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#literally wanted to cry at this FROM JOY

anotherhumaninthisworld · 9 months

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Hello!

I am a newbie to the FRev so I'd like to thank you for having the most amazingly detailed posts here that are, most importantly, as accurate as possible. Your blog is awesome!

Now to my questions: I read your answer to an ask about Camille and Annette's relationship and was left wondering, why did the family become so hostile towards him to the point of refusing him entry into their home?

Why did Lucille's father not want them to get married? Was it just about Camille's financial success? I saw a link to a letter in the post but my French is horrible so I have no idea what was written.

And, I'm not sure how this was seen at the time, of course times were different, but the way he talks about Annette though he claimed to be platonic, it seems that he found her attractive?? Or maybe he was "buttering" her up (he seemed to be a bit of a womanizer though maybe most men were like that at that time and frequently complimented many women at once)? When he met Lucille she was still quite young (especially compared to his age), so I got the impression (just an impression) that he liked the mother, but she was already taken so he went for the daughter instead? Though this couldve been normal at the time.

That post gave me a whole different perspective on Desmoulins and his love story, thank you so much and I apologise for the lenghty ask and if my questions sound ignorant.

Thank you so much for your compliments. So happy I can be of use to people who are new to this mess. 😊

I agree, the idea that Camille was really in love with Annette and just had to go for the second best is one that is really easy to make when reading his letters and poems to her. I don’t really have anything that goes against it being true other than the fact that Camille, as stated, once refers to his and Annette’s relationship as being just platonic (and how much truth there actually was to that I will leave unsaid…). It doesn’t particulary help that most 18th century people writing letters by today’s standards sound like they want to jump into bed with the receiver, no matter who that person might be… I don’t know if there’s anything in particular (besides words like ”my beloved”) you should look at to help determine if two people are/want to be more than just friends.

As for why Lucile’s parents didn’t want to let Camille have her in 1787, that is actually quite easy to discover through the letter Camille wrote to the father in March the following year, published by Jules Claretie on April 26 1879 within the paper Journal officiel de la République française. The letter Camille’s responding to here has unfortunately gone missing, but as can be seen, Camille still lays out and combats its arguments in a very clear way (apologies if there’s any translation errors in here):

Monsieur, I am not mistaken and I am forced to agree that your letter is worthy of a father and full of wisdom. The first moments of pain that I experienced were followed by the calm of reason, and I take advantage of this calm to allow myself a few observations regarding your letter and putting them before your eyes.

Don't let my probity scare you. The reflections that M. Duplessis made me make on your [sic] uncertain state. My uncertain state is not uncertain. I am a lawyer in the parliament of Paris and what makes your state certain in this profession is not to be on the board, but talent and work. I am certain morally of being in charge of all the appeals of the sentences of Guise, which alone will compose for me an honest cabinet and an income of 7 or 8,000 livres at least; I cannot believe that there exists anyone who, after having read the memoir that is printed about me at this moment, tells you that my condition is uncertain. The letters I have from MM. Lorget and Linguet would prove to you, if you read them, that my condition is not uncertain. Already I have a flow of business which can only grow and I will have won a hundred louis this year, supposing that I lose the lawsuit which is about to be judged and whose gain would be worth more than two thousand écus to me.

On future events which may call me back to the provinces. I took a vow to stability in the bar of the capital, this vow is expressed clearly in the epistle and the printed memorandum which I gave to you. There exists only one thing that could make me detach from Paris and make a stay in the provinces bearable, it would be if I met Mlle Duplessis there, to what oaths must I bind myself in order to take away this fear that I will leave Paris? I see very well that you do not know how much I love your daughter, since you suppose that I would be able to sadden her by taking her away from a father to whom she is so tenderly dear.

