#tmr oc
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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
#the maze runner#the maze runner series#the maze runner x reader#the maze runner oc#tmr#tmr x reader#tmr oc#the maze runner fic#the maze runner fanfiction#the maze runner fandom#tmr newt#tmr frypan#tmr minho#the maze runner imagine#tmr fic#tmr fanfiction#tmr fandom#tmr thomas#the glade#tmr gally#tmr alby
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The Power of Suffering - Part 1 (Gally x OC)
Summary: Joan was the only survivor from her own maze, rescued by the Right Arm nearly a year ago. But now she was going out with them to try and save some other kids just like her. Only what they find is a boy barely clinging to life - and she is determined to save him.
Pairing: Gally x OC (Joan)
Word Count: 3675
Warnings: blood, death mention, canon typical violence, sloppy medical procedures, canon divergence, background original characters
ONE | TWO | THREE
“Do you trust me?” Nellie had asked her, holding up the tracking device they had pulled from the Griever's corpse.
Joan looked up at her, her hands still covered in the blood of her friends that she had tried to save but couldn’t, and nodded her head. Whatever was out there had to be better than staying in here.
“I trust you,” she had whispered in return, taking her friend’s other hand and making a break for possible freedom. Only a handful of their group was left, and they all followed them into the labyrinth.
The Maze twisted and turned in seemingly random directions, but Nellie appeared to know exactly where she was going, her eyes focused and her tired face lifted in hope. They came to a bridge, the doors on the other side already opening to reveal a path that lead away from the Maze. The group of girls, Joan included, dared to smile as they jogged across the bridge.
But the smiles all dropped and screams filled the air when Grievers started crawling up the sides of the bridge, grabbing anyone they could get their mechanical claws around. Including Nellie. Joan screamed, pulled with all her might to keep her friend at her side, but she wasn’t strong enough. Nellie was ripped from her and thrown over the side of the bridge, just as the Grievers began to shut down and fall from the bridge themselves.
Through the doors came a group of masked men, wearing dark clothes and carrying guns held aloft and ready to fire, but their guns immediately lowered when they saw Joan trembling alone on the bridge. Tears streamed down her red cheeks, green eyes large and terrified as they approached her.
“We’re with the Right Arm — you’re safe now. Safe from WCKD.”
The truck went over a bump in the desert, stirring Joan from her revery and forcing her back into the present. They were going to another Maze facility, the Right Arm chapter based near the Last City, and as their resident Combat Medic, she had been ordered to go along. Ever since she had been given the order her mind had been wandering back to that day she was saved from her own Maze. All she knew was that she was thankful that they had saved her from that hell, but they had been too late to save any of her friends. To save Nellie.
Joan took those thoughts and crumpled them into a ball, forcing them down into her throat and into a dark place within herself where they would let her focus on the job that needed to be done. It had been nearly a year. She had hoped that the memories would have faded by now. Instead, they were still sharp and dangerous and painful.
Beckett, the man in charge of the mission, turned back from talking to the driver, “Alright, we’re almost there gentleman — and Joan. Remember, we’re here to rescue the kids, not destroy the place.”
“But if it happens along the way?” Farley asked from beside Joan, making the other men in the unit chuckle beneath their breath.
“Two birds with one stone I suppose.” Beckett cracked a smile, causing the other men to stomp their feet and holler in excitement.
Joan only betrayed a small smile before she ducked down and did her triple check of her medical bag. IV fluids. Tourniquets. Bandages. Morphine. Gloves. Antiseptic. She hoped that she didn’t have to use any of it. That her role was only a precaution instead of a necessity. But she had a feeling that wasn’t going to be the case on this mission.
The truck came to a sudden halt, and before she knew it Beckett was leading the unit inside the massive WCKD Maze facility. Memories tried to uncrumple themselves and come back into the light, but she forced them back into their corner where they belonged as she ran in through the doors that Farley held open.
All the monitors had been turned off. There was broken glass all over the place. And two bodies lay on the floor.
“Farley, stay with Joan in here, we’re going into the Maze to look for more kids.” Beckett signaled the rest of the unit to follow him further into the darkness.
Joan went into autopilot as she dropped down onto her knees beside the first body she came across. It was a boy no older than thirteen, his eyes still open and a massive red stain covering his shirt. She reached up to check his pulse and wasn’t surprised when she didn’t feel that familiar beat beneath her fingers. Farley looked at her expectantly, only to grimace when she shook her head solemnly. She closed the young boy's eyes before moving onto the next body.
Another boy, with a spear sticking out of his chest. God, what happened here? Joan had to wonder as she rolled him onto his back so she could check his pulse. He was around her age, maybe a little older, with sandy blonde hair and built like a tree. He was handsome in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Two fingers on his carotid artery she prayed for a pulse, and she gasped when she felt a faint and slow throb where she assumed there would be nothing.
“He’s alive!” she shouted, quickly grabbing her medical kit and taking a further assessment of the damage that had been done to his body as she cut away his shirt with her pair of medical shears.
In the Maze, she had been the medic because somebody had to be, because she was the one unlucky enough to step in when someone hurt themselves the first time. Now it was a choice. A choice to help people in need every day that she loved to make.
He had already bled out quite a bit, but the spear stopped the majority of the blood that was probably building up inside his chest cavity from escaping. He was going to need surgery if he was going to live, but she couldn’t just open him up right there, she didn’t have the equipment for that or the knowledge. From the discoloration of his face and the sweat on his brow, she could assume that he had been stung by one of the Grievers, so he was going to need serum as well.
As she pulled on her gloves she ordered, “Farley, put pressure around the wound.”
“You mean the spear?” The man built akin to a bear dropped down to the floor immediately, and put his hands on the boy’s chest.
“He’ll live — “ she said, more to herself than anything else as she pulled out the one vile of serum she had brought with her, “As long as we get him back to base. He’ll live.”
“Joanie,” Farley said softly, “We’re three days from base.”
She had nearly forgotten.
“Well, we’ll have to make due here then.” She looked up at Farley as she administered the serum, “Are you with me?”
He looked at the young girl, unsure if he really wanted this total stranger’s life in his hands. He was a soldier, not a medic. But Joan couldn’t do this alone, and he didn’t want the kid to die either. So he agreed with a nod of his head.
Joan, on the other hand, hadn’t even stopped to confirm with Farley. She knew she needed to act fast if this was going to work. After injecting him with a dose of morphine for the pain, though she highly doubted he would wake up for at least a few days, she pulled from her bag a scalpel, a ton of bandages, a chest tube, stitching needle, and fishing wire.
She handed Farley a few of the bandages and picked up the scalpel.
“On three you’re gonna take the spear out.”
“I’m gonna what?”
“One — “
“Wait, Joanie, I don’t think — “
“Two — “
“Oh, my God.”
“Three.”
Farley pulled the spear out of the boy’s chest with a grunt and threw it to the side as Joan quickly covered the gaping hole with bandages.
“Put pressure on that. Pressure,” she said as she picked up the scalpel and the chest tube, “Now I have to make an incision between his fourth and fifth ribs in order to get the blood and extra air out of his lungs.”
“What about his heart?” Farley asked, eyes trained on Joan’s steady hands as they drove the scalpel into the boy’s side.
“If the spear had hit his heart he’d be dead.” She inserted the chest tube into the cut she had made and blood began to trickle out of it and onto the floor.
“Now what do we do?” Farley asked.
“We wait for the blood to stop. Then I can close the wound.”
She was finishing the last stitch when the rest of the unit returned from the Maze without any newcomers in tow.
“They’re all gone. Must have been taken to some other facility before we got here,” Beckett explained, his eyes locked on Joan at work, “What about the other one?”
“Didn’t make it,” she replied as she tied off the last stitch on the cut she had made on his side.
“Walter, Jameson — take him outside and bury him. He deserves at least that,” Beckett sighed, “What about this one?”
“He might still live,” she answered as she began packing up her kit, looking up at Beckett with a near pleading look, “As long as we get him back to base as fast as we can so he can get some real treatment. This is a patch job at best. He needs to be opened up and I can’t — can’t do that.”
“Right. Johnson, get the rescue board and load him into the truck. Joan, stay with him.”
The three-day ride back to base was torturous, slow, and touch and go at best. Joan had to constantly monitor his heart rate and breathing, his bandages had to be replaced every few hours, and she was so terrified that he was going to die that she didn’t sleep the entire time. He had to live. She needed him to live. They had been through the same thing, had lived through the Maze and were free, and she wanted him to have that same chance she did. That same chance to finally live instead of survive.
So she held his hand for three days straight, willing him to last just a little bit longer.
As soon as they arrived back at base, the Last City looming over their heads, the boy from the Maze was rushed to the medical wing where an actual doctor could treat his wound. Joan followed dutifully behind him, her eyes blurred from lack of sleep and her hands shaky. The doctor told her to go get some rest as soon as he saw her, but she refused, saying that she needed to see this through to the very end. And so she sat in on the procedure to seal the wound on his lung and remove the rest of the fluids from his chest cavity. It was only when he was resting on a cot in the medical wing that she finally fell asleep. Laying in the spare cot she had pulled up next to his bed.
He didn’t wake up for another four days. And all that time she stayed by his side. Checking his vitals, renewing his IV, replacing his bandages. She only left to eat and help with other patients. Everyone around base knew that it was not her sense of medical duty that kept her with the boy from the Maze, it was far more personal than that. It was the fact that they were one and the same, Joan and this stranger. They both were survivors, they were both immunes. There was no one else in the Right Arm who Joan could relate to, except the boy lying unconscious in the medical wing.
It was bright and early on his fourth day after being brought to base that his eyes slowly peeled open, revealing blue eyes like the sky above. He, of course, immediately tried to sit up and possibly leave where he was lying, but Joan was there to force him back down with a gentle smile.
“Hey, hey, hey, its okay! It’s okay! You’re safe now!” she assured him. Even in his weakened state, she had a hard time fighting back against his strength.
“Safe? What the hell does that mean?” His voice was rough and harsh, it nearly made her flinch.
“You’re out of the Maze — for one thing.” He finally stopped resisting her hands as he finally let her ease him back onto the cot, “And you’re no longer in WCKD’s hands. You’re with the Right Arm — you’re really free.”
“Where’s the others?”
“We don’t know.” She didn’t see the point in lying to him, he seemed like the kind that could tell that she was and would get the truth out of her one way or another, “You were the only one left when we got there.”
“They left me there,” He whispered, his face contorting in pain as he rested his head back on the pillows.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
He glared at her for a moment, wondering if he could really trust her, but he seemed to resolve something to himself before he answered, “Gally.”
“Nice to meet you, Gally. I’m Joan. Are you in pain?” Joan quickly stood up straight and rushed over to the medical supply cabinet by his cot, “I’ll give you a dose of morphine then we can check your vitals.”
He didn’t say anything in return, only continued to stare up at the vaulted church ceilings of the Right Arm base. She gave him the dose through his IV line then grabbed her stethoscope to test his heart and lung function. Pressing the stethoscope to his still shirtless chest, she listened to his heart for a moment, the beat of it strong and healthy in her ears.
“Your heart sounds good.” After helping him sit up against his pillow she moved the instrument to where his lungs would be in his chest cavity and instructed, “I need you to take a deep breath for me.”
He complied after a moment, but seemed to struggle to take in as much air as he used to, his eyes going blurry for a moment before he let out the breath with a huff. He stared up at her calm face for a moment, taking in her soft features and the even softer look in her eyes before mumbling, “Why can’t I breathe?”
“Do you want the long version or the short version?” she asked, but when he didn’t respond she rolled her eyes, “Long version it is then. You were stabbed with a spear. It missed your heart but tore up your left lung pretty bad. When we found you I patched you up as best I could — but it wasn’t till we got back here that the damage to your lung could be addressed.”
“Can we switch to the short version now?”
Joan grinned as she sat back down on the cot beside him, “Fine. In short, you only have one good lung.”
“Joanie!” Beckett’s loud voice suddenly rang out through the nearly empty medical wing, “You were supposed to radio when the kid woke up!”
“Sorry! Sorry! I just wanted to check his vitals first.” She scrambled from the cot, appearing nervous for the first time as she fiddled with the buttons on her long jacket, “Everything looks good. The wounds are healing nicely and his heart is strong.”
“Thank you, Joanie, but I think the kid can speak for himself now. Go check on the other patients while I talk to him — alone.” Beckett rested his hands on the collar of his kevlar vest and watched in bemusement as Joan bristled before turning on her heel and heading across the room. He then looked down at the boy from the Maze, whose eyes remained focused on Joan even from across the room, “Name’s Beckett, second in command around here. What can we call you?”
“Who’s she?” He ignored Beckett’s question, much to his annoyance.
“She’s the girl who saved your life,” Beckett sighed, looking over his shoulder at Joan as she changed another patient’s bandages with a smile, “Didn’t sleep for three days to make sure you didn’t die.”
“Why?”
Beckett scooted the cot closer and took a seat before answering, “She’s like you. We saved her from a Maze nearly a year ago.”
“What do you want with me?”
“How ‘bout you answer one of my questions first,” Beckett said, “What’s your name, kid?”
“Gally.”
“Okay, Gally, you’re here because you have something that Lawrence wants. It’s why Joan’s here too, actually.”
Gally glanced back over at Joan across the room. She had moved on to another patient. One she was talking animatedly with about something as she took their blood pressure. Why had he felt the need to look at her? He knew the answer but hated it just the same. He felt comfortable in her presence. The simple sight of her was familiar and kind in this place where he knew no one. He was left behind by everyone he could ever remember, yet she, a total stranger, stayed awake for three days straight so he wouldn’t die. As far as he was concerned, she was the only one he could trust in this place.
“Who’s Lawrence? And what could we have that he could possibly want?” Gally looked back to Beckett with cold, hard eyes that even made the grown man feel a bit intimidated.
“Lawrence is in charge around here — and you two have what a lot of people around here want. Immunity.” Beckett’s eyes turned dark, “Once you’re fit to move Lawrence wants to meet you.”
