#its a look really made by real hair with bleach damage. sad

[be-good-to-bugs]

NEED to dye my hair

[ks-caster]

Beth Liveblogs Black Widow

Bought that premium access on Disney+ so I can have the privilege of pausing for snacks and using subtitles as needed - so let’s go! 

Beth’s Spoiler-Free Review: Overall I thoroughly enjoyed the movie - the plot was compelling, the characters were likable, and the stunts were really excellent. I felt like hair and makeup dropped the ball on realism multiple times which I was sad about, because how she looks seems to be pretty important to Nat so I expected it to be done well in her movie. 

I did not like the way they framed the tail end (denouement - obviously because this movie is mid-series we know how it ends to an extent) - I felt like the connect-up to Infinity War was lackluster, especially compared to how enjoyable and dynamic the rest of the film was.

Spoilery live-reactions are under the cut. Click at own risk! Feel free to rebagel with your own impressions, thoughts, jokes and rebuttals!

The movie begins with a young Nat with blue dyed hair and visible roots, showing her natural red. Do you know how hard it is to get natural red out of hair, enough to make it blue and not green? And I’m supposed to believe that a middle-school age girl in 1995 Ohio had access to these chemicals? I’ll give her the white hair in IW/Endgame because she’s an adult with a lot of experience as a spy altering her appearance. But as a child? In the 90s? While her family is apparently in hiding? Sus.

The scene with Alexei laying on the on the wing while Nat learns to fly? AMAZING stunts. Amazing. AND someone in an action movie is finally smart enough to shoot the tires.

Nice skills on young Nat, getting the gun. Since we know from Endgame that Nat’s father is named Ivan, we know that Alexei isn’t really her dad. She also refers to presumably the red room as going “back.” Was she lent out to these agents to legitimize their family?

-0-

Nice knife moves, Yelena - I love the hand switch.

Ooooh so she was being mind controlled and the red stuff freed her? Interesting.

-0-

Nat is in Norway - visit Thor! He’d love to have you. (I’m mixing up my timeline, aren’t I?)

Supplies Dude whose name I didn’t catch refers to the Avengers breakup as a divorce - I kinda love it. It’s accurate!

BUDAPEST omg are we finally going to get the story?? Are we??

Box dye? I’m supposed to believe she got all that red out of her hair with flippin’ Loreal? Really? And that toner isn’t even the color she ultimately went - it’s too yellow. Sus.

-0-

Oop, looks like Nat got caught up in Yelena’s desertion.

Do not give Nat your metal frisbee, robocop - she’s been around Steve long enough that she knows how to use it.

I laughed out loud when she did the string him up thing with the cables - literal spider move, I love it!

Mystery box is empty - classic bait and switch.

-0-

BUDAPEST - WE ARE IN BUDAPEST - IT’S HAPPENING PEOPLE

Nat closing the door behind her is a small thing but I appreciate it - no sneaking up behind her.

When Yelena throws Nat in the kitchen and her feet hit the door and she spins before she hits the ground? That was a helluva stunt.

Oooooh honey. No body left to check is ALWAYS movie code for they lived.

Dreykov’s daughter? Another hint from Avengers 2012? C’mon, movie.

Riding the chimney down? Another incredible stunt. 

Dreykov can scan his soldiers’ bodies and terminate them if they’re too damaged to keep fighting? Big yikes. With Nat where she is character development wise, the stakes are now much higher because if she injures an opponent they may be killed remotely.

“Do you want me to chase him down and un-steal it?”

The car door under the bike was an excellent stunt - as was the car going into the subway. Though I’ve never seen a subway entrance big enough to admit a car.

Who hasn’t wanted to slide down the middle to avoid the crowded escalators lol.

Yelena making fun of Nat’s sexy poses I am LIVING omg.

Running water for wounds. RUNNING WATER. NOT ALCOHOL. The vodka goes on the INSIDE for the pain - the running water cleans the OUTSIDE. If there’s a convenience store then there’s a bathroom, with running water. Cleansing with something like alcohol is a LAST RESORT and you do not look like you’re at that point resource-wise. I thought these ladies were supposed to be highly trained in all of the things?

“Could be fun though.” “I saw where he put the keys” “Top drawer green cabinet.” I love their chaos.

Yelena’s vest and its pockets and the resulting conversation are positively majestic.

“You are sensitive.” “You’re a very annoying person.”

-0-

Do! Not! Move! Around! Like! That! While! Getting! A! Tattoo!!!! That poor artist was trying his best and Alexei just...

Ooooh was Red Guardian like Captain Russia? Interesting.

“Just don’t make a scene.” “You made a scene didn’t you.”

David Harbor running up that wall and then wiping out after the guard shocks him... I really loved that stunt, especially since they don’t show him being all super cut - he’s a big guy! He’s allowed to have fat over his muscles and still be a strong dude! I love it.

“Such a poser.” Girl, you need to meet Loki - he does a lot of hair flips too lol.

The sibling energy between the girls during the rescue!!!

“Whooooooa... this would be a cool way to die.” Yelena, I’m not necessarily disagreeing with you but get your head in the game girl.

Poor Alexei - he never gets to do the dramatic escape from *inside* of the aircraft.

Hang on, no ovaries? So all of these women are now in immediate, surgically-induced menopause? The uterus part makes sense if the intent was to prevent them from getting pregnant if they have sex during a mission, but, what, they gotta be on estrogen supplements for the rest of their lives? That’s just really poor planning. Like it was hilarious the way Yelena went into the biology of it to make Alexei uncomfortable, but that really doesn’t make sense to do to your superhero kids. It’s just bad science.

Love that Yelena keeps her vest even after she changes into her matching white flight suit. That vest better make it to the end of the movie.

-0-

“Honey, we’re home.” I 100% expected her to shoot him on sight tbh. it would have been funny.

Alexei squeezing into the uniform is such a post-pandemic feel. Also all of the fancy braids at that table; I see where Natasha got her propensity for them.

Animal cruelty warning, ugh. Poor piggy Alexei.

Oooh the photo album and Natasha remembered staging the pictures; they’re emotional for her but in a different way.

I wonder if robocop’s shield is actually Alexei’s.

The singing between Alexei and Yelena was a really beautiful moment because it was neither auto-tuned-good nor hilariously bad - it felt really real, especially the way Yelena’s so choked up she can barely make sounds come out.

Uh-oh, mama has one of those monitor your vitals and kill your ass suits. The suits I understand - the eyeliner though... when and why did she do her makeup?? That’s not really the thing that comes to mind for me when I’m getting ready to do something athletic, like say kidnapping my supersoldier fake family.

“This is a much less cool way to die.” Also WTF why would they do that. Wouldn’t it be easier to get the information out of her while her brain is still attached to, y’know, her mouth??

CLEVER CLEVER CLEVER they switched outfits and faces ooooooh like mother like daughter.

The door opening as Alexei is leaning against it dramatically bahahahaha

I love the plan. I’m thoroughly weirded out that Melina has a red wig just lying around that perfectly immitates Natasha though. 

“Yelena, it’s mama. You have a two-inch blade in your belt.”

Oh. My. God.

Antonia.

A pheromone lock preventing them from hurting them if they’re close enough to smell him - I like it. It’s clever and new.

Bahahaha poser! You posed I saw you! Still love the vest.

Natasha is really good at manipulating people’s emotions to get what she wants - I mean, scary good. So if she’s provoking Dreykov into beating her up, there’s a reason. 

“Using the only resource the world has too much of - girls.” Kill him. 

-0-

When I say I whooped out loud... SEVERING THE NERVE. Thank you for your cooperation. YAAAAAAS QUEEN.

-0-

“Slight change of plans - we are going into a controlled crash.” The way she said that was just so mom-like omg!

-0-

The grenade as a delivery system was super smart - but yikes what if she’d mistimed it and blew Natasha up? Also, after the beating she took and how hard she had to wack her own face into the desk to sever her olfactory nerve and the amout of blood we saw her leave behind from doing that, her face should be a LOT more messed up, come on makeup department.

“Get as far away from here as possible.” And then keep going because General I-Collect-Supersoldiers-Like-Stamps Ross is about to turn up at your location looking for trouble and he’d snap you ladies up like there’s a fire sale and you’re going out of stock.

This crash doesn’t look all that controlled, Melina. I’m starting to suspect that most of the widows won’t live long enough to make their own decisions...

All of the aerial stunts were amaaaaaazing - the way Nat slowed herself by sliding down the panels so Antonia could catch up with her and she could deploy her parachute... 

