#and her son (also trans) (you are beginning to understand now) was at this dinner and he started talking to me abt like very personal trans | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

baka-monarch · 4 years

Note

👉👈 soulmate au where whatever you write appears on the other's arm but one is smol and the other is the human who caught them. 👉👈

Was scrolling through my WIPs when I saw this thing I wrote at some point around the beginning of summer. It was supposed to have more chapters, and he gets caught eventually, but here's chapter 1. But then I remembered your ask and how I'd been having writer's block, so I hope this will suffice! Also, it has trans Patton, so don't freak out because of Logan's soul mate

Just A Little Emo

Chapter 1 (idk if I'm ever going to finish the other chapters if I'm being honest)

Virgil had just turned three not even a month ago, but loved to play with the marker tips his parents had borrowed for his present. He didn’t have any paper scraps to doodle on, but that didn’t stop him as his arm got covered with every color he could fit on there. He stuck out his tongue, laying on the ground, focused on his masterpiece. His oversized hoodie, from his mom, was discarded to the side, giving him full access to the canvas that was his skin. He was so focused that when suddenly a little flower was drawn out of nowhere, he jumped making a startled noise as he waved his hand around trying to get it off.

“Virgil, what’s wrong?” His mother spoke gently, as she came to investigate.

“Fower!?” Virgil held out his little hand showing her the illustration still being added to by an unknown hand. His mother smiled softly, knowing exactly what was going on.

“Honey, that’s your soul mate.” She picked him up, and held his hand so he could watch as more detail was added.

“Souw matt?” He looked at her curiously.

“”What you draw on your skin, your soulmate will see too, and when they draw it’ll be just for you!”” His mother quoted, booping him on the nose on the last word. “Your soulmate is your true love, the person you’re meant to be with. When you draw on your skin, you’re showing them that you care, and that you will always be there for them…” She trailed off sadly at the end.

“Daddy souw matt?” Virgil pointed to his mother’s hand, not noticing her change of mood.

“No, daddy isn’t my soulmate. I’m afraid neither of us have met ours yet.” She looked down at her hand, where there was currently a picture of a small four leaf clover, with its leaves designed like hearts. “Most borrowers don’t ever meet their soulmate.”

“Mommy?” Virgil squished her cheeks between his hands, getting marker ink all her face, smiling when she gave him a confused look. “Souw matt see wove now!” She giggled at his words.

“Yes, Virgil, they can see how much I love them now.” Some words were written on her arm making her chuckle, Virgil tried to make sense of the scribbles, but had no idea what they meant. “Why don’t you go draw something for your soulmate while I make dinner, okay?”

“Okie!” He giggled jumping off her lap. He grabbed his markers and started coloring in the flower that was being drawn. His mother smiled fondly at him.

Neither of them knew that this was going to be their last memory together. That, after that night Virgil’s father would leave her, taking Virgil with him.

⇔

Virgil spent two years without a mom. His dad explained that he’d found out his soulmate didn’t live too far away and had made plans in secret to be with her by meeting at a house close to where each lived. Unfortunately, they had miscalculated and Virgil’s dad had to take care of Virgil alone for two years. Throughout that time Virgil was left alone in the walls often, and had a game him and his soulmate would play. One of them would start a drawing and the other would finish it, they did that and many other things together just through their connection alone. Neither of them knew how to read or write yet, so when Virgil felt alone he would talk to himself, imagining that his soulmate was there with him, listening to all of his random little thoughts.

Little did he know that his soulmate was doing the same thing.

Roman King could remember that night clear as day. He had woken up from his nap time to find his arms and hands covered with all sorts of colors, with more still appearing. He had rushed out of the nursery, ignoring his snoring brother, and straight(lol)to his mom. “Mommy! Mommy!” His mother turned around from the cooking pasta at her son’s distressed voice, seeing tears pricking his eyes as he held out his arms with fear. It didn’t take her long to understand. She picked up her sniffling son, wiping his tears away. “Mommy, there color o-on m-m-me, a-a-and i-it’s sti-il coming!”

“Shh, shh.” She rubbed the tears and snot from his face. “It’s okay sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s only your soulmate.”

“Saoul malt?” He looked at her confused, then back down at his arms, trying to see if there was something there, other than the colors. His mother chuckled fondly.

“Yes, your “saoul malt”.” She booped him on the nose. “”What you draw on your skin, your soulmate will see too, and when they draw it’ll be just for you!”” She tapped his arm as an example. “Your soulmate is drawing for you Roman, it means that they love you.”

“Wove?” Roman’s eyes widened and sparkled at the familiar word.

“Yes, love, like Sleeping Beauty and Prince Charming.” She chuckled as he looked down at his arms with wonder and delight.

“Pwincess?” He held his arms out to her in question.

“Maybe, you’ll never know until you meet her, Prince Roman.” She smiled as he gasped with wonder. His eyes sparkled with excitement. “Do you wanna draw for her?” She grabbed a discarded marker off the counter and held it out to him.

“Mhm!” He snatched the marker and wiggled out of her arms as she set him down. As soon as he was back on the floor he fell to his bum and uncapped the marker. It only took him a few seconds to think of what to draw for his princess. A flower. It was perfect, what princess doesn’t like a flower?

⇔

For the next two years Roman always had a marker on him just so he could draw with his soulmate. You could almost say that they were inseparable. It was during these two years that Roman started preschool, while there he learned a little about writing, mainly his name, but that didn’t stop him from picking up the skill quickly as he wrote and rewrote his name on his arm over and over again hoping that someday he would know more about these scribbles so he could ‘talk’ to his soulmate.

One day as Virgil was coloring one of his soulmate’s doodles he saw a series of scribbles appear. Although he recognized them as words, he had no idea what they meant. Not knowing what else to do, he mimicked the scribbles to show that he saw them to his soulmate. In return his soulmate scribbled again, and Virgil in turn copied him. They kept doing this, scribbling and rescribbleing, each new scribble being more clearer and clean. At some point Virgil even ran out of room on his arms, so he listed his oversized hoodie and started scribbling there.

“What’re ya doin there Spiderman?” His dad asked as he returned from borrowing.

“Souw matt.” Virgil pointed at the scribbles, showing the red ink where his soulmate had scribbled and the black ink where he had copied them. Virgil’s dad recognized what the scribbles were and what they said easily.

“It’s your soulmate’s name Spiderman.” He explained as he picked up his son.

“Na-ame?” Virgil sounded out.

“Yeah, it looks like your soulmate is Roman.” His father smiled.

“Wroammin?” Virgil tried the name.

“Yeah, Roman.” His father said a little more hard, trying to help his son to understand the name.

“Raman.” Virgil smiled, proud that he ‘got’ the name. His dad chuckled at his son’s attempt, but still proud how close he was.

“Do you wanna write your name?” He gently took the marker tip, ready to help the kid.

“Yeah!” Virgil exclaimed with stars in his eyes.

⇔

It wasn’t until later that night that Roman saw a series of scribbles appear on his arm, spelling out, what his mom claimed said, “Virgil.” Through the next two years up until kindergarten, Roman did all he could to learn about writing, as Virgil worked with his dad when he could to learn how to write in return. It wasn’t until the first day of kindergarten that Roman realized that there was more to reading and writing than just talking to your soulmate.

“Hello class, my name is Mrs. Parrot, and welcome to kindergarten.” Roman was five now, and was in kindergarten. Roman barely heard the teacher as he and Virgil tried to write each other’s names more fancier than the other. So far it seemed that Virgil was winning as he added all these little stars and curly letters, but Roman was determined to win. He paid no mind to the rest of the class or the teacher, as he wrote Virgil’s name on his arm in bubble letters, using all the markers he had to color them in, adding little spiders and skulls (he knew Virgil liked them from all the times they finished each other’s drawings), and making sure that there was more than enough purple. In fact he was so engrossed that he hadn't noticed the class sharing their names, hadn’t noticed all the eyes that had focused on him from his assigned table, hadn’t noticed the lesson, and had definitely not noticed the teacher's annoyance. Well, he hadn’t noticed until the teacher snached all of his markers away.

“Hey!” Roman glared up at her. It didn’t take long for her to see his soulmate’s writing on his arm.

“I understand if you want to write to your soulmate, but please pay attention.” She snapped before clicking back to her desk, depositing the markers into her desk. “You’ll get these back at the end of class.” Was all she said before returning to teaching. Roman only pouted, perfectly content with not paying attention until then.

“My soulmate also draws to me during school.” To Roman’s left there was a boy about his age, except he looked uptight with his hair made well and the little suit he wore. The boy fixed his glasses before holding out a hand for him to shake. “I am Logan.” As Roman went to shake the hand, he almosted wanted to laugh in surprise, despite Logan’s cold exterior his arm was covered in cute little drawings, most of which were goofy little cartoons. Roman hesitated to collect himself before taking the hand to shake it.

“Roman.” As their hands shook they noticed that their soulmates had stopped drawing momentarily. When they pulled their hands apart, Roman noticed that he had gotten some of his purple ink on Logan’s hand. Instead of Logan being distraught, his eyes widened in amazement as the word ‘Virgil’ appeared next to the smudge, he looked at Roman’s hand to find the word ‘Peggy’ written on his. “Peggy?” Roman questioned.

“She’s my soulmate.” Logan thought for a moment, “They must know each other.” he theorised.

“No way!” Roman exclaimed. “How do we know for sure?” Logan wasted no time in pulling out a marker of his own, keeping it and his hand under the desk. He didn’t normally break rules, but this was to test a hypothesis. He used Roman’s arm for reference as he wrote ‘Roman’ onto his arm. Only moments later did the word ‘Logan’ appear on Roman’s arm. “That’s so cool!”

“Indeed.” Logan breathed in surprise.

⇔

Virgil’s dad had recently found a small borrower settlement in an abandoned sewer pipe not even five feet away from the house they were living in. So when his dad was busy for the day, he left Virgil with one of the shop owners there, she had a daughter about Virgil’s age as well. Her name was Peggy, and Virgil got along with her well. It was on this particular day that Virgil and Peggy were left in a backroom of the shop unattended with some marker tips, and Virgil was doing all he could to write Roman’s name in the most magnificent way he could, as Roman was writing his name just as grand. Peggy watched from the side with intrigue as she drew little cartoony puppies every now and then on her arm. They didn’t really think much of their different arms, until Peggy brought up a point.

“What if our soulmates know each other?” She wondered aloud.

“There’s no way.” Virgil deadpanned, not looking up from his writing even though it seemed Roman had stopped. “It’s basically impossible.”

“Did your soulmate stop drawing?” She noted.

“We were writing, but yeah.” He stopped his scribbling for a moment to actually look at it.

“Well, my soulmate usually stops drawing around this time as well.” She explained. “Maybe they live together?”

“It’s probably just a coincidence.” Virgil tried, but there was no denying it when suddenly the splotch on Virgil’s hand was mirrored onto Peggy’s hand.

“See!?” She bounced with excitement and grabbed a marker tip. “What’s your name again?”

“Uhm-”

“Nevermind!” She cut him off as she used his arm for reference, she quickly wrote his name next to the smudge on her hand, before grabbing Virgil’s hand.

“Hey!” He tried to pull it back, but there was nothing he could do as she wrote her name on his hand. “What was that for-” The words were lost on Virgil’s tongue as Roman’s name appeared on Peggy’s arm. “How…”

“See! They do know each other!” She bounced.

“What’s your soulmate’s name?” Virgil asked.

“Logan!” She chirped.Virgil nodded and wrote Logan onto his arm. Moments later there was a little check mark next to the name, showing that Roman had seen it.

“Looks like they do know each other.”

#sander sides #roman sanders #virgil sanders #prinxiety #g/t #giant/tiny #borrower Virgil #ask #request #promt #soulmate au #just a little emo #trans patton #kid roman #kid virgil

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rpsocsandcanonohmy · 3 years

Text

I’m August

Written for Walker Pride Week

Day 7: Free Space

8 months ago

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to do this. Well, he wanted to do this. He wanted to be seen for who he really was and changing schools was a great opportunity to do that. But to get there, he had to do something very scary.

“Gramps? Do you have a minute?”

“Sure, Allie. What’s on your mind?”

He cringed hearing that name. “I…. Have you started enrolling us at Sacred Hearts yet?”

“We’re just going through the paperwork. Why do you ask?”

Here goes. “I was just wondering. I...I was just thinking about the whole, ‘new school’ thing. Not really gonna know anyone there, not in the same circuit as our old school...new beginnings and all that.”

“If this is about changing your middle name, the answer is still no.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I know, this is different.”

“What is it then?”

“I’mtrans.” Like ripping off a band-aid.

“....What was that?”

He took a deep breath. “I’m transgender. I’m a boy, not a girl. I feel like I'm stuck in the wrong body. I don't want to be 'Allie' anymore. That's not who I am."

His confession was met with blank stares. He bit his lower lip nervously. This had been a lot smoother when he practiced it with Stella and Uncle Liam a few days ago. Maybe he should've done it then when Liam was still in town. He could've had back up. He could've-

"Who are you, then?"

"What?"

"I asked you what you wanted to be called, dear. Who are you?"

"...August." He'd picked it from the list of possible names Emily decided to include in his baby book.

"Alright, August. Your Gramps and I have a few things to talk about."

"...Okay." It was out of his hands now.

Now

“Are you on your way?”

“Yes, Liam.”

“Good. You’re not gonna stop anywhere on the way, are you?”

“I might have to stop for gas-”

“Just gas. No booze or sight-seeing or anything else.”

“Okay, okay, geeze. It’s like you think I don’t want to come home or something.”

Liam sighed on the other end. “Cordi, you know that’s not it. I just…. Au- Allie wants to talk to you about something and it’s kind of a big deal.”

“Yeah, okay. Do you know what she wants to talk about?”

“I was specifically asked not to give you any heads up on it.”

“Well that’s just concerning.”

“It’s nothing bad,” Liam said hurriedly. “Quite the opposite. It’s just…. She wants to tell you herself.”

“If you say so.” Liam had been mentioning this Thing to him ever since he finished the case. Whatever his youngest had to tell him, it was important and Cordell planned on listening with all the care a good father should. Maybe that would make up for his previous absence. “Anyway, I’ll be home in time for dinner. Tell the girls I love them?”

“Of course. See you soon.”

8 months ago

“Al- August? Could you come here please?”

He walked into the dining area, not sure what he was about to hear. They’d used his real name and not his deadname so he was optimistic. Still, that didn’t necessarily mean good news.

“We’ve been thinking about what you told us.”

Here we go.

“We’ve started working on getting your named changed and once that’s sorted we’ll enroll you under that name.”

That was good.

“But we don’t want to do anything medical just yet. Not without your father around anyway.”

Slightly less good but it could be worse.

“We’ll let you do whatever else you want to do for your appearance. Haircut, binders, new wardrobe, whatever.”

Amazing.

"Thank you." he said, voice breaking slightly at the end. It was more than he'd expected.

