So the other day, I was rereading this queer fantasy book where the main character is this awkward mage who can barely cast a spell without catching his sleeves on fire—and somehow still manages to save the realm. Classic. But you know what really stuck with me this time? His friends. Like, not the hot vampire love interest (though I’m always here for that drama), but the sweet cinnamon roll of a healer who patched him up after every bad decision, the sarcastic rogue who risked her life for him even though she’d never admit it, and the grumpy mentor who said maybe five nice things in the entire book and every one of them made me cry.
It hit me, hard, how often queer fantasy heroes survive not just because they’re “the chosen one,” but because they’ve got people behind them whispering, “You’ve got this,” or in some cases yelling, “For the love of dragons, stop trying to die!”
Supportive friendships in fantasy? They’re everything. Especially when you’re writing or reading stories with queer characters. Because let’s be honest—being queer, whether in a magical kingdom or small-town America, can feel like wandering into a dark forest without a map. There are monsters out there. Some look like literal demons. Others sound like your aunt at Thanksgiving asking if “you’ve met any nice girls yet.” And in both cases, having allies matters.
In queer fantasy, those allies often show up as the ride-or-die best friend, the surprisingly progressive dwarven blacksmith, or the found family of scrappy rebels who don’t care who you love as long as you can hold your own in a tavern brawl. These characters might not be the stars of the story, but they’re the ones who build the safety net. And speaking from experience—having that net in real life? It’s not just comforting. It’s life-changing.
I think one of the reasons these dynamics hit so hard is because queer folks know the value of chosen family better than almost anyone. For many of us, the traditional support system either fell short or straight-up vanished. So we build our own. And when we see those relationships mirrored in fantasy worlds—whether it’s two witches sticking up for each other at coven meetings or an elven archer defending her trans brother against a bigoted king—it’s more than representation. It’s recognition.
And it doesn’t always have to be a heavy, trauma-drenched thing, either. Sometimes it’s just a best friend holding your hand while you come out to the guild. Or casting a glamour spell so you can wear what makes you feel like you without the villagers getting weird. Or throwing a “you survived another heartbreak” party with goblin-made cake. (Please tell me I’m not the only one who needs that last one.)
One of my favorite examples is Jesper and Wylan from Six of Crows. Sure, they’re love interests, but they’re also allies to each other’s traumas, quirks, and past screw-ups. And I’ll never stop shouting about The House in the Cerulean Sea, where literally every character is some form of found family ally and I melted into a little puddle of feelings. Like, give me a sword and a supportive queer sidekick who tells me I’m valid while we storm the necromancer’s tower, and I am set for life.
Anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is: magic helps, but what really saves us—again and again—is friendship. The real kind. The kind that sees you, holds space for you, and walks through the fire with you. Whether that fire is metaphorical (like dealing with rejection) or actual (dragon attack—oops), knowing someone’s got your back makes all the difference.
So here’s to the allies. The magical ones. The mundane ones. The messy, imperfect, fiercely loyal ones. May we always write them, celebrate them, and be them.
Catch you later, chosen ones. And if you ever need backup on your next quest, emotional or otherwise—I’ve got snacks and sarcasm ready to go.
