LGBT Characters

LGBTQ+ Characters in Folklore Around the World — Hidden Histories and Magical Tales

Achilles and Patroclus

If you’ve ever fallen down a folklore rabbit hole (and trust me, I’ve done it more times than I’d like to admit), you know how wild, weird, and wonderful these old tales can get. They’re full of shapeshifters, trickster gods, mischievous spirits, and heroes who don’t always fit neatly into the little boxes society tries to put them in. And here’s the best part: if you start looking closely, you’ll notice that queer characters have always been there—sometimes center stage, sometimes tucked between the lines, waiting for us to notice.

Queer Gods and Gender-Bending Spirits

Let’s start with the deities because they’re the stars of the mythological stage. The Norse god Loki? Not just a trickster but a full-on shapeshifter, flipping genders like it was nothing. At one point, Loki even turned into a mare, became pregnant, and gave birth to Sleipnir—the eight-legged horse that Odin rode. That’s about as queer-coded as mythology gets.

Over in Hindu tradition, you find Ardhanarishvara, a divine fusion of Shiva and Parvati in one body—half male, half female. It’s a gorgeous, unapologetic image of duality and queerness as sacred. In Japanese folklore, the deity Inari sometimes shows up as male, sometimes female, sometimes both, and sometimes a fox. Gender fluidity wasn’t just accepted; it was celebrated.

And in Dogon mythology from West Africa, the Nommo—ancestral spirits—were described as androgynous, both male and female at once. They were associated with water, fertility, and cosmic balance. So much for “traditional” gender roles—our ancestors were already thinking beyond them.

Same-Sex Love in Ancient Stories

Queerness shows up not only in shapeshifting but in old-fashioned love stories too. The Mesopotamian Epic of Gilgamesh, one of the oldest surviving works of literature, tells the story of Gilgamesh and Enkidu. Their bond is so deep, so passionate, that many scholars argue it reads as romantic love, not just friendship. When Enkidu dies, Gilgamesh grieves with a raw intensity anyone who’s lost a partner can recognize.

In Greek mythology, same-sex relationships were practically woven into the fabric of the stories. Apollo loved Hyacinthus, a beautiful youth struck down by a jealous wind god. After Hyacinthus’s death, Apollo turned his blood into flowers so he would never be forgotten. There’s also Achilles and Patroclus, whose bond in The Iliad has been debated for centuries—but the grief Achilles shows when Patroclus falls feels anything but platonic.

And let’s not forget Ganymede, a mortal youth so stunningly handsome that Zeus whisked him up to Olympus to serve as cupbearer to the gods—and his lover. The myth has been retold for centuries, but the queerness is right there, front and center.

Queerness in Indigenous and Folk Traditions

Native American and First Nations cultures had (and still have) the concept of Two-Spirit people—individuals embodying both masculine and feminine spirits. They weren’t outcasts; they were respected healers, storytellers, and vision-keepers. Colonization tried its best to erase this, but those traditions remain alive, passed down with pride.

In the Philippines, the asog were shamans assigned male at birth but who lived as women and held deep spiritual authority. They were vital to the community before colonial influences labeled them as sinful. Similarly, Polynesian cultures have long embraced identities like the māhū in Hawaii or fa’afafine in Samoa—people who lived outside rigid gender categories and were often caretakers, teachers, and cultural keepers.

These weren’t fringe characters—they were respected, integrated, and seen as part of the natural order.

Magical Transformations and Blended Identities

Mythologies are obsessed with transformation, and many of those stories echo queer experiences of fluidity and transition. In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, we meet Hermaphroditus, who merged with the nymph Salmacis to become both male and female. The story may have been written through a Roman lens of curiosity and fear, but it still gives us a mythical figure that embodies both genders at once.

Another tale from Ovid tells of Iphis, a girl raised as a boy to avoid her father’s wrath. When she falls in love with another woman, the goddess Isis transforms Iphis into a man so the marriage can proceed. While that one’s layered with patriarchal expectations, it’s still a glimpse of gender transformation baked right into the mythology.

And then there are tales like that of Tiresias, the Theban prophet who lived as both a man and a woman after being transformed by the gods. His dual perspective was considered a source of wisdom. Honestly, if that’s not queer-coded representation, I don’t know what is.

Why These Stories Are Important

What amazes me most is that these aren’t modern retellings or queer reinterpretations—though I adore those too. These are the original stories, some thousands of years old, that already included gender-bending, same-sex love, and queer magic. The fact that so many of them got buried, ignored, or rewritten says less about the past and more about the people who decided which stories were “acceptable” to preserve.

As someone who grew up hungry for queer representation in stories, I feel a bittersweet mix reading these tales. On the one hand, it hurts knowing how much has been erased or downplayed. On the other, it’s empowering to realize that queer folks have always been part of humanity’s oldest myths and magical histories.