"Of course. We love you and we want you to be happy. Maybe we don't understand the whole 'trans' thing but we don't need to."

He hugged them both tightly. "Thank you. I love you. So much."

He couldn't believe this was really happening. He was going to be August Walker. It made him tear up just thinking about it.

Now

“He said he’ll be home in time for dinner,” August said as he entered the living room. “Uncle Liam just got off the phone with him and made sure he knew he had to be here.”

“He’d better,” Stella muttered from her spot on the couch. “He was supposed to be back months ago.”

August rolled his eyes. “Could you relax? You’re gonna scare him away again if you act like that when he gets here.”

“You assume he’ll get here.”

“I choose optimism.” August shrugged and sat on the opposite side of the couch and swung his legs up so his feet sat in her lap. “Besides, Mawline’s making her chili; he never misses Mawline’s chili.”

Stella huffed and rolled her eyes. “I do not understand the faith you have in him.”

“You used to have it too,” he said softly.

“That was before he abandoned us,” she snapped.

“And whose bright idea sent him that way in the first place?” he retorted. He instantly regretted it when her face fell and he moved to sit closer to her. “Sorry. I didn’t-”

“I know,” she said softly, hugging him tightly. She rubbed his back and pulled away with a frown. “How long have you been wearing that?”

August lightly pushed her arms off him and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s fine.”

“How long?”

“Long enough.”

“You know you can’t wear it all day. The instructions said-”

“I know how to wear my binder, Stella. I’ll take a break later,” he muttered.

Stella chewed her bottom lip. “...I have some big sweaters if you want. They should be big enough to cover….”

August shook his head. He knew Stella meant well but today was stressful enough as it was. Dad coming home would have been big enough without also telling him that his youngest kid was transgender and had a new name and pronouns and appearance and everything. Maybe he should’ve taken Uncle Liam’s offer to break the news to Dad earlier. But that just didn’t seem right. He felt like he should do it in person.

Of course, that meant now he had to agonize about it all day and wonder if that trade off was worth it. Hopefully it would be.

7 months ago

“Class, we have a new student joining us today. Would you like to introduce yourself, young man?”

That felt so good to hear. “Hi. My name is August Walker. I’m happy to be here.”

“Thank you. Why don’t you take a seat over there next to Ruby and then we can get started?”

He did it.

He really did it.

He was August Walker.

Now

Cordell pulled up to the house and saw his whole family waiting outside. Well, almost his whole family. Allie wasn’t there. He’d expected her to be waiting on the porch like she usually was when he came home from a mission. Maybe she was just nervous about whatever it was she wanted to talk about?

Stella greeted him first with a tight hug. Then Momma and Daddy. James shook his hand and Stan clapped him on the back. Liam was the last to approach him with his own hug. "Where's Allie?" he asked, looking around the yard.

"Inside, in hi- her room. She's waiting to talk to you."

"Still not gonna tell me what this is about?"

"Not my place to say. Just…." Liam sighed and looked away. "Be careful, okay? She's nervous."

"I will," he promised, heading inside to talk to his daughter. As he headed up the stairs, he wondered what he was about to walk into. It was clearly something important, given all the secrecy and emphasis. Something life altering perhaps? Did something happen? Was she sick? Now he was nervous.

"Allie, Liam said you wanted to-" He stopped when he saw her.

He knew he'd been gone for a long time. Almosy a year. People were bound to change in that time, especially young people. But this…. This was a lot.

Instead of the girly "Pretty in Pink'' princess he said goodbye to all those months ago, Allie sits in front of him with short hair, boy's jeans, and an oversized hoodie. Her room has changed too, from neons to neutral colors and shelves of books instead of horse figurines. She cleared her throat and stood up. "Hi, Dad."

Her voice sounded different too. Lower, a little deeper, like she was forcing it down.

"Hi…."

She took a deep breath and crossed her arms over her chest. "I know this is a lot to take in but…. I'm transgender. I'm a boy. My name is August. Gramps and Mawline let me change my name and everything back when they transferred us to Sacred Hearts High a few months ago. I haven't done any physical transitioning yet because they didn't want to do that without you here. I figured it out a few years ago and I didn't say anything because I wasn't sure how y'all would react. I only said something now because we were changing schools and I thought...fresh start. So. Yeah. That's where we're at." All- August looked down at he- his shoes, likely waiting for a reaction.

It was a lot. If he had a million years to guess what his youngest had to say to him, this probably never would've made the list.

But here they were. Allie wasn't a little girl anymore. He was a young man who named himself August. And he needed his dad, now more than ever.

"....Okay."

"What?"

"I said, okay."

August nearly bowled him over with a hug and he hugged back just as tight. "I love you," was muffled against his shirt.

"I love you too, August."

He could process this whole thing later. Right now, his son was all that mattered.

#walker pride #walker pride week #transgender #ftm trans #august walker

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cowboy-crimez · 5 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Diego Hargreeves Characters: Diego Hargreeves, Number Five, Eudora Patch, Chuck Beaman, brief Klaus Hargreeves, brief Vanya Hargreeves, Mentions of Allison Luther and Ben Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, No Apocalypse, Trans Character, child!Five, he is a Teenager, maybe a bit ooc but hey the charter of rights promises me liberty and i'm taking it, Coming Out, Time Skips Summary:

eudora and beaman are surprised to find out diego has a kid; they're more surprised when they see what their relationship is like

The first thing that tips Eudora off that something weird is happening, is the fact that Diego is wearing a tie. Not just some shoddy clip-on tie, or one that he clearly borrowed from some other detective, like when he has to give a testimony on the stand, but an actual hand tied tie.

The second thing is his absolutely foul mood.

“Jesus, what’s got your panties in a bunch?” Beaman asks after Diego snatches a cup of coffee from him. His question makes Diego scowl more. Surprisingly, instead of just telling him to fuck off, he actual answers.

“I have to go to this bullshit interview with my kid’s principal because my smartass of a son has behavioural issues, which I already fucking knew, and I told them last time I had to go to a parent-teacher interview, I said, ‘He doesn’t like other kids, he won’t do class participation, he’s not going to play games with other kids, he just wants to sit down and learn and read and then go home’ and they said, ‘Oh, Mr. Hargreeves, I’m sure that’s not true, we can get him out of his shell!’. Well! He’s out of his fucking shell now and he’s telling other kids that they’re fucking dumbasses!” Diego seethes, jaw tensing more and more as he goes on.

Eudora and Beaman stare at him, jaws dropping. Diego takes a breath.

Eudora clears her throat. “I didn’t know you had a kid.” Beaman nods in agreement.

Diego looks at them. “He came in like two weeks ago with my brother to give me my house keys.”

They both cast their memory back, trying to remember if either of them had seen a kid with Diego’s eyes, or hair, or mouth, or skin tone. The only kid they remember seeing Diego with was a pale boy with brown hair, who seemed to be mouthing off to an annoyed Diego. The kid came in with Klaus, and given the stories, she heard of him, and their similar colouring, she has presumed that the kid was his or Dave’s. In retrospect, Eudora guesses the kid and Diego had similar noses.

“Oh,” she says. “Well, uh good luck, I guess.”

Diego nods, grabs his coffee and stalks back to his desk.

Eudora doesn’t feel as bad that she didn’t know that Diego had an entire child without her knowing, once she realizes that nothing about him or his workspace advertises the fact.

He has no pictures of anyone at his desk - not even his mom, and Eudora knows how much he loves her - much less any pictures of him and his kid at a baseball game or birthday party. His wallet is sans photos as well; she knows because once she had to dig through it to find a ten dollar bill to pay for some take out they ordered on a night shift. Even his phone screen is just a default black.

The only thing that could possibly point towards the fact that he’s a father is his phone calls when he’s working late.

The Captain is really breathing down everyone's necks to get the crime stats in, and after a brief server crash that erased twenty minutes worth of work for everyone, he’s screaming that everyone is staying an extra three hours to get them back on track. It’s already six, so people groan and start to call and text their significant others and kids that they’ll be late for dinner or bedtimes.

Eudora sees Diego roll his eyes once the Captain goes back to his office, before digging his phone out of his pocket. Usually, he’ll go and walk outside to make phone calls, but he must be feeling tired today because he stays seated.

Eudora hates feeling nosy, but she figures, I’m a detective, and Diego is sometimes a partner, so she should know this about him right?

He clicks on a contact, then puts his phone to his ear.

“Hey,” He says, voice neutral, “I’m gonna be home late tonight. Hm? No, it’s just work stuff. Listen, there’s leftovers in the fridge from last night, if you’re still hungry after you’ve had that then you can order a pizza or something. If I find an empty pizza box and the leftovers, I swear to god, I’m feeding you plain mashed potatoes for a month. I should be back home before you’re asleep, but I’ll let you know if I get held up anymore. Make sure you do your home- oh, you’re already done? Okay, good job. Okay, see you later. Wait! I just remembered that you’re grounded… uh…. If you watch tv, make sure it’s off by the time I get home so that I can pretend that you’re actually being punished. Oh, you do that anyway? Great. Okay, bye.” He hangs up, slips his phone back into the pocket of his leather jacket, and goes back to staring at a report he’s trying to type up.

Curiosity takes over Eudora.

“So, uh, that was your kid?” She asks, leaning over to talk to him.

Diego nods, “Yup.”

“You have a son, right?”

“Uh huh.”

She waits for a follow up that never comes.

“What his name?”

“Five.” He squints at some writing, before backspacing and retyping a line. Eudora blinks.

“His name… is Five?”

“Yeah, he refuses to go by anything else.”

Eudora nods again slowly. “How old is he?”

“He’s fourteen but he acts like he’s a fucking twenty seven year old business major with the attitude that he’s got.”

Eudora furrows her eyebrows. Fourteen? Diego turned thirty less than a year ago. That means he had the kid - got someone pregnant! - when he was sixteen, maybe fifteen. She leans back into her chair.

“Oh.” She says, suddenly understanding why Diego never barged into work showing everyone new baby photos like Martinez from I.T. did a few months ago. Why he doesn’t go around showing off awards or certificates that Five has won. She gets why he doesn’t have any photos of a young kid on his shoulders at his desk, or why he doesn’t go around bragging about his son’s - Five’s - accomplishments.

A lot of people their age have kids, yes, but only around the ages of five or six, maybe even if they started a family early. Baby pictures of Five would also be high school pictures of Diego. To Eudora’s knowledge, Diego is single and has been for at least a few years. He was single when he entered the police academy too, when he was twenty-one, too.

Five’s mom probably isn’t in the picture, hell, maybe she never was in the picture, to begin with.

Eudora made a lot of mistakes with people at sixteen, but never one that resulted in a kid.

She looks over at Diego, still squinting at the screen and typing away, and more than anything feels sympathy for him.

Still, she thinks, turning back to her own work, it’s a bit sad that he seems to ignore the fact that he has a kid when he’s at work.

It’s three weeks later when Beaman looks up from his desk and sees a kid walking towards Diego. He’s wearing a school uniform, knee socks and all, and looks incredibly bored. He has a backpack on but is still carrying a notebook in his hands.

He makes his way to Diego’s turned back, raises his notebook, and lets it drop to the ground. It lands with a loud SMACK that makes every cop in a two-metre radius jump. Diego isn’t an exception, with the way he jerks around, hand finding his holster.

When he sees the kid, he sighs.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?”

The kid shrugs, before leaning down and picking the notebook up. He takes off his backpack then puts the notebook into the bag.

Diego looks at the clock on his computer. “We have a few minutes, let me finish this then we can get going, okay, Five?”

The kid groans, but nods, dropping his backpack at Diego’s feet and stalking off towards the kitchenette.

Beaman wheels his chair over and asks, “Who’s the kid?”

“Five,” Diego replies, “My son.”

Beaman sputters, before managing an “Oh, okay.” and returning to his desk.

After a few minutes, Diego, seeming satisfied with his work, logs off the computer and starts to gather his things. Five returns with a paper cup that steaming.

Diego glares, “I told you not to drink any more coffee today.”

“Yeah, well, you also told me not to drink alcohol and yet somehow I know how to make a margarita.”

Diego sighs pinches the bridge of his nose, and says, “Just pick up your shit and let’s go.”

Five grabs his backpack, before hastily walking out.

“You know, I saw Diego’s son today,” Beaman tells Eudora in the breakroom later, “He was… something else.”

Eudora nods, “They don’t really look related, do they?”

“No, not really. I mean, I guess they have similar noses, but that’s about it.”

Eudora takes a sip of her tea. “He’s… older than I would have thought.”

“Yeah,” Beaman lets out a whistle, “Diego must’ve had him young.”

“He really doesn’t seem like the parenting type, does he?”

“That he does not.” Beaman thinks about Diego’s remarks to Five before leaving.

They both nod, feeling vaguely guilty about talking about Diego’s parenting behind his back, before finding a new topic to talk about.

The next day, they don’t bring up Five to Diego.

Vanya doesn’t dislike Five, in fact, she loves him dearly, would be willing to put down her life for him if he needed it. Five has made her life better in many ways; his existence helped her and Diego’s relationship immensely, him always wanting her to teach him how to read music, how to play the piano or violin has made her a better teacher, and she loves watching him light up as he gets carried away on some tangent about math, or physics or space. Overall, Vanya can’t imagine her life without Five being somewhere in the background.

It’s just.

He listens to her even less than he listens to Diego, which already, isn’t a lot.

She supposes that’s to be expected. Diego is Five’s dad, the highest authority the kid recognizes besides his own, which means that all his aunts and uncles fall below that.

Klaus doesn’t mind the fact that Five never listens to him or Dave, in fact, Vanya thinks he enjoys basically being equals with the fourteen-year-old. Five only listens to Ben occasionally, since Ben can usually use reason to convince Five one way or the other. Sometimes Five listens to Allison, the new(er) mom able to appeal to the childlike tendencies that Five tries to pretend don’t exist. Anything Luther says Five ignores on principle, a fact that brings a smile to Diego’s face.

But, Vanya? She knows that Five respects her authority more than other aunt or uncle - that doesn’t mean he likes her more though, she has learned over time. He just respects her more.

She thinks it’s because she always tried to listen to him when he was younger. She never tried to speak over him or dismiss him outright. She didn’t want him to feel like she did.

When Five was really young, he used to sneak into her bedroom when it was supposed to be his nap time. The naps were partially for Five, and partially to give Diego time to get out all the aggression he couldn’t let out around a kid.

Five would watch as Vanya practiced the violin, or sit on her lap as she read, or sometimes actually nap on her bed while she studied.

Not much has changed, considering she comes home to her apartment some nights, to find Five asleep on her couch.

“You cannot keep breaking into my apartment!” She says, making tea for both of them, waiting for Diego to come to pick Five up. He sounded annoyed over the phone, no longer surprised by Five’s antics but still irritated by them.

“So long as you continue to leave your windows unlocked, I certainly can.”

“I live on the second floor!"

