#dire memes

[diredigression]

2020 Creative Self Love!

I was tagged by @deacons-wig, thanks!

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite  works (fics, art, edits, etc.) you’ve created this year and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world in 2020. If you don’t have five published works, that’s fine! Include ideas/drafts/whatever you like  that you’ve worked on/thought about, and talk a little about them instead! Remember, this is all about self-love and positive enthusiasm,  so fuck the rules if you need to. Have fun, and tag as many fellow creators as you like so they can share the love! <3

It’s too much pressure to pick my five favorites, and also a couple of these mayyyy have happened really late in 2019, but mid-2019 through now is basically all one year to me. I’m picking a pile that make me happy and am gonna try to show off all my OCs I love!

1. Carrot’s Ugly Christmas Sweater

The post for this shows off some of the artistic growth I made in my first weeks of teaching myself to draw, and I was able to get my chaos girl improved and colored for @badcowboy69​‘s party! I love that her sweater applies to her in three different ways, all of which are represented here. And her face and expression are so cute! I’m just really proud of this.

2. Aftermath

Oh the places you’ll go, with your eyes so wide

With your heart in your hand, and your sword at your side

Oh the mountains you’ll move, oh the tears you’ll cry

Oh the places you’ll go, little love of mine.

My poor Sole. I put her through so much, and most of my depictions are of her at her darkest and lowest. But this time I got to portray her as finally happy, fulfilled, at peace with all the shit her life has thrown at her. Not to mention badass General. This was one of my latest artistic endeavors after I’d been practicing for a few months, and while there are of course places I’m not satisfied with, I’m really happy with the improvement I made over those months.

3. That Lucky Old Sun

The first story that really established Carrot’s personality. She went from telling Doc Mitchell that she’d try not to get herself killed again, straight into running from a bunch of robots that she’d chunked a grenade at. She lucks into getting the power plant terminal running, and then gets so excited about pushing big red buttons that she fails to realize she’s activated the giant space laser and smoked an entire garrison of troops. Whoops. I’m not used to writing comedy, angsty stuff like Sole’s is more my forte, so Carrot has given me a really lovely change of pace.

4. What Do You Get When You Add a Poet and a Mentats-Buzzed Founding Pirate?

I can’t not include this one. 2020 gave me @glitchvault74​ and @falloutglow​ as friends, and along with them, Rig and Echo and the rest of their wealth of characters. And as my characters and world developed too...well, AUs were bound to happen. I had an absolute blast writing Rig Apollo into Soleverse, including more of that newfangled comedy stuff and stretching some poetry muscles that I haven’t used in years. Not to mention the mental stretch of writing another person’s OC (particularly one with such a...unique speaking style as Apollo), and also all the research I got to do on Greek mythology to sneak a bunch of references in.

5. Sanctuary

It was hard to choose a fifth, but I kept coming back to this one. One of my biggest gripes about the Fallout universe has been the lack of slice-of-life canon, the new songs and the new instruments that evolved over two hundred years, people being able to enjoy an evening together socializing and peaceful. I tried to imagine it here, three people only passably familiar with each other, under the weight of unimaginable pain, but trusting and joyous when given a reason to celebrate. I still get the lyrics I wrote for the song in here stuck in my own head on occasion. And Sole’s reactions to the fire and the sky are taken straight from my own memories of chilly nights around a bonfire.

[diredigression]

38. A person’s weight as they lie on top of you

I didn’t get this as an ask, but I saw it in the prompts list and realized it worked perfectly for this wip I already had half done! So enjoy.

[64 Sensory Prompts]

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The radstorm rages outside the ruined house they’ve sheltered in. Hancock leans against a boarded window, head fallen back, face relaxed, almost rapturous. Sole curls tight against the back of a couch.

The panic strangles her. Every muscle clenches, chest too tight to breathe. Even the desire for relief is fading as she succumbs to the temptation to just wallow in the pain, because why pretend everything is okay? Why pretend that the world is okay? Why pretend that there's any reason for joy?

"Hey, you okay there?"

The rasp startles her out of her reverie. But she doesn't want to be in the real world, she wants to bury back into her head. It's miserable there, but at least it’s not reality. She shrinks tighter.

"What's wrong, sister?"

