#i tried my best to make them look like decent scrapbooking pages but i know nothing about scrapbooking 💀 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hyggeligbirch · 4 years ago

Text

Straight Through Me

An EXO Fanfiction

pairing: jongin x baekhyun word count: 7 748 warnings: Major Character Death: Suicide

summary: On their one-year anniversary, Jongin goes through a scrapbook Baekhyun has left him.

parts: this || alternate ending

A thin black leather-bound book sits on the coffee table. Jongin walks over and picks it up, the leather feeling cool in his hand as he falls backwards into his grey couch, too-soft cushions swallowing him up. “To one year” is printed in Baekhyun's neat handwriting against the gold title plate on the inside cover. A nose at his knee keeps him from turning to the first page.

Jongin reaches out and scratches at Kongju's ears. “You want to sit with me, girl?”

She whines and bumps her nose into his hand, earning another scratch and a little laugh.

“Come on, girl. Up!” He pats the seat as he gives the command. Kongju barely has to stretch as she heaves her body onto the couch.

As she curls into his side, nose resting on his lap, he turns the page. The picture on the page snags his eyes first, but he passes over it quickly; he'll look at it later. It's the silvered handwriting that takes his attention now, and his fingers trace over the raised ink as he starts to read, quickly falling to scratch at Kongju. Baekhyun's printing has always been so neat, and this is no different. It was hot, it begins.

It was hot; the sun was yellow, and they really should have been wearing sunglasses. But they were stupid college boys and it wasn't like they'd planned to play football. At least, most of them hadn't planned to play today. Minseok and Luhan seemed a little too prepared for the pick-up game, already having teams chosen and summoning a ball from thin air, but those two were always ready to play, so there really was no telling.

It was a good game, the first five minutes. Then, Baekhyun tripped over a spectacular pass. He fell heavily, clutching his ankle, whimpering at the pain. Play ground to a confused halt as the ball just disappeared. Junmyeon ran over, sweaty and exhausted despite having done absolutely nothing useful on the field. He knelt down, taking Baekhyun's ankle in hand, carefully turning it back and forth. Baekhyun whined at the treatment, slapping at the man's hands.

“That hurts!”

Setting the foot down, Junmyeon rocked back onto his heels. “I can't help if you won't let me look at it.”

“Do you even know what you're looking at?” Baekhyun scowled, wincing as his own fingers probed at his ankle. “Get Yixing to look at it.”

Yixing was pushed forward, face blank in confusion. It wasn't too hard to recognize the situation, though. A quick, gentle roll of the joint in his hands had him saying, “That's a bad sprain. You should sit off of that for a while, and ice it when you get the chance.”

“But Luhan's team's creaming us!”

“You're not going to make that much of a difference. Sit out,” Kyungsoo deadpanned.

Disgruntled, Baekhyun lets Yixing help him off to the side, plopping heavily into the grass. There was a rushed discussion behind the two and an unfamiliar face settled down next to him.

“I'm Jongin,” the stranger gave a slight bow, one arm resting on his knee, other settled in his lap.

“Jongin, get back on the field! Junmyeon will sit out!”

Jongin yelled out at the field, “Get back to playing!” Laughing, he turned back to Baekhyun. “Sorry. Luhan's not real happy about losing his best player.”

“You're his best player?”

“You know it. Here,” he pulled Baekhyun's injured leg up onto his own thigh, “you should keep this elevated. It'll help keep the swelling down.” With that, he turned back to the game, careful to touch the other as little as possible.

Baekhyun stared at him, then back at the game. “Looks like losing you didn't hurt them at all,” he muttered, crossing his arms and trying to ignore Jongin as much as possible, which was difficult with the positioning of his foot.

Baekhyun sighed. “Luhan's got the ball again. He's running, he's running, he's run – and Minseok steals! It won't last, Luhan's too good – and there's the steal and the ball's going back. It's driving, it's driving, it's driving and there's the kick! There's no way Kris is going to catch – ow. That it looks like it hurt!”

“Hey, announcer,” Jongin was smiling, and Baekhyun's stomach flopped at the sight. “Does it count as a goal if the goalie blocks it with his face?”

“No. No, it doesn't,” he scowled back.

“Then I guess you were wrong.” And that disarming smile was back as Jongin turned back to the field. “Is it my turn now?” Without waiting for confirmation, Jongin started up. “And that's been deemed no goal! The ball's back at play and Minseok's lining up for a penalty kick – apparently giving the goalie a bloody nose is a foul -”

“That's not how to do it.” Baekhyun pursed his lips as he complained, swatting at Jongin's arm.

“What, you think you can do better?” From the way Jongin's eyebrow raised, this was a direct challenge.

Baekhyun wasn't going to let that one slide. “Minseok's lining up the penalty. He's got a good shot at it, too. Chanyeol's squared up. Minseok kicks and it's – it's in! Minseok ties the game with his first point! And now the ball's back in play and there – they're off. The teams are getting smaller every minute, though, folks! It looks like Sehun's been thrown in as goalie for Team Minseok and Team Luhan's down to four as well.”

“If Team Minseok would stop getting hurt, this game might go a little better,” Jongin said in a nasally falsetto.

Baekhyun laughed and continued, pitching his voice up to match. “Don't listen to that! The game is going great! There's some great play on the field, there. Minseok passes to – Luhan. Luhan's intercepted and the ball is now going in the other direction. And Luhan's got it mostly down the field – field's absolutely empty – no, there's Tao coming up behind, looks like he wants the ball. Will Luhan pass it? It looks like he will!”

“No! It's a fake-out! Right at the net and it looks like Sehun's there. No goal! No goal!”

Baekhyun tried on another voice, a deep one that twanged over the words. “Looks like the tides are turning, folks. Tao's pitching a fit, so we'll be back in ten.”

“Do you have a name?” The question was sudden and direct.

Baekhyun jumped at the look Jongin was giving him. “What?”

“Do you have a name?” Jongin's smile was patient as he repeated the question.

“Yes. Baekhyun.” He was startled and a little nervous and Jongin's leg was really warm on his ankle, or maybe that was just the inflammation.

“What do you do when you're not hurt on the sidelines, Baekhyun?”

“Oh, I'm a business major. It's nothing interesting. Lots of numbers and people.” And it sounded just that boring when he said it aloud.

Jongin twisted a couple of blades of grass in his fingers. “You seem like you like people.”

“I don't….What do you do?”

“I keep hurt people company, of course.” Baekhyun wasn't sure if Jongin's smile intentionally got brighter, but it was almost blinding.

“That's not what I meant!”

Jongin laughed at his indignant face. “I know. I'm studying dance.”

“Really?” The excitement was clear in Baekhyun's voice. “Are you any good?”

Jongin's face fell. “I'm working really hard, but I'm not good. Not yet.”

“You'll get there.”

A scream from the field interrupted the conversation and the two turned back to the exciting game, commentating the actions on the field in increasingly ridiculous fashion.

Final score: 3-1 Minseok. Not that we noticed.

Jongin smiles at the memory. Baekhyun's words capture a different side of that day than he had ever seen before. He – Jongin – had just been being nice; it was only fair that if Minseok's team lost a good player, Luhan's should as well. And if they were both sitting out, why shouldn't they chat?

He scratches at Kongju's head as he looks at the accompanying photo. The intention of the photo had been to capture Team Minseok in their win (Minseok with his massive smile, hand on Chen's shoulder as Luhan pouted in the background), but a massive lens flare obscured most of the photo; the only thing distinguishable were the two figures sitting in the background. They'd been having such a good time talking over the game that they'd been loathe to get up afterward. Jongin remembers helping Baekhyun limp over to the crowd as they discussed where to go for dinner and marveling at the way the pale sun turned a soft gold as it caught in Baekhyun's hair.

Kongju lifts her head and whines as Jongin reaches out to turn the page. “It's okay, girl,” he said comfortingly, letting his hand back down to pet her head, “I'll pet you in just a minute.”

She whines again, throwing her head back against his stomach.

“It's okay, girl. Sit still.”

She settles back against him, dropping one of her great paws on her lap along with her head. He chuckles and turns the page, crossing his legs to get more comfortable. He groans at the picture. It's a snapshot of him and Baekhyun – who took it? - playing the pepero game. There was no way they had gotten that close! His eyes track across the page as he shakes his head, honing in on Baekhyun's neat silver penmanship, wondering just what Baekhyun had seen in this moment. The letters shake just a little on the first words, as if Baekhyun had been laughing too hard to hold the pen steady. Junmyeon spent the night passed out in his bed…

Junmyeon spent the night passed out in his bed. He'd had a few too many drinks; after the third time he fell into the couch trying to find the bathroom, Kris took pity on him and helped him to his room. Taking advantage of Junmyeon's absence, Yixing made a blunt appear and passed it around. Tao, temporarily lacking parental supervision, gave it a try. Between coughs, he unleashed a spectacular string of Chinese swears at Yixing, and fell back into the wall, looking for someone to protect him.

Between the booze and the weed, they really should have expected the suggestion of truth or dare – and the ensuing game.

It started off fairly calm and relatively decent. The truths slowly became more outrageous and the dares more frequent – give a dance, sing a song, chug a beer – until Luhan took the dare offered him by Chen: kiss Minseok. They weren't out and open with their relationship, but they were obvious enough that the others had suspicions, and maybe it was that fact, maybe it was the drugs, but there was no shame when Luhan kissed Minseok, heavy and open mouthed and way too long for the situation. Suffice it to say that there were no more dares for the two of them.

The highlight of the game was, however, when a very drunk Chanyeol made Jongin a dare that he could barely say without choking on his laughter, which really should have been a red flag. “Play the pepero game with Baekhyun.”

Jongin wasn't repulsed by the idea, and Baekhyun thought it would be all good fun – or maybe that was the alcohol talking – and suddenly there was a stick of pepero between their mouths.

They were doing very well until Jongin could feel Baekhyun's breath on his face and something triggered in his brain and he panicked and broke off the game. Baekhyun was bright red and Jongin was sure that was just the alcohol, but he was just as red.

There was a triumphant roar and disappointed sighs as money changed hands.

I couldn't look him in the face for days.

Kongju pushes her way further into Jongin's arms, her wet nose rubbing in his face as she moves, tail thumping on the couch.

“Kongju, sit still!” One hand holds the book up, protecting the pages, and the other pushes against Kongju's chest as he snaps the order. She whines and licks his face a few times before obeying and lying heavily across his lap. The weight is comforting as he turns the page.

The black paper feels rougher against his fingers now, and there's a tickle in his throat at the picture centered on the left-hand page. The seven of them – Minseok, Luhan, Baekhyun, Jongin, Tao, Kris, and Yixing– they're all in too big sweatshirts, most of them wearing sand covered jeans, and the ocean breeze has swept their hair up and up and up – are all laughing, smiles bigger than their faces and Jongin can feel the chill from that day sunk deep into his bones, even now. As he moves his attention over to Baekhyun's writing, his thumb covers a pair of smiles – Luhan and Minseok, heads together, arms around each other, but they were always like that, off the field at least.

The black ink is dark against the white page. We were stupid…

“We were stupid to come out here,” Tao moaned. “It's too cold to swim and there's nothing to do but stand out on the beach.”

His pouting was largely ignored in favor of setting a blanket out on the sand and distributing sandwiches. It had been a long drive to make it to the beach, and they were all hungry. Tao's mood would clear up once he had a little bit of food in him. Somewhere within lunch, the conversation turned to the ocean, and what it pity it was they couldn't swim in it. To make up for it, the suggestion was made – losers of Rock, Paper, Scissors had to go swim. With disgusted groans Jongin and Baekhyun quickly lost. While they went down the water, the others sat and chatted.

Baekhyun only wandered in to the water to his waist, the cold water freezing all the way to his bones. Teeth chattering, arms rubbing on himself, he tried to stay in long enough for it to count as 'swimming'. Jongin, on the other hand, decided that if he was going to get in the water, he was going to get wet, and dove in head-first. To his determination, the cold water wasn't too much of a problem. Eventually he swam near Baekhyun, who was still freezing and chattering, wishing that they could just get out of the water soon. The cold water shocked Jongin's lungs as he dove under, intent giving Baekhyun a scare.

Instead of the shock of cold hands grabbing his ankles underwater, Baekhyun received the shock of Jongin going under the water and not coming up for what seemed like far too long. In a panicked reaction, Baekhyun splashed over to where Jongin had gone under, finally braving the cold water enough to throw his hands in, searching for the other boy. He managed to catch hold of Jongin and pull his head above water, where the boy coughed a little and managed to breathe again. With the concern in mind, Baekhyun helped Jongin to the land, where the two were greeted by towels and a seat and cocoa from a thermos. After the initial shock and panic had died down, a phone was procured and a selfie was taken of all of the boys. Minseok and Luhan were hanging on each other; Tao, arm stretched out to hold the camera, was sitting alone, but close to Kris, avoiding the dripping boys as much as possible; Yixing was barely in the frame, looking like his attention had been gotten for just that moment; Kris was smiling, but also just trying to avoid the boys in the center – Jongin and Baekhyun. The two were completely soaked, hair and clothes plastered to their bodies and towels wrapped around their shoulders; cups of cocoa were clenched in their hands, but all of the boys looked so very happy.

Only idiots would swim in water that cold.

Irritated by Kongju's whining, Jongin pushes her off of his lap. “Go out, girl.” She stares at him for a moment before plodding off to wait at the door. He pats her head as he grabs for her leash, and is surprised when she ducks away from him and steps backwards. “Do you need to pee? Then let's go out.” She whines at him, pushes at the door again, and, getting no further responses from Jongin, curls back up on the couch.

He sighs and sits back down next to her. “What was that about, girl?”

She huffs at him and slowly wags her tail.

He picks the book back up, turning to the next page. An old recipe rubs under his fingers and he starts to read the next memory. It was the first time…

It was the first time Baekhyun had come to Jongin's apartment. Jongin was in the kitchen, trying to make supper without accidentally feeding Kongju, who insisted on bumping into his hips every time he tried to move. He was nervous – he and Baekhyun had only known each other a few weeks, but they'd been getting on very well, and, upon finding out that the other would be left alone over the weekend while his friends were on a business trip, Jongin invited him over for the day. It was a fine idea until Jongin realized that the two would probably need food, and he couldn't cook much at all.

He was making what little he could when there was a knock at the door. Hastily leaving the stove and throwing a “stay” at Kongju, he ran over to the door and pulled it open.

