#daughter ficlet

[varpusvaras]

There's someone with Fox.

Rex squints his eyes. There's a small, dark-haired woman standing next to Fox. She is looking up to him and saying something, and from the downwards tilt of Fox's head, even with his helmet on, Rex knows that Fox is saying something back.

She looks awfully familiar, but at the same time Rex knows that he has not met her before. It's a somewhat paradoxical feeling, but she's so familiar that he would know if he had ever seen her before this.

He watches them for a while, but mainly her. She is tiny, in both height and overall stature, and she is wearing comfortable, yet high-end clothes. Rex has spent enough time with Padmé by now to recognise when something has been made with enough care and money. Her hair is braided, rather intricately, into two crossing bands at the back of her head. She looks a lot like all the women in the Alderaanian delegation, with the hair and the clothes, he decides.

Perhaps she is. Rex knows that Fox is rather close with Senator Organa these days, as the Senator has been a good ally to the Guard. It makes the most sense. Perhaps she is a relative of someone in the delegation, and Rex has seen those said relatives before.

The thought feels wrong, for some reason, but it's the best he can come up with for now, especially since they seem very comfortable with each other. Fox doesn't let himself be comfortable like that with many people.

Anakin comes to stand next to him.

"What is it?" He asks Rex.

"Nothing, was just watching them", Rex says, and nods his head towards Fox and the woman. "My brother's there, and she looks familiar, so I was trying to see if I recognised her."

Anakin looks over to Fox and the woman as well, and that is the moment Rex sees her going awfully still. Then she's whipping her head around, and locking her dark eyes with Rex and Anakin.

She looks-

Rex blinks. She looks at Rex, for a split second, and then looks at Anakin, and even from this far, Rex sees how her eyes turn hard and cold. She steps closer to Fox, partially in front of him, like she is attempting to shield him from them, even when she's almost two heads shorter than Fox, and not the one wearing full-body armor.

She takes Fox's hand into hers, and says something. Rex sees how Fox looks up at him and Anakin as well, and instead of coming to greet Rex, he lets her turn him around and walks away.

He looks up at Anakin, who has a deep scowl on his face.

"Sir?" Rex calls. Anakin blinks, too, and the scowl clears slightly.

"She looks familiar", he mumbles. "And she felt like...I don't know."

His comlink beeps, and he turns to speak to it. Rex turns to look back at Fox and the woman.

There's something hanging at her waist. Rex can see a glimpse of it when the long hem of her shirt shifts a bit as she walks.

It looks a lot like-

They go down some steps, and Rex cannot see them anymore. He glances back at Anakin, and at his lightsaber, for once securely on him.

He had seen correct. Rex is sure of it.

He is also very sure that the woman is not a Jedi.

[unclewaynemunson]

The year was 1997 when everything changed. Wayne got the call a few minutes before 5am. It had been years since he regularly worked night shifts - thanks to Scott’s financial stability, he had managed to move on from his job at the plant and instead worked as a handyman now, with his own van and a logo designed by Eddie - but getting up at irregular hours had become part of his DNA so when Scott was still groggily mumbling in bed, attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes, Wayne was already at the phone. They had been anticipating this call and Wayne basically pulled Scott out of bed and into the car.

They arrived at the hospital around 5:40. Wayne would never forget that first sight when he opened the door of the hospital room: Steve and Eddie both cradling a tiny bundle of blankets in their arms, their limbs practically merged together, their heads resting against each other and matching overjoyed smiles on their faces. And right in their corner, as always, the true hero who made it all happen: Robin Buckley.

Eddie looked up at him with a look of complete awe on his face. The look of a father. Wayne felt a lump in his throat and he grabbed Scott’s hand as they walked over to the boys and the tiny little humans in their arms.

“Meet your granddaughters,” Eddie said, his voice hoarse but unmistakably proud. Up-close, Wayne saw the salty traces of tears on his face.

“You wanna hold them?”

Wayne started stuttering something unintelligible, but before he knew it, one of the babies was placed in his arms. The girl felt too small, too breakable, for hands as big and boorish as Wayne’s. But Scott was resting his hands on Wayne’s shoulders from behind him, always the calming presence he needed, and the baby made a tiny, but clearly contented, sound.

“This is Maya,” Steve said in a low voice.

“Hey, Maya,” Wayne whispered to the girl. Her eyes were closed and she looked peaceful, completely different from how Wayne remembered Eddie as a baby. That boy had been a loud, audacious troublemaker from day one.

“And this is Kate.” Steve turned to Scott. “You wanna hold her?”

An unsure look crossed Scott’s face. “I don’t - I -”

“Go ahead,” Eddie interrupted his adorable stuttering. “You’re just as much their grandpa as Wayne.”

The smile that started shining from underneath Scott’s mustache was almost more beautiful than the newborn baby in Wayne’s arms. Scott cautiously took the little bundle from Steve’s arms, cradling the little girl against his chest.

Wayne cautiously handed Maya back to Eddie and sat down at Robin’s bedside. The girl looked pale and exhausted, but the grin on her face was brighter than ever.

“Congratulations, grandpa.”

“I’m proud of ya, kid,” he replied. “What you did for my boys is...” He paused, trying to find the right words to describe what that was, but coming up empty. He had never been good with words - but Robin seemed to understand what he meant anyway, tearing up a little bit as Wayne gently squeezed her shoulder.

“It’s what they deserve,” said Robin. “I mean, just look at them!” She nodded towards the scene at the end of her bed: Steve gently rocking one of the twins - Wayne already lost track of who was who - in his arms, with Eddie and Scott right beside him fussing over the other girl together. The baby was tucked safely in Eddie’s arms, with Scott’s hand on Eddie’s shoulder, and with the matching overwhelmed smiles that had completely taken over both their faces, a stranger would never guess that they weren’t actually related to each other.

Scott looked up, into Wayne’s eyes, and his gaze was even softer than usual. It made Wayne’s breath catch, as if they hadn’t been together for ten whole years by now, as if Scott’s smile was still something new. And maybe right now, it actually was. Everything was new. Everything was different. Everything had changed, in the best possible way.

