#but is there really a good way to make it illegal

[writers-potion]

Hi! How do I write a mafia novel?

How To Write A Mafia Novel

The term “mafia novel” makes me think of a few possibilities here. It could be (1) an action-thriller where our hero is either fighting the mafia or is a part of the mafia or (2) a mafia romance novel, where the love interest(s) come from rich mafia backgrounds.

If you’re writing an action/adventure story where mafia are the bad guys:

They need to have a cause – a twisted one. No matter how bloodthirsty these mafias might be, no one works so hard for fun. 

They’re struggling financially. This is a great motive for the bad guys to attack the hero, or use more cruel methods than usual. 

The ones who are going against the mafia would be independent investigative agencies or the Federal Bureau of Investigation, not your typical cop or police. 

They’re allied with other crime groups, even with some backdoor government organizations. I don’t think the depiction of mafia groups as a self-sufficing group always exchanging insults with other groups in inaccurate. Also, this raises the story stakes when your back guys combine with other bad guys to get back at the hero.  

They can’t be threatened with just an incriminating recording or photo, especially if they’re obtained illegally – which means they’re unlikely to have power as evidence.

Mafia leaders realistically won’t force their children to take over – in fact, they’ll want to keep their family out of it altogether. 

If you’re writing an action/adventure story where mafia are the good guys:

Give them a motto that gives them a cause for the higher good. Like ‘manners maketh men’ in the Kingsmen movies. In a loose sense, the Kingsmen are mafia too – they’re a secret society with lots of money, etc. 

A running theme would be that you can afford to use questionable methods as long as the outcomes are good. The mafia would kill, steal, imprison and murder – but they always have a convincing reason. Plus, the bad guys are doing a lot worse. 

The mafia organization is flawed in a critical way. This can be anything – a newbie who starts to question the mafia’s practices, or a corrupt leader, etc. This flaw will cripple this apparently sturdy organization at the end of Act II, raising the stake sky high. 

Give them secret codes, special weapons, a quirky dress code, a tattoo? 

Show how the mafia are tightly networked among themselves, often in a good way. The senior mafia mentoring the newbies, colleagues struggling through their probation periods together, etc. The mafia are a tight-knit organization. 

For a mafia romance, what the mafia really does or how they’re structured, etc. isn’t that important. As long as you get the black suits, expensive Jaguars, and exclusive clubs/hotels vibe right, you have enough mafia worldbuilding. What’s important are the characters. 

If you’re writing a male mafia love interest:

They’re high-ranking, filthy rich, intelligent, and cold-minded individuals who are powerful beyond your usual realm of rationality. The absolute unrealness of these sexy competent men is what’s appealing. 

The mafia background becomes the “hurtful dark backstory”. One of the main selling points of dark mafia love interests is that on the inside, they’re fractured puppies in need of some sunshine to soften up. Give them a good reason why they’re assholes to your female love interest in the beginning. They’re repressed – high time.

They must be able to draw a line between being adorably overprotective and unreasonably controlling. The same goes for their use of violence. Sure, a male mafia love interest may kill that stalker who’s been bugging our heroine but don’t have him putting bullets in the heads of people who just mildly irritate him – that’s a huge turnoff. 

If you’re writing a female mafia love interest:

Your heroine is a clear-minded, physically fit, confident, and competitive mafia queen/princess with both eyes fixed on power and success – until the male love interest comes along, either as an enemy mafia or a clueless softball. 

Alternatively, they’re oppressed by their father/brother(s) who are hard-core, bloodless men. These heroines are capable in ways that are not approved by their mafia family (like a career in social services or running a bakery, whatever) and need someone to understand and remove them from their toxic family – our male love interest. 

Again, feel free to use the mafia background as a source for some juicy, traumatizing backstory.

Hope this helps :) 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

Tech monopolists use their market power to invade your privacy

On SEPTEMBER 24th, I'll be speaking IN PERSON at the BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY!

It's easy to greet the FTC's new report on social media privacy, which concludes that tech giants have terrible privacy practices with a resounding "duh," but that would be a grave mistake.

Much to the disappointment of autocrats and would-be autocrats, administrative agencies like the FTC can't just make rules up. In order to enact policies, regulators have to do their homework: for example, they can do "market studies," which go beyond anything you'd get out of an MBA or Master of Public Policy program, thanks to the agency's legal authority to force companies to reveal their confidential business information.

Market studies are fabulous in their own right. The UK Competition and Markets Authority has a fantastic research group called the Digital Markets Unit that has published some of the most fascinating deep dives into how parts of the tech industry actually function, 400+ page bangers that pierce the Shield of Boringness that tech firms use to hide their operations. I recommend their ad-tech study:

https://www.gov.uk/cma-cases/online-platforms-and-digital-advertising-market-study

In and of themselves, good market studies are powerful things. They expose workings. They inform debate. When they're undertaken by wealthy, powerful countries, they provide enforcement roadmaps for smaller, poorer nations who are being tormented in the same way, by the same companies, that the regulator studied.

But market studies are really just curtain-raisers. After a regulator establishes the facts about a market, they can intervene. They can propose new regulations, and they can impose "conduct remedies" (punishments that restrict corporate behavior) on companies that are cheating.

Now, the stolen, corrupt, illegitimate, extremist, bullshit Supreme Court just made regulation a lot harder. In a case called Loper Bright, SCOTUS killed the longstanding principle of "Chevron deference," which basically meant that when an agency said it had built a factual case to support a regulation, courts should assume they're not lying:

https://jacobin.com/2024/07/scotus-decisions-chevron-immunity-loper

The death of Chevron Deference means that many important regulations – past, present and future – are going to get dragged in front of a judge, most likely one of those Texas MAGA mouth-breathers in the Fifth Circuit, to be neutered or killed. But even so, regulators still have options – they can still impose conduct remedies, which are unaffected by the sabotage of Chevron Deference.

Pre-Loper, post-Loper, and today, the careful, thorough investigation of the facts of how markets operate is the prelude to doing things about how those markets operate. Facts matter. They matter even if there's a change in government, because once the facts are in the public domain, other governments can use them as the basis for action.

