#okay i imagine the photo on her phone being similar to the one of chuck nate serena blair

[callowaylilys]

it was the start of summer and the ending of her college career. a masters of fine arts degree in creative writing. who would have thought? her, nearly ditzy -- but still some brains when it mattered -- sawyer brooke scott sawyer, would have ended up here. with a masters in creative writing. writing. that, out of all things.  something she both despised and couldn’t even connect with her father about. no, because her talent was always art, her heart was always in art. music. while she didn’t sing, -- no, her voice was never that good. she could clear out a room, in fact, she did once during karaoke with the gang (if she remembered correctly) -- she heard the beats, the rhythm. the art behind it. she was a lot like her mother in that way.  she was more artistically inclined than anything else and apparently that’s what lead her here. standing right where she was, right at the entrance of nyu, ready to say goodbye. she found love for writing because of her art. 

it also took some help from her therapist, sawyer could never really get over what happened to her. it being nearly 6 years ago. 

‘how does one get over that?’ she remembers asking, leg swinging -- a nervous antic -- as she sat on the most comfortable beige leather couch she ever sat on. 

‘i won’t lie, sawyer. what happened to you and jude...that’s something that stays with you forever, but i’m here to help you deal with those emotions in the best way you can.’

she rolled her eyes. 

‘you’re using art now, but if that’s not helping -- try something different. try... try writing about it.” 

sawyer laughed, she remembers laughing so hard she was sure she was going to pee her pants. the girl barely passed english in high school and now her therapist -- her therapist who apparently was suppose to know her - was recommending writing. bullshit, i can’t even form a sentence, she thought to herself. but there was the poem. the poem.  she had written about it. perhaps, he did know her after all. 

“look at me now..”  she said softly, graduation cap and gown in hand. an engagement ring adorning her perfectly manicured hands. 

ding! 

ding! 

the sound of her phone going off took her out of memory lane.  her screensaver, a picture of her, lydia, laney, natalie, jude and davis, and sam -- cam. she promised she’d get it right. it’s been years.  natalie’s then toddler, now 5 year old in the middle of both of them. she had pictures of the babe all over phone. she wasn’t on any social media anymore. she deleted it months after the incident. she had allowed for social media to take over every aspect of her life when she was younger. hell, she went on live so many times.. she shared so much of them. it started with the breaking of her camera, her laptop and then months later,  she took down her blogs, her youtube channel. she kept them up, thinking that maybe she’d go back to it one day but she couldn’t. she couldn’t do that anymore. she was too out there and needed to reel herself back in. 

her phone rang. a picture of a younger lydia popping up on her screen. 

“hey bobcat -- yeah.. be right there. just picked up my cap and gown.. i know, right! can you believe it?” 

the young woman walked down the steps of nyu, heels clicking on each and every step. she walked with confidence, giggling on the phone as she spoke to her cousin about the new things little jr does, or laney having to watch natalie do her toaster strudel dance. they were older now. wiser. she used to live in a constant state of fear. afraid that someone was following her, staring at her entirely too long and too much for her liking.  but in this moment, right now, for the first time in years. she was sure of one thing and one thing only. she was okay. her family was okay. they were fine. 

everything was going to be okay. 

[smilebouquet]

somewhere to go, someone to love

my secret santa gift (@ducktalessecretsanta2020) for @kvanderquack!! i’m sorry for tagging again after i already sent my gift via dm-

also on ao3!!

––––––––––

For as long as Lena lived (all fifteen years), she’d always been alone. She was born alone on the heights of Mount Vesuvius, from the remnants of her Aunt Magica’s shadow. She travelled to Duckburg alone, with no one to keep her company other than the voices in her head and the harsh whispering of her shadow. She bore the brunt of Magica’s lashings and whining alone, hurt and angry and bitter.

A happy family felt like such a foreign concept to her. Magica was always her one and only kin, the only person who had a connection to her. And she hated every second of it. If having just one aunt was so exhausting, imagine having two aunts. Imagine three. Criticizing your every move. Yelling at you for screwing up. Demanding nothing but obedience and respect and returning none of it. 

Lena didn’t think she would be able to take it. Family just didn’t sound like something she’d like.

That’s what she thought, anyway, until the Sabrewings took her in.

––––––––––

1.

Lena can’t sleep.

Or to be exact, she can’t sleep peacefully. Ever since she came back to the land of the living, she’s been having dreams. Dreams where she found herself running from her. Into the woods, where the screeching of bats rang in the air, and the ground was muddy and made each consecutive step heavy. Or within a mansion suspiciously similar to Scrooge’s, her voice bouncing off the walls and getting closer and closer until they were literally screaming into her ears. She could do nothing but run.

She never dared to look back, but Lena always managed to glimpse her in the corner of her eye. The swish of a velvety black cape. A gloved hand, reaching out to snatch her. A flash of purple magic. 

Lena always manages to wake up before Magica could grab her and do god-knows-what. She would always be grateful for the fact that she awoke easily. But every dream ended in To Be Continued — never The End — and Lena didn’t want to know what The End would look like, because she has the sinking feeling that it won’t be a Happily Ever After.

Tonight is no different. She’s staring up at the ceiling of Violet’s room, letting the muffled snores of her roommate fill the still air. It’s getting increasingly hard to stay awake, and she isn’t sure how much longer she can take it.

Sighing, she rolls out of bed and leaves the room, making sure the door creaked as quietly as possible and that it clicked shut. She heads down the stairs and into the living room. A bookshelf stands in the corner, filled with all sorts of books from encyclopedias to photography books.

Lena instinctively grabs a cookbook (and accidentally knocks off a few more, but she’ll deal with them later) from the second topmost shelf. Yellow sticky notes jut out of the pages, all written on with dark purple ink. Walking into the kitchen adjacent, she flicks on the light, then flips the book open. Vanilla Cake, reads the title in big bold letters, followed by the exact quantity of ingredients needed and the instructions on how to bake one.

This should keep her up until tomorrow.

"...Lena? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

She freezes. Ty is standing at the door, a wooden baseball bat loosely held in his grip. He chucks it aside and steps into the kitchen.

"Hey." She waves half-heartedly with a sheepish smile. "I, uh, couldn't sleep."

"And you're in the kitchen with a cookbook, why?"

Because Aunt Magica haunts my dreams every night and I don’t wanna deal with it anymore?

