#I’m also hemorrhaging money

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

☈ your bones singing into mine ii

one - two

nikto x gen!bio-weapons engineer reader (no use of y/n) 3.4k words cw: honestly just the relationship being dysfunctional, also like warlord sugar daddy overtones, but that's just how this cookie is gonna crumble Nikto has swept you out of the darkness, and into an intact world burning full of ugly lights. He meets your every need as you work to create weapons to supply him an armory of shock and awe. He buys for you a place in Bruges, a rowhouse right on the water, and your only desire is a romantic dinner with him. He does not have it within himself to deny you.

Nikto brings you out into a world that is bright and burning, but mostly whole. He tells you that things are tied on a shoestring of balance, that any strong enough blow of breeze could tip the whole house of cards, and he has a look in his eyes that names himself typhoon. 

He is one of the most complex and deeply locked men you have ever met in your life, and you have met a great many men with secrets that could turn cities into subatomic particles in a blinding flash of a second. He wants to father a new world, a savage paradise, and, yet, he holds you in the palm of his velvet-covered iron fist as his finest treasure.

Penthouses are cleared out for you–places high in the sky, in any number of cities, so far away from the ground and the dark. He pours money into your comfort like hemorrhaging, and he cares not that his funds bleed, because he can always dump more into the wound. 

It’s a wound he wants to sustain, because he likes to see you clean, and comfortable, and sparking electricity as you work. He provides makeshift, mobile labs for you. Thousands upon thousands of dollars for computers, and programs, and security. Though he lifts you into the light, he makes you a small space of darkness, allowing you to run and return to your work.

He begins to call you Spider, or Pauk, depending on whether his English is dropping your name like a threat, or if his Russian is soft and trying to entreat you.

There is a place in Bruges, right on the water, that he pulls together for you. It is smaller than your other hideaways, cozier. Bulb-lit with warm wooden flooring and tall walls. He walks stiffly through the halls, watching for your reaction, and his shoulders relax when you turn from the window watching boats on the water to give him your cracked grin. 

“It’s out of a book,” you say, “the buildings are such bright colors. How is this real?”

“It’s always been this way here,” he tells you. He shuffles a moment, bringing his clasped hands from his back to his front, before he adds quietly, “We’re glad that you…find it acceptable here.”

Surely he is remembering the blocs he grew up on, all the colorless brutalist construction from the Soviet era. Houses for workers, starvation in the streets. You wonder if his place had heriz rugs all over the floors, to insulate sound and cushion steps and provide color. 

You press your fingertips into the cool glass, looking at him, wondering about him. You’d like to see his face, though he’s told you that it is a nightmare. You’d like to kiss him. You know he loves you, just as you love him.

“It’s perfect. I’m going to like it here,” you tell him, and your heart swells and patters when his shoulders raise a little bit, proud of himself for his pick. With his hidden face, you’ve become an expert in his body language. All his little tells become clear to you, the more time you spend with him.

He is slow with you, cautious. Not as if approaching a wild animal, he would never treat you with such base suspicion and wariness, but as if he is the animal, well-aware of exactly how powerful his bite is. He treasures you too much to damage you. 

Such brutality is held within this many-faceted man, vast and damning. He is a gentleman though, through accident or practice, and he puts that hardwork into effect with you.

It causes you to make the first move most of the time. 

“I want you to have dinner with me tonight,” you say, tapping your fingers against the glass, feeling the condensation cling to your fingerprints. 

He shakes his head. “Your value is too high for us to allow you out of the flat, Pauk,” he says gently, misunderstanding, as if reminding you. There are so many beautiful homes he has carved out for you, but you’ve never stepped foot outside of them. 

He thinks you want to, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. The reality is that you are brimming with hatred at the fact it still stands. That your suffering was for nothing, and the apocalypse still lies dormant but rumbling, a stalled birth. You love your closed spaces and your blackout curtains that hide the world and your tall walls and bright lights.

“We can have something ordered and brought to you,” he continues, trying to soothe the blow that never landed.

A grunt of annoyance snaps out of your throat, hand pressing flat to the glass. “Nooo,” you draw out, turning to face him in full. “I want you all to eat here, with me. Only us, none of the guards making all that fucking noise with their heavy boots. And I want to pretend that we’re all just having a nice night. And there are no contagions or stadiums or belt-fed guns.”

In shame, his head drops a degree, arms tightening in front of him. The supple leather of his gloves creak. “Apologies, Pauk.” His head remains that one slice lower, but his eyes flicker up like a bird’s from beneath his rippy lashes. “We…” he pauses, trying to formulate the words, “we will put that together. For you. What do you want to eat?”

Your hand comes away from the glass, and you press your palms together like a prayer, holding the sides of your hands to your lips. “I want something bloody and buttery. Something good made by someone that doesn’t love me.”

A small noise like a laugh sounds behind his heavy mask, and his neck relaxes. It puts together a picture of thought: it’s a good thing we do not cook for you, then. “We will find something.”

+

Neither of you cook. It’s a sad reality. You were too built up for epidemiology and plague-practitioning to have the room or time to learn the skill, and Nikto readily admits that he’d long ago lost his sense of smell. “Nova gas,” he explained, funnily enough. “That was your grandfather’s work, yes?” It was. He and his team. You are a legacy leper-making, just like God and all of his followers.

The sun has settled fully in the city of Bruges, and the light of street lamps, the running lights of boats on the water, and fairy lights around shopfronts make the water glitter. It is warm here, with all the brick and cobblestone soaking up the yellow light, and for once you are fine with the curtains open.

Nikto has spoiled you rotten with clothing, all of it fine and soft and rich. You dress comfortably, beautifully, and wander the flat, looking over things leftover from past tenants, waiting on his return. He always leaves you with a guard when he is gone, and tonight it is a short but sturdy woman from Montenegro who does not speak. She sits on the small leather couch in the living room, reading a book with horses on the cover, rifle across her lap. You do not bother her, but you cannot wait for her to leave.

When Nikto arrives, it’s with yet another guard, this one in plainclothes, carrying two large paper bags in their arms. It’s always seemed funny to you that he just goes out in the mask, nightmare beneath it or not, and that people must have reactions in public. But, you don’t think Nikto travels anywhere that people would dare comment on it. He has lackeys for embarrassing, mundane duties. 

He takes the bags from the second guard, and dismisses the woman on the couch, letting you approach to lock the deadbolts on the back of the door when they’re out. It is your comfort and your right, he will not interfere with it.

Meeting his eyes, you grin a cracked grin at him. “Smells good. What is it? What was the restaurant called?”

He makes another laugh-noise, looking skin-close to bashful. “We do not know. We sent Dejanović to get it, he knows the city.” He peers into the bag. “He said foreign dignitaries enjoyed the place. We don’t feel like that always speaks well to quality.”

You try to take the bag into your hands, but his arm tightens. He does not like you doing menial tasks. He likes it only when you are free to tend to your work and whims. It is much preferable to him that your needs are met, and he is glad to tend to those tasks when he is with you.

“If it’s all rot and garbage, we can make zakuski instead, and wash it down with vodka,” you tell him, swaying a little, hoping the promise pleases him. “Tahumi brought me a can of caviar, and even found a mother-of-pearl spoon for it.”

His eyes grow hard at the mention of Tahumi giving you a gift. That is another thing that heckles him. He does not like others knowing about you, much less providing for you. That is his honor, and an honor he thinks it is.

Your mouth starts to curl. “Don’t eat yourself with knots,” you instruct him, but his eyes only grow harder, his posture stiffer. “I wanted it, and Tahumi saw it, and he bought it. He did it to please you, because you are so here-and-there with your underlings. Your favor can’t be curried because it doesn’t exist.”