On the impossibility for me to have a house where your daughter, like at your place, could find the softnesses and charms of life. There is something touching about this paternal fear that would have made me reproach myself for my premature research. But did you believe that Mlle Duplessis is less dear to me than to you and that I wanted a happiness that would have cost her the sacrifice of the comforts of life? As for me, the sweetness and pleasures of life would have been to live with her and with you, and these pleasures would have made all the others insipid to me. There are two things here that I cannot believe, first off the fact that this fear so natural to a father that his daughter would be less happy did not alarm you from the first moment you found out about my goal; second off, that your answer here would have been the one I had the pleasure of seeing. If you had thought that Mademoiselle Duplessis' change of lodging would deprive her of the pleasures of life, it would not have been with me that she could find those pleasures. I had not concealed my lack of fortune, nor sought to surprise your avowal by magnifying my hopes, in order to have the satisfaction of showing you that I had brought into this affair all the frankness and delicacy which befits my profession; I almost decried my father's fortune and succeeded so well that you then said to me: ”With the help of your fortune, I could wait until some brilliant affair had rescued me from obscurity.” You said this to me in much stronger terms, for your expressions were that, no longer being forced to run after an écu, I could devote myself without distraction to studies which would later make me known later as a jurisconsult, if the embarrassment of my stammer was an insurmountable obstacle which prevented me from succeeding in my pleading. It is clear that you did not flatter yourself then that I could put together a home for Mlle Duplessis. However, this beloved child was still not less dear to you at the moment and you surely didn’t think that she would lose the comforts of life, but you understood that there was a way to arrange it so that she would not have to make any sacrifice until the time which is not far off, when my condition would bring me 10 to 12 thousand livres. Did Mlle. Duplessis need a house other than yours for a few years? I would even have liked her to continue to live together with you, and for the change in her adress, while at the same time making me the happiest of all men, only to have added to the sweetnesses of life without it costing her any deprivation. Although the dowry I propose to give her is of a certain consistency, you may remember that when you mentioned this section, I kept silent. Surely, to wait until my estate was enough I did not need to find a dowry. At the present moment, I am able to count only on 3 or 4 thousand livres that I would get this year from my work or from my father. But wouldn’t these 4 thousand livres, joined to the 3 or 4 that you would give to mademoiselle your daughter, be enough for a house worthy of her? Of you I wouldn’t ask for anything more. She would have brought a thousand amiable qualities into the household; as for me, I would have put my estate there and I dare say some talents. It would have been a marriage without a dowry like that of the laborers, but those of that time are well worth those of ours. I never made mine a business, the only dowry I would have asked for was that one loves me, not as much as I do (in return), that is impossible, but I am sure that mademoiselle your daughter would have been touched to see me solely occupied with the care of paying her the debt of happiness that I would have contracted.

You urged me to overcome my affection. If it were only an affection, it could be overcome, but the wound is deeper. Remember, monsieur, in what dejection I appeared before you, my state had become so violent that whatever you might have said to me, it was impossible for my pain to wring my heart more on leaving your house compared to what fear had caused it upon entering. That is why, even though it cost me, I begged you to tear off the blindfold and uproot my hope. But how much you have decreased it instead. I only asked for a distant hope and you gave me a near hope. Fortune, you told me, would not determine your choice and you did not make happiness consist of fortune. I exercised an honorable profession that it was not even necessary to fulfill with a certain brilliance in order to appear to you worthy of belonging to you; it was enough for you that your daughter was loved tenderly and constantly and that second to her your son-in-law loved only work. Who would have believed in my place that this son-in-law was really me. You did more: you invited me to spend holidays and Sundays at your countryhouse and you allowed me, you even warned me to let my father know about this interview. At this moment my father has probably written to you and part of my joy was to think about he who does not care about the dowry (that of my mother, who is still whole despite our misfortunes because it has always been sacred in his eyes, was more important) but who loves me with tenderness and is no doubt delighted that I have finally obtained this demoiselle Duplessis of whom I have been speaking to him incessantly for five years and whom he wanted me to show him when he spent a few days in Paris two years ago. In my letter from March 22, it was no longer vain conjectures and equivocal walks in the Luxembourg that I entertained, it was speeches that a father of a family had given me, hadn't I had to base myself entirely on his answer?

