#read diverse lit

[the-readers-archive]

Luxury, passion, chaos, and books.

[feralplantwife]

On the 2023 Hugo Awards Disaster

I have a lot of huge feelings about the Hugo Awards disaster. I also have a personal stake, as Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao was the best book I read last year and the most fun I've had reading a book in a very long time, so I'm mad about that in particular.

First and foremost, what the goddamn fuck??? The Hugo Awards are pretty much the biggest awards for genre fiction, specifically science fiction and fantasy, which continue to be shat upon by tweed-cocooned academics and their pick-me constituents.

The fact that they chose to eliminate minority authors and their works for the supposed sake of censorship (racism/queerphobia) has pretty much invalidated the credibility of the Hugo Awards past, present, and future. A major honor for authors has been reduced to a dubious bragging right and the validity of the final results are now nil.

If they weren't prepared for the responsibility involved in holding the convention in a specific country and weren't up to the task of carrying out their duties as a committee within the confines of that country with the bare minimum integrity, then they shouldn't have done so. The Hugo Awards committee have insulted the nominated authors, insulted the Chinese science fiction/fantasy audience, and insulted any even casual enjoyers of genre fiction.

And let's make one thing perfectly clear: there is absolutely no excuse for this, this is blatant RACISM and QUEERPHOBIA and nothing else. If you check my reblog from yesterday or visit Xiran Jay Zhao or Neil Gaiman's own blogs, you can literally follow an email chain where these absolute ghouls pick and choose which authors and works they're going to eliminate without even the slightest hesitation or reluctance. Just business as usual for them it seems!

There is already a huge problem with racism and minority suppression within the science fiction and fantasy genres, which are still largely dominated in the mainstream by cisgender, heterosexual white people, and the literature is still rife with racial/queer stereotypes and bigotry. The fact that these systemic issues have so deeply infiltrated one of the highest honors a science fiction/fantasy author can receive speaks of a downward trend in current sociopolitical practices and offers a dark glimpse into the future not only for these beloved genres but also for us- the readers.

I feel so bad for the Chinese people who voted so diligently for this convention to be hosted in Chengdu, only to find that the authors who represent them (among authors as well) were eliminated behind closed doors for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with the merits of their works.

Because of the fandom spaces that I exist in, I get people screaming crying bitching moaning over not seeing boys kissing or whatever All The Time, on an almost daily basis, but the people who hurt the most because of the Chinese government's censorship are the citizens that exist under that censorship. Now, because of prejudiced weasels, this includes the truly exceptional authors that represent them on a HUGE scale overseas.

I'm furious with the awards committee on behalf of all of us and especially for them.

What can you do?

Activism takes many forms, most obviously ACTION. An accessible way for anyone to take action and combat this type of shitty behavior from literary influences like the World Science Fiction Convention and the Hugo Awards is to read diversely.

It makes you uncomfortable? Good! It makes you think? Even Better! It makes you learn? That's the best! Every time you buy a book, you're making the statement that this is what you want to read, this is what you value, this is what we need more of.

Can't buy books? Use your local library! Libraries keep records of what books get checked out the most, so if you check out diversely, they'll acquire more diverse literature for you to read. This is literally the basic foundation of how public libraries operate.

Support minority authors, and don't rely upon some committee to tell you which ones are worth reading. Ask BIPOC and Queer readers and authors instead. Our communities know best, and are happy to offer recommendations and contextual information to help you grow as both a person and a reader.

Fuck racism. Fuck the Hugo Awards. And Fuck Dave McCarty in particular.

And don't forget to reach out to info@TheHugoAwards.org and let them know your thoughts and feelings on this matter

[beareadsbookz]

The 17 Books I Read for Spooky Season, Ranked Best to Worst:

🥇 Compound Fracture by Andrew Joseph White, 5⭐️

🥇That’s Not My Name by Megan Lally, 5⭐️

🥈 The Wicked Unseen by Gigi Griffis, 4.75⭐️

🥉 Never Whistle at Night (anthology edited by Shane Hawk), 4.25⭐️

• The Grimrose Girls by Laura Pohl, 4.25⭐️

• All Systems Red by Martha Wells, 4.25⭐️

• Saint Juniper’s Folly by Alex Crespo, 4.25⭐️

• The Forest Demands Its Due by Kosoko Jackson, 4⭐️

• School of the Dead by AVI, 4⭐️

• The Bone Garden by Heather Kassner 3.5⭐️

• It Came From the Trees by Ally Russel 3.25⭐️

• No Escape by Maren Stoffels, 3⭐️

• The Witchery by S. Isabelle, 2.75⭐️

• Together We Rot by Skyla Arndt, 2.75⭐️

• Win Lose Kill Die by Cynthia Murphy, 2.75⭐️

• Revenge of the Witch by Joseph Delaney, 2.75⭐️

• Murder in the Family by Cara Hunter 1.5 ⭐️

[mccoppinscrapyard]

Read in 2022 (7/?)

You Should See Me in a Crown by Leah Johnson

❝  I don't believe in fairy tales and love at first sight and all that, but for just a second, I think this girl and those eyes and the way her freckles dot the entire expanse of her face are cute enough to make a believer out of me. ❞ 

[howifeltabouthim]

She thought of this till she was tired of thinking of it, and then, wishing to divert her mind, she took up the book that was lying nearest to her hand.

Anthony Trollope, from Phineas Finn

[dudeshusband]

i wrote a muslim woman once and my jumping off point for her was how i'd seen a saudi arabian woman write her muslim characters, but more americanized because my story was set in the united states.

[desdasiwrites]

— Priyanka Taslim, The Love Match

[sapphicbookclub]

Author Spotlight: Alyson Root

We're excited to bring you a guest post written by Alyson Root, author of A Dance Towards Forever. Keep reading to hear how her personal journey through life is reflected in the plot of her first book!