Which is why, when the FTC uses its powers to compel disclosures from the largest tech companies in the world, and then assesses those disclosures and concludes that these companies engage in "vast surveillance," in ways that the users don't realize and that these companies "fail to adequately protect users, that matters.

What's more, the Commission concludes that "data abuses can fuel market dominance, and market dominance can, in turn, further enable data abuses and practices that harm consumers." In other words: tech monopolists spy on us in order to achieve and maintain their monopolies, and then they spy on us some more, and that hurts us.

So if you're wondering what kind of action this report is teeing up, I think we can safely say that the FTC believes that there's evidence that the unregulated, rampant practices of the commercial surveillance industry are illegal. First, because commercial surveillance harms us as "consumers." "Consumer welfare" is the one rubric for enforcement that the right-wing economists who hijacked antitrust law in the Reagan era left intact, and here we have the Commission giving us evidence that surveillance hurts us, and that it comes about as a result of monopoly, and that the more companies spy, the stronger their monopolies become.

But the Commission also tees up another kind of enforcement: Section 5, the long (long!) neglected power of the agency to punish companies for "unfair and deceptive methods of competition," a very broad power indeed:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

In the study, the Commission shows – pretty convincingly! – that the commercial surveillance sector routinely tricks people who have no idea how their data is being used. Most people don't understand, for example, that the platforms use all kinds of inducements to get web publishers to embed tracking pixels, fonts, analytics beacons, etc that send user-data back to the Big Tech databases, where it's merged with data from your direct interactions with the company. Likewise, most people don't understand the shadowy data-broker industry, which sells Big Tech gigantic amounts of data harvested by your credit card company, by Bluetooth and wifi monitoring devices on streets and in stores, and by your car. Data-brokers buy this data from anyone who claims to have it, including people who are probably lying, like Nissan, who claims that it has records of the smells inside drivers' cars, as well as those drivers' sex-lives:

https://nypost.com/2023/09/06/nissan-kia-collect-data-about-drivers-sexual-activity/

Or Cox Communications, which claims that it is secretly recording and transcribing the conversations we have in range of the mics on our speakers, phones, and other IoT devices:

https://www.404media.co/heres-the-pitch-deck-for-active-listening-ad-targeting/

(If there's a kernel of truth to Cox's bullshit, my guess it's that they've convinced some of the sleazier "smart TV" companies to secretly turn on their mics, then inflated this into a marketdroid's wet-dream of "we have logged every word uttered by Americans and can use it to target ads.)

Notwithstanding the rampant fraud inside the data brokerage industry, there's no question that some of the data they offer for sale is real, that it's intimate and sensitive, and that the people it's harvested from never consented to its collection. How do you opt out of public facial recognition cameras? "Just don't have a face" isn't a realistic opt-out policy.

And if the public is being deceived about the collection of this data, they're even more in the dark about the way it's used – merged with on-platform usage data and data from apps and the web, then analyzed for the purposes of drawing "inferences" about you and your traits.

What's more, the companies have chaotic, bullshit internal processes for handling your data, which also rise to the level of "deceptive and unfair" conduct. For example, if you send these companies a deletion request for your data, they'll tell you they deleted the data, but actually, they keep it, after "de-identifying" it.

De-identification is a highly theoretical way of sanitizing data by removing the "personally identifiers" from it. In practice, most de-identified data can be quickly re-identified, and nearly all de-identified data can eventually be re-identified:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/08/the-fire-of-orodruin/#are-we-the-baddies

Breaches, re-identification, and weaponization are extraordinarily hard to prevent. In general, we should operate on the assumption that any data that's collected will probably leak, and any data that's retained will almost certainly leak someday. To have even a hope of preventing this, companies have to treat data with enormous care, maintaining detailed logs and conducting regular audits. But the Commission found that the biggest tech companies are extraordinarily sloppy, to the point where "they often could not even identify all the data points they collected or all of the third parties they shared that data with."

This has serious implications for consumer privacy, obviously, but there's also a big national security dimension. Given the recent panic at the prospect that the Chinese government is using Tiktok to spy on Americans, it's pretty amazing that American commercial surveillance has escaped serious Congressional scrutiny.

After all, it would be a simple matter to use the tech platforms targeting systems to identify and push ads (including ads linking to malicious sites) to Congressional staffers ("under-40s with Political Science college degrees within one mile of Congress") or, say, NORAD personnel ("Air Force enlistees within one mile of Cheyenne Mountain").

Those targeting parameters should be enough to worry Congress, but there's a whole universe of potential characteristics that can be selected, hence the Commission's conclusion that "profound threats to users can occur when targeting occurs based on sensitive categories."

The FTC's findings about the dangers of all this data are timely, given the current wrangle over another antitrust case. In August, a federal court found that Google is a monopolist in search, and that the company used its data lakes to secure and maintain its monopoly.

This kicked off widespread demands for the court to order Google to share its data with competitors in order to erase that competitive advantage. Holy moly is this a bad idea – as the FTC study shows, the data that Google stole from us all is incredibly toxic. Arguing that we can fix the Google problem by sharing that data far and wide is like proposing that we can "solve" the fact that only some countries have nuclear warheads by "democratizing" access to planet-busting bombs:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/07/revealed-preferences/#extinguish-v-improve

To address the competitive advantage Google achieved by engaging in the reckless, harmful conduct detailed in this FTC report, we should delete all that data. Sure, that may seem inconceivable, but come on, surely the right amount of toxic, nonconsensually harvested data on the public that should be retained by corporations is zero:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/19/just-stop-putting-that-up-your-ass/#harm-reduction

Some people argue that we don't need to share out the data that Google never should have been allowed to collect – it's enough to share out the "inferences" that Google drew from that data, and from other data its other tentacles (Youtube, Android, etc) shoved into its gaping maw, as well as the oceans of data-broker slurry it stirred into the mix.

But as the report finds, the most unethical, least consensual data was "personal information that these systems infer, that was purchased from third parties, or that was derived from users’ and non-users’ activities off of the platform." We gotta delete that, too. Especially that.

A major focus of the report is the way that the platforms handled children's data. Platforms have special obligations when it comes to kids' data, because while Congress has failed to act on consumer privacy, they did bestir themselves to enact a children's privacy law. In 2000, Congress passed the Children's Online Privacy Protection Act (COPPA), which puts strict limits on the collection, retention and processing of data on kids under 13.