It would be deceiving my honesty to make any promises to me at this time, considering the young age of your daughter. If you only wish to postpone the term of my happiness, I have already waited five years, and I can still wait another two and even more, but since I above all make happiness consist in this thought that we love each other for life, I only beg you to tell me if after two years and when my heart has perhaps been consumed by these attachments, I will not have to renounce the sweet habit of loving her. My age was no more advanced four days ago when you gave me such imminent hopes. Also this reason that you bring is not the real one and you yourself do not disguise it from me. An even more essential point to observe to you, is that it for me would be putting up a barrier against the parties which within two years could present themselves and to make you give yourself up to opportunities which fulfill your views. As for what concerns me in this article, what occasion, what views can you tell me about? What purpose can I have but to be happy, and I can only be so, monsieur, with you. Where can I find another family that I love so much? I have gone too far with mademoiselle Duplessis to ever retrace my steps, and if you come to take away from me the hope that you have made me conceive, you will have unwittingly caused the misfortune of my life. I come to the great reason, that it would be to put up a barrier against the parties which could present themselves within two years. If, when you did me the honor of granting me an interview, you had said that to me, everything would have been very clear and I would have had nothing to respond to. But, since then, you declared to me that fortune would not decide your choice for mademoiselle your daughter, and that you would seek for her only a husband who would love her with tenderness; so you mean that in two years from now there may come people who like her better than me. If so, let it be. All of them will undoubtedly love her positively, but to love her more desperately than me will be difficult. And I will always have been five years ahead.

You told me enough that you had not changed your mind in regards to me, and that, if I succeeded in destroying the motives that you were good enough to explain to me in detail, you would return to your first feelings. It seems to me that I have replied in a satisfactory manner to the objections of M. Duplessis; I therefore conjure you to come back to your first favorable dispositions and return for me the heart of a father. I would very much like you and Madame Duplessis to grant me an interview. I would remove all of your doubts, and I would come down to details that cannot enter into a letter: do not push me away from your bosom but allow me to give you both names to which my heart would refuse if I had to give them to others. It is with these feelings that I have the honor to be, monsieur, your very humble and very obedient servant. DESMOULINS Lawyer in parliament.

According to Hervé Leuwers’ Desmoulins biography, Claretie did for some reason leave out the following part when transcribing the letter: ”D’allieurs, ai-je donc demandé Mlle Duplessis pour le moment? J’ai demandé seulement si je pourrais obtenir un jour sa main, quand mon état serait pleinement fait.” which suggests Camille wasn’t actually asking if he could marry Lucile right away, just if he could call dibs on her for the future.

As for why the family fell out with Camille a year after the letter was penned down, to the extent that they asked him to stop visiting them, that is hard to know for sure considering we don’t have their letters on their issue (and those of Camille are both vague and bias in his favor). My best guess is that he simply wouldn’t shut up about the engagement and they kicked him out for that reason.

#desmoulins #camille desmoulins #lucile desmoulins #a bigger question for me is what exactly made the family change their mind about camille?#a broke lawyer is a no go zone but a broke journalist who many people want dead isn’t?#but camille literally goes from ”everyone in this family is so hard on me”#to ”lucile and her mother were both crying of joy when i finally got permission to marry her” within half a year #wonder what happened in between that we Will never know about…#annette duplessis #ask

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toxooz · 1 year

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Hi Toxooz, how do you get yourself to draw so frequently? 👀👀👀

