#Twenty-Minute Tuesday

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #58 - Twenty-Minute Tuesday #8

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please enjoy the continuing adventures of Government Man.

Government Man raced down the hall in pursuit, and the dark figure was only five steps ahead. He gained on Counter Spy - thanks to his training, GM was a fast runner. He thought back to the time he jogged across the entire United States. Good times.

All it took was one slip up on a conveniently placed banana peel, and Counter Spy was down for the count. Government Man quickly restrained the perpetrator and took out a pair of handcuffs from his fanny pack, but was surprised to see they were fuzzy and pink. That distraction was enough for Counter Spy to turn the tables and get on top of Government Man. He held his arms down to the floor and leaned in close.

“Not so simple is it, now, Government’s Man? You will never be catching me.”

Government Man struggled, but it was no use. He couldn’t move. He tried to scream, but no sound would come out, only air that couldn’t find its way back into his lungs.

“Such a terrible fate astounds you on this wretched night.” Counter Spy’s mouth opened wide, his jaw unhinged, and horrible rainbow tentacles emerged from his throat and lashed Government Man’s face.

He struggled against his captor with all his might, and finally managed to reach down to his holster for his pistol and fire wildly into the tentacles.

Government Man heard the sound of shattering glass and felt a cold foam on his face. He opened his eyes to see the inside of his car, with the windshield shattered, mitter curtains rubbing on the dashboard. He looked to his left to see Government Woman, reeling from the shock of gunfire in her vicinity, staring at him.

“What are you doing?!?”

He wiped the foam from his cheek. Soap.

“Oops.”

Both looked ahead. The rinse was next.

Government Woman pulled over in the parking lot and got out of the car to pour the water from her shoes and wring out her hair. She groaned and crossed her arms.

“Look what you did, Government Man!” She pointed at the shattered windshield.

He stepped out of the car, leaving a dry spot in the shape of his body. Every other part of the upholstery was soaked.

“I don’t know what happened. I was dreaming, I think.”

“You need to stop thinking about Counter Spy! It is ruining your life!”

“But he needs to be apprehended!”

“You have a problem, GM!”

“Yes. And he is my problem.”

She rubbed her face. “No. You are your own problem. You need help. You are addicted.”

“I am not. I can stop anytime I like.”

“Then stop.”

“No, he is still out there.”

“Ugh…” Government Woman sighed. “You need to go to AA.”

“I am not an alcoholic.”

“No, not that AA…” She handed him a business card:

Adversaries Anonymous - We Can Help.

[winepresswrath]

this is the first summer in a long time I've wanted to see so many movies in theatres. I've got tickets for three different upcoming things and only two of them are on Tuesday.

[bright-and-burning]

something that’s actually pissed me off lowkey w some of my irl friends recently (and this is actually like just a stupid rant lol idk) is they like. refuse to read adult fiction now??? i’ll try to recommend books (and im talking like. books that are very up their alley. or even are YA/YA adjacent! just not from when we were twelve!) they’re like “oh idk im just gonna reread divergent.” which like. is fine. but they’re dragging everyone else along w them? like my old roommates just made one of our friends reread all of harry potter. they’re all 23!!!!!! like hello. even ignoring the *hand waves* everything abt that. they won’t watch new movies, they won’t read new books, it’s so. i was like oh you would really like this book, i actually own it i could lend it to you! etc etc to one friend and she was like oh well im actually rereading the hunger games series rn… and then i promised [friend] i’d reread percy jackson… and it’s like. this is why there are no new ip movies……. you can like what you like!!! but why is the only regular large hangout of our college friends someone getting several ppl to reread all of fucking harry potter and then watching each movie when they’ve finished that book. i don’t go ! bc jkr is fucking evil and it’s stupid ! and every time we hang out otherwise it’s like making fun of the one friend for not finishing it fast enough or talking abt what movie’s next etcetc and it’s like oh my god. can you please experience something new

[robthegoodfellow]

Crawling into your asks as a very secret person who’s totally not one of your mutuals to say I hope you have an amazing Tuesday because you deserve it

Thank you very very secret person 😭😭

Same to you 💛

[sinistershepherd]

GOODMORNING. I'M FEELING A LITTLE UNHINGED THIS MORNING.

SO um. I may have asked this before but I don't remember so haha

So, suspicious looking parents drop off their child at the daycare, Kid looks dressed in rags and such.

They don't return for said child. What are the protocols? Do authorities get involved?

IDK IF I ASKED THIS BEFORE WAAA

You haven’t asked this SPECIFICALLY before, lol! Lets get this going, shall we?

Both boys would be very concerned! They would make sure to record the parents through their optics (like cameras, per company policy) to make sure they have face ID if it may come to legal investigation. Sun and Moon have differing roles in these scenarios, and have had a lot of experience following through with the protocols, sadly enough.

Sun takes the kid to one of the various staff rooms and fits them with a spare T-shirt and pants provided for workers that may have gotten a drink spilled on them or food splattered across their clothing. This can be tricky, since most of these shirts and pants are fitted for adults, but Sun makes sure to find the best fit he can for the kid before he guides them back to the daycare.

During this time, Moon watches the remaining children and also busies himself with looking into the parent’s background. The company forbids them from returning children to possibly dangerous households after they conclude their background checks.

This is also when they start to file legal documents and such in preparation for the child’s implementation into the daycare’s homeless program, which is previously covered in another post.

Once Sun returns with the kid, he tells them to put their clothes behind the security desk and join the others- usually, by then, it would be near snack time.

Moon organizes the ragged clothing into a careful pile for further proof of unfit household conditions for this kid to return to. Usually, the clothing is very important in getting these kids out of their parent’s custody, since a lot of abuse and neglect can be reflected upon what they wear.

