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therealbeachfox · 2 months

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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.

#gay marriage #gay rights #gay history #gay

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daughterofyore · 11 months

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{{Drabble}} George and his anxiety.

wc;; 661

summary;; George has anxiety about an upcoming speech and you calm him down.

contents;; fluff, sweet nothings, loving caresses, stressed George and signs of mania.

a/n;; although I do write smut mainly I wanted to start filling up my repertoire of work. So, I decided to add in a very small lil drabble for ‘just George’. :)

!!W!!;; none really, signs of his mania? (Shaking hand) and anxiety.

George, sweet loveable George. He sat in the upholstered leather chair at the large mahogany desk in his study, his thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn’t raise his eyes to meet yours, he didn’t even glance up as you walked into the study. Your dress hissed along the ground, it’s brilliant floral design cascading down the sides, bedecked with jewels and your hair in a very fashionable up-do. A very classic Georgian era outfit.

You approached his desk, placing a gentle hand on his back between his shoulder blades. “What troubles you dearest?” You question him softly, beginning to rub small circles on his back. He looked up at you, brows scrunched together and eyes glassy. Had he been crying?

“I am… frustrated my dear.” He slapped a hand on top of papers, a quill lay discarded to the right. Ink leaked along the table, threatening to spill off the edge and onto the expensive carpets below. “I have to ready a speech for government. Make my presence known and make sure they remember me.” He scoffed incredulously, shaking his head as if it was hard to believe. “Yet, my nerves will not settle. I am beginning to panic and-“ you noticed his hand began to shake, the tell tale sign of an episode threatening to take hold of him. You squatted down at his side, gently placing a hand on his knee, demanding his unwavering attention.

“My love, I will help you be the best you can be. I know you will do excellently for there is nothing you can’t do.” A small smile tugs at your lips and his quiver in response, fighting back a wave of emotions. “You will be amazing, an excellent king and a wonderful speaker. You need not worry about how they perceive you. You are George, King of the United Kingdom’s.” You stood, taking his face in your hands. Cupping his cheeks and whispering, “And you are my husband.” His shoulders slumped and he stood, now towering over you. He held your gaze, smiling.

“My beautiful wife.” He brushed his fingers along your cheek, they no longer shook. “What would I ever do without you?” His voice broke a bit, but he held firm in not allowing tears to fall. You reached up and squeezed his hand.

“I’m sure you would be fine, I am merely a help.” He shook his head, making a disgusted face.

“You are absolutely not! Yes, you may help me but you are so much more. You are my wife, my love, the mother of my children you-“ He sighed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you to be flush with his front. “You are everything and more. Venus could not compare to your divinity.” You hid your face in his chest, trying to conceal the blush creeping along your face.

“Come darling, let’s go and get some tea to settle ourselves.” You spoke into his chest and he chuckled at your shyness, tenderly grasping your shoulders and pushing you back so that he may see you.

“I love it when you blush. You look so cute.” He smirked, pressing a kiss to your forehead and taking your hand in his. He began to walk towards the parlour. He told Reynolds to bring you tea and confectioneries, once he had vanished down the hall and around a corner George spun to you and scooped you into his arms. He began to rush down the hall, eliciting screams and giggles of joy from you.

He pushed the door open with his foot and lay back on a chaise longue, placing you on top of him. He began to trace lazy circles over your stomach once you were both settled. His other hand playing with your fingers. Before the servants knocked on the door with the tea he whispered into your ear, his breath hot and titillating.

“I love you, my beautiful wife.”

