Eragon, freshly 16, in prison, on drugs, with a concussion, hasn't eaten or drank anything all day, telling the most powerful enemy he's ever met that his true name is "I'm going to kill you", then walking out of his cell, killing several guards and threatening to embed a molten hot grain of sand in the last guard if he doesn't talk. Then promptly scarfing down some random food while sitting under a table with his unconscious crush, failing a sword fight against aforementioned enemy and messing up the timing on his dragon's dramatic entrance and nearly falling out of the sky. Incredible
series masterlist // ao3 // previous chapter // next chapter
pairing: newt x fem glader!reader
chapter five: where you're going, where you came
word count: 1.5k // read time: 10-15 minutes
a/n: referenced the fever code a lot in this chapter. i'll explain more at the end of the chapter.
“The box is coming up today, so anything you think we might need, write it down,” Jeff said. Y/n and the other medjacks were doing inventory today. She was on her third row of bandages. Clint beside her was counting suture kits. “You said something about tetanus & non-adherent tape or something?” Jeff thrust the paper and a pencil towards her.
“Uh huh. Yea, non-adherent gauze. Tetanus immunizations. Maybe some medical textbooks would be nice.”
“Huh, I never thought about asking for books. Write it down,” Jeff said.
She sucked in a deep breath and stared at the paper. The pencil in her hand almost snapped she was holding it so tight. It was the first time she saw her handwriting since coming up in the box.
The curves and lines of her letters triggered an electric shock through her. Her eyes blurred out and for an instance she was looking at a different paper with the same handwriting.
You’ll never figure out where you’re going until you understand from where you came.
FIRE (Flares Information Recovery Endeavor) created the organization called PFC (Post Flares Coalition), which consisted of representatives from all remaining able-bodied countries and aimed to find a solution to...
Her vision remained blurred after the memory left her. The sharp electric prodding continued in her brain. She dropped the pencil. Her hand flew to the bumpy scar above her left ear. Frustration throbbed in the space between the electric flashes of her brain.
Why was this happening to her? None of the other gladers had complaints about burning scars and flashes a memory.
“Shuck,” she grumbled. She wasn’t sure when she started using the glade slang, but it was so engrained that even when she was in pain it came naturally. Clint stopped counting and looked at her. Y/n was hunched over and pressing so hard into her scar that the skin on her fingertips was losing color.
“Hey, are you good?” Clint asked.
Clint reached out a hand and placed it gently on her back. She jerked away and slapped his hand as it fell away from her. She jumped upwards, hips smacking into the table and knocking the bandages she just counted and so neatly stacked on the dusty homestead floor. The commotion drew Jeff’s attention.
“What the shuck is wrong with you?” His tone was not unkind. Jeff stood and made his way over.
“Headache. I just need fresh air,” Y/n got out between gasps of pain. Her vision was coming back into focus.
“If you’re a sick shank, this is the best place to be. I’ll go get you an ice pack and water. Just take a seat.” Jeff said.
“How many shucking times do I shucking have to tell you that not every shucking thing can be fixed from shucking ice and water, slinthead. I said leave me alone,” she hissed, like a venomous snake. Stumbling from the room, she escaped the musty homestead.
Making her way around the rear of the homestead, she collapsed next to the slammer. The slammer stood in an obscure place between the homestead and the north glade wall, hidden behind thorny, ragged bushes that looked like they hadn’t been trimmed since the first gladers arrived. The location and its coverage was perfect: no one would have any reason to be back here.
----
A booming, ringing alarm sounded from all directions. Newt dropped the map he was studying. In approximately thirty minutes, the box would arrive with supplies and a new greenie. Newt had particular interest in this box delivery. So much so that he asked to be excused from his running duties for the day.
Today’s delivery marked the 1-year anniversary of the maze. Last month’s delivery brought a girl, the first and only, so would today’s delivery be special too? Newt left the map room and sought out Alby.
----
Disappointment. Newt felt disappointed, dejected, disgruntled, despondent, disillusioned…and any other d word that mean his disappointment bread despair. The box’s delivery was no different than all but last months’ delivery: a boy greenie, this time named Randall, and all the usual supplies.
