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#but i hope you like this

writingloveandaffection · 1 year

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Imagine your f/o's thoughts jumping to you first when they want to do something with someone. It can be something as mundane as a grocery store trip. They want you there because your company makes them happy. It makes boring tasks just a little more bearable, because if you're there they can make you laugh, just as you make them. If it's somewhere fun or special, of course they'd want you there. What better way is there to have a good time than spending it with someone you care about? Maybe it's just watching that new show. They were going to watch it anyway, but maybe you might want to see it too. Or maybe you've already started it or even seen the whole thing. Still, they want you there. Because they love you and want to spend time together. Just being in each other's presence is enough. You dont even have to be doing something together. They just want to be near you. And they know they can go to you just as you could easily go to them.

#haha im alive #first post in how long idk #but thought of this and thought itd be sweet #of course post inconsistency will continue #but i hope you like this #f/o imagines #f/o imagine #f/o comfort #imagine f/o #f/o #platonic f/o #romantic f/o #imagine your f/o #imagine your fictional other #fictional other #gender neutral f/o #gender neutral s/i #self shipping imagines #self ship imagines

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doom-dreaming · 5 months

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I wanna know how he'd react to an anonymous love letter

"Welcome back, Blue Team," Roland greets. "Chief, there's a message waiting for you in your quarters."

The green and gold helmet tilts just a few degrees to one side. "Send it through to my HUD, I'll read it on the way to S-Deck."

"It's not digital, sir. It's paper."

There's a healthy pause. Chief nods. "...thanks."

Roland salutes and the holotank flickers back to gray.

John's mind drifts as he goes through the post-mission motions. Paper meant official. At the very least, paper meant important. Not even the frequent attempts to put him up on a different, higher-ranking shelf usually come to his attention through such formal avenues. He wonders what's wrong. He wonders if someone else has died. If his team has any thoughts on the matter, they're keeping quiet about it.

They've all drifted in separate directions by the time he makes it to their quarters. Kelly had nudged his shoulder and jogged off down a hallway. Fred had mentioned getting something to eat. Linda had simply disappeared somewhere between the equipment lockers and the door. He enters the room alone.

The letter sits on the desk. The envelope is plain, unmarked; no seals or insignias, just his name and his number, printed in writing that looks as though it's trying to be cleaner than it naturally is. John-117. For a second, he considers it might be Halsey, but she would have dropped the number altogether. Besides, he knows her handwriting. This isn't it.

He turns it over in his hands, crosses the room, reaches under Fred's pillow for the knife they all knew he kept there. He opens the letter with a clean, careful cut. Official or not, it still had to mean something to the person who'd sent it. Why else would they have gone to all this trouble?

The message inside is handwritten in the same script as the envelope, but there's less care paid to its appearance. Letters bleed into one another, words are scribbled out and rewritten; there's a sense of desperation in it. Not life or death, not the frantic scrawling of someone running out of time, but the desperation to get the right words out in the right order, no matter how messy the process was.

He reads it over again. Three, four times. Different phrases find sticking points between his ribs on each pass. Whoever had written this was right. Technically, this letter was nothing new. But it was...earnest. Heartfelt. Sincere in a way so different from the usual flavors of attention he received.

If he really wanted to, he could find out who wrote it. But anonymity was a precious miracle amidst the meticulously-tracked digital trails of the modern age. It felt borderline disrespectful to rob this person of that, along with their hope that he might...

He shakes his head. Folds the letter. Returns it to the envelope. Whoever they were, he could do them this simple favor and hope that, somehow, they could feel it.

#this was fun but man the words still aren't being kind to me #but i hope you like this #whoever you are :)#my writing #halo #halo fanfic #also sorry if the letter screenshots are abysmal quality #i tried to make the margins the same width as the tumblr post for minimal scrunching #tumblr scrunched em anyway

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lavellenchanted · 1 year

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where the lovelight gleams

A belated Merry Christmas to @behindthelabels! Tis I, your Secret Santa! Thank you for being so patient with me while I worked on this and apologies for the lateness, but you can blame Covid finally getting me right before holidays.

You said you wanted lots of feelings and liked huddling for warmth and a canon setting, so I’ve tried to put all that together in a little something set during The First Avenger timeline. I hope you enjoy it and had a wonderful festive period.