Now, there are two ways to think about COPPA. One view is, "if you're not certain that everyone in your data-set is over 13, you shouldn't be collecting or processing their data at all." Another is, "In order to ensure that everyone whose data you're collecting and processing is over 13, you should collect a gigantic amount of data on all of them, including the under-13s, in order to be sure that not collecting under-13s' data." That second approach would be ironically self-defeating, obviously, though it's one that's gaining traction around the world and in state legislatures, as "age verification" laws find legislative support.

The platforms, meanwhile, found a third, even stupider approach: rather than collecting nothing because they can't verify ages, or collecting everything to verify ages, they collect everything, but make you click a box that says, "I'm over 13":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/09/how-to-make-a-child-safe-tiktok/

It will not surprise you to learn that many children under 13 have figured out that they can click the "I'm over 13" box and go on their merry way. It won't surprise you, but apparently, it will surprise the hell out of the platforms, who claimed that they had zero underage users on the basis that everyone has to click the "I'm over 13" box to get an account on the service.

By failing to pass comprehensive privacy legislation for 36 years (and counting), Congress delegated privacy protection to self-regulation by the companies themselves. They've been marking their own homework, and now, thanks to the FTC's power to compel disclosures, we can say for certain that the platforms cheat.

No surprise that the FTC's top recommendation is for Congress to pass a new privacy law. But they've got other, eminently sensible recommendations, like requiring the companies to do a better job of protecting their users' data: collect less, store less, delete it after use, stop combining data from their various lines of business, and stop sharing data with third parties.

Remember, the FTC has broad powers to order "conduct remedies" like this, and these are largely unaffected by the Supreme Court's "Chevron deference" decision in Loper-Bright.

The FTC says that privacy policies should be "clear, simple, and easily understood," and says that ad-targeting should be severely restricted. They want clearer consent for data inferences (including AI), and that companies should monitor their own processes with regular, stringent audits.

They also have recommendations for competition regulators – remember, the Biden administration has a "whole of government" antitrust approach that asks every agency to use its power to break up corporate concentration:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

They say that competition enforcers factor in the privacy implications of proposed mergers, and think about how promoting privacy could also promote competition (in other words, if Google's stolen data helped it secure a monopoly, then making them delete that data will weaken their market power).

I understand the reflex to greet a report like this with cheap cynicism, but that's a mistake. There's a difference between "everybody knows" that tech is screwing us on privacy, and "a federal agency has concluded" that this is true. These market studies make a difference – if you doubt it, consider for a moment that Cigna is suing the FTC for releasing a landmark market study showing how its Express Scripts division has used its monopoly power to jack up the price of prescription drugs:

https://www.fiercehealthcare.com/payers/express-scripts-files-suit-against-ftc-demands-retraction-report-pbm-industry

Big business is shit-scared of this kind of research by federal agencies – if they think this threatens their power, why shouldn't we take them at their word?

This report is a milestone, and – as with the UK Competition and Markets Authority reports – it's a banger. Even after Loper-Bright, this report can form the factual foundation for muscular conduct remedies that will limit what the largest tech companies can do.

But without privacy law, the data brokerages that feed the tech giants will be largely unaffected. True, the Consumer Finance Protection Bureau is doing some good work at the margins here:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/16/the-second-best-time-is-now/#the-point-of-a-system-is-what-it-does

But we need to do more than curb the worst excesses of the largest data-brokers. We need to kill this sector, and to do that, Congress has to act:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/06/privacy-first/#but-not-just-privacy

The paperback edition of The Lost Cause, my nationally bestselling, hopeful solarpunk novel is out this month!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/20/water-also-wet/#marking-their-own-homework

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[pickingupmymercedes]

A smile like that - Lewis Hamilton

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: playful, silly and sassy

wordcount: +1k

a/n: Lewis was smiling and so were we❤️❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

I should’ve known what would happen the moment I sent that text.

So, the secret ingredient to you is a shitty Friday and some drama, then?

When Lewis has something to prove, he really proves it. Not just to himself, to the entire world.

And in typical Lewis’s fashion, he doesn’t miss an opportunity to boost about it, even when I’m literally working.

I’m properly miffed as I storm into his driver’s room—no knock, no warning. Just righteous annoyance, fully loaded and ready to fire.

I can’t let him get away with this one, I tell myself. Not today.

Not after that ridiculous Instagram post. I was working, for God’s sake. Interviewing drivers, doing my actual job. And he’s out there, posting photos like it’s some romantic movie.

I should stay mad at him for at least a good ten minutes, minimum. Really drive the point home this time.

But as I catch sight of him, slouched on the couch with that ridiculous grin, my resolve wavers.

Damn it. It’s like trying to stay mad at Roscoe.

He’s still in his Mercedes shir, looking far too pleased with himself, his braids peeking out from under his cap, sweat glistening on his forehead.

Honestly, it should be illegal for someone to look that good after sweating like they do on those cars.

“Oh, hey, love,” he says casually, not even bothering to look up.

Oh, we’re going with casual now.

I close the door with a deliberate click and lean against it, crossing my arms. “Do you want to explain yourself?”

He finally looks up, eyes twinkling with mischief. “What?”

I scoff, unfolding my arms as I march toward him, pulling out my phone with the offending evidence.

“This” I practically shove the screen in his face. It’s his Instagram post, the one where he posted a photo of himself gazing down at me in the media pen with: Had to make sure her smile was also because of me.

It takes all my restraint not to groan aloud. Because honestly, the audacity.

Lewis leans back, completely unfazed, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You were smiling though?”

“That’s not the point, Lewis,” I deadpanned, even though, yes, I was smiling.

But of course I was. It’s impossible not to when he’s around, and that’s exactly the problem?

I hate how he does this to me. One minute, I’m determined to stay mad, the next, I’m grinning like an idiot just because he threw me a smile. It’s infuriating, and yet…

Yet here I am, standing in front of him, and no matter how much he drives me up the wall my traitorous heart does a little somersault because he’s sitting there, giving me that crooked smile like he’s some damn rom-com lead who just said the most heart-melting thing in the world.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he’s gearing up for a negotiation. “It’s totally the point.”

