#granted they also write the most vile and fucked up works of fiction that i’ve ever laid eyes on but. it’s in character for them so.

[grahamcore]

hannibal nbc fanfiction writers craft dialogue that makes shakespeare look like dr. seuss i’m being so fr right now i fucking love you guys

[theonetheycallhannah]

A Mage’s Blood-Part Two

Summary: Geralt deals with a comatose companion, comforts the displaced Geeta, and wades through his growing affection for another mage despite his reservations.

Pairing: Geralt/OFC (Anathema of Velena) and a bit of Geralt/OFC (Geeta) (totally platonically!) but it’s half/mostly Geralt dealing with the aftermath of the monster fight in the last installment of the story.

Word count: 4.5k

Rating/Warnings: M for language and violence. Some angst. Some fluff. Almost smut, but don’t get too excited, folks. I’m a bit cruel in this chapter. Shameless manipulation of the properties and qualities of character props for my own amusement and story advancement even though there is no evidence that such properties or qualities are a thing. (If you can’t suspend reality or rather fantasy, enough to accept what I did with this, I don’t know what to tell you, I thought it was clever, please don’t @ me. And maybe fan fiction isn’t your milieu.)

Inspiration: No changes from previous inspo note. Just this beautiful show, this stunning man, and like…my feelings, I guess.

Author’s Note: I’m really excited to write this chapter for Geralt. I’ve been wanting to talk about what’s been going on under that luscious white mane for ages. We go back to Ana in the next part, but this was crazy fun to write, especially the dream. PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF THESE POSTS NEED ANYTHING! PHOTOS OR GIFS...WHATEVER. Also, again, not beta’d, because as I said in the last installment’s author notes, my friends don’t play nice with the Cavillry. Lol! But I did read it at least twice.

Masterlist with links to previous chapters.

Tags: @fcgrizi @sunflowersstan @mylittlepartofthegalaxy@mstgsmy@lareinedususpense @geekycanuck @lunedelorient and @littlefreya Please let me know if you want to be tagged or if you want me not to tag you in things! I will not be offended!

Fucking Bruxae. That's all he was gonna say about this completely twisted and unpleasant situation they were in. Just. Fucking. Bruxae.

He reached for his potions pouch for the correct one to staunch bleeding…again. Damn, good thing his mage knew what to do for detox, because he hadn't had time to whip up a potion for that, himself. And he didn't think he had all of the ingredients, anyway.

Now this bitch was trying to call him a monster. Not that he could argue. He didn't. But he thought it was damned heavy handed of her. When she and her sisters were the ones who'd slaughtered thousands of people for no good reason.

Oh…he thought, after she explained herself…he'd heard worse reasons to lay waste to cities, if he was honest. Not that he was sympathizing. But the monologuing was giving him time to heal before he ended this once and for all.

Until…fuck.

"Ana! NO!" She had NOT just given herself away! That was the opposite of staying safe! As per their agreement! If they made it out of this alive, which he felt like he was constantly thinking these days, they were going to have a conversation about who was in charge in situations like this.

The Bruxa asked Ana who she was…Geralt thought that was quite the loaded question. He wasn't sure he could answer, himself. She had come to mean so much to him over such a short time. They'd found something of themselves in each other, he thought. He'd never quite found it with anyone else. Even Yen. Her explanation knocked him out of his stupor.

"I'm Anathema of Velena. I'm a mage. And much better equipped to sustain a bite than the poor little girl you've been hunting." She looked like a true warrior, standing in the column of light being cast out of the door to the fire-lit hovel, her steel in her right hand, dagger in the other, his silver wolf swinging from her neck. Thank the gods she'd put that on. His plan, the secret part of his plan, had worked. And they might just win the night, reclaim the day, and end the reign of terror these monsters had visited on this region for so many weeks.

"I don't see why it would hurt to try." Meena keened in a cackle that curdled Geralt's blood and charged at Ana. His neck wound essentially healed and forgotten, he jumped up and rushed to the two entangled in a vile and bloody embrace. Meena released her hold on Anathema's neck gasping as though she was drowning. As her sister before her, she was choking on blood as if it were pitch, although not quite as severely.

"What…have you…done to me…witcher?" she gasped as her body weakened from the poison she had just unwittingly consumed.

