Author's Note: Mlaaah. I'm so silly heehee. You guys deserve so much better than this. So I'm all caught up in doing my AP Euro work, and the teacher is kinda annoying me what with asking all these questions, and I'm like, "Screw this. I'm gonna go write a lesbian love story. Much better use of my time." So. Um. Here we go. I'm much better at writing femslash than slash, as I've discovered. I FEEL LIKE THIS MEANS SOMETHING. –denial- Even so, there isn't much of it in this, just a bunch of talking. Also, forgive my intense love for Women's Soccer. Women's Soccer, and procrastination. And for the record, I was having a difficult time coming up with titles, so "The Flaunting of Shirts with Low Cuts" is supposed to be a play on words of "The Haunting in Connecticut." Okay, so less play-on-words, more rhyming. Whatevs. As a note, I recently visited Davidson College, so the dorm rooms, etc. are loosely based off of those, because I preferred the Davidson dorms to the Wake Forest dorms.

Disclaimer:Ils (elles?) ne sont pas les mien(ne)s. I fixed my French.

Playlist:Within Temptation, Epica, Apocalyptica, Leaves' Eyes, and various other northern European goth metal bands. And Plump. Which is depression. It's really hard for me to write conflict, alright? Even though the conflict is less angst more hilarity.

Note on Names:Same as ever, duckies.

-u-

Ally was not used to waking up early in the morning: she had slept through eighty-five percent of her first period class all four years in high school; she had purposefully chosen classes that were taught in the late morning or early afternoon in college; she had talked her roommate into buying black-out curtains for the dorm; and she had conditioned herself to sleep through any sort of waking device, including but not limited to alarm clocks, televisions, Finnish death metal, and Gillian Beillschmidt.

What she had not conditioned herself to sleep through, however, was the high-pitched scream of a very confused Englishwoman.

To be fair, she had never figured that such a skill would ever be employed: she came from a tiny town in Midwestern America, and fuck yeah America was the greatest country on earth, but Midwestern America tended to lack foreign accents and the sort of experience that would have prepared her for such a situation.

Due to this lack of experience, it was only natural that when the petit Englishwoman, who only moments ago had been happily snuggled up next to her, gave an ear-piercing shriek, Ally was brought into a sudden, painful, state of wakefulness. She struggled to get to her feet as fast as she could, hoping to be a hero by saving the poor damsel who was obviously in distress and instead tripping on the many comforters underneath her as her leg began to cramp from being in an awkward position all night long.

"Sonnuva—" she cursed, falling forward onto the floor. Luckily, a pile of her own laundry caught her fall. Unluckily, she wasn't entirely convinced this was the clean pile as opposed to the many dirty piles. Meanwhile, her petit Englishwoman was having a mild freakout.

"Oh God, Oh God, where am I?" Aretha was muttering to herself, trying to push her tangled blond hair out of her face. When she finally had it pulled mostly to the side and out of the way, she tried to look around the dorm, taking in all she could in the light provided by the nearly over-heating laptop and the crack beneath the black-out curtains. A steady flow of, "Oh bugger, what the bloody fuck," was slipping past her sleep-numbed lips. Finally, her eyes landed on Ally who was staring up at her in amusement. A blush flooded the confused Brit's face. "We…we were watching a movie," she said, mainly for her own benefit. "And your, uh, roommate? She came in…but, left…and then we fell asleep. And," Aretha took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. "And then I woke up. Cuddling you."

Ally nodded happily. The cuddling was probably her favorite part. It allowed her, the hero, to thoroughly protect the damsel in distress!

"Oh," said Aretha stiffly, pulling the nearest blanket up to her chin. Ally's face fell.

"Arethaaa," she whined, crawling over until she was at least two feet deep into Aretha's personal space bubble. "Aretha, why you no like me?"

"Perhaps it could be because of your appalling destruction of the English language?" Aretha snapped back before shutting her mouth with a click. Her blush became even darker. She gently pushed Ally out of her space and stood up, brushing off dust from her clothes. Clearing her throat, she said as amicably as possible, "Thank you again for letting me stay here in my, er, time of need, but I really ought to be going—"

"Hang on!" Ally scrambled to get to her feet, taking care not to trip on any other lumps of fabric. "It's Saturday! There are, like, absolutely no classes today! What else could possibly get you in such a hustle? You're tryin' to get outta here faster'n a kangaroo rat on crack in a room full of half-starved rattlers!"

Aretha looked terribly conflicted, as if she were trying to decide whether or not to respond with, "What the hell did you just say?" Ally was used to this: some people just couldn't handle the brilliance that was Midwestern American colloquialisms. Instead however, Aretha just shifted her weight and looked otherwise flustered. Ally jumped at this opening to shine light into this dull (but still so very interesting) girl's life.

