FALLOUT STYLE ROLEPLAY: Heyo! My name's Lilith, and I'm looking for a post-apocalyptic style roleplay. If you are at all familiar with the Fallout series, I would absolutely love to roleplay with you! I do enjoy a bit of NSFW action every now and then, but I require at least some story buildup beforehand. The more, the better! If you aren't super familiar with this series, but would still enjoy a post-apocalyptic roleplay, hit me up! We can decide something together that works out for the both of us! I generally try to write at least a paragraph, but in certain situations can see switching it up to shorter or longer lengths. I also enjoy writing in a first person perspective. When you message me, I'll be sure to send you a description as well as some general likes and dislikes! Cheers! My hands tighten on the somewhat damaged service rifle in my hands. I had done it again, dozing off at my post for what seemed to be the tenth time today. Blinking rapidly, as if that tactic would stop my next wave of drowsiness, I stared off into the barren landscape ahead. Slowly, I push myself up and off of the rusted chair my tired figure had become so accustomed to. The sand of the Mojave Wastes seemed to swirl and mix as if taunting me, the lazy yet precise motions a work of art. My gloved hands tugged slightly as the face wrap I wore. The cloth was slightly damp, and its constant rubbing against my face seemed to tick me off more and more. "God, patrolling the Mojave almost makes you wish for a nuclear winter," I mutter, the heat only having gotten worse throughout the day. "Who would have thought joining up with the NCR would mean guarding a shit load of nothing?" I add, as if it would easy my annoyance any more. I watched the stretch of desert a good bit behind our NCR encampment, making sure nothing could approach us. "What would even try to approach a camp across such a stretch of desert? Just target pract-" I start off.

My eyes dart across the landscape, staring from rock to rock, cactus to cactus. "Am I... seeing things? I swear, something that wasn't a cloud of dust just moved...". My lips tighten as I pull my rifle up close. Could my fellow troops even hear a few shots from such a distance? And if they could, would they be traveling as fast as a pack of radscorpions? As lightly as a few Powder Gangers or Jackals? (This is where you would come in! Are you a blood-thirsty raider, looking for a life to take, a maiden to make his own? Perhaps a desolate wanderer, clinging desperately to life? A collected mercenary on a quest of your own? Please, have fun with picking someone to be!)

(@support do you mind if I DM you on this one?)

I walked closer to the camp at a normal, practiced striden keeping my hands relaxed and swinging at my sides; the last thing I wanted to do was startle some poor trooper into shooting me. My brown duster blew in the breeze, the desert air warm but still cooling my sweat-sheened face. Damn, it was hot... Sure enough, there one stood, rifle at the ready, looking tense as I approached. Being a former ranger, I knew the protocol: Keep 10 feet distance minimum, hands up slowly, my gas mask already off and hanging around my neck, so they could look me in the eye. My .45 magnum was holstered, my riot shotgun visible on the side of my backpack, as was the combat knife in my boot sheath. "Tycho, Mojave Express!" I called out so the trooper could hear me, "I have a supply package, password Bearclaw!"