Gally swallowed thickly, “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Listen, we’re not the bad guys, kid,” Beckett sighed, gaze back to normal as he stood from the cot, “The bad guys are the ones who kept you in that maze. We’re only trying to help.”
“Sounds like you’re only trying to use me.”
“You’ll feel differently when you meet him.” Beckett smirked as he gave Gally’s shoulder a pat, “See you when you’re better, kid. Bye, Joanie!”
The blonde looked up from where she was cleaning a mess from the floor with a smile and wave to Beckett as he left. Once the mess was clean she went back to Gally with a clean shirt for him to put on.
“Beckett’s a good guy, I promise.” She smiled nervously as she bunched the shirt at the collar to slip it over his head, “Once you get to know him, anyway.”
“I don’t think I wanna get to know him.” Gally winced as he lent forward.
Brows furrowed in contemplation, Joan sat down on the edge of his cot and gently put the shirt over his head and helped him to get his arms through the holes. He was strong, that much was for sure. But his body was also littered with scars. Most were old and faded to white, others were more recent and still pink. He was a boy torn apart and put back together again and again. And she could see that same tearing and breaking clouding his blue eyes.
“Look. No one’s gonna make you stay here against your will. Not Beckett. Not even Lawrence. If you wanna leave, you have every right to. But I will say this about the Right Arm — they give you a chance to be a better person than you were in the Maze. A chance to make up for lost time. A chance to help. WCKD needs to be stopped — and the Right Arm are the only ones doing anything about it.”
“Is that why you stayed? For a second chance?”
Joan looked down at his hand thoughtfully before she took it. His hands were much larger than her own. And even though her hands were not Lilly soft, his were infinitely rougher. Fighter’s hands, maybe even builder’s hands. She could feel him tense when she touched him, but she refused to let go. Knowing just how important touch could be after the Maze.
“I couldn’t save anyone in my Maze. Any of my friends. But here I’ve saved hundreds of people. Helped even more than that. Makes me feel like a human instead of…”
“An animal?” Gally suggested with a tone of understanding he couldn’t fully comprehend.
“Yeah. Exactly.” Joan smiled as she stood from his cot, “Now, get some rest, Gally. Big day tomorrow.”
After helping him lay back down she turned to the cot she’d been sleeping on for the past four nights and gathered her things. A blanket she knitted herself. Her pillow. And a worn hardcover book.
“You read?” Gally asked when he noticed the book held delicately in her hands. Almost like it was sacred. Almost as if he didn’t want her to leave him.
“Yes. I love to read. Aren’t many books around anymore though. Most of them burnt up in the Scorch.” Joan looked down to the cover fondly, tracing her fingers over where the title used to be written in gold, “It’s the only one I’ve got. Bought it from a shady man closer to the city.”
“What book is it?”
“Little Women. I read from it every day.”
Gally hesitated for a moment, questioning his motives as to why he wanted her to stay with him for just a little bit longer, but then he gave in and asked quietly, almost sheepishly, “Would you read it to me?”
“Of course!” Joan immediately dropped back down to the cot and cracked open the book, “I was about halfway through — but I’ll start at the beginning.”
“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” grumbled Jo, lying on the rug …
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#the maze runner#tmr#the death cure#gally tmr#tmr gally#gally x oc#gally imagine#gally fic#gally fanfic#gally fanfiction#the maze runner imagine#the maze runner fic#the maze runner fanfic#the maze runner fanfiction#tmr imagine#tmr fic#tmr fanfic#tmr fanfiction#tmr oc#will poulter#gally x joan#oc community#ocapp#oc appreciation#oc fanfiction#oc: joan#fic: the power of suffering#fd: the maze runner
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Fall Into Despair - TMR REWRITE Chapter Eleven
[TMR REWRITE-MASTERLIST]
Previous Chapter
Summary: They were in the final stretch. The last fight to bring down WICKED had started and the city was going up in flames. Thomas, Minho, Gally, Newt and Grace had to be quick and get out of there before they ended up in the fire but reaching Brenda and their friends was no easy task. Grace was exhausted from everything she had been put through and this one last effort might end up being too much for her to handle.
Words: 3.8k
Warnings: TMR Death cure spoilers, angst, mental torture, medical experiments, needles, restraints, violence, mention of suicide attempt, stabbing, blood, depression
With soldiers everywhere in the city, it was hard to go through it undetected. They had to crouch down and hide behind anything they could. Cars were blocking the street. The five of them took cover behind plants on the sidewalks. Grace and Newt were sat against the wall while Gally and Thomas peeked out, but they were stuck there.
“What are they waiting for?” Right Minho spoke, there was a huge explosion behind Thomas, making him jump and look around. A crowd came running and screaming while there was another explosion. Gally told them to get down. The soldiers started shooting at the people. They all lied down on top of each other. Grace held her hands to her ears when someone launched a rocket in the middle of the street. This was complete chaos, and they had to take this chance and run. Thomas and Minho grabbed Newt, Gally helped Grace with one arm, holding his gun with the other and they took advantage of the general mayhem around them to leave. In all the months that they had spent in this city, this was the first time she actually saw said city, and it had gone downhill.
Everything that was happening forced them to hide in a coffee shop whose front window had been blown up. Thomas used the radio to try to make contact with Brenda. The situation was becoming critical, and they were running out of time to help Newt, who was getting worse by the eye. To watch him deteriorate in front of her eyes was very difficult for Grace, especially after she was put through. She agreed to be used and tortured to make a fucking cure and she couldn’t give it to the one person that mattered. She saved a child but saving Newt was more important in her eyes because he was her friend. He didn’t deserve to end like this when there was an actual way of helping him. She would never forgive herself if he didn’t make it out of this city, alive. Grace didn’t even dare look at Newt. She stared at the fire outside the building, only turning her head towards her brother when she heard Brenda say something about “their ride”. Apparently, she was coming to them. Thomas looked at the four others with confusion on his face. He didn’t know what she was talking about either.
They resumed their journey, trying to move quickly through the city which was falling apart around them, to quickly find Brenda and the others. They had to arrive before it was too late for Newt, before he was too far gone. Thomas and Minho were once again helping Newt while Grace tried to walk on her own, one hand gripped onto Gally's shoulder who was leading the way, holding his gun in front of him, ready to fire if needed.
“All right. Newt, we’re almost there.” He said, looking at the three behind him. Mere seconds after he spoke, an explosion sent a burning car flying across the road. They all jumped, losing their balances. Grace got so startled she loosened her grip on Gally's bulletproof vest and almost fell but he had the reflex to catch her with his free hand. He told everyone to stay back as he ducked behind the wall, giving Grace his arm for support. A crowd of people ran down the road, yelling and holding their weapons up in the air or shooting at the soldiers ahead. They glanced at each other before looking up when they heard an engine hum in the sky. A helicarrier flew overhead.
“Okay, that’s them.” Thomas declared.
“Go without me, man. You should just…” Newt tried to argue when Minho and Thomas went to pick him up, coughing up black blood. He looked even more sick than before, wheezing and panting. Grace looked away, holding her arms softly. She sighed heavily but quietly, feeling her stomach starting to ache.
“Minho. You gotta run ahead, grab the serum, and get back as soon as you can. Minho, go.” The latter was obviously reluctant to leave them here.
“He’s right. I can cover.” Gally added before standing up and going to the corner of the street. Newt grabbed Minho’s arm, streaks of blood flowing from his mouth onto his chin, his eyes bloodshot.
“Thank you, Minho.”
“Hey, just hang on. You hear me?” After a second, he finally gets up and follows Gally. Grace stayed with Thomas and Newt since she would have greatly slowed them down in their quest for the serum to cure Newt. The serum made with the experiments conducted on Grace for months. If that bloody serum was going to save anyone, it was Newt. She didn't really care to know that a little girl had been healed thanks to her. Everything she had to endure had to be used for something, otherwise she could tell she was going to lose it. The guilt that would hang over her head for failing to save him would be too much for her to handle. She knew it. Thomas leaned towards Newt as his breathing quickened. Grace jumped when he raised his voice, trying to get his attention on him.
“We’re gonna try this, okay? We gotta move, now. Let’s get you up, come on. Let’s go, come on. Grace you can walk right—” He glanced at the latter while addressing her but turned his head back to Newt when he spoke up. She watched anxiously.
“No. No, Thomas.”
“No, Newt. Later. Later. Really gotta go.” Newt grunted as he snapped a necklace from his neck and handed it to Thomas as they argued. He yelled for Thomas to take whatever this was, breathing sharply. Grace noticed a small pendant capsule and it only took her a few seconds to realize that he had put something inside for them. The idea that he knew he was doomed and had written them something broke Grace's heart and she kept saying in her head that they had to succeed in saving him so that they would never need to discover what could be in this small capsule.
“Please. Please, Tommy. Please.” He begged, short-winded. Thomas eventually took it, exchanging a look with Grace and they were both equally worried about the outcome of this whole situation.
“All right. I need you to give me everything you got. Come on, ready? Here we go.” Newt grunted loudly as Thomas lifted him off the ground. Grace leaned on the wall Gally had seated her against and managed to get up. It was more complicated with no one to hold onto, but for once her legs weren't shaking so much that she collapsed to the ground. They were shaking and the steps she took following her brother were hesitant and jerky, as if she was a toddler taking their first steps, but she kept up with them. Watching Newt struggle in front of her was terribly nerve-wracking. They walked through the street, seeing bullets fly before their eyes. Thomas sometimes looked at his sister to make sure she wasn’t too far behind. He often called out to her, telling her to keep going. Knowing that she hadn’t walked that much in months, or even at all, it really was a miracle that she managed to do so.
They got to a deserted area, going through doors with panes broken into a thousand pieces. They were almost there but not quite, and time was soon to run out for Newt. Grace heard Newt gag and fall over. She staggered and stopped in her tracks, staring at them. Thomas caught him in his fall, toppling over. He crouched around him, grabbing his arm to carry him and drag him the rest of the way and seeing his face, Grace held back a sob, resuming her walk until her brother collapsed. She called his name in a low but piercing shriek. Still feeling that her body was tired and weak, she knew she couldn’t help in any capacity so she could only watch. She had never felt so useless in her life. He held out his palm to stop her from coming closer and the moment she came to a halt, she felt her legs go numb and fell to the ground.
“Grace—”
“I’m okay, it’s… okay. I—” They both raised their heads when they heard a voice call out to them through the speakers. It resonated all throughout the city. She was probably talking to them directly from WICKED labs.
“Can you hear me? I need you to listen to me. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I need you to come back. Thomas, you can save Newt.” He stood up and glanced at Newt before turning back to where the voice came from. “There’s still time for him. There’s a reason Brenda isn’t sick anymore. It’s your blood. Yours, and Grace. She isn’t sick, because you cured her. She doesn’t have to be the only one. When we had Grace, we made a cure. An actual cure. It saved a little girl, Thomas. She had been infected for weeks, and Grace’s blood cured her. Do you understand? All you have to do is come back. And this will all finally be over.”
His back to her, he didn’t see Grace lean on her hands and push herself up on her feet. Teresa probably wanted him to come but Grace was ready to go back there if there was a guaranty Newt would be saved. Going back would mean death for her. If they took anymore of her blood, she wouldn’t wake up from the next medically induced coma they would put her in. The lights reflected off his glossy eyes. He saw Grace walk in his field of vision and turned his head, grabbing her shoulders to stop her.
“No.”
“Thomas...”
“Minho is bringing the cure. I won’t let them use you again.” His eyes moved anxiously over her face. Grace didn't say anything but when her head slowly turned to look at Newt, Thomas followed her gaze, letting go of her as they watched their friend get up on his own. There was a brief but heavy silence.
“Newt?” She called out to him, and Thomas held out his arm in front of her to make her step back. It felt like time was suspended, until he turned around, revealing his dark eyes and drooling mouth. Her brother barely had time to tell her to step back, Newt growled as he lunged at Thomas to attack him. Grace was pushed abruptly and grunted as she fell heavily on her arm, gasping in pain as she held her arm and rolled on her back. He shouted at her to stay away, asking if she was okay but all his focus was on Newt who was going berserk, throwing himself at Thomas. He fell, got back up and ran toward him. Grace watched them roll on the ground. Newt got on all four, panting and looked at Thomas, begging the latter to kill him.
“Newt, I’m here.” He took a few steps towards him, but Newt jumped on him, pushing him down, trying to bite him. Thomas struggled, crying out to him. Newt seemed to have a moment of clarity and he got calmer but only for an instant. He reached for Thomas’ thigh holster and brought the gun to his head. Thomas yelled and knocked the gun off his hand. It skidded on the ground and was stopped by Grace's leg. She pushed herself up into a sitting position but did nothing with the weapon. Newt let out a crank-like growl right Thomas’ face. Grace sobbed when he grabbed a knife from his belt and attacked him with it. Staring in fear and shock, she could only watch Newt try to stab her brother as he struggled against him, pinned down. She started crying, shouting for Newt to stop as Thomas screamed when the tip of the knife's blade digged through his skin, right above his heart. She knew her cries wouldn’t change anything and that he was driven to madness by the flare, but she felt so helpless watching them fight. Thomas kicked Newt’s back, pushing him away and punched him in the jaw. They got up. Newt swinged the knife around until he got close to Thomas, and they suddenly froze. Grace gasped, staring at them. Her heart pounding in her chest. Thomas had the same expression of utter shock on his face as he held Newt against him. Grace crawled and got on her feet. Thomas took a step back and she didn’t dare take a step closer. When she saw the knife in Newt’s chest, her stomach sank to her feet, making her feel like her guts literally dropped to the ground. A feeling of sickness washed over her, and she had a hard time standing up.
