#oh the new post editor deals with tags differently and i hate it

[bi-rezi]

begging my left ear not to be infected so i don't have to stretch it all over again. if i have to have asymmetrical ears i'll die

[vtscasefiles]

Case File 762-4

Trigger warnings: Isolation, suicidal thoughts, violence, blood, depression, animal bites, animal injury, cops, racism, homophobia, conversion therapy mention

A note before reading: I am unsure if I have tagged all potential triggers properly. 

Case Begun: 2/07/20**

Case Concluded: 2/12/20**

Case Locale: [REDACTED], Washington

Marked as Closed, Payment Declined

This is one of the rare occasions where I am perfectly happy not to receive payment for a job. The value of a life always beats cash, period. 

It started a bit...underwhelming, to be honest. There’s a secret message board for Eliminators. It’s not easily accessed, and there’s a rigorous vetting process to even be allowed to view the posts. I was well into my sixth year working before I received an email invite. Since then, it’s become a welcome resource.

The first post on my feed was addressed to me, personally. This wasn’t new, I’ve built up something of a name for myself. I get regular work, but I still can’t afford to get out of this shithole apartment. I mean the door doesn’t even fucking lock. And the fucking “landlord” is so strung out on cocaine that -- 

[Editor’s note: Personal information revealing where VT lives followed. I have removed it for her safety.]

Anyway, the post was simple enough: a werewolf gone berserk. It’s not an uncommon thing, a new werewolf can take to the wolf too much. The wolf takes over and, feeding off of the human’s anger or indignation, attacks. First, it’s everyone who hurt them. Second, they attack their family. After that...it’s a bloody free-for-all.

Let me preface by saying I hate these hunts. It’s no different than putting down a rabid dog, honestly...the human is too far gone and the wolf operates entirely off of the residual rage. Even so, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I don’t like killing anything living, even if it’s lost it’s mind. 

I read the post three times before I sighed and closed my laptop. “This is why I like dealing with the dead.” I said, frowning. I’d be needing silver. Which meant spending money. The reward was good, though...so it’d cover any expenses. I packed up my gear (a wolf’s bane lotion, a femur from a dead wolf and a silver knife) and headed for my first stop: Ramona’s.

Ramona Torrez has been my best friend since...ever. She was born in the states to Mexican parents who’d settled here in the nineties. They’ve both returned to Mexico since, but they come to visit fairly often. Mama Torrez was more a mother to me than my own was, and she’s one terrifying lady. A powerful witch in her own right, she’d made her then boyfriend her familiar through a series of spells and incantations that bordered on the black. His physiology changed, as a result. Despite being in his mid sixties, the man’s barely aged. He’s stronger, faster and has more stamina than any human I’ve ever met...not to mention he’s an absolute sweetheart.

Ramona is possibly the most gifted witch I’ve ever met. If there’s a spell she can’t do, I’ll eat my boots. Her shop is a little hidden place. Right on the corner of [REDACTED], she’s very open about what she does. A small sign dangles over the door reading “Bruja” . I pulled open the door, hearing the cheerful jingle of the bell (despite there not being one in sight. Or a motion tracker.) “Welcome!” she called from the back. “I’ll be with you in a moment!” I said nothing, opting only to pick up my friend’s familiar and give her a stroke.

It always makes me laugh, honestly. A witch with a black cat as a familiar. How cliché can you get? Issy’s a sweet thing, though. Purrs like an engine if you so much as scratch her ears. “VT!” Ramona appeared with a wide grin on her freckled face. “Why didn’t you say it was you, dummy?”

I’ll preface that, despite my father being Hispanic, I never had the opportunity to learn Spanish. He was always busy on one hunt or another. Ramona’s tried to teach me, so that I could get in touch with my roots...but languages never came natural to me. Hell, I barely speak English.

Ramona rattled off her usual rapid Spanish, taking Issy from my arms. “You know I can’t understand a word.” I said as she turned to lead me into the back room. Her shoulders shook and she looked over her shoulder with a coy grin.

“Oh, I know. Payaso.” 

If Ramona hadn’t been my best friend, I’d likely be trying to get under her dress. She’s a curvy thing, with a heart shaped face and big brown eyes that’d melt even the coldest of hearts. She dimples when she smiles (something I’m immediately weak to) and does this adorable thing with her nose when she’s irritated. Her hair tends toward bushiness, framing her face like moss on a tree. (To my knowledge she doesn’t dye it, it’s just...green.)

“So, darling.” she chirped, stopping next to her cauldron to let Issy dash off through the fabric drapery that led into her kitchen. “What is the illustrious VT hunting today?”

“Berserk werewolf. Probably recently turned...and probably not by a pack. I’m thinking boyfriend or girlfriend. Which means -- “ She cut me off with an uttered curse.

“Which means that you’ll have to get in touch with the local werewolf pack.” she finished with a grimace. “Where’s the contract taking you?”

“Washington state. Little town called [REDACTED].” I answered, not expecting any miracles. I was granted one, none the less.

“Ah. That’s a Native American pack. I met their um...I’m not sure what the proper vernacular is, so I’ll just call her a witch, if that’s okay?” she said, worrying with her lower lip. Ramona’s always been very big on calling people their proper titles, and felt terrible guilt when she messed it up.

“She the Alpha? Or an elder?” I asked, seizing upon the thread before Ramona fell into self-deprecation.

“Well...yes and no.” she said, pouring something into the burbling cauldron and turning it a sickly puce. “She’s something of a Seer. She led them to an old, abandoned ghost town. They asked for witches from all over the continent for assistance in warding and rebuilding. Naturally -- “ “Naturally, Bleeding Heart Torrez helped.” I cut her off, again. She frowned and nodded. “Hey, Ramona, I ain’t saying you did the wrong thing. I’d have done the same. Are they friendly to outsiders?”

“Kind of.” she said, her frown relenting for a thoughtful expression. “You’ll likely be met by an envoy before you make it to the town line. I can call ahead, if you’d like. Let them know that I trust you so they won’t be on full alert.” she smiled, slightly. “Just don’t...shoot anyone that you don’t have to. Okay?”

“I’m not in the business of killing people just trying to live their lives, Ramona.” I said, pulling a frown of my own. “I might be trigger happy, but I’ve never shot anyone who didn’t come after me, first.”

“I know, I know...they can just be a little wary with outsiders. You can hardly blame them.” she said, carefully. I agreed with her, but I didn’t like the implication that I just ran in like some idiot waving my gun around and shooting at everything that moved.

I only do that sometimes.

I stayed long enough to catch up and have some lunch. Ramona’s cooking was always amazing. Her carnitas is to die for, full stop. With my belly full and my paranoia subsiding, I made for Ellie’s. It was time to see if the corpse had any silver.

Elinor Lyktor is a lich. She “died” at some point during the eighteen hundreds. Stomach cancer. She was already a necromancer by then, so when she felt her end approaching...she made a bargain with Death. The way she speaks about the “Lady of the Void” is how some people speak about their chosen deity. But how many of them have actually spoken with their god? Or had her over for tea? 

Elinor’s shop was in the dead center of town. The signboard above her shop proudly proclaimed “Ellie’s Emporium”. Her front was an antique shop (all her possessions from when she was alive litter the front of the store). When I entered, her bespectacled gaze caught mine. Even indoors, if she was minding the shop, she wore sunglasses.

“Valerica.” she greeted, pushing from her stool and smiling, marginally. “Lock the door.” I obeyed. What else do you do in the face of a being that could force your skeleton to come clawing out of your body?

“Elinor.” I responded with a nod. “I’m looking for silver ordinance. .44 if you got it.”

“I do. Got a werewolf problem?” she pulled off her sunglasses. Her eyes were pitch black. The only light in them came from the faintly glowing, multicolored runes that slid across them like leaves on a still pond.

“Not a problem.” I responded, coolly. “Ramona’s got me an in. I just don’t have the identity, yet.” I paused, thinking that maybe I should be a little warmer to my primary ordinance merchant. “How’s the lady?”

“Which lady to you speak of?” she asked, grinning cattily. “The woman I will make my wife, or the Great Lady of Dusk?”

Fuck, she loved her puffery.

“Do you just make up these titles or did Death give you a list?” I asked, grinning. It got a laugh, so I’d say that Operation Butter Up the Lich was a success. 

“No, I only use them to annoy her. She’s teaching me a lot, VT. I’d love for you to come over and meet her someday. Isali is a rather sweet woman, if you can get past the fact she’s Death.” she said, earnestly. “Did you know she has a son? And he has children, too? I wasn’t even aware she could reproduce.”

That was enough to get my attention. “Death...has a kid. Okay, I’ll bite: what’s his name?”

“I don’t know. She only refers to him as “my darling boy”. The only thing I’ve figured out is there has to have been a point in history in which no one died. The only way I think she could have had a child is if she took on mortal guise and -- are you even listening?”

I was. Oh, I was. I admit that I was wrapped up in the thought of how DEATH had a SON. He must be one terrifying, austere motherfucker, that’s for damn sure. “Sorry, I was just thinking about what kind of man her son has to be. Gotta be some kind of...demigod or something. Having a mother like Death.”

Elinor shrugged “She described him as being an absolute goof. Dotes on his kids, overtly friendly. I’d like to meet him, someday. It looks like I’ll go wanting, though. He lives in a world beyond ours. An extra dimensional being.”

Now it made sense. I wanted to follow that rabbit hole down to the end. I still want to. But business beckoned and I had no choice but to end this intriguing line of thought. “As interesting as this all is, I still need bullets for something more mundane. Can you cut me a deal?”

“Depends on the volume, Valerica. If you want an armory’s worth, I can’t help you...but if you’re just looking for a few boxes, well...” she smiled. “How does fifteen bucks a box suit you?”

“It doesn’t.” I responded immediately. “I’ll give you five.”

I left her store after securing my ammunition. She drove a hard bargain, but I managed to talk her down to ten dollars a box. I had five boxes, each containing twelve bullets. If I couldn’t finish the job with that, then I was in the wrong line of work. 

Now, it’s a little known fact that a werewolf and a rugaru are two separate entities. They both conjure the vision of this half-wolf, half-man meat tank that tears through the opposition like so much wet paper. That particular creature is a rugaru. Not all werewolves are rugaru, but all rugaru are werewolves. The rugaru transformation is only possible under two circumstances: complete acceptance of the wolf that dwells within, or the complete degeneration of the werewolf’s human mind due to unchecked homicidal urges. It isn’t a fine line or any of that bullshit that other people have perpetuated. It’s a simple matter of willpower. If I was dealing with a rugaru, it’d mean real trouble. I could only hope this werewolf was still on four legs.

As Ramona had promised me, I was barely five miles down the dirt road that led into our little werewolf commune before I was stopped. He was a tall, impressive specimen. Fine bone structure, inky black hair brushed neatly into two, thick braids that were decorated with beads and feathers...what really threw me was his smile. It was welcoming. Not a normal sight for me. I killed the engine and stepped out into the morning air, then man walked forward and extended a hand “You must be VT. It’s a pleasure, truly.”

I took his hand and shook it. I felt the tell tale calluses on his palm in the shape of paw pads and smiled, this was the right place. “Glad to be of help. I hear there’s a berserk wolf on the loose.” his smile faded.

“Yes.” he replied, simply. “My son’s boyfriend.”

Swish. Called it.

“That’s unfortunate.” I said, bowing my head in respect. “Is there no hope of helping him cope?”

“I’m unsure.” he responded, looking thoughtfully at the thick forest that shadowed the road. “We’ve tried, but...he’s so angry.” he paused, his gaze returning to me. “I apologize, VT. I haven’t even given you my name: folks around here call me Thunder. You’re welcome to do the same.”

I nodded and smiled “Anything you say, Thunder. If you have another name that you’d prefer to go by, I’ll do my best not to butcher it.” he’d laughed, a booming sound like his namesake.

“Thunder suits me just fine.” he said, kindly. “We can continue our discussion back at the compound. Would you mind if I rode with you? I can tell you about our lifestyle while we ride.”

I gathered that Thunder was the Alpha of this particular pack, given how he spoke about his friends and family. The pack had started on a reservation, but wanted a place of their own. The reservation was abandoned in favor of the Seer’s word there was a place of their own. They all turned in the dead of night and disappeared. No one knew where they’d gotten to, save for the SC. They were completely self sufficient. Hunting and fishing for food, growing their crops in soil blessed by their spirits and making their own clothing. Back to basics, he’d said. I could see the appeal.

“You got a free house I can post up in or...” he’d laughed at me.

“We don’t have internet, power or running water. You might get sick of it pretty fast, hm?” he’d nudged me and broke into that same booming laughter that caused my eardrums to ache.

He’d stopped me just outside of town, where two, tall totems stood on either side of the road. “Stop here. Your car will die if you cross.” he said, stepping out of the car. “I’ll introduce you to my son, VT.”

I killed the engine and stepped out, reaching behind the seat to sling my backpack over my shoulder. One of the two totems stood out. Each of them was carved with delicate care and beautiful in their own right, but the one on the left was the most interesting to me. It was Ramona’s work, I knew the feel of that anywhere. “Torrez did this, didn’t she?” I asked, brushing my fingers against the carvings. “Not the design, but the ward.”

“You’re close to Miss Torrez?” Thunder asked, pausing to look at the totem. “Yes. Spent a week solid working on it. She even refused payment, only asked for one of my wife’s blankets in return.”

“Do you...deal with cash?” I asked, feeling the slightest bit insensitive.

“Rarely.” he responded, eyes still on the totem. “Some of us have work in a town nearby, certainly...there are a few things that trading can’t get us. Gasoline. Generators.”

