#and also a moot here convinced me its an experience worth making

[yesyoutubeisruiningmylife]

oh did i tell you that i'm going on erasmus next semester hope it all wrks out

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 1, chapter 5

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: None

Morgan awoke to the sound of humming. He stretched, groaning as his muscles protested. Evidently his choice of sleeping positions had not been ideal, but he'd been too tired to care when he'd settled in. The humming stopped, and Deckard Cain turned to him from where he had been tending a pot over a small fire nearby.

"Would you believe," he said, "that none of the Sisterhood would give me your name, friend? Such a strange thing."

He would believe it. He'd learned long ago that it was generally not worth the trouble to correct people once they'd decided what they wanted to call him. The strange thing here was how little Cain seemed to be troubled by his presence. He would enjoy it while it lasted.

"It's Morgan."

"Well, Morgan, we have much to discuss. But before we get started, let us eat. You must be famished after yesterday's events." He held out a bowl of steaming soup, which Morgan accepted gratefully. It was hot and filling, exactly what he hadn't realized he needed. He'd gotten cold overnight.

Morgan briefly summarized the request that had brought him here: to disturb the progress of the unidentified manifestation of darkness taking root in these lands. Cain filled in quite a lot of details while Morgan mainly listened, asking occasional questions for clarification. A great and ancient evil had come to light in Tristram, leading eventually to the tragedy that had befallen the city. Although a hero had been successful in defeating that evil, it seemed he had been unfortunately corrupted by the same. He had fled eastward, but to complicate matters, another powerful demon had arisen to trouble the area.

Cain suspected this new demon to be Andariel, the Maiden of Anguish. Quite a title. He shared what he knew about her: a venomous demon queen with the power to enthrall mortals unlucky or unwise enough to look her full in the eyes. Like most major demons, her power also manifested in a sort of influence that spread out from her like a miasma. By Cain's estimation, this would be apparent through increased emotional sensitivity in those affected, to complement the physical anguish she was capable of inflicting. That would be something to look out for; emotional regulation was the foundation that gave strength and clarity to the priests of Rathma. To have it disrupted would compromise his ability to act in the best interest of the Balance. Morgan would have to be careful about that.

He was enjoying the conversation, to his surprise. Cain had a vast wealth of knowledge and seemed eager to share it. He was explaining his interpretation of a particular prophecy when Blaise stalked up to them with a sour look on her face. She glared daggers at Morgan, crossing her arms.

"Good, you're awake. Come with me, we have work to do."

"We do?" He'd expected - hoped, if he was honest with himself - that her involvement would be finished after retrieving Cain. That was as far as Kashya had demanded it, anyway. "I thought you-"

"I thought this nightmare was over too, but I just finished arguing with Akara. One of our old commanders has risen from the dead to attack us, and she blames you." She looked back toward the gates. "I told her that's not how your stuff works, but she didn't believe me." That was a surprise - he would not have guessed she might speak up in his defense. He wondered what had changed. Maybe Cain had convinced her somehow. The man was good with words, with people, in a way Morgan knew he could never hope to echo. "So if you don't come with me to put her back in the ground, you're probably going to regret it," Blaise continued with a pointed look.

Well, Morgan couldn't argue with that. He stood and stretched, taking stock of his belongings as Cain pressed Blaise with questions. She bore them with more patience than he'd expected. One of the other scouts had survived the attack, but her recovery was not going well. It sounded like she'd been poisoned. A shame they hadn't kept the arrow; he might have been able to identify the toxin. But then again, if he tried to treat her and failed, they would be even less willing to trust him. If Cain was right, it would be a moot point anyway - he thought the resurrection was Andariel's doing, meaning that the poison was likely due to her influence. He had no experience with that type of venom.

"Oh, Morgan, I almost forgot," Cain called out as they were leaving. Morgan turned to see him holding something in an upraised hand. "You had better take another scroll of town portal, in case you should need to return with haste."

"Thank you." He accepted the proffered scroll with a small bow of his head, tucking it into his belt.

"Let's get a move on already," Blaise called. She had already started walking. Morgan jogged to catch up, already apprehensive about the journey ahead. Her mood had softened around the old scholar, but it seemed Morgan would not be privy to those benefits. He hoped this situation would be resolved quickly so he could begin planning his attack on Andariel.

The battle was over in short order. The reanimated rogue captain had called out to Blaise by name, which confirmed Cain's guess about her origins - only very powerful forces could resurrect both flesh and spirit. She must have been buried inexpertly, leaving her vulnerable to those malign forces. Most funeral proceedings not led by the Order of Rathma or other experienced practitioners were more for the benefit of the living than the dead. At any rate, it served only to fuel Blaise's already considerable anger, and she'd defeated the revenant with only a moment's hesitation. Several piles of earth were evidence of Morgan's attempts to provide support. Each golem was ever so slightly faster to rise than the last, but this enemy had been agile enough to render them all but useless until she'd stumbled over a previously flat spot of ground. Not an elegant solution, but effective enough in the end. Now Blaise was examining the body, brow furrowed.

"Hey. Ghoul... uh. Morgan." That was a surprise. Cain had called him by name in front of her, but he'd assumed she wouldn't be bothered to remember it. "If you do that... ceremony. Like in Tristram. Will it... help her?"

"The final rites will lay her spirit to rest, and consecration should prevent her from rising again." He'd planned on performing them anyway, as a matter of course. At the very least, they would prevent her from being wholly resurrected again - powerful magic could overcome a properly consecrated body, but it could not pluck a spirit back once it had passed on.

Blaise seemed reluctant to ask outright, but she did step in to help when he went to move the body back to the grave it had clearly clawed out of. He opted for a more thorough consecration ritual and a shorter liturgy, both of which seemed to be well received. Blaise didn't raise any objections, at least. The interment was easier than the last ones, the ground more yielding, but a frown crept onto Morgan's face as he stood up and surveyed his work.

"What are you making that face for? Didn't it work?"

"No, that's not it. Your commander is at peace now, but there are many restless dead here. It must be Andariel making them stir like this." He could barely hear their whispers at the edge of his awareness if he concentrated. It was a little unsettling; usually he could only just sense a hint of the spirit lingering on a set of bones, nothing near this strong. He lacked the natural facility with spirits that drew some of the acolytes to his Order. At any rate, their agitation was cause for concern.

"I don't have the supplies to handle this many."

"I guess we'd better take the fight to Andariel, then. Don't look so surprised," she added, folding her arms across her chest. "The Sisterhood doesn't want there to be a... demon queen or whatever just running loose. She's killing our people. And apparently bringing them back again, and that's just fucked up. I may not like you, but you're the only person who's come through lately and survived. So we might as well work together on this."

"Yes, of course. You're right." The suggestion was wholly unexpected, but sound. Their objectives aligned, at least on the surface. If that was enough for her to tolerate working with him a little longer, he wasn't about to turn down her assistance. She was many times stronger than him. Luckily, she seemed capable of putting aside her personal feelings temporarily in order to meet a goal. It was really about as favourable a partnership as he could hope to make.

Now seemed like an opportune time to present a peace offering of some sort. But given her previous overreaction to a completely innocent comment, he didn't really want to risk giving a gift that could be taken as a token of anything he didn't intend. Perhaps... knowledge? There had been few of his brethren in the Order who'd had trouble with the portal scrolls, but their difficulties had always been resolved with a little coaching. It seemed like it would be worth trying.

He plucked the scroll from Cain out of its spot on his belt and held it out to her. She eyed it suspiciously. "Here. These are useful. You should try it again."

"It isn't that far to go back, you know," she said, not making a move to take the rolled parchment.

"The object is to see if you can use it. Not to actually travel. You might need one in the future."

She snatched the scroll from his hands and unrolled it with a snap of her wrist. "I can't even read what it says," she grumbled.

"Neither can I," he said. She looked up from the parchment with a perplexed frown. "It's not words, it's more like a spell," he explained. The look on her face told him she was going to need more than that. "You just have to believe it's going to work. Try telling it that it's going to open a portal for you."

"You didn't have to tell it anything when you did it yesterday."

"I already know how it's going to work. I just have to... acknowledge that I expect it to let me travel somewhere, and think about where." It was much easier to do than to explain. "Just try," he urged. "You don't have to say it out loud," he added, in case that helped.

She looked back down at the scroll. Her lips moved a little, and shortly a small circle appeared in the air in front of her. Her eyebrows rose in surprise.

"See, it works for you. Now try to think about a specific place," Morgan advised. Slowly an image came into focus within the circle. It looked like the inside of a building. There were rows of beds lined up, presumably the barracks of the Sisterhood. Blaise looked cautiously pleased as the portal opened up fully now that it had a destination.

"I guess it's not so hard to use magic, is it?" she said with a smile. It was strange for a moment, having that smile aimed at him.

"Not this kind," Morgan agreed. There were many different types of magic and some of them were quite difficult to use even for experienced mages, but he suspected this would not be the time to get into a discussion on the topic.

"How do I close it?"

"It will close on its own when you come back through it, or if the spell is disrupted. Yesterday I tore the parchment to close it."

"Huh. Thanks."

Morgan nodded an acknowledgement and turned to go. The walk back would give him a chance to think about how to best approach the situation. Andariel was probably lurking within the nearby cathedral, if the patterns of undead were to be trusted. Demons often liked to pervert religious spaces, and major demons tended to draw flocks of lesser evils around them.

"Aren't you coming?" He turned back to see Blaise standing by the portal, hands on her hips.

"I'm walking. It isn't that far to go back," he parroted.

"This is easier, though. And faster."

"That looks like your sleeping quarters," he pointed out. "I doubt I would be welcome."

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Good point. I'll see you back outside the encampment, then." She turned and paused for a moment, then strode confidently through the portal. Morgan waited until it had flickered closed behind her before taking his leave. He would have preferred to be able to put more of the spirits to rest, but that could be seen to after Andariel had been defeated. There would be little point in wasting his energy on a task that was likely to be undone. He stopped at the cemetery gate and knelt, touching a hand to the soil. A thin line rose up, curling around itself in a simple sign. It marked the area as requiring the attention of a priest of Rathma. This way, if he was to fall in battle, the next of his Order to come along would be able to soothe the unquiet dead.

