#and calling it a journey is a bit facetious but here we are

[gloryseized]

hc;; okay, making it official. My Link's middle name is Shion, which is also going to serve as his name for any twin verses.

I was looking for a vaguely plant inspired name for Link because so much of his character is connected to nature for me, both oot and botw Link. Shion is the Japanese word for the flower Aster tataricus, with the meaning of 'One who does not forget. ' Memory and story play a Huge role in Link's narrative as well.

As a fun bonus, other common flower language meanings for Aster include fondness, love, and holding a thought/person dear

[xortstories]

Contrary Writing Advice: Make Flat Characters

Wherein I give advice that runs contrary to commonly shared writing tips, because some short bits of advice get repeated without context until they become actively detrimental to the process.

Today, I'm telling you that your characters—protagonists, antagonists, supporting characters, the works—don't need to be complex and layered.

They can be flat.

I talked about this a bit when I reblogged some writing advice to disagree with it. I am not as contentious as I once was, but I will still pick a fight on occasion, and the subject of flat characters is one I feel very, very strongly about.

Now, let's make something clear. If you already read the linked post, you'll know the gist of what I'm saying here, but let's go ahead and define what I mean when I say a "flat character."

When I say "flat character," I'm somewhat facetiously doing so. I don't mean your character should be boring and lack detail. What I really mean is a character with a flat character arc. For those of you who don't wanna click links to go read supplemental material, I'll copy/paste part of my rant here:

What is a flat arc, you might ask? To put it simply (and to paraphrase K. M. Weiland), a flat arc character is not one whose purpose is to change and evolve over the course of the story. They are a character who has already learned "the truth" at the start of the story.

Readers and writers these days almost worship the idea of change arcs. A character isn't different at the end of the story compared to when they started? Bad character. Bad writer. Rewrite your story so your character changes. Then it'll be good.

But a flat-arc character does not exist to change. A change-arc character works well for a specific type of story, but not all good stories are about the journey of a character from one state to another.

Some can simply be about a character who is knows a "truth" about the world (usually a theme that the author wants to espouse or challenge) and uses that truth to effect changes in the world around them.

You actually see them more often than you think, though usually in supportive roles. The wise mentor character? Very often a flat character. Obi-Wan Kenobi (original trilogy) is introduced as a wise old Jedi master. He's a skilled teacher to Luke, who knows that teaching the boy was to be his calling. He spent his life watching over him from afar, and when shit hits the fan, he immediately jumps at the call he was waiting for.

He helps Luke get off the planet, teaches him in the Force, and when it finally comes down to the escape when Vader chases after them, he knows that if he wants Luke to live up to his destiny, then he'll have to sacrifice himself. He does so with dignity and confidence, because he has no illusions about his place in the world.

Obi-Wan is a complete character, from the moment we meet him. He doesn't grow in any significant way. His Truth is challenged by Vader, but he doesn't waver or doubt���he simply acts to remain true to what he knows to be true.

And he's a great freaking character.

Heroes can be flat too. People love to rag on Goku (who, admittedly, did go through a rather significant change arc in early-to-mid Dragon Ball, before Z), but he's a cultural icon because people love him. After his early change arc, he becomes a flat character.

His time training with Roshi, and the defeats he suffered in the World Martial Arts Tournaments, instilled in him a sense of respect for other fighters, hard work, a drive to improve, and humility. Once those aspects are established, he almost never wavers in them.

And as such, we get to see the effects of those beliefs on the world around him. In his fights against Tien in the tournaments, he pushes him and earns his rival's respect, and reignites Tien's sense of competition and fair play. His influence plants the seeds that help Piccolo grow more compassionate in his time training Gohan. His love of pushing himself against strong fighters keeps Krillin from killing Vegeta, who then goes through an immense change arc that stems, in part, from his desire to surpass Goku and his inability to understand how a low-class Saiyan could outclass the Prince of all Saiyans so regularly.

Basically, every single character arc that people love from DBZ can be tied back to Goku in some way. He is a catalyst for change everywhere he goes. Even in Super, where his character gets kind of assassinated, his presence still causes change in those around him, with Zamasu being the obvious example of how even a positive flat-arc character can cause negative change arcs in others.

As before, I could go on, but this post is way too long. I'll leave it at that, and just say that you should consider having at least one designated flat-arc character in your own stories. Give your story someone whose entire purpose is to be an inciting incident, who embodies a theme you want to push your characters to deal with.

It might just make your story a lot more interesting.

If you like my posts, feel free to buy me a coffee!

And if you're interested in seeing what I'm working on, check out my Blood of Dragons master post!

[thetypedwriter]

Imaginary Friend Book Review

Imaginary Friend by Stephen Chbosky Book Review 

This is undoubtedly the weirdest book I have ever read. 

You might be thinking… but, thetypedwriter you read fanfiction! This can’t be the weirdest thing you’ve ever read! Things like ABO universes exist!

You would think that, wouldn’t you?

But no. 

I shall endeavor to give you a spoiler free synopsis of the book first followed by my thoughts and criticism, but note that this is an endeavor for a reason. I have now explained this novel in depth to two different people, and both times I have found myself completely and irrevocably stuck on how to even begin, let alone end. 

With that forewarning, here we go. 

The novel surrounds a single mother and her young son moving to a small Pennsylvania town in order to escape the tragedies of their past that include the passing of her husband and her current abusive boyfriend. 

However, while things in their new home start out well-they find solutions to unemployment, poverty, the son’s dyslexia, etc, things start to go awry when Christopher, the son, is lured into the Mission Street Woods at the edge of town by a voice only he seems to be able to hear. 

As Christopher continues to listen to the voice in the form of a cloud, or a plastic bag, or even inside of his mind, he starts recruiting his friends to build a treehouse in the woods that will transport him to a different time and place. The voice, lovingly called the Nice Man, instructs him to finish the tree house by Christmas Day. 

Or else everyone will die. 

As Christopher struggles with newfound powers and responsibilities, coping with two different worlds, his mother struggles with her son’s sanity, the town struggles with anger, blame, and temptation, and what follows is the chaotic descent of a small town into the throes of good versus evil, love and loss, and most importantly, trying to differentiate what is real versus what is imaginary. 

In the simplest terms possible (a facetious statement if there ever was one), I thought this was going to be a thriller mystery book about a single mother and her young seven-year-old son Christopher leaving their home and her abhorrent abusive boyfriend in order to start a new life with hope and potential. 

And it….is? 

But it doesn’t stop there. Chbosky crams so many genres, themes, motifs, and messages into this book that when you think about it, it’s unsurprising that it’s over 700 pages long with the tiniest, most miniscule font I have ever had to squint at. 

However, make no mistakes like I did, this book is horror. 

Yup. You read that right folks, horror. 

To preface, and I might have mentioned this in another post for another book at some point, but I vehemently dislike horror of any kind. This extends to books, movies, shows, etc. 

I understand that horror is a great joy and pleasure for a vast amount of people and that it contains its own literary merit, tropes, and rules, and I can appreciate that for what it is from afar, but I personally take very little enjoyment from consuming anything horror related (I apologize to all the Stephen King fans out there in the world). 

I did not fully realize the extent to which this book was a true horror. 

This is entirely my own fault. I was very much blinded by the rosy colored glasses from college when I first read The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Chbosky’s first and only other novel. 

Perks is wonderful. It is a tragic, yet fundamentally hopeful and loving bildungsroman that shows the beauty and the pain of growing up and accepting yourself. The movie with Emma Watson is what dreams are made of. 

I committed author fraud when I picked up Imaginary Friend based on the pure speculation that I would most likely like it since he had written Perks, a book I adored as both a reader and a teacher. 

I’ve warned readers against this in the past, but it seems like I should have taken my own advice: just because an author has written one good book or one book you like, does not automatically mean you will like their second book, or any of their other books for that matter. 

This cannot possibly ring more true for Stephen Chbosky, as not only are his two books completely different in narrative and structure, but also vastly different in genre and purpose. 

I should have stuck with my gut and realized that I probably wouldn’t like this book based off the synopsis, the genre, and yes, even the cover (it looks scary to me, okay?), but I said noooooo, it’s Chbosky, you have to read it!

And this is where we ended up. 

First of all, I didn’t hate the book. 

I can recognize that it is extremely well written, well crafted, and well developed. I can enjoy a slew of characters, and oh boy are there a multitude to pick from, and I can give credit where credit is due. 

Chbosky is a talented writer. There is no doubt in my mind about this. The way he crafts words, the way he plays with texture and space, and with fonts and sizes, is nothing less of sheer brilliance. 

He undoubtedly is also masterful at motifs, foreshadowing, and symbolism. Notably, there were so many recurring objects, colors, metaphors, and so on that were sprinkled out so consecutively and intentionally throughout the novel-some I didn’t even pick up until the end-that I was left reeling from how immensely talented and brilliant he is. 

Things like his use of baby teeth, blue moon, and fogs/clouds/mist struck me in particular. I know this seems like gibberish, but Chbosky truly came across as understanding what he wanted to portray and how he wanted to deliver it. 

However, the biggest compliment I can give to Chbosky is the sheer magnitude of his imagination and creativity. This book almost overwhelmed me through the use of ideas and concepts I had never really thought of before. 

Alternate dimensions? Check. 

Supernatural powers? Check. 

Incredible use of diction and figurative language? Check and check. 

Chbosky had so many wild and tantalizing beautiful turns of phrases, expressions, and descriptions that it left me with the same sort of gasping epiphany that Maggie Steifvater’s writing always leaves me with, the feelings that writing can be so utterly beautiful and compelling, that it can be all-consuming as well as never ending with its potential to stun, to create, and to warp to unique needs and purposes. 

It definitely was a reading experience quite like any other I’ve had. 

Be that because of the horror genre or because of Chbosky’s odd, yet addicting writing style and this has definitely become a book that left me more than a bit dumbfounded. Although I’ve sung its praises and admitted to my own faults at this point, this book isn’t without flaws. 

To me the horror genre itself is just not my cup of tea like I’ve stated. Strike number one. 

Second, the book was...abysmally long. Atrociously long. As I’ve also said before, I do not mind large books. In fact, big books when you’re reading something you love is a true blessing. Finding that fanfiction at 3am that hooks you immediately and you look up to see its 300k? Amazing. 

Starting a new book series that you fall in love with body and soul and realize you have several installments left in the series to gorge and devour? Ecstasy. 

Sloughing through a single book that starts to drag on and on repetitiously for what seems like forever? Borderline hell. 

This book could have been 300 pages shorter and still contained everything Chbosky wanted to accomplish. It could have had the same brilliant writing, messages, and motifs, but without all of the never-ending back and forth between worlds and battles that just kept popping up time and time again. The abominable length considering its content is strike two. 

Last, the ending was a bit of a cluster. At this point in the novel, so much is going on, you are being exposed to so many pov’s that it’s almost stress-inducing, and events taking place are cataclysmic and 10/10 on drama. Chbosky bit off more than he could chew here. 

The book choked itself at the end, which, after reading for 700 pages is not the feeling you want to have. The ending left me befuddled, disappointed, and also bereft of a conclusive end and explanation for the shitstorm that had just rained down. It was not the ending I wanted, could understand, or could even really grasp. Strike three. 

This book has a plethora of merits followed by three enormous criticisms. If you like horror, then you’ve already crossed hurdle number one. If you can accept it’s repellant length (let alone have days upon days of free time to actually ingest said behemoth) then that’s hurdle number two. 

Hurdle three is up to you. Perhaps you would like the ending where as I found it lacking in structure, content, and answers. I like my endings tied up with neat little bows. I don’t like to be left thinking...hmmmm what does this mean? 

If I am going to read your massive book, I deserve an ending that satisfies the journey. Authors telling readers that it’s up for interpretation makes me want to strangle something. It comes across as enormously pretentious to me and oftentimes lazy. 

In the case of Chbosky, I think he had given himself so many loose threads that the neat little bow I desired was next to impossible. 

So he didn’t even try. 

Score: 6/10

Recommendation: If you love The Shining, are lacking bouts of creativity and imagination, have lots of free time during Quarantine, and don’t mind having an Inception-esque ending where you might not get all the answers you want, while being tasked with concocting it for yourself, Imaginary Friend might be your new best friend. 

Bonus: Here’s a pic of my kitty photo bombing this book shoot. Hope she brightens your day!

[lettersnorth]

Target Acquisition

In the days following the loss of Wyda, Aislinn had pulled into herself, like a tortoise who retreats back to its shell. She was certainly still present. She was an officer, she still had a job to do. There were still people missing, for one. She'd not leave Crific on his own to handle it all. But she did her job with a blank sort of efficiency.

In a word, Aislinn floundered. Became unapproachable when what she truly needed was comfort, connection, reassurance. But the person who had given that and more was gone. And if that wasn't enough of a blow, someone else was walking around in Wyda's body saying they had it first. Angry, loudmouthed, drunk, glowering, and generally intent on being everything Wyda had never been.

Aislinn needed to get away from Heartwood for a while and jotted off a note for Bertram that said as much. Then she collected her gun, took Barnabas, and went into the Shroud for some target practice.

Bertram had done his best to respect Aislinn’s space while also not bowing completely to any attempts to distance him that might occur. He knew Aislinn well enough to know that she had a tendency to clam up and retreat into herself when things became more than could easily be borne. He wasn't even convinced that it was entirely conscious either, more of an instinct than anything else. It was with a measurable sense of relief that he read the note that let her whereabouts be known. It was a comforting notion, even if Bertram himself was still wrestling with his own sense of guilt over the situation; both for not being there to help Aiswyda and not being there at Aislinn's side. It was a difficult thing to process.

It was no surprise that Bertram was quick to make his way out into the Shroud to find the woman. He didn't rightly like the idea of her being left to stew in her own grief alone for too long. The very least that he could do was be there. Even if it was just to be a silent reminder that she wasn't alone. 

Daylight had mellowed to a gold, late afternoon glow that filtered through the forest canopy and Aislinn had found herself a quiet clearing in which to practice. Knowing that the ethereal Elementals that inhabited the dark Shroud might not care for her blasting lead through the wood, she had come prepared. 

A small, spherical mechanical node hovered around the clearing, darting this way and that. This was the target. Aislinn's aim swept after the sphere, an intense look of concentration on her face. Her first shot grazed by it, a harmless pulse of blue energy. If this bothered her, she didn't show it, but kept her gun trained on the node. It swiftly halted and spun about to shift direction, she fired, a stun round blasting out the gun's chamber. An arc of blue, crackling energy enveloped the node as it fell out of the sky. It rolled and came to a stop in the grass, points of light around the circumference of the sphere indicating that it was resetting itself. Aislinn let go a breath, lowered her arm and kneaded her free hand against her aching shoulder as she waited. The kickback was jarring but she couldn't deny that it felt good to let her gun speak for her. It was louder than she could ever manage to be.

Bertram’s approach through the wood was intentionally obvious and audible. His usual silence seemed wrong in this current situation given his desire to be present in the moment. Living up to his epithet hardly seemed appropriate.

"Alright, there?" he called out gently from a few paces away.

The node beeped softly and whirled up into the air once more but Aislinn's attention was on Bertram. She stared as if she couldn't possibly know how to answer that question this time. In the end, she dropped her hand from her shoulder, defeated. "No." she said as she turned to look once more at the node as it flitted gamely through the air. "I just. ..needed to get some distance for a bit. Some air."

"I can't exactly blame you for that," he murmured quietly, bowing his head slightly whilst taking in a slow breath, "that's a feeling that I understand all-too-well."

Bertram watched the drone quietly for a moment as he moved to stand beside Aislinn with a thoughtful expression. The particulars of the situation weren't something that he understood in their entirety but the general gist certainly seemed to click with him. It was a situation that seemed all too familiar to him. Almost painfully so. That it was happening to Aislinn -- again -- only seemed to make it all the worse for him.

"Did you design that yourself?" He asked, deciding against prodding Aislinn about Wyda and letting her approach that at her own pace.

She knew what he was doing. But all the same, she welcomed it. In these past weeks when had she last had a conversation about something benign? Not work, not the missing Heartwood members, or a plan of attack, not the grief or how it sometimes seemed so big it shimmered beyond the boundaries of her body. Holstering her gun for the time being, she eyed the node. "Seemed more respectful than coming out here and blasting away at a bullseye nailed to a tree." she said with a single nod of her head. "Plus, it's more of a challenge if it's moving."

The man lets out a quiet laugh as he dips his head in Aislinn's direction; a gesture of concession to her point. She was most certainly not wrong about that. Bertram couldn't pretend to understand the whims and whiles of the Elementals entirely himself, but he knew well enough than to act carelessly under their scrutiny. "I'd say that's a pretty good plan if you asked me," He commented somewhat wryly before turning his attention away from the node and back to Aislinn, "And the rounds? Those are your creation too? Meant to incapacitate if I'm not mistaken."

She tilted her head in his direction. A wordless acceptance of his compliment. To his question, she hesitated. "I saw Haila with them first. But once I did, I realized what a perfect solution they were. It only took a few slight modifications to the gun to be able to fire both kinds of rounds." She paused and gave a harsh exhale. "I'm sorry I'm not my usual, chatty self." she said, facetiously, of course. She had never been known for her chatter.

Bertram simply gave her a 'look' that told her that the apology was the furthest thing from necessary. Aislinn was many things and chatty was not one of them. At least not in the traditional sense. Get her started on a topic of interest then maybe but, otherwise . ..? He let out a quiet chuckle. "And I'm sorry for being so loud," he offered back in an attempt to bring some humor, ". .. your ability to adapt the tech so rapidly is certainly something that I don't think I'll ever really grasp." Another soft laugh as he gently shakes his head.

Her brow furrowed at first. Loud? When had Bertram -ever- been loud? Ahh, but then the light goes off in her head and she gets it. A soft huff escaped her as she gave him a wry glance out of the corner of her eye. She shrugged since it seemed like the only thing to do. "It keeps me busy. I have to stay busy otherwise...." she trailed off, letting a silence fall. And then, "Do you think it's possible for a person to be cursed?" she blurted out, then quickly glanced away. Her jaw tensed as if she was trying to hold down something particularly unappetizing. "It just seems..that everyone that gets close to me..ends up worse off."

Bertram couldn't pretend not to be quietly relieved that she'd broached the subject by her own volition rather than him having to go fishing for the feelings that she was undoubtedly keeping bottled up. It was, perhaps, the way that she and Ren were the most alike. They both hated putting their own problems on others. Perhaps to unhealthy lengths. It was something that he'd grown quite used to in their time as children.

All the same the question caused the highlander's stomach to twist slightly; that her mind was in such a dark place was a painful thought. "Do I believe in curses?" He echoes quietly, turning his attention out toward the forest, "Probably."

There's a pause as he draws in a deep breath. "But do I believe that you're cursed, Lin?" He shakes his head slowly, "No, I don't." He gently places a hand upon his own chest, gesturing to himself as he turned his attention back to Aislinn with as gentle of an expression as he could muster. "I wouldn't be here with my mind as my own if it weren't for you. There's not a single doubt in my mind about that. Both Ren and I are who we are today in part because of you, Lin."

At his assertion that she surely wasn't cursed, she flicked her eyes over to him. They were still troubled but unguarded. "But what you went through, that nightmare. Can you honestly say you're better for that?" she asked with quiet forthrightness.

He wasn't surprised by her follow-up question; he'd practically expected it in truth. Nor could he blame her for asking it. His life couldn't truly be described as easy by any measure. It'd been a long and painful journey to this point, no one could deny that and he wouldn't try to claim otherwise. "Sort of an impossible question, isn't it, Lin?" He asked gently as he held her gaze, "All that I can say for certain is that I'm standing right here with my mind as my own and a real future in front of me."

He looks down at the earth for a moment, an introspective expression upon his face. Could things have been different? Certainly, but how could he possibly account for all the different ways that life could have gone? "For as much as either of us know, my getting taken away and ..." he didn't go into the details of what had been done to him, " .. well, for all we know it saved my life and Ren's as we were both plucked out of the Resistance as a result."

She was silent for a long moment as she considered his words. It was a different perspective, to be sure. Everything that they had gone through had surely made them the people they were today but as to whether those people were better off..that was up for constant debate. And some days, like today, she wasn't so sure. But maybe that was the only way forward. The past was the past, immutable and unmalleable. "Some days it's harder to justify it all." she said. "What was it all for?"

As she finished speaking an odd noise broke the peace of the briar. A metallic, skittering sound that echoed from the great hollowed out trunk that lay at the clearing's opening. A soft, repetitive series of beeps followed in its wake. Almost immediately, trepidation rippled across Aislinn's face, her mouth frozen open in whatever she had been about to say next. She stopped, turning towards the fallen log. "What was that?" she asked, voice low. But she feared she already knew the answer.

Bertram had only just begun to formulate his answer when Aislinn was suddenly moving in response to the foreign sounds that filled the air of the otherwise peaceful clearing. They certainly didn't sound like what he would expect to hear from the depth of the Shroud. His brow furrowed and his fists tightened. He couldn't help but feel his readiness to fight build up to whatever unknown presence had made its way toward them.

"I don't know ..." he nearly whispered, "I didn't think anything was following me."

