#anyways yeah! trans peter be upon he

[doomednarrative]

if you’d be interested in sharing I’d be very interested in hearing about the trans Strahm meta👁👁

Okay! I finally figured out how to word it, but you're just going to get me copy pasting how I posted it in the group chat on discord alright?

(This is also sorta Jigsquad specific and talks about Hoffstrahm too just putting that out there)

-Peter has a black and white world view. Viewing things in extremes, having a complex about not giving things nuance if it doesn't fit how he's categorized it. -Peters view on gender would be very rigid, both a period of when he grew up + just how he is in general. -His moral compass and how he navigates life itself based on said moral compass is also rigid, unchanging. Its why he can't view Amanda and Adam and Lawrence as victims Along with y'know, making traps and shit. They're either one or the other, and he's decided that they're criminals, and so he treats them badly in the name of serving what he views as justice. -But its like. The same with how he views his relationship to gender. Bear with me -Peter knows hes not a girl. Knows it fairly young and is very certain about it. Definitely couldn't do jack shit about it when his dad was alive because his dad also had rigidity issues and was most likely conservative in his beliefs. His daughter dressing and acting like a guy just isn't acceptable, but Peter also never lives up to his standards while having to be a girl anyways. -Leaves home. Is able to transition somehow, probably due to the job at first, but he was definitely doing his best being stealth about things before all the medical stuff got finalized. Starts to really put himself in the position of what he sees is the Right version of himself. But still doesn't tell anyone about it, doesn't bring it up. Also doesn't like. Embrace any community label. Doesn't call himself transgender/transsexual, hes just. A guy. That's it. That's whats Right for him, that's what he is. Its not a medical thing, its not a community thing, its just how he is. -Once that's all settled, he figures he should have an easier time fitting into whats seen as "normal" (read: cishet) right society. Eventually he marries, someone he likes more than the other women he knows. He's never really be interested in relationships before now, it wasn't the right time and he wasn't the right version of himself. So he doesn't really know if its love, but he tolerates her more than other people, and shes not weird about any of it, just accepts that Peter is as he says, and they get married. -Except. It doesn't last. It still falls apart. And its not Because of his transness, but he still cant help but wonder if that didn't play some part of it. -He cant handle that he's failed on something though, and because appearances are everything (which is also why hes so stealth) he keeps the ring on. -It's not Until he meets Mark that like. Some things get flipped. Some things become a lot clearer that he never considered before. Which freaks him out in some regard because it doesn't fit this established worldview he has, or how he views himself. -Like the fact that he's gay. If he liked guys then why did he go through the process of also becoming one, doesn't that defeat the whole purpose?? And yet. No. It doesn't. Because it ends up feeling more right than he ever expects, and something just Clicks, some part of himself he didn't know was missing. but of course its with Mark of all people so there's still moral hangup -And a strong sense of denial. But like…Mark's never weird about it either. Honestly actually Likes this part of Peter. Which is new. His ex wife wasn't weird about it but she didn't like. Actively make any deal about it either. Not the same with Mark. Mark's vocal about finding it interesting, he's more aware of this stuff than Peter expects him to be. Doesn't Completely understand but also still accepts it. Peter is Peter, self made or not.

Peter being trans is about the need to be Right, in All aspects, and he wouldn't have figured some things out about himself without being this way in the first place.

[marauders-venting]

The Staircase Knows

pairing: none (this isn’t a romantic fic)

genre: fluff (mostly)

warnings: internalised transph*bia, mentions of (period) blood, (just note that they are young in this fic and they have simple ideas of gender so don’t come for them)

words: 2612

note: thank you so much to @samyistrying for doing a sensitive reading of my fic and teaching me more about trans identities!!

a/n: in this fic Remus is trans and uses he/him and Dorcas is woman-aligned non-binary person and uses she/they

please know that i am not a trans man!! I read about the experiences of trans men on the internet and other fics with trans characters before writing this so I hope i’ve portrayed this fairly and accurately (but obviously, every trans man has a different experience). if something sounds wrong or offensive to you please let me know!! I’m still young and i want to learn more and improve so that i can make my writing more inclusive

Remus woke up with a groan. He’d had a stomach ache since last night and it hadn’t gotten any better. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and tossed the blanket off him. Upon sitting up, he noticed several red spots on the sheet of his bed. What the… he stood up and saw a big red stain where he had just been sitting. Blood. He quickly scanned the room and found that Sirius was the only one there, still drooling on his pillow. Remus covered the bed with his blanket to hide the stain and hurried to the bathroom. He pulled down his pants and found that both his underwear and his pants were stained with blood. His hands began to tremble. They would know now. He couldn’t hide this from them. All his friends would know that he wasn’t a real boy. A sob escaped him and he covered his mouth with his hand to try and stifle the sound. But it was too late. There was a knock on the door.

“Remus?” came Sirius’ voice. “Remus, is everything ok?” Remus tried to compose himself and give a proper answer but he was crying too hard. “Remus, what’s going on?” Sirius’ voice sounded urgent. “There’s blood on your blanket Remus, what happened?” Fuck. In his rush, he hadn’t noticed that the blanket had been stained too.

“Everything’s fine,” Remus said, but even he could hear how shaky and unconvincing his voice sounded.

“Can I come in?” Sirius asked softly.

“No!” Remus said.

“Remus, if one of your scars have started bleeding again—”

“No, no it’s not that,” Remus said. “I swear, I’m not injured. I’m fine.”

“So where did the blood come from?” Sirius asked.

“I—” Remus knew he couldn’t keep this hidden forever. It was only a matter of time before his friends found out. They had accepted him as a werewolf, sure. But there’s no way they would want a girl sleeping in their dorm. They’d find it too weird. And they’d be mad at him for lying to them so they wouldn’t want to stay friends. It was over. He’d only known James, Sirius and Peter for three years but they’d been the three best years of his life, except maybe the years before he’d been bitten by Greyback but he could hardly remember that anyway.

He’d known that they would find out eventually. But he had hoped for a little more time. The universe never seemed to be on his side though, and the sooner he accepted it the better.

“Just give me one second,” he said to Sirius. He composed himself, wiped the tears off his face, hid the blood as best he could and opened the door.

“Remus, what’s going on?” Sirius said, concern shining through his eyes. “Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure,” Remus said. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

“Ok,” Sirius said. “What is it?”

He was tempted to say, “nevermind” and crawl into bed with a book but he knew that would only make Sirius more curious. There was no backing out of this now.

“Remus, are you sure you’re ok?” Sirius asked, gently. Remus realised he had not spoken for several moments and was just standing there, hands clenched, chewing the inside of his cheeks raw.

“Yeah everything’s fine,” Remus said, trying to relax his muscles. “I just… I just wanted to tell you…” I can’t do this I can’t do this I can’t do this, Remus thought. Alarms were going off in his head, warning him not to go any further, not to say another word. Shut up. He felt as though a block in his throat was preventing him from speaking. And breathing. He tried to take a deep breath but found himself hyperventilating instead. Fuck.

“Remus, what’s going on? You’re scaring me,” Sirius said urgently.

“No, it’s nothing to worry about,” Remus said, his muscles tensing up again. “I need to tell you… that…” He hung his head and closed his eyes. He couldn’t do this.