That threw me and I frowned “Thought you said you didn’t have power.”

“We don’t.” he responded, simply. “The generators are for the Elders who didn’t leave the reservation.”

Well, good to know I’d been here all of twenty seconds and already taken a big bite of foot pie. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think -- “ “You don’t live like us. Why would you?” he responded with a somewhat bitter smile. “No reason for me to take offense or for you to feel guilt, VT. Though your apology is...appreciated.” the last word felt forced, but I said no more.

The town was pretty enough, each house painted in accordance to the occupant’s taste. Designs swirled and jerked in eye catching beauty across the wood or brick. Thunder led me to a single-story ranch type home and beckoned me inside. He called for his son in his native tongue and a beanpole of a boy appeared. I say boy, but he was at least eighteen or nineteen. “Introduce yourself.” Thunder said, sternly. “You’re the cause of this mess.”

“Thunder.” I broke in, sensing the tension between father and son. “You know better than anyone that the change is unpredictable...it isn’t his fault.”

Thunder’s stare turned on me, and that friendly gaze was gone. If I’d been made of gentler stuff, I might’ve even backed away. “I’m not upset he changed his lover, VT. I’m upset because his lover is giving us a bad name, and he doesn’t seem to care.”

“Excuse me for caring about my boyfriend, Father.” the boy spat. Even in children, or teenagers...there’s always respect for the Alpha Wolf. To hear the vitriol in the young man’s voice told me one thing: there was going to be a power struggle here one day. “VT, I heard about you from Ramona Torrez.” he said, with much less anger in his voice. “Please...Dorian never meant to hurt anyone. He didn’t even know what I was doing and...please, don’t kill him!” tears were welling in this young man’s eyes. I couldn’t help but be sympathetic...but I still had a job to do.

“Dorian’s his name?” I asked, humming beneath my breath. “I might be able to call him out using that information. But I’ll need your name too, kid.”

Thunder’s son puffed up “I am no child! I am a man grown!” he said, indignantly. 

“A grown man doesn’t make decisions for his loved ones.” I shot back. “He makes decisions with his loved ones.”

He deflated marginally. “My name is...Crow Flies. He called me Crow...” he said, no longer able to meet my eyeline. “Please, VT...I...”

“I get it, kid.” I said, softly. “I won’t kill him if I don’t have to. I promise.”

Thunder took me from his home and introduced me to the rest of the pack. They were a kindly people, if a little wary of an outsider like myself. Thunder’s presence helped with their misgivings, but only slightly. “You did well with Crow Flies.” he said, softly. “Miss Torrez had described you as a hot head, but even so...you were very patient. And there was wisdom in your speech.”

Despite myself, I flushed. “Well, ah...I’ve had good teachers.” I said, trying not to grin. “Say, Thunder. After all this unpleasantness is done, could I come back? Just to visit. I like it here.”

That seemed to surprise the Alpha, he looked at me and then smiled “I think that I would like that. I think the pack would, too. Once they see that you are here to help, of course.”

I had dinner with the pack, as they all dined together in the center of town (or the old town hall, when the weather was foul). It was a raucous affair, full of song and laughter...Crow sat off by himself. Alone. I thought it best to leave him be. The boy was going through all kinds of heartbreak. The last thing he needed was another lecture.

It was late by the time dinner wrapped up, and I’d gathered a bit more information about Dorian. He’d been cast out by his family due to his sexuality, and taken in by the pack. They’d kept their lycanthropy secret from him...that is until Crow Flies turned him. Thunder had even had a family portrait taken of the three of them. Dorian had to have been at least Crow Flies’ age, if not a bit older. He was dark skinned, his hair styled into a small afro. What struck me the most was his smile...there was such...kindness. Love. It twisted my stomach into tight knots.

I made a promise to myself then and there: there were enough gay, Black men dead. I was not going to contribute to that number.

Even if it killed me.

No one “hunts” a werewolf. You see these self-styled vampire/werewolf hunters enough these days...and they’re all absolute pricks. Worse than that, they’re murderers. I’ve had to kill a couple of them, to save an innocent life...but when you murder someone just for their differences, you’re the monster. The point is, no matter how many berserk werewolves you’ve encountered it all boils down the the same fact: they’re the hunter, you’re the prey.

I applied a thick layer of the wolfsbane lotion to my skin. It wasn’t going to stop a werewolf as much as it would overwhelm their sense of smell and taste. Silver weaponry only works because of a simple fact.

Have you ever heard of a tulpa? It’s...a sort of group hallucination made real. The basic principle is if you believe enough in something, it manifests as reality. The more people who believe, the more stable a tulpa is. Silver is a sort of pseudo-tulpa. A mass belief of silver being a weapon against lycanthropy has made it reality. That’s the power of belief.

Problem being is I didn’t know whether the mass belief here was that silver kills...or simply incapacitates or weakens. I had to be careful. I had to leave Peace behind. If I wanted to save Dorian, I couldn’t rely on firepower to do it.

[Editor’s Note: A rarity for VT. Coherent thought.]

Dorian’s hunting ground had been, as of late, his own home town. His first victims were his parents...hardly a surprise. Poor guy had to have felt betrayed, and was angry for it. Researching the case, they hadn’t been eaten. They’d only had their throats ripped out. That was a good thing and a bad thing. If Dorian wasn’t eating his victims yet, that meant there was humanity left in him...but he’d tasted blood, and he’d want more. I didn’t have time to dally, I had to act.

I drove straight to his former home.

The house had been cordoned off by police tape. As anyone sane does, I ignored the warnings put forth by the police and ventured inside. The carpets were stained with blood...it meant there was a struggle. A vicious one from the looks of things. Dorian might not have even been in wolf form when it started.

I ventured deeper into the house, searching for any kind of clue. There was Christian iconography all over the house, which explained why he was thrown out. It was getting harder and harder to feel anything but repulsion for the dead, sanctimonious pricks. Throwing their own son out just because he’s gay...I related entirely too much.

I found Dorian’s bedroom without much struggle. Posters of his favorite sports teams hung on the walls, along with musicians and actors. I felt a creak in the floorboard beneath my foot, so I crouched and tried to pull on it. It came up effortlessly.

Hidden within was a notebook, a small bag of cosmetics and a pressed flower. Probably from Crow, I thought. I didn’t read a lot of the journal, but from what I did read it was a chronicle of his self discovery. I admired him for the bravery he showed in facing who he truly was, but the thoughts were private. I closed the journal and replaced it, along with the other items. Those were his and not mine to take. If...things went badly, I’d come back and give them to Crow.

I approached the bed, and got a deep whiff of wet dog for my trouble. He’d been here. Recently. I pulled the sheets back and found what I’d expected: fur. He’d even been sleeping in his own bed. This was good. This was very, very good. If he still sought out human comfort, he was still in there.

A sudden creak and the sound of footsteps sent my heart into my throat. I had no weapon, no way of defending myself against a hungry werewolf. The air was probably thick with the scent of wolfsbane by now...I did the only thing I thought I could.

I stood and waited.

It wasn’t Dorian. It wasn’t even a werewolf. I felt my stomach drop into my shoes as a uniformed police officer appeared, flashlight in hand. “Who the fuck are you? This is a police investigation zone, bitch.”

My hackles raised, but I raised my hands, showing I was unarmed. “I’m a Private Investigator. My license is in my jacket pocket. I’m going to reach for it now.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but clearly this pig thought I was being belligerent. 

“Keep your fucking hands where I can see them!” he snarled and approached, stepping forward to shove his hand into my jacket. Thankfully, he went straight for the pocket instead of feeling me up, like I’d been dreading. He looked at the fake license with his mean, piggy little eyes. “They hand these out to anyone, huh?” he said, pure malicious glee in his voice.

I said nothing, keeping my hands raised and waiting for an actual question. “So, you think you can do this job better than us?”

“No, sir.” I responded, shaking my head. “I’m only looking for their son. He has a right to know, even if he hasn’t been living here. I was hoping to find a clue and didn’t want to trouble the police department for something that’d only take a few minutes.”

He laughed, cruelly “Well, that’s earned you an arrest, Valerica Torianna.” he said, gleefully. “For interfering with a police investigation. You have the right to remain -- “

The next thing I heard from the officer was a scream. I hadn’t even heard the wolf enter. The wolf, lean and black as pitch, leapt atop the cop and dug his fangs in. Blood sprayed my face as the pig’s throat was torn from his neck. The wolf didn’t chew. Didn’t swallow. Just spat the flesh and sinew clean out. Then it turned it’s eyes on me.

“Dorian?” I asked, softly. It’s hackles raised. “Dorian, I’m a friend of Crow Flies. You know who Crow Flies is, don’t you?” it backed away, and I took a step towards it. “Dorian, I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not here to hurt you. I only want to help...Crow asked me to help you. Please.”

It snarled...and it lunged.

For anyone wondering if I’ve turned lycan: no. It’s not as...simple as just a bite. I don’t quite understand it, but it has to be an actual, conscious thought. Dorian would have had wanted to make me a werewolf. It didn’t seem he was quite accustom to the change to be able to make conscious decisions. He was only defending himself from a perceived threat.

That didn’t stop his fangs from tearing my forearm open, though.

“Fuck!”, I yelled as it’s teeth dug in deep and ripped my flesh. I had my fair number of scars, but this one would be a doozy. That’s alright. Girls dig scars...well, my type does. Not trying to generalize or anything. Anyways, I was bleeding. A lot.

“Dorian, let go!” I yelled, feeling my bones practically screaming in his jaws. “You’re gonna break my fuckin’ arm!” I balled my fist and started to hammer on his nose with all my might. Nothing. “Dorian, brother, I’m real fuckin’ sorry about this!” I grabbed onto his throat with three fingers and squeezed. He started to choke.

I released him the second his jaws released me. “Sorry.” I croaked, holding my arm against my chest as the wolf wheezed. “Will you -- “ he was gone. I’d blinked and looked at my arm for a half second and he’d up and bolted...leaving me with a dead cop, and his blood all over my face. It wouldn’t matter that he had lupine saliva in his wound, it’d mattered that his corpse would be discovered next to me. So, I bolted.

I returned to the pack’s commune and staggered past the totems. Blood loss was already making my head spin, and I needed medical assistance. Problem was I still had cop blood all over me...so a hospital was out.

I passed out before I could even get to Thunder’s door.

When I woke up it was still night...or night, again. Ramona’s heart-shaped face, her hair sticking up all over the place was looking down at me. “Ah. An angel.” I wheezed. “So, I’m dead.”

Ramona flushed and slapped my chest “Idiota!” she squeaked. I laughed weakly. “You scared me! Thunder called and said Crow Flies found you half-dead! Your veins were torn to shit, VT! You could have died!”

“So just another day at the office then?” I sat up and my head immediately began to swim. “Shit.”

“Lie down, VT. I did what I could, but you still lost a lot of blood. I’ve dealt with your clothes, and Issy brought back your fake PI license. Sloppy, Valerica. Very sloppy. You would’ve been caught if not for us.” she said, standing from my bedside and straightening her dress. “You owe me.”

“Add it to the tab.” I said, pushing to my feet, doing my best to ignore just how sick I felt. “Dorian’s still out there. I can’t let him succumb, I can’t. The world has enough murdered Black men...let alone gay Black men.” my conviction was strong, but my body...

I was wrecked. I could barely stand, let alone run or fight.

“The pack is dealing with him, now. He’s...becoming unstable. I’m sorry, VT, but there’s nothing left for you to do.” Ramona said, hanging her head. “He’ll be killed before sunup.”

Like. Hell. I knew where he was nesting, now. I knew what I had to do. I had to go back. I had to beat them to Dorian’s old home. “Ramona. Think you can drive really, really fast?”

“VT...”

“I’m not taking an L on this one, Ramona. I won’t. I know how Dorian feels, I’ve lived his life. I won’t let it end like this.” Ramona looked at me, tears in her eyes. “What? What is it?”

She smiled and wiped her eyes on her forearm “Who’s the bleeding heart, now?”

Ramona broke just about every traffic law in existence getting me back to Dorian’s home. I’d been unconscious for two days. During that time the pack had met and decided that the only way they could stop Dorian was to kill him. He’d gotten more violent, more reckless. His kills were happening in broad daylight, now. Three cops, a high school teacher and a pastor. None were eaten, but all were killed, viciously.

“He’s attacking those that wronged him.” Ramona said, softly. “He has the power to fight back...he’s losing himself in it. I’m afraid the pack might be right...if he keeps going like this...”

“He won’t.” I snapped shut the cylinder on my weapon. “Crow will never be able to look his father in the eye, let alone forgive him, if the pack kills Dorian. If there’s going to blood spilt...I’d rather be the one hated.” I said, softly. “But I’m going to try, one last time, to get through to him.”

I didn’t go beneath the cordon tape, this time. I went through it. Thunder didn’t know where Dorian lived, thankfully, only the town he lived in. Ramona had agreed to go and ask them to give me my last chance. I had to make it count.

“Dorian!” I bellowed, the instant I rammed through the tape “Dorian! My name is Valerica Torianna! I’m like you! My mother cast me out on my own when I came out to her!” I shouted as I sprinted towards his bedroom. “I know you’re angry! You deserve to be! You deserve your revenge, but you’re going to be killed if you don’t -- “

There he was. Eight feet tall, jaws dripping with blood. He’d lost the plot. He’d lost his humanity. He was a berserk rugaru, now.

“Shit.” I cursed as lupine eyes met mine “Dorian? Dorian, please...I can’t fight you. I won’t fight you. Please.” 