Folklore is humanity’s collective diary—our fears, our dreams, our love stories, and our messy contradictions, written in code through gods, monsters, and enchanted beings. And queer folks? We’ve never been absent from that diary. We were just waiting for people to turn the pages back far enough to notice us again.

So the next time someone argues that LGBTQ+ representation is “new” or “modern,” just point them toward Loki’s horse baby, Apollo’s grief for Hyacinthus, or the honored roles of Two-Spirit people. Queer folks have always been in the story—sometimes hidden, sometimes celebrated, but always there.

Further Reading…

If you want to dig deeper into these magical and hidden histories, here are a few books and resources worth checking out:

  • Queer Magic: LGBT+ Spirituality and Culture from Around the World by Tomás Prower – A globe-trotting look at queer spiritual practices and folklore.
  • Changing Ones: Third and Fourth Genders in Native North America by Will Roscoe – A groundbreaking book on Two-Spirit identities and traditions.
  • Mythology by Edith Hamilton – While not explicitly queer, this classic is a good gateway to Greek and Roman myths, many of which are full of queer themes if you read closely.
  • Queer Mythology: Epic Legends from Around the World by Guido A. Sanchez, illustrated by James Fenner
  • Online resource: OutHistory.org – A treasure trove of queer history, myths, and hidden stories.

Thanks for wandering through these magical tales with me! Now I’m curious: do you have a favorite myth or folktale with queer undertones? Share it—I’d love to discover more.



Nick's Awakening book cover

What if the dead could find you anywhere—at school, on the street, even in your own house? For Nick, the world has cracked open, and ghosts are pouring through. Ready or not, he’s their only hope. Grab your copy HERE

LGBTQ+ Characters in Folklore Around the World — Hidden Histories and Magical Tales Read Post »

10 More LGBTQ+ Characters & Books in Urban Fantasy + Paranormal Fantasy

2 men embracing in a paranormal backgrouind

A while back, I wrote a post about the Top 10 LGBTQ in Urban Fantasy and I included TV shows and movies. In this past, I’m including 10 more great queer characters but only in books this time (beyond the first 10) in the urban fantasy / paranormal fantasy / magical realism space. I’m throwing in a mix: YA, adult, some with strong supernatural + city/modern elements. Some are series; some are standalone. I also added Bookshop.org links when available.

1. Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas

  • Character(s): Yadriel, a trans Latinx boy (queer & trans), who summons a ghost. (Bookshop)
  • Why it hits: It’s spooky, emotional, shows mostly queer relationships, family culture, identity. Feels like both adventure + self-discovery.
  • Bookshop.org link: Cemetery Boys — Buy here (Bookshop)

2. Black Water Sister by Zen Cho

  • Character(s): Jessamyn Teoh is closeted lesbian, wrestles with culture, ghostly grandmother, gods & revenge. (Bookshop)
  • Why it hits: It blends ghosts, gods, family expectations, identity politics, and queer identity in a non-Western setting. That combination is so rich.
  • Bookshop.org link: Black Water Sister — Buy here (Bookshop)

3. The Adam Binder Series by David R. Slayton (starts with White Trash Warlock)

  • Character(s): Adam Binder, gay protagonist, with family issues, magic, spirits.
  • Why it hits: Urban fantasy + social issues (poverty, class, mental health, LGBTQ+ identity) + powerful magical elements. Awesome combo.
  • White Trash Warlock

4. The Last Sun (The Tarot Sequence #1) by K. D. Edwards

  • Character(s): Has queer romance / queer main characters.
  • Why it hits: The worldbuilding is wild, morally complicated characters, tarot / magic + political intrigue. It leans toward adult fantasy, but the urban or modern feel / contemporary elements are strongly present.
  • The Last Sun

5. Among the Living (PsyCop #1) by Jordan Castillo Price

  • Character(s): This one has paranormal / urban fantasy + queer elements; detective who handles supernatural cases, etc.
  • Among the Living

6. The Soulbound Series by Hailey Turner (starts with A Ferry of Bones & Gold)

7. The City We Became by N. K. Jemisin

  • Character(s): Several queer side characters; the setting is urban fantasy / cosmic fantasy (New York City embodied as living avatars) (FanFiAddict)
  • Why it hits: Though queer characters aren’t always the main focus, the world itself is magical + alive + modern + political.

    The City We Became

8. Six of Crows & Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo

  • Character(s): Multiple queer / bisexual characters in the ensemble. (A Blog of Books and Musicals)
  • Why it hits: Dark fantasy + heists + magic + crime in an urban/fantasy city environment (hard to pin down “urban fantasy,” but the feel is close enough for many fans). Six of Crows

9. Ironside: A Modern Faerie Tale by Holly Black

  • Character(s): Corny is gay; Corny etc. There are romantic threads among fae, changelings etc.
  • Why it hits: Fae in modern settings, magic intersecting with everyday life, queer relationships built in.

