#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]

[newtparadise]

Thomas wakes up with a startle, the thunder booming outside shaking him to his core. He hears the rain hitting the canvas roof above him in a violent rhythm that is more disconcerting than anything.

The air is cold. It's dark. Another thunder rolls loudly and Thomas flinches; it sounds disturbingly familiar. The deafening noise of grenades exploding. The grumble of buildings as they collapse onto the ground. The shouts and screams around them. And he remembers.

Newt.

As if on autopilot, Thomas' hand shoots up to his chest, wanting to feel the coolness of the metal against his skin. He searches blindly but finds nothing.

Shit.

Thomas starts fumbling around, knocking down things in a panic. The noise alerts Minho, who rushes into the room to see what the commotion is about.

"I can't lose it... I can't...!"

Minho immediately understands what Thomas is looking for and grabs him by the shoulders, trying to calm him down. Thomas struggles, shrugging him off and almost pushing him against the wall. "Whoa, whoa! It's okay, Thomas. Thomas. It's here, see? It's safe." Minho places the necklace in Thomas' hand, feeling it slowly stop trembling. "There was a shuckin' storm last night and I was checking on you, saw this close to dropping so I kept it in the box. The waves would've gotten it if I didn't." Minho watches Thomas visibly relax and take a sit on the bed, slumped. He sighs. "You're welcome."

Head hanging low, Thomas clutches onto the necklace tightly. It's safe. Newt's safe.

"Minho," Thomas says, looking up slowly. "I'm sorry."

Minho nods, patting him on the back. "You know, Thomas," he says, plopping down next to him, the makeshift bed creaking beneath them. "You never actually told me what was in that thing."

Thomas freezes, like he's touched a sore spot, and Minho suddenly feels bad.

"Hey... I'm not forcing ya. I knew it's important for you the moment I saw you sleeping with it every night like a goddamn lifeline."

Thomas gives him a weak smile. He seems to hesitate for a while before finally speaking up.

"It's... Newt's," Thomas whispers. He removes the lid of the metal and takes out a rolled up piece of papers, fraying at the ends like it's been opened and refolded far too many times before. Minho gasps, feeling his heart drop. "He gave it to me before he--"

3AM

Me: *clears my mind, tries to sleep*

Brain:

Brain: hey do you think thomas ever goes to sleep in the safe haven holding onto newts necklace because it helps keep the nightmares away

[jinxfirebolt18902]

I just published “Frightened 2 (Newt)” of my story “Thomas Brodie Sangster Imagines”. http://w.tt/1RDeYIm

[newtttheglue]

Title: Far Too Young To Die Chapters: 10/? Relationship(s): Newt/Thomas, Minho/Teresa Words: 64288 Summary: Newt always wished that one day his life would change, but he never imagined it would change quite like this. With the dead rising and the living turning on each other, he just hopes that they’ll all be able to make it out alive. Tags: established relationship, alternative universe - zombies, violence

Chapter Summary: “If we can convince them to trust us, maybe they’ll listen to us about WICKED. Maybe we’ll be able to get them to help us.” Chuck seemed to cheer up a little at that, a small smile on his face. “Then we can go save Thomas?” He asked and Newt wondered if he looked as sad as Teresa did at his question, her face falling a bit at the mention of her brother. But she smiled back at him nonetheless, a sad smile that Newt wished he never had to see her use. “Yeah, then we can go save Tom.”

Read more on AO3:

[clauxx]

Ch.7 of The Only Heaven I’ll Be Sent To, Is When I’m Alone With You

You can find the new chapter here.

You can find the first chapter here.

And you can find the entire work here.

Let me know what your thoughts are for the new chapter.

[gladerlove]

"Wait a minute. Are you jealous?" + thomaris? maybe

note: I’m so sorry anon, you prompted me this forever ago, and I honestly have no excuse for why its taken me so long to write this, I’m sorry ._. pls forgive me and enjoy? 

(on AO3)

“…you may kiss your bride,” the priest proclaimed.

Thomas grinned and then proceeded to wolf whistlealongside Newt as Minho (grinning like a mad man) grabbed Teresa and dipped herbefore proceeding to do just as the priest said.

Thomas turned to look at Aris, ready to make a cheekycomment, when he stopped at the expression on the others face. Aris lookedwhistful.

Whistful.

That could not be right.

Thomas nudged him slightly and it was like Aris came outof a trance. He jerked, blinking wildly, before looking at Thomas.

“What?”

Thomas grinned. Around then the people were slowly filingout of the room after the bride and groom, all of them hungry and ready to eatthe delicious smelling food waiting for them in the other room for thereception.

“Imagining yourself up there?” Thomas teased.

Aris huffed an turned to leave. “I’m happy for themThomas, that’s all.”

“Ouch,” Thomas winced playfully, hand settlingcomfortably on the small of Aris’ back as they joined the queue. “Full name,what’ve I done now?”

Aris ignored him, and Thomas tried not to be too put outby it. They filed their way into the dining hall and made their way to thetables reserved for Minho and Teresa’s family in the front.

The incident has mostly left Thomas’ mind as he indulgedin Fry’s declicious cooking, and Aris was smiling and laughing with them overthe next few hours. It wasn’t until people were cleaning up and getting ready toleave that Thomas figured it out.

He stopped in the middle of the pathway outside, Teresaand Minho taking pictures with friends off to the side. Aris stopped as welland shot him a confused look.

“Thomas?” he prodded.

Thomas looked at him, over to Teresa and Minho, and thenback to Aris. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Aris froze, eyes wide. “I, wh-what, how-?”

Thomas grinned. “You are, aren’t you? You’re jealous thatTeresa and Minho are getting married first.”

Aris’ eyes narrowed at that, and Thomas knew he wasright.