“Rapists can climb!”

Vanya closes her eyes and breathes through her nose. She grabs the cups of tea and brings them over to the coffee table.

“Why did you even come over, Five? It’s late, it’s cold, I know that it takes at least forty minutes on the bus. Why did you come all the way over here?” Maybe it’s a by-product of literally growing up with him - albeit in a very different stage of development - that made Vanya so attuned with Five. She never had to pull the parent card, like Diego did (he was the only one who felt comfortable doing that as a teenager), and she never felt comfortable to just ‘become friends’ with Five, as Klaus and Ben did. She didn’t distance herself or wait for Diego to beg her for help to start a relationship with Five. She’s really, not that she wants to admit it, the closest thing to a normal aunt that Five has.

Five looks at his lap and in a soft voice, he said, “I got into another fight at school and Diego had to pick me up. He was really angry and he yelled at me in the car, and then I yelled back, and then he had to go back to work.” Five’s voice gets impossibly quieter, “I felt really bad and I didn’t want to have to see him right away when he was done work. So I came here.”

Vanya looks at Five’s hunched over figure. Sometimes she forgets how young he is, how young Diego is to have him. She moves over to sit next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, Five, I get that. But you can’t keep leaving home without calling or leaving a note. Diego worries about you, and when he worries, so do I. And regardless what you may believe - or may want to believe - Diego is your father and does think a lot like you,” she can see Five rolling his eyes. “He’ll understand if you let him."

Fifteen minutes later Diego is waiting at the door as Vanya gives Five a hug goodbye. She gives Diego a look before he leaves, and tells him to drive safe.

Vanya doesn’t know if her speech had any effect on Five, or if she helped the situation at all. All she knows is that from then on, Five texts her letting her know that he’s climbing the fire escape to break in.

Diego gets a knee to the chest and what’s probably a broken rib a few weeks later. This is on top of the stab wound to his shoulder. Eudora finishes up with the arrests, before going over to the ambulance that he’s sitting in, watching as he winces trying to get his shirt over his head.

“Got a new scar to add to the collection?” She jokes, seeing the paramedic laying out tools, getting ready to stitch Diego up.

Diego finally pulls his shirt all the way off, groaning as he brings his arms back down, “Oh yeah, you know me, can never get enough.”

Eudora laughs before her eyes fall to Diego’s chest. Two symmetrical scars lay underneath his pectorals, only just slightly paler than the rest of his skin.

“When did you get those ones?” She jerks her chin towards his chest. He looks down and seems a bit embarrassed when he looks back up.

“Uh, got them before the academy, way earlier.” Eudora wants to follow up but then sees him tense as the paramedic starts to disinfect the wound, letting him know that the first stitch will come any second.

She always finds it funny that Diego will brush off a stabbing or a bullet wound like it’s nothing, but even mentioning needles will make him pale.

“Hey, so uh, will Five be worried about you?” She asks, figuring that there’s no better way to distract Diego than to get him to talk about his son.

Diego snorts. “Five? No way, he’ll probably make fun of me for being too slow to dodge a knife.”

Eudora hums, pretending like that’s a normal response. “What was he like when he was young?”

The paramedic is starting the first stitch, and Diego’s face gets pinched. “He was a fucking angel as a baby. Quiet, didn’t cry, ate his food. Didn’t last long though, turned into a demon as soon as he could walk and talk. Sometimes I think that he’s making up for lost time by being mouthy now.”

Eudora’s about to ask another question and is surprised when he continued unprompted.

“You know, a lot of parents say things like, ‘I loved my kid the moment they were born’, or even before they were born. My dad, he… well, I didn’t want a kid at sixteen, I mean, who the fuck does? But, I was acting out, and I was angry at that age, and he thought that going through with it would be the ultimate punishment and the ultimate lesson in responsibility. So, even though I didn’t want Five, I had him. And the whole time leading up to his birth, I was thinking, ‘I can love him when I hold him, I’ll love him as soon as I set eyes on him’, and then he was born and I held him and I just. I don’t know. I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t hate him for ruining my life, but I also didn’t love him. I feel guilty as fuck about that now, but I was sixteen, I had to quit my swim team to take care of this kid, I had to quit archery and track, I couldn’t go out to parties anymore, none of my friends wanting to hang out with me, and my siblings didn’t know how to treat me anymore, all my time I was just looking after this thing that didn’t even look like me. But as he got older - as we both got older - I guess I learned how to love him. And I really do love him, I would do anything for him now.”

The paramedic is almost done with the stitches, and Diego looks just about ready to faint.

“I just, I wish I had him at a better time. I wish I could have loved him from the beginning. I think he knows that I didn’t love him at first.” The paramedic ties off the last stitch. “I think that he’ll always hate me because of that.”

Before Eudora can say anything else, Diego’s eyes roll back as he faints. The paramedic catches him, lays him onto the stretcher and says, “Low blood sugar, probably. He’ll be back up in no time.”

Eudora nods, deciding that this is the type of conversation that she won’t repeat, and that she can’t bring up again.

Five never says so, but days with Diego aren’t really as bad as he pretends they are. They’re lounging on the couch after a day of errands, visiting Grace (Five refuses to call her grandma, at this point, not even he knows why), and a visit to the library so that Five could get an extension on a book he hasn’t quite finished reading.

To top it all off, on the way home they stopped at a cafe, and Diego let Five order the biggest coffee on the menu without complaint or comment.

The show on television is garbage, and Five would rather be reading his library book, but he’s so comfy underneath the blanket Diego threw over him, and despite the amount of caffeine he ingests daily, he can feel his eyes slipping closed.

He’s only slightly roused when he feels two strong arms around him, lifting him from the couch. He just curls in on himself more, and he can faintly hear Diego chuckle but it sounds and feels a million miles away.

Five feels himself being placed on his bed, hears Diego tugging at the comforter until it’s over Five’s shoulder, and the pressure as he tucks him in, something he hasn’t done in almost a decade. He barely did it before too.

Five assumes he’ll leave right away, so he starts snuggling into bed, but then his sleep addled brain is surprised when he feels Diego petting his hair and whispering,

“Goodnight, kiddo,” a term Five never lets him use, and then he feels Diego kiss the side of his head, an action Five never lets him do. “I love you.”

After a second that lasts an eternity, Five hears the door to his room close, leaving him alone in his room.

If he sleeps any better than night than usual, he racks it up to coincidence.

Beaman is at a club with his friends on a Friday night. It’s not a common occurrence, but his friend got a promotion and wanted to celebrate. The club they’re in isn’t strictly a gay club, but he can tell there’s a lot of gay people in it. Not that he has a problem with that, it just means that he doesn’t think he’ll be heading home with anyone tonight.

It’s just after ten when Beaman finishes his drink and heads to the washroom. As soon as he opens the door he can tell that people are going at it in the stall. The grunting and moaning can be heard over the muffled music when the door is closed, and he can see the two different pairs of shoes underneath the stall door.

Usually, Beaman would hightail it out of there, but he’s already pleasantly drunk, and he really has to piss, so he just shrugs and uses the urinal. As he’s zipping his pants back up he hears one last grunt and some heavy breathing.

Beaman is just finishing drying his hands at the sink when the stall door opens, and who else than Detective Diego Hargreeves walks out. Beaman turns around after recognizing him in the mirror, and Diego stops in his tracks, mouth gaping.

Beaman has to say, he never expected Diego to own leather pants.

The other man - oh lord, the man Diego was having sex with - walks out of the stall, slaps Diego’s ass, before saying, “Call me sometime, baby.” and walking out, not before throwing a tied condom in the trash.

Diego and Beaman stay frozen.

After a minute Beaman clears his throat. “So, I guess Five won’t be getting a sibling anytime soon.”

Diego lets out a laugh that, even in his slightly drunk state, Beaman can tell is forced and pinched.

They’re saved from any further awkwardness when a skinny dude wearing a skirt - Klaus, Beaman remembers - bursts into the washroom, yelling, “Brother dearest, did you have a good time?”

Diego whips towards him, immediately saying, “I’m going home now.”

Klaus pouts and says, “Ugh, Dave wants to leave too, you guys are so boring. But, fine, let's go. ”

Diego almost sprints out of the washroom.

On Monday, Beaman can barely make eye contact with Diego without blushing.

It starts out a fairly quiet day. Eudora hands in all her completed files and reports before noon, interviews a witness and manages to organize her desk before everything goes to shit.

Before she even sees what’s going on, she hears a voice demanding, “Let go of me, you goddamn creep!”

Diego’s head snaps up, eyebrows furrowing when he sees Davidson, the beat cop, leading Five by the arm through the precinct.

“Five?” Diego asks, eyeing the cut on his cheek, bloody knuckles, and the blood around his nose, “What happened?”

“He got into a fight with a classmate. Happened outside school grounds. A bystander called, I recognized him, figured I would let you handle it since the kid’s parent decided not to press charges.” Davidson turns to Five, “You got lucky this time, kid.

“Fuck off, pig, don’t call me ‘kid’.” Five spits.

Eudora can see Diego’s jaw tense as he says, “Thank you, Davidson.”

Davidson’s hand isn’t even off of Five before Diego is standing and pushing Five into the chair next to his desk.

“Five, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that Eric is a little bitch who thinks he’s better than me, so I wanted to prove him wrong. I miscalculated and got my ass handed to me.” Five says, blunt as ever. Diego pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You can’t go around fighting everyone-”

“Why not? You do.”

“Yeah, because I’m allowed because I’m a cop. You’re a kid.”

“Don’t call me a kid.” Five hisses.

“I will stop calling you a kid when you stop fucking acting like one,” Diego replies.

“Well, maybe I’ll stop ‘acting like one’ when you stop acting like you’re my dad.”

“Five,” Diego starts with a warning tone, “I am your dad.”

“No,” Five says, voice raising, not that it matters since just about every cop on the floor is staring, “You’re not. You’re just some fuck up who got stuck with me and now thinks he knows what’s best for me.”

“Fidel Victor Hargreeves, I swear to god-” Diego seethes, voice suddenly impossibly quiet, but before he can finish Five yells over him again.

“Or what? What will you do, Diego? Ground me? Make me switch schools again? Finally going to send me away like you always wanted?! Guess what Diego, I don’t need you, and I don’t want you around! I’d rather have an actual mom or dad, or better yet, nothing at all, instead of whatever the fuck you are!”

Diego seems stunned into silence, and after a second of heavy breathing, Five starts to get up from the chair to try and walk away.

Quick as a whip, Diego’s hand shoots out, pushing him back onto the chair and handcuffing him to the desk.

“What the fuck, Diego?” Five shrieks.

If Diego’s voice is watery, no one will be brave enough to comment, “You got into a fight - assaulted someone. I’m not letting you leave this precinct alone. And since I’ll have to clean up your mess - again - that means you have to wait here until someone can pick you up.”

For a second Five is still, until he lashes out trying to kick Diego.

“If you keep throwing a tantrum I will throw you into a holding cell,” Diego says, before grabbing his phone and walking away.

“Fuck you, you fucking fascist!” Five screams after him, but as soon as Diego is out of sight, he just crosses his arms the best he can and hunches over in the chair.

Eudora looks around, sees every other cop in the homicide division still staring at Five. Thank god the captain is out at a meeting today, she thinks. “Okay, the show’s over, folks, let’s get back to work!”

She waits a minute, watching everyone slowly get back into their work, before going to follow Diego.

Anytime he needs to make calls he goes out to the old stairwell that has surprisingly decent reception. It’s too narrow for two way traffic, so most people avoid it, which is why Diego prefers it over the roof or the break room.

She opens the door to the stairwell slowly, peeking in she sees Diego sitting on a step, hunched over, palms pressed to his eyes.

“Hey,” she whispers, trying not to surprise him. Her efforts fall short, as he shoots up, hands falling away from his eyes and sniffs. His face is wet, eyes red.

“Oh hey, Patch,” he says. “I called fucking Luther of all people - figured he was the only one physically strong enough to carry Five out of here. He was busy though, so Ben is coming to get him.”

Eudora nods, closing the stairwell door behind her as she goes to squeeze in next to Diego on the step. It’s a tight fit.

He refuses to look at her, an occasional sniffle still sneaking out of his body.

“So, Fidel, huh?” She asks, not having planned to find Diego crying.

He lets out a garbled laugh. “Yeah, I wanted his name to be Spanish, you know, keep heritage or whatever. But then he refused to learn Spanish, and then we got into a fight when he was five, and since then he refused to go by anything besides that: Five.”

“He’s pretty stubborn.” She says, trying to be diplomatic. Diego nods, and for a minute Eudora thinks it’ll all be okay.

But then another sob wracks it way through Diego’s body and he chokes up, “C-c-could you leave me a-alone, please?”

“Yeah, bud, yeah, let me know if you need anything.” She says, almost relieved to leave this situation.

Ten minutes later, Diego comes - eyes red, face damp - to unlock Five’s handcuffs as he passes his son to Ben.

He sits down at his desk, takes a deep breath, and goes back to work until seven pm when he goes home.

It becomes another thing that no one talks to him about.

Eudora never realized that in all her years of knowing Diego, she’s never been to his house.

They’re on their way back from a crime scene when Diego mentions he lives in the area, and Hey, do you mind if we stop by for a minute, I forgot my flash drive on my bedside table, and suddenly Eudora is waiting for Diego to unlock the door to an apartment.

She doesn’t know what to expect. She knows his family is loaded, but she half expected him to live in an abandoned warehouse that doubled as an underground boxing ring. The apartment building that he lives in seems nice, nicer than most single cops with his salary could get (the perks of inheritance, she supposes), but it isn’t obnoxiously expensive. The halls could do with a fresh coat of paint, and Diego has to jiggle the doorknob just right to unlock the door.

“Come on in,” he says, after the door is open, “You want coffee, water?”

“Uh, just water,” she replies, looking around the entrance way. Against the wall there’s a neat row of Converse, Nikes and combat boots next to equally neat pairs of Birkenstocks, runners and leather shoes. The size difference is almost comical.

The entrance gives way to the living room, where a comfortable, but worn looking sofa and armchair sit around a chipped coffee table in front of a tv. There’s some complicated looking textbooks on the table, and the bookshelves surrounding the tv seems to be half books and half knickknacks.

Diego returns from the kitchen with a glass of water for Eudora, and says, “Just give me a minute,” before going down the hall to what Eudora is presuming is his bedroom.

She takes a sip and looks around the living room. There are more pictures on the walls than she would have presumed Diego would allow. Family photos, clearly taken before Five was born, with Diego smiling plastically with his siblings, his father looking regal and harsh, his mother beautiful and sweet. Photos of him as a teenager with Klaus and Ben, grinning with beers in their hands. Pictures of him with medals from a swimming competition, hair plastered to his face, huddled in a hoodie. He looked softer than she expected him to look as a teenager, somehow. Then she spots the pictures of Five.

