#am i sorry about this? am i?

[starpirateee]

oh god. okayyy

so, after a rather lengthy conversation with @scripted-downfall, we came up with this self indulgent ass fic... Because we decided that Wilbur Cross could, in fact, cook, and old habits die hard :)

so.... pasta!

and i swear to god this was supposed to be a bit. a bit! you wouldn't believe that after it turned out to be... 3100 words and 90% of it didn't even involve pasta

Not many people had a second chance at life. PEIP had done enough investigating to be able to at least assume that, if there ever had been… Others. People who had been affected by the entities within the Black and White… Then they were no longer alive. Wilbur- Wiley- was enough of an exception in just that factor alone, but there was something else that set them apart from the potential endless number of others.

They had escaped.

John didn't know how it had happened. Apparently, his agents didn't know about them either. Not their escape or what had happened to them afterwards. He couldn't exactly do much better for himself, but Wiley had appeared on his doorstep in the middle of the night- a mess of blood, erratic breath, and shot nerves -and he had to forge an explanation for himself.

It was close to three am when he opened the door, under the impression that nobody in their right mind would come to him at that time in the morning unless it was an emergency. And an emergency, it was. The moment he opened the door, his eyes darted over the mess that was once his mentor, his friend… Frankly, he couldn't help the grimace that followed.

"Jesus, Wil… What the- What the hell happened to you?"

He had been aware for years that Wilbur Cross was dead. It still took a level of restraint to remember that, especially on days like today, when there was such an obvious reminder that the truth was anything but. Not dead. Not at all. Changed. In appearance, they were almost exactly the same.

Almost being the operative word, of course.

The same tall, thin frame, the same dark hair that grazed their shoulders, just as it always had… But that was about where the similarities stopped. It was still hard to get used to the dead stare, the flicker of green that crackled like lightning, or the way that everything about them was just a little… Off.

Too bright. Too sharp. Too far gone. That was always the problem with them. Always just a little bit too far away from being human… Never quite close enough to pass.

At the moment, they were struggling to keep themself upright. They were shaking, forcing themself to stay in check, or to stay present.

They stumbled forwards, and John held out a hand to catch them. "Woah, shit-"

"Didn't know where else to go…" They muttered in a broken whisper, swiping the back of their hand over their face, and collecting a loose trickle of blood that was running down their cheek.

John frowned, looping his arm around their waist and leading them inside. "No, it's okay. It's okay…" The need to express his reluctance to let them go again felt redundant. Right now, there wasn't much of an option otherwise, he wasn't just going to let them try and find someplace else, no matter what they'd done in the past. "What happened?"

The two of them sat down on the couch. Wiley immediately sank into it, feeling the stiff leather underneath their hands, cool and unfamiliar and… and…

Safe.

They were… Safe here. It was way too quiet, and that was never good- not from their experience- but for once, they had no doubt that this quiet was different. They breathed, felt the way their chest heaved like this was the first time they'd ever done it.

"… Got out."

Why was it that something so simple as getting their mind to coordinate was such a hard task?

They stretched out their fingers, digging them into the fabric of their jeans, acknowledging and desperately appreciating the way their fingernails felt as they dug in just enough to make it noticeable. This- whatever coincidence had landed them on the doorstep of John McNamara of all people- was real. Some insane luck, or a game of chance that they didn't want to think about, had forced them into remembering directions, an address…

Maybe this wasn't chance. Maybe there was something left in the back of their mind that said this was what they had to do.

The thought of that made breathing a little easier. If this wasn't coincidence- if they had meant to find John all along- then maybe they were meant to break the cycle, to escape…

"You got out?" John echoed, making sure to keep his voice soft. Wiley just nodded, and John turned a little to face them. "Out of what? Out of the Black?"

Another nod. "It broke. It- it shattered. Like fuckin' glass, John! And I- I saw a way out, so I started runnin'. Didn't stop. Couldn't stop. I'm clear, John, it's quiet, it's so, so quiet…"

Saying his name felt good. It filled the quiet with something that wasn't that daunting static. Any second now, the voices would come back, carrying with them the painful sparks of colour that set fire to their mind… They'd be dragged back into the unknown, and then all this blood- the injuries they'd sustained from trying to force themself out- would get worse. They knew that much.

For now, though… For this very second in this very location… They were a little safer than they could ever remember being.

John tried to wrap his head around that. What they'd said didn't make a whole lot of sense, sure, but there was something in there that did. Maybe it wouldn't explain why they were so afraid, or what they were running from, but maybe it explained that they'd been nothing but a prisoner for all this time.

