#Verse : Mysterious Attraction

[mrs-trophy-wife]

Call forth things that are unseen as though they were seen, and the unseen becomes seen.

[utterlyotterlyx]

The Girl Who Cheated Death

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - There was no one in any universe who would dare to approach you without fear, that is until you meet a certain Shadowsinger. Once stone cold and vicious in your own right, you soon come to realise that perhaps all it takes is a pretty male with hazel eyes to set you free.

Warnings - kinda dark reader, stone cold, lots of sass, swearing, drinking, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of trauma, some subtle sexual tension, everyone being afraid of the reader because she's giving death vibes x

Word Count - 8.9k

Physical descriptions are present in this fic.

Based on this ask! Thank you @cleverzonkwombatsludge for the request 🫶🏻

"Can I offer some criticism?"

"If it's constructive..."

"You're an idiot," the unwinding braid at your side loosened more with each twist of your fingers, and to your right, through the reflection of the recently polished vanity mirror stood Amren, your closest friend that you had gained when you had first moved to the Night Court one hundred years ago.

It had been no accident that you and Amren had met, in fact, she had been the one to seek you out after a rather intriguing show you had directed at Rita's. Amren watched man after man almost break their necks to look at you, the most beautiful resident of the Night Court, and in all of Prythian. Hair that reminded Amren of a black widow swayed behind you in perfectly loose curls, it was sinfully dark and shone in the faelight, shimmering so brilliantly that Amren had thought that threads of silken web were weaved between each glossy black strand.

Amren also remembered the dress you had worn, it was short and tight, the fabric hugged every curve of your body and kissed the thighs that were connected to those incredible taut calves. If looks could kill then the Night Court would certainly fall to its knees.

It wasn't what you looked like that caught Amren's attention, however. It was the way that every single person in that room shrunk away from your stare, a stone iced glare that was void of any life, all that lay in them was ire and boredom, which quite perfectly summed up what you felt about life in general.

The firedrake sought you out, coming by the gallery you had opened in the city which held an array of carefully collected artworks and mysteriously rare antiques, just to get a glimpse of you, to see the one who had been the first to pique her eye in centuries. Amren had not been disappointed by you. There was something about the way you carried yourself that attracted her to your aura, the perfect posture and slightly hooded eyelids that encased walnut orbs that glimmered gold in the sun. That wasn't all, no, it was also the way you spoke, so sultry and dark, but there was a certain elegance your words. A siren luring souls to the darkest depths of the ocean floor.

Rhys had once suggested that you'd never truly age considering you never smiled. That had earned him a rare small quirk of your lip, and he considered it to be his greatest achievement of his life to date.

It had made sense that the Night Court had been the place where you had chosen to settle, it had moulded very well with you, to the point where Day had become an infantile dream that was floating away in your subconscious. Forgotten.

Despite being a collector of sorts, Amren had soon found out just how far your talented talons stretched, you were incredibly well versed in old dialects, ancient symbols and traditions, a talent that Rhys had soon asked Amren to take advantage of since he was too afraid of you to ask you for aid himself.

Seemed as though the terrifying High Lord of the Night Court was actually scared of something.

"How exactly am I an idiot?" Amren enquired with darkened orbs that kept on glancing downward to the scars that littered the bare spine from the licks of Illyrian whips. They were slightly raised and pallid in comparison to the rest of your healthy glowing hue.

Untethering the last of your braid, you ran your nails over your scalp and pulled slightly, shivering at the relief that surged through you as your hair fell unbound down your spine. All the taut tension in your body quickly evaporated. Silently, you turned on your seat to face your friend, "You're asking me to revamp my evil lair to make it more welcoming for your odd little family," you said incredulously and unblinking, "You're an idiot."

Amren wasn't exactly asking you to make your own home more appeasing to the Inner Circle, she simply meant the private office that Rhys had bestowed to you for whenever he needed your help with something, and it had become a place that you frequented often. It was located in the library of the House of Wind so that your nimble fingers had access to all of the books and ancient texts they needed.

The only settling thing about that office was the view of the golden valley of Velaris, of the snow-capped mountains that loomed to the north. Everything else filled any resident with dread. Tall well-loved candles were scattered about the space, cloths stained with millennia old text hung from the ceilings, tomes lay splayed open on the desk and centre table, each depicting some form of terror. To you, your work was fascinating, studying the origins of evil and all of its forms, to others it was petrifying.

It wasn't odd to find the firedrake confined in your apartment, whether you be with her or not, glass of red in hand and reading some sort of research text. Amren often didn't even glace up at you when you entered your own home, all she noticed was your shadow gliding across the room, drowning out the golden candlelight.

"Rhys would spend more time with you if you did. He's actually really insightful, he could help you with your study."

"Why would I want to spend time with him?"

A poor attempt from Amren to try and push you into a monotone civilian life yet again.

"Fine," Amren rolled her coiling silver eyes and tutted, "Are you ready? Rhys doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Irritation was rife in her voice, you clasped a dainty blood diamond around your neck and allowed your shoulders to drop, "I don't particularly care for your High Lord's time." Rhys was not your High Lord and he knew it, he knew that you couldn't be ruled over and would never answer to anyone but yourself. A queen of her own kingdom. But one he very much wanted to keep on his side.

"Y/N," Amren bit, and you too tugged back the smirk that was quaking in the corners of your mouth.

Meeting her fiery gaze in the mirror, you rolled your head to the side in one swooped graceful motion, "I'm teasing, Amren." Rising from the bench before the vanity, you felt the silken hem of your dress brush against your feet. It was a simple garment, black buttoned up fabric, a deep v-neckline that showed the beginnings of your cleavage, short and soft floating sleeves that cuffed above your elbows.

Smirking with approval, Amren moved to the front door of your ornately beautiful apartment, a personal haven of yours that was vastly different to the office at the House of Wind. Brunette carpets thick enough to sleep upon covered the space, the walls were a shade of milked coffee, warm and inviting, and the ceilings were a soft cream and coved with intricate carvings. A large fire bundled into the far wall at the centre of a wall of windows, before it was a onyx seating area of plush deep seated sofas and armchairs.

It was charming. One of the best views of Velaris was from your living room window.

Leaving your home with the click of the lock, you followed after Amren, falling into place beside her as you walked up the winding paths to the House of Wind. The feeling of people's eyes trailing you had become something you'd become rather accustomed to, they were astounded by your beauty, amazed by how someone could look so breath-taking yet so horrifying.

The House of Wind was as it always was, incredibly luxurious in its own right and shivering at your entrance. It wasn't like the house didn't like you, it just struggled to adjust to your energy, it was starkly different to the usual joy it mostly held.

The echoing voices halted when you rounded the corner, your scent of jasmine and sandalwood soaring through the air, infecting their oxygen. Violet eyes appeared before you within a couple of moments, always wary, always laced with the tiniest bit of fear, "Thank you for meeting with us."

"Well," your eyes sliced across the room, absorbing every face and feature and feeling somewhat intrigued by a face you had never seen before. Tall and tan, shadows swirling at his shoulders, large wings that he had mindfully tucked behind his back, and shiny black hair that fell over his forehead. Rhys stood before you waiting for you to speak, your eyes found his and you hummed, tapping your finger against your clothed thigh, "Anything for the firedrake."

A chortled scoff flew from Cassian and Rhys stepped aside slightly to expose you to the general who soon choked on the air, "Something funny, Cass?" Rhys asked with a smirk, he motioned for you to find a seat and make yourself comfortable.

A deep rooted velvet armchair called to you and you moved to it, paying little attention to the hazel eyes fixated upon you. "No, not at all," Cassian sent you a tight-lipped smile which made Nesta grin, enjoying his discomfort nearly as much as you.

Flames danced in your eyes, the fire burning brightly in the fireplace that welcomed your gaze as though it was a mirror. Turning your head, you folded your hands over your thighs, feeling the exposed skin that lay there from the seamless slit in the fabric.

"How about you skip whatever small talk you were going to offer and get to the point, Rhysand?"

Widened pupils possessed Nesta's gaze, she leaned back into her seat and smirked, a wickedly feline feature, and spoke, "I like you."

No words left your lips, you held her gaze and felt your darkness bubble at her determination to withstand your stare, but she soon stood down; though, she continued to watch you, noting your posture and the way you held yourself. Nesta was in awe.

And she wasn't the only one.

"Straight to the point as always, y/n."

"Am I supposed to be anything but?" Rhys sighed, a headache already forming at his temples from your dry sassing. Perhaps he needed some of that powder that Elain had gifted to Azriel last solstice.

The High Lord pinched the bridge of his nose and slid his hand to rest on Feyre's knee, a sweet gesture, "We need your help with some particular text that none of us can translate. If anyone is going to be able to decipher it then it would be you."

"What text?"

Boredom coiled in your gut, "It's the story of Koschei, we believe that there may be a key hidden within the text that could help us to defeat him." The coil loosened and your eyebrow twitched, and a dark spot to your left caught that millisecond-long expression, sliding back to its master and humming in his ear.

Koschei was a death-god, a personification of evil. To have your hands on such a text would more than aid your research. It would make you infamous in the underworld of Prythian.

"Is it in my office?" Rhys straightened and nodded stiffly; rising to your feet, you brushed down the pleats of your skirt, "I'll take a look."

Before you could move from the room, a gentle clearing of a throat sounded from behind you, beckoning and hesitant. Slowly, you turned around, noticing how Rhys was now standing, "I would like Azriel to help you with this. I believe that your collective talents will be able to decipher the message faster."

Of course. The illustrious Shadowsinger that you had never had the displeasure of meeting. Azriel, Spymaster of the Night Court.

"Studies have shown that I didn't ask for your opinion, High Lord," if anyone else had used the mocking tone toward his title they would have been misted on the spot. But not you, never you. Rhys was too afraid that Hell would rise from your ashes and devour the continent if he even tried it.

A cool kiss slithered around your ankle, and when you peered down you found a shadow curling there, caressing your skin and shivering in delight. Your eyes followed the tendril back to its owner who was clearly mentally scrambling to pull his shadow back to the others. Hazel collided with molten gold and you found yourself yearning for the shadow to return.

"I have to insist," his voice wavered and it didn't go unnoticed by you.

Amren sucked in a breath, shrinking further into her spot wedged between Mor and Elain, knowing that she told had told Rhys multiple times to never order you to do anything.

"What do you fear, Rhysand?"

"I think that you'll find that the word fear is not in my vocabulary," he doubled down and you couldn't blame him, he was an alpha protecting his territory.

Ticking your head to the side, your eyes dragged up his body, and you smirked, a real one that made his blood chill, "Perhaps. But it's in your eyes," not giving him a chance to respond, you turned to Azriel, finding him looking up at you with an almost bewitched possession in his eyes, "Stay out of my way."

Not another word was spoken as you stalked from the room, the only sound being the footsteps of Azriel who had speedily followed after you. Neither of you spoke on the descent down to the library, even that vast space of aged excellence watched you enter; you almost floated across the room, a grace in your steps that Azriel had never seen before, and it had him needing to know more.

How Azriel had never met you astounded him, he would certainly remember a face like yours. It was one that held the power to haunt his dreams.

As promised, the texts had been left on your desk, and you moved to them instantly, tracing your fingers down the bound leather spine and examining the golden embossment, picking apart the symbols in your mind. Rounding the large oaken desk, you pulled the text with you, opening the cover and not even flinching when it thudded against the desktop.

Thick waves fell over your shoulder and you mindlessly tucked them back from where they had originated, not caring about the effect it had on the Shadowsinger who noted how your fingers grazed against your collarbone on its return to the ancient pages before your insightful eye.

"I've never been in here before," a weak attempt to strike up conversation with you. Azriel had heard much about you from Cassian and Rhys, of how awful terrifying you were, how you intimidated every single person that crossed your path and seemingly enjoyed the terror of it.

Azriel understood it, there was something about you that was unnerving, that he could understand why people were uncomfortable in your presence, but he only found himself in wonderment of it.

Without looking up, you turned the page gently and muttered, "Why would you? It's my office."

Displeasure was prominent on your tongue, the taste of it swelled in the muscle but you didn't allow it to be vile, you pulled the bile back and silently choked on it.

Azriel drank in the room, the begging to be lit candles and the large arched windows, the aged tapestries of history that were clearly too valuable to display in your gallery, "The creation of the cauldron," the words pulled you from the text and your gaze narrowed in on the Shadowsinger rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet with his hands folded neatly at his back.

"How do you know that?"

The Shadowsinger circled to face you and took a tentative step to the edge of the desk, "I've seen a couple of the same markings in a cave. This is the original?"

"Yes," there were many deplorable things you had taken part in to secure your collection as the most impressive in the entire universe, some things you weren't proud of, others, you were very much so.

"How did you get it?" Azriel admired the piece, a depiction of Prythian's creation that no one would ever guess was as important as it was, all because they couldn't read the first language of the fae.

Sitting back in your seat, you placed your magniscope on the surface, an ornate tool used by curators and researchers alike to read between the lines of existence, and watched him, "There are some things in this world that would make even your blood burn, Shadowsinger."

The way you said his name had a shudder flickering down his spine, your tone was sultry and low, like you knew of his darkness and had decided that it was a star in comparison to whatever lived within you.

A golden glow shrouded the room from the setting sun kissing the mountain peak, it washed over you, its light glittering your skin with shimmer, turning your eyes into burnished gold. The blood diamond around your neck cascaded speckles of its hue across the ceiling, and your chest rise an fell with even, calm breaths.

Forgetting the reason why he stood before you, Azriel allowed himself a moment to examine you, the beautifully loose hair that swam down that perfectly curved spine, the eyes and cheekbones, the full lips and the indents of your collarbone. You were by far the most incredible thing he had ever seen.

The stolen moment wasn't one that escaped your eye, a gentle heat pooled at your cheeks and you had no option but to look away, clearing your throat and pouring your attention back into the text in front of you.

Coiling the magniscope in your fingers, you hovered it over the written symbols on the page, moving it in line with every line and swirl you could see. It was a heavy object, and you hadn't been surprised when Amren had mistook the glass orb as a bookend.

"What do you know of Koschei?" Azriel found a place in the seat opposite you, his shadows danced from his shoulders and began to inch toward you, and he made no move or command to stop them.

"There are many legends," you began, craning your neck to peer at the top of the adjacent page, "Attacking his physical body won't harm him, he has split his soul into parts and placed them in other living creatures or sentient objects. Destroy the objects and you have a better chance of ending him."

Azriel angled himself forward, propping his elbows on his knees, "How do you know that?"

Again, without looking up, you spoke, "When you spend a lot of time in the Underworld of this continent you pick up a few things. You also learn how to decipher the truth from the lies."

Another gentle turn of the page.

The taupe scribing possessed the faintest words written in a pale gold ink, so miniscule that any other magniscope wouldn't be able to see it. Though yours wasn't just any ordinary magniscope, it was forged with the stardust of a fallen star, a star that used to burn the brightest in the northern skies.

"You know of the Underworld?"

For a moment, your gaze flickered upward, golden pools peering through your long thick lashes, "Very well."

It wasn't surprising that you had dabbled in the darkest reality of the continent, your knowledge was not cheap, and it wasn't knowledge that you could gain from books alone. Azriel wondered how many souls you had stripped from the earth on your quest for knowledge, perhaps it would cause his count to pale in comparison.

"I could only imagine what someone would do for this level of knowledge," his voice lingered, questioning, requiring to know every corner of the mind locked within the female in front of him.

"Are you trying to compare body counts, Spymaster? If so, I assume I would be disappointed with your lacklustre attempts."

Then you were back on the text, scribbling words down in the notepad to your left without even glancing to it, focused to the point where no letter strayed from the lines. But you still felt his eyes on you, waiting, scouring your face and trying to figure out why exactly he had never crossed paths with you before considering your occupation.

"Don't you have some doe-eyed damsel to go and rescue?"

