#x-com apocalypse

[wirewitchviolet]

Consider cloning one of these games...

So the other day someone was showing me the trailer to some neat new indie game they were getting into, and my immediate thought was "that does look pretty nice but FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING! INDIE DEVS, PLAY A SECOND GAME ALREADY!"

Presumably you've already guessed this, but it was a nice little handcrafted thing that was very plainly inspired primarily by Super Metroid. Even had those bubble-looking platforms. I'd say what it was specifically, but I already forgot the name, because, you know, I've kinda seen a few games do this before.

It's not like Super Metroid isn't one of my favorite games of all time, obviously. I'm one of the shockingly few people who played it when it was new and totally fell in love then. And it's also not like there aren't several games made in its image that I also love. It's just that there's way too damn many of them out there for anyone to play, and while I'd never be one to tell someone not to make the thing they want to make due to market saturation or whatever, I kinda feel like we're doing a huge disservice to our collective creativity and appreciation of classic games to all be so hyper-focused on putting our own spins on this one particular game, especially when it kinda knocked things out of the park back when this wasn't a genre it was just this one super cool game with, among other things, a compelling structure to it.

Like, I do love that Super Metroid became A game that's served as a focal point for indie devs to try and recreate. Back when it was first released it actually sold kinda terribly by Nintendo's standards, and didn't really have anything else out there trying to iterate on the concept until we eventually got the Castlevania series going that route, and Cave Story. But at this point, yeah, Super Metroid has been all canonized and studied to death and if you're the sort of person who cares about this sort of thing in the slightest you know all about how it ticks and the appeal and what other ways the basic premise can be pulled in. So it's well past time for people to take another game that's super great and fairly unique and use that as a jumping off point to make some new things. So I'm just going to ramble here a little about some real gems that nobody's ever really gotten around to trying to replicate.

Punch-Out!!

I want to say we're all familiar with Punch-Out!! but... are we? It's a famously difficult game, so odds are good you've seen speedruns or other challenge runs, but you really have to play it for yourself to see what's so interesting about it. A big part of the initial appeal of course was having these really expressive screen-filling characters, which isn't something we're lacking now. It's also real twitchy, basically unplayable towards the end if you're dealing with any sort of input lag at all, which isn't super unique these days, but structurally, the way it's coded, there's all this weird artificial drama to it.

Like, on the surface, it's a pretty straightforward thing. Enemies have tells for their attacks, you dodge those, you hit them in the resulting openings. But there's also the round based structure, knock-downs, and one-off gimmick mechanics in the mix. Officially, we're playing by the rules of boxing where the outcome of a match is decided by either knocking someone down and them not getting back up, knocking them down three times in a round, or running out of time and having to go to some judge's decision. But that's not REALLY how it works.

There's no random chance of someone going down and staying down. You've got HP meters, you take one down, your opponent falls over, waits until late in the count and gets up, forcing you to drain that HP down three times before the round ends, and if yours bottoms out, you get to mash buttons to stand up and have your other two chances. But then there's times you CAN take someone down, not only keeping them down for a KO win, but even getting there without your opponent bottoming out on HP first. The most famous example, I believe of both of these, being Bald Bull's charge. The big dramatic make or break where he just keeps using this special move which isn't terribly hard to dodge, but deadly if it connects, and dodging doesn't really help as he won't stop until the round ends, and then might spend the whole second round doing nothing but. You need to take that risk, and get that frame perfect stomach strike just before he connects to dramatically KO him and snatch victory from the jaws of defeat... or you can do this:

I was actually looking for an example of the all or nothing strike when I found this. If you don't face the charge in round 1, he gets into it sooner in round 2 to force the matter, but if you're still not confident enough to go for it there, turns out you can just drop him early into round 3 and have him stay down... and the only real consistent rule any of this follows is drama. Heck looking at the opening screen here, this person knows tricks for getting a KO on at least the first 10 opponents. Most of them I've always just taken the TKOs on myself. Point is though, the mechanics really run on drama. AI scripts change up if you move onto new rounds. Knock-downs turn into knock outs if and only if it fits a certain narrative. This sort of thing is super fascinating to me. Makes me want to look through the game's code line by line. And the only thing I can think of in any other game that even comes close is, of all things, the Ace Attorney series, with those scenery chewing meltdowns, and scattered scenes that "break the rules" with instant failure penalties or no-win situations where you're then suddenly saved by a friendly NPC's dramatic appearance.

I wouldn't suggest anyone literally try to make a Punch-Out!! clone. There's no real reason to stick to the boxing framework. I'd definitely advise against copying all the broad stereotypes. But there's a real unique soul to the drama-driven mechanics breaking stated rules I'd love to see people really digging into to gain a deep understanding of it and apply that to original games.

Yume Kojo: Doki Doki Panic

I'm not just being pretentious and refusing to say Super Mario Bros. 2. When it was Mario-ized, there were two huge changes- A run button the original FDS game didn't have, and the fundamental structural change of just having you finish levels with whatever character you like (or use warp zones to skip them entirely). In the original game, in order to see the proper ending, you had to play each and every level with each and every character with no run button. And that's neat, actually.

See, just as an example, there's a bit of a skip early on in both versons of the game, where you can avoid taking a door through some whole area by just leaping across a big waterfall. In Super Mario Bros. 2 anyone can do this, just needing a running start, but in the original release, there are no running starts. Either you can jump that gap by way of good airtime, or you can't. Depends which character you play as. Everyone has different stats, so being forced through the same full set of levels, there's a few little things like this where you have to alter your strategy to reflect the character you're running with at the time. That's cool. The whole mechanic of lifting things and throwing them, or riding on enemies' heads, or stacking blocks to reach higher areas or block fireballs, this is also just cool (and another thing SMB2 tweaked actually, play both and see for yourself).

I have seen literally one indie game that riffed on this idea, Curse of the Crescent Isle.

Umihara Kawase

If you've played it, you know. If you haven't, please just watch this speedrun:

Nothing has physics quite like this game. Nothing really has the same weird mildly distressing dream sort of tone to it either, or weird as hell branching level structure, or the weird system where the game has a time limit, but rather than giving a game over just makes it end after your current level. Other games have played with grappling hooks, but nothing I've ever seen has made me feel like this here is what they were going for.

Altered Beast

You know, I don't even particularly LIKE Altered Beast. I always thought it was a bit too short, a bit too simple, and still somehow it felt like you were just killing time until getting the power-ups that kinda make you invincible for the rest of the level.

There's... something here though. Somewhere with these bodies getting so bulky and beefy with no change to their heads and the voice samples and the sense of spectacle to it all, and yeah the dramatic gameplay shifts with the power-ups. I don't quite know what the secret sauce is, but if you find it, bottle it up, and slather it over something less shallow, you might really have something there.

Ecco the Dolphin

There is such a weird mix in the whole series of new age hippie save the whales vibes and genuinely disquieting horror just kinda seamlessly blended together. So much of it is the sound design, but the claustrophobia, the weird sense of speed, the constant pressure of drowning or suddenly being in the face of some huge nasty thing that'll basically one-shot you. The... unspoken but pronounced notion that this is set in a world where all of humanity died and are totally unremembered. There's a hell of a lot you could do with any of this, and the only game I can think of that comes close to hitting the same notes is Subnautica. Actually for that matter...

Subnautica

I don't want to get into what's so great about Subnautica here, because the most common sentiment I hear from people who have played it is they wish there was some way they could play Subnautica for the first time, again. Just... yeah. If you haven't already, play through it all completely blind, and if you can think of how to recapture all of that, do it, and put it in my hands without a word.

X-Com Apocalypse

So... X-Com is a truly amazing game that to this day feels like a unique enough beast it also wouldn't be bad to try and learn from, but there's actually a good number of attempts at clones already, none quite seem willing to get into the same levels of complexity, and there's the whole remade Firaxis series with a simpler take that a lot of games are using as a template. But Apocalypse? The original third game? That tried to do a lot of new and different stuff. I don't know how much of it didn't work vs. how much is secretly amazing if you internalize how it works vs. what's sort of half-baked per se, but there's some real ambition with mixing the original's tactical intricacies and destructible terrain and such (which somehow works even better with the realtime mode this one has), with this living breathing city. You aren't intercepting UFOs on a featureless world map. You've got a whole separate combat engine on a persistent map where stray shots can damage roads and cause long-term problems because the supplies you order get shipped via trucks that travel on those roads. Tons of factions you ideally want support from but can go attack and rob if they feel like lost causes. A tech tree with really dramatic progress and early discoveries that are either double-edges swords or genuinely just terrible things to try to use.

And then the endgame is really neat because instead of just one big final mission, you flip the whole script, and suddenly you're invading an alien city, picking targets to wreak havoc on and ultimately destroy, one by one. Incidentally this also did headcrabs before Half-Life so... I feel like it should be better known just for historical context.

Shadow of the Colossus

I know this is kind of a big technical ask, but why the hell were we not FLOODED with a whole generation of grandiose setpiece-y boss rush games after this first dropped? Perhaps more than anything else on here, someone really needs to get onto scratching this specific itch again, immediately.

I could totally keep going, but more importantly I'm sure you had some game that really left a mark on you that's been largely forgotten since, which I don't even know about, and you should really, if you're up to it, try and teach the world about it and how great it was by blending the old with something new of your own.

Just... draw from wider pools of inspiration, people.

[mendelpalace]

"Laura Palmer's Theme (Instrumental)" by Angelo Badalamenti - Twin Peaks vs "Dawn Over Barrier Walls" by Richard Wells (?) - X-COM Apocalypse

[uzi-x33]

capcut ban can’t fucking stop me i will prevail‼️‼️

[mysteamgrids]

X-COM: Apocalypse

[ashthesalamipiece]

“Family Dinner (aka: The Apocalypse)”

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Katsuki Bakugo

Genre: Comedy, Complete Breakdown, Teen Drama, Secondhand Trauma

---

Dinner started off normal.

You made katsudon (Bakugo’s favorite). Haruki was unusually quiet. Hana had a suspicious smile. Bakugo was halfway through his second helping, blissfully unaware of the emotional landmine about to detonate.

You should’ve known.

You should’ve known.

It started with Hana.

“So, I think Takeshi might ask me to be his girlfriend.”

Bakugo froze mid-chew. “He better not.”

You gave her a soft smile. “That’s exciting, sweetheart.”

Bakugo narrowed his eyes. “No it isn’t. It’s illegal.”

Haruki jumped in, mouth full of rice. “Takeshi’s not that bad. Better than closet girl.”

Bakugo dropped his chopsticks.

“You wanna repeat that?”

Haruki realized too late that he’d just outed himself. Again. “I—I mean, hypothetically—”

“You were back in the closet?!”

You groaned. “Oh my god, not again.”

Hana leaned back smugly. “I saw them holding hands yesterday.”

Haruki turned bright red. “TRAITOR!”

“She winked at him too,” Hana added, like she was announcing a war crime. “Both eyes.”

Bakugo stood so fast his chair screeched. “THAT’S IT. This dinner is OVER. Everyone to their rooms. No more hormones. NO MORE WINKING.”

You tried to intervene. “Katsuki—”

“Nope. I’m done. I gave the talk. I suffered through The Incident. I read the damn Diary. I survived ClosetGate. And now you’re telling me I’m raising a Romeo and Juliet sequel in my own house?!”

Haruki mumbled, “Technically we’re more like a Rom-Com—”

“SHUT UP, HARUKI.”

Hana, cool as ever, kept sipping her juice. “Don’t worry, Dad. It’s not like I’m gonna kiss him on school property.”

Bakugo wheeled on her. “YES YOU ARE. AND I’LL BE THERE. HIDING IN A BUSH WITH BINOCULARS.”

You snorted so hard you choked.

Haruki tried to sneak another bite of katsudon.

Bakugo caught him mid-chew. “You think you get to eat after all this betrayal?!”

“Dad,” Haruki said around a mouthful, “you need therapy.”

“I need a flamethrower.”

---

Ten minutes later, you were cleaning the kitchen while Bakugo sulked in the corner like a war veteran.

“I can’t do this,” he muttered. “We’re surrounded. Outnumbered. Hormones on all sides.”

You kissed his cheek. “You’ll survive.”

“I miss when they were babies. When they only cried because they wanted snacks, not because some punk told them they had ‘pretty eyes.’”

You laughed. “You’re doing great.”

“I’m dying.”

“You’re surviving.”

He groaned. “Same thing.”

[foldingfittedsheets]

Today is, as previously noted, hard.

But the house is a pit. So after we watched X-men Apocalypse as a treat for my beloved I said we must arise and clean. I tackled the kitchen and they did the floors.

Afterward, spent and exhausted, they informed me I’d be picking the movie we’d watch over dinner.

“It’s gonna be a rom-com,” I warned them.

In defeat they said, “I know. We pick gendered movies.”

I. Lost my grip on this world I laughed so hard. I never thought about it that way but every rom-com is my pick and every action movie is theirs. We pick gendered movies.

[inkspiredwriting]

Love, Hate, and the Hargreeves

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

Five Hargreeves had always been known for his sharp mind and sharper tongue. Y/N, his girlfriend, was no different. Their relationship was a fiery mix of love and playful antagonism, a dynamic that often left the rest of the Hargreeves family in stitches. Today was no exception.

The siblings had gathered in the living room of the Umbrella Academy, the air filled with the scent of popcorn and the sound of laughter. Klaus had found an old box of family videos and insisted on a movie night, much to everyone’s amusement.

Y/N and Five sat on the couch, bickering over which movie to watch.

“I’m telling you, Five, ‘The Princess Bride’ is a classic!” Y/N argued, holding the DVD case up for emphasis.

