#these fics just keep getting longer and longer ahhhhh

[kareofbears]

you never gave a warning sign (i gave so many signs)

"Communication, right?" Thomas spits, looming above Newt, and he hates this, hates it so much but he has to pull Newt out of whatever mindset he's buried himself in. It's one thing to raze the world to save Newt—it's another for Newt to be the one to get in his way. "Then talk. Convince me to let you turn into a Crank."

—

Or, a missing scene in The Death Cure where Thomas can't let Newt sacrifice himself. He just can't.

read on ao3 or below the tag :)

It never fails to send Thomas reeling, whenever it happens.

It happened a lot when they were in the Glade, sure. They got along well, very well, even when Thomas had just freshly popped out of the Box and could barely catch his breath with the speed of questions leaving his mouth. But he and Newt weren't aligned yet, not the way they are now. Back in the Maze, it was more political than anything, a system of governing that both of them had to heed. Power structures, hierarchy, Greenie this, Keeper that, order, order, order.

Out of the walls and into the Scorch, the two of them snapped into place. There was no room for hesitation, not when it was just Newt and Thomas (and Minho. They have to save Minho, now). All structure gone, they could only rely on each other to lead a group of terrified teenagers through a desert, Cranks, and a staggering bounty on each of their heads. There were so few of them left, dwindling by the day, that they couldn't afford to slip up. Communication above all else. Minimize mistakes, but when they happen (and they will happen, god will they happen), talk about it. Figure it out. Make sure it doesn't happen again.

Neither of us goes to sleep confused, you hear me? If there's one thing we can control in this hell, it's this. Good that, Tommy?

Long conversations couldn't stay long, not with how fast everything moves around them. So it was something they refined, polished until it was shining.

They learned how they ebb and flow, memorized each other's landmines and remembered not to step on them unless they had to. Learned each other's nervous ticks, every twitch, every frown, what sets the other off and what's a surefire way to de-escalate the situation. They found themselves not needing much to get their point across; a breath, a few words, a pat on the back, a clenched jaw, the quirk of a brow. It was beautifully efficient for them and annoyingly grating for everyone else.

Like this, it was laughable to even try and hide the fondness they had for each other, not when it showed in their every move, every action, every breath.

Once they sorted that out, though, their wavelengths only became steadier, impossibly solid—seemingly parallel lines merged to become one, harmonizing in a frequency only they could hear, a language only they could speak.

Their foundation is something that's second nature to Thomas now, a structure that gives him good footing and the confidence to surge forward, letting him hold his head up high. If he has anything, he has this.

Until he doesn't.

—

Frypan grips his spatula like an instrument of war. “Hell no. You know my rules."

"But I just saw Gally leave with a sandwich."

"Yeah, I didn't feed that bastard for six months and look where he ended up. With some wacky military cult group who wants to take down the government. He gets to have a snack from me, just once."

Thomas sighs, just a little. "Come on, man, I'm starving."

"And what do you think I'm doing right now? Gardening?" Frypan jerks his head at the portable stove with a stock-pot bubbling on top. His tone leaves no room for argument, an assertiveness that only fully materializes in a kitchen. "Dinner's ready in an hour. A little wait won't kill you."

He fights another sigh, remembering how it was Frypan himself who used to sneak extra skewers for him back in the Glade.

It's not that he particularly likes it that people have a different attitude about him nowadays. He's grown to expect the expressions of the people around him, the range of irritated to pitiful. In truth, he knows where they're coming from. He's always been abrasive, but ever since he found out about Newt, it's gotten out of control. Thomas' temper is parabolic enough to be comparable to the Flare; he's snappish and intransigent, a complete nuisance to work with. He's fully aware that he's become borderline unbearable—the interrogation with Teresa only solidified that.

But despite everything, they still put up with it. They love him, he's their friend, yes. But the real reason they put up with it is because they understand why he's turned into this.

Thomas turns around to leave, resigned, when he hears Frypan click his tongue. "Hey." Looking back, he just barely catches a bag of trail mix tossed his way. "Share that with your boy, okay? Don't go ruining dinner just because y'all are spoiling your appetites."

Because everyone loves Newt, some of them longer than even Thomas has. While Thomas may be the loudest to voice it, may be the one who'll always take it too far, every single one of them are doing what they can to help Newt.

Thomas doesn't quite smile, but it’s a near thing. "Thanks, Fry."

"Anytime. Now get."

Newt's waiting for him just outside the kitchen, leaning against the wall, eyeing the bag. "That's not the sandwich I was promised," he says, but takes it out of Thomas' hands anyway.

"Should've been you who asked." They like you better. He pops a raisin in his mouth.

Newt gives him a look before kicking himself off the wall—an action so reminiscent of Minho it makes Thomas ache. "Now, Tommy, we have to work on that confidence of yours."

"Lots of people would beg to differ," he says, waving him off. It honestly doesn’t bother him. He likes Newt better, too.

"Depends on who you're asking." Newt shakes the bag, carefully picking out the good bits. Thomas lets him. "We probably looked real bloody confident earlier."

"Yeah," he says mildly. Thomas watches him pour the almonds back in, feeling himself start zoning out as he replays the interrogation in his head, speeded up like a faulty DVD.

Teresa's in, which is admittedly good. He and Newt talk a big game, but it would be infinitely harder to get into WICKED without her. They need to talk to Lawrence as soon as possible, make sure he doesn't back out of their deal. He also has to talk to Newt, confirm that he's comfortable flying the Berg out with Jorge. All of this is already written down in his leather notebook, written and re-written enough that he can recite it from memory, but it doesn't hurt to think it through one more time.

Without warning, Newt slaps his bicep, pulling him out of his stupor. "I can see those wheels spinning," he chides. "What's in that big head of yours?"

"Nothing." When he receives a dry look, he takes a deep breath. "Nothing yet. I'm just thinking about our next steps."

"Let me guess," Newt throws some cashews in his mouth. "You want to bust into The Last City tonight, have the infiltration take only half an hour long, and have the Flare out of my body in an hour, tops. Sound about right?"

Thomas huffs. "An hour's too long, can we make some edits on that?" Still, he can't help but let his eyes drift towards Newt's forearm. "I want that thing out of you, Newt."

"You and me both, love," Newt mumbles, chewing, deep in thought, and Thomas has to turn away to hide a pleased smile. "It's a lot to worry about. So many players involved in this, stakes are high. Teresa's only the first step."

Taking a deep breath, Newt pushes his shoulders back and starts walking in the direction of their meeting room. Thomas follows close behind.

"Here's what we're going to do," he declares, passing the half-empty bag to Thomas. Their shared footsteps are silent, a habit they fostered in this new life of theirs. Gone are the times in the Glade when they can stomp around all they like. "You and I are gonna work this out, like we always do. Every nook and cranny, every little detail your overthinking brain can think of, we're nailing down. Make this thing airtight before we bust in there, guns blazing and hell raising. Make a plan so good it'll put all of our other plans to shame. Then you're going to your little cot and sleep eight hours straight, snoring loud enough to ruin the night for the rest of us. Good that?"

Something fierce and reverent squirms in Thomas, and an easy agreement is on the tip of his tongue when something makes him stop in his tracks, feet stuttering to a halt.

Newt walks a few steps further before noticing. He turns around, brow cocked. "What's up?"

"We?"

That makes Newt's face scrunch up even more. "Well, if you wanna talk to Gally about this instead, be my guest. Or better yet, invite Teresa, why don't you?"

Thomas doesn't laugh. "We bust in," he repeats, heartbeat in his throat. "That's what you said."

The confusion melts off of Newt's face, caution taking its place. "Yes," he says slowly. "That's what I said."

A silence grows between them, and Thomas is waiting for Newt to say he's joking, that he's just trying to pull a smile out of Thomas. Instead, the silence stretches.

"Newt," he says quietly. "You aren't coming into the city."

Newt's shaking his head before Thomas can finish. "We talked about this, on the rooftop—"

"No, that was different. You wanted to help with the missions, and you have been. You wanted to help find Minho, and you did. You've already done enough."

"Done enough?" His expression is unimpressed. "Well enough that Minho's here now? Well enough that all the Immunes are magically saved? I don't think so, Tommy. We're not done here, not even close. I'm going out there."

Thomas forces himself to take a breath. "The Flare gets worse the more stressful a situation is. Here, let me—" Wildly patting down his jeans, he all but rips his notebook out of his pocket and flips through the pages, ignoring the tremble in his hands. "There, see? 'If individuals infected with the Flare are in constant stress—"

"I know."

"'—it can rapidly increase the— "

"—infection rate of the brain,'" Newt finishes, idly touching his forearm. "I know."

Thomas lets the book fall from his hand with a muffled thud and doesn’t bother to pick it up again. "Okay," he hears himself say. "You know. So you're not going."

Newt takes a step forward, placatingly eyeing him in a way that makes Thomas' chest tight. "Tommy, I'm going. This doesn't work if—"

"We'll make it work."

"You're not listening to me. If you go into WICKED, just you and—"

"We'll make Gally stay with me the whole way. Frypan. Jorge. If you're staying here—"

"Which I'm not, and you're going to have to accept—"

"You're not going—"

"Thomas," his voice is dangerously soft. Thomas flinches away, something vile curling in his gut, the sound of his own name making him sick. "Listen to me. I'm fucking going."

Thomas' eyes shutter close. It feels like his mind shutting down, cortex by cortex as he fails to understand what Newt’s trying to say. For a blissful moment, he’s deafened by the ringing in his ears and the beat of his thrumming heart.

When he finally opens his eyes, all he sees is red.

Grabbing Newt’s jacket collar, he all but drags him out the closest door, taking them to the chapel’s courtyard, unfeeling the cool night air brush against his skin. What was probably once a beautiful garden is practically a garbage dump now. Broken glass is sprinkled on top of dead rose bushes, plastic bags swaying in the breeze. There’s a fountain in the middle, its ceramic cracked and caked in dirt, filled with debris that’s accumulated over the years to the point where it spilled onto the grass beneath their feet.

Thomas doesn’t give a shit about any of it. He drops Newt on the lip of the fountain, almost throwing him in from the force of it.

"Communication, right?" he spits, looming above Newt, and he hates this, hates it so much but he has to pull Newt out of whatever mindset he's buried himself in. It's one thing to raze the world to save Newt—it's another for Newt to be the one to get in his way. "Then fucking talk. Convince me to let you turn into a Crank."

Newt's glaring daggers up at him, and it would normally be enough to sway Thomas. He steels himself and refuses to look away. Not this time.

"Don't you toss me around like I’m some damn shank," Newt says lowly, eyes narrowed. "And you're not letting me do anything. I'll do what I damn well please if it helps Minho and take down WICKED."

Thomas grits his teeth. "Talk. You said it yourself—you know the dangers, you know why you can't just rampage into the city with us. You know better to jump into something so stupid."

"Stupid?" Newt repeats, incredulous. He moves to stand but Thomas pushes him back down, and it makes the flame in Newt's eyes burn brighter. "You of all people don't get to call me that, you bloody hypocrite. How many times have you jumped headfirst into danger without talking to any of us about it? Saving Alby and Minho in the Glade, following Aris in the WICKED compound. And, what, the minute I try to do even a fraction of that, you get all pissy at me?"

"That's different!" Thomas realizes, belatedly, that he's half-yelling. "You know why it's different. I didn't have the Flare, I wasn't sick and getting worse by the minute. You going to the Last City is suicide, Newt."

"Then why did you let me help during the interrogation if you're so sure I was going to be such a nuisance?"

His mouth drops open, bewildered. "I didn't say you were! You helped during the interrogation because it's Teresa—she knows me, she knows us—" Newt scoffs and rolls his eyes, and it's such a petty move that it fills Thomas' veins with thunder. He grabs his shoulders and shakes roughly. "What the hell is your problem?"

Thomas is livid, seething with rage. But above all else, he's shaken. Newt has never been so hostile, so reluctant to see logic. He tries peering at Newt's face, to try and read between the lines that he knows better than his own, but Newt tilts his head away from him.

Is it the Flare? Is it something else?

Is it both?

"You want to know what my problem is?" Newt says, still not looking at Thomas, expression excruciatingly blank. "My problem is that you don't trust me."

Nothing. Nothing could have prepared Thomas for that.

Letting his hands slip, he stumbles backwards like he took a blow to the gut. An uncontrollable laugh slips out of his lips, mildly hysterical. "What?" he manages.

"You bloody well heard me." Newt stands, approaching Thomas step by step with a certainty that makes his skin crawl. "You don't want me there, ruining this operation. You think I'll get in the way. You think I'll Crank out in the middle of it, or attack you halfway through and you have to carry me out of there."

Thomas refuses to take a step back, letting Newt invade his personal space. "You know that's not true," he says, voice hard.

"It's true." Newt's eyes are wild, black, darting all over the place. With every breath he takes, his black veins pulsate in time in a sickening rhythm. "It's true. Say it's true. Say I'll ruin it for everyone."

"No."

"Say it, Thomas."

"Fuck off. No."

Thomas feels it before he sees it. A sudden blow to his jaw, his head jerks sharply to the side as he loses his footing for a moment. Newt stands in front of him, hands still curled in a tight, shaking fist. Apparently, he isn't done yet.

"Say it!" Newt screams, and the sound makes Thomas recoil more than the punch did. "If you don't say it, I'm going, with or without you!"

Thomas doesn’t answer, instead he lets his instincts take over. He connects his fist to Newt’s cheek, feels the bone underneath his knuckles. Newt topples over, lithe body hitting the ground hard. Blond hair blocking his eyes and black lines polluting his neck, he doesn't move for a brief, horrifying half a second.

Time slows down. In that moment, Thomas sees the future: Newt, dead, splayed out on the ground. Or maybe Newt, a Crank, haggard and vicious and stripped of everything that makes him so, so lovely. In both possibilities, he knows, he just knows, that Thomas would be the one to put him in the ground, because he would never let anyone else touch Newt. It would have to be him.

Unable to control himself, Thomas lurches forward to the fountain and vomits, heaving and shaking uncontrollably, the urge to scrub that image from his brain almost unbearable.

A hand grabs his jacket and roughly pulls him back. Thomas lets it happen, his back hitting the grass hard enough to wind him.

Newt clambers on top of him, hand placed on either side of Thomas' head, teeth bared and nearly snarling. "I'm going to the city."

"You can't," Thomas mummers, thoughts still jumbled. "You can't, Newt. You'll die."

Slamming his hand down, Newt grips either side of his face, thumb cruelly pushing into his throbbing jaw where the punch landed. "You don't get to take this choice away from me. Over and over again, you ruin things for me, for everyone. We could still be in the Glade, we could still be safe and ignorant in the facility, if it weren't for you. Minho would still be here if it wasn't for you. You don't want me to die? Maybe consider the fact that it's you who's killing me."