From the dark hollow three Allagan spiders emerged, spindly dagger-like legs allowing them to cling to the top and sides of the log. The orbs stationed directly in front of the hybrid bioweapons flickered, the series of patterns changing as they paused, having found their quarry. Roughly the size of large dogs, these must be the scouts. Much like the one she and Haila had dissected. Aislinn cursed under her breath and gave a sweeping look around them. Cornered. Her comforting, secluded clearing had become a trap.

She took a cautious step back, flexing her hand and reaching for her gun. "No." she stated. No, she wouldn't let this happen. No, she refused to be the reason more bad news would end up at Heartwood's door. Just no. Without letting her gaze leave the allagan tech, she explained to Bertram. "Those things are what took the other medics. We need to find a way out. Fast. Before more come."

Bertram didn't need to be told twice. If it were just him it might have been a simple matter of disappearing into the wood, but Aislinn was here and he needed to make certain that they both got out of this in one piece. He took a short step forward and began to tap into the aether born of his chakra. He was far from a master Fist, but he's learned enough to defend himself if needs be. He quietly cursed for coming out here unarmed. "How dangerous? Can I distract them?" He left out the loud 'Why' that was pounding in his head. That would be for later.

"I don't know. ..I never -" she stopped and shot her free hand out, gripping his arm tightly in response to his idea that he distract them. The reaction had been immediate, a gut-wrenching 'absolutely not' born out of the fear that she would lose him too. "Dangerous. We never come out ahead in a fight with them." But now she also saw they had no choice. The spiders were covering the exit like they were waiting for something. "Alright." she dropped her hand. "Just..we get an opening, and we're out."

She whistled sharply for Barnabas who stood dozing at the clearing's edge. "Be ready." she nodded to him and raised her weapon. Fortunately, the scouts seemed content to sit. She fired off a round, the electric arc shocking the orb of the nearest one, causing it to drunkenly stumble to one side. That spurred the other two into motion. If their quarry wouldn't wait peacefully, they'd subdue it.

The two remaining spiders raced towards them.

There was no mistaking the message sent by Aislinn's grip. Alright. No distractions. Instead Bertram began to focus his aether into his legs and his feet. A technique of his father's that he'd yet to try out in a live scenario. A slow breath filled his lungs as he eyed the pair of spiders that had started charging toward them.

He spared Aislinn a quick glance out of the corner of his eye before he leaned forward and launched himself forward with all of his strength and aether combined. It resulted in the highlander bolting forward in a near blur to a point just behind one of the spiders. The precision of the movement was uncanny; like a shark darting forward for the kill. He was quick to, then, shift onto one leg and lash out with the other in an attempt to make contact and damage one of the spider's many legs.

The spiders were fast, but Bertrams's aether-boosted speed was beyond them. Before the spider could turn, it's leg crumpled inward at an awkward angle. For Bertram, he would have felt his kick connected with a disconcerting flesh overlay that protected the circuitry within. His impressive display of aether only serves to draw the ire of the remaining spider, who launches itself at him from the side as he is busy with the first.

The spider connected solidly with Bertram, with all its weight behind it. Meanwhile, Aislinn made a run for Barnabas and vaulted herself into the saddle. She knew time was of the essence. These things were nothing compared to what she knew must be coming. There may be some who would be determined to stay and fight this fight. She was not foolish enough to be one of them. Not when so much depended on her walking away from this. Turning the hulking chocobo around, she watched in horror as the spider collided with Bertram and without another thought, raced the bird into the fray.

Bertram grunted and let out a short cry of surprise as the spider slammed up against him. It was alarming just how resilient these . .. things were and that was saying nothing of the power that seemed to be behind them. The highlander gritted his teeth as he was forced down by the spider. He didn't panic though, there was no time for that, and immediately gathered up aether within his hand. The process was immediately followed by a punch to what passed as the creature's thorax.

Bertram's fist echoed against what almost sounded unnervingly like a hollow cavity, surely he had dented it. But it continued on in its assault. The spider's legs begin to curl around him, gripping him tight in a macabre embrace. As Barnabas thundered into the tangle of limbs, spurred on by Aislinn, the ornery chocobo gave a mighty call as he let fly a bone shattering kick to the spider that had toppled Bertram. It was knocked to the side, Its main chassis caved in. Briefly, Bertram could be seen. Aislinn swung down in the saddle, arm outstretched. "Good enough! Grab hold!" she yelled.

The highlander didn't miss a beat. The thunder of Barnabas' feet -- and the prelude to violence that was his wark -- gave Bertram all the time he needed to prepare to act with great haste in the wake of the chocobo's devastating attack. The moment that Bertram felt the spider's grip and weight ripped free from him pushed his foot into the dirt at an angle that caused him to spin around like a top.

It was an act that oriented himself *just-so* that he could grab a hold of Aislinn's arm and yank himself up toward the saddle. He was temporarily something of a saddlebag before he was able to work himself into the seat proper. He was quick to pat Aislinn's arm several times once he was secure. A signal that simultaneously told her he was okay and that she should get them the hell out of there!

She certainly didn't need to be told twice. As she raced Barnabas out of the clearing, the spider she had stunned seemed to have managed to repair itself, hunkering down and steadying itself on all legs momentarily before giving chase, albeit in a swerving, drunken sailor fashion. The second that Bertram had crippled also limped after them, one missing leg slowing it down but certainly not stopping it. However, as Aislinn turned to look behind them as they fled, she saw what she had truly been dreading.

Over the crest of the clearing's rocky walls a much larger spider was clamoring down after them, having been signaled by the scouts. Large enough to hold a person in the depths of its cold, mechanical bowels. "We can't lead them back to Heartwood." she panted as she jerked the reins and turned Barnabas' head deeper in the wood.

Bertram's eye went wide as he beheld the larger spider. There was an uneasy feeling within his stomach as he came to realize just *what* it was that had made Aislinn so eager to split from the three other, smaller spiders. Whatever this thing was, it was a horrifying sight.

She reined Barnabas in briefly at the bridge, weighing their options while trying to simultaneously not give in to the screaming fear that she would follow in G'lewra's and Vanriri's fate. "We can lose them in the Sylphlands. There should be enough aether bouncing around there to throw off their sensors." Trading one problem for another. The Sylphlands were hardly a safe haven. But as she spied the scouts scurrying in their wake, she didn't wait for Bertram's answer, she simply launched Barnabas across the bridge.

No protest or argument would come from Bertram as Aislinn revealed her plan. As far as he was concerned it was the best option at this juncture. He simply braced himself for a bumpy ride and prepared his wits to deal with the myriad of dangers within the deep Shroud. And that was saying nothing of the trickery that they would no doubt have to deal with from the locals. Some of which might yet be malicious. There was truly nothing to be said for it now.

The spiders clicking and whirring at their heels, Aislinn drove Barnabas towards the cliffside at a breakneck pace. With a mighty shove, the chocobo launched himself off the edge and into the air. Barnabas was no slouch. He was a magnificent specimen of a chocobo. But with two full-sized riders, even he could do no more than glide off the edge of the cliffside and slow their descent into the dark gloam below. In the depths of the ominous and strange Sylphlands. After a rough landing in which, Aislinn almost lost control and pitched herself and Bertram to the ground, she pulled Barnabas to a halt and slouched over the neck winded bird. She may have been hugging him. Something Barnabas merely tolerated for the moment.

Bertram didn't waste any time lingering upon the chocobo. He simply slid from Barnabas' back and dropped back down to his feet. He did a quick surface level scan of his body to make certain he'd not sustained any serious wounds before immediately moving a few paces out and growing very still as he listened and watched. He wanted to confirm that those things were not still on their tail.

After collecting herself, Aislinn pulled her face from the chocobo's feathered neck and likewise lowered herself to the ground. She came to stand beside Bertram, peering up at the cliffside from which they had vaulted. "We should hide." she said. "Just to be on the safe side." She had faith in her theory but it was just that, a theory. There was still so much about this allagan weaponry that remained a mystery.

She turned away from the open landscape and stationed herself behind a great stone boulder before sinking to the ground, adrenaline having run its course.

Bertram flicked his gaze over in Aislinn's direction as she moved in beside him. A slow breath filtered through his lungs before he nodded in agreement. He followed behind the woman before leaning back against the same stone and heaving a slow sigh. He couldn't help himself from being on high alert however. There's a length of silence before he comments softly. "Well ... that was exciting."

She paused and gave him one of their shared ‘looks’. But whether due to the lingering excitement or fear, a wavering laugh escaped her though nothing about this was funny. "Still sure I'm not cursed?" she sighed in a bit of black humor.

"Still breathing." He replied back without hesitation, his attention predominately on the sounds immediately around them. It was a reflex that he couldn't help but let take control. "... I have no idea what's going on, Lin, but right now we've got to focus on giving these things the slip so that we can get you back to the safety of Heartwood." He murmured quietly. "You can tell me all about it then."

She nodded. He was right. First, they needed to find their way out of here. Then, she'd unravel the thread of the story for him. "Even so. If my idea holds, we have to wait it out. Give those things a chance to give up and wander off. That's how we'll make it back to Heartwood. I can't make a beeline there and lead them straight to our doorstep." She tipped her head back against the stone as she inhaled a fortifying breath. "But aye, then it seems you're in need of some answers."

The man lowered himself down into a squat and drew in a deep breath as he forced himself to ease up slightly and not hyper-fixate on their potential pursuers. He closed his eyes and measured his breathing; remembering the lessons for his father's crystal. He slowly began to bring himself down from the battle-high.

"That sounds like a good plan to me. They'd be damn crazy to chase out this deep into the Shroud. We're half-mad for coming here ourselves." Another short, quiet chuckle.

"Believe me, this was the better of the options. Any day of the week." Aislinn quietly replied.

[paulinedorchester]

London, July 1943: Excerpt from a work in progress

After nearly twenty minutes, Foyle decides that he might as well walk.

A cab pulls up at the entrance to the Victoria Coach Station every few minutes, but the drivers favour passengers in uniform. Difficult to resent that in wartime, but it quickly becomes clear that they’re really looking for the Americans – ready, willing and able to pay twice the normal fare. There are throngs of them in London: on leave, newly returned from North Africa, giddy with the success of the Sicily landings. Foyle keeps looking for familiar faces but sees none.

It’s barely a mile to Charles and Pamela’s place, if he recalls correctly, and it’s a fine day. After almost three hours cooped up in the coach it’ll do him good to stretch his legs. He hasn’t brought much with him and his suitcase is easy to lift. He picks it up and sets out.

Travel remains slow and uncomfortable, as it has been for the past few years. The discomfort is as much psychological as physical. Posters with such inscriptions as Must you travel? and Is your journey really necessary? are still displayed at every station, and Foyle had weathered a few cold stares from passers-by as he entered the coach stop at Hastings.

But it’s Charles and Pamela’s twentieth wedding anniversary on Saturday, and it had been kind of them to invite him. He really doesn’t feel the need for a change of scene, as they seem to feel he must, but he is curious to know what London looks and feels like with no official duties to discharge, even in the midst of the war.

And the war is everywhere he looks. Westminster has been spared neither bombing nor the depredations of the war effort. The railings have been removed from the familiar public garden he passes as he walks north along Buckingham Palace Road, and the garden has been cut up into allotments.

Buckingham Palace itself, he recalls as he makes his way past it, was hit repeatedly in 1940; it’s hardly a moldering ruin, but clearly only stopgap repairs have been carried out, the King and Queen waiting out the shortage of manpower and materials along with the rest of the country.

And as he walks across the Green Park he sees that it’s the public garden writ large: stripped of ironwork, much of the land being used to grow food.

At length – it’s a longer walk than he’d remembered, after all – he reaches Arlington Street and the drive in front of Arlington House. In 1936 Charles and Pamela had given up the fine Georgian house in Highgate that they’d taken before their son Alan was born and moved into a large flat in this mansion block, just completed at the time in the height of modern style. The move was a practical one, they had said: the place was and is an easy walk from the Admiralty, where Charles’ duties were demanding increasingly long days, and their daughter Averill’s school – now evacuated to Yorkshire – was also fairly close by.

Arlington House still stands, but it’s sandbagged and most of its metal ornament is gone. Some windows on the lower storeys, Foyle observes, have been blown out and boarded up.

‘My name is Christopher Foyle – I’m here to visit Commander and Mrs Howard,’ Foyle tells the elderly porter, who looks him up and down in an appraising way.

‘Yes, sir. They’re expecting someone by that name,’ the porter concedes, sounding a bit skeptical. At once he adds, ‘May I see your identity card, please?’

Foyle had suspected, and still suspects, that Pamela was privately relieved at the end of the Howards’ conventional existence in the suburbs. As he waits for the lift he reflects, not for the first time, that it’s hard to decide which seems more unlikely: her decision to leave her earlier life of vaguely Bohemian gentility for marriage to a Naval officer, or Charles’ choice of her as his wife.

Not that they aren’t well suited. They were both born into well-to-do families whose fortunes had been made during the previous century from the more refined aspects of trade: fine printing and engraving in the Howards’ case, textiles for the Fourniers. Pamela’s parents, though tolerant of their daughter’s artistic inclinations, had put the kibosh on her youthful ambition to become a ballet dancer.

Of age by the time the last war began, she had joined the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry, driving an ambulance between Calais and a point that was often unnervingly close to the front. After the war she’d been one of the countless women to whom marriage had seemed an unlikely prospect, if only given the small number of surviving men. Although she had no real need to earn her own living she’d found a position at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, as a Deputy Company Manager, the first woman ever to fill that role.

And then, one evening in 1922, she’d somewhat reluctantly accompanied her father to a banquet at Drapers’ Hall. There she had been seated to the left of 1st Lt Charles Howard, R.N., a junior executive officer in attendance to represent the office that supplied Naval uniforms, still a bachelor at nearly thirty-two. (Foyle has never been entirely clear about how old Pamela is.) They were married nine months later. The wedding was a spectacular business in a Regency chapel of ease in St John’s Wood; Andrew, five years old and saucer-eyed throughout his first visit to London, had been a pageboy.

The brevity of their courtship had caused some talk, according to Rosalind. Still, it was a conventionally appropriate match – but also, Foyle knows, a very happy one. Pamela found Charles bright, witty and kind as well as quite handsome. His determination to remain in the Navy – in the teeth of his family’s expectation that, as the only surviving son, he would return to civilian life and enter the family business – had struck a chord with her, even as the novelty of life as a mildly rebellious bachelor girl with a toe in the demi-monde was beginning to wear off. Charles’ sense of duty was counterbalanced, and his own long-neglected aesthetic interests reawakened, by Pamela’s creative impulses and artistic connections.

It is Pamela herself who answers the door of the flat and laughs gently when her brother-in-law is unable to conceal his surprise.

‘Jill was called up,’ she explains, ‘and there’s really no hope of replacing her. They’ve all been called up! Not to worry, though — I haven’t yet taken over the kitchen. Mrs Ellis is still with us, bless her, so we won’t starve! It’s awfully good to see you, Christopher, and I’m very glad you’ve come. It means a great deal to Charles, as it does to me.’

Rosalind and Pamela had taken to each other at once, and became quite firm friends, Foyle recalls.

Mrs Ellis brings in tea, apologises for its meagerness and withdraws to the kitchen.

‘Would you care for something a bit stronger than mere tea?’ Pamela enquires. ‘I can imagine that you might need it, after travelling in this day and age. There’s no whiskey of any description, I’m afraid, but we do have a bottle of rather good Portuguese sherry.’

‘Well, um, perhaps a very small glass. Thank you.’

Sounding less facetious, she asks after Andrew.

‘He’s, um, he’s well,’ Christopher replies. ‘Not that it’s easy on him – not that I wouldn’t prefer to see him in some sort of nice, safe job at a desk – but he holds up all right on the whole. How’s Alan?’

‘Happy as the day is long — adores the Royal Naval College, talks constantly about the Painted Hall, and is quite convinced that we’ll win the day just as soon as he’s on active service!’

‘That’ll be, um, another two years, won’t it?’

‘Quite right,’ Pamela says dryly. ‘A bit long to wait, in my opinion. He has a chit for the week-end. He’s asked after you.’

‘It’ll be very good to see him. What about Averill?’

‘I’m afraid not — she won’t be here, I mean. Keighly’s a long way off, fifteen’s a bit young for such a long journey on one’s own — as I see it, at any rate — and they’re keeping those girls busy year ’round there. We haven’t seen her since Easter — and we went there. Quite a trek in these conditions! But there’s some good news on that score — the school’s coming back to London in September. I don’t know that I was meant to tell you that,’ she adds, ‘but there it is.’

‘Is that wise?’

‘Charles and I have had a few conversations about that, I can tell you! But Keighly’s not all that far from either Bradford or Leeds, and they’ve both been Blitzed. I suppose that the governors think that they may as well take their chances! In any case the decision’s been made — and it’ll be marvelous to have her home.’

‘Of course. I understand you have a new job,’ Christopher adds.

‘Yes. I’m afraid I wasn’t much good at making Sten guns — they showed me the door, Christopher, to be perfectly honest! — so I’ve joined CEMA as a sort of manager-at-large.’

Christopher frowns, puzzled.

‘Seema?’ he asks. ‘Oh, the Committee, um... ’

‘Or the Council, as it is now, for the Encouragement of Music and Arts.’

‘That part of the Government?’

‘No, not as such. It was run strictly on private funds at first, but Parliament has awarded us a hundred thousand pounds per annum — and Mr Bevin absolutely loathes us!’ Pamela adds with great glee. ‘Some of the people we’ve reached,’ she continues, sounding more serious now, ‘have never seen a live performance of anything before — they’ve simply never had the opportunity — unless it was the village amateur dramatic society, I suppose. It’s truly wonderful, Christopher — we’ve had letters from people who tell us that we’ve opened up whole new worlds for them! War does break down barriers — as dreadful as it is to think of it doing anything beneficial!’

‘I’ve often heard – um, the young woman who was my driver – I’ve often heard her say much the same thing.’

‘Would that be Miss Stewart?’

‘Oh – yes.’

‘We’ve heard some very encouraging things about her.’ Pamela smiles and sips her tea. ‘As it happens, CEMA is looking for a regional officer for the Hastings area. We have someone in Brighton, but she has her hands full with that region — and she’s expecting a baby in January.’

‘This a paying position?’

‘Oh, of course! Not lavishly, I’ll admit — two guineas per week to start with, plus travel expenses.’

‘That isn’t too bad,’ Christopher considers. ‘If I can think of a likely candidate I’ll let you know.’

‘I’d be quite grateful for that.’

Modern as the flat may be, it has a hearth and a mantel, with a clock sitting atop the latter that now strikes the hour.

‘Charles promised to come home at a reasonable time today,’ Pamela notes. ‘Christopher, I ought to tell you that he left here this morning in — I was about to say “in a foul mood,” but “in a highly unsettled state” might be a better way of describing it.’

‘What about?’ her brother-in-law asks, trying and failing to picture this.

‘I don’t know! I can tell you what brought it on, though — a letter that arrived in the morning post. But I didn’t see it — not the letter itself, I mean — and Charles didn’t tell me what was it said. All I know is that it seemed to agitate him a good deal. He took it away with him. Well, when I say that I didn’t see it, what I mean is that I didn’t read it,’ she goes on. ‘Of course I didn’t. But I did see that it was typed — on rather better paper than one is accustomed to seeing nowadays, and that the paper was marked.’

Christopher smiles dimly.

‘I’m no longer with the police, Pamela,’ he reminds her.

‘Well, no. I know that, of course. But isn’t it interesting, nonetheless?’

‘Depends on what’s in it.’

When the door to the flat opens a few minutes later; Pamela excuses herself and goes into the hall to greet her husband. Foyle hears both of them saying his name, and Charles using the words apologise and upset. After a few moments the Howards return to the sitting room.

‘Christopher! Wonderful to see you! Thank you so very much for joining us,’ Charles begins, shaking his brother-in-law’s hand. ‘How was your journey up? We’ve been hearing the most terrible stories,’ he goes on. On the surface he’s the same as ever, but something has changed behind his kind eyes. Something has rattled him.

‘Oh, can’t complain,’ Christopher replies.

Charles asks after Andrew and – with a vagueness that seems almost deliberate, as though the subject were slightly too indelicate to bring up – enquires as to whether Christopher is keeping himself satisfactorily occupied these days. These subjects having been discussed, there is a short silence during which he looks first pensive, then determined.

‘Pamela tells me that she’s put you in the picture about my... well, my loss of an even keel this morning.’

‘Well, um, she told me that it occurred,’ Christopher replies.

‘Mm. There was a letter in the morning post that gave me quite a shock. As the day went on, though, it dawned on me that it concerns both of you as well,’ Charles continues, glancing at Pamela and then back to Christopher. ‘Please correct me if I’m wrong, Christopher, but I don’t believe that you ever met my brother – and of course I know that you never did, Pamela.’

‘Knew him only by reputation,’ Christopher affirms. Captain Nicholas Howard, 4th Battalion, Royal Surrey Regiment, had been killed in action on the first day of the Battle of the Somme and was posthumously awarded the Victoria Cross.

‘Yes. Well. It seems that there was at least one thing about him that I didn’t know either.’ Charles falls silent again, looking perplexed. He reaches inside his jacket, brings out an envelope and removes its contents, which he offers to his wife and brother-in-law. ‘Perhaps it would be best if you both simply read this.’

