#also i would’ve kept u up until midnight anyway. and u would need the sleep bc ur eye bags have been getting worse

[nemeseos-noctua]

THIS IS FOR AETHER AND ALBEDO PLS--

May I request for a shy S/O that wants to kiss a certain area (For Aether: his tummy, For Albedo: the spark on his neck) they're just oddly attracted to it and wanna bury their nose against it I'msosorryifthisisweirdaha :"D

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: aether, albedo (separate) x gn!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: albedo and aether might be a little ooc? does aether even have a character? also not proofread (is that even a surprise anymore)

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: once again written at 12am! 12am is writing time yall idk what to tell u

he honestly won’t notice at first... and he won’t notice until you tell him

i mean, don’t get me wrong— he’s definitely aware of the way your [e/c] eyes trail down to his stomach... and he’s definitely going to blush and look away when you do

but still! okay! he thinks you’re just, err, looking! not like, you wanted to kiss him! or anything! nope! not at all!

(aether is such a child pls why is he like this just KISS)

“Oh, [Y/N]! Paimon and I were looking for y—“ Aether tilted his head, confused as to why your eyes were avoiding him like the plague.

“... [Y/N]?” Aether repeated once more, waving his gloved hands in front of you as you cleared your throat.

“Ah, Aether! Yes, did you need anything?” You responded, still looking away from the Traveler as he raised his eyebrows.

shuffling to the side so he can stare at you fully, you kept craning your head away from him no matter how much he moved into your sight

cupping his gloved hands over your cheek, aether tilted your head to gaze into his golden orbs, its hues flickering with confusion as paimon’s barfing noises could be heard behind the blonde

“I was going to ask you if you wanted to do my commissions with me... but is something wrong?” He asked, completely oblivious to the way you struggled to not stare at the skin below his croptop... was Aether always this fine?

“Nope! Nothing at all!” You tapped the side of your thigh anxiously, waiting for Aether to let go of you— which he cautiously did.

“Okay... but if something’s wrong, be sure to tell me, okay?” Aether spoke softly, his worry sending your heart aflame as you stiffly nodded.

you felt so bad for staring at aether (even though he was your man) but PLEASE did he have to be this fine?!

you. you can literally see his abs. like. the outline. like. like, like—

anyways!

after the two of you completed your commissions and checked in for the night, you waited until paimon left to eat everything at good hunter to confess your embarrassment to aether

look. if you were gonna stare, you were at least going to make aether aware of such beliefs... because, it was kind of embarrassing otherwise

“Ah, Aether...” You looked away, edging slowly to your side of the tent as the blonde merely hummed, staring up at the roof of the tent.

“Yes?”

“Sorry.”

“Huh? For what?” The Traveler turned over to you, gazing at you in confusion as you fiddled nervously with your fingers.

“Ah... uh, for staring at you.”

Stifling a laugh, Aether merely gazed at you and all of your adorable-ness. Why were you apologizing? You were literally his s/o! 

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean anything of harm,” The male reassured you, a comforting smile painting his features as your mind blared the most embarrassing thought ever.

I want to kiss you. You thought.

“You can.”

“What?” You yelped, eyes wide as Aether avoided your gaze, his cheeks dusting with a blush so soft he looked like a calla lily under the dim moonlight.

“No, wait! I mean—” Covering your face with your hands, both Aether and you were short-circuiting.

if you really want to kiss his stomach, you’re going to have to tell him... cuz aether ain’t the brightest when it comes to romance cues! 

you wanna kiss him? sure! you wanna kiss his stomach? su—wait what?

“... i wanna kiss your, eh... stomach,” you manage to stifle out before faceplanting into the floor of the tent. why? why?! NANDE NANDE NANDE NANDE— (jk lol)

aether was silent. i mean, not that that’s new or anything, but you could hear crickets

“i... okay!” aether sat up, his face exploding a bright red it matched the fire outside

“no! aether! you don’t have to—“ 

pulling you into his chest, aether looked away from you, closing his eyes as if all of his embarrassment would go away

“Eh?! What the heck is going on here?!” Paimon whisper-screamed, stumbling into the tent— only to see the sight of you and Aether’s limbs tangled together, your head resting atop the blonde’s toned stomach.

“Blegh!!” The mascot rushed out of the tent, vomiting at the sight of her companion being all lovey-dovey.

Disgusting!

he’d notice you staring at his neck pretty quickly

he’s very perceptive, thanks to his alchemy and him having to observe the tiniest of elemental reactions—you staring at the star on his skin is no biggie

in all honesty, he’d find amusement in teasing you about how obvious you’re being. like, oh? you want to kiss his neck? why don’t you tell him so? 

BUT HE MEANS IT ALL LOVINGLY! 

it’s okay. just kiss him fr and he’ll shut up 🙄🙄

“Is something the matter, [Y/N]?” Albedo quipped smugly, watching your eyes avoid his as you fiddled nervously with the pencil on your table.

“Nothing.”

“Hmm... is that so?”

Finding amusement in your hesitance, Albedo resumed his studies. The hour hand of the clock seemed to move quickly—too quickly for the alchemist to comprehend. He swore the sun rose just two hours ago! What did the clock mean it was midnight?!

Sighing for the nth time, Albedo pinched the bridge of his nose, staring at the letters that scattered the pages, your figure moving like a candlelight in the peripherals of his vision. 

Tugging at the hem of his coat, the alchemist turned towards you in an uncharacteristic confusion. Albedo was so used to knowing the ins and outs of everything he laid his eyes upon—it was a part of being an alchemist— but when it came to you, it seemed as though you were some kind of unreadable book that’d take years to translate.

But perhaps, that was your charm. 

“albedo needs some sleep” you thought, getting up to usher him to bed

knowing he would decline your invitation, you mustered up the courage to do the unthinkable:

kiss his neck.

“You need some rest, Albedo,” You hummed, resting your chin on his shoulder as the alchemist swore he melted. If it were under any circumstance (if he wasn’t experimenting), he would’ve obliged in a heartbeat. But right now, he was busy! He was about to make a scientific breakthrough and—

The “I can’t,” that was about to slip from his tongue was quickly swallowed back down. 

His teal eyes widened once your lips came into contact with the star on his neck, his adam’s apple hanging right above the galactic pattern as his face exploded in a red cascade of blush. 

“Okay, I’ll go to bed first,” You shuffled to the bedroom, your footsteps clumsy from the way your mind fogged over with embarrassment, joy, content, and anxiousness.

Covering his nose and mouth with the back of his arm, Albedo straightened up—still suffering from a severe case of love.

Agh—why did you have to do this to him?

Resting his elbows on the table before him, the alchemist stared blankly at the wooden material, the redness on his face never leaving.

Just how was he going to experiment now?

— constellations!

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact imagines #genshin albedo #genshin aether #albedo x reader #aether x reader #albedo scenarios #albedo imagines #albedo #aether #constellarations

[set-phasers-to-whump]

can’t eat, can’t sleep, running on empty

hello!! i am back with bthb and kurt whump! this fic is set sometime after s1, kurt has gone back to work at the police. the title is from cheap beer and nicotine by littleDEATH. hope u enjoy!!!!

It is one in the morning, and Kurt Wallander is at work. He hasn’t moved in hours. His eyes are glued to a case file open on his computer screen. An almost-empty coffee mug sits beside his elbow. It’s been filled and emptied five or six times tonight already, its contents being the only thing Kurt has ingested for quite some time. 

Kurt tears his eyes away from the screen for a moment and yawns. When he looks back at his file, he discovers that his eyes are refusing to focus on the words. He reaches for his coffee, drains the last of it, then slowly shuffles over to the coffee pot to pour himself a new cup. 

