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andypantsx3 · 2 years

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Andie. 🥺 Florist Shouto giving you a big bouquet of peonies. 🥺 Fat, full ones that are ruffled like petticoats. 🥺 Wrapped in brown paper with a trailing ribbon. 🥺 And they’ve been sitting there in the glass fridge, waiting for you to come past the shop on your way home from work. 🥺🥺

omg stop my ovaries are about to explode

rip those flowers as they get squished between us when i lay it on him

The shop bell jingles gently as you shoulder open the door, ducking out of the rain and into the tiny florist's shop.

Immediately the thick scent of greenery washes over you, delicate florals and the tangy smell of earth. The bright bouquets stand out even more than usual against the dreary grey of the sky outside, the shelves straining under the weight of tightly-packed buckets bursting with color.

You quickly smooth down your hair, trying not to look like a wet rat before the shop's owner catches sight of you, frantically dredging your brain for some event that might occasion flowers this time. Over the past few months, you've developed a bad habit of wandering into this particular shop on your way home from work--inventing a million and one things you need flowers for. Your friends are quickly growing sick of bouquets for everything--birthdays, anniversaries, congrats on quitting your job, dinner party gifts, the lot.

But you can't help it.

Because even more beautiful than the arrangements that grace these shelves, even more lovely than the atmosphere of the shop itself, is the shop owner, the man who keeps drawing you back, again and again.

Todoroki Shouto.

As if on queue, the man in question emerges from the back room, lugging a large earthenware pot filled with perennials--probably the next display piece to be positioned just outside the front door. Under his blue button up, you can see a bicep cording with the effort, and his handsome face is scrunched in concentration, long eyelashes dusting the top of ridiculously high cheekbones.

He's so horribly beautiful, tall and packed with lithe stretches of muscle, and he has a face like an elven prince from a fantasy novel. The yelp reviews of this shop are filled with just as many covert shots of him as they are of the flower arrangements, jammed with fawning comments like "the most beautiful bloom of all," and "this dude is even more gorgeous than his arrangements and that is saying a lot."

You can't say you disagree.

Your heartbeat kicks up a bajillion notches, like it always does at the sight of him, and you suppress the urge to flatten your hair again. Todoroki looks up, then, pinning you with his mismatched gaze--his right eye an icy, wintery grey like the sky outside, his left an unearthly blue, like the center of a flame where it burns the hottest.

"Hi, Todoroki," you say quickly, before your brain loses capacity for human speech, the way it usually does in his presence.

With a flex of his arm that you will absolutely be reliving in the dark of your own bedroom later, he heaves the pot onto the counter, quickly dusting his hands off on the white apron he's tied around his waist. You try very hard not to notice that the way it's tied emphasizes the ratio of his broad shoulders to his trim waist, and fail spectacularly.

"Y/N," he intones in his deep voice, low and smooth. "You're back."

You wince.

You are most certainly back, unable to avoid the siren call of the fifteen minutes you spend together on almost a weekly basis, your eyes desperate to drink your fill of him.

You'll never take this anywhere, would never dream of being inappropriate or making your move on him. He's so obviously uninterested, with a face and a body and a voice like that. But you can't help but want to spend these few, small minutes with him anyway. He's so beautiful--and beyond that, there is something about the way he speaks, the way he moves, the careful way he does everything that soothes some strange itch in you--that blurs the daily stresses of your life into the background.

You always leave feeling calm, somehow. Content. Like you can handle the rest of the week if you just hold the memory of him like a protective charm against the rest of the world.

He's fucking magic.

"Uh, yeah," you say stupidly. "Here I am!"

Those eyes flicker over you evaluatively, and a heart-rending hint of a smile pulls at his full mouth. "What's the occasion?"

You realize you've failed to come up with an excuse, too focused on the movement of his biceps as he carried that pot.

"Uh, just, uh, something for me this time," you say. "It's supposed to be rainy all weekend and I'm thinking some flowers would keep my apartment bright and friendly." You give yourself a little mental pat on the back for pulling that idea out of your own butt.

