#city of fallen angels quote

[dayque]

The Simon Lewis subplot in every TIM book

City of bones

City of ashes

City of Glass

City of Fallen angels

City of lost souls

City of Heavenly Fire

[fluffyballme]

so here’s my take on this meme but main couples in TMI

jace and clary

magnus and alec

simon and izzy

[laylaxcarstairs]

“Hold on, just let me catch my breath, and count to what I am…A ten.”

- Isabelle

[daily-clace]

“Jesus,” said Kyle. “You’re a Shadowhunter?” He looked at Simon. “The cute redheaded girl who was with you in the garage—she’s a Shadowhunter too, isn’t she?”

Taken aback, Simon nodded.

“You know, some people think Shadowhunters are just myths. Like mummies and genies.” Kyle grinned at Jace. “Can you grant wishes?”

The fact that Kyle had just called Clary cute did not seem to have endeared him to Jace, whose face had tightened alarmingly. “That depends,” he said. “Do you wish to be punched in the face?”

Cassandra Clare, City of Fallen Angels

[chaoticallymuse]

Alec Lightwood

"You never called me back," he said. "I called you so many times and you never called me back." Magnus looked at Alec as if he'd lost his mind. "Your city is under attack," he said. "The wards have broken, and the streets are full of demons. And you want to know why I haven't called you?"

- City of Glass

"Good organization," said Magnus. “I knew the man who founded it, back in the 1800s. Woolsey Scot. Respectable old werewolf family.” Alec made an ugly sound in the back of his throat. “Did you sleep with him, too?” Magnus’s cat eyes widened. "Alexander!"

- City Of Fallen Angels

Alec looked merely irritated by this comment. "The only way you could raise enough money to hire Magnus by selling lemonade is if you put meth in it."

- City of Lost Souls

"Alec," Magnus said. He put a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder; Alec was standing still, staring angrily at the floor. "Are you okay?" Alec looked at him. "Who are you again?" Magnus gave a little gasp; he looked — for the first time Simon could remember — actually unnerved. It lasted only a moment, but it was there. "Alexander," he said. "Too soon to joke about the happy memory thing, I take it," Alec said.

- City of Lost Souls

"I did not make a pie,” Alec repeated, gesturing expressively with one hand, “for three reasons. One, because I do not have any pie ingredients. Two, because I don’t actually know how to make a pie.” He paused, clearly waiting. Removing his sword and leaning it against the cave wall, Jace said warily, “And three?” “Because I am not your bitch,” Alec said, clearly pleased with himself.

- City of Heavenly Fire

[deathcherries]

I could have asked for anything else in the universe. World peace, a cure to disease, to live forever. But all I wanted was you.

~clarissa fairchild, the city of fallen angels

[x-ceirios-x]

(Part 2) City of Lost Souls, Chapter 1: The Last Council

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

In silence, the three of them made their way through the corridors of the Institute, oddly crowded now with other Shadowhunters, some of whom were part of the special commissions that had been sent out from Idris to deal with the situation. None of them really looked at Andy, Isabelle, Alec, or Clary with much curiosity. Initially Clary had felt so much as if she were being stared at—and had heard the whispered words “Valentine’s daughter” so many times—that she’d started to dread coming to the Institute, but she’d stood up in front of the Council enough times now that the novelty had worn off. 

They took the elevator downstairs; the nave of the Institute was brightly lit with light as well as the usual tapers and was filled with Council members and their families. Luke and Magnus were sitting in a pew, talking to each other; beside Luke was a tall, blue-eyed woman who looked just like him. She had curled her hair and dyed the gray brown, but Clary still recognized her—Luke’s sister, Amatis. 

Magnus got up at the sight of Alec and came over to talk to him; Izzy appeared to recognize someone else across the pew and darted away in her usual manner, without pausing to say where she was going. Clary went to greet Luke and Amatis; both of them looked tired, and Amatis was patting Luke’s shoulder sympathetically. To her surprise, Andy was still behind her, and both adults glanced at her for a moment before turning their attention back to her. Luke rose to his feet and hugged Clary when he saw her. Amatis congratulated Clary on being cleared by the Council and she nodded; she felt only half-there, most of her numb and the rest of her responding on autopilot. 

She could see Magnus and Alec out of the corner of her eye. They were talking, Alec leaning in so close to Magnus, the way couples often seemed to curve into each other when they spoke, contained in their own universe. She was happy to see them happy, but it hurt, too. She wondered if she would ever have that again, or ever even want it again. She remembered Jace’s voice: I don’t even want to want anyone but you. 

“Earth to Clary,” Andy said in her ear, standing just behind her. “You alright, there?” 

“Yeah,” she said, taking a deep breath. Andy shot her a soft, encouraging smile—much different than her demeanor when dealing with the other Shadowhunters earlier. She stepped to the side slightly, behind her, and began playing with her hair, pulling it into a loose braid. 

Luke smiled at the two of them. “Do you want to head home? Your mother is dying to see you, and she’d love to catch up with Amatis before she goes back to Idris tomorrow. I thought we could have dinner. You pick the restaurant.” He was trying to hide the concern in his voice, but Clary could hear it. She hadn’t been eating much lately, and her clothes had started to hand more loosely on her frame. “Of course, Andy, you’re invited if you’d like to come.”

She gave a noncommittal hum. Not one that sounded irritated, but like she was still deciding. Andy had been spending more time at Luke’s house lately; it wasn’t to see her, though she did check in with her. She and Luke seemed to be getting closer, though things still appeared icy with Amatis. 

“I don’t really feel like celebrating,” she said. “Not with the Council de-prioritizing the search for Jace.”

Andy’s hands paused in her hair for a moment, like hearing the words had startled her despite her giving the news, but she felt one of her nails pull a small piece of hair into the braid again soon after. 

“It doesn’t mean they’re going to stop,” said Luke. 

“I know. It’s just—it’s like when they say a search and rescue mission is now a search for bodies. That’s what it sounds like.” She swallowed. “Anyway, I was thinking of going to Taki’s with Isabelle, Rowan, and Alec,” she said, and turned her head slightly. “Open invite,” she said to Andy, then turned her attention back to Luke. “Just…to do something normal.”

“As long as I don’t get punched again,” Andy said, chuckling. How she could so easily brush off such a hard hit, Clary didn’t know. 

“You got punched?” Luke asked, and Amatis’s mouth fell open. “By who?”

“It was my fault,” she said with a sigh, and tied an elastic around clary’s hair at the bottom of the braid. “Don’t you look pretty?” she said. “I think I’ll skip dinner with you kids tonight, but do have fun.”

