#the teddy bear his grandmother made for him but kept piecing it together until it was ribbons

[ride-a-dromedary]

Some 340-ish years ago Halsin was just a little guy whose best friend was a forest spirit and who probably had dirt on his face 24/7.

#BG3 #BG3 Fanart #Halsin #my art #halsin seems like the type who was a mama's boy and was called sunshine and completely ravaged #the teddy bear his grandmother made for him but kept piecing it together until it was ribbons #listen the brainrot is pretty bad ngl i know because i spent actual time on this and headcanon decided details #like the paint on his face being an echo of his face tattoo but also a prediction of future scarring #the little unibrow because i refuse to believe wood elves pluck their eyebrows #and darker hair more like his EA design but i figure it lightened in the sun after many years #little cuts because he climbs trees all the time you know the works #i know he's confused by stuffed bears in game SHH it's because his was better lol

[myforeverforlife]

familiar stranger (final).

“It doesn’t feel like home when you’re not with me."

Jongdae’s eyelids fluttered shut, the weight of your words touching the depths of his heart. "You’ll always have me, no matter what. Home hasn’t been the same without you.” His eyes opened, brown pools of color full of adoration as he stared back at you.

Everything was falling back into place.

Disclaimer: This series was planned out before Jongdae’s announcement, and I wanted to finish this for everyone who’s been reading and following along since part one. As always, everything in this is fictional, the only things linked to reality are the use of some character names.

Word Count: 5,734

Masterlist

Series masterlist: ( 1 )  ( 2 )  ( 3 )  ( Final )

Moving day was more organized than you expected. You only had to bring over the pile of stuff you accumulated while staying with Minseok, and the rest already had a place at home with Jongdae. Most of your items were easily settled and in their places within a couple of hours, much to your satisfaction. The only thing left to do was to get the remainder of your clothes put away. 

As you folded and hung up your clothes, it hit you that while most of your other tastes had stayed the same, your choice in clothing hadn't. In the course of six years, your wardrobe had changed almost completely. 

"I feel like I'm shopping through my own closet," you said over your shoulder. Rummaging through coats and sweaters, you were impressed by certain fashions choices, and oddly confused at others. "Did I really wear this orange sweater?" You took it out by the hanger, lifting it up just as Jongdae peeked out from the bathroom. 

"You did, and I always said that you looked like a pumpkin. A very cute pumpkin, I might add." Jongdae laughed, even with his mouth full of toothpaste. 

You hung the fuzzy blob of a sweater back up, failing to hide the smile working its way onto your face at Jongdae's words. "I guess I know why I kept it," you said to yourself as Jongdae finished brushing his teeth. He joined you at the closet soon after, similarly dressed in his well-loved pajamas. 

"I forgot you even had this," he chuckled. Jongdae reached out, fingers running down the woolen fabric of the sweater. "I never knew why you didn't donate or throw it away. You always said it was too scratchy to wear." 

Eyebrows raised in disbelief, you crossed your arms over your chest. "Really? You honestly don't have any idea why?" 

Jongdae was still confused, staring harder at the sweater as if he would find the answer there. "No... why?" 

"I probably kept it because you liked it so much! Who doesn't want to be called a 'cute pumpkin' by their husband?" 

"Huh." Jongdae's head cocked to the head slightly, studying the article of clothing one last time before turning to you. "You didn't have to do that. I know you don't usually like this style." 

"I mean, technically I didn't do anything. 'Past me' did." 

Jongdae smiled, closing the distance and putting his arms around your waist. "Well, 'past you' is still you." He kissed the crown of your head, his lips lingering a but longer before he rested his cheek against your hair. "Ready for bed?" 

It amused Jongdae to watch you hop in on the left side of the bed, a spot you always claimed. You pulled a pillow close to you as you brought the fluffy blanket over your shoulders, sniffing curiously as you caught a whiff of a familiar scent. 

"Lavender," you mused, diving down for another sniff. 

"To help you sleep," Jongdae explained as he turned off the light on the nightstand. "You used to talk about how it takes forever for you to fall asleep." He stifled a laugh as he lay down, resting his head on the pillow underneath. "And if we're being honest, you were sort of jealous of my ability to fall asleep in five seconds flat." 

You mirrored Jongdae, lying down and facing him as you clutched the pillow tightly to you with both arms. "I'm still jealous, now that you've brought that up," you pouted. 

Jongdae cooed with sympathy, scooting closer and bringing one arm up to encircle as much of you as he could. "Hopefully the lavender helps tonight."

"I'm sure it will." You smiled up at him before hugging him back, the pillow between both of you making it hard to get your arm over his waist. To Jongdae's amusement, you shoved the pillow out of the way before snuggling closer, nose pressed into his shirt. 

And sure enough, you slept better than you did in a long time. 

"Y/N, can you bring me the scallops?"

"Yes, chef!" You picked up the hot pan with a towel, warning your fellow chefs as you stepped past before placing on the counter next to Key. He finished plating his risotto before reaching for the scallops, sending you a quick thanks before focusing entirely on the food before him. 

"Mingyu, I need garnish soon! Kyungsoo, get ready to have your salmon up to the counter!" 

Both men were quick to respond to the head chef, Mingyu readying dainty flowers to be sprinkled atop the scallop risotto while Kyungsoo wiped the edges of his salmon dishes. 

You went to check on the meal ticket one last time, making sure that nothing was missing. Under Key's supervision, his dishes were immaculate and aesthetically pleasing to the eye. 

Once Jaehyun came to take the dishes out, the whole process started all over again. Key led your team through a couple orders of spicy pork over cauliflower rice and, much to Kyungsoo's delight, wasabi tacos. Time seemed to fly past as you all finished up the last of the main dishes and started on desserts. 

Service ended with a last order of lychee cheesecake and mini red bean pancakes topped with French vanilla ice cream, your mouth watering at the sight of them. 

"Good work tonight, everybody. That was the best service we've had in a long time. Maybe even since Y/N was last here," he added, giving you a thumbs-up. "Alright, let's clean up and get the hell out of here. I'm dying for a drink." 

You rolled back your shoulders, stretching out the sore muscles and moving onto your neck when Kyungsoo called out to you. "You okay?" 

"Yeah, my body's just stiff. Too much sitting around at home for me really left me out of shape," you joked. 

Kyungsoo's eyes softened in sympathy. "It's tough jumping back into this after so long. You'll get used to it again though."

"Sounds like you speak from experience?"

"Yeah, before I got hired here, I did my military service. I had to leave my job at Junmyeon's old restaurant, Oasis, but he offered me one here once I got out. I thought I'd ease back in like I never left, but it was weird to get back into the habit of cooking in an environment like this. Not just physically, but mentally as well." He leaned back against the counter, throwing the towel in his hand onto his shoulder and crossing his arms. "Luckily, Key is a decent head chef, when he's not sending drunk texts to the groupchat."

"I can hear you Do Kyungsoo, and those counters won't wipe themselves!" Key yelled from the walk-in fridge. 

You stifled your giggles as Kyungsoo flinched, immediately reaching up for his towel and searching for the nearest surface to start cleaning. 

Sure, your body wasn't used to the stress of pulling through a service like this, but you felt better than you had in a long time. It also helped that you had been welcomed back so cheerfully. Of course, everyone in the kitchen was overjoyed to have you there. Your tasks had been divvied up and shared among the remaining four chefs, the managers even stepping in to help wherever they could. 

But you could feel the camaraderie between everyone, and the way that this same friendship was extended towards you. The younger ones liked to rope you into their antics, Lucas and Mark often looking to you for your opinion whenever they got into an enthusiastic discussion about, well, anything. The latest debate had been over which Smash Bros character was the best. 

Your happiness at work filtered into your cheeriness at home, and vice versa. Your parents were even able to pick up on your cheery mood as you talked to them over the phone. Although they were cities away and unable to come up to Seoul as often as they liked, you made the effort to call them at least once a week. 

Jongdae liked to say hi to your parents whenever he heard that you were on the phone with them. Nothing more than the usual effervescent, genuine greeting, and then he left you with a kiss and your privacy to continue your phone call. As familiar as he was with your parents, you were almost terrified about meeting his. It was slightly comforting to know that they loved you already, but meeting your partner's parents was always a nerve-wracking event. Jongdae never pushed you to meet them, much less talk to then until you were ready. 

But deep down, you knew that this was something you would have to do eventually. 

You met them for the first time (again) at his parents on a sunny weekend in March, during a family get-together at their house. Jongdae's older brother was there too with his wife, their little daughter back home spending some time with her maternal grandmother.

It was easy to see where Jongdae's assorted charms came from as you observed his parents. His father was reliable and always ready to lend a hand, even when you didn't say anything. His mother was bubbly and optimistic, constantly refreshing others with a kind word and a warm smile. 

And Jongdae, sweet as ever, was by your side throughout it all. A hand on your waist as you talked to his mom, a hearty laugh when you innocently pointed out that his brother had a piece of spinach stuck in his teeth. 

