keepswingin

[keepswingin]

thanks I know I’m the favorite ☺️

I love how midnight you just blasted me about my writing xD

git gud scrum

[keepswingin]

is it tho because midnight you seemed to have a point

I love how midnight you just blasted me about my writing xD

git gud scrum

[keepswingin]

Could it be that the new Zombies 4 reveals has risen me from the dead and back onto the Zeddison train?? Maybe 😅 I'm back!! Hi! How are you these days? It's been a while but I've still got loads of prompts if you'll ever take them lol

Or just open to discuss zombies if you end up back in that zone too haha suffer with me

I mean, lore wise can't be any crazier than Zombies 3 right? RIGHT??! While I may not agree with some of the plot points I still have a soft spot for that movie haha

Oh my god it feels like it's been forever!! Hey, how are you doing? It's so awesome to hear from you again! I hope everything has been well on your end and going alright!! :)

I'm always down for prompts but I am unsure if I'm fully treading the waters or just going for a swim xD I just cleaned out my ask box a few weeks ago and of the prompts I kept (which was only a few) your original one is still hanging around because yes I'm going to do it before my deathbed I swear lmao in other words you've always been the best!

Who knows where I'll end up honestly, I was going to finish writing my other thing that I've wanted done for the last few days and instead I finished 1k of zeddison for the first time in ages so we might both end up suffering xD

Honestly the song isn't bad (catchy), the trailer wasn't bad, I'm curious if they're really looking to like restart the franchise / keep it going with the two new kids (as we've been theorizing in the discord) and I just brought up the point of it being interesting that the elders are actually around for both of the groups this time. Like that could be some angst, new against old, blah blah. I think it will be more likely that lore will fill it more for the two new groups over anything old we already know? I hope? I guess we'll find out!

[keepswingin]

The campfire flickers as Addison makes her way over, feeling odd and out of place. 

It's not a new feeling, and it's something she's more than used to, but it still makes her shiver as she takes a seat on one of the abandoned stumps near the fire. She wraps her arms around herself as she watches the flames twist and twirl around each other.

One of the logs finally gives in to the heat, crumbling beneath the others with a quiet sort of destruction. Embers rush the air. Addison leans back when they come too close, watching them as they tumble towards the ground. One lands on a broken leaf, sizzling before giving in. Another on dirt that's been scuffed back and forth. 

Someone shuffles towards her, their heavy footsteps giving them away. She stays silent as Zed comes to a stop beside her, hands shoved into his pockets. He watches the bonfire for a long moment before turning his gaze to her.

When she doesn't make any attempts to speak he takes a seat on the stump beside her own. He drags it closer to her after a minute, careful to still keep some distance between them.

They sit together in silence for a while, simply watching the flames. Addison doesn't know how much time passes before something within him can't bear to the take the silence any longer, his eyes turning back towards her. Something stubborn pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

"I feel like we always end up like this," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "Even without meaning to." 

Addisons sighs, leaning closer to the warmth of the fire. "Maybe it's a sign," she dares to say, watching his reaction out of the corner of her eye. "If we keep ending up on different sides." Zed is shaking his head before she's even finished, turning his body to her, already ready to bare his soul. Something within her warms at the thought of it, at the proof that he would still do anything for her, for them. "It's just hard," she continues, stopping him before he can start. "When you still don't get it." 

"But I do get it," he argues softly. He almost reaches for her, but hesitates, and then lowers his hands back down to his lap. She doesn't like that, the invisible barrier he thinks there is, even when she knows there isn't one. He should know there isn't one too, after all these years.

"I promise I do. I see myself in all of them, even when I try to separate my problems from theirs." He pauses, eyes sliding away from her. "We all have the same problem underneath everything else. That we're different, and I know," he says, lifting his gaze back to her own, keeping her from interrupting, "that you've always felt different too, that you are different, just like us. But Addison, you're always so quick to side with whoever you hear out first, without listening to what anyone else has to say. Without listening to what your friends say." He stops and there's something horribly vulnerable in his gaze, tipping from the edge of his tongue. "Without hearing me out." 

Zed reaches for her then, slipping his fingers between her own, tugging her closer. His fingers are freezing. 

"I always think that they're not going to be heard," she admits lowly, staring at their intertwined hands. "I just think that if I say it for them, if I'm louder than everyone else, if I'm the person for them that I could never be for myself...I think that maybe I'll be able to fix everything before it gets worse." 

Zed nearly smiles. "You've always been good like that, Addy," he says, earnest. "You always find the good in people, even if they can't realize it just yet themselves." He squeezes her hand in reassurance. "But when it comes to this, there's always another part to the story."

Silence envelopes them. Addison shifts closer to Zed, to the flames that try to escape from the stones that keep them in. Zed moves with her, unwilling to let her go. She still can't get over that, over him and how he's never changed. How deep inside he's still the same guy who stole one glance at her and never once looked at anyone else because he just knew. 

"The Daywalkers say - "

"The Vampires say - "

They both share a look before laughing, Zed gesturing her to go first. Addison exhales and starts again, looking over at him to watch his reaction. "The Vampires say that they've always been attacked in one way or another by the Daywalkers. That there's never been peace, no matter what they do." 

Zed's expression doesn't change much. "The Daywalkers said that they haven't done anything to upset them. They said the Vampires have hated them since they could remember." 

"Sounds about right," Addison jokes, shooting him a smile before giving a quick look to the campground around them. The moon sits high in the sky, stars scattered around what remains of the clouds. One cabin is lit from within while the other is shrouded in darkness. She wonders how long they've felt isolated from one another, forced apart from telltales and baseless threats. "Do you think we can help them, Zed?"

Zed chuckles, pretending to think about it for a long moment, scrunching his eyebrows together. He stands up and gently pulls her up with him, before bringing her close and wrapping his arms around her. "I think you can do anything you put your mind to," he says playfully. Addison shoves at his shoulder, and he laughs again before pressing a kiss to her forehead. "We're going to help them. Fix this place up a bit." 

Addison smiles. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he confirms quietly, eyes flickering over to the cabins. "You've always had the power of being able to bring people together and I have no doubt that you can do it again." He smiles too. "That we can do it again." 

She pulls back slightly, just so that she can look up at him, take in that expression he gets whenever he's saying something kind. It's the way his lips pull, the light in his eyes, the way he's always so determined about whatever he's fighting against. She loves him more than she can ever say, she thinks, as she drags him down to meet her, kissing him like it's the first time all over again. 

When she pulls away Zed is beaming and doesn't want to let her go just yet, trying to chase after her lips. She laughs and swats him away but he succeeds in giving her a kiss on the cheek before finally pulling away, their hands linking together as they turn away from the fire. 

The fire flickers as they make their way back to the edge of camp, where their own cabin sits. 

They don't catch the eyes of Victor and Nova watching them from the shadows, their own hands clutched tightly together. 

[keepswingin]

An arm catches her around the waist before she can go any further into the cave, his name caught in her throat.

Panic makes her freeze before she feels the hitch of his chest, pressing against her back, warm breath tickling at the shell of her ear. "Did anyone see you leave?" he asks her in a whisper, and all at once she relaxes, his fingers pressing into her skin.

If it had been anyone else, she would've been done for, but he was safe. He had always been safe.

"No," she breathes.

He hums and she sinks into his hold, trusting him to keep her upright. She didn't know what to start with, what he knew, if he even knew at all. Everything she wants to say builds in her chest, and then she finds that a part of her doesn't want to say anything at all, because this is the most peace she's felt all week. No secret glances or fleeting touches. Just them and the cave hiding them away from the rest of the world.

"I missed you," Victor tells her, like it's the simplest thing in the world. She wishes it was, wishes that there wasn't so much keeping them apart.

"We saw each other this morning," she says, squeezing her eyes shut when she feels his face tuck against her neck.

