#so then an apology is forgone and its really not fair and at times even feels disrespectful

[clonehub]

yeah like. its important for omega to understand that change is a necessary part of life but also its important for the writers to remember that she is a ten year in an unstable environment doing dangerous and deadly things without even, it seems, a consistent source of food or a real bed, and in all that tech dismisses her pain at someone she considered family leaving (right before she genuinely thinks theyve lost their home) so for the conclusion of the episode to be "i responded to Echo's leaving the way I did because I am autistic" and not both that and "but that doesnt excuse the way i spoke to you or treated you (or Wrecker) so I apologize" is getting on me and friends nerves more than just a little

[aclosetfan]

are u still doing the ask game? can i ask for 19 or 20?

for you anon, of course! 20 is actually a really lame two-sentence note that isn't worth anyone's time, so I'll do 19!

19 is a really sad story tbh. I've always really liked the character Sedusa and it kills me that the writers never did more with her. I believe they said the reason why was because they couldn't think of many kid-friendly scenarios to put her in, which is fair lmao.

lol one of my notes for this outline is "this is my dark manifesto to [Sedusa] and it comes off like a bad CW remake," which was written way before the CW show announcement. so not to get a big ego about things, but I totally beat them to the punch. This fic is my only rated M fic (though arguably Acting Normal may also change into M just for its dark themes as well).

This story is adequately tilted "Sedusa" and it follows how a plain jane named Sara became one of Townsville's most notorious villains. The plot's below, though content warning, please don’t read if your triggered by abusive relationships, domestic violence, child abuse, sexual assault/harassment, or gore. The outline won't be detailed (and tbh the actual story won't be heavily detailed either) but i believe that everyone still deserves a fair warning :)

The outline doesn't do the plot justice, but it's all I got so hopefully people just Get It.

CHARACTER NOTES:

Canonically, I believe the Sedusa's character was supposed to represent envy and lust. So, one of the main themes I try to stick with when writing her character is the definition of envy, which is a "feeling of discontented or resentful longing aroused by someone else's possessions, qualities, or luck."

PLOT:

Sara is a sweet and mousy little girl, who tries her best to stay invisible. She's rather plain-looking except for her really beautiful long dark hair. Originally, she's not from Townsville, but somewhere in the "country" where a person could be considered a bumpkin. Sara's a smart young girl, but her intelligence is rather unrefined. She spends most of her time obsessing over greek and Egyptian mythology.

She's from a rather big family, but she's the baby. Her father is abusive. Her mother is neglectful and Sara resents her mother for just standing by while abuse is occurring. To cope, Sara dreams of running away and falls deeper into her mythology obsession--specifically Medusa. Sara feels like Medusa would understand her.

At 16, she runs away to Townsville where she tries to be a hairdresser. With no money, she ends up in a really seedy part of town and the beauty parlor she works for ends up being a front for more illicit activities. She still does hair, but really makes her money as a call-girl of sorts. Just one of those girls who gives handjobs in the back to sad old men. It's easy money (I'm pro-sex work lol so I don't make this a big deal, but she's still a minor and it's wrong), but she's disgusted with herself (and men). At this time, she isn't very good at manipulating men--it's more like they have power over her and it reminds her of her father, only making her angrier and angrier.

It is also of note that while she's working at the Parlor, she encounters Sarah Bellum via tv (Ms. Bellum is just an intern with the Mayor at this point). She's instantly fascinated by this other Sarah and forms an odd (slightly toxic) parasocial relationship with her. Sara thinks it's amazing that Sarah went to school and is just so glamourous. Ms. Bellum is really everything Sara wants to be.

*time skip*

Sara falls in love with some jackass. Still slightly obsessed with Sarah Bellum. Still working at the parlor. Sara feels stagnant and worthless. Her jackass boyfriend and a few of his shitty friends end up attacking Sara and cutting off her hair (which was her prized possession). She gets away, but not totally unscathed.

In the process of running away, she bumps into a mysterious man who promises He can fix whatever is troubling her. The mysterious man manipulates an affirmative answer out of Sara and he "fixes" her problem. The man is HIM and he transforms her into the woman we all know as Sedusa (who goes by Ima when disguised).

“And what is it that you want?” HIM tsked, almost sounding bored.

She looked back at the mirror, at her broken reflection and lipstick smeared down her face. With a sore, croaking voice she sneered, “I want my fu-fucking hair back.”

Behind her, the entity smiled, Its facing splitting wide into two, “Oh, now that I can do.”

She watched through the shattered glass how It—HIM—snapped its odd monstrous claw. HIM’s smile grew more grotesque, as a thin bead of sweat began to break out on her forehead.

“This might hurt a little bit,” the entity giggled as she began to hyperventilate, “but what is that you little humans say?" HIM paused, watching her with a tilt of Its head as pain shot through her temples, "Oh, that’s right—”

She gasped and then screamed, dropping to her knees as she clutched at her head. Something wiggled underneath her scalp, pushing harder and harder to break against the resistance of her skin. It felt as if something was pressing against her brain, trying to carve away at her skull.

“—beauty is pain.” HIM growled, appearing next to her so Its voice—now low and baritone—was right in her ear, and It grasped her by the chin forcing her to watch the mirror as snake-like tendrils sprouted from her skull. She cried out at the sight and her body trembled with the pain.

One black, oily, twisted snake after another shot out of a bloody crater on her head. She tried her best through the pain to shake HIM off—to look away—but It held her still with a twisted laugh. She thrashed and howled in agony as the blood poured down her face in rivets. HIM didn't let go. Instead, HIM forced her still, grabbing her by the chin so she'd peer directly into the broken mirror.

Sara paled right before her very eyes, from a peachy skin tone to a white paste. She tried to blink away the tears that wouldn’t stop welling in her eyes—the green of them becoming more acidic with every passing second.

“The fun should be ending soon.” HIM giggled again, Its voice back to a soprano, but she was too forgone to hear him, as her eyes began to lull into the back of her head.

Eventually, when the transformation is complete, we see this:

Sara had stayed collapsed on her knees after HIM vanished into thin air. She stared with wide eyes as blood, sweat, and tears dripped onto and rolled off her thighs. She hardly paid attention to her surrounding, all she could do was listen. She listened to her hair. She listened to the constant moving, living, mass that slithered around her head, neck, and shoulders. The coils almost seemed to be cooing at her, comforting her through her pain, offering sweet apologies for what they had done. They promised her nothing bad would ever happen again. They were a dangerous shield forged from her own body to protect her.

Her body. A vessel for this odd new life.

“Heh.” A deranged giggle escaped her mouth, “Heh. Heh ha—hahaha!” She laughed until her throat burned and tightened, her tears finally drying.

It was instantaneous. It was powerful. Sara had never known love before, but she loved them. She loved every single one of them.

And here she had thought she'd never be a mother.

Sara becomes Sedusa--taking inspiration from Medusa, her childhood fascination. She wonders if HIM knew, but she wouldn't bother asking. She feels sexy, powerful, and unstoppable. Her hair has instilled a new confidence in her and she's finally able to stand up for herself. Soon, she realizes that she's an "exotic" beauty and has men eating out of her hand. She isn't someone who kills, but if she gets bored (or feels threaten) she will.

Things are going good until the PowerPuff Girls are finally created. When she sees them for the first time, she pities them, especially when they're run out of town. She relates to them for not being loved little girls, but is completely shocked when she finds out they've won the town over. This shock turns into resentment and she decides she'll get even with the girls

Then, cue canon. Sedusa seduces the Professor. We see what happens in that episode plus a little more. Sedusa takes out a lot of her repressed childhood trauma on the girls and is plain awful to them. By the time her stint with the Professor is over, she hates them all.

Then, there's the episode with Bellum. Bellum becomes the Athena to Sedusa's medusa. Bellum is still this elevated person in Sedusa's mind, and it only makes sense to Sedusa that she should become Bellum. To become Bellum, Sedusa seduces Bellum and they end up having a brief relationship. (Sedusa pretends to be an intern at City Hall and the two ladies bond over having the same first name). Eventually, Sedusa reveals her plot and the canon events happen. (Bellum is heartbroken over Sedusa).

I'd like to emphasize that Sedusa's relationship with Bellum almost turns her "good," but her hair coils (HIM's curse) prevents her from taking those steps. Her coils prevent close loving relationships--since they're supposed to be shield that keeps people out, preventing any chance that Sedusa's heart may be broken again. [coils represent her inability to heal from the past]

Then we run through a quick montage of her other appearances.