His childhood home was gone, but his parents still kept a room reserved for him and his brother in their new apartment. Boxes of artifacts from his youth were stacked against the wall, full of yearbooks, letters and stuffed plushies spilling out when you opened them up. 

"You have a teddy bear collection?" you asked, picking up one with a plush skateboard attached to its feet. "This might be the cutest thing I've ever seen."

"Stop," Jongdae whined, falling to the floor and covering his face with his hands as you laughed. "I feel bad about throwing them out."

"I'm serious, Dae. This is adorable." You sat the bear up against the pillows on his bed, lining up bear after bear until you had an entire row there. Some were in better condition than others, but all had been well-loved. 

Jongdae showed you old photos of the band he was in during high-school, an adolescent version of him sporting different hairstyles that his friend did for him. "I let him practice on me, but I drew the line at mohawks. My mom would've killed me, and Jongdeok would've teased me about it forever. Not that he doesn't tease me enough already," he added with a good-natured roll of his eyes.

"How about now?" you asked, wiggling your eyebrows. "I think you'd look good in one."

Jongdae choked on his laughter, tears welling in the corners of his eyes as you frantically got him up to a sitting position. "I'm fine," he assured you, coughing in between chuckles. "You just surprised me." 

"You mean you don't want a hairstyle that makes you look like a rooster?" you quipped, joining in as Jongdae erupted into giggles once more.

"Okay, that's it, I'm never going with you to the hair salon." His chest continued to rumble with laughter as he leaned against you, his cheek pressed against your head. "I'm glad you're having a good time here."

"Your family's so sweet, how can I not?" 

Jongdae smiled to himself, head ducking down to kiss you. "I'm happy that you're happy, darling." 

Jongdae's family members were so similar to himself, how could you not love them? They welcomed you into the family a second time, your personality suiting their easygoing ways. 

And something you really appreciated — not once did any of them comment on your ring-less finger. 

It had been a journey wracked with guilt and confusion, but you had reached the point where looking at your wedding ring didn't send you into a whirlpool of nervousness. 

A few weeks and sessions unpacking your guilt with Dr. Suh later, you even took to wearing your wedding ring again — although not where you were traditionally expected to. The elegant piece of jewelry hung from a thin silver chain around your neck, an old Christmas present from your father. 

Your ring was the bridge between your present and past — but more importantly, your future. Wearing your ring grounded you, reminded you about how lucky you were to be here now, even if you couldn't remember the past six years. It was comforting to feel the slight pull on your necklace when you leaned forward, the ring swinging forward and catching the light. 

What warmed your heart even more was Jongdae's reaction to seeing it again. 

You had been antsy all day, the ring hidden under your shirt. For all Jongdae knew, you were just wearing a necklace you had rediscovered. But when you leaned down to pick up a pair of shoes, the ring slipped out from its hiding place. Jongdae, who tended to be completely oblivious to his surroundings, took a bit to realize what he was seeing. Once he did, however, his mouth fell open, eyes trained solely on the ring at your neck. No matter how many times you replayed it in your mind, you couldn't figure out who had moved first. All you knew was that both of you were in each other's arms, Jongdae's lips on yours as he kissed you like his life depended on it. 

When he managed to finally pull away, he looked you in the eye, asking why you chose to wear it.

"It just feels right," you murmured, fingers tracing over his collarbones. You couldn't meet his gaze, feeling the the intensity of his eyes on yours. You needed to be clear-headed if you wanted to get your thoughts out correctly. "I used to be scared of it. I knew that I loved you, but I wasn't sure if I was ready for a big commitment like this. It's my first time being married," you finished with a soft laugh. 

Jongdae lifted your chin up gently, waiting until you were looking at him. "You didn't do this just for me, right?" He swallowed back the nervousness creeping up his throat.

You shook your head. "Not just for you or me, but for us, darling." 

Jongdae froze for a second before his hands came up to your cheeks, caressing them softly. “Say it again, please.” His voice was shaky, despite the steadiness of his hands. "I've missed hearing that." 

"Darling Jongdae," you whispered back, your own hands trembling as they reached up to cover Jongdae's where they rested on your face. "I love you. I don't think I ever really stopped." 

Jongdae let out an unexpected sob, closing his eyes and ducking his head. His hands dropped from your face, taking yours down with him. 

"Dae, don't cry," you pleaded, reaching out to be the one to cradle his face now. "Dae," you said tenderly, brushing his bangs back as he tried to hide his tears.

He turned his head, wiping his face on his sleeve before turning back to you. His eyes were red-rimmed, tears clumping his eyelashes together. "I'm happy," he choked out, taking in a shuddering, raspy breath. "You make me happy, Y/N, no matter what you do. But this... nothing even compares to this.” 

"But I'm not even wearing the ring the right way," you murmured, surprised by his strong reaction. 

Jongdae shook his head, brows drawn low over his face, a serious glint to his eye. "It doesn't matter where you wear it. You could wear it on your pinky toe, for all that I care. But I'm... I'm honored that you would choose to wear it again. To choose me again." 

"It's only ever been you, Jongdae. I'd fall for you again, a million times over if it meant I got to be with you." You kissed him, feeling the subtle tickle of his eyelashes against your skin when he closed his eyes. 

"I love you," he breathed, unwilling to move even an inch away when he was already drunk off of you. 

"I love you too, Dae." 

And in your soul, you felt that truer words had never been spoken. 

Winter ended and with it came sunnier spring days, each with their fair share of rainy ones. You and Jongdae had spent these early months of the year cuddled up in late winter's warmth, discovering new things about each other as the first seeds began to sprout. It was normal now for Jongdae to pick you up from work, for both of you to come home and talk about your days over dinner and then spend the rest of the night lazing around. 

Your old worries tended to creep up on you from time to time, but your circle of supporters were always ready to listen and comfort. You confided in Dr. Suh, sharing your deepest, darkest fears about not being able to live up to the person you had been before the accident. It took a lot of talking out your thoughts and thinking through the realities of them, sorting through what was fact and fiction, and the importance of living for now. 

You had gotten so used to having Dr. Suh as another shoulder to lean on that it knocked your world off balance when you got down to your last sessions. 

"I don't think there's anything left for me to help you with," she explained. "You've done an amazing job learning to talk through your problems, and not just to me. I've seen how much you and Jongdae have improved, and I think it's time that I take a step back." 

"This is so weird, it feels like it was only a couple of weeks ago that I came in here for the first time," you mused.

"Time really has flown by, hasn’t it?” Dr. Suh took off her glasses, resting them on top of her leg. "You've made so much progress, and I have faith in your abilities to continue your good work. I'll miss my sessions with you and Jongdae, but I sincerely believe that neither of you need me anymore. I'm proud of you both." 

A sudden wave of emotion came over you, gratitude towards Dr. Suh for all of her help over the past months, to uncertainty about the days ahead without these confidential talks in her office. "Are you sure?" you asked meekly. "What do I do if I need help again?" 

"Then I'll always be here. But I think you and Jongdae have done more for each other than I have." Her lips curled upwards, bringing an uncommon youthfulness to her usually calm demeanor. 

"I'm sure together, the two of you will be just fine."

Six months later... 

Your played with the ring hanging from your neck, one foot tapping anxiously against the floor. Tonight was the night. It wasn't your first holiday with Jongdae, and some people wouldn't consider a birthday a "real" holiday anyways, but in your eyes, it was absolutely imperative that everything go smoothly tonight. 

"Y/N, relax, he'll be here soon," Key said, wiping off a few beads of sweat from his forehead. "If you stay in the kitchen any longer, you'll end up sweating in that outfit." 

He had a point. "Are you sure you don't need any help?" you asked, leaning across the counter. Key had done his best to keep you out of the kitchen, sparing one glance at your dress and stating that he wouldn't be the one to get oil or food residue on your outfit. After you begged and pleaded, he begrudgingly agreed to let you sit and watch from across the counter.

"I'm sure," Key emphasized, waving you away with one hand. "Now hurry and get out there before your dress starts to smell like beef or something."

With a snort, you hopped off the stool, pushing open the kitchen door and leaving the chefs to their own devices.

The restaurant was nearly empty, the last few customers finishing up their meals and settling their checks. You had offered to work today, but Irene wouldn't hear of it, especially after hearing of your plans to celebrate Jongdae's birthday. She even insisted that you take your time off to go and treat yourself to some time at a salon. That didn't stop you from showing up an hour before you told Jongdae to meet you, running through your plans and finalizing them. 

For your sake, the restaurant was closing early tonight so that you and Jongdae would have the whole place to yourselves. Well, yourselves, and the rest of the staff who you knew would be eavesdropping at every moment. 

"Y/N!" Junmyeon called out, coming over with two copies of your menu. "We finally got the printer to work, what do you think?" 

In his hands were two menus, the thick leaves of paper already laminated and placed inside the leather bindings. You read down the list, nodding contentedly at what you saw there. "Perfect! Thanks so much, Myeon. I know how much trouble the printer was giving you." 