“...I wanted to do something nice for my friends for once, so I thought baking a cake for our sleepover would be neat?”

Ty’s gaze flickers between Lena and the clock currently showing 12:59. He pinches the area between his eyes. “Lena, it’s late. I think you should go to bed—”

“No!” He flinches. Lena’s eyes widen. “I mean— no, I can’t go to bed until I finish this cake!” she backtracks, her voice cracking. Her heart is pounding. She can't go to sleep, she can't...! “If you help me, I’ll go to bed sooner! Maybe!”

Ty scratches the back of his head. “Well, Indy’s the dad who bakes, not me... but I suppose I can try.”

Relief washes over her. She flashes him a tired smile, handing him a bowl and some measuring cups. “Thanks.”

––––––––––

2.

“We’re back!” 

Indy looks up from the couch. “Welcome back. How was your sleepover?”

“Pleasant,” Violet replies, already halfway up the stairs. “Ate some cake. Played a video game. Saved Lena from getting dragged into a mirror and possibly losing her within a lucid dream to the witch responsible for the shadow war several months ago. The usual.”

“Sounds nice,” Indy remarks. Then did a double take. “Wait, what?”

Ty laughs, following after Violet. “It’s a long story. Took the whole car ride for them to finish telling it.” Indy glares after him, but shrugs and returns to his book.

Lena drops her own bag on the floor and flops onto the couch with a heavy sigh. She could shower or whatever later. Right now she just wanted to rest.

“Long day?” Indy asks, barely moving from his position on the right side of the couch.

“Kinda. I’ve been through worse, though.”

There's a beat of silence.

The unspoken Like what? hangs over her head uncomfortably. Is this the part where she spills her entire life story? Should she play it off as a joke? Would it be wise to pretend she hadn’t said anything? She can feel Indy’s stare on her shoulder, burning like a pair of red-hot lasers—

He either noticed her discomfort, or is really good at reading minds, because he hums quietly and says, “You don’t have to elaborate.”

“...Ah. Right. Okay.” She sits upright, then lets out a short laugh. Her eyes wander over to Indy, who’s still reading his book with a content look on his face. “What is that?”

Indy shows her the book. There’s a bunch of pictures of Violet, Ty and Indy together. “It’s one of the family photo albums,” he explains. “Photography is one of my hobbies.”

Lena grunts in response, then peers at the photos more closely. “Is that Violet in the library?”

“Oh, that’s from the first time we visited the public library together. We had just moved into Duckburg, and wanted to do a little sightseeing. Violet insisted that we check out the library. That girl always did love reading. She gets it from Ty…”

They spend the rest of the hour looking through the photo album together. There’s a surprising amount of photos in this one tiny album, each preserving a special memory that Indy knows by heart and tells Lena about with nothing but fondness. She now knows that Violet used to take ballet classes (and hated it), has won at least two national spelling bees by the age of six, and is part of the Junior Woodchucks.

Photos from before Violet was born are also in it, located near the end of the album. Indy tells Lena that he first met Ty at a college entrance exam. They had entered the building at the same time, and Ty thought it would be neat to strike a conversation with him. They hit it off pretty much immediately, but forgot to ask for each other’s phone numbers before they went their separate ways.

“But you’re married now?!” Lena blurts out, jumping from the cough to point a shaky finger at him. “How?!”

He chuckles. “We met again at a supermarket several months later, I believe, reaching for the same can of beans. Ty’s first words to me ever since were ‘Holy shit, you like beans, too?!’ This time we remembered to exchange contact information, and here we are ten years later.”

“I— Wow.” Lena sits back down. “Some luck you have.”

“I wouldn’t call it luck,” he admits. His fingers gently caressing the old photo of them. “I like to think of it as fate. If we’re meant to be together, life will find a way to get us together.”

(Lena thinks about Webby.

She thinks about their “chance” meeting at the amphitheater.

She thinks about how she almost lost Webby by sacrificing herself to protect her.

She thinks about how lucky she had been that Violet was there in the library that day, reading a nerdy old book.

She inwardly decides that Indy is probably right.)

Once they reach the end of the album, Indy moves to close it. The corners of several photographs stick out from the side. Lena blinks.

“And those are?”

He looks down. “Oh.” Tucking them back in, he replies, “Those are some of the newer photographs. Haven’t gotten a new album for them yet, so I keep them here for the time being.” His fingers drum on the hard cover. “Come to think of it, I don't have any pictures with you yet. We’ll need to remedy that.”

“Hm, why?”

“You’re family, after all. I think you deserve a spot in the photo album.”

Family. She’s family. The thought of it makes her heart flutter.

It takes her a minute to realize Indy stopped talking, and is looking at her with the slightest hint of hesitation in his expression.

She beams at him. “That would be nice. You should get a new album first, though.” As if on cue, a photograph falls out. She picks up. “Hey, what about this one?” Indy lights up, and starts going into a tangent about the one time they lost Violet at Duckburg’s largest department store. As he does, she zones out for a bit, testing the name.

‘Lena Sabrewing’, huh…  She can feel her smile widening.  Sounds way cooler than Lena de Spell.

––––––––––

3.

This is terrible, Lena concludes.

They’re on the way to the Junior Woodchuck Campgrounds for Violet’s upcoming graduation. She’s a little hazy on the details, but she does know that each year only one senior junior woodchuck can become a senior woodchuck (“That’s dumb! Why can’t you all just become senior woodchucks?!” “Don’t question it, Lena.”), they decide who graduates with some sort of obstacle course, and Violet’s opponent this year is likely going to be Huey.

Lena also knows that the campgrounds are located waaaay out on some island in the middle of nowhere, and if she sees another “NOW LEAVING DUCKBURG” sign she’s going to lose it. She lets out a groan as she slides farther down her seat, watching the pine trees blur into a strip of green on the landscape. “Hey, Vi, how much longer ‘til we’re there?”

No answer.

“Vi?”

Again, no answer. Lena knows that Violet has a tendency to be quiet during car rides, preferring to admire the scenery as they drive, but Violet should’ve at least spared her a grunt at this point.

She decides to turn and look at her. Violet is staring at her lap, perfectly still. Her fists are clenched so tightly she can see the white knuckles beneath her purple feathers, and they’re trembling.

“Vi, what’s wrong...?” Lena begins to ask, and then immediately Indy’s voice from before echoes in her head.