"You know that's not the same," he dismisses quietly, pressing a kiss against her skin. "I missed you, Nova," another kiss, this one lingering longer, a tighter tug around her waist before everything falls away. "Aren't you tired of hiding?"

She turns around and reaches for him before he fades back into the shadows of the cave, a creature shoved back where he belongs. Except, he's never belonged, not like the rest. Not when it comes to her, or the way any of them think now, eager to draw a line in the sand and never turn back.

"Of course I am," she says, pale fingers pulling at his wrist. She catches the shine of his eyes as they flicker to her bracelet, to the lightstone that rests within. "But I also know what would happen if we told - "

"You've seen the new outsiders, haven't you?" Victor interrupts carefully, and there's something hiding in his gaze that makes her heart beat faster. "They're different and they seem to work just fine. Why can't we?"

"And what do you think they had to go through to get there?" she asks him, voice coming out louder than she means it to be. He simply looks at her, silent. Nova sighs, shaking her head. "I want everything you want. I'm just scared," she admits, and she hates this, laying her heart bare for anyone to come along and pick at it as they please, but this is Victor. He's never hurt her, has always been kind touches and simple smiles, and she refuses to believe everything she's been told when someone like him exists and continues to prove them wrong.

He's more than some scary folktale.

She glances behind her, back out the entrance of the cave, takes in the way the waves lap at the sand of the beach. She remembers playing in that sand growing up, remembers her mother telling her never to run where the sun couldn't reach her. She wonders if he ever played in the same sand under the touch of moonlight.

"We'll get our chance," Victor whispers, bringing her attention back. "Someday."

Nova chuckles at that, fingers slipping between his. "Someone's been hanging out with the outsiders more than he lets on." He squeezes her hand in return, pulling her back to him. Her arms slip around his neck.

"Jealous?" he asks her, teasing.

Nova brings him closer. Her lips brush his. "Always," she whispers before finally closing the distance between them.

[keepswingin]

⸻ LEFT BEHIND ⸻

pairing: caleb x reader

genre: angst, romance, hurt/comfort, canon compliant, caleb character study

w/c: 6.7k

summary: finally catching up, ever decides to take what they believe has always been theirs. caleb refuses to lose her again.

cw: kidnapping, scenes of violence, character death (not of main characters), mentions of past trauma, implied torture, implied medical experimentation

a/n: this has been finished for so long i was just stalling because i didn't feel like editing but then i figured i should post it so that it doesn't end up in the rotting wip pile xD hopefully everyone enjoys!

Ever takes you.

It's less climatic than it should be - an off night, a thundering sky, a wrong turn down an alley you've taken too many times before. Easy to track down, really, because you've gotten comfortable. It's a rule you know above all else, to always be on guard, to never stay in one spot for too long, especially now, when you're poking around in places you shouldn't be, when Caleb is the one you can't quite let go. 

But a storm swirls overhead and you turn down that same alley. You watch your shadow flicker over the bricks, listen to the sound of your footsteps, one after another. You think about how it's odd that the association has been so quiet lately, when it very much seems like it shouldn't be, with everything happening at once, with everyone trying to get their hands on aether cores no one will ever truly understand. 

Lightning flashes, illuminating the world around you. 

You blink. Glance up at the sky. Watch grey clouds move fast above you, promising rain. When you look in front of you, you notice more shadows than before, growing closer. Thick coats bundled around black face masks and leather gloves, eyes that shine under the quickly fading sun. More than you can handle, even as your hand inches towards your waistband, where your gun awaits. 

Panic doesn't push you into action quite yet, but there is a part of you that thinks you should bring your hunter watch to life, that if you ping your location someone would probably be there in minutes to investigate. But was it worth the risk of putting someone else in danger? Was it worth - 

Something sharp pricks at your neck and all at once your world tilts on its side. 

A strangled sound escapes you as you stumble forward a step, and then fall, unable to hold yourself upright. Your knees scrape the pavement as your vision wavers and then wanes, your heartbeat thudding hard in your ears. The figures in front of you grow closer and then blur into a mass of darkness and you have no choice but to close your eyes, unable to make a sound, unable to move. 

A cold hand roughly grabs your chin and turns your head, holding it for a long moment before letting go. Thunder rumbles from above. You can barely think. "We've been looking for you," a voice whispers, close to your ear. "Finally found you." 

As everything around you finally begins to fade, you can't help but think about Caleb. 

You wonder if he'll miss you like you'll miss him.

x

Caleb sits in the living room of a house that feels far too big and watches as rain slides down the window. His phone sits abandoned on the coffee table in front of him, silent and dark. He wonders if she had forgotten they had dinner plans, but there's a part of him that thinks she would never forget. 

The storm is bad. The wind is dangerous, and the lightning is deadly. Storms are always worse in Skyhaven, but it's something he's learned to weather, though it was easier still when she was by his side, or tucked under the blankets in a bed that was no longer his. He reaches for the phone and brings up his messages with her, staring at the unread words. 

He types out another message. Clicks send. 

The storm rages on.

x

"Something wrong, Colonel?" 

Caleb startles, looking away from the window. He doesn't remember the last time he hadn't heard someone approach, and the thought itself isn't something he wants to dwell on. He straightens and turns towards the voice, facing an older man with various medals decorating the crest of his suit. Caleb pauses for a moment and stares, brows knitting together. He doesn't remember his man's face, doesn't remember ever seeing him before. It wasn't odd for Ever to throw in new recruits when they felt like it, but he could usually pick them out of a crowd like the sore thumbs they were. Whenever they dared to add researchers to the mix, or people who had been around since Ever's start, Caleb was usually able to pick them out too. 

This man...this man is an oddity. 

"Did you need something?" Caleb asks, voice firm, eyes giving a quick scan to the rest of the room. It's only the two of them, the rest of the control room empty. Today's a training day for most of the Fleet. He doesn't usually need to be here for days like this one, but he didn't have anywhere else to go. 

He had called her earlier. He had called her last night. He had sent more texts than he would like to admit, and still, there was nothing but silence in return. Paranoia was starting to creep in from the edges of his mind. He was minutes away from making his way over to her apartment. 

The older man doesn't bother to stand at attention. It bothers Caleb, makes him think of the man more as an insurgent than a fellow comrade. If he was from Ever, he must've been a newer model, one that didn't have to go through the same rigorous training as the rest. "No," the man drawls, eyes flickering up to Caleb's face. "Just checking in with you, sir."

Caleb bristles and turns back around. "Don't bother me with such trivial matters again." There's another storm brewing on the horizon. It's been days. He doesn't know how much longer he can wait. Anxiety curls at his insides like a snake around his ribcage. What if she's hurt? What if he's failing her by waiting?

"As you wish, Colonel," the man replies, eerily even. 

When Caleb doesn't hear him move, he uses his Evol to throw the door open. Wood splitters as the handle pushes through the wall. He hopes the man flinches. A few seconds later, he listens to the man's fading footsteps. 

Alone again, Caleb releases a shaky exhale. One hand comes up and runs through his hair. 

What if it was his fault she was missing?

x

x

x

x

Caleb stands in the middle of her apartment and looks around at a place stuck in a moment of serenity. 

The door is broken at the hinges and everything is perfectly in place. There are no signs of struggle, no signs that she's been home anytime recently. There is no takeout in the trash, no dishes in the sink, no laundry piled by the washer, no blankets askew on her bed. There is no signs of life, no signs that someone has lived within this apartment, and Caleb feels his shoulders begin to shake, his heart beating faster. 