He's not leaving her to her misery. She fights to surface, the grim satisfaction of wallowing traded somewhat for the shame of having to be herself, in real life, outside of her head and interacting with this other person who’s staring at her, head cocked slightly as his inscrutable black eyes analyze her face.

“Just trying to sleep.” With her lungs—her entire body—tight, her voice comes out strained.

“You look like you’re hiding from a yao guai. Can’t imagine that’s comfortable for sleeping.”

She drops her eyes back to the fabric of the couch. “Couch isn’t comfortable for sleeping.”

He chuckles. “Can’t argue with ya there.” But he doesn’t return to his post by the window, and instead murmurs, softer, “Talk to me. I know panic when I see it.”

She squeezes her eyes closed, suppressing an unwelcome sob. He waits patiently while she fights to school her breathing again.

“I’m—sorry about this. Don’t want you to think that I’m—not capable of—pulling my weight here. Of managing this work.”

“Hey now, don’t you start that. I’ve seen the hardest mercs panic like this. And then they go right back out and do their thing, good as ever. Hell, I been there too. Panic don’t make you weak. Just means you need some support for a bit.”

Unable to form a reply, she exhales noncommittally.

“How can I help you? Food? Booze? Jet?  A hug? Maybe somethin’ stronger than a hug?” She can hear the grin creep into his voice by the end. She considers asking—no. Curls in tighter on herself.

She hears him sigh, then lean against the arm of the couch. A hand on the couch arm, bracing his weight, not invading her space but close enough for comfort. “How do you normally get through this? Might be we can brainstorm.”

Another pause, debating. There’s her usual coping method, but Dogmeat isn’t here. No solid warm safety pressed against her. A shake of her head, barely a twitch. They’re not close enough for this.

“That wild, huh? C’mon, sister, tell me. It’s just you an’ me here, and trust me, I ain’t gonna judge. I just wanna help.”

He’s really not gonna let it go, and judging by his statements, his mind is coming up with something even more embarrassing than the truth. Fine. She gasps in an effortful breath and forces herself to uncurl slightly. “Dogmeat…figured it out. Crawled up and laid down on top of me. Just stayed there. The…weight and warmth…it helps.”

“You sayin’ I should…lay on top of you?” The hesitation is clear in his voice.

She curls tighter again as the thoughts return to spiraling. Knew that was a bad idea. Should have just shut up and waited it out. It’ll go away eventually without having to drag this stranger into it.

“Hey, no, don’t you do that. If that’s what helps, that’s what we’re doin.” The couch shifts as his weight moves. “You tell me if it’s too much and I need to get off, okay?”

She nods stiffly.

“Alright, I’m comin’ in. No funny business. Here, I’ll put the coat on ya first.” She’s gently wrapped in the heavy fabric, and she clutches one hem to her, the scents of dust and gunpowder and bitter chems washing over her. He murmurs soothingly as he balances around her, the couch flexing as he arranges his limbs. “Gotta put my hand over here…Knees here and…here. Damn, these things really weren’t designed for this, were they? And…down.”

As soon as the pressure of his weight settles against her torso, she feels the anxiety smothered. Peace wraps around her like his coat, warm enveloping comfort to replace the crushing chains around her chest. Despite the ghoul's clear tension, his elbows dug into the couch on either side of her and his hips firmly lifted off her, she quickly sheds her own discomfort at the unfamiliar touch and allows herself to drown in the pressure; to let her muscles melt in his body heat, maybe more than Dogmeat gave off, intensely radiated even through the coat; to let the roiling storm of her mind quiet down to focus in on just the sensation of his weight and of his chest pressing rhythmically as he breathes. Nothing else has to exist right now. Nothing outside of this moment, this couch, the warm, living pressure transmitting through her body.

“Ya doin’ alright?” A gentle rasp near her ear.

“…yeah. I am. Thank you.”

[diredigression]

AO3 Wrapped 2020 Meme

Tagged by @electricshoebox , thank you!

AO3 Stats for 2020

Total word count: 17,695

Top 5 6 by word count:

Courier Carrot (Fallout: New Vegas) (6285 words)

Tales from the Wasteland (Fallout 4) (3866 words)

What Do You Get When You Add a Poet and a Mentats-Buzzed Founding Pirate? (Fallout 4) (2508 words)

Sanctuary (Fallout 4) (1797 words)

Ruin (Fallout 4) (1351 words)

Proximity (Original Work) (790 words)

Top 5 6 by kudos:

What Do You Get When You Add a Poet and a Mentats-Buzzed Founding Pirate?