[alexiethymia]

a flower by any other name would taste as poisonous

A butterfly flaps its wings and a hurricane happens in a far-off place. 

In this case an old eunuch decides to take a different route from his usual one. It takes him by the Garnet Palace, where he’s just in time to stop a loving attendant from feeding an infant a spoonful of honey. Sufficiently warned, the attendant never bears the crushing weight of guilt for the rest of her life. 

The infant still dies though. It’s nothing surprising. Infants before a certain age would always be vulnerable and susceptible to natural illnesses. It is no one’s fault. 

If the child still died though, what did this change? Surprisingly, a lot. 

Eight years later a boy is crying after having a favorite toy taken from him once again. 

A girl, merely a year younger than him, asks him in a dispassionate tone where it hurts. 

Startled, the boy stops crying. Eyes shining, he looks at this girl who resembles a wood sorrel and decides she’s his new favorite. 

How is it that those two seemingly random encounters could lead to this particular scene, one resembling a painting?

On one side, an existence like a celestial nymph, voice of sweet honey, a beauty that could topple nations if he so wished.

One would think that no one could compare, and yet the beauty on the other side was not overshadowed. She was a vision no less stunning for she was once known as a top courtesan of the pleasure district. 

It was perhaps fortunate that no one was a witness to this display for no one could hope to count how many hapless victims would be felled by such visions of loveliness. 

As to what these beauties were doing, no one could have guessed for in between them stood a single Go board.

tap

tap

“I must admit that while I was expecting a visit from his Imperial highness soon, I didn’t think it would be for this.”

The celestial nymph flushed. 

“Apologies for taking some of your precious time, Feng Xian-dono.”

tap

tap

The unfettered beauty took her time deciding her next move. The man who was also called Jinshi did not fool himself into thinking it was because he was a worthy opponent. Although he was used to using his excellent looks as a weapon, why is it that before this woman he felt as if he were merely a mouse being played with? A finely sculpted brow conveyed enough with one gesture. He felt as if he were playing two games at the same time.

“And? What is so important that the Prince of the Moon felt the need to risk Lakan’s wrath to come here? Why, you even roped Lahan into this plan of yours.” The cold beauty didn’t smile but he had a sense that she was amused.

Jinshi wondered. Did he rope Lahan or did that miser rope him? It didn’t matter. Shaking his head, he hoped he was equally composed when he answered, “I must admit it was that esteemed personage’s recommendation that sent me your way. Aside from him, only you could fight on equal ground with our honored strategist.”

tap

tap

Seemingly bored but only just, such that she could not be accused of disrespecting him, his opponent continued her queries, “And? Surely, you don’t hope to best that girl at a game of Go? She has utterly no interest at the game. It’s a wonder if she takes after us at all. I often wonder how she came to be so uncute, though of course Lakan would disagree.”

Jinshi would as well. Or to be more accurate, he both agreed and disagreed. While that girl was often distant, on the whole he could not help but find her adorable.

And from the shadow of a smile he could spy on his opponent’s face, he gathered that she was much the same, and could only dote on her daughter in this roundabout way. Although parent and child both claimed no similarity, he thought in this manner you could not doubt their familial tie.

Likewise with her father, though she only had disdain for the man (not that it would stop that eccentric’s entreaties to be called Papa from happening, thought Jinshi with a shiver). He’ll leave it up to Gaoshun to commiserate. 

That wary cat only showed affection for her honored grand uncle. In much the same way, as much as she protested, she and her sire were a lot alike. There was also their utter disinterest in anyone ordinary and unexceptional.

Like him.

Any other family would have accepted just by virtue of who he was. But it mattered not to this particular family who cared not for prestige or power. This family was content to keep to itself and occupied with its members’ various obsessions. Rather than consider it an honor to be connected to the noble line of the rulers of this nation, Jinshi thought that Lakan rather saw him as some annoying fly. 

And for that annoying fly to not only buzz around his beloved daughter but also to dare be in the proximity of his beloved wife, the only two people that eccentric fawned over and adored with all his heart, ah surely this was a perilous gamble indeed. 

But for an ordinary person like Jinshi, no Ka Zui Getsu, this was the only thing he could do.

Ironic that when he wanted it most, he could not rely on this excellent appearance of his, the only thing extraordinary about him. This family cared not a whit for that. At first he had wondered why that apothecary continued to be unaffected by him, but to have someone like this for a mother, he realizes she must have already been bored by the sight. (She had actually scoffed at him after they had seen each other once again in the rear palace.)

It left him scrambling, but also strangely relieved. 

“It’s not that I want to best her. At most I hope to be on equal footing.” Slightly abashed, he shakes his head. “In truth, it is our honored strategist whom I wish to have a match with. Though it may be impossible, the Sage tells me my best hope lie with the only person to have bested the Grand Commandant more times than even him.” 

Seemingly intrigued if the slight lifting of one brow indicated such, the once courtesan inquired, “Oh? And to what end if I may ask?”

How to answer.

Grappling with something in himself, Jinshi finally admitted, “Merely to be acknowledged, I suppose. To be seen and recognized.”

To be accepted. 

By whom, his companion seemed content not to ask if the curl of her mouth was any indication.

Maomao had often complained (though she would deny it with a blank look if asked) in a bland tone that she thought she must surely be adopted by the one she called father, for surely she had no resemblance to this beauty in front of him. Chicken bones she called herself. (Incidentally, she was adamant that she was not ugly enough to be related to the fox. She was, in her own view, perfectly normal. Jinshi almost spat out his tea upon hearing this if only it wasn’t unbefitting his station.) 

But seeing what could pass for an amused look on this normally expressionless face, Jinshi for the first time in front of another great beauty, blushed for he could only see traces of the one he yearned for in this visage. 

Truly, they were mother and daughter indeed. 

He was caught in a daydream of a scene years into the future, with Maomao dressed in such finery, of when he could finally lavish her with all his attentions as he pleased. 

tap

tap

The harsh clack of the Go stones brought him back from his musings and his attention onto the board. Upon seeing how he was completely dominated, he let out a deep sigh. 

“A long way to go, your highness.”