Thomas fell to his knees, calling out to him while Grace stood there, unable to take her eyes off his face. The silence that followed his calls was the straw that broke the camel’s back. She took a step forward and collapsed, bringing her trembling hand to his face, tears flowing down her eyes as she sobbed. She didn’t cry that badly when they were taken away from their mother. The realization that everything she put herself through to make this cure had been for nothing, she wailed. Grabbing onto Newt’s jacket, she let her head fall forward, her forehead resting on his shoulder which stifled her gut-wrenching cry interspersed with sobs. Her scream was so piercing that her throat was sore, but she didn't stop. Everything and everyone around her had stopped existing. She didn’t even realise her brother had walked away until she lifted her head to look at Newt and saw Minho and Siggy approach. Her scream became shaky as the weeping took over and she quietly stared at his dark eyes. They looked empty and blank. Minho and Siggy were on their knees, with Gally and Brenda in shock a few feet away.
Grace began to apologize to Newt, over and over and over again even though she was aware he couldn’t hear it, and that he wouldn’t respond to her words. She cupped his hand with hers. His body was still warm, but his hand was limp, and she just sobbed and kept saying how she was sorry and how this had all been for nothing. She had undergone all this torture for absolutely nothing and it was tearing her apart. She wished she could be gone, right there and then. She wished Janson had gotten what he wanted and emptied her of all the blood in her body so that she would be dead already. If she was dead, this pain and guilt that overwhelmed her would be gone altogether and she wouldn’t hurt anymore. She got quiet as her eyes looked at the knife in his chest. She didn’t care if it hurt for a moment. It would be just that. A moment and then she wouldn’t feel anything anymore. The reflection of her standing in front of this bathroom mirror, holding a gun to her temple flashed before her eyes. Her hand wrapped itself around the handle of the knife as she saw her index finger get on the trigger. She heard voices around her, but they were deafened. Her brother coming in the room to stop her. Her friends calling out to her. She could hear her and at the same time, she couldn’t. She wasn’t there anymore until she felt pain shot through her arm and she saw Minho’s hand holding her. She then realized that she had removed the knife from the body and although she saw Minho next to her, without looking at him directly, she still didn't let go of the knife.
“Grace. Let go off the knife. Please.” She stared at the knife; her face scrunched up as she began to cry again. It was only the second time in her life that she felt such bottomless despair, as if she was falling in a dark hole and she watched the light become smaller, with no way of coming back up and the only solution was to resign and let herself fall.
“It was all for nothing. I can’t— I can’t live with that… He died, and I couldn’t help him!” Her sobs were suddenly interrupted by her outburst of anger, and she shouted. She instantly felt regret for screaming in Minho's face, but it didn't compare to how remorseful she was for failing at helping save Newt.
“It’s not your fault, Grace.” His eyes were shining from the tears that filled them up a moment ago and his voice was tainted with sadness and grief, just like her. He obviously wanted to talk her out of doing something stupid. Maybe he thought he could, but Grace knew she wouldn’t let go off the knife unless it pierced her heart and somewhere deep down, she knew that none of the people here would let her go through with it, let alone Minho. Newt and Thomas' best friend, and a close friend of hers as well.
“It doesn’t matter.” Her voice got quiet as she stared at the knife again, already plotting something in her head. With tears in her eyes, rolling down her already wet cheeks, her voice trembled as she spoke, slowly tightening her grip over the handle. “They took my blood, for days on end… they made a fucking cure… and it still wasn’t enough to save the one person that needed it, so why does it matter?”
“You did all you could. That’s what matters.” He didn’t know what else to tell her, because she was right. Every single word she spoke was true and he couldn’t argue with her. Grace rested the knife on Newt's chest and maybe Minho thought she wasn't holding it anymore, so he let go off her arm and he went to help her get up but next thing he knew, she had drawn her hands close to her body and she froze in front of him. It felt like she had been hit with a hot iron. Minho screamed her name and caught her before she hit the ground. Siggy and Gally ran up and joined Minho around her. She was drawing sharp and quick breaths as her hands shyly letting go off the knife. Her eyes were wide as she watched the blood soak her tee-shirt, a red stain growing over her stomach. She quickly felt dizziness kick in and Gally held her head as it fell backwards while Minho applied pressure around the wound. Grace thought she would be successful in her attempt because they would have to leave at some point, or they would be stuck in a city going up in flames and it was oddly comforting. For some reason, she couldn’t think of her brother and how this would affect him. She could only think about her pain and guilt. Her body started feeling cold as her eyes closed and opened with difficulty. She was still crying but not continuously anymore. The pain from the wound, her arms and Newt’s death were all overlapping with each other, and she couldn’t make out anything. When she closed her eyes, the cold, the hurt, the exhaustion, the grief, everything went away.
It was her nightmare all over again, her falling in a dark water except that she couldn’t feel any water. Voices echoing around her, mingling in a sound that rocked her. Then suddenly, the silence became uncomfortable, and she opened her eyes. She stood in front of this mirror again. There was an infinite number of reflections spreading around her. As she turned around, she felt a sharp pain in her stomach. There was a knife in her hand, dripping with blood. She looked up and every single of her reflection held a gun to their head. They were staring right at Grace with these dark, bloodshot eyes and their drooling mouth with this black blood falling down their chin, just like Newt. All together, they growled and fired.
Grace sat up in her bed, sweating and panting as she slung her legs over the bed. She had been tormented by these nightmares since the day Newt died. And since their arrival on this island where they had created a real Safe Haven with the members of the Right Arm and their friends who survived, she had not known peace. Every day she saw Newt, both smiling in the Glade and when he was turning. His face was always there, as if it was tattooed at the back of her eyeballs. Whether she closed them or not didn't matter. She was always seeing these memories of him, overlapping in her mind. And the guilt she felt since then was eating away at her and it was worse torture than what WICKED had ever put her through. Not a day went by without her wanting to see an end to this silent torture, but Thomas kept her close. They shared a shed in the Safe Haven. He was there for her, and so were Minho, Siggy, Gally and their everyone else, though not all of them knew about how she felt inside. Moonlight faintly illuminating the room, she glanced at her brother, sleeping in his bed. She stood up and quietly opened the door, her feet sinking in the sand as soon as she stepped outside. With one hand rubbing softly the scar on her stomach, she walked all the way to the memorial stone where they carved in the names of all who were dead. She looked at them. She didn’t carve Newt’s name, Minho did. She couldn’t bring herself to it because it would force her to accept his death. Thomas had added Teresa’s name too, but she didn’t look at that one too much.
She circled the large stone and walked on the beach, quickly feeling the sand become wet under her feet. When the tide washed over her ankles, she glanced down but kept walking, the bottom of her pants getting soaked as she advanced. She was staring at the horizon, her eyes riveted straight ahead. Newt had left Thomas a letter. That was what was in the small pendant capsule he gave him that day. A message of hope, asking to take care of the others that were left, telling him how he missed the sun rising over the Glade. She did too and she kept thinking about, incapable of moving on. She hadn’t been herself since he died, and she had only one solution to how to get rid of this grief and guilt. She hated how days passed and turned into weeks and months, pushing them further away from that day. She didn’t know if she would ever move on.
All she knew was that she wished she could see just one more time the sun rising over the Glade and join Newt in the garden and tend to the crops.
[The End…]
Previous Chapter
Published (03/07/2023) by Andrea
Taglist: @cathrin2405 @kika64
#TMR#tmr fandom#tmr gally#TMR fanfiction#tmr teresa#tmr rewrite#tmr death cure#the maze runner death cure#the maze runner rewrite#the maze runner rewrite series#the maze runner death cure rewrite#The death cure rewrite#tmr thomas#tmr newt#tmr wicked#oc#original character#tmr oc#tmr original character#the maze runner thomas#tmr thomas' sister#thomas' sister#the maze runner minho#the maze runner gally#the maze runner newt#the maze runner brenda#the maze runner fanfic series#The Maze Runner trilogy#the maze runner spoilers#the maze runner fanfiction series
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I recently checked my account settings and guess what? I already earned 72 followers and I would like to thank all of you for the love and support on my main blog (even it's messy) , my heart is full 💜
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Though I'm currently taking a break for my upcoming songfic project I'm going to held a one week celebration. But instead of ask games, I'll be hosting an OC Ask session to get to know more about my Original Characters from different fandoms
Here are my OCs from their respective fandoms together with their representing emojis
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🔱: Jasmine Felizarta (Final Fantasy XV x Narnia)
✨: Tengku'Anitun (The Chronicles of Narnia)
🦋: Viviana Cristobal (The Vampire Diaries)
🦆: Keith Sinclair (Miraculous Ladybug)
💣: Xzavien Oliver (Final Fantasy VII Remake: Intergrade)
🛡️: Hertz Wallace (Crank Palace: The Maze Runner Novella)
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All you need to do is to send an OC's name and their emoji together with your question and I'll try to answer them as much as possible, there will be spoilers but I'll keep it minimal and again, no smut-related asks okay?
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The mini-celebration will be held from August 5 to August 12, anons and non-anons are welcome to send questions just visit my account and tap the person icon
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my lovely moots: @ocappreciation || @arrthurpendragon || @deliahscrush2003 || @moonrainbowfish || @fuckitup-in-style || @foxesandmagic || @justafairytailofinnocence || @multifandomfix @randomfandomimagine || @yourmoonmomma || @tada-lol || @the-second-tonks || @virginia-peters || @stingrayextraordinaire || @scvrllet || @electric-turks || @okarawrites || @nelabelievesindragons || @jemmalynette || @fiction-is-life || @ourbonesmccoy || @erynv
#aerith speaks#aerith satos ooc-ness#oc community#oc hub#ffxv oc#narnia oc#tvd oc#ladybug oc#ffvii remake oc#tmr oc#ffxv jasmine#narnia anitun#tvd viviana#mlb keith#ffvii xzavien#tmr hertz#aerith's 70+ celebration#70 followers celebration#ocappreciation#ocapp
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FTM maze runner oc PART 2
heyyy so i posted this like a year ago at this point and didn't realize somone wanted a part 2 until like this month so I finally got around to it! Highly recommend reading that post before this one as it has been over a year at this point and you might need some context for this post to make sense.
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So the greenie finally figured out he's in fact NOT a girl so now he's gotta explain the situation to everyone else.
Naturally he was a bit anxious to, as to his knowledge, nobody else in the glad even knew what he was talking about. Honestly, HE didn't really know what he was talking about.
All he really knew was that being a girl just felt wrong. And cutting his hair, binding his chest (again, please don't bind with bandages it's really no good for yall), looking like and being called a boy... it all just felt right. Like it should have been that way the whole time.
Thus, after thinking through all he wanted to say, how he was going to say it, and bracing himself for negative reactions, he told his fellow medjacks.
At first, Jeff and Clint were a bit confused, but after explaining everything to them, they seemed to sort of understand.
To them, it was his life. Provided he wasn't hurting himself, they didn't really have a problem with it. Plus, he was their friend and fellow medjack. They're were only the 3 of them. Boy or girl, that wasn't about to change.
And after that positive exchange, he told some other people he was close with
Word spreads quickly around the glade. Before long, everyone had a rough understanding of what had changed, and dispite some confusion, they were all to busy with their respective jobs to care all that much.
Some thought it was weird or stupid or wrong, but they didn't really have the time or engery to waste on an exchange, and if they did, they were promptly shut down by another glader.
"Hey, by the way," Jeff asked as the medjacks were all sorting in a new shipment of supplies from the box. "Do you know you remember your name yet?"
"Oh yeah," Clint followed up. "I just got used to calling you dude. Got that figured out now?"
The boy smiled at the questions. He had thought that through a lot until this point. So he nodded.
"Yeah, actually, I think I kinda always have. Just didnt know cause it was a boy name." He says, leaning on a counter top to look at them.
"It's Kelvin. I like the name Kelvin. Call me Kelvin."
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And there you have it! The part 2 at least 1 person has been waiting for! I hope you enjoyed it if decided to read it.
As of right now, I don't think Im gonna make a part 3 because I just don't know where the story would go from here and I'm not all that into the maze runner anymore :/
Thank you all and have a good morning/afternoon/night!
#the maze runner#tmr#Tmr oc#trans#trans rights#trans lives matter#Again DONT BIND WITH BANDAGES ITS BAD FOR YOU >:(#oc#thank you for waiting#i'm sorry it took so long#over a year actually#I left#Then came back and didn't see the request until a year later 😭#thank you for your patience
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《Prologue》 TSoA
Male OC ver.
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Sweat trickled down a small boy's forehead. He felt something apart of him be snapped into pieces, like a rubber band being torn into broken halves. It made him feel... bland. Uncomfortable, even.
The young man jolted upward from a sleeping position, as if he had woken because of a horrid nightmare. His breathing was intense while he wiped the sweat off his forehead. But wiping the liquid which was sticky and wetting his hair did no good, as every drop that was took off added three more in its place.
His heart fastened with fear. He couldn't understand where he was, or who he was even living as. Did he even have a name? He must. Who wouldn't have a name? How has he survived if he didn't have something to be called?
The teen ran a hand down a dark brown, wooden crate. Slabs of wood were connected together, some vertical and others tilted. Red light shown into the room. Wait, no. Not a room. A lift. A lift that seemed to be moving both supplies and one living, breathing boy upward.
And after a long time— yet no more minutes than two hours had— the lift heaved to a complete stop. A chilling, alarm-like 'ER' sound rang from a distance away from the poor, shaking kid.
Soon enough, there was a reaction to this sound. Before the trapped boy could even flinch, the top of the lift opened. Out popped a dark-skinned boy. He had dark brown eyes, and wore a nervous frown with attentive body language.
The tall teen visibly scrambled for something, actively fumbling. A rope dropped onto the other trapped male's head, making him moan out of pain. Even so, he gained footing and climbed up the rope.
When the boy got up to the top, he gasped and the other introduced himself sheepishly. "Hey, I'm Alby," was only what he squeaked out.
#the maze runner#tmr#tmr alby#tmr fandom#prologue#tmr fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction#1/3 version#male oc#tmr oc#to be continued
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tmr oc scenario
The Maze Runner
Little Miss Jukebox
Summary: Where a greenie shows up only knowing a variety of songs and her nickname, Jukebox
When she first showed up, the boys didn't know whether she was a girl or not. They assumed it was a boy before she spoke and before the box even came up. She hadn't known either so when she appeared and they asked her, she looked down and stretched the front fabric of her loose pants. Then she looked up and said "yeah, i'm a girl."