This case is important, which is why he’s at work so late. It’s his first case since coming back to the police, the first case he’s been put on, rather than unwillingly shoved into. He has to do a good job, has to prove himself. Hence why he’s surviving on bad coffee and staying at work long past midnight, coming in (if he bothers to leave at all) by six every morning. 

By the time he feels like he’s finished with the file for the night, it’s no longer night, but instead five in the morning. No point going home, he figures, getting up to put on a new pot of coffee. 

With nothing else to do, Kurt sinks into his chair, thinking he can maybe catch a bit of sleep. But it’s no use. He’s too worked up from thinking about the case to sleep, or maybe just too caffeinated. Whatever the reason, his body refuses to rest, which he thinks is probably for the best. He doesn’t fancy having a nightmare in front of the night shift, and lately, it seems like nightmares are the only thing he gets when he closes his eyes. Just another reason to work late, he figures. You can’t have nightmares if you don’t sleep. 

Kurt sits there, letting his thoughts wander about aimlessly, until he’s jolted back into reality by a tap on his shoulder. He startles and whips around, blinking as the action makes his head swim.

“Early start today?” Rask asks. Kurt nods. 

“Nice initiative,” she tells him, then drops a stack of papers onto his desk. “We’re going to speak to witnesses after lunch today. Until then, paperwork.”

Kurt groans inwardly. He hates paperwork, especially lately. It takes up too much valuable focus, focus that could otherwise be directed towards solving this case. Not to mention the fact that his hands are shaking in a way that is definitely going to be noticeable in his handwriting. 

He can’t just not do the paperwork, though. So he resigns himself to the task, pouring yet another cup of coffee, barely cognizant of the gnawing feeling of hunger in the pit of his stomach and the back of his throat. 

Six hours later, Kurt has finally finished the paperwork. He would’ve finished it sooner, most likely, but his vision had kept going blurry, and no amount of coffee had been able to fix it. Plus, at some point, his thoughts had started to really wander, and he’d found himself incapable of making them stop. He’d think of Reza, finally moving up to Major Crimes next week. Then he’d think of Mona, currently in Stockholm with Gustav Munck for a charity event. Then he’d think of explosions and smoke and blood. Then he’d snap out of his thoughts and focus back on the paperwork in front of him. Then he’d think of Reza...

He is relieved when 12:30 rolls around and Rask comes up to his desk. She gives it a sharp tap, pulling Kurt out of another thought loop. “Are you ready to go?” she asks, though it’s not a question. 

Kurt nods anyway, then stands, balancing himself for a moment against his desk when the world tilts slightly. He follows Rask out to the parking lot wordlessly, sinking gratefully into the passenger seat of the car. 

Neither of them says a thing for several minutes. Kurt stares out the window, trying his best to keep his eyes open, ignoring the now more pronounced aching in his stomach and throat. He’s fine. He slept a few days ago, probably. He’s had plenty of coffee. He’s fine.

Rask finally breaks the silence when Kurt fails to stifle a yawn. “Are you alright? You seem a little...off.”

Kurt nods. “I’m fine,” he says, reflexively.

“Good. I need you focused and alert for this.”

Kurt nods again. This is a vital part of the case. He knows that. Without these witnesses, there’s little hope of catching their suspect. If they don’t catch their suspect, then he’ll have failed. Again. They have to catch the suspect. This is important. He can’t fuck it up.

--

“That was an incredibly important part of the investigation, and you completely fucked it up!”

Kurt winces. He knows. He hadn’t asked a single useful question. He hadn’t been able to answer the questions that the witnesses had asked him. He’d barely spoken at all, as a matter of fact. He just hadn’t been capable - words would enter his brain and then leave immediately, like water through a strainer. He hadn’t been able to focus on a single thought for long enough to formulate a sentence. And he’d been growing steadily more nauseous, so that even if he had managed to come up with something coherent to say, he wouldn’t have wanted to open his mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” is the only thing he can say. “I didn’t…” he trails off, eyes drifting closed for a second before he forces them back open. 

Rask drives back to the police headquarters silently. Kurt doesn’t even have to look at her to know she’s fuming. He deserves it, he knows. He’d slipped. Badly. He just hopes she won’t kick him off the case, kick him out of Major Crimes. He’s put everything he’s got, and more that he really hasn’t got, into this. He needs it. 

The second they’re back in the building, Rask is pulling him into her office and closing the door. She pushes him towards a small couch in the corner. “Sit,” she says, and Kurt complies, swallowing nervously. He has a feeling he’s about to get very harshly yelled at.

So he’s understandably surprised when, instead of towering over him and chewing his head off, Rask sits down next to him and asks, in the softest voice he’s ever heard her use, “when was the last time you slept?”

He very nearly starts crying right then and there. Not just because of the sheer concern that’s laced into her voice, but also because he really does not know. Maybe he’d fallen asleep for a few moments this morning. It’s possible he slept a couple days ago. He knows he slept at some point before Mona had gone to Stockholm eight days ago.

“I don’t know,” he confesses, feeling vaguely ashamed. 

“You’re exhausted,” Rask supplies. “What else?”

Kurt shrugs. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s not okay. He stubbornly wipes a tear away from under his eye. He can still be fine.

Rask sighs from beside him, and Kurt thinks for a moment that she is going to leave. He can’t decide whether or not he wants her to. 

She doesn’t leave. Instead, she places a hand on his shoulder and asks, “when was the last time you ate?”

He thinks of the copious amounts of coffee he’s had over the past several days, and realizes he’s had little else. The thought makes him feel faintly sick, and he swallows harshly before saying, again, “I don’t know.”

Rask does leave then, and for a few moments Kurt sits alone on her couch, willing himself not to cry, to be fine, to get up and go back to his desk, back to work. But it’s no use. He can’t force his exhausted body to move an inch. 

His eyes fly open as the door to the office opens and then closes, quietly. Rask is back, and she has things in her arms which his eyes are stubbornly refusing to focus on enough to figure out what they are. Something lumpy, he thinks. Something vaguely round, possibly.

She sits back down next to him and hands him one of the items she’s brought. He stares at it for a moment, trying futilely to think of what it might be.

“It’s a sandwich,” Rask supplies, pulling some of the paper away from it. 

Kurt tries to hand it back. Some part of him recognizes the fact that he’s desperately hungry, but a larger part of him insists that he shouldn’t eat it. That he’s fine. Or, at any rate, too nauseous to eat anything.

“You need to eat something,” Rask insists. “You’re not going to feel any better until you do.”

Sensing that there’s little point in trying to argue, Kurt takes a small bite of the sandwich. It’s not very good, but the second he swallows it he’s taking another, more out of instinct than a true desire to keep eating. 

Rask pulls the sandwich away from him when he’s eaten about half of it. “Slow down,” she tells him. “This is the first real food you’ve had in a while. Don’t overdo it.”

Kurt nods distractedly, finding himself thinking again of Mona, and sandwiches, and the rain, and the question when was the last time you ate? and his answer amounting again to much the same - that he wasn’t sure. 

“Drink this,” Rask instructs him, pulling him back into the present. She’s holding out a bottle of water. Kurt accepts it, somewhat reluctantly, and drinks a small amount. It feels much nicer than coffee as it goes down his throat, and it doesn’t settle so heavily in his stomach. He drinks a little more. 

Eventually, Rask gently pulls the bottle away from his hands and sets it aside. Her hand once again comes to rest on his shoulder, and he slowly turns his face to look at her. 

“I told you not to destroy yourself,” she says. “I told you you were too young to have your world turn to shit.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, because he can think of nothing else to say. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’m sorry.” 

A tear slides down his cheek before he can stop it, and then another follows it, and then another. He tries to turn away, to hide himself, to cling desperately to the notion that he is okay, in some shape or form. But something deep within him, something still soft and hurting and aching to be held, stops him from shutting everything out. He looks helplessly at Rask instead, and for a second, a similar helpless look ghosts across her face, like she isn’t quite sure what to do, like she’s broken too, but then it goes away and she pulls him close to her and holds on.