He had to forgive himself for not being able to think this through. It was barely three in the morning, he'd never had to be this alert this early before…

"And the blood?" The tesselation of scratches leaving jagged lines in their skin; their face, the back of their hands…

"They weren't gonna make it easy,"

"What d'you mean?"

"I hadta fight." The brown in their eyes that John didn't even notice was there started to shine through. They heaved a sigh, the most sturdy they'd sounded since they'd gotten here. "Doesn't matter. I'll be fine."

"Wil, you're bleeding on my couch, you can't say that…"

"I'm fine." They insisted. And that was true, for the time being. They were fine here. Fine with John. All of that would change when they had to leave, and it was extremely late, so that was going to be sooner than they thought… What then? What happened when they exposed themself again, made it known exactly where they were?

John nodded. He wasn't certain that he believed them, but it was a start, he supposed. If they thought they were going to be fine, then there was no reason why he shouldn't believe them. "You said it was… Quiet. Can I take it that's a good thing?"

"I dunno. Never been this quiet before. I dunno what to make of it."

"Why's it so quiet?"

"I can't hear 'em in my head."

That needed no explanation, of course. John knew exactly what they were referring to, and that they knew more about those entities than he or anyone at PEIP ever would. He found he had nothing to say- perhaps a direct result of that gaping hole in his knowledge. Nobody knew anything about the Black and White for sure, and the one who did refused to elaborate. Not like he could blame them in the slightest for any of that…

Wiley forced a sigh. "That won't last long. They'll be back… Always are."

Whether it was his tiredness talking, or that hopeful part of him that had never believed in Wilbur's death, John didn't know. But he briefly let his impulses take over the cloud of thoughts in his mind, and spoke the first words that settled.

"You can stay, if you want."

"Huh?"

"Look, it's some ungodly hour of the morning, and sure, you might be fine in a couple hours, but you're not now…"

Right.

Now…

The passage of time was so fast here, but that was only because it worked in the first place. They still hadn't so much as comprehended that yet. There was a ‘now’, the present moment. Exactly as things stood in this second, this moment. And in that now, John was making them an offer.

But offers didn't exist. They weren't real. It was always a bargain, something both parties could benefit from, or a deal, where they would have to exchange something. What was he getting from this?

Did that even matter? There must've been a reason why they'd gone to him first, and they doubted it was because he was the only person they knew…

Their eyes met his. They were searching for something, any kind of indication that he was going to say something else- the other half of the deal. Nothing came. John's gaze was soft, almost expectant. He was waiting for them.

"I'd be gone before you can think about it." Was that a promise? If it was, they certainly meant it. Either in that they were going to make sure of it themself, or that they were going to get found out.

John hummed. "I know… I'm not offering for my benefit."

This wasn't a bargain at all. John was seriously just offering his hospitality for as long as it lasted. They faltered, then nodded slowly "… Th- thank you, John."

John seemed rather satisfied that they'd decided to take him up on the offer. That, or… Relieved, maybe? Either way, he only lasted another half hour or so before he bade Wiley goodnight and turned in, leaving them alone with the strange tangibility of the world.

The silence of the night settled in fast. Wiley decided the immediate course of action was to take care of that which John was so concerned about. All things considered, it wasn't so bad. They could definitely remember being in more pain, that was for sure.

They closed one hand over the top of the other, pressing down a little. They were about as real as anything else that belonged in the Black, and the rules of this dimension applied to them just as little. That seemed especially true when they were in it, and that made this particular job a lot easier.

When they lifted their hand again, the scratch was just another jagged white line to add to the others that already littered their skin. It was a little raised, and red around the edges, but such were the messes associated with fresh scars.

Though, getting rid of the feeling of their own freezing cold blood running down their face was always a relief, they had to admit. One by one they sorted he remaining remnants of their escape, until there was nothing left but the old ghosts of what once was, and the memory associated with them.

Suddenly they were so much more bothered about the time. Being here had never done that to them before, but they'd gained a certain vigilance to it out of nowhere. With the time they'd spent getting to John, and with the conversation that followed, they'd already been out of the Black for well over an hour.

Those hours just kept multiplying, adding onto each other until they started to doubt that they would ever be found. John came and went at some point in the early morning, surprised to see them still there, but arguably even more surprised to see that they'd made a full recovery since he'd last seen them.

Seven and a half hours, and nothing. This was by far the best of their luck, which had never been so bountiful before today. They had a sneaking suspicion that they couldn't be this lucky forever.

Nine hours, ten, eleven… They were still startlingly alone. With the need to keep that particular string of thoughts out of their mind, they started to zone out, loosening their grip on the world a little. Frankly, they couldn't remember the last time this was a safe bet, but it had been so long already… Surely if they wanted to chase them down or reappear from the confines of their mind, then they would've done so already.