He watches for a moment as Pamela and Christopher stand side by side, each holding an edge of the letter paper, taking in its contents. Then he looks out of a window.

[lunarsaga]

EPISODE 2: Angel Among Demons

HOLY SHIT THIS BITCH IS LONG, HAVE FUN Y'ALL~ a very quick note, I wanted to work in more of Luna being bilingual, so when you see [text in brackets like this] that means that she's speaking in english. (This will only happen in her perspective—no one save Kagome will know what she's saying.)

ENJOY!!!

================================

“Luna, please tell me again why you have to go off on your own.” Kagome set her hands on her hips.

Luna sighed as she slung her shotgun holster over her shoulder and held up her sheathed short sword. “Technically I don’t have to. But if you all are stopping to rest, go ahead and rest. I’m just needing some practice with my sword—it’s been a while since I’ve even held a katana.”

“Shouldn’t you save your energy as well?” Miroku asked her. “We have quite a journey ahead of us, it seems.”

Luna shook her head. “I’m too restless to sit around right now. Besides, if we’re headed toward a fight, you’re gonna want me at the top of my game.”

“Just stay close, okay?” Kagome pleaded. “I can sense a demonic aura somewhere in the area.”

Luna tucked her sword into a belt loop on her jeans, offering her sister a little finger gun. “That is what the shotgun’s for, little sis. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

As it turns out, she wasn’t… wrong. But that didn’t mean her little solo workout wouldn’t be entirely uneventful.

She walked a little ways away from where the group was, taking a second to appreciate the surrounding nature. Even back where her dad’s place was—in upstate New York—the forests weren’t quite like this. Not only was the scenery beautiful, but the air was about ten times clearer than she was used to. Truly beautiful.

She found a nice little spot among the trees: a little clearing, mostly clear of rocks or anything she could trip or fall on, and no grass or mud to slip on while she was moving around, just dry dirt. There was a little sapling, just big enough to be a practice dummy while she worked on her form. She dropped her gun out of the way, and shucked off the flannel shirt she was wearing. With that tied around her waist, she was left in just a pair of yoga pants and a tank top.

“Alright girl,” She said, repeating words that had been said to her so many times over the years: “Let’s get to work.”

She wasn’t afraid to admit that she’d gotten rusty. In her era, she only really ever needed her modern weapons; the only reason she even had a Katana was because the rare occasion called for it. Well, this was certainly a situation that called for it.

“Sorry, tree,” she chuckled to herself, “but you’re young, you’ll heal. Life, uh...” She drew her sword, twirling it in a figure eight around her body. “...finds a way.”

It was easy for her to get lost in her training. This often happened when she did repetitive drills or workouts: the movements came rather naturally, so she could zone out and lose herself in it. It might’ve been an hour, could’ve been more than two; she wasn’t sure.

“Fighting with a katana isn’t like what you see in the movies.” That was the first thing her father had taught her when he’d given her this sword—almost ten years prior. “It’s all about moving your feet.”

She sliced an arc through the air, envisioning her sapling opponent swinging a sword as well.

“Strike fast, and dodge faster.”

As the imaginary blade “swung” her way, she ducked the blow, feet sliding across the dirt. She paused for a second, hand extended in front of her and sword raised above her head, parallel to the ground. She smirked, steadying her breathing. She remembered being thirteen and how it felt to actually wield this sword for the first time...

“You and your sister are special,” her father had told her, “you can learn to see with your other senses.”

As a young teen, she’d laughed at that. “Like using the Force? Like a Jedi?”

“Just like that.”

The Jedi thing seemed like a joke at the time. But as she grew older, she learned it was more serious than she could have ever guessed.

“Everything gives off an energy called an Aura. The more powerful something is, the easier it is to sense.”

Before she could swing again, she froze. Speaking of auras, she was picking up on a rather strong one—and it was headed in her direction. She heard no sound—other than the wind rustling through the trees and the occasional call of an animal in the distance—but this strong sense of foreboding was unmistakable. Her ears were burning, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end as a chill ran down her spine.

A demon, no doubt. And a powerful one at that.

“It’s not enough to sense its presence. Focus. Close your eyes. Where is it coming from?”

Right… over… There!

Without even looking, she whirled and flung her sword directly at the source of the demonic aura. The blade struck something—she heard the thunk—but she didn’t wait to look. She immediately dove for her shotgun, tossed the holster, and caught herself in a roll. She was solidly crouched on her knees and the balls of her feet, with the gun cocked before she looked up at the demon she’d chucked her blade at.

“Thought you could sneak up on me, huh?” She snorted. Then, she actually took in the sight of him.

First of all, her blade hadn’t even come close to hitting him. It was currently embedded in a tree trunk—just barely, it looked like it could fall at any second— about six or seven feet from where the actual demon was standing.

The first thing she noticed about him was the sheer amount of white on his person. Pristine white linen kimono, hakama of the same fabric cinched around his ankles,  an enormous (and fluffy-looking) pelt of fur over his shoulder, and silvery-white hair cascading down his back. On top of all that, he wore armor that Luna supposed was meant to be intimidating— but to her, it just looked ridiculous.

And his face. He was positively gorgeous, which was incredibly confusing given that the feeling of dread she was getting from his aura hadn’t gone away. His eyes were a striking shade of gold—but cold as a polar ice cap. He had markings on his face—two magenta on each cheek, and an indigo crescent moon on his forehead.

“You’re in my way,” he said. Even his voice was cold, albeit resonant. “Move.”

For a second, Luna forgot she had a voice. Silent as her lips were, her mind was racing, trying to do the math: What the actual fuck— why is he so pretty? He’s a demon! Demons ain’t usually this damn pretty! Who the fuck gave him permission to look like that— it’s a Tuesday for fuck��s sake!

Almost a solid thirty seconds had gone by, and Luna realized she still hadn’t said anything. Oh, fuck, okay, stop just fuckin’ staring at him and say something, you idiot— so, of course, the most intelligent thing that she could say at that moment was: “...huh?”

Those frigid, golden eyes sparked just the tiniest bit of annoyance. “I said move.”

Her grip on her gun loosened just the tiniest bit, and she straightened up just a little. After a small glance around the enormous forest surrounding them, she made an amused face at him. “What? Dude, there’s a whole forest, just go around me.”

She uncocked her shotgun, stretching her legs to stand up.

“You have quite the audacious nerve for a human.” And he sounded none too happy about that. “Get out of my way.”

Luna sighed, “And you seem to like repeating yourself. I’m doin’ something here, so unless you feel like getting your demonic energy purified today, I’d suggest you take abouuut...” she pursed her lips, pretending to judge the distance with her pointer finger. “Five? Six steps to the right? It won’t be that hard on you, I promise. No one will think less of you.”

Now she was just being facetious, which was more than likely going to cause problems for her in the future—knowing how demons tended to be—but she had absolute faith in her weapon and her own skill. With an aura as strong as his, it wasn’t likely that her sacred salt rounds would do more than wound him, but sometimes that was at least enough to scare off some spirits.

When he didn’t respond, she figured he was just going to swallow his pride and take her advice. She was about to set her shotgun down and go back to practicing, but the Bad Feeling roiling in her gut got worse. It wasn’t just the buzz of a demonic aura anymore, the energy started crackling with even more malice, and she swore there was a sickly smell in the air for a split second before she felt it pop.

Her instincts screamed at her to move, so she spun to the side, almost as if her body moved on its own. What looked like a whip made of pure green light zipped close enough to her that she felt the heat on her cheek. When it didn’t stop, neither did she; she jumped back and nearly fell over backwards trying to bend out of the way of the second snap of the whip. This time, she didn’t hesitate to cock her gun and fire.

The air was still for a second as the shot rang in her ears, tension crackling and fizzling out like the tails of fireworks. When Luna regained her balance, she aimed and pumped again to ready the second shell. No distraction this time, she was aiming straight for his face.

She expected him to be at least a little startled—hell, she could see she’d blasted the end of his sleeve off, and there was a surface burn on his hand from the Sacred Salt packed into her ammunition. His claws were still bared, still glowing green from where he’d lashed at her. What was frustrating, was that he didn’t seem like he was more than mildly perturbed.

“...how did you do that?”

She growled at him: “Sacred Salt, you wanna see it up close? Try me again, fucker.”

“Vulgar.” His voice was flat, but he did finally move… but not to walk around her. He stepped forward like he was trying to inspect her. “You are a priestess, I assume.”

“Nah, I ain’t that pretty and nice,” Luna said, keeping her stance and line of fire. “Call me a Demon Slayer, or a witch if you like. Names don’t matter, the end result will be the same.”

He’d moved to point-blank range, but that horrible feeling in her gut had only grown stronger—her instincts were telling her to run the fuck away, but logic told her the point was moot. She only had one shell left, and the first hadn’t amounted to more than a scrape on him. Even at this range, she’d never do much more than scratch him.

“Whatever name you take matters not to me,” He continued, “regardless. You are still human. And as such you are no match for my power. I will give you one more chance to get out of my way, or you will die.”

There was another tense moment of silence. Luna could feel her heart beating from her ears, to her toes, to the tip of her trigger finger. Resolute as she was—and as much as she so desperately wanted to wipe that calm, detached look off this proud asshole’s face—she knew she wasn’t making it out of here alive if she didn’t stand down. And it’d be kind of a lame-ass thing to say when she got to the afterlife: “How did I die? Oh, I refused to back down from a standoff with a super-powerful demon because I didn’t wanna give him the satisfaction of telling me what to do.”

“Fine.” She huffed, uncocking her gun and stepping out of the way. She sneered at him as she rested the gun on her shoulder. “But not because you told me to. I’m gonna be late for dinner if I don’t head back.”

The air was still thick with tension as she went to grab her sword. She didn’t look back at him, but she was hyper aware of his presence. Thankfully, this time, there was no climactic snapping of the tense energy; as she pulled her sword from the tree trunk, she felt his aura receding. When it was far enough away, she heaved a sigh of relief and let her shoulders relax.

“One of these days, girl, your pride is gonna get your ass killed!”

Luna rolled her eyes as she went back to collect her holster and her katana’s sheath. “I know, Alice,” she muttered to herself.

~ ~ ~

This was why Rin didn’t like humans.

She had only been minding her own business! She needed to eat, so she’d been foraging through the forest like she always did. She didn’t realize that she’d wandered so far away from Master Jaken and Ah-Un until she looked up, arms full of foraging spoils, and realized she had no idea where she was.

She tried to retrace her steps, calling out for Master Jaken and Lord Sesshomaru every once in a while, but it didn’t help. She remembered passing by a human village before, but she made a mistake in trying to use that as a way of finding her way back to where they had stopped. Because when she passed the village, she was confronted by some men that lived there.

“You’re the one we saw earlier, with those demons!” One of them said, “Child, you should not be living among them!”

Oh no. Rin began to back away from them, but they only drew closer. One of them cut off the path she was walking on.

The one closest to her was looming over her. “You should come with us. Demons are dangerous, you could be killed or eaten!”

“No, I won’t!” Rin said. She might’ve been trembling, but she was firm. “I won’t go with you, and I’m fine on my own!”

“Don’t be silly, you’re far too young!”

“Where are your parents?”

“If you tell us, perhaps we can help you return to them.”

“I don’t need your help.” Rin kept backing away, hoping to put enough distance between herself and the men. She clutched the little bundle of food closer to her and prepared to run. “Leave me alone!” Valiant as her attempt to escape was, it was still in vain. The one closest to her grabbed her arm, and she accidentally dropped her food. She tried to struggle away from him, but his grip was too tight.

“Let me go!” She yelled, tears pricking her eyes.

“You should be living with your own kind, girl!” the villager said, “You belong with humans!”

“OI.”

That was a new voice. Rin stopped pulling, and the villagers all turned their focus to the newcomer: it was a woman—human, as she appeared to be. Her black hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she was dressed strangely; black garb, and skin-tight like a ninja’s. She had something that looked like a very short, strangely-patterned kimono tied around her waist. In her hand was a short katana, and she carried what Rin thought looked like one of those matchlock guns on her back.

A samurai? Rin guessed. If she was, she was dressed really strangely. No armor, either? Maybe she really was a ninja.

The woman’s hazel-brown eyes narrowed at the village men. “Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” She held her hand out, gesturing to Rin. “Let the girl go, or we’re gonna have issues.”

What an odd accent. Rin looked up at the man, hoping he’d listen and let her go. No such luck yet.

“This doesn’t concern you, woman,” the man said. Rin could swear she saw a twinge of anger in the woman’s face when he called her that.

“This child was residing with demons!” One of the others joined in.

The woman arched an eyebrow. “So what? You her father?”

“No—”

“Uncle?”

“....no.”

“Caretaker?”

“No.”

“Then it ain’t much of your business either, now is it?” The woman crossed her arms, leveling a stare that could mow down a forest. In an instant, her expression changed as she shifted her eyes to Rin and gestured with her sword. “C’mere, honey.”

The man holding her wrist looked like he wanted to object, but Rin took the opportunity to rip her arm free and run away from him. She did not like humans, not in the very least. Humans were horrible, and these men were no different. But this woman—her eyes were soft, and she squatted down to Rin’s height when she stood next to her, her posture non-threatening.

“Did they hurt you?” She asked gently.

Rin stared at her a second, folded in on herself. “...No…”

“You know these guys? Are they from your village?”

Rin shook her head. “I don’t have a village…”

The woman nodded, processing that before asking: “You have someone taking care of you, sweetie?”

Cautious, Rin paused a second. It seemed this woman wanted to help her—but… she was still a human. Rin didn’t trust humans. There might’ve been something about her that was different. This close, Rin could see her eyes better: they weren’t just hazel brown, they just looked like that from far away. Most of the color was a cool brown, but right around her pupils, she had flecks of gold that took the shape of crescent moons.

Was she really a human with eyes like that? Lord Sesshomaru had golden eyes… and the crescent moon on his forehead! Perhaps she wasn’t a human after all—or she wasn’t a full human, at least. That settled it; she was definitely more trustworthy than most humans.

Rin smiled a little as she answered her: “Yes… I have Master Jaken and Lord Sesshomaru.”

Her savior nodded and smiled, then she stood to face the village men again, blocking them from Rin. “Alright, you all can head home. This girl is obviously spoken for.”

“By demons!”

“Are you mad?!” the one that grabbed her demanded. “She is in danger!”

“Probably,” the woman said. “But look at her. She’s unhurt, she’s obviously able to feed herself, and the only ones I see endangering her is you three. So scram.”

“How dare you talk back!”

Rin flinched as the leader reached out and smacked the woman across the face. She started shaking again, but this time it was from anger. “You can’t hit a girl like that!”

“Don’t worry, kiddo.” The woman’s voice was low. She cracked her neck, rolled her shoulders, and untied her odd kimono from around her waist. She turned around, set her weapons down, and held out the kimono. “Hold this for me?”

Confused, Rin nodded and took the garment, surprised at the soft, warm fabric. She watched as the woman turned back to the villagers once again.

“Alright, boys,” she said, cracking her knuckles as well. “Just remember… you hit first.”

The leader had no chance to figure out what she meant before she swung back and punched him square in the nose (Rin tried not to laugh). The other two shouted and lunged at her, but she kicked one in the side of his knee and smacked the other in the face with her elbow. When the first one went down, the second came back and tried to grab her, but she flipped him over her shoulder as easily as if she were lifting a sack of beans. The leader had fallen to his knees, cradling his bleeding nose. The woman stood before him, crossing her arms.

“Hope you’ve learned to leave young girls alone,” She said flatly, “If you haven’t, I’ll be back.” Without waiting for a response, she turned back to Rin, her face softening again. “Sorry you had to see that, honey.”

Rin shook her head, blinking wide eyes up at her as she held out the kimono. “...Are you a ninja?”

She laughed. “What? No, no, not a ninja. Just good at fighting. Thanks for holding my shirt for me.”

Shirt? Was that what that was called? This person was incredibly odd, but still; Rin was very grateful for her. She went to go gather her food up again, as the woman tied her “shirt” back around her waist and picked her weapons back up.

“Now,” she said, holding her hand out for Rin to take, “let’s get you back to your people.”

Rin happily took the outstretched hand. “Okay!”

“What’s your name, kiddo?”

“I’m Rin!”

“Nice to meet ya, Rin. My name’s Luna.”

~ ~ ~

“Rin! Where on earth have you been?!”

Well, that was the shrillest voice Luna had ever heard. And it came from—what the fuck was that?!

“Master Jaken!”

...well. Sure, when she’d heard this little kid was “residing among demons” from those limp-dick douchebags from the neighboring village, she didn’t expect to be returning her to someone who looked like your average human. But when Rin mentioned she recognized where they were, she definitely didn’t expect to be greeted with the sight of a little demon that looked like Kermit The Frog’s ugly step-cousin.

And yet, Rin spoke to him like he was an uncle. “Sorry, Master Jaken! I went to find something to eat, and I almost got taken by humans from that village!”

“WHAT?!” The little demon shrieked.

“No, it’s okay! Miss Luna helped me!” Rin turned back to look at her with a wide grin on her face, and Luna gave a little three-fingered wave.

“Yo.”

“I thought she was human at first,” Rin went on, “but now I think she might be a demon!”

Luna laughed at that. “What?”

“You foolish girl!” “Master Jaken” chastised her, “That’s no demon!”

Rin looked confused. “Huh? But… she has gold in her eyes, just like Lord Sesshomaru!”

Gods above, this kid was adorable. Luna shook her head, smiling fondly. “I promise, I’m not a demon.” When Rin looked disappointed, she added: “But I promise, I’m not like those guys that tried to take you. I’m one of the good ones.”

She was snapped out of her good mood by a familiar feeling. A demonic aura, another strong one. With her focus on the adorable kid—and the little demon and the horse (dragon?)-looking demon so close—she hadn’t noticed it until she felt it directly behind her. Her grip on her sword tightened, and she hazarded a look over her shoulder. And who should be standing there, but the pompous asshole she’d run into earlier.

Startled, she practically launched herself into the air, shouting: “[JESUS FUCK!]” in English. She didn’t dare draw either of her weapons, just stood out of the way so she wouldn’t be killed.

“Lord Sesshomaru!” Rin greeted him happily.

What the fuck. “[Y… you’re—]” she stopped herself, trying to get her brain to go back to the right language. “[God damnit], you’re her Lord Sesshomaru?!”

“Lord Sesshomaru”, of course, didn’t answer. He just glared at her, likely planning how he was going to murder her. “Rin. Who is this woman.” It wasn’t a question, and those disdainful golden eyes never left Luna.

“This is Miss Luna!” Rin answered. “I was just telling Master Jaken: she saved me from these terrible villagers that were trying to take me away!”

Luna held up her hands defensively, never breaking eye contact with the demon. “Didn’t know she was with you. I just wanted to help her.”

Sesshomaru was silent for a moment, but his glare disappeared and his expression returned to indifference. Luna gave him a nod, a silent (yet contemptfully begrudging) sign of submission. Without another word on the subject, the demon passed her by.

“We’re leaving.” He said to the other two.

Luna made a face at him behind his back, then shook her head. Fuck, this guy pissed her off to no end, and she’d only known him for a little over an hour. The little girl, however, caused her to smile again, and Luna waved goodbye as she turned to leave.

“[What an asshole.]” She muttered, once again in English.

~ ~ ~

Luna had to admit, watching Inuyasha choke on his instant noodles was pretty hilarious. “You did WHAT?!”

“Yeah, this demon lord guy,” Luna said, waving her chopsticks around as she spoke. “Colossal dickhead. I had no idea that this little girl was his—well, not his, but— [dammit, what’s the word for it again…?]”

Kagome pressed her hands together, looking like she was about to burst a blood vessel. “Luna. Do you remember when I told you about Inuyasha’s older brother?”

“Kinda?” Luna said, slurping up more noodles. “Somethin’ about the swords, right? Inuyasha sliced off his arm?”

“Yes. You remember what his name was?”

“Uh…” Luna trailed off.

“Sesshomaru.” Kagome deadpanned.

“What’s this got to do with that assh—” It clicked, and Luna swore her eyes nearly came popping out of her head. “Wait— THAT was the older brother?!”

“Yes! I told you about him, Luna!”

“[Son of a BITCH, Kags!]” Dammit, she had to get better about that. “You know I’m shit with names!”

There was also, of course, the fact Kagome hadn't mentioned that he was fucking gorgeous, but there was no way in hell Luna was gonna say that out loud now.

Sango looked a little worried. “It doesn’t bode well that you just ran into him randomly.”

“Well, it’s not entirely impossible,” Miroku said, “he is searching for Naraku, just like we are. Unfortunately, that means our paths are likely to cross at some point.”

“What’s amazing is that you came out of it alive!” Shippo said to Luna. “He’s crazy powerful, and none too friendly at that.”

“I refuse to believe you just dodged his poison whip like that,” Inuyasha snorted. “He’s way too fast. You woulda been dead meat right then and there.”

“Maybe I’m just faster than you~” Luna teased him.

“You are not, ya damned liar!”

“Or maybe it’s cos I’m stronger—I am taller than you.”

“COME AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE!”

“Guys, not over the food!”

[kettle-on]

George Harrison x gardener!reader

Chapter 2

At last!! The joining chapter!

George is here!

This ended up much longer than I meant it to be, but... c’est comme ca la vie!