“And I’m telling you, Y/N, if I have to hear ‘As you wish’ one more time, I might throw myself into a time vortex,” Five retorted, rolling his eyes.

Diego snickered from his spot on the floor. “Ah, the sweet sound of true love.”

“Viktor,” Y/N pleaded, turning to him for support. “Back me up here. ‘The Princess Bride’ is timeless, right?”

Viktor smiled, enjoying the show. “It is, but watching you two argue is better entertainment.”

Luther, munching on a handful of popcorn, chimed in. “You know, Five, for a guy who’s been through the apocalypse, you’re surprisingly bad at picking battles.”

Five shot him a glare. “And for a guy who’s part gorilla, you’re surprisingly bad at shutting up.”

Klaus, sprawled out on the other couch, giggled. “Oh, leave them alone, Luther. This is their foreplay.”

Y/N and Five both turned a shade of red, but neither was willing to back down.

“Fine,” Five said, crossing his arms. “We’ll watch ‘The Princess Bride’. But if I start quoting it sarcastically, you have only yourself to blame.”

Y/N grinned triumphantly. “Deal. And for the record, if you don’t cry when Inigo Montoya gets his revenge, you’re heartless.”

Five smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. My heart’s in perfect working order. Unlike some people’s taste in movies.”

As the opening credits rolled, the siblings settled in, occasionally glancing at Five and Y/N, who were now sitting unusually close, sharing a bowl of popcorn. The movie played on, and true to his word, Five couldn’t resist a few sarcastic comments.

“‘My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.’ Classic line,” Five deadpanned. “Really hits you in the feels.”

Y/N nudged him playfully. “Shut up and watch, smartass.”

Halfway through the movie, during the iconic fire swamp scene, Klaus leaned over to Diego, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Do you think they’re actually fighting, or is this some weird foreplay we don’t understand?”

Diego chuckled. “Given how they are, it’s probably both.”

Y/N threw a piece of popcorn at Klaus. “We can hear you, you know!”

Klaus caught it and popped it into his mouth. “Just saying, you two have the sexual tension of a rom-com.”

Five rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide a smirk. “And you have the brain of a goldfish, but we still keep you around.”

Laughter erupted, and even Y/N couldn’t help but join in. The teasing was relentless, but it was also filled with affection. The Hargreeves were a dysfunctional family, but they were a family nonetheless.

As the movie reached its climax, Five found himself genuinely engrossed. He glanced at Y/N, who was watching with a look of pure joy on her face. Despite their constant bickering, he loved seeing her happy.

The final scene played out, and as the credits rolled, Viktor turned to them, grinning. “So, how was it, Five? Are you a ‘Princess Bride’ fan now?”

Five shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “It wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N beamed. “I’ll take that as a win.”

Klaus jumped up, stretching dramatically. “Well, this was fun. Let’s do it again sometime. Preferably with more popcorn and less bickering.”

Diego smirked. “Less bickering? With these two? Not a chance.”

Five stood, pulling Y/N up with him. “Come on, Y/N. Let’s leave these amateurs to their popcorn.”

Y/N laughed, following him out of the room. “As you wish.”

The siblings burst into laughter again, and Five couldn’t help but smile. Their love/hate relationship might be a source of endless teasing, but it was also what made them, well, them.

As they walked down the hallway, Y/N slipped her hand into Five’s. “Thanks for watching the movie with me, Five.”

He squeezed her hand, his usual sarcasm softened by genuine affection. “Anytime, Y/N. Just don’t expect me to quote it back to you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” she teased.

And with that, they continued down the hall, ready for whatever adventures and arguments lay ahead, knowing that as long as they had each other—and the Hargreeves’ relentless teasing—they could handle anything.

[concretejunglefm]

I just wondered who your favourite writers are on here ☺️

hi anon 👋 there's so many I honestly don't know where to start.

@xmads-omensx and her call me lover series, as well as her new one say you're mine and she has many more one shot blurbs as well as text requests

@saythatuwill and their something in the water fic, she also has a wonderful vessel fic on her ao3 for sleep token fans

@concreteangel92 and her thou shall not kill series as well as many of the other requests or Noah one shots she writes

@somebodyels3 who's bartender!noah and cupid!noah I'm in love with, as well as her overall sub!noah thoughts. she has so many more wonderful stories including butterfly clips because noah fluff brings out the cute aggression

@veephoenix do I need to say more other than noah and lia? I will because there's also a folio fic too, debts to pay, for us folio fans. Also into the abyss of bad habits

@deathblacksmoke and her whole dramamine series, but she also has so many wonderful other one shots and series, including some with the bo guys x plus size!reader like this one with folio also matt and noah

@defuckingthrone-dot-com and her do I wanna know if you're too sweet jolly fic, and her noah a dirty wedding affair fic, as well as having many other thots and one shots

@fadingangelwisp and her bestfriend!noah series I told you I love you and it felt like a lie as well as anything werewolf!noah

@flowery-mess frat boy!noah and firefighter!noah, need I say more?

@blade-dressed-in-red has some sweet noah fluff for everyone who needs that

@aplaceinthedark and their entire lost in the labyrinth series, especially if you enjoy spooky vibes

@sorrowsofsilence and the bet because I'm self indulgent and fell in love with that from the start but she also has so many more incredible things

@kaliforniahigh and most recently her zombie apocalypse au

@silent-stories has a lot of cute Noah one shots and blurbs as well as a whole brothers bestfriend series and two other series TBAF and WTMS

@1toreyouapart and their incredible supernatural inspired fic exorcizamus, she also has a couple more on going series which are amazing

@collapsedglasshouses and her tangled threads fic as well as multiple more fics involving the other bo guys

@treacheryinblue and the incredible on display series as well as a handful of other series and one shots

@familiarscars and her lost in control + drive you insane series, fitting titles to how they they make you feel

@erraomens and her the fear of feeling series which has been a wonderful read thus far

@darksigns-exe and her crave fic, which was just beautiful, she also has a selection of so many more wonderful fics, series and one shots including an upcoming one ghost in the silence // dear in the headlights

@malice-ov-mercy and her wonderful brain overall with the one shots and blurbs step bro!noah 🥵, but also her incredible din evigt fic

@ladyveronikawrites and her bound with love fic, it's not bo but I loved it, as well as hotel hijinks and dominate the game, she also has many others including a kinktober series

@sitkowski and their the riptide verse but also their latest incubus!jolly punish series as well as many more including an upcoming twisters au that I'm soooo excited for

@fadingintothegrey and their bestfriend!noah collection especially guess

@enemiestolovershoe and their unintentional rivalry fic as well multiple more Noah and folio ones

@concretenoah has also wrote some sweet noah things

@fuck1ng-queen who has so many beautiful fics like linda

I also recently found Nazareth by whatitcost on ao3 and devoured it

[chrrymlks]

please could you do one for Italian oh where r has a really bad period and (ignoring his jokes) he is really soft and helps her? just pure fluff xx

୨୧﹕ soft comfort .ᐟ oneshot

pairing ; italian bach x fem!reader contains ; fluff fluff fluff a/n ; been a while since i’ve wrote for bach but he’s one of my favs soooo summary ; despite his stupid jokes, your boyfriend takes care of you.

You groan, curling up tighter under the blanket, pressing a heating pad against your stomach in a desperate attempt to soothe the relentless cramps, and frankly, you’re over it.

Isaac strolls into the room, holding a bag of crisps and looking far too relaxed for your liking. He plops down beside you and nudges your leg with his knee.

“Ah, yes,” he says dramatically, “the monthly apocalypse has begun. Should I prepare for battle?”

You glare at him, too exhausted to form a witty response. He grins, unfazed.

“I mean, honestly, babe, at this point, I should just invest in a suit of armor. Don’t worry, I’ll fight off the demons-”

“Isaac,” you say, your voice flat, cutting him off.

His teasing smirk falters when he finally looks at you. Your face is pale, your brows furrowed in discomfort. You’re clutching your stomach like it might betray you at any moment. His joking demeanor vanishes in an instant.

“Wait… are you actually in pain?” His voice softens as he leans closer.

You give a weak nod, and he curses under his breath. Without hesitation, he tosses the crisps aside and shifts so he’s lying beside you, carefully wrapping his arms around you. His warmth is immediate, and the steady rise and fall of his breathing is oddly soothing.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“You were too busy preparing for battle,” you mumble, letting your head rest against his chest.

He lets out a guilty sigh, rubbing small, soothing circles on your back. “I’m an idiot. A dumb, insensitive idiot. I revoke all period jokes effective immediately.”

You let out a tiny, tired laugh. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He chuckles but stays true to his word, focusing entirely on making you comfortable. He adjusts the heating pad so it sits snugly against you, then pulls the blanket higher around your shoulders. One of his hands finds yours, lacing his fingers with yours as he presses a kiss against the back of your hand.

“I’ll be right back,” he promises before slipping out of bed. You hear him rummaging through the kitchen, and when he returns, he has a cup of tea, your favorite snacks, and even a fluffy pair of socks.

“For warmth,” he says, slipping them onto your feet with exaggerated care. “Because your toes deserve comfort too.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart swells at how gentle he is. He tucks you back into his arms, letting you nestle into his warmth.

“I’m sorry for joking,” he whispers, before going back to his usual jokes. “Ugh! Women have it so hard. If I could fight your uterus for you, I would.”

You snort. “You’d lose.”

“Okay, true. But I’d try.”

Smiling, you close your eyes, finally feeling some relief - not just from the warmth and comfort but from knowing that, despite his terrible jokes, Isaac is always there when it matters most.

Isaac presses another kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulls back just enough to watch your face. His hand moves in slow, comforting circles on your back, and the steady rhythm of his breathing against you makes it easier to relax.

“You wanna watch something?” he asks softly. “Something distracting? We could put on that dumb rom-com you like - no complaints from me this time. Full boyfriend duties activated.”

You hum, tilting your head to look up at him. “No complaints? You’re not going to spend the whole movie pointing out plot holes and unrealistic declarations of love?”

He smirks. “I mean, I was planning on it, but given the current circumstances, I’ll hold my tongue. For now.”

You let out a small laugh, which quickly turns into a wince as another cramp rolls through your stomach. Isaac immediately tightens his arms around you, his expression shifting back to concern.

“Okay, new plan,” he says. “No movie yet. Just you, me, and Operation Make You Feel Better.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what exactly does that entail?”

“Well,” he starts, looking thoughtful, “we’ve already done the heating pad and the cozy socks, so next on the list is snacks.” He reaches over to grab the stash he brought earlier and waves a chocolate bar in front of you like it’s a prize. “Sweet or salty? I brought both because I’m, like, the best boyfriend ever.”

“You are the best,” you admit, taking the chocolate from him and unwrapping it slowly. “And I will definitely hold this over your head next time you annoy me.”

“As you should,” he agrees, looking smug.

You take a bite, letting the sweetness melt on your tongue, and sigh in contentment. Isaac watches you with a soft smile before shifting so he’s lying on his back, pulling you onto his chest. His fingers trail up and down your arm absentmindedly, and you feel yourself getting drowsy.

“Hey, babe?” he murmurs after a moment.

“Hmm?”

“Does it help at all? Me being here?”

You blink sleepily, touched by the hesitation in his voice - like he’s genuinely worried he’s not doing enough. You nuzzle closer, tightening your arms around him.

“It helps a lot,” you whisper. “You always make things better.”

Isaac lets out a slow breath, pressing another kiss to your hair. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’d do anything to make you feel better.”

You smile against his chest, the warmth of his words settling over you like a second blanket. The pain is still there, but it feels a little more bearable now, wrapped up in his arms, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

[beardedjoel]

butt dial | a pretty little wife mini chapter

joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | ✨kofi ✨

summary: 2.3k words; you're home alone while joel is out with his brother. he butt dials you, and you hear some very interesting things. warnings: 18+ MDNI, no apocalypse au, pre-established sub/dom relationship/dynamic, dirty talk, pet names for reader, joel says some dirty ass shit about pretty wife, allusions to smut at the end a/n: just a short little ditty inspired by this ask - you're an absolute saint for putting this idea in my head it had me kicking and giggling my feet to think about and write. enjoy!!!

You sigh, leaning back on the couch and curling up a bit more. The blanket draped over you has fallen, so you tug it up a bit and snuggle your arms underneath the plush fabric. It still carries a lingering scent of Joel and you happily breathe it in as you train your eyes on the screen. You’ve put on a mushy romance film, the type Joel doesn’t typically jump at watching with you. It’s not that he won’t, because one look from your desperate eyes will have him rolling his and turning the movie you’ve requested on, anyways. But a man has his limits, and he’s said no more than one of that genre every few months.

Joel is out tonight with Tommy, grabbing drinks to fulfill their monthly tradition. They often have a beer at yours and Joel’s place, or go out for just one after work, maybe, but once a month they have a full-on night out. You encourage it, wanting Joel to stay close with his brother. You never had such a close relationship with your family like he does with his brother, and you know their tough upbringing drew them together. 

You also don’t mind having the house to yourself for the evening, you think with a wry smile, basking in the quiet comfort and being able to pick whatever form of entertainment without your well meaning husband griping about it. You’ve got on one of the newest rom-coms you’d noticed on Netflix the other day, and have a lazy smile as you watch, feeling fully content. You’d made a hearty batch of fried rice for dinner, leaving a plate made up in case Joel came home drunk and starving (he always did). 