Todoroki makes a low humming noise that goes right down your spine. "Did you have a long week?" he asks.

"Ugh, the worst," you say before you remember that no man likes a complainer. But Todoroki doesn't look like he minds, watching you curiously like he wants an explanation.

You wave a hand. "Just, office politics stuff. I had a big report due and spent like an hour trying to stop marketing from trying to spin the numbers their way. It got, uh, heated." You scrub a hand over your cheeks. "But anyway it's the weekend now and that's over. I'm going to curl up with a good book and a glass of wine and pretend for the next forty-eight hours like I've never even heard of marketing."

Another curve of a smile pulls at Todoroki's mouth.

"Any plans for you this weekend?" you ask, eager to hear about him.

He nods, his red and white bangs dipping in front of his eyes for a moment. "I'm going to visit my mother," he says. "It's her birthday soon, her first one since leaving the hospital."

Over the course of the last few months, you'd worked the story out of Todoroki, about how she'd been hospitalized when he was young, of the growing and changing and forgiving his family has had to do since. He always talks about it in such a conscientious way, and it's a major part of the reason you like him so much. If only you too, could be so patient and thoughtful and good.

"Oh my god," you say. "Please tell her happy birthday from me! Can I--I want to get her a little bouquet from me, then, if you--uh--if you don't mind. Um. Arranging it?"

Todoroki's eyes fix on you unblinkingly, and for a minute you think you might have overstepped, until his eyes crease and his mouth softens in a way that you know means he's pleased--the same way he looks when he finishes an arrangement and you can't help but pile him in heaping praise.

"I'd like that," he says.

You grin.

Used to the routine, you dump your bag off by the register and follow him to the buckets of unarranged flowers he keeps along the storefront, watching his broad back as he leads you, trying not to stare at the slim fit of his pants as he does.

"What are the feelings you want to convey?" Todoroki asks, like he always does when you start.

"I want something happy. Joy, um, good wishes. I want these flowers to symbolize my most excellent vibes," you say, cringing when it comes out as stupid as it does.

Todoroki huffs a tiny little laugh, though, and a hot little thrill of pleasure sweeps from your head to your toes.

"Your most excellent vibes," he repeats in his low tone, sounding dangerously close to amused.

He reaches out, and under his hands, a small, beautiful bouquet comes together--creamy yellow lilies and tiny coral roses and a spray of white buds and bright leafy sprigs of greenery. Lilies symbolize happiness he tells you, orange roses energy and joy, and the white buds are for rebirth, new beginnings.

It's lovely, almost as lovely as he is.

You're pleased, and happily hand over your card to him, taking a blank note card from the register till and penning out a short note of best wishes to Rei, who you have heard so much about.

You chat a little bit more, and insist on Todoroki letting you pick out the wrapping for when he brings the flowers to her, picking out the brown paper you've always liked and a little orange ribbon to match the vibrant roses.

"You have to make it extra fancy when you wrap it," you order him, pointing your pen at him like a weapon. "No taking shortcuts because she's your mom and she'll love anything you put together regardless. I want pictures when I'm back here next week."

His eyebrows raise, and a real smile pulls at his mouth, then, a glowing half-moon grin, so utterly devastating in its beauty. Your heart almost falls out of your butt and you have to grab the counter just to keep your knees from getting too wobbly.

"The vibes will be excellent," he teases, the words sounding so strange and foreign in the crispness of his almost princely tones.

You watch him place them in water and attach your card, carrying them over to the fridge which is already overstuffed with a million different bouquets, each more beautiful than the last.

You shoulder on your bag again, eyes drinking in one last fill of Todoroki Shouto and his shop to keep you sated over the coming week, when Todoroki glances back over one broad shoulder.

"Wait," he says. Your feet freeze on the tile obediently.

You watch curiously as he tucks his mother's bouquet into the fridge, and then even more curiously as he pulls an absolutely gorgeous bouquet of flushed pink peonies from the top shelf. Some are light pink, little shy blushes of color, and others are deep rose, full and pouty and absolutely perfect. Little green leaves peek through in colorful bursts, breaking up the color palette just so.

