#and you look down eyes shielded by your aviators but i know the shame that washed over you

[lemonsweet]

Terrifying work photo

[pawseds]

Simply Be

Finan stepped out of the warmly-lit base and strode into the still night. The boisterous laughter of his mercenary company faded away as he narrowed his eyes, searching for her in the dark. And there she was —  a small silhouette pricking out of the vast expanse of the cliff, so far away she seeped into the cloudless sky. 

A sudden thump in his chest made him hesitate. What was he going to do, stroll up to Claretta and strike a conversation just like that? He wasn’t able to treat her wounds without her bristling at him, let alone be in the same room without her exceedingly uncomfortable silence weighing down on him like judgement. She even treated David — the one who had worked with her the most — with words so pointed, they’d put a knife to shame. Then there was the look she gave him — the purse of her lips, the slant of her brows. What thoughts swam behind those brown eyes she shielded behind her aviators..?

Finan felt his ears grow warm. Damn it! He threw his gaze to the ground and tightened his shoulders. That only made the warmth spread to his cheeks. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He paced around, clenching at his heart to stop it from beating so fast. He was just intrigued by her, that was all. Who wouldn’t be? She was savage on the battlefield, but never a beast — ruthlessly precise, never wasting a bullet on someone who didn’t need it, even if it meant extra cash. But yet, after a day of fighting when the company licked their wounds or stroked their egos, she wore a different skin. Her coy smiles, muted chuckles, and preening eyes — they all catered to whatever the men wanted to see or hear. 

Finan shook his head. That wasn’t it. She’d still perform the same show in the battlefield — just a different act of it. But who was he to blame her? That was how he blended in when he arrived in the country that would be his new home  — no, that wasn’t right either. He was sure she had her own reasons he could never understand. 

But for now, here she was, alone in the dark where no eyes reached her. Who would Claretta be this time?

Biting his lip, Finan walked towards her, remaining quiet but still letting his boots crunch over gravel and kick loose pebbles about. As he came closer, he saw a pair of earphones in her ears. A grin sprung onto his face, and he quickly pulled the corners of his lips down as his cheeks turned hot. So she was a music enthusiast like him. Big deal — a lot of people were. 

Finan managed to get right behind her — that was a surprise. He shifted his foot in the dirt. Only then did Claretta snap out of her thousand-yard stare across the plain.

She quickly killed the surprise in her eyes and removed an earphone. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Oh, I’m just, well, you know…’ Finan’s hands flailed about, then quickly wrapped around himself when he realised his mind was completely blank. 

‘No, I don’t know,’ Claretta said. 

‘Uh, man. Just… getting away from the crowd and all. Maybe have a quick smoke. Like what you’re doing!’

‘You like crowds and I don’t smoke. What do you want?’

‘Wha-no, that’s not what I—’ Finan sighed and looked away. Why did he have to say that? The cliff’s edge looked very tempting right now. ‘Alright, alright… I was just wondering where you went. What you’re doing and all that, since usually you’d be chatting with the guys.’ 

Claretta nodded towards her CD player. ‘And now you know the answer to those two questions. Go away.’ 

‘Oh, okay. But, um-but what are you listening to?’ Finan stumbled over his words. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, of course.’

She furrowed her brows. ‘Why do you want to know?’ 

‘Hey, it’s alright if you don’t want to, man,’ Finan raised his hands and offered a weak chuckle. ‘No pressure or anything. I was just curious, that’s all, since—’

‘You brought your CD player too?’

Finan gulped. There was no malice in her voice. ‘Uh, yeah.’

Claretta faced away from him. ‘I doubt this will interest you.’

‘I mean, you never know until you try! But, uh…’ Finan pinched his nose bridge. ‘Sorry for bothering you and all. I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll just head back to the base and…’

He was about to turn back when he heard her sigh. ‘What do you listen to?’

‘Me? Ah…’ Finan failed to curb the enthusiasm in his voice, ‘mostly rock and hip-hop. Like, I don’t know, Linkin Park—’

Claretta spluttered. Finan flushed. ‘Did-did I say something wrong?’

Claretta swallowed a smile. ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting a person like you to listen to Linkin Park.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Finan frowned. 

‘It’s nothing, really. I’m not one to talk,’ Claretta waved her hand. ‘It’s just that their music’s heavy and you’re… the most optimistic person I know.  You'd go out of your way to help anyone, even if they didn't ask for it.’ 

Finan grimaced slightly at the jab and prepared for another. Instead, Claretta sighed. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been rude.’ 

Surprised, he stayed silent for a second, then snorted. ‘Ah, it’s fine. We all need our alone time—’

‘Not just for that. For…’ she shook her head. ‘You were just doing your job. You were doing more than your job. You always check up on everyone when you don’t need to. Frankly, you shouldn’t be here. You should be at a proper hospital treating people who actually deserve it.’ 

‘Hey, I signed up for the money like everyone else here. I’m no different,’ Finan made a small smile. ‘I’m just doing my best to keep everyone alive. And they’re not all sadistic warmongers. David’s my best pal and he’s gotta support his parents. You’re alright, too, you know.’ 

He got one decent conversation with Claretta and he called her alright? Real smooth, Finan. 

Claretta’s expression turned sombre once more. She opened her mouth to say something but decided against it. Instead, she offered her earphones to Finan. ‘Tell me when you’re done. You don’t have to listen to it all the way through.’

‘Really?’ Finan smiled. ‘Wow, thanks Claretta. So should I, uh…’

Without looking at him, Claretta patted the ground next to her. As smoothly and gently as his heart hammering against his chest, Finan sat next to Claretta. She handed her earphones over to him and he put them on. 

The slow, long, lull of a violin note took him by surprise. It droned on, then melded with another note, mixing from dissonance until they were pulled right to a sharp, high note — a stepwise motion to a virtuosic display of fiery intensity. 

Claretta stared ahead as Finan listened to the sonata. She didn’t need the CD to play the melody in her head. It would only be a few seconds until he removed her earphones. Then he would say something like, ‘Wow, I didn’t know you listened to this kind of stuff!’ before leaving and never mentioning it again. She sunk into herself. This was a mistake. When was he going to stop listening so she could get this over with—

She stopped her thoughts when she glanced at Finan. Even in the dark, she could see his eyes were wide open — not in shock, but rather… awe? A minute passed, then two, then five. He remained still through the piece, the crook of his finger resting on his chin as he listened. 

When it ended, Finan removed her earphones, his face still fixed in thought. ‘Wow. That was…’

Claretta quickly took her earphones back. ‘I know. Not something you’d expect of me.’

‘Well, that makes the two of us,’ Finan smiled. ‘But really, that was also… man, I don’t know what to say. In a good way! It’s like the… the power and technique and the… volume?’

Claretta raised her eyebrows. ‘You mean the dynamics?’

‘Yeah, that! I’ve never heard anything like it before. It’s like it’s constantly climbing and falling, and there’s the part where it sounds like a fight. Like it’s telling a story of a struggle against something,’ Finan chuckled and scratched the back of his head, embarrassed.. ‘Ah, guess I’m reading too much into it. Didn’t know classical stuff could sound like this! What’s this song called?’

‘You mean piece?’ she said. ‘Ysaÿe Sonata 3. Well, technically Ysaÿe Violin Sonata No. 3, but that’s a mouthful. It’s one of my favourites. And your interpretation of the piece is similar to mine.’ 

‘Ha, then maybe I should give the violin a shot!’ As he laughed, Finan’s heart swelled at hearing the slight lilt of passion in Claretta’s voice. ‘You really know your stuff, huh?’

Claretta nodded.  ‘That was me playing, after all.’

Finan paused for a second. ‘Are you serious? What? When? How?’ 

‘I played a lot when I was younger. Did contests throughout my life growing up. I think I was seventeen there.’ 

‘You were seventeen?’ Finan stared at her in disbelief and laughed. ‘Claretta, then what the hell are you doing here?! You shouldn’t be here! You should be performing in some… hall or something, I don’t know!’ 

Claretta snorted. ‘Thank you, but that wasn’t my best performance. It just… means a lot to me.’ 

Finan nodded. ‘Y’know, I know next to nothing about instruments, but I still think that was amazing. It’s a shame you’re here, having to fight in crappy places for crappy people.’ 

She cast her eyes down at her CD player. ‘Yes, it really is a shame.’ 

Finan realised what he said. ‘Oh — not that I mean it in a bad way or anything. You’re good at being a merc too. And hey, it’s dirty work, but it pays for the bills and more.’ 