#bridgerton #bridgerton series #bridgerton smut #bridgerton spoilers #king george bridgerton #king george iii #king george x f!reader #king george x reader #queen charlotte #bridgerton fanfiction #king George drabble #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton fic #bridgerton men #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton family

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itsvelyria · 4 months

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"christmas w the f1 boys"

Charles Leclerc

charles is a mess: he realises this as he resorts to simply bunching up the plaid wrapping paper over the Puma box that is meant for his brother. there is something on his chin, he thinks, but he’s too busy twirling the roll of tape around the lopsided present. beside him, you’re having the time of your life, folding obedient coloured paper with the precision and accuracy only found at gift wrapping stations. your stack of neatly wrapped presents sits prettily in contrast to his less neat ones – your tree looking more like a joke by the second. the velvet crimson ribbon is tied into a little bow by your expert fingers, and you set it aside, another point for you. gazes meet and yours falls onto the mess in his hands and promptly burst into a fit of giggles, at which he shoots you a pout. still giggling, you lean over, peeling the double-sided tape from his jaw, mumbling that it’s a good thing there’s something he’s bad at.

Carlos Sainz

mutters of how it’s such a waste of electricity to power up so many lights just for a holiday can be heard under your breath and he fights the urge to laugh. you’ve been repeating that spiel for as long as he can remember and the refreshing bout that hits him every time hasn’t died. still, the fact that you’re in his hometown with him, having been successfully convinced by him to go out on a little adventure to admire the christmas decorations. he pulls you in closer by the shoulder, your rant having ended with a tiny huff, and relishes in the warmth of your slender arm resting against his back. the urge to call your name, have that scowl on your face turn towards him so he can kiss it right off is irresistible. and so, fuelled by the saccharine smell of vanilla in the air, he does exactly that.

Danny Ricciardo

your boyfriend didn't need much convincing when you mentioned the Christmas decorations should go up. and thus, he was tasked with setting up the tree, brandishing his biceps with a flourish. now though, you’re standing by the boxes of ornaments you had dug out of the storage room while he wrestles with the middle tier of the plastic tree – your help having been rejected. it is with great struggle on his part, and great pain on yours, that the three tiers are all successfully stacked onto each other. the inevitable bickering begins, as you tease him about his lack of artistic direction while he jokes about your inability to reach the higher branches. even with no consensus being reached, the tree is adequately covered in tinsel and glittery ornaments. finally, danny insists on lifting you by his shoulder to place the finishing touch: the star.

George Russell

the holidays in england are top-tier and the ultimate winner of all things that bring happiness to his life — do not even try to fight him on that. the prelude of snow in the air coupled with the smell of chocolatey malt fuels him when there is no post-race adrenaline rush to do so. the market is set up with various tiny stalls selling hot beverages and homemade trinkets, the bustle of the crowd melting together with joy in his chest. he takes in the cheer that seems to make spirits a smidge higher and polite grins a little more sincere, watching you dash from stall to stall, cooing over every cute thing your eyes land on. maybe he was wrong, perhaps the greatest joy is being able to tangle his fingers with your fingers, tucking them safely into his pocket while sipping a hot chocolate.

Lando Norris

when you were apartment shopping, you had accounted for your respective large families and ever-growing social circle. butthe current state of your living room begs to differ. loud voices competing to be heard over the others was the music of choice as your sister screams accusations at your boyfriend while he has his best friend in a headlock. there’s half-empty wine glasses and nacho crumbs strewn everywhere. you’re pretty sure the sodas were spiked but your current hand is way too trash, so you fold. cursing your dealer, your uncle, you peer around the room. there is a monopoly game in the corner that looks like a full-out war, and you can spy your aunts, far too drunk on the good wine to care, so you’re halfway out of your chair to intervene but lando beats you to it. he says something that has the kids giggling and the teenagers rolling their eyes, calming the frazzled nerves instantly. glancing around, he catches your eye and shoots you a grin, and for a second, you feel your heart skip a beat. he follows up with a wink, making his way over to you where he proceeds to drape his large frame over yours. his arms hang over your shoulders, chin propped up on yours as he peers at your cards.