“They are warm, walking corpses, and nothing more,” he says, stone-solid, cold. “We don’t need them for anything more than catching bullets and carrying out orders. You are not a tool to buy their way into security. There is none, and you–you’re–” 

He turns his head and breathes out hard. His body is held so tightly it paints pain on the walls behind him. His molars squeak as they grind together, trying to collect himself, but he is upset.

“Andryu,” you say, pulling his diminutives, trying to pluck the chords that will bring him back to you. You bend your body to swerve, attempting to capture his eyes. “Andryusha.”

There is a little break in the armor, a crack where you can push your fingers in, to find contact with him. There is a little light in his eyes. “We cannot allow you to be taken advantage of. Your wholeness is…” he trails off, struggling, and you provide him the territory to prowl, find his words. He turns and meets your eyes, and there is his passion. “Our last shred of warmth is you. If you are pained, or used, or discarded–it is a blow that would destroy the last human thing in us.”

And, here, your scant humanity answers his. You fold, slope, ease. You nod in agreement. “I know, Andryu, I do. But all of you know where my loyalties lie. You know I wouldn’t hesitate to find you if I felt targeted.” You want so horrendously to reach out and touch him, but you don’t. You have to allow him to initiate, otherwise he cannot handle it. “My lot is in your lot. I go where you go. Everyone else is a corpse that forgot to lie down and die.”

Using his language in ways that he understands it unlocks him to you. His gloved hand comes up, hovering just to the side of your jaw. But he doesn’t touch, he only traces the air in a line down the bone structure. 

+

He allows—or, rather, you give him no in allowing you to stand in the kitchen as he unpacks your meals to plate. It could be call an awkward affair, if either of you had the social graces to register that feeling in your minds. 

He’s taken his gloves off and swatted at your hand trying to take the paper bag for recycling, giving you a sharp look borne of the love he holds. Again, not allowed to lift a finger. 

There are faded Cyrillic characters tattooed across his knuckles, the black ink bloated and faded to blue. SOS across three fingers: either spasi, otets, syna or Suki Otnyali Svobodu. Save me, father, your son. Bitches robbed my freedom. 

He’s never told you which in specific, though he’s offered both as options. Tattoos are carved into so much of his skin, and he’s given you brief walking tours of them when he’s stripped down enough for them to appear. A warping on Russian prison tattoos, repurposed for the Spetsnaz. 

Epaulets on his shoulders—horses die from work. Devils just below those, oskals, hatred of authority. ‘I Fuck Poverty and Misfortune’ in Cyrillic, riding his Adonis belt. A lighthouse on his forearm, yearning for freedom. His skin tells his story, hard-lived, a language known to few. 

His plating skills are what cause him minor self-consciousness. He’s not an artistic man, and he has no eye for aesthetics. The blood-rare ribeyes are just placed and pushed to one side of the plate, crumbled blue cheese dumped artlessly on top. Creamed potatoes end up slopping over roasted asparagus, and he growls in his throat, frustrated. He is trying incredibly hard to make it pleasing. The more he moves it around, trying to be careful, the worse it looks. 

He wouldn’t care if it was solely for him. His frustration is because you will not be eating something pretty. In his mind, the only things you deserve are pretty and perfect. 

His hands stop fussing, resting on the edge of the counter, glaring down at the plates. “It looks like shit,” he renders his verdict. It sounds like he is considering throwing it away and ordering something else.

“Pelmeni look like shit. So does poutine. But it all tastes good, so we still eat it,” you push back. “No one eats shiny plastic or tinsel.”

He grunts again. “People eat shiny plastic and tinsel all the time, because they are fucking stupid.”

“If any of you are insinuating that any of us are fucking stupid, you’re being a fucking child.” Despite the content of your words, it is not said with heat. It is an olive branch, trying to reach him across the expanse of his dissatisfaction. You’re not sure you’ve made contact until his fingers start tapping on the counter, and he hums Krokodil Gena’s Birthday Song deep in his chest. He is calming, rectifying reality with himself. 

After a few, long moments, he picks up the plates, nodding at you, and carries them to the dining table outside the kitchen. It is situated in front of a set of big picture windows that he honestly does not like you standing near, ever, but it is for the sake of the evening. He sets your plate down, and pulls out your chair for you, before he seats himself. There are already sets of silverware and water on the table. A bottle of vodka, and two small glasses to drink from. 

You start by pouring two sips of vodka, offering him one. A toast falls out of your mouth, unthinking, and he clinks your glasses together in agreement. When you put your shot back, he hands you his glass, and you shoot that, as well. He has not removed his mask. He will not. But he overturns his glass next to yours.

It’s an odd affair, how the meal goes. Conversation picks up, on plans and your work, on the state of the world as it stands. That will run out, and you will both turn to other topics. Books, movies, cars. Oh, Nikto has such a soft spot for cars–he could talk about them from dusk until dawn. Luxury cars, supercars, performance and rally cars, working vehicles, even an astonishing breadth of consumer cars. He has opinions that stretch the globe, and you soak it up like a dry sponge. 

The oddest thing is that you eat, and he does not. He keeps his hands resting on either side of his plate, guarding it as if he was a prisoner, but he does not once touch his silverware. He won’t eat in front of anyone. He can’t, not without taking the mask off. It’s something he didn’t have to explain to you, you just understood it by studying his patterns. It’s something that made him even softer toward you. 

You finish, part of your steak left–you intend to slice it up and put it on some grilled crusty bread with piles of caramelized onions later–resting your fork and your knife on the edge of your plate. “That was good. Despite the dignitaries and dog shit. I want a copy of their menu, to tear up and eat bit by bit. I want all of you to have more dates with me, this one dripped romantic. All the seams were splitting up, and it went drop by drop by drop.”

“Date?” he queries, looking at you across the table as he reaches for your plate.

“Date.” You nod once, emphatically.

He shudders, smothering something that sounds like a sigh, averting his eyes. “We…will make sure there is a menu for you, next time,” he starts, unphased by your request. “Roses, if you like.”

You shake your head. “No use for roses, they wilt and die. Flowers all-wilted smell like the dark parts of the bunker, and my stomach eats and eats away at me because of that smell.”  You send an apologetic look across the table, thinking. “I’ll take tokens in trinkets. Whenever you bring me jewelry, I don’t take it off.”

As if in example, you pull up your sleeves, showing him the bracelets he’s brought you, left for your discovery on desktops and dressers. Next, you tug at your collar, showing him a pile of necklaces. 

His fingers twitch, looking at you helplessly. Not even he can prevent the swallow that goes down his throat, when he sees that you hoard the fine things he brings back for you.

Another long moment passes, and he is hoarse when he agrees, “Jewelry. We will bring you jewelry, then.”

In as much of a rush as you’ve ever seen him, he collects your dishes, and the bottle of vodka, storming back through the kitchen door. It doesn’t latch behind him, and you know he will be a while. It feels dirty, destructive and found and deceitful, but you sneak up to the crack, wanting to watch him.

His back is turned, his mask removed. Hair so deep in darkness it shines white under lights sticks up from his head at all angles, some of it missing from the side of his skull, along with an ear. He eats quickly, in clipped bites, gorging himself, stopping only to tip back the vodka bottle. It’s almost an ugly display, brutal necessity, and you know as well as you know the own pounding of your heart that he is uncomfortable, that he hates this. He hates to be bare.

You cannot see his face, and you would not try to see it. You want to see it someday, and that will only happen when he is ready to show you. You will not steal that freedom from him. You will not sneak looks when he is unawares. It is the same courtesy he has afforded you, and you are hellbent to pay it back in kind.

With that prickling your skin, you back away from the door, allowing him his needs. 

When he returns, sitting next to you on the couch, he is warmed-through and softened by the alcohol and food. He takes hold of your ankle, pulling it into his lap, rubbing the knob of your bone with his bare fingers. His masked head tips back, resting against the back of the couch, and he heaves a heavy sigh.

Your stomach clenches, and your heart races. There is so much love between the two of you, so impossibly massive that it cannot ever be feasibly dealt with, and that is something you are fine with when his eyes meet yours in a crinkled smile. 

