed Newts hands andpushed them back down onto the mattress with one hand, using his other to pindown Newt’s chest when he tried to move up to Thomas instead.

“I didn’t know you were into this sort of stuff, Tommy.”Newt grinned, bucking his hips up to meet Thomas’. Thomas tried to supress agroan at the contact, moving so he was sat more on Newt’s stomach than hiships.

“Newt please, just… Not tonight.” Newt squirmed under Thomas’hold, trying to pull his arms away.

“Why not tonight, I know you want to.”

“That’s exactly why not tonight, because I don’t want to dothis when I don’t know for sure if you want to as well.” Newt stilled at hiswords, looking up at him with a small frown. Thomas let go of Newt and movedoff his stomach, letting him sit up against the headrest.

“Tom, I’m sorry.” Thomas shook his head, swinging his legsover the side of the bed, leaning forward against his knees.

“Don’t apologise.”

“No, I want to. God, I’m such an idiot.” Newt leant his headback against the headrest, but he moved a bit too fast and it made contact witha thud, causing both Newt and Thomas to wince at the sound. Newt reached up torub at the back of his head, crossing his legs under him. “You’re right, maybeI am a little drunk.”

“You think?” Thomas laughed and got up off the bed when Newtswatted at him, missing by a few inches. Thomas crouched down next to the bedand helped Newt to take of his shoes, putting them down at the foot of the bed.When Thomas turned back, Newt had thrown his trousers into the middle of thefloor and was pushing back the covers to get into bed.

“Wait here just one minute.” Thomas picked up an empty glassfrom the stand by Newt’s bed and went into the bathroom to fill it up withwater. Once it was full, he turned off the tap and took it back into the roomfor Newt, he knew that Newt was probably going to feel like shit in themorning, but at least if he got a glass of water to him he might suffer alittle less.

Newt was already laying down in the bed, the blankets pulledup to his neck and his face pressed into the pillow. Thomas sat down on theedge of the bed again, placing a hand on Newt’s shoulder.

“Hey, sit up.” Newt glanced over at him and when he saw theglass of water in his hand he pushed himself up into a seated position and tookit from him, taking a long gulp. “Just drink the whole thing please, maybe you’llfeel a little better in the morning.” Newt huffed out a laugh, shaking hishead.

“I think we’re a little late for that.” Thomas smiled andlooked down at this hands for a few seconds, before climbing back up off thebed. He made to go over to the other bed in the room, but Newt took hold of hishand, pausing his movements. “Hey, Thomas?” Thomas turned back to face him.

“Yeah?”

“You know I like you, right? And not just because I’m alittle drunk.” Thomas smiled to himself, squeezing Newt’s fingers gently beforeletting go, heading over to the other bed. He sat down on the edge of the bedand toed his shoes off, dropping them on the floor near his feet. He shuckedoff his jeans too before getting into bed, throwing them onto the pile withNewt’s in the middle of the floor.

“Goodnight, Newt.” Thomas reached up to turn off the lights,clicking the switch down and plunging the room into darkness. He could hear Newtmoving around on his side of the room, the familiar clink of glass as he putdown his water.

“Night, Tommy.” Thomas huddled down into the bed, pullingthe covers up to his chin. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.” Newt’s last word wascut off with a yawn and Thomas smiled into his pillow, slowly drifting off tosleep.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty.” Thomas shook Newt’s shouldergently, causing him to groan and bury his head in the pillow.

“I think my heads going to explode.”

“I warned you not to do those shot trays with Minho lastnight.” Newt moved his arm out from under the covers so that he could flip himoff, Thomas just laughed and the sound make Newt groan again, turning round toface him, his face all scrunched up.

Thomas held out the mug of coffee that he’d made in theirfloors kitchen in one hand, some tablets in the other. Newt’s face softened atthe sight and he sat up with his legs crossed under him, much like the nightbefore, and took the offered drink from him. He took both of the tablets andswallowed them down with a large gulp of the coffee, holding the mug close tohis chest.

“Thank you.” Thomas shrugged, shuffling further up the bedso that he could lean his back against the wall.

“Just some tablets.” Newt shook his head, taking another sipfrom his mug.

“I meant for last night, for stopping me.” Thomas felt his asudden wave of sadness at the confession and it must have shown on his facebecause Newt quickly raised his eyebrows, reaching out to put a hand on hisknee. “I mean, not because I didn’t want to - I mean I still do, trust me onthat – but I didn’t want…”

“I get it.” Thomas cut him off and Newt let out a sigh,relaxing a little.

“Because I meant what I said last night, I really do likeyou.” A small smile spread across Thomas’ face and he reached out for Newt’shand on his knee, intertwining their fingers together.

“Well good, because I really like you too.” Now it was Newt’sturn to smile, he put his mug on the table next to the bed and moved over sothat he was sat next to Thomas, resting his head against his shoulder.

“Maybe next time, try a little harder to stop me fromdrinking.”

“Okay, Princess.” Newt let go of Thomas’s hand so that hecould bury his face in his hands, trying to hide his embarrassment.

“Oh god, I thought I’d dreamt that!” Newt must have takenThomas’ laughter as a sign that it had in fact happened because he groaned intohis hands, nudging Thomas gently with his knee. “If you tell Minho about thewhole Princess thing, I swear I’m going to kill you.”

Thomas grinned, pulling Newt’s hands away from his face sothat he could see him better, resting his hand against Newt’s cheek. Newtleaned into the touch, reaching up to run his hand down Thomas’ neck, his handcoming to stop at the brim of his shirt, pulling him in gently and pressing hislips against Thomas’ in a gentle kiss, not unlike the night before.

Thomas knew this wasn’t a particularly conventional way forthem to have confessed their feelings towards each other, but he and Newt hadnever been ones to do things the normal way. As Newt moved in to deepen thekiss, his hands coming to rest over his chest, Thomas really couldn’t bringhimself to care either way.

[kissed-teeth-stained-coffee]

The amount of fanfiction for the Maze Runner is pretty sad, I must admit. So here’s a bit of Thominho for you all.

Thomas’s head ached. And although he wanted desperately to sit down and close his eyes, he kept running. His footsteps now matched up perfectly to the throbs that stabbed at his temples and he tried his best to ignore it, deciding to focus instead on Minho’s figure that was just a few feet ahead, leading the way through the maze. He had a nice figure, though, Thomas couldn’t deny that. His neck was long, shoulders broad, middle toned, an ass too perfect, and strong legs. It made for a nice distraction.

Minho slowed then, and so did Thomas, mirroring his leader who stopped and took a seat against part of the maze wall where the grassy green vines had yet to take over.

Thomas was relieved. He’d been running for so long that his legs felt stingingly numb. The sudden change in motion was almost painful and he felt a burning sensation wash over his body. He cringed then focused on returning his breathing to normal.

Minho must’ve been doing the same. Thomas heard the sound of his breathing, a slightly shaky inhale with a long and slow exhale, which was probably much more effective than his own heavy gasps for air.

"Keep sucking in air like that and you’ll make your throat raw, ‘ya shuck face." Minho said.

Thomas was surprised at how quickly he’d composed his breaths. He sounded like he hadn’t even been running at all. But then again, running every day for nearly two years proved that to be a valid reason.

He closed his eyes and tried Minho’s tactic, which after a moment he’d found really did work.

"Then again," Minho continued, "do it. Maybe then you’ll talk less." He added a snicker and a quick grin.

Thomas rolled his eyes and slipped his bag off of his shoulders, unzipping it and reaching inside for a bottled water.

"Havin’ fun?" Minho’s voice sounded again. At least it minimized the pounding in Thomas’s ears and distracted him from the ache.

"Loads," he replied sarcastically just as he placed the bottle on his lips.

Minho went for his own water now. “Yeah, well get used to it real quick. Life of a Runner doesn’t get much more fun than this.”

Thomas wondered then if he’d made the wrong choice when he’d told Newt that this is what he wanted, but after remembering his other options like being a Bagger, which even the thought of chilled him to the bone, or working in the Blood House, which had definitely scarred him for life, he thought being a Runner was the best fit for him. Bedsides, even though it was tough and not very exciting all the time, it was the only thing he could ever think to do in the whole place that felt right.

"I’m pretty quick to adjust," Thomas said in reply.

Minho huffed. “That’s right. I forgot how perfect you are.”

Thomas didn’t answer. He knew there were those whom liked him and those whom didn’t. Those that did like him defended him and even considered him to be somewhat of a hero, and unfortunately that caused him some problems, which is why he preferred to ignore the big debate over whether he’s to be trusted or not.

What seemed like a long moment of silence passed. Thomas continued to sip small amounts of his water and toy with the cap, while Minho had begun to chew at an apple.

Minho was first to break the silence. “So, the new girl. Do ‘ya know her?”

Thomas believed he knew her although he wasn’t sure how he could. He sensed something familiar about her, but to protect himself, he simply said otherwise. “No, I don’t.”

Minho nodded his head once, and after a short pause he said, “do you like her?”

The question surprised him. He couldn’t deny that he was intrigued by her, as most of the Glader boys were, but even as the other boys made remarks and sexual innuendos, he didn’t see her that way. He saw her just as that familiar memory in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite piece together. He shook his head. “Nope. You?”

"Nah," Minho said quietly.

