#because I think it should be a naked molerat

[localcryptidsteg]

So it occurs to me

You cant take on the furry community without crippling Americas stem industry

That being said we have the means to do something really, really dumb and extremely petty and quite possibly a bigger blow to the conservative ego than even simply calling them weird

Whats stopping furry artists from drawing just the most unflattering, gratuitous, kinky smut of Donaled Trump getting railed by, say, a rainbow bear, posting it on every social media platform we can find, and tagging him in it en masse?

We HAVE the power to make this mans name synonymous with what his cultists would find more horrifying than anything else in the world, yall

Tag it as fanart, even. It can't be argued as insulting if it's fanart!

What's he gonna do? Try to stop like 80% of the people in this country who can and will leak ALL his dirty laundry?

Is it gonna be gross? Yes

But just THINK of the chaos it would cause!

[dystopiandilfs]

What's your opinion on the whole feminine George and Acelerate being a fetish thing. I tend to like hearing your opinions because you don't try to sugarcoat things to please people.

My issue is why are people suddenly upset. Everyone seemed fine with Heatwaves, maid dress George fanart etc before why has everyone suddenly become an anti. Regarding Accelerate being a mlm nblm fetish, the authors are mlm nblm and I don't think you can fetishize yourself, also George's fictional characters whole gimmick is to be a fishnet wearing, red lipstick, seductive flag girl. That's the whole point so "making George feminine is like making it a straight relationship" is the dumbest fucking thing.

"Making George the bottom is making him the female in the relationship" Okay so you're saying that women can't be tops? What about lesbian couples are they both bottoms? Shit like this infuriates me like your argument is so fucking stupid like you just sound fucking stupid. However I will add that calling George a bottom is acceptable however calling him a twink is weird. I think if people were saying that instead of bottom then it's fine to correct them but getting mad at bottom is just weird to me (as a pillow princess)

Why are people suddenly gatekeeping fanfiction...... The whole thing about straight girls can't enjoy LGBTQ+ relationships without it being seen as a fetish is stupid. It's like saying only straight people can watch straight people porn. Why are you gatekeeping couples from people. "You're a straight person so that automatically means that if you like a same sex couple then it's a fetish and it's weird and gross"

Don't even get me started on the whole "George wearing dresses and skirts makes him feminine thing" The people who say that drawing George in a dress are the same people who say that clothing has no gender. Why does George in a dress suddenly make it a man wearing a female wardrobe why now do clothes suddenly have a gender huh?

The same people who say that people are femininizing George by having him as "the female counterpart" for the fanfic tropes are the people saying that George shaving his legs is a girly thing, maybe the guy just doesn't like body hair, maybe he doesn't have leg hair in general, maybe he's cosplaying a naked molerat or sphinx cat.

Regarding George's boundaries, First off he's awful at having them so any that have been said I take with a grain of salt unless I'm shown proof of George saying/tweeting it. So I've seen some people say that George has one boundary of not being edited or drawn with a maid dress or cat ears. (If you have proof of George saying this please feel free to send it me and correct me on this bit) however the only reason I sort am a bit ???? about it is because of Dream liking multiple fanarts of cheerleader Dream Team and both Dream and George liking a fanart of them both in strawberry dresses and I feel like if he didn't like maid dresses he wouldn't like the strawberry dress or cheerleader outfits either also I feel like if it was one of his boundaries Dream wouldn't like it either.

In my opinion unless George states otherwise nobody should be getting mad at people for drawing George in "girl clothes". Also if you are someone who's either getting mad at a piece of fiction or is gatekeeping it you need to seriously take a fucking walk outside because that's so dumb. Sure some people are going to fetishize LGBTQ+ relationships but that doesn't make it right to attack them for enjoying something. What happened to finally letting girls do/enjoy normal things without being attacked.

Also a lot of people who are invested in LGBTQ+ relationships are people who are unsure about their sexuality and fanfiction is a way to help them either feel more secure or to give them the "experience" and "knowledge" that they wouldn't get normally. It's the same as people speculating about others sexuality, it can be incredibly damaging as a closeted LGBTQ+ person to be told stuff like that.

