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randombush3 · 5 months

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a sense of coming home

ona batlle x reader

summary: part two of this! ona and you are (frustratingly) still just friends

words: 6.5k (i have NO idea why i waffle so much but lets pls allow it)

warnings: there's like five secs of smut at the end

notes: this has been the most self-indulgent fic i've written because this is how i met my gf and so i am glad to show you a nice happy ending

again, the quote is from 'this side of paradise' (said gf's fav book - i don't recommend however because the protagonist is a twat)

also i didn't proofread bc i am exhausted and i am hungover and i am very ready to go to sleep (#globetrotting is not for the weak) x

There is something difficult about forcing oneself back to their toxic roots. Ona discovers as such as she presses her body into a temple of meaningless sex, but she does so because she is a driven person. Ona is determined to get over you, once and for all, except she’d quite like to stay friends (hence why she agreed when asked). She also thinks it would expose her to fall out because her feelings shouldn’t have existed anyway, so she technically shouldn’t be heartbroken?

Anyway, Ona rampages through Manchester! They appreciate her accent – some even ask her to speak to them in Spanish when she is three fingers deep inside of them, to which she obliges with little fanfare – and it isn’t like the city lacks queer women. It is a super solid way to keep her busy, to tear her attention from hungrily checking your Instagram whenever possible.

It’s also what lands her with coronavirus. She’s embarrassed to admit just how many people she has come into contact with when the club doctors ask her questions over the phone.

You send her a lovely message after hearing she is yet another fallen soldier.

Ona is at home, isolating, and you are apparently trapped in Spain, unable to get into Italy. You haven’t quite made it to your parents’ house since your flight was supposed to depart from Madrid. “How come you’re not on the phone to one of your ‘connections’?” Ona asks suspiciously, wondering why this call has lasted longer than ten minutes. “Surely someone knows someone else and they can get you back home.”

“I’m hardly out of my depth in my own country,” you remind her with a twinging sigh, pained that she has suppressed all memories of your childhood. “It’s not like I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Didn’t you get rid of it in your head to make space for Italian and English? Oh, and French too, right? That’s where the fashion weeks are.”

You laugh at her pride for knowing something about your job, but it is not to ridicule her. “I am speaking to you, aren’t I?”

“In Catalan,” she points out. “Forget Spanish, but don’t forget Catalan.”

“I can’t. It’s the language everyone uses to tell me about how fucked you’ve been lately.” You take in a deep breath, uncomfortable with Ona’s silence but knowing your piece needs to be said. “Are you aware of what happened a few months ago? Why I missed the wedding?” One of your friends met her dream man and he whisked her off to Menorca for a small ceremony. Only the people she loved the most were invited, which included your childhood friend group. “We were in New York, a whole bunch of us. It was late but the show had been a big deal so we went out to celebrate, and… these ‘friends’, these people, they aren’t the same as you and me. Most of them are English, you know, and they come from very fancy schools where addiction is normal. Two of them ended up in the hospital that night – the bag hadn’t even made it round to me by the time they’d dropped. I know it seems far-fetched, but all I’m trying to say is that addiction has consequences. Bad consequences.”

“So you’re not on my side?” Ona isn’t taking this too seriously. A few people have joked about her questionable new hobby, but no one has made it seem so dire that they have needed to get you involved. You who, of course, Ona will listen to.

“I am always on your side.”

That is her main take-away from the conversation, Ona chooses, when it ends an hour later. She swoons, meaning the last twenty women have been a waste of time, but she also tortures herself into ignoring the potential problem. Being a sex addict would be embarrassing, so she won’t be.

Though your subtle shaming for her abundance of quick-fix flings is hypocritical, Ona would also hate for you to see her that way. You can avoid commitment all you like, but she is determined to be different to prove to you that she is a viable candidate, should you wish to stop stringing her along. It’s probably toxic; it probably means that you are both clinging onto a friendship that should either end or be labelled something else. It probably is the push and pull that has kept you interested, Ona thinks, because she knows that you like the chase.

However, as much as she’d like to be freed of whatever game she is caught up in, she can’t seem to let you go like that.

…

The next time Ona and you have a proper conversation about something other than how your love lives have been stunted or how people back home are not as successful as the two of you is when most of the restrictions have been lifted.

You waited out the pandemic in Vilassar de Mar, much to your annoyance, but now that you can travel again, the first person on your mind to visit is your childhood best friend. You’re not as close as you used to be, having drifted further during even more years apart, but it does not dull your love for her, nor hers for you.

Ona has changed her mind about Manchester and is forcing herself to like it. It works enough for a visit from you to be the last thing on her mind, and so she slows her response time down until the next arranged date to see each other in person is all set for the summer before the Euros in England.

You’re not quite home but you are in the country, and, with the pre-Euros camp in two days, Ona is spending the final few hours of calm left before the storm in the comforting presence of her mum and dad.

And… you, apparently.

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” is Ona’s greeting when she opens the front door.

Your smile is wide and genuine, and you are holding a gift bag in one hand. There is a nice bottle of wine in the other. “Not even an ‘hola’?” When no reply comes, you swallow the emotions that have arisen; the ones that are maybe, just a little bit to do with how soft Ona looks with her hair down. And the slope of her jaw. And the ghosts of defined biceps that bulge even when she isn’t flexing her arms. “I’m dropping by to see your parents. I thought you were in Barcelona with your footballer friends.”

“You visit my parents?” asks Ona curiously.

“Of course.”

With that, you side-step her and call out to her mother, announcing both your arrival and your desire to hand them their gifts. Dinner is just about to be served, and Ona is soon tasked with setting another place at the table for you as though the last ten years had never happened and your friendship hadn’t lost its innocence.

Maybe it would be better for Ona to not know what it feels like to kiss you, to touch you, to – dare she think it – love you. It would certainly make things less painful, and would have saved her from catching at least one illness and spending a good amount of money on Ubers to escape from random apartments. It would make it easier to listen to you talk about your life in Milan, where you seem to exist in a bubble of incredibly attractive people who are desperate to hold hands and form a raft.

“Modelling can be brutal,” you agree, nodding at Ona’s father as you follow on from his concerns about your career. He voices them regularly; whenever you see him. Ona realises you have spent a lot of time with her parents without her. “It gets quite competitive between the girls so I’ve been somewhat avoiding them. They’ve brought in someone new, scouted from Germany, I think, and I’m a little worried that I’ll have to switch agencies if they start prioritising her.” You glance at Ona, wanting to know if she is listening, hoping she is. You wish that she were as good at suppressing her feelings as you are. You wish she didn’t look at you like you hung the moon, because you know that you have to tell her you have hung it for someone else. “I’d move tomorrow, to be honest, but I’ve started seeing this guy and he’s convincing me to stay in Milan.”

“The minute he is your boyfriend, you bring him here,” commands Ona’s mother in a tone she hasn’t yet used on her actual daughter (said daughter has never mentioned anyone before). “Show us a picture of him! Is he a model like you?”

He is, and if Ona holds her fork tighter after she sees the photo you pull up, that is her business. You secretly take in her clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows, and this might be the worst thing you have ever had to do. To see her so defeated, so hopeless, is upsetting, especially since you are harbouring the same feelings. However, you are able to admit when it is time to throw the towel in, and you can no longer live like this.

Ona is too perfect for you. She is driven, hard-working, and funny. She likes to nutmeg little children on the street, and she likes to buy them an ice-cream if they slip a goal past her, slotting the flat footballs into imaginary nets and celebrating as though they have just won the Champions League. She knows a lot, more than she thinks she does. She cares about people, but sometimes it manifests in anger, in frustration.

Any aspect of her is an aspect that you could love, and that is reason enough not to. Because how can you allow yourself to taint such perfection?

But, in this unspoken rejection, the compliment is obscured from the recipient’s view. All Ona sees when you gush about how he buys you flowers and takes you out to dinner, is a burning, bright question. It flashes red and yellow, both as a warning and cry for attention. How can she compete if you don’t even recognise her as a competitor?

…

“--And then they proceeded to finish a film they were halfway through as if it were the most normal thing ever,” Ona rants the minute she hits the concrete of Las Rozas, walking into the facility with Aitana and the other girls who travelled with her from Barcelona. Only the midfielder has been gracious enough to listen to the entire monologue, but the others joke that that is because Ona’s emotional state has led her to spiral in her native language. It is forbidden for them to openly speak Catalan in the Spanish camp, according to Jorge Vilda, who loves to hurl a ‘we can send you back to where you came from in an instant’ their way if he so much as hears a ‘bon dia’. Naturally, Aitana doesn’t give a fuck about the rule, although Ona chooses to believe that she is listening because she cares.

“Are you done?” Aitana asks thoughtfully, sucking on her bottom lip as she tries to absorb her friend’s crisis and formulate a valid, sensible response. The two have known each other for a while now, and Aitana remembers a time when Ona was relentlessly teased by their older teammates for being in love with her best friend. It is clear to her that those feelings never ceased, though she has heard through the grapevine (Leila Ouahabi) that you are now a model and you live somewhere in Italy. You’re part Italian, is what Leila also claims, having professed your ethnicity to a small huddle of fellow gossipers one day in the gym at the Barça training facility.

“No! Nothing is ever done with her. It’s viscous and it continues in a horrid cycle that has me flapping around in circles like some idiot. I am one of her boys.” Ona groans dramatically, the sound perhaps a little too loud. A few of the girls in front of them turn around to see why a cat seems to have been strangled, but they quickly lose interest when they see it is just Ona and her disastrous situation. “Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to be one of her guys? I am a professional footballer! I play for Manchester United, one of the most historic clubs in the world, and I am about to represent my country in a major tournament. I am successful, Aita, and yet I am still not enough for her.”

“Maybe she only likes men.”