Lewis Hamilton

the shiver down his spine shocks him. your feet are basically icicles, he has said time and time again. but lewis remains still even as you shove your feet under the shared blanket, pressing them up against his in a desperate attempt to gain some warmth. his eyes dart up from the words on his book, landing on your furrowed brows engrossed in your own pages. the carefully curated playlist of holiday music and comforting scent of cinnamon and pine burning from the scented candle someone had gifted the year previous soothes his mind. roscoe is peacefully snoring away in the corner. putting aside your literal cold feet, he finds his attention turned back to the book, humming along gently. your full-on belting scares him and the book in his hands falls to the ground with a thud. he can’t hide the fond twinkle in his eyes even as he shoots you a glance. your apologetic shrug is nonchalant, and he finds himself mirroring your grin, joining in the annihilation of the song. it dissolves into shared laughter as the combined voices wakes roscoe, who sends you two the most displeased look a dog can make.

Max Verstappen

in hindsight, he should have listened to you. but the fact remains that he did not, and so he can only watch on enviously as you sip your coffee. you did warn him of the bustling aisles in the packed mall and asked if he needed caffeine to get him through. but then again you did reprimand his excessive consumption of a particular energy drink last night so the thought that it was a trap crossed his mind and lead to his rejection. he wonders if you would let him take a tiny sip as you drag him into the next store, arms sore from carrying a few too many shopping bags. you hold up the race cars from the boys’ section of the toy store, eyes narrowed to evaluate the brightly coloured plastic, trying to determine if they were good enough for his nephews. his heart swells a little at the sight of you trying to pick out the perfect gift for his family, but his focus lied mainly on your coffee, which was left unattended. and with zero hesitation, he swipes the drink, taking a large gulp to make up for the stress he had undergone for the past two hours. your dirty look is met with a twinkle in his eyes as he drops a kiss on your cheek as an apology.

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sleepynegress · 8 months

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A COMPREHENSIVE & AUTHENTIC UHURA LOVE/HISTORY POST

The above is where Roddenberry 1st employed Nichelle Nichols [click to watch the full clip]. It was a military show based on Roddenberry's own experiences, the episode is called To Set it Right (I highly suggest reading the wiki article about it).

You should note two other actors, whom he later pegged for Star Trek are in the episode.

They dated briefly and then became good friends way before Trek came about.

Miss Nichols was already an accomplished singer and dancer who performed regularly w/ Billy Eckstine and Duke Ellington

Roddenberry's 1st show, The Lieutenant, was canceled/pulled from the air before these scenes bluntly dealing with racism could air (there's blackface as punishment for the racists at the end of the show, in a case of 'he 'a little confused but got the spirit' for the times, so tw)

He created Star Trek to try to soften the blow of all the social messaging he wanted to insert from his military experience. Star Trek was basically, a submarine drama placed in a sci-fi setting. He made it diverse on purpose because the military helped him travel and serve with all kinds of people. Roddenberry was inspired by that.

Uhura was the first person to read for Spock and in fact, helped to shape the character with her reading and based many of the traits of Uhura (formerly Uhuru) on Spock.

She was basically a glorified secretary. She played the part with poise, joy, and the 60's style womanism she got to play out for those times... Everything from her mini-skirt (which Nichelle herself called very comfortable) to her smile, and teasing lines, and quips were about her playing "big" in a small role. She made every moment, every look, every line, and movement count:

Roddenberry cracked jokes about the fact that the network never figured out that Uhura was fourth in command.

Nichelle was the only main cast member who was not salaried. She was paid by the hour. This attempt at marginalization actually resulted in her being the highest paid at times, because of the long hours.

Nichelle was not let in the front entrance at times, her fan-mail was kept from her, and she grew frustrated with the constant cutting of her scenes, lines and storylines. This is why she justifiably attempted to leave. The bigots in production did not like her being there (and if we're being real, were it not for Janice Rand's actress Grace Lee Whitney having gone through so much and thus losing her job in the 1st season...Uhura might have had even LESS presence)

The lost context in MLK convincing her to stay was that YES she was minimized and could make more money and be more fulfilled on broadway, but her symbolism and presence meant so much at a time when Black women weren't on TV unless as a racist caricature cleaning a house, and even that was rare...that she stayed.