I blink at him. “You seriously posted this just to see if I’d show up here?”

“Well…” He pauses, his eyes flickering over my face as if he’s gauging just how annoyed I really am. “That, and because of your text earlier. You know, the one about my shitty Fridays ?”

I raise a brow. “That was sarcasm.”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums, not buying it for a second. “I was just making sure you had a smile like that for me, too.”

God, he’s infuriating.

I huff, but it’s weak. “You know, I was working. Like, interviewing drivers. Doing my job.”

Lewis stands up, taking slow, deliberate steps until he’s standing right in front of me, way too close for comfort—except it’s always comfortable with him. “And one of us was making sure the most important person in the room was smiling.”

Oh. Great. He’s bringing out the charm now.

“You’re unbelievable” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it anymore.

“And yet, you’re here” he says, stepping even closer, his hand brushing against mine.

I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch, betraying me. “Don’t get used to it.”

He smirks. “Too late”

I let out a long-suffering sigh, even as my heart betrays me, pounding a little faster.

His hands find my waist, warm and steady, and with one gentle tug, I’m pulled into him.

I tell myself I’m still annoyed, but the way his fingers trace small circles against my back makes it impossible to hold on to that thought for long.

The scent of sweat and his signature cologne fills the small space between us, and I hate how comforting it feels.

I should be making a point here.

Instead, I find myself leaning into him, my cheek pressing against his chest, the steady thump of his heartbeat grounding my own.

Because it’s Lewis, and no matter how annoying or cocky or insufferable he is in these moments, I’m always going to melt when he holds me like this.

And should I say it? The words are there, right on the tip of my tongue.

Once I say them, there’s no going back to the easy banter, no covering it up with another snarky remark.

But he deserves to hear it. Especially today.

I lift my head slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. His teasing grin has softened, replaced by something quieter, something that makes my chest tighten.

“You know,” I murmur, my voice a little more vulnerable than I intended, “I’m really proud of you.”

He freezes for just a second, his eyes searching mine. And then his grip tightens, just slightly, like he’s anchoring himself. “Yeah?” His voice is soft, cautious, like he doesn’t quite believe it yet.

“Yeah.” I nod, the corners of my lips tugging upward despite myself. “Never doubted you, not for a second.”

For a moment, something flickers across his eyes, and I know this means more to him than he’s letting on.

Lewis can put on a front, make jokes, tease all he wants, but deep down, this sport is his entire world, and today had been a good day.

After a Friday where nothing went right, after a car that was fighting him every step of the way, he still pulled through. And I’m proud. Proud because I know how much it takes, how much he gives.

He lets out a breath, resting his forehead against mine. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

I grin. “Part of the job, remember?”

He chuckles softly, his breath warm against my skin. “I’m still gonna hold you to that smile thing, though.”

I snort. “You’re so needy.”

It’s ridiculous how comfortable being in his arms is—how easy it feels, even if it shouldn’t.

I tilt my head back slightly to meet his gaze again, my hand sliding up his chest to rest just above his heart.

“So,” I say, my tone casual but laced with a hint of something more, “tomorrow…”

His eyes darken with interest. “Yeah?”

I give him a coy smile. “I could make it worth your while if you get a win.”

He raises a brow, his grip on my waist tightening. “Oh? And what exactly does ‘worth my while’ entail?”

I shrug, playing it cool. “Guess you’ll have to win to find out.”

He groans dramatically, leaning his forehead against mine again. “Now I’ve got pressure.”

“You love it though” I tease, throwing his words back at him.

He pulls back slightly, eyes narrowing playfully. “I’m holding you to this.”

“Good. But this is if you win.”

He pouts, an exaggerated look of defeat crossing his features. “Podiums are awesome too! Come on, at least give me top three.

I tilt my head, pretending to think about it. “Hmm, tempting… but no.”

He shakes his head, but he’s grinning now, his dimple making an appearance. “You’re ruthless.”

“And you love it” I say again, and this time, I mean it in more ways than one.

“Okay,” he says, his tone amused “but when I win, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re that confident?”

He smirks, leaning in just close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my lips. “You just gave me one more reason to be.”

There it was again, that damn confidence. How was I ever supposed to resist that?

The heat of his body seeps into mine, making my pulse quicken, and for a second, I realize he’s the one with all the control here.

“Good,” I murmur, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before stepping back, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. “Now go do whatever it is you do here.”

He watches me with amusement as I head toward the door. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah. Some of us have work”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable”

“Stole my line Hamilton” I glance over my shoulder, giving him a wink “But now you’re the one smiling.”

______________________________________________________________

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[changingplumbob]

Glenn: Well goodbye BooBoo. I need to go find Marisol. I think Elise said she was by the river?

BooBoo: *meows*

Putting his hands in his pockets Glenn heads away from the buildings towards the river. He can feel going through the protective barriers, like walking through mist. There are no spells he has to say to get out. The protection is about stopping things getting in. So far, it's worked. Some townsfolk walk beyond the edges of the property but always turn or stop before walking in. Glenn feels a bit guilty that less people can experience the beauty of the park but if they were discovered here there could be backlash. Not everyone was friendly towards occults even if the humans had begun to tolerate them.

As he approached where the river ran south of the property he saw a bundle of yellow and blue. Walking over he saw another spellcaster covering her dog with kisses.

Glenn: I'm not interrupting am I

Marisol: Not at all, I was just calming Sandy down after her bath

Glenn: She just had a bath? She looks dry

Marisol: Well I always move all the water off afterwards don't I

Sandy: *barks in agreement*

Marisol: Do you need help with something?

Glenn: Oh, no, I just... I've met everyone else in the coven and figured it was only polite to introduce myself

Marisol: A man with manners? Sandy approves

Sandy: *barks*

Marisol: It's Glenn right? Howard's grandson?

Glenn: That's me

Glenn bends down to say hello to Sandy while Marisol shifts awkwardly.

Marisol: I'm sorry you didn't get your guy

Glenn: Well if you listen to Ophelia he was never meant to be mine

Marisol: I listen to her most of the time. Sometimes she seems brilliant and other times...

Glenn: She's a few marbles short?