Nothing is packed away in suitcases. She didn't decide willingly to leave him. But there hasn't been any contact, and his calls go straight to voicemail, and his messages are delivered but unread so someone is looking at her phone, or too sentimental to destroy it. Or maybe that's apart of evidence of her grisly murder and Caleb is already far too late and she's already gone and he's done nothing but waste time because he was trying to better and it didn't get him anywhere - 

Caleb collapses to the floor, chest heaving, vision blurring. He - He needs to calm down. If he doesn't calm down the chip, the chip will make him - he can't forget, not now, not ever, not when he's already wasted so much time. He needs to calm down, he needs...he needs her. He needs her because he doesn't quite have himself anymore. 

His breath catches in his throat. He can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't just sit here and let the chip - 

Pain in his chest. Pain in his head, pain shooting through an arm far from human.

It hurts. Everything hurts and the world blurs. 

No, he begs, anything but this, anything but now - 

x

Caleb awakens in the middle of the floor of an apartment he doesn't truly remember. 

Slowly, he pulls himself upright, a dull ache deep in his chest, a headache forming in the crevices of his mind. He looks blearily around the room, takes in the furniture, the color palette that isn't as dark and dreary as his own home. There's a stuffed animal from a claw machine sitting between the couch pillows, just out of reach. 

Caleb carefully climbs to his feet and makes his way over to the stuffed animal, picking it up and holding it close. It looks like it's supposed to be a fluffy white dog, but it's missing the right fluff. A stray thought enters his head, that it would look cuter with a colored collar around its neck, and then he freezes. 

I got a collar with a bell. I put it on the cat.

His fingers curl tighter around the plushie.

If I had that kind of bell right now, I should make you wear it, right?

"Fuck," he whispers, bits and pieces coming back to him. It slips through his fingers like sand, even as he desperately tries to hold onto something. He could forget everything else, but he could never forget her. He was...he was wasting time, wasn't he? He was...in her apartment and here for a reason. He needed to - 

He walks towards her bedroom, stuffed dog still clutched in hand and places it carefully on top of her pillows. Then he bends down and reaches under her bed, fingers gazing across the box he's looking for. He tugs it out and pops it open, digging carefully through old and new memories alike. When he reaches the bottom, he finds what he's looking for and pulls it free. 

She would never leave without it. Even if she hated him to the ends of the world, he knows she still wouldn't leave it. It's a small ring fit for a child, crafted out of fraying string and beads. He had given it to her before they were old enough to know what promise rings meant, and he thinks that's what it was always meant to be.

Tucking the ring away and pushing the box back under the bed, next he moves to her closet, picking through the clothes hanging there. Every outfit is in place besides her hunter uniform, and a quick glance at her dresser tells him she was in a hurry to leave last time she was here, makeup sprawled across the desk. 

This...it's a start. He can do something with a start. 

"I'm going to find you," he whispers, a promise to himself and the empty home around him. 

x

x

The Hunters Association is only helpful after he threatens further action through the Fleet. 

He thinks he would feel bad about it any other time but he doesn't, not when it's nearing a week and he still has no trace of her. They offer him everything they know and it gives him her last mission, and her possible last location. Her last mission had something to do with abandoned research labs out on the outskirts of Linkon, though it didn't turn up anything new and she had returned to the base empty handed. 

She was dismissed by six o'clock that night. Security cameras show her walking out the front doors of the association five minutes after. She decides to walk home and takes a left down the street. One of her co-workers tells him that's the path she usually takes. Caleb rewatches the footage three times, trying to find anything abnormal but there's nothing and he is still left with more questions than answers. 

He thanks them for the cooperation and tells them to call him - not the Fleet, him - if they hear anything about her or from her. He feels the distrusting eyes of her Captain burn into his back as he leaves, but he doesn't really care about that either. All he cares about is finding her. 

x

x

He retraces her steps, forwards, backwards, until his feet hurt and his body aches. 

When he finds no evidence the hard way, he returns to the Fleet and checks the cameras. The Fleet has access to nearly all the public cameras in Linkon, though not everyone in the city needs to know that. He's able to find her on one camera after she leaves the association, closer to her apartment, but he loses her when she ducks into an alleyway off the beaten path. 

The cameras on either end of the alley have no footage, disabled from within. 

Caleb digs deeper, searching the access files. If cameras are shut down it's usually for construction or security of a political figure, not for some random hunter choosing to walk down an alley. It's suspicious and makes him uneasy, the further he searches, the less files he finds. It's like the system has been wiped from the inside out. He stares at an empty file screen, where logs of usernames are supposed to be, and finds only his name staring back at him. 

He deletes himself from the system and makes a copy of the footage to a spare flash drive before deleting that too. 

Not for the first time, he wonders if she was taken because of him, because he dragged her too close to the sun. He tried to keep her out of it, tried to make her keep her distance, but she was stubborn and he was helpless to stop her when she made up her mind, unless he took extreme measures. 

Maybe they weren't extreme enough. 

He tucks the flash drive in his pocket and turns to leave, only to be met by the face of the older man from earlier in the week standing in the doorway. He's missing some medals, ones Caleb saw pinned to his suit last time, and his suit isn't as prim and proper as it should be. There's something dark in his eyes that Caleb can see even from across the room.

"Colonel," the man says happily, taking a step forward. "I've been looking for you." 

"Have you?" Caleb asks, crossing his arms. "Because I haven't seen you anywhere."

The man laughs, raspy echoes bouncing off the walls around them. "I think we both know why," he responds, shooting Caleb a crooked smile. "Missions come and go."

He shifts, and his uniform moves with him. Caleb's eyes catch the symbol sitting branded against the cusp of his collarbone. Things begin to fall into place as soon as he starts lining things up. He had tried to protect her and all he did was put her right in the line of fire. There was no telling if she was even still alive if...if they were the ones who took her, finally, after all this time. 

"Were you sent to keep an eye on me?" Caleb asks, and it's hard to keep his voice steady when so many different emotions are shooting through him all at once. It's hard to keep focused when he's worried about her, the chip, the deceiving man in front of him, the organization responsible for plucking him for death and giving him a second chance as something much different. "You've done a shit job," he continues, meeting the man's eyes defiantly. 

"But I've done my job," the man whispers. "She's long gone by now - " 

The man chokes. He reaches up to his throat, scratching his fingernails against his skin desperately. 

Caleb doesn't release him. He only steps forward, and with each step he takes, the harder it is for the man to breathe. "Where. Is. She?" Caleb demands, squeezing tighter and tighter. The man's lips are nearly blue by the time he reaches him, eyes holding a deadly intent. "I have no problem killing you," he spits dangerously. "It's up to you if you want to ever breathe again." 

He watches as the man's widen and a horrible sound escapes him, as if he's trying to speak. Caleb scoffs and releases him, taking pleasure in the way the man's body crumples pathetically to the floor, He struggles to breathe in as much oxygen as his body will allow. Caleb crouches down and waits a moment before using his Evol again, grabbing the man by the chin and jerking his head so that he faces him. 

"Where is she?"

"I - I don't know!" he rasps, still struggling to breathe. "They - They didn't tell me!" 

Caleb chuckles darkly. "Don't lie to me." His Evol tightens. The man cries out in pain. Bloodied marks begin to peel at his chin.

"Wait, wait, wait! I'm - I swear I'm not lying, I'm not lying! They - They sent me here to keep an eye on you, to - to make sure you wouldn't do anything they didn't account for! They were afraid of - " 

"Afraid of what?" he whispers, sick of the man's blubbering already. He tightens his grip even more, sick of the games. He'll kill him even without getting the answers he's looking for, he doesn't mind, not when he has a feeling this man is omitting more than he needs to be, especially with his life on the line. 

The man reaches out and grabs at Caleb's wrist, fingernails digging into the seam of his suit. Caleb goes to shake him off, disgust rolling in his gut, but before he can a strangled sob spilts from the man's battered throat. He pauses, arm hovering in the air. A tear slips from the man's eye. He doubts it's because he's suddenly grown a conscious, especially not if he's part of their - 

"You," he cries, pain straining the tone of his voice. "They're afraid of you." 