I was thrown, bodily, through the drywall. Luckily, I didn’t hit a stud or wiring...but I could feel shards of something embedded in my back. Peace was still in her holster, so I pulled her free as I struggled to my knees. The rugaru kool-aid’d through the wall after me, eyes full of bloodlust and rage. I aimed my weapon and pulled the hammer back.

A second rugaru exploded through a window and slammed Dorian bodily to the floor. The pair rolled, biting and snarling and clawing across the floor. More than once I had to scurry out of the way of the battle to avoid catching a flying claw or misplaced bite.

Who the fuck was the second rugaru!? Was he a friendly? Was *he* enraged? Fuck me sideways, I had no idea what was going on anymore! All I knew is I was suffering from blood loss and losing energy by the second.

CRRRRRRRACK.

I turned, just in time to see the second rugaru, deep brown fur covered in blood and wounds, ripping Dorian’s jaws apart and ripping his heart from his chest. “NO!” I screamed, feeling tears streaking my face. “Goddammit, no! Fuck!”

When a werewolf dies in lupine form, it’s body shrinks. The wolf leaves its body, free to roam the great hereafter, while the human husk remains. All that was left of Dorian was a pale skinned...wait. Dorian was(?) Black...this mutilated corpse was white.

What the fuck.

The second rugaru threw it’s head back and howled in victory...and turned on me. “Who the fuck are you?” I said, voice trembling. “And who the fuck did you just kill?”

The rugaru was shrinking, but collapsed before the change was through. I tore my jacket off and draped it over him. When you lose mass that rapidly, you lose body heat, too. If a werewolf doesn’t have something to warm them after a rugaru transformation, they could easily suffer from hypothermia. I rubbed the dark skin that was rapidly loosing fur. “Dorian? Dorian, is that you?”

“Yeah.” came the soft rasp. “Yeah...my name’s Dorian. Who the fuck are you?”

“My name’s VT. I was hired to -- “

“Kill me?” he cut me off and glowered at me with hate filled eyes. “Just like my parents wanted?”

“No! Fuck, no! I was thrown out by my mother after coming out. Like hell I’d kill someone suffering from my same pain.” I said, quickly. “I was hired to try to help you. By Crow Flies’ dad.”

Dorian stared at me, untrusting...but soon looked back to the corpse. There was such hatred in his eyes...it made the glare he aimed at me look positively tame in comparison. “That thing was a pastor. A pastor at one of those...those...” he wretched.

“Conversion therapy...” I hissed beneath my breath. Suddenly, I was hoping the corpse would get up, again. Just so I could have the pleasure of killing him, myself. “You gave him what he deserved.”

I successfully returned Dorian to the pack. He wasn’t ostracized, but welcomed. He had gone berserk, just as the job posting had claimed. He’d killed his parents and their pastor, but no one else. After he’d had his vengeance, he regained himself. He hid, feeling such guilt in his heart that he never wanted to see anyone again. 

Poor kid.

His reunion with Crow was a sweet one, they’d wept and kissed and held each other so tightly I was sure I could hear joints cracking. I couldn’t help but feel accomplished for what I’d done. The rugaru he’d killed, one Peter Edwards, had been a werewolf for years. Hiding in plain sight...and killing those that couldn’t be “saved”. He couldn’t nail down Dorian, so he tried to frame him. He’d be martyred...if not for one, little thing.

“Oh, I burned his corpse with the rest of the house.” Ramona said, forcing a cup of coffee into my hands. “What went on there was no one’s business, anyway. No one’s but the pack’s. And yours, I guess.” she’d said, cheerfully. “Thanks.” I sipped the coffee. Possibly the best tasting coffee I’d ever had. “Dorian saved my life. I don’t think I can accept payment for this one.” I said, smiling. “I’m happy it turned out the way it did...still...it’s impressive that a new werewolf found the rugaru so easy to control.”

Dorian broke away from Crow and approached me. “Miss VT?” he said, timidly. “I just...I wanted to say thank you. Crow said that...that you wouldn’t kill me. That you were against it from the outset.” he stuck out his hand “I...thank you.”

I took his hand, feeling those same calluses I’d felt on Thunder’s. “I should be thanking you, Dorian. You saved my ass.” I grinned and squeezed his hand. “You have a family now, brother. You’ll never have to feel alone again.” he smiled that same smile, so full of kindness and love, that was in the portrait. “Take care of yourself, Dorian.”

Thunder caught me as I was climbing into my car. “You forgot your payment, VT.” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “Ramona said you wouldn’t accept, but...” “But nothing. All I did was run around in circles. Dorian’s the hero here, Thunder.” I said, pushing my sunglasses onto my face. “But hey...if you really wanna give me something...this job ruined my jacket.”

I received a gorgeous, handmade jacket in the mail a few weeks after. My initials emblazoned on the back in golden thread. I wouldn’t be wearing this thing on jobs, but...maybe I can get it framed.

Yeah. That’d be pretty killer.

Case closed.

[letterboxd]

How I Letterboxd #1: Lise

In this first instalment of a new feature, long-time member Lise, of Canada, answers our questions about how she uses Letterboxd, and why you should join her March Around the World challenge.

Hi Lise! How long have you been on Letterboxd? Lise: TV was still in black and white.

What do you mainly use Letterboxd for? Just a diary? Long reviews or shorter takes? Hilarious lists, or very f—king serious director rankings don’t @ me? I use the whole shebang: diary, reviews, ratings, watchlist, comments and lists, lots of lists. But mostly I use Letterboxd to keep track of when Jonathan is out to lunch (shameless plug for my He Says She Says list).

Do you rate films? Absolutely. I rely on ratings to add stuff to my watchlist, and I rate to let others know if I liked the film. I don’t read reviews for films I haven’t seen, so without user ratings I’d be snookered.

Tell us about your March Around The World challenge, in which Letterboxd members sign up to watch and review 30 films from 30 different countries during the month of March. How did it come about, and what’s involved? I took over the challenge from Berken, who created it and hosted it for the first year. I thought it was a brilliant way to explore the world on the cheap. The review component is important because it expands Letterboxd’s database, especially for under-seen films. It’s been a great success. Many participants like to create lists, and if they can’t watch them all in March they go at it for the rest of the year, which is great. The most important rule about the challenge is to forget the rules and watch international films during the month.

Still from Djibril Diop Mambéty’s ‘Touki Bouki’ (1973).

What are some of the interesting statistics you’ve noticed from your Marches Around the World? I consolidated all of the spreadsheets I’ve created for each challenge, and there were some surprises. The most viewed film is Touki-Bouki from Senegal (average rating of 3.7). Less surprising is that our most-viewed director is Ingmar Bergman (although I was happy to see Aki Kaurismäki from Finland in second place). The most-viewed countries are France, Japan and South Korea. Another surprise, the best decade is the 1920s (with the 1950s in a close second).

How has March Around the World enhanced your life? I’m not the sentimental type but when we get a new participant in the challenge I get the warm and fuzzies. If the genie were out of the bottle I would request that all overcome the ‘one-inch barrier’ (subtitles). Watching films ‘from away’, as our East Coasters would say, is one of the simplest ways to combat fears and/or prejudices about other peoples/nations/ways of life that we often don’t realize we have. Every time we identify or root for someone who is ‘other’ it chips away at the walls, and as Maya Angelou has said so eloquently, we discover that “We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike”.

What are the responsibilities involved in hosting a Letterboxd challenge? It doesn’t have to be complicated. A challenge can be as simple as “watch ten films from your watchlist this month”. It’s all about tags. Define a tag, have people add it to their films and their lists, and then you can easily search for and filter those tags. Easy peasy. Mine is a bit more challenging because it has so many requirements, but thanks to some fantastic Letterboxders who volunteer to help with my spreadsheet (you know who you are), it all gets done in a timely manner.

How do you find the time to watch all those films in a single month?! Jonathan and I have never completed the challenge! Our best year was around 26. That year we got up earlier in the morning and watched the films with coffee, before going to work. That was the best. Nice and fresh and open to anything. Bonus is that we got to think about the film all day and the review-writing in the evening was easier. If it were up to me that’s the way I would watch films all the time.

What other challenges have you taken part in, and how have they enhanced your experience of watching films? Back in the day everyone was making a list tagged with List of Shame that you filled with all those “You seriously haven’t seen that yet?!” films. I’m still chipping away at it, but of course for every film you watch there are ten more you have to see. To help with the List of Shame I participated in Mr Dulac’s 5×5 series, where you selected five films from five directors and watched them at your leisure. It was a great way to complete filmographies. I still go to that list when selecting a film to watch.

Wong Kar-Wai’s ‘In The Mood for Love’ (2000).

What are your four favorites on your Letterboxd profile, and why? In the Mood for Love, because forbidden love is the saddest thing ever, and I could watch Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung go up and down those noodle-shop stairs all day long. The Thin Red Line, because it provides a great sense of place and it’s about the soldiers, not the war. Whispering Star because it is so quiet and touching.

I keep my fourth slot open for a rotating new favorite film that I want everyone to see. I could change these for a different set, but, oh, who am I kidding. I always feel terrible at the thought of ‘demoting’ a film.

What is your favorite or most useful feature? The watchlist, filtered by service. It is my dream-come-true feature. I sort by genre, hide short films, select ‘Stream only’ and ta-da! A list of films I’ve been meaning to see that are available to stream. (Now if only I could do the same for films that I own!) [Editor’s note: filtering by your own personal set of streaming services is a Pro feature.]

What’s a movie you’ve done a 180 on because of other Letterboxd members’ opinions? Great question. Memories of Murder is one of them for sure. I couldn’t figure out what the big deal was when I first saw it, but so many of my friends gave it five stars that I watched it again and understood. And just this week, Moaning_Slug posted an interesting comment on my review of Buñuel’s Viridiana that actually makes me want to take another look.

What’s a movie you’ve really had to dig in on your feelings about, despite what everyone else on Letterboxd thinks? I am not easily bothered by or influenced by others when it comes to the films I love or despise. I seriously disliked Her and Boyhood and pretty much anything by Wes Anderson and all the high ratings have zero effect on me. The technical prowess of a film would never be something that could change my mind (here’s looking at you John Wick: Chapter 2 and 3). What would make me take a second look is if someone were able to point out that I missed something about what the film was saying. I’ve yet to review Jojo Rabbit because while I think poking fun at someone who aspires to dictatorship might actually prevent it from happening, I don’t know what to make of it when it’s making light of a historical or current [aspiring dictator]. Reading reviews about this could definitely influence my take on the film.

Colin Firth in ‘Pride and Prejudice’ (1995).

What’s your go-to comfort movie? The one with Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy, the one with Chris Pratt and the talking ‘rat’, and the one with Tony Leung as badge No. 663 starring the Mamas and the Papas.

If and when you go to the cinema, where do you prefer to sit? Behind the shortest person in the room, near the back (I hate looking up—it’s a neck thing).

You’re Canadian. What’s the best Canadian film of all time? South of Wawa, about a donut-shop waitress who receives tickets to a Dan Hill concert in Toronto for her 35th birthday. Okay, so it’s not the “greatest film of all time” but it is my favorite, and it’s got the best last line ever!

These are the Canadian films I’ve seen in order of preference, this is a substantial list of Quebec films and [Letterboxd member] puffin has an extensive Canadian films list (stops at 2018). And I must mention these NFB short classics: The Cat Came Back, The Sweater and one of the most beautifully animated shorts, The Man Who Planted Trees.

When Parasite won Best Picture, what was the reaction in your household? We tested the bounce on our floor boards at Best Director. We tested the bounce on the ceiling boards at Best Picture.

Please recommend three other Letterboxd members we should follow. I can’t count, so here goes. I think everyone should follow Punq for the sheer number of films he watches and reviews, but mostly because I don’t think there is a film made before the 60s that he hasn’t seen. Graham Williamson is a good bet as well. His tastes are eclectic and his reviews are always packed with good observations and information. And I also have to recommend fellow Canuck puffin. I don’t know how he manages to watch so many films and review them. I always enjoy reading Melissa Tamminga, who asks questions and is very thoughtful in her reviews, and I have a soft spot for Peter H, who again personalizes his reviews. Nepotism be damned, Jonathan White always writes honest, interesting and personal reviews.

You also round up Letterboxd members who attend TIFF each year—what’s been a good thing about meeting Letterboxd people in real life? It’s great! Without naming names, I discovered that I could drink a 6'2" Norwegian under the table; a particular New Yorker is so stingy with his ratings that when he gives anything beyond three and a half stars you just have to watch the film; and a New Zealander personally knows anyone who is anyone in the industry over there and can give you all the dirt! Whenever we consider not doing TIFF we are always reminded that it would involve missing our Wednesday meet-up (as well as most other nights where we undoubtedly meet up for beer and film-related arguments), and we easily change our minds.

P.S. In the spirit of connecting Letterboxders… before the TIFF list I thought it would be good idea to create a ‘Letterboxd in [insert City]’ list, Toronto being the first one. It took off, and many users from different parts of the world created lists for their cities; the tag is letterboxdcity.

The March Around the World challenge starts 1 March 2020. Tag your list with ‘30 countries 2020’ and it’ll be added here.

[crowkingwrites]

Battle of the Bands (Ch.19)

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader, Jon Snow x Reader, Viserys Targaryen x Reader, Ramsay Bolton X Reader

Summary: You just moved into the city for the first tie all by yourself. After you get your dream summer job working for a small magazine, you find yourself in the middle of the city’s rock festival: Battle of the Bands. Local rock bands throughout the city compete to win a record deal that could change their lives. Your job? Get close to them and write about them online.A single girl in the city surrounded by rocker boys during the summertime. What could possibly go wrong?