Clary nodded, and another time, she would have found it funny that Andy referred to them as ‘kids’ when Alec was barely a year younger than her. Andy took her hand and gave it a quick squeeze, which she appreciated. “Thanks.”

Luke folded some money into her free hand, clearly relieved that she was doing something as normal as going out with friends. “Just promise to eat something.”

“Okay.” Through the twinge of guilt, she managed a real half smile in his direction. She waved goodbye to Andy and Amatis before she turned away. 

***

Andy waited until she was out of earshot to speak up. “I’m worried about her,” she muttered, biting her thumb. “Poor kid’s not eating, can’t sleep—everyone’s doing what they can, but everyone’s a wreck.”

“How are you doing?” Amatis said, to her surprise. “Luke tells me you and Jace really started to bond before…all this.”

Andy stared at her for a split second, surprised at such genuine concern. She shook her head quickly, not wanting to show anyone that she was taken off guard. “I’m perfectly fine,” she said in the most convincing bold-faced lie she could tell her mother. She didn’t seem to believe it, and Luke hid the confused look he gave her well. “I’m doing what I can to support Maryse, especially now that Aric has to leave. And everyone else, Clary included.”

Luke nodded. “Just don’t work too hard, alright? Take a breath when you need to.”

“Thanks, dad,” she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “I’m going to find Alec and see if he and Magnus have anything for me before I go on rounds tonight. The Clave may stop looking for Jace, that doesn’t mean I will.” 

“Andromeda,” Amatis said, just as she started to turn away. 

She stopped, her hair swishing behind her. “What, mom?” she said. There was venom in her words, though she didn’t mean it. It was just so normal for her mom to lecture her with something like this. She winced at her own words and frowned slightly. 

Her mom’s expression saddened, a crease forming between her eyebrows. “I love you. Please be safe.”

It had been a long time since her mom had said those words to her. Maybe she’d been missing her since her move to New York—she wasn’t sure. Her eyes widened for a moment, but she put on her ‘brave face’: a professional, plain expression that she trained herself to pull anytime she was in an uncomfortable situation. It helped her keep control of a conversation when she needed it. “I will,” she said, and smiled as she turned away. 

Over her shoulder, she heard Luke and Amatis. 

“You’re sure she’s doing okay here, Lucian?”

“She’s strong—she’s shown it over and over, in a battle or in her investigations. Believe in her a little.” 

Amatis hummed. She couldn’t hear anything after that. 

***

Isabelle had peeled away from Clary, originally, because she recognized a very tall head of fake-blond hair in the corner. She walked up to Tony Rosenhart, who was chatting with two people she didn’t recognize, and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned, initially surprised, but his face broke into a grin when he saw her. 

“Isabelle!” he said, his blue eyes lighting up in surprise. “It’s great to see you.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she stood on her toes and hugged him, her arms comfortably around his neck for a moment. He reciprocated quickly, a little taken off guard but happy nonetheless. Tony had been her happy little secret—not that anyone at the Institute couldn’t know about him, but he was someone to talk to that was so uninvolved with all the craziness in the past few weeks, she wanted to keep it that way. Since they left Idris two months ago, the two started texting and had the occasional phone call. Even more recently, they’d started exchanging letters in fire messages, and she’d kept some of his in a drawer in her vanity. He wrote like a poet; sometimes, when she felt a little lonely, she’d reread his letters or text him just to say hi. The time difference made it hard to talk regularly, but they made it work. 

Someone behind him cleared their throat, and she begrudgingly pulled away from him. She missed seeing him in person—they’d danced together at the celebration of the Mortal War being over in Alicante, and while he wasn’t the best dancer, she enjoyed being in his company. Being around him was just easy. It was a nice change from her hectic life lately. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, and turned the both of them towards the two standing behind him. “Isabelle, these are my parents. This is Isabelle, my friend that I met when I was up with Uncle Victor.”

The woman, his mother, looked a little sad at the mention of him. She’d never known Inquisitor Aldertree’s first name, or even if he had much of a family. Even though he was a kniving prick that threw Simon in jail and left him to die, she supposed it made sense to miss him. She understood losing a brother. She extended her hand and shook Isabelle’s graciously, both of her hands holding hers. “My name is Miah. It’s wonderful to finally meet you, dear, I’ve heard so many wonderful things.”

Isabelle smiled, and nudged Tony’s arm. “You talk about me at home?” 

He flushed. “Maybe a little,” he muttered.

She didn’t have a chance to respond to him, because his father spoke up next. “You must be Maryse’s daughter,” he said, and shook her hand as well. “You look just like her.”

“I hear that a lot.” Isabelle chuckled. “Do you mind if I ask how you knew my mom?”

“Oh, I taught at the Academy back in the day,” he said cheerfully. Both him and Miah appeared to be about ten years older than her parents, but from what she understood, the Academy hired the best and brightest, not necessarily determined by age. “Your mother was always a bright girl. Her and that Mollie Penhallow were constantly at each other’s necks for top marks. I heard it’s her son that’s missing, along with the Herondale boy.”

She frowned slightly. “It is. I grew up with the Ashfairs, he’s like my little brother.”

Miah elbowed her husband. “By the Angel’s name, Rhys, you may understand demonic languages but you are certainly terrible with people,” she said with a sigh. “I apologize for him. All of us fought for the continuation of the search for the boys.”

“Thank you,” she said. “We’re doing what we can here, too. Thank you all for coming, too.” She looked at Tony for a moment when she said that, and he smiled down at her. 

It was quiet for a moment. Miah looked between the two of them and got an unreadable look on her face, but it appeared to be a very mom-type look. “Actually, dear, why don’t we go find Maryse ourselves? Say hello? I—oh, see, she’s there with your little protégé, too!” She grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him across the room, over to where Maryse and Aric were standing. 

“Sorry about them,” Tony said. “I am really happy to see you.”

She shook her head, smiling up at him. “I think they’re charming. I wish my mom would embarrass me sometimes, she’s so uptight.”

He visibly relaxed at that. “I know you and Jace are pretty close. Sorry about all this—I can’t imagine—”

“I’ve heard it all so many times today,” she said with a sigh. She didn’t mean to be rude and cut him off, but she was tired of the condolences. “I thought we agreed on no apologies for things we have no control over? A while ago.”

“Of course,” he said. He extended his hand with his pinky sticking up—it was childish, but she liked the bit of childish humor he had. “Promise to keep an eye out for everyone, though. They’ll come home if I have anything to say about it.”