Even with the fleeting few minutes spent with the Inner Circle, you saw how Elain Archeron looked at him, all love-sick and hopeful. Elain was a perfectly mundane being, content with all things bright and pretty. It was sickening.

Biting back the urge to roll his eyes at the thought, Azriel shuffled into his seat, seemingly getting more comfortable, "No."

"Shame," you mused, impressing Azriel with how you scribed, analysed and spoke all at the same time. A very powerful mind was dwelling within you, and it had his attention.

Azriel was finding your dry words quite amusing, though he was spending his time sat before you in silence, sketching every inch of your face and body to his memory.

A soft tug pulled at your brows, and if Azriel wasn't fixated upon you then he surely would have missed it. He let a minute pass, a minute where the pace of your analysation quickened alongside the rate of your writing. Again, your hair fell over your shoulder, clearly bothering you but you couldn't move it, not when you were so entranced, and it took all of his will to not do it for you.

Questioning you on your findings, your eyes held a certain twinkle to them as you explained your theory. That Koschei had in fact fractured his soul and implanted the pieces of it within other living creatures and objects, and that to hunt those objects down was the only way to be able to banish him from the world.

"Run and tell your master," you told him after you were done explaining how to find the first host of Koschei's soul, "I'm sure he will be thrilled with your input."

Which was very little, Azriel hadn't done anything other than invade your space and make himself far too comfortable, but he didn't argue, he simply stood from his seat and bowed, taking your hand in his marred digits and raising it to his lips, brushing them against your knuckles and thanking you before leaving you to your silence.

The ghost of his touch lingered on you skin, as did the licks at your calves from the shadows he hadn't cared to reign in upon his exit.

It was then that a small yet foreign warmth pooled in your chest, you rubbed the spot gingerly and sighed, returning to reality and shaking your head back to sense. Finding peace in the confined corners of your mind.

The next instance where you found yourself in Azriel's presence had been one warm afternoon in the library.

Velaris had been scorched by the sun, the summer breezes swept across the city, and you had decided to wear a simple grey dress that afternoon, it was lightweight enough to flow in the gentle caress of the wind but still managed to keep to your usual elegant yet sharp style.

Since that insisted couple of hours in your office a couple of weeks ago, you were ashamed to admit just how much your thoughts drifted to the Shadowsinger you had seen lurking in the corners of your consciousness. The darkness was lingering in the farthest reaches, as if it didn't wish to be discovered by you but couldn't steer itself away.

The ladder beneath your feet creaked as you reached across the shelf, tongue stuck out of the side of your mouth as you strained slightly, your fingers barely brushing against the spine of the book you needed. A familiar cool presence washed over you, trailing up your skirt and arms and extending from your fingers to remove the book from the shelf and place it in your awaiting grasp.

Peering back to the ground, you saw Azriel stood at the foot of the ladder with his hands resting at his sides; balling the skirt up in your fingers, you used the railing the lower yourself back to the earth and paused in front of Azriel who had a brow quirked in curiosity, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," his voice matched your own but he found himself faltering when you went to walk by him. His voice called out to you, "I just wanted to let you know that we found the first host."

You paused your steps and turned, "And?"

"It's destroyed," and clearly the gravity of it weighed on him, he had to have known that Koschei wasn't exactly going to make the objects easy to destroy, but it still didn't mean that it wasn't traumatising.

Understanding what he meant, at the life he had just taken to protect to continent, you took a step toward him, an olive branch of sorts, "Are you alright?"

Itching with confusion, Azriel nodded slowly, "I didn't think you cared."

You shrugged, nonchalant, and scuffed the heel of your sandal against the floor with your gentle kick, "I don't."

Azriel hummed, a serene grin tugging at the corners of his lips, "I think that you do," Azriel took a step forward and noticed how your back straightened and shoulders rolled back.

The book became plastered to your chest, "Whatever you think is of little concern to me."

Two weeks had passed, two weeks of not only searching for the first host of Koschei thanks to your wildly impressive knowledge, but two weeks of Azriel doing all he could to gain your attention. It had been difficult to see you at Rita's, swaying to the music without a care in the world beside Amren, and not be able to touch the skin that seemed as smooth as honey.

His shadows had been following you, reporting back to him of how you spent your days cooped up in your apartment reading or in your office analysing another ancient text. They reported no men, nothing untoward or damning, they simply whispering to him how pretty you were. They had been bewitched by you, utterly obsessed with everything that you were, and he couldn't blame them.

Turning on the balls of your feet again, you entered your office, leaving the door open in silent permission that Azriel basked in as he followed you inside, "I'm trying to talk to you, y/n."

A soft hum vibrated against your lips. Placing the book once glued to your chest on the centre table of the room, you faced Azriel once more. The office was cold, as was every chamber built below the main infrastructure of the house, and Azriel wondered how you could be so at home within it.

It was entrancing how a room so dark and full of evil texts and passages could make you look so ethereal. The glossed black hair he had often dreamt of running his fingers through was tied back in a loose thick braid, whisps of hair fell from the vines of it and settled over your eyes. Ornate jewellery twinkled in the pale sunlight, swirls of gold encased your fingers and wrists, and a coiled necklace that resembled a scaled serpent glided around the base of your neck.

"What would you like me to say? I did tell you how to find the first host so that you could destroy it. I don't require updates, Azriel," the movement of your tongue as you said his name for the first time had his resolve withering.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to warm ourselves by the glow of your I told you so."

Then, as though the sun was blessing the earth after eons of slumber, your lips widened into a grin, one big enough to expose your perfectly white teeth and Azriel felt the dark storm clouds in his soul splinter. A golden threat soared through him, reaching out to you and entwining itself with the thread bristling at your centre.

Sculpted fingers drifted over that spot in your chest that had become increasingly hard to ignore and you inhaled sharply. Azriel's pupils had dilated, they were wide and frenzied, and his hand was outstretched to you.

The smile on your face dropped.

"You're my mate," Azriel nodded at the words you had managed to utter, the same ones that had become lodged in his throat.

Heat prickled at his skin, nerves seeped into his bones. You were so unreadable, and Azriel was scrambling his thoughts to clear so that he may be able to figure out how you felt about it. About being fated to be his.

Azriel had learnt from Amren how unaffectionate you were, how much you hated anyone touching you. It was because of the Illyrian camps you had visited in your younger years where they had thought you a witch, and had punished you for it in a barbaric way; the evidence still lingered on your skin in long angry streaks, and Amren had admitted that night is what spurred on your need to understand the roots of evil.

It was understandable, to spend a lifetime studying the one thing that had ever truly hurt you. For what reason, Azriel didn't know, but he liked to think that it was to cause evil to cower in your presence.

Silence shrouded the room like a disease, infecting and poisoning everything in its path, and Azriel way becoming increasingly worried about how your smile had dropped. Was he truly that repulsive to you? He could only ever dream to be mated with someone like you, someone who welcomed death like an old friend and would entertain it in an eons long waltz, someone who was poised and elegant but so brilliantly lethal that it made even him shudder.

Taking an unsettling step toward you, Azriel loosened a breath when he saw that you hadn't retreated, his eyes were trained on you as he took another step, and then another, until his shadow danced with you own, "I'm your mate."

Rhys and Cassian would be mortified of the news, Azriel was sure that Rhys found you terrifying in the same way that Cassian found Bryaxis. No of that mattered though. Not to him. Not when he now belonged to a female as striking and dangerous as the blood in his veins.

A faint blush crept up your cheeks at the proximity, the tendrils connected to his essence peered over his shoulders seemingly apprehensively thrilled that it was you stood before them, "Yes, you are."

Azriel's gaze drifted down to your lips and left dragged back upward to your eyes, "Can I touch you?"

A part of you froze at the desperate question. You hadn't let anyone touch you in years, you couldn't remember the last time you laid with a male or female, you couldn't remember what a simple even felt like. Amren had never even tried to get too close to you let alone anyone else.

In the first vulnerable emotion you had ever let anyone see, you sheepishly nodded, eyes boring into his own and he didn't break his stare as his fingers twitched toward you, ghosting along your skin and melting at the heat they found there. Mindlessly, you shifted when his palm lingered a whisker away from the slope of your neck and his eyes became stitched with concern but softened when you had won the fight against your fear to stand still once more.

Azriel's hand lowered, resting against your skin that was softer than his imagination could ever fathom. His thumb drifted down the column of your throat and you swallowed, hard.

"You don't have to accept this or me," he told you, his voice tantalisingly cooing to you in a hush above a whisper, "But gods, y/n. I really hope that you do."

Azriel saw through you then, through that façade you wore like a medal. And he found what saw to be quite heart-breaking. Stood before him was a woman, one that possessed a brilliant mind and equally captivating beauty, but beneath it all was the girl who was brutalised so badly that she vowed to never allow another person close again.

"You're my mate," you spoke with a certain conviction that hadn't graced your words the last time, Azriel watched your lashes flutter, and he felt his soul singing when those eyes found him again, "I'm not letting you go."

Gracefully, your fingers curled around his wrist, your index finger sleeping just over the faint beat of his pulse, just where his marred flesh faded to memory, "You accept it?"

"I- yes, I do."

Jasmine and sandalwood drowned his lungs, and he would have died happy just to be able to say that he knew what your shampoo smelt like. Papaya and coconuts. He gingerly ran his fingers through your hair, noting how much you loved the feeling of it as you shivered in his arms. Azriel pressed a dainty but tender kiss to your brow, and it had you realising that maybe you were allowed to give yourself this one thing that the younger version of you had always dreamt of.

Azriel hadn't tried to push you further, he knew that the moment of allowing someone to touch you, to hold you, was far more momentous than finding your mate.

Instead he asked you a simple question, it was more of an offering than anything. To spend time together away from the prying eyes of his family, so that you may become comfortable with one another before allowing anyone else into it. You had agreed. Eagerly.

So the next few weeks drifted by, afternoon walks along the Sidra, morning breakfast drop-offs at your office, after hours visits to the gallery where you would tell him of your adventures and how on some occasions you barely survived. Azriel was in complete awe of you, he sat beside you on your love seat completely captivated by you, his fingers tracing small circles into your thighs and his shadows curling through your hair. And that smile, gods, that smile could make even the most poised male lose all sense. It was bright and gleaming, and your skin glowed with the happiness of it.

Then you had decided to break the news to the Inner Circle, and as you stood before those doors oozing with grandeur, you felt nerves pinch at your skin, "Are you ready?" Azriel's fingers were tangled with yours and he bowed his head to place his lips on your bare shoulder.

"Yes." Azriel gave your hand a gentle tug, willing you to move from your spot located just behind him.

The aura of the house had shifted, now, it was inquisitive, glancing to the mirrors and then back to your hands to see if what it was seeing was real. Laughter echoed at the end of the hall, your scent had usually silenced them by now, but not this time. Now that your scent was mixed with Azriel’s it seemed much less threatening. Pity.

Turning the corner, you became startled by the smash of a glass, shards of it glided along the floor and fell at your feet. Looking up, you found Mor frozen in place, wide eyes and bewildered. The rest of the room craned to attention, collectively moving their eyes from Mor, to you, and then to Azriel, and then to your entwined fingers.

It took a minute, but you could have sworn you heard the bell ding in Cassian’s empty brain, “Oh shit,” he rose to his feet, wings flaring slightly as a wide grin gripped his mouth.

Rhys appeared before you both, gaze lowered in surprise, clearly trying to picture a timeline in his mind. The High Lord looked to his Spymaster, “Are you-“

“Mates?” Azriel finished incredulously, knowing that your moulded scents had already infected the room, and turned his head to you, orbs gleaming and adoration speckled on his cheeks, “Yes.”

Elain Archeron had sank into her seat, doing her best to not pay attention to you in particular whilst her stomach churned with the scent seeping into her bones. Subconsciously, you moved closer to Azriel, a slightly territorial action that made him smirk.

It had been a brief conversation that you had suffered through, the one where Azriel had made it very clear that the situation with Elain was brutally one-sided. Azriel had only sought to be nice to her, to help her to adjust to her new body and life because she was Feyre's sister and Feyre was his High Lady, and she had taken his kindness for something much more than what it truly was.

Leading you to the velvet armchair that you would usually slither into, Azriel sat and motioned for you, turning you in his hands so that his touch never left your thighs, and pulled you to his lap. A bashful smile formed on your face and you could feel the eyes of the room on you, equally as confused as shocked.

"Since when?" Nesta had asked after sipping from the goblet of red wine between her fingers, the liquid staining her plump pale lips, and she used her thumb to wipe a singular droplet before it ran down her chin. Her eyes held an emotion you couldn't quite make out, Azriel had admitted that Nesta was just as unreadable as you at times, but the way his digits dug into your flesh told you that what the eldest sister was feeling was an assortment of jealousy. Not toward you, toward him.

"The bond snapped just over a month ago," Nesta hummed and burrowed herself into the cushions, pouting slightly, like she was an infant who had her favourite toy taken from her grasp. "We wanted to explore it before we properly accepted it or told anyone."

That made Elain's doe-like stare move from the floor to your mate who was sat with you on his thighs rubbing small circles into your shoulders, "So you haven't accepted it?"

Your jaw clenched at the question, the question that was perfumed with the last splatters of hope, "If you're asking if we've fucked yet, Elain, then no, we haven't. Does that answer your question?"

Azriel's fingers moved to play with the ends of your hair, knowing that the sensation of slight tugging over your scalp relaxed you infinitely, "I only ask because I know how physical Azriel can be. Surely you've heard the stories?" Elain feigned innocence, Feyre sighed from her seat and glanced to you apologetically, silently begging you to not tear her sister apart.

In fact, you had heard the stories. Trying to ignore the gossip of the city was difficult considering how used you were to eavesdropping into certain conversations in the underworld. So, unfortunately, you had heard about Azriel's many lovers, and you'd be silly to not feel insecure of it, but you wouldn't let her see that. Ever.

Craning your neck to the side, you smiled, your iced gaze slicing into her and making Elain shrink under the weight of it, "With all due respect, which is none," you leaned to the side, accepting the goblet of wine that the house had presented to you in premature thanks for the forthcoming words you were about to utter, "Your existence gives me a headache, so please go and find somewhere else to be."

Rhys' eyes widened but he suppressed the smirk forming on his face, hiding his lips behind his fist and closing his eyes. Not even Feyre or Nesta spoke up over it, they clearly knew better than to challenge you. Cassian however didn't really care if Elain saw his joy at your words, he had been growing more tired each passing day of her pining affection toward his brother, and now he understood why Azriel had withdrawn further from the female over the last few weeks.

It was because of the unique female before their very eyes.

The middle sister went to open her mouth, to retort something that wouldn't even irk you, but Amren shushed her, halted the words in her throat and willed her to die with them, "Don't even try it," Amren served you more than her own court, finding a kindred spirit within you, and she would shame herself if she let Elain speak to you as if you were nothing.

Elain would never understand someone like you. She wasn't worthy of it anyway.

No one had ever tried to understand Amren, not really, they thought her too complicated to be worth it. As long as they brought her pretty jewels and respected her then there was little else to worry of in their eyes. But you, you had understood her instantly and had found a particular solace with her, like you were peering through a mirror and she was your reflection.

Sipping the potent liquid in your goblet, you bowed your head to her, quietly thanking your friend for halting the small spat before it escalated and ruined the evening entirely. Tonight was not about Elain and her fragile feelings, it was about showing the Inner Circle who now owned your heart.

So, the middle sister vacated the room feigning a migraine, and the aura instantly lifted. A soft smile formed on your lips when your eyes landed on your mate, your entire face relaxed; entwining your fingers with his, you blushed when he pressed his lips to your knuckles and dragged your index finger down his cheek.

The Inner Circle watched on, knowing that they had never seen Azriel so taken by anything. They feasted on the sight of his shadows purring through your hair, on your colliding smiles, and how your gentle words to one another were contained in an ornate bubble around your bodies.

