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corviiids · 1 day

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ooh idk if you've talked about this one before, but what about goro akechi for the kira game?

HI RAPS

verdict: im prepared for this to be controversial, but consider this: ive never been wrong in my whole life. i think goro akechi could beat kira, but i don't know if he'd be happy with the outcome.

could goro akechi identify light yagami

im answering this one first because i want to make a point about this. listen. i feel like due to akechi's whole Plot where he Fakes Solving Cases For Clout, people forget that he actually is a really smart person and a good detective. like, he's not the super prodigy genius he pretends to be, but he's not a fake detective. he faked solving those shutdown cases for extremely specific reasons:

he was the fucking perpetrator so it served him to take control of the public understanding of the investigation into them and control the narrative; and

those cases were particularly high profile and would have been impossible to solve by anyone else, so 'solving' them would catapult him into notoriety faster than anything else - it was a clout speedrun, which is what he and shido needed.

but there are numerous other cases and puzzles in various bits of p5 media that he solves without faking them, plus we see plenty of occasions where he demonstrates his high intellect. the casino is a great example because i feel like the game takes that palace as an opportunity and relishes in letting you know what akechi can really do. the anime and the mementos mission manga both have subplots where akechi solves / helps to solve legitimate mysteries. and of course the famed unused mementos request in p5r which i think about all the time. it's kind of a shame that akechi's fake cases end up overshadowing all his real ones when he's a legitimately competent detective, even if he's not the impossible prodigy he projects as and even if he's nowhere near the level L is.

of course there's also the obvious one! while we are all aware that the phantom thieves are the least subtle people on the planet, and all ren's confidants eventually work it out just because he's so deeply unsubtle about it, it is still the case akechi identified them as persons of interest very early on, before pretty much anyone else (partly by intellect, partly by his metaverse advantage, i'll get to that). that's relevant because i think the phantom thieves are reasonably analogous to kira in the sense that they're utilising supernatural methods to target individuals which are untraceable via ordinary means.

now i dont think akechi could identify kira nearly as quickly or cleanly as L could, but i do think that if you placed him in charge of the investigation with all the investigative resources of the prosecutor's office / police department, he would be able to identify light as at least a person of interest in a reasonable amount of time, for two main reasons

light is more sneaky than the phantom thieves, but also makes the same kinds of identifiable mistakes that the PT do (eg targeting people in a set area, operating in such a way that it's possible to identify him as a student, being easily provoked, etc); and

unlike L, akechi has supernatural powers.

which brings me to:

could goro akechi intuit the mechanics of the death note

no, i don't think so, not on his own. but he wouldn't need to, because he has access to the metaverse.

we're back at the universe question. i think to fairly answer 'could they beat kira' questions we have to give our detective character all the advantages they have access to in their home universe, which means that akechi not only has his intellect but also has the metaverse, his persona, and his experience traversing the collective unconscious. (by the way, here's my post about what if light yagami had a palace.)

which means that once goro akechi has identified light as a person of interest, not even needing to ID him as a particular suspect, he can check whether the metanav gives him a hit. then he could infiltrate light's palace / find him in mementos (let's be real it's gonna be a palace) and find out the rest of what he needs to know from there. the metaverse isn't only useful for changing hearts and causing shutdowns. shadows are very forthcoming about their evil plans. all akechi would need to do is find light's shadow, and he'd find out everything he needs to know about the death note and kira's new world.

(follow-up question for fun: if akechi didn't have the metaverse, would he be able to intuit the mechanics of the death note? i think that akechi would ultimately get to the same point as L, namely, that kira needs a name and a face, but the specifics of 'magic murder notebook' would escape him. so no.)

could goro akechi survive

i think this would really depend on the context in which this investigation is taking place, but broadly i think it's likely? not certain, but it's likely. it depends on how reactive light is and depends on how well akechi reads the kira situation early on.

akechi is pretty shrewd, with the exception of major blindspots where someone he has a grudge against is concerned (hence why he's vulnerable to shido and to ren's plots). but i think kira is dangerous enough that akechi would be on pretty high alert from the start. in canon he's cunning enough to make false statements to the media to trick the thieves into thinking he's at least partially on their side / not an unambiguous enemy (that's the same strategy used in romance ha ha ha) so i think once akechi identified a person of interest he wouldn't be stupid enough to publicise that he's closing in on them and would probably start leaking false theories to make light think he's completely off the trail - after all, unlike L, akechi's name and face are completely public, so it would be way too risky to make light feel cornered. it would be smartest to play up the shallow celebrity angle to make think light he's just a dumbass idiot talking a big game.

i think akechi would bank on kira's MO of only killing criminals. after all, light didn't try to kill L until L deliberately goaded him into it - it's unlikely that akechi would have a reason to think that light would try to kill him just for investigating. up until that point kira has been masquerading as an icon of justice, so it would (and canonically did) take a lot to make kira veer from that ideology into killing investigators just because they threatened him. however, it's not impossible given nobody really knows anything about kira at that stage, so while akechi might make it public information that he's investigating kira, he wouldn't let on that he thought light was a threat.

then he could either:

initiate a surprise raid on light to get the death note based on information gained from light's shadow - risky because if it goes wrong light will kill him, but this will net him the most glory

(pre-phantom thieves) kill light - stops the murders but means akechi doesn't get clout for solving the kira murders single-handedly, not preferable

(post-phantom thieves) change light's heart - akechi also doesn't get credit and would be reluctant besides

so it depends how we're defining success i guess. could akechi beat light by killing light? likely yes, by simply causing a shutdown before putting light on notice that akechi was on his trail at all. could akechi beat light by apprehending light? maybe, it depends, it's risky. could akechi beat light by changing his heart? only if the thieves are involved.

so i guess the answer is yes i think akechi has the capacity to beat kira but probably not in a way that akechi himself is satisfied with and it wouldn't be a sure thing. it could go either way.

#long post #but actually! not as long as it could have been considering you asked me about goro akechi vs light yagami #which you'd think given it's them and it's me i could go on about forever #but instead. i only went on about it for mostly forever #asks #anyway thanks rapsodia this was very self indulgent for me #could they beat kira the game #poof if you're seeing this i didnt forget about our project i swear

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fanficapologist · 2 days

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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter One Hundred & One

“Your Grace?”

The Grand Maester’s chambers were dimly lit, the only light coming from a few flickering candles scattered across the room and the muted glow of a small hearth. Shelves lined the stone walls, filled with leather-bound tomes, jars of herbs, and countless vials of strange, murky liquids. A faint, musty odor clung to the air, a blend of old parchment and medicinal concoctions. The room was cluttered but organized, each item clearly having its place, from scrolls stacked neatly on the desk to tools used for various experiments.

Vaegon sat at a sturdy oak desk near the center of the chamber, quill in hand, scratching away at a letter with quick, deliberate strokes. As soon as he noticed Maera at the entrance, he rose immediately, setting aside his quill.

He bowed his head in respect. “I am surprised to see you here.”

The Queen’s gaze wandered as she stepped inside, trying to distract herself from the unease that had followed her into the chamber. Her eyes landed on one of Vaegon’s juniors in the far corner, hunched over a small table. The apprentice was carefully dissecting a dead toad, its insides laid bare as he poked and prodded with a tiny scalpel. Maera shuddered involuntarily, a wave of revulsion washing over her at the sight.

Vaegon’s voice pulled her back to the present, his words cutting through her discomfort. “Is it your collarbone that troubles you, Your Grace?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. His gaze dropped to her shoulder, recalling the wound she had sustained in battle.

Maera’s hand instinctively brushed over the spot, her fingers tracing the faint scar hidden beneath her dress. “No,” she replied softly, shaking her head as if to dismiss the thought. “It’s fully healed now, thanks to your care.” She paused for a moment, steadying herself before continuing. “I’m here for another matter entirely.” Her voice was calm, though a current of anxiety underlined her words, the reason for her visit still weighing heavily on her mind.

The Grand Maester’s violet eyes remained fixed on Maera, studying her closely as she stood before him. The Queen fiddled with the sleeve of her green and black dress, her fingers twisting the fabric as if it might anchor her swirling thoughts. She hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath, her chest rising slowly as she gathered the courage to speak.

"My moons blood has still not returned," she said, her voice measured yet betraying a hint of vulnerability. She paused, her gaze dropping for a moment before she continued, her tone softer now, almost as if admitting a weakness. "And…I’m concerned about my ability to have more children."

Vaegon scratched at his beard, his fingers moving slowly through the wiry silver strands as he considered her words. He hummed thoughtfully, the silence stretching for a beat before he spoke. "You are still feeding your daughter yourself, Your Grace," he began, his tone steady, almost placating.

Before he could continue, Maera shook her head sharply, cutting him off. "I know," she said, her frustration seeping through. Closing her eyes, she sighed, her fingers still tugging at her sleeve as her green eyes flickered with uncertainty. "I just need to be sure there’s nothing to worry about."

Maester Vaegon gave a slow, understanding nod, his expression softening. Without a word, he turned and called over to his junior, who was still hunched over the dissected toad, his concentration unwavering. The young man flicked his eyes up, his brow lifting slightly in question. At Vaegon’s command, he rose from his seat, carefully setting down his tools.

"The Queen requires an examination," the Grand Maester ordered, his tone firm yet respectful. The junior apprentice nodded quickly, setting aside his previous task and washing his hands in a basin nearby. He approached Maera with caution, his demeanor professional, though the faintest flicker of nervousness crossed his face as he stood before the Queen, preparing for the task at hand.

As the junior beckoned Maera to a nearby bed, she heard Vaegon clear his throat. “I will give you privacy, Your Grace,” he said with a respectful nod, before turning to walk toward the door.

But before he could take more than a few steps, Maera called out softly, “Wait.” Vaegon stopped in his tracks, turning to meet her gaze.

