⇛ This is an RP Blog for my OC May Rivers from the Fallout universe (mainly FNV, FO3 and the tv series)
Videogames and TV show based, not spoiler free.
⇛ Please, check her carrd to know something more about her if you're interested.
Main account: @rockin-fabi-blog (not an rp blog, just a... blog)
Other muses: @sam-withers-theboys-rp (The Boys) ; @amanda-nielsen-mcurp (MCU); @kasyan-oc-rp (fandomless)
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☢️ TW: descriptions of blood, death, violence, strong language.
Rules and guidenlines below ⇓
Welcome everybody!
I hope you'll like my OC as much as I do but first, a few rules:
I can rp both in english or italian. Be patient pls, english is not my main language but I'll try my best.
I tend to be pretty quick in replying but I understand we all have lives and jobs so don't worry if it takes you longer to respond.
In any case, to keep the profile at least a little tidy, I will consider the role archived if I don't receive a response within a month. Just DM me if you want to resume or, at least, let me know if you're unable to answer. I'll understand ❤️
18+ ONLY! I wouldn't feel comfortable roleplaying with minors since i'm 28 and muse is an adult woman too, even if it's not a NSFW role.
AU roles are okay for me! I love see the characters in different situations heheh.
For romances I think I'll be pretty selective since May has had three major relationships, basically, and I'd like to keep these but I can keep other things in mind as well. Just... let's talk about it but do not expect instaship.
NSFW is okay as long as it is consensual between characters but I would prefer to discuss it too.
If something makes you uncomfortable, feel free to message me so we can talk about it, change it or plan something else.
I personally have no triggers in particular, but I'll do my best to tag 'em all and we can talk about triggers even before starting a role.
Damned be all. The bruising was still noticeable in the worst way possible. And now with the questions. It all replays in Hanna’s mind… a lesson she won’t soon forget.
Not all who attempt fate so often get treated with a slap on the wrist. Ever the opportunist, the night prior she made a break for the open gate and made it past the first four sentries that stood guard. Using the cover of night and shift change to slip almost all the way to the river.
Only fools think that freedom was so close. By far, it wasnt the farthest she made it. Not even close. But it was the feeling she had. The arrogance took foot. Moved too fast at one point and was caught in the torchlight and was pulled from behind from the rocks with a fight. In the dim light they mistook her for an escaping slave.
Hanna, was hit twice mainly to gain compliance, but also out of frustration. This was the fourth time in a year she attempted an escape.
Many questioned why the daughter of Vulpes Inculta, of all beings… why would she want to escape? And why should she kick, bite, hit, and headbutt- fighting like a rabid thing to break free. It was simple to Hanna.
Retaliation.
Retaliation for the arranged marriages. Refusal to be normal. To fit the mold. And to Hanna personally? Not be around absolutely stupid men that dont know anything about how to treat loved ones.
Her mind was still racing when May asked who beaten her. She couldnt look up and tell the truth, because that means Lord Caesar would learn of yet another escape attempt from the “branded one.”
Also the black eye was all Hanna thinking head-butting a helmed soldier was a splendid idea.
“It’s worse than it appears, im fine-“ Hanna leans closer to May, to quietly speak. “-It’s not known yet to Caesar. So please keep this hidden for now. I don’t wish to be branded a second time.”
With a flicker of a nervous tick- Hanna runs her left arm over her scarred flesh- old now, but very prominent- a Bulls head etched onto her skin with raised flesh. A cold reminder of not to be disrespectful to your father as he talks with a centurion…
The voices of the legionnaire and Vulpes drifted apart. Leaving only one standing near the tent. Most likely a visual watch to make sure Hanna didnt attempt to do anything- rash.
“Apologies for the unwanted guest outside. Seems I made a new friend.” Hanna huffed out with enough venom to make a nightstalker blush.
May picked up the mortar and pestle again, but didn't immediately resume pulverizing the herbs.