“Welcome, come in, come in,” he said, backing up to let Baekhyun in, twisting a hand in his apron. “You can just leave your shoes here – there's nowhere specific they need to go – and I do have some spare slippers if you -” A sharp bark interrupted his nervous words and he cursed, having forgotten to turn the burner off.

As he ran back into the kitchen, the acrid smoke of a towel burning filling the air, Kongju came running out of the kitchen to investigate the visitor. Distracted, Jongin didn't have time to give her sharp “stop” before he heard the clack of her nails on the wood floor as she launched herself with a happy bark at Baekhyun.

Throwing a plate over the towel which, while technically not on fire, was still smoking, Jongin ran back to the main room.

“Kongju! Off!” He grabbed onto her collar and wrestled her great mass off of the visitor. “I'm so sorry. We're still working on appropriate behaviour around guests.”

Baekhyun sat up, rubbing his chest. “That is a big dog.”

“Yes, she is. Are you okay?” Jongin had one hand on Kongju's collar and the other hovering above Baekhyun, anxious to make sure that he was okay, but too awkward to touch him.

“I'm fine, I'm fine.” He groaned as he stood up. “How big is she?”

“She's only about 40 kilos, but when it all lands on you like that… I'm so sorry. Are you sure you're okay?”

“Yeah.” Baekhyun started to laugh. “I wasn't expecting that.”

Jongin was laughing too. Once the two had calmed a little, Jongin sent Kongju to her crate and asked Baekhyun through to the kitchen, where a couple of chairs and an end table made for a makeshift dining table. Apologizing for the setup, which Baekhyun assured him was fine, Jongin brought out the dinner he had prepared: hotdogs and crisps. There had been beans to accompany, but they had been lost to the fire.

The food was good, for being so slapdash and cheap, and Baekhyun thought that it was sweet Jongin would go to the lengths to cook when he so obviously didn't usually. Baekhyun commented on the size of the apartment, and it's cleanliness. When they finished eating, Jongin just dumped the plates in the sink and the two moved back into the main room to hang out.

And the whole place smelled just like Jongin.

Jongin turns the page, sparing a glance for Kongju, who has settled her head on her paws and is just staring at him. He's confused by the four-leaf clover that falls from between the pages, picking it up and letting it twirl between his fingers. Baekhyun's penmanship is shakier than previously here, but it is still perfectly legible. It started pouring…

It started pouring, on that summer day. The sky had gone from beautiful, light, clear blue, to a roiling grey in a matter of moments, catching the boys by surprise. They yelled as they ran for the nearest shelter, hands over their heads.

They sat in a corner of the bathroom facing the doorway; here they were far enough from the opening not to get wet, but close enough that it wasn't the grossest part of the bathroom. The rain was very loud on the tin roof – they were in a nature preserve or the like, and the bathrooms weren't terribly high-tech. Thunder started rolling fairly quickly and Baekhyun nervously played with a four-leaf clover he had picked, twisting the stem between the pads of his fingers and tugging gently at the leaves while Jongin tried to make small talk. Eventually the two both quieted and just sat to wait out the storm. Baekhyun was incapable of sitting still and quiet for very long, though, and started singing under his breath. When Jongin realized where the noise was coming from, he asked Baekhyun if he sang much. Baekhyun said he didn't, and was flattered when Jongin complimented his voice and asked him to sing some more.

The storm was long and loud, but their little space was peaceful and calm. Baekhyun asked Jongin if he would dance, since Baekhyun had been singing, but Jongin said there wasn't enough room and he wasn't good enough yet. As the storm died down, Jongin helped Baekhyun stand up and the two stood at the doorway, watching the way the grey parted for the warm yellow of the summer sun.

It was worth the hoarse voice for that little moment of calm.

It's starting to get a little unnerving, the way the Kongju is just sitting and staring at Jongin, and he spares her a little pat as he goes to turn the page. She whines at his hand on her head, tail completely still. He thinks that she's finally worn herself from her whining. He turns his attention back to the book, expecting a small photo or memento and a short memory, like the rest of the pages. Instead, he is greeted by two pages covered by small, glinting, silver handwriting. Squeezed onto the page, the memory begins. It was obsidian…

It was obsidian stone, cut precisely, all sharp edges and glimmering faces, weighing in his stomach, slicing open his lungs. Baekhyun curled onto his bed, disregarding the papers scattered there – grade cards covered in red, papers never completed, rent reminders and bills – and pulled his knees to his chin, wrapping his hands around his stomach tightly. The pressure wasn't as comforting as he had hoped, but it was better than nothing, and at least this way his innards wouldn't be able to spill out when the knives inside of him inevitably slit him open. Everything was black, was black, was black and weighted, pressing on his head and his eyes and his skin until he wanted to cry – to scream – to sob from the pain. He shuddered as his fingers scrabbled at his sides, trying to find something to hold on to as his mind told him he was falling falling falling. The buzz of his phone echoed in his head, filling the space between his ears and he didn't care because at least it was louder than the thoughts echoing there. Lacking the energy to even think of answering, he pressed his forehead into his knees. If asked, he couldn't have said whether his eyes were closed or the world had just gone black.

All of his focus, all of his energy, went to the pain of the obsidian in his abdomen. It jabbed into his lungs, making him gasp for breath. It stabbed his heart, making it beat erratically. It sliced his veins open, filling his lungs. It punctured his arteries, coating his organs. He thought he was drowning. He thought he was dying.

He thought it might be easier – better – that way.

And then there was a click at the door – barely recognized in the fog of his mind, barely distinguished from the echoes already there – and it swung open quietly. Jongin's feet moved quickly, quietly. The door was shut and he had made it to Baekhyun's bed, not that it was far, the studio apartment was so small, so small.

And Baekhyun was so small with his knees at his chest and his forehead tilted to meet them and his arms hugging himself so tightly. Jongin hurriedly set the bag in his hands down on the floor and grabbed a pillow off of the floor. He propped it against the headboard of the bed and slid his hands under Baekhyun.

If Baekhyun looked small, shivering on his bed, he felt even smaller in Jongin's arms. He was so thin, like he hadn't eaten properly in weeks, like he would break if Jongin held him too tightly. Jongin's strong hands sat Baekhyun up so, so carefully and, with great effort, Baekhyun opened his eyes. Unfocused, they watched Jongin bend back down to pick up the bag, sit back down on the bed.

He felt, rather than saw, something small and warm pressed into his hands. His fingers were forced around something small, thin, metallic. Jongin's worried eyes watched as Baekhyun simply sat there, fingers limp around the bowl, spoon falling, splashing soup onto their pants. It was a soft motion when he reached out to take back the dishes, ever so carefully pulling them from Baekhyun's hands, which released them far too easily.

Baekhyun's mouth opened reflexively when the warm metal of the spoon pressed against it, lips parting just enough for Jongin to tip the soup in. A few more bites and Baekhyun's eyes focused and his hand came to grab the spoon. Jongin helped him with first few bites, then let him feed himself, staying close to him, one hand at his back, the other hovering to assist if needed.

Once Baekhyun had finished the soup, some small colour returning to his cheeks and his eyes losing their focus again, Jongin pulled the bowl away from him. Picking him up again, Jongin helped Baekhyun lay down, carefully arranging the small boy to be as comfortable as possible. He pulled the covers up to Baekhyun's chin and smoothed down his hair, rubbed his back gently.

“Baek,” Jongin's voice was a little rough, very hushed. “Baek, I'll stop by after practice. Try to get some sleep, all right?”

Baekhyun stared blankly at the wall as Jongin locked the door behind himself.

It was still so empty.

Stunned, Jongin turns the page quickly. His eyes fall immediately upon the perfectly formed words and he begins to read. People always say that hospitals are too white…

People always say that hospitals are too white. As Baekhyun opened his eyes, he learned why. The white walls and floor and sheets blinded him, scared him, feeling too close to his own mind. He was so sore, all over, but especially his head and – his throat. His throat. It burned as he breathed; it burned as he swallowed. His eyes watered at the pain and he tried to reach up to brush them off, but was met with resistance. Something was tugging on his arm, in his hand, and it hurt to move against it. He mewled against the pain, voice rasping and catching and tearing his throat raw again. There was a noise to his right; he turned his head as much as possible and was stunned to see Jongin jerking awake, one hand rubbing at his eyes as he leaned forward, worried eyes darting across Baekhyun.

Baekhyun was confused, but he found his voice first, rasping out against his raw throat, “What's going on?”

Jongin rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting to the door. “I don't know if – I don't think – I don't know, Baekhyun.” He sighed, eyes never leaving Baekhyun's face, fingers twisting at his jacket. “Do you, ah, do you remember? Anything?”

Baekhyun shook his head, but his concern had been mounting with every word out of Jongin's mouth because he didn't usually sound so scratchy. So destroyed.

“Okay. They – the doctors – they said that might happen. I'll go get a nurse, just wait here.” And with that, Jongin left the room, returning a moment later with a nurse.

A bevy of doctors followed – physicians and surgeons and psychiatrists and psychologists – and they examined Baekhyun and asked him questions he couldn't answer, couldn't answer. Eventually, one of them, seeing Baekhyun's distress, patted his leg and, on his way out of the room, said, “I think this might go better if you explain things to him.”

Jongin stared after him, hands gripping his knees and eyes wide, before sinking back into himself. He coughed, clearing his throat, but his voice still came out rough, strangled. “Do you really not remember anything?”

“I don't. Why, what happened?” His heart rate was accelerating as he began to panic, fueled by Jongin's nervousness.

Jongin sighed and dropped his eyes, taking a moment to collect himself before speaking in that strangled voice. “Baekhyun, you – I – we don't know if it was intentional, or an accident, or - ,” he closed his eyes and breathed out harshly. “You tried to kill yourself.”

Baekhyun's eyes scrunched, mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he tried to process this information. “What?”

“You – you,” Jongin inhaled sharply, “you tried to kill yourself. I came back from practice, I was going to check on you, get you to eat something, but...” He shuddered and shook his head, trying to roll out the stress, avoid the tears. “Bleach. You'd – bleach – and all I could do – I called 119. You don't remember anything?”

“No.” Baekhyun huddled in on himself, mind reeling at this information. “Why would I...that...why? Why?”

Jongin shook his head. “I don't know.” After a moment's pause, he cleared his throat and spoke again, voice rasping. “Baek, I know it's not the best time, but...”

He was terrified of what this might be. “What?”

“There was a plane crash, Baek. Yesterday. Early yesterday morning. It was a flight, Beijing to Seoul and it crashed. Five survivors.”

His brain wasn't working. The information refused to process. There was no way Jongin was saying what he thought he was saying. It wasn't possible. There was too much. It was too much. The world couldn't be that cruel.

“Baekhyun, are you listening to me?” Jongin's voice caught in his throat and it took a minute to come unstuck, turning sideways on its way up and strangling him. “Baekhyun, I said they're dead. Kris and Luhan and Tao. Their plane crashed and they died.”

Baekhyun knew he should probably have some kind of reaction, but all he felt was numb. “And Lay?”

“He's not dead, yet. He's hurt really badly, but he's not dead.”

The room was silent save for the beeps of the machines Baekhyun was hooked to, the machines making sure he was alive.

“Baekhyun,” Jongin's voice broke and he started to shake, hunching over into himself, “You – you knew about the crash, before you – before you,” he choked, a sob escaping in a rushed gasp. “They're already gone. Why would you leave, too?”

Baekhyun caught him as he collapsed, sobbing.

This I survived.

This I survived. The words are written above a hospital bracelet – Baekhyun's hospital bracelet. Jongin rubs at his neck, trying to loosen the stress from his shoulders. He remembers that day – those days, really, it took hours for Baekhyun to wake up, and then he had to stay overnight again – in the hospital.

He whistles at Kongju, who lifts her head at the noise. “Come here, girl,” he pats his lap.

She whines as she stretches and plods into his lap. She's big enough she barely has to sit up to lick his face. Restless again, she lies nicely in his lap but whines and growls and hits her tail on the sofa.

Jongin doesn't think anything about it; she's an active dog who likes attention. Sometimes she gets like this. He turns the page, the pain of the last memory still raw and piercing his heart. This page is comparatively empty. There's a ticket stub – some concert they'd gone to, a year past, that was way too loud and the mics weren't balanced correctly because the band was new and had shit sound guys. It was way too cold… the memory begins, and Jongin laughs, startling Kongju, because it was. It was -freezing that day.

It was way too cold for a walk, but they'd still decided to go. The concert had ended less than an hour previous, and Baekhyun's ears were still ringing, but the river was beautiful. Baekhyun laughed as Jongin tried to surreptitiously warm his fingers under his arms. While both of them had remembered scarves, neither had thought to bring proper gloves. Still grinning, Baekhyun grabbed Jongin's wrist and brought it to his face. He exhaled gently on the frozen fingers, letting his warm breath warm them through. Too focused on Jongin's hands to notice his face, Baekhyun failed to notice how focused Jongin's gaze was. He failed to notice how much Jongin wondered what Baekhyun's lips feel like.

“Tuck them in your scarf,” Baekhyun said, demonstrating with his free hand. “They'll stay warmer that way.”

Jongin quickly retracted his hand to follow the advice. They walked a little more, Baekhyun chattering and Jongin watching Baekhyun, the way he looked out at the river and the lights like a little kid, the way he skipped a little when he walked in the cold, the way his hands tucked into his scarf like paws.

He looked soft and Jongin reacted to something that he hadn't known was in him. Grabbing Baekhyun's arm, Jongin stopped their walking, looked at Baekhyun, even and determined and little scary, and, taking advantage of Baekhyun's confusion, pressed their lips together.

It only lasted a second, little more than a brush of the lips, and Jongin pulled back, bright red and refusing to meet Baekhyun's eyes.

It only lasted a second, and I wanted more.

Jongin jumps at Kongju's sharp bark. She stares up at him, dark eyes wide and sorrowful, and whines. The noise pierces Jongin like a needle.

“Shh, girl, it's okay. You're safe. We're safe. Lie, girl. Kongju, lie down.” His tone is placating and the orders are sharp and clear and she has to obey him, but she doesn't seem happy about it. Her tail is down and so are her ears as she slides herself off of the couch to lie on the floor. “That's it, girl. Stay.”

