#Enemies of Everywhere

[linkeduniverse]

Entrance pt.3

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[pequod-come-pick-me-up-im-scared]

:p

[booart5]

Reblogging this drawing with the Timelapse because I finally figured out how to add those and I think it’s cool

Took me about 60 hours which is CRAZY,, I call this one The Quark Family when I’m talking about it (which seems apt) and I’ve literally crammed so many references and details and hours into this my life feels so empty without it. Tumblr is butchering the image quality but that’s just what it is ig,,, I’ve tried and I can’t seem to fix it

Progress shots and closeups under the cut (and a full list of the references and stuff I crammed in in the tags bc I have to know that they’re all noticed)

[deimcs]

Solas wants to be a hero. That's who he is, deep down. But it's easier for him to play the villain. Because that means he didn't fail. All the damage he's done, the people he's hurt— it becomes a choice.

[officialmythjae]

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[swordofsanctuary]

saw this and immediately thought of lloyd

[infernal-lamb]

the lamb: yall mind if i explode into tentacles

havin a little fun with the lamb and potential tentacle body horror because i think sometimes they should be gross. why SHOULDN'T these God creatures be an affront to the nature of creation

[mysticprofessoralienhumanoid]

orv fanfic writers have a chance to do the funniest thing rn and by that i mean Kim Dokja, who's been on the frontlines, correcting Yoo Joonhyuk on how to use guns properly

[dancingindreamlight]

Anyone who says Ukrainian lives don't matter because their leader said they didnt

Anyone who said Ukrainian lives don't matter because others have it worse

Anyone who said Ukrainian lives don't matter because the US government sent them money

SHUT UP.

At a certain point it does no good to compare suffering. What does it do? Besides, their country is under attack and 1/5 of their country is under occupation and the true death toll in the occupied areas isn't known. The US gov pulls back it support because, you know. Russian propaganda is ubiquitous and is constantly devaluing their lives-- and people around the world go along with it!

How can anyone say they have it good when they're bombed almost daily. When their children are kidnapped by the thousands. When people in the occupied territories can't even hang a Ukrainian flag or speak their language without risking the most horrific torture that exists. Don't try to measure or quantify their suffering and don't you dare try to belittle it. If you do you're complicit in russias dehumanizing of them and in their imperial designs to crush them.

[kivaember]

i swear arthur is unkillable bc i've dragged him through the highest level bounties where you have scaldra and techrot trying to crawl up your ass and my screen is an incomprehensible mess of flashing lights and numbers, and usually in those situations the Hex with you would get downed once or twice bc their AI gets overwhelmed but with Arthur i fight out of my dense pack of enemies and turn around to see him like this:

[burningcheese-merchant]

It's so cool to see CRK getting popular again, it feels so refreshing like so much new quality fan content dropping that we couldn't even DREAM about a couple of months ago, but it hurts my very soul seeing new players being interested in beast x ancient ships, in their dynamics, asking is it okay to ship it and getting slapped in the face with another "IT'S ABUSER X VICTIM IT'S A PROSHIP IT'S A DARKSHIP" (which is just not true) killing off all the fun, bc apparently enemies to lovers, AUs and what-ifs doesn't exist anymore and everything that isn't pure fluff is illegal now. "IT'S NOT ENEMIES TO LOVERS, BEASTS ABUSED AND TORTURED THEM" yeah THAT'S WHAT ENEMIES DO??? What else do you expect from a villain honestly??? Like in ANY media??? Beasts still got their ass beat in the end as they totally deserve BECAUSE ANCIENTS ARE NOT SOFT INNOCENT SMALL BABIES THAT NEED TO BE PROTECTED, they're grown ass IMMORTAL ADULTS with huge responsibilities, they rule kingdoms, they hold a huge power in their hands, they're imperfect and not innocent. They can stand for themselves, they can fight, they can destroy, they can lie and they WILL if they need to.

I can SMELL that a shit tonne of people in this fandom secretly enjoys beast x ancient as a guilty pleasure, a forbidden fruit, but they will never admit it just because they're afraid of being harassed and bullied and it's just sad how normalized it is to hurt actual people over shipping some mobile game characters, who are adults, doesn't have power imbalance between them and aren't related.

