#why didn’t they knock you out!
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bookwyrminspiration · 5 days ago
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I imagine the only reason Vespera wasn’t sentenced to eternal sedation was plot convenience. what’s even the point of having a pseudo death penalty if they won’t even sentence their worst criminal in history to it?
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depressedhatakekakashi · 10 months ago
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Kakashi: *shows countless times in canon he cares about his students and wants to train them, but a lot of that training is outright skipped for ‘more interesting storyline’
Weirdo’s: nah, Kakashi didn’t teach any of his student’s anything and didn’t care about them at all.
#like god DAMN#Y’all can’t handle an imperfect teach can you?#you can’t handle a character who makes mistakes but genuinly tried his hest#who was thrown into the job even though he did not ask for it#and STILL did his best#‘he doesn’t care about sakura’#WHY THE FUCK WOULD HE PROTECT HER AND CONTINUE TO SAVE HER IN ALMOST EVERY FIGHT IF HE DIDN’T CARE#‘he didn’t teach sakura anything’ yes the FUCK he did#he taught her chakra control which she obv excelled at#and a jonin level technique that allowed her to avoid being knocked out in the konoha crunch#and allowed her to wake Naruto up as well#‘he only ever tried to push his views on Sasuke’#no he didn’t#he only told Sasuke to stop seeking revenge when sasuke turned chidori#a move kakashi taught him to face a shinobi with an impenatable defence that WANTED TO KILL PEOPLE#there is a whole year before that where he knows Sasuke’s goal and never once tells him not to seek revenge#and him not being able to connect with Sasuke doesn’t mean his intentions were not genuine#sometimes people simply don’t understand each others trauamas and struggles#even when they desperatly want to#‘he was terrible to naruto’ fucking WHERE#He chose a specific sensei to teach Naruto chakra control#recogbizing it as Naruto’s weakness#and chose a dude who was a jonin specificlly because of his teaching capabilities#as for the fucking time skip#it’s made vary obviouse even before the team splits that Kakashi and all the other Jonin are on missions constantly#that’s the whole reason Shikamaru and a bunch of genin were sent after sasuke#instead of you know#FUCKING JONIN#None of the jonin were available#they were all on missions
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fireyartccoon · 8 months ago
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Prismatic Parallel shenanigans
this is probably going to become its own little thing
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this was for no particular reason, just felt like posting
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louferrignojrofficial · 6 months ago
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i genuinely couldn’t tell whether my supervisor was flirting with me or trying to psych me out today. his eyes are so blue any sustained eye contact is misleading. and BOY did he sustain eye contact. so much so i had to ask
…..why….. are you…. staring
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imogenkol · 3 months ago
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Really wanted to finally do a Minthara romance with Yvaine’s playthrough and I thought I fucked it up but I knocked her out during the battle at the Grove just in case and now we’re in act 3 living our best murder wives lives and I couldn’t be happier
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eggs-love-loki · 1 year ago
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Me: I’ll watch one episode of my hero after dinner that’ll be fun :)
Me three episodes later, having gone from crying earlier to just pure distress by the end: Well that was the worst choice ever
#my bf and I are watching ‘together’ by setting weekly episode goals and this week’s goal is three so I’m maxed out#I figured I’d watch one a day after school then it would be close to when he can watch them…#whoops#MHA s6 spoilers in the rest of my tags here:#WHY DID THEY DO THAT TO TWICE????? bro I forgot I liked him and then I was just sobbing when he died oh my word#and then almost hawks too I was like noooo I can’t take this#I’m glad tokoyami got a hero moment but also the kids being in danger causes me distress#uhhh laser guy that mic left with shigaraki was#was dumb as hell#like what was that dude#mirko SAID that he’d wake up with ELECTRICITY and you LEFT HIM IN A PUDDLE NEXT TO SPARKING WIRES?????#dumb bitch deserved to die but the rest of the people around the hospital that didn’t outrun the new power up didn’t!!#I thought they were going to kill mic then he got grabbed but then I thought they were gonna kill Aizawa and I was like NO#NOT HIM TOO YOU CANT DO THIS TO ME#but he’s okie for now#shigaraki’s power up is absurd#my live reaction to the spreading crumbling at first was like Gasp then Oh no characters I care about them Oh wow this is crazy#It’s gotten the whole building! then Okay- okay- woah there- alright now stop that. stop that this is ridiculous. knock that off#like there’s powerscaling the villain to be a bigger threat and there’s absurdity this was absurd#alright thanks for reading my review since I can’t talk to my bf about it till he catches up and I needed to say this somewhere
