#Words words words. { augar }

[saberswordseabass]

A Hidden Danger pt3

**Somewhere in Vulptanis space**

A low ding drones out as the human inspired alarm clock rigs out from the soft off-white night stand. A dull brown fur clad hand reaches out and gently grabs the device. Their arm rears back to throw it, but before they throw the evil device, they realize what they are about to do.

"I hate that damn device." A soft voice groans as the owner of said voice leans up, letting their sheet drop down from their form. A Vulptanis with dull brown fur and what looked like a black long sleeve shirt on.

The Vulptanis threw one leg off the edge of the bed and then almost a little overdramatically, their other leg. Standing up, they show off the long sleeve shirt was actually a bodysuit that was skin tight, or was say a second layer of skin. Walking over to a dresser, throwing on a trench coat that reaches the floor. Their hand snakes into the coat's inner pocket and pulls out a communication device.

"I better not have a... message... from.. Inquistor Rixwraith... fuck!" The Vulptanis shouted as their orange eyes widened in complete horror before sprinting out of the room. Their communication pad had an emergency warning that a purposefully hidden 'issue' of theirs has reactivated.

It has been a good solid hour or two since 'mother' as she preferred, turned back on. Two 'pups' here, in the safety of her 'brain' room. Two were still missing, a similar sized one, and a rather large 'pup'. Her children were currently on the search as she began to spread her influence back through the facility... slowly.

"Now, what will happen when the bots find the monster?" Carrion asked out, breaking the silence as Trish managed to set her arm, much to mother's dismay at not being able to help a 'pup'.

"Well, I will not go into the gruesome detail, but they shall make sure it won't be an issue for any of you dears." Mother gleefully chirped from her monitor's speaker. Her face artificial face filled the screen like a fox way too close to a camera. "But as they do that, my pups, I need to properly can both of your vitals, to better keep track of your health."

"Scan away." Trish grunted as she finished tying the cloth around her makeshift split for her wrecked arm. A red grid based beam began to scan away both Trish and Carrion from the main monitor. A loud, angry sounding buzzer went off when it finished. A human body began to fill the screen, reading off biological information.

"ERROR. Unknown biological species... beginning data recording..." Mother began to spout as her screens showed a loading screen as she saved the information. "...I am sorry, but my dear pup, what's are you?" Mother asks as one of the more lithe of her robotic 'children' walked up and lifted his helmeted chin.

Carrion blinked as he had a minor brain malfunction before remembering how to speak. "I am human. The newest species added to the community." Mother, let out what could be best described as an electronic hum.

"They are considered endangered, and most in community space have supposedly been issued guardians. I'm Carrion's guardian." The lithe Vulptanis looking bot turned to Trish, and everything of the mother and the facility seemed to freeze at the word 'endangered'

"Uh, Octarus?" Carrion asks softly as the long silence is beginning to be quite deafening. After another minute, and him backing up from the lithe bot, the bot shifts to look back at him.

"Defend pu-humans."

The bot states out as their eyes begin to glow powerfully. The floor rumbles as another bot gently holds onto Trish, and the lithe bot gently grabs Carrion. The floor rumbles again like a sleeping giant reawakening once again.

"Production of combat units has been restored, starting yield of 1000 units. Granting permission to start the production on Augar and Xelon unit lines."

Octarus' voice robotically spoke as the bots held the still hurting Trish and unharmed Carrion. When mentioning the 'Xelon line', the entire place shook like an earthquake hit the factory.

A planet formed into view, the inquistor trying not to panic internally. Their eyes scan over the view of the planet. Their eyes begin to focus on a small area that, from orbit, obviously quivered. Their ears droop down as he glared at the growing spire from the quivering earth.

The door opened as two similarly uniformed Vulptanis to the inquistor walked in, holding onto a bruised Vulptanis in civilian clothes. "Ah, thank you. Please have a seat." The inquistor spoke as the two place the bruised man onto a seat in front of the dull brown Vulptanis.

"So just to be formal, I am Inquistor Quilx. I shall ask you a few questions, and depending how it goes, you might get to return back to your station." Quilx spoke as he pulled over a padded chair to sit across from the captive Vulptanis.

"So first question, yes? Why did you choose this planet for getting resources? There are many more resource rich planets nearby." Quilx asks as he leaned forward to stare into the half swollen face of the Vulptanis.