AO3 link here

Winter, 1944

The safe house had, at one time, been a farmhouse.

They were somewhere in Central Europe, the closest town (which wasn’t particularly close) small enough that most maps of the area didn’t bother labelling it and they needed only to drive a short distance in any direction to cross a border. Most notably to the west was the German border, which they had retreated back over during the night after taking out a Nazi blockade.

The safe house itself was ensconced in woodland, set a good couple of miles away from the nearest road – a deliberate choice, since it meant lights or movement were unlikely to be spotted if any Nazi or Hydra patrols were sent in this direction. It had clearly once been a family home; there were still small, child-sized bed frames in a couple of the rooms, and the window shutters and door lintels were all hand-carved with hearts, roses and the sort of pretty designs you might think to find on a gingerbread house. The sort of designs chosen with love to fill the place with life and joy, all of which was very noticeably missing now.

Whether it had been abandoned early in the war or forcibly requisitioned Steve wasn’t sure, but certainly it had fallen into disrepair. The paint on the walls was faded and peeling, the window boxes that must once have held fresh, colourful displays of flowers were empty and the fields outside overgrown and choked with weeds.

In a way, that was what made it the perfect safehouse; from a distance it looked entirely unsafe, with little to recommend it. Up close it was another matter – despite the dingy décor, the doors were still air and watertight, secured by multiple locks, the glass in the windows intact, the electricity in good repair, and the cellar beneath the house a perfect to drop and store food and emergency supplies for agents and soldiers on the move and in need of resupplying.

Or, as in the Commandos’ current case, waiting for a contact to debrief them and provide instructions for their next move.

“Well, it ain’t the Ritz, but it’ll do for a couple of days,” Dugan had said cheerily when they arrived before going to look for firewood. Standing at the window now, however, Steve was beginning to wonder if they might be here a bit longer than a couple of days – it started snowing a few hours ago and was starting to come down heavily, in thick white flakes would no doubt have blanketed everything around them by morning.

He only hoped their contact reached them soon, or they might be stranded in the middle of a snowstorm and trying to mount a rescue mission with no idea who they were looking for.

“Ha – read ‘em and weep, boys!”

Bucky’s triumphant shout made him glance over his shoulder, where most of the Commandos were playing poker, the stakes being whatever ration coupons, cigarettes and breath-mints they had in their pockets. As Dugan, Morita and Jones all groaned at the sight of Bucky’s cards laid out on the table, Steve gave a quiet laugh.

“I did warn you,” he said, quite truthfully – he had learned the hard way not to take Bucky on at poker in his early teens.

“That was my last pack, too,” Dugan sighed forlornly as Bucky tucked the cigarettes he’d won away into his pocket, then lowered his forehead on to his arms in the perfect picture of despair.

Bucky was unmoved. “You could always try to win them back.”

“Oh, right, so I can lose the last of my gum as well?”

“You might win.”

“Don’t fall for it.” Falsworth, who had opted not to play – he had never quite gotten the hang of poker – looked up from where he was sat knitting what Steve thought was supposed to be a sock. “You can have some of mine if you’re desperate.”

Bucky pulled a face. “Come on, Falsworth, you’re ruining my fun.”

“Ruining your hustle, you mean. Now, if we had a chessboard here I could show you a thing or two. That’s a game of skill –”

As the room dissolved into a debate over the merits of chess versus cards and exactly how much skill it took to play either one, Steve shook his head and turned back to the window – only to realise that in those brief moments his attention had been distracted a shape had emerged from the trees and was making its way towards the house.

“Guys.” Steve’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the arguing and immediately everyone turned to look at him. “I think our contact’s here.”

“D’you recognise them?” Gabe Jones asked.

“Too dark to tell. Just . . . be ready.”

Steve didn’t have to look to know their hands were all going to their weapons. He was doing the same, reaching for the shield propped against the wall beside him; just in case this wasn’t the agent they were expecting but someone who had discovered the safe house, they didn’t want to waste precious seconds arming themselves while they were being fired on.

He had just gripped the edge of the shield, his shoulders tensed, when the first knock came. The was room was hushed as they all held their breath – and then it was followed by two shorter knocks and then another two longer ones.

That was the signal that it was their contact.

A collective sigh of relief rippled through all them. Steve let the shield drop again and crossed to open the door –

– where he found him looking down into a pair of familiar dark eyes, that sparkled with warmth above a curling, lipstick-perfect smile.

