Hi! First off all, I adore your fics, you're one of my favorite writers. Second, how about a fic where, when Minho abandoned Thomas in the first book, he never went back for him, and Thomas died. Years later, after they've all escaped, the Gladers have the opportunity to get their memories from before back. Minho goes for it, and he remembers that before the Glade, he and Thomas were together. I'M AWFUL I'M SO SORRY
I’M SCREAMING??? YES YOU ARE no it’s okay i will write this for you of course ouo also thank you for the compliment you total sweetie!!!
The scorched sun takes it’s toll in lots of different ways — it’s heavy, and hot, and it bares down on the backs of the Gladers like cargo, like sweat that weighs like stones, rolling off their necks and into the collars of worn, dirty shirts.
If you asked Minho, he would say it started because their brains started peeling like the skin on their arms.
Slowly, memories creep back. One layer peels away and one memory comes back — chasing kids around sprinklers and crying when your mom takes you back, Minho remembers, he remembers which is a fearful thing, because he’d given up on remembering basically the second he arrived in the box and noticed his thoughts were not his own. Survival skills built into him, like he was trained to forget his entire life — inevitably, when he did, it wasn’t fear he felt at not remembering.
Instead, it was a sense of self. Forgetting his past made it easier to determine how to go about the future, which is exactly what he did — lead the Runners, day in and day out, on a run that gives hope but amounts to nothing. Two years, running, back and forth on paths he can recite like a line from a movie ( right turn, left turn, left, right, straight ) and for what cause? The resolution, which lead to another trial, which lead to another trial, which lead to freedom. Maybe? Paranoia is a sticky substance like honey in the back of your cranium cavity — they may have beaten WICKED, they may have won, but anxiety will linger where fear doesn’t, will keep him up at night and wonder if this is all just another experiment being run.
Getting memories happens slowly. He remembers a family, three younger brothers and a younger sister, all who hated him for being immune — he doesn’t blame them, because while his brothers were tearing at their hair and biting the skin on their fingers, Minho was studying algebra, was learning chemistry and physics. His mom and dad hated him too — a scornful Korean family where he was the outcast, and he remembers the sense of relief he felt when WICKED came to take him away, finally, save him from this awful place.
Relief, he laughs about it now.
WICKED is good, he remembers being told, like a mantra, praying it to an American flag in the morning, running tests and trials on things he can’t remember because it never stuck in his brain. Boring work, typical. He’s always been a kid who would respond with recess when asked what his favorite subject in school was, never really liked how smart he was, which makes people scoff and laugh because of course a munie wouldn’t want to be smart.
It must be super hard not dying, and all.
He remembers Alby, and he remembers Alby’s smile. He remembers chasing Alby around when they were children, and remembers punching his shoulder as they grew up, turning from boys to men and from men to test subjects. He remembers Ben, which hurts, remembers that he and Ben were good friends — they always sat next to each other in lectures, always got in trouble together and hid their smiles behind the backs of their hands when they got caught.
He almost forgot about Thomas.
He would have been happy to, since there’s a grand amount of guilt that still lingers there — Thomas, the special one, the one he let die which allowed Minho to live. It isn’t his proudest moment, not by a long shot. It gives Minho grief, sometimes, to think about how different things would have been in Thomas lived — maybe Newt would still be alive, or Alby, or Chuck, or any of them. Things could of played out differently, in the end, left Minho with more than a handful of people, who he barely knows their names.
But it’s fine. He wasn’t close to the shank, anyway.
It starts with hands.
When he shuts his eyes, sometimes, he can see them. Skinny wrists and long, elegant fingers all marked up with moles and freckles — hands that reach out to him and pull at his clothes, that wind around his fingers and stroke the back of his hands. He remembers those hands intimately, and he can picture them perfectly — not the face attached, but the bluntness of bitten nails, the pale color like their owner had spent too many days locked inside a room.
He loves these hands that exist only in his mind — these hands that he daydreams about touching him, hands that feel smooth to the touch but cold, like a ghost’s.
Another day, another layer peels back.
He remembers a mouth.
A mouth that he longs to kiss ( again, his mind says ), lips that are plump and red and pout when their owner gets praised, lips that pull back to unveil razor teeth as their owner yells about revolution, about the benefit of man. Minho doesn’t remember any words, but he remembers the mouth forming the words — short sentences but well put together. Questions, more often than not, an inquisitive mind that asks the reasoning behind everything.