"Hey," she said, slinging an arm around the shorter girl's shoulder, "let's hang out today! Yanno, like chillin' at the mall, and watching a movie, and that sort of shizz. Sounds fun, yeah?"

The other girl pulled a face. Ally pulled her closer into her body (because hey, Aretha was small and warm and soft, and reminded her a little bit of a bunny she once owned when she was younger) and wheedled, "C'mon, Artie, do you really have anything better to do than hang out with me?"

"Don't call me Artie," she growled, trying to shift away from Ally. After a few seconds, however, she realized the futility of the action and sighed, slumping into Ally's one-armed embrace. "No, I don't have anything better to do. Fine. Let me go take a shower."

"Victory!"

Aretha rolled her eyes and squeezed out from under Ally's arm, striding out into the hall. The American followed her, fully intending to set a time and thus commit her to the outing, but Aretha had already reached her dorm room, and was trying her hardest to phase through the wood. Or at least, that's what Ally assumed she was doing: the shorter blond had, after discovering that the lock was still engaged, pressed herself fully against the door and was pounding on it with both fists. Just as the girl had backed up far enough to give the door a good solid kick, the handle turned and the door opened.

And then, as if heralded by the sort of bad jazz that plays at the beginning of the classier porn movies (not that Ally would know), the French girl sauntered out of the dorm room, her hips swaying to a beat only Francine could hear. Ally only caught a sudden flash of pale (which, after a slight delay, her brain identified as skin) before Aretha's hand suddenly covered her eyes. She reached up to tug down the obscuring digits, but Aretha had latched on with a vengeance.

"Francince!" she heard Aretha shriek right next to her. "What the bloody fuck do you think you're doing? No one wants to see—see all that!" Ally could easily imagine Aretha waving her free arm around, vaguely indicating what the world didn't want to see. "Why, pray tell, aren't you wearing any clothing? For God's sake, there are innocents here!"

"Oh, ma chère," the other girl laughed, coming closer. "I 'ighly doubt that there are that many innocents in this building. Speaking of which… I noticed that you weren't in the dorm when I got back, ma Anglaise. You spent your night well with this belle fleur, oui?" Francine laughed again as Aretha spluttered and tried to deny anything and everything; Ally stood where she was, surprisingly silent and slightly confused by the foreign language that kept slipping out of Francine's mouth. "Any'ow," the French girl continued, "I saw that tu as oblié ta clé sur la table, donc je laisserai la porte overt, oui?"

"I've told you a thousand times, I don't speak your bloody language!" Aretha shouted, finally removing the hand over Ally's eyes. Francine giggled to herself and pranced off down the hall to the showers. Ally stared at the youthful naked body for half a moment before announcing to no one in particular,

"Bruh, I am not down with that!"

Aretha sighed loudly and pushed the door to her dorm all the way open. Before she disappeared into the room entirely, she paused in the doorframe, facing Ally. "What time do you propose we meet to, er, hang out?"

"Hmm? Oh, how about we meet in the lounge at one?"

The girl nodded. "That works. I'll…see you soon, then?"

"Yep!" Ally gave the girl a bright grin and received a slightly reserved smile in return. It was then that Ally decided that she really wanted to see that smile more often. Pleasantly surprised with the turn of events thus far in the day, Ally turned and retreated to her own dorm. She shut the door and basked in the near darkness, feeling sleepiness creep back into her limbs. It was, what? Nine? Ally was never up earlier than noon on Saturday! She fluffed up the blankets and pillows still on the floor and flopped down, expecting to sleep until twelve-thirty or so, at which point she'd get up, speed shower, and meet Aretha for their date.

Whoa, wait. Date? Ally turned so that she was on her back, frowning up at the ceiling. It's totally not a date, Ally thought to herself. It's just two girls hangin' at the mall. Just chillin' and being ho-bros. Nothing date-ish about that, right? Girls do that all the time, right? Yeah, totally. Her roommate—Marylin? Matilda? Oh, wait, Madeleine, that was it!—and that French girl used to hang at the mall all the time, and there was nothing even vaguely romantic about those two. Sure, she forgot her roommate's name and existence all the time, but she would definitely be the first to know when the girl was dating someone. Especially if that someone happened to be the perverted and slightly scary roommate of Aretha.

Relieved that what she had gotten herself into was clearly a platonic relationship and had nothing to do with the pleasant butterflies that fluttered in her stomach whenever she saw the British girl wearing her New York shirt, Ally smiled to herself and curled against one of her pillows, ready to fall asleep. Just as she was about to drift off to dreamland, lulled into a false sense of security, the door burst open revealing far too much light and far too much Gillian Beillschmidt. (Though Ally could sleep through nearly all Gillian-related disturbances, she must first be asleep in order to be impervious to the annoying albino.) She glared at the white-haired girl standing in to the doorway, curling tighter around her pillow. Gillian was wearing black and white running shorts and a matching sports bra, and just behind her, Ally could see a girl with long wavy blond hair staring slightly distractedly at the albino girl.

