er rather one of the best moments

Conditioned

Part Sixteen


Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen

So, not as quick as the last one…but honestly, I got nearly no feedback on the last one, and if not for one very wonderful person, I might not have kept going—it’s the fact that she actually tells me that she enjoys this story and looks forward to it that gives me reason to write.

Believe it or not, despite the fact that I enjoy this story, I could finish it all out in my head and be content and not post it.

I’m going to say this again.

Please support this story if you like it. Don’t read it and move on—”like” it, at minimum, or better, reblog it, or hell, even reply to it. Send me an ask, or a message.

If no one shows me that it’s being read, I’m going to stop posting it, because it’s a waste of my time to put it to words. I have other obligations and I write this and post it because, though I enjoy it, a handful of people have told me that they love this story.

I will carry that with me, always.

But you people treat me, and other fanfiction writers, like this is nothing.

Actually, it’s a lot. This chapter (and the last) are each over nine-thousand words. 9,000. This story has reached over one-hundred-thousand words. Literally more than 100,000 words.

I don’t actually have to post this. I don’t have to share my stories and if you people can’t take a moment to click a button or type an, “I enjoy this!,” then what does that tell me? That your time is more valuable than mine? Ten minutes of yours, versus…oh, let’s see…this was at least…twelve hours, of mine?

I’m not trying to be rude, but guys, I post this for you lot. I can finish it out in my own time and never put it anywhere.

I do this for free.

You don’t pay me anything.

Fuck, you don’t even show your appreciation but to ignore my set “rules” and to treat me like a machine.

It’s not encouraging.

I am a human.

To the handful of you who are paying attention to this and who are reading and liking it, to the two of you who always devote a reblog to my work…thank you.

I love you, so much, and you don’t know what it means to me to know that you guys support me.

Thank you for giving me your time.

For the rest of you, keep in mind.

I don’t have to do this.

Which means you are allowed to read this. This is a free service. You have to pay for water, but you get online and this is here for you.

The least you people can do is show me it’s worth my time.

Now. A small note—this chapter, I suppose, could be considered filler, but this is what came out, so I rolled it around in my head before deciding to post it anyway.

Of course, the original request:

“something to do with stripper!Gladers?? ;)”

And the warnings:

This story will contain mentions of mental and physical abuse; conditioned responses; feelings of hopelessness, entrapment, rage, fear, hate, and many other drastic emotions; thoughts of suicide, including being okay with dying, and thoughts of the consequences of suicide; drinking; language; smut in later chapters (although, if it has a plot, is it smut…?); and other things that may or may not be added later. (Basically, this is a dark story…but I promise it will have a happy ending, loves.)

Enjoy.

(Name) woke uncomfortably.

But it wasn’t her slightly-numb arm—he was bigger than her, so it had been lifted the better part of the night—or the odd angle her neck had found as she snuggled him.

It was how hot he was.

(Name) shook him slightly, propping herself up on her elbow, feeling panic tickling the back of her neck. “Newt, Newt, honey, wake up.” He let out a low grumble, and she shook him again, “Newt, I think you’ve got a fever.”

She felt him move, finally, but it wasn’t much—he curled up in the absence of her warmth, shivering lightly. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, after a moment. “It’s fucking freezing in here.”

That was twice tonight she’d heard him swear, but the only thing she minded about it was how suddenly it had come—and the fact that it probably meant the filter between his brain and his mouth was falling a little, which could either be that he was getting comfortable with her…

Or he wasn’t feeling well enough to care.

She leaned over him and found his forehead with her lips. “Oh, Newt, you’ve got a fever.” She took a breath, sitting up, scooting out from under the covers, and she circled the bed to pull the blankets all the way up to his nose. “I’ll kill Janson if I ever meet him,” she growled.

Newt blinked at her blearily, letting out a groan when she turned on the light on his bedside table. “Probably my own fault,” he muttered. “Considering my trip home.”

“No, it’s his for being a total asshole with a secret that would get him arrested if it got out,” she muttered, and when he looked worried, she shook her head. “I won’t, Newt. I promise. I’m too concerned about you to out him,” she assured. “But I’ve got to take care of you. I’m gonna get another blanket. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He heard a quiet clatter after she left the room, and shortly after she returned with another blanket, Minho stumbled through the doorway, not quite cognitive, but doing his best to stay aware. “You two okay?”

At least the words weren’t slurred.

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