Caleb leans back and releases him. 

The man falls to the floor once more, curling around himself, gasping. The noises he makes are unfitting of one from Ever, and he can't help but wonder if they've stopped paying attention to the newer ones because they finally have her. Guilt begins to claw its way up his throat, nearly weighing him down. He tried to protect her, he told them she wasn't worth the time, that he was better, that he would always be better. He tried to stop them, to keep them from ever being able to reach her.

And now they were sending unfinished soldiers out to the frontline. 

Maybe they were right to be scared of him. 

"Did they say anything else?" Caleb's voice is deceptively calm. He returns to his full height and readjusts his glove, straightening out the wrinkles. The man coughs and sniffles, barely turning his head in the other's direction. 

"No, nothing. Nothing, I swear on my life."

Caleb is still and silent for a long moment. "That's not much to swear on." 

The man doesn't have time to react as the bullet is lodged between his eyes, and smoke swirls from the end of Caleb's pistol as he returns it back to his side. He reaches into his pocket, fingers brushing against the flash drive, answers just out of reach.

x

It's a bad idea.

A horrible idea, if Caleb stops and actually thinks about it, but it's the best way for him to get answers, even if he has to play dumb to get them. The door ahead of him tugs open, revealing a face he knows all too well. Something close to fear shivers down his spine. 

The Professor stares back at him, eyes crinkling at the corners once he realizes who it is standing in front of him. "Caleb," he says, sounding surprised. "What are you doing here at this hour?" Caleb keeps his hands locked behind his back, a picture of posture, even if his insides say otherwise. It takes everything within in to keep a steady, uncaring tone to his voice. 

"I was curious about when the next round of testing was going to start." 

The Professor regards Caleb with a cautious stare, shifting. "Is there a reason why you're so eager to begin?" he asks carefully, eyes flicking across Caleb as though they're trying to find something strange or out of place. 

Caleb plays the part well as he flexes his arm slowly, rolling his wrist. "My arm has been a bit slow on the uptake. I was hoping we could make some adjustments alongside everything else." 

It's the right thing to say. Immediately, Caleb can see the Professor relax, like he's provided a suitable enough reason to be poking around about future Ever projects, especially when this isn't a place Caleb enjoys visiting. The Professor allows his lips to almost twitch into a small smile. 

"Unfortunately, the next round has been momentarily delayed. A few of our scientists have been redirected to a different project." 

"Oh?" Caleb hums, acting clueless. "Did they finally figure out a better resource?" 

There's a gleam in the Professor's eye that Caleb doesn't like. "Something like that. I'll let you know as soon as we're able to begin the next stages. For now, just keep things running smoothly, Caleb." 

Caleb gives a short nod and a quick duck of his head as the Professor bids him goodnight, the door shutting quietly behind him. Caleb can't get out of the place fast enough, heart thumping hard as he makes it across the street and down the first alley he sees. He stops and allows himself to lean his forehead against the cold brick, forcing himself to take deep breaths. 

At the very least, he confirmed what he thought. 

Ever did have her and they were already pushing other projects back because they knew she was the key to the lock that they were looking for. At least the Professor told him what he needed to know, even if he didn't realize it. 

He talked specifically about the scientists that worked with Caleb, which meant he knew which places to check. 

x

Four weeks. 

Four weeks since he's last seen her face, heard her voice, held her close. 

He craved her touch like a man would water in a desert, and he didn't know how to combat that feeling. Instead, he resorts to the one thing he knows he can do. He hits the research labs he knows best, and when those turn up empty, he begins going for the ones Ever tries to hide. When he runs out of those that he knows, he interrogates the next scientist he comes across. 

Blood sticking to his palms, he heads for the next round of labs. 

Night bleeds into the horizon. 

He's so close. He knows he is.

x

He didn't know this lab existed. 

The building is small and tucked behind some other abandoned buildings, nearly trespassing into the N109 Zone, windows broken and brick decaying into dust. It was the last lab on the list and so far Caleb was doubtful there was anything inside besides the hollow remains of what used to be, but he makes his way into the building anyway, using the force of his weight to push through the front door. 

It cracks and falls apart as he steps over the threshold. The room before him is bare and covered in discarded papers, weathered with age, some shredded into tiny pieces. Plaster peels from the walls and there's a hallway tucked behind a fallen bookshelf towards the back of the room that he steps over. 

Following the hallway brings him to a second room, this one smaller than the first. Furniture sits askew, wood splintering and cushions thrown to the corner, ripped in two. Thick layers of dust cover empty picture frames barely hanging onto their hooks. There's no signs of life, no signs of anyone having touched this house in years and Caleb's hopes fall deep into the pit of his stomach. 

Did the scientist lie to him? Broken and bleeding and alie slips from between his split lips?

Anger is a close second to the disappointment, the cocktail of emotions beginning to stir deep within him. He's failed again. He can't do anything worthwhile, he never has, and now she's probably dead and gone and he couldn't even protect her when it mattered the most. What was the point of him coming back if nothing changed? If he was still just as useless as he was all those years ago, ignored and thrown aside as they reached for her every single time - 

Caleb's eyes abruptly catch on the far wall. 

There's dust everywhere. There is not dust on the corner of a larger picture frame that sits awkwardly towards the bottom of the wall, just enough to be out of place. 

He walks over to the frame and stares at it for a long moment, and it's then that he sees the traces of fingerprints, sticking to the remains of the frame. There's a small indent within the wood. 

Ever was smart. Caleb always tried to be smarter.

x

The smell of antiseptic burns his nose the further into the lab he gets, the sound of his boots echoing throughout the empty rooms ahead of him. It's too bright, and the sounds of different machines whirring and clicking sets him on edge. He hasn't seen a single person in this place that grows larger and larger after every step he takes, and yet his heart tells him he's in the right place.

She's here. He knows she's here.

There's tables with restraints in most of the rooms. Equipment, clipboards, computers. Needles awaiting their hosts in one, scalpels and hard cloth in another. He quickens his pace, heart pounding. If he thinks too much about this, about where he is and where he has been, the chip will take control. He can't allow that to happen, not now, and he tries his best to keep his breathing steady as he finally makes it to the end of the hallway, only to be met by an eye reader beside the door. 

It's barely a sound decision to break it, bits of metal and glass shattering to the ground but the door opens as he does, spitting broken error codes in an calm voice as he pushes his way through. Several shocked eyes turn to face him as he sees the massive room before him, wires curling from the ceiling down to troves of different devices, to empty tables awaiting test subjects, to -

To her, lying on a lone table in the middle of the room. 

Caleb's world freezes once he sees her. He thinks his heart stops. 

She's restrained by metal around her wrists, ankles, and forehead, keeping her from looking around. Her chest heaves with frantic breaths and a scientist stands above her with a scalpel in hand, blood dripping from the blade. There's needle marks trailing alongside her neck, cuts across her arm, a gash along the curve of muscle in her leg, poorly healing, wrapped in bruising of purple and yellow. She's still in her hunter outfit, though it barely hangs onto her body, already so malnourished and small and if Caleb didn't know her like another side to his heart, he wouldn't know who he was looking at. 

There's six scientists in room. The one standing above her goes to speak but Caleb throws him back with his Evol before he can get any words out, his back hitting the far wall with a loud crack of bone. He doesn't have a chance to scream but one of the other scientists does, scrambling to run, the others attempting to follow. 

Caleb pulls out his pistol and takes aim, exhaling. 

He blinks away what he thinks might be tears before holding the far door they all run to in place with his Evol, listening to the growing sound of their distraught cries as they look back at him. 

