#so you really heard everything apparently!

[somnoir]

As a prompt Danny after he enters Gotham for any suddenly starts growing again for the first time since the portal incident and his body instead of slowly again decides to catch up all the missing years of growing at once so Danny goes from still looking 14 to suddenly having his father's height and looking his actual age.

Growing pains.... Literally

Since his death, Danny hasn't really... Grown. His parents think he's a late bloomer, that he'll grow later in life. But it's been four years since he's died and he hasn't grown a single inch in that time.

Frostbite is kind enough to tell me that... Well... He's stuck.

He's stuck in this form until something affects his physical form. Amity, even though it's considered the most haunted place in earth, doesn't have enough ambient ectoplasm for Danny. There are too many ghosts from the realm that feed of it, too many nevermores that need it to exist. Amity feeds it's ghosts but it doesn't have enough for a halfa like him.

When he moved to Gotham for the aerospace program (plus the scholarship) he doesn't expect much from it. People still question him about his age, it almost ends with him flinging his ID and birth certificate on people and cussing them out on his height.

He had even started exploring the city. There was this one cafe he found and the owner, Lily, was an absolute angel! With a shotgun. And he met a lot of people in Lily's Eden Cafe, like this weird kid that apparently dropped out of high school. Now, Danny ain't one to judge, so he's pretty okay with Tim. Except for the fact that he was so cool and smooth on a skateboard. Danny wanted one too.

Almost a week after moving, he's suffering. His body hurts, everything aches. It's as if something inside of him was trying to break out and it's making his bones strain. Everything about it hurts.

Many days passed of Danny being delirious from the pain, barely able to register what he was doing. A week and it's like he spent a coma walking around while his consciousness was asleep, practically dead by the lack of his memories.

The next time he woke up, it's been a week since he blacked out from the pain.

There's music in the background, almost familiar. The beat is something he heard Ember compose before his eighteenth birthday, then it was practically blasted through our the Ghost Zone when the day actually came.

"Shhh! Turn that racket down!"

"Hell nah! He likes it, see?"

"The little king seems.... To......change... Gotham..."

His eyes snapped open, gasping when he saw multiple pairs of eyes looking down at him.

"He's alive!"

Danny's instincts took over in that second and he's sending a blast of ecto towards the sudden scream. More screaming. Too much screaming. His head hurt.

"Holy shit, baby pop!"

He takes a moment before he's recognizing Ember... And the hole on his wall... And his glowing hand. Shit.

"Woah, woah! Calm down."

In Danny's confused state, he could barely register Kitty and Johnny in the room. Oh, and Shadow too. But still...

"I— What happened?" He groaned, blinking slowly. "WHAT THE FUCK?!"

His voice... OH MY GOD HIS VOICE! Why was it so deep?! What was wrong with his voice? Did he have a cold or something? Or maybe it's just his morning voice—

"Congrats on your dawning!" Johnny congratulated, grinning like a madman.

"What?" ooh, that was weird, "What the heck is an dawning?"

"Ooh, baby pop!" Ember cooed, "Forgot that our little king is still pretty new to being all ghost. C'mon now, baby. Mama Ember will teach you all about ghost puberty."

"GHOST WHAT?!"

Ghost puberty was a thing apparently. He had hauled himself into the Far Frozen after yelling at the four ghosts to steal him some clothes that would actually fit him. Because his entire body felt wrong... So wrong.

He was taller now. Having shot up from 5'4" to a whopping 6'2". Everything still hurt and now all his clothes didn't even fit! Nothing looked right when he'd looked at the mirror. He was almost as tall a shis dad now—he looked almost exactly like his dad now actually. It was almost terrifying how much he resembled his dad. If he went to visit now, he's sure that his mother would have a heart attack from how quickly he had grown.

"Frostbite!" Danny practically growled and oooh... Yeah, now it sounded differently to whenever he'd end up snarling. The deepness of his voice almost intimidated him.

"Great one!" The yeti greeted, looking utterly ecstatic to see him. "Ah, I see you've finished your dawning. I offer my sincerest congrats, your majesty."

"Yeah, yeah. The fuck is a Dawning?"

Frostbite blinked, before his expression morphed into a grim one. "Oh dear... I had thought that the Observants would have deigned to explain this too you upon your coronation... Well, let us sit then, great one. This will be a long one."

To summarize it all, Ghost puberty.

A Dawning was a time every ghost went through, so long as there was enough ambient ectoplasm around them to help their forms morph into their preferred appearances. Usually, a ghosts appearance to their own mentality. Their maturity.

Apparently, Young Blood already went through a Dawning but remained in his child-like form due to his own mental age. He was a child in heart, mind, soul, and body.

Meanwhile... Danny who was still alive yet also dead, had followed on with his mental maturity. His body morphed, it changed, it adapted to how he saw himself, how he desperately wanted to become deep down in his core.

And this Danny Fenton was a 6'2" giant trying to control all his limbs that were suddenly too long, too heavy. Everything felt strange....

Tim Drake's favorite cafe was known for being neutral ground for both rogues and vigilantes. You don't fuck around Lilian's cafe or else she'll pull out a rifle and shoot you dead. So if course, Tim fucking loved the place.