He raised another golem and started walking. With this new partnership, there could be a reasonably good chance of defeating Andariel. He wondered what state the cathedral would be in, and how many skeletons he might hope to find lying beneath its floors. He hoped there would be some stained glass still intact. Not for any strategic purpose, just because he liked it. It was his personal opinion, not endorsed by the priesthood, that artisans who spent their efforts on creating beautiful things were doing work for the Light. Of course beauty and skill did not appear in the list of attributes that added up to make the weight of a person's goodness or lack thereof, and it was really just idle musing on his part. Still, he appreciated beauty where he found it.

[hookaroo]

Vocivore, Ltd. (25 of 40?)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1, and @courtorderedcake <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE!!!!!******

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!**********

***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!!    CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

4 weeks ago...

Deception never got any easier; in fact, as the week dragged on, the lies grew more complicated, with additional details to try and remember. Who knew what. What each of them had told someone else. Killian and Emma were forced to have comprehensive debriefings with each other several times a day. When they could find a moment alone, that is.

The tension, the arguing… that had been Emma’s idea, the day he came home from the hospital. And she hadn’t warned him beforehand, either; maybe as payback for the shock of seeing him stumble into her office with an unexpected stab wound, even though that part wasn’t his fault. Regardless, her emotional outburst with Jones as witness--and partial victim--sounded impressively real. Killian wondered if a small part of her was actually angry at him for suggesting the plan in the first place. That night, while helping him tend to the painful rows of sutures in his flank, she had offered words of quiet apology, which Killian assured her weren’t necessary.

From then on, their charade had required the inclusion of biting remarks and frosty silences, adding to the discomfiture of all onlookers. Increasingly, Killian found himself unable to meet the eyes of anyone he interacted with; his days as a villain had not prepared him to sustain such a devastating deception in front of people he actually cared about. They were trying to comfort him, going out of their way to be sure he was taken care of, trying to bolster his spirits and show him their love, and all he was doing in return was prolonging the suffering they kept stoically private. If he looked them in the face, he would see the tears behind Snow’s brave smile. The desperation masked by David’s gruff words of optimism. The helplessness on Henry’s face every time he softly asked his mother what she needed.

More and more, Killian was becoming convinced that he had the easy job, going to face the monster. Emma would be left to continue the falsehoods alone. Physical torture may yet prove easier to bear.

*****

One week after the surprise stabbing, Killian limped along a garden path in an unfamiliar realm, straining to hear--yet dreading--the sound of a playful three-year-old in the vicinity. The cottage lay just up ahead, at the outer limits of his ability to walk even with six days of recovery time behind him.

Storybrooke slept, gifted with hours left until the dawn of Day 7. It had been early even by Killian’s standards when he’d awakened in a spiraling terror, the charade weaving seamlessly into his nightmares, and he knew he would never get back to any semblance of a peaceful rest.

To a greater extent each day, the wound was becoming a convenient excuse. A plausible reason for him to avoid taking that awful next step, the plunge into torment that was their whole motive for emotionally torturing their loved ones. If he'd been sound, who knew how long it would have taken him to work up the nerve to go. Maybe the extra time was making it harder; maybe he could have already been through it all and come out the other side by now. But it was a moot point when he was limited to hobbling mere yards before needing a break. And so, in order to banish the temptation to carry on in indefinite, dread-tinged delay, he had to eliminate the obstacle.

He’d been a coward, in the end, unable to face a proper goodbye. The last glimpse of his slumbering wife he would take with him into Hell. The note he’d left her--I love you, my Swan, for all eternity--could only bring her anguish on the morrow. But it was time to go, and their shared pain would help to shield him from a frighteningly perceptive monster.

First things first, though. Killian knocked on a carved wooden door, tucking his hookless wrist behind his back as he awaited a response.

Bless Smee and his side business. With the uniting of the Realms, there wasn’t much call for magic beans anymore, but the former first mate still tended the beanstalk in his backyard with all the devotion integral to his character. Killian and Emma may have been his first customers in three years; they made sure to tip him well. Later, they’d even tossed around the idea of somehow smuggling a bean into the Vocivore’s presence and then simply opening a portal right underneath the monster, but eventually decided that its telepathic powers would give it full control of the portal’s destination. The idea was shelved for a last-ditch effort, if all else failed.

Belle opened the door with a pleasant smile. “Killian! Welcome back! Hope’s gone for a nap, but I can go get her if--”

“No!” Killian exclaimed, then added sheepishly, “Thank you, love. She can be a right little terror if she misses out, and I’m not here to collect her just yet.”

Belle nodded her understanding, and his heart wept. He wanted more than anything to see his daughter and ensure her safety after so many days of pretending otherwise. To tell her once again how much he loved her… in case he never got another chance. But he held firm in his decision. For one thing, he didn’t have the time. Every minute spent in this realm translated into an hour back in Storybrooke. In the short amount of time he’d taken to walk from the portal to the cottage, Swan would have likely already risen and discovered his absence. He needed to get this business taken care of and get out of there as quickly as possible.

Additionally, if he had just seen Hope, the monster may somehow pick up on that. It was better to have the real feelings of missing her and of prolonged separation when he surrendered himself.

Later today.

Killian shuddered slightly, then plastered on a fake, cordial grin. “Is your husband around, by any chance? I have a favor to ask of him.”

“Uh, yeah, he was just…”

As if drawn by magnetism, Rumple chose that moment to materialize near the shed in the corner of the yard, and Belle gestured in his direction. “Just there, in fact.”

Killian thanked his friend before hobbling back the way he’d come. The Dark One was waiting near a morning glory vine, wearing an overly polite smile for his wife’s sake, which promptly dissolved into an expression of strained acknowledgement as soon as the cottage door clicked shut.

“Back so soon, Captain?”

“I haven’t the time for games, Crocodile,” growled Killian. He lifted his shirt to reveal the unbandaged stab wound in his side. “The blasted magical barrier has expanded to include all of Storybrooke. For once, have the decency to do the right thing without a calculation of how it can benefit you.”

Rumple broke into a wicked smirk. “Heal you for your appointment with the Vocivore? That seems rather futile, seeing as you’ll soon be sporting countless other injuries just like it…”

“That’s exactly the point and you know it.” Killian stepped closer, seething with enough frustration to partially mask the dread threatening to overwhelm him. “I have to start out as strong as possible to have any chance at surviving long enough to--”

“Spare me the sniveling,” sighed Rumple. “If it rids me of your unwanted company for the afternoon…”

He made a casual gesture with his fingers, and Killian was knocked back a step with the unexpected force of the dark magic crashing into him. If Emma’s healing was like an effervescent champagne spilling over the rim of a bottle, Rumple’s was the cork unstoppered, all explosive velocity with nothing gentle about it. Invisible iron fingers gripped half-knitted flesh, mashing separated fibers together until they had no choice but to bond, yanking and practically melting individual layers of dermis into a functional protective coat.

Effective… but excruciating.

If jet lag were possible between realms with different time rates, Killian would have self-diagnosed as suffering the effects of it. The thirty seconds spent enduring the healing magic of his foe felt like the half hour that had elapsed in Storybrooke during that time. And when the invasive power fled with just as much force as it had plowed into him, Killian only barely managed to avoid toppling sideways. He dripped with sweat, unable to get enough air.

“No charge,” sneered Rumple as he pushed past the doubled-over pirate. “It will be worth it to hear tales of your… experiences... with the monster.”

He was gone before Killian could summon the breath for a bitter reply.

[carocofiego]

-- Prompt 01: Questionnaire

 (content warning for: ...violence? vampire adjacent material?)

01. Tell us about your character’s name. Was it given to them or chosen? Does it hold any special meaning? If your character has aliases or nicknames, how did they get them and what do they mean?

caroc was given to him by his clan, though he dropped his clan name when he left. sound is really important to the maelibi so it probably means something special but fuck if he ever bothered to find out. 

sometimes if he really needs a surname for something, he’ll steal his partner’s. one of the softest things he ever does. 

02. What is your character’s relationship to their homeworld? Do they hold fond memories of it, or do they hate it? Are they still here, and if not, do they miss it?

he’ll get back there someday babey. no but really, people aside, caroc loved his homeworld-- there’s something special about the relationship between the maelibi and the force surrounding iego, and it tugs at him a little no matter how far he gets away. also like... time is weird in the rest of the galaxy? and people are weirder about being munched on out here. please. he just wants a snack. 

there are experiences out here that he wouldn’t get back home, though, so maybe he isn’t Always thinking wistfully of home. he could be convinced to stay. maybe. 

03. Describe your character’s relationship with those who raised them. Was it positive? Negative? Neutral? What sorts of ideologies were they raised with, and do they still stand by them now?

not..... the greatest. maelibi children are few and far between, given how long-lived they are and how few natural threats they face. when caroc was born, he’d been the first child in.... a long time, and there ended up being pressures that came with that. pressures that he appreciated about as much as his elders appreciated caroc’s interest in exploring the surface. 

after enough arguments he hoofed it north and established his own den, far closer to the surface and the other planetary residents than most of his clan dared to sleep. he didn’t keep contact with any but a couple of them, and doesn’t miss them much now. 

there was a lot of group-based thinking baked into him from the moment he was born that never sat well with him, being primarily inclined towards a solitary life. it’s still all in there, though, urging him to look after those nearby and other pesky shit. 

04. What is your character’s relationship with the Force? Is your character Force-sensitive? Whether or not they are, do they believe in it? Do they lean more towards the dark or the light or are they somewhere in between?

the force is caroc’s whole life. i mean, he wouldn’t have called it that before encountering the sith, but he’s very well familiar with the life song that thrums through the universe, using him as its instrument. it sustains him, he sustains it, the force colors everything about how caroc interacts with the world. they’re inseparable. 

dark and light aren’t really concepts that occurred to him before leaving iego, but there is... something different about the way that the sith wield the force. the jedi techniques sound even more foreign, though, so if caroc was forced to define himself he’d say he was gray. 

