#thomas (the maze runner) x oc

[indeediagree]

[poorgirlinpoorworld]

I drew my OC for The Maze Runner universe ✨ (her story below)

~ Martha „Mari” ~ named after Martha Nussbaum, American philosopher.

- 160 cm tall

- Brown, chocolate colored hair.

- Hazel eyes.

In the box:

- When she arrived in the box (one year before Thomas), Gally was the one who jumped down to her. The shock of the situation scared her so much that as she backed away from the boy, she bumped into some boxes, snagging her shirt and tearing it.

- To everyone’s surprise, Gally didn’t start shouting, didn’t grab her, and didn’t throw her out of the box. Perhaps it was because the first girl in the Glade stood right before him. When he noticed her probable fear of him, he raised his hands in surrender and tried to calm her down. As the girl began to relax, he reached out to her, and after a few seconds, she took his hand, giving him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. „Oh, I'm so done now” he thought.

In the Glade:

- Her job was being a cook.

- She was know for being The Sunshine of the Glade. Her smile brightened everyone's day. In every situation, she tried to find the positive aspect. On better days, she would always come up with group activities or play the pranks on her friends. On worse days, when it was hard to find anything positive, she always made time to support anyone in need. She often encouraged discussions about emotions so that the boys wouldn’t bottle up their feelings. When Frypan, her keeper, wasn’t looking, she would sneak snacks to share with those who were having a tough day.

- After two months of constant flirting with Gally and giving him signals that she was interested in him… he still didn’t realize it, even though he had been in love with her since she arrived in the box. But eventually, her feelings reached him, and they were happily together.

- On her left wrist, she wears a bracelet that she received as a gift from Gally.

- Her bestfriend was Frypan, but she was also close to Ben and, for that reason, to Minho, because she was the one who always brought them breakfast at ungodly hours before their work as runners.

- When Chuck arrived he became her friend in mischiev.

- After Thomas arrived, her relationship with Gally drastically deteriorated. She couldn’t understand his hatred for the new boy and tried to explain that changes don’t always mean the worst. He couldn’t comprehend how she could trust him, especially after what happened with Ben. His hatred clouded his judgment. When she chose to escape with Thomas after the Griever attack, he felt betrayed. „We will survive here” he said to her, hoping she would change her mind. „I don’t want to survive, I want to live!” she shouted with tears in her eyes.

- When she saw him lying lifeless on the ground with a spear piercing his chest, her world came to a stop. She stood frozen as strangers began to pull them out of the room they were in.

In the Scorch:

- When they were brought into the room, it hit her what had happened, and she completely broke down. She fell to her knees, screaming from the depths of her lungs and crying so hard that it scared the others. Frypan immediately rushed to her, taking her into his arms, holding her close to his chest, and gently rocking her in an attempt to calm her down. After a moment, Minho sat down beside them, taking her hand and apologizing so quietly that it was hard to tell if he was speaking to her or to himself.

- After they escaped from the facility, she found a pair of long pants in the old shopping mall where they were hiding, she changed into them, putting on a jacket and a scarf. She also tied her hair back to keep it out of her eyes during the journey through The Scotch.

- Throughout the journey to the Right Arm camp, she traveled quietly behind the group, always at the back and never sticking her neck out. Everyone noticed that there was almost nothing left of the girl they once called The Sunshine of the Glade.

- After Teresa betrayed them and the WICKED showed up and captured Minho, she tried to save him, but she was unsuccessful, and ultimately, both of them were gone.

Captured by WICKED:

- She was on the train with Minho when Thomas and the group tried to save them.

- In the facility, they wouldn't let her see Minho. She quickly realized that he was in another part of the building when they began to transport her to the medical ward.

Being experimented by WICKED:

- Quickly, the doctors and scientists began experimenting on her, observing her reactions and monitoring her brain. Hooked up to strange machines, they put her into a state of hallucination and forced her to relive the deaths of her love - Gallys, also Chucks, Bens and others. Over time, she found a loophole in the simulation; before they could bring the next death before her eyes, she forced herself to commit suicide in the hallucination, still being safe in reality while connected to the machines. Her actions caused an error, disrupting the simulation before it fully started. However, WICKED did not give up, so for the next few months, she was subjected to experiments every day, and every day she committed suicide in her mind. She was already broken, but it was slowly destroying her from the inside.

- When they weren’t experimenting on her, she was locked in a room with a bed, a small closet, and a bathroom. Once, Teresa visited her, horrified by the state she found the girl in—neglected, emaciated, and lifeless—she approached the bed. She took a hairbrush from the closet and began to gently comb through her hair. However, all of Mari's memories rushed back of Gally, who loved to play with her long hair, running his fingers through it, or even braiding little plaits while listening to how her day went. With tears in her eyes, she pushed Teresa away and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door shut. When Teresa was about to leave, she heard the sound of shattering glass. Fearing the worst, she rushed to the bathroom. Upon opening the door, she noticed the broken mirror and Mari on the floor, surrounded by shards of glass and… hair. After breaking the mirror, Mari took a piece of glass and, with one bold motion, cut her hair to her shoulders. After doing so, her mind stopped functioning; she no longer knew what was a simulation and what wasn’t. Seeing herself in the reflection of the shard she held in her hand, she began to tremble. Looking at Teresa in the doorway, she raised her hand with the piece of glass and, staring into her eyes, plunged it into her own wrist. Teresa immediately rushed towards her, trying to stop the bleeding. The cut was shallow enough that she was quickly saved.

- When they eventually deemed her stable enough, they took her for further tests. As she was being transported by a guard, wearing a hospital gown, her head hung low, preparing for what awaited her, she didn’t even notice that a group of rebels who had been captured was being transported opposite her. As they passed each other, she lifted her head slightly and looked at one of the boys in the group. When her eyes met his, her heart stopped for a second. 'Gally?' she asked so quietly that she was afraid he wouldn’t hear her. Standing before her was the boy she had lost, whose death she had witnessed so many times that she wasn’t sure her heart could take it. He stood in front of her, taller, with more defined muscles, his hair cut short… but it was him. 'Martha?' he replied, shock evident in his eyes. Before she could react, the guards began to pull them apart in opposite directions. Both of them screamed each other’s names, trying to reach one another, but the guards’ grips were too strong. Moments later, she was around the corner, her love out of her sight. She couldn’t understand what was happening and what would happen next.

- After Gally and his group escaped with the help of a mole, the first thing he did was find the girl he had dreamed of since he lost her. He promised himself that he wouldn’t make the same mistake again and that he wouldn’t leave her alone once more. Once he found her, his group discovered an exit pointed out to them by an acquaintance, and they quickly transported themselves to the camp where Gally had been living all this time.

- It was a few weeks before Thomas and the others arrived. Gally took her to his room and laid her down on his bed. She was so exhausted from everything that she fell asleep immediately. When she woke up, she didn’t know where she was; she felt movement beside her, and when she looked to the side, she saw him. Gally was lying next to her, slightly dozing, having watched over her all night. In ideal circumstances, she would have thrown herself at him, kissing and hugging him, but Mari was shattered… she thought it was just another WICKED simulation. She spiraled into a frenzy, screaming, which jolted Gally awake and onto his feet. As she began to back away from him, shouting for him to stay away, he raised his hands in surrender, trying to calm her down, just like on the first day they met. However, this time she didn’t take his hand with a big smile; instead, she reached for the knife he had left on the nightstand beside the bed the day before. With a quick motion, she tried to stab herself in the stomach, but fortunately, the quick-thinking boy was faster and caught her hands, disarming her. Horrified by her state, he lifted her into a big bear hug and sat down on the bed, placing her on his lap while continuing to hold her close. After a few minutes, she finally calmed down, but still worried, she asked him if she was part of a simulation. Not fully understanding what she meant, he nonetheless assured her that this was not a simulation. Seeing the uncertainty in her eyes, he leaned over, brought his face close to hers, and gently kissed her on the lips. It was brief, but it made her believe him because no WICKED simulation could create such a sweet moment.