"You've done it to yourself, leech." He explained. "Ana was willing to let you drink from her, but you got greedy. You took what you wanted before an arrangement had been made. Don't touch her again." he interjected when Meena scowled at Ana as if she meant to finish her off. "She knew nothing of my plan. You see, that medallion is more than just a handy device to show me where the monsters and magic are hiding. It's a part of me. And the wearer takes on some of my…attributes. For instance, any potions I take affect the person wearing the medallion. Even if taking them personally would kill them instantly. That includes the Black Blood potion. Granted, the potions aren't as strong for the person wearing the medallion as they are for me, but it's enough, in most cases to do the trick." he pulled the Bruxa up to her knees as she continued to sputter and gasp for precious breath. And then he put her out of her asphyxiated misery by beheading her with a swift and sure swing of silver.

He rushed to Ana's side, the blood had been free flowing from her neck…reminding him too much of his past…of Blaviken…of…he made himself think her name, Renfri. He couldn't let Ana die like that. He wouldn't. He took out his canteen of water to rinse the blood and cleaned the wound, which was now barely trickling blood. The Kiss potion must have worked to an extent on her, as the Black Blood had. But she was barely conscious. He shook her as the bleeding ceased altogether.

"Anathema! Ana!!! Wake up, mage!"

"Mmm, 's there bacon?" she asked, groggy and still very out of it.

"Darling, it's nearly midnight. We've just defeated the Bruxae."

"Then why won' you lemme sleep?" she moaned. The venom of the Bruxa must still be working in her system. He couldn't take more potion right now and risk the toxicity to himself. He'd just have to try to get her somewhere safe until he could detox and take more. Then they'd have to take Geeta to Aretuza, he thought.

He had summoned Roach and Clove as soon as the Bruxa had been dispatched. He saw them trotting lazily toward him up the muddy, bloody street. He chanced leaving Ana there while he went into the house to gather their things and Geeta.

"Geeta, it's Geralt. Come on out, child. The monsters have gone."

The cupboard door creaked slowly open, permitting the right eye and nose of Geeta to peek out, warily.

"You sure it's safe?" she whispered. Unsure of the man who was still a stranger to her, and rightfully so.

"I am. Quite sure. Out with you now." and she exited with skepticism.

"Geeta, Miss Ana and I are going to leave now. And it's not safe for you to stay here. We want to take you to a place where you'll be safe and taken care of. Do you have any extra clothes or anything you need to bring with you from your home here?" She looked around the grim room and shrugged. He took his satchel from around his shoulder and tied a knot in the strap. He took a few important things out of it, and a bit of food, and the alcohol he needed for drinking and potions, and put it in his potions bag.

"Here," he slung the bag across her small body. "Find a little pillow and a blanket first, and put them into this bag. Then look around and see if there's anything else here you'd like to take with you." He hated seeing a child have to do this. But he knew it was ultimately going to be for her own good. The mages at Aretuza would know what she needed and with any luck, she could put this trauma behind her.

He started to gather the few things they'd left in the room. There hadn't been much. And it may not have been worth taking, but if Ana had wanted it, he didn't want it to be left behind.

He gathered Geeta, and hurried her to the door. As he walked past the cupboard, the glint of silver caught his eye…he couldn't justify leaving the tray there for marauders. Even if Geeta didn't want it and had no use for it…it had value. They may need to sell it. He grabbed it and shoved it into his saddlebag.

"Geeta, have you ever ridden a horse before?" she nodded, eyes sparkling with a nostalgia for which she was far too young.

"Oh yes, Mister Geralt! I used to get to ride Arrow all the time…that was my papa's horse." she looked sad. And Geralt understood, but he pushed her through her grief this time.

"Well, tonight, you're going to ride Clove. She's a very good horse. She's Miss Ana's horse. And I'm going to put some other bags and things on her, too. It shouldn't be too crowded for you though." he smiled at the girl as he loaded Clove with some of Roach's burden.

"Why isn't Miss Ana riding on her horse? It's her horse!" she seemed very concerned and confused.

"Well, Geeta, Miss Ana is very tired and can't ride by herself. She's going to ride on my horse, Roach, with me." he knelt beside Ana's comatose form to check and make sure she was still breathing. She was, slowly. Pulse fairly steady, not that he was a good judge, his own heart rate being so much slower than the normal for a human.

"Come here, little one." he lifted Geeta up onto Clove and handed her the reins. "Alright, now hold on while I get Miss Ana and myself onto Roach, then we can go." He hoisted Ana heroically onto Roach's neck, and then mounted up himself, eliciting an oppressed whinny from the steed.