And allat coming from ME, who doesn't ship a single beast x ancient ship

It's sad lol. Sad for the Beast x Ancient community and honestly kind of pathetic for ardent detractors at this point. I've seen sooooo many Beast x Ancient fans get harassed and even sent death threats, it's not even funny (not that it ever was in the first place). Don't you have better things to do than get this mad about video games lol. Like a job or school or a hobby or something

You're right, the Ancients are not helpless widdle babies and I'm kind of sick of how often they're infantilized, in general and just for the sake of tearing down BxA. They're grown adults who are thousands of years old. Two of them are parents, whose children are grown adults themselves. 4 of 5 founded entire nations. 1 is an active ruler still (Cacao), one seeks to rule again (Golden). Let's not kid ourselves, they've probably all got blood on their hands (not to the degree the Beasts do, but still. You don't live that life without having to make tough choices). Stop treating them like porcelain dolls lol. Yes, the Beasts attacked them, but they're villains. That's what villains do. Go play Animal Crossing if you can't handle heroes and villains fighting each other lol

And then I get a laugh whenever those same people who screech about toxicity and abuse and yadda yadda turn around and ship H*llyt*ya or Sh*dowSp*ce. The former is BxA in a different costume. The latter... Man. You know. Because TWO deranged maniacs, who are fundamentally incompatible in every way and do not make sense at all and absolutely would hurt each other and bring each other down I hate that ship so damn much. Do not ask me abt it I WILL ramble and nobody needs that. Zero beef with fans though, we're coolio! Just a difference of opinion!, is such a better option, isn't it lol. Hypocrisy.

I'm sure you noticed that ep 7 + 8 brought out a whole lot of new ShadowVanilla fans. I agree w/ you, I can feel that there are a fuckton of BxA fans lurking in the darkness, waiting for an excuse to poke their heads out (like 7 + 8 lol), only hiding because they don't want to attract lunatics. Even YOU sent this ask anonymously. Most of my inbox is stuff from anons, and I look at them all and wonder, "how many of you are just afraid of backlash for expressing any joy in BurningCheese or any of the other BxA pairs?" It's ok, guys. Don't listen to them. Be you. I'm being me right now, as cringy as I am. I am Extremely Normal about BurningCheese and I'm not ashamed :) they're video game characters at the end of the day, just have fun. Why can't we all just be bros, man, what does any of this matter

[bulbabutt]

they give the meme a different vibe entirely (its just that one beast wars episode)

[ramenwithbroccoli]

not to be controversial on main, but i really do feel like way more people would enjoy maths if someone properly explained it to them & they didn't have a hanging threat of failing an exam above their heads

[finleycannotdraw]

Goldenheart question. Who do you think proposes? Ballister or Ambrosius?

Bonus on how they would do it? ✌️🌈

OKAY SO. I thought about this for like five minutes. decided something. and then I changed my mind like five times. and then I was like “hmm. fic time”

I know you just asked for my thoughts but I hope you enjoy this!!

Ballister had a plan.

He loved Ambrosius. Of course he did. He’d loved him when they were classmates at the Institute, loved him when they snuck onto the roof at night to talk, loved him when they became knights, and loved him when the wall came down. He’d loved him for as long as he could remember, so of course he loved him when he looked up from his crossword puzzle and saw Ambrosius dancing in the kitchen, wearing a pair of Ballister’s pajama pants, holding a pancake batter-covered spatula and looking more carefree than he’d looked in months.

He’d marry Ambrosius in a heartbeat. He’d get on a train right then and elope with him if he asked, but he thought his partner deserved something bigger, something romantic, something grand and joyful after all of the stress and responsibility he’d been shouldering since the Director’s demise.

Hence, The Plan.

Nimona had been… mostly helpful. Ballister approached her one afternoon, after Ambrosius had left for work, and sat down across from her. Since the three of them had moved into an apartment together, Nimona had gotten much more comfortable relaxing, which warmed Ballister’s heart.

“What’s up, boss?”

“I want to ask Ambrosius—” he began, and Nimona sat up straight, immediately invested.

“To marry you?” she exclaimed. “Yes. Do it. Why haven’t you done it already.”

Ballister blinked. “I thought you’d be more hesitant about this,” he said slowly. “You used to hate him.”

Nimona waved her hand dismissively. “Ehhh. The past is the past, and all that jazz. Speaking of jazz—”

“No.”

“Ugh, whatever. You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I didn’t need to.”

“You’re horrible. Anyway, I hated him when all I knew about him was that he cut off your arm. That was before I’d lived with you guys for a year. And it would be pretty hypocritical of me not to be open to changing my opinions about somebody. He makes you happy. You should totally marry him.”

Ballister smiled. “Thank you, Nimona.”

She scoffed affectionately. “Sure, boss.”

And a plan—namely, The Plan, which was the whole point—formed.

Nimona and Ballister flew all over the city looking for parks and possible activities, such as restaurants or shows. Most people had gotten fairly used to the pair of them flying around, Nimona sprouting wings and carrying Ballister above the streets, so they didn’t worry about staying out of sight.