"I-i chose it because the high-grade trees, their species use less...wood and more ferrus material. They would be a huge boon to beginning colonies." The Vulptanis croaked out as his right eye was beginning to swell from the black eye. Quilx nods his head softly, and before he gets another question, the Vulptanis continues. "We sent a survey team down. They have been down there longer than supposed to. I don't know the team specifically, but they had a human in it."

Quilx's ears flatten at the sound of that. Out of all the beings to be sent down...a human. His paperwork was going to increase significantly if he bombarded the planet to eliminate the 'issue'. "Sigel, Jurgen, get this waste of fur out of my sight, then prepare a shuttle for planetary landing."

Jurgen, who put away a thermose he was about to give to Quilx, grabs the Vulptanis and begins to draw them away. Sigel gives a soft bow before making her way to prepare a shuttle.

"This is not going to be fun." Quilx groaned as he pressed his paw against his face. Depending on how this went, he might need to terminate a human... Although he really doesn't want that.

So I really want to thank @wolven91 for making the universe and stories that have greatly helped me in figuring out where to take these stories. C&C welcome!

Also, have a picture of a model I've been working on because why not?

[waraxarcana]

Romantic Gestures Headcanon

Because of the culture Hawkins grew up in, romance has been a, frankly, alien concept for him the majority of his life. Overt displays of emotions were frowned upon, after all, so acts of love and romance were seldom seen. Marriages on Augar were typically arranged or unions that both parties considered mutually beneficial. It wasn't until he spent time in the coastal city and saw ships come in with foreigners who were much less repressed than the locals that he saw two people kiss, and it wasn't until he read about it in a book that he even became aware of romantic gestures.

While he was exposed to it more as he sailed the North Blue and interacted more with the outside world, most of Hawkins' "knowledge" of it comes from books. When he realized seduction was a tactic he would need but did not possess much experience with, he continued to turn to books. Romance novels, typically with Byronic heroes and feisty heroines, were his main reference point, for good and for ill. So while he does know how to perform grand romantic gestures and what words to say to draw someone in, there's generally a toxic and controlling undertone to it. Buying clothes for you to wear on dates, expressing that he's the only one who understands you, and offers to "take you away from all of this and keep you by my side" seem sweet at first until you realize they're all meant to take away your autonomy and isolate you.

On a related side note, he has come to consider vampire romance novels to be something of a guilty pleasure and definitely takes more than a little bit of inspiration from them when it comes to romance and dates.

[thetrailofflames]

The Duneraiders Culture

Values: The felines of secrecy and shadow, they value Stealth, Cunning, Strategy, and Adaptability.

~Based on leopards and manticores~

Ranks

A Chief is the face of the guild, their word is final as the founder's law.

Delagate - the second command of the guild. Tasks include things such as being charge of setting up patrols and deciding elite cats, and on occasion helping peace talks

Elites are the next highest with Otacustes under them. Elties are - one of a special rank who who are in charge of maintaining order; typically, can be chosen as a delegate, while Otacustes are the ones behind the scenes of the guild. They are trained to scout for information and to kill at any means necessary. Typically cats of the elite as well.

Clerics and Augars are around the same authority of rank.

Positers and Fabers are around the same however there is a splint. Positers are the construction cats. The ones who help keep the camp in shape and re-enforce the walls. Fabers are cats who excel with using their paws and claws to craft all sorts of things such as nets and traps

Gladiators are the cats trained to excel in fighting process. Looking for new tactics and tree running techniques.

Lēohts are the cats who operate during the daytime. They patrol and guard the land in careful steps in the daylight.

Veterans are retirees who have given service to their guild and have earned rest.

Trappers - the primary hunters of the guild. They operate with more crafty ways to obtain prey such as using traps.

Nurses and Rangers typically are put in the same authority rank.

Succession of the Chiefdom

Passed from bloodline. However, it is not linear. A cat can challenge the current bloodline to put theirs at the top, once defeated, that bloodline is blocked. 

Only the most powerful lines may prosper.

Native Prey

The land is marshy yet dry at the same time. This leaves room for many sorts of animals to to found.

Frogs / Toads

Lizards / Salamanders

Woodpeckers

Dragonflies

Beetles / Worms / Grubs

Trading

The dry land may not offer much but it does still offer things to the ones living as well as supplies from there.