YOU CAN FINISH READING HERE THIS NEXT BIT IS JUST A BIT EXTRA THAT I WANTED TO ADD BECAUSE I'M NOW VENTING ABOUT LGBTQ+ RELATIONSHIPS AND SEXUALITY.

In my own experience me and my ex both figured out that we weren't straight after getting drunk, watching various versions of porn and realising that neither of us were enjoying the straight one and he wasn't interested in the wlw at all (turns out he was gay as hell and I was a lesbian {now bisexual})

A good example to watch is Inabbers video about Dream and queerbaiting because he brings up a really good point about how accusing close friends who flirt as queerbaiters might seem like a funny joke but if one was secretly closeted jokes like that can heavily prevent a coming out out of fear of it being seen as a joke/cover/meme etc. He said himself that he was going to come out earlier but he has fears of it because of jokes like that.

[radbeetle]

OC Interview - Katherine

Tagged by @mojavejourneys and tagging @ariejul​, @justaname02​, and @flannelshirtandjeans

What is your name?

"er, Katherine? Katherine Vance.”

How old are you?

She grimaces. “That’s uh, I mean.” She makes a kind of vague hand gesture. “How do we count this? I guess... twenty-five but there’s, uh, there’s that whole two centuries in the deep freeze. It’s a question that’s more complicated than it should be.”

What do you look like?

Katherine is quiet for a good few moments. "Um… odd question. Tall, I guess. Red hair." She looks off to the side, hesitant to continue. Reluctant. She doesn't say much else.

Where are you from? Where do you live now?

"I grew up a little ways outside Boston… my parents lived here for um, almost thirty years. If you go back a few generations you can track my family history up the coast, uh, through Maine, keeps going north… I've travelled up that way a few times. Two or three times before… well, before the bombs. More recently, too. It’s still nice out there. But it’s different."

What was your childhood like?

"Unremarkable?" She sighs. "I guess that's not much of an answer. Uh, I did okay in school. Academically, at least. Had a handful of friends, eventually. Things were… well , quiet, I guess. I should be glad."

What groups are you friendly with? Are you allied with any factions?

"I've always tried my best to get along with people. Um, that's gotten much more difficult." She looks down at the ground. "I've been - I've been helping out Preston for a while now - the Minutemen are really starting to be a thing again and I think - that's a good thing. And there's the Railroad but I don't think I should say too much there."

Tell me about your best friend.

"Oh don't make me choose. There's, well, I really have more friends now than I ever did. I'm not sure what that says about me." She hesitates, lingering on that thought for a moment. "Well, Preston is - he's great, he was one of the first people I met here, um, that weren't trying to shoot me. I don't really think I have the words to say how good he is." Another pause. "But there's others. There's MacCready, and Deacon, and, um, and Hancock; I think people are always a little surprised to hear we're friends."

Do you have a family? Tell me about them!

Kate's face immediately drops. "Um, not so much. Not… not related by blood, not any more. They're all gone." She shakes her head as if to chase that thought away. "There's… there's still people who are, um - I guess 'found family' is a good term. And there's Codsworth, and I know, really, it was his programming that kept him around for so long, but… I don't know, maybe it's silly, but he means a lot to me."

What about a partner or partners?

She very swiftly turns a shade best described as beet red. Kate trips over her words a few times before regaining her composure, though her face is still pink. She laughs, a little weakly, in an attempt to stay her nerves. "I guess it's, um, not really that much of a secret? Ah, not that it ever needed to be? Or um, was never supposed to be, or…” She kicks her feet. "I'm sorry! This is still um, it's all kind of new to me and I'm not used to it. I guess I haven’t really answered the question!" She chuckles, a very different kind of laugh, one that feels much lighter. “I do have a partner, and that’s Nick. Um, Nick Valentine. The detective, from Diamond City? Ah, but - but not that kind of partner. Or yes, that kind of partner? Um, it’s romantic, I mean. I do love him. A lot.” She wonders, for a moment, if she’s gone ahead and made a fool of herself. Maybe. Too late to worry about it now - not like that will stop her.