As the evening continued, you found yourself quite enjoying their company, you sat bundled into Azriel's embrace, finding comfort in the arms that were wrapped around you whilst Cassian spewed war stories, bragging at his prowess.

"Not to brag," you began with a smirk, "But at least eight men have described me as 'terrifying', and two of them are in this room. Choke on that ego, Cassian."

Nesta's grin turned feline and excitement bubbled in the pit of her stomach. What she wouldn't give to spar with you, to have your legs wound around her and that tense gaze splitting her in half. From the whisperings of Prythian, it was very clear that you had done some rather diabolical things in order to obtain certain artifacts that had been locked away in your most prized and personal collection. So prized that its location was unknown. She could only imagine what trinkets you possessed, and the things you had witnessed.

"What about Azriel?!"

The Shadowsinger shrugged, his hand resting on your thigh and squeezing the flesh there, "I've only ever been entranced by my mate, Cassian," Azriel drawled, sipping the amber liquid swirling in his rocks glass like molten bronze, "It's you and Rhys who are afraid of her."

"If it's any consolation, I don't blame you."

Cassian frowned, turning to Nesta and asking, "Are you scared of her?"

"No," she answered a little too quickly, so quickly that you had quirked your brow at the sound, "I find y/n to be quite exciting."

"Exciting?" Cassian moved to Feyre and asked the same question, his manhood decaying when she too said that you didn't scare her, "Mor?"

The blonde who could not rival your beauty had always watched you from afar, and had always enjoyed how you made males squirm. Mor rose her glass to the stars and stated, "Bring every man you meet to their motherfucking knees, y/n."

"Amen to that," Amren tipped her glass in response, downing the rest of the thick red sap and finally feeling at home in the presence of her family thanks to you, and she eternally thanked the male sat beside you for being able to breathe some light into the storm cloud that was your mind.

"Mother above," Rhys grumbled, the women in his life uniting and itching to wreck havoc. The action of Rhys swiping his hand down his face, dragging the skin slightly toward in frustration, made a deep chuckle float from your lips, so serene that Nesta likened the sound to a siren call and found herself drawn to it. "Did I just make you laugh?" Rolling your eyes, you nodded at the High Lord who turned toward his mate, "This is the best day of my life," then back to you, "Does this mean that we're friends?"

Rhys waited expectantly, childlike orbs pleading to you with their innocence. You had no friends bar Amren and you were content with that. It meant that you only had one thing to lose. But as Azriel laid his hand on the small of your back, gaining your attention and giving you an expression of promise, the resolve of your solitude cracked, "Why not?"

The door to the River House flew open, a sudden shrill chill soaring through the air from the wild winds battering against the city, no doubt spurred on by your fury.

Many months had passed, and in that time you had truly blossomed, sure you still wore the mask of the devil on your features in public, but when you were with the Inner Circle, a group of people you now proudly belonged to, that mask drifted away like ash in the autumn breeze; and when Azriel was beside you, it felt as though warmth and happiness was all that you ever knew.

Much to Elain's upset, you and Azriel had officially accepted the bond and had locked yourselves away for four weeks to make the most out of every single moment together, and Rhys had been understanding enough of the bond between you both to not drag your mate away on another mission. The bond between you and Azriel was something that Rhys had never seen before, not even between him and Feyre.

"She tastes like every dark thought I've ever had."

The ceremony itself had been astonishing.

The women of the Inner Circle had spent the better part of two days dressing your apartment for the occasion and Feyre had made it quite clear that the upcoming ceremony was going to make theirs look ridiculous in comparison. Rhys was split between jealousy and awe when he saw it.

No one had ever stepped into the apartment beside Amren and Azriel, he had decided to move into the apartment after your return from the four-week sabbatical at the cabin, it was as though you were gifting them with the last part of you, allowing them to see what they could never fathom.

Faelights were strewn across the ceiling, curling around the arched windows that displayed the golden valley of the city in a way Rhys had never been able to appreciate before; tucked between the vines of the lights was fresh foliage, an array of green hue ferns caressing fully blossomed white roses and pale blue peonies. Sprigs of cedar and rosemary had been wove between the foliage and flowers alongside splinters of sandalwood, filling the room with the physical aspects of your scents.

Only the Inner Circle had been invited, and as you were dressing in your room with Amren, you could hear Nesta whining of her foolish jealousy of having to watch Azriel marry you. Amren had simply raised a brow and smirked at you through the mirror as she finished securing your veil to the back of your head.

There was no one you would want to share the moment with other than her.

Amren had blindfolded you, leading you through the home so that the gift wouldn't be ruined just so that you could get ready together, for the most important and deserving night of your life.

The dress that you had meticulously chosen was the most incredible garment Amren had ever seen, so much so that the first time you had tried it on in front of her, she had nearly cried at the beauty of it; and there you now stood, twisting in the mirror and running your hands down the hem of your veil and then your hips. The dress was made entirely of white lace that you had imported from the Day Court, an off-the-shoulder neckline and sleeves that kissed your wrists, it was elegant and graceful, and made the freckles of your trauma glow like shooting stars.

A gentle knock had sounded at the door and Rhys stepped in, taking one look at you and finding his breath catching in his throat. "You look amazing," he breathed, approaching you with his hands deep within his pockets.

The High Lord had been honoured when you had sheepishly asked him to walk you down the aisle; Rhys had found himself consumed with the need to protect you, after seeing your guard disappear, he saw who you truly were, a woman who just wanted to be loved and protected, and ready to allow other people to do it for her after spending so long doing it herself.

"Are you ready?" Inhaling deeply, you nodded and turned to him, noting the outstretched hand before you and feeling your usual anxiety bubbling in your gut. Rhys, realising that he shouldn't have done something so bold, went to retreat but halted when you took a small step toward him, reaching your fingers out to his palm and sliding them into his grasp.

Azriel was right, your skin was a smooth as honey.

A gentle smile of triumph later, you spoke, "I'm ready."

It was that moment that Rhys was begging you to remember as you barrelled through his house, no doubt heading straight for him in the confinements of his office.

He could feel your anger slam through the walls, your footsteps sounding up the staircase and stopping at the top of the hall, a pause to remember just how much you liked him before stalking down the hall and bursting into his office. Rhys cringed, knowing what was coming as you strode to his desk and slapped your palms flat against the wood.

"If you ever," you pointed your perfectly manicured finger in his face, "Send my mate back to me in that state again. I. Will. Destroy. You."

The snarl of your words sent a shiver coursing down his spine, and in that moment you were the y/n he had met one-hundred years ago. Cold. Distant. Almost demonic.

In his defence, he hadn't sent Azriel on an overly dangerous mission, it wasn't his fault that his Spymaster was ambushed in The Middle. Azriel's spilled blood was entirely his own fault in Rhys' eyes, "I didn't mean for him to get hurt, y/n."

The rushed footsteps of another sounded in the hall, and when Rhys looked past your deeply heaving form, he was relieved beyond compare when he saw a bruised Azriel approaching, "Angel, it wasn't his fault. I was distracted," his voice grew louder as he paced closer to the pair of you, appearing at your side and turning your head in his fingers to face him, "I was thinking about you and I didn't hear them coming."

Watching your shoulders drop, Rhys sighed and wiped away an invisible bead of sweat from his brow, sitting back down and continuing his viewing just as you tilted your head to the side and popped out your bottom lip.

"You were?" Azriel's eyes softened and he dipped his gaze to meet yours, "That's the most romantic thing you've ever done. You were attacked because you were thinking about me, you actually bled because you were thinking about me?"

Rhys could only watch on perplexed at your words, you threw yourself into Azriel's arms, muttering small apologies for brushing against the bruises littering his abdomen, "She's crazy."

The Shadowsinger could only huff, too entrapped by you to really reprimand him, "Yeah," his eyes opened lazily, brimming with exhaustion, "But she's my crazy."

Azriel's shadows curled over your shoulders and shuddered, crying to be as close to you as possible, like they were trying to entwine with your soul so that you one day may carry them with you wherever you walked. In whatever world.

A bond like yours was made to topple temples and shatter worlds, it was made to transcend time and space; and as you wrapped an arm around your mate and led him from the office, not without sending one more warning glare to the male you had come to love as a brother, Rhys knew that no matter where either of you went, there would be no place that you could travel to where the other would not follow.

Author’s Note

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[lev1hei1chou]

Serendipity

Gojo x reader Genre: Strangers to something more? Words: 403 Synopsis: Falling in love with a stranger in a bookstore Masterlist

Once upon a warm afternoon at the bustling streets of Tokyo, you found yourself wandering through a quaint little bookstore, surrounded by the intoxicating scent of old books and the soft rustle of turning pages. Little did you know that this ordinary day held an extraordinary surprise for you!

As you absentmindedly browsed the shelves, a mysterious figure caught your eye. Tall, charismatic, obviously attractive and with a mop of white hair that seemed to defy gravity, Satoru Gojo stood in the poetry section, engrossed in a book. His aura drew you in, and without realizing it, you found yourself standing right next to him.

"Interesting choice," you commented, unable to resist striking up a conversation.

Gojo looked down, his captivating gaze meeting yours. A playful smirk danced on his lips. "I have a weakness for verses that resonate with the heart."

Unbeknownst to you, the universe seemed to conjure in that very moment. A sudden rain shower outside prompted both of you to seek refuge in a cozy café nearby. There, amidst the soothing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the gentle hum of conversations, your chance encounter with Gojo took an unexpected turn.

He ordered a dessert, insisting you share it with him. As you both indulged in the sweetness, laughter and easy banter flowed effortlessly between you. It felt like a meeting of serendipity, a collision of two worlds that were probably never meant to intersect.

As the rain intensified outside, with audible pitter patter of the rain on various surfaces, Gojo suggested a daring escape. Without a second thought, he grabbed your hand, and together you ran through the rain-soaked streets, laughing like carefree children. The world blurred around you, but Gojo's infectious laughter and the warmth of his hand in yours made it a moment that just froze in time. This stranger had something in him.

Eventually, you found shelter under an awning, catching your breath and sharing a look that spoke volumes. The raindrops sounded like a beautiful melody on the streets. In that moment, it became clear that destiny had woven an enchanting tale for you and Gojo.

As you gazed into his mesmerizing eyes, you couldn't help but hope that this random encounter might just be the beginning of something more between two strangers – a love story written in the stars, sparked by a chance meeting in a bookstore on a rainy afternoon.

[henry-fox-biggest-stan]

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.

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.”

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

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.”

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)

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 - out august 15th) / 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 - out on July 18th) / “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

If asked, I’ll also do one with gay books

(No 1950s lesbians because I don’t like pulp fiction :( )

[eccentricallygothic]

burnin' for you

Warning(s): Abo verse, Alpha!Ransom, Omega!You, fluff, allusions to smut and breeding kink. 

Okay, but a world where Omegas are adored and treated like the precious puppies that they are?

Your pack mainly consists of Alphas so you're one of the only babies. 

And you have never really liked the popular, rich, cocky and powerful Alpha Ransom? 

He's just not your cup of tea. 

However, that doesn't mean he has ever been mean to you to deserve it.

Or too mean, to put it more accurately. 

Not to be quirky or anything but you've never been one of those pushover Omegas that are all small and submissive just because that's how the moons fated it. 

You don't get the hype for Ransom within and even outside the pack. 

In your opinion, his cousins like Alpha Stevie, Alpha Curty, Alpha Ari, Alpha Lloyd, Alpha Petey, Alpha Jakey, Alpha Johnny, Alpha Frankie, Alpha Mikey and Alpha Cole are so much more cool and good looking. 

Alpha Andy and Alpha Robert are so hot too but they're way too scary for you to brat around in order to get their attention like you do with the rest of the pack.

Although, that is not to say that you throw yourself on the ones you find attractive or anything. 

But you get along with all of them and basically everyone, except for Ransom. 

So naturally, when it ‘dawns’ upon you on one fine full moon that he is your mate, your world is turned upside down. 

The superior wolf just grins down at you during the pack dinner while you pout, whine and stomp around before hiding yourself behind your mountain of a plate and in between Alphas Ari and Frankie. 

Ransom has always known about your dislike for him but even he is a bit taken aback by how you respond to the ‘realization’ after being questioned by Alpha Andy who is the Supreme Alpha which means everyone has to answer to him. 

“Why him?!” Curtis is amused at your protest and Steve shakes his head at your tone, having never been too fond of your brattiness. “Anyone but him!” 

Andy sighs and tries to explain the way it works and how fate knows best and works in mysterious ways and that it's no one's choice but must be obeyed. 

But much like yourself, you refuse and no one can force you to be with him because it is such a world, for once. 

You don't notice it but all of Ransom's fangirls that he used to have by his side all the time began to disappear.

He's more careful and serious around you, now always trying his level best to please you. 

But ugh, you just don't like him because Alphas like him have always cringed you out.

Well yeah, Alpha Johnny and Jakey are kinda the same so maybe you're a bit prejudiced when it comes to him.

You can't stand him okay!

But man. 

Everyone except for you notices the love-stricken way in which he looks at you, bright blue eyes filling with an unfamiliar warmth and replacing the usual playfulness whenever you come around. 

It's such an interesting inversion.

Because he's the one who follows you around during pack meetings and gatherings even though it's supposed to be the other way around. 

Like he's the puppy and you're the Alpha. 

You rarely take notice of it but he always gets things done for you. Whether they're school related, something to do with finances, or if you want to buy something, he's got it all covered. Your parents -as Omegas are considered too small to live by themselves- try to decline because you haven't even accepted him as an Alpha yet the man secretly transfers them hundreds and thousands of bucks so they can buy you whatever you want and you're too silly to put two and two together. 

The longing on his usually cheerful face is nearly depressing for his fellow Alphas on days when you dress up for an occasion and all he wants to do is to hold you and smother you in his scent and love. 

Run his hands all over your perfect body and feel the crevices, cuts and curves. Every bump and all the plumpness. 

You make his blood run hot like he's a developing Alpha in his teens. 

As if he's going through puberty all over again. 

Ransom has no idea if you will ever let him in but he's hopeful. There have been some rare cases throughout history where Omegas took a bit of time to warm up to their Alphas because at the end of the day your lot are slow babies that need their time to adjust to big changes. 

Until then, he will be patient and wait. 

Because when you finally become his -which all the Alphas assure him you surely will at some point-, he has so much love to overflow you with that it keeps him going for the time being. 

He has already bought for you two the perfect suburban house with a big garden so when you become heavy and swollen with his litter, you will have a refreshing environment to relax and walk around, definitely barefooted and clad in one of his oversized shirts.

. based on my own personal dislike of ransom hehe <3

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Hey! Do you know of an fics that are similar to Lord of the Manor by Divine Lady91? Please and thank you!! =D

Hello, I am assuming that you want the historical/lord/rich storyline? Here is the fic you mentioned, as others might want to see it. I've never read it myself, so have added it to my list!! Also below are the options for similar. ~Jen

Lord of the Manor by divinelady91

Blaine is the mysterious lord of an estate in the English countryside, rumored to have been inherited under mysterious circumstances. Announcing his intention to marry, he comes to the Hummel household, it is assumed, to claim the eldest Hummel child - Rachel - as his spouse. Once upon a time, her younger brother, Kurt, had been in love with Blaine, and he thought Blaine had feelings for him as well. Sure that those feelings have been thoroughly forgotten, and with his own intention to marry another man yet to be made known, Kurt helps to prepare his sister for the loveless match that awaits her. But what happens when Blaine arrives and tells them that they have all been mistaken?

~~~~~

A Match Well Madeby MeriKG

AU. This is the dramatic tale of two pair of star-crossed lovers. Lord Kurt Hummel III, heir to the great Barony of Lima, is the single most eligible bachelor in her Majesty’s kingdom. Lady Rachel is an aspiring daughter of the Baron of a successful territory. Lord Kurt has no interest in marrying an appropriate Lady, but his father has finally put his foot down. When Lady Rachel, along with her half brother the minor lordling Blaine, arrives at Blackbird Castle in an attempt to ensnare the reluctant young Lord, sparks fly…in all the wrong directions.

