#frankly i just wish i could find more gay books with that voice period

[tomwambsgans]

real talk i think anyone who wants to understand greg and specifically have a grip on his personal brand of gay repression should read john rechy's City Of Night

[css1992]

could u do more high school au's pls? I was thinking maybe rich popular peter who seems untouchable and then grungy tony who just doesnt care for appearances and hes been pining after peter his whole school life

+

could u make it so that tony is rich and everyone knows it but he just doesn't care about his money and doesnt act rich so it's one of those things that u know but dont acknowledge. also if tony's daddy issues made an appearance id be so happy ty.

I’m so sorry for the delay, but I really do hope this scratches your itch! 

***

He had that sort of beauty that almost hurt to look at. So pure and soft. Pink cheeks, small eyes that squinted when he laughed – which was often –; brown, wavy hair, so shiny and silky-looking; thin, pink lips, always stretched in a smile. He had the most beautiful smile Tony had ever seen, too. Honest and wide, happy.

He was never alone. Of course he wasn’t. He was too magnetic, there were always people drawn to his light, following him around, laughing at his jokes, making him laugh in return. Everyone seemed to want a piece of him, a scrap of his attention. And he, being the lovely human being that he was, made room for anyone who wished to bask in his light.

Jocks liked him. Peter was great at team sports, he was light on his feet and good with his hands. He wasn’t in any teams, though, claimed he didn’t have the time, but he was always picked first in P.E. group activities. Tony knew, watched him at practice way too often – from a distance, of course, as he did his stretches and sit-ups with Rhodes.

Nerds liked him, too. He was really smart, an asset to the Decathlon team, and was always willing to help anyone having trouble in class. Even the weirdos from drama club, glee club and the school band loved him – he never made fun of them, on the contrary, he was always very vocal about how talented they were and how he wished he could be a part of their clubs, too.

Girls swooned at him. He was kind and sweet, a good listener, and gorgeous. Guys weren’t immune to his charms, either. The ones Tony knew for a fact that were gay or bi didn’t even try to pretend they didn’t watch him when he walked down the halls, but even supposedly straight guys, like Steve Rogers, sneaked a peek now and then, face flushed, if he was wearing specially tight jeans.

Tony was jealous of all those people, but he learned to deal with it. He’d been, well, admiring him from a distance for years. He was used to seeing people make passes at him, ask him out. Peter was discreet, though. If he ever dated anyone, nobody ever heard anything about it. He was a mystery, Tony wasn’t even sure if he was gay, straight, bi or whatever – there were rumors that he had made out with Wade Wilson in freshman year, but neither of them confirmed or denied it. Tony hated the guy anyway.

“If you keep staring, people are gonna know you’re in love and not actually dead inside,” Rhodey spoke up right next to him, taking a huge bite of his tuna sandwich. Tony averted his gaze from Peter’s table for a minute and looked at his friend, annoyed. “It’s gonna ruin your whole aesthetic.”

“Very funny,” He rolled his eyes and looked back at Peter. There were so many people around him he could barely catch a glimpse of his smile, which was annoying.

His dad’s company, Parker Innovations, had just released a new phone a few weeks earlier, it was ridiculous how many people thought they could get one for free if they kissed his ass hard enough. At least Tony didn’t have to endure that kind of nonsense anymore. People in that school learned very early on that even though he was related to Howard Stark, he wanted nothing to do with the guy – or his company, or his money. They also learned sucking up to him did nothing but annoy him, so they kind of just forgot he existed over time and he blended right in with everyone else – a blessing in its own right.

“Rhodey is right, you’re drooling, it’s a little embarrassing,” Natasha looked at him with boredom as she nibbled on her fries. “You should just ask him out, you’ve been pining for ages.”

“I’m not pining,” he huffed, irritated, and the redhead smirked, raising a perfectly manicured brow.

“Right, yearning might be more accurate. Bruce?” She glanced at their other friend who scratched his chin, pretending to think about it.

“I think obsessing sounds more like it. Rhodey?”  

“Fuck you guys,” he barked before they could keep the game going, and all three laughed at him. Someone got up from Peter’s table and he caught a glimpse of his beautiful face, their eyes made contact for half a second and Tony looked away.

“No, but seriously, Tones. Just go talk to him, he’s a great guy, I’m sure he wouldn’t be an ass about it.” Bruce adjusted his glasses and said that like it was simple. Like he would have the guts to do it if he was in Tony’s position – he wouldn’t, he’d pined for Thor, an exchange student, for a year, and never worked up the courage to ask him out. The guy went back to Norway or whatever and Bruce never even said hi to him.

“I know, of course he wouldn’t, but I don’t wanna be one of those people begging for his attention, just look at that.” He pointed at the little crowd around him, people were almost literally fighting for his attention, the poor guy could barely finish his lunch. “It’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but you’re not them,” Natasha said that like it was the most obvious thing in the world and Tony frowned.

“How am I different?”

“You’re a certified genius, you and him have similar interests and you look hot in a ‘I’m gonna fuck  you raw in the back of my car’ kinda way. I don’t know, maybe he’s into that.” The redhead shrugged, again, saying all that like it was obvious and an unquestionable truth.

“Yeah, right, sounds just like him,” Tony scoffed.

Peter was perfect in so many ways – perfect face, perfect body, perfect grades, Tony was sure he pooped out candy or something – of course he wouldn’t go for a guy like him. He had a bad reputation, he was in detention more often than not and people in general considered him an asshole – all because he didn’t partake in their little games of social climbing or whatever. No, Peter wouldn’t go for his grungy ass. He’d probably go for all American, apple pie, boy-next-door Steve Rogers.

“No, she’s right, I’ve seen him looking at you several times.” Bruce pointed out, not for the first time, and Tony scoffed.

“Oh, yeah? When?”

“AP chemistry class. I’m his lab partner, remember?” How could Tony forget? As Mr. Erskine called out their names, Tony prayed to a God he didn’t even believe in that he’d be paired up with Peter, but no such luck. “He stares at you whenever he has a chance or an excuse. You know, when you blow things up, for example.”

“Yeah, which is why he must stare, he must be afraid for his life.” Tony hated to admit that he was way more prone to causing explosive accidents when Peter was in the room. It was fucking embarrassing.

He sighed, drinking the last of his coke. No matter what his friends said, he knew he didn’t stand a chance with Peter. He was… Untouchable. He was too good for him, Tony wasn’t even sure he’d want to taint him if he had a chance –  no, scratch that, he definitely would.

He chose to watch him from afar, allowing himself a few fantasies and daydreams. He had this really stupid and lame one, where he walked up to Peter in the hall, people just parted to let him through, then he gave him his trademark, lopsided grin and asked him out. Peter smiled brightly up at him, holding his books to his chest, cheeks flushed, eyelashes fluttering as he whispered a shy “yes” and leaned up to kiss him. Yeah. That was the whole fantasy.

Peter was so untouchable to him that he didn’t even dare to dream further than that. Of course when he was alone in his room, late at night, relieving himself, a few… less pure fantasies popped up unsolicited, but he felt so guilty then, dirty even, like he was disrespecting him somehow. It was all very confusing, but he still came, shamefully, to the thought of his beautiful face scrunched up in pleasure as dream-Tony fucked him.

The bell rang and everyone hurried to get to their next period, Peter was no different, he gathered his things and stood up, looking around the cafeteria like he was looking for someone. Their eyes met again for a second, but Tony quickly looked away, grabbing his backpack in a hurry to leave.

It was Thursday, the worst day of the week for him, none of his friends were free to hang out with him until later, so he either had to head home and deal with Howard or he had to find somewhere to be for a couple of hours, until Rhodey was done with football practice so they could go to his place. That day, Tony decided to just stay by his car, smoking a cigarette and singing along to Black Sabath’s Iron Man, it wasn’t like he had anywhere to go. He was so distracted watching the smoke dissipate into thin air that he didn’t notice when someone approached, and jumped almost a foot in the air when they spoke.

“Aren’t you afraid of getting caught smoking on school grounds?” Tony almost dropped dead when he registered the angelic voice. He was already having a heart attack as it was, but the boy was so close and he had that beautiful smile in place, blushing cheeks and all. It took almost a full minute for him to calm himself down.  

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” The older teen answered when he finally found his voice and got his breath under control enough not to make a fool of himself. Peter smiled wider, biting his lower lip.

“Your secret is safe with me.” He fake whispered, leaning a little into the older boy’s space and he almost choked on nothing. Peter’s smell was inebriating, expensive and sweet, but not overly so – perfect. He recomposed himself quickly, though, and nodded, but didn’t say anything else. He wasn’t sure why Peter was talking to him and, frankly, he was too fucking nervous to think of anything cool to say. The younger teen deflated a little faced with Tony’s silence; he looked around, seeming a little lost. “You’re Tony, right?”

Fuck, the way he said his name. His name. It was fucking music to his ears, the most beautiful tune. But how did he even know his name? Sure, he was Tony Stark, so not really anonymous, but people often forgot about it.

“Yeah. And you’re Peter.” Tony didn’t play games, he didn’t even try to pretend like he didn’t know who Peter was. It would be dumb anyway, everybody knew him. The other boy nodded shyly, it looked like he wanted to say something else, but he kept biting his lips and looking around nervously. Tony frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“No. I mean, yeah, sure, it’s fine, it’s just, uhm. I have a flat tire and the wheel bolts are really tight and I couldn’t get them off, so I thought – I mean, could you, uh –“ He gestured wildly as he stuttered out his answer, looking in the general direction of his flashy, cherry red sports car. “I mean, it’s okay if you’re busy, but I –“

“Sure, I’ll help, don’t worry.” Tony threw his cigarette butt on the ground and stepped on it. He was a little more at ease now that he knew why Peter was talking to him – he just needed help – and the best thing was, Tony was really good with cars. Of course, one didn’t need to have a PhD in mechanics to change a tire, but it still made him feel really good that he would be able to help properly.

“Thanks, you’re a life saver.” The chirpy attitude was back, as well as the smile, it made Tony’s heart flutter. He nodded sharply, looking away from his face, and gestured for Peter to lead the way.

When they reached his car, Tony whistled lowly, crouching down to look at the completely flat tire, as he tried to find the source of the problem. He was surprised to notice a two-inch cut on the surface of it, and it didn’t seem accidental.

“Fuck, Peter, it looks like someone sliced your tire.” When he looked up at the younger boy, he didn’t look surprised, but nervous. It was an odd reaction. Tony wondered if Peter already knew that – maybe he knew who did it and was scared of them? It made Tony’s blood boil. Why would anyone do that to Peter?

“Wh-what? How do you know that?” He bit his lower lip nervously, scratching his arm, and Tony frowned, worried.

“Here, look.” He gestured for Peter to crouch down next to him and pointed at the cut. “This is clearly a stab mark. Judging by the size and shape of it, I’d say this was probably done with a pocketknife.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course. Clearly.” He face-palmed, like he felt stupid, maybe for not seeing it before, but Tony still worried.

“If you want, I could go with you to the administration. We can ask them to check the security cameras. I think that one might have caught whoever did this.” He pointed at a security camera nearby, Tony knew where all of them were in the parking lot area – he’d been caught smoking way too many times not to know.

“What? There are –? I mean, look, it’s okay, it’s probably just someone trying to play a prank, it’s no big deal, it’s fine.” He stood up quickly, shaking his head, and Tony was positive he felt threatened somehow, he was acting so weird.

“If you’re sure… But if you change your mind, I’ll go with you, ok?” Tony stood up and took off his leather jacket. The weather was nice, just a bit chilly, so he was wearing a thin, white t-shirt with short sleeves underneath. He thought he heard Peter’s breath hitch for a second, but it was probably just his imagination. “Can you hold this for me?” He held out his jacket and the boy blushed, blinking rapidly.

“S-sure.”

Tony bit his bottom lip to refrain from asking, again, if everything was fine. Peter looked so freaking nervous, he was even sweating a little at the temples. Tony was positive he knew who did that to his car, but didn’t want to tell him for some reason. Maybe he wanted to protect whoever did it, maybe it was a boyfriend, or an ex. He gritted his teeth, hands closing in fists, but didn’t say anything, just crouched down and got to work.

The first bolt came off easily, it wasn’t tight at all, so he thought maybe Peter had already loosened it when he tried earlier. The second and third ones came off just as easily, though, only the fourth one was a little trickier, but nothing the younger teen couldn’t have handled himself. Tony thought maybe he hadn’t tried too hard, maybe he was afraid the person who did that would show up or something. He was so glad he was there to help, he wondered if Peter felt safe with him around, and the thought made him feel oddly proud and protective of him.

He made quick work of changing the tires, making sure not to screw the bolts too tight, then put the sliced one in the trunk of the car. When he turned around to look at Peter, he was looking intently at him, almost hypnotized, holding his jacket close to his chest like it was a puppy.

“All done.” Tony smiled and the boy seemed to snap out of a trance.

“Oh, thank you so much, really, you’re too kind.” He smiled broadly and the older teen scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Don’t mention it.” They were silent for a few seconds after that, but Peter kept holding his jacket and didn’t make any move to give it back to him. “Uhm, could I–?” He gestured towards the jacket and again the boy jumped up in surprise.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, here.” He handed it to him and quickly crossed his empty arms over his chest. “So, uhm,… Your dad is having a gala this weekend, right? Are you gonna be there?” Ah, so Peter did know who he was, not just his first name. The older teen leaned against the car and stuck his hands in his pockets, shrugging.

