#gally x oc

[myocsfanfictions]

THE WCKD PROJECT

MAZE RUNNER SMUTS

Hello, this is not a real fanfiction, I will use my OC Marie from Caged (my TMR fanfiction) to develop this SMUTS COLLECTION.

What if the experiments on the boys and girls ended up with the Maze? What if WCKED was interested in study their bodies and brains reactions during sexual activities decided by scientists, while they are recorded?

WARNING EVERY CHAPTER CONTAINS SMUT!

If you've got any request let me know.

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

The Power of Suffering - Part 1 (Gally x OC)

Summary: Joan was the only survivor from her own maze, rescued by the Right Arm nearly a year ago. But now she was going out with them to try and save some other kids just like her. Only what they find is a boy barely clinging to life - and she is determined to save him.

Pairing: Gally x OC (Joan)

Word Count: 3675

Warnings: blood, death mention, canon typical violence, sloppy medical procedures, canon divergence, background original characters

ONE | TWO | THREE

“Do you trust me?” Nellie had asked her, holding up the tracking device they had pulled from the Griever's corpse. 

Joan looked up at her, her hands still covered in the blood of her friends that she had tried to save but couldn’t, and nodded her head. Whatever was out there had to be better than staying in here. 

“I trust you,” she had whispered in return, taking her friend’s other hand and making a break for possible freedom. Only a handful of their group was left, and they all followed them into the labyrinth.  

The Maze twisted and turned in seemingly random directions, but Nellie appeared to know exactly where she was going, her eyes focused and her tired face lifted in hope. They came to a bridge, the doors on the other side already opening to reveal a path that lead away from the Maze. The group of girls, Joan included, dared to smile as they jogged across the bridge. 

But the smiles all dropped and screams filled the air when Grievers started crawling up the sides of the bridge, grabbing anyone they could get their mechanical claws around. Including Nellie. Joan screamed, pulled with all her might to keep her friend at her side, but she wasn’t strong enough. Nellie was ripped from her and thrown over the side of the bridge, just as the Grievers began to shut down and fall from the bridge themselves. 

Through the doors came a group of masked men, wearing dark clothes and carrying guns held aloft and ready to fire, but their guns immediately lowered when they saw Joan trembling alone on the bridge. Tears streamed down her red cheeks, green eyes large and terrified as they approached her. 

“We’re with the Right Arm — you’re safe now. Safe from WCKD.” 

The truck went over a bump in the desert, stirring Joan from her revery and forcing her back into the present. They were going to another Maze facility, the Right Arm chapter based near the Last City, and as their resident Combat Medic, she had been ordered to go along. Ever since she had been given the order her mind had been wandering back to that day she was saved from her own Maze. All she knew was that she was thankful that they had saved her from that hell, but they had been too late to save any of her friends. To save Nellie. 

Joan took those thoughts and crumpled them into a ball, forcing them down into her throat and into a dark place within herself where they would let her focus on the job that needed to be done. It had been nearly a year. She had hoped that the memories would have faded by now. Instead, they were still sharp and dangerous and painful. 

Beckett, the man in charge of the mission, turned back from talking to the driver, “Alright, we’re almost there gentleman — and Joan. Remember, we’re here to rescue the kids, not destroy the place.” 

“But if it happens along the way?” Farley asked from beside Joan, making the other men in the unit chuckle beneath their breath. 

“Two birds with one stone I suppose.” Beckett cracked a smile, causing the other men to stomp their feet and holler in excitement. 

Joan only betrayed a small smile before she ducked down and did her triple check of her medical bag. IV fluids. Tourniquets. Bandages. Morphine. Gloves. Antiseptic. She hoped that she didn’t have to use any of it. That her role was only a precaution instead of a necessity. But she had a feeling that wasn’t going to be the case on this mission. 

The truck came to a sudden halt, and before she knew it Beckett was leading the unit inside the massive WCKD Maze facility. Memories tried to uncrumple themselves and come back into the light, but she forced them back into their corner where they belonged as she ran in through the doors that Farley held open. 

All the monitors had been turned off. There was broken glass all over the place. And two bodies lay on the floor. 

“Farley, stay with Joan in here, we’re going into the Maze to look for more kids.” Beckett signaled the rest of the unit to follow him further into the darkness. 

Joan went into autopilot as she dropped down onto her knees beside the first body she came across. It was a boy no older than thirteen, his eyes still open and a massive red stain covering his shirt. She reached up to check his pulse and wasn’t surprised when she didn’t feel that familiar beat beneath her fingers. Farley looked at her expectantly, only to grimace when she shook her head solemnly. She closed the young boy's eyes before moving onto the next body. 

Another boy, with a spear sticking out of his chest. God, what happened here? Joan had to wonder as she rolled him onto his back so she could check his pulse. He was around her age, maybe a little older, with sandy blonde hair and built like a tree. He was handsome in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on. 

Two fingers on his carotid artery she prayed for a pulse, and she gasped when she felt a faint and slow throb where she assumed there would be nothing. 

“He’s alive!” she shouted, quickly grabbing her medical kit and taking a further assessment of the damage that had been done to his body as she cut away his shirt with her pair of medical shears. 

In the Maze, she had been the medic because somebody had to be, because she was the one unlucky enough to step in when someone hurt themselves the first time. Now it was a choice. A choice to help people in need every day that she loved to make. 

He had already bled out quite a bit, but the spear stopped the majority of the blood that was probably building up inside his chest cavity from escaping. He was going to need surgery if he was going to live, but she couldn’t just open him up right there, she didn’t have the equipment for that or the knowledge. From the discoloration of his face and the sweat on his brow, she could assume that he had been stung by one of the Grievers, so he was going to need serum as well. 

As she pulled on her gloves she ordered, “Farley, put pressure around the wound.” 

“You mean the spear?” The man built akin to a bear dropped down to the floor immediately, and put his hands on the boy’s chest. 

“He’ll live — “ she said, more to herself than anything else as she pulled out the one vile of serum she had brought with her, “As long as we get him back to base. He’ll live.” 

“Joanie,” Farley said softly, “We’re three days from base.” 

She had nearly forgotten. 

“Well, we’ll have to make due here then.” She looked up at Farley as she administered the serum, “Are you with me?” 

He looked at the young girl, unsure if he really wanted this total stranger’s life in his hands. He was a soldier, not a medic. But Joan couldn’t do this alone, and he didn’t want the kid to die either. So he agreed with a nod of his head. 

Joan, on the other hand, hadn’t even stopped to confirm with Farley. She knew she needed to act fast if this was going to work. After injecting him with a dose of morphine for the pain, though she highly doubted he would wake up for at least a few days, she pulled from her bag a scalpel, a ton of bandages, a chest tube, stitching needle, and fishing wire. 

She handed Farley a few of the bandages and picked up the scalpel. 

“On three you’re gonna take the spear out.” 

“I’m gonna what?” 

“One — “

“Wait, Joanie, I don’t think — “ 

“Two — “ 

“Oh, my God.” 

“Three.” 

Farley pulled the spear out of the boy’s chest with a grunt and threw it to the side as Joan quickly covered the gaping hole with bandages. 

“Put pressure on that. Pressure,” she said as she picked up the scalpel and the chest tube, “Now I have to make an incision between his fourth and fifth ribs in order to get the blood and extra air out of his lungs.” 

“What about his heart?” Farley asked, eyes trained on Joan’s steady hands as they drove the scalpel into the boy’s side. 

“If the spear had hit his heart he’d be dead.” She inserted the chest tube into the cut she had made and blood began to trickle out of it and onto the floor. 

“Now what do we do?” Farley asked. 

“We wait for the blood to stop. Then I can close the wound.” 

She was finishing the last stitch when the rest of the unit returned from the Maze without any newcomers in tow. 

“They’re all gone. Must have been taken to some other facility before we got here,” Beckett explained, his eyes locked on Joan at work, “What about the other one?” 

“Didn’t make it,” she replied as she tied off the last stitch on the cut she had made on his side. 

“Walter, Jameson — take him outside and bury him. He deserves at least that,” Beckett sighed, “What about this one?” 

“He might still live,” she answered as she began packing up her kit, looking up at Beckett with a near pleading look, “As long as we get him back to base as fast as we can so he can get some real treatment. This is a patch job at best. He needs to be opened up and I can’t — can’t do that.” 

“Right. Johnson, get the rescue board and load him into the truck. Joan, stay with him.” 

The three-day ride back to base was torturous, slow, and touch and go at best. Joan had to constantly monitor his heart rate and breathing, his bandages had to be replaced every few hours, and she was so terrified that he was going to die that she didn’t sleep the entire time. He had to live. She needed him to live. They had been through the same thing, had lived through the Maze and were free, and she wanted him to have that same chance she did. That same chance to finally live instead of survive. 

So she held his hand for three days straight, willing him to last just a little bit longer. 

As soon as they arrived back at base, the Last City looming over their heads, the boy from the Maze was rushed to the medical wing where an actual doctor could treat his wound. Joan followed dutifully behind him, her eyes blurred from lack of sleep and her hands shaky. The doctor told her to go get some rest as soon as he saw her, but she refused, saying that she needed to see this through to the very end. And so she sat in on the procedure to seal the wound on his lung and remove the rest of the fluids from his chest cavity. It was only when he was resting on a cot in the medical wing that she finally fell asleep. Laying in the spare cot she had pulled up next to his bed. 

He didn’t wake up for another four days. And all that time she stayed by his side. Checking his vitals, renewing his IV, replacing his bandages. She only left to eat and help with other patients. Everyone around base knew that it was not her sense of medical duty that kept her with the boy from the Maze, it was far more personal than that. It was the fact that they were one and the same, Joan and this stranger. They both were survivors, they were both immunes. There was no one else in the Right Arm who Joan could relate to, except the boy lying unconscious in the medical wing. 

It was bright and early on his fourth day after being brought to base that his eyes slowly peeled open, revealing blue eyes like the sky above. He, of course, immediately tried to sit up and possibly leave where he was lying, but Joan was there to force him back down with a gentle smile. 

“Hey, hey, hey, its okay! It’s okay! You’re safe now!” she assured him. Even in his weakened state, she had a hard time fighting back against his strength. 

“Safe? What the hell does that mean?” His voice was rough and harsh, it nearly made her flinch. 

“You’re out of the Maze — for one thing.” He finally stopped resisting her hands as he finally let her ease him back onto the cot, “And you’re no longer in WCKD’s hands. You’re with the Right Arm — you’re really free.” 

“Where’s the others?” 

“We don’t know.” She didn’t see the point in lying to him, he seemed like the kind that could tell that she was and would get the truth out of her one way or another, “You were the only one left when we got there.” 

“They left me there,” He whispered, his face contorting in pain as he rested his head back on the pillows. 

“What’s your name?” she asked. 

He glared at her for a moment, wondering if he could really trust her, but he seemed to resolve something to himself before he answered, “Gally.” 

“Nice to meet you, Gally. I’m Joan. Are you in pain?” Joan quickly stood up straight and rushed over to the medical supply cabinet by his cot, “I’ll give you a dose of morphine then we can check your vitals.” 

He didn’t say anything in return, only continued to stare up at the vaulted church ceilings of the Right Arm base. She gave him the dose through his IV line then grabbed her stethoscope to test his heart and lung function. Pressing the stethoscope to his still shirtless chest, she listened to his heart for a moment, the beat of it strong and healthy in her ears. 

“Your heart sounds good.” After helping him sit up against his pillow she moved the instrument to where his lungs would be in his chest cavity and instructed, “I need you to take a deep breath for me.” 

He complied after a moment, but seemed to struggle to take in as much air as he used to, his eyes going blurry for a moment before he let out the breath with a huff. He stared up at her calm face for a moment, taking in her soft features and the even softer look in her eyes before mumbling, “Why can’t I breathe?” 

“Do you want the long version or the short version?” she asked, but when he didn’t respond she rolled her eyes, “Long version it is then. You were stabbed with a spear. It missed your heart but tore up your left lung pretty bad. When we found you I patched you up as best I could — but it wasn’t till we got back here that the damage to your lung could be addressed.” 

“Can we switch to the short version now?” 

Joan grinned as she sat back down on the cot beside him, “Fine. In short, you only have one good lung.” 

“Joanie!” Beckett’s loud voice suddenly rang out through the nearly empty medical wing, “You were supposed to radio when the kid woke up!” 

“Sorry! Sorry! I just wanted to check his vitals first.” She scrambled from the cot, appearing nervous for the first time as she fiddled with the buttons on her long jacket, “Everything looks good. The wounds are healing nicely and his heart is strong.” 

“Thank you, Joanie, but I think the kid can speak for himself now. Go check on the other patients while I talk to him — alone.” Beckett rested his hands on the collar of his kevlar vest and watched in bemusement as Joan bristled before turning on her heel and heading across the room. He then looked down at the boy from the Maze, whose eyes remained focused on Joan even from across the room, “Name’s Beckett, second in command around here. What can we call you?” 

“Who’s she?” He ignored Beckett’s question, much to his annoyance. 

“She’s the girl who saved your life,” Beckett sighed, looking over his shoulder at Joan as she changed another patient’s bandages with a smile, “Didn’t sleep for three days to make sure you didn’t die.” 

“Why?” 

Beckett scooted the cot closer and took a seat before answering, “She’s like you. We saved her from a Maze nearly a year ago.” 

“What do you want with me?” 

“How ‘bout you answer one of my questions first,” Beckett said, “What’s your name, kid?” 

“Gally.” 

“Okay, Gally, you’re here because you have something that Lawrence wants. It’s why Joan’s here too, actually.” 

Gally glanced back over at Joan across the room. She had moved on to another patient. One she was talking animatedly with about something as she took their blood pressure. Why had he felt the need to look at her? He knew the answer but hated it just the same. He felt comfortable in her presence. The simple sight of her was familiar and kind in this place where he knew no one. He was left behind by everyone he could ever remember, yet she, a total stranger, stayed awake for three days straight so he wouldn’t die. As far as he was concerned, she was the only one he could trust in this place. 

“Who’s Lawrence? And what could we have that he could possibly want?” Gally looked back to Beckett with cold, hard eyes that even made the grown man feel a bit intimidated. 

“Lawrence is in charge around here — and you two have what a lot of people around here want. Immunity.” Beckett’s eyes turned dark, “Once you’re fit to move Lawrence wants to meet you.” 

Gally swallowed thickly, “The hell’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Listen, we’re not the bad guys, kid,” Beckett sighed, gaze back to normal as he stood from the cot, “The bad guys are the ones who kept you in that maze. We’re only trying to help.” 

“Sounds like you’re only trying to use me.” 

“You’ll feel differently when you meet him.” Beckett smirked as he gave Gally’s shoulder a pat, “See you when you’re better, kid. Bye, Joanie!” 

The blonde looked up from where she was cleaning a mess from the floor with a smile and wave to Beckett as he left. Once the mess was clean she went back to Gally with a clean shirt for him to put on. 

“Beckett’s a good guy, I promise.” She smiled nervously as she bunched the shirt at the collar to slip it over his head, “Once you get to know him, anyway.” 

“I don’t think I wanna get to know him.” Gally winced as he lent forward. 

Brows furrowed in contemplation, Joan sat down on the edge of his cot and gently put the shirt over his head and helped him to get his arms through the holes. He was strong, that much was for sure. But his body was also littered with scars. Most were old and faded to white, others were more recent and still pink. He was a boy torn apart and put back together again and again. And she could see that same tearing and breaking clouding his blue eyes. 

“Look. No one’s gonna make you stay here against your will. Not Beckett. Not even Lawrence. If you wanna leave, you have every right to. But I will say this about the Right Arm — they give you a chance to be a better person than you were in the Maze. A chance to make up for lost time. A chance to help. WCKD needs to be stopped — and the Right Arm are the only ones doing anything about it.” 

“Is that why you stayed? For a second chance?” 

Joan looked down at his hand thoughtfully before she took it. His hands were much larger than her own. And even though her hands were not Lilly soft, his were infinitely rougher. Fighter’s hands, maybe even builder’s hands. She could feel him tense when she touched him, but she refused to let go. Knowing just how important touch could be after the Maze. 

“I couldn’t save anyone in my Maze. Any of my friends. But here I’ve saved hundreds of people. Helped even more than that. Makes me feel like a human instead of…” 

“An animal?” Gally suggested with a tone of understanding he couldn’t fully comprehend. 

“Yeah. Exactly.” Joan smiled as she stood from his cot, “Now, get some rest, Gally. Big day tomorrow.” 

After helping him lay back down she turned to the cot she’d been sleeping on for the past four nights and gathered her things. A blanket she knitted herself. Her pillow. And a worn hardcover book. 

“You read?” Gally asked when he noticed the book held delicately in her hands. Almost like it was sacred. Almost as if he didn’t want her to leave him. 

“Yes. I love to read. Aren’t many books around anymore though. Most of them burnt up in the Scorch.” Joan looked down to the cover fondly, tracing her fingers over where the title used to be written in gold, “It’s the only one I’ve got. Bought it from a shady man closer to the city.” 

“What book is it?” 

“Little Women. I read from it every day.” 

Gally hesitated for a moment, questioning his motives as to why he wanted her to stay with him for just a little bit longer, but then he gave in and asked quietly, almost sheepishly, “Would you read it to me?” 

“Of course!” Joan immediately dropped back down to the cot and cracked open the book, “I was about halfway through — but I’ll start at the beginning.” 

“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” grumbled Jo, lying on the rug …

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[arcadian-litterateur]

rivers run dry | gally x oc

masterlist

summary: the four times gally cried in the glade, and one time he cried while escaping it.

word count: 4k

warnings: suicide, death, suicidal thoughts, nightmares, knives, blood, bodily fluids

a/n: so gally is my sweet baby boy and i have a feeling he masks his feelings and never lets himself cry. this one shot started out from that basic idea and then i decided to add in a love interest oc. jaelin is definitely flawed as you'll see, but she's also my baby and i will probably write more about her.

jaelin is named after "jael" from the bible. when israel was getting attacked by (some foreign army), the guy in charge of the israelite soldiers chickened out, and the leader of the attackers escaped, but jael, an israelite woman, lured him into her tent and was like "take a nap here while i make you a snack" and then while he was asleep she hammered a tent peg through his temple (he died lol). so she became the hero of the battle! pretty badass, if you ask me.

jaelin is played by jasmin savoy brown

In all his time in the Glade, Gally had only cried four times. He'd felt close to tears hundreds of times; at least once a week if not once a day, but the tears only fell four times. He only let them fall four times.

The first time Gally cried in the Glade was when he came up in the Box. He was jammed into the tight, confined space with what seemed to be twenty other boys, with no memory of who he was and the sinking feeling that he was hurtling up towards death. The smells of vomit, sweat, and urine mingled in the air, Gally unsure if his neighbor had pissed himself or if Gally himself was the culprit. When the Box slammed to a halt, the possibility that he'd pissed his pants became less of a priority, the crying and yelling of the boys pausing when a tall boy at the front climbed out of the Box to check their surroundings.

“It's a clearing, surrounded by walls too high to climb,” the boy observed, as he scanned the dark, evening-shadowed Glade. “But nothing too dangerous. It looks like it's made to be lived in.” At this affirmation of safety, the sweaty boys started clambering to leave the confined space. Gally hung back, not wanting to be trampled—or, considering his large frame, accidentally trample someone else. Eventually though, he was pulled out of the Box with the other stragglers, a wiry, tall boy with sharp eyes and brown hair taking control. Thin, wire-frame glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. Trying to assess the situation, the boy asked,

“Does anyone remember anything?” A chorus of names rang out but no other information seemed retrievable, some boys still at a loss for what their names were. Gally had remembered his name as an older, dark-skinned boy had helped him out of the Box. “I'm Nick,” the self-appointed leader stated. “That's all I remember, and it seems like whoever put us here might have made us forget everything on purpose.” A murmur of agreement rose amongst the group, one blond boy remarking,

“They've given us supplies to start a homestead in this Glade, whoever they are.” Gally noticed an interesting lilt in his voice. He was British. Gally also noticed that he was right. The supplies in the Box were for building; starting a life here…and that scared Gally.

The dark-skinned boy who'd helped Gally out of the Box was standing next to Nick, obviously taking the spot of Second-in-Command. He addressed the group, “My name's Alby. And I think this blondie here is right. What's your name, Blondie?”

“Newt,” the Brit answered.

“Like a lizard?” another kid spoke up. Newt rolled his eyes,

“No. It's short for Newton. I just have this feeling that I was always just Newt, before. Whatever before was.”

“Newt, it is, then,” the other boy shrugged. “I'm George.”

“Alright, introductions later,” Nick interrupted. “For now, let's unload the Box. Then we'll figure out where to go from there.” In robotic, shocked motions, the boys got to work, Gally's mind numb and void of memories, but buzzing with an odd feeling about something important.

It hit him then, how shitty and confusing this situation was. He felt so utterly alone. He had this sinking feeling that loneliness had been a common variable in his before, and he had a feeling that would remain true even now, in the Glade.

Much to Gally's chagrin, tears pricked his eyes as the panic caused by the amnesia found a grip around his heart. The boy tried to hold the tears back for as long as possible, but the desire—the need—to cry was overpoweringly large, and as quick as they'd formed, droplets were rolling down Gally's face and onto his shirt.