Hey, Alyson here (insert waving emoji) a new author fresh out of the writing closet. Not as scary as the last time I came out, but just as important to me. Anyway, I’m sitting here thrilled that I get to write something for the Sapphic Book Club. However, I suddenly find myself with a blank mind!

Argh, what should I write? What do you all want to read about? Me? My debut novel? Hell, I’ll tell you about both if you’re willing to sit and read what I write.

Ok a little about me first. I’m 36 and Aries, I like long walks on the beach and… I’m kidding, although I am 36 and an Aries. But, less of the bad dating profile and more of the serious stuff. I found writing at the grand old age of 30. I wish I could say it was something I always wanted to do, but that would be a lie.

Yes, I have always been a creative person. That runs in the family, but I’m also someone who has the attention span of a two-year-old at Christmas. Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I had loads of different hobbies, but none of them included writing. I could never focus on one thing long enough to decide if I loved it or not.

Fast forward to a time in my life where I could confidently call myself an adult (gross) and that’s when I fell head over heals in love with writing. Actually, it was my wife who encouraged me. I happened to mention that I fancied turning my hand to writing, and she went full cheerleader!

Six years is the time it took me to finish A Dance Towards Forever. That’s 72 months or 312 weeks of me sporadically writing nonsense until I had a lightbulb moment, deleted everything I’d written and then bashed out the entire book in five months.

Once the last word of the Epilogue had been written, I was overcome by pure joy because, after all my years on this awesome globe we call home, I’d finally found my passion. The thing that I loved and could focus on. Hopefully, that doesn't sound too dramatic or cliché!

Moving on… What else can I tell you about myself? Well, there are a few things woven into the storyline of A Dance Towards Forever that ring true to my life. I fell in love with a French woman and ended up moving to Paris. Just like my main character Sam, I am appalling at speaking the language and I have a best friend who swears like a sailor. Oh, and I am a massive sucker for love and romance.

Is that enough about me? Probably so I’ll switch to the book. Cue drumroll…

A Dance Towards Forever is my first book and something I am immensely proud of. Jeez, I can’t believe sometimes that I actually wrote an entire novel. At least I can cross one thing off my bucket list now.

Most of the story is set in Paris. At the time of the book's conception, I had just moved there from England. It was this magical city that held wonder and opportunity and it was where my girlfriend (now wife) was, so it was the perfect city in my eyes.

My life back then had changed so dramatically in just a few months that I wrote the book with that feeling in mind. I wanted my characters to go through that kind of life altering situation whilst falling in love because that’s what had happened to me.

I think it’s true that every author gives a bit of themselves to each of their books. I certainly did. To be honest, it was a bit like therapy writing parts of the story, especially the painful parts that I’d experienced myself.

Now the book is out in the world for others to read. That is both exciting and terrifying!

Ok, just so I don’t give myself a panic attack at the thought of people actually reading and judging the book, I’m going to give you some fun facts. Let’s lighten the mood.

First fun fact: I used Dolly Parton’s I will Always Love You because I love her and that song. Her voice is angelic and I would give my left arm to see her in concert.

Numero dos: Just like Sam, I met my best friend in school. Well, Sam met Charlie at university, but the premise is the same.

Trois: My favourite drink is Rum and Coke, but my wife has firmly pulled me over to the dark side. I drink wine now. I couldn’t tell you the difference between a cabernet and a merlot, but that’s ok. As long as I remember to drink a glass with cheese, I won't be cast out of France.

Finally number four: I’m still have a short attention span which is why I’m working on several books at the same time. Keeps things interesting though!

Hopefully I haven’t blathered on too much and you’ve enjoyed reading this. I, for one, am pleased as punch to have had the opportunity to write this piece.

Until the next time (insert another waving emoji)

Alyson

[the-readers-archive]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by 𝐀𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐞 | 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦 | 𝟐𝟑 (@sseasonsreadings)

“les aubes sont navrantes”

— donna tartt, the secret history

“Absolve yourself. Blame it on fate.”

— m. l. rio, if we were villains

[perpetuallydistracting]

Oh wow, glad to see literary elitism is still alive and well.

[cheddarchaser]

YO I'm sorry if this is weird but I'm moving across the country to philly in February and don't know anybody there. do I pass the vibe check. ignore me if this is abnormal behavior :p

perfectly normal behavior. the most important rules of living in philly are KEEP MOVING and SHOW NO FEAR

[bethly126]

What I’m Listening to now : Out by Natsuo Kirin

[gubsbuubs]

Sunshine Brews

Pairing: MGG x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~ 3K

Warnings: none just pure fluff

Summary: Just a little meet-cute with MGG and a barista where they realize they have something in common, a necklace.

A/N: I don’t usually write fluff but I had this cute idea. Let me know if you want a series out of this! Hope you all enjoy it!

Any and all comments are appreciated - English is not my first language. Requests are open 🍒

"Blueberry muffin and one caramel latte, extra shot!" Y/N called out to her coworker over the noise of the espresso machine. The cozy coffee shop felt warm and inviting, with the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. Only a few patrons were scattered around, enjoying their drinks and pastries. It was slow at the moment, with the usual larger queue reduced to just two customers in line—Mary, the regular she was tending, and a man who waited after her.

"Here's your receipt, have a great day!" She extended her arm with a smile, as Mary thanked her and took it before finding a seat by the window.

The movement on the other side of the counter drew Y/N's attention to the new customer. As he appeared from behind Mary, he moved closer to place his order. Y/N's eyes lifted from where Mary had been standing, her gaze now caught by a tall man with a mop of tousled curls framing his face.

He wore a fun patterned shirt, the colors vibrant against the light filtering through the café windows. A small green neck scarf added a touch of flair, giving him a stylish and approachable vibe.

His eyes moved from the lettering and small drawings on the black chalkboard to meet the girl behind the register. She held a big smile, and he couldn't help but notice how it lit up her eyes, "Welcome to Sunshine Brews! What can I get for you today?"