Despite the tangled feelings she still wrestled with regarding her estranged grandfather, Maera knew she could not deny his skill. He was one of the most learned Maesters in the Realm, and if anyone could provide her with sound advice, it was him. She stood still for a moment, the words catching in her throat, but then she gathered herself. “I would value your opinion as well,” she said, her voice steady but carrying a hint of vulnerability.

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of Vaegon’s lips, though he quickly masked it with his usual stern expression. “Very well, Your Grace,” he replied, his tone formal, though there was a warmth beneath it. He moved back to his desk, settling in quietly as the junior prepared the examination.

Behind a modest screen, Maera lay on the basic bed, the fabric of her dress hitched up to her hips, her smallclothes discarded. The cold air of the chamber chilled her exposed skin as the junior Maester began his work, his hands clinical and detached but still foreign. Maera clenched her jaw, her breath coming in shallow, controlled bursts. On the other side of the screen, Grand Maester Vaegon’s quill scratched steadily against parchment, the rhythmic sound a strange comfort amidst the invasive touches.

The sheet beneath her fingers crumpled as she clutched it tighter, her knuckles turning pale. Her body tensed, each sensation drawing her further into herself, her mind seeking solace in thoughts of duty and legacy. All had to be well; there was no other option. For the Realm, for her husband, for the future she was meant to secure.

As the junior Maester withdrew his hand, Maera hissed at the sharp discomfort that followed. He looked up at her with a blank expression, offering no immediate reassurance. She frowned, trying to read his face, but there was nothing there. "I am finished, my Queen," he said stiffly, stepping back from the bed.

Her heart sank slightly. There was no way to tell what he was thinking. Was there something wrong? He made a quick, nervous bow before adding, "I just need to consult with the Grand Maester," and hurried away, disappearing behind the screen.

The Queen sat up slowly, her body still tense as she readjusted her undergarments and smoothed the folds of her skirts. The room felt colder now, and her anxiety surged as she strained to hear the conversation between the two Maesters. Their voices were low, barely above whispers, but her senses were heightened. She heard fragments of the junior's voice, followed by Grand Maester Vaegon’s quiet but firm, "Are you quite sure?"

The junior continued to murmur, his tone cautious, and Maera’s patience wore thin. What were they saying? Why weren’t they telling her? The uncertainty gnawed at her until she could stand it no longer. Without a word, she hopped down from the bed, her shoes hitting the stone floor with a soft thud. The modesty screen scraped loudly as she moved it aside, the sound echoing through the chamber.

She strode toward them, her arms crossed, her green eyes flashing with frustration. "Well?" she asked, her voice cool and demanding, though her heart pounded with dread beneath the surface.

Grand Maester Vaegon glanced at her before nodding to the junior. "Thank you," he said, his tone measured. "You may study in the library for now. I expect you to read up on this.”

The junior’s eyes flicked nervously from Maera to Vaegon before he quickly bowed. "Yes, Grand Maester," he said, turning on his heel to leave.

Before he could step out of the room, Vaegon’s voice followed him like a command. "And remember," he said sternly, "this does not leave this room." The young Maester nodded, his face pale, before scurrying out through the heavy wooden door, leaving Maera alone with her grandfather.

She remained rooted to her spot, her arms still crossed, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. His expression was frustratingly unreadable, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his violet eyes—the same shade as her husband and daughter—betrayed little. She searched his face for any hint of emotion, wondering why he had sent the junior away to study instead of revealing what he had discovered.

“What does he need to read up on?” she asked, her voice cutting through the silence.

The Grand Maester didn’t answer immediately, his eyes drifting down to the parchments strewn across his desk. It was maddening. Anxiety crept up on her like a shadow, tightening around her chest with each passing second of silence.

She studied him more closely, trying to decipher what lingered beneath his calm exterior. His age had weathered his face, but beneath the lines and stern expression, there was something else—an echo of protectiveness, almost familial. It struck her how much he reminded her of her mother in that moment, the way his eyes softened ever so slightly, but still held something back.

“Is something wrong?” Maera asked, her voice more fragile than she intended, a crack in her usually firm demeanor.

Vaegon remained quiet, his silence gnawing at her. Her nerves wound tighter, coiling into a knot of dread deep within her belly. She chewed on her bottom lip, her mind spiraling. It was too much to bear—the waiting, the not knowing. The thought of not being able to bear more children clawed at her, turning her fear into something raw and aching.

“Is it—” she began again, her voice barely above a whisper this time, “Am I… unable to have more children?”

Finally, Vaegon sighed, a deep and weary sound. He lifted his gaze to meet hers, and for the first time, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “On the contrary, my Queen.”

Maera’s brow furrowed, confusion mixing with the relief she desperately wanted to feel. The Grand Maester stepped forward, his gaze gentle but firm as he delivered the news. “You are with child.”

There was a silence in the room following the news. After some time, the Queen found herself sat at one of the wooden desks, her elbow propped on the desk, her chin resting on her hand. Her eyes were distant, unfocused, as her mind grappled with the news. With child. The phrase echoed in her thoughts, tangling with the myriad emotions surging through her. It should have been simple relief, yet it wasn’t.

Across the room, the soft clinking of metal and glass caught her ear as Grand Maester Vaegon prepared a tray of refreshments. She heard the jug being carefully set down, the faint chime of plates being arranged with precision. The mundane sounds of his work contrasted with the rapid heartbeat in her chest, grounding her, even as her mind raced.

The news had landed like a stone, sending ripples through the carefully constructed calm she had built for herself. Now, those ripples threatened to become waves. She was with child again. The Realm would get its heir—or so she hoped. She traced small, idle patterns on the wooden surface of the desk with her finger, her thoughts swirling in sync with the repetitive motion.

Happiness... relief...But also fear. So much could go wrong, she knew that all too well. The pressures of the crown, the expectations of the Realm, the fragility of pregnancy—all of it weighed on her, heavier than any crown she had ever worn.

The soft thud of footsteps approached, and Maera looked up as Vaegon came to her side, the tray now in his hands. He placed a plate and cup gently in front of her, his old hands steady despite their age. Maera glanced at the offering as the Grand Maester poured water into her goblet, his movements careful, deliberate, as if trying to soothe her with the smallest of gestures.

A slice of pie was placed on her plate—small, simple, but a kind reminder that she should eat. Maera stared at it for a moment, her appetite absent despite the gnawing hunger in her stomach. She exhaled slowly, the enormity of the situation beginning to settle, but the knot of emotions in her chest refused to unwind. Vaegon sat beside her now, his presence steady and unintrusive, allowing her the space she needed to process the news. The silent support of her estranged grandfather was unexpected but appreciated.

The Queen picked up her fork, her fingers trembling slightly as she brought a piece of the pie toward her mouth. But just as it was about to reach her lips, she stopped. A wave of confusion swept over her, and she slowly placed the fork back down. Pushing the plate away, she looked at Vaegon, her brow furrowing.

"I don’t understand," she murmured, her voice quiet but laced with frustration. Her eyes fixed on the Grand Maester, seeking clarity. "My moons blood hasn’t returned. I thought... after childbirth, its return meant a woman was fit to conceive again. How could I be with child if—" She trailed off, her hand resting on her abdomen, the weight of her uncertainty pressing down on her once more.

Vaegon chewed thoughtfully, finishing the last bite of his food before swallowing. His violet eyes softened as he considered her words, but there was no surprise in his expression. Instead, he offered her a small, almost nostalgic smile.

"I have seen this before," he began, his voice calm, measured. "Among the lowborn women, those who have no choice but to nurse their babes themselves." He seemed to recall memories of his earlier years, his smile growing faintly as if remembering the simpler days when he worked among the common folk. "The womb can prepare itself for another child before the woman is even aware. Even without the return of the moons blood."

Maera nodded slowly, taking in his words, though the confusion still lingered in her mind. She picked up her fork again, this time without hesitation, and took a small bite of the pie. The savory taste of mushroom filled her mouth, and despite everything swirling within her, she found herself appreciating the flavor.

For a brief moment, she let the food ground her, allowing the familiar taste to bring some semblance of normalcy back to her. She chewed slowly, thoughtfully, her mind still whirring, but the edge of her anxiety had dulled. She had to admit, for all her misgivings about Vaegon, the man’s extensive knowledge was invaluable. Despite the complicated nature of their relationship, she understood that he was definitely well-suited for his role, and was glad that she had selected him.

Lost in her thoughts, Maera barely noticed the gentle brush of a hand against her own. Her green eyes flicked up, meeting the violet gaze of her estranged grandfather. Vaegon quickly withdrew his hand, as though startled by his own action, his expression betraying a rare flicker of uncertainty. Clearing his throat, he leaned forward slightly, his voice lowered to barely a whisper. “If this is not something you want…”

Maera furrowed her brow, unsure of what he meant at first. But then, with a sudden clarity, she realized what he was asking. Judging by her earlier reaction—her confusion, her silence, the shock in her eyes—it must have seemed as though the news of the pregnancy had unsettled her deeply, perhaps even as though she did not welcome it. Vaegon, with his quiet voice and thoughtful gaze, was giving her a choice. He was subtly offering her an out, something she hadn’t expected, and the understanding dawned on her that he would handle whatever decision she made with the utmost discretion.

Her heart quickened for a moment, but then she quickly shook her head, her voice breaking the silence that had settled between them. “No, no, that’s not it.” She spoke quickly, almost stumbling over her words in her haste to correct him. “I… I’m just in shock, that’s all.”

She let out a shaky sigh, feeling the weight of the situation settle more heavily on her shoulders. Maera leaned back in her chair, rubbing her forehead as if trying to ease the tension gathering there. “The King needs an heir,” she said, her voice firmer now, as though she were reminding herself of her duty. “And the Realm needs stability.”

However even as she said it, her thoughts drifted to Aemara, her baby girl still so small, still so dependent on her. A pained expression flickered across Maera’s face, and her hand instinctively moved to her chest, where her heart ached with the thought of being pulled in so many directions. “But Aemara… she still needs me.” Her voice softened as she spoke aloud the thoughts that had been haunting her since Vaegon had delivered the news.