Actually, many people frequented it.

He's familiarised himself with the faces of a lot of people by then. Even that scrawny new kid that arrived three weeks ago. Tim remembers Danny for how enthusiastic he was about going to collage, not even minding the madness of Gotham itself. It was like he thrived in it.

He waves at Lilian after ordering his usual, taking a seat in the corner before he's whipping out his laptop. Duke and Steph arrive soon after, immediately ordering before going off to join Tim.

Mundane things, something they all seemed to appreciate more.

The bell rings, more customers arrive and—

"Danny! Holy hell, what happened?"

Tim paused, immediately snapping his eyes towards— WHAT THE FUCK?!

Steph whistled, "Hot damn..."

Danny Fenton was a scrawny young man, shorter than Tim. Even more slim.

But whoever the hell entered the cafe was 6'2", almost as muscled as Jason, and slouching like Clark—as if he was in the wrong body. He almost dropped his drink if not for Duke gently guiding his hand down.

"Hey, Lils..."

God, what the fuck was that? What was happening? Who the hell was this awkward adonis with a voice as deep as the fucking ocean?

"Tim?" Duke waved his hand over his eyes, "Timothy? Timbers?"

"Duke, leave him alone. He's gone, never coming back." Steph snickered, shaking her head before her eyes went back to Danny, who was stuttering as he tried to order what he wanted. "But damn if I wouldn't act the same. Shoot your shot—"

Shoot his fucking shot he did.

"Hey Danny..." Tim slid up to him with a smile.

Danny blinked—woah was he tall and practically built like a fucking fridge—before his eyes brightened and a smile joined his expression.

"Hi Tim!"

Was this how Bruce felt like when he saw Clark?

Masterpost

[fftwy]

I moved through the little cul-de-sac with my head on a swivel. Ryegrass only gets to about two feet when left untended, but between my scavenged clothing and the grime that covered me, it made effective camouflage for crawling. There were no signs of people, but you could never tell.

You'd think four years into an apocalypse people would adjust, but a lot of these idiots really thought they were going to be part of the 1-4-4 when the day came, and they still aren't taking it well.

As an atheist--well, a former atheist, of course--it was very funny to me when they found out. Alas, it turns out that in a country with more guns than people, sudden widespread loss of faith can get pretty ugly.

There was a sound to my right, and I froze. The day was nice and still, and just as I'd started to relax, I heard it again. I couldn't quite identify it, but I had no doubt it was a living creature. Could be an animal. Could be a person. Either way, it was probably bait.

Instead of entering the church from any obvious angle, I crept around to the back and peered through a window. I don't know how I knew what I was looking at; I just knew. That was God, no two ways about it. In a cage.

He looked ... absurd. Short and stout, with broad shoulders and an unkempt beard. He wore some manner of tattered robe, but the fabric was the purest white I'd ever seen. Legs crossed, seated on the floor, idly stretching and muttering. Utterly human, utterly mundane, absolutely oozing Divine Grace. He really had created us in his own image--and apparently we're all variations of Danny DeVito.

I stared for a long time. Then I just stood, woodenly, and walked toward the front door, not even looking for threats. I could tell there wouldn't be any. The doors creaked open and then God was looking at me. The weight of the gaze was almost literal, and my temples pounded as I walked slowly down the aisle.

He stood up as I walked in. His expressions were easy to read, almost prototypical: first I was assessed as a threat, then evaluated as a potential savior. He leaned on the bars and smiled. It was every fake smile I'd ever seen on celebrities and politicians. It was perfect and utterly devoid of warmth.

"Greetings, human! It is indeed I, your Lord and Creator! you are burdened with the glorious responsibility of freeing Me from this detestable cage!"

I could hear the capitalization: uppercase for his pronouns; lowercase for mine.

My mouth was starting to get dry, so I closed it. My legs were kind of wobbly, so I sank into the nearest pew. His mighty brow furrowed. I thought wildly that he looked like a cartoon character.

"Lo! Only come forth and undo this latch that I might bless you with salvation! Surely you know that this is a rare prize, especially in this terrible age!" He chuckled at his own joke, as though the desolation that surrounded us was whimsical.

Finally I spoke, my voice cracking. "How long have you been in this cage?"

His eyes narrowed. "Since the final Seal was sundered."

"So like, half a decade?"

"Something like that. Look, are you going somewhere with this? Because I would really like to get Myself out of this cage. I can't even imagine how impatient the Raptured must be getting up in Heaven, and since they're kind of my core demo, if you know what I mean ..."

I did. God help--well, no. But the point is, I did know what he meant. But I focused, even though it was hard to do. I don't know if the constant reeling of my mind was biological, psychological, or supernatural, but it wouldn't stop even when I closed my eyes and shook my head. I opened them again and found God still staring.

"So everything about the world up to the actual ending, that was your hand on the wheel the whole time."

That fake smile again. "Who else?"

"So all of the horrible fucking things that happen in this world are one hundred percent your fucking fault?! Like, I already thought you were an asshole, but, like, you designed this!"

It seemed like maybe he hadn't been expecting that. "I work in mysterious ways," he began, but I was shouting again.