“A man has never made her scream like I have,” she bites back. Aitana blushes, but Ona is too far gone in her rage to hear her crudeness nor preserve her friend’s sanity. “She’s been like this since she decided she was gay! Isn’t that hilarious? ‘Ona, I think I’m gay’, she said. I know lesbian breakups can be hard, but there is no way my cousin fucked her up to this extent.”

“I can’t help you with this, Oni,” Aitana laments, sorry to have to confess this to her friend. “I think you need to talk to her about it. A proper conversation to fix long-term issues, not like the ones you obviously had when agreeing to stop having sex and things like that. Only she knows what she’s thinking.” It is definitely not the advice Ona wants to hear, but she cannot deny the midfielder’s wisdom. “But for now, we focus on winning.”

…

You are more than a little confused.

To start from the beginning, Ona’s cousin fucked you up. She broke your heart, and that first impression of dating girls was incredibly traumatising. With girls, you don’t just kiss and sleep with them, you get close – really close – and then when you break up, it is like you have lost both a girlfriend and a best friend.

Men are a lot simpler. Men like you and they aren’t shy about it. They can sometimes be just as cruel, but you have never felt invested enough to care too much.

Some nights, you don’t fall asleep, tossing and turning between your sexual identity, aware that you don’t need to label it but desperate to… discover yourself. If you don’t understand that part of you, how will someone else? How can you be loved? How do you even know who you want to love you?

For as much as Milan is great, it definitely doesn’t help you with your crisis. Girls in Milan like to do what they want. It is not uncommon for the models to kiss each other in clubs, in front of appreciative male gazes or not, and then reveal their engagement to their future husband the very next day. It’s easy to be drawn into such a bubble, but the minute you step out of it, you are hit with the real world.

It’s what makes the pandemic so distressing for you personally, because you are forced to live like normal people for some time. Your eyes are held open and the question is shoved down your throat, and it really doesn’t help that Ona’s cousin never moved out of Vilassar de Mar.

She sees you one day, saying hello from a suitable distance as you pick up milk as per your mother’s request. “I heard you’re modelling?” she asks with no agenda, no seductive glint in her eye. You notice the ring on her finger, and she feels the heaviness of your staring. “Oh, I got married a year ago. Did Ona not tell you?”

You realise that you and Ona try to avoid talking about anything other than the love interests you have. “No, she didn’t. Congratulations, though. She’s a lucky woman.”

“You don’t have to pretend you’re happy for me,” laughs the woman opposite you, amused and somewhat apologetic. “Look, I’m really sorry for how I acted when we were younger. I was definitely not the most mature person out there, and I know I hurt you.”

“I cried for months.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. You suck in a deep breath, trying to hold the memories of your pain at bay. “The first breakup is usually the worst but at least it gets better, as you probably know.”

She looks at you expectantly, awaiting your confirmation. It never comes.

“I haven’t dated another girl since,” you tell her, sounding rather detached from yourself.

Her eyebrows furrow and she is clearly frowning behind her facemask. “What about Ona? I thought you were together when you lived in Madrid. It takes more than a friendship to do what you did.”

You were originally going to go to university in England. It was your dream, and Ona wasn’t entirely aware of the situation because you hadn’t wanted to tell her you were leaving. Then she was sent out on a professional contract to Madrid, and it wasn’t like you were the only one leaving.

Ona’s cousin, years ago, had suggested that you go to Madrid if you wanted to get away from Vilassar de Mar. “You’ll be close enough to come home when you’d like, but not so close that you’ll feel as though nothing has changed,” she had said.

No one had known about your offers in England aside from your parents. And Ona’s cousin, who’d only found out because you had called her, drunk on celebratory champagne, because you had to tell someone.

“You gave up a dream for her because you didn’t want her to be alone.”

“I moved to Milan. In the end, she was alone.”

“You sound like you regret it,” she replies, nodding once at you to bid you farewell and then heading over to a woman who is standing with a puppy in her arms. You watch as she pulls down her mask and kisses her wife, her eyes shining with love and happiness, and your blood runs green with jealousy.

You hate Ona’s cousin for devastating you once more.

Do you regret it?

It’s unclear.

You try to make sense of it when you don’t hesitate to fly back to Italy the minute you can, going home to lick your wounds at Ona’s non-committal response to meeting you when you are in London the next month. It hurts that she is no longer at your beck-and-call, but you are somewhat happy for her. You know that lines have been crossed and that she has suffered for it. You know that you are probably the one at fault here.

This time in Milan, you don’t fight it as much. You kiss other girls and let them go home to their boyfriends; you submit to the thing you had convinced yourself you would never become.

As you drive yourself deeper and deeper into your stereotype, the thought of Ona gets pushed away and newer, more culturally-acceptable fantasies come to mind.

It takes a photoshoot for him to ask you out on a date.

It takes returning home and gaining the approval of Ona’s parents (who are far more open than your own) for you to agree to be official.

You don’t ask Ona what she thinks. She’s busy, you reason, because she is representing Spain at the Euros. She won’t care who you are dating and she certainly doesn’t need it rubbed in her face.

There are many reasons why you go out with him.

One is that you do like him; he’s nice, he’s funny, he treats you well. (He’s not Ona.) Another is that rent is going up and him sharing the load is helpful. (He’s not Ona.) There is also that he is very popular within the agency, and your chemistry on camera is enough to keep your jobs rolling in and casting directors satisfied.

He’s not Ona. You know that.

That's the whole point.

If he were Ona, you’d be deeply in love with him. If he were Ona, you would never leave the house, never leave his embrace, never leave the little bubble created when it is just the two of you and no one else. If he were Ona, you would be excited about the conversations he gently guides you into; marriage, children, where you are going to live one day. You’d miss him more when he isn’t here. You’d care.

But you just… don’t.

Another year passes, more Ona-less than the last, and then she is suddenly coming back home to Barcelona, a medal around her neck and word of a relationship floating above her head.

You could ask her about it if you wanted to because she is still one of your closest friends, but the truth is, you really, desperately don’t want to hear it. While Ona has been falling in love with someone else, you have been proving your stupid feelings to yourself.

The act (your current relationship) lowers enough for you to go home for Christmas. You leave Milan as though fleeing from a hurricane, and you refuse to control the damage until you have entered the new year. Your parents aren’t entirely sure they want you moping about the house, confused how someone so successful can revert to a moody teenager the minute they are back in safe territory, and they heavily encourage you to accept an invite that was extended out to you a few months ago.

Your friends are going skiing in Andorra, and they’d like for you to come with them.

“Ona won’t be there,” one of them regretfully informs you. “She said she doesn’t want to make things weird. She has a girlfriend – or, I don’t know, a talking stage. She wants you to have fun.”

“But Ona and I are friends,” you try to explain, feeling exposed by the look of pity she gives you; the same look someone receives when they find out their ex has gotten married or something similar. As a defensive mechanism, you hastily pull out your phone and dial her number. Everyone watches you, now uninterested in their food as you dine and plan your holiday.

Ona picks up on the third ring, escaping her dinner with Lucy and rushing into the cool, nighttime air of Barcelona.

“Hi?” she says – asks – with raised eyebrows, wondering if you’re in danger.

“You’re coming skiing with us, aren’t you?”

Your friends hide their laughs behind their hands, surprised by how firm your tone is. You do not need it for Ona, because she does anything you say regardless, but they enjoy seeing this side of you. This is someone who has had to fend for herself in a foreign country.

Removing the phone from her ear for a moment, Ona sighs, disappointed in herself.

“Yeah, of course. I’ve missed you, you know.”

…

Skiing is not something Ona is really allowed to do. As a footballer, her legs are what pay her wage. Career-destroying planks of metal are not the best way to spend the dying embers of the year. She knows that. She does, she swears, but she is so eager to go that Jonatan cannot crush her dreams. He tells her, “if you get injured your contract will be reviewed, Ona Batlle,” and she promises him that it won’t happen. Nothing bad is going to happen.

It will be the first time she has spent more than a day with her childhood friends, and she is unbelievably excited.

Lucy finds it adorable and makes it known, helping her pack for her trip, versed in what to bring because her sister skis or something like that (Ona can’t really focus on her almost-girlfriend's monologue). Lucy likes Ona a lot, and it makes her stomach flutter when she thinks about Ona and her friends talking about them. She’s sure her feelings are reciprocated, and she cannot wait for Ona to return to her in the new year, all smiles and lingering hangovers, and ask her to be her girlfriend. Officially.

Your friends convene in the centre of Vilassar de Mar with two cars between you. There are ten people coming.

Someone, most-likely trying to keep the peace, instructs Ona into one vehicle and you into the other. The drive isn’t too long, but you suppose that the tension is uncomfortable for those who aren’t accustomed to maintaining a friendship despite the weight of it.

It’s five days, and you are determined to have fun.

Ona is naturally good at this, although she claims it is her first time. You, living in Milan, are just as advanced.

By the third day, the both of you agree that going off together to do some of the harder runs will be harmless. Spending the day together won’t feel like a date or a romantic holiday. Watching Ona glide over the compacted snow won’t be attractive, watching her cocky smirk as she scales the bumps along the side of the piste won’t do anything.

It won’t. (It does.)

And it just has to be the third day that someone pulls out two bottles of tequila and a drinking game that is going to ensure every single one of you is off your face by midnight.

In rooms opposite one another, you and Ona call your respective partners and tell them about how great a time you are having, actively avoiding telling them about who you spent the day with as though it counts as cheating. It doesn’t, technically. Nothing has happened. But, still, it feels intimate and secret; forbidden.

Then, there is a shout that rings through the house. Everyone comes to the table; the party has begun.

Ona finds out that she is absolutely terrible at drinking games, and loses in every way possible.

You find out that she is still just as touchy when she is drunk.