Thomas cleared his throat. “It’s too bad that this place is running short on the ladies.”

Minho huffed a laugh. “You’re telling me. Sometimes I get to feeling so desperate that I’d settle for one of these shanks.”

"At least we’ve got some decent looking ones. Can’t deny that." Thomas replied. He’d be a liar if he’d said he wasn’t attracted to Minho.

"I can name a few." The black haired boy said, tossing a side smirk to Thomas.

The look from Minho made his heart jump and skin grow warm. He thought for a brief moment that maybe Minho felt the same way about him. “Name ‘em.”

"No way, man. You name yours first." Minho crossed his arms.

"I asked first!" Thomas grinned.

"Who cares? Either you name me the most attractive Glader or the conversation will be dropped." Minho stood then and tossed his bag back onto his shoulder. "What’ll it be, Thomas?"

The way Minho had slurred his name off of his lips caused an aroused churn in Thomas’s stomach. One almost too strong to ignore. Almost. “What if we say it at the same time?” He bargained.

"Nope." Minho turned. "Come on, break is over." He begun to walk away.

Thomas jumped up and grabbed his bag then turned to follow his leader. “Oh come on, you won’t even meet me halfway on this?” Minho didn’t answer and kept walking forward.

"It’s Alby, isn’t it? Newt? It’s gotta be Newt. I see the way you look at him." Thomas saw Minho shaking his head, probably laughing to himself and rolling his eyes. "Oh no, don’t tell me it’s Gally. Please not Gally."

Minho spun around. “Slim it, Thomas! It’s you!”

Before Thomas had any time to react, he felt Minho’s hand on the back of his neck and his soft lips against his own. Minho pulled away and Thomas stared dumbfounded.

"Wha-"

"I said slim it." Minho said sternly and turned around to run down the long maze corridor.

"Minho!" Thomas yelled, forcing himself to move forward to catch up to his friend.

Minho was a few paces ahead of Thomas, running without stop. Thomas called his name out again and reached for his shoulder, gripping it and pulling it to turn the other boy around. The forced turn threw Minho off balance and he fell face first onto Thomas, knocking them both to the ground.

Now that Minho’s body was atop his own, Thomas took his chance. He placed one hand on Minho’s lower back and another in his hair, pulling their faces together.

Thomas smiled when Minho didn’t fight back, when he welcomed his lips. “Tell me again.” Thomas exhaled into his mouth.

Minho sat up to balance himself, straddling Thomas’s hips. “Tell you what?”

Thomas squirmed under Minho’s hips, a small moan escaping his lips due to his pained erection that was now being sat on. “Tell me who’s the most attractive.”

Minho lowered his head and placed his hands on Thomas’s chest.

Thomas shivered when Minho’s lips brushed his earlobe, his warm breath wrapping itself along his neck, and he grinned when he heard him whisper, “it’s you.”

With that Thomas felt Minho’s lips peck at his jawline, slowly making a trail down the length of his neck to his protruding collar bone. Thomas pulled Minho’s head closer, signaling that he wanted more. The older boy got the hint and responded by running his tongue back up Thomas’s neck while pulling at the front of his shirt.

Thomas shivered and his breath hitched when he felt Minho’s head nudge his aside, giving more neck room to explore.

"You’re such a shuck face." Minho moaned out against his skin. This time, even with how ridiculous they were, Thomas considered those words to be a compliment, and with how stubborn his friend was, it was one of the best compliments he’d ever receive.

He answered by arching his hips upward, ramming his hardened member against Minho’s and feeling satisfaction when he heard a sharp moan in response.

Minho scooted himself down Thomas’s legs, moving to sit just below his knees. His hands slid down Thomas’s chest and stopped at the button of his pants. “Ever since you came up through the Box-” he started undoing the button. The sentence was never finished.

Thomas didn’t care, context clues told him just what the black haired boy was thinking, and he liked where it was going. His stomach dropped as Minho tugged at his pants, and he lifted his hips to help get them down.

Minho placed kisses along Thomas’s shaft that was now only covered by his underwear. Thomas’s body shuddered and his skin grew heated.

The tip of Minho’s index finger slowly brought down the rest of the clothing, leaving Thomas’s member to be fully exposed.

Thomas propped himself up with his elbow, looking down into Minho’s deep brown eyes. He watched as Minho’s mouth opened slowly, a string of spit hanging onto his lips. He closed his eyes in time to feel the hot wetness of Minho’s mouth close around the head of his member and he bit his bottom lip to quiet his moan.

His muscles clenched and sweat begun to bead itself along his skin. Containing himself when Minho took more of his length into his mouth was hard to do, and he let out a whimper that was probably much too loud.

He felt Minho’s lips curve into a smile and he couldn’t take it much longer. With his free hand he gripped the back of Minho’s hair and tightened his first, to which the black haired boy responded by bringing his mouth back to the head and wrapping his fingers around the shaft where his mouth had just been. Then he began to run to his hand along the length, gaining more speed as he went.

Thomas closed his eyes tightly and his breath hitched. He ached and as he felt himself bounce off of Minho’s lips with each movement of the boy’s wrist, he reached his climax, releasing himself into Minho’s awaiting mouth.

Thomas unclenched his muscles and fell still with relief. Over the sound of his heavy breathing he heard Minho smack his lips together just as his friend’s face appeared in front of his own. Minho placed a kiss on Thomas’s lips then smiled. “Come on, ‘ya shank , they’ll get suspicious if we’re back too late.”

(Hooray, I finally contributed to the fandom!) Sorry that it’s so short, guys. This was just a distraction while I took a break on a longer piece of mine. But hopefully it’ll do until I think up a plot for a longer one for this fandom.

[gladerlove]

in wildest dreams (i never dreamed of this)

in wildest dreams (i never dreamed of this) Newt/Thomas

note: okay, so I needed to write something for this fandom, and then I re-read that page we don't talk about and I had all these feels and this sorta kinda just happened as a result? idk man, I just hope ya'll enjoy

on AO3

-

The first thing Newt remembers is dying.

He’d wake every night, tormented by nightmares. Places and things he couldn’t understand, but knew, knew, somehow, that they were real.

Kill me or I’ll kill you. Kill me! Do it!”

It had worried his family, to the point they nearly sent him to see someone to try to fix him. Newt is never sure what he’d have done if they had, but he’s glad they didn’t.

Please, Tommy. Please.

His nightmares were his own. He didn’t need to be fixed.

And then he met Alby, again, and the realization that his nightmares weren’t just nightmares was nearly overwhelming.

Neither of them could figure it out, how it worked. How they could possibly be there, on an Earth that was healthy and whole. In the end they agreed that it wasn’t important, because they were there and they were alive again.

And most importantly, they were together. Newt still remembers seeing Alby die, how it felt like he’d died with him. He had been positive that he’d never be able to move on.

(but he did and then he’d lost him too and it was so much harder the second time around)

But it was strange, just being the two of them. So they decided if they remembered, and they where there, surely everyone else was there and remembered too… right?

Turned out, it was strangely easy to find everyone else.

Minho Newt found on an online forum, the other living just twenty minutes outside the city where Newt and Alby lived.

Teresa and Chuck he found together, running into them at the grocery store of all places. They were cousins in this life, and chuck had moved in with Teresa just two months ago after graduating high school.

Frypan was found at a local cooking competition by Teresa, where Ben just happened to be one of the judges.

Jeff and Clint where nursing students at the local college. They were found by Minho, who had fallen out of a tree and broken his arm, when he’d gone to the free clinic where they happened to be working to gain practical experience.

Winston worked at his uncles butcher shop, where Alby found him when he’d gone to pick up celebratory steaks after Chuck had found Brenda and Jorge.

They were all coming together, but there was still a glaring hole. Two people missing.

Gally and Thomas.

-

When they finally found them, Newt almost wished they hadn’t.

(no, that’s a lie, he’d never wish that, he’d always want to find Tommy, always)

It had been Alby’s idea to go to the newt restaurant that had opened up, and once he’d managed to convince Teresa (who convinced Brenda), there was no ways out.

The restaurant had to push a few tables together to fit all of them, and it took some maneuvering on their part to get everyone a place they were happy with, but eventually they managed.

Newt laughed at something Minho had said, the two of them reminiscing about the glade, when Chuck suddenly gasped out a name that made everyone stop and turn to look.

Newt felt like his heart would beat out of his chest, because there, standing at the bar and laughing happily with Gally was Thomas.

His Tommy.

“He’s here,” Minho whispered, a wide grin forming on his face. Teresa laughed happily, and Chuck was all but bouncing in his seat. Thomas gestured over in the direction of their table, and Newt had a split second to wonder if he realized they were there before Gally looked up and spotted them.

Newt didn’t know what he expected, but fear wasn’t it. Gally looked afraid when he saw them, and then Thomas was heading in their direction and Gally had switched from afraid to pitying.

Newt wanted to know why, demand how he could look so sad, when Thomas stopped next to their table, an apron hanging off his hips and a notepad in hand. He beamed at them, and they beamed back, and then Thomas talked,

“Hi, my name is Thomas; I’ll be your server today. Can I get you guys started with any drinks?” and there was no recognition in his eyes when he spoke.

And suddenly, Newt understood.

-

“He doesn’t remember anything,” Gally greeted them later.