"Good afternoon," he replied, his voice soft. "How are you doing..." He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on the counter, as he squinted his eyes, clearly trying to read the tag placed on the right side of her chest. "...John?" His brows furrowed in confusion. He didn't want to assume anything, recognizing that names could be diverse, but his uncertainty was evident in his expression.

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle at his confused look. "Oh, that's not my name. Easy mistake, though! I'm covering for a friend named John today." She tapped her nametag lightly.

"He had a little issue, so someone…" She motioned to herself dramatically, exaggerating her words, "had to come in and save the day."

He chuckled at her theatrics. "What a good Samaritan we have here today," he teased lightly "Shouldn't you be sainted for your heroic deeds?"

She playfully shook her head, "You know… sometimes I think I should be,"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter, his expression genuinely curious. "And what would your saintly name be?"

She tilted her head slightly back, considering his question for a moment. Then, with a slight raise of her eyebrows, she declared, holding her finger up in the air, " How about Saint Y/N of the Extra Shifts"

"Saint Y/N of the Extra Shifts," he repeated thoughtfully. "I can already see the halo glowing faintly above your head."

"Well, someone had to do it, or you wouldn't have your coffee. Aren't you glad it was me?" She teased.

"Absolutely, Saint Y/N,"

"Well, I know you didn't come here to put up with my stupid jokes, so what can I get you started with?" Y/N quipped.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I loved that stupid joke," his gaze was warm as he met her eyes. "I'm glad your friend John didn't make it, because I'm really enjoying our conversation."

"Yeah, but good conversation won't fill your stomach,"

"You're so wise," he added in a sarcastic tone before glancing at the menu thoughtfully. "I think I'll go with a latte and..." He paused, his gaze flicking back up to meet hers. "Do you have any recommendations for a light bite? Something to tide me over until dinner?"

Y/N nodded "Our avocado toast is a popular choice," she suggested, gesturing towards the menu board. "Or we have fresh pastries if you're in the mood for something sweet."

"Avocado toast sounds perfect,"

"Coming right up," Y/N replied cheerfully. "That'll be eight dollars and fifty cents. And what's the name for the order?"

"Matthew," he said, handing her a ten-dollar bill. "Keep the change."

"Well, thank you," she said, extending her arm across the counter to hand him the receipt. Then she turned to her coworker, who was tasked with making the orders. "Hey, can you get me a latte and avocado toast?"

Glancing around the relatively empty café, Matthew´s eyes fell on a couple of stools just a few steps away from the counter. He pondered for a moment, he was enjoying the conversation with Y/N, and if he sat at a table, even one nearby, he wouldn't be able to continue their chat as easily. Noticing how there was no movement and he was the latest customer, he decided to sit by the counter, keeping the option open for more interaction.

Y/N placed some napkins and a sugar jar in front of him. "Here you go, just in case," she said with a friendly smile.

"Seems to be slow at the moment," he remarked casually, his eyes flicking back to her.

"Well, lucky for you, it means I have all the time to entertain you " she teased, tapping her fingers against the counter.

"Is that part of the saintly services you offer? Entertainment along with the coffee?"

Y/N chuckled, nodding with mock seriousness. "Oh, absolutely," she replied, matching his playful tone. "But you know, entertainment comes with an extra charge. Saintly services aren't free, you know."

Matthew feigned surprise, his eyes widening in mock indignation, leaning back slightly. "What's the going rate for entertainment these days? Should I be worried about breaking the bank?"

Y/N leaned closer. "Since you're new here, I'll make you an offer," she whispered conspiratorially. "Today's entertainment will be on the house if you promise to come back for more."

Matthew's expression shifted in contemplation as he pretended to consider her offer. He scratched his chin lightly, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, Saint Y/N, you're making it hard to refuse," he teased, his voice low and playful.

After a brief pause, he extended his pinky finger toward hers. "Alright, deal. I promise to come back,"

The pinky promise sealed the deal, and for a heartbeat longer than expected, their fingers intertwined. Y/N felt a rush of warmth as Matthew's gaze locked onto hers, their faces closer than they should be as they both leaned on either side of the counter.

"You better keep that promise now,"

Just then, Y/N's coworker arrived at the counter with his order in hand "Good afternoon," she said, breaking the brief silence. "One latte and avocado toast for Matthew."

"That's me," he replied with a nod, his attention momentarily on the girl as she set the food down in front of him. "Thank you." As the coworker walked away, Matthew's eyes shifted back to Y/N that had stepped back slightly to give room for her friend.

As he bit down on the toast, Matthew's gaze fixated on Y/N and he couldn't help but notice the faint blush that adorned her cheeks.

Unaware of his lingering gaze, Y/N observed the street outside while she ran her fingers through her hair with a casual grace. She swept it up momentarily before letting it fall behind her shoulders, and Matthew's eyes never left her, observing each movement with a keen interest.

His gaze lowered from her cheeks to her lips, tracing the delicate curve of her jawline down to her now exposed neck. It was then that the soft ambient light caught the glimmer of a pendant she wore, casting a gentle glow upon it.

Matthew's breath caught slightly as he noticed, recognizing it in an instant. His surprise was palpable. "Wait a minute," Matthew choked out, his mouth half full of avocado toast.

"Wha…. What?" Y/N asked, taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor.

Matthew lifted a finger to his lips, gesturing for her to wait as he swallowed. His eyes were wide with excitement as he pointed at her. "You're wearing my necklace," he finally exclaimed.

Her hand instinctively went to the delicate pendant around her neck, feeling its familiar weight. "I'm sorry, what?"

"It's my necklace," he repeated, a smile spreading across his face as he pointed at it.

Y/N furrowed her brows. "I think you might be confused," she stated calmly but firmly. "My nephew gave this to me as a present, so it's not yours... I'm pretty sure it's mine."

Matthew chuckled softly, "That's not what I meant..." He trailed off, leaning back slightly on the stool as he took a sip of his latte.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, a puzzled expression crossing her features. "I'm so confused right now," she admitted.