The words glance off of him. Instead, Thomas stares up at Newt, eyes carefully taking in every detail there. Past the ferocity, past the seemingly impenetrable anger and dripping hostility, there's something in his expression that's screaming at Thomas to be noticed. There's something layered there, begging to be found, subtle and invisible to anyone who isn't him.

"Make it up to me, Thomas. Make it up to me by giving me a choice." Newt's chest is heaving, leaving Thomas space to say something. When he doesn't, Newt's face twists even more. "What, no comment? No clever words today? Aren't you the inspiration between the two of us? The fucking wonder boy?"

A hot tear rolls down Thomas' temple, sudden and uncontrollable. It's as if his body figured out what's going in Newt's head before Thomas himself did.

Newt, eyes black with fury, digs his nails in with a vengeance, but Thomas can barely process the pain, his entire being staring intently at Newt’s face. “Give me a choice. Let me do this. If you care for me, if you ever gave a damn about me, respected me as a person and respected me as yours, you’d grant me this.” With every word he hisses, Newt squeezes tighter, and Thomas doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t dare breathe. “Grant. Me. This.”

Then I went and found the tallest wall I could, and I climbed up there and—

It clicks.

When Thomas finally speaks, it feels like his heart is in his throat. It feels like the world is ending. “You’re not planning on coming back.”

For a long, long moment, neither of them say a word. A strong breeze ruffles Newt’s hair like a caress.

Newt leans back and sucks in a deep, shaking breath. His shoulders sag in on himself, and the tight grip on Thomas’ face eases until the pain fades away, replaced by Newt’s thumb gently stroking what he’s sure is a glowing bruise on his jaw. The symptoms had passed, for now.

Thomas swallows, ribcage creaking with swirling, conflicting emotions. Slowly, carefully, Thomas sits up until he’s chest to chest with Newt and pulls him in for a hug. Arms encircle his waist and holds him tight, then tighter. Tight enough that it feels like nothing can get between them. Tight enough that it feels like if Newt’s heart stopped beating, Thomas’ would, too.

—

“The Flare didn’t make that up, did it?”

They’re both leaning against the fountain, the clean side. Cleaner side—the side that Thomas didn’t throw up in. Sitting on the ground, they’re shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, sharing whatever’s left of the trail mix that stayed miraculously sealed in Thomas’ pocket. Like this, he feels a wave of nostalgia, a wistfulness for the bonfire back in the Glade. It’s almost silly, feeling homesick for a place you lived in for all of a week. Can barely even call it a home.

Newt considers his question and Thomas immediately diverts his attention to ripping up the grass underneath them, vaguely enjoying the sensation. These talks always work best when Newt can pretend Thomas is busy doing something else.

“Some of it,” Newt admits. “At least, I’d like to think some of that wasn’t me.” From the corner of his eye, he sees Newt’s gaze flicker at Thomas, no doubt taking in the bruise that’s still blossoming there.

He shrugs, unbothered. Thomas taps at his own eye before nodding at Newt. “Gave you a black eye, in case you forgot. And between the two of us, at least you actually have an excuse to go a little crazy.”

“You’ve always been a little crazy.”

“For you, maybe.” And just to seal the deal, he winks at Newt, poorly.

As he suspected he would, Newt reels back in shock for a moment before laughter bursts out of him. Eyes crinkled and shoulders shaking, he feels himself laugh back a little, on reflex. “There you are,” Thomas says softly. “Welcome back.”

Newt grins back, the remnants of his joy still strewn across his face, stubborn and sticky like honey. “Didn’t peg you as a flirt, Tommy.”

Tilting his head up skywards, Thomas hums, enjoying the sight of a clear, night sky as he lets relief wash over him. “I’m glad I have my Tommy privileges back.”

It was supposed to come out as a joke, but it comes out more vulnerable than Thomas intended. He can’t help it. Back in the Maze, everything was taken away from him, from all of them. The only thing you get back is your name. Every Glader remembers that feeling for the rest of their life. It’s a fierce thing, to be reconciled with a name that you’ve lost when you don’t have anything left. It’s the only thing that’s truly yours.

When Newt called him Tommy for the first time, in that casual way of his, it meant everything to Thomas. It’s taking what’s Thomas’ and making it distinctly Newt’s. It made Thomas distinctly Newt’s.

He knows Newt heard the sting in his voice. Silence blankets them, thick and weighted.

This fight was hideous. Brutally ugly. It’s the kind of argument that Thomas would expect to have with Gally, or Alby back in the day. Hackles rising, knives out styles of confrontations that Thomas had grown used to. A necessary kind of viciousness you have to emulate. But not with Newt. Never with Newt.

If this was any other situation, either of them would have their weapons down by now. Waved a white flag. Not this time.

Not knowing what to do with his hands, he peers into the bag of near-empty bag of trail mix and spots a peanut still in its shell. Pulling it out, he cracks it open and offers it to Newt, who accepts with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice. Not then, not now.”

Newt sighs, rebuttal surely about to come out, but Thomas shakes his head. “Please. Just let me—I have to get this out.” Straightening up, he fully turns to face Newt, unable to stop himself from glimpsing at his black eye before focusing. “Again and again, you’re here for me. You know my moods, you know how I function, you know what makes me stop functioning. And I thought,” his voice cracks, and he falters for a moment. “I thought I knew you, too.”

“Of course you do,” Newt reaches for his hand, and Thomas takes it gratefully. “Better than anyone.”

“When we were on the rooftop, and you told me about your leg, I convinced myself I couldn’t do anything about it.” He traces the callouses on Newt’s hand absentmindedly. “‘I wasn’t there. What could I have done? I’m here now. I’ll help him now.’ But the worst thought, the fucking worst one of them all,” Thomas’ mouth twists bitterly. “I thought: ‘It’s in the past.’”

“It is,” Newt insists, but it comes out weak. Hollow. A beat passes. “I thought it was in the past, too. I think the Flare must’ve pulled that out of my psyche or something, honestly.” He laughs, the sound brittle. “Like a bloody truth serum now? As if this couldn’t get worse.”

A question enters his brain. It’s one he doesn’t want to consider, a question he can’t fathom voicing. But it’s for Newt. “Do—” he tries, throat closing up. “Do you still want to…to try finding—a tall wall—?”

“No,” Newt interrupts firmly. “God, no, Tommy, no. Not anymore. It’s different now. Sure, it gets hard, but it’s always been hard. No time for breaks. We get lazy—”

“We get sad,” finishes Thomas, a small fraction of his worries fading away. “I remember.”

Newt’s eyes brighten with mirth. “My bright pupil, you are.”

Silence stretches once more, and Thomas passes the time by playing with the peanut shell in the hand that isn’t holding Newt’s, nail scratching against the rough shell, before shoving it in his pocket, not wanting to litter.

It’s not that he’s surprised that Newt is self-sacrificing. They all are. It’s impossible to be so devoted to this cause without eventually realizing that you’d do anything to make sure the mission’s completed. What doesn’t settle well with Thomas is that Newt sees that there are options. Newt, I’ve called a Gathering to see what the others think. Newt, patience, Greenie, it would do you some good. Newt, slow down, Tommy. What are we not seeing?

Time and again, Newt is the one to take a step back and see the bigger picture. He has the disposition of a leader, the ability to make the calls without panicking. There’s a reason why people gravitate to him the way that they do.

But all of that is thrown out the window when it’s about Newt himself.

Newt takes a breath. “I just think,” he says, slowly, like he’s thinking about every word before speaking. “That I should go to the city because it would increase our odds of success.”

Oddly enough, Thomas is almost glad that they blew up at each other earlier. Otherwise, he’s sure he would probably be yelling at the top of his lungs again. As it is, Thomas’ head has been clearer than it's been in awhile. “Well, I for one think that if we saved Minho and took down the entire WICKED organization, but you Cranked out or died, it would be the opposite of a success.”

“Do you really think that? That if we saved dozens of kids and took down the evil bastards, but you lost me, that it wouldn’t be worth it?”

Thomas steadily meets his gaze. “What about if it was me instead of you?”

Something dark flashes in Newt’s eyes, and he turns away. “Noted,” he concedes, jaw clenched. “But on that note, Tommy, you also have to consider that I think I’ll lose my fucking mind if you leave me a on a berg when you’re taking down said WICKED organization.”

“You don’t have to be on a berg,” he argues. “You can be…with Lawrence.” They both turn to each other with a grimace. “Okay, scratch that. But there’s something else you can do.”

Newt taps his chin, faux considering. “Yeah, I think so too. Like letting me go with you into the city.”

Thomas tightens his hold on Newt’s hand. “Newt, please.”

“Tommy,” he warns. “Come on. You have to work with me here. You know you can’t keep me here. I’m not throwing punches this time around, but I’m putting my bloody foot down on this one, you hear me?”

“A compromise?” he attempts, desperately.

“Does this compromise involve keeping me out of the Last City?” When Thomas doesn’t answer, Newt shrugs. “Then I’m not hearing it. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

It’s like the walls are getting tighter and tighter, the open sky suddenly crashing down on Thomas. He knows Newt’s expression—his mouth quirked like he’s slightly amused but the glint in his eyes is saying that Thomas is fighting a losing battle.

Thomas gets up on his knees and scoots over until he’s in front of a surprised Newt. Taking Newt’s hand in both of his own, he buries his face into his wrists, right along where black veins only seem to grow dark and darker. Head bowed and eyes clenched tight, he’s fully aware of how supplicant he looks. “Newt. You can’t die.”

“It’s not like I’m planning on it—”

“No. You can’t die.” Thomas presses his cheek tighter against Newt’s wrists, like he can physically stop him from going. “There’s no point to this if you die. There’s no point to me betraying WICKED and helping the Right Arm, no point to losing anyone in the Maze, no point to any of us being here. I need you to know that. It won’t be an inconvenience to me if you’re gone—it would be the absolute, fucking worst case scenario.”

The image of Newt, Cranked out and dead, unbiddenly comes to the forefront of his mind once more. “If you go, and you turn into a Crank, and I have to kill you—” Bile rises in his throat, but he swallows it down. “If my hands are stained with your blood, I’ll make sure the last thing I do is put a gun to my head. Do you understand that?”

A beat. Then long, elegant fingers pull Thomas’ chin upwards. Newt’s expression is ashen, and for the first time, hesitation laces his features. “I understand,” he mutters. “I understand. But what you have to understand, love, is that I don’t trust anyone else to take care of you out there.”

It crumbles. It all crumbles. Any argument in Thomas’ throat shrivels up and dies. It feels a lot like seeing the Maze for the first time, the way the helicopter pulls up higher and higher until Thomas is forced to see the bigger picture, the reality of the situation.

Because the same way Thomas would move mountains to prevent any harm from befalling Newt, it will be a cold, cold day in hell before Newt would let Thomas suffer.

Newt can’t be convinced. Not when Thomas’ safety is involved.

“Are you sure this decision isn’t because of the Flare?” he insists in a desperate, last ditch attempt to try and sway him. “You know I fucking hate when people use that on you, but—”

"Tommy," Hands grab his face and Newt shakes him, just a little, like he can’t bear to be rougher to him than he is now. Like he knows how much this hurts Thomas and can’t bring himself to add to that hurt. "I'm looking at you, see? I'm looking."

Thomas sucks in a breath and holds it, willing himself not to break. When he breathes out, a gust of wind blows with him, and it threatens to shatter him into a million pieces. Instead, he focuses on how Newt holds him with such a tenderness, such a surety, that Thomas can’t possibly fall apart. The Glue, WICKED had called him, not knowing the sheer truth of that statement.

“Okay.” Thomas relents, nodding to himself. “Okay. You’re going.” Placing his hand on top of Newt’s for a moment, he pulls away to stand. “You’re going, but that compromise I mentioned? That’s fucking happening.”

“Oh, is it now?” Newt retorts, but Thomas is only half-listening.

He jogs back into the building, Thomas scoops up the fallen notebook off the floor when someone coughs to his right.

“Dinner in twenty,” Gally greets tonelessly, peering at Thomas’ face, probably clocking his swollen jaw. “Don’t be late. Fry’ll kill you.”

Thomas throws him a thumbs up without looking, almost running back out, letting the door slam shut behind him.

“Compromise,” he repeats, flopping back down beside Newt and clicking his pen, shifts so that the rim of the fountain isn’t digging into his spine. “What’re your non-negotiables?”

Newt straightens up, brows scrunching ever so slightly. His business face. “No staying on the Berg, for starters,” he scoffs. “I have to be in the city. I have to be with you the whole time.”

As he lists it out, Thomas diligently writes notes, splitting the page into two columns, one for each of them. “The whole time?”

“Whole bloody time.”

He clicks his tongue but writes it down anyway. “For me—”

“Give me the book. I want to make sure you’re not putting random shit in there.”

“Try to actually make your writing legible this time, Newt.”

“Quiet down and get to talking, yeah?”

It’s familiar, the rhythm that they naturally fall into. Sharing each other’s personal space as they take turns writing, discussing how to morph the situation into something they’re more or less comfortable with.

Less, Thomas says. Definitely less.

Come on, Mr. Compromise. Wasn’t this your big idea?

There’s disagreements, inevitable clashing of ideas, many crossed out proposals on the page, but they work it out. They play a classic speed-round of what if? A game where they have two minutes to list out everything that can go wrong, and they take turns giving possible solutions. Some concerns are so ridiculous that it makes the both of them double over with laughter, but some solutions end up being strokes of accidental genius.

Newt, despite being the taller one, leans down to rest his head on Thomas’ shoulder. From then on, he tries very, very hard not to move too much.

Once they finish, they both straighten up after leaning over for so long, stretching out their limbs as they peer over their work. Their handwriting scattered throughout the pages—Thomas’s incoherent scrawl and Newt’s slanted cursive. It does something to him, seeing their shared thoughts and proof of their wavelength on something tangible. A good chunk of the pages have been filled, the earliest pages basically indecipherable but as they flip through the pages, it becomes neater and more organized, until the final draft is polished enough that even Thomas can’t help but be impressed at how much they covered in a short amount of time.

Newt massages his leg, groaning. “I’m actually starving now. A whole new level of hunger. Can you believe that man? We just restructured our entire infiltration plan and he’s still cooking?”

“You know,” Thomas says, standing, working out the kinks in his neck with one hand and offering the other to Newt. “Maybe if you asked the first time, we wouldn’t have beaten each other up.”

“Oh, slim it.” Newt takes his hand and pulls himself up. “That was some good work we just did.”

Thomas doesn’t answer. Instead, he lets his fingertips trace Newt’s wrist until he feels the faint thrum of a pulse. He feels it beat once, twice, three times. Just to make sure. “You’re going to try,” he says, a statement rather than a question. “You’re going to try your damnest.”