Newt walked away, leaving Alby to greet the greenie by himself. He let his eyes drift over the crowd. Not all of the gladers were there, of course some of them ran the maze, others were too caught up in whatever task they were completing, some thought there was no point as the box came every month. Newt was surprised to not see y/n there, thinking she’d be standing on the edge of the box, hoping for a girl greenie. Newt saw Jeff in the crowd and pushed his way through.
“Jeff, where’s y/n? Thought she’d be front and center, ya know? Hoping for a girl greenie and all.”
Jeff shook his head. “Don’t ask me about that shank right now. She practically ripped my and Clint’s heads off.”
“What’d ya mean?” Newt asked, eyebrows crinkling.
“Don’t know. One minute she was fine. Next, she was clutching her head and gasping. Clint and I tried to help her, but she got all angry and left the homestead.”
“Did you see where she went?”
“I wasn’t following her after that, but Clint looked out the window long enough to gather she didn’t head for the deadheads.”
Newt nodded. “Guess someone should find her before the walls close.”
The crowd was dispersing. A group of boys jumped into the box to get the supplies. Alby was leading the greenie Randall away towards a twisted bench near the flagpole. Randall’s eyes were wide with fear.
“Don’t bother Newt. She doesn’t want your help. In fact, she’ll probably bite you. She’s got a thorny attitude,” Jeff advised.
Thorny? Newt thought.
----
“Ya know? Most shanks are trying to break out of the slammer instead of in.”
Newt was five yards behind y/n, who was sitting with legs crisscross and her forehead pressed with her entire body weight against the thick wooden door of the slammer.
“What was the alarm earlier?” she asked as way of greeting but did not turn to face him.
“Box arrived. New greenie.”
She stilled. Breaths so small that her chest and back didn’t rise or fall.
“A boy,” Newt said. Her breaths returned in full. “Looked like he was about to klunk his bloody pants,” Newt added, trying to add levity.
“Funny.” Her tone was aggressively flat. She surprised Newt by turning her body towards him, quick as a spinning dreidel, and looking Newt straight into his eyes. “Come here,” she commanded.
Startled, Newt treaded cautiously towards her. Once he was close enough, she snatched his thin wrist, crushing his woven bracelets against his skin, and dragged him towards the ground in front of her. He was sitting on his knees, their faces level for once. They were face to face only briefly until she grabbed his chin and turned his head to the side. With light healer hands, she searched his scalp above his left ear. His golden soft hair tickled the skin on her wrist, making goosebumps erupt on her arms. Newt’s scar was barely perceptible. Someone must have done a better job on his stitches. She dropped his hand, then slumped fully to the ground, back thumping against the wooden door.
“What’s that scar from?” she asked him. Her tone was accusing.
“Ya tell me. Didn’t even know I had one here.” Newt dragged his own fingers along his scar, straight and fine.
She scoffed. “Anyone else have one?”
“Don’t know.” Newt moved his hand to his chin, which he rubbed while thinking. “I’ll have to look at Alby. His hair is short enough.”
“Nah, don’t tell anyone,” y/n said, a little too quickly. “It’s not worth it.”
Newt drew his eyebrows together and squinted his eyes, like he was looking through heat haze over scorched asphalt. “Minho has one. He kept scratching at it like a bloody rat trapped in a coffin the first couple weeks we were here.” He looked at her face. She had her bottom lip sucked into her mouth and trapped between her teeth. “You have one.”
“None of your business.” The defiance in her eyes scalded his skin.
“Fair’s, fair,” Newt said.
He held her defiant gaze while he leaned over her and reached for her face. Soft, gentle fingertips brushed under her hair line. Newt’s heart stuttered as his fingers threaded through her hair. She never touched anyone nor allowed anyone to touch her outside of her medjack duties. Yet, she allowed him to continue to touch her. Newt’s breath hitched once his fingers met the ridge of her scar. He grimaced at the scar’s size. Sensing his pity made her sick to her stomach. The moment of vulnerability she allowed him so rarely—the only other occasions being the night she woke and the morning she carved her name into the wall—was over. She shoved him. Newt fell onto his hands behind his back.
“Leave me alone,” she hissed, “I don’t want you here.”
Newt sighed and shook his head. He stood. “There’s a bonfire tonight. We didn’t get to throw one for ya, considerin’ ya were hiding up in a tree your first night. Figure this bonfire is for you as much as it is for the new greenie. Hope to see ya’ later.” He walked away before waiting for her answer, preserving his last thread of patience.