Who are your enemies, and why?

"Ah, well, um, this took kind of a drastic turn from the previous question, didn’t it?” She scratches at the back of her neck as she has to think on this. “I mean, really, there’s got to be people out there who don’t like me. Um, raiders, or gangs, or something. I don’t know if I can think of anyone I’d specifically call my enemy, though?”

Have you ever heard of The Brotherhood of Steel? What do you think about them?

”Actually, I take that back. Yeah, I know the Brotherhood, and, uh, I helped them out for a while, but um, things got tense. I don’t… I didn’t really like them, and - that enemies thing? Yeah, um, I think that’s a decent label for Maxson. I don’t want to get into the details - it’s not really my place to talk too much about it, but, um, a lot of stuff went down with a friend of mine, and, uh, I’m not really on good terms with the Brotherhood anymore.” She grimaces.

What about The Enclave?

“Ah, who? I know I’ve heard the name before. Can’t say I’m familiar with them, though? Sorry.”

How do you feel about Super Mutants?

"Well, I only really have a problem when they're shooting at me or whatever, but that's kinda most of the time."

What’s the craziest fight you’ve ever been in?

“I feel like the honest answer here is all of them, really.”

Have you ever fought a Deathclaw?

“Yeah, um, probably more times than is safe. Actually, I think the safe number of deathclaw fights is zero. Those things are scary. I uh, can’t say I recommend taking one on.”

Do you like fighting?

”Not at all. I’m - what’s the phrase? Conflict averse. I’ll tell you though, you know how they say ‘speak softly and carry a big stick?’ That works with a big gun, too.”

What’s your weapon of choice?

”Well, um, just in general I like laser rifles. There’s no recoil, or, I guess it’s negligible. But generally it’s Harbinger. That’s - that’s my gauss rifle. It was a project back…” she trails off and runs her hand over her right arm. Over the burn scars. “Back when I got hurt, um, I had found some pre-war schematics. It was a big undertaking, trying to find equivalents - lots of stuff cobbled together out of scrap, really. Sturges helped with some of the heavier lifting, and like, welding and such. I wasn’t really in the best shape.” She bites her lip. “If I can’t take that out with me I’ve got a little pipe revolver. Chrome plated. Shiny thing, and, aptly named The Second Option.”

How do you survive? Your wits, your charm, your skills, brute force, some combination? (a.k.a. what’s your S.P.E.C.I.A.L?)

”People say I’m smart, but some days I really doubt that. Some days are better than others, though. I guess on occasion I’m a fast thinker.”

Have you ever been in a vault? What do you think about them?

”Yeah. I was stuck in one for two hundred years. Sorry, two hundred and ten.” She groans. “Been through a bunch of them. Um, they’ve all kinda gone to hell, really. I thought 81 was doing fine, and I guess it is compared to the rest, but that still has problems. They do have working showers though. That’s nice.”

How do you beat all the radiation around here? Has it affected you?

”I don’t know if you can beat radiation? Uh, hazmat suits and power armor for the occasions I have to trek into the glowing sea, and I've got a decent stash of RadAway."

What’s your favorite wasteland critter?

"I'm really glad chickens are still around! I feel a bit bad because some of them are kind of naked. I think they need little sweaters."

What’s your least favorite wasteland critter?

"Don't like bloodbugs. Regular mosquitoes are bad enough. I'm not super keen on molerats, either, but at least they've got decent meat on them. Actually, they make for a passable bacon substitute."

How do you feel about robots?

