#in reality their map is practically empty

[minitaurkid]

Under a critical eye with poor eyesight.

[dissensionads]

𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕. 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕.

There  is  a  place  where  identity  is  no  longer  sacred,  but  manufactured—sculpted  by  quiet  hands  behind  biometric  doors  and  sealed  behind  soundproof  glass.  In  the  polished,  clinical  halls  of  Volner-Downe  Inc.,  the  most  powerful  behavioral-tech  conglomerate  of  the  21st  century,  the  future  has  crystallized  into  absolute  control.  Gone  are  the  burdens  of  burnout,  choice,  and  memory.  In  their  place:  the  Dissension  Procedure—a  surgical  severing  of  consciousness  that  promises  perfect  work-life  balance.  You,  the  Outie,  sip  smart-coffee  in  your  temperature-regulated  home  in  Downe’s  Hollow,  oblivious  to  what  your  body  endures  between  nine  and  five.  Meanwhile,  your  Innie—a  person  surgically  cleaved  from  you—lives  inside  the  company’s  shifting  tower  in  Manhattan,  bound  to  duty  and  fluorescent  obedience.  One  smiles.  One  suffers.  And  neither  has  the  words  to  describe  the  quiet  terror  between  them. The  town  is  still  called  Downe’s  Hollow,  a  name  that  persists  like  a  scar  beneath  the  skin  of  Long  Island.  The  lawns  are  still  green.  The  neighbors  still  wave.  But  the  cheer  has  grown  too  perfect—too  practiced.  Drones  glide  silently  overhead.  Children  walk  to  school  in  matching  uniforms,  speaking  softly  in  synchrony.  There’s  a  bakery  that  always  smells  like  cinnamon  but  never  opens  its  doors.  A  cinema  plays  propaganda  reels  disguised  as  nostalgia.  At  the  edge  of  town  lies  the  Hollow  Gate,  sealed  and  blinking  red,  rumored  to  lead  to  nowhere…  or  to  someone’s  forgotten  past.  In  Downe’s  Hollow,  the  street  signs  never  change.  The  mailboxes  remain  empty.  And  the  nights  are  so  quiet  you  can  hear  the  hum  of  your  own  compliance. Above  it  all  looms  the  Volner  Building,  a  technological  relic  that  pulses  with  corporate  intent.  Its  structure  defies  logic—departments  fold  into  each  other  like  paper,  corridors  stretch  then  vanish,  and  elevators  do  not  always  arrive  where  expected.  Employees  speak  in  rehearsed  mantras,  smile  with  hollow  eyes,  and  complete  tasks  without  understanding  the  language  they’re  written  in.  Innies  work  in  places  like  Data  Reconciliation,  Social  Conditioning,  and  Behavioral  Wellness,  never  seeing  the  sun,  never  asking  who  they  once  were.  Sometimes  they  dream.  Sometimes  they  bleed.  Beneath  the  lower  levels,  below  even  the  server  rooms,  is  the  Reflection  Wing—a  place  that  doesn’t  exist  on  any  map.  It  holds  the  broken  ones.  The  ones  who  asked  questions.  The  ones  who  remembered  too  much.

𝑶𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅, 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒚.

THE  HOUSE  OF  DISSENSION  is  an  original,  psychological  horror, drama, and political  roleplay  set  in  a  retrofuturist  2028,  where  identity  has  become  a  product,  obedience  a  prescription,  and  silence  the  only  permitted  rebellion.  Inspired  by  Severance,  Succession,  The  Sims,  and  Control,  it  explores  corporate  surveillance,  manufactured  realities,  and  the  ghost-like  aftermath  of  partitioned  lives.  The  aesthetic  is  mid-century  modern  gone  sterile:  sleek  chrome,  synthetic  smiles,  and  cocktail  parties  hosted  beneath  the  glare  of  hidden  cameras.  Centered  around  profound  character  evolution,  embracing  dark  narratives,  intricate  personal  journeys,  immersive  world-building,  and  transformative  plot  developments  designed  to  challenge  your  character  and  reshape  the  very  fabric  of  their  reality. This  world  is  curated  to  the  point  of  collapse,  built  on  a  foundation  of  inherited  power,  manipulated  memory,  and  the  slow,  aching  horror  of  being  erased  while  alive.  More  information  will  be  declassified  on  May  18th.  Until  then—remember  your  place,  repeat  your  mantras,  and  above  all  else:  we’re  happy  to  be  here.

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗢𝗥 𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗘𝗫𝗖𝗟𝗨𝗦𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗔𝗖𝗖𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗧𝗢 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝗨𝗟𝗟 𝗣𝗟𝗢𝗧 & 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧 𝗗𝗜𝗕𝗦 𝗢𝗡 𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗘𝗦 !

[slothquisitor]

Brittle Bones

Summary: In which Lucanis’s new reality sinks in and he realizes just how fucked up the team he’s now part of is. Eventual Rook/Lucanis, 2.8k.

Also on AO3.

_____________________________________________________________

During his yearlong imprisonment in The Ossuary, if Lucanis had thought about freedom at all it was only in a nebulous, abstract sort of way. It had been important not to dwell, not to spend too much time on longing or hoping or wanting. He had always been taught that emotion was weakness, and he was good at emptying himself of it. He had to be. Besides, hope and optimism might have clouded his only goal: survive. 

And he had, and now he’s out, and he’s dropped back into the world, into his life, but nothing is the same. Treviso is occupied by the Antaam, Caterina is dead, Illario is unwilling or unable to see the danger they’re all in with Zara still at large. And if that wasn’t enough, he’d been told that the elven gods are not only real but that he’s expected to help kill them. And then he’d willingly followed Rook through a magical mirror to the fucking Fade. 

He asked for work, didn’t he? And this is the last contract Caterina ever made, and he never was good at telling her no. And alive or dead there is some part of him that cannot refuse. And there is a larger part of him that desperately needs this job, the reassurance that after a year and a demon, he is not so different from before. Killing Calivan, fulfilling his outstanding contract had helped somewhat, but he knows he is out of practice. That’s fine, it gives him something to focus on. So, he treats the Lighthouse like any other job. 

The first thing he does is learn the place, taking stock of his surroundings. He meticulously charts the place, peering into every room and making note of every entrance and exit. This entire dilapidated place makes the backs of his eyes itch, but a few hours later he has a mental map of every room and hallway and stair. The Lighthouse is a sprawling mess of a place, but Rook insists that they’re safe here. Which is all fine and good, but he isn’t safe anywhere. Not like this. 

His next order of business is informed by the first: his own lodgings. It’s an easy choice to settle on the pantry. Rook did tell him he could have any room, and it’s not a real room, but it is what he needs. It’s furthest away from everyone else, putting at least three doors between him and anyone else’s rooms. The door opens inward, which means he can block it, but he can’t be locked in. It’s also dark and dank and not terribly inviting. He doesn’t plan on sleeping much anyway, so it doesn’t matter if it’s comfortable. It’s better if it’s not. 

He’s doing his best to ignore Spite. Even if Spite isn’t taking very well to being ignored. Last night, he’d hit him in his temper tantrum. Lucanis is used to that, but Rook, Neve, and Bellara…they had stared at him, afraid of and for him. He won’t let that happen again. He can do this job. He can work. 

And that brings him to the biggest job of all: observation. There is plenty to learn about the other inhabitants of the Lighthouse. And it’s only been a day or so, but he’s good at watching. Harding keeps to herself, rarely emerging from her room beyond mealtimes or if she’s going somewhere with Rook. She’s clearly grieving and Neve seems to be offering her a distant sort of understanding, but there’s something else running through it that he can’t quite put his finger on. All four women are consciously and specifically kind to one another, but there’s something frail…brittle about the whole group. Every conversation he witnesses is laced with a fragility of everything they aren’t saying. 

He doesn’t trust a single one of them. It’s not that he’s concerned that he’s in immediate danger or anything, but he hasn’t survived this long through blind trust of anyone or anything. Bellara is the easiest to read, her every thought and emotion that doesn’t come through her many, many words, clearly present on her face. She’s brilliant but easily distracted, and he’s noticed the way Neve tenses whenever Bellara fawns over her, the way her smile grows just a little forced. And then there is Rook. 

Under all the bluster of humor and sarcasm lies her poorly concealed secret: she’s overwhelmed at being somehow in charge of all of this. She’s quick to take responsibility for her hand in releasing the gods, though it sounds as though allowing this Solas to continue with his ritual was probably going to be worse. Probably. She also clearly feels responsible for the cuts and bruises on Neve’s face, but no one is talking about it. He can tell he’s right by the way they don’t talk about it. Even so, Rook’s quick to laugh and faster to smile even through her clear and persistent worry as she tries to buoy up everyone else’s mood. It takes Lucanis less than a day to conclude that this whole group of women are holding each other together with the tremulous threads of hope and a shared cause. 

He’s a mess himself, so he’s not exactly in a position to judge. 

“You have files on everyone?” he asks, sifting through the pile of papers Neve handed him when he walked into her office. He suspects that these are the public files, the ones left where anyone could read them. The real ones she’s probably keeping better hidden. Probably encoded too. But still, what she thinks is safe to share will still tell him much about this new team of theirs. 

Neve doesn’t trust him. But that feels right. He wouldn’t trust him either. Neve’s distrust at least feels familiar. She is calm, collected, and distant. She’s being nice to him despite the clear distrust, and unlike other inhabitants of the Lighthouse, she hasn’t threatened to kill him yet. At least Spite is quieter in her office, he suspects it has something to do with the wisps.  

Neve doesn’t even look up from the notebook she’s writing in. “Of course.”

He opens up his own file, curious what she’s learned. Most of it is the basics: the structure of the Crows, the Talons, and his relation to Caterina. But then there’s a list of his jobs in Tevinter. One in particular catches his eye. “I didn’t think anyone knew about the hit on Magister Dravenus.”

Neve looks up then, mouth twisting in a wry smile. “Not everyone knew that he was part of the Venatori.”

“How did you know it was me?”

Her smile widens. “He was three days dead before the murder was reported. That gave his slaves time to get to the Shadow Dragons. Not many assassins give a shit about a magister’s slaves.”

If that’s his tell, he’s not about to be mad about it. “Professional courtesy. My contract was for him, not his household.” Somewhere in another time, he can hear Illario complaining about his having too much of a heart for his line of work. 

“And helping his slaves was simply a side benefit?”

It had been the right thing to do. “Sure.”

He’s given the wrong answer and he knows it by the way Neve’s mouth turns down, but that’s the only indicator. He returns to the files, opening up Rook’s. Rook’s and Bellara’s are the thinnest by far. Bellara’s isn’t exactly a surprise, since she’s spent most of her life in Arlathan Forest. He’s surprised that Neve has anything on her at all. 

Rook’s is more interesting. He learns her given name for one: Camina Ingellvar. Where the moniker Rook came from is still a mystery that Neve’s file doesn’t solve. But there’s something else. 

“Rook was kicked out of the Mourn Watch? What does someone have to do to offend a group of necromancers? ” Between her Nevarran accent and her manipulation of spirit energy as they’d fought their way through The Ossuary, he’d quickly figured out Rook was a mortalitasi. He’s not exactly thrilled about it, seems like a waste of a good corpse in his opinion, but she had rescued him, so he’s not about to be overly picky. 

Neve looks up from her work, rolling her quill between her fingers. “Everything I’ve learned is in her file; it’s not as if Mourn Watch interpolitics made the Tevinter papers. The way I understand it, she disobeyed an order and pissed a lot of powerful people off. She wasn’t removed, but she’s officially listed as ‘on sabbatical’ and apparently that’s the same thing.”

He has a hard time imagining Rook purposefully doing anything to piss anyone off. Even with an ancient elven god in her head and two others supposedly wreaking havoc across Thedas, she’s maintained an enviable optimism. 

“Things are strained with her and Harding,” he mentions casually.

“Did I tell you Varric Tethras was the one who hired me for this job?” Neve asks. 

Ah. Finally, a name he has heard before. “No.”

In this, some of Neve’s carefully constructed aloofness falls away. “At Solas’s ritual, things went sideways fast. Varric tried to reason with him, but Solas killed him. Afterward, it was so strange…we tried to tell Rook what happened, but it was like she wasn’t there. Like her mind was somewhere else. It was terrifying, but she did hit her head pretty hard, so I let it go. The first day or two she kept talking about Varric as if he was still here. She’s stopped doing that, but she goes to the infirmary a lot.”

She shrugs. “Everyone processes grief differently. I think Harding resents how easily she’s carrying on as if nothing has changed.”

He thinks of Illario’s clear carelessness, of the way he keeps telling himself Caterina is dead as if this time is the time that the words blow will actually land, that he’ll feel something, anything. “Grief is hard.”

People come in three types: Family, contracts, and enemies. He’s still trying to figure out who exactly his are while also feeling out this particular contract. He’s no stranger to working with others, to making alliances and contacts to get him what he needs to get a job done, but this is…different. This is a team and he’s somehow been included in it even with everything that he is. 

And isn’t. 

Later, with a fresh cup of coffee, he retreats into the pantry he’s claimed as his room. He’s tired, but when isn’t he? He’s been awake for days on end during jobs before, so this should be easy. Besides, with enough coffee anything is possible. 

“Not keeping. Your promise,” Spite grumbles, but there’s no rancor in it.  

Lucanis isn’t sure what the demon keeps going on about. He’d kept his side of the deal with the demon. Some part of him was convinced that once he was out of The Ossuary, Spite would go too. That it hasn’t happened that way is…inconvenient. 