- Her episodes occurred almost every day, and every day Gally was by her side to calm her down.

- One day, Gally let her know that he was heading into the city with the group, promising he would be back soon. However, she didn’t expect him to return with guests. She burst into tears of joy when she saw the Gladers in front of her. Frypan immediately rushed toward her, hugging her tightly. Next came Brenda and Jorge, and finally Newt and Thomas. But for her, it was all too perfect; her mind began to play tricks on her again. Gally noticed her change in behavior out of the corner of his eye, but surrounded by friends, he didn’t have time to react. Mari had already grabbed a knife from Newt’s pocket, holding it out toward her neck while trembling. The boys, terrified by the situation, stepped back from her, calling out questions about what was happening. Experienced in these situations, Gally grabbed her hand, squeezing it enough to make her drop the knife but not to hurt her. With his other hand, he held her face and kissed her aggressively. As the girl came to her senses, tears streamed down her face as she repeatedly muttered, 'I’m sorry' under her breath. Gally took her to their shared room and laid her down to sleep. He then returned to the confused group and explained what she had been enduring for the past few months.

- During the plan to rescue Minho, Mari was constantly with Brenda and Frypan. Gally was worried about her; he didn’t want to be away from her, but she promised that everything would be fine and that nothing would happen to her while she was with the former cook.

- The plan succeeded; Minho and the other kids were rescued (AND NEWT SURVIVED).

Safe heaven:

- In the safe haven, she slept in a hammock next to Gally's bed, until the former builder constructed their own little hut on the edge of the beach.

- Occasional episodes still occurred, but Gally was always there to calm her until they finally stopped.

[zelcii]

SWITCHED: TABLE OF CONTENTS (TMR)

sum; This series follows through what I believe happened in the Glade before Thomas through the perspective of an additional character: Florence Nightingale. Imagine the terror and trauma I can put her through. The girl in the Glade. Let her suffer.

a/n; finally gonna start this. expect slow updates but long reads. some aspects will be a little different from the book and the movies so I can work with the material better, but it's primarily book accurate. all my writing energy will probably go to this so... yeah :)) this'll also have aspirations of becoming a gally fic but the plot doesnt revolve around their relationship.

SWITCHED FAQ, OC MOODBOARD

№1 The Glade: Life before Thomas

cw; swearing, lgbt themes (nothing big), character deaths, one sided love, deep trauma, plot twists, no lovey-lovey yet, a mix of book-canon/movie-canon/claire-canon elements, cursing, slow-paced, etc...

1. Box, 1.9 words, 09/03/2024

2. Nick, 2.2 words, 09/03/2024

3. Bonfire, 09/00/2024

4. Names, 09/00/2024

5. George, 09/00/2024

№2 The Maze Runner: The End Begins

cw; swearing, lgbt themes (nothing big), character deaths, one sided love, deep trauma, plot twists, no lovey-lovey yet, a mix of book-canon/movie-canon/claire-canon elements, cursing, slow-paced, etc...

1.

№3 The Scorch Trials + The Death Cure: The Final

cw; swearing, lgbt themes (nothing big), character deaths, one sided love, deep trauma, plot twists, no lovey-lovey yet, a mix of book-canon/movie-canon/claire-canon elements, cursing, slow-paced, etc...

1.

Rewritten:

1. The Ivy, 5.6K words, 04/08/2024 THE GLADE

2. Bonfire, 4.6K words, 04/08/2024 THE GLADE

[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

[luvism333]

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

[bells-stories]

MINHO x READER

-he finds out you’ve taken a liking to other boys in the maze and doesn’t mind one bit.

-Snippet from PROJECT GRIEVER (wattpad: bells_stories)

"I remember something." I say and I looked at him. He didn’t seem too shocked and I continue. "I remember a boy. Brunette. Brown eyes. His name is, was, Thomas. I remember the way he made me feel, I remember our love but then last night before I did...." I trailed off because some part of me didn't want to tell Minho because it was afraid that then he would't want me afterwards but I had to. Gally might say he's okay with it but the others deserve to know. "I kissed gally." I say and I looked to Minho for a response. But there wasn't none, his face was passive as if contemplating and he spoke.

"So you feel guilty." He says and I nod. "It's okay y/n how could you have known."

"I know but I still feel like a shit person. There's someone out there that I loved deeply and now I'm starting something new with someone else it feels wrong regardless. Besides there is one other thing that adds to this guilt. I don't just like Gally." I say and Minho sits upright on his bed.

"What do you mean?" He says coming closer to me.

"I mean I feel something for you too, and for Newt." I say and immediately feel ashamed. I couldn't even look into Minho's eyes. He places a hand on my shoulder and we just stay like that for a while both of us think of what to say. "I'm sorry." I mumbled. "I shouldn't have said anything." I say and for the first time I look up at him and he smiles.

"No. I'm flattered. I mean of course you couldn't resist me." He says and I push him.

"Fuck you." I say laughing. I rolled my eyes and then his face got serious.

"You're still a greenie. Been here what? Five days? Six? If you want to mess around then that's on you. I would get it. I do get it. And I'm serious if you're interested in me just know the feeling's mutal and you can act on them anytime." He says and smiles brightly and I feel a small weight lifted off of me.

"So I'm not the asshole?"

"No assholery detected and don't feel guilty. At least for me. I'm glad you chose me even if it is with some other shanks. However, you should tell the others."

"Gally knows, not about the Thomas part because that happened after he felt. But he knows. Says it's cool too."

"Now that's a shocker I would've expected him to be jealous."

"What can I say? I change people." I say sarcastically and we laugh.

"And Newt?"

"He knows nothing. I just, I fear losing him but I know its wrong not to tell him so i'll do it today."

"Good. Now that that is out of the way can you sleep?"

"Maybe." I say looking at him. He moves aside and pats the space next to him. His bed is slightly larger than mine but I guess that's what comes with the keeper position. Perks. I lay down in the spot he designated for me and he wraps his arms around me and I lay on my chest. Eventually I fell asleep to the beating of his heart.

Read more here👇

[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

[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.

[silentmacabre]

I’d like to delve into the world of writing imagines / short form stories - particularly art donaldson / mike faist 🙂‍↕️ is that something y’all would be into?

I’m also open to suggestions & customs!

[themazeceo]

Some years later in the safe heaven...

All the islanders are having a bonfire, sharing stories of life and what they used to do before abandoning the continent.

But Thomas and Minho are just there, barely listening with a blanket covering them. Thomas is already asleep in Minho's shoulder and Theo in Minho's lap. Theo is the four-year-old boy they adopted two years ago.

Since he's the only awake, Minho is paying an eye to their nine-year-old daughter, Mattie. She's currently playing with the other kids to make flower crowns while a little boy adds flowers to her own hair. Harriet is looking after them, but Minho likes to see his oldest having fun.

He felt Theo shaking a little, and Minho tightened his hold on his son, making sure he's completely covered with the blanket as well as he rubbed his back.

He didn't care how life was before the Flare. It didn't matter anyway. At least not anymore.

He could only care for the life he had in front of him. The lives currently in his arms and making flower crowns.

[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?”