If Ambrosius noticed or thought it was suspicious that Nimona and Ballister constantly went out together and didn’t talk to him about any of it, he didn’t comment. The three of them still had their movie nights and game nights, and Nimona and Ambrosius still had their terrifyingly intense card games (War, Go Fish, Crazy Eights, and several games Ballister had never heard of) that Ballister was forbidden from joining, so altogether not much had changed.

One thing that did change, though, was how often he paused, watched Ambrosius do something completely ordinary, and thought ‘I want to marry this man.’ It happened more and more with each passing day, until Ballister very nearly proposed to him when he walked into the apartment and found Ambrosius standing with his feet on two separate chairs, about three feet apart, holding a collection of colorful paper streamers above his head while Nimona, in the form of a small monkey, perched on the top of his head and put them in place on the wall.

Ballister stared at them for a long moment before he said, very confusedly: “There wasn’t a more efficient way to do this?”

Ambrosius and Nimona turned at the same time, both looking quite delighted despite their precarious position atop the chairs.

“We’re just mixing it up!” they both replied. Ballister looked around. The living room was covered in party decorations and newspaper, and Ballister thought he’d never seen more glitter in his life. He pictured Ambrosius buying a basket full of glitter for whatever party Nimona was planning on throwing, and wouldn’t have been surprised if his heart actually melted.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked.

“I asked Nimona when her birthday was,” Ambrosius explained. “She said she didn’t have one.”

“And if I do, I don’t remember when it is,” Nimona added. Ambrosius threw his hands out to the sides in an emphasizing gesture.

“Which means she’s never had a birthday party,” he continued. “So we decided that today’s her birthday and we’re having a party.”

“Which is just going to be like a normal night except with decorations,” Nimona said. “The glitter was Goldilocks’ idea.”

Ballister raised his eyebrows, and Ambrosius shrugged unabashedly, then turned back to finish putting up the streamers.

Marry me, Ballister thought.

Within the next week, he had everything figured out. He’d looked at the weather for the next few days, planned where they’d go and when, and had even bought a ring, which he’d hidden in his extra pair of running shoes and shoved under the bed. If Ambrosius noticed that Ballister seemed extra nervous or more likely to become agitated if he spent too long in the bedroom by himself, he didn’t comment.

So yes. Ballister had a plan, and it was much more concrete than ‘something something something, we win’. He didn’t have a script, but he had just about everything else. Nothing could possibly get in his way now.

Or so he thought.

One night—there was nothing particularly special about it; they’d had dinner with Nimona, danced and laughed while cleaning the kitchen, and kissed while getting ready for bed—Ballister and Ambrosius were snuggled up together under their blankets. Ballister’s prosthetic arm was hanging from its charger on the wall, so he couldn’t hold Ambrosius as close as he would’ve liked, but the blond knight was lying with his head on Ballister’s shoulder, which gave him room to wrap his left arm around his partner’s back.

Ambrosius moved to tangle his legs with Ballister’s and gave his middle a squeeze, causing Ballister to smile up at the dark ceiling. If he paid attention, he could hear quiet music through the walls from Nimona’s room, and the moon was shining brightly through the window. Ballister carded his fingers through Ambrosius’ hair and breathed deeply.

Ambrosius, after several minutes, pushed himself up onto his elbow so that he could see Ballister’s face. Ballister’s arm slid naturally to rest around his waist, and he wished he had his prosthetic so that he could tap Ambrosius on the nose. Whenever he did so, Ambrosius’ face would scrunch up in the most adorable way possible, and Ballister had no choice but to kiss him.

“Hey,” Ambrosius whispered, as though Ballister hadn’t already been giving him his full attention.

“Hi,” he said in the same quiet tone, and matched Ambrosius’ answering smile. They bumped their noses together and giggled, and Ambrosius flopped to the side, landing on his own pillow. Ballister freed his arm and laced their fingers together, and Ambrosius brought their joined hands to his lips, then rested them on his chest and stroked Ballister’s hand with his thumb.

“Bal?” he said, tilting his head to the side to look into Ballister’s eyes, which he was quite honestly struggling to keep open.

“Hm?”

“Will you marry me?” Ambrosius asked softly, simply, his gaze full of love, exactly the way Ballister had been fighting the urge to ask him for weeks.

“Oh, come on!” he exclaimed, and got out of bed to grab the ring box from his shoe, forgetting that Ambrosius had no idea what he was doing until he sat up, looking worried.

“Bal?” he said again, this time much more guarded. “I’m sorry, what—”

“I was going to propose to you!” Ballister interrupted, opened the box, and shoved it towards his gobsmacked partner, who stared at it in utter shock before looking back to Ballister’s eyes. “I had a plan! And it wasn’t ‘something something something, we win’!”