Read on :)

*this picture is from a map made of Friar Park by Alan Tabor in 1914

_______________________

A three-day stretch of sunshine and warm weather is rare for this time of year, but I’m grateful for it as I sit with my cup of tea and perched on a stool in the garden kitchen. It’s become my designated spot to spend my lunch break - when not drinking in the view from the window, I can keep my head down in here quietly and out of anyone’s way.

It’s Wednesday, and I’ve managed to get through the past two days on mostly tea and biscuits. It’s been fairly straightforward so far, and I’ve observed progress on one or two large plinth displays, been shown around an expanse of pine trees, almost got to investigate the alpine garden and mini Matterhorn but not quite yet, and have finally been able to lay my hands on a dogwood bush in an area I’m told was once called “The Paddock.”

I am glad for the easing-in process. What a nightmare it would be to screw up somewhere prominent at a place like this; so large and visible, and so well-loved and historic.

I take a grateful swig of my brew as a shout comes from the doorway to the hall,

“A-ha!”

Bravely, I sneak a glance up to the source of the voice and am instantly breathless.

He looks softer and greyer than I’d imagined, but I’d still know those eyes anywhere: the man of the house, George Harrison himself.

“They said you’d arrived, but I was beginning to think I was being swindled,” he reveals a toothy grin. “George.”

I appreciate that he not only still bothers to introduce himself, but he already knows my name, too.

For all I’d learned about him being the quiet, mysterious Beatle, and the moody dark horse, he is all lightness and giving. With his arms wide, he leans attentively onto the island counter across from me, and I feel as if I could unravel right there before him.

He scans my face with eagerness and I realize I have yet to say a single word.

“Well, I’ve…” Breathe. Keep your cool. “I’ve only been here since Monday, so...” I manage to offer, my eyes dancing across the surface in front of me and settling on my almost empty mug of tea, “It’s a big lot. Plenty of space to hide.”

He’s quiet but he hasn’t moved. I dare myself to return my gaze to his face, and it’s only now that I notice the sparkle in his eyes. How is he still this handsome? The deep lines across his famous dark brows remind me of tree bark, and I wonder how many years of scowling they took to develop. Then I make the mistake of letting my eyes drift to his mouth, now in a crooked and thoughtful closed smile.

“What do you make of it so far? Gettin’ on all right?” he asks, quickly peering into my almost empty mug before heading over to the kettle. He fills it with water up to the top line, and it looks like we’ll be here a while.

 “It’s beautiful. Olivia started to give me a tour when I arrived, but we had to cut it short. From what I’ve seen so far, I can see how you’d never want to leave.”

He opens a cupboard to take out a mug for himself, but even with his back facing me he makes sure to look over his shoulder, listening intently.

I continue, “I’m glad to be starting small, to be honest. I’ve been sorting out those bushes by the pool.”

“I see. Shoved you ‘round the back, did they?” There’s the grin again, and the unmistakable smile lines I recognize from various old video clips I’d seen floating around the internet.

“Yeah,” I manage, narrowly avoiding a giddy sigh.

“Well, I’ve been working on the garden for, oh, fifty years, is it? You should have seen it then, all buried in rubbish and brambles and debris. Horrible. But, as you say, you start with the little things, whatever you can manage, and you start to get an understanding of what you’re working with, you know. It’s easy to be overwhelmed.”

Leaning back against the counter with his arms folded, it’s clear he’s used this plan of operations many times.

“But there’s always a little unhappy area that just needs someone to come along and give it some careful attention.”

The kettle bubbles along, lending a soundtrack to the butterflies I’m trying to subdue in my stomach, and George points to my cup of tea, inquiring if I’d like another. I smile in agreement and quickly gulp down what’s left, and then offer the mug in all its floral print glory back to him,

“Thank you.”

His eyes linger on my face for just a moment before he returns to the counter. I look out the window again, and begin to piece together the circumstances of my current situation. This is George Harrison’s house. This is where I work. I’ve trained for years on my own and on teams in classrooms and greenhouses, learned the Latin names and all about colour theory and garden design. I’ve aggravated a dodgy hip many times over from shoveling dirt in the rain. I’ve earned very little money all the while, but look what it’s come to: I get to come here every day, and soak in the history and whimsy of such a magical place. How lucky am I?

“This wasn’t you, was it?” asks George after it dawns on me that he’d been humming something familiar for the past few minutes.

“Sorry?”

“Nickin’ all my tea bags. I’m sure I filled this up at the weekend,” he states, demonstrating a single tea bag nestled in the pale blue china caddy, ironically labelled ‘tobacco’.

It wasn’t me, and luckily he believes me. A few of the gardeners I hadn’t yet met had been in and out since my lunch break began, but I wouldn’t dare be a snitch and reveal them as the culprits.  Nevertheless, George’s efforts to make a brew for himself are thwarted when he finds the usual spot for the box of tea bags empty.

“This is outrageous!” he feigns fury. “Nevermind. Come on, I’ll show you where I keep the good stuff.”

Without a second thought, I follow him out to the vegetable garden where one of the gardeners I haven’t met yet is checking the progress of some turnips.

“All right, Vijay?” calls George. For a man of his age he’s quite speedy, but decades of singing and stress, (and smoking, I recall) have left his voice fairly scratchy when he tries for volume.

Vijay responds with cool pleasantries, and my host takes care of our introductions.

“If you’re after any veg for your table, he’s your man.” George explains, and Vijay’s bashful smile returns him to his notes.

We carry on our trek, past more beds of herbs, vegetables, and if my nose is to be believed, there are blueberries somewhere nearby.

The song George is humming sounds a bit like a Johnny Cash tune, and he builds his production with finger snaps and whistles.

The hedges here seem to go on for miles, and it’s a few minutes before we reach the end of this garden. The path leads down a slope where it meets the service driveway and disappears among some tall trees.

“No, I don’t think I’ll take you into the forest today, but remind me. I think you’ll like it. A nice old fashioned Lovers’ Walk.”

I blink at him, my mouth having fallen open slightly on the journey.

Instead, we cross to the right, to the grand chateau itself.

“I feel like I’m not supposed to be here,” I confess as we near a huge stone doorway like the one I met my first morning.

“You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to. But I think you might want to,” he toys with me, and the lines around his mouth hold back a knowing laugh.

“Yeah, all right, go on then,” I pretend to be cool and casual, and my trickery works.

It’s dark in here. This is a back way after all, but that doesn’t preclude the walls from their own ornaments and paintings. I pass beneath a brass swan seeming to emerge from the woodwork, and follow George over to a room that he almost facetiously calls a pantry.

“Shall we take our tea in the courtyard today?” he asks with all the put-on poshness of a John Cleese character, then returning to his normal manner to inquire,

“Or do you have work to be getting back to?”

Checking the time on my phone, I’m relieved to see my lunch hour isn’t up yet.

“I’ve got twenty minutes, how’s that?”

“All the time in the world!” he roars, shuffling over to a built-in set of shelves that nearly reach the ceiling.

He lets out a cheer when he finds it, and turns to me grinning to proudly display the box of tea we’d come all this way for.

Yorkshire Gold.

[nocturne-inuyasha-ff]

Chapter Nineteen: To Have and to Hold

Nocturne - Chapter Nineteen: To Have and to Hold

Rated - M (for very, very suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, and coarse language)

Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha.

Kagome had traveled nearly a week with no luck. This "come and find" me business was getting ridiculous. Sesshomaru should have left a trail of breadcrumbs or something, but no. Nothing.

She had been through villages, serving where she could and asking the townspeople for information, but no one had heard of Lord Sesshomaru or knew of any regal yokai living in the area.

Many of the places she stopped at held a hatred of yokai, spitting at her feet when she asked after one. Thankfully, her new companion, Rei, only had one tail and could pass as a cat. People did, however, find it odd that a cat traveled with her, but none were brave enough to mention it. They all just passed it off as some strange, new miko custom.

Kagome had gotten creative with her questions when she passed through to another village. Sesshomaru was very private and not likely to have rumors of himself or his holdings. Instead, she would cleverly ask for news of the area.

She did not learn anything of value, just gossip from one place to the next. Kagome had to hold out hope that she would pick up a lead soon.

Kami finally blessed her on the seventh day. Kagome had stopped in a village for the night after providing healing services for a family under the guise of a spiritual ritual. People in the Sengoku era didn't have a grasp on the concept of modern medicine and were often astounded by Kagome's abilities. Most confused medicine with magic, and it was a good thing that she also was a miko by profession. Otherwise, people may not be so kind and generous to her.

The family that Kagome had helped were allowing her and her peculiar-looking cat to stay the night. During the evening, she conversed with them congenially, speaking of everything and nothing as strangers may do.

"The weather has been mild for this time of year."

"Yes, I am thankful for that. The good weather aids me on my pilgrimage," Kagome replied.

"We are so grateful that your travels brought you to us. You have lifted the evil that has plagued our little one. It is an evil afflicting many this season."

Kagome knew that most in this time, confused sickness with evil maladies placed on them for sins committed, and there was little to persuade them otherwise. Sometimes she tried, though. "That is a misfortune brought on by the mild weather I'm afraid."

"The weather, you say? We had thought the evil preferred dark and cold. But if you say that the light can not forestall the darkness, then we have much to fear. Kami be praised that you were sent to us in our time of need."

Kagome could not tell these people how mistaken they were, but they would learn with time. "Kami be praised," she repeated.

"We had called upon the lord of the land to give us aid. So many here are desperate. But it would seem that he has fled in the face of this onslaught of darkness just like all the others. Now we are left to fend for ourselves."

Kagome felt her interest piqued, "The shogun left?"

"So it would seem. Abandoned his people, he did. Leaving us to fend for ourselves."

"That is unfortunate. This shogunate held land here?" She asked.

"Most certainly! A vast estate that was left vacant. Now we are at the mercy of any fool who may attempt to occupy our land and impose new taxes on our village."

"How strange for a shogun to leave a perfectly good estate," she speculated. "I've never heard of such a thing happening."

"Strange indeed! A small green man has also been sighted near the grounds, haunting the place with his evil spirit. Likely the reason a shogun would risk death and leave, I say."

"Hmm. Perhaps I should visit this place and defeat the spirit to give your people peace," Kagome suggested with a knowing smile.

"Nay, priestess! You should not risk yourself so!"

"There is no risk," Kagome assured with relieved certainty.

She rested for the night at the family's home, content to start the day anew and find her way to the palace that lay only a few miles away.

The next morning, Kagome roused and was wished well on her journey. She gained directions to the estate and made her way with the little Rei by her side. He trotted along with ease, having a full belly from the doting family the previous evening.

o - o - o - o - o

He knew she was near. He had picked up her scent from an easterly wind. Now was time to make final preparations.

Sesshomaru had spent the past few days avoiding his mother's presence. The woman had invited herself to stay at such an inconvenient time in his life. Thankfully, she had not tried to eat the little one as he first assumed she might. His disdain for humans had not come from his father, after all.

It was an odd sight to witness his cold and vain mother as a doting anything. Even had he brought to the demoness an heir she may consider suitable, Sesshomaru had assumed she would have been indifferent to the child. That would have been a best-case scenario. The real events as they unfolded were completely different than expected.

His mother had the child, Setsuna, now, and he had instructed her to keep away for the time being. His mother had given him a toothy smirk while she held her granddaughter close.

"Oh, my son is attempting to lure his first human to him. What a proud mother I am," she teased.

Whether she was being facetious or contemptuous, he did not know nor did he care to discern as long as she knew her place in the matter.

The sum had not yet reached its zenith before the miko arrived, swathed in the sun's glory at her back, and announcing her glorious arrival. A small smile that would typically be out of place on his lips was the only physical tell of the satisfaction he felt.

The miko had arrived. To reclaim their child likely, as the woman had a vastly different style of parenting than his own mother, who preferred a more hands-off approach. But, he could not sense rage within her, so he knew that the child was not the only reason she had come.

She passed through the gates hesitantly, looking around as she walked. The miko must have known she was in the right place, but he could sense her trepidations.

Sesshomaru had patience aplenty, but he was done waiting. He strode towards the woman with purpose and a curious burning sensation within his chest, naught like he had ever felt before. When she saw him, she stopped, her hands trembling at her sides. She chewed her bottom lip and looked at him anxiously.

So many thoughts ran through his head. Things he wanted to do to her, but not yet. Sesshomaru stopped several feet away from her, putting the power in her hands. She had a choice to make. Close the distance or not.

He was long-lived, and time ran at a different pace for him. Years could pass in the blink of an eye, so minutes and seconds had never been of any consequence. Yet, now that she stood there for what seemed countless seconds felt to be an eternity.

"What have you decided then?" he asked.

Her mouth opened a bit as if she were to speak something, and instead, she chewed the bottom of her lip again in agonizing hesitation. Finally, she understood that it was her move.

He watched as she swallowed, and he could sense her heartbeat quicken though he could not tell if these things were from nerves or guilt. The woman took one tentative step forward and stopped.

How frustrating this game was. Fine. The woman had come this far, and he was feeling generous. Or impatient.

Sesshomaru moved towards her purposefully, closing that gap with long strides. Had the woman objected, she may have put up a fight, but that was not the case. Upon reaching her, he immediately wrapped an arm around her; the other hand tangled itself within her long, unbound hair to keep her in place. The woman placed her hands on his chest and sucked in a jagged, surprised breath. Though why she would have cause to be surprised was questionable.

He strove to be gentle, she was human after all, but his impatience caused him to claim her lips with haste. She seemed to possess an enthusiasm of her own, her lips parting to taste the sweep of his tongue as it delved into her mouth, savoring her.

The kiss lasted forever, but not long enough. He released her, and she let out a relieved sigh.

"I found you," she said with a smile.

"There was no hiding," he responded with a smirk of his own.

She pursed her lips, "It is not like I had directions, and there wasn't a sign out front." She looked back over her shoulder. "Thankfully, I had help."

"Help?" He questioned. He had seen no one. What type of help had she meant? Then he sensed it, tingling on his peripherals. His eyes honed in on the aura of a small nekomata and narrowed with distaste. Still, the creature was showing its deference by remaining far enough away to avoid immediate detection. The miko always did pick strange companions, himself not included.

The woman nodded but said no more. That was fine, Sesshomaru determined. So long as the help was not from his detested brother. Thankfully none of that ingrate's scent mingled with her own. He may have been tempted to pay a quick visit to the hanyou and give his respects as far as those were due.

"Where is she?"

Sesshomaru knew the question would come. "She is well taken care of, just beyond."

The woman allowed concern to creep into her features. "You mean your toad-I mean, Jaken is caring for her?" She quickly corrected herself.

He chuckled at her vacillation. "Jaken would never harm Setsuna."

"It's not his loyalty, I doubt, but his capability." She seemed somewhat dubious to the whole idea of Jaken caring for their daughter.

"Hnn. Indeed, the imp lacks finesse, and your reluctance is noted. Yet, it is not in his care that the child currently resides," he advised. He knew that this would cause the woman to become even further perplexed.

She pulled away and began to walk towards the castle, speaking as she walked. "Do you mean that you've hired a caretaker or something? Is it a yokai? Because I can't believe you would bring another human into your service, my presence notwithstanding."

It amused Sesshomaru to hear her speak so bluntly of herself. He followed her inside, content to do so. "You are correct to presume otherwise. Setsuna is currently with my mother." It was still rather annoying to think of the woman as a doting figure to any child. His childhood had been rather unpleasant; his mother preferring to take a more indirect approach to raise an heir.

The miko stopped dead in her tracks. She slowly turned around. "I must not have heard you right, Sesshomaru." The information must be challenging to process, for his words were precise and clear.

"The matter took this one by surprise as well." Sesshomaru knew he had an annoyed look about him. "The woman appeared quite suddenly and absconded with the child to 'play.'"

"Absconded? Play?" she tested the words. "Your mother is okay with Setsuna's...heritage?" she asked, seemingly uncertain of the appropriate word to use in the situation.

"Another surprising fact." He must undoubtedly admit so.

"I'm sorry. I guess I thought she might hate humans, because...you know…" She used a hand for emphasis.

He gave her a beseeched look. "You think this one and his mother hate humans?"

"Well, not you and not now." She smiled and shrugged.

"Hnn. What you see as hate is merely misguided superiority and a lack of compassion."

She continued to eye him with bemusement. "Judging on the things that played out from your father, I can't say you got those things from him."

"Indeed. Father was very different. Looking back, I held him in contempt for doing what he did. It was not until recently that I understood."

Now she was surely teasing him. "Oh? And what's that? What do you understand now that took you centuries to attain?"

"That humans can be admired for their tenacity."

"Tenacity?" She again was amused by his choice, her inflection raised and humorous.

Of all the traits to admire, he had chosen this one. "Among other things, miko."

She shook her head. "You can call me by my name now. And not miko or woman. I think we are beyond that. I hope we are beyond that." She allowed her words to soften at the end, her meaning open almost like a question.

"Perhaps you would prefer something a little more endearing?"

"Like honeycakes?"

He raised an eyebrow. Whatever 'honeycakes' may be, it would not be a term he would ever willingly use for her.

"It's a sweet treat. Couples often call each other sweet foods where I am from."

He scoffed at the suggestion. "Shall I be entreated to consume you then? To refer to another as edible would suggest that I do as much."

She smirked at him. "Maybe not honeycakes then."

Sesshomaru had already decided on an endearing word. It was something that had come to him unbidden before he had even allowed himself the idea of a future with her. The name had made him feel intensely uncomfortable in the beginning. He could not have ever fathomed feeling this way towards another person. Yet, here he was and no longer afraid of the feeling.

"This one would prefer, Beloved."

She seemed to glow a bright red, her eyes dewy with desire. Before she could respond, a voice disrupted them.

"How disgustingly sweet!" A woman's voice called out.

Sesshomaru sighed in annoyance. "Your timing is impeccable." The demoness, his mother, would choose this time to walk in.

"My dearest son. Have I not taught you the very meaning of discretion? To play with a mortal so openly. It is indecent." Her look was almost a sneer, hidden behind a half-smile.

He did not respond to her jab, merely choosing to give her a well-earned glare.

She waved her hand, dismissively. "Oh, calm yourselves. I mean no harm. I know you've inherited your father's...predilections. How delicious this girl is, my son. Quite a fine specimen."

The demoness stalked around like a huntress assessing its prey. Sesshomaru put an arm around the miko to display his authority. His mother seemed to be putting on a display of her own.

"Yes, a mighty fine specimen indeed. She will do well. If she survived bringing my granddaughter into this world, then she should be quite capable of handling the ceremony."

The miko's face blanched, and her eyes lowered. His mother caught the tiny display. "Oh, ho ho ho." Her eyes flitted from the woman to his swords sheathed at his side. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand while she chuckled. "The little one did not survive, did she?"

The miko now looked full of defiance but battled with herself to maintain a semblance of respectful decorum. Sesshomaru knew the miko bit her tongue only because she did not want to displease him.

"That is none of your concern. You will do well not to question my decisions regarding the matter. Otherwise, your welcome may run short."

"I would never question my darling child's decisions! You have become one of the most powerful daiyokai, my son. Even surpassing your most esteemed father. I have the utmost trust in you. It is only your...woman...that my concern is for."

The miko followed in Sesshomaru's lead. "I am capable of handling myself, honorable mother."

The demoness cocked her head to the side. "Hmm, so it would seem for you to garner the attention of my one and only son, for whom I care about greatly."

"I care for him as well," Kagome stated defiantly. Her back was straight, and her chin held up with an air of transcendence.

The demoness cocked her head to the side and put a thoughtful hand to her chin. "I would hope so. A mortal should not take the affection of a daiyokai lightly. They tend to be rather possessive until they grow tired of you. But I would not imagine for that to be such a problem for a girl such as yourself who has many, many years of youthful beauty left to her."

The miko seemed to regress into herself at having that fact pointed out. Sesshomaru could sense her hesitation now and turned a pointed glare to the woman who was his mother, a conniving woman who only ever served her own best interests.

"Where is Setsuna?" he demanded. There had been enough torment to his woman, and only so much he could tolerate from his mother.

The demoness smiled, "Why, I've left her with the toad. He seemed touched that I would honor him with that responsibility. I wanted the opportunity to meet the woman my son holds in such high regard."

Done with this charade, he ended things. "You have met, now stand aside."

"Very well."

The demoness moved aside, but not without making a show of it, giving a mocking curtsey. He would deal with her insolence later, mother or no.

Sesshomaru led to where their child had been left in Jaken's care. Seeing the child would allow Kagome to forget the earlier encounter. He told her to pay his mother no mind. She was but a woman scorned displacing her anger on the next best thing.

When they arrived in the area where Setsuna had been left, they saw the small imp run around anxiously trying to keep up with the little girl who had recently gained use of her legs. Sesshomaru felt pride at the leaps and bounds of her development, but the miko gasped, displaying astonishment.

"Setsuna?" She whispered. Her hands covered her mouth in surprise, and Sesshomaru knew that she hid a slackened jaw. The miko seemed to displace the apprehension quickly and ran towards her daughter to snag her up and cry tears of joy. "My baby," she sobbed. The girl smiled in recognition and allowed her mother to squeeze her. "So big. You've grown so big." The girl smiled a toothy grin, revealing several new teeth.

Sesshomaru stepped closer, placing a hand on the miko's shoulder. "You seem surprised."