“Can you blame me?” Aris hissed, stepping closer. “They’veonly been together a year and a half, two at most! We’ve been together for four years Thomas, and despite the hintsI’ve been dropping you’ve never brought up the topic of marriage once!”

Thomas started laughing, and Aris flushed an angry red. “Whyare you laughing?” he bit out.

Thomas just shook his head, stepped forward, then droppeddown to one knee. Aris froze again, and Thomas relished in his surprise. Thoughperhaps he’d been a bit too subtle, when here he had been worried he hadn’t beensubtle enough.

“T-Thomas?” Aris stuttered.

Thomas just grinned and grabbed Aris’ limp hand to pressa kiss to the back of it. “I’m sorry I’ve made you wait so long Ri, it’s noexcuse, but I’d wanted it to be perfect. You deserve nothing less after all.”

Aris swallowed, and some distant part of Thomas’ brainrealized that their friends had noticed what was happening and were watchingraptly.

“Aris Jones, these last four years have been some of thehappiest of my life because of you, and I can’t imagine my life without you.Marry me?”

Aris, swallowed back a nervous laugh, his eyessuspiciously bright. “Aren’t you supposed to have a ring dimwit?”

“Left it in my other pair of pants,” Thomas deadpanned,and the laughter that Aris had been holding back erupted.

“Give me the godamned ring Thomas,” Aris laughed.

“Is that a yes?” Thomas beamed.

“Yes, it’s a yes, you fucker!”

Thomas stood up and pulled Aris into a bruising kiss, euphoriarushing through him. He could hear their friends cheering in the background andknew they’d never live this down but he didn’t care. Not when he pulled backlong enough to fish the ring out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket andslide the ring onto Aris’ finger.

Not when he pulled out a matching engagement ring forhimself and let Aris slide it onto hishand.

Aris said yes.

send me a pairing and a number and I’ll write you a drabble

(fun fact: this story is inspired by real events I was there to witness… sorta)

[killianspants-blog]

submitted by whyhellogreenie

Minho has been working in the Map room for weeks it felt like. He would usually spend awhile in there . But, this time was different. Now it was taking him longer and people were starting to get worried about him especially his boyfriend Newt. 

It was a Saturday night, around midnight. Minho was sitting in the Maproom. He had been up all day and night trying to figure out something, a way to get out of this Maze. He had fallen asleep at his desk though. He hadn’t slept in two straight days and he still hadn’t come up with anything.

There was a knock on the door, a face pecked through and smiled. It was Newt. Newt and Minho had been dating for almost two years now. They were inceperable and they truely did love each other. There was only one bad thing about dating Minho. Minho was a perfectionist and wanted everything to be absolutely perfect whilst Newt was more laid back and less stressed, or at least he wouldn’t show it. Newt looked up when he walked into the room, then he raised his eyebrows when he saw that Minho was asleep. He had his head buried into his arms, Newt finally walked over to him. He reached down and shook him a few times, Minho immediately lifted his head up. He rubbed his eyes a few times before he finally looked up at Newt, slightly confused about what was going on. Newt simply chuckled. “The bed’s more comfy, just letting you know,” he said, smiling. Minho blinked again as he looked around still stuck in complete confusion, and realized that he was still sitting at his desk. He groaned and hid his face in his hands. “What time is it?” he asked looking over at Newt again. “It’s past midnight. How long have you been sitting in here?” Newt asked sitting down on a wooden chair behind him. “Too long,” Minho mumbled. He sighed and shook his head. “Well, I think it’s time that you get to bed,” “No. I have to start working on finding a way out of this shucking place !,” Minho protested “I’m sure we can survive a little longer in the Glade. You need sleep. That’s what you need,” “I’m fine, Newt. I don’t need any sleep. Are lives are depending on me finishing this map and solveing the shucking puzzle,” Minho snapped, without meaning to. He stood up and then he started to walk out of the room. Newt blinked a few times. He shook his head and followed his boyfriend. He found him sat outside laying on the grass .Newt stood there for a few seconds as he watched . He finally walked over to him and wrapped his arms around Minho who immediately looked up at him. Normally, he would like Newt doing this. But, not this time. He was too stressed and frustrated. As newt started to gently kiss Minho’s neck he was pushed off. “Not now, I’m thinking” “Minho” Newt pouted he had never been rejected like this but Minho still ignored him. “Can’t we go back to the bedroom and cuddle for a bit? I haven’t had a cuddle in days.” He whined. Minho sighed and shook his head. “That sounds nice, Newt, but now is really not the time,” he said. Newt frowned. “What’s going on with you?” He asked as Minho refused to look at him. “You never reject me like this…” “I have more important things to do, alright?” Minho snapped. “So, you’re saying that I’m not important to you?” Newt asked. He scoffed. “Fine. If that’s what you feel then I’ll just leave you alone…” Newt started to walk away. Minho immediately turned and looked over at him. “Newt, wait!” Minho yelled. Newt immediately stopped. He looked over at the man he loved. “I swear I didn’t mean it like that. You are important to me and this is why i’m doing it ! Because I’m scared that you'll” Minho took a deep breath. “Jump.. Again”Minho started to say. “I can’t loose you again, I won't ! » He yelled. His eyes began to water up. “I’m tired and I haven’t slept for two days and I just want to get this stupid map solved and done and finished. ” He cried. “Babe…” Newt said with shock. He walked over to him. He bent down so that he could see Minho’s face. “You’ve been working too hard. You’re stressing yourself out, i’m not going anywhere, because I have you and that’s all I need” he whispered. Minho hid his face in his hands. “This has never happened before. I can’t think of anything as an escape route” He said. “I love you, Minho, but maybe you should take a break from trying to do all these big plans to escape” Newt suggested. “But I..” Minho started “You’ve worked your butt of we can ask Thomas to help you” Newt said. Minho sighed. “I hate it when you’re right.” he mumbled. They both laughed laughed. “So, what do you say? Me and you? Bed ? Now ?” Newt asked. “We’ll figure out everything else tomorrow with Thomas. But, for right now, its past midnight and you need sleep. No more coffee. You’ve had far too much coffee the past two days,” He reached over and then he gently whipped away the tear from Minho’s cheek. “I just really don’t like seeing you so stressed out like this all the time,” Newt said. Minho chuckled. “Well, I don’t like being stressed either,” he said « I suppose we can go to bed now,” he said as Newt sighed in relief. He stood up and then he pulled his boyfriend up. “But, just so you know, if I go to sleep… I’ll probably be asleep for like a week. I’m so tired.” Minho whined. They walkback to their bedroom and dropped onto the bed Minho looked up at Newt and smiled. “Goodnight,” he replied. He let out a yawn and then he rested his head on Newt’s chest and let his eyes flutter shut. Minho had no idea where he would be without Newt in his life.