Newt rolls his eyes. “We talked about this. Of course I will.”

“If there’s a chance that you can finish the mission, but you end up sacrificing yourself, you’ll say no?”

For the briefest moment, Newt hesitates. Thomas doesn’t dare blink. “I’ll say no.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, Tommy.”

He nods, the movement jerky. “I know I’m insane right now. Or, lately. In general, I’m just—”

“A bloody lunatic?” Newt offers dryly.

“Yeah, exactly, and you knew that already. But if anything happened to you, I’d be—” A danger to everyone around him. Shattered to the point of no return. Begging to be put out of his misery. “—not okay.”

While he speaks, he watches Newt’s expression grow fonder and fonder. Twisting his hand, Newt shifts until they both feel each other’s pulses, feeling how they beat in time with one another. “I have an inkling that you don’t know how—”

He cuts himself off when Frypan yells, loud enough to be heard from every corner of the premises: “Dinner for you ugly bastards! Ugly bastards, dinner time!”

Newt huffs out a laugh and drags Thomas back into the chapel. “Come on, Tommy. Can’t take down evil on an empty stomach and peanuts, now can we?”

Thomas lets himself be dragged along, still thinking, still planning. Arguing against Newt is a losing game, but he can make sure he’s as bubble wrapped as possible going in. Schematics and contingency plans float through his head, flipping through ideas over and over again. He knows

It never fails to send Thomas reeling, whenever it happens.

It happened a lot when they were in the Glade, sure. They got along well, very well, even when Thomas had just freshly popped out of the Box and could barely catch his breath with the speed of questions leaving his mouth. But he and Newt weren't aligned yet, not the way they are now. Back in the Maze, it was more political than anything, a system of governing that both of them had to heed. Power structures, hierarchy, Greenie this, Keeper that, order, order, order.

Out of the walls and into the Scorch, the two of them snapped into place. There was no room for hesitation, not when it was just Newt and Thomas (and Minho. They have to save Minho, now). All structure gone, they could only rely on each other to lead a group of terrified teenagers through a desert, Cranks, and a staggering bounty on each of their heads. There were so few of them left, dwindling by the day, that they couldn't afford to slip up. Communication above all else. Minimize mistakes, but when they happen (and they will happen, god will they happen), talk about it. Figure it out. Make sure it doesn't happen again.

Neither of us goes to sleep confused, you hear me? If there's one thing we can control in this hell, it's this. Good that, Tommy?

Long conversations couldn't stay long, not with how fast everything moves around them. So it was something they refined, polished until it was shining.

They learned how they ebb and flow, memorized each other's landmines and remembered not to step on them unless they had to. Learned each other's nervous ticks, every twitch, every frown, what sets the other off and what's a surefire way to de-escalate the situation. They found themselves not needing much to get their point across; a breath, a few words, a pat on the back, a clenched jaw, the quirk of a brow. It was beautifully efficient for them and annoyingly grating for everyone else.

Like this, it was laughable to even try and hide the fondness they had for each other, not when it showed in their every move, every action, every breath.

Once they sorted that out, though, their wavelengths only became steadier, impossibly solid—seemingly parallel lines merged to become one, harmonizing in a frequency only they could hear, a language only they could speak.

Their foundation is something that's second nature to Thomas now, a structure that gives him good footing and the confidence to surge forward, letting him hold his head up high. If he has anything, he has this.

Until he doesn't.

Frypan grips his spatula like an instrument of war. “Hell no. You know my rules."

"But I just saw Gally leave with a sandwich."

"Yeah, I didn't feed that bastard for six months and look where he ended up. With some wacky military cult group who wants to take down the government. He gets to have a snack from me, just once."

Thomas sighs, just a little. "Come on, man, I'm starving."

"And what do you think I'm doing right now? Gardening?" Frypan jerks his head at the portable stove with a stock-pot bubbling on top. His tone leaves no room for argument, an assertiveness that only fully materializes in a kitchen. "Dinner's ready in an hour. A little wait won't kill you."

He fights another sigh, remembering how it was Frypan himself who used to sneak extra skewers for him back in the Glade.

It's not that he particularly likes it that people have a different attitude about him nowadays. He's grown to expect the expressions of the people around him, the range of irritated to pitiful. In truth, he knows where they're coming from. He's always been abrasive, but ever since he found out about Newt, it's gotten out of control. Thomas' temper is parabolic enough to be comparable to the Flare; he's snappish and intransigent, a complete nuisance to work with. He's fully aware that he's become borderline unbearable—the interrogation with Teresa only solidified that.

But despite everything, they still put up with it. They love him, he's their friend, yes. But the real reason they put up with it is because they understand why he's turned into this.

Thomas turns around to leave, resigned, when he hears Frypan click his tongue. "Hey." Looking back, he just barely catches a bag of trail mix tossed his way. "Share that with your boy, okay? Don't go ruining dinner just because y'all are spoiling your appetites."

Because everyone loves Newt, some of them longer than even Thomas has. While Thomas may be the loudest to voice it, may be the one who'll always take it too far, every single one of them are doing what they can to help Newt.

Thomas doesn't quite smile, but it’s a near thing. "Thanks, Fry."

"Anytime. Now get."

Newt's waiting for him just outside the kitchen, leaning against the wall, eyeing the bag. "That's not the sandwich I was promised," he says, but takes it out of Thomas' hands anyway.

"Should've been you who asked." They like you better. He pops a raisin in his mouth.

Newt gives him a look before kicking himself off the wall—an action so reminiscent of Minho it makes Thomas ache. "Now, Tommy, we have to work on that confidence of yours."

"Lots of people would beg to differ," he says, waving him off. It honestly doesn’t bother him. He likes Newt better, too.

"Depends on who you're asking." Newt shakes the bag, carefully picking out the good bits. Thomas lets him. "We probably looked real bloody confident earlier."

"Yeah," he says mildly. Thomas watches him pour the almonds back in, feeling himself start zoning out as he replays the interrogation in his head, speeded up like a faulty DVD.

Teresa's in, which is admittedly good. He and Newt talk a big game, but it would be infinitely harder to get into WICKED without her. They need to talk to Lawrence as soon as possible, make sure he doesn't back out of their deal. He also has to talk to Newt, confirm that he's comfortable flying the Berg out with Jorge. All of this is already written down in his leather notebook, written and re-written enough that he can recite it from memory, but it doesn't hurt to think it through one more time.

Without warning, Newt slaps his bicep, pulling him out of his stupor. "I can see those wheels spinning," he chides. "What's in that big head of yours?"

"Nothing." When he receives a dry look, he takes a deep breath. "Nothing yet. I'm just thinking about our next steps."

"Let me guess," Newt throws some cashews in his mouth. "You want to bust into The Last City tonight, have the infiltration take only half an hour long, and have the Flare out of my body in an hour, tops. Sound about right?"

Thomas huffs. "An hour's too long, can we make some edits on that?" Still, he can't help but let his eyes drift towards Newt's forearm. "I want that thing out of you, Newt."

"You and me both, love," Newt mumbles, chewing, deep in thought, and Thomas has to turn away to hide a pleased smile. "It's a lot to worry about. So many players involved in this, stakes are high. Teresa's only the first step."

Taking a deep breath, Newt pushes his shoulders back and starts walking in the direction of their meeting room. Thomas follows close behind.

"Here's what we're going to do," he declares, passing the half-empty bag to Thomas. Their shared footsteps are silent, a habit they fostered in this new life of theirs. Gone are the times in the Glade when they can stomp around all they like. "You and I are gonna work this out, like we always do. Every nook and cranny, every little detail your overthinking brain can think of, we're nailing down. Make this thing airtight before we bust in there, guns blazing and hell raising. Make a plan so good it'll put all of our other plans to shame. Then you're going to your little cot and sleep eight hours straight, snoring loud enough to ruin the night for the rest of us. Good that?"

Something fierce and reverent squirms in Thomas, and an easy agreement is on the tip of his tongue when something makes him stop in his tracks, feet stuttering to a halt.

Newt walks a few steps further before noticing. He turns around, brow cocked. "What's up?"

"We?"

That makes Newt's face scrunch up even more. "Well, if you wanna talk to Gally about this instead, be my guest. Or better yet, invite Teresa, why don't you?"

Thomas doesn't laugh. "We bust in," he repeats, heartbeat in his throat. "That's what you said."

The confusion melts off of Newt's face, caution taking its place. "Yes," he says slowly. "That's what I said."

A silence grows between them, and Thomas is waiting for Newt to say he's joking, that he's just trying to pull a smile out of Thomas. Instead, the silence stretches.

"Newt," he says quietly. "You aren't coming into the city."

Newt's shaking his head before Thomas can finish. "We talked about this, on the rooftop—"

"No, that was different. You wanted to help with the missions, and you have been. You wanted to help find Minho, and you did. You've already done enough."

"Done enough?" His expression is unimpressed. "Well enough that Minho's here now? Well enough that all the Immunes are magically saved? I don't think so, Tommy. We're not done here, not even close. I'm going out there."

Thomas forces himself to take a breath. "The Flare gets worse the more stressful a situation is. Here, let me—" Wildly patting down his jeans, he all but rips his notebook out of his pocket and flips through the pages, ignoring the tremble in his hands. "There, see? 'If individuals infected with the Flare are in constant stress—"

"I know."

"'—it can rapidly increase the— "

"—infection rate of the brain,'" Newt finishes, idly touching his forearm. "I know."

Thomas lets the book fall from his hand with a muffled thud and doesn’t bother to pick it up again. "Okay," he hears himself say. "You know. So you're not going."

Newt takes a step forward, placatingly eyeing him in a way that makes Thomas' chest tight. "Tommy, I'm going. This doesn't work if—"

"We'll make it work."

"You're not listening to me. If you go into WICKED, just you and—"

"We'll make Gally stay with me the whole way. Frypan. Jorge. If you're staying here—"

"Which I'm not, and you're going to have to accept—"

"You're not going—"

"Thomas," his voice is dangerously soft. Thomas flinches away, something vile curling in his gut, the sound of his own name making him sick. "Listen to me. I'm fucking going."

Thomas' eyes shutter close. It feels like his mind shutting down, cortex by cortex as he fails to understand what Newt’s trying to say. For a blissful moment, he’s deafened by the ringing in his ears and the beat of his thrumming heart.

When he finally opens his eyes, all he sees is red.

Grabbing Newt’s jacket collar, he all but drags him out the closest door, taking them to the chapel’s courtyard, unfeeling the cool night air brush against his skin. What was probably once a beautiful garden is practically a garbage dump now. Broken glass is sprinkled on top of dead rose bushes, plastic bags swaying in the breeze. There’s a fountain in the middle, its ceramic cracked and caked in dirt, filled with debris that’s accumulated over the years to the point where it spilled onto the grass beneath their feet.

Thomas doesn’t give a shit about any of it. He drops Newt on the lip of the fountain, almost throwing him in from the force of it.

"Communication, right?" he spits, looming above Newt, and he hates this, hates it so much but he has to pull Newt out of whatever mindset he's buried himself in. It's one thing to raze the world to save Newt—it's another for Newt to be the one to get in his way. "Then fucking talk. Convince me to let you turn into a Crank."

Newt's glaring daggers up at him, and it would normally be enough to sway Thomas. He steels himself and refuses to look away. Not this time.

"Don't you toss me around like I’m some damn shank," Newt says lowly, eyes narrowed. "And you're not letting me do anything. I'll do what I damn well please if it helps Minho and take down WICKED."

Thomas grits his teeth. "Talk. You said it yourself—you know the dangers, you know why you can't just rampage into the city with us. You know better to jump into something so stupid."

"Stupid?" Newt repeats, incredulous. He moves to stand but Thomas pushes him back down, and it makes the flame in Newt's eyes burn brighter. "You of all people don't get to call me that, you bloody hypocrite. How many times have you jumped headfirst into danger without talking to any of us about it? Saving Alby and Minho in the Glade, following Aris in the WICKED compound. And, what, the minute I try to do even a fraction of that, you get all pissy at me?"

"That's different!" Thomas realizes, belatedly, that he's half-yelling. "You know why it's different. I didn't have the Flare, I wasn't sick and getting worse by the minute. You going to the Last City is suicide, Newt."

"Then why did you let me help during the interrogation if you're so sure I was going to be such a nuisance?"

His mouth drops open, bewildered. "I didn't say you were! You helped during the interrogation because it's Teresa—she knows me, she knows us—" Newt scoffs and rolls his eyes, and it's such a petty move that it fills Thomas' veins with thunder. He grabs his shoulders and shakes roughly. "What the hell is your problem?"

Thomas is livid, seething with rage. But above all else, he's shaken. Newt has never been so hostile, so reluctant to see logic. He tries peering at Newt's face, to try and read between the lines that he knows better than his own, but Newt tilts his head away from him.

Is it the Flare? Is it something else?

Is it both?

"You want to know what my problem is?" Newt says, still not looking at Thomas, expression excruciatingly blank. "My problem is that you don't trust me."

Nothing. Nothing could have prepared Thomas for that.

Letting his hands slip, he stumbles backwards like he took a blow to the gut. An uncontrollable laugh slips out of his lips, mildly hysterical. "What?" he manages.

"You bloody well heard me." Newt stands, approaching Thomas step by step with a certainty that makes his skin crawl. "You don't want me there, ruining this operation. You think I'll get in the way. You think I'll Crank out in the middle of it, or attack you halfway through and you have to carry me out of there."

Thomas refuses to take a step back, letting Newt invade his personal space. "You know that's not true," he says, voice hard.

"It's true." Newt's eyes are wild, black, darting all over the place. With every breath he takes, his black veins pulsate in time in a sickening rhythm. "It's true. Say it's true. Say I'll ruin it for everyone."

"No."

"Say it, Thomas."

"Fuck off. No."

Thomas feels it before he sees it. A sudden blow to his jaw, his head jerks sharply to the side as he loses his footing for a moment. Newt stands in front of him, hands still curled in a tight, shaking fist. Apparently, he isn't done yet.

"Say it!" Newt screams, and the sound makes Thomas recoil more than the punch did. "If you don't say it, I'm going, with or without you!"

Thomas doesn’t answer, instead he lets his instincts take over. He connects his fist to Newt’s cheek, feels the bone underneath his knuckles. Newt topples over, lithe body hitting the ground hard. Blond hair blocking his eyes and black lines polluting his neck, he doesn't move for a brief, horrifying half a second.

Time slows down. In that moment, Thomas sees the future: Newt, dead, splayed out on the ground. Or maybe Newt, a Crank, haggard and vicious and stripped of everything that makes him so, so lovely. In both possibilities, he knows, he just knows, that Thomas would be the one to put him in the ground, because he would never let anyone else touch Newt. It would have to be him.

Unable to control himself, Thomas lurches forward to the fountain and vomits, heaving and shaking uncontrollably, the urge to scrub that image from his brain almost unbearable.