"If it's for you and Jongdae, it's not a problem. You can pay me in leftover food, though." He laughed as he walked away, the apples of his cheeks tinged pink with mirth. 

One table by the window had been especially reserved for both of you, the table settings already freshly cleaned after the previous diners. You leaned over, rearranging the petite flowers in the vase that sat there, the golden sunshine of their petals instantly lifting your mood. The simple arrangement held a mix of dandelions and black-eyed Susans, with some sprigs of baby's breath to add some subtle contrast. As much as you and Jongdae both loved lavender, you noticed how he was always drawn to any sort of buttery, yellow flower. His face had brightened up when you brought some home the other day, his nose disappearing into the depth of petals as he smelled the fragrant scent. He made you laugh when he picked one out, sticking it behind his ear as you both did the rest of your Saturday chores. 

"Y/N, it's almost time!" Irene came up from behind, smoothing down your hair and giving you a final look-over. She nodded to herself when she was satisfied, gently pushing you into a chair.

"Irene, I'm probably gonna stand up again once he comes in," you said, even as your boss meticulously straightened out every little bit and piece on the table. 

"That might be true, but when Jongdae walks up to the entrance, the first thing he's going to see is you sitting here by the window. With the light coming at you from this angle and your vase of flowers here, you look like you belong in a painting. Jongdae will be at a complete loss for words."

Your lips quirked up at the unexpected compliments, thanking your friend for her help tonight.

"I'm happy to do this for you, Y/N. We all are." She glanced up, spotting something through the window. "I'd say good luck, but I know that you won't need it."

You followed her line of sight, sitting up in your seat and craning your neck until you saw Jongdae, frozen on the path leading up to the restaurant. He broke out of his stupor when he met your eye, raising a hand to wave shyly. You didn't even notice Irene as she slipped away discreetly, your heart melting at the sight of Jongdae. Your boss may have tried to frame you like a portrait in a museum, picturesque and pleasing to the eye, but no work of art could surpass Jongdae's beauty in your eyes. 

Jongdae greeted Johnny at the entrance, following through the charade as the taller man led him to your table — the only occupied table in the entire restaurant. He took his seat, fingers tapping nervously against his legs as he gave you a crooked smile. "Hi, darling. I didn't think we'd be the only ones here tonight." 

"Being friends with the owner has its perks," you shrugged nonchalantly. "Happy birthday, Dae." You had already wished him a happy birthday multiple times already, but you were overflowing with festive cheer. It was your first time celebrating his birthday, and you intended to make this a night he wouldn't forget. 

"Thank you," Jongdae replied sweetly, his hand reaching over the table to meet yours. 

Johnny came back with drinks and your specially crafted menus. There was only one option listed for each course, but you had made sure to pick dishes that Jongdae absolutely loved. His face lit up as he read down the list, unconsciously swallowing as if he could already taste the food. "Babe, this all sounds amazing. How am I gonna eat all of this?"

"I'm sure we'll find a way. And if we don't, at least we've got a full staff to help us out." You nodded towards the kitchen, Jongdae following suit only to see Key staring through the window. The head chef was unfazed at being caught, waving quickly before he disappeared from view and sending you and Jongdae into a fit of giggles. 

The first course was the appetizer: a sampler of short ribs cooked in several ways. The bites were small, but enough to hold you over until the next course. Jongdae, ever the carnivore, dug in with gusto. "This isn't a dish on the menu, is it? Did you come up with this?" he asked in awe.

"I planned it with Key and Soo. They both helped me with the flavor combinations." 

Jongdae sighed happily. "You're a genius. I could kiss you right now, you know?"

"I'd be fine with that," you smiled, leaning closer.

The door to the kitchen swung open, Ten coming to bring you the main course. You and Jongdae both jumped back in your seats, laughing quietly at your shared embarrassment.

If Jongdae was ecstatic at the sight of the appetizer, he was completely overjoyed when he saw what the main course was. "It's your kimchi stew," he gaped in wonder. 

You had practiced the beloved recipe, the one from your cookbook that reduced you to tears months ago. It had taken a couple of test trials in the kitchen before you felt that it was absolutely perfect, nothing less than what you wanted to present to Jongdae. Tonight, Kyungsoo was in charge of it, but you trusted him with your recipe wholeheartedly. 

Jongdae closed his eyes as soon as he took the first bite, the familiar spiciness and warmth rushing over him. "God, this is so good," he gushed, opening his eyes to meet your proud smile. 

"I'm glad you like it. Kyungsoo did a great job with it tonight." 

Jongdae nodded, scooping up some rice from the stone bowl beside his stew. "I'll have to give my compliments to the chef," he joked with a twinkle in his eye.  

When both of you were done and felt like you couldn't eat any more, Ten came back to clear your dishes. You knew what was going to happen next, and the dormant butterflies in your stomach began to fly into a frenzy. Across from you, Jongdae sat oblivious to your inner turmoil.

"I don't know if I can eat any more. But then again, Mom always said I had a separate stomach for dessert." He laughed, hands resting over his full belly as you joined in. 

"Well, I guess we'll see if that's true." 

Jongdae raised an eyebrow, about to ask something when some of the lights went out, only your little corner by the window still illuminated by light. A chorus of singing could be heard from the kitchen, only to come flooding out once the doors opened. 

Junmyeon carried the cake out, concentrating hard on singing and walking at the same time. Irene was beside him, hands outstretched as if she expected the cake to fall at any moment. Kyungsoo was right behind, the cake knife wrapped in a cloth napkin and held carefully in his hands as his cheeks glowed with excitement. The rest of the staff followed along, singing turning to shouts and cheers as the fun of it all started to sink in. Even Minseok and Baekhyun were there, Minseok recording on his phone and Baekhyun with a party hat on his head.

"Happy birthday!" Baekhyun yelled once the singing was over and the applause died down. He took off his hat to put it on Jongdae's head instead. Of course, always ready to go along with the fun, Jongdae let his best friend put the silly hat on him. It was much too small, and you were sure that he would have a mark on his chin from the rubber band, but none of it bothered him at all. 

Junmyeon managed to get the cake onto the table without any incidents, much to everyone's relief. He hid behind Mingyu to wipe away the sweat at his temples while Jongdae grinned appreciatively at the cake.

"Matcha cheesecake?" he asked, eyes flashing up to meet yours. 

"The one and only. I hope you like it, Dae." 

"I love it, all of this. Thank you so much, darling." He brought your hand up, pressing a feather-light kiss to the knuckles there. 

"Don't forget to make a wish," Minseok spoke up, still recording every moment. 

Jongdae took in a deep breath as he closed his eyes. It was almost like watching him pray, the way he whispered to himself so softly, no one else could hear. He opened his eyes and blew out the candles, the room erupting into cheers and applause once more. 

Soon, the cake was cut and pieces passed around. Jongdae had tried to cut it at first, but the slices were in danger of coming out horribly uneven, so Kyungsoo stepped in. Everyone was scattered throughout the restaurant, lounging around and talking over their cake. They were mindful of your privacy, varied conversations never interrupting the intimacy shared at your table. 

"Y/N, thank you so much for tonight," Jongdae murmured, now without his birthday hat. "This is the best birthday I've ever had."

"Really?" you asked, fork stopping halfway to your mouth as your froze, taken off-guard.

"Really," he repeated. "I can tell how much work you put into this, you and everyone here. I still can't believe how lucky I am to have someone do this for me." 

"I do it because I love you, Dae." You set your fork down, the metal clattering against the ceramic plate. "I actually have one last surprise," you stammered out. The butterflies in your stomach had now reached peak frenzy, almost rendering you frozen. 

Jongdae watched, half intrigued and the other half worried by the trembling of your fingers. You reached up to undo the clasp of your necklace, slipping your ring off of the chain and cradling it in your other hand. 

"At the beginning of this year, I wasn't sure what would happen to me. I was terrified and lost, and it took everything I had to even try to piece my life back together." You paused, licking your dry lips and readying yourself for the next words. Jongdae's eyes were wide, emotion swirling in that expressive face of his. The love and awe that you saw there spurred you on, words coming more readily. 

"I was scared of falling back in love with you because I knew even less about you than I knew about myself. And the more I found out about you, the deeper I fell. It was the biggest leap of faith I'd ever taken, trusting myself to you and hoping that we would both come out unscathed. And now, every single day, I'm so thankful to have you in my life. I love you more than I can say in words, more than I will ever remember. Kim Jongdae, will you marry me a second time?" 

Jongdae jumped up, surprising you and everyone else in the room who had been listening in. He came around the table, stooping down to cup your cheeks gently before he kissed you. 

Someone started hooting and cheering, but it was merely background noise to you. How could you focus on anything else when Jongdae was kissing you like you were the most precious thing he had ever set eyes on? 

"Is that a yes?" you mumbled against his lips, raising an eyebrow when Jongdae chuckled softly. 

"Yes, with all of my heart." Jongdae crouched down beside you, on his knees as he took the ring from your hand. Both of you watched as he slid it carefully onto the finger that had been bare for so long. Once it was nestled safely against your skin, you pulled him back in for another kiss, giggling when your friends began to crowd the two of you again. 

