i keep seeing people in their late teens/early twenties having a "[X] content intended for younger audiences does not feel satisfying to me anymore but i don't know where to start to branch out into adult fiction" moment and i thought i would give some recommendations for adult fiction for my fellow creepy crawly queer people. all or at least a LOT of it will be on the darker and more fucked up side bc i primarily engage with horror and thriller media personally but feel free to add on with more or recommendations from other genres :)
edit: i am continuing to add to this list so there might be new recs (highlighted in pink) in here every once in a while! also want to add that there's a variety of POC, queer, and disabled authors in here as well, i am also all of the above (asian, bi/aro, poly, disabled) and tried to incorporate as many of their wickedly talented, compelling narratives as possible. that's all, happy reading!
A Certain Hunger, Chelsea G. Summers
A Darker Shade of Magic, V. E Schwab*
A Dowry of Blood, S.G Gibson
Animal, Lisa Taddeo*
A Ripple of Power and Promise, Jordan A. Day*
Bunny, Mona Awad*
Children of Blood and Bone, Tomi Adeyemi*
Cursed Bread, Sophie Mackintosh*
Dark Places, Gillian Flynn
Dead Girls Don't Say Sorry, Alex Ritany*
Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead, Olga Tokarczuk*
Eileen, Ottessa Moshfegh*
Fruiting Bodies, Kathryn Harlan*
Goddess of Filth, V. Castro*
Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn
House of Leaves, Mark Danielewski
If I Had Your Face, Frances Cha*
Iron Widow, Xiran Jay Zhao
Jackal, Erin E. Adams*
Juniper and Thorn, Ava Reid*
Kindred, Octavia Butler*
Manhunt, Gretchen Felker-Martin*
Mexican Gothic, Silvia Moreno-Garcia
Ninefox Gambit, Yoon Ha Lee*
Rabbits, Terry Miles*
Scorched Grace, Margot Douaihy*
Sharp Objects, Gillian Flynn
She is a Haunting, Trang Thahn Tran
Slewfoot, Brom*
Sorrowland, Rivers Soloman
Summer Sons, Lee Mandelo
Supper Club, Lara Williams*
The Centre, Ayesha Manazir Siddiqi*
The Change, Kirsten Miller
The Death of Jane Lawrence, Caitlin Starling*
The Dreamer Trilogy, Maggie Stiefvater
The Haunting of Hill House, Shirley Jackson
The Hollow Places, T. Kingfisher*
The Human Origins of Beatrice Porter, Soraya Palmer*
The Jasmine Throne, Tasha Suri
The Locked Tomb, Tamsyn Muir
The Luminous Dead, Caitlin Starling*
The Red Tree, Caitlin Kiernan*
The Unfamiliar Garden, Benjamin Percy*
Vicious, V. E Shwab
Wake, Siren, Nina MacLaughlin*
We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Shirley Jackson
What Moves the Dead, T. Kingfisher*
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Will rolls his eyes. “My day dreams sour my appetite. They don’t wet it. They certainly don’t revolve around road kill or cattle.”
“This goes against your better nature. Herbivores are low on the food chain.” Hannibal’s eyes are piercing, as per usual.
Will doesn’t pretend to know where this is headed. Confusion is hard enough on its own. Hiding it under pretenses would only lengthen the battle. “And what, that makes them lesser?”
“To carnivores, yes. You set your eyes in the sockets of a wolf skull, a falcon’s head, either side of a viper’s face. You see prey through the eyes of the predator. Are you not hungry, Will?” The doctor’s lips are quirking up the way they so softly do. It’s a fondness, a flirtation. Will used to resent it, a sort of goading condescension. These days, he’s just grateful when Hannibal aims the expression at him, as opposed to Jack or Alana. Will is used to being a target. It’s the devil he knows.
“I’m more a rabid dog than anything else. I’ve lost site of sustenance in favor of cooling the hot delirium in my head.” He leans back against the front of his psychiatrist’s desk, looking down as he rubs his eyes. He’s out of aspirin.
Something twinkles in Hannibal’s face. It’s not pity but something Will’s not sure he wants to place. He can’t help feeling Hannibal was hoping he would bring up his current condition. The doctor always seems to be there when his body aches the most. Whether he is the source or the tonic is irrelevant. “And who infected you this time? What bit you and made you this way? A master? An apex predator?”
Will scoffs, turning his head up as he asks, “Are you talking about God or the Chesapeake Ripper?”
Hannibal relishes the way Will has exposed the column of his throat and takes a discreet step closer to him. “Isn’t one more comforting to have in your head than the other?”
“Not really. One in the same, as far as I’m concerned.” Will is proud when Hannibal chuckles. “I’d love it if no one was in my mind but me. No intrusions.”
“Are you certain you’d like that? With no one penetrating the forts you build so easily, no one’s skin to slide into, cloak and warm yourself with, what would be left but to inhabit yourself? Your true nature? Your carnivore? Are you certain you can be alone in your self, Will?”
They are standing very close together now, and Will doesn’t want to like it so much. He lets his words out with a thin veil of annoyance. “With you around, it’s not much of a concern. You’re always pushing your way further in. Do I keep you warm, Dr. Lecter?”
The man’s little smile glints teeth now. “Very much so. In you, there is a wide expanse of wilderness to be explored. Hunters prowl in the corners when you are close to sleep. Crickets chirp in the sunsets when you close your eyes. I find it all very beautiful.”
Will’s breath hitches, and he knows Hannibal can feel it. They’re close enough for that, still pushed up against the desk. If either leans forward even the slightest bit, they will be crossing into something uncharted. “Beautiful? And yet you think I’m afraid to look alone?”
“Look with me, Will.”
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