“Not if I can help it.” He smirked, trying to act cool, but now that he didn’t have anything to do with his hands, he was growing nervous.

“Oh,” Peter looked… disappointed? He dropped his gaze to the floor, shuffling his feet, and Tony stood up straight, frowning.

“Why?”

“Nothing, it’s just – my parents are going, so I thought I’d tag along to, you know... but it’s okay.” He kicked an imaginary rock and avoided Tony’s eyes. The older teen stared at him with wide eyes, heart beating fast – what was the end of that sentence? Peter couldn’t possibly mean–

“I don’t – what, you’d go to, like, hang out with me or something?” He felt stupid when he stumbled on the words, but Peter didn’t seem to notice, his cheeks were burning red and he was looking anywhere else but at Tony.

“I mean, you must have much better things to do, of course, I was just –” He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head, finally looking up at Tony. “Sorry, just forget about it, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“No, wait!” He rushed to interrupt him and Peter looked back at him with huge, Bambi eyes. Tony coughed awkwardly, blushing a little. “I mean, like, uhm… If you – would you wanna go as my date? To the gala?” He blurted out, finally, because what the hell. The worst that could happen was Peter say no, and he could deal with it. He would survive, for sure. It wouldn’t be a big deal. Really. It wouldn’t.

But he didn’t say no, he smiled broadly, eyes twinkling in excitement.

“I’d love to!” He answered quickly, and Tony’s heart fluttered, Peter looked genuinely happy.  “Could you – uhm, text me what color of tie you’ll be wearing? If you want! I understand if you think it’s lame, but I thought–”

“No, it’s fine.” His heart was beating so loud, Peter Fucking Parker wanted to coordinate ties with him, it was fucking corny and cliché and he loved it. “Uhm, here, give me your number.” He fished his phone from his back pocket and gave it to the younger teen.

“Cool.” Peter typed in his number and as soon as he gave his phone back, Tony sent him a smiley face so he would have his number, too. “Cool, cool, cool...” He rocked on the balls of his feet and looked around, like he was looking for something else to say.

“So… Do you have to be home soon or…?” Tony stuck his hands in his pockets again, wondering if maybe he was pushing his luck, but Peter shook his head quickly.

“Not really, no, my parents don’t really mind what time I get home as long as I let them know. You?”

“They don’t really care.” He shrugged, taking one step closer to Peter. “So… are you hungry, by any chance?”

“I’m starving.” He nodded, looking up at Tony in anticipation. It drove the butterflies in his stomach crazy.

“I know a place where they serve great burgers. We could go in my car and I could drop you off here on our way back, I’m just a little worried someone is gonna try to fuck up your car again. I mean, what if they’re targeting you or something?” Just the mention of what happened earlier made Peter nervous. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket and shook his head.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, I’m sure it’s fine.” He didn’t look worried, though, at least not anymore.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, trust me, I am.” Tony found the sudden change odd, but thought maybe he was just trying to play it cool, so he let it go.  

“Okay, then, c’mon, my car is right there,” Tony gestured to his car and Peter smiled, taking his hands off his pockets. When he did, though, something slipped out and fell to the ground with a metallic noise. Tony quickly crouched down to get it for him, when he noticed what it was. “Wh – is that…?” He frowned, examining the pocketknife as if it was alien material. He was confused at first, because Peter didn’t seem like the kind of guy to carry one around, but then it dawned on him. When he looked at the younger teen, his face was so red it looked like he was about to explode.

“Uhm… If I told you I’ve never seen this before in my life would you believe it?” He chuckled nervously, scratching his arm, as Tony stood up. The older teen raised a brow at him.”Sorry, I just – I wanted an excuse to talk to you.” He said quietly, dropping his gaze.

“You know, you could have gone with the weather or whatever.” Tony answered, amused, and it made the younger boy look up at him.

“You’re just very intimidating,” He looked at him with huge, scared eyes, and Tony cocked his head to the side.

“Me?” He raised a brow.

“Yeah.” Peter answered pointedly, and Tony smirked, offering him his knife back.

“You do realize you just sliced your own tire so you’d have an excuse to talk to me, right? And I’m intimidating?” He joked, but Peter didn’t seem to find it funny. He winced and covered his face with his hands, clearly embarrassed.

“You must think I’m such a freak,” He groaned, voice muffled by his palms.

“Hey, hey, yes, I do think you’re a freak.” He grabbed Peter’s thin wrists and marveled at how perfectly they fit in his hands. He definitely saved that thought for later. “But you’re a really cute one.” He grinned and Peter chuckled, a delicate flush rising onto his cheeks.

“I feel stupid.” He admitted, worrying his bottom lip, but Tony shook his head, working up the nerve to cup Peter’s face in his hand.

“I feel flattered,” He said, honestly, and Peter’s breath hitched. He stared up at Tony, eyelashes fluttering, moist, pink lips slightly open. The older teen leaned down slowly and when the Peter closed his eyes, their lips touched. Just like in his fantasies, Peter tasted sweet, his lips were soft and his arms circled Tony’s neck in a warm embrace. When they parted, Tony smiled down at him, stroking his blushing cheek. “Just promise that if this doesn’t work out you won’t, like, key my car or something.”

“Oh, God,” he groaned, but they both laughed out loud, as they walked hand in hand across the parking lot.

[oneweekoneband]

meet me behind the mall!!!!!!!!!

I don’t know why Taylor Swift thinks that teenagers drink wine, and I don’t know why she chose to record and release a wistful high-school-other-woman song which left me feeling naked as a frog and therefore furious. Some questions we ask only so as to be soothed by the familiar sound of our own voice, still there after all. The answers are not coming. 

The Taylor Swift Teen Love Triangle Triad of “cardigan”, “august”, and “betty” is the part of folklore that makes me most bullish about where Taylor is going as an artist. A turn away from writing songs which are intentionally meant to appear confessional and toward, instead, songs which reveal the personal as refracted through fictitious circumstances and made-up characters is a better use of her big, weird brain, and allows that brain to be unleashed on a broader plain of experience. It’s incredibly embarrassing to be an adult woman with my own problems to manage and to have living in my head Taylor Swift’s demented YA fiction, but it’s an embarrassment that feels appropriate, like I could never really have escaped this fate. On “betty” she gets to play-act as a contrite teen boy who knows he’s done wrong, and while obviously the most charming thing about the song is Taylor saying “fuck” (and also her giving us a little of the ol’ razzle dazzle by way of some light twang), her experiment with imagining what it’s like to be a skateboarding kid who hates dances, trying on an imagined teen boy interiority as a costume, is effective too. 

“cardigan” is more removed, less plaintive and shouty. This is a song from adult Betty’s perspective looking back on this period in her life and in her relationship with James, who the song seems to imply she is still with now. While—full offense—I believe marrying your high school girlfriend or boyfriend is a disorder which should have its own listing in the DSM, restoring order by putting the original couple back together so as to make the story one of true love triumphing over adversity, rather than a series of sketches of kids doing fuckup kid things just because it is not easy to be alive and to be alive alongside others and with gentleness, least of all when you are very new at it,  is the only conclusion this saga could ever have reached with Ms. Swift at its helm, and I do appreciate the consistent, if baby-brained, internal logic. I’ve never known a teenage girl whose signature garment was a cardigan and, frankly, this Betty sounds like sort of a self-absorbed drip (I do love, love, how Taylor’s own voice comes through so clearly on the lightly threatening, smug lines, “I knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired / And you’d be standing in my front porch light” !!) so I’m not totally surprised she got cheated on, but that’s very uncharitable of me and probably comes from the same meaty polyp in my brain that is responsible for my still loving all the hilariously mean-spirited, woman-hating songs on Speak Now.

“august” is about the other girl. The “her” in James’ rather pathetic defense, “slept next to her, but I dreamt of you all summer long”. “august” tells a story that brings to my mind another story. It is a story I won’t belabor because it is neither exciting nor unique. It will not illuminate an unexplored human experience, as it is, in fact, incredibly boring, regular, an incident which would be at home in any normal Tuesday, ordinary as meeting at the mall. This is a million years ago and there is a boy whose basement I go to sometimes after swim practice. We have matching team sweatpants with our names embroidered above the pocket at the right hip and I like to switch pairs. I’m you and you’re me and when we have pushed and bent the tiredness out of our muscles together, making experimental declarations in hushed voices down there while the furnace groans, well, then I’m you and me and you’re you and me and we are we are we are. 

One February day at twilight I bound out of the school building with wet hair and a fleece jacket, but his car is already gone. No worries. Standing at my locker the next afternoon like in a movie he will say, easy as anything, that he has a girlfriend, a family friend, two towns over, she goes to private school. You’ve probably met her, he says. And right then I remember that I have. Last year I did her zipper in the bathroom at a dance. We were fighting but we never really broke up, he says. For months you’ve been fighting? is all I say back. Fighting since October? As if that matters. Like that’s the point. My voice is pinched and ugly and I know I’ll hear that sound forever. Well, anyway... I feel bad. He doesn’t clarify for whom he feels bad. He’s got one sneaker toe working against the other one atop the tile floor that’s the murky green of sea glass. He looks at my St Brigid’s cross necklace, at the blue Masterlock hanging open like a broken jaw, at someone in a hoodie who punches his shoulder as they walk by. Nothing personal, he says, and there is a tiny smudge of cafeteria pizza at the corner of his mouth that I hadn’t noticed until that second and a day ago would’ve reached up and wiped away with the pad of my thumb, laughing. I get it, right? Oh, sure. 

The worst of it was not skipping pre-calc to cry in the bathroom, since, I mean, I couldn’t actually do pre-calc and would never learn how, but was inspecting my soul in the dark when I couldn’t sleep that night and finding part of me had known this all along, had chosen to pretend, wanted the wanting so badly I’d knocked from my brain the truth of how it was going to end. This would not be the last false love from which I’d find myself unceremoniously discarded, and in time I’d learn to be the liar myself, too. It’s unseemly to pathologize bad decisions, to take on poor impulse control or self-destructive patterns as an identity, but I do think that just as some people are born serial monogamists, part of a twosome forever with very little mess in-between, some of us were built from the very first cell to live like a pool ball struck and banging teeth first into the wrong mouths and hearts. I can examine my romantic history and tap my finger against the obvious errors, the times I chose what I knew would hurt me, when I ascribed hope to situations where it did not belong, when I, like the narrator of “august”, regarded someone as not mine to lose but still put myself in the position to be harmed by the losing, yet I can’t produce alternative choices that feel realistic. If you are in love and it doesn’t work out, there is mourning, there is pain, but there is all the while a record which shows something happened, it was real. “august” stands somewhat apart in the Taylor Swift catalog as a song neither about the glory of true love or the heartbreak when it’s over, but about the small, paper cut heartbreaks that are inescapable during each day of an untrue love. “It was never mine”. When it turns out you were wrong the whole time, fooling yourself, then even remembering that you’d been happy in the lie is like being trapped in a fun house, body bent and broken in the mirror, a thing not built right for this world. 

“august” is about the girl who James was with over the summer, the girl he leaves to return to Betty. Taylor said it’s the first of the three that she wrote, and I fear this has warmed me to her in some new and unsettling way. I fear this means she’s matured as a person and writer, capable now of a more expansive view of situations, to be generous. It’s like how you shouldn’t feed gremlins after midnight; there is no telling what new and more dangerous creature this woman might turn into if she’s suddenly been taught empathy. When Taylor-as-James in “betty” sings, “Would you trust me if I told you it was just a summer thing?” in his effort to woo Betty back I hate him a little, that thoughtless child undeserving of the kind of adoration in lines like, “your back beneath the sun / wishing I could write my name on it.” I try to extend grace to this fictional boy, but I think of the “Do you remember? in “august” and I feel a little sick from being so certain that no... No, he doesn’t. Not really.

“Back when we were still changing for the better / wanting was enough / for me it was enough”. I’d like to think there is no last chance to change for the better. I’d like to think wanting is enough so long as you want the right thing. I’d like to think that God made sure Taylor Swift became a singer instead of a young adult novelist because the absolute last thing this world needed was this freak joining the circus that is YA Twitter. Most of all, I like thinking that Judy Blume knows that her beautiful, searing, devastatingly romantic and also textually gay 1998 novel Summer Sisters is the only important book that has ever been published, and, further, that the world will show me the respect of understanding and accepting that “august”, when removed from the context of the Swiftian child romance trilogy, sounds as if it were specifically written in homage. Taylor, I know I’ve accused you of at least fifty crimes this week alone, but if you want to talk about Summer Sisters, please get in touch.

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 1

because we all really wanted smitten!Luka so I’m making it happen, PERIOD. slight AU? canon divergence? where Luka begins to frequent Tom & Sabine’s bakery when his sister needs a pick-me-up through her first year in university, and may or may not have a thing for the new girl at the register once summer vacation hits. and tweets about it.

(yes, i’m still working on La Joconde! only two parts left :( but i hadn’t posted any lukanette content in a Hot Minute and wanted to share a bit of what i’ve been working on. enjoy, loves!)

at T&S for mom and sister and oh god there’s a cute girl i’ve never seen at the register

Post.

i think she’s got flour on her nose, and she probably doesn’t even know it’s there, and she’s adorable

Post.

send help

Post.