Perhaps your union will kill the world as it stands, but you don’t particularly mind. His hands are warm against your bones, reaching deeper than any other human possibly could, and he looks at you as if you are his only purpose in life, even if that is not true.

“Andryusha,” you greet him quietly, turning your leg in his touch so he can have more skin.

Another small noise, pleasure, and he rubs deeper, followed by a soft, heartsick request, “Say it again, Paukya.”

[byebyassociation]

Cahara the Skank (Character analysis)

Tw: The topics of 1500s prostitution, violent rape and suicide ideation

Text version under cut:

Cahara as a protagonist

“Cahara of the South… He originates from the Eastern Sanctuaries. A bastard child left on his own at a very young age. Somehow this poor soul found his way to these dungeons…”

Cahara grew up under unfortunate circumstances, as he was abandoned in Jettiah he had to learn nothing in life came easy or freely

He had three choices to be a pickpocket, burglar, Or lead an honest life

But this choice means little past starting skill/item. No matter what Cahara becomes a mercenary.

“As you grew older you took part in various mercenary armies and learned the dirtiest tricks to stay alive. You were taken in by a notorious veteran highwayman and you joined his little band of criminals and ex-soldiers.”

Instead his first real life choice is if he will stay beside his first real allies or ditch them for his life.

They do not join him in the dungeons if they live

“During one of your many raids, your brigade got ambushed. The odds were seriously against you. You could have just abandoned your comrades and kept you life, or you could have fought to your last breath...”

He didn’t have to take this mission, however his mental narration states as if he does: shoving down fear for the money.

“Something is clearly not right about this mission and you have felt nausea since the the moment you agreed on the job. But you are short on silver and the reward is all that matters in the end.”

Really, he shoved his own feelings down for Celeste

"Celeste, you're still doing this job with the little one on the way and all?!"

Cahara is not opposed to Celeste’s sex work, instead he is opposed to the men who want her due to her pregnancy

"If anything, I feel like there're more gentlemen folks asking for my services these days."

"This isn't right. I don't like it."

"Girl's gotta eat and now I got the little one to feed as well”

"I'm a man. I should take care of you two."

“I’m leaving tomorrow if— no when I get back things will change. You just wait and see!"

He doesn’t tell her what to do, only stating what he himself can do for her

Sadly, he either already had a sense this could be his end or didn’t even let himself think this would be the last time he spoke to or saw Celeste in the flesh

"Just promise you do come back."

He knocked her up in a brothel and contracted syphilis.

“You also get an itch in your groin area...”

Unfortunately a sign of the sorts of people who’d pay for her services without care for her body.

After at least speaking with Celeste he fully made up his mind. He wouldn’t come back without the cash.

“But didn’t he like it?”

Cahara as an NPC

"Oh hey."

"You got me out of here!"

Upon meeting Cahara in the prisons of the dungeons, he is quick to join your party after a short conversation

[You ask him] “What are you doing here?"

[He answers] "Wwell...”

“I do have a mission here, but let's save that story for another day, yeah?"

Regardless of your questioning, he speaks quite anxiously. Stuttering or going silent in an out of character sequence

[You ask him] "Why were you imprisoned here?"

[He answers] "I was caught by one of those malformed prison guards”

“Your conversation took an awkward turn for some reason...”

Prison guards are shown to be sexually violent to those they have access to. Both in their dialogue, their attacks and how defeat by them causes incurable hemorrhaging from sexual injuries.

Cahara does not show signs of this hemorrhaging, however D’arce doesn’t have a concussion either despite nearly having her skull caved in. Both lack status effects for the sake of balance.

When Cahara robs you he has a preference for stealing healing items

This may be his attempt to patch himself up as there is no canon cure for internal bleeding.

[D’arce’s prison dialogue says] "Le'garde... You were supposed to be here…”

When in the prisons most characters bring up your common mission. D’arce, Ragnvaldr and even Enki bring this point up

Cahara breaks this formula

[Cahara’s prison dialogue says] "Tell me... Did the guards ever capture you here?"

He wants to know if he was the only one. He wants to know if there was anything he could’ve done. He’s seeking solidarity. He’s seeking kinship

"Don't let the dungeon have it's way with you. Bye."

"Talk about traumatizing events... Sheesh…”

"This place is starting to get into my head...”

Does this sound like the words of someone unaffected by the dungeons? He is nonchalant but he is not well. In fact that last line is repeated 11 times. He has 18 unique dialogue lines in party talks, none of his dialogue or anyone else’s appears nearly as many times repeatedly.

He’s gone into shutdown, in the upper areas and especially the prisons and areas around it he just cannot hold up. Mentally he cannot juggle his need to keep moving forward and process what happened. 

This leaves his mind to go entirely unfiltered when he is in a space where he can think. Suicide ideation and turning to sex for comfort being his two major callings in this state. Sometimes even mashing together through his willingness to marry a marriage, a very literally dangerous form of sex.

"Hahaha, this is too good"

"Dying down here is most likely the easiest way to go!"

'I'm starting to feel like death would be the easiest option."

“Cahara seems really enthusiastic.”

"Just don't destroy my anus with those big muscles of yours, okay?"

"Ehh, well that's a freaky suggestion, but fine."

[sirenjose]

Analysis of Anne (Annie) Lester

Annie’s mother came from a “wealthy British family” (likely a merchant family based on Annie’s backstory), while her father was a “nameless painter”. He was likely Czech as Annie’s original backstory mentions being either born into a Czech family or growing up in the Czech Republic.

Whether or not she actually lived in the Czech Republic, her father fell in love with her mother (Wendy), who he apparently saw as his “muse”. Based on what he says to Annie later and how he wants her to be, he apparently loved/admired Wendy due to her “ladylike demeanor”/”lady’s bearing”, “talent”, and beauty, while Annie’s trailer also uses the words “dignified, decent, elegant”.

Wendy really looking forward to Annie’s birth based on the baby room and wooden toys that she purchased for Annie. Unfortunately, she dies on November 29th due to hemorrhaging during Annie’s birth.

Annie’s father is very upset over her death, and even more so due to his view that Annie failed to adequately replace her in terms of talent, beauty, personality, and behavior. Due to this viewpoint, he likely was very strict on Annie, who he likely attempted to train and educate her on how to properly act like a lady and everything else he saw as necessary to be a lady.

This left Annie only 1 hour of free time a day. Only 1 hour where she was allowed to be in the baby room and play with the toys all left by her mother. Only 1 hour where she was allowed to “be herself”. Annie was clearly unhappy over how her father was trying to make her act and behave. Annie loved her mother but she could not perfectly replace her. She was her own person, a person that wasn’t the sort of perfect lady her father wanted her to be. But she had no choice while she still lived with her father, who showed little to no love to Annie due to her continued failure to be ladylike enough to replace her mother. So she used that 1 hour to escape from reality into her own fantasy world.

1 of the toys in that room is said to be “wings for gliding” with it seeming like “its owner was planning an escape with limited materials available”. It is possible she wanted to use these to escape her father, but for now I’m assuming she built them as part of her fantasy rather than actually used them to escape, but it’s hard to know for sure.

As Annie grew up, suitors attempted to woo her, though they were not the good type as her backstory describes them as “unscrupulous womanizers hoping to live a carefree life supported by her riches”. This had to do with the fact that, after Wendy’s death, Annie stood to inherit “50% of her estate, including property assets, when she comes of age”. They weren’t the only ones interested in Annie’s inheritance, as her own father, who likely had no real love or care left for Annie after this long, likely decided this money was the only thing of value left regarding Annie.

1 of the suitors Annie meets feels to her to be the perfect man. Considering her trailer mentions “The beautiful flowers, the adoration of the crowd, a gorgeous dress, and a seemingly perfect fiancé” as well as used the word “grandeur”. This could mean she was forced to act like a noble lady, likely including attending parties, which is where she met all these suitors, including the one she fell in love with.