Her eyes clouded with worry, the enormity of what lay ahead threatening to overwhelm her. As a Queen, she was bound by duty to the Realm. As a mother, her heart belonged to Aemara. Would she able to love another child as much as she loved her daughter? Would this pregnancy hinder her from being the best possible mother?

And then of course there was the war. Aemond would surely worry about Maera riding in this condition, but Ēbrion was a crucial tool in battle strategy. If the Blacks sensed weakness, they would surely take advantage. This was all so frustrating. How could she balance all of this, especially when each role demanded so much from her?

She heard the soft sound of a chuckle from across the room, unexpected enough to draw her out of her spiraling thoughts. She glanced up to find Grand Maester Vaegon looking at her with a rare softness in his violet eyes.

"I remember when my wife fell pregnant," he said, his voice carrying an almost wistful note. “It was something she always wanted and yet she was still so nervous.”

Maera furrowed her brow, her curiosity piqued. It was the first time he had ever spoken of his personal life. Of the blood that bound them. Of anything beyond their duties and relationship as Queen and Grand Maester. She had always known little about him beyond the fact that he was her estranged grandfather, a truth he had only recently confessed. She shifted slightly in her chair, the tension in her shoulders tightening. Now, with this small opening, it seemed as good a time as any to explore further.

"And you?" she asked, her voice quiet but firm, as if unsure whether she was crossing a line. Vaegon quirked an eyebrow at her question, his expression neutral but clearly considering her words. He tilted his head, and Maera reworded her inquiry, her own curiosity pushing her to press on. "How did you feel? When you found out she was pregnant?"

The Grand Maester let out a sigh, leaning back slightly in his chair. "I felt relieved," he said after a moment. "There was... less pressure. Less need for the marital duties required of me." His voice was calm, but there was a detachment in it, as though even now he held those memories at arm’s length, viewing them as part of an obligation rather than something emotional.

The Queen’s heart tightened at his words, and without warning, a quick, hot flare of anger surged through her veins. She could feel it boiling just beneath her skin, ignited by the coldness of his reply. Her hands clenched into fists on her lap, and her green eyes flashed sharply.

"Yes. And once you completed your duties," she said, her voice cutting through the space between them, "and your wife died in childbirth, you abandoned your daughters the moment they were born."

Her words were a whip, cracking with the bitterness and disappointment she had long buried. The raw truth of her accusation hung in the air between them, both of them knowing there was no way to soften it.

Vaegon’s face didn’t change much, but there was a flicker in his eyes, a shadow of something deeper than the impassive facade he normally wore. For a long moment, there was only silence, the weight of her accusation settling heavily in the room. Maera waited, her pulse quickened with her frustration, unsure if he would even respond to something so deeply personal.

“You did not like my late grandmother then?” She hissed, narrowing her eyes as they fixed upon his face.

She expected indifference, perhaps even some curt dismissal of the woman who had given birth to her mother, but Vaegon immediately shook his head. “It wasn’t like that,” he replied, his tone firmer than before. “She was not to…my taste.”

The Queen gasped at the sheer disrespect in his words. “How dare you—” she began, her anger flaring up, ready to chastise him for speaking so callously of the woman who had borne his children, who had played a vital role in their family’s lineage.

But before she could unleash her full fury, Vaegon raised his hands in defence. “The fault was with me, not her.”

Maera rolled her eyes, folding her arms tightly across her chest, her frustration with the Grand Maester barely held at bay. He continued, his voice a little quieter now, his eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Lady Edme,” he began, “wanted more. A loving marriage. A husband who could give her… everything.” His voice wavered for a moment, and Maera noticed the way his fingers fidgeted with the sleeve of his gown, a nervous tic she’d never seen from him before.

He took a shaky breath, one that seemed to catch in his throat before he muttered, almost too quietly for her to hear, “But due to my affliction, I couldn’t give it to her.”

The Queen’s brow furrowed, confusion replacing her anger. “Affliction?” she asked, genuinely puzzled now. Vaegon, though old, had always seemed healthy enough. He still performed his duties as Grand Maester with precision and focus. He had never shown signs of any illness or physical impairment whilst at Dragonstone, and she struggled to understand what he was referring to.

The Grand Maester rose from his seat with a slow, deliberate movement, his hands clasped behind his back. His steps were measured, almost hesitant, as he paced the chamber. “My brothers had died within a few years of each other,” he began, his voice low and distant. “Naturally, my father was concerned for the succession.”

Maera nodded slightly, knowing the tale well. Aemon, King Jaehaerys’s eldest son, had been next in line to the throne. But Aemon had only conceived a daughter, Princess Rhaenys, with his wife before his untimely passing. And then Baelon, Jaehaerys’s next son, had died a few years later, despite fathering two sons with his sister-wife, Alyssa.

The tragedy of their deaths had thrown the Realm into uncertainty. The question of who would succeed King Jaehaerys had ignited fierce debates and created divisions across the Seven Kingdoms. It was a story Maera had heard many times, but this was different. She had never heard Vaegon’s part in it.

“He said that…” Vaegon continued, his voice strained with something more than mere recollection. “He said that my appetites would change if I just married the right woman.” He paused, and his eyes flicked over to Maera, searching her face, as though the words he was trying to find were buried in her expression. “But I knew they never would.”

His words hung in the air, charged with something Maera could not place at first. There was a vulnerability in his tone, something raw and unspoken. His voice, though measured, trembled with a fear laced beneath the surface of his carefully chosen words. The pacing stopped, and Vaegon stood still, staring at the floor as though the weight of his confession pressed down on him.

Maera’s brows furrowed. She felt the same confusion from earlier tightening in her chest. What did he mean? His appetites wouldn’t change? She had always known him to be a distant figure, cold in his marriage, but now there was something more—something deeper that he was confessing.

And then she saw it, the look in his eyes as he glanced up at her. It was familiar. The same guarded, pained look her elder brother Dermot had worn all those years ago when he tried to explain to her, to their closest siblings, why he would never marry, never father children. A realization slowly dawned on her as the pieces began to fall into place.

The Queen watched as Vaegon threw his head back, a sudden burst of frustration replacing the vulnerability he’d shown moments before. His hands trembled slightly as he rubbed them over his face, clearly agitated by the memories. “I begged Jaehaerys,” he muttered, his voice low and biting. “Gods, I begged him to let me join the Citadel, to live a life of study and purpose, one where I could be of use to the Realm without…” His words trailed off, and he shook his head. “But he wouldn’t allow it.”

Maera’s green eyes followed his every movement, watching the tension in his body as he paced before her. His tone was sharp, clipped, every word laced with years of frustration. She could see the weight of his past in the lines etched across his face, the conflict in his violet eyes.

Vaegon rubbed his face again, the sound of his rough skin scratching against his beard filling the silence. His tone softened, almost bitter now. “The old King matched me with a young lady of noble birth, and expected me to produce heirs for the sake of the crown and the succession.”

Maera nodded slightly, allowing him the space to speak, her confusion ebbing, replaced by understanding. Vaegon had never been able to fulfil the expectations his father and the Realm had placed on him—not because of a lack of desire for power or duty, but because he simply wasn’t made for the life they had wanted for him. His detachment, his coldness toward his wife, toward his duties as a husband and father, all stemmed from something more intrinsic, something he had hidden for years.

The Maester’s pacing slowed, and finally, with a deep, exhausted sigh, he approached the table once more, sitting down heavily in the chair beside her. His earlier anger drained away, leaving behind only sorrow. His violet gaze grew distant, as if he were no longer in the room but trapped in some painful memory. “Edme knew,” he said quietly. “She wasn’t a fool, and she was not happy. How could she be? Her marriage was a sham.”

The Queen observed him in silence, giving the elderly man the chance to continue. She could see the sadness pooling in his eyes, the regret that clung to him like a shadow. Vaegon, for all his faults, had been bound by a life he had no control over, his choices made for him by others.

A small, almost wistful smile crept onto his face. “But the Gods took pity on me,” he said softly, as if speaking more to himself than to her. “Jaehaerys, in his final days, knew his death was near, and in those moments of urgency, he finally named Viserys his successor. And when the old King finally died, I did not feel sadness. Only relief.”

The Queen silently empathized with him, feeling the weight of his words settle into her chest. Her thoughts drifted to her own father, Lord Jasper Wylde, whose controlling hand had shaped so much of her youth. How many times had he tried to mold her into something she wasn’t?

He had banned her from sparring with her brothers, insisting it was unbecoming of a lady of noble blood. When her reputation had been tarnished by a scorned suitor, it was she who was blamed, not the man who had slandered her name. Her father’s chastisements had been relentless whenever she spoke out of turn or dared to question his authority.

It was exhausting, the constant weight of his disapproval, the way his gaze would cut her down with every word that slipped from her lips. She had loved him and tried to earn his favor, to be the daughter he wanted her to be, but nothing was ever enough for him. In a twisted way, she too had felt her own sense of relief when he died.

Vaegon’s voice interrupted her thoughts as he continued to share his story. “Edme unfortunately passed away in childbirth, but had given me two daughters. No sons to continue the legacy, no sons for the throne. In the eyes of the Realm, a daughter could not be an heir. And they were therefore disposable.”

Maera felt a pang in her chest at his words, thinking of her own daughter, Aemara, so small and vulnerable. She wondered if her own child was to be viewed the same by the world; not as valuable as a son, her worth determined by her marriage and the children she produced. The Queen shook her head, keeping her worries to herself and said nothing, listening intently as the Grand Maester continued.

“I named them both after my sisters,” Vaegon went on, his lips curving into the smallest of smiles. “Gael and Viserra. I ensured their future, made sure they were safe with their mother’s family. They were better off with their grandparents.” He paused for a moment, his fingers tapping lightly against the wooden table as if he were measuring the weight of his next words. “And after that… I approached the new King.”