Before everything, before this, maybe he would have felt something. Guilt, horror, disgust. But he is what they all fear, and this is clear in a way it has never been before as he sees the way they pull at the door like they can make it move, like they can change the outcome that's already been foretold. As they look at him like a monster, Caleb knows there was never a chance that he wasn't, not when it came to those he loved. 

He shoots them one by one in quick succession before lowering his gun. Their bodies are piled on top of each other, motionless and silent, a scene out of a horror movie neither of them could ever finish when they were younger.

He pockets his weapon and turns back to where she's been abandoned, running over to her side.

It's worse up close. An Evol suppressor sits locked around her neck, skin underneath rubbed raw from struggling. Her chest is a mess of open wounds, some festering and others still bleeding, her skin mangled and messy. Caleb struggles to keep the chip from taking him away right then and there, heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears. His eyes drag back up to meet her own, taking in her sunken cheeks, her pained eyes, the small cut below her lip. 

With a shaking hand he reaches down and wipes his thumb across the cut, wiping the blood away. She flinches with the motion, even as her eyes stay locked with his, and he freezes, unsure what to do next. He wants nothing more than to hold her and never let go, to take all her pain and make it his, to stitch up the wounds and drag the needle along his own skin instead - anything to make it so that she doesn't look how she does now, like the life's been drained out of her, frail and scared and tiny even though she's always been anything but. 

His lips almost tremble. He tries to say her name, to whisper it like a prayer that was never answered, but he finds that nothing comes out, that he is stuck standing over her with his hands half raised and useless when she needs him most. He couldn't protect her then, so how could he protect her now? Offer her comfort when his touch was something she couldn't even bear, broken and bleeding and all his fault?

He keeps his gaze on her as he uses his Evol to carefully dislodge the restraints before leaning over and removing them one by one. She flinches with every movement, each clatter of the metal as he throws it aside, fingers shaking by the time he reaches the suppressor. He's overly careful to keep space between them as he leans in further, not wanting to box her in,  unable to get a good enough look and wanting to be sure of the angle before he gently pulls it from around her neck, the device beeping as it's deactivated. 

It drops the floor unceremoniously. A part of him wants to use his Evol to snap it to pieces and another part of him wants to rip everything in this lab apart, to take whatever data they've gathered and destroy it once and for all, but no part of him wants to leave her. 

He swallows and inches closer to her, one hand gingerly slipping under the curve of her back. He tries not to react to her flinch, but he's sure his face doesn't hide the emotions he feels well. "You're safe now," he whispers, nearly desperate. "I'm going to help you sit up. One, two - " 

He pulls her up as gently as possible, other hand coming to a rest on the side of her waist, one of the only uninjured parts of her. His touch lingers as she cries out and squeezes her eyes shut from what he's sure is pure agony on her wounds, and wants nothing more than to take the sound away and replace it with something else. 

He knows he should let go of her. He knows he should. But he can't. 

He's so lost in thought that he doesn't notice as she slowly lifts her hand up and then rests it on his cheek. He grows still, eyes flickering back to her own. A tear slips down her cheek. And then another. "Caleb?" she whispers, and he - he remembers the last time she sounded like this, broken and tiny and crying and nothing but a failed experiment to everyone around them and - and - 

Caleb nearly breaks himself when her other hand grapples for him, fingers tangling around the chain of his necklace. She looks down at the necklace and then back up at him, squeezing the pendant in a tightly closed fist full of new scars, and Caleb can't take it any longer. 

He surges forward, arms wrapping around her, closing the distance between them until they're breathing the same air, feeling the beat of each other's heartbeats. A sob rattles deep in Caleb's chest when she starts to cry, and he squeezes her tighter, her arms sliding around him, his fingers knotting in her hair.

"This is my fault," she whispers unbidden, words muffled into the cusp of his shoulder. Caleb tucks himself closer, pressing soft kisses to the skin he can reach, shaking his head.

"No," Caleb murmurs, voice choking on another sob. "Not your fault." He's barely able to form sentences, let alone words, body shuddering with the force of emotions he struggles to keep under control. "Never your fault." A tear breaks free, slipping against her skin. "I'm sorry." 

She hiccups, sniffles. He thinks maybe it could've been a laugh, if only they were somewhere else. 

"You found me, Caleb," she says. "You found me."

"Always," he breathes, kissing her again. Her fingers dig into the cloth of his jacket, desperate to find skin and hold on tight. Caleb shifts slightly, nearly pulling her off of the table and into his arms but stopping when her breath hitches. Another kiss and he's tugging at her again, waiting until he feels her hold grow tighter before attempting to pick her up, her arms wrapped around him like it's where she's always belonged. He slides a careful hand down her back before settling his hold on her waist, the other under her knees, tight, secure. Safe. "Let's go home," he says, voice nearly catching and breaking. 

He feels her nod against him.

And he finally takes her home. 

x

You find that you like sleeping with the lights on, after. 

You know it's stupid, really, when there's so many worse things than the dark, but it scares you in a way it never did before, fear curling around your insides until it was the only emotion you knew. You hated it, hated feeling so weak, hated feeling so stupid walking over to the light on the far side of the living room and flicking it on like clockwork every night at six o'clock sharp, always before the sun disappeared under the horizon. 

Tonight is the same as any other, your finger pressing against the light switch before you breathe a small sigh of relief and return to the couch, watching idly as the weatherman tells you that it's going to storm all week, another thing you didn't fare too well with anymore. 

It made it hard to be in Skyhaven, the storms. They were so, so loud up there, closer to the clouds. It reminded you of that lab, of the echo every single instrument made, of the way some machines made you scream and others made you beg. It's all just too much and for a long moment, you're back there, and there's thunder outside and you are trapped on a table with a scalpel above you and no way out - 

The front door opens and closes.

Footsteps echo, growing closer and closer to you. You barely notice, trying to bring yourself back from a place you never want to revisit, and then there's a hand sliding across your back, squeezing tightly at your shoulder. Warm breath ghosts across your ear. "Missed you, pipsqueak," Caleb whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek and lingering for a long second before pulling away, ruffling your hair as he goes. "I'll start dinner." 

You wait for his footsteps to fade before turning and watching as he starts opening cabinets and pulling out ingredients, stacking them in a neat pile on the counter, followed by pans and lids. He fills a pot with water and places it on the farthest burner, flicking on the stove. When he turns again, his eyes catch your own and he slows to a stop, watching you. 

He's still in uniform. His hat is pristine and perfectly in place. He's preparing to make you dinner, as though he knows that your head isn't in the right place tonight. He looks at you like he already knows everything you could say. He's hard lines to soft edges that never quite disappeared, and you find yourself moving off the couch and towards him. 

He waits until you're close enough before opening his arms and wrapping you into a hug, reading your mind once more. You exhale and the sound shudders through you. The twisting of your gut and shadows of your mind go with it. 

Caleb presses a kiss to your hair. He waits for you to speak first and for a long moment you simply follow the rise and fall of his chest. Words swell in your chest before they finally decide to spill from you, whispering across the silence between you. 

"I think I love you." 

The water in the pot begins to boil, soft pops echoing from the stove. A soft chuckle rumbles through Caleb's chest. One of his hands intertwines with your own. "Popping the question so soon, pipsqueak?" he jokes quietly, and you can't help but roll your eyes, gently shoving him with your shoulder. He holds onto you tighter in retaliation. 

"I'm serious," you say. 

"So am I," he returns, and when you turn your head to look at him, he's smiling down at you like you're the sun. "I've always wanted to spend the rest of my life with you." A pause. His eyes, staring right through you. "I love you too." 

You feel something inside you start to mend with his words. The sounds of the past are eased away with the sound of his voice, the bitter cold biting at you washed away by warmth. His words settle deep in your chest and easily make a home where you thought only an empty chasm remained.