The newer the photos are, the happier Diego looks in them. There’s a photo taken just last year, judging by the sling on Diego’s arm - an injury he gotten while trying to force a door open - showing him grinning wide next to a straight-faced Five, holding a trophy. A picture of Five at maybe age twelve, him scowling at Diego’s hand on his shoulder, Diego himself smiling softly. Five sitting on a swing, around age ten with a slight grin on his face, Diego looking tired but content. Then there’s the older pictures on the bookshelf. Pictures of a grinning toddler and a frowning Diego, pictures of Diego holding a bundled up baby, surrounded by his siblings who look awkward, his mother who looks as sweet as always, and a father who looks smug. Pictures of Five alone, playing with blocks and laughing.

Still no picture of a mother, Eudora notes. Only Diego’s family, or Diego himself. She wonders where the mom must have run off to if her absence was agreed upon or a surprise.

She finishes her water, and Diego comes out from the bedroom with a lanyard with a bunch of USB sticks hanging from it. He locks his apartment when they leave, and Eudora doesn’t ask any questions about Five’s mom. It wouldn’t be polite.

Five is nearly finished reading his latest library book when he hears a sharp knock on the door, the only warning he gets before it swings open.

“You know the point of knocking is to wait for the person to say ‘come in’.” Five turns the page without looking up.

“Nah, it’s to let the person know that someone is coming in,” Diego replies. He sets down a bowl of strawberries on Five’s bedside table, grabbing the empty mug instead. “Good book?"

Five hums, eyes still glued to the page.

“‘Yes, Diego, it is a good book, thank you for bringing me food,’” Diego says in a comically high pitched voice.

Five grumbles, but Diego laughs and leaves the room. When he hears the door shut, Five looks up and glances at the bowl beside him. He reaches over, grabs the biggest one and takes a bite out of it. It’s sweet and the juice runs down his palm, making him scramble as to not get it on the pages of his book.

He brings an empty bowl out later, and he talks to Diego about his book for an hour.

Eudora gets a Twitter notification before Diego gets the phone call. It’s sad, that school catching on fire, but it’s doesn’t seem relevant to bring it up in conversation. She doesn’t even think about the fact that she’s only ever seen Five in a private school uniform.

They’re just driving, patrolling an area where a witness apparently saw a suspect, even though they both know it’s a dead end. Eudora is behind the wheel since Diego said he wanted to be able to look over the witness statement as they drove.

Diego’s phone keeps vibrating in his pocket, so finally, he picks it up with an irritated, “What?”

Eudora looks over just in time to see his face fall.

“What? When? What do you mean- Is Five- What do you mean you don’t know? What- Fine, okay!” He hangs up almost frantic.

“What was that about?” Eudora asks, almost amused.

“Five’s school caught on fire, and they can't find him, but I know he’s there because I dropped him off this morning, and I need to get there right now,” Diego says all in one breath, looking like he’s a second away from crying.

“Oh damn,” Eudora says, flipping on the sirens and running through a light.

They’re at Five’s school in less than ten minutes, Diego spending the whole time nearly working himself into a panic attack. Eudora pulls up as close as she can to the school, it already surrounded by other parents and emergency vehicles, and before she’s even parked, Diego is jumping out of the car, sprinting towards the crowd of people.

He does his best to push through the crowd without knocking anyone over. After a few minutes of struggle, he manages to break through to the front of the crowd, where all the ambulances and school children who haven’t been picked up yet are waiting.

“Five! Five!” Diego calls out, making a few heads turn. He doesn’t see him, so he’s about to keep moving when he hears a garbled whine.

Diego’s head whips around, finally spotting Five sitting on the back of an ambulance, an oxygen mask strapped to his face, struggling against the paramedic who’s trying to keep him still. Diego dashes over to him.

“Five, oh my god, Five, are you okay?” He asks him desperately, hands shooting out to hold his face. Five lets out another whine, and Diego realizes his arm and shoulder are wrapped with gauze and bandages.

“Oh, Five,” Diego says softly, making sure not to put too much pressure on him as he wrapped Five into a hug. He half expects Five to struggle and push him away, but instead, Five just presses closer and takes in a shaky breath.

And then he starts to cry.

“D-D-D-” Five starts to choke out, and Diego just shushes him and pets his hair, “Dad, I w-was scared, and - and - and there was smoke and-”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Diego interrupts, hearing Five’s voice get more brittle, more gasps for air in between words. “It’s okay now, I’m here, Dad’s here, Five.”

Five nods his head shakily and takes another gasping breath.

After a few minutes, Five calms down enough to extract himself from Diego’s chest, face red and blotchy, tears still glistening on his cheeks. The paramedic tells Diego that Five got minor burns, but they aren’t serious, shouldn’t even scar, but that he should still take Five to the hospital, just to make sure everything is fine.

He removes the oxygen mask from Five’s face, and instantly Five is back to clinging to Diego like his life depends on it. Gingerly, Diego wraps his arms around his son and lifts him up, Five’s skinny legs locking like a vice around his hips.

“Come on, kid, let’s get you to a hospital,” Diego whispers.

“Do we have to, dad?” Five asks, “I’m tired.”

“I know, kid, but you can sleep in the car.” He says, before remembering that Eudora drove him. He looks around and finds her in the crowd. She stands awkwardly, not knowing if she should stand away from blubbering families, or if she should get closer to Diego.

Diego walks somewhat awkwardly, trying not to jostle Five too much.

“Hey, Patch, you think you could drive us to a hospital?” He asks, although he already knows she’ll say yes. As expected Eudora nods and starts to show him to where she hastily parked on the sidewalk. They make a brief detour to let a random school official know that Diego is taking Five to a hospital, so they don’t have to keep calling him.

Eudora opens the backdoor to the car for Diego and is only slightly surprised when instead of depositing Five in the back and climbing into the front seat, Diego gingerly sits down in the back, still holding Five in his arms. He rearranges Five’s skinny body so that he sits across Diego’s lap.

“Seatbelt,” Diego mutters, making Five sighs as he helps to buckle it across the two of them.

Five falls asleep on the cautious drive to the hospital, waking up periodically to cough. Occasionally Eudora peeks at them through the rear view mirror, sees Diego rub circles on Five’s back or whispering to him softly. She also feels embarrassed to see these acts of affection, like a voyeur or a peeping tom, given how cold and distant Diego and Five tend to act towards each other in public.

Eudora pulls up to the hospital and she has to help Diego out of the car since he doesn’t want to wake up his sleeping child.

“You know, he’s almost cute when he’s sleeping,” Diego jokes quietly, as he does his best to get a grip on Five’s legs.

Eudora laughs, but it’s tense. She agrees with the statement, but it’s hard to make a quip back when she can see the bandages around the kid’s arm getting darker with plasma and blood. They stand awkwardly for a moment.

“Do you think you could also call the captain and just let him know why I won’t be back at the station today?”

“Oh, yeah, of course, totally,” Eudora says quickly, already dreading the conversation.

Diego smiles, “Thanks, Patch, I owe you one.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Another moment of silence.

“So, yeah, uh, thanks.” And then Diego is off, walking towards the automatic doors.

Eudora waits until the two of them have disappeared behind layers of glass, before getting into the car and driving back to the station. Diego takes three more days off of work but no one has the gall to bring it up when he comes back.

Beaman feels like he’s dying after Diego walked him through his normal work out. He mentioned wanting to switch gyms, and Diego offered to show him his usual routine.

“Holy shit, no wonder you look like that,” he pants out, making Diego laugh. Beaman decides that dignity isn’t worth it, and hunches over, hands on knees as he takes deep breaths.

“You get used to it.” He says, simply, though there’s still sweat running down his face. He lifts the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his face.

And Beaman doesn’t mean to stare, but he was looking in that direction anyway, and he’s pretty sure Diego just did that to show off his abs, but then Beaman is face to face with yet another scar and holy shit-

“How’d you get that one?” His mouth asks before his brain can tell him not to. Diego makes a confused noise. Beaman jerks his head in the general direction of Diego’s stomach.

“That one.” He’s looking at the long vertical scar, going right up his stomach. It looks old, in some lights it probably isn’t noticeable at all, but with the rest, Diego’s skin bright and sweaty, the darker, somewhat crooked line stands out starkly.

“Oh,” Diego looks down and quickly drops his shirt. For once he seems awkward talking about it, “It’s from a surgery I had a long time ago. It didn't go well. I don’t want to talk about it.”

The terseness of his reply takes Beaman off guard, but he quickly recovers, nods, and says, “Fair enough.”

He still finds it strange, though, how open Diego is about every other mark on his body, but he won’t push it.

Especially not after Diego showed him how hard he could punch.

“Hey, Diego,” Eudora starts before she thinks better. They’re at a bar, celebrating closing a case, and she’s probably drunken more than her fair share, but then Diego offered to pay for the next round and it wouldn’t be polite to decline, even though the question she’s about to ask is anything other than rude, “Diego!”

“What?” He laughs a bit at her slurring, taking another sip of beer.

“Where’s Five’s mom?”

Diego just about chokes on his drink. “What?”

“Where is Five’s mom?” She asks, slower and louder.

“Why do you need to know?” Diego frowns.

“I’m just wonderin’,” she says, “Just ‘cause you’re always taking care of him, and you haven’t dated anyone in a while, so I was just wondering-”

“He doesn’t need a mom,” Diego cuts her off, almost angry, “He has me.”

“I’m not accusing you, or anything,” Eudora says, even though just saying that makes it sound worse, “Like, I said, I was just curious about her.”

For some reason, that comment seems to upset him more.

“Five doesn’t need a mom, he doesn’t need another dad, I’m his parent, his dad. We don’t need anyone else.” Diego almost growls out. He’s gathering his things before Eudora has a chance to backtrack or apologize, and before she knows it he’s gone.

The next morning Eudora' s head is killing her and she narrowly avoids vomiting while brushing her teeth. Her memory of the night previous is fuzzy, but she remembers enough to know that she clearly hit a nerve and was out of line.

She walks into work wearing sunglasses and carrying two coffees. She silently sets one down on Diego’s desk, earning a raised eyebrow from him.

At lunchtime, he tells her that Five got in trouble at school for talking back to a teacher, and the only reason why they haven’t kicked him out is that his marks are so good he brings up the curve of every class he’s in. He looks at her, almost as if testing to see what her reaction is.

Eudora hums. “Well, I’m sure you have it under control.”

Diego looks at her for another second, then shrugs, before telling her about a show he saw a few nights ago.

Eudora figures that means she passed.

Shockingly, it isn’t a knife or a bullet or a hammer or even a machete that lands Diego into the hospital this time; it’s a car. Arguably it’s the most normal injury anyone in the homicide division can recall Diego being the victim of. He was doing surveillance on the street when the suspect got spooked and decided to drive off - right into Diego. He keeps repeating that it’s not a big deal, even after he has his leg in a cast and a doctor telling him that he should stay in the hospital for a few days so that they can check his ribs and head.

Eudora and Beaman decide to wait until his family show up when Diego turns to them with a wince and says, “I need to call Five, can I have a phone?”

Beaman phone is in his hand so he just passes it over. Diego types in a number and winces again as he puts the phone again his ear.

“Hey, kiddo- I know, I know, you don’t like being called that. Someone called you, right? Yeah, I’m in the hospital. No, I’m not dying, don’t sound so excited. Listen, before you come - because you are going to visit me, you little sociopath - can you grab some stuff for me at home? Yeah, clothes, stuff like that, I also need you to get my, uh, stuff out of the bathroom. Under the sink. I’m supposed to do it today, but they wanna keep me here for a bit and I just don’t wanna get off track again. Thanks. If you call Ben or Klaus they might be able to drive you here. You’ll just take the bus? Okay, see you later.” He hangs up and passes the phone back to Beaman.

It’s less than an hour later when Five walks into the hospital room carrying a backpack. He’s out of his school uniform, but he’s still wearing a button up shirt under a cardigan.

He nods at the detectives when they say, “Hello, Five.”

Five looks at Diego and snorts, “Getting fragile, old man?”

“Shut up,” Diego says, groaning when he sits up. “Did you bring my stuff?”

“When you say it like that it makes it sound illegal.” Five says, drily, as he unzips the backpack. He pulls out a first kit, and Eudora is about to ask why Diego needed a first aid kit in a hospital when Five unzips that as well and pulls out a needle.

He walks over to Diego, who immediately looks uncomfortable.

“Can you move this gown without scarring my eyes?” Five prompts and Diego nods and moves it to the side, revealing his stomach and that long scar that is oh so visible in the harsh, hospital lighting.

Five takes the cap off the needle, and Diego closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Three, two, one,” Five counts down, before plunging the needle into Diego’s stomach. He slowly injects the contents of it, Diego holding his breath the whole time. After a few seconds, Five removes the needle, walking over to the biohazard disposal box on the walls.

“I should have brought all the other ones and just thrown them out here.” He comments, before going back to the first aid kit and pulling out an alcohol wipe and a bandaid.

Beaman clears his throat, “Um, what was that?”

“What was what?” Five asks, passing the items to Diego.

“What was up with that, that needle?” Eudora asks.

Five raises an eyebrow, “What do you mean?”

“What was in it?” Eudora presses on, undeterred by Five’s tone, which suggests he thinks she’s an idiot.

“Testosterone.” Diego supplies, just as Five’s opening his mouth.

That only prompts more questions.

“Why are you taking testosterone?” Beaman asks before his eyes widen. “Oh my god, is it for your boxing? Are you doping”

Five scoffs, but Diego ignores him. “No, it’s totally legal, I have a prescription.”

“Why?” Eudora asks.

“Uh, because I have to, otherwise my body will change back to what it was before.” He looks at the confused faces of his friends. “I’m trying to tell you I’m trans, but I guess it isn’t working.”

Eudora and Beaman gape for a few seconds.

“Can I leave? This is weird for me.” Five interrupts, clearly not caring about the revelations going on inside the room. Diego rolls his eyes.

“You can wait outside.”

“I’m going to the cafeteria.” Five says, not waiting for an agreement before he leaves.

For a few seconds, the room is silent.

“So,” Eudora starts, “You’re trans?”

“Yes.”

“And this never came up before because..?”

“Because it was never relevant and I didn’t want you to know.” His face is unsympathetic when a brief wave of hurt crosses their faces. “It isn’t against you or because I thought negatively about you or anything, it’s just really personal and I don’t like a lot of people knowing about.”

“Is this why you don’t date?” Beaman asks before he seems to catch what he said. “Sorry.”

“I mean, partially. Part of me not dating is also because I’m a cop, and part of it is because of Five.”

Another wave of silence comes across the room.

“And Five is…?” Eudora starts, hoping Diego will understand what she’s asking.

“Five is my kid. I had him when I was sixteen, as in I gave birth to him. Well, actually I had a real nasty c-section because he was upside down. His other dad fucked off somewhere, I don’t care and neither does he.”

The two of them nod.

“Not to be rude, but does Five act the way he does because of… this?” Beaman asks carefully.