[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]

[crankparadise]

✿The Scorch Trials: Untold Chapters - Chapter Three

✿ ||Chapter one (and plot summary) here ✿ ||Chapter two here Feedback always welcome! beta'd by commodorenewt

Bleak, whispering streets. Unintelligible noises and lurking shadows. If they had ever known safety, they had firmly forgotten it now. This place that was supposed to be deserted was now something very frighteningly alive.

What was even more unsettling, was despite the irking feeling of something being around, nothing could be seen. Yet there was something in the slammed doors, there were voices in the wind. The eyes of each Glader followed dark shadow-like shapes in the corners of their eyes that moved too fast to be caught by a glance, and once followed turned into nothing at all.

Whistling through the legs of the group, was an uncomfortably warm wind, drawing them into this living-dead place in the most unwelcoming way.

There was life in this City, but a brooding and sickly life; one that was closer to death.

They huddled together on the fringes of the City, planning their advance. The creepy outskirts of the place had already felt the groups' trespassing. But the group couldn't fully enter the territory of the beady eyes and lazy shadows, without first preparing their entrance.

Jorge, had suggested to enter the place in two groups rather than a whole large one.

It was an instantly unpopular suggestion. Which had caused an uproar among the group that was not worth the trouble. It made more sense, according to Jorge, the more scattered and unlikely the groups looked, the less suspicious they would be to whatever breed of Cranks that populated this City. Walking in as a large and bizarre-looking group of boy scouts who had adopted a filthy little girl on the way was an absolute no-go. A group too large would be intimidating, and they would no doubt be assumed to have traveled all together. Which would be suspicious too, because such a thing rarely happened. A group too small would just be vulnerable. So their best option was to break in two; one group of seven, one group of six.

Due to Jorge's intimidating lectures, they were getting more and more educated on the ferocity of Cranks. Although their leader wasn't sure of the particular type that inhabited this exact area, it was no secret that Cranks can smell bonds between friends and use it against them to the best of their ability. They would catch any nervous glance shared, or read into any elbow to the gut to shut the other up. Those were likely to defend each other during any form of interrogation, were separated.

The majority of the boys dispersed among their group haphazardly and reluctantly in order to suggest nothing that even remotely suggested they had known each other long. It made sense that they had to make their groups look as desolate and thrown together as possible. They had to look detached, as unfamiliar with each other as they were with the City. They had to look totally blown together in order to be as absolutely unsuspicious as possible. The best way to give the impression that they were scattered and unfamiliar with each other, was to scatter them around and make it feel real. Even given everything that had happened to them up to this point, this was probably one of the most difficult things the Gladers had been asked to do; to part from each other willingly for an unknown period of time, and if worst came to worst, maybe forever. Separation from the closest thing they had to family, even for a short period of time, was a touchy thing to suggest.

Minho and Newt hadn't moved an inch.

"No way." Minho had said.

"The last thing we need is more splittin' up." Newt said, but it came out more forlorn than firm, which was not how he had intended it. He coughed, not liking the lack of control in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

"Well if you think you need protected, papi” Jorge said “Maybe you can find more toddlers along the way, eh? Gather an army of 'em." Minho snorted, Newt elbowed him accordingly.

"Let me tell ya' what to expect of this place." This came from Rosie, who was still between them in her little yellow coat. Grinning with her tiny knife bared. “I'm from around here."

"Kid, as far as we know, where you're from, is a trashcan." Said Minho, whacking her lazily out from between himself and Newt with the back of his hand. "You don't make the rules."

"Monkey's right, kid." Jorge said. "Plus, it doesn't matter. Cranks don't spare locals."

"But I wanna heeelp." Rosie whined. She slumped against Newt’s leg, glowering at Minho. "And I'm not from the trashcan, duck-hair, I was just put there."

"And I won't be long puttin' you back in there if you don't shut your two-foot-tall trap!"

"Minho, shut it.” Newt said as he was used to doing, his eyes were closed.

“Yeah ‘Ninno.” Rosie mocked, Minho sneered at her.

“You too Rosie!” Newt snapped, and glared at Minho. “Hell, I bloody wonder who’s the child here."

"But hey, Jorge." This voice came from Frypan, he and the boys were darted around and visibly distressed.

"Why you gotta split us up the Shanks who know each other best?" He was cautiously looking at his friends. At this point, separation anxiety was understandable, and it was the top priority of the Gladers to stick together. He seemed to gather his nerves. "Like damn, as you can plainly see Newt's gonna have to be with Minho so he doesn't say something stupid and get killed. Minho's gotta stay with Newt so that he doesn't lose another leg and get killed."

As Minho and Newt bickered back in response it became like a dull roar of voices again.The Gladers talked over each other, exclaiming their worries about the splitting.

Jorge was raising his hands into the air in frustration. He brought them together loudly as he did before, silencing the group.