"Hey, if I had another option, I'd take it, alright? We'll go slow, stop at the next inn that will room a witcher, and I'll buy you a big bag of apples. Fair?"

Roach whinnied again, complicit, if not happy.

~~~~~~~~~

It felt like hours they were riding. Geeta asked a few questions here and there, but wasn't the chatty nuisance he thought she would be. It was mostly the fact that he was concerned for Ana that made the time seem not to pass. He needed to get to the inn, meditate, detox, and take another healing potion so that she could recover from the Bruxa venom.

Thankfully, he saw the lights of an inn just ahead, and picked up their pace, signaling for Geeta and Clove to follow.

The Drowsy Bear was a bit quaint and simpering for his liking. Everyone was a bit too friendly and clean. There were no brawlers in the corner. No lascivious couplings being arranged and sampled by the fireside tables in the dining hall. Just a couple of men, who were probably father and son playing dice, apparently for fun, rather than money. He couldn’t comprehend what that must be like.

He arranged the room, keeping an eye out the large front window at the girls and the horses until the affluent matron got his key ready and took his coin.

He didn’t usually trust his horse to stable boys, but under these circumstances, he felt he had no choice. He let the boy take Clove and Roach to the stables as he burdened Geeta with what she could carry of Ana’s things, and took the rest himself, along with the mage, still almost as limp as a corpse.

“Stay close to me, Geeta. These people seem kind, but something tells me not to fully trust them.”

“Maybe you’re just not used to people being nice to you.” She said, with wisdom beyond her short years as she smiled and waved at a portly old man at the bar. Well…she didn’t have to call him out quite like that. He just grunted back at her in noncommittal reply. They were finally at their room. Once inside, Geralt flung Ana onto the bed, unceremoniously, and went quickly to the hearth to build a fire.

“Why aren’t people nice to you, Mister Geralt?” Geeta asked, such true concern and confusion in her voice that, although his instinct would have been to brush her off or to snap back, he actually tried to answer.

“Witchers like me can be dangerous, Geeta. We aren’t like most humans. We’ve changed so much that we aren’t actually humans anymore. And for some people, for most people, just being different is enough to make someone scary. I’m both different AND dangerous.”

“People were scared of my gran. She could do magic. She’d make little straw dollies dance for me. The day she died I got so upset. I didn’t want to look at any straw anymore. Then the haystack behind our house caught fire while I was staring at it.”

“That must have been scary for you." Geralt sympathized.

"Not the fire. But my mum was. She started yelling and looking for where the fire came from. But I was the only one there. She took me inside. It hurt my arm how she pulled me. And she yelled at me so loud. She told me I mustn't do anything like that ever again or I might get taken away from her. So I tried to be good…to not be…like gran…but it didn't matter. Because mum got taken from me instead." she started to cry. Geralt let the fire kindle a moment while he pulled the child into his lap.

"It's alright to cry, Geeta. It's alright to be scared. But you won't be forever. Did you know, I was about your age, and even a bit younger when I lost my family?" he saved her the heartbreaking details of his abandonment. She looked into his eyes with curiosity putting a stopper in the tear ducts. "It's true. I learned about the ways of being a witcher when I was just a boy. And I wasn't very old when I became one, either. I won't tell you I was never scared and I never cried, because I don't want to lie to you. But I cried less and became less scared the longer I worked and lived this life. And you'll be taken in by lovely people just like you who know how to help you control that power in you, the same power your gran had, and maybe even use it to help people."

"I'd like to help people. Is that what people like me do?" she asked, hopeful.

"Yes, if they're good and kind. Miss Ana is like you. She's a mage. And a rather good one. And very kind. She was trained at the place we're taking you."

"Really?" excitement vibrated through her tiny frame.

"Yes, really!" he chuckled. "But right now, I've got to try to make Miss Ana feel better. And I need to rest to do that. Why don't you get out your pillow and blanket and rest, too?" she climbed off his lap and emptied his satchel of her belongings as he gathered ingredients for a few potions he wanted to replenish. About an hour of meditation would be enough to detox and set the new potions. Once everything was prepared, he knelt on a small cushion he'd pulled from the bench by the door. He placed his palms on his thighs, checked one last time that Geeta was alright, which she was, and already deeply asleep, exhausted from the eventful evening, and closed his eyes.

At first he saw the typical imagery of his meditations. Trees over-burdened with lush green leaves allowing sparse but cheerful bursts of golden sunlight to peek through. The warmth of early summer was just beginning to weigh down the late morning air. A spring at the head of a brook bubbled a lively water song, cold, refreshing, over its pebbles. His toes played in the cool, soft grass at the water's edge where he sat, clothed in linen breeks and a tunic. Both still dark in color, but the stiffness of his leather armor and boots was all but forgotten here in this place of revitalization and tranquility. Here he could cast aside the witcher and be that small nugget of Geralt that killing monsters hadn't yet managed to fracture or destroy.

It was at this point in the meditation that he often chose whether to swim in the spring or to just breathe in it's clean, crisp vapors. Today felt like a breathing day, he was thinking, when he heard a splash in the dark pool before him. His eyes remained shut, trying to stay his path. He heard a laughter that was part carefree and musical, and part mischievous and deep. It was familiar. He'd heard this chuckle flip it's switches in conversation…recently. He heard the sultry, rich, but still sweet feminine voice call to him.

"Geralt! Come swim with me!" he shook his head, knowing that she wasn't really there.

"Come on, witcher! It's cold, and I need warming up!" he felt himself stir at the thought of being close to her wet body, but resisted again.

"Don't make me use magic, Geralt of Rivia!" and he felt an inexplicable weightlessness fill him, hovering him above the ground about four hands breadth. His eyes opened at this and he sat up on the bed of air Ana had conjured for him…the Ana of his dreams, it seemed. He looked at her, wet hair, black against her warm olive skin, tanned from her travels and years of coastal living. Her eyes flashed him that mysterious misty green of precious stones, her pupils not quite threatening to overtake the color as they had the night he'd taken her virginity…just last night, he thought, although it seemed a lifetime past. He could see her bare shoulders above the rippling surface of the crystal clear water, and could tell, also, that she was nude. This was his dream, after all. He stood, removed his tunic, and unlaced his breeks to step out of them. She grinned at him. It was somehow both sly and shy, and he didn't understand how she pulled that off.

"You already are, and I don't mean the levitation." he replied to her before hopping in. He sunk like a stone, into the unknown depths of the spring, but came back up right in front of her. He held her body, chilled and riddled with gooseflesh, to his warm and solid one. She sighed, content. He did likewise. He ran his hands along her soft, smooth curves under the cold water, sending shivers through her that were entirely unrelated to the temperature, he flattered himself to believe. She held him tighter, her arms slung around his neck, their height difference neutralized in the deep water. She seemed to assess him in an almost tactical manner before beginning a series of gentle kisses all over his face. His cheeks and forehead, his nose and chin, even his eyelids, shut from the bliss of her soft, full lips against him. His mouth was relaxed in a grin that was just open enough for her to kiss gently, intruding teasingly with her tender tongue. He responded slowly at first, returning into her mouth with his own tongue, but as their grips on one another tightened, his kiss became more searching and desperate, craving her taste.

He felt himself twitch and swell as his yearning for her grew stronger. She wrapped a leg around his hip, digging a heel into his ass. As he moved to line himself up with the only part of her that felt truly warm in the chilled spring, she moaned his name.

"Mmm, Geralt."