"My parents died slow, painful deaths, of cancer, too young, and they had to beg for medical coverage the whole time! The system was already about to go tits up even without your fucking rapture!"

"Ah ah," he tutted. "Render unto Caesar. Don't bother me with economics."

Then he ducked, as a chunk of stone I'd thrown bounced off a cage bar near his head. He stepped back, hands up in a placating gesture. "Whoa, hey now. You can't actually harm me, and you are definitely sinning right--"

He stopped as more rocks followed. There was a handy little pile where some statue had collapsed, and some of them were small enough to go through the bars. They didn't seem to cause any injury, but it was the best catharsis I'd had in years. Finally the pile was gone, I was panting, and the rage seemed to pass. My arms hurt.

I settled back into my seat and regained my breath. God was waiting with surprising patience. I cleared my throat and told him, "If you want me to actually flip that latch, you're going to have to answer an awful lot of questions first."

He assessed me for a cosmic instant that seemed to last forever, then gave me a glare that burrowed into my literal soul. "I am your God," he said slowly, incredulity building. "you were created in My image, to take My tests, and to be judged accordingly. your entire world is nothing more than an experiment that I set up. you think you have the right to question Me? To judge ... Me?!"

I looked at him blankly before I realized the question was not rhetorical.

"You created us in your image, buddy. Who the fuck else could give you useful feedback?"

You have survived the rapture for 4 years killing anyone to survive but one day you find God caged in an abandoned church

[masochistkatsuki]

New year, New me !!

New years sex, lowk hate fucking ? they love each other don't worry ? toxic relationship probably but the blogs name is literally masochistkatsuki, small plot mainly smut, short fic, not proof read

You and Katsuki were both known for being hot headed and stubborn, for lack of a better word, cunts. Neither of you actually asked the other to date, but by the end of the year, everyone considered Class 1-As explosive enemies a couple. Besides, for people who apparently hated each other, you always found a way to constantly be together or talking, even if it was arguing.

On new years eve, the class decided to do their resolutions together. With the heater blasting, the third years of UA Academy sat around and talked respectively amongst themselves. However, from where you and Katsuki were yelling at eachother, you heard your name being mentioned.

"Yea .. both of their resolutions should be to act less angry."

"You know.." Izuku's freckles slightly moved from how his face muscles contorted. He was clearly trying to find the right way to word this.

He knew no matter what, someone was going to blow up at him, but he could hopefully make it so it didn't instantly kill him ! "You dont have to start acting all super nice.. but.. acting a little less mean couldn't hurt.."

Unfortunately for him, damage control wasn't an option, and he was sent back to his dorm shaking. You'd finally gotten into Katsuki's room, stretching out on his bed as if it were your own. "Tch."

Your eyes narrowed over at the blonde boy. His dark eyes matched your own intensity. Something about him was pissing you off. Maybe it was the scoff, or how his biceps seemed to struggle against the tight fabric of his shirt.

It was clearly not an unrequited feeling, his cheeks turning an embarrassing red. "Hah, why the fuck do you look like that, Katsuki ?"

His eyes squinted slightly, as if he was getting a better look at you. "Cut that shit out." His deeper voice echoed out, a tone of command lacing it.

With anyone else, they would have submitted, letting everything that was Dynamight take them where they laid. But you.. You made him so fucking mad. No matter what, you bit back, taunted him, teased, never let him.

"You know, I think maybe you should be less of a dick." You spat, looking up at him, fluttering your eyelashes in the way you knew drove him insane. Youd always been infatuated with how easily he ticked, and soon became obsessed with the feeling of pushing his buttons or getting under his skin.

He huffed, his chest puffing out infuriatingly boyishly. He was so dramatic. But thats what drove your pleasure, seeing him so worked up. "And what about you ? Huh ? Your a fuckin bitch."

You smiled, a look that Katsuki could only describe as 'Evil' in your eyes. "Fine. Ill work on it. " You absolutely werent. Someone who was trying to be nice, wouldnt torture him with the words "Why dont we let this anger out one last time ?"

★☆★☆

"I fucking hate you." He was panting almost pathetically, hot words rolling off his tongue and onto your neck. Matching bruises and marks of teeth spread across both of your necks. A competition of who could give the other the worst time covering it up.

"Yea, you're fuckin me like a softy." You grabbed at his hair, pulling his head up to give him a sloppy kiss. With teeth clashing, you fucked your hips into his faster. His hands tightened their grip on you, threatening to leave bruises.

"Don't fuckin move.. Hah.." He bit harshly into your neck, to the point you worried blood may spill. "I.." Despite how mean he was being on your neck, words failed to come out.

"This is how you should be fucking me, not whatever weak shit you were doing." You pulled his hair in response to his aggressiveness, reminding him you weren't letting up.

"You really are a bitch.." He reset his hands, getting a better grip at your hips before he slammed you down to his balls.

"Fuck.." You stuttered, pleasantly surprised by the feeling. He continued fucking you into him, his pace only getting faster, the sounds of skin slapping and an infamous wet movement.