“Third time’s the charm, right Vi?”

The gears click into place. Oh.

She inches closer to Violet’s side — as much as she can with her seatbelt on, anyway — and reaches out to place a comforting hand over Violet’s. The hummingbird looks up.

“Hey,” Lena says, “you’ll be okay. You’re the best nerd I’ve ever know. What’s Huey got, his stupid guidebook? You’ve got this.”

“Actually, the Junior Woodchuck Wilderness Challenge prohibits use of the guidebook,” Violet corrects, then sighs. “Sorry. I know you’re trying to comfort me, but I…” She trails off. “I know failing is natural, but it still terrifies me every single time.”

Silence.

Indy, from the passenger seat, pipes up, “Violet, you know that just being willing to go back and try again is… really brave, right? Yeah, failure is inevitable, and very terrifying, but not a lot of people are able to bounce back from it like you do.”

“What Indy said.” Ty peers at them from the rearview mirror and gives them a thumbs up. “We love you no matter what, and I bet you’re gonna crush the competition this year.”

“Yeah! What they said! You’re Violet Sabrewing. You brought me back from the Shadow Realm. If you can do that, you can do anything!”

Violet stares at her for a moment, then Indy, then Ty. Her eyes are glassy. She opens her fist to hold Lena’s hand and squeezes it weakly.

“Thanks,” she whispers, with a smile that doesn’t exactly reach her eyes.

...At least she’s smiling a little. Lena frowns, but gets an idea. She leans forward to ask Ty, “By the way, how long until we get there?”

“Five hours, I think,” Indy answers.

“FIVE HOURS?!” She can feel a vein pop in her head. Five hours. Five. Hours. It feels like she’s been in this stinkin’ car for decades already. Well, no matter.

She turns to Violet. “Alright, since we’re basically stuck here, why don’t I teach you how to smacktalk?”

Violet raises an eyebrow, clearly unamused. “Is that really necessary? Also, I doubt Hubert would appreciate—”

“Of course it is! And of course he won’t. You can’t have a healthy rivalry without a little back and forth! Where’s the fun in that?! Now, the key to good smacktalk is...”

She spends the rest of the ride lecturing Violet on the essentials of smacktalk (read: making most of it up as she went). As they drove, Violet’s shoulders began to relax and she allowed herself to laugh more, and Lena felt more at ease than she had in a while.

––––––––––

4.

Lena wakes up with a gasp. Frantically, she feels around. Her arms are intact. Her legs are still here. Nothing hurts. Phantom Blot isn’t here. Okay. It was just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream.

“Lena?”

“Vi?” Lena calls, but it sounds more like a choked sob. She’s suddenly acutely aware of the tears messing up her feathers and her pounding heart.

Violet sits up. “Another nightmare?” she asks, her voice quiet. Lena nods. She gets up from bed and leaves the room. Lena sits in the darkness, her hands gripping her knees tightly. Breathe in, breathe out.

Violet returns with a tall glass of water and hands it to her. Lena takes it and brings the glass to her beak. The water is cool and soothing.

“They’ve become increasingly frequent. Shouldn’t we talk to our fathers about this?”

“No,” Lena says immediately, finishing her glass and setting it on the night table with shaky hands. “I don’t want them to get worried.” 

Violet gives her a glare that pierces even in the dark, then sighs.

“Very well.”

✿ — ✿ — ✿

On Christmas Day, Lena wakes up to Violet dumping a bucket of cold water over her.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Ack—! Violet, what the hell?!”

“Apologies,” Violet says, her tone betraying her words. She’s already dressed in a plain cream turtleneck. “You wouldn’t wake up no matter what I did.” She tugs at her sleeve. “Now, come. Fathers are already in the living room. You were literally the last to awaken.” Without waiting for a response, she drags her out of the room and down the stairs.

The living room feels… warmer than usual. There are string lights, giving out a gentle multicoloured glow, both around the Christmas Tree and hung up along the walls. Someone took the time to hang a wreath on every door in the house, each covered in mini ornaments and topped with a red bow. The bright orange fire in the fireplace is crackling.

Ty and Indy are already waiting, wearing matching Christmas sweaters. “Merry Christmas!” they greet, pulling the two girls into a hug. 

“Merry Christmas,” Lena says back before pulling away. The cheeriness of the season was beginning to catch up to her. “So! What do we do first?”

“Well, the presents are under the tree but maybe eat breakfast first—”

Lena was gone the moment Ty said ‘presents’. She rushes to the tree and begins checking the tags for her name. Not that there are that many presents to check. Violet follows soon after with a much calmer demeanor.

She ends up with a limited edition of The FeatherWeights’ newest album from Ty and Indy (“How did you know they’re my favourite band?!” “Your shirt is all we needed to clue us in.”) and an exact replica of the Caw-nverse shoes she loves wearing. Violet receives two books — an encyclopedia the thickness of one and a half dictionaries about magic and a thinner book called Tales of the Peculiar.

She’s ready to head off to the dining table to eat when Violet stops her. 

“Wait.” She pulls out a neatly wrapped present from her pocket and holds it out to Lena. “Here.”

“Wh— But I didn’t get you anything!”

“It’s okay.” Violet shoves the present into her hands. “Just take it.” Lena peers at her suspiciously before tearing the wrapping paper clean off and opening the box.

A dreamcatcher. The hoop used is a nice beige, and a flower-like design had been woven within it with colourful threads. White feathers suspended from twine, with beads adorning the strands at intervals, are attached to the hoop. Lena dangles the dreamcatcher above the box and looks at Violet questioningly.

“It may not be as beneficial as actual therapy since I couldn’t infuse it with any magic, but it should help keep the bad dreams at bay,” Violet explains. “Probably. I made it myself so it might not work.”

Lena stares at the dreamcatcher again. Upon closer inspection, the feathers and beads appear to be glued to the twine, and the twine was wound imperfectly around the base of the hoop. The flower design is also uneven, having slightly larger ‘petals’ on one side. She feels herself tear up. “Violet. This is the sweetest thing you’ve ever done for me.”

“I can’t believe saving you from roaming in the shadow realm for all of eternity isn’t the sweetest thing I've ever done for you,” Violet replies, completely deadpan. But the corners of her beak are twitching upwards.