Everyone looked at her dumbfounded, some even laughed, and some were embarrassed at what they witnessed. Soon after they asked her name which was "Jukebox", the gathering of boys disbanded and went back to their jobs. Later on, the boys learn why her nickname was Jukebox.
When they first heard her sing, they thought they were hearing things until they found out it was her. They locked her up in the Slammer, thinking she was a spy of some sort as no one could ever remember any music from their old lives.
They let her out after she kept screaming her head off. She was a fan of rock music.
One time she requested a electric guitar from the creators which was stupid because there was no outlet. She, instead, got a wooden guitar which was fine until she got a splinter. She asked for some polisher which she got. A day later, she poured the polisher on newt's shoes and they looked shiny for the next month or two
Inspired by Good Grief (TMR fic) where Newt knew a song and got sent to the slammer because of it
#the maze runner#tmr#tmr fanfic#tmr oc#the maze runner x oc#love her :)#i actually have not read the books or watched the movies#i read a lot of fanfictions#i dont know how polisher works#a for apples#tmr x oc#cumbermovels#cumbermovelwrites#cmwritten
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we love, we love,, btw it only has 3 chapters posted there rn and i just started posting it earlier this week so slayyy
#the maze runner#tmr thomas#the death cure#the scorch trials#tmr gally#tmr minho#tmr newt#tmr frypan#tmr alby#tmr oc#tmr fanfiction#tmr hawk#tmr fic#tmr fanfic writer#tmr fanfic#wattpad
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｡･ﾟﾟ･Eva･ﾟﾟ･｡
Name: Eva.
Pronouns: She/Her.
Age: 17.
Species: Human.
Parents: Unknown.
Brother: Thomas.
Birthplace: America.
Birthday: 6th February.
Hair Colour: Brown.
Eye Colour: Brown.
Sexuality: Bisexual.
Zodiac: Aquarius.
Fandom: The Maze Runner.
Significant Other: Minho.
Friendships: The Gladers & The Far Right Group.
Best Friends: Gally & Newt.
Sent To The Maze With: Teresa.
Deaths: 1.
Causes of death: The Flare.
Number of kills: A few cranks.
Occupation: Runner.
Fears: Catching The Flare.
Enemies: Teresa & Janson.
Weapon of choice: Spear.
Portrayed by: Maia Mitchell.
Backstory !
Eva was one of the final people who was sent up to the maze. She arrived with Teresa. Eva is the sister of Thomas, she also worked for Wckd, involuntarily. She used to be best friends with Teresa before the maze, but seeing the way Teresa was turning out and blindly putting her trust in Ava before they were even sent up to the maze, Eva turned against Teresa; causing the both of them to be sent up, where the boys were told that the girls would be the last ones ever.
Eva’s first job within the maze was a chef, the girl has unreal cooking skills, honestly she’s amazing at it. However, in a short amount of time, she became a runner which caused her and Minho to get closer. Eva and Minho eventually date and she also soon remembers that Thomas is her brother. Her best friends are Gally and Newt, she knows that he wasn’t in the right mind when he tried to shoot Thomas, she knew that wasn’t him but she was dragged away by the Newt when everyone headed out. During the scorch, she helps get the gang to safety. However, when she loses Winston she can’t help but shed a few tears for him.
When Teresa betrays them… again, Eva finds herself yelling at the slightly taller girl, almost getting herself shot by Janson due to her violent tendencies. Newts death also affects Eva, when Thomas goes to confront Ava, Eva spends her time crying over the fallen body of her best friend.
Eva is a strong girl and will always go to long lengths to protect those that she loves. If anyone gets on the wrong side of her, all hell breaks loose.
#bee speaks#bees rambles#bees thoughts#bee rambles#bees ocs#camilosunshxne ocs#spideysgxrl ocs#bees original characters#tmr oc#the maze runner oc#maze runner oc
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31/12/2023
#daily bunny#365#oc bunny#my oc#mashi to send us offf#I was too tired to post this yday but it's fine Im sure it's still 2023 somewhere //maybe#gdfhg anyway#thank you everyone for sticking with me this whole year#I'll make a lil plans for next year post when Im back from work or maybe tmr o/
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midnight snack run 💞
#artkee#ka'meisha#deuce#LISTEN THIS SPEEDPAINT GON TAKE FOREVA.... SO ILL PROLLY LINK IT TMR#ocs#oc artwork#kamdeuce#traversion
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The Power of Suffering - Part 2 (Gally x OC)
Summary: 5 years have past since Gally was rescued from the Maze. He is an integral leader in the Right Arm and Joan is lead medic at their home base. When he's not out on patrol or on mission, he can be found with her.
Pairing: Gally x OC (Joan)
Word Count: 4148
Warnings: canon typical violence, cranks, background original characters, death mention, grief, gally being so soft it hurts
ONE | TWO | THREE
Gally, after many talks with Lawrence and many nights spent with Joan reading to him, decided to stay with the Right Arm. And five years later he was right behind Beckett in the pecking order, leading missions and giving out orders. Joan was right when she saw that he was a fighter. WCKD couldn’t hide behind their walls forever, and Gally was more than willing to help take them down after what they did to him. What they did to Joan. What they continued to do every day to the less fortunate who lived outside the city.
Today, Gally and his unit were assigned to go to the outer reaches of the city in search of supplies. Weapons. Ammo. Blankets to be passed out to the people. Medical supplies. Batteries. Equipment they could easily repair. Anything that could even have the potential to be useful was gathered and brought back to base. The only problem was that the outer reaches were crawling with Cranks hunting for anyone foolish enough to roam too close.
“Alright, boys, we got three teams of two. Jameson and Stormes. Farley and Crouch. And me and Vince,” Gally barked his orders as the van slowed to a stop, “Nelson’ll stay in the van waiting. We only got thirty minutes to get what we can and go — and we won’t hesitate to leave your ass if you’re not back in time.”
“Masks!” Farley yelled as he opened the doors, all of them pulling down their respirators over their faces.
Gally emerged from the van first, gun held aloft and eyes vigilant for any danger.
“Jameson, you and Stormes to the west. Farley, you and Crouch to the east. Vince and I’ll head south.” The unit started to split up cautiously, “And watch your six, boys. Crank territory.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vince and Gally crept along in silence, heading south and away from the van until they found what remained of some form of shop. The walls were all but caved in, the sign that used to hang above the door dangling from one corner and half-melted. Vince pointed the location out to Gally who nodded his head in agreement. They would check it for supplies.
Gally entered through the door first, gun held up and ready to fire at anything that moved.
“Clear,” he announced when he’d walked the entire right side of the building, Vince repeating the statement for the left.
The place looked like it had been ransacked a couple of times over, but there still might have been something of value hidden beneath the rubble.
“Stay here — start searching. I’ll go check the back.”
“Yes, sir,” Vince replied, slinging his gun over his shoulder and crouching down on the ground.
The small room at the back of the store, which was probably once an office of some kind, was bathed in darkness. Debris and other fallen buildings had covered the windows from the outside. With a click, Gally’s hand-held flashlight came on, revealing nothing but an empty room and a pile of bones propped up in a chair.
“Jesus!” Gally whispered under his breath at the sight.
“You found the Lord in there, sir?” Vince called from the other room, his impeccable hearing once again making him grin.
“Shut up, Vince,” Gally chuckled, slinging his gun over his shoulder, “We’re all clear.”
Vince was only eighteen, three years younger than Gally and only about half his size. He’d only been with the Right Arm for a few months but had already proven himself to be an excellent fighter and an even better scout. His eyes were keen and his ears were even more so. He could hear a Crank coming from a mile off. And Gally always made sure to bring him on all of his missions. But of course, it was more than his usefulness. Vince was Gally’s friend. Though the other men in the unit found that hard to believe when Vince told them that - and Gally would never admit it either. But Vince knew. He knew in the way Gally would slap him on the back when they finished a mission or the way they always sat together at meals.
Gally was like an older brother to Vince. He looked up to him like the Evening Star. And Gally almost wished he wouldn’t.
Next to the chair full of bones was a table covered in random junk it seemed, sprinkled with a heavy layer of dust. Gally quickly sifted through the items just in case. An old mug. A jewelry box full of useless trinkets. And a little paperback book that he easily stuffed into the largest pocket of his kevlar vest.
“You find anything in there, boss?” Vince called.
“No. Nothing.” Gally did another quick glance around the room to make sure.
“You’re spending a lot of time in there for nothing.” Gally opened his mouth to give an equally snarky reply, but the words died on his tongue when Vince went on, “Come take a look at this.”
In the corner of the shop, Vince was sitting on the floor, a neat stack of wood and a pile of dirt next to him.
“What’d you find?” Gally asked as he approached.
“Medicine.” Vince threw an orange bottle at Gally who caught it with ease, “Antibiotics, steroids, allergy pills. The works.”
“Huh.” Gally turned the bottle over in his hand, “Place must’ve been a pharmacy or something.”
“Joanie’s gonna love us when we get back,” Vince smiled as he began to gather the medicine bottles together.
Gally’s mouth involuntarily twitched at the girl’s name, his hand instinctively touching the book in his pocket. He had been finding them for her for years. Always keeping his eyes open for worn pages amongst the rubble. Of course, he never told anyone he was looking, but people noticed anyway. Whenever he would sneak off after a mission to the medical wing, the other men in his unit would give each other knowing grins and playful shoves not to say anything.
“I’ll find something to put those in,” Gally said dismissively, ignoring the comment about Joan all together.
Once a sturdy enough crate had been found the two of them started to load the medicine into it. But as the last few bottles slid into place, Vince cocked his head towards the door.
“What is it?” Gally asked quietly, trying to attune his own ears to noises in the distance.
And after a moment, he heard it. The distinct growl of a Crank a ways off.
“Cranks,” Vince confirmed.
“Alright. Let’s head back. This is a good haul.” Gally pulled his walkie-talkie from his vest and spoke to the rest of the unit, “Gally and Vince heading back to the van. Cranks to the south.”
“Shanks!” Farley’s distinctive gruff voice crackled back.
Over the years, nearly everyone had picked up on Gally’s Glade terms. At first, they said it to make fun of him, but now it was a part of their vernacular altogether.
“Thirty minutes is almost up anyway,” Jameson replied next, “Jameson and Stormes heading back to the van.”
“Fine,” Farley sighed, “Farley and Crouch heading back to the van.”
“Shuckface,” Gally said with a satisfied grin before switching the walkie off.
Vince cackled at the exchange as Gally lifted the crate with both hands. The two of them exited the shop and started heading back towards the van with smiles on their faces. It was unusual for a supply run to be this successful.
“Waddaya think’s for dinner tonight?” Vince asked as they walked.
“Something terrible — as per usual,” Gally snorted.
“Will you wait to give Joanie the book before or after?”
“What?” Gally looked like he could’ve snapped his neck, even with the respirator covering his face, the only thing giving his embarrassment away being the patches of red on his neck.
“I noticed you always searching for ‘em. And Joanie’s the only one who reads at base. I’m not stupid.” Vince shrugged, knowing from experience that being on Gally’s bad side was not ideal. “I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”
Sometimes that kid was too observant for his own good.
“You better not. Or I’ll beat your ass.” Gally looked over at him pointedly, trying to gain control over the sudden heat he felt in his face.
“Yeah, yeah — I know.” Vince rolled his eyes with a knowing grin as they walked past a towering pile of the remains of a skyscraper.
The two men turned towards the hill at the sound of debris tumbling down the side, the echoes of it rebounding in their ears. They both knew rocks don’t fall on their own, so they looked up, only to see a Crank coming over the top of the hill.
“Closer than I thought,” Vince commented off-handedly.
Before their eyes, the one Crank turned into a host. All of them crawling their way over the ridge and screeching when they spotted Gally and Vince at the bottom. They all stumbled down the hill at break-neck speeds. Cranks killed themselves to fill their insatiable need to attack anything that moved, and that was perfectly exampled in the way they tripped over each other coming down the hill. Some of them crashed completely and landed with the remains of their bones sitting at odd angles, still crying out in archaic rage.
Gally grabbed Vince by the vest and yanked him ahead of himself, “Go! Go!”
They might have had guns and training, but that meant absolutely nothing when face to face with that many Cranks. So they took off at a run towards the van, the growls and screams of Cranks hot on their tails.
“Shit!” Vince yelled as Gally ran ahead of him, his shorter frame giving him a disadvantage.
Gally looked back to see his partner falling behind, his respirator fogging with his panting breath, “Come on, Vince! We’re almost there!”
With the crate still held tightly in his hands, Gally pushed forward, narrowly avoiding the obstacles of rock and stone in his path. He rounded a corner and there it was: The van. Safety. Promise of a future. Hope that they would make it out alive. Gally looked back over his shoulder, to make sure Vince was still behind him, only to see a Crank grab the younger man by the shoulder and pull him back.
“No! No! Get off!” Vince screamed as the Cranks started to claw at him, to tear him apart. He pulled his gun in front of him as best he could and started to fire, but there were too many of them.
“Vince!” Gally cried.
Everything was in slow motion. Gally could see through the horde of Cranks. Vince’s terrified face through his mask as he accepted his fate, teeth sunken into his neck and claws tearing his clothes. Gally saw Vince’s childhood on the street, begging for scraps and just wanting to belong. His first day in the Right Arm, scared and wandering off when he wasn’t supposed to. He saw Vince coming to him with every problem, in every circumstance, he finally saw himself the way Vince saw him. A friend. A brother. Someone to protect him. Then a look passed over Vince’s face, a look that said not today, as he pulled a grenade from his vest and pulled the pin.
“No!” Gally screamed just before he was forced onto his back by the explosion.