Marisol: Yes! All the best people are of course but it does make it hard to maintain a conversation now and then

Glenn: Why are you all the way out here? I thought everyone was busy studying stuff

Marisol: The coven isn't an institution. We don't stick to a set schedule of chaining ourselves to desks

Glenn: Sorry. I didn't mean to sound disapproving

Marisol: I know, I'm just antsy

Glenn: Oh?

Marisol sighed wistfully and turned to face the buildings. The pair were able to see them of course but no one else could.

Marisol: I've found I'm not good with change. We were at the last location for a long time. It feels like we've only been here for a heartbeat, it's still so new and unfamiliar

Sandy: *whines*

Marisol: I know the magic realm is only ever a step away but... it's different when your home base changes

Glenn: You don't consider leaving

Marisol: And what? Going backwards just me and Sandy?

Glenn: If you're not happy here-

Marisol: I will be. I can feel it. It's the change that's a difficulty. How about you, do you consider leaving?

Glenn: I don't know

Marisol: Sure you do. The idea has either entered your brain or it hasn't

Sandy: *barks in agreement*

Glenn: I guess... I guess there's just a lot of the world out there that seems interesting but it's still dangerous

Marisol: Some places are better than others for our kind

Glenn: I guess I just want a nice spot to grow a garden... and fall in love... and raise a family. Why did I just tell you that?

Marisol: *chuckles* It's Sandy, she puts everyone at ease

Glenn: Maybe I should get a dog

Sandy: *barks approvingly*

Glenn: Then again it's enough of a task keeping me looking gorgeous

Marisol: Don't worry if you feel out of place Glenn, it's a feeling I'm familiar with and will either pass or you'll move on

Glenn: Like die?

Marisol: *giggling* No, like move elsewhere. Willow Creek is not the only place in the world with dirt and plants I bet

Glenn: I know. My grandfather thinks I should stay for a bit though. I've never really done much focusing of my magic beyond gardening so it could be useful to learn some more. No point having a family if I can't protect them

Marisol: Hunting has been outlawed you know

Glenn: Yeah but society can take time to. Growing up... we moved so much. Hunting was illegal then to but it didn't stop irate townsfolk accusing us of stealing their livestock or killing their plants

Marisol: *scoffs* Like a Sutherland would ever kill a plant

Glenn: That's what grandfather told them! Still, small minds have small ideas

Previous ... Next

[autistic-cat-with-a-book]

Hello there. I have written a story, which I am now sharing with the keepblr fandom. Enjoy it. Please. (It's a slightly alternate ending for Neverseen, if you were curious.) Tagging @permanently-stressed because I've been torturing her with crumbs of this for the whole week, so it's only fitting she gets tagged.

okay bye

Sophie was about to step into the shimmering beam of her pathfinder when she noticed the small yellow crystal in Keefe’s hand. She barely hesitated before grabbing his shoulders and letting the light carry both of them away.

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!” Keefe shouted as they reappeared by a lake the color of blood. Tall, foggy mountains surrounded the area, and the whole place gave Sophie the creeps. Nothing good could come of this.

“I could ask you the same thing!” She snapped. “Why are you leaping–illegally– to the Forbidden Cities? Are you seriously going to try to break into an ogre prison?” 

Keefe turned away. “Go home, Sophie.”

“Not unless you explain what’s going on here!”

Keefe opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by three flashes of light. Three dark cloaks with a white eye symbol on the sleeve.

The Neverseen were here.

“Keefe,” Sophie started as the figures slowly walked towards them, “What did you do? What did you do?”

“I…” his voice trailed off.

“How are we going to escape this?” She hissed.

“Simple answer,” said the first figure, throwing back his hood. “You don’t.”

With growing horror, Sophie found the name the voice belonged to. Fintan was here. So were Brant and Alvar. They were trapped.

Fintan held up his hands, a smile spreading across his thin lips. “My, my, Keefe. You’ve really outdone yourself. Sophie is such an excellent addition to our bargain.” His eyes narrowed as he said that last part and a chill went up Sophie’s spine.

What bargain is he talking about? Sophie transmitted.

“She is not part of this deal. Let. Her. Go,” Keefe said, ignoring Sophie’s question.

“Tsk, tsk. If only we could. But now that she’s here, I’d be so sad to see her go,” Fintan said, glee dripping from every word. A small flame flickered to life in Brant’s hand, and Keefe shrank back.

“If you hurt her, I won’t give you the cache!” Sophie heard this but didn’t have time to react before strong invisible arms wrapped around her neck in a chokehold. 

“Keefe,” she gasped hoarsely, “What are you talking about?”

But she has a sinking feeling in her stomach. There are better, safer ways to rescue your mom. You don’t have to trade the cache for this. Please, Keefe. A tear rolled silently down her cheek.

This is the only way, Foster. You wouldn’t be here if you had just gone home!

You know I couldn’t do that.

Fintan ordered Keefe to get the cache, and Sophie watched as Keefe quietly said, “Two twenty-one B Baker Street,” shock and betrayal coursing through her veins.

The cache popped into Keefe's hand, and Alvar immediately grabbed it, tucking it into a concealed pocket on his robe.

How could you? Sophie’s mental question was more sad than angry, but Keefe still didn’t respond.

“Miss Foster, I assume you and Mr. Sencen are communicating telepathically. Much fun as it is to watch you silently struggle, this would go a lot quicker if you would both listen to the terms at hand.” Fintan said, gesturing to Brant.

The scarred elf stepped closer, the heat of the Everblaze in his hand making Sophie sweat. “All you have to do,” he said to Keefe, grabbing Sophie’s monocle pendant and holding it in his fire, “is take this pretty little swan and brand your moonlark. If you do that, we’ll let her go free and you come with us.”

“If not,” Alvar interrupted, “Fintan will start giving Sophie some very painful scars.”

Keefe’s face crumpled and he transmitted, I’m so sorry. I know you’re going to hate me now.

I could never hate you,  she assured him, although she grew less and less sure of that as he took the pendant and stepped up to Sophie.

His ice-blue eyes were glassy with unshed tears, and Sophie tried one last time. “Please, Keefe. Why are you doing this?”

“Last night…I got more memories back,” he whispered. 

“I still don’t understand why you would join them,” she said. Alvar was nearly choking her, and she was getting very lightheaded. 