Katherine's face lights up. "Oh! Robots, I love robots. I worked for General Atomics, I was, I was onsite support for their Handys. That's how I got Codsworth, they were having one of those big wheehaw parties for employee morale - I uh, I got him in a raffle. Best thing I've ever won. Um, I still work with them a lot. The eyebots, and there's a construction protectron I keep meaning to stay home, I want to get him up and running again. Oh, and - and there's KLEO in Goodneighbor, and I don't know why she's like that, but, um, I've helped her out a few times, I don't know if she'd call me a friend but it's nice to help with repairs and stuff. Makes me feel useful."

How many caps do you have on you right now?

"On me? Oh, um, maybe a hundred. I don't carry too many at once, mostly I keep them stashed and locked up."

Nuka Cola or Sunset Sarsaparilla?

"Nuka-Cola, I think. They don't really sell Sunset around here, I think? Or, they didn't. Nuka-Cola Wild is pretty good, but I think my favorite is Grape? I like most of the flavors, except Dark, but that's the alcohol."

Do you do chems?

"Not really? I mean, uh, I have Med-X around, it is a painkiller, after all. But nothing recreational." She pauses. "Well, grape mentats if needed, but again, that's not really recreational."

Do you ever think about the Pre-War world?

"Yeah. I… try not to. I don't want to dwell on things that I know will never come back… but there's also people from back then that I don't really want to forget. It's hard. Sometimes I wish I could go back, just for a few days. To - to say goodbye, you know? Things weren't perfect then, uh, pretty far from it actually, but it was my life you know? And it all got taken away." She's quiet for a few moments, thoughts trickling through her head. "Sometimes, too, um, I wish my friends then could meet my friends now, but that's never going to happen. I don’t - I don't know how well they would get along, but I think about that sometimes."

What’s your deepest regret? What would you do differently?

"... I regret a lot of things, honestly, and, well, I try not to think too hard about them - or what I'd change, because, well, I can't, and dwelling on it, just... It's not good for me."

What’s your biggest achievement? Or what do you hope to achieve?

"God, it's kind of corny, really, but I'm… I'm quite proud of myself for just making it this far? The fact that - that I've started to get things figured out, after everything got torn away from me. I've got friends, I've got - I've got love, hell, it feels like I've got purpose, on a good day. And that's nice."

What do you want for the future? For yourself? Your friends? The world?

"That's a good question. I've, um, never really been good at figuring out what I want for myself. No good at planning for the long term. I like the way things are now, for the most part. I feel like I've gotten myself figured out, and mostly I just want things to stay that way."

[thinkofduty]

de moribus

The missive has her name on it.

When was the last time Orella received mail? Fifteen years ago or longer, most like. The Garleans would never bother wasting paper on someone they could heap errands on as she came as bidden to their summons, but she would be hard pressed to name the last time someone had sent her a letter as opposed to a note. Oh, the Kingsguard had passed papers to-and-fro when such banalities could be afforded them, and daily and weekly reports had been duly written and filed away, but nothing of such personal import had been hers in many, many years.

But this bears her name. Hers alone.

it reads, in a wholly unfamiliar script. She doesn't recognise the handwriting, but she'd never needed to learn such a particular skill, much less put it to practise. That was more Ingvald's field, and she doubts he would know who was sending her letters. Everyone that knows her lives within the manse already.

Frowning, Orella plucks the envelope from the mogmoogle's paws without so much as a thought of thanks, and it squeaks in righteous indignation when she turns her back on it.

"Pay up, kupo!"

"Piss off," she snaps. "Mail's free."

She leaves the moogle to furiously scribble a note and shove it into the Sandsea's mailbox for Ashelia to deal with later. Let the molerat tattle; Orella has better things to do, like sit at the bar with something to drink - if not a beer then mayhap a coffee so strong she'll forget how to sleep for a night or three - and unseal the wax holding the paper shut.

---

Orella Steelhand;

Make yourself known at Ul'dah's Hall of Flames at your earliest convenience. Flame General Aldynn requests your presence.

Present this letter to any guard who would stop you from entering. Previous criminal activity is to be overlooked until further notice.

