#chapter five 49 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

golden-cherry · 4 months ago

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deal - cl16 (49/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Climbing up the mountain can be very freeing.

Warnings: angst (self-doubt, insecurities, mentions of abuse in a relationship, Charles is very insecure about himself), the end is a bit fluffy, but don't expect too much

Word Count: 4.1k

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A/N: I feel like this describes Charles well. I cried when writing this chapter. I hope you like it. feedback is appreciated.

It is the first time in years that Charles has no desire to climb the mountain on those stupid skis.

His feet hurt, he is cold even though the jacket he is wearing is suitable for even colder temperatures, and his hands are so stiff from the frigid air that they painfully curl around his ski poles.

The snow blinds him because of the bright sun, his bones feel heavy, somehow his mouth is so dry that he would like to rinse it with water every five meters.

But maybe that's just because he'd rather be at home in Monaco. Because that's where you are. And there is no place he would rather be right now.

Closing the door behind him and leaving you alone in the apartment was incredibly difficult. He would have loved to put you in his bag and take you with him, but you would only have distracted him from training.

And if he wants to be world champion one day, he can't afford to make any mistakes.

It's been two days since he's seen you and heard your voice. In the morning, when he wakes up and gets ready for the day, you are still fast asleep, and during his training, Andrea has his phone so that Charles can collect his thoughts and stay focused. Only in the evening, when Charles is in bed, he manages to text you a few messages before falling asleep, cell phone in hand, completely exhausted.

He misses you every second.

Before he met you, he would never have imagined that he could miss someone he had only known for a few days so much. He had missed Annika from time to time, after all, he had definitely loved her at some point, but he had never longed for her or anyone else the way he did for you now.

As soon as he has a moment to himself, whether it's in the shower or on the toilet or when Andrea isn't bothering him with calories or carbohydrates or protein for a moment, he misses you so much that he can almost feel the physical distance between you.

But most of all, he misses you in the morning when he wakes up. When he is in that one second when he is neither sleeping nor fully awake. Snuggled up warm in the blanket and against the pillow, where in the evening he imagines it would be your body that he is snuggling up to. And in the morning, for a brief moment, it feels as if you are actually lying next to him, which is why the second he realizes that you are miles away from him hurts the most.

“Are you okay?” Andrea asks, who has slowed down a little to run up the hill next to Charles. ”You're suspiciously quiet.”

Charles, who hasn't realized that he has slowed down at all, looks at his trainer in confusion. “Yes, I'm fine. Why do you ask?”

Andrea shrugs. ”Usually you're chattering away at me during training. That usually helps you to distract yourself from how exhausting it is.”

He has a point there. Charles pushes himself forward on his skis. “I don't know. This time I don't feel like you're torturing me up this mountain. It's still the same route we usually take, isn't it?” He looks around as if he can recognize the surroundings.

Andrea raises his eyebrows and also picks up the pace. ‘We're in a completely different area, Charles.’ He points to another mountain with his gloved hand.

If his friend hadn't told him, the man from Monaco would never have noticed, so absorbed is he in his thoughts about you. The mountain Andrea is pointing to seems more familiar to him than the one in front of them. And a lot smaller. If they had taken the familiar route, they would have been at the summit long ago.

“You asshole,” Charles curses and wipes his face. ‘Why did you choose a different mountain? And especially one that's higher?”

Andrea can't help but grin. ’You came in second in the championship this year. I'm hoping that if we increase your training, you'll come in first next season and...”

“And what?” Charles interrupts his trainer. "The whole thing is useless if my strategists and the whole team mess up so much during the race. I can train as much as I want. It won't work." He gets so caught up in it that he doesn't notice how quickly he pushes himself up the mountain on his skis.

“Charles –”

“No, Andrea. This whole thing cost me the title. Wrong tires? Last-minute changes in the pit? What the hell?” he gets worked up. He knows that his anger is unfairly directed at the wrong person, after all Andrea is only there for Charles's well-being and not for what happens on the track, but it just comes spilling out. And he can't stop it.

His ski poles dig deep into the white snow, which Charles barely notices. He only sees the summit in front of him and hears Andrea breathing loudly next to him as he continues to complain.

“It's not right that I come in second because of such little things! If I had caused accidents, then at least it would have been my fault and I could have dealt with it more easily,” he says, annoyed. ”But what kind of stupid plans were these, anyway? Even a toddler could come up with a better strategy!”

Andrea, who knows full well that Charles needs to vent his anger, walks quietly beside him and lets the storm pass over him. It's not often that Charles gets this angry. And normally he blames himself, but he certainly doesn't take such serious mistakes on his head.

Charles knows that making mistakes is an inevitable part of competition, and sometimes, they're the difference between standing at the top of the podium and finishing second. Being the runner-up in a championship can feel bittersweet – so close to victory, yet just short of it.

Being second in the championship feels like a mix of pride and frustration. On one hand, Charles has achieved something incredible – outperforming almost everyone, proving his skill and showing that he deserves to sit in the red car with the horse on it. But on the other hand, there's that lingering thought inside of his head – he was so close. The tiniest mistakes, the small miscalculations in his strategies, or someone else having a slightly better day made the difference in the end.

There's this ache inside of him, knowing he was almost the champion. The podium felt different when he looked up at Max Verstappen holding the trophy he desperately craved. Charles felt a lot of things in that moment – disappointment, regret and even anger – at himself, the situation, the team and at the margin that kept him from winning.

“I could have won the title. Max will definitely win the next season too, as strong as Red Bull is. How will I ever live up to my reputation then?” He clenches his jaw. ”I feel like I'm stuck with what I'm doing now. And I'm doing my best, Andrea. I really am. But it's apparently not enough. Do you know how incredibly frustrating that is?”

Being second carries a unique weight – a strange middle ground between triumph and heartbreak. And hell, Charles heart broke with every race that put more distance between his and Max's points. He feels like a failure, like he failed his team, his family and friends. He failed his fans, that support him through every decision he makes on and off track, that defend him whenever he makes a mistake during races.

And it haunts him. What if he had pushed just a little harder, made one less mistake, reacted a second faster? What if he made a different decision that would've outweighed the mistakes his team made? What if he became world champion in the famous red car he worked so hard to get into? The famous red car that his dad loved so much?

Disappointing his dad was the worst part of it all. It was a different kind of pain, heavy and crushing. It's not just about failing at something – Charles feels like he simply isn't good enough. Like he let someone down who believed in him. He could have been champion this year – he was so close to standing on top of the podium. What if he never gets this close to winning? What if he never holds the big trophy in his hands, dedicating it to his dad, who always wanted to see him drive in the Ferrari?

Charles' anger has been building up for so long that he doesn't know where to put it. If only he had concentrated more on the season and hadn't been so distracted by his personal problems -

“And Annika. What a waste of time the whole thing was. I should never have gotten involved with her. I should have ended the relationship when I realized that she wasn't the one. When I realized that I couldn't give her the attention that a healthy relationship requires.”

Charles would never admit it, but Annika’s betrayal in their relationship cut deeper than expected. It’s not just about broken promises – it’s about broken trust, the foundation of any meaningful connection. It shook everything Charles believed to be true about Annika – or love in general.

The worst part wasn’t the act itself or that he caught them right in the act, but the realization that someone he trusted with his heart made the choice to hurt him. After the break-up he questioned everything – was any of it real? Was Annika lying to him the whole time? Even after everything, the wounds linger.

Some betrayals are survivable with time and effort, but others leave scars that never fully heal. They change people – it changed Charles. It hardened his heart, made love feel dangerous to him and made him create walls where there once was openness.

He guarded himself like a survival instinct. At first, it was solely for protection – he told himself that if he didn’t let anyone in, nobody could hurt him. The walls became his shield, keeping out disappointment, rejection, and the risk of being vulnerable again.

But over the course of the weeks, Charles noticed the walls he put up brick by brick didn’t just keep the pain out – they kept everything out. Love. Connection. The chance to feel something real. Hell, he didn’t even tell his Maman that he was back home in Monaco. He pushed his family away, his friends, acting cold and distant – not because he didn’t want love, but because he’s so scared of what happened when he let someone else in.

It took Charles some time to figure out the truth, that the walls didn’t keep him safe and sound – they kept him stuck. They stopped him from healing, from growing, from experiencing the things that make life meaningful. But he was so scared of breaking them down when it took him so long to put them up, that he didn’t know what to do when he met you.

It was terrifying, letting you in slowly and hesitantly. He’s spent so long guarding himself, convincing himself that no one except his close ones can be trusted, that it almost felt unnatural to let you in. At first, he resisted, kept his distance. But the fact that you didn’t even know who he was felt so good, made him feel safe to share his story with you and then – you stayed. You didn’t push too hard, but you didn’t walk away either.

Surely, this friendship has had it’s ups and downs, but this is what happenes when two people, who protected themselves so much that they become too careful, too hesitant to let someone in fully.

And instead of forcing your way through, you waited. You were there. You proved in small, consistent ways, that you’re not like the woman who made him built those walls in the first place.

And then, without realizing it, he stopped expecting the worst. He let you see his wounds, his fears, his past, and instead of running, you stayed. You stayed with him through awkward dinner conversations about his ex, you stayed with him when he didn’t correct his family about your relationship status, you stayed when he overstepped the boundaries of your friendship. Your gentle touch, your honest conversations while burning Annika’s things.

You stayed when he revealed to you who he really is. You see him – the real him – and don’t flinch at what you see. Little by little, cracks form in his defenses. He finds himself wanting to trust again, to love again, even though it scares him to death.

When you look at him, it feels like sunlight creeping through the cracks in the fortress he thought were unbreakable. It was unsettling at first after being in the dark for some time. But you didn’t break down his walls in a dramatic, earth-shattering way.

It was quiet. Subtle. It sneaked up to him in moments he didn’t even realize – they way you looked at him when he played your song on the piano in the bookshop, when you let him hold you while you cried like his arms were the safest place in the world, when you showed him that you want him for who he is.

But even though you broke down most of his walls, he still can’t admit that you’re all he needs.

He can’t let you in fully after what Annika did to him, he can’t let you touch him like he wants you to. He can’t let himself feel so much for you because what if those feelings he has for you – the feelings he swore he’d never harbour for anyone again – are not enough for you?

What if he gives you his all and you decide that it’s not enough? That he is not enough? He can’t tell you why he doesn’t want you to touch him, because what if you’ll see him differently? What if the things he wants, he needs, are different from what you want?

He feels like he isn’t good enough. The scars Annika left on him made him question his worth, his value, his ability to be loved. There are moments where he feels too far gone, too damaged, not strong enough to break free from the fear of losing you that he’d rather keep you at arms length hurting himself than push you away and out of his life.

He can’t let you touch him after Annika, because sex with her felt wrong, like he was broken because he wanted different things than her. Because he craved intimacy like his life depended on it, the safety that comes with it, but it always felt like he needed to deliver, even if he didn’t want to. It felt like a chore, no gentle touches or loving words, only demanding hands and lips and thighs and he swore to himself he’ll never let it happen again.

If you don’t touch him at all, there’s no chance you could hurt him like that.

He’d rather give you all he’s able to give instead of letting you return anything.

“I could have waited for…”

“Charles.” Andreas‘ voice is gentle and soothing, in contrast to Charles’. When the man from Monaco looks at his friend, he smiles at him. ”We're here.”

The wind howls at the summit, biting and cold, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t feel it. He can’t feel anything except the weight that presses down on his chest. He stands there on top oft he world – and all the space in the world couldn’t quiet the chaos inside him.

Andrea chose this route to help Charles clear his head, the mountain was supposed to be his escape, his victory. He climbed every inch of it, each slide of his skis pushing him further from the mess he feels inside. The view from the top is actually breathtaking: endless stretches of jagged peaks, skies that feel closer than ever. He should feel something – pride, accomplishment, freedom. But instead, there’s only the overwhelming silence that gnawed at him.

For a moment, everything is still. He pulls his beanie and glasses from his head, closing his eyes and trying to ground himself in the beauty around him, but the images, the memories, everything – it all comes flooding back. The things he can’t outrun. The words that had been sad. The choices that had left him fractured and alone.

A sob caught in his throat, sharp and unexpected and he falls to his knees in the white snow at his feet. The tries to fight it, but the tears come anyway – slow at first, then faster and harder. They burn against the cold wind, mixing with the salt of the sweat on his skin – and he can’t stop them.

They stand for everything he hasn’t been able to say, everything he has be scared to face. He thought he could bury it, hide it behind the walls he built, behind the distance from it all.

His hand tremble on his thighs, his chest tightening with every broken breath. His vision blurred, the edges oft he mountain fading into the background. It doesn’t matter that he’s at the top – he feels smaller than ever. The tears slip down his cheeks like a rush of a river too long dammed.

„I’m not enough“, he whispered almost unaudibly. A confession only the mountains and his friend could hear. „I’m never going to be enough.“

The world stretched out before him, magnificent and indifferent, and in that moment, he realized that being on top oft he mountain didn’t mean escaping it all. He had climbed all this way, but he couldn’t outrun himself. The hurt, the mistakes, the weight of everything he’d buried deep inside.

He doesnt flinch when he feels Andrea’s hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing and reassuring him that whatever he feels right now is okay. That the tears that fall down onto the snow have their right to exist after being bottled up for so long.

The sobs faded, leaving him gasping for air in the stillness of the summit. He wiped his face, trying to wipe away the brokennes, but it lingered in his chest. His hands still trembling from the release, from the rawness that had bubbled to the surface. For a long moment, he just sits there, the wind biting at him, the emptiness inside him as a vast as the world stretched out before him.

And then it hit him, like a sudden punch that knocked the breath from his lungs.

You.

Your laugh. Your smile. The way you always seem to know what he’s thinking, the way you care in the quietest ways – how you’ve been there for him, even when he pushed you away. How, despite everything, you stayed.

He tried so hard to tell himself that he’s better off alone, that he doesn’t need anyone else to fill the empty spaces inside him. He thought he could bury his feelings, run from the truth. He has told himself that love was something to fear, something that could trap him, break him, leave him just as broken as he’d been before.

But now, sitting on top of the world, it all makes sense.

He loves you. He always has. He can feel it in every part of him, the truth that has been there all along, buried under layers of fear and pride. It’s not something he can outrun, not anymore. He can’t ignore the way his heart always beats faster when you’re near, the way everything seems to fall into place when you smile at him, the way your presence has been the one thing that feels like home.

The moment of realization hits him like a wave, sudden and overwhelming. It’s undeniable.

He loves you.

Not in the casual, passing way he once tried to convice himself was enough for his relationship with Annika, but in a deeper, truer sense. It’s always been you – only you. Right from the start when the both of you stood in the small apartment.

But the weight o fit, the sheer force of that truth, felt like it could crush him, especially when he realizes how long he’s been running from it.

His heart races, pounding hard in his chest, but it isn’t the kind of excitement he thought would come with such a revelation. Instead, it is quiet terror. The terror of feeling too much. Of feeling anything at all.

His breath comes in shallow gasps as the cold mountain air cuts through him. It isn’t the altitude or the wind that chills him – it’s the fear of being too vulnerable again. Of letting anyone close enough to hurt him. The thought of telling you, of exposing his raw, vulnerable part of himself, feels like standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to climb back down.

He stares out over the vast horizon, the world stretching out endlessly beneath him, and for a moment, he considers it. The possibility of going back, of telling you everything he has just realized. But the thought of your eyes on him, the weight of the words, the vulnerability—it‘s too much. Too raw. Too dangerous.

So, he stays silent. He stays with the truth, buried deep inside of him. The love he feels for you is now his secret, locked away like a fragile thing, too delicate to share. He can‘t find the courage to let it out—not now, not after everything that had happened.

But there is something about knowing, about feeling it — just knowing that he can love again — that makes the world feel a little less heavy. It isn’t perfect, and it doesn‘t fix everything, but it is enough. For the first time in a long time, he doesn‘t feel so broken. He isn’t empty. He is filled with something — something soft, something he thought was gone forever.

Maybe he isn’t ready to tell you. Maybe he will never be ready. But the knowledge that love still exists in him — that it can still find him, even after everything — is enough to hold onto for now. It isn’t a victory, not in the way he wants, but it is a beginning. And in that, there is a quiet peace. A peace that, despite all the fear and hesitation, he coul still feel, still hope.

And that, for the moment, is enough.

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lambypop · 3 months ago

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🎀The Tales of Coccinelle Moon and The Batman🎀

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Chapter Two:

And the crowd goes... worried???

<<Previ // Mast.List // Next>>

TW: Damian crashes out???? (Kinda occ damian?) the word daddy is used strictky platonicaly, JON AND CONNOR KENT MENTIONED?!

Platonic!Batfam x Ladybug/Magical Girl!Reader

• Gotham City, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:40 AM

"This is Wayne Enterprises, please we ask you to stay together in your designated group, the tour is about to begin, please remember the tour rules, at the en of the tour we'll have a small meeting with Mr.Wayne" one of the teachers said, a yes, the school tour day Jon thought half bored, he has come here multiple times already, he even knows the ventilation system thanks to Damian, but this is a great time to see Batman! or even NIGHTWING, he thrives to see them (mostly to see Damian)

• Metropolis, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:45 AM

'Another day another evil plan in how to destroy Superman, tho he's been missing since yesterday' thats what lex luthor was thinking as he wakes up' but first, i need to see the boarding school group chat' he's opening the suspiciously empty chat……. 'Brucie usually sends a Good morning text between 6:33am and 6:37am….. and Olie has not send anything either… maybe im just overthinking stuff?' he tries to shrug off that anomaly in his daily routine as he gets out of his luxurios silk sheets to his incredible marble floor bathroom, and as he does his skin care routine he decides to call his son. (because even to he made him for a bad cause he grew a tiny littble bit attached)

• Justice League Watch Tower, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:47 AM

……Thump…..thump…..Thump…..Thump……

'…..Bruce…..'

……Thump..thump..Thump..Thump……

'Jon'

…..ThUMp…ThUMp…ThUMp…ThUMp….

'Connor'

Thump.Thump.Thump.Tump

'Kara'

Thump….Thump….Thump….Thump….

'Louis'

'……they are okay, ill sleep some more' an unconsius clark thinks

• Wayne Manor, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:48-49 AM

"Thank you for the Meal Alfred!" A very happy Duke said as he takes some pancakes and brings them to the table, some slight footsteps can be heard coming to the kitchen and cass peaks her head in and waves a hand to Alfred to ask for Bruce "🫵🏻👀👉🏻👨🏻❓" she signs kinda sloppily cause she just woke up from the heavy night patrol "I haven't seen him jest Miss Cain, he's probably stil in his room either sleeping or just brooding" she nods and heads into the kitchen to make herself a starwberry protein milkshake or something

• Paris-France, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:50 AM, 10 minutes before the disaster

"Ohh Papas jet arrived Five minutes ago! EEEEEK! im so exited to see him!!!!" you cant help but jump around happily waiting for him, you're impatient to see him, you are way to happy when he comes to visit and this time he even came half a month early, lets just hope nothing happens today, toda's gotta be perfect!

• Gotham City, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:51 AM, 9 minutes before the disaster

"What do you mean he didn't check in today???? he always checks in. perhabs we miscalculated one of his day offs? wait- did he even schedulched a day off?" one of the work assistans asks almost dumbfounded "Heyyyy have someone seen Mr.Wayne? i need these papers signed" A worker of HQ mumbles as he peaks inside the room "It seems he didn't check in today" a male acountant says "What do you mean he didn't check in? he always does" the HR worker says confused "Thats what i said! today is the first monday of the month! we have the Monthly prepare meeting with Brucie!" The assistance says with a half sad whine, everyone at the office loves Brucie Wayne, even tho he looks and acts like a bimbo everyone in the office knows he is very much intelligent an talented, if he wasn't he wouldn't be able to keep up with the great company he has!

• Metropolis, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:52 AM, 8 minutes before the disaster

"is the world ending???" Luthor says outloud as he stares at his phone screen, the text chat is still empty with No Bruce message, so he decides to do the most obvious call. "Hey, Olie….. have you heard about Bruce??? he hasn't send his perfectly timed morning message with the stupidly bad grammar- You noticed it too? oh yeah no, i haven't seen him, i was gonna ask if you have seen him- yeah uhm i can check that too, tell me if you know something" luthors hand goes to his mouth as he thinks…. "Maybe he fell into a Fountain??? nono- gotham news would already have posted something-!!! RIGHT maybe he's on one of those crazy yatch parties- ill check on that"

People may not know it but Luther has a soft spot on his childhood best friends, and he has a very strict routine during the entire day that started WAY back in the early days of that Boarding school where he met those two idiots, the blond and a bit obnoxius one and the broodie black haired one that looked that he would jump you at any second.

• Justice League Watch Tower, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:53 AM, 7 minutes before the disaster.

"What was the call about Dear?" Black Canary asks curiosly "……..Bruce seems to be unpresent? like he's never late to anything……." Green Arrow or also known as Oliver Queen says to his dear wife as he is definately confused at whats going on "Uhm perhaps a call to Alfred would apease you?" Dinah says uncertain and kinda laughing at her husband obvious worry (he claims he does not worry at all) "Maybe…… but also he may be only running late you know?" oliver ends the conversation at that as he takes his wifes hand in his.

• Wayne Manor, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:54 AM, 6 minutes before the disaster

"Okay but really. where is bruce, he never misses Alfred's Breakfast" Steph says with her mouth full of pancakes "True. maybe he already went to W.E????" Dick says as he plays with the fruitloops he put on his food

"…….Pennyworth does my pancakes have-" Damian gets cut of "They have no dairy milk nor eggs, is almod milk fine with you?" the butler asks with a faint smile "yeah" damian says as he takes a bite of the pancakes, they are good but not as near as good at his father makes them or well thats what Damian thinks, running footsteps can be heard through the hallway, and the kitchen is loudly entered by the other only missing family member "OH MY GOD BRUCE IM SO SORRY I DIDDNT APPEAR I SWEAR I'VE BEEN SLEEPING, I ATE IM F-Fineeeee, i just fEel AslEEP on a RoofTop! NAD FORGOT TO TEXT!!! OSHDBSAFBGQASKFBKFBADVAFBAKJ PLS DONT CRASH OUTTTTTT" a exasperated and out of breath Tim says coughing and with a face that resembled Deer under car lights, he has this worried expression as if Bruce would jusr crash out from not knowing where one of his sons are (HE WOULD AND HE WILL) "……………." a biss ass silence takes hold onto everyone on the Kitchen even Tim that know feels kinda embarrassed

"Drake with all due respect, what the hell?" Damian says with a weird out face as he munches on the pancakes "Dude are you okay" stephanie says as the passes him a plate with pancakes "wheres Bruc- wait no what time is it?" Tim asks half dishoriented "6:54:29 seconds why" Dick answers "Okay so bruce is in W.E I'll just grab his stuff and-" Tim says as he starts to turn around "Master Wayne hasn't left the house, his car is still in the garage" Alfred says as if he's used to this "He took a day off?" the second best detective asks as his brain starts to work on this anomaly in Bruces behavior "But today is the first monday of the month" Tim mumbles to himself as he takes the entire pancake and brings it to his mouth eating it in one sole bite "Im going to the batcave" Tim declares and does not wait for an answer "Is he okay?" Duke wonders out loud as a fast shadow decides to follow tim onto.

• Paris-France, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:55 AM, 5 minutes before the Disaster

"DADDY!!!!!" the girl runs towards her fathers arms and jump towards him making the man drop a bag he was carrying just to catch his daughter and spin her around as she starts to laugh, Bruce's eyes cant help but tear up a bit, when was the last time any other of his children missed him this much, but this isnt about them, its about you two "I missed you SO MUCH!" you cant help but shake him a bit "Ohhhh I cant waiiit to tell you what have i done! and what i've been seeing at school!!!" nothing could make this worse nor better right? "…..papa….. how much are you staying for?" you cant help but ask always hoping that he'll say that he will saty with you forever, you sometimes dont like the fact that you are 'hidden' "…im having…. a Staycacion" he says wity a smile "………Stay-cacion?…….AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH YOUR STAYING!?" you screamed very much loudly and exited that you can't help when you bursted into happy tears and hugged him and staining the shoulder of his jacket not like he cared, stains can be washed, stuff can be cleaned, but moments and memories??? they cannot be replaced.

• Batcave, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:56 AM, 4 minutes before the Disaster

"I swear- wheres that man- he nevers changes his routine- he isn't at W.E nor the JL HQ………. Where-" hussle hussle "Casssss not right now" russle russle "he isnt at the kent- wait! your right the kent farm! let me make a call" Tim say as he fistbumps Cassandra and she smiles happily, she is just happy to be of help in finding her father, she's still kinda angered by how they talked about him last night and she wants to have a 'word' with Tim about it, but she'll wait until they have something that leads them to their dad.

• Gotham City, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:57 AM, 3 minutes before the Disaster

"The hell do you mean he isn't in his office?????" a very well known man in a two color suit says "Boss he is not in his office" one of the goon says "I know very well my bes- I know very well Bruce Wayne's schedule" the man says with a bother voice "Harv-" another goon tries to talk before a gunshot is heard, the bullet did not anyone it was just a warning "Two-Face for you all. None of you get to call me Harv-ey. none of you. there was only one person that call me that and im not seeing them." Two-Face said with an unmatched irritation, perhabs he's worried? no! ofcourse not, he is a well known villian that was gonna kidnap the richest man in the country and definately not because he was his bestfriend or that when they kidnap him this bimbo of a man takes this time to sleep and its the most relaxed he's seen him in a while ofcourse not (he definately knows he's tired af from being batman and not sleeping more than 3 hours a day).

• Wayne Manor, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:58 AM, 2 minutes before the Disaster

light and calm steps can be heard through the halls and they go to a stop infront of the master bedroom of the manor, the alluring and very exquisite scent of a meal can be smelled from miles away.

knock knock knock

"Master Bruce. are you awake?……. perhaps your feeling unwell my child" Alfreds voice softened at the silence, he knows how Bruce can get when he's being gloomy and angsty "Please open the door my son, you need to eat, you haven't had a proper meal in 2 days and your protein shakes do not count, i please beg you stop acting like a child and have some proper nutricional food" the old butler can help but be a bit stern in his voice and his worry for the man he's raised for over more than 30 years …… "Master bruce? has something happen?" before alfred can do anything else two pair of steps alert him "Pennyworth? has my father already came out of the room?" The youngest wayne asks with one of his pets following him "Not yet, do you want to help me out Master Damian?" the butler recieves a happy nod, the green eyed child is more than pleased to help wake his father up, his father has been there for him since he entered thos household, the least he could do is try and help him when he isn't feeling well.

• Batcave, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:59 AM, 1 minutes before the Disaster

"He is not there??? could you help me out with this???" Tim says through the phone as cass is re-checking all the cams that they have around everywhere and also crossing all the possible stuff in their improvised list

fell into a fountain

crazy yatch party

weekly meeting

JL Headquarters

Kent Farm

his room

she can feel Tim stress out by only looking into his eyes, he is inside the 'normal' for Tim so she doen't worry much (she is gonna freak out in that nights Patrol)

• Wayne Manor, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:59 AM, 30 seconds before the Disaster, and counting

"ejem- ejem- Father, are you in there?" Damian tried to keep his voice the most steady as possible but still no asnwer…. so he decides other aproach as he slightly eyes the butler and then grabs all the possible bravery and takes the handle in his hand and twist it opening the door and stepping in "Baba i request you stop ignoring Alfred and I- B-baba??" but there is no one to be found in the room they fully walk in to see Bruce's closet half closed, most of his daily shirts are goneand so are most of his shoes and jackets and the fur jackets, but thats okay until he checks the drawer where Bruce keeps the stuff his children give him…. and its empty… His father keft them "D-did he? did he-"

"…."

"Master Damian, please do not alarm yourself"

• Everywhere in Gotham, Monday/March/06/2025, 6:59 AM, 10 seconds before the Crashout, and counting

"Thanks Connor, I'll call you later"

09 seconds before the Crashout

"Duke have you seen B?" Barbara asks as she just got there from the watchtower and she needs to talk to Bruce about some Scarecrow shit

08 seconds before the Crashout

"Why are my Older brother senses Tingling???" Dick stands up and gets out of his room peaking out to see Alfred in the doorway of Bruces room

07 seconds before the Crashout

"Alfre? is everything- what the- " he watches the know kinda empty room of Bruce

06 seconds before the Crashout

"H-hey Damian, how- how are you doing?" Dick asks as he kneels infront of the kid that looks that is about to combust on the spot, he tries to stay as calm as he can to not startle the child

05 seconds before the crashout

Are they taking him for an idiot? why is Grayson treating him like a kicked puppy, he's fine. he is totally okay, definatelly not worried……

04 seconds before the crashout

He is okay, he can handle his emotions, this is a trick!, a TEST, thats right! just a test to see if he can do stuff alone and without help! definately because he wouldn't have left him right?

03 seconds before the crashout

he wouldn't left him. he promised he wouldn't and his father never lies, right? RIGHT?, he woudn't do what his mother did to him. he promised, he swore under that candle. He signed the papers where it says that he is his father, so is he not here? why did he left his stuff, but he wouldnt do that right? he would do it again, like the timestream incident?

02 seconds before the crashout

maybe what his grandfather told him was right, Bruce wouldn't want him, perhaps this is his karma for failing his 'rightfuk destiny' maybe he did something wrong?