Words: 1124 // AO3 Link

Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three // Chapter Four // Chapter Five // Chapter Six // Chapter Seven // Chapter Eight // Chapter Nine // Chapter Ten // Chapter Eleven // Chapter Twelve // Chapter Thirteen // Chapter Fourteen // Chapter Fifteen

Ramsay’s Ending (Chapter 16) Viserys’ Ending (Chapter 17) Jon’s Ending (Chapter Eighteen)

Robb’s Ending - The Great Escape

“What?” Viserys reacted. “You’re not with Ramsay? But he said—

“You’re suing the whole magazine and this was all my fault. I—

“Did Robb Stark fire you?”

“No, well—

“Why are you here?” Viserys asked. His voice was different this time. It held no anger or rage, but confusion. “Did you come for me?”

“I…no,” you stood and closed your eyes. Why did Viserys make everything about him? “I didn’t come here for you.”

“Oh,” he sounded hurt, but you rolled your eyes. “I just thought maybe we could talk. I didn’t end things well between us.”

“Yeah, suing me is completely normal,” you added with snark.

“Look, it was stupid. But, I didn’t appreciate what you said about me. I’m not like that.”

“You are,” you took a dig at him. “You’ve been using people and breaking the rules all your life because you think you’re God. You’re not.”

“Do you realize how much of a big deal I am? Do you know who my family is? You can’t talk to me that way. I can fucking sue you into the ground, bitch.”

“Don’t call her a bitch,” you heard Robb’s voice behind you. Robb’s eyes stared Viserys down. “Your entire family is founded on the idea of power hungry people who have no love or mercy for anyone. What she write was nothing new. You’re just mad because it’s true.”

Viserys’ palms turned into fists. “You know, your family isn’t as amazing as you think either. All of you are dipshits. Including your mistake brother.” Robb almost lunged at him, but you got in front of him. You forgot how it felt to be this close to him. He smelled like a forest you wanted to get lost in for hours. You didn’t notice before, but he wore your favorite color as a tie. Maybe Robb didn’t completely hate you?

“He’s not worth it,” you said quietly to him. You took Robb’s hand and left Viserys behind. A thought popped into your head and came out of your mouth before you really thought about the question. “Why are you here?”

“I had to follow you,” Robb admitted. “That…sounded creepy.”

“Yeah. It did.” You laughed. Both of you stood there for a moment and let time pass around you. You didn’t know what to say or how to react.

“I thought you were gone. I tried to call you a lot, but—look, I’m really sorry. I was on my way your place because I thought there was something really wrong. Jon told me about your anxiety and I thought—I thought you were suicidal. Oh, that’s really bad to say. I’m really sorry. I was on my way to you and I saw you! I saw you leave, so I had to follow you. I just—I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Robb blurted out. He took a breath. “Are you ok?”

You put your hand over your mouth. He still cared. After everything both of you have been through together, he still cared for you.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Ok great!” Robb smiled. “Because I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t okay. I mean, you’re so sweet and I don’t want to lose you. I fucing panicked when I heard you were leaving. I blamed myself for all of it because I’ve been so—

You kissed Robb softly and slowly. Time seemed to slow around you as you took your time with him. Your hands traveled from his chest to around his neck. It was as if you were kissing a prince. Robb held you gently and kissed you back.

When you finally separated, Robb looked at you with more love than you could handle. Your face turned different shades of red. He laughed and touched your forehead with his own.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked you.

It didn’t matter who won the Battle of the Bands. Robb won over your heart from the beginning. After the first few dates and a little time in the bedroom, Robb and you found that love really does happen at first sight. The rest of the year seemed go by quicker when you were happy.

You gained two promotions in that time (of your own merit without Robb’s help), and you were now Head Editor of Arts and Entertainment. The Scene paid you enough to live on your own in downtown. The Scene’s Christmas Party went off without a hitch and you stood next to Robb in matching outfits.

“I like you in black dresses,” he whispered in your ear. “Hm, I like you better in brighter colors. Why do you always wear black?” you said, kissing his cheek.

“Oh no. You’re a complete hypocrite. Your whole closet is black. Don’t start with me.”

“Oh, we better behave, someone professional is walking towards us,” you winked. Robb looked at his acquaintance and smiled at you.

“Actually, he’s here for you. Mr. Woolf! Good to see you!”

“Robb Stark!” Mr. Woolf shouted with arms wide to hug him. “You know, you look more like your mother every time I see you.”

“Oh I know,” Robb said. “My mother blessed me with her beauty genes and thank God for that. Could you imagine if I looked like my father?”

“Well, look at your brother. He broods all the time still, doesn’t he?”

Robb pointed to his left. “He seems very happy with his girlfriend now, so I wouldn’t be so sure. Oh! This is my girlfriend, Y/N L/N, Head Editor of Arts and Entertainment for the Scene.”

“I’ve been waiting to meet you, Ms. Y/N.” Mr. Woolf shook your hand. “I’ve read your material and I’m more than impressed. Have you ever thought about writing a book?”

“A book?” you said shocked. “What do you mean?”

“Mr. Woolf contacted me two weeks ago,” Robb interjected. “He wanted to meet with you face to face for a book deal.”

“Wait! Like a real deal book deal?”

“Yes,” Mr. Woolf smiled. “A real deal book deal. Wolf Publishing would love to sign you on as a new author.” Your face was a mixture of confusion and excitement. The floor seemed to melt your feet and Robb held you up.

“Is this seriously happening?!” you turned to him. Robb kissed your head.

“Say yes, love,” Robb reminded you to talk.

“Oh my God! Yes! Of course! I’ve very interested!” You shook Mr. Woolf’s hand and looked back to Robb. Robb loved you for your attitude and talent, and you knew he would support you either way. A singular thought ran across your mind. You heard wedding bells in your ears.

Note to Self: He’s going to be your husband one day.

In this order:

Chapter 16 - Ramsay’s Ending Chapter 17 - Viserys’ Ending Chapter 18 - Jon’s Ending Chapter 19 - Robb’s Ending Chapter 20 - Your Ending

Ultimate Tag List (People who wished to be tagged in EVERY work I post.)

@angelicshinigami @sugarwastaken @carilov09 @i-theredqueen@sleepylunarwolf@loki-0fasgard  @parkerplexed

Game of Thrones Tag List (People who wish to be tagged in everything GoT related)

@boltonblade  @why-so-red@sj-thefan @sunshinesydney-blog@drunkenpoets@antiscocialfanwarrior@fnnexua@fraueninflammen @wanna-plan-world-domination@bravado07@k-macncheese@theladyofrice@lokimysunandstars@tyri-yawn@kcd15@theocatkov @cassandrabelleaime @oberyners@ragnarssonsbitch@storytellersun @ren-ni

Get on the Taglist Here

[scribeofmorpheus]

Dangerous Liaisons Part 6

Catch Up here!

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Words: 3888 (It’s a long one guys)

Rating: L for Strong language! Is that even a rating?

A/N: Okay, this took me a while to finish because I kept getting distracted. Editing? What editing? Just ignore my errors for now! But! I really enjoyed the dynamics in this one. Writing for Karen and Ward was the most fun I’ve had in a while. Especially, the dark side of our heroine! Not a lot of Billy sadly, but he’s front and centre in the next chapter... and so is the prickly family dynamic! (I also tagged some new people to this update, hope you don’t mind). Don’t be afraid to ask to be tagged! Sidenote: I’ve been waiting forever to use this gif.

***

You made your way through the busy offices of the Bulletin. The room was buzzing with life. Employees in middle-class dress smarts hovered around from desk to desk. Some had files in hand, others typed away brutally at the clunky, old computer keys. The atmosphere was electric… productive. As a kid, your father had spent many hours dealing with interviews and alike, but always in the comfort and security of his own home. He always liked having the high ground, made reporters feel uneasy in unwelcome spaces. Except for this one reporter, Ben Urich.

You had been barely out of your teen years when you had watched through ajar doors as your Father lost his iron-clad composure after being accused of something malicious by the straight-shooting reporter. You had never seen anyone rattle your Father to that extent. Ben Urich had gained your respect in that moment, and it wasn't until this very moment that you realised just how much you admired him for that. The irony of Karen Page working for the same newspaper as the one reporter you respected did not escape you.

"Can I help you?" asked a balding man with a salt and pepper beard and drooping eyes. He was cleaning his glasses using his tie as he stood like a man of authority next to a door labelled:  'EDITOR' with a name underneath written: 'Mitchel Ellison'.

"Mitchel Ellison, I presume?"

"Just Ellison," he extended his hand once his glasses were fixed back onto his face. You shook it. "Still haven't answered my question." He said plainly.

"Ah, yes sorry. My name is Y/N Y/L/N." He raised a brow at the mention of your last name. He recognised you then.

"Ah, the elusive heiress to Armistice Security," he said knowingly.

You shouldn't have been surprised. Your Father was Carl Kurogawa, CEO and founder of one of the leading military contracting companies. The press loved him and after Henry's death… well, more and more people were digging into your family's history. That's one of the reasons you legally changed your last name to your mother's maiden name.

"Since my Father and I don't share the same last name, I'm inclined to correct you on that front. I have no affiliations with Armistice Security," You said rather harshly.

"If that were true you'd have sold your shares a long time ago," he retorted quickly. No doubt Ellison had a hard time trusting people, but at least he called things as he saw them.

You sighed, "I'm here to see Karen Page. I called earlier about giving her an exclusive."

"What about?"

You smirked, "Sorry, that's privileged information. You'll just have to find out about it in the editorial room." Ellison huffed lazily, you amused him a little.

"Her office is right through there," He pointed down the hall and to the right.

"Thank you." You smiled flatly.

You knocked on the door with a sign covered by masking tape with the name Karen P. written on it. It was obscuring the name of whoever owned this office space before her.

"Just a second," a soft female voice spoke out.

Impatient, as always, you opened the door anyway. Karen was about to speak from behind her laptop screen, but upon seeing you, her face had a confused look plastered on it.

"Who?--" She squinted her eyes trying to remember. She didn't seem to recognise you. Being in a room full of reporters who usually could pick you out in a crowd, this was certainly a refreshing first. A laugh tried to trickle out of you but you held it back and instead chose to introduce yourself.

You held out your hand, "Y/N Y/L/N. We have an appointment today..." Karen still had a hard time placing you, this time you did giggle. "The Rand Enterprise exclusive about expansion in Hong Kong."

And suddenly, like lightning hitting its mark, Karen finally put two and two together.

"Of course, sorry," She returned your handshake. "I've been swamped lately, and as you probably deduced for yourself, I'm a little new at this." She gestured to her desk filled with overflowing, loose paperwork.

"Reporting or an efficient filing system?" you joked. She laughed awkwardly.

"Both," she sat down and gestured to the chair in front of her desk for you to have a seat. "Which is why I am a little apprehensive as to why you chose me to handle such a story. In fact, why the New York Bulletin? Isn't the Hong Kong expansion something a business magazine would kill to get an exclusive on?"

You smirked, "Oh, it is. Which is why I'm not giving the exclusive to a business magazine. Also, I read some of your other stories. You tend to be discrete about who your sources are when they want to keep things hush, hush."

Karen pulled out a notepad and pen, clicking it once to jot down something on her notepad.

"Why the secrecy? It's not like you're reporting on anything the company doesn't want the world to know… right?"

"I'm just… beating a colleague to the punch," You felt proud at the prospect of Ward reading this exclusive in a small newspaper after he had spent months preparing to give this exclusive to the Wall Street Journal. The look on his face when he finds out he doesn't have an exclusive anymore filled you with delight.

"Sounds alarmingly ambiguous."

"It sounds like an exclusive."

Karen took hint of your tone and cleared her throat, "Okay, so what can you tell me about Ward Meachum's new merger deal?"

You crossed your legs and leaned back, but made sure not to look too comfortable. "For starters, I can tell you it's not Ward Meachum's merger. He shook hands and posed for photo ops but they were my contacts and it was my project. I worked in Hong Kong for several years before I returned. Suffice to say, I had the means, Ward had the poster boy look."

Without skipping a beat, Karen jotted down on her notepad in shorthand. You were curious to read what she had written down, but this story wasn't what was important right now. You needed to gain her trust and get her guard down before asking about the incident with General Schoonover.

"Why did you leave Hong Kong?"

"I'm sorry?"

Karen plastered on a genial smile, "You mentioned your posting in the Hong Kong offices as being your primary qualification for spearheading this merger. If you managed to accumulate such good connections, why leave such a promising post? Wasn't accepting the post at Rand a step down?"

Karen was a sly one, this explained why someone with no background in journalism got ahead so quick. She was fishing for two stories in one interview. The Rand scoop and why you were offering her the Rand scoop. You made a mental note not to underestimate her. "This story isn't about me, Miss Page."

"Is it not? You’re not a disgruntled employee as far as I can tell. And giving a small newspaper access to such an exclusive doesn't make much sense unless you're trying to gain all the credit, but that wouldn't exactly help moral at the workplace if they found out you leaked the story. And unless you're Mr Meachum's scorned lover--"

You snorted a little at the insinuation of you being Ward's scorned lover. "You want to know what I get out of this. What my angle is."

"To be frank, yes."

"That's easy Miss Page. An ally at a respectable paper. That's something of great value in my line of work."

"In corporate legalities or military law?"

You smiled. Karen had just given away her ace in the hole. She had done research on you, which meant she knew exactly who you were when you walked into her office. She really was a sly one. "In a competitive corporate world."

You both exchanged a look that carried the fake pleasantry smiles not uncommon with most of your social interactions, but both you and Karen's eyes held a glare that spoke volumes. It was a look of respectful rivalry and cautiousness.