“You’re shivering,” Sirius said. “Come on. Sit down and tell me.” Sirius took Remus by the wrist and started leading him out of the bathroom but Remus flinched and pulled his hand out of Sirius’ grasp.

“Sorry,” Sirius said, the guilt seeping through his voice.

“No, don’t be, I… I’d rather stand though… here if that’s ok.” That part wasn’t true. Remus’ legs were shaking and he was sure they’d collapse in on themselves at any moment but he couldn’t sit and cover everything with blood. So he’d stand.

“Yeah, of course,” Sirius said. “Whatever you want.” But Remus still wasn’t saying anything. He just stood, biting his lip. He couldn’t do this. But Sirius didn’t ask Remus to speak again. Remus appreciated that. How did Sirius always know exactly how to help him? Well, it didn’t matter. Sirius would be leaving him soon. Any minute now. As soon as Remus managed to get the words out of his mouth. Better sooner than later, I suppose, he thought.

“Ok,” said Remus, exhaling loudly, “ok, there’s something I need to tell you. It’s not a big deal, really, I’ve made it out to be more than it is. Basically…” Breathe, he told himself, just breathe and go on. “I—” Remus tried to release the tension but he couldn’t. “I—” He got stuck again.

“Remus, it’s ok,” Sirius said. “Whatever it is, it’ll be fine, I promise.” Remus nodded and tried to take a deep breath.

“I’m transgender,” Remus said. Sirius was quiet for a moment. He seemed to be thinking.

“As in you transitioned from girl to boy or you want to transition from boy to girl?”

“As in I transitioned from girl to boy,” Remus said. He was digging his nails into his upper arm, a nervous habit. “I’m a trans boy.”

“I don’t understand,” Sirius said. “What does that have to do with the blood?”

“What? Oh, um, I got my period. I think.”

“Oh,” Sirius said. “Does it hurt?”

“W–what?” Remus asked, looking at him.

“Does it hurt?” Sirius asked again. “Do you need me to get you something?”

“No,” Remus said. “I mean, yeah it kinda hurts. I’ve got stomach cramps but the werewolf stuff is… is worse.”

“Ok,” Sirius nodded.

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” Remus said. Sirius may be acting like everything is ok but Remus knows it’s not. There’s no way Sirius is ok with this. He can’t be.

“What are you talking about?” Sirius said. “You didn’t lie to me.”

“Yeah, I did. I told you that I’m a boy, when really… really I’m… a girl.”

“Hey, Remus, listen to me,” Sirius said. “You are not a girl. So you don’t have a penis. So what? Who gives a fuck? It doesn't make you less of a boy. You can be whatever gender you want, Remus. Whatever gender you are. Are you a boy?”

“I mean, yeah but—”

“Then there’s no ‘but’,” Sirius said. “You are a boy. Case closed.” Remus nodded.

“Thank you, Sirius,” he said, quietly.

“Anytime,” Sirius said, putting an arm around Remus

“But James and Peter—”

“Will be fine with it as well,” Sirius said, cutting Remus off before he could voice his worries. “Trust me, Remus, they won’t care. And neither do I. You are who you say you are. And I’ll support you. And James and Peter will too. But you don’t have to tell them if you don’t want to. It’s entirely up to you.” Remus nodded.

“I think… could we just… keep this between us? Just for a while…” Remus said. “I… I want to tell them just not… not now…”

“Of course,” Sirius said. “Take your time. But whenever you’re ready, it will be fine.”

“Ok,” Remus said, still unsure. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Sirius said, smiling. “Ok, I don’t know shit about periods but do you want me to get Lily to help you with this? Or someone else?”

“One of the other girls, you mean,” Remus said, clenching his jaw. There was no escaping this.

“No, one of the other people who have periods,” Sirius said. “Dorcas isn’t a girl, are they? But she still has a period.” Remus hesitated for a second.

“Ok, get Lily but don’t… don’t tell her about this,” he said. “I think I should be the one to tell her. Just tell her I need some help.”

“Ok,” Sirius said. “I’ll be right back. And Remus?”

“Yeah?”

“Everything’s going to be ok,” Sirius said, pulling him in for a hug. “Nobody is going to look at you any differently because of this. Just like none of us looked at you differently when we found out about your furry little problem. This changes nothing.” Remus smiled a little.

“Thank you, Sirius,” he said. “Really, it… it means a lot to me.”

“Of course,” Sirius said. “I’ll go get Lily then.” And he turned and walked out the door, leaving Remus a little breathless, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

---------

“Remus?” Lily’s voice called. “Remus, what’s wrong? Sirius told me you needed help. Where are you?”

“I’m in the bathroom,” Remus said.

“Oh,” Lily hesitated. “Do you… do you want me to come in?”

“Don’t worry, I’m wearing clothes,” Remus said.

“Oh ok,” Lily said and the door swung open. “What’s wrong?”

“Ok um,” Remus started. He was struggling to breathe again. Why did this have to be so difficult? “I… um— fuck,” he said under his breath.

“Remus, it's ok,” she said. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, I promise. You’re my best friend.” Remus nodded.

“Ok so—” he took a deep breath, “I’m trans. I–I’m a boy but I-I still have a period and… and…”

“Oh Remus,” she said, hugging him. “Thank you so much for telling me. I’m so proud of you. And you know this doesn’t change anything. You’re still my best friend and you’re still a boy.”

“Thanks,” Remus said. “Really, Lils, thank you.”

“So you got your period, huh?” she says.

“Yeah,” Remus nods. “And everything is covered in blood and I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.”

“Ah well, welcome to the other side where chocolate and tea and hot packs are our best friends,” Lily said, laughing. “Although I guess that’s not new to you. Ok don’t worry, I’ll help you with this. It’s gonna be fine.” Remus nodded, unable to say anything. “So as usual magic makes everything a whole lot easier because there are spells for practically anything. I think I actually have some pads in my bag so how about I show you how to use those and then you can shower and change and I’ll teach you how to remove blood stains from everything?”

“Thank you so much, Lily, you’re a lifesaver,” Remus said, hugging her.

“Of course,” Lily said, pulling what Remus assumed was a pad out of a small pouch in her bag. “I learnt all the spells and stuff from Marlene so it’s just nice to have someone to pass on the knowledge to myself.” She opened the pad and showed it to Remus. “This is a pad,” she said. “You just peel it off this paper part and stick it in the middle of the underwear. And you see these flaps? You fold them underneath the underwear to hold the pad in place. Get it?”

“I think so,” Remus said. “I guess I’ll find out.”

“Ok I’ll wait in the room,” Lily said. “Just call me if you need anything.”

“Thanks a million, Lils,” Remus said again.

“Anytime, Rem.”

So Remus showered and put on clean clothes and a pad for the first time. Then he came out of the bathroom and found Lily sitting on the floor with her back against the closet.

“You know you could’ve sat on one of the beds right?” Remus said.

“I like the floor,” she said. He raised a skeptical eyebrow at her. “What? I’m serious, I like the fl— oh no, wait! I didn’t mean to say I’m serious, please don’t make the pun!”

“Oh calm down, I’m not James,” he said. Lily shrugged.

“Ok so now I’ll teach you the spell to remove the bloodstains,” she said, standing up. She showed him the wand movement and the incantation, providing an example on his blood-stained sheets. The blood siphoned away within seconds and left no trace. Remus tried it on his blood-stained clothes with the same result.