The kid is pulled aside shortly after snack time and asked a few questions that both brothers insist are important for the child’s safety. They ask about what it’s like at home, how their parents treat them, how often they eat, where they sleep, possible belongings, and other various questions pertaining to what life was like for them at home.

Another important question to ask is if they are enrolled in school, given that they are old enough to attend. This matters because, if they aren’t, the parents know they are doing something wrong and usually tend to want to keep the kid out of the public to continue their treatment. If they are, this could mean that the family is simply poor and doesn’t have the resources to care for the child. In either case, if their situation proves to be unstable and unhealthy for them, Sun and Moon are required to look deeper into the matter.

They wouldn’t exactly be surprised when the parents wouldn’t come to pick them up, and, depending on if this has happened before, the child’s reaction could vary. Whatever emotion they display is either comforted, assured, or handled in a gentle manner. Both brothers are always frustrated by situations like this- even more so if it seems as if it has been going on for a while prior to the kid’s introduction to the daycare.

And, yes! Authorities do get involved! Legally, they cannot simply claim that the kid is unsafe where they previously lived and snatch them like a dog toy. Instead, they would call the police after the daycare has closed for the day- obviously keeping the kid there.

Once the police arrive, Sun would urge the kid to tell the officers everything they told him, and to go as slow as they need to, if it makes them uncomfortable. Moon would pull another officer aside and hand over the file of information that they’ve collected- both written statements and physical evidence, via the clothing.

This usually leads to the police heading to the address of the original home to question the parents.

Which then leads to them returning with livid expression as they explain that the parents claimed they never wanted a child in the first place, or that they simple couldn’t support them, or some other explanation that doesn’t ease either brother’s fury.

Once this is done, the boys return to the daycare and help the kid settle down with the other children in the homeless program. They urge them to make some friends and play to get their energy out before bed, then Sun and Moon separate into their own designated tasks once again: Sun leaves the daycare to go off in search of dinner, either with him cooking it or simply getting pizza from one of the various food courts, while Moon starts to tidy the daycare and watches the children while Sun is away.

This is actually the only time that Moon gets to play with the kids, since he rarely gets the chance during the day, as his main focus is always naptime. He plays hide and seek and watches the kids play tag, running about with big smiles on their faces.

Even if the newest arrival stands aside, separate from the others, he knows that, eventually, they will warm up to their new surroundings. Until then, he will stand and talk with them, quietly, gently, playing the part of a father he doubts they truly had.

[arthur-r]

actual footage of the smallest dance imaginable. a hundred people bought tickets which is. not a lot for an entire seven cities worth of students in a school. and then there was maybe fifty people total in the building at the most filled up time cause so many people just used the tickets as donating to charity and didn’t even want to go

[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.

00000

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!”

00000

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.

00000

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.

[saudadeko]

ADHD tips from a girlie who was diagnosed in her late twenties and has had little to no support since and is being so brave about it:

1) Make it easy, make it accessible, and make it appealing. If anything this is the most important thing, all tips going forward are based around this concept.

2) That thing you think would help you but you haven’t bought/done it yet because you’re technically surviving without it? Buy it, you need it. It doesn’t matter if people around you might think it’s wasteful or that you’re lazy, you’re not, just do it, trust me.

3) Expanding on tip #2, if you’re like me and eggs are your main source of protein because they’re quick and easy and feeding yourself is a near insurmountable task- buy yourself an electric egg cooker, make a bunch of hard boiled eggs and keep them in your fridge for quick and easy protein to add to any meal (handful of crackers, a hard boiled egg and a banana? 5 star meal right there. Or mash them up with some mayo for egg salad sandwiches). Other easy proteins include: potstickers (put them in instant ramen), edamame (they have microwaveable snack packs), chickpeas (put in salads!), beans (can of beans microwaved with shredded cheese and some tortilla chips), peanut butter (with crackers, apple and cheese, adult lunchable style), and tofu (cut into cubes, throw them into a ziplock with some seasoning and potato starch, shake that shit up and bake it until crispy).

4) Spend a little extra (if you are able) on daily use items that excite you, it will make you more likely to remember/want to do said daily task. For example: the only reason I remember to use sunscreen is because I bought some fancy japanese sunscreen that smells like roses so I get excited to use it, same for laundry detergent and body wash! there’s a gajillion different body wash scents out there, switch it up!

5) If there’s a task you continuously struggle with take a moment to think about which part of the task is making it difficult, it could be something even as small as “I don’t put my dirty clothes in the hamper because my hamper has a lid on it and lifting the lid is one step too many-”, sounds a little stupid huh? But trust your gut, it’s not stupid if it works. See tip #2 and BUY A HAMPER WITHOUT A LID.

6) If you are having trouble starting a task, break the task down further, sometimes the way I start a task is just by going “Ok step 1) stand up-“ and so forth. Don’t worry about the task as a whole just take it one step at a time.

7) If you’re halfway through a task and have to stop, leave it out. All this, “Put things away when you’re done with them.” is bullshit. you will be much more likely to finish the task if restarting it is easier because you left it out plus it’s a visual reminder. You can also create faux deadlines like “I gotta finish this project before my friend comes over on tuesday because after I finish it I can clean off the dinner table.” etc.

8) It’s okay to outsource tasks and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, humans are designed to ask for, and to require help (what do babies do when they’re first born?? cry for help!!) ask for help and receive help without shame, if it makes your life better, you are WINNING.