It should be weird. It should be really fucking weird. Rask is his boss. She’s tough and talented and in charge of him and she is holding him and he is crying. He should be embarrassed, uncomfortable, pulling away. But she’s holding onto him and saying something about this kind of thing happening to basically everyone in this job, and her shoulder is really soft, and the couch is surprisingly nice, and he finds that all he really wants to do is stay.

Rask, for her part, doesn’t pull away. She lets him cry for an indefinite amount of time - he can’t be sure how long. All he knows is that, eventually, the tears stop rolling down his face, and he feels the familiar wave of exhaustion roll back over him. God, he’s tired.

As though she’s a mind reader, Rask says, “why don’t you try to get some sleep, Kurt. There’s not much left to do today, anyway.”

That sounds good, he decides, for once not thinking of nightmares. And before he can do any further thinking on the matter, his eyes are slipping closed. He feels himself sink into the couch, face pressed into the cushion. Someone removes his jacket and his shoes. A soft blanket is draped over him. And for the first time in several days, Kurt lets himself fall asleep.

aaaaa thanks sm for reading this!!!! im not sure if they might have been ooc but hopefully not! i hope u enjoyed and please let me know what you think!

#bad things happen bingo #young wallander #kurt wallander #worked themselves to exhaustion #exhausted #hunger #emotional whump #crying #this made me feel some type of way to write lmao #also in very exciting news as of yesterday i've been accepted to 2 colleges and both have offered me pretty big scholarships im excited!! #plus i am getting a car hopefully tomorrow!! #anyway that is all from me hope you are having a great night or whatever time of day you are having! #i say things #my writing

[moskaisley]

migraine pt. 5 | relief

gif cred: @coredrive

rating: mature

word count: 4k platinum hi def TV

warnings: angst but also some comfort bc everyone is in their feelings, violence, descriptions of fighting and blood, mentions of death 

a/n: 

me: yea i’ll post by 8pm!!! also me @ midnight:

 i got slammed with some work from my job last minute so thats why she’s a couple hours late!! such is the life of a freelancer but thank u all for being patient anyway hehe. anyways!! i’ve had a LOT of ideas for side stories lately and i’m thinking of posting them in between the main parts of migraine so maybe look out for that??? 

and thank u all for your kind words on part 4!!! ily all and i hope u enjoy this one. alexa play in my feelings by drake  🥺🥺🥺

summary:

“Did you love him?”

You freeze, heart pounding loudly in your chest at the thought. You know the answer, but you’re terrified to speak it aloud, as if Mando could hear you utter it into the universe.

Where you find the strength to feel it all at once.

parts 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

ao3 link / masterlist

“I’m going on ahead.” 

“Well, I’m not coming with you.”

He scrunches his nose, nostrils flaring. You refuse to look him in the eye.

“Seriously?”

You pick at the threads in the thin blanket on your legs with your nails. He’s fully dressed, standing in the doorway of your tiny dwelling. You’re still in your cot, your last chance to flee with him slipping away with every string you pull.  But fear claws at your insides, paralyzing you in your spot. You hear him shuffle, kneeling beside the bed and forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Please, help me stop them,” he pleads.

Your lip quivers, tears threatening to spill over. He’s such a beautiful boy. You loved and loathed his courage; Luca was always braver than you were, fighting off bullies in the schoolyard and sneaking out after dark. He was the first one to defy the Moff when he showed up at your doorstep, and he was the quickest to arm when they came blasters ablazing. But while Luca had moved forward ready to enact his revenge, you were still stuck in front of your burning home, heat blistering against your skin and pathetic tears streaming down your face. You’re still frozen at the other end of a blaster, cowering on your knees before a man clad in black. You’re still being ushered away down the country road with your brother, two very distinct shots ringing through your ears. 

But Luca doesn’t understand. 

“We’ll die, just like them.”

“Don’t you want to die fighting?”

You tear a hole in your blanket.

“I don’t want to die at all, Luca.”

--

You haven’t spoken to him in days. 

It was quite impressive, really.

Ever since your breakdown, you denied yourself any sort of contact with the Mandalorian, bitterness and hurt still raw every time you looked at him.  At first, he tried to get you to respond to him, prodding with simple questions and painfully awkward small talk. But when his one-sided conversations were only met with more eerie silence, Mando took the hint and stopped trying altogether. You didn’t spend too long in the same space with him either; you made sure to work on opposite sides of the ship. Shifts were still maintained at night to watch over your camp while the other slept; but when it was his turn to take over, you only woke him with a wordless shove and quickly slipped into your bunk to get your share of rest.

Sleep never came.

Instead, you aimlessly tossed on the mattress for hours and hours on end, mind torn over the man standing outside your door. You loathed him, you were sure of it. He hurt you, more than anyone ever had. Took everything and crushed it beneath his boots. Then had the audacity to come back and ask for a favor. It was time to just let it all go; to push it far behind you and go on forward with your heart guarded and barred from the rest of the universe. To live and die alone. 

So why was the thought of never seeing him again making your chest tighten with agony?

You dug your face into your pillow a few times, letting out guttural, violent screams of frustration until your voice nearly gave out.

You should be angry with him. He left, he left, he left.

Just like Luca.

In those solitary hours, you thought a lot about your brother, and how painfully similar this all felt: The resentment that festered in your bones clashing with the deep love and care that resided in your heart. You didn’t want to forgive, but living with these thorns in your side was so fucking exhausting. You wondered if the universe doomed you from birth, never destined for a moment of peace. The warring feelings within you made it impossible to sleep easy, and soon enough, the sun would come up. Mando would be outside rapping on your door and you’d start the day over again. Rinse and repeat.

By the fourth day, the lack of sleep had caught up to you. 

Precariously perched on top of a ladder, you took the day to work on the repulsor grilles. Your mind was in a daze. You struggled to figure out which parts go where, and your hands were so clumsy you kept losing your tools to the small slot you’d been tinkering with. After dropping your screwdriver for what seemed to be the seventh time today, you were so fed up that any caution was thrown into the wind. Hot metal and active wires were the least of your worries as you carelessly shoved your hand down the slot for your lost tool. Your fingers grazed the handle, but as you shifted to get a better angle, you felt a burning shock shoot through your arm. You all but ripped your hand from the slot, wincing as you feel something tear at your palm. Your sudden movement was enough to drive the ladder toppling over. Squeezing your eyes shut, you braced for impact. You hear a low grunt as your body collides into Mando’s, strong arms quickly wrapping around your waist to steady you. Your cheeks grow hot at the feeling of him, and for a moment, your body pleads to stay in his arms just a little longer.

“Are you okay?” the low timbre of his voice brings you back from your panic. 

You quickly push off of him but hiss at the searing pain radiating from your hand. Turning over your palm, you grimace at the big nasty gash that gushes down your forearm with blood. Mando grips your shoulder and spins you around, trying to take your injured hand. 

“Let me see.” 

“I’m fine.” 

You recoil, holding your palm close to your chest and bleeding all over your shirt. Impatient, he goes in to grasp your wrist and wrestles with you again. 

“Will you quit being difficult and hold still?” he growls, voice devoid of any softness. The edge in his voice makes you freeze. It’s the first time on this journey that he spoke so firmly with you. Too tired to fight, you let him take your hand into his and study your injury. 

“Sit,” He lets go of your hand and gestures to the ground. “You’re going to need stitches. And then you’re going to rest. I know you haven’t been sleeping.”

“I’m fine,” you grit.

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” he chided harshly, as if lecturing a child, “I don’t need someone wrecking my ship more than it already has. You can work when you’re capable.”