You close the distance between you, your lips meeting his. He sinks into you, smiling, and you pull him closer, kiss him deeper. You think this is what love must feel like, what it must taste like, what it must look like. You think this is what devotion is, what your hopes and dreams are, what you've been missing for what feels like your entire life.

You think this is home, and that it's never once been a place, because it's always been a person. 

It's always been him.

[keepswingin]

DAYBREAK; chapter 14

---

pairing lee know x reader

genre smau, dystopia AU, angst, hurt/comfort, slowburn romance, hope/hopelessness, life goes on, ordinary life during extraordinary times

summary independant entertainment doesn't make money, everyone knows that - not dancing, not boxing. not without a company's name attached to it and the soul ripped out of it so that it can only sit on the stage bleeding. you knew you never should have agreed to get involved in his studio, that the bills would pile up and the income would run dry, that the government would come knocking telling you to shut up and sit down...but it makes him so happy, to be able to dance. it gives him a reason to stay. you don't know what you'd do without that.

taglist OPEN

a/n due to the amount of back and forth between texts and written parts in this chapter there are no 'written part below' warnings. make sure you get the full experience!

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The cat scampers as soon as you return to the apartment, disappearing under the low cabinet that holds the TV and staring out at you from its shadows. A sigh shudders through your chest at the sight of it, acceptance of the creature's mistrust settling in the cracks of your heart; tears prick at your eyes again, but you do not cry. You will not shed any more tears over a cat you don't like anyway.

Not that it's really about the cat. You know that, deep down, even if you're still choosing to ignore it. You cross the room on feet that feel too exhausted to pick themselves up off the ground even when your toe catches on the edge of the rug, sit down heavy on the couch and let your head sink to the cushion. The pillows that wait there smell like Minho; it's comforting, in a way that doesn't make logical sense to you, but you breathe deep anyway, trying to expand your chest around the tightness that is wound there.

There's a noise in your bedroom, a scrape and a grunt of effort that is not a cat, and your stomach drops. Minho is-

Home, as his face appears over the back of the couch, looking between you and the grey cat and back again. Confusion paints his face at a funny angle, twisting together his brow and pulling his lips down. "Where have you been?" he asks, as if he doesn't already know, as if he wouldn't have noticed that the cat was missing the moment he entered the apartment.

"Nowhere," you sigh into his pillow as your eyes slide away from him, focusing on the cat. 

He breathes a measured breath, exhaling through his nose. "Where has the cat been?" he asks instead, far more pointedly.

"I don't know," you lie.

"Your clothes are wet," he says, his hand touching your shoulder.

You shudder away from him automatically, jerking out of his reach; not because you're afraid of the lie, but rather the skitty, uneven beat of your heart and the black hole that eats away at the centre of your chest, the fear that he might be able to see that evil residing within you. He frowns again, of course, suspicion blazing in his eyes even as he withdraws. 

"Are you going to go and check if the cat is wet too?" you snap, as if you are angry; but the ire in your voice is hollow, the sharpness of your tongue whetted by the choke of your throat as tears threaten to prick your eyes. You don't know why you're like this, and you don't know how to chase him away without hurting him, and you can't tell him anything or he will leave but if you swallow it down it is going to eat you instead, and-

"Do I need to?" he asks as he disappears from view. He doesn't go far; you can hear him behind the couch even if you cannot see him, quiet as he looks through the things in his stash.

"Aren't you missing one of your shows?" you say tersely, because he is out of eyeshot but still doggedly on your tail, and you'd rather watch one of the reality survival shows he loves so much than talk to him any longer.

"Probably," he says as if he doesn't really care, and then he reappears, dropping something heavy in your lap on his way to the kitchen. The old phone again, you realise as you pick it up, already open to the blank message thread. A demand that you talk, a plea for the truth that you cannot say out loud.

Fear rots in your stomach, shooting down your limbs like an electric current. All of a sudden, the couch is no longer comfortable; the cat's gaze is damning you straight to a dark and lonely hell, the sigh of Minho's breath whispers small hates that fill the room like knives. The cursor on the screen blinks and blinks at you, all-knowing and ever patient. You feel like you could get up and run all the way out the city and still never feel safe. You could scratch off your skin and the pain would barely count as penance. You feel endangered, trapped, cornered, caught red-handed in a life that is a lie.

Minho's gaze burns in yours when you look up at him in the kitchen, his elbows leaning on the counter so that he can watch you over the top of his phone screen. The attention scalds your skin, scrapes it raw and bloody; you want to cower away from it in fear, but your spine remains ramrod straight, pressed into the cushions of the couch, your limbs stiff where they lie strewn as if everything is fine.

He's going to hate you. You can see it there in his eyes already, that intensity with which he stands and judges you and the heat of it on your cheeks. Not just for the cat either, but for everything else. He is a rebel, a sympathiser. He is disconnected from the grid and the ruling society. He should be dead. And he's going to hate you, going to take everything he has in this small life of yours and run for the hills the moment you let the words slip into the ether, and you will be left here to become destitute and worthless, stripped of everything that you could ever care about.

You're taking too long to answer, when he'd stood there and watched you type the message and delete it and knows there is something you are leaving unsaid. But what do you say, when you've just realised that every prized possession you have is tied to a man that could leave at a moment's notice? How do you keep him from leaving, when you are so blackened and rotten inside?

Reluctantly, you do as you're told, dragging yourself upright with one arm and slumping instead into one corner, hiding your phone in the crook of your knees as you draw them towards your chest. Minho's weight lands on the other side a moment later, the cushions dipping and rearranging as he sits; close, but not quite touching, the couch too small to keep you any further away. 

For a moment, he looks at you, his mouth half-open as if there is something he is about to say; and then he glances down at the phone in his hand, typing. 

Tears prick at your eyes at the mention of the cat, their presence inexplicable to you but impossible to withhold. You turn your face away from him as you bite them back, blinking them away; the cat is gone now, disappeared from under the cabinet; the others are roaming the kitchen floor, ducking in and out of sight as they sniff around for crumbs or one of the mice that plague the building.

The sight of their feet padding across the floorboards makes you realise suddenly just how quiet the apartment is. Even the neighbours don't seem to draw breath in the night, nor do the cars passing by outside throttle their engines loud enough for you to hear. Only the rain makes a sound, pattering against the window; only your heart pounding in your ears covers the short pant of your breath.

Beside you, Minho waits, his patience unwinding endlessly. His eyes are ablaze, so clearly clouded with all the things he has to say, but his mouth stays sewn shut, conscious of the listening phones that sit together on the counter, waiting for a noise to awake them.  His thumbs stand ready over the screen of his other phone instead; you know without asking that he will continue to type out messages until you respond, that no kind of government scheme will stop him from speaking when he wants to speak.

And when you think about it like that, you realise you should have seen the rebel in him a long time ago. But that doesn't matter now. Nothing matters now, except for the cold stone in your chest that whispers you can't avoid him now. The acceptance sinks in slowly, choked by the instinct to fight against it tooth and nail, to deny and deflect in the modern way or even just give in to the primal urge to run far, far away. But even running won't work; he will catch you long before you can disappear, and that's no way to convince him to stay anyway. There's no running from debt, or the government, or this conversation.

A sob hiccups out of your throat without warning, breaking the silence of the cold room. Your knees curl tighter to your chest, your chin dropping so that your hair can hide your face - the tears come, but there aren't as many as you feel like there should be. You feel like a hysterical wreck on the inside, you think, your breath short and rasping and your chest wound tight, your muscles locked in place, but the shell of your body is frozen, shaking with another sob that will not come and the pressure behind your head that doesn't ease.