05. What three word would you use to describe your character? What three words would your character use to describe themself? What three words would someone close to them use?

me: cranky, slow, curious 

caroc: leave me alone

dhirh, the only person caroc suffers intimacy for, says: a whole meal 

06. Describe your character’s aesthetic. Do they tend towards fashion or function? Do they like to accessorize? How does this extend into their own personal spaces, such as their home or their workspace?

if he could get away with wandering around nude he would. no one’s allowed to touch his bunk cause he’s stolen like ten blankets and has them arranged as the Perfect cozy hole. 

07. What are your character’s vices? Guilty pleasures? Bad habits? Weak spots?

what.... aren’t.... i mean like his whole personality is drive people away before they can hurt you so. i mean i guess at least he doesn’t really do alcohol or anything but that’s only cause it has no effect on him? 

in terms of more concrete bad habits, though, he tries to keep it to himself but he’s a habitual tinkerer/fidgeter. only he’s not really that keen on the putting it back together part. what i’m saying is if you hand him a piece of technology and don’t impress upon him how important it is that it stay together, you will be getting it back as component parts. he and luro went through like three rounds of com sets before this was figured out. and then one more out of spite. 

08. Tell us about your character’s relationship with food. What are their favorites? Do they enjoy cooking? Are they adventurous? Will they eat absolutely anything or are they hard to please?

people..... tastey. or at least, their force essence is. the more force sensitive the meal, the better. caroc doesn’t need to eat all that often-- strangely, even less often since leaving iego, but that’s a mystery for another time-- but when he does, he’s not very picky. whoever happens to be wandering nearby is perfectly fine. or at least it WAS before he had a JOB and RULES. 

now he has to like.... ask permission and shit. unless they’re an enemy. at least he can refrain from killing a friendly snack, though, when enemies are thin on the ground. 

09. How does your character feel about engaging in relationships—romantic and / or sexual—with others? What is their history like? Do they fall in love easily? Are they constantly in and out of relationships?

caroc loves One person, so it has been, so it always will be, unless they break up with him and then he’ll go back to not believing in the concept of love. 

i’ll have to get back to u on the sex question cause idk what the maelibi even get up to 

10. What is your character’s pain tolerance like? Can they hold their own in a fight, despite injury? If someone hurts them with the aim of gaining information, how much can they take before they cave?

pain isn’t a very common experience for caroc. it’s less like he has a high tolerance and more like it’s just.... really difficult to get through his blaster-proof hide. pain is rare enough that he has a Big reaction when it does happen, as can be attested to by a couple of the luro’s coworkers. when you bust through the hide he’s very vulnerable. 

and honestly chances are good that whatever someone would be hurting him to try and learn, he’d just tell them right off the bat. he doesn’t really want to experience much pain again, if he can avoid it, so it’s either he’s not locked up well enough and they’re dead or he capitulates immediately. unless it’s about dhirh and then everything else becomes unimportant and he’ll die first. 

11. What is your character’s weapon of choice? Are they more skilled as a melee fighter or do they have more skill with ranged weapons? What’s their fighting style like? What sort of training do they have behind them?

body...... he doesn’t get ‘weapons’ 

which i suppose you wouldn’t if you had like, talons and the ability to drain someone’s life essence

caroc’s durable enough that his combat strategy is usually just to let the opponent tire itself out and then move in for the kill. he’s generally pretty slow but does have occasional bursts of speed, they wear him out tho so he usually doesn’t bother. 

training..... in the arena of life babey

12. Does your character have any words or catchphrases that they say frequently? Tell us about how they picked them up.

you know that phase it seems like every three year old has where the only thing they can say is ‘why?’ and they say it in response to literally everything? that’s pretty much caroc when he’s forced to interact with someone 

he is genuinely curious but he’s just also invested in annoying the shit out of whoever he’s talking to

i mean even he gets tired of shenanigans like that eventually, but.... he usually has more patience than his opponent does

13. Tell us about a negative experience your character has had with either the Jedi or the Sith, and how this has affected their standing. Whether currently aligned or unaligned with either faction, if forced to choose, how would they side?

caroc doesn’t think he’s met a jedi yet (if he has, he wasn’t paying attention). he doesn’t think much about them other than wondering if they’d taste different than sith and unaligned people do. 

the sith have kidnapped and tortured him and the person he loves most. but one is also promising a reunion, so. the jury is out. 

though he’s technically aligned with the sith at the moment, all things equal and situations resolved, he’d probably align with the jedi just out of spite. not that they would be likely to take him, but, you know. theoreticals. (also he just really wants to know what a jedi would taste like) 

14. How would your character react to seeing a relative or friend on the opposing side of a battle or mission?

unlikely. he’d do his job, though, to the minimum requirement. caroc wouldn’t willingly kill someone he considered a friend, but if they were attacking him specifically he’d be willing to knock some sense into them. more often than not in a battle, though, he’s acting as a shield more than a weapon so it would probably be a moot point. 

unless the friend was dhirh or Maybe one specific other maelibus, in which case he’d likely switch sides immediately. 

this is subject to change as he potentially makes new friends, as unlikely as that seems

15. Describe a memory that your character finds embarrassing.

literally every social interaction 

especially any one where he genuinely doesn’t know what’s happening 

16. What goals does your character hold for themself and what steps have they taken towards achieving them? How far are they willing to go to reach them? What is their be-all and end-all?

find dhirh. no method is off limits. next question. 

after that?? doesn’t exist yet. not worth worrying about, so no concrete plans. only vague ideas. 

17. What is the one thing your character would change about their life if they were given the chance? What other lives could they have lived as a result?

caroc doesn’t think about things like that. things happened. it’s not worth wondering about alternatives. if he’s going to do any dreaming it’s going to be about the future, where things are still mutable. 

18. Living in such a high-conflict time, how does your character feel about doing what they must to survive? Will they hurt or kill others—either directly or indirectly—to protect themself and / or those close to them? If so, do they regret it when all is said and done?

caroc has been killing people since he was a child, it’s second nature. 

only.... something is changing, a little bit. as he gets to know people, for the first time, that he would’ve considered exclusively prey before. he’ll never admit to it, but questions do keep him up at night. who were all those people that he killed? what lives did they lead before he ended them? 

it may not change his behavior, but caroc has a newfound respect for the fact that other people also have lives and loves and that that’s not always something to be taken lightly. 

19. What is the biggest problem your character is currently dealing with?

his whole life. is a problem. at the moment. everything

it’s cool tho he can wait it out

20. Give us 3+ headcanons of any length or subject matter.

1. tinkering: this isn’t something caroc just spontaneously picked up after leaving iego, it’s something that’s been part of him for a long time. at home, his den was littered with machinery and engine parts from dismantled shipwrecks. he’s always been curious, about the surface and the other life on iego especially, and one of his few joys came from reconstructing machinery (all wrong) to make himself small useless machines. not that he’ll share this with anyone new willingly. 

2. Force Flavor(tm): due to his.... appetites, one of caroc’s abilities is a sense for the ways in which the force clings to people, and the different ways it dances around them depending on how they call to it. he characterizes the force, always, as a song, but he can hear an individual’s song well before he takes a bite. it’s become an unexpectedly useful tool in managing social interactions since he left home. 

3. games: caroc loves to play dumb, seriously, it’s one of his favorite things to do. BUT he pays a lot more attention than he pretends to. he’s vastly more comfortable knowing more than people think he does, in all situations, he feels it gives him an advantage and lessens the chances of making a genuine misstep. also because i named this section games: he fuckin loves games, man. card games, numbers games, not so much reaction time based games but you get the picture. he eats that shit up, even if he does everything in his power not to appear to.

bonus. Give us a list of any length telling us why our “fave is problematic.”

1. eats people

done

oh, also, loves to make interacting with him as unpleasant as possible

[ghostmartyr]

Okay. Let’s try this again. But healthy-like.

...Which, since it’s me, means religious stuff. I understand if reading about how I want to blow my brains out is easier to stomach.

Things are bad, but not insurmountably bad. I have a solid support system. The monetary side of that support system scares me to death, but nothing has gone away yet. Even if it does, I am supposedly devoutly religious enough to believe in miracles, and believe that divine intervention is very literally the only reason any of my life has been possible.

There’s no reason to think that’s going to change. The fact that I don’t find that entirely comfortable is between me and God, and the more energy I put into that, the more it’ll be okay. Life is bad enough that only a miracle can save me, and I believe in miracles. That’s like the opposite of a problem.

In theory. Practical application of said theory is lost somewhere between wanting to shoot myself and deciding to announce to the general public that I want to shoot myself. Every time I point out to myself that my faith says I’ll be okay because God’s always there for me, another, deeply cynical part of me points out that He was also there for me when I had sepsis, and if I’m being honest, that was the most horrifying experience of my life.

Knowing that I can come back from anything really just fills me with existential dread, because you know, I have seen a fair share of ‘anything,’ and I don’t care for it. I don’t want to know that I can survive anything. I want to be safe from anything happening to me.

Historically, I am the person who ends up eaten by a whale. Or I guess it wasn’t actually a whale? My Bible literacy is made of fail, but the point is, me and God are still in the ���Do I have to?” phase of our relationship.

The current unwanted task is living.

To which the answer is no, I don’t have to keep living. However badly I screw this up, there’s an eternity waiting for me, and I can flip the switch whenever I want.

This life doesn’t have an eternity. It’s a unique, temporary, instant of existence.

Putting off forever for one more sliver of that instant, just to see where it goes, isn’t that hard. I do it by accident all the time. I go to bed, and wake up breathing.

I like my bed. It has a tiger bedspread. It’s thinner than it used to be, and I can’t make myself make the damn thing, but it’s snug, it’s mine, and I don’t see a problem with it. I feel pretty confident in saying that death would irrevocably change the interaction I have with my bed.

It’s temporary, so I should make the most of it. No one else is going to care about my bed or how my bookcase is organized, and even though I have days I don’t care either, there are days when I do, so what the hell.