He briskly storms back into the ship to grab the medpack, effectively ending your spat. Collapsing to the ground, you curse under your breath in irritation as you stare at your stinging cut. A piercing ache begins to radiate in your temples and weariness starts to settle into your bones. You’re so tired. The emotional turmoil of the past week had sucked every drop of energy you had left, and you were left feeling like you’d been hit with a landspeeder. 

A worried coo draws you from your thoughts, and the child looks up at you expectantly. 

“Hey, little guy,” you said, patting his head lightly with your free hand. He gingerly toddles to your thigh and tilts his head at your bloody palm. The kid begins to fuss, gurgling as he claws at the side of your leg. You scoop him up into your lap, and he settles down, satisfied.

“What’s going on, kiddo?” 

Then, he closes his eyes and holds his hand out, hovering over yours. You feel the flesh on your wound begin to move. Your gash is closing before your eyes and the skin is completely healed, as if it was never there at all. You pressed your fingers into your palm; the burning pain had subsided and the skin beneath it was completely smooth. Brows furrowed, your eyes dart from your hand to the child, his eyes slowly drooping closed. Your mind is racing. You hear Mando shuffle back out from the Crest, quickly dropping beside you and checking your hand.

You’re both stunned to silence as the child in your lap falls fast asleep.

--

Early mornings in the forest were cold.

You’d been shivering in front of the fire for a few hours now, wrapped in a threadbare blanket you’d taken from your bed. You stared pensively at your palm, gently tracing your fingers over where a cut should’ve been. With a sigh, you hug your legs to your chest, and rest your forehead on your knees. After the child healed your injury, you thought your shock would’ve kept you from getting rest, but you slipped into sleep the second your head hit your pillow. You woke up later in the middle of the night, insisting to trade shifts with Mando. 

“I doubt you want a repeat of yesterday,” you told him, “Go to bed.”

In all honesty, you needed the early hours of dawn to collect yourself as your mind was all over the place. Between the mysterious child, your clashing feelings for your partner and your impulsive career change, your life had seemed to unravel in the span of a week. You thought of the way he spoke to you the day before; he was quick to care for you, but his voice was emotionless and cold. It sounded very similar when he left all those years ago. You know he only means to keep distance between you and respect your wishes. After all, you were the one who wanted to separate for good after this mission, but the ache in your heart told you otherwise.

Pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, you could only come to a single conclusion: the Mandalorian had successfully derailed your life yet again.

The cry of an animal pulls you from your brooding and you’re swift on your feet with a vibroblade in hand. Stalking around the trees, you keep low in the foliage and slowly move towards the source of the noise. You see a fathier standing on the main trail hooked to a lopsided wooden wagon. Fruit and vegetables were spread all around the road along with a broken wheel. An old man rounded the corner, looking tiredly around him and began picking up the mess. The grip on your blade relaxes. Standing to your full height, you walk forward to meet him on the main path.

“Excuse me, sir,” you call to him, “Do you need help?”

He gawks at you, obviously not expecting anyone to be in the forest. He gives you a smile.

“That is very kind of you. Thank you, child.”

You learn that his name is Amir. He’s a farmer with fields down the road, and for the past 50 years, he’d make the trip every weekend into town to sell his harvest on the same wagon. He tells you how the fathier lost control, pulling the old carriage and damaging the wheel. 

“I suppose I must invest in those blasted speeder-whatevers,” he sighs. 

You chuckle lightly. He sounds like your father. 

“Please, let me fix it for you.”

Amir sits on a rock to the side of the trail, and you try your best to repair the wagon. Making light conversation with him as you work, you spoke of your own family’s orchard and recounted the times you spent on the farm. His company relaxes you and for a moment, you’re able to forget the chaos that consumed your thoughts earlier. 

“It’s hard work, this life,” he says, “but it is fruitful all the same.”

You laugh earnestly at his joke. He smiles at you warmly, patting his hands on his knees. 

“Where is your family now?”

“They were lost to the Empire. Our farm was burned down.” 

He sighs sadly, “War seems to take from us both. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Please, don’t be. It happened a long time ago,” you say quickly.

A beat of awkward silence passes. Amir changes the subject.

“So what are you doing here? In these woods. You look less like a farm girl and more like a mercenary.”

“Close. I’m a bounty hunter. Our ship crashed just past those trees.”

“You’re with someone else?”

“Yes. A Mandalorian. He’s–” you pause, thinking carefully over your words, “He’s just an old colleague of mine.”

But Amir is a very observant man, and he notices your hesitation.

“Tell me more about this Mandalorian of yours. I’ve never met one before.”

“It’s kind of a long story,” you say sheepishly, “I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

“A long story?” He questions, mischief flashing in his eyes, “I thought he was just a colleague.”

Warmth travels to your cheeks as he looks at you expectantly.

Cheeky old bastard.

But you indulge him, giving him a watered-down version of your history with Mando; how you met, how you worked together for many years before you parted ways, and how he came back asking you to help with his weird magical son. Amir listened intently, and when you finished, his face was pulled in thought.

“It’s a bit odd for a bounty hunter to have a child, isn’t it?” He wonders aloud, “I take it isn’t the safest profession in the world. I could see how he could need the help.”

You chew on your bottom lip, attention focused on twisting a screw. 

“We... didn’t split on the best terms. It wouldn’t be good for the baby.”

“I see.”

Amir notes your sudden change in demeanour, observing the way you tensed at the subject. 

“Did you love him?”

You freeze, heart pounding loudly in your chest at the thought. You know the answer, but you’re terrified to speak it aloud, as if Mando could hear you utter it into the universe.

So you answered him honestly.

“I’m angry with him.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. 

“My dear, you can be angry with someone and still love them.” 

What a nosy man. 

You shrug laughing lightly with him as you go back to work. As you mull over his words, you find them resonating deep within you. Had it been anyone else, you probably would’ve ignored or straight-up denied the question, but connecting with Amir had made you feel comfortable to speak freely. It felt cathartic to put your feelings into words. 

“You know, Imperial soldiers occupied the town for many, many years. My daughter decided to join the rebellion after she joined the local militia. We got into a terrible argument, begged her not to fight, to stay home but–” Amir struggles to finish. You’d stopped your tinkering with the wheel, instead listening carefully to his story. Your heart twisted, as the grief he felt was very familiar. You reached out to hold his wrinkled hand, giving him a sad smile. 

Amir takes a breath, looking wistfully towards the treetops as he continues,

“Sometimes, when people hurt us, we think we want nothing more to do with them. But when they’re gone, we only regret the love we never spoke out loud.”

-- 

Din thought he was dreaming when he woke up to the smell of cooking food. 

When he left the Razor Crest, you were feeding the child a small bowl of sautéed vegetables and rice. To the side of the camp, he spotted bags of fresh produce and grain. You greet him with a relaxed grin.

“You know, some of the things you’ve kept in there haven’t been touched since we split. It was kind of disgusting.”

He’s so confused.

“Where did you get all of this?” He asks.

“There was a man who broke down on the side of the road. I helped fix his wagon and he gave us food in return.”

You pat the child’s head as he finishes up his meal and take him into one arm. Din only stares, bewildered, as you pick up a dish that was sitting by the fire pit and hold it out to him. 

“Eat. And when you’re done, come find me,” you say, “We need to talk.”

--

“We need to talk.”

Words stronger than any weapon. 

Anxiety churned in his stomach, nearly rendering him incapable of keeping any food down. But your cooking was leagues better than any ration pack that he’d had in weeks; Din wasn’t about to (literally) throw the opportunity away, especially if this was some of the last moments he’d ever have with you. He ate slowly, savoring every bite, heart warming at the way you made it especially spicy for him. From the window of the cockpit, Din watched you leisurely skip rocks across the water while the child excitedly wandered along the shore. It was almost unsettling how quickly your energy had changed within a day; it reminded him of the days before he left. The days where there wasn’t a giant rift between you. 