It's so classical and beautiful, and your eyebrows climb into your hairline when Todoroki pulls them from their vase, wrapping them in that brown paper you like and tying them off in a trailing emerald ribbon with a deft twist of his deliciously long fingers.

"Do you need me to make a delivery?" you wonder aloud. "Because I accept cash, credit, or praise and eternal gratitude."

But Todoroki just smiles again, stepping up to you, so close that your back bumps the counter--close enough that you feel the whisper of his apron across your coat. This near, his face is even more lovely, and you can see the flushed pink skin of his scar so clearly, smell the earthy fingerprint of flowers on him.

He presses the peonies into your hands, leaning down to look into your face.

"They're for you," he says, his voice suddenly lower than you've ever heard it. "The pink ones have a special meaning."

He can't mean anything by it, but your heart is working overtime, every inch of your skin breaking out into a furious flush with his proximity and the low, conspiratorial register of his voice.

"I--they do?" you manage to squeak out.

Todoroki nods, a slow incline of his head, and moves forward just a little bit more, pressing into you where you stand immobilized against the register.

Just then, the bell overhead jangles, and Todoroki closes his eyes, a still cast overcoming his features, almost like he's disappointed. He steps away, but not before trailing one long, pretty finger over the petals of one peony.

"I trust you'll figure it out," he says, and moves to help the customer, an elderly woman with a helmet of shiny silver hair.

When you let yourself out back into the rain, it's shockingly cold against your overheated skin, but you almost can't feel it, a strange haze settling over you. The train ride home is a blur, a churning, choppy sea of replayed memories from your encounter with Todoroki.

It's only when you let yourself into your apartment that you realize there's a tiny notecard buried among the flowers, and you watch as it flutters to your floor. Todoroki's untidy scrawl is all over as you pick it up with curious fingers, and you accidentally drop the peonies flat on the floor when you read it.

Y/N--

Have dinner with me

-- S

And it's followed by a phone number, carefully written so that all of the numbers stand out clearly, as clear as Todoroki's intentions suddenly are to you.

It's even more clear when you remember to google the meaning of the peonies and get caught on the words love at first sight, your face going hotter than the surface of the sun.

Your phone is in your fingers before you register you've even moved, and your message is shot off with shy but certain finality.

I'd love to.

#i didn't edit this #my b #but god bless u mermie for putting this into my brain

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seeingteacupsindragons · 1 year

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So I’ve been asked if Yuukoku no Moriarty is a “queer” manga, and I’m still inclined to say not…really? for all that it has some queer characters (love that) and a lot of themes that resonate with queerness (love those). It’s got all those good, good found families and weird relationships that can’t properly be named much of anything and characters who find happiness outside the law and at the fringes of society and people being saved by their freedom to pursue who they are rather than what they think they should be.

And in that vein, let’s talk about the fact that YuuMori says, repeatedly and in many forms, “binaries are stupid and fake and don’t exist anyway. Fuck binaries.”

For example, let’s take the one most people would recognize most easily: Bond. Male? Female? Man? Woman? Both? Neither? A switch from one to the other? Whatever the fuck they want to be whenever they want to be whichever is more convenient at the time? C’mon, there’s literally a photo of the character in both forms, together, and Sherlock just folds it in half and flips it over as necessary. Bond does not give a shit about gender binaries.

Criminals and detectives? What about a criminal who can catch criminals as well as any detective? What about a detective who can commit a crime as well as any criminal? Why don’t they both have both skillsets interchangeably, to be used whenever one is more convenient than the other and whenever they personally want to. They’re not that different, whatever other people think.

Nobles? Commoners? We have at least two little orphan boys who bridged the gap, and possibly two Holmes who diverged on it as well. They seem in opposition, yet at least one noble wants to stop the corruption, as does the Queen herself. Following your queen’s orders is a good thing, and yet leading another country to tragedy demands eternal atonement of their descendants.