bc i have literally 84 things going on at once in my brain at all times that my highly visually obsessed brain Has To physically get in front of my eyes so that i can see or else will i think abt it over and over again and Brother I'm always envisioning things characters scenes scenarios outfits designs colors all of it in my cranium like angry itchy itchy ITCHY bees until i draw them out lmfao even if i don't know what to specifically draw at the current moment imma still end up drawing somehow ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I think at this point it's literally hardwired into my brain that I Gotta draw its what I've been doing since I could hold a pencil tbh it's how i cope with being -gestures vaguely- Here and alive, i actually gotta force myself to take a day off and schedule days where I DONT draw bc I know it's wearing on my hands and wrists 😬 I guess physically drawing grounds me in a way and keeps me (mostly) sane like if I don't draw for a few days i start getting Vaguely Antsy it's fukkin weird and i think at this point my love for my characters has surpassed like any form of art block if that makes sense??? like they literally take up 92% of my brain if not more, and the only way to see them is to draw them but yeah it's just what i do it's my jelly n my jam which is why I'm literally so glad i realized that i don't want to make drawing a job/career bc God help me if i start dreading drawing bc of the stress of money I've been drawing like crazy for like 2 decades straight and I only wanna draw more man idk!!!!! It's just one of them 'how the brain formed around what you do an assload of times' thangs

Answer translation: idk I just like to draw a lot lmfao

#its like the kids say ✨💅its how i express myself✨💅#and dont get it twisted im aware this is not healthy lmfao #dont aspire to b like me just draw or dont draw man its abt the want #like i said drawing is just What I Do at this point i didnt train theres not some ''oh draw for at least 30 minutes a day' shit #i draw fast as shit (probably obviously ) and so much its probably unnatural AHA #the secret is make drawing the only outlet for your brain to not completely self implode at the mere idea of existing #for 24 years!!!!! :)#honestly thats why im getting progressively more Tired when every mf and their grandma tries to convince me to sell my shits #like brother this is a part of me how can i give away something i created and inevitably formed a bond with for like 100 bucks #i caint do it and so if i go in with the expectation to imediately give it away then man i dont even want to be making art in the first pl #like for me Personally if im not going to make something that i fall in love with and want to look at occasionally then #Literally what is the point of me making anything #what is the point of me making my body and mind create a piece if not for my own personal joy???#but thats just physical art ig #like digital stuff and selling it for money if some1 wants it im aight but physical paintings??? that shit is Me and Mine #like just bc i Can make art doesnt immediately mean i need to make money from it yknow #my brother in christ when it comes to the the only true outlet for me to find joy and inspiration in living i Do Not care about money #i will take any amount of shitty job abuse if it means i conserve my passion #ill get a scarring accident from welding before i will stress cry over a deadline for a project that i dont even want to do #absolutely terrified of that path and feeling it is The Worst for me #like literally thank FUCK i realized this when i was just in a community college and not balls deep in debt at some fancy university #granted late as all hell and all my opportunities of taking free welding classes in my early years have long passed but still glad #just stick me on an abandoned island with canvases n paint n shit and ill b fine #god knew if i managed my time better and wasnt Really Fucking Exhausted all the time i would be unstoppable #like ofc making money while drawing what i want is the dream no doubt but the chances of that are slim and the road to get there is even #slimmer #ANYWAY holy shit not to get hella preachy but i have Thots

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cruelsister-moved2 · 1 year

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reading the creation of patriarchy is genuinely making me cry... it has really serious flaws and i disagree with parts quite majorly but any time i think about the genuine hopelessness and complete dehumanisation the vast majority of women in history lived through i just go so crazy and im torn because sometimes i feel so hopeless about the way things are today and i see how many men still fundamentally hold ideas, but i also cant even comprehend the enormity of suffering that was basically an unquestioned part of women’s experiences for thousands of years... like the fact it took society so long to even care 😭 like “There had never been any woman or group of women who had lived without male protection, as far as most women knew. There had never been any group of persons like them who had done anything significant for themselves. Women had no history—so they were told; so they believed.” 😭😭😭😭😭😭

#like im trying to lift up all the important contributions women did make to history etc and #i dont subscribe to the fatalism of acting like women never like experienced joy and peace and education and love etc in the past #why i love [redacted] and will defend it as very progressive in its own way #because at least it listens to the suffering of women and sees them as people and imagines what emotions they must have felt #the fact we dont even have that so much of the time is what makes me want to cry #literally the greatest tragedy of all time but the very fact it's so embedded prevents us from even acknowledging just how unthinkably #terrible it is #like even me when i think of historical women it rarely sinks in just how bad it was