Jongin turns the page and is met by a brilliant yellow decorating the borders of the pages, framing a picture – a selfie – of him and Baekhyun together at a performance. The handwriting, sloppier than usual, written quickly, in excitement, scattered with emojis, is also in that yellow, that yellow which pops so much against the matte black of the page. He moved like water…

He moved like water on stage. Where some of the other dancers were all right angles and sharp movements, Jongin flowed in every motion, a grace attributed to his classical training, but Baekhyun thought that maybe that grace was really just an intrinsic part of the man.

There was a group dance. There were a few actually, but Baekhyun didn't notice because all he could see was Jongin. Jongin in that brilliant yellow spotlight that was a little too bright and a little too strong and hurt to see, but it was a good hurt because somehow that light was Jongin and Baekhyun wasn't sure whether the light was shining on Jongin or from him.

And Baekhyun watched the way Jongin's feet skipped across the floor, never touching anywhere they didn't intend, never giving anything more than necessary. And Baekhyun watched Jongin's arms flow, pulling the rest of his body after them, forcing him into perfection. And Baekhyun watched Jongin's torso twist and turn and place just so, connecting the feet to the arms to the face that was contorting with emotion and completing the performance.

And Baekhyun looked at Jongin and just knew that this man he loved and this man he would always love and it pierced straight through him, but he didn't feel like he was bleeding.

After the performance, when the lights had died and the dancers became but human once again, Baekhyun found Jongin. He found him with a giant grin on both of their faces. Baekhyun grabbed Jongin into a hug, and it was hot and sweaty and stank because dancing is a lot of work, but it was perfect, the way they fit together. Baekhyun pressed his face into Jongin's neck, trying to feel this man and trying to be felt by this man, before pulling back with his face obscured by a smile.

“You were fantastic,” he said and meant every word.

Jongin pulled him back into the hug, crushing him in his arms, thanking him.

They went out for ice cream after Jongin had washed and changed, sitting together in a booth, daring each other to try increasingly strange flavours. Baekhyun begged for barbeque afterward and Jongin relented; the meat was good but the company was better. It was a late night to follow, with video games late into the night at Jongin's. They sat together on the couch, feet touching in the center, Kongju spread heavily across their laps.

It was everything Baekhyun could have wished for, but more, and he decided that – that light? - that was emitted by Jongin, it had to have been, because it was still there. Baekhyun wondered how the world existed without Jongin in it. Baekhyun knew he loved that brilliant yellow.

And this man? - This man I love and love and love.

He has never realized how much that day meant to Baekhyun. To him, it had been just another day. To Baekhyun, it had obviously been so much more. Jongin goes to turn the page only to be startled by Kongju jumping up. She stands at the arm of the couch, alert and on watch. She's bred to guard, so the behaviour is not unusual. Jongin pats her on the head and stretches himself down across the couch. Jongin didn't hurt himself a lot…

Jongin didn't hurt himself a lot, but when he did, he'd sit on the couch with a good book and ice down the injury. Baekhyun had gotten used to this routine, choosing to plop himself down next to Jongin anytime the book came out. On this day, Jongin had his foot resting on the coffee table, an ice bag sitting on his knee and a thick blue book in his hands. Baekhyun settled next to him to watch some TV. Quietly, quietly, of course.

After a while, Baekhyun grew bored and began to mess with Jongin. It was a game. How far could he go before Jongin snapped?

He never found out. As Baekhyun was messing with Jongin, Kongju walked into the room and, seeing Baekhyun's actions, decided the boy wanted to play. Taking a running start, she attempted to jump over Jongin's leg and land on Baekhyun's lap, but she was just too big.

She crashed into Jongin's leg, pushing him over and down on to Baekhyun. Both boys toppled to the ground and Kongju, thinking it looked like great fun, jumped on top of the pile. The boys were pushed together by the massive weight of the dog and both blushed at the position.

That dog is really too big.

Kongju whines at the door. Jongin turns the page. Jongin was fast asleep...

Jongin was fast asleep as Baekhyun slipped out of bed in the morning. Last night had been a bad night for him; luckily, Jongin was always willing to let Baekhyun crash in his bed. He wandered over to the shower, quickly scrubbing down with Jongin's body wash – which he loved doing, loved the way he smelled like Jongin for the rest of the day – and cleaned his hair. He barely bothered to finish drying off before smearing on some makeup. He had gotten very good at putting on the makeup; it was nearly always perfect. Lazily, he headed out of the bathroom to scrounge some clothes up from Jongin's dresser. He sang absentmindedly, habit directing his actions far more than reason.

Baekhyun wasn't far into the bedroom before a pillow met his face. There wasn't much time to be offended, though, as his boyfriend slid out of bed after the pillow and crawled across the floor to plant his face in Baekhyun's side.

“I let you stay here,” he mumbled groggily. “You let me sleep.”

Baekhyun pulled at Jongin's hair in irritation. Jongin retaliated by pulling on the man's legs, knocking him to the ground. Laying on top of him, Jongin pet Baekhyun's thigh and started kissing at Baekhyun's side, at the perfect, straight scars that traced down his side.

The kisses were tired, quiet, soft. With each kiss, Jongin muttered “I love you” in to Baekhyun's side in his rough, just woken voice. Jongin was so happy the scars weren't fresh.

I could have stayed like that forever.

There are only two pages left in the book. Jongin ignores Kongju as she whines at the door in favor of reading the next page. Jongin rubbed his ass...

Jongin rubbed his ass. His voice was incredulous as he addressed Baekhyun. “What the fuck!?”

Baekhyun rolled his eyes, sitting back on his heels. “I once bit Sehun's but while he was sleeping.”

Jongin scoffed. “That's supposed to make me feel better?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“You were awake.”

Jongin stared. He could not believe the words coming out of Baekhyun's mouth right now.

Baekhyun quickly backpedaled at the lack of response. “You could have stopped me!”

Jongin glared daggers at him.

Baekhyun instinctively covered his crotch.

“Fuck you, Byun Baekhyun.”

The bathroom door slammed shut behind Jongin.

As ways to fuck up go, that was, at least, funny.

Kongju has given up her whining, choosing instead to stand at the door and stare at Jongin. Thankful for the quiet, Jongin settles into the soft cushions, briefly closing his eyes and stretching his arms. It's been a long day already, but he's enjoying the memories as he goes through Baekhyun's book. As he turns the page, his fingers catch on a paperclip, dislodging a paper that's been hastily added.

The paper is old and grey and torn from something else, edges rough and fraying. On it is that handwriting, always so familiar, Baekhyun's neat lines, but here it wanders and shakes, as if trying to find its way in the dark. Jongin's hand involuntarily shakes as he straightens the page.

It takes less than a moment for the lines to register in his brain, the black searing into his retinas, hovering in his vision even when he glances away for a split second, wishing – hoping – praying – that he is mistaken. The words are wrong, so wrong, they aren't Baekhyun, but they have to be because the black lines are his handwriting, absolutely.

The second glance confirms the words and the book is falling falling falling.

I'm sorry

There's a thud as the couch rocks backwards and falls back on its feet.

I'm

There's a crash as the coffee table tips over, the days-old mugs shattering on the floor.

There's a slam as the door smashes shut behind him.

sorry

There's a whine as Kongju pushes her head against the dark wood, waiting.

Jongin

The book sits, splayed open to that brilliantly yellow page and waits with her.

This isn't to hurt you

The elevator is too slow for Jongin's impatience, terror and he flies down the stairs instead, jumping to the landing from halfway up, swinging around on the handrail, counting the flights.

I don't want to hurt you

6…5...4...3...2...1

It's just too much

He smashes through the doors at the ground floor, startling the lone woman in the lobby at this time of night. He jumps over her bag and fumbles at the front door handle.

I can't do this

It's a twenty minute walk with good traffic to Baekhyun's, but he makes it in five.

I can't do it

He pounds on the elevator button, but the damn thing is broken again.

It's eight flights of stairs and he thinks his chest is going to burst but he makes it to Baekhyun's door.

It's too much, Jongin

His vision's blurring from sweat and tears and adrenaline and he can't find the right key and his stone fingers drop it and it won't go in the lock and the door finally, finally creaks open.

I'm so, so sorry

The white floor is red-flecked – blood, slowly congealing. It freezes Jongin in the doorway.

I've been fighting this for years

His heart stops as his eyes track the dull-red blood.

But sometimes the dragon wins

A knife on the counter, blood dried on the handle, dripping off the blade.

And I'm not the dragon

A rope, unused, unused, lying next to the knife like an afterthought.

There's so much blood.

Don't try to do anything

So much.

So much and it's pooled on the floor and Jongin doesn't want to look. Doesn't want to see.

You've done everything you can

Doesn't want to see Baekhyun, splayed on the floor like a broken doll.

You've done everything you should have

Doesn't want to see Baekhyun's eyes glazed as they stare at the door.

Thank you for everything

Doesn't want to see how still the boy's chest is.

There's nothing left to do

Doesn't want to see doesn't want to see doesn't want to hurt.

I love you

Jongin's heart stops.

This time, too late.

this || alternate ending

#exo #exo fic #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #kaibaek #jongin x baekhyun #kim jongin #kai #byun baekhyun #baekhyun #baekhyun fic #jongin fic #kaibaek fic #kpop

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mysticsparklewings · 5 years ago

