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mrsfrecklesmarauders · 10 months

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The First Kiss

AN: Remus is trans and Rosie is his death name before he transitioned.

Childhood friends to lovers Wolfstar

Muggle AU

************

Rosie felt utterly weird around the feminine world. Like she didn't belong there. Perhaps that was why she didn't get along with the girls from her class. They thought she was weird. And now, she felt so uncomfortable around Sirius' cousins.

It had been a weird Winter. For starters, Mrs. Black had given her a Barbie Doll as a Christmas present. The doll had an awful pink dress, shoes and purse to combine. Rosie was supposed to be grateful, thrilled. Weren't girls supposed to like dolls? But that doll had the same fake smile that Rosie had to put on. The next day, she cut the Barbie's hair, painted it red, and she dressed the Barbie with trousers and a hoodie. Rosie decided to call it Arnold.

Sirius thought it was cool.

Then, Sirius' cousins were around. Three teenage girls who were everything Rosie wasn't: feminine and pretty. Rosie found the teenage girls intimidating. They kept asking if she was Sirius' girlfriend. Teasing them.

Even though Rosie had a crush on Sirius, she didn't like the world "girlfriend". And Sirius got flushed and angry every time. Denying the whole thing.

"Rosie is just my friend!"

In New Years, The Black Family prepared a party as they always did. Rosie and her parents were invited. But in the middle of the night, when Sirius and Regulus got called by their mother Rosie was kidnapped by Bellatrix, Narcissa and Andromeda.

"You ought to have a makeover"

Rosie thought there was anything wrong with the jeans and jacket she was wearing. But when she saw the girls with dresses, makeup and their hair fixed, Rosie felt out of place. Was she supposed to dress like that? It made her sick.

"You fancy Sirius, don't you?" Bellatrix had asked "He is not going to pay you attention if you practically dress like a boy"

Rosie flushed. How did they know?

"Sirius is just my friend"

Bella let out a chuckle.

"That's what I said about my first boyfriend"

Rosie didn't understand why the girls giggled but somehow she was being dragged to one of the rooms and Rosie supposed there was no escape.

They made her wear a girly blouse, they loosened her hair, and sat her on a chair.

"I feel so stupid" Rosie whispered as Narcissa put makeup on her. The brush was tickling Rosie's eyelid.

The girls had been chatting about people Rosie didn't know. Gossips about who snogged who. They talked about a lad named Rod a lot. Apparently Bellatrix fancied him. They talked about some lad named Lucius too. And also, Bellatrix used the word "bitch" so many times that Rosie lost count. She wanted to leave. Where was Sirius?

"Oh you would look absolutely beautiful, darling" Narcissa giggled "I always do all my friends' makeup"

Rosie blinked as Narcissa finished with one eyelid. But it was only seconds before she started with the other.

"If you're lucky, Sirius might give you your first kiss at midnight" Bellatrix added with a smirk

Rosie blushed. She had thought about it. She wanted Sirius to be the first. But she wasn't sure if she was ready. She was only ten.

"Aaaw she is blushing" Narcissa giggled.

"Sirius might use tongue and all" Bella chanted and Narcissa laughed.

Rosie blushed even more. Use tongue? Eugh!

"Leave her alone, will you?" Andromeda said "She is just eleven and she might not be ready"

She was ten actually. But she didn't correct her.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want" Andromeda added with a smile.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

"Come on, Andy! It's about time baby whinny Sirius kisses a bird..." she raised an eyebrow at Rosie "Am I right?"

Rosie didn't know how to answer.

"Besides, Sirius talks about you all the time" Narcissa giggled "Right? He definitely fancies you"

"Really?"

Rosie felt stupid the moment she asked. It was supposed to be a secret. How she fancied Sirius. They were best friends. And Rosie would only dare to tell him when they were older. Old enough to date and that sort of stuff.

Bellatrix and Narcissa laughed. Andromeda smiled.

"Of course" Narcissa winked as she came closer and applied something on Rosie's lips. Lipstick. It felt itchy and smelled like strawberry. Rosie hated it.

Narcissa gestured at Rosie to move her lips together. Rosie copied her.

"I think she is ready for a good snog" Bella declared.

"How do I look?"

Andromeda passed her a mirror.

Rosie's reflection looked wrong and funny in all the ways possible. Her hair was loose, her curls perfectly combed. Rosie always used to keep it tied. Her eyelids had a blue color, her cheeks were slightly pink and her lips were a bit red. Her eyelashes looked longer. She looked as fake as the Barbie Doll.

Rosie frowned.

"Sirius would like this?"

"Of course!" Bellatrix winked "Boys like this sort of stuff. Sirius would want to snog you I'm sure"

"You're are beautiful, Rosie" Andromeda smiled.

Rosie felt ridiculous.

Bellatrix snorted "Cissy... Go an fetch Sirius so he can see his future girlfriend"

Rosie felt nervous. She didn't want Sirius to look at her like that. But somehow she did want that kiss. She wanted for Sirius to look at her in different eyes. Sort of like adults looked at each other when they were in love. If pretty girls like the Black Sisters thought Sirius would like it, then they were probably right.

Narcissa left with a smile. Bellatrix was smirking in a weird way. And Andromeda had an odd expression. Rosie felt like she was going to vomit.

"Oh Bella..." Andromeda tutted as she saw her sister's expression. Bellatrix sneered.

Rosie tried to ignore that.

Narcissa came back surely after. Before Rosie had time to escape. Unfortunately behind her, were Sirius and Regulus with curious faces.

"What's going on?" Sirius asked.

"We have a surprise for you!"

Bellatrix smiled and dragged Rosie to her feet. She grabbed her by her shoulders and pushed her towards Sirius.

Rosie tried to maintain the gaze.

"Rosie?"

But when Sirius blinked in surprise she looked down.

Sirius chuckled.

"What do you have in your face?" Sirius asked, then he turned to his cousins, frowning "What did you do to her?"

"Now now, Sirius" Bellatrix tutted "That's no way to treat a lady"

"Rosie is not a lady" Sirius wrinkled his nose "She is my mate..."

"Sirius..." Andromeda warned.

"You are such a pussy, Sirius!" Bellatrix tutted.

Sirius ignored her.

"Rosie, you look ridiculous" Sirius laughed.

That's what Rosie thought. But now that Sirius said it, it hurt. She had hope he would think differently. Rosie kept her gaze down, trying to ignore the knot on her throat.

"Don't you think she looks pretty?" Narcissa asked, placing a hand on Rosie's shoulder.

Sirius kept laughing.

"I think she looks pretty" Regulus whispered, only because she noticed the tears in Rosie's eyes.

Regulus was a good kid. Rosie liked him. She gave him a soft smile.

"Pretty?" Sirius chuckled "She looks like clown! I mean look at her, Reggie!"

Rosie couldn't take it anymore. She had the urge to cry. And she felt so embarrassed. So what she did was run away, pushing Sirius along the way. He had been so mean. Rosie felt ridiculous. Especially if she heard Bellatrix laughing as she ran away.

*************

Rosie received the New Year in her mother's lap, with dry tears. She had cleaned the make up and tied her hair again. She felt more comfortable wrapped around her father's jacket. By the scent of his cologne.

Sirius found her later on the night. Rosie was getting sleepy as she saw her parents dance and she tried to read her book. But her eyes kept closing and she yawned all the time.

But then Sirius took a seat beside her.

"Moony! I was looking for you!" Sirius exclaimed "I thought we were putting cockroaches on the food table, remember? Then you disappeared"

Rosie tried not looking at him. She was so embarrassed to do so.

"Are you angry with me, Moony?"

Rosie knew Sirius was making that puppy face that made her melt.

"No" But she didn't look up.

"Was it because of my cousins did to you?"

Rosie didn't answer.

"Bella is nasty! She is always doing stuff to me"

Rosie wasn't angry with Bellatrix or Sirius. She felt like an idiot for wanting to be pretty for Sirius. When Rosie hadn't been herself. She kept thinking that she would probably would have to grow up, become a teenager who used makeup and dresses, who talked about boys and giggled, like Sirius' cousins. And she hated the idea. It was bloody torture. She wanted to be someone else. Preferably someone more masculine.

"I said those things because I thought you really looked ridiculous and uncomfortable" Sirius continued, looking guilty and desperate "That's not you, Moony. Make up and stuff..."

"I am a girl... I ought to be"

Rosie wished she wasn't a girl.

"You are not just a girl... You're Moony, my mate" Sirius said. Rosie looked up. She liked how that sounded "That's what I like about you. You are different. You are cool. You don't need makeup and stuff to be pretty..."

Rosie blushed a little.

"You think I am pretty?"

Now it was Sirius' turn to blush.

"I guess" Sirius shrugged, looking down.

Rosie smiled. Sirius was still cute.

"Do you forgive me?"

Rosie sniffed and smiled.

"Okay"

Sirius smiled too. Now relieved. He stood up.

"Come on then!" Sirius said, smirking "We still have time for our little prank before the night ends"

"What about Reggie?"

Sirius rolled his eyes "He is already in bed, that baby..." he said "Let's do it... Just the two of us this time, okay?"

Rosie still had hope that Sirius would fancy her too and one day he would give her her first kiss. Was that silly to think? But for now, it would be nice to play a little prank on the guests. Just to have a laugh and start the year on the right foot.

Rosie smiled, closing her book and standing up.

"Okay, let's go"

#marauders #maraudersera #muggleau #remus lupin #trans remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #regulus black #bellatrix black #andromeda black #narcissa black #rosie lupin #childhood friends to lovers

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whispersofa-deadman · 6 months

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one thing that is impossible to convey to cisgender friends is just the inexplicable horrible disgusting feeling that comes from a deadname being uttered.

like currently, im closeted from my family and therefore only expect them to say my deadname and so ive become numb to it. at school however, i’m very lucky to say everyone from teachers to friends and peers know my real chosen name (not the one on this account teehee), pronouns, and that i’m queer. my teachers have been supportive because i also got lucky that i took classes with all the great teachers teaching them, especially my art teacher throughout high school. i also am incredibly grateful because i am lucky to have a good group of queer friends and a friend circle of supportive people (well at least for the most part. if you know, you know.)

with that said, every once in a while someone will say my deadname at school, usually an old classmate or friend i haven’t seen in ages but see me and give a passing hello, and it feels so horrendously strange. even though i hear and see the name everyday at home, when its said at school it sounds like an alien word of a language never seen outside of that utterance on earth, and having it directed at me just feels so strangely wrong.

and then this morning- a very off morning overall- something rare happened. remember my art teacher? yeah absolutely incredibly lovely woman, she is the only teacher that i trust to talk about my family situation or generally queer topics with, but also constantly stressed and visibly running all over the place in her mind. this morning, my teacher (who was just looking at portfolio assignments from the previous year, including my own with my deadname on it) just asked me something in the lesson about last year (a simple and yes or no) but for the first time sine literally a year ago, flat out deadnamed me. she hadn’t even noticed, it just slipped off her tongue and then she had to move on, and i have been sick and was very hungry and tired so i assumed i was imagining her saying it, but it was so distinctly wrong feeling and sounding that i knew it was real. the name sounded so unnatural in her voice, like her body knew it was false yet her mind kept speeding ahead. it sounded alien and it was directed at me but this time the direction made me feel as if i was wrong, as if i had just slipped through an alternate universe where i was still stuck in the same closet walls people forced me into time and time again. it felt like a slap in the face, a punch to the gut, a knife to an open wound. it felt like a reminder that no matter how hard i tried, i would always be too disconnected with who i am and how the world registers me. my name is My name but the deadname is still the one ironed onto my chest. people can nod their heads and follow the script but one mistake and i feel like a child caught playing dressyp and pretend beyond the age adults deem it appropriate. in one tiny word lasting a second from a slip up i couldn’t even correct, i felt more ill i had from the actual cold festering in me. and oce again, i understand this teacher enough to know this doesn’t mean any true malice of any kind, but man it felt like a disorienting kind of hell and made my ears feel so uncomfortable, and i don’t think i coudl ever explain it to my cisgender friends.

regardless of whether or not they changed their name, i know my trans friends could feel what i was getting at, but to everyone else they don’t feel it so they couldn’t understand it. i tried explaining it to someone and i couldn’t do it. i tried again and i couldn’t do it. being trans is truly such a unique experience even down to the aspects that many cis people ik feel they have enough of a grasp on.

idk if any of that made sense, or if this was anything worth saying. i just still feel weird and the strange alien way the name was said and felt still rattles in my mind

#zero speaks #transgender #vent #transgender experience #trans experience #names #deadname #cis people

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a-gay-old-time · 2 years

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Self-Rec Saturday

@tackytigerfic tagged me to list my five favorite pieces of mine and I’ve been feeling pretty sentimental about my fic binding this week to begin with, so here goes!

This was super hard to pick, because I learned something from all of my bindings and I still feel like I’m learning a lot every time I make a new book. Check out Tacky’s list here!

Grounds for Divorce - This was the fic that got me to start fanbinding in the first place, so of course it belongs on this list. I really love this binding and how it turned out! It’s only the third book I ever made (and the second casebound one), so it’s really cool to look back at this one and see the progress I’ve made since this one. I have vague plans of someday rebinding this fic with the knowledge and skills I have now which would be a really fun comparison!

Sweeten to Taste - I love this one for lots of reasons! It’s probably the most fun I’ve had typesetting and picking out papers because the food imagery was a delight to play around with! It turned out to be such a cute little book. And I also love this binding because it’s how I met and started talking to the incredibly talented and wonderful @babooshkart who I am so lucky to call a friend! I was thinking about this yesterday and feeling very emotional about it, and this alone makes this binding one of my favorites.

@softlystarstruck’s Trans Drarry Collection - I also love this one for a mix of reasons. For the binding side, I really enjoyed formatting the collection and I’m really proud of how it turned out. This binding was also the first time I tried a swirly frame on the cover which I ended up loving and doing again and again on other books. On the personal side, many of these stories were ones that I was reading when I was figuring out my own identity and so they mean a great deal to me and it is so lovely to have them all together in physical form. Also Bee is another crazy talented, absolutely lovely friend that I have met through binding and I’m so grateful for it!