[looneyleyle]

run away ~ thomas

synopsis: with the mission to rescue minho on the horizon, everyone is in a bit of a funky mood, saying things that they wouldn't normally say and probably don't mean :(

warnings: a little bit of sadness

words: 973

note: from my wattpad account, written april 8 2021

jane pov

the technological glow of the city felt unreal, a stark contrast from the maze i came from. the only thing that reminded me that this wasn't a dream were the crowds of people surrounding the walls. they were hungry, sick, and begging to be let in. just past the walls would be minho, trapped by wckd. he was the whole reason why we were here. the boys had rarely gotten any sleep during the past six months. all they thought of was minho, and winston, and alby, and chuck, and everyone else they had lost along the way. they weren't going to let that happen to anyone else.

"jane, i need a hand." frypan was struggling to work the car, lurching forward and abruptly stopping every couple of seconds.

"you can't operate a crane if you can't even handle a car." i teased, approaching the car. frypan stepped out and handed the keys to me.

"then you do it. i was made to cook, not drive a death machine."

"you sure you were made to cook?" thomas shouted from across the road. i snatched the keys out of fry's hand with a snicker.

"be nice tommy, i don't see you cooking up any gourmet meals." i laughed, getting into the car. it was rare for us to be in such a good mood, and i wasn't going to be the one to break it. inside of my head were a million 'what ifs', and none of them had good outcomes. the days were ticking by, and there was no guarantee that minho was even alive anymore. this mission had to go perfectly, and if fry's driving was any indicator of how this would end up, it would be a miracle if even one of us survives.

it took fry a bit to learn how to drive the car, and he nearly ran brenda over while doing so. soon, the sun was down, and everyone was preparing for the next day's mission. newt stayed quiet in the corner, away from everyone else. brenda and jorge were looking over the plans one last time, making sure everything would go smoothly. fry, thomas, and i were all huddled up, trying to keep each other's spirits up. it didn't take too long for the silence to engulf us all.

"i'll be right back." thomas broke the silence, getting up and towards the tunnel. fry and i shared a nervous glance, worried about the boy. his girl friend, or whatever she was, had betrayed us, taking one of his best friends as hostage, and he felt at fault for all of it.

"go get your man before he does something." fry nudged, slightly teasing, slightly serious. i shoved him lightly, making a comment about how he wasn't 'my man', before following in thomas's footsteps. he sat on a ledge overlooking the last city, his eyes downcast and shoulders slumped. i took the spot next to him, mirroring his stance. he took a quick glance at me before looking back over the city. the night lights from the city illuminated his face and tousled hair. i didn't even notice his clenched fists until he relaxed them.

"what are you going to do after this?" he asked me in a hushed voice, still observing the dead city.

i pondered on it for a moment. i caught myself almost saying 'if we survive this', but realized it would do more harm than good. we all knew that our chance at surviving this mission was low, there was no need to voice it.

"i'd run away if i could." thomas looked at me questioningly. i took a breath before continuing.

"whenever i look at newt, or brenda, or even fry, all i see is pain and death. i hear the gunshot echoing around the scorch. i see the berg touch down at the right arm and take so many of us. i just want to get away from it all. find a place untouched by civilization and spend my remaining days there." i didn't have to looking into tommy's eyes to know they glistened with tears. the memories replayed in his mind constantly, haunting him every waking moment. my answer rung through our ears, and we both turned back to the city, seeing an occasional truck patrol the streets.

"would it be okay if i joined you?" i hadn't expected a reply, and i most certainly did not expect that. facing thomas, i noticed the trails of tears streaming down his face. instead of wiping the tears away, i sat closer to thomas and rested his head on my shoulder.

"doesn't it sound miserable? not seeing newt or any of the others again?" i asked. he nodded into my shoulder, getting it wet with his sadness.

"any type of living after this will be miserable. i just want to be miserable with you." the words coming out of his mouth felt so foreign, we had never opened up to each other like this. i knew in reality, he wouldn't be able to handle being without his friends. they meant to much to him, and he wouldn't give them up to stay with me, but, a tiny piece of me, just for tonight, wanted to let that fantasy play out. to imagine living my dying days out alone with thomas, fighting off cranks and finding a tiny corner of this hellish world to call our own.

and while i knew his feelings would change the moment his eyes would fall upon minho, or even teresa, i whispered a soft 'yes' into his hair, wrapping my arms around him and watching as he drifted off into a dreamless sleep. whatever had just happened would be meaningless tomorrow, but i let myself believe those words, if only to get me to sleep through the night.

[attemptingsmth]

Navigation

Brief Introduction

Cast

Chapter 1

[key-to-the-shadow]

The Angel ~ Chapter Three

The Fire ~ Chapter Three (Newt X Fem!OC)

❀ tropes: friends to lovers, found family, angst

❀: warnings: drinking, strong language

❀: word count: over 1k

❀: a/n: my goal is to make your heart shatter while reading this so if you don't like crying this isn't for you, this is barely proofread so if you find mistakes, feel free to let me know

master list ❀ story playlists ❀ cast list

⇽ previous part || next part ⇾

The Fire

I watched as the sun dipped below the horizon from a small window in the med-jack hut. Clint had been pretty vague about what this bonfire was going to entail but he promised me that I could stick by him if I felt uncomfortable. I trusted him.

Newt had been anxious the last couple of hours in an attempt to figure out how to walk with the crutches. He kept losing his balance which made Clint flinch to catch him.

I had to bite my cheeks to prevent myself from laughing at the struggle.

The hours had passed by quickly as the three of us laughed about the other gladers. The two boys had attempted to tell me about everyone in the glade before the bonfire so I knew who to avoid and who to make friends with. They cracked a joke about every single one of them.

"Don't talk to Gally," Clint had said after telling me about Zart, who they nicknamed the fart. "He might ask you to pluck his eyebrows."

Newt cackled at this with pure enjoyment. "Easy there Clint, we don't need Alby overhearing this and throwing us in the slammer."

The jokes, even though I had no background information, were still funny to me purely based on the two boys' reactions to the other's jokes.

Maybe if I didn't step outside this hut, living here wouldn't be too bad. It had set in about two hours after I arrived that I was in fact staying here. The boys spoke of my arrival like a routine. No one left. Ever.

It was a bitter reality I didn't want to face.

As Newt was continuing his attempt on crutches, I began looking around the hut. I looked through the tools Clint used to heal the Gladers. Lots of bandages, rubbing alcohol, cotton, and more. There was a limited supply of pills that I guessed were only used for very serious cases.

Clint's sudden voice behind me made me jump. "You should become a med-jack," He declared. "I'm the only one we have right now and I could seriously use some help."

The offer sounded great. I didn't know who I was in whatever life I had before this but maybe I helped people like this. I knew I couldn't cook, build, or garden. Plus Clint was already someone I trusted.

"Yeah, maybe I will," I responded to the boy. A smile grew on his face. 

"Well, it's probably time we head down to the bonfire. It's most likely already up and running and we should get dinner while it's warm," Clint speaks to both me and Newt.

I nod with apprehensive agreement. 

Clint and I keep our pace slow to match Newt's, not wanting to leave him in the dust as he struggles to hop along with his crutches. My eyes widen as I

I watch as a few of the Gladers that we pass stop their conversations to stare at the three of us. I didn't know whether they were looking at me or their friend who had just been seriously injured this morning. Most likely a mix of both. 

In the distance, I see smoke rise into strange shapes that shift with the cool breeze. The temperature outside was perfectly in the middle. Strangely in the middle. The only bit of temperature came from the wind.

Loud voices became clearer as we inched closer to the group of boys that had already begun to stack large planks of dry would into a triangle shape. The fire was giant and taller than everyone around.