~~~~~

23 by felix-felicis33

Blaine doesn’t think he’ll ever fall in love, or get the chance to, but that all changes when he meets a man with blue eyes and a beautiful smile at a coffee shop. The world seems a brighter place when Kurt enters his life. The only problem is, he doesn’t belong here with Kurt. He belongs ninety-one years in the past, back in the year 1923.

~~~~~

This Earthly Paradise by GlassParade

In Victorian England, Kurt Hummel is a struggling artist and contemporary of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, an organization of painters, poets, and critics who strive to turn the art establishment of England on its very head. His mentor, one Dante Gabriel Rossetti, has grown tired of Kurt’s reluctance to grow as an artist, and so enter Blaine Anderson, an artists’ model of Bohemian disposition and eye-catching good looks. Can he, using rather unorthodox methods, succeed where Rossetti has not?

~~~~~

Haute Couture by LPBekka

In the year 1889 a young fashion designer by the name of Blaine Anderson is about to meet the love of his life, the most beautiful woman in Paris only to discover that she is not all she seems. Klaine, Warning: Lemon, Cross Dressing, AU

~~~~~

Whether Near to Me or Far by drunkonwriting

In 1937, Kurt Hummel, son of a rich family, and Blaine Anderson, part of the Hummel staff, have little in common beyond a shared education at Yale and a childhood friendship. The summer after their college graduation, Kurt and Blaine find themselves growing more and more attracted to each other. However, before they have a chance to be together, one night’s events and a chain of misunderstandings change their entire history and pulls them apart. As they struggle to find each other again, they’re hindered by war and the shadow of the events that ruined their lives. Klaine, Atonement!AU.