Unless they were waiting until they thought for certain that they were alone to strike.

Before that could settle, before they started to believe that as a possibility, they faded out. John's space- the four walls they'd been getting used to for the last stretch of time- started to blur off into the vast expanse of nothing.

There was something in the back of their mind that told them they needed to move, to get away from this scene. This was becoming too familiar. They needed to move and they needed to do so quickly.

Feeling the weight of unknowable dread settling in their chest, they rose from their position on the couch and started to wander.

Their footsteps were completely silent against the hardwood floor. That would never do… Something needed to pull them out of this ever changing void, and remind them that they could be so lucky, that they weren't going to have their luck run out on them.

They'd passed into another room. The silence was washed out by the sound of a tiny clock, and several things humming to preserve the life in them. At once, they recalled purposes, a multitude of functions for a multitude of things. Their vision started to clear ever so slightly. This felt blissful. Their singular track mind felt a little more at ease here.

I know what I'm doing here. A purpose. Everything else has one, and so do I. What?

They felt themself reach out. In that moment, clarity was restored. Static faded out, the thoughts subsided, and they had drawn themself back enough to see what was going on.

Their hand was about three inches from John's knife block.

Eyes widened, they flinched violently and forced themself back until they hit the wall. Fuck. Fuck. Falling out of touch with the world was a bad call and always had been a bad call. There was danger in fading out, in becoming what they feared.

Don't let it take over.

Once, they had remembered a name. It used to be theirs, it was the one John remembered. Even if they could never reclaim it, bits of their past were locked in that name, no more than magazine cutouts, worn and faded with age. Those cutouts were often the only thing keeping them from cracking once and for all. The first passage of a song, or the way someone's voice used to sound. With that came instinct. It was never enough, the broken pieces, but they pretty much knew how to keep themself alive.

Boredom and a desperate need to drown out the silence were not… Always included in that instinct, but at the moment they had tools at their disposal, and at least enough in their memory to find something to do.

The knives were an immediate no. It didn't matter what they did, that was going to be readily avoided, if they could help it. Too close to slipping… Way too much of a dangerous call in this situation.

John had ingredients. Funny, there was some passing flicker in the back of their mind that recalled him admitting to not being a particularly strong cook…

They let their conscience take a backseat while those strange instincts took over. Sure, they knew what they were doing- they were fully aware- but there was something telling them they'd only ruin it if they had full control. Everything they touched was destroyed in some way. This was no different.

If they were fully in control right now, the way this instinct was slowly building some old dish they clearly knew would be destroyed too. The worst part of them had a habit of rearing it's head when it wasn't wanted, who knew how far they'd be able to send the ingredients into a state of rot and disrepair?

So, they made themself relax. The constant repetition and apparently ingrained knowledge of these steps made that a little easier. It was almost… Therapeutic. And the longer they stayed at it, the more they found themself capable of neglecting the thought that they'd put a huge target on their back.

There was something about this freedom that was almost blissful, in it's own way.

That's why they were so shaken when that bliss was interrupted from an outside source. The door. Footsteps that stopped all too rapidly. A voice, quiet and confused. A familiar voice.

"… What the hell?"

John.

John had had a weird few hours since Wiley showed up at his doorstep. First, he'd woken up that morning to find they'd made a full recovery from the number of scratches drawing their blood, and then he came home a little early, and had been immediately struck with the unmistakeable smell of cooking.

Domestic bliss wasn't on the cards for him. At a job like that, coming home to someone else- forcing himself into secrecy for the sake of something bigger than himself- didn't seem like his scene at all.

Of course, he hadn't forgotten about Wiley, but he certainly hadn't been expecting… That.

"What the hell?"

Vaguely amused and very confused, he followed the scent down to its source, and found the result to be even more surprising than the idea alone.

"Uh, Wil?"

Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ. A single moment had taken him back some eleven or twelve years. The two of them shared a space, then. For convenience, Wilbur had said, and John agreed. It had been convenient, and had definitely saved them many a midnight phonecall over the ideas they just couldn't shake.

And the only thing that made it even more worthwhile was the fact that Wilbur just casually demonstrated in the early days that he was a fantastic cook. John found the thought of it amusing, but Wilbur had proven as much, and after that, he stopped ever doubting his friend's talents.

Now it was happening again. There were spice pots haphazardly collected on the countertop, and the air was filled with the fresh aroma of tomato sauce. He couldn't believe what he was witnessing.

