It always comes as a surprise to me when I see myself on the screen, or read something that identifies me as a star. When I was a little girl, I always worried that no one would ever love me, and that I would never find a man willing to marry me. My nose wasn’t pretty and I was terribly thin. I was sickly too, with asthma and quite miserable about my prospects… But at least, I was lucky I got off the shelf. —Audrey Hepburn
Connor knows at seventeen - when he leans over and whispers in Oliver’s ear, “Meet me in the janitor’s closet in ten minutes,” just to watch that blush spread across Oliver’s face - that he will love Oliver Hampton for the rest of his life.
But he also knows that Oliver won’t. He can’t.
Connor wasn’t born with a name anywhere on his body. His soulmate can be whoever he wants.
Oliver has a name on his wrist. Jon. He hides it with a leather band Connor bought him for Christmas with Connor inscribed across the top. The N still pokes out along the side.
Hi. Greetings. Hello. Take a seat. This is an AU fanfiction.
I am now off to update my fanfic page, where in about ten minutes you will be able to find the other parts of this story.
Many thank yous to hartbigguyz who is currently betaing every story in the fandom, including this one, because she is a wonder puppy.
Thank you for reading :)
Right, lets get into this.
It’s a difficult few weeks, for Grace.
She’s not gay. She has performed a significant mental review, and has established that the notion of female anatomy does nothing for her. Like a dedicated student, she has reviewed the data, and drawn a sensible conclusion, underlining it several times in her head.
This does nothing to stop the nightly routine of getting herself off whilst thinking of Hannah, but nevertheless, this does not mean that she is gay. Or into Hannah, or whatever. This is instead merely a symptom of loneliness, and a fear of the future, and whatever nonsense Mamrie has polluted her head with.
Time is a pretty cool thing. 10 years ago today, probably at the very minute of typing this, I came out to my mom. Sobbing in our living room, it felt like I was pushing words out more than I was speaking them.
If you had told me then that a decade later I would be married to this incredible man, a man who makes me laugh so hard that I double over in ecstatic pain and a man so smart that I’m inspired to investigate all the things he introduces me to, I probably wouldn’t have believed you.
But there’s a lot I wouldn’t have believed. I wouldn’t have believed that gay marriage was possible, or that I would be sharing this message on an app called Tumblr, on a phone that is also a computer.
So yeah, big old shout out to time, that beautiful & frustrating thing that always ends up proving the impossible possible.
When I came out about being bisexual to a very well-educated medical school colleague of mine (at the top of his class, multiple degrees, extensive knowledge about politics), he innocently commented that he never quite understood the idea of threesomes and asked whether my bisexuality meant that I would want to marry both a man and a woman. I was totally taken aback that even a highly educated peer could so honestly equate bisexuality with polygamy.