Isabelle could have melted in that moment. She couldn’t say he barely knew her, not anymore. She’d spent too many nights calling him as soon as he woke up, talking when it was midnight for her and six for him. He admitted, once, that he started waking up earlier to talk to her and enjoyed his morning coffee and early breakfast before he ‘had to be a real person’ during the day. Like he didn’t have to be what he was expected to with her, but could just be him. And she swore she could do the same with him. There was no stress when she talked to Tony, or listened to him play piano as she faded off to sleep. He was quite good. 

She wrapped her pinky around his and nodded. “Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him. In the last few weeks since they’d seen each other, he seemed to have grown into himself a little—when they first met, he seemed awkward and closed in, but today, he looked a little stronger. In his confidence and, though she wasn’t looking, physically. What happened to teenage boys over a few weeks that they could change so much? Jensen, she thought, was not allowed to grow up like that and had to remain an awkward dork for the rest of his life. And she was going to allow herself to think about that because he would come home, and she would get mad at him in a few years when he grew up, just like Alec and Jace did. 

“Izzy!” a voice called from a few feet away. Aline walked towards them, waving excitedly. Beside her stood a blonde girl who was very pretty, and had pointed ears that stuck out from behind her hair. Just behind them was Lian Mayhew, who still had his crutches, but seemed to walk a little better than the last time she’d seen him. 

She waved hello to everyone, and noticed quickly that Tony hadn’t dropped her hand, just let them fall together, between them. He didn’t say anything about it, and neither did she. 

***

Magnus and Alec were no longer where they had been a moment ago. Glancing around, Clary saw Izzy’s familiar long black hair through the crowd. She was standing by the Institute's large double doors, talking to someone Clary couldn’t see. Clary headed towards Isabelle; as she drew closer, she recognized one of the group, with a slight shock of surprise, as Aline Penhallow. Her glossy black hair was cut stylishly just above her shoulders. Standing next to Aline was a slim girl with pale white-gold hair that curled in ringlets; it was drawn back from her face, showing that the tips of her ears were slightly pointed. She wore Council robes, and as Clary came closer, she saw that the girl’s eyes were an unusual blue-green, a color that made Clary’s fingers yearn for her Prismacolor pencils for the first time in two weeks. 

On Aline’s other side, stood another boy with very dark hair, standing a few inches above her. She noticed that he was hunched forward slightly, leaning on forearm crutches that helped support him. Like Aline, he wore no Council robes, and instead opted for loose khakis and a plain T-shirt. The bottom of a parabatai rune poked out from underneath the sleeve of his shirt, placed in the middle of his bicep. The boy next to him was much taller and slim, with bleached-blond hair and a soft sort of expression that reminded her of Simon. He wore Council robes that sat open over ripped jeans and a loose-fitting sweater. She, by chance, noticed that he was casually holding Isabelle’s hand, and quickly decided it would be better not to comment. 

“It must be weird, with your mother being the new Consul,” Isabelle was saying to Aline as Clary joined them. “Not that Jia isn’t much better than—Hey, Clary, Aline, you remember Clary.”

The two girls exchanged nods. Clary had once walked in on Aline kissing Jace. It had been awful at the time, but the memory held no sting now. She’d be relieved to walk in on Jace kissing someone else at this point. At least it would mean he was alive. 

“Short introductions,” Isabelle said, and began to point at each person in turn as she announced their names. The blond boy, who had since dropped Isabelle’s hand, was Tony Rosenhart, whose parents ran the Brussels Institute. He was also Inquisitor Aldertree’s nephew and a much better guy, she said, than the Inquisitor was. He flushed at the statement. The boy with the crutches next to Aline was her parabatai and childhood friend, Lian Mayhew, whose parents ran the Beijing Institute. He bowed his head slightly in greeting. 

“And this is Aline’s girlfriend, Helen Blackthorn,” she said with heavy emphasis. Clary shot her a glare. Did Isabelle think she was an idiot? Besides, she remembered Aline telling her that she’d kissed Jace only as an experiment to see if any guy were her type. Apparently the answer had been no. Lian snickered at her comment, for which Aline elbowed him. He muttered something in a language she didn’t understand, but based on her reaction, it was probably along the lines of yeah, finally. “Helen’s family runs the Los Angeles Institute. Guys, this is Clary Fray.”

“Valentine’s daughter,” Helen said. She looked surprised and a little impressed. 

Clary winced. “I try not to think about that too much.”

“Sorry. I can see why you wouldn’t.” Helen flushed. Her skin was very pale, with a slight sheen to it, like a pearl. “I voted for the Council to keep prioritizing the search for Jace, by the way. I’m sorry we were overruled.”

“As did I,” Tony spoke up. “I was just telling Isabelle about it. The decision was frustrating for many.”

“Thanks.” She struggled to come up with more to say, but as she wracked her mind for better words, a new figure joined the group. 

Rowan, still rubbing their knuckles, found her and stood to her side. They barely had the chance to say hello before Aline lunged for them, leaving Helen a few steps behind her. She wrapped her arms around their neck and squeezed them tightly, swaying side to side. 

“Good to see you, too,” Rowan said breathlessly. They awkwardly patted her shoulder. 

She pulled away, hands still on their shoulders. “I am so sorry about Jensen. Dad’s distraught, I hear mom’s pissed about the whole meeting, plus with your dad getting sent to Moscow—”

“Thanks, Aline,” they said, painfully monotonous, and offered a clearly fake smile. 

She frowned, but returned to her place with Helen and Lian. “I was surprised Uncle Aric didn’t put his name in for the Inquisitor position himself. He does so much with Mom, you know. Hey, Izzy, did you know your dad put in for it?”

Clary felt Isabelle freeze beside her. “No. No, I didn’t know that.” There was a silent exchange of looks between her and Tony, but Isabelle quickly turned back to the conversation at hand. 

“I thought he was pretty committed to running the Institute here—” Aline broke off, looking past Clary. “Helen, I think your brother is trying to make the world’s biggest puddle of melted wax over there. You might want to stop him.”

Helen blew out an exasperated breath, muttered something about twelve year old boys, and vanished into the crowd just as Alec pushed his way forward. He greeted Aline with a hug—Clary forgot, sometimes, that the Penhallows and the Lightwoods had known each other for years, even before the Ashfairs threw themselves into the mix. He looked at Helen in the crowd. “Is that your girlfriend?”

Aline nodded. “Helen Blackthorn.”

“I heard there’s some faerie blood in that family,” said Alec. 