Photo

Covered in All the Colored Lights‪

Well, this looks wild and different coming from me, doesn't it? If you've been a Sparkler long enough, you may remember this character of mine from ages ago when I made This Is Where You Wanna Be, which featured her. Her name is Windith, and she's a performer who likes mixing old-time circus elements with more contemporary stuff. (She was originally just a circus performer but that felt too limiting for me, and I'm thinking it might be a little too passive for her personality. I don't have a set story for her, so her character will perpetually be in development ) This drawing was also me testing out some new paper and the new Skin Tone marker set from Ohuhu. Which I simply had to get because it meant more colors of their brush tip markers that I've tested out in the past. (Ohuhu Brush Marker Review and Sweet Ohuhu Snail) I'll cut to the chase for those that aren't interested in the longer version: I kinda hate this paper and it, unfortunately, was not the best choice for what was supposed to be a mostly-marker illustration. But I like the markers! The markers themselves are nice as always, and I like the addition of the new colors, but the one thing I have to point out is that Ohuhu is still lacking in good colors for super pale skin that doesn't have a strong pink or gray undertone. They're doing really good with peachy tones, mid-tone, warm browns, and the new colors add some really nice darker/cooler browns, though. In fact, the new marker colors are what primarily inspired me to bring Winidth back into the fold in the first place; some of the colors looked like they would work really well for her skin tone in particular, and I've avoided drawing her traditionally in the past because I wasn't sure I could capture it accurately with the supplies I had. And...that's really all I have to say about the markers, actually. As brush markers, virtually nothing has changed from the last two rounds of testing I did with the Ohuhus, and thus the only thing I can really comment on is the colors. I really appreciate having more to pick from, especially because some of the colors in the set really do stand apart from the rest of my alcohol marker collection, but a lot of the "light skin tone" options are either too orange/pink or too yellow or just generally too dark for a light/pale skin tone. So, my final commentary is the same as always: More colors, please! Now, as for that paper... I picked up a new sketchbook from my local Ross, which I've known for a while now as having a surprisingly good (maybe not the best, but surprisingly good) art supply section. This paper is by a brand called Craft Smith, which as far as I can tell seems to be very into making scrapbook/craft paper and doesn't appear to be actively selling/promoting sketchbooks currently. (At least not anywhere I could find online.) It also claims to be "Mixed Media Paper 120 lb (180 gsm)." I actually have some 120 lb mixed media paper that I use semi-frequently in the form of a sketchbook by Denik. And funnily enough, that's the same paper I used on my other two Ohuhu marker pieces. So we have both a baseline for comparison in terms of performance and in terms of feel. Now, I'm not an idiot. I did inspect the paper before I actually bought the sketchbook, and it's alarming how deceptive this paper is. It definitely has the right weight/thickness to it, even compared to the 120 lb. paper I already had once I got it home. The only truly notable differences are 1. This paper is a brighter white (the Denik paper is almost on the blue/purple side) and 2. This paper feels smoother. And the second point was actually one of the reasons I bought it, as I thought it was make for a really nice marker paper. (Smoother paper tends to be a better option for brush markers so you don't wear out the nibs as quickly) Oh boy, how wrong would I be! So, let me explain just by going through my process for the art, since that and discovering the atrocities of this paper go pretty hand-in-hand. Trying desperately to get used to my current tablet situation, I started by doing the lines for the illustration digitally, having been inspired for a pose/facial expression by some Ball Jointed Dolls over on Instagram. The lines didn't turn out perfectly, but they were good enough that I felt comfortable printing them out and re-inking them traditionally as I did for Fairy Enchanting, the artwork featured on my Commission Sheet. In that process, I would end up with a 1/2 of the drawing that didn't print correctly, the proper print out I used to do the inking, and also similarly to Fairy Enchanting, a first attempt at tracing my lines that was not turning out how I wanted that got scrapped. So, essentially, I had 1.5 test pages just for colors/color placement (as they were on regular printer paper), and 1 to see how this paper would actually handle my supplies. And while normally I'd be scolding myself for wasting paper and ink, in this case, it's actually a very good thing that happened. My second attempt at inking on this paper went a lot smoother (I think I just needed to loosen up the inking part of my brain), and I was actually pretty happy with how the lines turned out. So much so that once I discovered major problems with the paper, I actually scanned the inked version in to preserve it, just in case. And I even inked it a third time on to the Denik paper I mentioned earlier, extra-just in case so I could even do a side-by-side comparison of the two papers to show "this paper is crap, this other paper is not." (Fortunately, I don't think I'll be needing that third inking despite the tale I'm about to tell.) I started out by using the different test pages to make sure I had the right tones/colors I wanted for the skin. The swatches looked okay, so I went ahead and tried coloring the skin to test some blush and shading. Right away I noticed that 1. The ink feathers/bleeds across the page (outside of lines) way more than it should for a paper this thick, and 2. once the ink settles into the paper, it's kind of patchy/spotty. And 3. If you trying layering a light color over a darker color with alcohol markers, it makes the patchy/spotty-ness more apparent. Obviously, these things combined make layering and blending tricky without the end result looking strange and uncomfortable. Just in case there was something this paper didn't like about the Ohuhu markers, in particular (and also because I wasn't super happy with my color choices for Ohuhu for this particular hair color), I did try a test blend for the hair with some Copic markers. Nope, still feathering badly and doing the weird spotty thing. Still not layering very well without re-working the entire area. Briefly, I panicked. The whole idea for this paper was to be for markers, and I had largely intended for this illustration to be pretty markers-only. But this paper, quite apparently, hates markers. Okay, okay. I tried one more blending/coloring test, this time just seeing if I could do the skin and get it to look decent on this paper inside my lines, and while not super ideal, I did manage to get something I was mostly happy with. Likewise, my next step was to do that again on the final piece. At least then I'd have the most important part--the skin--for this piece done and then I could proceed with whatever seemed like the best option for the rest of it. So the skin actually turned out okay in the end because I was being exceptionally careful to work with the issues I'd already discovered. By nature, it's not the best (as in it would look better on better paper), but it works. I still had at least a small problem on my hands though. To be fair, even before I printed the lines off I was thinking I might try washi tape for her clothes/shawl/whatever, so the paper not liking markers really just re-enforced that idea. The problem was I still had the hair to do. I tried a couple more blending/coloring tests, trying desperately to make the markers work for that, but it just wasn't happening. The way I blend hair just requires too many layers for this paper. So my next solution was to try some tests with colored pencils. For smooth, flat color, this paper is actually pretty nice for colored pencils. For layering and blending, however, (just as I suspected before I even tried it) it's too smooth. Blending works pretty okay if you're just doing 1-2 layers, but anything beyond that is just slippery and unsatisfying, to say the least. That was my two main mediums thrown out the window. Now what do I do? Because I was largely at my wit's end, I got a little crazy and tried some tests using some Faber Castell gelatos to see what they would do. And I have to say, putting the gelatos to this paper does feel exceptionally good, as the smoothness of the paper suits the creamy texture of the gelatos. Although the gelatos don't blend out super well when you add water to them on this paper, so that limits what you can do with them by a fair amount. Not really knowing what else to do, I broke out some actual watercolors and tried those. Fortunately, while the paper does warp fairly easily (that's to be expected with any paper less than 140 lb.), the paint lays down and blends fairly smoothly and nicely. And so I finally had something to work with. There's a reason when I work with watercolors I usually don't go for a hard illustration like this, but I think I managed fairly well to get the paint to do what I wanted. I knew going in it wouldn't have the same look or dimension as my markers or pencils, so I made my peace with that ahead of time. The main thing I wanted was at least the suggestion of shading and relatively smooth coverage. There are some small areas where the paint just did what it wanted anyway, but it's little enough I don't think it ruins the whole thing. I'm sure I could've worked with the hair more to get arguably better results, but by this point, I was so relieved the paint was working that I decided not to push my luck. (I did end up having to digitally tweak it because it shows up as a little more blue on the scan than it actual is, but that's not really the paper's fault.) Since I wasn't sure what exactly I wanted to do with the face/makeup at this point, I moved on to dealing with the washi tape. Fortunately, this ended up working out fairly easily. I actually put the tape down on my inking-gone-wrong (as the areas where I needed to cut it turned out well enough it would work for this) and used an Exacto knife to carefully cut the top of tape away to make the neckline and keep the tape from covering up the little bit of hair that reaches down that far, the hair being the tricker part to cut. Even so, I had a less challenging time than I thought and I only minimally dented/cut into the very top layer of the paper underneath. (Which was why I wanted to cut the tape on not-the-final-piece in the first place; I knew indentions were going to be made from the knife no matter what I did, but it's hard to predict how bad it'll be until it's usually too late.) Once that was done, I could simply peel the pre-cut tape off of my test page and re-apply it to the final one. Naturally, the cut wasn't 100% accurate, but it was close enough that the little bit that wasn't quite right was easily disguised but going back over my lines again and filling any gaps. I went back to the face once that was taken care of, and I ended up relying on the heavy feathering this paper does to get Windith's eyes right. Originally when I drew her, I tried to give her "oil slick" eyes. As in, her eyes are black but have a rainbow sheen to them, like how if you ever see oil in a parking lot, it's black but has that really pretty rainbow shine to it. I never had to consider before how this might translate into a traditional drawing though since that drawing was done digitally and at a time where I thought digital art was going to be my primary medium going forward. (My oh my, how the tables have turned indeed...) After a couple of failed tests (failed due to personal preference and actually not the paper this time) I ended up going with a dark selection of alcohol markers in very teeny tiny dots to make a pseudo-rainbow. It's not a perfect translation of what her eyes are supposed to look like, but it's close enough to suit me. Then came the makeup. Originally, I was going to just make her lips a more natural color and largely call it done, but I didn't want them to blend in too much with her skin and even when I tried a less natural berry color I just couldn't get the blending right in such a small space on this paper. And I was also thinking it would be nice to give her eye shadow and bring the colors from her shawl-thing up into the face area a little bit. But I'd already discovered colored pencils weren't the way to go and I had a feeling I wasn't going to like how this paper handled pastels either, so I just skipped testing that altogether. After some thought, since I originally thought of Windith as a circus performer, I deiced to do some testing with gel pens (which I figured would handle just fine on this paper, given the nature of gel pens in general) and this simple kind of clown makeup. (I'm sure there's a more proper name for it out there somewhere but I haven't the foggiest idea what that said name is.) I ended up really liking that, especially with how the bright colors pop against her dark skin tone, and in that, I thought a bright color would work well for her lips, too. I tested my orange gel pen, but it was a little too bright and just a little too imprecise for my taste, so I opted for a little fluorescent orange watercolor instead. I know the makeup probably looks kind of silly to most, but I really like it and how it ties the colors together better. And besides, I think it says a lot of about Windith's character that she can wear makeup like that but still looks as confident and determined as she does here. But I wasn't done quite yet. I wanted to do something to fill the empty space in the background, but as I mentioned earlier I really was not keen on finding out how this paper would handle pastels after the struggles I'd already been through. And also I didn't really think any of my pastel colors would work all that well with the other colors going on here. It's not too much, but I ended up defaulting to some of my dollar-store stencils to add some florals and a little butterfly back there. I figured that would tie in nicely with the floral washi tape, add a bit of color, yet not totally overpower everything. I also ended up with some artsy white dots because I somehow got some random ink dots/smudges around a few edges and once I covered those up I added some more dots so it would look like an intentional part of the look. Unfortunately, said white dots did not show up on the scan. The final piece is definitely far from perfect and this paper is not good for a lot of things I was hoping it would be (I can report it seems to work pretty good for regular sketching, though, so it won't go to waste!). However, I still managed to get something pretty decent out of the equation, I think. Small victories? I may not be looking forward to making more finished pieces with this paper, but I am looking forward to playing with the Ohuhu Skin tone markers more, that's for sure. I've got a few sketches that I'm thinking about turned into a mini-series illustrating a few different skin tones with them, but I haven't decided 100% on that just yet. I do have a couple of other projects definitely coming down the pipeline though, so stayed tuned. P.S. The title is a reference to The Greatest Show, the opening them from "The Greatest Showman," the same song that largely inspired the first time I drew Windith. It's just kinda her thing now. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

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masterofmunson · 7 years ago

Text

call out my name [b.barnes]

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You promised him that you were bruised and not broken. You didn’t account for the demons that would follow hot on your heels. Déjá vu part 2.

Warnings: ptsd is mentioned, panic attacks, self loathing, brief mentions of nudity & sex (it’s innocent), fluff, crying, pure angst, you’re going to hate me. feel free to yell at me lol

Word Count: 5.3k+

DÉJÁ VÙ

You stare at the bare ceiling. You’re covered in sweat and your own tears. Your shoulders tremble and you try your best not to shake the bed. Bucky was sleeping soundly, his profile facing your side of the bed. His flesh arm lays on your stomach subconsciously and you’re trying not to have another panic attack that wakes him up. He always knew when you were starting to panic, even if you were silent.

You squeeze your eyes shut. Tears leak out of the corners of your eyes and you’re finding it harder to breathe. You’re trying to remember the exercises Bucky and Sam have been trying to teach you in order to deal with your PTSD, but you always insisted you were fine. Now it’s coming back to bite you in the ass.

“Baby?” he grumbles into his pillow, starting to wake up from his slumber. You take a deep breath in, resting your hands on your face. You’re doing your best not to move or make a sound. The last thing you wanted to do was wake him. He already had enough sleeping problems. He didn’t need you adding onto them. He deserved a decent night’s sleep.

He gently moves his hand up your body. It’s gentle and affectionate. He’s trying to calm you down. “What five things can you see, baby?” he whispers gently, pressing his metal fingers to your sides.

You take a labored breath in, closing your eyes briefly before opening them again. “The window, the bathroom door, the ceiling, the closet door, and the bookcase,” you sniffed, letting a few stray tears fall down your cheeks and into your pillow.

“What are four things you can feel?”

“Your fingers, the blankets, my pillow, and the shirt I’m wearing,” you breathe a little easier.

“Good,” he squeezes you gently. “What are three things you can hear?” he murmurs.

You take a slow deep breath in, closing your eyes. “The cars outside, the fan, and your metal arm.”

“How about two things you can taste?”

“My tears and the tea you made me before we went to bed,” you mumble. Your breathing is starting to return to normal and your shoulders aren’t trembling anymore.

“What about one thing you can smell?”

“You,” you whispered. “I can smell you.”

Bucky smells like love and comfort. He’s patient and kind. He doesn’t make you feel like a burden. He makes you feel safe and loved, even if neither of you have said it yet. You know he loves you.

“Good, baby,” he encourages gently, “you’re doing so good.”

“I’m sorry,” you cry softly. “I didn’t want to wake you. You already have a hard time sleeping anyways and you don’t need me to add onto it and—”

“Y/n,” he interrupts you. His voice is soft but firm. It’s not enough to startle or trigger you. “It’s okay. Please don’t apologize. I’m your boyfriend, I like taking care of you.”

“I don’t want to burden you,” you confess. “It’s been seven months and it still feels like it’s been seven days. What I went through is nothing like what you went through the past 70 years.”

“Hey,” he quietly chastises you. He sits up, turning on the lamp on his side of the bed before pulling you into his lap. His fingers dip underneath your shirt, moving softly against your bare skin. Your loose tank top falls off your shoulder and he presses his mouth gently against the scar tissue on your shoulder from your time as prisoner. “You are not a burden, Y/n. What happened to you was terrible. Don’t compare what you went through to what I went through. You’re a normal citizen and you went through something no one should have to go through.”

You take a shaky breath in. A set of tears slips past your eyes. You glance down into your lap. “You didn’t deserve to go through it either,” you mutter back.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he concedes nodding his head, “but I wouldn’t have met you if I hadn’t gone through all of that would I?”

His words nag the back of the brain. He already met a version of you that he tried so desperately to get back. Guilt festers inside him, but letting Millie go seemed almost impossible. He loved her too much, but he loved you too. He was just too scared to tell you.

You roll your eyes, a smile sneaking through. “Oh, please. I’m not that special. There’s plenty of other boring girls like me out there.”

He frowns, squeezing your cheeks. “Of course you’re special. Why would I be with you if you were a boring blob? I lo—”

“Miss. Y/l/n, your presence is being requested in the medbay,” FRIDAY interrupts, cutting him off.

You sigh, resting your forehead against his. Bucky’s fingers dip underneath your shirt and he squeezes your sides. Your mouth finds his in a soft tender kiss and his arms wrap around your torso. “Time to go get my Happy Pill,” you sigh, swinging your legs off the bed and hobbling to the dresser.

You dress in loose sweatpants and one of Bucky’s worn Henley’s. Slipping on a pair of comfy gym shoes, you turn back to face Bucky and place a soft kiss on his lips. “See you later, James,” you mumble softly before hurrying out the door.

He lays in bed, staring at the bare ceiling, listening to the fan. Bucky almost told you that he loved you. He should see it as a good thing, as a stepping stone for moving on from Millie, but he doesn’t. He’s not suppose to love you. He’s suppose to love Millie, and he needs to bring her back. He needs you to remember who you really are.

He sighs, letting out a loud groan. Sitting up, he rubs his tired face and gets ready for the day. Slipping on a pair of running shorts and a t-shirt and stuffing his feet into a pair of gym shoes.

Walking out of your shared room, he jogs to the common room where Steve and Natasha wait for him before they go off on their daily run.

“She had another panic attack,” Bucky sighs as they reach the grounds of the compound, starting their run. “I hate seeing her so terrified. She’s changed so much since I rescued her. I just wish there was a way where I could take it all from her. She doesn’t deserve it.”

Natasha glances at him, sending him a side eye as they reach the path leading into the forest. “Have you told her about Millie, Bucky?” she asks as they run on the path. He doesn’t answer. “Bucky!” she hisses. “You’ve been with her for what, seven months and you still haven’t told her about your dead ex girlfriend who looks like her?”

Bucky growls at Natasha. “Millie isn’t dead. She’s just stuck. I’m trying to get her out.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Millie died in 1952 from tuberculosis, Bucky. Give it up or you’re going to lose Y/n.”

He wasn’t going to.

Back at the compound, you grab your pills and have a session with your therapist before going to eat breakfast. Sam joins you at the counter and you smile softly at him, taking a scoop of your cereal.

“Hey, Sam?” you call out to him, looking over at him. He hums in response, encouraging you to continue. “Can you teach me how to fight?”

He glances at you. “I already did,” he responds.

You shake your head. He hadn’t. “No. You just taught me how to defend myself. You didn’t teach me any offensive moves. I want to learn how to fight.”

He concedes. “Okay, okay,” he sighs. “Meet me in the training room in 20 minutes.”

You grin at him, kissing his cheek before running back to your bedroom to change into better training clothes. You hurry to the closet and dig through boxes of clothes that you haven’t touched in months.

Your eyes scan the boxes on the ground and stop on a box that doesn’t belong to you, but to Bucky. The name MILLIE is scribbled on the box in his messy handwriting in big bold lettering.

You know you shouldn’t open it. It’s not yours to look inside of. It’s Bucky’s. It’s an invasion of privacy, but there’s no harm in peeking right? You just happened to come across it while looking for your own clothes.

Crossing your legs, you pull the box into your lap and push the flaps back, digging into the box. Pulling out a worn scrapbook, your fingers run over the cover. Tugging open the first page, your eyes widen in shock.

On the first page, there’s a small paragraph on the front. Written in beautiful cursive is To my dearest Bucky, I love you with my whole heart. May you look at this book and be reminded just how much I love you. Yours forever, Mills.