"Time to grow up, ‘chachos. First priority is survival, friendship comes second. We split up, no questions.” Jorge insisted, squaring right back against them as he felt the air of defensiveness forming. "Trust me, splitting up is key to getting into that place.” He continued. “It's only because this place has people checking to see who comes and who goes. But only on these outskirts, then we reassemble, and you babies can all suck your thumbs and whatever else together again. ¿Vale?"

"Still, why do we have to be so cautious?" Aris blurted in. "You said Cranks were too scared to go this deep into the City." It felt like the first time Aris had raised his voice among the Gladers to anyone since Thomas, some of them had forgotten he had a voice.

"That's because I'm pretty sure these aren't Cranks, amigo, at least not fully. They're near-gones, at best bet.” Jorge slid a metal lighter out from his pocket as he spoke and began to flick the flame on and off, on and off.

“These guys are gone enough to be scary as hell and sane enough to be smart with their madness. They know they're doomed and they're ready to have fun with anything that looks remotely fragile before they go full-crazy. And trust me you kids look remotely fragile."

No one was reassured, and with the suggestion still unwelcome, the boys had only huddled together in protest. They faced Jorge in a pack, with their matching bruises and identical scowls.

They looked startlingly like a bunch of unwanted pets; or more appropriately, angry lab-rats that had all been hit with the same hand and felt the same hurt. The irony of this, was very amusing to Jorge.

So they had returned to the drawing board, and continued bickering over their entrance plan as the sky above them started to drift to sleep.

They could agree on avoiding, for as long as they could, heavy-hearted goodbyes that felt like goodbyes forever. Their new approach was to sneak into the City in secret. Jorge had insisted his original idea, but sneaking in was approved by the majority.

Lined up against a sheltering wall, the group moved slowly and surely through the sinking sand, Jorge was in front. In a line behind him, the boys were nervous, clumsy shadows against the wall. Jorge’s subtlety came with an ease they longed to achieve, but the Gladers sunk behind him. With their backs hunched with tiredness and fear, the shadows wearily followed. As they made progress, silence had fallen like the evening soon would. There was only the sound of the thick wind and what was either knocking weaponry or shaking knees from the Gladers. They made their way from the broken outskirts to the shadowed streets and sturdier buildings, going deeper into the City. Despite the fear of the unknown, they longed for shelter and heat-relief. The mountain ahead, stood high and majestic. It framed the lost city like a halo, the hazy sleepy heat of the air made it seem otherworldly; like a dream, or a mirage. They still had almost a week to make it to the Safe Haven.

They were almost there, sweat was beading on their brows. If they could just make it into the main City, they could look like any other group of Cranks passing through - but a low, throaty cough made the Gladers suddenly aware of possible extra footprints in the back of their line. Jorge cursed in Spanish, sinking into the shadow of the boiling building. The boys did the same, their feet sinking into the sand. Minho let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he was holding, they had been so close, but the feeling of someone around pushed their hearts up into their throats. Tight against the wall, they willed invisibility. Newt was counting them all again before nodding curtly toward Minho, his expression firm but his eyes wavering and afraid. Minho caught the little nod and winked reassuringly.

It was apparently a false alarm. They fell into step again, slowly moving deeper into the City.

The phlegm-filled cough that didn’t belong to the group, came again, followed by a tiny yelp from the back. They stilled against the wall once more, turning their heads, Rosie was gone. Then their head all turned to Jorge in sync, he glared at each face. No one dared move a muscle. “Let go! Put me-” From around the corner, a stranger walked out into the sun. He held Rosie in one arm, covering her mouth with the other. She was struggling furiously in his grip. The figure stopped in front of the group. His large legs had strode easily through the moving sandy surface, sinking only slightly with his weight. As the group turned to face him, they saw he had white hair reaching way past shoulders. He was enormously fat, ears and face pierced, with tattoos all over. He wore a white shirt that was closer to grey, with a tight bolo tie that made him look even rounder.

"Well.. ain't you a funny lookin' bunch a' stragglers." The man said in a low, husky voice. "What bring's y'all here? The circus in town?" He laughed sickeningly at his own joke.

Jorge brushed his hands together from the front of the line. He stepped out of the shadow, the boys followed. Despite the despair that came with their "subtle tactics" having completely failed, Jorge showed none of this on his face. Not even a single ounce of 'I told you so'. Instead he looked as relaxed as having just bumped into an old friend.

"Something like that." He responded, he opened his mouth to speak again.

"Folks don't often take trips ‘round here..." The man interrupted quickly. He walked around in front of the group with a cocky stride, the little girl still dangling in his grip and trying to bite his hands. His eyes were moving between the boys slowly as if drinking every detail about them; the bruises on their collarbones, the sunburnt tips of their ears, the freckles on their noses, the fear on their breath.

"You must either be lost, or your mind's are halfway to lost, like the rest of us!" Again he laughed a grizzly laugh, full of menace, nightmares and phlegm. The laugh grew into a heavy cough.

Despite the element of Crank that was so present in his voice, his eyes darted around, sharp and alert. Despite the swerve in his step as he moved around them, he stood up straight and still. Something about the man didn't add up.

“Give her back!” Newt barked suddenly, darting forward so fast that he almost stumbled. The sudden boldness that was so unlike Newt’s soft, observant nature had startled them all. He seemed to have startled himself too, as he dropped the fat man's gaze and retreated back into the shadows. The man only raised an eyebrow, continuing to look along the row of boys with his lazy, merciless eyes.

"Quit sizing us up like we're prize cattle!" Minho yelled then. "Look man, we know what we're doing, leave us alone! We're from WICKED." Minho said, emphasising the last slice of his words as if it was something intimidating. If there was one thing Minho hated more than authority, it was intimidating authority. It made words tumble out of his mouth like useless, careless objects. The group had to hide every part of them that wanted to groan and punch him. Jorge could only close his eyes slowly, Newt could only grip his own wrists behind his back.