Ah, Clary thought. That explained the pointed ears. Nephilim blood was dominant, ant the child of a faerie and a Shadowhunter would be a Shadowhunter as well, but sometimes the faerie blood could express itself in odd ways, even generations down the line. 

“A little,” said Aline. “Look, I wanted to thank you, Alec.”

Alec looked bewildered. “What for?”

“What you did in the Hall of Accords,” Aline said. “Kissing Magnus like that. It gave me the push I needed to tell my parents…to come out to them. And if I hadn’t done that, I don’t think, when I met Helen, I would have had the nerve to say anything.”

“Oh.” Alec looked startled, as if the impact of his actions hadn’t really hit him yet. He glanced at Lian, who smiled sheepishly. 

“That’s funny, Aline. I said the same thing at the big party,” he said, his eyes casting downward. “Not that I’ve told my parents yet. They might have my head.”

Rowan nodded in agreement. “I just barely got my dad to wrap his head around some of this stuff. I get where you’re coming from.” They looked at Aline. “How’d yours take it?”

Aline rolled her eyes. “They’re sort of ignoring it, like it might go away if they don’t talk about it.” Clary remembered what Isabelle said about the Clave’s attitude toward its gay members. If it happens, you don’t talk about it. “But it would be worse.”

“It could definitely be worse,” said Alec, and there was a grim edge to his voice that made Clary look at him sharply. 

Aline’s face melted into a look of sympathy. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Tony’s the lucky one, his parents couldn’t care less—”

Tony shot her a look that insisted she needed to stop talking. They seemed to know each other well, she noticed. “I’m fortunate in that my parents are more open minded than most,” he said, looking at Alec apologetically. “My sister, Amelia, wasn’t born a girl, but she felt better living as one, so they did her best to support her how they could.”

Rowan’s eyes widened slightly at his words, like his explanation of his sister piqued their interest for the first time in this conversation. “Was? What happened?”

“A bad mix of fae and human drugs,” he said plainly. “Overdose.”

Isabelle frowned, and Clary thought she grabbed his hand again. “You never told me that.”

“It was ten years ago.” He, very pointedly, tried to change the topic. “My point just is, if any of you need a decent vacation spot or something, my parents are really accepting of anything and would love the company.”

Lian spoke up. “Oh, and Miah makes these apple pastries that are absolutely the best. She makes me a batch every time I visit.”

“Well, either way, I shouldn’t have said anything right now. Not with the boys missing. You must all be so worried.” Aline took a deep breath. “I know people have probably said all sorts of stupid things about jace to you. The way they do when they don’t really know what to say. I just—I wanted to tell you something.” She ducked away from a passer-by with impatience and lowered her voice. “I remember when you guys came to visit once. I think I was thirteen, would have made Jace twelve. We borrowed some horses to go see Brocelind Forest, but you know the woods. It’s impenetrable. I was terrified. I thought we’d die there.”

“I remember that day,” Rowan said, cutting into her story for a moment. They stared at the floor like they were stuck in the memory. “Barely. But I remember being stuck out there for a long time.”

Aline nodded. “Jace was never scared. He was never anything but sure we’d find our way out. It took hours, but we finally found the treehouse in the backyard of the manor. I was so grateful but he just looked at me like I was crazy. Like of course he’d get us out. Failing wasn’t an option. I’m just saying—he’ll find his way back to you. I know it. And he’s not going to let anything hurt Jensen. I know he wouldn’t.”

Clary didn’t think she’d ever seen Izzy cry, and she was clearly trying not to now. Her eyes were suspiciously wide and shining. Alec was looking at his shoes. Rowan’s expression was hard and they had their fists balled at their sides, digging their nails into their palms. She felt a wellspring of misery wanting to leap up inside her but forced it down; she couldn’t think about Jace when he was twelve, couldn’t think about him lost in the darkness, or she’d think about him now, lost somewhere, trapped somewhere, needing her help, expecting her to come, and she’d break. “Aline,” she said, seeing that none of the Lightwoods could speak. “Thank you.”

Aline flashed a shy smile. “I mean it.”

“Aline! Lian!” It was Helen, her hand firmly clamped around the wrist of a younger boy whose hands were covered in blue wax. He must have been playing with the tapers in the huge candelabras  that decorated the sides of the nave. He looked Jensen’s age, about twelve, with an impish grin and the same shockingly blue-green eyes as his sister, though his hair was dark brown. “We’re back. We should probably go before Jules destroys the whole place. Not to mention that I have no idea where Tibs and Livvy have gone.”

“They were eating wax,” the boy—Jules—supplied helpfully. 

“Oh, God,” Helen groaned, and then looked apologetic. “Never mind me. I’ve got five younger brothers and sisters and one older. It’s always a zoo.”

Lian chuckled. “That’s why I help babysit now that I’m with Aline more.”

Helen looked at him gratefully. Jules looked from Alec to Isabelle to Rowan and then at Clary. “How many brothers and sisters have you got?” he asked. 

Helen paled. Isabelle said in a remarkably steady voice, “there’s three of us.”

He looked at Clary, then his eyes narrowed on Rowan. They rolled their eyes, clearly not entertained and probably having got this question before. They had very similar hair to the Lightwoods, but upon looking closer, they didn’t look much like Alec or Isabelle. “I’m not related to them,” they said. “Just good friends. You’d like my brother, though. He’s an inquisitive little—”

Aline coughed. Rowan forcibly grinned. “—kid. Just like you.”

Jules’ eyes focused on Clary, then. “Me, neither. I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“None?” Disbelief registered in the boy’s tone, as if she’d told him she had webbed feet. “Is that why you look so sad?”

Clary thought of Sebastian, which his ice-white hair and black eyes. If only, she thought. If only I didn’t have a brother, none of this would have happened.  A little throb of hatred went through her, warming her icy blood. “Yes,” she said softly. “That’s why I’m sad.”

[neo-clown]

☆...im afraid of not making any memories ...☆

[pipperoni32-blog]

“I can see why you like it here,” he said, making a sweeping gesture that encompassed Kyle’s collection of movie posters and science fiction books. “There’s a thin layer of nerd all over everything.”

— City of Fallen Angels

[sunflowersandsapphires]

You will become it

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader

summary: When Frank lets the stress of the holidays get to him, he accidentally pushes you away.