Light and darkness? What about the lord of the dark criminal underworld being a shining beacon of light in the dark night? What about a shining light of justice being full of tainted bad habits and dark impulses? What about a pretty face with a dark mind and a bad boy aura with a golden heart?

Fire and water? But both are dangerous, and both are rejuvenating, and both can work together. They’re not opposites: they’re both needed, and they can both exist together. Who said they can’t?

The criminal mastermind and the Government itself? No, sorry, they’re actually working together for the same goals, on a spectrum together, more similar than different.

Good? Evil? What do those things even mean? How do you determine what it is, when actions and intentions and consequences all mix together: murder is bad, but covering up the sins of a hero keep his good goals intact for the public to believe in. Hurting other people is evil, and stopping them is good. But how are you stopping them? And why?

It’s just a repeated thing: two things that seem like opposites, that are society deemed as two Entirely Separate Things which cannot mix are…actually the same, actually exist in all people, and actually are interchangeable. None of these binaries mean anything: it’s just a division of things on the same spectrum with the same meaning. To divide them at all is an unnecessary societal farce that ends up hurting people more than it helps.

And goddamn if that isn’t queer. Queer, not LGBTQIAP+: because dividing people up and labeling them doesn’t matter when the labels can be mixed up and thrown out and thrown everywhere.

#Yuukoku no Moriarty #Moriarty the Patriot #I didn't edit this #shhh

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rotten7rat · 3 months

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Jason found the first strand of white in his hair when he was 15. He didn't bring it up to Bruce; he dyes his hair anyway, and Bruce was mad at him so why bring up something as stupid as grey hairs? He forgot about it. He goes to Ethiopia. And we all know the rest.

Talia is brushing his hair, wondering if he is even really aware of what she is doing, when she finds a few stands of white in his crown. Over the next few months, Jason makes very few improvements. He does little more than look out his window and fuss like a child younger than his years. But he seems to recognise some people: a couple of friendly servants who tend to him the most, Talia, and the little boy trailing silently behind her. His patch of white grows as he does. Slowly but steadily. Ra's tells Talia Jason is a waste of time, resources. But Talia has plans for the boy.

Jason looks at his face reflected in the river beneath him. Really looks at it. It had been 6 months since the Pit, nearly a year since he came back from the dead. A year of puberty had changed him significantly, the Pit seemingly allowing him to grow past three years of desperate hunger and missed milestones. Despite the deep scars that warp and twist his face, his teachers call him young and childish when referring to his appearance (and his attitide), but Jason sees how much he has changed. The shape of his nose, the width of his jaw, his once strawberry-blonde hair has darkened, the curls not as tight as they were. His shoulders are much more broad than he remembers, and he realised last week that he must be almost Dick's height tall for his age now. But what his eyes linger on is the patch of white pushed back from his sweaty forehead. He has a vague memory of a single white hair, of not wanting to tell Bruce finding it important at the time. The single strand has grown into a patch almost the width of his thumb, some strands spread further from the main streak, almost giving it a faded-out look. His teacher calls for him and he turns away from his reflection. What he looks like is unimportant, he has plans to enact.

Bruce looks at the child young man across him, helmet off and pain open to the cold Gotham air. The scars that run from chin to temple are deep, and Bruce remembers the way that part of his child's face hung on by a thread, soot settling into the no longer bleeding flesh and the crevices between his exposed teeth. He remembers what it looked like when it was sewn up; Bruce had opted for a closed-casket funeral in the end, unable to look at his boy's mutilated face, the way his freckles contrasted against his pale skin, never to flush or tan or sunburn again. What he also remembers is finding a lone strand of white hair in his son's curly bangs weeks prior, not wanting to bring it up lest he upset the boy. Willis was grey at the temples in his mugshot, and he was only 27, and Sheila bleached her hair to hide her own salt and pepper strands despite being only 35. His boy had earned a few premature grey hairs, after everything he had been through, but a 15 year old boy might not feel the same way, and Bruce did not want to damage Jason's confidence. The strand had grown in his absence, now bright and obvious in the dim lighting. Bruce's hands shook as he plucked a batarang from his belt. His hands never shook, and so he didn't notice when they shook as he took aim at the barrel of the gun. He should have noticed how they shook.