“You wanted to summon evil spirits! I was a byproduct. It doesn’t count,” Lena jokes, putting the dreamcatcher away. She envelopes her in a crushing hug. “Thank you.” Her voice is wobbling. “This is just— It must’ve taken ages. Now I feel even worse for not getting you anything.”

Violet hugs her back just as tightly. “You’re welcome. Just make sure you get me my own personal library next year.”

As if your room isn’t filled with enough books as is, Lena thinks, but she can’t help but laugh.

Ty clears his throat. “This is great, but it’s already nine and you girls haven’t even had breakfast yet, so chop chop! We’ve got a whole day ahead of us.”

(They end up at the ice rink, where Lena learns that she’s actually terrible at ice skating. Violet offers to teach her like the Samaritan she is, but doesn’t hesitate to throw jabs at her incompetence. Fortunately, she’s not the only one who’s suffering, if Indy’s screaming and Ty’s guffawing are any indications.)

––––––––––

In the first fifteen years of her life, Lena had been alone with no one to turn to. Being part of a happy family felt like something out of a movie or fairy tale. Happiness seemed like an unreachable dream.

But within two years, she found a best friend in Webby, a sister in Violet, and two dads in Ty and Indy. She found a family to call her own, one that loved her and made her feel good about herself. She was finally content.

The dreamcatcher and family photo hanging above her bed would need to be pried from her cold, dead hands.

[noxexistant]

gamquick; “(but first) let me take a selfie”

fandom; marvel 616, all-new x-factor (2014)

pairing; remy lebeau/pietro maximoff 

word count; 1.9k

rating; g

notes; this is my first time writing 616 and my first time posting a fic to tumblr in god knows how long,, please be nice.  anyway, this is Dumb and Self-Indulgent, and i love gamquick So Much, and i think about canon insta baddie pietro every single goddamn day of my life

ao3 mirror

———

“Are you taking a selfie?” Remy asks, somewhat incredulously.

Pietro hums an affirmation, short and sharp in such a manner that manages to somehow convey the complex sentiment of, ‘Well, obviously, you imbecile.’

Granted, Pietro does look the kind of way that warrants a selfie. His outfit and general aesthetic choices tend to pendulate between the extremes of ‘godly’ and ‘unspeakable’, but his current outfit is definitely the former. It’s a linen suit in a summery shade of periwinkle - and Remy hates that he not only knows those terms but also managed to string them together, but he manages to soothe the knock to whatever ridiculous attachment to traditional ‘manliness’ he’s still coddling with the observation that his boyfriend looks fucking incredible. The suit is fitted perfectly, tapered to his narrow waist, and Remy waits for the next sound of a camera shutter to lean over and grab Pietro’s ass through the delightfully tight, light fabric of the slim-fit trousers.

He likes to imagine that the camera managed to capture Pietro’s face perfectly, but it’s more than likely that the photo turned into a blurred mess because Pietro is turning to swat at Remy before he’s even really had a chance to appreciate the ass grab, which is very unfortunate, because Pietro’s ass is the best.

“Go and pester someone else,” Pietro snips, landing a fairly solid playful backhand to the apple of Remy’s cheek - only playful in that it doesn’t actually shatter Remy’s whole face - as he pretends to still be invested in his sleek smartphone. “Lorna’s in the other room. Why don’t you go and tell her that her green dress is an adventurous choice? Very capricious of her.”

Despite his stinging cheek, Remy laughs easily and falls into Pietro, arms winding around his waist from behind as he glances down at his phone screen, catching sight of the camera app still open and just a glimpse of the previews of previous selfies.

“Don’ upset the lady,” he admonishes, leaning close to his lover’s ear and looking up to meet his eyes through their reflection in the full-length mirror before them. “‘S’not nice to tease your sister, cheri.”

Unsurprisingly, Pietro rolls his eyes.

“If she didn’t want my teasing, she should’ve at least gone with a better shade. The seafoam dress was nicer, but she insisted it reminded her of one of Father’s outfits. God forbid. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the man outside of red and purple.”

Remy can’t say he’s all too familiar with Erik Lehnsherr’s wardrobe.

“‘S’this the latest in you guys’ elaborate familial judgement, then?” he asks, “Fashion?”

He raises an eyebrow, going for an unimpressed look, but his face breaks into a smile when Pietro does The Thing - meets Remy’s eyes in the reflection and lets his own become open and warm for just a moment.

“Believe me,” he says airily, “I’ve been judging my father’s fashion choices for as long as I’ve known him.”

Remy tilts his head in consideration, still smiling.

“Must be those bad genetics that influenced that cargo shorts look a couple weeks ago, then.”

His smile widens when Pietro’s expression becomes once again deeply serious, eyes narrowing.

“How many times must I reiterate that not all tan shorts are cargo shorts? The definition of ‘cargo shorts’ comes from the pockets—“

“—Okay, okay, so no extra pockets,” Remy concedes, releasing Pietro’s waist for only a moment to splay his hands in surrender, “But they were ugly. Luna thought so, too.”

Pietro makes a face that Remy struggles not to classify as a pout.

“Luna hasn’t been educated in proper fashion-practicality balance yet.”

“Ah, right, right. An’ that one suit you like t’wear when we go out to fancy joints - the one with no pockets so I have to hold your phone and wallet all night - that’s fashion-practicality balance?”

There’s a twinkle in Pietro’s eyes as he meets Remy’s gaze again, despite the flatness of his tone.

“You’re fashion-practicality balance.”

The gasp Remy lets out is wounded, apparently convincing enough - despite his huge, stupid grin - that Lucifer comes trotting over to investigate.

“I’m a glorified seasonal accessory,” he weeps. Despite the fact that they’ve spent several seasons together. Many, in fact. And Remy apparently hasn’t gone out of fashion.

Unfortunately, Pietro is too busy giving Lucifer and an approaching Figaro stern looks to respond, shifting his feet as they get closer to nuzzle around his shins. “I swear, if either of you get your claws anywhere near this suit—“

“—They won’t. An’ if they do, ‘s’only ‘cause they love you.”

“I don’t care. They’re menaces. Where’s Oliver?”

“Still asleep on your side of the bed, if I had to guess. ‘S’his favourite place. ‘Cause he loves you. Same as me. You’re their stepdad. Step-cat-dad.”

“How many times must I tell you to stop calling them your children?”

“They’re my babies.”

