#beatriz vida

[bexatomarama]

Some npcs, a few companions and a couple of ocs <3

Maddox belongs to @alongtidesoflight

Jesse belongs to @gatorgelly

[artistsoftheapocalypse]

Howdy y'all!! I'd love to see my lone Beatriz being woken up from the alarm on her pipboy! I figure it'd play GNR sorta like a traditional am/fm alarm! She's one to grumble and roll over hoping for five more minutes! Thanks y'all <33 remember to take breaks and eat/hydrate!!

[ sketched by @paintsplattere ]

"You're not supposed to exist yet..."

[bexatomarama]

Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss, Giddy-up 

It’s finals week so something lowkey and easy to do, some little aesthetic icons of my fallout ocs! The Chosen One, The Lone Wanderer, The Courier Six, and The Overboss! Luz de Arroyo, Beatriz Vida, Juniper Rain and Sunshine <3

[bexatomarama]

OC Tag: Song Challenge

Tagged by @alongtidesoflight <3

step 1 -> create your oc (or ocs) in this picrew step 2 -> list 5 songs that inspired (or captured the feel of) your OC. if you choose multiple, feel free to pick your favorite or do songs for all of them! (and feel free to list fewer or more songs if you want)

Beatriz Vida | Fallout 3

Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want | The Smiths

Haven't had a dream in a long time See, the life I've had Can make a good man bad So for once in my life Let me get what I want Lord knows, it would be the first time Lord knows, it would be the first time

The Heroine | Unwoman

I play the heroine I play to their sympathies I say the sweetest things To command their empathy I asked just one thing of you, to be here Did I not let it slip that I was sincere?

Not My Slave | Oingo Boingo

With fire in your eyes, may it never go out The sweetness of your tears make it feel like night I see no escape from the roles we always play What do we have to prove on this judgment day?

Little Girl Go Home | Lesley Gore

Little Girl Go home I hear the night winds sigh Little Girl Go home Don't roam the same as I

C'mon Baby, Cry | Orville Peck

I can see the sadness in your eyes You've been tryna hide what you left behind They say it’s darkest before the dawn But you've been smiling for so long A thousand teardrops can't be wrong, no

Tagging: @rockshortage @bigbraincel @suppuration @killyourrdarlingss

[bexatomarama]

🤠🌻 Art vs Artist 2021!

Lots of fallout this year, and even more improvement with people and I even found a new coloring technique I really like!

Here's to 2022

[bexatomarama]

Little doodles while watching King of the Hill, I still really like the idea of my Courier Juniper having that scar on their chest but God do I wanna make it an autopsy scar so bad 😔

[bexatomarama]

Thinking about ghoulification with my four blorbos that have some level of ghoulification/radiation burns

Luz from the destruction of the enclave oil rig, burns along her face and chest that left permanent scars

Beatriz who began to ghoulify from the purify, her ghoul patches are coming in symmetrical as if it were vitiligo and not really spreading to the cartilage of head/face

Sunshine who has one massive radiation burn along her jaw and intricate scarifications that have a sickly greenish glow to them

And Calloway my sweet baby boy, I'm hesitant to even call it ghoulification it's much more similar to the burned men of new Vegas or I suppose the scorched in 76, it's sorta radiation based his skin getting fucked by the irradiated wind and is slowly growing from one side of his face outward. It also attacked the seam of his clef lip scar, killing the skin there and reopening

[bexatomarama]

I got tagged by the wonderful @bigbraincel for Six Sentence Sunday <33 I honestly haven’t been working on much since the semesters getting closer to ending :sob: let alone six sentences from Sunday, but please have the first few pages of my Lone Wanderer fic Her Tears Flowed Like Wine !!

I tag @trashkingnyx @suppuration and @just-another-wasteland-merc and anyone else who would like to share some writing! :3c

Her nailbeds bled as she scrambled for the bat at her feet. Eyes stinging with tears, sweat and flecks of drying blood. She was going to die here. Alone in the rotten carcass of the American Dream, the crumbling marble surrounded her like a tomb. No escape, no solace, and not a soul around to hear her whimpers.