~~~~~~~

"Mmm, Geralt." he heard her moan, in reality, back in the now overwarm room of the inn, one hour down from his meditation…all he had needed, but fuck, if all his meditations went like that, he'd go for hours. The stiffness from his fantasy coming back with him in his wakefulness. Great. He made sure Geeta was still asleep, which she was, thankfully, and he stood, erect now in multiple ways, and went to the farthest corner of the room to try to release some of the pressure he felt. He had never brough someone into his meditations. Not like that. It unnerved him. He calmed his thoughts, remembering the blood of the battle and the sour stench of the near abandon hovel Geeta was cowering in, and it was helping, until Ana called for him again, so wantonly that all progress he'd made had been lost, and he gave up.

He walked over to grab a healing potion from his kit, and downed it quickly. He needed her to be better. He had never been more sure of anything, especially now, after that dream. The terror he'd felt when she'd stepped out of the hovel offering herself to the Bruxa had been unlike anything he'd felt since he began fighting monsters. He sat next to her on the bed, waiting for the potion to work through his blood and transfer to her through the magic of the medallion. He felt that maybe, making his presence and proximity known and felt in some way might help her. He stroked her hair. Thumbing tendrils away from her face, her lovely, heart-shaped face that even now, dewey from fever and slightly twisted in a soft frown was the most beautiful he'd ever seen. He got up to get a cloth dampened with water from the nearby pitcher and dab it over her head and neck. She was still a bit grimy and bloody from the attack of the Bruxa, but she had healed fully. They were just waiting now on the potion to eradicate the venom inside her. It worked almost instantly on him…but it didn't have to go through a magical filter, then, either.