Ambrosius’ eyes were shiny. “Was it more like, ‘something something something, marry me?’”

Ballister laughed surprisedly and leaned over to plant a kiss on Ambrosius’ lips. “Yes,” he said. “Well, no. I didn’t have a speech.”

“Hence the something-something-something,” Ambrosius teased. “You know, you never answered my—”

“Yes, good Gloreth, yes, I’ll marry you,” Ballister interrupted again. “Though I think you could’ve inferred that from learning that I was going to ask you the same question.”

Ambrosius laughed tearfully, and Ballister kissed him again.

“I’m not taking your last name, though,” he added moments later. “As funny as it is.”

“Nimona would kill you,” Ambrosius agreed. “So would I, probably. I don’t want to keep my last name either. It made for some good jokes, but other than that—”

“Well, Boldheart is nice, but it wasn’t my birth name. You know the Queen gave it to me at the ceremony because somebody—probably the Director—said that Blackheart sounded too dark for a knight?”

“Right,” Ambrosius mused. “What should we do, then?”

“We could combine our last names,” Ballister suggested. “We could be Ambrosius and Ballister—”

“Goldenheart,” Ambrosius finished, and wrapped his arms around Ballister, shaking with laughter, tears, and joy. “I love it.”

“I love you,” Ballister told him, and there was very little talking for the rest of the night.

When morning came, they headed into the kitchen in their pajamas and found Nimona already up, sitting at the table with her headphones on. She appeared to be drawing—likely another action scene with herself as a large animal with Ballister and/or Ambrosius as her murderous accomplice—and didn’t look up as they entered.

“Morning, Nim,” Ambrosius said as he made his way to the coffee machine.

“Goldilocks.” She acknowledged him with a nod, then raised her eyebrows. “Sleep well?”

Ballister held his crossword puzzle up and hid his face behind it while Ambrosius nearly dropped the coffee pot. They both knew that Nimona was over a thousand years old and there was probably very little she hadn’t seen, and even less she wasn’t aware of, but she was so good at acting like a teenager that it was quite easy to forget. She watched their awkward reactions and snickered, but her eyes widened as her attention zeroed in on something on or beside Ambrosius’ hand.

“So, who snapped first?” she asked pleasantly, a wide grin forming on her face.

“Me,” Ambrosius admitted without turning around. “Wait. Who snapped first? You knew he was planning—”

“You knew he was—” Ballister began too, and they both stopped and stared at each other.

Nimona just burst out laughing.

[erinknow]

City of The Dead

Rating: mature, mdni

Warnings: strangers-to-enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, blood, explicit(?) but no actual smut, mentions of sex, fluff

Word count: approximately 4k

Note from author: inspired by “CINEMA” music video and kdrama “Happiness”. Enjoy!!!🤍

“What was that?” you asked, straightening your back slightly and glancing around. The chilly air of the underground parking lot slipped under your jacket, making you shiver unpleasantly, but you paid no attention to the goosebumps on your arms. Your gaze was drawn into the darkness of the tunnel, where the lamps had long since burned out.

Seungmin tightened his grip on the baseball bat with his gloved hand, giving a slight shrug of his shoulders, and looked in the same direction as you.

“Let’s just go,” he exhaled, and you noticed the tension radiating from his lean figure.

Pressing your lips together and adjusting the strap of the backpack full of supplies you had stolen — though it hardly felt like stealing — from an abandoned store near your apartment complex, you followed Seungmin.

Glancing at his slightly tired face, you couldn’t help but note to yourself that you needed to trim his hair again; it was already starting to fall awkwardly onto his forehead and tickle his eyelashes. Last time, he’d been skeptical about your offer to help, but it had turned out pretty well — and he hadn’t complained.

He pressed the elevator button and stepped back slightly, closer to you, while glancing around cautiously. You closed your eyes for a second, hearing the distant, sickening howl of the infected echoing through the parking lot.

“Come on, come on,” you whispered nervously, biting your lip and watching the panel, counting the floors. Seungmin turned, peering into the dark tunnel. He looked focused, but you knew both of you were already exhausted from the day’s encounter with the infected, and one more fight — especially with no real way to escape — could be the end of you both.

Finally, in the suffocating silence, the loud, blessed sound of the elevator arriving and its doors sliding open echoed through the garage. Almost immediately, zombies responded from the tunnel, and the pounding of their feet reached your ears.

You grabbed Seungmin’s hand and yanked him into the elevator, frantically jabbing the door close button. Your breath caught in your throat as you glimpsed the rotting figures emerging into the light, sprinting toward you. They were still far, but you gripped Seungmin’s gloved hand tightly, and he squeezed back just as hard.

