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sunnynwanda · 15 days

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Something Blue

Warnings: I assume none, but if you notice something, let me know! Light angst romance, basically. Heavily based on/ inspired by VOILÀ - Something blue.

The wind is harsh against Villain’s face, prickling his skin with each cold blow. The crisp air bites into his lungs, filling them alongside the deep-settled tightness. When Villain reaches the central square, the sun is high in the sky, but the air lacks the warmth expected from a spring day. She hates it when the noons are this chilly.

The square is already full to the brim, a good half of the city there to witness Hero’s wedding. She’s always been a crowd favourite, and the groom being the mayor’s son only brought more publicity to the event. And Villain… Villain would never be good enough. He hisses at the annoying voice in the back of his head to quiet. The same voice that prompted him to leave before she could, to let her go before he got hurt. He takes in the grandeur of the cathedral, its enormous oak doors decorated with flower arrangements. It looks magnificent. She hates big weddings and magnolias.

It doesn’t take much time to round the square and sneak into the cathedral through a back door. The reality of it all seems to hit Villain much harder once he steps inside. Coming here today was a bad idea. Villain’s fingers curl into fists, his breathing coming out in frantic huffs as he climbs the stairs. A part of him considers turning around right this instant, but he doesn’t allow himself to. Not today. He won’t be a coward again.

He walks past several ajar doors before coming to a halt in front of the only closed one. With a deep breath, Villain pushes it open. Hero is standing in front of a full-length mirror, and she looks stunning. His breath hitches in his throat, every single thought leaving his mind the second his eyes lock onto her form. She doesn’t seem to notice him yet, so he shuts the door behind his back, careful not to make any noise as he steps closer. She keeps fidgeting with the hair framing her face in soft brown waves. She hates having her hair up.

Villain stops behind her, his mind racing. He rakes a hand through his hair, brushing the dark strands back from his forehead, and before his brain can comprehend what he’s doing, his arm wraps around her middle, pulling her back against his chest.

“You look beautiful,” his voice murmurs against her ear. Hero shudders, her eyes flying up to meet his gaze through the mirror. Her lips press into a thin line. Don’t do this to me. Villain’s arm tightens around her. “Absolutely ravishing.”

“Don’t lie,” Hero leans back into him, allowing her head to rest against his shoulder. “White was never my colour. Good thing I don’t own this dress.” She shrugs, her tone a tad too impassive for his liking.

Villain lets out a light chuckle, yet his sharp eyes remain pained. He wouldn’t give a damn what she wore if only it was him with her. “It’s something borrowed then?”

“What?” Hero tilts her head to look at him, still wrapped in his arms. Her eyebrow raises quizzically, when he doesn’t loosen his hold. She hates the way his body fits against hers so well.

“You know how that thing goes? Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.” Villain lists, not registering when his thumb starts rubbing soothing circles into her forearm.

She laughs, but it doesn’t reach her hazy brown eyes. Villain’s chest tightens as he watches her expression. He loved how her eyes would shine, and her nose would scrunch when she laughed with her full heart. How she laughed with him.

“I'm the old, and he's the new,” he explains, pausing to swallow the lump of emotions in his throat. “And since he gave you the borrowed dress, I figured it should be me that gives you something blue.”

Hero’s heart slams against her ribcage with a savage force. She wants to push him away, to yell at him, to demand for him to leave and never show his face again after how he abandoned her for idiotic reasons. Instead, her teeth sink into the inside of her cheek. “Oh?”

“Remember the time when I bought you a locket in the flea market?” Villain recalls, watching her breathing pattern go from frenzied to still. Hero goes rigid in his arms, her irises blown wide, not daring to take a breath in for fear of losing it entirely. “Where did it go?”

“I- I must have lost it,” her voice is small, words tumbling off her lips almost unconsciously.

“Feels symbolic, don’t you think?” Villain’s hands leave her body as he pulls the locket with a blue stone embedded in its ornaments out of his pocket. He moves her hair to the side and fastens the clasp, his fingers brushing against the side of her neck in a tender touch. He gulps, his darkened eyes locking onto the reflection of her watering ones. “Like losing your love and having to watch it.”

He can’t stop himself as his head dips into the crook of her neck, eyebrows furrowing when his lips leave a lingering kiss against her bare shoulder, sending a chill of goosebumps along her spine.