Everything hurts a lot right now. I have zero control over the physical. Again, miracle needed, so I can just relax and coast and. you know, suffer. A lot. A real awful lot. An unfair lot.

...Yeah, no happy silver lining answers for the bad days or moods. They’re bad, I tolerate them badly, and I scare people. But I’ve been having a bad day for months now, and it hasn’t stopped me from doing things that aren’t so bad. Infinity War was amazing. I wrote 9000 words of a hs au my brain is convinced no one cares about. Several people have told me they enjoy it, so I know my brain’s lying about that, but believing that no one cares means that, while no one’s cared, I’ve written 24k words of story in a handful of months. Story I kind of dig. All while being horrifically depressed.

I think that turned into a silver lining answer.

Fuck, I don’t know, man, if I’d offed myself I wouldn’t get to write about Ymir wanting to bang a cheerleader, and that’s clearly the pinnacle of what I should be doing with my life.

I can never remember any of that during the bad times, and that sucks, but hey, maybe writing it down will make the memory a little deeper.

So, uh, positives.

Despite certain inclinations, I have not actually committed murder. Every tiny setback right now feels like the end of the world, but being able to wake up in the morning and hate the world would seem to indicate that it’s still there, so it’s just a very, very bad feeling, not real.

I have very little concept of what’s real or not, since my emotions sort of exist in peekaboo limbo. Babies have no concept of object permanence, and right now, neither do parts of me. On the one hand, awkward, on the other, it means that the tempest of rage is only summoned when provoked. Yay team.

Less positive, it is not good that suicidal rage has developed as a coping mechanism to doing slightly poorly in a video game, and once it’s started, it’s hard to shut off. I get it. I don’t feel like a person, so I judge myself based on accomplishments, and because of my health, those accomplishments are things like doing slightly okay at a video game, and I’m letting my entire sense of worth hinge on that. Along with other external factors.

This is bad, and unhealthy, and since I hate myself, I’m probably going to keep doing it. Not in a, “oh you scamp, haven’t you learned yet?” way, it’s just entirely possible that the fact that I can sometimes aim in a video game is really the most positive thing I can say about myself some days, and I can’t see a way to delicately switch myself over to understanding that it really doesn’t matter without losing one of my few bright spots.

But I am clearly overly investing in certain things, and I need to get into the habit of just turning the damn game off if it’s making me that angry. I know the moods come on fast, and I know I have delusions of conquering them before they go anywhere, and sometimes, I even break through the other side.

Oh well. I don’t like feeling like that. I hate that feeling enough that I should get into the habit of cutting my losses at the first sign of self-loathing. I know I feel like there is nothing else I can do with my time, but there is. I can watch anime. I can play other games. I own a game where the entire strategy revolves around killing yourself. I love it, and it keeps failure entertaining. I have other outlets.

Also, obsessive cycles have tripped me up my whole life. This is just one more, and it needs to be handled the same as all the others. No, it won’t be fun, and maybe I will be bored out of my skull, but that’s better than frothing with rage.

And I really should be watching more anime. I don’t know what it says about my mental health that I am actively avoiding things I have a long history of loving, but I’m guessing it’s nothing good, and even if I can’t fix the underlying problem, I can address the symptoms. Go watch more cartoons. Write more. Any day now, I can lock myself in my room and finish my Lego X-Wing (Poe’s, so it’s black, and so very badass, and no, I don’t know why it’s been collecting dust, but again, I’m sure it’s a sign of nothing good).

So the argument that I need to keep doing the things that make me angry is moot, because it isn’t actually all I have. It just feels that way, and all of my feelings are wrong and damaged, so I should stop listening to them.

...In a healthy, rising above way. No a repressing way. That is at least half of the reason posts like these end up happening.

None of this is really making me feel better right now, since I’m in a moment where I’m less than sure I have feelings, but that isn’t the point. I learn better when I put things into my own words, and I haven’t been taking care of myself lately. I don’t know that it’s even possible for me to do better than I have been, but the end result is the same, and the end result has me really tired.

This is like a benign to-do/ponder list. Maybe it will make an impression, maybe it won’t, but at least one more time, I went through the motions of trying to sort life and its greys out instead of painting the whole thing black.

Hopefully that something something. I dunno, I’m kind of a wreck, and I lost my perceived point more times than I want to count. I think I’m done here.

Except for saying thanks to the people who responded to the more... head explodey post. I’m bad at saying thank you, and letting people know how much they mean to me in general. I get embarrassed. Usually, when I hit my meltdown point, I know, on some level, I will find my calm again. Receiving kindness when I could have kept my mouth shut and gotten over it makes me uncomfortable. Especially when I know it’s probably going to happen again. People help me out so much, and with such regularity, and it kills me that it’s not enough, because it’s more than I could have ever asked for. I don’t know how to say thank you without feeling ashamed the next time. It’s like I failed, and dragged all of you down with me by letting you believe you helped me.

When that’s a really, really incomplete view. It helps. It always helps. It isn’t the magic bullet, but it always means the world, and it always bolsters me for whatever the next thing waiting for me is. I really wish I could say that more often, because it would be great if you guys could know it. But, you know, shy. Cagey about being vulnerable. Suicidal ponderings okay, heartfelt appreciation of someone’s value is overly mushy and something to fear. Obviously.

Also, I’m me. I let loads of stuff go unsaid because with the important things, there are times I feel it strongly enough that the thought of bringing it back to earth where you need to tell people that it exists for them to know that---unspoken understandings shade a lot of my relationships. Then I end up horribly insecure because I don’t know how many boundaries I made up or we actually both agree on, so I don’t know why I keep thinking it’s a good way to treat people.

What I mean by all of that, is thanks. For being a large part of why I’m still here. I wish less of you knew what I was going through. I hope things improve for all of us, and I hope we’re all around for a good long time to share the evidence of that.

[perksofwifi]

Why the Chrysler Pacifica Is the Minivan You Want for Your Next Road Trip

After spending two weeks on the road in the Pacifica, I’ve gained a new appreciation for its luggage-swallowing cargo area and have grown to love its onboard vacuum. I’m also now an expert at in-car, side-of-the-road diaper changes. Road trips are such great learning experiences.

As we did two years ago in the long-term Mini Clubman, my wife and I meandered our way up to Reno, Nevada, for her biennial family reunion. The difference is this time we had a one-year-old along for the ride. Fortunately, we also had a much bigger vehicle than the Mini. I thought that, with the third row folded, we should have more than enough space to fit two weeks’ worth of stuff—yet we still managed to fill the cargo area from wall to wall. Not staying in any hotel for more than a couple nights at a time and repacking the van each morning, hitting the road was like a game of Tetris, but a less fun version where you arrange overstuffed carry-on bags and packages of diapers instead of blocks. After a few minutes of cramming and stacking, though, we were on our way. I also found the floor wells for the Stow ’N Go seats—when not hiding one of the captain’s chairs—useful for keeping things out of sight when passing through the sketchier stops on our route.

The trip was the perfect opportunity to test the Pacifica’s slick dual-screen rear entertainment system. Uconnect Theater offers DVD and Blu-ray playback capability, Miracast wireless streaming (for Android phones only), two separate HDMI inputs, and built-in road trip games on two 10-inch touchscreen displays that flip up from the front seats. The system is no doubt impressive, but it has room for improvement. Blu-ray movies wouldn’t resume playing from where we left off after turning the car off and back on. Instead we’d have to start from the menu screen and proceed to scene selection. Granted, the movies I brought along were all older Blu-rays, but the two DVDs we tried had no problem resuming from the correct spot. This could be a moot complaint as we enter the streaming age, however. But for those who still prefer physical media, the cubby below the disc changer seems perfectly sized for DVD and Blu-ray cases.

Uconnect Theater worked well most of the time, but there was one occasion when the driver-side screen wouldn’t power up and the USB port would not charge my wife’s phone. This remedied itself after we moved the front seat forward and back a couple times. My wife was thankful we got it to work again as she found the second-row USB ports essential for charging our many devices on our trip.

A road trip is a great way to get better acquainted with a vehicle. For example, for months I couldn’t figure out why my radio presets would never save. On the road, while parked for a bathroom break, I learned that they’re tied to the seat memory settings. To get the Pacifica to remember your favorite radio stations, you first have to make sure a driver profile is selected. Another useful Uconnect tip came from a reader, who informed me that the 360-degree camera can be accessed in fewer than two taps (previously I said it was hidden away in a menu). From the Apps menu, simply press and hold the camera icon (or any other app you want easily at hand), and you can drag it down to the main toolbar. The one catch is you have to decide which equally useful feature to replace from the toolbar’s seven slots.

Prior to this vacation, I used the Stow ’N Vac onboard vacuum maybe once. The cynic in me was convinced it was a sales gimmick that would rarely see use in the real world. But during my road trip I saw how wrong I was in that assumption; I probably used the vacuum once every couple days. Whether you use it to suck up the various snack crumbs hiding in your kid’s car seat or to mitigate the dust tracked in from your excursions, a vacuum is a handy thing to have on long trips. I especially like the Pacifica’s, which is located centrally in the cabin just behind the passenger-side captain’s chair. From here, it’s easy to reach just about any part of the interior. When you’re spending several hours a day in your car, keeping it somewhat clean can help you maintain that road trip Zen.

Now to address the long-term reliability elephant in the room. The intermittent stalling issue I experienced a few months ago appears to have been fixed. The powertrain control module reflash that FCA performed did the trick; our Pacifica hasn’t stalled once in the roughly 10,000 miles since the fix, including the 2,000 miles I put on the van during this trip. All’s well that ends well, I suppose.

Read more about our long-term 2018 Chrysler Pacifica:

Arrival: Enter the Dad Van

Update 1: Just So Handy

Update 2: Dealership Woes

7 Reasons Why I’d Get It Over a Crossover

Update 3: Is It Fixed Yet?