Diego snorts. “No, you’re not the first one to ask. He acts like that because he’s a dick, I love him but he is, and he spent the first five-ish years of his life in a house with my siblings and father. So, he was bound to get kind of messed up, I just didn’t think it would result in so many goddamn suspensions."

Beaman and Eudora ask a few more questions before they lapse into a new silence. Five comes back with a cup of coffee that makes him pull a face every time he takes a sip.

“No one is holding a gun to your head, you don’t have to drink that,” Diego says after Five nearly gags into the cup.

“Fuck you, Diego, I do what I want.” He eyes Diego’s cast, “And you can’t stop me.”

It’s almost comical how only a few minutes later Five is fluffing Diego’s pillow before saying, “I’m going home now.”

“Want a ride?” Eudora asks, police brain switching on, viewing Five not as her friend’s son who could probably talk his way out of a mugging, but as a skinny minor, walking through the streets of New York in the late evening.

Five eyes her for a moment, before saying, “Okay.”

They say their farewells to Diego, him making Five promise to go to school the next day.

Eudora isn’t sure what she intends to accomplish or attain from giving Five a ride to his house. Mostly he’s quiet in the backseat, occasionally giving directions, even though Eudora knows her way to Diego’s apartment.

“So, how’s school?” Beaman tries, the silence suffocating him.

“I know Diego tells you how it’s going, you don’t have to ask.” Well, that didn’t work.

They’re almost at Diego’s house, and the curiosity is eating away at Eudora.

“Hey, Five,” She asks. Five hums, looking out the window. “Why don’t you call Diego ‘dad’?”

“Why would I?” Is his response, which throws her for a loop.

“Because he’s your father?”

“The terms mom and dad are possessive terms that came out of the middle class, nuclear family dynamic; a dynamic that I did not grow up with and one that I continue to not be a part of.” He looks over and makes eye contact with her through the mirror, “Besides, what teenager wants to be called ‘dad’?”

Eudora struggles to find a response, but Five presses on. “Diego and my’s relationship is fine, regardless of how unconventional it is. I grew up in a house full of weird fucking people, but Diego was still the only one who could - or at least tried to - raise me. He taught me how to tie my shoes, and read, and gut a fish, and drive, and shave, and how to dress myself. Any deviations from the norm are intentional. If you think something is wrong with the way I act or the way he raises me then you can keep it to yourself, because someone already called social services once and that was a really weird month for everyone involved.”

“I think,” Beaman butts in, “that as long as both of you are happy, then there’s nothing to be concerned about.”

Five seems satisfied with that answer and looks out the window again.

Something clicks in Eudora mind. “Wait, did you say he taught you how to drive? You’re fourteen!”

After that, not much changes. Diego goes back to work but is put on desk duty until his cast is off. He still keeps a lot of things private, doesn’t brag about Five’s accomplishments or put pictures of him on his desk. But one day Diego invites Eudora and Beaman over for dinner, saying something about how Five was staying at a friend’s house to work on a project so he was planning on drinking and watching movies.

They have a good time, nothing crazy happens, but when Eudora gets up to get another beer from the fridge she looks over at the bookshelf in the living room and sees all the old pictures of Five. Five smiling with building blocks, the grinning toddler and the frowning teenager. And in the front is a new addition.

Right in the front, in a new frame, even though the actual picture looks worn as if someone's touched it a lot over the years, is, what Eudora is guessing, the first picture of Five ever.

Still pink and slimy, Five is in a blanket, gazing up at a sweaty, tired looking Diego. He looks young, younger than sixteen, but that might be due to the look of confusion and anxiety on his face. He still looks muscular, but his face is softer, and Eudora can see the clear signs of breasts under the hospital gown. His siblings are crowded around the hospital bed, all smiling stiffly at the camera, and Diego’s mother has her hand on Diego’s shoulder.

Eudora remembers what Diego said about not feeling anything when Five was born, and it may be because she’s tipsy, and she’s seen Diego give Five hugs goodbye, and texting him in the morning to remind him to have breakfast, and calling him to let him know that he went grocery shopping so his favourite chips are in the cupboard, but Eudora begs to differ that he felt nothing.

Because despite looking tired, and sweaty, and confused, and anxious, he’s smiling. Not like his siblings are smiling, not like he’s only smiling because someone told him to, but he’s smiling the way he does Five forgets to tell him off for calling him ‘kid’, or when Five hugs him back, or when Five says ‘thank you’ without being told. There are smiles specifically reserved for Five, Eudora has realized, and in that picture, she sees the first one ever.

#the umbrella academy #tua fic #diego hargreeves #number five #trans!diego #idk read if u want its a free fucking country yall can do what u want but uhh if u do... pls leave a kudos or comment pls

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grimmshood · 3 years

Text

hi everyone im about to drop more writing. since i dont trust bhvr with anything the closest im getting to writing my own tome for jake is this. cw father mentions for a large portion, also i project a lot.

JAKE PARK: THE TOME-INING

A: Identity

Growing up, Jake Park had the unique experience of being, almost, a minority within a minority. The unique circumstances of his father’s birth led to his raising his sons so that they would stay in touch with God and with the family ancestry, no matter where they were.

Jake knew he had an aunt who lived in Karachi. He knew that his grandmother was a Pakistani migrant, his grandfather hailed from Itaewon. His father hadn’t gotten the opportunity to get very close to his Pakistani heritage, but he had been raised Muslim and almost lost his way. He insisted that Jake and Andrew be better than this.

Due to a promising job opportunity, the Parks moved to the United States, first Texas and then Maryland. Jake’s parents wanted their sons to thrive in this environment, so they let American culture be prioritized in their heads. His mother made sure that they would always be in touch with their heritage though, and spoke with them in both Korean and English. His father made attempts to teach the two Urdu (this did not last long) but managed to teach both how to read Arabic.

Jake had always known he was different, but he never truly realized just how much he’d felt it until he started high school. In his 9th grade year, he had truly become invested in the faces behind the music that kept him going for years, and seeing their free actions, gender nonconforming appearances, and varying styles (however ugly) first made him think that he was attracted to them. He’d thought they were beautiful, handsome, the perfect people.

It took a while for him to realize that he dreamed about BEING them- in the process he found that the way other girls looked at him would do something to his head, that he enjoyed being put to work with the boys, that he liked getting attention from the other girls, even if it was when they were making fun of his dark clothing, mannerisms and how he always had his nose in some kind of instructional manual.

It takes a year, but Jake realizes that there’s an appeal to masculinity, but he hates the concept of trying to actually be a man. He doesn’t want to be a man, and frankly he doesn’t want the attention of men either. When he starts doing his homework and trying to figure out what this is he’s feeling, it all clicks.

When Jake tries to explain being trans masculine to his parents, on top of being a lesbian, his mother does not understand but tries her best to support him. His father is distraught, but does not take action. Jake is still his son no matter the terms he prefers and the people he likes, even if his father does not want to accept that reality.

His parents have wondered if Jake’s identity issues came from his growing up autistic and bullied for his mannerisms - but neither will accept that as a reason. Neither does he- Jake’s special interest in engineering and post apocalypse practices are just aspects of him, his quiet demeanor and semi verbal behaviours are no real problem. He’s been masking for years, but when he leaves for the woods he finds he doesn’t have to do that anymore, and he can go days without saying a single word, just stimming with his knife and the textures of the trees and his camp throughout his daily routine.

B: Family Relations

Jake Park has never been considered average, and never will be.

He grew up in the shadow of his brother Andrew Park- something he didn’t mind until it was too late. He and Andrew were once very close- Jake used to love his older brother above all and relied on him for everything from friends to sharing his emotional pains.

This only lasted insofar as his father would allow it.

Mr. Park has always been insistent on the academic prowess of his children, and doing everything he can to make them as successful as possible. Where Andrew is dedicated to studying and reaching that goal as well, Jake finds he doesn’t need to study because everything comes so easy, at the cost of his constant changing attention span and desire to do literally anything else.

As a result, Jake’s stuck alone- he doesn’t want to upset his brother, of course. He supports his brother and would love to see him do well, but that means letting him sit alone and study all day. Even if it means he can’t hang out with Andrew like he used to. He sometimes tries to show Andrew things that he likes, in an effort to still engage with him, but his vague disinterest and dedication to his own little free time means that Jake is caught at an impasse- he knows his brother is doing his best, but feels like he’s being pushed away at the same time.

Jake’s reflex is to push back- he slowly stops engaging with his brother. They only speak at the dinner table or in small moments, but days can pass between them. He begins to isolate himself, feels that there’s nobody there for him and therefore he’s got to fend for himself in a world that wants to see him do things that he can’t.

Andrew gets into Yale, and the Parks are overjoyed. Jake’s still excited for his brother - this is what he’s worked so hard for! He even aims for Yale himself, just to prove that he’s capable, that his brother still means something to him, and the pressure is already on when Mr. Park looks at Jake and says, “Now you’ve got to get into Yale too! If Andy can do it, so can you!”

The thing is: Jake does get into Yale. It’s not hard- his isolation allows him to work on his schoolwork fairly well, even if he constantly forgets little things and his handwriting is awful and his writing is just barely understandable, because the projects he takes to school and the things he builds in his engineering class boost him up, even when he barely says anything about or for himself. He doesn’t understand how he’s gotten here, but he has. And the fact is that despite everything, he doesn’t get any scholarships (bah, we can afford it. but it’s still disappointing.) When he starts classes, he realizes that something just feels wrong.

The vague freedom he gets from being at uni turns out to be too little for Jake Park. He enjoys the classes, enjoys the freedom, enjoys his work as much as he can- but it all still feels wrong, and he can’t help but feel expectations growing and he knows that he doesn’t want to be the same as Andrew. His brother is aiming for big things - medical school, residency, the whole shebang - and Jake is simply just interested in taking things apart and seeing how they fit back together. He finds pleasure in observing nature and seeing what works, what nature does to itself, the kinds of things that can live on while others fall to sharp teeth and bone crushing jaws. None of that will get him on Andrew’s level, and he doesn’t want to be there.

So his grades begin to droop, his time in his room inflates, and his bed becomes his only reprieve to the depression that lingers in his head, pulling everything from the past onto him like he’s being pelted with an unending rain of stones.

He goes home on break, and tells his father that he’s dropping out.

Mr. Park is enraged - everything was going so well! Why would you stop now?

Jake just can’t handle the pressure anymore, and he needs a break.

There are no breaks for the Parks though, and his father wants him to get right back to his studies. Jake’s not willing, too stubborn to keep doing what he’s told and too upset to think about the consequences of his actions. He packs what’s important, and the convenience of having camped before gives him an idea.

On his way out, he tells his parents that they can find him in the woods if they need him. Otherwise, he has no plans of coming back.

#dead by daylight #dbd #jake park #txt #doc #i believe thats my writing tag. if its not ive fucked up horribly

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searchingforaplacetocallhome · 6 years

Text

Almost Easy

Setting: New Orleans**

Characters: Michaela “Mickey” McKenna & Johnny Tran

Warnings: Angst, Drama (possible trigger: domestic abuse)

Background: Mickey is one of these characters that stuck with me through the years, because she never really got her story told in a way that satisfied me. Originally from Los Angeles, she comes from the Fast and Furious setting. She was an undercover police officer, sent to infiltrate pretty much like Brian O’Connor did. Rather than Dominic’s crew, she drew the attention of Johnny Tran. When the lines between her cover and her true identity blurred, she became involved with Johnny. He was controlling to the point of abusive, knew she was a police officer all along, but still kept her around. She was his personal toy. So when Brian shot him, she saw her chance, and escaped. Moving to New Orleans, she discovered she was pregnant, had her baby boy, and has been going at it alone, building up a new life, thinking she’s free of her past….

** Mickey is currently and NPC in an AU Supernatural story set in New Orleans, but she deserves to have her story told and there is no reason the two don’t mesh.

Word count: 2418

Pt 1 | Pt 2

Part 3 – Talk To Me

“I guess this was what you were talking about when you asked me if I believed in ghosts, huh? Why didn’t you tell me right away?” There was concern on her partner’s face, but she couldn’t tell if it was for the situation or her nervous pacing.

“Please, like you would’ve believed me.” Mickey let out a snort and shook her head, her teeth biting down on her thumb nail.

“I might’ve.”

“Sure… Hey, Steve, I think my boyfriend, who has been dead for over three years, broke into my apartment and left me a rose and a note. You would’ve asked me what I’d been smoking.” Pacing back and forth across her living room floor, she walked to the window every other turn to look outside. “Why aren’t they here yet? Where’s my son?”

“Mick…”

“I should have gone to get him myself. He’s probably scared. He’s not good with strangers. I should get him myself.”

“What you need to do is sit down and talk to me.”

“I can’t.” Shaking her head, Mickey turned and walked the other direction, pausing by the window to look outside. No change. Of course there was no change, it had been less than twenty seconds since she checked. What did she expect? “I don’t know why this is all necessary anyway. It’s probably just a prank.”

“Someone sure went through a lot of trouble, getting oddly specific, for a prank. Don’t you think?”

“I pissed a lot of people off back in L.A.”

“Enough for them to start mind games with you years later? I know you’re a better detective than that. Let’s take a step back and look at this objectively shall we. Someone left you a flower at home, a locked home. Then has flowers delivered at your work, with a picture in it of you and your son. If it were anyone else, what would you do?”

Looking at him, Mickey wanted to argue with him, but knew she couldn’t. Had she been in his shoes, going on the same information, she would’ve done the same thing. Better safe than sorry, and there was enough probable cause to act on.

“Sit. Talk to me.”

Reluctantly, Mickey dropped her butt onto the couch, grabbing a pillow and hugging it tightly to her chest. Her eyes met Steve’s only for a second, before they dropped down to focus on a knot in the polished wooden floor.

“So… tell me about Johnny.”

“What do you wanna know?”

“What was he like?”

Another snort. That was a loaded question. She didn’t want to remember Johnny, but for Steve to understand why two simple little notes had his partner shitting bricks, she needed to make him understand. The only way to do that was to remember Johnny. “He was really sweet, until he wasn’t.”

Steve let out a sigh and sat back in the chair, rubbing his face. “Okay, let’s start at the beginning. How did you meet?”

Scooting to the corner of the couch, Mickey pulled her feet up under her, the pillow still clutched in front of her like a shield. “He was a street racer, thief, whatever. I was a rookie police officer. The answer would be obvious, but it’s also very wrong. See, I worked really hard to get to where I am today on my own. So not many people know that I am actually a trust fund brat.”

“Explains the digs,” Steve said with a nod, as he looked around the room.

Her home wasn’t lavish. Mickey never cared much for expensive things. Her home was a lot nicer than a detective on her salary should be able to afford, however, especially one with a small child. “Johnny comes from money, his father and my father did business together. We met at one of my father’s dinner parties. I wasn’t impressed, of course.”

“Of course. Trust fund brats rarely are.”