[throughout all of this, I would write how her hair coils are making her more and more insane]

*time skip to after the events of the og show*

This is where my plot can go anywhere. I think Sedusa becomes sloppy, maybe kills a politican. She's spirialing out of control and mad that she can't find any real happiness in her life. I think it'd be interesting to show her interacting with the rrb, not necessarily to show their relationship, but to show how Sedusa would be infuriated that HIM had sons, especially sons who hurt girls for fun ( i.e. the ppg) (a real 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' moment for her). She's also infuriated at HIM for turning her into a monster, so being mad about his "sons" is just an excuse to get even with the entity.

To hurt HIM, she decides to hurt the boys, but the girls interfere. They won't let innocent live be taken, no matter the person's moral alignment. This infuriates Sedusa even more than HIM ever could. Because again, despite all the shitty things that have happened to the Girls, they are still good as opposed to Sedusa, who ended up bad. She doesn't understand why she had to end up the way she did.

However, the girls aren't the people who finally "defeat" Sedusa. Instead, that honor is left to Ms. Bellum (Sedusa's "Athena"), who Sedusa still very much loves in her own sick twisted way. Paralleling the Sedusa/Bellum episode in the og show, the girls (while protecting the boys) are almost defeated by Sedusa until Bellum intervenes. It's revealed that Bellum had a shitty childhood too (again enforcing the parallels/differences between the two women) and believes that it's not too late for Sedusa to change her ways (it’s a real “I’m rotten work” “no it isn’t. Not if it’s you” moment) In a moment of mental clarity, where the coils (and by extension HIM) cannot affect her judgement, Sedusa releases the boys and the girls. Sedusa doesn't stay though, like Bellum pleads, she gets scared and runs away. (but does tell Bellum she’d always love her, whatever that’s good for)

[also I decide bellum to defeat sedusa to show that the girls are still to young and that adults should be the ones dealing with other adults] [and bellum has a good track record of doing just that]

Idk if she'd be gone forever, but it's implied that she hasn't been seen in Townsville for a long time. What she gets up to is left ambiguous. She can't be good because of her hair coils, but she doesn't want to be bad. idk I don't want it to have a sad ending, but I don't think it can really be happy.

-----

I try hard to play with the concept of beauty, womanhood, purity, love and how negative/positive responses to trauma affect these concepts. Idk it's really rough and needs to be thought out more, especially the end, but I think Sedusa deserves her own story.

[mypersonmyg]

one more time | pjm

pairing:  jimin x reader

genre: fluff

rating: pg

wc: 906

warnings: n/a

summary: you just don’t understand OR jimin is too distracted to explain

a/n: home stretch *cries*

prompt 29. ? - Time to clear things up! A member of the otp needs something explained.

november drabbles masterlist

main masterlist

“I’m sorry, I just have no idea what you’re saying.” Palm pushes to forehead, your eyes heavy from the strain of constant reads and rereads of foreign material. If it weren’t for frustration long since eating away at your brain, you’d feel bad, your session with Jimin gone far past its limit. 

You insisted he leave you your own over twenty minutes ago, but his demeanor begs insistence and a refusal to leave you without progress. If not for the fact that it’s his job, Jimin hates to see indentation of frown where there should be a breathtaking smile; sessions usually filled with harmonious laughter forgone with the replacement of frustrated groans. 

Though he won’t admit it aloud, Jimin remains occupied on this particular day, this is perhaps one reason for his refusal to abandon ship. He’s been tutoring for the past three semesters, an easy enough occupation in the midst of university, and he met you during his second. Immediately taken by your willingness to learn combined with good natured charm, he never even thought of look back, too enthralled with your presence yet too unsure to make further approach. 

That is until today. Or so he had hoped.

Your relationship has evolved in the past year, weekly sessions in the library somehow transitioning to meets at near coffee shops and eventually your own apartments. You’ve become a facet in his life much like the routine swipe of his hand to hair, so naturally that he hadn’t noticed until it was pointed to him. Taehyung had been instrumental in the enlightenment of Jimin’s deeper affections, not at all unfond of you, quite the opposite, but noting your frequent appearance.

It was following a movie night, impromptu on Jimin’s end, you two closely cuddled when Taehyung arrived home. Your leave was followed by constant teasing until Jimin was pushed to admit the slot in his heart reserved for you. Now he sits rather close, leg bouncing beneath the table as he attempts to explain the assignment before you,  his own mind barely concentrated enough to understand. 

“No, it’s okay, I’m probably not explaining it very well.” 

“No, I’m sure you’re explaining it perfectly, you always do. I guess I’m just not catching on as fast as I normally do.” Your words hold the accusation of a soft scold, hands clenching as you once again scan a page that should well be ingrained in you at this point. Your book is suddenly slammed to a close, pencil tossed aside. “I really can’t do this anymore right now. I’ll pick up again tomorrow and if I still can’t get it I’ll email my professor.”

Jimin watches you shove the contents of your bag before you rise, swinging it over a shoulder tensed from so long hunched over. He follows suit, throat clearing as he finds words adequate for the situation. 

“Yeah, okay...I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help--”

“Jimin, stop apologizing! You’ve helped me so much and, like I said, I’m probably just catching on a little more slowly this time.”  You assure, hand landing gently along his arm, a smile painting your cheeks. 

“Maybe, but I have to admit that I’m a little distracted today.” 

“Oh? You should’ve said something, we could’ve cancelled! And you stayed way over for me, I’m sorry I--”

“By you, I was distracted by you.” His cheeks tint, eyes scanning you for even the smallest of responses. 

“Well how could you now be, I was complaining the whole time. Not exactly easy to ignore.” 

“To be fair you’re always hard to ignore.” 

“Okay, I get it. I try to be less whiny next time,” You chuckle, nudging Jimin before your feet begin to carry you to the door. Jimin remains firmly rooted, your head only turning to him when you realize the lack of a presence accompanying. “You coming?” 

“I...have to ask you something.” 

“Okay…” You slowly make your way back, Jimin being regarded with curiosity whilst his hands begin to clam around the straps of his backpack. “What’s up?” 

“I wish I had some big speech, and maybe I should because wow I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, but I don’t. I guess all you really need to know is that I really like you and I have for a while, as more than a friend.”

“Jimin I--”

“Let me finish, please,” He quickly cuts your words, fully aware that if he stops he’l truly feel the fear eating away at him. “I don’t know, maybe you think it’s weird or you don’t feel the same, but in the hopes that you do...I would really love to take you out sometime.” 

You stand with pause, ensuring those are his last words to avoid interruption. Jimin sighs, buildup of nerves leaving him breathless as he stares, hopeful. 

“Is this why you couldn’t help me with my homework? You were nervous to ask me on a date?” 

“Um...yes?” 

“You goof, I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out for ages!” You grab a hold of his hand, gently pulling him to the exit. “And I’m cashing in now because I’m starving and you really made me think I was just getting dumber or something. Could you please help me with this stupid assignment tomorrow? I’ll be much more prepared for a proper date when I’m not so stressed.” 

“I-yeah- I think I can do that.” 

[joonclouds]

The Price Of A Wish | 1

The third time you meet Jung Hoseok, you realise the last ten years has done nothing to the way you were drawn to him, with a force as sure and inescapable as gravity.

CHAPTER INDEX

Hoseok x Reader 

Genre: Idol!Hoseok, Chaebol!Reader, OT7 bangtan show up too, Slow Burn, Unrequited feelings, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Fluff, (we might include some other things later let’s see)

Warnings: None, but emphasis on the Slow in slow burn.

____________

The official opening night of your art conservatory marks your first independent venture from your family’s Aurarts Corporation. The press and public fawn over you, commending your initiative to increase representation opportunities for budding artists. You wanted this place to celebrate all types of art.

The opening ribbon is cut, champagne, popped. Compliments were given on the new space - one with high ceilings, a fully functional theatre, practice rooms. Crafting studios with expansive skylights and clean white walls wait to house artists and their masterpieces. Mirrors have been strategically placed to make the main hall and foyer look even bigger than it is.

The silver gown and warm smile you wear belies the eighty-hour work week you’ve had leading up to today and the way your feet scream in protest at the new satin Manolos that haven’t yet been seasoned by wear. Maybe you eat more than your fair share of tiny canapes, but you are the perfect hostess - you laugh, shake hands, exchange jokes - always sincere, never past the point of oversharing.

So yes, it’s an important night. It has to be perfect. But that isn’t why you’re nervous.

You feel a warm hand on your elbow and you’re pulled into a gentle hug. It startles you, but once you catch an eyeful of colourful prints that smell like a woody bergamot, you relax.