‘I guess,’ Claretta’s eyes met his, ‘but it’s not all crappy, anyway.’

Finan smiled and quickly looked away, endearment gushing red into his face. They sat next to each other in comfortable silence until Finan cleared his throat. It was getting too hot for his liking. 

‘Well, thank you for letting me listen to the piece. I really enjoyed it.’

Claretta nodded and smiled — she smiled, and it looked nowhere close to all the other days he had seen her smile. Seeing her eyes light up filled him with fluttery bliss that melted his heart. His eyes couldn’t help but linger on hers as he stood, grateful that she chose to share this side of her. He gave a last smile before he tore himself away, hoping that one day, she would be able to live a life where she could simply be and smile through each day, too. 

---

Timeline: 2004 Written 21 March 2022. An impulsive short story to relearn having fun with writing!

[poorboypictures]

Major America: Ch. 1

Jordon Wilkinson was seven years old when he first learned of Captain America; he and his siblings were told by their grandfather of the time he fought beside Captain America and Bucky in World War II. All were enthralled, but none more than Jordon himself. Jordon began reading all he could about the Captain’s escapades before and during the war, learning his origin, his identity, and his disappearance; taking the hero to heart, Jordon stood up for those who couldn’t stand for themselves throughout his life, even joining the military after the Twin Towers fell, serving seven years before a hip injury took him out of action permanently. In 2012, Captain America resurfaced and Jordon was thrilled to have him as a moral standard in the country again, only to notice a change in the hero over the years.

***

2021, nine years after Captain America was freed from the ice; Major Jordon Wilkinson sits in a security office picking at his spaghetti and meatball lunch, staring intently in thought. Wally Gertz, his partner, is fidgeting with a Rubik’s Cube keychain with his feet up.

“Something wrong?” Wally asks.

Jordon blinks a few times and looks over at Wally. “Hmm?”

“Lunch ended ten minutes ago and usually you finish in five minutes just to keep watch on the feed.”

“No, I just have a lot on my mind.” Jordon takes a bite of his lunch as Wally puts away the cube.

“We’ve been working the same shift together for three years, Jordon; I would think I can read you well enough.”

Jordon sighs and pushes his lunch away before leaning back in his chair.

“You know the phrase ‘never meet your heroes’?”

Wally takes his feet off of the desk and leans forward. “You met him? You met Captain America?” He asks, eyes wide.

Jordon slowly nods. “The saying is true. At least, it wouldn’t have been if I met him when he came out of the ice. He’s changed and I think society was what did it; a man out of time, trying to keep up with the seventy years he missed, and I believe it corrupted him.”

“Sounds plausible; society is a bit of a mess these days.” He straightens his hat. “It’s a shame someone can’t just grab the shield and say ‘I’m the Captain now’.”

Jordon stops completely, an idea forming.

***

Later that day; Jordon is in his apartment on his computer, looking for a shield.

“The shield is the easy part.” He says to himself. “It’s the costume that will be hard to get; how am I going to get an extra thousand dollars for an accurate costume?”

He pauses as something dawns on him.

“Hang on…”

He gets up, grabs his phone, and calls someone as he sits back down at the computer.

“Hello?” Georgie Berke answers the phone.

“Georgie, it’s me, Jordon.”

“Hey, Jordy! How are you doing? How was your nephew’s birthday?”

“Loud, and disruptive, but I love him, so I didn’t leave. So, hey, I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“How does one get an accurate costume?”

“Jordy.” She says teasingly. “Are you getting into cosplay?”

“Georgie, I’m 43 years old, I don’t do cosplay.”

“I’m 37, Jordy, what’s your point?”

“My point is-.” He says with a tad of frustration. “I want an accurate costume and I would like to know how to get one for a good price.”

“Weeelll… if you had an extra small fortune to spend on one you could do that.”

“Nope.” Jordon shakes his head. “I have bills to pay.”

“Then you could make a costume with your own twist, I’ve seen plenty of cosplayers use this method to save a buck without having to get a cheaply made costume.”

“That sounds doable. Thanks.”

“May I ask what exactly this is for?”

“… No. Bye.”

He hangs up, opens a new tab, and begins searching for his costume-with-a-twist.

***

One week later; Jordon is in his apartment listening to a police scanner app on his phone as he peals masking tape off of the recently painted heater shield; just as Jordon finishes taking the tape off, dispatch warns of an attempted robbery at a nearby bank.

“That’s a mile from here…” Jordon says to himself as he looks at his partly assembled costume on the couch; he looks at the shield and back to the couch, wondering whether he should go without a complete costume.

Jordon sighs and quickly puts the costume on, wearing the shield on his back like a backpack; he jumps down the fire escape and onto a red 2013 Harley-Davidson Breakout, tearing out of the alley way and down the street.

Literally a minute later, Jordon pulls into the alley next to the bank and walks into the rear entrance to hear two men trying to break into the safety deposit boxes; he sneaks up behind them, pulls out his gun, pistol-whips one crook, knocking him out, and knocks out the other with his shield, only for the resounding “clang!” to catch the attention of the crook standing guard at the other side of the room.

The crook shouts at Jordon. “HEY!”

Before Jordon can turn around and shield himself, the gunman shoots him in the thigh and side; Jordon holds in a scream of pain as the gunman empties his magazine into the shield; as the gunman tries to quickly reload, Jordon sprints forward at full speed and punches the man out cold only to find himself in front of the remaining three robbers ready to fire on him.

“Oh, crap…”

Jordon ducks behind the shield as the three men fire at him, emptying their magazines; they stop to taunt him as they reload.

“You supposed to be Captain America or something, man?” One asks.

“He’s got a round shield, you imbecile!” Another taunts.

Jordon takes a deep breath, blocking out the pain from being shot, and pulls out his gun.

“Come on, just like in the military.” He whispers to himself

He stands up and hits the first two gunmen in the shoulder without effort, but he and the third gunman fire at the same time; Jordon hits the gunman in the shoulder same as before, and the gunman hits Jordon in the bicep. The gunman goes down and Jordon holsters his gun, his breathing shaky; he looks around at the employees and citizens getting up from the floor.

“Is everyone okay?” He asks, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

A man in a suit nods. “Yes, we’re fine, but you need a doctor.”

“I’ve suffered worse, trust me.” Jordon says as he turns to go back the way he came in.

“Wait!” A woman calls. “What do we call you?”

Jordon stops and looks back. “I’m… Major America.”

He heads to the back of the bank to leave.

***

Soon, in Georgie’s apartment, Georgie is watching the news as she sips from a cup of tea; the news anchor is reporting on the bank robbery when the footage of the fight is played on screen. Georgia spews her tea out, coughing.

“JORDY!?”

***

In Jordon’s apartment, Jordon is sitting at his dining table stitching up the wound on his side when his front door bursts open, causing Jordon to jump as Georgie bolts in.

“Why didn’t you tell me!?”

Jordon grabs some gauze and puts pressure on his wound that has begun bleeding again.

“I really need to lock my door more often.” Jordon says, wincing. “Can you pass me that whiskey?”

He points to the bottle on the kitchen counter and Georgie hands it to him, watching as he takes a swig.

“Why are you drinking while stitching yourself up?” Georgie asks. “How do you even know how to stitch a wound?”

Jordon continues stitching.

“Back in Iraq our field medic got hit by a frag grenade along with a couple others; the anesthetic was apparently hit and drained out so we raided the basement of a bombed bar and the medic taught me how to stitch a wound because I had the steadiest hands.” He takes another swig of whiskey. “Sometimes the old ways are the best.”

He finishes stitching the wound and places some gauze over it.

“Can you hold that while I wrap the wound?”

“Fine.” Georgie huffs as she holds the gauze in place. “Just tell me what you were thinking when you decided to do this?”

“What are you? My mother?” Jordon quips as he finishes wrapping his wound. “I’m a grown man who can make his own decisions.”

“Not when they get you nearly killed!”

Jordon stands up and puts his shirt back on.

“I fought for seven years in a country that hated my guts, I can stand to fight a few more in another country that hates my guts. Doesn’t matter what you say, Georgie, I won’t stop what I’ve started.”

Georgie sighs and crosses her arms in a huff.

“No, you’re right; you’re an adult.”

She notices his bloodied costume and picks up the sweater.

“Also, what kind of costume is this? A baby could do better!”

“The gloves and jacket hadn’t arrived yet, they’ll be here in a couple of days.”

Georgie looks at him, cocking an eyebrow.

“Are you… Are you cropping a jacket?”