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wawataka · 1 year ago
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oh my god i fucking hate my landlord
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theriverdalereviewer · 1 year ago
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just remembered how in the sixth grade there was a fucking riot in the cafeteria that ended in the entire grade getting silent lunch for like 3 months
#I think it was 3 months but it felt a lot longer. my god middle school was the school to prison pipeline at its finest#on one hand I think its unfair that we were all punished but to be fair the entire grade participated in this riot. I don't even remember#what we were rioting? I just remember a girl named whitney was involved and 1 thing led to another and whitney ran out of the cafeteria#and THE ENTIRE GRADE WENT AFTER HER 😭. myself included I didn’t even know why either but WE WERE AFTER THAT BITCH 😭#it was so bad I remember everyone was heading one direction and then everyone started running back the other direction.#and I got knocked down in the process looking back this was really dangerous. but after that we got silent lunch for what felt like forever#like not only were we forced to sit with our homerooms (and some us didn’t even like our homeroom) but we couldn’t even talk to each other#which is honestly not good for socialization?? but again I can’t entirely blame them cause the situation was out of control.#but also shouldn’t the adults have had that thing under control??? anyways the person who ran silent lunch was the vice tyrant dr levine#he fucking hated us like that man was PISSED OFF and he made it clear cause if you made a sound during silent lunch#that man was gonna threaten you with detention extended detention ISS (aka in school suspension)#he didn’t even mean it but it was pretty good for instilling fear in us good kids. but one time I remember there was a kid who didn’t buy i#he didn’t give into levine’s fear tactic and levine started yelling “ISS!! OSS!! EXPULSION!!!!!” like calm down#I feel bad thinking about how so many kids who would ACCIDENTALLY make a sound were punished. and they were so damn terrified#cause it was like you were on your best behavior all of the time and then one noise and suddenly you had an out of school suspension#one time a boy named jc’s phone went off and he picked it up and it was his grandma asking him if he wanted ice cream 😭 no fucks given#and levine was screaming at him to hang up the phone and jc was like “this is my grandmother I can’t hang up"#and there came a time where we were finally off the hook and I just remember people in the cafeteria were clapping 😭#like this was school sanctioned oppression and we were finally liberated... but then we were back to silent lunch and I don’t even know why#I remember once even I ended up in Levine’s office but I dont think its cause I was talking during silent lunch??#I think it had something to do with bullying idk?? I just remember levine had my back during it and made the other kid cry and apologize#so shout out to levine. always good times goodbye!
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theexorcistiii · 2 years ago
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Arghh thinkingaagin about wanting more horror content qthat truly really Gets 2 me n freaks me out really bad bc I love it. 4 some reason more non movie horror has done a better job at this by like happenstance but idk horror movies need 2 step their game up
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jackietaylorsghost · 2 years ago
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joel didn’t take away ellie’s agency in tlou1 the fireflies did and just cus tlou2 thought good storytelling is done by retconning the original and what actually happened DOWN TO CHANGING THE COLOURS OF THE OR TO MAKE JOEL LOOK MORE HOSTILE AND MAKING IT SEEM LIKE ELLIE EXPECTED TO DIE AND WANTED TO that doesn’t change send tweet
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10-59 · 5 days ago
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(Staring at essay I’ve been trying to finish since 2pm)
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shawtuzi · 3 months ago
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this video got me thinking….its kinda giving choso so walk with me real quick besties
˚ʚ♡ɞ
“fuckkkk,” the back of choso’s head knocked against the headboard, his chest heaving with a thin sheen of sweat covering it. the poor boy couldn’t form a single thought—the only thing swirling around in his empty mind is that he needed more.
his breath hitched when he felt your tongue wrap around his nipple once more, flicking the sensitive bud with your tongue. you didn’t bother saying much to him, it���d be pointless being the only word he could respond with was a breathy ‘fuck’.