Gally was sobbing, and anyone could see him.

Newt was the only one brave enough to approach Gally. Every other boy in the Glade had shrunk back, obviously intimidated by Gally's height and strength, despite his current state. However, Gally's height advantage over everyone but Alby didn't seem to intimidate Newt.

“Hey, Bud, are you alright?” Newt asked, placing a gentle hand on Gally's broad shoulder. It took Gally a second or two to gain enough composure to whisper,

“Yeah.” Of course, that was a lie; none of them were fine, but Newt let it slide.

“What's your name?” the British boy inquired.

“Gally.”

“Well, it's nice to meet you, Gally. You're pretty strong, it looks like. Care to help move and sort these building supplies?” The offer was an olive branch, and Gally knew that he wouldn't be judged for refusing and staying here to cry some more. But the word “building” seemed to reignite a spark in him; give him a reason to get up.

“I think I'm supposed to build stuff, he mumbled, the epiphany lighting up a once-dull face with hopeful determination.

Newt looked surprised, but then grinned, declaring, “Then build, you will!” He offered a hand to Gally, who let himself be pulled to his feet. Newt looked his age—maybe younger, even—but there was a nurturing air about him that made Gally trust him enough to follow him.

Drying his tears, Gally followed Newt to the building materials, ready to jump right in.

The second time Gally cried in the Glade was when Jaelin told him she wanted to die. Jaelin was the only female Glader, and her intended role was still unclear—at least, as far as what the Creators wanted. However, she'd adjusted well during her first year in the Glade, almost becoming “one of the boys.” She'd made it clear that she wasn't interested in romance, and was badass enough to kick your ass if you tried anything funny. The first two guys were humiliated enough for all the other Gladers to get the memo—you did not mess with Jaelin.

Jaelin could see past Gally's tough exterior to the light within, even when he couldn't see it himself. She had this talent of bringing out the best in him. In everyone. He trusted her with his life. All his struggles, secrets, and slip-ups were hers to know.

He always felt extra special when she'd share something in return, but he never could've prepared himself for the way Jaelin's sunny face dropped, her body slumping against his as she mumbled, “I'm so tired of all of this. Of the monotony. The loneliness. I want to end it.”

Gally's heart immediately skipped a beat, his mind racing as he muttered, “No, no, Jaelin. No, you can't. Jaelin, please.” The teenage girl just looked up at him pleadingly, those doe eyes filled with desperation.

“Gally, you don't get it. You don't understand what it's like.”

“I know I don't, but I care too much to let you give up,” he argued, unsure of how to show her that she was needed. A blurry image of him chiseling a line through her name popped into his head, and he felt tears rush to his eyes, seemingly out of the blue. “I know it's selfish as hell, Jae, but I can't lose you,” Gally confessed. “I don't know how I'd survive without you.”

Almost of their own accord, his arms wrapped around Jaelin, enveloping her in a warm, secure embrace. She didn't fight it, slowly wrapping her own arms around Gally's waist. She could feel his face pressed into her hair—which she didn't mind, seeing as her face was smushed against his chest—and from the vibrations of his sternum, Jaelin had a feeling the boy was crying. She'd never witnessed him crying before. She knew he was being exceptionally vulnerable, all in an attempt to reach her and pull her from such dark depths.

Gally knew his tears were dripping down his face and onto Jaelin's hair, and he truly hoped she didn't mind, because there was no way he was letting go. He'd hold onto Jaelin for the rest of time to keep her safe, if need be.

“Jaelin, please don't go,” he murmured, body shaking as tears poured from his eyes. “I'll do anything.” Gally felt the girl's body go completely lax as a small wet mark appeared on his shirt, right where her eyes were. She was crying, too. “Jae?” he asked, concerned.

“I'm okay,” came the soft reply, Gally becoming hyper aware of Jaelin's warm breath blowing across his chest through his thin shirt. Gally's hand automatically found her hair, running through it in soothing repetition. Of course, he'd done that before, but this was a different dynamic. A different purpose. Not playful or teasing, just “I love you and I'm here.”

“Are you?” Gally questioned. It wasn't that he didn't believe her—far from it—but he just wanted to make sure she had a good grasp on her mental state.

“Well, I'm doing better than a few minutes ago,” Jaelin clarified. Gally nodded,

“Good. Now, is it safe for me to let you go? You're going to be smart, right? You're not going to try to hurt yourself, right?”

“Right,” Jaelin agreed. “I'm going to help you finish Builders' inventory, and then eat dinner with you, and then hang out with you.” As she said this, Jaelin used her long sleeves to dry Gally's face of the remaining tears he'd shed for her, the small but kind gesture making the teenage boy's heart soar.

“That sounds like a good plan,” he chuckled, standing up and pulling Jaelin up with him.

“Where to, Captain Gally?” the girl joked. Gally laughed, accepting her offer to link arms.

“To storage!” And off the mismatched pair went.

The third time Gally cried in the Glade was when he was stung. Now, Gally wasn't stupid—he knew that as a non-Runner, he wasn't allowed to enter the Maze. And Gally, being the stickler for rules that he was, would over the rule of the Glade till his dying breath.

But, of course, everyone has a weakness. Everyone has something that would make them risk it all, just to secure some kind of finality for whatever that something is. Or in Gally's case, someone. Jaelin.

Looking back, it was clear to Gally that Jaelin was just as much of a rule-follower as he was. Jaelin would never enter the Maze when the rules clearly forbid it. She appreciated order; swore by it. No, Gally should never have thought that Jaelin might have entered the Maze. It wasn't in her nature. And he learned from this mistake; Gally did. Yes, he suffered for it dearly.

It had been a few weeks since Jaelin had opened up about being suicidal, and much to Gally's relief, she'd remained open and happy to accept help. She even told Gally herself that she was doing better, which he was glad about. And seeing Jaelin smile again? Gosh, it made Gally's days complete, filling his stony heart with meager fragments of hope. Small, but definitely there. Everything felt as it should be in Gally's book.

But then one day, Jaelin was nowhere to be found. Gally checked all their usual spots and even the obscure ones, several Gladers helping, but the girl seemed to have vanished. No one could figure out what happened. And then Gally found the note on his desk that simply read, ‘“I love you ~J.” His breath caught in his throat, mind racing to connect the dots as he came to the conclusion,

“She went into the Maze to end her life.” Alby just stared at Gally, not moving, and the boy grew impatient, grunting angrily, “Fine! I'll go after her myself!” Before anyone could stop him, Gally rushed into the Maze.

Jaelin, who'd retreated to the tallest tree in the Deadheads in an attempt to be alone, didn't become aware of what was happening until she heard the screams of a stung Glader being rushed to a Med-hut. As a Med-jack, she was supposed to be there. The girl found herself rushing there as fast as possible in order to find out who the unlucky sting victim was.

When Jaelin saw Gally thrashing against his bonds on a medical cot, her heart stopped.

Her first thought was that as a Builder, Gally never should have been in the Maze. So why the hell had he gone into the Maze?

She got her answer when the boys surrounding Gally saw her and gave varying exclamations of,

“Jaelin!”

“Where were you?”

“We've been looking for you!”

Jaelin was confused by this, questioning their concern about her whereabouts with a quick explanation as to where she was, confused and shocked when Newt cussed loudly.

“Will someone tell me what's going on and why Gally got stung?” the girl pleaded. Of course, the answer was not one she expected—or wanted—to hear.

“He was trying to find you,” Minho said flatly. “Found your note, convinced himself it was a suicide note, and ran into the Maze.” Jaelin's jaw dropped, hands coming up to cover her mouth as guilt started to toss and turn in her stomach.

“So why'd you leave a note like that if you weren't going to kill yourself?” Newt snapped. Jaelin winced, knowing this was a touchy subject for the second-in-command. “Jaelin, that's basically the exact note I left Alby, and Gally was here, then, remember?”

“It was a love confession!” Jaelin spat out, embarrassed to admit to it, given the circumstances, especially. “I didn't think of the similarities to Newt's note, so I'm sorry about that, but honestly, it was just a love confession. If he'd flipped it over, he would've seen that it said, ‘If you feel the same, meet me at the tallest tree in the Deadheads.’”

“So you aren't going to commit suicide?” Alby clarified.

“No!” Jaelin exclaimed, walking over to Gally's side sorrowfully. “It's not even an option. I stick with you guys.”

A look of relief passed over the faces of all the boys in the room, despite the circumstances. Jaelin ignored this, too guilty to think of anyone but Gally.

He'd stopped thrashing, instead trapped in his own head, trying to separate nightmares from memories, which is difficult when most of your memories are as horrific as nightmares. Jaelin was able to loosely clap his right hand in both of hers, his hands significantly larger than hers.

“No!” Startled, Jaelin looked down at the boy, who was still trapped in his mind, obviously recalling something awful, because he was whimpering and murmuring phrases like “It hurts” and “Please stop.” Jaelin felt her heart fracture slightly, once again overwhelmed by the thought that this was her fault. It was only made worse when the tears started leaking from Gally's eyes and rolling down his face, sobs becoming more pronounced. The words he'd been muttering became unintelligible, drowned out by his cries.

There he was, Jaelin's strong rock, crying in the middle of the Med-hut.

The girl felt her own eyes start to water at the pained noises coming from Gally's mouth, unable to imagine how much physical and mental pain he was in. Gally's eyes flew open, blue orbs finding her chestnut brown ones, before he screamed,

“Stop! Make it stop!” When he broke down into sobs again, it became clear that he'd been reliving a memory verbally, Jaelin still unable to do anything more than hold his hand and whisper reassuring comforts, placing a cool compress on his forehead to combat his raging fever.

Jaelin used a rag to gently wash Gally's face, removing the tear stains on his cheeks. His tan skin was flushed pink from fever, face breaking out in severe patches of acne from the stress of the Changing. She did her best to treat that, too, even going so far as to wash his hair after his second day, the fever causing extra sweat to find a home in his sandy colored hair. She found herself struggling to leave his side, growing heavy with guilt whenever she tried. So she just stayed by his side, holding his hand, for five days.

“Jae?” came a raspy cough on the afternoon of the fifth day. The girl immediately woke up from where she'd dozed off in the chair next to Gally's bedside.

“Gal? You're back?” she asked, excited but tentative.

“Yeah,” he answered, “I think it's over.” Jaelin let out a sigh of relief, only hesitating for a second before leaping onto cot with Gally to give him the biggest hug she could.

It was Newt, however, not Jaelin, who explained the note and everything that had happened, Jaelin unable to find it within herself to explain again.

When Newt told Gally the vital piece of information he'd missed—Jaelin’s note was a love confession—the boy gasped, a dopey smile landing on his face as he muttered,

“Can you get Jaelin for me?” From the look on his face, Newt assumed the boy returned Jaelin's feelings, but this was confirmed without a doubt when Jaelin walked to Gally's bedside, unable to make eye contact out of nervousness, and Gally whispered, “Jae, look at me.” The girl obeyed, warm brown eyes meeting Gally's deep blue ones. Before Jaelin could say a word, Gally reached up and cupped her face in his hands before guiding her lips to his in a gentle yet passionate kiss.

It was a ‘finally’ kiss, symbolizing two kids finding love against all odds in a place resembling utter hell. And so when Jaelin pulled back for air, a surprised look still frozen on her face, Gally confessed,

“I've had the biggest crush on you for fucking ever.” Newt clucked his tongue, leading Gally to revise his statement. “Sorry, I've had the biggest crush on you for shucking ever.”

Jaelin's face broke into a wide, ecstatic smile. “Really?”

“Yes, Jae, for real,” Gally chuckled.

This was all it took for Jaelin to full-on leap into Gally's arms, the medical cot shifting in protest at the sudden addition of weight. The two teenagers didn't seem to notice or care, too set on colliding with the other's lips again to worry about something so trivial as the integrity of the cot. Jaelin's lips, chapped from nervous biting and dehydration, found Gally's, which were surprisingly soft, mouths brushing in romantic, teasing kisses before she pressed her lips firmly to his, unable to resist the promise of making out with her long time crush.

A low whistle caused Gally and Jaelin to pull apart for a second, observing Minho's triumphant stance in the doorway as he crowed, “Knew it!” Rolling their eyes, the two lovesick Gladers went back to exchanging kisses, all tears from days prior forgotten.

The fourth and final time Gally cried in the Glade was when Jaelin died. More specifically, when Jaelin went crazy and then stabbed herself to death.

Everyone swore they didn't see it coming—didn't expect the self destructive desires in her head to win—but every single one of them was lying. They'd all seen Jaelin start to spiral. But none of them had known how to help her and so, like the cowards they were, they left the girl to sink or swim.Gally hated every single one of them now, himself included.

Jaelin's role as a Med-jack meant that she didn't have one continuous work day, like with the other jobs. Rather, once she finished her daily tasks, she was free until someone called for a Med-jack. She spent lots of time with Gally while he built, and otherwise hung out in the Deadheads to journal. This solitude was good for her—but it ended up being her downfall.

She spent too much time alone with her thoughts, and it made her go insane.

Gally had been working on a building project when it all happened, Jaelin's screams in the middle of the Glade drawing everyone's attention. Gally immediately hurried down the ladder, dropped his tools, and sprinted towards Jaelin, who was holding a knife up to ward off Newt and Alby's attempts to talk her down.

“Jaelin, put the knife down and we can talk about this,” Newt reasoned, Gally falling into place beside the Second-in-Command.

Jaelin's eyes flickered to Gally's for half a second before she turned back to Newt and spat, “No, I won't. I hate it here.” Gally winced as Alby interjected,

“Why do you hate it here?” Jaelin scoffed.

“Why don't I hate it here? I'm stuck in a Glade, surrounded by a Maze filled with monsters, with only guys as company, harboring that knowledge that if at any point you all turned on me together, I'd be powerless to stop it.” Jaelin's chest heaved with emotion as the knife she held in front of her shook.

“We won't turn on you,” Gally insisted firmly, but Jaelin's eyes just flashed,

“Until you do. Until you're all so desperate that you gang up on me and grab me and rape me until I bleed out and die.”

Alby's jaw dropped, Newt shuddered, and Gally's eyes started to water.

“What?” Jaelin screeched. “It'll happen and you know it!” Gally took a step forward, hands outstretched as if to seem unthreatening, but Jaelin screamed again, so he backed away.

“Have you been stung, Jaelin?” Alby asked bluntly, earning a dry chuckle from the girl.

“No, Alby. I'm very much in my right mind at the present. I'm a Realist. I'm thinking realistically.”

Gally shook his head, unable to keep quiet now. “No, Jae! This isn't realistic. And you can't do this. I love you too much, remember?” He got choked up as the first tear slid down his cheek. “I can't survive without you.”

Jaelin's eyes grew cold, “Then die, too.” The girl stabbed the knife into her stomach.

“No!” Gally screamed, floodgates bursting open as Jaelin let a pained yell, yanking the knife out of her body before stabbing again, this time a little further up. “Stop!” Gally begged the girl, who let out some kind of agonized shriek-cackle, her face a confusing mix of defeat and triumph.

As if she was winning and losing at the same time.

She'd stabbed herself at least five times now, blood gushing from seemingly small cuts. Jeff and Clint had rushed over quickly, but she was crazed enough that no one could get close enough to subdue her. Gally tried, but got pulled back by Frypan and Winston right before Jae's knife would have slashed his carotid artery. The blood was coming too fast, anyway. She'd already lost too much.

The girl's grip went slack, the knife sliding out of it in time to hit the ground with her body. She immediately went still, sprawled across the ground, Jeff and Clint hurrying to try and save her, but it was too late. It was only a few minutes later when they got up solemnly, Jeff whispering, “I'm sorry.” Clint practically collapsed into his arms, both boys starting to sob as the death of their fellow Med-jack became real.

Gally stood staring at Jaelin's body numbly for a few moments before trudging over to her still form. He cradled it in his arms so gently that it surprised some of the other Gladers, but he didn't care. All he knew was that the love of his life had just died. Had wanted to die. He placed a tender kiss on her forehead before tilting his head up to the sky and, without warning, letting out a long, loud, anguished bellow.

“Fuck you!” he screamed at the Creators of such a hellhole; such a nightmare. No one had the strength to chastise him for cussing, not even Newt. Then he broke down in pained, heartbroken sobs again, the ache in his chest akin to a thousand splinters driving their way into every vital organ.

Without Jae, part of him—a large part of him—wanted to die, too. And that part grew and grew, slowly taking over until it was almost the only thing left. It ate away at this once untouchable boy, stripping him of his defenses and hope.

The next time he cried, he was barely even Gally anymore; just WCKD's puppet with Gally's face. He had lost the ability to fight their sick programming, and now, it had taken over. No, Gally wasn't truly living that last time he cried.

Without Jaelin, Gally would never truly live again. After all, when you give someone your heart, you place your life in their hands. And so when Jaelin died, Gally did, too.

Two rivers, running dry.

the end

[rainsoakedphoenix]

You Mean Everything - Chapter 1

This was originally a story I had on my Quotev account (which is a website for quizzes, stories, etc) that I made a profile on a decade ago, which is currently under the name Bishop. I don't see many people using that website anymore and I myself don't use it much anymore so I no longer wanted to write there. This story was first published there in December of 2020 - my last genuine update was around May of 2021. I just wanted to include this note to say this story is NOT stolen - I just made an author's note on the website a couple hours ago to say I'm transferring the story here, and that my Quotev account will be deleted in 2 weeks' time

I had intended for this to be a Gally love story, but after thinking about it, I want to make it a Newt love story as well. Their love interest is my OC Ada (pictured - faceclaim is Paige McKenzie), and this story will go off the movies, so there will be 3 books following all 3 movies.

The world and the characters of the Maze Runner belong to the creator James Dashner; I am by no means claiming to own anything other than my OC Ada and her storyline

Not proofread yet, but I will come back later and do some editing

Warnings: none that I can think of at the moment, but please let me know if I need to add any

WC: 1,199

"And this is the Medical Hut. Most likely where you're going to be working, but we'll see."

Alby had just finished explaining to me all the ins and outs of the Glade. I came up in the Box just a little while ago, scared out of my mind. Looking for a way out, but of course not finding one. I got many dirty looks upon being pulled out of the Box by a soft-eyed Newt; after hearing the whispers and looking around, I had deduced it was probably because I seemed to be the only girl. They were skeptical about the fact that an organization named WCKD would send a woman to the Glade.

Aside from the dirty looks, I also noticed a few of the guys staring at me in awe: I later learned from Alby it was because they haven't seen a girl since their memories were wiped.

"Get away from the Greenie. Get back to work," he had said.

I was thankful for the order. Having a bunch of random guys staring at me wasn't helping the fact that I was forced into a place I didn't know and couldn't even remember my name. I was told it would come back to me shortly, and that it's all you're going to get back from your life before.

"Find Chuck. Little kid with the curly hair. Can't miss 'em. He'll show you where you're going to be sleeping tonight, and then introduce you to everyone. You should be done in time for dinner. Tomorrow, we'll see which job you'll fit in with best. Good luck here."

He patted my shoulder, taking me out of my thoughts, before walking away.

"Would it have hurt to at least tell me where he is?" I muttered to myself. Sighing, I decided to just walk straight and hope I came across him.

It didn't take too long to find him. Kind of. Being the new Glader, he was actually looking around for me too. Apparently, he's excited that there's now a girl in the Glade.

"That's so cool that they sent a girl up. Some of the other guys say it's a bad thing and that we're all going to die soon."

"Who's saying that?" I quickly looked over at him, slight panic on my face. Could they be right? I mean, I don't know anything about WCKD and I just met some of these Gladers but if I were in their position, I would also find it odd that after 3 years of nothing but boys, they send a girl up. But that being a death sentence? I hope not.

"Gally, for one. And whoever is actually friends with him," was his response.

"What do you mean?"

"He's kind of a slinthead sometimes. But don't tell him I said that." He had a look of worry on his face.

All I did was laugh, "Sure thing."

After talking with him a bit longer, him showing me the sleeping quarters and helping me make my bed, it was time for dinner. According to Chuck, they mostly have either meat, potatoes and vegetables, or vegetable stew and bread for their meals. It makes sense though; they only have but so many resources here, and WCKD only sends up but so much with each new Glader. The food does smell good though, and I now realize I'm very hungry.

I decided to sit with Chuck. He's really the only person I've talked to since arriving. Talking to Alby earlier, I was getting the feeling he's one of the people that are skeptical of me being here. I guess I understand though.

"The one staring at you from over there is Gally," Chuck said to me. I looked in the direction he nodded, just in time to see Gally look away.

"He looks a little angry."

"He's always angry. I think he's also upset that a girl's here. But no matter; sorry I didn't have time to introduce you to everyone."

"It's okay," I said, "I don't think I want to meet a bunch of guys who hate me already anyway."

Chuck chuckled, then looked to the side in time to see Newt walking over to us.

"Hey Greenie. How's your day here so far?" His voice is calm; not a hint of anger or hatred from him at all. His accent and presence was calming to me. Not that I wasn't already calm. He was the first one that spoke to me when I first got here. As far as I could tell, nothing but kindness ever came from that boy. Same with Chuck.