The doors closed, and the elevator began to rise, leaving the screams and howls behind. After two more floors, you finally exhaled, letting go of his hand and leaning against the wall.

“I thought we were dead,” Seungmin said, and you answered with a soft, nervous laugh — adrenaline still racing through your veins, keeping you from fully relaxing.

“Me too.”

He stood beside you, and you watched the numbers change in silence until the elevator stopped at the eighth floor. Thankfully, today you hadn’t run into any other residents — people you didn’t like one bit, who always bickered during the monthly meetings, constantly showing off and pretending to be something they weren’t. You could never trust them — not like you trusted Seungmin.

It was strange, really. You had hated each other once, just neighbors constantly at odds since day one when you asked him to turn down his music and he refused, saying he was rehearsing. Who would’ve thought that one day people would go mad with a contagious disease, turning into monsters that hunted the living? And who would’ve thought that you and Seungmin would choose to live together for safety, that his music would no longer irritate you, and that his presence would bring peace instead of anger?

Just like now, as he let you step out of the elevator first, his hand briefly touching your lower back as he walked beside you to your apartment. He stopped by the door, entering the code into the lock while you glanced up at the familiar number: 143.

As usual, he held the door open for you. You kicked off your sneakers in the hallway before walking further inside while he locked up, mirroring your actions and shedding his gloves, resting the baseball bat against the wall. You remembered how he used to love playing baseball with his friends on weekends.

Now, he didn’t even know if they were still alive — communication was completely cut off, and the radio only repeated the same grim news about the growing number of infected and empty promises from politicians to save the survivors. But help never came. Weeks blurred into months, and hope was slowly bleeding away.

Neither of you knew if your families were still alive, but there was nothing you could do except wait and only venture outside when absolutely necessary.

And that waiting — in total uncertainty — was slowly eating you alive. You didn’t talk about it, but you didn’t need to; it was clear in Seungmin’s empty gaze, in your own nightly nightmares, in the exhaustion and dark circles under your eyes, and even in the slight weight loss from rationing food.

You headed to the kitchen, dropping your bag onto the floor and leaning against the table, hearing Seungmin’s quiet footsteps behind you.

“How are you?” he asked casually.

“I’m fine,” you answered after a brief pause. “And you?”

“I’ll live,” he shrugged, bending down next to the bag and beginning to pull out the contents. Feeling your gaze, he added, “It’s my turn to make dinner tonight. Go take a shower.”

You frowned.

“Is it?” you said, glancing toward the small chore schedule pinned on the wall — but he stood up and easily took your hand, turning you to face him.

“Just go.”

You stared at each other: his dark eyes, usually filled with teasing mischief, now uncharacteristically soft.

“Alright,” you said finally, pressing your lips together. He hesitated just a second longer than necessary before letting go of your wrist, and you exhaled quietly.

You stayed under the hot water until your skin turned red and the mirror fogged up. Drying off, you pulled on a familiar jumper over your T-shirt and soft pajama pants before returning to the kitchen. Seungmin had taken off his jacket, remaining in a shirt and jeans with, standing with his back to you, stirring something in the pot. Your heart skipped at the sight of his broad shoulders, and for a wild moment, you wanted to walk over and hug him, feeling like he could protect you from anything — even if the sky fell.

But you didn’t. Instead, you stood beside him, glancing at the pleasant-smelling kimchi jjigae.

“Go and shower. I’ll finish up here,” you said, reaching for the spatula.

He gave you a small, amused smile, meeting your gaze.

“You won’t mess it up?”

You rolled your eyes and nudged him playfully with your elbow, making him fake a pout.

“How cruel.”

You laughed, shoving him lightly again as he dodged, smiling as well.

“I’ll just eat it all myself,” you warned.

He tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, and your eyes widened slightly, not fully processing what had just happened.

“Liar.”

And with that, he disappeared down the hall. A moment later, you heard the bathroom door close.

“Idiot,” you muttered under your breath, stirring the stew and ignoring the growing warmth in your cheeks.

***

Days went by, but help never arrived. Going outside was tantamount to suicide, as the number of zombies had increased dramatically. The last time, you and Seungmin barely managed to escape.

The balcony door was slightly ajar, letting in a gentle summer breeze that swayed the curtains. You were folding freshly washed bed linens into neat piles, occasionally stopping to lift a glass of water to your lips.

Seungmin was resting on the couch nearby after washing the dishes. You had chosen his apartment to live in because it was much larger than yours, and now you shared household duties between the two of you. This week, you were handling the laundry, while he took care of the dishes.