“Hey, ____.”

“Tae! I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Who will save you from all this social interaction otherwise?”

Mirroring Taehyung’s smile, you return his embrace. Though it’s not till you’re pulling away that you realise what’s different about him tonight.

“Your hair!” Your fingers come up to touch the strands at the nape of his neck which, previously bright blue, are now an ashy silver.

Taehyung grins. “You like? I did it to match your dress.”

The gray hair makes his skin glow.

“I love. It suits you.”

You give him an approving once over. Taehyung’s style is eclectic, to say the least. His hair colour changed depending on his mood, sometimes blue, sometimes pink. A few weeks ago, it was a fire-engine red. On most days, he chooses to dress in a mish-mash of designer jackets, some of which he’d taken a can of spray paint to, baggy cut clothing and odd sandals (rarely covered shoes). But that had never taken away from the fact that he was incredibly good looking - maybe even added to it, if that were possible.

Tonight he’s dashing, in a loose silk shirt with wild paisely patterns tucked into dress pants, and a smattering of silver and gold on his fingers and in his ears.

“Who knew Kim Taehyung actually owns proper shoes?”

He doesn’t say anything, just tilts his heel with a cheeky smile, showing you that he’s not actually wearing proper shoes, or even socks for that matter - just loafers that look like actual shoes in that they had no backing to cover the heel.

“Did you seriously wear bedroom slippers to my grand opening?”

Taehyung laughs and eyes your Manolos skeptically.

“They’re my best pair of Gucci loafers. If I’m going to have to endure all this small talk I’m going to do it comfortably.”

You groan quietly, shifting your weight to your other foot. “Don’t remind me. We’re not even a third through the night.”

Taehyung nabs two glasses of wine from a passing server and you accept one gratefully.

“Ugh - “ he pauses to take a big sip as he scans the crowd. “Remind me again why you invited half of the country to the opening?”

“Marketing says it’s good publicity, ecetera ecetera.” You take a substantial mouthful of wine yourself.

“That’s good publicity?” Taehyung tips his glass to point over your shoulder and you turn in its direction.

The both of you cringe visibly.

“Uh. She’s got a million followers on Instagram?”

He makes a small retching noise in the back of his throat. “She’s taking a duck face selfie in front of the - hey!”

Taehyung quickly gets the attention of a server and shoves him in selfie girl’s direction. “Tell her no flash photography, it’s a real Matisse, for fuck’s sakes.”

While Taehyung’s flagging down another server to refill his wineglass and muttering something about how can’t anyone have a shred of respectable gallery etiquette, you’re spacing out a bit.

The soft, unassuming lull of the string quartet sits underneath the rustling of expensive gowns and clinking of glasses. Anyone and everyone who was someone in the entertainment industry was extended an invitation. That tiny ball of anxiety still sits in the base of your gut. It’s like waiting in line, and it’s almost your turn - for what you’re not sure - but not quite yet. Your fingers pick at the thin seam of your dress.

“____.” It vaguely registers that this isn’t the first time Taehyung’s called your name.

You clear your throat quickly. “Sorry. I’m a little tired today. What was it?”

“When was the last time you ate? You better not say yesterday.”

“Don’t look at me like that. I ate.” Technically, not a lie. Stealing the canapes was considered eating.

Taehyung frowns, but he’s sufficiently appeased. “ As I was saying, I saw you chatting with President Kwon earlier. What’d you think of him?”

“I think - ” You suck in a breath through your teeth, taking a moment to find the right words. “He’s competent. Knows the ins and outs of the arts and entertainment businesses. He might be useful so let’s not rule him out yet.”

“Rule him out yet? He’s a big fish though.”

Your expression changes slightly - it’s still a smile, but Taehyung has known you long enough to be able to tell. Its what he likes to call your Politely Disgusted face.

“Like I said. Yet.” You emphasize. “While we were talking, I watched him hand his empty wineglass off to his wife instead of the wait staff. He’s definintely not being friendly to me because it’s his personality.”

He nods in understanding. You were quick on picking up little things like that - you had quite the talent for reading people. “He wants something from you.”

“Bingo. And when we find out what he wants, then we can really - “

A small change in the atmosphere makes you pause. Something’s different.

“_____?”

“Hold on. I’ll be back in a minute, I think someone’s here.” You murmur.

There’s a small hush about the air. It’s less conversation, heavier, quieter with a certain entrancing quality. Whatever it is makes you turn your head and take a few steps towards the main foyer, leaving Taehyung behind in a bit of a confused daze.

Without seeing, you know.

Of course he’s received an invite. But he’s a little late, having missed the opening ceremony. Systematically, you weave through the guests with murmured apologies, that tangle of anxiety bubbling over into something more - trepidation, anticipation, excitement… you can’t tell anymore.

You’re halfway to the main doors when you see him before he sees you.

He’s in a black suit - Dior, by the looks of the nondescript label on the jacket cuff. The bowtie has been forgone in favour of a matching silk neck scarf and the top two buttons of his white shirt have been left undone. His hair is styled such that errant pieces fall boyishly into his eyes as he nods politely to greet the attending press and guests.

Perchance, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in one of the mirrors - cheeks pink with a little flush, eyes wide and shining. It’s unlike you. There’s a tiny curl that’s escaped your bun, but you don’t reach up to smooth it back as you usually would. It looks quite charming, you think.

It can be quite a peculiar experience, to see someone after a long time.

The years make little changes to their appearance, the way they walk, talk, hold themselves, leaving only just enough familiarity for recognition. It’s like a weird sense of jamais vu, recalibrating your memory as you align the two faces - the one you knew, and the one that is.

One thing you know for sure. His face has always been smooth lines and pretty angles. Time has certainly taken those lines and angles, made them smoother, prettier. Made them breathtaking.

He spots you in the crowd threading through it to come stand in front of you. You’re taller now, and in your heels, you don’t have to look up much to meet his gaze. The mirth in his eyes is a little dimmer now, but it’s there and still the same.

“Hi, ____. It’s been a while.” He extends a hand with a smile and you vaguely register the sound of cameras clicking and flashes of light.

It’s not till he glances down almost imperceptibly that you realise your reaction has been left wanting for a second too long. Quickly sliding your hand into his, you smile and perform your part as best you can for the watching eyes that follow.

“Hi,” you breathe. He grips your hand firmly, warmly. “It’s good to see you.”

That short, polite moment is all you get before he’s swept away in the flow of greeting the other guests and influencers who clamber for a photo, but it leaves you with peculiar feeling. Like you’ve missed a step on the stairs and you’re paralysed in a hanging moment of falling and flying at the same time.

The third time you meet Jung Hoseok, you realise the last ten years has done nothing to the way you were drawn to him, with a force as sure and inescapable as gravity.

__________________

 References: 190106 Hoseok  For your enjoyment

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[galaxytale]

mmmm…. i have new thoughts about my ex and i’s situation.

i know i have rambled on here in the past about them. often bitterly and angrily. to be honest, those words came from a place of immense hurt and betrayal. a lot of pain and a lot of complex emotions that i needed to vent out and process. and the way i did this previously was… rather embarrassing and harmful and not good for anyone. but it has been a long year, and i have had much to think about. and my brain does not like to process many of these things in a normal way. i often just use this blog as a place to barf out my thoughts at random so i can work out whats going on in my mind. this doesnt excuse it but i hope it allows for some understanding.

its been a long time since my ex and i broke up. and i just… idk didnt know how to deal properly. but i think about them a lot. obviously. what you see is mostly the negatives. the frustrations and the confusions and the residual aches and pains. mostly because these are what im trying best to understand. i want to understand them, i want to understand their perspective. it frustrates me when i cant understand, and it frustrates me more when i feel as if they couldnt understand me or didnt even try. but i still care for them greatly. which is why i get frustrated. i do not think many people understand this. i want to understand why they hurt me. i want to understand how i hurt them. i want to learn and grow. but to do that i also have to experience and process the anger and frustration i felt towards them. this is what you all see when i ramble and rant.

anyway this is the last time im doing this publicly because honestly this is a stupid way to process stuff this and i figured out something way better. also im just. tired of it. im tired of being angry and being hurt. that doesnt mean itll stop but. yall wont be seeing it.

i still hold many of my previous thoughts and criticisms of them. and i still consider many of these valid and fair. and i still deny ever doing many of the things they accused me of because ive spoken with other people about them - people actually involved in the situation(s), and they have supported and corroborated my side of the story as well as my feelings regarding those various situations.

however i have come to some realizations that i think allow me to better understand parts of their side of it all.