The fat man had turned to Minho then, his expression was oddly bright and unreadable. Rosie had stopped struggling, she just looked at the boys with scared eyes. The man looked Minho up and down, taking mental note. Then, as if he read him inside out, he did Minho's least favourite thing, he completely and utterly ignored him; directing his words and questions only to Jorge.

"S'pose you know where you're going, huh sonny?"

"We have the Flare too." Jorge said, ignoring the small talk. He kicked some dust towards Minho, frustration in the force. His eyes widened at him with warning. "Kid's got it bad. Talking crazy."

"Seems to think he's from WICKED, got anything smart to say about that?" Suddenly the white-haired guys' words were moving between assured and clipped, and riddled with long country vowels. If Jorge was hard to read, this Crank was a language of his own. He strode up to Jorge, before stopping fast. He swung his jaw to face the boys.

"I got a buddy called Thomas from WICKED. Heard of him?" His eyes narrowed, and glided along them all, soaking up every pained reaction. "We lost him." Minho said quickly. Making sure to distract him from Newt's quickened breaths and the uneasy looks that he could see exchanged in his peripheral vision. Though like most of what he said, it hadn't made it to his head first.

The man nodded before he snickered like a school boy graced with a dirty joke. His huge intimidating body seemed to loosen as it shook with laughter. The boys looked between each other and this unreadable, baffling man.

He threw Rosie into the sand in front of him; Newt bounded towards her and stood her up from the dust. She struggled out of his grip and re-adjusted her tough expression.

"Aw, I'm just messin'!” The man said. “I don't know shit about them signs about a "Thomas". Y'all are free to pass on through, just fine' yerself' a nice cosy nook to go crazy in."

The group of boys carried on quickly into the City. Some stopped to dote on Rosie and dust her off. She was embarrassed by both her vulnerability and the sudden attention, so she snapped at them and bared her knife. Minho was concerned about Newt’s outburst. The group abandoned their sneaking line altogether. Relieved, naive and heavy with tiredness, their senses weren't as sharp as Jorge's. Who waited as the large man walked back to the alley he came from. The stride was back in his fat legs. Jorge stood deep in the sand, watching all the boys as he stood still.

"But if I did know somethin' about them signs." Jorge craned his neck to listen to the hateful voice that came from the alley. He clicked his teeth like a lighter forming flame. "I guess I’d know that he's not with the rest of his bunch. Reckon I'd know how he'd be dressed too, wouldn't I?"

The man sunk away, back into the shadows; his sickly laugh still hung in the air behind him. For a moment, Jorge looked ahead at the identically dressed boys. Slumping their arms over each other like the children and idiots they were. They walked ahead into the evening glow of the City, unaware that in their clumsy words, they may have just told the Crank exactly what he needed to know about Thomas. Jorge spared that moment to think about Brenda and the boy. Their whereabouts, their safety, and how their own friends may have just doomed them both.

But he couldn't dwell on the thought for long. For now, this group was safe, at least. They had made it successfully into the City of the half-gone Cranks.

Some of which, with the sun now down, were emerging from their hiding places.

[amazerunners]

-shit my crush is the florist au-

Newt’s a sap. He’s a fucking romantic, but who gives a shit?

And it isn’t like flowers are a bad gift. Everyone likesflowers. The only people who don’t like flowers are people with allergies, probably. And liars.

…It suddenly dawns on him exactly how long he’s been standing in front of the florist’s, arguing with himself over whether or not to go in—pacing in front of it, really, like a madman, stealing angry glances at the peonies displayed in the window, sinister in their glass vases, mocking him.

It’s two days before Valentine’s Day.

Newt’s phone vibrates in his pocket.

[Gally]: whats taking so long

[Newt]: im thinking. dont rush me

[Gally]: i thought you finished making excuses before you left

Newt narrows his eyes at the screen.

Gally’s right, obviously; Newt had already spent about half an hour across from him in the coffee shop next door, getting worked up over the idea of flowers for the captain of the school track team, slash school vice president, slash class valedictorian, not that Newt was intimidated, or anything, he just didn’t expect to be the only one getting Minho a gift, so really why bother—

But Gally hadn’t been much help calming him down, considering he had—quite disproportionately—been dividing his attention between dealing with Newt’s dilemma and bickering with the barista (which, Newt eventually noticed, was his own version of flirting).

[Newt]: i wasnt aware that youd been listening

[Gally]: i caught bits and pieces

This son of a—

[Gally]: youre stalling

[Gally]: do you need me to go over there and push you or something

Newt texts back quickly, knowing Gally is more than half serious about that.

[Newt]: no stay there

[Newt]: im going in

And Newt takes a deep breath, slips his phone into his pocket right after it pings once more—([Gally]: reminder that youre buying flowers not stealing a diamond)—and walks in.

It takes him a moment to regret every moment he spent outside this place rather than in.

The smell is refreshing and almost thick, and it rushes over him and out the door before it closes with a soft whoosh.  It’s warm and the air is sort of saturated compared to the dry cold outdoors. And the flowers—there are literal buckets of them lined up on the floor, in round ceramic pots, isolated on tabletops covered in green tablecloth, with long, thin stems—

“Hey, man.”

Newt turns quickly, a little embarrassed that he’s been caught getting charmed by plants, though that embarrassment immediately turns into soul-crushing humiliation when he realizes that it’s Minho sitting on a stool behind the counter.

“D’you need help or anything?”

He has one earbud in, the white cord trailing down behind the fabric of his red apron, likely into his sweater pocket. There’s a textbook open on the counter in front of him. He’s smiling slightly.

There are other details that Newt can’t help but notice since he can’t stop staring.

“…You okay, dude?”

Newt blinks, pulled back down to Earth by Minho’s mild concern, says, “I—Minho?”

Minho’s expression changes. “Oh—yeah, sorry, must be kind of random to see me here, I guess.”