Update 4: What Chrysler Pacifica Does Better and Worse Than Honda Odyssey, Pilot

The post Why the Chrysler Pacifica Is the Minivan You Want for Your Next Road Trip appeared first on MotorTrend.

https://www.motortrend.com/cars/chrysler/pacifica/2018/2018-chrysler-pacifica-limited-long-term-update-5-review/ visto antes em https://www.motortrend.com

[oliverarditi]

A few wooden buildings

Places have memories. This is not to propose the pathetic fallacy that they have feelings, consciousness, thoughts or intentions, but that in the same manner that a certain synaptic pattern preserves a trace of experience in the brain, features of landscape and cityscape preserve traces of biography. Of course subjective experience can only be imaginatively resurrected from biographical details, or from buildings and artifacts, but it is entirely possible that this is also what occurs when we retrieve memories from our brain tissue. The act of recollection on the basis not of long-term potentiation of the synapses, but of topographic and documentary residues, is central to the literary genre of psychogeography, but also to historical fiction in general. When David Mitchell stumbled across a small neighbourhood of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Dutch architecture in Nagasaki, the memory of a particular series of historical events, he felt moved to begin such a process of imaginative recollection.

He had found Dejima, once an island at the edge of the Bay of Nagasaki, but now absorbed into the city by a process of land reclamation, which housed a Dutch trading enclave from 1641, when they replaced the Portuguese, until 1854, when the Convention of Kanagawa rendered it obsolete. During this period Japan was legally secluded, with trade and contact with the outside world strictly controlled; for Europeans it took place exclusively through the offices of the Dutch East India Company at Dejima. Around twenty Dutchmen lived on this small patch of ground, around one-hundred and twenty metres by seventy-five, visited by no more than two ships a year. If that isn’t a fascinating scenario, a readymade setting for dramatic fiction, I don’t know what is.

Mitchell is known for innovative and experimental approaches to narrative, but The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet is a straight genre novel, a historical thriller with a linear plot. It is a technically exemplary work of historical fiction, characterised by plausible world-building (its accuracy is entirely moot, as I know little about the time and place in which it is set), and convincing spoken language, ‘Bygonese’ as Mitchell calls it, which nods to the turns of pre-industrial English phraseology without falling into tweeness. Most importantly, as with all good speculative fiction (and I make no apology for including historical fiction in that category), every aspect of difference between the world inhabited by the characters and that in which the reader can be assumed to reside, is shown, not told. The plotting is taut, effective, gripping, and has a sense of urgency that is abetted by the use of the present tense throughout. Repeated cliffhangers turn on a change of point-of-view character, leaving the reader desperate to tear into the next section and find out what happened.

One such shift is also into the first person. The shocking immediacy this brings to the narrative is deployed in a shift from the perspectives of other characters who are of more or less high status, to one who is a slave. It’s a very effective strategy, forcing the reader to confront the subjective experience of slavery from their own subject position; Mitchell takes the opportunity to explore exactly what that loss of liberty might feel like, and how it might be endured. This switch, and sudden immersion, is one of the most powerful moments in the book. Up until this point even the most socially engaged reader will have taken Dejima’s hierarchies more or less for granted as they follow a narrative focussed on the desires, successes, and setbacks of certain characters who for all the contingent restrictions on their freedom of action, are not chattels. Sadly, this brilliantly written passage is no more than an interlude, and its first-person narrator a minor character. When we return after a single chapter to the narrative’s established points-of-view, there is a jar – or at least there was for me. For a brief moment, this character was the most important in the book, the subjectivity to which all the others had led, the most marginal and unrecorded of experiences resurrected by the magic of fiction from a historical record in which it figures mainly as a trade commodity. But, it turns out, Mitchell invoked it to serve no more than a decorative function.

Perhaps he was too in love with his own brushwork not to include this portrait, even when it had become clear it had no real place in the book. Perhaps this is really the best representation the life of a slave could have, to be treated within the fictional domain as instrumentally as within the primary world of the historical record, but that is not a representation that reflects very well on Mitchell. Towards the end of the book there is another comparable example of a writer too in love with their own materials to resist including what does not really belong, when a long descriptive passage acquires rhyme and regular meter, although it remains justified on the page as prose. Again, it is extremely well-written, but again it draws attention to itself as a clever formal device, in the midst of a book whose beautifully constructed, lucid prose, is characterised by both consistency and transparency. In a novel as accomplished as this one, such unwonted departures advertise themselves as faults.

Also striking a dissonant note against the predominantly cosmopolitan, multi-cultural perspective of the book, is the rather bizarre fantasy that provides the plot with its propulsive mystery. Accusations of Orientalism could be levelled at a writer who decides to include fantasy, not of the magic and dragons type, but of the conspiracy-theorist, Da Vinci Code variety, in a novel that otherwise belongs to the historical fiction genre, and to make it a fantasy of Japanese depravity, contrasted in the book to prosaic forms of European dishonesty and corruption. The precise details of said depravity do not need to be rehearsed here, and I don’t propose to make a detailed analysis of the novel’s representation of cultural and ethnic identities, but it’s worth noting that this was a questionable choice on Mitchell’s part. To me, it felt like a cheap shot.

Although some characters are not on stage for long enough to appear as anything more than villains, for the most part every individual is portrayed sympathetically. Real honesty in a context of widespread corruption is shown as a plausible possibility, albeit one with significant costs; but other than the end-of-level boss around whom the central plot revolves, every character that we spend a reasonable amount of time with, has motivations for their behaviour that are plausible, that are reasonable responses to their context, and that evince a nuanced understanding of the moral and ethical ecology of Mitchell’s very particular revenant society. He has an empathy or compassion for his characters (you choose) which is probably a prerequisite for writing anything that feels like a description of a real person.

The memory of Dejima that Mitchell invokes is not populated by characters whose names appear in the historical record, with a few exceptions, while the few specific historical events that he deploys have been transformed in time and detail to fit the exigencies of his narrative. This does not invalidate in any way the novel’s status as an act of remembrance. A novel adhering literally to the available record, or a non-fictional account attempting to reconstruct the lives once lived on Dejima, could not, at this distance, make any claim to more effectively preserve those long-vanished subjectivities. What is most important, what is genuinely vital to the health of our global culture, is to remember that real people lived in such times and places, and experienced lives that were utterly particular to them. The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet is several things: it is a ‘literary’ historical fiction, a commodity which will enable middle-class readers to accumulate and reinvest yet more cultural capital; it is an entertaining and exciting thriller, which will enable readers of all stripes to lose themselves for a while in a milieu they will probably thank their preferred deity that they do not have to inhabit; and it is a vivid reading-out from the historical record of a memory, embodied in a few wooden buildings in Nagasaki.

[beyondthetemples]

Horror Headcanons

✘ Have they ever committed a murder? Believe it or not, the answer to this is yes. On purpose. Because she wanted to. (Or, the part of her that was in control at the time wanted to.) This was during the period she considers to be the absolute worst time of her entire life, and she regrets it to no end. Granted, this was during DDD, and sometimes when RPing, I reset Dove's "timeline" in certain 'verses, to long before she meets the Titans, or after she's JUST met them, or before she chooses to become an active hero.

But in any default setting, in the canonical stories, and in basically any setting that has Dove beyond Azarath and outside the Tower: it's actually DEPENDENT on DDD having happened, because that remorse is what drives her to become a hero at all.

▼ What is their greatest fear? Well, giving into her demonic side, losing control, and hurting people are all among her worst fears. But, you know. DDD happened. (She's also afraid of thunder, very loud/sudden percussive noises, large dogs, and vomiting, but if she had to choose between any of those and hurting someone, she'd gladly subject herself to these terrors.)

✿ Would they ever trust dark or wicked magic? Here's the thing about having great psychic power that comes from a heritage of evil and darkness inside your own soul: Your idea of 'dark" is quite different from everyone else's. Dove trusts "dark" magic when it's being wielded by Raven, or anyone else she learns to trust. The energies and power don't bother her. (Though it might be an unnervingly intense experience the first time she's around them, she isn't afraid of the dark power itself.)

"Wicked" magic is hard to answer, because, believe me: there is no "magic" that is inherently "wicked". Even the most harmful of deeds are sometimes done with the best intentions. Morality is subjective. If something was "Wicked" in Dove's morality? She'd wonder at its impact. (If it was, say, a painful binding spell to stop somebody from terribly hurting another, she'd consider it.) But, this might be a moot point anyways, because Dove flouders terribly with magic, and would much rather have someone more qualified to perform it.

△ Name one thing from their past that they regret. Leaving her mother to die alone... but, that's only half a regret, because the alternative (being found, and possibly used, by Trigon) was much more terrible. And for the other half a regret, we can fill in DDD. (Dove's Dark Discovery, the title of the story. It can't be said that she regrets discovering how terrible the darkness in side her can really be... It was a terrible lesson, and the revelation alone was traumatizing. It's never easy, discovering the worst you're capable of... But she knows the discovery itself was necessary. She just regrets that people, animals, and children had to die, and almost herself, before she understood exactly what was happening.)

✂ If they had to choose one weapon to carry forever, what would it be? Confidence. (She's a pacifist, you can't ask a pacifist to carry a weapon. But confidence and certainty make her powers work a LOT more smoothly, strongly, and makes her a lot more capable of UTILIZING her power.)

☣ Would they kill someone close to them if they had to? That would depend on many, many, many things. (WHY would she have to kill them? Would she have time to prepare beforehand? Would it be able to be done from a distance? Would they KNOW it's through a method SHE can pull off skillfully? Does she have to watch them die? Is she able to be psychically numbed so she doesn't sense their pain, fear, anger, and death? Is it a mercy killing, euthanasia, or murder?)

Physically, she is capable of killing someone, definitely. Motivation, it could be found. But emotionally, it would destroy her.

☢ Would they survive an apocalyptic situation? Been there, done that. (She fled the destruction of Azarath, but she was on Earth when Trigon took over. Ever wonder why there were two rings form Azar in the comics, and only one in the show? The other had been a family heirloom of sorts, in Dove's possession. Protected by Azar's power and her mother's spells, Dove was able to survive the apocalypse on Earth... if, only just barely.)