Abomination. That is what he is, he supposes. But even in that, he’s not quite right. Because his demon doesn’t have control all the time, only when his slips. When he lets his guard down. So, he won’t be doing that. He sips more of his coffee. It’s passable, but he really needs to get back to Antiva and get some quality coffee in this place. Also groceries. There’s hardly anything edible in this place.

He hears footsteps approaching and he freezes, hand already reaching for his hidden dagger. But the steps are casual, leisurely even; Rook’s by the sound of them. There’s a hesitation at the door as if she isn’t quite sure if she should knock or not. He wonders what the hesitation is about, but then he glances at the demon pouting in the corner and wonders no longer. 

A moment later, she knocks anyway. He maintains his position leaning against the wall. “Come in.”

She’s not in her armor but instead wears a simple blouse and pants. That means this is a social visit. He tenses a little, hoping that with her reappearance that Spite isn’t going to violently demand to speak with her again. She’d looked rather horrified by the whole thing. He’d prefer not to have a repeat. Spite is clearly interested, but he is quiet. For now. 

She smiles as she enters the pantry, her purple eyes glancing around the space. Neve’s file didn’t tell him her age, but he guesses she’s a few years younger than him. She’s elven, but not Dalish, and she plays with the ends of her long, brown hair when she’s nervous. She’s doing it now. “I…uh…just wanted to drop by. See how you were settling in? You know we have other rooms, right? You don’t have to sleep in the pantry.”

He forces a smile and a twisting truth that’s not quite a lie. “Are you asking why the trained assassin prefers a quiet, unassuming spot with good choke points?” 

If she catches any hint of a lie, she hides it well. “Well, so long as you’re comfortable then.”

“Thank you.” He’s not used to such concern over his comfort, but he can see that this is Rook’s way. 

“Is…uh…Spite here?” she asks. 

“Here,” the demon replies, with a sing-song lilt of his voice as he stalks a bit nearer to her.

Lucanis sighs. “Perpetually.” 

Rook nods once and then addresses a spot she clearly assumes Spite is. She’s about three feet off. “Spite, you are quite welcome here as well, but there will be no more hurting Lucanis. Am I clear?” 

Lucanis is surprised at how firm and unyielding her voice is, at the sharp edge the usual light-hearted sarcasm has given way to. He suddenly sees the person from Rook’s file, the one who would disobey an order, make the call that needed to happen if she believed in it enough. She’s talking to Spite, but it’s him who has the ridiculous compulsion to stand a little straighter. 

Spite approaches him. “I want. To Talk.” The demon is insistent, but not in the same way as last night. 

Lucanis can’t help but smile. “She asked you a question.” It’s nice to be able to needle him back for once. 

Spite glares at him and then at her. “Not. Hurting.”

“I think that was agreement to your terms, but it’s hard to say,” he shrugs. 

“Thank you, Spite,” Rook replies with a smile. 

“You don’t have to do that.”

She looks utterly confused. “Do what?”

“Talk to him.”

She crosses her arms. “But he’s standing here in the room. That would be rather rude, don’t you think?”

“Rude. Yes. Want to talk.” 

“Don’t encourage him. I’m trying to get rid of him, not make him more comfortable.”

There’s an emotion in her eyes he can’t quite place, isn’t sure what it means. It feels familiar, almost disappointment. He worries he’s managed to say the wrong thing again. “If we can help you with that, we will. Are you sure you’re okay being here?”

He’s a professional. Of course. “I’m fine; Spite won’t be a problem again.”

She looks surprised at his response and then immediately sorry. “I should have been clearer. You just lost a family member. I know you said you needed to work, but if you have responsibilities in Treviso or if you’ve changed your mind now that you’ve had some time to think about it…”

Oh. More…concern for him. He wants to appreciate the sentiment, but he can’t go home anyway. Not like this. Caterina is dead, and it is only because he is free…but he’s not really free so what has he really gained and what has he lost?

He doesn’t say any of that. 

“When the First Talon of the Crows gives you a contract, you do it. Especially if she’s your grandmother. Besides, I owe you a debt, and after a year in that hole, I’m looking forward to stabbing a god or two in the back.” It’s the last contract his grandmother made, and he intends to see it through. 

“Alright then, if we’re going up against gods, we’re going to need all the help we can get. But…uh, I’m glad you want to be here.” She smiles before she goes, something soft and honest and true. 

He’s almost sorry to be alone again until he realizes that Spite was hanging on every word. 

[star-girl69]

Cruel World

Shin Hati x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: swearing, mentions of death and violence, tell me if i missed anything!!

Chapter Two - Wretched Mirrors

Chapter Two - Wretched Mirrors

—-

There is a fine line between the worlds you have known. Sometimes, you wonder if it’s wrong to be like this, to search for power and materialistic things, but this is all you have ever known.

You are a wretched mirror of your mother, destined to reflect her and her wants.

You have gotten a taste of the cruel life, and you don’t want it. And if you don’t fight it, how will you cross that fine line? How will you get back to your old life?

The ruins are covered in fine black sand, random spots still burning. Random parts of old homes, with cracks in the walls lay strewn about the ground. You cannot help but wonder if those cracks were born of people living inside a well-loved home, or apart of the doom of the Nightsisters.

Shin kicks the ground, still adorned in her armor and a brown cloak- a wretched mirror of her master.

You crouch and pick up some of the black sand. It’s warm from the sun. You wonder if another Nightsister, hundreds of years ago, had done the same thing.

“What was this place?” Shin asks, stirring up dirt as she stands next to you. You squint up at her.

“The planet of Dathomir. Home to the Nightsisters.” You flick your hand, sending a small whirl of sand flying in a flash of green. “My ancestors.”

She watches the specks of sand fall back to the ground, before her eyes meet yours, a cutting glare.

“You’re a witch?”

“Yes,” you say, tilting your head to the side with a sticky-sweet smile. She glares at you and tilts her chin down, studying you, and it makes your stomach twist as much as it annoys you.

Your mother turns around, her eyes meeting yours, and you stand up, wind whipping your in your face.

“We are survivors,” she says to Shin. She turns back around as Baylan and a droid approaches.

You shoot one more sly smile to a now very disturbed Shin before listening to Baylan.

“There’s not much left back there,” he says, referring to the temple that held the star map. “Either the Jedi has the map or it was vaporized.”

You can see your mothers shoulders tense, and you heart squeezes, but she quickly regains herself and you try to do the same.

Shin takes a few careful steps forward, and you lean against the fallen pillar of some long forgotten building.

“She has it.”

“Well, if she does, you’re lucky.”

Morgan turns to Baylan, her grey-blonde hair shining in the sunlight.

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” she hisses. “Fate has decided our next move.”

She turns around to you and Shin. Her eyes are cold and calculating, always planning the next move so you don’t have to.

“You both will go to the planet Lothal.” Her eyes fix to you, and she smiles, if you can even call it that. More like some sort of promise. “May the Winged Goddess be with you, my daughter.”

“Mother-” you start, but your voice is eaten up by the wind, and she is already gone.

She walks off towards the ruins, leaving you slightly confused and shocked. Shin can surely do whatever it is herself, right? Why can’t you stay with your mother? What is on Lothal?

Shin seems to have the same questions, because she approaches Baylan. The two of them watch Morgan walk away, and you have to urge to kick the ground like a crying child.

“Master?”

“Do as she says.”

“Why Lothal?” she looks at you over her shoulder. “What thread is she spinning?”

“No, it’s not witchcraft,” Baylan sighs. “Ahsoka Tano’s former apprentice is on Lothal. You’re looking for Sabine Wren.”

Baylan meets Shin’s eyes, then yours, and the emptiness inside of you lights up with a fire at the sound of the Jedi’s name. The woman you imprisoned you and you mother- who has led you to this cruel new reality.

You flex your fingers, and Shin brushes the handle of her lightsaber, nodding to you as she walks past. And after a moment, you follow her.

—-

The ship is small and practical, but the memories of your mother’s look ring in your mind. It was a silent promise. Not to you, but one to her. Without even knowing it, you had promised to bring back the star map- but you didn’t even now if you could.

The droid takes over the ship, leaving you and Shin to sit in silence as you get closer and closer to Lothal.

You can feel her piercing eyes on you, judging you, and finally you turn to her after you’re sick of feeling like this. You already feel on edge, this test from your mother making you nervous and doubtful.

“What?” you spit after a moment. Her eyes remain wide and on you, her expression unchanging. “I’m not gonna use my magick on you if you look away, you know.”

She looks you up and down. “I know.”

You scoff and turn away. Both her and her master are overfilling with arrogance.

“Because your mother and my master are in an agreement. Which means we are too.”

You turn to her and level your best glare, but it’s nothing compared to hers. “And? Stop staring at me.”

“I’m wondering how your powers will work in battle.”

You shuffle your feet against the floor, crossing your arms, again feeling like a spoiled stupid child.

Your mother did not have a lot of time to teach you offensive magick. When the Empire fell, she had only taught you a bit beyond the basics- and now she was testing to see what you had learned.

“I’ll be fine,” you mutter. You don’t know if you will.

You did grow up spoiled and entitled, but this new cruel world has changed you more than you could ever imagine. After the death of the Nightsisters, you mother already had some sort of prebuilt humility, humanity inside of her. But she had buried it down. She had used that pain to make a life for you and her.

You were learning that hard lesson now.

“We’re close to Lothal, now,” Shin says, leaning back into her chair, a rare moment of softness for her. “We’ll send out the probe and then make a plan from there.”

You blink hard and try to take a subtle deep breath. It’s embarrassing to be like this in front of her. To be stupid and childish, to let simple feelings rise to the surface and effect your actions.

But something about her stupid blue eyes makes you feel at peace.

—-

You land on Lothal, waiting in the rustling brush for the probe droid to return. Here, back on solid ground, neither of you talk.

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re both young girls around the same age. It’s natural for you to be drawn together, two girls raised in between knives, brought up learning how to jump each serrated edge. And for all of the venom your tongue spits, you don’t bear any ill-will towards her.

Why jump from knife to knife when you can land on a silver spoon?

The probe flys up the hill and towards the two of you. Shin looks at her arm, the decide beeping, her cloak blowing in the wind.

“What is it?” you ask, eager to get this all over with.

“Sabine Wren,” she says simply. And you follow her, saying a prayer to the Winged Goddess that she knows what she’s doing- and you do as well.

—-

taglist:

@foreverforlove @squidshark5 @lovelyy-moonlight

[teddymoon06]

Close to the edge

Chapter Seven: Shadows and Reflections

The next morning arrived with a stark contrast to the previous day’s gloom. The sun peeked through the cracked windows, casting a warm glow over the safe house’s interior. Despite the promise of a fresh start, the weight of their situation hung heavily on Y/N’s shoulders. The reality of their journey ahead was an ever-present concern, and the uncertainty about what lay beyond the walls of their temporary refuge was both daunting and palpable.

Yeonghu was already up and preparing breakfast. His movements were purposeful and methodical, a sign of the steady resolve he carried despite the toll of their experiences. Alex was busy packing the last of their supplies, making sure everything was in order before they left the safe house.

Y/N rolled out of bed, stretching carefully to avoid aggravating her sore leg. The pain had lessened, but it still reminded her of the constant struggle they faced. She joined Yeonghu at the small table where he was setting out the remnants of their breakfast.

“Morning,” Y/N said, her voice still rough from sleep. She took a seat at the table, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face as she looked around the small room.

“Morning,” Yeonghu replied with a tired smile. “We’re almost ready to move out. Just need to finalize a few things.”

Y/N nodded, taking in the sight of the supplies and equipment scattered around. The safe house had served its purpose well, but it was clear that their time here was coming to an end. The road ahead was uncertain, but they had to keep moving.

Alex joined them with a cup of coffee for Y/N, a small gesture that spoke volumes about their consideration. “We’re set to go. I’ll lead the way to the next location on the map. It’s a bit of a trek, but it should be worth it.”

Yeonghu glanced at the map again, the sense of determination in his eyes. “Let’s review the plan one more time before we head out. We need to be prepared for anything.”

The plan was straightforward: they would leave the safe house and make their way to a new location that Alex had marked on the map. It was a slightly safer area, but still within the city, and they hoped it would provide another temporary refuge while they continued their search for a more permanent solution.

After a final check of their supplies, they gathered their gear and prepared to leave. The safe house, though modest, had provided a brief respite from the dangers of the outside world. As they stepped out into the morning light, the city greeted them with its usual desolation, a stark reminder of the world they now inhabited.

The journey began with a renewed sense of purpose. Alex led the way, navigating through the labyrinthine streets with practiced ease. The city, though still a dangerous place, felt somewhat familiar under Alex’s guidance. The areas they traversed were a mix of residential and commercial, their abandoned storefronts and empty homes a testament to the chaos that had once engulfed them.

As they walked, Y/N found herself reflecting on their situation. The weight of their loss and the uncertainty of their future were ever-present, but there was a sense of resilience that had emerged from their shared struggles. Each step forward was a testament to their determination and their ability to adapt to the new world they faced.

Yeonghu walked beside Y/N, his gaze vigilant as he scanned the surroundings. “We’ve come a long way,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Despite everything, we’re still here.”