“You should put everything in the laundry anyway though,” Lily said, “the spell removes the visible stains but it doesn’t actually clean things.”

“Lily, thank you so much for this,” Remus said after everything had been cleaned. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Aww, of course, Rem,” she said. “And you can always ask me for help, whatever you need.”

“Thanks,” he said. “You really are the best. So is there anything else you think I should know?”

“Um,” she thought, “I mean, I guess there are tampons but most people don’t use them on their first period anyway so we can wait with that. But I will give you a couple of packs of pads because you’ll need those.”

“Ok thanks,” he said.

“Remus, how many times have you said thank you in the last five minutes?” Lily asked.

“I don’t know,” Remus shrugged. “As many times as you deserved to hear it.”

“Shut up, I should be thanking you,” she said, hugging him. “I know it wasn’t easy for you to tell me this,” she said, quieter now. “But I’m so glad that you did. And I’m always here for you.”

“Tha—”

“Don’t say thank you!” she said.

“Fine then,” he said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Rem.”

They went back downstairs, where they found their friends sitting in the common room, talking.

“I’ll be right back,” Lily said and then quietly so only Remus could hear, she added, “I’ll just get the pads from my dorm.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said, following her towards the staircase to the girl’s dormitory.

“But Remus—” he heard James call out. He knew what James was going to say. Lily went up the stairs and Remus, hesitating only for a second, followed her up. Or at least, he tried. But he only made it up two steps before the staircase turned into a slide and he slid to the bottom, Lily slipping down as well and crashing into him.

“Maybe you should wait here,” Lily said, as they stood up and the slide turned back into a staircase.

“Ok,” Remus said, smiling wide.

“Why would you do that?” James asked, confused. “You knew it wouldn't work.”

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” Remus said, sitting beside Sirius. He couldn’t hide his smile but Sirius grinned back.

“Why are you two smiling like that?” Peter asked.

“It’s a nice day,” Sirius said. “Don’t you think?”

“Uh, sure,” Peter said.

“It’s a nice day to leave dungbombs in the Slytherin common room if that’s what you mean,” James said, a mischievous grin stretching across his face.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, glancing at Remus. “That’s what I mean.”

From that day, whenever the dysphoria became too much for Remus and nothing his friends said made him feel better, he’d wait until everybody went to sleep and would go sit on the stairs to the girls’ dormitory that would immediately turn into a slide when he took the first step. He’d sit there and remind himself that everything is ok. He knows who he is. His family knows who he is. His friends know who he is. Even the staircase knows.

[snivellussnoop]

He Wished a Lot of Things

A trans Snape/Snupin one-shot (which you can also find here on my AO3 and here on my Wattpad!)

On a side note, why do we only do trans Snape stuff for a single week? Let’s make this bitch year-round.

Word count: 2804

-------------

He saw them first in his second year as the boy stepped out of the showers, a towel wrapped around his waist and his chest entirely exposed. Beneath the long black hair, whose water-dripping tendrils had been strategically placed over his chest, Remus Lupin could have sworn he had just laid his eyes upon two long, red scars.

The image kept him awake at times. He never asked; he knew Severus Snape was touchy to talk to in the first place, and scars — which he knew from personal experience — were even touchier. So he kept himself quiet, feeling different about the boy from then on, wondering about the newfound mystery of him every time their eyes met from across a classroom. But the question remained, and so did the scars.

‘How did you get them?’ he scrawled eventually on a piece of parchment after weeks of grappling with the thought, passing the letter casually across the long table in the Charms room and slipping it under his thin fingers. It took what felt like years to get a simple reply; one in such elegant cursive that his own handwriting looked like aimless ink above it.

‘Get what?’

Such a fruitless answer. But Remus wasn’t expecting much else. He tagged along almost every day as his friends taunted the boy; of course his responses would be slow and guarded.

‘The scars,’ he wrote back, and then, because he knew that Severus was more often injured by others than by accidents, he revised his question. ‘Who did it to you?’

He watched in anticipation as Snape contemplated the words, scribbling something below them but not giving the square of parchment back. The wait was endless. The class was the longest Remus had ever attended.

But he was answered when they left the classroom as the hour marked the end of the lecture, Severus catching him by the door and shoving the piece of paper back into his grip.

“Biology did this to me, Remus,” he said plainly. “Now get out of my way.”

Snape pushed past Lupin, his green-accented robes flowing behind as he hurried down the hall. Remus watched in puzzlement, slowly unfolding the parchment and wondering what the boy’s answer was even supposed to mean. Biology gave him scars? He couldn’t have been born with them; they looked far too fresh.

Looking down at the parchment, Remus gave a small laugh. Severus had taken the past thirty minutes to draw a werewolf in the bottom lefthand corner, tongue lolled out, heart-eyed as it reached up at the moon. The moon, which Remus noted with another charmed giggle, wore a subtle frown in its center.

He didn’t ask about the scars again for years.

—

He saw them again in the courtyard, but really only because he was looking for them. They had faded a lot since Year Two, and he wouldn’t have noticed had he not previously known.

James Potter had picked another brawl with him, and, in embarrassment after realising that he was losing, had hexed the boy’s shirt off. His hair, shoulder-length now, wasn’t long enough to conceal the traces that were left, and Remus found himself staring. Studying. Almost forgetting where he was. He tried to piece together the puzzle of the two faint red lines across Snape’s ribs, following them from left to right, over and over, looped like a scratched record.

And this didn’t go unnoticed. Severus Snape, trying his best not to squirm under the humiliating attention, stared back.

Remus looked away.

—

“Why do you have scars?”

He had found him in the library, sitting in the farthest aisle from the entry, completely empty aside from the two of them and the slight traces of a mild mouse problem.

Severus narrowed his eyes, slipping a ribbon in to mark his current progress in his book and turning around to face Lupin with a look of blank scorn.

“Since when did the lore behind my physical attributes become your affair?” he hissed. “It isn’t difficult to avoid inquiry about a potentially sensitive subject.”

“Mm,” Remus replied, less morally driven than his usual as he remained phlegmatic against the very fair point. “Luckily, the nerves on one’s chest are often not very sensitive at all, causing related issues to not hurt much in the least aside from inward intrusion.”

“Insightful,” Severus replied snarkily, closing his book and tucking it under his arm. “Charming that my skin is so important to you. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you were interested.”

He stood up, and Remus, although towering over him in terms of height, felt suddenly very small.

“But I am interested,” he choked out, clearly missing the meaning behind the term. Snape closed his eyes and sighed with a deep and tired sense of resignation.

“My scars were put there by none other than myself,” he replied. “Don’t be concerned by this; I’m not actively suicidal and the process was beneficial, if anything. Incredibly safe.”

And he left. Remus said nothing. Somehow, although given more information, the situation became even more cryptic, and he understood less and less as he went.

But that was what Snape was. To him, anyway, the boy was an enigma first and an interest second. There was nothing else to it, and nothing else to him. Ambiguity and nothing else. Ambiguity and scars.

—

Remus saw Severus again at the Yule Ball, not like he was difficult to spot, being the only person there in all black, a sleek tunic covering his scarred frame.

“You really went for a new look, didn’t you?” he found himself asking snidely, smirking at the lack of change in his clothing. “That shade of black is just a touch lighter than usual. That’s a big step for you.”