A hand grabs his jacket and roughly pulls him back. Thomas lets it happen, his back hitting the grass hard enough to wind him.

Newt clambers on top of him, hand placed on either side of Thomas' head, teeth bared and nearly snarling. "I'm going to the city."

"You can't," Thomas mummers, thoughts still jumbled. "You can't, Newt. You'll die."

Slamming his hand down, Newt grips either side of his face, thumb cruelly pushing into his throbbing jaw where the punch landed. "You don't get to take this choice away from me. Over and over again, you ruin things for me, for everyone. We could still be in the Glade, we could still be safe and ignorant in the facility, if it weren't for you. Minho would still be here if it wasn't for you. You don't want me to die? Maybe consider the fact that it's you who's killing me."

The words glance off of him. Instead, Thomas stares up at Newt, eyes carefully taking in every detail there. Past the ferocity, past the seemingly impenetrable anger and dripping hostility, there's something in his expression that's screaming at Thomas to be noticed. There's something layered there, begging to be found, subtle and invisible to anyone who isn't him.

"Make it up to me, Thomas. Make it up to me by giving me a choice." Newt's chest is heaving, leaving Thomas space to say something. When he doesn't, Newt's face twists even more. "What, no comment? No clever words today? Aren't you the inspiration between the two of us? The fucking wonder boy?"

A hot tear rolls down Thomas' temple, sudden and uncontrollable. It's as if his body figured out what's going in Newt's head before Thomas himself did.

Newt, eyes black with fury, digs his nails in with a vengeance, but Thomas can barely process the pain, his entire being staring intently at Newt’s face. “Give me a choice. Let me do this. If you care for me, if you ever gave a damn about me, respected me as a person and respected me as yours, you’d grant me this.” With every word he hisses, Newt squeezes tighter, and Thomas doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t dare breathe. “Grant. Me. This.”

Then I went and found the tallest wall I could, and I climbed up there and—

It clicks.

When Thomas finally speaks, it feels like his heart is in his throat. It feels like the world is ending. “You’re not planning on coming back.”

For a long, long moment, neither of them say a word. A strong breeze ruffles Newt’s hair like a caress.

Newt leans back and sucks in a deep, shaking breath. His shoulders sag in on himself, and the tight grip on Thomas’ face eases until the pain fades away, replaced by Newt’s thumb gently stroking what he’s sure is a glowing bruise on his jaw. The symptoms had passed, for now.

Thomas swallows, ribcage creaking with swirling, conflicting emotions. Slowly, carefully, Thomas sits up until he’s chest to chest with Newt and pulls him in for a hug. Arms encircle his waist and holds him tight, then tighter. Tight enough that it feels like nothing can get between them. Tight enough that it feels like if Newt’s heart stopped beating, Thomas’ would, too.

“The Flare didn’t make that up, did it?”

They’re both leaning against the fountain, the clean side. Cleaner side—the side that Thomas didn’t throw up in. Sitting on the ground, they’re shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, sharing whatever’s left of the trail mix that stayed miraculously sealed in Thomas’ pocket. Like this, he feels a wave of nostalgia, a wistfulness for the bonfire back in the Glade. It’s almost silly, feeling homesick for a place you lived in for all of a week. Can barely even call it a home.

Newt considers his question and Thomas immediately diverts his attention to ripping up the grass underneath them, vaguely enjoying the sensation. These talks always work best when Newt can pretend Thomas is busy doing something else.

“Some of it,” Newt admits. “At least, I’d like to think some of that wasn’t me.” From the corner of his eye, he sees Newt’s gaze flicker at Thomas, no doubt taking in the bruise that’s still blossoming there.

He shrugs, unbothered. Thomas taps at his own eye before nodding at Newt. “Gave you a black eye, in case you forgot. And between the two of us, at least you actually have an excuse to go a little crazy.”

“You’ve always been a little crazy.”

“For you, maybe.” And just to seal the deal, he winks at Newt, poorly.

As he suspected he would, Newt reels back in shock for a moment before laughter bursts out of him. Eyes crinkled and shoulders shaking, he feels himself laugh back a little, on reflex. “There you are,” Thomas says softly. “Welcome back.”

Newt grins back, the remnants of his joy still strewn across his face, stubborn and sticky like honey. “Didn’t peg you as a flirt, Tommy.”

Tilting his head up skywards, Thomas hums, enjoying the sight of a clear, night sky as he lets relief wash over him. “I’m glad I have my Tommy privileges back.”

It was supposed to come out as a joke, but it comes out more vulnerable than Thomas intended. He can’t help it. Back in the Maze, everything was taken away from him, from all of them. The only thing you get back is your name. Every Glader remembers that feeling for the rest of their life. It’s a fierce thing, to be reconciled with a name that you’ve lost when you don’t have anything left. It’s the only thing that’s truly yours.

When Newt called him Tommy for the first time, in that casual way of his, it meant everything to Thomas. It’s taking what’s Thomas’ and making it distinctly Newt’s. It made Thomas distinctly Newt’s.

He knows Newt heard the sting in his voice. Silence blankets them, thick and weighted.

This fight was hideous. Brutally ugly. It’s the kind of argument that Thomas would expect to have with Gally, or Alby back in the day. Hackles rising, knives out styles of confrontations that Thomas had grown used to. A necessary kind of viciousness you have to emulate. But not with Newt. Never with Newt.

If this was any other situation, either of them would have their weapons down by now. Waved a white flag. Not this time.

Not knowing what to do with his hands, he peers into the bag of near-empty bag of trail mix and spots a peanut still in its shell. Pulling it out, he cracks it open and offers it to Newt, who accepts with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says, voice hoarse. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice. Not then, not now.”

Newt sighs, rebuttal surely about to come out, but Thomas shakes his head. “Please. Just let me—I have to get this out.” Straightening up, he fully turns to face Newt, unable to stop himself from glimpsing at his black eye before focusing. “Again and again, you’re here for me. You know my moods, you know how I function, you know what makes me stop functioning. And I thought,” his voice cracks, and he falters for a moment. “I thought I knew you, too.”

“Of course you do,” Newt reaches for his hand, and Thomas takes it gratefully. “Better than anyone.”

“When we were on the rooftop, and you told me about your leg, I convinced myself I couldn’t do anything about it.” He traces the callouses on Newt’s hand absentmindedly. “‘I wasn’t there. What could I have done? I’m here now. I’ll help him now.’ But the worst thought, the fucking worst one of them all,” Thomas’ mouth twists bitterly. “I thought: ‘It’s in the past.’”

“It is,” Newt insists, but it comes out weak. Hollow. A beat passes. “I thought it was in the past, too. I think the Flare must’ve pulled that out of my psyche or something, honestly.” He laughs, the sound brittle. “Like a bloody truth serum now? As if this couldn’t get worse.”

A question enters his brain. It’s one he doesn’t want to consider, a question he can’t fathom voicing. But it’s for Newt. “Do—” he tries, throat closing up. “Do you still want to…to try finding—a tall wall—?”

“No,” Newt interrupts firmly. “God, no, Tommy, no. Not anymore. It’s different now. Sure, it gets hard, but it’s always been hard. No time for breaks. We get lazy—”

“We get sad,” finishes Thomas, a small fraction of his worries fading away. “I remember.”

Newt’s eyes brighten with mirth. “My bright pupil, you are.”

Silence stretches once more, and Thomas passes the time by playing with the peanut shell in the hand that isn’t holding Newt’s, nail scratching against the rough shell, before shoving it in his pocket, not wanting to litter.

It’s not that he’s surprised that Newt is self-sacrificing. They all are. It’s impossible to be so devoted to this cause without eventually realizing that you’d do anything to make sure the mission’s completed. What doesn’t settle well with Thomas is that Newt sees that there are options. Newt, I’ve called a Gathering to see what the others think. Newt, patience, Greenie, it would do you some good. Newt, slow down, Tommy. What are we not seeing?

Time and again, Newt is the one to take a step back and see the bigger picture. He has the disposition of a leader, the ability to make the calls without panicking. There’s a reason why people gravitate to him the way that they do.

But all of that is thrown out the window when it’s about Newt himself.

Newt takes a breath. “I just think,” he says, slowly, like he’s thinking about every word before speaking. “That I should go to the city because it would increase our odds of success.”

Oddly enough, Thomas is almost glad that they blew up at each other earlier. Otherwise, he’s sure he would probably be yelling at the top of his lungs again. As it is, Thomas’ head has been clearer than it's been in awhile. “Well, I for one think that if we saved Minho and took down the entire WICKED organization, but you Cranked out or died, it would be the opposite of a success.”

“Do you really think that? That if we saved dozens of kids and took down the evil bastards, but you lost me, that it wouldn’t be worth it?”

Thomas steadily meets his gaze. “What about if it was me instead of you?”

Something dark flashes in Newt’s eyes, and he turns away. “Noted,” he concedes, jaw clenched. “But on that note, Tommy, you also have to consider that I think I’ll lose my fucking mind if you leave me a on a berg when you’re taking down said WICKED organization.”

“You don’t have to be on a berg,” he argues. “You can be…with Lawrence.” They both turn to each other with a grimace. “Okay, scratch that. But there’s something else you can do.”

Newt taps his chin, faux considering. “Yeah, I think so too. Like letting me go with you into the city.”

Thomas tightens his hold on Newt’s hand. “Newt, please.”

“Tommy,” he warns. “Come on. You have to work with me here. You know you can’t keep me here. I’m not throwing punches this time around, but I’m putting my bloody foot down on this one, you hear me?”

“A compromise?” he attempts, desperately.

“Does this compromise involve keeping me out of the Last City?” When Thomas doesn’t answer, Newt shrugs. “Then I’m not hearing it. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

It’s like the walls are getting tighter and tighter, the open sky suddenly crashing down on Thomas. He knows Newt’s expression—his mouth quirked like he’s slightly amused but the glint in his eyes is saying that Thomas is fighting a losing battle.

Thomas gets up on his knees and scoots over until he’s in front of a surprised Newt. Taking Newt’s hand in both of his own, he buries his face into his wrists, right along where black veins only seem to grow dark and darker. Head bowed and eyes clenched tight, he’s fully aware of how supplicant he looks. “Newt. You can’t die.”

“It’s not like I’m planning on it—”

“No. You can’t die.” Thomas presses his cheek tighter against Newt’s wrists, like he can physically stop him from going. “There’s no point to this if you die. There’s no point to me betraying WICKED and helping the Right Arm, no point to losing anyone in the Maze, no point to any of us being here. I need you to know that. It won’t be an inconvenience to me if you’re gone—it would be the absolute, fucking worst case scenario.”

The image of Newt, Cranked out and dead, unbiddenly comes to the forefront of his mind once more. “If you go, and you turn into a Crank, and I have to kill you—” Bile rises in his throat, but he swallows it down. “If my hands are stained with your blood, I’ll make sure the last thing I do is put a gun to my head. Do you understand that?”

A beat. Then long, elegant fingers pull Thomas’ chin upwards. Newt’s expression is ashen, and for the first time, hesitation laces his features. “I understand,” he mutters. “I understand. But what you have to understand, love, is that I don’t trust anyone else to take care of you out there.”

It crumbles. It all crumbles. Any argument in Thomas’ throat shrivels up and dies. It feels a lot like seeing the Maze for the first time, the way the helicopter pulls up higher and higher until Thomas is forced to see the bigger picture, the reality of the situation.

Because the same way Thomas would move mountains to prevent any harm from befalling Newt, it will be a cold, cold day in hell before Newt would let Thomas suffer.

Newt can’t be convinced. Not when Thomas’ safety is involved.

“Are you sure this decision isn’t because of the Flare?” he insists in a desperate, last ditch attempt to try and sway him. “You know I fucking hate when people use that on you, but—”

"Tommy," Hands grab his face and Newt shakes him, just a little, like he can’t bear to be rougher to him than he is now. Like he knows how much this hurts Thomas and can’t bring himself to add to that hurt. "I'm looking at you, see? I'm looking."

Thomas sucks in a breath and holds it, willing himself not to break. When he breathes out, a gust of wind blows with him, and it threatens to shatter him into a million pieces. Instead, he focuses on how Newt holds him with such a tenderness, such a surety, that Thomas can’t possibly fall apart. The Glue, WICKED had called him, not knowing the sheer truth of that statement.

“Okay.” Thomas relents, nodding to himself. “Okay. You’re going.” Placing his hand on top of Newt’s for a moment, he pulls away to stand. “You’re going, but that compromise I mentioned? That’s fucking happening.”

“Oh, is it now?” Newt retorts, but Thomas is only half-listening.

He jogs back into the building, Thomas scoops up the fallen notebook off the floor when someone coughs to his right.

“Dinner in twenty,” Gally greets tonelessly, peering at Thomas’ face, probably clocking his swollen jaw. “Don’t be late. Fry’ll kill you.”

Thomas throws him a thumbs up without looking, almost running back out, letting the door slam shut behind him.

“Compromise,” he repeats, flopping back down beside Newt and clicking his pen, shifts so that the rim of the fountain isn’t digging into his spine. “What’re your non-negotiables?”

Newt straightens up, brows scrunching ever so slightly. His business face. “No staying on the Berg, for starters,” he scoffs. “I have to be in the city. I have to be with you the whole time.”

As he lists it out, Thomas diligently writes notes, splitting the page into two columns, one for each of them. “The whole time?”

“Whole bloody time.”

He clicks his tongue but writes it down anyway. “For me—”

“Give me the book. I want to make sure you’re not putting random shit in there.”

“Try to actually make your writing legible this time, Newt.”

“Quiet down and get to talking, yeah?”

It’s familiar, the rhythm that they naturally fall into. Sharing each other’s personal space as they take turns writing, discussing how to morph the situation into something they’re more or less comfortable with.

Less, Thomas says. Definitely less.

Come on, Mr. Compromise. Wasn’t this your big idea?

There’s disagreements, inevitable clashing of ideas, many crossed out proposals on the page, but they work it out. They play a classic speed-round of what if? A game where they have two minutes to list out everything that can go wrong, and they take turns giving possible solutions. Some concerns are so ridiculous that it makes the both of them double over with laughter, but some solutions end up being strokes of accidental genius.

Newt, despite being the taller one, leans down to rest his head on Thomas’ shoulder. From then on, he tries very, very hard not to move too much.

Once they finish, they both straighten up after leaning over for so long, stretching out their limbs as they peer over their work. Their handwriting scattered throughout the pages—Thomas’s incoherent scrawl and Newt’s slanted cursive. It does something to him, seeing their shared thoughts and proof of their wavelength on something tangible. A good chunk of the pages have been filled, the earliest pages basically indecipherable but as they flip through the pages, it becomes neater and more organized, until the final draft is polished enough that even Thomas can’t help but be impressed at how much they covered in a short amount of time.