Y/N nodded, appreciating his words. “Yeah. And we’re not giving up. We’ll keep moving forward, no matter what.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden noise—a distant commotion that set their nerves on edge. Alex immediately halted, signaling for them to stay low and take cover behind a nearby wall. The noise grew louder, and they could hear the unmistakable sounds of shuffling footsteps and distant growls.

Yeonghu’s expression tightened with concern. “Sounds like we’re not alone. We need to be careful.”

Alex nodded in agreement, their face grim. “We’ll wait here until the noise dies down. If there’s trouble, we need to be ready to move quickly.”

They huddled behind the wall, their senses heightened as they waited for the commotion to subside. The sounds continued for what felt like an eternity, a constant reminder of the ever-present danger lurking in the city.

Eventually, the noise began to fade, leaving behind an unsettling silence. Alex signaled for them to move, and they carefully emerged from their cover. The streets were clear, but the tension remained. It was a reminder of how unpredictable their environment could be, and the importance of staying vigilant.

The rest of the day passed with a mix of cautious optimism and constant vigilance. They continued their journey through the city, navigating the abandoned streets and checking their surroundings frequently. The route was relatively uneventful, with only occasional signs of life—or rather, unlife—in the distance.

By late afternoon, they arrived at a small, nondescript building that Alex had indicated on the map. It was a former office space, now repurposed as a makeshift shelter by others who had come through before them. The building was less secure than the safe house but still offered a degree of protection.

Alex led them inside, their expression showing a mix of relief and concern. “This place should offer us some protection for the night. It’s not perfect, but it’s a step up from being out in the open.”

They settled into the building, taking stock of their new surroundings. The space was sparse but functional, with a few makeshift beds and a small stash of supplies left by previous occupants. It wasn’t as well-organized as the safe house, but it provided a temporary refuge.

As they unpacked and made themselves comfortable, Y/N found herself reflecting on their journey. The challenges they had faced and the dangers they had encountered were constant reminders of the harsh reality they lived in. But amidst the uncertainty, there was a sense of camaraderie and resilience that had emerged.

Yeonghu and Alex worked together to organize the supplies and secure the building. Y/N took a moment to herself, sitting by a small window and gazing out at the desolate cityscape. The world outside was a stark reminder of what they had lost, but it also served as a reminder of what they were fighting to protect.

As night fell, they gathered for a brief meal, the dim light of the building creating a somber but comforting atmosphere. The conversation was subdued, focused on practical matters and the plans for the coming days.

Y/N looked around at her companions, feeling a sense of gratitude for their presence. Despite the dangers and the uncertainties, they had managed to find moments of solace and support. It was these small victories that kept them moving forward.

As they prepared for the night, Y/N lay down on one of the makeshift beds, her mind still racing with thoughts of their journey and the challenges that lay ahead. Sleep came fitfully, her dreams a mix of fragments from her past and the uncertain future.

The night passed slowly, each creak and distant noise a reminder of the dangers that lurked outside. But within the walls of their temporary refuge, there was a brief sense of safety and hope.

In the morning, they would continue their journey, facing whatever challenges came their way. But for now, they had found a small measure of peace amidst the chaos, a reminder that, despite everything, they were still moving forward—together.

The morning light filtered through the grimy windows of the office building, casting a soft glow over the room. The harsh realities of their world had not softened, but the new day brought with it a glimmer of hope and a sense of renewed determination.

Y/N awoke to the faint sound of movement. She stretched slowly, the soreness in her leg a persistent reminder of their recent struggles. Despite the discomfort, she felt a quiet resolve. They had made it through another night, and that was something to build on.

Yeonghu and Alex were already up and going through their morning routine. Yeonghu was checking their supplies, ensuring everything was in order for their continued journey. Alex was preparing a simple breakfast, their movements efficient and practiced.

“Morning,” Y/N said as she joined them at the small table. Her voice was still groggy, but there was an undercurrent of determination in her tone.

“Morning,” Alex replied, offering her a cup of coffee. “We’re going to need all the energy we can get. Today’s going to be a long one.”

Yeonghu nodded in agreement, his focus on a map spread out on the table. “We’ve got a few options for where to head next. We need to decide on our route and make sure we’re prepared for anything.”

Y/N took a seat, taking a sip of the coffee. The warmth was a small comfort amidst the uncertainty. “What are the options?”

Alex leaned over the map, pointing to several locations. “We’ve got a few potential routes. There’s a residential area not too far from here that might offer better shelter, but it’s a bit of a detour. Alternatively, we can head towards an industrial zone where there might be more resources, but it’s riskier.”

Yeonghu considered the options, his brow furrowed in concentration. “The residential area could be safer, but it’s further away. The industrial zone might provide more supplies but could be more dangerous.”

Y/N looked at the map, trying to weigh the pros and cons. “I think we should prioritize safety for now. We’re still recovering, and the last thing we need is to push too hard and end up in a more precarious situation.”

Alex nodded in agreement. “We’ll go with the residential area. It might be a bit of a stretch, but it’s worth the risk.”

They spent the morning preparing for their journey, gathering supplies and ensuring they had everything they needed. The office building had provided them with a brief respite, but it was clear that their next move was crucial.

As they set out, the city outside felt both familiar and alien. The streets were quiet, the desolation a stark reminder of the world they now inhabited. Their route took them through a series of abandoned neighborhoods, each one more eerily silent than the last.

The walk was long and arduous, with the constant need to stay vigilant. The residential area they were heading towards was a mix of partially collapsed buildings and overgrown lots. It was clear that others had passed through here before, but it was relatively quiet compared to other parts of the city.

Around midday, they reached a small, fortified building that looked like it had been used as a temporary shelter by others. It was modest but appeared to be in better condition than many of the buildings they had passed.

“This looks promising,” Alex said, surveying the area. “Let’s check it out.”

They approached the building cautiously, Yeonghu leading the way with his weapon at the ready. The exterior showed signs of previous occupants—a makeshift barricade, a few discarded items—but it seemed relatively secure.

Yeonghu examined the barricade, noting its construction. “It looks like it’s been used recently, but it’s still holding up. We should be able to use it as a base for now.”

They carefully entered the building, taking note of its condition. The interior was sparse but functional, with a few pieces of furniture and basic supplies left behind. It was clear that it had been a temporary refuge, but it offered a degree of safety.

As they settled in, Y/N took a moment to explore the building. There was a small, clean room at the back that looked like it could be used for sleeping. She started to unpack some of their supplies, arranging them in a makeshift storage area.

Yeonghu and Alex went about securing the building and setting up a perimeter. They worked efficiently, their movements a well-practiced routine. The sense of purpose and teamwork was evident, a small but significant source of comfort amidst the chaos.

Later in the afternoon, as the sun began to dip towards the horizon, they gathered to discuss their plans. The new location provided a temporary haven, but they needed to ensure they were prepared for any potential threats.

“We’re safe for now, but we can’t afford to let our guard down,” Yeonghu said as he reviewed their supplies. “We need to be ready for anything that comes our way.”

Alex nodded, their face serious. “We’ll need to establish a watch schedule and keep an eye on the surrounding area. This place might be secure, but the city is unpredictable.”

Y/N joined them at the table, her leg propped up as she rested. “We should also think about our long-term plans. This place is a good stop, but we need to keep looking for a more permanent solution.”

Yeonghu agreed. “Absolutely. We need to stay focused and adaptable. The next steps will be crucial.”

As night fell, they prepared for a quiet evening. The building was secure, and the immediate threat seemed to be at bay. They shared a simple meal, the conversation focused on practical matters and the next steps in their journey.

The quiet of the evening provided a brief moment of normalcy. Y/N found herself reflecting on their journey, the challenges they had faced, and the uncertainties that lay ahead. The world outside remained a constant reminder of their struggles, but within the walls of their temporary refuge, there was a sense of hope and resilience.

As they settled in for the night, Y/N found a moment of solitude. She sat by a small window, gazing out at the cityscape bathed in the soft light of the moon. The world outside was a mix of shadows and silence, a stark contrast to the life they had known.

In the stillness of the night, Y/N found a sense of calm amidst the chaos. The road ahead was uncertain, but as long as they faced it together, there was hope. The challenges they faced were daunting, but their resolve and camaraderie provided a glimmer of hope for a better tomorrow.

As she lay down to rest, Y/N closed her eyes and embraced the quiet. The journey was far from over, but the small victories and the support of her companions offered a sense of purpose and determination. For now, amidst the shadows and reflections of their world, there was a fleeting sense of peace and hope.

The night passed uneventfully, and Y/N awoke to the soft light of dawn filtering through the windows. The quiet of the building provided a stark contrast to the chaotic world outside. Despite the comfort of their temporary refuge, the uncertainty of their situation lingered like a shadow.

Yeonghu and Alex were already up and preparing for the day. The familiar routine of checking supplies and discussing plans provided a sense of stability amidst the instability of their world.

“Morning,” Yeonghu greeted Y/N as she emerged from her makeshift bed. “We’re going to need to make sure everything is secure before we move on.”

Alex was at the small table, carefully packing away the remaining supplies. “We should take a quick inventory and ensure we have everything we need for our next leg of the journey. We’ll also need to consider our route and any potential risks.”

Y/N nodded, stretching her limbs and taking a moment to wake fully. “I’ll help with the inventory. It’s important to keep track of what we have.”

They spent the next hour going through their supplies, making sure everything was in order. The process was methodical but necessary. Each item was checked and cataloged, and they made a list of what they needed to restock.

With their inventory complete, they gathered around the table to discuss their plans. The day was clear, and the city outside seemed calm, but they knew that appearances could be deceiving.

“The residential area we’re in is relatively safe for now,” Alex said, pointing to the map. “But we should consider our next move. There’s a potential route through a park area that might offer better shelter and resources.”

Yeonghu studied the map carefully. “The park could be a good option. It’s further from the more dangerous parts of the city and might provide some natural cover. But we need to be prepared for any potential threats.”

Y/N added her thoughts, her mind still processing their options. “It might also be worth checking for any nearby safe zones or communities. If we can find a more established place, it could provide more long-term security.”

Alex nodded in agreement. “That’s a good idea. We’ll need to keep our options open and stay flexible.”

After finalizing their plan, they prepared to leave the building. The sense of urgency was palpable as they gathered their belongings and ensured everything was in order. The city outside awaited them, a stark reminder of the world they now lived in.

The journey to the park area was uneventful but tense. The streets were quiet, the occasional distant noise a reminder of the ever-present danger. They moved cautiously, their senses alert for any signs of trouble.

As they approached the park, the contrast to the surrounding city was striking. The park was overgrown but still held a semblance of its former self. The trees and greenery provided natural cover, and there were a few structures that might offer shelter.

“This could be a good place to set up for a while,” Yeonghu said, surveying the area. “The natural cover and open space provide both advantages and risks.”

Alex agreed, their gaze scanning the park for potential threats. “Let’s explore the area and see if we can find a suitable location. We’ll need to be cautious and check for any signs of other occupants.”

They carefully made their way through the park, checking the surrounding area for any potential dangers. The park was eerily quiet, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. The overgrown vegetation provided a sense of concealment, but it also made it difficult to see far ahead.

As they explored, they came across an old, dilapidated building that seemed to have been used as a maintenance shed. It was partially intact and offered some shelter from the elements. The building was in better condition than many of the other structures they had seen.

“This might work,” Alex said, inspecting the building. “It’s not perfect, but it’s a start. We can use it as a base and make it more secure.”

Yeonghu nodded in agreement. “We’ll need to fortify it and clear out any debris or potential hazards. But it’s a good find.”

They set to work, making the building as secure as possible. Yeonghu and Alex worked on reinforcing the entrances and windows, while Y/N took on the task of clearing out the interior and organizing their supplies.

As the day wore on, their efforts began to pay off. The building started to take shape as a temporary refuge, offering a sense of security amidst the uncertainty. The natural cover of the park provided an additional layer of protection, though they remained vigilant for any potential threats.

By evening, the building was reasonably secure, and they gathered to discuss their plans for the coming days. The park offered a temporary haven, but they knew they couldn’t afford to become complacent.

“We’ve made good progress today,” Alex said, their tone thoughtful. “The park gives us a chance to regroup and plan our next steps. We need to stay alert and keep an eye on the surrounding area.”

Yeonghu agreed, his expression serious. “We’ll need to establish a watch schedule and keep the perimeter secure. The park offers some safety, but we can’t let our guard down.”

Y/N took a moment to reflect on their progress. The challenges they had faced and the dangers that lay ahead were daunting, but there was a sense of resilience and hope that had emerged from their shared struggles.

As night fell, they settled into their temporary refuge. The building, though modest, provided a sense of comfort and safety. The quiet of the park was a stark contrast to the chaos of the city, offering a brief moment of peace.

They shared a simple meal, the conversation focused on practical matters and their plans for the coming days. The camaraderie and support of her companions provided a small but significant source of comfort amidst the uncertainty.

As Y/N lay down for the night, she found a moment of solitude. The park outside was bathed in the soft light of the moon, the darkness broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves. The world outside was a mix of shadows and silence, a reminder of the challenges they faced.

In the stillness of the night, Y/N closed her eyes and embraced the quiet. The road ahead was still fraught with challenges, but the small victories and the support of her companions offered a glimmer of hope. For now, amidst the shadows and reflections of their world, there was a fleeting sense of peace and a renewed sense of purpose.

Next | Previous

[mehreenmurtaza]

“My Lord! Reveal Yourself to me so I may see You.”

Surah Al-A’raf  7:143

The invocation to begin the process of creation itself is an invocation to return; a return to one self by remembering the very essence of being – to be breathed life within once more.