"Look, Miss Page--"

"Karen is fine."

"Okay, Karen. We can spend hours going round in circles, continuing this verbal detente with one another, or you can ask what you really want to ask me and save us both some time."

"It's the same question. Why me? And no bullshit. Why come to me, out of all the other more qualified and respected reporters? Why come all the way down to Hell’s Kitchen?"

"To be honest. My father hates this newspaper. And my boss is an ass. So if I can manage to serve a big ol‘ 'fuck you' to the both of them, it's a win-win for me." Karen seemed pleased with your answer. "But, there is one other reason."

"Yes?"

"The Punisher."

Karen froze for a second, you noticed her battling for control to remain unreadable.

"Whatever do you mean?" She asked, trying to seem oblivious to what you were implying.

"You are the one who wrote of his demise, did you not? It was quite the… unexpected angle. You framed his narrative to be more sympathetic than most other news outlets."

"I wrote Frank's story. Everyone else had already written about the Punisher."

"And weren't you assigned his case when you worked for… Oh, what was their name again? Murdock and Neilson?"

Karen's brows knitted together and she straightened her back to appear slightly taller than you, "Nelson and Murdock." Karen huffed. "And here I thought I was the one conducting the interview here."

Strong-arming Karen was proving to be ineffective. It was time to play a different angle. You sighed and stood from your chair, gathering a file from your purse and presenting it in front of Karen.

"Look, Karen. I'm not here to accuse you of anything. If anything I commend you for writing the real story about Frank Castle. It shows your willingness to bring the truth to light. It's the reason I thought you could help. You worked with him and I know you were at the scene of General Schoonover's murder."

"How?" Her eyes skittered between you and the file.

"I also know that you've read up on me. You and me have something in common." Karen broke eye contact for a brief moment. "I just want closure. And I think… I think you knew the Punisher better than you let on. And everything that happened, all the people he killed… I think they were part of something bigger. Schoonover, Frank and… my brother’s death." You had to pause to take a breath. "It's all connected. And I've hit a dead end. You're the last thread I can pull. I know you know something. I'm just hoping..."

Karen looked at the file you gave her. It had your brother’s name printed on the yellow jacket. She sighed and slid it back to you. "I don't know anything. I'm sorry."

You smiled with disappointment, sliding the file back to Karen. "I've got more copies. Keep it." You grabbed your bag and headed for the door. "My numbers on the back. In case you suddenly remember something." As you walked out the door, you caught a glimpse of Karen burying her head in her hands and whispering a soft "Fuck" under her breath. That made you smirk slightly. Now you just had to wait and see if she'd call.

Even though you knew full well that you and Karen had kept your voices more than professional, you couldn't help but feel eyes on you as you walked out of the Bulletin's doors. Specifically, the judgmental eyes of Mitchel Ellis.

***

When you got into your car, you finally let the tough as nails act slide away and suddenly you felt limp. You closed your eyes and looked up at the car's roof feeling particularly aimless. As the seconds turned to minutes, your mind kept trying to make sense of all the puzzle pieces that didn't fit together in your investigation. Then, your phone chimed from inside your pocket. You half expected it to be Cecil and the other half… well, you reprimanded yourself for wishing it was Billy. What you didn’t expect to find was an email from Ward. Not just any email, a letter of notice.

He was firing you.

Over a fucking email.

The damn merger story hadn't even been put to print yet, even if it had, your name would remain anonymous. Which leaves the very probable reason for your contract termination being the result of a hurt ego and rejected advances.

"Asshole!" You swore. Rage bubbling to the surface, you typed away at your phone and sent a message you knew you'd come to regret, but your anger had gotten the best of you.

"Karen. About keeping my name anonymous, don't bother." You hit send and without missing a beat, you dialled Cecil's number. If Ward wanted to play dirty, you had no problem playing it his way.

"Heyyo," Cecil answered in a drowsy tone.

"Hey, I need a big favour."

***

You stormed your way up to Ward's office, ignoring the protests of his assistant clomping after you in heels she wasn't comfortable running in.

"Ma'am!" She whisper-shouted frantically after you as you burst into his office. Ward had turned to you with a shocked expression mid-sentence. A room full of important busy-bodies craning their necks to look at who cause this disturbance. Ward glared at you menacingly and then eyed his assistant who swallowed loudly. "I'm sorry Mr Meachum. I tried to stop her."

"That's quite alright. We're just finished in here," Ward buttoned his three-piece suit-jacket and motioned for the men to exit the room. A fake smile tugging at his lips. When you were finally alone, Ward closed the door behind him before walking over to his desk. He leaned his tall frame against it languidly. When he didn't speak, you did.

"A fucking text, Ward? You don't have the balls to fire me yourself, you had your assistant type up the fucking thing?" You tried to keep a handle on your temper. "What was the reason? Please tell me there's a better reason than your hurt pride!"

Ward gave you a cheeky smile, enjoying your anger a bit too much. "Well, you mean despite you showing up late to the meeting the other day, then feeding me some bullshit excuse of traffic being the reason you were late? And don't even get me started on all the other times you've put off work hours to do God knows what!"

"You're firing me for tardiness? I'm the one who spearheaded this expansion project in the first place. Without me-"

"I'm firing you for unprofessional conduct. You can do whatever you please after office hours, but social calls the same day you're late to the closure of the project you were in charge of? That's unacceptable."

"So this is about your dumb fucking ego!"

Ward's eye twitched and you could all but see his professional disguise begin to crack, "I expect you to remove yourself from the premises immediately before I call security. You can collect your things from rece-"

Before Ward could finish his threat, you took out your phone and pressed send on a video file. In an instant, Ward's phone chimed from his desk. He glanced over at it and saw your name on the email.

"The fuck is this?" Ward asked, an eyebrow arched.

"This is me choosing to stoop to your level, Ward." Your words were saturated in disgust.

"Is this a threat?" He gawked at you, completely surprised.

"Open it and find out."

Ward did as you suggested and his face went pale. The video showed him rifling through his desk drawer and pulling out a small tin, before proceeding to empty it of its contents and snort the white powder that came from it.

"I think that camera angle suits you. Does those cheekbones of yours the justice they deserve." You held up your own phone which played the same video.

"You bitch!" Ward snarled.

You took a step back and held up a single finger, "I'd be very careful about what you do next, Ward. One press of a button and I send this video to a very respectful reporter whom I was just in talks with a few hours ago. Then the whole world will know that the respectable and business savvy, Ward Meachum has a coke problem."

He clenched his fists till they went white, "How the fuck did you get your hands on that? Are you spying on me now?"

You laughed, "I have better things to do, Ward. But don't forget, I'm great at making connections. And this is a video from your security cameras in your office. I just know a guy who's good with computers."

"What do you want," Ward's words came out hesitantly.

"My job back for starters. I've worked too hard for someone like you to get in the way of it. Shouldn't be too hard to do, I'm guessing you hadn't consulted anyone about it. We can just keep your email between you, me and your lovely assistant."

Ward folded his arms and took a tentative step forward. He was trying to reassert his position of power, but you didn't budge. "And how do I know you aren't bluffing? I have a PR department available around the clock. We can spin this video however we want."

"Read tomorrows paper," you said snidely. "And once you realise I'm not bluffing. Add a raise while you’re at it." You added before walking out of his office. Adrenaline soaked your muscles and you felt powerful. As the door closed behind you, you heard a crash coming from Ward's office. His assistant looked at you with wide-eyes.

"Might want to hold off Mr Meachum's appointments for the day. Something tells me he won’t be in a very cooperative mood today." You winked at the assistant and rode the elevator to the carpark.

***

As you walked to your car, your phone rang. You sighed and rolled your eyes. "Jesus, I can't catch a break today." When you saw the caller ID you were pleasantly surprised. "Mom?"

"Honey, hey! I was worried I wouldn't get a hold of you, busy schedule of yours and all that," she rambled quickly in that shaky tone that had become her new default in the last couple of years. "I- Uh…"

Your heart began to race with worry, "Is everything okay?" You interjected.

"What? Oh, oh, yes! Everything's fine. Why wouldn't it be? I'm calling because there's something important I have to… Umm. Why don't you come home for a bit and I'll explain everything."

"Mom, what is this about?"

"See you soon," she said hurriedly, cutting the line straight after.

"What?" You stood dumbfounded and slightly worried. You made your way to your car at a jogging pace and set off for the family mansion.  

When you arrived, you were surprised to find a car parked by the driveway. You didn't pay it much attention, you were more preoccupied with finding out what that weird phone call was about. You rang the doorbell and the house butler answered the door. He seemed baffled to see you. To be fair, you were surprised you hadn't talked yourself out of driving through that accursed gate brandished with your father’s initials.

"Weathermire." You greeted him professionally.

"Miss Y/N. It's been a long time. I last saw you at the--"

"Gala. My mother called me. Do you know where she is?"

"The kitchen I believe, miss."

"Thank you," you made your way through the grand opulent mansion with familiarity.

"Would you like me to inform your Father-"

"No," you said almost instantly. "It’s better he doesn't know."

When you got to the kitchen, you were greeted by the image of your mother and several cook staff preparing food.

"Oh, Darling. You got here quicker than I expected," your mother said gleefully. She walked over to hug you, wiping her wet hands on her apron. She looked elegant as usual. Weathermire entered the kitchen just then and with a simple glance, she instructed him to go off and do something. He complied with a simple bow.

"Mom, what's all this? When you called, I thought…" You didn't know what to say, you honestly didn't know what to make of her phone call. You shook your head. "Why did you call me here?"

"Oh, well I figured we could have a little family dinner. I have been sat at an empty table for weeks now. Your father always has his meetings, you always have yours. I figured today there would be no excuses for you to be antagonistic towards each other."

You snorted, "Whatever brought that idea on?"

Just as your words escaped your mouth, Weathermire opened the doors to your father's study and your father and his guest stepped into the kitchen. Everyone's expression -except for your mother's- was that of being caught unawares.

"Billy?" You asked in shock. But as soon as you said his name, you regretted it.

"Do you two know each other?" Your father asked with a stiff tone.

You shot Billy a look you hoped mirrored 'Don't tell them about us'.

Billy, like the chameleon he was, flawlessly kept his composure and replied, "Yes, we had the pleasure of meeting at your Gala a few weeks ago." He smiled at your parents dashingly.

"You never told me you knew my daughter," Your father said.

"Your daughter?" Billy pretended to be caught off-guard. Now it was Billy's turn to shoot you a knowing look, "It never came up."

"We only talked for a brief moment. There wasn't any polite way to bring up my parentage to a complete stranger." You said through gritted teeth.

Your fathers eyes squinted in your direction and your mother cleared her throat, "Come now, we can all get to know each other better over some food."

Billy and you simultaneously tried to object but your mother interrupted, "Hush, you're both staying for dinner and that's the end of it."

You put on a painful grin. Something in Billy's expression found this whole exchange humorous.

"You two go set up the table, we'll be right over." You mother ushered them out of the kitchen.

You sighed when it was just you and your mother in the room. "How long have you known?" You asked her, not even bothering to deny you were more than acquainted with Billy.

"Since I saw the two of you leaving the Gala together." She had a smile on that showed she was proud of her meddling. "When he came over to discuss business with your father… well, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to have a reason for the both of you to be civilised and enjoy a meal with your mother while she got to know this very nice man I've heard nothing about, by the way."

"There's nothing to say. We went out for drinks once."

Your mother eyed you for a moment, not believing you for a second.

"Okay, maybe twice. But he's not--"

"I'm not what?" Billy asked.

Chapter Seven!

MASTERPOST | For Tumblr App

Tags:@songtoyou @rainyboul @itsjaynebird @delusionsofnostalgia @andreiaafaria @500daysofbecky

Permatags: @thechickvic @gruffle1 @notawarriorjustyet @electroma89

[autumn-kitten]

Tag Post

I was tagged by @springbearhime, thank you so much!!!!! ♡ ♡ I don’t think I’ve ever been tagged in one of these things so it made me unreasonably happy :’)

Posting this under a cut because it ended up being super long!

Nickname: Nic, Rose, Shy

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 20 as of this March!

Time: 10:31 am

Fave Artist: Radiohead right now. PS friendly reminder to blacklist the tag radiohead if you don’t wanna see me spamming, I just queued like 50 radiohead posts bc I have a problem lol

Song stuck in my head: This excellent, underappreciated one hit wonder, She Blinded Me With Science. Also, this live version of Radiohead’s Videotape, because it includes a cool part in the middle that isn’t on the recorded/studio version and I love it.

Last movie I saw: The Incredibles 2

Last thing I googled: Trying to figure out how to properly use the Amazon Alexa my mom bought, lol.

Other blogs: I have a Tera Online blog, which is dead rn because I’m not playing Tera very much anymore and the blog is on another email address so it takes too much effort to access it lol. I also partially abandoned it because I got the feeling people didn’t really like me on there.. got a whole lot of mean anons and all my mutuals stopped talking to me and uhHhh idk what I did but sorry y’all... I think I just complained way too much there honestly.  I also have a private rant/journaling blog, because I need to write things down to help me deal with it/get it out of my system.

Do I get asks: I wish!! Sometimes people do message me though but I always get shy ahah. Send me anons! I will answer anything! Hit me tf up!

Why I chose my url: Oh boy, I made this blog when I was probably 16. Autumn was my favorite season and I adore cats. I didn’t use this blog at first because I already had one I was active on and had a lot of friends/mutuals. When I was like 18, this guy I was dating at the would go on that blog and have a huge freakout over nearly everything on it (you posted a selfie and responded to someone that complimented you with a heart??? ARE YOU CHEATING????, etc), so I moved here. I feel kinda bad, I had like 10 messages from different people saying “this blog has zero posts and I want this url can i pls have :(”

Following: 631 LOL. Most people aren’t even active anymore so I should probably go through and clear that out...