"Dont fuckin know how ima put up with your ass for another year.. Probably just gonna get worse as they go by.." Despite the rude sentiment, the detail on spending more years together didnt go unoticed by you or your body.

"Don't get cocky, you know you'd be begging for me back if you decided you didn't want to handle this." You smirked, a knowing one hed seen all too many times.

"Wait.." His eyes widened, and he attempted to stop your movements, but in the heavy heat overwhelming and pleasuring his body, he was too slow to stop you.

You rolled your hips flush against his, circling them slowly in an O motion. "I hate you, Katsuki." You smiled softly, basking in how he bit his lip and growled at you to wait.

"Fuckin.. whore.. you know what that does to me" He cried out, usual bite becoming softer. His hips desperately fucked into yours, his cum spilling out in fast spurts.

With each thrust in and out, his cock came out covered in more release and slick each time. Your bruised hips and neck were the cherry on top, calling his attention, begging to be eaten. "Yea.. thats why I love doing it."

He sighed, and brought his hand up to cover his mouth. Only you would know, there was a stupid ass smile hiding under it. He thinks, maybe, if he could see this sight throughout the year, he'd be just a bit less harsh.

Team Player Part four is being written now !! Sorry for the Hiatus, work has been killing me. Ill be back regularly and responding to everyone soon, I just need some me time. Thank you everyone for the kind messages, I get nervous actually responding sometimes, but I am reading them and appreciating them greatly. 💗 Happy new years, everyone !

[suiana]

This looks cursed

yandere! babysitter taking care of you when you suddenly turn into a kid. oh no! his beloved darling is now a kid! don't worry, he's here to save the day!

and gosh, you're just the cutest as a kid! all big eyed and squishy cheeks! he's smitten with you through and through! he's got to take a whole album of pictures and videos to remember this!

that is... well, until he realizes that your mischievous tomfoolery is ramped up to the max. your humour also seems to have regressed because you're quoting stuff he's never heard in his ENTIRE life. actually he has. but it's from the other little kids he's babysitted and he still has no idea what they mean.

and now he's forced to watch skibidi toilet with you???

"oh yeah this is where it gets really good. titan cinemaman and titan cameraman help titan speakerman get back to normal. really cool stuff."

"erm... okay..."

"oh gman toilet is apparently good now too? something something astro toilets... im not too sure..."

"bro."

it's the fact that he can't even leave you to be alone cause physically you're a 5 year old. what happens if you want to reach for something on the counter but you can't? you're gonna hurt yourself!

and there's no way he's letting you hurt yourself. not on his watch. he's not called the ultimate babysitter for no reason!

"baby! you can't climb up the table! it's dangerous-"

"bla bla bla YOU CAN'T STOP ME *shoves the powder off the table*"

now he's forced to clean up your mess?? god damn it, were you like this when you were a kid too??? so this is where your mean habits originated...

he seriously hopes you turn back to your normal form soon. because while having a kid you is cute and all, he REALLY doesn't need you to be crawling all over the house like a freaking cockroach and messing everything up.

"baby! no! don't eat the toilet paper!!!"

"okay that's it, now you're making me want to eat more."

"no!!!!"

[dallasgallant]

What the gang smells like

*But realistic! Thought of this when I was falling asleep last night and I think it’s actually an interesting bit of character study (thats what everything comes back to for me apparently.)

Imagine all of these but there’d also be deodorant and Cheap cologne/scent on top of it .

Pony: Puberty and pencil shavings

He is freshly 14, he is a growing boy, enough said. He REEKS half of the time but is the most hygienic out of all the gang (even above Johnny and Darry) but he just can’t help it. I said pencil shavings as he draws a bunch—would say school work too but that was typically in pen or typed (on a typewriter).

Soda: Gas and Prell

He works the pump I can’t imagine he wouldn’t, sometimes my hands will smell after pumping my own I can’t imagine after all day. I said Prell too as it’s such a strong and distinctive smelling shampoo (it’s great to really deep clean hair if you put a lot of product in and still made today, I recommend it.)

Darry: Tar, sweat and leather

On good days, after showers, I imagine he smells like leather over anything else. It’s hard to describe past a good, rich, masculine smell that’s a bit sweet? Like Soda, he smells like work.

Steve: Gas, hair gel and soap

I say soap as I have a hc that his mother works as a wash woman, doing clothes for the neighborhood and some better paying clients. So his clothes are always clean even if he isn’t.

Cannot speak for it, but I also see Steve as someone who does Dip and chewing tobacco’s more than he’d smoke regular- don’t know of that smell but add that.

Two-bit : Beer and iron

Sort of the most self explanatory of the bunch. He smells like beer, usually his breath and iron from holding his switch all the time (usually trying to show it off) or snagging things. Sometimes that smell might be blood from a rumble, usually it’s not.

Dally: Horse and Menthol

Heard dally described once of smelling like horse and cigarettes and I thought it was really funny and really likely that he smells. He smells like work, sweat and Kools. A bit different from the regular cling of Smoke as his preference has a bit of a minty edge (it’s noted to smell slightly better/easier than plain tobacco)

Johnny: cigarettes, grease and Outside

Undoubtedly Johnny puts the most product in his hair of all of the gang (even Steve, whose book hairstyle (prob a jelly roll) would require a lot of maintenance.) it’s almost to the comical extent that you can smell it wafting off the poor kid.