A supportive laugh erupts beside me as a boy wraps his arm around Newt, pushing me to the side. "Hey, dude, how you feeling?" I'm sure the boy wasn't really thinking about it so I tried not to take it to heart. 

"Better, thanks Zart," Newt responded with a smile. His features were sculpted against the warm light of the fire.

"They'll warm up to you," Clint added next to me, noticing the drop in my shoulders. It was becoming clear that he paid attention to every small detail. "Here, I'll introduce you to some people."

I nodded, following him and leaving Newt behind to talk with his friends.

A boy with dark skin looked up from his place on a log, a smile gracing his face at the sight of Clint. "Hey," He said, standing and walking over to Clint. They clasped hands and pulled each other into a short hug. 

"Fry, this is the Greenie," Clint expressed, directing the attention to me.

"Ah," The boy whose name I'd recognized from the conversations in Med-Jack hut. "So it's true. We've finally got a girl in the glade." There was no bit of threat in his voice.

I liked these two. Clint and Frypan. Even Newt was kind. Maybe not everyone is bad here.

"Here come eat, I don't think Clint fed you in his hell-hole of a hut," Fry jokes, causing a shadow of fake annoyance to pass over Clint's face.

"It's not my fault. It's the builders who built that hell hole of a hut," He counters, mimicking his tone. 

A small laugh threatened to spill out of my lips. Fry handed me a brown bowl that was filled with a thick liquid that smelled like heaven. I guess I hadn't realized how hungry I'd become.

I took the spoon from the bowl and tipped it to my lips before letting the warm liquid roll through my mouth.

"Holy shit, this is amazing," I said between bites. Fry does a fake bow at the compliment, a smile never leaving his face.

Clint introduced me to Leo, David, Wyck, and even got me and Minho back on good terms from our rough start.

"I didn't mean to snap like that," He explained as we shared a drink that no one really knew was. "Newt's my closest friend here so I've just been... I don't know."

"No, I get it," I assured him. It was the first time I'd spoken to another glader without Clint or Newt around. "I'd be worried too if I just found my friend lying in a field, unable to walk."

He nodded, rubbing his hands together. We sat in silence for a little bit until a loud noise erupted all around us. I flinched and everyone went silent for a short moment before returning to their own conversations.

"Just the maze," Minho explained. "It changes every night. You probably didn't notice when you came up in the box but the doors were open and now," I followed his eye line to the enclosed doors. "They're closed."

"Maze?" He nods.

"It surrounds this entire glade," He motioned with his arms, pointing to every corner. "We think there might be a way out of this place."

"Find anything?"

He shakes his head until he tilts it. "Well, we keep finding four letters on the walls. W.C.K.D"

"Wicked," I whisper, my voice practically inaudible. Yet, that's all it took. "Wicked."

Minho looks at me with a strange gaze as my mind begins to clear a little bit. "You good there, greenie?"

"Cordelia," I say, excitement filling my voice. His eyes lighten and a smile forms on his face. "Cori. Cordelia!"

"Hey!" Minho stands up, shouting. "Greenie remembers her name!"

[yikestripes]

Chapter One

A/N: hey! it’s me! back for a bit! i got my best friend to read The Maze Runner so now we’re partnering up to write a Newt fanfic about our two OC characters, Taryn and Amelia. enjoy the first chapter!!!

The first memory of her new life consisted of nausea, induced by moving up in some sort of box, enclosed on all sides.

The girl in the box scowled. How did she get here? Where was here? Her mind was both floating and completely empty at the same time. On top of everything else, she was extremely nauseous. The moving still had not stopped, with the exception of the jolts that the box had been making the entire time.

It was a horrendous cycle.

This went on for a bit longer, how long she wasn’t sure, having almost all of her senses impaired in at least one way. It was extremely dark, so she couldn’t see. The only thing she could hear was the screeching of metal on metal, likely as a result of the box moving up, seemingly like an elevator. Touch was useless, given that the lack of vision did not allow her to see what exactly she was touching. There were no clues as to where she was.

Until it stopped.

The stop was so sudden and harsh that it threw her onto her back, causing her to hit her head on the floor. It wasn’t injury-inducing, but it definitely gave her more of a headache than the one that was already plaguing her.

She sat up and rubbed the sore spot on the back of her head, curious as to why the elevator had stopped. Especially so suddenly. It was as if someone pulled a lever that brought it to a sudden, screeching halt.

She heard shuffling noises and muffled speech coming from above her as a bright line shone through the crack in the ceiling.

Could that crack in the ceiling be my way out?

Before she could move to test her theory, the doors started opening from above, only for about 50 faces to look down at her, squinting.

“What’s the new greenie look like?”

“Probably ugly like you, Shuckface.”

“Who are you calling ugly, Slinthead?!”

Too much was going on for her to process everything at once, making her headache worse.

“All of you, shut it!” A booming voice called. This reduced the boys above her to whispers, all still staring at her. A blonde boy peered over the edge, his long bangs getting in his eyes. He shoved them out of the way and made to squat, as if planning to jump down, but thought better of it at the last minute.

Newt looked into the box, pausing for a moment. The Greenie’s hair was dark, long, and curly. He looked a little closer.

It was a girl.

He stood back up, unsure of what to do first.

Alert Alby? Go down and get her? Ask why she was here in the first place?

“What are you waiting for, Newt?” One boy called. Newt glanced over his shoulder to Gally. He couldn’t stand Gally, and although he was generally loudmouthed for no reason,  he did have a point this time. Newt blew his bangs out of his eyes and carefully got down into the box. He could see that the girl was not only shrunk into the corner of the box, but was also holding the back of her head.

Newt remembered, vaguely, hitting his head during his journey in the box, waking up with a horrendous headache. Although it drove him to remember his name a little quicker than most others, it did not make the journey pleasant.

“Hello,” Newt said. “Are you okay?” The girl looked at him, as if unsure how to answer.

“Yeah.” She said in a small voice.

“What’s going on?” A boy called from above.

“Holy shuck, it’s a girl!”

“No way!”

“Why would they send up a girl?”

“They were tired of looking at your ugly ass,”

“Shut UP dude!”

“Maybe they ran out of guys to send up- OW!” The boy who spoke rubbed his ear where his friend had smacked him.

“QUIET!” The booming voice from before yelled, commanding authority. The boys fell silent. “That’s much better. Now, what’s this I’m hearing about a shuck girl?” Another boy, older looking than the others, focused on the girl in the box.

Alby furrowed his eyebrows. They’d never had a girl in the Glade, for the entire time that they had been stuck there, not once had there been a girl sent up in the box.

Why start now?

“Do you remember anything before being put in the box?” Newt asked gently, squatting in front of the girl.

“No.” She said, her voice still small. “That’s alright. None of us remember a bloody thing before taking a little time walkin’ around, gettin’ some sleep, you know.” Newt offered a small smile.

She nodded.

“Well, I’m sure you’re ready to get out of this box about as much as I am,” Newt extends his hand down to her. “Let me help you out.”

She stared at his outstretched hand, hesitating for a second before ultimately grabbing it. She allowed him to help her up and out of the box, and into the Glade.

All eyes were on her as soon as she stepped foot onto the grass.

The whispering had ceased, Alby made sure of that.

There was almost nothing he could do about the stares. Some of the Gladers looked at the new girl with a mix of curiosity and fear, while others had a more predatory glare about them. Newt grimaced at the thought.

“Alright, you lot! Show’s over, go back to what you were doing before. Go!” It took a second for Newt’s harsh glare to force the Gladers to disperse, but eventually, they left the Greenie, Newt, and Alby alone.