"It's been okay. I've made a new friend already," I pointed to Chuck.

"Yeah, he's easy to get along with. If you didn't know, he was actually the Greenie before you." I looked over at Chuck. "No way."

Chuck nodded. "Yep, only been here a month. It hasn't been too bad. I got a lot of stares when I first came up in the box too, because I'm so much younger than everyone else." Sadness came over me then. Who would send a child to live like this? Here, where they have to grow all their own food to survive. Where they have to make buildings from scratch to help them stay out of rainy weather. Having to make their own bedding just to have someplace comfortable to sleep. Why are we even here?

**********************************

It didn't take me long to settle in. After a few days, I had gotten used to the stares. Knew when it was time to go to bed, and when it was time to wake up. Knew when the meal times were. Gotten used to all the blood and wounds that I had to patch up. Sometimes I would even say I enjoyed it here.

My first month here went by quickly. Surprisingly, nothing bad had happened to us. Everyone kept saying we were going to die soon, but things seem pretty normal around here to me. My name finally came to me in my sleep one night. Ada. Chuck and Newt were excited when I told them.

"It's nice to meet you, Ada," Newt had said with a smile.

A loud siren snapped me out of my thoughts. I panicked, at first thinking that I had spoken too soon and maybe that sound signaled something bad. Maybe we were going to die.

Chuck soon ran by me. "Come on! We got a new one!"

It took me a second to realize what he meant by that. I quickly followed after him to where all the other Gladers were gathered. Around the Box, where I came up from just a short month ago. Newt and Alby opened the grates in time to reveal a boy, most likely around my age, trying to hide in a corner. Gally jumped down into the Box with him, crouching down.

"Day one, Greenie. Rise and shine."

[funnyexel]

Short Stories

A little cuddle session (Gender/Sexuality Friendly)

Potential Yandere x Abused Fem!Reader

Quiet Tsundere x Reader

Yandere Villian x Identified Female Reader 

I’ve Missed You Beloved (Jack Sparrow x Gender Neutral Reader)

Newt Scamander x Black Female Reader (Oneshot)

Afraid of My Words (Request : Billy Loomis x Black Female Reader)

Give Yourself To Me (August Walker x Black Female Reader)

Second Chance (Gally x Black Female Reader)

Lets Play a Game (Albert Shaw x Black Female Reader)

A Routine (Brahms x Black Female Reader)

Yandere Blurbs

he's obsessed (yandere blurb)

loves you. hates them. (yandere blurb)

a thrill ride of obsession (yandere blurb)

its the stalker (yandere blurb)

missing items (yandere blurb)

what if your stalker loses the remaining piece of human decency he has left (yandere blurb)

[luvieshifts]

the maze runner maze diversity ideas directly inspired by this @petrichor-idyllic post!!

ive literally been thinking about it nonstop since omg okay BASICALLY its confirmed in the scorch trials movie that there are a bunch of other mazes aside from the glade and group b. since these other mazes are never touched on there are one million and one ways people could go with them in fanfiction in terms of layout, weather conditions, etc. so i wanted to share some!

petri had tons of great ideas (go follow them right NEOW) and im just here to expand on them. 4 the sake of simplicity im gonna call the “gladers” subjects/mazers since we dont really know what theyd call themselves, and im gonna call the “glade” the centre. i am gonna keep calling new kids greenies bc i think its a funny little name + DISCLAIMER i have not read the books and i also do not have the time or energy to rewatch the movies so if any information is off my bad fr

NOT PROOFREAD

MONSTER IDEAS

a maze with birdbox style monsters so they have to navigate the maze blindfolded

a maze where the monsters are deathly afraid of some sort of metal that wicked wont send them enough of to make clothes or armor (at least not enough to keep every mazer safe) so all the people are heavily pierced. greenies come up piercingless and have to sit in the piercing hut (where they keep the metal) for however long it takes them to let the maze piercers do their job because absolutely no shot are they letting any dumbass teenager go anywhere with their rare life saving metal without it being fused to their bodies. the maze record for time a greenie has spent in the piercing hut is 3 full days and the less time you spend in there when you first arrive the more street cred you get

^ the piercer would probably be the maze leader, im picturing someone who at the beginning was the only person that could talk greenies into getting the piercing over n done with and as more came up the maze just filled with people that would only listen to the one person they trusted enough to pierce them straight out of the box.

a maze with underground monsters. you drop something heavy enough and something shoots out of the ground, jaws wide open. they have treestyle type houses, floating bridges connecting buildings. they dont have runner equivalents bc theyre working on building bridges through the maze and its like a no brainer that they cant go anywhere without a bridge. instead of “someone should try surviving the maze at night” its “we should climb the walls” and everyone thinks hes just as nuts

^theyd have a box but wouldnt it be fucking funny if their greenies just fell out of the sky?? they have a little platform right underneath where the greenies and supplies land (they call it ground zero) picturing wicked somehow forgetting to cushion the platform at first and patient zero falls out of the sky and dies on impact

a maze where the monsters arent giant teen eating beasts but deadly insects. one bite of that one and youll vomit up your internal organs, breathe in gas from that one and your entire body will be paralyzed. accidentally step on that one and your foot will swell to the size of a bowling ball and fucking explode. experiment with how your mazers cope with this - maybe everyone wears layers and layers of bee keeping style clothes outside and all the buildings are netted. do they have disinfecting rooms? do they have some sort of poison that takes the insects out? how to they distribute this poison since they cant just pierce it on like the metal maze?

a maze with the hunger games mutt type monster-mutations made out of fallen mazers

a maze where the monsters arent monsters or a threat at all but contain clues or keys thatll help the mazers get out and are notoriously impossible to catch

MAZE IDEAS

on the wiki page for group b it says their maze went vertical at one point - a maze that is completely vertical, their centre (creatively named The Hole) being like a tube just walled in by heaven high maze structures. you look up and at some point the walls give way to an abyss. most of the mazers have given up hope of getting out because it looks endless - or does it? nobody really entertains the idea that the top of The Wall is closer than they think, that the creators have put in a fake ceiling to fuck with them, but the people theyve sent up dont come back down and when the hole is quiet enough they can hear something alive up there and nobody can say for sure that their little village is any worse than what theyll find if they try to leave

hunger games quarter quell type maze where different sections of it have different monsters or obstacles. the sections with the easiest to bypass obstacles have the most complicated puzzle, the sections that are the easiest to navigate have obstacles 10x as deadly

PEOPLE IDEAS

a maze where 2 people come up in the box at a time (inspired by this thomas fic). theyd have names like box-mate or smth for whoever you come up in the box with (i.e thats jeff, he’s clints box-mate) and everyone is really close with their box-mate, platonically or otherwise. i feel like theres alot of cute potential for this idea, like an alby-equivalent talking to aggressive mazers like why dont you go find your box-mate and chill out. go cuddle or something. greenies often feeling weird about their connection w their box-mate (bc who wouldnt??) and long time mazers teasing them about it “oooooh somebodys making eyes at their booox-maaate muah muah muah”

unisex maze (although all these ideas can be unisex) where the number of boys and girls is slightly or very uneven at any given time. people have bets going around that time of the month every month about whether theyre getting a boy or a girl w things like chores and food being traded like currency. the bonfires on greenie day are just celebrations for the winning party

got this idea from petri but someone alone in a maze!!! just completely isolated for however long, not being expected to survive but making it out somehow. have you guys ever read an article or paper on the long term psychological effects of solitary confinement in prisons? of course itd be different but isolation is literally used as a torture method in some places. humans are not supposed to be so alone!! a lone mazer that sleeps by the thinnest part of the walls at night so they can hear the monsters, have some sort of connection to another living thing. a lone mazer that only survives their maze because they know their monsters like the back of their hand after spending endless nights well hidden in the maze just OBSERVING the creatures because it becomes a comfort to them, seeing something outside of themself move by its own free will. a lone mazer that never stops talking once theyre out of the maze because long silence makes them feel like theyre all alone again, a lone mazer that doesnt talk at all once theyre out of the maze because they cant stand the sound of their own voice anymore.

^ petri had the idea of an animal companion and i think that is a wonderful idea!! they have this fic where the reader had a dog and theyre really cute together. go full on disney princess & give your character a bird or a chameleon or a tiger if youre a jasmine guy. a dog or any predatory animal can conceivably help your character escape the maze - give your character a sloth or a koala or just a really lazy cat. give me a lone mazer whos animal companion is dead weight but they dont have the heart to leave them, who keeps their fat cat strapped to their chest like a baby as they fight for their life. 

person alone in a maze with a baby. ik this sounds so random but wicked wanting to see the effects of growing up in the maze so they send in a carer, someone that looks after the mazers before theyre sent in. the carer raises the kid angry at whoever has trapped their now adopted child in this torture chamber come to find out they used to be one of them

maze where the subjects are supposed to get injured in some way to force them to rely on one another. a subject being deafened by a banshee type monster, a subject getting a limb amputated by medjack equivalents after getting suddenly and suspisciously sick. they dont spend so much time mapping the maze as figuring out how to get all of them through to the very end because they quite literally cannot make it without every single mazer

a maze where the subjects keep their memories but theyve all been altered. some remember wicked as saviours providing shelter for them as orphaned children, others remember being restrained, poked and prodded, a vague feeling of grief and betrayal that they cant explain. others dont remember wicked at all and insist that the maze is a paradise compared to desert wastelands filled with zombie people and viral disease.

your mazers can react to this in any way shape or form. maybe factions/cliques of people with similar memories form. nobody wants a leader from a different group in charge of the entire maze so they dont have one, there not being any rules that apply to every group in the maze because nobody will listen to eachother. everyone thinks the ones that dont remember wicked are crazy and the anti-wicked group have the most reason to become violent, have been the most violent in the past so everyone thinks theyre psychos. it takes them longer than other groups to get out despite having memory because they all take over different parts of the maze and refuse to share information.

mazers that have access to technology. they can make things like recordings and audios but no way of connecting to the outside world and no information aside from what they put in themselves. they learn to program things and make robots/drones to navigate the maze for them, make intro videos for greenies so they dont have to deal with them. instead of track hoes and medjacks they have groups of people that work on different kinds of technology because theyve learnt to automate most of the stuff the gladers do by hand. some work on exploring the maze, some make weapons, some study the monster corpses theyve managed to get, etc etc.

CULTURE/TRADITION IDEAS

the different ways people commemorate dead mazers!! in the glade they cross out their names on the maze walls and in group Bs maze they like sculpt their faces into the ice. give me a maze that tattoos the names of their fallen, whos oldest mazers have the most ink so it kind of goes without saying that the more tattoos you have the more authority you have. greenies being able to tell clearly whos been around longer based on which names they have tattooed. give me a maze that mounts the weapons of the dead on a wall, a maze with a regular graveyard that the mazers visit on slow days

greenie events!!! give me greenie celebrations like the bonfire we see in the glade, parties or games, feasts to welcome newcomers. give me a maze where the arrival of a greenie is grim, one more mouth to feed, one more lost soul trapped. a maze where everything dims down around that time of the month because another person means another month theyve failed to get out. give me mazes that test their greenies to see if theyre of any use to the group because those that arent are dead weight. a maze that holds Greenie Trials, where you have to complete an obstacle course or survive a night in the maze or complete some obscure challenge and if you cant youre tossed to the monsters.

^bonus points for a gally-equivalent getting to say ominous shit like The Last One Didn’t Make It

TATTOO SUBGENRE

because i dont know what else to do with these

maze where wicked programmed the monsters to respond to some basic specific kind of symbol and the people have it tattooed in very visible places, painted on every hut and wall

maze where the monsters are deathly allergic to some sort of liquid so the subjects tattoo themselves with it

maze where you have to be incredibly light on your feet when navigating the maze so people tattoo maps on themselves.

GROUP B

i know im supposed to be talking about maze ideas not mentioned in canon but group b has so much potential their wiki says that group b doesnt have runners, they literally all just go out into the maze in a giant group, AND that their monsters are out day and night PLUS their maze is a frozen wasteland. i imagine any girls that arent strong enough to withstand everything are like pretty quickly weeded out and only the hardasses that adapted quickly enough were left omg the cultural norms that would form?? theyre all absolutely jacked and if a greenie dies nobody bats an eye cause tough shit. no introduction no transition period you come into the maze with us and dodge airborne monsters or you stay here and freeze to death. the creators do send them medical supplies but over time they start to notice the way the group interacts w eachother so they start sending less to see if they can push it even farther, make the girls have to ration their medical supplies. it works tenfold oh you broke your arm and you want a sling, aris?? rachel got her arm CHEWED OFF by a FLYING MUTANT PTERADACTDOL and didnt ask me for so much as a BANDAID

this is like evidenced on the wiki too multiple girls suggesting they just leave aris to freeze to death or get eaten by monsters in the maze because theyre SUSPISCIOUS of him?? like absolutely unprovoked too thomas had a stung glader accusing him of being at fault for the maze an unconscious girl who came at the wrong time who is apparently going to be the last greenie they ever recieve feverishly gasping his name just so much ammo for the gladers to toss him out and it takes the death of like half the glade and an insane gally to get him where aris was upon arrival. they literally punch aris square in the face immediately after they decide not to kill him bc “its the fastest way to remember your name” like how did you guys realise that??? "fastest way” so you admit there are other ways??? why are you giving all your greenies concussions

GEN

because i dont know where to put these

explore the concept of failed mazes. a desert maze where the subjects couldnt survive on the monthly supplies because they couldnt farm any food on their own because, well, desert. a maze where wicked did something like the memory altering maze, purposefully dividing them but they went too far and the mazers killed eachother off hunger games style

test mazes! have you ever wondered why the mazes operate the way they do? why do they send people up once a month? why are the mazers of all different ages? why not make the centre already stocked with food and buildings so the subjects can spend more time cracking the maze instead of learning how to grow crops?

a maze where they sent all the people up at once and without guidance from more experienced subjects they pretty quickly killed themselves off. a maze where the subjects were too young and werent organising themselves or mapping the maze fast enough, a maze where the subjects were too old and lost hope faster and easier. a maze where the mazers had everything they needed upon arrival and nobody wanted to leave.

AND MANY MORE!!!

IN conclusion make ur own mazes people!!!!! get creative w it there are so many different directions you can take it in!! pls feel free to use any ideas thats what theyre here for i dont need credit but PLEASE tag me id love to see anything that comes from this nonsense!!! nd lmk if anybody wants a pt2 because i had a million half baked ideas that didnt make the cut i am filled to the brim with Thoughts

[follow-my-literature]

CALLING ALL READERS. I NEED YOUR HELP

VOTING ENDS IN 6 HOURS - as of 2:51 on Dec 28

I'm back from my hiatus, and I've decided to reorganize my writings. I have pulled them all and have picked the best ones to keep. Now, I need you to pick which story you want to read first. Make sure to check out the synopsis before you make your choice.

I do apologize, there was an issue with the last poll I had created. Please if you voted before, just take a moment to revote.

*Poll is open for O N E W E E K *One-shots are not included in this list.

all story synopses are located here.

To those who are seeing this and don't enjoy "𝕩 Reader" fanfictions:

I apologize. I just want to reach as many people as possible. I have been away for a long time. Perhaps suggest another way for me to tag if it bothers you since this wasn't an issue when I used to write.

Again:

all story synopses are located here.

VOTING IS OVER.

First story will be

A Palace Full of Cranks

[foreverforgally]

In The Garden

a Gally Fanfic; Chapter 2

The Bonfire

Summary - You, The reader, are the first female ever to grace the presence of the Glade. At first the tensions between you and keeper Gally are high, the enemies to lovers trope creeps through your life. Will you give into the trope? Or will you chose the love triangle?

Warnings - Maybe smut in different chapters or hints of sexual activity. Fluff! Angst! I am definitely not a good writer!

Hollers of celebration filled the air as the boys surrounded the pit. “Tonight, we honor a new greenie, a girl!” The boys around Alby shouted in salute to my existence, it made me giggle and holler in acknowledgment.

“Light it up!” the stakes they all held were thrown into the fire and the wooden statue lit up so bright. The feeling it gave me was exhilarating, everyone cheered on and smiled through their conversations.

“Fun right? it’s like the family you got stuck with.” newt slid down to my side, a jar of suspicious yellow liquid in his hand.

I turned and looked at his boyish smile, “ I wouldn’t say it’s my happiest moment, I once found ten pounds in my pocket and it was amazing.”

He laughed, “How do you remember that and not your name.” He leaned in closer.

“I’m lying out of my ass.” I giggled and grinned, his matching mine from ear to ear. “You’re really something, aren’t you greenie?” He got closer and I could feel his breath on mine.

“I don’t remember being told so, so I’ll take your word for it.” I pulled away from the moment, feeling shy out of my mind and eager to change the topic.

“So, do I want to know what the hell is in that jar?” I said, grimacing down at that suspicious jar of liquid again.

Newt beamed and offered the jar in my direction. “Want to try it? It’ll knock you off your boots and take the edge off.” he swished the liquid around to try and make it more appealing

The jar made me nothing but uncomfortable, Newt swished the jar at me again with a stupid smile plastered on his face. it probably wasn’t even that gross so I took the jar from his hands and took a swig.

Immediately I gagged and swallowed the substance as hard and fast as I could as Newt completely laughed his ass off at my choking.

“Oh my fuck what the hell is that?” I coughed so hard I couldn’t breathe. “Can’t handle your alcohol newbie?” God I could wipe that grin off his british mug.

“Yeah well I was going to give you a nasty look but I see you already have one.” I choked off my words as he laughed out again. “Please greenie I’m beautiful, you just can’t hold your own.”

“Ok get up, there’s a few people I want you to meet.” Newt stood to his feet, exhaling his laughter as he he reached his hand out to help me up from my seat on my log.

Newt walked me over to multiple groups, introducing me to everyone of them. He told me that starting tomorrow I will work in every department to see where I fit best. Hopefully I won’t have to bust my ass to prove myself.

The group gathered in a circle behind us, was this another part of the bonfire? “Cmon let’s go check it out.” Newt lead me towards the circle, letting us have front seats to the show.

It was brutal, in the middle was none other than Gally and he looked.. so good. If I didn’t have a vendetta against eyebrows i would definitely say the warm light of the fire kissing his skin made him look knee bending. But of course why would I ever say that.. where would my self respect be?

“Gah!” he threw the other guy out of the circle with an ease of a grunt, like the weight was nothing to him. The crowd around us cheered him on yada yada, is this why his ego is so massively inflamed? Someone oughta put him on his ass.

“See, this is a game we play every bonfire, if you remember our rules i told you earlier you’d remember no glader can physically hurt each other. The point of this game is to push the other bloke out of the circle. Currently however, that shuck is undefeated.” Newt pointed towards Gally as he stalked around the circle, looking for his next pray.

His eyes locked on mine, and a one sided smirk crept onto his face. His pace around the circle stopped and he lift his finger to point at me.

“Greenie! Come, show us what you got.” Everyone around us oohed and laughed as I looked towards Newt who shrugged.

“Gally.” Alby gave him a look. “What i’m not gonna hurt her.” Gally brushed off his warning and turned his attention toward me.

“What, too chicken? Too scared little girl?” The word girl sos off his tongue like venom, his tone was threatening and i so needed to gouge his pretty eyes out.

All I had to do was kick his ass out of the circle, that should be easy enough.

I stomped one foot into the circle, “Please, you’ll never be the man your mother was.” This had him going. The reaction from the crowd combined with his embarrassment, you could see the smoke spilling from his ears.

“Alright greenie, rules are simple. I try to push you out of the circle, and you try not to cry like a girl.” Gally smirked at me, his stance widening as he grounded himself.

If looks could kill, he’d be ebliterated. Huffing, i waited for him to make a move. The guy was a big but he was such a bigot.

He grunted as he sprinted at me, arms held out to grab me but I ducked. Last minute I darted quickly under his arms and ran behind him, sliding to the ground to carry me out of the way.

He turned around prepared, but I swept my legs below his, knocking Gally to the ground. He got up quicker than he was on the floor and was back to strategizing. He ran towards me, barreling in a heat of rage to catch me.

this time he caught me and took me down with him. I struggled but i got him on his back. The crowd roared as I slid my legs on his sides and pinned him down. "Not bad for a girl, huh?" I smirked, huffing at his defeat. His eyes glazed over, and he placed his giant hands on the sides of my thighs.

"Yeah, but you haven't won yet." And he flipped us over, so he was on top. The both of us were winded, our chests heaving in synch and the eye contact was heavy. it felt like people were maving slowly, the cheers drowning out. "C'mon Greenie!" I reached my hand up slowly, placing it on the side of his jaw.

His movements faltered and his gaze grew softer. A smirk grew on my face, I got him right where I need him. I quickly slammed his head to the ground next to our bodies. I grabbed his shirt and successfully kicked him out of the circle.

The Crowd cheered me on, screaming my glade given name. Being in the center of cheers like this felt normal, I was used to being in the center like this with my arms up and the energy boosting my ego.

"C'mon Quinn, get his legs!" The trainer paced across the training mat as me and another person wrestled. My arms and legs were at their limits, and I ran towards A-9 and ducked under their swing, I pushed their back down and swept my legs under theirs, their head slamming into the ground.

