#🆁🅰🆃🅸🅾🅽🅼🅰🆁🆃 is a multi-muse writing hub exploring the FALLOUT universe, including the likes of ...
THE ENFORCER ( @overmdb ) for hire. highly ranked in a half-woman half-ghoul-worshipping cult. he is not nice. | THE MOTHER ( @ghoulmother )
half-woman half-ghoul cult leader. | THE KNIGHT ( @spatout ) for hire. brotherhood of steel member. poet. writing an autobiography.
Author's Note
I haven't roleplayed here in years, so please bear with me as I get it all sorted! Two questions: does anyone else here experience analysis paralysis, and why does my text format keep breaking...??!
I've placed my characters individually on sideblogs, linked above, in an effort to keep things neat. 🆁🅰🆃🅸🅾🅽🅼🅰🆁🆃 will be where I follow you from: a place for character inspiration/reference, plotting calls, one shots and author's notes. The individual blogs will be where roleplay takes place.
You do not have to be a Fallout blog to interact! 9 times out of 10 if I follow you, I intend to write with you. However, I am open to following you just because I like to read your writing. In some cases, it might seem difficult for our characters' universes to align, or maybe our writing styles seem incompatible. But I do fully intend to be verse flexible and adaptable!
Due to the nature of Fallout, and my desire to push the bounds of what I'm familiar with writing, you may find some dark themes: abduction, imprisonment, psychological/physical torment and mild torture, physical violence, dr.ug use, mentions of blood, mild gore, d/s dynamics, s.exual content, monster-funking, and religious themes (God forbid). More specific triggers will be tagged on individual threads. Some of the more explicit themes will commonly be implied or twisted through a comic-relief lens. Please don't hesitate to tell me to tag something specific. Some of my characters won't be as dark as others, so follow whichever you're comfortable with. Even if I'm not currently writing anything explicit, I will only write with folks 21+.
Most of my inspiration comes from the Fallout franchise but could involve post-apocalyptic universes in general. I've played through (most) of New Vegas, watched Fallout 4 playthroughs, and am caught up on the show. As such, my lore knowledge is not vast, and I'll be doing my best. I would love for you to info-dump!
By default, this blog will be low activity. I take my own writing seriously, but equally love making myself laugh. You can call me COTTON, and I'm 31! Hit me up :')
MUSES ON HOLD (due to my indecision)
THE COMEDIAN @placestorun
ex-aspiring actor. current mime + waiter at casino.
sometimes they let him do stand up.
THE EMPRESS @ourdomi
heiress of a pre-war defense empire.
cult-inheritor.
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who ELSE is out here lurking got/asoiaf/akotsk/hotd (this looks like a keysmash) rpers but not dipping a toe in because they fear that they aren't smart enough or that their prose isn't POETIC ENOUGH!!!!!! HELP!!!
anyway, i AM going to be doing a multimuse blog somewhere down the line .. without all the restrictions i place upon myself here .. because there are words in me that have got to get out !! sorry for the silence (to my small but cherished handful of followers) <3
IT'S TUESDAY! IT'S MY WRITING DAY! HERE'S THE SONG OF TODAY.
I am so inspired by my dog and I'm ready for him to run rabid. Some imagery for thought: his full-face cover only revealing his menacing little eyes, his boot on someone's neck—if not your beloved character, well, we'll just have him torment my volf. 🧡
Watch or wash. I was so frightened that I couldn't fathom either.
"Yes, your grace."
But I answered how I had been instructed to.
The accompaniment of Marta, who I understood to be her lady-in-waiting, confirmed my suspicion—I would not be laying a hand on the Ghoul Mother, Ophelia, myself. As a knight, it was my duty to protect, and I was certain that I could eradicate whatever interfered with my mission. I overheard the elder ghouls say that her usual right hand was off hunting someone who had betrayed the compound. That was none of my business unless it was made to be.
As we ventured out into the Mojave, the steady buzz of irradiated insects made for our song—just Ophelia, Marta and I. I shot down an approaching Cazador with my Beretta, one bullet through its thorax like a dart to a bullseye. Marta said I need not savour it.
Marta was a bony woman, pale, tall and bald, but smooth-skinned, dressed in the familiar gray robes of the Dawn. For the duration of our journey, she carried a sack across her back, a jug in hand, and a basket of herbs on her arm. I carried my head high and astutely confident.
We were led to a sort of pump house that I hadn't seen in all my expeditions, buried among the dunes. It was almost mirage-like—old architecture peeking through sand like the eyes of an ancient bunker. In the swale was a concrete slab with drainage holes and a spigot on a tall metal pipe. With an unknown hand gesture towards the bunker's eyes from Marta, and a creaky twist of the tap, fresh water trickled out. I had the sense to keep my wits about me and my distance.
The women stood with their backs to me. Marta gathered the fabric drape framing Ophelia's face in her long, pallid fingers and folded it back over the crown of her head with a delicacy that suggested she might fear a bite.
The Ghoul Mother's hair came as a surprise—its presence where I had assumed absence and its impossible length. There must have been several feet of it. A white streak marked where the radiation had affected her, a bundle of strands that glowed like fibre-optic thread beneath the sun. Marta pinned the mass atop her head with pins and practiced precision. That curve of exposed neck was utterly beautiful.