The sigh Pietro lets out is long-suffering and entirely affectionate. It makes Remy want to smile so hard his face really does shatter, especially as Pietro’s face once again softens as Figaro looks up at him and meows sweetly.

“I love you, y’know?” Remy says, letting his jaw rest against Pietro’s shoulder to speak right against the rapid pulse in his neck. It’s for the intimacy, yes, but it’s also mostly just so he can feel the shudder that runs through his love.

“You may have mentioned it in passing,” Pietro says, the same unimpressed tone, but it stings just a little in the way that it always does, because he doesn’t know. Remy could say it a thousand times over, in English and French and every language that Pietro has expressed similar sentiments in and then taken the time to patiently teach Remy to echo the pronunciation. He never manages to make the words sound quite as pretty as Pietro does, but Pietro always smiles at him when he gets the words right, smiles like they really mean everything, even though he can never quite believe them.

“God. I love you so much. Mon trésor. Mon colibri. Mon bibou.”

That last one, as he knew it would, earns him something that’s almost a laugh, a dusting of pink appearing across the apples of Pietro’s cheeks.

“Stop getting sappy,” he says. “If you adore me, then maybe you’ll brush your hair and finally get a shirt on. We do have places to be.”

“Only place I have any interes’ in bein’ is by your side.”

Pietro retches, but Remy manages to see how he smiles even as he laughs against Pietro’s neck, arms looping tighter around his waist to hold him close.

“If you were anyone else, that woulda worked,” he says, as put-out as he can pretend to be. “You got your standards all backwards, mon ami.”

“Clearly. I should’ve gone for a man who knows how to dress himself in a timely manner.”

“Now, I know we got real different definition of what ‘timely’ means.”

“Right now, I’d say it means that the task should be completed at some point before we’re expected to arrive.”

Remy shrugs easily. “Never heard’a bein’ fashionably late, cheri? An’ who are you to talk? You’ve been admirin’ yourself in the mirror for the whole time I was in the bathroom.”

“Failing to give yourself a decent shave.”

“I like havin’ stubble!”

Pietro levels him with another unimpressed look, but it once again softens as he reaches backwards to trace his thumb across Remy’s jaw. Remy smiles and leans forward just enough to kiss his fingertips, just a gentle peck against each one while he appreciates that Pietro’s staying still for once, until Pietro’s holding his jaw again and turning half around in his arms, enough to finally press their lips together. It’s slow and soft, washed warm by the midday sunlight from the bedroom windows, and Remy treasures it for as long as he dares before he peeks his eyes open a little to look at their reflection, make sure he clicks the volume off and gets the angle right.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, when they finally pull back just an inch. “That one looks the best.”

Pietro looks up at him, brows creased in confusion, until Remy holds up the phone he’d easily taken straight from his lover’s hands minutes ago. Pietro scowls, snatching it back in a blur, but whatever ire he holds is immediately forgotten in the face of the photograph on the screen - the two of them, pressed close and kissing, Pietro’s hand against Remy’s neck and one of Remy’s holding Pietro’s waist while the other holds up the phone. It’s not got the best composition - Remy isn’t exactly well-practiced when it comes to taking selfies whilst fully distracted by kissing his boyfriend, but the warm glow of sunlight across them, Pietro’s pretty outfit and artfully messy hair contrasted with Remy’s sleep-rumpled form dressed in nothing but a pair of ugly pyjamas trousers, gives the whole photo a vibe that he treasures. It’s them, solid proof that this is something real, and, judging by that soft look in Pietro’s blue eyes again, he agrees.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, then mumbles something in a language Remy doesn’t recognise at a speed he could never hope to even comprehend - Pietro’s regular speed. By now, though, Remy’s gotten used to that being Pietro’s equivalent of an ‘I love you’ or something similar, and it makes him grin like an idiot, leaning forwards to press a kiss to that sensitive spot beneath Pietro’s ear.

“Only with you, cheri,” he says, directing a wink at Pietro in the mirror and enjoying the eye roll he gets in response. “Hey, don’ be rude. Just got you our future holiday card photo, didn’t I? Your sisters are gonna love it.”

“I suppose Lorna’s already seen you in most states of undress, but I’d rather not share the sight with Wanda.”

Remy chuckles, hooking his chin over Pietro’s shoulder. “‘S’pose you were takin’ the photos for her anyway, huh?”

“For Wanda?” Pietro asks, then shakes his head casually. “No. They were for my Instagram.”

…“Your what?”

Lorna comes in to chew them out for being late before Remy can get an explanation. He gets dressed about as fast as he ever has whilst Pietro makes entirely unhelpful comments and enjoys his misery, but then his boyfriend brushes his hair and picks a cologne out for him, all intimate and domestic even if it’s made slightly less picturesque by Lorna’s growing frustration.

They all spend the day beneath the warm sun, drinking expensive alcohol and drifting from gazebo to gazebo across a perfectly-kept lawn as they schmooze and chat and act all casually heroic, and Remy almost entirely forgets about the whole Instagram thing.

At least until they’re home and he and Pietro are curled up in bed together, and Pietro drops his phone on Remy’s chest.

Remy picks it up to see Instagram open on a post on what must be Pietro’s account - a collection of photos taken over the course of the day, candid photos of the team and a couple of Pietro’s selfies and, finally, last in the set, the picture of the two of them. There’s no caption, but there are—

“How many likes?!”

[cowboy-crimez]

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.

[riverdalewriter]

Greendale to Riverdale |Ch. 3| {J.J x Reader Imagine}

Word count: 2,513

Character count: 12,733

Y/N = Your Name

Y/L/N = Your Last Name

Summary: A new one comes to town and quickly befriends the core four, plus Kevin. They are welcomed to this town, no one bothers them and they trust their friends. They are loving their new home, but soon their Mother gets in trouble, and everything comes tumbling down from there.

WARNINGS: There are triggers in this piece, such as sexual assault, suicidal thoughts, memory loss and then getting it back in pieces but they are awful. There will be some things written in detail, but not all. I am being mindful of people who have been through this or something similar to this. So please, do read this with caution, and if you do deal with this stuff I am deeply sorry. No one should have to go through this.

Author’s Note: This one is weird, it’s season 1 and 2 merged together. Hope you like it. This one is longer than the others.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

I wake up the next morning, feeling like I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to even open my eyes, it feels nice to still be sleeping, to keep dreaming and not have to wake up to the real world. But that quickly ends when my Mother draws open the curtains. When I open my eyes I quickly cover them with my blanket, but she takes it out of my hands.