His eyes were closed, and his face was relaxed. He had fallen asleep, forgetting to take off his glasses. His hair no longer fell into his face, as you had given him a haircut last weekend. Before Seungmin, you had never helped anyone with this, but each time it got better. The corner of your lips curled up at the memory of him sitting in the bathroom chair in front of the mirror while you flitted around him with scissors. He occasionally made jokes, but mostly sat still, gazing at you in the mirror.

“What?” you asked, meeting his gaze in the reflection.

He remained silent.

You involuntarily stared at his face — sleeping, calm. He wasn’t furrowing his brows or looking upset, and that made you happy. It also made you a little embarrassed because he was incredibly handsome, even when he was just breathing.

You shook your head, pushing those thoughts away, and focused back on your task.

When you finished, you were about to go back to your bedroom, where you shared one bed. In the first weeks of living together, you tried to take turns sleeping on the couch, but soon gave up because it was uncomfortable, and neither of you was getting enough rest. Now, you slept together, with a pillow in the middle of the bed to divide you. Though, it often ended up on the floor by morning, but that was a minor detail.

You paused, glancing at him before sighing. You gently covered him with the blanket from the back of the couch. Then you hesitated, carefully took off his glasses, folded them, and set them on the table before leaving, never noticing the serene smile that spread across his face.

***

In your childhood, your mom told you that the feeling of falling in love was similar to the feeling of fear. You always thought it was some strange nonsense, but now, you suddenly understood what she meant.

Everything was going according to plan. You went on another shopping trip, when suddenly you encountered the infected, and everything happened too quickly. One moment, you saw Seungmin in front of you, and the next, he was knocked to the ground by a zombie. Without thinking, you swung a bat at the infected, sending it flying into the nearest wall, and quickly grabbed Seungmin’s hand to help him up.

He shook his head, then quickly squeezed your hand in return, and you ran. You ran with all your might, not stopping despite the burning in your lungs, the exhaustion, and the pain in your muscles. You kept running, and you could barely remember how you ended up in the apartment.

Seungmin slid down the hallway wall, breathing heavily. You looked at him, hearing your own heavy breathing as you knelt down in front of him. Your trembling hand found the sleeve of his jacket, gripping the fabric tightly as your anxious eyes met his surprised ones.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, confused, and then his eyes widened. “You… are crying?”

You sniffed, quickly wiping your tears and lowering your head in embarrassment.

“What? Does something hurt?” Seungmin panicked, touching your hand, and more tears flowed from his question.

“Better worry about yourself,” you replied, wiping your tears. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did they bite you?” you asked, scanning his face for injuries.

“No, I don’t think so,” he replied, still stunned.

“Good,” you answered, louder than necessary, and stood up, heading to the bathroom to take a shower and figure things out.

Why had you cried? Was it fear for yourself? No. Definitely not. But admitting the real reason, even to yourself, was something you refused to acknowledge. You had also made a fool of yourself in front of Seungmin…

You scolded yourself, but Seungmin didn’t say a word all evening. He simply placed a bowl of seaweed soup in front of you before retreating to your bedroom.

Late that night, when the room was only dimly lit by the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains, you woke up, despite being exhausted, staring at the ceiling. You could feel how your shirt clung uncomfortably to your body, just like your hair stuck to your sweaty face. You carefully sat up so as not to wake Seungmin, trying to calm your breathing that had been disrupted by a nightmare, but none of your usual techniques worked. So, you quietly stood up, threw on a light sweater, and quietly opened the balcony door, stepping outside and leaning on the railing. From below, you could hear the distant wail of the infected, and see a few figures wandering in the darkness. At night, they always came out, disliking the sunlight during the day.

You shivered from a sudden gust of wind, biting your lip and wiping the tears that had welled up with the sleeve of your sweater.

“Idiot. Stop crying,” you whispered to yourself, exhaling sharply.

And then you felt his warm hands wrap around you from behind, pulling you against his solid chest. You froze, feeling Seungmin press his face into your neck, his breath tickling your ear.

“Why did you leave?” he asked quietly, and the deep, post-sleep voice sent a shiver down your spine.

“And why did you get up?” you replied, questioning him in return.

“I asked first,” he whispered, inhaling the scent of your hair.

You swallowed, then said, “I had a nightmare.”

You might have thought he didn’t hear you if his arms hadn’t tightened around you.

“Your turn to answer.”

You heard a soft chuckle by your ear.

“I missed you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words.

“I can’t sleep without you.”

“And what about the pillow, the boundaries?” you tried, trying to keep your composure.

He exhaled loudly against your neck, sending a rush of goosebumps across your body.

“To hell with the pillow and the boundaries,” he said, and you felt his lips almost weightlessly touch your neck.