I put “outside” too, stick with my I have sensitive… senses? You know when someone comes in from being outside for a long time and they smell like Sweat, sure, but also just— air? In a sense like they just smell like outside.

[hunterofartemis7]

Adopted by the gods AU pt.14

Athena: *running after her son* Odysseus! Odysseus please wait!

Odysseus: *turns and faces her, tears in his eyes* you lied to me!

Athena: I never lied to you

Odysseus: you told me I was abandoned!!

Athena: you were!

Odysseus: not from what I just heard!

Athena: all you heard were the lies from a mortal who didn’t want to admit what she did!

Odysseus: okay back tracking, why didn’t you tell me they were alive?!

Athena: because it didn’t matter! They abandoned you!

Odysseus: it does matter! Clearly no one can agree on what really happened—

Athena: Odysseus I know what happened! I know what I saw and heard!

Odysseus: and what was your plan if I ever found out on my own!? Were you ever going to tell me?!

Athena: I..I don’t know maybe! I didn’t think that far ahead!

Odysseus: really!? The goddess who plans for everything didn’t plan on telling her son that he is 1, a prince, and 2, still has living parents!?

Athena: none of that stuffed mattered! If you had gone back after they abandoned you they would’ve killed you!

Odysseus: you don’t know that! Fuck you aren’t even 100% sure if I was abandoned!! You yelled one thing and they yelled another!

Athena: I know that i was trying to protect my son from the people who tried to kill him!! And even if they didn’t, they never bothered looking for you! What would be the point of telling you about people who didn’t want you!?

Odysseus: do you really believe all this or are you just in denial because you don’t want to admit your wrong and give me up!?

Athena:…….

Odysseus:…..just leave me alone mom.

Athena: Odysseus-

Odysseus: i said leave me alone mother!! *runs off*

Athena:……..*slumps down against the wall holding her head in her hands*

Aphrodite:..well that happened

Athena: *crying* go away

Aphrodite: *sits beside her and pulls her into a hug stroking her hair*

Athena: *cries into her shoulder*

Aphrodite: sshhh, it’s okay. It’ll be okay.

Athena: how!? How could it possibly be okay!? *pushes away and stands up pacing around* My son hates me and won’t believe a word I say, his birth parents are back and want to take him, and all of the Olympians are on their side!!

Aphrodite: not all of them

Athena: name one!

Aphrodite: Artemis, me, and Hermes

Athena: *rolls her eyes* great, three gods agree with me! Not like there’s another 9 who want him gone! I’m gonna lose my fucking son!

Aphrodite: Thea. You’re not going to lose your son.

Athena: really!? Cause after that shit show I’d be amazed if Father doesn’t make me send him back with those people!

Aphrodite: Thea! You are still his mother, whether Zeus likes it or not he can’t make you do a damn thing with Odysseus. And besides, even in the mess of you and his birth mom fight we still don’t know what really happened.

Athena: I know what fucking happened!

Aphrodite: and so does the queen apparently. Clearly some wires are getting crossed. Btw Zeus wants you to apologize for punching her in the face

Athena: not happening!

Aphrodite: okay…well you at least need to have a civil conversation with her so we can figure this out.

Athena: clearly a conversation didn’t work last time

Aphrodite: well you have a better idea?

Athena:…..no

Aphrodite: then let’s go. *stands up* Hermes got a truth spell from Circe, so we will know whether or not the Queen is lying.

Athena: fine. *follows Aphrodite back to the throne room*

Diomedes: *hiding under the dinning table with Odysseus* *whispers* why are we doing this?

Odysseus: *whispers* I want to know what really happened.

Diomedes: *whispers* do you really believe mother lied to you?

Odysseus: *whispers*…idk. But she’s to stubborn to listen to the other lady and not be in denial. I want to know.

[boldlyanxious]

A Simple Deception

masterlist

“I’m really sorry for you Jon. I know you have gotten close over the last few months,” Damian spoke into his phone.

“No, I really mean it,” he continued after a pause. “I know I’m not the most expressive person to talk to but it is clear that she means a lot to you. I wish her visa had worked out.”

Damian made a few more non-committal noises as his friend went on and on about his newer friend who would be moving away soon.

“I wish I had gotten a chance to meet her. Maybe sometime later in the future. I’ll take you to Paris for your birthday or something.”

“See you for New Year’s then. Merry Christmas to you and the rest of the Kents. I believe my gift should have arrived.”

He put his phone back on the desk and went looking for his family. Unlike Jon’s family, Christmas morning did not start promptly at 8am. With their evening activities, they all preferred to start a little later. Coffee and brunch would start at 10 am and the scavenger hunt for gifts would begin promptly at 11. The first one back after completing all the challenges would win Christmas.

It wasn’t the most traditional of Christmases, but it worked for them. And Damian was determined to win this year.

---

“Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker phone. I still have to be out of this apartment,” Marinette said. She moved her phone from her ear and put it on the mantle before shoving a pile of boxes.

She zipped back and forth as she continued talking at her phone.