He could only stare. He had wanted so badly to think there was a chance their contact might be her, but he hadn’t dared to let himself hope too much.

“Good evening, Captain,” Peggy Carter said, clearly enjoying the look of surprise on his face. “Perhaps you could let me in? It’s rather cold out here.”

“One of our scouts has identified another Hydra base.”

There had been smiles and warm welcomes from the rest of the Commandos when they realised who was at the door, but Peggy, professional as ever, had been straight to work as soon as the hellos were done, her coat was off and a cup of tea made for her.

A map had been produced from her bag and now lay unfolded on the table where shortly the card game had taken place, and Steve had made markings on it to indicate where they had found and dealt with the blockade, the routes affected and the path of their retreat as they gave their report.

Peggy had listened quietly, interjecting here and there with questions – never noting down their answers, in case she was ever caught and her things intercepted, but memorising them. Her dark eyes traced the lines of the map, a furrow of concentration between her eyebrows, but every now and then she would glance up and meet Steve’s gaze, and each time he caught his breath.

It had been over a month since the last time he had seen her. Her hair had grown a little longer in that time, beginning to just brush the tops of her shoulders. There had been a flurry of snowflakes in the glossy dark curls when she came in but now they had all melted away in the heat from the fire. When she bent her head to look at the map a stray lock would fall forward across her cheek, and Steve ached to lean across the table and tuck it away behind her ear.

She wasn’t wearing the uniform he was used to seeing, or even a practical field outfit such as the Commandos wore and he had occasionally see her don for other missions, but the same sort of winter clothing the few locals they had seen wore; a thick, woollen sweater with simple pair of trousers and boots that wouldn’t look out of place on any farm. Good for the warmth, Steve guessed, but also to keep her from standing out too much if there were enemy patrols about.

It certainly wasn’t her typical get up, and he didn’t think it was something she would ever choose for herself – it didn’t quite seem her, somehow – yet even so, she was captivating. Mostly likely she could wear a paper bag and still be so. Steve remembered the first time he had ever seen her at Camp Lehigh and thinking she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and every time he had seen her since he found something new and interesting about his face to hold his attention; this time it was the small dimple in her right cheek that appeared every now and then like the sun breaking through the clouds.

“It’s on the Austrian side of the border, in the Alps, we think about here,” she continued, indicating a mark on the map. “We intercepted some chatter on the radio, a communication – we’re still working on fully decrypting it but what we have so far suggests there something of significance to Hydra there, so if you can get it to and cripple it we’ll hopefully deal them some real damage.”

“If it’s that important, there might be senior Hydra agents there as well,” Steve said.

“Exactly. Normally we’d get you back to base before setting out again, but you’re in a good position to get there from here so Phillips wants you to head straight for it. You can resupply on basics from here, and we’ll have a weapons drop waiting for you on the way here.”

Another mark on the map.

“So, if we come down this way and cross the border here, we should be able to make the drop in a day or two.” Steve reached out and drew the imagined path along the map with one finger; as he did so, he let the side of his hand just brush against Peggy’s. Her skin was warm and soft to the touch. Her eyes darted briefly up to his and then down again, unreadable, but he thought he saw the ghost of a smile cross her mouth. “Then get to the base in another day.”

“That’s the idea,” she confirmed. “Although given the weather, your departure might have to be delayed for a couple of days.” She nodded at the window, where the snow was still coming down thick and fast, and they could see the trees bending as the wind picked up. “As will my extraction. But all being well, you can have shut down the base within a week and be back in England by Christmas.”

There were murmurs of excitement from the Commandos – less at the promise of Christmas in England, as it was difficult to summon up much festive cheer on the front lines of a war than at the though of being back in a base with indoor plumbing, proper beds and decent food (at least compared to the field rations they were living on now).

“I thought you’d like that idea,” Peggy said with amusement. “Shall we talk travel arrangements?”

Steve started to agree, but was cut off by Bucky.

“Maybe we can do that tomorrow? Like you said, we’re gonna be here a while. And I don’t know about you guys, but I’m beat and would like to hit the hay.”

There was a brief pause as he looked – somewhat pointedly, Steve thought and felt his cheeks heat as he started to realise what was happening – at the other Commandos.