“… Noooo…” Jordon answers reluctantly.

“What color is the jacket?”

“Blue…”

“The only way you’re going to get the look you want is by cropping the jacket.”

“Fine! Yes, I’m going to crop the jacket!” Jordon winces and holds his side after the defeated outburst bothers his wound. “Okay, back to small talk.” He says, pained.

Georgie picks up Jordon’s helmet and mask and gives it a once over.

“Where did you get this?” She asks.

“The helmet was my grandfathers; quick coat of paint and it was perfect.” He takes a swig of whiskey once again. “The mask I found at an antique shop; the tag said it was an aviator’s mask used in the war, but I’ve never seen one like this before.”

“And the shield?”

“Got that online, bought three and tested two of them on my uncles range to see what guns they could handle; surprisingly a lot. I’m going to have to buy more after a while though, I’ll need to make a budget for that.”

“You really are serious about this, aren’t you?” Georgie asks, pulling a chair up next to Jordon.

“I am.”

“Why, though? What on God’s green Earth would get you to do this?” She asks, genuinely concerned.

“America needs a hero who will truly fight for them, a hero who understands what it means to be the little guy, America needs an underdog; do you think Ironman understands what it’s like to live paycheck-to-paycheck, or if Thor understands what it’s like to get mugged and you can’t pay your rent by the end of the week?”

“Probably not…” Georgie says.

“We rely too much on them; yeah, they’ve saved the world, but we don’t need Black Widow to find a stolen car. I’m going to try to be like that spider guy in Manhattan; he sticks to one area and does it well.”

Georgie stands up and stretches.

“If you’re going to do something stupid, I may as well help: if you find any information you can’t track just call me and I’ll see if I can find anything for you; I’m pretty good with computers, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll see you Monday.”

Georgie smiles and leaves the apartment.

***

A couple days later; a young man is being mugged by two men in an alley way, getting beaten; someone clears their throat and the muggers stop and turn to look down the alley to see Major America wearing a complete costume.

“Alright, boys, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He says.

The muggers look at each other and pull their knives.

“Hard way it is.”

He raises his shield and jumps into the fray.

End.

The Incomplete costume.

The Complete Costume.

Don't judge the art too harshly, I know what I have to work on I don't need people pointing it out.

Also, I suck at writing origins, I'm better at writing stories where the reader is assumed to know exactly who the characters are.

[zippiestdraws]

Choking Curiosity CH 5

read on ao3

ftm reader x michael myers

The dense weave of the hoodie slows the blade, but only makes the kill more intimate as Michael adds more pressure. He watches it slowly cut through the fibers and dig into the flesh underneath until it gives, sinking sharply into the sternum of one of the vandals. The night is late and in broad view on a suburban sidewalk, help is so close but snatched from his victim’s reach with his large hand pinching her cries in her throat. Her shrouded companion lies crumpled and bleeding in the grass of someone’s front yard. His hands were warm with the blood thickly lubricating his blade, the tang of it growing in the air.

In the climax of the kill, his adrenaline drew on the memory of his knife tantalizing your body. Standing beholden of his work and wiping the blade on the arm of his coveralls, the action had given way to his decision. His patience broke and he’s done with watching now.

There wasn’t a plan, but Michael is satisfied with running on instinct.

*** You didn’t tell Quentin what you saw. It went against your better judgement, but it would make you sound crazy. “There’s someone in your house now. Dressed in a sheet.”

You couldn’t sleep with it on your mind, but neither could Quentin so the two of you traded sleepover talk until you passed out. At one point you were tired enough to share how you ended up here after being cut off from everything you once knew. You must have fallen asleep during his story, you only recall him telling you that he came out here to escape something.

Using his phonebook and house phone, you were able to schedule a locksmith to change your locks urgently. Before that appointment, however, you needed to meet Laurie at the coffee shop she chose as the ‘crowded public place’.

Quentin offers to drive you, but you insist that he’s done enough for you and that it isn’t too far if you head out early. You almost regret it, running on so little sleep, until you remember Quentin would be driving on even less.

Looking around awkwardly, trying not to obstruct the counter in front of the entrance, you see Laurie stand from one of the central tables and wave you over to one farther in the back by the restrooms.

She gets down to business quickly, asking for all the details quickly after greeting you. You mention the little things before adding up to what happened last night. The relief you feel when you see that she believes you is emboldening, so you tell her about the tape you set up and even the sheet ghost.

“He isn’t dead.”

“Wh-who?”, You fiddle nervously.

Her steely gaze steals your breath as she talks in a voice laced with anger.

“Michael Myers.” Laurie drops a pile of papers onto the table and starts to slide each of them individually in front of you. “Two years ago on Halloween, he murdered my friends and tried to kill me.” A tear runs down her cheek and she wipes it away with vitriol before composing herself and gesturing to the papers.

Newspaper clippings.

A headline over a black and white print of a mask. The papers are littered with annotations in red marker. You look closer and read the important pieces. Sightings, disappearances, homicides…

“All in the last two years. There’s no killing the boogeyman. And there’s no stopping him if he wants you dead.” Her eyes hold a determination that makes you squirm.

She’s succeeded in making you scared at least.

“Well what do I do?”, your voice escalates a little in panic.

She looks at you with pity.

“Get a gun.” she says solemnly.

You promise to keep in touch and leave feeling the weight of a target on your back.

*** Michael treated the occasion as any other day, except perhaps indulging in a more noticeable amount of food than normal, until he heard your keys in the door.

You came back from work much later tonight. Perfect.

Your footsteps trailed lazily up the stairs and Michael positioned himself where the door would swing into the wall. The knob turned and he waited.

It snapped back into place, ruining his anticipation. He listened carefully for your next move. Quiet steps to the bathroom. Pause. You were running.

He yanked open your bedroom door but you were already outside.

He was careful enough. How did you know?

Maybe you were smarter than he gave you credit for. Minimally impressed, Michael went downstairs to observe through the living room window. You were in the neighbor’s yard, but you had to return eventually. You had nowhere else to run.

He distantly remembers two halloweens ago, the opposite, the neighbors had shut the porch lights on Laurie.

You looked back to where he stood and Michael didn’t bother to hide.

Time passes sluggishly as he watches for your exit. Before it comes, the sound of sirens growing closer aches in his ears. He should have expected you to call the police, but a storm cloud rumbles inside him anyway. Michael stays in place until you pass out of his view crossing the yard, then leaves knowing there is nothing to find.

The pasty cop trespasses the threshold with his flashlight and gun in front of him. Michael can see you in full view under the streetlights, watching your insecurity like a voyeur.

You shuffle uncomfortably in your work clothes, listening carefully from the curb until the sweep of the house is done. Standing just off the porch, the officer writes on his notepad with an uninterested posture. The specifics of the conversation don’t reach until your voice raises at the tone of accusations toward you.

This new vibrancy of expression draws Michael forward before a second car pulls to the curb. He can see your anger fester as you sling an indignant remark at the back of the retreating pig, earning a quick exhale of amusement.

You pushed the cops away, but you also brought them here. The multitudes you contain confuse him. He wasn’t interested in killing you just yet, but you won’t get away with this that easily.

If you hadn’t had Michael’s attention before, you definitely had it now. You leave in the other car, to his surprise, but he can keep playing cat and mouse.

*** He was satisfied to toy with you last night. Michael smiles minisculely at the thoughts as he woke. Sleeping in a car gave him a crick in the neck, but he massages it away and climbs into the front seat.

He’s stolen a car before and it’s not hard.

Timing must be on his side, because you exit the house before his eyes, the sunlight streaming onto you and the autumn leaves like a picture. Michael peels off his mask, his hand landing on the stick shift ready to follow suit. His eyes leave you long enough to meet a pair of aviators sitting on the dash and he dons them before bringing the car to life.

*** The car engine dies as you enter the shop, the windows casting a glare, but not enough to shield the clueless people within. A wave of blonde catches his attention and he sees a familiar face wave you over. He feels nothing.

Then you will be prepared. So will he. *** When you get home, the branded car of the locksmith is already waiting out front. You apologize for keeping him waiting and you unlock the front door, silently feeling safer to not enter on your own.

The handyman gets to work quickly and you make yourself busy by scrounging together his payment. You’re more than happy to loiter nearby as the locks are changed.

You’re happy you can cross this repair off your list, but the feeling of being exposed when you’re alone again doesn’t leave. You ignore it to change out of your not quite “walk of shame” clothes.