What I am wearing: I don’t have work today so I’m still what I slept in - soft Mickey Mouse print boxer shorts and the shirt I wore yesterday lol

Dream job: I don’t really know what I want to do!! Something that makes me happy and doesn’t suck the life out of me, which idk is possible. The idea of working for the rest of my life really depresses me. I am very interested in a ton of things but am not talented at any of them (music, art, film directing or editing, computer programming/coding, writing/editing) so I’m hoping to take some classes at my community college and see if there’s something I’m able to pick up. As a kid I wanted to be an actress (I had no anxiety until I was like 12, it was wild - I was a theater kid haha), then all through middle and high school I wanted to be in a band or be an author/editor, and when I was like 18 I wanted to be an English teacher for quite a while but I’ve realized I’m too shy and definitely not assertive enough.

Dream trip: Japan and all over Europe. Also Australia/New Zealand!!

Fave food: Oof this is hard... I honestly just love food in general. Sometimes it’s burgers and fries, sometimes Chinese food, sometimes Pad Thai, sometimes sushi, sometimes pizza, sometimes pasta... Food is delicious, lol. Right now I’d say probably burgers and fries?

Play any instrument: I took piano lessons for a few years as a kid but hated practicing bc there was pressure from my parents and eventually quit. I wanted to learn how to play the drums but my parents said it was “too loud” so I played trumpet for 4 years in the middle school band and jazz band (because trumpet is SUCH a quiet instrument, lol). I self taught myself guitar in 8th grade and was in a band that never got off the ground, but I haven’t touched guitar since I was probably 16 and really wanna get back into it. I’d love to learn play bass guitar and drums!! Also, fun fact... I was SUPER obsessed with harps as a kid and really wanted to learn how to play one until I was like, 11.

Play(ed) any sport: Aside from being a theater/band kid, I was also v sporty since my dad really wanted boys, hahaha. I played soccer, volleyball, and basketball! I played soccer the longest but I ended up being better at basketball than anything else... but I loved volleyball the most, lmfao. I made some “tryout only” teams for all three sports, which was cool, but any and all sportiness died when I was like 13 or so because Depression Says No and honestly my heart wasn’t in it anymore, it started out as a fun activity but after I was about 10 or 11 I was just doing it because my parents wanted me to and I was really miserable. It was a blessing when they let me quit.

Hair color: Blondeish?? I think?? It’s kinda strawberry blonde in some light.

Languages spoken: English, and three years of classes worth of Japanese. I love languages but it’s super, SUPER hard for my brain to learn them. I want to get back into Japanese, though, because it came pretty easily and was a lot of fun! I tried to learn Spanish for a while since I was living in Argentina, but I was horrible at it and kept adding in Japanese on accident because apparently my brain could only handle two languages and not three, lol.

Random fact: Hmm...  I was incapable of rolling my R’s until new years eve this year.. I was v drunk and apparently was just sitting at the table going rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr... after months of trying to learn how to do it and not even knowing the proper technique I was just rolling my R without even trying/knowing I was doing it. I’ve been able to since that day, lmfao.

Describe yourself with an aesthetic: Oh boy I don’t even know how to do this??And it depends on my mood??? My brain can’t decide who I am or what my aesthetic is, sometimes it’s crazy cat lady with a huge library in her house, sometimes it’s girl at the county fair with a flowy dress and sunflowers in her hair, sometimes (often) it’s “hi I no longer have black hair anymore but I still feel emo/goth in my soul™, sometimes it’s some bullshit 90s vaporwave stuff, sometimes it’s just “haha i’m here for the memes”, sometimes it’s telescopes and observatories and stars and astronomy, sometimes it’s cutesy pastel... idk what my aesthetic is.

Also here’s a relatable picture of me, ty for reading. I tag... anyone that wants to do this bc I really don’t know who to tag ahhhHhhHHHhhh

[ennaraw52]

Travel Tips: Golden Nuggets

Backpackers: What are the most important things/lessons you learned from traveling the world?

Enna Morgan·Updated December 5 Former Faculty at Tsinghua University (清华大学)

Originally Answered: What are the best life lessons you’ve learned from traveling the world?

Pee whenever you see a bathroom, you never know when you will see another one

Almonds are a girl’s (and boy’s) best friend, and is more important than even lipstick (So if you have to make a choice, choose wisely). Regardless of the size of the city you are flying into, never assume that there is a welcome committee waiting for you with a smorgasbord of food…..especially if you are vegetarian.

Always have a bottle of water in your bag, except if you are going through an airport; in Thailand, even the empty bottle seems to be problematic, and size does make a difference!

Hospitals: Life-saving institutions under ordinary circumstances, but death traps when you do not speak the local language.

All over the world people love tourists, until the tourist runs out of money.

Credit cards are your best resources for travel, it saves you the headache of fake currency (especially in Asia), and rescues you from the pickpockets (globally).

Planning on going shopping in China? Here is a valuable bargaining formula: 1/4. Whatever the price you are told, know that you can offer 1/4 and they will still make money off you. One little subtlety though, you have to be prepared to walk away….because that’s when the real bargaining begins!

Around the world, many stores have two price tags: the local price, and the American (UK, Canadian) price. But then some stores reserve the right to have no price tag; it will be adjusted according to your nationality and congeniality.

The rating of tourist destinations is determined by the availability of food, alcohol, and sex (and not necessarily in that order).

Years ago we rated airlines according to their level of comfort, today we rate them by their level of frugality….and we call it economy.

As the earth’s population and the individual’s body size increases, the service and the space in aircrafts decrease at an equal pace, proportionately.

I used to think that a train was a wonderful alternative to air travel, a lovely way to see and experience the country. I have been disabused of that notion. Travel by day, will nauseate you from the unending silos, haystacks, cows and pastures, and the multiple ways that we pollute the earth; night travel will introduce you to the vast spectrum of blackness, and the distant lights of cities that will be impressed upon your mind as just a flash in time. And travel during any time with the less-than-impressive toilets, will….well, let’s just leave that topic for another post. Bottom line, trains are good, but not all groovy!

There was a time, not so long ago, when an airline ticket was an all-inclusive package deal; today your ticket buys you ONLY the right to board the plane (well, even that is litigious, depending on if you are on United Airlines), everything else is non-inclusive: the seat, the food, your luggage, the right to get inebriated, a pillow, a blanket, the space size, the comfort level, and even the view. Very soon we will be taxed on the air quality.

When travelling, anywhere, pack half the crap and twice the money

TIPS: Initially, an abbreviation for, To Improve Promptness, today it means, Taken In Place of Salary. In most places (especially the essential (food and beverage)), tips are not optional, they are either included in the charge, or arduously solicited (Psst! That’s a code phrase for ‘guilt trip”!)

Global travelers should be allowed to hold an international passport card, and allowed to work and reside in every country. Why? We make mortgage payments in the taxes, the foreign surcharge fees, and the special ‘foreigners’ price that we pay as we travel through the country.

Never set your bags in the trunk of a cab, you lose your bargaining tool

Most cab drivers are clueless about the city in which they operate; it seems to be a prerequisite for employment in this occupation. Strangely enough, though, they know all the scenic routes quite well.

All the world knows about GPS, and uses it…..except cab drivers. Hmm!

Red-eye flights are quite economical in the smaller, South Asian countries. But just be sure someone is collecting you at the airport, because if not, then your taxi fare will be perhaps 4 times the cost of your flight, since transportation options will be slim to non-existent.

Hotels and AirBNB owners are more than likely connected with some of the top photo-editors in the country; they can make a shanty-town room look like something out of Architectural Digest.

If you are looking to meet people, and live it up, book a hostel; if you want to experience family life, and embrace the environment, try AirBNB; if your thing is lovely aerial views, fine dining, and a bed and shower, then a hotel is for you; if you yearn for fresh air daily sunshine and sea views, nightly entertainment, and food ad nauseum, a cruise is a-calling; but if you’re looking for a really good night’s sleep, then shut the doors, turn off the phone, and tuck yourself into bed. Stay at home, it is the only guarantee of peace and quiet…..okay, so that may not be accurate if you reside in Southeast Asia!

The best party cruise line is the Carnival Cruise; the best destination line is Holland America Cruise line (they are under the same umbrella company, Carnival Corporation). The best cuisine is in the Caribbean; my favourites being Negril (Jamaica), and Cabarete (The Dominican Republic). And the best experiences you will have in your life, in terms of emotional diversity, taking you from your highest highs to your lowest lows, will be in India.

In Europe you need to check your change; in Asia, you must check the notes; in South America you have to check your pocket; and in general, you should check your attitude, as internationally, there is an undisclosed ‘bitch fee’ that applies to every transaction.

For flights, hotels, and cars, the best deals are online; for everything else, the best deals are made with the person, in the moment, at the location.

Cruisers, know this about bargains: When the boat docks in port, the price tag (of anything) drops dramatically and proportionately, relative to the distance from the cruise boat. Also, the excursions are way cheaper on the shore than on the boat….makes economic sense!

Ferry boats provide a great way to see a city from the inside; except in Indonesia; a ferry boat ride there is a great way to ruin a vacation….or a life, depending on how well you swim!

Curbside check-in is a fantastic invention, and works superbly, globally; except at JFK airport, there they give new meaning to the word “vegetating”!

Rental car companies are in the business of selling insurance, not renting cars. You should know that going into it! Be sure to have your own insurance so that you can check all the ‘decline’ paragraphs on the 10-page contract. FYI: Your credit card covers a portion of rental insurance, check before you check (get it?), or you will be paying twice….or thrice if you’re not too bright.

If you have a connection on an airline, that is one hour or less, and you miss that connection (due to airline delays), the airline is responsible to get you another flight, at no additional cost. If it is an international connection, then it means that customs will be involved, so make sure that there is more than 1.5 hours in-between flights, or you will more than likely miss your connection, and in many cases (transcontinental) there is only one flight daily. And though they are liable (provided that they booked this ticket, and not you), there will be a major tussle for the airline to assume the associated costs, being hotel, meals and transportation.

Checked luggage is not the best place for your valuables, the bag-handlers will steal it; your carry-on is not suitable either, TSA will ‘confiscate’ it; a bank lock-box used to be a viable option, but the government can levy on it; and due to their steady and usurious fee (inflation) a storage facility will incrementally decrease the monetary worth of your valuables. The solution? I’m waiting for one too. So when you find one, market that shit, we are all waiting to buy it!

Do not try to repeat a phenomenal vacation, that is why it is called ‘phenomenal’ – because it is a once in a lifetime experience!

Which brings up the point: Holiday romances are just that – “holiday” romances! They are context-bound, and are designed to work only within those conditions…skinny dipping, romantic sunsets, piña coladas, etc. Don’t expect the romance to transcend reality.

As a global traveler, know that the world economy rests squarely in your able hands, so understand your commitment to, and participation in this delicate ecology. Businesses everywhere understand your love for and commitment to exploring the world, hence the hospitality and service employee’s income is now 20% salary, 20% tip-based, and 60% pilfering. Do your part, live it up so there is not much left in your wallet to steal!

If you are in a foreign country, remember this – you are a foreigner; you are not in control, they are! Adjust your attitude accordingly (oh, wait, did I mention that before? Yeah, well perhaps it needs repeating!), that could determine if you leave the country in an aircraft or a body bag….either way, the locals won’t give one rat’s patootie!

Gee, I hate to leave on such a dour note, so…….buon viaggio!

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

804.2K viewsView UpvotersView

SharersMira Zaslove, Prabhjot Kaur, Bala Vignesh and 6 more upvoted this13.5K72244

Add CommentMegan Cox·March 23, 2018

Gold!

One note: In the US, there are legal minimums between flight legs. If the airline covers it, their ass is covered. They do not have to rebook or accommodate you for free. They may choose to do so, but are not legally obligated to.

I specifically remember the legal minimum at DFW when arriving fr … (more)Upvote·2Reply

Mrinal Bhattacharya·March 15, 2018

Enna, I loved your post. It wasn’t just entertaining, it was completely relevant and true.

Also, I am completely in love with the style of your writing, the way you hid those little humour nuggets with each statement:

“Most hotels are more than likely connected with some of the top photo-editors in th … (more)Upvote·62Reply

Enna Morgan·March 17, 2018

Hi Mrinal, many thanks for reading, and taking the time to express the little things that brought joy and amusement. I really appreciate the detailed note. Hope that one day our travel paths intersect, then we can have a coffee and a good laugh about all our travel tribulations and anecdotes :)Upvote·16Reply

Mrinal BhattacharyaHey Enna, that will super cool. If you ever plan to visit India, feel free to message me…. I will be happy to assist you in curating the itinerary. If time permits… I would love to join you as well… By the way… Coffee and Conversation sounds perfect.Harry Renords·June 25, 2018

That’s true my dearUpvoteReplyC.J. Heck·August 13, 2018

Well done! I enjoyed your writing and learned a lot, Enna. Thank you!Upvote·2Reply

Enna Morgan·August 16, 2018

You are most welcome, C.J. Thanks for reading….and for the compliment :)Upvote·1Reply

C.J. HeckIt was well deserved, Enna.Robert Craig·August 17, 2018

I especially like this point:

When travelling, anywhere, pack half the crap and twice the money.