“Why were you crying?” he asked, gently leaving another kiss on your jaw when he didn’t meet any resistance.

“I was scared,” you said, then felt the need to add, knowing he was waiting for more: “For you. When that zombie attacked you today, I thought I was going to die from worry.”

He paused, as if pondering something, before pulling back. Your heart dropped, scared that he would reject you, thinking your words were silly and unnecessary.

But instead, he softly touched your shoulders, turning you toward him and studying your face. He didn’t laugh at your concerns. His expression was serious but relaxed, as if this was what he had wanted to hear. There was something else in his gaze, something dark and unfamiliar, and it made you feel as though the temperature had risen a few degrees, causing you to blush.

“You worried about me?” he asked softly, leaning in closer, meeting your gaze. “You say you were afraid you’d die from worrying?” he continued.

“But you’re still denying the obvious,” he whispered.

“Seungmin…” you began.

“We don’t need that stupid pillow,” his face twisted, and he squeezed your shoulders. “And stop running every time you’re in pain. Just tell me. Tell me everything. Wake me up in the middle of the night, cry as much as you want. Just stay with me,” he touched your face, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs.

“Seungmin,” you whispered, feeling tears begin to sting your eyes again.

He exhaled.

“Yes, darling?”

And you let the tears fall down your cheeks. Seungmin pulled you into his embrace, burying his face in your neck, his hands holding you tightly. And you cried — quietly, letting all the tears and emotions that had built up over the past months flow free.

“You’re amazing, you’ve been so strong,” he whispered, his eyes wet too. You were both so broken and battered by life that there was no strength left for anything. You weren’t sure you would still be here if he hadn’t been with you, and he felt the same. You had become everything to each other in this world, spiraling into ruin, and you weren’t planning to let go of each other for even a second. Time was slipping away, slipping through your fingers, and you didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. Maybe you would die. So why not take the risk?

This didn’t feel like a melodramatic tearjerker. He pulled you to him, kissing you hungrily as if it were the last time. Your teeth clicked together as he guided you into the apartment, only parting from you long enough to close the balcony door before he was everywhere again, taking the breath from your lungs.

Your back hit the bed’s mattress, and he loomed over you. His hands traced every curve of your body as his mouth captured each of your ragged breaths. He was a little like a drunken man, but not from alcohol — from you, the feel of your skin against his, your fingers in his hair, which you tugged at as he lowered himself further and further.

The clothes had long been thrown onto the floor and forgotten, and his hand slid under your back, holding you steady as you arched towards him. His lips caught your soft moans, while his other hand gripped your hip, pushing it up and leaving small red marks on it from his fingers. He kissed your shoulders, collarbones, chest—everything he could touch, every inch. He bit your shoulder, occasionally throwing his head back in ecstasy, chasing his high, whispering sweet nonsense mixed with dirty words into your ears at which your face grew even redder, the movement of his hips making your eyes roll to the back of your head and your toes curl.

When he fell onto his back beside you, breathing heavily, the dawn was just beginning outside the window, and the sun still hadn’t risen. The sheets were crumpled, and the bedroom, now truly yours, was hot, smelling of sweat and sex.

You felt his gaze on you, and then you felt him pulling you closer, leaving a kiss on your temple.

“You need to drink some water,” he murmured into your skin. “I’ll be right back, don’t fall asleep yet.”

He left, and when the warmth of his body left you, you found you had no strength to move, blinking stupidly and staring at the ceiling. He returned a few minutes later with a bottle of water in his hand and a wet towel. He gently wiped your thighs and held the bottle to your lips, carefully supporting your head while you drank.

“Is everything okay?” he asked softly, kissing you again.

You kissed him back and met his gaze.

“Better than ever,” you replied, weakly smiling, and he smiled back, running his hand through your hair.

“Lie next to me,” you mumbled, feeling fatigue take over. He obediently lay down, pulling you close and closing his eyes.

“Sleep. And when you wake up, I’ll be right here.”

***

It was a good time, filled with kisses, laughter, and a temporary escape from everything happening around you. You felt safe, needed, and loved for the first time in a long while. Seungmin had found an old player and music discs, and even brought out his guitar, hitting all the notes with his beautiful voice, though occasionally missing them because of his laughter, watching your awkward dancing. Nevertheless, his eyes were full of tenderness, and your heart melted.

You watched movies in the evenings, cooked together, or had long conversations in the bedroom, lying under the blanket in each other’s arms. You started wearing his clothes, and at first, he pretended to be annoyed, calling you a thief, but the smile on his face gave him away.

You even took out the old camera from his closet while going through things, and recorded a video, talking about how life had changed, frequently interrupted by jokes to lighten the mood.