Peeling off your shirt as you walk up the stairs, you’re temporarily blind and stumble on the last step. You toss it onto the floor of your room ahead of you and make for the rest of your clothes until a force from nowhere throws you back onto one of the walls, knocking the breath out of you.

You grunt at the shock and Michael pounces.

Your eyes shoot open wildly and you manage a small gasp before a large hand cuts you off around your throat. The intruder towers over you and gets close, casting a shadow upon his prey before you feel yourself rise and your toes no longer reach the floor.

The white mask from the photographs stares into you, eyes indiscernible in the darkness underneath. You kick out at him, desperate to break his grip. Your arms aren’t long enough to reach his face and beating at his arms and hand prove futile.

Michael watches as your face shifts from surprise to anger and then to fear as you realize how very mortal you are. Your warm pulse races ever faster underneath his fingers.

He could very easily kill you, and the urge itches pleasantly in his hands. But then the fun would end. He tries to squash the small desire that’s been slowly infecting him like a virus. You should be nothing to him, he wants you to be nothing, it’s normal for him to feel nothing.

His hands flex and you hiss underneath him. Your fighting hands slip off him and you dangle helplessly on the edge of consciousness. Your eyes don’t focus on him, but some point elsewhere, in a resolute way.

Your body hits the ground as Michael’s head screams at his hands for releasing you. He steps back from you, watching stiffly as you sputter back to life on the floor.

You don’t even register what’s happening, heaving and rubbing your throat when he leaves. When your clarity returns, you scramble on your knees to slam the bedroom door behind him and lock it.

He could be a snitch. Michael gives in to the feeling you won’t be calling the police after yesterday. Frustration consumes him and he grits his teeth at you wresting his control from him.

Tears are running down your face and you don’t feel them until you wipe them away. You’re alive. Why didn’t he kill you? Laurie said there was no stopping him if he wanted someone dead. Michael Myers killed without remorse.

Your head swims when you lift yourself off the floor. Right now you need to find a way out. You really wish you didn’t leave your bat by the back door. You have no phone, no weapons, and you’re on the second floor. Even if he didn’t catch you after jumping out a window you definitely can’t afford a trip to the hospital right now. The only way out is through.

Looking around your room, you find nothing that would make for good defense, but you’ll have to make do. You pull your shirt back on and unplug your cheap reading lamp from the wall to hold it by the base.

Every noise the door makes while unlocking and opening makes you flinch. Your bare feet pad across the floor silently to the stairs, stepping carefully to avoid the creaky parts of the boarding.

Every step is full of adrenaline as you hold your life and a lamp in your hands. You peer over the railing as far as you can into each room along the central hallway as you descend. You’re three steps from the bottom and crane your neck to peek around the corner of the archway next to the stairs.

You see blue coveralls and black boots and twist to run silently back up the stairs.

Michael takes two large steps to the stairs and grabs your leg with his left hand as you run, watching you fall hard on your ribs and the lamp goes clattering down around you.

You feel your ankle released and scramble up the stairs on all fours, turning around at the top to see your tormentor standing at the bottom looking up at you as if it were a game.

The two of you are at a standoff, you breathing heavily over the softer sounds of his breaths behind the mask.

You hear your own voice croak in an unfamiliar way. Your throat throbs painfully.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”, you don’t know why you ask.

His head tilts at you curiously, stealing your breath.

Michael doesn’t know the answer either, he does know this is the first time you’ve spoken to him and the words resonate in his skull.

“Have...have you been living here?”, you rasp quieter this time.

His arm flexes, and you see the shine of a knife changing position in his right hand. Your pulse races and you look back into the eye-holes of the mask. This time you can see further.

The sun is setting and painting an ethereal and gold waning light from behind his fit form. One eye deep blue and another pale against the sclera lock with yours.

You lose yourself looking harder, until you blink and he’s moved away, walking heavily down the hall into the house. You stay put, listening.

The back door squeaks open and shut, and you’re alone with your adrenaline.

[camillemontespan]

oblivion [raleigh carrera] [part two: leap of faith]

Part One if you want to catch up

Warnings: Discussion of drugs, near death

***********************************************************************************

Fiona gave Raleigh the green light in the end. After their heated argument regarding Marina’s care, she threw her hands up and said, ‘Fine. Do it your way, look after her instead of sending her to rehab. I’ll just tell you I told you so.’

She stormed out of the room, rejecting phone calls from media outlets who were desperate to find out about the fallen popstar who lay asleep in the hospital bed. 

Raleigh sighed and slouched down onto the chair by the head. He picked up the TV remote control and turned on the television. The voices of newsreaders filled the room. 

‘Marina Cortez, the 25 year old singer who has dominated the music charts this past year, has been taken to hospital after a suspected drugs overdose,’ the news anchor told the viewer. ‘Please note, the following video images may be difficult for you to watch as they are graphic in nature.’

The screen then switched to a shaky video of Marina, lying comatose in a stretcher, being loaded into an ambulance. Paparazzi surrounded the vehicle and members of the public were taking photos on their phones, filming and shouting her name. Raleigh clenched his fists, wishing he could jump into the TV screen and beat them all to a pulp.

The screen reverted back to the newsroom. The news anchor turned to his co-host. ‘Katie, what do you think about this? She’s hit rock bottom, hasn’t she?’

The female co-anchor with a huge blowdry and face caked in bronzer nodded, trying to look sad. ‘Absolutely, Gerald. This is a far cry from the innocent girl we were introduced to on One in a Million. She is pictured falling out of clubs, screaming at paparazzi, wearing next to nothing.. It’s such a shame.’ 

The screen changed to a video of Marina in her car being surrounded by paparazzi. She was wearing aviator sunglasses and her black hair was pulled up into a messy bun. Raleigh knew she was wearing sunglasses because she was crying but didn’t want anyone to  know; it was a thing she admitted to him before they parted ways. ‘Move bitch!’ she was screaming at the camera. ‘Fucking move or I will run you over!’ 

The screen switched back to the blowdried newsreader and her Botoxed beyond belief male colleague. 

‘Hopefully, she will make it back to the nation’s good graces,’ Gerald said and that was when Raleigh turned the TV off in disgust. Why did Marina have to apologise? Why did she have to make the effort? THEY were the ones who destroyed her. The paparazzi were like rabid dogs, the fans were  relentless with their adoration and expectations for Marina to be perfect all the fucking time. The newsreaders who discussed her on their breakfast shows like she was nothing. They had made her into a commodity, forgetting that she was a person

She was a 25 year old girl from a tiny town in America. She had a little brother, Nico. She doted on her grandmother. She loved to read old books like Jane Austen and quote the passages to him. She liked going to football games. She loved her guitar. 

He rested his head in his hands, trying to hold himself together. 

Raleigh jumped when he heard the tiny, gentle voice beside him. ‘Hey Raleigh.’

He turned to see Marina looking at him, her eyes glimmering with tears. ‘Marina,’ he breathed, leaning down to pull her into a hug. His hand caressed the back of her head. She felt so small and fragile, like a little bird. He could feel her tears sliding down his neck. 

‘Shh, honey, it’s okay,’ he whispered. ‘You’re safe. I got you.’

Her voice came out like a choke. ‘I’ve really fucked up, haven’t I?’

************************************************************************************

All Raleigh could do was hold her. He resisted every urge to kiss her desperately, begging her for forgiveness. When they parted, Marina lay back down but her pinkie finger was hooked around his. Tiny contact, but still contact. 

‘You’re coming to stay with me,’ Raleigh told her. ‘I’ve cleared it with Fiona.’

Marina blinked. ‘Why am I staying with you?’

‘Because rehab clearly doesn’t work,’ he told her bluntly. ‘Plus I want to be there for you. I want to look after you, keep you safe-’

‘Why?’ Her voice was thick and she was looking down at her hands. ‘Everyone leaves me in the end. You left me. Why come back now?’

‘I’m so fucking sorry,’ Raleigh whispered. ‘I fucked up. I should never have left you in the first place. I promise, I’m not going to fail you again. I love you-’

He stopped talking. He hadn’t meant to say that. 

Marina looked up at him now, her eyes big and watery. They were red rimmed; god, she looked awful. She looked broken. 

‘How can you tell me you love me when you left me alone in the dark?’ she asked. ‘I needed you. I know it wasn’t  obvious at the time but I really fucking needed you.’

Raleigh caught her hands, making her stop. ‘I know. I was wrong. I just want to make this up to you. Let me help. Please.’ 

It was like arguing with Fiona again. He was exhausted from having to repeat himself. 