9) If you have one big overwhelming task that you think you need to get done before anything else, but you feel motivated to do other tasks, do those other tasks first, it’s okay. Otherwise in all likelihood (at least in my case) you’ll put everything off until the last minute and then have to do said overwhelming task and those other tasks won’t get done at all. Doing those smaller tasks also lowers the mental load and you can use them as a motivation launch pad to tackle bigger things.

10) If you notice you tend to not put something away/forget to do something, perhaps consider moving and storing the item closer to where it ultimately ends up or where you are more likely to see it. For example, my makeup, pills, and mail are all stored on my desk because that’s where I tend to do my makeup, take my pills and deal with my mail. I used to store my pills in my bathroom medicine cabinet but all too often I would forget because they weren’t in my line of sight. Now that they’re on my desk, I have multiple chances per day to pass by them, go “oh I gotta take those.” and take them.

11) Open storage, open storage, OPEN STORAGE.

12) Motivation can look like all kinds of things. sometimes the only reason I get out of bed is because I remember I have a fun snack and I get to go eat it if I get up. It’s okay to lean into those simple “animal-brain” type motivators, you’ll eat because then you can use that fun new kitchen gadget you got a daiso? Neat. you’ll shower because then you can paint your nails that fun new color you got? Fantastic. You’ll go to the dmv and do that annoying thing because you’ll take yourself out for boba after? Superb. Lean-IN to those small motivators, they aren’t stupid or childish, they are VITAL.

13) Don’t buy into the cult of “if it’s worth doing, do it properly” it’s guaranteed to set you up for failure. If it’s worth doing, do it in whatever capacity you are able to. I put sunscreen on once a day because that’s fucking better than not doing it at all and I sure as all hell will fail at reapplying it multiple times a day. If it’s worth doing, do it half-assed babieeee.

Go forth and prosper!!! xoxo ✌️🩵

[doverstar]

remember when The Flash (CW) was a good show?

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #65 - Twenty-Minute Tuesday #9

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please enjoy.

As I laid in bed, trying desperately to sleep, I heard a rustling on the top bunk. Just my roommate, I thought at first, before recalling that I didn’t have one.

I carefully, as quietly as I could, positioned myself to observe the top bunk without being detected. It could have been a wild animal up there for all I knew - no one but me was supposed to be here. I peeked over the edge and a pair of eyes stared back at me - my very own.

I fell back onto my bed and the creature jumped down with me. I reached for the lights and as soon as I flicked them on, realized I was looking at myself. A clone.

She giggled. “You found me!”

I scratched my head. This clone couldn’t have been more than eight years old, but she certainly was tall. Was I really that tall when I was eight?

“Okay, now you hide!” She covered her eyes, turned to the wall, and began counting down from ten. She was so innocent… more than I was allowed to be at that age. It was as though she’d never seen tragedy, never felt abandonment, never been shamed for mistakes. She was me as I wished I could have been. And I wanted so badly to protect her.

I ran to the closet and hid behind my unused wedding dress. I wondered if it might still fit me, or if I should save it for my daughter… Was she my daughter? I remembered now, why she existed in the first place - meant to be a source of spare parts. Meant to improve my life. But how could I do such a thing to her? How could I be such a monster to such a loving and naive little girl when she was so easy to love?

Oh. That was it. That was always it. I never was the problem, never was the monster. The monsters were the ones who raised me to be that way. I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t.

She opened the closet and threw back the dress. “I knew you’d be in here! I found you!”

I hugged her tightly. I’d never let her go.

[blackbatcass]

wally west is a guy of all time for me. funny haha jokester kid who had to take on a huge amount of responsibility he was definitely not ready for, developed the worst imposter syndrome known to man and instead of coping made it everyone else’s problem. will be sooo petty and selfish about small things but also sacrifices his life with 0 thought like it’s a regular tuesday. had an abusive dad and absolutely refused to acknowledge that shit or think about it ever again. completely unrelated to this he immediately cuts off his entire family the minute he reaches twenty-one. incapable of hiding his emotions and will unfairly be a bitch to you if he’s struggling with something. said himself that no one loved him until his aunt iris. would actually not hesitate to burn the world down for his wife. claims to be a laid back go with the flow guy but also will spiral at the slightest provocation. is allergic to nuance when people he loves make mistakes and will be in their corner no matter how wrong they are.

[undercoverpena]

do me yourself masterlist

francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

key themes: meet cute. romcom vibes (your girl is back). fluff. flirting in person and over <redacted>. idiots falling in love. smut (eventually - check individual chapters for details). frankie is a boy!dad (will highlight when child will be mentioned in individual chapters warnings)

WORK-IN-PROGRESS (UPDATES TUESDAY)

CHAPTER ONE - BUTTERSCOTCH ORANGE

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER TWO - LEMON TWIST

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER THREE - HEATHER PURPLE

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER FOUR - GREEN SMOKE

CHAPTER FIVE - PEPPER RED (S)

CHAPTER SIX - MORNING COFFEE

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER SEVEN - HONEY CREAM

CHAPTER EIGHT - DARK OLIVE

CHAPTER NINE - BREATH OF FRESH AIR

CHAPTER TEN - CRANBERRY COCKTAIL (S)

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER ELEVEN - DUSKY PINK

CHAPTER TWELVE - STORMY SKY

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - HELLO YELLOW

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - SOFT PERIWINKLE

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - RASPBERRY TRUFFLE (S)

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - APPLE GREEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - TANGERINE DREAMS

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

gifted moodboard by @eupheme

gifted moodboard by @sawymredfox

house layout by @cherubispunk

dedication: none of this would be possible without @secretelephanttattoo who i owe my heart to for not just persuading me to write this, but egging me on all week. el, you're a fantastic friend, thank you for all the giggles, the catfish picture and for just letting me distract you all goddamn week. ily, and i hope one day i can show how much. shoutout to @hellishjoel for the title, and to @thetriumphantpanda for listening to me talk about this pair for a solid ten minutes when we was booking train tickets.