Courier Carrot

Tales from the Wasteland

Hancock

Becoming Sole

Sanctuary

(I went with 6 because Tales is a compilation that I recently abandoned in favor of reposting the chapters and continuing the story as stand-alone works in a series instead, including Sanctuary, Ruin, and Hancock. Figured it wasn’t fair to directly compare either the reposts or the compilation with the others 🤷‍♀️)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This is a bit of a non-traditional AO3 wrapup, but it’s been a non-traditional time, so oh well.

About a year and a half ago, I began a year of medical leave from my PhD program. I had just been diagnosed, finally, with ADHD, and given the new need to learn how to manage it and to try out new medication, along with the crippling depression and anxiety I’d been dealing with, I needed time off. By the end of 2020 I would choose to drop out of my dream PhD program and dream lab in order to pursue a simpler but, hopefully, more enjoyable and better fitting career.

I had just moved in with my new partner. She brought an Xbox. My main gaming experience up until then had been Game Boy Advance. She suggested I try a game called Fallout 4.

Playing turned to guilty pleasure pinteresting of my new obsession, turned to guilty pleasure tumblring of my new obsession, turned to giving up the guilt and getting my first tumblr account. By the end of 2019 Sole and Carrot were born, and I was teaching myself to draw so that I could draw them. In 2020 I joined a discord, and the pile of friends I’d made through Fallout multiplied. I started writing fiction again, for fun, something I hadn’t done since high school or earlier. I got an AO3 (and a Pillowfort too), and here we are.

2020 has been a lot of things, a lot of good and a hell of a lot of bad. But I can honestly say that Fallout, and the community and friends and support that I’ve found in the fandom, was one of the brightest lights helping me survive everything the year has thrown at me. It’s helped me grow, from gaining skill in the new hobby of drawing and the previously abandoned hobby of writing, to socializing with internet strangers and discovering real friendships there. I honestly can’t describe how much you all mean to me.

May 2021 be brighter--but if it’s not, we’ve still got each other to hold on to. Love y’all 💕

[diredigression]

"I wouldn't say it's a stupid idea, just that it's the worst plan I've ever heard."

[what the cool kids are doing]

“Oh, mine’s the worst plan you’ve ever heard? Your plan was literally to run in there and start shooting grenades wildly!” Veronica threw her arms wide. “You’re going to bring the entire cave down on top of us!”

“How do you plan on punching them?” complained Carrot. “They’re invisible! What are you gonna punch at?”

Arcade sighed and rubbed his face. “How about Carrot sets them on fire and then you can punch the angry yelling monster-shaped fireballs?”

Carrot and Veronica looked at each other, then shrugged. “Sure.” “Sounds good to me!” And they trotted into the cave.

“Wait! I didn’t actually mean—dammit. I knew better than that.” He rolled his eyes and ran after them.

[diredigression]

Six Sentence Sunday

This week’s offering is a special one, coming from a bit I’m SO EXCITED ABOUT that I’m writing for one @glitchvault74 starring his precious bean of an OC Apollo Ray, one synth detective dad, and one very flirtatious ghoul.

Nick’s silicone face continues to be grumpy. “I’m here on a case. Apollo is…new to the area, needed a place to stay and a guide, so he’s tagging along with me.”

“Ahah. Well, I’ll be happy to take good care of our visitor if he ever needs a break from the ol’ robo-dick over here.” Hancock offers Apollo his most charming smile, with a nice slather of suggestive on top.

Apollo just looks confused. “I like Nick. Why would I want a break from him?”

[diredigression]

Sensory Prompts:  the musty smell of an abandoned home

ok so apparently tumblr ate the ask when i tried to save it as a draft but i think @roachvalentine asked me this prompt with Carrot. Here you go!

[64 Sensory Prompts]

Finally Carrot was at the top of the hill—and below her was a shack. It looked like heaven…or at least as inviting as the Goodsprings bar. Energy returned to her in a surge, and she took a running, laughing jump onto the roof.