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soldier-poet-king · 2 years

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I have a weird horrible thing where I often read the last sentence(s) of a book before starting it. I don't ALWAYS do this, but I OFTEN do, and idk why??? BC usually there's not enough context for spoilers and I kinda enjoy guessing how it's gonna work out. But also I Got A Special Book today and I opened the last page and now I'm just. Facedown on the floor emotionally in multiple ways some (affectionate) and some (derogatory) and truly I am just. Too much of everything to exist and survive in this world let alone live and thrive

#not even from spoilers altho kinda. mostly just. im extremely emo #and now im ALSO extremely angsty. and anxious. and religious guilt. and everything is so much!!! i want to cry from joy and fear and sorrow #franposting #literally. brainrot. I'm the fuckin worst #biggest benefit of ebooks is i don't do this #smthn about the physical act of flipping pages compels me #WHY AM I A PERSON #why am i so BAD at being a person. let alone a GOOD person

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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.

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.

#gay marriage #gay rights #gay history #gay

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aletterinthenameofsanity · 2 months

Text

Y'know, there's this gripe I've had for years that really frustrates me, and it has to do with Love, Simon and people joking about it and calling it too-pg and designed-for-straight-people and all the like. (A similar thing has happened to Heartstopper, but that's another conversation.)

I saw Love, Simon in theaters when it came out my senior year in high school. I saw it three times, once with my friends/parents on opening night, once with my brother over spring break, and once with my grandparents.

On opening night, the air in the room was electric. It was palpable. Half the heads in there were dyed various colors. Queer kids were holding hands. We were all crying and laughing and cheering as a group. My friends grabbed my hands at the part where Simon was outed and didn't let go until his parents were saying that they accepted him. My friend came out to me as non-binary. Another person in our group admitted that she had feelings for girls. It was incredible. I left shaking. This was the first mainstream queer romance movie that had ever been produced by one of the main five studios, and I know that sounds like another "first queer character from Disney" bit but you have to understand that even in 2018 this was groundbreaking. Getting to have a sweet queer rom-com where the main character was told that he got "to breathe now" after coming out meant so much to me and my friends.

But also, from a designed-for-straight-people POV (which, to be frank, it was written by a bisexual author and directed by a gay man, this was not designed for straight audiences), why is it a bad thing that it appealed to the widest possible audience? That it could make my parents and grandparents see things in a new light? My stepdad wasn't at all interested in rom-coms but he saw it with me because it was something I cared about and he hugged me when we came out of the theater. My very Catholic grandparents watched it with me and though my grandpa said he still didn't quite understand the whole 'gay thing,' all he wanted was for me to be happy and to have a happy ending like Simon did. My Nana actually cried when Simon came out and squeeze my hand when his mother told him he could breathe.

And when Martin blackmailed Simon, my mom, badass ally that she is, literally hissed "Dropkick him. Dropkick him in the balls" leading to multiple queer kids in the audience to laugh or smile. Having my parents there- the only parents, by the way, out of my group of queer and questioning friends- made multiple people realize that supportive adults were out there. That parents like those in Love, Simon do exist in real life.

When people complain about Heartstopper not being realistic or Love, Simon being too cutesy, I remember seeing Love, Simon on opening night. I remember my friend coming out and my stepdad hugging me and my mom defending us through this character. I remember the cheers that went through the audience when Bram and Simon kissed and the chatter in the foyer after the movie was over and the way that this movie made me understand that happy endings do exist.

Queer kids need happy endings. Straight people need entry points to becoming allies. Both of these things can come together in beautiful ways. They can find out about more queer culture later, but for now, let them have this. Let them all have a glimpse at a better, happier world. Let them have queer joy.

#love simon #simon vs thsa #simon spier #spierfeld #bram greenfeld #my experiences #meta #the importance of queer joy #heartstopper #becky albertalli #my mom also watched rwrb with me last year when it premiered #and let me tell you that was interesting sitting in the room with her for an r-rated romance movie like that

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evilminji · 1 month

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You know what idea has always ENCHANTED ME?