«I'm a doctor, I notice certain things easily. Maybe someone might think it's just a little makeup that smudged,» she smiled, trying to reassure her.
Whatever had happened, she didn't like the fact that she'd been beaten.
May wasn't a violent person; in fact, her job required quite the opposite.
She leaned closer to the girl so she could better hear what she'd just whispered and smiled again.
«Mouth closed, I promise.»
She had no reason to tell anyone, especially the Caesar. That girl was smart enough to get herself into trouble, she certainly didn't want to make things worse for her.
Of one thing, however, she was certain: she was just as stubborn as she was, and sooner or later, Hanna would win her freedom too. Or at least, that's what she hoped.
After pounding the herbs, she took one of the cloths she'd previously placed on the table and poured the contents of the mortar over it, closing it with a string, and set the bag aside.
Then she began repeating the process: chopping the roots, adding more herbs, and so on.
Hanna pointed out that Vulpes was outside talking to someone else.
The frumentarius then remained outside the tent, observing. May gave him a quick glance and then approached the girl.
«As long as he stays outside, it's none of our business.»
Then she tried to change the subject, to ease the tension on the young woman's shoulders, but also with genuine curiosity.
«You know, I've never worn makeup in my life. How do you do that?»
No one wore makeup in the camp where May had lived before the Legion razed it.
Let's just say they had other priorities, like surviving, and she was too busy taking lessons from her father to think about such frivolities.
Sure, as a child she did all the things children do - playing, chasing each other, listening to bedtime stories - but she learned early on to deal with medicine, from the simplest to the more complex as she grew older.
It was a day like any other at the Legion headquarters, the Fort.
The sun was high in the sky, beating down hard on the area. May sighed and wiped the sweat from her forehead with her wrist, quickly wiping her hands with a rag.
She finished packing the chest, filled with gauze, healing powders, and other supplies. She closed it with a wooden lid and sealed it by hammering nails into the surface.
She lifted it from the table and carried it outside the tent, leaving it near the entrance. The chest hit the dry ground with a dull thud, and May let out a longer sigh. She covered her forehead with an arm to shield her eyes from the sun and looked around: there were soldiers on guard, others moving about the camp, slaves carrying burdens heavier than they were, and crucified profligates who could do nothing but wait for the moment when death would greet them.
May had been lucky.
By saving a decanus from a hemorrhage, she had earned a place as a doctor within the Fort, but the price she paid... The Caesar himself had given her protection, a place to stay, and a job for demonstrating her "loyalty," but he had taken her father away from her, and she would never forgive him for that.
She had another crate to prepare for the next expedition, so she returned to the tent.
She quickly wiped the table with a rag and pulled some fabrics from a drawer. Then she brought the tray in front of her, where she kept the dried roots, herbs, and other plants needed to make medicines, separating the good parts from the rotten ones.
May's father, also a doctor, had taught her practically everything, even how to make better and more practical medicines than the ones she was forced to make, but no.
The Caesar considered the use of treatments such as stimpaks like a blasphemy.
She was clearing some roots when she heard footsteps outside, then turned and smiled when she saw Hanna.
The two girls were roughly the same age, and she was the daughter of one of the Legion's bigwigs, Vulpes Inculta.
Let's just say that information was of common knowledge, but was never said openly.
Out of female solidarity, May had requested the girl to assist her inside the medical tent.
She had done so because she didn't like the way the men at the Fort looked at her, and she had often heard unkind comments about.
She also needed an extra pair of hands to take care of all the various tasks, including emergencies when a wounded soldier was brought in, and she had proven to be a great help.
«Hi,‐ she greeted her with a quick glance before going back cleaning the root and dividing it into smaller pieces.- We have the last crate to prepare, and then we're done.»
It was pure luck, mainly for May, that Hanna was even remotely up before noon.
Hanna entered the medical tent, her weight shifted in each step to offset the tracker around her ankle. A slight click from metal meeting metal every other step was a stark reminder of what control and power is to the legion. Her clothes were light and loose, white in color with red accents. Her hair was put up and her face had makeup. No doubt yet another escape attempt.