Like a fever dream, drawing in altered states whilst receiving symbols unbeknownst prior, a breathing, living archive of signifiers began to develop over the course of five years since 2019. Each drawing marked a moment, where moment by moment; from one image to the next, a path continued to unravel, bearing inner secrets. In search of these mysteries and their connections, I began the process of self-discovery where a confrontation with the self was sought at numerous stages.

My practice evolved with the on-going research at Mantiq of the Mantis, a creative research space co-founded with Sabeen Jamil in Lahore, Pakistan since 2016. The research focuses on ‘the revelatory nature of knowledge, and the potential or action of the creative soul to create impressions of images it receives from the archetypal realm.’ Imagination plays a fundamental role in reaching the Truth. The seeker goes through a process of individuation to reach the ultimate level of knowledge through her/his intuitive faculty. This is when and where the individual receives ‘calls’ in the form of creative or divine inspiration (Ilham) or occurrence/visitation (Wārid) from an eternal source, or the collective unconscious and in consequence the imagination is ‘pulled’ upward, beyond forms of material things.’

With the unwavering support of friends and mentors, Sabeen Jamil and Mirela Peerzada who have facilitated this practice through various methodologies, the studio space transmuted into an alchemist’s laboratory where images act as gateways: passages and transitory movements between realms; abstractions acting upon the artist.  The drawings are portals in themselves, inviting the viewer to look beyond the veil and into an Imaginal realm [1]

[1] “Ibn al-'Arabi ‘s remarkable discussions and conceptions of the "Imagination" (al-khayâl) are metaphysical ruminations that do not render conceptual and logical and rational forms of understanding the Imagination. James W. Morris explains, “the Arabic expression al-khayâl, refers most often, in ordinary contexts, to what we would ordinarily call an "image" or "object of imagination," and ultimately to the actual underlying reality of all the "imaginal" (not "imaginary") objects of our perception in virtually all forms and domains.

James W. Morris. This is an unrevised, pre-publication version of an article or translation which has subsequently been published, with revisions and corrections, as Spiritual Imagination and the "Liminal" World: Ibn 'Arabi on the Barzakh, in POSTDATA (Madrid), vol.15, no. 2 (1995), pp. 42-49 and 104-109 (Spanish).

Blueprints of the Soul

These blue prints are part of Mantiq of the Mantis’ growing research on revelatory knowledge received from the soul’s faculty of imagination, Mantiq Under The Willow Tree: The Crimson Intellect (2019 and on-going).

“The impulse to draw was irrepressible. As I picked up a pastel and placed my hand on the paper, I felt possessed! It was a moment of true surrender where my rational mind had no control over what was to come and a primordial force had taken over. I was guided to mark the empty sheet with different motions in varying rhythms. I observed as the hand directed what was being drawn and shown to me. Every stroke arrived with certainty. With each passing mark, a new meaning unraveled. And as each mark mapped its terrain across the large expanse, a story upon a story upon a story revealed itself until the image was complete. The profundity of this moment felt like a cornucopia opus had arrived; a tapestry of colors and form transcending space-time, carrying the seed of the Orphic Egg.

And there have been dry periods of intensive reflection and research, interspersed with impatience and anxiety yet most importantly, a diligent and persistent practice to tame this unbridled force. It is a practice to sharpen the mind, strengthen the body and maintain an undulating rhythm so as not to miss the subtle moments of comprehension that dawn after the completion of every cycle of release. As one continues, the mind and body expands its threshold as a container of the knowledge pouring in. Each drawing is a meditation where repetition evolves into an act of remembrance: what is apprehended in a moment can just as easily be swept back into the recesses. It is in search of these moments of intimacy where I the journey begins every night, starting exactly where I first began. The first point is marked as the zero-sum, a forgetting of all that was before. Bismillah Ar-Rahman Ar-Raheem. The first point collapses unto itself. The silent sound of graphite echoes across the paper; an invitation to meet myself mid-point, crossing an imaginary threshold until my synesthetic synapses slip into the center of the universal grid of potentialities. To navigate this space is recognition of myself as the observer and the observed. From there on, every mark made feels like a gradual submerging into depths unknown. An assimilation occurs where every fragment received, laced on top of the other, enmeshed as light lattices - merging and emerging as beacons point to both old and new pathways. An aspect of the grander blueprint receives itself,  sometimes re-visiting the same pathways whilst revealing different vantage points. Each mark, a reminder to stay present. Every echo, a sonar search for murmuring secrets. Each time, pockets of experiences ebb and flow, teaching me how to swim with the current, learn to submerge despite the recoil to a fear of the unknown. This back and forth trying to hold myself steady. Until a point of poise emerges, and the felt sensation of a flow-state is guided by the waters, true surrender to the spirit of creation.

By the first ray of every dawn, an opening to the self makes itself known. “

Excerpt edited from ‘The Creative Life Force’ by Mehreen Murtaza 27/11/23

Qalb

unfolding –enfolding-unfolding: activated geometry on loop

2019 and on-going

During the first year of Covid in 2019, a series of archaic geometric symbols were revealed through a series of meditative practices. I then began to observe how each symbol unfolded its meaning. The meaning (and function) is revealed through an inward and outward observation of each movement.

Here, the geometric space is transmuted into an inward journey with conscious engagement - pivoted around how the creative process of engaging with geometry can precipitate personal insight and individual healing. 

Qalb, is a journey of the artist embodying knowledge through the inner senses in the quest to liberate the heart. Qalb evolved through a series of transmissions of knowledge and hopes to continue this chain of transmission. It is a reminder of our relationship to the self and therefore to the whole, a blueprint embedded in the sacred foundation of all things created. To experience the video, contact: murtaza.mehreen2@gmail.com or mantiqofthemantis@gmail.com

“Hu”

Audio on loop

This resonating affirmation of the divine unity is a remembrance in the belief of the oneness of God (Tawhid).

Nocturne curated by Uma Ray 9th Jan - 8th Feb 2025 Birla Academy of Art & Culture, Kolkatta

The light of the day overshadows stories that often come alive only in the darkest hours of night. Lives that have thrived in the depths, lurked in the shadows only to come out ushering in a magical confluence of light, sound and happenings.In the chasmic silence of the night a different world emerges from deep slumber, shedding its inhibitions. They may be overlooked, misrepresented or misunderstood as creatures of the underworld, shrouded in mystery that fascinates us, titillates our imagination but no more. These nocturnal creatures unbeknownst to us, will follow their cyclical and habitual movements as altered beings. They will emerge silently to participate in the ongoing process of procreation and regeneration. Nature has its peculiar ways to play out its magic.

Truth can take up many forms - they may be esoteric, obscured from view or existent and palpable. This exhibition aims to bear all lights upon the hidden through the seminal works by artists who explore the world of the unknown.

Uma Ray Curator

[spacemonkeysalsa]

Appetites

(Angst and fluff and smut)

It's been five years since the Vampire Ascendant Astarion helped save Baldur's Gate. He has everything he ever wanted, and he's miserable.

Isolde is nobody, and has nothing. When given the option to become a vampire spawn, her response gives Astarion a moment of pause; “No. Thank you. I think I’ll just die.”

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Read Chapter Five on Ao3

Read Chapter Six on Ao3

Read Chapter Seven on Ao3

Read Chapter Eight on Ao3

Read Chapter Nine on Ao3

Read Chapter Ten on Ao3

Read Chapter Eleven on Ao3

Read Chapter Twelve on Ao3

or read Chapter Twelve below the cut

Perhaps she’d slept too long and that was why she couldn’t rest now. Isolde haunted the palace, gripped by the loneliness of the tall, empty rooms, the distant creaks and hushed whispers of… who else was here? Astarion himself was gone, but Alice was probably around, and hiding at least one mysterious child. There might be others. She’d heard the baritone voice of someone around a corner, and imagined that Astarion probably had some security and groomsmen to take care of the horses. Was that it? Such a large, empty void this place was. Especially at night.

Was it night?

It was always night, in a way.

The choice to have no windows at all must predate the present master—or maybe it was a matter of courtesy to other vampires who weren’t as privileged as Astarion. He was well known for his frequent, debaucherous revels; surely, he hosted other creatures of the night from time to time.

Isolde hadn’t seen the sun since she’d been attacked and sedated. That might have something to do with her fragmented sleep pattern. She sensed that it was probably near dawn, in one direction or the other, but pushed back against the thought of confirming this. If she went to the door, and peaked outside and saw she was wrong, she feared the sense of unending night would heighten the unreal, dreamlike quality of the last few days. Alternatively, if she did feel the sun's rays again, would that wake her? Make her face reality in a way she wasn’t prepared for yet?

She’d read enough, slept enough, practiced cantrips from hopeful sparks to repeated failure and exhaustion and had reached a point where dreams didn’t come, and sleep couldn’t hold her. So, she wandered, discerning what she could from what was left behind for her. The palace was old, not just in a literal sense, but it was outdated and not in the centuries removed way that often felt more classic and intimidating. Rather, she was left with the impression that someone with rather poor taste had fully remodeled and remade the interior to their satisfaction just a few decades back, trying to imitate older and grander styles, and then no one had ever thought about any of it again. 

Nothing was in disrepair or too worn to function, but it was all decidedly neglected in the sense that it was largely unused, underutilized, even while still being inhabited. It felt heavy and oppressive, except in the smallest places where there was a little more visible life. There were rooms with books and other small comforts like throws and decanted wines ready for consumption, little alcoves where dented cushions suggested someone might have recently curled up for a few hours, leaving traces of warmth.

When she found her way to Astarion’s chambers, it was by accident. She was starting to build a mental map of the place in her mind, and had realized how wrong she was when she discovered it's location, not at all where she remembered it. The main halls were deceptively simple, she kept losing track of certain paths. It was almost as though some doors were only there some of the time.

He wasn’t in, which didn’t surprise her, though it did worry her. She’d hoped his confidence the night before indicated that whatever he had to do to stop Horrold from returning was going to be fairly quick and simple—that maybe he’d even be back in short order, but it had officially been too long for that to be the case.

She could try to wait here for him, assuming he’d come back in a reasonable amount of time, and would go straight to bed when he returned. He would probably be exhausted after being wherever the night took him. Maybe, it was inconsiderate to demand his attention right away. He knew where to find her, after all. Isolde considered this, but didn’t leave. She lay on his bed, keeping her legs bent over the side, far back enough that her feet dangled above the ground below. It was soft; she felt a sinking that almost could have been mistaken for sleepiness rather than just simple, rare, comfort, but her eyes wouldn’t close, and she found herself staring up at the dark ceiling panels and loud red draperies.

Somewhat without real intention, she gathered her shift into either fist at her hip and drew the fabric up her thighs, closing her eyes as cool air caressed her. At one time in her life, she’d gotten quite good at taking care of herself when desire gripped her, but for the past few years, her life had become so narrow and so frantic that her own ability to make herself come hard and fast felt more like a habit to cope with her unchangeable conditions than a talent. She simply didn’t have the time or the space to truly enjoy herself, to tease her body, or to indulge in any fantasy for more than a few ephemeral moments.

Her routine was relentless. She awoke early, ate something tasteless and insubstantial, worked from before the sun rose to well after it went down, and then slept in chilly restless confinement like she might die any moment, crammed in a row with other servants. If she was lucky, she might have a night or a situation with her own bed, and if she was very lucky, she didn’t, but shared it with someone shameless, considerate, and not repulsive.

Having time and privacy, even for the sake of convalescence and forced, secure, solitude, was a luxury she could get used to. She was slow and soft with her first touches, trying to imitate the way Astarion so effortlessly drew his hand smoothly in the air just above her skin, making her feel him and anticipate what he’d do to her before he’d ever really touched her.

She let the minutes stretch on, undecided on whether or not she was really going to do this, lying here alone in his bed, just thinking about him. By the time she glided her fingers between her lips, her hands had warmed up and her entrance was already soaked. The slicing edge of her fingernails wasn’t quite as sweet as the gentle bite of his teeth, and though her fingers could mimic the pulse and pressure of his tongue, the feel wasn’t quite the same.

But, by the gods, the memory of him was so near, she thought she could use it to great advantage. She remembered how nervous she’d been to try stroking his ears, and the thrill she’d felt when he’d responded the way he did, so clearly aroused, tension coiling his body as he hadn’t been able to stop himself from rutting against the mattress.

She clenched her jaw as an intrusive thought shattered her efforts. Her intentional teasing had become something darker: what if he wasn’t back yet because he’d been hurt? Or worse.  

Isolde understood enough to know that the same apathy that kept the elite of Baldur’s Gate from exposing him, would also ensure that there would be little trouble if anything happened to him. He’d killed prominent patriars. Any of them could turn on him, or send in monster hunters to hunt a monster.

Still beset with shallow breaths and aching lust, she wasn’t sure she could go on until she knew for certain that everything was alright. Trying to reassure herself, when she just couldn't know, wouldn't work.

Then, as the door clicked open and Astarion walked in, she swore aloud and sat up, shift still gathered at her waist.

He was grinning and that filled her with relief, that she hoped paired well with the burning hot blush flowing from her entire head down her heaving chest and straight to her exposed cunt. She wanted to know how it went, but could guess immediately that it must have gone well. She could hear details later.

“Oh dear, I seem to have interrupted—shall I go?” Astarion motioned back over his shoulder at the still open door.

“Don’t you dare,” Isolde exhaled.