"You have no idea, do you?" he said, his smile growing wider.

She shook her head no , feeling a mix of amusement and frustration. "Well, then please enlighten me," she replied, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

Matthew set the cup down with a soft clink, leaning forward slightly. His hand moved the scarf around his neck, and with a subtle movement, a small golden chain appeared from under it. His fingers reached inside his shirt, pulling out a pendant identical to Y/N's, hanging from the necklace.

"What the..." was all Y/N could mutter as she lounged forward, holding her upside-down necklace side by side with his. "I had no idea that's what you meant. My nephew talks about him all the time, but I never realized he was so popular," she said, her voice filled with wonder.

Matthew grinned, clearly enjoying her reaction. "It's always surprising to see where that little guy pops up."

"It's the first time I've met someone who knows about this book. It's such a cool coincidence." With a gentle release, Y/N let go of his necklace, but she remained there, her arms resting on the counter.

"Oh, I don't just know it, I really know it," he said with a playful smirk.

She raised an eyebrow, "Have you read it a lot or something?" she asked, "Do you also have a small child that begs for the same story every time?"

Matthew shook his head in amusement, leaning down for another bite of his avocado toast. "No," he replied, a chuckle escaping as he chewed.

"So…. just a grown man enjoying children's literature, then?" she quipped. "Not weird at all." she laughed

As Matthew swallowed, a small burst of air escaped through his nostrils, causing a soft laugh. It was incredibly funny how unaware she was of the punchline that was about to be delivered. "Y/N," he said once his mouth was clear, "I wrote the book."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, her playful grin faltering for a moment as she processed his words. "Wait, what?"

He was clearly enjoying her flabbergasted expression. "You heard me," he said with a smile.

It was clear that the revelation had caught her off guard, her eyes were wide and her mouth was slightly agape. "Close your mouth, you'll catch flies,"

Her mouth snapped shut, and her cheeks flushed faintly as she processed the information. "You're… You´re joking, right?" She managed to stammer.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" He replied, his tone playful yet somewhat serious. He continued to watch her, admiring the way her expression shifted from shock to disbelief to realization.

"Matthew?" she asked as her mind connected the dots and her mouth formed a small 'O' shape. "As in Matthew Gray Gubler?"

"The one and only." He laughed, leaning in closer, his voice quieter. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't announce it to the whole café."

Her cheeks flushed once more as she galanced around, but no one seemed to be paying attention to their conversation. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, realizing her faux pas. "You're right, I shouldn't have reacted like that. Sorry."

He, in turn, smiled at her apologetic demeanor. "No worries," he replied, before taking the final bite of his toast. "This was so good," he said pointing at it.

Y/N completely disregarded his compliment. "Oh my gosh, this is so embarrassing," she continued, starting to ramble. "I mean, no offense; I should've recognized you. I don't know what I was thinking. I really am sorry for not recognizing you."

He swallowed the bite, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched her struggle with her embarrassment. "Why are you apologizing?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.

Y/N shifted uncomfortably, her hands fidgeting on the countertop. "Well, because you're like a celebrity," she began, stumbling over her words. "I mean, I haven't seen your face on TV in a while, but I should've recognized it." She paused, searching for the right words.

"You really don't need to apologize," he assured her, his voice soft and reassuring as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the countertop, his eyes locked with hers "Believe it or not I enjoyed being just a regular person. It's refreshing to not be recognized every now and then."

She let out a soft exhale, her embarrassment beginning to subside. "I never thought about it that way," she admitted, her hands finally stilling on the countertop.

"Most people think being recognized all the time is a perk," he mused, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "But sometimes, it's nice to just blend in and be treated like everyone else."

Y/N nodded thoughtfully, a small smile forming on her lips. "I can imagine," she replied softly.

"So, you mentioned your nephew earlier, what´s his name?"

"Oh, right," she chuckled softly. "His name is Ethan. Adorable little guy," she said with a warm smile on her face.

"How old is Ethan?" he inquired, genuinely interested.

"He just turned nine," Her eyes sparkled with affection as she spoke of her nephew. "He's such a sweet kid. Always full of imagination." Her voice softened with fondness, "You should see him; he's convinced Rumple Buttercup is real and has adventures all around town. Sometimes I catch him drawing pictures of Rumple saving the day in his notebook." A soft chuckle escaped her lips. "He's got quite the imagination, that one…" She paused, "Sorry, I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"No… No, pelase, continue." He took one more sip of his coffee before adding, "He sounds like quite a young artist."

"He really is," Y/N agreed. "He's always drawing something, whether it's Rumple or his own little creations. I've lost track of the number of drawings he's left around the house."

"You know," he began, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret, "I'm actually in town for a book signing at the library tomorrow." his voice even quieter as he added, "I'll be dressed as Rumple Buttercup and everything."

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, a delighted smile spreading across her face. "No way, really?" She exclaimed softly.

"Really," he affirmed with a grin.

"Oh my god, we have to go," Y/N blurted out, her enthusiasm bubbling over. "Ethan would be over the moon!"

"Unfortunately, it's sold out," he admitted, his tone apologetic.

Her face fell, disappointment washing over. "Oh no…"

Before she could dwell on the disappointment, Matthew bursted into laughter. "But I might know someone who could get you in… This guuuuuuy" he said, playfully pointing to himself and breaking into a little dance.

Her disappointment quickly melted away as she watched Matthew's playful antics. She leaned against the counter, a wide smile spreading across her face as she giggled at his silly dance moves.

"Are you serious?" Y/N asked, her laughter still bubbling under the surface.

Matthew nodded, his expression earnest and determined. "Dead serious. I can get you invitations," he affirmed.

"You're too much!" Y/N exclaimed with a playful shake of her head, still grinning from ear to ear.

Matthew chuckled softly. "Well, what can I say? I aim to please,"

She reached across the counter, intending to express her gratitude with a light touch on his arm. "I can't thank you enough for this," she said sincerely, her voice filled with genuine appreciation.