Hanna looked over to May with a bit of a smirk. No matter how well the makeup was done, the black eye and bruising on her neck that arose from her shoulder was still prominent.
Hanna answers before stepping next to the crate and started helping. Picking up a Xander root, she mindlessly picks it apart as she looks over her shoulder to hear a legionnaire nearby, talking to her father, Vulpes.
With a heavy sigh and a mutter, Hanna turns to May.
“One last crate you say? How long have you been awake?”
As Hanna glances around the tent and keeping an ear to her father’s chat, shes always been amazed on how efficient May was in this tent.
Even May was in a better situation than Vulpes' daughter herself.
She had learned early on to stay in her place, to obey even when she wanted to rebel, when she wanted to scream her displeasure.
In this way, the Caesar gave her complete confidence to move within the Fort, but she rarely left the medical tent: the less she had to do with his men, the better.
Despite her blatant luck, she felt the desire to escape grow stronger every day.
She had always wanted it and would never stop hoping or studying a way to achieve it, one day.
It wasn't a place she called home, it wasn't a community she felt she belonged to.
With the Legion, she simply did what she did best for her own survival, waiting for all of this to become a shadow of the past, sooner or later.
When the girl asked her how long she had been awake, May couldn't help but smile, never taking her eyes off what she was doing.
«Oh, darling, I barely sleep. One day I'm going to have a heart attack,» she chuckled.
May often joked about her insomnia, but seriously, it wasn't something to be taken lightly.
She'd started suffering from it shortly after arriving at the Fort about a year earlier. Nightmares accompanied her every night: she'd see her camp burning, her father's lifeless body on the ground, covered in blood.
She saw soldiers beating and killing men, women being pulled by their hair and having their clothes ripped off.
Since then, those bad dreams had diminished, but the quality of her sleep had still worsened.
She'd wake up in the middle of the night, for no apparent reason. Sometimes she'd stare at the tent ceiling until she fell asleep again after hours, or she'd get up to get on with her work, knowing she wouldn't get back to sleep.
She placed some herbs and roots in the mortar, but just before she could begin to put them in, her gaze fell on the girl's face.
Despite her makeup, she could clearly see Hanna had a black eye and a visible bruise on her neck.
May dropped everything and cupped her face with her hand, looking at her with a serious expression. She released it and gently touched her shoulder.
«Who did this to you?- she asked, lowering her voice.- Was it him or...?»
She left the sentence hanging, referring to Vulpes.
May, or rather Maia, wouldn't let whoever did this to her get away with it. Everyone in that tent had her protection. It was a decision she made on her own initiative, without even consulting the Caesar.
Years before, when she'd recited the Hippocratic Oath in front of her father, she'd promised that she would take care of anyone in need and, in her heart, she wouldn't allow others to do harm.
There was a new face at Mormon Fort. The man wore a tattered assortment of clothes and old motorcross gear. The stranger’s face was marked up with old scars, that ‘vandalized’ his face. Frequently, his paranoid eyes darted around as he kept to himself. Avoiding both doctors, patients and especially the guards.
Yet, by how he held his right arm he seemed wounded. The sleeve on his short was bloodied, with an old towel wrapped around it. A belt kept the bandage in place, but he needed real medical help.
Scratch needed help. As much as that sickened him.
May had just finished carrying a crate of medicine when she saw him from afar.
A bowed figure, limping and appeared to have a large bloodstain on his trousers.
She wasted no time and walked quickly towards him with a worried expression on her face.
«Good Lord...» she whispered as she approached the man.
She carried his good arm on her shoulders and supported him by holding a hand on his back with the intention of accompanying him to one of the tents to lie on a cot.
Some Followers made room for them to pass, two others stayed with her in case she needed assistance.
And she needed it, of course: in fact, she ordered them to prepare gauze, bandages and some instruments that could be useful but she had to first make sure of his condition.