The vest survived the movie!!!

Fuuuuuck Ross is showing up and he sucks and I hate him and I’m super worried that he’s gonna take the vest from Nat if he takes her into custody. Please don’t let her lose the vest. 

Okay, there is now zero reason for Nat to stay behind. They have an aircraft. She had plenty of time to just board it and leave?

-0-

Okay okay okay Ross did not get her and did not take the vest. But am I supposed to believe she bleached her hair, toned it blonde, and then re-bleached and re-toned it to silver? Who does that? That would be terrible for her hair. Her scalp would be burned all to hell from the amount of chemicals needed to not only get all that red out but THEN get the blonde toner out. Y’know what color silver toner is? Blue/purple. Y’know what happens when you mix that with yellow? Green. And not a nice green either (I speak from experience). No. Her hair at the end of the movie? Cancelled. 

-0-

SHE GOT THE DOG!!!

Oh, ouch. Big ouch. I hurt like a lot now. This is so not an okay way to end the -

...

Countess I-Forgot-Your-Name-Already?

Oh no. Oh no. That’s worse. That’s a lot worse. We are now setting up the Hawkeye series and I while I’m horrified that this was how they ended the film, I gotta say that’s going to make for some wonderful angst in that series on both Clint and Yelena’s parts and I am here for it!

OVERALL IMPRESSION

I really, really enjoyed this movie, I thought the story was compelling, the stunts were really excellent, and I liked the character dynamics and the twist

I did not like the ending - it just sort of fell off quickly and didn’t feel satisfying after an otherwise really fun movie. I also take issue with the hair and makeup as shown among the characters, as seen in my several rants to that effect.

I would have liked to have seen a few more childhood/training flashbacks, and absolutely would have loved a cameo from Jeremy Renner (not just his voice) and to see him and Nat meeting and him giving her the whole dad speech that he does so well - bonus points if she could have then quoted him to Yelena or Antonia, showing the way that multiple people had a formative effect on her (an answer to the “The Avengers aren’t really your family either” comment).

[xxcrowfeatherxx]

Guys I need to tell you something

I read some fanfics lately with long hair people in it and lemme tell you : they got it wrong XD

I don't mean it in a mean way of course and everyone is different. Maybe they have long hair themselves and their hair is just better then mine. But I wanted to share some thing about my long hair with you. Maybe it helps someone.

First of all : I'm 174cm tall and my hair reaches beyond my ass so it's really long. It's also quite thick and I bleached and colored it multiple times, but keeping it somewhat alive with good products. So listen up now :

Brushing this monster straight out of hell is a task I recommend to do as many times as possible. Or else you get tangles in it. And I mean TANGLES AND KNOTS. Painful ones. The ones who make you look at a scissor for five minutes contemplating with yourself. I went on a short trip once and forgot my brush which is specifically for long hair. Bought a new normal brush and cried constantly for the whole weekend because PAIN. Those Long Hair Brushes have a bigger pad and most often are lined with horse (or some kind of other hard animal hair) to keep the hair from being electrified. It also hurts a lot less to brush your hair with it.

Hair being electrical is a fcking pain. You wearing a dress or some kind of other elastic/plastic related fabric? Your hair will stick to it like a child to candy. Letting your hair flow in the wind won't flow for long because it's gonna stick to your clothes. And it's not just the normal hair which does that. The loose hair which would normally fall to the ground unnoticed will now stick to your back. And let me tell you : It's not funny in public areas.

Getting dressed with long hair is a challenge if you need to close the item at the back. You're in a hurry to get somewhere and wanted to have open flowing hair? Be prepared to get the strands in the zipper 9/10 times. Pullover and sweaters electrify your hair being put on or pulled off. Remember that in sexy times.

Sleeping. With open hair. You will regret it in the morning because tangles. But maybe you had some sexy times or were just too tired to braid it the evening before, rest assured that your hair will remind you of that little failure. I had multiple occasions in the morning when I wanted to stand up and my head snapped back because half of my hair was under my body and I put my whole weight on it. It can also get tangled in all kind of things in the bed and I woke up drooling on it more than once.

Someone sleeps besides you while you have your hair open. So many people think that's sexy for your partner. It's not. They are the big spoon? Constant hair in their mouth and face. Or they lie on it and you wake up because your head is in an unnatural angle backwards.

Washing is a pain in itself and expensive too. First of all you need special products for long hair. I thought for a long time that the labels on the bottles like 'For colorised and damaged hair' etc is just there to make more money. But it actually isn't. I asked my hairdresser and they said that those labels are for real and you should buy those according to your type of hair. SOO buying long hair products. Shampoo, conditioner, hair mask and After Care Mask No Washing Out. And that's the minimum of products of what my hairdresser recommended. I'm an university student so I can't really afford the expensive Label Products, nor the oils my hairdresser uses. I recommend using coconut butter. It's cheap and if you use it once every month its totally enough. Back to washing : it takes a while. Like, A WHILE. Because smearing all these products in and rinsing them takes time and a lot of water. And the fun part comes after - > cleaning the drain. Getting all these juicy slick hairs out of it is a task I could gladly pass to someone else.

Brushing wet hair is so much fun. NOT. It hurts and when you think you're finished you see another tangled spot. The hair turns into gummy while being wet and I don't know why 'till this day. I don't blow it dry if I have the time. Let it air dry if you can and brush it then. Less hurting when the hair is somewhat dry. Also don't rub it dry with a towel. You get a Lions mane and again : tangles.

Sleeping with wet hair sounds nice, especially during hot summer nights. But I wake up most of the time with a headache if I go to bed with wet hair. I don't know why but I met many people who have the same issue. I think it's about the head cooling off too much but I'm no professional in that regard.

Braiding long hair is awesome. You can make all different kind of styles and so many interesting ideas can be done. If someone else does it that is. You doing that yourself looks nice in the Youtube Videos doesn't it? Lemme tell you something about that. It takes time and practise. A LOT. And your arms start to hurt especially if the style is mainly on the back of your head. It's easier to let someone else do it if you can. I've done my fair share of these styles just to be sad at the end because it was loose, falling apart or looked kinda wrong. Other people can help in that regard. Ask them nicely. I met a lot of people and friends who love to play and braid other people's hair.

And because I'm already there : other people LOVE long hair. Many of them at least. I met a lot of people who grab your hair or stroke it without asking you beforehand. I had a teacher in my last school year who grabed and played with my hair every time she saw me. She was a really nice granny so I didn't mind it. But strangers do that too sometimes and it can get annoying.

Sitting in a Café or somewhere similar is nice, as long as the don't have furniture with nails or metal clamps. Long hair loves to get trapped in those and when you want to get up it's a painful surprise.

Windy locations are a hassle. Your hair will whip around like crazy, smacking not only into your face but your partners /friends as well. Braiding helps or some sort of hat if you don't want to brush the hair for hours afterwards. Windy locations can be in cities because of the tall buildings and beaches. There are a lot of these locations you wouldn't think of before.

Salt or chlorine water is my personal enemy. They make the hair dry and its close to impossible to brush it afterwards without you washing if beforehand. Try to wash long hair as soon as you come out of the water and don't plan to go in again.

Hats. They're nice, look nice and keep your head warm. They're also most often not made for long and heavy hair. They either can't hold the weight or they fall off because they don't get a grip.

Last but not least : hairbands. Don't use the ones with metal, they destroy the hair because of the sharp edges. And those cool looking rings of gummy plastic? They get tangles in long hair like crazy, trust me I tried it. The best hairbands are made out of cloth like material and don't bend too much.

I hope I could help you a bit with this. It's different for many people of course. Hair is hugely different regarding your Gens, your living place, how much stress you have and what you did with your hair. Do you color it often or not at all? Do you straighten it with heat or do you completely leave those things alone? There are many factors, but I met some long haired people along the way who started laughing in agreement to many of the things above. I am growing my hair since I am a kid. First because my Mom wanted me to have long hair and later because I started to love it. Maybe I would be happier with short hair who knows. But when I walk outside and complete strangers greet me and are awwing because they like my hair, it puts a small smile on my face.

Hopefully this little something can help you in some way :D

[tejoxys]

Play House

Eldritch blacksand, finally. I’ve been wanting to try my hand at this for years; I actually started this piece when I was house-sitting for friends of the family in... 2014. Damn.