It wasn’t just random, it was bizarre. Disarming. Newt’s never really seen him in a context where it didn’t feel like he was a member of the crowd at the Olympics and Minho was about to accept his seventh gold medal.

“My sister actually owns the store, but she wanted to go somewhere with her fiancé for the weekend and it’s not exactly good for business to close for Valentine’s Day—but anyway, I’m not stalking you or anything.” The corners of Minho’s mouth pull back into a full grin.

That’s too bad, Newt thinks, then he doesn’t think at all, because the next thing he says is, “The flowers are nice.” Stupid.

Minho doesn’t seem to mind, though. “Thanks. I haven’t really done much besides, like, misting them.” He takes a jesting look around his shoulders. “Don’t tell anyone, but I actually don’t know shit about plants.”

Newt asks, “Didn’t you take AP Bio?” a little too quickly. That was the one class they’d ever taken together. Newt liked biology, but it was hard to pay attention to the teacher when you were busy staring at the kid sitting two seats in front and one to the right of you.

Minho scoffs, and Newt’s heart jumps a bit, the way that makes him feel like he’s part of the joke. “Right, so now I understand more than I’ve ever needed to understand about the Calvin cycle, and have no idea how not to drown an orchid.”

“Oh—orchid roots are used to air, so you only have to water them when they look pretty dry.”

Why? Why did his speech filter pick now of all times to shut off? Why did he have to sound like a know-it-all when he was obviously the most incompetent person on the planet?

But Minho’s eyes flash and he sits up, says, “Jesus, really? Thank you, honestly, maybe I can salvage the survivors now.”

Newt swallows. “No problem.”

“How’d you know that?”

Newt lies, “…My mum keeps orchids.”

They were his orchids. He wishes he could have more than house plants, but there wasn’t much space or, well, dirt for a garden in the two-bedroom apartment he shared with his sister and mother. If there were, Newt thinks bitterly, he could’ve grown something for Minho himself. But no.

“That’s cool. My sister’s a florist and I haven’t picked up anything. I’m impressed.”

“Wow. Me, a commoner, impressing you. I’m honored, Minho.” Newt feels, at first, proud that he’s able to slip into a relaxed tone, until he realizes that his casual self is more of an asshole.  

And Minho continues to surprise him. “I’d prefer to be addressed as ‘sir’, but the guillotine isn’t working today, so I guess I’ll let it slide this once.”

They exchange a grin.

“Anyway—I’m guessing you don’t need my help finding what you need?”

Newt looks down at his hands for a moment, remembering why—and for whom—he came in the first place.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind it. If you’re not busy, or anything.”

He leaves it up to Minho to interpret that as Newt being considerate, having noticed he’d been studying, or as Newt being sarcastic, having noticed that he is literally the only other person in the store and Minho really should be helping him.

Minho slides off of his seat, closing his textbook with a quick flip of his hand, and comes around the counter. “Nah—French can wait. Besides, I need you to show me how to keep the sunflowers up.”

--

“So,” Minho says, “I kind of forgot what you were looking for.”

“That’s because I didn’t tell you.”

They’ve been making their way around the store, systematically going through the different plants. Newt drops all pretense of not knowing how to take care of them, and gives Minho advice. Or if there’s no advice to give, they give the plant a name before moving on.

They’re crouching, now, around a small aloe plant they’re calling “Pike” when Minho says, “Oh.”

They’re faces are rather close, but Newt doesn’t look at him while he runs a finger down the edge of one of Pike’s leaves. “I’m looking for—I’m getting someone flowers for Valentine’s Day.”

Minho scoffs again, says, “Right—duh.”

Newt smiles to himself, says, “Yeah, I don’t even know why you asked.” He gets a light shove in response, and Newt wonders, a little awestruck, exactly when they had crossed the threshold into a Light-Shove Level Relationship.

“Do you know what they would want?”

“I’m not even really sure how he feels about flowers.”

“Does he have allergies?”

Well, considering he works in a flower shop, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Then he likes them.”

Minho, Newt sees, gets it.

The both of them stand up, and Newt suddenly swallows his nervousness and asks, “Which ones do you like?”

Minho raises an eyebrow, and Newt clears his throat. “As a suggestion.”

He thinks. “I like the hydrangeas.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s weird, but sometimes I just kind of wanna eat ‘em, you know?”

Newt laughs. “No, not really,” and Minho laughs, too.

They gravitate anyway, towards those flowers that look like bundles in themselves, petals tinged medium blue.

“It’s nice of you.”

“What? The flowers?”

“Yeah. He must be cool for you to want to get him these.”

Newt shrugs innocently as he picks a little brown pot off of the table. “Yeah, I mean, I guess. Yeah. He is. Really cool, actually.”

Minho raises his eyebrows at Newt’s flustering, slips behind the counter to ring up the purchase. “You like him?” he asks, amused.

“…Yeah.”

“I hope he likes these, then.”

“Me, too.”

“If he doesn’t, then I’ll take ‘em—I’m already kind of jealous as it is,” he says, handing Newt the hydrangeas over the counter.

It’s a joke, obviously, but Newt’s screaming inside of his head even as he says thank you and leaves.

--

Newt’s walk back to Gally’s table in the café next door was blurry, like the portions of the dream that feel fast forwarded around the more vivid imagery.

And now Newt was awake, but only barely.

“You look dazed,” says Thomas the Barista, who’s leaning over the counter and looking sympathetic after having been filled in on the situation by Gally.

If Newt was more on top of things, he would have already made a shrewd comment about how sorry he was for interrupting whatever was going on between the two of them before he had come back.

Instead he gestures numbly to the plant on the table, says, “I don’t know what to do with this.”

“What are you talking about? Give it to him, obviously,” Gally says flatly. Thomas, though, shakes his head understandingly before turning away to fill an order.