Based on the fact Annie in her deductions says “He seems to know me well. Most importantly, he accepts me despite my shortcomings”, it almost seems less like Annie was interested in marrying and instead simply sought someone who offered her real love with no strings attached. Someone who loved her for who she was rather than desired her to be someone she wasn’t and didn’t want to be. After growing up under a strict father who showed her little to no love, a man who refused to accept the way she wanted to be and only showed approval if she did what he wanted, Annie sought acceptance. But this need made her vulnerable, as right now she was said to be “kindest to those she trusted and was prepared to believe in them implicitly—at least, this is what she used to believe”.

The issue with this implicit trust was that the man she thought would be the one, the love of her life, was actually another liar and scammer. Based on Annie’s deduction 8, Annie’s fiancé had been working with Annie’s father to manipulate Annie into marrying her so they could get their hands on her inheritance.

Considering Annie’s father interest in her inheritance, and based on how Annie’s deduction 2 describes Annie’s father as a “nameless painter” managing to somehow marry into a “wealthy British family”, I wonder if Annie’s father never truly loved Wendy or Annie and only married Wendy due to her wealth, just like the suitors trying to marry Annie for her inheritance now. I wonder how long he’d been planning to steal Annie’s wealth, and if he’d been thinking about it even before Annie’s birth. I also wonder if Annie’s fiancé was actually a friend of her father’s, and that could be why he was able to work with him to attempt to steal Annie’s inheritance. From how Annie says her fiancé knows and accepts her for who she is, I wonder if Annie’s father could’ve told her fiancé about Annie and her desire to give her fiancé a better chance at winning her over.

Based on Annie’s deduction 9, it seems they succeeded in getting that 50% from her. One of her backstories mentions she did get married and had a miscarriage too. Whether or not that happened, after the 2 scammed Annie out of her inheritance, and without Annie’s father financing Annie at all, her financial status fell “under the poverty level”. She also was deeply hurt by the betrayal, and it was only than that she began to not implicitly trust everyone.

Based on Annie’s 1st letter, it seems due to her poverty, she was forced to temporarily live at “Holloway Nursing Home”. While there, the mention of hoping to bring “uplifting” news helps further confirm Annie was pretty depressed after what had happened to her. Her trailer uses the words “Deceived, Manipulated and discarded, Just like a toy”, so this is likely how she felt after the betrayal, while “imprisonment” is how she felt with her father.

In the CN version, it instead calls it the “Holloway Sanatorium Temporary Ward”. A “sanatorium” is a medical facility providing long-term care (usually for treatment for people with chronic illnesses). It is possible she was sent here after her “miscarriage”. On the other hand, Holloway Sanatorium is actually a real place in Surrey, England. It was said to be “for the care and treatment of the insane of the upper and middle classes”. This implies Annie was likely sent here for reasons tied to her mental or emotional state.

She is referenced to have some pretty severe anxiety during the games which she likely developed due to how she grew up under her strict father who didn’t show Annie any love, only seeing her as a failure her whole life, with her backstory implying he made her feel “worthless”.

Her anxiety likely also ties to her toys, as these toys were said to symbolize “comfort, family, and stability, and she only feels when she is around them”. This could imply she developed a kind of dependence on them, as she may have essentially used them as an emotional/mental crutch and tied them in her mind to her mother, who Annie knew had loved her despite never having the chance to meet her, even though her mother was gone. Without any of her toys or safe room, her mental state likely deteriorates to some degree.

Besides her anxiety, there’s also the outcome of Annie’s fiancé with her father betraying her and taking the inheritance from her mother. Annie’s emotional state isn’t described anywhere, but it likely isn’t hard to imagine how this likely affected her.

Annie already had developed feelings of low self-worth, insecurity, and a multitude of other issues due to how she grew up under her father. Then when she was betrayed by someone she felt might finally accept her for who she is, this further devastated her mental state. We know, despite how she grew up, that she still trusted to some degree, and was kind and implicitly believed those she trusted, but this was destroyed following the betrayal, and she likely developed trust issues (becoming more guarded and afterwards not opening up as easily). Besides this, she obviously would’ve felt deep emotional pain, heartbreak, and betrayal after what her fiancé and father did. Anger, sadness, confusion and loss would also be expected, as well as lower self-confidence and increased self-doubts and insecurity.

If Annie had been sent to a mental facility, this could imply she, at least for a time, had extreme emotional instability, and could’ve been shifting between emotions quite rapidly, from sorrow enough to cause her to cry uncontrollably, to panic attacks, or even intense anger. I imagine it had to have been enough to impair their ability to function or threatened their well-being for her to be put there. It’s also possible she experienced delusions or hallucinations due to her distress or deteriorated mental state. At the very least, panic attacks tied to her severe anxiety (which could also reasonably put her at risk of arm) are also fairly likely. She was likely sent to the mental facility to help her stabilize.

While she was there, before she’d stabilized but was recovering, she met Nicholas Oz, an attorney appointed by Wendy to inform her that Annie’s current status had activated a portion of the will Wendy left for Annie, which gave her a different 30% of Wendy’s estate as Wendy had made Annie her “designated inheritor”. This was a 30% that had “remained unrecorded” and had included “Madam Lester's foreign assets and assets entrusted to the care of her relatives and friends, all of which will be inherited by you”. Included in the items inherited by Annie is a “brand new children's wooden aircraft”, which could be the same one she uses in game (and may have been a real life, better version of the wings she’d built herself in the past).

I wonder if Wendy potentially knew a bit of the about how Annie’s father truly was and did all this in advance for this very kind of situation. Maybe that’s why there was a condition in her will that gave Annie 30% if Annie fell below the poverty level, which could imply Wendy had potentially foresaw this happening.

In any case, Annie (now definitely not living with her father if she hadn’t already escaped him before) used the money to build a toy shop (the objects that had helped her escape her miserable reality into a fantasy world where she had real freedom) and pursue her own desires. She also hoped her store would help bring happiness to other children and help grow their own fantasy worlds. Her toyshop is successful, and is said to have helped her regain her confidence. She vows to “get back what she deserves and her dignity”.

The last thing we know is she receives an anonymous letter that promises information on the “two scammers” (aka her father and fiancé who stole her inheritance) and so she decides to go.

[opinated-user]

It’s incredibly weird to me that Lily has almost 140,000 subscribers on Youtube, because that level of support literally does not show up ANYWHERE fucking else online for her. Her Patreon account is hemorrhaging money, her viewership numbers are largely WAY fucking down, and (As Lily literally just demonstrated on HER OWN fucking account) other people RARELY talk about her online, unless it’s to talk about how horrible and abusive she is. I’m not going to say anything more, and I don’t want to imply anything else, of course. But I just think that it’s very weird that as every other statistic (and all of the ones that FINANCIALLY matter) about LO’s career is showing all signs of it failing miserably. Her subscriber count continues to grow at a surprisingly steady pace. Even though (excluding only like TWO outliers), these thousands and thousands of subscribers that Lily is apparently still getting REALLY don’t want to fucking watch that many of her videos, at all. For some fucking reason.

well, that's something that even Morals in @lily-orchard-gossip-blog was calling out a long time ago. many of LO's subscribers might be dead accounts or people who genuinely even forgot they were subscribe to her. for she to have such low viewership it can only mean that a lot of people aren't watching. the not having any impact in her own fandom is indicative of that, but also in big part how she treats fans. if they can be making cute art, talk about her videos and generally talk positively about and to her, only to see their contributions reduced to a big pile of nothing compared with the negative feedback, then no wonder that people just feel discouraged from even trying. why are they even going to watch each video or talk about her at all, if they know it means nothing to her? a lot of other youtuber receive a lot more than that with even less subscribers because they are so open and welcoming, because they go out of their way to appreciate the work of fans. which in turn makes even more people want to become fans! positivie reinforcement is something that people want over being yelled out or ignored completely. but LO only wants the positive reinforcement for herself.