----

The Dark comes down when the Light calls, down into the house where the Light wants to play. The humans are gone; the house sits far back on its long lawn redolent with sleeping flowerbeds, its peaked rooftops shiny with the rain tapping at dark windows.

-windows!- The Light leaps into them at once. The Light loves these gooey spans of sand bending light, sand flowing, sand made liquid pretending to be solid. In the temporal sea where the Light and Dark swim, the glass has already completed its crawl to the ground, the ground reclaimed by lava, the planet dashed into the sun—but here, where they focus their attention, the spans hang rain-kissed and shimmering.

The Dark is delighted to find that this house is full of wires, the new, clever wires that talk inside the walls—that talk across the world, distance less and less a barrier, edging closer to the way the Dark and Light talk to each other, close enough and strange enough to be oh so interesting—and dives for the nearest outlet.

A clear ringing reverberates from the windows, -wait-

Image of sparks, image of fire. The concept that this is bad. Bad means no. No means don’t do it.

The outlet hums back, -Why?-

-humans-

-The humans are gone.- Hesitation, a question.

-yes/no-

-Define instance of gone.-

The Light pulls down like an overhead projector screen the concept of linear progression, applies it to the house, narrows its scope to encompass the humans’ projected ownership of the house—do we know ownership? yes/no, disregard that part—, sets tags at either end to mark the boundaries of when the Dark is absolutely not allowed to cause damage to the house. A vague allusion to the concept of vacation, which is relevant, but so specific as to be painful, so they both drop it.

Something very like a sigh. -Yes.-

The matter settled, they race through the house like dolphins at play, the Light and the Dark.

They rejoin inside a lamp, at the twine of glass and wire. Abruptly, the Light leaps comet-sprightly to the center of the room. Calls for a game they last played where/when there were no wires or windows, where/when there were no houses. This game is a few strange rocks in the sea, raising their sun-bleached heads above the water, seldom visited.

The Dark hangs back. Unease. Concept of like and dislike, concept of novelty, dislike applied to novelty. This is one of the few differences that make them two, not one. The game will separate them further still, the fragments of themselves that are here/now cut off even more, if only for a time, but time will matter; that’s the point.

The Light sends out a call to the dirt below the house, and offers, -but fun-

Materials gather; in moments, the Light means to seal itself away, whether the Dark chooses to join in or not. Unease. U N E A S E. The Dark relents.

Two human bodies build themselves on the living room floor, amid dust mites and animal hairs on the glossy wood. Scanning up and down the house’s timeline for clues, they build themselves in the owners’ images. It takes several tries to iron out a workable nervous system, lungs that feed both heart and throat, and something like blood that flows. They don’t need to get so fancy, but the game is more fun when it’s realistic. Agonies crackle, spark-white behind eyelids wet as newborn butterflies, and then it’s done.

To pull a mask over one tiny spark of oneself and leave only tiny holes through which to gather sense, to leave the rest outside, pulsing, calling in muffled tones, waves breaking on rocks—it’s incomprehensible. Maybe their hearts first beat in response to how terrifying it is. But the first thing their bodies do, on opening their eyes, is laugh. The wild glint of teeth in open mouths is so shocking that the laughter redoubles on itself. Limbs flail; they both forgot proprioception. They edit accordingly, and engage in a messy fight with gravity to stand.

The bodies lurch around the darkened living room. They sit on every piece of furniture, laugh, open and close every drawer and cabinet, take turns trying on a pair of fleece slippers by the overstuffed chair, laugh some more. One stumbles, begins to fall; the other automatically reaches out and steadies. Marvels that the drive to help is built into the neural wiring. The one who nearly fell is mildly disappointed; was curious to feel gravity’s action on the glass-topped coffee table. They are both distracted by hands on skin.

The Light is fascinated, just as every time before, running hands slowly up and down long arms. These forms built of matter, the same as the house and everything in it, nothing but molecules that vibrate and collide but never collapse into one. Nerves that insist someone is there, someone is touching me, but they’re only ever right in the way that bodies can be right.

The Light is sad. The Dark knows what the Light would say, if they could hear each other now: -they never touch-

But the Dark likes it, the screaming contradictory signals. Pulls the Light closer so they lean together, twining wires that bounce their voices into orbit and back down to other wires waiting across the globe, but can’t speak to the ones running parallel beside them. So strange, so interesting. Sways the two of them, gently; sways again. The Light looks up, smiles like sunshine—expression of delight built-in. This game! Yes!

Spare photons tumble down to roll across the walls in diamonds and whirls. Static charge gathers in the basement to come rumbling up through the floor in rhythmic spikes. The bodies clasp hands, and begin to dance. A strange scent rolls out from the house, too-sweet stargazer lilies thrown on hot coals, scorched metal or blood and a breath of the sea; five deer grazing on the lawn bolt for the woods; a neighbor half a mile away across a field sees lights flashing in the empty house, and reaches for the phone.

The vastnesses of themselves they left outside know all of this, but the two sparks inside the bodies sway and spin, smile and know nothing else. The bodies gain grace with every step, balance improved a great deal when the Light and Dark pause to craft delicate aquifers deep inside the ear canals they forgot to connect to the outside, wincing through the crackle of drums and hammers forming, leaning on each other, laughing. Their blood is warm, the room is spinning.

The slick hissing of wheels on wet gravel never reaches them, but the slam of car doors does.

More swiftly than brain matter can react, the swirling lights are gone, the pounding music quenched, and the Light and Dark flat on the floor.

Knocking. More insistent knocking. Harsh rattling at the doorknob. “Hello?” Footsteps outside the windows and an arcing flashlight beam. “Police! We know you’re there.”

The Dark and Light look at each other; the whites of their eyes glint in the beams being swung through every window. To disperse these forms, or not? It’s a knife’s-edge of a question, such a precarious thing that more of their greater selves bleed through unbidden, but they silently agree not to. Besides, there’s still something the Dark wants to do; information running through hands, concept of limited time, fondness, sparkling eyes. Meanwhile, the voices outside are already descending to an uncertain murmur amongst themselves: Had the lights been inside the house, or behind it? Had they really heard music in the fast, unpolished rumble? Had they seen or heard anything at all?

The Light grips the Dark’s hand tighter for a moment, grins, and takes a breath.

“Well, there’s no footprints. No signs of a break-in—look at that!”

Murmuring and scuffing noises on the driveway.

“That was ball lightning. Swear to god, ball lightning. That’s rare.”

“Shit!”

A few seconds of silence drip by, measured in the raindrops still sliding from the shingles.

“Well, I guess that answers that. We came all the way out here for a little thunder and lightning.”

“But there’s no storms in the area I’ve heard of. No one else got any, just rain.”

Someone rattles the doorknob one last time. “Look, there’s nothing here. House is secure. Let’s go on back to the car...”

The deliberation moves down the driveway. It is decided that someone will drive by the house later on, maybe stay and keep watch if there’s nothing else to do. Car doors again. Tires hissing on wet gravel. The night closes around the house once more.

The bodies sit up very slowly.

-Stay here?- asks the Dark, taking advantage of the lowered barriers between them to speak directly.

-yes/no- Despite having answered in the same way, the Light frowns at the Dark. -spoiling the game. turn it off-

-Want use speech? Ears? Really?-

The Light tries several times, mouth working, before a passable, if squeaky, “y Es” plops out.

Heavy sighs come naturally to the Dark. -Miss you,- the Dark complains.

“On e  niG ht,” the Light says, beginning to smile.

-Yes.  Miss you.-

The Light reaches out and twines both arms around the Dark; hands find and cradle a skull, strum soft hair; the Light quivers when the Dark does the same in return. “Wh a t?” the Light asks, referring to the thing the Dark wanted to do. The Light has a pretty good idea, because the Light has been waiting for a chance to try it, too.

It’s a smile and a breath, this thing that some humans have begun to do, not as recently as wires inside houses, but not so far back that eternity has taken much notice. It’s a tilt of heads, like flowers following the sun, and the sun is the other’s face. They lean their foreheads together, pulses still hot from the dance; it’s a slow, delicate roll, and mouth finds mouth. Strange, so strange. Shivery touch. They have to learn teeth, learn pressure—not too much of either one—until nerves sing pleasure. Lips are so good at the illusion, so, so good at pretending that they touch for real, much better than hands, better than other kinds of touch they’ve tried before; and still the knowledge is there, made painfully sharp, even, that there are empty fields of static between everything capable of touching and feeling, but this touch, this touch is the one that promises that if it can only last long enough, if they can only press close enough and love hard enough, the two of them can become one.