Your friends try not to comment on it, all having agreed upon yet another passive role in such an irritating situation. Their non-interference almost ceases by the time Ona climbs onto your lap, head turning as she whispers something into your drunk ears, making you laugh privately. In fact, someone has to hold someone else back before they shout at the two of you to make out or break up.

But it’s not really necessary, their prompting, because it hits a certain hour and… nothing else matters anymore.

Ona has been touching you the whole night and you have finally reached your limit.

Boyfriend be damned, you lead her to your bedroom.

She asks you many times if you still want this, and you cannot think of anything to say other than ‘yes’.

You’re not as drunk as she is, and you both know that, but everything feels so perfect and right.

When you wake up the next morning, your anger is more at yourself than the sleeping woman beside you, but she is an outward target for such a boiling emotion and it just makes things easier.

“Ona.” You shake her awake, not caring for her hangover. “Ona, I can’t believe we’ve done this.” She rubs her eyes, dazed and confused for a moment but coming to her senses soon enough. “I have a boyfriend, Ona, and… I don’t like you like that.”

It’s not true.

It’s really, really, really not true, but the fact that you have said it is enough for Ona to leave your room with the intention of never seeing you again.

She gets the train back to Barcelona, turning up at Lucy’s flat in floods of tears, and barrels straight into those strong arms with the intention of never mentioning what she has done.

…

You break up with your boyfriend a month later. Or rather, he breaks up with you, tired of being messed around, tired of your hesitation to fully commit.

The break-up is not the most upsetting thing you’ve been through, but your ego is a little bruised.

You try to make it look like you are having a great time in Milan, even though the agency has once again discarded your file and overlooked you for shoots you used to book in an instant. You try to seem like things aren’t falling apart, but it’s of no use when your father calls you and tells you that your mother is ill.

It isn’t cancer but it’s similar, and you know that you need to come home.

You pack your bags and leave without a second thought, because maybe Madrid was far enough. Maybe there is a reason Ona signed for her home club again and most of your friends still live relatively close to their parents.

Maybe you are not meant to be separated from those you love, because running away is futile if you are always going to end up together again.

In Barcelona, a modelling agency eagerly draws up a contract with you. Although you are from there, your career being based in Milan previously creates an international allure about you (or so they say), and you are assured that work is going to rush towards you as though someone has just knocked down a dam.

Your job is secured, your mother begins treatment, but there is something you cannot shake off.

It hurts to think of Ona, to think of how you left things, but it helps, too. Seeing her face in your mind is comforting. You hear her voice as you drift off to sleep, and you let it soothe you in your dreams.

“Ona has a girlfriend,” her mother tells you when you next visit them. Her frown is unexpected because all she has ever wanted is for her children to be happy and loved. “It’s not right, it doesn’t feel right.” You begin to shrug your shoulders and crawl into your shell, but she interrupts your thought process; “I think you should go see her.”

“Why?”

The woman rolls her eyes. “Just do what I say.”

You nod because she is so scarily sure about it, and you… It’s hard to believe, but you call Ona.

She picks up.

“I was sorry to hear about your mum.”

“Don’t worry. She’s fine.”

“Are you back at home?”

“Yeah, I am.” You pause. “Well, not quite. I’m living in Barcelona.”

Something fizzes in the air; pops, crackles.

“Need me to show you around the city?”

And it’s Ona, so how could you say no?

…

Your visit goes very well.

She takes you out to dinner and shows you around her neighbourhood. She introduces you when she runs into people she knows, and she is insistent about dragging you to her football match on the weekend.

Everything is seemingly forgiven and Ona is intent on integrating you back into her life.

She wants you to feel at home, though she knows you should already, and she wants to lessen the stress of hospital appointments and death and, if not death, then a difficult recovery.

You are sitting in her apartment – now devoid of all signs of Lucy – on her comfortable sofa, watching something together after a day of walking around and sealing up the cracks that formed in Andorra.

Sitting leads into cuddling and then into wandering hands that eagerly roam underneath layers of fabric.

Ona’s breath hitches as you brush the hard lines of her abs, your hands particularly drawn to them and just how strong she has become. “You must have only felt them on men,” she offers as an explanation. “How many have you slept with in comparison to–?”

And your hands stop.

“Sorry,” Ona mumbles, seemingly upset at her outburst. “I’m just curious. I can’t work you out.” She can’t quite look you in the eye, mainly due to the logistics of your position, but she isn’t sure she wants to see the truth attached to her statement.

You question if that’s a good thing, the fact she needs to ask; the fact that she has no choice but to communicate. It was going to happen sooner or later. “A few,” is what you settle on. Ona leaves it at that, carefully pulling the hair tie from your plait, unravelling it with one hand as the other rests against your stomach in an embrace. You smile. “You’re not going to ask who?”

Her fingers stop for a moment. “No.” She speaks so quietly, her voice almost a whisper in your ear. “I don’t care about them.” You relax into her more, feeling her against your back, feeling the softness of the blanket against your feet as it hangs at the edge of the sofa.

“Who do you care about, then?”

“You.”

Carefully, both her hands hold your hips and she sits you up, smiling as she does. You tell her she’s showing off, she replies that you are always showing off. To that, you brush those hands from your sides and lean down to kiss her, more decidedly for once; more in control. It’s a surprising feeling for both of you, the forcefulness. Urgency. Not unfamiliar, but unexpected for this time on this day.

The last time you kissed Ona, you had a boyfriend.

Your mouth goes to her neck as soon as she decides that she wants her hands back on your hips, pushing you down into her lap. It’s now a competition, you think. She’s quickly coming completely undone by your kissing and biting, but you are not ignoring the feeling as she makes you grind down, makes you need that friction. “Fuck,” you moan in her ear. She grips you tighter.

You start to pull off her shirt having had enough of the grey between you, asking if it’s okay, if she’s sure she isn’t too tired. Her reply is, “take it off, god,” and then the removal of your clothes that get thrown just shy of the wine glasses set out on her coffee table. Leggings aren’t the most practical for impromptu sex, but she’s quick and smooth and someone who has definitely done that before.

With your bare chest on display and almost nothing between Ona and you, she lifts you up for a moment with the intention of flipping the two of you, getting you on your back. You pause for a moment, trying to decide if she’s doing it because she wants to or because she thinks that’s the only way to do it, but her hands are moving now, up your sides, round the front of your chest and you relax. She laughs quietly, amused, because the tension dissipates, dissolving like sweet, sweet sugar in hot coffee as soon as your legs wrap around her back.

Ona asks before she does it, picking you up and laying you back down without needing to part her lips from your own. You watch her as she sits up, body in between your thighs. “You’re going to just stay there?” She shakes her head. “I can top,” you tease, a stark contrast from how it was the last time you did this. Ona doesn’t like being told she can’t do something. However indirectly.

“Yeah?” You nod, biting the smirk out of your lips. “I don’t care.”

You are in the process of rolling your eyes when her cocky mouth is put to good use. Your underwear was taken off at some point earlier — you hadn’t realised. Ona’s head moves between your legs, up and down, your hand that isn’t holding onto the sofa in her hair, the soft waves lacing between your fingers.

She’s good at it; thorough, practised. Her tongue circles your clit for a moment before dipping into your entrance. Something about the cockiness of her movements, her tongue, her hand rubbing between her own legs, makes everything more surreal, more blissful. She moans softly, lips kissing their way up your body, hands no longer focused on herself. Instead, they take the place of her mouth, two fingers inside you as quickly as it takes for her to ask if you are okay to carry on. Your reply (“yes”) is cut off quickly by her mouth on yours, tongue swiping at your bottom lip in another question of permission. You can taste yourself on her.

At her command, you sit up, letting her pull you back onto her lap as she sucks at your neck. “Don’t leave any marks,” you warn as her teeth pull a whimper from your supposed stoicness. “I don’t want the makeup artists asking questions.” It comes out too late, because you feel her teeth graze your collarbone quickly, not painful, no, but something that feels so, so good. “Ona.” She sighs in disappointment and adjusts where you are in her lap, so your legs are either side of her thigh.

You find yourself rocking slowly, letting her savour your breasts between her hands and her mouth. She whispers that she wants to see you come, that you don’t need to hold back – not with her, not ever – so you start grinding down, harder, faster. Her hands drop back to your hips, guiding your movements, forcing you to slow down when she feels everything building up. Each time, you let out a “fuck” and attempt to go against her grip to get that friction. “Not just yet,” she mutters, no longer touching you anywhere other than where her hands meet your hips and her thigh presses between your legs.

“Fuck off, Ona,” you breathe, frustrated. “When, then?”

She slows the pace even more. “Can you last a little longer?” You look at her face, brushing away the strands of hair that have fallen over her eyes, ghosting your fingers along her cheek, running your thumb along her lips. She smiles again, eyes creasing slightly.

As her hands drop to cup your face, you say, “you’re beautiful.”

Ona blushes.

You look down at her exposed cleavage, nipples pebbled against the sports bra that is unusually low-cut. It might border on intense staring as you begin to grind against her with the intention of actually getting off now. She laughs, saying her eyes are higher up than that, but going back to her trail of kisses along your jaw nevertheless.

For what seems like longer than a few seconds, the build up finally stops, the tower toppling over in a rush of pleasure. Ona’s hands move your hips as your head drops to rest on her shoulder. She talks you through it, telling you that you look so pretty, telling you that she’s so turned on.

And that’s when she whispers it.

It has taken years to get to this moment, many of them filled with unnecessary suffering.

It has taken years but it does not matter.

Ona tells you that she loves you and that is when you have finally come home.

#woso x reader #woso #randombush3 #barca femeni #woso imagines #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle #ona batlle smut

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byfulcrums · 5 months

Text

Fuck it. Invincible Tumblr

💥 explosionsbaby Follow

Wake up to see the aliens attacking again. God fucking damn it.