"Yo, but can people really get married twice?" Mark asked to no one in particular, looking from face to face for his answer.

"I was thinking more of us renewing our vows, but asking him to marry me just seemed more romantic," you explained with a laugh. 

"And it worked," Jongdae added, his hand stroking the side of your face. "I'd marry you a thousand times over, if you asked me to." 

"Don't say that, she'll really make you do it," Minseok interrupted.

You stuck your tongue out at your older brother, ignoring the chuckles of amusement at your childish reaction. Jongdae reached down to pick up your left hand, his thumb running reverently over the ring there. 

"Thank you," he whispered to you, his forehead resting against yours. "Thank you for choosing me again, even after everything." 

"Darling, I always will. Even after every hardship, every unexpected thing that comes out way, we’ve managed to still make it out together. With you, I'm never lost." 

Jongdae's gaze softened, his brown eyes reflecting your own hopes and dreams back for you to see. You felt his thumb run over your ring again, the touch comforting and immediately putting you at ease. "You'll never be lost again," he said sincerely. 

"I promise." 

Series masterlist: ( 1 )  ( 2 )  ( 3 )  ( Final )

A/N: and that’s a wrap! thank you to everyone who’s been reading not only this series, but any of my jongdae fics since I started posting them here! 💕💕💕

for the flowers in the vase: baby's breath means long lasting love, dandelions can mean bravery, personal growth, healing, perseverance (there were lots of mixed meanings) and black-eyed susans mean encouragement.

if you guys remember the small paragraph I shared of this a long, long time ago before I really started working on the series, this will seem pretty different from that. I went through a lot of changes after hearing about jongdae's good news because I didn't want to write a jongdae scenario so close to reality. i’m still happy to end this series on a good note, and I can genuinely say that i’ve enjoyed every moment not only of writing this, but for writing everything i’ve done for jongdae. I won’t be writing any reader x jongdae fics anymore, but there’s always a good chance he’ll show up as a side character in future works! 

tag list: @khelmatic​ @chogi-wae​ @wongxiexie​

#exo #chen #chen scenario #jongdae scenario #chen fanfic #jongdae fanfic #exo scenario #exo fanfic #writings

[secretgiftsforshaman]

I was an emotional vampire when I was a child. The memories and pieces of evidence have been slowly rising to the surface, and I think I’ve finally pieced them together. While I still have my moments, I’m (usually) much less of a vampire now than I once was. I haven’t examined how, exactly, I managed to become less vampiric over time without consciously seeking to do so. Maybe I just got used to feeling unfulfilled and unloved and accepted that that’s how it would be. Maybe I just kept putting it off until some future day when hopefully it’d be better somehow. I need to reflect on this more, but right now I just need to get this out.

My grandmother often smothered my mom with affection when she was little – it was one of grandma’s ways of trying to fill her own unmet emotional needs, by treating mom like she was her own personal little cuddly teddy-bear play dolly, and expecting the same sickly-sweet treatment back from my mom, even as a toddler, even when she was her own kind of ravenous black hole and only doled out that “affection” because she expected something in return. I think that mom then reacted to that treatment by swinging to the other extreme when I came along, being overly distant, withholding, and resentful of my emotional needs (they reminded her too much of her own – as her firstborn I was her first experience of another person being 1000% dependent on her, and I think it triggered all kinds of shit from her relationship with her own mother, both where I was her and she was grandma, and where she was herself and I was grandma) and she didn’t want to smother me with affection the way she had been. However or whyever it came about, she definitely went too far in that opposite direction. I have no memories of feeling cherished by my mother, or of cuddling together without her acting resentfully and sending me back to my own bed as soon as possible, or of her ever expressing belief or confidence in me and my abilities (part the root of why I struggle to perform any new or intimidating task, I think). As I’ve said before and will keep saying aloud until I have finished integrating, processing, and healing it: I was emotionally neglected, abandoned, and abused, and sometimes I still am. While I’ve lived in material privilege and had all of my basic physical/survival needs met with some material luxuries to boot, I never felt like I had enough of the love, acceptance, and touch that I needed from the very earliest age. This emotional connection is a vital nutrient for the soul, the psyche, and the body – and an emotionally starving child in need of attention, affection, and approval will latch onto anything and anyone that feels like it/they can give them a scrap or two with which to survive. I’ve felt like a gaping, needy, black hole of pain and rejection eating myself from the inside out my entire life and never really been able to explain why until now.

There are all manner of embarrassing memories I’ve been dredging up of how I acted as a kid, and I don’t have enough conscious detail to explain them like stories, but I can feel the energetic reality of all those episodes. They contain the same patterns and themes, they stretch back as far as I remember, and they occur at every age of childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood without intermission. Time and again I latched onto people, be they other kids, warm or parental adults, classmates, crushes, even random strangers: just anybody who was energetically compatible with or susceptible to my ravenous, desperate needs that I might be able to tag along after, attempt to adopt or ingratiate myself to, or mooch off of. If it worked, it worked poorly, and it didn’t work for very long, and as a result very few of my peers wanted to be friends with me for most of my life. I’ve explained away this ‘social awkwardness’ pattern as just part of my Asperger’s for years, but I’ve been coming to realize that while part of it may have been autism-typical misunderstandings of other people’s social cues, the other part of me was manipulative and leech-like and would overstep other people’s boundaries because I didn’t know how to connect to people and receive the attention I needed otherwise (because my own social boundaries weren’t respected – I rarely had boundary honoring behavior modeled for me at home).

This helps account for why I’ve felt so rejected from all quarters. Of course nobody wants to ask the emotional vampire to play with them, or invite them over to hang out, or flirt with them. Of course I fell hard for the narrative that the right romantic knight-in-shining-armor would feed that gaping hungry maw of lovelessness inside of me and got hyperfixated on finding a boy, and later a man, to help me fill in that hole. And of course I am now afraid of expressing my attraction to anyone, especially romantically or sexually: I am both afraid of mockery and rejection, but I also struggle with distinguishing intense attraction from my inner soul-sucking emotional leech.

This is a big part of why I am terrified of expressing my needs and desires: I have hurt people and rightfully driven them away from me with my behavior and treatment of them in the past, and the conflict between wanting that connection with someone, particularly a potential partner, and latching onto them in a way that hurts/upsets/repulses them is what has been agonizing me about reaching out and starting to flirt and date again. The newer loneliness of grief and widowhood feels all too similar to that old gaping hole of emotional neglect, and I fear that I can’t accept ANY connection, affection, touch, or love to fill my need without hurting the person giving them to me. Even in our relationship, while I have gradually become more secure and trusting, I think that this is the root fear that has made me worry at times that I have asked too much from you or taken too much from you.

Maybe I stopped being a vampire because it didn’t get me what I needed so I just stopped doing it, but (as I’m typing this and reflecting on it and realizing) I think I mostly just drew the conclusion that there was something inherently unworthy of love and acceptance within me, and became ashamed of the misguided ways that I had tried to seek out love and acceptance. I started to accept that I’d be better off not trying because if so many people had rejected me then it must be because they could all see my obvious unworthiness, so it would be foolish and pathetic for me to seek something that would never be mine – that was so laughably beyond my reach – like love or intimacy. Let alone acting like someone could actively desire or want me – that would be so beyond the pale as to draw ridicule. At one point or another I’ve managed to convince myself that asking someone for anything (friendship, attention, reassurance, compliments, a glass of water, I mean ANYTHING) is actually me just trying to manipulate or leech off of that person, whether it’s through vampirism or a bald-faced request. So the only solution to this mess is to fulfill as much of my needs and desires as I can for myself, and reject the rest because turning to another person for assistance will only harm them, drive them away, or both.

I know that my younger, starving child self was only acting out of instinct to survive the neglect and abuse that she suffered – that she didn’t know any better and she never fed on anybody in malice or out of any intent to do harm. But I’m afraid of my own inner child, of my own ongoing neediness and hunger for connection. I’m terrified that I’ll hurt someone by taking too much from them, that I’ll ask for more than they want to give, that nobody will be able to meet me emotionally. Or WANT to meet me emotionally. I’m trying to hold out hope that my future mate, wherever he his, will want to love me – will not see love as the scarce, precious commodity that my inner traumatized child experienced it as, but that he (and I) can and will both treat love like the bottomless fountain that it is. That it will bring him joy and pleasure to pour buckets of love back into me, that he’ll bail me in when I’m feeling hollow and dry, and I will relish the privilege of doing the same for him. My closest friends and I have begun to do something like this with each other, and it is such a healing thing.

I am trying to keep faith in my worthiness. I am trying to forgive myself for acting as best as I could in terrible situations where I felt next to powerless. I hope that I can disentangle my inner bloodsucker from my honest needs, learn to express my desire and attraction to others in harmless and healthy ways, no matter how intense they feel, and that I can reprogram all that shit in my head about needing to emotionally starve myself because to slake that thirst would hurt someone.