I panted hard, struggling to catch my breath. "And that’s a match, you need to improve your swings, Quinn. You cant rely on your fists all the time." The trainer let out a breathy chuckle and laid his arm over my shoulders, my white jumpsuit darkening in areas l've sweated. "I’ll work on it Jansen, can't be a weapon if I cant fight, huh?” smirked and nodded my head towards him.

"Quinn! My name is Quinn!" Alby ran over and grabbed my hand, raising it towards the sky. “To Quinn!” He bellowed out and the other Gladers crowded around, taking turns shoving me and patting my back, cheering my name.

I never felt more belonging.

[werdlewrites]

masterlist -ao3 - twitter @ djomamma

share support through likes, comments and reblogs! Or through my kofi!

summary: “Fuck you!” “Stop, stop!” Gally has his arms wrapped around the girl like a prison, containing the beast that bared its teeth until it surrendered to the emptiness. “There's nothing you can do! He's gone, Gwen!” Thomas has drifted from the scene before she's even noticed him. His own voice plays out pained apologies for what he's done. And for what he plans to do. warnings: death, violence, child death(canon T_T), MIX OF BOOKS AND MOVIE wc: 3,326

The first time he sees her is late in the day - eyes trained on the doors in anticipation of what Chuck's promised. Machines built into stone, coming to life just before the sun begins to set. It's insanity, and a piece of him believes it was all some elaborate trick they played on every boy brought up through the box. Some sort of initiation, and it was sick. He pictures them all gathered, looks of joy on their faces while the newcomer spun out of control, unable to grasp this new reality. Thomas felt as if his mind had been torn not in two, but completely apart in scattered pieces. Shards of memory scrambled in with this new life - one that seems impossible and too cruel for anyone to manifest. "Right on time," the shorter boy states with a wide and silly grin, almost pleased to share this moment with his new friend. To prove him wrong in a matter of minutes. The Newbie spots a dark-haired boy first - shirt tight around well-trained biceps, coated in sweat from a long day spent on the move. She rounds the same corner just after him. Dirt stains paired with her own exhaustion, cheeks red, and focus locked straight ahead - on home. A cloth lays tight against her face, concealing one eye, where multiple scars trail out from beneath and down towards her chest. He feels nauseous - not at the sight, but rather the idea of an unknown tale and how it all came to be. Neither of them slow to a steady stride until each foot landed on the warm grass, moving with purpose and ignoring the sight of a new Glader. She doesn't see him - but he sees her. Brown eyes are glued to her back as she joins others at the steel door, following the small group into the shadows of a mysterious building. "That's Gwen," Chuck chimes in with a smug expression as if hearing the mental torment Thomas put himself through. "Didn't ask," is his dry retort, making a sad attempt to shake away the daze he felt trapped within - gaze still locked on the quiet building, heart aching to know its secrets. "You will. Everybody does." Thomas’ head turns with a look of confusion in his eyes.

What was so special about the girl named Gwen? Why do they care so much?

"Only girl in The Glade." Thomas can't be sure if it's the boom of his heart rattling in his ears, or the metalwork coming to life inside the maze, but it renders all thoughts static.

The only…one?

"Don't get smart, Greenie. You're nothin' special."

She sees him hours later when dinner is loaded up onto plates. Another Greenie is just another mouth to feed and put to work. Nothing more than a body and having seen so many, they all begin to blend together in a mess of testosterone. She's forgotten the date until she spots him across the way - fighting through flames to take a closer look at the boy next to Newt. His movements are quick, head hung low as if having been caught doing something he most certainly shouldn't have. His guide wears a look of amusement, almost laughing to himself at the sudden shyness. "Who's the shank?" She questions, eyeing her mug as the concoction is filled to her liking - and just a smidgen extra. The girl lets out a gasp as the dark liquid continues to rise, the palm of her hand quickly meeting the back of the boy's head, putting the pour to an abrupt stop and spilling down her fingers. "You're shucked in the head if you think I'd drink all that." With a roll of his eyes, Gally sinks away to rest against a tree, arms crossed with his own drink in hand. "’Bout as boring as Alby." The boy takes a heavy swig of his own creation - long immune to the harsh sting against his throat. He waits a moment, a glare somehow parting through the sea of fire just to make his disgust known - hatred of a boy he knows, yet cannot place. He shrugs at first, replying, "Just another Greenbean. A pain in my ass. First place runner for a Slopper." It's his companion's turn to roll her eyes, knowing the boy all too well and his unfavorable attitude - to the Gladers, but most of all, the newbies and their curiosities. "You're bein' mean." He scoffs in reply, unable to pry his eyes away from the dark-haired teen just across the way. "I don't trust him," he states plainly. "You don't know him-" "Made himself right well at home by visiting Benny boy," he interrupts, a look of smug amusement on freckled skin - knowing full well he gave the warning, then let him slip by to suffer the consequences. He can see the way her face pales in horror - a look of shock with one good eye now fading of its spark. She thinks of Ben writhing on the bed, body twisted and drenched in his own blood and poisoned veins. It's a sight to leave anyone petrified - as if they've stumbled into a nightmare with no waking up. "Seen him in The Changing, not more than that. When Baby Benny gets it together, bet he'll tell the same." The confession leaves a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach - nausea boiling up the homebrew until it burns at her insides. The drink is long forgotten, feeling it climb and scratch like the thorns of vines as it seeks an escape. She remembers The Changing - how Gally cried and screamed for death. The way his fingers reached out into nothing, nails shredded to jagged tips as he continued to dig himself out of the grave. Not many have been stung - even fewer have survived the terror. Insanity stripping them of a sense of self as they plunge themselves into darkness if only to escape their hauntings. Gwen sees this boy differently now.

Not just a Greenie, not just a nobody tossed onto the field - but somebody from a life they've forgotten.

A life she had been robbed of.

By the time they make it out to safety, the girl is nothing more than an exhausted and emptied shell of a person. Chuck's blood stains the fabric of her shirt, dried up and stuck beneath her fingernails. There's some sickening feeling of remorse at the idea of washing him away, discarding his sacrifice, and forgetting his pain. He's at the forefront of her mind as they stand amongst…people. Strangers promising sanctuary - a light the boys left behind would never know. As if he can feel the hurt within her, the boy at her side responds in silence - seeing the broken heart she carries. Thomas' hand squeezes hers, a gesture to lift the heavy weight of grief while he continues to work through this bizarre puzzle before them. "Come with me," a woman states in kindness. Her cheeks are rosy and she appears older than her companions - slight wrinkles in her features suggest long stretches of time or severe stress. "Let's get everyone cleaned up. If you'll follow me-" she suggests, easily snaking an arm through Gwen's, guiding her away from her family - from Thomas. The feeling of his hand slipping away from her own sends an immediate panic to run hot through her. The girl's feet are planted and she's looking at the boy with wide eyes, not ready to leave him - unwilling to go with strangers. "Can't have the boys and girls together," the woman says with a laugh, using up her patience as she waits for Gwen to find an ounce of trust. It's never given. Her movement is only encouraged by the small nod of his head, telling her it was okay to go. The girl follows after her guide, focus not once leaving the freckled boy as he too watches with an intense stare. Was it longing? Or something fearful swallowed down to appear more confident for her sake. But she sees the guards at the doors, and can't help but feel as if she were in The Maze once more. Openings protected by Grievers - keeping her locked away from the ones she needed. Gwen slips from her jacket before the escort can process what's happened, watching as the girl flies across the space to collide in his arms, entangled and welcomed in his hold. He clings to her, desperate for closeness - as if her torso pressed to his own isn't enough. Her arms squeeze around his neck, face buried into him as he pulls her in. Thomas keeps darkened eyes trained on the ones at her back, intentions not truly known despite saving them from an unknown fate. "Don't want t'go," she mumbles. Thomas doesn't shift - a threat unheard but gaze burning the words against their skin.

Keep her safe - keep them all safe.

He parts from her but barely. It's just enough to lay a kiss against her forehead, before whispering words of promise, "I'll find you."

She sees him in The Scorch - that’s what they called it. A desert for miles with no hope in sight - only rocks and buildings crushed under the weight of Mother Nature, taking back what was rightfully hers. But Thomas sees something the others don’t; a chance. A life to be had free of WICKED’s grasp. Yet, they carry on and follow his steps marked in the sand. Minutes turn into hours - to days and what feels like a lifetime. Every second spent beneath the sun is more tortuous than The Maze. Still, he does not falter while others submit in his shadow. Gwen is amongst the many who surrender to the powerful forces against them - breathless as she kneels in the sand, waiting to die or be granted peace just over the horizon. He comes for her - a halo of light igniting a look of not only fear but worry in once bright eyes. “You can do this,” he encourages, leaving the weakened girl to roll her eyes. Ever the optimistic. She stands with his help, fingers laced together, not daring to part for fear they’ll suddenly vanish in the storm. “I'm sorry,” he chokes out - the dry air stealing every ounce of remorse that threatens to spill from his eyes. “I - I didn't want-” She sees Thomas as a man with hope brighter than the sun, despite the endless sea they must cross as the harsh wind tears at their skin. There's regret there, too. He endured the loss of Winston with a heavy heart - burdened by guilt and the failure of protecting his family. He's become more than just another pair of hands to build - more than some boy playing hero as he dives headfirst into certain death. He's become a leader and someone she deeply admires through unspoken words, soft touches, and subtle glances beneath the dark of night. “I'll follow you anywhere,” she says, a gust of wind knocking her tired frame forward just enough to see the shock in his eyes. He's just a boy, wearing the weight of the world on his shoulders as he carries them away without a full plan. A choice they allowed to be made for them. Widened eyes settle into realization, and his hand squeezes tightly before tugging her along the journey ahead.

She's not sure when it was decided.

When she felt the pull towards his every step, unknowing he felt the same for hers.

Hope is gone and he's lost sight of purpose in the city. The world is on fire and there's blood in the streets - blood on his hands. Brown eyes had become eerily dark as the flare took their brother. Once kind and full of a certain spark that took Thomas back to when things were simpler. They shift from a man he once knew, to ravenous and desperate for the pain to stop. He swore it all came to an end as their bodies collided, expecting a knife to dig through his flesh, only to find Newt had finished what he couldn't - providing the peace he longed for. And he thinks now, even though he was left standing, that it all did end for him there. She's on her knees at his side, head cradled in her lap with angered slaps against his cheek, as if he were only asleep. “Newt! God damnit!” The blade is ripped from his chest and tossed elsewhere, hoping the reaper would spare this one, and play favorites with a second chance. He sees her and the dread of understanding fills her expression. It pushes him further away into the shadows. “No! Fuck!” Fists pound against his heart, her sanity slipping and becoming unreasonable as she runs for Minho, demanding the serum he holds tight in a trembling fist. “Give it t'me!” With tears in tired eyes, he stands his ground and her desperation comes out as rage, lunging at him with fingers reaching for the vial, unable to grasp the concept of the loss. A brother from The Glade now gone like the others. “Fuck you!” “Stop, stop!” Gally has his arms wrapped around the girl like a prison, containing the beast that bared its teeth until it surrendered to the emptiness. “There's nothing you can do! He's gone, Gwen!”

Thomas has drifted from the scene before she's even noticed him. His own voice plays out pained apologies for what he's done.

And for what he plans to do.

The Safe Haven. A place too good to be true. Full of light and blissful smiles beneath the clear blue skies. There's no more fear, or running. The only stress being how to build the community and protect it from the forces of nature - how it always should have been. No tricks or games. No tests and gunfire to ring out in shattered eardrums. It's almost unsettling to be this still, the waves that crash against rocks and the shoreline the only thing to keep him grounded in this new reality. The taste of salt in the air is a reminder that this was no hallucination, a world people died for. Thomas could see their faces in the darkness just before he woke from a long slumber. There’s no haunting or mocking of his failures, they were just with him. Just present, never to be forgotten. He hadn't locked eyes with Gwen for more than a few seconds at a time, always in a hurry to escape the veil of guilt he wore whenever she smiled his way. Promises had been made and stripped from him as life faded from their eyes. Sometimes he thinks it’s better this way. Letting the pair fizzle out until they become strangers, to end the pain of remembering all they’ve lost. She seems to notice this poorly thought-out plan, yet instead of confronting it head-on, Gwen gives him the space he needs to grieve. Up until they stumble upon one another in the sand. This time, he doesn’t run. The space at his side is filled with her presence, arms just ghosting over one another as they take in the view before them. Having her so close is enough to ease a troubled soul, his lungs exhaling the demons he keeps close with eyes fallen shut, simply basking in the relief and she does the same.

The two remain silent for an unknown amount of time - too fearful of breaking through the calm at risk of either party walking away. But it had been weeks since she heard him speak more than a few mumbles at a distance, she aches for it. Her focus shifts from the crashing waves to his freckled skin. More sun-kissed than she remembers when they first met. A spark of blue shines from the fist at his side, muscles twitching with excitement as her fingers work their way inside. He finally looks at her, watching as she studies the vial up close and how the serum practically glows beneath the sunlight. “This yours?” There’s an uncomfortable shift. A heavy swallow working its way down as he remembers the chair he had been strapped to and all the tragedy to come after. “How’d you know?” A small smile creeps over her features, a softness he had longed for but couldn’t allow himself to enjoy. “I didn’t think you’d stop by the lab for a nice chit-chat.” A weak laugh escapes his chest, nearly missed if it hadn’t been for the smile he held in return. But it’s quick to fade as Teresa’s demise plays on loop, saddened eyes now focused elsewhere to drown out the flashing images. A deep breath steadies Gwen as she embraces the moment, following his gaze out into the horizon, waves now disguising the sound of hard labor and squeals of delight from the camp just over the cliff. “Y’know,” she begins, arms now crossed over her chest. “When I first saw you, I thought you were just another shank.” Another chuckle, unable to resist the pull as tired eyes land back on her. “Just another boy. Another ‘too curious for his own good,’ boy. Curious t’crazy. Robbing me of my ‘glory’ as ‘The Survivor,’” Gwen ends in quotes, cheeks now pink as amusement sweeps in despite the horrors mentioned. An old tale of a Griever finding her in The Maze and striking hard enough to suffer long-term damage, including the loss of an eye, where a bandage always lay.

Lips part to speak, but she’s quick to cut him off before he’s begun. “Reckless and selfless. Willing t’let them take you. Feed you fine meals and bleed you dry.” He feels his knees nearly give in as she makes the connection. There’s no more fun, only the residing fear of his almost sacrifice as he stumbles back into Janson’s hands. “A pig for slaughter.” The memories give enough discomfort that she’s shifting in place, turning to fully face a man who fought for her life. Fought for her to stand on this very beach. “Newt would have been pissed.” For a moment, his name is the dagger that tears its way through his heart. But remembering the fire the boy once had encourages a small smile and she takes it as a victory. “Come back t’me, Thomas.” She’s closer now - unable to avoid even if he wanted to as her hands lay against his sides, keeping him secured. “I want to. I - I just,” It’s the first time speaking since The Flare took their friend and all thoughts are rushing forward to be heard. He has to swallow them down in order to make any sense. “I can’t stop thinking about how I could’ve saved him. Saved Chuck and Winston. Ter-” “You can’t save everyone,” she cuts in, watching as he practically deflates and surrenders to her touch. A safe place to land no matter the distance he forced between them. “I know.” His gaze is fallen and avoidant - staring down at nothing in particular between the pair before roughened hands cup his face, thumb soothing along a stray drop of water on his cheek. “I see them all when I close my eyes. I still - I still feel Chuck’s blood on my hands, and every boy that came before him.” The sight of him is quick to blur as old wounds open, reminders of agony and mourning as the people she cared for slowly fade like a dying star. “For a while, I thought The Glade was built on the bodies of children. My family-” Thomas leans into her, foreheads pressed together with dirtied fingers laying over her touch. He hopes to absorb the hurt, letting it fill him up until her unsteady breaths begin to even out.

“For the first time in my life, Thomas, I want t’live. For all we’ve gone through. For all we’ve lost. If I can’t, then what was it all for?”

[myocsfanfictions]

MAZE RUNNER FANFICTIONS

Caged - Maze Runner Fanfiction

***************

The WCKD Project - Smut Collection

[Fanfictions other Fandoms]

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

The Power of Suffering - Part 2 (Gally x OC)

Summary: 5 years have past since Gally was rescued from the Maze. He is an integral leader in the Right Arm and Joan is lead medic at their home base. When he's not out on patrol or on mission, he can be found with her.

Pairing: Gally x OC (Joan)

Word Count: 4148

Warnings: canon typical violence, cranks, background original characters, death mention, grief, gally being so soft it hurts

ONE | TWO | THREE

Gally, after many talks with Lawrence and many nights spent with Joan reading to him, decided to stay with the Right Arm. And five years later he was right behind Beckett in the pecking order, leading missions and giving out orders. Joan was right when she saw that he was a fighter. WCKD couldn’t hide behind their walls forever, and Gally was more than willing to help take them down after what they did to him. What they did to Joan. What they continued to do every day to the less fortunate who lived outside the city. 

Today, Gally and his unit were assigned to go to the outer reaches of the city in search of supplies. Weapons. Ammo. Blankets to be passed out to the people. Medical supplies. Batteries. Equipment they could easily repair. Anything that could even have the potential to be useful was gathered and brought back to base. The only problem was that the outer reaches were crawling with Cranks hunting for anyone foolish enough to roam too close. 

“Alright, boys, we got three teams of two. Jameson and Stormes. Farley and Crouch. And me and Vince,” Gally barked his orders as the van slowed to a stop, “Nelson’ll stay in the van waiting. We only got thirty minutes to get what we can and go — and we won’t hesitate to leave your ass if you’re not back in time.” 

“Masks!” Farley yelled as he opened the doors, all of them pulling down their respirators over their faces. 

Gally emerged from the van first, gun held aloft and eyes vigilant for any danger. 

“Jameson, you and Stormes to the west. Farley, you and Crouch to the east. Vince and I’ll head south.” The unit started to split up cautiously, “And watch your six, boys. Crank territory.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Vince and Gally crept along in silence, heading south and away from the van until they found what remained of some form of shop. The walls were all but caved in, the sign that used to hang above the door dangling from one corner and half-melted. Vince pointed the location out to Gally who nodded his head in agreement. They would check it for supplies. 

Gally entered through the door first, gun held up and ready to fire at anything that moved. 

“Clear,” he announced when he’d walked the entire right side of the building, Vince repeating the statement for the left. 

The place looked like it had been ransacked a couple of times over, but there still might have been something of value hidden beneath the rubble. 

“Stay here — start searching. I’ll go check the back.” 

“Yes, sir,” Vince replied, slinging his gun over his shoulder and crouching down on the ground. 

The small room at the back of the store, which was probably once an office of some kind, was bathed in darkness. Debris and other fallen buildings had covered the windows from the outside. With a click, Gally’s hand-held flashlight came on, revealing nothing but an empty room and a pile of bones propped up in a chair. 

“Jesus!” Gally whispered under his breath at the sight. 

“You found the Lord in there, sir?” Vince called from the other room, his impeccable hearing once again making him grin. 

“Shut up, Vince,” Gally chuckled, slinging his gun over his shoulder, “We’re all clear.” 

Vince was only eighteen, three years younger than Gally and only about half his size. He’d only been with the Right Arm for a few months but had already proven himself to be an excellent fighter and an even better scout. His eyes were keen and his ears were even more so. He could hear a Crank coming from a mile off. And Gally always made sure to bring him on all of his missions. But of course, it was more than his usefulness. Vince was Gally’s friend. Though the other men in the unit found that hard to believe when Vince told them that - and Gally would never admit it either. But Vince knew. He knew in the way Gally would slap him on the back when they finished a mission or the way they always sat together at meals. 

Gally was like an older brother to Vince. He looked up to him like the Evening Star. And Gally almost wished he wouldn’t. 

Next to the chair full of bones was a table covered in random junk it seemed, sprinkled with a heavy layer of dust. Gally quickly sifted through the items just in case. An old mug. A jewelry box full of useless trinkets. And a little paperback book that he easily stuffed into the largest pocket of his kevlar vest. 

“You find anything in there, boss?” Vince called. 

“No. Nothing.” Gally did another quick glance around the room to make sure. 

“You’re spending a lot of time in there for nothing.” Gally opened his mouth to give an equally snarky reply, but the words died on his tongue when Vince went on, “Come take a look at this.” 

In the corner of the shop, Vince was sitting on the floor, a neat stack of wood and a pile of dirt next to him. 

“What’d you find?” Gally asked as he approached. 

“Medicine.” Vince threw an orange bottle at Gally who caught it with ease, “Antibiotics, steroids, allergy pills. The works.” 

“Huh.” Gally turned the bottle over in his hand, “Place must’ve been a pharmacy or something.” 

“Joanie’s gonna love us when we get back,” Vince smiled as he began to gather the medicine bottles together. 

Gally’s mouth involuntarily twitched at the girl’s name, his hand instinctively touching the book in his pocket. He had been finding them for her for years. Always keeping his eyes open for worn pages amongst the rubble. Of course, he never told anyone he was looking, but people noticed anyway. Whenever he would sneak off after a mission to the medical wing, the other men in his unit would give each other knowing grins and playful shoves not to say anything. 