“Oh, oh, yeah!” Dugan raised his arms above his head and yawned in a not-entirely-convincing manner. “I’m ready to sleep.”

“Me, too,” Jones agreed, and the others all gave nods and murmurs of asset.

“Of course, if you two wanna talk shop we can’t stop you.” Bucky aimed a wide grin at Steve and Peggy. “You can always just tell us the plan in the morning.”

He had started moving backwards as he spoke and now lifted a hand in a casual wave.

“Night, all.”

“Dibs on the bed,” Dugan quickly put in.

“Oh, no, you don’t –”

Tuhus, arguing all the way, they vanished so quickly up the stairs you might have thought it was a practised manoeuvre.

Steve and Peggy stared after them for several moments, then both caught the other’s eye and dissolved into quiet laughter.

“They’re not exactly subtle, are they?” Peggy said with warm fondness in her voice, looking up at him once their laughter had subsided. Something tightened in Steve’s chest as he met her gaze and realised they had unconsciously leaned in closer to one another.

“To be fair, neither are we.”

Her eyebrows arched upwards. “I think you’ll find one of us is more subtle than the other. I haven’t yet been caught on camera with your picture.”

Unable to deny the justice of her comment, he only grinned.

“Yet? Does that mean you could be?”

He couldn’t help being curious. At the time it had happened they hadn’t defined what this thing between them was, although they both knew something was there, and the picture of Peggy in his compass was one he had clipped himself from a newspaper – he hadn’t been able to resist when saw the paper lying in the commander centre, not when he knew he was starting to be sent off on missions that might mean he went for weeks without seeing her – rather than a gift.

Being caught with it on camera had been entirely accidental, though the next time he had seen Peggy after the film had been approved she hadn’t scolded him for his presumption, as he thought she might, but had just given him a small, secretive smile and murmured as she passed him in the hall that, “I rather enjoyed seeing the footage of you on the front lines. It was very . . . enlightening.” Nor had she asked him for a photo or anything in return, so if she was carrying one around it meant she had found one for herself, just as he had done.

Now she just gave him a coy smile and replied, “I think it’s unlikely, since my missions aren’t being filmed.”

“But if they were …?”

“If they were, several of our intelligence operations would be horribly compromised.”

Recognising he wasn’t going to get the answer he was looking for, Steve moved back to flop on to the couch and gave a loud sigh, which just made Peggy laugh again. He wished he could bottle that sound, to listen to whenever things were hard – which, these days, was more often than not.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Says the woman who shot at me.”

Her cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink as she shot him an outraged look. “That was – very specific circumstances, as you are well aware –”

“I know, I know,” he quickly assured her. The few days that she had given him the cold shoulder over that incident had been some of the worst, as worried quietly gnawed at him that he might have ruined something completely before it even really had the chance to begin. “I’m not saying there weren’t. I’m just saying it was a kinda dramatic reaction.”

Her lips pressed together into a line for a moment before she relented with a huff of annoyance.

“Oh, fine, I suppose it was a little dramatic.”

As if the world itself wanted to agree, a gust of wind chose that moment to rattle against the windows and a chill breeze swept through the room, causing the fire in the grate to flicker and the temperature to drop. Peggy visibly shivered, goosebumps breaking out on the back of her neck.

“You’re cold. Here.”

Steve reached out without thought, drawing her down to sit with him. She went still for a moment, then let herself be shifted so that she could sit with her back against his chest and his arms wrapped around her. A rough blanket hung off the back of the couch, so Steve pulled that down as well and tucked in around them both – leaving them cocooned together in what a detached professional should think of as a huddle but what felt far more like an embrace.

This was the closest he had ever been to her. Though there were still the thick layers of their woollen sweaters between them, he could feel the soft lines of her body pressed against his and his mouth was suddenly dry and his heart pounding so hard he was sure she would be able to feel it through his chest. She was close enough that some of her curls were brushing against his jaw and throat and he had had dreams about running his fingers through them but he could never have imagined how silkily soft they felt, or how they smelled of the rose-scented soap she used. Steve closed his eyes and clenched his jaw for a moment as that scent wafted over him, trying desperately to push away the raw desire and longing it sent pulsing through him.