That’s the magical thing about social media, isn’t it. The cool, casual, even bored expression you sport in a waiting room or on the subway is a master at hiding away every all-caps rant you swipe out with your thumb. At keeping every moment you want to scream, excited or outraged, under lock and key in your chest while your fingers do all the talking. At cementing the lines in your brow and your lips while you broadcast how much you’re Gay And Dyingggg—and yes, you really need the capitalization and those extra letters for the emphasis—over the image of a kitten falling asleep mid-meal. The viral-video echo of a child’s singing in a big-box store. The pretty girl in the coffee shop with the floral cloth headband, the nude lip, the grey eyes that stop you in your tracks and somehow always seem to meet yours whenever you Just So Happen to look up.

It’s those capital letters, you know. They really do wonders for emphasis. Emphasis.

In a city like Paris, the hundreds of thousands of people you could pass in a single day would never know the intimacies they could stumble upon by happenstance. The ones you choose to share with a few hundred strangers, friends across oceans or friends of friends who happened upon you or lovers of art the way you love art, because the distance and the screens make it safer.

In Paris, almost no one knows who Luka really is, aside from a blue-haired busker downtown who sometimes frequents coffee shop stages. Or some guy who delivers their evening meals when they don’t feel like cooking. No one has to know. And he’s been fine with that for as long as he’s had these accounts.

He wouldn’t call himself a stranger to the internet. He hardly could; he’s a product of it, raised by it, like most anyone else his age. Frankly, he could go so far as to call it his third best friend—third, because his sister and his mother might fight him for not putting them first, and because he values them enough to put them there. But on the metro, he’s near invisible, and online, he’s Sort Of Someone. A set of hands and a guitar and strings of notes to pull in a few hundred admirers, and even fewer friends he’s never met in person. He doesn’t have to, he’s decided, for them to mean something.

And he’s getting the keen sense that they’re all already hanging onto his last three tweets. Or will be, if they’re not already awake yet. (He’ll never understand that—his body almost never lets him sleep in past eight, no matter how late he goes to bed.)

He has to gather himself before he goes in—which is hilarious, because he must have been to Tom and Sabine’s bakery at least a hundred times by now. Or at least, enough times that they know him by name and to save him a napoleon or two whenever he’s in the area. Is it really that difficult this time because of a girl?

And then she… whoever she is, she smiles at a customer, and it looks like utter sunshine, and almost instantly he wishes she were smiling at him. Just for a few seconds.

Yep. It really is that difficult.

With a flip of his stomach and one last post—all right, prayer circle before i place this order—Luka pushes into the tiny bakery just as the customer is coming out. He shuffles among the racks and display cases as though he’s in a museum, and given the care that goes into these decorations, he might as well be. Usually it’s Mrs. Cheng who’s at the register, humming along to some classical piece they’re playing overhead—it fits her, being so traditional—and there’s a stack of finished cake or pastry orders beside her on the counter. The orders are still there this time, but the music sounds younger; it must be one of those study playlists he sometimes finds online or touches upon when he needs some extra inspiration for his own music.

And there is the girl, with her chin in her hand and the flour still on her nose, absently twirling her pencil as she stares down at a sketchbook like she’s about to get into a fight with it. She doesn’t look bored there. Actually, Luka isn’t sure he’s ever seen anyone so focused before, because even the bell over the door signaling his entrance apparently hasn’t gotten through to her. If anything, she looks like she’s toeing that impossibly thin line between mellow and frustrated, if the quirk in her lips or the pinch in her brow is anything to go by. Even from a distance, he can tell that her face is soft, that her lashes are beautifully long, and that she probably barely has to do anything with them. If it weren’t so weird, or showy, or even creepy, he’d probably stop in his tracks at the door and watch. Try to make up a song about her, for her, on the spot.

Luka takes a deep breath, readjusts his gig bag on his shoulder, and takes a few quiet steps up to the register, still keeping his distance. It isn’t until he clears his throat that she looks up, and he’d swear that he’s never seen eyes so… so blue, before.

He’s never played a song this color before, and he wants to. Instantly.

Before he can get a closer look at the sketches, one that would have been entirely inadvertent, the girl squeaks and snaps her book shut, immediately apologizing for not noticing him right away. Her fingers twitch a bit, but she smiles cordially in spite of them. There it is. That sunshine, just for him. “Welcome to Tom and Sabine’s. How can I help you?”

Luka wonders if that’s just her Customer Service Voice, or if she always sounds that sweet. Either way, somewhere inside him a cork pops, and warmth floods his insides, just for having heard it. Now that he’s this close, now that he’s really heard her, he’d think she’s only a couple of years younger than him. Nineteen or twenty, maybe. “Hi,” he says, as smooth as he can manage. Maybe it’s her first day; he knows some of the woes of customer service, even if most of his work experience has been in food delivery and not actually processing the orders. Maybe he can ease some of her nerves. “I was wondering if I could get something to go.”

“Oh! Sure thing.” The girl brushes some flyaway dark hair out of her eyes, twirls her pencil again, and taps a few colored squares on the tablet in front of her. “What can I get for you?”

“Let’s see…” He already knows the orders by heart, because in spite of their penchant for chaos and unpredictability, the Couffaines don’t mind anchoring themselves to some things. So much so, in fact, that if it were Mrs. Cheng at the register, she wouldn’t even have to ask. She’d already have the box ready. It’s just that he doesn’t want to overwhelm this girl right off the bat, even if he does have the feeling that she’d look even cuter with a blush. “An opera cake, a pear tart, a fraisier”—that’s for Rose, because he wouldn’t be surprised if she’s still over when he gets back. He goes slowly, gives the girl the chance to look for each item in the menu on her screen before punching it in, just in case she’s ever had customers who were less kind.

Yes, that’s definitely the only reason why, and it definitely isn’t because he wants to spend more time at the register, and has that liberty to do so since there aren’t any other customers in the shop and since he’s done with work for the day.

“Anything else?” the girl asks, her voice slightly more clipped now that she’s in the rhythm of it. She cocks her head, more at the register, and quirks the edge of her eyebrow. Maybe she’s more seasoned at this than he thought. Or maybe she just sinks into this mood when she sets to work.

He kind of likes it. Like, a lot.

But that would be incredibly weird to say, to her face or about her online, so he holds his tongue. “Yeah, um…” He looks around, narrowing his eyes at some of the display cases. “Has Mr. Dupain made any napoleons today?”

The girl’s eyes light up a bit, which makes him smile. “I’ll check,” she says—chirps, more like—and flits toward the room in the back like a hummingbird.

Oh, no.

She’s so cute. Too cute.

She’s back in seconds, before he has the time to agonize about it any further. “Yup, we have them. How many would you like?”

“Just the one.” Luka’s already fishing out his wallet from his back pocket. He holds his breath, card in hand, pushes it into the chip reader. “Say, is Mrs. Cheng… doing all right?”

The girl blinks a couple of times. Is it really that weird to ask? “Yes…? She’s fine. She’s just traveling—she went home for a bit to see her family. She’ll be back in… three weeks?” She trips on her words a bit, not in the way that she can’t recall, but in the way that she doesn’t want to be too forward in her speech.

Huh. Mrs. Cheng didn’t mention anything about a trip the last time he’d been here… “Sorry, it’s just that I’ve never seen you around here before.”

The girl smiles faintly, tearing away his receipt once it’s printed. “Well. I guess that makes two of us.”

Oh, she’s good. He doesn’t even know what to say to that.

She flits around the tiny bakery, different pairs of tongs in hand as she assembles his order, and Luka finds himself tapping out the melody of the current song against his thigh. “Nice music,” he says to make conversation. “You pick it out?”

“Uh huh.” There’s that clipped tone again. “Sorry, I know it’s kinda basic—”

“It’s cool.” He pauses. “Uh. I mean, the music is cool.”

The girl looks up from one of the display cases. It might be the lighting, or the distortion of the glass, but he thinks she might be blushing. “You… said that already?”

“Right—right.” Luka clears his throat, leans back against the wall with his arms folded, and resolves to keep his mouth shut and his eyes down. He knows he’s blushing; his face is too hot for him not to be. She’s working, he tells himself. He can’t bother her while she’s working. Still, he can’t help idly tapping the toe of his shoe, or pressing his fingertips into his arms, to that same rhythm, the same melody. At least that keeps him grounded. He only wishes there were lyrics he could mouth along to to make it easier.

He’s about to dip into his own mind, try to find a song that would do the trick, when he hears his name. “Luka?”

Instantly, his head snaps up. The girl is back at the register, a beige box with a gold sticker in her hands, and she holds it out to him. “Yeah,” he says, doing his best to stroll casually to the front and take it from her. “How’d you know my name?”

The girl looks at him, half-confused, before mutely holding up the receipt. On the bottom, along with the last four digits of his debit card number, is his name in tiny capital letters.

Oh. Duh. He heaves a nervous laugh, and on the inside, he’s looking away with wide, mortified eyes. He takes the box from her; the sooner he gets out of here, the sooner he can kick himself. “Thanks. Could you tell Mr. Dupain I said hi?” And also, could you tell him how dare you for hiring a girl who has no right making my heart stop on her first day working?

She nods, twirling her pencil one last time, and Luka’s off with a wave and a mutual exchange of, Thank you, have a nice day! And the instant the door closes behind him and he turns the corner, he sets the box aside, slides down to a squat, and rests his face in his hands, eyes wide and trained on the ground.

In Paris, no one knows that Luka Couffaine is even capable of being an anxious, smitten fool.

Once he’s churned out as many anxious, shaky feelings as he can—once he’s replayed her smile and the sound of his name in his head enough times—he pulls out his phone.

god, i hope she has a nice day. i hope she finds twenty euros on the ground.

Post.

[lgbtqiahistoricalromance]

LGBTQIA Historical Romances with Artists, Poets, Thespians, Musicians, Dancers, and Bohemians - July 2018

Jalendu by Mark Andrew

- Set in the turbulent twilight of the reign of the Mughal Emperor of India, Jalaluddin Akbar, Jalendu tell the story of the socially awkward, but politically important young Prince Adinath and Jali, a handsome, spiritually inclined farm boy who becomes his bodyguard. Their unlikely friendship and love changes the fate of the empire. The small kingdom of Vindhyagarh sits in the Vindhya foothills between Prince Salim, the rebellious son of the emperor and self-declared Sultan of Ilahabad (present day Allahabad) and his powerful Bundela Rajput ally, Maharaja Vir Singh Deo of Orchha. But Salim in truth is no rebel. He is loyal to the power behind the throne, the women of the imperial household. The court nobility, led by the emperor's vizier Abul Fazl, see their power evaporating as the emperor seems powerless to oppose the wishes of the empresses or to act against his disobedient eldest son. They fear that when Salim become emperor, they will be reduced to mere servants. Abul Fazl vows that Salim will never sit on the imperial throne. Rana Jayaram of Vindhyagarh wants peace, but his efforts to ensure it draw his kingdom into a very dangerous political game. His youngest son has rarely left the palace because of illness and spends his time reading ancient Sanskrit texts, drawing and composing poetry. His only friends are his brother's widow and his old tutor. Jayaram sees a chance to extract his kingdom from danger by an alliance with the influential Kachwahas. An alliance by the marriage of Prince Adinath to a Kachwaha princess would not only tie Vindhyagarh to a Rajput house more loyal to the empire but into the imperial family itself.

On Wings of Song by Anne Barwell

- Six years after meeting British soldier Aiden Foster during the Christmas Truce of 1914, Jochen Weber still finds himself thinking about Aiden, their shared conversation about literature, and Aiden’s beautiful singing voice. A visit to London gives Jochen the opportunity to search for Aiden, but he’s shocked at what he finds.The uniform button Jochen gave him is the only thing Aiden has left of the past he’s lost. The war and its aftermath ripped everything away from him, including his family and his music. When Jochen reappears in his life, Aiden enjoys their growing friendship but knows he has nothing to offer. Not anymore.

The Reluctant Berserker by Alex Beecroft Review (Gorgeous writing, and an unusual case of a dominant musician and a submissive warrior.)

- Dark Ages England. Among the Saxons, a warrior is the highest form of human life. He dominates all, he yields to none, and if ever this mastery is taken away, his honour is taken with it. Reluctant berserker, Wulfstan, a noble and fearsome warrior, has spent most of his life trying to hide the fact that he would love to be cherished and taken care of by someone stronger than himself. Slight and beautiful harper, Leofgar, has the opposite problem – how can he keep the trained killers off him long enough to get them to acknowledge he’s as much of a man as any of them? When, in a panic, Wulfstan accidentally kills a friend who is about to blurt out his secret, and Leofgar flees rather than submit to his lord’s lust, they meet on the road to the pilgrims’ shrine at Ely. Pursued by a mother’s curse and Leofgar’s vengeful lord, they must battle guilt, outlaws, and the powers of the underworld with the aid of only music and a female saint. And if they fall in love on the way, there’s still that murderous shame to overcome.

Treading the Boards series by Tess Bowery (author’s Tumblr)

Rite of Summer: Gay men in a disaster!triad. Sex solves a lot of things, but actually talking about problems solves more. Not a poly ending.