ive realized some things about myself and how my mind functions that have lead me to other realizations. these realizations include that i misunderstood a lot of things they were trying to get me to do, tools they were trying to get me to employ, things that actually would have been helpful to me had i understood. i see now that in some of the cases they were pushing me on and making me extremely uncomfortable with, that they were genuinely trying to be helpful because they cared. because they were trying to help me just as i was trying to help them.

the problem here is that i was not ready for, and did not understand a lot of the new things being pushed at me. much of what they were trying to get me to engage with were therapy techniques and stuff to learn to cope better. unfortunately due to a lot of previous bad experiences with therapy and such techniques i am extremely adverse to and suspicious of therapy and therapeutic settings/techniques. combined with a lot of new information about myself that i needed time to adjust to and process. a lot of it scared me and i needed them to slow down and be gentler with me in this rather than throwing me in the deep end and expecting me to swim.

i misunderstood a lot of the tools they were trying to offer me - how to use them properly and why. i thought i made this obvious that i didnt understand a lot of it and in fact didnt want to engage with a lot of it outright - even though i was willing to try. the issue is i also needed a good example or instruction of what they wanted from me and… well. they did their best, this i know they tried, but it was not enough for me to understand what they really wanted from me.

i now understand that this is likely why they grew frustrated with me. and this also factors into something that ive come to realize and understand about myself - in fact its one of the things they criticized about me most… ive come to understand the true nature of what the thing i did that they hated most was actually. and ive since worked out a solution to it that actually has been shown to be far more effective and efficient in doing what the thing they were criticizing me about most was doing. this took a lot of work and a long time for me to come to the realization of what it was that i needed to do and how it worked. and i needed to be allowed to make this discovery on my own time, at my own pace to be able to accept it as part of how i work.

unfortunately due to a lot of things, i was also quite terrible to them myself. and i recognize this. i recognized it before - i tried my best to fix my understanding of it but i did not know what i didnt know. i did not know, and did not understand, what i now know and understand. but much of my actions were because i was scared, confused, uncomfortable, and dealing with a whole lot of shit outside of our relationship. and i am genuinely and truly remorseful for what i did. i was remorseful back then, and i still am now. i did some bad things and i know this. i speak of it vaguely here because honestly while im just shouting to the void i still know this is a public blog and theres a chance people will actually read this and frankly. i consider it none of their business unless they were involved. i did lash out at them, and i did treat them unfairly.

however i still feel as if they refuse to acknowledge my point of view in much of this, as well as that they lashed out at me and have refused to acknowledge and apologize for it all. i have never heard them say the words “im sorry” for any of the things i consider the worst things they did to me. much of the time they refused to even acknowledge the fact that a lot of it hurt me despite me outright stating such. they also refused to acknowledge that i had repeatedly tried to assert my own boundaries with them and refused to accept a new boundary when it was drawn.

they did a lot of terrible things to me in return. including things that they, themself, accused me of doing to them initially. i still deny these accusations and consider myself completely innocent (at worst, should my own memory really be that faulty, i consider myself only having caused a huge misunderstanding among friends as well as having accidentally fucking up something that left out important context). i feel this way because they would not produce any evidence to prove to me my own actions that would negate the memories i myself actually have as well as the evidence in support of my side of the case that i have. all they could provide was testimony from a person who would not have had direct access to either side of the conversation that they are alleging happened a certain way. a conversation that i, personally, was half of. a conversation that i spoke with the other half about again, after showing them what i was being accused of, who also verified my recollection of the events.

i feel as if they refuse to even consider my perspective. i felt this way for a good amount of the relationship, and i still feel this way. i feel that they refused to communicate with me and ensure that both of us completely understood the other. i feel that they refused to be considerate of my needs and respectful towards me as a person after a certain point. i feel as if they refused to work to compromise with me on many situations, and i feel that they often tried to demand of me many things that were unreasonable, and that they often moved goalposts or failed to deliver on their end of the deal when i still bent over backwards to do something for them.

however. i do also feel that at some point in time, they did genuinely care for me. and i do feel like i would like to apologize for the new places where i realize i caused them undue stress and frustration.

but i also feel that they would not accept this apology for those parts that i now recognize my own hand in without me accepting and apologizing for the narrative that i know is false. additionally… i do not feel as if they would accept or apologize for any of their own parts in the situation. i still feel theyre likely to reject that they hurt me very very deeply, and badly in return.

as much as i would like to start the conversation of potentially working out the issues and reconnecting as friends… i still feel as if they would view this as an impossibility. because i feel they view me as something of a monster, and not as someone who was under immense amounts of stress and pressure and was very confused and scared for months on end.

i recognize its very likely their feelings echo my own. except for the portion about potentially being friends again… i feel as if this is a forgone conclusion to them that it will not be happening.

all this said…

i also want to say this. in hindsight they were right about the tool they gave to me for one of my specific issues. the one they gave me before the start of it all. the one i was extremely adverse to accepting and trying to adapt to. i did not understand what its actual purpose was for at the time, nor did i understand how they actually meant for me to use it. because of some recent things ive learned about myself, as well as have been able to actually accept, i now understand what they meant. and ill admit that they were right about this one. its really helpful now that i understand what i was supposed to do with it.

they were right and i was wrong. simple as. at least, in regards to this one thing.

[flowerfan2]

Part of You Indefinitely - Complete

It’s complete!  The Epilogue, below, brings this story to a close.  Thanks to everyone for reading and commenting.  If you were waiting until the story was done to read, enjoy!

Summary – An accident sends Patrick to the hospital and terrifies David.  What follows changes their relationship in ways David and Patrick never imagined.  A story of love and its challenges.

28k, M, David x Patrick.  Read the Epilogue on A03 or read from the beginning here.

Epilogue

David glances at the tub to make sure Patrick has settled in without drowning, and then heads into the kitchen.  Patrick needs less help getting around these days, but David still gets anxious around issues like slippery bathtubs and potential falls that might aggravate head injuries.  Generally Patrick lets David help him get into the tub, and out again, and David gives him privacy while he’s in there – if he wants it.  Patrick realized early on, though, that having David wash his hair was worth the indignity of getting help with his bath – David is excellent at scalp massage.

They don’t ever mention the safety handrail, although Patrick uses it every time.

Things haven’t been easy, not by a long shot.  They made the mistake of setting an unrealistic goal for Patrick to walk on his own – their one year anniversary – and when it didn’t happen, Patrick sulked for a week, and David tore his hair out wondering whether there was something he could have done differently.  But they’ve continued to see Margo, and dance in the living room, and Patrick’s condition is continually improving.

Now it’s almost two months to the day past their wedding anniversary.  In contrast to David’s grumpy-ass approach to monthly anniversaries when they first started dating, today they will be celebrating.

David is thinking about what to make for a properly festive breakfast – he’s leaning towards pancakes – when Patrick’s voice cuts into his daydreaming.

“David?”  

“Mm?”  He pokes his head into the bathroom.  Patrick has put one of their new products in the bath water, and the room is filling up with an enticing aroma, cedar and citrus and a hint of musk.  

“C’mere,” Patrick says, fixing him with an intent look.

David blinks and focuses on Patrick’s face.  Warmth blooms in his chest.  Patrick’s not just asking him to pass over a towel or bring over a fresh bottle of conditioner.  Patrick wants him.

It’s only a few steps over to the tub, but David can practically feel the swing in his hips as he complies.  He lowers himself to the floor, on his knees, his face next to Patrick’s.  “Need a hand with something?”

It’s just this side of too much, and as intended, Patrick is amused, biting his lip and smiling despite himself.  He seems to mull over his next words, and then just gives a little shrug and grins at David.  “Get in here with me already.”

David grins back and bounces up to his feet, stripping off his t-shirt and pajama pants.  He pauses when he gets to his briefs, just to make sure they’re on the same page, and Patrick reaches up and gives the hem a tug.  “Come on.”

David slides them off and turns to fold his clothes neatly on the counter, knowing full well it puts his naked ass on display for Patrick.  When he turns back, Patrick’s pupils are shot with arousal.  It’s good to know some things don’t change.

“Where do you want me?”  David asks.  They haven’t taken many baths together, at least not the sexy kind.  Luckily even though their small house has only the one bathroom, the renovations they did right before moving in included adding a tub large enough for them both.

“I don’t care, just get in here.”  Patrick breathes out.  

David gets in, but he’s careful not to let his excitement get the best of him.  Even before Patrick’s accident they had some near disasters in the shower.  It’s just a slippery place.