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Prologue

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

The cupcake is smashed. Pink icing and gaudy star-shaped sprinkles coat the interior of the box, and the pastry itself has devolved into crumbs. You just stare at it. It had cost you seventeen dollars. It was expensive, yeah. But you’d spent the last three months walking past it every morning and afternoon in the bougie cafe’s windows. You’d waited. You’d wanted.

And it was destroyed. Completely. The perfect swirl of the buttercream was no more. The single, delicate flower made of frosting had lost half it’s petals. You weren’t sure how you could eat it. The wrapping had been warped, but maybe a tea spoon would work?

You let your head fall into your hands, a sob wracking your shoulders. And then less than a second later you swallow down the feeling, and stride over to your shitty apartment’s tiny kitchen. You grab a lighter, a plastic wine glass and the bottle of white wine Molly had given you earlier today. You hadn’t told her what happened yet, but she could tell something had. She’d gave you the wine, a hug, and the promise to always be by your side.

Despite today’s circumstances, despite this week’s circumstances, despite this decade’s circumstances, you were going to have a good birthday getting black-out drunk.

You weren’t going to let yourself sink into one of your funks. Even if it was the worst day of the year by far. Even if it was the second worst birthday of your life.

You just don’t. It’s not allowed.

Your phone rings. Sliding it out of your pocket, you stare blankly at the name on the screen. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Malcom. One of George’s friends. You reject the call, block the number, and slide your phone back in your pocket. See? Dealing with things like an adult. Not throwing a temper tantrum, not crying, not… well, destroying your life in an epic meltdown. You’d had a few of those. Still, despite your obvious erraticness, you hadn’t been fired this year. Yay!

You told yourself you were getting better, even as the universe seemingly conspired against your happiness. You were kind of convinced it was.

Turning, you play with the cap on the wine, walking over to your old ratty couch and falling into it. The beast groans at the contact, but you pay it no mind. The thing was probably older than you, and you were celebrating your twenty-first today.

You were an orphan in Gotham, it was not your first time drinking. Molly had dragged you to so many awful parties over the years. But this wine was probably the fanciest you’d ever been given. Scratch that, definitely was. You pour yourself a glass, stick the birthday candle half-hazardly into the largest chunk of cupcake, and grab the remote.

The only true comfort you can get on this day. A woman, a reporter. She speaks, but you can’t really hear what she’s saying. You chug down a glass of the wine, apologising in your head to Molly, and then pour yourself another.

It takes a few minutes, but your muscles relax, and her words tune into focus.

“Today’s memorial, is once again sponsored by the Wayne foundation.”

Yeah, because they’re the only charity organisation in the city. The family of billionaires were debatably the only good ones in existance. Debtable because you weren’t sure if they were good enough themselves. As an orphan who’d known the cruelty of the system yourself, you were a mix of bitter and grateful towards them. Sure, they’d been the only thing that kept you out of true poverty. You were still an awful bitch about it.

You always had been the jealous type. The other kids who got better backpacks or toys or whatever had you seething with fury. The multitude of orphans Bruce Wayne risen out of poverty were not safe from your envy. It didn’t matter if you were… Well, a little bit, just a teeny-tiny-tiddly-little bit… obsessed. Obsessed with them. Kind of manic about it, actually.

You were working on it. Today was a bad day, and you were a little too raw. So, like every little dumb animal on the planet, you went straight to your creature comforts. You pretended you were a roman eating and drinking on their chaise lounge, watching their magnificent entertainment.

Delusional. Your sofa was falling apart at the seems, your cupcake was debris and your entertainment was a memorial service. Wine was good, though.

Gotta focus on the good parts.

You watch the TV screen, the reporter’s voice drifting in and out of focus. There was a family photo of the Waynes and their family friends, all in perfect suits and dresses and pearls and fancy watches. You’d bet that those little accessories were worth more than a year of your rent.

And you lived in fucking Gotham, both the most expensive city to live in, and the worst at the same time. A miracle, truly.

Anyway, they were all stunningly beautiful, even some of the guys. God knows how much the internet went on about Richard Grayson’s long eyelashes. You’d always been enamored with Dick’s good looks. Even Damian Wayne who had only turned nineteen a few months ago and was three years younger than you was already being fawned over by the tabloids.

Gotham’s newest young rich bachelor. Bitterly envious, that was you. You didn’t like that emotion, though, so you turned your attention to others. Namely, delusion.

You let yourself get swept up in daydreams. Of having a rich family, of one so close knit as the Wayne’s. Of having a handsome, loving, kind partner. You don’t let yourself dream about your real family, of a George that was faithful.

You just don’t.

Maybe someone like Tim Drake. Loyal, everyone who knew him described him as loyal. His romances with Bernard Dowd and Stephanie Brown were famous. There were hundreds of papparazzi photos of him with big bundles of roses and a sweet look on his face. You thought someone like Tim Drake would probably be like one of the heroes in your romance novels. Something silly like a meet cute in an airport, or maybe a bookstore or a cafe. He was pretty famous in Gotham’s niche hipster coffee scene, right?

Yeah, you could see it now. Some dumb but cute scene where you get confused and accidentally take his order. You get the same drink, and bond over your shared love of caramel syrup. Like he didn’t live on the opposite side of the city from you, and you probably couldn’t afford whatever fancy shit he drunk. Italian coffee beans versus… well, you didn’t actually know what you bought. You knew it didn’t taste very good, but it was dirt cheap.