Cordially,

Immortal Flames High Commander Swift Ryder

---

"Well?" Ingvald asks as she nurses her beer. Despite the earlier hour, he's graciously allowed her this single mug, and only because of the letter he's just read aloud.

It's just the two of them at the bar, everyone else out or still abed. Orella doesn't answer right away, wiping a line of foam from the rim of her mug with a fingertip before licking it clean.

"Feels strange to hear it again," she says. "Still expect to hear aan Steelhand wherever I go."

He has the look of a man who does not want to waste time on her avoidant bullshit today. "Are you going to go?"

Orella allows herself the luxury of another sip, relishing how hoppy it tastes. A good keg, this. "Don't see why not," she says eventually. "They clearly know where I am. Could've come in person."

"And why would we need to worry about that?" Ingvald asks dryly. He has his own beer - much smaller than hers - nestled between his hands, more a comfort to hold than to drink. "You never did say why you were arrested..."

"And I told you you'd be happier not knowing," Orella shoots back. "Look, it's not like this-" and she snatches the letter up, waves it while she takes another drink, "-is a warrant."

"Very well," says Ingvald. They both know if Ul'dah wants her in irons a single scrap of paper is not enough to protect her. "So what does Aldynn want with you? I didn't realise you knew one another."

"We don't," Orella admits. Oh, they've both heard of him, of course, knew of him even before his legendary gains upon the bloodsands. They'd had spies in and around Coldhearth, had had regular reports to sift through on both their desks. Hext had been public enemy number one, but plenty of impressionable young men had lived in the hamlet also. Any and everyone on detail in the Peaks kept certain names in mind whenever their patrols took them that way. Aldynn's had been one of them.

"Then-"

"Look," Orella says, and takes a great drink to gather her thoughts. "He wants me specifically? Best guess is they're after intelligence on the Empire, or he wants reparations of some sort. There's no other reason they'd want me."

They sit in contemplative silence for a long moment, interrupted only by the clink of glass on the wooden bar, the thoughtful sniff from him, the satisifed belch from her.

"Oh, out with it already," she says as she finishes her mug and slips off the stool to go rinse it out. From the counter, she doesn't need to turn to know Ingvald is glaring holes into her back.

"If you get arrested again, I'm not coming to bust you out," he says, quite seriously. Orella laughs and pushes hair from her eyes with wet fingers. It'll have to be clipped soon.

"Oh, relax," she says easily as she turns, and laughs again. His face is more serious than his tone; no small feat for him. "I don't plan on murdering anyone this time."

His face doesn't change. It could be set in stone. "I don't want to know if you're joking or not," he announces primly, and sets about draining his own mug before she can wheedle it from him.

---

Ul'dah hasn't changed much.

To be sure, were she a full citizen she'd no doubt be able to count its changes over the last year on her fingers and toes and have items left to count, but to an outsider the walls yet stand, and that is all that is importat.

The entrance she comes through is unknown to her, presumably used only by the numerous porters and their birds if the shit-caked cobblestones are anything to go by. Thank Rhalgr they do not stop at the stables proper, for the street stinks something fierce. "It's not so bad, miss," the driver laughs as he helps from the cart. "Stinks less than Pearl Lane does."

He either misses or ignores the glare Orella levels his way. Tucked into her shirt is Ryder's summons, opened and read and refolded so many times parts of it have already begun to tear. It is safe against her breast - more safe than Orella herself feels, and certainly less offended.

It has been a handful of months since the Riskbreakers returned from Dalmasca and left the memories of those cursed stones far behind them, or buried deep within. Some months, and yet Orella's left arm still pains her, the skin at her elbow still twisted as though burnt. For all intents and purposes she is healed - the wound no longer opens should she stretch her arm too far, and even the pain itself is dull, though bad enough for her to keep her arm crooked.

She hasn't yet sought out Linini, either to demand or offer an apology. She isn't sure if she will.