Finally he’s settled, facing Patrick, with his legs on either side of him, knees bent so that he can get close.  Patrick’s legs are mirroring his own, and they’re wrapped around each other, warm skin everywhere.  David ducks to press a kiss to Patrick’s knee, and slides his hands up his thighs to his hips.

Patrick lets out a little sigh and laces his hands around the back of David’s neck, nuzzling at his chin and jaw.  Soon his lips find David’s and they’re kissing, hot and wet.

“Mmm, you taste good,” David says.  “Three cheers for all-natural bath products.”

Patrick laughs against his cheekbone, his wet hands pulling at David’s shoulders.  “You taste good too.”  Patrick squirms closer and David tightens his hold on Patrick’s waist, not wanting him to slip.  Patrick leans in and captures his mouth, a hand sliding down to David’s ass, and David cups his hand around the back of Patrick’s head.  

Patrick nips at David’s bottom lip at the same time as he gives David’s ass a squeeze, and David moans into his mouth.  “Fuck, Patrick,” he breathes out, “what you do to me.”

David is shifting to try to give Patrick’s persistent hand on his ass better access when they hear a voice from the hallway.

“Patrick?  The door was unlocked, your mom is bringing in the—Oh.”

In retrospect, flinging oneself away from one’s intimate partner while in a bathtub is not a good idea.  But all David can think about as he tries to curl up into a ball, his legs still tangled with Patrick’s, is that he will never be able to face Patrick’s dad again.  And how much his elbow hurts from apparently slamming it against the side of the tub.

“Sorry!  Don’t mind me, I know we’re early, thought we’d stop by before – our mistake – we’ll just meet you at the motel, sorry!”  Clint’s voice trails off, and David hears a little snort from Patrick.  A quick glance up confirms that Clint is no longer standing in the doorway to the bathroom, but David can still hardly breathe what with the mortification streaming through his body.

“Babe, are you okay?”  Patrick runs his hands from David’s shoulders down his arms, pausing where David is clutching his elbow.  David feels a warm press to his skin, and his pries his eyes open to see Patrick dropping a kiss to what is likely to be a spectacular bruise.

David reluctantly meets Patrick’s gaze, surprised to find laughter lighting his eyes.  He feels his body slowly relax as Patrick’s arms loop around his neck.

“How are you not….?”  David asks, at a loss for words.  “Did you know - I had no idea they would come here.  We were supposed to see them for lunch,” he starts to look around, wondering if he should get out of the tub and go after them, apologize.  “I’ll tell them it was my fault-”

Patrick barks out a laugh and grabs David’s hand off the side of the bathtub.  “Don’t apologize, and don’t go anywhere.  It’s okay.”

David glares at him.  “How is it okay?  Your dad just saw us-”  David waves his hand at the state of their now very less aroused but still utterly naked bodies.

“He’ll survive.  And so will we.  Seems kind of fair, though, it’s never happened before…”

David’s parents weren’t around enough while he was a kid to find him in that kind of compromising position, but that’s a topic for another day.  “Really?  They never came out to the driveway to shine a flashlight into your car to see what was taking so long?  Did you have a ���door open’ rule for your bedroom?”

Patrick grins and pushes David’s damp hair out of his eyes.  “Rachel and I were very chaste in high school, for reasons that are a lot clearer to me now.”

David considers Patrick, the light in his eyes and his giddy smile, and it dawns on him.  “Oh my god. You’re – you’re kind of proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

Patrick shrugs, his smile stretching his cheeks.  “My gorgeous husband thinks I’m hot and wants to get it on in the tub.  What’s not to be proud of?”

*****

That night they gather at the café, the Roses and the Brewers and a few of their friends. Twyla had joked that it was a rehearsal dinner, and asked David whether he brought his practice bouquet, before presenting him and Patrick with a vase full of wildflowers for their table.  Looking around, David thinks they could have forgone tomorrow’s official party and just had this, instead, everyone they care most about in one place.  The food will be a lot better tomorrow, though.

David is sitting in a booth with Alexis, listening intently as she tells him about her latest PR venture.  He glances around the room, trying and failing not to look for Patrick.

“David, are you even listening to me?”  Alexis asks, frowning so cutely that David almost rolls his eyes.

“Of course.  You were saying that no one in the history of public relations has ever come up with an idea like yours before.”

She wiggles happily.  “It’s true!”  

David tunes out again.  He sees his mom and Marcy across the room, deep in conversation.  They’re waiting at the counter for drink refills, probably gossiping about their latest television show re-watch.  Marcy somehow has gotten Moira into cop shows – he thinks they’re watching something now with palm trees and tropical drinks and attractive men who are far too old to be jumping off buildings.

His dad and Clint are kicking back at the table next to him, with Roland, who wasn’t invited but showed up anyway.  David had been amused at how well Clint hit it off with Roland, until he realized that, like Patrick, Clint can befriend anyone if he wants to.  He’s well aware that Roland is likely telling Clint embarrassing stories about the two of them, but he doesn’t really care.  Again, like Patrick, Clint is able to see the good in people, and that apparently includes David as well as Roland.

Twyla slides into the booth next to Alexis, and Alexis gives her a genuine smile and a kiss on the cheek.  Alexis hasn’t made many lasting friends in life, but Twyla is definitely one of them.  Alexis compliments Twyla’s embroidered dress, and when she looks away for a moment Twyla winks at David, mouthing “she gave it to me.”  

Twyla excuses herself after a few minutes, saying she needs to check on the fryer (David does not consider how one could leave a fryer alone, this is not his problem to deal with tonight).  Then movement catches his eye and he finally sees Patrick coming around the corner from the bathroom.  He’s walking on his own steam, using a hand carved oak walking stick that David got from a new vendor – it had been worth the two-hour drive to see Patrick grin as he discarded the ugly hospital one, tossing it into the corner of their closet with a flourish.

Patrick slides into the booth and David reaches over to pull him close, leaving his arm slung around Patrick and his chin tucked over his shoulder.  “Missed you,” David murmurs, and Patrick kisses him on his nose.

“I wasn’t gone that long.”

“Still.” David doesn’t have a witty response to this.  He doesn’t care.  Patrick doesn’t either.

He looks up to find Alexis beaming at them.

“What?”  David demands, with just a hint of annoyance.

“I knew you two could do it,” she says, giving them a trademark Alexis shimmy.  “I’ll be right back.  I think we need some champagne.”

When Alexis gets up Patrick turns to David, eyes wide.  “I wasn’t always sure we would,” he says softly, and David can see the echo of uncertainty in his eyes.  

“Me neither,” David says, not wanting to hide this from Patrick.  He puts a hand to Patrick’s cheek and brings their lips together, Patrick returning the kiss with a tenderness that almost brings tears to David’s eyes.  “But I’m awfully glad Alexis was right.”

*****

That night they’re lying in bed, David curled up on Patrick’s chest, stroking gently over Patrick’s arm and shoulder, when Patrick shifts a little bit and sits up.

“Would you mind grabbing my guitar?”

David tilts his head, confused, but slides out of bed and fetches Patrick’s guitar from where it leans against the wall.  “Taken by a sudden urge to practice your fingering?”  David asks, then snorts at his own unintentional joke.

They have in fact returned to engaging in all of their favorite sexual activities, but were both too wiped out tonight from the pre-party festivities to indulge in anything other than simple but quite enjoyable hand jobs.

“No, not tonight, thanks,” Patrick says.  

“Rude,” David retorts.

Patrick gets the guitar arranged where he wants it, and David waits more or less patiently to see what’s going on.  He refrains from making any comments about how glad he is that Patrick is playing.  Patrick has been understandably frustrated with how his accident has made so many things more difficult.  As of a few weeks ago, Patrick was still grumbling and cursing every time David caught him practicing.

David feels that all too familiar ache, but also a surge of pride, as Patrick finishes tuning.  Patrick’s too far away, though, so David scoots over behind him, sitting between him and the headboard with Patrick’s back against his chest.

“This okay?” he asks, hands resting on Patrick’s waist where the blankets are pooled around his body.  David likes it here, where he can watch Patrick play, but isn’t as exposed.

“Sure,” Patrick says.  “It kind of fits, actually.”

“With what?”  

Patrick twists to look at David.  “I was going to play this for you at the party tomorrow, but if it’s okay, I think I’d rather play it now.”

David searches his face.  “Of course it’s okay.”

“I mean, I’ll probably find some other way to embarrass you in public, but…”

“But this is for us?”  David asks softly.