When he finished his meal, Din rounded the corner of the ship expecting to see you at the shore, but you were nowhere to be found. He approached the edge of the water and stared at the abandoned pile of smooth stones. The next thing he knew, he was being roughly tugged by his arm and thrown flat on his back, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped, chest heaving for air and adrenaline coursing through his veins. As he struggled to prop himself up on his elbows, you meandered into his view.  He expected to see your face contorted with rage once again, but to his surprise, your expression was cool and collected as you pulled at the wraps around your hands. 

“We’re gonna spar,” you say, tone suspiciously even, “And you’re gonna tell me everything about the kid.”

Din stares, bewildered as you tower over him.

“Why?”

You still don’t look at him directly, instead tugging tightly at the cloth against your wrist and checking if you’re satisfied with your work. 

“If memory serves me correctly, we’re still evenly matched. 350 to 350,” you say, not even bothering to address the second part of your demands. 

But Din will take whatever you give him at this point, so he complies and swipes at your ankles with his legs, knocking you down. Taking the opportunity to get back onto his feet, he squares himself into position. You propel yourself back to your feet with much more grace, brushing yourself off and bringing up your fists. Din swears he can see faint lines of a smile on your lips and a glint of excitement in your eyes.

“Don’t hold back. Even if I’m mad at you.”

He smirks. 

“Never.”

--

You were always better at close combat than he was; the nature of your preferred weapon required so. But what Din lacked in skill, he made up for in stamina, and that’s why he was able to keep your little competition even for such a long time. Your fight had been going for nearly an hour, and at this point, you’d normally tire out and start getting sloppy from exhaustion. But your residual feelings of frustration and dream of kicking his ass for the past three years kept you fierce on your toes. It also helped that he had a story to tell. 

You listened attentively as Mando told you of the Mudhorn in between your relentless assault of jabs and kicks, how the child used his strange powers to lift a giant beast and how it was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. He also told you how he actually delivered the kid to the client, but turned back to rescue him before the Imperials had a chance to do any harm. (You noted how his voice dipped slightly in shame admitting this to you.) He told you of Sorgan, Tatooine and his reunion with Ran, and how no matter what system he seemed to end up in, the child was always in danger. As you processed this information, your attention seemed to slip, and Mando was able to throw a punch straight into your nose. 

You stumble backwards, cursing at the pain and feeling warm liquid pooling on your upper lip. He relents for a moment, pacing towards you in worry.

“Shit, I’m sorry–” 

You cut him off by gripping his arm, using his momentum to drive him over your shoulder and throw him on his stomach. Pressing your boot into his back and pinning him firmly against the ground, you tease.

“Not the first time I had you like this, Mando.”

You keep your foot firm against him as he struggles to push himself up against you, heavy breaths crackling through the vocoder of his helmet. Eventually, he relents and holds up his hands in surrender.

Pride blooms warmly in your chest, and you collapse on the ground next to him.

I nearly broke one of his ribs this time. You’re dizzy as you come down from the high of adrenaline coursing through you, exhaustion settling into your sore body. 

“If I sustain another injury on this stupid mission, I’m taking all the credits for myself,” you say, wiping the blood gushing from your nose. 

You hear him chuckle lightly beside you.

“You deserve it. I’ve been a total ass.”

“That, you have.” 

Catching your breath, you focus on the sounds of birds in the trees, and the feeling of wind cooling and relaxing your body. It was so tempting to just give into him, but you remembered what you called him here for– why you initiated a duel in the first place. The talk with Amir this morning helped clear your head, but it still terrified you to address it all. 

You take a deep breath, basking a little longer in this moment of peace. 

“Thanks for not holding back,” you said earnestly, pointing to your nose.

Standing up and brushing the dirt from your clothes, you turn to him and hold out a hand.

“Are we good?” he asks, hope slipping through his voice.

“No. Not even close,” your lips curl into a sad smile, “But it’s a start.”

You pull him up to his feet, and your grasp on one another lingers for a fleeting moment. You’re the first to let go, brushing your sweaty palms against your pants. Walking to the shore of the lake, you take a few rocks in your hands and continue skipping them across the still surface of the water. Your heart is racing; you feel his gaze on you, expectant for … something, anything. 

“When my brother left to become a rebel,” you began, voice taught with anxiety, “I was only 18 years old. For a long time, I was so angry with him. Who leaves their only family behind? Alone? To fend for themselves? I was–I was convinced I didn’t care what happened to him after that. That I hated him. ”

Something painful catches in your throat. You skip another rock.

“We were so young. He wanted to take me with him, y’know? Find the Moff that killed our family and get revenge. Destroy the Empire and end their reign of terror. I was too afraid; all I could think about living to see another day. But after a while, I missed him so much–I just wanted my family again. I started to regret not going with him, but then I met you.”

Mando didn’t respond, listening carefully and hanging on your every word.  

“And when you came along, it felt... nice to let someone in again. Not just as a coworker but as a friend. To not be alone. To have someone in my life. To– ”

To fall deeply, wholly, and beautifully in love.

Frustrated, you grip the smooth stone in your hand tightly. You feel like you’re rambling; there’s just so much.

Mando finally speaks, “Y/N, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’m still hurt and angry,” your voice was beginning to tremble, “That being abandoned for a second time was the worst feeling in the galaxy.  I need you to know that.”

You hear him walk towards you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Mesh’la, please look at me,” he pleads.

“But I also need you to know that and I left things like this, I’d never find peace.”

You turn around to face him, tears in your eyes and heart leaping in your throat.

“Because there was a time where I thought I’d know you forever. And I don’t want to let it go.” 

--

taglist

@bella-ciaao @tiffdawg @peggers-n-beggers @sinnamon-bunn​ @adlerorzel-blog​ @theocatkov​  @paryl​ @fruitsaladtree​ @allisondavis236​

thx loves 💘

#migraine #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian/reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin/reader #baby yoda #IVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS SINCE LIKE 7AM DJSKLA;FDSFJK #LEO POST ON TIME CHALLENGE

[mxrcayong]

let it unfold - chapter one

chapter 1

Waking up at six in the morning, Katie is already late.

She moved to Seoul around two years ago for an English teacher’s assistant position in a local elementary school. This was something she wanted to do a part of her study abroad program in university, however she enjoyed it so much – she extended her period of work. Within days of her arrival two years prior, she bumped into an old family friend from Chicago – Johnny Suh.

From there, she’d say her life felt like a movie. She had troubles, of course, with finding a place to stay and with work – but in her eyes, she had the best group of friends anybody could ask for. It’s not difficult to notice that when the boys are touring, Katie had more work done through the day and less sleep as a result of calling them for at least five minutes wherever they may be.

facebook group chat: the only full nct group (unofficial) has ten unread messages

She knew what they were going to say, so when she opened up the phone – she was not all surprised. All she did was chuckle, roll her eyes – at both the messages and their stupid nicknames, and speed up getting ready.

canadaboi: kaykaykay wru

canadaboi: we misssssss youuuuuuuuuuu

canadaboi: you said you’ll see us

mother ty: we’re ow to the dance studio already, visit before work pls

chenle: or u can teach winwin eng

ten/ten: he def needs it

loselose sent a gif

jae-son derulo: can u hurry up pls so u wont get late for work

johnny the who: kate – complains abt us making her late to work ALSO kate – wakes up late anyway

The boys just came back from touring a few days ago and since then, Kate has been unable to visit them in person due to an influx of English tests and assignments having to be graded. Mark and her call every day still – it was their rule; to call for at least five minutes every day. They created it one day after a week where Kate was swamped with some university documents and Mark was travelling. The days of that week felt like they were missing something.