“i’m ’bout to—hmph! nut again, it’s coming baby,” his head lolled onto his shoulder, his hips now bucking up to create a rhythm with your hand. you hummed around his nipple, squeezing his angry red tip, the clear pearls of precum leaking from his tip had you dying for a taste. “be louder…w’nna hear you cho,” you whispered in his ear, licking at the shell of it.
choso shuddered rather violently at the feeling, but nonetheless he got louder for you—a tad bit louder than you had expected. choso’s mouth dropped opened, a symphony of whiny moans following right after.
if he had any energy he’d fuck your fist himself, but alas after 3 consecutive orgasms all he could do was pathetically roll his hips. “so fuckin’ close, cmon baby make me cum,” choso nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt your soft hands begin to play his balls, squeezing them ever so softly.
choso’s entire body went limp as his orgasm hit, moan after pornographic moan spilling past his kiss bitten lips. the first shot of cum landed on his chest, some getting on his chin, which you greedily licked at a second later. his thighs shook in overstimulation, nearly closing because now it was really starting to become too much.
“baby baby baby wait—hah! you’re gonna f-fuckin’ kill me,” his larger hand wrapped weakly around your wrist, but it stopped nothing. you kissed you way up his chest to his neck, sloppily kissing, licking, and sucking any bit you could get. he just smelled so good—like vanilla and cinnamon, you just wanted to eat him up.
you brushed his hair out his face with your free hand. you looked into his tired, yet oh so lustful eyes, “you good?” you asked, halting your hand’s movements. choso sniffled and gave you a weak nod, “want you to drain me dry angel, even if i start crying.” it’s funny because just as choso finished his sentence a stray tear slipped from his eye, landing on his already messy abdomen.
choso stuck out his tongue making you giggle. you knew exactly what he wanted. you leant over, wasting no time shoving your tongue in his mouth, swallowing up his whiny moans. you resumed your hand’s movements, squealing when you felt choso’s teeth sink into your bottom lip.
he truly didn’t know if he had another orgasm in him but he didn’t care, even if he blacked out. why do you ask?? because soon he’ll be receiving the best aftercare known to man. cuddles, kisses, BACK SCRATCHES!!! he was as content as could be.
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honey-tongued-devil · 3 months ago
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▶[Arcane preference] reacting to you wearing their clothes [Jayce, Viktor, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Mel, Sevika, ]
If you know me, hello little deers, I'm back! If you don’t know me, welcome! Just a heads-up that I don’t use "Y/N," but rather the impersonal "you," and even though I talk about clothes, no sizes or weight are involved. Enjoy the read!
Jayce:
  - It’s not that rare when you’re together; he’s a real gentleman through and through. If it’s cold, he’ll give you his jacket, his scarf, anything to keep you warm  
  - But when you’re the one taking his clothes, it’s different  
  - When he sees you walking around the room in his shirt, just after waking up, something in his brain malfunctions  
  - It’s how it fits you, no matter how big or long it is, it seems like it was made just for you, to give you that look  
  - And to him, it feels like some kind of subliminal ad, as if the universe is making you so attractive in the simplicity of that gesture just to tell him he needs to hurry up and put a ring on your finger so he can enjoy that sight every day  
  - It’s hard for you to get anything done in the morning when he wakes up with those thoughts  
  - Those are the days when you stay in bed, cuddling under the covers, with him looking at you, hand on his cheek, getting more lost in you by the second  
Viktor:
  - For Viktor, the idea of a “little thief stealing his clothes” is an interesting one  
  - He’s never been a fan of tight-fitting clothes, plus, with his physique, it’s rare for anything to fit snugly anyway  
  - That’s why, except for his Academy uniform, the rest of his clothes are comfortable and at least two sizes too big for him, without mentioning Jayce's oversize ones in his closet  
  - What Viktor didn’t expect was that, once you started liking them, you’d just take them straight out of his drawer  
  - The first time he knocked on your door to ask if you’d seen his shirt —the very one you were wearing— he first stopped, confused, wondering how it had ended up on you  
  - And then, though he didn’t show it, he paused to notice with satisfaction how well it wrapped around your body  
  - Sometimes he pretends to forget his clothes at your place, just to see them on you, and to get them back with your scent on them  
  - For the nights when he feels lonelier  
Ekko: 
  - Communism  
  - There’s not really a strong sense of what belongs to whom at the Tree, although some clothes (jackets in particular) eventually get so personalized that no one dares to take them anymore  
  - The first time you grabbed Ekko’s jacket, it was simply because you were freezing, it was really cold, and he was resting, so he didn’t need it  
  - But when he saw you wearing it, his pupils dilated so much you could notice it despite his very dark eyes  
  - Ever since then, it’s him who gives it to you and insists that you wear it, because he likes it: there’s something extremely intimate and deeply personal about walking around with you in his jacket  
