#startomco

Marco Diaz who twirled in princess dresses as a kid, glitter in his hair, beaming like he was born for crowns and cupcake tea parties. Who thought being called “pretty girl” felt like sunlight pouring through his chest — until someone told him that wasn’t for boys. Until teachers shook their heads and other kids laughed too loud and suddenly the mirror became a place of doubt.

Marco Diaz, who still liked swords and climbing trees and yelling “justice!” with wild eyes — but found it harder and harder to understand why he couldn’t be both at once.

Marco Diaz, who trained hard in karate keeping up his “boy mode” as a shield — proving, over and over, that yes, he was a boy. But still woke up some days and felt so not-boy it ached.

Marco Diaz, who would catch himself staring not at Jackie chest, but at the way it moved with breath, with softness, with possibility. His friends joked, his parents warned him about puberty, but all he could think was “Why not me?”

Marco Diaz who stayed up late at night, chest flat and skin buzzing with wrongness, whispering, “Why do I even have this body? Why can’t it change when I need it to?” His voice too deep one day, not deep enough the next. His chest feeling empty and heavy all at once.

Marco who used to wear hoodies all the time not because he liked them, but because they hid his chest, his shape, his softness — or lack of it. Who would press a pillow to his chest in bed and pretend it was different. Who loved the comfort, the weight, the illusion of “maybe.”

Marco Diaz the day Star gave him a dress, not a sword. Not because he was “a girl,” but because she saw him — all of him — and knew what made him feel strong.

Marco Diaz, who thought maybe magic would fix it — that maybe being Princess Turdina was more than a disguise. That maybe she was real, a part of him that didn’t vanish with the crown.

Marco Diaz used to wish he could transport periods via portal spells just to feel included, to feel real.

Marco who has cried over the way cis girls bond over cramps and tampons and growing boobs, because she’s not part of that world and yet she wants to be. Who writes about periods in her journal, just so she feels seen by herself.

Marco Diaz who cried, not because he hated being a boy, but because he couldn’t only be one. Because gender is a cage, and he wanted to open and cloe it whenever he pleaded. 

Marco Diaz who knew he had o give up being princes turdina and telly hem he wasn’t  girl.

Marco Diaz who was so tar shoock when thos prinscced efende dhi m sing he can be a he if he want to alling him marco diaz o princess and how amazingle validating and riht that felt.

Marco who tried to go stealth, go cis-boy mode, pretend none of this was real. Who succeeded for three weeks before bursting into tears watching a princess transformation montage on a cartoon and whispering, “That’s me. That’s what I want.”

Marco Diaz who met Jackie again, after she came out as demigirl, and the world tilted just slightly — like a puzzle piece fell into place. 

Marco Diaz Who whispered “Mar” for the first time into the mirror and didn’t flinch. Who still goes by Marco when the boy-feeling blooms, and Mar when her heart glows pink and soft.

Mar who got brave enough to buy her first sports bra and wore it under her ninja outfit and it felt like armor. Like truth. Like coming home and saying, “Yeah. This is mine.”

Mar who panicked in dressing rooms. Who stared at that gendered sign on the doors partially uncertain if she was allowed in? she didn’t have to question long when sta pushed her inside.

Mars who finally let Star give her a makeover without being princess turdina for the first time, nearly wiped it off ten times before tom whispered, “You look so good,” and star nodded “ I do a pretty good job, don’t I” 

Mars who’s heart exploded at her two s/o words.  and it wasn’t a joke, and it wasn’t a game, and she looked in the mirror and said “Oh.” Like it wasn’t even a surprise — more like remembering something she’d forgotten.

Tom, who is genderfluid and didn’t realize it until Marco transitioned.  Tom, who buys matching crop tops that say “HELL” and “YES” and makes Mar wear them with him. Star wears the one that just says “Love.”  while she watches the two steal each other’s shirt with their favorite  gender puns on it

Star, who has never cared about “boy” or “girl” or “in-between.” She just sees Marco, Mar, the way she always has: the brave, stubborn, sword-swinging hero who saved her a thousand times — sometimes with glitter in his hair.

She braids his hair while he talks about gender dysphoria, not trying to fix it, just listening, weaving ribbons through his strands. “You’re my favorite boy and my favorite girl,” she says softly. “Sometimes at the same time.”

“Don't tell tom though.”

The three of them have a group chat named  “Chest is Fake, Love is Real.”   Marco changes it to “Hot Demon Sandwich.” Star changes it back. Tom changes it to” 2 Gender Gremlins & 2 Bi Disasters.”

They all agree on that one.

One day, Star calls Mar “Princess.” Not like a joke. Not like Turdina. Not like pretend.

Just… “Princess.”

And Mar freezes. She just says, “Say it again.”

Tom grins. “Princess.”

And she smiles

The three of them go shopping for clothes together — dresses, suits, and ridiculous graphic tees that say, “My Gender Is: Vibes.”

Tom gets a pink suit. Star gets sparkly boots. Mar gets a crop top that says “Both.”

They take pictures. They kiss in the dressing rooms. They get yelled at by staff. Worth it.

When dysphoria hits hard, they make a ritual of it.

Star lights candles.

Tom brings tea and hot packs.

Mar gets wrapped in a huge hoodie and pillow fort.

They just talk and laugh about anything and everything.

Mars who stole the show at the human mewni dance who twirled with tar ebfoe being tossed to tom both were in awe and it wan;t a urpsie with how stunning h looked in her dress.

Marco who still loves martial arts because it teaches him control over his body — something he’s longed for. Who feels strong and powerful and masculine in his stance? Who wears nail polish to match because gender is not something he has to leave in the locker room?

Mar who has cried over the way cis girls bond over cramps and tampons and growing boobs, because she’s not part of that world and yet she wants to be. Who writes about periods in her journal, just so she feels seen by herself.

Mar, who hides in the bathroom during sleepovers because she’s spiraling about how flat her chest is and how masculine her voice sounds — and Star knocks lightly, then just sits outside the door with her back pressed against it, saying nothing but humming lullabies from Mewni.

Tom comes in after, too impatient to be poetic. “You’re valid. Your voice is hot. Now let me hug you, or I’ll combust.”

Mar cries, lets them both in, and they all fall asleep on the floor tiles. Star draws a tiny moon on Mar’s cheek with eyeliner before morning.

Marco, who put a “he/she” moon sTicker on verthing his beanie hoodie and his favorite notebook. Who circles “she” extra hard some days. Who loves being called “dude” by friends but feels electric when someone says “girl” and means it, not like a joke, not like a slip-up, but like truth?

Mar, who finally got her chest surgery, is standing  in her room spinning in skirts, whispering, “I’m real, I’m real, I’m real,” because it’s official.

Mar, who flinches when she sees herself shirtless in the mirror. Who sometimes wears a binder too long because she wants to feel right for once — until it hurts aabd she hs to ake it off feeling sad and annoyed.Tom notices. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just takes off his own jacket and wordlessly wraps it around her shoulders. And make popcorn. And Star dumps glitter in the popcorn for some reason, but they eat it anyway.

Mar or Marco Diaz who sometimes stare in the mirror — “Why am I like this?” — but always, always ends with a whisper: “I’m glad I am.”

Mars Diaz, who is prince and princess, boy and girl, sword and sparkle, all at once.