“I’ll find something to put those in,” Gally said dismissively, ignoring the comment about Joan all together. 

Once a sturdy enough crate had been found the two of them started to load the medicine into it. But as the last few bottles slid into place, Vince cocked his head towards the door.

“What is it?” Gally asked quietly, trying to attune his own ears to noises in the distance. 

And after a moment, he heard it. The distinct growl of a Crank a ways off. 

“Cranks,” Vince confirmed. 

“Alright. Let’s head back. This is a good haul.” Gally pulled his walkie-talkie from his vest and spoke to the rest of the unit, “Gally and Vince heading back to the van. Cranks to the south.” 

“Shanks!” Farley’s distinctive gruff voice crackled back. 

Over the years, nearly everyone had picked up on Gally’s Glade terms. At first, they said it to make fun of him, but now it was a part of their vernacular altogether.

“Thirty minutes is almost up anyway,” Jameson replied next, “Jameson and Stormes heading back to the van.” 

“Fine,” Farley sighed, “Farley and Crouch heading back to the van.” 

“Shuckface,” Gally said with a satisfied grin before switching the walkie off. 

Vince cackled at the exchange as Gally lifted the crate with both hands. The two of them exited the shop and started heading back towards the van with smiles on their faces. It was unusual for a supply run to be this successful. 

“Waddaya think’s for dinner tonight?” Vince asked as they walked. 

“Something terrible — as per usual,” Gally snorted. 

“Will you wait to give Joanie the book before or after?” 

“What?” Gally looked like he could’ve snapped his neck, even with the respirator covering his face, the only thing giving his embarrassment away being the patches of red on his neck. 

“I noticed you always searching for ‘em. And Joanie’s the only one who reads at base. I’m not stupid.” Vince shrugged, knowing from experience that being on Gally’s bad side was not ideal. “I won’t tell anyone. Promise.” 

Sometimes that kid was too observant for his own good. 

“You better not. Or I’ll beat your ass.” Gally looked over at him pointedly, trying to gain control over the sudden heat he felt in his face. 

“Yeah, yeah — I know.” Vince rolled his eyes with a knowing grin as they walked past a towering pile of the remains of a skyscraper. 

The two men turned towards the hill at the sound of debris tumbling down the side, the echoes of it rebounding in their ears. They both knew rocks don’t fall on their own, so they looked up, only to see a Crank coming over the top of the hill. 

“Closer than I thought,” Vince commented off-handedly. 

Before their eyes, the one Crank turned into a host. All of them crawling their way over the ridge and screeching when they spotted Gally and Vince at the bottom. They all stumbled down the hill at break-neck speeds. Cranks killed themselves to fill their insatiable need to attack anything that moved, and that was perfectly exampled in the way they tripped over each other coming down the hill. Some of them crashed completely and landed with the remains of their bones sitting at odd angles, still crying out in archaic rage. 

Gally grabbed Vince by the vest and yanked him ahead of himself, “Go! Go!” 

They might have had guns and training, but that meant absolutely nothing when face to face with that many Cranks. So they took off at a run towards the van, the growls and screams of Cranks hot on their tails. 

“Shit!” Vince yelled as Gally ran ahead of him, his shorter frame giving him a disadvantage. 

Gally looked back to see his partner falling behind, his respirator fogging with his panting breath, “Come on, Vince! We’re almost there!” 

With the crate still held tightly in his hands, Gally pushed forward, narrowly avoiding the obstacles of rock and stone in his path. He rounded a corner and there it was: The van. Safety. Promise of a future. Hope that they would make it out alive. Gally looked back over his shoulder, to make sure Vince was still behind him, only to see a Crank grab the younger man by the shoulder and pull him back. 

“No! No! Get off!” Vince screamed as the Cranks started to claw at him, to tear him apart. He pulled his gun in front of him as best he could and started to fire, but there were too many of them. 

“Vince!” Gally cried. 

Everything was in slow motion. Gally could see through the horde of Cranks. Vince’s terrified face through his mask as he accepted his fate, teeth sunken into his neck and claws tearing his clothes. Gally saw Vince’s childhood on the street, begging for scraps and just wanting to belong. His first day in the Right Arm, scared and wandering off when he wasn’t supposed to. He saw Vince coming to him with every problem, in every circumstance, he finally saw himself the way Vince saw him. A friend. A brother. Someone to protect him. Then a look passed over Vince’s face, a look that said not today, as he pulled a grenade from his vest and pulled the pin. 

“No!” Gally screamed just before he was forced onto his back by the explosion. 

Pieces and parts flew everywhere, the dark blood of a Crank mixing with the bright red of the living. A high pitched whine rang through Gally’s ears as he sat up slowly, watching with bleary eyes as a few Cranks started hauling what was left of themselves towards him. He felt two people grab him by the arms and yank him to his feet, practically dragging him towards the van at a run. He was thrown into the back and the van lurched forward, speeding away from the outer reaches and back towards base. 

“What the hell happened?” 

“What happened to Vince?” 

“Where did all those Cranks come from?”

The rest of the men in his unit kept asking as they drove, but Gally didn’t have answers, he didn’t want to answer. All he could do was stare at the back of the van blankly and feel the way the engine rumbled at his skin. 

All he ever wanted to do was protect the people he cared about. And he had failed. 

No one said anything when they arrived back to base and Gally immediately took off towards the medical wing. The other men in his unit usually joked about it, even daring to make fun of their commander for it, but not this time. This time they all silently got out of the van and allowed Gally to stalk off, unloading their haul numbly. 

The entrance to base was underneath what used to be a parking garage for a shopping mall, the shopping mall was where the Right Arm offered shelter for those living outside the Last City and where meals were served every day. And right next to the mall was a church. The church was where the medical wing was, and where the majority of the Right Arm stayed. Gally made a beeline for the church, narrowly avoiding bumping into people in the bustling complex as he finally ripped his respirator from his face. He could hardly breathe with it on. 

“Hey, Joanie, you in here?” he called out upon entering the medical wing. It took everything in him for his voice not to crack. 

“Yep! I’m here!” He heard her gentle voice from the supply closet at the back of the room. His jaw clenched at the sound. 

She was crouched on the floor taking inventory, clipboard on her knees and her fingers dancing over boxes of bandages she counted silently. 

“You better have some bandages from that supply run. We’re running lower than I would like.” She looked up at Gally as he stood in the doorway, the usual smile tugging at the corners of her lips falling at the sight of him. 

His characteristically mischievous eyes were vacant and red. His hands, always prepared to fight and rough with callouses but always soft with her, were balled into fists at his sides. His clothes were spattered with red and black, the true signs of a fight with a Crank. And his usually relaxed and nearly playful stature was rigid and tense. 

Joan stood from her spot on the ground, her eyebrows pulled together in worry. “What happened?” 

Gally swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he continued to stare at the pocket of her loose cotton overalls. “I lost Vince.” 

“Lost him? What do you mean — lost him?” She knew exactly what it meant, but she refused to believe it as the tears built in her green eyes. 

Vince was her friend too. He was just a kid. A goofy kid that always tried to make her smile, even on the worst days when he was exhausted and could barely move. 

“Cranks. There were so many of them, Joanie.” He looked into her face for the first time, and she could see the tearing happening behind his blue eyes. She knew how much Vince looked up to him, how much Gally saw himself in him. “We couldn’t fight them off — I couldn’t fight them off. I couldn’t — I couldn’t — “ 

“Hey — hey,” Joan shushed him, taking hold of his hand and pulling him closer, “There wasn’t anything you could do.” 

She tried to stay strong for him, tried to be comforting instead of breaking down in tears like she so desperately needed to. But she could not help the few tears that ran down her cheeks. They ran trails through her freckles and dripped down her chin. Tiny testaments to how much she would miss him, how much she hurt for him, for Gally. 

“There’s always something I can do.” He looked down to her smaller hands enclosing his, his jaw muscle twitching as he focused on the feeling of her gentle fingers rubbing comfort into him, “But I’m always too late.” 

Joan shook her head as she looked down to their hands as well, his much larger ones still hidden by gloves. Sniffing back her tears she focused on undoing the velcro of his glove and slowly slipping it from his hand. She performed the same task on his other hand, still steady even though he was about to fall apart. Taking his now bare hands in hers she pulled him even closer, his face merely inches from her’s as she rubbed soothing circles into the backs of his hands. 

“You try and save everyone else, Gally.” Her voice came out as a whisper through her tears, and when she looked up at him with her still comforting gaze even though she was utterly broken, he was suddenly overcome with the urge to pull her closer. To wrap her in his arms and breathe in her familiar scent of antiseptic and lilac. Not necessarily a pleasant smell, but one that was so distinctly Joan that it was comforting all the same. “But who gets to save you?” 

Eyes closed, he pulled her in and pressed his forehead to hers. Over the years, a lot of things had changed. Not only was Gally in a position of authority, but Joan had also taken over as head medic. All of her time was spent at base, treating casualties from missions and offering services to the people taking up residence at the Last City. A lot had changed. They were both older, far removed from the traumas of their youth yet bombarded with new ones daily. One thing always remained the same. No matter how busy or important the two of them became, they always found time to spend with each other. That common thread of the Maze pulling them together across vast distances. Or it could be a bond much deeper still.

After a moment he pulled the book he had found from his vest and slipped it into her overall’s pocket. She opened her mouth to say something — 

“Gally! Thought I’d find you in here!” The pair stiffened as Beckett’s booming voice echoed throughout the medical wing, Gally immediately dropped Joan’s hands and turned to face the older man. “Lawrence wants a full report on what happened on the supply run.” 

“Yes, sir,” Gally replied before exiting the medical wing at a brisk walk, passing Beckett with the crate full of medicine in his hands. 

“And these — “ Beckett set the crate down on an empty cot as Joan came out of the supply closet, wiping her eyes as best she could as her tears continued to fall. “Are for you.” 

She sniffed, “Thank you.” 

Her hands had been steady and strong held in his. But now that they were gone and she was alone, her hands shook unsteadily as they wrapped around each medicine bottle and inspected their contents. Grief pulled people down differently. Some stood tall and dove into their work, seeking distraction from tasks or from others. That was Gally. While others could barely stand, could barely do anything without feeling wave after wave of sadness. It was all-consuming. This was Joan. She tried to stay poised, but Beckett still noticed the tremble of her lips and the steady stream of tears down her cheeks. 

“So, what were you two doing in the closet?” Beckett asked. 

“What?” Joan looked up from the crate with puffy and genuinely innocent eyes. “Oh — we weren’t doing anything wrong if that’s what you mean.” 

“No, Joanie, you’re not in trouble.” 

“Oh, uh — “ She touched the small paperback he had slipped into her pocket without a word before she picked up the crate and started carrying it to the closet. “Gally just had something to give me from the supply run.” 

She knew Gally wasn’t embarrassed by anything, especially when it came to how much time he spent with her. But she was also aware that he didn’t want the rest of the Right Arm to know that he always kept an eye out for books on missions. That he would sneak into her room nearly every night for her to read to him. That she would run her fingers over his short locks when he fell asleep with his head in her lap. That he could be anything other than the hard, battle-worn leader he had been raised to be. 

“Something that wasn’t with the rest of the supplies?” 

Apparently, her attempts to avoid this conversation with Beckett were futile. 

She put the crate down on the floor harder than she intended and turned to face Beckett, who’s face only read concern as she wiped furiously at her eyes, “Look, I’m really not in the mood for another one of your fatherly lectures. Gally gave me something. End of story.” 

“No — not end of story. We lost Vince. I know why he really came here.” Beckett watched as Joan turned back to the crate and began to place the medicine bottles on an empty shelf. 

She paused. “If you know why then why are you so bothered by it?” 

“Because he’s only using you, Joanie,” Beckett sighed, “You’re too kind to him. He’ll only hurt you.” 

“Kindness is a strength, I think.” She turned to face him now, arms crossed and tears forgotten. “One that you’ve apparently forgotten.” 

“All I’m saying is that I’m seeing a whole lot of receiving and not a lot of giving.” 

The sigh Joan released sounded nearly defeated, her back to him as she went back to sorting. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Beckett?” 

“Yeah. Guess so.” He finally accepted defeat as he turned from the door of the supply closet. “See ya later, Joanie.” 

His footsteps echoed through the medical wing as he left. Joan listened until they disappeared before she pulled the book back out of her pocket. A hand passed over the cover revealed the title: Till We Have Faces. Gally didn’t have a soft spot for anyone. He was a great leader. Tough as nails. But when he was with Joan he melted. And he gave so much more than anyone could ever know. 

After dinner was finished Joan made sure the night medic was all set to go before heading to her room for the night. Abnormally, her door was shut when she arrived. When she pushed it open with a creak, she saw Gally standing by her bed with his hands in his sweater pockets. 

“Joanie,” he spoke her name softly, too softly, as she shut the door behind herself. 

The grief, like a wave, pulled her back under and she was a sobbing mess. Her face pinched in anguish as fresh tears rolled from her eyes and her shoulders shook. Her fists curled her sleeves over her hands as Gally crossed the room in only a few strides. Circling his arms around her shoulders he drew her into his chest, her mournful cries muffled against him. After a minute he easily picked her up and carried her to the bed, sitting down with her in his lap. 

Joan screamed in agony for her friend and Gally let her, let her do whatever she needed to. And all the while he was running his fingers through her hair and rubbing soothing circles into her thigh. Vince was a big part of their lives. He always had been. And now he was gone. 

Once she had quieted down, Gally spoke in a hoarse whisper, “I’m gonna miss him.” 

“Me too.” Fresh tears bubbled up to the surface of Joan’s eyes. 

“Remember when we caught him sneaking biscuits out of the kitchen?” 

“Yeah.” Joan wiped at her face, “I remember you were so mad at him. But then he tried to bribe us with biscuits to keep quiet.” 

“I still can’t believe you took the bribe,” Gally chuckled. 

“I can never turn down a biscuit. And — and Vince was always so sweet.” She tilted her head up to look him in the face for a moment, studying the freckles on his nose and the curve of his mouth before whispering, “Will you read to me?” 

Gally looked over to the small stack of books on the table by her bed, nine in total in varying shapes and conditions, “Which one would you like?” 

“The one about marriage.” She laid her head back down on his chest when he pulled the correct book from the pile. “About being happy.” 

And so he began to read: 

“Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her … “

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[arcadian-litterateur]

there's many different ways to kill the one you love | newt x oc

Masterlist

summary: when thomas finds a picture of a blonde girl above newt's bed, alby tells him the story of frankie, the first glader—and the first glader to die.

wc: 9.4k bc I tried to fit so much backstory and trauma in I'm so sorry

warnings: self-harm, suicidal thoughts, suicide, panic attacks, nightmares, blood, newt and frankie make out at one point but there's nothing explicit bc they're literal children

a/n: this is a heavy one, be warned. also ik that technically there is a male frankie in tmr but ignore that bc i love the name frankie for a girl and rosalind franklin was a queen. btw, this fic follows movie lore-where thirty boys didn't come up all at once. also, thomas is there for longer before teresa comes up and everything goes down. newt and frankie are fourteen. alby is seventeen.

frankie is played by emily skinner

𝗡𝗘𝗪𝗧 𝗛𝗔𝗗 been given the job of befriending Greenies a long time ago, and that meant he was friends with just about everyone. But being friends with people didn't necessarily mean opening up to them. Newt didn't like talking about his feelings. Even Alby, who'd spent more time with Newt than was probably good for him, couldn't always figure the boy out. He tried, and often he succeeded to some extent, but even he couldn't force Newt to process his trauma—which is what he needed to do. Alby simply held out hope that Newt would open up to a Greenie one day. And hopefully not terrify them while still doing the emotional processing he needed to. And soon, because Newt was starting to get lost in his head again; Alby could tell, and the last time it had gotten bad, Newt had ended up with a limp. Alby couldn't afford something worse.

When Thomas came up in the box, Newt took an immediate shine to him. He was funny and stupid and needed a voice of reason. Newt figured he was pretty good at that so he gladly stepped into that role. What he wasn't prepared for was the amount of questions that poured from Thomas's mouth. And they weren't "normal" Greenie questions either—they were invasive and private and prying. Newt didn't like it. He also didn't answer. But he knew Thomas was wearing him down—and he knew he was going to snap at the boy soon.

A week after Thomas arrived, he met Newt by his cot, ready to do his trial in the Garden. He saw a small, grainy photo of a petite blonde girl sitting in front of what looked like a makeshift Med-jack hut. She looked incredibly frail and had dark bags under her eyes, but these observations paled when Thomas saw the bright, beautiful smile on the girl's face. The photo was taped to the wall above Newt's cot, but the corners were worn, as if it had also been kept in a pocket for a period of time.

"Who is that girl?" Thomas asked Newt, who was grabbing his water jug out from under his cot. Newt looked to where Thomas was pointing and almost instantly recoiled slightly.

"That's Frankie," he mumbled, not meeting Thomas's eyes.

Thomas's brow furrowed. "But I thought you guys said there aren't any girls in the Glade."

Newt fixed his gaze pointedly on the brunet, "There aren't." Then, obviously unwilling to say anymore, he briskly walked out.

Thomas inched closer to the photo. Yes, the girl was definitely in the Glade, and he could see the Maze walls towering above the hut that the girl—Frankie, Newt had called her—was leaning on.

Thomas reached a hand up to examine the picture more closely when he heard, "Shank, don't touch things that aren't yours!" Thomas whirled around and saw Gally glaring at him. "Newt has been through enough, don't take his klunk."

"I-I wasn't!" Thomas protested.

"Yeah?" Gally scoffed, "It sure looked like it."

"I just want to know who Frankie is!" Thomas explained.

He saw something change in the other boy's eyes, who gruffly replied, "Go ask Alby if you want to know about Frankie." Then the sandy-haired boy turned on his heel and left, calling over his shoulder, "And keep your hands to yourself, shank!"

Thomas knew he should join Newt in the Garden by now. He was risking time in the Slammer now, but his curiosity got the better of him. He was just too intrigued by the picture of the girl and Newt and Gally's cryptic reactions. So instead of reporting to the Garden, he went and found Alby, who was on his way back to the Homestead after meeting with the Keeper of the Bricknicks about supply needs. "Hey, Alby!" the brunet called out.

The chocolate-skinned man paused and turned to Thomas. "You realize you're supposed to be with the Track-hoes this morning, right?" he asked.

"Yes," Thomas replied,"but I really need to ask you about something, because no one else will talk to me."

Alby sighed, looking at his watch. "Okay, ask away, but you gotta walk with me."

Thomas fell in step with the leader of the Glade and asked, "Who is Frankie, and why is there a picture of her over Newt's bed?"

Alby stopped dead in his tracks and swore, "Well, shuck, kid. Is that why Newt looked so sad?"

Thomas shrugged, "Maybe? I'm confused, though."

Alby ignored Thomas's explanation and turned to Chuck, instructing the curly-haired boy, "Go make sure Newt took his meds this morning, and tell Luke to keep an eye on him. I want to catch any possible situations while they're still manageable. Make sure Luke always sends someone with Newt if he leaves his sight." Chuck nodded and raced towards the Garden, leaving a stressed-out Alby and an even more confused Thomas outside the Homestead.

"Did I do something?" the brunet inquired, visibly lost.

"Maybe," Alby replied, which was not the answer Thomas wanted. "But you didn't mean to. The Greenies never do." At this, the dark-skinned male turned to the younger boy and chuckled, "Do you want some explanation now?"

"Yes," Thomas begged, "please."

"Then come on," Alby motioned towards his room, which was set apart from the rest. "We can talk here. It's a long story and I don't want to be interrupted." Thomas and Alby settled onto the floor, the former looking expectantly at the latter. With a deep breath, Alby started talking.

_______________________________

𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬 𝗚𝗟𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥 is told upon arrival that Alby was the first boy to come up in the Box. This is true. Every Glader assumes that this means Alby was the first Glader. This is not true. And it's not a secret—not really, but every Glader knows that you don't talk about the first Glader. No one but Alby tells the story, and no one bothers Newt about it. It's an unspoken rule in the Glade, one that gets slowly absorbed by all Gladers.

The first Glader was named Frankie.

It was dark, but Frankie could see a few specks of light floating through holes in whatever contraption she was trapped in. Whatever it was, the teenage girl could tell it was hurtling upwards by the G-forces pressing her back into the sharp wooden corner of some sort of crate. Her eyes had adjusted slightly, and she could tell now that she was in some sort of cage—a metal box filled with crates, barrels, and…her. She scanned the crates, unable to tell what they could contain, her mind only registering several letters on the side of one of the crates: ‘W.C.K.D.’ But Frankie didn't have much time to take this in before—SLAM!

As the Box (as she'd named it in her head) reached its final destination (she assumed), it jolted, sending her flying backwards into one of the crates. Frankie could feel a jagged edge get caught on the tender skin of her scalp, and when she touched her hand to the wound, it was sticky with blood. With a hiss, she pressed the heel of her palm to the tender spot, gritting her teeth against the sting. On wobbly legs, the blonde stood, steadying herself on a crate. There was sunlight streaming through the lid of the Box, and Frankie tentatively pushed on it. It moved slightly, so Frankie quickly climbed onto a crate, the added height giving her enough momentum to push the lid up and over, effectively freeing her.