Wearing a maroon sweater with black and white checkered paper-boy pants, Kate grabbed her messenger bag and tied her hair into a ponytail, running to catch the bus to the dance studio.

As soon as she entered the familiar building, the security didn’t even need to ask for her name. “Hey Dong-Sun, Hey Kwang-Sun!” She greeted the security at the door.

Kwang-Sun grinned, “Hey Kate, how are you? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“It’s because the NCT boys just got back.” Dong-Sun commented, making the three of them chuckle. “What’s it like carrying 20 cups of coffee?” He motioned towards the bag of Starbucks in her hand.

She let out a dry chuckle, “It’s definitely heavy. I’m glad I remember at least some of their orders or else I would’ve spent 30 minutes just trying to find it in our chats.” And by some, she means Mark’s and Johnny’s orders. To find the other’s orders in a concise list without people arguing between, she just had to go to her messages with Taeyong. She did this as a surprise for the boys – mainly as a favor for herself as an excuse to grab coffee.

“Ask Mun-Hee to scan you up.” Kwang-soo instructed, “There’s a photo of you with the NCT boys. They told us to list you as an ‘unofficial member’ so you just need to tell them your name.” Her heart warmed at that.

She followed what they said and immediately, she knew the way to their dance studio.

As soon as the doors opened, there was a harmony of exclamations and three people tackling her. Luckily, Taeyong was one of them and quickly grabbed the paper bag full of drinks before they could spill as Johnny threw her over his shoulder.

Mark stood next to her, laughing.

“Put me down!” She laughed, smacking Johnny’s back until he listened.

As soon as she was put on the ground, she gave each of the boys a long hug before sitting down on the dance studio floor, drinking their coffees and catching up before their choreographers arrive in an hour and before she has to head to work. The reason they always meet in the dance studio is purely because it’s closer to her workplace and her home than the dorm and because the boys love to mess around in the dance studio.

It was a perfect moment in her eyes; all of them sat, sprawled around the floor. She sat in between Mark and Donghyuck, with Mark’s arm resting over her shoulder – like it commonly was, and Donghyuck teasing Mark by hitting him or mocking him. Eventually Hyuck stopped and rested his head on her shoulder as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time she got home, she was debating heading over to the NCT dorms to sleepover ilke she normally did – but then remembered they’d be sleeping. They had an early dance practice tomorrow before shooting some promotional videos and, not to mention, Kate had an online tutoring session with one of her students.

So the rest of the night was like a normal night; she made ramen (which Taeyong taught her to cook) for dinner, she wrote some notes in her teacher’s notebook, changed into pajamas, and quickly prepared to call her student.

It was around eleven in the evening by the time she was done. But she still couldn’t sleep. Mark had texted her throughout the day and it had felt off – there were less emojis and more proper capitalization than usual. When she asked if something was up, he didn’t respond. He still hasn’t responded, and it’s been almost six hours. He usually responds within minutes.

It wouldn’t be worth it to check in on him when he’s sleeping, she sighed as she went to the kitchen to make some calming tea. I don’t want to risk waking him up.

The tea made her realise how exhausted she was, so while she sat down on the couch to watch some TV, she ended up falling asleep with only the TV light illuminating the room.

Suddenly, she awoke to a loud knock on her door.

And her heart was racing. Who’d be here at this time of night?

“Who’s there?” She sleepily called, getting up to her feet. Silence. “Hello?” She sang. Silence. She grabbed the bat she kept near her door for situations like these and held it to her chest. This would the first time she’d ever use this bat and her heart was thumping.

On 3, I’ll open this door. She told herself, trying to muster up the courage. 3, she breathed, 2, she held the bat to her shoulder, 1, she opened the door.

She gently placed the baseball bat by the door, breathing out a hesitant sigh of relief at the sight of the familiar face waiting by her door at this time of night. She rubbed her eyes of sleep, thinking she may be hallucinating. He should be sleeping; he has a dance practice tomorrow morning.

“Mark?” She asked, finally reaching over to turn on the light, “You should be asleep.” Kate motioned towards the clock on the wall, “It’s midnight.” Mark didn’t say anything and it was once Kate’s eyes adapted to the lack of light, she noticed the redness in his. She sighed, opening the door wide.

Out of their two years of friendship and daily chats, Kate has never seen Mark as fragile and as broken as he looks now. He still didn’t enter – despite the invitation. “Can we go?” He managed to let out with a small voice. It reminded her of when they first met through Johnny – he was shy and timid, much different to his stage persona.

Her eyebrows furrowed, “Where do you want to go?”

“Home.”

She was even more confused. “Do you mean with your parents? I can drive you there.”

Mark shook his head, “No, uhm, I took a cab here.” He noted. A silence filled the room – tense, but at least familiar. “What if we go to Vancouver?”  

#mark lee imagines #mark lee imagine #mark imagines #mark imagine #nct mark imagines #nct mark imagine #mark fanfiction #mark fanfic #mark fan fic #nct #mark lee #nct fanfiction #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct127 imagines #superm imagines #superm imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fic #fan #fiction #mark

[crackimagines]

Marianne and Ashe heart to heart (FE: Three Houses Short Fic)

Marianne reflects on something Ashe said that has stuck to her mind for quite some time.

That girl seriously needs a hug

also no im not salty that their A support happened post time skip instead of during the academy, nope definitely not, SHUT UP

Inside the Cathedral, it was midnight and dead siilent. No one was present except a blue haired girl, praying in front of the statue.

Once Marianne was done praying she looked behind her, expecting someone to be there. 

Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t anyone. It was very late at night, who’d even be here besides her?

Well...Ashe would’ve been.

Ever since their last conversation, she had been actively avoiding him since he kept trying to talk to her. She felt guilty, making him go through all of that trouble for someone as worthless as her.

He stopped showing up at the Cathedral about a week ago, at first it gave Marianne some peace of mind that he wouldn’t have any more trouble, but after the deafening silence she went through each time, she could only think about Ashe.

Not necessarily what he said about using her crest for good, she didn’t believe a single word of that, honestly.

What she was thinking was more on the lines of ‘How bad is he feeling, thinking he upset me?”

She took a deep breath and looked behind her again, some small shred of hope that he’d be coming through the door.

Five minutes passed, and nothing happened.

What a shock.

She considered going to bed, but she wasn’t tired physically as much as she was mentally. This had been plaguing her mind for a while, so if she were to lay on her bed, she’d be tormenting herself the entire time. She might as well do it where there was a good breeze.

She walked out towards the right wing of the Cathedral, and sat down at the bench, looking over the monastery.

The only thing Marianne could think of was how guilty Ashe must’ve been feeling. This is why she was a curse, she’d cause nothing but grief for others trying to help her. She was better off alone no matter what anyone said.

“...You shouldn’t have come to me, Ashe...”

“AGH! Y-You knew I was here?!”

...Why was there a response?

She quickly turned her head near the stairs, and to her surprise, Ashe was standing right there.

“A-Ashe?!”

“S-Sorry I didn’t meant to startle-...Wait a second...If you weren’t expecting me then...”

Marianne realized that she spoke aloud, and that made her flustered.

“N-No, I didn’t mean it like that! I’m sorry, if you’ll-” 

“Hold on a second!”

Marianne was about to get up, but she stopped herself when Ashe came to the bench with her. It was then she noticed he had a blanket on him.

“Um, why do you have that?”

“Well uh...It’s for you.”

He gestured it towards her, using one hand to awkwardly rub the back of his neck.

“It’s pretty chilly tonight and I figured you’d be out here so...I don’t want you to catch a cold or anything.”

Marianne was shocked that he did this for her despite the fact she had been treating him like a stranger everytime they talked. She mustered out a quiet ‘Thank you,’ and wrapped herself around in it.