    Ironside

10. Mooncakes by Suzanne Walker & Wendy Xu

  • Character(s): LGBTQ+ main characters; wolves, witches, magic + everyday emotion. (Though more graphic novel / illustrated fantasy)
  • Why it hits: Because sometimes I want urban fantasy vibes but in illustrated form. It captures queer longing, found family, magic + monsters pretty beautifully.

    Mooncakes

Bonus Mentions / Honorable Mentions

These didn’t quite make 20 but deserve love:

  • Witchmark by C. L. Polk — queer identity, mystery, magic, though set more in an alternate Edwardian-ish fantasy than “city magic.”
  • The Tarot Sequence beyond The Last Sun — the sequels deepen queer relationships & politics.
  • Also, series like The Dresden Files (TV / comics) do occasionally include queer characters in supporting roles.

What I Loved / What I’d Like More Of

  • More non-Western urban fantasy with queer leads (like Black Water Sister) — great to see.
  • More stories where the magic system itself interacts with queer identity (e.g. someone’s magic is tied up with gender or family expectations).
  • More representation of nonbinary and trans main characters beyond YA, in adult urban fantasy.

10 More LGBTQ+ Characters & Books in Urban Fantasy + Paranormal Fantasy Read Post »

Queer Identity in a World Full of Monsters

pair of red eyes and hairy face

So, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about monsters—both the fictional ones that creep out of the shadows in our favorite books and films, and the more metaphorical kind we face in real life. And somewhere along the way, I realized how often queerness gets tangled up in those stories of claws, fangs, and things that go bump in the night.

It’s almost like monster stories were always a little bit queer, even when no one said the word out loud.

Monsters as Mirrors

When you grow up queer, it can sometimes feel like you are the monster in the story. You’re the one people whisper about, the one who doesn’t quite fit in, the one the villagers with pitchforks would chase out of town if they knew the truth. That kind of “othering” is baked into so many old monster tales—the vampire hiding in plain sight, the werewolf keeping secrets from their pack, the witch forced into exile for being too different.

And honestly? A lot of us recognize ourselves in those characters. We know what it’s like to live behind masks, to hide parts of ourselves for safety, and to wrestle with identities we’re told are “unnatural.”

Take the vampire, for example. Dracula was written with all kinds of coded fears about sexuality and deviance. He was the outsider who seduced “pure” Victorian society. To a queer reader today, that coded fear reads like familiarity—we’ve lived through being whispered about in hushed tones, as if queerness itself was a contagion.

Reclaiming the Monster

But here’s the fun twist: monsters aren’t just symbols of fear—they’re also symbols of power.

Think about Anne Rice’s Vampire Chronicles. Louis and Lestat are basically one of the most famous queer couples in gothic literature. They’re powerful, passionate, and unashamedly themselves (well, except Louis, who broods dramatically about everything, but hey, we’ve all had our Louis phase). Those books, devoured by queer readers for decades, turned the vampire from a symbol of corruption into a figure of freedom.

Or take Carmilla, the 19th-century vampire novella that was scandalously sapphic long before Twilight hit shelves. Here, queerness wasn’t subtext—it was text. The vampire wasn’t just a “threat to purity”; she was a love story.

Werewolves too. That push and pull between human and beast? It screams metaphor for suppressed identity. If you’ve ever had to hide who you are during the day but longed for release when no one was watching, you get it. It’s why so many queer creators have leaned into werewolves as metaphors for transformation, bodily autonomy, and finally letting yourself run wild.

And witches? Oh, witches are practically queer icons. Misunderstood, marginalized, and punished for their difference, but still gathering together to share knowledge, power, and a bit of rebellion. If “witch” wasn’t already a word, queer culture would have invented it.

Pop Culture Monsters and Queer Coding

Let’s play a quick game of spot-the-queer-coded monster:

  • Buffy the Vampire Slayer gave us Willow, whose journey from nerdy sidekick to lesbian witch remains iconic. Notice how her magic grows stronger once she embraces who she really is? Not subtle, Joss. Not subtle at all.
  • True Blood turned vampirism into a metaphor for coming out—complete with the slogan “God Hates Fangs.” Campy? Absolutely. But also very on the nose.
  • The X-Men aren’t technically monsters, but their powers (and society’s fear of them) have always been a metaphor for being different. The “coming out” allegories write themselves. Magneto and Xavier are practically queer dads arguing about how to keep the kids safe.
  • Guillermo in What We Do in the Shadows is the queer-coded human familiar surrounded by queer-coded vamps. That show takes every monster trope and makes it absurdly, joyfully queer.