  - It’s like marking you as his, but really, also reminding himself of it  
  - And Ekko may be proud, but one thing you quickly and painfully learn in the alleys is to say ‘I love you’ before it’s too late, and that small possessive gesture makes him feel fulfilled because it’s like he’s telling everyone that he couldn’t live without you 
 
Vander:
  - Vander’s clothes have this super-secret ability to change depending on who’s wearing them. For example, what are shirts on him turn into dresses on you  
  - When you put them on, even just for the sake of convenience, you find yourself laughing in front of every mirror you pass by  
  - And if he notices, he can’t help but hug you from behind, leaning down to rub his nose against your neck, smiling against your skin  
  - “You know,” he says every single time, “it looks better on you than it does on me,” and no matter how false it might be, in his eyes, it’s truer than almost anything else  
  - After seeing you a few times in his grown-up man's clothes, he decided to dig through an old box to find the clothes from when he was younger and mend them before leaving them folded on your side of the bed, like a little gift  
Silco:
  - Silco’s strangest habit was the connection he had with his clothes: they looked like Piltover garments, except for the boots and the shirt under the velvet vest, yet they were torn, poorly mended, and worn out in several places  
  - Despite being the richest man in the undercity, he never changed them  
  - The only newer piece in his wardrobe that he used to wear was his coat, which was in perfect condition, scented with cologne, and lined with soft velvet that followed the direction of your fingers when you touched it  
  - Sure, there were ceremonial outfits, pajamas, and something comfortable yet always elegant, but he had worn them so little that they almost didn’t seem like his  
  - That’s why one day you simply decided you were bored, and while he was in a meeting, you could take the opportunity to try on the ones that fit you  
  - But that little fashion show from his wardrobe to the mirror probably took longer than expected, and definitely you were too focused, because you didn’t notice the tall figure watching you, leaning against the doorframe  
  - “Don’t take that off, I’ve got an idea or two,” his voice broke the silence, making you jump  
Jinx:
  - Her clothes are more like a flea market than a wardrobe: there are men’s clothes, women’s clothes, from Piltover and Zaun, intact, held together by metal staples, clean, splattered with paint, torn from explosions, some so small you wonder who they could even fit, and some so large that you and at least four of her father’s henchmen could comfortably fit in them with room to spare  
  - She’s the one who tells you to grab something from the pile the first time you ask to help her with her calculations and experiments, and in the end, you choose something comfortable rather than something intact or clean  
  - It took her a good half hour to notice, and then another hour to stop talking about it  
  - It was something she hadn’t done since she had a family, sharing clothes with someone else, and suddenly she realized just how much she missed it  
  - Every now and then, she’d give you oversized shirts on purpose, just to disappear under the fabric and snuggle up to you, where she felt sheltered enough to feel less vulnerable  
Vi:
  - Vi’s mentality was interesting because, by accident, if she noticed you were eyeing someone’s clothes with interest, somehow the next day those clothes would end up on your bed  
  - Vi would do anything for you; if it were up to her, you’d be dressed in pearls and gold, but neither the place nor her situation allowed it  
  - That’s why she never offered you her clothes: the older ones were tattered, barely definable as rags, which she stubbornly patched up every month  
  - The new ones were stolen, spoils from street fights, but they always came in looking battered and worn, or worse, stained with blood or strange substances, so they weren’t good for you  
  - When she saw you wearing a sweater from her wardrobe, stained and burned in spots, the first thing she felt was guilt  
  - She hated not being able to treat you the way she wanted to  
  - But from that day on, she made sure to at least wash her clothes before putting them away, and slowly she learned to love the clothes you stole a little more than the others  
  - That sweater, for example, she would defend it with her life  
Caitlyn:
  - Whenever you stayed over at her place, she always made sure to provide everything for you: slippers, socks, pajamas, anything you might need  
  - And it was always the highest quality you had ever seen  
  - So seeing you in her clothes wasn’t new, although she sometimes liked to have you try on things she didn’t wear anymore, partly because she couldn’t due to her important name, and partly because she spent half her time in uniform  
  - Those little fashion shows almost always ended with her on top of you, while you are very busy figuring out how to stay quiet so none of the servants, or worse, her parents, would catch you  
  - It didn’t matter if the clothes didn’t suit you, being able to see you in so many different lights made her fall even more in love with everything about you  
  - The final blow? One day she decided to look through the enforcers’ uniforms to find one that would fit you, and for the first time, she saw you in clothes that matched hers  