01 Seconds before the Crashout

"Master Damian, please stop this in this moment, it's not time for a tantr-" Alfreds voice gets cut off and Dick cant help but actually get freaked out, Tim hears ot, Cassandra hears it, Duke, Barbara, Stephanie, Jason who was entering through the window of his old childhood room, Connor who was eating his breakfast in Kansas, Jon who is in his school trip first hears the heartbeat spike abnormaly and is ready to ditch the class in that instant and perhaps even the half unconsious Superman hear the bloody screathing banshee scream that goes out of Damian's throat

00 seconds before the crashout

"BABA!"

Bruce stops suddenly from walking "Are you okay papa?" You can't help but ask kinda worried "Did you heard that????" he asks you also confused, he feels his chest tingling in a weird way that he wasn't felt in a while, at least not since Tim brought him back from the timestream and kinda lunged into his arms crying "I didn't heard anything dad" you asnwer him more softly tryung to appease hus sudden frown "ehhh… Must have been the wind then" he says now more calm as you and him walk hand in hand out of the air port and towards a [F/C] Porsche convertible with a custom plate that says [INSERT THE MOST BADASS WORD YOU KNOW], "m'kay papa lets go!" you say with such happiness and such bright smile that you could challenge even the sun in who was brighter the Sun or You (obviosly you would win) "Yeah, Lets go home" Bruce says with the softest laugh that you have ever heard, he helps you in your own car into the passanger seat even tho you were gonna drive, how could he let his child drive him let him help you please, you can only smile at the fact that he is trying his best to be a more than a good dad, what can you say? Your love your father very much.

3K EXACT WORDS (I made this chapter i like 2 hours????) Hope yall like Damians Crash out (PLEASE COMENT WHATEVER)

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luxerians · 5 months ago

Text

The Last Mask (16)

Hwang In-ho/Oh Young-il/Player 001 x Reader

Chapter 16 - Caught You

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 17.1

PREV : Chapter 15

The fourth game finally ended after twelve grueling rounds. In total, 49 players were eliminated. It was supposed to be 48, as only four players were meant to be eliminated in each round, but one round had five players caught in the elimination zone. They couldn’t come to a unanimous decision about who would be spared, and as a result, all five were executed.

You and soldier 011 had put your masks back on – you in your square mask and her in her triangle one. The players had left and descended the stairs back to the dormitory. Only you, manager 009, and several circle guards remained in the game location. The workers quietly cleaned the conveyor belt, erasing the blood and tidying up the room.

Once everything was in order, you and manager 009 left the area, walking through the labyrinth of corridors. The silence between you was heavy, but it didn’t last long.

“Where’s 019?” manager 009 asked.

You kept your gaze forward, your voice calm and steady in disguise. “Not sure. They should’ve been back by now.”

Manager 009 didn’t press further, and the conversation ended there. The two of you continued toward the control room in silence.

When you entered, the first thing you noticed was the Front Man standing in the center of the room. The screen displaying the pictures of the surviving players glowed brightly beneath him. Beside him stood the masked officer as they both gazed at the massive screens showing live feeds of the dormitory.

Your eyes scanned the room, and you spotted manager 009 walking towards their previous station. Taking that as a green light, you made your way to your own monitor and sat down.

Just as you settled into your seat, the double doors leading to the dormitory slid open, breaking the tense silence of the room. The sound drew everyone’s attention. A manager flanked by 16 soldiers marched in and they took their positions in front of the door.

You realized what was coming next. It was time to announce the results of the fourth game: the number of players eliminated, the remaining survivors, and the updated total of the accumulated prize money.

The manager announced, “Congratulations to all of you for making it through the fourth game. Here are the results of the fourth game.”

The dormitory lights dimmed, casting the room into an eerie semi-darkness. The only illumination came from the glowing piggy bank suspended near the ceiling. All eyes were drawn upward as stacks of bills cascaded into the transparent container. The players watched, some with awe, others with blank stares, as the money continued to fill the bank.

When the flow of money stopped, the manager’s voice echoed again, cutting through the silence. “49 players were eliminated in the fourth game. The prize money accumulated up to this point is 43.2 billion won. Since there are 24 players remaining, each person’s share would be 1.8 billion won.”

A ripple of reactions swept through the room. Half of the players erupted into gasps of delight, their voices rising in excitement.

“Wow!” one player exclaimed, their face lighting up as if they could already feel the weight of the cash in their hands.

The jubilation of some players stood in sharp contrast to the shock etched on the faces of others. Gi-hun’s team, in particular, exchanged flabbergasted glances. Jun-hee and the mother were looking at the floor, still in shock about their near-death experience. Gi-hun’s jaw clenched, his gaze flickering between the piggy bank and the delighted players. Dae-ho’s expression was pale and distant.

However, Yong-sik and Jung-bae initially looked somewhat elated to hear the announcement, faint smiles creeping onto their faces. However, one stern glance from the mother to Yong-sik and from Gi-hun to Jung-bae caused both of them to restrain themselves, quickly lowering their smiles as guilt and unease replaced their fleeting excitement.

The manager continued. “You will now take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not.”

As the announcement hung in the air, a line of circle guards – the workers – entered the room. They set up the familiar voting counter at the front of the dormitory.

The manager added, “The vote will be held in reverse order of your player numbers. Player 456.”

Slowly, all eyes turned to Gi-hun. Whispers rippled through the group as they recognized him not only as the previous winner of these games but also as the one who had instigated the failed uprising against the game management. Some players stared at him with a mixture of awe and resentment, while others seemed to hold him responsible for the chaos and loss they had endured.

Gi-hun stood stoic, his jaw tight as if he was aware of the silent scrutiny bearing down on him. He then moved out of the crowd of players and headed towards the voting counter.

Behind your mask, you frowned in concern. Gi-hun must be blaming himself for almost everything, including the deaths of Young-il and other players. You knew he was kind and selfless, but when he became adamant about something, he could cross into selfishness. It was either that, or he had a heavy hero complex, or a gambling addiction, or he hadn’t yet realized the full impact his actions had on others. Even so, you couldn’t help but think he didn’t deserve the silent judgment radiating from the other players.

Gi-hun reached the voting counter and stopped. He stared at it for what felt like an eternity. The players behind him began exchanging confused glances, whispers rippling through the group. Even you felt a flicker of bafflement behind your mask. Gi-hun, the one who had tirelessly urged everyone to quit the games, the one who had orchestrated the failed revolt against the management, was actually hesitating?

What is he doing? you thought, your pulse quickening. He never hesitated to press X before. Why is he taking his time now?

Gi-hun’s hands hovered over the buttons, but he didn’t move. Then, his gaze slowly lifted. His scowl deepened, and his eyes locked onto one of the CCTVs in the dormitory. The intensity of his glare made your breath hitch. From the control room, one screen now displayed a clear feed of him staring directly into the lens. It wasn’t just a look of defiance; it was a challenge, a silent declaration to the management that he wasn’t finished. It was as if he wanted to show them that his fight wasn’t over – that he still had more to give.

You glanced at the Front Man, who remained as still as a statue in the center of the control room. His attention was fixed on the screen as if he too was assessing Gi-hun’s intent. The tension in the air was suffocating, the room silent except for the faint hum of the monitors.

After what felt like an eternity, Gi-hun lowered his gaze back to the voting counter. His jaw tightened as he raised his hand and pressed the X button. A lighter ping echoed through both the dormitory and the control room, signaling his vote. Without looking at anyone, he turned and walked to the X zone.

The voting process continued. One by one, the players approached the counter to cast their decision. Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Se-mi, player 333, Jun-hee, the mother, Hyun-ju, and Yong-sik all voted for X. You knew they would vote for the right thing. Including Gi-hun, that made a total of nine X votes. It gave you a glimmer of hope that you all could finally leave this place.

But the other players, they voted for O. Among them were the greedy old man with a ten-billion debt (100), his equally greedy underling (226), the late Thanos’ friend (124), and the shaman (044). Their choice was no surprise, but what angered you more was how they whispered and schemed during the process, influencing the undecided voters with hushed conversations and manipulative gestures.

In the end, the results were announced: [X: 11 | O: 13]. The outcome sent a wave of crushing disappointment through you. It had been so close to a tie, so painfully close to everyone finally going back home. To you, disguised as manager 007, the result felt like a punch to the gut.

The 13 players in the O zone erupted into hollers of delight and triumph. Their cheers filled the dormitory, their voices dripping with greed and selfishness. It didn’t matter to them that Jun-hee was pregnant. That fact had become apparent to many since the fourth game, but it didn’t sway their decision. They couldn’t care less about forcing a pregnant woman to stay here longer for the sake of their greed. Behind your mask, you furrowed your eyebrows in indignation.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed a movement. Glancing over, you saw the masked officer turning to face you. His voice, distorted by the mask, rang out. “Manager 007 and 009, continue with your next task.”

Manager 009 rose from their seat without hesitation. You mirrored their movement, rising and following them as they moved toward the back of the center. The two of you positioned yourselves behind the masked officer and the Front Man, standing like a pair of bodyguards.

The Front Man’s gaze remained fixed on the live feeds of the dormitory. Everyone could feel it, including yourself. His commanding presence that demanded respect and fear in equal measure. You stared at him from behind your square mask, your mind drifting back to the conversation you had with 011 during the fourth game.

***

[Flashback begins…]

“What do you mean he will spare me?” you asked, your voice hushed but sharp with confusion. Behind your triangle mask, your eyes widened, trying to process the weight of 011’s words. The two of you were still disguising as one another – you wearing her triangle mask, and 011 now donning your square one.

011 hesitated, a rare pause that betrayed her own uncertainty. She didn’t meet your gaze as she finally spoke. “I’ve worked under him as a pink guard for years. In all that time, I’ve never seen him issue an order like this. Telling the guards not to shoot a specific player. He’s strict, but it’s always been about fairness. He treats guards and players with the same rules. That’s why I think… even if you reveal yourself to him, he might spare you.”

Her words hung in the air, leaving you reeling. You stayed quiet, mulling over what she’d said. The idea of revealing yourself to the Front Man… Could you trust that he’d spare you? And even if he did, at what cost?

“Do you know what he would do to me if he finds me?” you asked, your curiosity laced with unease.

011 answered, “No. I don’t. But I’ve heard whispers among the guards. Rumors that it might have something to do with the VIPs. Not sure if it's true or not.”

You furrowed your eyebrows beneath the mask. “VIPs?”

She hesitated again, the silence stretching just a moment too long. Whether she regretted bringing it up or was unsure herself, you couldn’t tell.

“You could think of them as investors,” she finally said, her tone quieter now. “They fund this operation. They’re the ones who ensure it keeps going. That’s what I know so far. And from what I’ve heard, they watch these games regularly. For their entertainment.”

Your skin prickled with fear, the mere thought sending an icy wave down your spine. One thought sprang to mind almost instantly. You could be handed over to these so-called VIPs. Sold to them, perhaps. The idea made your stomach churn.

Before you could fully process the implications, Gyeong-seok’s voice broke the tense silence.

“They’re watching us?” he asked, his alarm palpable even through the distortion of his triangle mask. “Could it be that one of the VIPs likes her? And that’s why there’s an order not to shoot her?”

His words made your blood run cold. A fresh wave of fear surged through you, twisting in your chest like a vice. Your hands trembled uncontrollably and you promptly hugged them to your chest, trying to steady yourself. The thought of being singled out – not for safety, but for something darker – made your heart race with dread.

“That’s…” you started, your voice faltering. “That can’t be it. Right?”

011 seemed hesitant, her voice quieter than before as she replied, “I’m not sure. If you ask me, I don’t think that’s the case. But it’s best to stay safe and alert.”

Her words did little to calm your nerves. You sat there, mulling over everything she’d said. Fear and apprehension tightened in your chest. The thought of being under constant scrutiny – while you were supposed to guard the Front Man – made your stomach churn, but an even darker fear gnawed at you: what if you were being reserved for one of the VIPs? The possibility sent a chill through your veins. You couldn’t let yourself get caught, not by him or anyone else who might have plans for you beyond this nightmare.

“What should I do then?” you asked, your voice low and uncertain. “I’m going to be his guard soon enough.”

When 011 spoke, her tone was solemn. “Try to adapt as fast as possible. Do not speak unless you’re spoken to. Whatever he tells you to do, just do it. And always be on alert. Watch everything. Listen to everything. He doesn’t tolerate mistakes.”

You nodded, taking in her advice even as the apprehension gnawed at you. This wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about navigating a dangerous, unpredictable situation with a man who held absolute power over everyone here.

“Does he really need guards?” Gyeong-seok asked, his tone curious and innocent, as though the thought had just occurred to him.

011 glanced at him briefly before answering. “It’s customary to have two managers with him wherever he goes. He has a lot of tasks to oversee, and the managers assist with those duties. It’s as much about maintaining order as it is about support.”

Her explanation was straightforward, but it only added to your apprehension. You couldn’t afford to make a single mistake, not when you were walking such a thin line. And above all, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the Front Man’s presence was more than just commanding. It was suffocating, like he could see straight through any disguise you wore.

[Flashback ends…]

***

Back to the present, you and manager 009 waited in silence, standing for a few minutes as the Front Man surveyed the live feeds and ensured every operation was running smoothly. His imposing figure was still, his masked face tilted slightly toward the screens as if scrutinizing every detail with precision.

Then, without warning, he spun around, striding toward the exit and eventually walking past you both. Manager 009 immediately fell into step behind him, and you quickly followed. The two of you flanked and followed the Captain as he descended into the labyrinth of colorful stairs, the vibrancy of the walls contrasting sharply with the dark-coloured control room.

The three of you arrived at the armory, a large, sterile room lined with racks of weapons. Rows of MP5 guns, pistols, and other equipment were neatly arranged. Multiple circle guards were stationed throughout the room, diligently performing tasks such as logging weapon serial numbers, testing firing mechanisms, and cleaning the firearms. Overseeing them was another manager who moved diligently between stations.

“Status report on the firearms,” the Captain commanded, his distorted voice filling the room.

The manager stepped forward and answered, “All weapons are accounted for, Captain. The inventory has been cross-checked, and all MP5s have been resecured. Pistols have been redistributed to guards as per protocol.”

The Captain gave a curt nod and turned to 009. “Ensure the biometric systems have been fully calibrated. Test random samples to verify their functionality.”

“Yes, Captain,” 009 replied, moving toward one of the nearby stations where guards were monitoring the equipment.

You stood quietly, waiting. The Captain’s gaze swept over the room before it landed on you.

“007,” he said finally, “verify the safeties on the pistols. Ensure they’re properly engaged.”

The task was very simple, and you couldn't be more glad. You nodded and moved toward the rack of pistols. You meticulously checked each one, toggling the safeties to confirm they were engaged. It took only a few minutes to complete and then you returned back to stand behind him.

Once 009 finished their task and the armory was taken care of, the Captain led the way through another series of corridors, descending a staircase until you reached a room marked with no identifying signage. The door slid open, revealing a sprawling IT hub filled with rows of computers and massive screens lining the walls. Workers in circle masks sat at the terminals, their fingers flying across keyboards as they edited and managed live feeds from across the facility. One manager was present, walking slowly as they supervised everything.

The Captain strode into the room, his presence commanding immediate attention. “Report.”

The manager straightened up and informed, “All live feeds are edited and being transmitted to the VIPs as scheduled. Editing for clarity and focus is underway. No interruptions have been detected.”

“Good,” the Captain replied. He turned to manager 009. “Check every videos that have been transferred online. Ensure the footage meets the required standards for transmission.”

“Yes, Captain,” 009 said, immediately moving to one of the editing stations.

The Captain’s masked face turned slightly in your direction, his geometrical mask facing you for a fleeting moment. Your breath hitched and you braced yourself inwardly, waiting for any task he would give to you. But instead of speaking, he simply turned away, his focus shifting back to the workers and the room’s activity.

You stood behind him, feeling tiny compared to his tall, strong figure. From where you were, you noticed the sharp lines of his coat and the way his gloved hands rested at his sides. He looked like he was completely in charge of everything, and even though neither of you said a word, it felt like the air between you was charged with some kind of energy. You couldn’t explain it, but it made you feel nervous, like he could see right through you without even speaking.

Your gaze drifted upward, catching the faint reflection of yourself in one of the monitors. Beneath the square mask, your heart pounded, your thoughts racing. Why had he looked at you? Why hadn’t he given you anything to do? Was he testing you?

“009,” the Captain’s voice broke the silence after a few minutes, deep and distorted as always. “Report.”

009 responded immediately, “The edits are nearly complete, Captain. All footage meets the standards for clarity and focus. There are no delays in the transmission to the VIPs.”

The Captain gave a small nod in approval. Before he could say more, his radio crackled briefly. The distorted voice of the masked officer came through. “Captain, there is a commotion among players in the hallway close to the restrooms.”

Your attention snapped to the conversation immediately. You straightened instinctively, your heartbeat picking up speed. The Captain gave no visible reaction, his body language calm and composed as he lifted the radio closer to his masked face. “Report.”

“Several O players started a fight against the X players,” the masked officer reported. “Some of them were player 124, 100, 388, 333, and 222.”

Your eyes widened beneath your mask, your breath catching in your throat. Player 222… Jun-hee. The image of her flashed in your mind. Her small, trembling form, her hands protectively cradling her pregnant belly. Fear surged through you. What is happening? Why is she involved?

The masked officer continued, “Do we intervene, captain? Further losses of players would ruin the next game.”

The Captain said nothing at first, the silence hanging heavy in the room. Then, he turned his masked face directly toward you. The weight of his gaze pinned you in place. Even though you couldn’t see his eyes, you felt as though he was peering straight into your thoughts. You stared back at him, your heart thudding loudly in your ears. You didn’t need him to say it. You already knew what he was about to ask.

“007,” the Captain finally said. “Go.”

You bowed your head respectfully. You spun on your heel and left the room in a calm demeanor. But as soon as you were out of sight, you quickened your pace, practically jogging as you navigated the labyrinth of colorful staircases.

Your heart pounded fiercely against your ribs, every beat a reminder of the urgency of the situation. The bright, almost whimsical colors of the walls felt jarring, out of place against the heavy dread settling over you. Jun-hee… what were they doing to her? Was she hurt? Was she safe? The thought of her, vulnerable and frightened, made your stomach churn. She didn’t deserve this.

As you descended another flight of stairs, two triangle guards appeared from a side corridor. They immediately fell into step behind you. You glanced over your shoulder briefly, your pulse spiking until you recognized the marks on their uniforms.

It was 011 and Gyeong-seok; the latter still disguised as soldiers. It seemed they had caught wind of the commotion. Their familiar presence sent a small wave of relief washing over you, though your anxiety remained. They flanked you without a word. The three of you moved as one, your pace quickening as you closed in on the hallway near the restrooms.

“This way,” 011 said softly, her voice barely audible beneath the hum of the facility. You were grateful for her guidance and you followed. Your focus was razor-sharp now. Whatever was happening, you had to get there. You had to protect Jun-hee and your friends. In this place, survival wasn’t just about making it through the games. It also meant defending yourself against players who had no qualms about killing one another.

The three of you arrived at the source of the commotion, the sound of shouting and scuffling growing louder with each step. The moment your gaze landed on the scene, you froze, your breath catching in your throat. Behind your square mask, your eyes widened in horror.

Player 124, the late Thanos’ friend, was towering over player 333, his fists flying with relentless fury. Each punch landed with a sickening thud, and player 333, sprawled on the floor, tried desperately to shield himself, his arms raised defensively. He couldn’t get up; the assault was unrelenting, leaving him completely at the mercy of his attacker.

Nearby, two more O players were savagely kicking another figure who was curled into a tight fetal position. His arms were wrapped protectively around his head, his knees pulled to his chest. You could clearly see his entire form trembling as if in extreme fear. From your vantage point, you couldn’t see who it was, but the viciousness of the attack made your stomach churn.

Then your eyes darted to Jun-hee, who was on the floor a few feet away. She was crawling, her trembling hands stretched out toward the man being kicked, as though trying to shield him despite her own fear and condition. Before she could reach him, one of the O players broke away from the group and stormed toward her, his face contorted with rage.

“You bitch!” he roared, his voice echoing off the walls. “You should’ve been dead! You should’ve been eliminated, and because of you, that round restarted and all my friends are gone!”

He must be referring to the Open, Dongdaemun game, when Jun-hee, the mother, and three other players were caught in the area of elimination and you restarted the round.

Jun-hee’s flushed face turned upward, tears streaking down her cheeks as she cradled her belly protectively. She froze, wide-eyed, as the man raised his fist, ready to strike.

But then something tugged at his ankle. The man staggered slightly, his focus snapping downward. There, on the floor, was Dae-ho. Blood dripped from his battered face, his nose swollen and bleeding, but his eyes burned with determination. Despite his injuries, despite the beating he’d already endured, he clung to the man’s ankle with all the strength he had left.

“Get away from her!” bellowed Dae-ho, his voice hoarse but unwavering.

The O player sneered, kicking at Dae-ho’s hand to free himself. Then another voice joined in, “You should’ve just stayed down!”

It was player 226. He stood beside player 100, who watched the chaos unfold with greedy and sickening enthusiasm. They were encouraging the Os to continue as they were content to let the others do their dirty work.

Player 226, his sneer widening, stepped forward and raised his leg, ready to drive his shoes into Dae-ho’s already bloodied face. However, you’d had enough.

Reaching for your revolver, you unlatched the safety in one smooth motion. Raising it to the ceiling, you fired a single shot. The deafening crack echoed through the hallway, silencing the chaos in an instant. Every head turned toward you, their expressions a mix of shock and fear as they registered the weapon in your hand.

“That’s enough,” you said, your voice distorted behind the mask but still commanding. The air around you seemed to shift as you stared down the O players who you knew for sure had started this bloody fist fight. 011 and Gyeong-seok were behind you, holding their MP5s at ready. For the first time, you felt... powerful.

Player 124 and the Os who had been beating and kicking player 333 and Dae-ho backed away immediately, retreating toward the wall. Player 333 and Dae-ho, battered and bruised, struggled to their feet. Blood smeared their faces, hands, and uniforms as they limped to stand protectively in front of Jun-hee, who was still trembling near the opposite wall. Her hands were tightly cradling her belly, tears streaking her flushed face.

“Hey!” player 100’s voice rang out, filled with indignation. He jabbed a finger in your direction, his fury evident in the way his eyes widened like saucers unevenly. “Why are you interrupting us?! Aren’t you supposed to just stand aside and let us be?! Why are you stopping us now, of all times?!”

For a moment, the hallway fell silent except for the heavy breathing of the injured players. All eyes were on you, waiting for your response. You felt the weight of their stares. Behind your square mask, your mind raced to formulate an answer that would justify your interference while maintaining the facade of authority.

You stood still for a moment, your thoughts racing behind the mask. You knew that the players weren’t the only ones watching you. Somewhere, the guards in the control room were likely observing through the CCTV too. You had to justify yourself to everyone.

Then again, the Captain had told you to “go”. That must have been a green light to intervene, right? You gripped the revolver in your hand tightly, resolving to follow through with his unspoken directive.

“Unnecessary fights will no longer be tolerated,” you stated, your voice calm but firm. “The total number of players is already critically low for the next game. Any further disruptions will jeopardize the next game to run smoothly.”

“Tolerated?” player 100’s voice rang out, laced with mockery and anger. He stepped forward slightly in defiance. “Since when do you care about what’s tolerated? You guards didn’t care when people were dying during lights out, did you? What changed now?”

011 raised her MP5 slightly, the weapon’s barrel glinting under the harsh lights of the hallway. Her voice cut through the rising tension, calm yet carrying an unmistakable edge. “Listen to the order, 100.”

“Order?” player 100’s voice rose, echoing through the hallway. “Give me a break! You didn’t care about ‘order’ when people were dying left and right during lights out. What’s so different now? Is it because there is a pregnant woman here?”

“The difference is,” you said, still calm, “your fist fight jeopardizes the next game. Further disruptions won’t be tolerated.”

“Jeopardizes the games?” he spat, stepping forward slightly. “What, because one player’s pregnant? Is that it? Are we supposed to pretend like there’s no special treatment here? Because it sure looks like there is.”

Your grip on the revolver tightened slightly, but your tone remained controlled. “The rules apply to everyone equally. Any player, pregnant or not, who participates in the games is subject to the same conditions. Your actions, however, directly endanger the balance of the competition.”

“Don’t make me laugh!” player 100 shouted, gesturing wildly. “We’re all fighting to survive, and now you expect us to play fair? Give me a break. You think you can scare me? You think that gun in your hand gives you power over us?”

Your patience, already stretched thin, finally snapped. Without a word, you strode forward, your shoes striking the floor with deliberate force. The revolver in your right hand glinted faintly. Player 100 faltered, his bluster evaporating as you closed the distance between you and him.

When you were mere inches away, you stopped, your masked face level with his. The air between you crackled with tension, and the other players shrank back, their eyes wide as they watched the confrontation unfold.

“Do you have a problem listening to orders, 100?” you asked, your voice low and cutting. The question hung in the air like a blade.

Player 100 stumbled back a step, his bravado completely gone. His gaze darted to the revolver in your hand, then back to your mask. For a moment, he looked like he might try to retort, but the words never came. Instead, he glared you up and down and muttered something under his breath.

He then turned around and stormed off. Player 226 shot you a stinky side-eye before following player 100. The rest of the O players trailed behind, with player 124 flicking off player 333 as he left.

Once the O players disappeared down the hallway, you turned your attention to player 333, Dae-ho, and Jun-hee. The two men immediately checked on Jun-hee, their concern evident.

“You okay?” Dae-ho asked gently.

Jun-hee nodded but then looked at him with worry. “But you… you're bleeding.”

Dae-ho quickly shook his head, forcing a grin. “I’m fine. This is nothing.”

“Like I said,” player 333 spoke up, his voice firm but calm, “we can’t let you go to the bathroom alone. It’s better to have two men with you at all times. Everyone now knows you’re pregnant.”

“But, Myung-gi…” Jun-hee’s voice softened as she turned her gaze to him. “You’re hurt too.”

So his name is Myung-gi, you thought, filing the information away.

Myung-gi straightened his lips and gave her a small nod, his tone reassuring. “I’m fine. Let’s go back.”

The three of them turned toward you and the other triangle guards, preparing to leave. As they began to walk past you, Jun-hee suddenly winced, her steps faltering slightly as her hand swiftly moved to her belly.

Your hand shot up instinctively, steadying her by placing it lightly on her shoulder. Jun-hee froze momentarily but avoided meeting your gaze, murmuring softly, “Thanks…”

You urged her calmly as your hand subconsciously brushed gently over the top of her head, smoothing her hair back toward her neck, “Go.”

Jun-hee’s reaction was immediate. Her wide eyes snapped to your masked face, her expression filled with surprise, almost disbelief. Her stare lingered, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of confusion. Why was she looking at you like that?

“Jun-hee,” Myung-gi called. “Let’s go.”

Jun-hee hesitated for a moment longer, her gaze lingering on you as though searching for something. But eventually, she turned and followed Dae-ho and Myung-gi. You stood still, watching as they moved further down the hallway, her steps slow and careful. Even as they walked away, Jun-hee’s gaze flickered back to you briefly, again and again.

You and the two triangle guards – 011 and Gyeong-seok – remained where you were until the trio disappeared from view. The silence in the hallway felt heavy, but none of you spoke. Instead, you exchanged quiet glances, a mutual understanding passing between the three of you. There was no room for discussion here. You all knew you were being watched. Somewhere in the labyrinth of colorful corridors, CCTVs were likely trained on you. And through those cameras, the masked officer and the Captain were likely observing every move.

Without a word, the three of you began to walk back the way you came. After a few minutes, 011 and Gyeong-seok peeled off from you in different direction. You didn’t look back as you continued alone.

***

The next thing you knew, two hours had passed. Time seemed to blur as you followed the Captain wherever he went. Manager 009 was always beside you, the two of you sticking close to the boss like shadows.

During this time, the Front Man went from room to room. He gave commands and checked on tasks to make sure everything in this twisted operation was running smoothly. He never raised his voice, but the way he spoke made it clear he expected perfection. Manager 009 got most of the work, being handed one task after another. Each one seemed complicated and time-consuming, but 009 handled them all quickly and without hesitation.

And you? Over those two hours, you only got three tasks. Each one was so simple it almost felt like a joke. You stood guard at a door for five minutes, delivered a report to a nearby circle guard, and checked a number on a screen. None of it took much effort. You finished each task easily, but the simplicity of it all left you confused.

Why was the Front Man treating you differently? Was it because 009 had already proven how capable they were, while you hadn’t yet? Or was there something else going on? The thought kept nagging at you, even as you tried to focus on blending in. You couldn’t decide if you should feel relieved that your tasks were so easy or offended that you weren’t trusted with more responsibility.

It reminded you back when you were tending to your part-time job. Even here, you were still worrying about how you looked in the eyes of your “boss.” Old habits, it seemed, were hard to break.

However, thirty minutes into this, the three of you were ascending towards the control room when the Front Man suddenly halted in his tracks. The abrupt pause in the all-purple hallway made you and 009 stop as well. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as the Captain slowly turned around to face you directly.

“007,” he said in his deep, distorted voice. “Head to the control room and take the elevator. It will lead you straight to the host's room above. It requires inspection. Check the lighting, furniture placement, and any potential issues. Check every room. Make a mental note of anything that needs attention, and inform the workers to handle it later.”

You blinked behind your mask, caught off guard by the sudden request. Now this was a difficult one. The host’s room? You had never been there but you didn't want to question him for fear of endangering your disguise and even show him that you were incompetent. So you kept your thoughts to yourself, lowering your head.