What were you doing? Ah, yes, silly daydreams about romance.

But even as you think of Tim, Dick Grayson was so pretty, and he’d had his fair share of partners too. Someone with such an angelic face had to have a personality to match, and the media agreed. Of course you didn’t really know what he was like, this was all just fantasy. Other than numerous tabloid interviews and television, which suggested he had a kind heart and a love for bad jokes you truly knew nothing about the guy. Still, he’d be the golden retriever trope, you think. Or the knight in shining armor, saving his heroine from one of the many disaster’s plaguing Gotham and confessing his love in one big final act. His meet cute would be the airplane one. The blue of his eyes, it makes you think of the sky. You’d take his seat, but he’d be super sweet about it. Like he didn’t have a private jet, and would never be caught on economy.

You think Damian Wayne could play a good romance lead as well. From what you’d seen, he seemed to have a terrible personality, which was perfect for any modern romance. A classic enemies to lovers, with some bickering. Maybe he’d have secretly loved her the entire time, and maybe there’d be a good grovel at the end. So, appreciating his character, he’d have to have a meet ugly. Probably get stuck in an elevator with him or something, and he’d get to display his keen intellect and argumentative nature.

You swirl your wine, nodding your head. Brilliant ideas today, you should talk to Molly more. She’d definitely appreciate your wisdom. She wanted to be a screen writer one day, and all this would be very helpful. She was going to college for it. You couldn’t afford college.

Maybe you were drunk. Maybe you were a genius. It was hard to tell, so you take another sip. That’ll help you figure things out.

“As always, the Wayne families’ faces are morose as they celebrate the late Jason Todd.”

And as always, you felt an odd connection with the dead man. Your lives had both technically ended the same day, in the same grand calamity. Sure, you were still technically alive. Kicking about. But everyone you loved dying in one fell swoop, right in front of your eyes? You felt more like a ghost these days.

Weren’t you supposed to be fighting those sorts of thoughts off? Whatever, it was too much effort anyway.

Your slight obsession with the Wayne family had been initially started by Jason Todd. You hadn’t been thinking about him as much recently with George in your life, but he swung right back into place as soon as George left your life. Like a magnet, or more likely, a compulsion.

But now you were brought right back to the morning after. Seeing the entire city grieving the day after you’d lost your family, your first thought had been ‘Good, I’m not the only one,’ and then you’d stopped being an idiot and realised the city was mourning Jason Todd, heir to the Wayne name. Sure, there’d been hundreds of others who’d died, but that was Gotham. Your family had gotten a plaque filled with tens of other forgotten names, Jason had gotten framed photos hung around the city.

Today, his photo was once again surrounded by thousands of bouquets. Peonies, roses, daffodils, lillies, a rainbow of petals that almost covered his memorial stone. It reminded you of your sad-ass cupcake. When the camera zoomed out, you could see your smaller set of poseys against one of the thirty towering monuments, the tiny names crammed into the rock. Your families name was on line fifty-two, near the bottom. You could only afford the flowers once a year, but you visited once a week at least.

There were other flowers. Other offerings. Other candles. Jason’s dwarfed them all.

You sometimes couldn’t tell if you hated the dead man or were hopelessly in love with him. Obviously it didn’t matter. Even when he was alive he was out of both your league and your tax bracket.

Still, you were absolutely certain of it, Jason Todd would beat up George Lancaster. So fucking bad. To a bloody pulp. He’d be eager to do it, as well. You could hum and haw about how you thought violence was bad but he’d see right to the core of you.

The part of you that wanted George Lancaster to suffer. And he’d do it with a kiss and a promise that he’d make it slow. He’d save you from all your monsters, and he’d do it eagerly. And that was the fantasy of it all, wasn’t it?

You lift your glass, in celebration of your dead parasocial imaginary boyfriend. You hoped he wouldn’t be jealous of your new living parasocial imaginary boyfriends. Hiccuping out a laugh, you swallow down another gulp.

And even then, of course you wanted Bruce Wayne as a father. As someone who has seen the worst of the world, and would protect you from it. As someone who would wipe away the tears, who would save you from your own self. And you wanted Cassandra as a sister, someone to groan over guys with and steal clothes off. You wanted the close relationships they shared with Barbara Gordon and Stephanie Brown, with Duke who’d only recently come into their fold. You even wanted their dog you’d seen in photos, the cat that Damian posted on his instagram, the fucking cow they kept for god knows reason inside the estate. You wanted everything, every part of their lives. You were a jealous person, but more than that, you were a greedy person.

You glance at the clock.

11:57.

You shakily open the candle packet, picking a green one out. That had been Sam’s last favourite colour, but he switched them so often it was hard to remember. You stab it into the pink frosting. Julie always chose pink for her cake. Chasey loved flowers, particularly poseys. The flowers had looked like posesys before they’d been crushed.

You light the candle. It’s tiny flame flickers in the dark room, the warm light overpowered by the cool from the television. You peek back over to the clock.

11:58.

And Mum always made her wish at midnight, because she believed that was when it was most likely to come true.

What would you wish for? You never did, because you never knew what you wanted to wish for. Everything you wanted, everything you could’ve wanted, was gone. It couldn’t come back, it was impossible.

11:59.

You look at the TV, at the blinding forms of the Wayne family. Of their graveyard, with the manor in the background. It’s as impossible as everything else. But that’s what they represent for you, isn’t it?

Something hopeful. Something impossible.

You wanted impossible.

12:00.

You lean over the messy cupcake, and blow the candle out. It disappears in one blow, and you sink back into the couch. You take a few crumbs from the cupcake and sneak them past your lips. In your drunkenness, you probably get more on the couch than in your mouth.

