Newt

thebloodyglue @ 2021-12-04T22:51:00

2021-12-04T22:52:30Z

It's too early to be awake. Newt stirs but fights to stay asleep, burrowing deeper into quilts and pillows. He's got things to do, he knows that he has, but Alby will let him sleep until he has to, until he needs to go out and check on the growing things and help the other shanks get the Glade going for the day. Still, in bed, he's warm and safe, cosy, and he doesn't want to get up just yet.

He mumbles something, and pulls the quilt up over his head.

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Item Post

2020-06-22T16:51:02Z

Dear Thomas,

This is the first letter I can remember writing. Obviously, I don't know if I wrote any before the Maze. But, even if it's not my first, it's likely to be my last.

I want you to know that I'm not scared. Well, not of dying, anyway. It's more forgetting. It's losing myself to this virus, that's what scares me.

So every night I've been saying their names out loud. Alby, Winston, Chuck.

And I repeat them over and over like a prayer and it all comes flooding back.

Just the little things like when the sun used to hit the Glade at that perfect moment right before it slipped beneath the walls.

And I remember the taste of Frypan's stew. I never thought I'd miss that stuff so much.

And I remember you.

I remember the first time you came up in the Box, just a scared little Greenie who couldn't even remember his own name.

From that moment you ran into the Maze, I knew I would follow you anywhere. And I have. We all have.

If I could do it all over again, I would. And I wouldn't change a thing.

My hope for you is when you're looking back, years from now, you'll be able to say the same.

The future is in your hands now, Tommy. And I know you'll find a way to do what's right. You always have.

Take care of everyone for me. And take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy.

Thank you for being my friend.

Goodbye, mate.

Newt.
I’ve done this in another post but here you are again :)

Dear Thomas,

This is the first letter I can remember writing. Obviously, I don't know if I wrote any before the Maze. But, even if it's not my first, it's likely to be my last.

I want you to know that I'm not scared. Well, not of dying, anyway. It's more forgetting. It's losing myself to this virus, that's what scares me.

So every night I've been saying their names out loud. Alby, Winston, Chuck.

And I repeat them over and over like a prayer and it all comes flooding back.

Just the little things like when the sun used to hit the Glade at that perfect moment right before it slipped beneath the walls.

And I remember the taste of Frypan's stew. I never thought I'd miss that stuff so much.

And I remember you.

I remember the first time you came up in the Box, just a scared little Greenie who couldn't even remember his own name.

From that moment you ran into the Maze, I knew I would follow you anywhere. And I have. We all have.

If I could do it all over again, I would. And I wouldn't change a thing.

My hope for you is when you're looking back, years from now, you'll be able to say the same.

The future is in your hands now, Tommy. And I know you'll find a way to do what's right. You always have.

Take care of everyone for me. And take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy.

Thank you for being my friend.

Goodbye, mate.

Newt.

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thebloodyglue @ 2019-07-10T01:25:00

2019-07-10T00:28:57Z

The days blur into each other. He spends hours sprawled on the sofa or curled up in bed, sleeping as much as he's awake. He doesn't shower as often as he should; he forgets to change his clothes. He gets drunk more than is sensible, too, going out to bars without telling Kavinsky that he's leaving, coming home without fanfare.

His mood is a weight on his chest that he can't shake so, instead, he sinks.

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thebloodyglue @ 2019-04-14T22:41:00

2019-04-14T21:46:48Z

Spring, true Spring, always comes with a lot to be done outside. In the Glade, they hadn't had seasons -- it had been warm and bright most days. Some days, it might have rained, but the temperature didn't fluctuate much. The soil was good, and things grew. In Darrow, Newt has to spend some time in his own garden, the glass roof pushed back to let in the blue of the sky. He'd called Yona earlier and asked her if she wanted to come and help. Kavinsky is down at the studio and it's a nice chanc eto spend some time hanging out with one of his best friends, with his hands in good, rich earth.

It sounds like a entirely pleasant way to spend an afternoon.

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thebloodyglue @ 2019-04-03T15:49:00

2019-04-03T14:51:20Z

continued from here.

Newt grins a little, at that sound of feigned surprise, at the way Kavinsky's hips press back against him. He curls one arm around Kavinsky's waist, dropping a kiss on the side of his neck.

"You can definitely do better than that."

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thebloodyglue @ 2019-02-05T16:42:00

2019-02-05T16:45:33Z

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the day kind of unravels after that. Neither of them are particularly productive and, eventually, Newt found himself running a tub while Kavinsky sprawls on the bed in their room. Newt wanders back to the bathroom door, leaning his hip against the frame.

"Well," he says. "When we decided to give fostering a try, I don't think either of us were expecting this level of trouble from his girlfriend." He takes a sip of his beer. "Poor kid."

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thebloodyglue @ 2019-02-02T18:47:00

2019-02-02T18:56:11Z

He's getting used to other people being in the house. Charlie is a fairly minimal presence, actually. He spends a lot of time in his room, does his chores, keeps everything tidy. Sabrina is more or less a fixture too, and Newt likes her a lot. She seems like a nice girl, and, if bringing her cat with her is a little bit weird, then at least he doesn't start fights with the cats who actually live in the house, though Gally has done his fair share of hissing.