“Yeah.”  Patrick knows how uncomfortable David was when he serenaded him at the store’s open mic night all those years ago.  Whatever he’s about to do now, David can weather it here, snug against Patrick’s bare skin, with no one to judge his reactions.

For better or worse, a good part of their early relationship had played out in public – their first date at the café, the open mic night, countless kisses in the store with its broad glass windows facing the street, even their wedding, which practically turned into a group activity for the town.  Lately they’ve been a lot more private, having to learn to relate to each other in the intimate space of their own home, with little else for distraction.  

They hit some rough spots, but David thinks they’re even stronger together than they were before.  Here in the privacy of their home they don’t have to perform for anyone, they can just be.  It has allowed them and sometimes even forced them both to be more vulnerable, whether they intended it or not.

Patrick turns back to the guitar and begins strumming.  His body is tense against David’s, and David isn’t sure why, whether it’s the thought of the party tomorrow, with friends and family all there to see how well Patrick has (or hasn’t yet) recovered, or something about the intimacy of the moment, David so close to Patrick that he can practically feel the music vibrating through him.

“I haven’t heard you play this before,” David says after a moment.

Patrick stops for a second, distracted.  “No, you haven’t.”  He starts playing again.

“Did you write it?”

Patrick stops mid-strum.  “No, I didn’t.”  He starts again.

“I like it so far,” David says.

Patrick stops playing and turns to mock glare at David.  “I’m going to murder you.”

David smirks at him.  “Then at least I won’t have to finish vacuuming tomorrow morning.”  

Patrick sighs and David wraps his arms around him from behind, awkwardly threading his hands under the guitar.  “I’m sorry,” David says.  “I love you.  You’re amazing.”

Patrick huffs, but he twists his head back towards David’s for a kiss.  “Can I play now?”

“I’m listening,” David says, pulling his arms out of Patrick’s way and settling them back on his waist.

Patrick strums the beginning chords with ease, not tense any more.  David relaxes into it too, smiling in anticipation.  

<i>This is the first day of my life.</i> <i>Swear I was born right in the doorway</i> <i>I went out in the rain, suddenly everything changed</i> <i>They're spreading blankets on the beach</I>

David recognizes the song as soon as Patrick starts singing the words.  Years ago Alexis had made him watch a video of couples and families listening to it together, and David had cried so hard he had to go hide in the bathroom.  At the time, David couldn’t imagine anyone caring for him enough to feel the way the singer feels, like they weren’t alive until they met him.

But Patrick does, and he’s singing his love to David now, head tilted down to look at the strings while David trembles at his back.  David leans his forehead on Patrick’s shoulder, his hands gripping at his sides.

<i>Yours was the first face that I saw</i> <i>I think I was blind before I met you</i> <i>And I don't know where I am, I don't know where I've been</i> <i>But I know where I want to go</i>

<i>And so I'd thought I'd let you know</i> <i>Yeah, these things take forever, I especially am slow…</i>

Tears are running down David’s cheeks and onto Patrick’s shoulder.  He feels like his heart is going to burst.  It shouldn’t be possible, how Patrick can make him feel so loved and so terrified at the same time.  

<i>And you said</i> <i>"This is the first day of my life</i> <i>I'm glad I didn't die before I met you…”</i>

At this line David chokes out a sob, holding Patrick tighter.  Patrick stops playing the guitar and sings on a capella, his voice getting huskier as he finishes the song.

<i>Maybe this time is different</i>

<i>I mean, I think you really like me…</I>

As soon as Patrick is done David shifts around and kisses him, shaky and breathless with emotion.

“So you liked it?”  Patrick asks, blushing and smiling delightedly.

“I love it,” David says.  He can’t stop crying or kissing Patrick, and it’s a mess, but he can’t bring himself to care.  “It’s perfect.  You’re perfect.”

When David finally calms down, Patrick wipes his face with his fingers, and kisses him again, long and sweet.  They curl up together against their pillows, exchanging kisses and endearments.  

“I wish I could sing to you,” David says into the soft skin behind Patrick’s ear.  “It doesn’t seem fair.”

“It’s okay,” Patrick says.  “I don’t need you to sing for me.”

“I sang to you in the hospital,” David confesses.  It’s not really a time he likes to revisit, memories saturated with the mind-numbing fear of Patrick injured and unconscious.

“You did?”  Patrick asks, shifting so he can see David’s face.

Patrick knows how David feels about public singing, how it scares him despite (or maybe because of) years of forced holiday party performances.  But here with Patrick, in the safety of his husband’s arms, David isn’t afraid of being seen.  And Patrick has just shown his heart to David once again.  This time, David isn’t going to hide.

He rubs a hand up and down Patrick’s arm and smiles at him, warmth spreading through his body.  “Yeah, I did.  Want to hear it?”

Surprised and pleased, Patrick nods, and David starts to sing.

<i>You'll always be a part of me</i> <i>I'm part of you indefinitely</i> <i>Boy, don't you know you can't escape me?</i> <i>Ooh, darling, 'cause you'll always be my baby.</i>

[desktopdust]

Forge Ahead

In the dead of night, two iron candlesticks created an island of luminescence in the vast sea of darkness that filled the chamber.  Between them, a spear stood upon a wooden pedestal, shaft made of gold, rings of colorless jewels embedded down its length; a head of untarnished silver shone at its end, carved into elegant designs that all met back into a single point.  Sitting before it was a young man of olive complexion, black hair short and neat, having an athletic body that did not quite fit the timid aura he exuded.

He sat perfectly still, focusing entirely upon the spear.  His soul reached out to it, finding a wellspring of otherworldly power bursting forth from the weapon, and he steadily waded into its depths.  He breathed deeply.  Reaching even farther, he drew from the spring, pulling only the tiniest sliver of the power into himself, and at once new strength exploded throughout him.  He called upon his training to temper the power, quieting its wildness and merging it with the natural energy already flowing through his body.

It was exhilarating and terrifying and humbling.  This primordial magic was old, older than the air he breathed and the ground beneath his feet, perhaps even older than the darkness he drifted through.  According to legend, even the gods did not fully understand this spear, only able to deduce that it was made from the bones of the very entity that thought their entire world into being.  They had entrusted it to humans as a sign of good faith, but even after two thousand years, there was not a single one in existence who could adequately describe the truly alien feeling that waited in the depths of the spring.

“Gerulf.”

He scrambled to his feet, letting go of the magic as he spun to face the one who had called him.  Emerging from the dark sea was a man with scraggly, snow-white hair and skin that looked pale compared to Gerulf, supporting his weight with a simple wooden staff, a frayed eyepatch covering one side of his face while the remaining eye stared straight through him.

“Yes, Master Serhan!” Gerulf said, stiffening his back.

The old man came closer, not making any efforts to disguise his pronounced limp. “So much tension?  Don’t mistake it for focus.”

Gerulf tried to relax his shoulders, only partly succeeding.  “Y-Yes, Master, my apologies.”

Serhan came to a stop beside Gerulf, staring up at the spear with an almost weary familiarity.  “Working to the last minute, huh?  If you’re not confident in your ability to commune with Gungnir, then postpone the trial and continue your training.”

Gerulf was no longer surprised by his teacher’s bluntness, but still he fumbled for words.  “No, no, I’m ready!  I only...er, well…”  He rubbed his neck, feeling a bead of sweat taking form on his brow.  Serhan waited for him to continue.  “...I...want to be as sure as possible.  I do not want to waste any time, not when I could be honing my ability further.”

Serhan closed his eyes as he stroked his beard.  “Remind me again why you’re here.”

“I have been chosen to protect one of the Seven Sisters of my home country of Pleiades, contingent upon completing training at one of the Four Schools of the Primordial Arms.”

“Hm? There’s seven?”

Gerulf nodded.  “Yes, always seven.  When the time comes for a successor to be chosen, a Sister will receive a vision from Celestial Zempyst making that choice.  Three years ago, the current Sister of the Southeast received such a vision...and in it, she saw only one Satellite protecting her successor.  Me, apparently.”

Serhan glanced at him.  “You doubt?”

Gerulf’s hand twisted of its own accord.  “...I do.”

“Yet you accepted.”

“How could I not?  It is the will of a goddess—of one of the Nine Geneses!  I had hoped that I would understand it by the time my training neared completion, but still I do not.”  Gerulf fixed his gaze on Gungnir, watching the candlelight glint off of it.  “I must not fail.  I must be ready as I possibly can be, so I cannot waste any time.”

“Hm. Quite a duty.  Answer this!”  Serhan pressed the head of his staff against Gerulf’s chest, making the man flinch. “Is time spent caring for a spear a waste?”