“How am I supposed to give it to him? He saw me buy them, heard me talking about who they were for. What do you want me to do? Stick the whole thing in his locker with a note and then leave the country?”

“You’re so dramatic. Wasn’t the whole point of giving him flowers to let him know that you like him? You’ve just made it easier for yourself. ‘Hey, remember that guy I was talking about? That was you.’”

“It isn’t easy.”

“Of course it is.”

“Hey, Tommy!” Newt suddenly leans sideways and calls out to the boy sliding a full paper cup onto the counter.

“What are you doing?” Gally hisses, gripping Newt’s arm.

Newt ignores him.

“’Sup?” Thomas calls back, a bit muffled with a pen cap in his mouth while he writes on another cup in his hand.  

“What are your plans for Valentine’s Day?”

“Newt,” Gally says, through gritted teeth.

Newt turns back to him, speaks low and menacing, “This is easy, too, right? See how easy it is.”

“The fourteenth?” Thomas laughs. “I’m working.”

“Is that so? Gally, what are you doing for Valentine’s Day?”

“I will choke you.”

“Gally’s not doing anything,” Newt yells back sing-song at Thomas. “But I think he wants to hang out. Grab dinner, mayb—mffgg…”

Gally’s slapped his hand over Newt’s mouth before he can say anything else, but the damage is pretty much done. Thomas is setting out the last of the order and peering over at them with a raised eyebrow.

“Really?” He looks directly at Gally, who is having a hard time looking Thomas in the eye while suppressing Newt’s aggressive nodding.

“I—I mean—”

Newt laughs a bit behind Gally’s hand while he keeps floundering, and Thomas looks a little more disappointed the longer he draws it out, until, “It’s okay. If you’re not up for it, you’re not up for it.”

Gally’s mouth snaps closed at that. “I am, though,” he says finally, as if Thomas has presented a challenge and he’s gladly stepping up to it. Newt looks visibly impressed.

“Oh—okay.” Thomas looks surprised, but… excited. Gally can hardly take it.

“Not as a Valentine’s Day thing, though. Just as another normal, Saturday thing.”

“A normal, Saturday thing,” Thomas repeats, unquestioning. “Sure.” He smiles, and Newt think he can hear Gally’s heart melting a little in his chest, or rather, the sound of Gally’s heart unsuccessfully attempting to resist melting.  It’s quite the phenomenon.

And then Gally, cheeks flaming red, turns back to him and in an grim whisper says, “See? Easy.”

Newt can’t argue with that.

--

“Oh, shit,” Minho says, his face falling when he sees Newt coming back in with his hydrangeas. “Did something happen? Is something wrong with them?”

He starts inspecting them as soon as Newt sets them down on the counter, but Newt smiles reassuringly, says, “No, nothing’s wrong.”

“… Did he not like them?”  

It’s kind of hilarious how it looks like Minho’s ready to beat someone up over this, but Newt says, “No. I think he’ll like them.”

“You haven’t shown him yet?”

Newt runs his tongue over his bottom lip and bites it, “Um… I’m showing him now, actually.”

A pause. A long one.

“…You…”

“Yeah,” Newt clears his throat, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Minho.”

Minho stares at the plant for long enough that Newt almost starts to panic, but then he leans down and pulls a pair of scissors from one of the drawers behind the counter, turns, and takes a few feet of red and white ribbon from the rolls on the shelves behind him.

He wraps it around the rim of the flower pot. “I forgot to put this on earlier—might as well make it look good, if I’m keeping it.

He finishes, sets it next to the cash register. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And happy Valentine’s Day. I didn’t get you anything, though, since you’re two days early,” he accuses, but he’s smiling.

“I wanted to beat the rush of people who would be clamoring to get you something.”

Minho lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I know. Most years I can’t even keep track.”

Newt rolls his eyes, any notion that Minho was anything less than a smug asshole pretty much gone, but he doesn’t really mind. He kind of likes him this way.

“Why don’t we get coffee in the meantime?” Newt asks, and Minho looks at his watch, and starts untying his apron.

“Staking a claim, huh?”

“Something like that,” Newt admits, and they walk out together after Minho shuts off the neon OPEN sign.

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“But Megan, did you have to put in the thomally—” YES, WHAT THE FUCK, OF COURSE I DID. If it’s possible to ship two ships together, I ship thomally and minewt. Y’all can fight me.

Anyway- dis for that anon who gave me that vday prompt; I’m not big on valentine’s day, but it was SUPER CUTE AND I THANK YOU.

Idk I’m happy-ish with this, it felt a little off, amirite. I just like seeing newt as the only one who needs to find his chill, instead of the inverse, and I also like that minho is A FUCKI GN NE RD while also what i want to be in life it’s fine

also posted here

THANK YOU FOR READING~ HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY! LOVE YOURSELF

[runnnernewt]

What happened to Newt's body? Minho wants to bury it, he wants to bury it in the center of the Immunes' village so bad, he wants to dig him a nice little grave and most of all, he wants to say goodbye to his boy one last time. A proper goodbye, not the rushed departure of anger and hurt and confusion and decay, like at the Crank Palace. If Minho could go back, would Newt's body be laying where he expired, slowly drifting apart, or was it...eaten? Did the bastards leave anything? The bastards, the bastards, the bastards. He doesn't know if there's anything left of Newt's physical body by now, but Minho knows that the spot where Newt's shining soul was laid to rest is now blooming with immortal flowers.