It’s wild how often queerness slips through even when creators don’t intend it. And when queer writers do intend it? That’s when monster stories go from fun metaphors to blazing declarations.

Real Monsters vs. Imagined Ones

Of course, while it’s cathartic to embrace our inner creature of the night, the real monsters are often the ones walking around in daylight.

They’re the lawmakers who legislate against queer bodies. They’re the preachers who preach hate under the guise of “love.” They’re the neighbors who’d rather you disappear than thrive.

It’s a strange irony that people like us—accused of being monstrous for simply existing—are usually the ones living authentically and tenderly, while the so-called “normal” folks can act crueler than any demon in folklore.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been more frightened by the guy in a suit smiling while stripping away rights than by any movie vampire lurking in the shadows.

Chosen Family in the Haunted House

Another reason monster metaphors click so well with queer identity? Community.

Look at stories like Buffy again—the Scooby Gang is a found family of misfits, freaks, witches, and vampires. Or The Addams Family, who are basically the campiest queer-monster household in pop culture. (Tell me Gomez and Morticia don’t give off polyamory energy.)

Queer folks have long known that blood family isn’t always safe. We build our own families—chosen ones who get us, who celebrate the parts of ourselves others might fear. That’s why you’ll so often see monsters forming clans, packs, covens. The world outside might hate them, but inside their circle? It’s nothing but belonging.

Embracing the Beast Within

At the end of the day, queerness in a world full of monsters isn’t about being afraid of the dark. It’s about recognizing that the “dark” is where many of us find belonging.

We’ve turned what used to be symbols of shame into stories of survival and pride. Monsters aren’t our enemies—they’re our avatars.

So yeah, if being queer means I’m a little monstrous, then pass me the cape, the fangs, and maybe a thunderstorm or two for dramatic effect. Because honestly? I’d rather be a monster than live as someone else’s idea of “normal.”

And if you’re reading this and thinking, “Okay, but if I were a monster, which one would I be?”—then you already get it. Monsters are queer metaphors not just because they’re feared, but because they’re free.

So, spill it—are you a vampire living for the eternal dramatic entrance? A witch stirring up rebellion with your coven? A werewolf itching for transformation night? Or maybe something stranger, something we haven’t even named yet?

Because in a world full of monsters, the queer ones aren’t hiding anymore. We’re writing our own stories. And honestly? They’re a lot more fun.



The Golem's Guardian book cover

Shadows prowl the alleys. Faces twist where no human stands. And under it all, the city hums with an energy David can feel in his bones. His golem is growing stronger, learning, almost becoming human. But their enemy is stronger still—a man who seeks to harness the coming Alignment for his own dark ends.

To save his city, David must embrace a destiny he never asked for and fight a battle that began long before he was born. The Golem’s Guardian – grab your copy HERE

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The Rise of Openly Queer Protagonists

two young asian men about to kiss

There was a time—not too long ago, really—when queer characters in movies, books, or TV shows lived in the shadows. They weren’t openly queer; instead, we got hints, winks, lingering glances that never landed anywhere concrete. Subtext was the name of the game. And if you caught it, you caught it. If not, well…you probably just assumed they were “very close friends.”

I grew up watching those stories, picking up on the breadcrumbs, and thinking, Okay, that’s as good as it’s going to get. It was like an open secret between queer audiences and creators: we see you, but we can’t say it. And honestly, it stung. It told us our stories weren’t worth naming out loud.

Queer Coding and the “Secret Language” of Subtext

Remember those “best friends” in old sitcoms who seemed to spend all their time together, shared an apartment that somehow had only one bed, and were inexplicably uninterested in dating anyone else? Yeah. That was us. The writers couldn’t say it, so they painted around the edges. Queer audiences became experts at decoding subtle gestures and veiled references. It was survival storytelling—representation wrapped in plausible deniability.

The problem, of course, was that subtext always left room for erasure. Straight audiences could watch and never once think “queer,” while queer audiences had to work overtime to see themselves reflected. It was exhausting.

The Shift: From “Maybe” to “Hell Yes”

Fast forward to now, and things look different. We’ve gone from “don’t ask, don’t tell” characters to protagonists who proudly walk into the frame, fully themselves. Think of Simon in Love, Simon (and later Victor in Love, Victor), Charlie in Heartstopper, or even Theo in V.E. Schwab’s The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue. These are characters who don’t just exist on the margins—they carry the story.

This shift didn’t happen overnight. It’s the result of decades of activism, queer creators pushing through the noise, and audiences demanding better. It’s also thanks to smaller presses, indie filmmakers, and streaming platforms willing to take risks where big studios once balked.