As if echoing his thoughts, an imperious voice declared his resounding defeat. If not for the twinkle in her eye he could detect, he would no doubt feel as if he was not even worth the heel of her shoe, never mind that he was the current Imperial heir. Distantly, he wonders if this was the sight that bewitched and entrapped that eccentric so long ago. 

Privately laughing at his own folly, he decides he was no better for it was the same look from that tiny wood sorrel that sealed his fate. Flowers could heal, but they could also be poisonous. He knew better than most. No matter. Regardless of the outcome, he would swallow her whole.

Truly there was a long way to go before he could turn that dream into anything close to reality. He doesn’t mind tasting defeat again and again for the chance of victory one day. 

Once more, he resets the board.

notes:

Jinshi and the Imperial brother are still switched at birth so he still doesn’t know who he really is.

The imperial brother still dies in infancy but not so soon after his birth. Since Luomen manages to stop the honey incident, the tragedy with Aduo’s head maidservant doesn’t happen later on. He doesn’t get punished nor does he get driven out.

Because he doesn’t get driven out, Lakan isn’t pressured into a military expedition to reclaim the honor of the family. He manages to redeem Feng Xian immediately.

Lakan still somehow ends up the head since his younger brother doesn’t really see himself suited to the position. He still ends up taking the headship from his father probably because Feng Xian was insulted or something and he wants to spoil her. His father and sister-in-law probably still end up leaving on their own like in the original timeline rather than being driven away. One way or another, Maomao, Rahan and Rahan-nii end up being raised together.

Maomao is still the same. Sure, she’s raised as a noble lady but she still spends half of her life at the pleasure district with Feng Xian, her sisters and penny-pinching granny. I doubt Lakan would stop them since this isn’t a conventional family after all.

Luomen probably sneaks in town undercover to still be an apothecary for those who might need it most, with Maomao accompanying him.

Since Maomao is raised as a noble, one way or another she ends up as Jinshi’s playmate. Of course, Jinshi still ends up attached. And of course Lakan puts a stop to it as soon as he can. It doesn’t have anything to do with any political maneuvering. He’s just an overprotective papa.

Maomao still ends up in the rear palace, this time as Luomen’s apprentice so of course she ends up crossing paths with Jinshi once again when they’re older.

And so the adventures of the young prince and apothecary still continue, fates still intertwined.

[princebenvi]

And in that moment, well. It was all worth it, wasn’t it?

i. have so many thoughts about trent. james lance saying his father was hard on him, expecting him to be like roy kent: macho, strong, good at football. him deciding that he would simply have to ignore is sexuality for the time being, it would be impossible for him to get and maintain a respectable job in the world of football as a gay man. pushing it down, repressing, hiding something so intrinsic to himself, ignoring the men that make his stomach tumble and a smile quirk at the corners of his mouth.

meeting his wife. he really figured it would be fine for a time, and when he voiced his doubts, his deep voice uttering the facts he’s been ignoring his whole life only for his wife to say that “everyone gets cold feet, this is your first relationship, of course you’re nervous.” resolving to continue, to try harder.

the birth of his baby girl. holding her small frame, his wife, tired, fast asleep while he holds her. feeling her breathing under his hands.

and in that moment, well. it was all worth it, wasn’t it?

here she was, his daughter. she was here, and he wouldn’t fail her. he’d do anything for her.

and he tried his best, but it’s hard to pretend you’re something you’re not. he kept up his cold walls and his put together exterior and as his daughter grew, so did his sadness. his marriage grew strained, and he knew it would begin to impact his daughter sooner or later.

and then he met ted, and there really wasn’t any fighting that particular storm, was there? ted was a bright light in what had grown to be such a cold and dark world, and the moment he said his intentions with the team, his beloved team, that he wanted to help them be the best people possible while understanding that many grew up feeling unsupported and left behind, he knew he couldn’t fight anymore.

coming out the second time was easier, in a way. and yet, so much harder, because he knew what he was giving away.

“you’re not giving me away, trent.”

trent didn’t cry much anymore. he did then, though.

and in the end, what he gained was so much more than what he lost.

if you like this, please consider supporting my top surgery fund !

[strawberryspence]

→ Annalyn's POV | Wayne's POV

Steve's dancing with Eddie, twirling his husband as he laughs, the daisy still hang behind his ear. They both still can't believe they didn't recognize each other.

God, he can't believe he actually married that boy from the park. Eddie's his friend, his lover, his person, his everything.

When they finally sit down to take a break, just watching as their family members dance and mingle with each other. El walks to them, bright beam on her smile, her pink dress making her glow like an angel.

She hugs each of them before turning to Steve, her eyes twinkling agains the fairy lights.

"I have something to say." El says, determined look on her face, "Annalyn asked me to tell you that she's proud of you and that she's very happy for the both of you."

Steve stares at her, blinking back tears as his jaw drops open.

"Annalyn? Like Annalyn, Steve's dead aunt?" Eddie asks, making El nod happily.

"She's also saying that she's glad she met Eddie while she was still alive." El continues.

Eddie coughs, choking out a wet laugh, "Yeah. Huh. That's right. I did meet you."

"Is she here right now?" Steve whispers, his grip on Eddie's hand tightening.

"Yes. She said you invited her and to come say hi to me." El says, laughing slightly at the message.

"I did. I did." Steve laughs, "Auntie, I love you. I hope wherever you are, you're happy and safe."

El smiles, "She's hugging you both right now." Steve starts crying, small hiccups escaping him, as Eddie pulls him closer to his chest to comfort him.

"She also says she loves you." El starts laughing, "I cannot say that."

"What? What is it?" Steve perks up.

"Annalyn said that you are a very determined little shi— poop. You did marry the daisy boy."

"Auntie." Steve whines. Eddie physically brightens up, his whole face turning in to a grin, "Ohhhh! Did baby Steve have a crush on baby Eddie?!"

El giggles, "Yes. Annalyn says that after Steve met Eddie, Steve told Annalyn that he will marry that boy."

Eddie melts beside him, giving his cheek a wet kiss, "Awwww sweetheart!"

"Auntie, your embarrassing me now. Go away." Steve says, trying to shoo non-existent air beside him.