It’s 1:30 AM and I desperately need sleep. And maybe some garlic, holy water, or a crucifix.

Thank you for loving and accepting and holding space for me and all of my mess. I sincerely hope that you never feel unappreciated – you do so much for me just by existing as a good, honorable man. Your presence is a healing balm in and of itself. And you are this way because of your integrity and character. Connecting to your energy is calming and soothing even when you aren’t able listen or respond. Never forget how good and powerful you are. I believe in you and everything that you embody and do.

All my love,

My Vulnerable Parts

[lolainblue]

Thunderbirds -- Chapter 40

T/W: Impllied abuse

   @msroxyblog @nikkitasevoli @maliciousalishious@meghan12151977@mustlove6277 @fyeahproudglambert @little-poptart @lady-grinning-soul-k @snewsome756

  As I held Roger and waited for him to calm down, a thousand memories flooded through my head in bits and pieces, like flashes from a movie.

  In the first one, it's 1985, I'm ten and back at Sugarbush Elementary. I'm hiding in the girls bathroom, the one by the art room in the basement; the one with no windows and the fluorescent light that is about to burn out that keeps buzzing and flickering. I've been crying and I'm hiding in the last stall, my feet drawn up on the toilet seat so no one can see by my shoes that I'm there. I've listened while Abby Norris has said more mean things about me in two minutes than I have ever even thought about anyone else altogether in my entire life, listened while she called me horrible things and her friends laughed and I wished I could become invisible, or die, or at least move back to Greenwood where I didn't have a lot of friends but at least no one called me names or pushed me down on the pea gravel by the swings and tore a hole in my favorite pair of jeans, the Zena ones that didn't come from the Sears catalog or have stupid rainbows or teddy bears on the pockets.  I wait until after the bell has rung before I finally get up enough courage to come out, and as soon as I am back in the hallway, there he is, one of the popular boys, the one who eats lunch at Abby's table and is always staring out the window, probably the cutest boy in the entire school. I'm ten but I already learned long ago that the prettier they are the meaner they are. I freeze as he takes in my swollen eyes and blotchy red face and I wait for him to say something ugly, or sneer and run away and tell everyone the new girl was crying in the downstairs bathroom but he just smiles and tosses his sandy bangs back out of his eyes. Hey you're that new girl from Greenwood, right? Your name is Jane isn't it? he is saying, blue eyes crinkling up as he grins at me, and I don't understand why he is being nice, everyone here has been so awful, but he reaches into the pocket of his neatly pressed khakis and pulls out a pack of Juicy Fruit gum and offers me a piece. I take it like a feral deer accepting corn from someone's hand, and as I unwrap it – I can still smell it, that distinctive tutti-frutti scent that still makes me smile eighteen years later – he is talking to me like we have been best friends from birth I'm Roger Harrington, I'm in Miss Kovacs's class too, No one new ever moves here, this town is so boring, bet you didn't want to come here and I have no idea how much my life has just changed but it's the most important thing that has ever happened to me and I want to live in that moment just for a bit but too soon the memory has slipped away, and I am back to rocking Roger in his bedroom in our oh-so modern NYC apartment but I might as well be back in that green institutional bathroom as helpless his tears have made me feel.

   “What happened, Roger?” I asked him once he stopped crying enough that I thought he could form words again. “Before your mom, I mean. We both know that's not where this started.”

   “It started with Daphne,” Roger admitted. “She wanted us to move in together, wanted a ring. I told her I wasn't ready, that I didn't even know what the hell I was doing with the rest of my life. She started in on wanting kids again, I told her I didn't. I reminded her that I had been clear about that from the beginning. She said she didn't think I was serious, didn't everyone say they didn't want kids when they were younger. But she knew, Jane, I told her how I grew up, that I didn't want that...”

   It's still 1985 in the background movie in my memory but it's a few weeks later, and Roger is coming over to my house after school for the first time. My mother greets us in her apron, offering fruit punch and bologna sandwiches cut into little triangles, and I am waiting for Roger to comment on in it all. My mother was 44 when I was born and she is an anachronism, proud to be June Cleaver in a world of career minded Maggie Seavers and Claire Huxtables. People ask if she is my grandmother sometimes and I know it bothers her, but it makes me furious because I adore her, she is the best mom I can possibly imagine, but Roger, of course, makes no such gaffe, he is charming as always. He sits politely with me at the kitchen table while we are supposed to be doing homework, making small talk with my mother while she offers him cookies Harrington? Are you related to Alderman John Harrington? she asks him and of course he tells her he is, yes, John Harrington's son, the Alderman, the Deacon over at the Sacred Day church, those Harringtons, and I see how his voice clips a bit and his eyes change even though he keeps right on smiling. I don't know anything about Aldermen, or that church, we're Presbyterians, but Roger and my mom exchange a look and I realize an entire conversation has been had that I probably wouldn't understand if they explained it to me. They get on famously, Roger Harrington and Marybeth Sewell, and Roger comes home with me after school from that day forward almost every day until we finally walk through the door in our caps and gowns, to a fancier punch and finger sandwiches that all of my family and none of Roger's shows up for.

   “It doesn't have to be like that, you know,” I said, taking his hands in mine. “It's okay to want whatever you want but it doesn't have to be like it was in your family. You would never be like that, Roger.”

   He shook his head, jaws tight, and I could see another tear escape and roll down his cheek. It made me so angry even all these years later, the things he went through, the things we were powerless to stop because of who his father was, the things I tried to so hard to protect him from. He always seemed so strong then, like he was made of Teflon, like none of it ever stuck. I never even understood that he needed me at all, I thought it could have been any friend who would have taken him in. I was so naive. It took me years and a lot of life experience to really understand how much damage was done, and the more I sat here and looked at him the more the memories kept flooding in.

   It's 1990 and we're in high school finally, underclassmen but we don't care, we're happy to have left middle school behind. The spring dance is coming up but Roger won't be going, he isn't allowed to go to school dances, he isn't allowed to dance at all or listen to popular music even though we dance in my family's den to New Kids On The Block and he has a secret collection of mixtapes in a box underneath my bed. I know I won't get asked. I'm skinny and awkward and I've gone back to being invisible, which isn't great but at least Abby Norris doesn't bother me much anymore. We are our own private club anyway, we plan the parties we will have when we are grown andoff to film school and living in LA, with all the fabulous connections we will make, and that's what we're doing now, gigging over imaginary menus and star-studded guests lists as we help my mother make meatloaf in the warm kitchen on Calavera Street. My father comes home from work early, he will retire in a few years from the accounting position at the supply company he loves so much, but for now, he is still working, shuffling through the door at the end of his day with a Where's my Janey? and I am still enough of a daddy's girl to throw myself into his arms and take his hat from him. He starts telling jokes, those terrible ubiquitous dad jokes, while he looks over our shoulders, Roger peeling potatoes while I chop them What do you get when you cross a snowman and a vampire? Frostbite! and when he chortles out the punchline he claps Roger on the back. Roger is already taller than my dad but still thin from the growth spurt, and though I expect him to collapse a bit under the force of the blow I am not prepared when he bleats like a frightened lamb, dropping the potato peeler and falling forward onto the counter, covering his head. Everything stops and I swear I can hear the big Westminster clock on the dining room wall ticking away the seconds before my father moves carefully, oh so carefully to Roger, placing his hand reassuringly on his shoulder as they make weighty eye contact. Roger's hand is shaking as he moves my father's aside and turns around, shoulders hunched forward, gripping the counter as he gives my father permission to do something he cannot do himself. They are both facing me, and I can see Roger's eyes, wet and gray, staring straight into my own, unwavering, and behind him my father's eyes as he lifts Roger's neat plaid shirt, eyes that go round as his face pales. He never says a word, just takes his jacket and hat off the hook by the door and walks out, not returning again until eleven o'clock that night, after my mother has made us Rice Krispie treats and let us watch TV while she did all the washing up and made up the trundle bed before sending us upstairs for the night. It's not the first time that this has happened, but it is the worst. I don't know what is said when he comes back, we can hear my parents speaking in hushed tones in the kitchen while Roger and I lie awake in my room, staring at the glow in the dark plastic stars on my ceiling. I know that my father has made many phone calls about Roger by this point in our lives, but it never changes anything. After this night, however, Roger is with us more than ever, and even though he only stays over a few nights a week at first my mother converts Mitch's old room into one for Roger, and he decorates it with all the things he isn't allowed to like at home.

   “It's okay, Jane. She wasn't the one for me, she was never going to be. But the things she said... I know she was angry. But she said I was exhausting. That all I did was take from the people around me.”

   “That's not true at all!” I protested. Roger was one the kindest and most generous people I had ever known. If Daphne had said that to him it had to have been done purposely just to upset him. “You know she was just saying that, right?”

   Roger shook his head. “I am too dependent on other people for my happiness, Jane. She's right.”

   “Fuck that heinous cow, she was not right. We're not meant to be islands, Roger. It's okay to need people.”