~~~~~

Westerville Abbey Verse by @hkvoyage

Blaine is the second son of the earl of Westerville, and is considered the spare heir. After his 18th birthday, he attends the London Season to fulfill his duty of finding a wife. He soon realizes he is more attracted to the new footman. Kurt, who has just arrived at Westerville Abbey to work alongside his father, becomes equally as smitten with the earl’s youngest son. Will Blaine and Kurt be able to overcome their class differences in 1910s England? Will their forbidden love survive WW1? A Downton Abbey inspired historical Klaine AU.

~~~~~~

Gilded Cage by @canarian

In the winter of 1895, Blaine Anderson, the son of a wealthy doctor, and Kurt Hummel, the son of a middle class mechanic, cross paths at a luxury hotel in the quiet seaside town of St. Augustine, Florida. With everyone and everything working to keep them apart, can they find a way to be together?

[futureplayboibunnie]

‘Innocent’

Sherlock x fem! reader

- oh. my. god. i got a few requests for this virgin/ inexperienced smutty fic and lord i got so carried away. I LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH IT TOOK ME SO LONG BUT MY OWN WRITING HAS ME FERAL??? help x 

Sherlock was feeling completative, pondering upon forbidden grounds that he wouldn't usually travel. He was walking through the avenues of his mind, the thoughts reeling through him- even though it really wasn’t a good time.

You were next to him, he was being awarded another stupid gift for his incredible and somewhat pretentious sleuthing skills but he really wasn't paying much attention. Not after what he did. Not after what he felt.

Sherlock accidentally grazed your fingers while you were standing next to him, he was versed enough to catch onto bodily reactions but yours was incredibly different. Your breath caught in your throat but you still let out an audible gasp, you stiffened under his glare and your face started to blush a heated rose with every moment he stared at you. Lips parted, eyes widened with a surprised sheen, teeth clamping onto your lower lip- he didn't know he had the ability to draw that type of reaction out of you. He hasn't really seen a woman react like that before. Especially because of something he did.

Jesus Christ, it's like you've never been touched before.

He stole another glance at you. You were incredibly bashful, not in a nervous way but in an endearing shyness. Naive but knowing, chilling but warm...sexy yet sweet. A mystery altogether and Sherlock wanted to uncover all the secrets you were hiding, you were concealing something and he wanted to find out what it was. It was nagging him relentlessly. He was in spite of it. Sherlock was able to deduce anything about anyone but he couldn't place his finger on you, maybe it's because he couldn't but maybe it was because he didn't want to. This helpless attitude he was beginning to adopt was disarming him and he did not like it one bit. Even if he did want you, he simply wouldn't have the opportunity, you were as blocked off as he was.

Stop, Sherlock. She's much too young.

Sherlock's sex life was incredibly demanding. It never really occured to others that he had a sex life at all but what he demanded in the bedroom was intricate and detailed- he fucked his women in the way he alone wanted. He pushed the limits of every woman he had ever bedded and to some it may be shocking that he had a line of women begging for him.

Sherlock's tastes were very singular, specific and he was beggining to question if...you...were adventurous in bed. He shouldn't even be thinking about you in this way because you seemed so...innocent. Normally he didn't find that attractive but you were a fascinating creature altogether.

His brow creased. He could quite literally feel you shiver. He wondered if you were cold or nervous, but it all began to click- the puzzle pieces began to fall into place and he only realised once you were alone in his presence.

He asked you to meet him at Baker Street.

You were filled with dread and pining, you weren't even sure if it was quiet or loud pining but the desperation that was beginning to bubble within you was becoming very difficult to control and hide. Especially when the object of your desires wanted you to meet him..alone. You were so sweet for him. So ready for him but concern began whirring the cogs in your mind...for one, Sherlock Holmes was quite frankly unattainable and you were...inexperienced. Either way you were fucked, and not in the way you wanted too. He was just too potent, too strong and he could see through anything and everyone, you couldn't deal with the embarrassment he would be so unashamed to put on you- dealing with the ramifications of that would simply be your downfall.

But you couldn't find it in your bones to say no. Saying no to Sherlock Holmes? It simply wasn't within you, you couldn't find the strength to pretend not to want him anymore. Your heart thundered with every step you took up those stairs. Velveteen and living single wasn't really cutting it for you anymore.

‘’Sherlock?’’ You called after him as you creaked the door open, not really expecting an answer from him. ‘’Sherlock, what do you want?'’ You sighed exasperated and annoyed by the way he was keeping you waiting.

He was very certain with himself. He had a simple hypothesis but he wasn't sure if it was true, it really couldn't be true. Sherlock came out from the kitchen to see you standing there, trying to keep yourself cool, calm and collected but anyone with a brain stem could see that you were filled with panic. He straightened his blazer and unbottoned it as he made his way over to you.

‘’Can I try something? Please.’’ Sherlock asked with inquisitive and dark eyes, you were wondering what he wanted, what he was going to do. ‘’An experiment of sorts.’’

All you could do was mindlessly nod. ‘’Yeah.’’ You breathed.

Sherlock gazed into the endless summer of your eyes. If time stood still you'd take this moment and make it last forever. Your pupils dialated and that was something to cross off his checklist, his face was nearing yours and you blinked up at his dumbly. Your breath mingled with his and you stilled once his fingertips grazed up the bare skin of your arm, the pads flowing on the suppleness like oil upon water. Smooth skin left with goosebumps, you let out a shaky breath- completely confused yet enthralled with what he was doing.

His head dipped near your ear. Sherlock could feel your pulse kick into overdrive, he felt your body alight as he neared you- warm breath coating your skin. You were so damn shy, bright, deep and arousing as hell.

‘’No. It simply can't be true.’’ Sherlock muttered, he let go of you and you felt as though the sun just left everything in complete darkness.

Sherlock swayed slowly to lean on the edge of the table, arms crossed and the way he stood was enough to make electricity shoot down your thighs. Sherlock was shocked. It really couldn't be true but he secretly hoped it was.

‘’What are you talking about?’’ You asked impassively, afraid to reveal too much of yourself and the desire to jump his bones you were feigning in.

Sherlock finally pieced together you hadn't had anyone. You were a virgin.

It made his breath halt in his tracks when he came to the realisation, aren't people your age supposed to be fucking like bunnies? It was an objective expression: you were beautiful, sweet, charming and completely disarming. You had barely been touched. The thought is strangely appealling. Inexperienced? He could work with that, God knows he wanted to.

‘’Have you been kissed before?’’ Sherlock asked out of the blue, completely oblivious to how dumbfounded you were.

‘’Of course I have.’’ He thought you looked offended.

Yeah, you've been kissed but not often.... for some damn reason, it pleased him.

‘’Have you ever been touched before?’’ He questioned as if it was a normal thing to say.

You opened your mouth to talk but you couldn't find it in yourself to speak.

Hmm…interesting.

You were so...different. So different to his other women. He liked that.

And he wanted to fuck you, spank you and watch your skin pink beneath his cold hands. You weren't talking, that's out of the question now- isn't it?

He wanted to whip you into shape, your mouth would need training of course but he liked your naivite- it provided a challenge. Well maybe not fuck, that's too heavy handed for you. Maybe he could break you in...show you the ropes. It would be a novel experience for the both of you.

The look in Sherlock's eyes was that of fire swirling into a cylone, he sauntered his way over to you like a sly fox. Your chest was heavy as you looked up at him, the proximity between you two growing smaller and smaller. You daren't blink when he hooked his fingers up from your chin and jutted it up slightly- the feeling of his hands on yours was enough to do you in.

‘’I would like to bite that lip.’’ Sherlock grumbled concisely, his voice low and authoritative and your lips parted in surprise, he grazed his thumb over the soft pink flesh of your lips.

‘’I think I'd like that too.’’ You whispered, shocked by your own words.

‘’Where have you been? How have you been- how could you…?’’ Sherlock breathed, eyes inquisitive. Imploring you to make him understand how no one had taken you, no one had had you or touched you. How could it be possible?

‘’Waiting.’’ You breathed as you felt his hands cradle your face. ‘’For you.’’

‘’And a nice young man hasn't swooped you off of your feet? Men must throw themselves at you.’’

You were melting, knees buckling- you felt pathetic.

‘’No. No one. Just wanted you.’’ You exhaled, so intense and certain of your desire for him as you give him a bright come hither look, he was startled by the fact you weren't feeling so innocent now.

‘’Can I kiss you?’’ Sherlock asked politely and under his breath, which he wouldn't normally do but for you he was willing to bend the rules, his rules and it made him irate. He didn't like his specific rules he set be broken...he was just so curious about you that he was pushing to just get you out of that skirt, gag you and fuck you over the table but he had to tread lightly.

You shocked him when you grabbed him by the collar like instinct and slanted your mouth against his. Sherlock twisted his hand in your hair while your lips seek to find his. You moan into his mouth, the call of a siren and finally he could sample you: mint, tea, peach and an orchard of mellow fruitfulness, a fresh full supply that he wanted to drown in. Innocence and sweetness.

You taste every bit as good as you look.

You reminded him of a time of plenty. Good Lord, he was yearning for you.

Sherlock grasped your chin, deepening the kiss and your tongue tentatively touches his...exploring. Considering. Feeling. Revelling. Kissing him back.

Good God in Heaven. You thought you would grow wings before you could see the day, this could only happen in your wildest fantasies and dreams. A manifestation of sorts. You were punch drunk off of his taste, completely intoxicated beyond your reach and you didn't want to let go but you had to tear your lips away from his to breathe.

‘’I want to take you now...can I?’’ Sherlock had to ask politely, he couldn't just jump your bones although he wanted to.

‘’Sherlock, please. Do whatever you want with me, take control, I don't care. Just because I haven't been touched in this way doesn't mean I'm fragile and breakable. Fuck me how you want to, show me what you like. I've waited long enough, just do something.’’

Your voice sensual and that of an exotic creature, far too holy to be considered earthly. Sherlock had to contain his amusement and surprise, wow you were pulling the rug from under him and he liked that a lot. Those big doe eyes wide and gleaming to give you a morsel of the pleasure you were craving. He loved your incessant blushing.

‘’You don't mean that.’’ Sherlock warned.

‘’Yes I do.’’ Your voice timid.

‘’You're incredibly brave. I'm in awe of you.’’

‘’I feel like I'm too clothed.’’ You flirted.

Sherlock wanted to taste you, eat you out until tears were leaking down your face and then shock you with his cock.

He'd get there soon...in time. Maybe next time, he'd use the riding crop.

Yeah, yeah keep dreaming Sherlock. You have her here right now, just ease into it.

When he gripped you by the hand and lead you to his room, you felt your cheeks pink in desire. Sherlock felt a wholly unexpected thrill unfurl inside of him. He held you flush against his body. You gasp in surprise and his loud thoughts were subdued by his libido, he was so damn horny because of you- you had no clue how arousing you where. So alluring.

Sherlock's fingers tug at your hair, pulling your face up to his as he gazed into your captivating eyes.

This is so different...so intimate. It felt so heated. Although there was no arrangement made between you two, nothing placed, no limits set, you weren't his to do with as he pleases but yet he was still excited.

Aroused. It was obvious the way he was trying to reign his eagerness in when he was peeling you out of your clothes. You were shivering into his feather light touches, your body was alight like the fourth of July- a million fireworks exploding into the clear night sky and you were bathing in the feeling. He was so damn seductive. It was an unfamilair and exhilerating feeling, the desire for him coursing through you, at the tipping edge of a giant rollercoaster.

Sherlock got you half naked fairly quickly, he kneeled in front of you as you stood and your eyes widened. Sherlock Holmes on his knees? Dear God. You felt so special. He got you in your bra and now he wanted to peel your skirt off. His gleaming eyes met with yours and they daren't waver, they were blown out and dialated. Sherlock hands gripped onto your hips and he kissed the skin below the hem of your skirt and it began riding up with his nose as it travelled north. You whimpered and threw your head back in pure ecstasy. Your brows tensed as he stopped kissing you and finally shimmied your skirt down your legs.

Damn it.

His cock hardened in his pants. You in stockings? You in fine lingerie even though you had no one getting to see you like this, this…intimate? Who were you wearing them for? Him? Oh fuck. He was on top of the world.

His nose trailed over your panties and the scent of you was simply perfect, so delicious, he was salivating.

‘’Do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you?’’ He grumbled, planting kisses on your thighs.

You whined at nothing, the words filling you up entirely. You were entranced- lost in his spell- he was clearly happy with himself.

‘’Do you want me to kiss you here, sweetheart?’’ Sherlock asked and you nodded fervently as his mouth was dangerously near the place where your ache was.

Lord, you were pulsating. Soaked.

‘’Yes. Please.’’ You agreed politely and he loved how naive and cute you were, it was delightful that you remembered your manners.

Sherlock's thick finger pulled your panties to the side as he kissed and suckled on that spot that no one else had touched. You felt electricity course through you, your hands flew to his soft curls to tug at it. It made him feel so good. His tongue was doing his magic now, swiping and suckling on your swollen clit, illiciting these lewd noises out of you in the process.

You were seriously about to cry, it was all so much.

You grabbed his face to make him stand and he got on his feet in quick hot flashes, his mouth was fastened to yours again. You moaned into his mouth when his tongue tangled with yours again, you could taste yourself off of him- it was so damn erotic, something out of a dream. When he ripped his lips from yours to see the wanton look in your eyes, he found that you were covered in a delicious rose, your breathing shallow and quick. You were clearly embarrassed at how quickly he got you like this.

Sherlock groaned when you gripped onto his arms, he finally reached behind you and unclasped your bra. Your tits fell free and he immediately palmed at them, your nipples were painfully hard and it made him realise how badly you actually wanted him. Your skin was warm as you flushed. It was the first time anyone else had seen you naked and the fact it was the infamous Sherlock Holmes made it all the more better.

'So pretty, I want to mark your skin up, make you mine." He wasn't sure why he blurted the last part. Would he make you his? Well you weren't.

‘’Do it then.’’ You breathed.

Like clockwork, he obeyed. His teeth sunk into the skin of your neck as he littered bites all down the column of it, leaving his mark on you.

His mark all over you. You then noticed that he was still fully clothed and it made you frown and Sherlock saw that as he peeked at you.

‘’What's with the frown? Am I not satisfying you enough?’’ He taunted.

‘’You've still got clothes on.’’ You pouted. ‘’Let me take it off for you.’’ You offered so deliciously and for once, Sherlock let you. It was unheard of, but you were already bending his rules.

You unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it off him, but before you could revel in his physique he pushed you onto the bed. Your face contorted into different scenarios of pleasure and he wasn't even inside you yet. Sherlock fawned over you, hands roaming every inch of your skin, your hands raking in his hair. Breath warm as he kissed you. Your hands flew to his pants.

Whoa...gentle. Easy. So...eager. He liked that. The naive innocent itching to just get into his pants- interesting.

You unzipped it and Sherlock finally let his cock spring free. He peeked up at your face to check that you were still keen but it was more than that. You were desperate. Your mouth formed into an 'o' as it popped open, eyes wide with how big he was. It startled you, even envisioning what it would look like. He was leaking. Fuck.

‘’You still want this?’’ He checks again and you nodded furiously, already panting. Has he ever been this aroused? He didn't get it…it must be you.

Sherlock postioned himself in between your thighs as he slid into you so he could take you on his whim. Your eyes were open wide, imploring him as you strained. Should he be gentle and prolong the agony or just go for it?

The need to posses you clouds him. He goes for it.

You cry out and the pain felt so fucking God, the sting burned and you fucking loved it.

‘’Is that okay?’’ Sherlock checked as his eyes bore into yours, your face was etched in pure pleasure.

‘’Mmhmm...fuck...it feels...nice.’’ You whisper in his ear, moaning and whimpering and it was like his favourite sound of music.

Nice?

Sherlock? Nice?

Oh no, that's not good enough.

Sherlock wasn't nice in bed he was downright devilish in bed but for you he was willing to be soft, maybe later he'll fuck you in every way possible.

He had never felt this desire. This hunger before. He wanted so much from you but for now, he wanted you to cum on him.

Sherlock eased in and out of you slowly, eyes connected and scorching. Intimate. Hot. Slow. Normally, he would've pinned your hands above your head but right now they were in his hair and that's exactly where he wanted them to be right now. He began to pick up the pace and your moans echoed throughout his bedroom. It was just beginning to dawn on you that you were being fucked by Sherlock Holmes in his own bedroom.

‘’You're so fucking wet, I love it.’’ He cooed condescendingly and you didn't find it in yourself to care.

Sherlock reached you at the hilt, hitting that spot over and over as he kissed your lips and your jaw. He was just relentless and perfect.

‘’..God..'’ It was more of a strangled cry than an actual word.

‘’Cum with me...feel it with me, baby.’’

That's it…Feel it.

He loved that you were so responsive, he'd have to keep you in line for that later though. The pet name drove you to insanity as you bottomed out, gushing onto him as the flood gates opened and you had none of the means to keep them closed. Your cry was incandescent and it made him follow you in your footsteps. How telling. It was an explosive collision, a once in a lifetime event. That blush began to coat and prick your skin again.

When he finished, he rolled off beside you to regain his breath. The air was so thick and fulfilled, fire and erosion turning the atmosphere to molten lava. You cut through the pants.

‘’Am I supposed to thank you...because..uhm. Thank you.’’ You breathed bashfully, so sensual in your stance but you attempted to collect yourself and he wanted to laugh.

You were so amusing. So fun.

‘’This was more for me than you.’’ Sherlock admitted truthfully.

‘’Humility will always be a mystery to you.’’ You raised your eyebrow as you leaned to your side to peek up at him. Silence encompassed the air as your statement was incredibly true, he wasn't oblivious to it.

‘’How on Earth have you avoided…?’’ Sherlock seemed exasperated, confused as his brows creased but you cut him off.

‘’I told you, I wasn't interested. I only wanted you.’’

[bulkyphrase]

Cap-IM Rec Week - Early Canon Wednesday

Day 3 of @cap-ironman's rec week event! Today's list features stories set in the early days: comics stories set in the time when the Avengers lived in the mansion and no one knew Tony was Iron Man, or movie-verse stories from the beautiful 2011-2013 era.

Get Some Now by @sineala (616, Teen And Up Audiences, 10,376 words)

Summary: Avengers Mansion has a mysterious feline infestation. Meanwhile, Steve just can't figure out how to ask Tony out on a date. And the thirteen teleporting cats sure aren't helping matters any. Also available as a podfic read by where_thewind_blows (@flowersthroughthecracks)

Homefront by @copperbadge (MCU, Explicit, 12,860 words)

Summary: Steve Rogers is a capable leader, a kind and cheerful man, a good friend, a strong role model, and a loyal soldier. He's also teetering on the edge of suicide. Also available as a podfic read by watery_weasel

More below the cut!

Love among the Hydrothermal Vents by DevilDoll (MCU, Explicit, 26,816 words)

Summary: In which Namor has a thing for Steve, an octopus has a thing for Tony, and Steve and Tony eventually have a thing for each other. Also available as a podfic read by RsCreighton (@rosecreighton)

Semaphore by DevilDoll (MCU, Explicit, 40,040 words)

Summary: "I’m trying to like you, Tony. You’re just making it very hard." Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Also available as a podfic read by crinklysolution

Slipping off the Page into Your Hands by @sineala (616, Explicit, 68,149 words)

Summary: Soulmates have their first words to each other written on their wrists. This should make it easy. For Steve and Tony, it is anything but. Steve's problem is that the future he has awoken into is nothing he was ever expecting: he has a soulmate now. Who might be a robot. And if his soulmate is Iron Man, how can he be so attracted to Tony Stark? It should be impossible. Tony's problem is that he is Iron Man, his soulmate is a man whom he in no way deserves, and he is going to fight everything in his heart and do his best to make sure Steve never, ever finds out the whole truth. Also available as a podfic read by RsCreighton (@rosecreighton)

Someone to Love by blue_jack (@some-blue-jack) (MCU, Mature, 47,161 words)