"Annalyn said, she'll go mingle with the others. Maybe catch up with Wayne first and then come back to you later." El doesn't wait for them to answer, hopping away like she's holding someone's hand.

"Well, aren't you just the sweetest?" Steve turns to Eddie, as Eddie plucks one of the daisies out of his hair. "So... you wanted to marry me, huh?"

Steve rolls his eyes, "Eds, baby, you're the one that proposed."

Eddie smirks, "And you said yes."

"Of course, I wanted to marry you. I just got married to you today!"

Eddie smiles at him, dimple deep in his chin, "You having a great wedding day, baby?"

Steve turns, watches as his found family dance underneath the twinkling lights, just laughing and smiling, with no danger ahead of any of them. El's at the far end, looking like she's dancing with someone that the naked eyes can't see.

His family is complete.

Steve looks back to Eddie, leaning forward to kiss his husband's lips before saying,

"I am having the best day, my daisy boy."

-

(it's 3 am and i completely forgot to mention that this mini series is a belated birthday gift for @yournowheregirl! i love you, alice! im so glad you were born! 🤍)

[asksimonbelmont]

If you had a daughter and she said she wanted to marry a vampire, how would you react?

Simon Belmont has so rarely needed to direct anger towards his children. Even as they’ve matured into adults, Simon is revered for the calm manner in which he handles all Belmont family affairs, as the reigning patriarch.

But when his only daughter—his youngest, no less—comes to him seeking his blessing for marriage, Simon shows a level a callousness that is reserved only for his worst enemy.

“It is out of the question, Sonia, and you would do well not to entertain the idea any longer.” He concludes, voice low.

He has heard enough of her appeal. And at his resounding refusal, Selena can only watch as her daughter tenses.

Watches with growing sorrow as Sonia fights back against her father.

“Father,” Sonia’s voice is firm, having built herself up gradually against his worsening mood “I assure you, it isn’t what you think—”

“It is clear that you have been thralled into complying with him.” Simon seethes, domineering the space. “I trusted that you could handle yourself against vampires, but I see now that I have been too careless in raising you.”

Sonia opens her mouth to speak, but Simon’s rage still burns:

“You will not marry our sworn enemy. I will not give you my blessing, and should you insist on disobeying me, then you dishonour your Belmont name, and all of your ancestors who have fought before you.”

Selena watches as Sonia processes this, fists balled at her sides.

“Simon,” Selena tries, reaching out a soothing hand on his back. “You mustn’t be so callous. It has taken tremendous courage for Sonia to ask for your blessing.”

“With respect, my love, I ask that you hold your tongue.” Simon frowns, shooting her a disapproving glare. “We have been much too soft on her.”

Selena stands a little taller, mirroring Simon’s frown as her hand slips off of his back. She takes a few paces towards Sonia.

Simon watches as Selena slides a supporting hand on her daughter’s shoulders, instead. A soothing gesture. But she says nothing to her.

“He’s a good man, father.” Sonia tries, defeated, with her head still bowed.

“The only good vampire is one laid to rest.” Simon underlines with malice he didn’t know he was capable of. “You have been thralled into believing otherwise.”

“What of Alucard, then?” Sonia retorts, lifting her head. She stares towards Simon with surmounting vitriol. “Would you liken Alucard to a vampire better off dead?”

Simon’s jaw tightens at that, swallowing his building rage at her blatant disrespect towards her heritage. “Do not challenge me, daughter. This discussion is over.”

“Answer my question, father!” Sonia steps towards him, despite Selena’s attempt to stay her where she is.

In reply, Simon unwinds the whip from his hip, gripping hard on the leather.

“Unless your beloved has revoked his vampire heritage as Alucard did, I will see to it that I slay him myself.”

Selena gasps at that. “Simon, stop this cruelty!”

“Hold your tongue, Selena!” Simon roars at her, stalking towards both, and Simon doesn’t know whether to be impressed or infuriated that both women are standing their ground.

But he can see that Sonia is becoming affected. He only hopes that she might some day understand that he is only doing this out of love and desire to protect her.

By any means necessary.

“It is Alucard.” Sonia tries, at last, strength dissipating as her father towers over her. “The man I want to marry is Alucard, father.”

And that, more than anything else,

causes Simon to boil over.

“Enough! I will not hear any more disrespect!” He shouts. “You are a fool for believing such a bold-faced lie! I did not raise you to succumb so easily to a vampire’s trickery!”

“I invite you to confirm for yourself!” Sonia retorts, eyes glistening with tears. “I have faith that Alucard is strong enough to stand his ground against you, weakened by your years!”

And to that, Selena finally interjects, hoping to diffuse as she gently eases Sonia back:

“Sonia, that’s enough.”

“Bring him here.” Simon accepts the challenge, voice dark and low. “Or would you prefer I seek him out myself?”

And to that, the Vampire Killer in Simon’s hand suddenly resonates with a pulsating warmth.

Both women watch with growing unease as Simon heeds the call, bursting from the Belmont hold with rejuvenated energy.

Outside the hold, a figure stands, leather-clad and cloaked.

It does not move as Simon approaches.

It does not move as Simon winds his whip back, straight to task on snapping it forward to strike it.

[pluto-rainstorm]

I made a little collage for my fic <3

Your Song <- link

Buck watched his husband, his Tommy, dressed in his best suit, gently swaying to the sound of Elton John's ‘Your Song’. In his arms, securely and safely, was their two year old daughter, Skylar Buckley-Kinard. Her head rested on her father’s shoulder, tucked into his neck, comfortably dozing away.

--

(Buck watches as Tommy dances with their daughter at May's wedding)

[shares-a-vest]

Steve jolts awake to find his daughter standing by his bedside, hair as high and messy as his own. 

"Hi!" she says quietly, smiling as she adjusts the plush rabbit tucked under her arm.

"Couldn't sleep, munchkin?" he asks, voice steady despite his racing heart. He rubs his eyes to refocus in the darkness. She somehow looks taller than when they'd tucked her into bed. 

"Did you have a bad dream?" she quizzes with a frown, stepping closer and surveying the edge of the bed. 

He nods.