She Whom I Love: Bisexual best friends share a very confused (yet grateful) straight man. Disaster is narrowly averted. A very poly ending.*

*Shortlisted twice for the Bisexual Book Awards, 2015 - Best Romance, Best Erotic Fiction.

That Potent Alchemy: Genderqueer ballet dancer hates gender, ballet, and emotional connection. Macbeth helps. No poly in this one at all.

Artemis by Jessica Cale (trans male hero/bisexual heroine)

- Actress Charlotte Halfpenny is in trouble. Pregnant, abandoned by her lover, and out of a job, Charlotte faces eviction two weeks before Christmas. When the reclusive Earl of Somerton makes her an outrageous offer, she has no choice but to accept. Could he be the man of her dreams, or is the nightmare just beginning?

Apollo Somerton has been in love with Charlotte for a decade, seeing each of her plays multiple times, despite being a man that otherwise keeps to himself. After Charlotte finds herself pregnant, she almost resorts to drastic measures, but Somerton rescuers her and makes her an offer she can’t refuse. But, despite his adoration and beauty, Charlotte knows being an actress didn’t prepare her for the role of wife to an Earl, and others will stop at nothing to keep the pair from getting married.

This is a sweet novella, with a frankly adorable leading man. Handsome and devoted, he has a secret, but love with persevere. Some aspects of the novella are a little far-fetched, but the love story makes it totally worthwhile. (Contains mentions of period-typical homophobia and transphobia. Trans male leading man, and bisexual heroine.)

25% proceeds donated to Equality NC, and 25% to the Malala fund

Think of England by KJ Charles Mini Review

- Lie back and think of England... England, 1904. Two years ago, Captain Archie Curtis lost his friends, fingers, and future to a terrible military accident. Alone, purposeless and angry, Curtis is determined to discover if he and his comrades were the victims of fate, or of sabotage. Curtis's search takes him to an isolated, ultra-modern country house, where he meets and instantly clashes with fellow guest Daniel da Silva. Effete, decadent, foreign, and all-too-obviously queer, the sophisticated poet is everything the straightforward British officer fears and distrusts. As events unfold, Curtis realizes that Daniel has his own secret intentions. And there's something else they share-a mounting sexual tension that leaves Curtis reeling. As the house party's elegant facade cracks to reveal treachery, blackmail and murder, Curtis finds himself needing clever, dark-eyed Daniel as he has never needed a man before... Warning: Contains explicit male/male encounters, ghastly historical attitudes, and some extremely stiff upper lips.

The Actor and the Earl by Rebecca Cohen (Three book series, w/Sebastian playing his own twin sister in all three.)

- Elizabethan actor Sebastian Hewel takes his bow at the proscenium only to embark on the role of a lifetime. When his twin sister, Bronwyn, reneges on the arrangement to marry Anthony Redbourn, Earl of Crofton, Sebastian reluctantly takes her place. At nineteen, Sebastian knows his days as a leading lady are numbered, but with this last performance, he hopes to restore his family’s name and pay off his late father’s debts. Never mind the danger of losing his head should he be discovered.He didn’t expect Anthony to be so charming and alluring—not to mention shrewd. While he applauds Sebastian’s plan, Anthony offers a mutually beneficial arrangement instead. Sebastian will need every drop of talent he has to survive with both his head and his heart intact, because this is the best part he’s ever had.

You Must Remember This: A Gay Retelling of Casablanca by John Michael Curlovich

- You Must Remember This is an homage to the classic film Casablanca on the 75th anniversary of the film’s release in America. It is the height of World War II. Frank Chandler is an American GI who has been separated from the army on a “blue discharge.” Along with his musician friend and sometime lover Dan Jackson, he finds himself in Marrakesh (only a short distance away from Casablanca), an international city where every kind of pleasure is easily available. But Marrakesh is also a city of danger. The Nazis are establishing themselves there, and their ominous presence means life is fraught with peril. Then Lilli, a beautiful, mysterious woman from Frank’s past, shows up unexpectedly, and he finds himself confronted with the hardest choice of his life. Lilli’s presence stirs emotions he thought he had buried. Yet there is still the city—and its men—and the thousand pleasures it offers… Should Frank go with Lilli and try to make a “normal” life with her? Or should he follow what he increasingly believes to be his true nature? That is the dramatic conflict at the heart of You Must Remember This.

My Lord, Lady, and Gentleman - Book Three of the Surrey SFS series by Nicola Davidson (m/m/f)

- Welcome to the Surrey Sexual Freedom Society - where unconventional and uninhibited ladies and gentlemen discuss all matters erotic... Estranged from his aristocratic family for choosing art over a third son’s proper path, Mr. Clayton Irving lives in wretched circumstances. His only joys are his friends and an extraordinary talent for sensual portraits, until the perfect opportunity arises: paint ton empress Lady Susanna Fenton. All his financial woes gone…if he can hide his fierce craving for her—and even more forbidden—her husband Lord Joseph Fenton.

In the eyes of the world the Fentons have it all: staggering wealth, position, and a caring union. Yet their smiles hide a marriage broken by secrets and pretense. The wicked portrait is a last effort to save it, and Susanna and Joseph soon discover that sinfully handsome Clayton is key to a passionate and happy new start for them all. But secrets always reveal themselves, and those who break the rules are punished. Can an unconventional ménage truly defy all for love?

The Bohemian and the Banker by Bonnie Dee and Summer Devon

- A night lost in Paris finds two hearts changed forever. Sent to Paris on business, Nigel Warren doesn’t quite understand why his colleagues’ eyes twinkle as they tell him to meet them at a local night spot. When he discovers it’s a drag cabaret and his acquaintances aren’t there, he realizes he’s the butt of a joke. Yet he finds himself quite undone by a singer dressed in an elegant gown, crooning a spellbinding ballad. It’s not unusual for Jay, a former Londoner, to bring a new “friend” home from the cabaret, but he’s never had a guest quite like Nigel, whose straitlaced manner hides an unexpected passionate streak. One romantic night on a rooftop under starry skies, followed by an afternoon enjoying the excitement of the 1901 Paris Exposition, bonds these opposites in a way neither can forget—even after they part. Their spark reignites when Jay comes to London, but he’s not sure he can go back to hiding his true self, not even for the sake of love…unless Nigel is willing to shed his cloak of staid respectability and take a leap of faith.

Robby Riverton: Mail Order Bride by Eli Easton

- Being a fugitive in the old west shouldn’t be this much fun. The year is 1860. Robby Riverton is a rising star on the New York stage. But he witnesses a murder by a famous crime boss and is forced to go on the run--all the way to Santa Fe. When he still hasn't ditched his pursuers, he disguises himself as a mail order bride he meets on the wagon train. Caught between gangsters that want to kill him, and the crazy, uncouth family of his "intended", Robby's only ally is a lazy sheriff who sees exactly who Robby is -- and can't resist him. Trace Crabtree took the job as sheriff of Flat Bottom because there was never a thing going on. And then Robby Riverton showed up. Disguised as a woman. And betrothed to Trace’s brother. If that wasn’t complication enough, Trace had to find the man as appealing as blueberry pie. He urges Robby to stay undercover until the danger has passed. But a few weeks of having Robby-Rowena at the ranch, and the Crabtree family will never be the same again. Damn, what a kerfuffle. If only Trace can get rid of the fugitive while hanging on to his own stupid heart.

A Brush with Darkness by Erastes

- Florence, 1875 After making a grisly discovery one night, I needed proof that there was still goodness in the world. I never dreamt it would come to me during my next commission—with a subject whose very name means light... Yuri was glorious in his otherworldly beauty, surrounded by a bright halo of iridescence, but I detected a fierce darkness lurking underneath the surface. Sketching all night, I could hardly wait to capture his likeness in a painting. For Yuri has stimulated not only my creative urges, but my sexual ones as well. His very presence infuses me with joy and passion, but what will happen if my patron should discover our trysts? Dependent on his good graces, I can't afford to lose his support. But I fear the time will soon come when I must choose between restoring my family's fortunes and obeying the temptation of the muse before me... Previously published as Chiaroscuro, newly revised by author.

The Matinee Idol by Owen Keehnen

- LOVE IN THE SILENT FILM ERA... At the height of the roaring 1920s, Raymond Richmond leaves Iowa and heads for Hollywood with dreams of silent film stardom in his head. In Los Angeles, he meets Brick, the ruggedly handsome cowboy of his dreams. Soon the two are a couple. When Raymond film career takes off, he is pressured to choose between stardom and Brick. Afraid of passing up his dream, Raymond chooses his career. As Raymond’s star ascends, he attempts to fill the void Brick has left in a number of ways. Eventually, his career begins to suffer and shortly after the advent of talkies, Raymond hits rock bottom. Desperate and alone, he is prostituting himself to feed his addiction to alcohol. But fate intervenes and reunites Raymond with Brick. However, Brick carries deep wounds from their past as well. Can the former lovers overcome the demons and betrayal of the past and find happiness once again? Spanning over a decade, Owen Keehnen’s The Matinee Idol is a timeless tale about second chances and the redemptive power of love.

Convincing the Secretary - Book Two of the London Legal series by Ava March (Included due to Edward’s true calling.)

- Business and pleasure is a mix no gentleman should consider. Lord Grayson Holloway goes after what he wants—be it in the law office on his clients’ behalf or in the bedchamber. His new position as partner puts him closer to achieving his goal of becoming the most successful solicitor in London. There’s just one problem—his new secretary. Broad of shoulder yet mild of manner, Edward tempts Gray like no other. Yet the young man barely notices him. Edward Fenton tries to be a good secretary, but being in Lord Grayson’s hard, commanding presence rouses Edward’s most forbidden desires. Wicked, naughty desires no gentleman should consider giving in to, let alone with his new employer. Gray is more than willing to mix business with pleasure. But convincing Edward to take a chance on a future with him? That might be the most challenging case Gray has ever taken on. Warning: Includes buttoned-up gentlemen who become undone, improper use of a desk, spankings, and a big bad lord who has a soft spot for his virgin secretary.

A Wager of Love by Katherine Marlowe (Review pending, but this is included, because Gilbert and Laurence have long conversations about poetry and philosophy, and they do a little acting in pursuit of their goal. This was a delightful book, using the thoughts and concepts of the time period to great effect.

- Laurence Aberforth has never been in love. The first time he meets the impulsive and charming Gilbert Heckwith, he accepts a wager as to whether or not true love exists in the world. Amidst the playful flirtation of their new friendship, they explore the concept of love through philosophy and poetry, and the two of them ultimately find the proof of their wager in each other. Clean romance, no cheating, no cliffhangers, standalone novella.

Such a Dance by Kate McMurray

- New York City, 1927. Eddie Cotton is a talented song-and-dance man with a sassy sidekick, a crowd-pleasing act, and a promising future on Broadway. What he doesn’t have is someone to love. Being gay in an era of prohibition and police raids, Eddie doesn’t have many opportunities to meet men like himself—until he discovers a hot new jazz club for gentlemen of a certain bent...and sets eyes on the most seductive, and dangerous, man he’s ever seen. Lane Carillo is a handsome young Sicilian who looks like Valentino—and works for the Mob. He’s never hidden his sexuality from his boss, which is why he was chosen to run a private night club for men. When Lane spots Eddie at the bar, it’s lust at first sight. Soon, the unlikely pair are falling hard and fast—in love. But when their whirlwind romance starts raising eyebrows all across town, Lane and Eddie have to decide if their relationship is doomed…or something special worth fighting for.

The First Act by Vanessa Mulberry

- April 1594. William Moodie thinks he’s in love with celebrated actor Richard Brasyer. When Brasyer’s playing company, Goldfox’s Men, comes to town, William is only too willing to leave his country life for the opportunities of the theater and a life in London. Determined to become Richard’s apprentice, William seeks to impress his mentor with his acting—and please him in bed.Meanwhile, Richard struggles to escape his past as a spy and disentangle himself from the manipulations of his former master and ex-lover, Bennett Goldfox. Swearing off a relationship with his new apprentice proves difficult for Richard, as William uses all his youthful charms to seduce him. When Bennett’s life is threatened, Richard is lured back into the game for one final mission, and he and William travel to Cambridge to hunt down a list of traitors to the Crown.In the midst of danger and deception, Richard and William come to truly see each other, faults and all, and realize their feelings run deeper than either expected.

Palace Dog by RE Nelson

- In April 1975, as the government in Saigon is falling, Michael Andrews prepares to make his way back to Vietnam to find the love he was forced to leave. But Michael’s journey begins four years earlier. He joins the Air Force to keep out of the Army and out of Vietnam, but his first assignment is teaching English in Saigon to members of the Vietnamese military in an Army program called Palace Dog. As an artist, and a man, before his time in Vietnam, Michael found life lonely and unsatisfying. In the midst of war, Michael searches for direction and meaning. He ultimately finds love and hope with Thao, a young Vietnamese art student, only to have their already uncertain future wrenched from them when he is pulled out of the country. For Michael, his return in 1975 is inevitable and without question, though the outcome he hopes for is anything but assured.

The Viscount and the Artist by Alyson Pearce (The Eccentrics Book 1) (Review pending, but this was a lovely surprise. I expected a slap-dash May/December romance, but these characters were actually worked out, and Jeremy stays true to his convictions in spite of everything working against him. Andrew has a crisis, but they work through it together.)