“I just got the call that it was approved. Apparently, it went through last week but because of a mix up with the paperwork I didn’t get the call until they were closing today.”

“I can’t believe you still have to move,” the voice said from the phone.

“The cut off to stay here was a couple weeks ago.” Marinette stopped and looked at her phone with an uncertain look that even though the person on the other end couldn’t see her, would be able to hear the uncertainty in her voice. “But I had a friend tell me that if everything else failed, he would have a place for me in his apartment. He said it would just be a relief to have me in the same country.”

“I heard the same thing,” the voice laughed. “I have the space, and I already messaged a friend to borrow a truck to help.”

“You are a lifesaver; you know that?”

“I do, but I like to hear you say it.”

“Not to just call for huge favors, but I have to let you go now. I still have a ton of things to do. I haven’t even called my parents yet.”

“You told me before your parents? That’s cold.”

“Well, I sent a message saying I had an update so if they have been on, they can guess. But proper calls are hard while the bakery is open. They will call while they are closing, once they get the loud ovens off.”

“Best of luck. I know they were excited to have you back even though they wanted things to work out for you.”

“They were. But I did visit during the process, and they should be able to make another trip one day soon.”

—

The triumph of Christmas had not even lasted the week until New Year’s. His father had them gathered together to talk about their behavior for the New Year’s gala. It appeared to be a fabulous fancy dinner with all the Waynes and associated persons present, but his father was droning on about the behaviors that had been noticed at the last party. It had been a season full of parties where they were all expected to be dressed impeccably and a minimum not be caught causing disturbances and definitely not be written about in the press. Something that had been sorely lacking from the last Wayne hosted event.

Dick had been considered to be too drunk although it was more likely he just had had enough of the perfumed, elderly ladies pinching the wrong cheeks to tell him how handsome he looked all grown up. Stephanie, while not technically family, was not inconspicuous enough when doing impressions of Lex Luthor. Damian believes that she actually wanted Luther to see her. Tim and Jason both had a game of being confused any time someone spoke to them rather than greeting them as if they knew them. They had offended several long-time business associates and acquaintances of the Wayne Family.

Damian still believed that he had done nothing wrong. He was the picture of politeness and had greeted every person of note and some others. He remembered all the names, the grandkids and pets to ask about. He had not talked business once and he retrieved drinks when people were low. Apparently, his grave error was in not asking a single young lady to dance during the evening. He had the required skills, and he was not in any way unable to perform the motions at the time so he should have. It didn’t matter that he simply did not wish to dance with them.

“It is expected of you Damian,” his father said.

“There were plenty of other people dancing, including Dick and Tim. I think even Jason danced,” Damian complained.

“That makes it even more noticeable that you were not dancing. All of your brothers danced, and I danced. You should dance too.”

“I was busy making the rounds to all of the people who needed greeted.”

“I expect better time management next time then. I also made greetings for everyone and found the time. You will find the time for at least three to five dances–”

“That’s too many,” Damian cut in.

“Three to five dances and you will choose one of the suitable young ladies to kiss at midnight.”

“Absolutely not. I don’t want to kiss any of them.”

“You will and that is final.”

“But” Damian’s mind raced before he blurted out “I have a girlfriend.”

The stunned eyes of the entire table and the waiter turned to him.

“You have a girlfriend Dami?” Dick squealed.

“Of course he doesn’t,” Jason laughed. “He is just trying to get out of kissing some social climber at the gala.”

“Well,” Bruce said, “you certainly can’t kiss someone else if you have a girlfriend. You will bring her and kiss her at midnight. What is her name for the invitation?”

“Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” Damian said, “But she will be out of the country by then.”

—

“You got settled, I see,” Jon said laughing at Marinette in the kitchen.

“You have been to my place many times. You knew what you were getting yourself into.”

“That I did. And I’m delighted to have you, but I’m going to help you clean up. Damian is coming over and I didn’t mention you were living here yet. I don’t want to overwhelm him. He wanted to talk about something, and it sounded serious,” Jon said.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll clean really fast and get out of your hair,” Marinette said.

“Nonsense. I meant it when I said it was your place too. You haven’t met Damian yet, and you should. You will love him,” Jon paused, choosing his words carefully. “I just don’t want it to feel too chaotic when it sounds like he is already having a tough time.”

“Right. You get the dishwasher going while I get the counters cleared. Then, I’ll wash the remainder and leave the floors to you.”

“Perfect. That should get you a chance to get out of your mismatched jammies.”

“Do not impugn my mismatched jammies. They are very comfy, but possibly too chaotic for meeting new friends.”

“Right you are.”

—

“You really don’t have to come up with me. I’m just getting the keys to the truck I let Jon borrow,” Damian said, climbing the stairs to Jon’s apartment.

“You have a girlfriend who is about to leave the country. I want to meet her while I have the chance. I’m sure you will want to stay and see her for a bit anyway. I remember what it was like to be young and in love,” Bruce responded.

“If it is anything like you are now with Ms Kyle, do not ever think I will behave like that.”

“To be in love is to be part fool and let yourself be open to another person. Perhaps you and Marinette just need more time.”