“Welcome to the Glade, Greenbean. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m in charge. This is Newt, my second-in-command. He’s in charge when I’m not around.” “Well, it’s a good thing you’re always around.” Newt offered a grin.

The girl smiled a little at that. Alby pressed forward.

“Tomorrow, you’ll get the tour. You’ll get the tour, then the day after, job training. You’ll rotate each job in the Glade, see what suits you best. I’ll save the rest of the explanations for the tour tomorrow.” Alby paused, looking at the new girl for a second. She remained quiet, though paying attention.

“Uh,” He cleared his throat. “Any questions? Concerns?” She shook her head. Alby made a huff of surprise. “Alright, then, Newt, you know what to do.” With that, Alby stalked off in the other direction of the Gladers.

“Well, I guess you’re stuck with me!” Newt said. The girl offered a small smile and a nod, trailing a little behind Newt. Even with his limp, he walked quickly.

“Here’s the Homestead. Made this with our bare hands,” She nodded. “This is where you’ll be staying.” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, didn’t like some of the looks I caught the other Gladers giving you, so Alby and I decided you would be better off in here.”

Newt brought her upstairs and showed her to her room. It was plain, with just a bed and a window. Taryn sat on the bed, but still did not say anything. She looked around the small space, then looked at Newt expectantly.

“Did you, uh, have any questions? I know it’s a lot to take in, but usually Greenies are absolutely BURSTING with questions.”

“Um,” She said, testing out her voice. “Not really, I guess. It’s all relatively self explanatory, plus Alby said he’d explain more on the tour tomorrow. What’s your role, besides being second in command? Do you have a job?”

“Yeah, I work in the gardens with Zart. You’ll meet him soon.”

She nodded again. “Do you like gardening?”

Newt thought for a second.

“I guess so. I used to go out in the Maze, but there was an accident that left my leg in pretty bad shape, so I can’t really run that well anymore. I certainly like the gardens more than any of the other jobs.”

“Yeah. That makes sense for you.” She smiled a little, and Newt felt something tug at his heart. He ignored it.

“Right. Well, if you don’t have any other questions, I’m gonna introduce you to Chuckie. He’ll be your first friend here.” She followed Newt out of the door. “Second.” She said.

“Hm?”

“Second friend here. You’re the first.” Newt smiled a little in her direction, feeling that same little tug at his heart.

“Yeah, you’re right. Second.”

[zelcii]

№1 SWITCHED: THE IVY 5.6K WORDS

cw; tmr, gay-ness (clint and jeff), female oc, the maze runner, long shit, disgustingly detailed, probably boring, no lovey-lovey yet, NOT PROOFREAD, a mix of book-canon/movie-canon/claire-canon elements, cursing, kinda slow-paced

sum; The Maze could be cold and unforgiving, but she can't help but heed a calling that speaks to her from within. It draws her in with a whisper of hope and determination, urging her to confront the darkness and uncover the secrets buried in its depths.

a/n; this is shittier than my first draft, i fear. but ive really been procrastinating writing this after i lost the first one. what to do. this one did end up being around 1.6K words longer than the first so, ur welcs. if theres anything u guys want me to clear up from my interpretation, i can post an faq after theres enough questions. sorry for the slow slow slow pace but u can expect even slower updates��i am so sorry—since school is starting. watch me priotitise whatever this is and not write anything else for months :)))

Contents, Next

Steady, metallic clangs echoed down the long concrete tunnel, almost like the drumbeat of a death march.

The girl lay with her knees against her chest, eyes shut tight, willing herself to ‘wake up’ because she had to be in some horrible dream. She woke up roughly fifteen minutes ago, gasping for air as she coughed out cool water from her lungs with pressing urgency. The water, a remnant of some nightmarish ordeal she had no memory of.

For a while, her blood ran cold. Her heart pounding in her chest, her breaths quick and shallow, as if she'd ran a mile. Her bones felt hollow and brittle as she stretched herself out on the floor.

Darkness swallowed her whole. Whether her eyes were open or closed made no difference and all she could see was black. She could feel the void against her skin, seeping into her and making a home deep in her stomach.

It was silent except for the roll of wheels beneath her and the scrape of metal above. The air was thick. The smell of rusted iron stung her nose, making it scrunch it up. Then confusion set in. She realised she couldn't feel the crinkle of her nose or the furrow of her eyebrows. In fact, she couldn't even feel the tight grip of her hands against her arms.

"Nick..?" Her voice trailed off as she called out into the dark. The name echoed off the tunnel walls, growing softer and more distant as it travelled further away, until it faded into silence. The word slipped past her lips with a tender familiarity, even though she couldn't recall ever knowing anyone named Nick. “Help…” She waited for a response. None came.

For a moment, she felt cold and numb, a chilling sensation that seemed to seep into her very bones. She instinctively brought her hands up to rub warmth onto her arms, but as her fingers brushed against her skin, she realised she couldn't feel the contact either. The familiar texture of her own touch was absent, making her blood run cold.

It was as if a thin barrier existed between her fingers and her skin, preventing any sensation from passing through. The strange numbness made her feel more alone in the darkness, making her question if she was really even there at all.

Then her mind went blank, a whirlpool of confusion and disorientation sweeping away any rational thoughts that could have cleared her head. She sat with a vacant look in her eyes, trying to make sense of her surroundings as she called out every now and then.

The cold, dark silence pressed in. She was scared. Isolated. Lost.

The darkness felt alive, closing in around her, suffocating and cold. Her breath quickened, echoing unnaturally in the void. Every time she tried to call out, her voice would yell back at her before getting swallowed by the emptiness.

“Hello?” she whispered, her voice trembling. The response was again nothing but the eerie quiet, pressing down like a weight on her chest. Her heart beat louder, each jump a desperate drum against the invasive silence.

“Please…” she murmured, her voice breaking. The plea felt hollow and helpless. The shadows creeped in on her in ways that made her skin crawl, their shapes twisting, morphing, moving. She rubbed her arms, trying to stave off the creeping chill, but it was once again useless. The cold seeped into her bones, gnawing away at her sanity.

“Nick…?” she called out one last time, her breaths shaking. There was no answer, no reassuring voice or warm presence to comfort her. She was utterly alone. Panic began to bubble up, her mind flooding with fraughtful, disturbing thoughts. Where was she? Why couldn’t she remember anything? What the fuck was going on? The questions swirled around her head, a chaotic storm that she couldn't escape.

In a desperate attempt to feel something—anything—she raised her trembling hand to her mouth and bit down hard on her thumb.

She awaited a sharp sting. She felt nothing.

“What the fuck…” Panic surged through her as she heard the unsettling crunch of bone, flesh, and nail between her teeth. She bit down even harder, desperate to break through the numbness, but it was in vain.

Overwhelmed, she stumbled backward into a wooden mass, whimpering as she cradled her hand with her tears streaming down her face.

Slowly, she noticed a warm, sticky feeling spreading down her hand. “Oh, shit.” She hissed.

First, she felt her blood running down her hand. Then a sharp pain shot through her arm, eliciting from her a strained, painful moan.

She could imagine the blood trickling from her thumb, flowing down her arm, and staining her skin before pooling in her palm. The image was both horrifying and surreal—she knew she should've been frightened or appalled, but all she felt was a strange emptiness. Her fear grew deeper.

She curled into herself, cradling her injured thumb as she cried out a series of curses.

The pain in her thumb never subsided, though her senses slowly returned, starting from her hands and spreading to the tips of her ears in curious waves.

Her lungs itched from within, a sensation no amount of coughing could relieve. Then an ache began to throb at the back of her head. She could feel the sting of meshed metal digging into her sides and biting into her skin.