The GallaPlacidia Anthology - This was also one of my earlier projects, and it almost defeated me. I had so many ups and downs with making these books because I was still getting used to the process. After completely ruining Volume I while trimming the edges, I set this project and book binding down for a month. But when I picked it back up again, I pushed through and learned a lot. And I am so happy that I did because I love how they came out and I get to look at the spines on my shelf and feel proud for pushing through and creating something beautiful!

Nor All That Glisters - I really love how this one came out! I think I’m finally getting more comfortable with the process of painting on the covers and it shows in this binding! I felt so inspired by this fic, and it was very cool to see my ideas come to life in the binding. And talking to @sweet-s0rr0w has been super lovely and it’s been reminding me that one of the reasons I love doing this is connecting with new people!

I’ll tag anyone who would like to do this!

#thanks for the tag Tacky #this was a fun look back #and it's also wild to be tagged by you #like i am honored #i adore your writing #<3

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telumendils · 2 years

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I'm sorry if I came across as rude last night when I sent you that ask about intersex people. I tried to keep as calm as possible on it especially since you had good intentions against terfs and didn't mean offense. But arguments I've seen in the past from both trans people and terfs using us as pawns hurts a lot. I'm thankful for users like yourself who are willing to learn from mistakes with kindness. Thank you.

my friend, you and your feelings are/were absolutely valid. i’m sorry for having upset you, and for not answering your ask directly. in truth, i panicked a little at first, as the anxiety beast tends to get to me, and i guess i wasn’t sure how to have the conversation directly yet so i reached out to the larger community for advice (which i got! and i’m very grateful for; i feel i understand a bit better now where you might’ve been coming from—though i also acknowledge intersex people are not a monolith).

but you have nothing to apologize for; i don’t think your ask was overly rude. i think you were hurting and it’s very difficult to read tone in text sometimes. you also had no way of knowing how i feel about intersex people outside the argument i was making, and i don’t blame you for feeling like i’d made you and yours a pawn, however unintentionally. i am sorry for that, too.

thanks for reaching out, both last night and now! i hope you have a better day moving forward, and enjoy your weekend.

i’ll be looking for ways to better include intersex people in the conversation moving forward.

#answered.#bee.txt #intersex

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servin-up-surveys · 6 months

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survey #188

Have you ever wished you had been born the opposite sex? No. Gender/sex has never been a thing I feel some sort of attachment towards, like it plays absolutely zero role in my view of myself and my level of comfort as this human being that I am. I'm honestly really grateful for that since trans people regularly go through fucking hell by people whose lives are entirely unaffected by how they choose to identify and live.

Have you ever been insulted or called names by a significant other? Not while we dated/knew each other.

Do you drink more frequently than once a week? I don't even drink once a month. It's normally only celebratory, and even then I drink very little and with a puny alcohol concentration because I hate the taste of alcohol.

Do you have any step-grandparents? Yeah, but I don't consider him my grandfather. He and my maternal grandmother weren't married long before she died, and he's just... not family to me. I don't dislike him, he's just not someone I consider real family. He just married the grandmother that I despised.

Have you ever been to a same-sex wedding? I haven't yet.

Have you ever attempted to pick a lock? Did you succeed? No.

Do you like sour candy? Yes, I love it.

Where would you like to go on your honeymoon? Probably like, Venice.

Is there anybody you’re not ashamed to tell anything to? No. By no fault of others, I am just very, VERY easily excruciatingly embarrassed, even over things I've been told aren't embarrassing at all.

Are you disrespectful to a lot of people? I sure try not to be, I don't think so.

Do you like the color pink? um YES, it's my favorite general color and basically all its tints and shades make up my most beloved colors lol.

Ever kissed someone your parents hated? No. Apparently at the time Sara and I dated Mom didn't really like her, but she didn't hate her until she spoke ill of me.

Are you drifting away from your best friend? Absolutely not, I really do love him more every day. He's the bestest best friend I've ever had.

Would you feel hurt if your last ex was in a relationship? Not at all, I don't care what she does.

Is there anyone who seems to always be under the influence of something when you see them or talk to them? Does it bug you? No.

Do you and your boyfriend or girlfriend fight a lot? Nope.

Have you ever cleaned up someone else’s vomit? The day I thought would never be possible finally came and I helped Girt with this, lol. Granted it was not a lot like at all, and it was barely digested so it was less ew than it coulda been. He swallowed wrong and food kinda got caught.

Does your boyfriend or girlfriend get mad/jealous when you talk about the opposite sex? No, he's an adult that's secure in his relationship.

The last time you burned your tongue or mouth, what were you eating? It wasn't severe or anything, but I had some angry spaghetti awhile ago lol

Has someone ever made you a Build-A-Bear? NO but i dream of this

What’s your favorite flavor of Doritos? Cool ranch.

Do you feel free to post how you feel on Facebook? I mean I feel free to, but I sure as hell don't. I rarely post things about my actual life on there, I just share memes or pretty/cute/motivational stuff. I have a very strong "Brittany literally no one cares" mindset on there and I just feel awkward talking about my life.

Do you read Reddit? If so, how often and what subreddits do you like? No, Reddit is Girt's thing, I've never really explored it.

Do you know anyone who's had a baby recently? Not VERY recently.

Do you listen to any podcasts? How do you listen to them? No, that's another one of Girt's likes.

Why did you leave your last job? I don't enjoy anxiety attacks that leave me crying in the restroom.

Do you know anyone who has been through a divorce? lmfao plenty of people, divorce isn't exactly rare.

Would someone being either a cat or dog person affect you dating them? No, unless they hated cats and weren't willing to potentially one day live with one if we stayed together. I will not get rid of Roman for a partner.

When was the last time you had a PopTart? Many months ago. I don't really eat them because they're completely non-filling to me so are just empty calories.

Would you ever jump into a fire to save your best friend? I can pretty much guarantee I would, I guess UNLESS it was a situation where I'd 100% inexorably obviously die, but I still kinda feel like if it was Girt in there, I'd try no matter what.

What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? I think my darkest demon will always be the fear that maybe I was emotionally abusive to Jason after we split. I really don't know if my behavior qualifies, but I don't like thinking about it.

Do you think walruses are cute? I do.

Do you know anyone named Trey? Not one living. One of my elementary school puppy-dog crushes was named Trey, and I later found out because of Mom that he later died via drug overdose as a teen or young adult. His parents or someone had a road named after him.

What was the name of your last or current math teacher? I don't even remember his name.

Do you know anyone with a lip piercing? Yeah, me, lol. Probably many others. Most people I've known who've had them took them out by now, but certainly not all.

Do you own any hair ribbons? No.

Have you ever given birth? Nope, gonna pass on that.

Do you enjoy making out? If I'm in the mood to.

What’s your favorite class you’ve ever had? I had a lot of fun in high school art classes, especially my I think junior year.

Would you rather get [another] tattoo or piercing? If I could only pick one, a tattoo.

Do you prefer cold or room temperature drinking water? I will not drink water that isn't at least pretty darn cold, because otherwise I hate it. Room temperature water is so disgusting to me. One of the most relatable obscure posts I've ever seen was someone describing warm water as "soft" and cold water as "pointy," aND IT'S INSANE HOW *CLEARLY* I GET IT, LIKE I 100% KNOW WHAT THEY MEAN, and it plays a role in why I only like cold water.

When you read a book, do you use a bookmark or simply dog ear/fold the top of the page? I just dog-ear, though for a book I really cherish, I'd want a bookmark. I prefer bookmarks in all cases, but I don't always care enough.

Do you know anyone who owns a gun? my brother in christ I live in the South

Have you ever seen a panda in real life? Where was it? No, but I would LOVE to, of course if the zoo took proper care of them.

Have you ever had Covid? What was your experience like? Once, yes. My primary symptom was an extremely sore throat, and I ended up losing my voice for a couple weeks, I wanna say. For many months after I could feel phlegm in my lungs and I'd often hack it up with a strong cough, but I will say I consider myself lucky in that my experience with it wasn't nearly as bad as I've seen others deal with. I got vaccinated (which no, I do not regret and I fully encourage vaccines).

Has a romantic partner ever given you a pet as a gift? No, and I don't really want this to happen unless I'm in on it. I don't want to be gifted a random pet. The only situation where this would be acceptable for me is if they knew it was a pet I wanted and was in a state to properly provide for them.

Have you ever been bitten by a spider? It's certainly possible I have at some point in 27 years of life, but I don't have an even remotely memorable experience of one.

Tell us something that made you happy yesterday: Mom and I watched Hocus Pocus 2! I'd been wanting to see it since I first heard it was being produced, I just at the same time don't really watch movies; I have to be in a very specific mood, and yesterday evening we watched it. I loved it, but the original still has my heart.

How many people have you been really in love with? Two.

Are you a seafood fan? In general, no; the only seafood I enjoy is shrimp. I haven't tried a lot, but I've at least found I generally dislike the taste of fish.

Give me a random word in another language. Tell me what it means. "Meerkat" in German is "erdmännchen," which literally translates to "little earth men" and I think that's absolutely precious.

Would you prefer a pet rat, mouse, snake, lizard or spider? I love all of them!! However if I could only pick one of these to have, it's gotta be a snake.

Can you keep a pokerface and not show your emotions easily? HAHAHAHAHA NOOOOOOO

Do you think rainbows are pretty or overrated? Man, who thinks rainbows are OVERRATED? If you don't think every single time you see one that rainbows aren't cool as fuck get outta my face bro

Do you like carrot cake? Surprisingly, yes.

What’s the grossest/worst thing you’ve ever seen in a public restroom? Blood completely covering the underside of the toilet seat. I went into a gas station bathroom with my then-best friend, and she'd recently discovered she was pregnant so was being VERY careful with basically everything, and I could not fucking believe when she checked the seat.

What’s the worst relationship advice you’ve ever seen? Misogynistic shit. If you think it's bad everywhere, come to the southern USA.

Have you ever volunteered in a hospital? If not, would you ever want to? No no no no. Hospitals are very upsetting for me.

Have you ever had a disappointing Christmas, or any disappointing holiday if you don’t celebrate Christmas? I remember one specific year as a kid and I wanna wring her throat lmao, I was so blessed with how hard my mom specifically always went, but Dad too.

Have you ever had to give a pet away? Yes; a number of cats over the years, our old nightmare of a dog Bentley, and my young iguana Kaiju because I did not have the funds to house him properly. He was growing too fast and that terrarium wasn't gonna cut it.

What’s the junkiest junk food you’ve ever eaten? Hmmmm, I can't say I'm sure.

Did you play pretend a lot as a child? Were there any recurring plots or themes? Oh I certainly did, I loved this. I played house and Barbies with my sisters, and my big "plot" as a kiddo was with some toy dinosaurs, crocodiles, deer, and Pokemon figurines that I had an ongoing story for that I sure as hell barely remember now, other than the crocodile and deer were married and had two kids that were the other croc and fawn, lol. The dinosaurs were the villains. I also loved making blanket forts where I pretended inside was a burrow and I was a meerkat (this should surprise NOBODY). I also liked making fucking "penguin nests" out of the rocks in our driveway??????????? One more lil tidbit I remember is I liked to take a leaf and pile seeds and little plant bits onto it, kinda mimicking A Bug's Life, which I was obsessed with.

How do you feel about runny egg yolks? Fucking disgusting, I will not poke it with my tongue.

Have you ever hidden a relationship from your family? Well, yes, technically. Joel and I never actually dated, but something not okay was going on between us.

Have you ever used a view-master? YES!!!!!!!! omg I was obsessed

Do you know any sex workers? If so, how do they feel about their job? Not that I'm aware of.

What kind of wild animals do you see most frequently where you live? Birds, squirrels, opossums, raccoons, deer.

Do you and your parents share any of the same hobbies? Mom and I both like to write, but she doesn't do it much, sadly. Dad and I both enjoy fishing, even though I don't really do it anymore because I feel mean lol.

Who was the worst friend you ever had? Honestly, when it boils down to it, probably Sara. Maybe Colleen, not sure.

Do your parents and grandparents get along with each other? I think Dad and his family were cool. I don't really know how Mom and her dad were, he died when I was like two, but my mother and her mom had a very rough relationship. My grandma was straight-up abusive to her, and Mom just wanted approval and love from her up to the day she died. By the way, guess which kid of hers took care of her on her deathbed?

#survey #surveys #personal questions #random questions #questionnaire

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genzdiariez · 9 months

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I kind of just want to talk about nothing. This is a diary, after all. Lengthy personal ramble up ahead, if anyone dares or cares to read it. CW: suicidal ideation

So. I'm 20 now. It's been probably six years since I last actually used this blog, until a couple days ago when I checked the email I made it with and saw that it had accrued a bunch of bot followers. So, I logged on, started purging them (and probably some real people too, my bad,) and realized I might be able to start doing this again. So I started following a bunch of people.

For some reason, this blog's url was changed to -blog, and then someone else took the zdiariez url, and I'm not sure I'm willing to confront someone for a url I might end up dropping again in a few months anyway. It does suck, though. I don't like having dashes in my usernames.

I'm not sure I ever talked about this on this blog before, but my mom used to be a massive TERF. Part of the reality of millenials raising gen z is that millenials and gen z are both WAY too online. She got sucked into her toxic circles, I got sucked into mine. I guess in a way, we both saw each others' toxicity and not our own.

At the time (six years ago, freshman year) I was dating a girl who had me on my phone literally whenever she could get my attention. I got in trouble in my computer-something class multiple times because I would constantly check my phone to talk to her. If I didn't, she would get very upset with me. I remember her telling me that it wasn't fair when I was tired, because she lives on the east coast and I live on the west coast, and for her to talk to me she has to stay up really late while it's relatively early where I am, and when I go to bed at a reasonable hour, she doesn't have anyone to talk to.

My mom recognized in me a growing anxiety of being away from my phone or computer, and quickly realized it was because I was being emotionally manipulated. By a fourteen year old girl. Of course it's possible when you're both fourteen. That entire relationship was an absolute dumpster fire. I'll never forget how her ex would treat me like a demon and misgender me simply because she didn't like me. Or how she would cut herself on call with my ex to guilt her. I honestly don't understand how we could have so much drama.