The table had become subdued after the realization that Thomas didn’t know who they were. How he could possibly look them all in the eyes and smile at them with no recognition.

“He’s never remembered, I don’t know why, but I don’t think that’s about to change, and if you can’t handle that, then I suggest you leave now,” Gally was glaring at them, defending Thomas from them, and Newt wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry at this turn around.

“You can’t keep us from him,” Minho glared hotly.

Gally met his stare evenly. “Try me,” he dared.

“It’s amazing to see you guys, really. But Thomas is my best friend, and if you guys try to make him remember, I’ll make sure you guys never see him again,” Gally threatened. “He doesn’t remember for a reason, I’m betting, and I’m not about to let you guys mess with that.”

Newt and Minho shared a look, and both of them knew what their decision would be.

“Deal.”

Because seeing Thomas even when he didn’t remember them was better than not seeing him at all.

-

“He has nightmares, sometimes,” Gally comments offhandedly one night.

It had been a few weeks since they’d found the duo, and Minho had found any excuse possible for them all to hang out. Tonights excuse was a group movie night, and most everyone was passed out at this point, with the exception of Newt and Gally.

Newt looked at him, saw the way he watched Thomas as he slept on his lap, and understood.

“The glade?”

Gally nodded and ran a hand lightly through Thomas’s hair. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. He wakes up screaming sometimes. Talks in his sleep too. He never remembers them when he wakes up though.”

Newt nods and pushes aside a hot flash of jealousy as Thomas sighs and unconsciously leans into Gally’s touch.

“Where you two ever…” he trails off, not sure how to ask such an intruding question.

Gally smirks at him. “Jealous?” he taunts, and Newt clenches his fist.

“No,” he bites out.

Gally laughs, not unkindly, and Newt figure that’s as good an answer as he’s going to get.

It’s silent between them for a few minutes, the only light in the room coming from the muted movie still playing on the TV.

“Not anymore,” Gally whispers, and Newt turns to him once more. Gally is staring at Thomas’s sleeping face with such affection that Newt feels like he’s intruding.

“We used to, when we were in high school. It was strange, at first, remembering who he was and how I felt about him. But he has this way about him…” Gally trails off and shakes his head before continuing.

“He makes it hard not to love him.”

Newt knows exactly what he’s talking about.

-

Newt doesn’t catch the signs right away.

Thomas starts hanging out with him more and more; texting him every day, showing up at his apartment to hang out, bringing him his favorite food. Thomas also becomes exceptionally clumsier, physically and verbally.

When Newt finally catches on, it’s to the amusement of his friends and the death glares of Gally, who had taken to giving him an evil look whenever he was in eyesight.

(really, that should have been his first clue)

“Tommy likes me,” he breathes, heart at once breaking and bursting with glee in his chest.

“Yeah, and?” Minho looked up and saw the look on his face. He snorted.

“Oh man, dude, tell me you’re not just now figuring this out!”

Newt glared. Minho burst into laughter, and Newt once more wondered why they were friends.

“M-man Newt, we all thought you knew ages ago. It’s so obvious! It’s like the glade all over again!”

“Well how was I supposed to know that he’d act the same way?” Newt glared.

Minho sobered and stared seriously at Newt. “He’s still Thomas, even if he doesn’t remember.”

“I know that!” Newt snapped.

“Do you really?”

Newt opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

Minho, though initially hesitant, had taken to Thomas with the same fierceness and devotion that he had before. The two of them were as close as they were before, Minho not caring that Thomas didn’t remember. It was Thomas, and he had his best friend back.

He wasn’t the only one. No one cared that Thomas couldn’t remember them. They’d just decided to make new memories with him. It was still him, and that was more than enough for them, even if he would never be able to understand the references they made to their other lives.

The only one who was still hung up on the past was Newt.

Minho smiled at him sadly, pity in his eyes, and Newt hated it. He didn’t need anyone’s pity.

“I suggest you figure out how you feel about him, soon. Because if you break his heart, it’s not just Gally you’re gonna have to deal with,” Minho warned.

Newt nodded silently. Minho watched him for a few more moments before turning back to his laptop and his half-written essay.

Newt let his head fall back on the couch cushions, mind whirling, but all his thoughts focused on one person.

Tommy. Always Tommy.

-

Newt shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew this was coming, everyone did.

He just didn’t think it’d happen so soon.

“Please, say something,” Thomas begged, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks.

Newt continued to stare, taking in every inch of Thomas.

”I- I’m in love with you.”

There were less scars on Thomas than he remembered there being. More muscle tone, an extra inch of height. His hair was longer, his clothes better fitting, and his eyes weren’t quite as haunted. This Thomas didn’t remember living through the worst experience possible.

He didn’t remember Newt forcing him to shoot him.

He didn’t remember loving Newt either.

Thomas fidgeted in place, his eyes slowly turning hurt the longer Newt continued to keep silent. He didn’t move though, which Newt was thankful for.

It was hard for him to reconcile the old Tommy and this new one. He missed the old closeness they used to have, the unwavering trust they had in each other. How they didn’t need to talk to know what the other needed.

But despite his distance from this new Tommy, they’d still gravitated towards each other. Thomas had still fallen for him.

The old closeness could be remade, couldn’t it?

So did it really matter anymore that Thomas didn’t remember?

“Newt…?” Thomas whispered finally, eyes suspiciously wet.

And Newt made up his mind.

He reached forward, and Thomas flinched. Newt flinched too, hurt, but understanding. Thomas’s eyes widened, mouth opening to apologize no doubt, when Newt cupped his cheek tenderly.

Thomas’s skin was warm under his hand, and soft. Thomas blushed, words caught in his throat, and Newt smiled. He leaned forward slowly, giving Thomas enough time to stop him if he wanted, but Thomas didn’t. Instead, his eyes fluttered shut and he tilted his head forward invitingly.

Newt obligingly leaned down and brushed their lips together gently, pulling back after a moment. Thomas made a noise of protest and Newt smiled. He stepped forward, drawing their bodies together and wrapping an arm around Thomas’s waist to hold him there.

Thomas’s arms wound around his neck as Newt leant down and capture his lips again. Thomas tightened his arms, making it clear that Newt would not be stopping until he was ready this time. Newt was happy to acquiesce.

When Thomas finally let him pull back he only moved enough to rest their foreheads together, their breath still mingling between them. Thomas was nearly beaming, he looked so happy, and Newt knew then that he’d do anything to make sure Tommy was always smiling like that.

Thomas might not remember, but Newt could remember for the both of them. As long as he had his Tommy.

[monttagues]

Hey can you write a you’ve been playing guitar in the hall of the hotel since three in the morning and i came down to tell you to shut the fuck up Nalby au. It would make my day! Cuz so far my whole day has been a piece of shit

Newt refuses to believe he’s the only one who has a problem with it.

The noise has been going on for hours without one single interruption, and every time it’s silent for a second or so, Newt hopes it’s been the last song, but every time there just comes another one. And another one. And another one.

But then again, who’d expect this, someone trying to play guitar in the middle of the night in a building like this. Do they not understand some people sleep at night? That some people need that sleep?

For the fifteenth time, he moves around, trying to find a comfortable spot, but the music never stops and it’s driving him up the walls and finally he gives up, getting out of bed and tugging on his clothes.

He’s still trying to figure out where his arms need to go when he opens the door of his room and steps out, heading for the hallway. No one’s there, apart from a girl at the desk, nearly asleep, and a boy with a guitar.

The one he needed.

“Excuse me,” Newt calls out as he steps closer to him, trying to his attention. “Could you… not do this here? Right now?”

The boy looks up, and Newt falters for a second, surprised by how… pretty he looks.

Pretty isn’t the right word. Handsome. More mature than Newt expected.

“What?”

“The music. People are trying to sleep.”

“No one’s complained.”

“I’m complaining now.”

That makes the guy laugh, and Newt doesn’t know if she should be annoyed at that, or if he’s allowed to think it’s cute. He has a cute laugh. A gentle smile. Gentle eyes as well, Newt notices, and strong fingers. Probably all guitar players do, although Newt can’t be sure of that.

He hasn’t met many guitar players in his life.

“I’m sorry, was I too loud?”

“Only because it’s in the fucking middle of the night.”

The guy shakes his head and lowers his guitar, swings it over his back. “I’m sorry. I’m Alby.”

Newt eyes him up and down for a moment, wondering what he should do. “Newt,” he finally says.

“Newt. Okay.” Alby is smiling at him, looking obviously pleased with himself. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“You… don’t have to do that. I should get back to bed. Now it’s quiet.”

Alby chuckles again. “Sorry,” he says again, and then, “just one, I promise. To make it up to you. You can order tea, isn’t that supposed to be relaxing?”

Sighing, Newt nods. “Alright,” he says, “just one.”

He follows Alby into the bar of the hotel (he should be surprised it’s still open, but then again, he also should be asleep and instead he’s sitting opposite a stranger who just ordered tea for him, so he doesn’t have much room for surprise anymore) and studies him while they wait. Alby doesn’t move, just smiles at Newt as he watches him.

“Why were you doing it?”

“What?”

“The guitar?”

“Because I felt like it.”

Newt arches an eyebrow at him, and Alby shrugs.

“I didn’t have a place to sleep. I figured I might as well keep myself busy.”

They’re interrupted by a waiter bringing their drinks. Alby pays for them.