‘I heard you were on the way to the hospital and my heart stopped,’ he continued. ‘I thought this was it. I genuinely thought I was going to lose you.’ 

Marina was studying him now, wary. Raleigh persevered. ‘I knew that if I lose you, I’d never forgive myself. I have so many things I want to say to you, so many apologies, but nothing is going to change the fact that I abandoned you when you needed me most. I was selfish; I thought I was saving you by leaving, as I was the one who introduced you to drugs and everything else in the first place, but I realise now that I left because I was guilty. I could see you going down this dark path and I fucking knew it was my fault, so I left so I didn’t have to face the consequences.’ 

He sighed and looked down at the floor. ‘I was pathetic,’ he spat. ‘So, Marina, you being in this room right now.. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry. I got you into this mess so I’m going to get you out of it.’

The room was silent. Marina looked like she was going to cry again. ‘Rehab didn’t work for me,’ she whispered, finally. ‘What makes you think your methods are better?’

Raleigh smiled sadly. ‘Because I’ve been through this and my way works. You just got to take a leap of faith and trust me, Marina.’ 

Marina chewed her lip and looked conflicted. Raleigh worried that she would tell him to get out and take his knight in shining armor role with him. 

But she didn’t.

‘Okay,’ she whispered. ‘I trust you.’

***********************************************************************************

Raleigh left Marina to sleep. Striding with purpose down the hospital corridor, he went through the staff only hallways and out of the staff exit. Still no paparazzi at this door, thank God.  Raleigh got into a cab and asked to be taken to his destination. 

Marina’s apartment was on a boulevard filled with palm trees and upscale restaurants. She had come a long way in the world. Raleigh let himself into her building. The doorman recognised him and let him through. 

Fiona had given Raleigh Marina’s key to the apartment. As he entered, he braced himself.  He hadn’t been here for months. 

The floor to ceiling windows in the  open plan living room/kitchen looked out over the LA skyline. Raleigh ignored the bottles of vodka littered on the kitchen island and he ignored the white powder that was sprinkled haphazardly on the glass coffee table.   He ignored the doorway to the bathroom where Marina had been found underwater

He found Marina’s suitcase in the dressing room and began to load it with clothes. Not her ‘famous’ clothes which consisted of crop tops, tiny dresses, high heels and ass grazing denim shorts. No. He picked out clothes that were comfortable; cosy oversized sweaters, cute t-shirts with slogans, jeans and suede boots. He found a scarf and hat. 

Where they were going, the weather was not constant sunshine like LA. Where they were going was so different, it was going to be like another world. 

*******************************************************************************************

Marina was discharged three days later after being kept under surveillance. Raleigh was waiting for her outside the hospital room, suitcases in hand.  ‘Ready?’ he asked. Marina nodded mutely and eyed the suitcases. 

‘You brought my suitcase?’

‘Yup. Packed it myself.’

Marina groaned. ‘Oh god, tell me it doesn’t have only bikinis and lingerie in it.’

Raleigh was about to protest but stopped when he saw her smiling. Good. She had a tiny bit of sparkle back. Marina took her suitcase and followed Raleigh as he lead her down the staff hallways. 

‘How bad it is outside?’ she asked. ‘I imagine they want to eat me for breakfast.’ 

Raleigh grimaced. ‘Not good,’ he told her honestly. ‘But there’s no photographers out this way so we should be safe-’

They weren’t safe. Paparazzi were crowded out the secret exit and waiting for a glimpse of Marina. Clearly, someone had tattled to the press that Raleigh had been using secret doors to get in and out.  Raleigh heard Marina whimper and he instinctively wrapped his arm around her, holding her close to him. ‘It’s okay, honey,’ he murmured. ‘Keep walking, the car is there.’ 

‘Marina! How are you feeling?’ one photographer shouted. 

‘Give us a smile!’

‘Are you and Raleigh back together?’

‘Pop’s bad couple reunited!’ 

Raleigh kept Marina walking, trying his best to get her past. He could see her bodyguard, Hank, striding through the photographers towards them, with his hand out. ‘Get out of the way!’ Hank hollered. Raleigh passed Marina to Hank, who was basically a 6’6 human shield. Hank protected her from the swarm and managed to get her inside the car, keeping her hidden from the flashes. 

‘Is she off to rehab?’ a photographer asked. ‘Surprised she’s still alive!’ 

Raleigh whipped around at that comment. ‘Who the fuck said that?!’

‘Raleigh, come on!’ Hank shouted, storming back to where Raleigh was being surrounded. ‘We don’t have time, get in the car.’ 

Hank grabbed him and hauled him to the vehicle, opening the door quickly and shoving him inside. Raleigh stewed on the thoughtless comment made by that photographer until he remembered he had more important things to deal with. He turned to see Marina with her head in her hands, crying quietly. 

‘Marina, shh..’ he whispered, gently wrapping his arm around her. ‘It’s okay, you’re away from them.’

She looked at him with her brown eyes filled with anguish and croaked, ‘I wish I had fucking died.’ 

Horror filled Raleigh’s heart. He pulled her into his chest, holding her tight. ‘Don’t you fucking say such things, Marina,’ he said. ‘I won’t stand for it. I’m so relieved you’re here. You’re alive and I thank God that you’re beside me right now. We’re going to fight this, okay? Where we’re going, media can’t follow. They can’t stalk you or scare you. You’re safe.’

Marina rubbed her eyes harshly and let out a breath. ‘Where are we going?’

Raleigh smiled. ‘Michigan. My mom’s place.’

[zach-the-fox]

Furiends Episode 1: A New Beginning

“Just sign your name and we will take care of the rest,” says a deer with glasses to an orange fox, male in body build, with brown eyes. The fox takes the pen and writes along the dotted lines next to the “x”. Upon finishing, the fox hands back the pen as the deer takes the clipboard of the discharge forms. “Zach the Fox. All right, you’re all set, Mr. Fox. Is anyone coming to pick you up?”

The fox sighs as his ears droop. “I wish there was…”

“Nobody at all? Well, I’m sorry to hear. Hope you have a wonderful day.”

“I doubt that I will…” The fox heads off. “Everybody hates me… Nobody wants me…” Just as he heads out the door, he sits on the wooden bench by the entrance, deep in thought. “What do I do now…? I’m not wanted anywhere here… Everybody hates me… I should leave this place…” He is interrupted by a voice.

“Mister! Hey, Mister!” The orange fox’s ears stick up before he turns to see a brown cat approach him. Eyelashes and wavy hair at the tip, but also tied in a ponytail in the back shows her gender to be female. Glasses shield her eyes, while also wearing a red, long-sleeved shirt under a purple vest, blue jeans, and sneakers. The brown cat then raises her paw up with a blue bandana. Her brown eyes glare at the fox as she keeps the bandana in her grip. “You left this in the hospital room. I was afraid you might’ve forgotten it after you got up and left.”

The fox looks down at the blue bandana, then back up to the girl, keeping his frown on. “Keep it…” His head pivots away from her. “I don’t want it anymore… It just reminds me of the life I dreamed of having… I can’t stand the pain of remembering all that…”

“Why does this blue bandana trouble you?”

“It was given to me by an orphanage patron, who thought I was special… Special enough to be labeled and picked at, as well as a symbol for being flawed.”

“So, it’s yours, then.” The fox faces her again as she offers it to her. “Take it.”

“You can have it,” he tells her. “I insist. Wear it.”

“I’d rather you wear it. Besides, I think you’d look better with it on.” She holds the bandana closer to him. “Will you wear it?” Her eyes glisten in the sunlight.

“If it’ll make you happy…” The fox takes the bandana from her paw and proceeds to tie it around his neck. He makes sure the triangular part is big and points down toward his belly. “There… Happy now?”

“You don’t seem happy yourself,” she reflects. The cat sits beside him. “Is this about Team Rescuers pushing you away? Or is it about everybody seeing you as the flawed fox of Heroto?” The fox looks away with his ears drooping. The cat places her paw on his shoulder. “Listen, I know how you feel. It’s never good to be picked on or singled out because of a disorder, or even from being a product of an inappropriate relationship, or just be bad at something. My mother can get on my nerves sometimes… She thinks I can be a butt when I do things the wrong way… But, I learn, don’t I?”

“Carly?” Coming up alongside her is a beige warthog. Eyelashes and long, chocolate hair, messy on top but flowing in the back nicely straight with curves at the end, shows her gender to be female as well. Her eyes are protected by grey glasses as she dons an orange shirt underneath a black jacket and blue jeans. She stops in front of the cat, appearing to be half her size. “What are you doing out here? I got worried about you after my appointment ended.”