Pure instinct was all that had driven him, seeing her cold and needing to rectify it and thinking only that body heat was the best way to combat this sort of adverse weather (never mind that they were in a house with beds and blankets and a fire). Now, confronted with the reality of having Peggy in his arms, he was amazed both by his boldness and his by stupidity – because now he could barely fashion a coherent thought, his mind lost in fog that was made up only of the feeling of his hands holding hers where they rested on her stomach, of her legs stretched out against his along the couch, of the sight of her ear just in his eyeline, peeking out from behind the curtain of her hair.

A vision passed through his mind of what his life might have been like in other circumstances, of a little house like this one but kept in good repair, sweetly decorated with a Christmas tree in one corner and stocking hanging by the fire, of Peggy in his arms after a long day at the office and – maybe – of their child sleeping upstairs.

The thought made something in him ache. Could such a life still be possible, once this war was done with?

He wanted to ask her, but even as he opened his mouth the words dissipated into nothing on his tongue. They had by unspoken agreement never really talked about the future, other than to imply they might go dancing. No one did. It was too difficult to think of now, when every day brought news of another death, another bomb, and they could see the grief and destruction wrought all around them. What hope they had was left vague, shapeless, an idea of something better that they were fighting for without knowing exactly what that something would be.

So instead he just asked, “Better?”

“Much.” Peggy leaned back to rest her head against him, tucking it just beneath his chin. His breath caught with the intimacy of it, and his arms tightened a fraction around her. “You’re lovely and warm. Like my own personal hot water bottle.”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, well, one of the side effects of the serum is that I run a little hotter than most people.”

“Helpful, when you’re out here.”

“It can be.”

A note of teasing entered her voice. “Do you offer your services as a heater to the other Commandos as well?”

“No.” He leaned down to speak softly near her ear. “This service is reserved just for you.”

Another shiver ran through her, but he didn’t think this one had anything to do with the cold. His heart gave another hard thump against his ribs.

“Well, then.” Peggy said softly. “I’ll have to take advantage of it more often.”

They lapsed into silence for a time, just listening to the gentle sound of the fire crackling in the hearth and their own breathing. Steve started stroking one hand up and down Peggy’s arm, feeling a warm, cosy contentment settle over him, and wished it were possible to stay like this with her forever.

Her other hand shifted beneath his, until he felt her fingers lace between his and squeeze tightly. Smiling, he squeezed back and said, “I guess you don’t mind staying an extra couple of days then?”

“Mmm, well, obviously it’s a trial but I expect I’ll manage.”

He chuckled, and then finally gave into temptation and reached up to brush her hair back. “I’m glad it was you at the door. I hoped it might be.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be. It was supposed to be Agent Andrews, but he got delayed on a mission in France and I was able to volunteer. Probably more quickly than was entirely subtle,” she said with a quiet laugh, and Steve could just imagine the look on Chester Phillips’ face. “But I didn’t want to lose the chance. I’ve missed you.”

The tenderness that filled that those three words was like nothing he had ever felt before.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

Peggy turned in his arms so that she was looking at him, her eyes soft and entreating. With a smile, Steve leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Her mouth was warm and welcoming, the kiss slow and languid, both of them wanting to stretch it out as long as possible since the opportunities they had were so rare and fleeting.

With effort, Steve kept his hands still, though the quiet moan that escaped Peggy’s lips almost undid him. It would be so easy to flip them over so that he was on top of her, and holy god, he wanted to with a ferocity that was difficult to control, but quite apart from the fact that the Commandos were upstairs and would probably hear everything, they had talked about their relationship and decided (with some reluctance) not to rush things in one of the few stolen moments they could manage but to wait and take their time.

Which didn’t mean they were entirely chaste, but those sorts of things Steve did want to leave until they had more privacy on the base or could grab a hotel room for a night rather than having a potential audience upstairs.

Although it was struggle to remember that when Peggy had brought her hand up to curl around his neck, her fingers in his hair, or when, in the brief moments their lips parted, she met his gaze and he could see in her eyes that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. When she looked at him like that he knew he would hand his heart over on a silver platter if she asked for it.

But clearly he wasn’t the only one thinking such things, as when they stopped to regain their breath she suggested, “Maybe we could send the Commandos out for a while tomorrow . . . to check the roads and – and gather firewood.”

“We will need to make sure we’re well supplied,” Steve agreed.

It wasn’t subtle, but as had been pointed out already, neither were they.