A sudden trilling tone interrupts your daze, and you pause the movie and sit up to see your phone lit up and ringing. Joel’s name flashes on the screen, along with a photo of the two of you together, taken on a sunny day when you went hiking. It makes you smile briefly before worry settles in, wondering why he’s calling right now. It makes your stomach sink a bit, hoping he’s not gotten into trouble, or worse, hurt. You scramble to answer, your fingers fumbling with the buttons until you pull it to your ear, your breath hitching as you try to swallow and get the words out.

“H-hello?” you say quickly into the receiver, clutching it close to your ear. You hear a staticky sound, loud and grating as the call finally comes in. You yank it back from your ear, your brows knitting together in confusion. The sounds become a little clearer as you listen closer, and you can hear the buzz of multiple, overlapping conversations and music. You breathe out in relief as you realize Joel is okay, and nearly laugh at how worked up you got in the first place. Your mind just goes to that terrified place, wondering how the hell you’d ever live if something happened to him.

You almost hang up, smiling with the burst of relief when you catch the tail end of something Joel is saying. You know this was an accidental butt dial, and you really should hang up, but after your scare, you want to hear your husbands safe, comforting voice… just for a second. Just  a second, and then you’ll hang up, give him his privacy. 

You press the phone close to your ear, trying to make it out. You hear the distinct sound of both of the boys’ laughter, Joel and Tommy, and you can tell just from that noise that they’re well into their drinking for the night. It’s a lighthearted, deep laugh, one that he doesn’t do very often. It makes you smile and you sigh a little, putting your chin in your hand.

“-and then I fell right down, right there on the damn street… Theresa was pissed, lemme tell you…” you hear Tommy’s voice slurring out, a little distant but still clear enough to make out. Joel howls with laughter and you can picture him, trying not to choke on his sip of beer, clapping Tommy on the shoulder.

“Fuckinhellbrother,” Joel slurs, like it’s one full word.

“I know, I know. Your missus is lucky she ain’t out with us right now,” Tommy replies.

“She’d sure as hell be laughin’ at our asses, if ‘m honest.”

Your eyes widen at the mention of you. You feel a twinge of guilt press on you but you can’t find it in yourself to hang up just yet. You just want to hear a little bit more… you think devilishly to yourself.

“What’s she up to tonight? Probably sittin’ at home missin’ you,” Tommy teases his brother.

Joel chuckles. “Guarantee she loves it, probably got one of her sappy little movies on. Silly fuckin’ girl...” You smile at how well he knows you and press the phone a little closer.

“C’mon, know you watch ‘em with her, too,” Tommy slurs a bit.

“Can’t say no to a face like that… and a mouth like that…” Joel says boldly. You feel your eyes go wide and you hold back a gasp. You feel your cheeks starting to burn a little to hear the way Joel’s being so open with his brother, the implication behind his words heavy with innuendo.

“Chriiiiist, here wegoagain,” Tommy says quickly, slurring. You furrow your brow, picking up on the fact that Tommy has heard Joel talking like this before, like it’s completely normal for them. You start to feel a pleasant little swirl deep in your gut at the fact that Joel brags about those particular abilities of yours.

You think you hear them both chuckle a little bit. “Know I can’t help m’self Tommy. Fuckin’ body of an angel, mouth of a fuckin’ devil, lord. Could go on about it f’days.”

Tommy seems quiet for a moment, just listening. “You always brag too much, brother. ‘Sides, she says nothin’ but sweet things and you know it. Nicest little gal around.”

“Who said anything about the things she’s saying?” Joel quips back. 

“Fuckin’ hell. Yeah, I get it, your wife gives good head, yeah?” Tommy snips, but it sounds more playful than angry to you. 

You can picture your husband, face flushed from the alcohol and hair a little messy, leaning forward and grinning in that devilish way. “Suckin cocks’s not the only thing she’s good at. Practically everything, really, but lord does that woman know how to do just what I want. She’s a real good listener, my girl.” Your thighs clench together and you feel your breathing hitch. Just Joel basically calling you a good girl from afar has you feeling like an animal in heat all of a sudden. You throw the blanket off as you feel your body starting to warm up and a soft smile comes to your face. 

You hear silence from Tommy’s end, maybe too stunned to speak, clearly giving Joel permission to keep going.

“Y’know the best part? I got her listenin’ so good, she’ll do just about anythin’. Let me fuck her whenver I needta, you get me?”

“Christ Jesus, Joel, whatever the hell was in this fuckin’ beer got you too open tonight…”

“Can’t a man brag about his wife without gettin’ hounded? Jus’ wanted to share a lil love for my sweet gal.”

“Alright, alright, but shut the hell up now,” Tommy says with a howl of laughter, and the phone goes a little quieter, assuming Joel adjusted in his seat. 

“Jealous, jealous…” Joel taunts. 

“Shut. It. Or we’re gonna have a real bar fight on our hands here,” Tommy threatens teasingly. Their words continue to jumble a bit, and you can tell they’re both reaching close to their limit on beer and liquor for the evening. 

“Oh, fine,” Joel finally says, vowing to get off the topic. 

You feel a surge of pride that you witnessed something so special, so pure, despite the filthy things he was saying about the two of you. It just felt like pure love and adoration, even when you weren’t in the room to hear it. It makes your heart skip a little bit to know that Joel talks so highly of you even when he isn’t around you, going so far as to brag about such intimate things with his brother. You know it was lewd, but it made you feel that warm feeling you get whenever Joel shows you off in any way.

Lost deep in thought, you’ve already started to tune out their next batch of teasing and laughter as they move on to a new topic, so you decide to hang up the phone and let them get on with their night. 

You feel a lingering pride to be Joel’s wife sticking with you as you when you go back to watching the movie. Your heart feels so light and free right now, and you find yourself yearning for him to come home just so you can unload some of this love onto him as it bubbles up inside of you. 

Another hour and a half later, you hear keys jingling outside the door before the lock clicks and the front door swings open clumsily. Joel spots you instantly, curled up on the couch with a wide smile as soon as your eyes flick over to him. You sit up and stretch a little, taking in the full, broad form of him fumbling about as he walks in.

“Oh, hello there,” he says in a low, goofy voice. He stumbles in a little, a goofy smile on his face as he tries to take off his shoes. 

“Feelin’ good, handsome?” you tease him, trying not to laugh at how absolutely adorable your husband is when he’s a little drunk.

“Better ‘n good, now. Home with my pretty girl…” he coos. You stand up, bounding over to him and wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling yourself close as quickly as you can. 

“Oh,” he puffs out as you practically slam into his chest. One hand immediately wraps around your waist, drawing you closer, the heat of his hand burning through your thin tee shirt, and the other splays across the back of your head, pulling you in for a long, deep kiss. You moan quietly, a little desperate mewl climbing its way out of your throat as his lips devour you. You can taste his evening - beers and liquor and… a cigar? You should chastise him for that one, you think, but you know Tommy can be a bad influence so you let it slide in lieu of some more kisses from him. You deepen it and slide your tongue into his mouth, and he happily returns it, tongues skimming each other for a few moments before you pull back, gently biting his bottom lip on the way.

“Hell, what’d a guy do to deserve a kiss like that, hm?” Joel muses, a little tipsy sounding. His hand comes around your head to stroke your cheek, thumb lingering as he traces down the soft skin there.

“Just wanted to show you all the things I’m good at, since that’s what you said, right?” you tease him, knowing he likely won’t even be able to piece in together in his current state.

Joel’s face scrunches up a bit, his brows drawing together as he tries to wrack his hazy brain for any clue of what you’re referring to.

“Not just good for ‘suckin’ cock’?” you say, your voice low, a furtive little whisper right near his ear. You peel back a bit to see his eyes widen a little, more confused than ever.

“Wh-”

“Butt dial, darling,” you tell him, pecking his cheek.

Joel laughs, a nervous yet comfortable laugh, able to read you well enough to know you aren’t upset about what he said, just amused. His laugh turns to a low chuckle, a little mischievous glint in his eye. His hand slides down from the small of your back to you ass, giving it a gentle, swift pat.

 “And aren’t you a naughty girl for listenin’ in on my private conversation, hm?” he teases, bringing his lips within an inch of yours.

“Couldn’t help myself, had to hear what my husband really thinks of me.” You move your lips the slightest bit, brushing against his in a soft touch. “Good thing it’s not anything I didn’t already know…” You pull back suddenly, giving him a wink and putting a little space between the two of you.

“In that kind of mood tonight, are we, doll? Little bit bratty?” Joel asks with raised brows. “Gonna have to make you prove to me everything I told Tommy is true then, aren’t I?” Joel’s eyes go hungrier, a deep, feral need growing in his core and showing up right in his dark irises.

You shrug and turn to walk away, but Joel grabs onto your wrist, spinning you back against him. “Nuh uh, not so fast. You’re comin’ with me, darlin’” he spits out. In a split second his arms are on either side of your waist, hoisting you up and then tossing you over his shoulder so that your head is hanging down his back.

“H-hey!” You giggle, swinging your feet to try and get down, knowing it’s no use, and if you’re honest with yourself, you don’t want to escape, of course. Not from a hold this good.

Joel’s hand reaches up and smacks your ass hard as he carries you towards the stairs. “Now let’s go and you can tell me all about everything you heard me sayin’ tonight.”

You smile wide, feeling your mind and body already buzzing for your husband and all the things he seemed to have in store for you. It was going to be a fun night, indeed.

plw taglist: @aphterthoughtt @bbyanarchist @amy172 @hazzaismyreligion @ohheypedrito @msmorningstaarr @kamcrazy123 @madhere @paleidiot @saverockandroll54 @daddy-din

[car0lanny]

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

EU PEÇO A ATENÇÃO DE TODOS!

Além de extremamente parecidos fisicamente, esses quatro idiotas sacrificiais possuem muitas outras semelhanças! Por este motivo, eu nomeio-os como os "Cavaleiros do Apocalipse". O motivo é claro.

E eu coloco aqui o Kim Roksu, não o Cale Henituse. Pode ser o Roksu com 20 anos ou o de 36 anos, qualquer um antes da transmigração.

Dito isso, se vocês repararem bem, eles também já estão na ordem de idade! Yuder é o mais novo e Dokja o mais velho. "Ah mas o Roksu foi transmigrado com X anos" foda-se, para mim ele é o segundo mais novo dos quatro.

[upon-a-starry-night]

Love Favors The Misfortunate

Natasha Romanoff x Gender-Neutral Reader

Natasha Masterlist Main Masterlist

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Minor Violence

Summary: Misfortune always seems to follow you no matter what you do. But where there’s trouble, Nat often follows, maybe love was on your side after all?

Disclaimer: This was part of a writing exercise I did so it’s kind of silly and unedited but enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Somehow you always managed to wind up in the worst situations that Earth could possibly experience. You wondered if you were just cursed or something considering last week you were present for not one but two bank robberies. 

Maybe that was just the life of a delivery driver?

You hoped the lady behind the bank counters Caesar salad tasted better after death threats and salty tears of desperation.

This time, however, in the middle of checking the GPS during a stoplight, the sound of screams alerts you to the number of people ditching their cars and running past your motorcycle in fear.

Looking up you see the giant rip in Earth's atmosphere, monster-looking creatures spilling out of the hole. 

Oh, Good.

You immediately kick your motorcycle into gear, walking the bike through the crowds of people until you can manage to make a U-turn and speed off, weaving your way through the panic.

You spare a few glances into your mirrors as more flying monsters spill out of the sky and it's during one of these glances that you fail to notice the giant alien who has just landed in the street a few feet ahead of you. By the time you notice him you only have enough time to attempt a full stop which results in your bike sliding from under you and skidding across the pavement. Ouch.

Much to your luck, however, the bike collides directly with the monster and sends it straight into its own spear. A weird purple liquid oozing slowly from underneath the unconscious body. 

You frown, it was going to cost a pretty penny to get your bike fixed if it was even salvageable and now you definitely weren’t getting paid for the hamburger and fries that were probably still warm in your delivery bag.

Maybe you could see if french fries taste better after near-death and motorcycle debt.

Wincing, you feel your arms already bruising and your jeans have ripped through to your thigh, you're not bleeding as much as you probably should be from that slide but it still hurts like hell. Thank god you were wearing all your safety equipment.

A hand is extended out to you and you graciously take it, looking up to meet eyes with the prettiest redhead you’ve ever seen. She’s giving you an impressed smile and you feel like you could melt right then and there. Although that might also be from the burning pain in your leg. 

You probably need to find a hospital. Or maybe you were dead and this was an angel.

You always figured they’d look like the horrendous abomination of eyes and wings that they were described as, not as pretty redheads with striking green eyes but you weren’t complaining.

“That was a good move” There are still people running past you screaming but it feels like time stops when she speaks to you. 

“Yep. that was definitely something I did on purpose” Drumming your fingers on your thighs you watch her chuckle and give you a look that tells you she knows you did not, in fact, do that on purpose.

You glance between your bike and the woman in front of you, screaming civilians making the moment almost comical. You felt like you were in some kind of rom-com apocalypse.

Despite it being the last thing you should probably do, you extend your hand out to her and tell her your name. She gives you a very amused look and you shrug your shoulders as if to say ‘Why not? We’re here aren’t we?’ 

She chuckles again as she takes your hand, introducing herself.

Natasha. Derived from the Russian name Anastasia, which means resurrection. Maybe she was an angel. Damn.

Natasha nods her head in the direction of the crowd and smirks “Shouldn’t you be joining them?” You shrug. “Unless you know more moves like that?” She gestures toward your beat-up bike and you shake your head

“No. Unfortunately, I haven't mastered the art of more than one motorcycle trick yet” Not that you could get that thing to start back up again after that anyway.

