#in the meantime tho I hope everyone has been enjoying me repeatedly throwing this angst at u

[sirmanmister]

Wip Wednesday!!

Tysm for the tag @dont-set-the-world-on-fire!

I’ll tag @twosides--samecoin @oldworldwidgets @irradiatedrosegarden and anyone else that wants to join! :D

Get it over with, MacCready chanted to himself, forcing the words to loop through his mind as he worked his way West. Get it over with. It’ll be better this way.

It didn’t feel like it would be better. It felt like he was walking straight towards Deathclaw fucking Sanctuary, on some morbid final march that would mark the end of his life for good. Part of him wanted to slow down, to wait just a little bit longer, savour the last journey he would probably ever take while sane, but another part of him wanted to run, to get it all over with faster, to plunge himself into the misery and hopelessness that had been lapping at his consciousness for the past week, succumb to the despair that made his hands shake whenever he held his rifle.

MacCready just wanted things to be different.

He closed his eyes to keep them from burning, --he wasn’t sure if it was tears welling or because he had been staring straight ahead unblinkingly for the past several minutes-- and very promptly tripped over a rock.

His arms jolted out for balance for half a second, just long enough to recover his footing, and then they instinctively came up and around the ratty blue backpack that he had slung backwards over his chest, holding it closer to himself.

MacCready let out a sharp puff of air, eyes closing again briefly with relief, and then turned his attention downwards, carefully peeling back a soft grey blanket to peek at the ten-month old infant within.

Duncan grumbled quietly, shifting a little like he did whenever he was about to wake up, but his expression smoothed after a moment, and he made a cooing sound that had MacCready struggling to breathe.

Something awful and heavy choked out the adoration that sang through his entire body, drowning it beneath a thick, dark dread that simmered in MacCready’s chest like hot oil. It spilled past his ribs, dissolving his insides like flesh beneath a centaur’s spit, smoke curling away black and dirty. Bile rose in the back of his throat, and he tasted something bitter and metallic.

MacCready clenched his jaw, wavering in place for a moment as he fought the desperate pleas that started up in the back of his mind. He gently moved the blanket back into place and continued to walk.

Little Lamplight was only three more miles away.