“Why do you not have a place to sleep?”

“My flight got cancelled. Have to wait until 9 a.m. Couldn’t afford a room in this hotel, but they were generous enough to let me stay in the hall.”

Newt checks the time. “Still four hours until your flight.”

Sipping his tea first, Alby nods. “Yeah.”

“Wanna sleep in my room?”

Alby quirks an eyebrow at him and smirks. “Which kind of sleeping are we talking about?”

Newt shrugs. “Guess you’ll have to come with me to find out,” he replies with a grin.

[singt0me]

i'm longing to linger til dawn, dear ...

2. Callisto. 74.7k

There are billions of atoms that have collided; an immeasurable supply of matter that has joined together to create the cosmos that they, themselves, live in. The universe is vast, cold wasteland of unforgiving beauty and, somehow and some way, they have managed to exist in it at the same time.

(Or: Hundreds of years ago, a boy who will one day be called Newt waits at the gate for WCKD to open it’s doors.)

read on ao3

[makethiscanon]

How Gally Reacts to an Accident-Prone, Fem!Reader Glader:

Word Count: 1k

So apparently I can't leave headcanons as headcanons and they kinda morph into bulletpointed scenarios?

Either way, here's some Gally x Reader fluff! Enjoy!

------

He takes an interest in you since you’re the first girl in the Glade.

It’s not the ‘good’ kind of interest.

To him, you’re a problem.

You’re going to destroy the harmony of the Glade simply by being here.

But since he always has his eye on you, he’s always the first to spot you getting into danger.

“Get out of the way or that boar’s going to trample you, slinthead.”

“That’s not how you sharpen a knife. Stop pointing the blade at yourself.”

“No, I won’t help you. You climbed up there when there’s plenty of good firewood on the ground so untangle yourself--...Ah, shuck it. Fine. Stay still. I’m coming up.”

He wants Alby to create a role where even you can’t get injured, since he’s sick of hauling you to the Med Jacks.

Denies it when the other Gladers say he’s got a soft-spot for you.

No, he just wants to make sure you don’t cause trouble for everyone.

That’s the only reason he keeps stepping in whenever he sees another Glader getting too friendly with you, too.

‘Accidental’ touches and lingering gazes from afar are absolutely not happening on his watch. He’s there to nip it in the bud before the other Gladers wind up more distracted from their work than they already are.

It has nothing to do with the unexplained anger that swells up inside him when he sees another Glader with his hands on you.

Aaaaand shuck, you’re injured again. How? How? He took his eye off you for thirty seconds. HOW?

No, stop laughing. This isn’t funny. You’re like a baby duckling in constant need of being watched in case you find a new way to get in trouble.

He doesn’t understand why he gets antsy to the thought of you sleeping in your hammock between the other gladers.

It gives him restless nights, tossing and turning until the early hours.

For the sake of his sleep, and that's the only reason he swears by it, he builds a small, private hut for you off of the Homestead. There’s even a crudely designed lock on the door.

It's all for his sake. Totally his sake. Pffft, why would it be for your sake?

No, he doesn’t need to think about why you being safe and secure in your own room helps him sleep better.

That’s a completely pointless thing to think about.

But those unsolved feelings are especially difficult for him to deal with at the bonfires. For some reason beyond his comprehension, you want to join in on the wrestling. Against him.

He refuses.

The others complain and boo him, but that’s not enough to change his mind.

Until another Glader offers to wrestle you instead.

Well. Get in the ring, baby duck. Guess it’s time to tussle.

He’s relatively gentle with you. Goes easy.

He’s not about to let you win, but he won’t shove you from the ring with full force either. Your track record tells him you’d end up back with the Med Jacks if he did.

Once the match begins, it takes him two seconds to push you out.

You demand to go again.

He says you’ve had your turn but the others back you, telling him to give you another shot.

So he does, with the same result.

“Satisfied?”

But you’re not. You ask for one more try.

There’s something about your perseverance that makes him smirk.

“Fine. Last round.”

“Last round.” You agree.

He likes the determination in your eyes, but it won’t amount to anything.

Once the match begins, he does exactly the same as before. He lunges with arms outstretched to grip your shoulders to shove you.

But as his hands connect, you catch his wrists then hit the deck. The momentum pulls him forwards before you kick him in the gut, sending him hurtling over the top of you.

He’s stunned by what you’ve just accomplished.

But then again, he isn’t the Keeper of the Builders for nothing and he certainly won’t let a greenie beat him in the ring.

Using your own move against you, he hits the ground with a loud thump but keeps the momentum going.

Using shoulder-muscles built from three year’s hard labour, he hurls his arms forwards.

You can’t release his wrists fast enough so the wound-up momentum sends you flying.

He hears you scream as you launch into the crowd of onlookers, then a hard THWACK as you hit the floor.

He’s quietly impressed by you, and winded, but those feelings fall by the wayside when he hears someone saying, ‘man, she hit her head pretty hard. Is she okay?’

With a grunt, he drags himself up, clutching at his ribs from where he landed, but his attention is on you.

You’re on your back. You’re not moving.

Shuck, why did he fight you off like that? He's been keeping you out of danger for weeks and then he goes and—

The sound of your laughter cuts him short.

The other gladers start clapping, then they’re laughing with you, then they’re helping you onto your feet. You’re unsteady, but you’re smiling. You’re grinning.

“That was fantastic,” you say with delight, sounding shocked that it happened and dazed from the fall.

Gally can only laugh with a strange sense of relief.

Thank shuck you’re okay. You’re okay. You’re—…hang on.

“Is that blood?”

He barely gives you time to put your fingers to your forehead and see the red before he charges towards you, shouting for Clint.

You can tell him you’re fine all you want but he’s still taking you to medical.

No, it's not just an excuse to pick you up and carry you.

It’s not.

He just wants to make sure you aren’t a problem for anyone else in the Glade.

You’re his problem, and his alone.

------

[WRITING MASTERLIST]

[gladegiftexchange]

In The End (You Always Die)

For the-wicked-runner from agtcarters

When Thomas dreams, he always dreams the same thing. 

Newt.

At least, that’s what he calls himself. Short for Newton, “suits me better than Isaac,” he had claimed once before. Thomas believed him, the name Isaac seemed too sweet to fit into the demeanour that Newt alluded. When the dreams had started, back when Thomas was eleven, he had been terrified of Newt. Could he be blamed for that? To his young eyes, Newt had been huge, tall in a way that Thomas could only hope to grow into; muscled from hard labour and tanned from long exposure to sunlight. He was all harsh expressions and scars and his limp had given him a kind of lumbering grace. Now, Thomas could appreciate every mark upon his body as a sign of survive, could take comfort in the strength of his arms, could find contentment in the gentle smiles.

The dreams always start out the same way. They’re in the centre of a maze. He knows it’s a maze because Newt always sighs at him about his apparent want to be a ‘runner’ – Thomas honestly didn’t understand that, track was literally one of the worst things he’d ever had to do – someone who ventures outside the safety of the glade. He says that it’s too dangerous, that only special kind of shuckfaces’ go out there, and that Thomas was not one of them. And then Thomas would frown, offended by whatever ‘shuckface’ meant. Dream him always seemed to know.

There is no one around them, although Thomas knows there somewhere close by, there were people. About fifty of them. Boys, all just like Newt. All just like him. But they were secluded, and the noises beyond barely reach them so Thomas can pretend that they’re alone. Newt always seemed intent on doing that, just enjoying the break, away from prying eyes and responsibilities. Thomas knew he had a lot of them. He laid back against the grass, stretched out with one arm folded up over his eyes to shield them from the never relenting sun above. His hair would fan out around his head, long and never tied back.

Thomas would be propped up next to him. Sitting up, with one leg bent and his arm wrapped around it. He would squinted into the distance, into the open space in the wall that lead out into the maze. He held both equal amounts of fear and awe of it, but he knows that now, during the day, there was no chance of danger. The urge to get up and run out there was almost overwhelming and his hands clenched into fists at his side.

“Don’t even think about it,” Newt murmurs.

“About what?” Thomas feigns ignorance.

Newt tilts his arm so that he can glare at the other boy from beneath it, and Thomas huffs, dropping onto his back heavily. “I won’t,” he promises.

“For now,” Newt adds because he knows. He would sigh like it was a chore and turn to face Thomas, “I guess I’ll have to keep you distracted.”

Thomas would smile his amusement, and know. Newt wasn’t nearly as subtle as he wanted to be. Newt would gesture him closer and Thomas would scramble onto his lap, straddling his lap. His hands would trace the curves of his neck – Newt would hum and incline his head up to offer more places to touch – and along the collar of his shirt.

“What do you have in mind?” He’d ask, looking up from under his eyelashes.

Newt would stare at him with dark eyes, mutter a kiss and then wrap one hand around the back of Thomas’ head. It made it easier to drag him into a kiss. It was rough and bruising, lust filled and passionate. It made Thomas’ heart pound in his chest, made his thoughts cut off sharply, made his eyelids flutter and his cheeks flush. Newt kisses with purpose, as if it’s the first and last thing he wants to do that day. As if this is everything.

It felt like everything.

Newt would nip at Thomas’ bottom lip and he would laugh through a groan. He would return the favour, sucking and flicking his tongue until Newt moaned and his hand flexed at the back of his neck.