“Sorry, Emmy,” Carly tells her. “I was just returning something to this fox… I started to talk with him.”

Emmy pivots to the fox. “Hey…” She points to the orange animal. “Aren’t you that fox who was with Team Rescuers?”

The fox sighs. “I used to be… Not anymore… They all hate me…”

“I feel you. My stepfather’s a big jerk, yet my mom and I struggle to put up with him, yet he doesn’t like us very much.”

“At least you and your friend here have got families… I’ve had it hard my whole life… I have no family… no friends… No one… Unloved… Hated… I don’t even know what to do anymore… I’m on my own and there’s no one to help me. Maybe it’s just better if I left…”

“Where would you go?” she asks.

“Just be away from here… Maybe try to make it to Buscity, or even the forest… I’d have to start a new life…”

“You don’t need to,” Carly says. “We’ll be your friends.”

The fox’s ears stick up as he turns to the two animals. “Y-you will?”

Emmy leans closer to the cat. “Are you sure about this? People don’t like him very much, and they may think we’re crazy.”

“It’ll be fine, Emmy,” responds Carly. “He needs friends, but he’s never had anyone. Everyone deserves a chance.”

Emmy sighs. “You better be right about this.” She looks to the fox. “It’s a pleasure to be friends with you, um, Mr. Fox…”

“Zach,” the fox says. “I’m Zach.” The cat and warthog introduce themselves. Zach’s mouth bends into a small smile. “It’s good to meet you, Carly and Emmy. What are we doing?” The two girls look at each other, figuring out what to do for their next plan.

“I’ve got it!” Carly stands. “Let’s go to the mall. Besides, I really want to see what sketchbooks they have on sale.”

“Sure,” Emmy adds. “Guess I could look at that stuff. Zach, what do you think?”

“I’m fine, wherever,” Zach tells them, standing from the bench. “You’re my friends now, so I’ll follow.”

“Cool!” Carly heads off, leading the fox and warthog away from the hospital area.

 ***

 Standing around on a grey-tiled foundation in front of a store are three animals. One is a blue jay with nothing but long, Persian-blue hair, black glasses, and a white tank-top with a lightning bolt on it. Her body is female in build. On the bird’s right, a neon-blue wolf, male in figure with rainbow hair, walks alongside her. The three chat amongst themselves as they amble the right side of a long corridor, lined with stores. On her left, a deer, who is slightly shorter than her, waits nearer the entrance. His head is covered with an aviator’s hat with goggles as he dons a short-sleeved, buttoned-down shirt and cyan jean shorts. Emerging from the store is a grey newt with four arms carrying paper shopping bags full of purchased items. His black hair sticks out with the white undershirt and black jeans he wears.

“Did you really need that plushie?” the newt asks, looking at the wolf.

“I couldn’t resist!” the wolf tells him. “He was just so cute!” He snuggles the little stuffed animal. “I didn’t want anyone else but me to have him. I love him!”

“If you love him so much, why don’t you kiss him?” utters the blue jay. She snickers.

The wolf looks at her with a mean glare. “Don’t start with me.”

“Come on, guys,” the deer utters. “Please no fighting… We’re here to hang out, not start brawls. Now, where should we go next?”

“Can we hit the art store?” the bird asks. “I heard they were having a sale on sketchbooks and I wanted to check it out.” The three animals look at each other before coming to an agreement. “Cool! Thanks, guys! It won’t be long.” The group heads off down the corridor together. They talk differently along the way, passing other stores, kiosks, and other animals with bags in their grips. “Hey!” Everyone stops as the bird interrupts. She points her feather at the three figures inside the art store. “Isn’t that Carly and Emmy?” The others look into the store, eyeing the brown cat and warthog with the fox inside.

“It is Carly and Emmy,” Niji says. “What are they doing here?”

“Let’s go say hi!” The bird heads into the store, leading the three others inside. She walks up to the two animals and hugs the cat. “Carly, Emmy! So good to see you both!”

Carly chuckles. “Good to see you too, Navy.” She notices the blue wolf. “Heya, Niji!” The wolf smiles and responds with “hello”.

Emmy turns to the deer. “Hi Eren.”

“How’s it going, Emmy?” The deer shakes her hoof. “Silus and I are glad to see you and Carly.” The newt joins the deer and stands behind him. Upon noticing Zach, he looks to him. “Oh, hello. Um, Carly, Emmy, who is this?”

Navy notices Zach and turns to him as well. “Oh! You made a new friend? I like new friends! What’s your name, Fox?”

“I-I’m Zach. You must be friends of Carly and Emmy here… Pleasure to meet you all…”

“Wait…” Niji points to Zach. “I know you… You’re the Flawed Fox of Heroto.” Zach’s ears droop down as a frown forms on his face. “Why are you here? Come to prove to everyone you’re a hero by staging a “fake” rescuer, or have you come to cause more trouble?” Zach doesn’t answer. “What’s the matter? I make the poor little foxy upset?”

“Hey, what does the fox say?” utters Navy. Niji begins to snicker and laugh, causing Navy to let out a giggle. The fox puts his paws together in front of him with nervousness as his head leans with sadness. Shame shadows over him as the two animals laugh.

Emmy steps between the two and ceases their fun. “All right! Lay off! You two aren’t right!”

“Whoa, easy, Emmy,” says Navy. “We were just poking a little fun.”

Carly stands in beside Zach, placing her paws on him as a way of comforting him while facing the others. “Can’t you see the poor kid’s upset already? He just got out of the hospital with nowhere to go. No one he can turn to. He’s on his own.”

“Really?” Eren asks. “That’s awful…” The little deer walks up to the orange animal. “I’m so sorry for you. But hey, pay no attention to those two over there.”

“Yeah,” adds Silus, approaching and putting one of his hands on the fox’s shoulder. “They don’t mean any harm. They’re just goofing around.” He offers another hand to him. “I’m Silus. It’s good to meet you.”

Zach takes his hand and shakes it. “I… It’s a pleasure to meet you all as well… I guess…”

The newt goes on to introduce the others. “This here’s Niji, Navy, and my husband, Eren.”

Eren waves. “Hi, Zach. We are happy to meet you.”

“What time is it?” Niji looks around and spots a clock. “Oh, lunch time!” He faces the others. “You guys want to grab something to eat?” Everyone of the group agrees, except for Zach, who stays quiet. Navy and Niji proceed to leave the store, leaving the others behind. The four animals stay behind as they notice Zach’s motionless in his spot.

“Aren’t you hungry, Zach?” asks Carly. “Come join us.”

“N-no,” Zach responds. “I-it’s fine… I’m not very hungry.” Growling ambles around the animals, who trace the sounds back to the fox’s stomach.

“Your stomach tells us differently,” Eren tells him. “You should have lunch with us.”

“Zach, if it’s about Navy and Niji, don’t worry about them,” Emmy adds. “You’ll be with us.”

“I can’t afford anything,” Zach continues.

“It’s fine,” Silus says. “We’ve got you. Nothing to worry about. Come on.” Giving enough encouragement, Zach follows his new friends out of the store.

 ***

 Everyone sits at a round table with trays of unwrapped burgers, boxes of fries, and tall colas in them. Niji chews through his burger, tearing it apart, while Navy shovels fries in her beak quickly. The others take their time, enjoying their food.

“I like these fries,” Eren comments. “They’re so good.”

Niji darts his eyes at the fox, noticing him staring. “Well, what are you looking at, Flawed Fox?”

“Niji,” Emmy utters. “Please… Don’t start.”

“What? He is, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, everybody knows that,” the fox tells him, crossing his arms.

“Let’s not fight, shall we?” suggests Carly. “How about we talk about what makes us happy? I love to draw and sketch, and it gives me joy.”

“I never had joy,” responds Zach. “Not once in my life was I ever happy.”

“Because you’re a flawed fox?” asks Navy.