Just when he wondered if he aught to try another dose or another potion, Ana's eyes fluttered and she groaned, writhing against what he presumed was the ache of poisoned muscles and veins being freed and cleansed. He had felt it a time or two in his day.

"Anathema! Darling are you alright?" he caressed the side of her face into his body, now relaxed with releif.

"Geralt?" she asked, looking around the room, confused and a bit frightened. "Where are we? Where's Geeta? What happened?"

"Everything is fine. Geeta is here with us, and we are at an inn on our way to Aretuza."

"Aretuza?"

"What do you remember about the fight, specifically the end, Ana?" Geralt whispered, hoping not to wake Geeta.

"I remember being down to just the two Bruxa, and one of them bit you, but succumbed to the Black Blood. Then I remember something about them needing a mage's blood…Geeta's!" suddenly she seemed to remember and sit up like a bolt, wincing at the muscles that protested the sudden and unwelcome movement they were forced to perform in their delicate state. "They wanted Geeta's blood and that's why they attacked the city. And I went out to see if my blood would appease the last Bruxa--"

"Which you should NOT have done because I had things well in hand." he interrupted.

"I wanted to help if I could. But then, after my offer…and her charge at me…I can only recall snippets. It's hazy and very disjointed. And…Did you just sling me over Roach's neck like a sack of meal?" she asked, most annoyed.

"I…at first. But just to get you mounted. You try getting a lifeless body onto a horse with no one but a tiny child around. Geeta was no help at all." they giggled.

"So how did I survive a Bruxa bite, Geralt? What happened after I blacked out?"

"You killed the last Bruxa…sort of. You see this medallion of mine you kindly donned before the battle? I left it for you for a reason. You understand that it's more than just jewelry, but even more than you already know, there's a little piece of me in it and any potion I take affects the wearer of that medallion without harming them, as it would if they just took one  on their own. It filters the bad effects, but it also decreases the effectiveness a bit. So, Meena, the last Bruxa, wasn't immediately killed by biting you, only incapacitated, so I explained her error, and relieved her of her head." Geralt smirked at Ana, proud of his kill, even if he hadn't taken a trophy.

"Why didn't you tell me what the medallion would do to me if I wore it?" Ana was a bit frustrated now.

"I couldn't risk you not wearing it out of some silly pride or other noble notion you may have conjured. I did it for your own good, and for the safety of us all, Anathema." Geralt growled.

"No, I understand, the greater good, the lack of trust, perhaps? It's unfortunately a familiar tale with a familiar set of characters, Geralt." she hinted at his past deceptions as they'd spoken of before the Bruxae fight. They hadn't really finished that conversation, according to her, it seemed.

"Don't." he halted her.

"Is it not? Don't you see the similarities? I don't want us to tread that same path, Geralt. I'm not saying this is worth giving up what you and I have over. But it isn't so small that I think we should brush it under the rug, either."

"What is it you think we have, mage?" his anger at the comparison was clouding his judgement. Making him irrational.

"Don't you do that to me. Not after what we've been through over the last two nights." she grasped the medallion as if to hold him herself and the images of his dream came rushing back into his head. The beauty of nature and of her swirling all around him in the refreshing pool. The perfection of that moment. He knew he couldn't lie to her, but he didn't know how to tell her the truth, either.

"Geralt, you asked me before the battle what happy place I would go to in defense of the Bruxae song. I didn't tell you. I didn't want to make things too serious before the danger had passed. That was a mistake. I should have told you. If you had died without knowing that my happiest memories were made with you last night when we made love, I would have regretted it the rest of my days. You, Geralt. You were, and are my happy place, even now when you're being a deceptive, withholding, insolent bastard." she laughed. "It's sub-optimal, I know, our situation, but it is OUR situation, and we are…in it. And honestly, I'm very thankful that you're the one in it with me."

Geralt hadn't cried…really cried…since he was very young. But this woman, Anathema of Velena, made him well up as he couldn't remember ever doing. His traitorous manhood, having slackened during their argument was now waking again as his affection grew with the forgiveness that washed over him after the mention of the Yen situation.