“Come on Mother, it is too early for this.”

“It’s Thursday, you have school, so therefore you have to wake up. Now get ready for school. You know I haven’t seen Jughead since Monday night, you should invite him over more often, he’s one of the good ones,” she winks at me and smiles. I smile back, knowing what she is implying and acknowledging she is right.

“But can’t I stay home? I really don’t feel so good and I had a really hard time sleeping last night. I woke up what felt like every hour,” I give her the puppy dog eyes, knowing she will give in.

“Sorry sweetie, that doesn’t work on me anymore. You have to go to school today, that’s the law,” She gives me a sympathetic look. I just nod my head and she leaves. I get ready, with some effort. The last few days have been the worst ever. I haven’t been feeling myself lately. I’m always tired, having no motivation, no energy, and always wanting to sleep. I just don’t understand. Nothing significant has caused this to happen, at least nothing that I can remember. I am missing a few hours from Tuesday and Wednesday my whole body was sore, especially my legs. There are some bruises too.

“Sweetie, Jughead is here. He says he’s going to walk you to school,” shouts my Mother from the kitchen.

“Okay!” I shout back. I grab my backpack and phone and rush down the stairs. Jughead is there, by the door waiting for me. Once he sees me downstairs we head out the door and begin our walk to school. We have a light conversation, nothing too deep, but that’s when it hit me, my first memory from Tuesday night.

I grab onto Jughead shoulder and bend over, he stops thinking I’m going to be sick and I am, but I don’t barf. The memory is me at a party, and I’m drinking a lot, I was dancing with a guy and then he leads me up the stairs and into a bedroom, I follow him. Then he picks me up and throws me on the bed, it happened so quick it takes me a moment to register what just happened. Then he gets on top of me and takes all my clothes off. I don’t like where this is going, so I say no and fight back, but he holds me down.

That’s it that’s all I remember. I take out my phone and google what I was feeling yesterday. I fall to the ground crying out my pain. Jughead is quick and tries to pick me up, but I fall anyways. He holds me, not knowing why I was in so much pain, but knowing that I am in pain.

I continue to cry out and he continues to comfort me, trying to calm me down like he once did Monday night. Eventually, I calm down enough to say, “Jughead...I was raped.” Those four words stun him, but he never let's go, he just holds me tighter. We stay there like this on the sidewalk for a bit, knowing that we would be late for school and that the others will be wondering where we are.

Jughead lets some space in between us to say, “I am not going to leave you, not now and certainly not ever. It’s going to be okay,” he cups my face with his hand and looks into my eyes. He’s scared and worried. I can tell he cares for me, but I don’t know in what way, that is something I can’t tell.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Jughead kisses my forehead right before he stands up and brings me up with him. We start walking, I just don’t know where. I trust him to know that he would never put me in danger. But we stop and I look up to know why we stopped. We’re in front of the Sheriff’s Station. I look at Jughead, he knows I’m afraid, but I know he promised it will be okay. I nod my head signaling that I’m ready and he nods his, showing that he understands. We walk up the steps and through the doors.

That’s when I get another memory, I squeeze Jugheads hand and he knows what’s happening. One memory after another after another keep coming, it’s like as soon as I walked into the station by body released all the memories, except for who did this to me.

It was Chuck’s party, he was hosting it at his house. I was drinking and dancing with this one guy. We were flirting with each other and I was leading him on, but not for sex. I didn’t want that, I knew that from the start, but I guess my drunken self-didn’t care. I did once he threw me onto the bed and held me down when I put up a fight. I shudder and that's what brings me back into reality.

“We aren’t here to cause a scene, we’re here to file a rape,” Jughead says with determination, but there is concern laced with it. Sheriff Keller looks surprised but collects himself and takes us to a room. We sit at a table, him across from Jughead and I.  We never stop holding hands, it’s more of a reassurance and comfort thing right now. I tell Keller everything I can remember, he asks questions, I give him answers.

“Now finally, what were you wearing, we need to collect the evidence to get DNA.”

“I was wearing a white and floral romper with black lingerie. It’s all in my hamper. Once I had gotten home that night I went to my room and threw the clothes in the hamper and then washed everything off of me. My Mother hasn’t done laundry yet.”

“Okay. Now we are going to go to the hospital. A female doctor is going to do a rape kit, I and another officer are going to go to your home to inform your parents of what has happened and we are going to collect your clothing for evidence and have tests run on it. Another officer is going to take photos of your bruises for evidence as well, that will be done at the hospital as well. The school will be informed as well. Your parents will be taken to the hospital if you want anyone else to be there contact them after your parents get there.”

And with that everything is set in motion. I’m in a hospital room, on a hospital bed, the doctor does the exam and the officer take the photo. Jughead isn’t in the room at the time, I assume he is waiting for my parents to arrive. Once they are done, I put on my regular clothes and Jughead and my parents walk into the room. The officer and the doctor leave the room to give us time alone. Jughead hangs back a bit while my parents hug me. I had noticed my Mother’s eyes were red and puffy, my Father’s facial expressions were hard to read. He was always easy to read, but this time is different. They let go of me and give me time alone with Jughead.

He walks over to me and wraps his arms around me, I lean into him. We sway a bit, just kind of rocking back and forth, it’s nice. 

Jughead was the first to say something, “When you told me you had been hurt I had no idea what to think, I didn’t know what to feel either. I really care for you y/n. You mean a lot to me, even though we haven’t known each other for very long it feels like I have known you for longer than that y/n.”

“I know what you mean Jug. I feel that same way about you. Thank you Jug, for being with me the whole time. It means a lot to me, to know that I have you to get me through this,” He tenses but then relaxes. We here a knock at the door and look up to see Betty, Veronica, Archie, Cheryl, and Toni. Jughead and I let go of each other and they walk in to give a big group hug. After a few minutes, they let go and take a seat in some chairs. I look at all of them, and I can tell that they want to know, but I can’t bear to tell them. I couldn’t imagine what their facial expressions would be like if I told them everything. They know why I’m here, they just don’t know the details. I can hardly bear the news myself.

“By all of your facial expressions I can tell you want to know, but I can’t tell you everything. I can hardly handle the news myself. I am grateful that I have all of you in my life, all of your support. Thank you guys for being here with me, for me even.”