It reminded her of the sting she'd feel sitting in a grocery cart, wheels rolling beneath her as her mother pushed her down long, endless aisles. The memory was a comforting thought, the gentle roll of the wheels beneath her were now similar and reassuring. But that comfort quickly faded as she tried to recall details about her mother, and her family, and what she looked like. She shivered when her mind could only flood with blank faces, devoid of features.

Overall, she felt disturbingly incomplete. A sensation eerily similar to the one you’d feel after getting robbed.

The last thing to fill her senses was the soft cluck of chickens from a nearby corner. Fear churned in her empty stomach, feuling her doubts and resentment. She had no recollection of anything before the rust, the darkness, and the persistent pain in her arm, leaving her with a deep sense of disconnection and cruel emptiness.

The girl woke up feeling damp, her hair sticking to her skin with water lodged in her throat. She was in a cage, moving slowly down a long corridor. The sound of harsh metal grated in her ears, echoing like a tram inching along tracks in the midst of a bustling city.

As the cage came to a sudden stop, a dim light filtered into her space. Faint glimmers danced over her surroundings. She was lured into a cold vent that led to even colder heights. She forced herself to look down, counting the inches to measure her rise. The floor faded into the darkness, eventually disappearing from sight. In a moment of desperation, she spat out and listened, waiting for the sound of the splat.

1…

2…

3…

The fall was far.

She sat paralyzed in the middle of the cage. Her hands kept to herself, hugging herself in the dark, afraid that if she let her arms stray too far, she'd end up losing them. The tip of her nose was cold and the clothes against her skin were heavy. Nothing but the clucking of chickens and the pain in her hand to keep her company.

In the dim light, she scanned her surroundings and spotted dozens of boxes and barrels encircling her. Each one was labelled with the letters W, I, C, K, E, and D.

Above her, bright red lights flickered ominously, casting a taunting glow. Below her, she was too scared to look.

For what felt like hours, she sat in the rising cage, alone with her thoughts.

“Please let this be a dream…” As she racked her mind for any kind of explanation, she made a list though she could only recall what had already happened just moments ago. She was cold, she was alone, she was scared. But who was she?

A sudden jolt of the cage made her gasp, and she tightened her grip on herself, sending a sharp pang up her arm. The girl winced.

The sound of metal ticking and rattling sent a chill through her spine. Though she knew she was alone, she couldn't shake the creeping feeling that something was watching her from behind. Finding a way out of the cage quickly became more important than curling up pathetically on the floor.

She mustered up all her strength to stand. Her knees wobbled, and a rush of blood blurred and blackened her vision before she could see again. She stumbled around in the limited space, moving unsteadily toward a corner of crates. She picked one up, careful to avoid her injured thumb, though her blood stained the wood as she touched it. She shook it gently, listening for the contents. The only sound was the rattle of small beads shifting around inside—nothing that could help her.

Regardless, she pried at the lid, her thin nails clawed desperately at the wood in a weak attempt to throw it open.

“Shit,” she breathed, the sound of fast whirring gears and the loud sway of the cage daring her to continue, echoing off the walls and breathing cold whispers behind her ears. Bright lights washed over her in nearly blinding rings as they passed. The force of the cage's ascent felt heavy on the soles of her feet. The girl's eyes began to water. She let out defeated huffs.

When she finally managed to pry the lid open, she found an assortment of seed packets, gardening gloves, and a sharp, iron hand trowel wedged between mismatched rags.

Then the cage halted to a stop. Now those cold, red lights stared directly above her in front of large, metal walls. The whirling of gears was replaced with the whirling of sirens, and the crates and barrels—along with the girl—jumped at the jolt of the cage, willing her to lose balance and fall flat on her back. Quickly, backed away from the wooden boxes, leaving a trail of red in her wake.

A whine escaped her tightly pressed lips. Her eyes welled up, and she trembled.

“Oh, fuck fuck fuck…” The tightness in her chest made her feel as if the air had thickened, and the sting behind her eyes made her feel like she was on the verge of exploding.

Panicked and distraught, she glanced over at the cloth draped over the chickens' cage. Her eyes darted between the fabric and a cluster of steel barrels. As a last-ditch resort, the girl yanked the cloth free and carried it over to the barrels. A few chickens followed, clambering out to join her. Their cage was open, but of course, hers remained locked shut.

Frantically, she shoved a few barrels around and huddled behind them in a corner. “C’mon, c'mon…” She draped the large cloth over herself and the containers, creating a makeshift hideaway to shield herself from the doors above her.

The menacing glare of the red lights suddenly flashed green, seeping through the thin walls of her makeshift hideaway. It seemed to follow her wherever she went. Her joints ached as the stress of the hour, her muscles tense, and her heart calling out desperately for her mother.

Her mind ran rampant with a variety of worst-case scenarios, imagining every horrible thing that could have been waiting for her behind the large metal doors. She grew anxious at the though of what terrible things might happen if she were to be found out. The girl hugged the hand trowel close to her chest and kept her eyes shut. She felt a cold sweat on her skin. Her mouth ran dry.

The doors above her began to creak open.

Through the cracks between the barrels, she watched warm rays of raw daylight flood into the cage before being blocked by a crowd of antsy shadows. Soft murmurs drifted down, mingling with the scattered clucks of the chickens.

She listened as a few voices started shouting, their tones laced with confusion. They were expecting her.

Crouching with her head between her knees, she repeatedly begged in her mind for the crowd to leave. She prayed for the doors to close and for the elevator to take her back down to solid ground.

“Day one, Greenie!" A boy yelled excitedly to nobody in particular, "Rise and shine!"

The cage shook as two boys jumped in with her. She swallowed hard, her eyes widening in fear. Her heart froze when she realised they would start looking for her. If she could sink into her skin, she would have, but there was nowhere to hide now.

"You've far too much energy considering we've been at this for a while," Another poked, smiling up at the other.

"And we've gotta do this quick if we wanna have a bonfire, right?" The first boy said in a near whine. "Come on out, Greenie. Let's get you out of here."

The two chatted with each other as they looked around the cage, yelling occasionally at the others above them. One of the boys—the second to jump in—spoke with an accent. There was a twist in his words that the girl couldn't quite place. He was also quite tall.

The boy with the accent ran his hands through his tousled blond hair as he spotted a bloodied box with its lid off. He wore long, baggy pants that hung low on his hips, paired with dusty white shoes that seemed to have seen better days.

He called the first boy over. He looked familiar to the girl, but not familiar enough to feel comfortable around him. This boy’s shoes were stained deeply with grass and soil. His dark hair was cut short and dishevelled, fanning over his vivid green eyes. They held a look of mischief and curiosity.

Her gut churned and her heart beat out of her chest. Every sound around her seemed louder than usual. Each creak under heavy steps or rustle of dirty feathers sending a jolt of pain and panic through her. Her breath came in shallow, rapid gasps though she tried to stay as quiet as possible. She was terrified that any noise would end up giving her away.

"D'ya see anythin', Nickkk?" a boy called out, his tone loud and bored. The sound of the name made the girl's face scrunch up in confusion, her lips pursed, feeling uneasy. Nick was the name she had called out earlier in the darkness, a name that had felt familiar for reasons she still couldn't grasp. It unsettled her.

"Nope." Nick bent down to pick up a hen, tucking it under his arm before handing it off to another boy that he called Gally.

Then suddenly, the blond cursed under his breath. As he reached down for another box or a hen, his eyes caught sight of a staggerd trail of red leading to a corner stacked with barrels. Her heart sank as her wide-eyed gaze met his warm brown eyes. She quickly pressed her hands against her mouth as her eyes widened, stifling a wince as a sharp pain shot up her arm. The blond looked up at Nick before turning his attention back to the barrels.