Hero lets out a shaky exhale, averting her eyes from the mirror. She hates that he is here. She hates that he’s wearing a black suit with a white shirt. She hates that he looks dashing, too. She hates how perfect they look together. She hates how he could… “It’s cold for a wedding, isn’t it?”

Villain withdraws despite his reluctance, his fingers twitching to take hold of her again until he wraps his arm around her waist. “Are your feet getting cold?” He attempts to sound lighthearted, but the quiver of his voice gives it all away.

Hero shakes her head, her dejected expression wrenching Villain’s heart in a way he didn’t think possible before. “They were never warm in the first place.”

He doesn’t know how to take that. He doesn’t know how to take any of this anymore. It feels like the sky is shattering over his head, burying him alive.

“There's something I must confess,” Hero whispers as if saying it louder would mar the sanctity of the cathedral walls. She disentangles from Villain’s arms, stepping towards the door as Canon in D begins playing. “I wish it was you instead.”

She offers him one last glance before stepping out the door, a trembling hand clasped over her mouth to keep the sobs raking through her body from escaping.

Her words echo in Villain’s mind like a tocsin as he rushes through the doors, only to catch a glimpse of her as she begins walking down the aisle. He walks in, remaining at the doors as she reaches the altar. He knows he should wait on the priest to give him the time to speak, but his stomach is in knots, adrenaline rushing through his blood like a fire ready to burn the damn church down.

Dearly beloved, we're gathered here today…

“To watch a big mistake,” Villain’s voice booms through the nave of the cathedral, reflecting off of the vault and spilling down onto the guests’ heads, which snap to stare at him as he steps forward.

“I'm not gonna hold my peace,” Villain meets Hero’s tormented gaze, her throat closing in as she sees his face contorted in a mixture of pain and desperation. “I’m not gonna…” He pauses, his breath hitching when the flames reach his chest, burning a hole through his lungs. “What I mean to say is, my feelings haven't changed.”

Hero’s blood runs cold. She’s frozen in place, watching him approach her with an unreadable expression while her groom growls something in her ear with a displeased expression. For better or for worse, Villain can’t hear what he’s saying to her.

He knows coming here today was a bad idea. Watching Hero today was supposed to desecrate whatever was left of his heart, to wreck the shrine of her in his chest, to utterly and wholly rip him apart.

But...

But then she takes his hand, meeting his pleading gaze as tears brim her eyes. Villain brings her hand up, pressing it to his lips before pulling her towards him as they sprint down the aisle. He leads her out through the same back door he came through and along narrow sidestreets away from the crowded square. By the time her groom stops throwing a fit, Hero is in Villain’s car as he drives them out of the city, his hand still clutching hers tightly. He brings it up to his lips again, turning to look at Hero, cast in the afternoon sun. She looks otherworldly with her hair down, playing in the wind.

“White is absolutely your colour,” he mutters softly, his eyes darting down to his shirt on her, her dress left somewhere along the road.

Hero snorts, shaking her head as she shifts closer, leaning her head on his shoulder, her hand in his tight hold. He still can’t wrap his head around the events of the day, but he can lace his fingers through hers. He can kiss the tip of her nose and make her scrunch it as she giggles. He can kiss her smiling lips over and over again. He can pull her into his chest and hold her close to his heart.

Villain will be damned if he lets go again.

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood @whumpifi @glassthedumbass @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444

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not-poignant · 6 months

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You are the only person I've EVER seen mention Sebastian in the Underdark as an option for a ship option for Asterion which BLOWS MY MIND because that moment in his story hit SO hard - that after 200 years he still remembers his name and what being with Sebastian was like and that it was special for them both despite being(for Asterion) and becoming(for Sebastian) this HORROR. Anyway all this is to say, YEAH. SOMEONE ELSE SEES IT! IM NOT CRAZY!

Honestly I'm shocked at how many folks just don't really see lateral pairings anymore? I really feel like part of being shown canonical queer pairings has been the inability of folks to go 'no that guy and that guy who literally have almost nothing to do with each other but still have something.'

(I mean hell, I wrote a Bull/Cullen fic and they literally don't have any recorded dialogue together in the game).