Reptile skins and scales

Eggs 

Mud

Decoration

Scars are viewed as marks of stupidity. Many try their best to remain as unmarked as possible. The worst scar one can get is one on the face or chest. 

They don’t often don themselves with accessories. It gets in the way of being sneaky and shadow-like. 

Their ears are typically cut to deal with the harsh territory, cut by the cleric.

Body Traits

These cats have small frames. They are the smallest of all the guilds.

Small paws

They either have short, bobbed tails or longer tails with a sharp prick at the end.

Decent sized wings, used for gliding.

Heterochromia is common, especially complete heterochromia. 

Their small paws typically have unsheathed claws, unable to sheathe all the way.

They have narrowed eyes even when relaxed.

Spines that grow from the back of the neck, usually two, rarely four

They have long upper canines and sometimes lower canines.

Fur tends to be thin and often missing fur or patchy.

Naming Conventions 

Their names typically involve their surroundings. Often also include some crude humor with their promotion names.

They also partake in their version of legacy naming. If a guildmates dies, and litter is born, a cub shall be given the name of the fallen.

Religion

Just as religious as the Meadows, some would say even more so. They see themselves as more connected to the stars due to their founder and Sirsha’s closeness, especially during after the war when they were practically banished from the day.

Their patrons are the Leopard, Jaguar, and Sirsha.

Holy Days

Sirsha’s Gleam is a prime night of activity. The time to celebrate the seniors and loved ones of since passed. The main opportunity for partners to be bonded under the eye of the beloved moon. 

Shadowed Night - A night when their founder and Sirsha are together and display a night of trust to them. A judgement of what they will do without their watchful eyes. 

Courting / Bonding Habits 

Romance is few and far between with most cats coupling solely to bare the guild young however that’s not to say it doesn't happen. 

Courting varies such as hunting and fighting. A romantic might bring their desired partner in a private area with fireflies. 

Pairs are joined during the full moon, where Sirsha and their founder’s eye is full. To not be joined during the full moon is said to lead to a failed bonding.

Very encouraging to polyamory

Family dynamics

Cubs are weaned at 2 months old at the latest. Cubs are encouraged to start trying small bits before then to become more self-sufficient.

Bonds between siblings, especially ones between littermates are said to be the strongest. 

Parental bonds aren’t the strongest, but it isn’t discouraged. 

Death + Burial 

Kin of the fallen (blood or found) are allowed witness the safe passage of their loved one’s journey to the stars. 

The bodies is left to the dark birds, to give back the cycle. Bones are collected and cleansed. Skulls are kept and carved while teeth and claws are passed to the kin of the fallen then to rest of the guild so the fallen may continue to contribute to the guild and their way of life. 

The remains are slathered with pine sap and are taken to the Rika’s Tree where the roots slowly entrap them and it becomes one with it. The leaves and fruit of the tree is sacred and to take or stars forbid, eat it, is to spit on the gods, your ancestors, and to damn yourself to agony beyond the grave. 

Other Information

These cats look like their close to death and it baffles the younger cats from other guilds that these cats keep living.

Toms aren’t barred from the position of chief or second, but they have a long history of being led by mollies that it’s shocking when a tom rises to chief. 

They tend to have a dark sense of humor and don’t realize they are being creepy to an outside perspective. 

[journeylong]

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[queen-scribbles]

rules: write the latest line from any of your wips & tag as many people as there are words in the line. Make a new post, don’t reblog.

tagged by @shepherds-of-haven​, and funny enough, my only two WIPs I’ve messed with recently are both bits of ShoH fic. :D The delay was deciding which to share, BUT. One is mega-spoilers for the Ryn/Red 20s AU, >:3 so we’ll go with the other one, which may, possibly, involve Trick having to drag Trouble out of a river. /cough

[Trick] pursed her lips and worked off the drenched leather belt to hold up. “Looks like you’re not the only one who needs to think things through better.”

[Trouble] winced, face screwed up in understanding of exactly how fucked her pistol likely was. “Aw, hael, Trick, I’m-”

Trick shook her head. “Ah, don’t be,” she cut off his apology. “Not your fault.” She pulled the gun from its holster as she pushed to her feet, looked it over. “It’s pretty well made; maybe if I clean it and dry it real well it’ll be salvageable.”

“An’ maybe the Autarch’ll appoint me High Augar,” Trouble snorted as he went to stand, wobbled, and sat back down hard.