The bodies are weak when they finally lean back, such a curious thing, so much more tremblingly vulnerable to time rolling heavily over them – they could do this forever, but they don’t have it. The humans will return; the dawn will break. Already a greasy golden line on the horizon sets an ache growing in the hollows of their eyes.

They climb the stairs slowly, to where there is a bed – they are familiar, at least, with the use of a bed, for sleeping is a most exciting game – pausing to kiss on the stairs. Again. And again. There will be more kissing the next time they play, it is decided. And at the top of the stairs, to sleep—only sleep? Speech bleeding away in anticipation of sleep, image of rolling raindrops, of rain-drenched irises in the garden nodding heavy purple heads that smell like licorice, golden light in the first window of the attic, a question?

The question is weighed, and the question is dropped, heavy as bodies into the welcoming billow of comforters. They ready their senses for the plunge into sleep, arms wrapped around bodies, touching-not-touching, closing the eyes and the ears and all the rest, one by one, alone, more alone. Once they have finished sleeping and concluded the game, the bodies will dissipate and leave nothing for the homeowners to find but silver dust in the sheets and a ghost of metal in the back of the throat.

But now, now they come to the reason that sleep is so exciting. They have found nothing else like dreaming—and perhaps they do not get it quite right, as those who dream regularly might tell them. Or perhaps they, being what they are, are able to know something that mortal dreamers only sometimes feel to be true—that dreaming is a place inhabited by all, beyond molecules, beyond plurality. As they retreat further into deadening flesh like nesting dolls, they dive toward it like desperate fish leaping from a ship’s deck—the water sparkling below them, and once they reach it, nothing will keep them apart, no barriers of flesh or time or difference. They never dream alone.

That would truly be asking the impossible.

[veryangryhedgehog]

“In Anno Domini 900,” an Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

In Anno Domini 900

(Because I couldn’t fit it anywhere else in the chapter)

The tower was cold, dark, and clammy. Condensation often dripped from its stony walls. Ordinarily, Xiar wouldn’t have minded so much. It was an old, twisting structure, it was going to do as it wished. The problem was the constant battle to save his books from water damage and rot. Well, he said his books. Everything that involved magic was a little fuzzy. He was ninety-nine percent sure this tower belonged to him. But he was still always looking out for the real owner of the tower to come striding in and throw him out for being a loony.

To be fair, he didn’t necessarily look sane. Xiar had a passion for long, star-covered robes and pointy hats. Again, he couldn’t remember exactly why. He knew there had been a reason, but whatever it was was lost on him. That’s why he was here in the first place.

Just six months ago he’d been a wizard of great power. Until, that is, he’d faced a being of immeasurable force and had been forced to use incredibly powerful magic. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been strong enough to wield it properly, and though he’d succeeded in holding back this being, his knowledge and magical skill had been taken from him. So here he was, retracing his steps and trying to relearn everything.

It was hard, long work, made even more so by the water, and crumbling stone, and occasional tremors from the structure of the tower itself. But if there was one thing that Xiar Flooferpoofen was, it was optimistic. So he kept working and learning, and knew that someday, he would reclaim his old power.

But even he was a little unnerved when one morning before dawn, he looked out the tower window and saw a black horse and rider plodding across the snowy valley towards him. His first thought was that the rider must have been out for a stroll… in the middle of the night, riding as swiftly as his mount would carry him through the bleached landscape. His second thought was that he would ride right past into the dark, but it became apparent that he was slowing down as he approached the base of the tower.

His third thought was that his memories had been wrong. He didn’t own this tower, and its real owner had returned. Xiar couldn’t help feeling the air of danger the rider brought with him. He might not be just kicked out. He might end up dead.

Until he watched as below, his cloak whipping out around him, the rider dismounted and knocked on the door. Usually, people didn’t knock on the doors of their own towers. Xiar paused, hoping that maybe, if he didn’t move, the man would go away.

Then he banged harder and Xiar was nearly shaken to his feet as the tower itself shuddered. He hurried down the spiral steps, cursing his old bones all the way. The man knocked one more time.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Xiar shouted, though whether the man could actually hear him was up to the will of the gods.

It appeared against the odds that he had, for as Xiar creaked down the last few steps the knocking ceased. He opened the door, and didn’t bother looking at the visitor before proclaiming: “Behold, whether man or daemon you be, know that I am a wizard of great power, the mighty Xiar Floo—”

He tried for a fireball, but all he managed was a sad little puff of smoke in the snow before the man’s feet.

Said visitor stared at it for a second, before turning his gaze back to Xiar, who couldn’t help noticing the slight disappointment visible in the shrouded features under his hood. The man was pale, with dark hair and nearly darker circles under his eyes. But there was something slightly off about him. The eyes themselves were too old for such an unmarred face.

“Are you the master of this tower?” he asked incredulously.

“I just told you, I am Grand Master Wizard Xiar Flooferpoofen! Well, was might be slightly more appropriate.”

The man frowned. “Was?”

“Magical accident, I’m afraid. All my knowledge, poof! Up in smoke. I’ll relearn it eventually, of course. Only took me fifteen years the first time! But I’ve begun rambling. What brings you to, uh, my tower?”

“Please forgive me, I forgot to introduce myself,” the man ducked his head. “My name is Lucius Marcellus, and I was told that the master of this tower might hold some ancient knowledge I seek. But if you’ve lost all of that…”

He began to turn, but Xiar stopped him. He wouldn’t let this man turn away disappointed. And he liked to be helpful. “Wait!” he began. “Though I myself may be lacking in the brains department, my books certainly aren’t. They may contain that which you are looking for.”

Marcellus paused, and looked about ready to decline, until he happened to glance up at the sky, just beginning to grey with the dawn. “Thank you,” he nodded. “Deeply.”

A grin spreading across his many wrinkles, Xiar turned and led the way inside, a skip in his step. It had been so long since he’d had any kind of visitor. “Marcellus,” he commented as they climbed the numerous steps—had there been less of them on the way down?—“That’s an old name.”

“It is,” Marcellus mumbled, almost to himself. “It’s probably near time to change it…” There seemed to be something melancholy in the way he said that, the look of loss in his old eyes. But then her shook his head. “Do you need some help?” he asked as he saw Xiar struggling up the last few stairs.

“Oh, hush,” Xiar just chuckled. “I’m probably younger than you are.”

Marcellus froze. “What do you mean?”

“I’m only twenty-nine.”

Blinking in the candlelight, Marcellus frowned and looked over at Xiar once again, the wrinkled face, the long, white beard. “Twenty-nine?” he repeated. “Magical accident?”

“Magical accident.”

Finally, the study came into view, and the mountain of stone steps was conquered. Xiar hadn’t noticed how chaotic the place really was until there was someone else here to see it. His books were scattered in every place he could fit them, every place that wasn’t occupied by puddles of water or plant matter.

“Now,” Xiar began apologetically, “what exactly is it that you’re looking for?”

But Marcellus didn’t respond, for just then the tower began to shake again. “It that… normal?” he asked finally.

Xiar waved him off. “Happens all the time. Old tower and all that.”

“Right…” Marcellus glanced around at the piles and piles of books. Organized chaos was the word of the day.

“It may look like a mess, but I guarantee you I know where everything is,” Xiar defended his collection.

Shaking his head, a wry smile crossed Marcellus’ face. “Alright then, I’m looking for information on Atlantis. More specifically, why it’s a lost city in the first place.”

Xiar blinked several times. He had to admit that he had fully expected something easy, like the uses of mandrake root. Okay, maybe not that, but it was hard to come up with good examples off the top of one’s head. “Atlantis?” he said. “Hardly anyone even remembers that name anymore. You wouldn’t happen to be a wizard yourself, would you?”

“No, no,” Marcellus shook his head. “Merely a scholar.”

“No one is a ‘scholar’ these days unless you’re studying god,” Xiar laughed.

“Yes, it does appear that things have headed in that direction.”

Blundering around the tower room, Xiar began to search blindly around. He knew that he had something relevant around here… “You speak as if you’ve known differently,” he mumbled distractedly.

“Oh no, I’ve just been told stories.”

“Ah, here it is,” Xiar pushed aside several musty tomes, and there on the surface of his desk was a tattered scroll. The tower rumbled again, a little stronger this time. They had been getting more frequent, the rumblings, but Xiar hadn’t paid them much mind.