“You were raised to be the hero. I was raised to be something…else.” He brushed his hand over her necklace. “I wanted you to have this, in case someday–”

“Heartwarming as this is,” Fintan cut in, “We’re running out of time. And patience.” The last word had a deadly undertone and the tears in Keefe’s eyes spilled over as he raised the pendant to Sophie’s face. It was glowing red from the Everblaze. Sophie didn’t want to imagine how much pain it would cause.

But she didn’t have to imagine. 

All of a sudden, Keefe squeezed his eyes closed and pressed the red-hot swan against the side of Sophie’s neck. She screamed, thrashing in Alvar’s arms, but he held her tight. Bright white pain exploded behind her eyes, and she wanted it to take her far, far away.

 To a place where she wouldn’t have to deal with the Neverseen, or the Black Swan, or Keefe.

The white light promised rest.

Calm.

Peace.

But all too soon, she was ripped back to reality. Sophie could feel blisters bubbling up on her skin, and when she opened her eyes, Keefe had dropped the pendant. Smoke was rising from it, and her mind shied away from picturing what her neck looked like. 

Brant still had a sphere of Everblaze floating above his palm, the flames crackling ominously. 

“Okay,” Keefe said, his voice shaky, “I did what you asked. You have the cache. Now please, let Sophie go home.” 

“Oh, did we say anything about letting her go home?” Fintan asked the others with a laugh. “Mr. Sencen, we merely said we would free her. We never specified where she would be released.”

In one fluid motion, Alvar let go of Sophie, pulled out his Pathfinder, and said, “Have fun, you four!” Then raised the crystal to the setting sun and stepped into the beam of light.

While that was happening, Fintan had summoned a ring of fire around himself, Brant, Keefe, and Sophie, and the flames were taller than she was. 

No escape.

It was hard to think through the searing pain, but she was able to stay standing. Keefe held her shoulders and yelled, “You promised!” at the ancient Pyrokinetic.

“Come on,” Fintan scoffed, “Surely you’ve known us long enough to know that we don’t play fair.” With that, Fintan pulled Keefe away from Sophie and Brant took a small cloth out of his cloak. Sophie could smell the stench of the sedative, and she tried to run, but there was nowhere to go. Brant grinned as he pressed the fabric over her nose and mouth, flooding her brain with the sickeningly sweet smell. 

The last thing she saw was Keefe’s anguished face, and his thoughts whispering, It’s for the best, as he and the two pyrokinetics lept away.

Then she collapsed as the ring of fire grew even taller around her.

Heat. So much heat. Her neck, her arms, her back. They were all so, so hot.

 Sophie peeled her eyes open, coughing on the smoke and ash. She managed to sit up on the gritty sand, noting that she wasn’t actually on fire. But the Everblaze was raging all around her, making its way to the mountains in the distance. She guessed that a few hours had passed since–

Nope. She was not going to think about Keefe. Sophie cautiously reached up to feel her neck, then winced as she brushed her fingers over the blisters. That was going to be a permanent scar. 

“Help,” she croaked, pushing herself off of the ground. The lake was nearby, promising cool water, but she didn’t trust the bloodred color. “Help,” she repeated, louder this time. Her throat scratched and her muscles ached and her mouth tasted all kinds of disgusting, but that didn’t stop her. 

Anything, anyone, would be a welcome presence. With the moon high in the sky and the smoke billowing through the air, the whole place was even creepier than it was in the daytime, which was saying a lot. 

She crawled to where Keefe had been standing and noticed… what was that?

Sophie picked up a small glittering bead, noting the way it shimmered in the moonlight. Was this a leaping crystal? Why had he left it–oh. It must have been for her, in case she followed him here. 

Sophie let out a bark of laughter. This would have been useful a few hours ago before she got the sign of the swan branded on her neck. But…what if it wasn’t from Keefe? Maybe it led to a trap. The Neverseen could have left it here, hoping she’d leap right into one of their hideouts. But then why wouldn’t they just take her along with Keefe?

She brought the bead closer, looking for a clue. It seemed pretty ordinary, just an orb of shimmery compacted powder, but there– she saw a tiny, tiny K painted on the side. 

It was from Keefe. Wow. He really thought of everything. 

She held the tiny crystal up to the moonlight, hoping hoping hoping that it would work. A weak beam of light appeared, and Sophie nearly cried in relief. She stepped into the path, concentrating on the warm feathery rush of the leap as her body dissolved. 

She re-formed at the entrance to Havenfield.

Home, home, safe, safe! Her mind cheered. She limped up to her house, every muscle aching. Edaline and Grady were sitting on the enormous couch, and they both leaped up when she pushed the massive doors open. Edaline rushed to give Sophie a hug while Grady said, “What happened to you?”

“I…” her voice trailed off, a lump forming in her throat. “The Neverseen,” she whispered, gently removing herself from her adoptive mom’s embrace. 

“Oh, Sophie,” Edaline said, running a hand over Sophie’s cuts and bruises. She avoided the burn on her nack, and Sophie was hit with a rush of affection for her mom. 

Grady rushed to their extensive medicine cabinet, grabbing an armful of elixirs and balms. Soon enough, Sophie was lying on her bed, and Elwin –in his fuzzy T-rex pajamas– was treating all of her injuries. He thankfully didn’t ask too many questions, instead letting her relax and calm down from the day’s events. 

After Elwin left, Grady and Edaline brought up a cool cloth for her neck and a small vial of shimmery liquid. “It’s somnalene,” Edaline explained. “It’ll help you sleep. You need it.”

“It’s not a sedative, right?” Sophie asked.

“No, kiddo. These are like sparkly eye drops that make you feel very peaceful,” Grady explained, filling the eyedropper and positioning it over Sophie’s eye. 

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Edaline asked, concern clearly written all over her expression.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, Mom.”

Grady squeezed the somnalene into Sophie’s eyes, and immediately little twinkling colored lights appeared in her vision. Shortly after she settled down, her parents left, leaving her with her thoughts– and Iggy’s lawnmower-esque snore. Despite her long–long– day she was asleep in minutes.

The next morning, Sophie somehow managed to get dressed, eat breakfast, and meet with the Collective without collapsing or breaking into a fit of tears. Her neck still throbbed and her back hurt and her heart was broken, but she was going to be okay. 