The fox stands to his feet with his eyebrows dipping into his eyes. “Oh yeah, sure!” His voice becomes louder over the conversations around him, prompting everyone to fix his eyes on him. “Let’s all make fun of the Flawed Fox! He’s so horrible! He’s such an annoyance! For your information, I never asked to be like this! I never wanted to be a flawed fox… I just wanted to show everyone I’m anything but flawed… I wanted to give love to all… Ever since I was influenced by Captain Red Mask, I believed caring for others and helping those is a great honor and esteemed privilege… I wanted to prove that I wasn’t bad… I failed… Not because I stopped trying… Because I never got support and love… Everyone thinks I’m awful… They all see me as the product of an inappropriate relationship and mentally disordered…” He sinks down into his chair. The tone in his voice decreases. “That’s what everyone sees in me… Being a hero is all just a dream now…”

“Damn,” goes Navy. “That’s dark…”

“Nobody wants me… Nobody loves me… They all confirm that I fail because of my faults… I’m nothing!” Zach pounds the table with his fist. Nobody…” Tears develop in his eyes. “Nobody… but Flawed Fox…” He lies his head on the surface of the furniture, hiding it with his arms around it to shield his expression. “Why doesn’t anyone appreciate me…? I never asked to be bullied… Never asked to be ignored…” Carly and Emmy do what they can to comfort him. They rub his back and shoulders as he hides his face with shame.

“Hey…” Niji gets up and walks up to him. “I didn’t realize how bad you had it… I apologize…”

“Same here,” Navy implies. “Didn’t know you felt that way…”

Zach lifts his head. Tears still stream down his eyes. “It doesn’t change anything… It doesn’t change what I experienced…”

“It does change things going forward, Zach,” Carly tells him. “You have us as friends, now. You have nothing to fret over.”

“Yeah,” adds Silus. “You can hang out with us whenever you want. We won’t push you away or ignore you.” He manages a smile as everyone else agrees with him and Carly.

The fox’s mouth bends to reflect his expression as he looks at his new friends. “T-thank you… I-I’ll try not to be a pain in the butt…”

“Nah,” Navy goes. “You won’t be a pain. You’ll love us.”

“I need to figure out what I’m going to do about where I’ll live. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll find a nice, comfy spot in the alley…”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Eren tells him. “Silus and I have an extra room at our home. We’d be happy to bring you in.”

Silus sighs. “Eren, you shouldn’t make hasty decisions without asking me first.”

“It’s fine,” Zach says. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll just struggle on my own.”

“No.” Silus puts two hands on him. “It’s not fine. Eren and I will make you feel right at home. Sleeping in the streets isn’t good, anyway.”

“Y-you wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. We’ve got you.”

“T-thanks… If it’s all right, I would like to go to the orphanage. I need to get a couple of things… Are you all okay to come with me?”

“Why?” asks Emmy. “Why can’t you go alone?”

“I’m scared… I’ve had a lot of rough memories in that place, and I’m not very comfortable going in alone…” The others turn to each other and exchange head gestures.

“Of course, Zach,” Carly answers. “We’ll happily go with you. Let’s finish lunch first, okay?”

“Sure,” responds the fox. Zach picks up his burger and takes a bite out of it. @carlycmarathecat​ @emmy-the-absolute-goof​ @rainbow-strike​ @pink-unicorn-boi​ @ask-choro-mama​

[bluegrassbubblessoapandsund-blog]

I’m a LOUSY Blogger!

But Let’s Get To Improving That!

Well, obviously, I forgot for a while that I even had a Blog!  Shame on Me!  That being said, let’s start by Re-Introducing who I am, what I do and what we’re all doing here in the first place!

I am Melisa.  I’m 51 years of age and I have been married to my high school sweetie since 1988 and his name is David.  We’ve been together for 33 years in 2020.  David and I share three beautiful grown daughters, Brittany, Kymberly and Krystina.  We have six grandchildren:  Jessica is 11, Rebecca is 10, Katherine is 7, Joshua is 7, Annalyna is almost 3 and our newest is Zanora, born October 18th of this year.  We also have four “Fur-Babies”.  A Chihuahua/Pomeranian mix named Peanut (She’s almost 9 years old), a Papillon named Popcorn (She’s almost 5 I think!), her full blooded sister Caramel (If Popcorn is 5, Caramel is 4!) and our most recent addition is Bella (she’s about 5 too, I think)  Bella was my Mom’s baby.  My Mom passed away a few months after she got Bella.  At the time of my Mom’s passing, we didn’t want to give Bella away, and Krystina adopted her and loves her to death.  However, with the recent new addition of Zanora to the household and Annalyna being a normal 2 year old, Bella inevitably “nipped” at Annalyna.  So, we took Bella….for now.  Who knows, she might go back to Krystina’s house, only time will tell.

What do I do?  Well, I’m actually a trained Medical Assistant and Phlebotomist.  I worked for a handful of doctor’s in my native state of California after graduating from school.  One of my favorites was working at an Urgent Care facility where I got to see all kinds of illness and injury.  But the job I enjoyed the most, was working for the Chief FAA Medical Examiner of Los Angeles County.  I was in charge of the lab, ran all kinds of tests, took X-Rays as well as a myriad of other things.  I loved the patient interaction and helping people get and maintain the ability to fly, through their Federally Mandated Physicals.  However, David works in the Aircraft Industry, which at times, can have a high turn over rate, so you go where the jobs are (The main reason we’ve lived in 6 states throughout our marriage!) and we ended up moving to the state of Arizona from our home state of California.  After graduating school and working in my field in those offices, I eventually found work with the local school district my daughter attended as a substitute Health Office Technician.  After a couple more moves, and a couple health issues on my part, as well as the death of my Dad from throat cancer, we moved back to California to be closer to my Mom and Sister, Annette. Because of my love of cooking, during this time in California, I also attended Culinary Arts School.  However, my husband David was working in the aircraft industry and after 9/11 happened, unfortunately the jobs in that industry dried up and he had to find “side hustles” to make ends meet as he looked for other employment within the industry.  Then one day, one of the job applications he put in, panned out!  The Federal Aviation Administration called and offered a job, and he took it, which facilitated our move to the state of Kentucky where we had lived before when David was serving in the U.S. Army during Operation Desert Shield/Storm.  We had always said we loved Kentucky and had talked about retiring there, so THAT worked out well!

After moving to Kentucky, our two youngest daughters finished high school and our oldest daughter’s then husband, had joined the military and she came to live with us while he was doing some training.  She brought with her our Granddaughter Jessi and her pregnant tummy!  As my birthday approached, so did her due date, and on my Birthday (November 19), I took her to the doctor and they announced she was going to have a baby that day!  So, Rebecca (Nicknamed Reba!) was my Birthday Present that year!

During Brittany’s stay I ultimately had my first back surgery where I had a titanium cage installed and a fusion done.  At this point, I was no longer physically able to stand for 8 to 10 hours a day meeting the physical demands of the job I enjoyed.  So, I threw myself into my hobbies of counted cross-stitch, crocheting, reading, cooking and scrapbooking.

After living in the suburbs of Louisville for a couple years, we bought a house 30 miles away in the little town of Shelbyville.  By this time, Kymberly had moved back to California after graduating high school, and Krystina had just graduated.  Brittany had moved back with her then husband, out of state again. (😥)

Krystina moved out eventually and it was just David and I our dogs Rotunda (another Chihuahua/Pomeranian mix who was 12 years old), and our puppy, Peanut.  Kids and grandkids grew, families grew and, as most “empty nesters” David and I began to enjoy our time together as “just us”.  

Then, at a family get together (I actually don’t remember the date.  One of those “health issues” I experienced was a mini stroke when I was 30 years old caused by birth control pills and my morbid obesity at the time, they concluded.  Thus, the stroke obliterated my able to remember things as well as it use to!) I noticed that Reba was having, what I thought at the time was, dry skin issues.  I began to take notice and pay attention to the things with other family members and their skin.  ( I guess that was Medical Assistant in me!)  I was trying to figure out what was causing the problem for her because she complained that the patches itched and sometimes hurt.  Around the same time, David had to have major surgery.  He was diagnosed with an Acoustic Neuroma.  It had attached itself to the working parts of his ear, his facial nerves and his brain stem.  Ultimately, they removed all but a very tiny piece of the Neuroma as well as all of the workings of his ear, so he became completely deaf in that ear, and had a second surgery to install a Cochlear Implant.  As he was healing from that, he neglected to shave and I noticed that he, too, was getting these dry, flaky, itchy patches where his mustache would grow.  And the research began in earnest!

Because I am a redhead (As is Kym, Reba, Annalyna and we haven’t figured out if Zanora is or not!), I have struggled with sensitive skin issues since I was a kid.  I never got a “tan”, I got “pink”, “lobster red” or obtained more freckles.  As I got/get older, I develop(ed) more and more sensitivities to things like laundry detergent and shampoos/conditioners.  So, using my own experiences the first thing I looked at was laundry detergents.  From there I looked at the shampoo/conditioner, and from there it lead me to the “soap” we used in the shower/tub.