Newt massages his leg, groaning. “I’m actually starving now. A whole new level of hunger. Can you believe that man? We just restructured our entire infiltration plan and he’s still cooking?”

“You know,” Thomas says, standing, working out the kinks in his neck with one hand and offering the other to Newt. “Maybe if you asked the first time, we wouldn’t have beaten each other up.”

“Oh, slim it.” Newt takes his hand and pulls himself up. “That was some good work we just did.”

Thomas doesn’t answer. Instead, he lets his fingertips trace Newt’s wrist until he feels the faint thrum of a pulse. He feels it beat once, twice, three times. Just to make sure. “You’re going to try,” he says, a statement rather than a question. “You’re going to try your damnest.”

Newt rolls his eyes. “We talked about this. Of course I will.”

“If there’s a chance that you can finish the mission, but you end up sacrificing yourself, you’ll say no?”

For the briefest moment, Newt hesitates. Thomas doesn’t dare blink. “I’ll say no.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, Tommy.”

He nods, the movement jerky. “I know I’m insane right now. Or, lately. In general, I’m just—”

“A bloody lunatic?” Newt offers dryly.

“Yeah, exactly, and you knew that already. But if anything happened to you, I’d be—” A danger to everyone around him. Shattered to the point of no return. Begging to be put out of his misery. “—not okay.”

While he speaks, he watches Newt’s expression grow fonder and fonder. Twisting his hand, Newt shifts until they both feel each other’s pulses, feeling how they beat in time with one another. “I have an inkling that you don’t know how—”

He cuts himself off when Frypan yells, loud enough to be heard from every corner of the premises: “Dinner for you ugly bastards! Ugly bastards, dinner time!”

Newt huffs out a laugh and drags Thomas back into the chapel. “Come on, Tommy. Can’t take down evil on an empty stomach and peanuts, now can we?”

Thomas lets himself be dragged along, still thinking, still planning. Arguing against Newt is a losing game, but he can make sure he’s as bubble wrapped as possible going in. Schematics and contingency plans float through his head, flipping through ideas over and over again. He knows he won’t get a wink of sleep from now until the infiltration is over.

He’ll rest when Newt’s safe.

he won’t get a wink of sleep from now until the infiltration is over.

He’ll rest when Newt’s safe.

[aleksatia]

🎉 5,000 Likes?! What the hell you guys 😭🖤

I’ve only been here for a few weeks, still learning what the hell a dashboard even is — and somehow you’ve already:

➤ read my emotional damage ➤ screamed in the tags ➤ and made me feel like I’m writing for real, breathing people

So THANK YOU. Sincerely. For reading, reblogging, crying, and making me feel like I’m not screaming into the void.

Your reactions charge me up like a caffeine IV drip — seriously, it’s wild how much your support inspires me. There will be a longer fic (yes, yes, a maxi-story is coming 👀) There will be regular drabbles and one-shots.

And I’d absolutely love to hear your ideas — little scenarios, unhinged headcanons, painful “what if”s — if you ever wondered how the LaDS would react to X, you know where to find me 😌

To celebrate — here’s a chaotic little selection of tags and reblog comments that now live rent-free in my brain:

💋 "Show Me, Don’t Tell Me, or How good are you in sex?"

#i literally could not breathe when i read zayne's #you write them all so well like you have their characters down SO well #absolutely fantastic i love it here #the sylus one is driving me up the WALL #IM BANGING THE WALLS OF MY ENCLOSURE #wish i was banging him instead #WHO SAID THAT??!!

💦 "All That Steam and Nowhere to Run"

#holy shiiiiit #laughing a little at Caleb b/c of the frantically doing pushups thing #Sylus walking right into the shower fully clothed and hungry tho??? oh baby

☕🚗💥 "Best Dad Ever: Maybe Not While I’m Driving??"

"Rafayel and Caleb oh they both have my heart. My unhinge hubbies" "insane lev is" "The dramatic reactions lol" "Zayne nearly lost it for a sec (perfectly reasonable reaction tho). I love him sm"

#bbg why are you acting like ur the one giving birth #yknow not that i mind but uh.....#maybe do the announcmeent when you arent in a moving vehicle 😂 #id be terrified to see my life flash before my eyes 5 x #rafs was SO ON POINT #ahhhhh ok i needed that laugh 😂😂😂😂😂

💥 “Six Days and One Heart Too Late”

"WHY IS XAVIER’S SO ANGSTY I AM FREAKING GRIEVING LIKE A WOMAN WHO LOST HER HUSBAND IN A WAR" "Ngl. Rafayel's part had me on a rollercoaster of emotions. God Angry sex les go" "THE RAFAYEL ONE IM CRYING OMG THESE WERE ALL SO GOOD😭😭😭😭😭" "This… THIS IS A MASTERPIECE!!!!!" "Zayne’s broke me heart just a little" "this hit different gosh😭" "OH YOU COOKED"

#xaviers one is so fire omfg thank u delicious angst #i think i need an extended version of sylus' man #AND ZAYNE'S COME ON #PAINFUL orz #the Xavier one especially like goddamn okay Mr Ice Prince #time to lay down #daaaaaamn #OMG THESE WERE SOOOOO GOOD ???? #literally kicking my feet and giggling ugh the TENSION #✨immaculate✨ #XAVIE BABY COME BACK WTF #this is a good one even if youre not a big lads person :) #XAVIER?!?!!NOOOOOOOOOOO #chefs kiss

💔🤫 "Xavier - Six Days of Silence"

"WAAAAAAAH IM CRYING THANK YO U SO MUCH THIS IS PERFECT 😭😭😭😭😭 THIS IS ABSOLUTELY PERFECT !!!"

#this has fueled my will to live thank u #you dont know how much i love this #seriously i’m in love #CRYING BAWLING SOBBING #XAVIERRR #this fucked me up dude #oh my god #XAVIERRRRR :( #whimpers #i LOVED this #this was so fucking good #obsessed #well and truly obsessed

💔🕯️🥀 "After You, There Was Nothing"

#screaming crying throwing upppppppp #MC NEEDS TO APOLOGIZE TO THESE MEN RIGHT NOW #I am heartbroken my gods #i swear everyone on my dash is dipping into the angst juice #DO YOU KNOW HOW WRECKED CALEB AND ZAYNE MADE ME #oh lord dont even get me started on sylus #he cant even look at music the same way anymore and he ADORES it 😭😭😭😭 #im dead #GOD it keeps getting worse and worse and worse and WORSE #GOD I LOVE THIS BUT I HATE IT SO MUCH #shattered my soul

[sissylittlefeather]

Backseat Baby

A/N: Whaaaaaat two fics in one day? I'm down bad, y'all. And when that happens, I write. May you enjoy the benefits of my frustration. This is pure sex. No plot. It's based on the picture below. When I saw it I was like "how I'd like to push him into that backseat" and a fic was born...

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, this is just filth, kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (m&f receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, ejaculation

Word count: ~1.4k (just a dirty little thing)

Already posted the pic this is based on, but have some more pics of this outfit just to get your mind right:

Elvis isn't sure how he got in this position. Did you push him into the back of the car or did he pull you? He shakes his head. It doesn't really matter at this point. The only thing he needs to know is that he's sitting in the backseat with you straddling his hips, your wide skirt spread out around him. He takes your hands in his, interlocking his fingers with yours, palm to palm.

"What's your name, doll?" You lean in and kiss his lips and he returns the kiss.

"I'm y/n." You kiss him again.

"Thats a pretty name. It fits you." You can tell he's a little nervous, so he's talking to slow you down.

"Thank you. Do you want me to stop?" You lean in and kiss his neck.

"N-no, no I don't. Ahhhhh." You let go of his hands and reach down and unbutton his jacket, running your hands up and down his chest.

"Because I can stop." You kiss his mouth again.

"No. Don't stop." He looks into your eyes as his darken with lust. You can feel his erection growing between your legs, so you grind your hips against him. "Mmmm, you're somethin' else, honey."

He wonders how far you're willing to take this. You seem to be ready for whatever he tries, but he doesn't want to be wrong. He puts his hands on your hips and squeezes. Then, he moves his hands up under your skirt to your thighs as a small test. When you kiss him deeply and grind against him again, he decides he can keep going. His hands creep up your thighs, and though they shake a little, make their way to the place where your panties should be. He pulls back and looks at you in shock when he realizes you aren't wearing any.

"You're not wearing panties."

"Mm-mm. Threw 'em on stage." His mouth pops open. For some reason he never connected that panties on stage meant that the girls in the audience didn't have them on. You go back to kissing his neck and his confidence grows. He moves his thumb to your center and drags it up your folds, feeling your wetness. You moan with his touch and nibble on his earlobe. His thumb finds your clit and he begins to make circles. You whimper and set your head on his shoulder.

"Does that feel good, darlin'?" He whispers and kisses your neck.

"Yes, oh God, yes." You shudder as your release approaches.

"Can I taste ya, baby?" You nod fervently and he lifts your hips and sets you on the seat next to him. He takes his hat off, situates himself between your thighs, and buries his head under your skirt. Sliding a finger into you, he lowers his mouth to your center and begins to lick over and around your sensitive bud. His tongue makes tantalizing circles and a moan escapes your lips. He pumps his finger in and out as he continues to drag his tongue up and down on your clit.

"Oh, Elvis!" You moan as quietly as possible and he sucks on you lightly. The sensation of his tongue dancing on your clit almost overwhelms you. You're right on the brink of your orgasm and he can tell. You feel the blood rushing in your veins and know you won't last much longer with him moving on you the way he is. He slides a second finger into you and moves them in and out fervently as his tongue circles your sensitive button. Your breath hitches and the warmth gathers in your cheeks. Finally, your center explodes with driving energy and you cum harder than you ever have. He continues to move on you as your orgasm crashes over and through you, making you see stars and knocking out the hearing in your left ear. You moan loudly, the sounds coming out of you without your control. Slowly, a calm settles over you and he emerges from under your skirt.

Before Elvis can open his mouth to speak again, you lean forward and undo his pants, freeing his hard dick from his black pants. He whimpers and his hips buck into your hand as you begin to pump him. When you sink your mouth onto him, he leans his head back and cusses.

"Shit, baby, that's good."

You move your tongue up the bottom of his shaft and pull his foreskin back gently just to expose the pink tip of him. You lick a slow circle around it carefully and his hips buck again.

"Fuck! Stop! I'm gonna cum!" You pull back quickly and he takes a deep breath with his eyes closed. "That was close."

"You can cum, Elvis." You say, looking at him demurely through your eyelashes. He smiles that smile that makes you wet between your legs.

"Oh, no, darlin'. I'm not done yet." He grabs your hips and lifts you onto him again, while you grab his hat and stuff it back onto his head. Then, he uses a hand to hold himself steady while you lower your pussy onto him. You've been aching for him for so long, the sensation of him finally filling you up makes you want to scream his name. Instead, you moan again loudly and he grunts and leans his head back. You kiss his neck, put your hands on his chest and begin to move up and down on him, slamming his cock into you harder and harder with each thrust of your hips.

"Goddamn, baby, that's good." You whimper in response. His hips buck up into yours and you know he's getting close. Each stroke brings you closer and closer to the edge again too, so you grind against him pushing him as deep as he can go. Finally, you tumble over the edge and your release washes over you like wildfire.

"Fuck, up!" He lifts you off of him quickly and you feel his release spurt out of him into your skirt and onto your thigh. He jerks and shudders as the thick ropes of his cum paint the inside of your dress. When he's finished, he drops you back down in his lap onto his now-soft cock. He lays his forehead on your shoulder and breathes heavily. After a few seconds, he lifts his head up and grabs the side of your head and face with his hand.

"I don't know where you came from, baby, but I'm glad you did. Damn." He pulls your lips to his and kisses you deeply once more. "Can I see you again?"

"I'd like that a lot." You reach for your purse and dig for a pen. He looks at you surprised. Did you have a purse earlier? You must have; he just didn't notice. When you find a pen, you pull back the sleeve of his jacket and write your phone number on his arm. "There. Now you have to call me before you shower."

He laughs and shakes his head.

"Honey, you really are somethin' else."

"I hope so." You back off of him and sit on the seat next to him as he puts himself away and buttons his jacket. He leans across you to open the car door and you kiss his neck again.

"Don't get me started all over again." He says and turns to tickle you, kissing your lips playfully. You both tumble out of the car and try to act like you don't have a whole collection of his cum on the inside of your skirt. As steamy as the windows are, though, it's not hard to tell what just happened.

"Hey, you wanna grab some food?" He asks, looking at you shyly. You think about the fact that you probably should go home and clean up. But this is Elvis Presley and he's asking to take you to dinner.

"Sure!" He takes your hand and you start to walk together down the sidewalk.

You spend the next few hours together, talking and laughing. When he calls you an hour after he drops you off, your conversation continues late into the night. You're not sure what the future holds for the two of you, but you sure are glad you pushed him into that car.

******

Fin

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax

[grahamcarmen]

Could you write a fic about the ‘she does nap on her side of the plane seats, on grays shoulder or on his lap [which he gets her to do because he promises to do the funfacts and rundown with player and she's just smiling at the addition to another bit of lively bickering added to her plane ride, but does get some sleep’?

It had been awhile since back to back missions had left Carmen feeling truly exhausted. Player usually made sure to keep the missions they went on well paced so that she would never miss VILE with their hands in the cookie jar but it would never overlap with having a good night's sleep and decent prep time . 

But VILE’s many impatient rapid fire attempts to rebuild had left Carmen flying for the next caper the moment the one she was working on was done. She hadn’t even been allowed a night's sleep as she worked out how to crack many capers ahead before she got to the one she was currently on.

Or rather she hadn’t allowed Player to convince her that leaving missions to ACME and Shadowsan was enough. VILE was stretching everyone thin and she wouldn’t stand by when she could help. When they could stamp out any sparks from growing back into the monster VILE was.

Still. It was catching up with her. 

She could feel her eyes fight to stay focused on the plans Shadowsan had sent and her words as she filled in the crew turn into a deep yawn.

She let her head bump into Gray’s shoulder, squeezed her eyes tight in a scramble to claim the second as true rest.

She rose with a deep breath ready to continue, and caught Gray’s expression as she faced him for a second.

“Ya know you could catch a few winks before we get there? We do have a long ride ahead of us this time.” He said as light as he could.

“Hmm that sounds great. But I just need to finish this rundown of the caper with “ She yawned. “...Zack and Ivy…”

“Hey, that’s short work, leave it to me.”

“Oh? You know a lot about our next destination.”

“Give me some credit mate, I've been around the block.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

He laughed “Fine, you hear me say something wrong you pipe right up. If Player doesn’t first.”