"I'm afraid…" she stuttered and buried her face in the child's neck.

"There is nothing to fear." He pulled her close, enveloping the small pair in his arms.

She accepted the embrace for a moment but pulled away to sit the child on the ground. Setsuna immediately began to walk over to Jaken, who shrieked at the attention.

Kagome seemed petrified and on the verge of tears. Clearly, the sight of the girl brought up some trauma, from what Sesshomaru did not yet know. "The onibaba…" she uttered. "She placed an aging spell on...us...her...I don't know. She is so big. I can hardly believe she's the same child."

Sesshomaru felt his hackles rise at the mention of the witch. The oni who had ultimately led the miko and child to their deaths. Had he not been near to revive them with Tensaiga, well, he could not bear to think of it.

He had never thought what the witch had done to them, but he was not concerned now about the physical effects. No, now the only residual damage would be elsewhere, as displayed by this displaced fear.

"Setsuna is growing at a pace to be expected of a child of mixed heritage. A yokai child would have been able to defend itself by now, whereas ours is not there yet."

Kagome watched the child run around with a newly mastered gait. She took in a staggering breath, trying to process her new reality. "So, she will become an adult in a matter of months?"

"No." His word was assuring and soothing. "Her development will taper within a few months. There is no cause for worry here. The onibaba and her spellcraft are gone from this world."

Kagome sighed with relief, seeming lighter than before. A heavy load lifted from her shoulders. "Hmm," she said softly. Yet, there was still hesitation about her spirit. Likely from the twisted words, his mother had uttered, but he would rectify things soon.

Setsuna laughed loudly as she ran after Jaken, delighting in a game of hide and seek. Even though it was clear Jaken was genuinely attempting to hide. The imp pleaded with the child to let him be and to go and play with her parents, who were gracious enough to be present. Sesshomaru gave the miko ample opportunity to play and spend time with the child, allowing his retainer to escape. It was a relaxing and wondrous experience to behold. He had not realized the joy gained from the simplicity of it all. It was something his now-grown ward Rin had first shown him.

The evening had crept upon them suddenly. The sounds of crickets began to fill the air when talk and laughter were not drowning it out. Sesshomaru called for the child, and she instantly and obediently clambered over to him.

She looked up at him, her dark eyes gleaming and full of innocent happiness. The miko watched on from her spot on the floor where she had been playing with the girl.

Sesshomaru reached down and picked the small child up with one arm, and Setsuna instantly became quiet. She instinctively knew when it was time to settle, which was good. He called out for Jaken, who hesitantly appeared before his master after a matter of seconds of being summoned.

"My lord, all is ready," the imp stated. Jaken eyed the miko in hesitation but said nothing untoward. Sesshomaru had pressed Jaken into compliance and warned him of what should happen if he were displeased. It was known that Jaken had adopted Sesshomaru's contempt for those deemed lesser, but the toad had not also followed down the same path to compassion and empathy. Thankfully, his retainer's loyalty demanded tolerance and subservience. Jaken would have nothing foul to say to the miko.

"Hnn. Attend Setsuna," he commanded.

Jaken gave a bewildered look to his master and mumbled. "Of course, my Lord."

The miko stood and came towards her child, tenderly kissing her head. "Are we going somewhere?" she asked.

"To eat. You must be famished."

"I guess so."

He led her through the hall to a grand dining area lined with tatami mats and a low table with ornate, zaisu-backed cushions arranged around. Sesshomaru had no reason to utilize this room and had only visited on one occasion to inspect its suitability, but he was pleased with the layout and hoped the miko would, too. She was not one to be impressed by grandeur, another trait which he admired in her.

The meal laid out was also a simple spread which he'd prepared himself not long ago. Even though he, himself, did not partake in human delicacies did not mean he was inept at its preparation.

The miko looked at the food, and her insides made a loud gurgling sound, indicating her hunger. She laughed nervously. "It all looks great, but there's only one place setting." Hungrily eyeing the food, she glanced up. "Were you not going to eat? I'd feel silly eating in front of you alone."

Sesshomaru grabbed the miko by the wrist, keeping her in place. She did not try to escape but looked up at him. He gently grabbed her chin. "Never be embarrassed about anything that you are or what your body may require. Should this one be embarrassed to sustain himself in front of you?"

The miko looked perplexed. She seemed to ponder on his words. "I've never known you to eat, and I honestly assumed that maybe...you didn't eat at all."

He smirked at her suggestion. "Even the gods require food, and while I have had aspirations to be God-like in the past, I am not so dense as to believe I am one. No," he assured her, "while I can go long periods without eating, I do so on occasion. I may be hoping to have a meal tonight."

The Miko's cheeks glowed red at the insinuation, and she chewed on her bottom lip before her middle erupted in another loud protest.

Before she could say anymore, Sesshomaru led her to sit at the table. He helped her lower down onto the cushion and then sat beside her. She eyed the spread and was about to help herself before he stopped her.

"Kagome," he said, causing her to look up in alarm. His rare use of her name would need to become more habitual, he told himself. To refer to this woman so casually was undeserved. "Before you partake, you must know that I have prepared this meal myself."

She smiled and looked at the plate again. The meal was simple, a fillet of fish was the main course, and it steamed deliciously before her. There were other accompaniments, but the main course was the most lavish of the simple display.

"You prepared this? Then I am certain it will be exquisite. I am learning more and more about you. I should not be surprised. It's not as if Rin ate yokai while in your care." She laughed melodiously.

"Indeed. You have traveled here, and, by doing so, have accepted my request to be mine. Now, I extend another request to you." Sesshomaru sat straight and watched her eyes, hoping to glean any reaction from those dark orbs. "By accepting this meal, I have caught and prepared with my own hands, you will accept life with me as my companion, as my mate, for the remainder of your life."

The weight of his words seemed to settle upon her and brought to the front her insecurities over the vast differences in their life spans.

Her hesitation was marked, but he knew it was not due to her lack of desire for him. She battled with herself. "Sesshomaru...I…"

He stopped her and moved to kneel before her, their eyes level. Taking up her hands, he wove words to assuage her fears. "Kagome, I promise that by accepting my request, I will protect you and our child and any future children we may have with my life. I promise to dote upon you for as long as your mortal years grant you."

She started to chew on her lip again. The implications of a mortal life spent with a nearly ageless yokai were weighing upon her. "The years are not kind to humans, Sesshomaru. Will you still want me when I am old and wrinkly?" She added on for effect, "When I resemble Kaede?"

"Indeed, this one would."

She gave a small derisive laugh. "Forgive me for being a little cynical, Sesshomaru. You are so virile and handsome, and that won't fade...but what you see in me will."

Staring into her eyes, they looked almost dewy with unshed tears, making them appear bright. "Foolish woman. The fiery spirit you possess. The audacity you have when you challenge this one. The selfless love you have for all. This one is pleased you have chosen him to be a part of that."

She smiled but failed to look entirely convinced. Before she could say another word, he silenced her with a swift kiss. It was sudden, and she gasped in surprise but did nothing to stop it. Her lips were soft, abundant, and sweet. How he wanted to take those lips and put them to good use, but his hunger would need to be sated later. Still, he allowed himself to take pleasure in her now. As much as he wanted her, she wanted him, too. Sesshomaru could feel it with her intense desire to possess his mouth. He placed a hand on her shoulder and lightly pushed her away, not only to stop her but himself. Any more of this and he would succumb to his baser desires.

Her breaths dragged heavy, and her eyes remained closed, and he leaned to her ear to whisper. "Eat now, for you shall need your strength later, I promise you."

Her eyes flew open, and her cheeks glowed brightly with a pleasant red color. Sesshomaru moved to sit by the table and stared at her, thinking about that color and the places on her body he would explore to find what other areas flushed when excited. "Eat," he repeated.

Sesshomaru watched as she hesitantly began to dine on the meal, first choosing to sample at the entree he had prepared. Her nose scrunched up uniquely, and she chewed salaciously before swallowing. "This fish is delicious, Sesshomaru. It has a unique flavor, almost like some sort of saltwater fish, like sea bream?"

He smiled at her enjoyment and reiterated, "Eat, beloved."

o - o - o - o - o

After Kagome had finished eating her fill, she sat back, one part of her appetite sated. There was still much left over, and she hated seeing such a marvelous meal go to waste.

"Perhaps we can send the leftovers out to Rei? Or maybe even Setsuna would like the taste if she is eating solids?" she suggested.

Sesshomaru's eyes widened infinitesimally at the suggestion, indicating some hesitation. "Setsuna will have already eaten, and I will not allow a nekomata to dine on such a sumptuous dish. Other arrangements shall be made for your...pet," he said, choosing his words carefully.

Kagome shrugged the strangeness of it all off and smiled coquettishly at him. "I am ready for dessert now," she told him boldly.

He wasted no time in clearing the low table with a sweep of his arm, sending food and utensils clattering to the floor. His actions shocked Kagome, but her excitement diminished the shock. Sesshomaru was on her in a flash, pushing her back against the hard but smooth wood of the table. The discomfort was nothing to her as she felt the hard, wet kisses engulf her. This that she had been longing for so long.

She could feel the hard length of his engorged sex through the fabric of his clothes push against her thigh, followed by sensuous wetness seeping between her thighs. He was tender, at least trying to avoid piercing her flesh with his claws, but his lips were sure to leave bruises against her skin while he ministered to her exposed neck and chest.

Using his teeth, he loosened the fabric of her kosode and allowed her breasts free of their fabric confinement. She gasped and moaned beneath his touch and did her best to explore his body with fervent touches of her own. His jaw slackened when she grabbed hold of his hardened sex, staring into her eyes with golden desire. A groan escaped him, and he made quick work of his intricate clothing to allow her easy access to his member.

Kagome felt a little powerful as she explored the length of his male organ with her hand. Sesshomaru had stopped caressing her with his brutal, wet kisses to enjoy her touch on his most sensitive parts. He held himself aloft with one strong arm above her; the other hand was resting on her exposed breast in a mid grope. His eyes were shut, and the bridge of his nose scrunched as he panted while her hand ran up and down his thick shaft. Using a thumb, she ran it over the tip of his member's head to feel warm beads of fluid beginning to amass there. A peculiar thought formed in her head and led to the sudden desire to taste it.

Even as steadfast and immovable as Sesshomaru made himself out to be, pushing him onto his back was easy work. His eyes were now narrowed with pleasure as he watched her lower her head down to him. Still holding his heavy cock, it throbbed in her grip, and she saw clearly now the bead of fluid at the tip. She used her tongue, deftly lapping it up and savoring the saltiness. Sesshomaru moaned at the sensation, and the sound encouraged her to take the entirety of his length into her mouth. She placed her lips over the head and took his member, sliding down until she could go no further without gagging and then going up.

A deep scratching noise was heard, and her eyes moved to see Sesshomaru's claws digging into the wood of the table, scoring it with marks of pleasure. She smiled inwardly at this accomplishment, flitting her eyes up to see Sesshomaru staring at her with a clenched jaw. He looked so exquisite, lying back with her over top of him and in power. Kagome continued to slide up and down his cock, ensuring the use of her tongue to elicit those wondrous moans she could hear from above. Her eyes closed as she worked until she heard the slam of a fist, and her head was lifted up and away.

Sesshomaru drew in a ragged breath and kissed her hard, pulling her up so that her own exposed sex was positioned above his hips. He roved down her neck, scoring marks on her throat with his fangs. The sensation was akin to pain but on a level all its own. Each nip sent a new sensation rippling through her. She was on fire, and with him so close to filling her void, Kagome was tantalized and maddened by the torment.

Yet there was a certain magic to their touches, kisses, and strokes. It was intoxicating and mesmerizing, a feeling she was not ready to yield. Pushing her breasts against his chest, she straddled his hips. His cock strained against her, throbbing erratically against her inner thigh as they continued to explore each other.

Finally, after all the relishment had been sated, they could take no more. Kagome was not sure who gave in first to their bodies' desire to be connected. Perhaps it was by mutual consent, though her gasps and his groans suggested differently. Sesshomaru grabbed her hip, aligning his member with her soft nether lips and plunged into her, filling her.

Their cries intermingled at the pleasure and intensity of the sensation. Kagome could sense his need to thrust into her with wild abandon as if he had long been denied this passion. His hands gripped tightly around her hips, forcing them up and down at a pace she could barely keep up with. But here, she was in control, doing her best to match him.

Her breaths came quick and unchecked, but her need for release could not be ignored, and it would not be denied. Neither would the man below her, who allowed her this control. Her hips snapped, and his rose up to meet hers, his hands guiding her up and down his length. She knew she was close, so close, and she panted heavily. At last, she pushed off his chest, throwing her head back, her hair falling in waves down her back as she cried out her relief. He had been waiting for this moment with sublime patience and pushed her hips up and down one last final time, filling her with hot fluids and a wild cry of his own. Quickly, she fell forward to his chest, gasping until his lips found her own.

The kisses were now soft and gentle, but in her exhaustion, she barely noticed as he lifted her and moved to another room with a more appropriate setting for their activities.

Through a more subtle exploration of his body, she began to suck at his skin, focusing on a particularly tender area near his jaw. At the same time, he casually twirled her raven hair through his fingers, delighting in their quiet intimacy. Emboldened once again, she began to bite playfully with her teeth, and yet she could feel him hard again, his sex pushing against her.

He rolled over on top of her, resting his weight on his elbows, and his silver hair poured over his shoulders. Kagome smiled and ran her hand through it once before alighting her touch on his face. They stared at each other a moment, delving into the wells of each other's eyes before he leaned down to kiss her. The mutual kiss was tender and divine and deepened into something more.

Kagome was filled with renewed energy, and there was the unfulfilled need again, building within her and begging for release. She could feel Sesshomaru thick, ready, and waiting between her legs. He seemed to be waiting on her assent, which she gave with a quick nod of her head before he pushed into her with a slow, deliberate thrust. Once her own sex was full, she moaned aloud. The sound incited him, and he worked her, moving back and forth in a steady motion. On the precipice yet, again, she threw her arms around his neck, drawing him closer. "Sesshomaru!" she cried. He pumped his release into her with a low growl while her wet sex throbbed as the eddies of her climax ebbed deliciously away.

Twice more, they made love before finally lying still in one another's arms while the sounds of chirping insects and the warbling of nocturnal birds played in concert outside the paneled window.

The night was theirs, and the next day would be claimed as well, finally content to enjoy life for the moment as it was brought to them.

o - o - o - o - o

The end...

...Just kidding... 

[simonnricketts]

What’s your ambition?

I’ve had quite a time of it, as many of you know. I’ve been in hospital for pretty much the entire first five months of the year. I didn’t mean to do that, really. It was all a bit of an accident. Well, a series of accidents.

I’m home now. And it’s a huge relief to be here. After long weeks and months of feeling that I would never leave the hospital, it’s great to be back with my girlfriend and my cat. Of course, the cat never visited me but said she sent a card. Something about postal strikes, I dunno.

Yes, being facetious about the situation is one of the only real defences I have. Because, not to put too fine a point on it, I very nearly died. At least twice.

During many of the bleak times, my mind would always go to the same place. A yearning for my “small, ordinary life’ as I called it. Whenever the medical wizards were pulling out all the stops, all I had was a desperate hope to get back to a simple normality.

I told people the same thing. I  said “I don’t have massive ambitions right now. My ambition at the moment is to be at home, pain-free, having a cup of tea and stroking my cat.” You see, so many times, it seemed so far away, that mundane and mediocre hope, as I was stuck – imprisoned almost – in one of those stupidly flexible but mysteriously uncomfortable beds.

(I used to look at this ‘call bell’ in my bed for ages, trying to work out what the symbol meant. A syringe? Then I turned it upside down. Sexist.)

Back in January, I had gone in for an extraordinary operation. One that I wrote about here. In short, the surgeon, Tom Cecil, opened me up, cut out all of the visible cancer in my body (and there was quite a lot of it) and cut out some other bits that I previously thought I needed. One of my kidneys and a good chunk of my pancreas had to go, apparently. Some of my stomach and colon also went - and so did a bit of my diaphragm. Quite the mixed grill got yanked out of me. Then, just to complete the fun, I had chemotherapy medicine - sorry, HOT chemotherapy medicine - swilled into the holes in my body.

The operation went “well”. In the sense that it has left me, currently, cancer-free. That is worth pausing for. Because, quite bluntly, if I had not the operation when I did, then I would be dead by now.

Yep. It will almost certainly come back, but the cancer - for now - has left the building. That’s quite a thing.

Unfortunately, about a week after the operation, I got very unwell again. I was bleeding internally. So, in the first of an unnerving series of emergency incidents and intensive care visits, I was taken into the serious rooms, fixed up, and looked after magnificently by the surgical, nursing and physiotherapy staff.

And I would need those amazing staff again and again. Particularly for another couple of really serious times. I had respiratory problems. And we found out I now have an unwanted hole in my stomach. That hole leaks fluid sometimes into my body when I eat or drink. That fluid has also found a way to get into my lungs. So, it’s bloody dangerous. And it isn’t going away at the moment.

For almost a month from the middle of March, I was in intensive care. This was the most dangerous time. My visitors were all given a very bleak picture. I was hanging on.

I was on a ventilator. I was not breathing for myself but through a hole in my throat. I had a huge array of machines attached to me and, worst of all, my hair was getting ridiculously long. I kind of looked like a cross between Doc out of Back to the Future and an elderly orang-utan.

But things slowly got better. A couple of the nurses had a crack at cutting my hair, and the rest of my body started to shape up a bit too. I managed to breathe for myself and was eventually allowed back on the ‘normal’ ward.

For the past few weeks in that ward, I concentrated on putting on weight. I walked into the hospital weighing 83kg. At times when I was seriously ill, I had dropped to 58kg. It’s not a diet plan I would recommend.

And, despite having a scan that showed the hole in my stomach is still there, it was sufficiently healed to allow me home. I have a bag attached to my chest. Like a colostomy bag, but it collects the stuff that comes errantly out of my stomach and lungs. It’s not pretty but without it, I’d be in big trouble. Again.

I’m home. We’re waiting for the hole in my stomach to heal, if it ever does. I am weak and in pain. But I’m home.

And as for that ambition I had when stricken in intensive care - well, I can have a cup of tea. I’m stroking my cat but I’m not pain free. Two out of three ain’t bad, I suppose.

PS: For almost my entire medical misery journey, I have been looked after by the NHS. However, this extended trip was under private health insurance. By a combination of luck, coincidence and geography, I was being treated in a private hospital. However, many of the staff - including the entire surgical team - also work for the NHS. I am forever grateful to those who helped me but I also need to say I still love the NHS.

PPS: During the five months, I was never alone. I am incredibly lucky. There was never a day I didn’t have loved ones or friends visit me. I am so grateful to them for their love and support.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

What do you think happened to the Nartec? It always seemed odd that they were never brought up again, though honestly their inclusion in the series always seemed slightly out of place to me, though I did love the book. Also, what kind of AU would you consider involving them?

Hi there. Beta here. Unlike Sol, I actually like book 36 and find the Nartec fascinating, so she let me play in her sandbox : ) 

What happened to the Nartec? They were blasted into so many bits and pieces by K.A. Applegate after she cringe-read book #36. 

Less facetious answer: I think it’s fairly safe to say that the Nartec are, as Jake observes, doomed. To count off: a large part of their population, as well as several buildings, are destroyed during the Animorphs’ battle. From what we know, the Nartec were running seriously short on human DNA and were becoming inbred. Add to that the fact that sea travel is safer than it’s ever been before* and I think it’s fair to say the genetic imperfections that seem rampant in the Nartec (inability to breathe on land, for one,) would only multiply until they were extinct. 

*At least with regards to “official” travel–vacations, military, shipping, etc. Obviously this sadly isn’t the case for refugees from Syria, Cuba, etc. 

Less depressing answer: Let’s say that after Queen Soco dies, the next Nartec in line for the throne (I’ll name her Calypso, Caly for short,) decides that Something Needs to Be Done if she wants to save her people from extinction. The Nartec elders and nobles don’t support Caly’s plan, so she recruits a ragtag group of adventurers to help her make a secret, desperate journey to the surface. 

There’s Ezili, who can fix any boat or sub ever made, even though she has access to a limited amount of tools. She’s cynical and suspicious, angry at the humans and Nartec alike for perpetuating the violence that killed her family. But Caly is her best friend, and she’s sure as hell not letting Caly go anywhere alone. 

There’s Idliragijenget–Lir–who is able to care for people with both his hands and his words. A gentle person, he despises the way the Nartec treat their prisoners and keeps a water-logged copy of the Hippocratic Oath under his pillow. He’s the kindest person Caly’s ever known, and she thinks if anyone has a chance of building bridges with the humans, it’s him. 

There’s Paricia (Pari for short,) Caly’s younger brother who never encountered a fight he didn’t win. Though he can be rash and temperamental, Caly knows he’s fiercely smart and fiercely loyal and she’d never consider undertaking this mission without him. 

There’s Danu, the child of a Nartec man and human woman. Both of her parents were killed when she was little, fighting to the death rather than allowing her mother to be taken and tortured. Due to her heritage, her body is far stronger than most other Nartec. With advantages from both of her parents, she can see and hear at great distances, and she can navigate the land or the water with ease. She’s shy and quiet from a lifetime of being bullied and looked down on for being different, but Caly sees something special in her and invites her along. 