One of her best allies was DeForest Kelly, who threatened to quit if they fired Nichelle. George Takei was her absolute best friend on the show and in life (she served as his Best Woman at his wedding).

There was an unfilmed episode in which Uhura and Deforest would have played reverse roles in "racial dynamics" on a planet they visit

Spock and Uhura were originally supposed to kiss in the alien mind control episode, but Shatner demanded to do so for the publiicity.

Her work to recruit marginalized people as astronauts, as in personally going to colleges and talking to candidates after the show is a staggering achievement that arguably is the most potent of any castmember in any of the Trek series post-show. Sally Ride, Guy Bluford (she personally recruited the 1st woman and 1st black astronaut), Mae Jemison (the 1st black woman credits her for inspiring her to become an astronaut).

Uhura did finally command the ship in the animated series. She would not have gotten to voice the role, but for Leonard Nimoy making it an obligation that all the original actors voice their parts for him to come on.

Scotty and Uhura in the film was definitely a pair the spares situation, in which both were the leftover senior citizens with the writers just going "why not?"

it was beyond insulting and she did protest about the scene where she's bumbling through a giant translation book to speak to klingons for laughs in trek 5 ...but her best moment IMO is her pulling a gun on the young ensign in the transporter room in Trek 3...sadly her ONLY scene in the damn movie.

Miss Saldana got to play to MANY corrections in JJ Abrams rebooted Trek, from being amazing at languages to having an actual life & love, to confidently turning down Kirk at every turn.

FUN FACT!! Both JJ and Bob Orci both expressed disappointed shock that the love story between Spock & Uhura got more hatred from fans than BLOWING UP PLANET VULCAN.

another FUN FACT!! The love story between Spock & Uhura is what grabbed the old school Star Wars fan (JJ Abrams) enough to come aboard to direct. Yep. JJ ships Spock & Uhura.

Zoe's iteration became the 1st version of Uhura to speak confidently in Klingon

Celia Rose Gooding becoming Uhura brings around a lot of Uhura's qualities full circle, IMO. As she is also from theatre (like Nichelle) and has a beautiful singing voice as well as the charm. Zoe's iteration was sharper, and much more protective, professional, & mature, about her life and love.

Celia Rose has the youthful curiousity and stars in her eyes and had vulnerability from her first intro... I loved the eagerness the crew showed to being in her orbit, seeing the glow of her talent and being drawn to that, to have a part in nurturing that.

As I've said... Celia IMO has the most dazzling smile, giant warm brown eyes, fantastic curves, and an energy that feels essentially Uhura, & that is all light, joy, a bit of uncertainty, -from the light singing (!) and the growth to her joy in discovery... I'd love to see her writing move away from serving and be more about her wants needs and growing in friendships/loves.

But Celia is a gift and is perfectly cast.

Essentially Uhura = femininity, graceful carriage, gorgeous smile, excellence in engineering and translation (canon!), ability to sing and play the Vulcan lyre, sharp womanist wit, love for her U.S. of African-Kenyan culture and being beloved by all crew...

When Miss Celia hummed those gorgeous notes to the alien entity on that comet?? That Solidified that she IS Uhura IMO.

I 100% think they fucked up by killing Hemmer, because that mentor-mentee relationship was giving marginalized coming together and bonding over everybody else's bullshit and I was here for it...it was giving me Data and Geordi updated...and since then, IMO they've lost track and given us the same kinda backwards wingwoman role BS, that people who like to pretend to be her fan shoehorn her into.

...but I have high hopes that they'll course-correct.

All this to say ALL OF THE ABOVE is Uhura and anyone calling her ugly, bossy, pushy, annoying, whatever is just sad little hater who doesn't know wtf they are talking about.