But yes!!! Honestly I think a future fic between Sebastian and Astarion could work so well? My dark angst-loving mind imagines a scenario where Sebastian recovers enough in the Underdark that he sets about looking to get revenge now that he can sustain himself, only to realise that Astarion's broken too (but not before getting at least some revenge). But I love the idea of a story in the Underdark, among the glow of fungus, myconids, and a strange land full of strange things and new wonders.

Both of them recovering together, Sebastian having to make up for what he's just done, and Astarion having to make up for what he ripped from Sebastian's life 200 years before, and Sebastian eventually realising that blaming Astarion for being locked away for 200 years is actually unfair, and finally kind of forgiving him for something that wasn't his fault in the first place. The sheer hurt/comfort potential of that pairing is huuuuuge.

There's so many scenarios between Sebastian and Astarion that would potentially work though. I don't think I'll ever write it myself, but it's effortless to think about, because it also makes so much sense for both characters!

That moment was so well acted in the game, Neil Newbon absolutely nailed each branch of that scene, and Sebastian was really compelling (and handsome), and it's wild to me that certain pairings are just...super rare, when they seem really self-evident? (That being said, I can also see the appeal in people shipping Astarion with a player character etc. But like, I don't really do that, so...I'm left just putting all the characters together like puzzle pieces and going 'oh that one fits, that one fits REALLY WELL, that one fits if I kill Raphael first and change his personality a little, that one's awesome!' etc. :D )

#asks and answers #palmarosa #bg3 sebastian #bg3 astarion #honestly i'm sure we're not the only two who have thought about it #and there's probably some tumblr or twitter fics or something somewhere #they've been together before #they have history #sebastian is invested in astarion as the one who ruined his life #astarion has all this extremely sincere and genuine guilt #that disturbs him profoundly because like #he'd detached from so much of it #that's pure fanfiction GOLD #absolute goldmine of a rarepair!!!

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estro-gem · 18 days

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He always knew

Ok, I know I've posted another, I know...

I won't post another after this (tonight), I promise. I just couldn't resist sharing another doodle.🫣

Also, teehee~

#the amazing digital circus #tadc oasis au #oasis #tadc fanart #tadc gangle #tadc kaufmo #oasis kaufmo lore #kaufmo #gangle #they have history #i won't elaborate #doodles #doodle #kaufmo's notes

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kaiwewi · 2 years

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Time After Time: [hero version]

This is one of two new versions of the snippet formerly known as #4. The original contained head-hopping and I wasn't satisfied with the narration distance either, so I wrote an improved version of this scene from both characters' pov respectively. For the villain's pov, check out the [villain version].

Synopsis: they are not friends anymore, and yet, when the hero is mourning their father’s death, the villain can’t bear to stand idly by.

“Who died?”

The hero flinched, ripped out of the thoughts swirling around their foggy mind. The familiar voice tore at their insides like they’d swallowed a handful of broken glass, churning in their gut like needles and fire, as they whirled around a tad too fast and almost lost their balance.

Why did it have to be the villain? Why here of all places? And why did it have to be today? Wasn’t that just cruel? – As if they hadn’t suffered enough.

They swallowed the lump in their throat and clenched their fists in preparation for a fight they couldn’t see themself winning. Not today. Not here. Not when they hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t even noticed the villain approach. And perhaps the most damning of it all: despite everything, they hadn’t even considered the possibility the villain might seize the opportunity.

Oh, but if this day was to end in blood, they wouldn’t be the only one to bleed.

The villain, however, raised their hands in a placating gesture and nothing in their stance spoke of threats and hostility. “Easy! I didn’t come to pick a fight with you,” the villain said, and looked like they meant it. “Not on a graveyard. I can see absolutely no merit in disrespecting the dead. Seems distasteful, no?”

Still wary, but somewhat pacified, the hero allowed their shoulders to relax. “Ah, right,” they mumbled and lowered their eyes.

Was it wrong to feel relieved?

Yes, it was.

It was wrong, cataclysmically, when their relief revolved less around avoiding a physical confrontation and more around not having misjudged the villain’s integrity. Because the mere idea the villain might stoop this low had felt too crushing an act of treason when there shouldn’t have been any trust left between them to betray.