So was being fourteen, to be honest. Again, not sure how much I've talked about this, but right when my middle school years ended and I entered into high school, my friend group kicked me out - right after my cat died - and basically told me that I was a bitch and to get lost. "We're tired of walking on eggshells around you all the time." I didn't get the memo that being emotionally volatile after the death of my beloved cat was unacceptable. I think I'll always be pretty fucking salty about that whole situation. It was the seed that grew into a big, strong, healthy Fear of Abandonment and Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria tree.

So I lost my cat, my friends, my girlfriend is suffocating me, my mom won't accept me for who I am, so what am I to do? Obviously, I'll hang myself from the catwalks in the school theater with a rope I was given as a prop for a play.

Saying it now, it's melodramatic and needlessly traumatizing for anyone who witnesses it. Back then, it was so comforting to think that I was finally going to be done with it.

Making this blog in the first place was a way for me to cry for help. I didn't ask for help very well, that's something I've never been good at. I kind of wish I was, then maybe I wouldn't have been in such a dark place to begin with, or maybe someone would have noticed the way i was talking on here and reached out.

I feel forever grateful for an interaction I had on this blog when I was fourteen, two years after I came out as nonbinary, unsure if I was allowed to call myself trans and relate to other trans people. An adult (or at least someone older than me) came in to tell me that I am just as trans as anyone else, and my struggles matter. Thank you, blog I've forgotten the name of. You genuinely did help me. You restructured my neurons in the right way where I can tell myself and other people, of course I'm trans! I'm not cis, am I?

#//mod dionysus #aug 7 2023 #diary entry

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obsessive-bear-walking · 2 years

Text

This is just a vent about my relationship with religion over the years and my own healing in preparation to embrace Judaism. So I've been sitting on my spiritual journey the last couple of days I've finally realized a lot of things. So I've discussed on here more than a few times that I wanted to Jewish even when I was getting my first communion and being raised Catholic, and even before I fully understood more basic concepts of Judaism. I just felt this pull in my chest, much like the pull I had to transition. (My parents pulled me out of Sunday school for informing the teacher I wanted to be Jewish).

A friend said to me in recent years "It's so interesting to me that the two things you've known from day one was that you were Jewish and that you were a boy." and I really feel as if that sums up how I feel, in a lot of ways I just ... feel like inside of me is a Jewish man, and I need to transition and convert to get him out. However I had a lot of toxic teachings from my Catholic church in me at the time about what Gd was. This lead to me forming a very intense hatred for Gd, I was nine years old and wanting to have sex in churches on Sundays out of spite, sounds ridiculous but I was a really young child. I had been growing up Autistic and Trans with no understanding of either, my family was also very toxic and my father was always either absent or gaslighting me. I just kept thinking "Why would Gd do this to me? Why does he hate me? There's something wrong with me (Queerness I couldn't place) that he's not gonna like either." This paired with the fact I didn't really have resources outside of this church.

When I started practicing "Wicca" (regret, but that is a whole other post/can of worms) it was also out of spite. I would still be "Pagan" around the end of my teens/maybe very, very early twenties. Though, I'd healed from my religious trauma around my mid-teens, there was still some ignorance and toxicity keeping me in Paganism. A lot of it was feeling like joining a monotheistic religion would mean having to turn my back on all my friends I've made over the years and brand them "Wrong". Once I got over that, in my late teens, it was a stark feeling of "I don't belong in any monotheistic spaces anymore, and I'm Queer so that's worse." (Though throughout all of this, I was still subconsciously drawn to Judaism, using my little understating of it and little research I allowed myself to do, was writing so many Jewish characters, especially ones that represented me in some way, like a gentile boy with a girls name who was half-raised by his Jewish neighbors and he even had a Bar Mitzvah and everything... it made sense in my literally 12 year old brain and my 12 year old brain only, point is the desire to be Jewish was there.)

Once I got over that in my later teens, there was this barrier between me and Judaism that felt like... I don't know. The feeling I get around not wanting to be a weeb. I kinda thought "This isn't for me" although I'd already made peace with and put away all that. Then I started seeing people on Tumblr who were converting and I had this little light bulb moment of "This is allowed?" and I started researching but I still kind of felt like ... that weeb feeling of like "I don't want people to think I'm so obsessed with Judaism that I think I AM Jewish when I'm not." Once I got over that though, I don't know ... Studying Judaism is the most at peace I've ever felt spiritually in my entire life and despite all the hurdlers I've put in front of myself I still want that so much. Seeing the Tumblr discourse about people on Tumblr who are converting has been absolutely nerve-wracking and I've been trying to cope with it, but in the meantime I'm grateful for people like r*monoroni (I wont tag them because it'd be weird) who are so openly welcoming of converts on their blogs. Timelines for this stuff may very as I have pretty bad PTSD from things unrelated to religion, so timelines are very fuzzy and I can only really separate phases of my life very vaguely but I remember the emotions. The point of this post was to just lay stuff out for myself. I really can't wait to start that conversion journey... I've wanted it for so long. I've been wandering for so long and I'm ready to come home, I just hope I'll be able to.

#sparos jewish journey

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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Why do people get hung up on whether a gay person in media is a good or bad representation of them? I'm gay and I can tell you we aren't all the same? Being gay is our 1 common trait. So as long as they're gay then you've done it. Gay people can be kind, mean, racist, open, kinky, reserved, shy, outgoing, sexist, and literally anything else under the human experience.

Because I am perpetually hungry, let's tell a story about cookies.

You are a bright-eyed, optimistic, baker in the making. Your goal is to wow the world with your culinary skills, so of course you head to The Best Baking School for your degree. Over the course of your studies you learn how to perfect a thousand different cakes, an equal number of pies, and more versions of brownies than most would even assume exist. But cookies... oh, cookies are your passion! You can't wait to learn about the wealth of cookies you can make too. Then, sure enough, that part of your education finally arrives.

Funny thing is though, it's just chocolate chip.

Surely there's been some mistake? The cookie experience is vast and nuanced! Why in the world are your instructors — supposedly the best in the world — reducing cookies to a single class about baking chocolate chip and chocolate chip alone? Hell, why are cookies so sparse in the curriculum as a whole? You're never asked to bake them as a demonstration, or practice with them, and they're definitely not a given across everyone else's baking experience. Cakes, pies, and brownies... they're the default. Cookies are comparatively rare and when you do get to study them, everyone is super focused on the chocolate chip.

Then you graduate and head out into the world, only to find that pretty much everyone is as cookie-blind as your school. A few years back you never would have found cookies in the average grocery store and yeah, the fact that there's a cookie section now is great, but it's, uh... all chocolate chip! Many bakeries still don't carry cookies at all, but when they do it's - again - chocolate chip. Chocolate chip out in restaurants. Chocolate chip at the bake sale. Your friend invites you over and proudly presents a massive sweets tray that includes a single, sad looking, chocolate chip cookie. They beam at you in pride. Isn't it so great?

"Uh..." you say. "Well..."

Every once in a while someone will switch out milk chocolate for dark chocolate, or add nuts alongside chocolate chips. One bakery was even crazy enough to exclude chocolate chips entirely! Crazy according to the press, anyway. Because for years now you've been shaking your head, wondering what exactly is so progressive about realizing that sugar cookies exist. You've found other bakers interested in cookies and, by god, there are thousands. So many flavors! Gluten free and allergy conscious! Someone even made a sweets tray that was predominantly cookies, can you believe it? The problem is, almost none of them are mainstream. Your friend baking cookies out of their personal kitchen is doing fantastic work, but their baking doesn't have the impact that those grocery chains and established bakeries do. Their work isn't going to fix your school's curriculum. Too many people still think that cookies are exotic somehow. They're not the default. And when they do acknowledge their existence, it's chocolate chip over and over. Until one of them adds those nuts and suddenly the whole country is losing its mind about how inspired, creative, progressive their baking is. Meanwhile, you're ready to scream because that baker doesn't even know that something as "exotic" as a gingersnaps exist!

The worst part? Most of these cookies are... bad. Like they exist, yeah, but good god most don't taste good. And that's the whole point of a cookie?? What is the point of buying cookies if the cookies themselves are awful? You go to these bakeries, these restaurants, your friend's house, and you try the very limited cookies on offer, only to find that they've been sloppily baked. Doesn't anyone care that the baker burned their cookies to a crisp? That another straight up forgot to add sugar? This one dropped his on the floor and still tried to serve it to you! But the overall sense is that you should be grateful for getting any cookies at all. "That cookie is an offense to my taste buds," you say and people shake their head at you, disappointed. "I liked the taste of it," one says. "If you don't like it, go buy a different cookie!" Well... easier said than done. "It's not that bad," another says, shrugging in defeat. "I mean yeah, I don't really like it, and the baker stopped making them two years ago... but I'm just happy to have had any cookie at all, you know?" You do know, but that doesn't mean it's any less frustrating. You look at the hundreds of cakes available, these bakers spending decades perfecting their recipes, and wish cookies had even a fraction of that work put into them. You find people who agree with you, absolutely, but there's this this prevailing sense that a cookie is a cookie. Any cookie will do. Supposedly.

Except go long enough and you feel like you're ready to lose your mind. You take some poor person by the shoulders and go, "Doesn't this bother you? Doesn't this make you furious? There is more to the cookie world than these three flavors, 90% of which is chocolate chip! And we deserve well-made cookies, not the crap they've been upholding as the next culinary masterpiece!"

But this person just shakes their head. "Well of course there's more to cookies than three flavors. There's a huge variety of cookies! I know that."

"Yes, but the world isn't selling that variety."

"Of course they are! Just last week I had an oatmeal raisin. That's amazing!"

"Yeah and how many years did it take you to find that?"

"Well..."

"And how did that oatmeal raisin cookie taste?"

Your prisoner pulls a face. "Ugh, not good. Oatmeal raisin is definitely not for me. It's hard as a rock! I really don't understand why someone would want to eat that on a regular basis."

"But it's not supposed to be hard as a rock!" you cry, waving your arms. "That's the problem! Oatmeal raisin is so goddamn rare and then the one time we get it, it was badly baked. Of course people are turned off by it. Everyone who already loves oatmeal raisin is getting pissed because their favorite cookie is misrepresented, they're unlikely to see more of them now, and everyone is still serving the most tasteless chocolate chip cookies I've ever had, acting like this is the pinnacle of cookie baking! Do you even know that a macron exists?"

The person pats your hand consolingly. "Of course I do. My roommate's sister's boyfriend used to bake macrons, you know. I don't know why you're so hung up on this. Cookies can be whatever the baker wants them to be. Provided they're a flat-ish sweet cake, they're still a cookie!"

You hang your head, giving up. "Yes, they can be so many things, but they're not. Let me know if you ever find a bakery actually making the variety you keep acknowledging exists. Bonus points if those cookies are edible. My soul if they're delicious, as a cookie should be."

"You know," they say, still patting your hand. "There's a bakery making chocolate chip with dark chocolate next year. Everyone is talking about it. You should think about buying one before they take it off the menu!"

You contemplate just walking into the ocean.

Now, incredibly long metaphor concluded... switch out "cookies" for "queer rep"! The representation matters because no, just making them gay isn't enough right now. You're right that queer people can be anything under the sun, but right now media isn't providing us with that variety. It's not enough to acknowledge that such variety exists, it actually has to make it into our books and onto our screen. Taking just characters who identify as gay and putting aside the HUGE variety of other identities for a moment (of which we are mostly lacking in terms of rep), where are the gay asexuals? The gay people of color? The disabled gays? Trans gays? Did your gay character appear for just a handful of episodes? Were they killed off? Are they nothing more than a stereotype or comic relief? Is this the only gay character in your entire story? We need to ask questions like this because though gay people can be anything under the sun, our media landscape has only shown a miniscule portion of that variety.

Today, even in 2021, our representation of gay people is still pretty limited to:

You are only coded as gay and evil

You are only coded as gay and queerbaited

You are canonically gay, but a cis, ablebodied, white person

You are canonically gay, but were written terribly/killed off/punished by the narrative/generally making the real gay people watching you feel awful about their identity

You are canonically gay, but you're not human. Gotta other the queerness by making you an alien/robot/fantasy being

You are canonically gay and that's your entire existence. There is one (1) narrative of how you knew by the time you were four, never questioned your identity after that, suffered through a family that rejected you, and now all your major arcs revolve around being gay. You are gay and that is it.

Despite being a list of six, that's still incredibly limiting. Are there exceptions to such a list? Always, but that doesn't mean the list isn't still dominating. We can look at any individual gay character and say, "Of course they can be evil/white/killed off/a joke/etc. because gay people can be anything at all," but when we look at the trends, when we look at ALL the media together, we see that gay people aren't actually depicted as being anything... they're depicted as being these handful of things, severely limiting how gayness is represented. Bad rep. If you hit up the bakery and question why there's only versions of chocolate chip available yeah, the baker can go, "But cookies can be any flavor! Including chocolate chip!" They are not, technically, wrong. The problem is not that chocolate chip exists, but that chocolate chip dominates and other flavors are rare, ignored entirely, or baked so badly it's actively damaging to that flavor as a whole. Yeah, your gay character can be mean. Or kinky. Or murdered by the story. But when so many gay characters are mean and kinky and murdered by their stories — when you're not getting other versions to balance that out and gay characters are still rare enough that it's just 1-2 characters trying to carry representation for an entire franchise — you start realizing that the claim of "Gay people can be anything else under the human experience" is an easy way to shut down the conversation of whether that variety actually exists in our storytelling yet.

It's not enough for the baker to acknowledge that yeah, of course there are hundreds of cookie flavors and of course cookies taste great! They've actually got to learn how to bake them properly and fill up their store with them.

#queer #mymetas

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

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Heard you were looking for prompts :) 1 of 2 - From favorite tropes: Blind date set up by mutual friends! And maybe combined with "I'm speechless you're so beautiful" from the fluff & kisses (and other stuff) prompts. Go wild with it!

This will go to AO3 soon, but it was a lot of fun to write and a nice distraction from any hypothetical realities the TMA fandom may be experiencing.

Double-Blind: 5K

Martin smelled like espresso. He wrinkled his nose and dusted his hands on his apron uselessly, as if doing so would rid himself of the months of coffee, cinnamon, and hazelnut baked into his skin. It wasn’t all that bad, he supposed, except what was the point in using cologne if it was going to be immediately overpowered?