She shakes her head with a laugh, glancing over her shoulder at the mess the city is becoming before turning back to you. “ Well I guess until you learn you should probably get running”

You nod, a little dejected, your calmness in relativity to the situation was likely the result of a concussion but you weren’t worried. Unless Nat was not real, in that case, you should be worried. Very Worried.

“Will we meet again?” it’s cliche and you immediately feel like a protagonist in a Disney movie but it’s a genuine question.

She smirks and looks around at the city again, gesturing to the absolute clusterfuck that New York had become “For your sake, I hope we don't” 

You know she doesn’t mean anything bad by it and it’s your turn to smirk when you say “Knowing my luck, we will” You hope she finds herself near a few banks in the upcoming months…

She smiles at you and nods her head in the direction of the crowd and you understand what she’s trying to tell you. With one final wave and a small “good luck” you run in the direction of your fellow New Yorkers, occasionally glancing back to see her running in the direction of the main battle.

You didn't know who she was but Damn did you want to. 

~~~

The next time you find yourself in a particularly unfavorable situation is not for months later. Minus that one time you witnessed two old ladies get mugged and that time you almost got hit by an ice-cream truck. But you got free ice cream from the second one so you weren't counting it.

You’d taken up a job in a small pizza place to pay for your bike repairs. It didn’t pay much but you didn’t have that many options after New York got attacked by aliens and half the businesses were destroyed or temporarily shut down. This is one of the few places still open which means on Friday nights you were busy as hell.

It was not a Friday night. It was a Tuesday afternoon and your coworker who was supposed to be on shift with you called out sick which meant you were manning the shop by yourself. Your stupid coworker was probably just off cheating on his girlfriend again but you didn’t care because the shop was empty which meant you could play games on your phone without his judgmental stare.

You’re struggling through level 5 of Candy Crush when the sound of breaking glass comes from the front of the shop and you sigh. You would be surprised but it was New York, more specifically it was your life in New York.

What you are surprised by, however, is the sight of familiar red hair covered in glass in the entryway, and you really want to rub your eyes with the squeaking sound effect like in the cartoons but the amount of microfibers that just got released into the air would suggest not doing that.

“Well well well” You realize you sound more like a supervillain than you intended and you freeze when she stands and sharply turns in your direction, gun pointed directly at you. You throw your hands up in surrender immediately. Goddamn supervillain catchphrases always making pretty girls turn their guns on you.

When she seems to recognize you she relaxes only for a man to jump through the already broken glass window and tackle her to the ground again. You want to help but considering you still haven't learned any more motorcycle tricks(or any tricks in general) you figure you would probably be useless.

You watch helplessly as she disarms and renders the guy unconscious in a matter of seconds and then stands and dusts herself off. The guy on the ground looks like some old-timey variation of Hitler and you're pretty glad she knocked him unconscious before he could even notice you. 

You focus back on Nat who's looking at you like a wounded animal that could run away at any moment and It’s then that you realize that most people are not quite used to these kinds of situations. Clearly, you weren’t like most people. You point to the body in a trenchcoat on the ground as you crinkle your nose

“Are you taking that guy with you when you leave?” She huffs out a laugh and you feel yourself smile at successfully getting her to laugh again.

You, one.

Hitlerman, zero.

At least you were winning one game. Stupid Candy Crush.

She looks around the shabby pizza place and then zones in on your nametag, only them seeming to realize you worked there. She tilts her head, nodding to your flimsy little name pinned to your T-shirt. 

“Why are you working here? Where’s the bike?” You sigh, you knew the question was coming but it’s still a sore subject for you. You internally punch a wall but on the outside, you frown just a little. It’s the saddest expression Nat’s seen on your face so far.

“She’s in the shop. Repairs are taking longer than I thought and now I’m forced to conform to my least favorite type of work just to get her back” Nat gives an understanding nod and then cringes a little, walking towards you until she’s right in front of you. She places a hand on your head and you inhale sharply.

A small frown forms on Nat’s face “You’re bleeding” 

The feeling of her hand on your face confirms that she’s not an angel or a figment of your imagination and you don’t realize you’ve voiced that thought out loud until you hear Nat barking out a laugh.

“I’m flattered but, well-” She glances up, then behind her, then back towards you “I wouldn’t be so sure just yet” She smirks and removes her hand just as a ceiling panel falls from the roof. Dust flies into the air and you cover your face to avoid getting more shit in your eyes.

When the room finally settles Natasha is nowhere in sight but there’s a Captain America band-aid on the serving counter and you feel a small smile across your face. What a dramatic exit. Now who was the supervillain?

You take great notice of the fact that Hitlerman is also gone and you wonder how the fuck she managed to do that. But more importantly, you hoped this wasn’t coming out of your paycheck.

~~~

You can’t emphasize enough to most people how much you’re not even trying to be in the situations you get caught in. In fact, the one time you stayed home for a week you ended up catching the Flu. How the hell do you catch the flu from staying home? After that, you just accepted that you were a magnet for misfortune and there was nothing you could do about it.

Although, after meeting Nat you found yourself a little excited anytime something misfortunate happened and that was probably psychotic and you should definitely check yourself into a psych ward but you’d probably end up choking on a crayon and getting deemed a risk to those around you so what was the use?

Still, of all the robberies you’d been a witness to you’d never been a part of a hostage situation. Until now. Stupid Banks! 

Usually, you’d assume that the police would handle a situation like this and you’d be stuck in this bank for hours until someone grew a dick and negotiated something but this time circumstances were a little different. To start, the guy who was currently robbing the bank was holding some type of gun that was the equivalent of real-life freeze tag. 

Anyone who got zapped by the oddly blue glowing gun was frozen in place, which led you to problem number two. 

The police had shown up nearly half an hour ago and someone must not have briefed them on this wacko holding you hostage because the second one of them snuck in the back door with a gun he was frozen in place looking like the idiot that he probably was. 

You would attempt to grab his gun but you didn’t feel like doing that shit. Who were you to risk your life and try to be a hero for some money that this poor fellow probably needed considering New York's rent cost.

Maybe if the stupid fucker hadn’t frozen the one lady who knew the code to the very comically large bank safe he wouldn’t be stuck making stupid negotiations and holding people hostage.

Instead, you settled against a wall near a bunch of crying civilians and attempted once again to beat level 10 of Candy Crush. You give up after ten minutes and delete the app. Really you were just trying to kill the time until you-know-who showed up.

She and her band of merry men had grown a reputation for taking care of situations that the regular authorities couldn’t and that’s why you weren’t the least bit surprised when the room began to fill with a cloudy white smoke.

Others began panicking, fearing that it was some sort of poisonous gas and you rolled your eyes. This was not poisonous gas, you’d seen poisonous gas and this was not it. 

This was a very dramatic entrance formulated by your absolute favorite redhead. God, you felt like you were in a spy movie. Any second now you’d see a faint figure slowly descending from the ceiling in all black with a gas mask on and spy music would start playing.

Any second now.

Aaaaaany second now- 

A scream from beside you makes you jolt and you find the sobbing woman next to you with a hand over her mouth. A gruff-looking man is telling her to keep quiet and your eyes widen for a second as you think ‘Oh shit. Double robbery.’ But from behind the gruff-looking man walks a familiar figure and she pats him on the shoulder as she passes him. 

You squint your eyes, what an oddly metal-looking shoulder. Perhaps you were hallucinating. Stress and all that.

By this point, enough white smoke has filled the room that the bank robber is wildly swinging around in fear as he squints to see. He’s probably more on edge after that woman's scream as well. Yeeeeah more of a horror movie than a spy movie now. 

The reason you can see everyone so well is due to your superior eyesight and definitely not the science lab goggles that you had in your bag for no suspicious reasons. Hey, you had to be prepared for literally anything considering your luck.

Nat’s wearing some kind of night vision-looking goggles and a mask and when she passes you you poke her leg. She jumps a little, glaring at you until she seems to recognize you despite your flawless Lab Scientist disguise and her eyes widen. Her eyes seem to scream ‘What are you doing here’ but you feel it’s too obvious of a question to bother answering. 

Instead, you give her the biggest smile you can muster and a friendly wave, mouthing “Hiiii Nat!” 

She rolls her eyes but you can see the smile she’s hiding under her mask and you mentally fist pump. Three for three.

You point to the man wielding the gun and mouth to her “Go! Team go!” 

She shakes her head, exasperated by your lack of fear and self-preservation but holds her finger up to her mouth telling you to be silent as she turns to sneak up on the man. 

Your body does so love disobeying orders though, so it chooses that moment to sneeze, which has the man pointing the gun in your direction (not that he can see as his eyes are practically watering now) and Nat turns to you with a glare.

You raise your hands up in surrender and in an attempt to help, you throw the nearest object on the floor across the room. Oh, that was your phone- well, okay. Either way, it helps, the man swings back in that direction, blasting his gun in the air and Nat takes the moment to attack him from behind. 

She disarms him easily, taking him to the ground and placing him in handcuffs. She inspects the device carefully, flipping a switch and aiming it at the closest frozen person. With a bolt of light, they unfreeze and gasp for breath. Good, at least the idiot had created some sort of Ctrl-Shift Undo button.

You're part of the first few escorted out of the building considering you weren’t frozen or in hysterics and the paramedics look at you a little funny but wrap a shock blanket around your shoulders.

Yes, shock. That's what you were experiencing. Normal people things. You twist back and forth and watch the shock blanket sway as you wait for Nat to be done with her serious business. God, serious business was boring and took forever.

When she finally emerges from the building she ignores the press and police that come up to talk to her and heads straight for you. Ha! Eat shit losers.

She doesn’t bother with formalities, why would she? It's you. Instead, she hands you a small black box as she takes in the shock blanket you’ve tied around your neck to look like a cape.

“Here’s your phone” You take the object from her hands and inspect it.

Oh wow, No cracks, that's great. Wait- “This is not my phone” You turn it over and inspect the Stark logo on the back of it. Yeeeeah definitely not yours.

“No, it’s not” She doesn't bother lying to you at least, and you hum in acknowledgment. Well, you weren’t one to pass up a free upgrade. You pocket the phone and stick your hands in your front pockets, flashing her a smile

“So… you come around here often?” She rolls her eyes at your stupid attempt at a joke. Or flirting. Either one works.

“How do you keep ending up in these situations?”

It’s your turn to smirk “Maybe it’s just an excuse to see you?” 

She gives you a look that says ‘It better not be’ and you just shrug, your shock blanket falling to the ground. Fucker. Making you look uncool. You refuse to bend down and pick it up. Recovery blankets were for losers anyway.

Still, she smiles at you anyway and crosses her arms “I’m beginning to think the only way to keep you safe is to keep you with me”

Your heart leaps but you pretend to be nonchalant. You're only blushing because of shock or whatever. Play it cool “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea” A stupid smile forces its way onto your face despite your best attempts to repress it and Nat laughs at your stubbornness.

“But first I think we’ve got to teach you some self-defense” She nods her head indicating for you to follow her and you both begin walking in step to an unmarked black car. 

Kidnapper car.

Cameras are flashing around you and you think about how cool you’ll look with Lab goggles atop your head and white smoke in your hair on the news tomorrow morning. The media was going to love you.

Turning to Nat on your way to the car, you have a question that’s been itching at you that you feel the need to ask 

“Do you think your sugar daddy can help me fix my bike?”

She punches you in the arm.

A/n: This was initially a writing exercise to write the silliest short story I could think of, but I thought it was cute so I decided to post it~ Starry

[semiconductorwave]

The Genuine Cyberpunk Ambient Music Playlist Created: October 2015 Last modified: November 2024 Playtime: 4 hours+ Views: 22633

DreamWeb - Sweet Dreams

Crusader: No Remorse - Rebel Base 1 Extended

Fornax Void - Perimeter Sentinel Operations

Ghost in the Shell - Floating Museum

Burn Cycle: Kris VR

Percival Pembroke - Symphony No. 2 in F Minor (Excerpt)

Deus Ex - UNATCO Information (EXTENDED)

Jagged Alliance 2 - Laptop Theme

Fornax Void - VISITOR (EXTENDED)

Deus Ex - UNATCO Headquarters

Percival Pembroke - Dartmouth Basic

Fornax Void - Corporate Intranet Menu Music

In Pursuit of Greed - OST Probe 1

Oscillator - Megapolis - Kurzweil K2000

robocop.mp3

Fornax Void - Termination Protocol

Fallout 2 - Dream Town

Deus Ex - Majestic 12 Labs

Crusader: No Remorse - Mission 15

NECROS - Particle Control (EXTENDED AMBIENT LOOP)

Fornax Void - Cyberspace Database

X-COM Apocalypse - Dawn Over Barrier Walls

DreamWeb - Time Runs Out

Uplink - Serenity

Snatcher - Theme of Jamie

Fornax Void - Lohengrin Systems Consortium

Percival Pembroke - Impression STYLE (for RISC chipset)

Amun Dragoon Mix

Fornax Void - The Future of Void Corp.

Fallout 1 - Metallic Monks

Unreal - Dusk Horizon

Master of Orion 2 - Galactic Theme 3 (EXTENDED)

Lands of Lore 2 - Huline Jungle

Mirror's Edge - Flight

Satoshi & Makoto - Casio CZ-5000 Sounds & Sequences 1

Percival Pembroke - Beneath Apple Manor

Alpha Centauri - Gaia's Landing

Might and Magic VIII - Exploration Theme 1

Eve Burst Error - Room (Marina)

Demolition Man (MEGA DRIVE) - Library

Alpha Centauri - Yang's Planetfall

Waterworld (SNES) - Map Screen (EXTENDED)

Jurassic Park 2 (SNES) - Lethal Gas

Alpha Centauri - Morgan Industries

Fornax Void - Arcology Maintenance Hotline

Waterworld (SNES) - Shop (EXTENDED)

Custom Unreal Tournament Music - Mechanism Eight

Fornax Void - Music for Dystopian Concrete Buildings- more...