Finally, there’s Jessica. Jessica joined the Marine Corps straight out of high school. She’s following in the steps of her older sister, Ashley, who was taken captive by pirates off the coast of Somalia and never seen again. Her sister is something of a legend among the Marine Corps: she single-handedly fought off the pirates long enough for most of her crew to escape. One night, Jessica’s ship is caught in a storm. While securing the lifeboats to the deck of the ship, both Jessica and the lifeboat are swept overboard. Caly and her friends come across Jessica, and though Ezili and Pari don’t want to trust her, Danu and Lir refuse to let her die, so she joins their little band. 

They quickly realize how indispensable Jessica is when it becomes apparent that none of them really know how to operate the Russian sub they’re travelling in. Jessica isn’t an expert, but she knows how to work the steering and has a solid grasp of the heating/cooling system, so they’re calling it a win. 

The journey to the human world takes far longer than any of them anticipated. In the days before Jessica was swept out to sea, she and her shipmates heard rumors of aliens attacking Los Angeles. Most people thought it was a joke, but some said it was real, and if the spaceships soaring over Jessica and her new friends’ heads are any indication, aliens do in fact exist. 

Between what Jessica knows from her time in the Marines and what Caly and Pari gleaned in the aftermath of the Nartec battle against the giant fire-breathing monster, they manage to put together a rough sketch of the human-yeerk war. They’re missing some crucial pieces, of course–they think the humans are fighting the hork bajir, led by the fire-breathing monster–but all things considered they’re not too far off the mark. 

The few times they encounter human vessels, all it takes is one look at their blue skin and enormous eyes for the humans to start shooting. They’re forced to swim for their lives more than once, and the sub (which they’ve named The Brandon…Jessica is confused and skeptical but the others all claim they love the mystical, otherworldly sound of the name,) takes more than a few dings and dents. 

Over the course of their circuitous journey, they learn more about each other. They find out that Ezili can draw, and soon the walls of the sub are covered in pencil murals of giant waves and upside down ships and the Nartec city. They learn that Danu often likes to sit looking out the periscope or the windows if they’re on the surface, and they learn not to tease Pari when he joins her and they sit in near silence. 

They learn that Lir knows how to do a strange human gyration called a ‘square dance,’ and that Cali is even better at it than him after watching for a few minutes. Pari loudly comments to the wall that Lir wouldn’t be so clumsy if he’d stop staring at Cali, and Cali throws a box of Russian cigars at his head. They learn that Jessica laughs but rarely smiles, and that sometimes things will make her sad and she just needs space. They learn that offering quiet support is sometimes the best way to get someone to talk, and slowly, over time, Jessica tells them about Ashley.

They learn that Jessica is Danu’s aunt, and there’s lots of crying and hugging and laughter, and no one sees Cali slip up next to Ezili and ask with her eyes if Ezili is okay before the two bump shoulders and share a small smile. 

They learn that families can be built from blood, or scary stories, or inside jokes, or disgusting Russian coffee, or records of a Chinese opera played on a gramophone, or an ongoing game of Dungeons and Dragons that involves no Dungeons or Dragons (Jessica sighs every time they complain,) or quiet mornings watching the sun rise over the ocean, or shouting as they work together to steer through a storm, or laughing until they’re crying over the lurid American romance novels stuffed under the berth, or crying and holding hands as they share sad stories over fried seaweed dipped in molasses. 

They don’t know what will happen when they reach the surface, but, Cali thinks fondly as she watches her friends sleep, if a human, four Natec, and a half-human/half-Nartec can learn to live in harmony in about ninety feet of enclosed space, then the possibilities in the rest of the world–the universe–seem vast and endless. 

~Cates

A quick note for mythology nerds:

Calypso is a Greek sea goddess who traps Odysseus on her island for seven years.

Ezili is the Benin/Hatian/African goddess of the sea, fertility, love and compassion.

Idliragijenget is the Inuit god of the ocean.

Paricia is an Incan god known for his anger, who sent floods to drown humans who didn’t have enough respect for him.

Danu is the Celtic goddess of the Danube River, and in some versions the mother of the Tuatha de Danann (fairy folk.) 

[theotherstephencobert]

What you eat forms what you are. But could it form what you THINK?

Many years ago I read the book Perelandra by C. S. Lewis. It is the story of a man's journey to the planet Venus (in fact "Perelandra" is what the natives call their world.) I highly recommend it.

In the latter part of the book, there is a situation where Ransom, the protagonist, is pursuing his enemy across the oceans of Perelandra riding a dolphin-like creature. At one point he realizes he is hungry, and he notices some seaweed floating near him. So much of the other vegetation of the planet has been so good and so healthy, he decides to try some of the seaweed.

To his shock, the plant not only tastes terrible, it has an odd side effect: It makes Ransom think differently. He finds himself regarding the world under the ocean as the "real" environment of this planet and makes him regard the floating islands as being like clouds. He winds up not eating any more of it and in fact spits out the portion he has started to eat.

I think most everyone would agree, at least in part, with the point Lewis is making here. I can believe that, for example, fast food places put additives in their food - and possibly genetically modify it - to make it addictive. But I wonder if the author was on to something even deeper.

Is it possible that there is something in the American diet that puts in our minds that "the good life" is a nice home in the suburbs, a late model car and membership in the local country club? Maybe a little less facetiously, is the food so many of us are eating (and that all of us are bombarded with advertisements telling us to eat it) putting us in a mindset that, what we really want to do is sit on our couches with junk food and beer or cola and watch Wide World of Sports instead of getting out there and taking part in sports ourselves? I find myself wondering if the meals we take in do more than just make us want to loosen our belts and rest for a little bit afterwards... maybe they're convincing us to get smack dab in the middle of our Comfort Zone and be wary of ever venturing too close to the edge.

(NOTE: Perelandra is something of a Christian allegory, and the book is filled with very Judeo-Christian-specific imagery and situations.)

[goodra-king]

Transcript of Navigating Small Business Legal Issues in the Digital World

Transcript of Navigating Small Business Legal Issues in the Digital World written by John Jantsch read more at Duct Tape Marketing

Back to Podcast

Transcript

John Jantsch: This episode of the Duct Tape Marketing Podcast is brought to you by Zephyr CMS. It’s a modern cloud based CMS system that’s licensed only to agencies. You can find them at zephyrcms.com, more about this later in the show.

John Jantsch: Hello, and welcome to another episode of the Duct Tape Marketing Podcast. This is John Jantsch. My guest today is Jamie Lieberman. She is an entrepreneur, speaker, and practicing attorney, and founder of Hashtag Legal. We’re going to talk about legal stuff today. We’re not going to talk about marketing, but sometimes these things intersect.

John Jantsch: Jamie, thanks for joining me.

Jamie Lieberman: Thanks for having me.

John Jantsch: Let’s hear your story. How did you get here to being the founder and CEO of Hashtag Legal? I suspect there’s a journey.

Jamie Lieberman: Isn’t there always a journey?

John Jantsch: So true.

Jamie Lieberman: I’ve been a lawyer for about 15 years. The first half of my career was very traditional law practice, big law in New York City, federal government. It was everything you think it was, not being that positive.

Jamie Lieberman: About seven years ago, I decided I think it’s time for me to figure out another way to practice that fit more me, so I left my job and started freelancing to try and find my way. I had had seven or eight years of legal experience and felt comfortable enough to go out on my own but wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to do. At the same time, I myself was a blogger so many years ago. I had a blog about living in New York City when I was much years past, pre-kids, and it got really popular.

Jamie Lieberman: When I stopped working at the government, I started up a blog again because I thought it might be kind of fun. At that time about seven years ago, bloggers were starting to make a little bit of money. The word influencer didn’t even exist yet. I started working for a company that ran conferences for bloggers. They asked me, about six years ago, “Hey, do you think you may want to give a talk about legal issues for bloggers?” I thought, “Yeah. That’s kind of interesting. Now let me figure out what those are.” I did, and I gave the talk, and that’s actually where Hashtag Legal came from. I started working with bloggers, now influencers, and that quickly expanded into creatives and entrepreneurs, service professionals and marketers.

John Jantsch: Yeah, so I’m guessing the name Hashtag and then thrown together with Legal, there is a focus on the online world. Would that be accurate?

Jamie Lieberman: Yeah, definitely. We absolutely have a large number of clients who live and work in the online world.

John Jantsch: All right, so what’s unique about Hashtag Legal in terms of… We’ve talked a little bit about who you serve, but is there some way in which you serve them that is different than me going to the small law office down the street here?

Jamie Lieberman: Yeah, sure. We are also entrepreneurs and creatives and people who understand what it’s like to run that business. I often think many of my clients are what I call reluctant entrepreneurs. They’re really good at something, and legal usually isn’t what they’re interested in focusing on, so they kind of avoid it. Some people don’t avoid it, but they sort of don’t want to deal with it, and some people actively avoid it.

Jamie Lieberman: We try to make legal accessible and not scary by talking about it in plain language so that it is approachable, it’s easy. We are an all-female virtual law firm. We do that on purpose because, many of our clients, that’s how they are. We come to the clients and communicate with them as best as served for them versus most lawyers who communicate the way they want to communicate and don’t really think much about how comfortable or uncomfortable their client may feel with that mode of communication.

Jamie Lieberman: I got clients who are Slacking me and Messengering me and, yeah, they’re in my DMs. We move it to the proper channels, but I’m open to that. I like to give a lot of information, so we’re really transparent. We just like to work in a way that feels comfortable and more accessible than, say, your average lawyer who is oftentimes… Many of my clients have said they feel like they don’t even understand what they do let alone being able to advise them on how to protect and grow their businesses.

John Jantsch: I think a lot of people are used to hiring an attorney when something bad happens. They get sued, somebody doesn’t pay them, whatever those things are. Are there some things that you think that more small business owners, more entrepreneurs need to be thinking about, in terms of legal, and locking down just as a matter of course?

Jamie Lieberman: Absolutely. I actually think if more people did those company audits, had a really good lawyer as a partner in their business, that there’d be less non-paying clients and less fearful calls, so I think it’s really good to sit down.

Jamie Lieberman: Every business is different, but depending on what your business is… particularly, for example, if you’re a service professional, you live and die by your contract. I don’t mean the Frankenstein contract that you got from your friend who got from their friend who then pulled seven things offline or the template you bought. I mean a lawyer who actually sat down, understands what it is that you do, and created a contract that works for you, and that’s flexible, and that can move as you need to move because everybody’s business is different. Contracts are a big one.

Jamie Lieberman: Intellectual property, particularly if you are a creator or a creative, understanding what it means when you create for others or if you are putting information out into the universe, what that means in order to protect the information that you’re creating is important. That’s your intellectual property.

Jamie Lieberman: Also your trademarks, your names. A lot of people pick a cool name and then, couple years later, think, “Maybe I should look into this and see if I can use it or register it for a trademark,” and then somebody else has it or… There’s a million stories. Those are some good examples of ways that you can get around the, “Oh, my gosh,” scrambling phone call.

John Jantsch: Particularly since you talked about working with creatives, in a lot of cases, they just… A hug is a contract. Right? Again, I know I’m being facetious, but I mean contracts can actually not be very customer-friendly or not feel very-customer friendly. I mean how do you balance that? I mean the traditional law firm that you used to work for probably had contracts that were basically 100% one-sided to screw anybody who signed it. I mean, unfortunately, that’s reality. How do you balance the, hey, this is good for all of us?

Jamie Lieberman: I think that’s how all contracts actually should be written. I find it really frustrating and unnecessary when they are so one-sided for no reason. I read a lot of talent agreements or book deals. Book deals, ugh. It can be the bane of my existence, particularly for a first-time author, because they are often incredibly one-sided, and they don’t need to be.

Jamie Lieberman: I find that, when sitting down to talk to a business owner about their contract, I talk to them about, “What are your deal-breakers? What are the ones that you cannot give on?” We make those the ironclad… We’re not going to negotiate those, but there are some other clauses, to that particular business owner, that may be a little more flexible. Maybe we can make them a little bit, I’m not saying one-sided, but we may be able to negotiate them with clients who care about that particular position, or maybe we just make it straight down the road.

Jamie Lieberman: Contracts don’t have to be these awful documents that make you want to throw up when you have to look at them with two columns and font six, and it’s a single-spaced, and it’s 75 pages long. It’s overkill and unnecessary, and there’s no reason for it. We just try to create contracts that our clients understand and can read themselves and explain to their clients so that they understand why they have that clause. There’s no unnecessary language.

John Jantsch: Do you find that there are certain, I don’t know what we want to call them, but certain places where small business owners get tripped up, I don’t know, gotchas or something that come back and maybe bite the majority of people in the… that don’t address them. Are there certain things that you definitely ought to be a little worried about as a business owner?

Jamie Lieberman: That’s a great… You mean within the context of a contract? I-

John Jantsch: Not necessarily a contract, so just-

Jamie Lieberman: Oh, generally.

John Jantsch: Just legal in general.

Jamie Lieberman: Yeah, sure.

John Jantsch: What are the ones that, if you’re going to have trouble, here are some of the ways that [crosstalk 00:09:02]-

Jamie Lieberman: [crosstalk 00:09:02]. Non-paying clients is a big one. That’s a tough one. The scope of work is also a tough one. The TBDs that everyone likes to put into contracts and then nobody actually TBDs it, so they’re just vague. Revisions when you’re creating for somebody else. Those are the common ways that I see that there starts to be an issue.

Jamie Lieberman: Not having clear boundaries around termination. How do you terminate? What happens when a contract gets terminated? Because the fact is not every relationship is going to be perfect, and there may come a time where you either one-sidedly or mutually agree, “You know what? We just need to part ways. This isn’t a fit.” That’s okay. It’s business. It’s not personal. Having clearly written out guidelines for what that means in terms of ownership of work product and payments and refunds, that’s a big place that I see, a lot of ways, if it had been done well upfront, there would be nothing to argue about.

Jamie Lieberman: Partnership agreements is another one, partners that come together and don’t put agreements in place. Everybody’s really happy when a business starts, but when a business ends, it is probably the number-one most expensive thing that can happen in a business is when two partners split and can’t amicably resolve it. Those litigations can go on and on, and they are so expensive.

John Jantsch: I’ll tell you, in the online world, I would also say kind of the opposite. We were talking about a business owner protecting themselves in dealing with folks, but I can’t tell you how many ridiculous agreements I’ve seen that small business owners have signed for their website, which [crosstalk 00:10:44].

Jamie Lieberman: Oh, gosh, yes.

John Jantsch: It’s like, “No, we’re going to get a new…” It happens all the time because my company comes in and helps them fix their website, and then we learn that, “Nope, that company owns it. If you’re not going to pay us anymore, everything’s ours. You signed that deal.” It’s heartbreaking.

Jamie Lieberman: I’ve seen so many of these SEO companies that come in, and there are these hidden clauses that essentially give them an ownership piece even after termination. I’ve seen some crazy stuff in some of those contracts, and a lot of people don’t. In my opinion, it is so rare that you would actually ever sign the first draft of an agreement. There’s always a back and forth. There should be a negotiation. So many small business owners don’t feel like they have the power to do it, and so they don’t. I definitely agree. That’s a great point.

John Jantsch: Today, content is everything, so our websites are really content management systems, but they’ve got to work like one. Check out Zephyr. It is a modern cloud-based CMS system that’s licensed only to agencies. It’s really easy to use. It’s very fast. It won’t mess with your SEO. I mean it really reduces the time and effort to launch your clients’ websites, beautiful themes, just really fast, profitable way to go. They include an agency services to really make them your plug-and-play dev shop. Check out zephyr.com. That is Z-E-P-H-Y-Rcms.com.

John Jantsch:  We haven’t talked about employees. Again, I know you’re working with maybe a lot of solopreneurs, but so maybe if it’s even the virtual, part-time employee, where do you see employee issues coming up in the legal space?

Jamie Lieberman: It’s funny. We have clients that have as many as 80 employees and some as many as they’re just their own, so we see a wide range of employment issues. In this space, in particular, virtual workforces can get really complex the larger you become.

Jamie Lieberman: I have a client who has employees in, I’d say, 40 states, and so we’re navigating 40 different state laws for employment issues. That can be really challenging.

Jamie Lieberman: The other thing that really comes up in a lot of people, particularly now with California’s new law, is contractors versus employees, people who want to pay someone as a contractor when, in fact, they probably are an employee. I’ve seen clients rack up crazy fines from a state for a mischaracterized employee. That’s another issue.

Jamie Lieberman: Theft of clients, not having an employment agreement in place when you do, either a contractor or employee, to make sure that you don’t… It’s not a non-compete, because a lot of people think, “Oh, non-competes are not enforceable.” That, as a blanket rule, is actually not true. There are ways you can make, in certain states, enforceable non-competes. Where you can really protect yourself is non-solicitation clauses, meaning you can’t solicit my clients, you can’t solicit my employees, and you can’t solicit my contractors.

Jamie Lieberman: There’s ways that you can protect yourself. I think a lot of employees’ employers are either afraid to approach it because they don’t want to lose talent or they think they just can’t when, in fact, you can.

John Jantsch: All right, let’s get really geeky. Are you dealing with any GDPR and CCPA issues?

Jamie Lieberman: Privacy laws, my friend. Yes, we do a lot. We spent a ton of time on CCPA. I mean we still are.

John Jantsch: Maybe unpack that a little bit. There’s a lot of scary-sounding things about being… billion-dollar fines. Where is the typical small business who has a website, does email marketing to their clients. I mean where are they really exposed in that?

Jamie Lieberman: Really, you have to look at whether or not it even applies to you. That’s going to be looking at numbers. The 50,000 residents is usually… If you’re selling data, which some companies do, then there you go, but sale of data doesn’t necessarily have what you think of as a lay person. It means something different under CCPA. Digital ads are sale of data, and so if you run a website that creates content and has digital ads, then you are likely involved in the sale of data, so it is important to understand.

Jamie Lieberman: This is what I say about privacy in general. It terrifies people because there’s about 1,000 laws that could potentially apply. There’s no one law, right? When we have to pay our taxes, we go look at the tax code, but for privacy, there’s like 50 laws. Some of them may apply, some of them may not. States don’t agree with states, and California does everything first. Federal governments, they’re not involved. They have some stuff.

Jamie Lieberman: Really, my recommendation to every business owner who collects data of any kind… That is email addresses. That could be IP addresses. That can be the heat map that’s on your website if you’re using certain plugins, if you have lead pages, for example, things like that. Do an audit. Sit down and look at the back end of your site and really understand what every single plugin and provider is doing, and what data they’re collecting, and what permission you’ve given, because as the website owner, as the business as defined under CCPA, it’s your responsibility to tell your users what data you’re collecting, if you’re selling it, and what you’re doing with it. That’s not a bad thing to know that about your business.

John Jantsch: Yeah. The first thing you need to do is breathe, though. Right? There…

Jamie Lieberman: Yeah, take breaths. There should never be panic. There really shouldn’t. Everybody freaks out. I’m like, “No, just take a breath. You’re going to spend two hours. You’re going to time block on your calendar. You’re going to take two hours. You’re going to look at your plugins,” or find someone who’s a good privacy lawyer and have them do it for you.

John Jantsch: There’s a whole subset of just privacy technology people that understand what is happening when your website [inaudible 00:16:53]. That can be another place to look.

John Jantsch: I remember when GDPR had this deadline. I mean people were like [inaudible] sleep. Like you said, I’m glad you said that first. In a lot of cases, it didn’t really apply to them that much.

John Jantsch: All right, let’s end up with I have some podcasts listeners, and I suspect that there probably are some legal issues that podcasters, little old people like myself, should be thinking about. What are those, in your estimation, that apply to podcasters?

Jamie Lieberman: Podcasters have the same… Naming is a big one in the podcast world, whether or not you’re going to, one, pick a name that you can use or, two, you want to trademark protect that name.

Jamie Lieberman: Releases from your guests. If you ever want to repurpose the content that you’ve created, getting a release from your guests when they join is much easier than having to go back to them and say, “Hey, I’m writing this book, and I want to include you.” That’s often a place that podcasters overlook. I do a lot of podcasts, and most people don’t ask for them. It’s fine, but sometimes they come back and they’re like, “Can I use that?” Then they have to go down the route. It is helpful to have releases from your podcast guests.

John Jantsch: Yeah, which, on that note, if you’re going to try to use it in a book and you have a mainstream publisher, they’re going to ask for it anyway, so get it ahead of time. Fortunately, I work in the marketing world, and all the people I talk to are thrilled if I write about them, and so it’s like it’s usually-

Jamie Lieberman: Right, exactly.

John Jantsch: But, but-

Jamie Lieberman: But not everybody-

John Jantsch: But not everybody is.

Jamie Lieberman: … has a marketing podcast. Music is a big one, a really big one, and use of just anything of someone else’s. When in doubt, get permission. Make sure you have a license. Make sure the license that you have allows you to use whatever it is that you’re using of someone else’s in the way you want to use it.

John Jantsch: Yeah. I wasn’t going to ask this, but you just reminded me of the stock photo sites-

Jamie Lieberman: Ah, yes.

John Jantsch: … that decided that they couldn’t sell photos anymore, so they were going to go extract fines. If you get that, “Oh, gosh. There’s a picture from some stock photo site on my website, and they’re telling me I owe $700,” what do I do with that?