He tossed the door shut with a resounding snap. As he drew near, she started to rise up to meet him, but he caught her jaw with his dominant hand and held her in place, sitting upright on the end of his bed. His other hand drew a line from her stomach up to one breast, fingers pinching closed around her nipple invoking a tight pain that released too quickly and left a shock of pleasure radiating through her, as he then cupped her head with both hands, keeping her face still for him to gaze down upon her a moment. She knew that he must be looking at a version of her that was glassy-eyed, sweating, and short of breath, but from the way his eyes were flooded so dark as he took her in, he must like the look of it. The grip he held on her jaw released as a slow caress, while he brought his lips down to brush her parted mouth. He pushed her back on the bed, eyes still pinning her. “Carry on.”

Isolde’s mind was caught in waves of drunken want, so though she meant to agree, she only let out a soft moan.

“I want to watch you,” Astarion pressed her. He leaned into her just enough to rest his hands on top of each of her bare thighs, the tips of his nails finding a little purchase in her warm skin.

First, she unfastened a few of the buttons on the bodice of her shift. He must have eaten again because there was an actual rush of color in his cheeks, she was sure she hadn’t imagined it. His red gaze burned into her and he licked his lips, watching her expose her chest.

As she began to stroke herself, his nails dug into her thighs, his strong hands massaging her, on the slower tempo of her own movements. Though pressed between her legs, he kept some titillating distance between them that gradually closed as she drew closer to her climax and his crotch began to bulge until she could feel him throbbing, pressed right up against the back of her hand as she worked herself up to ecstasy.

“Look right at me,” Astarion had the slightest hint of mocking in his smile, but the order hit her as more of a plea, and it was the earnest way those red eyes drew her in that carried her to finish.

As she started to come with a begging cry, he fell on her, catching her gasping mouth in a forceful kiss, and letting her buck against him.

His tongue thrust into her own and he let the weight of his hips push right against her twitching sex, and stroking her with his hardening bulge, absorbing her arousal, even as the sensitivity set it and some pain sharpened her breathing. She was gasping for air by the time he released her mouth. Prone underneath him, she felt him shift ever so slightly and was finally able to fill her lungs properly, and bask in the heady sensation of a blank mind lazily beginning to make sense of things again.

Astarion propped himself up above her on one arm, just enough so that he could gaze down at her from a more comfortable angle. “What were you thinking about?” He stroked his fingers inside the divide of her chest, starting from just beside her hammering heart down to her navel, varying pressure like he was playing an instrument.

“You,” she wasn’t sure if she answered too quickly, or if her tone was too flat, but the expression on his face suggested he didn’t entirely believe her. It was the truth. What else could she think of? Especially when he was right there in front of her, touching her like that. Staring into her like he saw her better than anyone ever had before. But, she went on, “I’ve had this recurring dream, since the night we met. Of the night we met.  I’m running, and I think I’ve gotten far away, but you come after me. You catch me, and pin me down, and take me right there in the street.”

“Oh?” He raised both eyebrows, then they plunged deeper as he contemplated it. “That sounds fun, actually. We should do that.”

“In the street?” Sweet gods above and below, she wasn’t immediately opposed to it.

“No—I don’t think you’ll make it that far,” Astarion grimaced, somewhat apologetic as he rose up to stand over her again, “But. Do, try.” He took her by the hands and whirled her into a standing position, trading places with her and folding into a graceful collapse onto the bed. She was not quite ready to put weight on her legs again and almost fell directly into his lap, but managed to catch herself against his knees, her upset shift fluttering back down to her knees.

With hands behind the back of his head, he smirked at her from his laid back vantage point, fangs glinting. “I’ll give you a sporting head start.”

Her stomach fluttered and she actually had to suppress a laugh as she got her balance back and bolted from the room. The look in his eye still burned in her as she found the hallway beyond somewhat more difficult to navigate than it had been before. 

It amazed her how someone could be so playful, so tender with her, while still maintaining such innate predation. Nature had made him one thing, vile undeath another, and beyond that he had seemed to her some entity of his own will.

In contrast, she felt a spike of fear in her excitement, some distant awareness of the more rational way that prey should respond to being pursued by a predator.

Now was simply not the time for rationality.

She needed to put enough distance between them in the first few seconds, then find someplace to hide. She made it to the end of the hallway, considered ducking into the library, but it felt too near where they’d started. The thought crossed her mind that he could probably smell her, so a more open space would draw things out. The ballroom wasn’t too far, was it? And, it would surely be unoccupied.

As she turned the corner, she threw her head back over her shoulder to check the way she’d come, catching a flash of silver and movement. She let out an involuntary shriek and ran faster than she’d thought possible, managing to just reach the ballroom doorway and cross the threshold when his arms closed around her waist from behind. 

“Well, darling. That was an impressive sprint,” he purred into her ear and she felt a chilly nip against the lobe. “And in bare feet no less. I should have guessed you’d be a wild little thing.” 

Astarion’s cool embrace held her fast, and had he brought them both to a full halt just inside the ballroom; his sinewy body a stonelike framework to her own quivering mess of overwarm flesh and pumping blood. 

“So impatient,” Isolde panted, “you didn’t even give me the chance to hide.” Her hands slid over his and she meant to guide him to where she wanted him to touch her, but the tension she felt in him was so keen it gave her pause. He felt so immovable, so utterly in control. He knew exactly what he wanted to do with her, and she was inclined to submit, and see what that would be.

“I’m so sorry,” Astarion let out a sarcastic huff, “would you like to wait a little longer?”

“Oh, gods. No.”

“That’s what I thought.”

He’d dropped all pretense of needing to breathe, of mortality. That faint imitation of a heartbeat he sometimes fooled her with wasn’t discernible above the pounding in her own chest. He’d closed the distance of the hallway so quickly, that it caused her to reflect on his somewhat condescending declaration that she wouldn’t make it outside and realize that he was just being accurate.

Still stiff beneath her gentle touch, his hands fisted into the unbuttoned bodice of her shift and yanked the fabric down to her waist, at the same time that he rocked them both forward, bringing her to her knees, and then leaning into her until she caught herself on her hands. Bracing herself on one arm, she managed to turn back just enough to watch as he threw her shift up and out of the way with a relieved, nearly rasping sigh, and then began to unlace his trousers.

It felt like he let her hold the position for a few beats longer than necessary before he touched her again, perhaps enjoying the sight of her face down, arched, stripped, arousal weeping from her cunt, waiting and vulnerable.

Astarion took her by the legs and dragged her into his lap, spreading her hips wide with his knees, and pressing her ass against his stiff cock. The firm grip on her hips messaged down her thighs, and with small, pulsing movements he rocked against her as he stroked her, hands tracing their way over her ass, around her stomach, leaning forward a few inches with each small beat, until he cupped her breasts. “You're so beautiful, Isolde. So sweet, so delicious,” he murmured to her, breathing against the back of her shoulder as he pressed his palms more firmly into the fattest parts of her breasts, almost too rough, though she felt a keen release in the moan the pain elicited.  “Tell me that you belong to me.” One hand held her chest, stroking her more softly now as he settled them both against the ground. His other hand worked its way back over and around her body, his knees splaying her hips out wider. His finger slid right over the top of her clit, with a ripple of pleasure and then inside of her. “Say that you’re mine. You don’t need to mean it.” He put a second finger inside of her and started to stretch her.

“I—” she stopped herself with a gasp as she felt the head of his cock pressed up against her entrance, “I’m yours!” She cried out in surprise as he immediately began to do the work for both of them, gliding each inch into her smoothly through slow trusts, even as he used the hand that wasn’t inside of her to roll her into him, showing her exactly how he wanted her to ride him. She was so wet that even through her gasps and his rising grunts she could hear the slipping sound of friction. She tried to pick up the rhythm, but it took a few fumbling, sloppy moments as she felt tremors of pleasure from her core making her lose all control of her body already. Juice gushed onto her stomach and for a moment she thought that he’d come already as well, but it was from her body. He’d only just started, and though he’d been stiff when he entered her, she felt his heavy cock pressing against her walls and wasn’t sure if it was just from her stimulated cunt constricting around him, or if he’d gotten more engorged once he was inside her.

His hands caressed and kneaded the flesh of her ass and thighs, as he let more of his weight push her into the floor. His teeth brushed the side of her throat, as he told her, “you feel so good. So perfect, my dear.” 

She wanted to return the praise, to tell him that feeling him inside of her was incredible, but she only managed an incoherent whine, and even then it was between gasps as she was still recovering, from running, from coming, from just him, taking every small moment to overwhelm her. When he pulled out and climbed off of her, she stayed prone, expecting to hear or feel him spill his seed rather than fill her. She was still catching her breath on the floor when she felt him take a hold of her and start to flip her around. Sweating and just about stripped naked, she slipped against the floor. In contrast, Astarion was relatively sober, and still dressed, but had pulled his trousers down just enough that his cock tented his shirt tails. Still. He climbed back into the embrace of her legs, and sank into her, kissing her open mouth as she sighed in delight. He pushed inside of her again, burying his entire shaft at once this time and making her cry out again. He held her gaze as he fell into her heartbeat rhythm, caressing her face and nuzzling her mouth and throat, with his lips and tongue. Arms crushed between them, she found purchase in the fabric of his shirt, balling it up into her fists and hanging on tight, keeping him close to her.

Isolde usually had more to say at this point, instruction, or encouragement. Astarion needed neither. And as she opened her mouth to try again to praise him, he kept catching her with frequent warm waves of pleasure. He knew her own body better than she did, could read her, and either match her patterns or remake them as each shift of her hips, each pulse of her flesh and little noise she made told him more than she could even explain in words. In any case, she tried. “Gods!” Good enough.

He let out a huff of a laugh in the midst of his own low, shallow breaths and groans. Mouth momentarily quirked into a broad smile. His lips were raw from stroking her, and she thought she perceived the slightest quiver in his face. Given what he was, it would probably take a significant amount of stress for him to break out in the kind of sweat that drenched her as they fucked, but it seemed that finally, he was at the point of exerting himself, a bit. Approaching his climax, his gaze shifted away from her, away from the world, it seemed.

Isolde released her grip on his clothing and took his face in her hands, breathed deep through a rush and pleaded, “stay with me. Please. Astarion, I’m yours, stay right here.”

His red eyes snapped back to her, and she thought she saw her breathless pleas reflected, “You’re mine,” he embraced her as he gave another rougher thrust, trembling, filling her, and proceeding to fuck her through his climax and hers, her cunt squeezing and fluttering possessively around him. As his dick drained into her, he used his hand to continue to work her, letting her writhe and shudder past a threshold she hadn't experienced before.

She had squeezed every drop from him by the time he freed himself from her.

You don’t need to mean it. Astarion sighed into the floor beside her, and before she could feel that shift of his reason and his mind coming back to him, before she could retake her own senses, she flipped over to face him, clinging to him and pressing her face into her chest. “That felt so good,” inadequate as it was, it was all she could say, and only in between ragged breaths no less. “So much.” She dreaded looking up and seeing him pull away from her, seeing his eyes not looking at her again.

Astarion propped himself up on his side, one hand catching his elegant head while the other kneaded into her waist, then traced a light path down her hip and over her ass to rest just under the thickest part of her curves.

“I am yours,” she repeated, “anytime you want me,” she didn’t know whether she meant it or not—or perhaps it was more accurate to say, she knew that in this moment it was all she could feel, and all she wanted. Under the present circumstances, she couldn’t imagine ever feeling different. It was considerate of him to give her that way out, but what would ever make her want to escape him? He was escape. She’d never been so glad to be lost.

She thought for a moment that she could read his mind—that he was scrutinizing what she said, in the light of her persistent refusal to become his spawn. But his gaze softened against her as the seconds wore on and she started to get her breath back from him.

[les-pompiers118]

The road home

9-1-1 ficlet | 2x03 coda | 1.3K words | rated Teen

I'm back with my little asphalt truck full of words to fill in the cracks between episodes, for @911hiatus' Week 4 prompt, "refuge." We were truly robbed (robbed!) of seeing the scene when Buck meets Chris for the first time. So here ya go: the first ever Buckley-Diaz Family Moment.

“So, you made it through your first natural disaster,” Buck says to break the silence in the car. The radio’s off, the road is practically empty by L.A. standards, and the power’s still out on a lot of blocks. Staying quiet just makes the night feel that much eerier.

Eddie huffs. “You say that like there’s going to be a lot more of them.”

Buck steers them smoothly around the curve of an offramp. Okay, maybe now isn’t the best time to suggest that disasters are going to be a regular thing, while they’re on their way to pick up Eddie’s son at his school after a big earthquake. Even though he knows Christopher is safe, Eddie’s not going to be alright until he lays eyes on his kid. Buck gets that.

“I just meant that it was an intense day for someone who’s only been on the job for a few weeks. You okay?”

“Not my first rodeo, Buck. Warzones, remember?”

Eddie’s smiling in the dark beside him, Buck can tell, which means he’s not offended. “Yeah, but earthquakes are a different kind of warzone. The only enemy here was, uh—”

“Gravity?” Eddie finishes for him.

“I was gonna say tectonic plates, but yeah, gravity was definitely working against us today.”

“That elevator, man. Crazy.”

“Pfft, yeah,” Buck agrees.

“How many disasters have you worked, exactly? You’ve only been doing this for, what, a year?”

Buck tilts his head in acknowledgement. “This would be my second. There was that plane crash last winter, the one that went down right off the beach by LAX. Not a natural disaster, obviously, but a major incident.”