You let your eyes flutter shut, and because only you can, you give yourself the comfort of lies. You imagine loving embraces, whispered platitudes. You imagine that today was a good day, that you’d find yourself tomorrow happy. That you wouldn’t wake up with a hangover, that you wouldn’t have a shitty job, an evil ex, and mountains of debt.

That you’d have people who loved you, who could ease the pain.

And you don’t even care who they are.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[princessbrunette]

kinktober : oct 5th

könig x cumming in panties

he’d cornered you when he knew you couldn’t bring yourself to run from him. könig was sick like that.

he’d been depriving you all week. you weren’t too sure on the why, but you figured he was punishing you for something. or maybe he wasn’t, maybe könig had just wanted to toy with you, get you all desperate just for his own twisted entertainment.

on monday, he’d had you speared on his cock— but not allowed to move, and overall not allowed to cum, removing you from his lap when he was finished with his work at the desk and never revisiting, leaving you empty and needy whilst he beats off in the shower. tuesday he’d insisted on teaching you self defensive moves, pinning you with your knees up and dragging his heavy bulge over your puffy slit through your leggings until you’d soaked through the material, and then getting up like it had never happened and even having the audacity to berate you for being distracted.

wednesday, he’d forced his way into your shower and you thought you’d finally get some relief— instead he’d crowded you against the cold tiles, ran his hands over your body greedily, fondled you and kissed you enough to get you whiny — before pulling away, continuing on with his shower as you stand pressed to the tiles panting in disbelief, and climbing out alone. thursday, he’d ignored you completely — which only made you want him and his approval more. it had reached friday, and you were at your breaking point. not only had you reached physical desperation, but you felt emotionally needy and fragile beyond belief too, breath hitching in your throat when you spotted him by the gymnasium on base.

when he spotted you wandering over, his eyes lit up through his hood and he smiled. he smiled and you thought thank god, it’s over. your knees are weak and trembling by the time you reach him, hands clutching his black military issued shirt. “kö,” it comes out as a sweet whine. he tilts his head, hulking frame looming over you as he cups your cheeks gently.

“hmm?” he hums lovingly and you inhale shakily, your own hand laying over his.

“its aching— need you, please. have twenty minutes until my meeting n’i won’t be able to focus.” you press yourself to him, all but begging with tears in your eyes.

“t’aww, schatz.” he whispers hoarsely, taking your waist and walking you backwards into a hallway that no one ever seems to go down. “i can give you something, yes?” he cooes and you nod so furiously you think your head might come off.

he crowds you to a wall, so that if anyone was to enter the hallway, their vision would be obstructed by his giant frame anyway. you don’t know how he’s done it, but he pulls out his cock and it’s already fully hard, thick and pretty in his grasp. he stands with his legs spread wider to lower himself a little, the height difference almost obscene and he runs a thumb over his tip, full balls resting on the waistband of his cargos. you whimper, just from the sight of it.

a low hum leaves his throat and he lets his tip graze your stomach, dragging lazily across the material of your shirt, smearing the slightest bit of precum onto it. “please.” you whisper, teary eyes searching for permission. he tsks, and pulls your skirt up to sit around your waist, gently but slightly impatiently tapping your inner thigh so that you’ll stop pressing them together tightly.

“you missed me, little one?” he questions, pressing his tip harshly over your pantie-covered clit, rubbing it in circles making you buckle.

“mhm, missed you a lot.” your hips jerk off the wall, humping back against his tip. each time you squirm, you can hear the obscene wetness in your panties making you whine in embarrassment. he chuckles harshly, pulling back.

“poor thing.” he responds cooly, accent thick and low. he pulls down the waist band of your panties and stuffs his cock inside making you grip at his clothes so that you don’t totally collapse. gripping your hips, he begins to slowly thrust. the height difference is a slight hinderance, and he’s hunched over you, but once he gets the angle right you’re whimpering helplessly, his cock sliding back and forth over your soaked slit and never once inside.

he has the audacity to laugh, strong arm bracing the wall beside your head as he leans over you, his hood tickling your cheek. “what if someone were to come down this hall, hmm? see my cock stuffed in your little panties. that pussy all needy for the colonel. you would probably like that, yes? you like to show off.” your brain was hazy but the last part rung an alarm in your head. was that what this was about? was he still punishing you?

“just wanna— wanna cum!” you cry, and you’re not aware of the mascara pooling beneath your eyes until he harshly wipes the tears with his fingers and pulls away. you groan, devastated, bleary eyes watching him rub the wetness from your tears against his own shaft. he grabs your wrist, roughly and maybe a little desperately and guides your hand to pull your waistband down a little more, exposing your needy cunt to him.

“hold this. like this.” he sneers and you do, not having the capacity to question him let alone argue. he stops touching you completely, focused on fisting at his own cock, tip aimed down your panties and you sniffle, staring up at him pitifully. you longed to touch him, have him praise you, kiss you — but all he did was stare down his nose at you with his hood still firmly in place as he jerked himself off.

your pleas and wobbling bottom lip only seemed to push him further, and soon — he was cursing, pressing you to the wall with his weight and unloading his balls into your thin delicate panties. you whimper sensitively, looking down at the way his hot seed seeps into the baby pink panties. your brain is mush by this point, and you stare up at him obediently, albeit sadly.

he recovers, jagged pants leaving him as he stands back up to his full height, tucking himself back into his pants. he takes the material of your panties and pulls them firmly back up, his cum pressing against your folds. his big warm hand comes up, rubbing you over your panties to make sure his cum has spread around and you moan at the touch, but as soon as it came it leaves— the hand grabbing your jaw for a moment and looking at you before he steps back, eyeing you with his hands now clasped behind his back. he watches you fumble to adjust your clothes and pull your skirt down, hands and thighs shaking.