Based on the prompt that @hellskitchenswhore posted about: Thanksgiving or Christmas Day with either Matt or Frank, inspired by the quote "If you’re raised with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house. You will find him even when he is not there"

warnings: swearing, descriptions of anxiety, allusions to past trauma

a/n: Ugh I could write a MILLION of these because it's so relatable. I hope that this brings you all some comfort this holiday season.

w/c: 3.1k

To no one’s surprise, Frank fucking hated the holidays. After losing Maria and the kids, it was just a horrible time of year filled with bitterness over the gap in his life and the fact he’d never have a normal winter again. 

He tended to throw himself into his vigilante work, bringing the most permanent form of justice to assholes all over the city. Thanksgiving and Christmas were spent alone, unless you considered his guns valuable company, eating bland food and steeling himself against the shitty weather because he was too stubborn to buy a thicker coat. 

But then he’d met you. 

Karen had introduced you over the past summer, sort of. He’d stumbled onto the blonde’s fire escape in the middle of the night—startling the two of you who were having some kind of girls’ night after a tough week. And once Frank had collapsed, unconscious, onto the metal grates he stood on, Karen was forced into an explanation to prevent you from calling the cops. 

You’d adjusted to the knowledge that your best friend was willingly helping a fugitive faster than anyone expected—immediately jumping in with wide eyes and assisting Karen as she cleaned and dressed Frank’s numerous wounds. 

When he came to, he was settled on Karen’s couch, blankets draped over his lap. Across the room, you sipped from a wine glass as you flipped through the pages of a book. He’d hoarsely asked what you were reading and, after the initial shock from him speaking to you had worn off, you’d smiled and asked if he wanted to read with you. 

Frank was eternally smitten by your thoughtful nature. You were an angel on earth and, for some fucking reason, you were determined to brighten Frank’s life with your company, though he repeatedly reminded you that he didn’t deserve you. Despite his bumbling compliments and gruff personality, you’d eagerly agreed when he’d asked you out to dinner a week after meeting you—and you’d been together ever since. 

You hadn’t been dating long, your relationship still fresh enough to count the months spent together on one of his rough hands, but his perpetual grouchiness was slowly being chipped away by your adorable smile and apparent need to spend the majority of your time tucked against his side. 

Frank had fallen head over heels for you at the speed of light, so saying “no” to your sparkling doe eyes when you batted your lashes at him was damn near impossible. Which was how he found himself in his current predicament. 

While out at a bar with you and your colleagues at Nelson, Murdock, and Page, Red—always the antagonist—had smugly asked him if he intended to spend the holidays with you. It wasn’t a secret amongst your circle that you weren’t overly close with your family. One too many bad memories had resulted in a quieter holiday season without said family, a preferred alternative to the hours of manipulation and abuse you’d previously endured during the winter months. 

Frank was aware that you didn’t have family plans for Christmas, perfectly comfortable welcoming you into his house for an intimate few days complete with fantastic food (that the two of you would cook together) and cuddling in front of the fireplace as you nodded off. You agreed that it had been the perfect way to spend Thanksgiving, so Frank had assumed you’d be alright having a similar Christmas celebration. 

And maybe you would have, had Karen not suggested that Frank host a Christmas celebration at his place for a larger group. 

“Frank, you’ve been bragging about the turkey you cooked for a week. It’s honestly rude of you to withhold that from us.” She remarked, smirking at his resulting scowl. 

“And on the holiest day of the year too.” Murdock shook his head, shit-eating grin spreading across his face as Frank scoffed. 

“Fuck you, Red. We don’t wanna host your sleazy ass for Christmas. Right, sweetheart?” Frank’s confidence had vanished when he saw your bashful shrug. 

Avoiding his gaze, you picked at the label on your beer bottle. “I dunno, Frankie. I don’t think I’d mind a few more people…” Your voice was quiet, hesitant, but there was a hopeful edge to it that he couldn’t ignore. 

It took him all of 3 seconds to cave to your apprehensively optimistic gaze, his heart melting as you bit your lip nervously. “Sure, darlin’. What the hell?” 

He was regretting his hasty agreement now, though. 

Standing in his kitchen, surrounded by Karen, Matt, Curtis, and—thankfully—you on December 23rd, trying desperately to get the cheese sauce for his mac and cheese to combine properly as the four of you drank beer and laughed boisterously around him. As always, you were more helpful than anyone else, offering soft praises and sweet smiles as you cooked side by side, but Frank’s irritation was steadily building and even you couldn’t stop it. 

It didn’t help that he hadn’t slept well all week, familiar nightmares viciously overtaking his subconscious as soon as he closed his eyes. And the lack of sleep, combined with the way his head was pounding as he worried over the pot on the stove, meant his patience was thinner than a fishing line. 

“For fucks sake, thought y’all were here for a goddamn reason. Is this a social event now?” Frank groused, whirling around to face the four people in his kitchen as yet ANOTHER cheese sauce failed to form smoothly. 

You all fell silent, though everyone but you rolled their eyes at his grumpy tone. Not used to this side of Frank, your face fell—eyes widening as your partner barked orders, creating a much different atmosphere than the peaceful one that had surrounded your perfect Thanksgiving. Shuffling backwards a step, you stood rigid as a statue as Frank scowled. 

“Karen, wash the China I took out. Curt, chop those veggies. Murdock, peel those potatoes.” He pointed to each of them in turn before turning to you. “And clearly I can’t make this shit to save my life so you figure it out while I iron the table cloth.” 

Nodding dutifully, you removed the pot behind his hips from the heat, scraping the lumpy bechamel into the trash before making another roux. You knew Frank didn’t mean to snap at you, he was just on edge about hosting the gathering. No one else was concerned about his demeanor, so why should you be? Trying to quell the churning anxiety in your chest, you diligently completed every task you were given, silently whipping up a number of sides as the sun began to set. 

Eventually, the five of you had prepped everything but the turkey, including the decorations and table set up. Waving farewell to the other three sous chefs, you lingered by the door as you closed it behind them. 

You and Frank had previously agreed that you’d stay over for a few nights to watch Christmas movies and bake cookies, your two favorite traditions that you hadn’t shared with anyone for a few years. However, after witnessing his clear frustration, you were apprehensive. Did he still want you to stay? 

Because of your history with men taking their anger out on you, Frank’s discontent had brought out a side of you that you never wished to experience again. You were still pretty sure he hadn’t meant it, but your certainty was fading by the minute. 

Stepping back into the kitchen, you began scrubbing at the pots in the sink as quietly as possible, hoping that if you handled the rest of the work in silence, Frank wouldn’t have any reason to be upset with you anymore. Unfortunately for your nervous heart, Frank’s mood wasn’t quite over. 