“That shade of unwelcome involvement still hasn’t left your repertoire, however,” Severus was quick to reply. “I’ve been here for three minutes and you’ve shown up already. I should have stayed back and studied like I wanted to.”

A reply left Lupin’s lips before he could filter it out. It was disjointed, random, almost desperate, hitting them both head-on and leaving Severus more shocked than he’d ever inherently been.

“Dance with me.”

There was a silence, the soft motion of a punch glass being set down on tablecloth, and a shocked verbal receipt.

“What?”

Remus knew he couldn’t back out of his own words. He was too timid; too stubborn to admit to anything as a fault.

Giving a slight bow, he held out his hand as the music picked up. An offering, for once, that wasn’t ill-intended.

Tentatively, like a lamb accepting slaughter, the boy’s hand slipped into his.

—

“Potter can’t know.”

Snape whispered it through feverish kisses, leaning back against a pillar in the corridor as Remus lost sight of his own reserve, grasping at his shoulders, his hair, anything he could possibly bring closer to himself.

“James,” he corrected, pulling them both around the corner in the hall as he noticed the faint sound of a stray student’s footsteps, “won’t suspect a thing.”

—

“Good riddance to this bloody school,” Remus heard Sirius scoff as they packed their suitcases for the last time, all carrying diplomas and wearing flashy hats. Remus always found the hats silly, but he saw now why people were so fond of them when they left.

“Is James already back home? I know Peter left last night and I haven’t seen either of them since,” Lupin said, opening the dorm dresser drawers and forcing the last of his sweaters inside his case.

“Yeah. I think they took the last available train together yesterday,” Black replied. “Shame. We could have all left together like the years before. Like old times. This is the last time we’ll be leaving as students, you know.”

A small crunch came from under one of Lupin’s sweaters as he nodded in response. “Yeah,” he said. “Shame indeed. I’ll miss these memories. This school. It’s become my home, you know. And these last few hours…”

Pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment from under his sweater, Remus paused as he saw a faded pair of handwriting styles and a silly illustration of a werewolf. His heart jumping in his chest, he put the drawing back under the sweater and closed his suitcase, picking it up and preparing to leave.

“…this is it.”

Sirius took their things to be loaded onto the train. Remus himself spent a good hour wandering the halls, so empty, so familiar, wishing them all a sincere goodbye. He scanned the small groups of people that were still left, hoping somewhere in the back of his head that the artist of the drawing under his shirt would still be in the building somewhere.

He wanted to speak to him. To ask him about what he would be doing in the war. To offer his address; to offer connection. But he didn’t find the boy anywhere, nor did he find a trace of him. No vandalised books, no cursive notes, and nobody in a sleek black tunic.

He was told by Horace Slughorn to check the library. He thanked him, but insincerely; he’d already looked there, and it was empty.

—

If he knew where Snape resided, he would have shown up. Written, at least. But all he had was the drawing. That was all he had for years. For a long time, he wasn’t even sure the man still existed.

November of 1981 left him connectionless and alone. He felt himself slipping into nothing, the sand of eternity slowly rising over his head until he couldn’t breathe. Every day was a nightmare.

He relied on the Prophet for his entertainment, for his distraction. Anything to make him forget, even for a moment. Anything at all.

And then something did make him forget that he was alone. An announcement that one couldn’t look past. That he couldn’t, anyway.

It wasn’t a major headline, but it was on the bottom left of the front page, announced in capital bold letters with a small, grainy picture too blurry to decipher.

HOGWARTS POTIONS PROFESSOR HORACE SLUGHORN REPLACED IN POSITION BY SEVERUS SNAPE

Immediately, without even thinking, Remus threw the paper on the floor, stood up, and grabbed his coat.

—

“I’d like to see Professor Snape.”

He was directed down to the dungeons, which he approached slowly, stopping for minutes on end to stare at the architecture he’d almost forgotten; the arcs and pillars that he grew up between. He didn’t need a map of this place. His feet knew the way down the spiral staircase. His very skeleton understood the path necessary for the destination of Slughorn’s old office.

He knocked on the door three times. It opened just before he could knock a fourth.

They were both still for a long time.

The response was quiet.

“Lupin.”

Remus wasn’t sure whether to stay or leave. He felt uncomfortable to be once again under the confusing gaze of Severus Snape.

“I saw your name in the Prophet,” he said plainly. “I’m… sorry to intrude. If you want me to go, I—”

“How very timidly-mannered to leave upon an inkling of silence,” Snape said, attempting to sound scornful, but his tone was weak; almost relieved. As he stepped aside to let Lupin into the room, Remus understood with a sudden sort of mental blow that Snape had just recently lost all of his connections, too.

He walked softly inside, taking one step to the left as Severus closed the door behind him. And then, jokingly:

“Potter can’t know.”

Sadly, they laughed.

—

Lupin didn’t even ask to see him anymore. He just walked right in.

Snape provided him with an extra key, one he used often for their weekly rendezvous, once leaving a toothbrush there on accident and never bothering to take it home again. Little by little, the visits became normal, essential, even. They became fueled by connection, by touch, by everything they had lost since graduation.

Little by little, they’d see more of one another. Day by day, Snape would unbutton his sleeves just a little more, finally comfortable enough to show the grotesque mark on his wrist, and Lupin would wear his shirts a little looser, exposing the scars on his neck as they led up to the ones on his jaw and nose. Closeness was their comfort, and they’d revel in it like Shakespearean kings, like Duncan of Scotland, doomed as he was, surrounded by the small joys of his imperfect world and his tarnished reign. Though their environment was muddled by blades of wilted and bloodied grass, the small fireflies within, the light that, although rare, warmed the hands and entranced the eyes like none other, were what they noticed the most.

They one day found themselves undoing the clasps of one another’s shirts, their kisses slow and even, their breaths soft. Lupin’s hands found themselves running across the bare skin of Snape’s chest, smooth, oddly hairless, comfortingly warm. His fingers found themselves on his ribcage. They lived there. And then they stopped.

Although they were almost completely invisible, his hands had found the scars. Scars that, over time, he had forgotten about. 

Running his fingers over the rough lines, he looked down at them, and then back up at Severus, who had a sudden expression of what seemed almost like terror.

Remus gave them another examination. He noticed their placement, their edges, how each one stretched in a long like under his pectorals, as if something had been above them that was removed.

And then he understood.

His breath catching in his throat, Remus realised that there was so much about this man he didn’t know. There were struggles that he and his friends had only added to. Parts of him and his life that he never got to see.

He understood then why Snape was built the way he was, why his waist was thin around the center and wider around the hips, why his neck was sleek and his collarbones strong, why his skin was smooth and had a significant lack of hair. He understood why he never saw him shaving and never noticed forgotten stubble on the curves of his jaw. He understood why he would hide his chest with his long hair after a shower; why he said that biology was what gave him these marks in the first place. He understood why he hid himself with tight, concealing clothes and why he would shy away from the connected questions.

All at once, Remus understood the scars.

Quietly, softly, he placed a hand on Snape’s back, pulling him as close as he possibly could. He watched the scared, vulnerable eyes below him and, in an instant, wished he could undo everything he and his friends had ever done to him. He wished he could have supported him; kept himself from prying. He wished a lot of things.