“Look, even if it is a total loss” --she couldn’t help a little sigh as she holstered the dripping gun and offered him a hand up--”I can get a new one.” Sure, she liked this one a lot, and didn’t have quite enough yet for the one she’d been wanting, but that didn’t matter. She helped Trouble scramble to his feet and gently punched his shoulder before tugging his arm around her when he wobbled again. “I’d rather be out a gun than out you.”

ME? Overshare from a WIP? Nooooo, never. 😇😇😇 Just open tagging, since I did way more than one line. Thanks for the tag, Lena!

[ramblingsandruminations]

When Suicidal Ideation is the norm

All the help in the world becomes a muddy puddle of shitty affirmations, thorned gaslighting, and useless guilt. If one more person tells me "have you tried yoga/deepbreaths/vitamin B..." Ugh. Who am i kidding? This is tumblr, where you can always find somone who says exactly what you are thinking ( #omgmetho #datme #meirl ). Weve all heard the "stop giving advice and atart taking it " speech, we're all likely to have read some post about the "evils" and " abuses" of therapy and inpatient treatment, and I'll bet a paper hat, some vending machine doodad, or some shitty-yet-adorably-hipsterly prize that within 100 reblogs someone links to some news article about "Queer Youth Completes Suicide And We Think You Will Pay Us to Feel Bad About It, Don't Forget To Like, Share, and Subscribe to Trevor Project, Your Reblog Will Save A Life (And Keep Us Relevant For Our Advertisers)." Tomorrow(well, next daylight hours) my 26-year-old depressed college freshman self is going to walk into my schools coubseling office and tell them i never recieved the location for the therapist they reffered me to (true story--Honestly not avoiding treatmwnt, even if it is useless) and request a second referral. Ill sit through some lecture about self-advocacy veiled in "concerned questions" and once again be misgendered, deadnamed, and criticized for giving a fuck (note: commenters looking to describe me with the word "cuck," i see you there, good for you, let me know how that white kkknight holier than thou red pill rage fest dopamine addiction is filling the gaping void of existential dread within you). After that, there is always a small chance they'll see just how depressed i am, and faster than you can say "looney is a word based in misogynistic beliefs of womens mental health and menstrual cycles being unhealthily and unscientifically connected to the moon," ill be fielding questions which boil down to "do you want to kill yourself" and "do you have a plan." By this time in my life, i've gotten pretty used to BSing my way around psychology. All it really takes is knowing that all they can take you on is your word, and nothing else. "Do you want to kill yourself?" they ask, and i reply "*short pause, heavy, short exhale denoting weight and truth* Well, yeah. But quite frankly, suicidal ideation is a part of my everyday life- nothing i do isn't plagued with some form of "i should wrap this mouse cord aroubd my neck and die" or " i wonder if that branch is strong enough to support my weight" or "man, my head hurts, but i bet a bottle or two of ibuprofen could make it stop." For me, its not a question of wanting to die, its a matter of what do i have to live for, and ive been through enough inpatient DBT and group therapy to help me cope, using breathing techniques and self-care tips to push me through the worst of it." This is usually if not always all they need to hear. Sure, im depressed, but anything they could tell me is something i know and am already doing-i sound to them more like a patient leaving inpatient than one entering it. Our hospitals are overfilled, understaffed, prqctucally unfunded; if im "stable" im staying out of their ledger book. Occasionally, they still worry, having one of those "consciences" their peers claim to have lost when a schizophrenic patient tried to bite their ear off, and ask a follow up "but are you sure? You seem distressed, and if you need some help, we are here for you," to which all i have to do is look at them through sad, but strong eyes and say "Thank you, but i have a great support network of friends and of course, my boyfriend. He's fantastic, and one of the most important things to have happened to me. He keeps me on this side of the dirt." A small tired chuckle, and their focus diverts towards affirmations of how good it is to have support, their therapy brains running on autopilot. Then all it needs is some "active" listening, uh-huhs, and compliant assurance that ill keep working on myself to assuage them of any guilt or corncern. Maybe, though, ill tell them the truth, and let them take me in. Three hots and a cot, after all. I'll fight through my dysphoria as they ogle every nook and cranny of my malformed body trying to see if im hiding a weapon or some drugs; I'll continue to insist on a private room and remind them calmly yet firmly that no, i will *not* room with a male, and their lack of knowledge on how to treat a transgender non-binary patient is well behind on proper treatment according to WPATH, the APA, and our state govt. When i get a room, theyll say that i should take as much time as i need to get acclimated, and