#finally got around to this!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sylvana-the-tsarina · 9 months

Text

This story was just one rabbit trail of What-Ifs after another, all inspired by the tale of Tam Lin. Thanks, Red.

To Become a Lost Soul

Janet had perhaps seven years to her name when she met them.

It was a brief encounter, but a vivid one, such that she was still processing it when they met the second time. That second time was a visit, a visit from the Fey, and Janet had never in her life been so terrified and awestruck.

She’d never seen her father look so frightened either. Graeme was a large man with a solid sturdiness to him that made one think he could shoulder a mountain if he so wished, and though he had a kind soul, it was the type to be hidden from the observer behind a thick beard and stern grey eyes. Needless to say, to see him almost cowering before them was more fear-inspiring to her than the Fey themselves.

How many of them glided into the grand hall of the fort, she did not know, for the Fey leading the procession drew her eyes and the rest blurred into a muddle of sharp smiles and rustic grandeur in a certainly unnatural way. This Fey was their Queen, so her posture and crown proclaimed, and she was ethereal. A tall figure that towered over everyone, long hair that swept the floor, and such narrow beautiful features. The smile would have been friendly if there wasn’t so much teeth to it; clearly she felt at home in their wood & stone manor with its richly woven rugs and tapestries, despite her simple flowing robes and bare feet.

Her eyes swept the room once before landing on Janet’s form hiding behind her father, and the smile grew wider. Smiles should not be so terrifying, is what Janet thought to herself while her father placed a protective hand on her head. Smiles should make a person feel nice. Smiles should say they’re harmless.

The Fey were anything but harmless.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” her father’s voice rumbled. He had solidified again somewhat — likely their interest in his daughter had triggered his paternal instincts.

“My, such a charming young man,” the Fey Queen crooned. Her voice was strange in a way Janet couldn’t place, the tone as though she wasn’t talking to them, but rather about them. “You must be her father. It is only right that such a lovely child would have a lovely father. How befitting indeed.”

The full weight of her gaze was once again resting on Janet’s face, and though her knees threatened to give out beneath her, Janet ordered her expression to morph into a properly friendly smile. No teeth, not from her.

That seemed to satisfy, or perhaps delight, the Fey, whose smile grew to truly unnerving lengths as she said, “Such a sweet-ling! Her presence in my abode to-day was quite the pleasure. She fairly brims with potential. Potential, so much potential indeed… it would be such a shame to see it wasted.”

“Wasted, fair lady?” The man’s tone was cautious.

“Why, indeed. Though she possesses charm in abundance, true grace is that of the fey’s; grace that will take her far in the world, grace that I shall bequeath her.”

“The fair lady is excessively kind in her gifts; my daughter only meant to extend hospitality as she has been taught,” Graeme said, quiet and careful.

At the time Janet couldn’t understand it, couldn’t understand that her father had just saved her from owing the fae a debt whilst giving the Fey Queen a mild push to retract her offer, without outright denying her. She couldn’t imagine the way she would turn that string of words over in her head for years to come, marvelling at the protection it had given her. Just then she only understood that it made the Fey Queen either very angry or very amused; the light that flared in her eyes wouldn’t let Janet know which it was.

The Fey Queen tilted her head and gave a little laugh, the sound like the ones the birds made when scared from the bushes. “Such a family is certainly deserving of gifts periodically. Do you not think it so, Tamlin?”

“Yes, Mother.”

That was when she first saw the boy.

He was definitively Fey; the way he flowed forward from the rest of them to stand next to the Queen when she addressed him, the paleness of everything about him (from his eyes to his hair), and the calm lack of expression on his face were distinctly not human. But while he resembled his mother somewhere in his features, he lacked her eerie otherworldliness, instead projecting a serenity and safety that eased Janet’s death grip on her father’s cloak.

Their eyes met, and though his mask didn’t move (why did she think it was a mask?) she thought she saw some curiosity and… fear in his eyes.

Why was he afraid? He was one of them. What was so scary about Janet in comparison?

This puzzled her enough that she would have missed what was said next if it hadn’t come from the Queen.

“There is much Tamlin can learn from the sweet-ling, I am sure, so I will have him present the gift,” she said, placing her hand on his shoulder in a way that would have mirrored Janet’s father if Tamlin hadn’t stiffened ever so slightly when she did. “Be a good boy and give it to her, Tamlin.”

The boy-Fey was motionless for a moment, still looking at Janet without a change in his expression. She got the feeling he was hesitating.

“Mother, perhaps-”

“Yes?” The Queen’s voice had gotten dangerously soft.

“It is nothing. I will give her the gift.”

He glided forward then, stopping a pace or so away from them, and Janet cautiously stepped forward to meet him, her father’s hand sliding off her head without resistance. Perhaps it was Tamlin’s presence that allowed it; perhaps he was the reason she could hope this wasn’t all some menacing trick.