Summary: What does it matter that it’d been because of Loki and his damn magic? He’d fallen in love with Steve once. He can do it again.

Team Building Activities by valtyr (MCU, Mature, 37,938 words)

Summary: Fury's a beautiful princess. Clint's plotting a Communist revolution. Rhodey's not sexy. Wall-E's not a documentary. Clint's not gay but he does give a great blowjob. This fic is not an AU. Also available as a podfic read by kalakirya

The Unlikely Wingman by @sineala (616, General Audiences, 1,074 words)

Summary: Clint doesn't see why he should have to follow Captain America's orders. But he also doesn't see why Captain America should have to sit around looking miserably lonely, either.

Think of This as Solving Problems (That Should Never Have Occurred) by @sineala (616, Teen And Up Audiences, 35,216 words)

Summary: No one knows Tony is Iron Man. Then Tony gets amnesia, and literally no one knows Tony is Iron Man.

Tomorrow Belongs To Me by valtyr (MCU, Explicit, 87,241 words)

Summary: Steve wakes up in the 21st Century. He doesn't think much of it, and it's dubious about him. He meets a Norse God, joins a superhero team, and feels terribly awkward about the whole monument at Arlington he's rendered obsolete by not being dead. Meanwhile, Tony is trying to make his mark on history by being the man who finally drove Nick Fury over the edge. Also available as a podfic read by kalakirya

What Lies Inside by Penumbren (616, Explicit, 21,808 words)

Summary: When the Avengers discover Captain America in the Arctic sea, they find more than just a new team member: Tony Stark discovers his fated mate. The problem is, Steve Rogers is a man out of his own time and apparently straight, and Tony's not about to force anything on the man he loves--even if it means his own death. Besides, Tony's spent his entire life keeping secrets. How can he possibly tell Steve that he's really Iron Man, let alone a werewolf? Also available as a podfic read by Saphirerose

[kylo-wrecked]

Name: Ben.

Nickname(s): Occasionally, a friend, a foe, or a love interest will call him Benji or Benny. Obviously, all Bens are united in their hatred of this.

Relationship Status: Verse dependent. Modern!Ben's articulated the words 'I love you' to but one other.

Gender: Cis male.

Romantic Orientation: Exploring or unsure.

Preferred Pet Names: Music!Ben will call you 'baby' if he hates you.

Opinion on True Love: All Bens believe true love exists... but maybe not for hims.

Opinion on Love at First Sight: Music!Ben thinks he's fallen in love at first sight many, many times. Modern!Ben is somehow more suspicious. Ex!Con Ben has never looked another person in the eye (Jk, he's not a believer) and Smuggler!Ben...

How ‘Romantic’ Are They?: He's unpracticed, not unromantic.

Edited for E.: Music!Ben can charm the pants off anyone but I still don’t think that makes him a ‘romantic.’

Ideal Physical Traits: This one is tricky because mun struggles to understand what makes one physical trait more desirable than another :') but we shall try.

Based on copious evidence, mun believes Bens generally prefer longer hair for [women/femmes], short to medium curls for [men/mascs], notable thighs (strong, long, or thick), or other limbs and extremities (Smuggler!Ben). Striking eyes, chest hair for [men/mascs], a nice smile, a brazen or unique laugh (for Music!Ben especially, laughter is physical). Scars and other proof of life.

Because he's 6'4", he prefers his partners tall, but because he's 6'4", he invariably accepts smol.

Ideal Personality Traits: If he likes you, be yourself. All of yourself, preferably, because he's greedy.

All Bens find humility attractive in a person. Music!Ben covets meanness and whatever he interprets as power today. Let's not think about tomorrow.

Unattractive Physical Traits: We're struggling again, and that's okay.

Redubbing this part 'least desired observable characteristics.'

Shaved or bleached brows, dreads on heads where they don't belong, notable cosmetic alterations (Music!Ben specific), literal body language (Smuggler!Ben specific), worm physique (Smuggler!Ben specific), problem skin.

Unfortunately, Music!Ben can veer on fat-phobic (he's certainly weight-conscious himself) and Modern!Ben thinks women should shave their legs for him or something ridiculous like that. Not that he'd ever say it. (Dirty fingernails are fine by him, though. The more, the merrier.)

Unattractive Personality Traits: ☝️ Do not lie to him.

Ideal Date: bullets? Bullets.

Modern!Ben: movie/museum and dinner, in that order, because post-movie/museum-going conversations reveal much about a person.

Music!Ben: goes from 1 to 111. He's not dating you; he met you someplace awful and will never leave you alone again. Hint: He's never the dumper, always the dumped.

Ex-Con!Ben: Somewhere quiet, outdoors, away from the public eye. Said date must make it clear to Ben that he's on a date, or else he'll be utterly lost.

Smuggler!Ben: kidnapped Poe Dameron once—and it was awesome.

Do They Have a Type?: Bens are often attracted to sensitive, mysterious persons... or people who 'yell' at hims (Music!Ben, Smuggler!Ben).

Average Relationship Length: Six inches. One to two years.

Preferred Non-Sexual Intimacy: Smush-

Commitment Level: Fluctuates. Bens are serious about those they care for, but.

Ah, the various buts.

Opinion of Public Affection:

Modern!Ben: Outlook good/You may rely on it.

Music!Ben: Don't count on it/My sources say no.

Ex-Con!Ben: ???/Ask again later.

Smuggler!Ben: *loudly in the cantina* —we're NOT married?!

Past Relationships?:

Modern!Ben: Has entered two serious relationships. The first was young and short-lived. The second ended in California. She cheated on him, and he has never recovered.

Music!Ben: Sadly. And before then, a fling with Rey, which he fucked up beautifully. And before, after, and somewhere in between, a thing with Armitage (verse dependent). It wasn't a romance, but it was certainly something.

Ex-Con!Ben: Nope.

Smuggler!Ben: Verse dependent but primarily occupied with and committed to Not Dying Between Now and Centaxday.

tagged by:// @godresembled <3 thank you, fren, for the much-needed distraction during my moving frenzy.

tagging:// anymun who hasn't already done this meme and wants to share~

singling out, @valkxrie, @debelltio, @itmeanspeace, @themckaytriarchy, @ofthestcrs (muse of choice), @certifiably-i (muse of choice), @ifyoucatchacriminal (muse of choice). @etoilebleu (muse of choice eris).

[talonabraxas]

The Secret of the Golden Flower Talon Abraxas

A MAGIC SPELL FOR THE FAR JOURNEY

Master Lu Tzu said: Yu Ching has left behind him a magic spell for the Far Journey:

Words crystallize the spirit in the place of power. The sixth month the white snow is suddenly seen to fly. The third watch the disk of the sun sends out shining rays. The water blows the wind of gentleness. Wandering in Heaven, one eats the spirit-power of the receptive. The deeper secret within the secret: land that is nowhere, that is the true home.

These verses are full of mystery. The meaning is: The most important thing in the Great Meaning is the four words: non-action in action. Non-action prevents a person from becoming entangled in form and image (substantiality). Action in non-action prevents a person from sinking into numbing emptiness and a dead nothingness. The effect is in the two eyes. The two eyes are like the pole of the Great Wain which turns the whole of creation; the cause the poles of Light and darkness to rotate. The Elixir depends from beginning to end on the One; the metal in the middle of the water, that is, the lead in the water-region. Heretofore we have spoken of the circulation of the Light, indicating thereby the initial release which works from without upon what lies within. This is to aid one in obtaining the Master. It is for the pupils in the beginning stages. They go through the two lower transitions in order to gain the upper one. After the sequence of events is clear and the nature of the release is known, Heaven no longer withholds the Meaning, but reveals the ultimate truth. Disciples keep it secret and hold to it strictly!

The circulation of the Light is the inclusive term. The further the work advances, the more can the Golden Flower bloom. But there is a still more marvelous kind of circulation. Til now we have worked from the outside on what is within; now we tarry in the center and rule what is external. Hitherto, it was a service in aid of the Master; now it is a dissemination of the commands of this Master. The whole relationship is now reversed. If one wants to penetrate the more delicate regions by this method, one must first see to it that the body and heart are completely controlled, that one is quite free and at peace, letting go of all entanglements, untroubled by the slightest excitement, with the Heavenly Heart exactly in the middle. Then let one lower the lids of the two eyes as if one received a holy edict, a summons to the minister. Who would dare disobey? Then one illumines the house of the abysmal (water) with both eyes. Wherever the Golden Flower appears, the true Light of polarity goes out to meet it. The principle of that which adheres to (lightness), is light outside and dark within; it is the body of the creative. Darkness enters and becomes master. The results is that the heart (consciousness), becomes dependent on things, is directed outward, and is tossed about on the stream. When the rotating Light shines within the heart, it does not become dependent on things, the power of the dark is limited, and the Golden Flower shines with concentration. It is then the collected Light of polarity. Things that are related attract each other. Thus does the polarity Light-line of the abysmal press upward. It is not only the Light in the abyss, but it is creative Light meeting creative Light. As soon as these two substances meet each other, they unite inseparably, and unceasing life begins; it comes and goes, and rises and falls of itself, in the house of primordial power. One is aware of effulgence and infinity. The whole body feels lighter and would like to fly. This is the state of which it is said: Clouds fill the thousand mountains. Gradually it (life) goes here and there quite quietly; it rises and falls imperceptibly. The pulse stands still and breathing stops. This is the moment of true creative unity, the state of which it is said: The moon gathers up the ten thousand waters. In the midst of this darkness, the Heavenly Heart suddenly begins a movement. This is the return of the one Light, the time when the child comes to life.

But the details of this must be carefully explained. When a person looks at something, listens to something, eyes and ears move and follow the things until they have passed. These movements are all underlings, and when the Heavenly ruler follows them in their tasks, it means: To live together with demons.

If now, during every movement and every moment of rest, a person lives together with people and not with demons, then the Heavenly ruler is the t rue man. When he moves and we move with him, the movement is the root of Heaven. When he is quiet and we are quiet with him, this quietness is the cave of the moon. When he continues to alternate movement and quietness, one ought to go on with him unceasingly in movement and quietness. If he rises and falls with inhaling and exhaling, we must rise and fall with him. That is what is called going to and fro between the root of Heaven and the cave of the moon.

When the Heavenly Heart still preserves calm, movement before the right time is a fault of softness. When the Heavenly Heart has already moved, the movement that follows afterwards, corresponding with it, is a fault or rigidity. As soon as the Heavenly Heart is stirring, one must immediately mount with all one's feeling to the house of the creative. Thus the Light of the spirit sees the summit that is the leader. This movement is in accord with the time. The Heavenly Heart rises to the summit of the creative, where it expands in complete freedom. Then suddenly it wants the deepest silence, and one must lead it speedily and with one's whole being into the yellow castle. Thus the eyes behold the central yellow dwelling place of the spirit.

When the desire for silence comes, not a single thought arises; he who is look ing inward suddenly forgets that he looks. At this time, body and heart must be left completely free. All entanglements disappear without trace. Then I no longer know at what place the house of my spirit and my crucible are. If a man wants to make certain of his body, he cannot get at it. This condition is the penetration of Heaven into earth, the time when all wonders return to their roots.

The One is the circulation of the Light. If one begins, it is at first scattered and one tries to collect it; the six senses are not active. This is the care and nourishment of one's own origin, the filling up of the oil when one goes to receive life. When one is far enough to have gathered it, one feels light and free and need take no further trouble. This is the quieting of the spirit in the space of the ancestors, the taking possession of former Heaven.

When one is so far advanced that every shadow and every echo has disappeared, so that one is quiet and firm, it is safe within the cave of power, where all that is miraculous returns to its roots. The place is not changed but divides itself. It is incorporeal space where a thousand and ten thousand places are one place. The time is not changed, but divides itself. It is immeasurable time when all the eons are like a moment.

As long as the heart has not attained complete peace, it cannot move itself. One moves the movement and forgets the movement; this is not movement in itself. Therefore it is said: If, when stimulated by external things, one is moved, it is the instinct of the being. If, when not stimulated by external things, one is moved, it is the movement of Heaven. The being that is placed over against Heaven, can fall and come under the domination of the instincts. The instincts are based upon the fact that there are external things. They are thoughts that go on beyond their own position. Then movement leads to movement. But, when no idea arises, the right ideas come. That is the true idea. If things are quiet and one is quite firm, the release of Heaven suddenly moves. Is this not a movement without purpose? Action in inaction has the same meaning.

As to the beginning of the poem, the first two lines refer entirely to the activity of the Golden Flower. The two next lines are concerned with the mutual interpenetration of sun and moon. The sixth month is the adhering fire. The white snow that flies, is the true darkness of polarity in the middle of the fire sign, that is about to turn into the receptive. The third watch is the abysmal water. The sun's disk is the one polar line in the sign for water, which is about to turn into the creative. In this is contained the way to take the sign for the abysmal and the way to reverse the sign for the adhering fire. The following two lines have to do with the activity of the pole of the Great Wain, the rise and fall of the whole release of polarity. Water is the sign of the abysmal; the eye is the wind of softness. The light of the eyes illumines the house of the abysmal, and controls there the seed of the great Light. "In Heaven" means the house of the creative. "Wandering, in Heaven, one eats the spirit-power of the receptive." This shows how the spirit penetrates the power, and how Heaven penetrates the earth; this happens so that the fire can be nourished.

[crooked-wasteland]

How would you rank every HB episode from worst to best?

This took me some time to think on, but thank you for the ask.

So all the Helluva Boss episodes ranked worst to best (in my opinion):

The Circus

I have to place the season 2 premiere as the worst episode of the entire series, simply because it cemented the direction the story was going to go with all of the worst ideas floating to the top. The relationship mystery between Stolas and Blitz gets watered down to a childhood crush based on nothing. It is love at first sight, but then the writing performs gymnastics in order to justify Stolas’ attraction after the fact. It’s so painful in Seeing Stars and Oops how the writers really want us to believe that Stolas liked him as a person first and that is supposed to be shown in how Stolas thinks Blitz is funny when no one else does, but the series of events in the Circus will forever undermine that narrative. He finds Blitz funny because he is attracted to him. Not the other way around.

Aside from the issues with the overarching story, the entire structure of the episode fails. The idea of Chekhov’s Gun is one I believe holds merit as a fundamental tool. If you are going to introduce something like theft, acknowledge the danger of the event, repeatedly draw attention to the theft, and then just never mention any sort of natural conclusion to that plot point. If anything, Blitz returning to Stolas’ home 25 years later to do the exact same thing, necessitated a coming full circle moment of that particular plot point. The failure to identify even the most basic of narrative principles that was a solid through line of character, story and themes told me everything I needed to know about how the series was going to be handled.

Stolas’ song is a poorly-performed nonsensical word salad that I found lacked any cohesion to the character in the previous episode or the next. It’s an ugly song with maybe 2 decent verses where Stolas acknowledges that this was all playing pretend, but that eventually goes nowhere.

Additionally, Stella was officially ruined as a character, which ultimately ruined Stolas as a character. By not giving Stella depth, Stolas was also stripped of any depth or complexity. His reason for staying is dumbed down to “for the child”, and Stella’s motivation is thrown out the window in favor of “she’s awful and please don’t try to make her understandable, because then what if Stolas is held accountable for anything?” Stella is too important a character in Stolas’ story, to make her one dimensional is to make Stolas less interesting. Everything is interwoven in a story, pulling a thread in one place unravels the garment elsewhere.

In a single episode, it encompasses everything that is wrong with the series, past and future.

0/10

Seeing Stars

To be honest, I feel Seeing Stars is most people’s worst episode due to some sense of denial when the season premiered and expected the show to at least continue with some kind of coherent story/timeline. I don’t think it would be as hated if Medrano had tightened up the narrative and made Seeing Stars connect to Ozzie’s more.

However, I would still put it at number 2, even if it had. Mainly because Seeing Stars is the worst sense of characterization and dynamics I have ever seen. And when you are trying to sell a character-driven story, some kind of consistency is required. This episode cemented Loona as being an abusive, manipulative, and entitled “bitch” of a person. Octavia is written like she is 13, not 17. Blitz and Stolas have the darkest timeline where Stolas continues to sexualize Blitz after being told off in the last episode and seemingly acknowledging that he defined the dynamic without any input from Blitz. Then forces him on stage despite Blitz being on the verge of a panic attack. But most of all, it has Stolas and Blitz both completely forget why they are even in this situation, because they are supposed to be looking for Octavia.

There was no lesson Blitz needed to learn, if anything he needed to be instilled with more self esteem where possible. And Stolas already had this story arc done much better in Loo Loo Land. His character actively regresses to redo the exact plot thread, but worse. Much like The Circus, Seeing Stars set the stage for what we could look forward to in regards to the series from here on out, and the utter disrespect leveled at the original 6 episodes.

That’s not even counting how the episode is the exact same plot and story beats as Loo Loo Land, highlighting the extent of how creatively bankrupt the series is.

.5/10

Exes and Ohs

If it comes to personal most hated episode, it would be Exes and Ohs for me. The only reason it is number 3 and not number 1 is because it is a narrative cul-de-sac where the larger story is not affected by it at all.

However, it is still an objectively awful episode. Starting with the premise. The whole plot is a stolen South Park joke. It’s the Steal underpants episode, stretched out into something longer, and not nearly as funny. If you are wholesale ripping off another show, that’s plagiarism. This episode is creatively bankrupt, shouldn’t exist, has no purpose and serves no benefit. People try to argue that it has value due to Moxxie’s backstory, but what does it even serve? Sure, I know it now, but not a single character does. Millie doesn’t even find out. Even moreso, Millie’s entire connection to Chaz goes nowhere and is for nothing. We never know how, when or why she dated Chaz, it's shown she hates him, but she doesn’t even kill him. The whole episode would have ended exactly the same with Crim killing Chaz once he realized the shark demon was lying about having money.

It’s not good when the major complaints of the episode are actually what is saving it from being the worst episode.

2/10

Musical Special

The retconning of this episode, changing who Fizz was as a child to try and justify his uselessness in Oops retroactively is beyond frustrating. There is so much I could go on about in terms of character, but just focusing on this episode.

Mainly, the mildly perturbing extent Medrano goes to hetero-normalize her queer relationships. Every single relationship in the series is stereotypically designed as “Protector” and “Protected”. Stolas, Fizzarolli, and Moxxie are all characters who require constant support and protection from other factors in the plot.

Stolas needed to be protected from Striker. Moxxie needs to be protected from most things in his plots. Season 1 it was the fish monster, Striker, the agents, and finally Ozzie and Fizz. Season 2 we have him needing to be defended from his father and Chaz.

This episode it's all about Fizzarolli and him needing to be defended from his crippling low self-esteem that is only relevant to have him needing to be saved from something. The flashback serves to further retcon Fizz’s personality because a strong and confident performer doesn’t need to be saved from anyone, and in order to have the codependent romance where Fizz needs Ozzie, we need to fundamentally weaken him as a person. It’s a special episode, so the argument that it doesn’t need to exist is rather moot. Regardless, the characters and story are worse off for its addition to the narrative.

2/10

Queen Bee