Steve can tell from the twinkle in her eye (resembling her father with a frightening likeness) that she’s carefully calculating how to vault onto the bed. In one swift move, Steve scoops her up, eliciting giggles as he shuffles back to make room. Eddie grumbles behind him but doesn't wake. He settles her against the pillow and hugs her tight.

"There's a monster in my room," she informs, holding her rabbit impossibly tight and Steve can now properly see the fear in her eyes.

He kisses her on the cheek. "I'll go check."

As he gets up he smiles, realising she had remembered to put on her slippers, purple with little bat wings and a cartoonish face. He retrieves his nail baseball bat from under the bed. Thankfully she doesn't see, instead laser-focused on waking Eddie.

He heads down the short hall to her bedroom, jumping at the faint meows of one of their cats lurking somewhere in the apartment. He checks the closet and gets down on the floor to check under her bed, baseball bat at the ready, only to find a stuffed spider toy. He really didn't like the insistence on bats and spiders for their three-year-old, but she liked them so, of course, she had countless toys purchased by Robin and Nancy. He turns to shove it in the closet when the light suddenly flips on. 

"Jesus Christ!"

"Nope," Eddie says, leaning against the doorway. "Just me wondering what the hell you were up to while a little gremlin pokes me awake at 3 in the morning."

"She said there was a monster in here," Steve sighs, lowering the weapon.

Eddie nods, "Good idea."

He shrugs and heads back down the hall. 

When Steve returns to their bedroom, Eddie is examining whatever kids' book he'd found on their bedroom floor, their daughter sitting attentively beside him. Steve rolls the bat under the bed and slips back under the covers. 

"Come here, munchkin, Dad can read us back to sleep," he insists. She wriggles around before settling down next to him. 

"Did you get the monster?" she asks. 

"He sure did!" Eddie says, flicking through the pages to skim ahead and Steve knows he is quickly determining what voices to do. 

Their daughter hums contentedly as Steve hugs her tight, settling in for Eddie to lull them both into a peaceful sleep with his dramatic storytelling.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Eddie would be the one to have a hard time letting people hold his and Steve’s daughter after she was born via surrogacy.

"Thanks, Robin, for letting us use your body to birth our child," Eddie told her solemnly.

"Can't you just say thank you?" Steve asked with a sigh. "She knows exactly why you're saying it. Did you think she forgot?"

Robin had been the first and only one to volunteer when they had brought the idea of it up. They were pretty sure she wanted eternal bragging rights as the favorite aunt. (I had thought about what Phoebe from Friends did for her brother and I just think that Robin would totally do that for Steve.) Eddie had sobbed like a baby when he held his daughter in his arms, even more so than Steve. The crying had gotten too much, though, so Steve had to take the baby from him while Eddie left the room to calm down.

It was strange, Steve had been the overwhelmed one during the pregnancy while Eddie had been the one who calmed him down while he held it together. Now, it was the other way around. Steve loved it. He loved him even more now, and he hadn't thought it was possible. Although it was a bit of a problem when other people wanted to hold her, besides Steve and Wayne, that is. Eddie would hold her close to his chest and hiss at them.

"No! Mine!"

"Eddie, stop being a gremlin and hand over our baby!" Steve exclaimed, struggling not to laugh at him.

Sometimes, Steve would wake up during the night and find Eddie crying silently over the crib. He wondered if it was possible for him to have post partum even though he had never carried the child inside of him.

"I just love her so much, Steve, and I'm sorry, but I think I might love her more than you," Eddie sobbed into his shoulder.

"I should hope so. I definitely love her more than you," Steve said.

"I just, I don't know why I am crying so much, it's ridiculous," Eddie said.

"It's sweet. It's overwhelming for me too, Eds, I just don't show it as much as you do," Steve said.

Steve wrapped his arms around Eddie's waist and pulled him to his chest as they gazed lovingly at their sleeping daughter. Eddie wore his heart outside of his chest now, and it was in the form of their little girl. Steve buried his face into Eddie's shoulder.

"Steve. . .are you crying?"

". . .No."

"Liar."

Lydia Rose Munson was loved by all but not as much as her parents loved her. She was their princess, their little girl, and even Eddie her called her that. . .their princess.

"Our Princess Dia," he would whisper to her.

"You didn't come up with the name just so you could call her something like Dio, did you?" Steve asked, narrowing his eyes at him when he first called her that.

"I would never!" Eddie exclaimed in mock offense.

"You would. Isn't Dia spanish for day?" Steve asked.

"Funny, you should ask. My great grandfather was Hispanic," Eddie replied. "And that's exactly why I call her that because she's our pretty little rose every single day."

". . .It's because of Dio, isn't it?"

"My great grandfather really was Hispanic!"

Steve sighed.

"Dia Rose does have a nice ring to it," Steve said. "But we're still calling her Lydia too!"

"Of course, she's part me and part Robin. There will never be a time when you don't full name her!" Eddie exclaimed, grinning.

[revelisms]

There's a child's clammy fingers squeezing the color out of his palm—five little points, soot in the skin; a gunsmith prodigy in a fleece-wrapped girl—and it makes Silco, strangely, think of love.

(Not of the way it devours—that starved hunger reserved for other years, other lifetimes, other men, that makes heat of the rain's chill and claims walls and clothes and teeth alike; builds vessels of longing from one's bones and strips mind-logic to single-syllable beggings, no—

But of the way it aches.)

This girl is like a knife-edge picking through sinew and rot. A jagged point that's found a cavernous maw still-bleeding—one another soul had scraped clean on their way out—and slotted itself in.

(Is he still bleeding?)

Five points: little fingers, little nails, clinging to his palm like a lifeline.

A tiny, monstrous thing. Much the same as he had been.

(Burden to his mother; bastard to his sire. A dredging cog in the tunnels' machine.

A father? Hardly.)

"I didn't—I didn't mean to do it," Jinx hiccups.

(The lab smoldering in ash? Or the knife in his chest?)

He draws in a breath.

Slowly, as though those small, steel-edged bones were made of glass, he loosens the snare of her fingers; squeezes the rough lines of his own around them, instead.

"I know, child," he mutters, smelted glass on his breath.

A three-week setback, dismissed as flippantly as that.

(Does one often make such dismissals, for a daughter?)