Wiley glanced at the tiny clock their lost mind had picked up on earlier, and then dared to turn around momentarily. "John… Didn't expect ya…"

Wiley huffed a breath of laughter that curled back their lips and brought about just another reminder that this wasn't the past it once had been. Too white. Too sharp. Too many.

John wanted to follow that with some comment about being early, but he was completely fixated on the fact that the thing closest to being Wilbur was back in his kitchen making fucking pasta of all things. He blinked, trying to ignore how nostalgic that all felt. "I… Wasn't exactly expecting you to be in my kitchen making pasta… What's going on there?"

Not human.

Not Wilbur.

"Got restless. This was… Instinct, I guess."

"Instinct?"

They shrugged. "Somethin' like that."

[razzafrazzle]

Just Checking In! (aka Something About Red Triangles)

[sadclowncentral]

cannot stop thinking about the french man who during dinner responded to a person asking "should we be naughty and get desert" by pulling a face and going "naughty? it is chocolate, it is not an, uh, threesome"

[podcastwizard]

this will not be a bridgerton blog but for the foreseeable future i will not be thinking about anything other than bridgerton

(original post @romanceyourdemons)

[endusviolence]

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.

[becomingpotatoes]

i swear to god people need to learn the difference between ai generated voice and vocal synth. mastering the art of a vocal synth is hard. you have to tune that shit yourself. you have to edit the vocals and do it all yourself. it takes hours to get a synth to sing a song well. when people make covers of songs with miku they are not just imputing a song and boom she sings it. not like how people do with ai. also, vocal synths were created specifically to assist musicians who struggle with finding vocalists (hiring a vocalist is fucking expensive) or cant provide vocals on their own. vocal synths are instruments and tools that one needs to learn and master, and they get their voice providers from people who 100% consented to having their vocals used. hatsune miku is not ai. using vocaloid or synthv or utau is not anything like lazily ai generating a voice at all. grow the fuck up.

[stil-lindigo]

hobie motherfuckin' brown!!!!!!

[valtsv]

[callisteios]

Hi, feel free to take my new uquiz to discover what kind of vampire you are!

[fantastic-nonsense]

reylos crying on twitter because Adam Driver explicitly confirmed that Bendemption was never originally in the plans for Kylo....this is justice for the last 8 years, actually

[stalebagels]

Edit: muted this monstrosity but if you're looking for the blank template it's on my blog and I'll tag this and it with "the stupid fucking shorts post" so you don't have to scroll through everything 💀😂 (I did not make the template btw, I don't know who the OP is but if you do please let me know)

[hel7l7]

I don't know how to talk about this

[cozylittleartblog]

@staff if you [change] the [design] of the fucking [dashboard] i will kill you

edit. i want it on the actual post that i am not actually making a de-th threat against the staff. that's shitty. the caption quotes the fucking costco hot dog meme, which i originally said in the tags. if any staff member sees this please do Not take it personally

[irlplasticlamb]

kazia parkerowska aka spider star is an 18 years old polish doomer art student who got bitten by a radioactive spider and then convinced (khe khe forced) into a superhero role by her kooky hippie auntie majka. woohoo. nothing better than to save the world when you don’t give an absolute shit!

prints + merch + commission info

[poisondionaea-art]

I'm so happy with the 'Deadpool and Wolverine' Gambit

Man you have no idea, I'm Cajun and I've always been irked by the different variations of Gambit because Remy is one of my favorite characters but he's never been proper Cajun. He's always had a stereotypical southern gentleman accent that's not something anyone in Louisiana or New Orleans would have, he says French words in most variations but none of them are words we actually say here.

But this variation of Gambit, oh he is amazing, he has a proper Cajun accent which I was worried about when I saw Channing Tatum but he nailed it, it's spot on sounds like my family members and friends. They forwent his usual French words that no one here says for actual proper Cajun words we commonly use here in Louisiana the whole theater was going nuts. When he said sha (no one uses cher or mon cher / cheri everyone uses "sha" , " oh sha" or "mah sha" ) instead of cher or cheri you had people clapping and laughing with joy , he called someone a couyon (fool/ idiot in French commonly used even with monolingual english speakers here in louisiana) and everyone was loosing their minds.

I live in the part of Louisiana where Cajun accents, dialect and French are most prevalent in the state and everyone was so happy with Gambit. I love how this variation came out , I think Channing did a terrific job and I hope that any other variations of Gambit in the future are more like this one.

[bizarrelittlemew]

i can't wait to be 30+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 40+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 50+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 60+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 70+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 80+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to be 90+ and still in fandom and i can't wait to look back on my life and know that i loved things deeply and passionately and was inspired to create and was part of communities with incredible people from all over the world brought together by the stories that touched us