[blf19]

If i’m open commission… will there be anyone interested??

I have a pre-retinal hemorrhage on my right eye which causes a blurry vision. Now i have to rely on my left eye for my daily routine. Also i need money for my medical bill. I have open comission once s a long time ago. I wonder if anyone still interested?

I might not be able to draw a full cg. But a chibi or skech is okay. (I can’t look at the screen more than 10 mins i have to. Take a break.) hit me up if you interested. If there are a lot. I will make the commission rate and contact you back.

Thanks in advance.

BLF19

[ozcarr]

rough Neotropolis/Wasteland weekend persona concepts because I’m insatiable now ig sorry

thoughts and notes under cut

1. When I was discussing concepts originally, I pitched an android doctor, but the more time I spent on Pinterest looking at other peoples costumes the more I was convinced I needed to go-big-or-go-home, and prosthetic panel lines just weren’t going to satisfy me. Had to go full robot about it. Top 10 predictable moments probably. 3 things about me are that I’m committed to the bit, I love hemorrhaging money, and I love wearing uncomfortable clothes

The mask/helmet is from Burgerstrings Designs LLC. He does great work, and I love the idea of buying a blank to customize myself. I haven’t made costumes in a few years and I want to be redeemed, I guess.

This is actually the second time I made up an evil robot doctor character and maybe I’m just an unoriginal fraud but idgaf. Kind of obsessed with the idea of a surgeon who can’t experience -- and consequently doesn’t understand -- physical pain. I think it’s really sinister and compelling and I will not be silenced.

Inspo highlights: A / B / C

2. Not as much to say about this one. Thought hazard signage theming would be fun. I really like old motorcycle/motorcross helmets, I think they hit a lot of the same notes as space helmets (and also you can by them used cheap)

I’m sure a psychologist would love to get into why I covered the face in every concept, but honest to god I just don’t want to think about styling my hair or getting a close shave at a campground. Also I look awful in yellow.

Inspo highlights: A / B / C

3. Just really wanted to do a western look; I think they're underutilized at the event, judging from what I've seen. The original vibe I wanted to go for had a poncho/serape situation but... the heat, man. I had to pair it down, had to look out for my hypothetical future self.

I'm so committed to not dying that I've convinced myself that I can successfully sew two pairs of pants together in lieu of real chaps, but maybe I'm crazy for that idk

Inspo highlights: A / B / C

[yowyowyaoi]

Kakuzu: We need to talk. We are currently hemorrhaging money at an alarming rate. We need to try and curb our spending or we’ll be completely broke before the year is out.

Nagato: I don’t understand; everything we spend money on is a necessary expense, isn’t it? What do we have that’s extra?

Kakuzu: *holding up a list* For starters, did you know that Kisame demanded that Itachi have 5000-thread Egyptian cotton sheets for when they have to make camp outdoors? $500, leader! And they get filthy and torn on the bare ground and have to be thrown out … and then he asks for more!

Kisame: Oi; Itachi has sensitive skin and he doesn’t sleep well outside. His eyes are one of the most important things in this organization; isn’t it a “necessary” expense to make sure he’s well-rested?

Kakuzu: It also might interest you to know that Deidara spends upwards of $2000 A WEEK on products for his hair and face.

Deidara: But … but I’m pretty, hm … it’s hard work being so pretty …

Kakuzu: And don’t get me started on what Tobi’s been charging to the company credit card for dango and pastries.

Tobi: But Leader, I —

Nagato: Enough. I��ve heard more than enough. This is appalling! Your gross misuse of our organizations limited funds is shameful and starting right this second, it’s going to stop. Anything that isn’t the bare minimum of food, water, and shelter, won’t be allowed. It’s ridiculous that Kakuzu and I have to —

Konan, from the bedroom: Nagi? Where’d you go? I wanted to show you this new nightie I bought ~

Kakuzu: Ah, that’s another thing … *holds up another receipt* The money that Konan spends on fancy undergarments each month is likely the highest expense of all! She needs to —

Nagato: *grabs the receipt, blushing* I’ll take care of it myself. Completely necessary expense, believe me.

Nagato, walking to bedroom: I’m coming, dear. *goes in and shuts the door*

The others:

[vikingnerd793]

So uh. The Ubisoft Gear Store is dead. Just disappeared out of nowhere with random Tweet replies that it was shut down. Mirage still has no gameplay shown and it was supposed to launch in March. Three unknown projects cancelled, Skull and Bones delayed for a sixth time. I believe Prince of Persia was already canceled. Two non AC games bombed this year, projected loss of $500 million. Keep in mind Valhalla earned a billion in a year which is the most of ANY AC GAME and the 2nd best in Ubisoft history. That revenue is huge for them. So, a $500+ million loss is not small. They’re reducing headcount for two years to try to keep afloat I just read.

I’ve said this multiple times as a guess, but now I truly believe it’s not a guess. I think Ubisoft is in serious, serious trouble. I think the only reason we even got The Last Chapter at all, with likely ZERO resource and budget behind it, was if the content was a promotion for Mirage first, with a modest focus on Eivor’s conclusion. Wouldn’t be shocked if they took a crumb of budget from Mirage for it. It’s why all support was abandoned. No Yule, no NG+.

I don’t think The Last Chapter was meant to be the way it was originally. It felt like a project that got chopped. No other content in its two years of existence felt so basic. No actual gameplay. Like an hour of cut scenes. What little recycled assets they used, the peacock feather bug STILL happened and still has not been fully fixed. I doubt we will ever see another patch for it. This isn’t trying to excuse what we got, as honestly it felt so bad it shouldn’t have even been released. Just cancel it. But my visceral reaction, that this content felt like something that didn’t belong because it didn’t have any of the thought or depth of previous content, likely wasn’t off base.

I wouldn’t be shocked if the choice to make Mirage such a big project, while ALSO announcing multiple AC games being done simultaneously, and also hemorrhaging talent with huge projects being worked on (and now having to reduce headcount further with bad financials) is maybe not working out well. Especially with other titles floundering the way they are. It’s like they NEED Mirage and Infinity to not only happen, but sell at or above Valhalla levels just to survive. I might be wrong, but it’s pretty ominous. They can’t just get these games launched. They bit off possibly way more than they can chew and need record numbers from AC now.

So I can see execs telling them ACV is a dead game to them. Support was done after Forgotten Saga and the licensed crossovers that likely got them some cash flow, and the Mirage promo masked as TLC. Fuck the fans of this game who made us record money, we need the old fans who are long gone to come back and we need to focus on getting the new fans to focus on the next games. But I’m not sure that was the smartest idea, as you want to respect fans who you just got in the door if you want to keep them around.

I don’t feel happy, per say, about this, as this will affect livelihoods of many people and this company did give us Valhalla and some other great games. But it at least feels like circumstances contributed to the disappointment of Valhalla’s “end of life.” Not just a conscious decision to ruin Eivor and make her ending about a different game’s setup.

EDIT: oh I’m totally not wrong.

[lesbiansandgayssupporttheminers]

Fighting to Stand Still

At one of our union actions recently, someone mentioned the idea that we (by which I mean striking workers) are often fighting so hard just to stand still. We’re fighting against job losses, we’re fighting for a pay rise that simply matches inflation. We’re trying to stop our sector hemorrhaging workers.

In the NEU we’ve now been on 8 days of strikes, and maybe… just maybe… we’ll get a pay rise of 6.5% that doesn’t quite match inflation. It seems like the junior doctors might get similar. Nurses ended up with the 5% they voted to reject.

Never mind pay restoration. Certainly never mind major improvements to our working conditions.