His comment actually got a laugh from her, which took some of the weight of the moment off her chest, allowing her to take a deep breath and brush a lock of hair behind her ear. “Fast forward a year. After morning brief I got pulled into the chief’s office. They had a few heists on big rigs, and everything pointed to street racers being involved. They had discovered my father was in business with the father of one of those racers, and wanted to know if I could use that connection as a way in.”

“You said yes.”

“Of course I said yes. My goal from the start was to get my shield, and this was a big opportunity to prove myself.” She had said yes way too fast. All she knew about Johnny was that his father was rich, and a business partner of hers. “I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I had my eye on the prize, and that was all that mattered.”

“Been there, done that. So you met again?”

“Yeah...” Looking down at her hands, a wry smile on her face at the memory. “We sure did.”

She had her head under the hood of the car when she heard the whistle. While doing some practice runs, she didn’t like the sound of her engine, and she wasn’t going to race until she was sure the engine would perform as she intended and not blow up in her face, literally.

“95 Nissan GT-R… fully customized. NOS? Stand alone. That’s some serious money, in a serious car. Sweet ride.”

The voice had been so familiar, yet sounded so incredibly different when he wasn’t bored to tears at a dinner party. Standing back, using a rag to wipe her hands on, her heart skipped a beat. Instead of a suit, he was wearing black jeans and matching wife beater, which showed off his well toned physique. He looked so much better.

He was surprised to see her. She could work that in her favor. “We’ve met. Michaela, right?”

She nodded, trying really hard to keep her composure and not stare at his arms. They moved as he spoke, making gestures with his hands. “Mickey.”

“Nice to see you again, Mickey. Yours?”

Thankful for the opening, she nodded and looked away, back to the engine. “Yeah. So is this where you are going to give me the speech of how a pretty thing like me shouldn’t be messing with things I know nothing about?”

Johnny put a hand over his heart and her gaze immediately focused on that arm, and the well toned muscles moving under the bronzed skin. “Do you always put words in other people’s mouths?”

“Only when I can see it written all over their face. Watch your fingers.” Closing the hood with a loud clank, she wiped her hands on the rag again. It was pointless, but it gave her something to focus on that didn’t mean staring at him stupidly.

“How would you know what was written on my face? You haven’t been able to look at it for more than two seconds.”

Color was rising to her cheeks and she held her breath for a second. She couldn’t lose her nerve now. Contact was made, she needed to keep him engaged. The moment her eyes met his and she saw the cocky grin on his face, her bottom lip found its way between her teeth. “Better?”

“It’s a start. You race?” He was moving closer, forcing her to look up at him if she wanted to keep her eyes locked on his.

“On occasion.” Resisting the urge to take a step back, she found her heart skipping another beat when the scent of his aftershave wafted in her direction. He smelled good too.

“It’s a shame to own such a beauty, put all that work in, and not show it off every chance you get.”

“Are we still talking about the car?” Her head tilted to one side as she looked up at him, her arms crossing over her chest, pretending his blatant flirtations were not having an effect on her.

Johnny smirked. “You tell me. It should be written all over my face.”

Laughing, she shook her head and finally took a step back. “Nice one. Real subtle.”

“I don’t do subtle. If I like what I see, I go for it.” He was getting closer again. Each time she took a step back, he just kept closing the distance, until she felt the side of her car against her back.

“I see that… You’re forgetting one thing though.” Two could play his game. If he was throwing her words back in her face, she could throw his back at him. She wondered if he would remember. “Trust fund brats don’t date guys like you.”

His laugh made her smile, but she quickly sobered when he reached up to rub his thumb over her cheek, holding it up so she could see the black smudge on it. “Trust fund brats wouldn’t get dirty.”

He was close enough to kiss and her eyes fixated on his mouth as he spoke. That eternal cocky smirk on his face was having an effect on her. When he spoke, again, his mouth had moved close enough to her ear she could feel his hot breath feather against her skin. “I like my girls a little dirty.”

Stepping away from her, he had walked halfway back to his car by the time she realized she was holding her breath, and released it in a quick huff. Try as she might, she couldn’t think of a witty comeback after that, and he knew it. She knew he did by the smug look on his face when he paused, driver’s door open.

“Come find me after a race.”

Think quick!

After a moment of panic, frantically trying to think of something witty in retort, it came to her, and with it, a smug look of her own. “If I do, it will be to collect my winnings.”

“Did you race him?”

Blinking, Mickey actually needed a moment to shake herself from that memory and back to the present. “Oh God, no. I mean I raced, and I won most of the time, but that was because I chose my races carefully.”

A shiver ran down her spine, causing her to shift and sit up straighter. Physically shaking the memories from her bones. “Anyway. I went to watch him race, we went for a drive, and breakfast near the pier. You know, getting him hooked. A week later there was another heist, a hundred miles in the opposite direction of where I was with Johnny and his crew in the desert, testing some new engines they’d been tweaking.”

“Ruling them out as suspects.”

Mickey nodded slowly. “Ending my assignment and my chance at proving myself.”

“That wasn’t the end of your story, was it?”

“Just the beginning.” The front door opening distracted her, and Mickey tossed the pillow aside when she heard a familiar patter of feet as Matthew came running into the room, holding on to a police officer’s hat that was entirely too big for his little head in one hand, and a car toy in the other. Holding her arms wide, she swooped the boy up into a hug when he came running over, covering him with kisses until he squirmed to break free.

“Mama, look!”

“I am looking, baby. You got to wear a police officer’s hat and you got a new toy. How lucky are you? I think you should give the hat back though to the nice officer. He needs it to catch the bad guys. Can you do that for mommy?”

“’kay.”

Mickey sighed and sank back into the couch, watching as Matthew waddled over to the officer to hand him back his hat. She recognized the waddle and when she was handed the diaper bag, she dug into it for the wipes and a clean diaper. Holding both up, she was not surprised when Matthew shook his head, ran and hid behind Steve’s chair. “Matthew McKenna. You have three seconds. One...”

“No!” The patter of feet moved away, to the dining room table.

“Two...”

The patter moved, but this time he came into sight, and Steve pushed from the chair, scooping the boy up in his arms, holding him up, blowing a raspberry on his belly, causing Matthew to squeal with laughter. His laughter turned to tears the moment he handed the boy over to Mickey though, but despite his squirming and protests, she put him down on the couch and pulled off his shoes and pants. “Show uncle Steve your new toy.”

“Toot toot!”

Keeping him distracted with his toy and focused on Steve, allowed Mickey to remove the dirty diaper without much squirming and clean him up. “Toot toot? Vroom vroom does the car. Did you get it from Miss Bee? Show it to uncle Steve.”

Holding the toy up so Steve could see it, Matthew grinned big. “Daddy!”

“He’s going through a phase. No, Matthew, that’s uncle Steve. Can you say Steve?” The boy shook his head, having no interest in performing for his mother. Getting him dressed again, she just barely moved the dirty diaper out of the way, before the boy rolled over, sliding off the couch and running away with his toy.

Throwing the dirty diaper away, Mickey noticed Steve was still standing where she had left him when she returned. There was a frown on his face and he seemed a million miles away. Walking over, she snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Yo, space cadet.”

“Sorry. What?”

Laughing, Mickey finally picked up the tea she had left sitting on the coffee table and after one sip decided she didn’t need to be drinking that. Making a gesture, wondering if Steve wanted a drink, she went into the kitchen to put water on for new tea when he nodded. “You looked like you were a million miles away there for a moment. Where did you go?”

“Not sure… I have a gut feeling.”

“Bathroom is in the hall to the left,” Mickey joked, rinsing out her tea cup. Grabbing a dish cloth, she dried it off, the smile on her face dropping when she watched Steve walk over to where Matthew sat playing with his new toy and squatted down.

“That is a cool toy, buddy. Who gave you that?”

“Daddy!”

The tea cup slipping from her hands shattered into little pieces the moment it hit the floor.

#cliffhangers suck #i wasn't gonna do it #i did it again

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whatdidijustwrite · 7 years

Text

Long Way to Go: Damien 2

Synopsis: MC reaches out across the web to find someone to talk to about Alex and how much he misses her while he struggles to raise his eldest daughter. He finds it in a single dad living in his old hometown of Maple Bay…

GothDad123,

I met my wife in college. We’d been paired up for a lab and I counted myself lucky- she was easily the smartest of the entire class and hey, easy marks. I was completely wrong- she did not let me do what I want like I thought and instead made me work hard for our marks, even when I got my roommate (who had been very hot) to try and charm her.

I respected her after that, and we got talking a bit. We didn’t start dating until she came out as trans to me, not wanting our relationship to begin without me knowing. I was fully accepting and we ended up dating throughout college. We got married (or as close to it) after college and almost right away debated kids. We both loved the idea so we got a close friend of ours to agree to carry the baby, mixing our sperm and having our daughter.

My wife was brilliant. She played piano, could debate any political question, had a thousand ideas under the sun. She’d gone to school for business, opened a hardware store with her brother. I took over the paperwork side, and we were… we were very happy together. We were thrilled when we legally got married. Our daughter was our flower girl.

My wife never liked staying still and was constantly trying new things, hence her many, many, many DIY projects. She was the one to turn the hardware store into a chain, opening up other locations in surrounding cities. She was so happy with it all.

It was a car accident that killed her. Just a random accident. She was driving home from work when someone ran the red light. Instant death they told me, she didn’t suffer.

But we’re suffering now. My daughter’s getting better but… it feels like everything is crashing down on me. I tried therapy but quit when the woman made remarks about my wife I nearly punched her for.

I’m not sure where my head is anymore. I’m just taking it one day at a time, but… it feels like that might not help me in the long run.

-PandaFather

Damien read over the message once more, feeling his heart ache for the man.

Loving your spouse for years only to lose them so suddenly, and then to deal with bigots who don’t understand a damn thing.

Lucien was busy with yet another project he’d found- something similar to the patio furniture. A desk, made out of crates and plywood, painted black once he was done. But they did have dinner together before, and Lucien had asked after the man, curious as to why he hadn’t responded back yet.

Damien had figured the man was trying to think of what to write. After all, it was a subject most would shy away from. But he had still reached out to him. To him. Damien, the goth IT worker.

Damien bit his lip, rubbing at his chin in thought.

How best to reply… how best to convey…

-0-

PandaFather,

Your wife sounds like she was the most amazing woman in the world. You were blessed to have her in your life.

I cannot offer much to comfort you. I have been told I speak of death far too much for people to be comfortable, that my fascination with it concerns people.

But I do know that someone who shares your love would never want you to break down completely. The therapist was an awful person, but perhaps seeking out another one might help? If you do not think so, do not do so- forcing it would only make things worse for you in the end. Therapy is in the end, a selfish choice. It is for you to get better, not for anyone else.

Taking it one day at a time is the best choice now, but as you said, make sure it continues to be.

-GothDad123

Edited: Here is a link to sheet music for your daughter. I believe she may find the song perfect for melancholy moods.

The sounds of haunting piano keys filled the small house as Amanda let loose on the sheet music her dad had gotten from the guy who was messaging him.

M.C. listened to her play, eyes closed softly. It was almost as if Alex was back, playing her music on the keyboard she’d gotten before it died a nasty death a week before the accident in the form of Alex accidentally flipping it over while… otherwise engaged with M.C..

Opening his eyes, M.C. rubbed at them, thinking of GD (Amanda’s name for him) and his reply.

It was things he’d heard before- other than the therapy bit. He’d never heard it put like that, but god it made so much sense put like that. Therapy was for himself, to get better. It was so he could be selfish, not selfless.

He wanted to get better. He wanted to talk about his feelings, he’d admit. He knew he needed help. Alex had been a rock for him, struggling with his various issues, and losing her… it had hurt. It had hurt so much.

Sighing, M.C. looked over the list of LGBT friendly therapists he’d gotten from the internet. Some were in his area, some did skype sessions.

Maybe it would work out.

-0-

GothDad123,

Panda (my daughter) will not stop playing that song. Over and over and over again. She adores it, so thank you but I might go crazy from it soon enough.

I’ve been looking into therapists again. I found one who looks pretty promising, so I’m making arrangements. She’s an LGBT friendly therapist who helps with transitions, but she also helps with those experiencing loss, so let’s hope.

How is your son doing? Is he enjoying the new furniture he built? I know when my wife built ours we ate outside like all the time until it got to cold to do so.

Here’s another link for him if he’s getting bored.

-PandaFather

“Another message from PF dad?” asked Lucien, upon spotting the grin on his dad’s face.

“Quite… and PF?” Lucien shrugged, shoving in some macaroni into his mouth. Damien chuckled, putting his phone down. “He sent another link if you’re interested.”

“YES!” Lucien said, grinning. “What is it?” Damien eyed the half-eaten pile of vegetables and Lucien groaned but obeyed the wordless command. Damien smirked and waited until they finished their supper- eating outside of course given Lucien had to enjoy the furniture he built, much like PandaFather’s wife had- before he opened the link.

It was full of spice rack ideas, one of which involved taking old fashion casserole dishes and turning them on the side.

“Cool!” Lucien said, grinning at the pictures. Damien chuckled. His son was looking much happier then he had been before, getting all of his anger out through crafts apparently. It was a nice sight, to see his son so happy again.

“We’ll see what we can dig up in the thrift store, shall we?” Damien asked his son who nodded eagerly.

“Can we also like send some stuff to his kid? More music?” Lucien asked. “As a thank you, right?” Damien blinked in surprise before he nodded, grinning.

“Why, I think we shall.”

-0-

PandaFather,

I am glad you have decided to seek out more therapy. I hope it will do you well. I am also pleased your daughter enjoys the music I sent her, though I understand the frustration of the same song being played over and over again. My son particularly enjoys doing that.

My son expresses his thanks for the new project idea you have sent him as well. He’s very eager to start it up. I feel you have created a monster, though I believe it’s better then him picking fights every few days with kids in his school.

Here is a few links to some more music sheets for your daughter, as a thank you from my son.

-GothDad123

“You and this guy are talking a lot, huh dad,” Amanda said, watching her father read whatever it was that was on his phone.

“More or less kiddo.” M.C. agreed. “He’s helping- and he’s sent more music for you so…” Amanda pumped her fist in glee.

“Sweet. But dad, what do you know about him? I mean, you’re kinda friends right?” Amanda asked. M.C. blinked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… like I get you need help and stuff, but like you told me friendship was a two-way street and that all parties need to communicate so…” Amanda trailed off as M.C. frowned.

Well… she wasn’t wrong.

“I… huh. I think you might be right kiddo. I’ll ask him a few questions about himself, how bout?”

“Sounds good to me pops.”

-0-

GothDad123,

Panda has been playing her new songs over and over again but there’s more then one so yay. It’s nice to hear. I still haven’t gone to meet my therapist yet but she is willing to skype our sessions so I don’t need to drive two hours out one a week.