Another special episode, so the argument of narrative value is once again disregarded. I dislike this episode for how one dimensional every female character is in this story. It highlights all the ongoing issues with misogynistic writing. Loona’s character is a wildly swinging pendulum from being antagonistic towards Blitz to being endeared with little motivation and ultimately being reduced to the caretaker of men. When she and Bee get into an argument, she only deescalates when she sees Tex be uncomfortable. The initial hostility itself is founded on nothing, Loona is immediately resentful of Bee because she’s attractive and people like her, specifically Tex. And her being sweet towards Blitz is entirely based on the fact that her relationship to him makes her look good due to his accomplishment of beating Beelzebub in a drink-off. It doesn’t read sincere, but rather she would look bad if she didn’t take care of him after identifying him as her “dad” when it suited her.

This entire episode works to assassinate Loona’s character and any hope of her being likable and growing. Everything about her motivation is purely selfish and consistently reinforced in big ways, so moving forward it will be very hard to realistically prove she does anything for not her own benefit.

The song was nice for about one minute, then it became unbearably repetitive.

1.5/10

Western Energy

This episode was altered and rewritten, which doesn’t inherently make it bad. It’s just that it was changed due to fans pointing out the glaring plot hole that is why Stella would want to kill Stolas when a divorce would benefit her more. Instead of critically assessing that question and focusing more on world building to create a logical justification for Stella’s actions, the writers shrug their shoulders and just can’t think of anything. It’s a special form of fridge horror as a writer to realize the major plot that was intended to push Blitz and Stolas closer together was so underdeveloped that when at all questioned resulted in the entire plot being unwritten. It’s transparently bad writing, but worse yet is that it is lazy.

This episode is what I use to show an example of how fans inject headcannon and plot into the series that the creators have no interest in spending the energy on. This isn’t James Cameron’s Avatar where there is a massively rich world around a lackluster story that has been crafted with such detail that it feels alive. Helluva Boss, and in extension Hazbin Hotel, have no world building and resort to the most superficial answers to any narrative roadblock at the expense of the characters and understanding their motivations. It shows resentment for not just the audience, but writing as an artform.

3/10

Ozzie's (with season 2 context)

I had to put Ozzie’s on the list twice due to this episode in specific having vastly different reads and reception before and after season 2 premiered. After The Circus, the episode loses all continuity with the original season. Stolas is pining and lovesick over Blitz, he doesn’t actually care about his wife and daughter leaving him. He just wishes more than anything to have his rugged peasant return his affections.

It is a plummet of quality and character in this episode that only comes to fruition with the understanding that Stolas has had an unreciprocated crush for two and a half decades.

With the context of season 2, Stolas doesn’t actually care about his daughter and how his affair, the marriage falling apart, their status, etc. affected her and his family. He only cares about the little boy he got a crush on, who his father rented out like a Lexus and then 25 years later Stolas demanded sex from. Stolas has a complete personality change and isn’t at all who he was the entire series to this point. Everything you thought mattered to him doesn’t, the ways we have come to expect this character to react to things is suddenly entirely different. His expectations are unexplainable and so far out to left field than what we previously established. This is one of the worst written episodes based on the major retconning of a keystone character and no effort being made to connect these changes in the narrative.

This was the warning shot we didn’t know we were given.

1/10

Spring Broken

Spring Broken to Unhappy Campers are the range of utterly ambivalence I have.

The song is poorly incorporated into the episode. Verosika isn’t ever fleshed out. Tex and Loona start off cute, and you can see a starting point of a dynamic between Loona and Blitz and you want her to treat him better while also recognizing that he infantalizes her constantly and doesn’t ever treat her like the adult she is. Could have been really good writing if it went anywhere. This episode establishes Loona abuses Blitz and does so intentionally because it gets her her way. It isn’t malicious, but immature and incredibly cruel, and there is a desire to see her become a better person and grow from this point.

Too bad.

4/10

C.H.E.R.U.B

I know this episode gets a ton of criticism for being a joke/filler episode that goes too long. And that is absolutely correct. However it is still better in that being filler, it is not seeking to be anything more than it is. It is just some dumb fun with a few jokes that come anywhere close to landing. But it doesn’t harm the characters or their stories, unlike the rest of the list up to this point

3/10

Oops

This episode is a hard one to place because I consider the first 7 of this list to be bad episodes. Then 8-12 are those that aren’t good with varying scales of enjoyment on my part. However I think Oops is neither good nor enjoyable. But it has some good story ideas that deserve some credit, regardless of how the writing and pacing consistently tries to undermine them.

The scene of Blitz and Fizzarolli in the alleyway is contrived and feels confused, but it does manage to land some points such as Fizz’s insecurity of being owned by his partner (too bad that goes nowhere and is immediately ignored in favor of Fizz NEEDS Ozzie, so essentially ownership is good actually) and Fizz hanging Blitz’s insecurity and guilt over his head.

The forced engagement, rapid fire pacing, and immediate resolution thoroughly dismantles any good points the episode started to set up. I have to admit the animation is pretty solid, people worked very hard on this for less pay than this quality deserves. But this episode struggles to find a place it belongs on my list because. It almost sees the light only to bury its head in the sand writing-wise.

2/10

Unhappy Campers

Unhappy Campers sits in the same pool with Oops and how it is objectively a terrible episode, but the portions involving Blitz and Barbie are genuinely interesting and I think relatively well done when compared to the rest of the season. Millie has some fun moments herself, though the whole portion of the episode surrounding her and Moxxie could have been cut and it would only serve to elevate the material overall. So even if she is the best part of the worst portion of the story, it still isn’t something I deem worth salvaging.

It would have been an excellent 5 minute episode.

2/10

Murder Family

It’s the first episode. It did well reintroducing the characters from the pilot. It had enough intrigue to see where it would go and how it would expand the world and characters. It. Was genuinely fun and impressive for a YouTube animation, with horror notes and black comedy. There was a sense of character that we could maybe get to know over time and see them struggle and change. It started off very superficial, which was fine.

The blank canvas of what could have been.

5/10

Ozzie's (Before season 2)

Having to remember Ozzie’s premiere after an entire season of thinking we were getting to know the characters, their dynamics, personality, wants, etc. So the personality change in Stolas is given more leeway as LooLooLand set up that he really wished he could find love and his wife and daughter leaving has changed his routine to the point he is in a depression. It even seems Stella took the staff with her in the separation and he’s genuinely all alone.

So him sitting in front of a television asking why nobody will love him makes sense and doesn’t feel out of character when given the room to rationalize and try to piece together the character from past instances. Additionally, him becoming overjoyed at Blitz calling him out is just as easy to rationalize away. I recall watching the episode and interpreting that Stolas was needy, desperate and earnest, not for Blitz, but just in general. And Blitz making himself available to Stolas is why Stolas tries so hard to make this pretend date legitimate. It also explains Blitz’s own utter disinterest in the scenario.

Ironically, looking back, Blitz feels like an Audience insert with how utterly confused and dismissive he is of Stolas’ targeted affection. He sees their relationship like the audience does: one of convenience and mutual benefit. Blitz calling Stolas out is him cashin in on this messed up coercive sex deal they have. Him calling Stolas out and using him for his own gains is only seen as fair in his eyes. And Stolas’ attempts to legitimize the date is a continuation of his own hedonistic selfishness. So when Stolas tries to leave Blitz or otherwise removes himself by covering his face, Blitz’s anger and resentment is valid. Because there’s a lot of confusion taking place at the moment, but Stolas is responsible for all of it and instead runs away.

The exact same escapist behavior that ended up with him in bed with Blitz in the first place.

This is all really compelling drama and without the codependent neediness of the second season, it ties together in what feels like a real season finale for the characters. Everything up to now was a prologue, an introduction of the world, characters and conflicts. Ozzie actually took the characters and faced them off against each other directly. Showing all of their worst traits and building more intrigue to Blitz’s past and his relationships. This was an episode of great potential when it was first released.

7/10

Loo Loo Land

I’ll be honest, the more I think on this episode the more I believe its placement is more out of pettiness than actual quality. While a song that made me invested at the time, You Will Be Okay is a poorly written musical song. Specifically in how it fails to actually build on the themes we were having presented. Because if you really listen to it, the song foreshadows how little Stolas actually cares about Octavia.

The only part of the song that builds character is the one when he speaks of how his marriage is cold and loveless and how “all [his] stories have been told, except for one.” Which one would think that untold story has something to do with Octavia. He’s singing the song for her, to her. He’s presumably alluding to the fact that she’s his only joy in life.

But the very next line is talking about Armageddon. Like the end of everything, the death of the universe, some heavenly judgement. That’s why everyone and their off brand YouTube clone was talking about Stolas dying at some point in the series. Because the song fails to adequately communicate the character and his feelings and how that wraps into the plot. It’s a pretty song to the ears, but fails as a musical.

Additionally, I feel I may still have such a soft spot for this episode in how it often contradicts the current direction the story has attempted to go. Details, dialogue, timeline discrepancies, all of that has continued to hinder the second season in trying to retcon the entire story to this lesser version of itself and Loo Loo land as an episode is just so tightly written that it has become a thorn.

All the portions with Blitz and RoboFizz are great. Great character, great foreshadowing (to nothing unfortunately), great pacing. Those scenes have some legitimately funny jokes. Stolas stole the show it seems, much to the series detriment, but the real stellar parts of the episode were for once the actual main character.

6/10

Truth Seekers

This episode would have been my favorite due to Blitz’s bad trip and the animation involved throughout. However, the fact that the show has entirely dropped the relevant and interesting portions of the episode, overused and abused Stolas’ demon design since this episode, and the animators have since been confirmed to not be paid fairly for the work they do, this gets to be number 2.

Like Loo Loo Land, Truth Seekers is a primary source of contradiction in the new direction the story has gone and a constant reminder of how little work has been put into the narrative. It’s one of the strongest episodes of the series as a whole, but it has been almost entirely retconned.

I have seen some mention of the agents returning to the story and if that does come to pass, this will be hilarious in trying to reconcile what parts of Truth Seekers is canon and what isn’t any longer. And the realization that all the best parts are the ones ending up on the cutting room floor.

7/10

Harvest Moon

Striker was an intimidating figure. Genuinely. There was a real sense of weight to this episode in the animation and visual storytelling. It’s a solid episode for what it is and far and above better than even Truth Seekers because it required Medrano and her staff to actually address the episode and make obvious efforts to retcon it. That is how solid an episode this is.

Stolas is not too creepy and dominating, but nor is he seen as the delicate princess who is always crying over some guy who doesn’t return his feelings. He is fun, and it starts the nudge towards maybe something a bit more amicable on Blitz’s end.

Millie absolutely deserved more time for her character seeing as they were staying with her family and she having an episode of standing by her husband and defending her choices in who she loves would have been far more engaging than Murder Family pt. 2, Moxxie lacks confidence and self esteem forever and always.

The song was so inconsequential. It was a funny segue with Striker basically upstaging Moxxie at every turn, but that doesn’t actually go anywhere when in regards to the plot overall.

And Stella putting a hit on her husband, to his face, was hilarious and would have been so interesting to have seen it played more than a joke. Like Stolas knows she wants to kill him, and he is just vaguely fine with that. Maybe thinking his letting her try to kill him would have her stay and not file for divorce. Have it been this macabre comedic sitcom where she’s always trying to kill him and hates his guts for being a subpar husband, but he takes it as some kind of tit-for-tat and plays along with it. She gets to send assassins after him, he gets to have sex with his rugged assassin imp. It’s a ridiculous level of absurdity that still allows for all the characters to be dimensional.

That got a little away from me there. Basically, this episode was the strongest overall. Animation wise, writing wise, story potential wise. This episode is the most solid Helluva Boss episode.

7.8/10

[danpuff-ao3]

Snarry-a-Thon 2023

Snarry-a-Thon is an annual fest of Snarry goodness that always brings so much creativity and joy in the Snarry community. I am forever blown away by how much talent and passion Snarry-lovers have. With that in mind, I wanted to create some special recs for a fest near and dear to my heart.

With that, here are my Top 5 picks for the 2010 fest! But first...

Disclaimer: my rec lists are created based on my personal experiences and preferences. There are plenty of other stories and authors who are quite good and deserve just as much love. This is not meant to be an objective “best of the best” list, but the subjective opinion of a longtime reader and fangirl.

Loose Ends

by Arrisha (@arrisha-ao3). Rated: E. Words: 9,856. Heavy angst. Dark. Psychological horror. Unhealthy relationships. Trauma. Mystery. Angst and Romance.

I love you, Severus wants to say. But the timing is never right.

The Want of You

by Ephemeral (@fleetingdesires). Rated: E. Words: 7,377. Hogwarts 8th Year. POV Severus Snape. Clubbing. Virginity loss.

On his night off, Severus unexpectedly realises that Harry has grown into quite an attractive man. He's just not going to think too hard about it. No, he's not going to think about him at all. It's fine. He's fine. Everything is fine.

Nocturne

by Necromanticnoir (@necromanticnoir). Rated: E. Words: 54,090. Fairiytale retellings. Creature fic. Dual POV. Horror. Heartache. Mutual pining. Angst and feels. Self-hatred. Dark magic. Dreams and nightmares.

A Gothic Snarry version of ‘Beauty and the Beast’, inspired by the dark and sensual tale from the Czech film version, ‘Panna a Netvor’. I follow some of the plot, but then diverge and do my own thing. Got to make it even weirder, right? An eerie, erotic, brooding, bloody, batty, haunting fairytale. ‘Underneath my skin there’s a human. Buried deep within there’s a human. Despite everything, I’m still human.’ - ‘Human’ by Daughter

Line by Line

by SerenaEW (@serenaew). Rated: T. Words: 7,836. Romance. Poetry. Librarian Harry. Artist Harry. Calligraphy. Light angst.

After an involuntary exile from the Wizarding World, Harry is now Assistant Librarian at Hogwarts and part-time artist. Who is the poet of the Hogwarts-inspired verses he is creating art for?

Luck of the Draw

by Writcraft (@writcraft). Rated: E. Words: 11,857. Romance. Getting together. Minor injuries. Auror Harry Potter. Humor.

Severus is enjoying the quiet life when his participation in a Ministry raffle forces him to go on a date with Harry Potter. During a weekend filled with drag queens, hiking, a twisted ankle and a dog named Paddington, Severus begins to wonder if the quiet life is really all it’s cracked up to be.

Bonus: Shameless Self Rec

Devotion

by danpuff. Rated: E. Words: 25,843. Enemies to lovers. Cheating. Unhealthy relationships. Self-hatred. Mental health issues. POV Severus Snape. Open/ambiguous ending.

Is there anything more undignified than needing someone so much? Sequel to Contempt

Snarry-a-Thon 2023 Masterlist

[thebrickinbrick]

What Is To Be Done In the Abyss if One Does Not Converse? Part 2

About two o’clock in the morning, they reckoned up their strength. There were still thirty-seven of them.

The day began to dawn. The torch, which had been replaced in its cavity in the pavement, had just been extinguished. The interior of the barricade, that species of tiny courtyard appropriated from the street, was bathed in shadows, and resembled, athwart the vague, twilight horror, the deck of a disabled ship. The combatants, as they went and came, moved about there like black forms. Above that terrible nesting-place of gloom the stories of the mute houses were lividly outlined; at the very top, the chimneys stood palely out. The sky was of that charming, undecided hue, which may be white and may be blue. Birds flew about in it with cries of joy. The lofty house which formed the back of the barricade, being turned to the East, had upon its roof a rosy reflection. The morning breeze ruffled the gray hair on the head of the dead man at the third-story window.

“I am delighted that the torch has been extinguished,” said Courfeyrac to Feuilly. “That torch flickering in the wind annoyed me. It had the appearance of being afraid. The light of torches resembles the wisdom of cowards; it gives a bad light because it trembles.”

Dawn awakens minds as it does the birds; all began to talk.

Joly, perceiving a cat prowling on a gutter, extracted philosophy from it.

“What is the cat?” he exclaimed. “It is a corrective. The good God, having made the mouse, said: ‘Hullo! I have committed a blunder.’ And so he made the cat. The cat is the erratum of the mouse. The mouse, plus the cat, is the proof of creation revised and corrected.”

Combeferre, surrounded by students and artisans, was speaking of the dead, of Jean Prouvaire, of Bahorel, of Mabeuf, and even of Cabuc, and of Enjolras’ sad severity. He said:—

“Harmodius and Aristogiton, Brutus, Chereas, Stephanus, Cromwell, Charlotte Corday, Sand, have all had their moment of agony when it was too late. Our hearts quiver so, and human life is such a mystery that, even in the case of a civic murder, even in a murder for liberation, if there be such a thing, the remorse for having struck a man surpasses the joy of having served the human race.”

And, such are the windings of the exchange of speech, that, a moment later, by a transition brought about through Jean Prouvaire’s verses, Combeferre was comparing the translators of the Georgics, Raux with Cournand, Cournand with Delille, pointing out the passages translated by Malfilâtre, particularly the prodigies of Cæsar’s death; and at that word, Cæsar, the conversation reverted to Brutus.

“Cæsar,” said Combeferre, “fell justly. Cicero was severe towards Cæsar, and he was right. That severity is not diatribe. When Zoïlus insults Homer, when Mævius insults Virgil, when Visé insults Molière, when Pope insults Shakspeare, when Frederic insults Voltaire, it is an old law of envy and hatred which is being carried out; genius attracts insult, great men are always more or less barked at. But Zoïlus and Cicero are two different persons. Cicero is an arbiter in thought, just as Brutus is an arbiter by the sword. For my own part, I blame that last justice, the blade; but, antiquity admitted it. Cæsar, the violator of the Rubicon, conferring, as though they came from him, the dignities which emanated from the people, not rising at the entrance of the senate, committed the acts of a king and almost of a tyrant, regia ac pene tyrannica. He was a great man; so much the worse, or so much the better; the lesson is but the more exalted. His twenty-three wounds touch me less than the spitting in the face of Jesus Christ. Cæsar is stabbed by the senators; Christ is cuffed by lackeys. One feels the God through the greater outrage.”

Bossuet, who towered above the interlocutors from the summit of a heap of paving-stones, exclaimed, rifle in hand:—

“Oh Cydathenæum, Oh Myrrhinus, Oh Probalinthus, Oh graces of the Æantides! Oh! Who will grant me to pronounce the verses of Homer like a Greek of Laurium or of Edapteon?”

[taones]

If You Can Hold On (3) - A.A, S.K, S.D

rewrite of the third part of the series (first and second parts here and here, original series on my masterlist) enjoy <3

pairing ~ poly asadaisuga x gn!reader

warnings ~ pining, angst, arguments, swearing, general stress tbh, my horrible attempt at writing purposefully cringe flirting, mildly suggestive, very brief editing and spellcheck so

You sniffed as you stirred, pulling the soft fabric underneath your cheek further into you. It smelt like sandalwood with a hint of coffee and you were instantly reminded of Daichi. The man’s coffee addiction had become serious during his final year. You supposed yours would too, if you were in charge of Hinata. His scent was a big reason why you enjoyed stealing Daichi’s clothes so much. Gripping the fabric in your fingers, the underneath was oddly warm. The further you returned to your sleepy state, the less you found yourself caring about the odd warmth of your cushion, or the slow rise and fall of it under your head. 

“Still sleepy, huh?”