Maera watched as the old man grinned at the memory. “I could immediately tell that my nephew didn’t want to be king,” he said with a quiet chuckle. “Not really. He accepted it, of course, but I always knew he’d have been happier with less. We were close in age, you see, and in many ways, I think he understood me more than my own father ever did. After presenting my case, he allowed me to join the Citadel, no questions asked.”

The Queen studied him as he spoke, taking in the details of the old man before her. Vaegon had led a complicated life, one filled with expectations he had never wanted, duties he had fought to escape. And yet, despite running from the responsibilities that had been forced upon him, here he was, at the side of his granddaughter—the daughter of the very daughter he had abandoned all those years ago.

Maera couldn’t help but wonder if the Gods had intervened once more, drawing him back into her life as if to make amends for his past. The same man who had once fled from the burdens of his birthright now served her, the Queen, with quiet loyalty and wisdom. Perhaps it was fate, or perhaps it was the Gods, tying the loose threads of their bloodline back together in this strange, unexpected way.

Vaegon let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his confession. “I know this is probably not what you wish to hear, nor are my reasons excuses.” His violet eyes, usually so composed, flickered with a vulnerability she had never seen in him before.“I only wished to be honest with you.”

The Queen remained silent for a moment, her mind swirling with thoughts. As she looked at the old man before her, common themes began to thread themselves together in her mind like a familiar, haunting pattern on an ancient tapestry. Fathers who could not accept their children for who they were. Men and women forced into roles they never wanted. Daughters discarded, thought of as less than sons. The same stories, repeating through the generations, an endless cycle of pain and rejection. When would it finally end?

She reached out across the table, her fingers brushing against Vaegon’s hand. The old man’s gaze lifted to meet hers, his breath catching in his throat. Maera’s grip was firm but gentle, her green eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made him hold his breath. “You speak of an affliction. Like it is an illness. A disease. Something to be disgusted by or to be treated.”

Vaegon’s expression froze, fear and uncertainty swirling in his eyes as he awaited her next words, bracing himself for whatever judgment might follow.

But Maera’s gaze softened, her lips curving into a faint, compassionate smile. “Yet you could not be more wrong,” she told him firmly, squeezing his hand for emphasis. Vaegon exhaled, the breath he had been holding escaping shakily from his lips.

The Queen held his hand tightly, the warmth of her touch reassuring as she continued. “My brother, Dermot, needs no cure,” she said quietly, her voice filled with conviction. “And neither do you. We are how the Gods made us. And the sooner the world stops trying to change us, the better a place it will be.”

The anger Maera had harbored towards her estranged grandfather had lessened, but it hadn’t entirely disappeared. The weight of the pain and betrayal he had caused her family still lingered, and she knew it would take time for her to truly let it go. She watched him carefully, the tension between them easing, yet still present.

"Whilst I don’t excuse your actions towards my aunt and mother," Maera said slowly, her voice steady but softened, "I understand you better now." Her green eyes searched Vaegon’s face, watching as the old man nodded in quiet acceptance. He didn’t attempt to justify himself any further, and Maera could sense that he wasn’t expecting forgiveness, only acknowledgment.

The chamber fell into a comfortable silence, something new and unspoken shifting between them. Maera realized that her relationship with Vaegon had changed—improved, even. The weight of their past wasn’t gone, but it was lighter now, and there was a mutual respect where only resentment had existed before.

Vaegon cleared his throat, breaking the stillness. "Can we keep what I have told you in this room?" he asked, his voice cautious but not pleading. He was asking for her trust.

The Queen nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips, but before fully agreeing, she paused. "On one condition," she added, watching as his brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "That you extend me the same courtesy."

The old man tilted his head, unsure of what she was asking. "You mean you don’t wish to tell the King?" His violet eyes, still sharp despite his age, studied her carefully.

Maera hummed softly, the corners of her lips curling into a smile as she glanced down at her stomach. She placed her hand gently over it, feeling the warmth of her body, the quiet stirrings of life within. "Aemond is protective. I do not wish him to worry," she explained, her voice light, though there was an underlying seriousness in her words. She lifted her gaze to meet Vaegon’s again. "I will tell him when the time is right."

Vaegon nodded, understanding the weight of the secret she was choosing to carry. He had spent a lifetime holding onto his own, and though he had never been free of it, he respected her decision. His lips curved into a rare grin, a flash of warmth breaking through his usually stoic demeanor. "It seems," he said, his tone light, "the future just became a bit more hopeful."

Notes: gay grandpa 🏳️‍🌈 pregnant queen 🤰🏻 smut next chapter 🔥

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

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delusionalbitchinthehouse · 2 days

Text

Okay, this is the second part of this, because I had so much fun writting this dynamic. Outlaw Dewdrop x Sheriff Swiss except he's also a retired legendary outlaw himself. Might not make sense without the first part.

Dew will admit it, he's a bit of an adrenaline junkie. In his line of...work...it makes sense. Close calls and near death experiences leave him thrumming with energy, giddy and exalted. But his favorite thing, oh, it's the thrill of the chase. Wether he's hunter or hunted, it never fails to get him going.

Knowing the Multi-Faced Thief is after him sure feeds into that particular addiction of his. Helps that the man is easy on the eye.

The memory of the Thief - Swiss, he learned - all up in Dew's space, leaning against the barrel of the gun, discarting the threat like one would bat flies away, his sparkling grin too bright in the low light, followed Dew even after he put miles between them.

More than a few nights, that memory, as well as many others of Swiss' voice, his amused chuckle, his careless stance, drove him to buck into his fist, spilling all over his knuckles while clutching the necklace - Swiss' - in his free hand.

And, look, Dew is smart, he trusts his guts, he's quick to get back on his feet no matter what the situation is, usually comes up on top of any face off with any other criminal, but he knows, deep down, that he's up against one of the most remarkable individual he's ever met. The Multi-Faced Thief's reputation is one for the archives, as well as his track record.

It sparks a feral kind of delight in Dew.

To be this man's sole focus - and it might be presomptuous of him, but Dew believes he is -, to occupy his thoughts...what a thrill.

Swiss finally catches up to him just as the sun is kissing the horizon, setting alight the small, inconspicuous town Dew snuck in, taking care of hidding his face.

It's the sudden agitation of his mare that alerts Dew from where he was starting to arrange the straw in a somewhat acceptable mattress for him to spend the night on - renting a room, with his infamous scar giving him away, is not an option.

By the time he's precipitately turned around, it's too late. Swiss is on him in an instant, a shadow pouncing with the efficency of Death itself. One hand one Dew's belt, the other on his shoulder, and he's thrown out the stall, rolling in the dust.

Accepting the movement is the only way not to get hurt ; Dew let himself fall, uses the momentum to immediately push up on his feet again. He doesn't get to draw his gun, though, before a strong hand wraps around both his wrists - both ? Hot. - and he's bullied against the back wall of the stable, arms pinned above his head, the cold steel of a blade kissing his throat.

The grinning face that haunted Dew's dreams for weeks is hovering above his, Swiss' eyes glinting victoriously as his chest heaves up and down.

"Hi, Dewy."

Adrenaline, sweet sweet adrenaline, has Dew's ears ringing, but it can only do so much in this position. A bit of wiggling only gets him a warningly stronger press of knife against his bobbing adam apple, so Dew resolves to snark back.

"Didn't know we were on nickname basis."

Swiss' smile widens. The hand holding Dew's wrists shifts, until he can run a thumb over the man's delicate bones there. Dew's breathing hitches the slightest bit. Swiss is warm, pleasantly so, he notes absent-mindedly. The rapidly fading light shines on multiple gold jewlery at his ears, highlights the thin sheen of sweat on the man's skin.

"I think we are," Swiss argues, voice low, close to a purr, "you know quite a lot about me, don't you ? Really studied my case, mmh ? As for me..."

Swiss tilts his head, the brim of his hat casting a deep shadow over his face, though it does nothing to hide the "cat that got the cream" expression on it.

"After following you for this long, I feel like i know you better now. You're a clever one, aren't you Dewy. Slippery little fuck."

It sounds almost fond.

Dew gives a half shrug, careful not to disrupt the blade where it sits snug against his skin.

"Didn't build my reputation on lies."

He gives it a shot then, if only for the sake of his pride, twisting his leg to try and trip Swiss. The man is too quick though, pins the offending leg with his knee, tutting.

"Now, now. Behave, will you ? I'd hate to have to damage that pretty face of yours."

"I doubt that," Dew huffs. It's a bit of a shot in the dark, but something is telling him he's right, so he pushes on. "You'd love to stake your claim, wouldn't you. Leave me with a premanent reminder of our...encounter."

Oh, the sweet way Swiss groans, throwing his head back. Looks like Dew hit the nail right on the head. Then those burning eyes are back on him and Dew is hit by the overwhelming need to keep them that way.

Swiss pushes even closer, until their chests are brushing with each breath they take. Something like hunger basks his features in feral need.

"Maybe I'll leave you with something sweet, after, but first, we have business to settle, don't we Dewy ?"

In answer Dew grins, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah, business."

He dares to lean a bit more into the knife, chasing the high of being so close to the blade, so close to Swiss, both dangerous in equal measure. The buckle of Dew's belt clinks against Swiss'.

The evening air is heavy, a powder keg only needing the slightest hint of a spark to explode.

Around Dew's wrists, Swiss' hand flex. He twists his knife until Dew has to tilt his chin up, throat even more exposed. Swiss' eyes stray on the smooth skin bared by the movement.

"My necklace, Dewy."

Oh isn't Dew going to have fun with that.

"Eager to stick your hands under my shirt, Swiss ?"

"Sure am."

In a swift motion, Swiss slices Dew's poor shirt open, slipping the knife back in his belt once it's done. The rush of air against his now bare chest has Dew involuntarily arching.

"I quite liked that one," he protests half heartedly, even as a traitorous shudder wracks through him. Swiss hums, wrapping his hand around the necklace. Now would be a good time to try something to break free, but if he's being honest, Dew's mind is far away from escape plans.

"So you did keep it...was worried you'd just sell it off somewhere."