- Andrew Cardwell is a man driven by duty to his country and to his family. After the death of his uncle, he’s determined to provide security and stability for his family as the new Viscount Cardwell—even if that means marrying and producing an heir. Surprising himself, Andrew decides to sponsor a young artist named Jeremy for the season, to help him find a patron. What he doesn’t anticipate is how well Jeremy fits in his bed…and his life. Jeremy Leighton knows what it’s like to be a disappointment. The only son of a vicar, he’s refused to follow the path his father set for him, choosing his passion for art, instead. He accepts Andrew’s proposal, hoping to prove to his father—and himself—that he can succeed as an artist. After spending time with Andrew in and out of bed, Jeremy struggles not to fall for the damaged viscount, knowing the season will likely end in Andrew’s engagement. Between a meddling cousin, a widow on the hunt for a new husband, and their own doubts about the relationship, how can Andrew and Jeremy shed the expectations of others to find true happiness?

Juliana by Vanda (f/f)

- New York City, 1941. Alice “Al” Huffman and her childhood friends are fresh off the potato farms of Long Island and bound for Broadway. Al’s plans for stage success are abruptly put on hold when she’s told she has no talent. As she gets a job to pay for acting classes, Al settles into a normal life with her friends and a boyfriend. It all changes when she meets Juliana.A singer on the brink of stardom, Juliana is everything Al isn’t: glamorous, talented, and queer. The farm girl is quickly enthralled, experiencing thoughts and feelings she never realized were possible. Al finds herself slipping between two worlds: the gay underground and the “normal” world of her childhood friends. It’s a balancing act she can handle until the two worlds begin to collideIn a city bursting with change, can Alice find what she was looking for all along?Juliana: Volume 1: 1941-1944 is a captivating work of LGBT historical romance. If you like extensively researched settings, spell-binding storytelling, and characters you can’t help but fall for, then you’ll love the first book in award-winning playwright Vanda’s new Juliana series.

Nightingale by Aleksandr Voinov

- In Nazi-occupied Paris, most Frenchmen tread warily, but gay nightclub singer Yves Lacroix puts himself in the spotlight with every performance. As a veteran of France’s doomed defense, a survivor of a prison camp, and a “degenerate,” he knows he’s a target. His comic stage persona disguises a shamed, angry heart and gut-wrenching fear for a sister embedded in the Resistance. Yet Yves ascends the hierarchy of Parisian nightlife to become a star, attracting the attention—and the protection—of the Nazi Oberst Heinrich von Starck. To complicate matters further, young foot soldier Falk Harfner’s naïve adoration of Yves threatens everything he’s worked for. So does Aryan ideologue von Grimmstein, rival to von Starck, who sees something “a bit like a Jew” in Yves. When an ill-chosen quip can mean torture at the hands of the Gestapo, being the acclaimed Nightingale of Paris might cost Yves his music and his life.

Ardent by Heloise West

- In the village of Torrenta, master painter Morello has created a color that mimics the most expensive pigment of all, the crimson red. Master Zeno, from strife-ridden Medici Florence, tells him the color gives him a competitive advantage – but Morello must be careful. Fraud is ever-present in the dye and pigment markets. As they work together in Torrenta, Morello falls hard for Zeno’s assistant, Benedetto Tagliaferro, a young man of uncommon beauty and intelligence. Benedetto is still fixed on his old lover, the master painter Leo Guisculo, and cannot return Morello’s affections. But when Leo dies in a terrible accident, it’s to Morello that Zeno and Benedetto turn for help. And Morello soon finds that in Florence, every surface hides layers of intrigue.

[banditchika]

noelle and akarsha’s very fun, very gay (study) date

word count: 4560

fandom: butterfly soup

ship: akarsha/noelle 

author’s notes: i can’t believe i’ve done this? i mean. i can, just as i also know that i stayed up till four to finish this fic, and that w/o my friends i wouldn’t have had completed this at all. thank you @nytenchanter @trashikino @thereforebucket for beta-ing this hot mess!! i couldnt have done this without yall!! anyways please enjoy this fic, it isn’t of course any way associated with butterfly soup canon beyond being set immediately after the game. i really loved playing butterfly soup, n i hope other ppl give it a try too! you can download the game at itch.io!

This is a terrible idea. An awful idea. An idea of catastrophic potential, and she means that in the worst possible way. Just last night, Noelle had sat at her desk and scribbled out a full page of equations to calculate how terrible of an idea this is. Unfortunately, Akarsha is not someone who can be contained within equations.

Noelle drums her fingers against her leg, trying not to stare at her mother from the corner of her eye. The silence presses down on Noelle like a library’s worth of books, and she struggles to bite her tongue. The quiet makes her skin itch — but silence, at least, is bearable. It’s hardly as though speaking with her mother would be beneficial, anyways. Conversations always devolve into screaming matches unless Noelle bites her cheek hard enough to taste iron. No, she doesn’t need that today, of all days. Handling Akarsha in general is trial enough; she doesn’t need an argument with her mother on top of it. Speaking of Akarsha — where is she? Noelle chances a glance at the dashboard, watches the numbers blink green: 12:33, 12:33, 12:33, 12:34…

Her mother sighs and turns the radio on. Mandarin crackles through the speakers of their car. Noelle folds her arms, presses her forehead against the window. She hates this program. It’s news in the barest sense — opinion pieces at best and superstitious fear-mongering at the very worst; and not to forget, a commercial every intermission for beef balls that Noelle thinks Diya would like if Noelle didn’t hate them to the point of refusing to eat them. Noelle’s been listening to that same commercial since she was in fourth grade.

12:53. Noelle squints. Over fifteen minutes past the time they agreed to meet. She scans the front of the library for Akarsha’s ridiculous jacket, or even her stupid buns. Nothing. A few teenagers linger on the steps: a girl with glasses and a denim jacket, a man with spiky blonde hair and a red suit, and someone Noelle vaguely recognizes as an upperclassman.

No sign of Akarsha.

Noelle shifts uneasily. She pulls out her phone and flips it open, keying in Akarsha’s number with practiced efficiency. She could have set her to speed dial like she did Diya, but. Noelle won’t give Akarsha the satisfaction. She can already imagine the teasing that would ensue, and Noelle has better things to do than enable Akarsha’s tomfoolery.

“What are you doing?”

Noelle’s teeth find her cheek. She thinks better of biting down and shows her mom the phone screen, holding her tongue as her mother leans over the console to squint at it. Thank goodness Noelle hasn’t pulled up Akarsha’s contact page. She doesn’t know what she’d do if her mother decides to question Akarsha’s ridiculous icon.

At least her username is no longer YAOI SEME.

“Akarsha is late,” Noelle explains, voice strained. “She’s not here.”

“Then call her. Your friend is so irresponsible.” Noelle bites down. She agrees, but the way her mother twists her words burns at her. So Akarsha is her friend and not competition; but only when it’s convenient? Noelle should be used to this by now, but her patience wears thinner and thinner by the day. It’s worrying. Noelle, of all people, should have control over her emotions.

“How is this girl giving you so much trouble when she can’t even be punctual to a study date?” Noelle’s mother continues. Her teeth cut into her cheek: it’s beginning to feel tender. “You aren’t working hard enough. I’m going to buy new workbooks for you. Finish them when you come home.” Noelle tastes iron. Her mother takes her silence as acquiescence; she turns the knob of the radio with bony fingers. Noelle takes a deep breath and presses call.

Akarsha picks up on the third ring. “What’s cooler than being cool? Iiiiiice cold! Alright alright alright alri — ” “Where are you?” Noelle spits, chancing a glance at her mother. She does not look impressed, but is at least transfixed by whatever story the program anchor is spinning. “You’re twenty minutes late. You said you would be on the steps.”

“… Uh.” Noelle can picture Akarsha’s smile grow strained, eyes flicking away. “I am?”

“You are not!” “Seriously, I am! Come on dude, you’ve got your contacts on, right? I’m in front of the library.”

Noelle frowns. If this is one of Akarsha’s games —

She rolls down the window. The girl sitting on the steps, innocuous in her oversized glasses and denim jacket, raises a hand like a salute. She has a phone pressed to her ear.

“Hey, Frenchman. Missed me, now you gotta kiss me!” Akarsha’s grin is infuriatingly smug, even from thirty five feet away.

Noelle hangs up.

“What’s wrong with your hair?”

“That’s the first thing you say?” Akarsha whispers. “I guess you don’t want none unless I got buns, huh?” She swings her bookbag over her shoulder. Noelle glares at it. A bookbag — an actual, honest to goodness bookbag, without a hint of rainbow or iridescence anywhere. There aren’t even pins decorating it. Noelle didn’t think Akarsha owned anything that wasn’t calculated to be ridiculous and irritating.

“Be serious!” Noelle jabs her in the side. Akarsha stumbles and grabs at her arm, breath whooshing out of her lungs. Noelle doesn’t dare look over her shoulder, where her mother hovers like a vulture over a battlefield. Or Diya racing after a foul ball, or something requiring a similar amount of fervent focus.

“I am, dude, I am.” Akarsha pulls out a seat at a table hidden just behind the stacks and swoops into a bow, gesturing grandly at it. Noelle seethes. “C’mon, where’s the trust?”

She also pulls out a chair for Noelle’s mom. When she shakes her head, Akarsha favors her with a smile that doesn’t turn up the corners of her eyes and sits down. Noelle loathes the sight of it. Akarsha doesn’t look like herself — her foolish, irritating self. She’s wearing pants, for one thing. That should be a good sign. It’s not a good sign. Noelle pulls her things from her bookbag, and Akarsha does the same. Her school supplies are thankfully still her own: there’s Akarsha’s stupid bending pencil, an eraser shaped like a crayon, and — is that one of Noelle’s pens!? Akarsha said she’d returned it!

Noelle’s breath hisses out of her, and she wishes she were close enough to stomp on Akarsha’s toes.

[“Stop that.”] Her mother’s voice is gratingly loud from where she looms behind Noelle. [“You’ll sigh all your virtues away.”]

[“That isn’t scientific.”] Noelle tears a sheet of notebook paper more forcefully than she should. Akarsha doesn’t even lift her head, much less comment. [“It is impossible for virtue to manifest physically, much less have a unit of measurement.”]

[“Still. It’s a bad habit. Concentrate on your work.”] Noelle bites her cheek and writes her name with a heavy hand: upper right hand corner, name, date, and period.

Noelle isn’t one to put stock in miracles — those are for idiots and slackers, and she is neither — but Noelle is almost willing to become a believer when Akarsha — somehow! — manages to restrain herself from doing anything foolish in front of Noelle’s mother. It’s terrifying, frankly. Akarsha cups her cheek in her palm, turns her gaze towards her work, and then scribbles away without pause with Noelle’s (stolen!) pen. She doesn’t lift her head from her textbook, not even once. Her assignment, aside from sloppily boxed answers, is immaculate; no sign of little green men or ridiculously large-eyed anime characters in the margins. Akarsha hasn’t asked a single question: not even if pigeons have feelings.

Noelle is so busy sneaking glances at her that the nib of her own pen skitters across the edge of her paper, leaving an ugly line where a neat three should have been. Noelle sighs — her mother’s eyes bore into her back — and carefully whites it out.

It’s almost terrifyingly easy to fall into a routine. Akarsha is so quiet that Noelle can almost forget she’s there. If it weren’t for the way she flips the pen between her fingers, Akarsha would have blended into the library, just another faceless student against the backdrops of shelves and books. Noelle can almost imagine that she’s alone in her room, with nothing but the snake on her bed for company.

How disturbing. Akarsha is loud, irritating, her very presence like a desperate cry for attention. Noelle doesn’t like this.

[“I’m leaving.”] She nearly jumps when her mother speaks again, after nearly — Noelle checks her watch — half an hour of oppressive silence. Noelle says nothing, then startles when her mother presses a thin ten dollar bill into her hand. Her fingers close around it. [“Go buy lunch when you’re finished studying, then come home.”]

[“Alright.”] Her mother is in an unusually good mood. Noelle is accustomed to pushing and pushing and pushing without thanks — only the expectation that she’ll have to do even more, even better, striving for a finish line that moves further every time Noelle thinks she has it in sight. This is… unusual, but even Noelle gets pocket money sometimes. Like during New Years, when her parents parade her in front of their relatives and Noelle plays the violin, then patiently plays even more for curious aunts and uncles, eager to point at her and whisper to their own children. Sometimes, Noelle even gets to keep some of the crisp bills in those scented red envelopes. She saves those for the days that she manages to sneak away to visit a boba shop with Diya and Akarsha.

Noelle folds the bill into the plastic of her binder. Perhaps she’ll do that now. She feels full to bursting with questions as Akarsha lifts her head and politely — politely! — bids her mother goodbye. What. Noelle hadn’t known Akarsha was even capable of basic etiquette — or at least around her. She still remembers that disgusting D-triad fart. Animal.

With Noelle’s mother out of sight, Akarsha sighs and pushes her glasses up to the top of her head. She rubs her eyes. Something in Noelle snaps.

“Alright, that’s enough,” she says, slapping her palms against the table. She regrets it immediately when they begin to sting. Akarsha raises her brows, the beginnings of a smile playing on her lips. “What’s up, dude?”