I’m not saying the will isn’t there to keep on fighting- my union colleagues continue to inspire me with their dedication and desire to keep on doing this. I think there’s a lot of hope in teaching about all the unions striking together.

But I do think the real ambition isn’t there- the real desire to say, “Actually, it’s not enough to make things a little bit better for teachers, but also we need to start thinking about real societal change”.

 Equally, I think I’ve mentioned on here before that I think the Tory long term goal is to do away with qualified teachers in England for all sorts of reasons. When I first started talking about this, I felt like a conspiracy theorist, but more and more people seem to be coming up with the same conclusions.

In England, most teachers working in state schools will have, or be working towards QTS (Qualified Teacher Status). This means they are degree educated professionals, many of whom will also have a post grad qualification like a PGCE.

This creates two problems for the Tories. One, they have to pay teachers a decent, competitive graduate salary- and that’s expensive. The Tories don’t like wasting money on state education.

Two, in general, people with degrees don’t vote Tory. I don’t want to stereotype here, but people with a degree level education tend to be able to think critically about what they’re told. They often hold social views that work against the Tory narrative. And they’re exposing children to those views.

The Tories don’t want socially mobile young people who are able to think critically about right wing propaganda. They want the working class to have limited options and to know their place, and buy into fascist narratives uncritically.

The solution? Get rid of teaching as a graduate profession. Have students supervised by TAs on a low wage, whilst they learn from pre-approved government videos and complete tasks created by AI. Lower educational attainment for the working classes. Less critical thinking skills. Less money wasted on educating them…

It sounds terrible and dystopian, right?

 To avoid that, perhaps fighting to stand still is worth it?

[houseofbrat]

[Twenty-Seven Days Ago]

You may already know this, but while those figures were circulating the streets of Markle-world, in the real world, she had her PR grossly inflate her earning potential to match her inflated self-evaluation. Here's what was really going on for anyone who may not know already:

I'm connected to a prominent figure in the film industry. He told me that she NEVER had any hope of actually working in Hollywood neither before her marriage nor after Megxit. Suits was a cable show produced in Toronto and she A) never made it past #6 on the call sheet (importance of cast members in each episode) and B) was being written out BEFORE she met Harry. She spun it to look like they wrote her out because of Harry and her marriage, but that's not what happened. She was scrambling for work and aggravating the shit out of everyone from Reese Witherspoon, to Barbara Broccoli, all the way to Wendy Williams trying to get screen work.  She was also having her agent trying to get her work as the face for major fashion labels and nobody was returning her calls except for Reitman's, and her behavior was so awful they regretted it. She didn't save her Suits money, she owned no property, and she was running out of time and money. Kind of like now.

The truth is that Markle is the luckiest con artist in the world and I have to give her credit for scoring a fucking Prince of the United Kingdom right when she needed money most.  It's uncanny.

Now, though, she's shown her hand. She may not realize it, but she has. Nobody will ever hire her for anything again unless they've been in a coma the past five years, and she'd ruined herself in Hollywood back when she played the Fed Ex girl in Horrible Bosses. She pissed off Jennifer Anniston by acting like a diva, and Jen has a lot of clout. No one legit was going to hire her after that.

The ONLY reason she got the Netflix, Spotify, and Penguin contracts was because HARRY was worth the money-- or so they thought. They were all told at the making of the deals that H&M would be working for i.e. giving access to the Royal Family for 50% of the time. When that fell through, a huge part of their "business plan" died. Meghan was allegedly on speakerphone with the meeting and screaming mad when that didn't happen. She allegedly told the Queen to drop dead. I don't know that for a fact, but as Netflix had been following them around, it is a rumor that came out of the NF crew and trickled out to the rest of Hollywood. I personally would hope she wouldn’t tell anyone to drop dead, certainly not the Queen of England, but...

Anyway, the palace reportedly hung up on her and have refused to speak to her since. There have been times when she has been handled, like by Camilla at the Jubilee or Sophie at the funeral, but no one really speaks to her and she will never have a direct audience with the monarch again. Anyway, when they lost the 50/50, they lost a lot of what they promised these companies, but they were still popular enough with the public then that they could have still made something work. We've watched how that has turned out.

So long story short, Meghan isn't worth what was reported. Best estimates for the contracts are

Netflix- $20 million Spotify- $5 million

I don't know what the big wigs are paying for memoirs from ex-royalty and shitty children's fiction from an ex-Royal's soon-to-be- ex wife, but my best guess, for a four book deal with Prince Harry writing a tell all, is $10 million advance and then a percent of sales.

That seems like a lot of money to us plebes, but they hemorrhage money on housing alone. Then there's staff, publicity, SECURITY, legal fees, Meghan's ugly designer clothes, private jet flights, polo (an incredibly expensive sport), et al. Their money is spent before it even comes in. They lose more money through Archewell than they gain.

Anyway, the truth is that without Harry, Meghan is worth $0. She's worth less than $0. And the Royal Family know it. Hopefully she'll take whatever they offer, sign an NDA and run. But this IS Meghan... so...

[cold-neon-ocean]

short-ish vent/explanation as to why things have been so slow sobs

I don’t really feel the passage of time anymore but it’s crazy how much time I’ve lost just since February to just one after another dealing with the house pets. First our puppy’s neuter, then my sister bringing her cats into the house, her cats tearing things up and needing to be watched constantly (by me of course bc I’m the only one here), her cats then giving everyone ringworm which was a nearly 2 month ordeal that we’re still recovering from physically and financially, and now both puppies (one has seemed to recover now) are having some sort of intestinal issue the vets don’t know the cause of, but I’m just cleaning bloody diarrhea (its not parvo, the vet tested) and doing laundry all day.

I never really got the chance to recover from the introduction of the puppies back in September last year. I feel like my life has been overtaken by all these animals completely against my will and out of my control. Mom is just hemorrhaging money from all these obligations and vet bills she never planned/asked for, and I’m trying to help (despite none of these pets being mine) while also barely having the time to work that I used to. I used to be able to sit at my desk nearly all day without being interrupted but now dealing with all these animals by the time I get to sit at my desk I’m exhausted and it’s like 7pm but I gotta get up at 6am to give out medications and make breakfast for 5 pets.

Its starting to calm down but I’m just really upset over how all this affected my ability to work since these extended wait times reflects on my business very poorly and it’s just been killing me because this is not how I normally conduct things but I just had the rug completely snatched from under me and haven’t really been able to get back up. 

I also want to make clear that none of these animals are mine, nor did I have anything to do with the decision making to get them. I was told by my fam that it was expressly kept secret from me- literally until the animals came through the front door, because they knew I’d be upset because I’d have to watch them since I’m the only one home. The only pet that belongs to me is my leopard gecko who is a perfect angel boy who I’ve had not one issue with since getting him (he just turned 2 last month). 

Things are (hopefully) starting to stabilize, I’m praying that we can have just a little time without an animal having some sort of health crisis. I’m really sorry this has been such a long running thing, I never could have anticipated for any of it. I’m so grateful for the patience of my commissioners and am especially sorry to them, this isn’t normally how my business handles and I’m really ashamed of it.

[just-rogi]

Not to beat a dead horse with the whole “America is shit” thing but the medical system is SO fucked and evil… but like even AS someone with amazing insurance coverage that I pay $300 a month for… they are always fucking rushing me. I literally pay so much and I get maybe 15-20 minutes to talk with my doctor. I came into my appointment nt with a list of concerns (not a huge list just to streamline the process by writing down all symptoms and family history changes) and I didn’t even get to ask about half the shit I wanted to because I felt like I was being rushed out of there. I got my results from my blood work digitally and have to try to google what all the medical terms mean bc no one is explaining what ALT or Hypochromia present means. Like FUCK what am I even paying for??? I want a doctor to explain this shit to me because I don’t know and some of these numbers are scary and I am trying not to go webMD crazy but without any professional to guide me what is the average person supposed to do???