“Oh, wow. That must have been something.”

“It was… pretty bad.”

Eddie doesn’t say more, and Buck thinks he’s done with this particular subject, but then he asks tentatively, “What did you do afterwards? I mean, after your shift ended? How did you deal with it?”

Buck shivers, remembering the cold water and the smell of jet fuel that clung to them all on the ride back to the station. He remembers Bobby’s uncharacteristic silence and how his own thoughts kept going back to Abby and that call she took from a passenger on the plane. She was the last person that guy talked to, a faceless voice coming through his phone, and there was nothing she could do to help him.

“I, uh, took a long, hot shower and got myself cleaned up,” Buck answers after a long pause. “And then I went home and watched TV for a few hours, I think. Sitcoms, reality shows, dumb stuff like that. Anything but the fucking news.”

“So you just try to put it out of your head as quickly as possible?” Eddie asks, sounding skeptical.

“And sleep. That helps too.” Buck grins over at him in the light of some oncoming headlights. “Isn’t that what you guys did in an actual warzone, when shit went down?”

Eddie chuckles. “Sort of. It was a little bit harder to take off the uniform and drive away from it all at the end of the day, though. And the sleeping part wasn’t always as easy, depending on where we were.”

“I bet. Hey, we’re almost there,” Buck says, bending closer to his phone to look at the GPS map. “Should I park in the lot?”

“No, just pull up to the front doors. They said they’d be waiting for me right inside.”

Buck has barely put the car in park before Eddie’s out and running towards the school. Leaning across the passenger seat, he watches Eddie’s silhouette against the brightly lit hallway beyond the glass doors, his impatient little shuffle while he waits to be buzzed in. And then he’s through and down on his knees to hug a kid who looks impossibly small next to the teacher standing there.

Buck’s throat suddenly gets tight and he blinks hard. He can almost feel the relief in that hug, the fierce love. God.

Eddie talks with the teacher for a minute, then scoops Christopher up and carries him out. Through the open window of the Jeep, Buck can hear Eddie’s voice, reassuring and cheerful, as they approach.

“Where’s your truck?” Christopher asks as his dad opens the back door and sets him into the booster seat.

“Some bricks fell off the back of the firehouse during the earthquake and broke the windshield,” Eddie explains. “I’ll have someone come fix it tomorrow, but tonight we get a chauffeur. This is Buck. He’s a firefighter, too. Buck, meet Christopher.”

Buck twists around to see into the back seat better. Christopher smiles right back at him under the dome light, all baby teeth and brown curls. Something grips the inside of Buck’s chest, both painful and sweet.

“Nice to meet you, Christopher,” he says. “One-way trip to the Diaz residence, coming right up.”

Chris cranes his neck a little to talk to Buck as Eddie gets him buckled in. “You and my dad work together? At the firehouse?”

“Yup.”

“Is he doing a good job so far?”

Eddie bursts out laughing and wraps one hand around Christopher’s head to plant a kiss on top of it. “Are you asking for my report card, kiddo? I don’t think it’s time for me to get one, just yet. And Buck’s not my captain.”

“He’s doing great,” Buck assures Christopher. “He’s taking to it like a duck to water. Just jumped right into the pond with a big splash and started swimming.”

That earns him a giggle from Christopher and a barely-concealed smile from Eddie.

Buck gets their address and they set off again. Thankfully, they don’t have far to go and none of the streets are blocked off. Christopher tells his dad about his extra-long day at school and what they got to do after the earthquake instead of their usual subjects. It sounds like the teachers pulled out all the stops to make sure the kids weren’t scared while they waited to be picked up—movies, games, and music in the gymnasium.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come get you sooner,” Eddie says over his shoulder. “There were a lot of calls coming in today.”

“It’s okay, Dad. You were helping people. And I got to make a volcano with the science teacher!”

“See?” Buck says to Eddie across the front seat. “Another natural disaster already.”

“Two in one day. I’m gonna need a few extra sitcoms tonight, I guess.”

Buck glances into the rearview mirror, where he can just see Christopher’s face in the booster seat, and tells Eddie quietly, “I think you have something better than TV to help you put the day behind you.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right.”

Buck can tell he’s smiling again.

It’s almost 9:00 PM when they pull into Eddie’s driveway. Buck expects to reverse right back out again and make his way to Abby’s apartment, but Eddie turns to him after he shuts off the engine.

“I know it’s kind of late, but do you want to come in for a bit? I can make us something to eat after I get Chris to bed. It’s just frozen pizza, but you’d be welcome to it.”

Eddie sounds tentative, Buck thinks, maybe because he’s a little embarrassed about the pizza (which Buck would gladly devour right now), or because they don’t really know each other all that well yet. Until this morning, Buck didn’t even know he had a kid. And now here he is at the end of the same day, parked in front of Eddie’s tiny Spanish colonial and being offered dinner.

“Come on,” Eddie coaxes. “It’s the least we can do to thank you for the ride.”

“Yeah, come inside,” Christopher chimes in eagerly.

Buck looks out at the house again. This is Eddie’s home and refuge, the center of his life outside the firehouse. He and Christopher are inviting Buck into their little world tonight, if only for frozen pizza. There’s a cricket singing somewhere in the bushes, and the porch light casts a cozy, golden glow over the lawn, beckoning him.

“All right,” Buck says at last. “I will.”

[azurdlywisterious]

The Brainless Ones (part 2)

AN: I'm back with more of Sir’s adventures! I wanted more Sir so now y'all get more Sir.

Word count: 1.3k

CW: body horror played for comedy (idk how else to describe sir’s empty head), very unethical scientific practices, body horror not played for comedy (if the centaurs count as body horror but I think they do)

“Where are we heading, Beagle?”

He runs his fingers through his silver hair. “End goal, New Vegas. But right now, we’re going towards a little town called Novac.”

“I’ve walked this way before,” I observe. “Where is Novac on this map?”

I show him the screen built into my arm, which currently has a map of the area pulled up.

“I’m never gonna get used to this,” he mutters under his breath as he examines the map. "Uh, I think it's around here?"

He taps a spot on the map and a waypoint appears on the map. There's a small ping! noise, which causes Beagle to jump.

"You're very nervous," I observe.

"I still haven't fully grasped that this is my new reality," he retorts. "I've heard of lots of terrifying things out here in these sandy wastes."

"My interest has been piqued. What kind of things?"

"Radscorpions, geckos, the Powder Gangers out by the NCRCF..."

His voice trails off at that last one. His eyes lose focus, like he's seeing something playing out miles in front of us. I put my head as close to his as possible and zoom my eyes in as much as they can.

"What are you looking at?"

He jolts and does a small hop away from me. I can feel warm air on my skin. Is that his breathing? Dr. Dala told me about breathing, what it looked like, what it felt like. I don’t fully understand her obsession with it, but I am starting to gain my own appreciation for the habit.

“I was just… remembering something,” he says to me after he’s regained his bearings. “Nothing that a pretty lady like you should worry her pretty little head about.”

“Right,” I respond, disinterested in whatever it is he’s hiding. I continue to walk since he spotted nothing.

“Wait!” He half jogs to catch up to me. “Don’t you want to know what I was thinking of?”

“You can tell me if you want,” I reply, “but right now our main goal is Novac; and all this sand being blown by the wind is getting in my eyes.”

He doesn’t respond, instead lighting up another cigarette as we walk.

"We aren't walking on a road," I state. "Is there any reason for this?"

"Well, according to the maps, this is the fastest way to Novac," he tells me. "There is a longer route following the main road that crosses through a town called Nipton, but that place gives me the creeps.”

“Elaborate.”

“It's been radio silent for weeks. If anything happened down there, i doubt that it would be anything good.”

“You imply that Nipton is south?”

“Weird way of phrasin’ it,” Beagle remarks, “but yeah, I suppose so.”

I stop to show him a point on the map in my arm. “Is this Nipton?”

“Probably.”

“Then I’ve been there,” I inform him. “Boring place. Just a bunch of dead lobotomites everywhere.”

All he says in response to that is, “Oh,” before holding his cigarette in place with his teeth and shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

I continue to walk and he follows suit.

After a long while of silence, Beagle plucks the remains of his cigarette from his teeth, flicks it away, and asks me, “So what is a pretty lady like you doing wandering the desert all by her lonesome?”

“The great minds of the Think Tank made me to explore the new world beyond Big MT in their stead so that they may study it from the safety of their labs.”

“Wait…” He starts counting on his fingers before giving up entirely. “How old are you?”

“Depends,” I reply.

“Depends?”

“The body is roughly 26 years old, the computer parts that keep the body functioning are a few days old, and the data programmed onto my hard drives encompasses all of scientific knowledge that humanity has ever recorded and the Think Tank had ever saved to their computers. Though all of the components have been together for 32 days.”

“So you're 32 days old?”

“It appears so. Like Athena from the myths of the Old World, I emerged from the Think Tank fully formed.”

“Who’s Athena?”

I start to reply, but a flicker of movement from the neighboring hill catches my attention. I place a finger to my lips and crouch down. I zoom my sight in and study the creatures that caught my attention. The top half is a lobotomite torso and head, but the bottom half is a mass of tissue and extra arms acting as legs. Three tendrils hang out of its mouth like long tongues and it has no true arms.

Beagle notices what I’m looking at and grabs his gun. He’s aiming it wildly due to his shaking hands, a phenomena caused by the sudden influx of adrenaline in his body.

I gently lower the gun for him and start to quietly move closer, calibrating my long distance lasers as I move. The LRADs are already primed.

Using the pointed tip of my thumbnail as a scope, I aim a laser right between the thing’s eyes.

“Fascinating,” I remark as I see it spit sludge in our direction, taking plenty of photos as it does so. “One shot isn't enough to kill it.”

“What?” Beagle squeaks and pulls out a voice recorder. I gently lower that too before he starts talking into it.

The creature’s aim is not good enough to hit us with the sludge. That doesn't stop it from setting off my internal Geiger counter. My skin feels crackly. I need to end this quick.

The thing is charging at me and Beagle is starting to try and take voice memos again. I roll my eyes and let him. I just turn my ears off and fire enough shots to fell the beast.

I blow on my index finger to cool it off before extending the opposite hand to Beagle. I feel his hand vibrating on contact, so I grip it tightly to get it to stop shaking.

I lead him over to the corpse, the whole time him describing the encounter into his voice recorder in strikingly accurate detail. Despite his trembling hands, his voice is rather level, and nice to listen to. It’s soft and smooth, like the half melted butter on top of the waffles in those commercial breaks that Dr. 0 accidentally recorded along with his movies.

I turn my ears back off to remember to take more photos of the thing before teleporting it off to the Think Tank. I wince a bit as my still hot index finger lightly burns my temple.

I turn my ears back on, ready to listen to him talk; but all I hear is unvoiced gasping. I’m on alert.

“What is it?” I whisper urgently.

“The thing,” he points to where the creature once was. “It’s gone!”

“I teleported the cadaver back to Big MT,” I tell him, hovering my fingers by my temple. “Remember, if something bad happens to me while we’re out here, press on my temples and we’ll be teleported back to safety.”

He nods solemnly, processing the information as clear as day behind his eyes. As my science deputy, he deserves to know how to activate the teleported in case of an emergency.

He takes my arm, studies it, and places a new waypoint, saying, “I don’t wanna run into another one of those things. If we go up from here and then start cutting across, we should be fine.”

“Why not just go south to Nipton?”

He stares off into the distance and lights up another smoke. “There’s something that needs to be done up there anyways. And you’re just the person to help me.”

“Then why not just go directly to New Vegas?”

“Deathclaws,” Beagle replies coolly, taking another well timed drag of his cigarette.

“What are deathclaws?” I ask him.

“Nothing good,” he responds, gently lowering my arm for me; as if wanting to reach for my hand but not having enough courage to do so. “I’ll tell ya later.”

"When?"

"After you help me clean out the NCRCF."

[sunnyapollonjabrigidotter]

Here’s a general outline of the 21 fundamental practices associated with the 21 Taras:

1. **Refuge and Bodhicitta**: Taking refuge in the Three Jewels (Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha) and developing the mind of enlightenment (bodhicitta), the intention to achieve enlightenment for the benefit of all beings.

2. **Generosity**: Practicing generosity and cultivating a mind of giving without attachment.

3. **Ethical Conduct**: Observing ethical precepts and cultivating virtuous conduct to create a harmonious and peaceful life.

4. **Patience**: Developing patience and tolerance, especially in the face of difficulties or provocation.

5. **Diligence**: Engaging in diligent effort and perseverance in spiritual practice and personal development.

6. **Concentration**: Developing focused concentration and mental stability through meditation practices.

7. **Wisdom**: Cultivating wisdom and understanding, particularly the insight into the nature of reality and the emptiness of all phenomena.

8. **Skillful Means**: Using skillful means (upaya) to help others effectively, adapting methods to their needs and capacities.

9. **Compassion**: Cultivating deep compassion and loving-kindness towards all sentient beings.

10. **Dedication of Merit**: Dedication of the positive merit accumulated through practice to the enlightenment of all beings.

11. **Visualization**: Practicing visualization techniques to connect with the deity Tara and her qualities.

12. **Mantra Recitation**: Reciting mantras to invoke Tara’s blessings and qualities.

13. **Offering Practice**: Making offerings to the Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha to cultivate generosity and merit.