“The fuck are you doin’,” Came a harsh voice from behind you. 

Willing yourself not to startle, you stayed facing the sink, your back to your raging boyfriend. “Just cleaning up, love.” Your voice was meek, but it luckily didn’t waver. 

“And I ain’t capable of doin’ that myself?” His stern response hit you like a brick. Shutting off the faucet, you wiped your hands on a towel and turned to face him, brow furrowing in confusion. 

“Of course I think you’re capable. I wanted to help you, I—“

“It’s funny, really. Y’all wanted me to host this goddamn thing and you don’t think I can do my own fuckin’ dishes?” Frank looked at you, incredulously. He never asked for your pity. 

“Frankie—“

“I don’t need your help. Get out.” He said, jerking his head to shoo you out of the room. 

Choking on an inhale, your eyes stung with unshed tears. “O-ok, Frankie.”

As he restarted the stream of scalding water, you gathered your things and headed out into the night. 

Turning off the tap, Frank dried his hands before surveying his kitchen with a satisfied nod. Banishing you from the kitchen was rude—he knew that—but, ultimately, it had allowed him to unwind while efficiently tidying up the sprawling mess that had manifested during a day of cooking. Exhaling forcefully, Frank felt a pang of guilt in his gut as he remembered how abrasively he'd treated you today. Ready to beg for your forgiveness, and offer a few ways he might be able to make it up to you, he strode over to the couch where he figured you were laying. 

“Sorry for kickin’ ya out of the room, sweetheart. Guess I needed a minute to calm down. Did ya still wanna watch a movie?” Rounding the arm of the couch to kneel before you, Frank was hit with a wave of dread as he was met with the sight of empty cushions. Treading into the bedroom, his bed was similarly bare, and his bathroom was dark and vacant. 

Heart rate spiking, he spun around in the main room of his apartment, looking for any sign of your whereabouts. Your purse and coat were gone. You’d left, but why?

Suddenly, a chilling thought occurred to him as he replayed your previous conversation. 

“I don’t need your help. Get out.”

He hadn’t clarified that he still wanted you here. You thought he had demanded that you leave the apartment altogether, not the kitchen while he worked. 

Shit, shit, shit. 

Scrambling for his phone, he snatched his keys and flew down the stairs as he dialed your number. The phone rang endlessly as he sprinted to his truck down the block. Eventually, he received your voicemail. FUCK. 

Turning his keys in the ignition, he called again. “C’mon, darlin’. Please pick up.” 

Getting your voicemail again, Frank growled in frustration, before his screen lit up with a text. 

You: Hey, bubba. I can’t talk at the moment. Is something wrong? Are you alright?

Closing his eyes in relief, and gritting his teeth as he was smacked with another wave of guilt, he cursed himself. “Of course I’m not alright,” He thought to himself, “I sent you away, sweetheart.” 

Flicking open his phone, he hastily typed out a question. 

Frank: Are you at your place?

You: Yes, love. 

Frank: I’ll be there soon. 

Speeding down the city streets, Frank couldn’t help but wish he’d realized his mistake earlier. Maybe a flower shop would've been open then. 

Chewing absently at your thumbnail, a new rush of tears rolled down your cheeks. God, you were such a coward. You’d avoided Frank’s call because you simply couldn’t handle him yelling at you for whatever you’d done to upset him. Instead, you’d texted him, hoping to hide behind a wall of messages as he explained your mistake. But it hadn’t worked that way, he was coming here. To scold you. Maybe even break up with you. 

The thought of Frank leaving you because of something you’d unknowingly done to offend him forced the air from your lungs with a sob. Desperately trying to get your emotions under control, you threw back the wine in your glass as you stared blankly towards the door. 

The footsteps in the hall were deafening, each one sending a chill down your spine as you willed your aching legs to hold you upright. A key scratched in your lock and the door slid open, the large shadow of your boyfriend extending into your apartment. Huffing out a breath as he addressed you, Frank frowned at your tear-streaked face. 

“You cannot just leave like that,” He explained, shutting the door with a loud bang that made you jump. “Did you walk home? It’s dark out!” 

Frank stepped forward, reaching his arms toward you and ice flooded your veins as you responded to the familiar motion. 

Stumbling backwards, you curled in on yourself. “I’m sorry, Frank. I’m so sorry. So sorry.” Tears splattered on the floor beneath your downcast face. You were trembling, terrified of being screamed at, or worse. 

That was when it all clicked for Frank. Your wide eyes as he bossed you around. The way your jaw remained clenched for hours as you cooked. The lack of your giggles and quips and smiles for the majority of the day. You were afraid. He’d made you afraid. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice broke as you sobbed, just out of his reach. Each of your choked inhales broke off another piece of his shattered heart. “Oh, honey, no. Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry.” 

Crouching in front of you, keeping enough distance to hopefully not spook you further, Frank brought his hands into a placating gesture. As he exposed his palms to you, you looked at him with glassy eyes. “Darlin’ I’m not upset with you. I ain’t ever been upset with ya, not once. I was grouchier than normal today and I didn’t realize I was being too cruel. I ain’t mad, sweet girl. Could never be mad at my sweetheart.” 

You nodded, but didn’t seem to be registering his words. Crumbling to the floor in front of him, you were practically hyperventilating at this point, stuttering through apologies between shallow breaths. 

“Sweetheart, you’re gonna choke. Let’s sit on the couch for a minute.” Supporting your weight as you collapsed into his chest, Frank scooped you up and carried you over to the couch. He settled down, sitting your shaking body in his lap. Shushing you gently, he tucked your head under his chin, running a broad hand along your spine. “Breathe, sweet girl. Can’t have my baby suffocatin’ because of my dumb ass.” 

Breathing deeply to demonstrate the action for you, Frank eventually felt your body still, your inhales evening out. 

“‘M so sorry, Frankie.” You whispered hoarsely against his neck. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, my beautiful girl. You were just tryin’ to help. I’m sorry for bein’ such an ass.” Pulling back from you to study your face, Frank brought a hand up to cradle your jaw as he swiped away the remaining tears from your damp cheeks. “I didn’t mean to send ya home, darlin’. I just wanted you to sit on the couch while I cleaned up.” Continuing quickly as he watched your lips part with another apology, he added, “That ain’t your fault either. It definitely seemed like I was kickin’ ya out. That’s also on me.”

Nodding hesitantly, you leaned into him with a tired sigh. “Ok.”

“Did ya want me to leave, sweetheart? I know I scared you,” 

“No!” Your hand came up to grasp his jacket, clinging to him fearfully. “Don’t leave me, Frankie, please.” 