not worry about what the rwat of group is qorking on, and then contradict themselves within 5 minutes and say i need to go to group, theyre waiting on me. In my fresh new scrubs, ill walk in and within seconds, ill identify how th staff monitors who came in when (usually different colored scrubs based on different halves of the week, and of course, anyone likely to leave within 48 hours wearing "normal" clothes), and see the therapist or doctor talking about emotional management techniques. When i sit down, eeyes will be on me, some with looks of angey jusgemwnt, some with awe and wonder: what could THEY be in for? The group leader will ask me my name, ill state it and my pronouns (to several uncomfortable shifts in the room), and theyll let me know what they were talking about. Ill make a good effort to participate, play along, etc. Someone in the group will be desperate to control the conversation, talking more and more as if this entire experience is just for them- another person will be too dissociated to say anyrhing, despite the doctors attebpts to get them to open up. Already, the cliques will become apparent; humans are aocial creatures, after all. When we leave for the next scheduled activity (either rec or lunch, depending on the time) the docs will be watching me- im on suicide watch, and they expe t me to jump out a window or try and slit my wrists with a paperclip or something. Im not a danger in this regard; ive been threatened with solitary and ECT if i dont comply before- i am their prisoner and i must comply. Within an hour or two of being there, ill be able to notice how well funded they are (or more likely, arent.) The quality of their reading materials; the availability of puzzles abd how well taken care of they appear. Recreation will be the most bare of kindergarden activities; coloring books, maybe a tv with basic cable. A daycare for adults, abd not the cool buzzfeed articles. Someone, probably an addict, will be trying to fanangle their attendee into giving them special treatement- a snack, or an extra smoke break. I'll be sitting in a corner, smirking- the staff arent even an eigth as dumb as this person thinks, and they've seen this type before. They might get something, but itll cost them sour looks from staff and less accommodating treatment with the doctors. After the second hour, we'll have another activity (second group, rec, or maybe "outside time" if its a particularly fancy facility; while the sun will certainly be shining, our feelings of freedom will be dampened by the high fances and walls keeping us from getting away). This is usually wheb the realization sets in that im stuck here for 72 hours plus, and ill be counting them down to stave off boredom. 15-30 minutes in to this third hour, ill be called in to meet tye psychiatrist, fisrt meeting with an attendee to fill out the generic details, then 30-45 minutes of diagnosis before im told ill be put on ab antidepressant, an anxiolytic, and tramodol, a sedative marketed as "something to help me sleep" and "another antidepressant" which makes me laugh every time. Tramodol is the auppressant, the "slow down" drug which helps keep everyobe on a nice, calm level thats safer for the orderlies. Were i violent, id concur; instead, i begin to wonder how long it will take before i no longer feel persistently asleep once i leave. A couple weeks, likely. Hopefully, the food will be good, but not likely 5 star- one place ive stayed had been cooking for us in the break room, sometimes PB&J, sometimes microwaved quesadillas. Maybe theyll have more drink options than coffee, water, and sugar-free koolaid- maybe not. Likely not. Some of us will complain; most of us will know it is a fruitless endeavor. After another group or two, it will be dinner, then wrap up group. We will discuss what progress we think we made today, and be sent to bed after meds are distributed in little paper ketchup cups. Most places wont do the "cuckoos nest" tongue check, but some will, particularly the ones with kleptos and pill ODers. Lights oyt will be around 10 pm, the beds will be plasticky and the blankets thin, and sleep will only cone rhanks to our sedatives. Day two, we'll be woken early, around 6-7, by an orderly checking our blood pressure and body temp. Well all gather in the hallway, rubbing sleep out of our eyes and head to the eating area for breakfast- which loooking back will likely be the best meal of the day, not the least be ause we have access to augar and caffiene. By now, i will likely have made a friend, probably with an older woman or two, and we will enjoy surreptitiously smirking at each other when the teoublemaker patwnt tries to get an omlette or something silly. Someone will start telling fanciful stories dreamed up in the night; talk will eventually turn to who is leaving today. The orderlies will be trying to not look too interested in what we reveal to each other instead of them. They will not succeed in this. Ths first morning they will use as a test of how i deal with frustration. An older nurse will act exasperated, as though taking care of me is a curse she was tasked with. She will try to cut theough any response i give her, and rudely discount anything i try to say, as if accuaing me of