Armour no longer sits right on her, and she feels naked for its lack. Leathers are sturdy enough to be a comfort, but after decades of a second, sturdier skin, she feels as though a great part of her is missing. At Ingvald's urging, she has forgone even leathers in favour of a simple shirt, the better not to constrict her scarred arm, and the only steel she carries is a shortsword from Ashley's foge, undecorated and unassuming.

"If I never ride a cart again it'll be too soon," she grumbles, and the driver laughs. "Which direction to the Flames?"

---

No one so much as gives her a second glance when she enters the Hall, much to her surprise.

It has been something of an amusement to walk unfettered through Ul'dah's streets and not fear reprisal. She hasn't needed to be afraid anyway, for the only ones who have stopped her have been those showing off their wares in the Exchange. Wisely, she'd avoided Pearl Lane and the accusing stares of her countrymen. Paper wouldn't have kept her safe from the refugees.

It is much the same here as it is anywhere else, she supposes. Not everyone knows her face. Behind the clerk's desk, men and women sort through papers and beckon waiting adventurers forward. Around the hall stand bored looking soldiers; in-and-out dart Ul'dahns with this or that minutae.

Orella grabs the closest one. "Where's the commander?"

"How should I know?" the lalafell glares up at her, on his tiptoes even as she stoops to keep hold of his shirt. "Do I look like I work here? If you don't mind-"

The little upstart pushes her hand away and storms off, clearly too busy for the likes of her. It's been moons since the liberation, but Ul'dah cares not at all for Ala Mhigans still, refugee or no. The anger she'd felt at the porter comes flooding back, and a scowl erupts over her face. They all bake in the sun. See if they want for help when the Empire comes--

A hand on the shoulder startles her out of her angry thoughts.

"Did I hear you were looking for Swift?"

---

"So," says Raubahn Aldynn. Across the table, Orella sits, arms crossed, leaning back easily into the wooden chair she'd been shown to. If this is to be a test of wits, she has more than enough experience on her side to win, or at least weather the competition. "Ser Steelhand."

"I'd rather you didn't call me that," Orella says easily. "What did you summon me for?"

Swift had shown her to the small room, away from the bustle of the main hall, and she'd taken one of the two seats. Her first thought had been to leave had they kept her waiting for longer than a few minutes, but when she'd cracked the door to go she'd reconsidered. The guardsmen waiting had been enough to dissuade her, and soon enough, the Commander's footsteps had come echoing down, and she'd been trapped.

She doesn't miss the way Raubahn's chapped lips curve everso slightly into the barest hint of a smile. Ul'dah really is unkind to its guests. "Right to the point, I see. You aren't interested in how we came to know where you were?"

The question would have bothered her were she not so tired. All of an hour of her time had been spent thinking about that very topic when she'd been on the cart before she'd promptly stopped caring about it. "Not really. I presume you've been keeping eyes on me since I first entered Thanalan. Does it really matter?"

"If you don't think so," he concedes. "To business, then."

At once he changes from  her junior, an imposing pencil-pusher, to the soldier he truly is. His face grows unreadable and serious; his posture grows sharp. Despite herself, Orella is impressed. In another life he'd have made a fine addition to the troop under her control.

"It has come to Ul'dah's attention that a free company known as the Riskbreakers have been harbouring a woman wanted for murder," he starts.

"That's me," says Orella, far more cheerfully than she feels.

"That's you," he agrees. "Said free company was instrumental in relieving Ala Migho of imperial rule, and its leader is known personally to the Eorzean Alliance. It would be most... unfortunate if it was discovered to be hiding a fugitive."

He pauses to arrange some papers on the desk between them. Orella can see her name in thick black ink on more than one. "Furthermore, you are a deserter of the Garlean army," he continues once they're sorted. "Named Orella aan Steelhand, escaped via Baelsar's Wall within the last two years and illegally crossed borders to come to Thanalan."

The name is a knife she didn't think capable of wounding her further. Raubahn must see something on her face, for he tilts his head as though inviting her to speak.

"Don't call me that," she says, ashamed to find her voice is but a croak.

"As you wish," he says. "May I continue?"