“You are already aware that the time is limited, yet you insist on encroaching upon it.”

Damian let out a long-suffering sigh before he knocked firmly on the door.

“Damian, you made it,” Jon said, quickly turning his attempted hug into a handshake. “Uh, Mr Wayne, how nice to see you again. I didn’t realize you were coming.”

“I’ve told you so many times to call me Bruce,” Bruce said with a warm smile.

“Right, I’ll get the keys. Thank you so much for letting me borrow your truck. My grandparents were supposed to help but they got held up in Kansas,” Jon said, shifting on his feet.

Bruce pushed past the keys Jon held out and looked around the apartment. “Tell your grandparents I said ‘hello’. I do hope to see them when they make it to town.”

Damian took the keys and grabbed his father’s arm, “We should go. Jon is clearly busy.”

Bruce looked around and raised an eyebrow at Damian. Jon said nothing until Bruce stepped into the kitchen and looked down at a tray of goodies.

“Can I offer you something to eat? Marinette was baking earlier. I’m sure she is willing to share,” Jon was relieved to have something to do with his hands. “Oh, Marinette is a friend of mine. She is from France and staying here.”

“Damian mentioned that. I was hoping to meet her,” Bruce’s eyes lit up at the mention of his reason for coming. “It’s a shame about her visa expiring though.”

“Actually, it was approved,” a dark-haired woman said as she walked into the room. “I found out too late to keep my apartment. That is why Jon let me move in.”

“That’s wonderful!” Bruce exclaimed, reaching for her hand. “I’m Bruce Wayne, Damian’s father. You must be–”

Damian cut it, hoping to stop his father from saying something he didn’t want anyone to hear. “Father, might I present Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“You may. Damian was so disappointed his girlfriend had to go back to France. Congratulations on your visa approval. You must come to my New Year’s Eve gala. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“So nice to meet you, Mr Wayne.”

Marinette was shaking his hand but then he suddenly pulled her into a hug. Her eyes were huge and confused looking over his shoulder at Jon and Damian. Damian was trying not to make eye contact, but Jon was looking at him and laughing.

“You must call me Bruce,” he said, patting her back.

“Bruce,” she repeated.

—

“I’ll take the truck back. Don’t be back too late,” Bruce paused with a smirk, “or do. I guess you will be celebrating.”

“I will see you at the usual time,” Damian said stiffly.

He turned back slowly to face Jon, who was clearly trying not to laugh and Marinette. He had just met her, but he had the distinct impression that was not her happy face.

“What just happened?” Marinette asked, hand on her hip.

“My father invited you to the annual Wayne New Year’s Eve Gala,” Damian said.

“As your girlfriend? That is the part someone would typically ask first.”

“Why did no one tell me the visa was approved? You were supposed to be going back to France.”

Damian looked accusingly at Jon who shrugged.

“I didn't think you would go get engaged because I was waiting to tell you until I saw you. I honestly thought you were bored of me talking about it.”

“I was bored, but it was too convenient to tell my father I couldn’t hook up with whichever socialite is most convenient for his business.”

“We are not engaged or hooking up.” Marinette said emphatically. “We aren’t even dating, and you will make this right. I did not sign up for a randomly assigned billionaire boyfriend.”

“Trust me, I have no interest in dating you,” Damian said firmly. He paused before adding, “But since you already told my father you would attend the gala, would you be willing to go as a favor to me.”

“I do not owe you any favors,” Marinette said.

“Please,” Damian said. “I would owe you one. Jon will be there too.”

“I go every year. It is the best one of the year. Also, least likely to be attacked by rogues and I know you have a dress you designed that you would love to show off.”

“I don’t want to go around lying to people. It isn’t fun for me, and I’m not interested in profiting off deception.”

Damian held up his hand to get them all to stop.

“Jon, would you leave us for a moment.”

Jon looked like he wanted to argue but Damian waited until he relaxed and then walked out of the room. Damian gestured at the chairs in the living room.

“Please allow me to talk for a moment. Once I have explained myself, I will ask you to go with me and then accept whatever response you give.”

Marinette studied him for a moment and then nodded.

“First of all, allow me to congratulate you on your visa. I know from Jon that it was very nerve wracking to not know where you would be by the end of the week. Even though I blamed you for not leaving, I am happy for you.” Damian took a breath and continued. “I am not typically a rash or unfeeling person. I may show a lack of concern for things that don’t affect me, but I don’t like to be cruel or use others carelessly. That being said, when my father told me that he wanted me to essentially woo the young ladies at the gala, I provided the easiest excuse that would be accepted at the time without planning to produce an actual girlfriend. Jon has spoken of you many times so your name came easily to me as someone who my family would not know, and you were so conveniently not going to be in town at the time of the gala that I would be off the hook from my father’s expectations.”

Damian stood up and circled the room a couple times before turning back to her.