❤️ justamonstergirl Follow

Imagine how the aliens feel after seeing you

💥 explosionsbaby Follow

Get better insults. You won't be insulting anyone that way

❤️ justamonstergirl Follow

Nahhh. Don't need to. You already humiliate yourself every time you open your mouth

💥 explosionsbaby Follow

Your entire existence is an insult

☪️ superherofan Follow

i forget that superheroes have social media and regularly use it.... invincible has Tumblr holy shit

🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow

Boo.

☪️ superherofan Follow

OMG??

#HI MR INVINCIBLE SIR #I SWEAR ALL MY A/B/O FICS WERE WRITTEN OUT OF LOVE

🌙 artemislover Follow

Can't believe I have to say this, but can you guys please stop making Omni-Man x Immortal theories?!?!

Ik you think the idea of them having been romantically involved is funny, but c'mon, people

It is true that there should be more openly queer superheroes, but the fact that there are people who genuinely believe they fucked is wild...

Besides, we have to stop following the lives of superheroes that closely. They deserve to get some privacy too! They're still people

Also, didn't Omni-Man once mention his wife?? And son?? Shipping him w a man when he's clearly straight and in an established relationship is stupid

🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow

These are all great points but they've definitely fucked

🌙 artemislover Follow

INVINCIBLE?????

🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow

Godddddd. My parents just do not know what privacy is, PLEASE STOP HAVING SEX WHEN I MIGHT BE HOME... please you're killing me

🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow

Wait, shit, wrong blog...

🌭 hotdog Follow

shocking revelation: invincible has parents

🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow

??? Of course I have parents. Where'd you think I came from?

🌭 hotdog Follow

Honestly i thought you were from mars

🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow

from MARS????

#i'm not martian??? i don't even look martian #do i look martian?

💃 thedancingquinn Follow

ATOM EVE LIKES MY FAVORITE BAND????

🚫 ohgodpleaseno Follow

really? How do you know?

💃 thedancingquinn Follow

Okay quick storytime

My friends and I wanted to go to see this band live for a LONG time, so we saved up money for years until we could finally afford it, right?

Well, the day we finally get to see them live, I look up and I see Atom Eve, just. Flying there. Above the crowd

She was singing, apparently very loudly and she looked like she was having sm fun. She saw me and waved!!! Atom Eve!!!! Waved at me!!!!!!!

🧬 atomevesss☑️☑️ Follow

💃 thedancingquinn Follow

WAIT R YOU THE ACTUAL ATOM EVE

🧬 atomevesss☑️☑️ Follow

Yeah. Check my Insta, there's a link to this blog!

💃 thedancingquinn Follow

AFKFHFHFHFJDJDJDJDDJDHFHSUEUEJEJ

#ATOM EVE TALKED TO ME!!!!!!

🤖 officialrobot Follow

Today, Monster Girl told me to download this app and create a blog — I did not think it was necessary, but she insisted.

I decided to listen to her. She was very persuasive.

I will be sharing things about my day, as she has told me to do. Expect to hear from me after this.

👀 eyaseyaseays Follow

you really think we're gonna believe you're the real Robot?? C'mon.

‼️ notafurryyet Follow

Dude, RP exists. Let people live their lives in peace

❤️ justamonstergirl Follow

This is so funny

‼️ notafurryyet Follow

That's... The real monster girl. Replying to a fake Robot post...

Dude I think he's real

🎉 partyshitter Follow

The new Guardians are a fucking shit show. Are we seriously meant to believe they're going to protect us? Really??

💥 explosionsbaby Follow

Oh Id like to see YOU almost get killed every single fucking day without one fucking break only for asholes like you to shit on us like that. We almost die every single day!!! Were the ones geting our hands dirty not you

🤖 officialrobot Follow

I'd* assholes* We're*

💥 explosionsbaby Follow

Your supposed to be with me in this one

🤖 officialrobot Follow

You're*

☪️ somanykates Follow

The Immortal kinda... 👀

💥 explosionsbaby Follow

WHAT

💥 explosionsbaby Follow

I cant believe she cheated on me... what a bitch

🧬 atomevesss Follow

😐

☪️ somanykates Follow

We're going to have a fucking talk, Rex.

💥 explosionsbaby Follow

Shit

🍐 shrinkshrek Follow

You had this one coming buddy

🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow

The fact that Miles Morales canonically reads JJK, though...

🔫 shootmeplease Follow

INVINCIBLE LIKES MARVEL?? AND JJK???

🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow

Why is everyone always surprised when I like something? I don't get it

🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow

🧬 atomevesss☑️☑️ Follow

I cannot have just found out you're still alive through Tumblr...

🧬 atomevesss☑️☑️ Follow

Seriously though. Are you okay now? I know you're not mentally, after the whole Chicago thing w your dad, but at least physically?

🌟 notsovinciblenow Follow

I'll survive, I guess

💔 thisishowtobeah Follow

INVINCIBLE?? It is such a relief to see you're still here after the whole Chicago ordeal Mr Invincible

📸 definitelyinsanebaby Follow

Yeah maybe don't remind him of that rn??

💔 thisishowtobeah Follow

OH SHIT I'M SO SORRY

#I AM SO SO SO SORRY #omg i hope you're doing good mr invincible :(((

#invincible #invincible series #invincible comic #mark grayson #atom eve #rex splode #kate cha #shrinking rae #robot invincible #monster girl #unreality #fake tumblr #fake social media #this is fun #avis' post

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kritischetheologie · 6 months

Note

Advice for a 26 year old? Apart from the normal.

oh jeez. oh gosh. I just turned 30 and my god if I could undo 90% of the decisions I made between 24 and 29... anyway here's some advice that I do think is generally applicable and isn't just me talking to my younger self. and also a little bit of me talking to my younger self.

At some point between 22 and 30, you will find that hangovers are instantly 3x worse than before. The only silver lining on this fact is that having to cut yourself off earlier in the night is cheaper. But mostly this is one of those aging things you just need to accept.

2. You need to find a form of physical activity that works with the body and the lifestyle you currently have. I don't care if you played [insert sport here] in college. If you're only able to play it once a week, you will injure yourself trying to perform at the same level you did previously. The people I know who have the worst relationships with their bodies are the ones who get stuck in the cycle of pushing themselves too hard, getting injured, having to take time off, lather rinse repeat. Find ways to move your body that make you feel like you inhabit it fully, that make you proud of what you can do now, that get your mind engaged, that expose you to the goofy experience of being bad at something new... let go of whatever came before and live in the now.

3. If your reproductive system came with ovaries, a uterus, etc: for the next decade of your life, everyone is going to have opinions on what you do with it, and these opinions are going to be self-contradictory. knowledge is power. learn about your hormonal cycle, so you can know what's going on in the body you inhabit. I highly recommend tracking your cycles-- there's a million apps that will do it, pick the one whose UI makes you want to throw up the least. This is important no matter what you want to do with your reproductive system. Learning to recognize the signs of where you are in your cycle, the effect of different hormones on your mood, etc. can help you predict and adjust for the way you fluctuate throughout the month. Tracking your cycles can also help you catch hormonal irregularities, issues like PCOS, etc. Find an ob-gyn you can be honest with about what you want to do with your body. get pap smears--I'm constantly amazed how many of my friends get regular STI testing but always forget about pap smears (cervical cancer is no joke).

4. second of all (this is a subset of #3, but tumblr doesn't let me do sub points): when it comes to the question of whether and how to reproduce, you have to decide what is important to you and be willing to defend it. maybe you know you want like six kids, you know you never want kids. maybe you're queer, and you aren't going to be doing it the old-fashioned way, and you know you really want to gestate a child, or really don't. maybe you feel strongly about passing on your genes, or about not. I would encourage you to think seriously and capaciously about reproductive options. by this I mean: don't just sit around waiting to someday wake up knowing. treat the question as an invitation to explore. think about all the ways that people build families. meet people who have fostered, who have adopted, who have had children alone by choice (or not by choice). look at the people around you, and the trade-offs they have made, and decide which lives look the best to you. pay attention to the people whose lives make you go "shit, I didn't realize you were allowed to do that," or "how do they get away with that?" or even, "who do they think they are, doing that?" I think we have an overly negative view of envy as an emotion. it can point you towards what you really want. and if there's things you want to accomplish before you reproduce, career-wise, or in terms of personal growth, or just a whole bucket list of shit you want to do, get started checking things off that list, and also don't be afraid to add more.

5. this one was also originally part of 3 but it also gets its own block because tumblr keeps trying to cut me off and it's super important anyway: you have so much more time to do everything than our culture wants you to think. you have time to change your mind about what you want, even. but you don't have time to drift on the cloud of vague ideas you internalized from your parents and the walt disney corporation. that's not me saying not to get straight married and do it the old-fashioned way, or not to become a doctor because your family wanted you to, or whatever. that's me saying that even if you're going to do that, you get to--you have to--decide what that relationship, or that career, looks like. you get as much say in building that life as anyone else. in both your personal and your professional life, you have time to pivot, to start over, but if the prospect of being 29 when you finish a three year pivot horrifies you, you need to realize that starting it at 32 will be even worse. that post about how "it takes three years" "the time's gonna pass anyway" is so fucking true. I'm still learning this one.

6. Making friends as an adult is as hard as everybody says it is. You have to be the one who does the ask. You will feel like the one doing the ask more often. Do it anyway. A corollary: if you were ever very, very close with someone, and you've drifted apart due to time and space, there is no amount of time and space that will make them not glad to hear from you if you reach out. don't think that if you haven't spoken to someone in a year you're not allowed to again. you don't even need an excuse. you can literally just hit them up like "hey, i'm sorry it's been so long since we've talked. i'd love to catch up-- i miss you! let me know when you're free for a phone call." and it will work. everyone is as lonely as you. people are so grateful to be asked. but also, everyone isn't going to be your best friend. if you can go to an event, or join a thing, or work in a place, and come out with one true friend, and keep adding one true friend everywhere you go, you'll have a whole bunch by the time you hit 30.