“keep that in there all of today. i will come to visit you later on.” with that, he coldly steps aside. oh, he was mean. “off to your meeting. cannot be late now, liebling.”

[querenciasturniolo]

guest ⮕ m.s.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: swearing, awkward flirting, embarrassment

summary: request

a/n: this was requested by @rainsoakedphoenix, and i had SO much fun writing it (even though it took ages) ! sorry for the mix up, i hope this works 😭💓 i wrote this while watching the new season of heartstopper, which is AMAZING by the way

(this is like 89% dialogue, which i’m sorry if it wasn’t your vision, but i tried my best 🤞🏻)

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

“Good morning campers, and welcome to the Cut the Camera podcast. I’m Nick Sturniolo.”

“I’m Matt Sturniolo.”

“And I’m Chris.”

Your eyes flickered between the three of them, reaching your hands up to adjust your headphones. Nick finally turned his head to you.

“We have a special guest for this episode, introduce yourself.” He said.

You looked at one of the cameras and smiled, lifting your hand to wave.

“Hey, I’m Y/n.” You said, wincing slightly. “Jesus, that was awkward, someone else talk now.” Matt pulled a face, you looking over at him and mocking him playfully.

“Like some of you know, Y/n is one of our good friends from home. She hasn’t been in much of our content because she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing, but that’s fine, we love her anyway.” Nick said. You scoffed and leaned back in the diner seat, pulling the mic with you.

“It’s not that I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m just an awkward piece of shit.” You said, shrugging your shoulders. “S’not my fault your fans love watching me suffer.”

“Well that turned dark. Anyway, Y/n, why don’t you introduce the topic.” Chris said. You sighed and crossed your arms over your chest.

“Today we’re talking about how the four of us met, and how I’ve continued to endure their torture for so long.” You paused, Matt’s jaw slack as he looked over at you. You grinned and shook your head. “No, I’m kidding. They’re pretty great, I’m glad they’ve tortured me for this long.”

Chris scoffed. “You love us and you know it.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what I said, but if you want to get all mushy already, then yes, I love you guys.” You said.

Nick awed next to you, Matt leaning over and bumping your shoulder with his.

“You’ve always been the lovey-dovey one. Y/n has called me at like six o’clock on a random Tuesday before just to tell me she was thinking about me.” Nick said. You covered your face with your hands and groaned.

“God, why must you expose me? Let them think I’m dark and gloomy.” You grumbled.

Matt scoffed then, the audio coming through your headphones clear enough for you to peek an eye through your fingers. “None of them think you’re dark and gloomy, they’ve seen you in videos before, dude. Accept the fact that you’re a softy.” He teased, your jaw practically hitting the floor.

The conversation went on like this for about twenty minutes, the four of you talking and bickering back and forth. The conversation ran off the tracks quite a few times, and Matt tried reeling it back in as best as possible.

“So, back to the topic at hand—”

“Nick, what did you say?” Chris asked, completely cutting Matt off.

“I was just saying that was bullshit.” Nick said.

“Guys, what are we even—”

“How is what I just said bullshit?” Chris asked, the both of them in their own little world.

Matt sighed and looked at you, shrugging his shoulders. You turned to face him fully, resting your arm on the back of the booth. “So anyway, what’s an average day in the life of Matt Sturniolo?” You asked. Matt frowned and adjusted himself to face you completely.

“What?” He asked, pulling the mic towards him.

“What’s an average day in your life?” You repeated, raising your eyebrows.

Matt’s frown relaxed as he thought, shrugged, and finally spoke. “I’d say; wake up, shower, eat, go to meetings, come home, go to bed, repeat.” He held his hands out to count on his fingers, your eyebrows raising as you listened, no emotion on your face.

“Wow, riveting.”

Matt scoffed and shook his head, opening his hands and gesturing them towards you. “Please, tell me about your extraordinary day to day schedule, I’d love to hear it.”

“Of course you would. I happen to have a day packed full of important tasks.” You said, lifting your chin sarcastically.

“Oh, really? Name one.” He said, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, I work.” You started, Matt nodding and pursing his lips.

“Oh, you work, do you? And what do you do after that?” He asked, your eyebrows lifting and your jaw going slack.

“Well, if you must know, after work I go home and eat and then shower and go to bed.” You said matter of factly, Matt staring at you completely unamused.

“That has got to be the most boring play-by-play I’ve ever heard.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, and yours was better, Matt?”

“I think so. What do you do for work?” He asked, the corner of his lips turned up in a half smile.

You sighed and shrugged your shoulders. “Retail. It’s not the most glorious job, but it gets the bills paid.”

“Yikes, customer service.” He winced, to which you shrugged your shoulders again.

“Like I said, not the most glorious job. I deal with a lot of dickheads, but the regulars are nice.” You said, grabbing your cup and taking a sip of it. You jutted your chin at him. “It’s your turn to ask a question, I don’t think they’re gonna stop any time soon.”

Matt hummed and thought for a moment. “Um, what’s your favorite color?”

“That’s really the best you could come up with, Matt?” You said, a laugh leaving your lips as he looked at you in mock offense.

“At least it’s not as mundane as ‘what do you do everyday’, Y/n. Cut me some slack, I’m trying here.” He retorted, your hands going up before you answered.

“It’s blue.”

“Lame.” He said, your eyebrows furrowing.

“Matt, that’s literally your favorite color, too.” You said, Matt scoffing.