“Just don’t be wrong.” Player piped up from the laptop. Gray rolled his eyes a bit before waving his hand towards her designated spot on the plane.

She ignored it in favor of plopping her head on his lap, smiling as she caught his surprise from the corner of her eye.

“Alright,” She yawned, turning until she was comfortable. “You can finish up the rundown.”

And she listened as he gave an overview of the the place VILE was targeting, and hummed with curiosity when he went into the local scene, and the small pride in his voice on being able to name a few must see vendors and hideaways.

“I thought tortas were sweet. Ya know cakes.” Zack mused.

“No, torta as the word for cake is used in Colombia, I think. We’re going to Mexico where if you tell them you want a torta you're going to get a sandwich.”

“AHHHHH, well that works for me, I’m starving!”

“Ha! When aren’t you starving?” Ivy laughed, lightly smacking Zack's shoulder with the back of her hand.

“Well Ivy for your information-”

“Hey Gray, do you expect to be personally funding these local outings?” Player said over Zack and Ivy as they continued.

“What? Isn’t that your job.”

“It's not ‘my job’. But I feel like if you're going to be the one inviting us- ”

Carmen opened her mouth -

“Us! Are you coming out of hibernation?”

Carmen laughed as Player’s indignant response came out in length about being compared to an animal from a former animal code name associator.

She opened one eye to catch Gray winking at her. He’d beat her to it. And would probably get a longer rebuttal than her teasing Player about his hermit ways would.

She snuggled into Gray as Player’s matter of fact voice offered his own findings [and defense against his hibernation] only for Gray to ask if Player could even handle a jalapeno.

"The caper..." She murmered.

"We're getting to it!" Gray laughed, stroking her hair and snapping his fingers at the siblings to get their attention again.

But it was too late, the conversation was fully invested on spice tolerance...or lack thereof.

Carmen smiled and let the sounds of her loved ones bickering for their own spice champion honor lull her into a comfortable rest.

They had gotten most of it covered and Gray would never let a mission go wrong on his watch.

Neither would Player, Ivy, or Zack.

She'd trust they’d be ready when she woke up.

Even if she thought she heard the sound of can opener along with the sound of Gray's voice finishing up the recon notes Player had sent.

-----

Might edit this later + love your username!

[retrobr]

GAHDAMMIT I've been thinking about one idea for a potential fic for quite a while, but since I'm a lazy ass and probably won't write it I decided to share it with y'all (because if I don't share it I'll definitely explode)

This post is a little bit long but AHHHHH WHATEVER JUST-

Imagine: Chef Pablo stays in Lazytown under any circumstances; maybe he grew fond of the kids and the citizens and decided to stay there; or maybe he has nothing much to do in his hometown. He becomes nice friends with Sportacus since they both like healthy food, and after a while they found out that they have quite a lot in common. Due to Pablo's expressive and sort of passionate nature, he doesn't keep himself from making nice comments towards the hero and even flirting friendly with him—it's just the way he is. 

And oops, one day Robbie, being the sneaky and kind of nosy guy he is, "accidentally" stumbles upon one of their cute conversations (mostly led by Pablo because I already mentioned why), and for some unexplainable reason he feels an odd sort of anger about it, only to realize a little bit later that the aforementioned anger was a simple jealousy: someone who's way more charming and successful than him gains a lot of trust from the hero and even seems to try being sweet on him? An unpleasant discovery, like a nasty slap in the face.

Since Robbie just couldn't sit still and do absolutely nothing after that, he thinks about all that situation for some time and decides to do something bad and even risky: he could disguise himself as Pablo and take his position, and then, after he's gained enough of Sport's trust, get rid of him by cruelly breaking his heart and make him leave the town forever.

Robbie kidnaps Pablo once again, keeps him in his lair, and, after that, disguises himself as a popular chef. It takes him some time to get used to his new role because from now on he has to behave like Pablo, not for one day but for a longer time.

This time, wearing his disguise, Robbie's actually trying to be nice towards Sportacus and stay in character as neatly as possible; he mimics Pablo's behavior, accent and intonations of his voice, characteristic phrases, and even some of his flirty lines and side-comments, which he happened to hear that unfortunate day. The hero, on his part, doesn't seem to mind it all or notice something odd about it: he keeps being kind as ever to "Pablo" and spending his free hours with him.

But there appears to be one very unexpected thing: Robbie notices himself liking his new role more and more with each passing day (even though it means that he has to cook healthy meals and be kind to those brats). And, even more surprising, he begins to actually enjoy Sport's company; making him smile by telling some amusing made-up stories from Pablo's life and even complimenting him from time to time became one of his favorite pastimes.

As a result, he doesn't want Sport to leave the town anymore. Robbie doesn't even want to go home some days (where, I should point out, Pablo still remains and complains about his kidnapping) because his company urges his chest to bubble with happiness and affection, which never ever happened before, and it makes him feel sort of giddy. 

And then comes the day when Robbie decides to finally push their friendship to a new level. But — oh, what an unfortunate plot twist — the hero doesn't reciprocate his initiative because, surprise-surprise, his heart already longs for some other person. And then there is some sort of dialogue like:

'W-wait, but for who?!' Robbie is incredibly disappointed and left heartbroken himself (what an irony); his facade of his new role shatters, and his voice unintentionally breaks into his characteristic hysterical intonation.

'Well, his name is Robbie, and he's actually a very amusing and smart person. I feel like I could trust you, so that's why-'

And that is the moment when Robbie's poor brain just goes completely numb and dumb, and then he does something unbelievably stupid: he takes off his disguise and reveals his true identity.

What happens next? Who knows. Probably something good, but, you know, since I've shared this idea with y'all, it's up to you guys to interpret its ending 🤭

[humongousgothskeletonfarm]

chapter 6 thoughts: (spoilers ahead!)

oh. fuck.

-

he was king. now he’s a martyr.

holy shittttt

-

aftg really brings us all together, this is random but i love talking to other fan accounts about the books

-

anyway fanfics will no longer have to speculate when rikos funeral was, and if kevin attended or not (or if he had a mental breakdown about it)

also neil u have no tact babe and i love u for it

-

oh renee ur so lovely ur so insightful (neil u should listen to what she has to say)

jean and his ‘i won’t grieve him’ ❤️🫶

- ‘promise me’ jean said with a desperation that should have kill him, nathaniel didn’t hesitate, ‘i promise’ SHUT THE FUCK UP I LOVE THEM THANK U NORA THIS IS EVERYTHING I WANTED FROM THIS BOOK

THE SWAP FROM NATHANIEL TO NEIL IS JUST AS POWERFUL FROM JEANS PERSOECTIVE IN TSC AS IT WAS IN FROM NEILS IN TKM I LITERALLY CANNOT THE PARALLELS ARE KILLING ME

-

it’s 1:40 am and i’ve just made a cup of tea to keep myself awake

feeling many things about jeans perusal of the fox photo wall and taking renee’s picture

-

i know these motherfuckers aren’t accusing neil kevin and jean of abandoning that cunt and leading to his ‘suicide’

-

WE ARE THE RIGHT PEOPLE I THINK JUST NOT THE RIGHT TIME (look i am admittedly not a jean/renee shipper but good god they are so sweet in this)

A COOL EVENING BREEZE AND RAINBOWS

-

screaming as silently as i can rn

- petition for someone to put summertime sadness on the jean playlist

-

whattttt is the mystery about jeremy’s family?? what is this fabled fall banquet that tore his family in half im so intrigued i have to know more

ALSO JEREMY IS IN THERAPY AND HAS SOME SORT OF FAMILY ISSUES I KNEW IT IM SURE THATS ON A BINGO SOMEWHERE

-

jeremy dad of the trojans checking to see that they’re safe and also cody first cannon non binary character??? pls say yes

-

accidentally fell asleep in the middle of my planned all nighters whoops it’s currently 7 am

chapter 7:

“I like to indulge,” Jeremy said with a dimpled smile. ​Kevin’s words mocked him in the back of his thoughts: “Some of them you like.”

i did. notice this in chapter 2 or whatever but is this?? are we getting jerejean???? that’s what this means righ??

-

jeremy wdym ‘oh to be the pampered elite’ u have a butler??

jean defending kevin saying he’s earned the right to be arrogant be still my beating heart i love these stubborn mother fuckers

-

He was years away, watching a different beautiful boy lean in close to say, Will you teach me when he’s not watching? It could be our secret.

STOP IT RN

chapter 8!!

flicked him a sly look. “Easy on the eyes, maybe.”

AHHHHH!!!

-

also so glad that there’s 100% confirmation cat and laila are dating (shared bedroom!)

-

the description of laila and cats lounge room is so soft and cozy im so jealous i wish i was there

-

barkbark von barkenstein u will never top sir fat cat mcatterson (although props to nora for always having simultaneously the worst and most creative names for pets)

-

jean telling cat she’s a good player but misses every ball at her hips is literally every raven! (someone) fic ever come to life where they meet a relatively normal other team and have absolutely no tact or awareness of what others considered rude and immediately tell the other players what their weaknesses are (i’m obsessed)

-

“Yes,” he said, and if he didn’t sound sure, he at least sounded angry. “Let them all burn. I hope none of them survive.” BABY I LOVE U IM SO PROUD OF U UR SAFE NOW FUCK RIKO FUCK THE RAVENS FUCK THE MASTER

-

“Oh, he’s good. A bit rude, but I like him. I think we’re going to be good friends.”

i’d say the exact same thing

-

*jeremy giving jean the keys*

well it’s not andreil levels of drama and symbolism but love a good comparison

-

or they do not care enough about her wellbeing. It’s unforgivable either way.”

giggling a bit over jean being up in arms about boba knowing that he’d be seriously unimpressed with me if he knew how much boba i drank

-

he wants to know what it was for

AND WHAT IF THAT LINE BROKE ME NORA?? AND WHAT THEN??

The Ravens had given up everything to be the undefeated champions, only to be destroyed last month by a tiny team from South Carolina.

I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE

“Loving something is not enough,” Jean told him, right on cue. ​“When is the last time you enjoyed playing?” Jeremy asked. ​“Irrelevant,” Jean said. “I am Jean Moreau; I am perfect Court. I do not need to enjoy it to be the best backliner in the NCAA.”

that was what Jean felt safest in, Jeremy would back his decision wholeheartedly.

LITERALLY LEAVE ME ALONE

chapter 9999

also i’m so glad that we have jeremy/laila/cat friendship like in fics and stuff they were always best buddies coz they were the only trojan characters named in the books but it’s great to see they’re actually good friends in cannon

-

“I need you to listen to me for one moment,” Laila said, “and I need you to believe me when I say it. Fuck Coach Moriyama.”

AGREED AGREED AGREED FUCK THAT CUNT

-

COOKING LESSONS WITH JEAN THIS IS THE WHOLESOME CONTENT I SIGNED UP FOR

-

cat talking macronutrients and promising to help with his diet so it’s still familiar but more fun in order to begin healing jeans relationship with food is so important to me

-

nora bleaching jeremy’s hair blonde after telling us she was shocked we all headcannoned him as blonde while she thought he was brunette is so funny to me,, don’t worry fan artists u do not have to change a thing!

(frosted tips made me giggle too, jeremy u pussy)

-

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?”

-

chapter 10

jean learning basic household chores like sorting and washing clothes and deep cleaning the apartment and learning his way around a supermarket <3

-

LAILA CAT JEAN FRIENDSHIP IS REAL

Afternoons were filled with whatever the women were in the mood for that day, be it wandering downtown, shopping, or combing through estate sales.

Jean went where they took him because it was better than being left in the house alone,

-

COOKING IS HEALING JEAN ITS A COMFORT THING SHUT THE FUCK UP THIS IS EVERYTHUNG HES SO REAL FOR THAT

-

Ravens graduated; they didn’t leave.

fuck if that didn’t just stop my heart

-

i definitely should have been more wary of the trigger warnings. if anyone is wanting to read the book but is worried about certain parts, i’d be happy to let y’all know what sections are triggering so u can try and skip around them.

-

But Jean was not a Raven, and Wayne was dead.

FUCK YEAH BABY NOT ANYMORE U ARENT

-

the thought of that quiet space with its single bed was so repulsive he turned toward the living room instead. - this is so important to me

He could sense the others’ presence even if they weren’t around to bother him, and that was enough to take the edge off the loneliness eating at his heart.

literally end my life i’m so happy for jean, he’s healing slowly but surely

-

this was better than anything he’d ever had. It was worlds more than he deserved. He feared it as much as he wanted it;

JEAN U DO DESERVE IT I PROMISE U

-

wait wtf,, zane is reacher??? in literally every raven fic ever reacher is the most abusive character other than riko

-

OMFG BEACH SCENE??? THEYRE GONNA TAKE JEAN TO THE BEACH??? CHECK THAT OFF EVERY SINGLE BINGO CARD MADE FOR THIS BOOK

^ yeah i wrote that two seconds before then reading jeans panic attack about drowning and the trigger of riko waterboarding him and neil and now i want to cry

[these-emo-thoughts]

Pit Babe Anniversary Rewatch! Episode 2!

Getting into the end of Week 1 of the Pit Babe 1st anniversary rewatch just in time by finishing off my day with Episode 2! Looking very forward to this one fajsdfahkhs thoughts as I watch will be down below!

Okay yes I'll be changing my phone ring tone to Speed of Love, I'm too far own this rabbit hole lol

Oh we start off with Tony and his interview lsjdfalsfsa

Tony has perfected the "smile that doesn't reach your eyes" trope, he looks like he just wants to murder that reporter asking him all these questions

That direct look into the camera when talking about "old racer" Babe 👀

Uncle Alan always so caring, worrying about Babe being okay instead of the race betting 🥹

First "Daddy" of the series

Nefarious plot and flashback, ugh yes, sign me the tf up (again)

I mean look, Kenta managing to hold back Alpha Babe is pretty solid of him LOL

I love Babe's confidence, like even though he's got those bad memories he's not afraid to face up against his adoptive father

THE SHOULDER TOUCH, WAY 😭😭 BABE LOOKS LIKE HE'S UNDER A SPELL HERE, GOD, THE SIGNS FROM THE BEGINNING ARE SO BRILLIANT

Far out I'm not going to shut up about this am I??