The information I was gathering was quite interesting and little shocking, to say the least.  Since I was a kid, I remember seeing commercials on TV about how actual “soap” was bad for the skin, that using XYZ Brand of this or that was more “moisturizing” and better for your skin.  These commercials through my youth, told me that using “soap” was drying, contributed to wrinkles as you age, leaves a “film” on your skin, makes your tub/shower have excessive “soap scum”, etc., but as I was researching, what I found astonished me.  Especially since the TV told me how bad actual SOAP was!  

My first thought after going down this rabbit hole of research was, “Wow, maybe I need to change the stuff we’re washing with”.  Why?  Well, I learned that what I was using at the time, a liquid body wash distributed by a company who’s named after a small white bird (😉) could not legally be called “soap” even though that’s what we all call it.  The process used to make this body wash literally removes the glycerin (something called a “surfactant” that does actually help to moisturize to an extent, but is defined as a compound that lowers the surface tension between two liquids, between a gas and a liquid, or between a liquid and a solid. Surfactants may act as detergents, wetting agents, emulsifiers, foaming agents, and dispersants.), only to add it back in, and the additional additives they actually added to make it “better” for your skin, as was their “claim”, were actually not necessary and were detergents as well.

“DETERGENTS?!”, I thought to myself….”like, I’m actually washing my body with laundry detergent?”  Um… yeah-you are (🤨)!  So, I grabbed my bottle of body wash and started to actually read what I was putting on the biggest organ my body has.  The organ that absorbs everything from environmental pollutants, to what you put on it, to what you ingest.  (Medical training kicking in here again.)

The ingredient list was LONG, containing words I couldn’t even pronounce. (Can you?) Then I thought to look at the “soap” and “body wash” that Reba was using, and read the same ingredients; detergents, etc.  The only difference was they added extra stuff to balance the pH to the eyes (making it “tear free”), rather than the body. What does the pH actually do?  Let’s look at that…

pH stands for potential hydrogen with the “p” meaning potential and the “H” standing for hydrogen. The pH scale is a scale that is used to rank the relative basicity or acidity of substances to other substances, based on the amount of hydrogen ion activity in a substance. (sciencetrends.com)

Now, I could go into and define and describe all the ingredients I’m talking about, but that would be a science lesson in and of itself.  Suffice to say, I didn’t like what I read and learned and thought there had to be something better that would help the dry, itchy skin my loved ones were experiencing.  So, I looked into actual “soap”.  As I was reading about soap I came upon the different FDA laws regarding the making of “soap” both in solid and liquid forms that we were all using.  The FDA has a law that states that the items used to actually wash your body, that you buy at places like the grocery store, or big box stores, cannot legally be called a “soap”.  Because of the additives and processes used to create what we were using, the law states that they have to be called something else.  So, corporate America gave these items names like “Facial Cleansing Bar”, “Moisturizing Body Wash”, etc.  Wait!  What?  You’re telling me that almost 99% of the stuff at the store I buy my family to wash with on a daily basis couldn’t legally be called soap because they’re “detergents” and corporate America is conning the populous at large?  That would be a hard yes.  Well, then…  (Go look at the wrapper or container your current stuff comes in the from the store and see what it’s called… I’ll wait.)

What did washing with detergents do to the skin?  It makes it dry, flaky, itchy and it can exacerbate skin issues that may be underlying such as eczema, psoriasis, allergic dermatitis, the weather, etc.  Well darn!  How do you fix THAT issue?  Back to actual “soap”…

I started to google “soap” and all the sudden a new world opened up to me.  I found all kinds of places that were selling the ingredients to make your own soap at home, videos that showed you from start to finish.  The different ways to make it.  The different ingredients and their benefits… the lists went on and on.  I actually got quite overwhelmed.  So, I just started making notes, and doing more research and watching more videos.  I learned that you can’t make actual SOAP without Sodium Hydroxide (Lye).  Even the “Body Washes” and “Beauty Bars” have Sodium Hydroxide in them.  (Or it’s sibling Potassium Hydroxide, which is used to make a liquid “soap” or “wash”.)  HOWEVER…..

While watching and reading about making SOAP, there were CONSTANT warnings about Lye Safety and how dangerous it is to work with Lye.  The kinds of safety equipment that would be necessary to work with it, and honestly, I got intimidated and scared.  But then I saw something called “Melt and Pour”.  This is a Glycerin based soap that is already “made”, having gone through the processes necessary to make it SOAP.  All you had to do, was melt it in a microwave, color it, add any fragrance or essential oils to it, and pour it in a mold.  You simply let that cool and harden and BOOM, a handmade bar of soap that you’ve made at home.

It was a fun learning experience for sure.  To this day, I still make some of the Melt and Pour soaps and add them to my other soaps and I let the grandkids work with it to make their own for gifts for family members.  But I really wanted to be able to use those fantastic oils and butters that really benefit the skin!  So, I took my Culinary Arts training, and bit the bullet.  Because you’re following a recipe and a technique, it was quite similar to actual cooking!  I watched a thousand more videos, including the ones about Lye Safety, over and over and over again, just to be sure I KNEW what I was doing and felt comfortable enough to work with it.  In the Culinary world we have something called “Mise en Place”, which basically means “everything in it’s place”.  You should get everything out that you plan to use, weigh, measure, the tools, etc.  Everything should be ready before you start.  So, I did that.  Then, I set to work making my first bars of soap made with Sodium Hydroxide, in a design called a “Tiger Stripe”.  I honestly can’t tell you what the scent was, or the colors that I used.  But I remember it was fun!  I was so very proud, looking at that wet soap in the mold…  Now for the Saponification Process.

What is the Saponification Process?   Saponification is a process by which triglycerides (fats) are reacted with sodium or potassium hydroxide (lye) to produce glycerol (emollient) and a fatty acid salt, called “soap.” The triglycerides are most often animal fats or vegetable oils. When sodium hydroxide is used, a hard soap is produced. (thoughtco.com)  This process renders the Sodium Hydroxide (or Potassium Hydroxide) completely inert.  It’s done it’s job of turning the oils, butters and water into a bar of soap.  So, the Sodium/Potassium Hydroxide will in no way negatively affect your skin at all, whereas when soap hundreds of years ago was made, it was hard on the skin.  In fact, my Grandma’s generation still viewed “lye soap” as something quite harsh.  Basically because the lye that was used was made from wood ashes, wasn’t as pure and the science that we use today (computer programs that help to determine the proper amount of Lye, water, oils and butters that will make the best bar of soap, with proper hardness, moisturizing properties, cleansing abilities, bubbles and no harsh or adverse effects from the lye.) hadn’t been invented yet.  They also didn’t have any of the additives that we use today like colloidal oatmeal, milk powders, etc.

So, 24 hours after I made that first loaf of soap, I cut it.  It was the best bar of soap I’d ever seen!    I cut it with a knife I bought specifically for soap.  I cut it unevenly, and I didn’t care.  Then I had to figure out where to let it “cure”.  Curing is where you set the newly made soap aside for 4 to 6 weeks and allow all the excess water left in the soap, after the saponification process, to evaporate, leaving the bar as hard and as long lasting as possible.  I found the perfect place, in my foyer.  Then I immediately wanted to make more…and more…  Pretty soon, my foyer was filled with newly made, curing soap!  Anyone that came to the front door, or entered the house, always asked what smelled so good!

I tested the soap 5 weeks later, as did David, in the shower.  It was bubbly and it was a different feeling on my skin than what I was use to, in a good way.  I felt… cleaner?  Was that the word I’d use?  Yes, it was!  I felt like there was just clean skin there, not something else.  I don’t quite know how to explain it, other than I didn’t feel like I had a thin film of “slime” on my skin that the aforementioned body wash I had been using, left on me that was meant to make my mind think this was a “conditioning, moisturization” of my skin.  It was “slime” to me, now that I had used my brand new bar of soap!  Well, now I was hooked!  David’s skin, after about a week, showed improvement as well!  Holy Heck, what did I just find!?

For the next solid year, I played with different recipes, different oils and butters, different molds, different colors, different additives….  I found a recipe I seriously loved.  I shared the bars with family and friends and finally was told so many times..”This stuff is great!  You should sell it because I’d buy it”.  So, I did.  And Bluegrass Bubbles was born…  We got a business license and became official, then started our website, bluegrassbubbles.com  

In the next installment of the blog, I’ll continue some of the story!  Please remember to share and invite your friends to the blog!  Feel free to ask questions and interact!  

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