“Understood, Captain,” you replied.

The Captain stared at you for a moment longer before he turned to manager 009. “Continue with me to the next game's location. Ensure all workers are ready for tomorrow.”

“Yes, Captain,” 009 responded. Then, the two of them went back the way they came from down the hallway. You watched them for a second before turning toward the path that led to the control room.

You walked into the control room and saw managers sitting at their monitors, focused on their screens. You glanced around and noticed an elevator tucked beside the door you had just walked through.

Stepping up to it, you noticed the panel beside the door had only one button – an ‘up’ arrow. You pressed it. The doors slid open right away, revealing an elevator so bright unlike any other setting in this place. The inside was decorated in black and gold, looking fancy and elegant. The walls shimmered under soft lighting, and the floor was polished like a mirror. It felt too luxurious for this facility.

You stepped inside, glancing around quickly. There was only one floor option. You pressed the button, and the doors closed with a quiet hiss. The elevator moved up smoothly and seconds later, a small chime sounded and the doors slid open again.

The sight before you was stunning. The entire area was decorated in black and gold, making it feel grand and important. Directly outside the elevator was a long hallway with black doors on either side. At the end of the hallway, the space opened into a massive living room.

The living room looked like something out of a magazine. A huge television screen covered one wall, reflecting the soft glow of a fancy chandelier hanging above. Beneath it sat a single-seater sofa, placed right in front of the television. A small nightstand stood beside it. Other furniture was placed around the room – a table, a low cupboard with a diorama on top of it. The furniture and decorations were neatly arranged, making the living room look simple yet elegant, with the black and gold colors giving it a fancy and important feel.

You hesitated at the doorway, staring at the overwhelming luxury before you. Everything about it felt strange. You had seen wealth before, but this was different. It wasn’t just expensive. It was personal, like stepping into someone’s private space. Not only that. It felt like someone was watching you, even though you were completely alone.

The sound of the elevator doors beginning to close startled you into action. Without thinking, you quickly stepped forward into the hallway, the doors shutting behind you with a quiet finality.

Walking past the hallways and into the living room, you moved cautiously, inspecting the space. The sofa was perfectly neat, the cushions untouched. The nightstand held nothing above it. Then, the diorama caught your eye. It was a detailed miniature version of what seemed like a group of men playing musical instruments with a lady as a singer. Looking around, you realized there was another cupboard with a wired telephone.

Everything looked pristine, with no obvious technical issues in sight. Still, you wanted to inspect as much as possible per the Captain’s order.

In a way, you felt a small sense of satisfaction. Unlike the simple tasks he had given you before, this one required more effort. It almost felt like a test. It’s as if he was finally trusting you with something more significant. Not only that, but he had allowed you to enter this exclusive, luxurious space. Perhaps, through this task, you could learn more about this place and the way it operated.

You started by thoroughly examining the living room. You checked the lighting and other electronic systems. The television was in perfect condition, and the diorama sat undisturbed. The shelves were dust-free, and every piece of furniture was arranged with precision. It was as if no one had ever disturbed the space.

Satisfied with the state of the living room, you walked back into the hallway. Your gaze landed on the series of black doors lining the corridor.

You hesitated for a moment, debating whether to proceed further. Then, you remembered the Captain’s instructions – Check every room. That was as clear a green light as any.

You stepped up to the first door and pushed it open. The room inside matched the rest of the place, following the same black and gold aesthetic. It appeared to be a study with an expansive wooden desk in the center and several bookshelves lining the walls. Everything was arranged neatly with no signs of disarray. You checked the lighting, the air circulation, and the furniture’s condition before moving on.

The second room was a bathroom, designed with the same black and gold aesthetic. A large, polished black marble sink stretched along one side with gold-trimmed mirrors above it. The walk-in shower featured sleek glass doors and golden fixtures and a luxurious bathtub sat in the corner. It looked so deep and inviting. Like the study, this room was also flawless.

The third room contained what seemed to be a small, private meeting area. A circular table sat in the center, surrounded by four chairs. The walls were adorned with subtle gold accents, and a sleek control panel rested on the far side of the room. Like the others, this space was pristine with no indication of recent use.

Then, as you moved to the next door, you found yourself stepping into... a dressing room? Across from the door stood a mannequin dressed in a sleek black suit, its head adorned with a golden mask resembling an animal. Positioned on a raised platform, it gave the impression of something highly significant. Heavy black curtains flanked the display, adding to the dramatic presentation. To your left, a dressing table with a large mirror reflected the dim lighting of the room.

You glanced around and noticed a door, partially hidden behind the curtain. Curiosity tugged at you as you stepped closer and pushed it open. The moment you crossed the threshold, you stopped short. The lighting in this room was noticeably dimmer. It took you a moment to fully process what you were seeing.

A bedroom.

A wide single bed was covered in black sheets, one pillow neatly propped against the headboard. A wardrobe stood to one side. A nightstand rested beside the bed. On the opposite side, a study desk held a large PC monitor. Several books were arranged precisely on both sides of the desk, accompanied by a lamp, a box of tissues, and a set of writing utensils. The air carried a distinct scent – leather, or perhaps a trace of cologne. In this room, the scent and presence of the Front Man lingered unmistakably.

On the other side of the nightstand was a solid black door. Before stepping through, you decided to check the bedroom thoroughly. You scanned the furniture, electronics, and every small detail, making sure everything looked normal.

Once satisfied, you finally approached the door and opened it. What lay beyond surprised you. A narrow brick hallway stretched to the right, dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. At the end of the hall, a staircase led downward toward another door.

Glancing over your shoulder, you checked for anyone nearby. You felt like you were sneaking around, but technically, you weren’t. The Captain had told you to check every room, and this was no exception, even if it seemed strangely hidden. Like no one was supposed to access it except the boss himself.

Taking a deep breath, you descended the stairs slowly. When you reached the bottom, you hesitated before pushing the door open. The room was completely dark. Your hand searched along the wall until you found a switch. With a quick flick, the lights came on, casting a yellowish glow over the space.

The walls, like the hallway, were entirely made of brick. Rows of shelves lined every side of the room, filled with neatly stacked files, books, and documents. One wall was blocked by a shelf of drawers, each labeled, though the text was too small to read from where you stood.

Careful not to disturb anything, you walked further inside, scanning the shelves and the layout. Everything was perfectly arranged, untouched, as if no one had been here in a long time.

Once you were sure nothing was out of place, you turned back toward the door, ready to leave. But just as you moved, something unusual caught your eye. Sitting on a shelf close to the door was a small black box wrapped in a neatly tied hot pink ribbon. Unlike everything else in the room, this object looked so out of place, so different than other documents here.

You wondered why this box seemed so different from the other documents in the room. Curiosity sparked, you moved toward it and carefully grabbed the box.

Lifting the lid, you found a single framed sheet of paper inside. The heading at the top read, “Round 6.” Below, two neatly organized tables filled the page, and in an instant, you understood what it was. This was a record of winners from this game, dating all the way back to 1988.

Your mind immediately flashed to Young-il. He had told you he was the previous winner of this game in 2015. His name had to be here. Maybe seeing it would bring you some comfort, even if only a little.

You quickly scanned the list, searching for the year 2015. Your eyes landed on the correct row, and you followed it across to the winner’s name.

Except… it wasn’t his name.

“Hwang In-ho?” you murmured, confusion washing over you. That wasn’t Young-il. No. It was supposed to be Oh Young-il.

Your grip on the frame tightened as your mind raced. Who was Hwang In-ho? And why wasn’t Young-il listed as the winner of the game he claimed to have survived?

Wait. You lifted your gaze from the framed paper and stared into space, a sudden coldness running down your spine. Was he lying to you? Was he never a previous winner? But he knew so much about the game.

A thought struck you. Your eyes darted to the shelves filled with records. There had to be complete participant records somewhere in this room. Setting aside the box and framed paper, you rushed toward the rows of meticulously arranged files, scanning them carefully.

Each file was labeled neatly along the spine. After a quick search, your fingers stopped on a section titled “List of Players.” Your heart pounded as you searched for the year 2015. It was easy enough to find since the files were organized chronologically.

You pulled out a thick folder labeled “List of Players 1, 2015” and flipped it open. Page after page detailed the participants, but you quickly realized you had forgotten Hwang In-ho's player number.

Rushing back to the framed paper, your eyes locked onto the number next to his name. 132.

You hurried back to the file, flipping through pages as you repeated the number under your breath. Your fingers trembled as you searched frantically.

Finally, you found it. Player 132.

Your breath hitched as your gaze landed on the ID player photo attached to the upper left corner of the page. Your eyes widened in shock.

It was Young-il. A much younger version, his face softer, carrying a faint, hopeful smile. But then your gaze drifted to the name printed beside it.

Hwang In-ho.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. But… wasn’t his name supposed to be Oh Young-il?

The loud, jarring noise of the door swinging open sent a violent jolt through your body. Your breath caught in your throat as your heart slammed against your ribcage. You had been so completely absorbed in the record that the sudden intrusion felt like a gunshot in the silence.

Your head snapped toward the entrance, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights behind your mask. There, striding purposefully into the room, was the Front Man.

His masked face turned directly toward you, his entire posture exuding an imposing authority. The door shut behind him with an ominous finality, locking you inside with him. The weight of his presence sent a wave of overwhelming fear crashing over you.

You had been caught.

Your hands trembled as you slowly straightened up, the weight of the file slipping from your grasp. It hit the floor with a loud, unceremonious thud.

The Front Man took a step toward you.

Instinct took over. You took a step back.

Another step forward. Another step back. He was closing in, his slow, deliberate pace like a predator closing in on its prey. The fear gripping your chest made your breaths shallow, quick, and sounded deeper and distorted behind the square mask you're wearing. You kept moving backward until your spine met the cold, unyielding brick wall. Your breath hitched.

He did not stop.

His approach remained unhurried, measured, yet filled with intent. The air around you thickened as if the shelves around you were closing in. You felt suffocated. You pressed yourself against the wall, fingers splaying against the rough brick as if searching for a way to melt into it, to disappear entirely.

Then, in his deep, distorted voice, he finally spoke.

“007,” he said, his tone slow and deliberate. “Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize you?”

A cold chill gripped your heart, squeezing until you thought you might choke on your own fear. He knew.

You swallowed hard but your throat felt dry as sandpaper. Your body refused to move, paralyzed under his scrutiny. Every nerve in your body screamed at you to run but there was nowhere to go. No escape. You were trapped in the narrow space between the shelves and him.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Your mind raced, searching for a way to turn this around, to escape, to do something other than just stand there, vulnerable and completely at his mercy.

Your breath came in rapid, shallow pulls as your eyes darted across the dimly lit room, searching for any escape. The shelves boxed you in, towering with records of past games, past players, past victims. There was nowhere to go.

The Front Man were closing in on you, his presence suffocating you.

“You should’ve known you’d lose in this hide and seek game,” he said, his tone eerily calm yet heavy with unspoken threats.

Your fingers twitched at your sides. If you got caught now, what would happen? Would he spare you? 011 had said he would. But at what cost?

Your mind spiraled into terrifying possibilities. If you were spared, would he hand you over to the VIPs? Would you be nothing more than a prize, a twisted plaything for their amusement? The thought sent ice through your veins.

No. You had fought too hard. You had killed to protect yourself, to protect the people you loved, and to protect your body as a woman. You had survived this long and you weren’t about to surrender now. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to move, to fight.

Your breaths turned sharp, loud and unnatural through the mask. The Front Man took another step, his slow, measured pace sending a fresh wave of panic through you.

Then you remembered.

Your pistol.

The standard issue sidearm every square guard carried rested in the pocket of your jumpsuit’s bottom. Your grip tightened.

You braced yourself. The Front Man was getting closer, his figure looming over you, casting an inescapable shadow.

“You’ve been running long enough among these trashes,” he said, voice thick with certainty, with finality.

That was your moment.

You lunged for your pistol, fingers wrapping around the grip, yanking it free as you unlatched the safety in one swift motion. The cold weight of the gun grounded you. Without hesitation, you lifted it and fired.

But the Front Man moved with inhuman speed, ducking just before the bullet could meet its mark. His arm shot out to the side. You had no time to register what he was doing. Instinct took over, and you fired again.

Your shot met resistance, but not flesh. He had grabbed a thick file from a nearby shelf and raised it as a shield. The bullet struck the stack of papers, piercing but not stopping him.

Then he charged.

Like a predator finally closing in, his movements were terrifyingly fast, like a beast that had played with its prey long enough. He lunged forward, his dark form swallowing the space between you in an instant.

Your pulse spiked, adrenaline crashing through you. The walls of records blurred as your only thought became survival.

You had to move fast.

However, he caught you first. His gloved hand clamped around your wrist, twisting it just enough to force the revolver from your grasp. The weapon clattered to the floor. You gasped, breath hitching at the sudden loss of control – and at something else. His movement was eerily familiar.

Before you could dwell on it, he shoved you back. Your head was about to strike the brick wall and you instinctively shut your eyes tight. But instead of harsh impact, you felt a firm yet controlled buffer. His other hand had moved to cradle the back of your head, protecting your head against the wall with his gloved palm.

Your pupils dilated as the realization sank in, but there was no time to process. The Front Man was right there, his geometrical mask so close to yours that you could feel the heat of his breath through the distorted air of your own mask. His other hand wrapped around your throat. Not tight enough to choke, but enough to remind you that you were completely at his mercy.

Your legs were tangled. One of yours had slipped between his, and one of his was between yours, locking you both into place. The space between your bodies had nearly vanished, and the sound of rapid breathing filled the archive room. It belonged to yours and his, mingling together in the stillness.

A charged silence stretched between you. The tension was suffocating. Your chest rose and fell against his as adrenaline within you remained.

“You have allies,” his deep voice rumbled, low and unwavering, “among my guards.”

Before you could react, his gloved fingers slipped from your neck to the edge of your jumpsuit’s hoodie. A chilling realization gripped you. He was about to pull it down. To take off your mask. To expose you.

No.

Clenching your teeth behind the mask, you scrambled for a plan, for anything to break free. And then you felt it. His thigh, firm and brushing against yours.

With a sharp inhale, you moved. You slammed your knee against his, knocking his leg away, creating just enough space between your tangled bodies. Without hesitation, you raised your foot and kicked him squarely in the abdomen.

A grunt escaped him as he staggered back. You took the brief moment of respite to move. You turned sharply, gripping the nearest shelf, and with a raw, breathless yell, you shoved every file within reach off the shelves.

Papers and heavy binders cascaded toward him, crashing against his body, momentarily throwing him off guard. You didn’t wait to see how he recovered.

Heart pounding, you lunged past him, sprinting toward the door. Your fingers gripped the handle, yanking it open as you bolted up the stairs. Just as you reached the top, a heavy set of footsteps thundered behind you, fast and relentless, closing the distance far too quickly.

You didn’t dare to look behind you. Bursting through the door, you sprinted into the bedroom, but before you could make it halfway across the room, a force yanked your jumpsuit from behind. Your momentum was ripped away in an instant, fabric tearing as you were violently pulled backward and shoved onto the bed.

You landed sideways on the bed with a deep, distorted yelp behind your mask. Panic surged through you and you immediately scrambled to push yourself up but something heavy pressed down against you, shoving you back onto the mattress.

The Front Man.

He loomed over you, his weight pressing into you, keeping you pinned. You thrashed, twisting and bucking wildly beneath him, muffled grunts of struggle escaping your lips. His grip found your wrists and forced them down against the sheets.

Your legs were your last weapon. You kicked out violently, aiming for anything. His stomach, his ribs, even his groin. But he was faster as if he had anticipated your moves. In one swift motion, he maneuvered between your flailing limbs, pressing his legs firmly between yours to keep you restrained.

Even as he overpowered you, you refused to submit. You twisted, arched, struggled with everything you had, but he was stronger – far stronger. Unlike other men who had tried to take advantage of you, he wasn’t sloppy, he wasn’t careless. He was calculated and precise.

He held you there, unmoving like a boulder above you, as you thrashed beneath him. You fought with every last ounce of strength in your body but he didn’t budge. His sheer force pinned you down, absorbing each desperate attempt to break free.

Your breath came in sharp gasps, muscles screaming in exhaustion. Soon, your struggles slowed, jerky and uncoordinated, until they faded into mere trembling beneath his weight. Every attempt at escape had drained you, leaving your limbs weak and sluggish.

The only sounds in the room were your ragged breaths mixing with his heavy ones. Your chest rose and fell erratically, each inhale loud and desperate. His grip on your wrists didn’t waver. You glared up at the geometrical mask hovering inches above your face.

You felt the heat radiating between your bodies and the closeness. He remained still. The weight of his presence pressed into you, making your exhaustion feel even more overwhelming.

Your heart pounded wildly against your ribs, the realization settling in. You were trapped completely. He finally caught you.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. But in that heavy silence, an unspoken intensity hung between you.

He moved your wrists above your head, securing them in a firm grip with just his right hand. Your weakened struggle did nothing to deter him. His free hand reached for your hoodie, and this time, you didn’t resist. Your chest still heaved from exhaustion, breath escaping in rapid, uneven pulls as he pushed the fabric back.

Once your hoodie was down, his fingers slid to the back of your mask. With practiced ease, he unclasped it and pulled it away from your face. The mask left your skin, and he tossed it aside, letting it clatter somewhere in the distance.

Cool air kissed your damp skin, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat that had built beneath the jumpsuit. Sweat glistened along your face and neck, strands of hair clinging stubbornly to your skin. The sudden exposure made you hyper-aware of how raw and open you felt, your breath finally unfiltered, free in the space between you.

You glared up at him, your eyes burning with defiance despite your exhaustion. But he only stared. His mask tilted so slightly as if studying you. At this moment, his silence felt even more suffocating than any words he could have spoken.

Then, to your shock, he moved his left hand to the side of your face. His gloved fingers brushed against your damp skin as he gently tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear. Your breath caught in your throat. This action – so soft, so familiar – sent a jolt through you. Only one person had ever done this before. But why was he doing it?

Slowly, he withdrew his hand and moved it to his own hoodie. Your glare faltered when he pulled it down out of the blue. You could hardly believe it when he reached for the clasp at the back of his mask, unfastening it with ease. Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs, as he slowly lifted it away.

And then, you saw him.

Your entire body locked in place, your breath caught in your throat. The world around you shrank, all sense of logic dissolving as your mind struggled to grasp what you were seeing.

It was him.

Young-il.

The man you thought had died. The man who had protected you, shielded you, fought alongside you. The man you had—

Your chest tightened, an overwhelming rush of emotions surging through you all at once. Relief, disbelief, betrayal, longing. The edges of your vision blurred and all you could do was stare, wide-eyed.

He looked just the same, but his hair was now slicked back neatly with oil, giving him an air of maturity and refinement that made him seem almost like a different man.

Your entire body trembled, overwhelmed with a torrent of emotions too vast to contain. It's like every emotion crashed into you all at once, leaving you breathless. You had mourned Young-il. You had thought he was gone forever, lost in the bloodshed of the uprising. Yet here he was, standing before you, alive. Breathing. Real.

But with that relief came something heavier, something darker.

Your chest tightened as realization set in. He had been behind that mask all along, watching, orchestrating, controlling the very nightmare you had been trying to survive. The games, the deaths, the suffering. Had all of it been at his command? Your mind raced, replaying every interaction you had with him back then, every moment of trust, every fleeting instance where you had allowed yourself to care. Had it all been a lie?

Was he ever truly one of us?

Your throat felt dry, your breath uneven. Why had he disguised himself as a player? Was it all some kind of elaborate test? A way to manipulate those around him? Or had there been something else – something deeper? Had he once been a victim of this place, just as you were? Or had he been in control from the very beginning?

Young-il stayed still above you, staring at you, his expression raw. The subtle tremble in his face betrayed the inner turmoil he tried so desperately to contain. His lips parted slightly as if he wanted to speak, to offer some kind of explanation, but no words came.

The silence stretched between you, thick with tension, with questions left unspoken, with truths too painful to acknowledge.

His eyes, always so guarded, flickered with something you couldn’t quite decipher. Regret? Pain? Guilt? You don’t know anymore.

Your breathing was still uneven, chest rising and falling with the weight of everything crashing down at once.

“You…” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “You were behind it all?”

His expression faltered, the conflict within him breaking through for just a moment before he steadied himself. But you had seen it. The hesitation, the uncertainty, the battle he was fighting within himself.

And it terrified you.

Because despite everything, despite the betrayal, despite the horror of what he had done… He still looked like the man you had fallen for.

He leaned down, his face inching closer to yours. You realized in that moment that you hadn’t moved at all. His grip on your wrists was weak yet you remained still, your body slack. The moment you saw his face, it was as if Young-il had turned off your resistance. After all, before all of this, he was the one who made you feel safe.

His warm breath mingled with yours. His eyes flickered between yours and your lips, searching, waiting. Your chest rose and fell with each shallow breath, your mind racing. Should you resist? Should you let him?

The tension between you both thickened as he halted just an inch away. He hesitated, waiting for the slightest sign of resistance from you. When none came, he finally moved. Tilting his head slightly, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against yours. You kept your eyes open, staring ahead, seeing his face so close to you. His lips were firm, yet soft, pressing against yours with calm restraint.

You should resist. He orchestrated this entire operation. He had bloods on his hands. He betrayed you.

Yet, memories flooded your mind. The way he had taken care of you, how he protected you time and time again. How he shielded you from danger, ensured you were safe, treated you like someone precious. Was it real? Or had it all been part of a larger deception?

But you wanted to believe. Wanted to believe that when he said you were his purpose, when he told you that you were worth protecting, that he wanted to take care of you more than as friends – you wanted to believe it was all real.

You were lost in the trance of the moment until he deepened the kiss, his lips pressing more insistently against yours. You could feel it. He could barely restrain himself the longer he kissed you. A quiet sound escaped you as he pulled you further into it. And you found yourself liking it. Your lips parted shyly and he took the invitation, his tongue delving into your mouth with increasing hunger.

His grip on your wrists disappeared, his hands moving to unzip your jumpsuit instead. Yet, you kept your hands where they were, fingers brushing against the sheets above your head, as your eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the moment and to him.

NEXT : Chapter 17.1

PREV : Chapter 15

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Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! It motivates me a lot! What do you think about you guarding the Front Man and you remembered a flashback when 011 told you that you might be spared because of the VIPs? Do you think that's the case? And what about the brawl between Myung-gi, Dae-ho (while protecting Jun-hee) against Nam-gyu (124) and the O players? Do you think scene like this will appear in Season 3? Also I want to know your thoughts on you finally confronted player 100 in that scene. And why did Jun-hee kept glancing at you afterward? Next, why do you think the Front Man suddenly gave you the task to inspect the host's room? And now, the moment you all have been waiting for. What do you think about the Front Man confronting you in the archive room? Then you two had a brief scuffle - and he did not even try to harm you - and then you were pinned to his bed. What do you think about the scene of you two on his bed, finally seeing one another's face? Do you like this direction I take to reveal his face? I've been thinking a lot about this moment and could finally write this down. What do you think about the kiss?

Besides that, I want to know. How many of you are underage? You might want to avoid the next chapter. Now I wonder how to separate the NSFW scene from the next chapter so underage readers couldn't read it.

Leave a comment on the masterlist post to be added to the taglist.

#hwang in ho #hwang in ho x reader #hwang in ho fanfic #in ho #the front man #player 001 #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #front man x reader #front man x you

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jensky2000 · 2 months ago

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Hello~

I have a few new followers so I thought I would introduce myself.

I never planned on being a writer. It wasn’t on my bingo card as they say. I’m a wife, a mother of triplets, and have a full time very demanding career. I am American, born and raised on the east coast. I’m feisty and not to be messed with according to my husband. I have a kind heart and a long colorful history. (In other words I’ve been through hell and back-I’m grateful for what’s important and the rest can kiss my ass.) I come from an extra large loud family. All this contributes to my sense of humor and sarcasm.

About five years ago, I had a dream or recurring story the would play out in my head every night but I couldn’t get past a certain point. I grabbed my phone and started writing in my notes a little bit every chance I got. Before you know it I had the first five chapters of “Little Voices”. From there it grew to 180,000 plus words and 58 chapters (the revised version is 49)

My fanfic writing continued with “Don’t Love Me”, “A Life Left Behind”, and “I Loved Her First”. (These stories are no longer available- I have plans for them) And of course “The Lies They Told” the was rewritten and changed to “All the Secrets” available on Kindle. My first self published book.

I have two stories in the works. One about Wildwood, NJ and another set in San Francisco. I’m hoping to release them on Kindle soon- ish. Plus my new fanfic coming out on AO3 this Friday. “My Best Friend’s Lass”.

The strange and funny thing is there’s only a handful of full of people who know I write…my husband, my kids, my two best friends and you. Some of you ❤️have been with me since chapter one and have certainly read more of my work than my husband.

Without your love and support for my stories, I wouldn’t do this. For that I thank you. 😘

Any questions or ideas or anything at all. I’m here and love to talk about my writing, or this fandom. Message me!

#outlander #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp #outlander fanfic #ao3 outlander #outlander ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3outlander

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kingsmoot · 3 months ago

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🔥

Honestly I’ve always been confused on Roose’s problem (among the many others he has) on why he doesn’t remarry and have actual true born heirs.

Obviously Domeric is killed by Ramsay and he’s like hm that will happen again, but he should just marry some woman and have as many children as possible, surely Ramsay can’t kill then all, espically if he just hides them away.

This is only controversial because whenever I talk to people about this like they’re like are you fucking forgetteting about the serial killer in the back garden but just KILL him if you have more sons it’s not that hard Big Goosey!

ooooooooough i'm so happy to talk about this, and i'm so sorry it's taken me so long to respond to you. i just wanted to be able to sit down with this ask and get nice and carried away.

you are right that roose COULD remarry and just try for as many kids as possible. and if wife number four dies in childbirth or from pregnancy complications well let's just line up wife number five and try again. he could walder frey it and play a simple numbers game. surely rams can't kill ALL of them as babies. maybe we'll hide a few. send them off to foster. maybe rams will finally get murdered in one of those almost-happy-accidents that keep happening to him but somehow letting him fail upwards instead of dropping dead. what if everything worked out for a change!

but even though roose is a self-serving pragmatist, this isn't something he would do. i do not think roose will ever have another child after ramsay. he tells theon that walda has a "fertile feel to her" and that if she pops out sons the way she pops in tarts the dreadfort will soon be overrun with the fruit of their loins. but i think he's just being.... glib. especially because he dismisses this fantasy as soon as he shares it.

Lady Walda is a Frey, and she has a fertile feel to her. I have become oddly fond of my fat little wife. The two before her never made a sound in bed, but this one squeals and shudders. I find that quite endearing. If she pops out sons the way she pops in tarts, the Dreadfort will soon be overrun with Boltons. Ramsay will kill them all, of course. That's for the best. I will not live long enough to see new sons to manhood, and boy lords are the bane of any House. Walda will grieve to see them die, though."

adwd, chapter 32, reek iii

i'll back up a bit, here, to make my point.

the thing that makes roose bolton such a terrifying villain is not his leeching, his voice so soft other men strain to hear it, his ageless face or his queer, cold, pale eyes. it is the fact that he does not see other people as worthwhile. he simply does not believe in their personhood.

This is a cold man, Catelyn realized, not for the first time.

asos; chapter 49, catelyn vi

to me, the roose moment that makes my blood run cold is actually the above excerpt from reek iii where he describes himself as "oddly fond of his fat little wife". this passage gets memed on a lot. so much so that i feel like people take the whole thing as a joke that it's easy to dismiss. but i really disagree. roose's description of walda isn't funny to me. it isn't awkward. it's chilling.

this is not the way you talk about your living human wife. this is the kind of distant, impersonal affection you would use to describe a neighbor's dog. not your own dog, who you know well, but your neighbor's, who you only see from time to time. this is how roose bolton talks about a woman he likes. a woman he is fond of and intimate with and married to. and she's less than a pet to him.

there are lots more examples of roose's cold calloused solipsism in this chapter. for another:

"This miller's marriage had been performed without my leave or knowledge. The man had cheated me. So I had him hanged, and claimed my rights beneath the tree where he was swaying. If truth be told, the wench was hardly worth the rope. The fox escaped as well, and on our way back to the Dreadfort my favorite courser came up lame, so all in all it was a dismal day. "A year later this same wench had the impudence to turn up at the Dreadfort with a squalling, red-faced monster that she claimed was my own get. I should've had the mother whipped and thrown her child down a well … but the babe did have my eyes. She told me that when her dead husband's brother saw those eyes, he beat her bloody and drove her from the mill. That annoyed me, so I gave her the mill and had the brother's tongue cut out, to make certain he did not go running to Winterfell with tales that might disturb Lord Rickard. Each year I sent the woman some piglets and chickens and a bag of stars, on the understanding that she was never to tell the boy who had fathered him. A peaceful land, a quiet people, that has always been my rule."