“The things I want to do to you,” Newt would mutter and Thomas would grin. He only wished that they had more time to do it.

The kiss would slow then, make Thomas feel weak at the knees and trembling. His hands would have to brace himself, hand pushed into the grass beside Newt’s head so that he could keep from crushing him.

Then everything would darken. The sun seemed to hide, a cold breeze picking up and surrounding them, and Thomas knew that was impossible. He would pull away uncertainly, and all the joy and comfort would be gone from Newt’s face. Thomas’ heart would still be pounding, he’d still be shaking, but for all different reasons.

Newt is pale, sickly, sweating and unsteady. There would be bags under his eyes, which appear to have sunken into his skull, and the soft lips Thomas had once been kissing where now dry and cracked and white.

“Please,” Newt would croak out. “Please.”

“No,” Thomas shakes his head. “I…I can’t. You can’t make me.”

“Please,” Newt begs.

“We can help you. We can find help. We can, we can. I promise,” Thomas insists, but Newt is already shaking his head. He tries to smile but it comes out strained and painful.

“No we won’t,” he states, so sure, “We both know that. I – I don’t want to become – just, please. Shoot me.”

It was the first time that Thomas had noticed the gun in his hand. It was small and shining bright, and it felt familiar to his fingers, as if he had been in possession of it for the whole time. He felt bile rise in his throat and he felt like he was going to throw up. Sometimes he would choke, tears rising in his eyes and blurring his vision, but he never did.

“Newt,” he pleads.

“Please, Tommy, if you’ve ever loved me,” Newt sobs, “Just shoot me. Just shoot me. Please. Please Tommy.”

The dreams always ended the same. Always. He knew it was coming and he could never change it. Could never stop himself.  He would wake up shaking and panting, a scream heavy in the air that would bring Teresa rushing to his bedside, asking if it was the same as before. If he was lucky, it would just be lodged in his throat, make him struggle for breath as he cried. And always, always, the last few moments would linger with him.

He would remember the feeling of the gun in his hand when he clicked off the safety, remember the way he hand shook when he pressed the barrel of the weapon to Newt’s head.

He would remember that way that Newt wept his relief, the way his hand curled into the front of Thomas’ shirt.

He would remember the way he cried through his declaration of “I love you”.

He would remember how he pulled the trigger and shot.

[amazerunners]

-struggling art geek/uptight track star high school au-

--

“You on the team?”

Thomas looks up from his drawing and raises a hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

“Sorry?”

The boy addressing him sighs like Thomas isn’t worth taking the effort to repeat himself. “Are. You. On. The track team?”

“Oh—Oh, no, I just sit out here sometimes—” He closes his sketchbook gently, “I’m actually working on something for Visual Art—”

“Then leave.”

The boy crosses his arms—muscled, Thomas thinks with a tilt of his head, imagining the lines that would recreate the tautness beneath the boy’s skin, the colors that he could mix to get the tan just right.

“Hey, shank. D’you hear me? You can’t be here while we practice.”

Shank? Thomas thinks, and decides he’ll never understand the slang the jocks use at this school, nor will he ever understand why at this point he straightens his back, looks the boy dead in the eye and asks “Says who?”

But apparently Thomas is more taken aback by his response than this guy is, because he bends down and leans far into Thomas’ space, a hand on either side of legs.

Their noses are almost touching and the guy says “I do.”

(Thomas leaves—of his own free will, of course.)

--

That night, Thomas fills up about six pages of his sketchbook with rough drawings of that boy on the track team.

He doesn’t know why. In fact, it kind of pisses him off.

Because honestly he’s been stuck in a rut lately but the sketches, incomplete and simple, are good. Better, actually, than anything Thomas has made in, well, kind of a while.

And it’s alarming how fast he’s working, how eager his hands are to get the image of that boy out of his brain and onto the paper, all those sharp strands of hair and the sun-darkened cheeks. Thomas hates to admit it, but that douchebag was kind of… beautiful.

--

But then Thomas gets stuck when he tries to draw him running.

He has the bent limbs and the knotted shoelaces, but Thomas just can’t make him move.  He draws light lines, erases, dark lines, erases, smudges, erases, erases, erases and Thomas decides there’s no way he can’t go back to the track.

--

Practice is nearly over but Minho can hardly think about running when he sees that the art geek from the other day has decided to show his face again.

“That kid’s pushing his damn luck,” he mutters with his fists on his hips, looking over at to where he’s sitting for the thousandth time in the last hour.

“What’s the big buggin’ deal?” Newt asks from behind him, attempting to clip back his hair. “The guy wants to sit there and doodle, there’s no rule against it.”

“’Cept mine,” Minho says, and when Newt snorts Minho gives him a hard look, “What? The team doesn’t appreciate random weirdos watching them run.”

“You’re doing that thing again, where you say ‘the team’ when you really mean ‘just you’,” Newt responds, sticking his hair pin in at random angles to no avail.

Minho’s eyebrows knit, because Newt’s observation is spot on as always. “Ok, fine, I don’t like it. That should be reason enough.”

“Minho, since when do you give a damn about people watching you run?”

“I don’t, but he—”

And Newt snaps his fingers, “No, I’ve got it—it’s because he’s cute.”

Minho’s face reddens, and it has nothing to do with the sun. “Shut up.”

“No, I get it. Can’t have your crush see you acting like the asshole captain you are, but you can’t look like a pansy in front of your team. Bit of a tight spot—Christ!” He tangles up his fingers in his bangs—which will not stay out of his face—and shouts to his teammate a few yards away, “Gally! C’mere and help me with this.”

Gally walks over from where he’s stretching with Ben and Alby and before he can say anything Minho groans, “Can we not talk about this with Gally?”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Newt answers innocently while shoving his bobby pins into Gally’s hands, “Here, do it for me.”

Gally slides a pin into Newt’s hair and says with his teeth bitten down on another two, “Talk about what? You trying to hide something from me, slinthead?”

Minho sighs, already finished with the discussion, although Newt evidently is not when he points to the boy on the bleachers erasing at a book on his lap and says to Gally, “You see that kid? Minho’s in love with him.”

“Dammit, Newt!”

But Gally says as if Minho’s not right next to him, “Yeah, I know. He wouldn’t stop looking over at him the other day when he was here.”

“He—I was assessing the situation, that’s what runners do—”

“That’s another way of saying ‘Checking him out’.” Gally says flatly.

“No, it isn’t!” Minho insists, but Gally isn’t paying much attention to him, anymore.

“You’re oddly good at that,” Newt says when Gally’s finished, patting the hair that’s been pulled tight across the top of his head. He looks up at Gally, who says, “No, you’re just oddly bad at it, for the one who has the hair.” But he smiles at Newt and Newt smiles back.

“You guys!” Minho says, suddenly feeling very third-wheel.

“Why don’t you ask him if he wants to eat with us after practice?” Newt suggests absently.

Gally takes Minho’s shoulders and spins him in the direction of the bleachers, “That’s a good idea, go do that.”

And suddenly Minho is being pushed. “Wait—guys, stop! He’s—”

Minho stumbles when Gally gives him a last hard shove, and the kid on the bleachers finally looks up to see him on all fours at the bottom of the bleacher steps, tripped up in the dirt.

And the both of them stare at each other like they’ve been caught with blood on their hands.

--

“I—I’m sorry, I’ll go,” Thomas says, tossing his pencils into his bag and regretting spreading his stuff out so much.

“Listen—” Minho begins, but in his haste Thomas knocks his sketchbook off of his lap. It lands open, fanned out on the concrete. A few loose papers he had stuck between the pages scatter, and one of them lands a foot away from Minho’s shoes.

And Thomas nearly falls trying to grab it before Minho can pick it up and see exactly what it is, but Thomas has never been that fast and Minho  has been fast since the day he was born.

“Hold on…is this—is this me?”

If this were any other situation, Thomas would say Aren’t you sharp? but Minho more or less has the upper hand here, holding a picture of himself that Thomas had drawn without him knowing, so Thomas coughs and says “Maybe?”

Minho isn’t listening. “You… you’ve been drawing me.”

Thomas rushes to explain, “I mean—not since the other day—”

“Let me see the rest,” Minho says—demands—and Thomas blushes.

“I don’t—”

“Listen, if you’re going to stalk me and draw pictures of me during practice, you’re going to let me see.” Minho holds out his hand, palm up. “So let’s have it.”

Thomas looks him in the eye and wonders if he can get away with getting the hell out of there, but Minho is blocking the way down the bleachers so he picks up his sketchbook and hands it over slowly.

And Minho opens it—Thomas swallows hard when he sees how he spreads out his long fingers to hold it with one hand—flips through it. “These aren’t bad,” Minho says, turning the page. “Really good, actually,” he admits, quieter as he traces the line of his jaw on the paper.

Thomas runs his palms up and down his thighs nervously. “I—um, to be honest, I’m not that great, I just—you, ah, makes things easy for me.”

 Minho raises an eyebrow, and Thomas wonders how far this is going to go before the line between flattering and disturbing is crossed, but Minho just says, “Guess you should be thanking me for looking so good.”

Thomas blinks, and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Minho takes another lingering look at the sketchbook before handing it back. Thomas puts the loose paper back into it before shoving it to the bottom of his bag.