“Who died?” the villain repeated, hauntingly tender, in the voice of a friend the hero still occasionally met in their dreams even after all those years.

Their gaze shifted to the fresh grave a few metres behind them, covered with a number of decorative floral arrangements left by the people who’d attended the funeral earlier.

Was it bizarre or fitting to gift beauty so fleeting as that of flowers in the face of a horror as irrevocable and eternal as death? They couldn’t imagine dead people would care for flowers. Their father had certainly never cared for flowers in his lifetime, and even death wouldn’t change a man that set in his ways.

They’d always joked he’d survive them – too stubborn to die. They’d been wrong.

“My dad,” the hero murmured. “He had a heart attack last week.” They almost choked on the words and had to fight back new tears.

It was a losing battle.

How a few more tears now could feel that shameful a defeat, they couldn’t fathom. It seemed odd, considering the many other times the villain had seen them during their most vulnerable moments. On countless occasions, their former friend had comforted them when they’d been bawling their eyes out over some idiotic little things that now seemed so trivial.

There probably wasn’t a single person they had cried in front of more often.

Somehow that made it so much worse.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” the villain said politely, a sad little frown on their face, “you have my condolences.”

Well, if that didn’t sound petty and hollow…. Just a few more empty phrases to be added to all those they’d already heard today.

They snorted mirthlessly and grasped for that tiny spark of anger underneath all the hurt. Because anything would be better than even more tears. “You are kidding, right? We both know you never liked my father.”

The villain grimaced. “True, I can’t say I did. But, in my defence, he wasn’t exactly a fan of mine either.”

“Oh, that’s quite an understatement, don’t you think?” Calling it an understatement was in itself an understatement. “My dad absolutely hated you.”

Quite unexpectedly, their childhood friend chuckled. The familiar sound made their heart lurch and it took them a breathless moment to reign in their emotions and clear their head.

This person in front of them wasn’t their friend.

Not anymore.

And yet the villain still possessed that mellow smile and those cute dimples they used to find so adorable.

“Yeah, he did despise me, didn’t he?” The villain rolled their eyes dramatically and that wry smirk spreading on their face was another heavy dose of nostalgia. “Remember that one time, when we tried to ‘borrow’ one of his chickens?”

As if they would ever be able to forget that…

Bringing it up now really wasn’t fair.

A sentimental smile appeared on their face. “We stole the key to the hen cope. Everything went perfectly according to plan, and then Dad spotted us from the balcony. Just as we were about to abscond with the bird.” They shook their head and huffed, not quite a laugh but dangerously close. “God, Dad was totally furious.”

The villain snorted. “Yeah, at me! First, he only yelled, telling me how I was such a bad influence on you” – their childhood friend shot them a mock exasperated look, a bit overdone with that hand-on-heart gesture – “and then he tried to murder me!”

“No, he didn’t! He merely—” They bit down hard on their lip, trying to stifle the laugh threatening to spill. This wasn’t funny, or at least it shouldn’t be. They shouldn’t even have a conversation like this, let alone enjoy the villain’s weird antics.

“You’re grossly exaggerating!” they protested, and it wasn’t so much a question of honest opinion as the pressing and perhaps silly urge to banter with the villain. “He only threw a couple shoes at you.”

“One of his damn boots hit the back of my head! You have no idea how much that hurt!” the villain complained indignantly, crossing their arms in front of their chest. “Plus, stealing the stupid chicken wasn’t even my idea. That was all on you!”

Now, that point they couldn’t argue. It had indeed been their idea. Just like pretty much all of the other terrible ideas that had ever landed the two of them in trouble.

Okay, they had to admit this was funny. A little bit.

And was it so wrong to not feel like crying for a few minutes? Was it so wrong to enjoy themself? Even if it was with the villain. Even if this was nothing more than pity. Wasn’t it okay to be selfish, just this once?

They did allow themself to laugh then, and it warmed their chest like a sip of their favourite tea while they let it slowly turn into a chuckle, then a hum. “That day, we were in such a hurry to get away, we forgot to close the door to the hen cope. Do you remember that? Those damn birds were suddenly all over the yard. It was quite a mess.”

“Yeah, of course I do!” The villain smiled. “Wasn’t it such a pain to catch them afterwards?”