And here’s the thing: having queer protagonists at the center changes everything. It means we no longer have to squint at coded dialogue or hang our hopes on throwaway lines. We get characters who fall in love, make mistakes, save the world, or screw it up spectacularly—and their queerness is not hidden, but part of the joy.

Why This is Important

When I was a teenager, queer characters usually ended up dead, lonely, or punished by the narrative gods. The infamous “bury your gays” trope was everywhere, and happy endings were rare. So when I watch a show like Heartstopper, where queer kids get to blush, hold hands, and navigate first loves without being shamed, I can’t help but feel a little emotional. This is what we needed decades ago. This is what kids today get to have.

Representation isn’t just about seeing someone who looks or loves like you. It’s about expanding what’s possible. It whispers to young queer folks: “Your story matters. You can be the hero. You get a future.” That’s powerful.

But Let’s Not Pretend the Work Is Done

Of course, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows just yet. For every Our Flag Means Death or Red, White & Royal Blue, there are still industries and countries where queer stories are censored, banned, or scrubbed of identity. Even in supposedly progressive spaces, queer protagonists can still be treated as a “risk” or “niche.”

And let’s not forget that representation often skews toward certain kinds of queerness: cis, white, gay men. We need more trans protagonists, more queer characters of color, more disabled queer heroes, more asexual and aromantic representation. Basically, the rainbow still has some shades missing.

From Here On Out

Still, I celebrate how far we’ve come. When I curl up with a queer romance novel or binge-watch a series where two girls kiss in broad daylight without fear, I feel that seismic cultural shift. Subtext has its place—it was survival—but we’ve moved into an era where queer characters don’t just exist. They thrive. They lead. They inspire.

And that’s something worth shouting about.

So here’s to more queer protagonists, more open stories, and more futures where kids don’t have to squint for representation. They’ll see it, front and center, where it belongs.

Want to Read/Watch Some Fantastic Examples?

If you’re looking for stories where queer characters take the spotlight, here are a few favorites:

  • 📚 Heartstopper by Alice Oseman – A tender, joyful series about queer teens navigating love, friendship, and identity.
  • 📚 Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston – A rom-com about the First Son of the U.S. falling for a British prince. Pure delight.
  • 📚 Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas – A groundbreaking YA novel featuring a trans Latinx protagonist who accidentally summons the wrong ghost.
  • 📚 Felix Ever After by Kacen Callender – A heartfelt, affirming story about identity, self-discovery, and love.
  • 🎬 Love, Simon (2018) – The teen rom-com that broke ground in mainstream film, later spawning the series Love, Victor.
  • 🎬 Our Flag Means Death (2022–23) – A swashbuckling comedy where queer pirates (yes, pirates!) get their happily-ever-afters.
  • 🎬 Portrait of a Lady on Fire (2019) – A gorgeously shot historical romance between two women in 18th-century France.

🌈 What about you—do you remember the first openly queer protagonist you encountered in media? How did it change things for you?


 


Touch of Cedar book cover image

Marek and Randy wanted a second chance at love. What they got was a haunted house, an attic full of secrets, and a ghost who changes everything. A Touch of Cedar – grab your copy HERE

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Book Recs for Every LGBTQ Mood: From Cozy to Catastrophic

 Two handsome young men kissing in the midst  of an apocalypse

I don’t know about you, but I totally pick books based on mood. Some days I want pure serotonin in book form, other days I’m craving ghost-filled chaos, and sometimes I want to emotionally implode in the most dramatic way possible. So, I figured: why not make a handy little queer book guide sorted by mood?

Think of this as a rainbow spectrum—cozy on one side, catastrophic on the other—with plenty of pit stops in between.

When You Want Cozy, Wholesome Vibes 🌈

These are your serotonin boosters. Nothing tragic, nothing soul-crushing—just pure comfort.

  • “The House in the Cerulean Sea” by TJ Klune – Bureaucrat meets magical misfits, learns to open his heart. Uplifting and gentle.
  • “Loveless” by Alice Oseman – Tender exploration of asexuality, friendship, and found family.
  • “Tea Dragon Society” by Kay O’Neill – Graphic novel with tiny dragons that grow tea leaves. Yes, it’s as wholesome as it sounds.

When You Want Fun, Flirty Rom-Coms 💕🎉

Sometimes you just need banter, chaos, and a guaranteed happy ending.

  • “Boyfriend Material” by Alexis Hall – Fake dating done right, with banter so sharp it could cut glass.
  • “Delilah Green Doesn’t Care” by Ashley Herring Blake – Chaotic bisexual photographer + small-town sapphic romance = absolute joy.
  • “She Gets the Girl” by Rachael Lippincott & Alyson Derrick – YA rom-com with opposites attract vibes.