Judging by his appearance, he didn't look like a portrait of health: he had old scars running through his face and, probably, more on his body.
May wondered what he's been through to get like this.
As a cardinal rule, Scratch hated being touched. Yes, he’s here for professional help. Yet, having her walk him towards one of the clinic tents just seemed a touch humiliating.
After all, he walked here from the south. He should be able to walk himself into the tent.
Then again- he was feeling weak. The blood in his system felt thin, as his strength faded. Blood was already staining the old towel, even with the tight belt around it. So, he gritted his teeth and puts up with it.
“How long is this gonna take?”
Scratch asked, sounding a bit ungrateful and more than impatient. Sure, The Followers helped everyone, but past experience made him uncomfortable here. It was a long story; one he wasn’t so keen on telling.
Not that she meant to scold him, but she became very serious and professional when it came to saving a life.
Her colleagues helped her place the stranger on the cot, and May asked to check if he had other injuries while she focused on his arm.
She unbuckled the belt, letting it fall to the floor, where the bloodstained towel soon joined it, then had to cut the fabric and carefully remove it, but the situation wasn't looking good at all.
«Fuck...»
At first, she couldn't tell if it was a gunshot wound or if he'd even been attacked by an animal, given how much blood he'd lost in that area. She needed to clean it, make sure it wasn't bleeding anymore, and stitch it up. He'd probably need a transfusion too.
«What happened?» she asked, both to figure out what tools to use and to keep him alert and awake.
It was a day like any other at the Legion headquarters, the Fort.
The sun was high in the sky, beating down hard on the area. May sighed and wiped the sweat from her forehead with her wrist, quickly wiping her hands with a rag.
She finished packing the chest, filled with gauze, healing powders, and other supplies. She closed it with a wooden lid and sealed it by hammering nails into the surface.
She lifted it from the table and carried it outside the tent, leaving it near the entrance. The chest hit the dry ground with a dull thud, and May let out a longer sigh. She covered her forehead with an arm to shield her eyes from the sun and looked around: there were soldiers on guard, others moving about the camp, slaves carrying burdens heavier than they were, and crucified profligates who could do nothing but wait for the moment when death would greet them.
May had been lucky.
By saving a decanus from a hemorrhage, she had earned a place as a doctor within the Fort, but the price she paid... The Caesar himself had given her protection, a place to stay, and a job for demonstrating her "loyalty," but he had taken her father away from her, and she would never forgive him for that.
She had another crate to prepare for the next expedition, so she returned to the tent.
She quickly wiped the table with a rag and pulled some fabrics from a drawer. Then she brought the tray in front of her, where she kept the dried roots, herbs, and other plants needed to make medicines, separating the good parts from the rotten ones.
May's father, also a doctor, had taught her practically everything, even how to make better and more practical medicines than the ones she was forced to make, but no.
The Caesar considered the use of treatments such as stimpaks like a blasphemy.
She was clearing some roots when she heard footsteps outside, then turned and smiled when she saw Hanna.
The two girls were roughly the same age, and she was the daughter of one of the Legion's bigwigs, Vulpes Inculta.
Let's just say that information was of common knowledge, but was never said openly.
Out of female solidarity, May had requested the girl to assist her inside the medical tent.
She had done so because she didn't like the way the men at the Fort looked at her, and she had often heard unkind comments about.
She also needed an extra pair of hands to take care of all the various tasks, including emergencies when a wounded soldier was brought in, and she had proven to be a great help.
«Hi,‐ she greeted her with a quick glance before going back cleaning the root and dividing it into smaller pieces.- We have the last crate to prepare, and then we're done.»
There was a new face at Mormon Fort. The man wore a tattered assortment of clothes and old motorcross gear. The stranger’s face was marked up with old scars, that ‘vandalized’ his face. Frequently, his paranoid eyes darted around as he kept to himself. Avoiding both doctors, patients and especially the guards.