I literally spent more time with the phlebotomist than I did with my doctor because I had to lay down for 15 minutes minimum while they took my blood. That’s fucked up. I wanted to ask about my mental health currently and any options for mental health professionals or therapists bc I’ve been going through massive life changes… I didn’t even get the fucking chance. She came in, checked my ears mouth and heart, told me to lose weight and see a gyno about my period, and left. I had to SPECIFICALLY REQUEST blood work be done for my mess of symptoms, because I researched ahead of time the possibilities. I got the feeling that she thought I was being a crazy hypochondriac requesting blood work but I was fucking RIGHT!!! I DO have a form of anemia unrelated to dietary iron, and I’m not an expert but my results indicate reduced liver function which I was EXPLAINING when I was talking about my reaction to alcohol and why I cant drink without feeling sick immediately. GOD !! I hate this whole process it’s like I’m begging people to listen to me while hemorrhaging money.

She literally kept telling me to lose weight and I wanted to fucking scream at her to look up at me and away from the computer because I’m literally a size fucking small and wouldn’t you know it I have amazing bp and cholesterol. She talked about my weight for three times as long as she talked about my concerning array of symptoms and then added “weight gain” as one of my main concerns. This system is fucking godawful.

((also thats also ignoring the fact that if she fucking looked at my chart for more than the five minutes she was in the room with me she would see that I was on a watchlist for potential ED as a teenager and told to gain weight literally four years ago by my pediatrician))

[killed-by-choice]

Sharyn “Shary” Graham, 34 (USA 1982)

34-year-old Sharyn Lynnette Graham was pronounced dead January 16, 1982, at an emergency room in Dallas. She had a 3cm tear in her cervix.

Her story was so appalling that former abortion entrepreneur Carol Everett told in her book Blood Money of how an abortionist sent a woman home to bleed to death over a pitcher of margaritas. The name “Sheryl Mason” was used for the dead client, but her true identity was later confirmed through autopsy and hospital records.

After Sharyn’s “safe and legal” abortion was completed, Carol met the abortionist, Harvey Johnson, in the supply room to verify that all fetal parts were accounted for. As the fetus was verified complete and Harvey ran the remains down the garbage disposal, they discussed their plans for the evening. Harvey was going to have margaritas with his girlfriend and wanted to leave.

Later that evening, Harvey called Carol to the recovery room. Sharyn was bleeding heavily. None of the staff had ever seen that much blood from a single client.

Here is a direct quote from Blood Money that tells what happened next:

“Harvey and I stepped outside the recovery room to talk. …. He looked at his watch. “I’m leaving to meet Fredi at Ninfa’s,” he said. “I’ll call back, and I have my beeper on if you need me. Sheryl will be fine. Just be sure to keep massaging her uterus until the bleeding stops. When her vital signs are stable, dismiss her. I’ll see you in the morning.”

After the abortionist insisted on leaving, the other staff cleaned Sharyn up and brought her boyfriend back to keep her company. Sharyn’s blood pressure dropped a dangerous amount. Carol paged Harvey, but when he called back, the answering service rather than the facility itself answered the phone. Harvey assumed that the problem had corrected itself — whatever the problem had been — and didn’t call back at all that night. And Carol sat by Sharyn and the boyfriend, waiting to hear from Harvey.

Sharyn was scared and in pain. She wanted to leave, to go home and be in her own bed. Carol was uneasy, but decided to let “Sheryl” go home at about 11:00, telling her to call if there was any trouble. And that’s how it was Carol, an admin, who ended up making what should have been a medical decision made by a physician — a physician who had left the severely hemorrhaging patient in the care of untrained staff because the margaritas were waiting. At 6:00 the next morning, Harvey called Carol.

“Her boyfriend called me this morning at about three and told me Sheryl was cramping heavily. I told him to put her in a tub of hot water. He called back a little later to say she was unconscious. I told him to get her to [the hospital] at once, and I would meet them there. When she arrived, I started intravenous fluids and a blood transfusion… but she’s gone.”

Stunned, Carol followed Harvey’s instructions to pull “Sheryl’s” chart and keep it in her office and to otherwise treat everything as if it was just business as usual. Carol thought about Sharyn’s surviving children left without their mother, but her thoughts soon turned to the bad publicity the death would bring for the facility.

That night, Carol discussed the situation with Harvey again. He told her that since the boyfriend didn’t want the woman’s family to know about the abortion, he’d spoken to them and told them that he’d been treating Sharyn for gynecological problems. They asked him flat out if she’d had an abortion, and he straight-up lied. He also made sure that nobody at the hospital would say anything to anybody about the death; Harvey’s private practice and the abortion facility would be fine as long as they could keep the story from getting any publicity.

Harvey and his girlfriend carefully edited the patient chart before providing the forged information to the medical examiner’s office.

The autopsy found that “Sheryl” had died of hemorrhaging from a 3 centimeter cervical tear. At this news, Carol wrote, “I went numb: We could have saved “Sheryl’s” life! my mind screamed. We only needed to have sutured her cervix. We had everything we needed in the [facility] to save “Sheryl’s” life, with one exception — a doctor willing to take the time to re-examine his patient to determine the cause of the bleeding. But he had a date, and the margaritas were waiting.”

Feeling overwhelmed with remorse, Carol places the responsibility for Sharyn’s death not only on abortionist Harvey Johnson’s shoulders, but squarely on her own. Carol herself began laying the groundwork for what would happen to “Sheryl” with a business decision to do later abortions because of their higher profit margin. It was a decision that would ruin and end so many lives that Carol was eventually compelled to speak out against the abusive and exploitative abortion industry.

Autopsy Report Case No. 0120-82-0057

“Blood Money” by Carol Everett

[hannahhasafact]

Gonna treat my tumblr like a journal and ramble some thoughts, feel free to read if you want:

Little by little, my apartment is becoming a place that doesn’t feel… embarrassing? Like being an adult woman, many of my friends and family my age have living situations that are nice. In some ways, I feel like my apartment still looks like one a college kid lives in, and it’s just embarrassing. I’ve never really had people hang out at my apartment because 1. There’s no space for people and 2. It’s just not a nice hang out space. But I feel like I’m getting better at making it a nicer space I think.

Related by why the fuck is my house constantly dusty I am ALWAYS DUSTING

I know there’s still probably a month until we find out about k-con artist alley but god the waiting is killing me. Like it would be incredible and awesome to get in yes but more than anything it’s the not knowing that is killing me oh my god. Probably won’t find out until the end of June and I’m dying (though I totally get why! I’m just so impatient)

I’m in this weird moment in my life where technically I probably have some sort of undiagnosed anxiety disorder but at the same time it feels weird to say that? Like what I mean is literally multiple people around me will be like “yeahhhhh there might be something up” and I’ve had physical reactions to stress in such a way, but it feels weird to say I have a thing without being like… actually diagnosed with a thing? Feels like I’m making excuses for myself.

In the same vein, I’ve been thinking about “Huh. Why am I having such a visceral response to anxiety compared to how I used to be.” And ngl I think it’s because I’m basically doing no physical activity? I’ve been a pretty physical person all my life and in the last few months it has dropped to like… zero movement. After getting covid, I allowed myself to not be physical mainly because holy shit it wipes you the fuck out. And then… I kind of just stopped moving. And it’s so hard to get moving again. Especially because I’m so tired all the time, but I know that physical activity helps with that drained energy! And I know it would help with my brain! And with so much! And I just… haven’t.

Every time I talk to my mom all she asks is if I have any job interviews. Which like… I get why she’s asking, but god it really sucks to have to deal with that on every fucking call with her. It feels like a check in that I’m failing at.

I know I need to be applying for more jobs but I also need to start working out and I need to be drawing more and oh maybe I should look into practicing trumpet again but I would have to go to a place to practice because I can’t do that in my apartment and I need to donate some clothes but first I have to wash them but also I should work on putting myself out there because I’m not going to get a date sitting in my house and I don’t need a person in my life but it might be nice because fuck man life is so goddamn hard on your own but also-

That’s where my brain is at most of the time and instead of doing anything I mute my thoughts with assorted media. So yeah that’s the vibe.