"What are you guys doing here?" Ally demanded sleepily. The blond girl was shaken out of her trance, and pushed past Gillian to enter the dorm.

"I'm your roommate," she said softly, adding a barely-there, "dipshit."

"What? No you aren't—oh, wait. Hey, Maddie! It is you! What're you doing today?"

Maddie sighed, and rifled through a pale red bookbag in the corner of the room. Gillian had followed her and was casually leaning against the wardrobe. "I'm getting my iPod so Gilly can borrow it."

Ally scoffed. "What's she need it for?"

"I'm going for a run," Gillian smirked. She made a show of looking up and down Ally's body on the floor. "You could use one too, fatty."

"Oy!" Ally scrambled up from her nest of blankets to point an accusatory finger at the girl. "I am not fat. And you, you could use some sun, creep!"

"Hey—!"

"Alright, ladies," Maddie said as loud as she could, coming to stand between the two glaring girls, "Break it up. Ally, it wasn't very nice of you to call Gillian a creep, and Gillian," she added as the white-haired girl stuck out her tongue at the American, "calling Ally a fatty wasn't nice either. Even if it is sort of true. Here's my iPod, and I expect it back by tomorrow."

"Thanks, sugar," Gillian said, taking the red iPod out of her friend's hand. She bent to press a kiss against the Canadian's cheek. "See ya later, Maddie," she said as she stepped out of the dorm, sending one last dirty look Ally's way.

Maddie gave the doorframe a rather sappy smile, and sat down on her bed, pulling her bookbag up with her. As she began humming a few bars of an extremely jaunty song that Ally couldn't quite place, the American sat down on her own bed, giving her roommate a suspicious glare. After a few moments of aimlessly shuffling through her bag, Maddie noticed the look she was receiving. "What is it this time?" she demanded.

"Why do you hang out with her so much?"

Maddie flushed. "Because she's a good friend. She's been there for me—"

"She's such a lesbian!" Normally, Ally didn't have anything against lesbians—hell, the entire dorm building was filled with 'em, right?—but when it came to her poor, innocent roommate who could be corrupted… "She's just trying to get into your panties!"

"Wait, no! No, she's not just trying—" the girl stuttered, "Al, listen to what you're saying! You sound so, so—"

"So what?"

"Whatever the cross between a mother hen and a self-hating gay is. You sound like that, eh."

"I'm not a self-hating gay!"

"Fine, you're a deeply-in-denial one then!"

"I'm not gay!" Ally insisted vehemently, slightly confused by the sudden turn in the conversation. Wasn't she supposed to be the one making all the accusations? She glared into the violet eyes of her roommate.

"Oh for God's sake, Al, you watch women's soccer constantly! And not in the sort of enthusiastic fan of the sport sort of way!" Maddie sprang from her seat on the bed and stormed to Ally's wardrobe where she flung open the doors. The inside of the wardrobe was just as messy as Ally's side of the room, but what really caught the eye was the absurd amount of posters lining the inside, all of a fairly young soccer player wearing the number fifteen. Maddie gestured at the sight, continuing, "You have so many pictures of Megan Rapinoe plastered to the inside of your wardrobe, it's absolutely terrifying!"

"Don't bring Meg into this! I just—I just value her athletic ability!"

"You scream at her to take her shirt off whenever she scores a goal, or helps score a goal, or just shows up on screen!"

"That doesn't count!" Ally insisted, rushing up to slam the wardrobe doors shut protectively.

"Oh, and does Aretha not count either?"

"No!" she shouted immediately, amending, "What do mean by that?"

"C'mon, Al, stop kidding yourself. You've got the hots for this little British chick. You're putting the moves on her!

"I'm—I'm not…" As her words trailed off uncertainly, Ally sank back to her seat on the bed. She didn't act any different around Aretha than she did with other people, right? So yeah, she had been keeping an eye out for the petit blond since they had met two weeks ago, but that didn't really mean anything. And okay, maybe she had been running around without a bra more than usual, but... Maddie sighed and sat down next to her, patting her shoulder awkwardly.

"Oh honey. Honey. You are," she said in the most comforting way she could. "You watch horror movies with her, even when you know how they affect you; you invite her to spend the night even when she was probably rude to you—"

"She wasn't that rude!"

"And listen to yourself! You're standing up for her! You probably asked her out, too, didn't you?"

"No, we're just gonna hang—"

"Ugh, Al. Really, just listen to me: You. Like. Her. In the gayest way possible. You want to watch The L Word with her. You want to take her to see Black Swan. You'd like to take her to a concert of The Indigo Girls, Tegan and Sara, and TATU—"

"But TATU isn't even a legit lesbian group! They're fakin' gay!"