Minho works, day in, day out. Tries to help establish some kind of order in the new village. Don't think about Newt. Don't talk about Newt. Stay sane. But it's impossible. Thomas knows something. Or, more likely, Thomas did something. Thomas hasn't been the same since coming back from the van that day, which Minho initially shrugged off as the heightened stress getting to Thomas. But whereas everyone else in the village is settling down somewhat, some trying to forget, some trying to learn from what they've been through the past few weeks, months, years, Thomas is just becoming more agitated. Whenever he and Minho are left alone, he has that panicked glint, that shucking glint in his eye and colour in his face like he's going to be sick if confronted. If there's anyone in the world more reluctant to talk about Newt than Minho, it's Thomas, and it doesn't go unnoticed by Minho. One night Minho can't take it anymore, he orders Thomas into the town's conference room, tells him to spill about what happened to Newt. Thomas resists at first, refuses to own up to any more knowledge of his fate than Minho has, but he breaks down when he sees the mist in Minho's eyes, his heavy, tired eyes. Thomas has never seen Minho cry before. He tells him everything that happened, everything he did. And for the first time in his life, Minho is speechless. He feels like his throat is caving in, the world around him crumbling. He knew it, he knew it, he knew it. He's in so much pain, anguish over Newt and his final pleas, his mindset, what he went through alone. Alone because Minho left him on that Berg, alone because Minho left him with the Cranks, alone because Minho left him to rot and to deal with the devils at play in the world by himself. Alone. It's understandable that he's upset, Thomas says, but what would he have done if Newt had asked him to do it? Minho, still unspeaking, kicks a chair against a wall in a rage. What would he have done if Newt asked him, depended on him, begged him to kill him? He wouldn't have. He couldn't have. He would have disappointed him, again. Left him, again. His body wracking with sobs, Minho crumples to the floor, his back to Thomas. He's mad at Thomas for pulling the trigger, he's mad at Newt for not coming to him, he's mourning his best friend. For a flash, he wants to go after Thomas, take out his anger and emotions on a real person. But no. He can't lose his other best friend, too. Thomas is the only remaining person who has any idea of what he's been through, the only other person who can even begin to fathom what it's like to be Minho. He resolves to not let anything come between him and Thomas, but he knows that he can never thank Thomas for what he did. Eventually, Thomas walks over to where Minho sits, and as Thomas lays a shaky hand on his shoulder, a quiet but clear "I'm sorry" resonates from his lips. Thomas leaves the room presently, leaving Minho to his own thoughts.

Still, Minho finds it hard to believe everything happened exactly the way Thomas said they did. Was he really so blind to Newt's private sufferings? Could he have done anything for him, if he had just paid more attention? What. Could. He. Have. Done? He can't accept that Newt always wanted to die. His heart says, "Yes, you were just too preoccupied with yourself and your task to notice." His mind says, "No." It says, "Newt was a fighter. He fought so hard. For himself, for you, for everyone. He did not go gentle into that good night; he raged against the dying of the light. He fought until the end." Minho's heart and head fight back and forth until he feels like he's going to be sick. He decides that he can't listen to either. Pain, or deceit. Choose. It would kill him.

If Newt truly never wanted to be here, maybe it's for a reason. Maybe he literally didn't belong here, maybe he's an angel, and maybe he's finally gone home. He was too good for this world; he always was.

Even after everything he's been through, Minho never wanted to believe in a God before as desperately as he does now.

After sitting in a heap on the floor and weeping until the tears would no longer fall, Minho stood up, straightened his clothes, and squared his jaw. He was destined to be a leader to these people, and he had already failed too many. Ben, Chuck, Newt. He decided then and there that Newt would be the last. He would lead these Immunes, along with the help of Thomas and the others, even if it killed him. And never again would he stand by the wayside as he watched the light leave someone's eyes like it did Newt's.

Years pass. People in the Immune village are born. Some die. But no matter how many seasons have passed, the young and old both still respect Minho as the main leader of the place, alongside his best friend, Thomas. Not once has anyone ever complained that Minho has failed them in any way. Not once.

A memorial has been erected in the center of the town in memory of Newt. Those who knew him feel a surge of hope and remorse when they see it, those who didn't walk past it with awe. Everyone respects it.

Once a year, without fail, Minho gathers everyone in the community to listen to him and the remaining Gladers tell the stories of Newt. The stories about the boy with the messy hair and the endearing accent, the boy who held everything together, the boy who lost his own hope even as he helped everyone else find theirs. He tells them about how none of them would be alive right now if it weren't for Newt. He tells the children about the Greatest Man That Ever Lived.

Before the night is over, he excuses himself and walks out full of memories, regrets, and emotions. He grieves telling the kids about the Greatest Man That Ever Lived, since he didn't even live to become a man. A boy, a boy, a boy. The Greatest Boy That Ever Lived. He stops in front of Newt's memorial, and takes a deep breath, soaking it all in. The memorial reminds him to be equitable, strong, and maybe a little softer. No matter how old Minho gets, Newt remains an eternal youth, living in much-deserved and long-awaited rest. Sweet, peaceful, free. Minho will never forget how Newt helped him carry on even when he didn't notice, how he constantly pushed forward through it all, how he helped lighten everyone's load a little, even when it meant making his own burden heavier.

"I miss you, Newt," whispers a teary-eyed Minho as he gazes up at the heavens, wondering if maybe, someday, he'll see his friend again.

/// I wasn't really intending to write about this rn, like, at all, especially at 3am, so FORGIVE ME FOR THE TRASH. But I hope you're happy bc now I'm in tears. Anyway I feel like some people who have strong opinions would give me grief over this so I just wanted to say ONE) I don't necessarily think this is exactly what went down, and I def don't think Minho is a freaking failure, this is just one possible scenario out of many and I just felt like writing this one tonight, and TWO) I have a lot of ideas about what the safe haven/paradise was like and there's just a few talked about in this. And I didn't know if you meant like a shippy minewt type thing or not but they've always been like a huge BrOtp to me but you can take this whatever way you want! And I'm assuming you meant when Minho and the rest of the Immunes got there, not actually Newt. Idk man I got really carried away sorry

[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.

[clauxx]

Ch. 6 of The Only Heave I’ll Be Sent To Is When I’m Alone With You

You can find the new chapter here.

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