Dew grins. Swiss' eyes flick up, back to him. Up close, he's even more beautiful. The scruff on his cheek must feel wonderfully scratchy, the two moles under his left eye too charming for such small details, the few patches of grey at his temple- far too attractive, that.

"Wanted you to keep looking for me," Dew admits, a bit breathless.

He sways and nearly falls head first into Swiss's chest when the man let go of his leg, tugging him flush againts him by the necklace, still holding his arms up.

"Oh, Dew. Wanna know a secret ?"

Without waiting for an answer, Swiss tilts his head, breathing almost directly in Dew's mouth.

"I would've kept chasing you, with or without the necklace."

That's what does it for Dew, self-control snapping. Before he's even realized what he's doing, his mouth is on Swiss'. For a split second, apprehension wraps around his spine, but then Swiss is half slamming him back against the wall, lips working against Dew's with equal frantic energy.

And oh does Swiss know what he's doing. Cupping his face with his free hand, angling it so that he can deepen the kiss, nipping at Dew's lip before swiping his tongue over it to dissipate the sting.

They're panting by the time they pull away. Slowly, Swiss releases Dew's wrists. He let his arms fall to his side, reaching for his weapon not even crossing his mind. Instead, his hands find Swiss' waist. The man grins, dark and hungry, taking his hat off with a flourish to set it on Dew's head.

There is not much sleep involved that night.

#I love their dynamic in this i'm sorry #also just cowboy swiss does things to me #cowboy au #swiss ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #nameless ghouls #the band ghost

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thisapplepielife · 2 days

Text

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles pop-up Anniversary challenge.

Out of Sight, Out of Mind

Prompt: Anniversary | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: Future Fic, Eddie Munson Lives, Or Did He?, He Definitely Did Right?, A Glitch in the Matrix, Shifted Timelines, Parallel Universes, Sliding Doors

"What are you doing?" Eddie asks sleepily. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the familiar shape of Steve crossing along the foot of bed, heading towards the window.

That isn't unusual. If Steve hears a siren, or a dog barking, anything, he crawls out of bed and heads to the window to look. But tonight, Eddie hadn't heard anything.

"Huh?" Steve responds, from bed, next to Eddie.

Eddie looks again, expecting to see Steve bent over at the waist, looking out the window, but there's nothing there. Instead, Steve's in bed, and has clearly been asleep.

Eddie swallows. Maybe he was dreaming, "Sorry. I think I was dreaming," he says, hoping he can convince himself of that. He looks at the alarm clock on the nightstand, and it's just after three.

Steve chuckles, voice rough with sleep, and pulls the comforter up over his shoulder.

Eddie thinks, weird.

But then it continues happening.

All day, he's felt like there's someone just out of his line of sight, and that person seems a whole lot like Steve. Eddie isn't scared, per se. He's unnerved, for sure, but it feels like Steve. Not a ghost or a demon, or anything sinister.

It's just like a second version of Steve is moving around the house, dancing along his peripheral vision, and Eddie is forced to only observe.

It's not until later that he realizes the date: March 27th, 2006.

It's the anniversary of his near death in the Upside Down. That can't be a coincidence. That's the day he was sure he was dying, if not already dead, and then he suddenly wasn't. The bites weren't that bad. All superficial. He barely even needed any medical attention at all.

Dustin had overreacted.

And, yeah, it felt hazy at first, but they all just blamed it on the stress and adrenaline he'd been pumped full of. Blamed it on the near death experience that wasn't actually that near death at all.

And now, he's seeing an echo, a ghost, of someone very much alive.

There's a glitch in the matrix.

Like when you see two people, strangers, on public transportation wearing the exact same shirt, sitting one row in front of the other. Only, Eddie's seeing Steve. A different version of Steve.

Eddie does a deep dive on the internet. Decides it's not a glitch in the matrix at all. Instead, he's pretty damn sure he's shifted timelines from the one where he died, to this new one where he didn't, and now they're bleeding together. All these years later.

Steve listens, patiently, and then kisses him on the top of the head, "Honey, I was there. You lived. I promise. 'Twas barely a scratch."

Eddie nods.

Of course. Of course that's true.

But he thinks maybe the other outcome was true, too.

Shadow Steve is getting more vibrant, and now Eddie can follow him around the house. Not really able to look at him straight on, but if he keeps the corner of his eye trained in his direction, he can see him for longer stretches.

He's the same, but different.

Quieter, sadder. More alone.

And there's no Eddie there. Eddie is 100% sure of that.

He's gotta do something about this.

Eddie's sitting outside of Nancy's office when she comes out of the door.

"Eddie!" she says, surprised, but happy to see him. He's about to rain all over her parade.

"I'm dead. I'm in the wrong timeline," he says, and her face falls. She reaches out, and puts her hand on his forearm.

"C'mon," she says, and he gets in her car, and looks down at his hands.

"What's going on?" she finally asks.

"I'm seeing Steve, in the house," he explains, and she raises an eyebrow, and he laughs, "Not that Steve. Not my Steve. But he's there, too. He's good," he promises. Because he knows she'll worry.

"Start from the beginning," she urges, and he does. Telling her everything.

"It's just a glitch in the matrix," she assesses, and he shakes his head.

"It's not. It's too frequent. It wasn't a one and done deal. It wasn't a trick of the light, or a shadow. He's there. Just outta my sight. Like he's in a parallel universe."

"And you're sure it's Steve? Not something Upside Down-related?"

"It's Steve. I'm not scared of him. Because it's Steve."

Nancy follows him all the way back to Hawkins, then sits on the bed beside him.

"Eddie," she says, and he shushes her. Taking her cheeks, forcing her to look in the direction he wants. It doesn't take long.

"There!" Eddie says, and Nancy gasps.

Fuck. He was kinda hoping he was just losing his mind.

"You can see him?" he asks.

"I can see him. Barely. Out of the corner of my eye. It's definitely Steve."

Eddie sighs, "Told you. What the fuck do I do now?"

Steve can't see him. Eddie can. Nancy can. Robin can. Dustin can.

But, Steve? He just can't.

Nancy thinks it's because it is Steve. The same Steve. Just minding his own business in another timeline, that's now somehow bleeding into theirs.

"Do you think this is lingering weirdness from the Upside Down?" Eddie asks.

"If it is, we should get El," Dustin suggests, and they all agree.

El takes one look at him, "That is Steve."

"Yes, we're aware," Eddie says, "how do we merge the two?"

"You cannot."

"Can we at least close the damn curtains?" Eddie doesn't want to keep seeing this Steve.

El thinks about that, "Maybe."

She forces Steve to hold her hands, and while reluctant, he's willing. For Eddie.

It's quiet, then Steve says, "Oh, whoa. That's me." Then, "Tingly."

And Shadow Steve fades away. Disappearing, like he'd never been there.

"Is he okay?" Eddie asks. He doesn't want any version of Steve to disappear.

"Yes. Now you cannot see him. Not gone, just invisible again."

"Out of sight, out of mind?" Eddie asks.

She nods, "Exactly."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun!

#steddieholidaydrabbles #anniversary #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddieholidaydrabbles #steve x eddie #steddie fanfiction

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acepalindrome · 3 days

Text

The more I think about it, the more I like how TLOVM is handling resurrection to make the stakes feel higher. Some deaths like Grog’s were turned into near death experiences, and the only actual rez we’ve seen was treated as something very risky and hard to pull off. We see it very nearly fail before Vax stepped in! And now it’s looking like Percy’s rez will fail, leading to the gang having to retrieve his soul from hell. Which I love!!

There’s always an issue in D&D of death losing its impact because you can bring people back! Remember Keyleth’s ‘it’s fine, we’re basically gods’ death and very quick resurrection? It really drops the stakes when all they need is a big diamond and a high level spell to beat death. Of course the outcome still depends on the rolls, but death isn’t as big of a threat in these conditions.

But TLOVM has been really good at balancing the severity of death and the in-universe ways of dealing with it! They’re limiting how many actual deaths there are, and showing that resurrection isn’t just a quick easy fix. The stakes are still very high! And this also sets the stage for Molly’s death in the Mighty Nein series, so the audience won’t just expect everything to be solved with a resurrection ritual. Just because it’s possible to bring back the dead doesn’t mean it’s a realistic option for most situations! Death matters! It has weight!

#tlovm #critical role #cr spoilers #tlovm spoilers

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judgementdaysunshine · 1 day

Note

🌻Rhea Ripley with this prompt 💀 (meaning near death experience)

Otherside

Pairing: Rhea Ripley x Fem reader

Description: You end up in a bad accident and Rhea is afraid you won't make it back to her

Rhea was waiting for you at home when her phone rings smiling when she saw your picture and name only for her heart to drop when she answered to hear Jey who was with you when the car accident happened and he was yelling almost screaming into the phone as he told her what had happened leading to her almost bursting out of the house as she ran to her car. She immediately ran to jey who was sitting on the side walk choked up with his arm cut open and his nose busted but it was when you were rolled out on a stretcher that things became chaotic with jey holding rhea back as she cried begging to see you before begging to go in the ambulance with you not wanting you to be alone even though she was crying uncontrollably the EMT allowed her to ride in the ambulance, she held your hand the entire ride and as you were strolled into the hospital before being taken towards the OR leaving rhea in a ball against the wall quietly sobbing as she called Damian while jey sat next to her who finally broke down saying he should have been quicker to help you even though he was dazed and clearly hurt himself and he kept apologizing to rhea who shook her head and hugged him then he kept apologizing to damian when he arrived who knew that you were in bad condition by the look on rhea's face which broke his heart with how close he was not just with rhea but with you as well even before you and rhea got together. The three waited and waited hand in hand right outside the OR as doctors worked on your injured, bruised, and truly broken body from the accident and how badly you had been hurt even to cause you internal bleeding in your stomach which had to be drained out in between them slowly removing your gallbladder, stitching your spleen and stomach up, and carefully removing a piece of your rib that had broken off and punctured your lung which filled up with blood but despite the odds they helped you leading to the doctor telling the three you were stable but now it was up to your body and system to heal over the next few weeks as the three walked in your room finding you on a ventilator covered in bandages with drains over the bandages around your stomach as you barely woke up and stayed awake being completely lethargic and fatigued until the fourth morning slowly waking up and having the vent taken out as you come out on the other side of the near death which you were shaken up by even after being discharged from the hospital and then fully healed after another six weeks but rhea was by your side through it all from the nightmares and panic attacks to the scars from the accident and surgeries to the mental and emotional aftermath and slowly moving forward with life knowing that even despite what happened that your life was wonderful and more beautiful than it already was before the accident.