“Just for an hour or two.”

“Or three.”

She laughed and snuggled back down into his arms. Quiet fell over them again, and this time Steve was beginning to feel the heaviness of sleep draping across him when Peggy spoke again in a hushed voice.

“Do you think, one day, we’ll be able to stay like this for as long as we like? Without having to worry about the world outside?”

Heart aching, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and whispered back, “Yes, Peggy. I really do.”

#steggy #steggysecretsanta #steggy secret santa 2023 #steve rogers #peggy carter #apologies if there are any typos!#I think I caught them but I always think that and there's always hundreds #but I hope you like this #otp: the right partner #my fic

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oathofpromises · 4 months

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The man introduced themself and Nok'to gawked. The man didn't look Keeper, but neither did his sister. But his name... That... That was definitely a Keeper name.

But Nok'to had to think about it. Vali'ya... Vali'ya... Was that... seven? Eight? Gods, that sounded unreal...

"You have how many brothers?"

That was terrifying. Seven brothers? He was scared, how many sisters did he have, in that case?

(You know what this is.)

Vali'ya nervously chuckled and jumped back slightly at the other's reaction. He had anticipated the surprised look on people’s faces due to his name and his dissimilarity to what a typical keeper looked like. However, he didn’t really want to delve into the complexities of his past. At least not the full story, as most of his memories were still foggy.

“I have thirteen siblings - seven brothers and five sisters. Unfortunately, I don’t know all of them very well. Keepers of the moon prefer having more females, but my mother always desired a large family, so here we are. My poor father though.." chuckeld Vali'ya, as he leaned against the wall.

The bard hadn’t actually met many of his brothers as most of them were wanderers. He was born after all of them had already left the tribe. Therefore, his knowledge of them was limited to whatever his mother decided to share with him, which wasn’t much aside from the occasional stories.

"Family is a bit of a sore subject for me, not for any bad reason. I simply have no memory of most of my siblings, least of all much of my childhood. The only one I was really close to was my older sister, Yaku Sigri."

Yaku was different. She cared for their whole family and hated the thought that all her brothers would eventually leave to travel the world. It was part of their tribe ways that so many didn’t really understand, but had never questioned. However, she had been against such a custom from the start. Now that Vali’ya thought about it, he had only spoken to his older sister through letters, yet recently even those had ceased. Which did nothing to ease the growing worry lingering inside his chest.

The bard absentmindedly scratched the back of his head, a faint smile of amusement playing across his face. It always tickled him how the first thing people would fixate on was his name. And now, as the Warrior of Light, even more attention was drawn to these seemingly insignificant details. He couldn’t really blame them, though. I mean, who wouldn’t find it either funny or horrifying to hear about someone with such a massive family? There was never an in-between; it was always one extreme or the other.

“What about you? Have any siblings?”

Perhaps bringing up the question wasn’t the best idea, as not everyone was willing to talk about their family history. However, since they had recently crossed paths, the bard thought it would be nice to get to know Nok’to. Although the other seemed shy, it reminded Vali’ya of his younger sister Mevi.

Slowly, Vali’ya, with his long raven hair, reached up and placed a hand on his chest. Mevi had always been prone to getting sick easily, and Vali’ya worried that she would be overlooked in the tribe. However, his worries were alleviated when Yaku decided to stay in the tribe. It was a significant sacrifice on her part, considering the warrior had always longed to travel the world herself.

"You don't need to share if you rather not. I understand as well as anyone that family can be a touchy subject."

#— ❛❛ // VALI'YA RONKO ¦ No matter what happens to me I will keep fighting for those that can't・「 Threads」#— ❛❛ // NOK'TO LYZEJ¦ Songs from the heart hidden in the dark・「 crystalmarred」#ooc: dfsfsd I love how you messaged me on discord saying you would send this and you did and it was so cute and funny #Nok'to really just out here like YOU HAVE HOW MANY BROTHERS #But I hope you like this

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spineless-lobster · 3 months

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I am not the divine masculine or the divine feminine I am the divine comedy and you will address me as such

#danteposting #I hope you guys like my stupid history jokes #the divine comedy

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endusviolence · 1 month

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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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corviiids · 4 months