Marcellus took the scroll and read the first few lines. “This… this is a story.” He seemed confused.

“Yes, it is.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve heard all the stories. I’m looking for the truth.”

Slowly, Xiar sat on his stool, his old bones creaking. “Isn’t there always some Truth in every story?”

He thought about this for a second, then shrugged.

“That may just be a story, but it’s your job to find where the Truth lies.”

Unfortunately, just as Marcellus opened his mouth to ask a question, the ground itself began to rumble. Not just the tower, but everything around it as well. The towers of books quickly collapsed, and the one glass window shattered.

Marcellus rose to his feet, shakily. “We need to get out of here,” he clasped Xiar’s hand and helped him up as well. They began to wobble their way to the staircase, but with a great crack a part of the wall crumbled and fell directly over the doorway.

“Why do things like this always happen to me?” Marcellus mumbled.

“Well,” Xiar began, “look on the bright side…”

“Which is…?”

“Yeah, I can’t think of anything.”

Running over to the newly created hole in the wall, Marcellus looked downwards. “No one alive could survive that fall.”

“Well, I guess that means that I’m up,” Xiar pushed up his loose sleeves. “Help me clear this rug.”

A large pile of paper and books had landed or had already covered the bearskin rug on the floor. Quickly, the two men pushed the mess aside.

“Are you going to attempt magic?” Marcellus asked, a little incredulously.

“Not attempt, do,” Xiar winked. “It’s all in the mindset.”

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath. So what if he hadn’t been able to cast even the simplest spell since the accident? The fear of death would provide just the pressure he needed to break this block.

Alright, here we go, he thought, trying in vain to remember how it had felt to use magic, how to drag up the last visages of power from that far place under the waves and hone it to an edge. He was, and would be, one of the last true wizards. He must be able to do this. Float.

“I don’t believe it,” he heard Marcellus mumble, and opened his eyes. The rug was hovering a few inches off the ground. Xiar laughed in relief, but he could already feel the magic fading. There wasn’t much time.

“Get on!” he commanded, and with a bit of difficulty, Marcellus managed to jump on and pull Xiar up behind him. By now bits of stone were falling on their heads. “Forward!” Xiar felt the need to say it out loud, in order to hold onto the magic a little longer.

The rug shot forward, out of the hole in the wall, and a second later the whole tower started to collapse in on itself. Marcellus’ horse was easy to pick out against the white snow, galloping away from the rapid shaking. Xiar brought the rug into a barely controlled dive downwards into the snow.

Marcellus hastily pulled his cloak down over his face as the sun rose over the horizon. He recovered much faster than Xiar, who struggled to sit up and spit out a face-full of snow and fur.

“That was certainly an event,” Xiar laughed, his eyes twinkling as the tower finally crumbled in a puff of snow and a tremendous boom. He was so high off of magic that he nearly fell back down into the snow.

Blinking, Marcellus looked more downcast, though it was hard not to with his face in shadow as it was. “Your tower, all your books. I’m sorry.”

“Ah, no matter,” Xiar waved him off. “Everything happens for a reason. I’ve been thinking of setting off on a journey anyway. There’s only so much you can learn from books, you know.”

“I don’t know how you stay so optimistic,” Marcellus shook his head.

“it’s probably more difficult for you,” Xiar smiled. “I’m pretty sure angst is a legitimate side effect of vampirism.”

Marcellus began to nod, then froze. “Wait, how did you know about that?”

“The way you speak of old things as if they weren’t old at all. But your fear of the sun is really what did it.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“No,” Xiar shook his head, “I’m just much more observant than I appear. But I’m flapping my gums. You, my friend, should get out of the sun. Have you still got the scroll?”

Patting his cloak, Marcellus smiled. “Safe and sound. But I shouldn’t leave you out here alone.”

“I’ll be alright,” Xiar insisted. “I’m not the one in physical pain. Your cheek is smoking.”

He patted his cheek out, and though he still looked conflicted, Marcellus mounted his horse. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Don’t you have some reading to do?”

Marcellus grinned, waved, and set off.

“Remember, this is important!” Xiar called after him. “Find where the Truth lies!”

Once Marcellus had disappeared over the nearest hill, Xiar looked down at the bearskin rug. “Now, let’s see if I can do this again…”

[sxckmycockinessss]

I married a narcissist.

Krista,

I would like to begin by clarifying that since day one, I had the upmost respect for you and the person you thought you wanted to be. I referred to you as Kris and used he/him/his pronouns. I educated friends and family about your transition and supported it 100%. This may be “petty” but after realizing how little respect you have for me, I will refer to you as Krista.

I like to think of you now as nothing more than an illusionist. A narcissist? Sure. A sociopath? Absolutely.  Honestly, I’ve used worse words to describe you.  I’ve come to the conclusion that more than anything, you are a sad, pathetic, illusionist. You can trick someone into believing you really love them. It’s an effortless game to you. I thought I found something real. Your charming ways reeled me in from the beginning. What I found wasn’t real, I discovered nothing more than a monster. The worst kind of soul. The fucked up part about it all is that you aren’t the least bit remorseful. You’ve shown no sympathy or empathy whatsoever.  

I moved to Virginia from Texas for love. That’s all. I chase love and I would do anything for someone I really care for. That makes me naïve but I know and accept that about myself. I can get heartbroken, bounce back and open my heart for someone else. I love to love. I love to be in love. I love giving the love I have yet to receive. I am a giver by nature. That is my Aries spirit. You knew this about me. You supported my move to Virginia for your own selfish gain. You were so conditioned to a certain privileged lifestyle; why not bait someone into marrying you? Sadly, you don’t have an ounce of love in your heart and you chose the right one, me. I am a naïve, care-free, loving young woman. You became my so-called “best friend”. This was the perfect formula of your next victim. You needed someone you could smartly convince to do and be anything for you. You’re a parasitic vampire. You suck and drain what you need from your unfortunate victims and leave them high and dry.

You and I are both well aware of the things that happened in our relationshit whether you choose to admit to it or not. It happened. I have proof. I lived through it. You can act like it didn’t happen. You can change the story. You can taint my name. I’ve accepted the fact that your family will always choose your side and they may never know what you did to me. They could be blaming me for all I know and that is okay. I know the truth and so do you. You will have to live with it for the rest of your life.  So let’s recap, shall we?

Our journey began back in Sept/Oct 2015. There were miles between us, you were in Pensacola and I was in San Antonio, but we confided in each other and began building a relationship. I was going through a break up and you told me you were going through a divorce. We started talking every day, we talked on the phone and texted each other a lot. A couple weeks in, you decided you wanted to reconcile with your wife. I was hurt but I understood. It was bad timing for the both of us. I was okay with it. I did my thing in Texas and you did whatever in Florida. I was healing myself, getting more into my practice and I had my independence. I was fine. I was happy. I was even in a relationship by Feb/March of 2016. There were times you reached out to me; I remember distinctively in June 2016, you sent that “I miss you” text. I informed you I was in a relationship and didn’t want to talk to you. A couple months later, let’s say September 2016, I start thinking about joining the military, more specifically, the Navy. I talked to Sydnee first. A couple weeks later, I reached out to you about it. I learned that your divorce had just been finalized in August 2016. You sounded better and I was happy for you. I thought maybe this was our time. I have to acknowledge the fact that you went as far as making a trip to Kentucky for some little girl before it was even finalized. You talked to a couple girls before you got to me. I should’ve known then what kind of person you are but I didn’t want to hold that against you at the time. So, poor, desperate Krista thought that this was the ideal opportunity to reel me in. You asked me to call you and you knew you had me. Krista, you have a way with words and you are well aware of your skill. You are so gifted with the way you can get into someone’s head and fill it with lies. That power alone makes you dangerous. It makes me nauseous and disgusted to think that this was the kind of person I was going to spend the rest of my life with and do anything for.

I like to believe that I really got to know you before moving out here. Obviously, I was mistaken. That was just another one of your devious strategies to pull me in. After my visit in October 2016, I decided to stay and that’s when the “real” Krista came out. Then again, was that really you? Do you even know who you really are? I uprooted my entire life for an illusion. I believed in this illusion. I believed in you and I believed in this relationshit. Lies. Smoke and mirrors. That’s what I received in exchange for my genuine love. You lie so much you start believing it. You filled my head with stories, maybe fantasies. You even told me you used to drive for the Cartel and you’ve killed people before. I never believed these fairy tales you came up with. I rarely entertained it. You believed it though and I listened. I would ask myself questions and nothing you ever told me would add up. That’s when you’d get angry.