The bell above the door jingled and Martin jumped, pulled from his thoughts on cologne and what he would like to smell like, given the opportunity. Sandalwood, maybe? Tobacco and vanilla? The musky-sweet smells are nice, they have a nice mix of feminine and masculine to them, almost—

“Ahem.” An exaggerated clearing of the throat, once again whisking him from his distractions. Martin locked eyes on the woman across the counter from him, grinning mischievously. “Welcome back to Earth, Martin.”

“Oh! Oh. It’s just you. Hi, Georgie.” Georgie Barker, a regular customer, moderately well-known podcast host, and most importantly, one of Martin’s favorite people to see at the tiny coffee shop he spent more time in than his own flat.

“Just me? Excuse me.” Georgie pouted and crossed her arms, coily hair bouncing around her face as she shook her head. “I’ll have you know you should be grateful to see me this fine afternoon, Martin Koffee Blackwood!”

Martin grinned and dropped the act. “I always am, Georgie. But I told you, there’s not a—”

“Like I said, you should be happy to see me.” Georgie barreled on. “I have good news.” She cocked her head and pondered the chalk-covered board behind the counter. “Two chai lattes, please. And make one of them extra spicy?”

Martin rang up the order and passed two cups down to Rosie, all the while checking the door surreptitiously, ensuring a little chat wouldn’t hold anyone up. “Okay? Spill.”

Georgie’s phone was in her hand, and she waved it at Martin like it contained the secrets of the universe. “D’you remember my roommate, Melanie?”

Martin nodded, pursing his lips. “Vaguely. I thought you guys were dating.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate.

Georgie waved a hand dismissively, rolling her eyes. “Not the point. Anyways, she has a friend of a friend-“ Georgie frowned for a moment, “…of a friend who is looking to get back into dating. Mel says he’s short and nerdy and prickly until you get to know him. Apparently a real pain to work with according to the friend.” Georgie smirked and pulled a sticky note from her back pocket. “Thought maybe you’d want his number.”

Martin grimaced at the blue piece of paper as she smoothed it to the counter with a firm motion. “Wow, George. Really selling it.” It was his fault; they had bonded over being queer back in July when Martin had worn his gay and trans pride buttons and Georgie was proudly sporting her own pansexual patch firmly affixed to her laptop case. One lunch break discussing quirky exes later, their friendship had been sealed. Mentioning offhandedly that he was on dating apps and hating every minute of it seemed to have rooted itself in Georgie’s mind and had grown like weeds until she had taken it upon herself to become his personal wing woman.

“Do you even know his name?” Martin asked, regarding the string of numbers on the piece of paper in front of him.

Georgie blushed, shrugging apologetically. “Friend of a friend of a friend. Sorry mate. Melanie said he likes cats, documentaries, and-” she made air quotes with her fingers, “-being uptight.”

“Wow.” Martin chuckled in disbelief. “Really selling it here.”

Rosie sidled by Martin and set down Georgie’s lattes, who shrugged and picked them up after dropping a few coins in the tip jar. “You have his number. Just think about it, Blackwood. Melanie’s friend doesn’t spread the word about someone unless they’re something special.” She blew a kiss (clumsily, considering the cups requiring the attention of each of her hands) and made her way to the door.

“I just want you to be happy!” She called out as the January winds pulled her out the door and into the grey afternoon.

Martin chewed on his lip as he considered. January was always a tough month for him, and he had been feeling a little lonely recently. He really didn’t see anyone besides his coworkers, customers, and his mother. As much as he enjoyed his job, he wouldn’t call anyone there a romantic interest. He folded the sticky note and stuck it in his pocket as his next customer approached the counter. He did like cats, after all. Maybe that would be a good starting conversation.

Jonathan Sims groaned and shifted the stack of books in his hand as he inspected the knee-high table that was buried amongst the fiction books. He hated working the children’s section of the library. Although no food or drink was allowed, there always seemed to be crumbs everywhere. He was starting to wonder if children just manifested them. He made a mental note to come back with disinfectant wipes after putting the stack of child-suitable biographies away and turned, nearly walking straight into the chest of one Timothy Stoker.

“A-ah!” Jon jumped instinctively backward, clutching the books closer to his chest in an attempt to keep from dropping them. “Tim! Good lord, there’s really no need to be sneaking up on me like that.”

Tim grinned wryly and shrugged, taking half of the books from Jon’s arms. “Sorry boss, thought you heard me.” He gestured for Jon to lead the way through the half-sized bookshelves; an unnecessary act seeing as Tim worked the children’s library much more frequently than Jon did.

“I’m not your-” Jon sighed, deciding this wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on today. He made his way through the shelves, sliding books into their correct placements with practiced hands. “Do you need something?”

“Actually,” Tim checked a Dewey code and slid a book into a shelf a few rows down. “I don’t. But you do.”

Jon stared blankly, uncomprehending. Tim chuckled and gestured with a cock of his head towards the research section. “Melanie said she has a friend who has a friend she wants to set up on a date. And while normally, I’d jump at the chance-” he waved his left hand, the silver ring inset with tiny diamonds flashing in the fluorescents, “I’ve been wifed up and I don’t think my dear Sash would appreciate my going on a blind date with a stranger.”

Jon frowned, setting his stack of books down and eyeing Tim. “What, so I have to?”

Tim shook his head, a patient smile on his face. “No, no one is forcing you. I just think—well. It’s been a while since your last relationship and you’ve been a little…testy, recently.” The look on Tim’s face dared Jon to contradict. “Melanie says he’s apparently a really good guy, very kind and sweet and patient. I think his name is Melvin? I kinda tuned out after she wrote down the number she got from her friend.”

Jon scoffed, pushing his glasses up his face as if that would help him comprehend the absolute ridiculousness of what Tim was saying. “Y-You want me to go on a date with this guy, Melvin? Because I’ve been…grumpy? That doesn’t seem very kind to this mysterious date.”

Tim pursed his lips. “I just think you could benefit from seeing someone who doesn’t work here. I mean, we love you Jon, but god, you need to get a social life. I’m practically begging you.” Tim’s purse elongated into a pout, eyes going big and starry. Jon inwardly groaned. Tim was his oldest friend here at the library and he really never learned how to resist that face. Maybe he should ask Sasha.

“One date,” Jon promised. “I’ll do one date. And then you never set me up again.”

Tim grabbed the rest of the books Jon had set down and added them to his stack before whisking himself away down the aisles. “If we’re lucky, I’ll never have to!” He called down the aisles, grinning madly. Jon sighed and grabbed a small pink sticky note that had been stuck to the countertop, running his eyes over the numbers before slipping it into his pocket. He’ll call later.

Martin stared resolutely at the numbers on the blue sticky note, running his thumb over the curled edge of the paper, slightly stained from some sort of milk during the shift. Even his apron pockets weren’t foolproof. The underground was busy and he was jammed between an older woman who smelled weirdly like salmon and a man who seemed utterly too well-dressed to be on the tube. Elbows crammed into his side to keep from nudging anyone, he pulled out his phone and stared at the messaging app for what felt like several minutes. He typed the numbers into the message bar and watched his cursor blip in the body of the message.

Hey whats up?

No, that would be so weird.

Hiya, this is martin!

Georgie never said the man’s name, would this mysterious date know his?

Hey I think the alphabet is missing I and U together.

Gross. Just gross. Martin grimaced inwardly and chewed on his lip, thinking carefully before typing.

Hi! My name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, I get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

As he finished typing, he heard the familiar robotic voice of the tube announcing his stop. Quickly, Martin shoved the phone in his pocket and carefully forced his way through the crowd and onto the platform, mind cast to what he had accessible for dinner.

----

It took Jon a few days, until Saturday, to remember to call the phone number they had been given. They could text, they supposed, but they always appreciated hearing someone’s intonation a little better. Especially a stranger, ugh, they shuddered at the idea of not being able to decipher the tone of this Melvin. It was half-past 11 when they decided to call, hoping this would be late enough in the morning to not wake him up.

The phone rang momentarily before a surprisingly feminine voice answered the phone. “Hello. This is Rosie. You’ve reached Swirl Café and Bakery.”

Well shit. This was not what Jon expected. They stumbled over their rehearsed speech, trying to scramble words together in a way that made sense. “Uh-sorry, I must have the wrong number. I-I was trying to speak to Melvin?”

“Mmm, sorry. No Melvin works here. We have a Martin, but he’s off the clock. Would you like to speak to our manager?” Rosie’s voice was clipped and courteous, but Jon could hear the bustle of voices in the background. It must be their weekend rush.

“Ah-uh, no, no thank you.” Jon shook their head into the phone, before remembering that did not translate aurally. “It’s alright. Thank you anyways.”

“Sorry, mate. Thanks for calling!” The dial tone droned on for a moment before Jon hung up, sighing and pressing the heels of their hands into their eyes. That was a waste. Melanie must have been playing them; Jon knew they generally didn’t get along, but they didn’t realize she would stoop so low. Honestly, shame on themself for getting excited about a date.

Later that evening, Jon was cooking and listening to music through the speaker that balanced precariously on a shelf next to their stove. The music was low, with a variety of orchestral instruments and sultry, smooth voices. Jon’s eyes were half closed as they stirred the curry in the pan in front of them, letting the music and heat of the kitchen entangle them in a sleepy feeling relaxing their whole body. As the cello in the song dipped low and resonant, Jon stood still, letting the music sweep them away—

They jumped as the ringer alerted them through the speaker that they had received a text, glaringly electronic compared to the rich notes of cello and viola that had been so rudely interrupted. Sleepy feeling gone as adrenaline washed through their body, Jon sighed and retrieved their phone, checking for the message.

An unknown number flicked across the screen:

Hi! my name is martin. my friend gave me your number, hope thats okay. she said you were really nice and recommended we try a blind date. if this is too weird, i get ignoring it. but if youre game, I am! :)

i meant to send this a few days ago but I never hit send. sorry ab that! rosie said someone called the café asking ab me and i assumed that was you bc i wasnt expecting anyone else and no one involved in the blind date thing ever asked for my mobile number.

if it wasn’t you, oops! either way it reminded me that i had never texted you. :)

Jon squinted at the screen as they read the messages a few times over. That was…a lot of words. So his name was Martin. It was certainly nicer than Melvin. Jon agonized over their words as they typed out a response.

Hello Martin. That was me who called the café…I hope it didn’t cause problems for you. Blind dates aren’t usually my thing, but my coworkers think I need to get out more. I’d be happy to meet you for dinner or coffee. Even if we don’t get along, we can say we’ve done it.

Unless, of course, you’re rather sick of coffee. I prefer tea anyways.

…not “done it” done it. Just. Had the blind date.

Jon winced at their follow up texts. God, that was embarrassing. Martin probably didn’t even take it that way until they bothered to clarify. They shook their head, warding away the growing anxiety in their chest and tucked their phone in their pocket as they turned their attention back to the simmering curry. Jon had embarrassed themselves enough for one night.

----

Martin chuckled at the texts that came through; one slow and the two follow-ups rapid. He could feel the awkwardness through the messages, desperately trying to give a good impression. He chuckled to himself as he set down his dinner plate.

dinner sounds perfect. but same about the tea! and about the coworkers tbh, my friends think im making friends with the espresso machine. which, i am, but only bc its good company haha.

btw i never got your name?

Martin’s phone was silent the rest of the night, as he plodded his way through a mediocre dinner and shower before settling into his armchair, desperate to work on his poetry. Words came slowly to him recently, thoughts about the world and darkness and the intersection of fall and winter. He really should up and move to somewhere warmer, he thought to himself, before laughing the notion away aloud. Yeah, right. He rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the poetry prompts book he had found at the charity shop. “Use noncolor words to describe a color.” Great. Martin settled back and tried to focus, but kept finding himself checking his phone impulsively, the foamed latte art he’d photographed, one of a cat he was particularly proud of, stared back at him judgmentally.

As he drew his evening to a close, Martin almost missed the buzz of his phone, now plugged in by his bed, as he brushed his teeth.

Congrats on the espresso machine. And my name is Jon. Anywhere you want to go for dinner?

________________________________________________________________

Jon hesitated, thumb hovering over the icon that would open a video chat with Tim. He didn’t want to come off nervous, but… he was.

Texting had been going well. Martin was good at keeping the conversation going and genuinely seemed to enjoy the long texts Jon had sent regarding his irritations with the research he was conducting as a part of his master’s in literature, asking him questions about details Jon had added for context. Martin was easy to talk to, too, he always seemed to have an opinion on subjects but always ones Jon was happy to hear, even if he was objectively wrong about spiders and oolong tea. Martin had sent an awkward text, letting Jon know he was trans and that if that was a dealbreaker he should tell him now, one Jon had blushed over and responded that he was nonbinary himself, and that it certainly wasn’t. The “okay fantastic! :))) remind me of your pronouns? he/him for me.” that followed it up had made Jon’s heart sing.

They had agreed to meet at an Italian place, equidistant between their flats and not too fancy. Martin had commented about getting ice cream after, but Jon wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, since it had also been a jab about Jon’s preference for rum raisin. Thus, he was staring at his wardrobe, paralyzed with indecision. Tim had offered to help, which Jon had initially rejected since he’s “not a child Tim, I’ve dated before. And I know how to dress myself.” But lord if he wasn’t wishing for someone to lay out his clothes and tell him to behave. He grimaced and jabbed the video chat button, bracing for the onslaught of teasing to come.

----

Martin adjusted his collar for what must have been the twelfth time, sucking on his lip as he waited at the reserved table. He hadn’t been there long, no more than five minutes, but his anxiety had been building up all day and a part of him was absolutely certain Jon wasn’t going to come. Neither of them knew what the other looked like; what if Jon saw him and had dipped out immediately? He was wearing mint green, as he had promised, so Jon would recognize him, and brought a bouquet of daisies, mostly because it felt weird not to bring anything, but he didn’t want to be too romantic. Not roses or anything. Besides, Jon said he liked daisies, said they reminded him of an old friend. Martin hoped it wasn’t too weird. He brushed his auburn curls out of the way of his eyes, part of him regretting not having gotten a haircut first, but he tucked those thoughts aside as he surveyed the restaurant from his vantage point.

He blinked in confusion as he watched long curls make their way towards him. Dark black hair, streaked with white, half bunned up in the back and rest left to hang loose, skimming purple-covered elbows. Martin wasn’t sure if they were wearing flowy grey pants or a skirt, but either way, the faint black pattern to them was stunning and Martin couldn’t help but watch the swoosh of the hemlines. As the person got closer, Martin realized they were tiny, stylized eyes.