[callofdudes]

Zombie Ghost x Reader

Look at how adorable he is 🥰

Summary: After getting bitten by a zombie during the last outbreak, you and the team are clinging on to any hope you have of bringing back your friend.

Cw: Angst, death, gore.

A/n: I really do apologize for lack of updating as I've recently been quite a lot busier and mentally this feels like a brick load.

The zombie apocalypse. Unknown in origin and spreading around the globe in immeasurable numbers. Claiming half the popular by storm and turning them into spawn of the sucking, drooling, blood lusting bodies that dragged themselves across the earth. 141 was no stranger to dangerous tasks but while locked behind the safe haven of thick barbwire fences and giant floodlights on base to keep away from the spread, they were also charged with taking it down.

The daunting thought. Two of you sent out each week to kill as many as you could in a few days time while keeping regular in check hours with the others was grueling...

Ghost stopped abruptly along the treeline, forcing you to also stop, looking around at the chilly autumn landscape. You were lucky it was autumn, easier to see through the trees, the crunching of dried leaves and immediately give away to position. If only it didn't work for both parties.

You held your gun stiffly, unable to fight the urge to look back behind you several times. The air reeked of death and the smell was ungodly. You were close.

Ghost stepped forward again, shifting his crosshairs over toward the lake in the distance. Known to avoid water but not above sticking around it like fools. You both approached, surely this was your target end.

The whole thought made your spine tingle, and not in a good way. "Ghost- do you have a visual?" You whisper, turning again behind you just to be sure it is still barren.

"Negative." He replied, shifting his gun as he approached the end of the hill, staring down into the valley. A dead end.

He looked around before lowering his weapon. "Nothing."

"But there was a sighting around here." You look down at the lake where the water didn't stir and then around at the thick trees.

"I know, but I'm not-"

There was a crack, a branch above from a nearby tree giving way, it's limbs tearing like string as the weight came crashing down. Simon cursed as the branch hit him, sending him to the ground before feeling those cold dead hands grab onto his throat.

"Simon!!" You pointed your gun, watching the two struggle while trying to get a clear shot.

Ghost grunted, the zombie snarled at him, saliva flicking onto his face. Those milky, glazed eyes and the smell of the rotting flesh from its corpse. It leaned down, it's blunt teeth attempting to sink into him but Ghost managed to thrust it back.

You shot a bullet through its spine, hearing it screech and spill up blood from its mouth, animalistic hunger seeping in and it sunk its mouth into Ghost's forearm, biting and tearing into the flesh.

Ghost tries to get away and kick it off, managing to send it sprawling and losing its tight grip on him. And watching you put more than a fair share of bullets into it.

He panted, his arm throbbing. He winced under his breath, pulling up his sleeve and seeing the deep mark and the flesh torn from his skin from the separation. The way his veins were already bulging and searing black from the point of contact. Almost instantaneous...

"Were you hurt??" You move back over to him.

Ghost yanks down his sleeve

"No. I'm fine."

"Ghost-" You reach out for his arm and he tries to push you away, only aiding you in getting him with both hands, pulling his sleeve up to see the bite.

"Shit...." Your worst fear. You couldn't imagine yourself getting bitten, but one of your friends. Your lieutenant.

"We need to get you back home, fuck, how much time do we have??" You turned on your radio, comming in to Price for evac and a medical team.

Ghost watched you, feeling a sharp pain fill his head. He blinked, trying to ward it off, the whites of his eyes already invading his pupils and glazing over his irises. The venom spreading through his body and claiming him.

You looked at him, seeing him watching you and trying to hang on. "It'll be ok Simon." You said it more for yourself it felt. He gave a simple nod, sitting down against the tree nearby to try and stabilize himself.

The wait until evac and medical came was intense. You tried to keep Simon talking but it was clear his mind wasn't right. Half here half somewhere else, zoning in and out.

A new form of hunger already coiling in his stomach and taking over like a hand slashing through his intestines. Opening gashes and letting fluids pour out and burn the inside of him. That's what the hunger felt like. The wanting. The need.

To feast and sink his blunt teeth into the warm flesh of a body and tear it right from the screaming corpse.

He held his head, tapping his foot violently fast against the ground, trying to distract himself.

You watched him worriedly, looking back as medical came rushing over from where the helicopter had landed some hundred feet away.

"He needs help! Right now, he needs help!" You yell as they approach, one of the soldiers taking you aside while the other two stand Simon up.

"He's been bitten you need to help him!"

Ghost staggered, looking at you as the medical officers walked him back to the helicopter and helped him inside.

Your heart was racing. Would this be a goodbye?? What would happen?? Could they save him?? So many questions so little time.

You were loaded into a separate air unit while medical attended to Ghost.

Back on base they didn't let you see him either. Every minute wasted was a possibility to save Ghost and you knew that. But you couldn't help and see how Ghost struggled. His pale fists clenching, his once blue veins deep black, tinting the color of his skin.

How he struggled and fought the restraints of the medical bed before you were ushered in a different direction to go see your team.

It was quiet entering the living area, seeing Price sat there in his favorite chair, the rocker completely still while Johnny and Gaz occupied the couch, fidgety.

Gaz was the first to react, getting up and rushing to you. "Oh thank goodness. You had us worried mate- are you ok?" He inspected you, worry in his eyes until you squeezed his hand.

"I'm ok Gaz, I'm ok."

"So it's true then?? The report??" Johnny asked, still glued to the couch.

"About Ghost? Yes... he was bitten."

The reality all of you knew and yet weren't entirely willing to accept. You'd never managed to save anyone from the claws of the virus no matter how many small doses of formulas and stimulus syringes were produced all too quickly for them to properly work.

And if they did work, the constant need to be injecting it to keep the virus away from completely devouring the brain and the immune system was taxing.

You didn't sleep that night. Trying to imagine what Simon was feeling. Tossing and turning through every hour, thinking of Ghost. Your friend.

Maybe if you had helped faster? If you had shot faster or kicked the stupid thing instead of standing there like an idiot. All the what ifs drowned you and your worries for Ghost.

The next morning you were planning to stop by Simon's hospital bed to check on him and see if he was doing any better.

Before you could though, you were abruptly interrupted in the hallway by Johnny.

"Y/n, you have to come down to the containment room... it's not good."

"Containment...?" Your heart pounded. "Come on, let's go." You and Johnny rush down the hallway out past the medical rooms to a different room. One you had installed after the outbreaks to help keep any spawn in base contained.

Rushing into the room the containment unit was already surrounded by Gaz and Price.

You heard that snarl, the heavy breathing. Light footsteps that stalked the tank within.

"How is he??" You push in between them, seeing the unit. Simon... Simon was inside. But he didn't look like Simon. Not anymore.

The skin around his face was dark and bloodied, teeth bared and his eyes milky and cloudy.

He snarled when he saw you, he smelled you. Pounding on the unit and lashing out. His fists pounded on it, staring at you like a snack. Something he could eat whole. Swallow in one meal.

He mimicked those disgusting sounds of the horrors that roamed the wastes outside the base.

He slammed his body into the tank. Snarling and yelling as he threw himself, clawing and pounding on the windows.

"Simon stop!" You called, stepping back as he thrust himself at the window, slamming his fists into it.

Blood flicking over the glass and splattering with each hit.

"Simon you're hurting yourself!!" You cried, seeing Simon in a frenzy. Was this Simon?? This wasn't Simon. This wasn't your friend.

But you didn't know what you would do without Simon. You couldn't go on without him and right now he doesn't look like he is wants to be friends with you.

Simon was in so much pain. His stomach twisted and squelched inside his rotting body. It was so numb and yet he felt pain in every layer of flesh that was torn from his body.

He couldn't control when he bit that doctor, he couldn't control when he'd smashed the monitor and snapped his neck. He was hungry. He was so fucking hungry.

And now you were here, and that angry appetite only grew. He nearly salivated, he could smell your warm skin. He could see the fear and the hope in your eyes, but his hunger was in control. It's all he knew.

You continued to watch him throw himself at the tank, trying to calm him down, to get him to stop. To see any resemblance between your friend still in there. If there was anything.

"Simon please I need you to stop, stop Simon, please." You moved closer to the tank, placing your hand on it to try and calm him.

A moment of silence went by before he lunged again, screaming as his blunt, exposed teeth gnashed at the window where your palm was, making you jump back.

Price places his hand on your shoulder, watching Simon continue to try to get out. To fight the horrible hunger inside him.

"I'm sorry soldier..."

You quivered, seeing Simon like this broke you. Rushing from the room and back under your covers to cry. Simon, your best friend...

Why hadn't you just been faster. If you hadn't been so dumb and seen where that stupid zombie was perched this would have never happened. It felt like your fault. It was your fault.

Every day you went to see Simon, and every day it just felt worse. His anger slowly started to calm and you even took the occasional chance to try and feed him through one of the tubes attached to the tank.

Simon would eat it, but would watch you. Sometimes you knew he was looking at you because he wanted to eat you and others you weren't sure. It was a numb look. Blank. A look you all too often couldn't read.

You'd sit with him when he had stopped acting crazy. He would sit on the tank floor staring or would walk around, licking the tube into the tank to get any reminisce of the slop you had to feed him to help his hunger.

You would talk to him even if nothing was said back. It was like you were talking to a brick wall all over again.

It was your fault.

You did this to him.

He's hurting. He's in pain.

He's your best friend.

Hoard after hoard the team kept fighting, but you couldn't do this without Simon. You couldn't. And you couldn't fight knowing Simon was back on base locked up, going stir crazy and trying to get out. Fed anything from leftover meals if he was lucky...

It was another dark night. Sitting in your room while looking at one of the photos you had taken of Simon. One of the only photos you had where you caught his eyes in the light, seeing the glint and the faint sparkle that would travel back and forth. The corners of his eyes creasing from his hidden smile.

You left your bed, tucking your blanket around your shoulders with the photo in hand. You wandered down past the medical room and to the containment unit.

Flicking on the dimmer lights you saw Simon sitting at the back of his tank, eyes immediately on you when you enter.

"Hey buddy..." you whisper, coming over to the tank.

Simon snarls lowly, staring at you and slowly standing when you placed your hand on the tank. "I'm sorry Simon... I'm truly sorry..."

He huffed through his nose, coming over to the tank. He didn't bang on it, he didn't attempt to jump. He watched you. In the quietness, his glazed over eyes showing no signs of the person you once knew.

But then, for a moment, something happened. His hand came up, touching the glass over your palm from the other side. Seeming content.

You looked in at him, making your final decision. "I can't go on without you Simon. I just don't think I can watch you be kept in here. Not when I know they'll kill you soon."

Simon continues to silently watch you. You move away from the tank and over to the console in the corner, granting access to the security latch on the unit.

You both heard the hiss and the click. Simon's eyes watching you with that hollow, hungry desire. He pressed his hand to the glass, watching it move and shift open, letting him out into the air.

He smelled of death and rotting flesh. Sounds gurgled up in his throat, and he lunged at you. You gasp, your natural instinct to fight until his nails sunk into your shoulders.

You looked up at him as he sunk his teeth into your cheek, making you cry as he bit down and tore through the flesh and tendon, liquid squelching and blood splattering across the walls.

Tears swelled in your eyes as he chewed down your flesh and gnashed his teeth into the side of your face, pulling and tearing the tissue away from the bone and devouring you.

You cried, the pain making you fight and struggle against him as you went down to the ground. He straddled you, moving down your body, nails tearing at your collar bones and down your chest, completely tearing open your clothes and drawing blood from every inch of your skin.

That animalistic hunger inside him fed off the warm delicious taste of your skin.

"Simon-" You cried, knowing your fate was sealed. He continued to tear into your body. Snarling and hissing as blood spilled. He tore into your chest, making you scream as he broke through your ribcage and made for your heart, ripping it right out of your chest.

You choked, clawing for a last reminisce of life. Trying to cling on, to do anything. Your mind went blank and you succumb to the torture. Simon continues to eat, his hunger having been fed little by little by the slop from that tube.

The taste of your warm skin as it traveled down his raw throat was unlike anything he knew. It only grew that hunger inside him, his eyes glazing over and clouding thicker as the damage became beyond irreversible.

Pulling apart inch by inch of you and biting in to it, leaving you a bloody mess.

Blood marred all down his chin, making his face look black from the thickness of the blood. His hands covered and his nails dripping.

He could smell more of it. He snarled, getting up and slipping through the open door and down the hallway.

Growling and snarling as he went, stopping by the first door where he smelled a mix of human flesh with gunpowder and spice.

His stomach twisted in excitement as he pushes the door in, seeing the peaceful form that lay there. He moved, jumping on the bed and tearing into his once friend in his sleep.

The terrified screams of panic and pain as he tried to fight Simon off, grabbing his journal and trying hit him in the head in a desperate attempt to fight.

Simon twisted his head away, tearing into his throat and ripping his vocal chords out with the chunk of flesh, blood splattering everywhere.

Two down. Two to go.

Yes, this is immediately what I thought of when I first saw him so... yeah. It's unedited and I wrote it between taking naps so apologies if the gorification be lacking.