I was officially moved in with you in November 2016. Chelsi had moved out and blessed us with our own space. That’s when it all started to unfold. We fought. A lot. Our communication sucked. Let me remind you why we fought so much though. Sareena. She was the main reason. I would even ask you if you had enough time to get over her. Your response was always the same. You had your time, your relationship had been over for months, you didn’t care about her, she was crazy, she used all your money, she cheated on you and you didn’t want anything to do with her. More lies. We would get into screaming matches about this girl. You hated being confronted about her. You were so defensive. You would get so angry that you would punch the walls, slam the doors, drive off, and there was one time you kicked and broke the bottom of the bedroom door. Not even a month later in December, you were putting me out of “your” house. You threw all my belongings on to your bed, told me to get the fuck out of your house, told me you were done, and you didn’t give a fuck. The best part? You called your dad to send you money to send me on my way. You came back home and threw $300 in my face and wanted me out. You watched me pack all my things into my car and did nothing but sat there in silence and changed all your passwords to your phone and computer. That was clearly more important to you. (You always resorted to doing that. Evidently, material things meant the most to you.) This all happened because I asked you about Sareena. To me, something didn’t add up. Instead of owning up to the truth, you made me feel like I was crazy for even asking that. You made it a point to make me feel stupid, worthless, and like I was nothing. I was crazy for putting things together and catching you in your lies. You made Sareena out to be this bitter, psychotic, ex-wife that wanted to ruin us. When all along, you were talking to her and telling her you missed her and that I meant nothing to you. I don’t know Sareena well but I don’t believe she is as bad as you make her out to be. She is probably damaged from the lies you fed her. You were in fact, stringing her along while I was in Virginia living with you with a cheap ass Wal-Mart ring on my finger. You know it and I know it. You never wanted to end any contact with her. You made me look like a complete idiot sticking up for you and telling her off when all she ever told me was the truth. She basically warned me and I chose your side. Unfortunately, I accepted your fake apologies and had sympathy for your pitiable cries. By the way, you are a great actress. You fooled me for the most part.

I should’ve been done with you at this point. We had a toxic relationship that was going nowhere fast. I ignored all the red flags, I ignored the signs, I ignored my deepest intuition. On January 12th 2017, we got married. The universe was probably looking at me like WHAT. THE. FUCK. At one point, I genuinely did care and love you. It showed. I fell for a monster and her wicked games. I’m a smart woman and it took a while to accept the whole “husband works and wife stays at home” thing. I was raised to be independent and I never agreed with fully allowing you to “take care” of me. I hated the idea of someone paying my bills and buying my love. At the same time, I was now someone’s wife. I wanted to be a good little “Stepford” wife. We started planning our fall October wedding while keeping our marriage a secret. I didn’t realize it then but, I was slowly beginning to lose myself into you. I quit my job in February 2017. I hated it and was planning to look for something else. At the time, your mental health issues were priority. There were times I had to leave work because of you. I quit work to be available 24/7 for you. It’s crazy that I was ever called selfish in this relationshit. I always put you before myself and did anything in my power to try to help you.  I was an obedient housewife. When I started to bleach and color my hair, THAT WAS A DEFINITE CRY FOR HELP. I broke my hair off and pushed it to its limits. It helped to keep my mind off things while I wasn’t working in a salon. I was so wrapped up in caring for you and trying to heal you that I lost myself. I was good for posting fake happy pictures on social media. I pretended that I was fine and that my relationship was fine because in reality how embarrassing is it to share that I was putting up with all of this? I couldn’t tell my friends or my family anything because I whole-heartedly believed that what happened in our marriage stayed between us. I let a lot of things slide with you. I started ignoring the things that wouldn’t add up. I tried my hardest to believe you and trust in you. Little did I know, I was only digging a deeper hole for myself. I started drinking more to numb the fact that THIS was my married life. I am grateful for essentially saving myself and leaving when I did. I only regret not leaving sooner but that’s okay.

We moved into our new townhome in July 2017. Later I found out that it was always just “your” house. It was never mine. This summer was full of lots of beach trips, pool trips and we can’t forget our numerous trips to Florida. You kept me from seeing my family in Texas. There was always some excuse of why we couldn’t go but we always made time to see your family in Florida. I digress. Your townhouse was amazing but let’s not forget who turned it into a home. You were spoiled. We had everything we could ask for. You always came home to home-cooked meals, a clean house, clean laundry and Isis was always taken care of. I would set up baths for you and even put in a lot of effort into fixing our marriage by doing a lot of little things to help you through your depressing times. I was your faithful servant. It was your home, your phone, your furniture, your everything. I allowed myself to be easily controlled. You knew you could hold that over my head and rip it away from me whenever you wanted. You fed off of this. Sick fuck. You threatened me so many times. You ensured I knew who the fuck you are, what you were capable of and that I am nothing without you and the things you could provide for me. What kind of “man” treats their wife like this? I had nothing to my name besides my car and my belongings from Texas. And you knew this.

In August 2017, our relationship only continued to get worse. I knew it was time but I had a lot to think about. You told me it was my decision to move here. You were right. I found it funny how you could throw that in my face yet, you were crying and begging me to stay at the airport when I was about to go back home. I. HAD. NOTHING. I didn’t even have a bed. One night after going to bed late cause we were up arguing, you were sleepwalking. I was awake, I couldn’t sleep. When you got up, it scared me. I was scared for my safety because you were already at the point where you’d hear and see terrible things. WHO KNOWS WHAT COULD’VE HAPPENED HAD I NOT BEEN AWAKE?! I didn’t know how to help you anymore, you were only getting worse. I’m not a professional and that’s what I believed you needed. I wanted you to admit yourself to Portsmouth. Krista, I was genuinely worried about your safety as well as mine. But surprise, surprise, after waking you up from sleepwalking, we got into another heated argument. I recorded the things you said to me. It was time to start protecting myself. I only had myself. You said, “if you’re here by the time I get back, we’re going to have some serious problems.” I didn’t respond to anything you were saying. I sat there, quiet and just took it. You asked for the ring back and wanted me out. It wasn’t any different from our other fights. I continued to take all this mistreatment from you. It did detrimental things to my mind, body, and soul. I started to believe awful things about myself as a result of the words I let you feed into mind. I’m not a perfect person, I never claimed that. I contributed to fights by yelling and cussing. I know my communication skills suck. I know I can be mean as hell. Do I believe I deserved any of this? Absolutely fucking not. No one deserves this. The icing on the cake was when you decided to pack up and leave for just about three weeks. You left out details of your whereabouts like where you were going and who you were with. I knew you didn’t respect me before but this really sealed the deal. You told me about some guy friend you were staying with which was another lie. You had made new friends, Nicole Preston and Samantha. You went out, did what you wanted and expected me to be home when you were done. I found messages between you and a girl you used to fuck named “Devon Taylor” but at that time I was on my way to moving on. You left me abandoned and neglected at “your” house. When all this started happening I was in the first week of my new job. Without your financial help and sense of concern, I started working my ass off. There were days I worked 10-13 days in a row. I barely had an appetite, I was losing weight and replacing food with alcohol. No one really knew that though. By August 24th, I dusted myself off and moved on. I was beginning my healing journey. I got home from work one evening and you were there. My anxiety was on 10. I tried to avoid being home when you were there. You were always drunk and smoking hella cigarettes in your room. That night, you referred to me as your wife and wanted to talk to me, hold me and be around me. I was disgusted. I wasn’t falling for it at all. You were drunk and desperate for my attention. You tried to block me from leaving the house while trying to make me talk to you. At this point you were telling Devon that I was nothing but a crazy bitch. After all I put into this relationshit, that’s how you would refer to me to your next victims. There was definitely a pattern here. You would taint my name to make yourself look good to whoever would listen. That was the last straw for me. I had to get out of the house. I didn’t feel safe anymore. Luckily, I was able to move in with generous friends. They took me in their home and out of a bad situation. I could never thank them enough for that.