She can only nod, thoughts swirling, and he goes on, "After a presumed period of rest, you came to Ul'dah and murdered one Garlean soldier and seriously wounded another, unprovoked. You were arrested and subsequently broke free of gaol, releasing another felon in the process."

He pauses for breath.

"Would you believe me if I said the jailbreak wasn't my idea?" Orella asks, and Raubahn laughs aloud. It's a good laugh, rich and loud.

"Am I missing anything?" he asks instead of answering her question, and Orella closes her eyes to honestly think about it.

"The other inmate and I injured some guards as we escaped," she says after a moment. Raubahn takes a pen and makes a note. "Otherwise I don't think so. Ser. I presume charges aren't worth discussing? Awfully polite of you to invite me to my execution."

"Awfully strange of you to turn up," he answers, and she falls silent. "Actually, I'm willing to wipe the slate clean," he says, and props his elbow on the desk. For the first time she realises he only has the one arm, and by keeping his hand in sight he is offering her peace. "Sister."

He says the word in their shared tongue, and Orella frowns. Unwilling to start a fight he might well be, but she knows if she up and left she'd be arrested regardless of his intentions. It has been a long, long time since she was last called that; he defers to her as an equal would, pronunciation clear even after all this time spent away from home.

They stare at each other in silence for a moment that spans seconds and years all at once. Without another word, he slides a sheet of vellum across the table; she neither looks at nor reaches for it.

"You understand," he says finally, "That in agreeing to help us, we are willing to overlook your past transgressions."

"Oh, I understand perfectly," she says. "Spare me the bullshit. I won't be blackmailed by you."

She can sense his disappointment. She jerks her chin at him and leans back again, utterly defiant and revelling in the chance to behave so without fearing any real reprieve. She's working on borrowed time anyway, and a little extra mischief won't do much to change that. She'd never have behaved so before any Garlean.

"No?" he asks quietly, and before she can tell him where to ram the papers, "Well then, I'll have to find someone else willing to find Ser Folles."

Orella's hand slams down on the page before he can pull it away.

"Ser Folles?" she asks, low and dangerous.

"Wiegraf quo Folles," Raubahn says, "Centurio in the Garlean army. The Immortal Flames recently came into intelligence of him, most likely from Little Ala Mhigo." Orella knows deep within her soul Gisfrid is still unsuccessfully trying to curry favours for immunity. The knowledge brings her no joy. "I had thought you would delight in the chance to seek him out, but if i was mistaken..."

"Why come to me?" Orella asks. "You've enough men at your disposal. You don't need a washed-up soldier fighting your battles, let alone a non-native."

"You're right," Raubahn says, and she frowns. "I don't. But this is neither my battle, nor Ul'dah's. And I don't need to tell you what Garlemald is capable of."

"Ah. You can't risk throwing your own men into something that has been cleared up to the rest of the world or risk retaliation," Orella says, beginning to understand. She leans forward to slide the paper toward herself at last, and does not know whether to be disappointed or relieved that it has no image of the man in question attached.

"The last thing the Sultanate requires is war," Raubahn explains patiently as she reads it over. "And I'm sure given your... past experiences you can sympathise with just how delicate a situation this is."

Orella sets the paper down to look him in the eye.

"Actually, I don't give a shit," she says firmly. "Don't talk to me like you understand where I've been or what I've done. I suppose it's been alright for you, General, here in Ul'dah all this time. And now you want to appeal to the people you left behind for personal revenge?"

Before he can even draw breath, Orella presses further. "How is Feare these days? You used to run together, right?"

Silence reigns and she knows immediately she's said too much. Raubahn is not the same feckless teen to be watched over for the King's piece of mind; he is a man who has made the best of what was offered him. Just as she has done.

"I'm sorry," she says, as he says, "He's dead."

They stare at one another until they can bear it no more: Orella's gaze drops back to the vellum in her hands and she thinks, this is all your fault, you rat-bastard.

"I'll do it," she says heavily. "I presume you want him dead."