Matthew smiled warmly as he looked into Y/N's eyes, his hand gently resting on hers "I'm the one who should be thankful," he began, "I got to enjoy this amazing toast with a delicious latte, just like a regular person. And as promised, I got some great company by a saint," he added with a playful wink, "and for free, may I add."

"Well, you did promise you would come back, so next time it's not for free,"

"Ah, you got me there," he admitted, feigning defeat. "I guess I did promise… And I always keep my promises."

"Good to know you're a man of your word," she replied, a playful smile dancing on her lips.

Matthew nodded, feeling a flutter of nervousness in his chest. He cleared his throat gently, watching as Y/N straightened up, her warmth lingering on his arm as she withdrew. Retrieving his phone from his pocket, he glanced up at her with a hesitant smile.

"You should… you know… give me your number... for the invites, I mean," he said, his voice slightly uncertain.

Y/N met his gaze with a warm smile. "Sure," she replied softly, reaching for her phone on the counter. After a moment of tapping on the screen, she handed it to him. "Here you go."

Matthew chuckled softly to himself. "Saint Y/N," he remarked as he saw the saved number, "I should have seen this one coming."

"Well, it's so you know it's me," she replied playfully.

Matthew grinned, sliding his phone back into his pocket. "I still can't believe I had the pleasure of meeting a saint over avocado toast,"

She chuckled, leaning slightly against the counter. "Aren't you glad John couldn't make it today?" she teased.

Matthew raised an eyebrow playfully. "Really glad," he replied "I mean, John's is probably a great guy and all, but I doubt Sunshine Brews has the budget for two saints… So it looks like I lucked out today."

"Well, consider it a stroke of luck for both of us then," she quipped.

The gentle dinging of the bell at the top of the front door chimed, signaling the entry of a new customer. Y/N glanced up from the counter just in time to see a young woman step inside, followed closely by a man with a briefcase slung over his shoulder. Before she could even greet the first arrivals, another group of friends strolled in, causing the bell to ring again in quick succession.

Matthew chuckled softly at the increasing activity in the café. "It looks like it's getting busy," he remarked.

"Rush hour," she confirmed, her gaze briefly flicking to the clock mounted on the wall.

"I should probably go," Matthew said regretfully, rising from his stool. "I've definitely taken up a pretty considerable amount of your time."

"I'm glad you did," she said sincerely.

"I will text you later... about the … invites, I mean," he trailed off, clearly a bit flustered by his own suggestion.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh softly at his flustered response. "Bye, Matthew,"

"Bye, Y/N," Matthew replied with a smile, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turned towards the door. "See you and Ethan tomorrow," he added, waving slightly as he exited.

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 1

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow that "Keep Moving Forwards Fic"

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, mentions of physical abuse, loss of a child, and general trauma.

Word Count: 4.3k

Author's Note: This is the first part of what I anticipate will be a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 1

There would be no going back. You had promised yourself that. As you stepped out of the cabin door, you vowed not to look back, not to turn around, not to wish for what was. You would move forward, one foot in front of the other, into the world. Yet, as you crested the first hill, your heart clenched, and tears welled in your eyes, a sudden and overwhelming loneliness gripping you. You shook your head, dismissing the thought. What could possibly bring you back to that place? A place where everything hurt constantly, and the only safe refuge was sleep—where even then, he invaded your subconscious.

You wouldn’t go back. Not this time. Not like the last time.

Pushing the tears down, you took another step forward. The companionship of the night, lit by the full moon, felt both lonely and liberating. You adjusted your pack and pulled your oversized, worn leather jacket tighter around your torso as you silently crept through the forest.

It wouldn’t be morning for a few more hours, and if you kept moving, you would cross the river while it was still dark. You had a plan and a general idea of where you were heading, but at the time you made this plan, your only thought was to get as far away as possible. To put as much distance as you could between yourself and the old, rotten cabin that had been your home for the past fifty-three years.

The moonlight made the trees seem farther apart, and you felt exposed. Glancing over your shoulder, despite the hill and the fallen trees and boulders between you and the cabin, you imagined you could still see smoke rising from the chimney. You quickened your pace.

You hoisted yourself over a fallen log, the moss soft and forgiving under your fingertips. The new spring air was beginning to overtake the cold of winter, and the damp scent of rain filled your nose. You had loved spring—or at least you used to, fifty-three years ago. Now, you couldn't remember what you loved or who you would be when you finally made it away. But you would make it away. You would not go back. Not for anything. No matter how much he begged, no matter how much he cried, no matter how much you ached to return.

Hours passed as you continued your trudge through the woods, your legs growing more tired with each step as you carefully descended the mountain. You lost your footing twice, but quickly regained your balance, careful not to make a sound. You wouldn’t stop moving, not until you had crossed the river.

As the night sky shifted from deep blue to purple, and the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, you heard the rushing of the river and quickened your pace.

When you reached the clear waters of the Highlawn River, you stopped, tossing your pack onto the pebbled shore, and leaned down to drink from the cold, clean water. You dipped your hands in greedily, cupping them to your lips, when you caught sight of your reflection glaring back at you. As you sipped, your eyes traced the cut on your cheekbone. What had once been a wound was now only a trace of dried blood, just like the gash on your forehead. You splashed water onto your face, scrubbing at the blood caked on your skin. You scrubbed the area raw and red, as if washing it away would also erase the memory of what caused the bleeding.

Kneeling there, your face burning slightly from the cold water, you took a deep breath and let yourself feel alive.

You pulled your jacket back over your shoulders, catching his scent, which made you recoil, your heart racing and your stomach dropping. But you reminded yourself you were alone. He was not with you. He would never be with you again. You grabbed your pack and hauled it back onto your shoulder, then turned and wandered down the shore of the river, searching for the shallow, rocky crossing. When you reached it, you carefully tiptoed across, taking care not to slip into the nearly freezing water.