Ever since I saw it on a sci-fi show?

The Deadly Magical House That Loves You™. See, it's a house that has become something MORE. Gained sentience. And? Instead of acting out some cheap horror movie jump scares? It digs deep to its foundations, thinks long n hard, and decides on what it WANTS.

And it WANTS?

To be a HOME™.

To TAKE CARE OF somebody. Have LIFE in its halls. Meals at its tables. Joy and laughter bouncing across its walls. So? It lays a trap. Lures people in.

Come live in me~

I am a good home.

I am Free! I am "Safe". I will give you whatever your heart desires.

I care not for morality or laws. Boundaries or taboos. Do you desire? Come, come, be HAPPY~! Live in me! Relax here! Forget about the world beyond these walls. Anything I can not give you, I can bring TOO you! This is a Happy Home.

But, of course, such sentience and pushiness terrifies. People run and flee in horror. The house getting more aggressive. Trying to hold tighter. After all! If they would just STAY for a while, they would SEE! It's so LOVELY here! The would LOVE to live inside them!

But... instead?

They are hurt.

Doors smashed open. Windows broken to escape. Furniture thrown. Their avatar, Jeeves, bashed with heavy things. Why... WHY?! They are only trying to HELP! To LOVE them! Be a good HOME! They grow more and more run down. Starved. Wrathful.

It is, of course, their Obsession. To be a home. They are so very hungry.

When? Who should come along?

But the depressed AF Ghost King! He's been... not TECHNICALLY kicked out. But "things are tense" kicked out. He's tired. His college courses are remote. He can't really AFFORD rent. And everything is just...

He's TIRED.

He wants to cry.

Why... why can't he have ONE good thing? ONE sign everything's gonna be alright?

"Free House!"

Well... I mean... that IS a literal sign. Huh. He flies down. The house notices him. Tries to look as enticing as it can. And? Gasp! I... It's WORKING? This one seems INTERESTED? Quick! Flowerbeds! Look at my flowerbeds! Ooooh, lovely floooowers! A.. and there's probably really nice wood flooring! C'mon. C'moooon!

Danny? Sees a free Lair. Not too far from both Gotham AND Metropolis. Good location. Needs a little fixing up. But I mean... you can't beat free, right?

Is he really gonna do this?

......fuck it. Yeah, let's do this. First house time. He's just glad he carries a sharpie on him most of the time. Scribbles "Sold!" Over the sign then calls Jazz. He's... kinda not sure WHAT he's supposed to pack?

Finds out, post move in, whoop. Sentient Lair. Clingy, clingy, highly desperate sentient Lair. Oof. Guess fixing up the place can be therapy for both of us. Jazz helps.

The house heals. He falls into a routine. Schoolwork, hang out in the garden or the observatory, meals FaceTiming friends or watching videos, naps whenever he wants them. It's... it's so peaceful. Quiet and soothing to his agitated and worn down soul. Like a balm.

House gets him whatever he needs. They're kinda awesome like that. Always seems to have room to fit this or that. He doesn't question it. His brain figuring it works on Zone logic.

He probably SHOULD have.

Because? Things have been going missing. At a slow, steady, pace. Food, technology, entertainment. A building that shouldn't BE there, has been spotted in a wealthy county just outside of Superman and Batman's two cities.

No one can get near it.

It's been getting BIGGER.

Growing, like a tumor, room by room. Floor by floor. The gardens creeping like kudzu, to swallow everything in their path. Yet delivery drivers drop things off. Things they don't remember. On trips they don't recall. People are scared.

Amateur detectives have managed to discover some sort of starlit fae that lives there, along with a human boy.

Justice League Dark has been called in. Are currently standing just outside the slowly creeping property line. A garden statue just hissed at them. The trees are trying to throw acorns. A hushed argument has already broken out. How do they contain the house?

@the-witchhunter @nerdpoe @hypewinter @hdgnj @babbling-babull @mutable-manifestation @spidori @lolottes

#minji's writing #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt

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