Pieces and parts flew everywhere, the dark blood of a Crank mixing with the bright red of the living. A high pitched whine rang through Gally’s ears as he sat up slowly, watching with bleary eyes as a few Cranks started hauling what was left of themselves towards him. He felt two people grab him by the arms and yank him to his feet, practically dragging him towards the van at a run. He was thrown into the back and the van lurched forward, speeding away from the outer reaches and back towards base.
“What the hell happened?”
“What happened to Vince?”
“Where did all those Cranks come from?”
The rest of the men in his unit kept asking as they drove, but Gally didn’t have answers, he didn’t want to answer. All he could do was stare at the back of the van blankly and feel the way the engine rumbled at his skin.
All he ever wanted to do was protect the people he cared about. And he had failed.
No one said anything when they arrived back to base and Gally immediately took off towards the medical wing. The other men in his unit usually joked about it, even daring to make fun of their commander for it, but not this time. This time they all silently got out of the van and allowed Gally to stalk off, unloading their haul numbly.
The entrance to base was underneath what used to be a parking garage for a shopping mall, the shopping mall was where the Right Arm offered shelter for those living outside the Last City and where meals were served every day. And right next to the mall was a church. The church was where the medical wing was, and where the majority of the Right Arm stayed. Gally made a beeline for the church, narrowly avoiding bumping into people in the bustling complex as he finally ripped his respirator from his face. He could hardly breathe with it on.
“Hey, Joanie, you in here?” he called out upon entering the medical wing. It took everything in him for his voice not to crack.
“Yep! I’m here!” He heard her gentle voice from the supply closet at the back of the room. His jaw clenched at the sound.
She was crouched on the floor taking inventory, clipboard on her knees and her fingers dancing over boxes of bandages she counted silently.
“You better have some bandages from that supply run. We’re running lower than I would like.” She looked up at Gally as he stood in the doorway, the usual smile tugging at the corners of her lips falling at the sight of him.
His characteristically mischievous eyes were vacant and red. His hands, always prepared to fight and rough with callouses but always soft with her, were balled into fists at his sides. His clothes were spattered with red and black, the true signs of a fight with a Crank. And his usually relaxed and nearly playful stature was rigid and tense.
Joan stood from her spot on the ground, her eyebrows pulled together in worry. “What happened?”
Gally swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he continued to stare at the pocket of her loose cotton overalls. “I lost Vince.”
“Lost him? What do you mean — lost him?” She knew exactly what it meant, but she refused to believe it as the tears built in her green eyes.
Vince was her friend too. He was just a kid. A goofy kid that always tried to make her smile, even on the worst days when he was exhausted and could barely move.
“Cranks. There were so many of them, Joanie.” He looked into her face for the first time, and she could see the tearing happening behind his blue eyes. She knew how much Vince looked up to him, how much Gally saw himself in him. “We couldn’t fight them off — I couldn’t fight them off. I couldn’t — I couldn’t — “
“Hey — hey,” Joan shushed him, taking hold of his hand and pulling him closer, “There wasn’t anything you could do.”
She tried to stay strong for him, tried to be comforting instead of breaking down in tears like she so desperately needed to. But she could not help the few tears that ran down her cheeks. They ran trails through her freckles and dripped down her chin. Tiny testaments to how much she would miss him, how much she hurt for him, for Gally.
“There’s always something I can do.” He looked down to her smaller hands enclosing his, his jaw muscle twitching as he focused on the feeling of her gentle fingers rubbing comfort into him, “But I’m always too late.”
Joan shook her head as she looked down to their hands as well, his much larger ones still hidden by gloves. Sniffing back her tears she focused on undoing the velcro of his glove and slowly slipping it from his hand. She performed the same task on his other hand, still steady even though he was about to fall apart. Taking his now bare hands in hers she pulled him even closer, his face merely inches from her’s as she rubbed soothing circles into the backs of his hands.
“You try and save everyone else, Gally.” Her voice came out as a whisper through her tears, and when she looked up at him with her still comforting gaze even though she was utterly broken, he was suddenly overcome with the urge to pull her closer. To wrap her in his arms and breathe in her familiar scent of antiseptic and lilac. Not necessarily a pleasant smell, but one that was so distinctly Joan that it was comforting all the same. “But who gets to save you?”
Eyes closed, he pulled her in and pressed his forehead to hers. Over the years, a lot of things had changed. Not only was Gally in a position of authority, but Joan had also taken over as head medic. All of her time was spent at base, treating casualties from missions and offering services to the people taking up residence at the Last City. A lot had changed. They were both older, far removed from the traumas of their youth yet bombarded with new ones daily. One thing always remained the same. No matter how busy or important the two of them became, they always found time to spend with each other. That common thread of the Maze pulling them together across vast distances. Or it could be a bond much deeper still.
After a moment he pulled the book he had found from his vest and slipped it into her overall’s pocket. She opened her mouth to say something —
“Gally! Thought I’d find you in here!” The pair stiffened as Beckett’s booming voice echoed throughout the medical wing, Gally immediately dropped Joan’s hands and turned to face the older man. “Lawrence wants a full report on what happened on the supply run.”
“Yes, sir,” Gally replied before exiting the medical wing at a brisk walk, passing Beckett with the crate full of medicine in his hands.
“And these — “ Beckett set the crate down on an empty cot as Joan came out of the supply closet, wiping her eyes as best she could as her tears continued to fall. “Are for you.”
She sniffed, “Thank you.”
Her hands had been steady and strong held in his. But now that they were gone and she was alone, her hands shook unsteadily as they wrapped around each medicine bottle and inspected their contents. Grief pulled people down differently. Some stood tall and dove into their work, seeking distraction from tasks or from others. That was Gally. While others could barely stand, could barely do anything without feeling wave after wave of sadness. It was all-consuming. This was Joan. She tried to stay poised, but Beckett still noticed the tremble of her lips and the steady stream of tears down her cheeks.
“So, what were you two doing in the closet?” Beckett asked.
“What?” Joan looked up from the crate with puffy and genuinely innocent eyes. “Oh — we weren’t doing anything wrong if that’s what you mean.”
“No, Joanie, you’re not in trouble.”
“Oh, uh — “ She touched the small paperback he had slipped into her pocket without a word before she picked up the crate and started carrying it to the closet. “Gally just had something to give me from the supply run.”
She knew Gally wasn’t embarrassed by anything, especially when it came to how much time he spent with her. But she was also aware that he didn’t want the rest of the Right Arm to know that he always kept an eye out for books on missions. That he would sneak into her room nearly every night for her to read to him. That she would run her fingers over his short locks when he fell asleep with his head in her lap. That he could be anything other than the hard, battle-worn leader he had been raised to be.
“Something that wasn’t with the rest of the supplies?”
Apparently, her attempts to avoid this conversation with Beckett were futile.
She put the crate down on the floor harder than she intended and turned to face Beckett, who’s face only read concern as she wiped furiously at her eyes, “Look, I’m really not in the mood for another one of your fatherly lectures. Gally gave me something. End of story.”
“No — not end of story. We lost Vince. I know why he really came here.” Beckett watched as Joan turned back to the crate and began to place the medicine bottles on an empty shelf.
She paused. “If you know why then why are you so bothered by it?”
“Because he’s only using you, Joanie,” Beckett sighed, “You’re too kind to him. He’ll only hurt you.”
“Kindness is a strength, I think.” She turned to face him now, arms crossed and tears forgotten. “One that you’ve apparently forgotten.”
“All I’m saying is that I’m seeing a whole lot of receiving and not a lot of giving.”
The sigh Joan released sounded nearly defeated, her back to him as she went back to sorting. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Beckett?”
“Yeah. Guess so.” He finally accepted defeat as he turned from the door of the supply closet. “See ya later, Joanie.”
His footsteps echoed through the medical wing as he left. Joan listened until they disappeared before she pulled the book back out of her pocket. A hand passed over the cover revealed the title: Till We Have Faces. Gally didn’t have a soft spot for anyone. He was a great leader. Tough as nails. But when he was with Joan he melted. And he gave so much more than anyone could ever know.
After dinner was finished Joan made sure the night medic was all set to go before heading to her room for the night. Abnormally, her door was shut when she arrived. When she pushed it open with a creak, she saw Gally standing by her bed with his hands in his sweater pockets.
“Joanie,” he spoke her name softly, too softly, as she shut the door behind herself.
The grief, like a wave, pulled her back under and she was a sobbing mess. Her face pinched in anguish as fresh tears rolled from her eyes and her shoulders shook. Her fists curled her sleeves over her hands as Gally crossed the room in only a few strides. Circling his arms around her shoulders he drew her into his chest, her mournful cries muffled against him. After a minute he easily picked her up and carried her to the bed, sitting down with her in his lap.
Joan screamed in agony for her friend and Gally let her, let her do whatever she needed to. And all the while he was running his fingers through her hair and rubbing soothing circles into her thigh. Vince was a big part of their lives. He always had been. And now he was gone.
Once she had quieted down, Gally spoke in a hoarse whisper, “I’m gonna miss him.”
“Me too.” Fresh tears bubbled up to the surface of Joan’s eyes.
“Remember when we caught him sneaking biscuits out of the kitchen?”
“Yeah.” Joan wiped at her face, “I remember you were so mad at him. But then he tried to bribe us with biscuits to keep quiet.”
“I still can’t believe you took the bribe,” Gally chuckled.
“I can never turn down a biscuit. And — and Vince was always so sweet.” She tilted her head up to look him in the face for a moment, studying the freckles on his nose and the curve of his mouth before whispering, “Will you read to me?”
Gally looked over to the small stack of books on the table by her bed, nine in total in varying shapes and conditions, “Which one would you like?”
“The one about marriage.” She laid her head back down on his chest when he pulled the correct book from the pile. “About being happy.”
And so he began to read:
“Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her … “
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#the maze runner#tmr#the death cure#gally tmr#tmr gally#gally x oc#gally imagine#gally fic#gally fanfic#gally fanfiction#the maze runner imagine#the maze runner fic#the maze runner fanfic#the maze runner fanfiction#tmr imagine#tmr fic#tmr fanfic#tmr fanfiction#tmr oc#will poulter#gally x joan#oc community#ocapp#oc appreciation#oc fanfiction#oc: joan#fic: the power of suffering#fd: the maze runner
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The World is Corrupted - TMR REWRITE Chapter Seven
[TMR REWRITE-MASTERLIST]
Previous Chapter / Next Chapter
Summary: The safe haven that they had been promised was not exactly what the group of friends had expected and after the truth behind their saviors came to light, Thomas led them all across the scorchs, ignoring Janson’s warnings about the outside world. Everything had fallen to ruins but they had to keep going, and get to safety from those who wished them harm, under the guise of benevolence.
Words: 4.7k
Warnings: TMR Scorch Trials spoilers, Janson AKA Rat man, needles, restrains, angst, some violence, blood, escape, cranks, decaying flesh, mention of suicide
Grace tried to struggle as best as she could and get out of the guard's grip, but he grabbed her free hand and held them behind her back to restrain her and she had to resign herself as he led her through a maze of corridors, all looking the same, bright lights hanging from the ceiling. The strangest thing in all this was that the guard was absolutely not taking her in the same direction than the other teenagers that got their names called a moment ago and it made her think, maybe they just wanted to do a few more tests with her blood or something, not that it was any better than getting her body put under a tarpaulin and brought to that room Aris showed her and Thomas just the night prior. Seeing that she calmed down and was being a little more compliant and under control, the guard let go of one of her arm, still holding the other one pretty tightly and she thought that if she kept behaving this way, maybe at some point there might be a window of opportunity for her to try to escape and reunite with Thomas and the others and ultimately, get out of this forsaken place. This was the goal; get the fuck out of here but right now, she had to keep full possession of her faculties to succeed in slipping away from them when the right time would come.
The guard stopped in front of a door, swiped his access card to the side and it opened with a long beep. Inside, a few doctors were already busying themselves with vials and such, here and there and a woman turned to them as they entered. She gave a smile to Grace, but the teenager could see that it wasn’t genuine, but she just let the guard lead her further into the room as the door closed shut behind them with the same beep, meaning it was now locked.
“We just need to run a few more tests, and then you can join the others.” The weirdly gentle tone of her voice made Grace uneasy. She nodded and the guard exchanged a few words with them as she sat down on a bed to the side of the room, and he left. She was trapped in this room with three doctors; the woman that addressed her seemed to be kind of in charge of the two others but as Grace was observing her surroundings, she was still very much unsure as to how to get rid of the three of them and make her escape. Right now, she had to make them think she was really oblivious as to whatever they were going to do to her, and really, she was because she had no idea what was actually going on in their minds but what she wasn’t oblivious to, was the fact that it was certainly not for her own good like they pretended it was. She was watching them, seated on the edge of the bed and one of the other two doctors, a man, approached her and asked her to reach out her arm and roll up the sleeve of her t-shirt. She obliged and he put a tourniquet around her arm that he tightened, and he clipped it so that it woudn’t move and the veins in the crook of her elbow would raise. He then came back with a needle and filled half a dozen vials with her blood, which he then stored on a plate on a metal roller tray and pushed it aside while the woman gave him more instructions. It was all scientific gibberish that Grace didn’t understand so she looked at the third doctor as he looked at a sample of her blood through the microscope, or she guessed it was what he was doing.
When an alarm suddenly went off in the building, Grace subtly loosened the tourniquet, unclipping it from around her arm and she pulled the needle out. She remained very quiet and discreet, taking advantage of the fact that the three doctors had their backs turned to her, so she slowly got up, the needle in her hand, a thin stream of blood flowing down her arm, she looked around and grabbed a pair of scissors from a tray. She had to get the access card of one of them in order to get out, knowing that she would have to get physical. She set her sights on the doctor closest to her and reached out to grab his neck, holding the scissors up to his throat. The two other physicians jumped on their feet; their eyes widened.
“Open the door.” Grace ordered, trying to keep her voice from shaking from the stress and fear she was feeling.
