#minho tmr
Minho: Live fast, die young, leave behind a pretty corpse. That’s what I always say.
Newt: You should say something else.
*watching Thomas do something stupid*
Newt: You want me to go yell at him?
Minho: Yes. Actually, yeah, that would be great.
Newt: Oh, no, no, no. I was just kidding. I never yell. Even when I’m mad. I just push it down really deep, and then I wake up in the middle of the night, panicked and sweaty for no reason.
Gally, walking into a room: Hey, Y/N.
Minho: Do you just not see the other ten people in the room or-
Minho: Coffee or tea?
Thomas:Tea.
Minho, pouring himself a cup: No, it’s coffee.
Thomas: We would just like to remind you of how much you care about us.
Minho: And how boring your life would be without us.
Newt:
Newt: What did you do?
what comes up in your tags when you types
bo
mi
ca
pe
ga
been having a lot of Minho feelings recently, pls reblog with your favorite minho moment or favorite thing about him
CH 1
—
”Thomas!”
The only sight he could see was up, from the scorching earth between his fingers towards the dizzying blue sky that seemed to tumble into him at the speed of a million fighter jets.
The sense of vertigo was overwhelming—he fought to stay upright. Lungs gave in on itself as he struggled to breathe, the pins and needles rushing through his bloodstream giving anything but a solid chance to swallow one last desperate breath of air.
Thomas tried to lift himself up, but the pain circulating through his body was too much. He could only sink further into the earth beneath him, finding it near impossible to gather the strength to move any further.
Someone was yelling at him, blurred shapes in the corner of his eyesight trying to signal something. He just couldn’t tell what, nor could he search his brain for recognition of their features. Fleshy faces seemed to all merge together, forming some kind of indescribable terror.
“Get up! Thomas, get up and run—” Something sharp tugged at his arm now, cutting through the daze of his mind as he caught flashing images of the floor dragging beside him.
As the words echoed through his ears, he realized with a muddied sense of alarm that none of it held any meaning. The ache of confusion clouded his thoughts, his usually capable thinking becoming disorderly and scrambled. Although the sun was out, clear as day, his vision was blurred and ability to perceive depth was off.
As repeating voices overlapped each other, fighting for priority in his head, he shut his eyes—unable to take the overwhelming charge of information.
He felt like he’d fallen into a vat of acid, the entirety of the world seeming to disappear into a swimming stream of consciousness. Few intelligible thoughts passed through his mind. But something was clear to him, amidst the confusion and chaos of the world around him. It forced him into submission of his own agony, bringing him to a halt as he recoiled in pain.
He’d been stung.
He knew that from the searing torment he felt surging through his leg. It started at his thigh and shot up the right side of his body like molten lava coursing through his veins. He had the passing thought of wanting to die. It would be better than living through this for even just a second longer.
The pain was so intense, his muscles tensed but nothing, no words came out of his parched lips. And there was no way his sense of confusion was helping him any better. He could feel himself slipping, his sense of direction and gravity shifting from underneath his feet as he panted, chest feeling heavy. He wasn’t even sure which way was up anymore—was he still standing on the ground?
Whether he was standing or crawling, he knew that he was moving forward. He could sense it vaguely, somewhere beneath the difficulty focusing, the pounding in his head. And when his vision finally started to clear, that’s when he could see it.
Up ahead, though he couldn’t see how far, a house. Or some kind of shelter. It was dark in the distance, fading in and out of his sightline like a mirage. Was it real? His mind could’ve been playing tricks on him, he knew. Either way, he felt his stomach lurch as he pushed forward on the ground, digging nails into the dirt to get closer to the only shelter in sight.
The familiar whirring of blades sounded from behind, forcing an image of its bulbous figure to flash through his mind. A Griever. Desperate, he pushed up to his feet before stumbling, refocusing, then pushing himself up with his palms to run again.
As he sprinted across the dirt in a half-limp, he could sense the creature gaining on him. Closing the distance in on the shelter, he swore he felt the snap of a deadly blade at the nape of his neck. Thomas felt his heart leap into his chest, threatening to pierce through his ribcage. The edge of fear kept him just sane enough to stay conscious.
The pressure of the chase kept him pushing on, until before he knew it, he was crashing through the cracked door of the shelter. As soon as he felt wooden flooring through the soles of his shoes, he stumbled to a halt and latched shut the heavy door behind him, collapsing backwards onto the frame. The door shook and rattled, as something fought on the other side to get in. The more the wall jerked against his back, the louder the roaring in his head got. Incomprehensible thoughts flooded his frame of mind.
His heart pounded, pumping through the blood rushing in his ears. He couldn’t have been sure if he felt the sensation of Grievers pushing through the other side. His body remained tense as he listened for any remaining sounds of echoing clicks.
As soon as the only sounds left were his own breathing, without him intending to, his body crumpled to the floor on its own, not giving him another chance to react as his mind gave into blackness. All he could feel as the world closed on him was intermittent sweating and freezing chills as darkness took away his sight one last time.