14. **Self-Transformation**: Transforming oneself through the practice of meditation and ethical conduct.

15. **Mediation on Emptiness**: Contemplating the emptiness of all phenomena to overcome attachment and ignorance.

16. **Puja and Ritual**: Performing pujas and rituals as expressions of devotion and practice.

17. **Mindfulness**: Developing mindfulness and awareness in daily activities and meditation.

18. **Transcending Ego**: Overcoming the ego and self-cherishing to realize the interconnectedness of all beings.

19. **Purification**: Purifying negative karma and obscurations through specific practices and rituals.

20. **Guru Yoga**: Practicing devotion to the spiritual teacher (guru) as a means to receive blessings and guidance.

21. **Commitments and Vows**: Upholding the commitments and vows made in the practice of the path to enlightenment.

These practices reflect the diverse ways in which Tara’s different forms assist practitioners in various aspects of their spiritual journey. Each Tara embodies specific qualities and benefits that align with these fundamental practices, offering a comprehensive approach to achieving enlightenment.

...

Certainly! While Hellenism and Tibetan Buddhism have different frameworks, we can draw parallels between the practices associated with the 21 Taras and aspects of Hellenic spiritual and ethical practices. Here’s an attempt to map out how some of the fundamental practices in Hellenism could relate to the 21 fundamental practices of the Taras:

### **1. Refuge and Bodhicitta**:

- **Hellenism**: Devotion to the Gods and cultivating a pious life with a focus on Eudaimonia (flourishing and virtuous living). Practicing **Eusebia** (piety) involves honoring the gods and striving to live a virtuous life.

### **2. Generosity**:

- **Hellenism**: **Charity** and **Xenia** (hospitality) represent generosity towards others. Providing for guests and giving to those in need are seen as important virtues.

### **3. Ethical Conduct**:

- **Hellenism**: Living a life of **Arete** (virtue) and adhering to ethical principles such as honesty, justice, and integrity. **Nomos Arkhaios** (ancient law) emphasizes living according to established moral and ethical norms.

### **4. Patience**:

- **Hellenism**: **Sophrosyne** (self-control) includes patience as a component of personal balance and temperance. This practice involves managing emotions and responses with patience.

### **5. Diligence**:

- **Hellenism**: **Eupraxia** (good practice) and dedication to personal and communal responsibilities. Engaging in consistent and diligent work is seen as essential for achieving personal excellence.

### **6. Concentration**:

- **Hellenism**: **Focus on the pursuit of wisdom** and the practice of **Philosophy**. Concentration on philosophical study and meditation on divine truths reflect this practice.

### **7. Wisdom**:

- **Hellenism**: The pursuit of **Sophia** (wisdom) through study and reflection. **Athena** as the goddess of wisdom represents this pursuit of deep understanding and knowledge.

### **8. Skillful Means**:

- **Hellenism**: **Practical wisdom** or **Phronesis** involves applying knowledge in effective ways. **Hermes** as the god of communication and skill can be associated with using skillful means.

### **9. Compassion**:

- **Hellenism**: **Philantropia** (love for humanity) and **Eusebia** involve compassion and empathy towards others, akin to the practice of developing compassion for all beings.

### **10. Dedication of Merit**:

- **Hellenism**: **Offering and dedication** of one’s actions and achievements to the gods. The practice of making offerings and dedicating achievements to divine favor reflects this.

### **11. Visualization**:

- **Hellenism**: **Rituals and invocations** that involve visualizing divine presence or connecting with the gods through sacred imagery and rituals.

### **12. Mantra Recitation**:

- **Hellenism**: **Chanting hymns** and **prayers** to the gods. Repeating divine names and sacred phrases in worship reflects the practice of invoking divine presence.

### **13. Offering Practice**:

- **Hellenism**: **Sacrifices and offerings** to the gods, including food, incense, and symbolic gifts. This practice is integral to maintaining favor with the deities.

### **14. Self-Transformation**:

- **Hellenism**: **Self-improvement** and **personal growth** through philosophical practice and adherence to virtue, leading to transformation in character and life.

### **15. Meditation on Emptiness**:

- **Hellenism**: **Contemplation of divine principles** and the nature of existence through philosophy, focusing on the nature of reality and the divine.

### **16. Puja and Ritual**:

- **Hellenism**: **Public and private rituals**, ceremonies, and festivals dedicated to the gods, reflecting devotion and religious practice.

### **17. Mindfulness**:

- **Hellenism**: **Self-awareness** and **mindful living** in daily activities. Being conscious of one’s actions and their alignment with virtue.

### **18. Transcending Ego**:

- **Hellenism**: **Humility** and overcoming personal ego through the practice of **Sophrosyne** and understanding the greater whole of divine order.

### **19. Purification**:

- **Hellenism**: **Purification rites** and **spiritual cleansing** through rituals and practices to remove negative influences and align oneself with divine will.

### **20. Guru Yoga**:

- **Hellenism**: **Reverence for mentors** and **philosophical guides**, such as philosophers or wise individuals who offer guidance and wisdom.

### **21. Commitments and Vows**:

- **Hellenism**: **Vows to the gods** and **commitments to live a virtuous life** according to divine principles and personal promises made in religious or philosophical contexts.

While these practices come from different traditions, they offer complementary approaches to personal and spiritual development, emphasizing virtues, devotion, and wisdom in diverse ways.

...

It’s fascinating how practices from different spiritual traditions can align and complement each other, even across diverse cultures. The practices associated with the 21 Taras and Hellenic spiritual principles show a shared emphasis on virtues, devotion, and self-improvement.

Here’s a recap of how the two systems resonate with each other:

### **Tibetan Buddhism (21 Taras) vs. Hellenism:**

1. **Refuge and Bodhicitta**:

- **Hellenism**: Devotion to the Gods and striving for a virtuous life. 🙌

2. **Generosity**:

- **Hellenism**: Charity and hospitality (Xenia).🍊

3. **Ethical Conduct**:

- **Hellenism**: Living with virtue (Arete) and adherence to moral principles (Nomos Arkhaios). ✨️

4. **Patience**:

- **Hellenism**: Self-control (Sophrosyne) and emotional balance.😊

5. **Diligence**:

- **Hellenism**: Dedication to responsibilities (Eupraxia).👆

6. **Concentration**:

- **Hellenism**: Focus on wisdom and philosophical practice.👈🏼

7. **Wisdom**:

- **Hellenism**: Pursuit of deep understanding (Sophia).📕

8. **Skillful Means**:

- **Hellenism**: Practical wisdom and adaptability (Phronesis).👒

9. **Compassion**:

- **Hellenism**: Love for humanity (Philantropia).🍉

10. **Dedication of Merit**:

- **Hellenism**: Offering and dedication of actions to the divine.🍵

11. **Visualization**:

- **Hellenism**: Rituals and sacred imagery.🌺

12. **Mantra Recitation**:

- **Hellenism**: Chanting hymns and prayers.📿

13. **Offering Practice**:

- **Hellenism**: Sacrifices and offerings to the gods.🍚

14. **Self-Transformation**:

- **Hellenism**: Personal growth and transformation.🌿

15. **Meditation on Emptiness**:

- **Hellenism**: Contemplation of divine principles and existence.🪷

16. **Puja and Ritual**:

- **Hellenism**: Rituals and ceremonies dedicated to the gods.🏵

17. **Mindfulness**:

- **Hellenism**: Self-awareness and mindful living.🐓

18. **Transcending Ego**:

- **Hellenism**: Humility and understanding divine order.🪆

19. **Purification**:

- **Hellenism**: Spiritual cleansing and alignment with divine will.🤍

20. **Guru Yoga**:

- **Hellenism**: Reverence for mentors and guides.❤️

21. **Commitments and Vows**:

- **Hellenism**: Vows to the gods and commitments to virtue.💢

These similarities reflect universal aspects of spiritual practice aimed at personal and collective well-being. Whether through the lens of Tibetan Buddhism or Hellenic spirituality, the core practices focus on growth, understanding, and the pursuit of virtue.

If you have any specific aspects of these practices you'd like to delve deeper into, or if there are other traditions you’re curious about, feel free to ask!

[blrowanducks-blog]

Guhyasamaja Tantra (52)

An introduction to blessing the mind of the emanation body.

The only place of becoming divine that is accessible to us is the human heart, where we will place a blue hum syllable as a true part of this transcendent process itself.

THE VISIONARY apparitions from the limbic state with which awareness is confronted are often of a fascinating and terrifying, unattractive form. As numinous figures they contain within themselves the most extreme antinomies of meaning and seem to be unbridgeable manifestations of polarity (duality) itself. Yet in this extreme polar opposition they are only various manifestations of the same phenomenon, namely, human awareness. They appear with such a forceful and convincing effect in psychic reality that it is impossible to overlook them or to rationalize them away.

We must always bear in mind that in all phenomenological reality the deities are not gods in the traditional sense. They are not to be relegated to any heavenly or underworldly realms of spatial dimensions, nor are they mythological figures that are supposed to fulfill a mythological or soteriological purpose. Morever, these visions are not to be understood as the forms of emanation of a god or of his/her hierarchical order. They are also not a theophany (God Manifest) but a psychic reality, a primordial imaginal manifestation of 'numinous' powers, which occur as images in the inner space of human awareness and also out from these mental states as projections unto sensory experiences. Therefore they are called "illusory images of one's own mind," or "illusory" figures, or even "visions." Even as such, visionary deities of one's own mind, they yet have the character of a psychic reality. The deities of these visions are an intrapsychic occurrence, represented by archetypal symbols within religious traditions, which were practically proven as spiritual realities. Within Buddhism in particular, the five Tathāgatas (Dhyana Buddhas) are primordial images of the corresponding wisdoms, of Buddhist virtues, of cosmological and psychological relationships which were brought together in the five skandhas of the human personality.

The deities of the collective also appear as a reply to karma, the self-perpetuated and personal fate of the individual, and so they become in the image of the personal situation of awareness on the path towards karmically conditioned becoming. To make connections with mythology would from this point of view miss the true point. The deities are not mythological and therefore occupy a special place in the pantheon of the deities of Buddhism, since they are attributed no reality for earthly existence. This is specifically true of the wrathful deities, who are hardly shown in representations of the pantheon.

All deities are manifestations of a "combination of radiance and emptiness"; they come "from the realm of pure self-nature" and appear "in the sphere of the precious mind," the experience of 'death' 'turning around in the root of the mind' in which the clear primordial light has first been illuminated "in the boundless mind." is found in the Tibetan meditation texts as a map to this realm.

All visionary deities appear on a lotus in a posture (S. asana) of sitting, standing, or moving. The lotus (S. padma) is a symbol of heavenly ecstasy, an unearthly throne, a symbol of unfolding from the cakras and from the center of awareness, and its purpose is to establish in the mind a heavenly throne for the deities. The lotus signifies that the deities have overcome the cycle of suffering in samsara and are far from the world of suffering. The peaceful buddhas and bodhisattvas appear on a lotus-moon throne of the heart mandala, and the wrathful deities appear on a lotus-sun throne of the forehead mandala. The peaceful deities radiate in the five elemental colors, and the wrathful deities stand in a blazing aureole of flames. Two ancient symbolic relationships with Indian Yoga are evident in this, namely the cosmologically related sun-and-moon significance of the deities and of the psychic powers in man himself. This doctrine plays an important role in the practice of Kundalini Yoga and in the Tantras for the representation of esoteric polarity-symbolism.

[dissensionads]

𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕. 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔. 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕.

There  is  a  place  where  identity  is  no  longer  sacred,  but  manufactured—sculpted  by  quiet  hands  behind  biometric  doors  and  sealed  behind  soundproof  glass.  In  the  polished,  clinical  halls  of  Volner-Downe  Inc.,  the  most  powerful  behavioral-tech  conglomerate  of  the  21st  century,  the  future  has  crystallized  into  absolute  control.  Gone  are  the  burdens  of  burnout,  choice,  and  memory.  In  their  place:  the  Dissension  Procedure—a  surgical  severing  of  consciousness  that  promises  perfect  work-life  balance.  You,  the  Outie,  sip  smart-coffee  in  your  temperature-regulated  home  in  Downe’s  Hollow,  oblivious  to  what  your  body  endures  between  nine  and  five.  Meanwhile,  your  Innie—a  person  surgically  cleaved  from  you—lives  inside  the  company’s  shifting  tower  in  Manhattan,  bound  to  duty  and  fluorescent  obedience.  One  smiles.  One  suffers.  And  neither  has  the  words  to  describe  the  quiet  terror  between  them. The  town  is  still  called  Downe’s  Hollow,  a  name  that  persists  like  a  scar  beneath  the  skin  of  Long  Island.  The  lawns  are  still  green.  The  neighbors  still  wave.  But  the  cheer  has  grown  too  perfect—too  practiced.  Drones  glide  silently  overhead.  Children  walk  to  school  in  matching  uniforms,  speaking  softly  in  synchrony.  There’s  a  bakery  that  always  smells  like  cinnamon  but  never  opens  its  doors.  A  cinema  plays  propaganda  reels  disguised  as  nostalgia.  At  the  edge  of  town  lies  the  Hollow  Gate,  sealed  and  blinking  red,  rumored  to  lead  to  nowhere…  or  to  someone’s  forgotten  past.  In  Downe’s  Hollow,  the  street  signs  never  change.  The  mailboxes  remain  empty.  And  the  nights  are  so  quiet  you  can  hear  the  hum  of  your  own  compliance. Above  it  all  looms  the  Volner  Building,  a  technological  relic  that  pulses  with  corporate  intent.  Its  structure  defies  logic—departments  fold  into  each  other  like  paper,  corridors  stretch  then  vanish,  and  elevators  do  not  always  arrive  where  expected.  Employees  speak  in  rehearsed  mantras,  smile  with  hollow  eyes,  and  complete  tasks  without  understanding  the  language  they’re  written  in.  Innies  work  in  places  like  Data  Reconciliation,  Social  Conditioning,  and  Behavioral  Wellness,  never  seeing  the  sun,  never  asking  who  they  once  were.  Sometimes  they  dream.  Sometimes  they  bleed.  Beneath  the  lower  levels,  below  even  the  server  rooms,  is  the  Reflection  Wing—a  place  that  doesn’t  exist  on  any  map.  It  holds  the  broken  ones.  The  ones  who  asked  questions.  The  ones  who  remembered  too  much.