“Put the scissors down, girl. You don’t want to do this.” The man she was holding tried to convince her to let go of him, but she put the scissor blades closer to his glottis and he gulped, holding his head up.
“No, I don’t. Just fucking let me out of here.” She said through her teeth, her jaw clenched. When the woman held up her card to her, Grace had to act and think quicker than ever; she threw the man onto the one standing near the microscope and in a haste, grabbed the card, threatening the woman with the scissors so she would stay away, and she opened the door and ran down the hallway. In the corridors, a red emergency light, like a rotating beacon light, was illuminating the place, the alarm still going strong and after a minute, she stopped in her tracks, panting and looked around her, the pair of scissors still in her hand. She was relieved she got away from the doctors without actually hurting or killing anyone but now, she had to find her friends and brother and thought that in order to do so, she needed to get to Teresa, wherever she was and if they weren’t already on their way to get her and in that case, she would probably run into them… maybe. When she heard heavy footsteps coming her way, she held her breath and stood behind the wall and waited a second for them to pass. She then started running again, not really knowing where she was going and she gasped, almost letting out a scream when someone suddenly stood in her way. She held the scissors in front of her but eased up upon seeing it was Minho.
“Are you okay?” He looked down at the blood on her arm, worried and she nodded. The others arrived a second later and Thomas noticed her, and he couldn’t look more relieved to see his sister. Teresa was with them too.
“They’re coming.” Newt warned them and they ran off, eventually getting to a long corridor with a hangar door at the end. He tried passing it next to digicode thing to get it to open but it kept beeping, and the door remained closed.
“Thomas!” Janson’s voice rose at the other end of the hallway, and they turned their heads to him. He had a whole squad marching behind him. While the others stood there, almost glued to the door, Thomas walked in his direction, holding up the gun he had picked up.
“Open this door, Janson!” The latter held up his hands.
“You really don’t want me to.”
“Open the damn door!” Thomas then yelled. Minho kept trying to open the door with the access card and Grace suddenly thought of the pass she stole from the other doctor. She realized she didn’t have it in her hands anymore, so she slowly looked down, patting the pockets of her pants.
“Listen to me! I’m trying to save your life. The maze is one thing, but you kids wouldn’t last one day out in the Scorch.” Janson tried reasoning with them. When Grace felt the card beneath her fingers, she pulled it out and Minho let her try to open the door with it. Her hands were shaking. “If the elements don’t kill you, the Cranks will. Thomas, you have to believe me. I only want what’s best for you.”
“Yeah, let me guess. WICKED is good?” Thomas’ question led to a heavy silence from Janson and Grace couldn’t help but glance over her shoulders. It was indeed WCKD that brought them here and kept them locked up. Janson shook his head with a smirk. He just dropped the “caring director” act.
“You’re not getting through that door, Thomas.” Just when he finished his sentence, the door buzzed and opened upwards. In the hangar on the other side were Winston and Aris.
“Hey, guys.”
“Come on!” Siggy urged them and they joined their two friends.
“Thomas! Come on! Let’s go!” Newt called. Thomas then tried to fire at Janson, he only hit the shields the guards held in front of them until the gun clicked and he threw it at them before sprinting towards the hangar. Grace widened her eyes when the door started to close and she called out to Thomas, joined in by everyone else. She felt like she stopped breathing and gasped loudly when she saw her brother throw himself under the door, sliding on his back just a second before the door closed completely and Minho and Newt instinctively reached for Thomas and helped him up.
“Move! Move!” Aris jogged to the door and hit the digicode on their side, so they couldn’t open the door and get to them. Janson and two guards came up to the door, enraged. Elecricity crackled as they tried to get the vault door to open. Grace was standing next to Thomas, and he put a hand on her shoulder, reassured that she was there, and the two siblings stared at Janson through the small rectangular window on the door and he flipped him the bird before Minho urged them to come. They didn’t waste any more time and ran away with their friends. The thin and dried line of blood on her arm slightly pulled on her skin as she moved but there were more urgent things to care about, like getting out of this place, and they were doing just that. Now that they got past Janson and a few of his men, their chances of survival got higher, and their determination too. They reached the huge door through which they came a few days ago and Thomas immidietaly grabbed the lever, pulling on it before stepping back. The door hissed and opened. There was a strong wind blowing outside.
"Come on! Come on!” Thomas prompted them and they ran out before the guards got to them. The group was already climbing up the dunes in front of the building when they looked for them around the entrance. Cars were being driven out and they could hear the soldiers yell to each other to find them. “Come on, go! Go! We’ll lose them in the storm!” They went a little further and all lied down on the sand, letting the vehicles pass in the distance until Thomas spoke. “Everybody, go, go, go. Stay low.” Starting by crawling away, they got up and ran the other way.
“Where are we even going?” Minho inquired, confused as they reached the windowed roof of a building buried deep into the sand. One of the windows was broken and Teresa jumped in. Thomas got scared and called out to her, but she was fine and told them to join her down there, so they didn’t wait around and slid down the sand, really struggling to keep their balance as they got down. Breathing heavily, they looked around and Minho turned on his flashlight, sweeping the surroundings with the beam. The place was in ruins. He turned to his friends. “Where the hell are we?”
“We gotta go.” Thomas motioned for them to come along, and Minho went to follow him when Teresa rose her voice.
“Thomas, stop!” The two young men went to a halt. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s WICKED. They lied to us. We never escaped. Me and Aris, we found bodies. Too many to count.” Grace silently sighed, understanding that behind the door Aris showed them, there were indeed bodies, and she was probably lucky they didn’t bring her there; or maybe they were planning to take her there, but she had escaped first.
“What do you mean? Dead bodies?” Minho wondered.
“No, but they weren’t alive either.” Thomas seemed perturbed by what he had seen with Aris. “They had them strung up. With tubes coming out of them. They were being… they were being drained. There’s something inside of us that WICKED wants. Something in our blood.” Grace frowned, looking down at the blood on her arm and the tiny hole left by the needle. They still had the vials filled with her blood and she had no idea what could be so priceless in it, or why they had to take so much from her. “So, we have to get as far away drom them as possible.”
“Okay. So, what’s the plan?” Newt asked, hands on his hips, catching his breath. “You do have a plan, right?”
“Yeah. I don’t know.” He shrugged.
“Well, we followed you out here, Thomas. And now you’re saying that you have no idea where we’re going or what we’re doing.”
“Wait.” Aris spoke, staring into space, thinking. “Janson said something about people hiding in the mountains. Some kind of resistance or army.”
“The Right Arm.” Thomas added, looking up at Minho and Newt. The latter wasn’t very convinced by all this and seemed rather annoyed. “The Right Arm. If they’re really against WICKED, maybe they can help us.”
“People. In the mountains. Mountain people. That’s your plan?”
“It’s the only chance we have.” He replied softly.
“Hey, guys.” Winston’s voice rose behind Thomas, and he turned around. “Check this out. Minho, give me a light.” Minho approached and kneeled down next to him, and the beam of the flashlight revealed trails of footprints in the sand. “Someone’s been down here.”
Cautiously and in religious silence, Minho and Winston got to their feet and the group moved forward into the premises, on the lookout. Grace couldn’t stop thinking about the doctors and what they were going to do with all the blood they drew. She didn’t even think of it when she tried to escape and now thought that she should have destroyed it before leaving but she had no idea that they actually wanted something inside of it. But what also troubled her was why they draw blood only from her, or at least, she didn’t know if they did the same with Teresa or any of the others. Thomas had seen the blood on her arm so he would probably bring it up to her at some point, or she would, because she started to feel the need to get it off her chest. They walked further in the building and Minho approached a door. He looked inside with his flashlight and noticed a bunch of water jugs and he and a few others helped him roll up the door.
“Looks like people lived here.” Minho observed, picking up a piece of clothing from a mattress. Teresa and Grace approached a counter and found a couple of flashlights lying there while Siggy found a bigger lamp he held up in front of him.
“Where are they now?” Newt wondered.
“Let’s pack some of this stuff up.” Thomas concluded, putting on a jacket. “Anything you think you might need. We’ll split up, see what else we can find. Meet back here.”
“Wait, Thomas.” Newt gave him the flashlight he found, and Minho then walked away with Thomas and Aris. Grace sighed, looking around with her flashlight. She couldn’t stop wondering about what kind of tests the doctors would run with her blood and she couldn’t understand what they wanted with them, what was so special about her, or any of the others. She put the flashlight down on the counter, the beam illuminating her, and she scratched the dry blood off her skin. She then grabbed the light, glancing at the others and walked around the room, imitating them and after she found a dusty but empty bag, she took it and started filling it up with stuff that she believed could be useful to them, trying not to think of anything. A few minutes later, all the lamps and fairy lights hanging around in the building suddenly came on and they all looked up in surprise and confusion. They walked out of the room, holding their bags and just looking around, wondering what was going on until they heard Thomas shout in the distance and worriedly stared in his direction as he and Minho arrived, running at full speed towards them, calling out to them. A second later, they all understood why they had to run; a whole horde of cranks, screeching and rattling came running after them. They climbed up some stairs in a haste, some were panicking, asking questions without ever stopping, the beams of their flashlights just going crazy, swaying in all directions.
On the upper floor, they got in front of another crank. Aris brandished what he was holding in his hand and rushed towards the creature. He hit him in the knees, and he threw himself forward, splitting the group in two. The cranks were coming from all around them, it was very overwhelming, and they had a hard time knowing where to look, just shouting indistinctly at one another. Grace and the others ran the other way, urged by Thomas to go around while he and Teresa were stuck in the stairs. They eventually all reunited and ran forward, just trying to find a way out before the creatures caught up with them. Grace kicked in something lying on the ground and lost her balance, almost falling down if it weren’t for Thomas who ran next to her. He grabbed her arm, glancing over his shoulder, Newt right after them.
“Newt!” They all yelled out to him when a crank jumped out a window and pinned him down. He called for help, struggling until Thomas rushed to him, kicking the creature off the edge, freeing Newt. Grace grabbed his hands and helped him up in a haste and they looked at the dozens of cranks coming their way, with wide eyes as they started running again.
“Through here! Through here! Come on, let’s go! They’re coming!” Minho led them through an opened grid on the side.
“Guys, where are we going?” Newt asked as they ran, breathing heavily. The creatures were already following them in the corridor they took when Thomas stopped at a door and tried to get it open, but it was closed and the cranks were getting dangerously close to them, so they resumed their run, not having even a single second to catch their breath.
“It’s a dead end!” Minho exclaimed.
“This one!” Thomas found a door and he and Minho started violently kicking and nudging it to break the lock.
“I’ll hold them back!” Winston declared as the creatures approached. He aimed his gun towards them and shot a few of these monsters down. “Get that door open!”
“Move!”
“Come on, Frypan!” Minho encouraged and their friend rushed in the door, finally knocking the lock off its hinges and opening the door. “Come on, it’s open!”
“Everyone through! Come on! Come on!” Thomas then urged the group. When he followed them, a crank seized Winston’s ankle and made him fall flat on the ground, and he screamed as he was dragged. He held onto the door, crying out for help. Minho and Thomas tried keeping the door from opening and letting all the cranks follow them through while Newt and Fry pulled him away but a crank digged his nails into his stomach and scratched him very deeply. Thomas then urged everyone to go right away, holding the door on his own before and the moment he left his post, the cranks started storming through the door. The group reached a non-lit area and hid in silence under large rubbles, listening to the snarling of the cranks as they ran past, just looking at each other, shushing and making sure their flashlights were turned off, holding their breath.
Grace opened her eyes, kind of waking up with a start when Thomas started yelling at a crow picking at stuff hanging out of one of their bags. They had spent the night in their hiding spots and now realized they weren’t in the building’s ruins anymore; they were literally outside. Grace rubbed her eyes, and imitated Thomas as he looked around, but she remained seated next to Teresa still lying down, while he got on his feet.
“Are they gone?” Newt inquired, leaning on his elbow.
“Yeah, I think we’re safe for now.” He picked up his bag. “Okay, we should get moving. Let’s pack it up. Aris, come on. Fry, Winston, let’s go.” Grace stood up, giving a hand to a still sleepy Teresa who was just emerging out of her sleep, and she helped her up. They then climbed up the rubbles and looked in the distance to the city expanding in front of them, hundreds of skyscrapers in ruins, just decaying there. They kept walking, crossing the remains of the past.
“What the hell happened to this place?” Fry wondered.
“I don’t know.” Newt replied. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a long time. I hope the whole world’s not like this.”
“Whoaa, hang on, stop.” Thomas spoke and they all turned to him. “You hear that?” Everyone listened carefully, pricking up their ears and the sound of a whirring aircraft reached their ears as it got louder and closer. “Get down! Everybody hide! Hide! Get in there. Here!” They all crouched down and hid beneath the rubbles and watched an aircraft along with two helicopters passing over their heads.
“They’re never gonna stop looking for us, are they?” Minho wondered in a sigh as they slowly got out of hiding, resuming their walk across the ruined city. It took them a good few hours to climb up and down the high and large piles of rubbles and they walked up a dune, their feet sinking in the sand, Thomas encouraging them to keep going. Once they reached the top, they could see even more ruins just stretching before their eyes but in the distance, far ahead of them were the mountains they wanted to reach. They were all exhausted, burning up under the sun.
“Those mountains, that’s gotta be it.” He pointed in front of him. “That’s where we’re going.”
“That’s a long way off.” Newt said.
“Then we better get moving.” Right after he finished talking, Winston let go of his bag, took a step forward and fell to the ground. They all rushed, kneeling around him and he gasped continuously, his eyes closed. The bandage they put around his stomach was soaked in dark blood.