“So I guess I’ll be going, then,” Thomas blurts, and starts rising from his seat before Minho says “Sit your ass back down.”

Thomas looks up at him, “Excuse me?”                         

Minho clears his throat, avoiding Thomas’ gaze and squinting at the sun, already half set. “Me and the team are gonna grab dinner after this. I’m actually inviting you, so you don’t have to sneak around if you… if you want to come.”

Thomas blinks, his fingers tightening around the straps on his bag. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to, I mean, but—”

“Yeah, I’ll come,” Thomas says, and suddenly he’s grinning, “Thanks.”

Minho looks at him, runs a hand through his hair. “Oh—good. Awesome.”

“Oi, Minho, quit chatting with your boyfriend and get over here!”

Thomas and Minho both turn to see Gally with his arms full of folded agility ladders. “How long does it take to ask someone on a shuckin’ date?”

Minho pulls off one of his shoes and throws it at Gally, who dodges it easily and walks off to put the equipment away, laughing with his head thrown back.

“Not a date, obviously,” Minho tries to clarify, but Thomas won’t stop smiling.

Minho shakes his head, and turns to go. “I’ll meet you back out here after we finish up—Oh, and one more thing.”

“What?”

“I still can’t have you here during practice.”

Thomas face falls, but then Minho says, “You distract me.”

“I do?” Thomas says, his expression somewhere between shocked and satisfied.

“Yeah,” Minho smirks, “So if you still want me to model for you, we’ll have to go somewhere… private.”

Thomas’ jaw drops, and Minho heads for the showers, happy he’s had the last word.

--

--

--

THIS PROMPT IS SO OLD I AM SO SORRY it’s so old I couldn’t find the message BUT THIS IS FOR THAT ANON THAT ASKED FOR THOMINHO ARTIST/MUSE AU ;^;

Blegghg all that dialogue//I love using the word pansy especially in reference to the gladers bc that’s exactly what they are //fuck yes newt/gally I feel that shit in my bones

Also @that scene where Thomas drops his sketchbook, please imagine Thomas and that “/trips and literally HUNDREDS OF PICTURES OF MINHO FALL OUT OF HIS JACKET” meme and laugh

also posted here ew//prompts and typo call outs are VERY APPRECIATED MUCH//thank you for reading ilu lots

[newtttheglue]

Thomally #1 if your still doing it

“Come over here and make me.” 

In the early weeks of getting through the flat trans totheir so called 'Paradise', Thomas had been very reluctant to trust it, but itwasn’t just him, everyone had been worried that something was going to go wrong.No one as much as Gally, though.

Thomas could understand his concerns, he often found himselfwondering how it was possible that somewhere in the world hadn't been hit bythe disease, when it felt like everywhere they'd seen had been devastated byit. It was hard for Thomas to wrap his head around, but he was getting there,starting to trust their new home to keep them safe.

Gally was having none of it.

He was a lot calmer than his past self, back in the Glade,nicer to be around, but his thoughts on protecting the people around them wereever present. His main priority was to keep them all safe, and to him thatmeant they needed to start building some sort of defences to help protect them fromwhatever could be waiting for them.

Thomas was really starting to get tired of it, they'd heldmultiple meetings with the core people of the group once a day for two weeksonce they’d gotten to Paradise. Together they'd decided that the reinforcementswere really not necessary and that if Gally wanted to help build their newworld, then he should accept his position of head of the new building team anddo just that, build.

They'd had to come to some sort of agreement to make him seesense though, something that Thomas wasn’t surprised about. It had been decidedthat all previous runners and whoever felt they had the skills to do so, wouldrun a lap of their perimeter to make sure everything was fine at least twice aday. Thomas felt that maybe it was a little much, that after two months inParadise with nothing happening the runs were unnecessary. But then again,maybe he was just getting complacent.

Thomas had taken the morning run that day with Minho, thetwo of them deciding to race each other round their second lap. Thomas knewthat it wasn't exactly the most responsible thing they could have been doing,but being in Paradise was the first time in everything they could remember thatthey'd finally been allowed to be what they were, kids.

As they came to the end of their first lap, Thomas lookedbehind him to see Minho starting to pick up the pace to come and run alongsidehim. As he came up next to him, Thomas had expected him to slow to his speed,but instead he shot forward, sending Thomas a wink as he went.

Thomas cursed him under his breath and ran off after him,revelling in the feel of the wind as it rushed past him. The maze may have beena dangerous and terrifying place at times, but Thomas would be the first toadmit that sometimes he wished he could go back. Running the maze was somethinghe was good at, something that had made him feel useful. Now, running the edgeof their new home, he couldn't help but think his existence was a littlepointless.

Paradise was much more beautiful than the maze though, thatwas for sure. As he sprinted past the lake he took a look out over the water,watching as the light reflected against the slight ripples being made in thebreeze, Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen something sobeautiful.

He looked away from the lake in time to notice that Minhowas a few feet ahead of him, turning to head in the direction of their village.Thomas took one last look across the water before he sprinted ahead, trying tocatch up with Minho as best he could.

The village was now fast approaching, Minho still had quitea big lead on him. Thomas was determined that he was going to win, he didn’tthink he could deal with Minho gloating about it for weeks on end.

Thomas lost sight of Minho as he turned round on of thebuildings, the shouts of someone came not a second later.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, shank!” Thomas didn’t havemuch time to think about it when he too rounded the corner and ran slap banginto the person, falling to the ground with a thud.

Thomas groaned when his back hit the floor, closing his eyesagainst the pain that shot down his spine. He didn’t have much time to take itin though before someone was grabbing the front of his shirt and hauling him upof the floor. He snapped his eyes open and only had a few seconds to registerthe angry glare on Gally’s face before he was slammed up against the wall,hard.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Thomas winced ashis back hit the wall, the anger in Gally’s voice making him sink down a littleto try and get away from him. “You’re meant to be checking the perimeter, notfucking around!”

“Oh, come on!” Thomas rolled his eyes, straightening up alittle so he could be a bit closer to Gally’s height. “We’d already checked theperimeter, is having fun a crime now?” Gally frowned, his fist pressing hardagainst Thomas’ chest.

“Maybe it should be, you could have hurt someone.” Thomasswallowed, glancing down at Gally’s fist before he looked up to make eyecontact with him, attempting to stare him down.

“How is me and Minho racing round the perimeter going to getanyone hurt?” Thomas questioned, hoping to get Gally to back off a little butit only seemed to make him angrier.

“You slammed into me pretty hard, what if it was one of thekids?”

“Well the kids aren’t stupid enough to be lurking aroundcorners!”

“I was notlurking.” Gally growled out, letting go of Thomas’ shirt to take a step backfrom him, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“What would you call it then?” Thomas glanced over Gally’sshoulder as he asked, Minho was stood a few feet away from the two of them,looking ready to intervene if something went south.

“I would call it working, which is what you were supposed to be doing!” Thomas snapped his gaze back toGally when he answered, anger flaring up in his chest at his comment.

“Will you just get off my case for five minutes?” He took astep towards Gally and straightened up to his full height, trying to makehimself seem more intimidating. It didn’t really work, since Gally still had tolook down at him, but he didn’t back down. Gally didn’t seem phased either andthat was what got to him more than anything.

“Maybe if you’d quit acting like a complete idiot, I wouldn’thave to keep asking you.” Thomas furrowed his brows, resisting the urge toreach up and punch Gally square in the jaw.

“You’re such an ass, you know that? What gives you the rightto decide what everyone can and can’t do, that’s not your call. So would youplease just fu-”

“Are you incapable of shutting up?” Gally snapped, cuttinghim off.

“I don’t know, why don’t you come over here and make me.”Thomas had no idea why he’d said it, but he seemed to realise the connotationsbehind it at the same time Gally did. The anger that was overtly present on hisfeatures fell to confusion, before quickly being replaced by a new determinationthat had Thomas worrying that he was going to kill him.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

In the space of a few seconds, Gally had crowded him back upagainst the wall and had reached up for him, but instead of punching him likeThomas had feared, he placed a hand against his neck, leant forward and kissedhim hard on the lips. Thomas had a second to freak out about what was happeningbefore he responded, fisting his hands in the sides of Gally’s shirt to pullhim closer towards him.

Thomas ignored the laughter that he assumed was coming fromMinho and tuned him out, tilting his head up to kiss Gally back. Thomas had noidea where the need for this had come from, but as Gally bit down gently on hisbottom lip he couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather be with right now.

Soon Gally was pulling away from him, his breath heavy as helooked Thomas over, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“I’m still mad at you.” Thomas huffed out a laugh, his handsrunning up the front of Gally’s chest and coming to grip at the front of hisshirt. Thomas pulled him back in for another kiss, this one slower and muchgentler than the first.  Thomas may nothave forgiven him for what he’d said, and he knew the same could be said for Gally,but that could wait for some other time.

[crankparadise]

✿ The Scorch Trials: Untold Chapters - Chapter Two

Read chapter 1 here! Beta'd again by commodorenewt, thanks bud.

Chapter Two

It was just past noon, the sun was at its most piercing. There was no point in hurrying to trek straight to the mountain under the scorching midday sun. Fed and watered for now, the boys had energy in their veins. But the current fullness of their stomachs was a comfort that wouldn't last. So, their first step was to take care of the fact that they were almost completely unarmed, and without food. 