“Ah-you’re Martin, right?” It took Martin a second to realize this absolutely beautiful person was talking to him.

“hmm—Oh! Yes! You must be Jon.” Martin stood, unsure whether he should shake Jon’s hand or hug him or? But Jon solved the problem himself by sitting, and so Martin did as well. “It’s nice to finally meet you…in person, that is,” he added, grinning shyly. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Jon blushed. “Ah, thank you. Y-You too. O-or handsome, whichever you prefer.” He sipped his water and fidgeted with his hands, eyes flicking around the room nervously before coming around to rest on Martin.

Martin shrugged. “A compliment is a compliment, they all work. Speaking of—what pronouns are you feeling today? I remember you saying it varies.”

Jon shook his head slightly. “I’m not going to pitch a fit either way, but ‘he’ is just fine.” It was nice to be asked. The library respected his pronouns, of course, but something about Martin going out of his way to make sure he was on the same page was… It made Jon’s heart thud deep in his chest.

They made small talk about the travel, the weather, Italian food preferences until the waiter came and relieved the tension. Martin felt his shoulders relax after they both ordered; it felt more real somehow.

“So,” Martin asked, sipping his water demurely, a smile tinged on his lips. “Melvin, huh?”

Jon choked on air for a moment. His mouth gaped open and shut again and Martin couldn’t help the grin overtook him. Jon’s embarrassment was sweet; his cheeks flushed and he bowed his head slightly. It was a lovely look on him. “For the record, that’s what I was told by my coworker, Tim.” Jon made air quotes with his fingers. “‘Melvin or something.’ Who was I to question your name?”

“Right, and I’m glad you respect names ‘n’ all. But Melvin?” Martin chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “I’m not the decimal system guy.”

“Nn-mmm,” Jon shook his head, nose wrinkled in a way Martin found particularly cute. “That’s Melville. Melville Dewey.” Jon emphasized, back straightening. “Distinctly different. I’m a librarian, actually.”

“Oh!” Martin blinked. “That makes sense. You work with Melanie, then, I assume?”

Jon grimaced again. “Unfortunately.”

“She’s not that bad!” Martin insisted. “I’ve met her once or twice and she’s been very polite.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “For someone who’s getting a degree in parapsychology, she seems very judgmental.”

“Oh? And what are you studying again?”

“English Lit-hey!”

Martin grinned behind his glass of water. “Just saying, I haven’t met an English Lit student who wasn’t obscenely pretentious.”

Jon faltered for a second and slumped his shoulders in defeat, though his voice still seemed to carry humor, albeit dry. “Unfortunately, I am no exception.”

“Well, I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Dinner arrived smoothly, shrimp scampi for Jon and eggplant parmesan for Martin. They ate slowly, chatting more about Jon’s graduate degree, Martin’s affinity for fiction and poetry, and their shared interest in tea.

“So, are you vegetarian?” Jon gestured to the eggplant on Martin’s plate. Martin wobbled his head slightly, not quite a negatory shake of the head.

“It’s complicated. My mother has—had—a sensitive stomach so we didn’t eat meat growing up. I think that turned me off the taste. And there’s something about the texture,” he shuddered. “Weirds me out.”

Jon’s eyes were sharp, boring holes into Martin’s in a way he should have found alarming, but instead found soothing. “Mine, too.” His tone—softer, almost reverent, clued Martin in: he wasn’t talking about being vegetarian.

Martin nodded, and gently placed a hand on Jon’s, the one that hovered near his drinking glass. “I’m sorry.”

They were quiet for a moment, Jon’s hand was small and warm under his, and Martin could feel a thin silver bracelet clinging to his wrist. Martin was amazed by how perfectly his fingers rested over Jon’s, how nice it must feel to hold hands with him on a walk or side by side against the world. Jon cleared his throat suddenly and reached for his glass, gulping down water while staring steadfastly at his plate.

Martin felt his own blush rise through his cheeks and pushed a stray noodle around his plate. “So, here’s a question,” he began, eager to clear the tension. “You said earlier your friend Tim gave you the number to Swirl, right? I don’t know a Tim. So how did he know me?”

Jon frowned, cocking his head. “Technically, I got the number from Tim but that was via Melanie. She said her roommate was friends with…well, friends with you.”

“Mmhmm, that makes sense. I know Georgie from the coffee shop.” He was about to continue when he saw absolutely paralyzed look on Jon’s face. “You…you alright?”

Jon was stock still, pausing the forkful of shrimp that was en route to his mouth. “Sorry, Melanie’s roommate is Georgie?”

Martin nodded slowly. “Yeah, Georgie Barker, that podcaster. She gets her an extra-spicy chai latte from Swirl most days and that’s about the most I know of the relationship. Why, you know her?”

Jon put the fork down, shrimp forgotten, and sighed, running his thumbs along the bridge of his nose, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses up to his eyebrows. “Y-yes, she’s kind of…my ex.”

It was Martin’s turn to freeze. “Sorry?”

“Mmm, yeah, we decided we were better as friends. It was back in Oxford. But I don’t exactly see her often much anymore.” Jon winced at his own words, as if he knew how bad they sounded.

Martin sat back in disbelief, chuckling to himself. “Y’know, she said you were a ‘friend of a friend of a friend.’ D’you think she even knew it was you?”

Jon cocked his head in thought. “I guess not. I mean, I think the whole library staff has been gunning for me to relieve some tension. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been looking for a blind date for me for months now.”

Martin grinned, eyes sparkling. “Well, no matter. It was lucky for me.” Lucky again, was Martin, when he was rewarded with Jon’s warm blush.

----

The bill had been a painful affair, with both Jon and Martin vying for the privilege of paying. Martin struck a deal: he’d pay for the dinner, and Jon would pay for ice cream. Jon knew the differences would widely outweigh when it came to cost but he relented, and the self-satisfied smirk that blossomed over Jon’s face was payment enough.

Martin pointed out the ice cream parlor was a few blocks away and, though it was January, they decided to walk. The fresh snow on the ground glinted against the orange street lamps, and Jon laughed under his breath at the way Martin took great care to step on any unusually large clumps of snow, like he had a personal vendetta. When Jon’s chuckle had made it past the scarf he had wound round his neck and mouth, Martin had glanced over, embarrassed.

“I like the sound of it,” he mumbled, suddenly very meek for a man his stature. It was, regretfully, endearing. Martin was tall, but he was big too, and it was obvious underneath the layer of soft cashmere and chub, there was rigid muscle, and beneath that still, a gentle heart. Jon was struck by him, in more ways he had prepared himself for, and it felt second nature to slide his gloved hand into Martin’s and give it a solid squeeze of acknowledgement.

“Do you think it’s too cold to get ice cream?” Jon asked, watching a cloud of breath float by his lips.

Martin shrugged. “Technically? Yes. But who’s going to tell on us?” Jon swung their entwined hands a little. “Unless…you don’t want to?” Martin added, eyes locking on Jon’s before his head followed.

Jon shook his head. “No, I want to. I believe we have a debt to settle and I have a personal score involving rum raisin.” Martin beamed, clearly pleased, and Jon was certain the snow around him melted right off with the warmth of his smile. Jon leant into Martin’s side a little, and they continued in silence until they reached the ice cream parlor, the entrance to which glowed with pink and white LEDs.

Jon smugly ordered a scoop of rum raisin and was delighted to find Martin “didn’t hate it,” though he insisted his mint chip was better. That was genuinely the best Jon could hope for; not even Georgie in all her unusual tastes enjoyed his rum raisin sensibility. “My grandmother loved it when I was a kid,” he explained between bites, stirring the ice cream with his spoon. “It was the only flavor she kept around the house.”

“Not even vanilla?” Martin gasped in mock disbelief. “Any sensible person would say you’ve been tricked into enjoying it.” Jon chuckled and elbowed Martin mildly.

Jon found himself lingering over the bowl, realizing that the end of their dessert meant an end to the date. Martin seemed to be acting similarly, putting his spoon down between bites and taking more and more thoughtful swallows between their bouts of conversation.

“You-you took the tube here, right?” Jon asked, setting his finally-empty bowl off to the side. At Martin’s confirmation, Jon clenched his fist below the table. “Do you want to walk to the station together?”

Martin’s eyes lit up, nodding eagerly. “I had meant to ask, actually! I wanted to make sure you got there safe.” Jon winced at the blush that overtook his cheeks, though it was easy to blame it on the chill of the ice cream and the frigid night.

The walk to the tube was longer and the pair, heavily sated by pasta and dairy, were quiet, making soft comments about the snow or the odd remaining Christmas decorations, hands clasped tightly and shoulders pressing into the other. The fluorescents of the underground shone brightly, normally a beacon calling travelers home in the night, but to Jon it felt like a dreadful curse. He truly hadn’t expected to enjoy his evening with Martin so much, but they had just clicked. It felt like a shame to let it go.

Swiping their cards, Jon and Martin passed through their respective turnstiles and stood at the bisecting tunnels through which the various lines waited to take them home. They faced each other in silence, hands still interlocked, unsure of how to begin.

“If you’d like to,” Jon murmured, eyes shifting focus to Martin’s curls, plastered to his forehead from the snow; his collar, peeking through his coat; the way the shell of his ear seemed to have a nick missing (was it from a childhood accident? Just the way it was grown?). “I’d like to go out again.”

Martin squeezed Jon’s hand, and Jon’s eyes flitted back to Martin’s own; they were grey-blue and reminded Jon of his childhood sea. “Mmhmm, yeah.” Martin rolled his eyes at his own words and tried again. “Yes, Jon, I’d love that.” Martin moved to hug Jon, a gesture Jon eagerly accepted, relishing the warm arms encircling him and the feel of Martin’s chin resting on the crown of his head. As they pulled away, Martin’s eyes flitted across Jon’s face and the hand around his back moved, cautiously, to rest on the side of Jon’s neck.

“I…I don’t want to presume,” Martin said quietly, and Jon was distinctly aware of how empty, how big, the station was. “Is it okay if I kiss your cheek?”

Jon blinked rapidly, nodding wordlessly, before clearing his throat. “Ah, um, yes. Please.”

Martin’s smile was soft as he pressed his lips to the apex of Jon’s cheekbone, almost into his hairline. Jon was sure the blush that rose across his face this time certainly couldn’t be explained away by the snow, but he honestly wasn’t really sure he cared.

#tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfic #fanfic to a tea #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jmart #jonmartin #georgie barker #rosie zampano #tma rosie #tim stoker #meet cute #blind date au #this is my love letter to TMA #prompt answer #fanfic prompt

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moonlightserenadeeznutz · 3 years

Text

Top Surgery

Oneshot about (trans) Remus Lupin getting top surgery. Bit of wolfstar as well.

Disclaimer: To all my trans boys/trans masc people reading this. You are no less trans, nor are you no less male/masculine if you decide against top surgery, or if you don’t/can’t get top surgery. This goes for bottom surgery, binding, hormones, etc. Your body doesn’t define your gender, nor does what you decide to do with it. <3 ~ Remus wasn’t allowed to get top surgery until he was seventeen. Well... “top surgery” was the muggle name for it. In the wizarding world, a simple spell would do the trick. But there was a law in the wizarding world stating that parts of the body weren’t allowed to be removed from an underage wizard or witch unless said body part was detrimental to the child’s life, say, an unfixable limb, or a gangrenous leg. And despite Remus’ adamance that his chest was a detriment, specifically to his mental health, (when would the wizarding world take mental health seriously? He regularly thought to himself), the law disagreed. So he had to wait until he was of age.

In the meantime, he simply wore a shirt with a binding charm put upon it, which did the trick to make his chest look flat with his clothes on, but he was desperate to just be able to take his shirt off, in the hot weather or in bed. He forwent ever swimming in the lake with his friends because he couldn’t swim with his binder on, but he didn’t want his chest to be noticeable. So he had to sit by the edge of the lake instead, his feet dipped in and his friends splashing at him from within the water.

Another problem Remus faced was that, even when he did turn seventeen, he had no idea where to go to get top surgery. He lived in 1970s Britain. There were simply no resources, muggle or wizarding, and he didn’t have the money anyway. And Madam Pomfrey couldn’t do it. She was a school nurse, she wasn’t allowed to perform procedures. She could only give out potions and fix up bones. Procedures were for St Mungos. And St Mungos didn’t have top surgery as an option.

The days leading up to Remus’s seventeenth birthday made him rather depressed. He’d soon be of age, but it wouldn’t make any difference. He was stuck. Stuck in the wrong body, and there was nothing he could do.

Of course, he had been on hormones since second year, or at least the wizarding version of hormones, which was just a transfiguration potion, and luckily for him, it wasn’t against wizarding law as long as he had his parents’ permission, which he did. And the potion had changed his body considerably. His voice deepened, he had facial hair and he tried hard to work out so he had abs and muscles, which he knew wasn’t exactly necessary, and he didn’t go overboard, but really he was just trying to offset the dysphoria he got from his chest by making the rest of him look as masculine as possible.

He was in a similar situation with bottom dysphoria, but at least he was able to hide it. Getting surgery for that wasn’t as pressing as his chest, and because of the potion he at least didn’t have to worry about his periods anymore.

Compared to Remus’s misery before his seventeenth birthday, Sirius, James and Peter were clearly happy about something, but they wouldn’t tell him what it was, even when he threatened to hex them; a threat he regularly used but never went through with, so it didn’t do much to get them to talk.

But he soon found out what they were whispering about on the day of his seventeenth. Sirius handed him an envelope, unlabelled, and said “It’s from all of us.”

“You know, for two rich people, you guys can be real cheapskates.” They just continued smiling expectantly until Remus opened up the envelope and looked inside.

There wasn’t a card like he was expecting, but some sort of advertisement, or pamphlet. He read through it, and his eyebrows knitted together as he read further down the page. The ad was for a wizarding clinic, specifically aimed at trans wizards and witches. It was set up by a guy named Gray Jacobson, who was a trained Healer, and trans himself, and offered all different kinds of things, including top surgery.

“I... don’t get it?” Said Remus eventually, pushing down any hope that was making its way up through his body.