Her head nudges into his arm. So heavy, for a body so young. And for all his attempts at tenderness, at a memory he has too long forgotten, she finds a way to bend it towards violence: another little hand, little nails, desperate carvings, shackled to his wrist—as though this girl has only known affection through anger; only known the sting of care when muddled with pain.

A cruel irony.

He knows it as well as he knows the mines' heat.

He sees Vander: hand at his collar, rage on his breath, concern skinned to contempt and fanged teeth-glint growling—

(I've made us a deal—a deal for you—don't'ya understand?—)

He sees this girl's blood-knuckled sister: same fighting spirit, same piston of a fist, same mantle of protection, same spite—

(I never asked you to be my keeper—)

His claws pinch back: devil to devil-spawn. Same damned language of hurt.

The girl winces.

"It's alright," he says, a foreign reflex off his tongue. Not the apology he means; the one he ought to give. His touch eases. "It's alright," he hushes again.

She snuffles in a breath.

Slowly, he shifts: lays his palm against her nape. Bird-thin thing; her hair a nest in need of brushing, her pulse pattering as a rabbit's.

(Had he been this small, once?)

But these bones aren't made of glass. Not the frailty her stature lends her.

No—this child burns like a beacon: a rage that singes off her like a second skin: one he too knows, has already lived, still wields, as this girl wields weaponry like an extension of her soul; as she has reclaimed a title of her own choosing, own redemption; as she stands a wealth of potential none have dared to unleash.

A glimmering pinnacle in a city led to wallow in its own gluttony.

A promise.

(His wrath embodied; his resolution rebirthed.)

A legacy.

(A knife of hope between his ribs.)

A daughter.

His thumb soothes through the thistle of her hair.

"I'll fix this," he says quietly—(this, not you, because she is not an object in need of fixing, has not asked him to piece her back together, has not admitted she sees herself as a weakness rather than a strength, one she may one day learn to embrace)—and turns down to her.

He finds a cosmic implosion in her eyes. Fire and storms. Resilience and determination.

Jinx sniffles. Her fingers uncoil from his sleeve: cling tight again.

"Promise?" she whispers.

He brushes the matted fringe from her soot-grayed cheek. Tucks it lightly behind her ear.

"I promise," he answers her, simply as he can—and means it.

silco and jinx / promises

[queermccoy]

BuddieTommy Honky Tonk (Spotify)

All My Friends Are Hot * Robyn Ottoini

I know you want her number 'Cause everybody wants her number Hello, you'll have to wait in line She looks good in every picture Sometimes I wanna kiss her

Bible Belt * Chris Housman

And I hate that it took So long to get over what it did to me, cause They hit you over the head with it Stuff it down your throat

Middle of a Heart * Adeem the Artist

Carlene askеd if she could marry me Drivin' round in Daddy's car I gave her my graduation ring Down by the lumber yard I felt the violent hit of her passionate kiss Like a bullet through the middle of a heart

Do-Si-Don'tcha * Tanner Adell

Boot scoot kick a little sawdust up I Got moves that I could show ya I know you wanna Do-Sí-Don'tcha

Good Lookin' * Dixon Dallas

He's bouncing off my booty cheeks, I love the way he rides I can hardly breathe when he's pumping deep inside I kiss him on his neck and then he kisses on my bussy Call him "Daddy" while I holler Man, that boy so damn good looking

Hymn * Adam Mac

I aint no stranger to sin I ain't much a man of the church But I can get down on a hymn

Drive Me, Crazy * Orville Peck

You shift on the gear, it's been a long year We're droppin' the hammer, got places to be No time for the past if you're speedin' by me Breaker-breaker, you there? Keep me company

All My Life * Brooke Eden

All my life, I thought that I Was built to ride off Into the sunset all alone Like a restless rollin' stone

F150 * Dixon Dallas

Well when we get to sippin' whisky And we get a little frisky I climb up on him, ride him like an F150

Love You a Little Bit * Tanner Adell

Hands on me in your old T-Shirt In your two door Ford thinking those three words Light turned green then it started sinking in I kinda might, sorta like, love you a little bit

Real * Kameron Ross

You make me feel Baby, for the first time Love is real

Mine * Taylor Swift

Do you remember, we were sittin' there by the water? You put your arm around me, for the first time You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter You are the best thing that's ever been mine

all in my head * Andrew Mitch

Oh, but I know that it's all in my head Cuz nothing else matters inside their heads They'll just wish you were a girl instead

Chapel * Adam Mac, DeVries

Meet me at the chapel, honey It's just you and me Forever you and me

Outlaw Love * Brooke Eden

'Cause they can say what they wanna say They can do what they wanna do But they can't outlaw bein' in love with you

This Is Love * Dixon Dallas

I never knew what love was, then you came along Every night, I've been dreamin' of us, you're my favorite song Turn the lock and toss the key, now I think I'm in way too deep When you walk in, I can't help it, yeah, you knock me off my feet

Bonus: Trixie Mattel’s cover of Video Games

[sionisjaune]

🎁 brocedes... lewis yearning for nico is like hot chocolate to me

🎁mutuals get ficlets for the holidays!🎁

Lewis finds himself pacing the apartment, sweeping from the bedroom to the balcony and back again. He lights a candle. Fetches wine from the rack and sticks it in the fridge. Lifts Roscoe off of the ottoman when he hauls his wrinkly ass onto it because Nico has a no dogs on the furniture rule. 

“Sorry buddy,” says Lewis, scratching Roscoe apologetically under his chin. “You know the rules.” 

Roscoe puffs out a warm sigh and lets a string of gooey drool drop from his mouth onto the carpet. 

“Thanks for that,” says Lewis, inspecting the dark spot on the carpet. “Really classy.” He heaves himself onto the sofa, Roscoe pawing forlornly at his shin for not being allowed up. “Jeez, why am I even talking to you? I must be going fucking crazy.” Roscoe side-eyes Lewis like he agrees. “Don’t look at me like that,” says Lewis, pointedly. Roscoe just sighs again, too human-like, and lays his head on Lewis’s feet. 