“They don’t define you, you know,” he said eventually, his thumb tracing Snape’s bottom lip as he stroked his hair. “It took me years to understand that about myself, but it’s true. It’s true for me, and it’s true for you.”

Severus looked like the most fragile thing on Earth.

“Do you find them distasteful?” he whispered out, leaning his face into Remus’ bare shoulders, self-directed venom behind his every syllable. “Do they drive you away, knowing about them? About why they’re here?”

“Hey,” Lupin replied, soft as he hugged him close and leaned his chin on the top of his head. “Don’t worry.”

He held him as if it was the last time he ever would. He didn’t let go. He wouldn’t let himself. Fighting back a newfound wave of emotion, he closed his eyes and wished he could articulate how little this knowledge would change anything. How Severus was just as beautiful to him as he had always been. How he didn’t care about the body he used to have or what he used to be, because, to Remus, he was still Severus Snape. He was always Severus Snape, and he always had been, and he always would be, no matter what. 

Always.

Still, words were never his strong suit. Emotions never left his lips in prose. So what he said was barely as elegant, not even close to what he wanted to communicate.

But what he said communicated it well enough, because, once he spoke them, they both turned into a crumbling mess of tears and sniffles, holding one another as tightly as they both could manage. His heart thudding in his chest, his breath hitched with a feeling he couldn’t describe, he chose a very decent thing to say. A thing that left them in a very peaceful silence for a very long time.

It was a whisper. And it was safe.

“I have scars, too.”

[bibliocratic]

TMA jonmartin fics

Organising these, mostly so I can keep track to be honest. All some flavour of jonmartin, predominantly fluff or angst. cws in original tags. 

Updated as of June 2020

If you'd like to send any prompts, feel free!  All of these are also bundled together on A03.

Martin tries to rescue Jon from Elias, post-160

JONAH MAGNUS Oh, but, look. Look at him, Martin. Isn’t my Archive magnificent?

MARTIN [whispered, almost fearful] Yes.

Martin feels the pull of the Lonely. Jon draws a bath.

“Come on,” Jon says, enfolding their hands together.  His voice is kind, and that’s never died, no matter how the world bricked it up and starved it of sunlight. Jon’s kind to his bones, and it wells up from the deep down of him.

Jon pulls the way, and Martin follows behind.

Even after Jon stops being the Archivist, they aren’t safe. (parent!AU)

“I would like to propose an idea,” Martin says. Softer now. More tired. “and I-I want you to hear me out.”

“OK.”

“Whatever it is.”

“You’re not exactly inspiring confidence.”

Martin gives him a Look.

“OK,” Jon says, rubbing his thumb over Martin’s knuckles. “OK, I promise. Whatever it is, I-I’ll at least listen.”

Martin's nightmares never quite leave him

Martin feels the question form there, at the centre, the tentative journey it traverses before he hears 'Can I…. I mean, do you want to…?’

The question isn’t fully born before he’s heaving great waves of sobs into the chest he’s pillowed on. Like clockwork, the arms come round, always an inch too tight a grip, and somehow that makes this easier to bear.

Things were always going to catch up with them eventually

He’s a light sleeper, and they knew he would be. Didn’t want him to wake too soon, to be denied a proper welcome. Jon shifts and stretches and burrows as he slips dazedly into consciousness, nestling tighter against the body next to him still fast-asleep before the thick weight of sleep is dropped and he jolt up, a punched out breath of shock escaping them.

And finally they are witnessed. They watch his expressions free-fall from understanding to despair.

Local Man cheats at card games, Local Avatar is smitten

Martin likes playing, not necessarily competitively, but where he does excel is in cheating. Jon catches him swapping out a three for a queen out of the corner of his eye – well, Martin wants him to catch him – and his smile is wide and shocked and gleeful in his own way –you cheat! How could you?!

soulmate-identifying marks, or: fuck yeah tattoos

“The Archivist?” Peter Lukas asks. His voice isn’t mocking. Martin isn’t sure what it it.

He hates the tone of it.

“Do you want something?” Martin responds curtly. Frosty. Tugging his sleeves back down pointedly. Peter’s expression is ever so proud.

Something is wrong. Martin just can't put his finger on it.

“Sorry,” Jon says, without sounding sorry in the slightest, almost cheeky. He bestows another kiss that is not a kiss to Martin’s neck, scraping a little with his teeth.

“Sleep,” Martin repeats, groggy but firm, and traps the soft, unblemished skin of Jon’s hands in his own.

Martin has certain standards

Jon feels a wide smile begin on his face (still so rare, still hard-won, but Martin teases them out of him with the smallest things these days).

“You hipster!” he says with delight, secretly pleased he’s found something he can tease Martin about. “Have you thrown out my teabags just to make a point?”

Jon wakes up and finds Martin gone

– Something is absent from us. –

Jon opens his blinking, feeble human eyes. Feels around with his finger tips, feels the cool sheet next to him, the unoccupied imprint on the pillow.

Martin is not next to him.

Jon strikes a bargain to save Martin

Martin is blinking away the sediment build-up of unshed tears and they roll down his face, shrivelling in the strict grip of the cold.

“I thought,” he says thinly, “I thought I was going to die alone.”

“You aren’t going to die,” Jon bites out, and it only has the ghost of a furious intensity but the sentiment soaks in it. He feels the Loneliness recede, with a slowness that’s impartially mocking. “You aren’t going to die. I won’t let you.”

Martin showing normal, genuine human anger, feat. Blackwood Snr.

“Right,” comes the short response. “I am – you know I am trying here.”

Martin’s voice goes low and flat and judgemental.

“And how long until you lose interest this time?”

MLM solidarity front, or: Tim and Martin go drinking

“I mean – I – I’d like to. If you – if you still want.”

Tim grins, and his cocksure manner is on display like a theatre curtain lifted. He stands up, doing a stupid little bow like he’s trying to make Martin laugh.

“t'would be my honour to lead you astray, Master Blackwood.”

Back-and-forth early morning teasing

“It’s a bit late to tell me you’re a dog person,” Jon chides instead. “I’m afraid I might have to call this whole thing off, if that’s the case.”

Martin looks up at him with his face squashed into his ‘you are not, and have never been funny, Jonathan’ face.

Martin hides an injury. Jon is freaking out in his own way.

He can taste grit and dirt in his mouth and there’s a stinging dampness on his upper lip. He blinks, coming to terms slowly, and it’s then that he realises, just from a brief glance, that Jon is absolutely fuming.

Jon is getting better at expressing what he wants

Jon reaches out, and like setting fingers to the board of a violin, delicately fits his hand against Martin’s. Like he’s memorised exactly the places where they go, the coves and shorelines where their islands can align.

Martin’s grip has never been as careful. His fingers engulf Jon’s smaller size, cushioning them in a sturdy grip.

How to proposal to your boyfriend during an apocalypse, and definitely how not to.

Jon tries to write vows.

Domesticity and  going on holiday, post Watcher's Crown

“Jon!” Martin is shouting with his head shoved in the under-stairs closet. “You got your raincoat?”

“I won’t need it,” comes the low response from the kitchen.

“The weather said it might rain.”

“It’ll be fine,” Jon replies, only half listening really, with a willfully misplaced confidence in the weather.

“I’ll pack it anyway,” Martin calls back, kicking something else with his foot that sounds like the hoover. “In case.”