When Minho remembers eyes, he knows exactly who it is.
And it’s a chant of no no no he greets when he sees those eyes — scorching like the sun, brown like chocolate Minho’s never tasted, but sweeter than that, he thinks. Eyes that once told him I want to be a Runner and the same eyes that used to whisper I love you, Min in the dark alcoves of the WICKED station, hidden behind corners where they wouldn’t be seen. Eyes that quickly re-become his favorite color. Eyes he’d left behind when he was afraid. Eyes he’ll never seen again.
If memories returning was exciting, for a second, then when he remembers Thomas it’s excruciating.
He wishes it would stop, but the sun is unforgiving, and it peels away.
Layer by layer —
( how Thomas feels like he’s thrumming beneath where Minho touches him, how Thomas whispers loving words of togetherness in his ear )
by layer —
( the one time they got caught kissing, and Thomas got taken away for a month, and when he came back they picked up right where they left off )
by layer —
( Thomas saying he misses his mother, and Minho saying they’re family now )
by layer.
Minho saying I love you to the dusty Scorch wind, and the only returning voice is an echo in his mind, Thomas saying you killed me, Min.
Okay, I'm like 99% positive Wes went back for Michaela's ring. He was kinda meticulous about all the other details, so why would he let that go? I'm guessing he's keeping it as an insurance policy, to blackmail or frame Micheala if necessary.
ive thought about this and it actually kinda makes sense and with his record of blackmailing prof keating it wouldnt surprise us if he's planning to blackmail her with it
he probably knows she'll breakdown bc it will eat her up inside and is saving it for the future
and now we know HE killed sam we don't know what to expect from him
A/N: So I haven't written any fanfics for, like, ever, and I finally wrote this for a writing award at school, where you literally couldn't write your own stuff and you had to write a fanfic. (or, as they said, "was based off a novel".) EDIT: GUYS I WON THE CONTEST OH MY GOD
It's just a short Achilles/Patroclus thing...
x
The words he used to say to Patroclus echoed in his mind.
“What has Hector ever done to me?” ....
Patroclus would never hear those words again.
Achilles would never be able to believe those words again.
The white cloth was stained with his friend’s blood. White, like the colour of the flag Achilles could’ve waved. Could’ve. Should’ve. Didn’t. The blood was brown and black now that it had dried, but it was red when Achilles first saw it. Red like his rage, and black like his sorrow. Brown like his broken pride, dirtied and ruined from dragging Hector’s body through the dirt, trailing around on his chariot in spite that was disguised as victory.
Patroclus’ body lay underneath that cloth. His throat was torn, ripped by the spear of Hector. There were only two people there to honour the dead man - Achilles, the Aristos Achaion himself, and Briseis, the village girl that Patroclus doted upon, much to Achilles’ confusion. He never understood the friendship that his lover had kept with the girl and why he had cared enough for her that she stood there now, tears spilling and slipping down her dark cheeks. Now he never would.
Achilles lit the torch and pressed it to the cloth. Soaked in oil and blood, it caught alight instantly, and it tore Achilles apart to see the flames caress Patroclus’ hands as he himself used to, hold his body as he used to, stroke his cheek as he once did and never would again. He started to cry, the salty tears rolling down his cheek, his lips and shoulders trembling with rage and grief at what had befallen him and his beloved.
“What has Hector ever done to me?” He whispered, finally answering the question.
EVERY POST WITH PURPLE AESTHETIC, current news, tech news in which she offers her own opinion, awesome music, pretty clothing, makeup tutorials, life hacks, social justice, body positivity, motivational quotes, puns that are actually funny
the first person they followed
Chapel
what kind of theme they’d have
Something super pretty and elegantly put together and purple
what kind of text posts they make at 2am
"Some of you fellas need to grow up. Lookin at you, sugar..." (tagged as "if you think this is about you it is")
"Late night thoughts... Always remember that when you think you can't, you absolutely can. <3"
"Just finished calling a friend back on Earth. I miss it there but here is home. :)"
I don’t watch it but I really want to start bc it looks like a good show! and I’ll do it anyway based off what i’ve seen on tumblr :)
Push off a cliff: IDKFrick frack: finn collins (damn he’s pretty)Marry: monty green Set on fire: IDKWrap a blanket around: jasper jordan (damn this boy has suffered a lot)Be roommates with: raven reyes?
SEND A FANDOM & I’LL TELL YOU WHICH CHARACTERS I WOULD