Jamie Lieberman: There’s a few things that you can do. One, you want to investigate whether or not the company that is sending you this letter has a copyright registration. If they have a registered copyright and you used the photo without permission or you used the photo without a license in some way, then you may be on the hook.

Jamie Lieberman: However, my recommendation is, anybody who downloads images, just save the license next to the image in a folder. That way, if someone comes back to you a couple years later, you can say, “Oh, I downloaded it, and here’s the license that I had when I downloaded it.” Then, if you have that proper license, they’ll go away. If you don’t have a license, if you took it from somebody’s website because, five years ago, you didn’t know any better, you may have to pay a fine. Try to negotiate, though. You don’t have to pay the first thing.

Jamie Lieberman: Most places like [Picsy] and a lot of those places, they’ll negotiate down with you. They aim high expecting you’re going to pay less, but if they have a valid copyright registration, if you’re infringing on it, there’s not much you can do. It doesn’t matter how many people saw it, if you made money off of it. There’s pretty strict liability when it comes to copyright infringement, so don’t do it.

John Jantsch: Well, totally. I think it’s really more the people that get that surprise letter. I’ve seen 10… No. I think the highest I’ve seen is somebody wanted like $1,500 when you could go license that same image for eternity for $4 on the site.

Jamie Lieberman: I’ve seen six figures.

John Jantsch: Oh, wow. Yeah. There, again, I think that’s one. I mean I may be wrong, but it looked to me like they weren’t really trying to protect their copyrights so much because those pictures really had no value anymore. They really were just trying to extract a new revenue stream, but again-

Jamie Lieberman: Yeah. There’s many websites that do that. I think that, from a policy perspective, copyright laws, the way that it is for a reason, but it also allows people to exploit it. That stinks, honestly. Sometimes I get these letters and it’s just… There’s photographers that do this for a living. They take a lot of photographs, they batch register them, and then they put them up, and then they do reverse Google searches. They have lawyers who are on contingency who just send letters and letters and letters and letters.

Jamie Lieberman: We came across one. They ask for a minimum of $10,000 if not more, and the lawyer doesn’t care. He’ll file lawsuits. They’ll go, and they’re very difficult to deal with and very hard to negotiate with. It’s unfortunate, and it’s true.

John Jantsch: Sorry I took us down that rabbit hole. Let’s end on a happy note, shall we? Tell people where they can find out more about Hashtag Legal and the work that you’re doing, Jamie.

Jamie Lieberman: Sure. Our website’s hashtag-legal.com. I also have a podcast. My podcast is The FearLess Business Podcast. We talk about all the stuff everyone’s afraid of in their business but shouldn’t be. We try to make it easy and accessible. We’re on Instagram, hashtag_legal. You can contact me directly. Jamie is J-A-M-I-E@hashtag-legal.com.

John Jantsch: Awesome. I appreciate you stopping by and, hopefully, we’ll run into you someday out there on the road.

Jamie Lieberman: Thanks.

from http://bit.ly/2vqdq1w

[juliettespencerus]

What’s in the Way IS the Way Interview with Mary O’Malley

Marc David, Founder of the Institute for the Psychology of Eating interviews author, counselor and awakening mentor, Mary O’Malley. In this heartfelt interview, you’ll hear how Mary learned to transform her life by dropping into her heart and embracing her traumatic childhood, eating disorder and eventually several suicide attempts. In Mary’s words “As you heal the war inside of you, the war of struggle that brings so much suffering, you become a part of the healing of our planet.”

Transcript: 

Marc: Welcome, everybody. I’m Marc David, Founder of the Institute for the Psychology of Eating. Here we are back again in the Future of Healing Online Conference. I am here with a wonderful friend, colleague, thought leader, Mary O’Malley. Welcome, Mary.

Mary: I’m so glad to be here, Marc.

Marc: Same here. Let me say a few words about you before we launch in. Mary O’Malley is  an author, counselor and awakening mentor in Kirkland, Washington state. In the early 1970s a powerful awakening led Mary to begin changing her relationship with her challenges, freeing her from a lifelong struggle with darkness. Mary’s new book What’s In the Way Is the Way provides a revolutionary approach for healing our fears,  anxieties, shame and confusion so we can live from a place of ease and wellbeing.

I just want to say that I came across your work I can’t even remember. Your first book The Gift of Our Compulsions magically appeared somehow in my office. I read it and it blew my mind because I hadn’t seen anything else like it. Since that time, when did   that book come out?

Mary: 2004.

Marc: I had it right at the beginning. Automatically made it required reading for any one of my students. Before we dive into your work I’ve been such a big fan of yours. To me, you have such a clear voice around transformation and a very wonderful way of    languaging the journey. How did you get into this work yourself? What sort of led you  on your personal journey?

Mary: Well, I’m not being facetious when I say that I was given the gift of a lot of challenges. I had the kind of childhood you would not wish on any child and I kept on tumbling   further and further down into darkness. In my early 20s I had been dieting and    throwing up and starving and fasting and then binging. Then when I was 23 I gained    97 pounds in a year, all control just left.

When that didn’t work to numb myself, that’s why I was eating, was to numb. I didn’t know how to deal, how to be with the pain that I had experienced for most of my life at that time. The next year I tried to kill myself three times.

There was a moment the last time I tried to kill myself where I asked my first open­ended question. That’s a question where you ask life a question and you let it go and you don’t look for the answer. I didn’t know that I was doing that at that time but   out of desperation I said, “If I can’t get out of this, what is this all about?”

Just a short time later one of the grandfathers of yoga here in the United States came up from California. I did a weekend workshop with him, the first of a number of them. What I got out of his work was in the seeing is the movement. It was such a novel concept for me. I had tried to fix myself, I had tried to control my compulsions. My family had sent me to psychiatrists and psychologists and all I heard was, “There’s something wrong with me because everybody’s trying to fix me and I can’t control my compulsions.”

Well, the US surgeon general shows in their statistics that nobody really can. If you control one another one will come. That was a whole new world for me, this idea that there’s nothing that needed to be fixed, but bring your curiosity to it.

Then I was gifted a number of years later to spend time with a man called Stephen Levine, who wrote many books on death and dying. Really, truly he wrote on how to be fully alive. He said, “My teachers are a couple of Tibetan lamas and tens of thousands of people on their deathbed.” He had a 24­hour hotline in his home for years.

He was the human being that invited me back into my heart. It was when after I started spending time with him, that was the first time I started getting curious about this over­eater. Yes, I had been addicted to drugs, I had been addicted to alcohol. Those faded away on their own. The eater was still very much a part of my life.

I could remember once I wished that I would get a horrible disease so I could no longer eat the things that I was eating. Thankfully that didn’t happen. I began to become curious about this whole process of turning away from myself when I was compulsive.

The more I began to listen the more I began to see that my compulsion was not the enemy. It wasn’t something that was bad and wrong about me, it wasn’t something I needed to fix or control. For heaven’s sakes, I’m a Taurus. I tried to control it. I once went a whole month without food and then, of course, I just binged after that.

That’s when I began to become curious and I began to realize that this eater inside of me was a highly crafted survival system that was taking care of all the parts of me. All the pain that I had experienced that I didn’t know how to be with. I knew how to try to  fix it. I didn’t know how to be with it.

When I self­published before my publisher picked it up I called it Healing and Being Healed by Our Compulsions. I love that title. They shortened it to The Gift of Our Compulsions but truly as you create a different, a new, an interested, a curious relationship with your compulsions they literally will become your guide back to the peace and the joy that you long for.

Marc: Isn’t it fascinating how the last place we often look to go to to heal our compulsions is to stop fixing them and kind of listen and invite them in and hear their message? It feels like that’s so last on the list.

Mary: It is, it is because we’ve never been trained to do it. What I offer people is I say if  you’re having a bad day and you go to a friend and that friend does with you what you do with your compulsions and she gets disgusted with you, she commiserates with  you, she ignores you, she just walks out of the room, how does that feel? If that friend listens attentively, openly, doesn’t even need to say a word and you share where you are all of a sudden you start feeling better. Why does that happen? Attention heals.

We’ve always used our mind. This exquisite tool we’ve been given to fix, to change, to rearrange, to rise above, to get rid of, to understand. We’re only now beginning to   learn the phenomenal power of our own attention.

We need to understand that we left ourselves a long time ago. Most of us were raised by unconscious giants. We stash this part of ourselves and that part of ourselves and we learn how to hold our breath and we ran away to this very busy, controlling, fear­based mind.

This says, “I can’t be with what I’m experiencing, I will die.” It goes to that level. That’s the child’s view. It was true when we were young, when we communed with our goldfish. Every night they turned the lights out and there was just one light in our bedroom and we literally communed with that goldfish. Then we wake up one morning

and the goldfish is dead. We’re just bereft and our parents say, “It’s only a goldfish, we’ll get you another one. Stop being a sissy.”

What happens with this deep grief? You stuff it inside. This system says, “I must keep that stuffed inside because if it arises and takes me over then I’m going to be in deep trouble.” The truth is we’re not children anymore. The truth is that as we learn how in a very safe and slow way, slow way to bring our attention to our experience.

In fact, when I self­published it I had the story of the tortoise and the hare in there three times. Of course, when the publisher edited they took it out all except one. It really is, this is not the quick fix. As far as I can experience and I’ve worked with people for 30 years, it’s in my own experience the art of turning towards rather than turning away is where deep and lasting healing happens.

Marc: I’m so glad you referenced the quick fix versus the slow fix. Slow seems so unsexy these days because we value speed. We want fast internet connections, we want fast cars, we want things to move fast. Yet it seems a bit paradoxical because most people who are going for the quick fix methods for their eating challenges, for any kind of compulsions or unwanted habits, there’s so many attempts at quick fix that you could  be doing that for a lifetime.

Mary: A lifetime. People do do it for a lifetime, Marc. It’s ten pounds in ten days but we live  that long enough that we see that that actually fuels our compulsions. The US surgeon general’s report is that 98% of every pound that is lost in America is gained back plus some. That’s the important place. Plus some within a year and a half. What we try to control controls us.

Curiosity, and curiosity hooked with your heart, there’s no control there. There’s just curiosity. That isn’t about fixing. It’s just phenomenally powerful. Just like it was when your friend finally listened to you. You felt better and you didn’t even know why you feel better. It’s because you were listened to.

This eater, I keep a chocolate bar. A really fine, European, bittersweet chocolate bar in my house all the time. Now, when I was younger I would have laughed if you would have told me that I kept chocolate in my house and I didn’t inhale it all in one foul swoop. In fact, I had been known to sneak my children’s Halloween candy when they were younger. It’s that ah­ah­ah thing.

Now I keep it there for two reasons. Number one, to let this overeater inside of me know that I respect it and that if it does need a little bit of comfort it has it. If I want to eat more than just one little piece and melt it in my mouth then that is a signal that there’s something going on inside of me that needs me.

What we can learn how to do is take care of what the compulsive one has been taking care of, whether it’s eating or shopping or drugs or alcohol or just busyness. We can learn how to take care of what it has been taking care of and the compulsion fades away. We don’t need to get rid of it, it just is not necessary anymore.

At times, I have a very, very close family member whose cancer has come back. The chocolate bar has been more interesting lately, but it’s my signal to come in here, just close my eyes for a minute or two. Or if I have time close my eyes and come in and really explore what’s going on inside, what is it that this system doesn’t want to experience and can I bring my attention to it in a way that it opens that energy back up again and then the compulsion is no longer necessary.

Marc: You’re speaking about having compassion for self and landing back in your heart, in  our own hearts. Yet again it seems like we get conditioned to believe that if I’m moving and being and living from my heart that’s a dangerous neighborhood somehow, don’t  go there.

Mary: Really, isn’t it? Part of that is we do not understand what is meant by the heart. I was interviewed for a very interesting book called M­Braining, the letter M which means multiple, multiple brains. They took 600 of the leading edge studies around the world about how we do have three brains. We have this brain, we have the heart brain and we have the abdominal brain.

Studies have all shown that the main brain is the heart. It’s very interesting to look at the difference between these two brains. This brain is dualistic in nature. I like this, I don’t like that, this is good, that is bad, this is right, that is wrong. That’s what we use as a guide for our life. It’s really insane.

This thing says, “I’m going to have a bowl of ice cream. No, no, I’m going to have the carton of ice cream.” Then five minutes into it it says, “You shouldn’t have done that.” This heart brain, which at the HeartMath Institute they did many studies, amazing,

amazing stuff about how the heart always responds first. They hooked up people to body sensors, heart sensors and mind sensors. They put them in front of a computer that randomly chose pictures. Either horrific or beautiful pictures.

Always the heart brain responded first. This is an intelligent brain. Don’t think of it as this mushy thing. This is an intelligent brain that is inclusive. It’s not against anything. Then it sends the information to the brain and then finally to the body.

The interesting thing is for many people, this is on the movie The Living Matrix, I had   to rewind it a number of times to see did I hear this right? For many people the heart responded to the picture six to eight seconds before the computer had even chosen it. Why? This is connected to everything. This brain is a tool for maneuvering through reality but when we think of it as our reality we’re at war with ourselves and with life.

I think it was Joseph Chilton Pearce that said, “The longest 18 inches in the world are from the mind to the heart.” This is our home. As you begin to come back, when I was taught is the movement, I still struggled with that. I wasn’t doing it good enough or right enough. It wasn’t until I met Stephen Levine and began to have a safe place where    this brain could open back up again. That’s when you realize this is your home and    this is where we can bring our compulsions and truly bring them right into this healing   of our own heart.

Marc: It’s so fascinating to me how the different brains you’re speaking of have very different languages and very different ways of seeing the world. The heart interprets things completely different than the brain does. The brain says, “My compulsion is bad, it’s no good and it’s the enemy.” The heart says, as you’ve been saying, “Let’s listen, let’s  invite this in.” Two different messages. Who do you want to obey?

Mary: Look at my life. I started sneaking candy when I was ten years old. I had a little thing that had a skirt around it and I can remember sitting there and just eating handfuls and handfuls of candy. I can remember when I was 12 coming home and doing a conveyor belt toast, two more pieces of toast, butter that, two more pieces of toast, eat the toast that’s buttered while you’re buttering the other toast.

Then I gained and lost, gained and lost. Diet after diet and throwing up and everything. Then I’m 23, I gained 97 pounds in a year from hospital scale to hospital scale. Now

I’m very natural around food. How did I get there? It wasn’t through trying to control. It wasn’t. I was an absolute failure at control and now I’m so grateful that I was.

Marc: Since you’ve written The Gift of Our Compulsions obviously your work evolves and goes in different directions or just kind of embellishes on itself. Tell me how your thinking is these days and what your new book is about and maybe some of the core principles that we might want to know about.

Mary: My new book, which I self­published, I didn’t even go to my publisher. I wasn’t interested in all of that rigmarole. Now Sounds True has picked it up and it’s so exciting. They just so believe in this book. Its title is What’s In the Way Is the Way. To this brain what’s in the way is something that has to be gotten rid of. We’ve done that long enough that we can see that that doesn’t work. We can even muscle one compulsion to the ground and another one will take over. Remember, it’s a finely crafted survival system that is taking care of what you haven’t yet discovered how to take care of yourself.

As The Gift of Our Compulsions went out there and I began to work with more and  more people I began to see that this works with all the challenges of our lives. Not just our compulsions. It’s with our relationship challenges, it’s with our financial challenges, it’s with our health challenges. It’s with the challenges that come from dying.

This book is an expansion of those principles that I used to heal my compulsions. I  think the best way, the quickest way to give an overview of this book is the metaphor that it begins with. I absolutely love this metaphor and it’s called the meadow   metaphor. Imagine a beautiful meadow. I live here in the northwest. I love hiking up on Mount Rainier. These meadows, oh my God, they’re just so colorful and marmots everywhere and there’s the gorgeous white mountain and noble fir trees and bees and hummingbirds and all of this.

The meadow represents life and it represents this creative flow that is life. Everything flows in the meadow. Day flows into night, winter into spring, life into death, death into life. The fir tree doesn’t wish it was a maple tree. The marmot mommy doesn’t keep  her babies underground because it’s afraid that the hawk will come. Everything is the flow and everything is open to the flow.

All of us lived in and as that meadow when we were very young. There was a time there were no thoughts in our head. I know that’s kind of amazing to think of because we now have 65,000 thoughts a day and most of them are repeats from the day before. We lived in that. Most of us were raised by unconscious giants that had left themselves a long time ago. They gave us the sacred wounds of invasion and abandonment.

We began to learn how to tighten our body and hold our breath and try to get away from what we are experiencing by going into our head. I oftentimes say that we move from human being to human doing. Imagine that the clouds in the sky, they lowered and they began to whirl and swirl around you and permeate your head. That’s what I call the cloud bank of struggle.

I said this in The Gift of Our Compulsions. Our core compulsion is to struggle. All the other compulsions are an attempt to numb out from this struggle. This book is about how to heal that core compulsion which is to struggle. One of the most important things about this metaphor is you’ve never left the meadow. You just think you have.

I say somewhere in that chapter just imagine an alien coming and landing right on Earth, right beside this meadow and it sees you just running around this meadow trying to get to what you want and get rid of what you don’t want and you have all these clouds around you. He’s just very perplexed because he sees that everything you long for is already right here.

We don’t know how to come home. This book is about seeing through our addiction to struggle ourself. It’s like what we talked about earlier. Good, bad, right, wrong, oh my God, we struggle with the length of the stoplight, we struggle with how our hair looks  on any given day, we struggle with bigger things also. That struggle cuts us off from  this joy of being fully here and fully alive.

Marc: It seems as if it’s an interesting setup, being alive as a human being on planet Earth. Just popping out of the womb by its very nature ain’t easy. It’s a struggle. They just give you a little, tiny tunnel to move down.

Mary: With great forces.

Marc: Right. It’s not like the red carpet opens up and there’s music playing. How do we kind of context that, yes, we get hooked on struggle but at the same time it’s almost the setup for us coming into the world.

Mary: Exactly. This came all in one foul swoop when I was writing What’s In the Way. Life is set up to bring up what has been bound up so it can open up to be freed up so we can show up for life. Let’s just take a step back.

The yin and yang symbol to me, Marc, is one of the most powerful symbols on this planet. This dance that we find ourselves in is a dance of duality. There is dark and light. There is day and night. There is male and female. Every single atom has a positive and negative charge. In the yin and yang symbol the dark and light are not on opposite sides of a line. They are actually nestled together and in the dark is a point of light and in the light is a point of dark.

One of the most startling realizations that happens on this journey back to your authentic self and back to life is you begin to realize that the challenges of your life are not here because you have done something wrong, God is punishing you, they did something wrong. Your challenges are here to help you see more clearly this condition­separate self that you have taken on.

I call it look to unhook. The more you can begin to see fear, oh my God I lived in so much fear. I lived in dread and I tried to eat it away, drink it away, smoke it away, busy  it away, kill myself it away. It wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t until I learned how to turn and be curious, to actually begin to explore the experience of dread. I had to do it in my body first before I could do it in the story in my head. As I did, it began to lose its    power over me.

Our challenges are tailor made. We so often are a victim to our challenges so we don’t gather the gifts that are there. We so often feel that we have to fight with our   challenges so we don’t gather the gifts that are there. If we can begin to change our relationship in that way, to understand that our challenges are here in order to show us something, all of a sudden we get very curious and we begin to explore. That’s who    we naturally are.

We are naturally curious and our curiosity has gotten caught in this world of struggle out here. This work is about freeing it up so you can show up for your life and unhook

from what tightens you so that you can come back. It seems to me that this is a school room and our challenges are our teachers.

Marc: On the one hand what you’re saying seems so simple. I mean, simple in its elegance.

On the other hand it’s so difficult.

Mary: Yes, because we’ve been conditioned completely to struggle. In this book I did a ten­week at the end of each chapter is an invitation to begin to strengthen your ability  to be curious about what is going on and your ability to be spacious. That’s the heart. We start with just a few minutes a day, if that calls to you. If people have been doing it for longer they can do it more.

We need to learn how to develop this exquisite tool of this brain using it to pay  attention to what is rather than fix, change and rearrange. We need to open this brain again that had to, the heart brain, that had to be shut down when we were young. It was not safe to have this alive, aware innocence open and available to life. We had to shut it down.

I can’t tell you how many people have said not only does this work make sense but also that they feel like they come home when they come home to the heart. It’s like learning a language. That’s why I did this at the end of each chapter, a ten­week series, so slowly you can develop that so you can show up for your life rather than always struggling with your life.

Marc: Something, Mary, that’s coming up for me as you’re speaking is I’ll often meet people, not just in their teens or 20s who are dealing with the kinds of challenges we’re speaking of, but people in their 60s and 70s who are still repeating the same negative thinking, struggles, compulsions over and over. It feels to me, I’ve notice that it’s never too late.

Mary: Never, ever, ever too late. Once a person asked Stephen Levine, “How long does this take?” Do this and get done with it. He said, “It’s the work of a lifetime.” What I add to   it, to hear this message. Really what we’re talking about is the language of consciousness. What we have been living in is the language of unconsciousness. It’s based on fear, it’s glued together with judgment and it’s always trying to get rid of what  it doesn’t like and get to what it does like. This never brings us the peace we long for.