Cheryl is the first on to speak up, “Of course y/n. After what Nick tried to do with me, you were there as well, helping me and being there for me. I wanted to do the same for you,” she smiles at me and hugs me once more.

“When I say that you are our friend and that we will always be here for you, I speak for everyone. We may have not known you for very long, but we are your friends,” says Veronica, everyone nods their heads in agreement with Veronica. They all come in for another group hug. Jughead just stands in the distance, not wanting to interrupt.

“Hey guys, I can’t breathe and it’s getting harder to breathe. It’s hot in here,” my breathing quickens and that’s when they let go of me. My breathing returns to normal and I’m breathing normally again. I look over to Jughead and he was closer to me than before, I think he was ready to pull someone off of me so I could breathe.

For the rest of the time, we are all just hanging out, talking about everything. I hadn’t realized that what I have in this new life is what I have always wanted. I don’t exactly fit in when I go to school, but when I’m with them and with Jughead, I feel like I finally fit in. Back in Greendale, I didn’t fit in, I didn’t have any friends and school was awful. There were criminals in Greendale, and here in Riverdale there wasn’t much crime at all, that was why my parents decided to move here. But now that this has happened I don’t know what is going to happen. But, whatever does happen, I am going to fight to stay here. I finally feel like I’m home.

Eventually, everyone trickled out, but Jughead stayed. My parents didn’t want to leave but they had to be interviewed by Sheriff Keller. Jughead walked me home. It was a long walk, but eventful. We held hands the whole way back and I felt something, I didn’t know what the feeling was, but I liked it.

We walk into the front door of my house, my parents aren’t home yet. We go into the kitchen and I walked over to the fridge to look for something to eat or make. I see some ingredients for burgers and I see other ingredients for my famous spaghetti.

“Jug, would you like burgers or my famous spaghetti?” I say without turning away from the fridge.

“I only eat burgers from Pop’s, so I will have to go with your famous spaghetti.”

“Don’t worry my feelings aren’t hurt about the burgers. I already feel enough pain. Then my famous spaghetti it is,” I grab the ingredients from the fridge and boil the water. 10 minutes later the pasta is cooked.

“How much sauce do you want? I usually don’t put a whole lot in, but Mother says that when I cook (this) and a guest is over, to ask them how they prefer it, that way you can alter it. It also makes you seem like your thinking about them and not just yourself,” I say while I’m putting a little sauce in at a time.

“Just a bit more.”

I jump, I didn’t think he was right there next to me. “Jesus Jug, you scared me. I could have dropped this!” I laugh a little, showing him I’m joking around. He laughs too. I stop putting the sauce in and put it away with the rest of the ingredients, “Jug can you stir that while I put this stuff away, then I won’t have to do this later.”

“Sure” I put everything away and by the time I’m done, the pasta and the sauce have been mixed thoroughly, “I did a pretty good job, didn’t I?”

“For mixing ingredients, yes you did Jug.” I smile at him and he smiles back. I grab two plates and serve us. Jug grabs the silverware and cups to fill with ice and water.

Later that night after dinner we watched a movie up in my bedroom (with the door open). My parents still hadn’t come home yet, I wonder what’s holding them up. We fall asleep next to each other, cuddling. What makes me up is flashing red and blue lights and a loud banging on the front door.

I jolt and shake Jug, “Jughead, wake up!” He wakes up and notices the lights as well. We look at each other and we jump, do to another hard bang on the front door. We rush downstairs and I open the door. It’s Sheriff Keller.

“I’m sorry to say, but your parents were in an accident. Your Mother didn't make it, your Father is in the hospital. He’s in critical danger, but the doctors think he’s going to pull through. We need to take you to the hospital.” I barely heard the rest. Jughead puts his hand on my shoulder and that takes me out of my trance.

“Miss. Y/L/N, we need to go now.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Jughead and I go into the back seats of the cop car and we rush to the hospital. The lights and sirens helped with that. We arrive at the hospital, Jug and I wait in the visitors' lounge. He calls Archie and tells him to only call Betty and Veronica. He ends the call and comes back to sit next to me. He holds my hand and never let’s go of it. Now all we do it wait a terribly long time.

[persuadedproject-blog]

Chapter 12

    Anne spent her last two days in Uppercross at the Great House, and she had the satisfaction of knowing she was useful there. A busy day, even if you’re exhausted at the end, is worthwhile if you know for sure your efforts are actually needed. Every decision that has to be made, each minute of work takes on a sheen of its own. Mary and Charles’ boys had been enrolled in yet another weeklong summer camp - the first one had been for soccer, this one was for Nature Explorers. Anne guessed that CJ would enjoy his time in the woods, and Watler would occupy himself with stealing all the chocolate and marshmallows in sight. 

So Anne’s main job was to help the Musgroves operate home base. Mr. Musgrove had to come back from Beaufort for work, but between lack of sleep and having to deal with his daughter’s mortality, he was in poor condition to make clear-headed decisions.

    Early on the morning after the accident, Anne woke up on the musgrove’s couch to her phone buzzing, coming alive with updates from Charles. She stretched, pushed a sequined throw pillow away from her cheek, and once her bleary eyes could focus, read through the messages. In summary: Louise was about the same. Nothing had gotten worse, but she had talked a little. The doctor was going to run the same tests first thing, and if she felt up to it, get her propped up by the end of the day. Charles could not shout the Harville’s praises loudly enough, especially Maria.

    ‘She sat up with L all night, has left Mary with nothing to do. Which is good.’

    This became the Louise Update Group with Anne, Charles, Mr. Musgrove, and Wentworth. Anne knew that under normal circumstances the constant interruptions a group text inevitably brings irked Wentworth, but she suspected he was glad for each one of them. She was separately getting updates from Mary about the chaos - mental and physical - Louise’s accident had caused her. The ability to turn off notifications from one individual is the best innovation since the text message.

    With the resources at the Great Hall (namely, quiet and wifi), Anne was able to help the Musgroves find a house to rent for the next couple of weeks, or until Louise could be moved. Mrs. Musgrove had never been much of a traveler, and the uniform surroundings of a hotel reminded her that she was outside of her comfort zone. Having a house would give them all a safe space, and a place to make their own. And a water view, to boot! The Musgroves had felt a nebulous desire to make a home (of course the homiest people in the state wanted to establish a new one as quickly as possible), but it never would have been recognized or brought to fruition without Anne.