Although this point really only seems to apply to Americans in my experience:

Rental car companies are in the business of selling insurance, not renting cars. You should know that going into it! Be sure to … (more)Upvote·3Reply

Enna Morgan·August 18, 2018

Thanks for the comments and likes, Robert

About the rental insurance, have you checked into airline credit cards? A lot of cards associated with airline companies (for the sky miles) offer various kinds of insurance and rental insurance.

And yes, that paragraph did apply primarily to car rental age … (more)UpvoteReplyRobert CraigI have not! Thanks for the suggestion. Will look into it.Greg Young·March 6, 2018

“Red-eye flights are great in the smaller, South Asian countries, just be sure someone is collecting you at the airport. If not, then your taxi fare will be perhaps 4 times the cost of your flight since transportation options will be slim to non-existent”

so much this.Upvote·3Reply

View More CommentsView 100+ Other Answers to this QuestionAbout the AuthorEnna MorganVeteran. X-Legal Advocate. EducatorEditFormer Faculty at Tsinghua University (清华大学)Studied at University of WashingtonLives in Global Village3.9M content views18.9K this monthTop Writer2018Active in 3 Spaces2,653 Followers

  from Travel Tips: Golden Nuggets

[firewritten]

10 More Questions!

I was tagged by @summerkiska to do another 10 questions. And such awesome questions they are! Thank you for the tag, and I hope it helps with the getting to know each other. :)

My 10 Questions

1. What’s a line in your current WIP that you’re proud of (or just like a lot)?

Oh. I was going to post a whole passage but then I realized that “like a lot” meant liking that one line a lot, not a lot of lines that you’re proud of. ;)

Okay, well, let’s go with this line from a recent Emo Pistols chapter. 

But there is no one around to answer your questions, and the musty old store with the piles of junk under dim lighting and the wizened shopkeeper with the creepy laugh has been replaced by a shiny new coffee house with skinny and damp baristas who set your tall mocha frappuccino on fire as they serve it to you, saying, “This is for your bad taste in glasses!”, and you walk home with a heavy heart, knowing that you have to use the flaming coffee to dispose of your loved ones, who leer at you as you enter the front yard, saliva dripping from their lolling tongues as the smell of your brain reaches their nostrils.

2. What’s a question that you wish people would ask you about your writing? (And what’s the answer??)

Hmmm. Once someone told me "I know you like Sims stories but you have the talent for original fiction", which my reaction was something like, "Oh, my Sims story about a narrator with no gender or name traveling around various universes with its friend the darkness, a conscious bit of the void who can wear anything as a skin, isn't original enough for you?"

So, maybe the question would be "Why do you write Sims stories?"

And my answer would be because they're extremely fun and addictive and I love improvising with the game and I love taking the screenshots and editing them and putting the pictures and the words all together to tell the story. I love seeing what I can come up with based on the game and all its absurdities. It makes me really really happy.

And also over the years people in the Sims community have sometimes come out of the woodwork to tell me what my work means to them, from helping them get through their mother dying from cancer to helping them deal with their own feelings of isolation and anxiety, and that their life is better because my Sims stories exist.

3. What’s your favorite part of the writing process? 

I guess actually writing? There’s not much else to the process really for me. I don’t usually plan or do outlines or anything. I just start typing, and I see what happens.

I’ve noticed that outlines and plans are big around here, and I think that’s cool because I like it when people’s brains work differently from mine and I get to learn about things that I haven’t experienced and read things that my brain would not have come up with. But the most outlining I’ve ever done is a few lines of “hey, this could happen maybe” before starting a new chapter, and I haven’t done that since...2011?

I just kind of....feel the story out? I reread what I’ve already written constantly, and I feel what the story wants. I don’t know how to say it, really. A lot of writing is subconscious for me. I start typing, and I get in the zone, and it’s like everything is green and golden and beautiful and the story is flowing through my fingers and I’m one with the universe and on the good days it can be like seeing the face of God.

4. What song best fits the theme of your WIP main character? (And why?)

Seth has hundreds of songs across dozens of playlists, but two stick out. Old school Seth’s main song was Possum Kingdom, by the Toadies. Emo Pistols Seth is the healthiest and least murderous version of him I’ve written, so Arsonist’s Lullabye by Hozier is more his speed. 

Possum Kingdom fits perfectly with his role in his first story, In the Valley of the Sun, where he was the villain and he was intent on killing the main character and then bringing her back to life with ambrosia and keeping her with him forever. :)

In Emo Pistols he’s the main character, and he’s writing letters to two penpals. He is actually trying to work on his issues and figure things out. He’s had a lot of trauma around fire in his life. You can read about him as a teenager here - Eggshells. His father was blamed for a fire at the factory where he worked. 10 people died in it. His father survived, but he was severely injured and his mental health never recovered. The kids he went to school with did not let him forget that.

In Emo Pistols he’s an adult and married. He became an alchemist, and he was working on experiments in his lab when a fire broke out. He almost died of smoke inhalation, and the trauma reawakened the scars from his childhood. Same backstory as Valley. Just at this point in Valley, he went to the dark and became the villain. In Emo Pistols, he’s trying to, well, keep his demons on a leash. ;)

Okay, I am verbose and this is getting long, so I'll put a cut.

5. What habits or rituals do you have for writing sessions?

I have to take a shower and eat first, because I need clean hair and calories to write, and then I always have a playlist relevant to the story I’m working on going.

6. What’s one piece of advice you wish you were given when you first started your writing journey?

I don’t know what advice six year old me would have understood. But I guess...I grew up with people who loved my writing. My teachers and the other kids at school always praised my work, like to the extent of giving me a standing ovation in 8th grade when I read my essay on beauty out loud. So the first time I got hate online it was a totally new experience, and it knocked me sideways. 

I don’t know that I would have wanted someone to tell me this though. I had to learn it the hard way, but that means that I’ve really learned it and that I’ve taken it to heart and that I’ve struggled to come to terms with it and that I can empathize with other people in that situation. But the advice I would give a young writer who came to me now upset about people hating their work is this:

Our view of reality is curved around our ego. Our experiences and prejudices and problems are the lens through which we see the world. Other people bring their own stuff to your work. You can listen to them and see if what they say has any merit, but remember that they may not be seeing your work at all. They may only be seeing themselves reflected back at them. What they say has no bearing on the value of your work, which is of infinite worth just like everything else in creation. 

Also, after seeing a movie or watching a TV show that you like, go and look at what other people say about it. You’ll see that some people seem to have watched something entirely different than you did. The work is the same, but we all see different things when we look at it. It’s up to you whose view of your work you let in.

7. Who was your first book character crush? (Or if you can’t remember, who’s your favorite book character crush?)

Sherlock Holmes. My sixth grade literature textbook had a play version of The Dying Detective, and I immediately fell in love. We didn’t have the internet then so I didn’t write it and publish it online, thank goodness, but I had self-insert fanfic daydreams of going back in time and chilling with Holmes and Watson all the time.

8. What’s one of your writing pet peeves?

The arguments in the writing community. I don’t know, I guess it’s because I grew up in Appalachia and went to rural working class schools and didn’t get socialized into mainstream American middle class culture or something, but seriously, guys. All the genres can be special. All kinds of books can have worth. You don’t have to insult other styles and writers and books. You don’t have to show off whatever it is you think you’re showing off with “literary” stuff and you don’t have to show off your “common man” cred with yelling about how much you hate classics and literary fiction. Just chill. Let other people read and write what they want. It’s not that important.

9. Who’s your favorite character in fiction that you loved to hate?

This is hard. I don’t like hating. I like liking people and things. But I guess if there is one that gets mentioned around here fairly often in conversations with the spousal person, it’s book five Harry. And even that’s not hate. Dude had a reason to be annoying and emo and whiny, and really all it needed was an editor to slim it down some.

Kylo Ren is annoying, but that’s not hate either. He’s too pathetic for hate.

Going back to Harry Potter, Umbridge, maybe? She’s a good representation of everything I dislike in humans, and a much better villain than Voldemort.

10. What are you currently trying to work on when it comes to growing as a writer? (And how’s it going??)

Hmmm. This is a good question, because actually I don’t know.

I was reading something online and for some reason there was a line break in the word sunlight, so s was the end of one line and unlight was the beginning of the next. I looked at “unlight” for a while, and now I’m all about words that make the spellchecker yell at me. Like in Emo Pistols Seth talks a lot about the sun wanting to eat him, so there’s teethlight and sunbelly. Toomuch and notenough. Me and notme. Starteeth halos. A chapter of Surreal Darkness is titled The Unswallowing Place. I want to stretch the language and make it do tricks. 

I think it’s going okay. I’ve been writing for a long time, and at this point a lot of it is muscle memory. Like I talk about how much I love taking hours to find the right word, but really it doesn’t take that long anymore. I guess now instead of finding the right word, it’s more like “How can I combine words in new ways and make them do new things? How can I take cardboard and caramel and doors and the sun and make them explain what it means to Seth to be human? What can I do with the edges of the Sims 4 worlds and making my characters walk in the flat places with painted-on mountains and trees, and what can I make that say about reality and skins and being and friendship?”

Hmmm. That probably sounds terribly pretentious if you don’t know me yet, lol. I like to think that it’s not, though. I guess you can read it and see how it looks through your experiences. :)

Okay, now I have to do the 10 questions thing. I'll tag @etherayy, @lazyfox411, @fuckenwhatever, and @somethingwriterly. If you don't wanna do it that's perfectly fine.

1. When did you first become interested in writing?

2. How did the idea for your current WiP come to you?

3. What other authors/life events/etc. influences your writing?

4. What are your hopes for your work? 

5. What would you want the book cover for your current WiP to look like? (If it's not a book, then any kind of illustration pertaining to it.)

6. Have you noticed any repeating themes or imagery in your work? If so, what are they?

7. What are your writing strengths?

8. What have you learned about yourself through your work?

9. How would you define art?

10. What's your favorite word?

[revwinchester]

Fanboy

Summary: Dean likes to use Sam’s computer late into the night.  One morning, Sam stumbles upon something he never expected to see from Dean.

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester; Becky (mentioned)

Word Count: 1454

Warnings: Some cursing, brotherly teasing, mention (but no depiction) of Wincest, bi Dean (or, at least, Dean exploring his sexuality)

A/N: I’ve been working on this for a while and what better day to finally put it out there than on Fanfic Author Appreciation Day!  No ship here and also no ship hate intended, I went with the canonical reaction to one of the fandom’s major ships.

This is dedicated to all the fangirls, fanboys, and fanpersons out there <3

Fanboy -

Sam pulled his laptop across the table from where Dean had been using it the night before.  He braced himself before he opened the computer; he’d been greeted by Dean’s porn more than once in the past.  Sam wasn’t against porn - not in the slightest - but he and his brother had very different tastes and, besides, 7:00 AM was far too early for X-rated videos, Sam thought (though he figured Dean would probably disagree).

Sam popped open the laptop and peeked at the screen.  It was, thankfully, just his mostly blank desktop wallpaper.  He still ran the daily virus check since he knew Dean had been up late using the computer.  He started the program and then made his way to the kitchen for some coffee and breakfast.

When Sam finished his cereal, he refilled his mug and went back to the library prepared to remove whatever viruses Dean had inadvertently downloaded onto Sam’s computer the night before.  Surprisingly, when he sat down at the table, his laptop had been declared clean.  Sam was shocked as he clicked the program closed and hovered the mouse over the icon for the internet.  

Just before he clicked, Sam noticed a new folder on the desktop simply labeled “Research.”  He knew that he hadn’t created it, so Dean must have.  Sam opened the folder and found that it held 2 more folders, one called “In Progress” and the other “Complete.”  It was weird for Dean to be researching, especially when they didn’t have a case, and practically unheard of him to be this organized about it.  Sam clicked on the “In Progress” folder, expecting it to be empty but was surprised once again to find three documents there.

Sam opened one of the files, frustrated that Dean was working cases not just without him but behind his back; he had thought they were beyond that.  He quickly skimmed through the document, not absorbing much, just that this case seemed to be centered in a hospital and, for some reason,some of the names sounded familiar.  Sam didn’t see anything evidence of this being their kind of thing by skimming and that made him feel better. Dean was probably just checking things out and would have shared with Sam if something had come out of it.  Probably.

Mostly mollified but still curious, Sam opened another of the files.  Again, this seemed to be set in a hospital.  Sam read a bit more carefully this time.  The case was out in Seattle but Dean seemed to have more information than he could have gleaned from the news or police reports - patient diagnosis and medications and the like.  It wasn’t until Sam came across a very familiar name that he stopped and truly read what was in the document.

‘Everyone turned when the elevator opened and watched the man step onto the floor.  Every click of Dr. Sexy’s boots rang out down the hallway as he approached the patient’s door.’

What?

What had Sam just read?  What was this?  He returned to the top of the page and began reading in earnest.  What followed was a tawdry story set in Seattle Mercy Hospital.  Dr. Sexy was making out with just about everyone - doctors, nurses, and even a male patient who was suspiciously described as having “perfectly styled sandy brown hair and shocking green eyes.”  The make and model of the patient’s car was even worked into the narrative, somehow - a 1967 Chevy Impala.

“Not a fan, my ass,” Sam muttered.

Sam had stumbled across Dean’s fanfiction.  He wasn’t sure how he’d missed it before but he was glad to have the ammunition against his brother now.  Better late than never, he thought.  And, from the looks of the “Complete” folder, Sam was finding this information quite late.

For all the crap Dean had given the Supernatural fanfiction writers, here he was doing the same thing with the characters of Dr. Sexy.  Granted, they weren’t actual people and Dean wasn’t writing any ...relations between family members.  Sam knew better than anyone that he and Dean were closer than the average brothers and they often found themselves in emotionally charged situations…

Sam steered his thoughts away from what Becky had shared was called “Wincest” and back to the information in front of him, deciding how best to use this new knowledge about how his brother spent his free time.