So by the end of August, I had an amazing support system, I had my job, my things, my car, a place to stay and a new found love. Things were looking up for me. There was only one thing holding me back and that was divorcing you. After being informed about you abandoning your wife and withholding BAH from me (money you wouldn’t have if we weren’t married), Fleet&Family suggested I try to get a hold of your sorry ass chain of command. I learned very quickly that the Navy looks out for their sailors no matter the circumstance. I took our case to family advocacy and they were no help. Apparently our case didn’t meet the requirements to be further investigated. Cool. I used all of my Navy resources, spoke to legal assistance and spoke to so many different people but in the end nothing was done. No one was hearing me or trying to help. I had a property settlement/separation agreement from legal assistance, it was my right to ask for spousal support. You didn’t agree and refused to sign it. I took it to court and you didn’t show up. Apparently, you couldn’t find the correct courtroom. You made sure to call me that morning and let me know you weren’t trying to fuck me over. You told me you would go ahead and file for divorce in Florida and pay for it so I didn’t have to worry about it. I was stupid to trust you with that. I wanted to give up. Eventually, I did.  I started focusing on how blessed I was to have my support system, Chelsi, and my job.  I have them to thank for getting me through this and being there for me. A few weeks later, in December 2017, you resorted to disrespecting me and calling me names. Not surprised. All I asked was if you had filed yet but, you were so upset that Chelsi was in my life. It killed you to see me happy, flourishing and growing in love with her. I realized how much time I wasted by trusting you to take care of the divorce.

It’s a whole new year. January 2018. I took matters into my own hands. This divorce was long overdue so I began the process all by myself here in Virginia. It was stressful but I knew it was going to be well worth it in the end. It is now the last week of February 2018 and GUESS WHAT?! I’m finally getting my divorce! It has been a long, stressful and emotional ride. The universe has been looking out for me and my support system.

With all this being said, I just feel sorry for you, Krista. I always will. You are a coward. You never had the courage or decency to admit you were talking to Sareena yet, I’m a hoe for being with Chelsi. Funny. You were playing me from the start, we both know that. You married me for your own benefit. There was never any love or care from you. You couldn’t even tell me you were out of the Navy and on your way to Florida when you still had unfinished business here in Virginia, like I don’t know, your divorce? Speaking of Florida, I will always cherish your mother’s way of trying to make me feel accepted into the Whitaker family, how she supported us financially at times and especially how she pretended to care about my feelings. What I will always remember about Ms. Joanna is how she jokingly said I got married to get my green card. FYI, I was born in our nation’s capital, Washington, D.C. This may be a shock to most people but I am 100% American. I didn’t entertain her ignorance then and I won’t start. Anyway, thank you Ms. Joanna and the Whitaker family for the fun outings we had in Florida. I did appreciate them and the financial help.

Krista, good luck in life. Lying your way to the top and out of situations seems to work well for you. You only survive by preying on young women. Your form of enjoyment is breaking them down and re-molding them into who you want them to be. Fortunately, I escaped before it was too late. I was hurt. I was sad. I was depressed. I stopped taking care of myself. More than anything, I was angry for allowing this to happen. I’m still working through the motions, repairing what you broke. Don’t get it twisted though, YOU DID NOT BREAK ME DOWN. I left before giving you that power. I know not giving you that power hurt you to your core.  I was raised to be resilient and rise up with my head held high when I get knocked down. I do have to thank you though. Without you, I wouldn’t have met great new friends or reconnected with old friends. I’m living closer to my family than I ever have. In fact, you introduced me to the real reason I moved here for. Chelsi has been patiently assisting me in my healing process. She has been nothing but a true blessing after you. She couldn’t even believe all the things that happened behind closed doors. To be completely honest, it should’ve been her. It was always her but the universe felt like I needed to learn a lesson. So we shared a drunken kiss March 2017, cry me a river! We stopped having sex, you wouldn’t even look at me like you were attracted to me, and all we knew how to do was put each other down. Even then, after we kissed, I cut her off and told you about it because I saw it as cheating. But what were you doing to me throughout our entire relationship? Oh okay. No regrets. The universe was working on bringing Chelsi and I closer together. I am not ashamed to admit that I enjoyed that kiss and I felt something for her then. My dumb ass stuck by your side though and tried gaining back your trust. I digress. I’m not perfect. I made my mistakes. This marriage was sadly the biggest mistake I ever made. The universe did bring me to Chelsi under the most trying circumstances. I guess God & Goddess really do have a sense of humor. I knew it was her when I first moved here but I was wrapped in this relationshit. Anyway, I learned my lesson. I learned so much from this “marriage”. I can’t bring myself to regret any of it though. I was in love. I would still do anything for love. I know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I’m being shaped into a force, only growing better and stronger. I am happy with where I am at in life. Even though this experience put me back in therapy, I am a step closer to fully healing from it all. You didn’t win, Krista. You didn’t get to keep me. YOU DID NOT WIN. I will learn to forgive you, eventually. For now, I’m choosing to let go of your entire existence.

A huge round of applause for the illusionist. And a huge thank you for introducing me to my blessing and surrounding me with amazing, loving, caring friends. They continue to support me through all of this. I will always be grateful for the people that enter my life to teach me things and open my eyes, including you. I wish you peace, love and light. I wish you the ability to let love into your heart. Goodbye, Krista.

- Kiara Avila

[dantediscoversfic]

Chapter 25: The Weight of Waiting

I don’t like hospitals. Who in their right mind does? I bet the people who work there don’t even really like it. The smells, for one. The tension that hangs heavy in the air like it’s an anti-air freshener on the rearview mirror of a car but instead of a pine tree it’s shaped like an anatomical heart and smells like blood, vomit, bleach and astringent cleaner, day old coffee, piss and shit, body odor, fear and dread. The awful raw animal sounds people make. The machine sounds that are like a fly buzzing incessantly around your ear: clocks ticking, machines beeping, wheels screeching, TVs and radios bleating in the background. The long corridors and labyrinthine hallways that all look the same. How easy it is to get lost and wind up in the wrong wing, peering into strangers’ most private moments while you’re searching for the one you love.

So yeah, hospitals are terrible. But there was no way I was leaving until I knew Ari was going to be okay after his surgery.

I’d never been in an ICU unit before. I’d been to a regular hospital room when I was younger and my abuelo needed a stent put in for his heart. What I remember most about that is how he let me climb in bed with him and press the button to move the top of his bed up and down and that he gave me his little carton of milk and let me eat some of his cold mashed potatoes. I don’t remember being scared because I don’t really think I understood that he was in real danger, that something could have gone wrong with his surgery and he could have died. My parents left that part out and just said we needed to go see him to help him get better.

This time, I wasn’t a delusional kid who thought me being there would actually help Ari get any better. But I still couldn’t leave, not even to sleep. After I got my stitches and cast on (it turns out I’d broken my right arm when Ari pushed me out of the way of the car), my mom thought I should go home and rest and that the Mendozas would call us once they had news about Ari. But I flat out refused. My parents switched off staying with me while we waited with Ari’s parents. We didn’t talk much. My throat felt as scraped up as my face, all rough and gravel-singed. I thought the second I opened my mouth I’d start to cry so I just sealed it shut and waited.

After Ari’s surgery they let us see him briefly in the ICU unit. I didn’t realize that the ICU was just one big area and that all the beds would be separated only by curtains. He seemed so exposed. Ari was semi-lucent for only a little bit. He said my name but I don’t think he understood that I was right there, standing next to him. It’s hard to explain how scary that was to witness. Maybe scarier than right after the accident and he wasn’t moving. It was like he was there but wasn’t there. I could hope against hope that he would be himself again but I had no way of knowing that for sure. And it would be all my fault if he was permanently damaged. I’d never forgive myself if he didn’t make it out not just okay but not make it out as Ari. If he somehow lost a part of himself that made him who he was, made him the person I loved more than just about anyone else on the planet. He moaned, obviously in a lot of pain, and the doctors gave him drugs that made him sleep. And then all we could do was wait for his body to want for him to wake up.

The weight of waiting. It creates its own strange force inside your body. Your head droops and your neck snaps but you can’t really sleep. You can’t turn off your brain but it feels sluggish and dull. Your body aches, but not as much as your heart, which keeps pumping even though it stopped the minute the person you love was dragged away from you.

Time passes strangely in a hospital waiting room. Especially after visiting hours are over and you’re supposed to have gone home. It doesn’t obey the normal laws of reality we’re used to. You know you’re not supposed to be there, there’s no context for why you’re there, why the dawn breaks even though your soul still feels heavy and dark as the night sky.

At some point I needed to get up and stretch my legs so I went looking for the cafeteria vending machines and ended up finding the hospital’s little chapel instead. It was empty and I sat on the wooden benches. My limbs were heavy. I closed my eyes and time and space started behaving strangely again. My head felt like it was a snow globe, with the universe swirling around inside it. I asked the stars for help, to keep Ari safe. I didn’t say any of the Bible words my mom had taught me, but there, alone, was where I really learned what it means to pray.