But the teenage girl didn't climb out of her cage. Instead, she slumped to its floor as the adrenaline from waking up like this wore off. And as Frankie tried to force breaths into her lungs, a new kind of panic overwhelmed her, because a new fact was becoming apparent—she couldn't remember anything. She had no recollection of why she was here, how'd she'd gotten here, where here even was—and she had no memory of where she'd been before this metal box. The only thing she could remember was her name (Frankie), which she'd recalled when her head had collided with the crate.

Taking a tentative step into the sunlight, Frankie shielded her eyes from its intense rays, surveying what could only be described as a Glade. The air smelled of campfire smoke and fresh, new earth. The Glade was mostly just wide open grass, but there was a cluster of small trees on one side, and a small hut on the other. Surrounding the Glade were four large, stone walls. One had a large gap in it. Frankie squinted, noticing the odd passages branching out from the gap, and it suddenly dawned on her—she was in the middle of a fucking maze.

Frankie had been placed here on purpose.

The only sign that anyone else might live in the Glade was the tiny hut, and so, hoping for any clues as to why she was here, Frankie raced towards it. But she was met with bitter disappointment, because it was completely bare. She realized, anxiety rising, that it was a shell. It was waiting for her. Frankie thought back to the crates she'd ridden up with. They were filled with everything needed to homestead—she'd checked before she'd come to the hut.

Whoever had sent Frankie here was watching, and they wanted her to build a homestead. Build a life here. Frankie ran outside, looked up at the sky, and screeched, “Fuck you!” Then she collapsed to the ground in a heap of sobs.

Once Frankie had regained a bit of functionality, she decided to keep track of the days, so as to keep a sense of the passage of time. By the end of the first day, Frankie had taken everything out of the Box, which was good, because the next morning, it had gone back to wherever it came from. On the third day, Frankie had moved most of the essentials into the Hut. She stacked all food-related items in one area, all clothing and toiletries in another, and had set up a nice makeshift bed in the corner. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Frankie wasn't a gardener or a scavenger, and she couldn't cook well either, so she hoped the foodstuffs in the crates would last long enough for her to learn those skills through trial and error. She still couldn't figure out why she was in the Glade, or what its Creators could want from her, but the girl could at least try her hand at surviving. She reasoned that someone or something was bound to happen eventually.

At the start of her second week, Frankie, who'd been living off of tally marks, canned fruit, and jerky, started feeling the effects of her gradual loss of hope. Upon arriving in the Glade, the blonde had noticed thin, red scars on her arms in neat, precise rows, and had easily deduced that something in her ‘before’ had caused her to carve those lines into her arms herself. She also reasoned that if she'd fallen into that depression then, she could easily fall into it again. And the longer she went in this Glade alone, with the horrid Maze that shifted in the night and creepy sounds of some kind of creature, the more she felt her mind slipping into a very serious depressed state.

The word ‘hope’ wasn't in her vocabulary anymore.

Frankie’s sixteenth and seventeenth day in the Maze consisted of eating the last of the foodstuffs, wandering aimlessly in the small patch of trees and letting tears trickle down her pale, sunken-in cheeks. She was underfed, overwhelmed, and utterly alone. It had been over two weeks since she'd come up in the Box, and she was still in solitude (not counting the creepy-sounding Maze monsters). She still had no clues as to her real location, her purpose, or her captors. Her situation seemed bleak, and under even darker lenses of examination, (like her handy-dandy depression lens), there seemed to be no way forward.

Frankie decided that if some kind of help hadn't appeared at the one month mark, she would take matters into her own hands. Kill herself.

As the days went by, Frankie became increasingly convinced that the Creators of this place wanted her to venture inside the dark, deadly walls of the Maze.

“Well, I won't do it!” the teenage girl screamed at the sky. “I won't explore your fucking Maze!” Of course, there was no answer, but that didn't weaken her resolve. Frankie was determined to never step foot in the Maze. She was also ignoring just how necessary planting seeds and trying to start a life would be if she wanted to survive. After all, she wasn't really trying to survive. She was already giving up. There was no motivation in her to keep going.

The blonde pondered this, wondering if it made her weak. She was sure, after all, that most people would have the instinct to build a life; a livelihood. Most people would try to get out, or start a garden, or send for help. If anyone else was in her situation, they'd put on an exciting show for whoever was watching. But not Frankie. See, whoever had put her here had made a seemingly grave mistake—they'd placed a girl with an untrustworthy mind in an unfamiliar place and then expected her to try.

Even if logically, she knew what she should do, her fucked-up brain was still going to win every time. She would still sit there, unmotivated and depressed. She would tally the days…and then pass them by staring blankly at the Walls. And if nothing changed by the time one month passed, she would end it. She refused to wait here forever.

At sunrise on the first day of the new month, Frankie put one more tally mark on her makeshift calendar, laid down on her bed, and slit her pale wrists. Fire licked at the cuts, burning her arms before consuming her. After several moments of extreme pain and spots overwhelming her vision, Frankie's eyes shut and it all went black.

She didn't expect—or want—to wake up, but after some unknown passage of time, she did, her eyes unwillingly flickering open as a shuffling sound moved from her left side to her right. When a warm hand gently turned her right wrist so her palm was facing up, her breath caught in her throat and she jumped, her eyes flying open.

“Woah, there, tiger!” Frankie stared at the dark-skinned boy who was holding her wrist. His expression was one of relief and amusement, but she could also see a tinge of worry in his eyes. She glanced down to where he gently held her wrist and observed the heavy bandaging that mirrored her other wrist. This boy must have nursed her back to health.

“You weren't supposed to save me,” she informed him, her voice barely above a whisper and raspy from lack of use. She used his (quite muscular) arm as support to sit up slowly. Scanning what she could now see was the Hut, she noticed that the boy had taken the liberty of moving her belongings to one space and filling the rest of the Hut with medical supplies. “You redecorated,” she commented.

“This building was in the perfect spot to make it a Med-hut,” her companion answered. Then he grinned, “I'm Alby, by the way.” Frankie nodded once, noticing he'd added to her makeshift calendar. He'd been there almost a week and a half, then.

“I'm—”

“Frankie. I know. You told me.”

The blonde girl looked at Alby in surprise, “I don't remember that.”

“You wouldn't,” Alby chuckled, “you were drifting in and out of consciousness for the first few hours after I found you. When I walked into the Hut and saw you, I thought you were dead, but you opened your eyes and giggled, ‘Hi, I'm Frankie. Welcome to the fucking Glade.’ Then you promptly blacked out again. That's when I started grabbing medical supplies from the Box to stop you from bleeding out.”

“I'm surprised you succeeded,” Frankie chuckled dryly.

“You'd only made the cuts thirty minutes or so before I found you, from what I could tell,” Alby reasoned, “so you were lucky, I guess.” Frankie looked down at her wrists, moving them in circles to test their mobility. They both stung like hell, but the right one could move fine, while the left one hurt too much to even twist slightly. She hissed in pain, rubbing the tender joint.

“You narrowly missed an artery on that one,” Alby told her.

“Wish I hadn’t,” she retorted, “then I wouldn’t still be in this Glade.”

“Hey, I’ve made this place a bit more liveable,” Alby teased. “I’ve built a makeshift Homestead and started a Garden.”

Frankie raised an eyebrow, “You did that in a week and a half while caring for me?”

The boy shrugged. “What can I say? I must have been good at architecture before this.”

Frankie laughed, “Maybe. I think I was just good at overthinking.” Alby nodded, reaching to undo Frankie’s bandages. She let him change them, trying not to grimace as she took in the gross, jagged cuts on both wrists. They were mottled with bruises and half-formed scabs on the shallow parts. The left wrist still had a large section of skin that was hanging open, blood trickling slowly from it. As Alby dabbed at the cuts, he frowned.

“The right side is healing nice,” he commented, rebandaging that wrist before turning to her left, “but this cut keeps reopening. I’m worried it will become infected.” Grabbing a bottle of alcohol, he warned Frankie, “This is going to hurt.” With that, he poured an ample amount of the liquid onto her wound. She let out a shriek.

“You could’ve counted to three, you heartless fucker!”

Frankie’s insults fell on unfazed ears as the receiver wrapped the throbbing cut, “You should be okay for the next couple days.”

Walking around the Glade was a bit of a challenge for Frankie, but with a heap of Alby’s cooking on her plate and his arm to lean on, she made it around the whole walled enclosure. Her legs were very wobbly, but she was glad to be out of bed and away from the reminders of her failed suicide attempt. Alby had warned her that she wasn’t going to let her out of his sight, because he wasn’t going to let her die. She just rolled her eyes.

“There’s no hope for us. We’re just some kind of exhibit in a godforsaken horror zoo. We’ll be better off dead.” But secretly, she was thinking that Alby, with his two room Homestead, half-built Kitchen, and small garden bed, might actually be able to give her hope. Neither teen had set foot in the Maze; it was too soon and Alby had been busy building the foundation for this little ‘civilization,’ as he was trying to convince Frankie to call it. But maybe they could survive here. At least until someone from their befores realized they were gone.

Over the next few weeks, Alby made good progress on the buildings, completing the Kitchen and outfitting the Homestead with furnishings. Alby and Frankie each had a room in its two room structure, and Frankie had moved her belongings from the Medhut to the Homestead. It was a meager pile of belongings, just some extra clothes, a journal and pen, feminine projects, and of all things, a disposable camera.

Alby had given it to her in exchange for promising to try and stay alive.

Frankie was still a less-than-decent gardener, but her wrists still weren’t healing right, so she couldn’t truly build. She could almost garden…as long as she was careful. So she did her best to take care of their food source, letting him handle the struggle of actually cooking. He wouldn’t let her near fire, just in case it might tempt her to harm herself. She appreciated the concern, but knew deep down that if she truly wanted to die, she’d find a much more efficient method than burning herself to death.

And the longer her cuts went without fully healing, the more worried she became that she was going to leave Alby alone here whether she liked it or not. She obviously couldn’t remember anyone besides the teenage boy, but she still got the feeling that he was a kinder person than most she’d known in her before, whatever that was. And the fact that he spent time nursing her back to health even though he had no obligation to? It was sweet. Very sweet. She didn’t want to abandon him to live in the Glade alone.

With Alby here to help her, the voice of depression in her head quieted.

The two teens decided that if the Box brought another teen up at the month-mark, it would be safe to assume that a new teenager would come every month. After all, the Glade seemed too vast for two inhabitants; like it was supposed to be filled with more people, and Alby and Frankie had agreed to ignore the implications of no teenagers in the Box. The implications of what that meant the Creators of this hellhole wanted them to do. They couldn’t decipher their exact ages, but it was clear that Alby was around seventeen, while Frankie was closer to fourteen.

At the very least, it was clear that Frankie was quite a bit younger than Alby.

To their relief, on the day that marked the month, the Box came up loaded with crates, barrels, and a scared, shaking teenage boy. He had dirty blond hair and bright, doe eyes, his arms and legs stick-thin as he huddled in a corner of the Box. He looked to be about Frankie’s age, and he looked terrified.

“I’m Frankie,” the teenage girl smiled, trying to look reassuring as she offered a hand to the boy. This was a mistake, though, because as she pulled him up, the fragilely repaired skin of her left wrist tore right back open, blood immediately gushing out of her arm and onto the boy’s startled face.

Her vision immediately blurring, Frankie leaned against the Box, the sudden blood loss going to her legs. She felt herself losing consciousness, arms flailing to find any support as she fell. In true Frankie manner, she swore as she tumbled down, but in her semi-conscious state, her speech slurred, and so the last word out of her mouth was, “Shuck!”

Then she passed out.

_______________________________

𝗡𝗘𝗪𝗧 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗 tell he was green.

He’d already thrown up once, yellow stomach acid mixed with blood, (though he couldn’t tell if it was Frankie’s or his own, because he was pretty sure he’d bitten his tongue). But looking at the cuts on Frankie’s wrists, half-healed and probably infected, he felt incredibly squeamish. Alby had explained the story to him—Frankie’s lonely first month in the Glade, her suicide attempt, Alby’s care as he tried to save her, and the life they’d built from there.

Newt thought that his new reality might be partially responsible for his nausea, too.

He’d washed the blood from his face and changed into the clothes sent up with him, Alby directing him to set up a cot in his room.

“We didn’t know if anyone else would be coming up, so I just built two rooms. I figure we can just squeeze in until they’re full and then build on once we run out of room,” the older boy had explained. Newt felt too numb to do anything but nod. Now he simply sat near Frankie, who was lying on a cot in the Medhut, barely conscious. She didn’t seem to have the energy to do anything but groan in pain as Alby set to work sewing her wound back up.

As he tied off the thread, a concerned look in his eyes, Alby patted the top of Frankie’s head, “I’m sure this is the last time I’ll have to sew one of these bad boys back up.”

“You mean, ‘I hope this is the last time,’” the girl grumbled.

Alby rolled his eyes, but Newt could see the note of worry in his eyes that confirmed Frankie’s statement. “Rest up, Frankie,” he ordered, motioning for Newt to leave the Medhut with him. “Take a day off tomorrow,” Alby added, to which Frankie replied,

“Fuck you! I’m working tomorrow!” The strain in her voice, however, said otherwise.

“Frankie,” Newt hummed, shaking the blonde’s shoulder lightly, “time for breakfast.” It had been four days since he came up in the Box, and the teen felt much more comfortable around Alby and Frankie. He’d realized quickly that despite their tough exteriors, both were as cuddly as teddy bears. Alby babied Frankie like she was his little sister, which was adorable to an extent, but after one too many days of bed rest, the teenage girl had asked Newt to take a turn caring for her.

Frankie had an obsession with creating nicknames for everything in the Glade, which she wrote in detailed lists in her journal (what else was she supposed to do?)

“We can call ourselves Gladers,” she had suggested, “and if we ever have someone who wants to solely work in the Med-hut, we should call them a Med-jack, because you go in jacked-up and hope you’ll come out less jacked up!” Newt and Alby had laughed but agreed. “And the last person to come out of the Box will for the first month be a Greenie, because they’re a newbie, which means they’re green.” Then with a smirk, she’d added, “And if they’re anything like Newt, they’ll be physically green, too.”

“You bled on me!” Newt had protested.

“You ripped my arm open!” the teenage girl shot back. “And it’s too late, Greenie, I’ve already decided.”

“I like it,” Alby had nodded, laughing when he saw Newt’s scowl.

“You’re both jerks,” the sandy-haired teen mumbled.

“And you’re a little shit, but I’m still being nice,” Frankie sing-songed.

“Hey, I didn’t cuss at you!” Newt had gasped, Frankie sticking her tongue out to say,

“So?”

“So you were rude!” the boy had insisted. “You should apologize!” Frankie had glanced at Alby, who was watching with a bemused expression. She mouthed ‘Help?’ but the dark-skinned boy had just shook his head.

With a groan and dramatic eye roll, Frankie had forced out, “I’m so sorry that I hurt your feelings. Do you want me to ask the Creators to send you some little boy pants? They might fit better.”

Alby had coughed, “That was a shit apology, Frankie. In fact, it was just another insult.” Then he’d sighed and admitted, “Newt has a point, as much as I hate to say it. Who knows how young W.C.K.D will deign to go? They might send up ten-year-olds. As hard as it is in a place like this, we should at least try to set a good example. We’ll come up with alternatives.”

Frankie had finally agreed after Newt reminded her of the hilarious ‘Shuck!’ she’d let out after covering him in blood, and they’d all agreed that it was a suitable alternative.

Newt smiled at the thought, returning to the present as Frankie stirred, awakened by his mention of food.

“Breakfast?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. The girl had been quite fatigued from losing so much blood during Newt’s arrival, and it was taking her quite some time to gain the energy back.

“Yup,” Newt encouraged, “and once I check your bandages, I’ll bring you some.” At this, Frankie’s eyes flew open.

“No!” Newt raised an eyebrow.

“No? What do you mean, no?”

Frankie scowled, “I want to eat with you and Alby.”

Newt chuckled. He loved her tenacity, and at first, it had made him slightly timid, but he’d adjusted quickly and picked up on the fact that it was her defense mechanism.

“I’m not sure that’s smart,” he began, not the least bit surprised when she interrupted.

“I don’t shucking care!”

With an eye roll that could envy one of Frankie’s, Newt told her, “Well, I do, because Alby and I care about your health.” He could see her trying to figure out her next argument, the gears turning in her head.

“I’d be doing the exact same thing there as I’m doing here; sitting!”

“And how would you get there?” Newt inquired. “It’s a hard walk for someone recovering from blood loss.”

Frankie huffed. “It’s only five minutes!”

“And that’s about four minutes too many for you,” Newt told her decisively. With a resigned sigh, the girl let Newt finish with her bandages. But as Newt disposed of the dirty rags, an idea lit up Frankie’s brain.

When he turned to face the blonde, Newt was surprised to hear, “You can carry me!”

“What?” Newt sputtered.

“You said I can’t walk all the way to the dining hall, so you should carry me there!” Frankie crowed with a big grin on her pale face.

“Fine,” the teenage boy said. He leaned down and easily swept her off the bed in a bridal carry. “Comfortable?” he inquired, walking towards the Kitchen.

“Yes,” Frankie smiled, her head resting organically on his shoulder. The teen boy hummed in response, sending vibrations through his chest into Frankie’s body. It was a comforting sensation, and coupled with the warmth of his body, Frankie realized that she felt oddly safe in his and Alby’s care.

For two teenage boys she’d known for a month at most, it was impressive. It was probably the whole saving-her-life thing. It earned them brownie points.

The next few days, Newt took the time to carry Frankie around. She wasn’t that heavy and she was great company. He definitely enjoyed gardening more when Frankie was there, even if she was constantly forgetting to drink enough water and take it easy. Newt got into the habit of forcing her to hydrate and take breaks, despite her constant grumbling that ‘she was perfectly healthy’ and ‘didn’t need much water.’

Newt, of course, had the upper hand in these debates, as he could always point to her still scabbed wrists and pale complexion. Eventually, as Frankie gained back enough strength to start walking to and fro as she pleased, these debates simply became an inside joke that the two had, often ending with insult battles.

Alby found it equal parts amusing and frustrating, just like the younger teens’ insistence that the small copse of trees be called the ‘Deadheads’ after Alby came out of them one day, swearing and grumbling, “One of the trees tried to kill me! It tried to take my head off!” The other teens just laughed at him, earning sharp glares from the older boy.

As the three teenagers settled into a rhythm, Alby grew accustomed to completing the day’s work with Newt and Frankie, and then retiring to the Homestead to relax while the other two went off to frolic and explore. He didn’t mind the alone time, and he was incredibly grateful that Newt and Frankie had bonded so well. Frankie still refused to view rescue as a viable possibility, but he could tell that to her, living here in the Glade forever was enough. Fostering these friendships with the boys who’d brought her back from the dead was enough for her.

Frankie may have gained her leg functionality back, but she’d gotten used to Newt ferrying her around, and so she’d jump on his back and ‘force’ him to give piggyback rides on their explorations. She knew he could easily insist she walk, and deduced that his willingness to carry her across the Glade indicated that he secretly enjoyed it as well. She always took her camera with her, snapping pictures of nature, Newt, and even the Walls, if the sunlight hit them in an interesting way. The collection of images grew, occupying the otherwise empty walls of the Homestead. Alby had to admit, it gave the Homestead a homey feel. It was comfortable here.

Frankie realized her rising feelings for Newt on one of their adventures. They were sitting by the pond, Frankie weaving grass together while Newt braided her hair.

“How’d you learn to do that?” she inquired.

Newt let out a hum. “I’ve no idea. Maybe I have a sister somewhere.” The girl smiled, checking the final product in the clear water. She let out a tiny gasp. It had been a long time since she’d felt pretty, but all of a sudden, she felt positively beautiful.

“I love it, Newt!” she squealed, throwing her arms around the boy. Her excitement caused the pair to topple over, Frankie landing on top of Newt. His hands immediately found her waist, as if to ensure she was okay. Her hands tangled in his air, and she was struck with the sudden urge to kiss the boy.

Their lips almost touched.

Frankie rolled off of Newt, clearing her throat as she mumbled, “It’s probably close to dinnertime.”

Then she quickly stood up, and before Newt could offer her a piggyback ride to the Kitchen, Frankie was half-running, half-stumbling away, all the while thinking, Shuck. I’m falling for Newt.

Newt walked behind her, forehead creased as he watched Frankie go flying back towards the center of the Glade, trying to ignore how his hands shook slightly, vibrating in time with the butterflies fluttering in his stomach. What was this weird feeling he got every time he twined his fingers through Frankie’s hair, or heard her laugh, or received a smile? Why did her presence make his skin all prickly while at the same time forming a warm glow around his heart? It seemed so silly to have such an odd reaction to the girl. He couldn’t even fathom why she could be affecting him so.

He wasn’t as confident in his emotions as Frankie was in hers.