Jon does not react well to ending the world. Martin puts together the pieces.

Under the watch of that terrible sky, Jon crumples like something demolished.

Martin catches him. He always will, he remembers thinking.

In the Lonely, Jon hugs Martin (set mid-159)

Jon’s arms go around him, and there is nothing tentative, soft-shoed, there is no awkward displacement holding him slightly at a distance. Jon’s arms go around him, and he – his body unfolds against Martin’s. There is much too much of him, a surge of all-at-once motion and Martin feels like splintering.

Martin's not the only one susceptible to the Lonely

He hears the wash of mile-distant waves, as though behind the shelves to the front of the shop, and thinks not here, not here.

He tries to shake his head loose of the fog beginning to bind it like cobwebbing wisps. But the world has such terrors in it, and the Archive keeps record of them all. And that’s what Jon is, in the end.

The day-to-day ramifications of being a record of ceaseless terror

In the dark, under the covers, the sound is the shift of grave soil, of pressing earth, but it is also Martin, ensconced in warm empty dreams, Jon trying to breath through his nose and not wake him up, and it can be all of these things at once.

Supportive Martin and the Eye-based horror his boyfriend sometimes turns into.

“Stop.”

The rats stop. So does Martin. The scream bubbles un-made and unvoiced in his chest and he can’t blink the blood out of his eyes. He can’t see Jon, but he doesn’t expect to. It’s not Jon that’s here with them any more.

'I'll stay right here, ok?”

“The ambulance will be here s – ” Martin starts, trying to be gentle, but Jon tightens his grip ever so kindly, shakes his head.

“I don’t think I’ll be waiting around for that,” he says, and it’s almost light-hearted in the face of what they both know is now inevitable.

Patron swap, Lonely!Jon, Beholding!Martin

It is a surprise to no one that upon taking over the Institute, Peter Lukas turns his hand at trying to steer Jonathan Sims to the Lonely.

In the days after the end of the world, Jon finds Martin a gift

“Woss, what’s wrong?” Martin starts, but Jon’s pressing something into his hands firmly, so self-satisfied, joyous and smug with a mysterious success, and he feels his own grin start to blossom in kind, wanting to take part in the same delight. “What is it?”

sleep doesn't look pleasant, spoilers for 161

Martin won’t wake up. Eyes clenched closed, breathing laboured, and for a long while, Jon’s world gets quieter as his own immediate louder fear rises like gall in his throat. He tries compelling him even.

Jon doesn’t know that this will happen every time Martin dreams.

Jon is admitted to hospital. Martin frets.

Jon nearly died today, his brain keeps reminding him. You nearly lost him, you nearly weren’t fast enough.

Trans!Jon, Trans!Martin, intimate rituals

Jon’s hair is getting long.

Morning rituals, Jon admiring the view.

But he much prefers this slow and lazy unwinding of a day because he gets to study Martin. He puts his elbows on the wooden table off to the side of their pokey kitchen, and enjoys watching an artless, intimate one-man performance just for him, as he acclimatises to the day.

Scottish honeymoon, soft get-together

Martin wonders why Jon didn’t go upstairs. Take the bed. The cottage is an old crofter’s place, two small and utilitarian bedrooms where they discarded their meagre belongings on arrival.

Martin looks at the tea. Feels the scarf under his head, the heavy coats weighing him down.

Thinks he might know why.

Monster!Jon, AU S5

“What the fuck are you?” she says. She does not lower her weapon. The guard to her left has raised her own.

All of its eyes blink out of rhythm as its unseen mouth moves with that croaking, piteous whisper. “He’s, he’s human, he’s hurt and he needs – he’ll die, please.” The man it is carrying looks human. Painted with dirt and filth, the slick of insects broken over his skin. His breathing is starting to rattle.

Tim is mildly cursed, S1 shenanigans 

Whoever is closest, but usually Sasha, will give a sarcastic cheer. To which Tim – cradling his injury,  glowering with a fire-starter expression at whatever file or paper or fragment dealt the blow – will reply: “Piss off, right, it’s not funny, I’m cursed. This is a curse.”

OG Archive crew sad hours

There could have been a day, when they’d all just talked.

Martin struggles to readjust to the world, post 159

Some days though, when the tempest around has dropped from squalling, Martin feels brave enough to look over at Jon.

Jon and Martin’s post-s5 wish list

“Martin?”

“Hmm?”

“After all this, after we’ve – what do you want to do? If we manage to – ”

“When we manage to.”

“Fine, when all this goes back to the way it was, what do you want to do?”

Safehouse drabble

Jon doesn’t sleep but this rest is as close to peace as this world allows him. 

AU S3, Breekon and Hope take Martin, not Jon.

Tim always thought Martin was reliable. Unshakeable.

That he was always going to be there.

Martin’s daemon is a spider. People have mixed feelings about this.

“Aron,” Martin says slowly. He keeps his hands folded on his lap but his fingers twitch to reach out. “This is – we’ve settled, haven’t we?”

Aron can’t nod. His form can’t allow for such an expression. But he brings his legs in closer, pebbles up and won’t look at Martin, and that’s answer enough.

Aspec Martin Week - Daemon!AU

Martin has always liked watching Emer. The flash of gossamer-white wings circling Jon’s head or sat on his wrist like an overly-extravagant watch while he read statements.

“Stop looking,” he used to hiss at the moving lump under his shirt, poking many orb-like eyes over his collar to stare even when Martin stopped. “It’s rude.”

Aspec Martin Week - Martin’s first Pride

Restored from their dramatic hangovers, Monday comes. Martin arrives huffing and delayed from the Tube to see Tim’s stuck his flag so it stands battered and proud over the lid of his laptop. Sasha’s made her small desk teddy bear hold hers. And it’s the memory of the day, the sun and the heat and the wild dizzying lack of expectations of it all, that gives him the courage to bring the flags he carefully preserved in on Tuesday, to put them jutting out of the mug on his desk that holds his stationery.

Honestly, he doesn’t expect anyone to comment on them. It’s not like anyone else comes down to their offices anyway.

Aspec Martin Week - Martin comes out (with help)

You surge against his lips again so he can’t see your nerves, you stupid, unfounded, calcifying anxieties, the barriers you keep putting up yourself because you are so terrified of being happy.

“Maybe… not tonight?” you mumble into your shared air. If he pushed, if he asked again, you would. He dragged you from the shoreline, out of the fog, this is the least you can give him. You’d lie on your back, or you’d cover him with your shape, and you’d try so hard to make him happy so he wouldn’t notice you not sharing the same. “’m a bit tired.”

Tricky, is what you are. Perjurious. Prevaricating. Two-faced.

Martin is a massive fan of Jon’s multitude of eyes

“I just want to see,” Martin mimics petulance and Jon huffs a smirk.

“They are my eyeballs,” he responds primly, putting down a dry mug and picking up a plate to towel off.

“What’s the point of having horror-bestowed physical improvements if you don’t show them off?”

Martin worries about being a father

That’s not – ” Martin says, stops. Pulls his hands away from his face, his eyes puffy.

He takes Jon’s hand, still perched on his knee, laces their fingers together. Over the baby monitor, Jon can hear the soft untroubled in-and-out of their son breathing.

“I sounded like my dad,” Martin confesses finally. Fat tears well up and stagger down his tear-prickled cheeks. “I sounded exactly like him.”