#uhura #celia rose gooding #zoe saldana #nichelle nichols #nyota uhura #star trek #star trek 2009 #st: snw #star trek: strange new worlds #star trek strange new worlds #strange new worlds #meta #anti-misogynoir #see how easy it is to talk up Uhura w/o pretending the only reason she's allowed to be is to get two dudes together?#see how easy it is to post something about who she is beyond a photo and just claiming she's your fave?#Youtube #another tidbit is that my man karl urban who gave the most direct and authentic playing of his reiteration IMO...#IS a true trekkie who spoke up for canon moments Spock and Uhura share in TOS when they got questions about Spock/Uhura in the reboot #p.s. yall got scammed by the gofundme for nichelle #her son moved her to new mexico and sold her house out from under the grifter because he was squatting there #yall just gave that fanclub lady free money #fanclub lady was making her work and sign autographs through dementia for the grift too #note yall aint see where 70k went since her passing have you?#sadly

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life-imitates-art-far-more · 1 year

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George W. Joy (1844-1925) "A Dinner of Herbs"

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illustratus · 9 months

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An English Drummer Boy by George W. Joy

#drummer boy #art #english #british #europe #european #napoleonic #history #war #battle #drums #drum #drummer #george william joy #england #britain

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lessonsdrowning · 2 months

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joan of arc asleep - george w. joy (1895) / all hell breaks loose part 2 - supernatural (2007)

#this came to me the very second i saw tht painting. enjoy :)#spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #gt.png

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ithinkabouttzu · 1 year

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How about a BoB reactions of their crush confessing having feelings for them? 😍

yes! thank you for requesting!

BoB reaction to their crush confessing their feelings for them

Genre: Fluff; romance

warnings: none, kissing

Description: Easy Co. Reaction to their crush (you) confessing their feelings to them

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Dick Winters

He is… shocked.. He freezes for a quick moment before finding the right words to say, “Is that really how you feel about me?” He’s honored that you like him, I mean your gorgeous so why would he not be? He would probably ask you when you started liking him and how, after that he would confess that he also has feelings for you, “You know y/n, I like you too” With that attractive grin of his OMG

Lewis Nixon

He is ready to ask you a million questions, why? when? how? where? He is surprised that you like him, and even more surprised that you confessed it to him, he has to somehow understand why you would ever like him, therefore asking you a bunch of questions, “What’s the one thing you like about me the most, like, about my face” “Quit with the questions Lew” He would probably ask you out for a date after having that conversation with you, “so let’s go out this weekend what do you say?” With that smirk of his on full display for you to see.

Carwood Lipton

“you like me, y/n?” you could see the huge grin surface onto his face, he couldn’t contain his joy, you actually like him? you like him! Arguably one of the best days for him, he’s so happy you told him, he would confess that he liked you back and then you guys would tell each other how long you’ve liked one another and all that stuff.

Joe Toye

“Wait, what? You like me?” He has to double check that you actually like him because he does not believe you at first, and of course you shake your head up and down nodding in agreement to his question with a big smile on your face, “Gosh, I like you too doll” He would pick you up and hug you out of instinct, he would be on top of the world, it was so cute that you confessed your feelings to him, he is honored really, “So what do you say, you and me, out for a movie and some dinner, y/n?”

Joe Liebgott

“Really doll?” he would lift your chin up with his finger, the eye contact between you two would be PHENOMENAL and the tension between y’all would be through the roof, the urge not to actually bury his lips into yours is insane, “I like you, Joey” You’d look up at him with the biggest doe eyes ever, he couldn’t hold back any more, the kiss would be so nice and passionate, it would be a good, long kiss before both of you go back up for air, “how about we get outta here, talk about this somewhere more privately, would you like that princess?”