Gerulf blinked.  “...I’m sorry?”

“That time could be spent training.  Should a spear only be thrust into battle?”

After thinking a moment, he answered, “Um...well, were that the case, the spear would be worn down at a considerable speed, Master.  Some time should be taken to maintain the weapon, so that it can be dependable for a long time to come.”

He jumped slightly as Serhan beat his staff against the floor. “Exactly!  Without rest, a weapon grows dull.  People are the same.  Hard work is good, but don’t dull your edge, Gerulf.”

“Oh...I see.”  Slowly, Gerulf’s shoulders lowered, the remaining tension gradually seeping out of him at last.  “Thank you, Master.”

Serhan nodded once.  “Alright. What now?”

Gerulf turned back to Gungnir.  His shoulders began to tighten.

“Haah...hesitation.”

Gerulf tried to speak, but Serhan raised a hand.

“A spear is meant to be thrust at a single point with all your might.  To carry one, you need to be decisive.  Good night, Gerulf.”

Serhan retreated back into the darkness.  Gerulf continued to stare at the spear for a minute or so, and then picked up his candlestick and ventured towards the chamber’s exit.

And that is precisely why… he thought.

The hall sported several candles of its own, holding the night at bay but unable to stop the formless shadows dancing along the stony walls.  Gerulf snapped to attention as a door opened up ahead. Out stepped a man of fair skin nearly a foot taller than Gerulf, carrying himself with a sureness that one could simply feel was unearned.  Spotting Gerulf, he paused and laughed, saying, “Look who’s up!  Shouldn’t you be resting, pal?  You’re gonna need all the help you can get.”

“Good evening, Achard,” Gerulf greeted.  “I was just retiring for the night, actually.”

“Heh, right.  Man, I still can’t believe you and I are the only ones from this class who passed the assessment.  I was sure Prem had you beat!”

Gerulf fidgeted.  “Ah, I’m a bit surprised myself.  I suppose the points I lost in combat were made up elsewhere.”

“Guess that makes sense,” Achard said with a shrug.  “Still, combat’s all that really matters—the whole reason we’re here is to learn to fight using Gungnir’s power!  And what a power it is, right?”

Trying to smile, Gerulf said, “It’s, uh, certainly very potent.  The primordial magic it’s made from is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.”

A toothy grin crossed Achard’s face.  “One of the four weapons older than the whole world...with power like that, I’m gonna be able to do anything!”

“Ahah...I suppose.  So, um...what is it you plan on doing when you pass?”

“Head back home first of all—got to give everyone a chance to be proud of me and all.  After that, I’ll probably go on a world tour and see how many heads I can knock!  Who knows, maybe I’ll come to Pleiades and kick you around a bit.”

Swallowing hard, Gerulf tried to reply, but his jaw was frozen shut.

“Haha, don’t be so serious, man!  ‘Sides, you’re probably in for another course anyway.”  Achard walked past Gerulf, smacking him in the shoulder. “Sweet dreams, pal!  I’ll see you at the trial tomorrow.”

Gerulf glanced over his shoulder at Achard’s receding form.  Facing forward once more, he shook his head and resumed walking.

***

The island where Gungnir was kept was a lush valley within a ring of mountains, an unusually temperate spot for being so far North.  From where he stood atop one of the border peaks, Gerulf could trace the rivers as they sectioned off the forests and plains, several of them coming together to feed the central lake.  The school was built on the edge of this lake, a stone keep half the height of the mountains surrounding it, sturdy enough to withstand a siege of several months and lined with metal spikes that seemed to taunt some unknown enemy into attempting just that.

He shivered a bit as he tightened the straps of his leather training armor, taking a step back from the edge.  Master Serhan stood not far away, staring off and letting the salty breeze and rays of the rising sun soak into his body, and Achard (having forgone the training armor) was warming up nearby as well.

Stretching his finely-toned arms, Achard said, “Hey, is it time to start yet, Master?”

Not looking away from the point on the horizon he was staring at, Serhan said, “Patience, Achard.  I’ll explain everything in just a moment.”

The student grumbled under his breath as he moved on to stretching his muscular legs.  “Yeah, alright.  How about you, Gerulf: you ready for a challenge?”

Chuckling quietly, Gerulf said, “Aha...we’ll see, I suppose…”

Achard sprang up.  “Pfft! What kind of answer is that? You’re never gonna pass with such a wimpy attitude!”

Gerulf shrank back, saying nothing.

“Heh, whatever.  Guess I shouldn’t complain, being the only one from this class to make it out at the first trial point!  I’ll see ya in another three years, buddy.”

Serhan walked past them and up to the edge, saying, “Learn the difference between confidence and arrogance, Achard.  There’s no guarantee either of you will pass.”

Achard rolled his eyes, choosing to hold onto his smirk just the same.

“First time I’ve seen so few taking the trial.  This lot—you’ve all got potential, but you’re all chipped blades.”

Serhan faced the two men and spun his staff around, two simple spears materializing in its wake.  Grabbing the weapons, he tossed them into the hands of his students, and then struck the ground with his staff.

“Now!  You two’ve completed a three year course and earned a chance at the Forge Trial.  The only tools you have are these spears, and whatever strength you can muster.”  Serhan turned and waved his staff over the valley.  “You have until midday to find enough ore to craft a spear of your own!  If you can do that and make it back to the keep in time, you’ll show your skills by channeling Gungnir’s power in a fight.  Show me you’ve learned something, and I’ll let you forge your own spear and send you on your way.”  He turned back to his students.  “Any questions?”

Gerulf shook his head.  Achard tested the weight of his spear.

“Good.  Begin!”

Instantly, Achard rushed over the edge and bounded down the mountain. Gerulf instead approached the edge and stopped, carefully scanning the wall below to plan his way down, and then began a long, slow climb.  As he went, Gerulf cast a look over his shoulder to note Achard’s progress: the other man was just disappearing into the trees, his hollering just barely audible even from such a great distance.  Gerulf’s hand slipped slightly, so he pressed himself against the mountain and froze until he verified his handhold.

I wonder how quickly he’ll make it back?

He reminded himself that speed was not the determining factor.  Cautiously, Gerulf resumed his climb.

Finding a spot to procure ore wasn’t difficult for Gerulf: he had paid close attention to Serhan’s lessons on where to search for deposits, and once in an appropriate area he tapped his spear on the ground a few times before giving a satisfied nod.  Calling out to Gungnir, he again mixed its energy into his own, this time directing that energy through his hand and into the spear to give it a subtle shine. He then began to gradually chip away at the ground with his spear, carefully positioning his strikes so as not to damage the glittering ore he quickly uncovered.

The task took not even an hour.  Bundling up the ore, Gerulf made his way back to the school that had been his home these past three years, glancing about for any sign of Achard.  He made his way across the wide-open foyer and down the central staircase, no company aside from his echoing footsteps at first, but slowly he felt the temperature rise, and the smell of smoke and slag came to meet him. The stairs terminated in a great sprawling chamber where the air itself stung like flames, rivers of magma flowing along its edges and across its width towards a massive furnace in the distance. When Gerulf made it there, he found Master Serhan sitting upon an anvil, arms crossed and staff balanced on his shoulders as he watched Gerulf with a stony expression.

Gerulf choked on the heat as he tried to speak up.  “Master...I have gathered the necessary amount of ore.”

Serhan grunted.  “Well done.  Take a seat.”

Gerulf complied, sitting on the floor next to a rack of tools.  Nearly two hours passed before Achard finally appeared, his dark scowl made all the more menacing by the chamber’s orange light.

“How the hell did you get here so fast?!” Achard demanded.  “I left you in the dust!”

“Achard,” Serhan said. “You had trouble mining, didn’t you?”

Achard glanced aside. “I mean...it didn’t take me too long to find a place.  But it kept breaking into such tiny pieces, and I couldn’t tell what was ore and what was rock—rounding it up was a pain in the ass.”

Serhan grunted again. “I thought as much.  Set down what you’ve got.  The two of you step back and get ready.”

Achard wasted no time getting in position and brandishing his spear, white light coating it as he drew upon Gungnir’s wellspring of magical energy.  Gerulf’s body was rigid as he did the same.

“I won’t outright forbid anything, but don’t overdo it.  I didn’t teach you to be murderers.  Begin.”

Gerulf leapt aside as Achard thrust at him.  A pinpoint shockwave flew from the weapon’s tip, blasting a hole in the wall.  He tried not to think of the destructive power he was dealing with, instead focusing on the flow of his and Gungnir’s energy, directing a bit more than usual to linger in his feet.  Achard thrust again, so Gerulf dodged again. With a yell, the taller man rushed forward, and Gerulf jumped away as he unleashed a flurry of blows.