“Explain.” Noelle gestures at her, all of her. Akarsha has had her stupid hairstyle since the very day they’d met. Seeing her now, with all of it hanging loose around her face, worries her. Yes, worries, because Noelle’s heart is beating too quickly, and everything about this situation feels off, like coming home only to find all the furniture moved an inch to the side. Noelle is right to be concerned. Everything about the girl in front of her is inconsistent with the Akarsha that Noelle sees every day. She wants to know why.

“It’s cosplay.” Akarsha laughs and leans out of slapping range. “I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

“There are many unknowable things in the universe.” Akarsha strikes a thoughtful pose. Noelle sinks in her seat to kick her shin. She winces. “Look: this is fine, isn’t it? Your mom’s off your back, I get to wear a sweet jacket — everyone’s winning!”

“I do not understand how a change in attire, hairstyle, and behavior would be considered a universal victory.”

Akarsha clutches at her chest. “My kokoro is brokoro, Frenchman! I thought we were buddies, pals, homies!” She wipes her eyes. “Friendos to the endos, homodach — ”

Noelle raises a finger.

“Never,” she hisses, “say that to me again.” Noelle scowls and sips at her thermos. Akarsha’s giggles echo through the stacks, and she only falls quiet when a librarian pokes his head around a shelf and glares.

Akarsha is still smiling. Noelle shakes her head. Though her answer is still less than satisfactory,  Noelle is content with her being normal again.

Akarsha pulls out a pencil bag shaped like a fish. Every scale is printed in perfect detail. It looks ready to flail its way out of her hand, and Noelle scrunches up her face, ready to scold.

Yes, normal. As much as Akarsha is ever normal, anyways.

“It’s hot. Must be my fault.”

“It is not.” Noelle ties her jacket around her waist. Typical Californian weather: chilly enough for a sweater in the morning and scorching hot in the afternoon. Oakland, however, tends to be cooler than other cities in the state. Noelle blames global warming for this atrocity.

“It’s gotta be. That’s why there’s no clouds today, y’see — ” Akarsha squints into the sun. Noelle smacks her. She’s going to ruin her eyesight! “The sun saw me and parted them to say, ‘shizz girl, you fine.’ And that’s why it’s so hot.”

“That is not why.” Noelle takes a deep breathe to explain precipitation, condensation, the movements of the planet and sun — but Akarsha pulls a rubber band off her wrist and Noelle’s explanation dries up in her throat.

Akarsha gathers her hair with both hands, pulling it up to expose the nape of her neck. Noelle stares: because she wants to strangle her, obviously. But gently. Just enough so that Akarsha would stop spouting stupidity like a fountain.

“‘Shizz girl, you fine.’”

“What?” “That’s what you’re thinkin’ right now, huh?” Akarsha puts a fist to her chin, denim creaking across her shoulders. Noelle scowls. “And so the Frenchman learned to love, the spell cast upon her castle thawed, and the faithful servants of the Eiffel Tower knew humanity once again.” “Shut up! This isn’t a Disney production.” Noelle steps on Akarsha’s foot. It feels bizarre. Shoes! She’s wearing actual shoes, like a sane person! Noelle glowers at Akarsha’s feet, cursing her flip flops as much as the lack of them. “And how many times do I have to tell you to stop saying that!? I don’t live in the Eiffel Tower. I am not French. This is misinformation.”

“How mean,” Akarsha sighs, sticking her hands in her pockets. She hops up to sit at the foot of a statue overlooking the steps and peers down at Noelle. She glares right back, defiant. “So, what are you gonna do now?”

“I don’t understand. Please rephrase the question.” “I dunno what other way I can say it, dude.” Akarsha’s fingers fan out, shoulders hunching as though to shrug. “Like, we’re done here, aren’t we?” She gestures at their book bags, the papers and textbooks and supplies neatly tucked away. “Study date’s over. What are you gonna do now?”

“… I’ll purchase something to drink, then call my mother.” Noelle traces a finger along the slit of her binder, where the money hides behind a copy of her schedule.

“You’re skippin’ lunch?” Akarsha squints at her arms. “They say you are what you eat, but you don’t gotta take being a noodle so religiously. Relax. Smell the roses. Feed the Beast. Del Taco.”

“….” Akarsha seems to be making up for her docility tenfold, every infuriating quirk magnified now that they’ve left the library. Noelle doesn’t have the energy to deal with this. She starts down the steps without Akarsha, only turning to wait once she’s reached the bottom. The tell-tale sound of feet skipping — and slipping — follow her down, until Akarsha thumps right next to her. “Woah.” Akarsha’s arms pinwheel. Noelle grabs her by the shoulder and steadies her, eyebrows raised. “Converse — minus two to acrobatics.”

“And here I thought that clowns were supposed to be good at gymnastics.” “How mean!” “I only speak the truth.” The banter and tomfoolery is comforting, in its own way. Despite the memory of the quiet, somber Akarsha that Noelle can’t burn from her mind and the new hairstyle and attire, it’s still her. Still the same idiot fool.

Noelle glances at her watch. 1:36. Her family won’t expect a call from her until at least three thirty. She looks at Akarsha: Akarsha, her hair tied in a knot at the base of her neck and glasses sitting atop her head, looking almost respectable with her mouth closed and her perpetual slouch hidden by a curtain of denim.

She can work with this. Noelle folds her arms across her chest, a smile tugging up at the corners of her lips. “Akarsha. Did you bring money with you?”

“Hi, can I get a… uhhhh…. Taro milk tea with pudding?” Akarsha glances over her shoulder. Noelle tilts her head, then winces as the weight of her ponytail pulls at her scalp. She needs a haircut — to thin it out, if nothing else.  

“A milk tea with boba, please. No ice.” The cashier rings them up. Akarsha pays. 

They seat themselves as far away from the incriminating table as possible, but Noelle still scowls at the leg that Min-seo had broken. It has since been repaired with liberal amounts of tape, but Noelle won’t forgive. Noelle won’t forget.

“Dude, I can’t believe that worked.”

“We were disguised, last we came.” Noelle counts change from her coin purse and hands it over to Akarsha, along with a few folded dollar bills. Akarsha takes it.

Noelle bends at the waist, tugging her hair free from its tail. It falls in a curtain around her face. Noelle grimaces as she straightens up again, sweeping it back from her eyes. She turns to see Akarsha grinning. “What.”

“For a second there, you looked like the Grudge.” A clicking groan grinds out of Akarsha’s throat. She croaks for a full ten seconds. Noelle stares, unimpressed. “You should wear your hair like that next Halloween. I bet you could make a little kid cry.” “And since when were your costume choices credible enough for me to take your advice?” Noelle crosses her arms. “All you did for Halloween this year was remove your windbreaker.”

“What are you talking about Frenchman? I should have gotten an award for my costume, it was so terrfyin’. I was…” Akarsha grins. “A heterosexual.”

Noelle almost smiles. She bares her teeth instead, but Akarsha’s eyes crinkle anyways, bright from behind the glare of her glasses. Whatever. Noelle will let it slide, just this once; she knows from experience that pressing the point will result in more terrible jokes than Noelle ever needs to hear in her lifetime. If Akarsha tells her that she’s ‘all bi herself’ one more time…

“Hey, what if we spiked up Min’s hair and like, dressed her up in orange? Do you think we could sneak her in that way?” Akarsha puts a fist to her chin. Noelle glances at the windows, where Min’s face — and Diya’s, to Noelle’s outrage — is plastered for everyone to see. NO ENTRY is scrawled under Min’s picture.

She scowls at it. She’s… well, pleased for them both, she supposes, but no one has any business looking so self-satisfied after getting banned from a restaurant on their first date.

“I doubt it. Her face is plastered all over the store. Disguise or no, any employee that failed to recognize her wouldn’t be worth the air conditioning they stand in.” “How mean! … Seriously, that’s harsh. Remind me never to work at a store you’re managin’.”

“Hm. Well, I doubt either of us will ever have to work in a restaurant. Our grades are high enough.” Noelle’s clawed and fought her way up to the top, Akarsha trailing just at her heels. What else would their hard work have been for, if not to secure themselves a privileged future? Noelle turns her nose into the air and grins. The motion feels plastic when Akarsha’s eyes flick away. “Nah, I guess you wouldn’t. Not that I wanna either — I don’t hate myself enough to work in a fast food joint if I had another choice.” Akarsha takes off her glasses and fiddles with the arms. She is strangely hesitant. “But it’s an option. Options are good.”

“I don’t understand. If you’re the best, then you are the optimal candidate.” Noelle frowns. “You can go anywhere in your field if you are the only option.” Akarsha opens her mouth, then seems to think better of it. Eventually she shakes her head. “I’m just sayin’ that you never know what might happen. Maybe kaiju will descend on the planet and we have to pilot giant robots while having identity crises to fight ‘em. Maybe someone’s gonna leak alien files, and all the stuff that we put stock into is gonna burst around us. Pop! Like a bubble. Or maybe we’re gonna wake up one day and realize that this, all of this?” Akarsha gasps, hand over her heart. “Oh no! All just a dream.”

She tries to punch Noelle’s arm. Noelle leans away.

“Come on, Noelle! If it hurts, then we’re actually here. Unless it’s an elaborate simulation and even our sensory experiences aren’t real — say, ever heard of simulacra? It’s wild stuff — ”

“Shut up!” Noelle, fed up, grabs Akarsha’s face. Akarsha’s eyes are wide as Noelle claps both hands over her mouth. Noelle shakes her head. “Someone with so much to say should put their mouth to good use. But of course you can’t even do that much!”

Akarsha’s brow furrows. Noelle shrieks when something slimy paints a wet stripe along her palm and leaps back, arms pinwheeling. She trips and folds up on herself, landing on the floor in a heap.

Every eye in the store turns to her.

“… Sorry,” she mutters, raising a hand toward the nearest employee. The waitress glares at Noelle as though her fall triggered a reflex to fight and kill.

Akarsha’s whispered ‘yikes!’ pierces the quiet. Noelle wants to wither, and smacks away every attempt Akarsha makes to help her up.

“Dude, that must have been… the Invisible Man.” Noelle wipes her hand on the arm of Akarsha’s jacket while Akarsha isn’t looking, too busy scrubbing her cheek against her shoulder to notice.

“There is no Invisible Man! Why did you lick me!?” Noelle fumbles in her bookbag for hand sanitizer. Of all the disgusting things to do! The Akarsha that Noelle knows and loathes has returned in full-force.

“Uh, ‘cuz you were grabbing my face? That’s a normal reaction to have!”

“No, it is not!” Noelle pops the cap and lets the sanitizer pool in her palm. She scrubs vigorously. “Do you know where my hands have been!?”

“… Nowhere fun, I hope.” Akarsha shoves her glasses on her face, then seems to think better of it and pushes it up above her temple. She grins, so widely that her face scrunches up with it. “That’s not how they flirt in France, right? Grab people and talk like movie villains?”

“For the final time, stop telling people I’m — ”

“Order number 16!”

“Wao! That’s us!” Akarsha whirls around her and bumps a shoulder into Noelle’s back. Her voice is strained, like she’s trying to fight back a laugh. “Come on, Frenchman, we can talk about your background later. Like your robot roots. Take me to your leader.”

“Akaaaarsha!”   

“We should avoid Snowcastle from now on. At least for a few months.” Noelle pokes her straw at her drink. The pointed end bounces off the plastic top. Noelle glowers at it, then tries again. This time, she breaks through.

“Yeah. I think we left an impression on the cashier.” Akarsha’s sitting on the curb, drink balanced between her knees. She’s already drained a quarter of her taro tea and eagerly sucks up the pudding gilding the bottom. “At least we didn’t get banned in disguise!”

“Don’t say that. The bar is too low; we are not repeating the Diya and Min-seo incident.”

“Okay, but you gotta admit that was hilarious.”

“It was not! We destroyed private property, and technically we aren’t even allowed to be here!”

“But here you are. You’re doing a crime, dude. I’m proud of you!”

“I don’t want it!”

Gravel crunches as a car pulls into the lot. Her mother is behind the wheel; so soon? But she’d only called… half an hour ago. Noelle’s brow furrows. She could have sworn that only half that had passed.

Akarsha stands. Her fingers flex around her drink. The glasses are back on her face, and Noelle still isn’t accustomed to them. It’s likely because Akarsha doesn’t seem to be as well, constantly hooking them off the collar of her shirt or pushing it up onto her head.

“I’m going now,” Noelle says stiffly, then wonders why. Her mother is here; it’s time to leave. That much is evident.

“Yeah.”

And for some reason, Noelle doesn’t go. Her feet are glued to the concrete. She feels like she’s in class and someone’s just solved a problem incorrectly on the board. It’s as if Noelle has something to correct — but what? It’s not as if anything’s wrong.

“Your face.” Noelle gestures at it. Akarsha’s eyebrows raise.

“I sure do got one!” She strikes a pose, index and thumb forming an ‘L’ around her chin. “Compliment me like one of your French girls, Noelle.”

“Shut up.” Noelle snaps her fingers and wishes she could pull out her calculator. There is no uncertainty in math. Akarsha is nothing if not a wild card, and interacting with her always feels like a game of chess. Noelle has to have the right pieces in the right places — and right now, she has neither. “You still look strange.” “That’s not a compliment — ”

“But, it’s not terrible.” Akarsha’s mouth hangs open. Noelle pushes it closed. “Your face is nice without the buns.”