"Okay, that self-incriminating evidence aside, listen to me," Maddie said, forcibly turning her roommate's face to lock blue eyes with violet. "You want this to work out, eh? Don't talk, listen. When you get to the mall, ask her if she wants to eat lunch. If she says yes, for the love of God, Al, don't you dare take her to one of your regular fast food places. Just let her choose, and be sure to offer to pay. Same thing goes for what movie you two're gonna watch. I don't care if you really want to see the newest superhero movie, or horror movie, or whatever: Let. Her. Choose. Got it, eh?"

Ally pouted, prepared to deny anything and everything that was said in the last five minutes, but instead nodded as a blush flooded her face. "Ugh, fine, Maddie," she sighed melodramatically. "But I'm telling you, I'm so not gay for Aretha. Heroes don't turn gay for their damsels."

Choosing not to comment on the last bit of her roommate's assertion, Maddie instead said, "Of course you aren't." She gave Ally one last awkward pat on the shoulder and crossed the room to her own wardrobe where she pulled out some clothes and her toiletries. "Now if you'll excuse me," she said softly as she made for the door, "I have to go take a shower. I still feel sticky from last night. Then I have a project to finish before Monday."

Nodding, mellow and somewhat sleepy from the sudden and uncalled for heart-to-heart (though it was more of a Maddie-yells-and-Ally-listens-and-tries-not-to-cry) with her roommate, Ally waved Maddie out of the door. Then, yawning, she pulled up a blanket from the floor, wrapped herself in it, and fell asleep.

-u-

One-oh-five found Ally rushing down the stairs to the lounge area, trying to wrestle her shirt over her still-wet blond hair. She had, fortunately, found the elusive pile of clean laundry in her room, and had chosen from it a pair of dark blue jean shorts and a very low-cut red-and-white striped long-sleeve shirt. To finish off the outfit, she had yanked on her favorite cowboy boots before racing out of the door. As she slammed open the door to the lounge, wallet, keys, and phone clutched tightly in her hand, Ally's eyes danced over the social area, hoping that her new friend hadn't abandoned her for being late. Her heart jumped (for purely platonic reasons, she tried and failed to convince herself) as she spotted her petit English friend sitting in a slightly isolated chair. Aretha was wearing her hair in low ponytail with a tasteful amount of barrette pulling back the bangs. Or at least, Ally assumed it was a tasteful amount; when it came to hair accessories, she had never really learned when so much was too much. The Brit was also wearing a cute black skirt and mint green sweater-set.

Internally celebrating the fact that Aretha hadn't taken Ally's lateness too personally, Ally ran up to the girl's chair and threw her arms around Aretha's shoulders. "Artie!" she shouted gleefully, earning stares from the few other girls in the room.

Aretha jumped in her seat and turned her head upwards to glare at the American. "I've told you, it's Aretha," she said, "and you're late."

"Sorry, sugar," Ally laughed. She had yet to remove her arms from Aretha's shoulder; actually, she had yet to feel the urge to do such a thing. "So," she began, dangling a set of keys in front of Aretha's face, "do you want take my sweet ride to the mall, or do you want to catch the University's bus?"

Continuing to stare up at Ally, Aretha frowned, thinking. "What, pray tell, is this sweet ride of yours?"

Ally grinned: she'd been hoping her new friend would ask. "It is the most beast, the most boss ride in the parking lot. She is a battered veteran, three years my senior, and the most patriotic little pickup truck you will ever see! Best damn automobile Detroit ever put together, I swear. My Lady Liberty's been in so many accidents—"

"On second thought," Aretha interrupted, her face drained of color. "Let's take the bus. It leaves in five minutes, and I'm sure you'll be happy to save all that money on gas."

"Sweet."

Ally swung around to the front of the chair and perched on one of the armrests, knocking her knee against Aretha's. Oh yes, this outing was going to be awesome. How could it not be? She was the hero after all.

-u-

I am terribly sorry for the overuse of French in this chapter. It's just…uh. I dunno. After three years of the language, it just forces itself on you, yanno? So, "ma chere" is "my dear," "ma Anglaise" is "my Englishwoman," "belle fleur" is "beautiful flower," and "tu a oblie ta cle sur la table, donc je laisserai la porte overt, oui?" is "you forgot your key on the table, so I will leave the door open, yes?" I probably should have used immediate future instead of future, but…I need practice. If anything's wrong…laugh at my incompetence and move on, please.

I'll probably have their mall adventure in the next Ally-Aretha chapter. Right now I'm just trying to decide if I want to post a Poland and Liet backstory in this story, or create a new one… I'd like to know what you guys think.

Aaaaand, sooo sorry for the delay. I'm just a terrible person.