When You Want Fantasy & Queer Epics ⚔️🐉

Swords, spells, and more representation than your average D&D campaign.

  • “Blackwater Sister” by Zen Cho – Malaysian spirits, family drama, and one very reluctant lesbian protagonist.
  • “The Priory of the Orange Tree” by Samantha Shannon – Dragons + sapphic queens + 800 pages of worldbuilding glory.
  • “Crier’s War” by Nina Varela – Sapphic slow-burn romance in a world of human/AI tension.

When You Want a Mystery or a Little Spookiness 🔎👻

Not horror-horror, but just enough eerie vibes to make you double-check your locks at night.

  • “Cemetery Boys” by Aiden Thomas – Summoning ghosts + trans rep + adorable romance.
  • “Plain Bad Heroines” by Emily M. Danforth – Cursed boarding school, queer actresses, dark academia deliciousness.
  • “The Verifiers” by Jane Pek – Queer detective investigating shady dating apps in NYC.

When You Want Messy, Angsty Drama 💔🔥

Think yearning, bad decisions, and the kind of angst that makes you want to throw the book across the room (lovingly).

  • “We Are the Ants” by Shaun David Hutchinson – Queer grief + possible alien abduction = chef’s ki— (oops, can’t say it). Let’s just say it’s gorgeous and devastating.
  • “Summer Sons” by Lee Mandelo – Southern gothic, drag racing, ghostly hauntings, and repressed desire.
  • “Exciting Times” by Naoise Dolan – Bisexual protagonist caught between messy love interests in Hong Kong.

When You Want Historical Queer Vibes 🕰️🌹

Queer people have always existed—these books remind us that history has more rainbows than the textbooks admit.

  • “The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue” by Mackenzi Lee – 18th-century romp across Europe, starring a bisexual disaster and his crush.
  • “Last Night at the Telegraph Club” by Malinda Lo – Sapphic romance in 1950s San Francisco, tender and beautifully researched.
  • “Maurice” by E.M. Forster – Written in 1914, unapologetically queer, and groundbreaking for its time.

When You Want Catastrophic Feels 🌪️😭

Here’s where you willingly dive into heartbreak city. I don’t make the rules.

  • “The Song of Achilles” by Madeline Miller – If you know, you know (this one wrecked me!).
  • “Giovanni’s Room” by James Baldwin – Beautiful, brutal, and gut-wrenching.
  • “A Little Life” by Hanya Yanagihara – A marathon of trauma and love. Enter at your own risk.

The Mood Map

  • Need comfort? → Klune, Oseman, O’Neill
  • Want swoony banter? → Hall, Blake, Lippincott
  • Fantasy cravings? → Cho, Shannon, Varela
  • Feeling spooky? → Thomas, Danforth, Pek
  • Angst appetite? → Hutchinson, Mandelo, Dolan
  • Historical feels? → Lee, Lo, Forster
  • Want emotional destruction? → Miller, Baldwin, Yanagihara

I’ve realized my own reading life is basically mood-swings on paper. Sometimes I want something as soft as a marshmallow, sometimes I want a haunted house with repressed homoerotic tension, and sometimes I just want to sob dramatically while whispering “why did I do this to myself?”

Your turn: what’s your go-to mood shelf? Got a catastrophic fave I missed? Drop it in the comments so I can add it to my ever-growing pile of emotional chaos.



book cover for The Golem's Guardian

Every choice matters when myths walk the streets. With the golem at his side and his sister at his back, David faces a scholar turned monster, a prophecy of upheaval, and the terrifying question: who’s really in control? The Golem’s Guardian – get it HERE

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Top 10 LGBTQ+ Characters in Urban Fantasy

AdobeStock 1054313977.

You know how sometimes you read a book or binge a show and think, ah, finally—someone like me on the page/screen, but with more magic and better hair? That’s the sweet spot where urban fantasy meets queer representation. Urban fantasy has always been about worlds hidden in plain sight—magic tucked into city streets, vampires doing their laundry at 2 a.m., witches ordering espresso shots—and it’s honestly the perfect place for LGBTQ+ characters to thrive. We know what it’s like to live in the margins and still carve out space, so no surprise we keep popping up in these stories.

Here’s my totally subjective, absolutely biased, but deeply heartfelt list of ten LGBTQ+ characters in urban fantasy who’ve stuck with me.

1. Alec Lightwood (The Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare)

Alec was one of the first mainstream gay characters I saw in YA urban fantasy who actually got a love story. Not just tragic longing, but a real relationship—with Magnus Bane (more on him in a second). He’s awkward, stoic, and fights demons like it’s his side gig, all while navigating the terror of coming out in a conservative family of Shadowhunters.