   “I'm too dependent on you. In eighteen years I don't think I've made a move without you, certainly not any important one. It doesn't matter what is going on, in the back of my mind it's always “Wait and see what Jane thinks” or “You should ask Jane first” before I can do anything. And I am not sure anymore if that's the best thing for us but the biggest part of me doesn't care. I don't want to do anything if it's not with you.”

   “I understand, Roger. I have these thoughts too sometimes, but I'm with you. I don't care. You're my person.”

   “How are we ever going to find someone else then? If I'm devoted to you and you're devoted to me, where does that leave room in our lives for anyone else?”

   “The right person will fit in, Roger. You're like a sibling I'm close to. No one would demand I ditch you if you were my brother. Shannon doesn't expect me to ditch you. Someone will come along for you that understands our bond too.”

   Roger got a look on his face like I had tried to feed him broccoli sauteed in earwax. “Fuck you and Shannon. That is not the relationship you think it is Jane.”

   “What the hell, Roger? Again? Could you maybe give it a chance?”

   Roger let out a loud growl before picking up one of his pillows and hurling it to the floor. “That's not what the fuck I mean! Shannon isn't the problem, Janey. You are!”

   “What are you talking about?” I demanded.

   “You planned it all out. You were the one that gave us direction, you were the one with the goals that knew how to get there. I just wanted out. So I held on to you as tight as I could and off we went. And we did it, Jane. You've been published, I've made my career. So now what? We didn't plan past this. We're just 28. We can't be done.”

   “We aren't done, Rog.”

   “Then what? Because all you've done since you got that book contract is the same thing you've done in your love life. You just ricochet around like a pinball, bouncing off whatever you bump into, whatever guy you bump into. You're with Shannon because you bumped into him again. You keep typing on the laptop but you don't know what you're writing anymore. You don't have a plan. I don't have a plan. I don't even know what I want. I never expected to get this far.”

   “It's not like that. I've been going full speed since I was a kid. I'm just catching my breath.”

   “And what happens to me when your next plan doesn't include me?”

   “I would never not include you.”

   “It's funny. I never worried about us when you were with Angus. I knew he would never be there for you like I was. But with Shannon, I don't know Jane. You're all over the place with him but you get so obsessed. He's the only guy that's ever made me scared you'd leave me.”

   “Roger I could never leave you.”

   “Of course you could. You could throw me aside the same as anyone. My family did. You're not even related to me.”

   “Fuck them, every last fucking one of them. They are horrible excuses for human beings and I am so sorry you had to be born into that family but FUCK THEM. You're a Sewell, Roger. Ask my mom. Ask my dad. Hell, ask Mitch. I will never ever ever let you go. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. If it means I never find another boyfriend then so be it. I choose you.”

   We didn't say anything else. I had more questions, I wanted to know what he had done the previous night, but instead I held Roger until he cried himself out and finally fell asleep out of exhaustion. I got Shannon to come help me tuck him into bed and then afterward I poured us both a drink and sat up until three in the morning alternating between explaining to Shannon what was going on, what Roger's childhood had been like, and checking on Roger. Shannon seemed to understand, but I knew he'd had a rough childhood as well, with troubled relationships with the various father figures in his life, so I figured if anyone was going to get it was going to be Shannon.

   If he minded that his visit had been filled with dealing with Roger and his issues Shannon never said so. I apologized about not getting to go out but he just shushed me and took me to bed, holding me tightly as our bodies moved together, letting me grip him like an anchor in a rough sea. Maybe I didn't have a plan, maybe I had bounced into Shannon and lost what little focus I had left. That didn't mean I couldn't get a new one. Being without a plan for a while didn't sound like the worst thing in the world. I had always been wound a little too tightly anyway. Maybe it was time to take a step back, relax, go with the flow. As long as I could hold onto Shannon and Roger I thought everything would be fine.

   When I got up late the next morning Roger was already up,  hunched over a mug of coffee at the kitchen island. I poured myself a mug and sat down next to him, feeling as exhausted and hungover as if I had partied all night. We didn't talk, just periodically leaned into each other for a nuzzle, and when he got up for a refill he topped me off too. Shannon eventually joined us, pouring a mug and sitting down on the other side of me, sensing the mood enough to leave the silence unbroken. Eventually we began discussing food, and we were halfway through our late breakfast when the doorbell rang.

   Jared was supposed to be picking up Shannon on his way through the city to their next stop. He wasn't supposed to be showing up until that afternoon, however. We had planned to have Shannon packed and ready to go, to minimize any contact between Jared and Roger if necessary but when the person on the other side of the door turned out to be Jared hours ahead of schedule that plan went out the window. Hoping for the best I gave him a big hug and invited him in.

   “Nice place,” Jared said as he peeked around, avoiding looking directly at Roger. Roger scooped up his plate and mug and put them in the sink before heading back to his bedroom without a word.

   “Sorry man, I'm not ready to go. Wasn't expecting you til later,” Shannon apologized as he wolfed down the rest of his eggs. “Give me just a minute and I'll gather things up.”

   “No hurry,” Jared said, turning over a small pewter sculpture that sat on the long shelf by the door and glancing in the direction Roger had disappeared to. “Finished up early and thought I'd come by and see how everyone was.”

   Shannon nodded and walked back toward the bedroom and I led Jared over to the newly vacated kitchen island, offering him some tea. As I put the kettle on I kept catching him looking down the hallway, biting at his cuticles and generally paying no attention to the small talk I was trying to make. I sat his mug and the tea bags down in front of him with a sigh. “You came here early on purpose, didn't you,” I accused. Jared shrugged. “It's really not the best time,” I explained.

   “Look, I know he's pissed at me. I kind of made an ass of myself the last time I saw him. I just want to apologize, that's all.”

   “No offense, Jared, but he has bigger problems right now.”

   “Do you think he'll talk to me? Would you ask him? I swear I just want to make sure we're good.”

   I sighed again. I wanted to protect Roger, but honestly, I didn't know what was going on between the two of them, and if Shannon had a rough enough childhood to understand where Roger was coming from, well I figured Jared shared that childhood too. Maybe they could do each other some good. “I'll ask,” I agreed, but then Roger came back out of his room, fully dressed, and he grabbed Jared by the hand and led him back with him. With one more sigh, I poured the hot water down the sink and went to help Shannon pack.  

#jared leto fanfiction #jared leto fic #shannon leto fanfiction #shannon leto fic #30 Seconds To Mars #30stm #thunderbirds

[collecting-stories]

Osito - Bane

Could you write something about being Bane’s love/wife and you see him again for the first time when he comes to Gotham because he left for some reason and you went to love there xx

Osito - Bane

When you were still young your father took a job as a doctor at a prison in Santa Prisca. He spoke of the opportunity as if it was some great service that had been bestowed upon him. Your mother, who followed whatever your father did with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, packed all the family belongings away in a storage unit and followed him.  

“This will be a new start for us all.” He explained.  

The prison was no prison you had seen before. It was deep in a pit in the middle of the desert. In the mornings you would go in the car with your father and sit on the edge of the pit, watching as the guards lowered him down to work. You would spend all morning laying on your stomach and looking down into the abyss, your stuffed teddy bear tucked under your arm.  

“Osito, look, they’re like ants from up here.” You whispered, pointing down into the pit. You had gotten Osito from your grandmother when you were first born, a small brown teddy bear to commemorate the birth of her only grandchild just days before she died. You kept the stuffed animal with you everywhere you went, it was your only friend in the desert.  

One day, as you peered over the edge of the pit you could see a young boy near the wall. It was the first child around your age that you had seen since moving here. Excited by the prospect of a possible friend and naïve to what it meant that the boy was down in the pit, you went to your father’s kit in the truck, hoping to find paper and string. You carried your supplies to the edge of the pit and sat down, writing a note to the boy and tying the paper and pen together.  

Down below, the boy sat with his back against the wall. He had spent days staring at the little stones that stuck out of the wall, tempting him to climb. He wanted so badly to climb up the wall to the desert, to see the outside once more, but every time he approached the wall he clammed up. He couldn’t find the strength he needed to brave the climb. As he sat there a small piece of paper tied with string lowered down and landed on his head. He reached up and took the paper down, holding it in his hands before slowly taking it out, wondering where this magical letter had come from.  

The first line was an introduction, you told him your name and then said hello. He held the paper tight and stood up, backing away from the wall so that he could look up. There you were, flat on your stomach with your face peering over the edge, holding Osito so that he too could see into the void. You waved your hand at the boy below you and he, hesitantly, waved back.  

“Osito and I made a friend today,” you announced during dinner, the stuffed bear on your lap.

“Oh that’s good sweetheart,” your father replied. He was reading through the newspaper and hardly glanced your way, not interested in who this mystery friend was, only that you were not alone.  