7. there is no correct amount of maturity for your late 20s. some of your friends are going to hit what feels like their 30s early-- doing all the conventional bourgeois success markers, the marriages and the houses and the babies. some of your friends are going to keep partying like they're still in college. I wish this was the part where I told you there was a secret third thing (the secret third thing is doing both, at the same time, and it's maybe the worst of all). for the next five years of your life, I need you to just stop thinking about your "developmental milestones." facebook and instagram and your parents' friends are going to make this hard for you. remind yourself that you're not a toddler. there's nothing you're supposed to be able to do at this age. there's nowhere you're supposed to be at this age. this realization can be really hard to handle, especially for people who got validated earlier in life for doing things early. it's impossible to read above grade level once you're out of high school. that freedom is hard. i'm not being condescending, it's genuinely fucking hard.

8. the conclusion of #7 is a subset of this: the great tradeoff of adulthood is that you get agency, but you have to take responsibility. if you find yourself in a situation where it feels like you have responsibility but no agency-- where you're constantly being blamed, but never get to call the shots, for example-- get the fuck out. whether that's a relationship, a job, whatever it is. if you find yourself exercising agency but not taking responsibility, sit with yourself and learn how to own your choices. you can't only have one.

9. if you aren't sure what you're doing with your career, you could do a hell of a lot worse than just trying to be whoever it is you wanted to be when you were 10. or at least, asking yourself what it was you liked about that thing, and figuring out a way to do it. if you aren't sure what to do with your career, get a job that pays your bills, and find fulfillment in the things you do in your free time, instead, for a while.

10. the thing I regret most about my late 20s is how much of it I spent in the waiting room of my own life. assuming that I would be leaving a place I lived, so not investing myself in making friends there. assuming that eventually, things would either get better, or worse, in a relationship, so I would be able to tell whether it was working or not. you have to sit down every fucking day (ok, not literally every day, but like... many of them)... and think about the life you want to have someday, and then you have to do one concrete thing to make that real in the moment. every day. and if you have some vision of where you want to end up eventually, but you're miserable every single day of the path toward that thing, I need you to consider seriously that achieving that goal will not make it worthwhile. I'm not saying to blow everything off and sit on the beach every day, but fuck, man. I spent, like, 26 to 29 hanging on white knuckled to a life that I thought was setting me up to be where I wanted to be when I was literally, like, 60, and eventually I just said you know what? I've got 30 fucking years to get somewhere good at 60, and I'm miserable right now. don't hold your present self hostage to the future.

11. get a cool fucking jacket and make it your entire personality. or a big pair of boots. or a haircut, or a tattoo. you might feel like a poser, at first, but you have to do it anyway. actually, that's a general rule: trying to be the person you want to be will always feel like being a poser at first. do it anyway. that's how it becomes real.

12. it's genuinely offensive how often the solution to what feels like the world ending is drinking a half-liter of water and having a snack.

#thank you anon for this ask #I hope the advice helps #whoever you are wherever you are i believe in you and feel free to come back for more advice #answered asks

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nekropsii · 3 months

Note

On the topic of Eridan Discourse (eridiscourse?) earlier, I typed up a very long ask this morning (brought to mind by the discussion) trying to pinpoint a specific thing about the way the fandom handles transfem Eridan headcanons that rubbed me the wrong way. Instead of sending it I spent the rest of the day pondering it. Because the thing that was nagging me wasnt "people do it in a mocking way" and certainly not "headcanoning characters as transfem is cringe" and I finally figured it out.

(it feels wrong to use he/him in this context/phrasing so she/her it is) I feel like a lot of transfem Eridan content treats her transitioning as a cure-all for her negative qualities (sometimes explicitly as a punchline to the joke! but a lot of the time more subtly too) in a way that doesn't even necessarily come across as transphobic so much as just plain old misogyny. And yes, if you want to explore something like "once she solves this problem for herself she's able to deal with resolving her harmful viewpoints" that's cool and I get it! I might be more onboard with the headcanon if I saw more content that took itself seriously!

But most of the time it comes across as a binary of "girl will not be as shitty as when she was a boy because that is how Girl and Boy genders work" in a similar way to some June characterizations that replace her character traits to make her fit a certain image of "Girl". Beyond that (even in tons of March Eridan doodles that aren't even straight up drawn in the mocking light of the original) I feel like that same issue comes up in a ton of transfem Eridan art--she's just so flattened and sanitized even by people who seem to be genuinely trying to portray her in good faith.

This also kinda brings to mind the occasional discussion I've seen of transfem Cronus which I believe you've commented on before. My guess for most content I've stumbled on of that (including stuff I've seen one of my good friends create!) is that it's a riff on the March Eridan stuff (which afaik is the reason transfem Eridan is popular in the first place) and not taking the implications/fulfilled stereotypes it brings up into account...which (once again) seems to usually be avoided by tidying up the character flaws and ignoring negative actions to create a Good And Proper girl character which. yeah, isn't much better.

Anyways WOOF that got long but hey I think it was somehow originally longer before it became actual analysis. idk, do you think this checks out? ( oh I added some formatting inspired by how you write posts in hopes it makes it easier to follow...)

Yeah, I don't tend to be a fan of transfem!Eridan works - and even some June works - because a lot of people handle it in ways I just find... Iffy. If it's not weirdly oversexualizing a 13 year old, then it's acting like Transition is a magical Cure-All for every single one of your issues as a person. I don't think it's valuable to pretend that realizing you're Queer automatically deletes any prior character flaws. It's harmful, even - plenty of people will discover their gender doesn't line up with what's been expected of them, or that their attractions aren't a part of the cisheterosexual norm, and... Believe themselves to have done all the legwork necessary to wash their hands clean of any other bigotries. Plenty of Queer people are bigots - be that lateral bigotries, or racism, or ableism, or what-have-you - it's more common than anyone wants to admit. There is a reason that the Progress flag exists, you know?

Eridan and June tend to get flattened down to very stereotypical ideas of the gender of "Girl". June's wildly out of character and portrayed more like fanon!Jade, than... Well, herself as she appears in the comic. Eridan's issues are sanded down to the point where all she is is an evocatively posed barely-teenage mannequin in a skimpy outfit. Both of them are regularly portrayed as having had their issues blip out of existence the second they realized they might not be guys. The transfem!Cronus headcanon will never make sense to me and never be morally okay to me. To say Cronus is Transfeminine is just outright violent Transmisogyny, no matter who it's coming from. That's not even a fucking conversation. It isn't a debate. That's not cute. Really? The guy who fakes minority statuses to try to sleep with people? The aggressive, hyper-bigoted sexual predator? The sex pest who isn't above repeatedly sexually targeting children, one of which he is related to? That? You saw that and thought "That's a trans woman"? Really? You're seriously saying that with zero ounce of shame in your body? Go to hell.

Back to June and Eridan - Part of the issue is Misogyny, yes, but I feel another issue coming to play is that a lot of Tumblr seems to view Queerness as inherently Virtuous, rather than a normal thing that people just happen to be sometimes. Tumblr's prone to very... Unwittingly Catholic mindsets, and Queerness being inherently Morally Cleansing is definitely one of them... And it goes... Extremely unchallenged, all of the time. It's pretty grating, honestly.

#homestuck #homestuck fandom #eridan ampora #june egbert #cronus ampora #cw transmisogyny #cw misogyny #nekro.sms

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theodorecanaryhood · 9 months

Text

The Coffee Shop guy and Red Hood IV

Arkham Verse Jason Todd x Male! Nerd Reader

Warning: mention of homophobia and sex, plus some violence

There was a spring in your step as you walked hand in hand with Jason, the streets were busy as it was coming up November. Of course, people had the bright idea of preparing for next month now.

‘Can we check this place when we’re done?’ Jason asked, you nudged your glasses up your face.

‘Yeah, course’ you winked a little, Jason swung his arm a little along with yours.

You two weren’t paying much attention to what was around you, hence how you didn’t notice that you were leaning toward trouble.

‘Look at these two, queers’ a man called out, hanging back with his two men.

‘The fuck you say?’ Jason shot his head round to look at the men.

You nudged Jason a little to say a message of ignore them, without saying it. But Jason saw red.

‘You heard me’ the man said, obviously the leader of the group.

‘You can call me whatever you want, but you do not call my boyfriend anything’ Jason barked, the three men laughed, not taking Jason seriously.

‘Leave it, babe’ you urged by pulling Jason’s arm.

He softened to your voice and touch, allowing you to lead the way.

‘You should’ve let me hit them’ Jason said, voice shaking from anger.

‘Not when you’re Jason Todd, Red Hood does it and no questions asked. And no, that is not an invite to hunt them down later’ you reassured.

You sat with Jason in a diner, neither of you ate much today so you shared a plate of fries and both had a burger.

‘Fuck’ Jason muttered under his breath, you raised an eyebrow.

Turning your head to see the three men from earlier come into the diner. Sitting at a far end table. They seemed to spot you both as they pointed and chuckled.

‘Ignore them’ you urged again, noticing Jason’s fists clenching up.

You placed your hand gently on his, pleading with your eyes.

You both managed to have a good night out as Jason began to forget about the men from earlier. Until one of them shouted an obscenity to you.

Jason rose onto his feet, but you jumped in front of him, placing your hand on his chest.

‘Get them later’ you whispered, winking as Jason nodded.

You both paid for your food and walked out hand in hand, you stuck your finger up at one of the guys.

The three men were causing trouble again, as they were throwing bricks near passing vehicles. Shouting insults to people in the streets.

Obviously, it was no trouble at all for Jason to track down these three men, who had a record as long as his career.