The boy-Fey held his hands out and Janet placed her hands there, marvelling at how niveous he was. She glanced at the Queen, who was smiling eerily once more, then at her father, whose eyes gave her support, before looking at Tamlin again. It was then that she saw the apology in his eyes — and the very real fear.

Why is he afraid? she thought again. What could I possibly do?

And then it slowly occurred to her that perhaps she wasn’t the one he was afraid of.

Before she could do anything, he closed his eyes and began murmuring a strange chant that was taken up by the other Fey in the room; a chant made of sounds she didn’t understand how he could make, one that flowed around Tamlin and herself, and seemed to reach deep inside her heart, looking for something.

She was getting light-headed with the way it was reverberating around the room, ancient and otherworldly and wild. Oddly enough, though Tamlin’s expression was still composed, she could feel his hands shaking too. This did not sit right with her, so she squeezed them with what little energy she could muster, and felt him tighten his hold in response, as if he was asking reassurance and giving some simultaneously.

It found what it was looking for, the chant; found it, and then began to take it, dragging that something away from Janet. Something very important and integral to her, because it hurt and it hurt worse than fire. She would have uttered a cry, or screamed, but the chant had taken her energy without her noticing, and it was so loud, and she could only feel pain, and she couldn’t feel anything, and it was so dark, and she didn’t exist, and it was too bright, and nothing was real besides the fact that Tamlin was still holding her hands and she was holding his.

He was going through whatever she was going through, she knew without a doubt, so she kept holding on to him until she could blearily blink her eyes open and see that they had both collapsed onto the floor, sweet silence permeating the room.

It’s over, she thought with a sigh that felt strange. It’s all over.

Then her eyes closed and darkness overcame her.

------

Later, her father would describe what happened as remarkable. The chant had brought out a light from both Janet and Tamlin, and their lights had flowed through the room, filling it with scents of berries and wild leaves and wet earth and stars, and livening the colours in the air, before it returned to them and everything settled once more. The Fae Queen had smiled down at the sleeping children and swept away without another word, leaving one of her entourage to pry apart their hands and take Tamlin’s unconscious form away.

Graeme had then scooped her up and brought her to her room, where her nurse (and their resident herbalist), Kenna, was summoned. Kenna had checked over her and identified nothing wrong, but the both of them had waited in fretful patience for Janet to wake up, anyway.

This all she heard perhaps a day or so after the incident. As it were, she came to in her bedroom, tucked in snugly under blankets with Kenna asleep on a chair nearby, the fireplace blazing comfortably. She lay still for a moment, a strange heaviness in her limbs, and then slowly sat up, feeling the last traces of strange dreams fade from her memory.

Something was wrong.

Her eyes skimmed the room, wondering what it was, and her uneasiness both lessened and grew when she couldn’t identify anything off. The blankets were slowly eased away, and she lightly pattered on to the floor, avoiding making any noise.

Why did she want to avoid making noise?

Janet stopped, puzzled. She’d never had a problem with being loud before. Graeme and the rest of the adults had nicknamed her a walking fireplace with how she blazed through the house, hopping about and uttering cheery remarks and filling the place with her warmth. Not that she was loud in a boisterous sort of way, she was too well brought up for that, but this sudden desire to be utterly silent was quite new.

It must be because the Fey’s visit was so frightening, and she didn’t want to distress poor Kenna’s nerves. Yes, that must be it. She was worried about Kenna.

This resolved, she glided over to where the windows were and drew the curtains aside to let light spill into the room. It was really too stuffy in here. Not enough air and light. Janet needed air and light; she couldn’t go without them.

She stopped again. Really? Were air and light so necessary? Well, however did she manage to go to sleep at night, then? Her father always closed the windows and curtains at night; it was too cold to do otherwise. Thinking about that now, though, made her feel kind of claustrophobic. What about the stars? The moon? The scent of lilies in the breeze?

Her head was aching, so she put a cold hand to it (why was she so cold?), hoping that would ease the pain. The sense of wrongness was strong — so strong. Why was Janet thinking all these things? What on earth had happened to her?

A little shimmer caught her eye, so she turned to look at what it was. That standing mirror wasn’t new, with its worn gold filigree and carved legs, and the girl it reflected back at her was familiar too…

Except…

Almost in a daze, she gently flowed forward and studied the person in the mirror. That was her figure, to be sure; small round freckled face, tiny button nose, large green eyes, and a head of thick, curly, brown-red hair. Everything she recognised as herself; everything except the expression on a face that was paler than it used to be.

That expression was familiar, though. She had seen it last on a snowy boy-Fey whose hands she’d held until they were taken apart.

Many minutes (or perhaps hours) passed as she stood there, stunned by that revelation; everything seemed suspended and still, her mind blank with disbelief. She was so absorbed that Kenna’s cry of surprise startled her to the point that Janet, the old Janet, would have jumped and uttered a cry herself, but she only gracefully tilted to face her nanny, carefully concealing every bit of dread and fear, though she did not know why.

