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Summary
Cleo's fine. She's fine. After all, she's survived the apocalypse: that's better than a lot of the poor bastards shuffling and moaning outside. She's got Scott by her side, like always, and now the two other survivors they've invited off the street. Now they've just got to figure out how to eat, and not get eaten.
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Shoved together into a two-bedroom, four unlikely roommates carry the weight of what they've lost, and search for something new in the shreds of the world left behind. Will they find it in each other, or will this shaky alliance break itself apart under its own weight? And, really, how long do they have until the unthinkable happens?
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feel you through the static by astronomeridian for Seneca_Letters
Fandoms: Video Blogging RPF
14 Apr 2024
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Summary
“Yeah,” he says. He lifts his head up, stares down the camera like a challenge. “You gonna give it to me?”
You’d give him anything he wants, he knows that. But you gotta—“You sure?”
Alex deflates.
“Don’t,” he says. Exhausted. Stubborn. “I know what I—don’t ask me if I’m—”
“It’s okay,” you say quickly. “I’m sorry. Yeah, we can do that.”
Series
- Part 2 of airwaves
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Summary
“You’re going to make me say it.” He sounds resigned.
She turns back, eyes catching on his hair, shining in the evening sun. “I sure am.”
He pulls her gently by the hand, and she goes; his other hand comes to her waist, and she loops her arms over his shoulders like they’re dancing. Impulse must think the same thing, because the corner of his mouth twitches as he starts to rock them gently back and forth.
“I missed you,” he says to her, thumb rubbing circles on one of her ribs. “And I’ve been thinking all day about coming here, and seeing you, and—”
His eyes drop to her lips.
“And?” she prompts, and he blinks back up to meet her eyes.
Impulse smiles. “And doing this.”
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Summary
"Long day," Scar sighs. "Always is—but hey, now you know what it's like! That's why we came by, actually, to check in on you."
The dark silhouette in the doorway snorts. "That's why?"
"Well," Scar says. "And to ask if you wanted to have sex with us."
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Summary
Schlatt looks fucking—looks faded, almost, when he walks through the door, Alex thinks; desaturated, dark bags under his red-rimmed eyes. He scrubs his hand over his face as he shuts the bedroom door behind him, and Alex puts down his phone and pulls the covers next to him aside.
“He’s asleep,” Schlatt says, and his voice is fucking wrecked, too. He sets the baby monitor down on his nightstand with a thunk: it’s making that whooshing sound Alex still isn’t used to, but that’s fucking, infinitely better than the crying, tiny and painful and nonstop.
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