Again tho, it has to be said - Alan in a singlet top 😔👌

And now Babe and Charlie in a singlet tops 😔👌

Of course Babe can't resist such a sunshine smile, man is already so smitten even while brooding and I totally get it haha

JEFF!! AHH! THERE'S OUR BABY BOY DRINKING HIS PINK MILKSHAKE!! 😭

Lol I can't, every time I see 'UAC' I think of University Admissions Centre 🤣

Damn Kenta is doing the work - and he looks so happy too he probably thinks this is gonna make Tony love him

This obsession with cars of any kind amuses me but like, I also wanna build a track and play too 🥲

BRUH the omegaverse, I know I watched this entire thing but I still get so 😮 when I see it manifest on my screen, what a time to be alive

Puppy Charlie 🐶 these two are so cat and dog coded

There he is, there's baby boy Jeff coming to save the day 🥹

Show 'em Jeff, show 'em how good you are and get that job!!! Haha I'm writing him so much more insecure in my current fic but I love seeing him so confident in himself here ahaha

The duck under Alan's arm kills me

LMAO Dean, North, Sonic please, laughing like that at poor Alan who can't even get a handshake 😭

LMAO I forgot Babe calls Jeff cute here, and Way too like almost winks at him, bb boy is just too adorable 😭

I'm like honed into whatever North and Sonic are doing in the background at any given moment, js

Look at North, such a gossip lol

But also the instigator, damn, Babe is not playing

He also says he's not jealous that Charlie is talking to Jeff but we all know that's a lie lol

He also says he's not angry but welp, LOL

Again with Babe's jealousy, look how happy Charlie looks about it AHAHA

I actually do like that Babe is teaching Charlie in between all the 'concetration' he does

KIMMMMMM WHAT'S UP BOY!! WELCOME

Winner, I can't believe by this point you've been on my screen longer than bb Jeff AHAHAH

Winner: *Trash talks Babe into fighting with him* Also Winner: *Sics Kim on Charlie*

The attraction that Babe has for Charlie in this moment is peak *chef's kiss*

This is a great fight scene actually goddamn

AYEE go go Charlie

Winner once again losing at life (I'm going to keep a tally, this is loss number 3 for him so far in the series since he copped it twice already in the first episode AHAHA)

Bad idea to be smacking Kim against the wall, Winner 👀

Told you, there goes your fkn wrist babes do I could this as a loss for the tally AHAHA

AYEEE CHARLIE IS GETTING HIS CAR! 🙌 and what a choice he makes, the car that made Babe King of the Hallows

Way is quaking

There's gotta be a work for the kink Charlie has for Babe's coaching because he's really enjoying himself but I'd be crying 🤣😭

Dean is so chill, but look at how his words are cutting Way deeply haha

UGH MY HEART HURTS AT THIS BEAUTIFUL FRIENDSHIP BETWEEN WAY AND BABE AHHHHH WHY 😭😭

PLEASE that kiss Babe planted on Way's cheek healed my soul 😭

"Alai-wa"

"You're my best friend but complain like my boyfriend" lmao Way WISHES 😭

Here are the terrible two ready to cause trouble! Now being asked to keep an eye on Charlie.

Charlie has been called a puppy 3 times this episode ahaha

North is drunk but can see clearly that Way loves Babe

NORTH SAYING IF HE AND SONIC WERE EVER CLOSER THEY'D BE LOVERS 👀👀👀

Poor Alan lmao everyone always laughing at him

Way switches from supportive friend to bitch real quick and I'm here for it - but goddamn, he's harsh to Charlie

WAY HATES CHARLIE SO MUCH HE LITERALLY TELEPORTED TO INTIMIDATE HIM 🤣

I swear to god I was not planning on thirsting over Alan while rewatching this but lo and behold here I am. Thirsting.

Kenta, baby, sorry but Alan is not going to give you his son Pit Babe, no matter how much you offer - though that is a great way to end the episode ahh 👀

PETE IN THE PREVIEW YESSSS the family's all here!!

ALAN GIVING JEFF A KISS ON THE HEAD JKSFHSKJADHFJSKA

The no-kissing rule gets broken next ep, YESHH

And my favourites, the behind the scenes 🥹

Ep 2 is done!! Right in time for Week 2 of the anniversary event, yay!

[elisedonut]

Yeah so just scrolling and seeing your post about Colin/Percy and wanting Colin to top him and suddenly my head is full of all the things I was thinking when I read your perclin fic and maybe it's because I've been reading a lot of omegaverse lately but damn, I'm still stuck on alpha Colin and omega Percy.

Because idk I just feel like it's so unlikely and hot. Like bossy omega Percy being all caring over Colin who's just a big puppy ahhhhh

so yeah still stuck on that power bottom x soft top + a/o dynamics lol

Oh no i get it completely

ive also been thinking about that alot too ksdfj

actually this is the perfect opportunity to talk about some of my thoughts

Overall I'm so with you on their dynamic being very power bottom x soft top it's very fun!

I'm really interested in the idea of the "Unlikely" in Unlikely Alpha Colin being very literal and him presenting super late like I'm talking he himself was convinced he was a beta because even nearing 20 he's never had any signs of any sort of presentation

Like my thought process here is that it would be an easy way to pull them together if Percy inadvertently triggered his first rut

Because of like a true mates type of situation thing

Like hear me out here

Post war Colin Lives obv obv

He get's invited to the Burrow or is the main photographer for some event that Percy would also be attending or something

Point is it's something that puts them near one another for at least a little while. Like I think it could arguably work if its just a quick run in but then you lose out on the fun of Percy realizing it you know?

Like for the Burrow for example Percy doesn't show up until a little while after Colin so at first everything feels fine. Normal. But then Percy is there and things are not so normal anymore and Colin's feeling steadily warmer. Something smells so sweet and he just wants to follow it. The closer he get's to Percy to worse it seems to get but it feels so nice in a way. Makes his head kinda foggy.

Like he tries to talk to him but ends up crowding him more and more because he keeps wanting the scent to be stronger and stronger. Until he's almost in Percy's lap, which Percy only really notices when Colin does actually attempt to crawl on top of him.

Because he was a bit distracted with how interested Colin seemed to be with what he had to say and was probably distracting himself from family stuff.

Colin hasn't actually presented yet. So scent wise he's still pretty light. Like he doesn't really clock as not a beta until his rut actually starts but there is something about it (and his behavior) that have warning bells ringing in Percy head regardless

but more then anything he's worried because yeah he knows the signs. He knows that in about 10 minutes things are going to go south very quick so he keeps looking at the kitchen trying to will himself to say something to get someone's attention but the longer he sits there with him the better Colin smells and it's just getting more difficult

I also like the concept of one of Percy's siblings trying to pull Colin away from him and Colin legit growling at them for their efforts. Causing Colin to snap out of it a little bit it doesn't last at all but for a split second he's just so confused.

yeah idk i think it's fun because it can have Colin being even more Puppy coded due to the inexperience he has with the situation so the emotions and feelings are even stronger even after the rut ends

So he has less experience dealing with like the jealously and territorial-ness compared to others his age.

If Percy would let him he would just sit and scent him for hours every time he saw him but Percy always makes him stop after a while

and a fun like

why is this happening moment

like is this normal? are there alot of Betas in a similar situation? where they just won't present unless they find their true mate? What Causes it? Is it like a genetics thing? A new mutation? A like switch type of sorts that just presents to be compatible with their mate when they find them?

Also it can have that whole Percy leading him and helping him get through his first few ruts kind of thing which is very nice imo

Point is, fun!

[fayedartmouth]

just checked ao3 and read your A/N ahhhhh fix-it fic is here! it's like an event is taking place lol. my eyes watered from excitement and i was trying to focus during the last few minutes at work haha. so pumped and cannot wait to see your take on it! committing to writing this mammoth of a fic is kind of incomprehensible and you deserve all the kudos in the world!! i can't believe we are being blessed with such a treat! this silly boat show doesn't deserve you, but jj does 🥲 i'm so glad you're here 🥹 i've read lots of the snippets you've shared and i know it's going to hurt SO MUCH, but there will be resolution! i'm fairly new to whump but i think i could like it. i'm dreading the pain but also can't wait for it haha. i loved your larissa ghost fic and you having the real-life perspective as a mom of teenagers 🥲 i just can't wait! thank you thank you thank you! grateful to everyone who helped bring it to life 😊��

That's entirely too kind. At this point, I feel like I've talked about it so much that I don't want to disappoint. It is what it is, at this point, and hopefully it's been worth the wait!

It is much longer than I intended! The entirety of the S4 portion is complete and I've got about 70k of the next part -- and at least that much for the next fic. And beyond that, there's a smattering of other things done, so I"m hoping I can keep my momentum going, and comments like this? Are so helpful.

While I am a hardcore whump writer, I do think I try to incorporate other elements into my fics and try to make them well rounded. I hope anyway. So I hope it's a worthwhile read for you!

I 100% could not have done it alone. I've had plenty of people help me with the brainstorming and every time someone asks about it or gets excited about it -- I get more motivated to keep going. So thank you! I really, really hope it delivers!

[the-kr8tor]

heheh angst time- and yes, I did mean I got my ass whooped yesterday aha Daily Hobie HC! I feel like one of his worst fears is having to fight you. Allow me to set up the mood >:) Imagine that you've been taken away from him while Hobie was on a mission. Gone, missing. His guts twist at the sight of your empty side of the bed, tears welling as he constantly has to face the fact he lost you. Then all of a sudden- you're back. As soon as he sees you again, coming through the door, Hobie immediately runs towards you, hugging you, murmuring about how he loves you, how he'll never let you go, how he missed you so much. Time passes, and something's off. Your hugs were cold instead of warm, and your hands were tentative against his skin. Your nails dragging against his skin stung more than it soothed. Even your smile seemed too sweet to be true, with your wide eyes and the eerie, subtle shakes of your pupil. Even the colors of your eyes seemed different, as if it were mixed with a singular drop of another completely opposite color. You've given him multiple scares in the night, with how you seemed to 'get water', and have him wake up to you staring at him. Hobie no longer even wakes up to your warm smile or teasing morning kisses. Instead, it's cold, as you simply just get out of bed and get ready, like you weren't with him at all. He gives you the benefit of the doubt, thinking that maybe something happened while you went missing for you to act oddly, and that you just need space. However, all changes when, as swinging around as Spider-Man on his patrols, you attack, managing to cut him out of the air and crashing into the ground with a swift throw of a knife. Your pupils are entirely glowing an eerie gold, a toothy smile stretching itself on your face. Struck with fear, he tries to swing away, but you simply just keep toying with him. Hobie doesn't understand what had happened, even trying to get close at one point but now blood seeps from his chest. The entire scene he refused to fight you, not wanting to hurt you, even if you seemed to intent on killing you. He knows it's not you. You would never act like this. Whatever was happening wasn't on your behalf. Even as you finally grab ahold of him, thrashing him into every hard surface you could, winding him multiple times as the multitude of bruises and cuts send jolts down his spine. He still doesn't fight back, instead just struggling to try and escape. Even as he knows it's the end. Seeing the shining weapon raised above your head, directed straight to his heart, he doesn't fight back. He's too exhausted. Too pained. Too..in love. "I love you, my lil birdie. An' I will keep lovin' you in every universe." (My sad attempt at a cockney accent please forgive me) "Hobes..hey, Hobieee...Hobart Larry Brown! Wake up!" Aaaanywaysss...you're way too kind, I don't think I could write a fully cyberpunk motorbike au fic.. I could try though maybe- not sure if I'd be able to do R- I may just put my sona but we'll see! Also Katy, what do you think about 'Red Spiders', for Hobie's team?:) -🐦‍⬛

No!! Who do I have to beat up?!! I'm ready to throw hands

DAILY HOBIE HC!!! Get your daily hc here!

AHHHHH CAME BACK WRONG TROPE!! YEEESSS!!!

Hmmm you got me theorizing what happened to them 🤔

Him not fighting back 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

OH THANK GOD IT'S JUST A DREAM!

Oooohh I love how red spiders are now a thing!!

[kquil]

Hi, pookie I’ve been inactive on tumblr but just wanted to hop on here real quick to see how you were doing and read the new updates!

I read your a/n on the latest chapter of DOB (I read chp 9 and 10 in one sitting haha) and I just wanted you to know that this series has been a source of comfort for me for a while and it’s well-written. Like—incredibly well-written. You’ve turned it into such an in-depth story that touches on so many subjects in an era in the hp wizarding world that’s mostly built on fanon/fanfics. It’s wholesome, heart-touching, thrilling and just so fun to read knowing there’s a happy ending for all haha.

That being said, It’s understandable how tiring & draining it can get working on an on-going project when things are overwhelming in your personal life. This series might be a source of comfort for many of your readers—including me, but it’s so obvious how much more it means to you. You’ve done an incredible job at keeping up with it; coming up with plots, world-building, relationship dynamics, character developments etc.

I support you taking the rest or break you need from this project, whether it’s just to develop more of the plot or to take some time working on something else or just—you know whatever helps you remain steady or passionate about it (I used “or” so many times). Personally, in my opinion your fix-it-fic is still so underrated on both tumblr and ao3 (the last time I checked). I really hope you get the appreciation you deserve on all of the platforms you’re putting your work out on. Besides DOB, there’s so many other projects that I’ve loved and enjoyed and I cannot wait for when you put them out hehe.

Also, I’m sorry for the lack of interaction & reviews on dob chapters :( life’s been a bit weird lately. I hope things work out well for you and anyone reading this <3 Life’s a pain in the arse sometimes, but we learn to get up each time, all my love to you Kquil and your pookie readers ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ੈ♡‧₊˚

p.s: sorry for the lack of emojis another p.s: I’ll reply to ur previous message when I can, I read it but I’m in a hurry right now ahhhhh also p.s: I’m no longer sick anymore yipee :3 Oh and I hope your dinner was yummy!

-🌸

oh! my darling! it’s been so long! i hope you’ve been well and that the universe is treating you the way you deserve ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)♡

(๑˃́ꇴ˂̀๑) hopefully reading chapter 9 and 10 one after the other wasn’t too much, those were some pretty long chapters haha! 