---------

Everything was wrong.

He knew everything would be wrong. However, it was one thing to know and altogether another thing to experience. Wrongness could not be properly understood without feeling it oneself, and Tamlin would have preferred to go his entire life without understanding it.

The grass was uncomfortable under his cheek, and it took most of his willpower to prevent himself from shifting in discomfort. He had to understand before he did anything — a mindset he was thoroughly relieved to find still with him.

Where was he?

Ah. Right.

Still he kept his eyes closed, but strained to listen and feel everything he could from his surroundings. It was all the same- he recognised- and yet-

So new and unknown and terrifying. Off by a little margin. Dampened and hushed.

He was so scared.

Was that…. water… on his face? Why was there water on his face?

This phenomenon puzzled him enough to distract momentarily from the fear, and he sifted through his knowledge, trying to figure out what was going on. A few blurred moments later, two memories surfaced. One that was familiar, and the other that was new.

Crying. So that’s what it was. He was crying.

How strange. Tamlin had never cried before (or at least, he didn’t remember ever crying). This seemed to him to be a rather mellow kind of crying, if those other memories served him right, one where his tears simply slid down his face. There were other kinds: kinds that stole one’s breath so that it pained one, kinds that were noisy and messy, kinds that came from anger or joy. It was truly fascinating.

Although… he hoped he didn’t do any of those. Mother would…

He’d rather not think about it.

The grass was pricklier than ever, but he stayed still for about ten minutes more before allowing himself to get up, having confirmed that there was no one in the clearing with him. Opening his eyes for the first time since the ritual was a strange experience, and for a moment he panicked at his blurry vision before realising it was because of the tears. Rubbing his eyes and surveying his surroundings once more revealed that his vision was still not as good as it used to be, but it was better than he had expected.

He was too warm, he noticed. The girl, Janet, had been warm, so he supposed it wasn’t surprising, even if it was uncomfortable. Remembering her made a knot form in his chest, whether from guilt or the residual magic he was not sure. Perhaps both.

Magic. His magic.

Panic washed over Tamlin anew when he realised he couldn’t feel it anymore. Of course he couldn’t. He had expected as much, knew it wouldn’t be there. But one of the few things in his entire world that kept him safe had just disappeared, and he was scared. So very very scared.

There was the water, no wait, tears again. He swiped at his eyes again, trying to get it to stop. What would he do? Just what exactly would he do?

Inhale. Exhale. Think.

Something soft and warm bloomed in his heart for a moment before fading almost immediately. It stopped Tamlin’s thoughts altogether. Unlike the rest of the warmth, which still caused him some discomfort, that little spot of light had offered solace while it lasted.

He slowed. Closed his eyes. Breathed for a few minutes.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

And there it was again. Soft and warm, but far more present this time. The breathing continued until he was sure it wouldn’t disappear again, after which he turned his attention to it and studied it with a smudge of fascination.

Fascination that turned into a painful bit of hope once he recognised what it was.

So Janet had had magic. Was she aware of it? Well, considering how faint it was, probably not. In all likelihood, actually, it had only just awakened. With Tamlin, instead of the little redhead, which made that knot of guilt tighten again, but it was contrasted by his shoulders loosening with relief. If the magic had awakened before this, Mother would never have considered Janet at all.

Tamlin studied this new frail magic, trying to understand what it could do. Human magic was so very different from fey magic (if his own magic had been a good indicator of fey magic, that is): less wild and shifty, and more… calm. At home. It remained to be seen whether the relaxed air to him now was caused by the magic’s simple presence or by it, well, casting magic on him.

The peace couldn’t last for long, though.

Leaves rustled off the side and Tamlin tensed before turning to face the elegant, sharp Fey before him. Mother had come for her visit.

“Finally awake, are we, dear?” she said, the intonation on ‘dear’ as mocking as it had always been, her teeth sharpening in her smile. “Well? How do you fare? Happy, I hope?”

Tamlin stood and, for the first time in all his seven years, smiled back at her.

The response surprised him as much as it surprised his mother, sparking a profound relief deep in his heart and a wider smile from the Queen. To think that the friendly little Janet had hid herself behind her cheer, hid herself so well, in fact, that she had fooled even the Queen of the Fey.

Smiling didn’t suit Tamlin (this one made his face hurt because of how… much it felt to him, someone used to the barest ghosts of expressions), but it could protect him, and he was so very glad.

So he continued smiling, even as he said, “Yes, Mother.” Even as it drained his energy, even as the wrongness settled around him like fog in early mornings, he smiled.

Tamlin could protect himself. For just a little longer.

Next Chapter.

#finally got around to this!!#I will be editing this post to add links to the next chapter once I finish it #and I will also tag it with the story's title once that chapter's done #man I'm so happy #take THAT writer's block!#my post #silva writes #soul swapped #it's edited now!

5 notes · View notes

endusviolence · 3 months

Note

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.