Yet, by how he held his right arm he seemed wounded. The sleeve on his short was bloodied, with an old towel wrapped around it. A belt kept the bandage in place, but he needed real medical help.
Scratch needed help. As much as that sickened him.
May had just finished carrying a crate of medicine when she saw him from afar.
A bowed figure, limping and appeared to have a large bloodstain on his trousers.
She wasted no time and walked quickly towards him with a worried expression on her face.
«Good Lord...» she whispered as she approached the man.
She carried his good arm on her shoulders and supported him by holding a hand on his back with the intention of accompanying him to one of the tents to lie on a cot.
Some Followers made room for them to pass, two others stayed with her in case she needed assistance.
And she needed it, of course: in fact, she ordered them to prepare gauze, bandages and some instruments that could be useful but she had to first make sure of his condition.
Judging by his appearance, he didn't look like a portrait of health: he had old scars running through his face and, probably, more on his body.
May wondered what he's been through to get like this.
⋆˙⟡ She insists she is “totally fine” while clearly standing in the kitchen with a fever, one sock on, and absolutely no idea why she came in there
⋆˙⟡ He notices she keeps rubbing her forehead during dinner, so he quietly starts lowering the lights and making tea before she even admits she feels bad
⋆˙⟡ She gets sick but hates being taken care of, so he has to act like he is “just happening” to leave soup, water, medicine, and blankets within arm’s reach
⋆˙⟡ He falls asleep on the couch with a fever, and she sits on the floor beside him changing the cold cloth on his forehead while pretending she is not worried out of her mind
⋆˙⟡ She loses her voice and has to communicate through dramatic hand gestures, notes app messages, and increasingly aggressive facial expression
⋆˙⟡ She keeps trying to get up and help even though he’s sick, so she finally points at the bed and says, “lie down before i physically put you there”
⋆˙⟡ She wakes up from a nap confused and feverish, and he talks softly until she remembers where she is
⋆˙⟡ He hates medicine, she hates drama, and somehow giving him cough syrup becomes a full diplomatic negotiation
⋆˙⟡ She gets sick on a trip, and he cancels the big plan without making her feel guilty about it
⋆˙⟡ He notices she only admits she is sick when she physically cannot keep pretending anymore, and that tells him more about her than she meant to reveal
I created some FNV-inspired writing prompts to get the creative juices flowing, but they could also be used for drawing prompts or as an ask game. I might create more of these as they come to me. Feel free to tag me if you use any of them!
1. A Rainy Day in the Desert
Where does your character go? Do they enjoy the rain? What does it smell like to them? Do they splash in puddles?
2. A Story Around the Campfire
Does your character talk about their past or any memories that make them smile? Do they know any ghost stories? What was the creepiest encounter they've had in the desert?
3. A Game of Caravan
Does your character know how to play? Are they good at it? Do they cheat?
4. Caught in a Dust Storm
Is your character afraid? How do they survive? What does it feel like to them? What does it sound like?
5. A Starry Sky
What feelings come over your character as they gaze at the stars? Do they know any constellations? Have they ever seen a falling star? Did they make a wish?
6. Wild Wasteland
What's the weirdest encounter your character has had? What's the weirdest thing they've ever heard? How did it make them feel? What did they do?
7. A Beautiful Sunrise/Sunset
How does your character feel about sunrises/sunsets? Do they wake up early to watch them? What colors do they see? What sounds do they hear?
8. A Swarm of Cazadores
Uh-oh! Your character has stumbled across a swarm of cazadores! What do they do? Do they fight? Do they run? How do they feel about insects?
9. A Pre-War Relic
Does your character know what it is? What do they do with it? Do they collect it? Do they sell it? Can it be repurposed? What images come to mind when they see it?
10. Hope
What aspect of the wasteland gives your character hope? Do they believe people are inherently good or bad? Do they try to make the wasteland a better place, or do they only look out for themselves?
reblog if your muse is a mother, because mother characters get far too little attention, and because all these moms probably need other moms to have brunch with sometimes.