“What’s not to get?” Exclaimed Sirius, no longer containing his excitement. “It’s a secret clinic, away from the ministry and St Mungos and shit, and surgery is affordable. Free even, if you really can’t pay. But don’t worry about that, because we all chipped in-” he was talking a mile a minute.

“Woah, woah, slow down, Padfoot,” interrupted Remus. ““How do you know this clinic is trustworthy.”

“If we didn’t think it was trustworthy, mate, we wouldn’t have shown it to you,” said James. “We’ve been researching it for months, Sirius and I even visited it last half term. The guy, Gray, is really nice. He told us all about it. He can tell you as well. The procedure for getting rid of your chest is so easy. Takes a few minutes, then you have to take a potion every night for a week until you’re all healed up. But then it’s done! No more chest!”

“No more binding!” Grinned Sirius. No more chest. No more binding. God it sounded brilliant. Too good to be true.

“Really?” Was all Remus could manage.

~ Half term was already upon them, so Remus and his friends were able to visit the clinic the next day. And James and Sirius had been right, Gray was very nice. And Remus loved meeting someone else like him. He’d never met another trans man before, and Gray gave him hope for his future. The man seemed happy, content. Remus wanted that.

It didn’t take long for Remus to view the place as perfectly legit, even with his usual paranoid, distrusting self. And according to Gray, the spell really did only take a few minutes, even if he did have to be placed under a sleeping charm while it happened, and he wouldn’t be able to see his chest until a week later. That didn’t bother him at all. What was a week after six years of waiting?

He booked the next appointment for the following Monday, and he really couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this excited. When he left the clinic, Sirius immediately hugged him, and James joined in, until Remus couldn’t even move under their combined weight.

~ The day of the appointment, Remus was nervous. Excited, but nervous. His friends had all agreed that it would be a little overwhelming if they all came with him, so it was decided that Sirius was to be the one to accompany Remus. He was Remus’s boyfriend after all, and besides, wild centaurs couldn’t stop Sirius from being there to support his best friend.

Remus didn’t know what to wear, and he couldn’t help but feel very self conscious at exposing his chest, even for a few minutes. But it was the price he had to pay, and he chose a button up shirt and jeans. Nothing special.

“Here’s the sleeping potion,” said Gray, handing Remus a bottle of silvery liquid. “You’ll be asleep in a matter of minutes, and then awake in another matter of minutes. The only difference is, when you wake up, there’ll sure be a huge weight off your chest.” Sirius snorted from behind the man, and even Remus grinned at the stupid joke. It was definitely something his friends would say.

They were in the clinic now; they’d arrived around twenty minutes ago, and hadn’t needed to wait that long. Sirius held Remus’s hand the entire time, though he seemed to be more nervous than Remus was. Remus was nervous, but the nearer the surgery came to actually happening, the more impatient he felt. He wanted this to be over with, so he could finally feel like himself.

Remus uncapped the potion and drunk it down in one, and within seconds he started to feel light headed and drowsy. Gray helped him to lie back on the bed that he was sitting on, and the last thing he saw before falling asleep was Sirius giving him a very cheesy double thumbs up.

Somehow, within only a few minutes, his brain managed to conjure up what felt like hours of dreaming, although it was so nonsensical that Remus couldn’t make heads nor tails off it, and by the time he’d woken up, he couldn’t remember anything.

It took him some time to come round properly, drowsy as he was, but when the fog from his head finally cleared, he immediately looked down at his chest.

It was wrapped up in bandages, but one thing was certain: his chest was flat.

He ran his hand across the bandages. Yup. Absolutely flat. He almost started crying right then and there.

“Hello, love,” greeted Sirius, seeing that Remus was now awake. Remus stared up at him.

“It’s flat,” he croaked. Sirius grinned.

“It sure is.” Gray walked over to them. He’d been tinkering around with some vials, and he handed one to Remus.

“Take a sip of this every night for a week, it will help your chest to heal fully. Then you can remove the bandages. And if you need anything else, any help, or you have any questions, you know where I am.”

“Thank you.” Remus hoped the man could see just how grateful he was, as he was unable to form full sentences for the moment, the affects of the sleeping potion still lingering. But Gray let him and Sirius go on their way, and like last time with James, Sirius waited until they were out of the clinic, this time using the floo network in the clinic’s fireplace to take them home to their tiny apartment, to throw his arms around Remus. This was it for Remus, and he couldn’t stop himself from breaking down in tears. Good tear of course. Happy tears. If this was what he was like now, he’d be a wreck after a week.

And if Remus was impatient before, he certainly was now. Sirius had to constantly stop him from trying to unwind his bandages early.

“Keep doing that and I will personally pin you to the ground,” Sirius warned.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“In this instance it is solely a threat.”

“Fine.”

After what felt like years, the week was finally drawing to a close. And James, Lily and Peter arrived to see the big reveal. It was an audience that made Remus feel a little self conscious, but a part of him didn’t want them to miss this.

They were all crammed into the bathroom, the only place in the apartment that had a mirror. Rather than cutting off the bandages with magic, immediately revealing his chest, he opted for unwinding them by hand. His nervousness had returned to replace his impatience and he wanted to take it slowly.

As the last bandages fell away, he started into the mirror, and his friends cheered beside him. His chest was completely flat, and it looked exactly how he wanted it to look. It was a chest that could be shown off. A chest he could take a shirt off of and go swimming with. Finally. He never had to wear his binder again. He’d never smiled this much in his life, and it only faltered as he tried not to once again start crying. He failed. Sirius went over to kiss him, and soon all his friends were hugging him.

And the first thing he did when half term ended and lessons at Hogwarts were let out for lunchtime, was take his shirt off, and go swimming in the lake with his friends.

#trans remus #ftm remus lupin #remus lupin #wolfstar #top surgery #gender dysphoria #chest dysphoria #harry potter #sirius x remus #remus lupin oneshot

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dem-obscure-imagines · 4 years

Text

The Rest of Our Forever

George Weasley x Reader

Fandom: Harry Potter

Note: This is a sequel to “Stuck With Me”. As always, fuck J.K. Rowling, trans rights are human rights. As a reminder, reader has healing powers.

Summary: After George proposes to you, you spend some time reflecting on all of the moments that have led you to where you are.

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR DEATHLY HALLOWS…mentions of death. Other than that, a little angst and a lot of fluff.

Word Count: 6.3k

“You look so beautiful, (Y/N)…” Ginny murmured. She tucked the sparkling tiara into your hair, which Fleur had pulled up into an elegant updo.

“That’s thanks to all of you.”

“Oh, no dear, you’re always beautiful.” Molly scolded. She had something in her hand, a little box. “Now, (Y/N), if it’s not too much to ask, I have this necklace for you to wear. You still need ‘something borrowed.’”

Molly pulled out a simple heart-shaped locket.

“Oh, Molly, it’s beautiful…” You covered your mouth with your hands, eyes tearing up. Molly had always been so accepting of you into her family, and this was, of course, no exception. “Of course I’d love to wear it. Thank you so much.”

“Anything for our newest Weasley.” She beamed, standing behind you to fasten the clasp around your neck. “I am so, unbelievably happy for you, dear. You make our Georgie so happy.”

You smiled, your heart racing just thinking about him. “He makes me so happy, too…”

***

You were nervous. So, unbelievably nervous. You were the only child in your family, a Muggleborn witch, and you had no idea what you were getting yourself into. So, wide-eyed and scared, you started wandering King’s Cross. You had no idea how you were supposed to get to Platform 9¾, and you were far too shy to ask, so instead you wandered towards 9 and 10, looking around desperately for someone who was like you. Someone who would make you feel less alone.

It was then that you were literally knocked off of your feet by a pair of red-headed twins. One of them immediately turned, a guilty look on his face at the sight of you, sitting on the concrete floor.

“Look what you’ve done, Fred! You’ve bulldozed her!” He called at his twin, who was looking on somewhat apologetically. “Sorry about him. He has no sense for this sort of thing. A bit clumsy, that one.” He held out his hand and you locked eyes with him. In that moment, something clicked inside of you and you stared up at him in shock for a moment before you took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “I’m George Weasley.”

“I’m (Y/N) (L/N),” you introduced, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Are you going to…um…” you leaned in and whispered, “Hogwarts?”

He nodded. “Are you a first year, too?”

“I am. I…don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t worry. You can follow us.” Fred encouraged.

“Meeting friends already, boys?” Molly asked. Her face lit up in a warm, welcoming smile when she saw the look on your face. “What’s your name, dear?”

“I’m (Y/N).” You introduced shyly.

“Well, Miss (Y/N), we will get you to Hogwarts in one piece, don’t you worry one bit. Now go on, George, you go first.”

“See you on the other side.” He said with a wink, taking ahold of his cart and pushing it straight through the platform.

You watched in awe as he disappeared into the brick pillar. “Woah…”

Fred went next, and then some of the twins’ older brothers. And then you took your turn, running straight through the brick wall and into a train platform identical to the one you’d just left. George was waiting there with a lopsided supportive smile.

“See? It’s not so bad.”

“It’s not.” You agreed.

“Do you have anyone to sit with?” George asked, realizing that since you were there alone, you probably didn’t have any wizard friends.

You shook your head, your lip pulled between your teeth.

“You can sit with us, if you like.” Fred offered with a smile. “I owe you one for knocking you over earlier.” When he said it, he stepped on George’s foot.

Pain shot through your toes and you looked down, but found that there was nothing there to cause it. Instead, George cursed and lifted his foot.

“Merlin, Fred! Watch it!”

You were stunned into silence, staring at George and at his foot and then back at yours, and all at once, you understood the feeling that had clicked in your chest when you’d first locked eyes with him. You had a feeling that you were going to have to get used to George Weasley…

***

It was your fourth year. You were worried about lots of things. Namely, the giant snake roaming the castle, and additionally, your best friend’s sister had disappeared because of it. You were headed down to the common room because you couldn’t sleep, but you quickly found that someone else had the very same idea. You heard sniffling, but until you got closer, you couldn’t tell who it was.

“George?” You asked softly. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine…” He lied, quickly wiping his tears away. “Even in the dark, you can tell us apart, huh?”

“It’s not that hard, really.” You said, walking around the edge of the couch and sitting down next to him. “You and Fred are more different than people give you credit for.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” You nodded and summoned a tissue with your wand, offering it to him with a careful hand. He took it and used it to wipe away the remnants of his tears. “Big time.”

“How so?”

“Well, your eyes are the easiest tell. Yours are tilted down a little bit. And your noses are different. And your lips have an extra dip to them that Fred’s don’t.”

He smirked a bit. “Staring at my lips, are you?”

You winked. “Only on occasion.”

He laughed, giving you a playful nudge. But then, his expression turned sullen again. “Do…do your powers happen to work on feelings?”

You chuckled and shook your head. “They don’t, I’m sorry. I’m a good listener, though.”

“I’m just worried about Ginny.” His voice cracked and tears rolled down his cheeks. “W-what if—”

“They’re going to find her, George. I can feel it.”

“If she’s hurt…” his tear-filled eyes met yours, but he didn’t finish his question, shaking his head. Your powers were a secret and he knew that. He couldn’t ask that of you, it wasn’t his place.

You looked at him and your heart melted. You pulled him into your arms, a hand stroking through his red hair comfortingly, the way he did when you were feeling down. You leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “If she’s hurt, I will heal her just like I’ve been healing you.” You hugged him tighter. “I promise.”

He gave you a grateful squeeze, surrendering to his sobs and your warmth, letting you soothe the heavy feelings weighing him down until his crying subsided to sniffles again. You really were good at making him feel better, and apparently, it did apply to more than just his injuries.

***

It was your fifth year. You and George had been dating for a little while now, a few months. As always, you were in the stands of every Quidditch game. And when Gryffindor won, as expected, you rushed down to the field with the rest of the students in the stands, hurrying to find George as quickly as you could.

You ran into Fred first, smiled at him, congratulated him on a good game, and then turned, looking for his brother. It had gotten a lot easier to find them since their growth spurt over the summer. Now, they towered over just about everybody, yourself included.

You turned around again, and found him standing right behind you. You launched yourself into his arms, giggling when he hoisted you off the ground and spun you around. You could feel through your bond that he had a bruise on his back, but that was a problem for later. “That was such a good game, Georgie! You were spectacular out there.”

“Of course I was.” He kissed your cheek and then your forehead. “I had my lucky charm up there cheering me on.” He set you back down on the ground, taking your hands in his.

Merlin, he looked so good in that uniform, especially with his longer hair all messed up from the game.

“See something you fancy?” He raised an eyebrow, admiring the lovestruck look on your face.

“You look so hot in uniform.” You murmured, your lip caught between your teeth.

His eyes sparkled and he leaned in closer. “Oh yeah, (L/N)?”

“Mmhmm.” You hummed innocently. You stood on your toes and pressed a kiss to his lips, which he quickly deepened, pulling you up to him and leaning down to meet you in the middle.

When you parted, he rested his forehead against yours, his warm breaths ghosting across your cheeks. His fingers intertwined with yours, and he inhaled a nervous little breath.

“(Y/N), come home for Christmas with me this year.” He whispered, his sparkling eyes waiting anxiously for a reply.

“I’d love to, George.” You nodded and wrapped your arms around his muscled torso, nuzzling your face into his chest. His long arms wrapped around you and you felt his head rest against yours.

“Good, because my mum loves you and she’s been on me about it for weeks.”

“Awwwww, I love your mom.” You looked up at George and then added. “Now let’s go upstairs and fix up your bruises because damn that bludger hurt like a bitch.”

“Right. Sorry about that, love.” He took your hand and kissed it, swinging it between you as you made your way up to the common rooms.

***

When Christmas break finally came around, you were excited, but you were also a little nervous. You’d met the majority of the Weasleys, but you hadn’t seen most of them since you and George had started dating. You knew they liked you as his friend just fine, but you weren’t sure how they would feel about you as George’s girlfriend.

All your worries, however, were set aside when you stepped through the front door of the Burrow and Molly pulled you into the warmest hug, absolutely buzzing with excitement.

“George wrote me about the good news, dear! I’m so glad he finally plucked up the courage! He’s fancied you since third year and I was beginning to think he’d never get around to telling you.”

You blushed red and laughed, looking back at George for confirmation. “Third year, huh?”