Not for the first time in my life, I was being afforded too much power. I knew I was seeing something I shouldn't. I fixed my gaze on the horizon, stared off into the dunes, and listened to the distant and unimportant rattle of gunfire that my ear had been trained to hear. But then Marta moved around to work on the elaborate ties that kept her leader within her robes.
The first tie and its undoing revealed her shoulders, their fine slope and softened blades, not at all rotted or decrepit as I had been conditioned to envision. Her skin glowed bronze beneath the beating sun, warm where I had assumed cold, earthen and brown sugar—wholly human. The spigot's idle spray bled into the dragging hem of Marta's gown as she worked. A vulture hissed overhead.
The next tie unearthed the most generous swell of the Ghoul Mother's hips. What a shame it was to hide such a marvel beneath that heavy pool of fabric. Her shape was reminiscent of the painted relics our Scribes brought back from their luckier scavenges. Even so, nothing in the Wasteland had prepared me for her silhouette. I would not forget it. The remaining gather of robe hung off the crest of her hips like it was frightened to fall, and I was frightened too.
Before the final tie could come undone, Marta's eyes, mossy and sharp in their paleness, cut across her shoulder in warning.
I had been staring.
My fingers tightened around the shaft of my gun. I internally cringed at the thought of how it would look if I had accidentally fired—if I shot a bullet into my boot where I stood—and loosened my grip.
Water bounced over Ophelia's bare shoulders in magnificent sparkles. I had been well-watered, yet my throat had never felt more dry. My flask no longer satisfied me. I compared its contents against the water that caressed Ophelia's body in loving rivulets, the droplets dancing down the soft curve of her calves, and ruled it not enough. I wanted to be on my knees, beneath her—I wanted to open my mouth at her feet and drink it.
In that moment, I had understood everything. I was completely bewitched, and I had a sickly feeling that I would soon be killed.
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God sometimes I'm writing smut and I'll like, delete a sentence because I'm like, no, I can't write that. It's too indulgent. And then it's like. Girl, what the fuck are you even going to the candy store for if you're just going to buy raisins. Get real.
me reading the threads of those who don't follow me back like an admirant window-shopper
(i couldn't find the reaction img so had to draw it myself in ms paint)
chaps...i intend to be writing again, instead of simply LURKING! *does a tempting and enticing little dance for you* 🌞
who wants to see what i drew whilst on acid with my friends and my friend's mom (wtf)
when she showed me a Yes deepcut i couldn't help but be gobsmacked. i became fast friends with that 55 y/o woman
anyway...i feel like my inspiration is constantly pulled in all sorts of directions (while remaining hyper-fixated on fallout) so my characters are ALWAYS under construction. this is fine tho, as long as u still love me 😵💫
im an absolute fan of when characters have their own twisted perceptions of love. like holy shit that guy thinks inflicting pain is affection! woah this silly man believes love is a form of ownership! give me more.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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i am coming to accept that i ship my characters together (dymic @overmdb & his cult leader) and am crazy about their lore and that i shouldn't fight it. if that's what i envision ... and if that's what i want to write, then i should!!
in other words, housekeeping is going on over here again!
don't be too suspicious if you see things looking out of order for a min. 🙏
ily guys!!! have a good *looks at smudged writing on hand* wednesday!!
and also if i want to write some weird sh*t with myself (terribly depraved longing, pining, and yearning) i can and i WILL
I am still kickin and hoping to do some writing soon! I have been hit with the pesky and omnipotent bug of self doubt these past coupla days...but I am now feeling HEALEDT 🙏 hallelu
Does anyone else feel less like themselves when they aren't writing? I know I do. After I get some work done today, watch this space and you might see me writing with myself!! Har-har!
Also my dash is completely and utterly *crickets* (I sure know how to pick my fandoms) and I think there are only about 3 of us Fallout roleplayers nowadays....but you know what I am seeing....parallels drawn between the Fallout rpc and the Ghost rpc and I like thyat. I'm thinking of things....it's good to think..
Enjoy your day, all ❤️ nurture your talents when you can
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Out of all the Wasteland he'd scoured, he had never seen a beauty quite like hers. Preserved. Unscathed. It was even a bit frightening. Now she asked his name.
"Knight Volfus."
"Really?" she asked, her tone incredulous.
"Er...Volf," he corrected.
"Your name is 'Wolf?'"
"Yes."
His mouth moved faster than his brain. Maybe she had it wrong because of her accent. If not for the sunburn and the dirt dusted over his cheekbones, his blush would have shown.
"Well, 'Knight Volfus'..." the sound of her heels rang in his ears like an alarm. She was sizing him up, and he felt the need to keep his arms at his sides as if bound by an invisible tether. The stable hum of her energy weapon was also incentive. That gun could secure his promotion within the ranks of the Brotherhood. If he wanted that.
"Lucky for you, I take in strays," she continued. "But they must be useful."
He was raised useful. It was almost all that he was good at.
"I'm useful."
This amused her—he could tell. She had the kind of smile you wanted to see happen again.
"Then we shall see you put to work."