The sheet metal crunched and folded under her boots as she skidded along to a stop, but thankfully held. She probably shoulda thought about the condition of a potentially 200-year-old roof before jumping on it. A campfire indicated a former resident, but it was ancient and dissolving in disuse. Carrot found the door and barged in.

Forget the bar—this dark shack, tiny streaks of light streaming valiantly in through pinholes in the sheet metal and dissolving into the clouds of glittering dust, each step announced with the clatter of a kicked can or bottle skittering across the floor, was Doc-Mitchell’s-house-levels of inviting. Glinting faintly in the inadequate green light of the pipboy, shelves were scattered across the room, littered with scrap and with boxes bound to be full of goodies. A workbench stood against a wall, tools in disarray. And there was a second room. That room had more shelves, a wardrobe, and a delicious pile of ammo boxes. Bunk beds stood haphazardly out from the wall, a teddy bear waiting expectantly on the bottom mattress and a toy car underfoot. A family had lived here, then. Children. Probably meant that the locale was reasonably safe. Or not, if that particular misstep was the reason the shack was now abandoned. Almost certainly meant a stash of Blamco somewhere.

The shack was dark and cluttered and smelled like dust and lengthy solitude. Carrot grinned. It felt like home.

[diredigression]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @falloutglow and @adventuresofmeghatron! 

Me: finish ask prompts plz?

Brain: new wip new wip

Me: actual plot plz?

Brain: more overthinking angst

She was uncomfortable from the start.

Wrong, something’s wrong, cried Deacon’s gut as they crawled through the back entrance to the Switchboard. It didn’t even have to do with the dead agents underfoot. She always listened to her gut. It didn’t mean she could call off this mission, though. The Railroad needed Sole on their side. If not as a devout believer in the cause, at least to prevent the enemy from getting their claws in her. Besides, her gut didn’t seem to think it was a life-or-death sort of wrong. Just some subtler, more insidious sort.

It didn’t mean she trusted the wildly deadly vaultsicle. Almost as long as Deacon had been watching her—which, of course, she’d been doing since well before the antique had been loosed on the ‘Wealth—Sole had been an agent of change. For good, mostly. She defended the settlements, killed raiders with gusto. Rarely even accepted payment, preferring to make her salary through the loot and scrap she collected. Well, the loot that she inevitably assigned her varying companions to collect, when it was on a corpse. The corpses were always picked clean, but she never dirtied her own hands with them.

But she wasn’t good. She wasn’t Garvey, the bleeding heart, the eternal champion of the downtrodden. Sole was as cold as Garvey was warm and fuzzy. As relentlessly as she worked, as much as she fought and sacrificed and bled and killed for those under her protection, Deacon didn’t think it was out of the goodness of her soft pre-war heart. Caps, beliefs, or ego? The driver clearly wasn’t caps, and she didn’t preach enough to be starting a new cult. Ego, then?

Whatever was driving her, it was driving her straight into a pack of synths. Deacon cursed.

[diredigression]

WIP Sentence Whenever Time isn't real whatever

blghghg it’s been a week. I did something stupid to my computer and microsoft did lots of stupid things back to me in return when i tried to fix it and that took pretty much all my energy. At least I haven’t noticed any catastrophic (or any, really!) losses or problems, so I got super lucky in that at least.

But I did manage to get a good plan for a wip that’ll also conveniently knock out a bunch of old asks!

I got tagged by I think @falloutglow​ and also @pchberrytea​ (hi and thanks for the tag!) for WIP Wednesday this week! Since I didn’t get that out, have a doubly-long Six Sentence Sunday. Uhh I don’t know who’s all done theirs yet, but if you haven’t, tag me so I can see it!

She hadn’t helped with the cleanup. Still doesn’t have the stomach for corpses. More than comfortable creating those corpses though, and with a brutally modified softball bat at that.

“We did a good thing today. Saved a lot of people. The next group of raiders is going to think twice before attacking a Minutemen settlement.”

She drops her head toward the west, away from him, looking across the tarberry pool and to the forested hill on the far side. The faintest remaining glow of sunlight still tints the horizon dark blue behind the trees. She squints at the silhouettes, willing blurry, tired eyes to focus for signs of movement.

“I mean it, Sole. They called for help and you came. That’s as much as anybody can ask. A minute’s notice, and you responded.”