You swallow hard, you figured he had someone before the war. He just hadn’t told you about her. You figured it was only because he didn’t want to hurt your feelings or that he had moved on and there was no reason for him to tell you about her. He loved you.

Your fingers push the page onto the next one and you take a sharp inhale. The pictures were old and grainy, but they were clear as day. They were pictures of you and Bucky. Your hair was a lot longer. Your skin clearer. Eyes brighter.

You shake your head. You close your eyes, Mike’s words ring in your ear.

“You really think you matter to them? The only reason you’re around is because of who you look like.”

His voice is loud and ugly. It sends you into a panic. You can’t breathe. You don’t want to believe it. You can’t believe it. Bucky loved you. You. You.

He loved your quirks. He loved your personality. He loved your heart. He loved your soul… right?

He never told you he loved you, but you knew he did. He was better with his actions than in his words.

He made you your coffee almost every morning with plenty of cream and sugar without you having to ask. He gave you your much needed space in the weeks after your rescue. Although he had missed your embrace and your soft kisses, he was patient—because he loved you. He murmured songs in your ear to put you back to sleep once you calmed down from a nightmare. He grounded you whenever you were having a panic attack. He loved you. He had to.

Panic washes over you. You’re trying not to let Mike’s words haunt you. You had been doing so well. You didn’t want him getting to you again. He was lying to you, an attempt to get under your skin and break your spirit. He hadn’t when he was alive and you didn’t want him to when he was long dead.

You know you should stop while you’re ahead. The scrapbook was hard enough to look at, but you can’t help it. You’re dying to know what else is inside the box.

You pull out loose photographs, trinkets, and numerous love letters. Your chest aches with every item you hold and read. Your fingers clasp a small black box. You know without opening it what rests inside the box, but you open it anyways, finding a beautiful diamond ring. You close it just as fast as you open it.

Your throat burns. You can’t breathe. Tears prick at the back of your eyes. Your chest is heavy and your eyes gloss over.

“Miss. Y/n, Sargent Barnes is looking for you,” FRIDAY interrupts your raging thoughts and you swallow the lump in your throat. You scramble to put everything back in the box exactly as you found it before shoving the box back in its place.

You wipe your nose with the back of your hand and change quickly into a pair of shorts and a loose t-shirt, pulling your hair out of your face.

“Tell him I’m with Sam,” you respond, opening the door to your bedroom.

“Shall I tell him that you're distressed?”

“No. No, absolutely not. I’m fine,” you grumble.

Hurrying to the training room, you find Sam sitting on one of the benches taking stuff out of his bag. Walking over to him, you join him on the bench.

He takes your hands and wraps them carefully. He pats your knee when he’s done, pulling you out of your head space. You smile softly and jump to your feet, walking over to the mat. He follows behind you and you turn to face him.

He starts teaching you the basics. Planted feet, square shoulders. He’s going gentle, every now and again, pinning you to the mat. You know you shouldn’t get frustrated since Sam had just starting teaching you, but you can’t help it. You’re tired of feeling like a damsel in distress. You wanted to protect yourself.

“Hey!” you protest when he tugs your arm behind your back. You wiggle against him. You’re tempted to stomp on his foot.

“Stop thinking so much,” Sam thwacks you in the head, releasing you with a shove. “Use what I taught you. Relax, c’mon, you can do this.”

You huff stubbornly, shaking your arms out and cracking your knuckles. You watch his stance and you notice that he favors his right leg a lot more than his left. You take a deep breath before releasing it.

The music playing over the speakers roars in your ears and you don’t notice Bucky, Steve, or Natasha ever the room. Bucky’s tempted to step in and drag you off the mat, but Natasha throws her arm out. She watches your eyes and she can see Katarina.

Your eyes are full of fire as you stalk your prey. Natasha watches you analyze Sam’s movements before making the first move. You lung at him but he blocks it easily. You let out another frustrated huff before squaring your shoulders.

Sam moves to hit you and your eyes drop to his feet. He’s still favoring his right side. You block his shot before summer saluting and kicking at his left leg. He tumbles to the ground and you scramble to pin him to the mat. You sit on his back with a proud grin.

“Ha! I finally pinned you!” you grin. “This is so much fun! Let’s go again!”

You climb off him and help him back up onto his feet. Sam laughs at you, shaking his head. He shakes his arms out before he makes the first move again. You grin when you block shot after shot.

“Go harder!” you yell at him. “Stop going easy on me. I’m not going to get better if you’re soft on me.”

“Y/n—”

“C’mon! I’m not fragile. If I get spooked you’ll know! C’mon!” you interrupt him.

He sighs, shaking his arms out before kicking it up a notch. You swallow hard when you realize that you’re just on the defensive. You hadn’t gotten a single shot on him. He kicks your leg out from underneath you and you push yourself into a backflip. You silently thank your collegiate gymnastics career.

Standing on wobbly feet, you let out a huff. Sam smirks at you. “Ready to give up?” he taunts. You glare at him.

“Hell no.”

You lung at him and your arms meet with his. Your right leg wraps around his and you tug him to the ground. He lays on his back with a loud thud and you squeal in excitement. You had won. You pull him back up onto his feet and Sam shakes his head, smiling softly at you. He hadn’t seen you so genuinely happy in such a long time, none of them had.

“You’re the best, Sammy,” you gush. “Kicking your ass is so much fun! We are totally doing this again tomorrow!”

“I would have to agree,” your boyfriend pipes in, walking over to you and kissing your sweaty forehead. “Kicking Sam’s ass is so much fun.”

You laugh lightly, ignoring the pit in your stomach. “You did so good, darling,” he murmurs in your ear. “I’m proud of you.”

You acknowledge him with a soft smile before bidding Sam a goodbye so you could go back to your room and shower. Bucky says his goodbyes before trailing after you and catching your hand in his. He grins at you when you glance at him briefly, kissing your hand.

Pressing your thumb on the wall in front of your bedroom door, the door clicks open and you step inside, Bucky following behind. You sigh once the door shuts, kicking off your shoes. You walk in the bathroom and Bucky does too.

“Can I shower with you?” he asks gently when you turn the water on. He was always careful to respect your boundaries, that’s one of the reasons why you fell in love with him in the first place.

“Yeah,” you murmur, tugging your socks off. He grins at your backside, watching you undress. You turn to face him, your arms are crossed timidly around your chest.

He’s looking at you like you put the stars in the sky. His eyes glow underneath the light the bathroom provides. It almost makes you forget about what you found in the closet. It almost makes you forget about how you feel inside.

Standing naked, he opens the shower door for you and you step inside, letting the warm water wash over you. Bucky steps in after you and stands with his back against the showerhead. He takes your hands away from your chest and wraps them around his neck. You know he’s watching you carefully. He knows that something is wrong. You need to take him away from it.

“Can you wash my hair?” you ask gently, looking into his beautiful blue eyes.

He grins at you, “Yes, of course.”

He takes your bottle of shampoo and squirts a generous amount onto his hand before rubbing it into your hair. You close your eyes and let his flesh and metal fingers massage your scalp. You hum at the feeling and he laughs, gently turning you so you’re underneath the shower head. He pushes the soap away from your face and washes it out of your hair.

Opening your eyes again, you do the same for him.

Once you’re done with his hair, you gently take your loofa off the hook and squeeze body wash onto it before lathering it onto your skin. Bucky watches you carefully as you wash your face and he catches your eyes when he’s done washing himself. You blink at him.

“Bucky?” you breathed, swallowing hard.

“Yes, doll?” he replies.

You blink at him. “Do you…,” you trail off, trying to find the right words. “Do you love me?” The words seem to come out of your mouth so easily, but you feel like your entire world is collapsing in on itself. On you. His bright blue eyes gaze into yours and you feel like you can’t breathe. You want to disappear.

“Yes, absolutely, I love you,” he answers firmly, tugging strands of wet hair behind your ear. He looks a you with worried eyes. “What’s going on, Y/n?” he murmurs.

You sigh, letting your hands rest on his shoulders. There’s so much that you want to tell him. You want to ask him who Millie was and why she looked like you. You want to ask him why he’s with you. You’re dying inside and he has no idea. He has no idea that you know. He has no idea that you’re drowning and you can’t breathe.

“Why… why are you with me?”

He blinks at you, shocked that you would ask him that. It blindsides him. His arms wrap around you and you let out a shaky breath. You hate feeling so small.

“You make me happy,” he answers genuinely. You blink at him. You’re suddenly glad you’re in the shower with him. He can’t tell that you’re close to crying. “You make me laugh. You're incredibly kind. You’re intelligence is sexy. You’re beautiful and strong and determined. You’re resilient. You don’t treat me like I’m fragile. You love me for who I am.”

“And me?” you murmur. “Do you love me for who I am?” Your eyes bore into his and you feel your heart inside your throat.

He gives you a puzzled look. He looks insulted that you even question how much he did love you. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “Of course I do,” he answers. You know you’ve opened another door that you don’t want to enter. You want to crawl back into yourself. You feel like you’re dying.

“Sorry,” you mumble insecurely. “I don’t know why I asked that.”

Lie.

You just lied straight to his face and it makes your stomach queasy. You’ve never lied to him.

You know exactly why you asked that. You’re absolutely terrified that he’s just with you because you look like his dead girlfriend—or fiancée. It chills you to the bone. You wouldn’t know what you would do if he loved you for the wrong reasons.

His fingers brush against your cheek and your eyes flutter at his soft touch. You let out a quiet sigh. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, pulling on your chin.

His mouth meets yours in a soft tender kiss.

It’s not enough to quiet your raging thoughts.

You stare at ceiling above you, lost in thought.

You can feel Bucky's metal fingers trail up and down your bare arm, leaving kisses on your shoulder. Your breath mingles with his and you know he’s trying to coax another round out of you.

You’re just so tired, and it wasn’t because you had early morning sex. You’re mentally and emotionally exhausted. You’re tired of pretending that everything is fine. You’re dying inside and you don’t know how to tell him.

It’s been five days since you found the box and you feel like throwing up every time you entered the closet.

You hate how your eyes flutter closed when his mouth finds your neck. His teeth nipped at the supple skin and your breathing stutters. He laughs against your collarbone. Your hand finds the back of his head and you tug on his hair gently.

“Bucky,” you sigh breathlessly.

He grins against your skin, trailing his metal arm down the length of your body. “Yes, my sweet girl?” he murmurs. It makes your heart melt and your breath hitch.

“I’m really hungry,” you mumble, feeling embarrassed that you killed the mood. He laughs against the column of your throat and pulls away. You laugh sheepishly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

“Don’t apologize, it’s perfectly fine. Do you want to go out for breakfast?” he asks, pulling away from you.

You turn on your side to face him and rest your fingers in his hair. He smiles softly at you, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles. Your heart flutters. “Yeah, can we?” you ask.

“Why wouldn’t we be able to go out?” he laughs, pulling you onto his hips. Your hands rest on his chest and you shrug, leaning down and pressing a soft, tender kiss to his lips.

“I dunno,” you sigh. “I always think we need permission.”

He laughs again and your heart stutters. You loved seeing him smile.

“You’re making it really difficult to want to go to my mission briefing, darling,” Bucky sighs against your mouth, his lips trailing down your neck. Your fingers tug on his hair gently and your back is pressed against the wall.

“I’m not doing anything,” you breathed back. “All I did was eat breakfast with my handsome boyfriend. You just can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

You both let out breathy laughs and you press your hand against his chest, pushing him away gently. You kiss the underside of his jaw. “I’ll see you later, Hot Stuff. I love you.”

He beams at you, pressing a firm kiss to your lips. “I love you too, my darling girl.”

He disappears down the hall and you sigh happily. You had nothing to worry about.

After finishing your workout, you make a detour towards the conference rooms. You were light on your feet and you felt happier now that you had just worked out.

You can hearing arguing down the hall. Sam’s voice rings through your ears. He sounds absolutely furious, at who, you don’t know. It was probably over something petty.

“You didn’t think I would find out, Barnes?!” Sam roars as you creep closer to the door. “I overheard you and Steve the other day! You still think that Y/n is still your dead girlfriend! You think the reincarnation theory is real!”

Your throat tightens. You feel like you can’t breathe. Your gut was right the whole time.

Mike was right the whole time.

Tears burn in the back of your eyes as you approach the door. You’re struggling to remain calm and collected as you stared into the room. Your eyes blur with tears as you stared at the man you thought loved you.

“Do you even love her or do you love who she looks like?!” Sam’s voice makes you jump. You’ve never seen him so angry before.

You inhale sharply as you wait for his response.

“Of course I love her! She’s just not Millie!” Bucky roars.

You can feel your heart shatter and your breath leaves your lungs. Tears fall down your cheeks and you swallow hard. You can’t find it in yourself to speak up. Natasha glances out the door and her eyes meet yours. Her teammates follow her gaze and you feel frozen in your spot until Bucky’s eyes meet yours.

You inhale sharply before turning your back on him. You run down the hall towards your—Bucky’s—bedroom, ignoring his pleas from behind you. You slam the door shut, going straight to the closet and pulling out a suitcase. You slam the suitcase on the bed and rip open your dresser drawers.

You’re hands are shaking and your whole body trembles. You’re struggling to breathe as you stuff clothes haphazardly into the suitcase. Tears fall freely down your cheeks and you feel like throwing up. You had to leave. You couldn’t stay here.

You ignore the door clicking open and Bucky stepping inside. You hurry into the bathroom, collecting your makeup and tossing it into the suitcase. You couldn’t look at Bucky.

“Y/n,” his voice cracks as he calls your name and reaches out to grab your arm. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t touch me!” you scream between cries, swatting his hand away. You spin around to face him. You snarl at him. “Why did you rescue me?! Because you loved me or because of who I look like? Don’t lie to me!”

A defeated sigh leaves his lips. “Both.”

You nod your head, sniffing quietly. You wipe your nose with the back of your hand. “I saw the box with all her things, Bucky. Why did you think you could bring her back? The reincarnation theory is a child’s story. Why did you lie to me?!”

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. His chin wobbles. “Because I still loved her. I thought there was a way… like there is in movies, but there isn’t. I still fell in love with you, Y/n. I love you. Millie can’t change that.”