“I love you,” he said one day, in a completely casual tone, while you were painting your nails with a nail polish you had found in a store during your latest outing into the outside world.

You looked up at him.

“What did you say?”

He smiled, leaning against the back of the couch, looking at you with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“I said I love you.”

You blinked, then blinked again, and again, and he laughed, watching your face turn redder by the second.

“That’s beautiful,” he said, reaching out to touch your face, still smiling. “When you blush, I really want to devour you.”

You shook your head, trying to hit his hand.

“You’re annoying,” you muttered as he caught your hand and placed a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“Careful, you’ll ruin your nails,” he smirked. “And we both know that’s a lie. You love me.”

You pressed your lips together in annoyance.

“I do,” you said, noticing how his eyes sparkled. “Sometimes it feels like I love you too much.”

He pulled you closer, kissing you.

“Nonsense. I never have enough of you.”

***

But there were tough times too. Like when you were bitten, and you panicked day and night, unable to sleep or eat, worried you might harm Seungmin. You clearly remembered the look of horror on his face when he saw the blood after pulling the infected person away from you. You were very afraid of becoming like that.

You thought about running away so he would be safe, but he firmly refused, making you promise that you would get through it together and that you would tell him if you felt any changes.

You waited, nervously removing the bandage and looking at the ugly bite mark on your leg. But the days passed, and nothing happened, while the disinfected wound healed.

“This is good,” Seungmin muttered, examining the bite and relaxing a little.

You could see how hard it had been for him all this time. How he hadn’t slept, worrying about you, how he checked your temperature and pulse every hour at night.

“Sorry,” you whispered as he looked at you. “You were so worried.”

He cupped your face in his hands, smiling faintly.

“Why are you apologising, silly? I should be the one apologizing for this happening to you.”

“But it’s not your fault,” you replied.

“And yet I feel guilty.”

And you knew he wasn’t lying. He had been torturing himself with the thought that it should have been him, that it was all his fault.

“Stop being ridiculous,” you pulled him closer, fixing his hair.

“You’re not to blame, do you hear me? Seungmo. You saved me back then, and you’re always by my side. Don’t you dare blame yourself, okay?”

He looked into your eyes for a long moment before sighing helplessly and nodding.

***

A month later, it became clear that you were immune to the virus, as no changes had occurred or were expected, and the wound only left a scar. You returned to your normal routine, even recording another video, talking about this strange incident.

Meanwhile, you could feel Seungmin’s nervousness whenever the topic of another outing came up. You tried to reassure him that everything would be fine and that there was still some time before it, so he should stop worrying, and you firmly told him that he wasn’t going anywhere alone anyway.

Although it became a little easier after accepting the fact that nothing was likely to change, and that there was no hope for rescue, especially after surviving a zombie bite, it was still just as scary as before to go out, but now you had some vague assurance that not everything was lost. You worried more about Seungmin, unsure if he had immunity to the virus himself.

But you didn’t have to find out, because one day, there was a knock on the door. Seungmin approached it cautiously, meeting your gaze, tightening his grip on the knife in his hand before peeking through the peephole.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and then his eyes widened.

“What’s going on?” you nervously asked, watching in surprise as Seungmin opened the door and immediately hugged the stranger.

And the stranger turned out to be none other than Lee Minho—his friend, whom you vaguely remembered from before the zombie apocalypse, when they used to meet often and play catch together at the park. Behind Minho was another familiar guy, whom Seungmin also hugged. You think his name was Jeongin. Both were in military uniforms.

“You… How…?” Seungmin couldn’t gather himself, and you rubbed his back, noticing the tears in his eyes.

“Did you think we were going to leave you?” Minho smirked, but it was clear he was happy to see his friend. Then, Jeongin and Minho noticed you, greeting you with surprise, obviously remembering your past tension with Seungmin.

They explained that as soon as they escaped their area with infected people, they joined the other survivors and had been trying to reach you for a long time. Now the rest of their group was clearing the complex of zombies, and a helicopter was waiting for the survivors on the roof. They reassured Seungmin that the other five of his friends were alive and well.

It took you and Seungmin no more than fifteen minutes to throw the essentials into your backpacks, change clothes, and go back into the corridor to meet Minho and Jeongin. Minho looked at your joined hands, then smirked, glancing at Seungmin’s face.

“So, are you two together now?”

Seungmin squeezed your hand tighter, and you looked at him.

“Together,” he smiled and turned his gaze to you.

In the helicopter, sitting next to Seungmin, your fingers intertwined, you were sure that everything would be alright now.

[wishchip106]

damn me and who 😭😭💔💔💔