----
next chapter
----
a/n: explanations for the fever code references without spoilers...
as i mentioned in the first chapter, the scar is from the implant that wicked places in the gladers brains. the implant is responsible for the swipe. the implant may hurt for a month or two after installed or when it is activated for a particularly strenuous act of mind control.
randall is the name of a cruel p.f.c. (pfc is the precursor organization to wicked) employee who tortures thomas in one of the early chapters of the fever code.
i did some revising on this chapter after reading it again. plot consequences didn’t change. just shifted some stuff to be in newt’s pov, fixed typos, added details, and rewrote wordy sentences.
contains fics for: sirius black, remus lupin, fred weasley, sebastian sallow, ominis gaunt, tmr newt, tlou joel miller, & outer banks
last update 7/5/26
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JJ walks into his kitchen in the middle of the night to find you there; visibly high and in his father’s t-shirt. Based off this request.
Trigger warning for mentions of drug use
Word count: 1.6k
Masterlist | Part Two
“Hey, I know you.”
There you were, stood half dressed at five AM in Luke Maybank's kitchen when that voice had rippled across it's silent walls.
You turned to face the source with less urgency than you should've, given the fact that you were in the home of a locally known drug dealer, with multiple beefs and plenty of dodgy clients, and you yourself also weren't entirely sure if there would actually be anyone standing there. When your dilated eyes locked onto the strangely familiar blue ones of another human, your heart skipped a beat and the hairs across your body stood up. Then they fell down again.
"I know you too." You retorted, continuing your casual stumble to the refrigerator.
JJ Maybank was surprised by this. You were so visibly high that part of him doubted that you even knew your own name, let alone who he was. He wondered if you were lying, but then he supposed that you probably would've shouted for his father if you'd not recognised him.
The white light of the fridge made you thin your eyes and wince, and it's unflattering glow emphasised the contours of your restrictive lifestyle. You were still pretty - he thought - beautiful even, but worn. In nothing but a baggy t-shirt, JJ couldn't keep his eyes from wandering down to your long, exposed legs - which were dotted with bruises and different shaped scars.
"What are you doing here? Aren't you a bit too young for my dad?" He scoffed with a playful test of the waters, and felt relieved when your expression displayed no offence.
He imagined that if you weren't so high you might've even smiled. One of the cheeky, "I dare you" ones that he'd examined from desks away when you'd been in high school together.
"It's none of your business. I'm here for a good time, not a long one - or whatever." You mumbled, taking far longer than necessary to pick out a beer from the fridge.
Your brain was slow, foggy and distracted by the appearance of the blonde surfer. JJ was the son of your current dealer - Luke Maybank - and had occasionally interacted with you throughout your messy teenage years. Even through the slight shaking of your vision you could see that JJ was just as handsome as he always had been - the tanned trouble maker you'd spent frequent detentions with, but always kept a slight distance from.
When you finally cracked a can open and brought it to your lips, it felt to JJ as if he'd been staring at you in silence for far too long, and he was momentarily relieved that you were probably too high to have noticed that fact. He grabbed a can from the fridge - the last one - and let the door stay open, wondering if you were going to help yourself to any food too. You certainly looked like you could do with some. But you didn't move.
You both stood in frozen silence, sipping from your cans and staring numbly into the fridge, as if waiting for something to happen - for more cans to appear.
"Is he awake?" JJ asked after a long sip.
You didn't look up as you answered "No."
Another moment of silence passed, then JJ's eyes flickered up to your face again. Your pupils were still huge, even in the white light, and your jaw was tight, but your body swayed slightly and your eyelids occasionally fell. JJ couldn't pinpoint what exactly you'd been taking - which was rare for him - and this for some reason maximised his concern. He considered himself somewhat of an expert on identifying highs at this point in his troubled life.
"What have you guys been doing?" He asked simply.
Then he saw the first glimpse of real emotion on your tired face; a child peeking through a crack in a porcelain mask - embarrassment halted by confusion, before the numbness resumed.
You said nothing, and took another sip of your beer.
What were you meant to say? Wasn't it obvious? You'd been sleeping with his dad. Did he need you to spell it out for him?