*saves link to your message for safe keeping* you just made my day, my week, my month, my year, my entire life (っ˃̣̣̥ -˂̣̣̥ς) i don’t know what to say except thank you, thank you so so much for your kind words and sincerity every time again, i always look forward to getting a message from you regardless of how much time has passed; i for one know how crazy life can get (ง ͠ಥ_ಥ)ง

i appreciate you so much for your understanding and support too, it means more to me than you know  (つ╥﹏╥)つ i finally feel at ease putting a big series to the side for a while so i can focus my energy on something a little more urgent irl (⸝⸝⸝╸﹏╺⸝⸝⸝)

it’s kind of ironic how, as a writer, writing fanfics comes so easy but when it comes to vocalising or writing out my gratitude, my mind goes a little static since there are so many things i want to say but the words get jumbled in my head (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) and the english language gets a little limiting — there needs to be more ways to say ‘thank you’ ( 。 •̀ ⤙ •́ 。 ) but even then, i don’t think that’s enough to express how truly grateful i am for your words alone ( ˶˘ ³˘(⋆❛ ہ ❛⋆)!♡

haha! i’d love some more appreciation and recognition for the DOB series but it’s also quite intimidating to think about. despite working on myself, i know that i still have some people pleaser tendencies and maybe more recognition might bring that back. for now, i’m perfectly happy with the beautiful darlings who gave the series a chance and enjoy it as it stands currently (❀´ ˘ `❀) but thank you again for wanting more for the series and me, it’s really encouraging and makes me want to continue putting out my best! ৻(  •̀ ᗜ •́  ৻)

awwww~ there’s no need to apologise for that, lovie! i completely understand where you’re coming from, life’s been a little crazy for me too, more so than usual haha! so i’ve been offline for a while as well (｡>﹏<) — also! most of the time, i selfishly write for myself hehe~ i’m only happy to share and spread the joys of my writing to whoever my fics may appear to on the internet (⸝⸝⸝╸w╺⸝⸝⸝)♡ nevertheless, there’s never any pressure on my end for you to comment or right away or ever, we can just indulge in the little cosy corner i’ve built here, shall we? (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

thank you! i hope life gets a little less weird for you and that things mellow out soon as well, you don’t deserve any of that stress. but once you’ve made it through, make sure you reward yourself good, you’ve been through quite a bit there — whatever we’re going through, we can make it! you and me, lovie! ( ◕▽◕)人(≧▽≦) just like you said, we’ll get up each time! ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ 

your emojis are perfectly fine haha! no worries, lovie. and stop apologising over such frivolous things ( ｰ̀εｰ́ ) i understand that the world has us rushing about sometimes (｡- ᎑•) still, i appreicate you so much for taking the time to write out such a kind and encouraging message for me! you really made me smile and tear up (╥ ω ╥) and woo hoo!!! the horrid sickness is no more! great job beating that illness, lovie! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ dinner was very yummy indeed, i decided to indulge my soul with some noodles hehe~ 

[howdoyousleep3]

hey so this new chapter of ytlytn😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

IM ON THE FLOOR .

NO LONGER ALIVE

YOUVE KILLED ME

god my FAVOURITE was when they’re in the restaurant and bucky goes full out on that waiter. GODDDDD forget steve : im a slut for confident, slutty bucky who will do anything to make his daddy proud.

i love love love this chapter and it honestly might be a fav from you in a while.

also. the meeting of sarah from steve’s pov was so perfect, and i just know bucky will visit her without steve more and more times to come. the sweetest, they are. love confessions soon maybe possibly pretty please?????

i just can’t wait any longer for them to just ADMIT IT. lovesick homosexuals are my favourite literary genre though.

please keep writing (at the same time, absolutely no pressure because every day waiting for the next chapter is so worth it with you) bc i LOVE this fic so much.

thank u love u thinking of u💗💗💗

😩😭 Ahhhhh, Archie! My love! 😩😭

Thank you, I loved writing the restaurant scene! I love when Bucky gets confident and spicy and bratty, guh. Hearing it's your favorite makes me feel like I'm floating! I love hearing that! Bucky and Sarah are besties for sure, yes yes. Love confessions?? Hmm...🤔😏 We adore lovesick homosexuals! 🤪

Thank you so very much for sharing your love of this fic with me; I can't get enough of it.

thank u love u thinking of u 🩷🩷🩷

[aquamarixx]

ok so I was rewatching some blue bouquet eps and character lore diving and lowk got sucked into some v interesting ideas that i j NEED to share…ofc if ur able to turn them into writing/stories i would be overjoyed but no pressure!! just thought maybe id try to help strike some inspo while i get my own thoughts out hehe

ok so u can probably tell the twins keep growing on me even more LOL but i find klarks concept of like relationships and expression of emotions rllly interesting…like just trying to imagine the progression of someone somehow forcing their way into his heart/inner circle, starting out an an arms distance but slowly eventually getting to a point where he’s no longer a tsun tsun and acts like he does w louter and the twin stars! im imagining sth like he gets a wake up call (lowk inspired by ur recent fic oopsies) where after battling w his inner feelings he realizes that eternity/never changing is practically not v possible and that he wants to start showing his feelings more to those he holds dear! ive tried thinking abt whether this situation would work better with something like a childhood friend or maybe like under the same sky someone he meets more recently? but i leave this thought in ur v capable hands (totally not j bc i also wanna give u more excuses to write hehe)

ok and while thinking and exploring klarks character ofc i had to consider louters too! i feel like he’s a lil more mature and in touch with his feelings but probably battles with more insecurities in terms of like ability…? which is slightly ironic considering they mention he’s like the strongest magic user BUT maybe bc of the limits w his weak body there’s always this sense of self sacrifice and not being good enough to protect what he loves…but in a more specific dive i think his inability to use technology and machines is rllly cutee but also another source of his insecurities that compiles onto everything? like beyond just getting sick easily and not being able to max out magic without hurting himself when he keeps breaking just simple everyday items like remote controls or laundry machines i wonder if he feels more isolated from “normal” people that way…thinking abt his profile which says “a binary star afraid of loneliness” i think that isolation is even more devastating since he’s so afraid of being alone…..(im not crying) but anyways imagine a reader that consoles him with sth like “the universe had to give u a debuff or else ud be too perfect and op which is why ur bad w machines” type of vibe?? i said it in a very memey way but its a concept i think abt a lot w ppl i hold dear hehe but maybe reader connects to his loneliness in some form (actually i feel like maybe a reader w a similar scenario, maybe idk like an alchemist or even magic user who struggles with drawbacks of their skills?) or reader works to embrace/dispel his insecurities and show him he’s not alone ahhhhh so many thoughts im rambling so much sorryyyy i rlly needed someone to get all these ideas out w tho LOL

anyways i leave these req/thoughts in ur capable hands!! u knocked it out of the park w ur latest fics ive been thinking abt them non stop <3

~Anya

OH ANYA YOU BEAUTIFUL GENIUS! I LOVE YOUR IDEAS!

the moment i saw that this ask is from you, i just had to read it! and i've wrote a couple of ideas already in my notebook (my easily distracted brain and me who wants to be distracted from work)

I LOVE THIS! THIS IS LITERALLY A GREAT INSPIRATION FOR A NEXT FIC FOR THE TWINS. ITS SO DETAILED, SO NUANCED, I LOVE IT!

im actually considering writing a series for the twins, been thinking about it last night but now, i might just go for it, this is a sign!

bear with me as i brainstorm more about this! a couple of people sent me asks for continuation of under the same sky and shifting stars. but this, this is a short series in waiting omg

you always give me great ideas and inspirations! you'll definitely see new stella twins fics for sure! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

Okay so I know you've told me some thing about Allie's relationships with the guys, especially Jeff. But I am really curious to know 🦅: How good are their friends at being wingmen? Do they even help at all or just sit back watching the pining with a bag of popcorn? Because I need to know more about how the guys handle Eddie getting a gf and also how Allie's friends are too. THEN 🐱: Do they have pet names for each other, if so what are they? How does their partner feel about their pet name? and of course 😑: How easily do they get jealous and how do they handle it? But alsoooo 🕊️: Give just a general domestic tidbit for em (things they like about each other, routines, habits, and just overall sweet stuff) 🥰

Ahhhhh!! Thank you my love!

Wingman question- I feel like overall in the story I’ve created, Allie’s experiences with the guys are much like how I handled them in high school.

Allie is basically Hellfire’s hobbit, the guys gave Eddie absolute shit for bagging a “Baggins” because she’s short and has tan skin (in my last fic, Eddie compared Allie to Valerie Bertinelli, and the guys immediately said she looked more like a hobbit). I imagine they have no tact and are socially inept, so they immediately started calling her Frodo. But Allie’s pretty feisty and angry, so she’ll often talk shit right back (all in good fun of course, but to the outside observer it looks like they all hate each other, but that’s nerd groups for you).

When they get to know her a little better, she actually finds out that Jeff has read the entirety of Frank Herbert’s Dune series like she has, and is the only one of Hellfire club who didn’t drop off after Dune Messiah, so they have their own little clique within Hellfire called “House Atreides” made up of only those who have read all the current Dune books of that time (up to Chapterhouse: Dune) complete with their own little code names.

Jeff is Leto, Allie is Alia, and Dustin eventually is Muad’Dib because he helps her the most during campaigns (it’s a very complex Dune reference, but the Muad’dib is the name of a desert mouse who taught the Fremen Desert People to produce water in the deserts of Arrakis, and a quote from Dune calls the mouse instructor of boys, hence, Dustin is Allie’s Muad’Dib).

Allie by contrast doesn’t have any friends besides Eddie’s own friends, but she does have a close relationship with Chrissy who talks to her in the bathrooms when they skip periods together. Chrissy at first doesn’t really know who any of Allie’s friends are, but an incident with Eddie makes her mistrustful of him and she constantly warns Allie not to be too reliant on her boyfriend, as Chrissy doesn’t think highly of Eddie after this incident. So Chrissy is highly protective of her little dorky friend, especially after Allie tells her this is the first real relationship she’s ever been in.

Pet name question- Ooooh! Okay! So, the name Allie in of itself is Eddie’s special pet name for Alejandra. Ordinarily, people in Hawkins will use her anglicized name (Alexandra), or they’ll shorten it to Alex, Lexie, Lex, things like that. But since Eddie’s name is shortened, he wanted to match with her, so he started calling her Allie (he did not want to call her Al, for obvious reasons).

At first she HATED that name, but after a while, she got used to it and loved it. Eddie also often calls her simple things like baby, babe, sweetheart, sweetpea, princess, they both call each other “eebies” which is basically “baby” after it’s been woobified so many times the word is no longer recognizable.

Allie’s pet names for Eddie mainly consist of baby, babe, hunny bunny (she loves rabbits so this one was a must), angel, angel baby, and Cherry Garcia because he teased her once for being a cherry girl. So she started calling him Cherry Garcia because he popped hers 🤣.

Jealousy question- I think the one who gets jealous the most is Allie for sure. Homegirl has wack jealousy issues and often just wants to keep Eddie to herself.

I think Eddie is at first big headed about having a girl get jealous and possessive of him, but definitely weirded out by it when it extends out to her being jealous of his friends, and it might actually be one of the factors that he calls her out on the most often. Especially when she starts getting snappy and mean to people who don’t deserve it.

But Eddie is more inclined I think to be self defeating about his jealousy. His hackles don’t raise when he gets jealous of other guys showing interest in Allie, instead he fucking panics. Tries love bombing but when she gets weirded out by it, becomes convinced she doesn’t like him and that she can do better. So he gets depressed and stops if he feels like all his scrambling and love bombing isn’t working.

Domestic tidbit- They spend every waking second together and are actually kind of a little unhealthily codependent. They’re like cats following one another into the bathroom and just hanging out talking like it’s no big deal while they do their business.

It’s usually because they’re mid conversation about something, and don’t see the point in pausing when they can just chat while they do whatever. They figure it’s also easier to just chat while they’re both in the same space so they’re not having to yell through the door. Especially if it’s a private conversation. So it’s common during events to be like “where’s Eddie/where’s Allie” and someone responds “they went to the bathroom” nonchalantly.

Everyone thinks it’s weird and sexual like they’re off screwing in there, but it’s literally just shit like them discussing why you can tell Tolkien is more of a historian than a story teller in the chapter Concerning Hobbits. Or talking shit about how someone looked at them wrong during lunch.

[memberment]

The End Is Near Updates??? (Let's fucking go, I guess???)

ALRIGHT WELL

All of my plans to get shit done before school starts continue to swirl the drain as I am full immersed in this rewrite.

I have decided to use headers and make this a single work because honestly I did not want to keep it a series so I figured it out

Also I'm at the end of book one. And SOBBING. I forgot Clyde and Kenny get married in the first round. This was literally the first fic I ever wrote them in like I'm screaming. This fic was my rare pair origin story lowk LMFAOOO like between them and butters/bebe like ugh.

My first book one was like just under 18k and I am currently slowly omw to 22k, like I am right there.

So it's looking like I'm just gonna be belting out monster-illiad length fics for a while with fun little sprinkles of 30/40ks

someone call god, tell him I need intense emotional support because the urge to post another chapter is already creeping up on me and it's been less than 24 hours. I CANNOT FALL INTO THIS SAME FUCKING TRAP AGAIN. Like I just assumed if I reworked an old fic I would throw it on post schedule and contain the same amount of self restraint that I do with my other fics but the literal worms in my brain are like *dont be shy post like 17 chapters in two hours* LIKE WHAT.

Excuse me, I'm busy being insane bc I have literally been up since three (it could have been 1:30, but I honestly can't recall) this morning LMFAO.

9:07 pm update: I took a nap to try and reduce the pure insanity I was dealing with it and I just opened my google doc and realized I'm about to start book 2. GUYS. Book two was by far my absolute fucking favorite. Like, I loved book 2. Frankly, want to make everything else feel more like book 2 bc AHHHHH IT WAS MY FAVORITEEEEE IDC WHAT ANYONE SAYS LMFAO

10:07: I just want you guys to know I reread Craig's chapter, yes his chapter, bc he now longer gets a little separated paragraph, but a chapter, and Heart to Heart came on and I started crying. And then proceeded to reread Tweek's end chapter and We'll Meet Again came on and I'm actually ready to throw up LMFAOOOOOO

(I wrote them before I went to sleep and I had to make sure they read well and blah blah whatever and now I'm just SAD. But also, what the fuck did I expect? This is what happens when you write a sad story with happy little stickers on it and a main character who despite everything wants nothing more than to be optimistic.)

9:18pm hi guys I am on my way home and yall are gonna HEAR IT IN MY END NOTES TONIGHT HOLY SHIT I GAVE TO PROOFREAD DANDELION I AM REALIZING THIS AS I TYPE IM GONNA BE SICK

anyways

I am here to rant bc I was just talking about it DOES ANYONE ELSE dislike when Bebe is portrayed as like an angel or like the opposite end of the spectrum and like straight up mean

LIKE I JUST WANNA SEE HER GIRLBOSS AND PEOPLE DO NOT WRITE HER LIKE THAT ANYMORE CAN I PLS GET SOME SUPER DYNAMIC GIRLBOSS BEBE RECS LMFAOOOOO

[probablyintensemuses]

SOOO HAPPY I FOUND UR PAGE 😭💗💗💗 armando fics are so scarce which is literally a crimeeee but just finished reading tiny little good things and read ALL 12K words UPPPPP !!!! literally had butterflies reading each sentence your writing ESPECIALLY ur dialogue is so well written like why was i actually giggling and kicking my feet reading omg. Could visualize every single thing he said. the way it was perfect timing that i found ur fic cause ive been on an armando fic hunt and couldn’t find any long ones then BOOM i found tiny little good things and trust I enjoyed every sec of it MATTER OF FACT IM GNA REREAD IT 😭😭 you’ve literally became my fav armando writer on this app hoping we can get to read more longer ones in the future 💗💗 thank you for sharing ur works !! 💕💕🫶

AHHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️this means the world to me and I’ll keep feeding you!!!