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my top bit of advice going into the new year: compliment people. especially strangers. literally everyone you interact with if you can. when you buy coffee in the morning compliment the barista's tattoos. when you're chatting with a coworker tell them that by the way you like their outfit. always find something they've chosen to do on purpose. nail polish, jewellery, tattoos, hair colour/style, statement accessory, outfit, etc are all good bets. things people hope will be noticed. things that aren't too personal so it doesn't make them uncomfortable (eg probably not their physical features). i've gotten into the habit of scanning everyone i talk to for something about them that i think is cool so i can tell them. it's a great habit because it makes me notice people and realise just how many neat little details there are in people's presentation of themselves that might pass me by if i wasn't paying attention. and it brings out so much joy. you'd be surprised how much it disarms people to receive an unexpected compliment from someone they don't know. it is the most sincere smile you will see all day long. it feels nice to make people happy but it also means you win the social interaction. establish dominance by complimenting a stranger's earrings and disappearing into the fog

#rookposting #the little 'oh!' followed by a big grin is now my highlight in every interaction i have with a stranger #you can always spot the things people hope will be noticed and you have no idea how happy it makes people when it gets noticed #i find it's always better to compliment things they did deliberately vs complimenting stuff like their voice or their face or other things #that are inherent or they cant change because that can make people uncomfortable for one thing to hear that from a stranger #but it's also just less meaningful imo because they didnt do that on purpose

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stil-lindigo · 3 months

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frankly, the people whose kneejerk reaction to bisan asking for a global strike form the 21st-28th is to say that it takes years to organize a general strike are really unhelpful! no one is saying otherwise, but palestine will be a smoking crater if we all wait for years to do anything - bisan is asking us to do something now. Like are we only supposed to do something if we can do it perfectly??? At some point it’s a valid critique about the work that goes into social movement, and at another point I feel like some people are just trying to absolve themselves from not putting any effort into observing a week of economic inaction.

like idk! I get it, okay! People have bills to pay that don’t magically go away for a strike, we don’t have nearly enough social infrastructure in place to support people to fully stop going to work for a week. But fuck, dude! Stop immediately responding in such a defeatist way! Cut out unnecessary purchases! Try to shop local! Put more effort into promoting Palestinian voices online! Attend a protest, call a local rep, do something!

#like am I going insane #why did I see a post with thousands of notes on it talking about how it doesn’t make sense to be asking for this sort of action #it doesn’t make SENSE?#like god! I hope you’re taking other more sensible courses of action then!#fucks sake man #bisan is living through a waking nightmare and some of you are so pedantic and miserly #palestine #free Palestine

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fox-mulder-gets-pegged · 1 year

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I just wanna say bc I KNOW you're somewhere on tumblr, to the teenage girl who attended Take Your Kid To Work Day at an office building in Ontario, Canada circa 2013 and had a conversation with a middle aged woman in which you showed her your Black Veil Brides fanart and fanfics and ship content and told her about different fanfic tropes including a/b/o verse bc she happened to know who Panic! at The Disco and Fallout Boy were and thus you felt the need to show her your bandblr ship art, that was my fucking mother and I had to clarify all that to her including looking my mother in the eye and trying to explain a/b/o verse without sounding like a lunatic.

It's been 10 years and I still regularly sent evil energies in your direction. Since you'd be probably two years younger than me and thus legally an adult now, please know if this post reaches you it's on sight.

#she cornered me in the car and asked what shipping was and i almost had a fucking heart attack #imagine being like 16 years old and habing to explain knotting to your mother #random emo music girl I'm glad you had fun talking about your Band Guys to my mother #bc i also attended take your kid to work day at that office and i know how boring it was #but christ alive why did you have to fuck me like that?#anyways i hope this post reaches you so at the very least you know i think about you at least once a week #this has been weighing on me for ten years #im almost tempted to blaze this post

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emberglowfox · 6 months

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Keeper -- a short comic about an angel meeting a robotic lighthouse keeper that doesn't know the world has already ended. Made in about 18 hours for a 24-hour 24-page* black and white comic challenge (that I arrived late to, ha.)

*the actual submission does not include the cover, which was created after the fact for this post.

This was a really great learning experience as someone who's... never really made a completed comic. I ended up really attached to the story by the end of the project (possibly due to all-nighter deliriousness lol) and ultimately am very proud of what I made.There are some things I'd still like to change, particularly text placement, but in keeping with the spirit of the challenge I've elected to leave it as is.