2. Magnus Bane (The Mortal Instruments & The Bane Chronicles)

Look, Magnus deserves his own entry. He’s the bisexual High Warlock of Brooklyn, dresses like a glitter bomb exploded in the best way possible, and has lived for centuries, loving people across genders. He’s funny, powerful, and unapologetically himself. Honestly? He’s goals.

3. Nico di Angelo (Percy Jackson/Heroes of Olympus by Rick Riordan)

Okay, yes, this leans more “mythic fantasy in modern day” than strict urban fantasy, but I had to include Nico. He’s Hades’ son, broody as all get out, and had one of the most emotional coming-out arcs in YA fantasy. The way Rick Riordan handled his queerness—especially for a middle-grade audience—was groundbreaking.

4. Constantine (DC Comics / Constantine TV / Legends of Tomorrow)

The bisexual chain-smoking, trench-coat-wearing demonologist we didn’t know we needed. Constantine is messy, morally gray, and constantly caught between saving the world and sabotaging himself. I love that his bisexuality isn’t erased (at least not in recent depictions), because characters like him prove queerness doesn’t have to be sanitized to be valid.

5. Karrin Murphy (The Dresden Files by Jim Butcher—TV adaptation)

In the books, Murphy isn’t queer (which is a shame), but in the short-lived Dresden Files TV show, she was reimagined as a lesbian character. It added another dimension to her tough-as-nails cop persona. Honestly, we deserved way more seasons with her.

6. Wayhaught (Waverly Earp & Nicole Haught, Wynonna Earp)

Two for one! Waverly Earp (little sis to Wynonna) and Sheriff Nicole Haught gave us one of the sweetest, most enduring sapphic relationships on television. They fought demons, dealt with cursed revenants, and still managed to make time for romance in between dodging bullets. If you’ve never seen Wynonna Earp, add it to your watchlist right now.

7. Laf (short for Lafontaine, Carmilla)

Carmilla (the web series) was basically queer vampire chaos in a Canadian college dorm, and Laf—nonbinary, brainy, and endlessly loyal—was one of the standouts. Their friendship with Laura kept the story grounded, even when ancient vampires and eldritch horrors were showing up.

8. Diana Bishop (A Discovery of Witches TV adaptation)

Okay, here’s a sneaky one: in Deborah Harkness’s books, Diana is straight. But the A Discovery of Witches TV show gave us an amazing queer side character—Gillian Chamberlain—AND a world where queerness isn’t erased in the magical community. The adaptation embraced diversity way more, so I’m giving it a shoutout.

9. Talon (The Iron Widow author’s upcoming Heavenbreaker series teaser + nonbinary rep in similar UF spaces)

I’m cheating here because Iron Widow isn’t urban fantasy, but I’ve been following how more recent queer, nonbinary characters are being written into modern fantasy that straddles UF vibes. Characters like Talon are paving the way for bigger, bolder representation. (Also, if you want a canon enby vampire, check out The Beautiful series by Renée Ahdieh—Odette is chef’s kiss).

10. Mitchell Hundred (Ex Machina graphic novel—urban fantasy meets political drama)

Half superhero, half mayor of NYC, and bisexual. What I love is that Mitchell’s queerness isn’t the central conflict, but it’s part of his identity in a political world that’s not always welcoming. It’s gritty, weird, and perfectly urban fantasy in tone.

Why This List Matters

Urban fantasy has always been about outsiders, the unseen, the magical underbelly of the everyday. Queer folks fit right into that mix—we know how to spot hidden worlds, because we’ve had to live between them ourselves. Representation matters, not just because it’s nice to see a rainbow flag tucked into your favorite demon-slaying story, but because it normalizes queerness in every kind of narrative.

When a bisexual warlock can save the world in sequined pants, or a lesbian cop can take down revenants with a shotgun, or a gay son of Hades can finally admit who he loves—suddenly, the genre feels more like home.

Who’s missing from my list? (Because I know I’ve left out at least a dozen amazing queer characters.) Drop your faves in the comments—I’m always looking for my next queer urban fantasy obsession.


Every kingdom has its enemies. For Tregaron, that enemy is Lord Vadok—a sorcerer with a taste for vengeance and a plan to topple King Jamros. But when the battle turns personal, Prince Norian discovers that the price of survival is far higher than he imagined. Cursed by a werewolf’s bite, he must learn to master the beast within before it destroys everything he loves. Norian’s Gamble – grab your copy HERE

Top 10 LGBTQ+ Characters in Urban Fantasy Read Post »

Supernatural Coming Out Stories: Parallels Between Coming Out as Magical and Coming Out as Queer

young magic worker floating a crystal

I’ve always thought it was kind of hilarious that so many supernatural stories feel like a metaphor for being queer, even when the author swears up and down that they “didn’t mean it that way.” Like—really? You wrote a whole book about a teenager hiding a secret from their family, terrified they’ll be rejected if the truth comes out, and you didn’t see the queer parallels? Uh-huh. Sure.