❣ If someone had the power to bring them back after death, would they want them to? Most likely, no. Canonically, Dove after Leyla, after Srentha, after her mother of course, and she has no living family left. She outlives all of her lifelong friends, and spends her last 50, 60 years or so feeling isolated, lonely, and desperately trying to keep busy with travelling and training to keep herself sane. Only Raven outlives her, and, well, arguably she does have that power. But Dove wouldn't want her to, no. But that's canonical.

Now, in a situation where Leyla would be orphaned, Kary would be detained, Raven would be in danger, or anyone she has bonded with can only be saved by her: She would want them to bring her back, of COURSE she'd feel a keening, desperate NEED to be there with them! It would be a terrible and unpleasant process, but if she is needed: She would endure the entire thing. (Also, both Trigonic and Azarathean souls aren't very good at staying down after they're body's death, but she would feel potently useless and borderline FURIOUS if she wasn't able to help due to an incorporeal form.)

☠ Do they fear death? Not really, no. Not her own, anyways. But after the vision, and especially after DDD, which forces her to psychically experience more than six deaths, empathically, like it's her own, and every single one of them was a panicked and unpleasant experience: She fears "death" AROUND her.

♱ What do they think awaits them after death? This is something Dove tries not to think about. When she was younger, she was sure her soul would be with her mother's, and they'd be spiritually in Azarath again, without having to worry about living, eating, breathing, cleaning, or any of that physical body stuff. But the older she grew: the more she wondered... Does Azar know she exists? Her father's essence resides in her soul; it's evil, and would Azar ever let that essence near the rest of the deceased Azarathean souls? It's a huge paradox for her, and it's not like she could ask. (There's a story upcoming that brings her in Azar's presence, actually, but I've yet to work out the details. For now: Dove doesn't know, at all, what her soul is even worth... especially after DDD. All she knows for sure is that she hopes she sees her mother again.)

¿ Are they easily frightened? Dove and "being frightened" is a very complicated topic. Of course she's easily frightened when confronted with something regarding any of her phobias, nightmares, past trauma, etc. But traditional things, like darkness or death or spiders? She's very rarely afraid of any of that. It's safe to say that when her vulnerabilities are involved, Dove is VERY easily unnerved. But she HAS spent her entire life learning to not let her fear out of control, and she's also very good at denial, so truly frightening her takes some work. It's possible. But not as easy as her timid demeanor implies.

╳ How would they react to seeing a loved one become possessed? Oooooh, boy. Not very well. Not well at all. Immediately on sensing demonic energy, she would be fighting back panic at the sensations alone. Then there's the fact that it would "call" to her own power, and despite all morals and restraining, it's tempting. (Because it means power, and freedom, and putting down the fight she struggles so hard in every day, and so it's relieving as well....) And all she knows of possession is what she relates to "being possessed" by her own inner demon during DDD-- murders, sadism, death. Things she can't abide. And she has no education whatsoever on how exorcisms, demons, or anything involved in them work. Let's ju8st say we'd all be lucky if Dove doesn't lose control in this situation, at least once.

☹ Name one person they would kill for. Nobody, willingly.

☼ If they had the choice to be immortal with one other person, who would they choose? ...I don't think Dove would choose anyone, really... Dove has no desire to be immortal. If it was mandatory immortality, she'd chose Srentha, or Leyla, or Raven. (Probably Raven, if she knew what kind of chaos would come into her life around year 120, 150.)

☎ How would they react to receiving a phone call from a deceased love one? Disbelief... vehement disbelief. And then tears, grieving brought back... and needing-- NEEDING, to know if it's real. Wanting to meet them and make sure.

★ Do they have a favorite scary movie? Book? Show? Dove isn't a huge fan of horror movies. A lot of them involve things that disgust, frighten, or traumatize her-- blood, v*mit, sadism, death... Psychological horror BOTHERS her, because remembering when she was in a mindset phase so sadistic and power-hungry that she actually WANTED to hurt people, feel their pain... It brings up way too much she'd rather forget, and she can't watch it. It hurts too deeply.

♣ Do they believe the world is made up of good and evil? As forces of nature, no. She has a more objective perspective that prioritizes neutrality and existence, patterns, and much, much more than morality in the universe (or, multiverse, as it were).

♥ Have they ever acted out of heartlessness? Only during DDD. She's far too compassionate to do something heartless, at least on purpose.

☾ What is their favorite and least favorite thing about the night? Favorite: It's comforting. Least favorite? It's too quiet, sometimes, and the quiet makes room for nightmares, memories, and flashbacks that she just wants to forget.

ψ Do they think they deserve punishment for their wrongdoings? She does. She really, honestly does. (Especially right after DDD; she actually tries to convince the others to kick her out, send her away, and lock her up in punishment. She basically locks herself in solitary confinement in her own room.) After healing, it's less that she thinks she "Deserves" it, than she thinks others want to inflict it, and if they did, she wouldn't blame them.

ϟ Have they ever gotten pleasure from causing others pain? DDD, but never, besides then.

♚ Do they consider themselves to be evil? That's something she struggled with for MONTHS during the DDD time. She did. She genuinely, honestly did. "If there's evil in me, if it's really a PART of me... How can I ever be GOOD?" And that's where the lesson comes in and changes her life: that "who" you are is more important than "What"; that she didn't have to be efined by being Trigon's daughter, and that all people are good and evil to some degree, but it's what they choose to act on that determines WHO they are. And that difference, that realization, changed her life.

♒ If they could choose how to die, how would they want to go? Peacefully. Quietly, probably in her sleep, knowing everyone around her was safe and wouldn't be hurt or upset by her death.

™ Are they possessive? Not at all.

✔ Are they holding a grudge against anyone? Herself, honestly... but that's about it.

◯ Do they believe in ghosts? Very much so. (Her spirituality very much prioritizes existence and life far BEYOND the physical body. Its death doesn't mean the end of a soul.)

✦ Who is their favorite villain? She doesn't really have one. (Unless Elphaba from the "Wicked" story counts.)

☄ While watching a scary movie, are they the one clinging to a friend or being clung to? Depends on the movie. Usually she withdraws, and either walks away voluntarily or pulls into herself. She doesn't like being touched if she'd that afraid, and if she's not trying to hide herself away, more likely it's just gross and not scary. (And she doesn't like being that afraid.)

웃 Do they believe in aliens? She lives with one. That would be a bright neon YES.

[xottzot]

2017-5(MAY)-21-Sunday (lots of damned rain and very COLD).

2017-5(MAY)-21-Sunday (lots of damned rain and very COLD).

I wasn't going to post this. Feeling too ill, head spinning, and I'm feeling very cold even in bed.

I woke up around 2am on Sunday and had to feed Sam & Max their dog kibble. - The forecast (almost always pathetic) had stated very heavy rain. And when I looked on the weather radar (also not that great) it showed so much coming in that surely some of it would hit here amongst the great swarths of fronts washing over the Western Australia coast.

And then, as soon as I was awake in the early morning, Sam & Max needed to get outside. So I went with them as always because they need cosntant watching. They have taken to digging holes in their despair now of Fliss not being here. And also performing their ablutions all around the entire backyard everywhere. I have to corral them by keeping an eye upon them and verbally guiding them NOT to go in places. Fliss used to do this as well.

But now BOTH dogs are growling at me. -- It's yet another reason why I should not bother to stay alive.

But Sam & Max have BOTH become very growley all the time, even Sam is growling at me for no reason. Max hears him and suddenly is wont to get vicious. -- I have to keep well away for them when they are like that and it is fast becoming almost constant because they are so much in despair of dear Fliss not being with them. - Sam keeps hearing Max growling and thinks that's how he should be too. But Sam is not vicious in any way, unless its against intruders.

They are NOT allowed to go ANYWHERE anymore. They simply cannot be trusted. They have been like that since Fliss tore their hearts and souls out after several times she vanished and left us for considerable periods of time. Fliss NEVER belived me how bad they became when she wasn't here. (Max savaged my face without any warning at all years ago fo the same reason). - But when she would return, they were joyous and would spring back. This time we have been abandoned and destroyed to be totally alone more than anyone could possibly imagine.

We came back inside this hovel and I immediately went to bed because I had been bodily shivering uncontrollably. In bed I was still shivering and gasping. After many hours I managed to get back to sleep only to wake up les than two hours later.

This time it was raining and was still raining. It had been rainng very heavily. The entire yard was huge puddle and running. But Sam & Max had to go outside. So they went. And got wet. And I had to towel the water off of them before they could return into the hovel. And BOTH dogs growled a lot. They NEVER used to growl at being toweled dry. But now they're even growling at me doing that. - I have to towel them dry otherwse they will stay wet and get even colder than they are and get sick and die. - Try to tell me we are not in hell.

They since been out for their ablutions several times and I've had to keep watch over them. Thankfully, but only because I try to plan it as best I can because the damnend clouds are being so unpredictable and it's actually raining rain, not the usual falling-out-of-the-sky-with-a-promise-to-be-rain-one-day kinda rain that usually is what this hellhole gets.

And it's been getting very COLD. - Even the generally useless West Australian newspaper online reported about the heavy rain in other more affluent places where it fell and it being COLD.

--------------------------------------------------------

Later, there's been aboriginals from the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD(s) roaming about the streets. Currently as I write this paragraph there's one standing next to the road and yelling very loudly right across the road back into the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD(s). - This is common practice.

As has the many comings and goings in cars and slamming of car doors going on and on and on in the aboriginal ghetto area.

All those car doors constantly slamming upsets Sam & Max tremendously and they rush about ready to attack now. They are constantly being kept on edge by all that. - Nobody knows what it's like.

Tomorow on Monday, is the Swan Shite Council's bulk 'green' collection, and all that noise and activity will once again stir Sam & Max up to become vicious. And none of it is my fault. If I am attacked and I die from bleeding, you'll never hear about it.

--------------------------------------------------------

The abo's went out for a group wander this morning. Then returned in drips and drabs soon afterwards. And after that has began the constant comings and leavings only to repeat the process over and over....

