#mazeruin

[crankbound-blog]

→ ( @finalkeeper // @mazeruin )

          the tension that clings to the air is thick and foreign─ an unfamiliar and, quite frankly, uncomfortable feeling in comparison to the ease that he’d grown so accustom to when with his two most cherished friends. but the uneasiness can’t be helped even isn’t by fault of their own. it’s the first time they sat together─ the three of them─ without the looming threat of DEATH in their wake. newt can’t possibly express the happiness and relief that has come from seeing thomas and minho again, but guilt and fear burden his mind as well. he can’t imagine the other two feel any different─ especially with a daunting, ever-present fear that he’s SURE is plaguing all their minds: how long will the peace last? 

the thought of his own revival still haunts him but his final memories haunt him even more. but despite everything, newt knows they can’t afford to wallow. even if he can’t trust his own mind─ he won’t allow himself to let it swallow him if he can help it. not now, since he’s gotten them back. in spite of the uncertainty, he’s confident they’ll be able to move forward. they have to. starting by tackling a few bumps. 

❝ hey, ❞ in the midst of conversation, newt turns to face thomas with concern coloring expression, ❝ if we’re to figure this place out, you’ve got to stop worrying. i’m alive, head’s as clear as ever. what’s happened, happen. i don’t blame you. ❞ a simple gesture meant to soothe a friend’s worries as he does best he’s fueled by the concern that thomas bears too much guilt ( for something of newt’s OWN fault ) ; but newt doesn’t even take a moment to consider how much minho knows─   a simple mistake, but perhaps more foolish that he knows. 

[finalkeeper]

[ @crankbound | @mazeruin ]

Honestly, he wakes up too early. It usually makes for some time alone, watching the dawn break and maybe going out for a jog ( even though after coming here, he, for some reason, seems to prefer staying in in the mornings, never straying far from the room itself if he went to explore. ) 

Today, however? 

He’s just radiating smugness. god, minho. what have you done.

( if you need an answer, there’s an empty boxful of rubber ducks that have been relocated into the bathtub; overflowing it, and a bunch hidden around the apartment-- cellophane wrap stretched across the doorway to the bedrooms of his sleeping friends, the perfect height for walking into half asleep. all their watches and clocks, also, have been turned to different times. Maybe the bathroom light is even tinged blue. )

Happy April Fools, you shanks.

[crankbound-blog]

                                                                      →  @mazeruin​

         the very last thing newt remembers is looking into his eyes and witnessing such a fierce, vivid expression of emotion. anguish so overwhelming powerful it had almost appeared surreal─ an expression he had NEVER wanted to see upon someone he valued so dearly. it’s a haunting recollection, wreaking guilt on his mind. and then there was nothingness ─                        rather, that’s where things SHOULD have ended. 

but he’s sitting─ BREATHING─ in a clean room with thoughts as clear as ever and a single, BLOOD-CHILLING thought: he should be dead.

there’s no reasoning behind him being here. even with all of wicked’s resources pooled together, there is absolutely NO logical explanation that newt can conjure up to explain how he’s alive; unharmed, on that matter. but he knows better than to let himself feel at ease. whatever the reason─ whether it’s beyond what he knows possible or not─ newt knows that it’s all too perfect. something’s wrong: wicked’s trick. perhaps it’ll be hours before things fall apart and he’s, once again, forced into some sick trial. he even considers the fact that his final moments were all an illusion conjured up by the flare. or, maybe he is dead, and this is his own personal hell to torment him for the things HE’D DONE. 

after all, how could such a perfect solution exist? the city of koi? a paring project? flare-free? impossible, impossible, impossible. he can’t fathom a solution so easy. and even if such a luxury did exist─ he shouldn’t be in it. dead, i died. but among such chaotic thoughts, there’s one thing that gives him hope. hope: such a laughable ideal, and yet as newt scans the welcome letter ( another laughable idea: who at wicked was getting a kick out of this? ), he can’t help but feel hopeful at the idea that minho and thomas are here, too. his “”roommates””─ but could it ever really be that simple? yet he’d give anything to see them again, even if it isn’t what he deserves. doubt cascades thoughts; it’s ridiculous to even think this true. 

he’s not sure how long he wallowed in confusion and questions when the simple click! of the door unlocking finds his attention. immediately, he stands, nearly stumbling in the process. he watches, bewildered and ready to fend for himself if needed ( he’s found that you can never be TOO CAUTIOUS ). instead, the world slows. in that moment, he’s vulnerable; thoughts silenced as eyes befall thomas. 

❝ hey, tommy. ❞ newt croaks out the name. a new wave of dread washes over. too many questions flood his thoughts, yet he can only manage a simple greeting. what COULD one even say in a situation like this? ❝ been a while since i’ve seen your shuck face. ❞ a weak attempt at being casual, his words fall short of anything but sadness. guilt. betrayal.

he’s silent before sighing in defeat. 

❝ is this even real, or did i lose my bloody mind for real this time? ❞ 

[finalkeeper]

❝ No worries, it’s all bad. ❞

LIFE IS STRANGE SENTENCE STARTERS. | ACCEPTING.( @mazeruin : still kickin’. )

… So he wasn’t alone in this place. It’d been a little bubble of relief that popped and spread through his chest when he first saw him, a smile forming at seeing his little running protégé– it’s joke, of course, but it was true that bonds made in the maze were long lasting ( if both parties lived long enough ). And, man, this little shank named Thomas? Sometimes a slinthead, sure, but worth risking his life for. 

“Oh, that’s grand.”

Fast forward to now, and his tone is light, as if he’s remarking on the weather, but people trained to him would easily pick out the sarcasm that laid under those words. It’d be said in an English accent if they had been from a more merciful timeline, but unfortunately, even WICKED didn’t have time travel under their belt. Neither did this city, it seemed like. And if it did, it wasn’t like they were going to let them get their hands on it any time soon. 

( What he’d give, to go back and save their friend, if things had just ended differently, had progressed differently; if he had acted differently – but those are thoughts that he doesn’t let in his mind now. he saves them for when alone at night, when life wasn’t as pressing and breathing down their necks, and – even with the thoughts, Minho doesn’t let himself linger on the what ifs. For him, rage is the answer– anger at those who did this to them; but god– doesn’t he miss the golden haired boy fiercely.  )

“Just what we needed. More bad news. What is it? More of the world dying? Drama? Some poor old lady try to hit on you?”

It’s amusement tinging his voice, as he leans forward and whispers in an almost conspiratorial voice–

“As much as I’m glad to see you, you’re still one ugly shank.”