While they had been walking, anxiety had grown in the minds of the Gladers. This arose due to the signs plastered on every available surface about Thomas being the "real leader". The one that Newt pointed out to Minho, wasn’t a one off. They were everywhere. Like a poison, the unsettling presence of the signs had unsettled the majority of the group. The signs were on the sides of buildings and branded into battered curbs. They had been roughly hammered onto homes that had been empty for years. They were hanging off dead trees. Some even replaced the licence plates of some burnt out cars. The signs felt like a revolution was growing in the City, with Thomas as the forefront. But was it for their side, or against them? 

As they walked further into the City, most of the boys made reference to the signs, first in glances, then mentioned in paranoid muttering. Their original mistrust of Thomas from the Glade was seeping back in his absence. Even Aris looked unnerved. The feelings of mistrust and distress had re-grown among the group like a disease. Yet Minho and Newt remained silent and in denial about the signs. They were definitely unnerved by them. But at least the coincidental signs confirmed Thomas' importance, increasing his chance of surviving without them. The undertones of distress and mistrust soon blossomed into visible anger and fear. These feelings stood between them like an unwelcome ghost; invisible and dividing them. It came to the point that it was all that they could think about, especially when the words stood out on a billboard next to one of the Chancellor. Jorge had no choice but to address the issue, to relieve the anxiety that the signs were causing among the group. He soon put the matter to bed; explaining that the signs only confirmed Thomas' importance, increasing the necessity that they follow anything to do with him. Follow him, to get a cure, and assure their own survival. Then he had looked at Newt and Minho like he knew. He told them that, since the signs were everywhere, even the Cranks will keep Thomas alive. Even as if it was as a hostage. It was a small hope, but they clung onto it for dear life, as it was all they had. They pushed the issue to the back of their minds. Thomas was gone, for now. But the weight of his significance felt like a presence itself, making it like he had never left at all. They crossed the cluster of crusty buildings that they hadn't noticed were so close. The group had decided to take to some of the less obvious routes. Heading towards what must have been the centre of the City. Jorge had made a show of listening to the ground for Cranks. Then, he swooped his head around at all angles for any sign of them.   They found they were without any unwanted company, for now.   So they made their weary way into a set of darkening alleys, which relieved them from the sun. But it did anything but relieve them of their anticipation for danger. The alleys were intimidating and intersecting. They were piled high with boxes upon boxes of trash and unwanted furniture. They were also crowded with full, car-sized trash crates. These smelt like death itself. They were protected from the sun by the alley walls but despite this, they were cooking in the inescapable baking heat of the sun. "Alright, my ugly ducklings." Jorge finally said, after they escaped the sun, having walked into the middle of the alien alleys. He drew in a long snort, and spat it over to his right. "First stop, I have a glamorous job for us. Spread out here, and look for anything sharp enough to kill with among these trash cans. Oh, and also, anything strong enough to tie them to, and strong enough to tie them with." There was no argument. They were happy to finally have something constructive to do, as well to have something to distract them from the signs about Thomas. The group dispersed into twos and threes, digging through the huge crates of trash, among the unwanted furniture that decorated the alleys. The mood lightened as the boys began to chatter among themselves as they worked, finally having a chance to goof around. Jorge was still barking advice at them as they scattered further on. He said something about glass and something about avoiding longer sticks. There was no doubt among them that the guy knew what he was doing. Within minutes, they were making great progress. They had almost a dozen makeshift weapons piled up where they alleys intersected; which though looked shabby, still looked somewhat threatening. There were already enough weapons for two each. But they planned to make more than they needed for obvious reasons. In case some got broken or damaged as they used them. The boys were familiar with constructing makeshift objects and weapons out of whatever they had, or whatever they could find. The chore felt like they were back in the glade. The intersecting alley paths felt like the maze. These similarities were shudder-worthy so no one addressed them out loud. In their minds, the boys couldn't decide whether spending their afternoon in this place, making weapons this way, was reminding them of home, or of hell. "Still more glamorous than trudgin' through that buggin' desert under bedsheets." Newt said. Minho found himself smiling then; which was odd, given everything. "Don't act like you didn't love sharing that sheet with me, shank." He responded. "That was some cosy stuff." Within 20 minutes, Minho and Newt found themselves hunting on their own, away from the rest of the group. In that time, Newt had already found the end of a hammer and a load of barbed wire; as well as a sharp slate and a large old sock that he threw at Minho. Minho had managed to find a small ball of cord and a pounding headache from the heat. He finally planted himself on the ground, dust lifting into the air around him as he did. They must have been doing this for hours now. He brushed away the brown air and looked up. Just in time to see Newt scraping grime off a large trash crate. It roughly revealed the words "SCRAP METAL". He watched as Newt unhinged it with his trusty hammer-end and climbed in. His long legs dangled for a moment. Then he vanished into the crate. "Scrap metal my ass, there's bloody nothing metal in here. Unless you count empty tins." Newt's voice was like metal. It was tinny and echoed.   "Oh, whats- ha, hey Min', I found another bedsheet we-" Newt was cut off by a metallic clang.   At the sudden noise, Minho lifted his head from his ball of cord, surprised to see the bin that Newt was in, fall back to its original position. It must have lifted on one side for a second. As if something had weighed down the side Newt had climbed into. A scrawny looking cat with barely any fur on its body at all scrambled out, then, clumsy claws bared with fright. It ran for cover behind Minho, who was already laughing. "Newt, you okay buddy? Make a friend in there?" He called coyly. Some of the other Gladers had poked round to see what was so funny, Frypan, Aris and a few others. The seconds of no response that followed made Minho's heart sink. Grim expressions formed around him. The Gladers closed in further and Minho jumped to his feet.   "Newt?" Minho tried again. The group relaxed when Newt poked his head out of the bin a second later. But Minho didn't relax, something wasn't right. Newt's eyes were wide, his breathing hitched in shock. He babbled something unintelligible, staring at something at the opposite side of the crate. A thin scratch was starting to blossom into a cut on his cheekbone. "Minho, you won't, believe what's-" "IVAN!" A shrill voice shrieked from behind Newt, it came from within the trash crate. The sound bounced off the inside of the crate and all around them, echoing off the walls of the alleys. Then Newt was yanked abruptly back with another clang, a small flash of yellow scrambled out of the crate. climbing over him. Minho was there in an instant, running to where Newt was. But the small form speedily jumped down and ran through his legs after the cat. Minho gathered Newt out of the bin and helped him climb out. Newt rebuked the help as he always did, touching the scratch on his face. No one else moved. So Minho ran back over aiming to tackle the mysterious yellow creature. To show it who was in-charge. "Don't, Minho. It's a kid." Newt said quickly, sounding as confused as they all looked, his words stopped Minho in his tracks. "It's a little girl." Newt said again. "You ruiner! You stupid ruiner!" The little girl shouted at Newt, shaking her grubby fists at either side of her. Her small size said she couldn't have been more than four or five years old. Her mousy-blonde hair was long, tangled into bunches at the ends and reached the end of her coat.  "You made Ivan scared and now he's gone!" She hugged herself, huffing and blinking away tears. Then she threw her arms behind herself. Baring her tiny teeth with fists pointed behind her in defence. She edged forward towards the group of boys, snarling, by no means intimidated by them. "What are you looking at?" She shrieked at them and snapped her clean teeth like an angry puppy. She must have thought she looked like a Crank. When what she actually looked like was a little girl pretending to be a Crank. Frypan and a few others actually stepped back at her advance. Minho finally rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. "You gotta be shuckin' me." He muttered. "Look, I dunno what you want, kid-" "Don't call me 'kid', kid!" The little girl snapped back. Then to the shock of the other Gladers, she produced a tiny kitchen knife, pointing it at Minho. It was oddly very reminiscent of how Brenda had threatened him before. The boys stepped back and this time Minho raised his arms too. A little girl versus a group of 6 teenage boys, yet the little ball of anger had full control. "Tell me what you want! Kid!"She yelled. All the boys came in to explain at once. "She's like a shuckin' gremlin..." "Slim it kid, we ain't here to cause any hurt. Ya' dumb little-" "We were just looking... in the trash for sharp things." "You just go into your little trash hut all nice and good." "Shh, the lot of you can slim it altogether, it's my fault. I'm sorry I scared your cat, darlin'." Newt's voice was soft, and due to this, the little girl turned to him, lowering her tiny knife. She looked particularly frightened by the boys' sudden bombardment of explanations. Kneeling down, Newt dipped his head at the little girl. "I'm sure he'll come back, what's your name?" "Yeah, Newt. Perfect time for baby talk." Minho said. "Sure, he'll come back. He'll come cruisin' right back in a stretch limo with a magic wand. Then he'll cure us all of the shuckin' Flare." Minho strode over to the kid. Her childlike attention was still grasped by the gentleness in Newt's voice; it seemed to have knocked off all her defensiveness. Before she could answer the question, Minho swiped the tiny knife out of her hand, tossing it to Frypan. Then he gathered up the yelping, struggling bundle of yellow which was trying her best to bite his hand. He placed her back into the metal crate. As he caught a glimpse of the inside of the crate, Minho felt a jab at his heart. This little girl hadn't been hiding, she must have lived here. The crate was roughly the width of a small car. It was lined with blankets in a careful way too neat to be the work of a child. It was littered with empty tins as well as a lot of full tins. There were sad-looking pillows; one must have been for the cat. There was also a pile of small tattered books and an old cuddly toy.   