The next few months went quickly. Each day you went to the pit with your father and the boy came to the wall. You and he exchanged letters, occasionally offering the chance wave though you were too far away to ever talk or properly see each other. You only knew he was young from his stature and basic appearance. He told you he was in the prison serving his father’s life sentence, you told him you wished the string was strong enough to pull him up to you. As time went on he began to make requests, a ball of yarn every once in a while, sometimes a piece of chocolate, always a weapon. The yarn and the chocolate was unnoticeable to the guards when it came down but a weapon was more complicated. A weapon would be confiscated at the bottom. 

The question died for a long time, he didn’t breech the subject of a weapon but the request plagued you constantly. He had been so kind to you in the time of your friendship that you wanted to do this for him. You wanted to protect him from the men in the prison but you were all the way at the top of the pit. It was nearly a year of back and forth before you lowered down Osito. You tied the string tight around the middle of the bear, a little note attached to his front.  

“Goodbye Osito, my friend will take care of you.” You promised, kissing the top of the bear’s head.  

Inside the teddy bear you had placed a knife, stolen from your father’s kit. You had sat up in your bedroom late the night before, fixing Osito so no one would find the knife but it would be there for your friend.  

Two days later your father announced that it was time to move on. Work was calling him somewhere else in the world and it was your job, as his faithful family, to pack up and move with him. You left Santa Prisca and didn’t return until you were just graduated from college. A trip back to the country you’d loved as a girl was nostalgic and your first stop was the pit. You inquired after a prisoner who had been a child some ten years prior but the men who ran the prison told you that no such child was left. They told a story of a child prisoner, born in the walls, that had escaped but you insisted this boy was not that. He had not been born there, he had been serving his father’s prison sentence.

“I’m sorry miss, no one is here that came as a child. If he was here at some point he is gone now.”  

-

“There are men in the stairwells!” Someone shouted, running through the hall. 

Until now, the masked man who had ‘taken control of the city’ had ignored it’s most vital resource. The hospital had remained untouched by the threat of Bane until today, when a group of his mercenaries had forced their way into the hospital and began to go through each floor, shooting. You didn’t know what they were looking for but your instincts had you rushing through the ICU to your patient’s room.  

Your nerves were eating at you as you stood by the door, listening for footsteps. You had moved your patient into the bathroom, shutting them in and falsely promising that everything would be okay. You heard the door to the left of your room open, the sound of a gun going off and then footsteps again. The door to your room flew open and three men walked in. From your spot hiding in the closet you could see that the one in the middle was the masked man himself.  

A squeak left your mouth before you could stop yourself and you watched as one of the men turned toward the closet. You knew then you would just be another body they’d find after this was over. They’d remember you as some nurse in the hospital that’d died. The door was pulled open and you were yanked out of the closet by your scrubs, the man who’d grabbed you holding tight to your collar.  

You landed at the feet of the masked man and looked up to him, only for your eyes to land on a knife sheathed in a holster on his thigh.  

“That’s my father’s knife.” The words came out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. The knife was from your father’s medical kit and you recognized the insignia on the hilt. You looked up at the man towering over you, taking in his hulking figure and rather terrifying mask. “Osito.”

The masked man signalled to his mercenaries, silently telling them to leave the hospital room. Once they were gone and the door was once again closed he kneeled down in front of you, eyes meeting yours. Despite having never seen the boy up close, sitting there looking into this man’s eyes, you had no doubt that he was the same young boy you had known from the pit.  

Subconsciously, you reached forward and ran your fingers over the mask on covering his mouth and nose. Moments earlier the thought of touching him would’ve been beyond imagination. But he was not the man terrorizing Gotham in this moment, looking at him all you could see was the boy in the pit.  

“I went back to Santa Prisca but you were gone.” You said. The tips of your fingers ran over the strap on his cheek, brushing his skin as you did. “What happened?”

“You needn’t worry little one.” His voice sounded oddly calming through the filter of his mask. “Your friend helped me dearly, I have never forgotten your kindness.”

“I wished every day I could pull you up with my string,” you admitted, though it sounded ridiculous to say out loud. “They call you Bane…” You let the sentence die out, not sure what you were trying to ask him. When he was a boy he had given you a different name, a sweeter one.  

“That is who I am now.”  

“After I gave you the bear, in my head I used to call you Osito…though you’re far from little now.”  

“I was hardly little then,” he stood with ease and offered you his hand, a gesture that looked almost foreign on him. “Come back with me, I’ll show you my plan for this city.”

You stood, but not with his help. “Not unless you leave these people be, they’re sick, they can’t fight back.” You bargained.  

“Only the strong survive, it is a matter of time before they die of whatever is infecting their bodies.”

“Then kill me also, I’m leaving them.” You replied. You had been a nurse for some ten years in this hospital now. Years earlier you might’ve coward away in hopes of saving your own life but you had survived through the Joker’s attempted take-over of the city and you wouldn’t let Bane, no matter how you felt about him before, hurt these people either.  

Bane said nothing to you, he turned and walked into the hallway, closing the door behind him. You could hear voices outside and you stepped closer to see if you could hear them properly. Bane was speaking, you recognized the calming voice, then another man with a deeper voice. You wondered how such terrifying men could have such soothing voices when the door pushed open once more. You jumped back in surprised and your eyes met Bane’s, there was a hint of amusement at your fright but that disappeared quickly.

“I have sent my men elsewhere little one; if you come with me you must face the reality of what it is that I do. The work of the league of shadows is not for the faint of heart.”

You understood what he was telling you. He had spared the hospital for your benefit but there would be more killing still and those men and women would not be spared. This purging of the city was his life’s work and he would not put that aside for anyone, even the girl who sent him letters with a string because she imagined them friends. The prison, and the world when he escaped, had not been kind to him and he would not be kind in return.

“I understand.” You nodded.  

The journey back to the sewers was a quick one. You followed him through the tunnels he’d created underneath Gotham to a much larger main structure. There were men and boys there, some no older than Bane had been when you first met him, working tirelessly. He said nothing as he walked through to another tunnel and into a room that you assumed was his privately. You had trouble imagining him sleeping and eating and doing normal people activities. Even when he was a young boy you used to lay in bed at night and imagine that he was in bed as well but couldn’t fathom what a bed inside a prison must look like. His room in this tunnel was a good start to that imagination. It was empty save for a somewhat functional metal bed frame and mattress.  

“Osito!” Your voice wasn’t more than a whisper as you crossed the room to the bed, taking the bear off the pillow. “You’ve kept him.”

“He was my greatest ally inside that prison. I would’ve died without him.” Bane replied, looking at the worn brown bear in your hands. It was the knife that saved him but it was the bear that kept his faith in humanity. Even now, he kept the bear as a reminder of your kindness and his love for you.

You touched Bane’s cheek again, resting your palm against the cool material of the mask, “I’m glad you’re here, that however it was we’ve found each other, and I’m sorry for the cruel things that were allowed to happen to you. When my father told me we were leaving Santa Prisca I wanted to hoist you up or, if I could not, throw myself into the pit with you.”

“As it is, we cannot change the past. Your kindness and friendship have been gifts all these years, perhaps gifts that be expanded now that we have found each other. I do not wish that you had stayed, the prison is no place for a child, especially not one as pure as you were.”  

Your hand dropped from his cheek to his shoulder and ran down his arm, your fingers leaving trails of goose bumps on his forearms. You wondered if he still knit the way his mother taught him. You had learned some knitting yourself and had yarn stocked away in your small house. Later maybe, you would offer it to him, along with anything else of yours he wanted. For now you leaned forward just enough to lay the lightest of kisses onto the front of his mask. When you pulled back his eyes were closed for a moment and, though you had never been able to see him clearly, you could see your young friend still there in his face.

In Knightfall, when Bane’s origin is introduced they talk about him being a child in the prison and also about a teddy bear he carried called Osito that had a knife in it. I think it’s my favorite Bane characteristic so I wanted to incorporate it. 

@banes-tshirt

#bane imagine #bane (nolan-verse) imagine #batman imagine #batman (nolan-verse) imagine #collecting stories imagine

[calumrose]

Best Years [L.H] || CALM Series

A//N: Right, I know I already posted today but this idea came to me after talking with @loveroflrh tonight and let’s just say this is an outcome of our conversation. Lauren, this one’s for you! 

I decided to start a small series based off of a couple of tracks from CALM and this is the first instalment, so keep an eye out for others. I had a lot of fun writing this one and I hope you enjoy this little piece as much as I did!

Other Instalments: Lonely Heart [C.H] || Red Desert [A.I] || Lover Of Mine [L.H] || Teeth [C.H]

Best Years - “I wanna hold your hand as we’re growing up”

Luke had always been one to hold onto memories. He always cherished every one that he made, every small detail that he could compact into a corner of his mind would be embedded there for as long as he could hold onto it. Anything physical evidence of the said memories were a bonus for him; the small - now broken - conch shell from their first date at the beach, the collection of movie ticket stubs from all the little date nights he had organised over the years, the lucky penny she had given him the first time he was leaving for tour, even the broken chain of his necklace he had kept because it broke on the night that she had told him she was pregnant. 

Every memory held such a significance to him, all of them involved her. She had become his most prized possession, his most favourite sight, his favourite smell, she was his favourite everything. 