A hand touches your shoulder and then your neck, its arm reaching around to drag you out of the shell-shock that sits you so immobile in that one spot. You find yourself in the warmth of his arms, your face buried in the crook of his neck; when you take a shuddering breath, and then another one, you find that they reach a little deeper than before, that your chest unwinds just a fraction. And you've never really touched him like this before, except for the awkward intimacy of being his nurse, but you find it is easy to slide an arm around his back in response, to cling to his neck and to choke out a sob again and to let the warmth of his body melt the cold stiffness in yours.

You can't remember the last time someone held you in their arms. You think maybe you were starting to forget it was a thing that people could do.

He doesn't hate you.

"I would never hate you," he breathes over your head, as if he can read your mind. "You know that, right? You've saved my life so many times that I've lost count."

"I've only saved you once," you mutter into the skin of his neck.

His hand lifts your chin, gentle despite the callouses and scars that rough his skin, his fingers pushing back your hair. You've never seen his face this close before; but still, every line you study is familiar, every strand of hair that falls into his eyes even as he shakes them away. For a moment, he stares at you with that funny look that says he is waiting for something else to say, and then he hands you your phone again, depositing it gently in your lap.

It takes a minute for the messages to comprehend through the storm of your thoughts, the immediate twist of your gut that you can't decipher the meaning of. You feel pent up and exhausted at the same time, confusion and yet terrifying clarity. And in the eye of the hurricane, the fourth message;

You should think before you move, but you don't. There's no room left inside your head or your heart for logic, any more than there is for new hate or old, fight or flight or fear. Your body just moves for you, your hand still curled around the back of his neck; your mouth, crashing into his, your nails digging into his skin, your heart in your chest, straining at the cage of your ribs for more, more, more-

It is over before it even begins, your own body ripping you away and leaving you breathless and empty - and you're not sure who pulled away first or why you had even done that in the first place, and all you can think is-

mistake.

TAGLIST

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@realrintaro @estella-novella

[keepswingin]

went from 145 asks in my inbox to 7

[keepswingin]

"I should've supported you. No matter what."

"That's the last thing I want you to do, you know," Minho says as easily as the breeze that pushes at your backs.

When you were younger, it was fun to be up here, looking down at the world beneath you like you ruled something. It doesn't mean as much now, smoke billowing across the city, masses of people moving forward until someone else stops them. "I wanted to keep you as far away from this as possible." 

You scoff, shaking your head.

The two of you are sitting on the edge of this building like it can still hold your combined weight. It's questionable if it can, these days, but you've always pushed the limits, Minho steadfast at your side. When you turn your head to look over at him his gaze is directed at the city below you. You watch as his eyes flicker from one moving mass of people to the next, before they linger on a checkpoint. 

You follow his gaze and watch silently as another innocent is torn apart. 

The sound doesn't echo. Not anymore, not now, when the clouds have gone and the sun never sets and the city sits still like something encased in resin. Everything within it continues to move, unaware of the trap they're stuck in. Sometimes it feels like only you and Minho truly know what's going on, or how the world used to be. 

You don't miss it as much as you think you would. 

"Hey," you call, and it works, his eyes sliding over to you. He watches you patiently as you hum and reach over, poking at his side. "You still owe me dinner. What are we having?" 

He doesn't offer a reaction, instead shrugging his shoulders and leaning back on his hands. His gaze drifts towards the sky, towards the grey that hovers like an unending fog. "Beetles." 

You scrunch your nose in displeasure. "I had that earlier this week." 

"It's either that or rats," he says simply without looking over. You reach over and poke him again. He fixes you with an unimpressed look. "What?" You continue to stare at him. Eventually he sighs and climbs to his feet, brushing off the sides of his pants. "You better be ready to run, then," he says, reaching for the bandana tucked under his shirt and pulling it over his nose. You follow his lead, standing and pulling your own cloth over his mouth. "And hope that they didn't empty the disposal already."

"It's not even Tuesday," you remark, smiling to yourself with your small victory. "They stick to their schedule more than you do."

"Funny," Minho deadpans. He looks at you for a long moment before walking over and reaching for your bandana, pulling it up higher, tucking it closer to your skin. You watch his eyes as he does so and catch his hand before he can pull away, keeping him close.

Your chest shakes with a million words you want to say. He beats you to the punch, pulling himself from your grip and poking you on the nose. "Don't die on me," he jokes, and you scowl, shoving him back. 

"Let's go," you say, leading the way.

Minho follows you as you both make your way back down into a city that could very well eat you both alive. You wonder when that day will come, and if Minho will save you then too.

[keepswingin]

“I wish it wasn’t you” & SKZ

You laugh. The sound crackles through your chest like radio static and nearly turns into a sob. "Who do you wish it was, then?" you ask, as if the answer would be anything better than what you already know. "Your ex?" 

He reaches for you, cold fingers slipping against the crook of your elbow. You pull away. "Answer me," you whisper, and there's a part of you that wonders if your voice will turn hysterical. Maybe you're overreacting about this, maybe he's always been this way - or maybe, just maybe, he's acting like this because you've given him no other choice. 

He tries to approach you again, taking one step closer, and then another. Before you can move away he's pulling you to him, arms wrapping around you in a hug that makes your skin crawl. It's not a feeling you ever thought you would associate with him, with the one person you trusted to the moon and back. Disgust churns in your gut. You nearly push him away. 

"I wish it wasn't you because I don't know what to do next," he blurts all in one breath, breathing heavier than he was a minute ago, tone wobbling and arms squeezing you desperately tight. "I don't know what to do next, and I don't want to lose you, and I don't want to mess this up before it even begins."

A pause that feels like it lasts longer than eternity. You feel like you're teetering on the edge of a cliff and his hold is slipping. You don't want to let go.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, pulling back so that his forehead presses gently against your own and when you finally see his eyes you realize they shine against the overhead lights, his chin nearly trembling. "I'm so sorry." 

Something bubbles up inside of you. You don't know what it is, if it's disgust or anger or an unbridled fear of the unknown, but it makes you close your eyes and pretend that yesterday never left you. It was easier yesterday. It was always easier before the storm, before the clouds parted and you had to look around and see if anyone was still standing beside you.

His fingers curl around the hem of your shirt, holding tight. For a long moment, you wonder if he's going to sink to his knees and beg for forgiveness. You're not sure you want it, when you think back on what he had said no more than twenty minutes ago. You hadn't heard the shock coloring his tone, the disbelieving crinkle of his eyes, the way his eyes flickered from your face down to your belly. 

Was there malice in what he had said?  Or was that you, souring everything put in front of you in a desperate bid to see how he would react?

"I don't know what comes next," he says, "but I'd never let you face it alone." 

Faintly, you think back to the lines you had stared at until your sight had blurred. Was it the correct color? The correct order? Could you even trust yourself? Did he realize just how dangerous this was? A relationship shrouded in shadow thrust into the limelight because of a silly mistake? 

There's a lump in your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "I don't think I can do this," you whisper, the truth spilling from you with an ugly sound. "I can't take care of someone else when I can barely take care of myself." Lips press against yours then, featherlight before there's another kiss pressed to your cheek, the corner of your eye. "We aren't ready for this." 

A hand grasps at your own, squeezing tight enough to hurt. "We'll figure it out," he says, and you think he sounds just as unsure as you do. "We always do." 

You don't remember closing your eyes but when you open them, you find that he's already across the room, raising the phone to his ear. His other hand is shoved into his pocket, and when the person on the other end of the line picks up, his voice shakes all over again. He glances back at you after speaking for a moment, gaze lingering. 

He walks over and leaves a kiss against your cheek before leaving you alone in the room, door clicking shut behind him. 

You laugh.

You laugh until it turns into a sob, twisting at your chest until you feel nothing at all.

[keepswingin]

1, 8, 10, 11, 17, 27, 38

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

I write in whatever the default is. I never got around to caring about fonts or things because I knew it would end up posted somewhere that has it's own base font anyway (ao3, tumblr)

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?