#i didn't edit this #dc comics #dc universe #batfamily #jason todd #red hood #bruce wayne #batman #i finally decided after a year that jasons white hair is genetics and not the pit #i think by 22 he's got white flecks in his facial hair #he'll probably be mostly white by his mid thirties #my boy has been STRESSED #this is the first time I have ever written fanfiction of any sort so please be nice #dc headcanon #jason todd headcanon #dc fanfiction #ginger jason todd #jason todd's white hair

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thisname5ucks · 1 year

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#i didn't edit this #McDonald's

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teal-fiend · 1 year

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Vampire prey 2

This is the opposite of the trope where you go to a stranger’s house and it’s a vampire or a monster that kills you.

Content: soft vore, willing prey, implied digestion, reformation

Their car had rolled to a stop, completely out of gas. A found themselves at the foot of a decaying mansion house, which was the only sign of civilisation for miles and miles.

Just as they were about to knock on the door, it opened, and a woman greeted them very politely. She was dressed in a black gown, and her black hair went down past her shoulders. A couldn’t tell if she was in her 20s or her 50s; she seemed kind of ageless.

She listened to their story about the car breaking down, and they were invited inside. Their host said that tomorrow she would take them into town to arrange a tow truck or something of the like, but she insisted that they stay the night. That was fine for A.

The inside of the mansion was better kept than the outside, and it was lit well by candles and chandeliers.

Unfortunately, the host said that she didn’t have enough food for a proper dinner, but she would show A to the guest room. A placed their bag by the foot of the bed, and when they turned around, the woman was extremely close to them.

“Are you hungry?” She asked

A stepped back and fell onto the bed

“I’m such a bad host, not feeding my guests, but maybe we can still arrange something…”

She touched a finger to their lips, and A could smell her nail polish.

Eating the host would be way too rude. Although they were hungry, they didn’t feel entitled to a free meal especially when they arrived at a stranger's home unannounced. It was strange that she claimed there was no food at all, because then, what was she eating?

But her hand went into their mouth, and they couldn’t help but swallow, again, and again, until their belly was full. A pulled the covers up over their middle. The lump was still pronounced. It was all very strange to A. They hadn’t eaten prey in a while. Was it really that obvious? And furthermore, what kind of person would let themselves get eaten so easily?

A felt a little bit bad about eating a hermit who had been nice to them, but what felt better was a warm and full belly, and a soft bed. They relaxed as the woman began to digest. Although they were not able to fall asleep, because of the strangeness, and the questions that were starting to pop up in their head. What if she wasn’t the only person in the house? If someone showed up right now, they would be in trouble.

But no-one did, and the house was dead silent. Except for the growls of their stomach as it laboured diligently, digesting its unexpected dinner. A hoped it would be mostly finished by morning.

Morning came, and it was actually early. The sun hadn’t risen all the way yet, and it was still dark. Still, A didn’t want to hang around. Even though their stomach was still busy, they got out of bed, collected their things, went back to make the bed (although it didn’t look as good as it did before they slept in it), and went down the stairs to the parlour. B was there

“Oh, you’re up early. Did you sleep well?”

A could feel what they thought was her still sitting heavily in their gut. But there she was.

A was too dumbfounded to say anything except, “Why?”

B smiled sympathetically

“We have to look out for each other, don’t we?”

Each other. A didn’t know what this person was. When she smiled her teeth were sharp. Maybe she was a monster in the broader sense that would fit into the same category as A.

Either way, their car had a full tank of gas. They took out their map and circled their current location for future reference, before continuing on their drive.

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queen-of-the-queers · 2 years

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7 and jabitha for I love you game <3

Hey Layla! Thanks for the ask. I had so much fun writing this.