Red Hood landed on top of their car, whistling at them to alert them. They pulled out their knives as Red Hood flipped over their heads.

Red Hood shot one in the arm and then the leg, wrestling the bigger one to the ground with ease. Then giving a hard kick to the head, knocking him out.

The third, the leader, Jason grabbed his arm and twisted until he heard a loud crack and the man let out a scream.

‘Why?’ The shot man asked, holding his leg.

‘Those two men, from the diner. They’re good friends of mine. And I don’t appreciate the things you said’ he charged and grabbed hold of the man’s shot arm.

The man winced in pain, Red Hood let out a chuckle.

‘Painful? Oops. Maybe this’ll teach you and your fellas here, to be a little nicer to everyone’ he said lowly as he finished off with letting the man drop on the floor.

‘Put pressure here, it’ll slow the bleeding’ he said, hesitating with his thoughts. But still, he didn’t want to kill them. Just make a point.

Sometimes, Jason looked at criminals like these three and felt a tiny hint of pity on them. Unsure why though, however he just wanted to scare them.

‘Done?’ You asked as you came out of the kitchen, Jason nodded.

‘Made sure they went in the ambulance ok, felt bad for shooting one of them. But it was non lethal spots, plus it hopefully scared them enough to be nice’ Jason said, taking his jacket off.

You walked over and gave Jason a kiss on the lips, him lifting you up off your feet.

He took your shirt off along with his, carrying you around the place. Upside down on his back.

‘My glasses are gonna fall off’ you said, taking them off and placing them on the table.

Jason laughed as he threw you off his back and onto the bed. Kissing your chest, stomach and then pulling your pants down.

‘Time for some fun’ Jason growled as he pulled your underwear down.

You gripped the bed sheets as Jason lowered himself and took you into his mouth. Making you moan out his name.

As always, Jason knew how to work you and get you to the end. He knew your body so well, and all its sweet spots.

Not to sound too vulgar, but Jason knew the exact spots to hit with you that most of the time you wouldn’t need to jerk yourself, he’d be so deep in you hitting it himself.

The rainy nights were the best for the winter, as it meant you weren’t in a hurry to leave. But Jason insisted on taking you to laser tag. He was surprised you’d never done it before.

Just simple things like these, innocent moments that Jason had. Times he showed his more fun and outgoing side, it made you fall more in love with him every time.

Moments like these, you never wanted to forget. Moments, Jason would always treasure. He went from the menacing and ruthless Arkham Knight, to the killing machine Red Hood, to this giant yet so loving and caring man.

#red hood #gotham #red hood fanfiction #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd #jason todd x male reader #jason todd x nerd #red hood x male reader #red hood x nerd

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copingwithobsessions · 1 year

Text

Billy is autistic ♾

Just me rambling about an headcanon I take wayyyy too seriously :)

Hyperfixation : horror movies (obviously)

He just keeps talking about it. All the time.

Also him using his hands while talking in this scene

(There's also something to be said about him mentioning the queer actors and not the 'straight' characters but that will be for another post-)

Also in the phone call where we're sure it's him :

(If he was the one calling Casey then there's even more-)

Also him just constantly talking with movie-related things : "It was edited for TV- all the good stuff was cut out", "nice solid R rating, on our way to a NC-17", "lately we're just sort of edited for television", "Maybe your movie-freaked mind lost it's reality button","It's all a movie, it's all...one great big movie.Only you can't pick your genre","I think she wants a motive","I don't really believe in motive, Sid.", "See it's a lot scarier when there's no motive Sid", "Is that motive enough for you ?", "How's that for a motive ?", "Just pretend it's all a scary movie Sid...How do you think it's gonna end ?", "Perfect ending.", "Now Sid, don't you blame the movies. Movies don't create psychos, movies make psychos more creative !" and basing his killing spree on horror movie tropes : phone calls, masked killer, virgins being the final girls (literally having sex with Sidney to fulfill the trope), 'no motive' etc...

2. Abnormal posture

3. Staring (last 2 photos, both scenes in Sidney's room, police station scene...basically when there's Sid) or excessive blinking (doorway scene, kitchen scene...(basically when there's Stu)

4. Plans and changements

Billy (and Stu) planned their entire killing spree (from the dates it would be on : surrounding the one year anniversary of Maureen's death, to the person they would frame and his supposed motive as well as Casey and Steve's murders with the phone call, the attack at Sidney's house, Billy's incarceration, Stu's phone call following it, Billy's fake death, kidnapping Neil before his flight and using his phone, hiding his car, using a voice changer, stabbing each other to seem like victims, the party etc...)

When Billy's (and Stu's) plans get changed (Dewey, Gale and Kenny being present, Sid escaping the kitchen with her dad and Stu losing too much blood), Billy panics and goes into what could be defined as a meldown : throwing out insults, walking in circles, never going to check on the first floor, destroying Stu's living room and just panicking all around-

(When he fails getting Sidney to trust him and makes her escape to the toilets, he punches himself in frustation)

5. Insociability

Basically doesn't talk in the fountain scene

Awkward and Unsettling while talking, even to his friends

Doesn't pay attention to girls being interested in him

Doesn't seem at ease with the number of people leaving the party

(Even fidgeting though that may be just be him checking that the people are leaving for real)

6. Overdramatic

7. Favorite person/people

Okay this one's not that common in autistics but for Billy, he definitely has a special person, two in fact :

He literally started killing because his mom "moved out and abandoned" him.

For Stu, I will be vague cause I'll talk about it in detail in the other post 👀but basically he's not really himself unless Stu's there and planned a killing spree where only they would survive (+ trusted him to stab him).

Bonus : If Billy is the one who called Casey

"I only eat popcorn at the movies" Well I'm getting ready to watch a video "Really what ?" Oh, just some scary movie "You like scary movies ?" Huhuh "What's your favorite scary movie ?" Hum- I don't know... "You have to have a favorite, what comes to mind ?" Hum...Halloween ! You know the one with the guy in the white mask who walks around and stalks babysitters. "Yeah." What's yours ? "Guess." Hum- Nightmare on Elm Street ! "Isn't that the one where the guy had knives for fingers ?" Yeah, Freddy Krueger. "Freddy, that's right. I liked that movie.It was scary." Well the first one was but the rest sucked."

"It's an easy category : movie trivia"

"Come on, it's your favorite scary movie, remember ? He had a white mask, he stalked the babysitters"

"Then you should know Jason's mother, Mrs Vorhees, was the original killer ! Jason didn't show up until the sequel."

And that's it ! A complete analysis of what could be considered autistic traits from Billy that got way too long-

#scream #scream franchise #scream 1996 #billy loomis #stu macher #sidney prescott #stuilly #autistic headcanon

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ofmdrecaps · 1 month

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08/18-19/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins; Taika Waititi; GalaxyCon SanJose: Vico, Con, Kristian, Nathan; Leslie Jones; Madeleine Sami; Connor Barrett; Tell Tale TV Poll; Fan Spotlight: BairNecessities Affirmation Cards; Our Flag Means Fanfiction; Love Notes; Daily Darby/Tonight's Taika.

== David Jenkins ==

Davi's sharing more love for our crewmates and their dedication to OFMD. @smolbus, you're right hon, there is always hope! Ty for sharing your ink!

Source: David Jenkins Twitter

== Taika Waititi ==

More birthday shenanigans for Taika and Rita!

Source: Rita Ora's Instagram

Annnnd More Time Bandits Articles! This week Taika's gonna be in quite a bit of the final episodes it looks like!

Image Sources: The Taika Archives Twitter

= GalaxyCon San Jose: Vico, Con, Kristian, Nathan =

These four had such a lovely time in San Jose, and so did so many of our crewmates!! The cast was kind enough to post lots of pictures of the convention! Hope yall had fun! Please feel free to share your pics/stories!

Source: Kristian Nairn's Instagram

Source: Vico's Instagram

Nathan was out with Harvey Guillen and lots of other friends at the Winchester Mystery House while out in San Jose!

Source: Nathan Foad's Instagram Stories

== Leslie Jones ==

Leslie's going to be doing another stand up tour-- coming up Sept 29 you can see her at the Because They're Funny Comedy Festival at The Wharf in Washington D.C.! Learn more on their website!

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A post shared by BECAUSE THEY’RE FUNNY- BTF (Property of NICE CROWD) (@becausetheyrefunny)

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Source: BecauseTheyreFunny Instagram

== Madeleine Sami ==

Nice to see Madeleine was out with the ladies of Deadloch at the 2024 TV Week Logie Awards!

Source: Prime Video AUNZ's Instagram

== Connor Barrett ==

Our beloved Hornberry out and about watching Angel City FC!

Source: Connor's Instagram

== Tell Tale TV Votes ==

Our dear friends over at @adoptourcrew are keeping us appraised of Tell Tale TV's new polls! You can vote for Ed and Stede for Category 3: Ship of the Year (Comedy or Animated Series)! While you're there if you want to help support some other queer shows, What We Do In The Shadows - Nandor and Guillermo are up in Ship You'd Most Like to See Sail (Round 1)!

Source: Adopt Our Crew Twitter

== Fan Spotlight ==

= BairNecessities =

Back again tonight is the kindest soul, Mik, aka bairnecessities! Her OFMD Affirmation cards continue to make me smile every time I look at them! Did any of you get to stop by her table this past weekend at GalaxyCon San Jose? If you didn't get to you can check out her shop/follow her on the various socials here: Instagram / Twitter / Linktr.ee / Etsy

First up is probably my favorite card from her S2 Deck:

The next two are from her secondary character expansion! I adore that we get Alma and Louis in there, and even Doug NoLastName and Jeffrey Fettering get a spotlight with wonderful messages for all of us!

Mik does other series too aside from OFMD (like Good Omens, and Helluva Boss!) You can check them out on her instagram below!