Not nearly as much of a pain as getting their friend to stop whining about their headache…

“It was kind of fun actually, don’t you think?” Grinning, they turned, just in time to see something raw and desperate flit across the villain’s face.

“I miss you!” the villain blurted and instantly went pale.

They watched a myriad of emotions wash across their former friend’s panicked face.

For what it was worth, considering the audacity of turning up and pretending everything was fine between them, emotional manipulation had never been the villain’s modus operandi. Their former friend clearly hadn’t meant to go this far; they looked more shook than the hero felt.

Which meant it was true.

The villain averted their gaze and took a tentative step back. “Please, forget I said that.”

As if that was an option. As if it didn’t already rip them to pieces. As if they could pretend today hadn’t existed when next they met; as if they could both just go back to fists and insults right after establishing they hadn’t in fact irreparably moved on yet from kisses and cuddles.

They stared in disbelieve as their perhaps-not-quite former friend mumbled an apology and made to flee.

And yeah, there was absolutely no way they were letting this go! As if they’d allow the villain to casually drop by, make them laugh, and remind them of why and just how much they’d adored their best friend – only for the villain to run off afterwards like the easily-spooked little scaredy-cat they apparently still were, if deep down.

“Wait!”

They gripped the villain by the shoulder and pulled them back, wrapped their arms around the villain’s torso, and buried their face in the crook of the villain’s neck – and met next to no resistance.

“Hero, I should go.” Gentle fingers pushed meekly against their arms.

“Villain, please.” Their voice was barely more than a whisper; they shifted just enough to make eye contact. “I miss you too.”

Don’t you dare leave me again!

Warm breath fanned against their cheek. A small smile curved their lips when the villain went still again in their arms. They tightened the embrace and could feel a heart beating, quick and excited, against their chest; whose they weren’t sure.

“You’re not thinking straight,” their friend implored, caring and kind. Ever so considerate of the hero’s feeling. “You’ll regret this.”

Maybe they would, but that didn’t matter. Because the villain was still the same – still theirs.

Soft-hearted and tender.

So easy to take advantage of.

“I don’t care,” they promised and stole what would be the first of many kisses.

———

For my other stories, visit my [MASTERLIST] ♥

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soupy-george · 1 year

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CHAPTER 6 - only four to go! I'm going to miss this one .

Read it Here

#drarry #fanfiction #drarry in their 30s #auror draco #professor harry #professors au #hogwarts #they have history #murder mystery

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devilmass · 7 months

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“ bit ominous - ”

a glance over the porch. rodrick peers at the opossum meandering around in the mud before pulling himself back over the railing with a wide - eyed, apprehensive look.

“ - innit. ” the t is sharply pushed between his front teeth, a poignant emphasis. “ know god says t'love all his creatures, @talentforlying, but there's something repulsive about them possums. ”

#talentforlying #u know when ur around someone and u start picking up their quirks #this or he's making fun #either way #he hates that opossum with his whole heart #they have history

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poneglph · 6 months

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idk how to explain it but even tho judge can't stand caesar && doesn't give a shit about him , he is also in love with him. he's not a very affectionate person && he doesn't really know how to express his affections for people in the first place , since judge doesn't experience emotion the way most other people do. he's a complete asshole with no real regard for the way other people feel , but that being said ; he does go out of his way to try to keep caesar happy. which is more than he does for even his own kids.

#he's a shitty person #and a shitty partner too #science and germa will always be more important to him #but caesar makes him happy #and they work well together #they have history #thats his science wife idk

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just-an-enby-lemon · 2 years

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Reading ASOUE in english really helped me improve my writting skill, reading and vocabulary. Childrem books on general are great to help non-native speakers, but for me ASOUE did it like no other.