Her fear had set in as she sat in deep silence, pleading with the boy to turn around and leave her alone. The blond's eyes narrowed as he scanned the area, suspicious but unsure. He hesitated, sensing something amiss. Deciding not to let it go, he unknowingly held her gaze.

“Hey, Greenie? Are y'alright there?” The blond boy spoke soft and slow, inching closer to her hideaway. He called out, whispering. “Nick, look at this…” He pointed down at the trail he'd noticed and the girl held her breath.

Nick, who had been watching the scene with growing curiosity, uncrossed his arms and approached.

If she hadn't known better, she would've chosen to lash out. She would've grabbed her sorry excuse of a weapon and fought the boys before her. It felt like a heavy weight was pressing down on her shoulders, making it hard to breathe. Tears welled up behind her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. The stress was suffocating, and being unable to relieve it left her feeling utterly helpless.

"Are– are you hurt?" The blond's voice was soft as he spoke. Worry was evident in his eyes when the Greenie didn't respond. "I'm Newt, you're safe here," he assured. The girl refused to believe him.

"Hey, it's alright, we aren't gonna hurt ya," Nick said. His hands rose in mock surrender. Newt caught this and rolled his eyes, slipping out a sly remark, calling him stupid. Nick ignored him. He spoke loud and slow, enunciating every vowel sound as if the girl was a wild animal. "My name is Niiiickkkk. A-aand this, is Newwtttt. Whaaat is yooouuurrr naaame?”

Newt hit him upside the head.

They couldn't see much behind the barrels, but they spoke to her as if they could. It made it hard for the girl to swallow. She gripped the trowel tightened. What made it worse were the taunting comments from the other boys outside.

"Is he scared or something?"

"Maybe he needs some encouragement?"

"Dude, that's like, blood."

"No shit, shank."

“Talk about chicken, hahahaha… okay, fuck you guys too."

Newt froze for a moment. He looked down at his feet, behind the rusted mesh wires, then he looked at Nick, nudging his head towards the boys above. Nick rolled his eyes and stood up. He told the boys to get back to work, dismissing anyone who whined or protested against him.

The girl watched them and wondered why they assumed that she was a ‘he’. She didn't feel like a ‘he’. She looked down at herself then back up at the boys. ‘Definitely not a 'he'…’ she thought.

With the boys gone, Newt asked, "Is that better?"

The girl nodded, thinking he could see her, given the space between barrels. From the other side of the barrels, they could tell that the 'boy' was quite young, with unusually long brown hair and a round face. 'He' looked to be no older than fifteen, a year younger than both Newt and Nick.

Newt offered her a soft smile, though she could see the hesitation in his eyes. His gaze briefly flickered towards the blood on the floor and then back to her, causing his smile to waver.

Each time they asked, the girl refused to come out. So, for what felt like an hour, Nick sat in front of her with his legs crossed like a kindergartener, grinning widely as he talked about a place called 'The Glade.' He explained their developing system of government, proudly naming it the Glade's 'Nickstem.'

Meanwhile, Newt rolled his eyes and continued unloading the lift, clearly unimpressed by Nick's self-proclaimed leadership. "No one calls it actually that," He whispered.

As Nick chatted, his grin never leaving, most of the boys gradually lost interest and wandered away, letting more light into ‘The Box,’ as they called it. By the time Nick started talking about the Med-hut, only three boys were left besides Nick and Newt. She learned their names were Alby, Fry, and Gally.

“Y'know, I can tell you more about the whole place once we're all outta here, Greenie,” Nick said, running a hand through his hair. “We've got a lot of shit to do. Do you have any questions?”

"Why am I here?" She spoke, voice low and raw, breaking when she tried to sound threatening. “A-and don't try anything funny; I've got a shovel.”

She, along with the others, was startled by the sound of her voice. Earlier, she had no intention of confirming her presence, but there was something about the boy in front of her that made her feel it was alright to speak up. Something about his eyes, or the way he rambled, suggested it was safe to let her guard down a little.

"Who are you?" She asked, speaking louder this time. She didn't want to come out yet. To her, leaving the Box meant leaving her safety. "Am I dead?"

"No, of course not," Nick said boredly. "Not unless this is hell.."

"What—?"

"Forget him." Newt quickly dismissed, hitting Nick in the shoulder and shooting him a glare. He stood up to lean against one of the walls. "Listen, we can wait all day, Mate. But you won't be getting much of your answers here." He spoke softly, though there was a sharp edge in his tone that told the girl that he'd rather be somewhere else.

The girl took her time studying at the boys, then the cage, and then her thumb, before slowly letting the cloth fall to the floor. She peeked over the barrels, eyeing Nick and Newt, as well as the three others watching from above. They all stared at her with expressions ranging from horror to confusion. They all exchanged fearful glances, but chose to say nothing. The girl's grip tightened around the garden trowel in her hand, the splintered wood pressing into her skin, offering her a small sense of control.

"A-alright," Nick stuttered. He sat up straighter and cleared his throat, his shoulders tense. "Sorry—you're—are you a fucking girl!?"

"Why? Should... I not be?"

"No, you really shouldn't," Newt whispered, words defensive. He was quick to answer. He seemed just about as panicked as Nick sounded. His mouth hung slightly agape and suddenly, he couldn't figure out where to put his hands. His eyes darted around the most, refusing to look at the girl.

"Why?" The girl stood up, her eyes narrowed as she stared them down. The boys finally got a proper look at her, their eyes a bit invasive as they looked her up and down, then up again. She tensed, feeling exposed under their gaze. The sun stung the top of her head, and the boys in front of her just stared, almost like they'd never seen a girl before.

Once she finally stepped out of the Box, she was met with the sight of around twenty boys milling about. Some stopped to stare, their eyes curious and confused, while others barely spared her a glance, mumbling words of disbelief. There was not a girl in sight.

The sun seemed to sit soundly in the middle of the sky, hovering over the tops of tall cement walls. The borders towering over everything around them, lush leaves of ivy climbing all the way to the top where they met the sun. As she looked around she could spot a forest with a lineup of four and a half huts, then a large mess of wooden planks that hovered over a variety of differently coloured hammocks.

"What the hell is this place..."

"This is the Glade, Girl Bean." Nick stood with his hands on his hips like a proud father. "Let's try this again—My name's Nick, and that there is Newt.”

“Do you remember your name? Maybe anything about how you got here?”

The girl looked around before her mind ran blank. Despite her best efforts, she couldn't remember any specific details about herself. Fear slowly welled up inside her once again, mingling with a deep-seated sadness that made her knees wobble. She felt helpless.

“No… no, no, no— why can't…” She looked up at the brunette then down at her thumb and her bloodied clothes. She spoke between rushed pants, tearing up as she looked at the boy with wise eyes, her voice getting higher. “Why can't I remember anything?”

"Hey, hey, hey. It's all good, alright?" The boy looked at her with his lips pressed together, clearly not knowing what to do. "You'll get it back in a day or two. Most of us did."

"We've all been through this, love," Newt said from below, hoisting up all the barrels and boxes with a few of the other boys. "We know exactly how you feel."

For the next hour or so, the girl spent her time in the Med-hut with Nick and another boy from the Box that he called Alby. As they talked, a tall, pudgy boy named Clint carefully wrapped her injured thumb in clean bandages. Nick explained the workings of the Glade again with his usual enthusiasm.

"Every morning, at the ass crack of dawn, the doors you see on each side of the Glade opens up," Nick said, pointing towards the towering grey walls. "Runners—like Alby and I—head into the Maze and try to find a way out. Then, at sunset, they close back up, and whatever's in there, stays in there. That includes Gladers.”

