Just got the go-ahead to post my @fallout-zinepiece!
This was seriously fun to do, and I made some amazing friends though this project <333 Remember, if you wanna view the full thing, be sure to check out Wasteland Blues, or on my Patreon!
Thanks again to @tokio-star for putting together this zine <33
The attention, the affection, the craving need for large hands at his back and shoulders.
He can only trick himself out of his loneliness so much, for so long. He feels a crippling pang of pain in his chest as the hands at his waist shatter into the aether, reminding him once more that he is alone in this large cold bed.
He remembers the warmth, the soft and thick fur under his fingertips. He reaches out into the empty space under the sheets, hoping to find a large warm hand. He finds no one.
He’s cold. The house is so cold without the other there.
He remembers the lingering weight on his back and head when he was leaned on, the low grumbling of a tired Charr demanding he hold still a little longer to cuddle. The often disgusting but amusing small bites and nips at his foliage, demanding his attention.
Kisses rough and full of teeth, near biting and threatening to scratch bark. Tender licks that made him recoil in disgust as they ran up the length of his face and pushed his leaves out of his face. The warm rich laughter that followed, and the loving squeeze round his shoulders.
He misses it all terribly.
The doctor stares at the ceiling for what feels like hours before closing his eyes and attempting to let his imagination once more run wild.
Memories and illusions of warm hands and gentle kisses are replaced with a grim visage. The memory of broken and leaking skin, a black ichor dripping from exposed fangs and flesh bare jaws. The heat of the others breath a hollow and cold wheeze against his neck and chest. He feels sick.
But it’s still him, it’s still his Weyther. It’s still the man who loved him, still the man who thanked him despite his failure.
He swallows the pain and disgust, reality and dream melding into a grotesque nightmare as he presses his lips to the broken and bloodied ones of his departed darling. It’s still him, it’s all still him, and he was willing to accept and live with that, letting that cold and foul liquid fill his mouth and choke him.
For a moment, he considered tearing time open once more, and pulling the other forward just for one more kiss, one more hug one more - anything.
He awakens, coughing. No liquid spills from his lips but his own spittle, no cold haunched Charr looming over him adoringly. No warmth nor love, just silence and the cold.
He sighs and lies his head back, now more frustrated than anything. Then the guilt rushes in like water to a storm drain, filling him up.
Disgusting, he felt disgusting. Wanting to bring the other back because he didn’t wish to spend another night alone. Wanting to hold the others hands in his, wanting to hear the others heart in the dark, wanting to feel the gentle squeeze of his beloveds arms around him as he breathed.
He scowled at the ceiling, then rolled to his side and tightened the sheets round himself.
Maybe tomorrow he’d give in and break his word to Weyther, just not today.
heyyyy i missed the first day so i combined the first two prompts! there’s something about Alex’s various enemies picking him up like he weighs nothing that i just. Really Like