He laid down, aligning his body next to hers so that he could look into the jade pools of her eyes.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Ana. It was wrong of me to handle that as I did. I see the similarities and I will endeavor to do better in the future." she smiled at his apology and promise. He continued with a confession to match hers. "Now speaking of happy places, I don't have a lot. Those that I used to cherish seem to be tainted now, some for reasons we've discussed, and some for reasons I don't want to get into yet because it's still too painful for me. But Ana, you gave me one of the most beautiful and perfect nights of my long life, and yes, that was my happy place, as well."

She nestled herself against his firm body, her head resting on his arm, and her arm wrapped around his waist.

"I had a feeling." she said, a smug giggle escaping her throat as her eyes fluttered shut to return to sleep, now that she knew her people were safe and they were out of danger.

He smiled back and thought to himself, I have a feeling too, little mage.

Part Three-Coming Soon!

[stina-is-a-punk-rocker]

becky albertalli’s ‘simon vs. the homo sapiens agenda’: a review, amongst other things

I walked into Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda fully prepared to hate it. I’d read it a grand total of one (01) time before, way back in December 2019, with very high expectations that were dashed to smithereens halfway through. On my first reading, I found it terribly cliché, vapid and utterly undeserving of the multitude of four- and five-star ratings on Goodreads.

I’m still iffy about those ratings (it’s a solid two-point-five, three at best for me), but I didn’t hate it as much the second time around. Maybe it was because my expectations were so low that the only way it could go from there was up. You could say that I almost… enjoyed it.

That didn’t stop me from scribbling a page of complaints, though.

I’ve seen many reviews hailing the book as a win for the LGBTQ+ community, for BIPOC, for YA fiction. And Albertalli’s certainly done a better job of writing the character of a homosexual male than certain others. Simon’s whole coming-out crisis is definitely relatable, and it’s definitely a relief to have a character who’s accepted their sexuality instead of one who spends roughly 200 pages whining, “bUt HoW cAn I LiKe BoY wHeN I aM bOy??”

And yet it can be so tone-deaf in other parts.

The most glaring example is at the start of the book (I doubt this constitutes as a spoiler), where Simon says (lmao), about lesbian and bisexual girls: “I think it’s different for girls. Maybe it’s easier. If there’s one thing the Tumblr has taught me, it’s that a lot of guys consider it hot when a girl is a lesbian.”

Yes, the really says ‘the Tumblr’. And it’s not the last time, either.

I find it hard to believe that Simon, a gen-Z if my calculations serve me correct, has a Tumblr account and doesn’t know about Phan, Drarry, Destiel (RIP), Larry Stylinson (yikes) and the other staple gay OTPs of gen-Z Tumblr culture. If there’s one thing the Tumblr has taught me, it’s that there are way too many gay male ships with a brunette and a blond, with predominantly female fans.

Granted, Simon’s talking about their school’s gossip blog in particular, but that can’t be the only blog he follows.

Because fetishization is so easy, am I right, ladies?

You might bring up the ‘death of the author’ paradigm; Simon’s views ≠ Becky Albertalli’s; Simon is a teenage boy and teenage boys are generally idiots- and yet it feels like this is something the author genuinely believes, because she’s also included Simon being A-okay and even flattered by his friend Leah’s gay fanart and fanfic obsession. Yeah… no. Fetishization of queer people is creepy and dehumanizing and I’ve yet to meet a single queer person who’s on board with the idea of cishets doing so.

Also, the fact that he warmed up to Martin even while he was being blackmailed is something no actual closeted queer would do, ever. I’m pretty sure I’m speaking for loads of queer people when I say that being out to someone you don’t trust is a literal nightmare- even worse when they use that against you. And this motherfucker’s all like, “Well yeah, he’s threatening to out me to everyone if I don’t set him up with my best friend, but he’s kinda funny :) I think we could be friends.”

Simon- fuck you, you smoothbrained numbskull.

Another thing I found cringey was how many pop culture references were thrown in. Why, on god’s green earth, would you name a dog Bieber? For one, that’s a godawful name; for another- Justin Bieber? Really?

I consider myself a pretty avid fan of Harry Potter (here I will insert the obligatory ‘fuck you, JKR’), and whenever I see a reference thrown in, I feel like that one Spider-Man meme. And yet there were way. too. many. in this damn book. Seriously. We get it. Simon’s a Potterhead. That’s enough.

Also, I’m obligated to cancel anyone who likes Reese’s cups. They’re fucking vile.