#wwe x reader #rhea ripley #rhea ripley x reader #judgementdaysunshine's 1000 follower celebration #wwe

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hyuuukais · 9 hours

Text

⋆₊‧⁺˖⋆˚.⋆ ͙͘͡★ LOOK UP TO THE STARS

pairing ▪︎ han jisung x fem reader

synopsis ▪︎ sent out on a mission to a neighbouring QZ that's gone radio silent, y/n falls into the hands of a post-rebellion group after things go terribly wrong. giving up on rejoining her squad, she joins the group on a trek to find a missing member, the group leader's sister. what's supposed to be a not-so-simple trip out and back to their base becomes a one-way ticket to the end of everything they know.

warnings ▪︎ general, mention of feeling like a burden (not yn), vomiting (not in detail)

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CHAPTER THREE ▪︎ A QUIET NIGHT IN (6.2k)

Near-death experiences appear to have become your thing, having had another near miss when you're suddenly attacked in a wooded area by a small group of infected. At least that time you were able to save yourself, proving you can get out of a sticky situation if needed. Han has teased you relentlessly, only stopping when Chan tells him off. Even with Hyunjin he picks on you, but you give it to him as well.

By midday, everyone is tired, wordlessly begging Chan to let them take a rest. There's a long, hidden driveway creeping up a small hill that you spot up ahead. The surrounding area is quiet enough you should be able to hike up and take a break inside whatever building awaits.

"Hey." You jog up to Chan. "Up there. The houses around here are super spaced apart, so why not hole up in one for an hour or so? We can take out any infected and take turns keeping a lookout."

Chan eyes you, then swings around to face the others with a nod. "Everyone! We're gonna head up here, yeah? Take a look around for any infected and settle down for a while. I want to keep going before the sun goes down though, so do what you need to do in the time you have."

"Race you up there." A voice whispers into your ear; Han.

And so you run, and run, and run, side by side until you finally surpass him. Your laughter fills the air as you smack your hand on the door of the small house atop the hill, breathing heavily as you stumble inside. A pair of hands grab you from behind by the waist, lifting you off the ground and making you laugh even more.

"Let me go!" You manage to cough out between giggles and deep inhales. "Hyun-"

But it's not Hyunjin; it's Han.

"You can't do that," You blush, pushing him away. "Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" He smirks as he walks past you, peeking down the hallway to the right. "Make you laugh?"

"Be... intimate," You scold, following him down the hall.

There's a small set of stairs leading to three bedrooms, a bathroom, and an open closet at the end of the hallway. You step into the last bedroom, right before the closet. Clearly, it used to be a little girl's room, the name 'Hanni' painted in big yellow letters above a bed littered with worn plushies. You pick up the one closest to you, a floppy monkey missing an eye, and stare down at the photo on the nightstand. In the photo are two adults lifting a young girl up between them, undeniably happy. A heavy weight sits on your chest, and you find it hard to look away.

When you do finally tear your eyes off of the photo and go to leave the room, Han is leaning in the doorway. His breath catches when you find him staring at you, standing up straight and shoving his hands in his pockets. Blinking back unshed tears, ones you didn't realize even formed, you sit on the girl's bed. You don't invite him to sit with you, but he comes over anyway. The bed dips with his weight next to you.

"Remind you of your family?" He asks, voice softer than you thought it could be.

"No," You sniff. "No, it doesn't. I barely remember my family."

"Me too," Han says, genuine. "But Chan and the others have been my family for as long as it matters." He tries to meet your eyes, but they're glued to the monkey in your lap. "They could be yours too... if you let them."

"I don't think so." You shake your head. "Seungmin fits in fine here, but me?" Now you meet his eyes, placing the monkey aside. "Part of me thinks I'm better off alone. Yes, I have Hyunjin, and what we have is fun... but I know if it came down to it he wouldn't pick me over any of you."

Han just nods. "I feel that way too sometimes- about myself, not you. And we all know Hyunjin thinks Chan only values him for being a skilled fighter. Jeongin is constantly thinking he's not doing a good enough job because of his limited medical practice, yet being the designated doctor. We all have something."

"Why are you being so nice right now?" You sit further back on the bed, legs stretched out in front of you. "I thought you'd agree and say I should leave or something."

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't hate you." Han follows your actions, sitting back next to you. "It's fun to press your buttons."

"Oh, screw you." Laughing, you toss the discarded monkey at Han's chest.

He grabs the toy as you hit him with it, hands overlapping. For a moment, your heart speeds up, stuck on him. Your hand falls away when someone starts calling your names through the house, shuffling off the bed to join the others. Ignoring the way your heart is still pounding and the way your palms sweat, you greet Hyunjin with a peck on the cheek. He smiles down at you, replying with one on your temple. Soon after, Han emerges into the main room you're all standing in.

It's small, the living space, with a half-wall separating the kitchen ahead. To the left is a dining room with a long oval table, chairs knocked over, with table cloths and placemats moth-eaten. Remnants of a broken vase are scattered overtop, but plates set for dinner intact. You wonder what the family who lived here was like; were they about to sit and eat when the outbreak happened?

"We'll stay here for an hour or so," Chan announces. "I'm going to take a look around the perimeter, any volunteers wanna come with?"

You raise your hand.

"Alright. Y/n and I will go while the rest of you check the house and make sure it's safe. If anything goes wrong, you shout for us." His hands brush over his sheathed weapons. "We'll try and be quick. If we aren't back before the hour is up, assume we're dead and move on."

"Cheery," You whisper to Hyunjin, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"As always," He sighs, pressing his lips onto yours for what could be the last time.

Sticks and leaves crunch underfoot, no clear path to walk on. Chan walks slightly ahead of you with a hand on his gun, pausing to carefully mark trees with orange tape.

"Why the tape?" You asked before when he said he needed to grab something from his bag first.

"Knowing our group, someone'll wander off. This is so they know they've gone a bit too far and should probably head back," he said. "We might end up staying the night."

"How come?" You asked.

"To rest up fully," he said, only partially truthful.

There was more to it, something troubling him or one of the others who regularly confide in him. Something you weren't in on. Moments like that is what made you feel misplaced, like you weren't supposed to be apart of this journey. You should have left when you had the chance. Leaving now would be unfair to the group and you knew that; no matter how you felt, you needed to help them get to Chan's sister as much as you can.

"When'd you and Han meet?" You try to make conversation. "He said some stuff that made it seem you've known each other a long time."

An absent smile graces his features. "Ah, say ten years ago? He was a scared, angry little kid with a sharp eye. Still don't know where he learned to shoot so well at such a young age."

He stops to mark another tree, giving you take a second to look around. You're not too deep into the woodsy area, still able to make out the shape of the house if you squint hard enough, and you've made it almost all the way back around. There's been no sign of people or infected alike, birds chirping and squirrels chattering being the only noises. The sun has already started to set, golden beams hitting your bodies through the branches and creating a halo on Chan's head.

Hyunjin greets you at the door when you return, having offered to take first watch while the others take a break. Chaeryeong is out on the back porch occasionally strolling into view through the glass double doors leading to the wide backyard. Taking a seat next to Jeongin on the old, holey couch, you close your eyes with a sigh. No one bothers the two of you until Felix comes by with plates of previously canned food he made while you were on the verge of passing out. You take it gratefully, inhaling it rather than eating it.

In the corner of your eye, Jeongin rubs his leg around his right knee and calf, eyes shut in concentration. When he stands to head outside for some air, you notice the slight limp he walks with. It's barely noticeable, each step intentional. You don't ask about it when he comes back inside and sits back down, leg outstretched.

"Heading to bed yet?" Han swings his gun down onto his lap as he sits on the armchair to your left.

"Soon," You yawn, opening your eyes with difficulty. "I have to switch out with Chan in a couple of hours."

Before Han can reply, Hyunjin sits next to you on the arm of the couch and places a soft kiss on your forehead. You can practically feel Han rolling his eyes, getting up and walking away irritated. Why is he always like this? The moment you and Hyunjin do anything, he's annoyed.

"Is he like, jealous or something?" You sit up, arms crossed as you watch him slide the double doors open and step out, immediately striking up a conversation with Felix.

"Probably, but that's not our problem." Hyunjin slides into the spot between you and the arm, effectively squishing you.

You sigh. "Have you guys ever gotten along?"

"What? We get along fine," Hyunjin looks at you confused.

"Could have fooled me." Hyunjin opens his mouth, but you cut him off before he can start. "I'm gonna get some sleep before my shift, okay? See you later."

With a quick peck on his lips, you leave Hyunjin alone. The last thing you need right now is a deep-dive into Han and Hyunjins friendship, tired enough to sleep for a few years at least. Your brain is mush, not unlike a zombie's you imagine, unable to think full sentences anymore until after you've taken a chance to rest.

By this point in the day, everyone can tell you aren't leaving until early morning if you can help it. The sun has descended almost fully, leaving the world in hues of blue as night takes over. Other than you, Jeongin is the only one who hasn't taken a shift to watch yet. You figure he'll be paired with you, him switching off with Felix when you wake up. Drifting to sleep is easier than you thought it would be, brain turning off and leading you into a dreamless rest. When you do wake, there's a slight ache in your leg, but you ignore it as you rub the sleep out of your eyes and head to the front door where Chan should be.