He grinned guiltily, his cheeks steadily reddening. “Alright, woman, let’s not spill all my secrets just yet. She just got here.”

“Right, right, of course.” Molly let go of you. “Would you like some tea, dear?”

“Sure, thank you!” You smiled. Once she walked over towards the kettle, you looked up at George, smiling. “Third year…”

“Yeah, yeah. But I mean, could you blame me?” His eyes held so much more information than he was saying, and you appreciated the subtlety. He really was committed to keeping your secret a secret.

“I guess I am quite the catch.” You shrugged, laughing.

He slung a long arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him. He kissed your temple softly before whispering, “That you are.”

The way the sleeping arrangements were, you were in Ginny’s room with Ginny and Hermione, and this had led to some playful gossip, which you, for one, loved. As an only child, you’d always wanted a sister, and Ginny and Hermione really did feel like your sisters after everything you’d all been through.

“I still can’t believe you’re dating George.” Ginny grinned, shaking her head. “I’m happy, believe me, but I can’t believe he finally asked you out. He’s been pining like a lovesick puppy for so long…”

“Oh my gosh, really?” You giggled. “That’s adorable.”

“I think it’s sweet. You always have had a special bond.” Hermione added, thinking. “It was inevitable, really.”

“Yeah, I think so, too.” You nodded. “If he didn’t ask me out, I think eventually, I would have just pushed him into a wall and kissed him senseless.”

“Ew.” Ginny gagged.

“Well, I, for one, would have enjoyed it.” George piped up from the doorway, the look in his eyes soft, but with a hint of mischief. “Just came to say goodnight, love.”

You stood up and walked over to him. His Christmas pajamas were draped over his long frame, the ends of his pants not quite reaching all the way down to his ankles. Cute.

He pulled you into the hallway for a bit of privacy from the girls. Once you were out of sight, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours softly. You reciprocated just as gently.

“Merry Christmas.” He whispered, his voice deeper than usual because of how tired he was. It was indeed getting late, and you were sure that was why the next three words slipped through his perfect lips. “I love you.”

You were both quiet for a beat. He sobered up immediately, realizing what he’d just whispered, his eyes widening. He stuttered, “I…uh…”

Your heart raced and you replied, “I love you too.” You stood on your toes and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, leaning into his ear to whisper, “I love you so much, George.”

His arms circled around your frame, hugging you tight as he exhaled a long sigh. “Good. It just…slipped out, but I do mean it. I love you (Y/N) (L/N). I have for a very long time.”

***

The next morning, all the Weasleys gathered around. You walked into the living room and looked around for an empty spot to sit. Luckily, there was one right next to George. It was a tight fit, but you didn’t mind being squished up next to him.

There were loads of presents in piles scattered across the floor. Molly handed you a large parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, and when you opened it, there was a (favorite color) sweater inside with a giant (your initial) knitted into it. Your eyes widened and you gasped.

“Mrs. Weasley, this is amazing! Thank you so much!” You just about cried, tears threatening to blur your vision.

“Of course, dear.” She hugged you tightly, kissing the top of your head motherly. “You’re a member of the family, after all.”

And in that moment, surrounded by all of the Weasleys and Harry and Hermione, George’s hand on your knee and a proud look in his eye, you knew she was right. Being with them in the Burrow was exactly where you belonged.

***

“Alright, Fred, take a look.” You handed him a mirror and he held it up, admiring the three-leafed clover you’d painted onto his face. The Weasleys had invited you to the Quidditch World Cup with them, so currently, you were in their tent, painting the twins’ faces.

“Wicked!” He grinned. “Thanks, (Y/N)!”

“Of course.” You turned to your boyfriend. “Georgie? You want face paint?”

“Just do mine like yours, love. We can match.” He smiled softly up at you.

“Ugh,” Fred grimaced, “look what you’ve done, (L/N). You’ve turned my brother into a softy.”

“He was a softy way before I interfered.” You laughed.

George was about to protest, but you settled yourself into his lap, shutting him right up.

“Just tell me if I’m getting too close.” You whispered, dipping the brush you were using in green face paint and carefully drawing stripes on his face.

He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “That’s impossible, darling.”

“Eww, gross.” Fred threw a throw pillow at you, causing you both to giggle.

“Everyone ready?” Arthur asked.

“Just about.” Fred called.

You put the final touches on George’s face paint so it was identical to yours, green and white stripes on your cheeks. You leaned forward and kissed his nose. “All done.”

You got up and followed the boys out to the stadium. The game was fantastic, and you loved seeing how excited the twins got. You had never really gotten to watch Quidditch with George. Every other time you saw a game, he was the one playing in it, so it was fun to see just how riled up he got. You didn’t think it was possible to fall any further in love with him, but steadily, you were.

After the game, George could tell you were tired, so he bent down in front of you, his arms reaching out behind him. You hopped up onto his back and his arms latched under your thighs, carrying you back to the tent with ease. He set you on the couch and you watched tiredly as the twins paraded around the tent, very excited about Ireland’s win. You were sort of drifting in and out, but then George was kneeling in front of you, very serious, his eyes wide.

“Death Eaters. We have to go.”

He tugged you to your feet and you followed him, your hand clasped tightly in his larger, stronger one. You both had your wands out, and you followed Arthur’s lead until finally, you’d all made it to safety. Well, after they went back to find Harry, of course. You didn’t even realize you’d gotten hurt until you all made it back to the Burrow.

At first, you thought it was George who’d burned his hand, but when you looked down, it was your skin that was reddened and irritated.

You poked it with curious fingers and hissed at the pain. George perked up immediately, grabbing your good hand and pulling you to the kitchen after him. He placed himself so his body was a shield between you and the rest of his family, giving you privacy to heal yourself.

“Go ahead, love.” He watched you expectantly, but you shook your head, looking up at him.

“It doesn’t work like that, Georgie.” You lit your hand and held it above the burned skin, but nothing happened. “It doesn’t work on me.”

“Well that’s not fair.” He bit his lip and shook his head. He hoisted you up onto the kitchen counter, causing you to squeak at the unexpected movement. He smiled softly and pushed hair out of the front of your face, leaning in to kiss you gently. And then, he whispered, “My turn to patch you up, then, love.”

He left for a moment and returned with medical supplies. In his absence, you’d started running the burn under some cold water to stop it from hurting for a little bit. He got out some burn ointment and gauze, and once you’d dried off your hand a bit, he dabbed the ointment on gently with his careful finger. Then, he wrapped it up. You stared at him as he worked, focus evident on his handsome features and obscured only slightly by the long hair he was sporting recently.

When he was finished, he looked back up at you to find the softest look he’d ever seen gracing your face. He chuckled. “What?”

“Nothing.” You bit your lip. “Just thinking is all.”

“About what?” He pressed, mischief and love in his eyes.

“You.” You laughed to yourself. Even perched up on the counter, he still towered over you. You reached forward and tugged him closer by the fabric of his shirt. Then, as you leaned in to kiss him, you whispered, “It’s always you…”

***

“Woah…” You murmured, walking in through the front doors of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes for the first time. It was just as colorful as you’d expected it to be, knowing the wizards who had put the place together. They were especially busy today, and you hadn’t had time to stop in since you’d finally escaped Umbridge’s iron grasp and graduated. There were toys and candies and treats all over the place.

You wandered around, admiring everything until you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around and found yourself face to face with Fred, an amused grin on his face.

“About time you came here, (L/N). We thought you’d never pop in.”

“This place is amazing, Fred. I can’t believe you two…well, no that’s not true. You’re the most creative people I’ve ever met, of course you pulled something this spectacular off.”

“Cut it with the flattery.” Fred crossed his arms, grinning proudly. “You’re not getting the ‘dating my brother’ discount.”

“Darn.” You laughed. “Speaking of…?”

“He’s upstairs helping some customers. Should be down in a second.”

“Right here, love.” He walked down the stairs, and you had to do a double-take at the sight of him looking so sharp in his work suit, his hair spiked up away from his face.

“Wow.” You whistled, taking him in. “You look sharp.”

“We’re literally identical.” Fred looked from your lovestruck face to his twin and then back to you. “What did you think he would look like after you’ve already seen me?”

“What can I say, Freddie? I’ve just got my own charm.” George chuckled, stopping in front of you. He cupped your cheeks in his hands and raised your face to his, kissing you passionately, but briefly, for the sake of both his brother and the customers.

When you parted, you spoke softly. “You hurt your hand yesterday, didn’t you?”

“Cut my knuckle…” He admitted, looking down at you sheepishly. “Sorry, love.”

“Don’t be sorry, just let me fix it.” You stood on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“We’ll be in the back room, Freddie.” George told him, tugging you towards the storage room.

“I won’t wait up, lovebirds.” Fred winked.

You laughed and shook your head at him. Once the door was closed behind you and George, you set to work, hand lit with magic as you healed up the tiny wound on his middle finger. You took his hand in yours and kissed the now-healed spot. “There. All better.”

“Thank you.” He pulled you into a tight hug, exhaling a sigh he’d been holding in for far too long. He hated that he didn’t get to see you every day like he used to. He hated being apart from you for days or weeks at a time. “Love, I’ve missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too.”

He was quiet for a beat, his arms still wrapped around you. A thought presented itself to him in his mind and he mulled it over for a beat before he blurted, “You should move in with us.”

Your heart raced. “Yeah?”

“Our flat isn’t much, but…I happen to think it would be a lot better if you were here.”

You nodded, looking up at him, your eyes sparkling. “I think so, too.”

***

And then came the fateful night when you’d found George bleeding on the couch and you’d revealed your secret to his entire family in order to heal his ear. And then, he’d proposed.

It was the morning after. You’d talked to Molly about it, and she’d had some questions. You told her you could feel George’s pain, that you were connected somehow and that because of it, you’d been healing every injury he’d had since he broke his arm third year. When she heard, she pulled you into the tightest hug and thanked you and told you how happy you’d crossed paths with George all those years before.

You were wrapped up in one of George’s sweaters. The sleeves hung far beyond your fingertips, and you were drowning in the fabric, but it was cozy and warm and it smelled like him, so you were happy.

You wandered downstairs, still a little drowsy. George was definitely more of a morning person than you were, and he was already wide awake and down in the kitchen, drinking coffee. You found him leaning against the counter, a smug look on his face and a toothbrush sticking out of his ear; the very ear you’d patched up the night before.

“Moooorning.” He drawled, his voice still extra deep from waking up.

You raised an eyebrow, laughing at the toothbrush. “Do I even wanna know?”

“Just making sure it still works, love.” He grinned, pulling the toothbrush out of his ear and setting it on the counter.

“How did I do, by the way?” You walked up closer to get a better look. There was one chunk in the middle of his outer ear that was missing, but the skin was healed and closed up, and you weren’t getting any pain through the bond you shared, so you weren’t sure how much more you could do for him. “Aww, I missed a bit.”

“I’m pretty sure I lost that when it happened. Don’t worry about it.” He shook his head, his eyes soft. “It’s because of you I even still have this ear at all.”

“You’re all dressed up early.” You noted, looking at him in his suit. Bill and Fleur’s wedding was today, but you were nowhere near ready.

“I have to set up the tent with dad in a bit.” He explained. He set down his coffee and opened his arms.

You caved, walking closer to him and wrapping your arms around him, curling into his chest.

He kissed your forehead, stroking through your hair, a smile on his face. “How’s my fiancé doing today?”

Your heart skipped a beat and you hugged him tighter, your cheeks flushed red. “So much better, now.”

“It’ll be our wedding next, love.”

“I’m gonna cry.” You whispered, your voice shaking as you were overcome with the emotion of everything that was happening. You were engaged to a man you’d been in love with since you were thirteen and you couldn’t have been happier about it. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

George wiped the tear from your cheek and pulled you in for a long kiss. “I can’t wait to marry you either.”

***

The battle was intense. Spells were slinging every which way. Explosions sounded, the castle crumbled, and you watched as your friends fought for their lives against the Death Eaters determined to strike them down.

You’d been separated from George about twenty minutes before, but you hadn’t felt any pain through your bond, so you weren’t as concerned as you would be if you knew something was happening out of your sight.

You spent most of the battle patching people up as quietly and privately as you could manage. If the Death Eaters knew you were a healer, you knew they’d kill you immediately. You were too valuable to the wizards you cared about.

You had your wand out, slinging spells at whatever Death Eaters you could, disarming them and flinging their wands into oblivion. You ran through the violent halls, keeping an eye out for George and watching for anyone who needed help.

You spotted Fred and Percy and you made your way closer to them.

It was then that the explosion went off.

The walls crumbled, and Fred collapsed. You sprinted to him as fast as you could, diving onto the floor. Percy walked over, panic evident on his face.

Your heart sank. Fred wasn’t breathing. And yet, kneeling over him, you could still feel a zing in his chest. Maybe it was your powers, or maybe it was what you were always meant to do, the reason you’d been connected with George, but you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt: you had to save Fred Weasley.

You tucked your wand into your pocket and raised both of your hands, lighting them with the brightest golden healing music you could muster. You focused on the zing still hovering in his chest. It was fainter than it had been a few seconds before. You didn’t have much time, and you knew that.

“Percy, cover us. I can save him, but I have to work quickly.”

“On it.” Percy nodded, putting his back to yours and raising his wand while you pushed every ounce of power you had into the middle of Fred’s chest.

You stayed there for a long time, your hands glowing, Percy slinging spells to protect you and his dying little brother. Finally, after what felt like eternities, Fred’s chest rose and fell and rose and fell. You kept pushing, intense focus in every move you made, every breath you took.

His eyes fluttered open and he looked up at you, confused.

“What’s going on?” he asked weakly.

“You died.” You replied, still pushing energy into his chest. “But George needs a best man at our wedding, so that’s not an option.”

He chuckled hoarsely. “Well, thank you, for the record.”

“Don’t mention it til I’m finished.” You kept at it, watching as the color returned to his cheeks. “Just keep breathing for me, Weasley.”

“I can do that.”

You kept radiating energy into Fred, and as you did, you felt blood drip from your nostril, the world starting to spin around you. You stopped.

Fred sat up, looking at you with wide eyes. “Hey now, breathe for me, (L/N).”

You nodded, your blinks getting longer. Then, all at once, you slumped over, the world going black.