This is the language of consciousness, the ability to be curious about what is going on, the ability to not go to war with it so that we open up and begin to receive all the gifts. For heaven’s sakes, in all the great myths of the world when the hero or the heroine is going to get the magic wand or the Holy Grail, they have to go to the difficult places.

They have to go to the mountain and in the cave where the wild boar lives that has killed everybody that has ever gone there. You have to get three hairs from the tail of the board and then bring them to the white witch of the north and she makes a potion and that opens up the doorway to where the magic wand is.

We’re learning how to become conscious, which we thought it was about rising above.   I did. When I started waking up in the ‘60s I was going for unending, orgasmic bliss.

Thankfully that didn’t work. It’s learning how to be here. This is what we long for more than anything, is to learn how to show up for reality rather than always trying to create or fix reality. This is coming home.

In fact, Joseph Campbell, the wonderful author and professor at Sarah Lawrence, that created many books on myth. He was our most beloved teacher on mythology. At the beginning of my first book I put a quote from the beginning of The Power of Myth, the quote that he put there. This is what he says. “People say that what we’re searching   for is the meaning to life. I don’t think that’s what we’re searching for at all. We’re searching for the experience of being alive so that our experiences on the physical  plain resonate in our very innermost being and we again know the rapture of being alive.”

I believe this so strongly that in my world our world will be healed one person at a time. The last chapter is called The Song of the Heart. You look at our world and you see   that there is so much suffering on our planet because we are living through a phase where we’re addicted to suffering. Slowly and surely we’re beginning to open up into   the place beyond struggle.

One person at a time, when you begin to heal the war inside of you and believe you me, compulsion will be your teacher on that and that war doesn’t work, you become a healing presence in the world. As you go to the grocery store or you drive down the freeway you are with life in a way that heals it and that makes a difference.

Marc: You’re reminding me how I think human beings, when we don’t know our power, when we don’t know the power of our hearts, when we don’t know the power of our soul, our

spirit, we feel powerless. We’re clueless as to what’s possible in our own self­expression and how we show up.

Mary: I don’t call it becoming powerful. I call it becoming empowered. You become whole. A whole person is not a perfect person. Remember, every single atom is made out of positive and negative charge. We are all a dance of dark and light. We’ve gotten into this strange idea that if we can just get ourselves together and be perfect then everything will be okay. That never happens.

There’s a quote that I put in Belonging to Life at the end of it, a Zen quote I absolutely love, “Freedom comes when we’re without anxiety about non­perfection.” Wow.

Compulsions will help you integrate all of these parts that you thought were unacceptable. They come into the wholeness that you are. Then your energy, literally  if you walk into a room and you don’t even say anything to anybody you make a difference. The field of your energy is present and flowing. Remember the meadow again.

We come back into the flow of life. We are the flow of life. Life flows through us. Oh my God, I’m not smart enough to write all my books. I’m really not. My greatest strength is   I know I’m not smart enough so I just let go. It just pours through me. People say, “You’re an author,” and I say really I’m more of a scribe actually. That’s what happens the more you integrate all these parts. Compulsions and how we’ve dealt with them is about trying to get rid of parts and that is just endless heartache.

Let’s incorporate, let’s include, let’s become whole so that we become a part of the healing of our planet.

Marc: Which is something that it seems like we must do. As you were quoting Joseph Campbell, this is a life’s work. To me that’s a powerful way to context it because what do you mean a lifetime? In a way the learning never stops. That takes it out of the quick fix mentality and lets us be this beautiful work in progress.

Mary: Fascinated, absolutely fascinated. There’s something I want to add here that I think is very important. I had the good grace to spend a lot of time with Brian Swimme. He’s a mathematician and just, oh my goodness, just one of the most aware, intelligent, beautiful hearts on this planet. With Thomas Berry, he did something. They were both in Seattle I think in the early ‘90s. They took like 10 or 12 of the major evolutionary

shifts that have happened on this planet and they showed how as the old is dying and the new is being born the old is very chaotic as the winds of the new come in.

We are in that time. We are in the time of moving from the Cenozoic to the Echozoic era. We are living in the time of a shift of eras. The whole fear­based mind that has become addicted to struggle now its time is passing. It rises up just like a star expands before it collapses into a black hole. We look on this planet and we go, “Oh my God,  Isis and Ebola and cancer and all of this.”

I have a couple of armchairs on the moon and I just invite people to come and sit with me and look at this whole thing from a broader perspective. You will see that the old is dying but something new, something very alive, something that is from this main brain or heart is being born. I see it everywhere. Of course, I hang out with people that are interested in this.

Those people are going out and they’re seeding the world. I really, truly have a great vision. It may not happen in my lifetime but something is happening and it is a healing on our planet the likes of which we have longed for for a long time.

I say in this last chapter, The Song of the Heart, that you are a part of this healing. As you heal the war inside of you, and compulsions will show you war doesn’t heal anything whether you’re warring with your compulsions or you’re warring with a neighboring country. As you heal the war inside of you, the war of struggle that brings so much suffering, you become a part of the healing of our planet.

Marc: That is a beautiful statement and a beautiful prayer and a beautiful affirmation. May it be so for each one of us and for all of us. I feel like we’ve just begun.

Mary: Yes, that is true. That is happening.

Marc: When I say we I’m talking about me and you. It feels like we’ve scratched the surface of what you have to say. I would just love for you, Mary, to share with viewers and listeners how we can stay in touch with you and your world and what we should know about.

Mary: They can to go MaryOMalley.com. M­A­L­L­E­Y, no apostrophe. I do retreats. My next retreat is going to be in Denmark this summer. Then back in Hawaii, which is such a

fantastic place to life yourself up out of your everyday world and come to such an exquisite place that invites you into what Joseph Campbell is talking about, the rapture of being alive. We explore in these retreats how you can look to unhook from your   story of struggle.

I also do phone groups and phone counseling all over the world. Then there is a new website that we have created for the new book. It’s just What’s In the Way Is the Way.  It is getting just so amazing the endorsements that this book is getting. It’s very easy if you’re inclined to purchase the book to go to that website. Besides seeing all of the wonderful people that are saying yes to this book.

If your listeners would like I invite them to email me at awaken@MaryOMalley.com. There’s three cards that we can send them. One is a question mark which reminds you to be curious. One is a heart which reminds you to respond with your heart. One says, “Soft belly,” that reminds you to relax out of the world of struggle. Take a big, deep breath and show up for what life is showing you.

Marc: Mary, thank you so much. Thank you for being such an inspiration and such a wise woman. I so appreciate you.

Mary: Thank you, it’s been a joy.

Marc: It’s been great to speak with you and I’m so appreciating how you deliver such a beautiful message. May it get out there more and more.

Mary: Thank you, Marc. Thanks.

Marc: Thank you. Thanks, everybody, for tuning in. Once again, I’m Marc David on behalf of The Future of Healing online conference. I’ve been with Mary O’Malley and there’s lots more to come, my friends. Take care.

  from Healthy Living https://psychologyofeating.com/whats-in-the-way-is-the-way-interview-with-mary-omalley/

[morganovercashrealtor]

With every new home, there are always some surprises. With this house, there are more than enough new things that we are discovering each day, some good, some bad. This however, is not a bad find. On our third visit to our new home, we decided to take the survey and walk the land down into the woods. We found out that this belongs to us. If you are getting some major Evil Dead vibes, that is totally legit. Which is why we have dubbed this The Murder Shed.

  The great thing is that there is somewhat of a path to it, but it has grown over a bit and you have fabulous views of trash piles on the way.  It used to be cute, I’m sure. But since it has been stuck on the back of the property with zero maintenance for so long, it has fallen apart.

From what we’ve learned from the previous owners, this is where the owner before them would take his hunting and fishing “trophies” for a lack of a better term and clean them up.  The overhang area has a pretty solid concrete pad and a sink. 

I’m pretty sure none of this is up to code, which is why, for right now, we are just letting it be.  The sides are rotted out pretty heavily on this side so there will be some major clean up down the way. 

The other side of the shed is really not that bad.  It has a nice little door and a window so as long as you focus on this side, you don’t feel like a serial killer is going to sneak up on you at any moment. 

Here’s the inside in all of it’s glory.  I cannot wait to go through all of this and see if there’s any treasures left behind.  I’m kidding, of course.  I did find a He-Man looking action figure, though, and those folding chairs can be bleached (like a lot) and used for company.  What you can see on the back wall is that there is electrical.  Now, what we don’t know is if this was run properly from the house to this shed or if it was run on a generator like the little playhouse beside the house (post for another day).

The basic interior is rotted out and water logged, but there are pretty good bones here. Tim and I played with the idea of just tearing/burning the thing down and tossing it in with the rest of the trash pile, but upon further inspection and inspiration, I think that we are going to keep it.  It’s like the Charlie Brown tree of storage sheds.  It just needs a little bit of love…and a new roof, new plumbing, new electrical, okay new walls…OKAY, it’s a gut job. 

Tim and I love to get away from it all once in a while, but since a weekend or even an overnight trip away causes major anxiety for the both of us (we are the primary caregivers for his mom), it is really hard to relax.  One of our favorite places to go is to Gatlinburg or Asheville with the tiny cabins.  I hear that there is a tiny cabin place close by so we might take a trip out there for some inspiration.  But it would be a great to have a little staycation cabin on our own property.  A place where if we’ve just had it with the stress, we can pop over and have our weekend away while still being in running distance should an emergency occur at home.  It could also double as a guest house if family comes into town or maybe we could rent it out for additional income.  The possibilities are endless!  It’s just going to take work.

This will not be an overnight or even a weekend job.  I have a feeling this is going to be at least a year-long endeavor.  Especially since we’ll be doing most of it ourselves in our spare time.  Spare time! Ha! Ha ha!

To Do List for The Murder Shed

Haul out the trash heap beside the shed

Trash out the shed itself

Strip down the shed to the studs

Take out and replace the roof

Bring the sink from outside to inside and update the plumbing

Figure out a way to have a shower and toilet system out there? I have a feeling that’s not even going to be the most difficult part.

New siding and add insulation

Drywall

Fix the electrical. Maybe investigate some eco-friendly options so it’s self-sustaining.

Add doors to the overhang area to make easy porch access

Screen in overhang area

Add fixtures

Clean up and repave the old gravel path

Clean up and add a cool firepit/fireplace area to the separate concrete pad

We can’t wait to show you the rest of our house, and the improvements we have planned. Thanks to the readers who facetiously said they wanted to see our “dungeon.” I think this is about as good as it’s going to get.

Ready for a move? Is your house feeling like a murder shed? Maybe your rental is becoming a nightmare and you want to pursue your dream of home ownership. Call The Overcash Team with Allen Tate to begin your journey.

The Magnolia Home Series:The Murder Shed With every new home, there are always some surprises. With this house, there are more than enough new things that we are discovering each day, some good, some bad.

[numbernines]

D.Va Not Being a Starcraft Player is Not a Retcon

It’s just a bad miscommunication many of us believed.

So this little tidbit of Overwatch lead writer Michael Chu saying “D.Va wasn't a StarCraft pro before joining MEKA” is still getting the rounds a month later (as of writing) is being used as a scapegoat detail against Overwatch’s lore. “Overwatch is already retconning its own lore”, “the writers don’t know anything about their characters”, “Blizzard is trying to gaslight fans”, etc.

Now, there are a bunch of issues with Overwatch’s lore and definitely valid complaints to be made about its storytelling, but this is not one of them. 

As a quick summation: the idea of “D.Va is a Starcraft pro player” has never been explicitly stated by the writing team, but never really denied either until this tweet. While it’s understandable why many would come to the conclusion of “D.Va is a Starcraft pro player” and go “Oh yeah, that sounds about right”, this little tidbit is not actually supported by the game’s official lore, ergo this is not contradicting anything official, ergo this is is not a retcon, ergo Blizzard isn’t gaslighting anybody, calm down.

Okay, so shortly after this tweet was made, Michael Chu went onto the forums to clarify his explanation (screencapped below in case you can’t access it), and exact wording is extremely important regarding this whole topic, so bear that in mind. Some people have taken Chu’s initial tweet as saying that D.Va is actually not a pro player in general. Those people are wrong, haha

As stated, D.Va is a professional gamer, or at least she was before she joined MEKA, but what Chu was attempting to say in his first tweet is that she wasn’t specifically a Starcraft pro. While the game is in her (and her dad’s) casual repertoire and she is a fan (hence some of her direct Starcraft-related references including this adorable line), she is NOT a professional at it.

This might seem hard to verify as “not a retcon” at first because she doesn’t really have any significant lore as of writing (D.Va/Lucio short when?), but if we’re going to take any official canon explanation (this will be important in a bit) of her backstory to compare, she still has her official Bio on the official Overwatch site. 

Lo and behold: "Starcraft” is never mentioned once. She’s only a “professional gamer”, and that’s it. Sure, it never explicitly denies that she’s a Starcraft player, and that definitely and rather understandably added to the confusion, but it also never confirms it either. Canonically, this has always been the case, and so with this revelation, nothing has changed, and Blizzard ain’t gaslighting you, people (and before someone goes the conspiracy-nutter route and says “They just edited that after Chu’s tweet to save face!”, it only says “Pro Gamer” even in cached/archived searches).

Now, there are two big problems here that I believe is the source for a lot of confusion: first is the fact that while this detail is consistently vague, it’s also consistently vague. Again, nothing here has canonically confirmed “D.Va is a Starcraft pro player”, but the wording is wiggly enough to not explicitly deny it either. Combined with the definite associations D.Va has in her in-game character, as well as just fandom osmosis, it’s no surprise why some people latched onto the idea. It’s not technically correct, but it’s not surprising, either, and we shouldn’t hold it against anyone for thinking that.

The second issue is that some of those people, sadly, are also of Blizzard. Some really major people within the game (and some possibly outside it) have occasionally said “D.Va is a Starcraft pro player”, which has consequently been taken as gospel and been cited and used against Chu and the writing team and Overwatch in general as “You're inconsistent with your lore.” Here are some common examples I see a lot:

The Starcraft 2 website advertising D.Va as an in-game announcer, quoted with “her journey began in the StarCraft esports scene, where she became the #1 ranked player in the world at the age of 16.″

Game director Jeff Kaplan stating in an interview with Forbes “D.Va is a StarCraft player. We’ve established that Blizzard exists in the Overwatch canon. We’re safe to do this.”

Assistant art director Arnold Tsang at a panel at Blizzcon 2015 that “D.Va is a pro gamer, she’s a multiple-time world champion at Starcraft.” (Incidentally, when I was first cited this source against Michael Chu, he thought that was Chu contradicting himself. Make of that what you will.)

A now-defunct Starcraft II WCS profile page used to tease D.Va before her official release in the Overwatch beta (it now just directs to the Starcraft II WCS front page). Screencap below:

Okay, so that last one, Chu already addressed in that forum post I linked and screencapped above: it was meant to be read as facetious (her race as “random” and the fact just simply by Overwatch’s chronology, there’s no way she could’ve participated), but it was apparently taken at face value, and in hindsight was probably still a misleading teaser, but whatever, it’s out there.

As for those first three, though, keep in mind that none of them are actually part of Overwatch’s specific writing team. Jeff Kaplan has probably the closest access to the exact knowings-ons and semantic details, and as much as I and others love him, he’s only human, and has gotten equally tiny things wrong in the past. The thing I always point to is how he calls Bastion by “he”/”him pronouns despite multiple clarifications by Chu that Bastion is genderless and referred to by “it”, both on the official bio and in comics.

“But Nines!”, some would say, “Keeping lore straight is Blizzard’s responsibility! Surely Michael Chu or someone at the writing team would have let them know about the lore error!” But come on, devs are only human, and Overwatch is a humongous game with people within the company talking about it all day with discussions all across the internet, and in the grand scheme of things, this is a really minor detail that’s not worth manually screening every relevant article, interview, presentation, etc. and asking for correcting, especially since none of them have any canonical consequence. 

Like sure, this could’ve been clarified sooner before this misunderstanding became a behemoth of a scapegoat tool for Blizzard it’s since become, and maybe Blizzard’s lore team could get a move-on already (or perhaps not; I don’t work at Blizzard and know the exact development going-ons, so maybe there’s a good logistical reason, maybe not). 

But regardless, it feels really unfair to the people at Blizzard -- those working on the game and its accompanying lore for our entertainment -- that they’re getting all these accusations of “You’re lying and disrespectful to your own fans!”, “You’re so careless to your characters!”, “You’re terrible at your job that you can’t keep a detail correct and should be fired!”, etc. especially since none of that is actually true. 

I’m hoping this giant rant/explanation/essay can clear up some of the confusion, but regardless, don’t thrash developers like that, especially if you haven’t gotten your facts straight. You can call them out if they have made a legitimate mistake (and believe me, the Overwatch team seems to like it when they are), but first, take the time to educate yourself and make sure your argument is straight as well, and be open to changing, because sometimes you will be wrong. We’re all only human, and we’re all still learning :)

[swallowthemind]

XENU : OR HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND JUST LOVE THE ALIEN BASTARD!

There's a new Scientology church down the road from me rehoused in this incredible listed building they had faithfully restored down to the original iron window frames, honey alabaster fire place, intricate wooden carvings, looks like Victorianism gone LSD. Millions of pounds invested by them in restoration for indoctrination.

I recall back in 2001 when I first encountered these people in the Indoor Convention Centre, they weren't large in number then, think Mormons abroad, or Buddhist centre in working man's club, though they claim they have been in my city since the late sixties, a claim I am almost certain amounts to some dude had a picture of L Ron in their house and a few dusty sci-fi books destined to be pulped, like sunken sludgey dreams of baccofoil. 

On that day, back in two thousand and one, I met this branch of Scientologists & experienced the "E metre" first hand. 

I was told about "the bridge" that trial we all face in life where the higher levels are beyond but you gotta read a lotta new age stuff to get to Ott III or whatever it's called, "Dianetics"; their wonderful "science" about mental health, apparently, 

Also they told me about the author of this body of work & accompanying ideology by their prolific founder : L Ron, a enigmatic chappy who I asked about straight off the bat. 

"He is a famous philosopher, thinker, innovator", (said the twinkle eyed bespectacled gent in a lab coat, ghosted in turn by a pretty twenty something office temp in a pencil skirt hovering around him,) 

"besides Dianetics what did L Ron write?" I asked, 

"oh, he meditated deeply upon the human condition and was also a popular science fiction novelist". 

O’ really?!!

"So is this science, or something to do with hypnosis?" I also probed, 

"it's neither," replied this silver haired, wide eyed, smartly attired robot/bloke, and smugly added, "it's Scientology".

After my friend and I got out alive (without signing up to ya know, a cult,) I looked on AOL thruough it’s creaky neolithic dialup squawks (probably ask Jeeves or something like that, Atavista?) and sure enough II found this site called Operation Clambake (which is still going strong,) and that's the first time I read about Xenu.

According to L Rob Mother Hubbard : Xenu was actually this intergalactic warlord, far more despotic than Kahn, this hard knock lived millions and millions of years ago flanked by dezions and henchmen (and women,) he ruled with an iron fist, a bit like Vada gone Hitler via Putin (almost certainly with an impressive leather codpiece,) therein unchallenged he enslaved humanity by stranding their alien souls here on Earth or some fanciful name it was called at the time. He set about dumping their frozen cosmic bodies in the mouths of volcanoes, nuking em with H bombs, generally killing em'! We forgot this traumatic past life (I know right?,) of xenomorphic genocide cuz of these bad memories personified as Theatans, an auditor (for a sum of money,) helps you regress to these past lives and eventually you let go of material possessions and if you're lucky (and spend 30k+,) you get given this manila envelope about Xenu, typeset by L Ron himself! 

It's funny cuz Xenu sounds not at all dissimilar or alike to something I read in a comic by Stan Lee & Jack Kirby in Journey Into Mystery. Which was published around the time L Ron started devising Scientology. But that's just being facetious 🤔 

By that point in the auditing (your very soul and personality,) you've learned about your past life doing super interesting things a few hundred, few million, or even a few trillion years ago. Yeah, the universe is only 14 billion years old. But don't worry, that's just the Theatans planting false information, like fossils in the grand canyon, all just ya know, fake realities.Shit put there to test us!

The church is going hard advertising their new indoctrination chamber so I gotta vent somewhere! Like most cults, it’s good to be wary of them, but also not take them too seriously! The internet has thined them out a tad since their founding.

In closing, if a lot of the above practices used within Scientology sounds like manipulation of the mentally ill, the traumatised, and such, well, it’s because it probably is! It’s a disgusting abuse of various methods (similar to the self help of CBT , deep hypnosis ) repackaged for Scientologists own monotary gain and power for little more than the offering of fairy tales for a fee! They essentially bastardised other psychiatric practices that are beneficial and repackaged it as a neat galactic cult. So all jokes aside, it’s a little fucked up to say the least! It’s more analysis than mere opinion in this case, it is the responsibility of any segement of society towards others with mental health illness or struggle, to treat such humans with respect and not indoctrinate them into our own ideologies, beliefs and world views.   

(This brilliant article details more how they make people believe absolutely delusional, science fiction, space opera bullshit. They literally deprogram them and then these victims visualise a past life in either space, or as Jesus. On the one hand it's shear evil manipulation, nothing short of hypnotism, on the other it's funny as fuck!)