Source: Bearnecessities Instagram

= Our Flag Means Fanfiction =

New Epitizer this week from our good friends over at Our Flag Means Fanfiction. Seriously, the amount of content they put out, keeping us all engaged is amazing. If you haven't given them a listen or a follow please do! You can check out the new "when life gives you lemons" on their linktree!

Source: Our Flag Means Fanfiction Instagram

== Love Notes ==

Hey there lovelies, I hope your Monday started your week off well <3 As I'm sitting here typing this I have my son asleep under one arm, so I apologize if this is a bit scattered. I saw this infographic today and it made me think of you all. I don't know about you, but I spent a lot of my life thinking I had to do everything, excel at everything, have all the money, and the car, and the house, and the kids, etc. But you know what? Life isn't about having everything. It's about finding the things you love and matter most to you and focusing on them. The things that matter most to me will absolutely be different from everyone else (we may share some of the same) but no two people are exactly the same when it comes to interests, and thats beautiful. Dig deep into the things you love crew, and remember you don't have to feel any shame for the things that mean the most to you. Do you like video games? Or Ornithology? How about fanfiction? Or maybe Indy 500 races? Do you find joy when you're alone in the woods? Or sitting out with friends at a bar? Do you enjoy being alone? Or maybe you love to sing your heart out at karaoke? Whatever it is you love-- embrace it, whether it's "Weird" by someone else's standards or not. If it makes you smile, if it makes you enjoy your time on this little blue dot-- dive in lovelies, with no regrets. I so very hope that even if it's only little bits at a time this week you get to spend doing the things you love, whatever that may be. Rest well and drink some water tonight <3 Love you crew

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== Daily Darby / Today's Taika ==

Happy Murray Monday, and Taika Tuesday everyone! Tonight's gifs are courtesy of @fandomsmeantheworldtome and @meluli, thank you so much for keeping us well fed with fantastic gifs of our favorite folks <3 You are doing Calypso's work my friends.

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thrashkink-coven · 10 days

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Aphrodite says: stop arguing with transphobes online. Seriously. I’m talking to YOU. Stop. Every minute of your queer life you spend trying to change the minds of bigots is another minute spent feeding into their game. Ignore them. You’re very likely not going to change their mind. They don’t want to be informed. It doesn’t matter what you say or how long you spend. Your every breath is proof that they are wrong. You are an experience, make sure you are a good experience. As a queer person you have a responsibility to experience joy, as much joy as you can for the rest of your life. Live and laugh, do something that makes you happy. Hang out with your trans friends, check in on them. Aphrodite wants you to be joyous and proud. Lowering yourself to the level of your haters isn’t going to bring you fulfillment. The negative thoughts of others don’t need to make a home in your brain. You’ve already won. Stop talking to losers.

#pagan #paganism #aphrodite devotion #aphrodite deity #aphroditos #lady aphrodite #aphrodite #luciferian #lucifer devotee #lucifer deity #trans #transgender #lgbt #lgbtqia

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queerweewoo · 2 months

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okay this is very long and mostly just for me to get some stuff of my chest and out of my head therefore anybody tagged pls don't feel as though you have to read it all (like obvs you know you don't have to but you also hopefully know what i mean lol):

so i've had some quite heavy stuff going on in meatspace recently, and then i went to see i saw the tv glow two nights ago which was beyond brilliant but fucked me up entirely on a personal level. then, just to be a bit (read: incredibly) stupid, i for some reason (read: bc i'm a masochist) decided to delve into reading waaaay too many of my first 'eddie losing his shit over christopher leaving/summer of sexuality queer crisis' fics, which i've not dared let myself do before now bc it's all very close to the bone for me i.e. my own queer (trans) crises—yes, plural, they keep coming—and stuff that's not a million miles away from the shit going on with my eldest son (bar kim lol). why tf my brain chose the worse time possible is just another one of life's mysteries (read: i'm just insane [see above]).

(btw my struggling hugely with issues of repression plus my son hating/not hating me aside, THIS FIC is the insanely brilliant piece of art that kicked off the binge. it's from the astonishingly talented @wildehacked and is one of two parts which are possibly the best buddie fics—or even just some of the best fics, period—that i've ever read. seriously, check the tags and if you're a buddie lover and it/they seem like your sort of thing you should 100% go save/read it/them!)

anyways, after all that i'm now just kind of spiralling a bit tbh aha. i'm not fine, not rn, but i will be fine at some point soon sort of thing. like, i'm okay and nobody needs to worry etc i'm just trying to do one if the countless things that i'm absolutely bloody terrible at which is reaching out. but not because i need anything from anybody it's more just for me to be able to say “i'm going through some stuff right now and i might or might not disappear for a while” because i don't usually manage anything at all like that when i'm in the trenches and instead just retreat into my shell and go radio silent—and the thing is, i know some very lovely people who have shown concern when i've done that in the past and i'm therefore trying to be better. friends old and new alike such as @shealynn88 @sharkfish @greyhavenisback @raisesomehale @doilooklikepeople @woodchoc-magnum @buddiebeginz i'll absolutely be getting back/chatting to you when i'm able to interact with a bit more—well, when i'm a bit more, i 'spose xp

also tagging lovelies @novemberhush for the usually well-loved procrastination tag game stuff and @inell and @kitteneddiediaz (and possibly @veronae-buddie and @daffi-990?) for the WIP games i've been kindly tagged in but not responded to. thank you and sorry! like, i know it's absolutely fine and nobody really cares about stuff like that, but i'm just very much feeling like i need to say these things right now. and more apologies if there have been tags i've missed from other lovely folks; not being round these parts for 48+hrs = horrendous notifs situation (you know how it is).

on the writing front, i don't know if it's both completely dumb and ridiculous to start this by saying, “hmm, i'm unsure if it's related or not?” but as well as everything else i'm simultaneously having one one those Everything I Have Ever Written Am Writing Or Could Write Is Utter Fucking Dogshit sort of moments (like, i know i'm not a great writer—which is not derogatory and just fact and 100% absolutely fine—but i'm usually at peace with the strange little oneshots i puke out, y'know?) which is yet another reason for me to disappear off here for the time being as i sadly have one of those unhealthy irrational relationships with fandom that's like I Don't Deserve To Be Here If I'm Not Being Useful—which i know is dumb af and i would absolutely try to coax anyone else out of if it were them saying it and not me, but alas poor yorick. thing is, i used to be incredibly prolific in making fanart, for loads of different fandoms, and that too has dwindled considerably over the last year or more (god, is it that long?) therefore it's just a double whammy currently with the writing now also taking a hit. and i know, i know, whomp whomp poor me etc etc i just—i fear whenever i disappear, i won't ever be able to make it back... bleugh horrid lol

obviously i can't seem to be normal about anything ever so i'm sorry if this is a weird way to respond to nothing happening that nobody asked about (there is no 'if'; it absolutely is weird but i'm afraid it is what it is) and i truly don't need anything from anybody, i just think me posting this and saying how i'm feeling will probably be doing me a bit of good. honestly, pls feel free to ignore, this is just cathartic for me. but i guess, at the same time, as well as those things, me being on the spectrum means i'm not skilled at keeping friendships going, which makes me very sad, so this is maybe me voicing those fears in an attempt to combat them becoming a reality? i think? it's just that i've already drifted away from too many lovely people here due to the affects of these things and i'm therefore just—i think i'm just really trying in my own odd little way.

anyways i'm gonna go rewatch some sense8 and sob out my own weight in tears and snot and just keep on keeping on with existential crisis #4793 for the time being until something shifts in me and then i'll be back at some point? yeah, i think that sounds about right.

love you guys big much (one of my son's isms from when he was little) <3

ps just realised i wrote this on my buddie blog and really can't be arsed copying and pasting it over to my main @all-or-nothing-baby... so anybody who was wondering, yeah it's me yer boi cassidy xp also if you read this far you're insane and i love you even more for it <3

#i actually hadn't decided whether i was going to even post this or not then accidently pressed the post button so here we go i guess lol #personal #and i guess #911 spoilers #just in case

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fists-on-up · 8 months

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I started this blog when Twitter looked like it was going down so I could keep up with my gaylor friends. Most of them are still on Twitter, but as a writer I am a wordy motherfucker & I hate character limits. So, rather than let this blog lay dormant I am going to use it for more personal gaylor related things & more abstract/complex perspectives.

I might as well start by explaining how I stumbled upon the gaylor community because I feel like my journey here was much different than most.

I am a little older than Taylor & have mostly listed to rock & EDM my whole life. I don't hate pop, but I don't really seek it out & I don't care much about trends or pop culture. I had heard the most popular Taylor Swift songs in passing. I didn't hate Taylor at all, I just never looked further into her music.

I do vaguely remember feeling like YBWM sounded very much like being in love with your high school best friend who doesn't consider you an option because you're a girl, and as a Shakespeare obsessed lesbian Love Story pinged the ol' gaydar because forbidden love is way more common for queer people. It's not impossible, though, for a girl's family to not approve of a particular boy so I chalked it up to a specific situation she faced coupled with me viewing lyrics through my own (very gay) experiences. Especially given the fact that Romeo & Juliet tends to be referenced often based upon a very surface-level understanding of the story.

These thoughts did stick with me subconsciously, as it turns out. One day I was listening to a Spotify generated playlist I was really digging and Don't Blame Me came on while I was in the shower. I thought "Wow, this is a very sexy, Sapphic song who the hell is this??" I checked when I got out of the shower & was so confused. I LOVED it and listened to it frequently, but it still hadn't clicked completely.