Then it was the turn of cars doing the same thing.......slamming car doors.....

They go out walking into all rain wearing not protective wet weather clothing, but thick woolen black clothing that of course gets wet. - In the past they've had countless umbrellas (given or stolen), but the umbrellas only last a very short time becaue of the treatment they are given by the criminal aboriginals until they are literally falling apart. The remains usually gets thrown onto the roads or into somebody elses yard. - This is standard behaviour for them. It's where even an umbrella is considered by them as a simple 'toy' to be smashed up and thrown onto the road or wherever. They have had so MANY umbrellas......it's so easy when they're stolen.... or they are given for free to them......

Whenever I have stated they are 'feral'...I truly mean that. And it's not for any whimsical fashion at all so don't try to delude yourelf that these are 'nice' feral aboriginals as the media is increasingly trying to convince everyone of and are 'harmless'.

It's miserable how the media has overused the entire language and disempowered words of their actual meanings. (and inane advetising blurbs are also very much to blame) - And now people just read over words and just accept things being described when in fact they should be wondering what the hell is going on.

One thing I constantly see in a local newpaper chain was that they were trying to be trendy and 'cool' by having something inane stated as if it was a proper sentence that had meaning. It didn't. It looked like some young idiot had been put in charge. - And that's one of the things that's supposed to 'appeal' to young kids now, to grab their attention by being just like them, illiterate and uttering inanities. - Is that what it takes to 'grab' their attention, to be as stupid as they are? And is that what it takes to not make them criminal, by just acepting they are criminal and everyone else has to suffer because of it all? - It certainly seems to be that way, to just keep breeding new criminals all about and if you dare to compain...then you are deemed to be 'not cool' with them and their everchanging criminal ethos.

The next big wave of anti-illegal drugs advertising has still yet to hit the media....

Well,...the aboriginals who NEVER EVER GO TO ANY SCHOOL are having their future world crafted for them at other peoples exense, to suit them when they 'graduate'....so they can fit in....that's if they've haven't aleady stolen, smashed, set fire to, or destroyed everything beforehand........meanwhile the local school has a very high wire fence to keep them out....for the 'safety' of other students...and expensive equipment.......

I wonder hwo long before there will be a demand to have those kids in school, and for a wage to be paid back to the 'adults' who send them, paid in booze and drugs and......

And the blurb for the school states:---"The school community provides a safe and supportive environment so that students experience success, have a strong sense of worth and are self-motivated and have the ability to cope with change."

Those last three things are so totally out of reality and mindset for the criminal aboriginals and their feral mini-me's running amok, as to be totally alien and unreachable and the school is exploited and robbed instead.

"a safe and supportive environment" is what this entire suburb used to be until they took it over and have been given the upper hand. - Imagine what they could do with an entire state of Australia? (and YES, that was one thing that was actually being mooted by one of the ach-angel aboriginal activists) -- Imagine.....no more having ghetto streets in neighborhoods, because then there could have an entire ghetto state of Australia...and they'd be doing cross-border raids non-stop guarenteed........but that's all fantasy....so far.

Oh, and another paragraph from that schools webpage blurb that sounds ever-hopeful but never does anything for the criminals that roam these streets is:-----"In partnership with the parents and the community we provide opportunities for the students to attain their full potential academically, socially, emotionally and physically so as to become life long learners, confident, responsible and happy individuals, capable of contributing to society."

Pop another wagyl on the barbie will ya?

I have a trumpet musical instrument here of Fliss's. If that was given to them, they'd smash it straight away, throw it around in the streets, and all after using it to just mindlessly blow and make noise into it day and night at all hours to torment innocent people with. Maybe throw it into the overhead power lines to destroy the power system too.....

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I wonder how litle of the numbers of them from the CRIMINAL HUSEHOLD are going to go to school?

And in relatively recent news, to force prents (et al) to put schoolchildren into getting immunisation jabs, if they don't, then the kids could be expelled from being at any school.

Well if the same damn criminal kids don't go to school anyway, there's no difference. And they'll love having an 'official' reason for them to not got to school.....heads they win tails you lose......and if YOU think your kids are 'safe' forget about it because the ones WHO NEVER EVER GO TO ANY SCHOOL are STILL associating with your kids and preying upon them and making others not go to school.....heads they win tails you lose......

And they wonder why sickness just keeps going on and on and on......

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam & Max have been outside during a break in the wet weather. And because they are so stressed with Fliss not being here, BOTH Sam & Max were growling and becoming savage and were leading up to attacking me when I went to let them back inside this hovel before the next huge wave of clouds with rain was going to roll over. The situation was VERY tense and terrifying. I am still revoverig from the last attack upon me by Max which left huge holes in my flesh. I've already got scars on my hands and arms from the last attack...or was it the attack before that? I've really lost count how many times I have been savaged.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

P. Sunday-21-May-2017---I love you Fliss and want to be with you. And now at this very moment, Sam & Max are both getting savage and are liable to attack.........

[type2diabetestreatments-blog]

Ask D'Mine: Exploring False Lows, Going Aggressive on Fasting Numbers?

New Post has been published on http://type2diabetestreatment.net/diabetes-mellitus/ask-dmine-exploring-false-lows-going-aggressive-on-fasting-numbers/

Ask D'Mine: Exploring False Lows, Going Aggressive on Fasting Numbers?

Got diabetes? Need advice? Of course you do! And you came to the right place: Ask D'Mine, a weekly Q&A hosted by veteran type 1, diabetes author and community educator Wil Dubois.

Need help navigating life with diabetes? Email us at AskDMine@diabetesmine.com

Wil goes deep this week on blood sugar control issues. Enjoy!

Liz from Oklahoma, type 2, writes: I get lightheaded and shaky even after eating a good meal. My blood sugar is around 118 before the meal—my primary doctor insists on this and feels I don't yet need to go to the Joslin Center. I have been told these episodes may be "false lows." I'd like your input. Thanks!

Wil@Ask D'Mine answers: Your blood sugar is OK before the meal, but what's your blood sugar after the meal, when you start feeling shaky? Common wisdom holds that after-meal numbers are generally higher, but that's not always true. You need to test after a meal to find out what's really going on.

Here's why: early in the course of type 2 diabetes, your body is totally freaking out. Nothing is quite working to design specifications. In some cases the pancreas over-reacts to food. It produces a huge wave of insulin and can actually cause a low. This is particularly common with high-carb meals. Picture the pancreas getting a telegram that a Grand Slam Breakfast is on the way. Lights flash. Alarm bells ring. In commmmming!

In fact, episodes of hypoglycemia are one of the warning signs that can lead to a diagnosis of diabetes. So you need to check your blood sugar when the lightheaded shakies hit to see if you are actually going low after meals. If so, use the speed-dial to call your doc.

As to the issue of you having "false lows," I doubt it. The term false low, in med-speak called "relative hypoglycemia," is something that happens to people who have been high for a long time, once their blood sugars start to normalize.

The human body is a real champ at adapting to its environment, both external and internal. If your blood sugar has been at 350 night and day for months your body starts to think that's normal. If you take a med that quickly lowers you to, say 200, your body flips out. It only knows you just dropped 150 points and that can't be a good thing; it's forgotten it was too high to start with. All of the hypo warning signs and symptoms are triggered, even though you are still critically high.

So you can feel like you're hypo even if you are nowhere close to it.

But I doubt you are experiencing this because you told me you are running 118 before meals. Relative hypos really only happen when your blood sugar has been elevated all the time for an extended period of time. Ups and downs between normal readings and higher readings won't trigger the effect.

Still, something is causing your symptoms. Check your blood sugar after eating. If nothing unusual crops up, look next to your blood pressure... then your vitamin B or D... then your thyroid... and then...

I hope when they dx'd you they remembered to tell you that having diabetes is like playing a supersized version of Clue... only with higher stakes.

Natalie from Nevada, type 1, writes: My BGs are usually in a reasonably good place — running around 120 fasting and overnight, and 140-180 postprandially. I average about 35u of insulin a day, with 18u of that as basal. I've had diabetes for 20 years, and have no complications. My A1Cs are usually in the 6s. My BMI is 24.0. I do have some insulin resistance, though apparently mild. My question is, is it worth the extra insulin to try get my fastings lower, say in the 80-100 range, and PP's below 140 (per the AACE)? Is there any solid evidence that hyperinsulinemia contributes to cardiovascular disease? Is it better to run somewhat higher than normal BGs or to use more insulin to get them lower?

Wil@Ask D'Mine answers: Now wait a cotton pickin' minute.

You have a perfect A1C... for two decades.

Your insulin usage is nearly perfectly split at 50% basal and 50% fast-acting.

You have a trim and sexy Body Mass Index.

Your postprandial numbers are nothing short of totally astounding.

Are you really sure you have diabetes?

I'm not convinced.

At the very least, you're making the rest of us look bad. If you keep this up, we may have to kick you out of the family.

So, yeah, OK, your fasting numbers could, in theory, be a little lower. But if the sign says "Danger: thin ice" would you go skating? Frankly, for type 1s, a fasting of 80 makes me queasy. Don't forget that AACE guidelines are for all people with diabetes: both type 1s and type 2s. They are blanket guidelines to cover all the bases. You need to individualize these targets for both you and your diabetes. For T1s like us, 110 or 115 fasting is considered golden. You're pretty darn close.

In terms of complication risk, average blood sugar and blood sugar variability are

both major players. And both are arguably equally damaging. On top of that, recent research, like the ACCORD study, is beginning to point fingers at hypos possibly causing more longer term damage than previously believed.

Why am I blathering on about this? Well, shooting for a fasting of 80 ups the ante on your hypo risk. Given your low average and tight range in the first place, I don't see any significant benefit to you in trying to get it even better.

But of course, that didn't really answer your question, which is about whether hyperinsulinemia, a.k.a. high levels of insulin, might be damaging to your heart. You asked if there's any solid evidence.

(Insert sound of person laughing hysterically to the point of passing out)..... Let me refer you back a few weeks to this column where we discuss that fact that "solid" evidence doesn't exist for anything in medical research. I can't even find any solid evidence that medical research even exists in the first place.