Newt's set up at the kitchen table with his accounts and a pot of tea. He heard Charlie leave a few minutes ago, but he assumes that he's coming back because he can hear Sabrina moving around in his bedroom. Kavinsky will be out for another couple of hours.

It's all quiet, and calm, and still.
He loves Saturdays like this.

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thebloodyglue @ 2018-04-09T17:23:00

2018-04-09T16:37:27Z

Sometimes, he can't help himself. He comes in from the garden and Kavinsky is cleaning, pottering around and tidying up. There's laundry half done, a load still to go in a basket on the table; the air smells of something lemony and astringent. House work is always something that sort of eludes Newt, just because it was the least important thing in the Glade. There were always other things to be done.

He stands in the doorway and watches Kavinsky for a moment, the bare skin of his back, freckled across his shoulders. The casual way his hair is ruffled back from his forehead, sweatpants low slung over his hips and ass. Newt growls low in the back of his throat and crosses the room, dropping his gloves and wraps his arms around Kavinsky from behind, one hand sliding over the warm, fat muscles of his belly, landing a kiss on the side of his neck.

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You are my safe home...

2018-01-15T16:18:14Z

Eventually, though. Eventually, he does find his way home. He's shivering cold, his hands numb, his boots soaked through from traipsing through the snow. There were, he thinks, tear earlier, but they're all spent now. All he can feel is numb, ice contained in skin. He slumps on the sofa in the lounge, without taking off his coat or boots. The cats crawl all over him.

He doesn't move.

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thebloodyglue @ 2017-11-01T21:01:00

2017-11-01T21:04:35Z

They ride it out and, gradually, the city outside the windows goes quiet. Newt lies in the hospital bed, feeling scraped out and hollow, but better than he had. The doctors keep telling him that everything should level out, that they've tweaked his treatment, his medication, that they're going to introduce a pill for him to take daily, that it shouldn't happen again. There's nothing that he can do but nod and smile but, in his core, he feels that whatever they've done is working.

He feels still, somehow.
He wakes up to someone sitting beside his bed. He shifts.

"Hey, shank."

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For Sara

2017-05-08T16:41:56Z

He'd almost been surprised when she'd replied to his ad. He's still in the planning stages, but he figures if he can get someone in on the ground floor, someone he can work with, then that'll make everything easier. He'd arranged to meet her at the coffee shop on a day that he's not working and he's sitting at one of the tables, with a coffee at his elbow and his sketchpad open, working on logo ideas. He's chosen the name GLADERS' GARDEN DESIGN.

He thinks it'll work.

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thebloodyglue @ 2017-02-27T17:14:00

2017-02-27T17:15:47Z

While they're walking, he texts Kavinsky to check in. He asks if he's okay to take Even to the apartment. He asks if he's alright to go as far as he wants to. Kavinsky's response settles a warmth into Newt's chest. Odd, in this situation, to feel so secure, so bloody loved.

I love you, he texts back. Back before morning.

He lets them into the studio and then turns to look at Even, head tilted to one side.

"So," he says, grinning. "You still think I'm bloody trouble?"

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thebloodyglue @ 2017-02-26T15:56:00

2017-02-26T15:57:57Z

He's surprised by how nervous he is. Initially, after what had happened, he'd sent flowers and then he'd asked her if she wanted to go for dinner out of friendship, more than anything. Yes, Jillie Vincent was beautiful and, yes, Newt absolutely wanted to spend more time with her but, if it turned out that wasn't what Jillie wanted or needed? Then Newt was going to take his cue from that.

Which didn't explain why he was so shucking nervous.

He waits outside the restaurant, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, scarf looped around his neck, waiting for her. He picked the place: Italian, not too fancy. He hopes that it's okay.

He needs to calm down.

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thebloodyglue @ 2016-10-27T00:30:00

2016-10-26T23:39:01Z

Something isn't right here.

Something's missing. Lately, it isn't unusual for Kavinsky to not come home (though he always texts, always checks in, always makes sure that he's got permission). Al, though. Al doesn't stay out. Al comes home.

Except he didn't come home last night and Newt wakes up hollow, wakes up sure that something's wrong. He does the dishes, tidies up, picks up his phone and checks that he's got no messages. He calls Beca, just to be sure, then realises that there isn't really anyone else to call. There isn't really anywhere else that Al would go. He texts Tris anyway. He doesn't hear anything back.

His heart feels like a shucking wound in his chest.

He pads back into the bedroom and sits down on the edge of the bed, which seems impossibly huge with just one boy sleeping in.

"Kavinsky?" he says softly. "Joe? Can you wake up a little, love?"

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thebloodyglue @ 2016-09-25T15:05:00

2016-09-25T14:07:33Z

He's been fending Kavinsky off all night - though, admittedly, he hasn't been trying too hard. He's been enjoying the warmth of Kavinsky's hands through the thin fabric of the dress that he's been wearing. His hair has started to escape in tendrils, slipping down around his face and he's pretty glad to kick off his shoes when they get back into the house.

He turns around, smiling.