#ASOUE #lemony snicket #english #i just talk about these books a lot here #and I never talked about how these books are the only reason I'm even on Tumblr #cause there are very few portuguese accounts and if not for the I would never have a sufficient english level to be here #besides they were surprisingly cheap #i mean it were used books but it was also an overseas delivery #and the dollar is soo high #but still was the same price of buying then new in a brazilian store #even cheaper depending on the store #idk if this is because the seller was too nice if their princing #or brazilian stores were rly uping the price at the time #probably a bit of both #but it was the best deal I ever got #besides I do love used books more #they have history

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magnetostits · 24 days

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this headline is so fucking horrible why is it whenever indigenous people are murdered everyone avoids saying they were murdered

edit: i was really angry and sad when typing this out so i worded this badly. i know the journalist can’t say murdered when the police haven’t called it what which isn’t surprising considering how often police fail the indigenous community. however this headline should have at least said “found dead” or something like that

#his death is also being investigated by police who have a history of being anti indigenous too

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arttuff · 2 months

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juvenile kryptonians are quite viscious!!! be careful around them!

#dc comics #dc #superman #clark kent #superboy #jon kent #jonathan samuel kent #jonathan kent #superfam #superfamily #BABY JON I MISS YOU you will always be famous #i wonder if kryptonian kids throughout the history of krypton have tugged on their parents' capes for attention #jonno is upholding traditions <3

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ciderbird · 3 months

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academic bias is so funny because you’ll be reading about the same historical event and one person is like “Despite the troubles that befell his homeland and near constant criticism of the court King Blorbo remained strong in the face of adversity” and the other one is like “after letting his people carry the brunt of his cringefail decisions Blorbo the Shitface refused to listen to any reason and continued to be a warmongering piece of shit. Also he was ugly.”

#historians are out there beefing with ppl who died over 200 years ago. good for them #history #history memes #this isn’t really about anyone in particular #but I did read the most hilariously bitter takes on alexander I #not that it’s hard to poke fun at his vanity and indicisive nature but like. he was just a poor little meow meow #although I have some weird grudges against dead ppl as well *cough* Catherine II *cough*

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endusviolence · 2 months

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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.

#transgender #trans history #transsexual #transphobia #Magnus Hirschfeld #holocaust #holocaust denial #book burning #j.k. rowling #jk rowling #just in case you missed what i mean by all this: go fuck yourself anon :)#trans people have always existed #and we will always exist #if you really wanna pick a fight with me over well-documented history then you better bring in some sources to back your shit #queer history #queer #lgbt+#lgbta+#lgbt #lgbt history #edit: i finally got around to those damn image IDs. i am so very sorry for totally forgetting that's my bimbo moment of the month #also real quick i thought about adding an image of the actual building but the only one i can find has a Nazi parade in front of it #it was taken the day of the book burning raid and honestly if i were to include it then i'd add it to the first few paragraphs #and i think the story's better told when you uphold the hope Magnus Hirschfeld and all the researchers he worked with had #also keeps being brought up: yes Hirschfeld was a eugenicist. it was a popular belief set that was only discredited after WW2 #Hirschfeld died in 1935. he literally didn't live long enough to see science turn against those beliefs and practices #considering how he changed his mind on transitions i like to think he would've changed his mind on eugenics too if he'd lived

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cursedgamerchild · 5 months

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"internet historian's alt-right anyways" "great day to have never liked james somerton" "never even heard of illuminaughtii before this lol"

that's great buddy but don't go around thinking you're immune to this. if you're not looking for plagiarism, you likely won't notice it unless its egregiously obvious. hell, you've probably consumed plagiarized content without even realizing it. even hbomb pointed out that these people disguised what they presented pretty well as long as you didn't try and dig deeper. don't come away just thinking of this as a callout piece, take this as an important lesson about vetting your sources. if googling scripts in quotes was enough to expose the original, we should all start doing that shit!!

edit: it got a little too doomer-y a little too fast so one quick addition

this is hbomb's curated playlist of queer creators, many of whom were victims of plagiarism

this is producer kat on reddit calling for any more plagiarism discoveries and for queer content creators to be uplifted

please take some time to uplift these creators and recommend any you know! if you can help uncover more of the original creators whose work was lifted that would be great too :)

UPDATE- From Hbomb's twitter: "We're in the process of cataloguing everyone James Somerton plagiarised and finding their contact information. Which is quite a task, so to help us out: If you see this and happen to be one of the people Somerton stole from, please email us at [email protected]"

edit 2:

#hbomberguy #james somerton #illuminaughtii #internet historian #vice #ign etc have had issues with plaigarism before #this isnt just some youtuber scandal remember #even books can fall victim to this #kaz rowe's history vids exemplify this pretty well #i'd recommend the triboulet ass slapping myth one if you want a good breakdown #and somerton absolutely had problems with the way he discussed foreign media and anyone that wasnt a cis gay man #but considering most of his ideas werent his own that doesnt dismiss the original authors' work keep in mind

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kaiwewi · 2 years

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Time After Time: [villain version]

Synopsis: they are not friends anymore, and yet, when the hero is mourning their father’s death, the villain can’t bear to stand idly by.