Raubahn's hesitation is all she needs to know he is better at heart than she could ever hope to be. "... I suppose he would be unwilling to go with you otherwise. No - Ul'dah cannot risk having him kept here. Nor, I think, could any city-state, asides from Ala Mhigo, but-"

"They won't have him," she murmurs. "It's been long enough that they'll have forgotten him, or at least moved on. There are better grievances to hold onto now."

"Are there?" Raubahn asks, and Orella stays silent for fear of the answer. "I thought one of the Kingsguard would be more expedient."

She snorts. She's been plenty immoral over the years, a fact Aldynn seems to hold as his trump card. He isn't wrong to.

"Just tell me what needs doing," she sighs.

[whatthefuckabook]

I know it's rude to invade someone's privacy, but in this case I believe it's best to do so. Finding the root of the problem is important and considering Mx. Vincent is hospitalized because of that exact problem, it means they couldn't solve it on their own.

I believe you should search through their diary to find anything that can help.

WHO ARE YOU , THEIR BOYFRIEND?? On a serious note, I got George and the others to look through it beacuse of my paranoia. What I'm hoping is that if they work together, they'll have the intelligence of at least a naked molerat. They're scream-crying as I write this. I think they found someone's finger. Oh my god.

[ju1ian]

i need more info on Julian because hes the hot one.

oh julian is the hot one but hes the worst one. 

was married to Nora, and is Shauns father. 

was a closeted Bisexual, now an out Bisexual. 

has romanced/reached highest affinity with all the companions

spends the most time with Danse (they are never apart)

BOS (sentinel) because military style life is what was familiar to him, but doesn’t think all synths are bad synths.

never stops doing minuteman quests

very productive general of minutemen, spends a lot of time at the castle trying to make it better

owns like 4 houses, but mostly spends time at Starlight Drive-In because he built a bar there and all his friends live there with him.

hates being called ‘the vault dweller’

will wear anything BUT the vault suit, would rather be naked tbh.

has slept with Maxson, more than once.

gave Danse Nora’s wedding ring, but didn’t really say much about it, it was mostly a silent gesture. 

has killed innocents, regrets it. (ex. Trashcan Carla, Paladin Brandis, everyone at Drumlin Diner, Paul Pembroke, Nelson Latimer, Virgil, everyone at Covenant. ect.)

Left synth Shaun to die at the institute, has nightmares about it, regrets it. 

argues with Maxson constantly, still takes him places and considers him a good friend. 

worked really hard to help Maxson and Danse repair their friendship.

Loves Danse. 

Loves Preston.

has a hard time abstaining from chem usage.

constantly has a buffout addiction, real problem. (i should just get the damn perk that stops chem addiction) 

never uses sarcastic responses.

cares about all settlements+settlers, visits them all regularly. 

slaughtered the railroad, does not regret it. 

good at taking orders.

still deeply shaken that Shaun was in charge of the institute, just wanted him to stop.

a Sad Boi overall.

can not dance, like at all. 

likes to help people, trying to make up for all his mistakes.

does not think he is worthy of kindness from others.

has seven dogs, loves them.

has 3 Brahman, loves them too.

muscular as hell, big bara titties.

will not take his BOS officer uniform off + cant live without free-fall leg armor.

wants to be a good person but just keeps fucking up. (esp. when hanging out with Macready)

has fucking molerat disease. 

gossips with piper A LOT. 

Loves to help Curie collect data + experiment. 

is great friends with the ghouls at the Slog. 

failed to save Jake Finch, was deeply upset by it. 

has too many magazines.

picks up junk constantly

loves Diamond City Radio

wants to collect Giddyup Buttercups but he just cant carry all of them. 

collects power-armor, has all the models, in different paint colors, (thats a fact)

loves to decorate.

first ever friend in the Commonwealth was Nick Valentine.

regrets killing Kellog.

smokes 

gets radiation sickness like once a week, always forgets to take his Rad-X and doesn’t think to use his Radaway until its too late. 

tired. just really tired.