“Alby, why does my heart speed up when I’m with Frankie?” the teen inquired one night, nervously dragging his thin fingers through the dirty blond fluff piled atop his head. It was grimy and matted, and his fingers got stuck, Newt wincing as he untangled his hair from his jagged fingernails.

Alby, who was sitting across from Newt by the firepit, looked surprised, but then chuckled. “Well, do you usually feel scared around her, or happy around her?”

Newt smiled. “Happy. But maybe a little nervous, too. She can be intimidating.” Alby nodded in agreement, a toothy, knowing grin adorning his handsome face. “So why do I feel that way?” Newt pressed, annoyed at Alby’s silent smirk.

“Oh, I think you know, Greenie,” Alby replied, letting out a small chuckle when Newt groaned.

“Alby! Give me a real answer!” The older boy just shook his head.

“You know the answer. Now figure out what your response is going to be.”

Before Newt could shoot a snappy comeback at Alby, Frankie waltzed over and plopped down next to him, chirping, “Hi, Greenie!” Newt rolled his eyes.

“You know my name, why’re you still calling me that?” Frankie grinned patronizingly,

“Oh, Newt, you’ll always be green in my heart.”

“You mean nauseous?” he grunted.

“Yup!”

Alby watched the exchange silently, watching the pair’s body language and banter as it suddenly dawned on him—Newt’s feelings were returned. These two were mutually attracted to each other—these two fourteen-year-olds in an awful, unexplainable prison, finding comfort in each other; feeling safe despite everything.

It was kind of beautiful.

Of course, the two were completely oblivious, both believing that their feelings were unrequited. Newt and Frankie simply continued to act like best friends, unable to see the flirting that was plain as day to Alby. That’s what he got for being older and wiser, he thought to himself.

But as much of the romantic tension that he did see, there was even more that he didn’t. Like all the nights that the two younger teens ended up in the same bed, for example.

It was just a normal night in the Glade, but Frankie’s mind didn’t care for peace. It liked to wreak havoc on its owner, especially while she slept (or more accurately, while she tried to). Frankie had been hopeful for a dreamless rest, but in the middle of the night, she started reliving that first lonely month. Except that in her dream, every time she woke up after slitting her wrists, she was back in the Box, starting the month over again.

Trapped here forever.

The teenage girl bolted awake, sitting up in bed as she regained her bearings. She was breathing heavily, forehead slick with sweat.

“It was just a nightmare,” she murmured, trying to convince her racing heart of this truth. She slowly eased herself back to a horizontal position again, but was out of bed wincing within seconds. She knew she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again by herself.

She hated waking Newt, but ever since he’d forced Alby to move rooms (the older boy snored), Newt had told Frankie to bug him any time. So, taking a deep breath, she padded over to his door and knocked. After a few seconds of silence, she became too anxious to linger in the dark hallway and simply entered the boy’s room.

His room was surprisingly messy—she’d expected him to be an overall organized person—but she ignored this small detail, tiptoeing around the piles of clothes and other materials on the floor. As she neared his bed, Frankie gulped, noticing that Newt was shirtless. He lay sprawled across the mattress, just boxers on his frame. This made her even more anxious to wake him, but she just took a deep breath and lightly shook the blond’s shoulder.

“Hmm?” the boy mumbled, eyes fluttering open as he looked around the dark room, disoriented.

“Hi, Newt,” Frankie peeped, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by his deep, groggy voice and mussed hair.

“Frankie?” She could hear a hint of a smile in Newt’s voice as he rubbed his eyes. “What do you need, love?” he inquired, the pet name slipping out like it always did when he was tired. Frankie would never confess to it, but she secretly loved it.

“I had a nightmare,” she admitted, heart skipping a beat when Newt immediately frowned,

“I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“Oh no, it’s okay,” she assured him hurriedly. Newt opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, Frankie blurted, “Can I stay here?”

She felt blood rush to her cheeks immediately, but Newt just said, “Of course, love.” Frankie immediately climbed beneath the blanket he’d pulled back, right into his outstretched arms. She carefully rested her head on his chest, arms wrapping around his lean torso as she listened to the steady beat of his heart. His chest rose and fell with every soft breath he took, Frankie’s cheeks red as she took in the closeness of their bodies and the rhythm of Newt’s hand rubbing her arm.

“Are you comfortable?” the girl whispered, craning her neck to get a glimpse of Newt’s comforting face.

He chuckled, “Don’t worry about me, love. Just sleep.”

The raspy tiredness in his voice made it even more attractive than it already was, and all Frankie could do was mumble, “Okay.” Then she drifted off to sleep, undisturbed by nightmares now that her knight in shining armor was holding her.

When she woke up, Frankie panicked for a second, chest restricted by something on top of it. But upon opening her eyes, the girl chuckled, finding Newt laying on his stomach between her legs, head resting on her chest, arms around her waist. Obviously, he’d shifted during the night. Frankie certainly didn’t mind; this way, she could run her hands through his soft hair. She’d noticed that he’d started washing it more often recently. It was certainly nice that the head of hair resting on her chest smelled like shea butter, not dirt and B.O.

After a few minutes of lying peacefully while Frankie played with his hair, Newt began to stir. With a large yawn, he stretched, rolling onto his back, but staying between Frankie’s legs.

“Frankie?” he mumbled, obviously not awake enough to remember why she was in his bed.

“Hey, Greenie,” the girl smirked, running a hand through Newt’s hair again. He closed his eyes in enjoyment.

“That feels good.” Frankie laughed, helping the boy sit up.

“Oh, really, Newt?” Neither teen commented on Frankie’s nightmare from the night before. Frankie felt better—Newt’s presence was enough—and Newt knew Frankie well enough that he could tell she wanted to move on. And that’s how it was the next time it happened, and the next. Newt never pressed her to talk about her dreams, and Frankie never pressed him to talk about the nightmares she knew he had, too.

The body heat of another was enough comfort for them both.

It should have been obvious to Frankie and Newt that their feelings were shared, but the two lovesick fourteen-year-olds remained blissfully unaware even after these late night cuddle sessions. It made Alby wish he had longer hair just so he could pull it out. Eventually, fed up with Newt’s insistence at denying his feelings, Alby hatched a plan.

Yes, he was desperate enough to play matchmaker.

Alby wasn’t great at whittling, but he was determined enough to create a decent, simple flute-like instrument. Coupled with a small bonfire, the stilted little flute’s music was all Alby needed to convince Frankie and Newt to dance together, the pair laughing as they twirled around, hand in hand.

“You stepped on my foot!” Frankie yelped as the two pretended to waltz, circling the fire.

“Sorry,” Newt winced, drawing the blonde girl slightly closer to his tall frame. Alby watched from a few feet away, a smile on his face as Newt and Frankie settled into a slow-dancing position, swaying gently from side to side with Newt’s arms around Frankie’s waist and her arms around his neck. Alby changed his flute’s melody to match the mood, watching the scene intently as a reality tv show host. Being as unassuming as possible, he waited for something—anything—to happen.

“Frankie, love?” Newt whispered, the girl looking up at him expectantly. “You look gorgeous in the firelight.” Frankie blushed so red that Newt could see it even at this time of night.

“Don’t be silly, Newt,” she argued. “I’m covered in sweat and grime, and I don’t own a shucking hairbrush. That cannot possibly translate to gorgeous.”

“Yes, it can,” Newt insisted, tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ear. “Trust me, love; you are gorgeous.” Frankie’s eyes fluttered closed as the boy’s hand cupped her cheek, thumb stroking her soft skin.

“Thank you,” she whispered in response, Newt just humming as Alby watched the pair, practically spontaneously combusting. “Newt—” Frankie was interrupted by the loud shriek of a Griever, causing her to jump from surprise.

Newt chuckled, “We should all go to bed, shouldn’t we?” Alby wanted to protest at first, but then saw a golden opportunity.

“Yeah, I’ll take care of the fire. Newt, walk with Frankie back to the Homestead, yeah?” The younger boy quickly agreed, Frankie knowing better than to protest, as it wasn’t a judgment of her own abilities, but just Alby’s overprotective nature manifesting in an overbearing approach.

“What were you going to say before?” Newt inquired, the girl looking at him in confusion. “Before the Griever so rudely interrupted you,” he clarified, eyebrows raising slightly at the blush that flooded Frankie's face.

“Oh, that—I was just going to ask if…” she trailed off for a second, but quickly regained her resolve, “I was going to ask if you'd stay again tonight. My nightmares have been bad.” Newt’s eyes lit up immediately as he threw an arm around Frankie's shoulders.

“Of course, love.” As the two reached Frankie's room, they both went for the knob, hands colliding in a burst of sparks that caused the two teenagers to exchange sheepish looks. “Sorry,” the British boy mumbled before following Frankie into her room.

A mostly comfortable silence filled the room as the teens quickly changed into their night clothes, sleepovers a routine enough occurrence that half of Newt's clothes were in Frankie's small dresser.

Neither Newt nor Frankie could deny the slight tension in the air, however, when Newt turned around a tad too soon and caught a glimpse of Frankie's bare breast as she pulled her night shirt on, the tension became almost unbearable. He attempted to act as if it hadn't happened, but judging from the blush on her cheeks, Frankie was just as aware as he was of what he'd seen.

They came to an unspoken agreement to ignore it, clambering under Frankie's blanket together as Newt fit his body easily into the outline of the girl's, spooning her. They laid there quietly, breaths filling the room as Frankie felt Newt's exhales tickling the back of her neck. His arms were wrapped almost lazily around her waist, as if they were just supposed to be there. Frankie's eyes fluttered closed at the sensations, hyper aware of Newt's firm chest against her shoulder blades.

Shifting slightly, Frankie unintentionally rolled her hips as she adjusted her legs’ positioning, the girl's breath hitching when the small of her back brushed against Newt's pelvis.

She remembered very suddenly that he was a teenage boy.

“Newt,” she whispered, rolling over in one fluid motion so they were face to face, “gosh, Newt.” Her gaze was soft, very un-Frankie-like, her bottom lip getting caught between her teeth as she gently cupped his cheek in her hand. Stroking his cheekbone with her thumb, she wondered when she'd become so bold.

The teenage girl felt soft hands trail from her ribs to the small of her back, Newt guiding her even closer to himself so their hips were flush against each other. Frankie felt as though her entire body was blushing in one red, burning shade, her eyes squeezing shut of their own accord when Newt's hands drifted lower, resting on the girl's ass before squeezing tightly, Frankie whimpering as her hands found a new spot—tangled in the boy's hair.

“Will you kiss me, Newt?” she asked in a whisper, the boy nodding before using a hand to lift her chin. His lips closed in on hers, Frankie waiting in anticipation, but Newt didn't kiss her full on the mouth. Instead, he planted a kiss on the corner of the girl's mouth, a dissatisfied groan leaving her vocal cords.

“Newt,” she whined, a low chuckle leaving his throat before he pressed a kiss to the other corner of her mouth, followed by a soft pattern of pecks that trailed along her jaw. Finally, sensing her patience waning, his hands found their way back up to her face, pressing his lips to hers with a passion Frankie hadn't expected him to have. She eagerly answered the requests of his soft lips, letting him have access to her mouth as she closed her eyes in contentment, completely happy to let him have dominance. His tongue flicking against her own, Newt's eyes held a deep desire that Frankie was sure was mirrored in her own.

“Gosh, you're so beautiful,” the British boy murmured, leaving Frankie breathless with no words as he continued to brush his lips against hers. Then he moved to her eyelids, placing soft kisses on them as he slowly ground his hips against her own, like he didn't fully believe this was real and had to make sure Frankie was truly there. Being loved on by him. With one last peck to her nose, he pulled back and just stared at her face softly, admiring the teenage girl's ethereal beauty.

“Newt—” she mumbled through swollen lips. “What are we?”

The spell broke.

All of a sudden, Newt was rolling off of Frankie and clambering out of her bed, grasping at the dark, messy floor to find his day clothes as Frankie sat up, stunned.

“Newt—Newt?” she asked anxiously. “Newt, what are you doing?” The British boy froze momentarily, eyes locking with the blonde's, but just as quickly, he unfroze and started towards the door.

“I'm sorry, Frankie. I'm really sorry,” he muttered. “I'm so bloody sorry. I just can't.” He looked at her with a pained expression, “I can't do this.” He stumbled over his words for a second before spitting out, “I don't want this.” Then he scrambled to leave, Frankie frozen in bed, stunned.

How had it all gone downhill so fast? How had it all fallen apart so quickly that she couldn't catch it; couldn't stop the snowball?

After a few seconds of denial, Frankie, though still unable to process what had just happened, found a tear rolling down her cheek. Then another, and another, until a rainstorm was charting paths down her face to fill a sea in the bed sheets below. Frankie found herself growing angry and heartbroken all at once, unable to reason out whether Newt had meant he didn't want her or didn't want a relationship. She wanted to scream, yell, curse his stupid name and wake Alby, too, but all she had the strength to do was let out one gasping, quiet whisper.

“Fuck you, Newton.”

The next day, neither teen would tell Alby what had happened, but he had enough sense to figure out that something had gone down, and from the cold, formal way Newt and Frankie were greeting each other, it didn't take the older teenager long to deduce a basic summary of the previous night's events. Alby tried in vain to bridge the chasm that lay between Newt and Frankie now, reasoning that they were stronger together, but nothing he tried could fix the damage Newt had done to Frankie's trust.

Alby became resigned to a fate of mediating between two icy parties, but what he wasn't willing to accept was Frankie drawing back into herself again. He watched her close herself off from both boys, noticing how she dug her nails into the scars on her wrists when Newt passed, and he remembered what he'd promised her when she woke up from her attempt—he wasn't going to let her die. Not by outside causes, and not because of her own mind.

Alby knew deep down that to help Frankie, he needed to first get her out of this hellhole, and that's why he first turned to the Maze.

There was no way he'd let Frankie out of the Glade into such an unknown, likely hostile environment, so the leader of the trio recruited Newt, who'd wanted to explore the Maze all along. Frankie, of course, opposed the idea with everything in her, wanting the well-being of both boys despite Newt's earlier defenses. She still treasured them both, and so the thought of them risking their lives in the Maze scared the girl.

But they were persistent, and Frankie held no real power over them. She just wished that they'd be content in the Glade. That they'd squash this desire to explore the Maze.

The morning Alby and Newt departed the Glade to run the Maze, Frankie ignored the sun's cues and instead simply glared frostily at the boys, as if to give them one last chance to back out. But of course, they didn't. Instead, they disappeared into the Maze, ignorant of the fact that they would never see Frankie again.

At least, never alive again.

_______________________________

𝗔𝗟𝗕𝗬 𝗛𝗔𝗗 remained relatively calm during the whole story; emotionless, even, but at this last statement, his head fell into his hands, a strangled sob coming from his mouth.

“Alby—” Thomas said uncertainly, but he was interrupted as Alby's head snapped back up, an anguished, feral look in his eyes.

“She fucking killed herself, Thomas! She slit her fucking wrists, right on the scars, so fucking perfectly that it must've been so meticulously intentional.” The leader of the Glade let out another angry cry before continuing, “She collected every single photo, poem, drawing, memento…everything that had any connection to her at all…and burned it. All of it. So we'd have nothing left of her. And then she wrote a fucking note that said, ‘You shouldn't have left.’ Set it next to her. Went to the Med-hut, right where she did it the first time, and ended it. When we got back and found her, she'd already been gone for at least a few hours.”

“I'm so sorry,” Thomas whispered, voice cracking, surprised to find a few tears in his eyes for this girl he'd never met; this girl whose brain had worked against her from the very start. Alby looked at Thomas with the expression of someone so in pain they could barely breathe.

“She died alone, Greenie. She fucking died alone.” Alby shook his head, “She shouldn't have had to die alone. Everything about it was awful.” The dark-skinned boy caught Thomas's eye again, answering his unspoken question. “Newt's photo only survived her purge because it wasn't in the Glade. It was in his pocket. He was in love with her, but he was too scared to admit it. At least, until it was too late. Fucking screamed it when we found her, as if a love confession could raise her from the dead.”

Alby laughed, but it was devoid of humor. “Creators started sending up antidepressants for Newt after that. Didn't make him take ’em at first, but…well, something happened that made them necessary.”

Thomas didn't know how to process all of the emotions rolling off Alby's body, especially paired with the deja vu the whole story brought with it. So he just sat there, not moving for a few minutes before Alby stood abruptly.

“Time to get to work, Greenie. Why don't you do your job trial with the Builders today instead of the Track-hoes?” The brunet agreed numbly, staggering out of Alby's office as the tales of Frankie ran through his mind. The image of that blonde in the photograph cycled through his head over and over, her smile getting stuck in his thoughts. She looked so happy in the photograph, and it made Thomas wonder if that joy was real. If that photo was taken in a happy time.

“So did you learn your lesson about being nosy, Greenie?” A gruff voice interrupted Thomas's thoughts.

He looked up to find Gally towering over him and mumbled, “Probably not. But I did learn to be more careful about being nosy.” Gally just stared at the boy for a second before sighing.

“Good enough. Come with me and we'll start your job trial. Not that it matters, I wouldn't take you. But that's inconsequential.”

Thomas trudged behind the Builder, barely even processing his words before asking, “Is there a grave for Frankie?” Gally looked at the other boy sharply, causing him to turn red, but the taller boy finally replied,

“Yeah. First one in the Deadheads.”

“Thanks,” Thomas said quickly, glancing over at the clump of trees that housed the graveyard.

“No, you can't go see it right now,” Gally added, Thomas scowling,

“I wasn't going to ask!”

“Sure,” Gally snorted. As the two boys reached the Builders' latest project, a repair site for a Slicer hut, Gally turned to Thomas and said, “Look, I get it. You're curious. But getting fixated on Frankie will help no one. I came up after Newt, just a few days after Frankie died, and spent the month trying to mediate between Alby and Newt, who were both trying to handle the guilt by blaming each other. It was the most miserable month of my life, and once they became civil again, it was still a nightmare to be reminded of her. Once I got them to talk again, I chose to just move past it and not think of it. And that's what you need to do. We didn't know her, so it's not our business. Got it?”

Thomas was taken aback by the harshness of Gally's words, unable to tell if the tall boy felt angry or sad about his forced role as peacemaker. The 6’3” Keeper of the Builders definitely didn't seem like the peacemaking type. But then again, Thomas was learning not to judge a book by its cover.

After all he'd thought Newt was a ray of sunshine.

That evening, as Thomas knelt silently at Frankie's grave and placed a makeshift bouquet at the wooden plaque, he wondered why the Creators had sent a girl with depression up to the Glade.

Unfortunately, no one would ever know. The only answer anyone had ever received was, “WCKD is good.”

the end

[rainsoakedphoenix]

You Mean Everything - Chapter 4

Will come back to edit later (not entirely proofread)!

WC: 3,668

I knew I couldn't lay in my hammock all morning letting my panicked thoughts settle like this. That would only make it worse. I had to do something, o-or talk to someone. I may not be able to let anyone know what I dreamt about last night, but I could still talk about my worries. Or maybe I could just think out loud. Just hearing the words may be able to help me decipher my dreams at least somewhat.

I decided to take a walk alone, at least for now. Most everyone else is still asleep, and I can't wait for Newt or Chuck to wake up. I have to get this out of my head now.

Walking briskly towards the Deadheads, I ran a hand through my hair and sighed, wracking my brain for any clues from what I saw in the dream.

In my dream, I saw a lab. Maybe they implanted something in us in the lab before sending us here, something that lets them control our thoughts or what we can see around here. Or maybe this whole maze is just a game, and they're somehow purposefully putting more obstacles in our way to make it harder for us to get out. Or maybe it's something else entirely. But why? Why would we need to be here and what are we playing for? What's out there?

And why me? Why now? Is anyone else having these dreams all of a sudden? The only way to find out is to ask, but I can't risk that. The only reason I can think of as to why it's happening now is that maybe our time here is almost up. And if it's just me, maybe it's because I was involved and I'm meant to be doing something but the only question is "what?"

All this thinking is giving me a headache. It should almost be breakfast time by now, maybe I just need to-

*Snap*

I turned around quickly, looking for the source of the sound. I'm looking in every direction, but I can't see anything. My heart is beating out of my chest, and part of me can only hope I'm actually alone. I tentatively spoke out, "Hello?"

A few seconds was all I had to wait for a reply. But no one actually talked to me. It more so sounded like...running, and yelling. Getting closer and closer with each passing second.

I squinted my eyes in the direction the noises were coming from, and soon enough I saw Thomas being chased by - Ben? It barely even looked like him.

I slowly started backing away. "What the hell is going on?" I yelled to Thomas.

"No time, just run!" he screamed back.

I widened my eyes in worry; I noticed Ben focus his gaze on me as well. I take a quick breath and start to make a run for it, slowly getting up to speed alongside Thomas. This man has only been here a day and he's already gotten himself into some shit.

"Thomas, what the hell did you do?!" I panicked.

"I don't know, Ada. I turned around and he was there and he just came after me!" he yelled back at me, trying to keep his breathing steady while we ran.

I opened my mouth to ask another question, quickly losing focus on where I was planting my feet with each stride, causing me to fall over a branch I had meant to step over. It didn't take long to feel the pressure of Ben's body on top of mine, preventing me from trying to get up as quickly as possible.