She was the Moonlark. 

“So,” Mr. Forkle said with a sigh, “Let’s go through this again. Keefe took you to the Neverseen–”

“He didn’t take me, I grabbed onto him as he was leaping away,” Sophie interjected.

“Right. So then the Neverseen forced him to hand over the cache, and made him…” He looked quickly at the burn on her neck, his voice cracking.

Everyone got silent after that. After a moment, Granite continued quietly, “So Fintan, Brant, Alvar, and Keefe all light leaped away while you were sedated and surrounded by Everblaze.”

Grady and Sandor both looked like they wanted to punch something, so Sophie said, “But Keefe didn’t know that would happen! It was my fault.”

Edaline hugged Sophie, whispering, “What happened was not your fault. It never will be, so please don’t blame yourself.”

“I’ll try not to,” she whispered back. 

Sophie straightened up, clearing her throat to prepare for what she was about to say. “Do you think Keefe is….bad?”

“I think Mr. Sencen is confused, and desperate, and afraid. But I do not think he is bad, Miss Foster,” Mr. Forkle assured her. 

“So you think his guilt is making him do this.”

“Yes. He has chosen a difficult path, but I think he knows that what he is doing is incredibly reckless,” Wraith added.

“I wouldn’t be too quick to trust him,” Grady advised from the corner.

“Especially not after–that thing,” Squall said, pointing her frosty fingers at Sophie’s burn.

“What about the cache?” Sophie wondered aloud.

“We’ll deal with that later. For now, there is news I must share with you all.” Mr. Forkle said. 

Sophie's mind flashed through dozens of possibilities, but nothing could have prepared her for what Mr. Forkle said next. 

“Prentice is awake.”

[littlelovelyspiderling]

Hello lovely ☺️ how scandelous would it be to ask for perhaps a sneak peak of the next chapter?

👉👈 perhaps a lil snippet? A crumb? 🥹🥺🫣🙌

*clutches pearls* oh my…oh dear…i’ve never been asked this before 😳 this is a first for me.

am i allowed to do this?? why does it feel illegal lmao 🫨

i mean you did ask very nicely & i am dying to show the next chapter to yall & i am indeed a strong independent woman who can do whatever the hell she wants so…here you go?? i guess??

disclaimer: it took me a very hot minute to decide which part to do & i haven’t edited / beta read anything yet so it might change a bit once i post the full chapter…also hopefully this scene makes some kind of sense to you out of context. double also this will be the ONLY part i share bc i don’t wanna spoil the whole thing 😤 but i hope you like 🤭🩵

—————————————

“So…” Spider-Man said, voice low but playful. “Come here often, hot stuff?”

Despite his best efforts, Johnny busted into a laugh, shaking his head from side to side. “Shut up, you loser,” he giggled.

“Wait, wait, I can do better than that. Somebody call the fire department, ‘cuz this guy is smokin’.”

“Is this you attempting to flirt with me? Corny pickup lines and cheesy one-liners? You really think that’s the key to my refined and sophisticated heart?”

“Well? Is it working?” Spidey asked in whisper, the words curling upwards just like the goofy smile Johnny knew he had on behind his mask. The Human Torch rolled his eyes.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbled fondly. The two of them kept their faces and bodies angled forward as they spoke, daring not to show any physical displays of affection with so many eyes on them.

“Pretty lousy atmosphere for a first date, if you ask me,” Spidey continued, quiet and coltish. “Some orchids or candles would’ve been nice.”

“You want to count this as our first date?” Johnny whispered back. “I was planning to take you somewhere with much better ambiance and way fewer older sisters around. Maybe rent a gondola and a string quartet or something. But if you’d like, we can always save that for date number two.”

Spider-Man shrugged. “Either way. Your idea does sound a lot more romantic than the humiliation ritual we’re about to be subjected to...”

Johnny ventured a look at the rows of heroes sitting in the arena’s viewing room and grimaced. “Especially with my teammates watching,” he said gravely. His gaze swiveled to his feet, and he swallowed. “I am so not good at this ‘keeping secrets’ thing, Webs. I really like you, and am obviously terrible at hiding it.” His hands knotted into fists at his sides. “So if you’re set on keeping this thing on the down low, we’ve really gotta sell the whole ‘platonic super bros’ shtick. We can’t do anything that even suggests that we like each other like that. Not with them watching us like fish in a bowl.”

Spidey faced him then, head drooping a bit. “I’m sorry I’m making you lie to your teammates,” he murmured. “I know firsthand how complicated it can get.”

“It’s all right. I lie to them about all kinds of stuff all the time.” Johnny smiled apologetically. “I just wish I was better at it.”

Spider-Man scratched the back of his neck. “Lucky for us, we’ll probably be too busy getting blasted by drones or pummeled by robotic thugs to do anything remotely romantic-y looking while we’re in here.”

Johnny elbowed him in the side. “Well, double lucky for us: we’ve done this exact drill in real life already, and won. I can’t imagine fake thugs or drones being any harder to beat than those insane kidnappers we fought.” Mischief tugged at the corners of his lips as he tucked his hands politely behind his back, raising his chin and tracing his gaze along the outline of Spidey’s throat. “And after we win this,” Johnny added, “I’m gonna drag you somewhere no one will bother us and spend the rest of the afternoon sucking on your neck until it’s all one big hickey. Sound good?”

A noise sputtered out of the masked hero that sounded like a cross between a cough and a squeak. Johnny clapped him triumphantly on the back as he strolled forward, whispering in his ear as he close as he dared as he passed by. “Best leave the flirting to the professionals, bug boy.”

——————————

TA-DA!! this feels so wrong but i hope it gives you a fun little taste of what’s to come heeheeHEEEE

[transrevolutions]

you can find something to be a real asshole move without also thinking it needs to be made illegal. this seems especially prescient with the rise of AI discourse.