[noobiestnoober]

Swipe Right to Biohazard (Carlos X Reader)

You accidentally match on a dating app, not knowing you’re co-workers at a top-secret biohazard containment unit (think Umbrella-adjacent but ethical). A rom-com with slow burn tension, flirty messages, awkward work encounters, and the chaotic realization that you’ve been flirting with the guy who shares your locker wall. Cue tactical training mishaps, emergency drills, and long looks over protein bars.

You hated dating apps. Your friends insisted it was time to “get out there,” and after one too many glasses of wine and a pushy group chat full of profile suggestions, you caved. Reluctantly. You spent your Sunday afternoon swiping through profiles with all the enthusiasm of writing a post-mission report. Most of the bios were painfully try-hard or clearly bots—until you saw his profile.

Username: TacticalTeddy92 Bio: “Not a morning person unless coffee is involved. Can survive a zombie outbreak. Probably.”

You snorted. The line was cheesy, borderline cliché, but somehow it worked. Maybe it was the warmth in his eyes. Maybe it was that he looked like someone who could pull you out of an explosion one minute and make you laugh the next. Whatever it was, you didn’t think too hard—you just swiped right.

And to your surprise (and mild horror), it was an instant match. You exchanged messages that were casual, teasing, and strangely familiar—like you were catching up with someone you already knew.

Him: “So, what’s your apocalypse plan?” You: “Easy. Raid the coffee supply and then hide in the vents. No one checks the vents.” Him: “Genius. You a strategist or just a caffeine junkie?” You: “Can’t I be both?” Him: “Dangerous combo. I like it.”

The banter flowed effortlessly, like you’d known each other for years. You found yourself smiling every time your phone buzzed. Even during night shifts. Even in the break room where the coffee was criminally bad.

You didn’t know what he looked like in person exactly—his profile pictures were just vague enough—but something about the tone of his voice messages made your stomach do that stupid flip. You wondered what he did for work. He mentioned a lot of odd hours. Security clearance. A shared hatred for protocol meetings. So naturally, fate decided to ambush you.

It started innocently. You were in the locker room after an extended training session, tossing your boots into your locker when your eyes caught something taped on the metal door two spaces down. A photo. That grin. Your brow furrowed.

Then, as if summoned by chaos itself, he walked in. Carlos Oliveira—team lead, tactical specialist, the guy with the infamously charming smirk and the arms that made your coworkers swoon. He looked sleep-deprived and slightly rumpled. And all too familiar. Your phone buzzed in your hand.

TacticalTeddy92: “Hey, this might sound weird… but you work for B.E.A.S.T., right?”

You blinked.

You: “Wait. What makes you think that?”

TacticalTeddy92: “Your last photo. That containment corridor background? That’s HQ. I’d know that ugly lighting anywhere. ;)”

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Slowly, you looked up. Carlos was staring at you. His eyes darted to your phone. Then to your face. Recognition bloomed in slow-motion. The air between you went still.

“…TacticalTeddy92?” you whispered.

Carlos grinned, completely unbothered. “You didn’t recognize me? I’m hurt. Just a little.”

You stared at him in stunned silence. The irony. The audacity.

“I didn’t recognize you with a shirt on,” you muttered, instantly regretting it as your cheeks flared with heat.

He laughed, a deep and warm sound that echoed off the lockers and made your stomach twist in ways that had nothing to do with nerves.

“You gonna unmatch me now?” he asked, tilting his head with mock concern.

You considered it. Briefly. But then again, you did like a little danger.

“…Maybe after coffee. And a full psych evaluation,” you deadpanned.

He just winked, like he’d won a bet you didn’t know you were playing.

[thelastofhyde]

ii. santorini.

pairing. tourguide!joel miller x fem!reader. series synopsis. on the brink of undergoing a life-altering change, you runaway from your problems in the only way any sane person can: embarking on a mediterranean cruise. there you meet joel miller, a grumpy, private tour-guide, who just so happens to be tasked with touring you through each stop on your cruise. from greek goddesses to roman ruins, you have ten days to avoid your fate. maybe a frowning, southern, sex-on-legs of a man is just what the doctor ordered. chapter summary. tensions are high as you and joel spend your first day together exploring the popular island of santorini. back on the boat, joel gets a glimpse at more than he bargained for. series warnings. no use of y/n, set in 2015, no apocalypse au, cruise!au, rom-com, enemies-ish to lovers, tour-guide!joel, unspecified age gap, depictions/discussions of grief, angst, fluff, a whole load of smut, a lot of cheesy stereotypical romance tropes bc i just wanna see joel not suffer ( too much ) <3 chapter warnings. mild smut ( female masturbation, mentions of oral sex + piv sex ), bickering, alcohol, mild angst, so much cheese it'll turn you lactose intolerant!! btw joel hates santorini and he makes that known, but none of his opinions reflect my own ( please don't be mean to me over things characters say <33 ) word count. 7.9k hyde’s input. the majority of this chapter was written with a mixture of medicine flowing through my veins, it's a miracle it's even intelligible. apologies for the wait, the holidays and health issues got in the way <3 as always, i hope you enjoy, comments an dreblogs are always appreciated !! previous chapter - next chapter - series masterlist

It is a known fact that your name and late rarely exist within the same sentence.

The mere thought of being late fills you with a sickness you cannot cure. The extremes you’ll go to avoid it know no bounds. From arriving four hours before a flight, to waiting in your car a whole hour before entering a lecture hall, adulthood is a phase in which you’d sworn to repair the damage of a childhood worth of not arriving late.

Late to school, late to birthday parties, late to dentist appointments.

It wasn’t that you were a particularly difficult child, running rampant around the house as your mother tried to dress you, or your father tried to feed you. Quite the contrary, really. Often, it was little-you who chased around after them, and who waited by the door, school bag in hand, tapping your foot with every second that ticked by on the clock. You were too young and hadn’t the ability nor the empathy to understand that your parents were held up with sorting through things directly influenced by your existence, like cleaning up the messes you left at the breakfast table, or fixing the doorknob you and your sister broke in an intense game of hide and seek.

Nowadays, you can count on one hand the times you’ve been late.

First, you were late to your own surprise birthday party, but that was down to you getting stuck an extra hour at work. It was out of your control.

Then, there’d been your graduation ceremony. Your father missed an exit and ended up taking you on a mystery tour of the city, trying to find the next turn that led to your campus. Again, out of your control.

The third time is the one you remember panicking over the most, knee bouncing uncontrollably with nerves as you sat squeezed between two strangers on a plane. Your sister, barely halfway through her third trimester, had gone into labour, and where were you? Stumbling around drunk on a private beach in Cancún, mumbling along to the lyrics of some early 2000s classic you forget the name of. Your niece, all 4 and a half pounds of her, had decided now was her time to shine and there was nothing, not even the 4 weeks she had yet to grow in utero, that was going to stop her. By the time you arrived, mascara smudged eyes and with the stench of tequila still on your skin, she was laying peacefully in her incubator, the tiniest little fingers clenched into fists and a name tag around her wrist. This too was out of your control.

But the fourth time you’re late, as you stride urgently across the wooden decking of the ship, weaving in and out of lounge chairs and polo-neck wearing crew members, it’s completely within your control.

Yet, it’s not entirely your fault.

An alarm that never went off. A game of hide-and-seek with your purse. An unfortunate slip on bathroom tiles adding another bruise to your knees. An elevator that refused to travel faster than the speed of a snail. It’s as though Lady Luck had set out in favour of being against you, doing her utmost to ensure you arrive exactly seven minutes past your deadline. His deadline.

Best be on the deck by 7 am, darlin’, or I’m dockin’ without ya.

Your head whips from one side to another, eyes finding a familiar figure amongst the few passengers meeting their own private guides. It’s the same man from yesterday, out on the balcony, the memory of him cheering his champagne and shooting a tipsy smile your way replaying. Only now he’s clad in plaid, with a frown etched into his forehead as he stares at his watch. There’s another man, hanging off his arm, fusing with the collar of his shirt.

“She’s late,” you overhear him say, voice firm and leaking with annoyance.

“Maybe she just slept in!” The man next to him is cheerier, tired eyes full of optimism, even as he turns his head and stifles a yawn. “Give her a few minutes.”

“What kind of shitty tour guide sleeps in?” Balcony-Man huffs, and you can’t help but think of your niece and her pouty face whenever she fails to get her own way. “Does she think I’d not rather be asleep too? Lazy c-”

“See? This is why I told you to eat that damn croissant before we left.” The taller of them seems to snap, rolling his eyes. “Brighten up, Bill, or so help me God you’ll be leaving this boat a divorcee.”

Trying to tune their voices out, as the guilt of prying crawls its way into your bones, your gaze points down at your feet. The very same heels you’d worn last night, pretty as they may leave you, have you cursing at the Sun and the Moon. If you’d have just worn your sneakers, maybe you could have ran up the stairs instead of taking the snail-evator.

Joel, tour guide, Signore Miller’s voice- though your imagination can’t quite reach his level of arrogance- rears its irritating head through your mind, recalling his words from last night. Wear somethin’ a little more… practical. That had been enough to awaken that stubborn mule inside of you, hell-bent on proving him wrong.

But now, late, and with him nowhere in sight, your heels seem to have had the opposite effect. They’ve proved him right.

Which leaves you here, moping so pathetically you’re incapable of appreciating the shine of a rising sun over the horizon of aqua blue water.

Five minutes, you decide. That’s how long you’ll allow yourself to dwell in self-pity. Then, you’ll trek your way over to the Excelsior lounge, hit up the breakfast buffet, and await the general disembarking time.

Who knows, maybe you’ll get a call to say there’s a miraculous spot opened up on one of the tour groups.

If not, you’ll be fine! You’ve travelled alone before, you’ve got an all-inclusive data plan on your phone and you’re pretty well-acquainted with the less-than-accommodating features of Google Maps. You don’t need help, or a tour guide, much less one as blood-boiling, skin-prickling, irritating as Joel Mil-

“Wasn’t sure how ya like your coffee, but you look like a milk, two sugars kind of girl to me.”

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. Or, in this case, think of him.

Turning a little too fast, you stumble a step or two back, and, sure enough, there he is. A tight fitting, dark grey t-shirt stretched over the swell of his biceps, a pair of washed-out denims, and two well-worn running shoes, one on each foot. Trailing up the swell of his tanned neck, you count the freckles up to his eyes, and find there’s bags under them. The growth of hair on his face is just as unkempt as yesterday, yet already it seems to have grown longer, making the litter of greys stand out more. The hair that sits atop his head is damp, and the strands that have managed to dry are being messed around by the morning air. He’s still got that ever-present frown stamped into his forehead, yet his mouth doesn’t seem to curl into a snarl as he calls your name.

You must stare a moment or two past his comfort level, for he clears his throat and nods down at his hand. Two to-go cups, the smallest streams of steam floating out the hole in each lid.

He’s extending one out- the one in his right hand- towards you. “If you’d rather black, you can take min-”

“No!” You snap back into your own body, all too quickly and all too volatile. Clear your throat, and then try again, this time with a little less of that im being held at gunpoint shake in your voice. “No… Thank you. It’s fine- Milk is fine.”

It’s more than fine.

In fact, he’s gotten it spot on. Down to the number of sugars you take.

But, still stubborn, you yearn to not give him the satisfaction of being right so early in the day, and instead settle for accepting the coffee out his hand. You welcome the golden warmth eagerly, eyes unable to resist slipping shut as you take your first sip. When they reopen, you find Joel watching you, intently. Purposefully, as though you’re something to be studied.

Clearing your throat, you glance to the side and spot Balcony-Man and his partner greeting an apologetic woman.

“Thanks for the, uh,” his stare is intimidating your nerves, setting you on edge of something you’re all to eager to jump off. “Coffee. Yeah. You didn’t have to… I mean, I actually thought you’d, you know, uh-”

“You thought I left without ya.” He states. All you can do is nod. “I could’ve. I did warn you not to be late.”

“You did.”

“I also told you to wear somethin’ other than them heels.”

“I know.”

“Yet here you are, late and in heels. You’re not very good at following orders.” He exhales something akin to a chuckle, as devoid of humour as it may be, and you swear he’s suddenly closer than you remember, knuckles brushing against your own as he bumps his paper cup against yours. “Just what am I gonna do with ya, huh?”

For a moment, you swear your heart has leaped from your chest and up to your throat, threatening to choke you with the beat of it. There’s no sense you can make of it, this reaction he rouses, a heat you can’t control creeping down your loins as you drag in a whiff of some manly cologne, the kind you’d usually turn your nose up at for being too overbearing. Yet, on him, it’s not. On him it’s just right, like he was born with pine soaked skin, and a tobacco stained kiss, and-

Before you can think of pulling in another breath, Joel’s stepped back, allowing a cool breeze to pass between you and get a hold of your senses.

“C’mon, we’re slotted in for the first tender that leaves for shore.”

“Oh my God.”

You’re half certain Joel’s growing sick of hearing those three words roll off your tongue. He’s likely felt this way since it first left your mouth, feet struggling to safely step out onto the dock as your mind became enchanted by the picturesque view in front of you. Only the burn of his hand meeting your lower back, nudging you ahead to make space for himself and the other passengers to step off the tender boat, was capable of dragging you back into your own body, the wanderlust that had gripped your soul yearning to be free to explore every building that sits carved into rock, every water-taxi that flows idly on cristaline water, every step that winds up and up and up the island’s cliff where, at the top, civilisation seems to lie.

The port you’ve docked on is rather small, with naught more than two docking strips and a walkway of shops and confection stands, with boats that find no space along the docking strips tying themselves to any safety they may find over the expanse of the walkway. It is no wonder the cruise floats safely out in deeper waters, alongside several other cruise lines, with no space for such large vessels. And, yet, the port is alive with something. The ground seems to pulse, like a beat of a heart, and the air, as fresh as the grass after heavy rainfall, almost dances its way down your lungs. Voices swim all around you, tourists scrambling past each other, fighting in a race towards something you’ve yet to identify.

