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Meteorite
- Joined
- Feb 5, 2025
- Location
- EST
Hey there! 30+F/EST looking for other 25+ writers interested in a Fallout roleplay.
The TV Series:
Fallout 4:
Seeking in other writers:
The TV Series:
- Looking to write Lucy MacLean against The Ghoul for post-S1 episodic wasteland adventures and all that entails: action, mutants, post-nuclear irony, angst, dark humor, and some of that good (recent) enemies-to-friends-to-lovers/sunshine x grumpy shipping material.
Fallout 4:
- Alternatively, would love to write the Sole Survivor against Deacon! Pulling threads from the main plot while exploring the Commonwealth getting up to spy crap and learning how to be a team.
Seeking in other writers:
- 25+. I'm old and relate best to other olds.
- 250-1000 words is your typical word count, with flexibility depending on the scene, quicker dialogue back and forths if needed, etc.
- Discord platform preferred but may consider others.
- Spice is optional, and not the focus of the story. Smut for its own sake is not of interest. Happy to keep it FTB by default.
- Female, transmasc, transfemme writing pals all strongly preferred. Regrettably had too many poor experiences with cismen.
- Enjoy collaborating on plot threads and character arcs we both will enjoy!
- At least a little ooc chatter is fun and helps ensure we are on the same page, but I'm open to sharing memes and playlists and all that stuff too - just not a requirement on your end.
- Please bring a writing sample! I’ve provided one below.
Lucy allowed her eyes to wander a bit more, sensing The Ghoul and Dogmeat's relative ease as they stepped carefully past the rows of arcade games - mostly on her guard for another motion-triggered robot or collapsing floorboard.
When she finally tore her gaze from a console with a star-spangled mallet - Whack-A-Red! Keep America safe! - The Ghoul had paused just over the threshold of the next room. When Lucy joined him, what she saw inside was a shot of nostalgia so pure that all the weariness and tension of the last forty-eight hours melted right off her bones.
It was America's favorite cowboy, Cooper Howard, staring heroically into the distance atop his trusty steed. The cutout was nearly life-sized and a little uncanny, given the warping cardboard and faded colors, but his self-assured grin was unmistakable even in the dim light.
Lucy couldn't help it and gave a delighted laugh, breathless. It was her first smile in days, so big and bright it almost hurt her cheeks. "I don't believe it! Finally, something I recognize."
The room was a tribute to his westerns - at least, in a kid-friendly way. The walls were painted in a cartoonish representation of the open desert complete with sombrero cacti and distant mountains, as well as a simplified version of some Old West buildings in one corner. A long table dominated most of the space, resembling a saloon bar, with small chairs in disarray. There were a few old toys scattered on the surface and around the floor, mostly plastic deputy badges and pop cap pistols. A washed out banner was pinned above it that read BIRTHDAY BUCKAROO.
A few movie posters were framed on the wall, titles with more innocent art that did not include voluptuous women swooning in the hero's arms: A Man and His Dog, Gun, and The Man From Calabasas. Lucy wasted no time, drawn into the room to peer at all the memorabilia up close. Her fingertips lifted to the dusty glass, wandering to underline a hand-lettered title on one and trace the cowboy's illustrated face on another.
"Cooper Howard! Have you heard of him? He was my dad's favorite actor," she sighed, unable to keep a sliver of regret from tempering the joy in her tone. It didn't last long, though. Despite the fresh pain of Hank MacLean's true colors coming to light, she chose to focus on the comfort these movies represented. Moments filled with connection, love, and safety. Those had been very real.
"We used to watch his movies all the time, and he knew every line by heart. You see this dog here? That was Cooper Howard's real life dog in the movie. So smart! Kind of like you, Dogmeat. I think this one is my favorite, of the westerns at least, though I have a soft spot for his noir– Oh, hey!"
Her stream of chatter broke off as something at the far end of the room caught her eye, and she hurried towards it: a Radiation King television set, just like the one back home, with a dozen or so holotapes piled beside it. She picked up a stack and began to look through them.
"Would you look at that! They've got so many, even– oh. Huh." She paused over one of the titles, lips pressing together in a disapproving way. "*The Man From Deadhorse*. A little violent for a young audiences, I'd think. You know, this was my dad's favorite. Always said it was Cooper Howard at his best. But something about it always seemed… off, to me."
When she finally tore her gaze from a console with a star-spangled mallet - Whack-A-Red! Keep America safe! - The Ghoul had paused just over the threshold of the next room. When Lucy joined him, what she saw inside was a shot of nostalgia so pure that all the weariness and tension of the last forty-eight hours melted right off her bones.
It was America's favorite cowboy, Cooper Howard, staring heroically into the distance atop his trusty steed. The cutout was nearly life-sized and a little uncanny, given the warping cardboard and faded colors, but his self-assured grin was unmistakable even in the dim light.
Lucy couldn't help it and gave a delighted laugh, breathless. It was her first smile in days, so big and bright it almost hurt her cheeks. "I don't believe it! Finally, something I recognize."
The room was a tribute to his westerns - at least, in a kid-friendly way. The walls were painted in a cartoonish representation of the open desert complete with sombrero cacti and distant mountains, as well as a simplified version of some Old West buildings in one corner. A long table dominated most of the space, resembling a saloon bar, with small chairs in disarray. There were a few old toys scattered on the surface and around the floor, mostly plastic deputy badges and pop cap pistols. A washed out banner was pinned above it that read BIRTHDAY BUCKAROO.
A few movie posters were framed on the wall, titles with more innocent art that did not include voluptuous women swooning in the hero's arms: A Man and His Dog, Gun, and The Man From Calabasas. Lucy wasted no time, drawn into the room to peer at all the memorabilia up close. Her fingertips lifted to the dusty glass, wandering to underline a hand-lettered title on one and trace the cowboy's illustrated face on another.
"Cooper Howard! Have you heard of him? He was my dad's favorite actor," she sighed, unable to keep a sliver of regret from tempering the joy in her tone. It didn't last long, though. Despite the fresh pain of Hank MacLean's true colors coming to light, she chose to focus on the comfort these movies represented. Moments filled with connection, love, and safety. Those had been very real.
"We used to watch his movies all the time, and he knew every line by heart. You see this dog here? That was Cooper Howard's real life dog in the movie. So smart! Kind of like you, Dogmeat. I think this one is my favorite, of the westerns at least, though I have a soft spot for his noir– Oh, hey!"
Her stream of chatter broke off as something at the far end of the room caught her eye, and she hurried towards it: a Radiation King television set, just like the one back home, with a dozen or so holotapes piled beside it. She picked up a stack and began to look through them.
"Would you look at that! They've got so many, even– oh. Huh." She paused over one of the titles, lips pressing together in a disapproving way. "*The Man From Deadhorse*. A little violent for a young audiences, I'd think. You know, this was my dad's favorite. Always said it was Cooper Howard at his best. But something about it always seemed… off, to me."