Then I heard only the bridge to Cruel Summer in a TikTok & said "Oh my God, she's gay!" I immediately recognized how painful & difficult it is to play the part of "friends" in public and the sense of doom that comes with realizing you're in love with a girl while closeted. If you've never had that experience, I envy you. How we treat people we're in love with isn't really planned out, it's automatic. Trying to catch that & substitute "friendly" behavior when you don't even know HOW to be her friend is very hard. It's hard to not feel insecure when the woman you love treats you like a friend, too. It's hard to hide the love and the pain if you wear your heart on your sleeve. In short, it's torture. A unique torture you can only really describe or recognize if you've experienced it. I have, and immediately knew Taylor had too.

As soon as this clicked I immediately devoured her entire discography over & over again. For days it was all I did, starting before I got out of bed and ending when I fell asleep with a notepad on my bed listening to evermore (again). I was 100% certain she is queer before I ever Googled "Taylor Swift gay?". I didn't even know there was lore or a community at first.

I didn't just recognize her queerness because I'm queer, however. I recognized it because I'm a writer. Not by profession. By passion, I suppose. And what really made it clear was what Taylor doesn't say.

I realized I was gay when I was 14 years old and when I did I wasn't scared, I was excited. I had come to the conclusion that the entire world was just... faking it. Girls would kiss boys & go on & on about it, almost every song, movie, & book was about love, and I just couldn't relate. I had kissed more than a few boys, but I seriously did not understand. I would pretend to fit in, but it was not at all appealing to me.

Then a friend stayed the night & kissed me. A friend that I wasn't consciously attracted to at all, and yet - fireworks. Suddenly I realized that people weren't exaggerating or lying about attraction & love. I realized that the concept of attraction wasn't merely recognizing that a boy was conventionally attractive, it was attraction like two magnets pulled together. Like gravity. I wasn't broken, the world wasn't a lie, and I was fucking ecstatic about it.

But then I told some close friends and most of them immediately stopped talking to me. Some became hostile. This was around 1999-2000 in Small Town, Texas where there were no out queer people. Looking back I understand that it was just a matter of kids being ignorant and uneducated and, well, kids but at the time it was confusing. I tried to backpedal and told the friends who stayed that I was bisexual. I even tried to be bisexual (spoiler: I am not). The excitement I initially felt quickly turned to fear & I chose to hide it from anyone else.

To cope with the constant overflow of my newly-activated heart and the isolation of having no one who understands, I poured myself into poetry. I started reading Shakespeare at 11 and had read most classical works by the same age. By 14 I had multiple poems published in collections, had read every work of Shakespeare & Poe, and had memorized the Chorus to Romeo & Juliet. Using poetry to cope was kind of my brand. So cope I did.

I wrote thousands of poems. I filled binders & spirals & journals. I was always writing. Most people knew I was published young & knew I was writing like crazy, so it wasn't uncommon for other kids to read what I was working on. Sometimes they'd commission a poem from me.

The fear of anyone finding out (including my parents) meant that I had to be very, very careful with how I worded things. No she/her pronouns. Nothing that would give me away. The occasional red herring. I would be specific enough that the muse would know it was about her, but no one else would.

I almost always wrote to the muse, using "you" more than anything. Poetry is like a love letter, so it comes naturally, but it also prevented the need for gendered pronouns. I wrote that way so much I still default to it now (and I have a hard time NOT pouring my heart out to anyone I care about). I didn't realize it at the time, but my writing was inherently queer coded despite my efforts to conceal it because, well, I'm queer. Sound familiar?

There are simply some things that are upside down when you're queer & you don't even recognize it because you've never NOT been queer. Things you say straight girls wouldn't. Things you don't say that straight girls would. Straight people don't see it because they've never NOT been straight. Hell, queer men won't recognize Sapphic language because they've never been attracted to a woman OR been a woman.

There are subtle, inherent tells separate from intentional tells or flags. I didn't realize that, and neither did the kids (or adults) who read my work semi-regularly.

One day my close friend borrowed my poetry journal to catch up on what I had written. This was an especially vulnerable journal, but it was just as obfuscated as everything else. I thought nothing of it and went about my day.

Hours later, during lunch, I was outside probably bumming a cigarette off of an equally punkass kid or smoking a bit of weed from a pipe crafted out of a soda can when I heard a girl shouting my name. I left the hidden corner and walked to the main area to see a girl I didn't know walking around, calling my name loudly over and over. I called back to her, confused but glad it wasn't a teacher busting me smoking.

When we were finally face to face she confirmed that I am in fact me & I realized that she was holding my journal. She pulled me to a more secluded area, looked me in my eyes, and said "these are about girls, right?"

Fuck.

Shit.

Fuck shit.

I was a sophomore. 15 years old. She was a senior. A beautiful black girl named Lovely who I only knew of because it was a small school. And here she was just... straight up asking me. No one had ever asked me before. I had never had to answer this question before. I was caught off guard & wholly unprepared for this.

The closet is an awful place when you hate lying.

So, I didn't lie. For some reason I looked right into this girl's eyes and reluctantly, fearfully, said "Yes." Then I held my breath.

But she didn't laugh at me, didn't call me a dyke, didn't preach at me. She just... fucking cried.

This lovely girl named Lovely completely broke down in front of me, a complete stranger, and I did not realize what was happening.

Turns out Lovely wasn't just lovely, she was queer. And scared. And so, so lonely. She thought she was the only one, until she heard what my poetry didn't say. She recognized the inherent queerness in my writing because she identified with it and immediately came to find me.

I consider that conversation to be one of the most pivotal, defining interactions of my life. The entire time I thought I was alone & Lovely was there. Lovely thought she was alone & I was there, and I suddenly realized coming out wasn't really about me. It wasn't about the friends and family who would reject me. It was also about being visible. Being brave. Being proud. It was about the other queer kids who thought they were the only one. The other kids who couldn't come out. With this realization, from this conversation, I found purpose.

The very next day, Lovely came to school in baggy jeans and a basketball jersey - a huge departure from the very feminine presentation she always had. We never talked about it again, just exchanged fond smiles and nods in the hallway, but she came out to some extent. I came out within a week of our conversation, and I made a conscious decision that I was going to be loud about it.

My mom was great when I came out & I knew she'd have my back. Before the word "privilege" was commonplace, I at least understood that my supportive mom gave me an advantage others didn't have. I felt like I had not only the ability but the responsibility to be visible and unapologetic.

I was a rebellious little shit. I would make out with girls in the hallway. I lined the inside of my locker with Playboy pictures. I wrote "gay" on my forehead in hot pink lipstick when I got sick of being asked if I was "fully gay".

As a result, the varsity quarterback would call me in tears to talk through his struggles with his sexuality. I knew the most popular boys all of the girls wanted were actually very in love with each other. Girls who would laugh along with their friends who called me a dyke would hook their fingers into mine when they passed me in the hallway & pull me into dark rooms at parties when no one was looking.

I became the keeper of secrets. Society makes queer people lie & uses the guilt of that "deception" to keep people closeted. We lie to ourselves, then to everyone else, then to all but a few trusted people, then even when we're out we lie on behalf of others. I still hold secrets, even for those who don't "deserve" my loyalty. It's part of it, like an unspoken code. Closeting is lying, whether we like that or not. But lying is morally neutral. Intent & impact matter.

That time of my life was hard. Teachers would treat me differently. One flat out told me I would go to hell in front of the class. Another refused to intervene when my girlfriend was physically attacked by another girl who was pissed about her dating me. The school tried, for a time, to force me to use the boys locker room so other girls wouldn't feel uncomfortable. The school tried to ban me from taking a girl to prom (even though I was taking a friend, my girlfriend's family wouldn't allow her to go with me). A group of boys chanted "1, 2, 3, 4, death to the lesbian whore" when I got to school every morning. I got in a lot of fist fights. Mostly with that group of boys. Someone broke into my locker and wrote "dyke" all over & inside of my text books in huge magic marker. I remember telling one of my teachers I couldn't read part of an assignment because of it & trying not to cry. I was preached at constantly by kids & a few teachers who saw me as an opportunity to "save a soul". I have a lot of stories.

But you know what? I got the teacher that told me I would go to hell fired. I fought back when they tried to make me use the boys locker room. When they tried to ban me from prom, I printed hundreds of pages of court rulings from cases in which schools tried to do that to other gay kids, stormed into the principal's office, dropped it on her desk and threatened her. I went to prom with my friend. And after I had graduated, my high school girlfriend (who was a grade below me) finally got to take me to hers. A gay boy I'd never met won prom king and he thanked me for it. I didn't even know him, but he knew me. I won every single fist fight. I didn't cry about the slurs written in my books in front of people & I protested when they washed it off of the front of my locker. I wanted it to be the dyke locker. I took everything they gave me with a smile & asked for more, because it showed other kids it was possible. I made myself a lightning rod for hate on purpose, because then the "less problematic" queer kids were seen in a better light. It protected them. It also made sure they knew I was there. And they came to me & I did my best to help. I chased girls & have so many stories about drunken hookups and falling in love. Wild nights & happy days.

Don't get me wrong, I fucked up plenty too. I certainly wasn't a hero, and I put myself in very real danger multiple times. There were a lot of failures & mistakes. There was a lot of pain. But it was absolutely, positively fucking worth it. Despite it all I look back on that time fondly & I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. And I'd do it the same.

That time of my life shaped who I am in every way. I'm still that punkass kid (even though I'm pushing 40 now). Still a fighter who doesn't care how much pain I endure if I'm doing the right thing. And I never would have become that person if a girl named Lovely hadn't picked up on the queer themes in my writing that I wasn't even intentionally adding. So for me, it's kind of serendipitous that the very thing that led me to becoming everything I am today is the thing that I saw & heard in Taylor. That led me to so much beautiful art, beautiful love stories, and beautiful people in the gaylor community that is so, so dear to me now.

It takes one to know one, but sometimes knowing one puts you on the path to knowing yourself.

#gaylor #gaylor swift #taylor swift

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