Virtual Hugs For All The Moots And Just Anybody Who Needs One

Virtual hugs for all the moots and just anybody who needs one 🫂

You’re awesome, keep going! Ily ✨

When alby shows the greenie around it’s like, “and rule number four, don’t touch newts food unless you want to die a painful death”

(I imagine that the one person that Newt will share his food with is Thomas but he’ll do a deadpan stare as he hands it over)

The headcannon that Newt is extremely possessive over his food and will break someone’s bones if they take it is so great to me

(I can make this angst btw 😌)

He would’ve loved to carve pumpkins with Minho and Thomas but Thomas isn’t allowed anywhere near a knife so Newt cuts his for him.

And knitting them all matching scarfs and hats because I will die on the hill that Newt either knits or crochets.

rip Newt Tmr u would’ve loved Autumn

I have to write this, this instant, this is such a sad idea 😢. Honestly all the gladers need a big hug. Time to pull myself out of the pit of writers block because this is too good.

Prompt #1125

"Please, stay."

"For the night?

"Forever."

I FIFTH THIS 🤗

In a modern AU Newt would be the sports player popular kid and Thomas would be the nerd everyone thought was kind of weird

(Spent far too long on this picture 🥲)

Talking to the stars

Newtmas

Words Count: 1k

Warnings: spoilers, sappy writing from me

Summary: based off this post

Everyone knew he wasn’t right in the head. Everyone knew he would never be right in the head again. Not after what he had caused. No matter what the others said, it was his fault. It was all his fault.

So they had all come accustomed to him clasping his own hands together as he walked as though to fool himself into believing that Newt was still there beside him. They came accustomed to him saving seats beside the fire that he would let nobody fill up, even if it meant him standing. They came accustomed to him talking to himself, still trying to fool himself that Newt was there, and still pretending he was.

It was heartbreaking to watch, especially for Minho. One of his greatest friends, completely broken. It wasn’t like he wasn’t devastated, of course he was, but the whole ordeal had completely shattered Thomas. If it wasn’t for all the gladers, Minho wouldn’t have been surprised if Thomas was the next to follow in Newt’s footsteps and start to beg to join him.

Thomas scared everybody and he scared himself. But he was also scared to forget Newt. To forget his voice, his laugh, and eventually his face. To forget the tender affectionate looks he would give Thomas, to forget how his hand would so perfectly encase his own. How soft his pale, freckle splashed skin was.

So he took it in his stride. Ignoring the weird looks he would get when he talked to himself.

One night, he could be found, as usual, wide awake, siting with his back against a tree.

He was alone, as far as any onlookers were concerned but not to him. To him Newt sat against his shoulder, using a hand to cover his own.

Thomas rested his head on his knees, swinging his clasped hands back and forth and watching the stars. He needed sleep, desperately, but none would come.

“Tommy.” The soft voice echoed around the clearing. At first he thought it was inside his head like all the other times Newt spoke to him. Yet the voice came again, a little clearer yet still just as soft.

“Tommy.”

Thomas raised his head and felt his heart begin to thump as he saw a pale, hazy Newt standing in front of him. He seemed to be outlined in pure starlight. His footsteps made no sound as he walked. Thomas was frozen, unsure what to do.

“Newt?”

“I need to talk to you Tommy.”

He kneeled in front of him, his face just as beautiful as it had been in life.

“Tommy…you have to let me go.”

Thomas shook his head, “I can’t, I don’t want to forget you.”

Newt gave him a sad smile, “you won’t, there’ll always be part of me with you.” He curled his had into a fist and placed it over Thomas’ heart. Thomas could almost feel the pressure, though the ghost of the boy was not really part of this world.

“Please Tommy, you can’t live like this, I won’t let you.”

“I can’t, I can’t.” He lowered his head, his gaze swimming. Newt used a pale hand to touch Thomas cheek lightly and almost urge his face upwards though no pressure was used.

“You have to live, okay, for both of us, do all the things we said we’d do, and I’ll be right beside you as it happens.”

Thomas drew in a shaky breath, not cared when his reply sounded childish, “Promise?”

Newt smiled, “I promise.”

He got to his feet again but Thomas reached out a hand.

“Please, stay.”

“For the night?”

“Forever.”

Newt moved back to him, “if I could, I would, but I need to rest now and you need to live, alright.” He leaned in and brushed his ghostly lips against Thomas’.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Thomas replied shakily.

Newt smiled before his hand was removed from his cheek and he seemed to melt back into the night.

The place where his lips had brushed Thomas’ own seemed warm though that couldn’t be real. Thomas pushed himself to his feet, surprised as Minho emerged from the undergrowth. By the look on his face he had been followed. And it seemed that his longing mind had created another world for him.

Minho gave Thomas a sad, sorry look before opening his arms wide. Thomas walked into them and the two stood there for a moment, hugging each other, sharing the loss of their friend and thanking each other for still being alive.

Yet what Newt said echoed throughout his mind, ‘You have to live, okay, for both of us’. So he did. He remembered the many daydreams him and the blond had dreamed up in the glade. Of wide green field and blue oceans. Of tall trees and beautiful marshes. Newt had always wanted to write a story, that’s what came to mind first.

He fished out the boys journal from his bag and began flipping through some notes before finding a sweet, edited account of their time in the glade and the scorch. After nagging Jorge to give him an empty book he had found a few days back, he gently pulled out the pages and placed them in the new book. Then he added his own shaky illustrations. The two of them lying in the deadheads admiring the trees, Minho pushing Gally into a river when he had annoyed him, Chuck following Thomas around the glade, laden with all kinds of items.

He worked hard, using things he found in the haven to colour the pictures. When he reached the end he carefully scrawled out a few stories of the safe haven.

‘So in the end, it ended out okay. Newt got a well deserved rest and me and the others are safe and happy.’

This was accompanied by a drawing of all the gladers, arm in arm with a pale version of Newt, Alby, Chuck, Teresa, Winston and all the others whose names were carved into that stone, standing beside their friends.

Then he closed the book and wrote of the front cover.

‘Beyond the glade by Thomas and Newt’

As he wrote the title, he could almost feel the soft fingers stroke his cheek and he smiled. Smiled for the first time in weeks. Smiled because everything had turned out okay after all. Newt would never really be gone. He was with them all. With Chuck and Alby and Teresa and Winston and Zart and Ben and all the others. They were with them all. In their hearts.