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii

besides the abject horror of roose running down a random woman he spotted on a river bank with a gang of armed men to hold her down and rape her under her husband's corpse, the thing that really makes his treatment of ramsay's mother frightening to me is how casually he pays for her upkeep for the next couple decades.

i find it almost impossible to compare roose and the unnamed miller's wife of weeping waters socially and economically. she lives on the dreadfort's lands and he is her lord. the kind of money and resources that roose can toss around on an afternoon's diversion of fox hunting is more money and resources than this woman could have ever hoped to see if she had lived a dozen lifetimes. and when she comes to him beaten and scorned with his rape baby brandished in her arms, he maims her brother in law and gifts her her dead husband's mill and a generous annual allowance. in one casual motion he grants her more than she ever could have hoped to have. and he could have done that from the beginning. there was nothing stopping roose from making a gift of the mill to her after he raped her and left her bleeding on the river bank. besides, of course, the fact that it would never occur to him to do so. not until he got annoyed. before then, he hadn't thought of her at all.

but in addition to reek iii giving us a glimpse at roose bolton's pre-canon, casual, wanton, cruelty, it also gives us a glimpse into his own self perception. he says:

to ramsay:

"You are mistaken. It is not good. No tales were ever told of me. Do you think I would be sitting here if it were otherwise? Your amusements are your own, I will not chide you on that count, but you must be more discreet. A peaceful land, a quiet people. That has always been my rule. Make it yours." "Is this why you left Lady Dustin and your fat pig wife? So you could come down here and tell me to be quiet?"

and again to theon:

A peaceful land, a quiet people, that has always been my rule." "A fine rule, m'lord."

roose's criticism of ramsay is not the fact that he is a serial killing serial rapist. roose is both of those things. roose's criticism of ramsay is the fact that he's gouche. he's bruttish and rude and was not raised in a noble household to act a lord. he's classless as well as lower class.

roose's greatest criticism of ramsay is that he makes him look bad.

but, and this is the point i've been ramping up to make, i think that roose is actually ashamed of ramsay and what ramsay says about him. i think roose, like tywin, sees his child as evidence of his own corruption.

don't worry i have pullquotes.

"They're only leeches. My lord." "My squire could take a lesson from you, it would seem. Frequent leechings are the secret of a long life. A man must purge himself of bad blood. You will do, I think. For so long as I remain at Harrenhal, Nan, you shall be my cupbearer, and serve me at table and in chambers." This time she knew better than to say that she'd sooner work in the stables. "Yes, your lord. I mean, my lord."

acok; chapter 47; arya ix

"Yes," Roose Bolton said. "His blood is tainted, that cannot be denied. Yet he is a good fighter, as cunning as he is fearless. When the ironmen cut down Ser Rodrik, and Leobald Tallhart soon after, it fell to Ramsay to lead the battle, and he did. He swears that he shall not sheathe his sword so long as a single Greyjoy remains in the north. Perhaps such service might atone in some small measure for whatever crimes his bastard blood has led him to commit." He shrugged. "Or not. When the war is done, His Grace must weigh and judge. By then I hope to have a trueborn son by Lady Walda."

asos; chapter 49, catelyn vi

"Tell him … tell him to be afraid?" Reek felt ill at the very thought of it. "M'lord, I … if I did that, he'd …" "I know." Lord Bolton sighed. "His blood is bad. He needs to be leeched. The leeches suck away the bad blood, all the rage and pain. No man can think so full of anger. Ramsay, though … his tainted blood would poison even leeches, I fear." "He is your only son."

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii (sidenote i can't help but hear a note of pain in theon's voice, here. i don't think he's feelings empathy or sympathy for ramsay, here, but he does know what it's like to be dismissed and discounted by a lord father who has no other sons to choose from, and hearing how roose talks about ramsay threatens to remind him of a feeling he had before he learned his name.)

i have a really long post in which i pull these same quotes where i talk about the parallel of how robert talks about joff to how roose talks about ramsay. and while i'm talking about joffrey there, i did make the point that roose's phrasing about ramsay's bad blood that not even the leeches can drain away leaves us with the obvious question of whose blood it is that's in ramsay. and if we know whose blood it is that's in rams, then we can look at roose's frequent and obsessive leechings in a very different light.

roose tells ramsay that no tales were ever spread of him, and yet he is notoriously regarded as cold, cruel, and deeply unnerving by the whole of the north. he does, in fact, have a bad reputation. and it does precede him. but roose is protected by his high birth, his status and position as lord of the dreadfort, by his military strength, and by his political and social loyalties + securities as ned stark's bannerman who raised his banners in support of robert's (successful!) rebellion. he, like his son, preys on anonymous northern peasant girls who have no recourse for justice, but he's not quite so loud about it.

speaking of roose's son, let's pivot to domeric real quick.

"Lord Bolton has never acknowledged the boy, so far as I know," Ser Rodrik said. "I confess, I do not know him." "Few do," she replied. "He lived with his mother until two years past, when young Domeric died and left Bolton without an heir. That was when he brought his bastard to the Dreadfort. The boy is a sly creature by all accounts, and he has a servant who is almost as cruel as he is. Reek, they call the man. It's said he never bathes. They hunt together, the Bastard and this Reek, and not for deer. I've heard tales, things I can scarce believe, even of a Bolton. And now that my lord husband and my sweet son have gone to the gods, the Bastard looks at my lands hungrily."

acok; chapter 16, bran ii

from lady hornwood we learn that ramsay was only brought to the dreadfort (and still not publicly acknowledged) after the death of roose's only son and heir

The Lady Walda wrote from the Twins almost every day, but all the letters were the same. "I pray for you morn, noon, and night, my sweet lord," she wrote, "and count the days until you share my bed again. Return to me soon, and I will give you many trueborn sons to take the place of your dear Domeric and rule the Dreadfort after you." Arya pictured a plump pink baby in a cradle, covered with plump pink leeches.

acok; chapter 64, arya x

from walda we get a very young noblewoman's practiced courtesies, assuring her lord husband (a stranger to her) that she will do her duty as his wife and produce him healthy, hale heirs. and we might assume that "your dear domeric" here is just a bit of poetic alliteration that walda includes in her letter to be flowery.

but roose himself talks about domeric in a way that is totally unlike how roose talks about anyone else at all.

"He is your only son." "For the moment. I had another, once. Domeric. A quiet boy, but most accomplished. He served four years as Lady Dustin's page, and three in the Vale as a squire to Lord Redfort. He played the high harp, read histories, and rode like the wind. Horses … the boy was mad for horses, Lady Dustin will tell you. Not even Lord Rickard's daughter could outrace him, and that one was half a horse herself. Redfort said he showed great promise in the lists. A great jouster must be a great horseman first." "Ramsay killed him. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison. In the Vale, Domeric had enjoyed the company of Redfort's sons. He wanted a brother by his side, so he rode up the Weeping Water to seek my bastard out. I forbade it, but Domeric was a man grown and thought that he knew better than his father. Now his bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?"

adwd; chapter 32, reek iii

domeric is given a depth and a personhood in roose's memories that his three wives and his rape victim are not. he speaks about domeric with a great and enduring father's love and a fierce pride. he goes out of his way to tell theon (a boy lord reduced to a pitiful, nearly inhuman state) about his accomplishments and his interests. roose loved his son.

and his other son -- a culmination of all his many years of cruelty and predation, a congealing together of all his bad blood -- kills him.

roose bringing ramsay to the dreadfort, even before legitimizing him, is his admission that ramsay is the only son he will ever have. he will never sire another heir. ramsay will make certain that any he might produce go to their graves. rams is the death of his house. roose acknowledges that explicitly in reek iii, but he admitted it to himself as soon as he summoned rams from weeping water.

roose's decision not to have any more children is a very intentional one. he is not trying to solve the problem of ramsay killing all his potential heirs. he knows that this will be inevitable. he has accepted that his bastard son snuffed out his one beloved heir, and that the gods have bound his hands. he cannot kill ramsay, for the gods abhor a kinslayer. and yet ramsay is a kinslayer himself, which roose is well aware of. ramsay is only a shadow of the father, and a reflection of his many sins. he is both a result of and a punishment for roose's cruelty.

#ask tag #anon tag #roose bolton #ramsay bolton #the unnamed miller's wife of weeping water #roose tag #ramsay tag #every lord has need of a beaft from time to time

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flawssy-227 · 12 days ago

Text

AIRWD: Chapt 2 - Something About Us

(ex) best friends dad!Joel Miller x f!reader part 2!

summary: Joel's spirals about you. Is he too old? A creep? Or is there something between you two?

tags: 18+, female reader, always write for woc in mind, but there are no descriptions so everyone is welcome to read. tlou AU, no outbreak au, modern au, age gap ~20 yrs, reader is 28, Joel is 49, alcohol consumption, Tommy and Maria meddling, f!masturbation

a/n: chapter 2 title ib: Something About Us - Daft Punk

w/c: 3.4k

part 1

Joel was decidedly not a fan of hot yoga. It was the second time Tommy had dragged him to this place. Before that it was a rock climbing gym, and before that, kickboxing. Tommy had finally decided at 45 years young, it was time to settle down. House in the suburbs, picket fence, wife, kids, the whole nine yards. He had tried Tinder, but didn’t find much luck. So now, he was certain that he would meet a good woman at one of these places, and once he told Sarah about it during a family game night, Joel was damn near forced to join in.

“You can’t just rely on construction to keep you in shape, Dad,” she had implored. “It’ll be good for you to get out of your comfort zone.”

He had offered nothing but a grunt in acknowledgement, silently wondering if fratricide was really such a bad thing.

“Plus,” she said softly, “maybe you’ll meet someone new.”

That had Tommy and her grinning across the card table.

And that brought him here—sweaty in some trendy yoga studio in downtown Austin. Slipping and sliding all over a borrowed mat for the last hour and wondering how the hell anybody found their zen in a place like this. He was pretty sure this spot used to be a family owned dry cleaner, but now, some transplant opened up a $40 a class boutique gym. It definitely wouldn’t have been his choice to meet his future sister-in-law, but Tommy was certain one of these days he would run into the perfect woman.

But to be honest, Joel was tired of Tommy’s bullshit. Tired of him needing Joel as his wingman and definitely tired of these absolutely ridiculous workouts he was paying an arm and a leg for. He still hadn’t met anyone, and Joel swore he was just about to tell him he was over this shit when he called over your shoulder.

“Joel! Look who I just ran into.”

It felt like time was moving in slow motion when you turned to look at him. You were beautiful, somehow looking incredible despite the amount of sweat the class practically required from participants, and he felt the wind get knocked out of him when you made eye contact. And then, it hit him. He knew you. He remembered you and his little girl running around the house, all those times he woke up on the weekend to the two of you giggling downstairs and how happy he was that Sarah had found such a good friend in you. And then he immediately felt guilty for the instant attraction he felt toward you.

Clearly he was right to feel that way with the abrupt way you ended the conversation, grabbed your friend and ran away from him.

“Well, she grew up,” Tommy said.

Yeah, you sure did.

Tommy couldn’t stop talking about Maria the entire way home.

“Got her number,” Tommy said.

“Yeah, you told me.”

He ignored Joel and his less than happy tone, running on a high after finally meeting a woman that was beautiful and funny and kind.

“You know all that from talking to her for five minutes, huh?”

Tommy grinned from ear to ear, still unbothered. “S’just different, Joel. Can’t explain it.”

Joel just nodded his head, offering a noncommittal yeah whenever the conversation called for it. But then, Tommy mentioned you.

“Small world, huh? What are the odds that they’d be friends? And be there?”

This time, the silence that filled his truck turned a bit heavier, more weighted. If Tommy was anyone else, he would have noticed the unpleasant way Joel ticked his jaw or the death grip he had on the steering wheel at the mention of your name. But he wouldn’t be his baby brother if things like that were ever on the top of his mind.

“Remind me, is she the same age as Sarah? She looks good.”

Joel’s really making an effort not to think about just how good you looked in those tiny biker shorts and soaked through tank top he just saw you in. It was weird, right? Ogling his daughter’s friend like that. He felt like such a pervert and Tommy wasn’t making it any better.

“Stop it, Tommy. She’s a kid.”

He scoffed at that. “Ain’t a kid if she’s Sarah’s age. Gotta be 28 at least.” Tommy leans back in the passenger seat and smiles at his phone as it vibrates again. “Besides, I saw the way you were lookin’ at her.”

By Monday morning, Joel was feeling a little fucked up over you. He had dropped Tommy off at his place and spent the rest of Sunday in meager solitude doing household chores he always tried to put off. He had been alone now for a few years, now that Sarah had moved in with her fiance. It typically didn’t bother him. He genuinely enjoyed the quiet that came with an empty house, but some days, he couldn’t help but fantasize about having someone here with him, filling in the quiet gaps with a little love.

So, he looked you up on Facebook. He was certain he had added you years ago, probably when you were still his kids best friend. He vaguely recalled a life update here and there: a college graduation, tagged photos from a beach trip to Cancun. He smiles when your profile pops up. You clearly hadn’t updated in a while, but he scrolled through your tagged photos anyway. More photos from law school graduation, a few from your mom wishing you a happy birthday, and he kept scrolling, further and further back until he landed on one of you and Sarah, crappy digital camera quality from the early 2010s, back when he was a father to a teenager, and you were a teen yourself.

He felt revolted. What the hell was he doing, perving on some 28 year old? He thought back to how quickly you grabbed yours and Maria’s things and ran away from him. Of course you probably thought he was a creep, he figured. Joel was pretty much thinking the same thing about himself right now. So, he did the only thing he could think of to clear the air, and assure you that he was in fact, not, a creep: he sent you a message.

-it was good seeing you. hope me and tom didn’t weird ya out too much. not sure if your parents are still living around here, but let me know if you ever need anything.

It was short, to the point and above all, kind. He left his number at the bottom for good measure.

But now at the worksite, Tommy was buzzing, a little ball of happy energy and it was grating on Joel’s nerves. Maybe it was the fact that he was genuinely feeling a bit lonely yesterday, or perhaps it was the self flagellation he gave himself before sending you the olive branch of a message on Facebook, or maybe it was the fact that he checked again this morning and you still hadn’t responded to him. Stop bein’ so fuckin’ weird, Joel.

He couldn’t help himself. When he wasn’t signing off on contracts and overseeing the construction crew, his thoughts drifted back to you. He wondered how your morning was going, if you made your coffee at home or stopped somewhere to pick it up. Did you have a lot of meetings and contracts to go over? He hoped you weren’t working too hard. Lost in thought, he found himself smiling at the memory of you yesterday in your workout clothes and inadvertently drifted to the idea of you in a tight pencil skirt and black leather heels—

“What’re you smilin’ about?”

Tommy’s voice was jarring, snapping him out of his blissful state. It didn’t help that he was wearing a shit eating grin at catching his brother lost in a day dream.

“Nothin’.”

Tommy let out a disbelieving scoff and settled into the chair across from Joel’s desk. “Yeah, right. Thinking about her, huh?” He leaned back in his seat, far too comfortable for Joel’s liking. “Maybe if things don’t work out with Maria, I can give her a call—”

Joel shot his brother a look that would’ve made anyone else’s blood run cold. “Shut the hell up! Can’t you focus on one woman at a time for once?”

Tommy lets out a laugh, it’s low and short and Joel knows he doesn’t find it funny. “So I can’t be interested in her too?”

“Nope. You’ve got Maria. Yesterday you were goin’ on and on about how special she is. You gonna try to date her friend? That won’t go over well.” Joel quiets as he looks out the window, taking an appraising look over his crew. “Plus, she’s too young for you. For both of us,” he tacks on quietly at the end.

“Ah, I see,” Tommy says, shaking his head. “But what if, hypothetically,” he let’s himself trail off, much to Joel’s disdain.

“Tommy,” he snaps his fingers at him. “The point?”

“Well, what if she was interested in you? Wasn’t worried about the age at all?”

Joel just scoffs at that. Hypothetically, if you were interested, well Joel would be desperate to take someone like you out for dinner. You were beautiful, of course, but what really struck him was how you were already so accomplished and not even 30 yet. During his deep dive on your Facebook profile last night, he saw that you were also a good person, frequently volunteering at women’s shelters and taking on as many pro-bono cases as you could. Somewhere in between that, you took time to travel, have a social life, and apparently do hot yoga on Sunday mornings. If he were a few years younger, yeah, he’d be all over you. But he’s not, so he can’t. He tells Tommy just as much.

He gives him a frown. “Don’t take yourself out of the game so soon, brother.” It was so typical of Joel to not put himself out there and to not be selfish in going for what he wanted. “There’s plenty of older men who date younger women. Hell, I’m 10 years older than Maria.”

It was hard from him to not be aggravated by Tommy acting as if he was a relationship guru a mere 24 hours after he met your friend. His mind went back to how quickly you ran off from him yesterday. “It’s a little more than 10 years, Tom.”

Not one to be deterred, he just leans back in chair and lets out a low whistle. “Like I said, don’t take yourself out of the game just yet, big brother. Maria and I are gettin’ drinks tonight and we want you and her to meet us.”

Joel was up and out of his chair instantly at that, but Tommy, the little weasel he was, slipped out of the office door before he could wring his neck.

What was his obsession with Joel and you anyway? Why would Maria want you both to tag along on her first date with Tommy? Joel tried to focus on his work and the project they were nearly completed with as the rest of his day inched by, and if his workers were feeling suffocated by Joel monitoring their every move, well they had Tommy to thank for that.

“You know,” Tommy started talking over the roar of the Texas highway on his way to the bar, “you really don’t have to be on property anymore, Joel.”

It was true. After decades of grinding and barely making ends meet, Miller Brothers Contracting had turned out to be extremely successful in the last few years. So successful that Joel was able to take a massive step back from the day to day hustle of the job and essentially, sit on his ass and collect a paycheck. He had bought a nice house on Lake Travis with his very own slip two years ago, fully planning on spending his early retirement a bit more relaxed than he had been afforded to be in years prior. But he wasn’t one for being idle and quickly decided that going to work every day was a nonnegotiable.

He glanced back at Tommy. “We’ve talked about this, I wasn’t quite ready to be fully hands off.”

He shrugged, keeping his focus fully on the road ahead. “Well, maybe if you get a pretty, young girlfriend to take up some of your time…”

What else was there to say? Joel was tired of arguing to Tommy about how uninterested in him you would have to be. Repeating for the fiftieth time today about how old he was or how creeped out you must be was doing wonders for his already low self esteem. He had come to terms with the fact that you would probably look at him with disgust and leave after one round of drinks. He figured it was well deserved.

And he was certain, when he felt your eyes on him after he got out of Tommy’s truck that you were going to turn and walk away, but you didn’t. You gave him a shy smile and made your way to him, tucking yourself into his side body like you had always belonged there. He tried to be delicate and not grip your skin as tight as he wanted to, savoring the feel of your bare arms and the incredible softness that only comes with a lifetime of diligent moisturizing. He breathed in your scent, something sensual and sweet, wafting up to his nostrils in waves of ambery cotton candy, and then you pulled away and looked at him, really looked at him, and gave him a genuine smile.

“We’re not gonna be friends.”

You weren’t sure what possessed you to channel your best Margot Robbie and look Mr. Miller Joel Miller in his eyes so seductively and tell him that yes, you would go to lunch with him, but not as his friend, but something did, and now… Well now you were going.

So what, were you going on a date? You tried not to let yourself spiral on your way home. Your stomach fluttered at all the possibilities. He asked you to lunch, which is perfect if things turn awkward, as you could always cut it early and blame it on an emergency case filing. If it was bad, you would just have to tell Maria to never mention his name again, which would probably be challenging for her, but doable. It’s not like you would have a good chance of running into him; hot yoga was a fluke. But if it was good… could you date Joel Miller?

You had determined you had a 21 year age gap. You were nearing 30 and completely independent, so dating a much older man wasn’t that scandalous, was it? You knew a girl in law school who had a 60 year old sugar daddy when she was in her early 20s. Comparatively, this was hardly anything to bat an eye over. He was 49, and he looked good for his age. At the bar, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him, admiring the golden hue of his skin, the way his muscles were trapped tightly under his t-shirt. His veins protruded on his forearms in the way you’d only seen with men who worked with their hands and the image made heat rise in your body. And his hands were massive; thick fingers that you wouldn’t mind being wrapped around you.

By the time you got home, you were exhausted. Not only did you never go out for drinks during the week, which was already making you want to go straight for your bed and skip your shower, but mentally, your lawyer mind had run all possible scenarios for a lunch with Joel. You hadn’t even gotten his number, you realized. Your only way to reach out to him was either through Maria or Facebook. Despite being a mere 20 feet away from Maria and the other Miller when Joel had asked you out, you decided quickly to keep that detail to yourself, at least for the time being. So, to Facebook you go.

Joel’s message was harmless. You internally scolded yourself for getting so worked up about it for the last 24 hours. You had gotten cozy in bed, legs curled up under your comforter and an old stretched out college t-shirt draped over your body. The alcohol you had earlier in the evening had worn off a bit, making you feel less than buzzed but still just a bit warm. Even warmer now that you were scrolling through Joel’s posted photos.

God, he was so cute. Fluffy brown hair in every photo, strong arms on display in most, and those gorgeous whiskey brown eyes you knew you could get lost in. He smiled in one, one of those wide grins that you rarely saw on his face back when you knew him before, which immediately made the warmth you were feeling trail down toward your abdomen. The sun was bright on his face, making his eyes squint and soft crows feet make an appearance. He was at the beach and the sinful display of his toned torso glistening with sweat made your mouth go dry. What you wouldn’t do to see that image in person…

You felt bad for ogling him the way you were. How gross did you feel, objectifying a 49 year old man on a photo from Facebook, for goodness sake. While your mind was scolding yourself, your body was in its own world. Your nipples hardened and a chill shot through you despite that subtle warmth that had trailed even lower. You let your fingers trail just below your panties and gasped at the wetness there. All from a photo.

It had been far too long since you had sex last, so you needed to do this. You could feel guilty after an orgasm. You let your fingers dip lower, gliding easily through your slick, moaning at the wetness. You propped your knees up and moved two fingers, up and down, teasing your clit and then moving back inside you. You looked back at that photo, Joel loosely holding a beer bottle, thick fingers dwarfing the neck. How much better would it feel with him? you thought. The earlier anxiety you were feeling was quickly transforming into a carnal need you felt to have Joel’s fingers, hands, and lips on you.

The last boyfriend you had was exactly that, a boy. Barely knew what to do with your body and definitely lacked the manhood you had craved. Would Joel be different? He had to be. You were sure he had several partners in the past, a grown man with lots of experience. Would he be soft and patient, pulling pleasure from you like he knew exactly what to do? Or would he be hard and fast, fucking you with an intensity that made your mind go quiet and limbs boneless?

You were lost in your fantasy now, eyes shut tight and imagining it was Joel’s fingers pistoning in and out of you. Soft moans left your mouth at every prod of that soft spot no man seemed to be able to find, your other hand rubbing frantic circles over your clit.

Would Joel find that spot? Would he go down on you, letting his greying beard rub against your inner thighs, leaving soft marks that would remind you that he was there for days? Would he look into your eyes when he made your orgasm?

You let out a soft sigh of his name when you finished.

Fuck. Joel just gave you the best orgasm you’ve had in a while and he wasn’t even here.

You get yourself cleaned up and crawl back under your comforter. You're sated and warm, smiling at the absurdity of the fact that you just jilled off to a photo. You could genuinely say that a photo of anyone had gotten you that hot and bothered before.

You wake up your computer and find your message thread again, adding Joel’s number to your contacts.

And then, you compose a text:

How about lunch on Wednesday? You’re buying.

part 3

#joel miller x reader #flawssy fic recs #fic: all i really wanna do #joel miller x you #joel miller au #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller tlou #joel miller imagine #age gap fic #older!joel miller #bfd!joel #pedro pascal fanfiction

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francesderwent · 1 month ago

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well, I am having too much fun to stop now. so—

these aren’t my favorites. they may not have changed me in any deep or lasting way. they might not even be good. but boy howdy do I think about them to this day

rules:

if it, or something from its series, was on the last list, it’s not also on this list (i.e. I think about The Thief all the time but The Thief fundamentally changed me as a person and so The Thief is not on this list)

if I read it for the first time in the last five-ish years it’s not on this list (i.e. Lockwood & Co, A Deadly Education, and The Penderwicks are not on this list)

I started at chapter books; picture books are not included (but rest assured I am always thinking about Strega Nona)

generally speaking one book is chosen to be representative of the whole series—I may think about that one the most, or that might just be the title I most remember

#cate reads #I did read a lot of possibly indefensible trash as a child lol #but you know what? I believe in a certain amount of trash as part of a healthy diet #if you’re curious which of these I consider trash and which I would wholeheartedly recommend you may certainly ask lol #in fact if you have questions or thoughts about ANY of these books you should ask!!! talk to meeeeeeeeee #*tortall and discworld are the exceptions to many above rules because there are simply SO many of them #keladry and sam vimes changed me as a person. alanna and tiffany are just rotating under the blorbo spotlight

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mareastrorum · 10 months ago

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There is a very binary view that in, like, genre fiction that people tend to take of [characters] where they go, like, "Is this character redeemable or not? If they're not, I'm going to cheer while their head gets squashed, and if they are, then every bad thing they did is forgiven and they're my best friend now." And that is a wildly binary way to think about how people get to where they are, the complexities of human behavior, and all that stuff. One of the biggest takeaways I have from, like, uh, studying ethical philosophy was the idea of, like, what is redeemability in theory and what is it in practice? And the idea that a character, and in fact, like, that a person, can be theoretically redeemable-- by the way, what does redemption mean outside of a religious context? I don't know. Like, "redeemable" when you're talking about, like, secular ethics is a way murkier conversation than when you're talking about a literal religious concept of redemption. That being said, like, a person can be "theoretically redeemable" in the way that, theoretically, I can take a hammer and smash a mountain into gravel. Like, I'm going to be alive for another 70 years, I'll find a small mountain made of weak stone, and I have a hammer, so I'll just break it apart with the hammer. Theoretically, you could smash that mountain apart with a hammer. Is that gonna happen? Is that gonna happen? [...] In any case, my point around conversations about the redeemability of characters is certain things can be theoretically true but still never gonna happen. Like, when you're thinking about human beings, it's like: does every human being have the capacity to change? Sure. Are they going to? Do you know how to change them? Could you go up to the bad, bad man and say the perfect thing to make the man not bad anymore? If it's theoretically possible to say something that changes someone's mind, does that mean someone's actually going to say it and that it's gonna happen? Is it gonna happen in five minutes? Or is it gonna take five years? Or fifty? So there's a lot of ways in which-- all of this is to say that the conversations around whether characters are good or bad, and by extension, whether people are good or bad, get boiled down in a way that underlines how easy people would like the conversation to be and that there is a deep ethical desire for simplicity that I fundamentally disagree with on that level.

- Brennan Lee Mulligan, in the Adventuring Party for episode 15 of The Unsleeping City: Chapter II, at 49:18.

Zac Oyama: Well, if you were Naruto, you could've.

#dimension 20 #the unsleeping city #adventuring party #brennan lee mulligan #villains

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winxanity-ii · 2 months ago

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⌜Godly Things | Chapter 49 Chapter 49 | the weight of waking⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

You woke up with a gasp.

The sound tore from your throat like it had been waiting at the base of your lungs for hours. You lurched upright, eyes wide, chest heaving—air hitting your tongue like saltwater. For a terrifying moment, you couldn't tell if you were breathing or drowning again.

The world around you felt wrong—not dangerous, not deep—but like something was missing. The pressure. The cold. The weight of the sea pressing in on all sides. Your body still remembered it. Your bones did too. It clung to you like seaweed you couldn't peel off.

Your ears rang.

And through the ringing... you still heard them.

Eurylochus' voice—quiet, brittle, bleeding with memory.

"We weren't supposed to eat them."

"She waited too long."

"Tell me... would you have done the same?"

And behind his words, the others.

Five hundred mouths without sound.

A thousand hands reaching out with want and nothing.

You could still feel their stories—curling up your spine like fog. Like if you opened your mouth, their words would pour out instead of yours.

Your eyes darted around.

You weren't in the graveyard.

You weren't underwater.

But your skin didn't know that yet.

Your body was soaked in sweat, sticky against the linen shift you'd slept in. Your hair clung to your neck, matted and damp, like the sea had followed you here in ghost form. Your hands trembled as you lifted them, like you expected to see sea glass instead of skin.

The small room swam around you—familiar, safe, and yet your heart still pounded like you were trapped below.

Then—a soft sound.

A whine.

Lady.

She pressed gently into your side, her nose nuzzling against your ribs, warm and solid and here. When you didn't move right away, she laid her head on your stomach—slow, careful, like she knew you weren't all the way back yet.

You swallowed hard.

Your hand found her fur, fingers curling tight against it, like she was the anchor and you were still floating.

Your breath slowed. Not easily. Not fast. But it did.

In.

Out.

Not salt. Not silt. Just... air.

You blinked slowly, heart still banging against your ribs like it didn't trust what it was seeing. The soft creak of wood under your hip reminded you: a cot. Not a seabed.

The room swayed gently, not with panic, but with the rhythm of waves.

Your eyes shifted to the far wall—where the porthole sat cracked open just a little.

Light filtered through it. Pale and soft, like early dawn. The sky outside was blushing gray-blue, streaks of gold just beginning to wake the world. You watched it move for a long moment—watched the sun come alive again. Watched proof you were back.

Ithaca's ship. On course for Lyraethos.

You were still going.

You were still here.

Then—a small knock.

You startled.

Lady didn't move, but her ears perked.

"Um—?" Eben's small voice came through the door, muffled but sweet. "You awake? I brought some breakfast rolls. And fruit. And I stole a bit of honey but don't tell the cook. He thinks I'm still asleep."

You exhaled. A real breath this time.

"...I'm coming," you called back, voice a little hoarse but steady enough.