Bill Guarnere

“You playin’ with me?” His whole expression would change from chill to serious, he also did not really believe you at first, like he thought you might’ve been joking around or something, but when you give him those serious eyes, he new you weren’t joking, “Wait, you really feel that way for me?” you would explain to him again, that you in fact did like him, “Well, if you want to know, I like you too, y/n” And for a moment his whole expression would actually be soft for once, he did, really like you, and it was all over his face, “ How about we go out for dinner, your pick, all on me”

George Luz

“For real?! Come here!” He would wrap you into the biggest and most comforting hug ever, it would feel like a soft teddy bear hugging you. “you know i’ve liked you ever since i met you?” he would look into your eyes as he let you out of the hug. He would be so soft in that moment, like so cute, “Cmon, let’s take a walk” where then you would tell him how this all came about, every time he asked you a question and you gave him an answer, his face would light up in pure joy, “I know it might be too soon to ask but, will you go out with me y/n?” AHHH HES SO CUTE

Bull Randleman

A hug smile would make onto his face, and then he would look down at you, with a loving, but serious and bright expression, “That musta’ took a lot of courage to tell me, thank you doll, Must I say that I like you too, in fact, maybe even a bit more than like” no it turns out you end up being the one who gets nervous, “You guys would sit in that same spot and talk non stop, about how this all came about and all those kind of details, He would smile ear to ear every time you told him about how much you liked him, he would def ask you out later in the night

Eugene Roe

He is at a loss of words, he cannot find one word to say other than his face in pure shock, you actually like him? He’s thinking like, “Am I dreaming? What is going on?” you and him stay in silence for a bit longer until you walk away, thinking that was his way of nicely rejecting you, until he runs up behinds you and hugs you. “I-I like you too y/n, I just didn’t know what to say, I’m sorry” You of course tell him that he’s fine and you guys talk all night, by the morning you guys are practically a couple.

Floyd Talbert

“Wait, so you’re saying you like me? Like you like me, like me?” He would laugh with that sexy infamous smirk of his. “That’s actually crazy because, well, I like you too” This boy is a sweet talker and he would show you his best skills when you told him that, “let’s celebrate huh, you and me out together, for a movie, or whatever you want to do” He would actually be soft and sweet, you bring out this gentleman side of him that he would never show anyone else and it’s so cute.

Skip Muck

He would be SHOCKED, like jaw to the floor shocked, he honestly wouldn’t know what to say at first, “Wait.. You like me?” “Yes, Of course I do” That’s when he would pick you up and spin you around in the most cutest, loving way, he would he so happy, sometimes his mind can run so he’s already planning a wedding in his head when he hears you like him “Well, I guess we better start planning our first date together sometime, i-if you’d like of course”

Don Malarkey

He would chuckle out of joy, he would point at himself in conformation, when you give him that yes again, he would walk up to you and kiss you, it would be so passionate and sweet, without any words, Don told you exactly how he felt into that one kiss, After the kiss you guys would have a moment where no words were spoken, you guys just stared into eachothers eyes while trying to catch your breaths “Would you want to go talk about this somewhere, I know a good spot in the forest we could go to?”

Babe Heffron

“Wait, you bein’ for real?” He would be a little skeptical at the thought of you liking him back, like you actually like him? what? “Yes, I like you a lot Babe” He would pull you in for a hug before kissing your cheek, “I like you too, y/n, a lot actually” He would whisper in your ear while you guys are hugging, you guys would be talking all night, just about everything really, until he asked you out on a date before you guys went off to your own respective spots

Frank Perconte

He gets confused, “I like you” That’s what you tell him, with no context. “I like you too?” He would say, just assuming you were talking about in a platonic way, “No Frank, I like you! A lot actually!” You would protest his way for him to actually understand you, “wait, you do?” “Yes!” “I like to you too Y/n” his smile would appear out of nowhere, he would be so excited when you told him, but his facial expressions would never tell that, “would you like to maybe go out sometime?”

Shifty Powers

He’d be oblivious kinda like Frank, “I like you too y/n!” But when you told him that you like like him and why you did he would be speechless, a part of him didn’t know someone could like him so strongly, so it definitely took him by surprise. “Y-you d-do?” “Yes of course I do Shifty” “W-well I like you too!” You would be the one to run into his arms with a big hug, he was once again shocked by you, but he didn’t mind it one bit. “Let’s hangout tomorrow? Only If you want to of course!”

Thank you again for the request! It was so cute and if you have any ideas or suggestions please request when my inbox opens back up! 💗

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