“So this is Gialos, also known as the Old Port of Fira.” Somewhere, behind you perhaps, Joel’s voice pipes up, a speech so rehearsed and robotic, a part of your wonders how many times he’s recited it, how many people he’s recited it to. The other part of you, however, is much too fixated on the stairs ahead to pay him true attention, eyes following as two men and several donkeys descend. “That, up there, is Fira, the capital of Santorini. We’re going to need to take a cable- Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes!” You’re quick to react, a defensive rise in your voice. He meets it with a deadpan look and the crossing of his arms over his chest, which quickly becomes something you wish he wouldn’t do as you watch the tight fabric of his shirt stretch itself thin over the bulge of his arms. “No. Sorry, I’m just… Wow.”

You hope he appreciates the restraint you show towards repeating those three dreaded words again.

“You have all day to stare,” his words trip over his own irritated scoff, and you bite back a question of why he’s a guide if he seems to hate it so much, fearful he’s too honest to not tell you a truth that may hurt your fragile feelings. A truth where it is not so much his job he dislikes, but rather, your presence and all that it brings. “Right now, we need to move. Don’t wanna spend all day waitin’ in line now, do ya?”

This need for speed that hooks the other tourists seems to filter over into your guide, who’s forcing you forward, that heat of his palm now hovering inches away from your lower back. It’s enough to lead you where he pleases. As a pair, you weave in and out small clusters of people, till the space between you both and the large gathering crowd slowly diminishes. It is there where his once telepathic leading fails, with Joel turning left towards it as you stray right, over to the ascending pathway of stairs.

“Where are you going?” His tone is offended, almost, as he comes to a halt and watches you fail to do the same, to notice the space between you both and correct it like some puppy who’s been called to heel by its master.

“Where am I going?” The question, at first, is one you mistake as rhetorical. Staring back at him with an equaled confusion, you gesture to the stairway, as though it is the most obvious answer. Because, well, where else could you have been heading? He said so himself, that up there is Fira, the capital of Santorini, and you’ll be damned if you don’t get to see it. “Where are you going?”

“To the cable cars, that’ll take us up the island.”

Above the crowd of people, hanging over doors of small businesses, lay several signs. CABLE CARS - 6€ ! stands out, impossible to miss. Symbols you scarcely recognise sit beneath it, in smaller text, and you assume it’s Greek. In the distance, you spy the movement of the mobile boxes, people being carted up the length of the cliff at a speed that promises them a journey of mere minutes.

“Oh.” So, perhaps his option makes more sense than your own far longer, more tiring one. Still, stubborn as a mule, you double down on your decision to take the scenic route, inching closer towards the first step. Your guide, still in the face, refuses to move, daring eyes willing you to continue. “You want us to take the lazy man’s route? You go ahead, I’ll take the stairs and meet you at the top.”

You press one foot up onto the first step, weary of where you rest the point of your heel.

Glancing a few steps further up, there’s the unmistakable sight of a mound of brown substance, no doubt excreted out of one of the donkeys that walk ahead, tourists mounted on their poor backs.

“I don’t think you understand,” he finally inches closer, if only slightly, hands clenched at his side. “There’s five hundred and eighty-eight steps until you reach the top.”

The number is more daunting than you expect, and you pray he can’t read this on your face. “Only? I’ll be up in no time then!”

You feel more than see the way Joel’s eyes travel down the expanse of you, stuttering almost over the curvature of your chest, the dips at your hips, till they rest at your feet. The question hangs loose between you, unspoken yet evident.

In those heels?

“Listen, Joel,” taking a second, third, and fourth step, you aim for a literal higher ground, staring down below as he continues to drift closer and closer towards the stairway. “If you’re not fit for the task, or the climb’s no good for your knees, you can just say it, there’s no shame. Like I said, I’ll meet you at the top. Promise I won’t even report the fact my private guide abandoned me in favour of his own comfort.”

Defeat has never come easy.

Well, to phrase it better towards the truth, acceptance of defeat has never come easy.

There was always something more to be said, another excuse to be given for any of your shortcomings. When you’d been turned away from the school’s soccer team, you’d told yourself it was because you were a girl- ignoring the fact three girls in your year made the cut. When you’d lost an arduous game of Monopoly, you’d sworn you’d caught your sister sneaking notes out of the banker’s pile into her own. When you’d been beaten, round after round, by your own niece at Mario Kart, you’d stuck your tongue out at her and told her you let her win out of pity.

All that had been before, of course, back when you still roamed school hallways, when your sister sat across from you at the dining table, when your niece still laughed freely, wildly, celebrating her own victories with an over-the-top, uncoordinated dance around the living room.

As changed as things may be, defeat is still your foe.

It is that reason alone that you bite back a complaint.

You’d enjoyed the initial moments of your trek. Maybe it was the salty air in your lungs, or the beautiful views of your surroundings, or the idle grumbling coming from Joel, a few paces behind you, kicking up dirt under his feet with every step he travelled up. Whatever the reason, adrenaline had been flowing, into your heart and through your veins, covering every square inch of your body, a tingling of nerves from the tip of your toes to the top of your spine.

But, by the 10 minute mark, a dull ache forms in your feet. Each step of your heel feels more life threatening than the last, as the stairs grow slippier, dustier, and well-worn the further up you advanced. By stair who-knows-how-may, you take a near fatal tumble backwards, the crunch of crumbling rock threatening to be the last thing you hear. Till he appears behind you, fast as light, huffing out a breath as you smack down against his solid chest.

“Mind your step.” From anyone else, you would mistake it as a sign of care. From Joel, you know better than to think it’s anything beyond a humourless taunt.

You try to keep count of the steps, from then on, an effort to motivate yourself to move faster with each ten-pace you count. By 50, you lose your place and begin counting all over again.

The journey is difficult in other ways, too, with the constant passing of donkeys who obligate you to stand aside and make way for them. And the distant movement of cable cars, firing up and sliding down more times than you can keep track of.

When a particular step proves itself too steep, you can no longer hold back and, finally, a hiss slips out between your clenched teeth as pain shoots up your ankle, the leather of your shoe rubbing even harder into your brittle skin, threatening the promise of a blister yet to fully swell. Pushing the pain down, alongside a complaint, you take another step. Hiss. Then another, hiss. You can fight it no longer, bending at the waist to slip off your heel and examine the irritated skin.

Sure enough, it’s been rubbed raw, broken and spilling a small pool of blood.

Behind you comes an exasperated groan and, before you can straighten yourself to even register what’s happening, Joel barges past you and the figure of him up ahead slowly diminishes the faster he climbs up hill.

“Hey!” You call after him, hobbling to slip your shoe back on, but it’s to no avail.

He’s long gone, growing further and further out of your reach with each passing minute.

Cursing him under your breath, you decide to hell with the no complaints of his preferred regard for his own comfort. He’s abandoned you, injured and hobbling up the steps, all because he has the patience of a toddler who’s been waiting far too long to go potty.

“Wear somethin’ a little more sensible…” You’re bound to seem deranged to any passers by, half hopping up the steps, mumbling to yourself in a mockery of his deep voice “Yeah, right, how bout I shove somethin’ a little more sensible up your ass. Oh, what’s that? There’s no room up there with the massive stick you’re already carryin-”

“A local man warned me bout ya, on my way back down. Said there was some no-good girl casting out bad juju.” You freeze, foot stopped in mid-air. Shifting your gaze up ahead, you find Joel there, skipping a step every so often as he grows closer and closer. At his side, dangling from two fingers, sits a plastic bag. “Told him it ain’t no juju or curses you’re casting, just throwin’ a little tantrum.”

Like a fish out of water, all you can do is stare at him, wide eyes and mouth agape.

Joel pays your silence no mind, almost delighting in it. With a pop and a crack from his knees, he crouches down before you, holding out the palm of his hand.

“C’mon,” he mutters, pointing towards your injured foot. “Lemme see.”

You’re hesitant, at first, but ultimately lift it and let him curl his grip around it, holding you in place as the shoe slips off you. A tut meets your ears as his eyes meet the bloodied mess, and you watch how he contemplates, for a moment or two, before wetting his thumb with his tongue and swiping it over your broken skin.

It stings, like salt in a wound or a bee’s stinger through skin, and you try to flinch back, retract yourself from his hold. But Joel’s strong, resilient, nails biting at the flesh of your ankle to keep you in place. His free hand digs into the plastic bag he’d discarded at his side and pulls out a white box. Fiddling with it for a short period, he manages to open it at last and slips out a bandaid. He rips that open a lot quicker, using his teeth, and slips it over your open wound perfectly, thumb and pointer finger smoothing it around the curve of your heel.

“D’ya see now why I told you to not wear those things?” You feel like a child at his words, reprimanded like you once were for touching your mother’s curling iron. “And why I said we should take the cable car?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you refuse to meet his eyes. But he just won’t let you be, craning his own neck to infiltrate the space you stare off into. There’s a pleased look on his face, smugness pulling at the right corner of his mouth. Alarmingly, you think of how it’s the closest you’ve gotten to seeing him smile.

You continue your pursuit of silence, repeating a mantra of how you don’t care that he’d tried to look out for your comfort, or how he’d then tried to save you the effort of an uphill battle, or how his hand, big and warm and rough at the fingertips, is still holding your foot in place, absentmindedly rubbing your ankle in a circular motion.

“Look at ya, gone all quiet on me,” that corner of his lip curls higher. You register the rustling of the bag, his hand digging back inside it. “Ain’t one for bein’ put in your place, are you?”

Out comes his hand once more, though this time it’s not a box of bandaids. Now, resting firm in his grasp, sits a mixture of navy blue dyed cotton, stitched atop a flat, thick layer of a straw-like material. A slip-on canvas shoe. Joel doesn’t await permission, nor does he even ask for it. He simply takes charge, slipping it onto your foot, mindful as he straightens out the back to lay against your heel.

“Other foot, up.”

Switching feet, you stumble as your weight completely shifts onto your injured side. Your hands, reaching out to stabilise your swaying body, are quickly directed by his own to rest atop his head, curls of brown threading between your fingers. You contemplate asking what products he uses to achieve locks so smooth and shiny, then rethink it as soon as you imagine his reply of a disinterested grunt and a snarky ain’t use anythin’ but dirt water and a splash o’ whiskey.

“How’s it feel?”

Soft, you almost reply, then realise he’s asking about the shoe.

With a wiggle of your toes, you tell him it’s fine, and leave it at that. He doesn’t need to know they’re surprisingly comfortable.

Joel rises with a bit of a struggle, yet refuses the help you offer. Rough hands scoop up your discarded heels, tossing them into the bag, and then he straightens his back, lets out a noise of discomfort, before nodding up ahead.

“C’mon, only got a hundred or so to go. We’ll be up in no time.”

The sun sits high in the sky when you reach the city of Fira.

Crossing over that last step, 588 painted in white across it, you huff out a sigh, exhaustion aching you out of any enjoyment of your victory over the stairway from hell. Before you can even utter a word of your thirst, Joel is already reaching into his bag of wonders, unscrewing the lid off a bottle of water and passing it to you. Grateful, you take a sip, and lament the few drops that spill down your chin.

At least they don’t go to complete waste, cooling your skin ever so slightly.

It’s a shame to see Joel start moving again, moments before you’re even ready to gain back your breath, but you follow after him, nonetheless, mindful to not press your foot too hard down. Through streets he winds, past shopkeepers he walks. Eventually, after a few minutes, you ask him where you’re both heading.

“To catch a coach,” his hand moves quickly, tugging you closer as a bicycle shoots past behind you. Your own find themselves against his chest, and realise it is nothing like his hair. Solid, warm, wide. It’s almost a shame to lower them back down to your side. “Less you think you can walk from here to Oia, too.”

Truth be told, you don’t know where Oia is.

But you do know your walking for the day is over, happy to follow Joel onto the coach. You take the aisle seat, he’s by the window. Across from you both sits a couple, young and giggling into one another’s ears, as though the sounds of their joy is sacred to none but them. A pang of envy thumps your soul, and you quickly turn your face.

Only to find that Joel’s is grey.

Not the hair that lines it but, rather, his whole face, paled and blood-drained. It’s a sickly image, and one that’s quick to get your heart racing.

“Are you okay?” Any thought of keeping your composure becomes mute as you hear your own voice, a treacherous shake to it that gives your panic away. “You look…” There is no word kind enough for you to use to relay the image of him, so you lock your lips.

It takes a few seconds for you to get a reply, as your hand moves up to feel his forehead. It’s sweaty, warm, and you move to pull your hand back when he’s holding it firm in place, eyes slipping shut. “‘S cold. You’re cold,” seems to be his explanation. “I’m fine, it’s just- Carsick.”

“You get carsick, yet you work on a cruise.”

“Not the same. Ship’s big, somethin’ bout the size and my own visibility, ‘s what stops me getting seasick.”

You sit like that the rest of the coach, your hand pressed to his forehead, his eyes slipped shut.

“What’s your favourite stop on the cruise?”

As it turns out, Oia is exactly what you’d pictured Santorini to be.

White washed houses, deep blue domes for rooftops, turquoise waters, all for as far as the eye can see. Joel complains, more than tells you, of the rise in tourism over the years, of how it’s turned the beautiful village into a party-town for idiots abroad, disregarding the clean environment, shamelessly blocking paths to snap a frame-worthy shot, raising prices to the ceiling. When you ask him if he thinks he’s in part to blame, if people like him are to blame- running tours, bringing guests onto the island, earning a wage off the visiting of such a place- he grumbles out something about missing breakfast, needing lunch.