They both remained quiet, not saying a word to each other. The silence wasn’t tense, awkward or anything really. They both just stared out, letting the wind be the only noise around them.

It stayed that way for about three to four minutes until Marianne broke the silence.

“I’m sorry, Ashe.”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. You were just trying to encourage me and I...I made you think that you were to blame for my actions.”

“No, it’s alright. I should be apologizing. I’m the one who never really asked you why you felt the way you do, and butted into something I didn’t know. And what was that bit earlier about me coming to you?”

“...Everyone that I meet I end up driving off. You’re a very nice person, Ashe, but you’re better off not associating with someone like me.”

She looked downwards, her eyes somehow looking heavier than before.

“I’m not worth the trouble. Please forget we ever had this conversation.”

“You realize I’m not doing that, right?”

She looked back slowly to him, his face no longer filled with any anxiety, but now determination.

“Marianne, I don’t know why you say these terrible things about yourself! When has anyone in our class regretted meeting you ever since the Professor brought you in?!”

He was almost shouting, but he quickly lowered his voice, and she noticed it was starting to shake now.

“B-Besides...we’re all a little bit of trouble ourselves. Sylvain with his skirt chasing, Felix with...well being Felix, and the list goes on. Heh, and here’s me, pestering you about this...Marianne, you’re such a kind person. You take your time to check the wounded after our battles, you help people with their studying, you take care of the animals with such gentleness and...”

His eye began to water as he tried regaining his composure.

“...And I can’t stand to see someone I care for talk about themselves like that.”

Marianne’s mouth was slightly open in shock, no one had ever been this passionate talking about her before. Sure, they’d say the things Ashe were saying, but no one had been moved to tears and shouted it at her before.

That last sentence, she could truly see how much she meant to him.

Her eyes began to water up as well, and she began shaking in her blanket, her nose sniffling.

“M-Marianne...?”

She started crying, the tears falling from her face couldn’t be stopped anytime soon. Her chest was tight, and her heart was burning now, barely able to process everything he just said. 

Ashe didn’t know what to do, so on instinct, he hugged her, letting her head rest on his shoulders as she cried it out. The sob became louder once he did, and she started hyperventilating, which caused Ashe to hug her tighter, hoping the tighter he did, the calmer it would make her.

Slowly but surely, it worked. After a brief moment, she slowly stopped crying, and spoke up.

“...I’m sorry...T-Thank you, Ashe.”

“It’s okay...”

He gently patted her back, letting her slowly start breathing normally.

Saying nothing again, they both stared out towards the dorms, Marianne’s breathing slowly getting calmer and calmer.

“Are you okay now, Marianne?”

“...Yes.”

She looked up at him at the same time he looked down at her, their faces very close to one another.

The first thing that came to both their mind was ‘They smell nice.’ 

The second thought was ‘Wait, just how close are we?!’

They both bolted upwards, completely flustered and cheeks burning bright red.

“I-I’m sorry!”

“N-No it’s okay, I didn’t really think, I just-”

Before Marianne could respond, they heard a third voice bringing them back to reality.

“Hey, what are you kids doing down there?!”

They both turned around and saw a Monastery guard looking over the railing above them.

Another voice they couldn’t make out seemingly came from behind him, and the guard turned back to them.

“You two stay there! Greetings, Professor! There’s something to report, actually!”

Ashe widened his eyes upon hearing him.

“P-Professor Byleth?”

“...I see.” The Gatekeeper said. “I was making my patrol and then I heard...Oh, those are your students? What did they say? Well...Alright then.”

The gatekeeper looked over the railing and motioned his head while speaking.

“Your professor wants a word with you two, don’t worry you’re not in trouble. Sorry for the scare!”

As they both walked up, they saw Professor Byleth in a casual outfit instead of his uniform, and looked at the two. Ashe was the first one to speak up.

“I-I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to cause you trou-”

Byleth raised his hand up and gestured for Ashe to be quiet.

He looked at Marianne and noticed her eyes were red, and the blanket over her. He pretty much deciphered what was going on by that one glance.

“It’s no trouble. I know that guardsman so it’s fine. Next time you come, just be a little quieter and let me know beforehand so you don’t give a knight a heart attack, alright?”

They both nodded.

“Alright. And before you ask, Ashe, I’ve been following you ever since I noticed you were carrying that blanket and started walking quickly to the Cathedral when you thought no one was walking.”

“...I-I see.”

“I’ll walk you back to your rooms. Get some rest, I don’t want you falling asleep during the lecture after all.”

Byleth walked both of them back to their dorm rooms, and both drifted off to sleep. Ashe was happy to help Marianne, and Marianne held the blanket closely to her as she slept.

BONUS EPILOGUE -

Once lectures had ended for the week, everyone packed up their belongings and started making way.

Ashe organized his papers until he heard Byleth calling out to him.

“Ashe, come here for a moment, would you?”

He nervously gulped, and walked towards Byleth who was standing with his arms crossed and standing behind his desk.

“This...is about last night, right?”

Byleth nodded, and reached into his desk and pulled out a small pouch.

Ashe had no idea what it was, and when he looked back, Byleth was smiling.

“Gatekeeper told me what you two were talking about, cause apparently there was some shouting last night. So on that note, you plan to treat her to something nice tonight, right?”

Ashe’s brain cells collectively halted their thinking process upon hearing that last part.

“...Seriously? Tch, good thing I talked to Dorothea about this kinda thing...Anyways, treat her to something nice in town. Nice little joint called ‘The Shepherds’, ran by a girl named Anna. Tell her I sent you, she’ll treat you two nice.”

“...U-Um, thank you so much professor!”

Byleth smiled and before Ashe turned around, he said one more thing.

“They’re open late, and since tomorrow’s a free day, I’ll make sure not to schedule anything for that. Weather should be pretty, so ask her at the Cathedral tonight.”

Ashe nodded and excitedly ran back to his room.

Byleth shook his head still smiling as he heard a girl’s voice in his head.

“That was quite a bit of your personal funds. Was that really wise to do?”

“Meh, it’s pocket change really. Plus it’ll get them motivated for class, and thats the main reason.”

“You say that, but I can hear your thoughts, you know?”

Byleth said nothing as he continued to smile and began grading papers.

Later that night...

Ashe stood in front of the doors, his heart gently pounding like a drum, and opened the door to see Marianne.

“Hey, Marianne!”

“Oh, Ashe...!”

“Were you praying just now?”

“No I...was waiting on you, actually. I wanted to say thank you.”

His heart stopped when he saw Marianne smile with the moon shining on her face perfectly.

She looked heavenly, so much so he almost completely forgot what he was going to ask beforehand.

“Ashe? I-Is something wrong?”

“Huh?! N-N-No! Not at all it’s just...your smile was...really pretty.”

“O-Oh...”

They both looked down in embarrassment before Ashe cleared his throat and finally mustered up the words.

“Well if you were waiting for me...Would you like to have dinner with me?”

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses imagines #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem three houses headcanons #marianne von edmund #ashe duran #marianne x ashe #byleth #gatekeeper #blue lions #sothis #writing #imagines

[themagicnut-blog]

Chapter 10: Butterfly Kisses pt. 2

While Dad and my step-mom and sister were down in June 2016, someone had noticed a spot on dad’s back that he promised to have tested for skin cancer once he got back up north.

He was always stubborn about going to the Dr. But all of the men on that side of the family were. Plus men are babies in general when it comes to that kind of stuff.

The tests had come back positive. Stage 2 melanoma. No big deal, right? They would just remove it, and the affected lymph nodes. Quick out patient procedure. Nothing to worry about.