"Listen, I don't want you getting hurt," Chan's voice is low, easily heard from where you stand by the open door. He hasn't noticed you there yet. "Let us take watch and go back inside, okay? I saw the way you were earlier, I know it's bothering you."

"I can deal." Jeongin sounds frustrated. "I don't want to be a burden-"

"Hey," Chan cuts him off sharply. "Don't ever think you're a burden. Never. Because you're not, you just need some extra rest, yeah? Bad days happen."

"Fine," Jeongin sighs and you open the door, pretending you heard nothing.

"Chan, you heading in?" You ask.

He nods. "Jeongin's feeling a bit under the weather, so Felix is gonna keep watch of the back a little longer until Chaeryeong is awake."

"Sounds good," you force a smile. You want to know what's wrong, but you don't want to press either. "Sleep well guys. The bed at the end of the hall has some plushies that are comfortable to lay your head on if you want."

Late in the night, you hear a distant cry. Instantly your gun is in your hand, knife in the other as you gaze out into the trees and down the hidden driveway. Although it sounded fairly animalistic, you know by now you can't take the chance of ignoring it. The sounds of the infected wandering the world varied from almost human, to sounds you can't compare to anything but the stuff of nightmares. When you hear the cry again, louder this time, you jog down the steps of the front stone porch and around the back, whispering to Felix. Chaeryeong is still asleep, but should be waking up soon to switch out.

You find Felix on the other side of the yard, weapon drawn and focused on the surrounding woods. Did he hear the same sounds as you, or did he hear something else back here? Hoping it's the former, you approach him quietly, careful not to scare him by accident. He must have seen you coming, holding up a hand behind his back to signal you to stop, and you do, bringing you own weapons up. The cry is louder again, but ever so slightly different than the one you heard.

"Lix, I think we need to get inside," You whisper, inching closer. "I heard something in the front too."

"If it's only two, we can take them out," He whispers back. "Any sign of more and I'll head in. You should probably go back to the front."

Frustrated with his answer, you obey and go back to your position. You're about to walk down the driveway when you see them; easily thirty infected beings are headed your way, but have yet to spot you. With a hand over your mouth, you crouch down by the wall of the house, moving as fast as you can to where you left Felix alone. As you turn the corner, you can see him backing away in the same crouched position as you. When he starts moving back to the house, you make eye contact and he makes a gesture with his hand to get back inside. Like you were going to do anything else.

Once inside, he breathes deeply as if he'd been holding his breath and you do the same. Outside, zombies are starting to emerge from the trees and wander across the yard. There's too many of them to be able to leave the area safely, opting to find everyone in the house and let them know the situation. Felix leaves to report to Chan, knowing he'll likely be with Jeongin and Han, and you go to find Chaeryeong sleeping on the same kids bed you did, waking her with a small shake and telling her to get to the others in the main room. Next is Hyunjin, but you see him exiting another bedroom with Chan, Jeongin, and Felix.

"Where's Han?" You make sure to keep your voice low. "Wasn't he with you guys?"

Chan shakes his head, jaw clenching. "Nope, he's the only one unaccounted for." He ushers everyone further into the house and down the hallway, stopping in front of the first bedroom on the left. "Everyone stay in here. Use the furniture to block the door in case some stragglers get inside and cover up the window. Stay low and out of sight, stay quiet, and most importantly, stay together, okay?"

"You're making this sound like you're not coming," Chaeryeong points out.

"Because I'm not, and before you can protest," he holds up a hand. "Jisung is family to me. I need to make sure he's safe."

"He's family to all of us," Hyunjin steps in. "And so are you."

With a sigh, Chan looks down. "I know."

"Let me go," You say, maybe a bit too loud.

Seungmin's head pops up sharply. "Absolutely not."

"If anything happens to me, it won't be nearly as devastating as it would be with Chan or Han," you look away from the others, losing courage just a bit from their stares. "I'm quick and I'm quiet when I need to be and will be in and out like that. He can't have gone too far anyway."

"Y/n, you can't seriously-" Hyunjin starts, but is cut off by Chan holding up a hand again.

"She has a point."

The others avoid your eyes now, nonverbally agreeing that you should be the potential sacrifice. Really nice to have that confirmed. Without another word, you leave the group, about to leave out the back doors when someone grabs your wrist.

"See you later?"

You give Seungmin a sad smile, knowing later isn't likely. "See you later."

A chill runs down your spine, from the cold or the sheer amount of infected, you don't know. From what you learned in your time at the QZ, the undead don't see as well at night and you need to use that to your advantage, whether it's true or not. Everything you've learned has become questioned knowledge; were they feeding you lies, always planning on sending you out to die? Or did any of the information you learned mean something?

Belly to the grass, you shuffle forward on your forearms in the direction Felix mentioned before you left the building. Of course, out of all people you were risking your life for it had to be Han Jisung. Not Hyunjin, not Seungmin, not even Chan? Han? Really? When you find him and are back safely, you are gonna rip him a new one for being so careless. What happened to the buddy system? Too good for him, apparently, too confident in his abilities.

Up ahead, you spot his gun lying among the sticks and leaves by a tree and your heart drops. Closer, you can see claw marks a couple feet up the tree trunk, a ripped piece of clothing hanging from a branch further up. Half of it is painted red, soaked in blood, and breathing is suddenly difficult. You're about to stand up carefully, a plan to climb the tree, but the minute you're in a crouched position an infected walks right by you. You stay still, letting it pass. Thinking you're in the clear, you look back at it only to find it staring at you and now you do stop breathing. It's head tilts, observing, but doesn't move. After what feels like years, it turns back around and continues on it's way.

Releasing a deep breath, you make your way up the tree slowly. Thankfully the branches get stronger the higher you go, and you're more confident the infected won't hear you climb faster.

"Y/n? What the fuck?" You nearly fall off your branch at the sound of Han's voice. "What are you doing out here?"

Securing yourself on the same thick branch he sits on, you look at him with wide eyes. "I could ask you the same thing!"

You shift around, now straddling the branch.

"I had to take a bathroom break, is that so bad?" He huffs.

"Yeah, it is. At least, when you don't tell anyone or take anyone with you and make everyone worried because a giant horde of zombies came out of nowhere!" You whisper shout at him, furious. "Chan was gonna come out here looking for you."

"Why didn't he?" Han's eyebrows furrow.

"Didn't think it was worth the trip," You frown when he gives you a dejected look. "Kidding. I volunteered since he's too important to the group."

"Again with the self-sacrificial shit." He rolls his eyes. "I can tell you now the horde is starting to thin. I'm not seeing nearly as many as I did running up this tree like a squirrel."

You snort. "You know, you kinda look like a squirrel."

"Felix says the same thing," Han shrugs. "We should be able to sneak back soonish."

You remember the cloth hanging from a lower branch. "Did you get bitten?"

"No," He shakes his head. "Just a scratch."

Lifting his leg over the branch, you can see the rip in the thigh of his cargo pants and the cut underneath.

"It looks worse than it is."

"Doesn't look bad to me." You lean back against the trunk as he swings his leg back over, taking the same straddling position as you. "Just a scratch really."

"Okay Miss Leg-That-Got-Crushed." He rolls his eyes again, and you seriously consider pushing him off your shared branch.

Looking down, you can barely see the ground below and wonder how Han can be so sure the zombies are leaving the area so soon. It's been what, an hour? Taking a chance, hoping he's not wrong, you begin your descent. You're careful and slow as you go down, teeth grinding together when a boot makes contact with your fingers at one point. You use your other hand to punch Han's ankle until his foot finally moves.

Once you hit the ground, you're immediately on your belly again and taking in your surroundings. Han is next to you in the same position, but after a few minutes you get up into a crouch, no sight of infected in your vision.

"Huh," You whisper. "Where'd they all go?"

Your question is answered as soon as you break through the trees. There's a smaller crowd of infected fighting their way into the house, clawing at the back doors with fervor. You stop walking, grabbing Han's arm as he readies his gun.

"No, stop it." You examine the group. "Gunshots will alert others in the area if they haven't already. Take this." You hand him a knife. "We need to be smart about this or neither of us will live to see the sunrise."

Taking your knife in his hand, he nods and follows your lead as you circle around to the back of the group and whistle once, twice, until you've got the attention of a few in the back. The night gives you the advantage of misleading them, whistling the few that notice you away. They stumble down the steps of the porch, hands clawing the air in search of you. You whistle again. Two break off from the group, about five, and you signal to Han to go left. You watch him sneak up from the back, and you do the same to the one on the right. Quick and quiet, you take them out with a knife to the back of the neck.

The bodies fall silently, using your own body to help bring them down. The other three are nearing the tree line, which you could leave them to wander away, but you know they'll just come back if you mess this up. With a knife in each hand, you get close enough to throw them expertly into the skulls of the two closest to you. You're about to take out the last one, but something flies past your head, nailing it in the middle of the forehead, body falling limp. You look back to see Han bringing down a slingshot with a smirk on his face.

You retrieve your knives from the fallen bodies and rejoin Han, whistling again. This time, more detach from the others, a group of about eight.

"Shit," Han whispers beside you. "That's... a lot at once."

"I have three knives to throw and another I can keep on me, how much ammo do you have?"

He pats a small pouch tied to a belt loop. "Enough. I refilled this thing before we left and have only used it once."

You nod and wait until the group has broken up, one straying away from the groups of three and four. "Which group do you want?"

"Four."

"You only want four to prove something," You say, eyeing him. "Don't lose something instead."

Before he can respond, you're off to where the group of three has wandered to the left side of the house. Three knives, three chances. The first is a success, the second landing too low into the back and you curse yourself, throwing the last into its skull as it turns around. The third spots you, having gotten a little too close for the night to cover you. A low growl leaves its mouth and it stalks toward you.

"Now or never," You say to yourself, ready to dodge an attack.

Something grabs you from behind; the straggler. How do you keep getting yourself in these situations? Good fucking job.