“Hey, hey, I ain’t leavin’ unless you want me to, darlin’.” Frank promised, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’m here as long as you’ll put up with me.” 

“I don’t want you to leave.” You murmured, tracing a finger over the folds in his lapel. 

“Then I’ll be here.” He assured you, stroking a hand over your back once again as he reclined, tugging you on top of him and covering you both with a blanket from the back of your couch. “Right here. Always.”

 The pair of you sat in silence for a spell, focusing on getting your breathing back under control. Eventually, Frank pressed another kiss to your head before offering an explanation. “I shouldn’t have snapped atcha, sweet girl. I was tired, and irritated, and I let it out on all of you. That ain’t fair and I’ll try to keep my cool next time.” 

Nodding gratefully against him, you mumbled a quivering “Thank you.” 

“Of course, doll. I scared ya when I kicked ya out?” He asked, hoping you’d clarify so he could prevent this panic in the future. 

“Mmhmm.” You confirmed. “I, um, I don’t do well when people raise their voices. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be sensitive.” 

“Hey now,” Frank admonished as gently as he could. “I like my sensitive girl. I’ll try not to yell. I didn’t know it would bother you so much, darlin’.” 

You shrugged. “People got angry with me a lot when I was a kid. Especially the men in my family. Maybe I was an easy target, I don’t know. But I jump to conclusions now because of it.” 

“That makes sense, honey. That’s your brain tryin’ to protect you from big scary guys like me.” Frank joked, but you poked his chest. 

“You’re not scary,” You chided. “Just big.” 

He chuckled at that. “Well, I’ll try to keep bein’ ‘not scary’ and promise to listen whenever you choose to warn me about this stuff, ok?” 

“Ok.” You agreed, lips twitching into a faint smile as he brushed his nose into your hair. Turning your face to his, your lips met in a sweet kiss. 

“Have I done anythin’ else that bothers ya?” Frank asked, fear sparking in his chest. 

Shaking your head vehemently, you snuggled into him. “No. You’re wonderful.” 

“Ok. Just tell me, darlin’. I never want ya to be afraid of me.”  

“‘M not afraid of you, Frankie. Promise.” 

“Ok, sweetheart. Did ya wanna go to bed, or stay here for a bit?” 

“Could we go to your place?” You asked timidly. 

“Of course, love. But only if you let me carry you out to the car. My poor girl has had a rough day and it’s my job to make that up to her.” 

You giggled. “Mmm kay.” 

Frank spoke quietly to you as you traveled back to his apartment, talking about the book he was reading and what he was excited about for the holiday. You remained quiet, the exhaustion of your panic attack weighing on you, but you were filled with a pleasant warmth as Frank shared more of himself with you. 

Once he’d carried you into his home and tucked you into bed, you were barely awake. 

“Sleep well, sweetheart. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” Comforted by Frank’s rumbling promise, you drifted off, dreaming only of his smiling face. 

[authorforrosie]

Book: Her

Pairing: Rosé x female reader

Warning: fluffiness and mention of hard career

Words:867

Quote: „I would not wish any companion in the world but you." William Shakespeare.

In the overfilled city of Los Angeles, nestled amidst rolling hills, loud noises, many crowds across the streets, a lot of architecture and blooming meadows, there resided two souls destined by the stars to meet and entwine their fates. You who has the name Y/N, a gifted photographer who was hired by the vogue with an eye that saw the world's beauty in every shadow and light, and Rosé Park, a K-Pop singer whose voice could summon tears from even the hardest hearts. A member of one of the most famous girl groups called blackpink.

The future of the blonde dyed woman unknown since she recently just debuted with her first solo album, many tears shed which reminded of water filled oceans. The amount of love like no other written in every lyric, heartbreaking lyrics that broke hearts with each beautiful vocals.

A weight of having to be perfect still weighted on Rosé's shoulders. Since she had a reputation of the perfect singer in the k-pop industry as a blackpink member. It left her more vulnerable as a solo artists with an unknown music journey in the future. Each blackpink member is trying to break out of the "perfect" reputation. Jennie even released a rap about the management holding them back from achieving big things in the music industry in a ad.

The tale begins one fateful award event on a certain night, when the event was alive with the sounds of the loud conversation of celebrities. Lights glowed like stars fallen to earth, and the scent of perfumes and blooming adrenaline filled the air. You, ever the observer of life's fleeting moments, wandered through the crowd with your camera, capturing the joyous faces and tender celebrities as only humans being scenes that unfolded before your eyes

As night descended, the event reached its crescendo with the arrival of Rosé, the golden voice loved by many on stage with a baby pink mic in her hand. Her voice, rich with emotions while sweet like honey, filled the air with melodies that spoke of love, being lost, and longing. You, drawn by the haunting beauty of her song, found yourself standing at the edge of the crowd, your heart thrumming in time with the music. You could feel the emotions she poured in her song's through your veins.

Your eyes met across the sea of faces, and in that moment, a spark ignited. Rosé's voice faltered as he gazed upon you, a vision of grace and elegance, your camera poised like an artist's brush while she continued to sing, but her heart now sang for you alone.

After Rosé's performance, she sought out the mysterious photographer. Rosé found you siting next at another celebrity. You looked absolutely breathtaking in her opinions which made her not wanting to lose an opportunity to have a conversation with you.

"Hi pretty, you look lonely. You caught my eyes while I was performing. A beautiful camera by the way." said Rosé while her australian accent could be heard, " your presence has inspire my soul. I am but a humble singer, yet I feel compelled to capture the essence of the beauty in song, as thou dost capture the world in thine art."

Your cheeks flushed with the warmth of her words, replied, "Good darling, your voice has moved me like no other. I am Y/N, a seeker of truth and beauty through the lens of my camera. Might I have the honor of capturing the likeness, that I may remember this night forever?"

Rosé was grateful that she had some self-control otherwise she would've flushed red cheeks by your reply. Your words took her breath literally away.

Thus began your journey of love, each discovering the depths of the other's soul through your shared passion for art. Both of you spent countless hours together, exploring the event later even a little bit of LA and surrounding crowds, capturing the world's wonders in photograph and song.

Rosé would sing as you photographed, her melodies weaving through the air like golden threads, binding your hearts ever closer. You, in turn, would find new inspiration in Rosé's music, your photographs revealing the hidden beauty that her voice evoked.

Your love for each other blossomed, unfettered by the trials and tribulations that life often brings. Both of you were kindred spirits, united by your art and your love for one another. Your bond with Rosé grew ever stronger, a testament to the power of love to transcend the boundaries of time and space.