“What do we do?” Teresa inquired, watching Thomas stand up as he looked towards the mountains, thinking while Newt tried talking to Winston but got no response from him. They made a makeshift stretcher with stuff they had taken from the building and branches they gathered and Minho and Siggy dragged him across the desert, breathing heavily and grunting at the effort. After a while, the wind picked up, blowing sand in their faces as they tried to shield themselves with their hands and some clothing they had scavenged, coughing loudly. They eventually found shelter and settled there, and the wind died down as well. Teresa and Grace were sat down near Winston, watching his chest frantically. He was doing worse since they escaped from the horde of cranks. When Teresa stood up, Grace looked at her and observed her take a few steps in Thomas’ direction before following her. It was certainly the time for her to discuss with Thomas about what happened with WICKED, and this whole conversation about their blood that still bothered her.
“It’s like they’re getting further away.” Teresa observed, staring at the mountains.
“We just gotta keep moving. We can make it.”
“How’s it looking?” Newt’s voice echoed from their shelter and Thomas glanced at him.
“It’s a little further.” He then brought his gaze to Teresa again and noticed she was holding the back of her neck with her hand. “Hey, what’s going on with you?”
“They did something to me.” She grabbed her hair swept it to the side, benting her head forward. Thomas frowned in concern and stepped towards her, taking a look at her neck and so did Grace. There were strange drawings. Thomas shared a wondering glance with his sister, listening to Teresa talking. “At first it just felt like I was waking up from a dream or something. Then they all started coming back.”
“Your memories?” Grace asked, voicing the question both her and Thomas had, and she nodded.
“What do you remember?”
“I remember the first time they brought you two in.” She had a soft smile on her face. “I was taller than you then. And faster.”
“Okay.” He chuckled.
“And I remember why we were there. We thought we could fix all this.” She paused, her gaze losing itself into space and she closed her eyes for an instant before looking at Thomas and Grace again. “I think we should go back.”
“What?” Grace reacted, frowning.
“Just… Just listen to me.”
“What are you talking about? Go back?” He cut her off. “After everything they’ve done to us.”
“It’s not that simple.” She shook her head.
“Yeah, I think it is that simple.” Thomas retorted and Teresa kept insisting, trying to convince them of the opposite.
“No, you don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?” He motioned at Grace and him. “What don’t we understand?”
“Everything was fine until you…” She sighed, shaking her head. “Nothing.”
“Teresa, what aren’t you telling me?” Before she could answer his question, they heard a gunshot coming from the group and one of them yelling. Newt called out to them, and Thomas, Grace and Teresa ran back to them instantly. They put aside the conversation they just had and arrived. Everyone was confused and all over the place.
“What happened?” Teresa inquired.
“I don’t know.” Siggy shrugged. “He just woke up and grabbed the gun and then he tried to…”
“Give it back, please.” Winston begged, on his knees. Thomas took a step towards him when he suddenly threw up, coughing hard. He fell backwards and as he breathed with difficulty, he pulled up his shirt, looking down. “It’s growing… inside me.” His whole chest was getting kind of raw and blackening, the flesh very red and prominent veins. It was honestly pretty gross, and they all felt for him, shocked at the sight. “I’m not gonna make it. Please… please. Don’t let me turn into one of those things.” Newt took the gun from Siggy and softly put it in Winston’s hand. “Thank you. Now, get outta here.”
“Goodbye, Winston.” Newt stood up and walked away, his face down. Each of them said their goodbyes and Teresa, Thomas and Grace glanced at each other in this heavy and emotional silence. Grace went to follow the others when she noticed her brother wasn’t moving an inch, unable to take his eyes off his dying friend and with tears in his eyes, he apologized for leaving him in this condition and picked up his bag. As he was about to leave with Grace, Winston called out his name one last time, to ask him to take care of all of them. Grace watched the two, biting her lips and wiping away a tear that beaded in the corner of her eye. Thomas nodded and the two siblings followed their friends across the dunes, in silence when suddenly, a gunshot echoed through the desert and they came to a halt at the sound.
[To be continued…]
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Published (10/17/2022) by Andrea
Taglist: @cathrin2405 @kika64
#the maze runner#the maze runner spoilers#The Maze Runner trilogy#the maze runner scorch trials#tmr scorch trials#tmr scorch trials spoilers#the maze runner scorch trials spoilers#TMR fanfiction#scorch trials rewrite#tmr jansen#tmr teresa#tmr oc#the maze runner minho#tmr original character#the maze runner original character#the maze runner rewrite#the maze runner scorch trials rewrite#tmr thomas#tmr thomas' sister#the maze runner thomas#thomas' x oc!sister#tmr newt#tmr minho#tmr siggy#tmr frypan#tmr wicked#tmr winston
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I've decided to change Hertz' face claim to Cole Sprouse
Rest assured, I'll still be using Alexander Calvert as a face claim of my side OC in Teen Wolf
#aerith speaks#aerith satos ooc-ness#oc community#oc hub#ocappreciation#ocapp#the maze runner oc#tmr oc#tmr hertz#hertz wallace
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༒•𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐭 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞•༒
Tom Riddle x Fem! Reader x Draco Malfoy
Genre: Pure filth.
Summary: You're caught touching yourself in the Dark Lord's office by Draco Malfoy. What will your punishment be? Will Tom Riddle be merciful?
Warning: Minors DNI! Overstimulation. Fingering. Dumbification. Degradation. Tom teasing you. Tom being "gentle". Spit kink. Dom! Tom. Mafia!Tom if you squint. Dom!Draco. Slut shaming. Dubcon.
Photos aren't mine.
-> ༒•𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟•༒
You let out a deep sigh, sinking deeper into the currents of pleasure.
Your fingers gently ran up and down your folds, your eyes trained on the empty seat across the desk, where he always sat.
“This isn’t what our Dark Lord pays you to do, Y/L/N.”
You jumped up from your seat, pulling down on your skirt. You turned on your heels to find the spoiled arse kisser, leaning against the wall, sneering.
You felt your cheeks burn. Stammering, you still found the courage to say, “None of your business, Malfoy.”
Malfoy’s eyes stirred in an amused surprise at your apparent refusal to admit to the crime.
“Really?” a raise of a brow. Malfoy took slow, steady steps towards you. “Well, as a lieutenant general, I’d say whatever happens in this office has got everything to do with me.”
Your nostrils flared stubbornly, “A shame you have no proof—, wha, what are you doing?!”
It was then that Malfoy’s wand quickly moved to push you down on Mr. Riddle’s desk, your wrists held together in a tight rope.
Malfoy tilted his head in an exaggerated ponder as he ran his slick index finger down your folds, eliciting a suppressed shudder out of you.
Malfoy observed the string of cum that formed in between his thumb and index finger. “I believe I do,” a low chuckle.
Malfoy pulled up the hem of your skirt, exposing your bare ass. He gasped dramatically at the lack of panties, “Have you been walking around like this?”
He ran his hand down your cheek. “Didn’t know you were such a naughty girl, Y/L/N,” he breathed out.
He grabbed at your ass before giving it a slap. You gasped, a subdermal burning sensation ran over you. Another slap to the other cheek. Then another.
You bit down on your lips and angled your head to send him a resentful look.
Draco Malfoy only cackled at the sight, throwing his head back. “Don’t look at me, Y/L/N.” He grabbed at your hair, pulling your head back towards him for him to whisper into your ear. “You’re the one who broke into Our Lord’s office.”
You caught sight of the wicked grin spread across Malfoy's lips as he sent another blow to your cheek. You let out a suppressed moan.
“Enjoying this, are we?” Malfoy sneered, his ensuing blows only getting quicker and rougher.
You shifted your weight between your legs, subconsciously wanting to cause friction between your thighs. However, the blond was quick to catch you in the act.
“No no,” he slapped away at the inside of your thighs, causing you to spread apart for him. “This is supposed to be a punishment, Y/L/N.”
Malfoy produced a plug for a good measure, pushing it into you. His silver eyes peered into you, his lips widening into a smirk, “Wouldn’t want a half-blood cum staining Our Lord’s office,” his hand tapped on your cheek.
It was then that you two heard a click on the office door. You arched your head back and felt your knees wobble underneath your weight at the sight, even with the support of the desk.
Mr. Tom Riddle had poked his head into the office, his curious eyes darting around in search of the source of the noise before they settled on you. His dark hair ruffled from travel, his tired eyes captured you bent over his office desk with reddened arse on full display. A brief shock flashed across his eyes.
“Draco?” his eyes narrowed on you with an amused smirk slowly making its way to his lips. “What is the meaning of this?”
Draco pulled you up against him, turning you around to face the one and only Lord Voldemort. Your breath hitched in your throat when Malfoy’s arm swung across your throat, effectively holding you in place against him. You fought against his grip, to no avail.
“Caught her sneaking into your office, sir,” he hissed. Malfoy’s biceps pulsed as his arm tightened around you, tightening around your airway. Your lips pursed.
With your arms tied at your back, all you could do was fight against Malfoy’s strong arm with violent twists of your torso, as Tom Riddle continued to take slow but deliberate steps toward you.
However, it wasn’t Malfoy’s command under his breath to stay still, nor the office door that Tom Riddle locked behind him, that caused you to freeze. No. It was Tom Riddle’s piercing eyes.
Once again, you felt your knees give a weak wobble underneath you as his eyes captured you fully, his eyes briefly lingering on the hem of your office skirt that was still flipped in the corner. You were caught with an urge to correct your appearance, salute, or run away from the spot like crazy all at the same time. In the end, all you could do was stay frigid like prey caught in the headlight.
“I was punishing her, sir,” you were certain that the voice of Malfoy, even that confident Malfoy, wavered in the presence of the Dark Lord. “She was touching herself, you see.”
An amused smile spread on the Dark Lord’s lips as he rounded around the office desk. “Is that so?” a quirk of a brow.
Malfoy shifted his feet and turned towards Tom Riddle, now sitting and leaning back in his comfortable leather chair. For a brief second, his eyes flickered to the top of his desk with a nudge of his chin.
Malfoy understood that command perfectly and pushed you forward, forcing you to climb onto the large office desk. Your knees scraped against the wooden surface as Malfoy inched you closer to the Dark Lord. Your toes wobbled underneath you, whether from the weight or from the nerves, you did not know. Malfoy’s arm still locked your throat against him.
“Her name?” he murmured. You felt a shiver run down your spine as Tom Riddle’s eyes grazed over from head to toe, like sampling you on a starter dish.
“Y/L/N, sir,” you heard Malfoy from a little above your right ear.
Tom Riddle only hummed. He leaned forward in his seat, the creak of the chair’s wheel the only sound in the silent room. The air was tense as strings strung across the room, the strained lines enough to shred you. Tom Riddle seemed to be contemplating what to do with you as his hands steepled in front of his lips.
Suddenly, his right hand stirred. The hand reached over to you, closing the distance between you two. Slowly, his hand snaked its way towards your core, exposed to the air underneath the single layer of your skirt. You fidgeted against Malfoy’s grip, but it was no use. His right arm only wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer against him.
Your breath hitched at the cold touch of Tom Riddle’s fingers. Perhaps he was truly cold-blooded as the rumours said, or it was simply because he had been travelling in the frigid air of winter London. His fingers were cold as ice as they danced over the skin of your folds.
You gave out a shuddered breath when Tom Riddle pulled out the plug from within you. The metallic object, now coated with your arousal, shone in his fingers.
Tom Riddle raised a brow at you, most likely intended at Malfoy behind you.
“Didn’t want her half-blood cum on your desk, sir,” you were certain you heard Malfoy stammer.
The Dark Lord hummed and placed the plug on his desk. His hand proceeded to glide over your exposed thighs. His brows furrowed at the reddened areas inside your thighs, sure to turn into a nasty bruise. “This is no way to treat a lady, Draco…”
“But her half-blood–” Malfoy’s persistent objection barely reached the Dark Lord’s ears as his fingers grazed across your sensitive skin, marked by a warm, soft sensation of a feather running its way over your bruises.
“Pure or impure,” Tom Riddle’s voice was more stern than usual as his hand retreated, content with the outcome of his healing spell. “You’ll find that sometimes giving your subordinates what they desire would be the simplest solution.”
Malfoy was lost with words, unsure of what he was getting at. You, also confused, narrowed your eyes down at his enigmatic expression. Your chest heaving anxiously under Malfoy’s arm in short bursts.
“You kept picturing me and you just couldn’t help it, correct?” Tom Riddle’s soft voice somewhat alleviated your concern. At least he seemed to be in an understanding and forgiving mood.
You nodded.
The Dark Lord gave a low, dry chuckle. “I know,” he murmured. He caught you by surprise when his left hand grabbed at your head, forcing you to look down.
Tom Riddle watched two of his slender fingers plunge into you, slowly disappearing. “Oh, I know you can take two,” he breathed out as you struggled against Malfoy’s arms. “You were just masturbating for fuck’s sake.”
You watched his slender, cool fingers penetrate you, breathing out a long sigh of ecstasy when his fingers reached the depth you usually find impossible to reach. His fingers got accustomed to your warmth soon enough.
“This is one tight cunt,” a gravelly chuckle, “Would like to try you out sometime.”
You let out a moan at the Dark Lord’s fingers that started prodding at your gspot. Your shoulders shuddered.
“Cumming already, hm?” a hint of amusement behind his mocking voice.
Your eyes glazed over, feeling your heavy head dropping in a few nods. “Please, please, pretty please,” words poured out of you involuntarily, “I need to cum,” your desperate eyes caught the Dark Lord’s, pleading.
Tom Riddle pulled down on your head even further, using the momentum to push his fingers further into you. “Cum, then,” he spat out.
You felt a jolt coursing through your entire being as you drew in a sharp breath. Your scream was muffled by Malfoy’s quick hand that covered your airways. You came down from your high with a few more jabs into you, your breathing heavy.
“Let’s get this out of the way,” came Tom Riddle’s voice hushed in excitement.
Soon enough, Malfoy obeyed; he let go of your airway, causing you to draw in a sharp breath, to tug at your blouse. The buttons burst, exposing your breasts snug in your bra. The buttons rolled off into the distance with a metallic clink.
You, still numb from the orgasm, just let Malfoy’s hands roam over your breasts. Here and there, he gave a few squeezes. You felt him hardening against your back.