There was a pause. Then a soft, triumphant "Okay!" followed by retreating steps and what you were pretty sure was him sneaking one of the rolls for himself.

You leaned your head back against the wall. Closed your eyes.

Lady huffed softly, her tail thumping twice against the floor.

You reached down, brushing your knuckles against her ear. "I know, girl," you whispered.

Three days in a graveyard... and you still hadn't fully left it.

But your body remembered now. The way light felt. The way wood creaked. The way air sounded when it didn't beg to be earned.

And you'd carry that with you.

Right up to Lyraethos.

Right to the start of everything.

.☆. .✩. .☆.

You sat cross-legged beside Eben in a small tucked-away corner of the deck—wedged behind a coil of thick rope and an overturned barrel that shaded you both from the early sun. It wasn't exactly a bench or a proper seat, but Eben had called it "the best lookout spot on the ship," so you didn't argue.

Lady dozed at your feet, her chin resting on her paws, tail occasionally twitching at the cries of passing gulls.

The sea glittered bright and calm beyond the railing, waves slapping gently against the hull. It was hard to believe a storm had ever touched this place.

Eben stuffed a bit of dried fig in his mouth and launched into his next round of updates—his seventh, by your count.

"And then—after the storm just stopped, I mean like poof, like someone flipped a switch—After that? Everything went... better. Like weird-better. Fish keep swimming straight into the nets. Wind had been steady. Sun had been out three days in a row."

He shifted, knees pulled up to his chest, eyes bright with the thrill of retelling.

"And then—" he slapped his palms together for effect, "BOOM! One strike of lightning. Just one. Across a totally clear sky. The sails didn't even twitch, but the whole ship tilted like something shoved it. Hard."

You blinked. "And that's when they saw me?"

He nodded quickly. "Floating. Just... there. In a nest of seaweed, like a bird dropped you in the wrong part of the ocean."

You grimaced faintly, rubbing your arm. "Charming."

Eben grinned. "It was kinda scary-looking, honestly. Your hair was all floating around your face. And your eyes were still closed. One of the older sailors thought you were an omen. Like... like a sea bride or something sent to lure the crew."

You raised your brows. "Was that before or after they hauled me aboard?"

Eben snorted. "After. Captain thought we were in some sort of divine trick, so no one moved at first. I mean it. Everyone just... stared. It took another thunderclap to convince them. The second lightning hit the water, and the waves shoved the boat; half the deck dropped to their knees. They didn't even tie you up or poke you with a stick or anything." He paused, then looked thoughtful. "Okay, maybe one guy did, but Lady barked so loud he tripped over a coil of rope and nearly cracked his skull."

Your mouth twitched. "Good girl."

Lady let out a small woof in her sleep, as if in agreement.

Eben leaned back on his hands, squinting up at the sky like it might throw out another miracle just for fun. "Actually, we're ahead of schedule."

You frowned a little, glancing toward the bow where a cluster of sailors had begun shouting to one another—loud and fast. Giving directions.

Beyond that, you the distant outline coming into view over the horizon. A thin stretch of land, green along the edges, with what looked like pale cliffs and a few watch-fires flickering faintly along the dock.

"Did we reach Lyraethos already?" you asked, pushing up slightly. "I thought the trip was supposed to be two, maybe three weeks."

Eben followed your gaze, eyes narrowing at the voices. "Yeah, it is." He stood, brushing off his trousers. "We're not there yet. We're stopping at an in-between island."

You tilted your head.

"Port Telonia," he explained proudly, like he'd studied a map or two. "Named after the messenger god's old port. Or tavern. Depends on who's telling the story. Hermes used to visit there back when gods still walked in sandals."

You blinked. "So... a supply stop?"

He nodded. "Yup. Lots of merchant ships swing through. Easy harbor. Good for fresh water, fruit, sometimes minor repairs. We lost a few fastenings during the storm. Captain figured it's smarter to check everything now before we hit open sea again."

You looked past him, toward the approaching land.

The ship rocked slightly beneath your feet as the wind picked up—brisk and sure, not stormy.

You didn't feel panic this time.

Just a strange sense of stillness.

You rested a hand on Lady's back, fingers brushing through her fur.

Port Telonia.

A stopover.

A place for travelers.

Let's see what you find.

.☆. .✩. .☆.

The moment the ship kissed the dock, everything shifted. The hush of sea gave way to the stomp of boots, the hiss of ropes uncoiling, the murmur of orders and greetings.

The crew moved fast—half because they were practiced, half because solid ground meant food, drink, and rest that didn't sway underfoot.

You stayed where you were, perched on the edge of the deck with Lady at your heel and Eben bouncing from foot to foot beside you, trying not to look excited—but failing.

Then the captain found you.

He strode across the planks with a quiet kind of authority, boots thudding with each step. His beard still held salt at the ends, and his sleeve was rolled from where he'd been checking the hull riggings himself. He stopped a few paces from you and gave a short nod—not quite warm, but not unfriendly either.

"We'll be here overnight," he said. "Maybe two if the carpenters need it. Took more damage than we thought near the lower rig." His eyes flicked to Lady, then back to you. "You'll go ashore with Eben and a few others. There's a place near the town square. Decent inn. They'll have a room ready."

You nodded once, keeping your expression steady.

"Rest," he added. "That's an order."

You almost smiled at that. "Aye, captain."

With a wave of his hand, he was off again, barking new directions before his coat had even settled behind him.

A few minutes later, you were descending the gangplank with Eben, Lady, and four other sailors you barely knew by name.

The sun was lower now, warm and gold across the stones of the dock, painting the water in long streaks of orange and glassy blue. The town of Telonia bustled ahead of you—stacked in pale stone and leaning wood, with open plazas and winding alleys blooming with fruit stalls and bright-colored linens.

You felt eyes on you the moment your boots hit the ground.

Not just from the sailors or the children weaving through the crowds—but from the air itself.

As if the island knew.

As if it had been waiting.

You didn't speak right away. Just walked. One hand on Lady's bow, the other loose at your side. Your dagger was hidden beneath your coat, sheathed but close.

The sound of the port grew louder as you stepped deeper into it. People shouted from awnings and porches, voices rich with dialects you didn't recognize. Merchants haggled. Sailors laughed. Dogs barked and children wove between carts like fish through nets.

Then—voices near the fish market caught your ear.

"Did you hear?" one woman said, setting a basket down with a grunt. "{The oracles are leaving at sunrise."

"From Delphi?" another asked, wide-eyed.

"Aye. Whole ship full of 'em," the woman confirmed. "Stopped here last night. Said it was a rest stop on their way back to the temple. Needed the sea to 'breathe on them,' or something sacred like that."

"Pfft," a man nearby scoffed. "They just wanted fresh wine. Always some grand prophecy, but half of 'em couldn't see past the bottom of their goblets."

Another man laughed but then leaned in, muttering under his breath, "Still... might see if one of them has a moment. I've got a question or two I'd pay to get answered. The kind only gods whisper about."

"Good luck," someone replied. "They're guarded tight. Most of 'em won't even look you in the eye unless they're in trance."

You blinked.

Delphi.

The temple.

Your mind ticked through that name like it had teeth. Sacred vows. Pilgrimage. A full ship of psychics. Prophets. Tied to Apollo, no doubt.

You didn't say anything. But you filed the words away in the back of your mind.

Just in case.

The path veered right as the crowd thinned. Eben led the way now, practically bouncing as he pointed toward a three-story building nestled at the corner of a cobbled square. A faded wooden sign hung over the door, carved with the shape of winged sandals and a winding scroll.

"The Quicktongue!" he chirped. "Papa told me how the founder was a priest of Hermes—or a smuggler pretending to be one. Either way, we'll get a warm bed and some stew."

The place looked older than the rest of the town, but sturdy. Smoke drifted from the chimney. Laughter floated from the windows.

The inn creaked as you stepped inside.

Not in a haunted way—more like a pair of old knees. Tired but familiar. The walls were close, the ceiling low, and the space was... cluttered. That was the nicest word for it.

Shelves lined every wall, stacked high with dusty scrolls, chipped cups, coins from islands you'd never heard of, and small statues of gods with varying degrees of artistic skill. One shelf held what looked like a taxidermy owl with a pipe in its beak. Another had a cracked amphora labeled DO NOT OPEN (unless cursed) in three languages.

The smell of roasted herbs and old wood filled the air, along with the tang of whatever someone was drinking at the bar to your left—an open space ringed with mismatched stools and a wall of bottles that looked like they hadn't been dusted since Hermes wore real sandals.

The floor sloped a little.

The lamp near the front desk flickered like it had opinions.

Eben, of course, loved it immediately. "Cool," he breathed, eyes wide as he spun slowly in place.

You were still trying to figure out if that personality would murder you in your sleep or knit you a sweater.

Before you could say anything, a voice called from behind the bar.

"Guests?" it rasped, like the word itself offended him. "No, no, no. I didn't schedule guests. No one books this place on purpose."

You turned.

The innkeeper stepped out from behind the bar with the energy of a man who both owned the building and resented it deeply.

He was tall, sun-touched, with dark curls pulled into a half-tail, gold rings in both ears, and a crooked grin that could sell stolen figs to a fig farmer. His tunic was wrinkled. His sandals didn't match. And his entire aura screamed scheming bastard in the way that made you instantly like him.

"I should rob you all blind," he muttered, hands on his hips. "Unexpected patrons. Traveling with kids and dogs. Probably gods, too. I should triple the rates. I should—"

Then he looked at you.

Really looked.

He blinked once.

Twice.

His head tilted slowly. Eyes narrowed. He stepped forward just a bit, as if to get a better look—then squinted like you were the puzzle piece that didn't fit the rest of the picture. "Hold on a second."

You blinked.

"—Παναγία μου**..." he swore under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

He blinked again. Then laughed—sharp, one-note, like something had clicked. His grin stretched wide, teeth flashing as he dipped into a dramatic bow. "Well I'll be," he said, voice sing-song and full of mockery now. "Master told me to be courteous today. Said I'd know why."

He straightened with a flourish and gave you a wink. "Guess I do now."

You stared. "...What?"

But he was already waving you off. "Come on. Come on, little stormbait. Got just the room for you. Don't look so scared—I'm generous when I'm confused."

Eben followed eagerly. You followed because Lady did, and she clearly trusted him. That said more than anything else.

The stairs groaned as you climbed them.

The room was on the top floor—second door from the end.

The man unlocked it with a key pulled from somewhere you didn't want to think too hard about. Then shoved the door open with his shoulder and stepped aside.

"Best room in the place," he announced proudly.

And he wasn't lying.

The room was still chaotic, but in a cozy way. There was a real bed—full-sized, wide, carved wood frame with faded linen sheets that smelled of lavender and maybe just a hint of lemon wine.

There were two chairs, a basin in the corner, a set of cracked shutters letting in pale light, and a cluster of wind chimes made of old shell rings hanging just above the window. They tinkled faintly in the breeze.

Books were stacked in uneven towers beside the bed.

A rug covered half the floor.

A wooden tray with honey cakes and figs waited on the bedside table, like the room itself had been prepping.

You stood there, half-suspicious.

"See?" the innkeeper said, grinning. "Almost makes up for the owl with the pipe downstairs."

Eben darted past you, practically vibrating, then plopped into one of the chairs with wide eyes. "This is the nicest room I've ever been in."

You nodded slowly. "Thank you."

The man gave you another look—half-measured, half-curious—and muttered something like "No lightning yet... that's a good sign." Then he turned, ruffling Eben's curls.

"I've gotta pop back to the dock," he called over his shoulder. "Check in with your crew. If the rest are anything like you, I'm gonna need stronger wine."

"I'm coming too!" Eben blurted, already leaping to his feet. "I wanna help bring the others."

He grabbed a honey cake off the tray and followed the man out the door without waiting for your answer.

The innkeeper paused at the landing. Looked back at you.

"I'll stop by later," he said, voice softer now. "See if you need anything."

Then they disappeared down the stairs together, already halfway into a conversation about goats, storms, or something in between.

You stood in silence for a moment, then flopped onto the bed.

Lady jumped up beside you.

And gods—It was soft.

So soft you might've believed it was conjured. The kind of bed that held you, like it had been waiting just for your weight to arrive.

You lay back slowly.

Closed your eyes.

Lady curled beside you, head resting on your thigh, warm and steady.

You didn't open your eyes.

Didn't move.

Just... let yourself breathe.

The mattress cradled you in a way the sea never could. Like it wanted you to stay. Your limbs felt boneless, your spine finally starting to uncoil.

You could still feel the hum of saltwater behind your ears. Like it had soaked into your bones. Like if you opened your mouth too wide, the sea might come pouring back out.

You exhaled through your nose and sank further into the sheets.

You didn't mean to think about Ithaca.

But your mind wandered anyway.

You imagined the king—Odysseus—sitting behind that massive desk, fingers steepled, jaw tight, staring you down with that low, quiet fury he didn't need to voice. That 'I told you' look. The kind that made your stomach twist even when he wasn't angry. Just... disappointed.

Then Penelope. Her voice. Gentle but sharp. She'd say your name like it was a question and an accusation all at once.

And gods.

Telemachus.

You didn't even want to imagine it.

He'd probably try to lock you in the palace wing. Again. No door left unguarded, no outing unaccompanied. You could see it already—his hands gripping your shoulders, his voice cracking with guilt and something sharper.

"I told you not to go alone."

But what would you even say?

That Poseidon himself pulled you under?

That you survived three days in the deep, surrounded by dead men and half-memories?

No.

You shook your head slightly and pressed your face deeper into Lady's fur.

Stop thinking. It's over.

You were here now. Dry. Breathing. Alive.

And you still had work to do. Answers to find. A city to reach.

But first...

You needed just a little more time.

Just a little.

Well... after a nap.

You curled your fingers gently through Lady's thick fur, soft and warm and smelling faintly of salt and ash and home. She shifted once, letting out a small sigh, and tucked her nose against your ribs.

Your breathing slowed to match hers.

Eyes still closed, your hand resting over her back, the weight of sleep pulling at your bones.

Your face buried in her fur.

And for a little while... the world could wait.

You slept.

Together.

Quiet.

Safe.

For now.

**Παναγία μου - Holy mother... (another way of saying 'No fuckin way' lololol))

A/N: ahhh! everyday i come here and i'm just blow away by the numbers 😭😭❤️ i'm even getting comments from people telling me my lil fic even inspired them to make thier owns 🥹 but yeah thank you all for the support, i hope i can keep the streak up and if not, i'll be forever happy for this lil pocket of fame y'all gave me--like the 12 year old in me is screaming 😭❤️ but yes, i'm not sure which a/n i mentioned it in but i have an isekai fic already planned set in 'godly things' universe!!! like ahh! it's literally the only reason i made this fanfic hahahah, but yes i can't wait!

also i've been blessed with more fanart, hehehe ❤️❤️❤️ but before you all continue, i have an announcemtn, after a few lines dashes beneath my regualr fanart submission, i have been sent some nsfw stuff that i'm estatic to share (so plz if you don't want to see it, thats fine, jus scroll along while the rest of us go wild for some drawn tits/pecs 😩❤️) (email: [email protected] | tumblr: winaxity-ii)

from anon0219

HELLOOOO this is absolutely precious 😭🧎‍♀️ I literally gasped when I saw the pose. The hands, the eyes, the subtle little smile—you NAILED that sweet mix of humility and boldness she's been dancing between lately. Also Hermes rubbing off on MC is such a funny but ACCURATE note?? It's giving, "please, but I already know you'll say yes" energy. Which is exactly where she is right now in the story. She's still respectful... but she's learning how to ask without shrinking. AND THE OUTFIT?? I love that you thought about the colors reflecting her growth. That deepening red on the trim and belt?? The way you kept the silhouette simple but clean (and yeah no stress about the historical chiton stuff, she's literally in a myth fanfic LOL we bend rules here) just makes her pop even more. She's becoming dangerous fr 😭THANK YOU AGAIN for blessing me with this🧎‍♀️💕 I adore seeing your interpretations of her. Please never stop.

from simp_0207

NOOOO THIS IS SO CUTE 🥹🫶 The curls??? The sweet little eye sparkles??? The sun tattoo and her soft necklace detail?? I literally squealed. You captured a whole vibe with this, like—this feels like MC on a peaceful morning, post-drama, just smiling at someone she loves from across the garden 🥲The pencil work and shading??? STUNNING. Her curls are so fluffy and full and the sun necklace placement is just chef's kiss. Thank you so much for sharing this—I'm seriously honored every time someone draws her 🥹💛

from fvckcare

OH. MY. GODS. YOU ATE WITH THIS??? 😭🗡️💙💚THIS IS EVERYTHING I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED 😭💍Andreia and MC together?? Serving royal duo-core?? The power, the fabric, the EYE CONTACT??? Like I know this was supposed to be a wedding portrait but honestly this feels more dangerous—like two women who've learned to weaponize beauty and diplomacy and now you should be afraid. MC in Ithaca's blue?? The elegance, the pearls, the soft curls—SHE'S SERVING "I look good because I'm loved and favored, not because I'm trying to impress you." And then there's ANDREIA??? The emerald green, the SNAKE TATTOO, the lazy smirk that says "I know secrets that could end bloodlines"—yeah, she wins. She wins fashion. She wins menace. I would commit war crimes for her. Also the little doodle of the fangirling Telemachus in the corner?? Crying. Screaming. Throwing myself into the sea. 💀 Thank you for blessing my day with this absolute MASTERPIECE. The wedding is canceled, the girls are eloping.

from blasted-bass

NO NO NO THIS IS PERFECTTTT 😭🪈💘 You don't understand—I saw this and immediately heard a panflute and some messy giggling. Like. You nailed his whole aura. I AM SCREECHINGGGG 😭😭😭The little "grown ahh man" note???? "Teasing MC 101"??? THE PANFLUTE??? No bc this is Callias if you distilled him down to vibes and serotonin. His face in the center??? It's giving "I'm trouble but I'm pretty enough to get away with it." You understood the assignment. Also—please don't say sorry for this 😭 this is like a love letter to chaos incarnate and you executed it flawlessly. You have officially unlocked: ✅ Fluffy menace ✅ Golden retriever bard energy ✅ "Would get punched by Telemachus for being too familiar" core THANK YOU FOR DRAWING HIM!!! I will be treasuring every one of these expressions. And yes. I am hearing panflute noises in the distance now. 😌

from skibidi toilet

NOOOO THIS IS SO STUPIDLY CUTE I CAN'T FUNCTION 😭😭😭Like. "Can I please see my parents?"— WITH THE PUPPY EYES — right next to that cold-blooded resting bitch face?? That's divine duality right there. That's the "Apollo blessed me but I have anxiety" pipeline in chibi form. 😭 The little "May Apollo bless her" note at the top?? No literally. Someone better start lighting incense because this girl is gonna accidentally spark a god war just by existing. And the oversized glasses??? The limp little braid??? The "I'm a silly little girl (with a body count)" energy??? PERFECTION. You succeeded in making her look silly, but like... in that intentionally misleading way where everyone underestimates her until it's too late 💅 She will cry and then win the entire narrative arc. Thank you for this glorious chaos, I love her SO much 🫶🫶

from gigi (wattpad said it was too large so i had to ss 😡🥲)

I actually gasped?? Like this is so delicately powerful it feels like a whispered warning in the middle of spring. This whole gif feels like the calm before someone burns down an altar in your name. Thank you SO much for making this—it's haunting and beautiful and I’m gonna stare at it every time I write a foreshadow-heavy scene 😭💌

from chari

STOPPP THIS IS SO CUTE IT HURTS 😭🎮✨ Not you turning MC into a modern-day gamer girl AU with lore-stuffed background details like it's season three of a show???? The hoodie, the headphones, the slightly-tired stare??? She's been gaming for six hours straight and is one "Divine Intervention pls" chat message away from rage-quitting. 💀 AND THE BACKGROUND DETAILS!!! You were not joking—there’s SO much going on back there and I'm LIVING. Lady head peaking from behind the desk?? The cluttered shelf behind her energy?? Is that a mini plushie weapon beside her hand or Andreia corpse 😭?? I SCREAMED. You said "I'm not good at drawing clothes" and then gave MC the ✨perfect✨ oversized cozy fit and layered accessories like a whole character designer. Be serious 😤 Thank you for this modern AU moment!! I'll now be imagining her whispering into her mic: "Chat… do I romance the moody prince or the god with commitment issues?"

from gab137507

STOP. You just casually unlocked an AU that has NO RIGHT to go this hard 😭🩸The laurels? The expression?? That quote in the background—"I'm done playing games. I am who I am." I felt that in my soul. This is MC if she took everything that was done to her—everything—and turned it into quiet, calculated control. I can already hear Andreia gasping at a dinner party when MC drops a veiled insult too sharp to ignore. I am obsessed. Please write the rest of this AU immediately. 😭🕯️

No because this one hurt. That soft smile in the "before" sketch?? "Never a frown"? And then we see her after—the same face, same features, but weighed down by responsibility, crowned in divine favor like it’s a burden more than a blessing. The "with golden brown..." note??? That made me ache. Like you can literally feel the warmth draining out of her life when she starts to realize the cost of being favored. She looks regal. But tired. A little lonelier. This felt like watching her lose pieces of herself panel by panel. You really captured that tragedy without needing a single drop of color. ALSO—don't even apologize for quality, these sketches are STUNNING. The emotion is loud, and I love the ASoIaF inspo (bc SAME. I was just talking about how Divine Liaison MC is giving "cursed crown" energy with my sis). I will absolutely take more if you're cooking them 🫡❤️

from iconic-idiot-con

NOOOOO BECAUSE THIS??? This isn't just fanart. This is narrative. The way MC's body is already moving away—tense, twisting, resisting—but that golden leash is pulling her back?? And Apollo's face??? That carefree, gleaming expression like he doesn't even realize he's hurting her (or worse—he does and he thinks it's divine affection). The glow, the collar detail,. the facial expressions?? You didn't miss a single note. This is exactly what divine favor in Godly Things looks like: beautiful, blinding, and lowkey horrifying when you realize you can’t walk away. You ATE. Thank you for this absolutely deranged masterpiece, I'm always so happy tp see what you have for me 😭✨

now on to the nsfw... I REFUSE NOTHING BUT PRAISE FOR THESE 😤😤 tr

from iconic-idiot-con [HAD TO REMOVE/EDIT DUE TO WATTPAD 😭💔🥀]

HELPPP 😭😭 Not the way I screamed "GOOD FOR HER" out loud. I don't think I'll ever get over the way you flipped the script by making MC the one in control. The teasing?? The way poor Telemachus is trembling??? No thoughts, just stuttering pleas and repressed dignity. You even drew his hand clenching like he's hanging on to hope and sanity at the same time 😭 and MC looks so sweetly evil?? Like "Aww, baby's flustered <3" energy. She's not even breaking a sweat and he's about to implode. And Telemachus little figure in the corner cursing the gods with his whole soul cuz he's so down mad??? ICONIC.

Tag List: nerds4life246 ace-spades-1 uniquetravelerone alassal thesimppotato11 jackintheboxs-world kahlan170 akiqvq matchaabread danishland uselessmoonlight apad-ravya suckerforblondies jolixtreesunn dreamtheatre woncloudie byzantiumhollow kisskisskys b4ts1e sarcasticbitchsblog trashcannotbealive idkanyonealrr

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oceandolores · 10 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 12

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"If it's meant to be, then it will be,"

summary: you and Joel preparing to hot the road

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 12

previous | chapter 11

next | chapter 13

masterlist!

The days at Bill and Frank's had passed in a quiet rhythm, each one a small piece of normalcy that felt almost surreal after everything you and Joel had been through. You'd been here five days now, but it felt like you'd known this place much longer. Tomorrow was your birthday, and it also marked the beginning of your journey across the country with Joel—a journey that felt like the start of something new, something hopeful.

Joel had left earlier in the day, telling you he needed to get some supplies for the trip. He kissed you softly before he left, the kind of kiss that lingered on your lips long after he was gone. You had a feeling there was more to his errand, but you didn’t press him. Joel wasn’t one for surprises, but when he did plan something, it was always thoughtful, always meaningful.

In the meantime, you found yourself in the garden with Frank, helping him plant strawberries. The sun was warm on your back, the earth cool under your fingers as you worked. There was something soothing about the repetitive motion, the way the world seemed to shrink down to the small patch of soil in front of you.

“Ever done any gardening before?” Frank asked, breaking the silence. His voice was warm, with a hint of curiosity.

You smiled, shaking your head as you wiped the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. “Not really. I mean, I helped my mom with her flowers when I was little, but nothing like this.”

Frank chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he glanced over at you. “It’s good work. Honest work. Helps you clear your mind.”

You nodded, feeling the truth in Frank’s words as you pushed another seed into the earth. The simple act of planting, of giving life to something, grounded you in a way nothing else could. It narrowed the world down to the soil beneath your nails and the warmth of the sun on your back, a welcome distraction from the whirlwind of emotions that had been swirling inside you since you and Joel arrived.

“So, what did you do back in town?” Frank asked again, his tone light but tinged with curiosity. He worked beside you, his hands as steady and sure as his voice.

“I’m a senior in high school, but my dad is a preach--” you began, focusing on the task at hand. But before you could say more, Frank froze, his eyes widening as he turned to you with a look of concern.

“Wait, don’t tell me you’re 17?” His voice held a mix of surprise and alarm.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the misunderstanding. “No, I’m not. I’m turning 20 uh soon,"

Frank let out a breath of relief, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. “Thank God. I almost wanted to strangle Joel if I found out he’d run off with someone underage.”

You laughed again, the sound lighter this time. “No, Joel’s a good man."

Frank nodded, but a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, but he’s kind of stupid for running away with a girl younger than--” His tone was playful, but as the words left his mouth, he seemed to realize how they might come across. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

You quickly shook your head, waving off his concern. “No, it’s fine. I get it too. Why would Joel risk everything for me? A girl way younger than him, and basically fucked up,” you said with a self-deprecating laugh, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Frank’s expression softened, a mixture of empathy and regret. “Hey, don’t talk about yourself like that,” he said gently. “We’ve all got our shit. You’re just two people trying to make it in this messed-up world.”

You nodded, the weight of his words settling in your chest. “I know, but sometimes it just feels like… I’m dragging him down. He could’ve had a normal life, maybe even with someone appropriate for him,”

Frank looked at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours. “You really think he’d be happier with someone else?” he asked quietly. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like Joel would move mountains for you. He doesn’t care about anything, or what anyone else thinks. He cares about you.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you felt the sting of tears behind your eyes. You blinked them away, focusing on the task at hand, but Frank wasn’t done.

“Love makes you do crazy things,” he continued, his voice softer now, almost reflective. “I’ve seen it. People in love… they’ll give up everything just to be with the person they care about. They’d tear down their own world for the person, they’d walk through fire, go to the ends of the earth, just to keep them safe.”

"It’s not always logical, or easy, but it’s real." Frank said again.

You swallowed, feeling the truth of his words sink deep into your bones. “Yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes I wonder if I'm worth all that risk."

Frank chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Trust me, kid. If Joel’s willing to risk it all for you, then you’re worth it. And maybe, you’re exactly what he needs.”

The silence that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that let you breathe, let you think. You realized then that Frank understood more than you’d given him credit for. He knew what it was like to love someone so fiercely that nothing else mattered. And in that moment, you felt a little less alone.

Frank seemed to sense that you were lost in thought, so he gently steered the conversation back to where it had been. “You said your dad’s a preacher?”

“Yeah,” you replied, grateful for the change in topic. “I help him out with the church. It’s a small town, so everyone knows everyone. My dad’s been the preacher there for as long as I can remember.”

Frank nodded, his eyes soft with understanding. “No wonder you're so religious," he said with a small smile, though his tone carried no judgment, just observation. "Growing up in a preacher's household, I imagine faith is second nature to you."

You shrugged lightly, fingers still playing in the soil, your thoughts a bit more tangled. “I guess so. It’s always been a big part of my life—going to church, helping out with the community. My dad… he has a way of making it seem like everything revolves around it.”

Frank gave a thoughtful nod, his hands pausing as he considered your words. “And what about you? Do you believe in all of it?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, heavy and complex. You hadn’t expected such a direct inquiry, especially not from someone like Frank, who had seen more of life’s darkness than many.

You sighed, the weight of his question settling in your chest. “I don’t know,” you began, your voice soft, almost hesitant.

“I used to believe in it all, every word, every sermon. But… sometimes I wonder. Why is it that someone who tries so hard to do right, to follow God’s teachings, ends up with a life full of pain and hardship?”

Frank watched you, his expression patient and understanding, the rhythm of your conversation slowing as if he knew you needed the space to sort through your thoughts.

“There were times,” you continued, “when it felt like no matter how much I prayed, how much I begged for things to get better, it was like my words just floated off into nothing. I’d ask for help, for some kind of sign that I wasn’t alone, that I wasn’t forgotten, but… nothing. It made me question everything. if God is there, why doesn’t He answer me? Why doesn’t He take away the pain?”

“I still pray, though” you said after a moment, your voice tinged with a fragile hope. “Because a part of me still wants to believe. Maybe God’s not silent. Maybe He’s just waiting for the right moment to answer. And maybe… He did answer, in a way."

"He gave me Joel. Maybe that’s God’s way of telling me that I’m not alone, that I haven’t been forgotten.”

Frank nodded, his gaze steady, absorbing everything you said. “Sounds like you’ve been through a lot,” he said gently. “But you’re still here, still standing. That’s something.”

"I'm thankful for it," you smile.