Martin and Jon get wine drunk 

Jon sticks out his tongue. Martin tries to poke it with his finger, and Jon reels back with another one of those wine-laden expressions, earnest and open as a window.

“I want to know everything about you,” he says, struggling with finding the opening at the top of the pack, before  he pauses, dutifully following up with a no-less sincere and concessionary: “But not if you don’t want to.”

There’s nothing sexier than open and honest communication (post-166)

“I fucking hate the Buried,” Jon says into Martin’s shoulder.

“It sucks,” Martin agrees. “You er – you have any more poetry this time?”

Martin feels Jon’s ‘no’ like an earth tremor over his breastbone.

“Worms,” comes the reply muffled shapeless into his coat.

“Like…normal worms?”

“People worms.”

“Rrright. Less fun then.”

Martin has some thoughts about the Web

Martin does not think about spiders. 

(Except he does.) 

Did you feel, Jon had proposed delicately, like she was influencing your mind at all? 

Jon’s world has no certainties. No maps, boundaries, no promises that can remain unquestioned. 

Martin has the edges of his world now. He has to be able to trust in them. 

Jon gets hurt and doesn’t tell Martin

Jon burns when Martin puts a hand to his forehead, and he won’t wake, not for Martin’s calls and shakes, not for anything. When Martin goes to check, the wound on his leg has rooted from ankle to thigh, festering rot-black branches of something sludgy and swollen and varicose tracing the same lines as his veins.

The Corruption wars with Beholding upon the battleground of its Archive, and there is nothing Martin can do.

Martin still struggles with his mental health

It was easier, Martin thinks sometimes, when he could blame it on the Lonely.

Episode 170 could have gone so many different ways

This is your house, we whisper to him.

You have always been here alone, we promise.

We recite to our beloved that he has never been loved, and our winds, our walls, our winding mists tell him so often that eventually he believes us.

[to-a-merrier-world]

TEDDY HI okay I think I'm late but I would love to hear about DC Spiderman, love and other ways to die (the jay one at the end), aaaaaand Zuko accidental baby acquisition!!

LYSS! hi! lol

ok, so, DC Spider-man is, essentially, what it says on the tin--an AU where the powers of the multiverse that be decide to stick a Peter Parker into a DC universe, and things go a little differently for him. He still gets bit when he’s 15 and his uncle still gets shot, but Ben doesn’t die--instead, he goes into a coma for a few months. During that time, Peter takes on his Spider-man persona to deal with his guilt (and the fact he doesn’t know if his uncle will die or not). Eventually, Ben recovers, but Peter continues to be Spider-man. Ben and May find out a year later, and while things are tense for a while, they eventually accept it and help him out (such as with his webshooters).

Anyways, the beginning of the fic partially follows some points of the “Justice League: War” movie. Peter ends up meeting Superman, Batman, and Green Lantern when they go crashing through New York fighting each other. At the time, Peter is 18 and a senior in high school. I also get a huge kick out of Bruce being younger than people expect, so he’s only 22. Here’s a lil excerpt I wrote:

“Spider-Man, don’t fight him,” the man in black growled.

He glanced back at him and saw he’d climbed back to his feet. He was holding a weird, glowing box that basically screamed ‘Danger, Will Robinson!’ But the man himself didn’t set Peter’s sense’s off.

He was in a get up similar to Superman’s, but in all black and with a mask that covered half his face. The mask had little points on top and he had an emblem on the front that looked like a… 

Oh, Peter thought, eyes widening behind his mask. 

The Batman.

Well, that saves me a trip to Jersey, he thought. And then—holy shit, the Batman knows about Spider-Man!!

and another, cause i think these are funny lol:

“Well?” Superman asked. His question was clearly addressed to Batman, but he was glaring daggers at Lantern.

Yeesh, Peter thought. If looks could kill… Wait. Superman has heat vision. His looks could actually kill! How does that even work, anyway? Does he just stare really hard, or is it like flipping a swi—Wait, stop, I need to pay attention, Batman’s talking.

“—antern and I chased it into the sewers. It exploded before we could find out anything, leaving this box behind. We deduced that both the creature and the box were likely of extraterrestrial origin. We agreed to reach out to you,” Batman gestured towards Superman, “to find out anything you knew, and tracked you here.”

“Because he’s an alien?” Peter asked, cocking his head.

“Uh, obviously?” Lantern replied. “Who else is going to know anything about aliens?”

Peter ignored him, carrying on with his line of thought.

“Is that, like, speciesism? Or racism towards aliens? Cause, I mean, I don’t know a lot about non-humans, but I feel like they probably don’t all know each other.”

Superman snorted, and when Peter looked, he was definitely suppressing a smile. Probably.

anyways, the fic is an elaborate excuse to force a friendship between Spider-Man and Batman (and Superman) and would basically follow them through the years (and possibly lead to romance between them? i hadn’t decided lol). Oh, and last 2 tidbits before i move on: Peter is trans, cause why the fuck not, and i was also seriously considering titling this “Spidey and the Bats” to only be read like the Elton John song “Bennie and the Jets”.

ok, on to the Ajin!Jason Todd AU

so, idk what you know abt ajin, so i’ll explain a bit. Ajin: Demi-Human is a manga/anime about Ajin, people who possess extreme regenerative abilities that trigger upon death or mortal injury, allowing them to completely recover from their wounds in a matter of seconds to such an exceptional extent that not only can missing limbs be restored, but Ajin can fully regenerate after being turned into literal meat patties. Additionally, Ajin can create "black ghosts", which are highly dangerous combat-oriented entities that are invisible to normal humans and only visible to other Ajin.

I tweak the idea, somewhat, because in this AU, the amount of time it takes you to come back can vary--especially the first time you regenerate. It gets faster the more times you do it, but it starts off slower. Jason is an Ajin, so when he dies by the Joker’s hand, he later regenerates--only, he does so much slower and more incomplete than other Ajin. His body is restored to how it was prior to dying, but somehow his mind got locked inside his black ghost. He ends up wandering around Crime Alley with his black ghost trailing him until another Ajin stumbles across him.

This new Ajin, Kay, realizes something’s wrong with Jason and tries to help by... “resetting” him aka killing him again. It ends up working, but it doesn’t exactly engender feelings of friendship between him and Jason. Kay is pretty weird, though, and doesn’t seem to mind Jason not trusting or liking him, and despite killing him like it was nothing, is actually a kind person. He’s also determined to explain Ajin to him and ensure the kid understands the potential danger he’s in (he’s very vague about it, though, cause Kay has Secrets lol).

Anyways, it turns into this whole superheroes (mostly the Bats) vs the government vs rogue Ajin, and Jason ends up thrown into the middle of it all. The beginning of the fic deals more with Jason and his family’s grief/guilt/trauma and Kay sorta just hangs out until shit starts hitting the fan and he’s forced to reveal some things about himself :3c

OKAY on to the last one, Zuko Accidental Baby Acquisition AU!

this one starts off write after Zuko Alone when Zuko is leaving that town where he met the little boy. He ends up coming across another town, but this one has been destroyed by the Fire Nation--it’s a literal battle ground. There are the bodies of Earth Kingdom soldiers and civilians left to rot in the sun with only the broken weapons and armor of Fire Nation soldiers to explain what happened here. Zuko is horrified and wants to leave, but he’s starving, so he has to go into the town to try to find something to eat.