The hero was still facing the grave. Fifteen minutes had gone by and yet the hero hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as shifted their weight, didn’t seem to register the grinding of gravel now as the villain approached them.

The villain should have kept their distance, should have settled for watching from afar. They didn’t. They couldn’t.

“Who died?” they asked.

Of course, they knew; after all, they’d only come because they’d seen the obituary in the newspaper. But what else was there to say?

I was worried.

I had to see you.

I’m so sorry.

They had no right to speak of any such things. Not anymore.

Whirling around to face them, the hero almost stumbled over their own feet. Shock and grief carved lines into the hero’s pale face, like crevasses in a dying glacier, or cracks in fine porcelain. Tiny structural disintegrations, the early signs of impending breakage.

There wasn’t another face, another body, on Earth the villain was more versed in reading.

So, naturally, they noticed the silent resentment in that frown, in the wrinkling of the bridge of the hero’s nose, and in the wobble of their bottom lip. It may lay burrowed beneath layers of losses and let-downs, but it was unmistakably present, well-nigh palpable. If they were to reach out, they could run their fingers over it, find reassurance in the tension of those shoulders and the tremor running down the hero’s arms to their raised fists.

With so much fire still in them, the hero was anything but broken.

Daring eyes bored into theirs.

“Easy!” They raised their hands in a placating gesture. “I didn’t come to pick a fight with you. Not on a graveyard. I can see absolutely no merit in disrespecting the dead. Seems distasteful, no?”

Even if this particular dead person would no doubt have loved nothing better than for the villain’s blood to be spilled all over his grave. But this wasn’t about him.

“Ah, right.” The hero deflated, their gaze trailed away, to the withering grass on the lawn across the gravel pathway they both stood on.

In all the years they’d known the hero, they had never seen their childhood friend in such a state: resigned, red puffy eyes on an ashen face. A testament to sleepless nights spent weeping into pillows.

“Who died?” they repeated, softer this time. As if the wrong tone of voice would lead the hero to fracture after all. As if the other was a fragile thing, and maybe they were.

Though, if so, it really shouldn’t concern them. They shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t care. They weren’t friends anymore.

Things were different now.

“My dad.” The hero’s gaze had shifted back to the fresh grave a few metres behind them, covered with flowers. “He had a heart attack last week,” the hero said, and then they started crying.

And things really should have been different now; but apparently things weren’t different enough, because all it took was one look at their former friend’s face and their hands twitched with the itch to reach out, to wipe the tears away, to hug, to kiss, to… to do everything they were no longer allowed to do.

Empty words of condolences tumbled over their lips before they could think of anything better to say. Yet, somehow, they meant it, despite the person the hero’s father had been.

“You are kidding, right?” The hero snorted, probably in disgust. Probably thinking the villain was lying, or worse, taunting. “We both know you never liked my father.”

They cringed. “True, I can’t say I did,” they admitted and smiled as apologetically as possible, “but, in my defence, he wasn’t exactly a fan of mine either.”

“Oh, that’s quite an understatement, don’t you think?” The hero cocked an eyebrow, a tad spiteful. At least the tears had stopped. “My dad absolutely hated you.”

Hatred was still too small a word; a more fitting one would be loathing.

They chuckled helplessly.

“Yeah, he did despise me, didn’t he?” They made a show of rolling their eyes dramatically, and conjured up that special smirk their childhood friend used to love. “Remember that one time, when we tried to ‘borrow’ one of his chickens?”

A sentimental smile mellowed the hero’s face. “We stole the key to the hen cope. Everything went perfectly according to plan, and then Dad spotted us from the balcony. Just as we were about to abscond with the bird.” The hero shook their head and huffed what might have been a laugh. “God, Dad was totally furious.”