And her tears flowed like wine.

The battle-hardened cries of super mutants seemed to swallow her whole, as the chewed-up rubber of her soles slapped against the scuffed floors of the Museum of Technology. She had been naïve. So very naïve.

It was no small feat breaching the exterior of D.C. Beatriz had done so on her own with only a wood-worn baseball bat and some repurposed vault suit courtesy of Moira Brown of Megaton. She had felt powerful, admittedly smug, when she assisted the Brotherhood of Steel in taking out a behemoth before the radio station. It was like she had finally integrated into Wasteland society, no longer that green little vault kid, but someone who could survive in this brave, new world.

Howls instructing the young women to, “Suffer and bleed” echoed throughout the abandoned museum. The tears continued to stain her dirty cheeks as she ran. They were hunting her like an animal.

It was a lie, a horrible lie. She was just some impressionable kid with no sense at all. Everyone saw it, and everyone jumped at the opportunity to take advantage of her naive nature.

Beatriz choked on a sob as she thought about her encounter with Three-Dog. He had been so charismatic, praising her for her prowess and ability to make into the D.C. hellhole. He had the information she most desperately sought after, and he would tell her what she needed to know. For a favor. A price. Her life.

The world was shattering at her feet and all she could do was sob and run, like some prewar prey animal. Like a rabbit running for its life only to be trapped in a snare. Like a dumb animal too innocent for the world and its cruelties.

A bullet whizzed past her ear with an echoing that left her temporarily deft, but the cruel laughter from the super mutants was clear as crystal and made her skin crawl. She could feel her eyes shake, tears welling, and vision blurred.

Something snapped then. Like the rubber band of a slingshot pulled too taut. Suddenly, she was small again trapped inside a different tomb, being terrorized by different monsters. The air was stale, alkaline, and tinted with cherry bomb smoke mixed with blood. Her knuckles itched in memory, finally snapping after years of torment by her cohorts, all she saw was red. Red. Red. Red.

Suddenly, she was a girl again mesmerized at the red covering her knuckles, the faint pain she felt there and the sobs of her bully at her feet. Blood splattered upon her jumpsuit, on Amata and on the cold steel of the vault itself.

Her grip on the bat is splintering, her hands are shaking with barely contained rage. Her calves tighten as her run slows for a second. For a horrible second, she wanted to be caught. To give it all she had left, to fight tooth and nail before succumbing and that frightened her deeply.

If they catch her, they will kill her.

If she fights, they will kill her.

But first, they must catch her.

In her haze of adrenaline and tears, she had not realized where she had been running. The air became less stagnant, something pungent and earthy carried on the wind barely making its way through cracked windows and doors. The entrance to the Museum of Technology loomed before her. Her lip quivered, tears continuing to swell as she ran, tear blurred eyes locked on the aged wooden doors.

She would live, she would live to tell Three-Dog to go to hell, tell him to get his own damn satellite dish, that she was no one’s errand girl. Her lips cracked, wide smile gracing her tear-soaked visage, the steps between her and freedom grew smaller and smaller. Her own footsteps like some sweet melody as she ran. Body tense like a rubber band aching to go lax.

A long, low whistle joined her pitter patter melody, her heart sank. The grenade landed between her and the door. She watched, wide-eyed and dumb, as it bounced atop the cracked linoleum. The explosion rocked her senses, she could feel the splintered wood giving against her shoulder as she dived towards the door. Heat and shrapnel made its home in her legs.

If she had more tears to cry, she would cry a river and drown herself. Between the jagged metal cuts and the burns striking her legs and white-hot pain assaulting her senses, she barely registered tumbling head over heels through the door.

Suddenly, she was looking up at the rich pregnant swell of the moon. Ragged breaths greeted her before she recognized them as her own, sounding foreign amongst the ringing in her ears. The glow of the moon seemed to mock her as her vision spun this way and that. Stars zigzagging in the inky abyss of night sky as she laid there. Her bat was gone, at least she thinks it is. Her fists balled at her side as she struggled to catch her breath.