Once on the other side, you turned and looked back up the mountain you had just descended, squinting to see the cabin's roof that sometimes poked out when the leaves were down. You couldn’t find it. Not that you wanted to, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

He would be getting up soon. He would find your note. Would he run from the house calling your name? Would he cry? Would he rage, swearing what he would do when he found you? Would he hunt you down, sending birds flying from trees and animals racing for their burrows? Or would he stand there in silence, reading the note, his green eyes calm and collected, before starting the kettle for his tea?

You hoped you would never find out. You turned again and walked farther into the deeper woods. You would not come back. You would live. You would live your life. You would survive this, just as you had survived the last fifty-three years.

As the early morning turned warmer and the sun rose higher, heating your hair and sending warmth radiating down your body, you removed your jacket, tying it around your waist. You continued wandering through the deeper woods, determined to reach the tavern, a day's walk away. Despite your legs burning and aching for rest, you kept moving forward. You would always keep moving forward.

The trees of the Night Court, now blooming with spring flowers, cast shadows on the forest floor. The sun's warmth on your face was both comforting and energizing. Morning shifted to afternoon, and afternoon into evening, and by the time you saw the tavern lights, you were nearly crawling with exhaustion. A renewed sense of energy hit you, and you made your way across the field, nearly running as you pushed open the creaky wooden door.

You peered around the lively room, searching for an open table. The crowd chattered animatedly, downing beers and spirits, guffawing with friends. You hadn't been around this many people in a very long time. Almost giddy with excitement, you chose a table near the back of the tavern. Settling into the booth, a waitress promptly placed a cold glass of water on the table, which you downed before she could introduce herself. You ordered a plate of chicken and potatoes and allowed yourself a moment to breathe. Leaning back in your chair, you felt your spine relax and the ache in your feet begin to subside.

When your dinner arrived, you scarfed it down as quickly as you had the water, the grease of the meat making your lips shine. You wiped your face with your sleeve, not caring if you looked like an animal. When you inquired about a room, the waitress informed you there was one left, but it was connected to another room already rented. You considered sleeping in the woods but knew you wouldn’t rest well and still had miles to travel. So, you pulled a satchel of coins from your bag, paid for the room, and gave the waitress a few extra coins, asking her to deny anyone who might come in asking about you.

When you made your way up the creaking steps, the lights in the other rooms had already been turned out for the night as the other travelers rested their weary bones. You found yourself at the end of the hall, the light under your door still lit. As you unlocked it, you were quickly taken aback by the sight of a man sitting in a chair across from you. His feet were propped up on an end table, and he leaned back comfortably in an oversized armchair, a book in one hand while the other hand lazily traced his lips. He looked up quickly, closing his book. He wore only a pair of black linen pants, his tanned skin covered in various whirling tattoos, and his black hair tousled as though he had been running his hands through it repeatedly.

“Sorry, I think you have the wrong room,” he said, quickly putting his feet back on the ground.

You paused, taking a tentative step back. “Um, no, actually, I rented this room. The owner said that someone else was staying in the adjoining one, but I can go to that one if you’ve taken this one.”

The man rose to his feet, and you suddenly noticed the large wings tucked behind him. He was much larger than he had looked when curled into that chair. “No, please,” he said, gesturing to the room and moving toward the adjoining door. “I was just using this as a sitting room.” He picked up his book, his bare feet padding across the floor. Opening the adjoining door, he ducked his head, turned back to you, wished you a goodnight, and quietly shut the door.

You didn’t move until the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears subsided. You hadn’t spoken to a man in decades, and the first one you see is half-dressed, and you walk in unannounced. Shaking your head, you muttered to yourself before walking in and shutting the door behind you, pressing your back against the wood, resting your head on it, and closing your eyes. You had worked so hard all day to keep the bond shut on your end, willing it closed while he pounded on the other side, screaming to be let in. You had given yourself a headache doing so.

You threw your pack down on the floor, pulling off your sweat-drenched shirt and pants from the hike and tossing them over the chair the man had been lounging in before flopping down onto the bed, your head pounding.

________________________________________________________

The sun beamed down onto your face as you squinted, eyes still shut as you rolled over in bed, groaning softly. You inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the burning fire, the heavy wetness of the April woods, and the scent of spruce and sage. Your eyes opened, and you found yourself staring at the log wall, the window above it slightly open with sheer linen curtains fluttering in the wind. The quilt you had spent months making was balled at your feet, kicked away in the night as the pre-summer air seeped in through the open window. Your hair was plastered to the sides of your face with sweat.

You sat up, your cotton nightgown sticking to your torso, the lace scratching lightly at your skin as you rubbed your neck and eyes. The cabin air was slightly damp; it must have rained last night. Planting your feet on the hard wood floor, you looked across the room to see a small wooden cradle. Walking towards it, you tied your hair up with a ribbon from the window sill and leaned in to see your tiny babe, still sound asleep. You smiled down at them, brushing your fingers over their soft cheek as they softly gurgled. They were perfect, angelic, with your nose and lips, their tiny hands curled into loose fists beside their head as they slept on their back. Even in just their cloth diaper, the heat of the morning had made their cheeks red and their skin slightly damp as you continued to run soft lines down their face. Perfection. They were perfection.

The morning dove cooed its melody as the world around you seemed perfectly soft and hazy, as though all the colors were muted and edges somehow rounder. Then you heard it, the soft crying from the main room of the cabin. The babe stirred slightly but remained asleep as you looked through the open door to the living room. You glanced back at your perfect babe, still sound asleep, and then lightly stepped through the bedroom, trying to peek around the corner of the door without making the floorboards creak.

You stopped at the threshold, placing one hand delicately on the frame as you peered out. He was sitting there, on the couch he had carved for your 120th birthday, the blanket your mother gave you draped over the back. The window next to the front door was shattered in a moment of blind rage many months ago that he still hadn’t fixed.

He sat there, his head in his hands, sobbing quietly. The wet inhales and exhales formed a rock in your throat as you stood there, still as a deer. His head jerked up, and he turned to look over the back of the couch at you. His eyes were red, bloodshot, and he sniffled back another sob.