Looking back at where it all started was something he found himself doing often, maybe a little too often as of late. He thought back to the day the two of them met, the sight of such a beauty never being something he thought he would be blessed enough to see. He swore to himself that he would never see something that would make his heart leap like she did that day. He then swore to himself the exact same thing the night after the first date, the night before every tour, the nights where they would lay awake on the phone to one another until god knows what time in the morning, Luke would swear he would never see something more beautiful than the sight of his girl in front of him. 

But the minute it was revealed that he would be a father, he knew that promise would be broken. He knew that room would be made in his heart for another, a space so reserved that it was practically caged, perfectly locked away as it waited for the arrival of the resident who would make a home in his heart right next door to Y/N. It was something that excited him, something that scared him, something that made him doubt if he was truly ready for such a grand step forward in his life. 

Luke was still so young, or so he thought, being a dad was something he had always imagined for himself but had never put an exact date on when that time would come. Was there ever a right time? Probably not, Luke thought. But it was happening and whether he was ready or not, there was going to be a little bundle arriving in less than a year. 

Looking back to when Elle arrived was always something that made him laugh, especially now, seeing how she had grown, seeing how he had grown, seeing how his family had grown. The sight of her wobbling across the living room carpet was a sight he never tired of, watching as his little girl discovered new things every day, new colours that fascinated her, made new sounds that even he hadn’t heard before. Every single day was full of new things and he knew he wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

“Eh!” Elle grunted from across the room, small delicate hands clutching onto the teddy she fought to release from the toy chest’s grasp, huffing as she gave it one final tug and fell to her bottom with a soft thud. She turned to look at Luke, a wide smile spread across her face as she giggled loudly, stumbling over her own two feet as she worked to stand straight again, making her way over as she placed the teddy bear in Luke’s lap, pushing it against him, insinuating she wanted him to take him. 

“Is this for me?” Luke asked, a caring smile on his face as he held the chestnut coloured bear in one large hand, watching as Elle giggled and clapped her hands together in excitement as she nodded. 

She pushed on Luke’s chest, silently trying to get him to lay back on the couch from where he was perched on the edge, her hands making quick work of clutching onto his leg as she attempted to climb up onto him. With a little help from Luke she managed to climb up, a pride smile on her rosy face as she perched herself on his lap, guiding his wrist that was holding the bear as she pressed it to his chest, laying her curl-covered head next to it so they lay together, as if Luke were a mattress for them to rest upon. 

It amused him, how so simply she decided on what she wanted from him, and just how easily he gave in with no hesitation. Elle could have asked him to run a hundred miles and he would have done it. He would do anything for his little girl. 

“Tired, baby?” Luke asked softly, his empty large hand coming up and resting on her small back, fingertips gently gliding against the soft fabric of her pyjamas. He looked down as one of Elle’s little arms reached over and wrapped around the teddy bear she had previously handed to Luke, clutching it and pulling it to her chest as she snuggled into it, head lightly brushing against Luke as she lay there. 

He had expected a nod or a denial of his assumption but when all he got as a response was the sight of her snuggling the bear, that was enough to show that sleep was slowly overcoming her. Luke reached up and brushed a few soft curls out of her gentle face, tucking them behind her ear as he smiled fondly at the girl who resembled so much of him. Well, that’s what Y/N told him all the time anyway. 

Luke swore that Elle was the reincarnation of her mother but she disagreed, assuring Luke that his daughter was in fact the spitting image of the blond musician. Elle was everything that was Luke, the unruly golden curls, the perfect little nose that sloped so delicately, the most contagious giggle that would have both her parents in stitches at the sound. 

“You wanna go to bed?” He whispered softly, leaning down and pressing a single gentle kiss to the top of her head, feeling her nod against him. With a hand on her lower back, he released the bear from his grip, sliding his now-free arm around her, cradling her against him as he stood from the couch and carried her through the house. 

As Luke passed through the house, the smell of whatever Y/N had prepared for dinner filling his nostrils, he admired the photographs that graced the walls along the stairs, eyes catching each individual frame and remembering the exact moment of when each one was taken. He wanted to fill the entire house with memories, of small reminders of family days out, of when he was on tour, of when he had small moments with Elle, and of when he would share those exact moments with the next bundle of joy who would arrive in due course. 

The familiar scent of vanilla faintly caught Luke’s attention as he entered his daughter’s nursery, smiling lovingly as he looked around at the simplistic white decor, cherishing everything his eyes could take in. He remembered the day he decorated the room. He had cleared out the boxes, got rid of the unused desk that had been abandoned in the spare room, and with the help of his three best friends they had transformed it within a few weeks. Luke knew Y/N had a vision for the nursery, wanting it to hold a delicacy that was fit for a nursery, for it to be a room in which their child felt it was their sanctuary, a place they could feel at peace with them, a room that was made especially for her. 

Luke’s feet glided against the soft rug, his sock covered feet sinking into the plush fabric as he rubbed soothing circles on Elle’s back, his voice humming a gentle tune that even he didn’t know as he gently swayed with her. She was drifting off, he could tell, but she still needed a little more coaxing to slip into a proper slumber. 

With a kiss to the side of her head, he began to lower her, letting her body rest against the plush cushion of her crib, hand slowly sliding away from her back as he watched her curl up into the little ball he knew he would find her in tomorrow morning. He reached over and pulled the blanket over her small frame, an easy smile upturning at the corner of his lips as he watched his daughter physically relax against the soft fabric, the scent of Luke still lingering on the fabric after it was accidentally packed in his suitcase on the last promo tour, bringing her a comfort she adored. 

Her lashes gently fluttered against her supple cheeks as she opened her eyes barely to stare up at him, blue eyes shining as brightly the sky, and Luke swore it took his breath away. It was a sight that he knew he’d never forget, the look his little girl gave him every time she caught him in her line of sight, a look of pure love that shot through Luke’s heart like an arrow. 

“‘Unshine,” She mumbled sleepily, her blinks becoming longer and eyelids growing heavy as she tried to keep her eyes on her father, little hands reaching out of the blanket to reach for Luke’s that hung limply over the guard of the crib. With ease, he reached down, allowing for a small hand to wrap around a single digit, a cherished expression on his face as he understood exactly what Elle was asking for: a song that had unintentionally become her favourite, a song that her grandmother had sung to her one night when visiting and Elle had never forgotten, it very quickly becoming her night-time lullaby. 

There were often occasions where she would ask for it and Luke wasn’t around, refusing to sleep unless she got to hear his soft voice singing to her. Sometimes her parents got a lucky break and she would tire herself out with asking, falling asleep against her will before her mother would need to make the difficult phone call to Luke. But there were also times when that call would have to be made, where Luke would be in the middle of prepping for a show, or in the middle of a soundcheck and he would hear his phone, naturally dropping what he was doing to find the device and answer the call, happily obliging and singing to his favourite little girl a song that he treasured because she did. 

“You want the sunshine song?” Luke asked, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side, his curls twisting and moving as he did, the feeling of her small delicate fingers wrapping around his larger one was something he would never grow used to, something he was never fully able to grasp the sensation of. 

It only took for a small nod and an almost silent hum before Luke took that as an indication to start singing, his lips parting as he gently hummed the tune that his own mother had created to go along with the well-known song, deciding to create a bit of individuality to it, to give an essence of Elle. 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” Luke sung sweetly, voice as delicate as her touch as he watched her eyes close almost instantly at the sound of his voice, “You make me happy when skies are grey, and you’ll never know, dear, how much I love you,” 

Luke swore his heart ached in the best way during these moments, when he got to spend a few quiet private moments with his child, the sight of her alone making him feel so many emotions that he didn’t know existed. Elle was everything he didn’t know that he truly wanted, she was perfection to him.

“So, please don’t take my sunshine away…” He let the final word drift off to a slow silence, almost dreamily as he watched Elle’s chest gently rise and fall with each slow breath she took. It never failed to surprise him how quickly that song worked, how fast just a few soft words could send her into a slumber that she would fight on more than one occasion. 

It was the small things that Luke treasured. It was the memories that he could make that made everything so perfect in his eyes. It was the way his daughter would look at him as if he held all the world in the palm of his hand, the way she would look at him when she would watch him perform from the side of the stage, the way she would look at him as he sang soft words to her whenever she asked. 

Luke treasured every little thing that life had given him. And all throughout the years, he had grown more and more grateful for everything he had received. He swore the best years of his life were beginning the day he met the love of his life. 

But with every moment he got to share with his little girl, maybe his best years were only just beginning.

---

Tag List: @steviemae​ @elsysoza @treatallwithkindness @oopsiedoopsie23

#5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos imagines #5sos imagine #5sos blurb #5sos blurbs #5sos fanfiction #5sos fanfic #5sos one shot #luke hemmings #luke hemmings one shot #luke hemmings imagines #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings blurb #luke hemmings blurbs #luke hemmings fanfic #luke hemmings fanfiction #luke hemmings fic #luke hemmings x reader