The fires from the battle are still burning low when he starts searching the town, and eventually he hears the cry of a baby. he runs to investigate without thinking and comes across a woman with her eyes closed and so severely burned Zuko automatically assumes she’s dead. In her arms is a crying baby, red-faced and distressed, but otherwise looking unharmed. Zuko approaches and as he reaches for the baby, unsure what the hell he’s even doing, the woman opens her eyes. She can barely speak, but she asks Zuko to take her son--Kyo--and to bring him somewhere safe. Zuko agrees without thinking, wanting the woman to pass on with some amount of peace.

The woman dies and Zuko is now left with a baby. The story goes on with Zuko seriously struggling to care for a baby, not to mention his inner turmoil and the trauma of seeing that town and watching the woman die from burn wounds. Zuko, like in canon, follows Azula’s tracks, but because of Kyo he’s slower and ends up arriving just as Azula shoots Iroh. This time, while Zuko wants to say no to Katara’s offer of help, he’s stuck b/c he can’t care for Iroh AND Kyo, so he ends up accepting her help. 

Which is also when the Gaang find out that Zuko, somehow, now has a baby. Katara also helps look the baby over, and it’s basically a really weird time for all parties. Eventually, the Gaang help Zuko, Iroh, and Kyo get settled in an abandoned house to recover, Aang insisting on leaving blankets and food behind (mostly for Kyo and Iroh’s benefit).

Anyways, the story goes on and Zuko, who had planned to just leave the baby at an orphanage in Ba Sing Se, ends up wanting to keep Kyo (he gets attached and feels responsible for him, and can’t just let him go). Things, obviously, go differently with a baby involved, and Zuko doesn’t end up betraying the Gaang/Iroh like he does in canon because of Kyo.

but yeah, that’s it lol, sorry this is so long, i got carried away

[barkimafish]

Pride

For National Coming Out Day, I went to Outfest in Philly. As a trans guy, I love the feeling of community that’s so apparent at events like this.

So, I wrote a story about Tony and Peter at a pride festival like that. Because it’s also the week of Mental Health Awareness Day, I put in a little extra self-reflection on Tony’s part.

Tony Stark takes Peter Parker to an LGBTQ pride festival and reflect on his own sense of self-love. One-Shot. (trans!Peter and some Irondad fluff?)

----------

Pride. Pride.

Tony Stark had never really considered what it meant to be prideful. In a material sense, the billionaire was generally proud of the success of his company. As a philanthropist, he occasionally felt proud of the good work that his donations achieved. Extending beyond his own accomplishments, Tony was almost as proud of his fellow Avengers as he was of Pepper, the woman who made him the luckiest husband in the world. But to be proud of his intrinsic self? How does one even begin to untangle the tiny remnants of self that are worthy of pride from the mess of personal failures?

"Mister- uh, I mean, Tony!" Peter called excitedly, snapping his mentor out of his thoughts. "Look, she's, like, totally killing it in those heels!" He pointed to the stage, separated from them by about half a city block's worth of people. There, a drag queen commanded the attention of the audience, stomping along to the beat of a high-paced pop song.

If someone had told Tony Stark ten years ago that he would one day be accompanying a teenager to New York City's LGBTQ pride festival, he would have scoffed. But now, standing next to this kid and knowing how happy he was, Tony would have cancelled plans with the president to be here. Taking in the merriment of the crowd, Iron Man himself was learning that he didn't always need a suit of armor to make people feel safe; sometimes, a friend ‒an ally‒ is all a person needs.

Tony laughed then yelled over the noise, "Yeah, wanna get closer?"

As Peter started to move forward, he felt Tony's hand on his shoulder, keeping them from being separated. He still couldn't believe that his mentor had offered to go with him to the festival. Peter had been wanting to go for a couple years now, but Aunt May always had to work and Peter never built up enough courage to ask his peers, Ned or MJ, to go with him. Although his friends had known for a while and they were always supportive, his being transgender just never came up easily in conversation. He could have guessed that Tony would ask about his plans after catching a glance at the date circled in gold glitter pen in his notebook. What he wouldn't have guessed was that the older man would insist on Peter celebrating with the rest of the community. Upon arriving, Tony didn't seem to think twice before dropping money on a large pink and blue trans flag for the boy to drape around his shoulders.

Closer to the stage, the bass of the music pounded into their chests, and bodies pressed against them. It was here that Tony compared his own fashion choice to others'. He felt out-of-place in sporting an old Metallica t-shirt and dark-wash jeans while many other men wore multi-colored suspenders, knee-high socks, or neon booty shorts. A nearby young man noticed Tony's gaze as he continued to smear glitter on his shirtless torso. The man laughed, his eyes flashing brighter than the glitter in the sun, then called out, "You want some of this?" The young man walked over to Tony and offered the shiny container.

Peter's attention returned to his mentor when the young man approached. The teen exclaimed, "Yes! Here, Tony, put some in your hair!" And before Tony had the mind to stop the kid, Peter was rubbing glitter in the older man's hair, laughing, while the young man commented, "Oh, doesn't he look gorgeous?!" And although Tony knew it would take days for all the sparkle to rinse from his hair, the enthusiasm was contagious and he found himself laughing and tossing a fistful of glitter at Peter.

Before long, sponsors were packing up their tables as the festivities drew to a close. Back at Peter's apartment, they ordered pizza, and Peter recounted his favorite moments. The teen suggested, "I think Spider-Man should have a mode for shooting glitter, like a special setting just for homophobes and transphobes, ya know? That would be funny."

As always, it made Tony laugh, and he playfully agreed, "I'll get right on that program."

They continued to share stories, and Peter thumbed through the photos on his phone until the leftover pizza was cold and the sun had set. Just before Tony left, Peter thanked him once again. "I know this probably isn't how you wanted to spend your day. You really didn't have to, but you came anyway. It means a lot." Then, looking down, he added, "You're the best mentor anyone could ever ask for."

Throughout his life, Tony had experienced varying levels of pride within himself. No, he wasn't proud of the work that Stark Industries used to do, and he wasn't too proud of his record of alcoholism and one-night stands. Now, having struggled to change his life into something worth living, his own tremendously high expectations prevented him from being proud of just about anything. In his new line of work, an Avenger didn't think of the lives they had saved without also thinking of the lives that were lost. At home, he was no longer an alcoholic, but he was still beaten down every day with depression and anxiety. It was a strange combination, perfectionism and depression. Some days, he could hardly get out of bed even as the thoughts of his long to-do list ran through his head over and over. On most of these days, he ended up doing nothing at all. These things made it difficult to practice self-love.

After today, Tony realized that "pride" could have a different meaning. As he learned from his young transgender friend, pride was less about being satisfied with his own accomplishments and more about being satisfied with who he was as a person. And whether or not Tony believed it, Peter seemed to think that he was the best role model ever. For now, that was good enough for Tony. If this pure-hearted, intelligent, brave kid thought he was the best, then how bad could he be?

----------

Read it on FanFiction! Read it on Wattpad!

Read about Tony teaching Steve about what it means to be LGBTQ on tumblr: I’ll Always Have Your Back

Read some more IronDad fluff on tumblr: Driving

Read some longer IronDad angst on tumblr: Long Days