“My father’s expectations make me uncomfortable, but his reasoning is sound. I made choices in my behavior at the last event we hosted that did not meet what was expected of me. Now, I am expected to show attention to the ladies in attendance by dancing and being a proper gentleman in polite society. If you refuse to go with me, I will tell my father when I see him about my deception. I will then behave as I must at the event. If you agree to attend with me, you will benefit from being seen and talking about your design work. That is not disingenuous of you. It is how high society works. Everyone there is trying to advance themselves while also showing off for each other. That would be a good thing for you, and I would also owe you a favor. I could do as much as buying you a fabric store easily, if that is what you wished. After the evening is over, I will come clean to my father, and we will not be romantically linked. You will have just been my date for the evening.”

“Wow. I didn’t expect all that.”

It was Marinette’s turn to stand up and pace around the space. Her hands were tightly clasped in each other, the skin turning white where she squeezed.

“I–” She took a deep breath. “I accept. You really don’t need to owe me anything. I understand why you did what you did. It was a series of unexpected events that collided. Besides, I want to be friends. I’m sure we will see each other from time to time.”

—

It wasn’t nearly as bad as she expected.

It nearly felt like she was in a period piece. Everyone was all dressed up and speaking formally. It was definitely the best collective posture she had seen anywhere during her time in the states and possibly ever. Damian escorted her around on his arm and smiled at all the people he greeted by name and introduced her as his date.

His family was different. They all seemed like they were laughing at some joke, but it didn’t seem like it was at her. They did all seem interested in why she started dating Damian. She supposed that was just how siblings were. She ended up dancing with all of his siblings, Jon and then his father. As well as several dances with Damian and a couple of the other men in attendance.

It was nothing like the fake dates seen in pop culture. Everyone just accepted her as Damian’s date, and she didn’t have to justify it. She made the appropriate responses to her current dance partner. Archibald was handsome and a great dancer; she made sure not to tell him that she didn’t realize real people still had that name. He had been very polite.

Damian was approaching her, but he did not look happy. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching her. She didn’t think she had made any faux pas that would reflect poorly on him, and no one had even suggested that she was only here as a ruse. She had no clue why he suddenly looked so serious.

The crowd was getting louder. Everyone was leaving the dance floor and waiters were efficiently passing out champagne. The glasses were clinking together and people chattering noisily and pairing off.

Damian took her by the arm and pulled her along with him. She stumbled slightly but his arm was there to hold her upright. He took two flutes of champagne and held them in one hand as he took hers in the other and pulled her along to a balcony. All the other guests were moving down outside and once they got out there, she could see a couple other balconies with guests on them. But they were the only ones on this balcony.

“There is a slight possibility that we will be expected to kiss at midnight,” Damian said.

Marinette was so stunned she didn’t register the voices of the crowd start counting down from ten.

“By slight possibility I mean my father just told me that he still expects to see me celebrating at midnight and it should be easy since you are my girlfriend.”

Damian pushed her hair back from her face and cupped her cheek.

“I really hoped he just wouldn’t notice.”

He tilted her face up and looked into her eyes. He didn’t move forward, but his eyes held the question in them.

Marinette pushed forward until she was kissing him.

It was just supposed to be a quick kiss, but she gasped at the spark she felt kissing him. She didn’t pull back, instead her arm went around his neck as she felt his fingers dig into her hair. He pressed closer and held on to her. The fireworks were going off all around, but they didn’t notice anything but each other. They pulled away slowly, breathing a bit more quickly.

Neither seemed to know what to say for a moment.

Marinette picked up a glass of champagne and clinked it against Damian’s glass before taking a sip.

“Happy New Year,” she whispered, before leaning in to kiss him again.

[cementcornfield]

This is actually my favorite Kirk and Justin moment

[lisxdumbr]

The whole "if a person is mad at you it's their responsibility to tell you" thing just made me realize how fucked my situation is. Like just. woah

[batcavescolony]

So their is so sO SO much wrong with the Lightning thief movie But I think my two favorite things that don't make sense are

1) apparently Percy's name is just 'Percy' because he needed help to name a third demigod and he had to look at the Greek to get the name 'Perseus'

2) for some reason their are Thirteen thrones on Olympus. It's goes (right to left) Dionysus, Hephaestus, Hera (a decision to put her here of all places), Hermes, Aphrodite, Poseidon, Zeus (at the head), Athena, Ares, Demeter, Apollo, Artemis, EMPTY THRONE! Why 13? For Hestia? But she doesn't have a throne she gave it up. For Hades? He also doesn't have one on Olympus!

[125storejuice]

.

[helielune]

the idea that you could be productive if you're not doing something-- like solving a problem through your "subconscious" after you stop consciously thinking about it-- has devastated my life because it takes me twenty minutes to write out a basic email but emails always come with difficult decisions like "do i really want to have a meeting today" or "is it rude to write an email shorter than 10 words" or "should i disappear off the grid forever instead of asking this question"

so it takes me at least twenty minutes (if the message is relatively urgent) and usually closer to 12 hours to actually sit down and start writing. this applies to everything i do

[floral-hex]

I chopped all my hair off and now I’m 100x more aerodynamic and can probably do spin-kicks and shit

[leftoversludge]

DEVASTATING: teen discovers their problems are shared by millions, yet the horrors persist

[playingonedchess]

ya i dont reckon playing ace attorneys the right sort of computer game to make me a proper guy anyway is it

[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.

00000

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.

00000

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.

00000

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.

00000

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.