I realize now I’ve been kind of a bad corresponder. I haven’t asked you anything about yourself, though I do know you do have a fascination with death. So… what are your favorite things? Do you have a favorite band? Have you ever been married?

My daughter wishes to ask if you or your son enjoy strawberry ice cream.

Here is a few more links for your son.

-PandaFather

Damien looked over the projects sent over, deciding to keep two to himself until Lucien was a bit older. The other two- a bookshelf made out of a ladder, plywood and crates and a table made out of similar material- were easy enough for a ten-year-old to do.

He was more surprised by the questions about himself. He hadn’t expected that. Most of the time, people tended to focus on themselves more then they focused on others. And with PandaFather so recently having experienced a great loss… he felt it odd that the man would reach out more, but well, people deal with loss in different ways.

Humming, Damien considered the questions. He didn’t want to lie to PandaFather but he was also uncertain of what he should tell him. He didn’t want to push that far… but he didn’t want to hide who he was.

What should he write?

-0-

PandaFather,

I’m glad your daughter enjoys her new music, and that you are able to meet your therapist in a way that is more convenient for yourself.

As for your questions, well, I enjoy gardening, animals and the Victorian Era is very much a pleasured area of study as you must have observed from my penname. I very much embrace the goth lifestyle and deeply enjoy the various attributes of it. I listen to a range of goth music, though my favorite music tends to be classical violin music or piano music. It’s a lovely set.

I have never been married no. My son was the result of a one night stand, though he has never been a mistake. I have had a variety of relationships but none that have stuck around long enough for marriage to be in the cards.

My son and I do in fact enjoy strawberry ice cream. The both of us are vegetarian though not vegan and ice cream is very much a pleasured treat.

Thank you again for the projects, here is a few more songs she may enjoy.

-GothDad123

M.C. tapped his fingers as he waited for his therapist to appear on screen, feeling nervous and worried. Unbidden his father’s words of men needing therapy being sissies and weaklings came to mind though he shoved them right out of said mind.

He was not going to go down that road, thank you.

When the screen flicked on, he made a mental note to reply to GD as soon as he could. Maybe it would help.

So… ages.

Amanda is thirteen. Lucien is ten. I’m putting MC and Damien at like 36 for MC and maybe 34 for Damien?

Also- when I was eight I was helping my dad put up fences and build stuff. As long as it’s proper supervision, it’s fine. Damien might let Lucien do like painting and stuff by himself but the heavy stuff no.

Hope you all enjoyed this!

#dream daddy #ddadds #long distance au #long distance damien

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aleister-rourke · 7 years

Text

things i still lack - (aleister x mc)

Summary: Everett Aleister Rourke hadn’t always been so cold. And suddenly, you realize that you’re falling for the boy with a heart of snow.

Author’s Note: Aleister Rourke is a trans boy, and the MC is a nonbinary mess that has somehow fallen in love. I’m using the default name for the MC which is Taylor. The song that inspired this piece is “Sowing Season (Yeah)” by Brand New, by the way. Also I just discovered this ship and I’m already dying because what the hell who allowed this.

“Evelyn Imogen Rourke, you know that in order to become a big strong business owner like Father you have to study, don’t you?” asked her dad.

She nodded, refusing to look her father in the eye. She had a million things going on in her head. Maybe I don’t want to be like you. Maybe I want to be myself. Maybe you should call me by my real name, dad.

“F-Father?” she asked, her voice timid. Her gaze was still connected to the floor, and she felt his stern, cold gaze on her.

He leaned forward a little, as though to listen to her. “What is it, darling?” he asked.

Evelyn’s eyes darted around the kitchen floor, looking for a way as to not reveal herself quite yet. She was only 8, after all. These could just be misunderstood feelings. It wasn’t like she had to decide who she was yet. It could very well just be that she was having an identity crisis. People whose parents were public figures of importance would often get that way.

“N-Nothing. I wanted to ask if you would help me with my math homework, since you’re so smart.”

Her father seemed to be willing, but Evelyn was more happy with her ability to lie than she was with the A+ she received the next day.

“I couldn’t help but notice you talking with Grace about your childhood. Seems like you two are getting awfully chummy, huh?” you ask, a smirk on your face and a pang of sadness in your heart.

Aleister shrugs. “We’re friends, yes. But I currently don’t harbor emotions of the sort for her. At least... I don’t believe I do.” He bites his lip when he starts thinking, a small detail that most people would overlook, but someone like you -- someone that was very clearly interested -- would get worked up over in a heartbeat.

A tiny flash of hope enters your mind at the thought, even though you’re fairly certain that you want Grace and Aleister to be together, and be happy. “Really? I could’ve sworn you two were making negotiations for dates after we got out of here.”

A low chuckle leaves his lips and you find yourself enamored with the way his voice gets slightly deeper when he laughs. It’s something you hadn’t noticed before, but now it’s all you care about.

“I suppose some might think that way. But as far as I’m concerned, who I plan to have dinner with after this hellhole doesn’t really matter right now.”

You nod. You can understand that feeling. After all, you had been pursued by 4 different people by now, and had made vows to talk to each of them once you all had escaped La Huerta. The whole ‘fighting for your lives’ thing made everything else seem so insignificant in the grand scheme.

Yet here you were, sitting next to the son of the man who brought you all here and was the puppetmaster behind everything that had happened to you all, and you find your breath catching every time his eyes meet yours.

“Anyway, uh... if you don’t mind, I’d like to know a little more about your childhood too, Aleister,” you mention, unconsciously finding yourself inching closer to him on the couch you two are sitting on.

He’s silent for a heavy millisecond before he says, “I suppose if you’d be willing to hear a tale of woe. After all, there’s not much else I can be bothered to do.”

He clears his throat and begins.

“Dad! Look! I got a medal!” Evelyn exclaimed. She wore it around her neck, walking fast to the stands.

Her father looked pleased, but not nearly as happy and enthusiastic as she had hoped for him to be. She bit her bottom lip, wondering if he would approve of what she had done.

“Dad! I’m a champion swimmer now!” she belted, her voice almost sing-songy in nature. She did a little dance, making sure to keep footing, since the floor was a little wet where she stood, due to her having just gotten out of the water.

Everett Rourke nodded, clapping. “Good job, Evelyn!”

And within the next two seconds, she whipped off the swim cap she had on her head.

Underneath was a mess of short, choppy, bright, bleach blonde hair. She had cut it herself right before the meet. With the swimsuit on, she felt more masculine than she had ever been before.

Her father’s face dropped a little, and once she saw it, so did hers.

“How long have you been keeping this secret from me?” he asked, staring his son in the eye.

He shrugged. “I’ve known for a little while. I’d say I first really had my suspicions when I was 8, but... probably not 100% sure till 3 years ago.” Evelyn wasn’t sure what his new name would be, but he knew that it felt damn good to be out in the open now.

“So you kept it a secret... why? Did you think that I wouldn’t support you regardless?” his father’s voice asserted, with a slight hint of sincere heartfelt concern that Evelyn had never heard.

Evelyn shrugged. “I didn’t know how to go about it. I figured you’d wanted the ‘perfect daughter’. I mean, I had also figured since I was 6 that you had wanted a son, to be an heir. But I didn’t really know how to go about being a daughter turned son.” He chuckled a little at his own description, but was cut off by his father pulling him in for a hug.

“Do you have a name that you’d prefer me to call you by?” he asked.

“Well... I have been juggling Everett Aleister Rourke II for a little while now...” he replied, his head nuzzled in the crook of his father’s neck.

Everett pulled back and there was a smile plastered across his face. “Then your name shall be Everett Aleister Rourke. Welcome to the world.”

Your heart cries out for him now. You had never imagined that the man in his story would have been the same person that had tried to hurt any of you on the island. Aleister was a complicated, intriguing, heartwrenching man, and goddamn, you wish that he would share that with you more.

“Oh my God... so you and your father used to be close?” you ask. You’ve found yourself cuddling with a throw pillow while listening to the story unfold.

Aleister nods, sadness in his eyes. “I never thought that it would come to this, though... I mean... I knew that we would never be close like that forever, but... when he left after I turned 15, everything changed.

“He never called, or told anyone that I wasn’t a girl. He never mentioned Mom, even though he and I both know that she would’ve approved. After all... I did mention it to Iris at some point, and... she was so kind.” His tone is somber, and you feel your eyes welling with tears.

Your hand reaches to touch his shoulder. “I can understand that. When I came out, everybody was super confused, and a lot of my friends didn’t want to talk to me. My family was mostly good, except for my grandparents and one of my uncles.”

He nods again, and his eyes lock with yours, bright blue spheres, the color of an artist’s sky. “I assume you just got over it, right?” he asks, chuckling. “Since you’re Taylor the Incorrigible.”

“I thought that was Yvonne’s thing,” you retort, a sad smile on your face.

“I think the description suits you better.” His smile is sincere, but weighed down with the insecurities riddled in his head. Your hand has now worked its way to his cheek, and you feel his warmth radiating through your fingertips.

Everett Aleister Rourke II hadn’t always been so cold. And you’re suddenly realizing that through all this time, you’ve fallen for the boy with the heart of snow.

His eyes are tear-ridden, but you wipe them with the pads of your thumbs. He lets out a little, quiet, unsure laugh, but it’s the most sincere thing you’ve heard in a long time.

“Aleister... you don’t have to have his approval. You’re a great person. A great man. I want you to know that no matter what anyone else thinks of you, I will be there for you and I will support you throughout. Your father can piss off if he doesn’t see you the way that others do. The way I do.”

And when you feel your head moving closer to his, the way your foreheads touch, you swear there’s a little crackle of electricity.

#aleister rourke #aleister #basically an excuse to write aleister backstory #mc #endless summer #endless summer mc #summer mc #aleister x mc #mc x aleister #choices #choices: stories you play #playchoices #csyp #pixelberry #c:syp #my writing #i love him...

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nickireadstfc · 7 years

Text

The Foxhole Court, Chapter 3 - Ball Is Life

In which things get progressively gayer, Neil has a boner over Orange Sportsball, Andrew’s Serious Issues™ continue and youth alcoholism has never looked this good.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The Foxhole Court.

Neil spotted the Foxhole Court long before they made it onto the stadium parking lot. Built to seat sixty-five thousand fans, it’d been placed on the outskirts on campus.

SIXTY-FIVE THOUSAND WHAT. To put this into perspective, the three biggest stadiums currently used in American lacrosse seat 30,000 (Harvard Stadium, Boston Cannons/Harvard Crimson), 34,000 (Navy-Marine Corps Memorial Stadium, Chesapeake Bayhawks) and 70,000 (Sports Authority Field at Mile High, Denver Outlaws).

It should look something like this (the Hard Rock Stadium in Miami, used in football, seating exactly 65,000):

And that’s the seating capacity for a shitty Exy team.

What the fuck. I’m beginning to realise that this sport may be bigger than I initially thought.

Neil went up to the fence and stared through it at the outer grounds. (…) It made every hair on his body stand on end, and his heartbeat echoing in his ears sounded like an Exy ball rebounding off a court wall.

This is some Oliver Wood type of sportsball obsession, holy shit. Calm down, hombre.

(Will I make a Harry Potter reference every single chapter? Probably.)

And now, things get good:

“What’d your girlfriend get you [for your birthday]?”

Neil looked at him. “What?”

“Come on, cute face like yours has to have a girlfriend.”

Okay, first I freaked out over this because he’s canonically cute omg this is the best th-

And then this happens.

“Unless you swing my way, of course, in which case please tell me now and save me the trouble of having to figure it out.”

NICKY I LOVE YOU. YOUR ASS HAS JUST BEEN INSTANTLY PROMOTED TO SECOND FAVE.

Canon gay people!! I expected this but still!! This is chapter three and we’ve already got canon gay people!!

Am I biased because of my own queerness? Totally. Ya girl loves herself some good representation.

But hold on, my friends! This masterpiece of a scene isn’t done yet!

Neil stared at him, wondering how Nicky could care about such things when the stadium was right there.

I am HOWLING. This may be the best sentence in this entire chapter.

BALL IS LIFE. BALL IS LOVE.

Neil has priorities, you guys.

“I don’t swing either way,” Neil said. “Let’s go in.”

“Bullshit,” Nicky said.

“I don’t,” Neil said, and impatience put an edge in his voice. It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was close enough.

Spoiler alert: He’s demisexual, tumblr (and certain demisexual friends) have told me this as I got it wrong in my powerpoint slideshow post. Sorry about that.

S/o to all my demisexual peeps, and s/o to Nora Sakavic for representation beyond the usual. ❤

The majority of the pictures looked like they’d been taken by one of the Foxes themselves. These were scattered anywhere they could fit and held up by tape.

Where is the Foxes’ snapchat I need to see it.

Nicky probably uses the Fox filter all the time. Andrew probably hits him for it.

Exy was a co-ed sport, but few colleges wanted women in their lines. According to Fox lore, Palmetto State refused to approve any of the women Wymack asked for his first year.

*effie trinket voice* That is MISOGYNY!

Nicky tapped the faces in the closest photograph. “Dan, Renee and Allison. Dan’s good people, but she’ll work you to the bone. Allison’s a catty bitch you should avoid at all costs. Renee’s a sweetheart. Be nice to her.”

Yet another quote I fucking knew by heart before even starting the books. Y’all really aren’t very creative in finding captions for your grunge-y pastel moodboards.

Also, if Renee is such a sweet soft angel (which is pointed out again later, so I believe it), the fuck is she doing with the Foxes? Has she killed a man with kindness? Am intrigued. When do we meet this murderous snowflake.

Next up, they enter the actual stadium and Neil proceeds to have the Biggest Sports Boner Ever over the court.

I can’t quote here because this description goes on for two pages, but I would like to point out that this is one of the most well-written passages of the book so far. I had the scene play in my head like a film, lights flooding the stadium, Neil imagining what it would look like flooded with people caught up in thrill of a game, his longing to play this court even if it will cost him his freedom. Chapeau, Miss Sakavic.

Also damn. And they said Kevin is the obsessed one.

(Cue generic “enemies discover they have more in common than initially thought and overcome their differences by playing sports together and become close friends” trope.)

(I apologize for calling this generic. I love it.)

“Satellites can pick these [windbreakers] up in outer space,” [Neil] said.

Nicky laughed at that. “Dan commissioned them her first year here. She said she was tired of everyone trying to look past us.”

Nicky laughs, my skin is cleared, my crops are growing and an angel gets his wings.

Also I will present this Dan with the Best Captain Ever Award instantly when we meet her.

“You know we donate a portion of our ticket sales to charity? Our tickets cost a little more than anyone else’s because of that. Renee’s idea. Told you she’s pure gold.”

WE HAVE FOUND THE SECOND HUFFLEPUFF THIS IS NOT A DRILL. RENEE LET ME LOVE YOU.

And now it’s Orange Sportsball time!

“Is Kevin not going to play today?”