You shake your head. Even if the theory was real, you were still you. You were not Millie. You were not Katarina. You would not compete against ghosts for his love and affection, no matter how much you craved it. You deserved so much better

“I’m not competing against a ghost for your love, James!” you roared, fat, ugly tears fell down your cheeks. “You said so yourself, I’m not Millie! I never will be!”

Your cries echo off the walls and back into your ears. Bucky had completely shattered your heart. Your soul was withering away. Your future disappearing right before your very eyes, all because you looked like someone that he craved you to be.

He nods his head in agreement. “You’re right. You’re not Millie. You’re so much better than she was.”

You shake your head. You wouldn’t be compared to her either. Bucky doesn’t get it. It has to end. You have to be the one to let go.

You sigh defeatedly, staring into his glossy red eyes. You knew he was terrified to lose you. It was probably because you gave him reason to hold onto his past, because you looked like her.

“You want to know what the worst part about all of this is?” you murmur quietly, tears sliding down your cheeks. “It’s not that I had a feeling about your intentions with me. It was that when I was held captive, Mike was right. A monster was right. That’s what hurts the most.”

It’s silent as he stares at you. He’s desperate to keep you. He can’t lose you. He had made a stupid mistake. Surely you could forgive him. You loved him.

You look at your suitcase, pulling the top over and zipping it up. He walks up to you, resting his hand on the suitcase. He doesn’t want you to leave.

“I won’t be compared to her either, James,” you murmur, swallowing the lump in your throat and blink away the tears in the back of your eyes. “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to compete against a dead person for you to love me fully and completely just as I do for you. It’s not fair to me. I can’t pretend to be somebody I’m not.”

Bucky grabs your face at a desperate attempt to keep from losing you. Tears slide down his cheeks and he feels like he can’t breathe. His heart shatters when you wiggle out of his touch. You wanted nothing to do with him. Not anymore.

“What are you saying?” he asks desperately. His voice breaks and his throat tightens. Tears fall down his cheeks.

“I’m leaving,” you answer. Your voice cracks and you blink harshly. You wish there was something he could do to change what had happen, but there wasn’t. He refused to move on.

“Y/n, please don’t do this. I love you.”

You look at him with tears in your eyes. You choke back a sob. As much as you loved him, you couldn’t stay. You needed to get back on your feet and find a job. You couldn’t stay at the Compound even if you wanted to. You needed to go back to civilian life. You were useless, there was no need for you.

This just made the decision ten times more easier for you.

“I can’t,” you breathed. “It’s not fair to me. You have to move on if you ever want us to be together again. I can’t compete with a ghost, Bucky. I think it’s best if we’re not together, for your heart and my sanity. This hurts me just as much as it hurts you, but I think it’s for the best. I need to get back on my feet and you need to figure your heart out.”

“Y/n, please,” he choked out. You were slipping right through his fingers.

“Goodbye, Bucky,” you mutter, brushing past him with your suitcase behind you. You turn around to shut the door behind you and your eyes meet his momentarily. Silent tears fall down his soft cheeks as his entire face falls. Tears slide down your face and let out a breath of air before shutting the door.

You force yourself to keep walking when you hear the door open.

tags: @ssweet-empowerment @california-grown @softwhispers

376 notes · View notes

adorealeclightwood · 7 years ago

Text

Happy Birthday, Alexander.

(Set a little after 3x04.)

AO3.

"Izzy, I told you, you didn't have to do all of this." Alec said, gently swatting his sister's hands away as she fussed over his hair.

The Institute was teeming with guests from all walks of life; Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike. Izzy had gone all out, as he expected.

She pulled him from a chair, and ushered him over to a full length mirror before circling him carefully, picking lint and loose threads off of his suit. It was all black in color, much to her disappointment. She'd ordered a variety of colors, but Alec chose the black one, and refused to try on anything else.

"Quit squirming!" She fastened his cuff links. "You look amazing, big brother."

Alec paused to stare at his reflection, and allowed himself to smile. He hadn't even thought of celebrating, but Izzy did, and he could see that she wouldn't let up until he was having fun.

"Thank you," He pat her shoulder before taking a deep breath. She opened the door so they could exit the room, and the rumble of chatter rushed into Alec's ears like a tidal wave.

Alec was met with dozens of smiling faces, brief side hugs, and strong handshakes. The guests were truly dressed to impress in gowns and suits that coincided with the royal blue color scheme Izzy had set up. Soft blue lights illuminated the ceiling and walls, while specks of silver were scattered in everything from the decorative stones placed upon the table, to the ribbons that fastened the envelopes on the invitations.

Alec glanced over his shoulder and smiled again. Izzy was following at a distance with a glass of champagne, and it made him breathe a little easier. He took comfort in knowing she was only a few feet away if he needed her.

"There you are!" He turned in time to see his mother coming towards him with her arms spread wide. Maryse hugged him tightly before she stepped back with her hands on his shoulders, and a wide grin on her face.

"Happy Birthday, my dearest boy." Alec felt his cheeks begin to flush, and looked down at his feet bashfully.

"Mother, it's good to see you," He said, clearing his throat. "How are you?"

She’d seemed happy enough the last time he’d seen her, but deep down, Alec knew better. She’d been divorced and deruned, all in the span of a few months. She could smile and nod to fool everyone else, but he saw right through her.

She smoothed the lapels of his jacket when she spoke, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I’m fine.” She cleared her throat. “Lucian has been helping me adjust.” Alec relaxed then. If there was anyone to make the lifestyle change easier for her, it was Luke.

“Alec, hey!” He and Maryse looked up to see Simon walking over.

“We’ll talk later,” Alec said, squeezing Maryse’s hand.

Simon started to hug Alec, then thought better of it and shook his hand instead.

“Happy birthday!” He said. “What are you, fifty something?”

“Twenty-four,” Alec smiled, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Almost a quarter of a century,” Simon said longingly. “I’m not gonna lie, I’m jealous. I’ll never celebrate a real birthday again.” It was then that Alec realized he hadn’t paid much attention to Simon since he’d become a vampire.

When they first met, Simon was jittery, and spoke too quickly and too often for Alec’s taste, but the differences from then and now were obvious. He stood taller and straighter beside Alec, and carried himself with confidence. He hadn’t chosen this life for himself - that was a decision Clary made to keep from losing him - but he was handling it as best he could, and for that, Alec respected him.

“Great party,” Simon commented. “I had no idea you knew this many people.”

“I don’t,” Alec nodded in Izzy’s direction. “She handled the guest list.”

“Oh,” Simon blinked. “Guess that explains why I got an invitation.”

“No,” Alec shook his head. “You didn’t need one. You’re always welcome.” Simon looked around, not sure who Alec was speaking to.

“Seriously?” He asked. “I thought you’d want me as far away from this place as possible since I’ve got a little, uh, situation.” He pointed to his forehead.

“You didn’t ask for that,” Alec said. “I meant what I said. You can come here anytime.” Simon smiled, and didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Alec, who sighed before patting Simon on the back.

“Thanks man! I’m gonna go grab a drink, I’ll catch up with you later.” Alec watched him walk away before blending into the crowd.

A loud, fast-paced song began blaring from speakers he couldn’t see, and colorful strobe lights flashed and swirled over the dance floor, which was filled with people. He could hear them screaming with joy and could feel their feet disturbing the ground around him. Dozens of faces smiled back at him as he walked across the room, feeling his face grow warm as compliments and birthday wishes reached his ears. Their bodies moved together as they celebrated, rhythmically breaking into shapes and colors that tickled his heart. Izzy attempted to pull me him into the crowd, but he shook his head, inching away from her.

“Come on,” She whined. “I love this song! Dance with me.”

“Oh no,” Alec said. “Believe me, no one wants to see that.”

“Fine,” She jabbed his chest with her finger playfully. “But you better not be sneaking off to your room to hide out for the night. I’ll come find you and drag you out kicking and screaming if I have to.”

“I won’t hide,” He promised. “Go have fun.” She turned on her heel and skipped back to where a group of her friends were waiting.

Alec wandered over to an empty table, and helped himself to a glass of champagne. In all honesty, he’d never cared for parties. Naturally, the sight of other people enjoying themselves brought him a modicum of happiness, but he’d never felt the need to join in. Now that this particular celebration was being held in his honor, he wasn’t sure how to act. Should he have gone out there to dance like Izzy suggested, and make a fool of himself? Was he supposed to be walking around on cloud nine, engaging in meaningless conversation with people he’d likely never speak to again?

“Boo!” Alec didn’t flinch at the sound of Jace’s voice in his right ear.

“Jace,” He rolled his eyes playfully. “How nice of you to grace us with your presence.”

“It’s your birthday, I’m gracing you with a bit more than my presence,” Jace said, plopping down in a chair beside Alec. There was a medium sized box in his hands, wrapped in metallic blue.

“What’s that?” Alec asked.

“If you wanna know what it is, you have to open it,” Jace handed it to him. “That’s how presents work.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Alec tried to hand it back, but Jace dropped it in his lap.

“And you didn’t have to put my favorite leather jacket in the washing machine.”

“That was one time.”

“Yeah, one time too many,” Jace said. “Open it.”

“Now?” Alec looked around. There was a table a few feet away from the bar overflowing with boxes of all shapes and sizes, and he was positive Izzy mentioned something about an “opening session”.

“Don’t you think I should wait until-”

“Alec, open the damn gift before I hit you with it.”

Alec nodded and found a strip of tape to begin peeling it back, making Jace sigh.

That was Alec for you; meticulous, through and through.

When the last of the paper was torn away, Alec felt his mouth stretch into a genuine smile, because even though he hadn’t asked for anything, Jace had known exactly what to give him.

He removed the lid from a clear case to reveal a brand new quiver made of thick black leather. There were several runes stitched into the shoulder strap in silver thread, and Alec ran his fingers over each one, remembering what they meant. He leaned in to get a better look at the words embroidered near the top.

Ego sum apud te.

I am with you.

“I know I’ve been acting weird,” Jace said, looking down at his hands. “When you came to me the other day, I wanted to talk, but you said ‘mental illness’ and I freaked. I just...” He shook his head before looking up at Alec.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Alec said, setting the box aside. “I understand.”

“I know you do.” Jace paused. “Even when I’m being an idiot, breaking some rule, or saying something stupid to hurt you or piss you off, you always find a way to understand and forgive me.”

“You’re my parabatai,” Alec said. “How could I not?”

There was no sarcasm or bitterness in his question, only truth. No matter how many times they got under each other’s skin, they were parabatai. Brothers.

That wouldn’t change.

“I just wanted you to know that I don’t take it for granted,” Jace said. “I love you, Alec.”

“I love you too.” They exchanged a look, and Jace opened his mouth to speak before chuckling, shaking his head.

“What’s funny?”

“You! Izzy set up a party that would make a Kardashian jealous, and you’re sitting in the corner like you’ve been put in time out.” Jace took the box and stood up. “Go get another drink, I’ll put this in your room before Izzy sees that you’ve opened it.” Alec wanted to argue, but knew it was no use.

He got up to make his way over to the bar. It wasn’t nearly as crowded as before, so he was able to get another glass of champagne fairly quickly. He’d brought it to his lips to take a sip, only to hear his name being called yet again. This time, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before putting a tight lipped smile on his face, and turning around.

Clary was standing there, beaming at him. She was wearing a lacy, navy blue dress he was sure belonged to Izzy, but looked decent on her.

“There you are!” She held out what appeared to be a scrapbook with a matte grey cover. “Happy birthday!” He took it from her hands as she offered to hold his champagne, encouraging him to open it.

He did, and found himself speechless as his eyes took in what was drawn there.

It was an image of him, firing an arrow. Clary had penciled the entire thing, down to the finest of details, like the scar partially hidden by his eyebrow, and the placement of his neck rune. He turned to the next page, and felt as if he were looking into a mirror. She’d drawn him from the shoulders up, looking straight ahead with a tense expression on his face. The book had some weight to it, and he knew he’d end up in bed flipping through it for hours, admiring the delicate strokes Clary had used on each page.

“Wow,” Alec said, breathless. “You did all of these? For me?”

“Sort of,” She shrugged one shoulder. “I’m always inspired by what’s around me. I’ve been spending a lot of time around Jace, Izzy, and you, so I started drawing you guys. I spent the most time on yours though.”

“Why?” Alec asked. He wasn’t trying to be rude - he was only curious.

“Why not?” Clary said, tilting her head. “Look at you. You’ve got those swoon worthy eyes, great bone structure, and amazing hair. I could never sketch someone like you carelessly; your drawings required focus. And, I knew you’d like me even less if I messed up.”

“That’s not true,” Alec said. “I’m surprised you took the time to draw me at all.”

“Oh stop it,” Clary put a hand on her hip. “You’re smart, strong, brave, attractive, and a good leader. You go out of your way to protect the people you care about, and you’ve helped me despite having every reason not to. You’re worthy of admiration, even if it means I have to draw you from memory to do it.” Clary admired him?

Alec wasn’t sure what to make of that.

He closed the book and flipped it over. A large rune had been painted on the back in black ink.

“What does this mean?” He asked. He’d never seen it before.

“I saw it in a dream,” Clary said. “I was terrified of something, and that rune appeared. I drew it on my arm, and I wasn’t afraid anymore.”

“Why did you paint it?” She looked him in the eye.

“Because you’re fearless,” She said. “You may not think so, but I do. I don’t have the guts to do half the things you’ve done for yourself, and your family.” Again, Alec was speechless. That time, Clary decided to hand him his drink.

“Thank you,” He said. “This is...it’s nice. I love it.”

“Good,” Clary smiled. “Because you’re getting another one next year.” She laughed and walked away, leaving Alec to shake his head and tuck the book under his arm.

The festivities went on for hours, like Izzy intended. There was an opening session, in which Alec received a multitude of gifts. He had enough clothes, shoes, books, and gift cards to satisfy him until his fiftieth birthday. Shortly after that, everyone gathered around to sing as Izzy and Jace carried a four-tier cake over to him. It was covered in blue and white fondant, decorated with elegant black swirls. There were small arrowheads made of sugar lining the top tier, and a handful of sparklers glowing in the center .

There wasn’t anything in the world he could’ve wished for, but he shut his eyes and blew the sparklers out anyway.

Three hours and a heartfelt toast later, the party came to a blissful end. Alec stood by the door, thanking all the guests for coming as they made their way out. When the last of them had gone, he noticed Izzy, Jace, Clary, and Simon huddled together, talking excitedly.

“What’s going on?” He walked over to them.