Jolting, you snapped your eyes open. A strong heat flooded under the skin of your cheeks, you shot up. An action that brought the blanket that was covering you tumbling down your form, settling at your waist and exposing not only your body, but Daichi’s. You had heard several times from his partners that the man likes forgoing shirts when he sleeps, but observing it was a whole other story. Usually, when you stayed around, he was up and dressed before any of you and you never saw him without a shirt. It soon became clear why this was a good thing. The man was laying in the bed, under where you just laid, dressed in nothing but pajama pants and an unzipped hoodie. Honey coloured skin peaked out from the gap between the zipper, a toned and yet perfectly soft stomach just begging for you to reach out and run your fingers down it. 

Shuffling from the other side of the bed alerted you to the other two presences in the room. Asahi was sitting against the headboard, the other side of where you had evidently slept last night. His curly hair was piled on top of his head and he had those damn reading glasses on, the ones that made him look just as intelligent as you knew he was. He smiled closed mouthed, obviously bemused at your shock, and waved with the hand that was currently holding his book. Sugawara was curled under his arm, on the far side of the bed - still snoring, of course. Koushi was the sleepiest of all three of you. Hyper, undeniably, but once he was asleep, he was down for the count. 

Asahi slid a hand onto the thigh that was closest to him. His hands were large and calloused against the soft skin of your exposed thigh. Why you decided to pack shorts was a mystery to you. Especially now as you flexed the muscles, trying desperately to not squirm and pay attention to what he was about to say. 

“We were gonna grab some breakfast” he explained, in an unfairly attractive morning voice, 

“We passed a diner last night, probably swinging back ‘round to that”

“Once sleeping beauty wakes up, that is”

You smiled, biting your lip in an attempt not to laugh. The three of you would have an easier time herding cats. Asahi’s hand slipped off of your thigh. You tried to suppress the shiver that ran up your spine and desperately ignored the way you missed his touch as soon as it left. Getting breakfast together was a routine you were all well versed in. You had all spent the majority of weekends before your exams meeting in a small cafe near your homes to get waffles together. Simpler times, you guessed. You knew each others orders like the back of your hands, and you always got fed portions of their individual orders no matter how many times you went. The contrast between each order was evident and matched perfectly with each of them. 

“I’m up for waffles”

---

The diner was relatively busy when you got there. Of course, with Daichi’s team dad skills and Asahi’s somewhat intimidating stature, you had managed to secure a booth just fine. As tradition went, it was you and Asahi on one side, Daichi and Koushi on the other. Asahi trapped you against the wall with his broad shoulders, but you liked the security of it and this is something the others had very clearly noticed. You were almost 100% certain that the seating was done this way so you and Asahi wouldn’t comment on the obnoxious amount of chocolate and cream the other two piled onto their waffles. 

Conversation flowed easily. You were too sleepy to even entertain the thought of your wallowing that morning, much rather preferring the simple reminiscing and idle chatter the boys filled the silence with. At one point you had said something that made Daichi laugh so hard that he had snorted his milkshake out of his nose. There was some hope that they didn’t notice the way you preened like a cat at getting the usually stoic man to laugh that hard. It was a beautiful noise, but his true laugh was rare. The dad-like chortle making way for wheezing towards the end of his laughing fits was enough to get even the most stone-faced of people to crack a smile. 

You handed him a wad of napkins. He took them with both hands, lifting one to wipe his face and keeping the other firmly grasping yours. Your breath hitched. 

Eventually, after the fifth time of Daichi wiping the wrong spot, Koushi grasped a few more napkins from your hands and wiped the remaining chocolate off of Daichi’s face. You held out another napkin for the silver-haired man's fingers, being met by his signature dazzling smile. 

“What would we do without you, huh gorgeous?”

The bliss was interrupted by all of their phones pinging a notification simultaneously. Suga read the text and visibly grimaced. In an effort to protect yourself from the hurt, you cast your gaze towards the table. It was very obviously a group chat you were not on. The little bubble of joy you had experienced just moments prior popped sharply and it was if the room had dimmed under the morning sun. That was fine, they were allowed to be in chats without you, it wasn’t a big deal, it might not be their new addition, right? You repeated the question in your head like a mantra to calm yourself as you tapped on Asahi to let you out.

“I’m gonna order another drink” you mumbled, smiling brightly at the boys.

The last couple of seconds replayed in your head over and over, even while stammering out your drink order. It was slightly easier to hide your scorned feelings when you weren’t facing the cause. Your back was aimed towards the table of boys, even as you reached the coffee station and made a grab at a few paper packets of sugar. 

The paper was flimsy in your hands, not aiding the clumsiness that was already plaguing you. The coffee was intended for Suga and the man liked his coffee in a very particular way. You counted out exactly two packets of white sugar, and one packet of brown sugar. E preferred the wooden stirrers, even when spoons were available, said they reached the sugar in the bottom of the cup easier. Of course, this was most likely complete nonsense but you couldn’t help but entertain the thought as you took yourself through the motions. You smiled gently at the routine and just how absurd it would look to anyone else. How were you supposed to explain the oddity that was Sugawara Koushi and his fantastical coffee routine?

A hand settled next to you on the coffee counter. 

“That’s a lot of sugar for someone already so sweet looking”

Turning, you came face to face with a man a little bit taller than you, he had dark hair and a decently attractive smile. He was cute, sure. But he wasn’t quite as tall as Asahi, he didn’t have Daichi’s warm smell and his flirting was kind of wooden to anyone who was familiar with Koushi’s cheekier flirting. In your peripherals, you could see the inquisitive glances from your friends and you really couldn’t help yourself after that. Was it kind to lead someone on? Maybe not but you were tired of morality and interested to see how this would play out. 

Giggling, you looked up at him through your lashes. Screw it, if you couldn’t have who you wanted, you were at least gonna have fun. 

“Maybe I like sweet things, don’t judge” you mused, taking the wooden stirrer between your teeth.

The man leaned his other arm on the coffee counter, effectively trapping you against the cart. It was a move you assumed was meant to come across as sexy. However it just made you feel like you were a caged animal, cornered and ready to claw your way out of the situation. His hand retracted, holding more napkins than any one man could possibly need. The dark haired man shot you a wink and you forced out a smile in return, shooting a glance at your now empty table. The brilliant smile of the man in front of you began to fade, causing you to snap your head towards him.

“I’m so sorry, what was that?” you questioned politely, putting the clueless act on once again. 

A throat was cleared next to you. There was really no denying how intimidating the boys were when they wanted to be. Daichi’s arms bulged from where they were crossed over his chest. It was a display that would usually make your mouth water, but only proved to further fuel your anxiety in the given moment. They weren’t scary to you of course, but the sharp glare Suga was sending the man as well as Asahi’s unimpressed look caused a flush of anxiety to run through you. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Suga hissed at the poor man, who was now looking about ready to run.

“Sorry” the man stuttered, “I didn’t realise they were taken, know when i'm not welcome”

He put his hands up in a mock surrender and turned to leave. 

“Wait, no i’m not-” you started, but he was gone.

They had, not for the first time, rendered you speechless. Embarrassment curled in your gut, bubbling up into something more volatile when you saw the satisfied looks they sported, eyes following the man back to his table. Disbelief didn’t even begin to cover the cocktail of emotions that were currently mixing within you. 

If you didn’t leave, you were going to lose your temper very quickly. Chest heaving, you recentred yourself and spun on your heel, pulling your wallet out. 

The lady behind the counter looked only mildly intrigued at the odd display that had just occurred in front of her. She curled a perfectly manicured eyebrow at you as if to ask if you needed a hand. It filled you with a certain sense of irony, that this random woman was more concerned as to your feelings at that moment than your actual friends, who had known you for years. You stuttered out an apology and slammed some cash on the counter, probably harder than intended. Then you promptly turned and marched out of the diner. 

The mad scramble behind you was ignored in your attempt to walk to the car without bursting into tears, punching something, or both. You heard the protests in the background but they were muffled by the buzzing of rage in your ears. Fists curling and uncurling, you tried to think back to the last time you had gotten this angry. You had been plenty angry in the past, school was a difficult time for everyone, but the three men you had left in the diner were usually the first ones to calm you down. This was one of the only times they were the cause of your wrath. Most likely, they would also be on the receiving end of said wrath soon enough. 

Kicking the dust of the car park, you watched as stones and dirt scattered away from you. You wanted to scream, hit things, throw yourself in the dirt and cry - anything that would take some pressure off of the crushing weight in your torso. The flame twisted and gnashed at your insides, growling and clawing its way up your oesophagus until it released itself in a small scream of frustration. Would things ever be simple for you?

Telepathy had never been a skill you particularly craved until that moment. There was no way of understanding what those three idiots were thinking. Even if you did know, you were doubtful it would soothe your frustration. You threw yourself on the ground behind the trunk of the car, yanking your phone out of the pocket of your jeans. 

“Kiyoko” you seethed down the phone, “will you please come and pick me up”

She gave you the affirmative and set the loose time limit to her arrival. No doubt Yachi would be with her. You weren’t sure whether you would be able to deal with their romance in your face at that moment, but anything was better than being stuck in a car with Asahi, Daichi and Sugawara. 

Jangling alerted you to the three men in question. They had obviously paid and were frantically looking around the cars to locate you. With any luck a sinkhole would open in the earth and swallow you whole before they spotted you. 

Luck was never your thing.

The sky had opened up once again. It was almost beginning to grate on your nerves how much it had been raining this trip. The irony had been entertaining in the beginning, bordering on humorous how cliche it was. Now the weather you usually took so much pleasure in indulging in was maddening. You wanted to be angry with them for once, yell even. But the rain was washing your frustration away, leaving an empty feeling. A feeling that made you want to give up. 

Your prayers went unanswered, the three men walking up to you in due time. 

“What was that?” you questioned, voice resigned. 

“What do you mean? He was flirting with you”

The sound of genuine confusion in Asahi’s voice made your food feel like it was curdling inside of you. You breathed out in disbelief, brows knitting together tightly. 

“And just what does that have to do with any of you?”

None of them replied, taken back by your outburst. You stood abruptly and continued. 

“You’re all dating! You literally have two boyfriends and I know you’re talking to another person. So really” you paused, “why the fuck does it matter if i don’t want to be alone anymore? Do I not deserve to be wanted? You evidently don’t want me”

Your voice cracked towards the end of your rant. Three pairs of eyes stared at you in disbelief. The hints of hurt mixed into all three was evident, but you felt like a bottle that had been shaken and the lid was off. You erupted once again.  there was nothing more that you wanted than to be loved on purpose. it was inexplicably unfair that even unconnected attempts at finding a relationship had to be ruined by the three men in front of you.

“God it hurts, can you not see that? It hurts so bad. You won’t ever understand how much it pains me to be around you and see just how happy this new person is going to make you, knowing that’s not me? That hurts” you spat the last sentences, vitriol coating your words.

The storming sea inside you had calmed somewhat, leaving you to assess the damage your words had done. It wasn’t the most ideal way to confess your feelings but the weight that was lifted off your shoulders felt tremendous. The pain you were feeling was paralysing, stopping you from running like you desperately wanted to. It knocked the wind out of you, reducing your last statement to a pathetic whisper. 

“I get you don’t want me around, but other people will. It’s not okay to take that away from me”

As if some God had heard your plea, Kiyoko’s tiny blue car sped into the car park just as you broke down crying. The womans tiny blonde girlfriend sped out of the car, catching you before your knees could meet the wet sand beneath you. Yachi cooed at you softly, placing her entire body in front of you as if to form a shield between you and the cause of your heart ache. Her eyebrows furrowed in concern, eyes filling with sympathy at your curled up figure. 

It was truly humiliating. 

Kiyoki motioned for her to pull you into the car, stepping out of the driver's side herself and towards you. The dainty hands of the younger girl were soft and comforting, her rose scent filled your stuffy nose while she led your stumbling form to the welcome shelter of her girlfriend's car. The difference in posture between the two of you was like night and day. You were hunched over, protecting yourself from outside view. Your wounds were gaping, horrible open pits with your rawest emotions in the middle for everyone to gaze at and laugh. She wrapped a soft blanket around you, bandaging you up and keeping you safe in the backseat of the car. 

There were muffled voices from the outside of the car, but the sound of the heater being cranked full blast muffled them. There was a lot of angry words, not quite yelling but scolding certainly. You whimpered at the noise, not being able to distinguish who it was. You were certain they would never want to see you again, let alone speak to you, after your outburst. If only there was a way to scoop all of your words off of the floor and shove them back down into your mouth. Daichi, Asahi and Sugawara had never been in love with you, you could deal with that fact. Them cutting ties completely would surely kill you. 

A polaroid of Yachi and Kiyoko, perched on a wall and smiling at each other, was stuck to the centre of the car, directly above the stereo. It hung there, mocking you. You stared and tried not to think about how you would never be able to achieve that, not where it counted. In the end, it was easier to avert your gaze than confront what you couldn’t have.

Fuming, Kiyoko wrenched the door open and threw herself into the driver's seat. It was a miracle she managed to make even that look graceful. Her face was unnaturally contorted by an anger that was uncommon for her. It marred her beautiful features viciously. In staring at her, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. It was a distressing look to say the least. Your hair was messy from your own grip and the bags under your eyes had only gotten worse. What little effort you had put into your looks this morning had all gone to waste, either washes away or dampened under the rain. 

Yachi stroked her hand over your shoulder and climbed into the passenger's seat. 

Staring out of the back window as the car pulled away, you caught sight of the three you had left behind. Koushi was patting Azumane’s back from where he crouched on the ground, dragging large hands across his face. Daichi was beside them, head buried in his arms on top of the car. You blinked. They had no right to be upset, you thought. You tried to block it all from your mind as their figures turned into tiny dots in the distance. All the years of friendship, the lives you had built together and the dreams you had created - they were buried in the dust where you left them.

me: says I'll post part three the next day, also me: takes a week to post it. I'm not sure when I'll get around to posting part 4 but hopefully I'll remember to actually post it

[thursdaygrl]

i'm eager to get some more things going, so here's a muse specific wishlist of plots. i'll be crossing anything out that i don't wanna double up, just like and i'll come to plot with you!

aurelio — arranged marriage, possibly with the families being in the mafia for the drama of it. / normal people plot.

beatrice — dark academia gay obsession PLEASE, bonus for lili fcs but not necessary at all

crash — angsty opposites attract with someone far too good for him / vampire rockstar verse pls i need it badly, preferably against a human but i'd also take a witch.

cricket — rivals or enemies to lovers / the sneaky journalist being played by someone who is secretly writing a story about her/her family while getting close to her and the fallout of what happens when she finds out.

dawson — figure skater/hockey player im BEGGING you. / accidental pregnancy also.

ford — i have a starter up for this somewhere but i really would like to write him saving a muse from a serial killer/slasher and the two of them healing each other over time. also lowkey want an age gap he protests to cause lol.

grayson — best friend's girl cause i'm a sucker for it. he doesn't treat her right and he's sick of it. lots of drama ensues, preferably.

james — best friends to lovers, specifically with an unlikely friendship so preferably someone a lot girlier/soft.

letha — a little nathan/haley inspired thing, pls.

luther — weird strangers meeting on the road and there's a sudden spark, would absolutely prefer if she was a little crazy cause he'd be into that. could be just intense or a murder, we don't mind. / two members of a band that both write songs and clash cause the chemistry is off the charts, pls.

maren — college campus murder mystery solving aka one of my favourite genres. alternatively, college campus slasher.

moira — a journalist or detective she comes across working the same case in a small town, they clash and also probably bang cause that's fun.

river — something jess and rory inspired cause i'm a sucker for that and i want river against someone bookish and cute.

rory — i really want a girl who thinks she's straight to discover otherwise through rory mostly bc i think it'll be funny. rory will not be trying to romance her at first and she'll do a poor job of it but we'll get there.

sosie — i'd like to play her against someone who works for or with her father, e.g. campaign advisor, fellow politician, bodyguard etc, ya girl loves something forbidden. / cappie and rebecca from greek inspired.

six — sleeping with her boss's girl, 'nuff said / would love to play this little criminal against a successful woman, maybe a lawyer or something who she gets to dominate and help relax.

sully — roommates who cannot stand each other but… :) very much jess and nick from new girl inspired pls.

[elsalouisa]

"She was then a little past her seventeenth birthday; she had only just left the young ladies’ institute, from which her mother had withdrawn her after some unpleasantness with the headmistress. The unpleasantness arose over the circumstance that at the public graduation celebration Irena was to have addressed the patron with some verses of welcome in French, but immediately before the function she was set aside in favor of another girl, the daughter of a very rich liquor licensee. The Princess could not stomach this affront, and even Irena did not forgive the headmistress her injustice; she had been dreaming of how, with all eyes on her, the center of attraction, she would rise and say her verses, and how Moscow would talk about her afterward.... And she was right, Moscow would certainly have talked about Irena. She was a tall and graceful girl, with virgin breasts and angular shoulders, a pale, velvety complexion unusual for her age and as clear and smooth as porcelain, and thick, fair hair with very distinctive mingled darker and lighter strands. Her features were exquisitely, almost artificially regular and had not entirely lost the artless expression of early youth. But the deliberate movements of her beautiful neck, and her smile, a rather abstracted or rather weary smile, suggested that she was a highly strung young lady; and the very outlines of her fine, faintly smiling lips and her small, aquiline, rather firm nose expressed a self-willed and passionate quality —a quality dangerous both for others and for herself. Astonishing, truly astonishing were her eyes, which were a very dark gray shot with green, with a languishing look, and unsually long, like those of Egyptian goddesses, with radiating lashes and boldly sweeping brows. There was a strange expression in those eyes: they seemed to be attentively and thoughtfully looking out from an infinite depth and distance. At the institute Irena had had the reputation of being one of its most intelligent and capable pupils, but also of possessing an uncertain, ambitious character and a mischievous head. One class mistress prophesied of her that her passions would ruin her — “vos passions vous perdront” — whereas another class mistress chided her for her coldness and insensibility and called her “ane jeune fille sans ceeur.” Her friends found her proud and secretive, her brothers and sisters were afraid of her, her mother did not trust her, and her father felt awkward when she fixed her mysterious eyes on him, but in both father and mother she inspired a feeling of involuntary respect, not because of her qualities, but because of the peculiar, vague expectations that she aroused in them, for no obvious reason".

Ivan Turgenev "Smoke".

The prototype of Irena Ratmirov (princess Osinin) was Alexandra Sergeevna Dolgorukova, maid of honour to the court of Grand Duchess (later Empress) Maria Alexandrovna since 1853 to 1862. Mistress of Tsarevich Alexander Nikolaevich (later Emperor Alexander II).