lying. Knowing it is coming doesnt help it hurt less. If it overwhelms me, ill be labeled as dramatic- if not, as detached. Sluggish from the new medications, i will be treated as though i ahould not be here, and will be led aroubd more quickly than i am rady to be. I will notice that part of it is that i am beginning to realize how broken down i feel i am. Reaching out will result in canned answers and "the doctor is busy's". After all, this iant about me, and theyve seen my type before. At lunch, i will be upset by the bland meal, abd ask if they have any hot sauce, or maybethey will be out of a preferred tea, or the food will not be enough to feed me. The newcomer who arrived at morning group will share a look with the quiet patient. I will try not to notice the parallels. A therapist will ask to talk to me today. It may be a nice session, but will essebtially boil down to "let me give you ideas for solving your problems, so that your depression seems more managed." By the end of the day, they will already begin my release plan. Theyve fixed me, they are sure. I will also get my clothes back. The aurvey will be slightly different today; instead of asking on a scale of 1-10 with 1 being best abd 10 being worst how was my day, it will be the opposite: scale of 1-10 with 1 being worst and 10 being best. This way, they can track how much is me being honest, and how much is me remembering numbers to fake it. (Once, a nurse messed up so often that it was a sentence by sentence change). Later, if there is any improvement, it will be used by the hospital as signs that treatment is helping; if it gets worse, that i had a rough day and shouldnt think much of it. Bedtime will come, and i will relish it- being sedated takes a lot out of a person. When morning comes, the eggs will feel soggy and cereal with be a much better choice. A bagel will be carried into morning group and more DBT will be discussed. I will mostly be checked out; they are pulling most of their material from a 12 step program, and the leader is a student of psychology learning how to help people, but ive heard it all before, and that sense of guilt just pushes me towards suicide harder. At this point, ill feel just how desperate they are to get me out; nurses eill hint at things being the "wrong" answer with " you dont REALLY mean that, do you sweetie?" and " well, you cant keep thinking THAT way, or we'll have to keep you here longer." Boredom and longing for home will encourage me to pretend to be better, and not tell them how last night before falling asleep i stared at the vedfrane wondering if i could take it apart and form a springwire noose, or tear the blankets to make a rope. When they ask if im feeling better, it will actually mean "are you done with your timeout from reality? Have you learned how to fit in properly yet?" The meds wont really begin having a noticable effect for months- they know im lying. What they hope for is a glimmer of hope and a mountain of guilt for wanting to hurt others by hurting myself. Ill fake those, too. Still, ill be misgendered. Still, theyll blame hormones and buzzfeed rather than neurology and chemistry. After all, im well-adjusted, not at all like the Caitlyn Jenners and Wachowskis they read about on their facebooks. Its just a phase, and im just confused. I didnt try to hurt myself- nothing is *really* wrong with me. What can i do? Try and strangle myaelf, or others? That just means im lashing out, and ill get a new med regime and another 3 days, this time strapped down. Being strapped to a bed and left alone is mind-numbingly boring. If i tell them i still want to kill myaelf, theyll just nod their head and tell me it will go away soon; if i say i have a plan, rheyll keep me playing chess and reading AA papers until i apologize. Their job is not to fix me, their job is to stabilize me and make sure i dont break myself more. The fixing is my responsibility. Day four is release day. They will claim i have made improvements and have me fill out an action plan for when i feel depressed again. It will include people i can call, and ways i can push through bad feelings. It is my exit exam.when i pass, ill be set up with a therapist outside the hospital later in the week, and told how to connect with various resources. They will think i didnt know there were trans support groups. I will think that if it was just a support group i needed, i wouldnt dream of death. Neither of us will admit these things. And so, ill come back to school. Late on homework, i will have to prostrate myaelf with dictors note beggibg for forgiveness. I will get it, more due to policy than empathy, and at the end of the day, i will lay in bed, stare up at the ceiling, and contemplate which of my top three anchor spots would be the best ending to my story. Other than medical bills, nothing will have changed. Life drones on. I think i understand why death seems,so much better. In death, i can pretend there is a solution. In death, i can imagine a cure. In death, i can envision a caretaker and easier existence. It doesnt matter that death is the end of it all- i can pretend it willl be more, and my imagination can create many comforts in that void. But even death is a lie, and nothing will ever stop hurting.