Frank’s smile grew, his eyes warm with encouragement. “And don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re still young, still figuring things out. Life has a way of surprising us when we least expect it.”

“Yeah,” you agreed softly, the weight in your chest easing. “It does.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, the garden around you humming with life. The earth beneath your fingers felt grounding, as if by planting these small seeds, you were also planting a piece of yourself, nurturing the hope that you could one day find peace, find home.

Frank broke the silence with a soft sigh, turning his gaze back to you. “So, what’s next for you and Joel? Do you have a plan?”

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” you said, a hint of excitement creeping into your voice. “We’re going to travel across the country, see the states. Joel said he wants to show me everything.”

Frank’s eyes twinkled with a mix of curiosity and warmth as he listened. “That sounds like quite the adventure,” he said, his tone gentle but encouraging. “Do you know where you’ll head first?”

“We’re thinking Kansas or Louisiana,” you replied, your mind drifting to the vast, unknown roads ahead. “After that, we’ll just go where the wind takes us. Eventually, we’re planning to settle down in California.”

Frank tilted his head slightly, his expression thoughtful. “California, huh? Big state. You aiming for the coast?”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “No, nothing like that. Joel’s always talked about wanting a ranch, somewhere quiet and peaceful. Maybe a place like Davis, where we can have some land, grow our own food. It’s… it’s like his dream, you know? Something simple, something ours.”

Frank smiled, a soft, almost wistful look in his eyes. “A ranch in California… I can see that. Sounds like a good life. Quiet, surrounded by nature, away from all the chaos.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, the thought of that quiet life with Joel filling you with a sense of peace. “It’s what we both want. A place to finally call home.”

Frank chuckled, breaking the moment with a lightheartedness that was infectious. “Well, if you two end up with a ranch in California, I’ll expect a fresh batch of strawberries in the mail every month,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “And if Joel starts getting grumpy, just remind him he promised to bake pies, not just grow the ingredients.”

You laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “I’ll hold him to that. He’s got a lot of promises to keep.”

Frank’s smile softened, and he looked at you with a kind of admiration. “You know, it’s really good to see Joel like this,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “He’s been through a lot, and for the first time in a long time, he seems… happier. You’ve done something to him, and I don’t just mean in the obvious way.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “Do you know much about his family? His late wife and daughter?”

Frank’s expression shifted, a shadow crossing his features. “Wait, Joel hasn't told you that?"

You shook your head, feeling a slight twinge of concern in your chest. Frank's brows furrowed, clearly surprised that Joel hadn’t shared much about his past with you. He seemed to contemplate for a moment, then sighed, a mix of hesitation and empathy in his eyes.

“It’s not really my place to tell you,” Frank finally said, his voice gentle but firm. “That’s something Joel needs to share with you himself. It’s… a part of his life that’s really hard for him to talk about. When he’s ready, I’m sure he’ll tell you.”

You nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. The unanswered questions lingered in your mind, but you knew better than to push. If Joel hadn’t brought it up yet, there had to be a reason.

***

After dinner, the house had settled into a calm quiet. Frank and Bill had retreated to their own space, leaving you and Joel alone in the cozy guest room where you’d been staying. The room was softly lit by the gentle glow of a bedside lamp, casting a warm and inviting light over everything.

You were curled up on the bed, absorbed in reading The Catcher in the Rye. The novel’s pages whispered tales of youthful rebellion and existential musings, a soothing contrast to the day's activities. The sound of Joel’s footsteps drew your attention, and you looked up as he entered the room, his presence filling the space with a comforting familiarity.

Joel had changed into a more relaxed outfit—simple trouser and a well-worn shirt—his rugged look softened by the evening’s relaxed atmosphere. He moved with a quiet grace, as if aware of the calm that enveloped the room.

You patted the space next to you on the bed, a silent invitation. “Come here,” you said softly, setting the book aside and making room for him.

Joel settled beside you, his weight pressing down gently on the mattress. He let out a contented sigh as you began to massage his shoulders, your fingers working out the tension from the day. The warmth of his body against yours was reassuring, a gentle reminder of the closeness you shared.

As you continued your soothing touch, your curiosity got the better of you. “So, what did you get for the supplies for tomorrow?” you asked, your voice a mix of casual interest.

Joel chuckled, his shoulders relaxing under your hands. “Brought some extra food, a few things we might need for the road. Should be enough for a couple of weeks if we need it. If we run low, we can always pick up more.”

You tilted your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “And what time are we heading out tomorrow?”

“We’ll be hitting the road early,” Joel replied. “Trying to get a good start. We’ll be making our way across state lines, and we’ll probably stay in motels or hotels along the way.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of anticipation and adventure bubbling up inside you. “Where are we starting from?”

Joel’s eyes met yours, a spark of excitement in his gaze. “First stop is going to be Louisiana. We’ll decide as we go along, just see where the road takes us. We’ve got a route planned out, but we can always adjust it as we go.”

You smiled, the thought of your upcoming journey filling you with a blend of excitement and nostalgia. Tomorrow was supposed to be your graduation day—a milestone that marked the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. Instead of celebrating with friends and preparing for college, you were embarking on a journey across the country with Joel. It felt like you were stepping into a new world, leaving behind the familiar safety of the past.

As you lay there, your mind drifted to the life you were leaving behind. The road stretched out before you like a ribbon of possibilities, each mile a promise of new experiences and uncharted territories. The contrast between the expectations of a conventional future and the reality of your spontaneous adventure was both exhilarating and daunting.

Joel’s voice brought you back to the present. “You okay?” he asked, his tone gentle as he noticed the thoughtful look on your face.

You nodded, shifting closer to him. “Yeah, it’s crazy to think where we are now. I was supposed to graduate tomorrow,” you said, a wistful edge to your voice.

Joel's eyes softened as he looked at you, the weight of your words sinking in. He remembered the first time he’d seen you by the river near the church, your solitude painting a poignant picture against the backdrop of your small town. Back then, you’d seemed like a fragile bird on the cusp of flight, your future an unwritten story stretching far beyond Texas.

A flicker of guilt crossed Joel’s face, his brow furrowing slightly. He knew he had taken you away from that life—the dreams and plans you had woven for yourself. The vast expanse of your potential future lay before you, like a sky brimming with stars, each one representing a possibility now momentarily eclipsed by your unexpected journey.

Joel’s voice was low, almost hesitant. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to turn out this way. You had plans, dreams. I feel like I’ve taken you away from everything you were meant to do.”

You reached out, placing a comforting hand on Joel’s cheek. “No, Joel, don’t say that,” you said softly. “Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault. I’m the one who feels like I’ve ruined your life. You’ve sacrificed so much for me, left everything behind.”

Joel’s gaze softened, his eyes reflecting the depth of his emotions. You continued, your voice tinged with confusion and concern. “No one will notice I’m gone, but you—” you looked into his eyes, searching for the answer to a question you couldn’t quite grasp. “You have a family, a job, a life. Why risk it all for me?”

Joel's eyes held yours, a storm of emotions swirling within them. He was silent for a moment, as if searching for the right words, his jaw tightening slightly before he spoke.

“It’s not about risking it all, darlin’,” Joel finally said, his voice low and steady. “It’s about choosing what matters most. Yeah, I had a life before you came along—a job, people I cared about—but none of it made me feel alive like you do. You’re not a risk; you’re a chance at something real, something worth fighting for.”

You could hear the sincerity in his words, but it was still hard for you to fully grasp why someone like him would put everything on the line for someone like you. “But I’ve caused so much trouble, Joel. I’ve taken you away from everything. How can you say I’m not ruining your life?”

Joel shook his head, his hand coming up to gently hold yours against his cheek. “You haven’t ruined anything. My life was already broken. But then you came into it, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like I had a purpose again. You didn’t take me away from anything—I chose this. I chose you."

Your heart ached at his words, a mix of guilt and gratitude swirling inside you. "I'm sorry," you said once again.

Joel’s thumb traced gentle circles on the back of your hand as he held it against his cheek. His eyes softened, reflecting a depth of emotion that made your breath catch. “You don’t need to be sorry, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice tender but firm. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

You stared at him, the raw honesty in his eyes making you feel seen in a way you hadn’t before. It wasn’t just that he was here with you—it was that he chose to be, every day, every moment.

“I’m scared, Joel,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to let you down.”

He sighed softly, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. “You could never let me down, sweetheart. We’re in this together, okay? No more apologies, no more guilt. Just us, figuring it out as we go.”

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his words settle deep within you. “Okay,” you agreed, your voice steadying. “Just us.”

Joel leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulled back slightly. “That’s right. Just us.”

For a moment, you both stayed like that, the world outside your small room fading away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in each other’s presence.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice soft and hesitant. “Joel... do you ever think about them? About Jane and Sarah?”

Joel’s breath hitched slightly, and you felt his body tense under your touch. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice low. “Every day.”

You hesitated, your heart heavy with the weight of what you were about to ask. “What... what happened to them, Joel? I want to know. If it’s just going to be the two of us from now on, I want to be able to trust you with everything, and I want you to trust me too. Completely.”

Joel let out a long sigh, his hand running through his hair as if he were trying to smooth out the tangled thoughts in his mind. He looked at you, the vulnerability in his eyes more apparent than ever. “I’ve never really talked about it,” he began, his voice rough around the edges. “Not with anyone.”

You squeezed his hand, silently encouraging him to continue. “You can talk to me, Joel. I’m here."

He took another deep breath, then started to speak, his words slow and deliberate, as if each one carried a heavy burden. “We were driving back home that day. It had been a long day, and we were tired. Jane and I... we’d been arguing about something, I can’t even remember what it was about now, but it was heated. Sarah was in the back, just trying to ignore it all like she usually did when we fought.”

Joel’s voice faltered for a moment, but he pressed on. “I lost control of the car. It all happened so fast... one minute we were arguing, the next... we were off the road, and then everything just... stopped. I woke up in the hospital. They told me Jane didn’t make it. Sarah... she held on for a few days, but... she was gone too.”

His voice broke, and he swallowed hard, as if trying to push down the pain that was rising in his throat. “I blamed myself. Still do. I was the one driving, I was the one who lost control. I was supposed to protect them, and I failed.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek as you listened, your heart aching for the man who had carried this pain with him for so long. “Joel,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’m so sorry. It wasn't your fault,"

He shook his head, his expression conflicted. “I should’ve done better. I should’ve been better.”

You leaned in, your forehead resting against his, your tears mingling with his. “You did everything you could, Joel. You loved them, and that’s what mattered most.”

As you held him close, Joel’s thoughts drifted into the shadows of his mind, a place where the past and present collided in a tangled mess of emotions. The memory of that day, the sound of metal crunching, the silence that followed, haunted him like a ghost that refused to be exorcised. It was a wound that never healed, festering beneath the surface, a reminder of everything he’d lost and everything he could never get back.

Losing Jane and Sarah had shattered him, leaving him hollow and broken. They were his world, his purpose, and when they were ripped away, it felt like the universe had punished him for daring to love too deeply. Since then, he’d built walls around his heart, thick and impenetrable, to keep the pain at bay, to protect himself from ever feeling that kind of loss again.

But then you came along, with your soft smiles and tender touch, and those walls began to crack. You found your way into his life, into the parts of him that he’d thought were dead and buried. And now, the thought of losing you was unbearable, a terror that gripped his soul with icy fingers. If he lost you, it would be like losing Jane and Sarah all over again—only this time, he wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

God knows what he would do if that happened. The thought alone made his heart race, his breath catch in his throat. You were his lifeline, the one thing that kept him tethered to this world, and the fear of losing you gnawed at him, relentless and unyielding. He couldn’t bear it—not again. He couldn’t survive another loss like that.

Joel knew he wasn’t perfect. He was rough around the edges, scarred by years of pain and regret. But with you, he wanted to be better. He wanted to protect you, to keep you safe, to give you the life you deserved. And yet, the fear lingered, whispering insidious doubts into his ear—what if he wasn’t enough? What if he failed you, too?

But as you leaned into him, your warmth grounding him in the present, Joel felt something shift inside him. He didn’t have to be perfect; he didn’t have to have all the answers. All he needed to do was hold on to you, to this moment, and trust that you could face whatever came next together.

The night stretched on as you and Joel stayed up, talking about your lives, sharing pieces of your pasts that you had never revealed before. Joel's voice was a steady, comforting presence in the dim light of the room, and though he opened up about so much, he skillfully avoided any mention of your father. It was a delicate line to walk—Joel had been his best friend, after all—but tonight wasn’t about reopening old wounds. It was about the two of you, building something new together from the ruins of what had been.

As the hours passed, your eyes grew heavy, the weight of the day and the depth of your conversation pulling you towards sleep. You were just about to drift off when Joel's voice, soft yet insistent, broke through the haze of your exhaustion.

“Baby, stay awake for a while for me,” he whispered, his hand gently guiding you to sit up and face him.

Confused but trusting, you blinked the sleep from your eyes and let him maneuver you, your heart skipping a beat at the tender way he looked at you. Joel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, the sight of which immediately piqued your curiosity. You glanced at him, your tired mind struggling to piece together what was happening.

“Joel…?”

He didn’t say anything at first, just opened the box to reveal a delicate gold necklace. The pendant was a beautifully crafted sun, its rays shimmering in the faint light. It was simple yet breathtaking, and as you stared at it, something inside you stirred, a warmth spreading through your chest that chased away the last remnants of sleep.

“Happy birthday, doll,” Joel said softly, his voice tender and filled with affection.

For a moment, you just stared at him, stunned. No one had ever done something like this for you before. Not your parents, not anyone. You’d never been surprised or celebrated like this—never had someone put so much thought into making you feel special. The shock of it all brought a lump to your throat, and you could feel the tears welling up in your eyes again.

“Oh, Joel…” you breathed, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s beautiful.”

Joel’s eyes softened even more, and he gave you a small, almost shy smile. “You like it?”

You nodded quickly, reaching out to touch the pendant again, feeling its smooth, cool surface beneath your fingertips. “I love it,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve never had anything like this before. No one’s ever… done anything like this for me.”

Joel’s smile faded into a more serious expression as he gently took your hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. “Well, you deserve it,” he said, his voice firm yet tender. “You deserve to be celebrated, to have someone make a fuss over you on your birthday. I just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

The sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you as if you were the most important person in his world—it was almost too much to bear. You felt overwhelmed, but in the best possible way. For the first time, you felt truly seen, truly loved.

You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around Joel’s neck, burying your face in his shoulder as the tears finally spilled over. “Thank you, Joel,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. “Thank you so much.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes, and before you could think twice, you pressed your lips to his in a soft, tender kiss. It was gentle, filled with all the emotions you couldn’t put into words—gratitude, love, a deep, unspoken connection that went beyond anything you’d ever known.

Joel kissed you back, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, holding you close as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. When you finally broke apart, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“You’re welcome, doll,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. He gave you a small smile before pulling back slightly. “Now, turn around. I want to put the necklace on you.”

You did as he asked, turning your back to him as you gathered your hair to one side, exposing your neck. You could feel his fingers gently brushing against your skin as he fastened the clasp, the cool metal of the necklace resting against your collarbone. His touch was tender, almost reverent, as if he was handling something fragile and priceless.

“There,” Joel said softly, his voice warm with affection. “Perfect.”

You felt Joel’s fingers gently adjust the necklace, the cool metal resting comfortably against your collarbone. The delicate sun pendant seemed to radiate a quiet warmth, a perfect complement to the emotions swirling inside you.

As you held the pendant close to your heart, savoring the weight of the gift, Joel’s touch lingered. His lips brushed softly against the exposed skin of your neck, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. The sensation was tender and soothing, each kiss a gentle affirmation of his love and devotion.

You closed your eyes, losing yourself in the moment. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this intimate space. Joel’s kisses continued, moving slowly along your neck and back, each touch a silent declaration of his feelings for you. His hands were warm, his touch reverent and filled with an unspoken tenderness.

The air between you was thick with emotion, the depth of your connection more tangible than ever. As Joel’s kisses grew more insistent, more passionate, you felt a powerful surge of desire and love. It was as if every touch, every kiss was a way for him to express the feelings he found difficult to put into words.

You turned slightly to face him, your body still trembling with anticipation. The look in his eyes was filled with a mix of love, longing, and an almost primal need to be close to you. There was an unspoken understanding between you, a recognition of the depth of your bond and the comfort you found in each other’s arms.

As the night deepened, the room was filled with the quiet sounds of your shared intimacy, each moment a beautiful blend of passion and tenderness. It was a celebration of your love, a testament to the journey you had taken together and the future you were building side by side.

***

The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room as you quietly gathered your belongings. The guest room that had become your sanctuary with Joel felt strangely empty now, a bittersweet reminder of the safety and comfort you had found within these walls. You took a deep breath, running your fingers over the bedspread, smoothing out the wrinkles, as if by doing so you could somehow hold onto the memories you had created here a little longer.

Outside, you could hear the muffled sounds of Joel and Bill talking, the low rumble of voices mixed with the occasional clatter of supplies being loaded into the truck. Joel had insisted on helping with every last detail, making sure that everything was perfectly arranged for the long journey ahead. Bill, ever practical, had offered them one of his newer trucks—a vehicle more suited to the months on the road that lay ahead. Joel had tried to argue, offering to pay, but Bill had waved him off with a gruff laugh, saying, "It’s on me. Just don’t come back knockin’ on my door, you hear?"

You couldn’t help but smile at the memory, the warmth of Bill’s gruff generosity reminding you of how much you’d come to appreciate these two men who had given you and Joel a safe haven. As you moved around the room, making sure everything was in order, a soft knock at the door drew your attention.

It was Frank, standing in the doorway with a gentle smile on his face. "Mind if I come in?" he asked, his voice kind.

You nodded, stepping aside to let him enter. Frank’s presence had always been a source of quiet comfort, and now, as he stood there, it felt like the closing of a chapter you hadn’t realized was so dear to you.

"I wanted to say goodbye," Frank said, his tone a mix of affection and sadness. "Take care of yourself out there, kid. You’ve got a long road ahead of you."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling a wave of emotion wash over you. "Thank you, Frank. For everything."

Frank held out two items, both of which caught you by surprise: a well-worn Bible with a cracked leather cover, and a small handgun that looked like it had seen its fair share of years. You blinked, taken aback by the unexpected combination.

Frank noticed your hesitation and chuckled softly. "Happy birthday, kid," he said, his voice tinged with warmth and something almost fatherly. "I figured you might need both on the road. One to keep you safe from the world, and the other to keep you safe from yourself."

Your breath caught in your throat as you accepted the gifts, your fingers brushing over the rough texture of the Bible’s cover, feeling the weight of history it carried. The pages, yellowed with time, whispered of stories and lessons that had been passed down through generations. It wasn’t just a book; it was a relic, a piece of someone’s life, and now it was being entrusted to you.

"How did you know it's my birthday?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Frank gave you a knowing smile, glancing over his shoulder towards where Joel was finishing up with Bill. "Joel’s not great at keeping secrets," he said with a smirk. "He came to me, asking for advice on what to get you. He wanted it to be special, something you’d never forget. I had to pull it out of him, but he finally admitted that today’s your birthday."

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at Frank’s words, a deep appreciation for the man who stood before you. "Thank you," you said sincerely, your voice thick with emotion. "This means more to me than you know."

Frank nodded, his expression softening. "I’m not a religious man, but I know that faith is important to you. This Bible—it’s been with me for a long time, and I figured it might bring you some comfort, maybe even some guidance when you need it most."

You held the Bible close to your chest, its presence both comforting and grounding. "I’ll cherish it, Frank. Truly."

Frank’s gaze shifted to the handgun, still resting in your other hand. "And that," he said, his tone more serious, "is for when things get tough. I know Joel will do everything he can to protect you, but it doesn’t hurt to have something of your own. Just in case."

You nodded, understanding the gravity of the gift. The world outside was unforgiving, and as much as you believed in the power of faith, you knew that sometimes, survival required more than just hope. "Thank you, Frank," you repeated, your gratitude evident in your eyes.

Frank’s hand came up to rest on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You’re a good kid," he said softly. "You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and I can see how much you mean to Joel. Take care of each other out there, okay?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the weight of his words. "We will," you promised.

Frank gave you one last, lingering look before stepping back towards the door. "I’ve packed some food for the road," he added, his voice returning to its usual warmth. "Figured you two could use it."

"Thank you," you said again, your voice filled with sincerity. "For everything."

As Frank nodded and stepped back, you carefully tucked the Bible into your bag, nestling it among your few belongings like a piece of home you could carry with you. The gun, however, felt heavier in your hands, not just in weight but in the responsibility it symbolized. You found an old handkerchief in your bag, wrapping the gun tightly within its folds, along with the bullets. This was a secret meant for emergencies only, something you hoped you'd never have to use. You knew Joel wouldn’t approve—his protective nature would have him shielding you from this harsh necessity. But you felt a strange sense of empowerment as you hid the gun deep in your bag, a quiet resolve settling in your chest.

After making sure nothing was left behind, you and Frank stepped out of the room. The hallway felt longer now, each step echoing with the finality of your departure. When you reached the front door, the sunlight greeted you, warm and bright, as if trying to dispel the lingering shadows of the past few days.

Joel was already standing by the truck, his strong frame leaning casually against the door as he spoke with Bill. He looked up as you approached, his eyes immediately finding yours, and a small, comforting smile tugged at his lips. "Ready to go?" he asked, his voice steady but laced with the same bittersweet undertone that seemed to hang in the air.

You nodded, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions. This place, these people—Frank and Bill—had given you something invaluable: a sanctuary, a place where you and Joel had found a moment of peace in a world full of chaos. It was hard to say goodbye.

Frank and Bill stood together, their figures silhouetted against the morning light. There was an unspoken understanding between all of you—a recognition of the bond that had formed in such a short time, and the knowledge that it might never be repeated.

"Thank you," you said, your voice soft yet filled with gratitude. "For everything. We wouldn’t have made it this far without you."

Bill waved off your words with a gruff, yet warm, "Just keep your head down and don’t do anything stupid. And remember, this truck’s got a lot more miles in it than that old rust bucket Joel was driving. Don’t come back knockin’ on my door for a replacement, you hear?"

Joel chuckled, the sound carrying a lightness that hadn’t been there in days. "We won’t," he assured them, though the words carried a weight of their own.

As you and Joel prepared to leave, Frank turned his attention to Joel, his eyes filled with a quiet seriousness that hadn’t been there before. He stepped forward, pulling Joel into a firm hug, the kind of embrace that spoke volumes without needing words.

"Take care of her, Joel," Frank murmured into his ear, his voice low but carrying the weight of his words. "She’s a good kid. She’s gonna need you."

Joel held onto Frank for a moment longer, his hand gripping Frank’s shoulder in silent acknowledgment. "I will," Joel replied, his voice steady and full of conviction.

Frank pulled back slightly, looking Joel in the eye with a mix of trust and understanding. Then, with a final pat on Joel’s back, he stepped away, leaving the space between them filled with the unsaid, but deeply understood, responsibility that now rested on Joel’s shoulders.

Joel walked back to the truck, you could see the subtle shift in his demeanor—stronger, more resolved. With that, the two of you climbed into the truck, ready to face the road ahead, knowing that whatever challenges awaited, you’d face them together.

As Joel drove away from Bill and Frank's place, the truck rumbled softly beneath you, its engine a steady heartbeat in the quiet of the early morning. You waved through the window, your hand lingering in the air as the two men faded into the distance, their figures shrinking until they were just specks on the horizon. The road stretched out before you, endless and inviting, bathed in the soft glow of dawn. It was like something out of a dream, a scene so perfect it felt almost surreal.

Here it was—your dream, the one you’d held onto through all the nights of despair and longing, the one that had kept you going when everything else seemed lost. Just you and Joel, no one else. He had saved you from the misery of your past, pulled you out of the darkness, and now, here you were, embarking on a new life together. A life that felt like it was finally yours to live.

As the truck moved down the road, the landscape began to shift and change, like scenes from a movie rolling by outside the window. The sun was rising higher, painting the sky in hues of gold and pink, as if God Himself had brushed the heavens with His divine hand. It felt like a sign, a message from above that this was your path, that this was where you were meant to be. If it’s meant to be, then it will be. And it felt true, truer than anything you’d ever known.

You didn’t need anything else right now—just Joel. His presence was all the reassurance you needed, all the comfort you’d ever craved. As he drove, his right hand reached across the space between you, fingers finding yours with an ease that felt like second nature. You looked over at him, your heart swelling as you watched him—his eyes focused on the road, but his grip on your hand firm, protective. It was as if he was silently telling you, I’ve got you. As long as I’m here, you’ll be okay.

And in that moment, you believed it with everything in you. This was your sanctuary, not a place but a person. The love that pulsed between you was more than just an emotion—it was a lifeline, a tether to something bigger than the both of you, something that had been written in the stars long before you ever met.

The road ahead was uncertain, the future a vast, uncharted territory, but it didn’t scare you. With Joel by your side, you felt invincible, as if the world could throw anything at you and you’d come out the other side stronger. You didn’t need anything else—no wealth, no fame, no worldly possessions. Just Joel. He was your beginning and your end, the sun that lit up the darkest corners of your soul.

As you squeezed his hand, a silent promise passed between you. You would face whatever came together, hand in hand, heart to heart. Because if it was meant to be, then it would be. And right now, in this moment, it felt like everything in the universe had aligned to bring you here, to this place, to this man.

And as the miles melted away beneath the tires of the truck, you allowed yourself to lean back, to rest your head against the seat, knowing that for the first time in your life, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

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henry-fox-biggest-stan · 1 year ago

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Some more obscure and / or underrated lesbian literature : An incomplete list made by a lesbian in hopes of making other sapphics happy

(I haven’t read all of them)

Sorted by years (this rapidly became a history lesson of lesbian literature sorry I’m a nerd)

Ancient times

(A good article about lesbians in ancient greece / rome)

Queen Zhuang Jiang 庄姜 (???- BC 690) / We know about Sappho and Enheduanna, but what about her? She wrote poems some of which were, uh, pretty gay. I learnt about her here. It is said than her poems are in The Book of Songs (which is a collection of ancient Chinese poetry). I couldn’t find a lot about her but I found enough to believe than (hopefully) she was a real person and the internet isn't lying to me.

Dialogues of the courtesans - Lucian of Samosata (somewhere in the second century BC) / Basically Dialogues of the courtesans is a collection of dialogues between well, courtesans (prostitutes). Either between themselves or between clients. One of the dialogues is called “The Lesbians”. Link to read (somehow finding a pdf of Dialogues of the courtesans is pretty hard but reading it chapter by chapter online it’s not??)

The Babyloniaka - Iamblichus (somewhere in the second century AC) / Lost novel, so all you need to know is here

Of course we can’t forget this Pompeii poem

1200s

Bieiris de Romans (somewhere in the first half of the 1200s) / Bieiris was a French poet, and we only have one of her poems with us because the others have been lost. We don’t know much (anything) about her, except that she was a woman, French, and who wrote about a woman called Maria. Some say that this mysterious Maria referred to the Virgin Mary, others than Maria was her gf, and others than she was writing in the perspective of a man (because obviously a woman writing about other women in a not so platonic way is unthinkable). Anyway, feel free to get your own conclusions, here’s the poem (translated)

1500s

The Sword and the Pen: Women, Politics, and Poetry in Sixteenth-Century Siena - Konrad Eisenbichler / So while this is a modern book, it is the only one I’ve been able to find than includes Laudomia Forteguerri’s poems (1515-1555). Some historians considered her to be the earliest Italian lesbian writer. “Although only six of her sonnets have survived, all are testaments to the love she bore for other women, and five are specifically dedicated to Margaret of Austria.”

The Maitland Quarto / Manuscript (1586) / So, this is a collection of 95 scot poems, and poem 49 is pretty sapphic. It’s technically anonymous, but it has been attributed to Marie Maitland (who transcripted the manuscript and is thought to have added her own poems there). The last lines mean “'There is more constancy in our sex / Than ever among men has been”, I haven’t been able to translate the rest of it. The poem.

Galatea - John Lyly (1592) / “Galatea (or Gallathea) and Phillida who are dressed up in male clothes by their fathers so that they can avoid the requirement of the god Neptune that every year "the fairest and chastest virgin in all the country" be sacrificed to a sea-monster. Hiding together in the forest, the two maidens fall in love, each supposing the other to be a young man.”