Other attempts at gen-Z-ing that made me want to fling myself into the nearest black hole: every time Simon said ‘I can’t even’; a pop-punk band called ‘Emoji’ (!!! the way I cringed !!!); ‘the’ Tumblr (yeah, I’m never letting that go); Nora unironically saying ‘OMG’ in a verbal conversation; the absolute LACK of One Direction references (see, this is why I love John Green); amongst others.

Simon’s got zero personality outside of his sexuality. In case you didn’t catch it the eight thousand times it was mentioned, Simon is gay. And… that’s about it.

Leah’s annoying and yet I’m ashamed to say I can sort of see where she’s coming from (I’ve had a long and illustrious history of being left out and ignored by my friends, but this is neither the time nor place to discuss my childhood trauma, so I’ll leave it at that). Her enmity with Abby was unnecessary and uncalled for. Nick’s… a Jewish guitarist? And that’s about it? Abby’s cute and quirky and lovable and I love her. Martin’s a bag of dicks plus more. It was pretty obvious to me who Blue was; if you’ve read a YA book, ever, it’s the easiest thing to guess.

The characters were painfully one-dimensional. I can imagine them existing in that particular story, but I couldn’t tell you a single thing about them outside of it. It’s like they don’t exist outside of those pages- they couldn’t be actual people, if that makes sense (it probably doesn’t, but humor me).

The family dynamic between the Spiers was believable and pretty well-written (says me, who has zero siblings). I liked how the diversity didn’t feel contrived- just enough information to tell you that Abby and Bram were black, Nick was Jewish, Blue was half-Jewish, amongst others (funnily enough, when I first read it, I thought the exact opposite). The dialogue between characters felt pretty natural, too.

In conclusion: was Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda a perfect LGBTQ+ novel? I’ve read objectively better works on Ao3 (seriously, those of you who look down on fanfiction are missing out on some quality stuff), but it’s a pretty standard Wattpad-worthy story. It has its issues, and it’s far from the best thing I’ve ever read, and it’s not going on my favorites list anytime soon. You’re not missing out on anything if you choose to not read it, I can guarantee you that. But it’s a decently fun read, and perfect if you want something to while away an afternoon- it’s hardly going to take up too many hours to get through.

And would you look at that- I finally managed to write a review without a single spoiler (admittedly, there’s nothing to spoil outside of Blue’s identity, but let me have this).

[mynameisdreartblog]

Teachers

Aries: Football (unamerican) coach. I feel as though Betty Crocker's employees have been studying my movements in anticipation for something. Everyone I meet I assume is working for her, and that's not my paranoia acting up. Recently, factory locations have been springing up all over this country, and here I was thinking the hag would just stay in America where she belonged, but no. I was struck terrifyingly curious about this, so I looked on her website <excusing the modem's start-up process>, and look! It says here that she, herself, has ninety-plus different reasons as to why we still love chicken breasts. God, there's no way a human could write that much about chicken breasts; I'm terrified of each and every one of them if I'm quaint. This is a disturbing sight, but I'll abstain from doing something now until it really starts to become a problem… I fear I'm falling into old pits though. […] I hopped on the 'net today and I saw something only describable as vile. Fuck Betty Crocker and her offensive Kiss Me, I'm Irish cookies. Crocker, you liar and probably not even human; you are neither Irish nor worthy of a kiss. She's done it now, she's cross the line and struck me straight in the soul with everything she has: This witch wanted to infest my land with her polluted factories, steal my press with her spam articles, and now steal my culture too! [,,,] I know what I must do now; can anyone drive me to their headquarters? The new one they just built here, the one that's already polluting our water supply with chicken broth. God, I'm so furious, so vengeful, and so willing to vanquish this evil that I! That I… that. Wait, what do you mean we can't use Betty Crocker for this one? Some other epic internet-based literature uses this as a canonical joke? For fuck's sake, just use the Quaker Oats dude instead; we'll take the words we had already and change them to be about Quaker Oats and his offense towards Irish people. <Redmond starts to drive 'til their ride runs out of gas halfway through> For fuck's sake! GIVE ME THE QUAKER OATS MAN, I'M BEING PAID BY THE HOUR HERE!