“You don’t know me.” He mumbled, a laugh bubbling out of you as you adjusted in your seat, scooting the slightest bit towards him.

“I’ve known you my entire life, you dork. That argument is invalid.” You said.

Matt pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, really studying him for the first time in awhile. You reached forward and lightly pinched a lock in your fingers and twirled it. “Your hair is getting long.” You said. There was something in Matt’s eyes that you couldn’t quite place, but the apples of his cheeks were tinged pink.

“Yeah, I need to cut it soon.” He said, his voice quiet.

You nodded your head, letting go of the lock of hair and resting your hand back on the booth centimeters away from his. “If that’s what you want.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he lightly jabbed the tips of your fingers with his.

You paused, realizing how passive it had sounded. You immediately shook your head. “No, oh my God, nothing! It was just an observation.” You said, resting your hand on his.

“So you wouldn’t care if I shaved my head?” He asked, mischief glinting in his eyes. Somehow, your fingers ended up entwined, but both of your palms were resting on the back of the booth. It was comfortable, but new, and you didn’t know exactly how to navigate this. You shrugged your shoulders and pulled your headphones off of your head and rested them around your neck.

“I wouldn’t care, no. Just because I think your hair looks cute long, doesn’t mean I’m going to freak out if you change it.” You said honestly. Matt blinked, processing your words before he replied.

“You think my hair looks cute long?” He asked. You nodded your head, ignoring the burning in your face.

“That is what I just said, yes.” You said, trying to sound like it was no big deal

“Wow, admitting you think I’m cute on recording? That’s crazy.” You could tell he was teasing, and by the color of his cheeks, you could tell he didn’t mind.

You cocked an eyebrow, tilting your head to the side as your smile grew. “Are we just going to ignore the fact that you’ve been practically holding my hand for this entire conversation?”

“I haven’t?” He said, immediately pulling his hand from yours and resting it in his lap, his eyes darting downward. You smiled and shook your head, teasingly gesturing around the room.

“Matt, it’s literally on camera, from multiple angles.” You said, Matt’s eyes meeting yours. He studied your face and eventually smiled and rolled his eyes, the awkward tension he was radiating before slowly dissipating.

“Yeah, okay, whatever.” He mumbled, adjusting his headphones before meeting your eyes again. You opened your mouth to speak, but were quickly interrupted.

“Oh my God, this is honestly disgusting.”

You whipped your head around to Nick, your eyes wide as he met you with an incredulous stare.

“You guys have been flirting like, the entire time. I’m surprised I haven’t thrown up yet.” He finished, your face on fire as your eyes flickered to Chris’ amused smile.

“Honestly, Nick and I stopped arguing like, five minutes ago. We just wanted to see how long it would take the two of you to notice.” You looked back at Matt, who was awkwardly laughing into his hands and shaking his head. “Clearly, way too fucking long. Can we get back to the topic of our joint childhoods now?” Chris finished.

You cleared your throat and nodded, adjusting yourself in the booth so you were facing forward and your shoulder was to Matt.

“Where were we again?” You asked, Nick jumping into the conversation effortlessly.

The rest of the podcast went smoothly, the four of you in almost perfect harmony for the rest of the time, the little embarrassing interruption nearly forgotten.

It was nearly forgotten until Matt’s hand rested over yours under the table and entwined with yours. You felt your face heat up and the corners of your mouth twitch, but you didn’t say anything or make anything obvious.

Matt was your best friend, and as affectionate as the two of you were, hand holding was never on the list until now—and honestly, you didn’t mind.

[my-castles-crumbling]

bookshop au - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 388

Today was the day.

After months of mooning over Leather Jacket, the nameless customer that came into the bookshop Remus worked at every Tuesday, Remus was going to do something. Say something.

Right?

But when Leather Jacket walked in, Remus's resolve broke, and not even an encouraging look from Lily made him feel more confident.

"Hey. How can I help you today?" he asked the man, trying to control his smile. He got way too excited to see him, considering he didn't know his name.

"How much do you know about knitting from the 1800s, Remus?" Leather Jacket asked, his light eyes boring holes into Remus's heart.

"Not much....erm....you can probably find it in the crafting section," he answered helpfully, leading the way.

It took them almost an twenty minutes to find the book the man needed. A whole history of knitting, starting from ancient Egypt. All the while, they chatted and laughed and it was so easy, and Remus found himself wishing it had taken longer to find the damn book.

"Remus, can I ask you something?" Leather Jacket asked, his eyes bright.

"Erm, sure," Remus nodded, feeling self-conscious. Did he know?

"Do I look like the type to study ancient knitting?" the man asked, his tone genuine.

"Erm...no? I dunno," Remus stuttered, feeling like this was a test he was not understanding.

"What about symbolism in ancient American poetry? Growing foreign vegetables during the off-season? Teaching children to sing in Vietnamese?" Leather Jacket said, listing off some of the topics he'd requested previously, still serious.

"Erm...well, I've never thought too hard about-" Remus shrugged, but the man cut him off.

"I just...I come in here for you. To see you," he man smiled a bit. "I thought I was being bloody obvious, but I'm starting to think-"

"Wait, you do?" Remus asked, genuinely shocked. He'd just thought the man had niche interests.

"Yes!" the man laughed. "Alright, let me do this proper. Erm...I'm Sirius. Like the star."

Remus grinned to himself, remembering the first time Sirius had come into the shop. For an Astronomy book.

"And I'd like to take you for coffee, maybe?" Sirius finished, looking slightly nervous."

But Remus grinned. "As long as we don't have to talk about the history of knitting."

Sirius sighed, chuckling. "Absolutely not."