1600s

The Flower's Shadow Behind the Curtain - Ko Lien Hua Ying (somewhere in the 1600s) / It is said this book was written towards the end of the Ming dynasty (1368 to 1644). It’s a erotic book, and chapter 22 includes an erotic story between two 16 year old girls. I found it in Sex in China: Studies in Sexology in Chinese Culture by Fang Fu Ruan (believe it or not, I don’t just randomly know all this books, I did research)

Aphra Behn (1640-1689) / English writer, one of the first female writers to live through her writing. She was also a spy. She wrote a lot about women. “Homoeroticism is standard in Behn's verse, either in descriptions such as these of male to male relationships or in depictions of her own attractions to women. Behn was married and widowed early, and as a mature woman her primary publicly acknowledged relationship was with a gay male, John Hoyle, himself the subject of much scandal.” (here). She wrote a lesbian love poem (in the link before, it also makes an analysis of it). The poem: To The Fair Clarinda

Poems, Protest, and a Dream: Selected Writings - Juana Inés De la Cruz (1648-1695) / So the thing about Juana is than every single spanish-speaking lesbian knows her (and loves her), but hardly anyone who doesn’t speak spanish has ever heard of her, which is a shame, because she’s an absolute icon. She was a Mexican nun who was also incredibly gay. You know how Sappho is called the tenth muse? Juana is also called the (mexican) tenth muse. She’s also called the phoenix of America, which is incredibly badass. She learnt how to read at 3 years old, at 8, she asked her mother to send her to college dressed as a man (her mother refused). She learnt and studied by her own, because she wanted to learn. She studied by cutting her hair (if she got something wrong or forgot something, she cut a strand of her hair as a punishment) because she said that “a head adorned with hair is worthless if it’s a head naked of ideas”. When she was sixteen (important to note than she already spoke Latin fluently at 12, having mastered it in just a few lessons) the archbishop Payo Enríquez de Rivera heard of her, and decided to ask her to be the company lady of his wife (his wife and her eventually would have a relationship) and decided to test her intelligence. He got 40 (!!!) university profesor of all subjects, and they all asked her questions related to maths, literature, philosophy, etc. She answered all of them right. At around 21, she decided to become a nun (not out of faith, but because it was either becoming a nun and being able to continue her education, or marrying a man and stop studying. To her, the choice was clear). Also it is said she owned around 4000 books in her personal library. So yeah, an educated, extremely intelligent gal, who wrote lesbian love poems to her gf, and who was definitely not afraid to stand up for herself.

1700s

The Game of Flats - Nicholas Rowe? (1715) / Poem, “game of flats” was an 18th century slang for lesbian sex. Link to read <- that website includes lots of 18th century queer history and poems like this one

The Sappho-an - Anonymous (1735 or 1749) / When I first heard of this I couldn’t believe it. It sounds like an AO3 fanfic, or some modern erotic book (one of those than have a real person in the cover), or maybe a forgotten 1970s lesbian book. It’s none of that. It’s an anonymous poem written in the 1700s. The plot? The goddesses of Olympus are sexually unsatisfied because the gods keep on going after mortals (except Ares, he’s just too busy with war) instead of paying attention to them. The gods keep going after woman and male mortals, so Hera just says yknow what if they can sleep with men then we can sleep with each other. Sappho also appears. Link to read.

Fanny Hill, Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure - John Cleland (1742) / Ok fine, this one is not sapphic but the main character (female) does have sex with a woman at one point. This is basically an erotic novel. Very dirty (specially for the time period) and very banned in lots of places. The main character is Fanny, a prostitute. It includes lots of straight sex, some gay (mlm) sex, and two pages where Fanny describes in detail having sex with Phoebe, bisexual prostitute. Not sapphic, but thought it was worth mentioning.

1810s

Christabel - Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1816) / So, have you heard of Carmilla (1872)? If you’re reading this post, you probably have, if you haven’t, it’s a classic (vampire) book than is said to have inspired Bram Stoker to write Dracula. It’s also incredibly gay. Well, some say it was Christabel than was the inspiration for Carmilla. Of course we don’t know this for sure, but the similarities definitely are there. Review from a reader: “what if we were the protagonist and villain of a never-completed sensual gothic poem (and we were both girls) / alternately: when you meet a wickedhot girl only she's SPOOKY but that's SEXY and turns out your dad and her dad were also gay back in the day before having a sexy gay falling-out and she's like 'babe let's get naked and hold each other close' and you're like '—wait fuck I mean uhhhh I PRETEND I DO NOT SEE IT!'” I haven’t read this one, however for what it seems Christabel is not explicitly a vampire. Since the poem is unfinished we don’t know the end, and we just think she’s a vampire because so many things used in here were also reused for vampires characterization (like not being able to enter a house unless invited)

1830s

Mademoiselle de Maupin - Théophile Gautier (1835) / “A woman uses her incredible beauty to captivate both d'Albert, a young poet, and disguised as a man, his mistress, Rosette. In this shocking tale of sexual deception, Gautier draws readers into the bedrooms and boudoirs of a French château in a compelling exploration of desire and sexual intrigue, and gives voice to a longing which is larger in scope, namely, the wish for completeness in oneself.”

1840s

Netochka Nezvanova - Fyodor Dostoyevsky (1849) / Incomplete because the author was exiled. Tells the story of Netochka Nezvanova, her childhood and adolescence, and the many many bad things that happen to her. She falls in love with a girl as well.

1870s

Mademoiselle Giraud, My Wife - Adolphe Belot (1870) / “The sensational Mademoiselle Giraud, My Wife tells of the suffering of a naive young man whose new bride will not agree to consummate the marriage. Eventually he learns from an acquaintance, to his amazement, that their wives are lovers.” In reviews it says than this is a homophobic novel (who’s surprised) but “Christopher Rivers argues in his introduction that the protagonist's homophobic attitude toward lesbianism is ironically linked to his intimate homosocial bonds with men”

1880s

Jill - Amy Dillwyn (1884) / “Jill is the story of an unconventional heroine—a gentlewoman who disguises herself as a maid and runs away to London in search of adventure after her mother dies and her father is pursued by a Victorian gold-digger. Once in London she uses her position as lady's maid to become close to her mistress. Her life above and below stairs is portrayed with irreverent wit in this fast-paced story, but at the centre of the novel is Jill's unfolding love for the woman she works for. On the surface a feminist manifesto, Jill is a poignant story of same-sex desire and unrequited love. A new introduction tells the autobiographical story on which the novel is based —the author's own passionate attachment to a woman she called her wife, but who she couldn't have.”

Mephistophela - Catulle Mendès (1889) / “Telling the story of Baronne Sophor d'Hermelinge, a woman as thoroughly martyrized by her creator as any other heroine in the history of fiction, in spite of the enormous competition for that title established by countless writers, male and female, it is one of the archetypal novels of the Decadent Movement, and one of the most striking, precisely because is it such a discomfiting piece of writing, the deliberately controversial nature of which has been further enhanced as its surrounding social context has changed over time. Highly influential, especially on the works of such writers as Jean Lorrain and Renée Vivien, Mephistophela, in placing lesbian amour in the foreground of the story, deals forthrightly and intensively with a literary theme that had previously only been treated with delicacy and indecision, mostly in poetry. It is essentially a horror story about demonic possession, about contrived and cruel damnation, devoid even of a Faustian pact, which merely employs obsessive lesbian desire as an instrument of damnation.” Goodreads review: “As a story it is quite straightforward. Girl has same-sex desires and the novel follows her various affairs up to about the age of thirty. […] More controversially, Stableford (and the books blurb) suggests that it is a novel of demonic possession. Now Brian has probably forgotten more than I will ever learn about the period but a few of the episodes show distinct Charcotian traits (an early childhood 'illness', two doctors in conversation etc) and a (really great) fantasy/visionary episode in the book seems to show, to me, the influence of Michelets book on witchcraft. If anything, the book seems even more subversive that Stableford suggests, as Sophie seems largely 'out and proud' and the author often says that she is 'is as she is' suggesting to me that it is 'natural' rather than demonic. I wonder whether the publisher asked Mendes to add some suggestion of the demonic to 'tone down' the idea that people were actually like 'that'.”

1890s

Avant la nuit / Before the dark - Marcel Proust (1893) / Short story (seriously, less than 10 pages). I read it the other day before bed and it’s pretty good. Talks about Françoise, a woman, revealing her homosexuality to her friend Leslie.

A Sunless Heart - Edith Johnstone (1894) / “Its first third focuses on Gasparine O'Neill, who shares an intense connection with her sickly twin brother, Gaspar. Living in poverty, the two struggle to live decently until Gaspar dies. Here gritty naturalism gives way to fantasy, as Gasparine is rescued from despair by the brilliant Lotus Grace, a much-admired teacher at the local Ladies' College. Sexually exploited from the age of twelve by her sister's fiancé, Lotus cannot love anyone, not even her illegitimate child. Gasparine devotes herself to Lotus, but Lotus finds her final brief happiness with a woman student, Mona Lefcadio, a passionate Trinidadian heiress. Exploring issues of race, sexuality, and class in compelling prose, A Sunless Heart is a startling re-discovery from the late- Victorian era. The appendices to this Broadview edition provide contemporary documents that illuminate the tension between romantic friendship and lesbian consciousness in the novel and address other debates in which the novel the nature of Creole identity, the education of women, and the dangers of childhood sexual exploitation.”

The Songs of Bilitis - Pierre Louÿs (1894) / Poetry. However, believe it or not, these were not written by a woman but by a man. Why add it then, well, the story is quite original. The author (Pierre Louÿs) published this verses as written in Ancient Greece by a “disciple of sappho” named Bilitis. He created this whole character, she was a woman, she was a poet, she was a sappho disciple, her work has been lost until now, and she was a huge lesbian. Of course, this is not true, but still, it’s an interesting read. “Between their open celebration of lesbian love and the eventual revelation of their true authorship—the verses actually were written by French novelist and poet Pierre Louÿs—they became a succès de scandale. Although debunked as a work of antiquity, The Songs of Bilitis remains a classic of erotic literature.”

1900s

A Woman's Affair - Liane de Pougy (1901) / "Despite her beauty and her riches, Annhine de Lys, one of the most notorious courtesans of 1890s Paris, is bored and restless. Into her life bursts Flossie, a young American woman, and everything changes. The love she offers Annhine is dangerous, perverse and hard to resist. Ignoring the warnings of her best friend, Annhine encourages the affair."

I Await the Devil's Coming - Mary MacLane (1902) / “Mary MacLane's I Await the Devil's Coming is a shocking, brave and intelectually challenging diary of a 19-year-old girl living in Butte, Montana in 1902. Written in potent, raw prose that propelled the author to celebrity upon publication, the book has become almost completely forgotten. In the early 20th century, MacLane's name was synonymous with sexuality; she is widely hailed as being one of the earliest American feminist authors, and critics at the time praised her work for its daringly open and confesional style. In its first month of publication, the book sold 100,000 copies--a remarkable number for a debut author, and one that illustrates MacLane's broad appeal.” She’s pretty sapphic and claims her (female) lit teacher is her true love. Also an excerpt from a Goodreads review: “She awaits the Devil to come and marry her and bring happiness if only for three days, meanwhile rehearsing suicide. She prays to the Devil to deliver her from “unripe bananas; from bathless people; from a waist-line that slopes up in the front" but offers sensuous instructions on how to eat an olive, and enjoys porterhouse steaks and fudge she makes with brown sugar. It's quite a ride. Many recent reviewers pigeonhole her as an ahead-of-her-time Goth or emo, simply transcribing an eternal and universal teen angst.”

Q.E.D. - Gertrude Stein (1903) - Autobiographical short story about a love triangle between three women; Adele (Stein), Mabel, manipulative and wealthy, and Helen, who seduces Adele.

A Woman Appeared To Me - Renée Vivien (1904) / I have no idea how to explain this book other than it's all I ever wanted and it has an absolutely breathtaking prose. Think of The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde’s writing style and descriptions, the character's philosophy, and the queer toxic relationships in the book. Now make it lesbian and even more explicitly queer. Also I'm pretty sure the main characters want to fuck Sappho. On the second chapter the main characters + some side characters (all women + one guy) are having a discussion (a symposium of sorts) about how much they love sappho and how believing she married a man is stupid and how they don’t hate men, just really dislike them, and the guy says: "Mademoiselle, you are trying to hide from the irresistible seduction of the male. You will certainly finish your love-life in the arms of a man." And our main character being an icon finished the chapter answering him this: "That would be a crime against nature, sir. I have too much respect for our friend to believe her capable of an abnormal passion!". It’s so good. I have seen mixed opinions on this one, but I’m just gonna say: the girls than get it, get it. Everything by Renée Vivien is so good, but this is her only full novel I think (she also wrote poems and short stories). If you have to read only one book out of all the books in this post, let it be this one.

Zezé - Ángeles Vicente (1909) / Not translated (I think) but it’s the first lesbian novel written in Spanish which is pretty cool (even cooler than it was written by a woman who, in 1909 (or around it) divorced her husband and lived through her writing). The plot is basically, the narrator (the author) is on a ship and shares the cabin where she’s staying with another woman, Zezé, a cuplé singer, who tells her about her life (her childhood in a religious school, where she discovered her sexuality with had a relationship with another (female) student, her life in Madrid as an adult and living life as a woman, etc)

1910s

Despised & Rejected - Rose Allatini (1918) / A gay man and a lesbian are friends during WWI, which they are against (an anti-war novel). I think the book is in the perspective of the gay man, but his friend is also a main character.

The Scorpion - Anna Elisabet Weirauch (1919) / A review by a reader: “This book felt more like historical fiction than a novel actually written in 1919-1932, considering the explicitly lesbian relationships and coming of age and coming out style narrative. The story follows the life of Metta, a lesbian who grew up with a controlling family in Berlin. The narrative follows her from her first crush on her manipulative governess, to her first love the older and intelectual Olga, and her foray into the gay scene in Munich and beyond. The story isn't without suffering and it isn't just a love story despite how much you might want it to be. Definite trigger warnings for suicide (not Metta), poor mental health, homophobia and general cringe comments due to the time of writing. But the point of the book is for Metta to find a way to be, a way to live her life comfortably and happily, essentially to find herself.”

1920s

The Bacheloress - Victor Marqueritte (1922) / “Monique is an emancipated French woman who leaves home to escape a marriage of convenience to a man whom her parents have forced on her. She then succumbs to all sorts of carnal temptations including a lesbian love affair with a singer. The scandal provoked by Victor Margueritte's La Garçonne, here translated as The Bacheloress, led to its author having his legion d'honneur revoked, which only propelled this novel about a brazenly independent "new woman" to best-seller status. What was shocking then was not so much the reckless behavior of its heroine, who is depicted as the victim of psychological torment, but the portrait of the corrupt post-WWI society in which she lives. Authentic as Monique is, the types of love she encounters, set against the hostile and contemptuous portrayal of her peers, only amplifies her struggle.”

Yellow Rose - Nobuko Yoshiva (1923) / This is the only book than has been translated by this author, she was a lesbian who wrote Class-S romance (a Japanese book genre of the time, which focused on lesbian / homoerotic relationships between women [so-called romantic friendships], than usually take place in an all-girls boarding school). This specific story talks about a teacher-student relationship. She has other books, one called Yaneura no nishojo (two virgins in the attic) (1919) which isn’t translated, but sounds good, the story “is thought to be semi-autobiographical, and describes a female-female love experience with her dormmate. In the last scene, the two girls decide to live together as a couple. This work, in attacking male-oriented society, and showing two women as a couple after they have finished secondary education presents a strong feminist attitude, and also reveals Yoshiya's own lesbian sexual orientation”.

Freundinnen: ein Roman unter Frauen / Girlfriends: a Novel among Women - Maximiliane Ackers (1923) / Only in German, not translated. Review from an English reader: “This novel—which went through several editions in the 20s before being banned by the Nazis—is uncompromisingly, heartbreakingly queer. The novel tells the story of the love between two actresses in Wiemar Germany, Ruth and Erika. Both women struggle to support themselves on the stage, to live independently, and to come to terms with their love for each other and how they might live and express themselves and their desire.”

Surplus - Sylvia Stevenson (1924) / Review from a reader: “This book should be included in lists of seminal lesbian fiction. Published in 1924, Surplus is the story of Sally Wraith's young adult adventures after the end of WWI, during which period she served as an ambulance driver. The novel is not explicit and dos not detail a physical relationship between Sally and her romantic friend Averil but Sally refers to Averil as her "dream girl" with whom she wants to spend the rest of her life. This novel was published before Radclyffe Hall's Well of Loneliness , which is often hailed for its early negative portrayal of homophobia. But I find it compelling that Sally's love for Averil is not treated as deviant. It's just tragic for any babydyke to fall in love with a straight girl!”

The Captive - Eduard Bourdet (1926) / Theatre, “Irène is a lesbian tortured by her love for Madame d'Aiguines, but pretending engagement to Jacques (man). Though Irène attempts to leave Madame d'Aiguines and marry Jacques, she returns to the relationship, saying that it is "a prison to which I must return captive, despite myself". Madame d'Aiguines is not seen in the play, but leaves behind nosegays of violets for Irène, as a symbol of her love.” Read here

Women Lovers, or The Third Woman - Natalie Clifford Barney (1926) / “This long-lost novel recounts a passionate triangle of love and loss among three of the most daring women of belle époque Paris. In this barely disguised roman à clef, the legendary American heiress, writer, and arts patron Natalie Clifford Barney, the dashing Italian baroness Mimi Franchetti, and the beautiful French courtesan Liane de Pougy share erotic liaisons that break all taboos and end in devastation as one unexpectedly becomes the "third woman."

HERmione - H.D (1927) / “This autobiographical novel, an interior self-portrait of the poet H. D. (1886-1961) is what can best be described as a find, “a posthumous treasure”. In writing HERmione, H.D. returned to a year in her life that was peculiarly blighted. She was in her early twenties—a disappointment to her father, an odd duckling to her mother, an importunate, overgrown, unincarnated entity that had no place... Waves to fight against, to fight against alone... “I am Hermione Gart, a failure” —she cried in her dementia, “I am Her, Her, Her.” She had failed at Bryn Mawr, she felt hemmed in by her family, she did not yet know what she was going to do with her life. The return from Europe of the wild-haired George Lowndes (Ezra Pound) expanded her horizons but threatened her sense of self. An intense new friendship with Fayne Rabb (Frances Josepha Gregg), an odd girl who was, if not lesbian, then certainly of bisexual bent, brought an atmosphere that made her hold on everyday reality more tenuous. This stormy course led to mental breakdown, then to a turning point and a new beginning as her own true self, as Her"

Lucia Sánchez Saornil (1895 - 1970) / Spanish poet, putting her here because she’s part of generation ‘27. Read her Wikipedia page because she’s literally iconic (I can’t put the link here for some reason). I love her so much. She was an anarchist and very revolutionary. She wrote under a pen name to be able to explicitly write about women and lived with her partner (América Barroso) until she died. I haven’t been able to find an English translation of her writing, but I do have found a French one, so better than nothing

Dusty Answer - Rosamond Lehmann (1927) / Coming of age story of Judith Earle, sensitive, lonely, who grew up as an only child, but with 4 neighbors (all cousins) to make her company (and eventually harbor romantic feelings for). Then she moves to college, where she meets Jennifer and enters a relationship with her. Although the relationship is not explicitly romantic.

Ladies Almanack - Djuna Barnes (1928) / “Written as a medieval calendar, Ladies Almanack is a clever parody of the crazy sapphic circle of Natalie Barney and her Académie des Femmes. Sharp, biting, witty and transgressive, it is also a modern and pioneer in his vision of lesbianism and the issues surrounding relationships between women. The emotional endogamy, transvestism, motherhood, marriage or differences between sex and gender are already presented in the book with a charge of irony and acidity that is rare in the treatment of the topic. And it is also a breath of fresh air, an essential reference to know the world of lesbian women in all its breadth and diversity.”

1930s

The Angel and the Perverts - Lucie Delarue-Mardrus (around 1930) / "Set in the lesbian and gay circles of Paris in the 1920s, The Angel and the Perverts tells the story of a hermaphrodite born to upper class parents in Normandy and ignorant of his/her physical difference. As an adult, s/he lives a double life as Marion/Mario, passing undetected as a lesbian in the literary salons of the times, and as a gay man in the cocaine dens made famous by Colette." Technically not lesbian, but it’s “set in the lesbian cercles of Paris”

Broderie Anglaise - Violet Trefusis (1935) / Technically not a lesbian novel, but by a sapphic author. Do you know about Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West? Of course you do, everyone does. However, do you know than Violet Trefusis used to be Vita’s lover? They dated as teens and again as adults. There’s this whole gay toxic romantic circle between Violet, Vita, and Virginia. Violet wrote this book where she’s basically adding Vita, Virginia, and herself into the characters and dissing them. The plot centers on an encounter between Alexa, a celebrated English writer (Virginia), and her rival, Anne (Violet), and their discussion about their mutual lover, Lord Shorne (Vita).

Summer Will Show - Sylvia Townsend Warner (1936) / Sophia Willoughby's husband has a mistress who he cheats on her with. So she grabs him and packs him up to Paris with his mistress. She'll raise their children and he can have his mistress all day long if he wants, what she wants is to not see him. Sadly, her children die, and she goes to Paris, where she'll find her husband's mistress, and the two of them start an affair with eachother.

Diana: A Strange Autobiography - Diana Frederics (1939) / “«This is the unusual and compelling story of Diana, a tantalizingly beautiful woman who sought love in the strange by-paths of Lesbos. Fearless and outspoken, it dares to reveal that hidden world where perfumed caresses and half-whispered endearments constitute the forbidden fruits in a Garden of Eden where men are never accepted». This is how A Strange Autobiography was described when it was published in paperback in 1952. The original 1939 hardcover edition carried with it a Publisher's This is the autobiography of a woman who tried to be normal. In the book, Diana is presented as the unexceptional daughter of an unexceptional plutocratic family. During adolescence, she finds herself drawn with mysterious intensity to a girl friend. The narrative follows Diana's progress through college; a trial marriage that proves she is incapable of heterosexuality; intelectual and sexual education in Europe; and a series of lesbian relationships culminating in a final tormented triangular struggle with two other women for the individual salvation to be found in a happy couple.”

1940s

Nada - Carmen Laforet (1945) / ok fine, technically not explicitly lesbian, but the author is sapphic and the main character is such a lesbian. Set in post-civil war spain, Andrea, an 18 year old girl who just moved to Barcelona from her small town is starting university (studying literature). She lives with her mom’s side of the family that lives in the city, in a gothic horror-esque house that shows the decay of the family. Including great tragedy-filled characters and incredible prose, I enjoyed every single second of this. The title literally translates to “nothing” (there do is an English translation, it simply kept the og title). Andrea is an observer, a girl who feels so incredibly real, filled with dreams and doubts and love and loneliness. She becomes best friends with a girl from her class named Eda who she definitely has a crush on. She doesn’t date any man, is more, shows aversion to the idea, and there’s a moment in the book where she wishes she was “able to fall in love with him”. I mean c’mon. I loved every second of this it’s SO good please read it I beg you.

Hidden Path - Elena Fortún (somewhere around the 1940s) / Maria Luisa grows up on 1910s/1920s Spain. She is a peculiar girl, one who despises wearing dresses and wants to dress as a sailor, who could spend all day reading, who loves painting, and who swears she will never marry. Oh, and she's also a lesbian. Based on the author's life Maria Luisa is kind of the author's alter ego, and it follows her from childhood to adulthood while dealing with a world not created with people like her in mind. (Not published until 2016)

El Pensionado de Santa Casilda / The Boarding School of Saint Casilda - Elena Fortún (somewhere around the 1940s) / This book is not translated, but if you know spanish I recommend to pick it up. A group of 14/15 year old girls who go to the same spanish all-girls boarding school, and they are all in love with each other. It follows them into adulthood and how they navigate their lives being women and lesbians in the past (Not published until 2022). Messy lesbians at its finest. Like, seriously. Lesbians still in love with their ex and not over their first love, dating their friends and their ex friend, and the ex of their friend, and having sugar mommies, etc etc

1960s

Winter Love - Han Suyin (1962) / “As a college student in London during the bitterly cold winter of 1944, Red falls in love with her married classmate Mara. Their affair unleashes a physical passion, a jealousy, and a sense of self-doubt that sweep all her previous experiences aside and will leave her changed forever. Set against the rubble of the bombed city, in a time of gray austerity and deprivation, Winter Love recalls a life at its most vivid.”

The Chinese Garden - Rosemary Manning (1962) / “A "very intelligent, sensitive, and compelling" novel of adolescent rebellion and sexual awakening at a girls' boarding school (Anthony Burgess). Set in a repressive British girls' boarding school in the late 1920s—where not only sexuality but femininity is squashed—the novel is the coming-of-age story of sixteen-year-old Rachel, a sensitive, bright, and innocent student. Rachel finds refuge from the Spartan conditions, strict regime, fierce discipline, and formidable headmistress at Bampfield in a secret garden. She also finds friendship there, with a rebellious girl named Margaret. As Margaret has her mind expanded by a scandalous tome entitled The Well of Loneliness, she engages in a bold, forbidden act—the ultimate transgression at Bampfield—and Rachel is drawn into the turmoil. Confronted with the persecution of her friend and troubled by a growing awareness of her own sensuality, Rachel faces an imposible choice that drives her to desperate measures.”

The Microcosm - Maureen Duffy (1966) / “At the House of Shades, Matt, a bar-room philosopher, tries to make sense of the disparate lives which cross here -- of Judy who saves herself and her finery for a Saturday night lover, of Steve the gym teacher who dreads a chance encounter with a pupil in this twilight environment, and of Matt herself, who needs these vicarious exchanges despite the security of her relationship with Rae and her sense that this lesbian sanctuary is a prison too, enforcing the guilt and estrangement of the city streets beyond. Elsewhere there are women such as Marie, trapped within an unwanted marriage and unable to admit her sexuality, and Cathy, for whom the discovery that she is not 'the only one in the world' is an affirmation of her existence. With its innovative structure and style, perfectly mirroring the voices and experiences of women forced by society to live on the margins, The Microcosm remains as powerful today as when originally published in 1966.”

A Place For Us / Patience & Sarah - Isabel Miller (1969) / First named A Place For Us, then changed to Patience & Sarah. Not necessarily obscure, but no one ever talks about it. Based on a real life story, “In the early nineteenth century, in a puritanical New England town, two women fall in love. With no one to guide or support them, Patience and Sarah try to follow their hearts. Defying society and history, they buy a farm and discover they can live together, away from the world that had sought to limit them and their love…”

1970s

Beginning with O - Olga Broumas (1977) / A poetry collection by a lesbian, greek writer.

The Same Sea as Every Summer - Esther Tusquets (1978) / A stream-of-consciousness type book, by an author who has been compared to Virginia Woolf. “Poetic and erotic, El mismo mar de todos los veranos ( The Same Sea As Every Summer ) was originally published in Spain in 1978, three years after the death of Franco and in the same year that government censorship was abolished. But even in a new era that fostered more liberal attitudes toward divorce, homosexuality, and women's rights, this novel by Esther Tusquets was controversial. Its feminine view of sexuality (in particular, its depiction of a lesbian relationship) was unprecedented in Spanish fiction. The disillusioned narrator of The Same Sea As Every Summer is a middle-aged woman whose unhappy life prompts a journey into she past to rediscover a more authentic self. However, events force her to realize that love or trust will inevitably be repaid by betrayal. This pattern assumes various forms in a story that moves forward as well as backward, playing out in Barcelona among the haute bourgeoisie. Richly textured with allusion, The Same Sea As Every Summer is also a commentary on post-Civil War Spanish society by an author who grew up during the repressive Franco regime.”

Así es: Mi vida 3 - Victorina Durán (somewhere in the late 1970s) / So, not translated but has great historical value. Basically, this is the third book out of Victorina’s memories that she wrote in the 70s. Victorina (1899 - 1993) was so cool. She was an icon. She was a sceneographer, a painter, a costume designer, writer (aside from her memories, she has some theatre plays), etc. She actually wanted to be an actress. She was part of the Círculo Sáfico de Madrid (the sapphic club of Madrid, a club made out of her and her friends, who were sapphic) among others. She never hid her sexuality. She was friends with almost all the importante well known people in 1920s / 1930s Spain. This book is the third one out of her memories, and it’s focused explicitly on her relationships (all with women). She said she wanted to focus on them and give them a book of their own, so this is of great historical value, giving insights into the queer spaces, lesbian scene, wlw relationships and being gay at that time. I need to read it so bad if someone has a pdf please tell me I’ll send them my fanfic wips

1980s

On Strike against God - Joanna Russ (1980) / “A lost feminist masterwork by feminist and speculative fiction icon, Joanna Russ, about a young lesbian's coming-to-consciousness during the social upheaval of the 1970s. When Esther, a recently divorced professor, has her first lesbian love affair, the fallout brings her everyday miseries into focus and precipitates a personal crisis. She flees her small, upstate New York college town, grapples with gender confusion and the ghosts of therapists past, and fumbles her way through comedic sexual self-discovery, oscillating all the while between visionary confidence and debilitating self-doubt. Confronted with the homophobia of straight feminists and the misogyny of gay men, Esther is left to forge a language for her feminism and her burgeoning lesbian desire. On Strike Against God is quintessentially experimental but accesible, alternately wry and earnest, poignantly didactic, playful, and emotionally charged.” From a review: “For anyone like me who's unfamiliar with the quote which inspired the title: A judge was sentencing a picketer from the early twentieth century shirtwaist-makers strike (the first large scale strike by women), and he told her, "You are striking against God and Nature, whose law is that man shall earn his bread by the sweat of his brow. You are on strike against God!"

Faultline - Sheila Ortiz Taylor (1982) / “An outrageous, zesty, funny Lesbian novel; the adventures of a Lesbian mother with six children, three hundred rabbits, and very relaxed attitude."

The Swashbuckler - Lee Lynch (1985) / "Frenchy Tonneau leaves her closeted home in the Bronx for the bars of New York City, the freedom of Provincetown, and the liberation of Greenwich Village in the 1960s and 1970s. Her hangouts, her women, her small yet universal world tell the stories of the times - and the stories of lesbians today. A timeless journey and a riveting read, The Swashbuckler is heart-wrenching, heartwarming, and unforgettable." Butch main character, lesbian life in the 60s/70s, lesbian-feminism, butchfemme, etc.

Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café - Fannie Flagg (1987) / listen, LISTEN, I know this book is not obscure, absolutely not given it even has a movie adaptation, but people do not give this book the love it deserves. I'm constantly thinking about Idgie and Ruth, they are one of my favorite fictional couples ever, and also my favorite lesbian fictional couple. They are such interesting characters with such an interesting dynamic and I just love them so so much. A femmebutch couple in 1920s Alabama, who go through many hardships but still find eachother, still end together, and even have a restaurant, live together, and raise a kid. And not only them, but the book is made out of 4 main characters (or 3 depends on if you see Ninny as a main character or not), Idgie, Ruth, and Ninny and Evelyn. Evelyn, an 80s depressed housewife in her 40s finds solace and a true friend in Ninny, a 90 year old woman staying at a nursing home (not ‘cause she needs it, but to keep a friend company). Ninny tells her the story of Idgie (her, kind of, sister) and Ruth, her best friend and lover. Evelyn finds feminism and hope through the memories, getting inspired by Idgie and Ruth's story and becoming happier in her life. It has several points of views and it jumps between years (first 1980s, then 1920s, then 1940s, then 1980s again, etc) and it also talks a lot about racism in 1920s Alabama, and i'll just stop because I love this book so much and i could go on forever. Oh, and also they murder a man and feed him to a police officer.

Lovers' choice - Becky Birtha (1987) / A collection of eleven short stories about lesbian women.

1990s

Out Of Time - Paula Martinac (1990) / Susan finds an old photograph album with pictures from the 1920s, all pictures being of a group of women (four in total). She's told it's not for sale, but she steals it anyway. After some digging, she finds out than two of the girls from the photos were lovers! And not only is Susan trying to navigate the details of her life and of her relationship with her own girlfriend, but she obsesses over the women in the picture, and eventually, the spirits of the girls start to haunt her.

The Gilda Stories - Jewele Gomez (1991) / Gilda escaped from slavery in the 1850s, until she's taken by a vampire who (consensually) turns her into a vampire too. Gilda moves through the decades finding community and connections and helping people, and slowly builds a place for herself in time. (Fine, not actually obscure since I’ve seen it all around the internet, but it just sounds so good)

The Dyke and the Dybbuk - Ellen Galford (1993) / “Dybbuk Kokos, a feisty soul-stealing demon of medieval Jewish folklore, has been trapped in a tree for two hundred years. When lightning strikes and Kokos is released, she finds herself in the world of the 20th century -- as the disgruntled employee of the multinational corporation, Mephistco. In order to keep her job and fulfill an ancient curse, Kokos must hunt down the descendant of the woman she was instructed to haunt centuries ago. No easy task, as that descendant happens to be Rainbow Rosenbloom -- London taxi-driver, film critic, lesbian, and niece to a pack of formidable aunts. As the hilarious tale unfolds, both Rainbow and her dybbuk discover that History still holds a few tricks up her sleeve.”

Annabel and I - Chris Anne Wolfe (1996) / Plot summed up by a reader: “Half-orphaned Jenny-Wren spends her summers at her uncle Jake's fishing lodge on Lake Chautauqua. One summer day when she's twelve years old while boating with her uncle, she finds a girl on the end of a dock reaching futilely for her escaped model boat. Jenny swims over and rescues the boat, meeting the orphaned Annabel, spending her summers at her grandmother's summer estate. This begins a friendship that endures and grows for years as the two girls spent each summer together, only to be separated at the end of summer. As the two grow older, they realize a magic is at work that keeps bringing them together, despite the near century between them. As the summers come and go, the two young women discover their love for each other, and the realization that their love is imposible. Can their love persist beyond those fleeting summers and flourish, in the face of time?”. Review from a reader: “The foreword says this book is for all wlw, and that, "Because there are as many different ways to love a woman as there are women who love women; it's the loving, not the label, that really matters." That really captured the core of what this book does, it treasures the love we create with our bare hands for and with another woman.” A time travel romance (Jenny is from the 1980s, Annabel from 1890s)

Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice - April Sinclair (1996) / Bisexual mc. “Jean "Stevie" Stevenson, the indomitable heroine of "Coffee Will Make You Black," is back—somewhat older and wiser, with some experience and a college degree -- diving headfirst into the hot tub, free love, yoga, and vegetarian lifestyle of 1970s San Francisco. In this liberating new world of raised consciousness, mind-expanding, and disco-dancing, a soul sister with passion and daring has room to experiment with life and love to find out who she "really" is.”

Beyond the Pale - Elana Dykewomon (1997) / “The story of two Jewish women living through times of darkness and inhumanity in the early 20th century, capturing their undaunted love and courage in luminous and moving prose. The richly textured novel details Gutke Gurvich's odyssey from her apprenticeship as a midwife in a Russian shtetl to her work in the suffrage movement in New York. Interwoven with her tale is that Chava Meyer, who was attended by Gurvich at her birth and grew up to survive the pogrom that took the lives of her parents. Throughout the book, historical background plays a large part: Jewish faith and traditions, the practice of midwifery, the horrific conditions in prerevolutionary Russia and New York sweatshops, and the determined work of labor unionists and suffragists." While it is a romance, it's also more than that, it's about the life of Jewish women in the 20th century.

Crystal Diary - Frankie Hucklenbroich (1997) / “Frankie Hucklenbroich's razor-edged, compelling, often wryly humorous story hustles us from the blood-and-beer-drenched corners of her St. Louis meat-packing district '50s youth, through the sex-soaked Hollywood alleys of her '60s baby butch years, into the druggy metropolis of '70s San Francisco. Moving relentlessly from one woman to another until faces and bodies blur, scamming her existence, learning what the street has to how to make a buck, how to make it with a woman, how to court the dangers of crystal meth, how to survive.”

Hers 3 - Terry Wolverton (1999) / Short stories

2000s

Valencia - Michelle Tea (2000) / "Valencia is the fast-paced account of one girl's search for love and high times in the drama-filled dyke world of San Francisco's Mission District. Through a string of narrative moments, Tea records a year lived in a world of girls: there's knife-wielding Marta, who introduces Michelle to a new world of radical sex; Willa, Michelle's tormented poet-girlfriend; Iris, the beautiful boy-dyke who ran away from the South in a dust cloud of drama; and Iris's ex, Magdalena Squalor, to whom Michelle turns when Iris breaks her heart."

Naked in the Promised Land: A Memoir - Lillian Faderman (2003) / “Born in 1940, Lillian Faderman is the only child of an uneducated and unmarried Jewish woman who left Latvia to seek a better life in America. Lillian grew up in poverty, but fantasised about becoming an actress. When her dreams led to the dangerous, seductive world of the sex trade and sham-marriages in Hollywood of the fifties, she realised she was attracted to women, and that show-biz is as cruel as they say. Desperately seeking to make her life meaningful, she studied at Berkeley; paying her way by working as a pin-up model and burlesque dancer, hiding her lesbian affairs from the outside world. At last she became a brilliant student and the woman who becomes a loving partner, a devoted mother, an acclaimed writer and ground-breaking pioneer of gay and lesbian scholarship. Told with wrenching immediacy and great power, Naked in the Promised Land is the story of an exceptional woman and her remarkable, unorthodox life.”

Her Naked Skin - Rebecca Lenkiewicz (2008) / Theatre. “Militancy in the Suffragette Movement is at its height. Thousands of women of all classes serve time in Holloway Prison in their fight to gain the vote. Amongst them is Lady Celia Cain who feels trapped by both the policies of the day and the shackles of a frustrating marriage. Inside, she meets a young seamstress, Eve Douglas, and her life spirals into an erotic but dangerous chaos. London 1913. A crucial moment when, with emancipation almost in sight, women refuse to let the establishment stand in their way.”

The Rain Before it Falls - Jonathan Coe (2008) / “A story of three generations of women whose destinies reach from the English countryside in World War Il to London, Toronto, and southern France at the turn of the new century. Evacuated to Shropshire during the Blitz, eight-year-old Rosamond forged a bond with her cousin Beatrix that augured the most treasured and devastating moments of her life. She recorded these memories sixty years later, just before her death, on cassettes she bequeathed to a woman she hadn't seen in decades. When her beloved niece, Gill, plays the tapes in hopes of locating this unwitting heir, she instead hears a family saga swathed in promise and the story of how Beatrix, starved of her mother's affection, conceived a fraught bloodline that culminated in heart-stopping tragedy—its chief victim being her own granddaughter. And as Rosamond explores the ties that bound these generations together and shaped her experience all along, Gill grows increasingly haunted by how profoundly her own recollections--not to mention the love she feels for her grown daughters, listening alongside her-- are linked to generations of women she never knew. A stirring, masterful portrait of motherhood and family secrets, "The Rain Before It Falls" is also a meditation on the tapestries we weave out of the past, whether transcendent or horrific.”

2010s

When We Were Outlaws - Jeanne Cordova (2011) / "A sweeping memoir, a raw and intimate chronicle of a young activist torn between conflicting personal longings and political goals. When We Were Outlaws offers a rare view of the life of a radical lesbian during the early cultural struggle for gay rights, Women's Liberation, and the New Left of the 1970s. Brash and ambitious, activist Jeanne Cordova is living with one woman and falling in love with another, but her passionate beliefs tell her that her first duty is "to the revolution".—to change the world and end discrimination against gays and lesbians."

Call Me Esteban - Leila Kalamuié (2015) / “With unapologetic vividness, Lejla Kalamujic depicts pre- and post-war Sarajevo by charting a daughter coping with losing her mother, but discovering herself. From imagined conversations with Franz Kafka to cozy apartments, psychiatric wards, and cemeteries, Call Me Esteban is a piercing meditation on a woman grasping at memories in the name of claiming her identity.”

Lancelot: Her Story - Carol Anne Douglas (2015) / Arthurian legend retelling! "A young girl sees a man rape and murder her mother. She grabs a stick and puts out his eye. Her father raises her as a boy so she will be safe from men's attacks. She practices and practices until she becomes a great fighter - Lancelot. She wants to protect women—and she does. Lancelot hears about King Arthur, a just king across the sea, and journeys to earn a place at Camelot. She vows to serve him. but fears that Arthur and his men will discover that she is a woman and send her away. Lancelot is shocked to realize that she is falling in love with the king's wife, Guinevere. Guinevere is a strong woman who would have preferred to be queen in her own right, not through marriage. Saxons attack Arthur's kingdom, and Lancelot finds out that fighting a war is far different from saving women in single combat. The savagery of war devastates her, she is living a lie, but she is also deeply in love…”

Jigsaw Youth - Tiffany Scandal (2015) / “Lose your best friend because you finally Came Out. Spend days driving aimlessly because there's nothing to do. Serve your rapist breakfast because you need your job. Fall asleep to gunshots and sirens because that's the only sense of home you've ever known. Hold hands with ghosts. Your life is in pieces, but you can't be broken. Wipe off the blood. Tired of being told who to be, what to wear, how to act and who to fuck. Break the rules and learn fast how to never get caught. All you need is nothing, but you're happy with your car, guitar and camera. Throwing around polaroids of tits like they're money, you swap stories about adventures and realize that we're all running away from something.”

Creatures of Will & Temper - Molly Tanzer (2017) / Recommended as a sapphic picture of dorian gray retelling, it tells the story of Dorina (hedonistic, art lover, and woman-kisser), her older sister Evadne (fencer and responsable), Lady Henrietta (suit-wearing, cigar-smoking lesbian who is a horrible influence), and Basil, Dorina and Evadne's uncle, and who's character has not changed much. They also summon demons.

The Adventures of China Iron - Gabriela Cabezón Cámara (2017) / “1872. The pampas of Argentina. China is a young woman eking out an existence in a remote gaucho encampment. After her no-good husband is conscripted into the army, China bolts for freedom, setting off on a wagon journey through the pampas in the company of her new-found friend Liz, a settler from Scotland. While Liz provides China with a sentimental education and schools her in the nefarious ways of the British Empire, their eyes are opened to the wonders of Argentina's richly diverse flora and fauna, cultures and languages, as well as to the ruthless violence involved in nation-building. This subversive retelling of Argentina's foundational gaucho epic Martín Fierro is a celebration of the colour and movement of the living world, the open road, love and sex, and the dream of lasting freedom. With humour and sophistication, Gabriela Cabezón Cámara has created a joyful, hallucinatory novel that is also an incisive critique of national myths.”

2020s

Thirst - Marina Yuszczuk (2020) / “Across two different time periods, two women confront fear, loneliness, mortality, and a haunting yearning that will not let them rest. It is the twilight of Europe's bloody bacchanals, of murder and feasting without end. In the nineteenth century, a vampire arrives from Europe to the coast of Buenos Aires and, for the second time in her life, watches as villages transform into a cosmopolitan city, one that will soon be ravaged by yellow fever. She must adapt, intermingle with humans, and be discreet. In present-day Buenos Aires, a woman finds herself at an impasse as she grapples with her mother's terminal illness and her own relationship with motherhood. When she first encounters the vampire in a cemetery, something ignites within the two women-and they cross a threshold from which there's no turning back. With echoes of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and written in the vein of feminist Gothic writers like Shirley Jackson, Daphne du Maurier, and Carmen Maria Machado, Thirst plays with the boundaries of genre while exploring the limits of female agency, the consuming power of desire, and the fragile vitality of even the most immortal of creatures.” Lesbian vampires!

The Lives We Left Behind - Olivia Bratherton-Wilson (2021) / I read this one so long ago and I don’t remember everything with detail, just than I really liked it. “1943. Seventeen-year-old Dorotea Miller is given the responsibility of managing the family farm when her father and brother are conscripted, leaving her with only her distant mother and the unfamiliar Land Girls for company. Angeline Carter and her four younger brothers are evacuated to the Welsh countryside to escape the bombings; the Miller farm is nothing like they've seen before and certainly more than Angeline bargained for when she meets the surly, unwelcoming farmer's daughter. Despite their rocky start, misunderstandings and tragedies, Dorothea and Angeline realise that their friendship may run deeper than either of them had prepared for.” There is also a sequel! That one I haven’t read tho.

Agatha of Little Neon - Claire Luchette (2021) / "Agatha has lived every day of the last nine years with her sisters (the other nuns) : they work together, laugh together, pray together. Their world is contained within the little house they share. The four of them are devoted to Mother Roberta and to their quiet, purposeful life. But when the parish goes broke, the sisters are forced to move. They land in Woonsocket, a formermill town now dotted with wind turbines. […] Agatha is forced to venture out into the world alone, to teach math at a local all-girls high school, where for the first time in years she will have to reckon with what she sees and feels all on her own. Who will she be if she isn't with her sisters? These women, the church, have been her home--or has she just been hiding? […] It is a novel about female friendship and devotion, the roles made available to us, and how we become ourselves." Lesbian nuns

Burning Butch - R/B Mertz (2022) / A butch lesbian memoir of their life growing up catholic and surviving in the world, while dealing with faith and what it shape it takes to them.

London on My Mind - Clara Alves (2022) / So, the English translation just came out! Funny thing is, I started this in 2022 even tho I don’t know Portuguese (translating paragraph by paragraph with google translate) and it was pretty good. I haven’t finished it (translating a whole book with google translate is definitely work) but I’m so ready to read it now that it’s translated. Dayana (seventeen, black, plus size, and Brazilian) is forced to move to London with her father (who abandoned her mother and her) and his new family after her mother died. She’s having a pretty horrible time, until, on a walk, finds a redhead girl… escaping Buckingham Palace?? So of course, she helps her escape. Who exactly is this girl? Why was she escaping?? The answer, her name is Diana and she’s sort of (super) the princess of Wales. Huh.

Helen House - Kayla Kumari Upadhyaya (2022) / “Right before meeting her girlfriend Amber's parents for the first time, the unnamed narrator of Helen House learns that she and her partner share a similar both of their sisters are dead. As the narrator wonders what else Amber has been hiding, she struggles with her own secret--using sex as a coping mechanism--as well as confusion and guilt over whether she really cares about Amber, or if she's only using her for sex. When they arrive at the parents' rural upstate home, a quaint but awkward first meeting unravels into a nightmare in which the narrator finds herself stranded in a family's decades-long mourning ritual. At turns terrifying and erotic, Helen House is a queer ghost story about trauma and grief.”

Promises in Pompeii - Violet Morley (2022) / Set in Ancient Rome, it tells the story of two girls, Octavia and Helvia, childhood friends, and their journey through life as women and through their feelings. In the author ig, she said it includes: adventure/survival, against the odds, brothels, butch/femme, coming of age, disguised as a man, first love, friends to lovers, opposites attract, etc. I’m currently reading it, and I really like it so far.

Nettleblack - Nat Reeve (2022) / “Subversive and playful, Nettleblack is a neo-Victorian queer farce that follows a runaway heir/ess and an organisation of crime-fighting misfits as they struggle with the misdeeds besieging a rural English town. The year is 1893. Having run away from her family home to escape an arranged marriage, Welsh heiress Henrietta “Henry” Nettleblack finds herself ambushed, robbed, and then saved by the mysterious Dallyangle Division - part detective agency, part neighbourhood watch. Desperate to hide from her older sisters, Henry disguises herself and enlists. But the Division soon finds itself under siege from a spate of crimes and must fight for its very survival. Assailed by strange feelings for her new colleague - the tomboyish, moody Septimus - Henry quickly sees that she's lost in a small rural town with surprisingly big problems. And to make things worse, sinister forces threaten to expose her as the missing Nettleblack sister. As the net starts to close around Henry, the new people in her life seem to offer her a way out, and a way forward. Is the world she's lost in also a place she can find herself? Told through journal entries and letters, Nettleblack is a picaresque ride through the perils and joys of finding your place in the world, challenging myths about queerness - particularly transness - as a modern phenomenon, while exploring the practicalities of articulating queer perspectives when you're struggling for words.”

Sunburn - Chloe Michelle (2023) / In Ireland, the early 1990s, Lucy feels out of place in her small town. She falls in love with her best friend and she has to find a way to find herself, make a meaning out of her feelings, and hide the truth from her conservative small town and religious peers.

Lucky Red - Claudia Cravens (2023) / "A vibrant and cinematic debut set in the American West about a scrappy orphan who finds friendship, romance, and her true calling as a revenge-seeking gunslinger." Lesbian cowboys

Neon Roses - Rachel Dawson (2023) / “Eluned Hughes is stuck. It's 1984 in a valley in south Wales: the miners' strike is ravaging her community; her sister's swanned off with a Thatcherite policeman; and her boyfriend Lloyd keeps bringing up marriage. And if they play '99 Red Balloons' on the radio one more time, she might just lose her mind. Then the fundraising group Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners comes down from London, and she meets June, a snaggle-toothed blonde in a too-big leather jacket. Suddenly, Eluned isn't stuck any more - she's in freefall. June's an artist and an activist, living in a squat in Camden. With June, Eluned can imagine a completely different - and exciting - life for herself. But as her family struggles with the strike, and her relationship with her sister deteriorates, should she really leave it all behind? From the Valleys to the nightclubs of Cardiff, London and Manchester, NEON ROSES is a heartwarming, funny and a little bit filthy queer coming-of-age story with a cracking '80s soundtrack.”

Tale of Three Ships - Darcia G. Laucerica (2023) / “In a world under the thumb of an empire, pirates sail away searching for a breath of freedom. But even the ocean is tainted by the powerful nation that has spread lies about women being bad luck at sea. Glenlivet has never cared about the fear-mongering. Her ship welcomes those who are rejected and need a home. For all the sailor' s superstitions and "codes" of piracy the captain mocks every day, not leaving the docks when it's dark is a personal boundary she swears by ever since acquiring The Outsider about eight years ago. She just might have to break her own rules to protect her crew, escape the claws of a king who wants her dead, and murder the man who raised her.” I’ve heard so many good things about this. Lesbian main character, with mlm and trans side characters. Author in social media said it includes: Chosen pirate family, sirens, indigenous and latine inspired characters, anti-colonialism, and people fighting injustice and abuse.

How to Breathe Ash - Alex Nonymous (2023) / “Eleanor Perrault doesn't know if there's a right way to handle being suddenly orphaned at sixteen, but it's definitely not the way that she's been coping with it. It's been two months since her parents died and despite her autism normally causing her to be even more emotionally volatile than most of her peers, she still hasn't even managed to cry over them yet. On top of trying to learn how to grieve properly, Eleanor's juggling starting a new semester in a new town with an aunt who seems eternally disappointed in her and a cousin who's randomly decided to start hating her. And a crush on the incredibly pretty president of her new school's QSA. How to Breathe Ash is a contemporary YA Cinderella retelling following Eleanor through elaborate dances, anonymous chat rooms, and learning the right way to not be alright.” Autistic mc! While I haven’t read anything from this author (yet) they have lots of wlw/nblw/nblnb books with autistic main characters.

War and Solace: A Tale from Norvegr - Edale Lane (2023) / “A battle-hardened shieldmaiden. A pacifist healer. Can the two find love amid the chaos of war? From Edale Lane, the award-winning, best-selling author of Sigrid & Elyn, comes a new Tale from Norgevr! Tyrdis is a stalwart warrior raised to value honor, courage, and military prowess. When a traumatic injury renders the powerful protector helpless, she depends on the lovely, tender-hearted Adelle to restore her from the brink of death. Is it merely gratitude or true love that draws Tyrdis to the healer? Defying cultural norms, Adelle despises violence and those who propagate it, but when her shieldmaiden patient saves the life of her beloved little girl, she must reexamine her values. Could Tyrdis be more than a stiff, efficient killer with an amazing body? In a kingdom steeped in conflict with their neighbors and internal strife, shocking secrets are revealed, and both women strive to ensure justice prevails. Can they overcome their differences to safeguard their friends, end the war, and fall in love, or will fate prove to be a cruel sovereign?” Historical fiction set during 643. The author also has another two sapphic books set in the same time period.

Maddalena and the Dark - Julia Fine (2023) / “A novel set in 18th-century Venice at a prestigious music school, about two girls drawn together by a dangerous wager Venice, 1717. Fifteen-year-old Luisa has only wanted one thing: to be the best at violin. As a student at the Ospedale della Pietà, she hopes to join the highest ranks of its illustrious girls' orchestra and become a protégé of the great Antonio Vivaldi. Luisa is good at violin, but she is not the best. She has peers, but she does not have friends. Until Maddalena. After a scandal threatens her noble family's reputation, Maddalena is sent to the Pietà to preserve her marriage prospects. When she meets Luisa, Maddalena feels the stirrings of a friendship unlike anything she has known. But Maddalena has a secret: she has hatched a dangerous plot to rescue her future her own way. When she invites Luisa into her plans, promising to make her dreams come true, Luisa doesn't hesitate. But every wager has its price, and as the girls are drawn into the decadent world outside the Pietà's walls, they must decide what it is they truly want—and what they will do to pay for it. Lush and heady, swirling with music and magic, Maddalena and the Dark is a Venetian fairytale about the friendship between two girls and the boundless desire that will set them free, if it doesn't consume them first.”

Greasepaint - Hannah Levene (2024) / “Set against a backdrop of 1950s New York, this experimental novel follows an ensemble cast of all-singing, all-dancing butch dykes and Yiddish anarchists through eternal Friday nights, around the table, and at the bar. In one of many bars, Frankie Gold sings while Sammy Silver plays piano after a day job at the anarchist newspaper. The Butch Piano Players Union meets in the corner next to the jukebox. Laur smokes on the back steps, sweaty thigh to thigh with Vic. Frankie's childhood sweetheart, Lily, turns up at yet another bar to see a second Sammy play every Friday night. And before all that, there's always dinner at Marg's. Fabulated out of oral histories, anthologies, as well as the fiction of the butch-femme bar scene and Yiddish anarchist tradition, Greasepaint is a rollicking whirlwind of music and politics- the currents of community embodied and held inside the bar.”

Perfume & Pain - Anna Dorn (2024) / “A controversial Los Angeles author attempts to revive her career and finally find true love in this hilarious nod to 1950s lesbian pulp fiction. Having recently moved both herself and her formidable perfume bottle collection into a tiny bungalow in Los Angeles, mid-list author Astrid Dahl finds herself back in the Zoom writer's group she cofounded, Sapphic Scribes, after an incident that leaves her and her career lightly canceled. But she temporarily forgets all that by throwing herself into a few sexy distractions—like Ivy, a grad student who smells like metallic orchids and is researching 1950s lesbian pulp, or her new neighbor, Penelope, who smells like patchouli. When Astrid receives an unexpected call from her agent with the news that actress and influencer Kat Gold wants to adapt her previous novel for TV, Astrid finally has a chance to resurrect her waning career. But the pressure causes Astrid's worst vice to rear its head—the Patricia Highsmith, a blend of Adderall, alcohol, and cigarettes-and results in blackouts and a disturbing series of events. Unapologetically feminine yet ribald, steamy yet hilarious, Anna Dorn has crafted an exquisite homage to the lesbian pulp of yore, reclaiming it for our internet—and celebrity-obsessed world”

How It Works Out - Myriam Lacroix (2024) / “Surreal, darkly comic and achingly tender, Myriam Lacroix's debut sees a queer love story play out in many alternate realities. What if you had the chance to rewrite the course of your relationship, again and again, in the hopes that it would work out? After Myriam and Allison fall in love at a show in run-down punk house, their relationship starts to unfold through a series of hypotheticals. What if they became mothers by finding a baby in an alley? What if the only cure for Myriam's depression was Allison's flesh? What if they were B-list celebrities, famous for writing a book about building healthy lesbian relationships? How much darker-or sexier-would their dynamic be if one were a power-hungry CEO, and the other her lowly employee? From the fantasies of early romance to the slow encroaching of violence that unravels the fantasy, each reality builds to complete a brilliant, painfully funny portrait of love's many promises and perils. Equal parts sexy and profane, unsentimental, and gut-wrenching, How It Works Out is a formally inventive, arresting, uncanny exploration of queerness, love, and our drive for connection, in any and all possible worlds.”

All the Painted Stars - Emma Denny (@a-kind-of-merry-war) (2024) / “Oxfordshire 1362. When Lily Barden discovers her best friend Johanna's hand in marriage is being awarded as the main prize at a tournament, she is determined to stop it. Disguised as a knight, she infiltrates the contest, preparing to fight for Jo's hand. But her conduct ruffles feathers, and when a dangerous incident escalates out of Lily's control, Jo must help her escape. Finding safety with a local brewster, Lily and Jo soon settle into their new freedom, and amongst blackberry bushes and lakeside walks an unexpected relationship blossoms. But when Jo's past caches up with her and Lily's reckless behaviour threatens their newfound happiness, both women realise that choices must always come at a cost. The question they need to ask is if the cost is worth the price of love…” The cover of the edition coming out in November is SO pretty and lately I’ve been looking for medieval sapphic books like crazy.

Gentlest of Wild Things - Sarah Underwood (2024) / So this book is by the same author as Lies We Sing to the Sea, and I’m in no rush to read that book (a so-called odyssey retelling even tho the author has admitted to never actually reading the odyssey??) but this one looks compelling. “On the island of Zakynthos, nothing is more powerful than Desire-love itself, bottled and sold to the highest bidder by Leandros, a power-hungry descendent of the god Eros. Eirene and her beloved twin sister, Phoebe, have always managed to escape Desire's thrall. Until Leandros' wife dies mysteriously and he sets his sights on Phoebe. Determined to keep her sister safe, Eirene strikes a bargain with Leandros: if she can complete the four elaborate tasks he sets her, he will find another bride. But it soon becomes clear that the tasks are part of something bigger; something related to Desire and Lamia, the strange, neglected daughter Leandros keeps locked away. Lamia knows her father hides her for her own protection, though as she and Eirene grow closer, she finds herself longing for the outside world. But the price of freedom is high, and with something deadly-something hungry- stalking the night, that price must be paid in blood…” The author said that “Gentlest of Wild Things is a sapphic vampiric twist on the story of Eros and Psyche”

The End Crowns All - Bea Fitzgerald (2024) / “Princess. Priestess. The most beautiful girl in Troy. Casandra is used to being adored - and when her patron god, Apollo, offers her the power of prophecy, she sees an opportunity to rise even higher. But when she fails to uphold her end of the agreement, she discovers just how very far she has to fall. No one believes her visions. And they all seem to be of one girl - and the war she's going to bring to Troy's shores. Helen fled Sparta in pursuit of love, but it's soon clear Troy is a court like any other, with all its politics and backstabbing. And one princess seems particularly intent on driving her from the city before disaster can strike... But when war finally comes, it's more than the army at their walls they must contend with. Casandra and Helen might hold the key to reweaving fate itself - especially with the prophetic strands drawing them ever closer together. But how do you change your future when the gods themselves are dictating your demise?” Sapphic retelling of the iliad where Helen and Kassandra end up together

Idolfire - Grace Curtis (2025, March 11) / “An epic sapphic fantasy roadtrip inspired by the fall of Rome, from the Sunday Times bestselling author of Frontier and Floating Hotel On one side of the world, Aleya Ana-Ulai is desperate for a chance. Her family have written her off as a mistake, but she's determined to prove every last one of them wrong. On the other, Kirby of Wall's End is searching for redemption. An ancient curse tore her life apart, but to fix it, she'll have to leave everything behind. Fate sets them both on the path to Nivela, a city once poised to conquer the world with the power of a thousand stolen gods. Now the gates are closed and the old magic slumbers. Dead - or waiting for a spark to light it anew... A character-driven science-fantasy road trip book with sword fights and a slowburn romance, Idolfire delves into the vastness of history and the terrifying power of organized faith.”

If asked, I’ll also do one with gay books

(No 1950s lesbians because I don’t like pulp fiction :( )

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