"I saw you too!" he growled in my face, his hands quickly wrapping around my throat. I felt my heart start to beat faster, the panic sinking in knowing what Ben was trying to do. I immediately flailed my legs trying to get out from underneath him, and my hands went to his wrists to try and push his own hands away from me. Who am I kidding though? He's a Runner; he exercises pretty much all day every day. He has too much muscle for me to move him.

I lay there trying with all the strength I could muster for what felt like minutes, struggling to breathe. And just when I was about to give up, the pressure on my body suddenly disappeared all at once. I rolled over and coughed, trying to take deep breaths and regain my composure.

"You and Thomas!"

I looked over to see that boy that was mentioned had tackled Ben off of me. I made a mental note to thank him for that later, but now we had to focus on getting away from this area, and away from Ben as fast as possible.

"Thomas, come on!" I shouted at him. He quickly rolled away from Ben's grabbing hands, and took off along side me in the direction of the rest of the Gladers.

I can't believe I could've died right then. By Ben of all people. What happened to him? What did I do? The rush of adrenaline kept me from crying, at least for the moment.

And then it hit me. He must've been stung by a Griever. That's the only reason he would break the rule of not harming another Glader. He'd never try and hurt me otherwise, he's always been too good for that.

We finally saw other Gladers working in the distance. Now that I knew we were in earshot of someone, anyone, I couldn't help but call out. It was the only way to ensure Ben couldn't tackle us again.

"Help! Somebody help us!" I pushed my legs to run even faster when I saw a few of the Gladers look our way. It took a few seconds for them to react since they couldn't tell what was happening at first.

They finally started running towards us when they saw Ben chasing us. And just when I thought we were finally in the clear, I hear a thump on my left and look over to see Thomas on the ground and Ben start to crawl up towards Thomas' face. I gasp and stop myself in my tracks and am about to tackle Ben off of Thomas like he did for me earlier, when I see Newt in my peripheral vision closing in on Ben. I registered a quick movement from Newt, and suddenly, Ben is knocked over on the ground next to Thomas.

"Somebody hold him down," I hear Newt say. Seeing as Thomas and myself were nearly killed by Ben, I chose to be one of the people to help hold him down while he struggled.

"Calm down, Ben," Gally spoke from next to me, helping me get him under control while Newt looked him over. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alby making his way through the crowd of boys that have surrounded us, trying to find out what's going on.

"No, no, no, please," Ben softly cries out. He's definitely been stung; I can see the color of his skin darkening to blues in some places, and his veins are showing. He's scared of everyone seeing where he was stung, because he knows what's going to happen. Banishment. I suddenly felt bad for Ben. He's probably in so much pain and scared out of his mind about what happened and what he's seen. Not to mention having to go out there and face the thing that put him in this predicament in the first place when he's banished.        

I was so wrapped up in the situation that I didn't realize my grip on him was starting to loosen.

"Hold him down," Gally quietly spoke to me.

"Lift up his shirt," Alby ordered us. Newt quickly did as he was told, despite quiet and constant opposition from Ben. There were a few scattered gasps from the group of boys when we all saw the wound. It only made me feel worse; it was unfortunate that we had no way of curing something like this. I haven't seen anything like this happen before since I've been here, but Newt told me all about it during my welcome party.

"He's been stung," Gally breathed, "in the middle of the day?" We all looked around at each other with worried expressions, and after only a few second of deliberating, Alby ordered for Ben to be put in the Slammer. Ben didn't take too well to that. He suddenly became aggressive again, yelling at everyone and thrashing around to the point that it took at least four Gladers to carry him to our makeshift jail.

The rest of us shared saddened glances with one another before dispersing to continue our jobs for the day.

I can only hope to never have to go through something like that.

*********************

"Good afternoon, Ada," Newt said as he walked into the Med Jack Hut later in the evening, a soft smile on his lips. I looked over my shoulder in his direction upon registering his voice and hearing my name.

"Hey Newt," I smiled in return, "what's up?" His expression turned more serious as he looked into my eyes.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I was worried when I saw him chasing you and Thomas. He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"No, no, he uh-" my words stuttered as I looked down and thought back to what happened. I felt Ben's hands around my throat, plain as day as if it were happening again right now. He didn't technically hurt me; not physically anyway, from what I can remember. It was more psychological. I couldn't really feel any pain. I was too busy focusing on trying to breathe and get his hands away from me. I thought I was going to die.

"Love?" Newt brought me out of my thoughts, and I looked back up at him, eyes beginning to become puffy and face turning red.

"He tried to kill me," I whispered, tears slowly starting to fall down my cheeks. Newt looked at me with a saddened expression, holding his arms out to me. I quickly embraced his inviting arms, sniffling and letting the tears fall freely while Newt rubbed comforting circles on my back.

"It's alright love. You're safe now." All I could do was nod at his words.

We stayed like that for another minute, and I had calmed down considerably when we heard footsteps approaching the hut. The door swung open to reveal Zart, one of Newt's helpers in the gardens.

"It's time, Newt," Zart said from the doorway. He pointed an almost confused glance between the two of us.

"It's alright Zart. Ada was just upset. We'll be there in a minute," Zart nodded to Newt's response, promptly turning around and shutting the door, and we could hear his footsteps slowly fading away. Newt turned to me once Zart was out of earshot.

"I guess we'd better get going. Will you be alright?" he asked, gently holding a hand to my arm.

"Of course. Thank you, Newt. You're an amazing friend," I smiled at him. He returned my smile with a sweet one of his own, nodding his head in the direction of the door.

We made our way to the opening of the Maze, Newt taking his place next to Gally, who had faced us with an unreadable expression when we approached the group, and who gazed at me a split second longer before turning to face the small group of boys who were hauling Ben's writhing figure over.

I went to stand next to Chuck, who looked more down than I had ever seen him before. I gently nudged him with my elbow.

"You okay?" He glanced at me for no longer than a second before looking back at Ben.

"I guess so. I just can't believe what happened to him," he nodded in the direction of the boy in question. I followed his gaze, thinking back yet again about what happened in the Deadheads earlier with him and Thomas. Poor Ben. No one should have to go through this.

"And I can't believe what they're about to do," Chuck continued, "I mean, I know he attacked you guys and I know why he did it and that's it's against the rules, but...it's not his fault. He didn't ask for this. We're never going to see him again."

It broke my heart to hear those words leave his mouth. Chuck is too pure for this place. It only made me angrier at the people who put us here. How dare they do this to a child? I mean, we're all technically still children, but Chuck is younger than the rest of us. He doesn't deserve to have to go through this at his age. He doesn't need to see anyone, no matter what age, get forced to their death like this. What the hell were these people thinking? It's disgusting.

I suddenly felt him grab onto my wrist and lay his head on my upper arm. I could hear him sniffling, and by the way Gally and Newt turned around to look at us pitifully, I could tell they heard it too. I tried my best to keep from crying again. Seeing what was about to happen to Ben on top of seeing Chuck stifle his tears is enough heartbreak for one day.

"Listen to me. Listen to me Minho," Ben growled as he was brought over to stand in front of the Maze doors. He made eye contact with Alby and a few others as he walked by and called them out by name, trying to make someone, anyone, listen to his plea and let him go. Unfortunately for Ben, there's nothing anyone can do to help. We have no cure for a Griever sting, and if it keeps spreading throughout his body he might die anyway; no one's entirely sure. But, if we let him stay here, we'd have to keep him locked up so he couldn't try and hurt me or Thomas or anyone again. And it's understandable why we can't do that. As cruel as it is to basically send him to his death, we have no other option.

Minho took a knife from the carrier on his back and cut the ropes the held Ben's wrists together behind his head. Ben fell to the ground on his knees, the blue veins in his face more noticeable than they were when I saw him earlier. As he started wheezing and coughing, Minho walked from behind him to the front of the Maze doors.

"No, no, please don't," Ben begged. Minho looked to Alby for orders, the latter of who just nodded his head quickly and looked down. And that was all it took for Minho to toss Ben's bag across the threshold of the Maze doors. I knew it saddened him to do this as well, though he barely showed any emotion. Ben was his running partner. They've known each other for as long as they can remember in here. But Minho also knows the rules; he has to do what Alby says.

I couldn't bear to look at Ben anymore. The pained looked on his face towards all of us was too much. I'd feel betrayed too if people I've known for as long as I could remember sent me to my death. But at the same time, I couldn't bring myself to walk away. I've already stayed this long; it wouldn't feel right if I chose now to leave.

"Poles!" Alby shouted. We could feel the air pressure from the Maze as the doors began their familiar whirring and metal grinding noises. The boys with the poles brought them down to Ben's height, as he was still crouched on the ground. They surrounded him, getting closer with every movement from Ben, trying to force him into the direction of the doors.

This is when I felt movement on my side and looked over to see Chuck removing himself from my slight hold, and turning around to walk away. I watched him for a few seconds, debating on going to comfort him or staying with Thomas. Even though it wasn't our fault Ben even got stung and attacked us, I still felt partially responsible for the situation he's in right now.

Taking a quick look back to Ben, who was right outside of the Maze at this point and trying to fight against the poles that pushed him,  my feet took a few steps backwards before sparing a glance at Thomas - who I just noticed had joined the crowd - and following in the direction Chuck took off.

Once I neared Chuck at the woodline I heard Ben's final scream, causing me to turn around. I saw that the doors were completely closed now and Thomas had his head hung slightly and was frozen in place. Once my heartbeat slowed down, I turned back around to face my other friend.

"Need some company?" I asked him as he sat on a nearby stump. He shrugged, propping his head in his hands.

"You shouldn't have had to see that. Any of it," I continued. Hoping it would help calm him. I doubt it would actually work though. Others' words aren't enough to make someone forget something like that. At least I know I'm trying.

Although he didn't respond, I walked over to him and wrapped an arm around him, laying my head on his shoulder. It's obvious he's too upset to talk, but I need to show him in some way that I'm here for him. Always.

I felt a slight pressure on my head, signifying he had rested his own head on mine. I gave him a quick squeeze, before stepping to a tree a couple feet away and sitting in front of it.

"If you want to be alone just let me know, but until you do I'll be right here if you need me," I softly said to him. He sent me a small smile in response, before turning his head back to face forward and putting his head in his hands again.

Having nothing else to do, I spared another glance in the crowds direction. They were all still standing around the Maze doors, their heads hanging now, hurt by what they had do to. Thomas had moved from his position earlier to stand closer to the others, and Newt and Gally looked like they were using the poles to slightly support their weight. They looked at Alby for his next order. I was too far away to see his lips move or to be able to hear what he said, but after a few seconds everyone started propping their poles against the doors and walked to their hammocks to relax until nightfall.

***************

Chuck left the stump soon after the crowd walked away from the doors. I let him be this time, partially because I figured he wanted to be left alone and maybe didn't want to hurt my feelings by saying so, and partially because I couldn't bring myself to get up anyway. Just the thought of getting up and moving made my legs tired. It had been a very long day.

It didn't take long for the sky to darken after Chuck left, seeing as there wasn't too much light left in the day when they banished Ben. I was probably only sitting in front of the tree for an hour; my backside was definitely hurting, but I still didn't want to get up, though I knew I'd have to eventually. I don't want to sleep on the ground; it's not as comfortable as a hammock.

Sighing heavily, I forced myself to get up, wincing at the pain in my legs as I did so. All that running today sure did do a number on me as someone who doesn't normally run.

I slowly made my way away over to my hammock, hearing noises from my left. It was Gally and a few others with torches; most likely coming back from marking a line through Ben's name on the wall.

"Goodnight Ada." I almost froze in place. Gally doesn't really say goodnight to anyone. The events of today must have gotten to him and he's just not in a sour mood. Even with such a simple sentence, no matter how short, his voice always manages to sound a little intimidating. It's nice to hear though; very smooth and clear and calming in a weird way.

"Goodnight, Gally," I softly responded back to him. I'm not even sure that he heard me. I'm so tired at this point, my only focus is getting to my hammock and getting some rest. And that's exactly what I did.

I saw Thomas and Chuck on their hammocks as I got closer to mine, and heard them exchange a few words back and forth. I ruffled Chuck's hair as I passed him and heard them tell me "Goodnight," though in my sleepy state it sounded a bit muffled.

"Goodnight guys," I said back to them, crawling into my hammock and curling up to go to sleep, trying hard to not focus on the little bit of fire light that was left.

[ivys-cafe]

📠 don't go dark

pairings: newt x thomas, female!reader is only mentioned

summary: newt finds it hard to cope after the group got separated with y/n. thomas helps him find hope.

timeline: wckd lab during scorch trials

genre: angst, hurt, comfort

warnings: established relationship, mentions of pregnancy, devastated newt

author's note 🧇

i've always imagined what it would be like if my oc got separated from the group. also i made y/n pregnant here. sorry if anyone is finding difficulty relating to that. it's just i've wrote a whole story before about my oc, and in my version the oc is pregnant with newt's baby in the glades. but i hope it doesn't take anything away from this scenario. i really want to highlight newtmas' friendship and all of its fluffiness. if you have any feedback, you can message me or write something on my ask. i would appreciate it very much.

-ˏ͛⑅　‧̥̥͙‧̥̥ ̥ ̮ ̥ ⊹ ‧̫‧ ⊹ ̥ ̮ ̥ ‧̥̥‧̥̥͙　⑅ˏ͛-

Newt slumped down onto the cold metal floor, his head buried in his hands. He feel his heart beating erratically in his chest. How could they be in the safe hands of WCKD, while the love of his life was still out there? Was she alone, scared, and in pain? He could hardly bear the thought.

He thought of you, your stubbornness and unyielding nature. He knew that you had made the decision to stay behind in the maze, not wanting to abandon your best friend Gally, but he couldn't help but regret not forcing you to go. He should have gone back for you, he should have done something.

But now, it was too late. He was stuck in the hands of WCKD, with no way of knowing whether y/n was even alive. The uncertainty was tearing him apart from the inside out, his mind racing with all the possibilities of what could be happening to you.

Were you in danger? Were you being hurt? The thought of you suffering alone, with no one to turn to, made his chest ache with a pain he had never felt before. Newt's anxiety spike, his thoughts are driving him insane. He knew he had to find a way to get you back, but he didn't know how.

Thomas sat down next to him, looking just as exhausted and defeated. "You okay, man?" he asked, trying to break the silence.

Newt scoffed bitterly. "How do you think I'm holding up?" he snapped. "I don't even know if she's alive or dead, and we're stuck in this damn place."

Thomas placed a hand on Newt's shoulder, trying to offer some comfort. "Maybe she's out there. We'll find her, Newt."

Newt jerked his shoulder away from Thomas' touch. "Oh, of course. How could I be so foolish? We'll just stroll out of here, past the guards and their guns, and find y/n wandering around outside the building. Simple as that." He shook his head, fear latched onto his trembling voice. "Face it, Tommy. We're trapped here. And we don't even know if y/n's alive or dead."

"Y/n's smart," Thomas stated with conviction. "She can handle herself out there, Newt."

Newt's body trembled as he shook his head, anger and grief mixing into a boiling pot of emotions inside of him. "You heard what those bloody cranks say, didn't you?" He hissed at Thomas. "The Scorch will chew us up and spit us out like we're nothing. And y/n..." His voice cracked, the anguish almost palpable. "She's out there, alone and pregnant. And I couldn't do anything to protect her."

Thomas frowned, his face etched with concern. "I know it's not ideal, but we have to keep moving forward. We have to keep fighting."

"You don't get it," Newt said, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to hold back tears. "You don't know what it's like to feel like you've lost everything,"

Thomas's face fell, his eyes betraying the pain he felt. "I do, Newt," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "I lost my memories, my family, my entire life. We were all in the maze, fighting for our lives every day. I know it's not the same, but I understand loss. And I'm here for you, man. Whatever you need."

Newt's anger began to fade, replaced by a deep sadness. He leaned his head against the wall, feeling defeated. "I just miss her so damn much," he whispered, tears streaming down his face.

Thomas could see the pain on Newt's face, and he knew there was nothing he could say to take it away. He put his arms around his friend, holding him tight as Newt sobbed into his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Newt. I'm so sorry," Thomas said softly. "But we can't give up. Not now. We have to keep fighting, for y/n, for ourselves, for everyone we've lost."

Newt pulled away from Thomas, wiping his tears with the back of his hand. "I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"We'll find her, Newt," Thomas asurres, his voice firm and resolute. "No matter what it takes, we'll find her and the rest of our friends."

end

2023 • ivys-cafe ☕️

all rights reserved

[in-need-of-gally-content]

|The Rejected|

»»»It was just another day in the Glade, another Box day bringing a new greenie.

Nothing should've been any different than usual, so... Why did it become like this?«««

Gally•Fic (ftm reader)

!ooc!gally (I apologise), movieverse/bookverse/canon divergence!

Chapter•One | Chapter•Two | Chapter•Three | Chapter•Four | Chapter•Five | Chapter•Six | Chapter•Seven | Chapter•Eight | Chapter•Nine | Chapter•Ten | Chapter•Eleven | Chapter•Twelve | Chapter•Thirteen | Chapter•Fourteen | Chapter•Fifteen | Chapter•Sixteen | Chapter•Seventeen | Chapter•Eighteen | Chapter•Nineteen | Chapter•Twenty | Chapter•Twenty•One | Chapter•Twenty•Two | Chapter•Twenty•Three | Chapter•Twenty•Four | Chapter•Twenty•Five | Chapter•Twenty•Six | Chapter•Twenty•Seven | Chapter•Twenty•Eight | Chapter•Twenty•Nine | Chapter•Thirty | Chapter•Thirty•One | Chapter•Thirty•Two |Chapter•Thirty•Three | Chapter•Thirty•Four |Chapter•Thirty•Five | Chapter•Thirty•Six |Chapter•Thirty•Seven | Chapter•Thirty•Eight |Chapter•Thirty•Nine | Chapter•Fourty

Wattpad•

(x oc version)

(x reader)

!all characters are aged up 18-21!

!english is not my first language so sorry if stuff gets confusing!

!contains transphobia, misogyny, sexism, homophobia, violence, misgendering (using she/her)!

[cauqhtz]

Gally x fem oc (smut)

Summary: Gally and Tiny fuck in the glade somewhere in the open, with a huge risk of being caught. Also, it's dark out.

Warning: fem OC has a name, smut, risk of being caught, cussing, SMUT.

I wrote this because I couldn't get it out of my head, and I want to get back into writing. So I thought I'd start off with small one-shots to get some practice in. Don't forget to comment and leave your thoughts! I'd love to hear them all! I appreciate blunt honesty!

“We aren't- fuck supposed to be doing this, Tiny,” Gally pants, the girl in question shoving a hand over his mouth as a few gladers stumble by. “Someone could catch us.”

“Oh come on Handsome, we aren't breaking any rules,” Tiny breathes shakily, completely bottomed out while trying to recover from her last orgasm. “Besides, you should’ve thought about that 4 orgasms ago.”

Gally relaxes as the pleasure spreads throughout his body, “Did you spread this pallet all by yourself? How romantic.”

“Well, I was aiming for comfort, you know I’d do anything for you. Besides,” Tiny hums, cradling his head, her thumbs rubbing the apple of his cheeks as her boobs stick to his collarbone. “I think this might be my favorite position, I’ve got the best view.”

Tiny resumes the thrusts of her hips, slow, deep, and hard. Both legs burning from the low squat she was in. A sight that makes the boy feel as though he is losing his mind.

Gally couldn't remember how he got here. He swore to himself that the first time would be the last, but he’s a teenage boy with crazy hormones he didn't even know he had until Tiny. He should stop this. He should’ve stopped this a while ago. 

“Speed up, Tiny,” Gally breathes out. Dammit, that was the opposite of stopping this, but Gally couldn’t be bothered with any of that now. He couldn’t deny himself of the girl any longer.

“‘M sorry?” Tiny pants, lurching forward, a hand slamming into the ground as she stopped herself from cumming right then and there. Her knees hitting the ground as her legs started to tremor uncontrollably.

Gally’s hands slide up Tiny’s thighs, spreading her ass as he pecks her cheek, “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Tiny’s heart skips a beat, proceeding to do exactly what he told her to, “Yes sir.”

Gally's head falls back onto the pallet, his eyebrows furrowed deeply in concentration, losing himself to the sticky sounds they were making. “Shit, I think you’re trying to take my soul.”

“I want a lot more than that.” Tiny grins watching Gally’s jaw drop open, cumming dryly. “What was that?”

“I don’t have anything left to-” Tiny cuts Gally off with a hand around his throat and a grip on his balls.

“I know you, Gally. I know what you are. You’re a slut. A slut that jumps to please others, and I told you I wanted more than your soul, Handsome. So you’ll give me what I want, right? I’ll be more than pleased,” Tiny hums, shushing the boy as he starts to groan loudly, thick and hot ropes of his semen filling the girl up perfectly as she continues to massage his balls. Milking him of everything he had to give her.

“Relax, Gally. You’ll pass out if you keep panting like that,” Tiny says, lying down on his chest.

“See, that wasn't so hard, was it? Good boy.” Tiny praises, kissing his forehead.

“You’re a terrible person,” Gally chuckles, trying to catch his breath.