Whether it’s discovering you’re a vampire, a witch, a shifter, or some kid who can suddenly throw fireballs with their hands, the beats line up almost perfectly with queer coming-out narratives.

The First Time I Noticed It

I still remember when the lightbulb first went off for me. I was watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer as a teenager, and Buffy had that moment where she confessed to her mom about being the Slayer. Joyce’s response—“Have you tried not_being the Slayer?”—landed like a punch in the gut. I had _heard that exact tone before when a relative asked me if I could just “try harder” to like girls. And suddenly I realized: oh wow, these shows aren’t just about demons and fangs. They’re about us.

That realization stuck with me, and now every time I read or watch a supernatural story, I can’t unsee it.

The Discovery Phase

In queer life: You realize you like boys, or girls, or both, or maybe you don’t like anybody at all in that way—and suddenly you’re sitting with this knowledge like it’s a glowing orb in your chest. It feels huge and heavy, like if anyone notices you’ll be done for.

In magical life: You wake up one morning with glowing eyes or a suspicious bite mark, and suddenly you’re staring at yourself in the mirror whispering, What the hell am I?

Think of Teen Wolf (the MTV one). Scott wakes up with claws and freaky senses, and he doesn’t want anyone to know. His whole early arc is basically one big “don’t find out who I really am” panic. Swap the claws for a rainbow flag, and it’s the same vibe.

The Closet = The Secret Spellbook

Hiding your sexuality and hiding your powers both involve elaborate double lives. Queer kids might date someone they’re not into, hoping to look “normal.” The magical teen? They invent excuses for why they disappear during the full moon, or why the chemistry lab keeps mysteriously catching fire.

In Charmed, the Halliwell sisters spend entire seasons juggling “normal” jobs and relationships while secretly being witches. Closet vibes with sparkles and incantations.

And then there’s Harry Potter. The whole “You’re a wizard, Harry” moment reads almost like a coming-out conversation. You think you’re ordinary, but suddenly someone tells you, “Actually, you’re part of this whole hidden world.”

The Big Reveal

Coming out is terrifying because you don’t know the reaction. Will your family embrace you? Will they throw you out? Will your friends shrug and say “Cool” or quietly drift away?

Same for the supernatural reveal. Buffy nailed this, but X-Men has been the loudest metaphor megaphone for decades. Mutants literally have to “come out” with their abilities, and the whole “cure” storyline is basically conversion therapy in spandex.

Found Family

If your birth family doesn’t accept you, the queer community becomes your safe haven. You find your people. You belong.

Same deal in fantasy. In True Blood, Sookie discovers a whole hidden community of “others.” In The Magicians, Quentin and friends find a weird, wonderful tribe at Brakebills. That sense of “I thought I was alone, but I’m not” is universal—whether you’re queer, a werewolf, or a bisexual vampire with excellent taste in leather jackets (looking at you, Lestat).

Shame vs. Power

Here’s the kicker: what you’re taught to be ashamed of—the thing you hide, the thing you fear—is also your source of strength.

For queer folks, it’s living authentically and discovering joy in chosen love. For supernatural characters, it’s their magic, their fangs, their telepathy. The very thing that made them feel monstrous is what makes them extraordinary.

That’s why queer fans flock to these stories. They’re not just entertainment—they’re survival manuals disguised as fantasy.

Why These Stories Matter

This is why supernatural coming-out tales hit so hard. They let us rehearse our fears in a safe way. They give us metaphors that make sense of our lived experience. And they remind us that even if your story starts with fear, it doesn’t have to end there.

Whether you’re telling your mom you’re dating someone of the same gender, or confessing to your best friend that you’ve been secretly practicing necromancy—there’s always that heart-pounding moment before you speak. That leap into the unknown.

And on the other side of that leap? Sometimes rejection, yes. Sometimes heartbreak. But also—sometimes freedom.

So yeah, every time Storm raises an eyebrow in X-Men or Buffy pulls out her stake, I can’t help but grin and think: this is our story too.


Every kingdom has its enemies. For Tregaron, that enemy is Lord Vadok—a sorcerer with a taste for vengeance and a plan to topple King Jamros. But when the battle turns personal, Prince Norian discovers that the price of survival is far higher than he imagined. Cursed by a werewolf’s bite, he must learn to master the beast within before it destroys everything he loves. Grab your copy HERE

Supernatural Coming Out Stories: Parallels Between Coming Out as Magical and Coming Out as Queer Read Post »

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