Minho stepped back; someone had put her here, recently, maybe for good. She shrieked and waved her arms to get out of the crate. But with her tiny limbs and without Newt as her ladder she was trapped. Panicking and upset by the whole ordeal, she began to cry. "Oy oy, what's going on over here? A social gathering?" Jorge's rough voice parted the semicircle of boys. The little girl was wailing and trashing about in the crate. Her arms were in frantic motion, her small hands grabbing at nothing. She was reaching for the source of the kind voice before. Sighting the distraught little girl, Jorge folded his arms. He turned to glower at Minho. The boys started chattering in explanation together once again. Jorge silenced them with a single loud clap. "One at a time! I don't have much mental health left to spare on you kids. Care to explain the hold up, monkey-boy?" "N-, We were looking in this scrap metal crate thing, and there was a kid in it. That's all, no hold up. We put it back where it came from, we can head on." Minho stomped out of the circle to retrieve more make-shift weapons; he was trying to appear gruff and tired of the commotion on the outside, trying to stifle the sunken feeling he had on the inside. The feeling that came with seeing the little girl's few belongings which was only emphasised by hearing her cry, reaching for freedom. Jorge turned his glare on the little girl. She hid most of her face behind the edge of the cart, sniffing hard every few seconds. The little girl's eyes darted back to Newt. He nodded in encouragement at her. "My cat ran away." She said to Jorge in a small voice. Something must have softened in the man then. He tutted like he understood.   "These idiots scare your kitty away?" She nodded fast, looking frightened and half confused. Then Jorge covered his mouth and chin in thought. The other boys erupted again, bickering over what they should do about the child. Newt moved in towards the girl, and her tears stopped. Delighted at finally getting his attention, she grabbed fistfuls of Newt's hair gratefully. "What are we gonna do, you ask?!" Frypan's voice rose above the clashing voices of the others. He addressed them all, but his eyes were on Newt. "We're gonna do what were always gonna shuckin' do! Make weapons and get the hell out of here! Why is this kid even under discussion?" Frypan's brash comment sparked off further debates. From the sound of things, most of the boys agreed with him. Minho walked back towards them and found some of them were already looking his way. He felt like a shucking ringleader with no shucking ring. Aris had stepped beside Newt, as silent as ever. "We can't- she... she was just put here." Newt said, but he must have known his argument was weak. "She'll die. We can't just leave her." "Fry's right." Minho said as softly as he could, he had to pretend his heart was as hard as stone, or maybe it was by now. "We don't have time for extra baggage, Newt. The kid-" "My name is Rosie!" The little girl shouted. "I'm not a kid, I'm just small.. I'm nine!" she was making her way onto Newt's shoulders and he made no effort to stop her. "I have to find my mom!"   Jorge raised his eyebrows, contemplating. He displayed his open palms to the boys as if a solution was developing. Then he turned to Rosie again. He was as unpredictable as ever. "Do you know where your mommy went, niña?" Rosie looked up from where she was burying her face into Newt's neck.   "The mall! She went to find daddy, he's got the sickness really bad." Minho came in further into complete the semi-circle for a better look. Every pair of eyes looked towards Rosie to continue. She was suddenly very shy, and sunk into Newt, tucking her arms into her chest. "My mom is a 'munie, they all say so. She said I have the sickness now too. I'm a Crank."As she said it, she left a pause for reflection. Like her story was like no other child in the world, like she didn't expect them to understand right away. "Mom said I have to wait here until I am an angel." With this, she flapped her little arms like wings before looking ashamed of herself as if she had done something wrong. She deflated against Newt once more. "I'm not an angel yet, I'm still waiting." Rosie didn't look as though she knew the meaning behind anything she was saying. She was just a lost little girl, repeating the words from the last time she would ever hear her mother's voice. Reality rippled through the crowd of boys, causing an almost palpable stir of sorrow among them. The true hopelessness of this place was one they were now seeing first hand. The little girl struck a chord in the hearts of each Glader, even those willing to leave Rosie behind. Something hung in the air. Like the closing lament of a sad song. Rosie's mother, in the most loving way she could, had left her daughter here to die. "Listen, guys. We can't risk our necks for one kid." Minho started, feeling like the devil himself, though most of the boys looked prepared to understand. In their current situation, they simply could not afford to waste time. Especially not detouring for a little girl who said she was already a Crank. Newt was shaking his head at the ground. Minho tried to ignore it for the sake of leadership, but it was no use, it was all he could see. "We just can't, guys. We need to finish this shuck thing in the hope of saving maybe a bunch of kids like her." Minho said, what he said was brutal, but it made sense. Newt looked directly at Minho then, disappointment was filling his angry eyes. Minho knew exactly what the look meant. It was like he saw a friend but heard a stranger. It was like he hoped to hear the best of Minho, but heard the worst of Alby.   "Who are you?" he spat. "Right, well, you're in luck, little hermana," Jorge started, failing like anyone would, in attempting to cut the tension between Minho and Newt. He wiggled a finger at Rosie. She snapped her teeth at it. "I'll tell you what. If you'd be kind enough to share any food you have with us, we were gonna head to the mall anyway. It's right at the end of the City. We'll help you find your mommy." He bowed humbly yet theatrically towards her, like a jester to a Queen. Minho sneered at the fact that Jorge would so quickly suggest the good-guy solution,. the easy answer which would no doubt get them into a load of klunk. Not to mention without any consultation towards the whole group, was that leadership? He tried to share a look with Newt to express the feeling. But catching the anger in each other’s eyes and reading it wrong, they dropped their gaze instantly. Newt flicked his eyes up to Jorge now. Rosie, sported the expression like that of a sceptical business owner. She extended a grubby pinky finger towards Jorge. "Promise?" She asked carefully. Jorge sucked his front teeth with his tongue, evidently hiding a smile by pretending to contemplate the contract. Then, as seriously as it was offered, he accepted the pinky oath. "Promise." He said sternly. "You just keep these boys in line. They'll make sure no crazy Cranks go biting of your little face off." She only frowned and snorted at him. He snapped at her in the same fear-mongering way he played with the Gladers. Something about Jorge's Crank-like habits were ostentacious, and felt rehearsed. Rosie's were forced as well, but in a different way. Like this animalistic behaviour was the only way she had ever seen other people behave. And she too, behaved this way so often, that it was now part of her. Something about her didn't seem like she was the Crank she thought she was. "We're all cranks, here, Rosie." Newt said to her gently when the group dispersed. He didn't look at Minho. "Won't let anyone hurt ya'. We're all on the same side."   Rosie rocked her head against him; her trust in Newt came easily. Just as easily as it had come to every greenie that grew into a  Glader. Minho walked on ahead. He and Jorge made their way to the weapons as joint leaders and separate entities, walking the same way, but with different thoughts; the same goals, but with different reasons to achieve them, the same morals, with different ways of expression. They faced away from each other like enemies, when they were more like two different sides of the same coin; distant, alien to one another, but part of the same thing. Minho knew he felt more unlike Jorge than he had ever felt unlike a person, ever. Jorge, didn't care enough to even think about these things. They were not good cop, bad cop. They both had the good cop in them, yet they both had the bad cop there too. There was so much misunderstanding dividing them that they didn't even try to reach a mid-way point. Two leaders cannot lead a group when they are on opposing sides. But how can two leaders lead a group when they are very much on the same side, but believe the other to be against them? At a time so desperate, when there only is one side to choose? They tossed the weapons into the hands of the Gladers, who strapped them to their backs. They were ready to make further progress into the City. Minho was armed with two sharp knives. Which were actually sharpened slates tied to stubs of wood. Jorge left himself with a large sword-type dagger. The weapon was oddly reminiscent of Jorge himself as it was ridiculous and terrifying at the same time. They had enough of Rosie's food to last them until the end of the day. But not much further if they wanted to keep their energy.   Newt walked weapon-less beside Minho as they made their way out of the alleys. Rosie had wanted her own weapon back and was now between the two of them. Tiny kitchen knife bared. She chattered on excitedly to no one in particular. Tension was still ripe between Minho and Newt. Despite the tension, which would lead into a fight soon. They still walked close. Minho had grown to know Newt well enough to be sure he wouldn't be angry at him for long. Newt had known Minho long enough, to know that he wasn't in need of his own weapons for protection. Like soulmates, or brothers, they were far too used to the comfort of their bond, too used to each other to appreciate each other as often as they should, or as often as they could; If things had been different.   They had been together long enough to take each other's presence completely for granted. There was irony, in how Rosie looked like a child but felt like a Crank. When the boys looked like Cranks but felt like children. The now slightly extended group of Gladers made their way into the main streets of abandoned buildings. Jorge told them that far-gone Cranks were too scared to go this deep into the City. So they had avoided them at least. The heat was laying off and it was getting dusky. It must have been the late afternoon. Cranks or no Cranks, the City that they had earlier believed to be a deserted wasteland, was now something different.   There were eyes in shattered windows now. There were shadows on the streets. They weren't alone anymore. This was an inhabited City.

[singt0me]

i assure you

that when this life ends

and the dust settles

i will find you

in the next  – R.H. Sin.

For Hard Rock|Callisto - Coming Soon.