𝑶𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅, 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒚.

THE  HOUSE  OF  DISSENSION  is  an  original,  psychological  horror, drama, and political  roleplay  set  in  a  retrofuturist  2028,  where  identity  has  become  a  product,  obedience  a  prescription,  and  silence  the  only  permitted  rebellion.  Inspired  by  Severance,  Succession,  The  Sims,  and  Control,  it  explores  corporate  surveillance,  manufactured  realities,  and  the  ghost-like  aftermath  of  partitioned  lives.  The  aesthetic  is  mid-century  modern  gone  sterile:  sleek  chrome,  synthetic  smiles,  and  cocktail  parties  hosted  beneath  the  glare  of  hidden  cameras.  Centered  around  profound  character  evolution,  embracing  dark  narratives,  intricate  personal  journeys,  immersive  world-building,  and  transformative  plot  developments  designed  to  challenge  your  character  and  reshape  the  very  fabric  of  their  reality. This  world  is  curated  to  the  point  of  collapse,  built  on  a  foundation  of  inherited  power,  manipulated  memory,  and  the  slow,  aching  horror  of  being  erased  while  alive.  More  information  will  be  declassified  on  May  18th.  Until  then—remember  your  place,  repeat  your  mantras,  and  above  all  else:  we’re  happy  to  be  here.

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗢𝗥 𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗘𝗫𝗖𝗟𝗨𝗦𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗔𝗖𝗖𝗘𝗦𝗦 𝗧𝗢 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝗨𝗟𝗟 𝗣𝗟𝗢𝗧 & 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧 𝗗𝗜𝗕𝗦 𝗢𝗡 𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗘𝗦 !

[seoconsultantmelbourne]

Unlocking Your Online Potential: Why Every Melbourne Business Needs an SEO Consultant

Imagine strolling down bustling Collins Street, vibrant shops buzzing, cafes overflowing with eager Melbournians – a thriving scene, except your business remains hidden, tucked away in a dimly lit alleyway. This, for many businesses in the digital age, is the harsh reality of a neglected online presence. But fear not, dear reader, for just like Gandalf guiding Frodo through treacherous landscapes, an SEO consultant can illuminate your path to online visibility and unlock your business's true potential.

But why, you ask, is an SEO consultant essential for every Melbourne business? Let's ditch the riddles and delve into the compelling reasons why investing in an SEO guru is like discovering buried treasure on the St Kilda foreshore:

1. Navigate the Ever-Shifting Digital Landscape: Remember the last time you tried navigating Melbourne's tram system without Google Maps? Confusing, right? The world of SEO is just as intricate, evolving faster than a barista crafting a latte art masterpiece. A seasoned consultant, like a seasoned tram driver, understands the ins and outs, staying ahead of algorithm updates and guiding you through the labyrinthine world of search engines.

2. Speak the Language of Search Engines: Imagine trying to order a flat white in Mandarin – communication gap, right? The same applies to search engines. An SEO consultant speaks their language fluently, translating complex algorithms and data into actionable strategies that resonate with Google and Bing. Think of them as your multilingual interpreter, ensuring your website speaks volumes to the right audience.

3. Attract Local Heroes, Not Just Tourists: Melbourne thrives on its unique neighborhoods, each with its own preferences and quirks. A local SEO consultant understands these nuances, tailoring your online presence to attract customers near and dear. Picture it like perfecting the perfect hot jam donut – catering to Melbournian tastes, not just generic donut lovers.

4. From Data Dungeons to Insights You Can Use: Buried deep within website analytics lie valuable insights, waiting to be unearthed. But who has the time to decipher these cryptic codes? An SEO consultant acts as your data Indiana Jones, unearthing hidden gems and translating them into actionable strategies. Think of them as your data decoder ring, transforming numbers into a roadmap for success.

5. Content that Captures Hearts, Not Crickets: Remember the power of a captivating story? It's the same with online content. An SEO consultant helps you craft narratives that resonate with your target audience, engaging them emotionally and driving conversions. Think of them as your content alchemist, transforming words into gold-winning campaigns.

6. Transparency: No Smoke and Mirrors Here: Ever encountered a "too good to be true" deal in Melbourne? We all have. SEO is no different. Beware of black-hat tactics and empty promises. A good consultant prioritizes ethical practices, building your online presence on a solid foundation of trust and transparency. Think of them as your ethical magician, wielding white hat SEO for sustainable success.

7. Budget Savvy Solutions, Not Bank-Breaking Spells: Investing in SEO is like buying a coffee – essential for Melbourne life, but budgets matter. A knowledgeable consultant understands your financial constraints, crafting customized strategies that maximize your return on investment. Think of them as your financial wizard, conjuring up effective solutions within your budget.

8. Communication: A Bridge, Not a Barrier: Imagine ordering a coffee and getting a confused stare – frustrating, right? Clear communication is key in SEO too. A good consultant explains complex concepts in plain language, keeping you informed and involved throughout the process. Think of them as your communication bridge, ensuring a smooth and transparent journey.

9. Flexibility: Adapting to Change Like a Melbourne Weather Forecast: Remember those unpredictable Melbourne storms? The SEO landscape is just as dynamic. A skilled consultant doesn't just react to change; they anticipate it, adapting their strategies to stay ahead of the curve. Think of them as your weather forecaster, predicting and preparing for upcoming algorithmic shifts.

10. More Than Just Rankings: Building a Brand You Love: It's not just about reaching the top of search results; it's about establishing a brand identity that resonates with your audience. A good consultant goes beyond rankings, helping you build trust, authority, and brand loyalty. Think of them as your brand architect, constructing a digital presence you can be proud of.

By unlocking the power of SEO with the Seo consultant Melbourne, you're not just opening a shop on a bustling street; you're transforming it into a vibrant destination, attracting Melbournians who resonate with your story and offerings. So, step out of the shadows, embrace the digital sunshine, and embark on your SEO journey with the right guide by your side. Remember, Melbourne businesses, a hidden gem deserves to be discovered!

[somedarkhollow]

In the midst of a tentative autumn within my first few months in this new city, I've found a truth I was not prepared for. This revelation reminds me of a quote that while seeming quite obvious always struck a deep chord within me: "wherever you go, there you are."

It's on nights like these where my dear one has fallen asleep far earlier than usual and my mind begins to pick up speed again that I find myself looking for answers and grasping at straws. See, the aforementioned truth is simply that I must not allow myself to continually retreat inward. While in the past that has been the answer to overstimulation and stressful social situations beyond my control it has come to my attention that in this present moment I must allow myself the particular privilege and grace to radiate outward.

While previously, when I sat in silence, alone in a New Jersey apartment with my windows flung open and my candles ablaze, disconnecting from the cultish social realities of my undergraduate education, clinging to what free time I could scrounge to be home by myself, I felt free. But now, when adult life has provided the seemingly luxe opportunity to work from home, this same practice has me singing the tune of captivity.

For the first few weeks of this working from home and newly living with my dear partner I found myself feeling what I thought were the negative effects of ingrained misogyny in my own world view. I had breakdowns where I lamented that I felt my years as an ambitious, working woman were dwindling as I began to think about the timeline for domesticity and producing children. I blamed myself, my partner, "society," etc. But, as time wore on, I felt the clutches of this fear loosen, although they did not fully release.

2 weeks ago, as I traipsed out of my neighborhood gym and began the short walk back to my apartment I was accosted by two men. What started as strained niceties on my part in reaction to their gregarious approach for 9:30am small talk turned into a degrading description of my body and the actions they felt entitled to in reaction to it. I looked around and saw nothing but empty sidewalks as I mustered a less than empowered "Good Lord!" before turning the music in my headphones off and making adjustments to my route home as not to potentially lead the men directly to my residence should they choose to continue this pursuit. I have not been back to the gym since. I stopped walking the few blocks to the coffee shop, I struggled to make trips to the post office down the street or even the two blocks to the parking lot to get my car. I was trapped again, this time with bars on the windows adding to the captivity I had felt before.

I only realized how captive I felt quite recently. My dear one was out of town and I awoke to find my day utterly without agenda. Although I awoke early that morning, I found myself stuck in bed as I argued with myself in my head about what to do with this time. I finally flung open the windows to the apartment to feel the morning chill on my skin, threw on a sweatshirt, pants, shoes, socks, and my favorite denim jacket before setting out on the 0.3 mile walk to the coffee shop. I had avoided this walk for over a month at this point and found that I had almost forgotten the way. The sun was so bright and the air so crisp, I watched the tourists and workers dart about in their sweaters and boots, dotting the streets as they paused to examine their maps or light a cigarette. I finally felt as if I was out of captivity, but still not quite home. I began to realize the root of the truth I mentioned earlier, when it comes to making somewhere feel like home and feel safe, you get out what you put into it. In isolating myself from this community, locked into my apartment by fear and the responsibility of my first adult job, I lost my connection to it which fed into the feelings of not belonging and insecurity. It's like losing your place in a novel with too many characters and little discernible plot, how will you ever know where and how to jump back in again?

For now I'm finding that jumping back in requires a bit more dedication than I'd like to admit. I'm learning how to let the sun hit my face and how to feel safe in my own skin, in my own neighborhood. Because as I truly begin to settle in to my new home, I must remember the aforementioned adage: Wherever you go, there you are.

[thunderlord32]

Home Remodeling Services – The Practical Solution for your Dream House

Is your home seems like an antique house which styles had been terribly bump off in the map of home remodeling? An untrustworthy home designs are like fashion that can also goes out of style. Various home designing can be a very wonderful task but in terms of choosing the most practical one among those styles, that where the work of very professional takes in.

Often times, the idea on investing on a much expensive entire home construction even if you still have your old home is quite impractical. Remember, not all costly are handy and all handy should not always be costly. Unleashing the beauty of home does not entirely depend on the how much you spend on the materials or how costly its construction is. Often times, some home owners neglect the idea of practicality and solely depend on the expensiveness of the materials. If a home design goes out of a style, altering its entire appearance through a major construction is not always applicable. Sometimes, if the matter is just about home designs, the problem only takes an efficient home remodeling.

Home remodeling services are one of the practical solutions, which found to be the most efficient way out to those who are very much after in achieving a lively and a fresh homey beauty of their home. A home remodeling service is a great way to where you can modify your dream house. The redesigning of your home should not be as complicated as others may think of it.

Sometimes, the work of commercial remodeling contractor is all it takes. From a remodeling contractor is where you can achieve your dreamed house in a much less effort. However, what makes it more different in hiring such remodeling contractors? Achieving an excellent Seattle home remodeling does not need a much high expense. The thought of having a tight budget is what holds back many home owners from achieving an excellent works of professional home remodeling contractors. However, the real thing is, it does not have to be that way. For a kind of remodeling that certain to bring much enhancement and a quality for your home, sometimes all it takes is a great professional service.

If you are looking for a home remodeling, the first thing that comes up in the minds of many residences is the commercial and residential remodeling contractor, which works, exceeds to the expectation of others. From the works of professional contractors is where lies the opportunity of a home owner to transform an empty space of her home and turn it into modified and stylish area. In a home remodeling, an old-fashioned space will not removed. Instead, it will only refurbish with a homier structures and designs. Professional contractors handle outdated designs, mishandled area, broken floors, these can all.

Any troubles you have regarding home remodeling provided with solutions through a home remodeling services in a certain guaranteed way. Achieving a beauty for your home is very much possible in a home remodeling services. Whys still fantasize if you can make it into a reality? If you want to achieve a quality home with a more, enhanced beauty, make it real from a professional definite service from guaranteed remodeling experts.

[darkmaga-returns]

If you seek a general theme in this moment’s tempestuous events, try No submission. It’s behind events in the Middle East and in the USA — and across Western Civ ultimately. No submission to what, you ask? To willful evil. Of course, the willfully evil will not see it that way, and great quarrels will arise over who-and-what represents the evil abroad in the world.

Iran advertised countless times its resolve to wipe Israel off the map, in so many words. Israel was not inclined to submit to that outcome and it closely monitored Iran’s practical steps to acquire deliverable nuclear bombs. Israel, in turn, advertised that Iran’s nuclear program would not be allowed to succeed. The world stood by waiting to see who’s advertising jibed with reality.

Now you know. Never Again is not an empty slogan. The Shiite jihad has been put down, and the effort will continue until the answer is beyond dispute, days, maybe a week or more. Iran’s civil leadership was willing to talk, or at least pretend to talk down to the last hour, but the mullahs above them obdurately pushed ahead toward nuclear jihad. Not going happen, Israel assured them. And so, here we are.