“Yeah, at me! First, he only yelled, telling me how I was such a bad influence on you” – they gave a scoff in mock incredulity, because when had they ever been the source of stupid ideas – “and then he tried to murder me!”

“No, he didn’t!” the hero protested. “He merely—" Their childhood friend bit down hard on their lip, trying to stifle a laugh that so clearly threatened to spill, and shook their head. “You’re grossly exaggerating! He only threw a couple shoes at you.”

A couple of heavy field boots that is…

“One of his damn boots hit the back of my head! You have no idea how much that hurt!” Gosh, they’d felt that bump for over a week. “Plus,” – they narrowed their eyes at the hero – “stealing the stupid chicken wasn’t even my idea. That was all on you!”

This time, the hero did laugh, and laughter certainly suited them so much better than sadness did. It transformed that tired face, softened the edges, made the hero look oh so young again. Suddenly, the hero’s face was that of a friend, that lovely voice a touch of nostalgia.

They swallowed.

What the hell were they doing?

The hero’s laughter slowly turned into a chuckle, then a good-natured hum. “That day, we were in such a hurry to get away, we forgot to close the door to the hen cope. Do you remember that? Those damn birds were suddenly all over the yard. It was quite a mess.”

Not as much of a mess as my priorities.

They pushed the thought aside and allowed themself a breathy laugh. “Yeah, of course I do! Wasn’t it such a pain to catch them afterwards?”

“It was kind of fun actually, don’t you think?” A grin tugged at their former friend’s lips – so genuine that they were sure the hero must have momentarily forgotten everything that had since happened between the two of them.

Their eyes met.

“I miss you!” the villain blurted and instantly regretted their moment of weakness. They hadn’t meant to say that. It didn’t matter that it was the truth. They shouldn’t even feel this way about the hero. Not that they could just force themself to stop caring now, but still…

The hero’s gaze was a question, a slight frown on an otherwise comically blank face. Wary eyes fixed on them in an unreadable expression, reminding them that the hero wasn’t the child they’d known inside and out ages ago.

They quickly averted their eyes and took a step back. The scrunching of the gravel shifting underneath their boots seemed oddly loud in the silence that had suddenly descended upon them.

Shit. Now they’d done it.

What had they been thinking, uttering these silly words that should never have been spoken, least of all in front of the hero? And what a stupid thing they’d said! What a ridiculous situation they’d gotten themself into! – Reminiscing on fond memories one shared with their foe? Who in their right mind would do that?!

If only the hero hadn’t looked so sad, so lonely and lost.

Like a friend in need of comfort.

Only they weren’t a friend.

This was insane. A foolish mistake.

“Please, forget I said that.” Awkwardly, they rubbed the back of their neck. “Sorry,” they mumbled, and turned to leave.

“Wait!”

A hand gripped them by the shoulder and pulled them back. They froze, too surprised perhaps to offer the appropriate resistance, as strong arms wrapped around their torso. Another moment of weakness. Yet they still hesitated, even when the hero buried their face in the crook of their neck and the familiar smell of their friend’s favourite shampoo hit them like a punch in the solar plexus.

They had to go. Another minute of this and they’d be the one to shatter.

Gentle as can be, they tried to extricate themself. “Hero, I should go.”

“Villain, please.” Their friend’s voice was barely more than a whisper as they pulled back ever so slightly, just enough to lock eyes. “I miss you too.”

They shuddered at the longing in the hero’s eyes: the raw, undisguised urgency. Their own vulnerability reflected right back at them from the depth of that gaze. They cursed the tiny smile that showed on those lovely lips, as the hero leaned further into the embrace. So close, their breaths fanned warm against each other’s skin.

The hero couldn’t do this, could they?

It wasn’t fair.

Things shouldn’t be like that between them.

“You’re not thinking straight,” they tried weakly. And they weren’t thinking straight either, were they? “You’ll regret this.”

Please stop.

But the hero only shook their head lightly with that same fond smile they’d always worn whenever they’d successfully wrapped the villain around their little finger. The hero wasn’t going to let this go. The hero likely knew it, had probably always known it: even after all those years, the villain was still the same.

Soft-hearted and tender.

So easy to take advantage of.

“I don’t care,” the hero promised and stole what would be the first of many kisses.

———

For my other stories, visit my [MASTERLIST] ♥

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