Years passed, your love story became legendary in the music industry. The music industry was forever changed by both of your presence, and the memory of both of yours love endured, passed down through generations of singers as a symbol of the enduring power of art and the human spirit.

And so, in the twilight of your lives, you and Rosé, your hearts still entwined, looked back upon your journey together with gratitude and joy. For you both had found in each other a love that transcended the ordinary, a love that was truly extraordinary.

[actual-changeling]

Muriel isn't a child, they're not stupid or immature, and they CAN take care of themselves—with that, welcome to Alex's unhinged meta corner, hinged edition.

We need to talk about Muriel, so let's dive right in.

Despite the way many people depict them, they are the exact same age as every other angel, fallen or otherwise, and treating them as lesser because their mannerisms and expressions don't match up with what you think an 'adult' should look like doesn't mean they aren't one.

Not to speak of the ableism that's inherent to that kind of thinking, and actually, you know what? Before I keep talking, I want to ask you a question.

It is very common to talk about Muriel as a 'child of divorce', being 'adopted' by Crowley, someone 'precious' that needs protecting, and a lot of titles and concepts along those lines.

The question is: If, say, Uriel were in their place—sent down to earth after not being there for more than five minutes ever—would you still call him everything you call Muriel now? Would you treat him the same way you're treating them?

Would you see him the same way, and if not, why?

The question is, if any other angel were in Muriel's position, would you also infantilize them the way you currently do with Muriel?

Feel free to actually answer that question on my post or in your own, because I am genuinely curious about the reasoning, especially behind 'no' as an answer.

Heaven completely neglected them just like they did with everyone else, they were completely alone in a big, empty white room with nothing but a glass desk and presumably a chair for six thousand years—and probably even longer than that. Having someone ask them a job-related question every couple centuries doesn't even BEGIN to scratch the surface of their social needs.

When they came down to earth, it was the equivalent of one's first day at a new job, at university, at school, anywhere you had not been before but now plan on being for a while.

You come across others that have been there for twenty years and look like omniscient gods from your point of view; they run the game while you don't even know which game you're supposed to be playing. This is one of the reasons why they read as autistic to many, including myself, because that's exactly what every social situation feels like to me. That's for another post, though.

Of course they're socially awkward and easily overwhelmed! They were dropped off in a capital city after—and let me emphasise this once more—being completely alone for millennia.

The highest of the angels ordered them to do a specific job, like, fuck, I'd be having a nervous breakdown in the lift and curl up in a corner for a few hours because that thought is terrifying. Especially because failure is not something heaven accepts. Especially because they know what happens to those who disobey or disappoint in whatever shape or form.

When we see them, it is in that exact situation—talking to their bosses that they've likely never talked to before, arriving in a new world, being around new people, in a new environment, new everything. It always reminds me of this quote from Modern Family.

Muriel was assigned a rank and job just like everyone else, and they deserve the same respect and acknowledgement for it as the Guardian of the Eastern Gate or the Archangels themselves. Muriel is probably really fucking good at what they do, they've had millennia of practice, but we simply never see them in their everyday situations. Give them some time and support, and they'll be up to speed in no time.

They are not a child—don't treat them like one.

[dayque]

Quote frome City of bones from @cassandraclare

Quote frome City of bones from @cassandraclare

WAIT A MINUTE

I am just saying...

Bonus:

Quote from City of Fallen Angel from @cassandraclare

Extra

Meaning of the star: In Kabbalah, the Star of David can symbolize the connection between God, Israel, and the Torah. It can also symbolize the relationship between God and people or the seven virtues (kindness, severity, harmony, perseverance, splendor, foundation, and royalty). The Star of David has seven compartments.

[daily-clace]

Sliding her hands up his chest, she stretched upward as far as she could, wrapping her arms around his neck, rising up on her toes to meet his mouth with hers. His fingers skimmed down her body, over skin and satin, and she shivered, leaning into him, and she was sure they both tasted like blood and ashes and salt, but it didn’t matter; the world, the city, and all its lights and life seemed to have narrowed down to this, just her and Jace, the burning heart of a frozen world. —Cassandra Clare, City of Fallen Angels

[chaoticallymuse]

Quotes that remind me of them: Fairchilds

Charlotte Fairchild : "I'd call you Atlas but he wasn't given the choice to hold the stars. You were. //Yet still you break your back by holding the sky in your palms"

Charles Fairchild : "I am standing upright but my shadow is crooked."

Matthew Fairchild : "I want to be a mystery, yet be known. I want to be together, yet alone. Is it too much to ask to be famous yet unknown? To be a wanderer, yet have a home?"

Jocelyn Fairchild : "I cannot imagine how we forgive ourselves for all the things we didn't say until it was too late."

Clary Fairchild : "It takes great courage to see the world in all of its tainted glory and to still love it."

[jadedbirch]

For @naewitchcraftinvolved and anyone else who's interested, here are my recs of "good" queer historical fiction novels. I put "good" in quotes because obviously there's no accounting for taste, so this is only my personal opinion. Some (okay a lot) of these do not have a happily ever after for the main characters, but I still think they're very good books that are worth your consideration. In no specific order:

1. Literally anything by Mary Renault, but especially The Persian Boy and The Last of the Wine

2. The Radiant Emperor duology by Shelley Parker-Chan (contains magical realism)

3. As Meat Loves Salt by Maria McCann

4. Julian by Gore Vidal

5. Memoirs of Hadrian by Marguerite Yourcenar

6. The Burning Kingdoms trilogy by Tasha Suri (has magical realism and the third book is just about to drop, but assuming it'll be awesome)

7. Under the Poppy by Kathe Koja

8. The City Beautiful by Aden Polydoros

9. A Tip for the Hangman by Allison Epstein

10. The Watchmaker of Filigree Street by Natasha Pulley (magical realism here too, you can skip the sequel IMO)

11. Brothers of the Wild North Sea by Harper Fox

12. Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin (I'm not sure this counts as historical fiction because it was written in 1956 but it should be mandatory reading for basically everyone)

13. The Vintner's Luck by Elizabeth Knox (okay so one of the queer main characters is literally a fallen angel, but who's to say that can't be real 🤷🏻‍♀️)

14. The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller (is Greek Mythology technically historical fiction? I say it belongs here!)

15. The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas (LOL I know, I know, it's not "canon", but I dare you all to read it and then tell me they aren't all disaster bisexuals! Just consider this a free bonus.)