“Nothing,” Jace said. “We were just, uh-”

“Going to bed!” Clary yawned. “I’m tired. Are you tired Jace?”

“I am,” He nodded quickly. “I’m beat. That was some party.”

“I’ve seen you train for twelve hours straight without using a stamina rune, but you’re tired after partying for less than six hours?” Alec quirked an eyebrow.

Liar.

“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one getting old around here,” Jace grabbed Clary’s hand to pull her away. “Goodnight! Happy birthday!” Alec watched the two of them walk off, giggling.

“I better head out too,” Simon piped up. “By the way, did you like the moon lamp I got you? I know you hunt demons, so you’re not afraid of the dark, but you seem like the type to enjoy reading by moonlight.”

“Yes, I like it,” Alec said slowly. Maybe if he stared long enough, he could get Simon to crack and tell him what was going on.

“I should go,” He said. “The sun will be up in a few hours.”

“Funny,” Alec said dryly. “I didn’t think the sun was an issue for you anymore.” Simon’s eyes widened at his error, but Izzy came to his rescue.

“It’s not,” She said. “But he’s got his van parked in a sketchy area. He has to move it before someone breaks in.”

“Actually, I parked out front by the-”

“Goodnight Simon.” Izzy cut him off. She was smiling when she said it, but Alec caught the urgency in her voice.

Simon made use of his vamp speed and disappeared as soon as the words left her mouth.

“Finally,” Izzy sighed, holding her hand out. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going now?” Alec let her lead him down the hall.

“I’m taking you to your other gift,” She explained. They stopped in front of his bedroom, and she reached up to remove his tie, then folded it into a makeshift blindfold.

“Izzy,” Alec warned, leaning away. “What’s going on?”

“Would you stop moving and trust me?” She smacked his arm before pulling him down so she could tie it around his head, covering his eyes. “Perfect. Now, give me your hand.” Alec reached out until their fingers touched, and caught her hand in a vice grip.

He heard her opening the door, and took a deep breath. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon reached his nostrils, and he took a tentative step forward.

“Keep going,” Izzy chuckled, releasing his hand. He took two more steps.

It was strange. He’d been coming in and out of this room since he was a child, and assumed he knew it like the back of his hand, yet he felt like he’d trip over his own feet walking in with his eyes covered.

“Almost there,” Izzy sounded farther away. “Just a little closer.”

Alec took exactly three steps before he heard the door shut, followed by the click of a lock, and stiffened. The door didn’t lock from the outside. That meant he wasn’t alone.

Invisible hands loosened the tie from around his eyes, and he gasped when the material fell away.

It was his room, but he hardly recognized it. The plain black comforter had been replaced with a deep red one, and large golden pillows. There were at least a dozens candles placed around the room, and their wax didn’t seem to be melting, despite the flicker of flames. Countless red and white rose petals littered the floor. He whirled around with a smile on his face as Magnus touched his hand.

“How long have you been here?” He asked.

“All night,” Magnus said, reaching up to move a strand of hair out of Alec’s face.

“Really? I didn’t see you.” In fact, Alec hadn’t thought of Magnus since Izzy had come to help him get dressed.

“I’m a warlock,” Magnus winked. “I’m a lot better at hiding than you are.” Alec wanted to say something, but his words failed him.

Magnus was standing there in a blue silk shirt, and black dress pants. His skin was golden and glowing in the candlelight, and he wasn’t using a glamour to hide his eyes. Alec loved looking into them more than anything else in the world, and as much as he wished Magnus wouldn’t hide them, he’d never ask him not to. It made it that much more special when he decided to show them.

“What did you wish for?” Magnus asked.

“Nothing,” Alec said. “When I was younger, I was constantly wishing I was happier, but now, I don’t need to.” Magnus stilled and let Alec’s words sink in.

He may have lived for hundreds of years, but there was no way to get used to someone telling you how happy you’ve made them.

“Close your eyes,” He said softly. Alec complied, and Magnus stepped closer to wrap his arms around his waist.

When their lips finally touched, it wasn’t gentle, or teasing like previous kisses. This one was hot, fiery, passionate, and demanding. For a second, Alec wanted to pull away before he lost himself, but his senses had been seduced, and he could no longer think straight. Magnus was the one to break the kiss, leaning away so there was a millimeter of space between them.

“Happy birthday, Alexander.” Magnus whispered slowly, savoring every syllable. Alec smiled, feeling his heart flutter at the sound of his voice as he placed a hand on either side of his face.

He never cared for his full name unless it was coming from the lips of the man he loved with every fiber of his being.

Alec leaned in to kiss him again, and his entire world melted away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. His hand rested below his ear, his thumb caressing his cheek as their breaths mingled. Magnus ran his fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and he could feel Alec’s heart beating against his chest.

Magnus snapped his fingers, and even with closed eyes, Alec knew the room had been plunged into darkness, as all the candles had gone out. He began walking backwards until he felt his bed behind him, and smiled before spinning to push Magnus onto it.

The door would remain locked, sealed with the help of a sturdy lock and a hint of magic. They’d spend hours, twisting into each other like vines, bursting at the seams with love and happiness, and wouldn’t come up for air until the next day, long after the sun had risen.

It was a very happy birthday indeed.

#Shadowhunters #Alec Lightwood #Magnus Bane #Malec #Isabelle Lightwood #Simon Lewis #Jace Herondale #Clary Fairchild #Writing

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trashartandmovies · 4 years ago

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Berlinale Film Festival 2021, Industry Event, Day 1

We all knew the 71st Berlinale would be different, but who’d have guessed we’d be given a twofer? At this point, the juries for the Competition, Encounters, Shorts, and Generations sections have all handed out their awards. These juries got to watch the films in their respective categories on the big screen. Meanwhile, the press were given the opportunity to screen these movies at home, as well as the films in the Berlinale Special, Panorama, Forum and Forum Expanded sections, as well as the six films making up the Perspektive Deutsches Kino category and episodes from the six television shows included in Berlinale Series. (The always excellent Retrospective section is only screening during the summer.) Altogether, around 150 at-home screenings were made available to the press. We had five days to watch them. I was able to watch 22 of them. This is Part One.

———

I’m sure everyone covering the festival is hoping that the Summer Special, in mid-June, will go smoothly and we’ll be able to catch at least a fraction of the movies we weren’t able to see. (For geo-blocking streaming reasons, a few films in the lineup weren’t available at all in my geo-region. Including two in the Competition: the FABIAN adaptation and Daniel Daniel Brühl’s directorial debut NEXT DOOR.) Usually, the press is given a week ahead of the festival to check out the Panorama, Forum and Generations titles. One assumes it’s so that audiences may get some recommendations on these lower-profile movies in the inevitable situation when all the high-profile films are sold out. Will this happen in the summer? Unless I missed a press release, the details around the Summer Special are still a bit vague. Rightfully so, since we’re still living in week-by-week uncertainty as far as lockdown measures go.

All we can do now is cross our fingers and hope for a chance to get a look at some of the these titles, because when presented with the challenge of covering a 150-movie lineup over just five days, you have to make some obvious decisions. I suspect many people did what I did — try to watch all the Competition titles and get in a few Encounters, Specials, some shorts and hold out hope for one or two stray Panoramas or Forums. To make matters more heartbreaking, the press screenings went like this: every morning at 7:00 AM, you’d get an impossibly long list of films to watch until 7:00 AM next morning. You’d get a few Competition titles, a few Encounters and Specials, and a deluge of films from the other categories. For many films, all you could do is look at the title, nod, and say to yourself, hopefully we’ll meet again soon, because there’s no way I can fit a sixth movie in today without losing my mind.

(Now there was a wrinkle added to this plan. Over the weekend of March 6 - 7, the press could screen the award winners that got announced on Friday. But it was difficult to try and take this into consideration in any strategic way.)

———

Like most film festivals, Berlinale usually kicks things off with a star-studded opening night movie that’s usually too mainstream for the critics. With no red carpet to be concerned with this year, that wasn’t the case. Instead, on Day One, the closest to a big movie star name was Iain Glen (Game of Thrones). Glen isn’t the lead in Tim Fehlbaum’s TIDES, shown in the Berlinale Special program, but he does play a key role as an astronaut who’s landed back on Earth, generations after human had mostly left the increasingly inhabitable planet. Humans have been living in a space colony called Kepler, but everyone ended up sterile, so missions are being sent back to Earth in the hopes that they can once again live there and get their reproductive groove back.

That’s the underlying story of TIDES, and it’s just one element that will likely feel very familiar to anyone who’s well-versed in post-apocalyptic cinema. The color palette is stark, with muted colors. The landscape is barren, this one with lots of water, rather than the desert locales of Mad Max. In fact, the notorious WATERWORLD came to mind more than once while watching TIDES. There’s even a doll in the film that looks just like Dennis Hopper’s character in that film, eye patch and everything. That little detail may be one of the most interesting things about the film.

The main character of TIDES is another astronaut, played with a committed intensity by Nora Arnezeder. She crash lands on Earth, is held captive by central casting post-apocalyptic scavengers, and eventually tries to track down a McGuffin that will let her contact Kepler and report back that there are people reproducing on Earth. Meanwhile, she also suspects that something might remain of the previous mission that was comprised of her father and Iain Glen.

The main attraction here is Fehlbaum’s use of stunning landscapes and practical locations, like a beached industrial ocean liner that serves as inspiration for one of the primary sets. The art design and costumes are all exceptional, while the acting and photography are all decent enough. But it never does much with the conspiracy it tries to entertain us with. Its attempts at being thrilling look good, but can’t help but feel like pretty standard stuff at this point. It’s worth noting that one of the film’s producers is Roland Emmerich, a man who knows a thing or two about making generic high concept action pictures. Some things, like the art design and the pleasingly diverse and international cast, set TIDES apart. But the story is far less inspired.

Faring better were the Day One Competition titles. I started with MEMORY BOX, a lively picture wherein a daughter gets to better understand her mother when a box of the mom’s old teenage diaries and correspondence ends up on their doorstep. (This mother-daughter connection is essentially the same theme that Céline Sciamma’s PETITE MAMAN covers in a different, more sci-fi, fashion.) As the daughter, living in a nice house in Montreal, digs into her mother’s old journals, scrapbooks and tape recordings, the film travels back to 1980s Beirut through the eyes of her teenage mom. It makes these trips back in time through some pretty cool moments of collage-like animation — putting scrapbook pages into motion and diving into photographs and contact sheets that come alive. Plus, the soundtrack is killer, full of lively 80s post punk like Killing Joke, The Stranglers and Blondie.

There’s romance, the trauma of war, a strong refugee story, and a poignant tale of cross-generational understanding. The kicker is that it’s very autobiographical, with the film mirroring co-director Joana Hadjithomas’s own story of corresponding with her friend in Paris while Beirut was falling down around her. These journals are backed up by old photographs taken in Beirut from the other co-director, Kahil Joreige. Like last year’s fascinating BLOODY NOSE, EMPTY POCKETS, and this year’s A COP MOVIE, Berlinale movies are continuing to find success in blurring the line between documentary and narrative fiction. The movie has a little trouble maintaining momentum all the way through, but I loved the experimentation on display here, and the unique ways it tells its story. It helps that MEMORY BOX really sticks the landing at the end.

Next up was ICH BIN DEIN MENSCH, or I’M YOUR MAN — another film, like many in recent years, interested in the ethics behind artificial intelligence and robots with emotions. Think of it as a romantic comedy version of BLADE RUNNER, or an updated version of the forgotten-by-time Ann Magnuson and John Malkovich vehicle MAKING MR. RIGHT. This one, based on a recent short story by Emma Braslavsky, is directed by Maria Schrader, who recently helmed the popular Netflix series Unorthodox (she’s also a veteran film and TV actress, from Tatort and Deutschland 86 to AIMEE & JAGUAR). Schrader continues to prove that she has a good eye for framing and storytelling. The movie doesn’t always escape the problem that many German movies continue to struggle with, which is that they often feel like a good TV movie rather than a work of cinema, but it manages better than most.

The general idea is that Maren Eggert plays Alma, a researcher who is assigned the task of spending a couple weeks with a new personal companion robot named Tom, played by the dreamy-eyed Dan Stevens. Alma is, of course, a completely rational-minded person who is happy to just get through the two weeks with as little interaction with Tom as possible. In her mind, it’s an impossibility that a piece of technology could fulfill a human being’s needs. Of course, as each day goes by, Tom continues to surprise her and wear down her defenses.

It’s a pretty well-worn story by now. The issues that get raised over the course of the movie are some that Star Trek: The Next Generation was dealing with on a regular basis (Tom is similar to Data, though Stevens doesn’t need any special contact lenses), but there are some interesting wrinkles here. Few movies have looked at this subject from the female perspective. And if there’s one that that this year’s Berlinale truly excelled at, it’s offering a wide variety of movies by female directors and/or with female leads. We’ve covered three movies that fit that criteria already, and many more will come. What’s more, Maren Eggert gives us a character who’s at an age where she’s wrestling with the question of whether or not her child-bearing days are behind her. When’s the last time Hollywood dealt with that subject? So, while Alma starts off as a very emotionally distant, academic type, and the best thing about the movie is uncovering her past and getting to understand why she has put up so many walls. I’m not sure it does much with the subject of AI or robot companions, but it does provide a charming odd-couple story and I don’t have any complaints with Eggert winning the festival’s best actress award.

The nightcap on Day One was INTEURODEOKSYEON, or INTRODUCTION, the newest film by the prolific Korean auteur Hong Sangsoo. At last year’s Berlinale, Sangsoo was also in the Competition with the excellent THE GIRL WHO RAN, and he doesn’t disappoint with INTRODUCTION. Ironically enough, if you’re unfamiliar with Hong Sangsoo and don’t know where to start — understandable given the nearly 30 films he’s directed in the past 25 years — INTRODUCTION ain’t a bad way to start. It’s not his best work, but it’s pretty damn good, and a very accessible entry-point into the man’s style and thematic interests. And it barely cracks the 60-minute mark, so you’re not committing to much.