My right arm was broken, which made me feel even stranger and more helpless. I needed my parents to open a bag of chips or crack open the tab of a soda can for me. To pass the time while we waited I practiced writing with my left hand; I wrote my name and Ari’s name over and over on a page of hospital stationary. It looked like a Kindergartener’s chicken scratch. It sort of matched how I felt, though.

Thirty-six hours after he’d gotten out of surgery, Ari’s dad came and found me and told me Ari was awake finally. My dad had gone home to shower and bring me back some real food, so I was alone. Something broke loose inside me when he told me Ari was going to be okay and I sobbed into his arms. He let me get it out of my system. He patted my back and let me cry, but his own face stayed dry. He was so like Ari. I went to the bathroom to splash water on my face before going in to see him. I wanted to be strong for him, like he’d been strong for me.

I stepped into his room and saw the brown and white parts of his eyes. They were really truly open! He looked absolutely terrible, but he still managed to smile at me. Relief flooded over me like a tremor.

“Hi,” he said.

“We sort of match,” I said. My arm cast, his leg casts. A mangled matching set.

“I got you beat,” he said. He sounded like talking took a lot of effort.

“Finally, you get to win an argument.”

“Yeah, finally,” he said. “You look like shit.”

“So do you,” I said.

I stepped in closer to his bed but was afraid to touch him. Like touching him would make him hurt even more.

“You sound tired,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad you woke up.”

“Yeah, I woke up. But it hurts less when I sleep.”

“You saved my life, Ari.”

“Dante’s hero. Just what I always wanted to be.”

I felt pressure start to build in the back of my throat and behind my eyes but I tried to shove it down. “Don’t do that, Ari. Don’t make fun. You almost got yourself killed.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

I couldn’t help it. Tears started running hot down my face. It wasn’t on purpose. “You pushed me. You pushed me and you saved my life.”

“Looks like I pushed you and beat the crap out of your face.”

I raised a hand reflexively to touch my still sensitive cheek. It still stung like hell. “I’ve got character now.”

“It was that damned bird,” he said. “We can blame it all on the bird. The whole thing.”

“I’m done with birds.”

“No you’re not.”

Once tears get going, they really have a life of their own. Ari was awake, he was making stupid jokes, he was alive, he was Ari, so why couldn’t I stop crying?

“Knock it off,” he said, not meanly. His voice was too tired to have any real oomph behind it. “My mom’s been crying—and even Dad looks like he wants to cry. Rules. I have rules. No crying.”

I thought of Dead Bird Day. If it wasn’t for that day I’m not sure we’d be here right now. That was the day that things started going to hell. And it was all because of stupid birds. I was done with them, even though Ari didn’t believe me.

“Okay,” I said. “No more crying. Boys don’t cry.”

“Boys don’t cry,” he said. “Tears make me really tired.”

It was such an Ari thing to say, I let out a barky laugh that was more like a combination laugh-cry. But since I was done with crying, it was a laugh.

I shut my eyes for a second and the accident replayed in my mind. I heard Ari’s voice like a wind chime saying “Why would I be sad?”. I saw the hail stones, the bird, the headlights, heard Ari screaming my name, smelled blood and asphalt. It all happened slower in my brain than in real life, almost like I was piecing together all the images after the fact, trying to solve the puzzle of how and why this terrible thing had happened. At the time it had happened so fast I barely registered what was happening, why Ari’s body was barreling into mine, but now time had made it obvious. It happened because of me.

“You took a dive like you were in a swimming pool,” I said.

“We don’t have to talk about this.”

“You dove at me, like, I don’t know, like some kind of football player diving at the guy with the ball, and you pushed me out of the way. It all happened so fast and yet, you just, I don’t know, you just knew what to do. Only you could have gotten yourself killed. And all because I’m an idiot, standing in the middle of the road trying to save a stupid bird.”

“You’re breaking the no-crying rule again,” he said. “And birds aren’t stupid.”

“I almost got you killed.”

“You didn’t do anything. You were just being you.”

“No more birds for me.”

“I like birds,” he said.

“I’ve given them up. You saved my life.”

“I told you. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Ari’s parents laughed, so I did, too. I’d almost forgotten they were in the room with us.

Ari smiled, then winced. I hated that. I hated that it hurt for the most beautiful boy on the planet to smile and it was my fault.

I took his hand. I thought he’d wince again but he didn’t.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Ari. Forgive me forgive me.”

His eyelids fluttered closed and he began drifting away. His mom told me it was the morphine. He hummed a little but didn’t talk any more. He kept holding onto my hand until he was fast asleep.

I carefully pried our hands apart even though I knew he was out cold. I brushed his hair out of his eyes. I said good-bye to his parents and went back into the waiting room. My dad was there. I told him Ari had woken up, that the doctors told us he was going to be fine. My dad hugged me and drove me home. I fell asleep during the car ride back to our house, even though it was only a short drive. He must have picked me up and brought me up to my room, because the next thing I remember was waking up in my bed and seeing a bird on my windowsill. I shooed it away, shut the blinds, and went back to sleep.

I dreamed that Ari and I were in a swimming pool. We were both sitting on a big inflatable swan. I was sitting behind him with my arms wrapped around his waist, my head resting on the back of his shoulder. I had big white wings and I wrapped them around us. The pool stretched on forever, it turned into the sky. He asked me if we could fly.

“I don’t know how,” I said. “I’ve never tried.”

“What are those wings for?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I just mean, they’ve always just been here. I don’t know what they’re for or if they even work.”

“Well, that’s stupid. Let’s try them.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Don’t be a chicken.”

“I’m not a chicken. I’m a swan.”

We both laughed. I was hugging him so tight I could feel all the vibrations run through his body. It hurt to laugh, though.

“What a waste,” he said.

I hugged his waist even tighter and brushed my cheek against his skin in the dip between his shoulder blades.

“Here, have one.” I yanked the right wing out. It slipped out pretty easily and stung only as bad as pulling out a splinter. I pulled the other one out. He held them out to his sides and tried flapping them up and down.

“Now what?” he said.

“Now what what?”

“Nothing’s happening.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought this through.”

“I guess not.”

“I could try sticking them into your back.”

“Won’t that hurt?”

“Maybe. But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Okay, try it.”

I took one of the wings from him. The end was pointed like an old-fashioned feather pen. I jabbed it into his skin.

“Ouch!”

A trickle of blood rivered down his back.

“This isn’t going to work,” I said.

“Can you give me a tattoo instead?”

“What do you want the tattoo to be?”

“Draw me some wings.”

My right arm was numb. I couldn’t hold the wing anymore with it, let alone draw. “I can’t write with my left hand. It will turn out terrible.”

“I don’t care.”

“You will. Tattoos are permanent.”

“I won’t. Just try.”

I used my left hand and drew blood wings on his back with the feather quill pen/wing.

“It’s all red. Doesn’t it hurt?”

“It hurts a lot. But I don’t care.”

“You’re so strong.”

He snorted.

“Let’s go for a swim in the sky.”

He sprouted wings where I’d scratched them into his skin. We switched spots so now he was positioned behind me; he held me tight around my rib cage and we lifted off. My ears popped painfully.

“Where are we going?”

“We’re migrating.”

“But where?”

“Anywhere you like.”

“But I like it here.”

“We can’t stay here, you know that, Dante, right?”

“Why?”

“Because here is nowhere.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t cry, Dante.”

“I’m not crying.”

“I can taste it on your cheek.”

I had forgotten our cheeks were rubbing so close together.

“Don’t let go of me,” I said.

“I won’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For hurting you.”

“The wings didn’t hurt.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

The air way up in the sky was frigid. The wind stung my eyes and made my face itch. But my whole body was throbbing and on fire from where he was touching me and from the rhythmic beating of his wings.

“I like this so much.”

“Don’t cry, Dante.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“It feels like we’re swimming in a pool up here. We’re weightless.”

“Will you wait for me?”

“Wait for what?”

“Wait for us.”

I was shouting so he could hear me over the wind.

“What would I be waiting for?”

“Nothing. Put me down please. Let me go.”

“I’m not doing that.”

I hated him so much.

“Let me go!”

“Fine.”

I felt the release of the pressure of his arms around my waist. I fell and fell and woke up right before I crashed into the ground. Everything hurt.