Tom Riddle did not give you much of a break before his fingers went in for a second round. One of Malfoy’s hands reached up to your bare neck. His fingers wrapped around your throat. You gulped, suddenly conscientious of your overly vulnerable neck in his strong grip.
“Fuck,” your eyes rolled back at the Dark Lord who added another finger.
“Hey,” Your eyes, however, were forced open by a light slap to your cheek, “Your eyes open.” It was Malfoy’s stern voice.
His grip hardened around your throat, causing you to swallow hard. Your left eye twitched, fighting to gain back your control.
“Look how pretty she is,” you heard Tom Riddle’s jovial voice from somewhere in front of you, “Don’t you think, Draco?”
Through your fluttering eyes, you caught Malfoy’s lips twisting into a sinister smirk. “I do like the view from up here,” he murmured. His eyes flickered up to Tom Riddle. “I think she’s getting there again,” he said nonchalantly, constricting his restraint around your convulsion.
Tom Riddle tutted as he leaned further into you, “This girl just loves to cum, doesn’t she?” His chocolate eyes dashed around the ceiling as if searching for something inside you.
“Fuck,” you spluttered out as your eyes widened at the spot Tom Riddle had managed to find.
“Oh, that’s your spot, is it?” a sardonic voice from the Dark Lord. “Then it should only take you a few more…” he said over your quickening breathing.
Your lips parted, ready to scream out the Dark Lord’s real name. But, Malfoy’s right hand reached up to your mouth, stuffing your mouth with his fingers. Your tongue enveloped his slender fingers, eliciting a restrained moan from the blond.
You moaned loudly into his finger as you came undone, water splashing out of you in a downpour.
You thought you heard the two men laughing in the distance. Your downcast eyes caught sight of the mess you had made on the mahogany office desk. Your lips trembled at the drenched parchments, Tom Riddle’s neat handwriting barely legible with the bleeding ink.
“You just had to get all your half-blood cum onto my documents, did you?” through the ringing in your ears, you thought you heard Tom Riddle chuckle, shaking the water off of his fingers.
But above all, Tom Riddle’s eyes, driven mad with excitement, staring up at you. His eyes hungrily took you in, from your forehead beading with sweat, your hair matted with exhaustion, your breasts exposed and vulnerable, to your cunt, still dripping water.
“Open,” Tom Riddle’s voice was strangely calm despite his dilated irises. His eyes flickered to your mouth for a brief moment.
You obeyed, letting Malfoy’s fingers drop out of you. You opened your mouth wide for the Dark Lord, spreading your tongue out as well.
The Dark Lord’s fingers were slightly longer than Draco Malfoy’s, you noticed, as he plunged his fingers deep into your throat. You gagged helplessly, feeling the drool pool around your mouth, Malfoy’s strong grip holding your head and neck in place for the Dark Lord.
“Clean your filth off of your Lord.” Tom Riddle whispered close to you, obsessively watching you through his eyelashes, as you struggled to swallow him up. So close you could feel his warm, aroused breathing tingling on your skin.
The Dark Lord was taking his time with your throat, feeling it constrict and expand around his fingers. “I’ll have to fuck that throat of yours some time, Y/L/N…” he sunk into the pleasurable dream as he sighed deeply into the sensation.
Your chest was tightening, asking for air. You felt Malfoy’s hand against your stirring throat. Your eyes flickered panickedly between the Dark Lord and the Blond, both eyes boring into you as you gasped silently for air. Unfortunately, both seemed to be enjoying the sight far too much to care about your oxygen level.
His grip tightened around your throat. “Shhh… a bit more…” Malfoy’s hushed voice next to your ear trailed away.
You blinked slowly, willing yourself to stay focused. Your vision was darkening, however. The two men’s beautiful yet indifferent faces, peering down at you. The Black Prince and the White Knight… your mind echoed as you felt yourself drifting into sleep.
You were suddenly brought back awake with the sound of your own lungs taking in the air. You blinked rapidly, noticing your chest heaving for air, small pats on your cheek as Malfoy congratulated you well done.
Tom Riddle, however, was back to business. His fingers, strung to you with your cum and saliva, smeared the drool around your face. His fingers dove back into your cunt.
“Spit,” Tom Riddle commanded, taking his fingers a few centimetres out of you.
You obeyed, aiming for the fingers down below. You watched the drop slowly make its way down your breasts. Noticing that the spit was never going to make it down the bra and the skirt, Tom Riddle sighed, and spat on the fingers himself.
And just like that, the fingers were back hitting that spot again. You snapped your head from left to right, trying to clear the fog. The lewd sound of liquid and rattling desk echoing the room.
“We’ll have to get all that filth out of you,” Tom Riddle reached deeper with a grunt. A blush rose to your cheeks when you realised that he was referring to your water that squirted all over his desk.
You nodded. With the way the men looked at you splashing, it was easy to believe that it was all filth you had up in there, and that indeed, you had to get rid of it.
You managed to wheeze through your clenched teeth, “Malfoy,” his eyes flickered down to you. “Choke me,” you pleaded.
Malfoy snickered. “How easily you turn into a slut,” he murmured and shook his head. He rolled his eyes, but still, he complied, his lazy hand wrapping around your throat. You moaned blissfully. It felt right; a deserving punishment for a slut like yourself, you decided.
Tom Riddle was getting rougher, you noticed. With the new objective in mind, his goal-oriented mind was too focused on draining you. Malfoy lent a hand, literally, by using his spare hand to play with your clit. Your chest heaved up and down again, to which Tom Riddle responded by slapping away at your breasts.
It was becoming all too much, at this point. Your walls clenched painfully around the Dark Lord’s relentless fingers. You clenched your eyes shut, wondering for the first time, when the end will come.
Tom Riddle chuckled darkly at the sight. He must have understood perfectly that you were starting to get drained. “We’re going to show her what a punishment really looks like, Draco,” his eyes glinted dangerously.
You came a lot quicker this time. Malfoy’s hand pushed your head downward, forcing you to watch yourself flood the office desk again as your body shook violently. Your squirt did not know how to stop, shamelessly continuing the streak for a few seconds under the hungry gaze of the two men.
Your walls pulsed, sending vibrations down your legs and up your body through your core. Your poor cunt was reddened and throbbing. Your legs started to involuntarily close at Tom Riddle’s fingers that were inserted again.
Now you were truly beginning to understand how this was a punishment.
More cruel and long-lasting than Malfoy’s even.
You would have much preferred short bursts of pain to this endless pleasure ride.
“Please–,” you stammered, attempting to twist your body away from his fingers. “No more–...”
Tom Riddle only chuckled in response as he shook his head to your disappointment. “I know you’ve got more in there,” Tom Riddle only reached deeper into you.
His brows were furrowed as he watched his fingers appear and disappear out of your cunt, intent on making your cunt submit to him. Your poor cunt screamed with the watery sound.
You clenched your teeth. You were fairly certain your brain was melting at this point.
“You just won’t stop cumming, will you?” you thought you heard Tom Riddle chuckle dryly in the distance as you clenched around his fingers. “You hungry whore.”
Your eyes shut tight. You think you spluttered some nonsense about begging for forgiveness from the Dark Lord as you came for the fourth time. The water gushed out of you onto the desk again. You crumbled onto the desk, convulsing. Your eyes blinked away at the stars.
“Have you learned your lesson?” Tom Riddle’s hand grasped your hair, pulling it up to face him. His voice was cold. Apathetic. In contrast to your pathetic voice that came out through sobs.
“I’m sorry–,” you sobbed even harder at the disgust that flashed across the Dark Lord’s face. “I’ll never–”
But, you were shut off with Tom Riddle’s fingers, once again stuffed into your throat. Your cum tasted salty and bitter.
“You’re the one who asked for this.” Your eyes flickered in between the stern eyes of Tom Riddle, for the first time, feeling something close to genuine fear in the pit of your stomach. His shaded eyes made for an impression of his irises growing black.
He leaned into you, whispering by your ear. You trembled under the cool feel of his lips grazing against your cheek.
“You are going to take this, correct?”
For once, you did not know how to respond. You were certain that you couldn’t take it anymore. You might break if you push yourself further. But, perhaps, that was what the Dark Lord was aiming for. It certainly wasn’t formatted as a question.
You never gave an answer. But, as you expected, Tom Riddle simply did not care. His fingers retreated, pulling more drool out of you. Once again, you were brought up by Malfoy's arm against his back and the Dark Lord resumed his work on your cunt.
“I’m going to render you senseless, Y/L/N,” Tom Riddle breathed out. Not bothering to look up at the convulsing Y/N as she shook under Malfoy’s play at her clit. “I’ll make sure you won’t feel a thing down there for a good few weeks.”
“You have such a breakable cunt,” he breathed out, ignoring your whinper, “And mind you, I could,” he casually continued, unplugging his fingers briefly to let out the squirt again.
Your glazed-over eyes absent-mindedly stared up at Malfoy, twitching a few times in his strong arms as his hand roamed over your breasts, waist, and hips.
You felt your eyes brimming with tears at the overstimulation. But soon, that too, was taken away from you by the Dark Lord’s rough tongue that grazed it.
“But I think I’ll save that for next time,” he murmured by your ear.
You whined and turned in Malfoy’s arms as your core snapped again within you. You did not even have the energy to form a coherent word this time, some syllables tumbling out of your mouth along with your water, still gushing out of you as strongly as ever between your shaky legs.
“Should we make her clean this, sir?” Malfoy’s voice sounded above you as you numbly registered Tom Riddle daring to add another finger.
“Of course,” Tom Riddle furrowed at the ludicrousness of the sentence. “She’ll lick it clean.”
Malfoy looked around himself at the mess of the office, still continuing the circular motion around your clit. The water had soaked up pretty much everything on the desk, and succeeded in dripping down to the carpet as well. It was a lot of filthy half-blood cum.
“What?” Tom Riddle shrugged. He did not care for his lieutenant’s expression that suggested the impossibility of the task. “It’s hers, isn’t it?”
Tom Riddle slapped away at her clit, urging more to squirt out. You flinched and winced, but it was effective. “You would love her cunt, by the way,” Tom Riddle casually started conversing, daring to add the last finger to your cunt. “She’s probably a virgin, too. I know you love virgins.”
Draco Malfoy pouted at the suggestion, tilting his head against yours. “Right, but… any tainted blood is not my type.”
Tom Riddle merely raised his brows at the hypocritical blond in denial, cocking his chin at the boner that was clearly showing through his trousers.
“What, did I drain you?” the Dark Lord furrowed at a few droplets that squirted out of you this time. Slapping away at the clit, however, did not work this time.
“Looks like she’s fainted.”
“Wake her.”
The Dark Lord’s indifference to the cruel treatment shocked even the blond. “You mentioned the punishment ends with draining her,” Malfoy mumbled, “Sir,” he added hesitantly at the Dark Lord’s piercing gaze that landed on him.
“At this point, I just want to see how far she can take it, really,” Tom Riddle soon returned his focus back onto you. He gave your breasts a few slaps, sending ripples across the small puddle that formed on top of his desk.
Y/N did not wake.
“What a bore,” Tom Riddle let out a huff of exhale, and stood up. With a flick of his wand, he undid the bind on your wrists, letting them fall beside you.
“Leave her,” the Dark Lord commanded at the blond who took out his wand to clean her.
“But, today is Friday, sir,” reluctantly, Malfoy slowly let Y/N slump down on the desk, your face dipping into your own cum.
Tom Riddle grabbed at his own coat and hat on his way out of the office. He flashed a smile at the blond, “Means she’ll have the whole weekend to clean up, doesn’t she.”
And with a quiet thud, the Dark Lord closed the door behind him, leaving you on his office desk with your reddened ass in the air.
A/N: Ah, the Dream Threesome.
#tom riddle x reader#tom riddle x you#tom riddle fanfiction#tom riddle au#tom riddle#tom riddle smut#tom riddle fic#tmr#tom marvolo riddle#tom riddle x y/n#tom riddle imagine#dom tom riddle#dom!tom riddle#tom riddle x fem!reader#harry potter fanfiction#mafia!tom riddle#draco malfoy x y/n#draco malfoy#draco malfoy x oc#draco malfoy smut#draco smut#draco fic#draco x oc#draco fanfiction#draco imagine#draco malfoy x you#draco malfoy fanfiction#draco x you#draco malfoy x reader#draco x reader
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《Prologue》 TSoA
Male OC ver.
———————————
Sweat trickled down a small boy's forehead. He felt something apart of him be snapped into pieces, like a rubber band being torn into broken halves. It made him feel... bland. Uncomfortable, even.
The young man jolted upward from a sleeping position, as if he had woken because of a horrid nightmare. His breathing was intense while he wiped the sweat off his forehead. But wiping the liquid which was sticky and wetting his hair did no good, as every drop that was took off added three more in its place.
His heart fastened with fear. He couldn't understand where he was, or who he was even living as. Did he even have a name? He must. Who wouldn't have a name? How has he survived if he didn't have something to be called?
The teen ran a hand down a dark brown, wooden crate. Slabs of wood were connected together, some vertical and others tilted. Red light shown into the room. Wait, no. Not a room. A lift. A lift that seemed to be moving both supplies and one living, breathing boy upward.
And after a long time— yet no more minutes than two hours had— the lift heaved to a complete stop. A chilling, alarm-like 'ER' sound rang from a distance away from the poor, shaking kid.
Soon enough, there was a reaction to this sound. Before the trapped boy could even flinch, the top of the lift opened. Out popped a dark-skinned boy. He had dark brown eyes, and wore a nervous frown with attentive body language.
The tall teen visibly scrambled for something, actively fumbling. A rope dropped onto the other trapped male's head, making him moan out of pain. Even so, he gained footing and climbed up the rope.
When the boy got up to the top, he gasped and the other introduced himself sheepishly. "Hey, I'm Alby," was only what he squeaked out.
MASTERLIST: here
#the maze runner#tmr#tmr alby#tmr fandom#prologue#tmr fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction#1/3 version#male oc#tmr oc#to be continued
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