Nicky looked surprised that he’d ask. “Kevin only tolerates our court under two conditions: Alone, or with Andrew on it.”

Ah yes, thank you for reminding me, I had momentarily forgotten what level of EXTRA Kevin is on.

“Thank you,” Neil said belatedly.

“Huh? Oh no. Don’t worry about it. You can make it up to me some other time when the others aren’t around.”

“Can you try and get ass when I’m not standing right here?” Aaron asked.

I thank our otherworldly overlords every day for the comedic gay blessing that is Nicky Hemmings.

“If you take German as your elective here, just let me know and I’ll tutor you. I’m good with my tongue.”

For fuck’s sake, keep it in your goddamned pants.

Or, as Germans would say: Jetzt ist nicht der richtige Zeitpunkt, den Lörres reinzuhämmern, mein Freund. #erstmaldlrh

Also, is this Erik guy for real? He sounds p irrelevant. 10 bucks says they’re gonna break up.

They play a beautiful game of Orange Sportsball, Neil gets a glimpse of happiness (yay), and on their way out they are greeted by Kevin being Mad and Extra.

Kevin got right in his face and tangled his fingers through the netting on Neil’s racquet. (…)

“Forget the stadium. Forget the Foxes and your useless high school team and your family. See it the only way it really matters, where Exy is the only road to take. What do you see?”

[bla bla long sequence in which Neil ponders on the fact that Exy is Everything™]

“You,” Neil said at last.

“Tell me I can have your game.”

It wouldn’t do them any good, but Neil wasn’t going to get into that. “Take it.”

“Neil understands,” Kevin said.

*”enemies discover they have more in common than initially thought and overcome their differences by playing sports together and become close friends” trope intensifies*

Do people ship those two? Because I can totally see that happening.

Speaking of shipping: Andrew is back!

[Andrew] scooped the whiskey up and twisted the lid off.

(…) “About time you stopped that, don’t you think? Abby’s going to beat me senseless if she realizes you’ve been drinking.”

“Doesn’t sound like my problem,” Andrew said with a brilliant smile.

Daamn Andrew, back at it again with the youth alcoholism!

I’m not kidding though, manic Andrew scares me so much more than soulless Andrew did. I want my murder son back, not this fake-cheery, Joker rip-off version.

I’m temporarily comforted as we are reminded that Wymack is, in fact, the Best Person Ever:

“Showers aren’t communal here. Coach put in stalls when he built the stadium. The board wouldn’t pay for it – they didn’t see the point – so it came out of Coach’s own pocket.”

LET ME LOVE YOU, YOU WONDERFUL HUMAN BEING.

Andrew makes fun of Neil for wanting to shower in privacy and for having a beat up body, Neil freaks out, yadda yadda, go die in a fire, you manic asshole.

Also, I know this isn’t what’s meant here, but I’m really liking the idea of trans!Neil. Scars on his torso? Always showers in privacy? Changed his identity and his name? Just saying.

They then drive over to Abby’s house, who also immediately claims a place in my too-big heart:

“David? Shut up and make sure the vegetables aren’t boiling over. Kevin, check the bread. It’s in the oven. Nicky, table. Aaron, help him. Andrew Joseph Minyard, that better not be what I think it is.”

What. A. Mom.

For the record: I’m chipping in with Nicky’s betting pot as well. Those two have skipped long past the boning zone, straight into actual married couple land.

Everyone gathers round and eats some lasagna like the wonderful dysfunctional family that they are. Yay. Now I want some lasagna.

(Note to self: Do not read before dinner.)

Then, Neil is taken to his new home by Coach Wymack, and Nora Sakavic gets childhood abuse trauma spot on once again:

Getting in the car alone with [Wymack] was the hardest thing Neil had done all day. Andrew was crazy, but Neil had an ingrained distrust of men old enough to be his father. He spent the entire ride frozen and silent in the passenger seat.

Kudos.

However, of course, Wymack is totally undeserving of distrust as he is the Best Person Ever, Coach of Champions, Owner of My Heart.

“Use what you need, and take what you want from the kitchen. It’ll piss me off more if you act like a skittish stray cat than it will if you eat the last bowl of cereal.”

Happy sigh.

Nicki out.

#the foxhole court #tfc #the raven king #the kings men #nora sakavic #nicki reads tfc #erstmaldlrh

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elliyoyo · 7 years

Text

Home (Teen!George Washington/Trans!Reader)

Day 4 of @hamwriters writeathon (Worldwide Day)! This has no real location to it, but I’m growing up in a rather tight-knit area that is generally filled with religious people or extremely judgmental people, so I haven’t come out to many people, but most of my peers have been rather accepting. This is what I wish would happen when my family makes fun of me for who I am or talks shit about the LGBT+ community. Also ;) @boss-headcanons I know you were kinda excited for this and I just adore my platonic soulmate twin babe @gunsandfics so you get tagged, too.

This is based on a female-to-male transgender teenager, but you can change the pronouns and easily make it male-to-female.

Warnings: Extremely homophobic and transphobic language/word usage, swearing, mentions of the whole transgender bathroom thing, and me not knowing how to characterize Teen!GWash or his parents.

(Y/B/N) is your birth name and (Y/N) is your name that you prefer that people should respect and call you by or they will have to face my wrath :))))))))

Words: 2212 (I got carried away but this is really personal for me and I was almost scared to post this)

Coming home was always something you looked forward to. Not home, not where your biological family was, but home to George. You had known each other for most of your lives and even though you weren’t fond of each other as children, you grew closer as you grew older. Your house was just down the street from his, which turned out to be a blessing once you realized you were transgender. Whenever your parents would make remarks or make fun of you for how you dressed, you would tell them you were going out for a bit and just go to his house so you could cheer up and tell him what happened.

Today was an especially bad day. Your parents had been especially into the recent news today and saw that there was recently a case about transgender people using the bathroom of the gender they identify that had gone to the Supreme Court. You sat on the couch, taking small bites of your dinner, knowing exactly how your parents were going to act once the news had gone on to another subject.

“Tch, fucking perverted trannies need to just shut up and be thankful for what they’re given. They ask for more and more everyday, but what do they do? Bitch and moan that it isn’t enough. The fuck is up with those fags?” Your dad laughs and takes a sip of his drink, sitting down next to you, placing an arm around you. “Right, (Y/B/N)?”

“Uh, yeah, sure, dad,” you say, frowning into another bite, holding back your sigh. He knows how upset this shit make you and he knows that bringing it up will make it worse.

“You don’t seem too enthusiastic about shit talking those faggots. You wanna say that again?”

“Not really, no…” You give him a side glance and set down your fork, putting your hands in your lap.

“What, you one of them? Huh, (Y/B/N)? You a tranny, too?” He pushes you and laughs, looking over at your mom who is laughing as well.

“Maybe I am.”

There is a long silence before your dad starts to stand up.

“You’re fucking with me. You’re fuckin’ fucking with me. No way I raised a goddamn pussy like a tranny,” he snarls, looking at you with a fierce expression that makes you want to bolt out the front door. You start standing up as well, dashing off to your room instead of the front door, so you could grab a few small things, knowing full well you weren’t staying the night here to deal with their shit.

You grab a small bag and stuff in your phone charger, a lighter, a toothbrush, a few bobby pins, and a twenty dollar bill just in case, then run back downstairs. Your father catches your eye and opens his mouth, continuing his hateful rant from before, but you just go towards the door, trying to push away what he’s saying.

“You fuckin’ get back here! We gotta have a conversation about you thinking you’re some piece of shit fa-”

“Dad, seriously, shut up! You don’t know anything about what you’re talking about! You’re in absolutely no place to be shit talking my peers, my friends, my people, so just shut up!” With that, you slam the door behind you and walk towards the only place you really could go at this point- George’s house.

Ever since your parents had started getting really bad, like your dad was then, you started going over to his house, simply telling him and his parents that you would explain it all later when it was over with. His parents didn’t like the idea of you staying the night with their son, but they soon came to realize that you quite literally only had the energy to go to their house, plus George calmed you down well, so they weren’t complaining. Since about the third time you stayed over at random, they’d basically been like a second set (or rather, a better set) of parents to you. You’d eat meals with them and they’d congratulate you on your grades and they’d make sure to pick up snacks you like at the store so George can give them to you in school as a little pick-me-up. You practically never stop thanking them, even though you know they’ll probably act like your parents did once they eventually find out that you’re transgender.

You’re knocking on their door, mid-thought and glassy eyed, before you even know it, so used to the routine. The door opens mere moment later and George is looking back at you, wearing his usual outfit of a worn out t-shirt with some fuzzy pajama pants.

“(Y/N)! Come in, it’s gotta be cold outside! We were just cleaning up dinner, would you like anything?”

You can only bring yourself to respond with a shake of the head. He immediately sees that something is wrong. You’ve had this look in your eyes for far too long and he doesn’t like it. He likes his (Y/N). His (Y/N) with the dorky but captivating smile and eyes that shine brighter than all the stars combined when they talk about things they admire, like music or him.

“...My room?” You nod. “Mom! Pop!—sorry (Y/N),” he whispers to you before continuing, “—(Y/B/N) is over! We’re gonna go up to my room!”

“Alright Georgie, but no funny business okay?” His mom always joked about that, but knew nothing would happen. You could hear it clear as day in her voice. George laughs at her and convinces you to let him carry your bag even though it’s small. You walk up the stairs to his room and upon entering, you collapse onto the carpet, a blubbering mess. He sets your bag down and sits down next to you, wrapping an arm around you.

“Hey hey hey, what happened? Your parents again?” He rubs your shoulder supportively, pulling you to his chest.

“I came out,” you barely manage to say before you knot a hand in his shirt, letting out a sob.

“Wh- oh, (Y/N)... they didn’t touch you, did they? I swear to god, if they did I—” You quickly shake your head and start pulling at his shirt, telling him to stop. “Okay, good…” He goes silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry that they’re like that… You’re always welcome here, whenever they pull anything like that again.”

“Thank you s-so much, George… You have no idea how much it means to me.” You wrap your arms around him and begin crying on his shoulder. He doesn’t mind, he simply rubs your back and lets you cry it out, whispering to you that it’s okay. “We should tell my parents about this, though. They’re really confused about why you’ve been coming over so much lately.” He looks down at you, searching for approval in any form, but only finds more tears and what he can only guess is a held back scream of no.

“Please, no. No, they’ll never let me over here again because I’m… I… I’m me…” You look down at the ground, wiping your eyes with your sleeves.

“(Y/N), you know they’ll accept you. My parents aren’t like yours, they’ll still love you and support you just the same. They might have a few questions, but other than that, it’ll be like nothing changed.” You still shake your head, fearing that they would never let you near the house, or let you see George, again. You were more worried about not seeing George because he was your rock and whenever something happened, he was there and you couldn’t lose that.

“...Can I just stand there and you tell them? ‘Cause I don’t think I’ll really be able to talk. You know how I-”

“Lock up when you get nervous? Of course I do. Look, if I can order your lunches at school for you, I can come out to my parents for you, okay?” He presses a kiss to your temple and helps you stand, beginning to lead you downstairs.

“If I lose my only safe haven because of you, I will never forgive you.”

“You won’t, now stop it.” He walks downstairs, smiling at his parents, who are there waiting.

“We heard crying… Do you mind if we ask what’s wrong, (Y/B/N)?” At his mom’s use of your birth name, you cringe and look down, then at George.

“...No, um… Mom, Dad, he doesn’t like being called (Y/B/N)... his name is (Y/N) and he’s transgender and can confirm that he’s deathly afraid you’ll hate him for it.” George forces all of that out in one breath. His parents are silent for a good fifteen seconds before you can’t control your quivering lip or tears any longer. You put your hand over your mouth to muffle the sobs and catch the tears falling over the previously dried ones. You couldn’t believe it, but you had practically trained yourself to accept that even the ones that say they love you and care about you can be changed by the tiniest of things.

“...(Y/N)? It’s kind of a weird name, but I like it. It’ll take some getting used to, but hey, we’ll try our best.” Mrs. Washington says, smiling at you, pulling you into a soft hug with teary eyes as well. “Right honey?”

“Of course. You’re welcome to come over anytime you need it. There’s always leftovers in the fridge and you know where we keep the soda, so you and Georgie can study and, well… I don’t know, what do teens do these days?” His dad laughs and clears his throat before continuing. “Anyway, we’re not going to push you away or bully you or be pricks because you’re different than us or we don’t quite understand all of this yet.”

“I have an idea,” George says, smiling over at you while you’re still being smothered by his mom. “How about we go to the diner down the street in a bit after (Y/N) gets cleaned up and cheered up, and we get some dessert with him?”

“I think that’s a great idea, son. Now, Mary, stop suffocating the boy, we have to get the dishes done and give them some time.” Mr. Washington puts his arm out, practically pulling his wife off of you.

“Oh, ha, yeah, right. Georgie, please bring him upstairs and just hang out until we’re ready to go.” She smiles at her son who slides his hand into yours, nodding. He leads you back up the stairs and notices that you’re grinning from ear to ear, tears still falling, but the tone of the tears has changed.

“...They… accepted me… George, your parents accepted me! Automatically! Straight up! Oh my god!” You pull him down into a tight hug, pushing your head into his neck.

“Well, of course they did. My parents aren’t as bad as their shitty puns suggest, (Y/N),” he jokes, rolling his eyes. You snicker and look up into his eyes, the joy of the situation reflecting back at you. You two get closer and closer without realizing it, but before you have the chance to meet in the middle, George’s mom calls for him from the kitchen. You flush red and pull back, sparing him one last glance before going into his room to change into some more comfortable, not tear-soaked clothing. You smile in his mirror, feeling much more refreshed, looking at yourself from pretty much all angles before he returns.

“C’mon, time to… You look incredible, (Y/N).” He smiles at you and walks over to you, standing next to you, checking himself out in the mirror as well. “I gotta say, you look about five times as good as me.”

“Ah yes, the pure neighbor-magnets that are my old sweatpants and t-shirt. Real sexy, huh?” You laugh and tug at your worn t-shirt that you’d had for a good few years now.

“Extremely. Alright, not sexy, per se, but rather cute.” He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him until you two were pressed together. Now he’s either just really teasing or he’s actually genuinely ignorant for not realizing what he was doing. You roll your eyes, figuring it was the first, and lean up to plant a small kiss to his lips. He looks down at you after with wide eyes filled with adoration, wonder, and the literal embodiment of fucking finally.

“We have dessert to eat. We can do this later.” You take his hand and pull him down the stairs, smiling at his parents.

“Let’s go, kids,” Mrs. Washington declared with a smile.

“To the diner!”

You, from that moment on, ended up going there as soon as you got off the bus, only grabbing a drink from your house, then going over to your home. Where you belonged and where you were loved and where you were kissed while homework was supposed to be being done and where the dinners were always home cooked with love and most of the spice cabinet (not that you minded much).

It was nice to have a place to call home for once. Even better to call it home with those who made that house a home.

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