Anyway, forgetting the whole concept of solid evidence for the moment, the role of high insulin levels as a risk factor in cardiovascular disease is one of those things that scientists politely call "controversial." Some studies have shown no link at all. Some studies have shown there's a link. Some studies show maybe there's a link sometimes, in some cases, but a small one.

But a link is only an association. Association doesn't necessarily imply a cause.

Here's the problem with trying to figure out if insulin screws up your heart or not: High levels of insulin are most commonly found in only one place in nature: early-to-mid stage type 2 diabetes where the pancreas is working triple time and nights and weekends to try to overcome the disease's signature insulin resistance with wave after wave of insulin. The problem is, and please don't take offense all you type 2s, there's also a whole lot of other metabolic dysfunctions taking place at the same time. It starts to get very chicken and egg trying to sort out the complex interrelationships between the various markers, much less assign cause and effect to any of them.

And even if it eventually turns out to be true that hyperinsulinemia is a cardiovascular risk factor, it would be a moot point for you. You're literally sipping insulin—35u really isn't that much. A frickin' vial is lasting you a whole month, for crying out loud. Even if you were inclined to fine tune your fasting numbers (a modest increase in your basal would do the trick), I doubt you'd be taking more 45u per day.

Consider that many type 2s use 100u to 150u per day.

You, my dear, don't even qualify to enter the hyperinsulinemia marathon.

And making it double moot is the following: even if hyperinsulinemia is a cardiovascular risk factor, and even if you injected at ton of insulin, you're still talking cats and dogs, apples and oranges. Taking a lot of insulin isn't really the same thing as being hyperinsulinemiaic. If anyone has actually studied the role of injected insulin as a possible cardiovascular risk factor, I'm unaware of it, nor have I been able to find any trace of it on the internet.

The bottom line for everyone is: even if in the future solid evidence for hyperinsulinemia causing heart trouble is discovered, I think it would still be a hell of a stretch to apply that discovery to injected insulin as well.

Bottom line for Natalie is: I don't think more a little more insulin would put your heart at any more risk; but at the same time I think your blood sugar control is already beautiful. I don't think it matters much which way you choose to go.

This is not a medical advice column. We are PWDs freely and openly sharing the wisdom of our collected experiences — our been-there-done-that knowledge from the trenches. But we are not MDs, RNs, NPs, PAs, CDEs, or partridges in pear trees. Bottom line: we are only a small part of your total prescription. You still need the professional advice, treatment, and care of a licensed medical professional.

Disclaimer: Content created by the Diabetes Mine team. For more details click here.

Disclaimer

This content is created for Diabetes Mine, a consumer health blog focused on the diabetes community. The content is not medically reviewed and doesn't adhere to Healthline's editorial guidelines. For more information about Healthline's partnership with Diabetes Mine, please click here.

Type 2 Diabetes Treatment Type 2 Diabetes Diet Diabetes Destroyer Reviews Original Article

[xottzot]

2017-5(MAY)-21-Sunday (lots of damned rain and very COLD).

2017-5(MAY)-21-Sunday (lots of damned rain and very COLD).

I woke up around 2am on Sunday and had to feed Sam & Max their dog kibble. - The forecast (almost always pathetic) had stated very heavy rain. And when I looked on teh wether radar (also not that great) it showed so much cming in that surely soe of it would hit here angost the great swarths of fronts washing over the Western Ausrtalia coast.

And a soon as I was awake, Sam & Max needed to get outside. So I went with them as always because they need cosntant watching. They have taken to digging holes in their despair now of Fliss not being here. And also performing their ablutions all around the entire backyard everywhere. I have to corral them by keeping an eye upon them and verbally guiding them NOT to go in places. Fliss used to do this as well.

But Sam & Max have BOTH become very growley all the time, even Sam is growling at me for no reason. Max hears him and suddenly is wont to get vicious. -- I have to keep well away for them when they are like that and it is fast becoming almost constant because they are so much in despair of Fliss not being with them. - Sam keeps hearing Max growling and thinks that's how he should be too. But Sam is not vicious in any way, unless its against intruders.

They are NOT allowed to go ANYWHERE anymore. They simply cannot be trusted. They have been like that since Fliss tore their hearts and souls out after several times she vanished an left us for considerable periods of time. But when she would return, they were joyous and would spring back. This time we have been abandoned and destroyed to be totally alone more than anyone could possibly imagine.

We came back inside this hovel and I immediately went to bed because I had been bodily shivering uncontrollably. In bed I was still shivering and gasping. After many hours I managed to get back to sleep only to wake up les than two hours later.

This time it was raining and was still raining. It had been rainng very heavily. The entire yard was huge puddle and running. But Sam & Max had to go outside. So they went. And got wet. And I had to towel the water off of them before they could return into the hovel. And BOTH dogs growled a lot. They NEVER used to growl at being toweled dry. But now they're even growling at me doing that. - I have to towel them dry otherwse they will stay wet and get even colder than they are and get sick and die. - Try to tell me we are not in hell.

They since been out for their ablutions several times and I've had to keep watch over them. Thankfully, but only because I try to plan it as best I can because the damnend clouds are being so unpredictable and it's actually raining rain, not the usual falling-out-of-the-sky-with-a-promise-to-be-rain-one-day kinda rain that usually is what this hellhole gets.

And it's been getting very COLD. - Even the generally useless West Australian newspaper online reported about the heavy rain in other more affluent places where it fell and it being COLD.

Later, there's been aboriginals from the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD(s) roaming about the streets. Currently as I write this paragraph there's one standing next to the road and yelling very loudly right across the road back into the aboriginal CRIMINAL HOUSEHOLD(s). - This is common practice.

As has the many comings and goings in cars and slamming of car doors going on and on and on in the aboriginal ghetto area.

All those car doors constantly slamming upsets Sam & Max tremendously and they rush about ready to attack now. They are constantly being kept on edge by all that. - Nobody knows what it's like.

They've gone out for a group wander this morning. Then returned in drips and drabs soon afterwards. And after that has began the constant comings and leavings only to repeat the process over and over....

Then it was the turn of cars doing the same thing.......

They go out into all rain wearing not protective wet weather clothing, but thick woolen black clothing that of course gets wet. - In the past they've had countless umbrellas (given or stolen), but the umbrellas only last a very short time becaue of the treatment they are given by the criminal aboriginals until they are literally falling apart. The remains usually gets thrown onto the roads or into somebody elses yard. - This is standard behaviour for them. It's where even an umbrella is considered by them as a simple 'toy' to be smashed up and thrown onto the road or wherever. They have had so MANY umbrellas......it's so easy when they're stolen.... or they are given for free to them......

Whenever I have stated they are 'feral'...I truly mean that. And it's not for any whimsical fashion at all so don't try to delude yourelf that these are 'nice' feral aboriginals as the media is increasingly trying to convince everyone of and are 'harmless'.

It's miserable how the media has overused the entire language and disempowered words of their actual meanings. (and inane advetising blurbs are also very much to blame) - And now people just read over words and just accept things being described when in fact they should be wondering what the hell is going on.

One thing I constantly see in a local newpaper chain was that they were trying to be trendy and 'cool' by having something inane stated as if it was a proper sentence that had meaning. It didn't. It looked like some young idiot had been put in charge. - And that's one of the things that's supposed to 'appeal' to young kids now, to grab their attention by being just like them, illiterate and uttering inanities. - Is that what it takes to 'grab' their attention, to be as stupid as they are? And is that what it takes to not make them criminal, by just acepting they are criminal and everyone else has to suffer because of it all? - I certainly seems to be that way, to just keep breeding new criminals all about and if you dare to compain...then you are deemed to be 'not cool' with them and their everchanging criminal ethos.

The next big wave of ant-illegal drugs advertising has still yet to hit the media....

Well,...the aboriginals who NEVER EVER GO TO ANY SCHOOL are having their future world crafted for them at other peoples exense, to suit them when they 'graduate'....so they can fit in....that's if they've haven't aleady stolen, smashed, set fire to, or destroyed everything beforehand........meanwhile the local school has a very high wire fence to keep them out....for the 'safety' of other students.......

I wonder hwo long before there will be a deman to have those kids in school, and for wage to be paid back to the 'adults' who send them, paid in booze and drugs and......

And the blurb for the school sattes:---"The school community provides a safe and supportive environment so that students experience success, have a strong sense of worth and are self-motivated and have the ability to cope with change."

Those last three things are so totally out of reality and mindset for the criminal aboriginals and their feral mini-me's running amok, as to be totally alien and unreachable and the school is exploited and robbed instead.

"a safe and supportive environment" is what this entire subur used to be until they took it over and have been given the upper hand. - Imagine what they could do with an entire state of Australia? (and YES, that was one thing that was actually being mooted by one of the ach-angel aboriginal activists) -- Imagine.....no more having ghetto streets in neighborhoods, because then you coudl have an entire ghetto state of Australia...and they'd be doing cross-border raids non-stop guarenteed........but that's all fantasy....so far.

Oh, and another paragraph from that schools webpage blurb that sounds ever-hopeful but never does anything for the criminals that roam these streets is:-----"In partnership with the parents and the community we provide opportunities for the students to attain their full potential academically, socially, emotionally and physically so as to become life long learners, confident, responsible and happy individuals, capable of contributing to society."

Pop another wagyl on the barbie will ya?

I have a trumpet musical instrument here of Fliss's. If that was give to them, they'd smash it straight away, throw it around in the streets, and all after using it to just mindlessly blow and make noise into it day and night at all hours to torment innocent people with.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam & Max have ben outside duig a break in the wet weather. And because they are so stressed with Fliss not being here, BOTH Sam & Max were growling and becoming savage and were leading up to attacking me when I went to let them back inside this hovel before the next huge wave of clouds with rain was going to roll over.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

P. Sunday-21-May-2017---I love you Fliss and want to be with you. And now at this very moment, Sm & Max are both getting savage and are liable to attack.........