Hooking a leg behind the straggler, you're able to send the two of you backward, hitting the ground hard enough that it lets go of you. Sharp nails pierce your skin as you roll away, drawing blood when you rip your arm out of its hold. Dirt comes up as it digs its hands into the earth, crawling toward you. With a hard kick to the head, it stops moving long enough for you to have time to stick a knife under its chin and through the mouth, blood pouring down your hand. You can hear the other coming for you, standing up with a death grip on your knife. It makes a move to grab you, but you successfully dodge, landing a slash to its arm. Dark blood seeps through the fabric of the flannel it wears, the arm rendered useless from the depth of your attack.

"C'mon Y/n, just one more." You run at it, jumping on its back and yanking the head back by the hair, slashing its neck all in one swift movement.

When you get off the body, you see Han moving toward the porch steps and your eyes go wide. Is he seriously going to take the rest on himself? There are about six left and you can see the four already did some damage, red streaks running down the side of his face from his hairline, and the slight limp worse.

"Dammit, Han."

It doesn't take much for the infected to notice Han when he first steps up, the wood underneath breaking under his weight with a loud crunch. With the sun starting to rise, they spot him almost immediately. Why isn't he moving? Then you notice- his foot is stuck. Oh, you are so going to tease him for this later. That is, if there is a later.

Jumping over the edge of the porch fence, you whistle again and gain the attention of three of the infected, the other three descending on Han. Dodging left and right, scratches here and there, you get to the top of the steps where the infected are almost on him. He has his slingshot out, but slips backward, still trying to free his foot, and lands on his back, weapon flying out of his grip. Your knife pierces the back of the closest one's neck, yanking the body back so it doesn't fall and knock the others onto the man you're trying to save.

"Look, I'm saving your life for once!" You shout over the infecteds gargling and crying.

"Shut it!" is the only response you get.

The next one slips down a step, sending the one closest to Han directly on top of him. It's about to take a bite, but Han is quicker, grabbing its head, and snapping its neck. You're about to send your knife through the hundredth skull of the night, but a force knocks you into the fence. You almost forgot about the others. As you hit the wood, your breath is knocked out of you, and your knife, out of your hand.

The infected that pushed you cages you against the fence and you think back to the bridge. If you try and pull the same stunt, at least you won't fall as far. But this one seems to be smarter, faster, not taking the time to scream at you, but instead dives into your neck. There's barely any time to process, sticking your arm in between your bodies right before contact. Saliva drips onto your skin, running down your shirt. It pushes forward, desperate for a bite of sweet flesh.

"Han!" You shout; you need to know he'd at least make it out.

"Right here!" His voice is oddly close. "Hold on just a bit longer!"

This is it, you think as its mouth gets closer and closer to your neck, I'm gonna die. In front of Han Jisung.

Fighting back tears, your arm shakes under the weight of its strength, begging you to give up. In this world, it's inevitable, no? Why not let it take you out sooner than later?

"By the way," Han grabs the infected from behind. "You're not allowed to die."

He makes eye contact with you as he snaps its neck, your chest heaving. You stare at him with wide eyes, taking in the amount of blood on his body, not that you look any better. The way he looks at you, his own chest rising and falling in the same quick manner, makes you squirm.

A door slides away, and Chan steps out of the house. You don't have to look at him to know he's angry, pushing Han by the chest to look at him.

"Where were you? Explain yourself, now."

"Nature called at a bad time?" Han tries to joke, but his half-smile falters under Chan's gaze. "I'm sorry, I really didn't think I'd be out so long."

"God, at least tell someone where you're going next time!" Chan brings him into a crushing hug. "We thought you were dead."

"Me? Dead?" He breaks the hug, face tinged red. Although, that could honestly just be more blood. No, it's definitely a blush. Hard to tell. "Please."

Chan finally looks at you, jaw clenching at your state. You must look a lot worse than you feel with a stare like that. What you don't expect is Chan to approach you, to give you the same tight hug as he did Han. You don't hug back at first, too stunned by the sudden physical contact, but as he starts to pull back, your arms wrap around his back.

"You smell bad."

"We all smell bad," You laugh.

You hold on longer than you mean to, not realizing just how much you miss physical affection. Thinking back to sharing beds with Yeji and Yuna, teasing Minho and him holding you at night to keep you warm before you got to the QZ; it's hard to stay together in front of Chan, and you think that's why he lets you be the one to break the hug. Now you have Hyunjin, but it isn't the same.

"I needed that," You say low, looking down at your feet.

"C'mon," He puts a hand on your shoulder, leading you to the door. "Let's get back inside. Sun's almost up, gotta head out soon."

Giving him a tight smile, you head to the small bedroom to grab your bag where you left it on the bed. As you turn to leave the room, you spot the stuffed monkey hanging half off the bed. Should you be taking unnecessary items with you? No. But will you be shoving this monkey into your bag for future times of comfort? Absolutely.

Everyone is already gathered outside by the time you get there, securing weapons, tightening bag straps, whatever they need to do before officially leaving. The sun isn't quite up yet, leaving a chill in the air and making you shiver, wrapping your jacket around you better. Your arm stings where the fabric rubs against where the infected scratched; you should probably put a bandage on that.

"How's your leg?" You walk up to where Han is sitting on the ground, Felix dressing the wound at his hairline with Jeongin behind him.

"Better now that these two did something about it." He winces as Felix puts alcohol on the open cut, cleaning the blood running down Han's face while he's at it. "How's your arm?"

"Your arm?" Jeongin quirks an eyebrow at you.

"Right, about that." You put your bag by your feet and take off the right arm of your jacket revealing the dried blood underneath. "Got scratched during everything last night and almost forgot about it until now. I saw you guys with the medical supplies and thought I'd grab a bandage."

Jeongin grabs your upper arm gently, examining the three scratch marks. "Y/n these are pretty deep, sit down and I'll sew you up."

"Are they?" Sitting down, you take another look and see fresh blood trickling down the side of your arm. "Oh shit, I guess they are- ah."

It stings when Jeongin uses the same alcohol Felix used for Han on your arm, biting your lip and eyes squeezed shut. The pinprick of a needle is felt soon after and you fist the end of your jacket with your free hand to avoid digging your nails into your skin. Someone is rubbing at your back, but you still can't open your eyes to see who it is.

"You're doing good," you recognize Hyunjin's voice in your ear. "Almost there. That's it."

When there's a pat on your arm, you open your eyes and your fist unclenches. Where there used to be an angry, red wound, is now a white wrapping with a tinge of blood seeping through in the middle. Although your arm is still sore, you ignore it, putting your jacket back on and standing with Hyunjin's help, not that you need it.

"Ready to go?" Chan asks loud enough for everyone to hear.

You're about to follow him down the driveway when you remember something fairly important.

"I forgot something," You blurt. "I'll be quick so you can keep walking."

Chan nods. You jog back around the house, seeing the bodies of the infected scattered across the yard in the oncoming daylight. Making your way to the ones on the left side of the house, you notice something as you get closer; a nametag is pinned to one's shirt reading Hanni, one that you killed last night. A cold feeling runs down your body as you take in its- her- apron, the name long rubbed off the chest. Her nails are painted a chipped baby pink, a silver band on her left ring finger.

Suddenly, you feel ill. The world is moving although you are still and nausea hits you in intense waves as you come to a realization, something you should have had in mind before. These things you fight were once real people with real lives and real families, not creatures who spawned one day with evil intent. No, they all had to turn into this, and you feel so sick. With a shaky hand, you grip under her chin and pull you knife out, sheathing it at your thigh. As dark blood trickles out of the hole you made, you hunch over at her side and heave.

"Why are you taking so damn long- oh shit, are you okay?"

"Why do you keep seeing me at my most embarrassing moments?" You wipe your mouth, avoiding his eyes.

"To keep you on your toes," Han says, crouching next to you. "Seriously, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You literally just threw up."

"I'm fine," You insist.

"Vomit, anger, first thing in the morning," Han strokes his chin, pretending to think hard. "Hyunjin didn't...?"

"Oh, what the fuck is wrong with you?" You smack him in the shoulder, but barely contain a laugh. "No, it's just... kind of hit me that they were like us once. Her name's Hanni, like in the bedroom. Do you think she was visiting home?"

"Try not to think about it, it makes them easier to kill." Han stands up and sticks a hand out; you take it. "Not that it's easy."

You retrieve your other knives quicker, not stopping to look at the man attached to one. When you rejoin the group at the end of the driveway, Chan gives you a funny look. It's like he can sense when something's wrong, and you hope he can't read minds.

Like that, you're on the road again. You notice neither Han nor Jeongin are limping anymore, and that Chan has a new wrapping on his left forearm. Chaeryeong is wearing her hair up, revealing a tattoo you hadn't noticed before of a lightning bolt, the rest hidden underneath her collar. The sunrise has popped over the horizon and into your eyes, but you can't help but notice how the golden rays bring out the freckles on Felix's face or the glow of Hyunjin's skin. Seungmin walks beside you, stoic as ever, but when Jeongin says something to him quietly, you catch a glimpse of his wide smile and can't contain your own.

These are real people, your people, whether you feel it completely or not yet. They have their histories, their lives, their secrets and desires and fears and loves. And so do you, and so do the people lying dead in a backyard kilometers behind you now. Right now, you hold onto the view of the people around you, and you hope that will be enough in the end.

---

notes ▪︎ how are we feeling so far? these people rlly can't catch a break, huh...... lol. it only gets worse from here, so, yk. :33

─── taglist : @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @staysinbloom @manuosorioh @hanjisunglover @xxstrayland @puppyminnnie @hanjsquokka @kpopsstuffs @ot8girlfie @quokkabite @linoslawayslinos @reapers-lover @hyunjinslittlestar @kiki0113 @nishiriks @nxtt2-u

#⋆₊‧⁺˖⋆˚.⋆ ͙͘͡★ LOOK UP TO THE STARS #skz #stray kids #han jisung x reader #han jisung x fem reader #han jisung #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #zombie au #zombie apocalypse au #skz zombie au #han jisung fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz series #han jisung series

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