“Why would you do this?” he asked, his voice a breathless sob. “Why would you leave me?”

You said nothing, eyes wide in shock, seemingly frozen in place. The only movement in you was your heart, beating faster and faster. You worried he could hear it. Your hands and feet went numb, and you felt every twitch in your body as you tried to keep still. Your mouth parted slightly to speak, but before you could get a word out, he was standing, walking over to you, the heavy sound of his footsteps echoing in your head, pounding through the cabin until he stood in front of you. You took a step back, hands flying upwards to block the doorway.

He wrapped his arms around you, his large frame towering over yours as he sobbed into your neck. “We can fix this, baby,” he cooed into your ear, still sobbing. His height lifted you from the ground, rising to stand on your tiptoes as he continued to plead. “Just come home, baby. Come home. We can make this right.” Your arms slackened at your sides as he held you up. You swallowed the lump in your throat, unsure if you were going to scream or vomit as everything inside you burned. “Just come home,” he whispered again into your ear, his hot, wet breath streaming down your back as his tears glued your hair to your face. He pulled back to look at you, releasing you back to the floor. His green eyes peered into yours, searching for a response—the response he wanted. He leaned down to kiss you, and in a moment of bravery, you stepped back. He reached for your arm to pull you back, and you took another step backward, your hands behind you.

“Baby,” he managed to get out, but the sound of his voice, broken by sobs, no longer echoed through your mind. Instead, it was a warning. He took a step toward you, reaching out. He grabbed your wrist, which you tugged free. He took another step, reaching for you.

“No!” you shouted as he grabbed for you again. Your voice barely above a whisper, “I won’t come back.”

He stopped, his hand still extended toward you as his face twisted in anger. His mouth curved into a catlike smile, though his eyes darkened. “Where are you going to go, baby?”

You swallowed down the rock in your throat, your vision blurring as tears clouded your eyes. “I-I-” you stuttered.

He smiled at you again. “Where would you go?”

You took another tentative step back, your hands brushing the cradle, which rocked softly. Your babe cooed lightly, looking up at you with bright, brown eyes.

He peered over your shoulder at the babe in the cradle. “You want a baby? I can give you a baby,” he promised. “You just need to come home.”

You looked at him, your mouth hanging open, searching for words to shut him up. Words that would let you win. He reached for you again. “Where will you go where I can’t find you?”

You turned, grabbing the babe from the cradle, picking up their blanket with them. In the frantic motion, the babe let out a wail, but it didn’t stop you. You pushed past him, dashing through the living room, past the broken window, and down the steps. Your feet barely registered as you pounded through the front grass and headed into the woods, your babe pressed to your shoulder, crying out. As you hit the treeline, you turned to see him standing on the porch, his arms crossed, the catlike smile still inching across his face.

You tore through the woods, careful to hold your babe's head to your neck, trying not to trip over roots and branches, panting out wild breaths as the woods crashed around you.

As your babe let out another piercing wail, you found a hollowed out log that you crouched down in, trying to shush the screams. You rocked, hushed and pressed soft kisses into their temple as your heart continued to beat wildly in your ears. From behind you, you could hear branches and twigs snapping as he made his way towards you. Where would you run? Where could you go? Where can you go he wouldn’t find you? As your mind races you suddenly realize the babe has gone quiet and your arms are light, you look down and in your arms you hold an empty white blanket. A sob escapes you as you search around frantically for your babe, a wail crosses your lips as the sounds of the branches get louder and louder, you fall to the ground screaming as the sounds of him calling your name mixed with your pounding heart flood your head. It’s all gone. Everything is gone. 

________________________________________________________

“Hey! Hey!”

Your eyes shoot open, and the room around you is pitch black. You hurl in a heavy breath, wheezing out a cough, sweat pouring down your face and back as you scream, but no sound comes out. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you see moonlight streaming in from the window, tears blurring your vision, and the silhouette of someone yelling at you, their hands pressed onto your shoulders.

You rip their hands off, kicking back to ball up in the corner of the bed, pressed into the wall, ragged breaths tasting of iron in your lungs. You pull your legs into your chest, eyes wide and frantic. The figure in front of you is the male from earlier, sitting on his knees, his wings tucked behind him and his hands up, showing he means no harm.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, “It’s okay.” But it doesn’t feel okay. Everything is on fire.

You shake your head, snot running down your face, your lips quivering as you try to form words that won’t come.

He shushes you quietly, lowering himself from the bed onto the floor. He slides closer, reaching out a hand, his hazel eyes filled with concern. You look down at his hands, scarred and malformed. You try to let out another breath, but it gets caught in your throat as you cough. His extended hand covers your foot, and you continue to fight down sobs and screams. He hushes you again, “You’re safe. You’re here. You’re right here.” He squeezes your foot lightly, the pressure somehow grounding you. Your screams fade, but the tears continue to stream down your face as you cry silently. He runs his thumb up and down the top of your foot, his eyes never leaving you. After a minute, he reaches out his other hand, and you reach back. His hand engulfs yours, squeezing gently, kneeling beside your bed as if in prayer. “It’s okay.”

As if the reminder shatters something inside you, your tears fall heavy and full as your body relaxes. “Everything is,” you start, “it’s so loud.”

He lifts himself from the floor, and you curl away again, pulling your hand back. Realizing your response, he slowly lowers himself back to his knees, reaching out again. You take his hand, and he presses it between his palms so it disappears completely.

“There are clouds rolling in. I can smell the rain,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Between sharp intakes, you can smell it too. A storm is coming.

One hand stays with yours as he runs his other over the blanket. “This blanket,” he says, pressing your hand to it, “is scratchy and wool, too hot for this season.”

You nod slightly, unsure of what he’s doing. He glances at the clock. “It’s a little past two in the morning.” He looks back at you, your hand pressed into the bed, his hand over yours. 