Akarsha doesn’t seem to be able to make noise, much less speak. Noelle counts it as a victory and hurries away without saying goodbye.

For some reason, her ears are burning.

“A drink?” Her mother eyes Noelle’s cup as she folds herself into the passenger seat. Newspapers crinkle as Noelle tucks her feet inside, then closes the door.

“It was with my own money.”

“Did your friend suggest it?”

“No. Akarsha works hard.” Noelle sips her boba. It doesn’t seem as sweet as it had just moments ago, the high of winning a victory withering to ash on her tongue.

“Hm.” Surprisingly, her mother doesn’t protest. The radio is silent, and Noelle lets herself sway with the car as they turn a corner. “Her school supplies were frivolous. Don’t let her be a bad influence on you. You cannot be distracted in your studies.”

“I know. She’s a good study partner.”

“Do not help her too much. Unless you get something back, you’re only helping the competition.”

Noelle is halfway done with her drink. Home is still fifteen minutes away. “She’s my friend,” she hisses, throat tight.

“She is the one you do projects with?” At Noelle’s nod, her mother continues: “Next time you study together, do it at her house. Driving you to the library is too far, and if you are going to get drinks, you are not working.”

“… Her house?”

“Yes. Call her tonight and ask. If you are going to study, do it in a place without distractions.” Noelle’s mother glances at her from the corner of her eye. Noelle does her best not to seem too pleased.

She tries to picture what kind of face Akarsha will make when she calls tonight. Will she be surprised? Embarrassed? That’s an expression Noelle wishes she could see. She can still remember how Akarsha’s entire face had seemed to pale when she triggered the alarm at the school library.

Noelle hides a smile in her palm. Not even an hour after leaving Akarsha speechless, and she already has another victory under her belt.

[snake-house]

Ron Weasley X Male!Reader- are you sure?.

Ron Weasley X Male!Reader warnings: sexual themes [barely there tbh] he/him pronouns used for reader *set during '8th' year for returning 7th year students after the war **reader is an actual 7th year and is a muggleborn ***Also reader is a ravenclaw and ron is probs a little ooc ___ "You've been staring at him for an awful long time," Hermione chimed, grinning at the redhead. Ron flushed, "I have not," He denied, "I just don't understand why someone would read at the dinner table." Both Hermione and Harry gave him a look that only resulted in his face rivaling his hair color, "I didn't see you having an issue with it since we've become friends." Hermione commented. 

"You actually ate while you read, he's not eating anything," Ron mumbled, "And I wasn't staring." "Sure you weren't," Harry grinned, "Maybe you should say something if you're concerned. His name is [Name] by the way, just in case you wanted it." "I wasn't!" His outburst caused the table beside the Gryffindors to turn and look, including you. Curse Professor Mcgonagall and insisting on house unity by round tables, if only they had their old tabes you wouldn't have been able to hear him. You only spared a glance at the loud Gryffindors before turning back to your book. "And.." Hermione leaned closer to the redhead with a mischievous grin lighting her face, "He's gay, if that was what you were worried about." "Hermione!" He hissed at the brunette, who simply sat back in her chair covering her laugh as Harry was on the other side of her. Ron tried to avoid looking at you, but after a solid five minutes, he couldn't help it. He glanced over to see you being chastised by Terry and shoving a plate of food in front of you. Ron was thankful for Terry at that moment, glad to see you roll your eyes and nodded as you started to eat. "See, you had nothing to worry about," Hermione chimed in. "Oi, shut it." He fired back, and this time he refused to blush at being caught, "Hey Harry, did you ever find out if we were allowed to play quidditch this year?" "Yeah, Mcgonagall said we should talk to Madam Hooch, that she would explain how the year would pan out," Harry explained between bites of mashed potatoes. Ron nodded, standing up, "Well, we should talk to her during free period tomorrow." "Where are you going?" Neville asked. "Just going to turn in early," Ron said with a wave of his hand as he walked away from the table. As soon as Ron was out of sight, Hermione and Harry turned to look at each other, and their expressions told each other they had the same idea in mind. "You'll talk to Luna, and I'll talk to [Name]. I can tell that he's going to be hopeless, so I suppose we can intervene now." The brunette said. "Will do, see you later in the common room," Harry said as he jumped up to make his way over to where Luna sat with Ginny a few tables away. Hermione watched as Ginny's eyes widened as Harry talked, but suddenly grinned in a mischievous way as she scooted closer to Luna and Harry to get in on the plan. "Hey [Name]?" Hermione said as she sat down in the empty seat beside you. You looked at the girl as she sat down and gave her a smile, "Hey, what's up?" She returned her smile, "I was wondering what you were doing for the next Hogsmeade weekend? It's two weeks from now, and if you didn't have any plans, I wanted to invite you to come with us this time." You were confused by her offer, seeing as whenever she talked to you, it was about school work and such. Luna introduced you two the trio and her other Gryffindor friends at the beginning of the year, and that's where you got your connection to them, but you have yet to truly 'hang out' with any of them. "If it makes you feel better, Luna is coming, and you're more than welcome too Terry!" Hermione added with a grin, as the other Ravenclaw was listening in. Terry blushed at being caught but simply nodded. You bit your lip, you have yet to go out on a Hogsmeade weekend this year, and it was already February, "I guess I'll tag along. I've been meaning to get new quills anyways." Hermione beamed and shot Harry a smile to where he was still chatting with Luna and Ginny, "Great! Meet us at the entrance hall at eleven and we'll have lunch together before we shop." -- "You didn't tell me he was coming!" Ron hissed under his breath as you and Terry bounced into the entrance hall. Well, you bounced in, Terry walked normally. Harry smiled innocently, "I didn't? I thought I said 'Hey Ron, by the way, the boy you're gay for is coming with us tomorrow'." Harry laughed as Ron blushed seven shades brighter than his hair and hastily covered Harry's mouth with his hands in embarrassment. "I'm not gay for him," He denied yet again. "Are you sure?" Hermione asked with a tilt of her head, "I'm pretty sure you are, and I'm pretty sure you should make a move. He's terribly sweet, I know he would at least give you a chance, even if he didn't return your feelings." Ron grumbled under his breath about his friends ganging up on him. "[Name]!" Hermione waved her hands at the two of you walked up, "Glad you could make it. We are waiting on Luna and Ginny, so once they're here, we'll head out." "Alright, thank you for inviting us by the way," You said with a bright smile, sticking close to Terry in a way that made a stab of jealousy wash through Ron. Harry smiled, "Of course, it's our pleasure. Ah, there they are, let's go now." He said as the redhead and blonde walked up hand-in-hand. The walk to Hogsmeade was rather loud with all the different voices talking and chatting about nonsense. "[Name]," Luna sang, "You should tell everyone what you told me about after you graduate." She said with a serene smile, making your stomach twist. She obviously knew something that you didn't. You blushed as all eyes were turned to you, "U-Uh, why? It's rather boring, I wouldn't want bother anyone with it." You stammered. "Nonsense, we'd love to hear it!" Ginny grinned, "Luna only told me parts of it." "W-Well, Professor Flitwick told me over christmas break that he got word of a dragon reserve being opened in Wales. He said they're taking in trainees who wish to enter the field of dragonology. An-And he said that I was accepted once I graduate," You blushed, "Charlie Weasley is supposed to be leading the whole operation, so I'll be his apprentice of some sort, even if there will be a few of us." "I didn't know Charlie was coming back," Ron yelled in awe, "He's the best at what he does, you'll be in good hands, so you don't have to worry!" Ron beamed, completely forgetting about his nervousness around you at the news his brother was moving back. "Thank you," You whispered, blushing harder Ron's gaze. "That's not boring at all," Hermione said with a laugh, "You are too self conscious, we like your company [Name]." "She's right [Name]," Terry agreed, "And too hard on yourself." You nodded solemnly, this wasn't the first time Terry or anyone else has told you this. "I'm going to have to owl Charlie when we get back and tell him off that he didn't tell any of us that he was coming back," Ron in an irritated voice. "He did tell us, mum got a letter over christmas break like [Name] said. You were just too busy moping around that you disappointed to find out you were pining after a boy and stuffing your face with rolls." Ginny stated in a matter-of-fact way that quite frankly pissed Ron off. But, then he blushed at what she said, noticing you perk up at the news, "Oh sod off Ginny! I wasn't moping about." "Yes you were, you've got a little crush you can't get over and when you realized it wasn't Hermione, you got sad," The younger redhead made a mocking pouting face at her brother. "Why you little-" Just as Ron was about to lunge at his sister, Harry and Hermione stepped between them as Ginny laughed. "Right, anyways, Charlie is coming home and [Name] has the privilege of working with him and learning for the best! Lunch time," Harry stated, and expertly hiding his smile. You slowed down with Terry to walk at the back of the group and looked up at the older Ravenclaw, "Uh, Terry," You whispered, holding onto the sleeve of his robes. "Yeah?" "Is... Is it a bad thing to find out you're gay? You were fine when I told you I was gay, but... Why does Ron seem disappointed he likes boys too?" You asked, sounding like a child with your chosen words and quivering voice. "It's not a bad thing, and if anyone makes you think so I'll kick their arses for you," You giggled and nodded, feeling better with his confirmation, "I mean it. I think he's only acting that way because you're here." "What does that mean?" Your question was ignored as the group entered the lively Three Broomsticks and headed for an empty table. A round booth was chosen for the large group that resulted in you being smushed between Terry and Ron. You watched the others mingle and talk with one another, even Terry joined into the conversation when it switched from Quidditch to something along the lines of NEWTs and school. "So, why are you interested in dragons [Name]?" Ginny asked from the other side of Ron. You turned to her to answer, but thought for a moment, "Well... My parents are muggles, so I grew up in the muggle world until I started Hogwarts at eleven, and in the muggle world, dragons don't exist. They were something in fairy tales, they were fierce creatures that killed people and stole princesses. So, when I found out they were real, and people studied them for a living, I cried with happiness." You said with a small laugh and blush, "Kinda embarrassing, but I was so happy." "Huh, I always forget the muggle world is so different than ours." Ginny mused, "But that's super cute," She giggled. You blushed deeper in embarrassment, "A-Ah, thanks I suppose..." Just then, everyone's ordered drinks came to the table. After a few moments of everyone else drifting into other conversations, as well as a pointed look from Hermione, Ron leaned towards you, "I could put in a good word with Charlie if you'd like. I mean, like- uh, so he takes it easy on you and..." He trailed off lamely, blushing as red as his hair. You nodded and smiled sheepishly at the redhead, "Thank you, that's sweet of you." You said quietly. "So, uh, what are you doing later?" The redness in Ron's cheeks have yet to go down. "Nothing really, I needed to get some new quills, but other than that..." Now it was your turn to trail off. It looked like Ron was having an inner battle with himself, but as your food arrived, he finally said, "We could go together, I mean, if you wouldn't mind I'd like to tag along with you to get your quills." "U-Uh, sure, that would be nice." You looked up male with a small shy smile, unsure of what to make of your little interaction with the redhead. After everyone was finished eating, you left the Three Broomsticks with the others. You first looked for Terry, seeing as you usually kept close to the older Ravenclaw since you started school, but saw him heading off with Luna and Ginny, opposite the direction you needed to go. And then Harry and Hermione took off, saying they were meeting someone by the Shrieking Shack. That left you with Ron. "Uh, sorry about that," Ron said as he scratched the back of his head, "So uh, you said quills?" You blushed and nodded, not saying anything as they two of you headed towards Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.   "Um..." You started as the silence between you and the Gryffindor started to become stressed and awkward, "You know what I'm doing after school, uh, what were you planning on doing after graduating?" Ron glanced at you before shoving his hands in his pockets, "I was thinking about entering the Auror Program, but the more I've been thinking about it, and the fact Harry has decided to look into becoming a medi-wizard, I'm not sure." "Well, what else interests you?" You asked conversationally. "You." The word left his lips before he could even process what he was saying. Instantly you blushed to the tips of your ears and, and so did Ron. "I-I mean," He stuttered out, "I-I meant youth! I was thinking about joining my brother at his joke shop!" He spit out quickly, "I like kids, I want to work with kids," He added in a quieter tone as if it would help his case. You were frozen in shock at his words. It could have been from simply shock, but it was because you couldn't believe the boy you had a crush on just said that! Suddenly you took a step forward and gripped the front of Ron's robes and looked up at him with wide-pleading eyes, "Do you mean that?" You whispered. Ron blushed fiercely, "W-Well..." He looked away from you and scratched the back of his head awkwardly. He almost couldn't contain himself with the whole situation and how you were looking at him. It was almost as if that's what you wanted him to say. Wait... "Do you like me?" He asked. You flushed harder and instantly let go of his robes, "U-Uh," You fiddled with the hem of your sleeves, "I-I, um, maybe?" "Maybe?" He parroted, "Really?" You looked away and nodded, "Since my fourth year," You started shakily, still refusing to look at him, "Since I formally met you when Dumbledore's Army came to be, I... I uh instantly had a crush on you." Ron stared at you with a dumbfound look, not really believing what he was hearing. He couldn't believe that you've had a crush on him for what has seemed like forever. And how you looked confessing to him was getting to him. You seemed so frail and ready for rejection as you stared off at something to your left, it broke him, yet made his heart flutter at the fact. "B-But," Ron tuned his attention back to you as you spoke back up, "I always saw you sending wanting glances at Hermione, I knew I never had a chance. I mean, I'm gay and I was positive you were straight, so I kept quiet and hoped my feelings went away. And when my parents got word of what the Dark Lord did when he took over the ministry and pulled me out of school, my feelings returned full force at never being able to see you again." "[Name]," He said in a small voice. "Then I come back, and now I got to share classes with you since we are technically in the same year, and the feelings got overwhelming, so I told Terry and Luca to get it off my chest." You laughed at the memory of the two giving you a blank look, "But apparently they already knew. I'm sorry for rambling, but now that I've told you, I can't stop letting everything out." "It's ok," He said, taking a hesitant step towards you, cupping your cheek to make you look at him, "It's ok... because it was you that made me realize I wasn't straight and at least bi, because when I started the year, all I noticed was you." Ron didn't know where he was getting all of his confidence out of the blue, so he let to go before the confidence left him, "When I saw you for the first time in our Care of Magical Creatures class, I couldn't stop staring and never knew why." You tried to look away from the other male, but the warmth from his hand made you immobile. "Everything about you memorized me. The way you looked so intensely in the class, how cute you looked when you got called on when you didn't even raise your hand, the way you would talk animately with your housemates over who knows what, it all intrigued me. Hermione was the one who caught all the staring at you that I did and confronted me before the holidays. She said I had a thing for you, but refused to elaborate on what she meant by 'thing'. But when she came over for Christmas, she and Harry explained it, saying I liked you a lot more than as a peer. At that point I still thought I liked Hermione that way, even though she's with Viktor again. "I was only upset when I found out like Ginny said because I couldn't believe my own feelings. I thought I was straight, even though my actions contradicted the fact." Ron blushed and it was him who averted his eyes this time, "And I don't think I've fully accepted my feelings for you until I found out you liked blokes a few weeks ago..." "C-Can you, er, will you date me then?" You stammered, "I want to be your boyfriend, but I don't know if two weeks is enough to accept your feelings, so I-I'm willing to just try it out until you really figure out your feelings." You added in a mumbled tone. "No!" He shouted that made you jumped, "I mean," He coughed to clear his throat, "I want you to be my boyfriend, I want to be your boyfriend, and I want to date you. I'm ready, I just really want to kiss you right now." He admitted, slowly drawing his hand away from your face. You grabbed his hand with yours and held it back against your cheek and nuzzled it with a small smile, "You don't have to be my boyfriend to kiss me. People can do that while dating, even if it's not official." "I want it to be official with you." He whispered, slowly inching his face closer to yours. You took the final push and pressed your lips against his, instantly melting against him. Ron's free hand rested at your waist, shyly pulling you closer to his being. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held him as if you were afraid he was going to vanish. Everything about the kiss lit something within the two of you that neither could ignore. It was sweet and intoxicating, and you easily felt you losing yourself in it. But before Ron could take it a step further by nipping at your lips with a wish to deep the kiss, there was a catcall in your direction. "I didn't think you had it in you mate!" Harry said with a wide grin. "I did, I just hoped it wasn't going to be a repeat of Slughorn's party," Hermione grimaced at the horrid memory of the incident with Ron and Lavender. The both of you flushed and immediately separated and let go of the other as you stepped away. "You owe me five galleons Potter," Hermione said with renewed joy and shot Harry a smirk. Harry cursed but with a sigh reached into his pocket and drew the owed money and handed it to the brunette. You grabbed Ron's hand and tugged him to your eye level and whispered, "Let's head back early," You whispered. "Yeah, I don't really wish to be around my best friends who think it's amusing to bet on my love life anyways," He said and used your clasped hands to pull you away from the giggling Gryffindors. "We love you Ron! And we are happy for the both of you!" Hermione called as your forms headed for the school once again. You grinned at the redhead, who returned your smile with a hint of what was interrupted was going to be resumed. Let's just say your quills were long forgotten, and you made your relationship more than official by the end of the night. -- The next day there was a box of new quills on your dorm bed signed from Luna, along with a package of condoms with a hopeful note that you used protection last night.