This is a hard one only because I feel like I go through times where I can write one fine and the other is just annoyingly difficult xD if I had to pick though, I think I would choose dialogue because sometimes I struggle with picking out the right words and terms to describe scenes and keep things from repeating. With dialogue I can usually find some sort of flow even if I have no idea where the character is standing in a room.

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

I think about old fics sometimes and how the wrong fics aways gain traction. It always works out that something you don't really like after it's finished is the thing that everyone else seems to enjoy, and then you're kinda just stuck in limbo with it. A lot of unfinished fics haunt me too, especially when I start thinking about how it's probably easy to just finish this or put an ending to that, but then I get worried that it's been too long or my writing will be too different or it just won't work and then repeat that process for anything still sitting around xD

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

I don't usually cut out things. If anything the biggest edits/cuts happen during editing which is the final step of writing for me, and I can only remember a handful of lines that I thought were really cool and then ended up deleting. If I do enjoy something enough that I want to hold onto it, I'll move it to the bottom of the doc to see if I can work it in somewhere else.

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

You specifically picked this to dig around for fic spoilers xD truth is besides the little one shots I've done over these past two weeks I really haven't touched anything else. There's lots of wips that i'm excited to finish if it ever happens - the apocalypse fic was really me trying to deep dive into a dark long work about the horrors of humanity, the chenji royalty au is about finding a home in someone broken, crack the shell is literally cyberpunk winter solider au with a sequel already planned, head above water is me trying to branch out into something inherently different than what I'm used to, and what I'm staring next for lads is going to be me adding whump and expanding/fleshing out an given au verse with lots of potential. When I do prompts or short works it's mostly to give me a restart when it's been a while since writing last.

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

Already Answered Here

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

Already Answered Here

[keepswingin]

27, 28, 38

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

I wouldn't say characters really stress me out, but more the situations I end up putting them in sometimes because then I have to figure out how to get them out of those situations in a semi-plausible way xD

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

I would have to say Wyatt from Disney Zombies purely because there was enough about his character left unfinished/in the dark that it allowed me to mess around with a lot of stuff you don't usually get to mess around with. There's a lot of characters I enjoy just because it's always fun to break them down and then build them back up.

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

Hm I don't think I have anything really weird about my writing process? The closest thing I would say is that I cannot write in silence.

[keepswingin]

yeah but I don’t get the same satisfaction of you ignoring them like in messages you can just comment on it right there and then if it’s in your ask box it’ll rot and start stinking up the house until you remember it exists and either write it or bury it

i am so angry about this actually do you know how many prompts i've lost because it didn't let me send you asks. i can only annoy zom mom and rain so much

writing them down is FREE

so is sending them to me on discord but you REFUSED. who's taking things out the back to shoot them now huh

[keepswingin]

Weird Questions for Writers (because writers are weird)

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true?

6. What is your darkest fear about writing?

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

20. If a witch offered you the choice between eternal happiness with your one true love and the ability to finally finish, perfect, and publish your dearest, darlingest, most precious WIP in exactly the way you've always imagined it — which would you choose? You can’t have both sorry, life’s a bitch

21. Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not?

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

29. Where do you draw your inspiration? What do you do when the inspiration well runs dry?

30. Talk to me about the role dreams play in your writing life. Have you ever used material from your dreams in your writing? Have you ever written in a dream? Did you remember it when you woke up?

31. Write a short love letter to your readers.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?

34. Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go:

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice...what do you Know?

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

[keepswingin]

“Are you happy now?”

"Are you?" he snaps, voice echoing far too clearly across the tiny apartment. You wince at his volume. He doesn't notice - or doesn't currently care, beginning to pace a line between the couch and coffee table.

His jaw trembles.

The worse part of it all is that you don't have an answer ready to fire back, because you simply don't know. You don't know how to feel, now that your head is clearer, now that he's in front of you and listening. It's easy to do something when you're emboldened by the darkness around you, easier still to throw the words out there when you think they might mean something.

After all this time, after all this thought, after watching his face slip away from the smile he had when he first came home, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your head, to the frown that's etched there now, you wonder just what you've done.

You shift. He continues to pace.

"I thought..." you nearly trail off as you attempt to put the words together, wringing your hands. "I thought it was what you wanted, Seungmin - "

"To lose you?" he nearly shouts, turning back toward you. He looks vulnerable all too suddenly, and it sits like a stone in your stomach. "I never wanted to lose you," he says, closing the distance between you. He goes to reach for you and then seems to think better of it, hand hovering in the air between you.

Your eyes wander from his face down to his chest. You remember lying against him, listening to him whisper his grievances about work. You remember him saying that things would be easier if it was just him against the world. You remember him kissing your knuckles and asking if you would forgive him if he ran.

There's a lump in your throat. There's a cavern in your chest. It's hard to swallow. It's hard to breathe.

"You said you were sick of everything," you whisper, trying your best to keep your voice from shaking, to keep yourself together even if it's starting to crack apart your heart. "You said you wanted to run."

You remember him squeezing your hand and asking if it was okay to break the law or if you'd hate him. You had said that you could never hate him.

Seungmin stares at you. You think there might be tears in his eyes, that his lip trembles, that his hand shakes as he lowers it back down to his side and allows it to clench into a tight fist.

He seems to deflate then, shoulders pinching inwards. His eyes flicker down to the ground. "With you," he whispers, so quietly that you nearly miss the words. "I wanted to run away with you."

And oh, how the floor drops out from under you.

Your mouth opens and closes. You struggle to get the words out and succeed in only saying his name, a breathless whisper from inside of you.

Seungmin lifts his head. He looks through you.

There's a knock on the door behind you. The shuffle of boots and bodies on creaking stairs. The stranger's voice that resounds throughout the apartment is deep and impatient.

"It's too late now," Seungmin says, making his way to the door. You reach out and grab his wrist, stopping him from touching it.

"I can fix this," you whisper, determined to fix the broken parts, to stop this mess you've made from becoming any worse. "Let me fix this."

Seungmin doesn't lift his head this time.

He pulls away from your grip. "No," he says. "You can't."

He goes for the door again, and you don't bother trying to stop him. You try to catch his eyes one last time, because you think you'll miss that the most, the way in which he looks at you, smiling or sad or angry.

The door opens.

You don't get a second chance.

inspired by DAYBREAK

[keepswingin]

⸻ M A S T E R P O S T

➜ keeps / 26 ➜ part time soulmate, full time problem

➜ writing tag: keepswingin writes ➜ ao3: keep_swinging

✓ requests always open ✓ inbox always open

➜ currently writing: multi-fandom

⸻ WRITING MASTERLISTS BELOW THE CUT

love and deepspace masterlist

stray kids masterlist

nct masterlist

disney zombies masterlist / coming soon...

misc fandoms masterlist / coming soon...

thanks for visiting! reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated!!

[keepswingin]

love and deepspace fanfics

tumblr fics

to know someone / angst, hurt/comfort another day, another wanderer. but this one is different, and sylus just so happens to be in the way. sylus x reader. rated t.

stumble in the dark / angst, hurt/comfort he never wanted you to see him like this. caleb x reader. rated t.

open heart iii / romance, angst, hurt/comfort you wake up. zayne x reader. rated t.

open heart ii / angst he waits. zayne x reader. rated t.

open heart i / romance, angst you finally found what you were looking for, but at what cost? zayne x reader. rated t.

bonded forevermore / romance, angst, hurt no comfort he can't refuse the bond shared between you. rafayel x mc. rated m. notes: second pov from rafayel's eyes. what-if au. tw: implied non-con

sweet dreams / romance, fluff you try not to wake him; he pulls you close anyway. xavier x reader. rated t.

ao3 fics

tba