Gemini: Sociology teacher. I can feel James Rolfe writing a letter that details all the offense that I caused him right now, and I'll be sure to refute his every claim like he refuted all my feedback. Just for reiteration: I will not apologize to him for those honest criticisms I made of his newer video-reviews, specifically of the 2006 Sonic the Hedgehog game and Big Rigs: Over the Road Racing. If he's been going at his online profession for ten-plus years now, then he can handle a fair bit of digital criticism. [,,,] I told him that I'd prefer if he'd respect my position more after a paragraph-long explanation as to what my position was. Frankly, I thought Rolfe would be a more understanding and self-aware person to recognize that my life as a national mailperson whose work spans across the entire Indonesian archipelago. Clearly, my goal was that he'd attempt to sympathize with my working-class struggles as he'd do with any American mailman whom he is familiar with, but I didn't get any of the respect I was expecting. Not even I was spared for the decency of verbal abuse, because I was given something worse: The unrelenting silence of zero responses towards my effortful comment. That told me that Rolfe is a man who doesn't care about the issues of working-class folks like me. I'm hesitant to state, and possibly slander Rolfe, for the likelihood that he has a strong prejudice against Indonesian and Papuan peoples by refusing to acknowledge my criticism and my simultaneous first and third-world perspective. […] I just don't know what his issue with me is; after all, I've read every one of his love letters to me and I managed to enjoy them despite how sloppy his nerdy, rage-filled writing was. I think I made out his name the best of all and the thanks he granted me for sending him all of the games nobody else here wanted. «Truce, thanks for supporting my quest to protect the world from shitty-ass games. From: The fucking nerd.»

Scorpio: Public skills teacher. "Mexican-South Korean relations, from Wikipedia: The Free Encyclopedia. Mexico-South Korea relations refers to the bilateral relations between Mexico and South Korea. There are an estimated 15,000 Koreans and Mexicans of Korean descent living in Mexico. Both nations are members of the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation, G-20 major economies, Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development, and the United Nations." [,,,] Yeah, so I pulled out a random book from the library for my book report assignment (I'm still surprised they gave me the freedom to do this), and I got a book about Mexican-Korean relations. I'm also surprised by how they can create such a thick book on a topic with little-to-no history, so I naturally assumed it was some sorta fictionalized history. As you could tell, I opened up the first page to find out that the first quarter of the book was a copy-paste job from the Wikipedia article with most of the citational numbers removed. The font was also in a very large size, presumably to fill space and not be readable for readers with impaired vision. [,,,] I tried opening the pages beyond to the rest of the book's contents, but they seemed glued shut, and the more I attempted to pull them open was I expected them to rip, but they just stayed firm to the bookcase. A closer inspection revealed that it was actually a container welded to the bookcase, and that it there was something inside of it. It wasn't alive, but it could jingle alright. [,,,] I decided to pry that sucker open and I found a mysterious note, but I was scared 'cause it addressed me directly! All it told me was that I should be in bed by 9 pm; I was so scared, but I knew the note told what's best for me, and I obeyed it. The moral of this story is that you should do your homework and follow your bedtime schedule! […] «Dear Dad, stop writing in my diaries, thanks.»

Capricorn: History teacher. You can tell the people who go to this place are from the '70s. After hauling an artificial Christmas tree into a lady's car, she gave me two quarters and said, "it's not much, but get yourself a cold drink." I felt so vintage at that moment: I felt like I was consumed with vintage appeal. My worker overalls were put onto me in that moment and I was ready to work the rest of my life in a windowless retail store. But it was before they sold all of the cool shit they have now like E-cigarettes, so they just sold regular cigarettes to teenagers who had predominant facial hair. […] Right then, wouldn’t anyone be compelled to by the working-class American luxury that is a cold soda: Preferably, whatever they sold at Becker’s? Yeah right, I used to do the same thing everyone else did except I looked aged enough to not even rely on facial hair to get one of those… cold sodas. Isn’t it so vintage that we live in a polity completely built around the idea of infinite room for exploitation resulting from the false belief that there’ll always be new lands to exploit? Isn’t it so vintage that the complete destruction of two entire continents was all done in the name of securing the existing powers in Europe at the height of the 15th century when they were beginning to crumble due to their unsustainability? Isn’t it so vintage that countless cultures, peoples, and languages were… Heh, let’s not let the blade in our mouths become too sharp and let’s get back to that vintage ‘70s lifestyle. Let’s gather me and the boys to stop by Becker’s and get some nice, cold sodas… and be called a savage by the racist clerk who made sure to call the police on me if I ever walked into that place again. Motherfucker should know his goddamn place telling me that I can’t be in the store that he built on land that isn’t his. I was a 27-year-old man and that’s how I was treated… back in sunny Halifax! Ha, I still have the fake pine on all over my hands: My bloody, beaten hands.