“Let’s go out. Just the two of us.” Jughead whispers into his girlfriend’s ear.

Despite the room full of people, he’s entirely focused on Tabitha, one arm wrapped around her shoulders and the other resting on her thigh.

She turns to face him, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes.

“Right now?”

He laughs. A few people throughout the room turn to stare at them but most continue on with their own discussions.

“Yeah, I mean, you’re clearly not having fun and we might as well enjoy whatever time I have left, right?”

Tabitha frowns slightly, threading their fingers together on one hand and absent mindedly fiddling with the ring on the other.

“Don’t talk like that Jug. I’m not letting you die, I’ve already promised that.” She says. Her voice is thick with passionate conviction.

“You know you can’t control what happens,” he says calmly, “but that’s a conversation for later. Right now, I say we ditch this boring attempt at a party and go and try out those new mock tails at Cucina Sacasa.”

She opens her mouth but the protest dies on her lips. Instead, she sighs and nods, smiling as he presses a kiss to her hand and helps her out of the seat. As Jughead passes Tabitha her handbag, she can’t help but think ‘how am I so lucky?’. And from the grin he gives, she’s sure he heard her.

xoxo

I hope you like it, bestie <3

#i didn't edit this #so i hope you enjoy #thanks for the ask layla bestie <3 #jabitha #tabitha tate #riverdale #jughead jones #riverdale season six #rivvie dale takes #muaficcies

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butchfalin · 5 months

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the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

#yeehaw #1k #5k #10k #posts that got cursed. blasted. im making these tag updates after... 19 hours?#also i have been told it should say speech loss bc nonverbal specifically refers to the permanent state. did not know that!#unfortunately i fear it is so far past containment that even if i edited it now it would do very little. but noted for future reference #edit 2: nvm enough ppl have come to rb it from me directly that i changed the wording a bit. hopefully this makes sense #also. in case anyone is curious. though i doubt anyone who is commenting these things will check the original tags #1) my friend did not do this on purpose in any way. it was not intended to distract me or to hit on me. im a lesbian hes a gay man. cmon now #he felt very bad about it afterwards. i thought it was hilarious but it was very embarrassed and apologetic #2) “why didn't he use 🫵🏼?” didn't exist yet. “why didn't he use 🆗?” dunno! we'd been using a lot of hand emojis. 👌🏼 is an ok sign #like it makes sense. it was just a silly mixup. also No i did not invent 👉🏼👌🏼 as a gesture meaning sex. do you live under a rock #3) nonspeaking episodes are a recurring thing in my life and have been since i was born. this is not a quirky one-time thing #it is a pervasive issue that is very frustrating to both myself and the people i am trying to communicate with. in which trying to speak is #extremely distressing and causes very genuine anguish. this post is not me making light of it it's just a funny thing that happened once #it's no different than if i post about a funny thing that happened in conjunction w a physical disability. it's just me talking abt my life #i don't mind character tags tho. those can be entertaining. i don't know what any of you are talking about #Except the ppl who have said this is pego/ryu or wang/xian. those people i understand and respect #if you use it as a writing prompt that's fine but send it to me. i want to see it #aaaand i think that's it. everyday im tempted to turn off rbs on it. it hasn't even been a week

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luwha · 9 months

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Tumblr: No NSFW! You know how it is we banned it because of the bots in 2018!

Also tumblr:

#Edited because someone said they're not bots #i think they are because i did click on their streams and it was loop r extremely obscene #and i didn't LOOK for them #it's being blasted to ALL users #i don't think this is safe for them like this

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platyroonism · 2 months

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aren't you tired of being nice? don't you just wanna go apeshit?

#flowey #papyrus #undertale #i just had an idea HFDLHKALHFJKDAL #EDIT: TO BE CLEAR i think papyrus and flowey are besties but flowey tantrums like a baby and needs his shit rocked sometimes #hiii i didn't think so many people would rb this and now it's top post in papyrus' tag (sob)#sorry to the papyrus and flowey friendship truthers i'm one of u........ i promise...#plart

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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.