So you find a cafe. Or, more, Joel leads you to one. He greets the doorman, with a wave and a pat on the back, before sauntering his way through to a back terrace, overlooking the whole village, the water perfectly framing it. Stepping out and sitting down, the view robs the very breath out of your lungs.

It’s like sitting inside a postcard.

Joel asks if you like Greek food.

You tell him you’ve never had it.

He orders for you both, a mixture of different plates, and swears he’ll find something you’ll like.

It turns out you’re rather fond of baklava.

“Florence.” Joel’s taken his time to answer, staring at you like a deer caught in headlights. Disbelief more than fear in his eyes, you have to wonder if it’s the first time someone’s thought to ask him, in all his years as a guide. Naturally, this leads you to wondering how many years that is. “It’s a real site. Full of history, a real story to be told.” He tilts a ceramic dish your way, eyes glancing down in an offering. You follow them, and spot olives. Shake your head, no, then smile, thanks. He shrugs, more for me, and pops two into his mouth. “There’s this…” he pauses to chew. “This library.”

“A library?”

“‘S not just a library.” He slips out the olive’s pip and raises another into his mouth. You try not to think about how thick his fingers look, rolling the remaining briny green pebbles around in the pot. “There’s a cinema built inside it. Plays some classic films. I always- or, I try to go whenever we dock.”

It’s hard to picture Joel inside a cinema, something about the setting too busy, too loud to place his scowling face in. Would he be the kind to have a favourite seat, perfectly picked to optimise the sound quality? Does he speak animatedly, excited any time he recognises an actor? Or is he a shusher, the kind to roll his eyes when someone dares to even clear their throat?

A part of you wants to ask him if your tour involves a trip to this library.

Something tells you it’s not a place he likes to share, though. It’s his own little corner, safe to sneak a moment of selfish indulgence amidst a week of catering to another’s needs.

“A cinema inside a library?” A waiter interrupts you, asks if everything’s alright. Joel orders another serving of baklava. “Isn’t that a bit of an oxymoron?”

“Yeah.” For a moment, you think you see a smile creep across his lips. “Suppose it is.”

Another interruption comes in the form of your ringtone, rippling the water in your glass as your phone vibrates upon the table. You’re well aware of how Joel spots the word Mum displayed across your screen. Just like you’re aware he sees how you swipe down on your screen and switch on aeroplane mode.

Before he can ask any questions, or the sudden silence can become too deafening, you throw out another question. “And your least favourite?”

“Least favourite stop?” You nod, affirmative, and he needs no time to reply. “Here.”

“Here?! How come?”

The baklava arrives, as if on cue, and you point down at it, as though it is reason enough to be enamoured with the island. It seems to do little to convince him, his hand reaching out to push the plate closer to you, inviting you to indulge yourself.

“Compared to the other stops, Santorini’s bland.” He says it when your mouth is too occupied to protest, stuffed full with layer after layer of pastry. “Kind of like a diamond, y’know? Real pretty to look at, empties your wallet, and, at the end of the day, ain’t much you can do with it.”

“People propose with diamonds.” You point out, and cough as a flake of pastry hits the back of your throat.

Joel’s already passing you your glass of water before you even think to reach for it.

“People propose with rings. Diamonds are just custom, not a guarantee.”

Sunset arrives with no warning, a hue of fiery orange melting down into the calm waters on the horizon. It’s Joel who makes the call to head back, one glance at his watch enough to tell you the last chance to catch a coach is nigh. It’s only as you go to call for the bill that he tells you it’s covered and you realise his earlier trip to the bathroom had been a ruse to go pay.

The trip back is calmer, quieter, with the coach full of sunkissed and heat exhausted tourists.

Again, you take the aisle seat, and Joel, the window.

Keeping an eye on him is easy, switching your gaze towards the approaching darkness of the night sky calling upon the street lights anytime he meets your eyes. When you notice the increase in breaths and the paling of his skin, you wordlessly unscrew the cap off a bottle and slot it into his hand, inviting him to finish off the last sips of your water.

Skipping out on a trip down memory stairway, you quietly follow him into the cable car and, when you reach the Old Port, you try your best to block out his smug remark of how easy and fast the ride was. A feat which becomes easier as you stumble halfway up the dock and turn back.

Like hours before, as you first stepped off the tender, your mouth falls agape. Only, this time, wider. The view of the island lit up in all its glory is enough to leave you breathless, hands scrambling to fish out your phone, open the camera and-

“You gettin’ on or what?” Joel calls out from behind, and you find him waiting on board one of the tenders, hand held out towards you.

It’s a demand, more than it is an offer, to hurry up. The collective of other passengers are watching the interaction, and a feeling you’ve come to know all too well crawls its way into your veins.

A burden, holding them all up, that’s what you are.

The feeling follows you back, as you slip into a damp seat and watch as the boat carries you further and further from the island, it’s lights twinkling in a way that chokes you up, drains you out, eyes stinging from more than just the salty air. You’ll love it, I swear! The memory plays out in your head, those words gushed at you. Hands squeezing your cheeks, a smile blinding you under its brightness. Just wait till you see it at night, the lights shine over it like stars!

You blink.

A tear pools at the corner of your eye.

“Here, look,” something nudges you. It’s Joel, inching his phone into your view. Through blurred sight, you glance at it. And find yourself, centre frame, lit only by the moon. In the back lies the whole skyline of Santorini, lights reflecting down onto the waters below. “Best view you can get, the whole island in one shot.”

Afraid to hear your own voice, you smile.

He answers by pointing his phone back at you, snapping another photo.

Back on the cruise, the two of you part ways, with Joel telling you to meet him in the same bar, same time as the night before.

Dinner had been part of your plans. With a glance over the listed restaurants on board, the ache in your tired bones asks you to stay in bed and make use of the room service. You listen, order something light, easy. It arrives in under 10 minutes and your hunger is satisfied sitting out on the balcony, watching the dark waves roll past.

Phoning your mother is the next port o'call.

Unlike with your food, that takes longer than 10 minutes. Much longer, and involves you countlessly reassuring her that yes, you’re okay, and no, you don’t need her to fly out and meet you in Naples.

“I’m a big girl,” you even throw in a laugh, hoping it’ll ease the worry lines you can picture splayed over your mother’s face. “I think I can climb up a mountain without my mum’s help.”

“Honey, you know that’s not what why I’m worri-”

“Did you know you can get carsick but, at the same time, not seasick?”

You hang up shortly after, with a promise to try your best to answer when she calls tomorrow, instead of hours later, when she should be fast asleep.

The time on your phone tells you there’s still forty minutes until you need to meet Joel. The image of that grandiose bathtub flashes before your eyes and, in record timing, you’re sinking into scalding waters, a complimentary bath bomb dumped in and granting you the childish gift of bubbles.

You try to relax, at first.

There’s no need to wet your hair, so you indulge yourself. Lay your head back, close your eyes. Feel your muscles loosen with the warmth, ignore the sting of soap in your blistering heel. Your hands struggle to find a resting place, until they meet your thighs. They sit still, for a moment or two, before one slips down, inching into the crease of where your legs meet.

Something stirs in your core, comes alive as you think of how long it’s been since you last felt someone. A few months, it has to be. A fellow graduate, if you remember correctly, that stupid robe still on his shoulders as he let his mouth come down on you.

Your hand is soon on your core, before you really notice, mind on a mission to recall the hazy encounter. When you think of his tongue, messy yet eager, your finger’s already on your clit, pressing against it with a tease of pleasure. When you think of his cock, uncut and thicker than your ex, splitting you open on his bedroom floor, your hips cant up against yourself, chasing friction. When you rewind how soft Joel’s hair had been between your fingers, your free hand grips one of your breasts, fingers pinching at your nipple.

Your eyes snap open.

Joel’s hair.

Joel.

Something you should not be thinking of right now, hand buried between your thighs.

You wait a few seconds, remind yourself of the graduate’s face.

His blue eyes, your fingers roll over your nipple.

His blonde hair, your legs spread wider.

Joel’s solid chest, your fingers dip inside your cunt.

Your breath is shaky, Joel’s annoyed groan echoes.

The shame of it, of thinking of him, is almost as tantalising as touching yourself, fucking your own hole full with as much of your fingers the angle will allow. It’s a one time thing, you justify. You just need to get it out your system. One and done, cum and done. No more of Joel Miller between your thighs, this is the closest he’ll get.

Someone knocks at your door.

You nearly miss it over the sound of your breathing, the pounding of your heart.

“Who is it?” You don’t like how weak you sound, but it’s too late to take it back now.

Another knock.

“Can I come in?”

A hand still between your thighs, orgasm titering on the edge, body fully submerged in lukewarm water. “No!”

“Ain’t safe to leave your door unlocked. Anybody could walk in- Jesus!”

You’ve never screamed louder.

Joel takes up most of the bathroom doorway, same clothes save for the shirt that’s got two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. You’re pressed right back into the bathtub, as physically far from him as you can get, knees pressed up to your chest, ankles crossed over.

In Joel’s defence, he’s quick to turn away, presenting you with a view of his back. A hand runs through his hair.

“Why are you in my room?!” You inch even further back, the water suddenly dropping several degrees.

“I asked to come in!”

“And I told you not to!”

“Well obviously I didn’t hear that!”

“Why are you in my room?” You’re back to your first question, eyeing up your towel.

It’s across the room, on the bathroom sink. No way for you to reach it without the risk of him seeing you reflected on something.

“You were late. Came to check if ya tripped on them heels and broke your neck.”

“I,” you’re not sure what time it is with your phone sitting by the bed, charging. That's now five times you've been late in adulthood. “Didn’t realise the time. I can meet you at the bar in ten minutes.”

He nods, and you watch him take a step, then immediately pause. “You know, I’ve heard a few things from passengers…” You may not see his face, but you swear there’s that half-smirk, smug look upon it. It’s practically dripping off his words. “The shower head, fourth setting. Seems to get the job done for most ladies on board.”

Grabbing the closest thing in reach- a bar of soap- you launch it and watch it bounce off his irritatingly wide shoulders. “Get OUT!”

You make it to the Tipsy Byson in 15 minutes.

Dressed more appropriately than the night before, your flared jeans and crop top garner less stares. It’s just as busy, if not busier, yet it’s not hard to spot Joel on a barstool, nursing a glass of something syrupy looking. Behind the bar is Luke, head thrown back at something Joel says.

They’re an interesting pair to observe, you realise as you make your way over. With Luke, so tall, so lanky, so bright-face, his energy warm and inviting, and Joel so- well, Joel.

“There she is,” Luke cheers, a little too loudly, calling attention to you as you slip into the stool next to Joel. “My new favourite customer.”

“Thought I was your favourite,” Joel’s yet to look at you, and it’s a relief. He’s looked at you enough for one day, one week, one lifetime.

“Sorry but she smells better than you, Joel,” the barman winks at you, a cheeky grin on his face. “ Plus, she’s a hell of a lot nicer to look at.”

Joel scoffs, you giggle.

“Not sure about the whole smelling better thing,” your response comes minutes later, after Luke’s already served you a glass of wine and turned away your cash, telling you he’ll put it on Joel’s tab. “But thanks!”

Unprompted and uninvited, Luke bends over the bar and takes an exaggerated sniff. “I don’t know, smell alright to me.”

“Really? I’m not even wearing perfume, I forgot to pack any-.”

“Yeah! Go on Joel, give her a whiff, tell her she smells fine!” There’s resistance on his end, but Luke’s adamant, hand clamped on the back of Joel’s head, shoving him face first into your neck. Joel’s nose brushes against you. You hear him inhale. Exhale. Inhale again, then the urge to cross your thighs begins to nag at you. “Well?”

“Yeah, smells nice- Fine. Ya smell fine.”

“Be still my beating heart! Someone alert the press that Texas said something other than-”

Joel interrupts Luke’s dramatics, scowl on his face. “Don’t you have a job to be doin’?”

Only once the bartender is down the other end of the bar, engrossed in a heated discussion over what beer pulls a better head, does Joel speak again, sipping on his drink. Whiskey.

“So I noticed somethin’, when I was checking your bookin’ info.” You nod, urge him to continue, and take a sip of your own drink. Some country song plays over the speakers and you notice a sudden shake in Joel’s knee, his foot tapping to the beat. “Says there should be two of you in my guide team.”

“Oh,” the lump forming in your throat falls safely back into the pit of your stomach as you take another drink of wine. “Must be a printing error. You know how technology can be, always complicating things.”

“Hmm,” it’s easy to write off the awkward energy between you with the excuse of earlier events, and it’s the first bright-side you find to him walking in on your intimate bath. “Well, you know the drill for tomorrow. 7 am on that deck or I’m-”

“Docking without me, I know.”

You finish your drink first. When Joel orders himself another glass, you smile politely and turn it down. Yawn, then tell him you best head to bed.

Before you can slip out the entry, someone calls your last name. Loud enough to turn more than just your own head.

It’s Joel, approaching you, effortlessly parting crowds through the lively bar as though he is knife and, the people, butter. The loud music seems to ring louder in your ear, impeding you from hearing the words that leave his moving lips.

“What?” You call out, hands clasped over your mouth in an attempt to amplify the volume of your voice.

His response is to step closer, hands holding you in place by the waist as he leans down. A hot breath on your neck, the smell of whiskey on his breath, the soft brush of lips against your ear.

“It’s your turn to bring the coffees.”

series taglist. @auteurdelabre