Lewis confines himself to the sofa, counting the passing seconds and attempting to nap. It doesn’t really work. He arrives at second six hundred before he admits to himself that he’s too anxious to fall asleep. He could take an edible—that would help. But then he’d be down for the rest of the evening, too useless to do anything but giggle and paw at Nico’s chest. It’s impossible, missing someone so much. It’s only been three weeks. 

Lewis is staring at the ceiling when he finally hears the sound of keys in the door and nearly trips over Roscoe’s head in his haste to get off the sofa. Nico’s only halfway through the door when Lewis gets there, a bag under one arm and his car keys in his hand. Lewis pulls him through the door, tosses his keys in the vague direction of the bowl on the credenza, and kisses him hard with Nico’s bag crushed between them. 

Nico pulls back first, something like surprise on his face. There’s a bit of stubble on his jaw, and his hair is less styled than usual. When Lewis glances at the bag, he notices it’s full of pink paper, drawn on and dotted with glitter. 

“You’re in early,” says Nico, shutting the door behind him and toeing off his loafers. 

“Caught an earlier flight,” says Lewis. “Thank fucking God.” 

Nico hums, maneuvering around Lewis in the entryway. “If I’d have known I would have made my excuses. I was dropping the girls off at Vivian’s, but Amelie insisted I stay for her tea party.”

Lewis imagines Nico hunched over a child-sized table sipping imaginary tea from a plastic teacup. Something aches inside his chest, like a loose rib. “No—that sounds… cute,” he says. He gives Nico a tug on the sleeve to prompt him into the living room and onto the sofa with Lewis. He pulls Nico on top of him, draping him across his own body like a blanket. Nico laughs into his neck. 

“Did you miss me?” he says, muffled, his lips brushing Lewis’s jugular. 

Lewis wraps an arm across Nico’s back and hauls him impossibly closer. It’s a spaceless kind of proximity, like sharing a slim bunk. Every jut of Nico’s fits into every crag of Lewis’s. Somewhere on the carpet, Roscoe huffles loudly, obviously feeling excluded.

“That damn codependent dog,” says Nico, against Lewis’s skin. 

“Yeah,” says Lewis. “The dog.” 

[blitheringbongus]

So I recently found a Drabble I made about this post I made about my AU of Mumbo

It’s about Mumbo and his husband dealing with Mumbo being a vampire <3

Tw: Bunch of mentions about God and a few about Blood Letting

Enjoy? Or not

„My dear, eternal life wasn’t intended for humans to be lived,“

The man, his love, had said. Rough and scarred hands gently cradling the fresh vampires head. „Not how God intended it to be, at last,“

„Then why am I like this? If not for God to have intended?“ His fragile frame had responded. He felt weak. His body struggled to pump blood through his veins, it was clumping together and ceasing as the days passed, and he was hungry, so hungry. How cruel God could be.

„My love,“ the human responded, Mumbo had forgotten his name, the memory was too old, but he’s never forgotten who this human was, and what he meant to him. „This,“ the human looked sorrowfully at Mumbos sickly face, at the deep purple, almost black, veins laying still, „Is because not a creature of God has touched you, but a creature of darkness. Of the night.“

He stroked his thumb gently over Mumbos cheek, wiping away a tear. „You’ve been diseased, my love, with forever life.“

The raven haired man- Creature? Monster? Shuddered.

If God truly was the creator of all, then they were cruel to create the night creatures. What kind God would do such a thing, if not to punish the wretched?

„I am wretched,“ „You aren’t,“

He looked the human in his eyes, and they held nothing but kindness and love and deep, deep sorrow. „You’re still my love, you’re still-„

Mumbos memory always faded whenever someone mentioned his previously owned name, it was frustrating.

„I won’t leave you, not until you’ve tasted the last breath of air on your living tongue,“ Mumbo had said back then, and he meant it.

„I don’t doubt it a second.“

And Mumbo knew this human was scared. Not of him, but of growing old with him. They had many talks, the following years.

The human, his human, was afraid of Mumbos sorrow, watching him growing old and grey, and Mumbo staying the same as the day he got diseased.

But the years they spent, they were good years.

They lived together in a cabin in the woods, having moved out of their Victorian town, there wasn’t a slither of a chance the people wouldn’t hunt him down and call him a nasty hag, a devils bride, so his love and he decided to leave as soon as the physical symptoms started appearing.

The two hunted together, and they cooked together, and Mumbo couldn’t eat the finished meals but he was always able to suck the blood out of the hunted prey.

They never hunted humans, not in a million years. It didn’t matter how many folk tales there were of vampires only hunting humans and nothing else, Mumbo could live off of the animal blood.

Though it kept him going, it wasn’t exactly healthy for him. It didn’t keep him full for long, and always kept him yearning and weak for the blood of another.

Deep down, he was still human. He may be classified as a vampire, but at the end of the day, he was simply diseased, not changed into a monster. It took him quite some time to realize, his lovers reassurances and gentle nature having helped a lot with it.

The two always talked about their issues together. Whenever something was bottling itself up, the other would notice and try to gently push one another to open up.

One of these things included Mumbos need for human blood. His love didn’t know about wether or not Mumbo could only thrive off of animal blood, but he certainly knew something was wrong, and his love was never if barely satisfied with his so called meals.

He gently pushed him to talk about it for months and months until Mumbo finally confessed.

„I have morals,“ „Yes?“ „I would never feed on a sentient being,“ „Oh,“ and Mumbo could see the cogs twist and turn in his lovers face. „Have you had urges?“

Mumbo shifted slightly under their shared bed sheets, it was night, and he was more hungry than ever.

„Too many.“

And Mumbo left it at that, he just needed to confess it.

„You could feed on me?“

Looking back, this was the most ballsy statement Mumbo has ever heard from anyone before. At least conscidering the context. Sure, he fed on a couple of the hermits nowadays to stay healthy and all, but that’s because they all knew just how much Mumbo could take before dizziness or anything set in.

Plus, if he ever went too far, they could always respawn! Not that Mumbo ever did go that far.

But the point is, research about blood letting and how much a vampire needs a day to stay healthy is readily accessible to the hermits and himself, so it was safe.

Back then? Not so much.