This one ping-pongs between a young man, Youngho, and a young woman, Juwan, both trying to figure out what to do with their lives. Juwan wants to study fashion in Berlin, Youngho wants to become an actor. Both run into problems with these pursuits — some of which are out of their control. In Youngho’s case, it leads to a hilariously drunken dinner confrontation with Ki Joo-bong, who may or may not be playing a version of himself, since he’s only credited as “Old Actor.” The esteemed Korean actor Joo-bong has appeared in Park Chan-wook films, SAVE THE GREEN PLANET, as well as few of Sangsoo’s other films and some 70 other movies. In INTRODUCTION, his character is revered by every other person he meets. And his advice to Youngho is an eruptive highlight in a movie that’s otherwise pretty subtle.

Subtlety is often Sangsoo’s thing, but the emotions he leaves you with tend to be pretty strong. This is his magic. He writes very realistic, dialog-driven scenes that, on their own, are nuanced and deceptively simple. But these quiet scenes build up to an ending that makes everything come together in a profound way. Even if you’re familiar with Sangsoo’s work, INTRODUCTION may come across as slight, or a minor work in the maestro’s deep catalog, but I found it’s pleasures to be more immediate than usual. To my knowledge, no one is writing screenplays like this. The way he reveals characters, develops them, and draws connections through casual lines of dialog, sometimes nested deep within a conversation, is practically his trademark move, and it’s never not remarkable. It demands your attention and then rewards it at the end. His technique is patient, confident and hugely sophisticated. The only problem I see is that, given his track record of releasing one or two movies a year, his talent is in danger of being taken. Don’t be one of those people.

#Berlinale 2021 #Hong Sangsoo #Introduction #I'm Your Man #Tides #Memory Box

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coldtomyflash · 8 years ago

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What is your take on Barry and Joe's relationship before the Flash powers? We know Joe loves him, but the issue of Barry's father's innocence looks like it had been a sore spot between them for a while. Do you think Joe resented any of his efforts to find the real killer (he made a comment about Barry making people think he raised a weirdo or something in the first episode)? He's also called Barry son, but he doesn't seem at the same level as Iris or Wally, like losing them would be worse.

Oh man I forgot I never responded to this. This ask is actually what spawned me thinking about Barry’s characterization / narrative arc recently.

Man, their relationship is complicated, IMO. And I’ve gotta preface this with saying: I love Joe West. He’s one of my favorite characters on the show. He’s one of my favorite characters to write. People say I make him a sort of villain in some of my fics but if I do, it’s not from a place of dislike but from a place of recognizing that Joe West is a goddamn realist who’ll do anything for his kids but damn if he isn’t also just human.

So that being said... YES. I think there was resentment and exhaustion from both sides for a long time. I’ll lay out my headcanons on this, with some tangential canon evidence.

First off, you’ve got Joe bringing home his daughter’s bff who is now traumatized. Probably a knee-jerk decision but he sees that kid on the crime scene and he knows him, knows this family, and he doesn’t know what else to do because he’s seen a lot of shit, and he’s tired, and he’s a single dad and shit’s piling up but this? Things like this aren’t supposed to happen. Not in his neighborhood with people he knows and a kid he’s probably had over for supper more than once. Not with Dr. Allen and his wife.

He knows that’s not how the world works, and that evil doesn’t stop at an invisible line between his home and anywhere else in the world, but even for him, this case was rough.

So he takes in this traumatized kid, and he does his goddamn level best to be patient with him. He gets that the kid is going through hell. He gets that he needs to process, and that denial is a natural part of grief and loss. So if he’s in denial about what happened, and made up a story that makes it easier for him to cope, Joe’s gonna accept that and just help him out. Accept that Barry’s going to do things like run to Iron Heights and scare him half to death because he misses his dad and he’s still in denial and he’s just a kid. He lost his mom and his dad that night, just in a different way, and Joe gets it.

So he gives Barry a talking to and establishes firm boundaries but he starts to allow the kid visitation access to his dad because maybe it’ll help him come to terms with things. His dad can’t hurt him from prison, after all. Joe knows how dangerous manipulation can be, but he keeps an eye on their visits and it seems okay. He hates Henry Allen for putting him, Barry, all of them through this, for being such a damn snake in the grass, but he accepts that Barry needs to see this man if he’s going to move on, and is going to keep running away if Joe doesn’t let him do this.

He makes concessions. He tries. He raises Barry like he’s his own, and loves him like he’s his own.

But years are starting to pass and Barry’s not really processing it any better than he was at 11. He’s still holding to the fabricated story about lightning that he made up, and people are starting to look at him weird when he talks about things. The kid’s been bullied enough and lost so many friends after what happened, got branded in a way that ain’t fair, and he’s kept a stiff upper lip through so much of it, as much as a kid can.

But after those first few psych visits in the first months which Joe let go by the wayside because Barry was adjusting to life in his home and back at school, if sullen and angrier than he used to be, Joe’s starting to wonder if they should’ve kept it up. Barry’s getting in fights at school and defending his father still and has a trigger temper.

So Joe sends him back to a psychologist. And then another. And probably another. The social worker on Barry’s case thinks Joe is doing great, but Barry hates every counsellor and therapist he sees and starts to clam up and hide things more again. He actually leaves town under false pretences and pretends he’s on a school trip for his AP science class when he’s actually tracking down a lead on an ‘impossible’ thing. Joe doesn’t even know it was all a lie until he gets a call from the school, and then of course it’s a matter of panicking and finding Barry and finding out what the hell he was doing leaving down and why.

Barry agrees to stop his behavior. He stops talking about his dad being innocent, agrees to stop doing crazy things and just altogether stops talking about his dad aside from his monthly visit. He barters for an end to the psychologists if he can keep his behavior up, and Joe agrees.

Barry learns to hide more, especially hiding his anger behind smiles. It works so well he sometimes forgets just how much anger he ever had, and his moods vacillate between sullen and chipper, but it’s an ‘improvement.’

Joe finds a scrapbook under his bed one day and it’s full of newspaper clippings and ‘evidence’ for things related to his father’s case and to other strange and unexplainable occurrences. Thankfully, no bus tickets tucked between the pages, so Joe debates even bringing it up -- he was just cleaning Barry’s room because it stunk, he wasn’t actively trying to snoop -- but eventually has to when Barry has one of his moods.

They really have it out. Iris hates seeing them like this. Barry tries to run away again but Iris stops him at the bus station, in tears, and Barry feels like an ass. She shouldn’t have to be the peacekeeper between them. He caves first, then, and Joe tears up when they hug and make up. Joe feels like such an ass, but he’s drowning and doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how else to help this traumatized kid.

Barry’s grades are top notch. He uses them as leverage for Joe to let him leave town to track down a lead properly. Joe knows he’s still going after that stuff, and he hates it a little, but Barry’s a good kid. Doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, barely has any friends. He gets Barry a flip phone and makes him check in almost hourly, but he lets him go to Opal City for the weekend, and a few months later, all the way to Coast City. No way he’s letting his kid go to Gotham or Bludhaven though.

He’s got another issue at home, which is that Iris is pointing out how damn unfair it is that Barry gets to go on adventures alone and he gets her a cellphone to even the pot but he knows it’s not enough. He’s told her under no uncertain terms that she’s not allowed to become a cop, and Barry’s talking about maybe being a CSI one day. It’s a playing field he can’t level. He loves Barry but he’d never ever forgive himself if anything happened to Iris. Barry has always been a stubborn little brat who pushed himself outside the orbit that Joe could protect him in, and suffered more before he came into Joe’s house than Joe suspects he’ll ever suffer again (Joe would be wrong about that, but he can’t yet imagine how). He can still protect Iris, so he comes to terms with the fact he treats them differently, and waits for them to as well.

He starts to call Barry ‘son’ long before he even realizes he’s doing it. He has been for years, by this point. Barry’s never called him ‘dad’ or anything close to it, but when he realizes he’s calling Barry ‘son’, he notices the way it makes the kid’s heart swell, so he keeps doing it, and neither of them ever comment on it.

Barry goes off to college with a ton of scholarships and a bit of leftover cash from his father’s house. Criminals don’t lose everything, even in jail. Henry, via some lawyers, sold the old place and had a lot to pay in taxes and legal fees, but what he didn’t lose went to taking care of Barry and putting away a nest egg for his college fees.

Joe almost wonders, sometimes, if Barry could be right about him. Not about his crazy vision of a man in lightning, but of the fact that Henry wasn’t the one who killed Nora. But there was no one else, no other evidence, and no motive for anyone besides Henry. It was an open-shut case, and he has to believe in the hard truths of reality. It he let himself think like Barry, he’d never make a half-decent cop, let alone have made detective as young as he did.

Barry’s sunshine smile is brighter all the time, and so is Iris’s. It wasn’t all bad. Mostly good. Mostly family dinners and fun games nights and taking the kids out to a movie, having a son to teach how to shave and how to drive and how to throw a football. It was mostly good, even if it was hard, sometimes.

But it’s still exhausting when Barry’s spending his college weekends traipsing across the country to track down Big Foot instead of coming home for a family meal. It’s still tiresome to hear him talk, more candid again and Joe’s trying not to crush that, about this blog that he started and how he’s meeting people ‘online’ who think like he does. He doesn’t approve, especially not of people validating Barry’s very warped perception of reality, and has to be the asshole who reminds him he’ll never make it into the force as a CSI if he keeps on with shit like that.

Barry doesn’t stop, but he does get quieter about it. Joe notices he’s filled out that scrapbook about his dad’s case a lot more when he visits his college dorm. He doesn’t comment. Barry moved out so fast, as soon as he started college, whereas Iris was happy to save money and avoid the dorms. She took a year off to work and figure out what she wanted, to enjoy life and do a bit of travelling now that she was old enough that Joe would let her, and found her own legs and path in a different way. He couldn’t be prouder. He worries, but knows he doesn’t have to worry with her, not in the same way.

Barry eventually graduates, does the grad school work required to be a CSI, and does it all fast, really. He’s on the fast track for sure, completely dedicated. Joe knows his motives. They piss him off. Being a CSI should be about helping people, not just helping his father. And Barry says that, he does, but Joe’s seen his murder scrapbook and that stubborn, fervent look he gets in his eye whenever Henry Allen comes up in conversation. Joe’s taken to trying to stamp it out again, not because he wants to see Barry hurt, but because he doesn’t. Barry can’t talk and think like that in a police precinct. He’ll be eaten alive, and he’s already gonna be the youngest one there and an outcast just because.

And maybe... maybe Joe resents it, a bit. How the man who murdered his mother still gets to have the role and title of ‘dad’ for Barry despite everything, and how Joe’s raised him now for longer than Henry did, really, and doesn’t get that. He thinks it’s petty of himself. As a parent, as someone who sees himself as Barry’s dad, he won’t ever let it interfere with doing what’s best for Barry. He loves that kid more than life itself. But as a person... it smarts. And he’s tired of it, eleven years later. He wonders what he did wrong, that Barry’s view of events became so entrenched. He wonders what he could have differently. Should he have been firmer, harsher? Pushed the therapy more? Kept him away from Henry more staunchly?

It’s not worth thinking about, really. His murder scrapbook has become a murder board hiding behind papers in his lab. Yes, ‘his’, because he doesn’t play nice with the other CSIs. Joe had to snort when he noticed. Barry had his smiles down pat but that sullen resentful attitude was still there and it wasn’t long before the tension caused him to look for a new workspace. The Captain was already exhausted by the kid, and Joe was catching heat for it, something creating tension between him and Barry too. He was damn good at his job but not the most reliable and not the easiest to share a space with.

The Captain gave in and Barry rewarded with him with one of those blinding smiles and Joe threw his hands in the air in defeat. He wasn’t the only one to cave to Barry, at least. The kid got to retrofit a filing storage room with a leaky ceiling into a new lab. It was an old lab really, just no one had used it in over 10 years. But he moved all the boxes to the basement and helped the girls down there organize them and cleaned it out and made it his own.

And yeah, they still had arguments. Barry ran off to goddamn Starling City on one of his ‘impossible’ stories and damn if the kid didn’t lie his way on to an investigation. Joe was ready to kill him for that. The Captain was liable to suspend him. He didn’t, but it was a near miss. For such a good kid, Barry sure had a problem with authority.

But then he got struck by a bolt of lightning and everything changed.

Joe’s whole world stopped. His kid, his son--

He was already grieving Chyre, his partner, when he got the news. His partner and his son in one night-- was there really no God? Not one who loved Joe West, he was suddenly certain.

Hope felt painful. So much was suddenly put in perspective. He knew he loved Barry as a song but this, losing a child...

Except he wasn’t dead.

He didn’t trust Harrison Wells for a second, the man who caused this, but he let the man take his son because it felt like the only option and Joe spent months grieving what happened. He knew he shouldn’t blame himself but he was supposed to protect his kids. Protect that kid-- the stubborn little fool who always needed it so much more than he’d ever admit. The one Joe let get away with so much more because he’d suffered enough to earn it, and it couldn’t be worse than what he’d already--

Losing nine months was bad. Barry waking up and acting as if nothing had happened was a blessing and a curse. He didn’t understand how much had changed, or what Iris and Joe had been through, the long hours, the despair and exhaustion. He was right as rain and bright and whole and Joe prayed again for the first time in 40 weeks, to give thanks.

But he felt responsible, too. A renewed sense that he had to protect Barry, both from the world, the impossible that came in the form of lightning strikes, and from himself. His own delusions about this father, still cropping up, maybe more than ever.

Except.

Except then he saw his son chase off after a tornado in a streak of lightning and the world literally tilted on its axis.

And it took an argument, about powers, about Joe’s role in Barry’s life, and some apologies and hugs on both sides, in their own way, but Joe came around to realizing that...

That the only mistake he’d really made was not believing Barry for all those years before now. It keeps him up at night. There’s nothing he can do about it now, but the world isn’t simple and it maybe never was. And now there’s nothing left to do but try his damn best to protect his kid who’s a superhero, to keep his other kid safe and as far as this mess as possible, and to stop the man who killed Barry’s mother. He owes his son that much, alongside all the unconditional love he has for him.

And their relationship improves dramatically, once they’re on the same page. Barry’s resentment for him, which he knew was there all those years, between the psych visits and the running away and the way Joe always had to be the bad guy... it falls away. Just melts, like it was never there. All it took was telling Barry he believed him. And that smarts, stings a little, really, but he lets it go, too. His son the superhero, who still needs him anyway. That’s gotta be enough.

#joe west #characterization #headcanons #analysis #commentary #i don't touch on his relationship with wally here #just his one with barry and a bit of iris #west family feels #the west family #long post #long post for ts #ahhh this was fun but long to write out whoops #Anonymous #replies

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