He didn’t have long to plan.  Sam skimmed through a few more of Dean’s stories to gather as much ammo as he could before his brother joined him in the library.  Not much later, Sam heard his brother padding towards the kitchen and making a new pot of coffee.  Soon enough, Dean was sitting across from him.

“Find any cases this morning?” the older hunter grunted.

“Uh, no.  I noticed that you were looking into some things last night, though.”  Sam replied as innocently as he could.  

Dean looked at his brother like he had two heads.  “Huh?”

Sam snorted, Dean really had a way with words in the morning.  “I saw your ‘Research’ folder on my computer.  Find anything good?” the younger hunter asked.

“My what?” Dean asked, the coffee clearly not making its way to his brain yet.  

“You’ve got a folder on my computer.  It’s labeled ‘Research.’  I found it.”

Dean’s eyes widened before he schooled his face into a neutral expression.  It was less than an instant and Sam wouldn’t have even noticed it if he didn’t know his brother so well.  “Did, uh, did you find anything interesting in there?” Dean asked, trying to cover and clearly hoping that his brother hadn’t explored the folder too deeply.

Sam shrugged.  “I skimmed a few things, nothing really jumped out as our kind of thing, though,” he replied and he watched as Dean relaxed a little in his seat.  “Should we be driving out to Seattle to check anything out though?  Something caught your eye about that hospital.”

“No, no,” Dean said, rubbing at his face.  “There’s nothing out there.  Thought there might be but I did a little research and it all seems really normal.  That’s why I didn’t tell you about it.”

Sam laughed to himself, enjoying Dean’s reactions and attempts to cover his activities.  “I mean, we’ve gone places on less, Dean,” he told his brother.  “If you think there might be something happening in Seattle, I say we make the trip.”  Sam started to get up and head toward his room, taking his computer with him.  “I’m going to throw a few things in a bag.  Seattle is, what, two days of driving? One if we take turns sleeping?”

It was clear that Dean was considering it, making a useless trip to the west coast in order to save face and not have to tell Sam about his writing.  He didn’t really want to drive all the way to Seattle for a joke so Sam pressed on.  “Even if the hospital is clean, there’s bound to be something happening out that way.  Maybe there’s a vampire family and a werewolf pack at odds with each other...”

Dean just looked confused, now.  “That’s… that’s the plot of Twilight.  What the hell, Sam?” But after a moment, realization hit him.  “You didn’t just skim the documents, did you.”  It wasn’t a question and Dean’s voice was suspicious.

Sam shrugged and finally let his laughter spill out.  “Nope!”  

Dean rolled his eyes but it only caused Sam to laugh harder.  “It’s not that big of a deal,” Dean muttered.

“Oh, but it is, Dean,” Sam gasped as he tried to compose himself.  “After the way you treated Becky and all the other Supernatural fans, it really, really is a big deal.  Oh!  Do you post on the message boards, too?  Or, what is it, Tumblr?  What’s your username?”  

Dean stood up and grabbed his mug.  “Let me know when you find a case, ass face,” he huffed.

Sam managed to control his laughter for a minute.  “Dean, no; don’t go.  I’m sorry.  You know it’s cool to be a fan of things these days, right?” he apologized, his voice as sincere as he could make it.  “Do you…” Sam knew his composure was cracking, “do you need someone to read your fanfic for you?  An editor?”

Dean looked like he didn’t trust Sam at all but he responded anyway.  “It’s called a beta, actually and…” Dean started.

The laughter erupted from Sam again.  “Of course it is… You’re such a fanboy!”

“You know what?  I don’t have to take this,” Dean commented, his lips pursed into the pout that Sam knew fangirls dreamed about.  He watched his brother storm off, muttering to himself about needing his own computer.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to (or removed from) one of my tag lists!

ALL THE TAGS! (forevers): @deathtonormalcy56 @supernaturalyobsessed @roxy-davenport @sumara62 @ginamsmith @gallifreyansass @samwinjarpad @hexparker

Mooselings: @jared-padaloveme

Squirrel Scouts: @akshi8278

Sam and Dean lists from @mrswhozeewhatsis: @mrswhozeewhatsis @vintagevalentinexx @thinkwritexpress-official @bowtiesandapplepie @itsemmyb @ezauraemmaline @matteson-crazed @castielspahdehrah @charliesbackbitches @crzcorgi @ellen-reincarnated1967 @gryffindorable713 @deandoesthingstome @deerlululucy @walkingencyclopediaoffandom @mrsjohnsmith @manawhaat @growleytria @thegleegeneration @samtomydeanwinchester @SinceriouslyAmellPadalecki @i-never-said-a-pilot @thewinchestielboys @Supermoonpanda  @sis-tafics @amaranthinecastiel @fandommaniacx @meganwinchester1999 @kittenofdoomage @samanddeanwinchester67 @prettyxwickedxthings @ferferelli @lilyoflothlorien @myfand0msandm0re @olitzisbae @iridianuniverse @the-morning-star-falls  @shortandlongstories @strange-inhumanity @ackleslaugh @noisilyyoungpuppy @fangirling-instead-of-working @eyes-of-a-disney-princess @roxy-davenport @chrisatplay @kayteonline @spnsimpleman @faith-in-dean @kreborn17  @mamaimpala @for-the-love-of-dean @winchesterfiesta @zanthiasplace @sleep-silent-angel @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @gadreelsforbiddenfruit @trenchcoats-and-bees @curliesallovertheplace @jencharlan @not-so-natural-spn @skybinx-blog @thebunkerismyhome @feelmyroarrrr @beachy2014 @fandom-book-nerd @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @tia58 @sams-little-toy @deansleather @sunriserose1023 @jelly-beans-and-gstrings @jotink78 @everyday-supernatural-af @notnaturalanahi @howmanytuesdaysdidyouhave @supernatural-jackles @babypieandwhiskey @mysaintsasinner @chelsea-winchester @spn-fan-girl-173 @wheresthekillswitch @shelovesallthethings @klaineaholic @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @supernaturalismalife @pinknerdpanda @inmysparetime0 @hexparker @deals-with-demons

[scifimagpie]

Louie C.K. and the Sith Lord Dilemma

Happy new year!

(These are the kinds of headlines I only get to write because I don't have an editor to whom I answer. Whee!)

We still have Nazis, so let's talk strategy. I'd also like to talk about something related - the infamous, often contested Centre. To keep advancing leftist ideals (such as healthcare, housing, and basic needs coverage for all; universal access to education and higher education; equal and fair pay for all genders and backgrounds, and accessibility resources for those who require mobility devices or have medical problems, among a few other things!) it can help to figure out who we're trying to talk to - and sometimes, who we can trust.

The time before #MeToo and after it are now crisply delineated by this social event. The freedom to talk about and voice the universality of sexual harassment and assault against people of various genders (yes, men too) has really shaken things up. It's just the beginning of making things right, and society in North America and around the world has some serious adjusting and compensating to do, but it's a good step in the right direction.

#MeToo also torched a lot of sacred cows, exposing people we previously trusted as participating in very bad behavior. Kevin Spacey, George Takei, Stan Lee and Neil DeGrasse Tyson, among others, are a couple who surprised and disappointed me the most. But it seems like some of the people who transgressed are already trying to stage their comebacks - not understanding, it seems, that it shouldn't be up to them to decide when their stint in the time-out corner is over.

As discussed here, it would seem that Louis C.K., who previously admitted to sexually harassing women by masturbating in front of them without consent, has taken a turn for the dark side. Making jokes about transgender people and school shooting survivors, and apparently, insulting black and Asian men, is now part of his comedic repetoire. So much for "learning and listening."

But he continues to be defended by a few people who - apparently, come from the centre - and want to believe that he still has good intentions somehow. To quote that Huffpost article, however -

"C.K.’s new set, according to its leaked version, doesn’t merely punch down; it stomps, pettily, to the bottom. None of it is smart or brave; it is simply cruel."

And how did Louis C.K. - and for that matter, J.K. Rowling - start to internalise and support such negative beliefs?

Star Wars and political strategy

So here's the thing about the two people I've alluded to - they're both wealthy, and they've both been criticised. Now, being criticised is hard at the best of times. But wealth tends to make people more fragile. Is the answer, then, to just not criticise anyone ever? (That probably sounds like a stupid thing to even say, and it kind of is. But the internet likes a good reductio ad absurdum argument, taking things to their most logical extreme, so I'm going to follow that format - as I often do in my posts!)

That would seem to be an over-correction, and to make advancement impossible. But how to we criticise someone without alienating them?

Well, I'm still working on the "doing it right" part, but I can tell you about how not to do it.

In the much-maligned prequels of Star Wars, one of the concerns expressed about Anakin Skywalker is that he's too old to learn the Jedi ways and be successfully indoctrinated in their belief system. In the following movies, as Anakin goes through puberty and discovers that at least one girl exists, this is quickly proven - so it seems - to have been an accurate fear. A lot of people have argued that the way the Jedi turned their back on him as soon as he started to screw up and the way they endorsed such extremist perspectives on emotion had doomed him to fail in the first place. I would say that Anakin actually got a lot of second chances, but the ideology did set him up to fail - and because a single misstep was seen as an inevitable sign of failure, how could he help but find himself tempted by the apparent freedom of the Dark Side?

But as we see examined in The Last Jedi, fearing someone's future and darkness and treating them badly on the basis of that can, in fact, lead to a self-fulfilling prophecy. By assuming the worst of Ben Solo, he becomes Kylo Ren. Now - you could argue about the role of fate in the Star Wars universe, and even in our own, but it's not a discussion I can brook in good faith because if fate was as iron-clad as it is in fiction, all psychics would have 100% accuracy in their predictions - and that, obviously, is not the case.

But are we repeating the mistake of the late-era Jedi Order? Are we scaring off allies when we call them out for bad behavior, or scaring off future allies when they see Leftists chewing someone out?

A digression on the centre, which cannot hold

Oh, the Centrists. The Left hates them, the Right courts them, and they usually don't even identify as such. Most of the time - from what I've seen - Centrists are actually people who would identify as liberals or Liberals, but haven't caught up to every nuance; alternatively, they're soft conservatives. The centre isn't so much a fact as a product of two overlapping political bell-curves, more of an illusion than a real political movement. After all, the centre and centrists usually tend to have either conflicting beliefs or a reluctance to engage with certain groups.

But the centrists that I tend to hear about, as a leftist, are generally the ones who still fall on the liberal side of the equation. Now, here's the thing - I'm not saying that being conservative or liberal are, arbitrarily, either good or bad on an objective scale. BUT - right now, in North America and in a few other places, it sure seems like conservatism has relied too heavily on courting xenophobia in various ways. And that has led to an association of conservatives with racist, sexist, generally horrible beliefs - for instance, the Republicans in the US, and more locally, the UCP. (United Conservative Party, not to be confused with the Progressive-Conservative Party of Canada. They're very good at being polite and rewording their racism and homophobia, because this is Canada, but the underlying platform and beliefs is disappointingly rote.)

But is falling to the racist wayside the fate of all centrists? Should leftists treat anyone who fails to meet certain standards of conduct with suspicion and curtness, because they're inevitably going to betray any progressive ideals in favor of the fear-eater, conservatism?

In terms of the radicalization of young men, a number of people have spilled ink and filled hard drives creating better and more informative videos and articles than myself. And a lot of them also struggle with this problem: who can be reasoned with, and who is a die-hard danger to humanity?

No. Be nice sometimes, but don't hug every Nazi.

All of this is to say that I think the way we deal with people who don't act in good faith and the ones who do act in good faith need to be set in two different streams. It can be hard to tell, and people can switch motivations during a conversation - deciding to troll or being interested enough to start learning, for instance. But I think it would help the Left to confine some of our sharpest criticisms to internal dialogues - you know, saying things with the door closed. We have to meet people on their level.

Unfortunately, sometimes that level is also going to mean putting boots on the ground in terms of showing up to protests and engaging in adequate self-defense against Nazis.

So when it comes to Cousin Jason or Brayden saying that he thinks these dudes wearing yellow vests and talking about how we need to reduce the number of immigrants coming to Canada "might have a point," I would suggest being hard on the ideology and empathetic with Jason or Brayden himself. There's a difference between being empathetic and being a doormat - but we have no choice except to take on these conversations whenever we can, even when we're exhausted. The problem is that people in the centre often agree with us - but are too scared to speak up, or too tired, or even too confused.

We have to make a better future and present by walking the line between having boundaries and making it clear to people that we care about them and their rights. As frustrating as it can be, emotional labour from a person in a position of power, or even an oppressor, is still emotional labour. And we cannot take for granted that people will educate themselves, or yell "educate yourself!" in every conversation. That doesn't mean the most oppressed person should always yield their time and energy to people who may be acting like blockheads - but it does mean that anyone who considers themselves an ally needs to step up or be willing to tag-team something to avoid their own exhaustion.

This stuff is intricate. The problems don't have quick, glib, easy fixes. But they're also not insurmountable, because our opponents aren't monsters or fictional villains. They're people. And most of them actually want what we want - to live in happiness, health, and safety.

***

Michelle Browne is a sci fi/fantasy writer. She lives in Lethbridge, AB with her partners-in-crime and their cat. Her days revolve around freelance editing, knitting, jewelry, and nightmares, as well as social justice issues. She is currently working on the next books in her series, other people's manuscripts, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible. Find her all over the internet: The mailing list * Amazon * Medium * Twitter * Instagram * Facebook * Tumblr * OG Blog