"You look bloody gorgeous tonight. You know that?"

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thebloodyglue @ 2016-09-12T16:36:00

2016-09-12T15:38:05Z

The moment he wakes up, he knows that something is off. Al's already up and out somewhere but Kavinsky is still in bed and Newt reaches out, nudging him between his shoulder blades. He blinks, rubbing his eyes. He very deliberately doesn't look down.

"Hey, shank!" he says. "Wake up and tell me how bad it is."

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thebloodyglue @ 2016-05-18T21:00:00

2016-05-18T20:13:45Z

It's warm enough that they can risk retracting the glass roof on Newt's garden without fear of killing everything that they'd managed to save from the late snow. Newt's out there in jeans that are ripped out at the knees, a thin t-shirt got threadbare along one shoulder. His hands are protected by heavy gloves, but only because he's pruning fruit trees.

He sings while he works.
He never, ever thought he'd be this happy.

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thebloodyglue @ 2016-03-24T22:29:00

2016-03-24T22:31:47Z

The study is probably his favourite room in the house. It's only tiny, but it's got a desk and chair, a bookshelf well on it's way to being overloaded, a couch that Kavinsky dreamed to be both sort of beaten up but also incredibly shucking comfortable. Newt ends up in there to do his homework but, just as often, he sits in there reading, listening to the sound of his boyfriends off somewhere in the little house.

That afternoon, he's come in from the garden to do some homework, installed himself at his desk. There's a cup of tea at his elbow. He tunes tunelessly to himself as he works.

It's a life he never imagined he'd have.
It's bloody amazing.

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thebloodyglue @ 2016-01-13T20:38:00

2016-01-13T20:39:59Z

It's a rare night where he finds himself alone. Kav and Al have gone grocery shopping; Kav had texted him to tell him that they were swinging by Beca's while they were out and that they'd be gone for a couple of hours. Newt's done laundry, he's cleaned the apartment, changed the sheets on the bed and now he finds himself sort of at a loss. He pulls out his phone.

Hey, Greenie. Want to hang out?

It's not like Tommy has a long way to come.

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thebloodyglue @ 2016-01-05T16:45:00

2016-01-05T16:47:36Z

Everything hurts, but in a good way - in a way that tells him that his body is digging back, finding ways to heal. He's been taking a lot of baths, drinking almost constant tea. He doesn't wear his own clothes, preferring to be swaddled in Al's jumpers, Kav's sweats. He curls on the sofa, watching another movie.

"Hey, Joe?" He calls, knowing the other boy is in the apartment somewhere.

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thebloodyglue @ 2015-12-31T17:56:00

2015-12-31T17:58:12Z

It's difficult to tell how long it's been. He doesn't really sleep - just drifts in and out. The headaches don't go anywhere, even with asprin. His hands shake. His mouth tastes perpetually of ash. He ignores it, more or less. If he's going to die, then he's not sure he cares anymore. This time, he might even welcome the Gone. At least he wouldn't be feeling anything anymore.

He gets up, shuffles in the direction of the bathroom, and he's not sure how it happens, not sure what goes wrong, but his weak knee locks and he ends up sprawled on the floor. Doesn't see stars, though. Just darkness touched with flickering like fire.

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thebloodyglue @ 2015-12-30T19:12:00

2015-12-30T19:14:54Z

Morning comes, grey and wet, and Newt's head is still hurting. It doesn't seem to matter how much asprin he takes. He loves Tommy, he does, but he can't take the way Tommy keeps looking at him. It makes his fingers itch to punch something, to tear himself apart. So when he texts Al, he's already heading down the corridor to his own place.

COME OVER? x

The first thing he sees when he lets himself through the door are a pair of Kavinsky's sneakers.

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thebloodyglue @ 2015-12-26T22:33:00

2015-12-26T22:36:22Z

He makes sure that Al knows where he is, where he's going, and then he throws some things into a bag. It's virtually no distance to Thomas' apartment, just a couple of doors down the hall. He should go further, he knows, go somewhere that there's no chance of running into Kavinsky but, right then, he just wants to be somewhere safe, with someone uncomplicated who he knows loves him and, right now, that's Thomas.

He knocks, and then leans his forehead against the door. His headache is killing him. His brain is pulsing. He sniffs, trying not to burst into tears on the doorstep.

He knocks again.

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OT3 - Christmas Morning

2015-12-24T21:47:41Z

It's his first Christmas and, so far, so good. They woke up early, exchanged presents all sitting cross-legged on the bed, still swaddled in blankets. Newt had immediately looped the chain that Kavinsky bought him around his neck, the scarf that Al gave him ontop of that. He's got a little collection of gifts from other people.

Kavinsky gives both of them a quick kiss and goes to get in the shower and Newt sprawls out in the rumpled sheets.

"Should we get up, greenie?"

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Date night

2015-12-16T07:58:54Z

It's been a long day. His shoulders ache, but pleasantly, like he's put effort in and got something out of it. When he looks at his phone for the first time in two hour and says a text that says pick you up, he can't help but smile.

He ends up waiting by the main gate of the park, idly reading a book he had shoved in his bag.

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