[nickireadstfc]

The Foxhole Court, Chapter 8 – The Hangover: Neil Josten Edition

In which Neil has a hangover that could kill a man, attempts to actually kill a few men (read: the monsters), Wymack is still the best person alive, and Andreil engage in some Totally Straight Bro Time™.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The Foxhole Court.

So, last chapter was a train wreck. I’ve had lots of you coming up to me trying to restore Andrew’s honour and telling me it wasn’t all his fault, but still. The monsters have lost some serious sympathy points in my books.

(I’ve also been told it gets worse, which, might I add, is not reassuring what the hell.)

Let’s get crackin’ and see if our boy Neil is still alive.

           As soon as Neil could breathe again, he twisted and shoved Nicky as hard as he could. He was too sick and weak to push Nicky off the other side of the bed, but the boots he was still wearing would leave bruises on Nicky’s arms and chest.

Alive and kicking, pun absolutely intended.

Also, GOOD. Hit that fucker.

My initial love for Nicky is going through a serious dilemma right now, by the way. On one hand, he’s still the comic relief, which I love, he’s funny and loud and a much-needed ray of sunshine in this otherwise pretty depressing monster squad. On the other hand, he does not seem to understand consent, which goes against every principle I have.

He might have to settle as the Problematic Fave. We’ll see.

           “Hey, hey,” Nicky said, trying to deflect him. “It’s fine. Ouch! Relax, will you?”

           “Don’t you fucking touch me,” Neil said savagely.

I have a strong feeling Neil says everything savagely. That’s like saying Andrew said something murderously, Seth said something angrily, or Renee said something gently and glitter rained down from the sky, the sun bursts through the clouds and angels sang of everything good in this world.

It’s like, duh, that’s how they function.

           “He’s awake?” someone asked from the door.

           Neil snatched the alarm clock up and hurled it at the new arrival, who ducked out of the way just in time.

Attempted Kill Count: II.

Aaron and Nicky try to make him feel better by offering him water and food, and carrying him since he can hardly stand due to his Massive Cracker Dust Hangover, an act of niceness that I am totally not buying.

You drug him and were planning to do God knows what with him if he hadn’t had himself knocked out in time, and now you’re trying to play good Samaritan? Y’all can exit stage left.

           “Drink up,” Nicky said. “You’ll need all the water you can get today. Crackers’ll dehydrate you like nobody’s business.”

           Neil answered by upending his glass on the floor.

           “That’s mature,” Aaron said.

           Neil threw the glass at him.

Attempted Kill Count: III. Neil is on a roll today.

Neil, smart runaway that he is, does not buy the monsters’ Samaritan act either and instead does what I’d advised Nicky and Aaron to do: Exit stage left, that is to say, he gets the fuck out of there.

As soon as he’s in the vicinity of a payphone, he calls Matt and the other not-entirely insane people on this team, which is pretty much the only sensible thing to do in this kind of fuckery.

           “I’m in Columbia with Andrew.“

           “You’re – what?” Matt went from half-asleep to wide awake in a heartbeat. The alarm in his voice only made Neil feel worse. “Jesus, Neil, what the hell did you do that for? Did he–“ Matt aborted that and asked again, “Are you all right?”

           “I’m fine,” Neil lied.

The fact that this is alarming news to Matt and the gang is fucking alarming news to me. Please don’t tell me this is what happened to Matt last year. Please.

Also, Neil “I’m fine” Josten strikes again.

I am instantly proven right as we find out that yes, this is exactly what happened to Matt last year. Poor Billie Joe. You just rose so much in my sympathy ranks. <3

Neil truck-hitchhikes home which we are skipping because it is, frankly, it’s not that interesting. However, as he gets home, it is time for my undisputed fave to appear again:

           Neil wasn’t quite ready to face Andrew yet and he didn’t want to deal with his teammates’ curiosity over his prolonged absence, so he went to Wymack’s apartment instead.

Clearly, Wymack is the solution to everything. Glad my boy Neil and I are on the same page here.

           “You should have called me,” Wymack said. “Me or Abby or any of the upperclassmen. All you had to do was say you didn’t want to stay with Andrew. Any of us would have come and gotten you.”

           Neil stared at him, to startled to respond.

Hello, and welcome to our popular show Neil Doesn’t Realize People Actually Care About Him, episode 1 of a billion.

Wymack apparently has some strong feelings about Andrew and Neil not killing each other entirely, which is why he calls down Andrew for some Quality Bro Time™ with his bf Neil – in typical Wymack-y manner.

           Neil heard [Wymack’s] furious voice loud and clear.

           “You have five seconds to get your retarded psycho ass to my apartment! You even think about telling me no and I swear to god I’ll throw Kevin’s contract down a garbage disposal.”

My dude, maybe think twice about using the R-word. Otherwise, what level of i c o n i c. #dicksoutforwymack

Andrew, miraculously, follows that kind invitation instantly, and this is where stuff gets good.

           “Have a nice stroll?” he asked, interrupting Wymack’s tirade.

           Neil returned his cold stare with a heated “Fuck you.”

           Wymack snapped his fingers in front of Andrew’s face, trying to get Andrew to look at him instead of Neil.

Tough luck, buddy, have fun prying those two apart. The fuckers even switch to goddamned German to have some private one-on-one time, ahem.

Pity Neil has to reveal his secret language superpowers so early in the game, though. I was waiting for the epic moment where Neil chimes into a Kevin/Andrew/Nicky conversation in fluent German just to deliver a savage burn.

           “How about I start with your parents?”

           “Good luck,” Neil said, feeling cold all over. “They’re dead.”

           “Did you kill them?”

           He said it so casually, like he was asking for the time, that Neil could only stare at him for a minute. (…) Then he remembered who he was talking to and asked, “Did you kill yours?”

What the fuck, you guys. How is this even a conversation they’re having. Who on earth just asks stuff like that.

           The twins didn’t know who their father was, and only Aaron grew up with their biological mother. Andrew was surrendered to foster care when he was just a few days old.

Oh. In hindsight, this explains why Andrew referred to their mother as “Aaron’s mother” before, but more importantly: What the fuck, why.

Who does that to a child, heck, who does that to a baby. Surely it’s gotta be healthier for twins to stay with each other? What the hell, Minyards.

Also, how did they pick which twin to keep and which one to give away? Like, “oh, this one looks much nicer, this one looks less like it wants to murder you as soon as you threaten its favourite rattle, better take this one and chuck the other one in the realms of Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind”.

What the actual why.

Did I say this was where stuff got good? We’re not done yet, ho boy. This is where stuff gets really good:

           “I didn’t kill my parents,” Neil said. (…) “Riko’s family did.”

OH SHIT OH SHIT HE’S TELLING HIM STUFF OH SHITTTTTTTTTTTT.

What follows may be the first real, pure, top-of-the-line Andreil scene we get to witness. Granted, Neil only gives Andrew the half-truth, leaving out some key details, but essentially, he pours his heart out in front of him. And I don’t only mean the whole factual side of things, but also stuff like “I’m too jealous of Kevin to stay away from him” and “He’s got you at his back telling him everything’s going to be okay” which I wish I’d made up as examples except those are actual quotes from the book.

And, might I add, not only is he confessing that stuff to one of his mortal enemies right now, he is also confessing that stuff for the first time ever to anyone at all.

I’m dead.

           Andrew reached up and forcibly uncurled Neil’s fingers from his mouth. He pushed Neil’s hand out of the way and stared Neil down with nothing between them. Neil didn’t understand the look on his face. There was no censure over Neil’s crooked parents or pity for their deaths, no triumph over having backed Neil into admitting so much, and no obvious scepticism for such an outlandish story. Whatever this look was, it was dark and intense enough to swallow Neil whole.

           “Let me stay,” Neil said quietly. “I’m not ready to give this up yet.”

Did I say I was dead? I just got fucking reanimated, lived a brief period of happiness, and died again.

WHAT LEVEL OF GAY SHIT. I know it gets even better later, [frieza voice] this isn’t even their final form, but I can’t help but be happy at the first glimpses of canon Andreil.

I am LIVING.

           Maybe Andrew’s night out in Columbia had been awful, and maybe he’d never want to say these things out loud, but having the air cleared between him and Andrew to some degree took an enormous weight of his chest.

Fsshgshsgdsjgjscjjs.

My sad baby boy Neil gets some peace and relief and breathing room I cannot believe.

           Andrew didn’t look at Wymack. “Neil wants to come with me.”

           A day ago, those words might have been an order or a threat, but today Neil heard only truth. He’d chosen the Foxes. He’d chosen to trust Andrew, whatever that meant and whatever consequences it brought down the road. There was no reason or need to hide behind Wymack now.

Are y’all seeing what I’m seeing………… are those…….. first traces of friendship and peace……….. w h a t

As much friendship and peace as you can get with the messed-up murder maniac, at least.

I’m so happy, you guys.

This does not make up for the problems of last chapter (especially my boy Nicky and I still have a bone to pick), but it makes me tentatively look towards an eventually positive future for our angry  babies.

           Hope was a dangerous, disquieting thing, but he thought perhaps he liked it.

Couldn’t have said it better.