I’m trying to drink less because 1. It’s not good for me and 2. Pretty sure it’s making my anxious-ness worse but holy hell rewatching Ted Lasso really made me want rose or a pint of cider

This three day weekend has not been enough days, but at least I cleaned my apartment today

Bijou is doing alright. It’s strange because she has noticeably less energy, but like she’s okay. I’m still feeling sad feelings, but I’ve gotten to a more accepting vibe. Also it’s been weird how so many older people I know have been like “you should get another cat immediately” 1. She’s not even dead yet and 2. I’ve kind of gotten used to the idea of not having a cat after she’s gone. That might change, but right now it’s like 1. The emotional strain this has taken on me I can’t deal with immediately again 2. I’ve already been hemorrhaging money this year, a new cat would be a financial decision that i don’t think is smart and 3. Any living creature is a lot of time commitment, and I think it might be good for me to not constantly be worried about an animal at home and if they’re doing okay. Like I said: Bijou is still here, but I’ve obviously been having to think about this stuff a lot.

Tumblr this shit is so annoying please stop doing this:

I know how tags work on this fucking website

Anyways, those are just my rambly thoughts.

[portmantaur]

Veilguard spoilers, general critical/negativity about BioWare, u kno how it is

I know some ppl are upset about the Major Story Beats and I am too for various reasons, but I don’t agree that this wasn’t where the story was headed — particularly, I see people complaining about the mythal/solas dynamic and im like?? Did y’all never drink of that fuckin pool of knowledge as the inquisitor? The way solas opines, “you are mythal’s creature, now” — baby that was foreshadowing that wasn’t even subtle!!! I don’t LIKE where the story has gone necessarily, especially given how the elves/dalish have been framed throughout the games, but this is DEFINITELY the story outline that was laid out by the time inquisition was over. The writing and pacing are just really bad, so these beats feel even LESS fulfilling than they otherwise would have.

Its interesting bc I’m having fun being back in the dragon age setting, but the writing/structure/pacing is such a distinct falloff, even from DAI — which I still liked, a lot even, with my main Dalish-based caveats still withstanding.

But Gaider and Weekes were ALWAYS like this re: marginalization/oppression. They ALWAYS have been. And I see some ppl being like “this wouldn’t have gone this way if daddy Gaider was here” and I’m like??? Y’all remember the Dalish origin from DAO? Remember how that ENTIRE origin revolves around the blighted eluvian that kills your best friend with the actual literal blight??? This was the plan from jump!! The writing teams were still invested and not unskilled or untalented, so it was a little less opaquely shitty, but not by much. It was ALWAYS going to be a story by white people trying to make analogous statements about real-world oppression, particularly racial oppression, that was ALWAYS going to hit with the twist of “but what if they deserved it/come from Bad People” — because, again, Weekes and Gaider are cut from the same cloth. And they’ve been very transparent about that with their behavior towards fans.

like sorry but this was always going to be the “endgame” so to speak, and my gut feeling/reading of the situation is that mostly what we got with Veilguard is a game that was originally intended to be a live-service game, and the story structure and writing and pacing were never revamped from that intention even after supposedly “rebuilding” the game from the ground up after that decision was nixed (like twice or something, no?). I mean that’s also obviously why the stylistic redesign choice is so obviously Fortnite-y — there were clear clashes with higher ups/execs on what the game was materially supposed to be (fully fledged franchise installment vs eternal cash cow), and BW has been hemorrhaging employees for a while now likely at least in part as a result of that.

Veilguard was always going to be this re: major story beats, but because of the particular development hell it went through, we’ve got a much more obvious case of enshittification across the board. as a live service game, the story structure got incredibly flattened, and no one bothered to make the decision to redo -that- aspect of the game, so we’re getting a peek behind the curtain that hasn’t been as accessible before. But I mean look at it even in comparison to Andromeda — BW has come out and said, afaik, that there are no plans for DLC or expansions at all. They’ve fully thrown in the towel on the franchise, and it would have gone this way regardless of who was in charge of writing, because the story outline, IMO, has very obviously NOT changed that much in many years. The biggest changes came at the executive level of decision making, and someone up top seems to have come to the conclusion that DA isn’t a money-making franchise anymore. Which, yeah, that’s stupid for sure, but that decision is borne of the same frame of mind that thought structuring Veilguard as a live service game in the first place was a good idea.

anyway, I do believe we’re at a crossroads where we are either witnessing BW’s uncomfortable swan song, OR there is going to be a changing of the (executive) guard again in an attempt to revitalize the company. But to revitalize DA as a franchise — while I see it as perfectly doable, even after this mess — would require such dedication and humility on the part of BW that I just don’t see it as likely.

I think the next ME is going to be what really allows us to call it, but I’m putting my bet in now that it’s the nail in the coffin. RIP BioWare, you were a beautiful and awful mess while you lasted.

[whoblewboobear]

AHHH you sent me a ton of numbers!!! hang on I’ll follow up: 4, 8, 12, 28!

!!!!!! Thank you for more!!

4. a story idea you haven’t written yet

I'm very very very attached to my lil rockstar!jace blurb. I can see myself writing a handful of chapters or a very lengthy oneshot about Jace coming back from a month hiatus to get sober, it doesn't work but he's hemorrhaging money from rescheduling tour dates. He notices his new sound equipment manager, Porter, for the first time. Porter thinks Jace is a little bit of a joke, like he's wasting the career that Porter wished he had. He doesn't hesitate to put Jace in his place and Jace LOVES IT. He hires porter to handle equipment while he records his 3rd album once tour wraps and Porter accepts. When tour is over, Porter is at jace's all the time. Either to fuck or to help with the album. It's not a bad gig, and he starts to fall for jace on those late nights when he's just at his piano or writing. He knew jace as this whirlwind, tweaked out, celebrity. He spent most of his time backstage, he didn't get to watch the emotion play out on Jace's face when he sang. Or how lost in the music he was when played his piano. LMAO so yeah, I haven't written this YET. But I just might, even if it never gets posted. I love behind the scenes and musician tell all kinda things (Daisy jones & the six being a biiiig recent favorite of mine. Loved the book, kinda didnt love the show, LOVE the album) It'll be a little heavily on the subject matter bc this Jace is an addict on his recovery journey and everything that comes with that. But Porter sticks by him.

8. if you had to write a sequel to a fic, you’d write one for…

Religion’s in Your lips aka Period fic~ So I had two crack fic ideas and kinda combined them bc I had a silly idea called Family Dinner where porter & jace gather the rat grinders and tell them the plan is off. So kipperlilly gets so pissed she puts her rogue hat on and digs deep into Porter’s past and finds out that he dated someone from every adventuring party he was in. Which then ties into the Porter’s scott pilgrim 7 evil exes moment. I just wanna play with the slapstick silly goofy aspects of the FH universe AND Jace and Porter deserve to have a little fun. In this universe they also are very much stupid like they share a brain cell and Porter refuses to hold it bc it’s too much work but Jace is like I.. can’t hold it I’m too pretty to think (He ends up holding it bc someone has to. Zara loves Jace but she simply refuses to hold it, her hands are full)

12. a trope you’re really into right now

I loooooooove the sunshine x grumpy/black cat trope SO BAD which is why j2jace got my ass so fiercely lmao. There's just something about a super sunny and sweet character being like I love this meanie, they are mine. And the grumpy one just being so c: about them. Like aghhhhhh. And there's so many ways to explore it, i just eat that shit up with a spoon. It's my weakness.

28. your least favorite part of the writing process

Starting a new chapter!!! Hate it! Like I love it but I hate it bc the getting started is like pulling teeth for me.