[akkivee]

Gambling and casinos are extremely illlegal in Japan so I always wonder, in ghe H era, did Chuuohku abolish those laws? How is it possible that Dice is alwaya gambling..?? Or that his casino-like visuals don't paint him as a negative presence amongst civillians?

gambling is still illegal in chuuoku’s japan!!! chapter 7 in the fpmtr➕ manga talks about underground casinos, the government cracking down them and even alludes to some dice mysteries lol

pachinko parlours are a legal grey area in japan tho. it’s like how gacha games are very much so gambling but are a huge profitable industry, a lot of people do it lol. they’re regarded as amusement centres in japan and get around the law that would normally prohibit them giving cash prizes by offering vouchers winners can take to an outside building that they can pretend is unaffiliated with the parlour lmao

a posse stan can correct me on this, but i think dice swore off underground casinos and instead uses the ones that fall in line with government regulations in order to maintain that grey legality. so he’s just a regular old pachinko addict lol here’s a pachinko place he went to and probably the irl place it’s based off of lol

[roitaminnah]

hey have u guys read the fic bandit queens of the mont satiné shopping mall. (shaking through tears) i think u should. join me in my insanity <3

[yuridovewing]

ok so the hollyleaf idea i got from last post... what if instead of being jaypoppy or ashwhite kits like ive been debating with myself over the past few weeks... dovewing and ivypool were hollywillow kits.

the PEAK of hypocrisy.

[synthshenanigans]

there’s one on here currently and they’re bringing back up old controversy (jashshipping)

Yeaa I saw that. They also seem to post a bunch of CJ related things, so I might make the daily photos one since there isn't one for just CJ screenshots/photos

[hon-hon-baguette-eiffel-tower]

Here's an issue I've been trying to find the words for, that is related to a lot of problems lately:

Just because a computer can do something does not make that thing good

[jestiamy]

adhd is so funny because yeah no I don't know how studying works but. I know like so fucking much about bear traps now because yesterday I went "dude if all you had to do to get out of a bear trap was rip the clamps apart bears would not be stuck in those things" and decided I wanted to be right so I looked into it

[overthegardenwirtt]

funniest things in interview with the vampire:

the fact that we got reverse-queerbaited and there was levitating gay vampire sex in episode 1 and then never again :(

"he ain't white he french!"

lestat showing up to louis' family dinner in the gayest outfit he could wear in 1910, pretending to eat, and hypnotizing paul when he really was trying to make a good impression

florence du lac clocking louis as gay because of his acrylic nails and tinted glasses

"what's wrong with that man?" @ lestat

louis with the "no whites allowed" sign despite lestat being inside the building

"i'm not sure how i feel about that pleated skirt" "it's chiffon it has movement"

grace calling lestat louis' white daddy

louis, lestat, and claudia treating nosferatu like a comedy

louis telling the police they should be ashamed of how they treated "law-abiding, taxpaying citizens" and forgetting that it's illegal to be gay

"we sell...incinerators. to various american cities." "we bring our clients here to demonstrate the product"

louis throwing lestat's coffin out the window

tom anderson not seeing louis and lestat for 17 years but for some reason he has a picture with them in his desk drawer

the fact that rashid was not just a character armand made up but a real employee of theres who was mysteriously absent for a week while seemingly consensually being played by his boss

armand and louis walking up to daniel holding hands like two people who have never held hands before in their life

armand had a threesome with a father and son while watching now, voyager, something louis didn't even know about

armand telling daniel his own armandstat fanfiction, stopping at the scene where they fucked in the theatre box, and daniel wanting more

"are you schizophrenic louis?" "...no"

the insinuation that the real irish playwright samuel barclay beckett was a vampire. not only that, but that his most well-known work, "waiting for godot," was originally written for the theatre des vampires. not only that, but that he is now an unspecified DJ

french man yelling at louis and armand that they should blow each other when they're kissing in the public park

daniel molloy being so unbelievably gay in the 1970s and being immediately into fucking louis in the coffin

daniel molloy having his body comandeered by armand and still offering to suck his dick

daniel molloy trying to escape from armand and immediately running into the wall

armand walking back into the dubai penthouse being the silliest he's ever been, nourished, happy only to find out that his husband and weird gay boy situationship have unionized

armand gaslighting his way out of the situation he gaslit himself into by telling louis he asked him to erase his memories

armand animating the raccoon into the projections during the trial

santiago small dick reveal

lestat still wearing a 150 year old leyendecker robe and playing a wooden piano, but somehow having the money for an ipad, speakers, and wifi

"siri pause"

[darksaccharinity]

every time i hear people talk about men in their 20’s/30’s being creeps and grooming younger girls i think about how the last time my ex and i broke up, his best friend at the time who he worked with (who i always thought was weird bc he was a grown ass man hanging out with literal teenagers) got fired for allegedly sexually assaulting a teenager at their job, and even tho my ex claimed he was no longer friends with him and was shocked and disgusted by it, when we got back together, i went thru his phone and saw he had messages between him and this same girl!!! from around the time that whole thing happened and my ex was trying to get her to hangout with him and she said “my mom won’t let me leave the house this late” and he said “that’s lame sneak out” or some shit. literally so disgusting and embarrassing that he was trying to “hangout with” a girl who still has a curfew, alone, late at night (i think she was 17 at the time of those messages maybe freshly 18 but either way he knew her as a 17 yo). i never said anything to him when i found those messages because im delulu and wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt but the part that makes it worse is that i put the dates together and realized this happened right after i found disturbing pics of another 18 year old girl on his, that he claimed to be embarrassed and disgusted with himself over and said he was going to end things with her. my heart sank bc I’m like wait he’s gone after two 17/18 year olds like this is literally a pattern… i started to feel guilty about getting back with him and bringing him around my younger sisters bc I’m like is my bf attracted to children….? also everyone at his job shamed that other man over him being attracted to minors/freshly new 18 year olds but those same people are still friends with my ex….like u guys don’t even know this man or what he’s hiding lol

also i saw this girl at the mall a few months later and felt so sick I’m like omg this girl is a literal child i so badly wanted to go up to her and say something but i didn’t want her to feel weirded out. and i also was embarrassed that my grown ass man of a bf at the time had previously tried things with her, even though neither of them knew that i knew

there’s so many layers to my last relationship it’s honestly so fucked i don’t even know who my ex truly is as a person. I’m glad he’s now dealing with someone his age but the fact that she and the people around him barely know the depth of how gross of a person he is is a little unsettling

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

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So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

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Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

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We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

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They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

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There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

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It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

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When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.