    The next day, Chuck drove Hazel down to be with her family. Once they were all out the door and safely in Beaufort, Anne felt that she had completed a job well done. But it did leave her alone in the big house. It felt weird to be in the Great House when it was empty; where talkative humans usually reigned, the was quiet - it felt like the life had gone out of the house. It had only taken a couple of days to make all the difference. While putting away the clothing that had been frantically tossed out of closets, clearing away magazines and pizzas that had been left in a second and forgotten about, she imagined the happiness that would return here. If Louise recovered as well as the doctor had hoped, the unrestrained affection and merriment that had been the mark of the house would double and boil over. She had no doubt of what would follow the recovery; in a few months, the rooms would be full again with light-hearted people, and laughter, and the glow that surrounds a requited love - everything that was the opposite of herself.

    An hour of these cheerful reflections and a rainy afternoon made her ready to leave Uppercross. She was soaked just in the dash from the Musgrove’s front door to her car (which was locked, of course, and could only be opened by the fickle lock in the passenger door). While wiping the rain off her face, Anne decided that while she was eager to be gone, she was glad for everything that had happened in that small town. There had been pain, difficulty, and unease, but it had softened over time, and shown her a strength she did not know she had. Or maybe she had known it, but she had forgotten a long time ago. And there had been some hints of reconciliation and reaching out in friendship that she never could have expected - and she would take that with her, wherever she went afterwards.

    Her first ‘wherever’ was a stop at the Kellynch House on her way north. The Crofts needed approval for some changes, and the Senator had asked Anne to stop by to get the specifics and to tell him whether or not to sign off on them. He was inclined to approve, and his criteria for signing off on any proposed adjustments was that they “improved the value of the house, both immediately and long-term”. Anne guessed that this meant no tangerine walls or mounted neon lights. Not that the Crofts would ever propose changes that ridiculous - all of their requests were strictly practical. From the second she stepped in the door, Anne was sure that her father had somehow gotten the best tenants in the world. Noticing that she was still damp from her hundred meter dash in the rain, the Crofts insisted that she sit down and have some tea before any alterations were talked about. Even though it was still summer, the mixture of being soggy and sitting in the blasting AC made Anne glad to have a hot drink. Once they had exchanged the usual “how are you”s, the conversation quickly turned and focused on Louise’s accident. They compared updates, chances for a full recovery, and all the similar incidents they had ever heard of.

    “I knew a girl who had a skull fracture, and she was back running marathons the next year,” Sophie said. “She was injured climbing volcanoes in Hawaii, and had to wait a lot longer for medical attention.”

    “If Louise takes care of herself, I think she will be fine - but that doesn’t stop everything from being scary to the relatives. Head injuries are nothing to be sneezed at. I think everyone will feel better once they’re one hundred percent sure there’s no brain damage.”

    “Oh, of course it’s frightening, especially from a parent’s perspective! And she’s so young. It’s sad, the whole thing.” The conclusion that they had come to was that, sad as the situation was, it was the result of carelessness and thoughtless action. One bad idea, and who knew what the longterm effects would be?

    “It’s a mess, that’s for sure!” Admiral Croft exclaimed, slapping the table for emphasis and almost jolting Anne’s tea off the edge. “And it’s a weird way to start dating someone, letting them smack their heads and then being there for the recovery. But, to each his own, I guess.” Sophie had to step out on the covered back porch to make a call, something Anne had seen her own father do a million times. “This has to be hard for you, coming back to your house and finding all our stuff in it. But you don’t need to be worried about being formal, you can peak in any room you’d like while you’re here. Would you like to see the changes we’ve marked off for the laundry room?” The admiral's directness would have unsettled Mrs. Russell, but Anne liked it. He was coming from a kind-hearted, sincere place. It was refreshing to talk to someone in D.C. who did not have an ulterior motive.

     “We haven’t really made a lot of changes,” he told as as they traversed the stairs. “Not much could be done to make this a more wonderful place. What has been done is all of Sophie’s work. I did move all the mirrors out of my closet - not all of us are as good-looking as your father. When you look like me and get to a certain age, Anne, you start avoiding mirrors. Ha!” The admiral enjoyed his joke immensely, then showed Anne the plan. “We want to make the door swing this way, so an ironing board can fold down from it. That way, washing, drying, and ironing can all be in one spot without shuffling around two square feet!”

    “Sounds good to me,” Anne said, giving the offending door a nudge with her toe. “I’ll have my father sign off as soon as he can.” Afraid he had not been polite enough, the admiral jumped back in,

    “But other than a change here and there, this place has been great. Tell your father we can’t find any fault with the place. It creaks a little on a windy night, but that’s character for you, and history. After being around town, we don’t know of a nicer spot in the whole District.” Sophie rejoined them at this point and added,

    “It feels like home - we love it.”

    “Who was that?” the admiral asked curiously, pointing at the phone still in her hand.

    “Oh, it was Cap. Louise is out of intensive care, and stood up for a while this morning. Progress in leaps and bounds.”

    “I’m so glad to hear that,” Anne said, leaning against the wall that used to hold their family photos. ON their way down the stairs, Sophie said off-handedly,

    “Oh, and Cap asked me how you were doing.”

    “Really?” the disbelief in her voice was not manufactured.

    “He wanted to make sure you were okay after a tough couple of days. He thought you had put in more effort than most of the Beaufort crowd. I told him you seemed well, and looked better than ever. Action suits you, Anne.” Anne smiled, warming up in the care of the Crofts. From the way Sophie talked to and about her, Anne had the pleasant suspicion that she was a favorite of this new friend.

    Despite the Croft’s pleadings to postpone the rest of her drive until the rain had stopped (or at least until after lunch), Anne needed to get back on the road. Walking the familiar route to the front door, Anne realized that going back to her old home with her ex’s sister had been fine - just fine. She hadn’t bumped into Wentworth there, and it had not been horrifically awkward. She had to laugh at herself for all the time she had spent worrying about this first trip back. The admiral grabbed an umbrella from the rack and sheltered Anne’s way back to her car.

Yes it’s late and yes it’s short, but there was some stuff in this chapter that just needed to wait for the next. Also, I would just like to state my opinion on Louise: young love turned her into a punkinhead, but I think she’s not a hopeless case.

Chapter 13: http://bit.ly/2w1CUkY