  - There was something about it that made her hope that uniform would change the chemistry of your brain too and make you join the force, just so she could spend more time with you, just so she could see you like that more often  
Mel:
  - For Mel, it wasn’t an event: she was used to everything, mastering her emotions, and seeing you wearing something of hers had only left her confused for a second, from which she quickly recovered, smiling at you  
  - “It looks really good on you, you know?” she had asked  
  - It didn’t bother her. Objectively, you seemed stupid borrowing those elegant clothes tailored exactly to her body  
  - It almost felt like heresy to wear the clothes of a goddess-like figure. But the goddess had sensed something, and she began buying and commissioning outfits for both you and her, matching, so you wouldn’t feel like you were missing something  
  - But there was one moment, a specific one, where seeing you in one of her dresses had left her speechless  
  - When you told her that the sweater was so beautiful it was almost a shame knowing she couldn’t wear it on the day you’d marry her  
  - And Mel Medarda came from a land of war, where it was hard to get attached to people, let alone objects  
  - Yet from that day, that piece of clothing became a constant for her, even if it meant layering or pulling it down to keep her shoulders bare  
  - Because it no longer just warmed her skin; it began to warm something deeper, something she hadn’t even realized she had  
Sevika:
  - Her clothes reflected her line of work: dirty, unpleasant, dangerous  
  - But despite that, she would drape them over you herself, no matter how worn they were: if she thought you might be cold, without a word, you’d find a sweater or hoodie on your shoulders  
  - And even though she’d glance at you from the corner of her eye, she wouldn’t stop watching you for a single moment when you wore something of hers  
  - It was a matter of homeland—there was no ownership in Zaun, not even last names, as even the family you belonged to was irrelevant compared to what you could do  
  - And the gangs, thugs, and troublemakers wouldn’t hesitate to steal what was yours  
  - But you were hers, and you couldn’t be stolen. And that shirt was hers, but she didn’t feel mutilated, like she normally would, when you wore it  
  - In fact, she loved it, opening her arms to invite you to snuggle up, holding you carefully so the prosthetic wouldn’t bother you, adjusting the clothing on you ten, a hundred times, almost unconsciously  
  - And when you wore her clothes, it felt like for a little while, you could wear her skin too, to understand her better, and she suddenly seemed more vulnerable  
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therealbeachfox · 11 months ago
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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.
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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.
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imogenkol · 9 months ago
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sometimes I start to feel a little bit guilty that I’m so distant and/or cold to most of my family members and then one of them says or does some stupid shit like my dirt bag uncle announcing that “all lesbians love dick” and that he’s “turned so many lesbians” and I suddenly feel very okay with my decision making
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gregmarriage · 7 months ago
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i’m so desperately in need of at least like a tiny piece of independence and getting frustrated when i can’t have it. me moving out is so laughable, bc i wouldn’t be able to cope, and it would be too dangerous, and it’s not like i actually have friends, or a partner i could live with (imao). but also, even if i did, it’s like wow, congrats, you’re my built in carer, and you’re gonna get annoyed with me, real fast <3
#i’m being slightly overdramatic but like still#i could have been a theatre kid#if it weren’t for the crippling anxiety that is#like living with your parents isn’t inherently shameful and if you do literally who fucking cares#i’d just like to experience life where i’m not constantly treated like i’m 5#and i wanna actually feel like an adult#bc i’m nearly 25 and i feel like i never aged past like 17 at the oldest#fully stuck there and i hate it#i am literally an overgrown child and it sucks#idk i wanna have a life but it’s like i’m not supposed to :/#i need irl friends but i feel dumb and awkward#bc again never aged past 17#i still feel like i did back in college just the pity friend who gets dragged along but no one actually likes#and every time i try to put myself out there i get knocked back and embarrassed#and that does something to your psyche after a while#like i’m not joking when i say i’m fucked in the head y’all#and unlearning like 20 odd years of that shit is HARD#i have felt awkward and like i didn’t fit in anywhere since before i can remember#and it hasn’t changed with age#my 20s aren’t easier than my teens#i’m still just jutted out parts that keep on cutting people when they try to get close to me#and i just don’t feel worth it#there’s always better friends or partners you could have#why pick ME???#anyways i always get too deep on these posts#my thoughts are too loud lately#i should probably remember to use my side blog but i never do#at least then i’m not bumming ppl w#bc no one sees that shit so it’s fine#then again no one sees shit on this blog either so 🤷🏻‍♀️
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