"I already know that you're a pill popper, so there's no point lying about that." JJ smirked, although there was no real amusement in his tone. "But if you're up this late and he's passed out, I'm just curious what you've mixed it with..."
You shrugged and spoke in a casual tone.
"Well, we smoked some bowls and drank too. Luke is more used to rock than me, but I think I'll be able to go to sleep soon."
JJ couldn't explain the pang that rippled through his body. It hurt. His neck shot up straight, and he stared at the beautiful, lost woman he barely knew with burning, unrestrained concern. Your eyelids looked heavy, as did the weight of whatever had landed you in his kitchen upon your shoulders, and he felt sick with the knowledge of how pitiless his father could be - and how twisted he was for using the vulnerability of a girl the same age as his son. He took a considerable gulp from his can before speaking.
"You gotta be careful mixing all that shit."
Even in your intoxicated state, you could hear the underlying seriousness in JJ's tone, which you snorted at.
"Well duh. You think I don't know that?"
"Why are you doing it then? And with my bum-ass dad of all people." JJ scoffed right back.
Your gaze finally unfroze from the open fridge, and you turned to face the strange, handsome, angsty man beside you with a blank stare.
"I don't feel like that's any of your business to be honest, Maybank."
You could see his face properly now, half lit in a dim glow: his features defined yet boyish, with deep, oceanic eyes that stared unyieldingly back into yours. It was uncomfortable, like lasers somehow cutting through your well earned haze, and you wanted to laugh - to make him drop the weird "caring" act - but then he spoke with a quiet confidence that caught you off guard.
"I just don't like seeing pretty faces go to waste, is all. You should look after yourself."
You couldn't speak.
When was the last time someone had said something like that to you? Something laced with palpable care. A genuine compliment.
For a second, JJ saw a crack of vulnerability again; your eyes alive and curious with childlike surprise. He pounced at that moment to continue speaking, hoping that his words would find a space to sink into the swiftly closing crack.
"You should go home."
This time his tone was a lot harsher, and he realised that from the flicker of confusion, that turned into a light crease between your brows. You rolled your eyes and moved a lethargic hand to close the fridge, so JJ quickly carried on - feeling unexplainably desperate to not let you walk back into his father’s bedroom.
"I just mean- you should get away from my dad... I can promise whatever he's giving you isn't worth the bullshit it'll cause."
You stared at JJ, uncertain of what he wanted you to say to that.
You didn't trust or believe him. You couldn't. You didn’t care to.
There was absolutely no man on the planet who you trusted. Not Luke or his son.
What on earth did JJ even want from you? There must've been some ulterior motive. Even with your slouched posture and glazed, red eyes you knew that.
Natural instincts kicked in and you sneered a response, admittedly slurring a few of the words.
"JJ, keep your nose out of my business, okay? I get you're like- trying to be cute or something, probably trying to fuck me, but I can look after myself."
Then you started to stumble away, turning around with an unbothered shrug to head back into the dark cell of Luke’s messy bedroom. JJ was too shocked to speak for a moment; offended and irritated by the rudeness of your presumption.
Why would you assume that he was trying to fuck you? Just for giving some simple advice. How had he given that energy at all? Maybe there was some part of him that did feel bitter for his dad sleeping with a girl he’d had a slight crush on in school, but that wasn’t relevant to the conversation.
"Ha, okay then.” He let out a short, dry, humourless laugh, then stared at the back of your head and cooly added “I just wanna know; are your daddy issues so bad that you actually like fucking the piece of shit, or is it just for the drugs?"
Your steps paused. What was the answer to that question?
He’d caught you off guard again, and you didn’t like that. A part of you felt riled up, ready to turn around and start verbally rinsing him with no limitations, but a bigger part was subdued by the cocktail of chemicals in your body, and so you just shrugged and carried on walking away, leaving the confused, frustrated, handsome boy to stew alone in the kitchen.
He would be gone again before the morning - by which point you suspected that he would be a faded, blurry dot in your memory. You were surprised, however, to find yourself thinking of his piercing blue eyes as you opened the fridge the next day, and you wished that you could remember the entirety of the conversation - instead of just the parts where he’d tried to warn you away.
I knoww this request took me soo long to get to I have like 30 that I am very slowly working through so I apologise for the wait but I hope you enjoy and perhaps there will be a second part in the future :D love y’all stay safe xxx