***

You woke up in a pair of strong arms, held against a shaking chest, droplets of water dripping down onto your face. A pair of lips kissed your forehead over and over, and a familiar voice murmured, “I’m so sorry, love. So, so sorry…” He sobbed. “I should have been there…”

“Georgie, why are you crying?” You asked softly, looking up at him.

He froze, going quiet. He looked down and met your gaze, tears rolling down his cheeks as he pulled you into a more upright position, just about crushing you against his chest. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” He exhaled a long sigh. “You…you weren’t breathing, and I thought…”

“We all thought…” Fred met your gaze over George’s shoulder, guilt all over his face.

Looking up, you found yourself surrounded by Weasleys, who, until a few moments ago, thought you were dead.

You pulled away from George’s neck to get a better look at his face. You cupped his cheek with a gentle hand and rested your forehead against his. “I’m not going anywhere.” You kissed him softly before adding, “You’re stuck with me, Weasley.”

He couldn’t hold in his tears when he finished, “Gee, real shame that is.”

You wrapped your arms around him and tugged him closer. He held you like it was the last time he would ever get to. Your hand rose to run through his hair.

“I’m right here,” you whispered, trying to comfort him. “I’m right here, George. I love you so much…”

***

After the battle, once the dust had settled and Voldemort was dead once and for all, you’d volunteered to help clean up. George and Fred had accompanied you, wanting to help out however they could, so the three of you were currently fixing the collapsed walls.

“I didn’t know you could bring dead people back to life.” Fred said, looking down the hallway to the remains of the very wall that had taken him out.

“Neither did I.” You chuckled, waving your wand at the rubble and watching as it floated back into place, repairing as though it had never been broken in the first place. “But I knew I couldn’t let you die.”

“Thanks for that, by the way.” Fred laughed. “I owe you whatever sweets you want from the shop for the rest of our lives.”

“Deal.”

Once the hallway was all fixed up, George took your hand and gave it a squeeze. “Do you want to take a walk with me, love?”

“Yeah, I could use some air.” You nodded. “See you in a bit, Fred.”

Fred gave George a knowing look that went over your head. You followed George through the castle and then out the doors and down towards the lake. It was a beautiful day, just chilly enough to warrant George’s oversized sweater draped over your frame. The sky was blue and there was a gentle breeze. Even the lake was serene, occasional ripples disturbing the clear surface.

Once you stopped walking, George took his hand out of yours. He took a breath and you looked up at him, waiting for him to say whatever was on his mind.

“My mum…found this. It was my grandmother’s. I figured I should do this properly.” George said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a little velvet box.

You covered your mouth, tears fogging your vision as he got on one knee, opening the box to reveal the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen.

“(Y/N) (L/N), over these past four years, you’ve made me the happiest wizard in the world. Will you marry me?”

And once again, you replied, “Yes. Of course I will marry you, George Weasley.”

***

“Are we all ready in here, ladies?” A tall red-haired wizard popped his head into Ginny’s room, where you and the others were getting ready.

“George! Get out of here! It’s bad luck!” Molly started scolding, but stopped abruptly. “Sorry, Fred. Yes, we’re all ready.”

“And you call yourself our mother…” Fred shook his head, a mischievous smirk on his face. “Where’s the lady of the hour?”

“Right here.” You stood from the makeshift vanity and turned to face your fiancé’s twin.

He took you in, letting out a low whistle. “You’re gonna make Georgie cry.”

“That was the goal.” Ginny smiled, adjusting your veil.

You looked in the mirror one last time, fiddling with the silk fabric of your skirt, and then you followed Fred and the others down the stairs. It was going to be a simple ceremony. Remus Lupin was officiating. It would just be your friends and family in attendance. Quite honestly, you would have married George Weasley on your front porch with only the mailman as a witness. You loved him endlessly, and you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life with him.

You followed the procession of bridesmaids and groomsmen. Your father walked you down the aisle, and as soon as George laid eyes on you, his breath caught in his throat and tears fogged up his vision. There she was. His wife. His beautiful wife who he’d been in love with for six years.

When you finally got to him, he gently lifted the veil off of your face, studying your features as though he’d be tested on them later.

“Hey there, love.” He whispered, trying to dispel his own nerves along with yours.

“Hey.” You whispered back, smiling softly.

Remus started the ceremony and you said your vows and exchanged your rings and then, finally, you kissed him. George’s hands framed your cheeks and he met you in the middle, kissing you passionately.

When the two of you parted, he whispered, “What now, Mrs. Weasley?”

“Now, Mr. Weasley…” you slipped both of your hands into his and gave them a squeeze, “we get started on the rest of our forever.”

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george #george x reader #george imagine #hp #hp imagine #harry potter #harry potter imagine

289 notes · View notes

haro-whumps · 3 years

Note

Hey how do you think that would be a reverse version of GW? Like, instead of Galo getting the whumpees, the seven of them somehow, through a legal technicality, get a Galo that was Bethany's slave?How donyou think they'd all be, in this situation?

I would like to clarify that Galo and Bethany are NOT related in this version.

"... an old paramour," Greyson stated, hedging an explanation. Bethany had been, well, significantly too old for him, at the time. But he'd liked that.

Even so, he wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to disclose his past questionable relationships with his housemates.

"And what did she leave you, exactly?" Evan asked, wearing his joggers and leaning against the doorframe, Lilah dressed similarly and walking past him with a deep pull from her water bottle.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Greyson said, passing him the letter. Lilah propped her arm up on his shoulder, only to be dislodged as he propped his arm up on her head. The two leaned in and read the letter together, their faces screwing up at almost the exact same moment.

"Well that's cryptic," Lilah said, taking the page from Evan's hand and flipping it over, checking the blank back. She handed it back to Greyson, who nodded his assent.

"So my bet's on bird," Evan said, ganking Lilah's water bottle and finishing it off.

"Evan!" Nyla called from the other side of the house, "Have you sent me your portion of the mortgage yet?"

"I thought the point of buying a house was to get away from landlords," Evan muttered to Lilah, who snorted.

"Evan!"

"Doing that now!"

Sasha entered and gently shoed the athletes out. "I n-need to get st-started on dinner."

She placed her hand on Greyson's shoulder. "It'll be fine. Maybe it's j-just a dog?"

Greyson shrugged, sighing. He wondered why he'd even been IN the woman's will at all.

"N-now move. I'm cooking."

Greyson smiled playfully back, bumping his hip to Sasha's, and left. He found Nyla rifling through the rest of the mail.

"Are you sure that's all they sent you?"

"Unfortunately."

Nyla huffed, letting the letters smack against her skirt. "Why couldn't they have had a lawyer write to us or something? Anything to save a dime, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to be preparing for!"

"We can run to a pet store the day it gets here. If not, a night in the garage won't kill it," Greyson assured. Also, wasn't HE supposed to be the one preparing? He set his hand on her shoulder. "You worry too much."

"I worry exactly the right amount, thank you," Nyla said, whapping him with the mail. As she walked towards her office, she called out, "Lilah, you'd better have put those in the hamper!"

"Does it bring you joy to endlessly nag?!"

"I live in a house with four other people!"

Greyson chuckled. He was also probably overthinking this. It was weird, and definitely unexpected, but it would all be fine.

That was a human person.

Tall, with choppily short hair, kneeling in their front entryway between Evan and Lilah's running shoes and the narrow side table Nyla used for mail and key rings.

That was a human person.

They all looked to each other, wondering what to do, and this was technically Greyson's problem, which meant he was the one who should do something about this. Why. Why this. Why him?!?!

When it became undeniably obvious that the other four were waiting on him and the silence was stiflingly uncomfortable, Greyson cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"Hello?" He hadn't meant for it to sound like a question.

"Hello master," the slave returned, skirt fisted with shaking knuckles.

"I am Greyson," he cleared his throat again, "What's your name?"

"...Galo."

Oh Greyson was so out of his depth.

"So uh, you're Bethany's pet? Ex pet?" Evan asked, and Greyson was relieved someone else had said something.

"Yes master."

"This is weird," Lilah stated, shifting anxiously from foot to foot with jittery energy. "This is fucking weird. Why did your ex girlfriend give you a slave? Why were you dating someone who likes slavery?! Greyson what the fuck!"

"Okay deep breaths!" Nyla ordered loudly, everyone complying instantly. "This is. Unexpected," she agreed. "But let's not get out of hand. Galo, sweetie, would you please stand up?"

"Yes mistress."

"You don't need to call anyone master or mistress."

"Ma'am?"

"Ma'am is fine. Let's get you settled in. You can probably stay in Sasha's room at the moment, who'll sleep with me?"

Sasha nodded.

"Okay, good. Are these all of your belongings?" Nyla asked, gesturing at Galo's duffle bag, who nodded again.

"Okay, great. This way."

Greyson was so, so grateful to know Nyla. So glad she was in his life. Her competence was unparalleled.

"I-I'm going to make d-dinner."

Galo followed his mistress, who he wasn't going to call mistress, to a baby blue room with impressionist paintings hung from the walls, leaned up against each other, stacked against the desk and dresser. Canvases were just about everywhere, but it didn't seem messy. Just full.

"This is Sasha's room but you can stay here until we figure all this out. Oh! My name is Nyla, sorry, I spaced on that, we'll get you introduced to everyone properly once... once we settle down."

Galo bowed, hand crossed over his chest.

"This is just a little unexpected. We hadn't known you were--human."

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"No, no, no need to apologize. Just some information lost in the pipeline. Why don't you settle in and... we'll chat more at supper."

His mistress left, closing the door behind her, and Galo was left standing in the center of a room that wasn't his.

He took a shaky breath. Well. They'd accepted his name, at least, which was nice. Maybe someday he'd tell them about... him being a man. Maybe. Definitely going to wait and see on that one, he wasn't interested in a repeat of what had happened last time he'd told an owner he was a man.

There were five of them.

Galo sank to his knees, duffle bag hitting the floor, his hands covering his mouth. There were five of them.

He was a fairly gigantic failure at keeping one owner off his back, how was he ever going to please five?!? And the little one had been so angry with his presence--he would have to show his gratitude to Mistress Nyla, later, for stepping in.

Oh god, what would they use him for? This house was no estate--maybe they would just have him clean. Yeah, maybe, maybe he could just clean for them and stick to the shadows and he would be ignored.

A hysteric peal of laughter bubbled out of him.

Ignored.

Yeah, right.

But for some reason, that... did seem to be the case. They ignored him. Mistress Sasha and Master Evan especially seemed to have no idea what to do with him, and would awkwardly prompt him to leave them alone if he guessed their routines wrong and ended up in the same room as them.

Master Greyson made earnest attempts to speak with him, which Galo responded to as best he could. But the conversations were stilted things. The most successful ones hinged around Mistress Bethany, and Galo always found himself stressed and exhausted after talking about her.

Mistress Lilah seemed to find him a curiosity, asking him questions and prodding him into helping her with her "Influencer Gig," which mostly involved holding light sources or cameras for her. She would occasionally do up Galo's hair and makeup, and Galo tried very, very hard not to show how miserable that made him. To smile and be grateful and not waste her product and time with babyish tears.

Mistress Nyla was his favorite. She had him help with the household chores and spoke kindly to him. She would praise and sometimes touch him. Conversations with her were... trickier, though.

Mistress Nyla has a very good memory. She would ask questions, know things he'd told Master Greyson or Mistress Lilah, gently pull his life's story from him. She would sometimes make him ask uncomfortable questions about himself, too, about his place as a slave, which--he knew better. He knew better!

She would stop, when he started shaking, though. Ask him to please go clean the kitchen or bathroom or fold laundry. It made him feel weak. A useless, manipulative slave who cried to get out of situations he didn't like.

"It's okay, Galo," she sometimes murmured, petting his hair and letting him kneel at her feet with his head in her lap. "You're being good for us. It's alright sweetie."

Master Evan didn't like talking to Galo. So he knew better. But one day, a couple friends of Master Evan's had come and gone, and one of them--

Not that Galo wanted to assume, or presume, but she'd. She had looked.

"Yeah, she's trans," Master Evan confirmed, looking desperately uncomfortable. Galo would find a way to apologize later. He just. He had to. He.

"And that's okay?" he blurted gracelessly, instinctively flinching back for two reasons.

"Yeah? I mean, yes, absolutely, I respect and support her 100%."

Galo fidgeted with his skirt, something Mistress Bethany had bought that he wanted little more than to burn.

"Are... do you, wanna tell me something?" Master Evan asked, also not making eye contact. "Or, maybe tell Nyla something, since I dunno if I'm really the guy to, uh." He gestured at himself and Galo bit his lip.

"The others are also, okay with, uh?"

"Being trans. Yes. It's not bad... bro? We're all chill and respectful here. Oh you know Sasha? Sasha's like, super smart, and knows all about this stuff, she could talk to you about this?"

"Yes sir," Galo said, knowing he'd overstayed his welcome the moment he'd opened his mouth.

"Cool. Chill. Yeah. Okay then," Master Evan said, and left the room quickly.

That night Galo had found a pair of Master Evan's sweatpants and a couple of old t-shirts on his bed.

The next time Lilah pulled Galo to help with her Influencer Gig, she'd done his makeup and hair and he had cried, to see a man who looked like him staring back from the mirror.

Mistress Nyla took him shopping. She held his hand, both literally and metaphorically, with increasing frequency as he started to transition and actually began to feel like this new house was his home. That these people weren't going to hurt him, that they maybe even liked him. Almost.

Mistress Sasha had him help her move her remaining belongings from the blue room. His room. They were, officially and permanently, making her old room his. Her paintings were either hung up throughout the rest of the house or set into storage in the garage. He helped her carry whatever else was left into Mistress Nyla's--now hers and Mistress Sasha's--room and organize so Mistress Nyla didn't work herself into a fit over the clutter.

"Thank you," he said quietly, crouched in front of the dresser and slipping some of Mistress Sasha's less-used attire into the drawers.

"Hm?"

"For, giving me your space, ma'am." For everything. For all of it.

Mistress Sasha crossed over to him and sat in the floor where he was, opening her arms to him. He leaned in, slowly wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face to her shoulder.

"You're part of the f-family now," she said warmly. "Of c-course."

#answers #thanks!#writing #mine #anonymous #gw #Galo #Nyla #Greyson #Sasha #Lilah #Evan #AU #slave Galo AU

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