The procedure had been scheduled for the end of October 2016, after he had flown back up from the week he spent down here with my son and I after he was born. Of course he was nervous. Heart issues and high blood pressure run in the family, and just being in a hospital setting was enough to send his blood pressure through the roof.

I remember him telling me that they almost didn’t do the procedure because of his blood pressure. It was too high. But instead of sending him home, they doped him up with meds and what not to help bring it down, and by 4:55 p.m. he was calling me still loopy from meds, and on his way home. But they had removed everything and all was good. Now all we were waiting on was the final tests to come back and confirm it had all been removed. I was in the middle of unloading groceries when he called and really only half paid attention to what he was saying before I rushed off the phone.

Shortly after that I received a picture message of his green pee LOL He was still feeling pretty good from the meds I guess. We texted back and forth awhile before I left his last message on read.

Like I said, the communication had made a drastic change for the better once my son came along.

Around midnight I had woken up to feed Cason, and while I was scrolling through my phone a Facebook message popped up from him asking what I was doing awake. We went back and forth for a good 30 minutes cracking jokes at each other, having a serious talk about the procedure, how his pain levels were now that meds were wearing off, and as I was starting to doze off I told him I was heading back to bed and he should too

Me, 10/29/2016 12:40 A.M.: I’m gonna try to get some sleep you should too lol Love you, night night

Dad, 10/29/2016 12:40 A.M.: Soon I hope, love you

Dad, 10/29/2016 3:05 A.M.: Y u up

The worst part about that last message is that I had woken up around 3 a.m. I even briefly considered messaging him to see how he was doing before falling back asleep. And I didn’t because he hadn’t been active in almost two hours. I assumed he was sleeping. Just 5 more minutes and I could’ve talked to him again.

October 29, 2016 5:30 A.M.

*Phone vibrating out of control on the night stand*

Why is my step mom calling me? Might as well get up and feed the baby…

“Sissy…*hyperventilating step-mom* SISSY wake up! Daddy. They’re taking Daddy.”

I couldn’t understand most of what she was saying through the heavy sobs. What I got out of it was that they were rushing my dad to the hospital. They thought he was having an allergic reaction to something he had been on from the procedure just 12 hours ago. Something about his tongue and neck being swollen. I told her she needed to calm down for my 12 year old sisters sake...all she said was that we can't lose daddy...And that she would have to call me back, and to pray. Pray hard.

I had gotten up and gone to the living room with the little one to nurse him in the rocking chair. We had been having quite a hard time with the breastfeeding, but I was still trying.

What seemed like an eternity had passed, when in reality about 15 minutes had gone by, before my phone rang again.

I honestly can’t even explain what I was feeling during that phone call. I don't remember a whole lot of the conversation beyond the initial sobs and my stepmom barley managing to spit out that he was gone. They weren't able to save him. My sister was bawling in the back ground. First thing I do remember is handing our son to George before I lost it completely. And then I called my mom. Shortly after we hung up she got to the house, and more family started calling to check on me as the news spread. By 8 a.m. we were all headed to grandma's where the rest of the family had gathered. I didn't see much of my son that day. The family took turns snuggling my dad's first grandbaby as a form of comfort while I sat outside with the rest of the cousins who were also avoiding all the stories and Facebook posts. Beer:30 started around 9 a.m. that day. Right along with my cigarette smoking habit that I had given up once I found out I was pregnant.

I know, shame on me.

They ruled it a heart attack. To this day I still feel like he would be here if they hadn't sent him home so soon. If they would've just kept him 24 hours to make sure his blood pressure was back to normal and everything was alright... But you can't sit around thinking of the what if's. It's not healthy. It doesn't change anything.

Life happens. You move on.

That's what I tell myself anyway...and anyone who still asks how I'm handling my father passing.

He had plans to fly back down with my sister and stepmom on Halloween. My stepmom and sister decided to keep the flight and arrived super late on Halloween night. My stepgrandma and stepbrother came to the house to surprise them once they got here. After the long hugs and them finally meeting their grandson and nephew for the first time, I got the little one to bed and we converged on the back porch to drink a few beers and talk. Again, most of that night is fuzzy. I was feeling pretty numb at that point. George was already making my father's death about him and freaking out over how quiet I was being. Apparently my response of "he's dead. He really wasn't around much to begin with. It's life," when he would try to get to me to talk about it just pissed him off. But George knew about the relationship (or lack thereof) that I had with my father...

Don't pry.

Just leave it be.

Even when I told him I just needed some time to process things and I would talk when I was ready he'd blow up on me and it would turn into an argument. But anyway, back to the back porch after my stepmom got into town... So, were all sitting back there. Me, stepmomma, brother, and stepgrandma. My sister had stayed inside with the baby and to nap. Stepmomma started going into more detail about what happened that morning, and everyone was crying but me. At one point they had all gotten up to group up my stepmom who was full fledged bawling, and I continued to sit in my chair, lost in thought, until she got up and dropped to her knees in front of me. She apologized. She apologized for taking daddy away from me. For not being able to save him. Promised that she did everything she could, and then continued apologizing. And what did I do? I consoled her. I played mom. I told her that she couldn't blame herself. And not once did I cry. I was too angry to cry. Angry with God. Angry with the doctors. Angry with myself for all the years of resentment that I could no longer take back. Angry with myself for being so jealous of my sister for her getting all of this time with my dad, when in reality he got to be there for things like my high school graduation that she'll never get to have now. Angry that my son wasn't gonna get to know my dad, his grandpa. Angry that he was gone when things were finally getting good. After more crying (on everyone else's part) and a few more beers, everyone went to bed. More family piled in the next day and everyone started making plans and arrangements for dad's service. I didn't have much part in the plans besides making sure that it wasn't a fancy event, and letting everyone know we'd be having a fire at my place and drinking afterwards...an actual celebration. The way dad would've wanted it. And again, George managed to make it about him. I still don't remember exactly what happened...basically he pitched a fit over something stupid because he had drank to much and decided to disappear for two hours with his phone turned off. Typical move for George. By the time he got back "we were over" and "he would watch our son for the service and then he was gone." Normal banter after we fight. You know how it goes. Strike 1. And of course this was all right after he had been telling me everyday since my dad had passed that he would never leave my side and always be there for me and to take care of me.

Ha, what a joke.

He made sure to catch a good buzz the night of the service too. And instead of staying sober to help me out with our son so that maybe I could be spending some time with my family, he was outside slamming beers and talking with a "family friend" that's quite the tramp and was getting awfully friendly. He didn't even noticed when I walked up and was standing right next to him until she made it a point of acknowledging me.

Strike 2.

We decided to have one last get together at grandma's the Sunday before everyone had to go back home. And suprise, I was left to tend to the baby, while George got drunk and spent time with my family. Oh, and the overly friendly family friend that just so happened to be everywhere he was when I would get 5 minutes away from my son.

My sister can be quite annoying, and she tends to show affection through physical pain...especially towards our brothers, and my boyfriends over the years. So, she was picking on George. George decided to respond with a little bit too much force (but that's what he does, especially when he's been drinking) and ended up welting the back of my sisters leg with a corn hole bean bag...and made her cry. My stepmom got in his face about it, as any mother would. And George jumped on the defensive side quick...which turned into him leaving, followed by a bunch of "fuck you" "fuck your family" "just because her dad died doesn't mean she has to be a little bitch" and then telling me that we were over and I could bring his stuff to him and that he wanted his half of the money out of the account. At this point he sounds like the adults in Charlie Brown any time we fight. Wah wah wah wah But this was the 3rd strike. Because now you've officially shown your ass in front of my family. And what did I do about it? Excused his behavior. As always. Jumped to his defense. And as usual, by the time I got home things were fine. My stepmom and sister left the next day and they didn't even acknowledge George before leaving. Not that he left the bedroom for them to do so.

#somethingsneverchange