“Is dodging all you’re good at?” Achard said.  “Draw this out all you want!  No way am I losing a battle of stamina!”

Gerulf realized he was now teetering on the edge of a magma duct.  Achard moved to strike a finishing blow, but Gerulf leapt up and over his spear, realizing his opponent would take a second to regain his own balance.  Gerulf aimed his spear…but then spun, kicking Achard in the face instead.  As Achard stumbled back, Gerulf landed and moved to a safer location.

“Huh…lucky hit,” Achard said.  “Won’t happen again!”

Achard sprang into the air, falling spear-first towards Gerulf.  The maneuver was easy enough to dodge, but when Achard’s spear pierced the ground, energy pulsed out from it, blasting away some of the rock and surprising Gerulf.  Achard stepped forward and swung his spear in a wide overhead arc, now topped with a rectangular chunk of stone.  Gerulf only narrowly avoided the makeshift hammer, the head bursting apart and spraying him with stone shrapnel; Achard pressed his advantage, and after keeping Gerulf on his toes with a few spear thrusts, followed one immediately with a punch that sent Gerulf sprawling.

“Gotcha!”

Achard lunged.  Gerulf suffered a grazing blow as he scrambled to his feet, but thankfully it only hit his armor.  He made ready to attack, so Achard hovered at the edge of his range, keeping his own weapon ready.  Pointing his spear, Gerulf shouted.  The head of the weapon lit up, and the spear surged forward under its own power, dragging Gerulf along behind it.  Achard sidestepped and retaliated.  Thinking quickly, Gerulf ducked and swept one leg out, successfully tripping up Achard just as his spear began to slow.  Gerulf turned to see Achard’s exposed back, but instead of attacking, he created more distance between them.  Achard came up fuming.

“Damn you!  Annoying little…you won’t even take advantage?  Are you insulting me?!”

“N-No, not at all!” Gerulf said.  “I simply…I mean, you’re not…”

The aura around his spear flaring higher, Achard shouted, “Spit it out!”

“You…you don’t have armor!  If I’m not careful, I could seriously injure you…is all…”

Achard could only gape at this.  Serhan stroked his beard, murmuring to himself, “So that’s what you’re afraid of. Now I get it.”

Grinding his teeth against each other, Achard said, “You…don’t you dare pity me!  I can sure as hell take a hit from a wimp like you!”

He hurled his spear upward, it transforming into a bolt of energy until it impacted with the ceiling.  Willing the weapon to teleport back to his hand, Achard advanced as stalactites loosed from the cavern roof began to fall at random, bearing down on Gerulf with deadly focus.  Put into a panic, Gerulf acted on instinct, running away from Achard while deftly dodging any stalactite headed his way.  Achard eventually drove him into a narrow space between two magma flows, pausing for just a moment to channel even more power to make the finishing blow. At the same time, Gerulf realized he had no room to dodge the next stalactite falling towards him.  With no other choice, Gerulf dug his heels in—he gripped his spear with both hands, and with all his strength, thrust it up at the falling rubble, hitting it dead on its point and splitting it neatly in two. One half fell into the magma behind him, and the other fell towards an Achard in mid-thrust.  The taller student was struck by the debris, losing his wits all at once, and stumbled back towards the magma.

“Dammit…!”

Serhan prepared to act.  However, he didn’t need to.  Gerulf jolted forward, plunging his spear into the bank of the river, and yelled. With a tremendous flash of light, a new trench was blown into existence perpendicular to the existing one, disrupting the lava flow just long enough for Achard to safely land in the recession and roll clear.  Gerulf dropped to his knees with a long sigh.

“…Hm,” Serhan said.  He popped one shoulder, knocking his staff into the air where he could snatch it up, and then dismounted his seat and approached his students.  “Interesting.”

Achard put a hand to his head as he sat up.  Looking around, he said, “What…how did this happen…?”

Gerulf got back on his feet.  Examining the new results of his handiwork more closely, Serhan said, “A lot of power you called on just now.”

“I…well, I really just acted on reflex,” Gerulf said between pants.

“Doesn’t matter.  I’ve seen what I need to see.”

Serhan began to walk back.  Climbing out of the trench, Achard said, “Hang on!  I’m not done yet!”

“No. You’re not.”  Coming to a stop behind the anvil, Serhan again faced his students.  “Achard. You can use Gungnir’s power easily, but you still don’t know how to use it properly.  You’ll be taking another course.”

Achard’s eyes shot wide.

“Gerulf.  Truth is, your position isn’t all that different.”

Gerulf hung his head.

“However.  Your problem is that you lack conviction.  I don’t think there’s any more I can do to teach you that…but carrying out your duty ought to do it.”

Looking back up, Gerulf said, “Master?”

Serhan beckoned.  “Come here. It’s time for you to forge your own spear.”

Gerulf’s eyes widened, yet he still didn’t see Achard storm off.  Serhan tossed Gerulf the sack of ore he had gathered and gestured to a mold laying near the furnace.  Still in a surreal haze, Gerulf crossed the chamber and emptied the bag into the indented metal, only coming to as he carefully lifted the mold onto the metal rack reaching out from the furnace’s maw.  He turned towards the tools to find Serhan already passing him a long pair of tongs.  Gerulf pushed the mold into the flame, closed the window, and then waited.

“Master,” Gerulf said, “I—”

“No,” Serhan interrupted.  “Focus. You’ll know when the time is right.”

Gerulf watched the furnace in silence.  Eventually, after only a moment’s hesitation, he uncovered the window and reached in with the tongs, retrieving the mold from the fiery depths to find it now filled with molten metal.

“There,” Serhan said, pointing to a slotted section of the rack.

Once Gerulf fit the mold into it, Serhan detached the segment of rack, its wheeled legs squeaking as it was pulled a short distance away from the furnace. Serhan then pointed his staff at the ceiling, where Gerulf now noticed an odd carving; suddenly, Serhan’s staff lit up and extended into an impossibly long pike, puncturing the carving, and after giving it a turn, Serhan willed it to retract and take the chunk of ceiling with it.  Water poured from the hole, dousing the mold and unleashing a monstrous cloud of steam. Extending his staff once again, Serhan plugged the opening, and then faced Gerulf and gestured toward the anvil.

“Take a hammer,” Serhan said as Gerulf moved the spear.  “Call upon Gungnir, but focus its power farther than before. Don’t stop at the hammer—pour it into the spear.”

Gerulf held the tongs in one hand, keeping the spear steady, while raising the hammer with his other.  He took a few seconds to focus Gungnir’s magic, and when he was ready, he struck the spearhead with the bludgeon, releasing a shower of white sparks with a thunderous clanging that shocked him.

“Focus.”

Furrowing his brow, Gerulf breathed deeply and swung again.  More noise, more sparks.  This time light surged down the length of the spear.  He struck it again, and again, and again, infusing more and more of Gungnir’s primordial magic into his work.  The spear was beginning to change shape: no longer was it the simple form the mold had been carved into, but now a thick-shafted weapon with an aerodynamic, almost star-shaped head with two long, thin tails that spiraled three times around the shaft before terminating.  When he delivered the final strike, Gerulf felt all his breath leave him at once. The spear glowed white-hot, a hypnotic shine in which Gerulf saw his own soul reflected.  Not stopping to think, he dropped his tools, reached out, and took hold of the spear—instantly, the heat and light burst out from the weapon, rendering it cool to the touch.

A smile could be seen within Serhan’s beard.  “Well done, Gerulf.  Now, name it.”

Over the years, Gerulf had wondered many times what to name his spear if he ever completed his training.  But now, holding it aloft in his hand, he somehow knew exactly what this weapon’s name was.  “Heliacal Asterism.”

Serhan nodded.  “A fine name for a fine weapon.”

Gerulf lowered the spear and turned back to Serhan.  With a bow, he said, “Thank you for everything, Master.  I am forever in your debt.”

“Just remember what I’ve taught you.  Find your conviction.  I’ll summon a boat to take you back to Pleiades first thing tomorrow.”

Gerulf nodded and headed back for the staircase, marveling at Heliacal Asterism as he went.  It slowly sank in that finally he was headed home, and when he arrived, he would begin an even greater task laid before him by Celestial Zempyst herself.  His next few steps were stilted.

I must not hesitate. If I am the only one who can protect the Sister of the Southeast, then I must work as hard as possible.  No one will suffer from my inaction ever again.