“Can I stand?” he asks, still whispering.

You nod, unable to speak. Slowly, he rises from the floor, which creaks beneath him. His movements are deliberate, raising both hands as he gets to his feet. “Can I sit down?” he asks, gesturing to the bed.

You nod, and he turns to sit next to you, his back against the wooden wall. He holds out his scarred hand again, and to take it, you have to scoot away from the wall. He takes your hand and runs his thumb up and down the back, his face now calmer. “You’re okay,” he reminds you.

Finally able to breathe more steadily, you wipe your eyes with your free hand, never letting go of his. He never loosens his grip.

“I’m-” you start, your throat raw, “I’m so sorry.”

He smiles lightly at you. “It’s okay. I was already awake.”

You look around the room, everything as you left it when you went to sleep, but the bed is a mess. Pillows have been ripped, and the sheets are strewn about as though a tornado had passed through.

You glance back at him and suddenly become aware that you’re only wearing your underwear. You rush to pull the blankets up around yourself, the wool feeling immediately too warm. The male reaches for the armchair and hands you your shirt, which you gratefully pull over your head, pushing the blanket off of you.

He looks at you again, his hazel eyes scanning your incredibly red, puffy face. “Has this happened before?” he finally asks.

You swallow and nod, licking your cracked lips. In truth, it had happened many times before, whenever you had run. In sleep, when the bond opened up, he wormed his way back into your mind and tormented you. You had replayed this scene so many times: you and the babe you wished you had, sprinting through the woods to get away, only to find the babe missing. Normally, he made it all the way to you and brought you back to the cabin, finding your scent and coming for you. But not this time.

You wipe another rogue tear from your eye, pushing the snot from your face where it pooled above your lips. You sniffle as he takes your hand again, rubbing soothing circles into the back.

“I really am sorry,” you say, the words coming out broken.

He just shakes his head. “Like I said, I was already awake.” Then he smiles slightly at you. “Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod, trying desperately to clean your face.

“I’m going to grab you a wash rag, okay?” he offers.

You shake your head. “That’s okay. You can go back to bed. I’m alright.”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “I’ve heard less intense screaming on the battlefield.” You look down, shameful. “Let me at least get you a washcloth.” With that, he stands slowly and makes his way to the washbasin, running a rag through the water and bringing it back to you. You look up at him, your eyelashes clumping together from the tears as he props your chin up and runs the cloth delicately over your cheeks and eyes, giving you a soft smile. When he’s finished, and the cool water has soothed the burning on your skin, he pushes your hair back behind your ear.

He hands you the cloth as he takes his place next to you on the bed again. You run the cloth over your face and chest as he watches.

Your head feels heavy, your body like you’ve run miles. Everything feels sore. You let out a sigh, wiggling your nose slightly as it finally clears.

“I am genuinely sorry,” you say, looking down at the bed, hands in your lap.

“And I genuinely don’t want you to worry about it,” he responds, chuckling slightly. “It sounds like whatever’s going on in your head is much worse than losing a few hours of sleep, if I was sleeping at all.”

You chuckle slightly as well, then look up at him. His eyes meet yours. It’s so strange. This whole interaction is very strange.

“Thank you,” you finally say.

He smiles at you, a genuine smile, laced with a tinge of pity.

“I think I’m okay now.”

He nods, his smile fading slightly. “Are you going back to sleep?” he asks.

You nod, even though you’re sure you’ll spend the rest of the night with your eyes wide open, too afraid to let your guard down again.

He slowly stands, reaching out to take the wash rag, which he brings back to the basin to wring out. He turns, looking at you again, and opens his mouth as if to say something but stops himself. He makes his way to the door of the adjoining room, still flung open from when he crashed through earlier.

“If it’s alright with you, I’m just going to keep this cracked,” he says, one hand on the door.

You nod.

“Just in case you need anything,” he says again, “not that you do, but,” he pauses and smiles, “for my sake.”

You smile, the dried tears on your cheeks making your skin feel tight, and chuckle slightly, “Sure.”

With that, he closes the door to a crack. You hear him through the wall as he crosses his own room, the rustling of blankets being pulled back and the creak of the bed as he lies down. You wait until it goes quiet before pulling the sheets back up, resting your head on the last pillow that isn’t shredded, and stare at the window, waiting for the sun to come up.

[casscainmainly]

I headcanon that Jason, Cass, Barbara, and Duke are the major lit lovers in the Batfam, but they have very different tastes. Jason's taste leans toward British literature, stuff like Shakespeare and Alexander Pope (and Austen of course), but he also enjoys dystopian novels like Brave New World, 1984 etc.

Cass loves contemporary novels, including romance (stealing this from Shadow of the Batgirl!). She prefers stories with happy endings, and she also loves detective fiction, specifically British/American Golden Age - I think she'd adore Agatha Christie's cosies.

Barbara has the most diverse reading taste, and is the only one who can discuss books with the others without it devolving into a fight about whose taste is better. Her specialty is feminist fiction, stuff like Virginia Woolf, Mary Wollstonecraft, and Audre Lorde. She's not big on poetry, though.

Duke is THE poetry fan. He's a big defender of contemporary poetry, particularly poetry by POC authors, and loves Hanif Abdurraqib, Toi Derricotte, and Ocean Vuong. He does love Harlem Renaissance too, but makes fun of Jason if he brings up Langston Hughes (along the lines of 'oh is that the one Black poet you know?'. Jason, as a genuine Hughes fan, hates this). Duke, like Cass, loves detective fiction, but he prefers hardboiled noir over cosies. Cass and Duke get into tons of fights about this.

Duke and Jason both loathe BookTok, while Cass enjoys it. Barbara is neutral but prefers BookTube. They tried to form a book club once but Barbara didn't show up (she knew what would happen), Duke left halfway (he can be very elitist in his literature views), and then Cass threw Jason out a window (he insulted her reading taste).

These are just my thoughts, feel free to disagree/add on with any of your own!