The girl's curiosity was piqued. Her eyes lingered on the tops of the large walls, curiosity and amusement written all over her face. "How do I become a Runner?" she asked, her gaze fixed on the cold, imposing concrete.

Clint, who was still bandaging her thumb, glanced up nervously. "Trust me when I say this, dude– uh, girl—you don't wanna go in there. Like, ever." He had a tendency to stutter as he spoke.

The girl's eyes narrowed. "What? I can so handle it!" she exclaimed, an edge in her voice.

Nick placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. "We aren't saying you can't, Girl Bean," he teased. "But, just so you know; Clint ran once, than soiled his jorts claimin' he saw some big-ass monster thing."

Clint flushed, muttering under his breath, "Don't gotta tell 'er my life story, Nick..."

Jeff, another boy in the Med-hut, chuckled at Clint's embarrassment. He sat closer to the door, rearranging an assortment of different coloured liquids. Alby, however, took on a more encouraging tone. "If you really wanna give it a go, you're free to join us next week," he said, offering the girl a kind smile. She returned it, feeling a surge of determination with a thrill of fear at the thought of entering the Maze.

“But!" Nick shouted, shooting a glare at Alby. "There's a reason why we've only got five Runners–"

"Yeah, but that's only 'cause of Clint's ghost stories," Jeff teased, a smirk tugging at his lips as he playfully ruffled Clint's already messy hair. Clint flushed. “You don't gotta worry about ‘em grievers much. They're only ever out at night.”

"Grievers?"

"Yeah, big-ass spider-lookin' slimy shits," Clint shuddered, biting his lip as he recalled the memory. His eyes flickered with unease, and he nervously scratched the back of his neck. "I saw them the very first time I ran. Took it as a sign that I wasn't meant for the Maze..."

"But again, they really only come out at night," Alby reassured her with a smile. Nick shook his head in disapproval, clearly not amused by Alby's attempt to downplay the danger. "No reason not to try it out."

"But I swear, I saw something, dude—ugh, girl!" he stammered, groaning as he hid his face in his hands, a blush crept up to the tips of his ears.

As they left the Med-hut, Nick, Alby, and the girl stepped into the open expanse of the Glade. The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden hue over everything. Gladers were busy setting up for the evening's festivities; a large pile of wood was being stacked in the centre of the open area, and several boys were already tending to a barbecue.

Nick glanced back at the girl and grinned. "You're gonna love tonight," he said, a skip in his step.

"Yeah, it's Greenie Night," Alby added, walking alongside them. He looked at the girl and chuckled. "It's basically your welcome party."

The girl raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Greenie Night? What's that?"

Nick smirked, swinging an arm over her shoulders and leading her over to a group of boys. "Every time a Greenie—like you—shows up, we throw a fun little shindig. We light a bonfire, fight, eat, and try to make you greenies feel at home... well, as much as you can in a place like this."

Alby nodded, watching as a group of boys carefully arranged a circle of stones around a pit of sand. "It's our way of makin’ sure everyone knows they're part of the Glade.

"It can get pretty lonely down here. A Greenie Night every month helps break the ice, gets everyone talking. And it helps the others realise that all we really have in here is each other.”

The girl smiled, feeling a bit of the tension she hadn't realised she'd been carrying begin to ease. "Sounds nice. So, you guys had one of these for each of you?"

Nick laughed. “Alby and I didn't get one–actually, we didn't start ‘em ‘til George,” he said, waving at a rather stocky boy with dirty blond hair and a great amount of freckles. “He was a mess when he got here. The others just thought it'd be nice, y'know?” A grin tugged on the brunet's lips. Alby gave him a knowing look.

Alby continued, “I was a total wreck my first night, thought for sure I was gonna hate it here. Betcha if I had a bonfire, I would've gotten my act together quicker.”

“Imagine bein' the first guy thrown in here—lonely little Gladers, cowering under the tree tops, tryin’ to ignore the fearful shrieks of the Maze…!” Nick slung his arm around Alby, nudging him playfully and yelling dramatically.

“Yeah, yeah. Think she gets it,” Alby grinned, looking at the girl. "It's one of the few times we can just chill, without worrying about the world or anything else. We can just be… well—kids."

"Alby and I are part of the older batch of kids in the Glade. Sixteen," Nick explained. "But there are kids younger who've been here longer than us. I heard about a boy from before I came. Ran straight into the Maze and never came out."

"Are you two like, in charge?" The girl asked.

"Nah, we don't really have all that in the Nickstem," Nick smirked, leading the group towards one of the Doors. "It's more of a... mutual respect for each other. We work as a community, everything we do is for the good of the other Gladers."

“We've only got two rules in the Glade,” Alby began. “One, never, under any circumstances, are you allowed to hurt another Glader. And two, play your part, do your job, and do it well.”

“So… communism?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

As they continued walking, they passed by a group of boys setting up a long table with food and drinks. The air was filled with the smell of roasting meat and fresh bread. The girl noticed the boys were laughing and joking around, a stark contrast to the murmurs she'd heard from the Box.

Nick gestured towards the bonfire, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Tonight, we eat, we drink, and maybe if you're lucky, you'll get your name back," he said, flashing a playful wink. The long grass was beginning to dance under their feet, the wind picking up across the Glade and creating a cool, comforting breeze as the sun began to sink.

Alby chuckled, clapping Nick on the back. "Don't get worked up if you don't, though," he added, smiling reassuringly at the girl. He glanced around at the bustling activity, where boys were setting up makeshift seating areas with logs and crates. Others were busy bringing out different sized pans and buckets. "Sometimes it takes a while for you to remember. It’s all about what ends up feeling right, like—nobody calls me Albert.”

The Glade danced under the warm light of the sun. The three watched as boy's started running out of the Maze in pairs before the Doors slowly began to shut. She let her fingers trace the rough grooves of the concrete, running her hand down the leaves of the lush green vines.

The stone rumbled beneath her touch as the girl imagined the labyrinth shifting, passages reconfiguring and creatures moving through the many twisted corridors that she could only imagine. Each subtle vibration felt like a pulse under her touch, a reminder that the Maze was alive, always changing, always challenging.

She had to crane her neck up to catch a glimpse of the towering walls, their sheer height dwarfing her and the others. As she stared up, a desire to run through the network of winding paths carving itself deep into her soul. Her heart pounded at the thought, begging to run in.

Her newfound yearning to explore every nook and cranny of the Maze grew stronger the longer she stared at its walls. The ivy that crawled over and above the walls fascinated her, each tendril seeming to mock the barriers that left the Gladers feeling trapped.

It reached out, unaware and unaffected by the dangers on the other side. She decided right then that that was what she wanted for her life in the Glade—to survive on both sides of the walls, just like the ivy.

"Ivy..." The word felt familiar as it slipped past her lips in a careful whisper, much like Nick's name. But she quickly dismissed the thought, focusing instead on the thrill of what lay beyond the walls. She imagined herself running through the Maze, outsmarting its lies and discovering its hidden truths. The idea of what freedom it could hold calling to her with an unmatched intensity.

A gust of wind blew through her hair, the Glades whispers running through her as she gripped a stubborn vine. She could hear the Maze calling to her.

With a gasp, she spun around to look at Nick. His eyes had narrowed as he listened to her whisper to herself, catching onto a rather familiar word. He watched her expression change; her eyes widening, a smile slowly creeping onto her face as she spoke a little louder.

"Lori…"

Contents, Next

lori, as in, florence nightingale.

thanks,

claire.