He and his love had no idea what was conscidered safe and what not, so the fact that he’d just offer letting Mumbo feed on him was the most trusting, romantic, and stupid decision he’s ever heard be made from anyone in his life time and following. And he loved him so much more for it.

„My dear,“ „My love?“ „I’m not sure if I should, I’m not sure if I could,“

[thelastspeecher]

I was gonna split this up into two posts, but today was really rough, mental health-wise, so fuck it. You're getting 3k words of Angie's origins in the Olympian Falls AU. Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

              Dulcimearl McGucket gently placed his newborn son, Lute, in his crib, then rejoined his wife on their bed.

              “I can already tell he looks just like ya,” his wife, Sally, murmured sleepily.  Mearl smiled.

              “That’d be a shame, given how pretty ya are,” he replied.  Sally laughed softly.  In the middle of the night, Sally had gone into labor, causing a hurried rush of Mearl dropping their four children off at his brother Bassett’s home, then returning to drive Sally to the hospital to give birth.  They had just returned home to a peaceful, if empty, house.

              “Should we let Bassett know the kids can come back?” Sally asked.

              “I don’t know, dear.  I’m enjoyin’ the quiet.”

              “Well, we shouldn’t wait too long to call folks ‘n let ‘em know the details.  All fam’ly knows right now is that the birth went well.”

              “Mm.  That’s all they need to know right now.”  The two lapsed into a pleasant silence.  The quiet was abruptly broken by the distinct sound of an infant crying.  “I’ll get ‘im.”  Mearl got up and walked to Lute’s crib.  He paused.  “Uh.”

              “What is it?”

              “Lute’s asleep.”

              “Then where’s that noise comin’ from?” Sally asked.

              “Don’t know, m’dear.  I’ll go check outside.”

              Mearl headed for the front door, grabbing his shotgun on the way, just in case.  He opened the door.  His jaw dropped.  On the doorstep was what looked like a cradle of pure gold, holding the source of the sound: a wailing infant.  He set his shotgun down and crouched to look closely at the baby.

              “Shh, shh,” he said softly, stroking the child’s chubby cheeks.  The baby hiccupped twice, then fell silent, staring at him with wide tear-filled eyes.  Mearl was stricken by the blue of the baby’s eyes, like a clear summer sky.  “Yer quite the looker, lil one.”

              “Mearl?” Sally called from inside.

              “I figured out what was goin’ on, honey,” Mearl called back.  “I’ll be there in a mo’.”  Mearl picked up the cradle and went back inside, closing the door behind him softly, so as to not disturb the baby.  He went to the bedroom he shared with Sally.  Sally looked up upon his arrival.  Her eyes, a soft blue not as brilliant as the strange infant’s, widened.

              “What is goin’ on?” she asked.  Mearl crossed over to their bed.  He sat, placing the cradle between himself and his wife.  Sally leaned over to peer at the baby.  She stiffened.  “Dulcimearl, why does this child have yer nose?”

              “What?”  Mearl looked more closely.  Sure enough, the baby had the large, distinct McGucket nose.  His heart stopped.  “Sally, I don’t know.  This lil one was on the doorstep, cryin’.”

              “A baby was left on the doorstep that has yer nose,” Sally said flatly.  She crossed her arms.  “This don’t bode well fer ya.”

              “Are- are ya implyin’ I would cheat on you?” Mearl choked out.  Sally chewed on her lip.

              “Yer not the kind.  But the evidence ain’t in yer favor.”

              “Sally!  It’s- it’s April 1st, this is prob’ly some sort of practical joke, it-” Mearl said desperately, trying to resist the urge to tug on his hair.  Sally suddenly picked up a letter that had been hidden amongst the baby’s blanket.  “What- what’s that?”  Sally unfolded the letter.

              “It says…‘Dulcimearl McGucket, you are a rare sort.  The kind with the ability to resist a Greek god.  This, combined with the way we connected when we met, made it impossible to get you out of my mind.  As such, I give you the greatest gift I can give: a child, born of the emotional connection between us.  This makes her mine and yours, a demigod.  Demigods must live with their mortal parent.  I trust you will raise her well.’”

              “…What?” Mearl asked weakly.  Sally shrugged.  “Is there a name somewhere?”

              “No.  It says ‘Sincerely’ and then a little comment ‘bout how ‘You know who this is from’.”  Sally’s brow furrowed.  “This definitely feels like some sort of practical joke, but this child is clearly yours.  So either you cheated, or-”  Before Sally could finish her sentence, the letter disappeared in a flash of warm, golden sunlight.  “Hmm.”  Sally rubbed the back of her neck.  “That was…odd.”

              “Sally, I would never cheat,” Mearl said.  He had progressed to begging at this point, but didn’t care.  “You know that!”

              “Yes, I do.”  Sally began to inspect the baby’s cradle curiously.  “This looks like solid gold.  And that, combined with the fact you’d never cheat and the way that letter vanished, makes me think…”  She trailed off.

              “Think what?” Mearl prompted.

              “That maybe the letter was tellin’ the truth,” Sally said softly.

              “You think this baby is really a child I had with a Greek god, from some ‘emotional connection’?” Mearl asked.  Sally met his gaze.

              “Do ya have any other suggestions?” she asked.  After a moment, Mearl shook his head.  “Then, fer the sake of both our sanities, we’ll take the letter at face value.  This lil girl is yours.”

              “Girl?”

              “The letter said she was a her,” Sally pointed out.  She carefully removed the baby and cradled her in her arms.  “She’s yours.  Which means she’s mine, too.”

              “But she isn’t.”

              “Biologically, no.  But that don’t matter.  We’re married, so yer children are mine and my children are yours,” Sally said.  Mearl put an arm around Sally’s shoulders.  She leaned against him.

              “Yer way with words is so beautiful,” he said.  Sally smiled.  “But how do we explain her appearance?”

              “It’s a good thing we haven’t told fam’ly the details ‘bout what happened at the hospital.”

              “Why?”

              “‘Cause it’d be more difficult to come up with some lie.”  Sally stroked the baby’s cheek.  The baby giggled.  Sally’s smile grew stronger.  “All’s we need to do is say this lil one is Lute’s twin.”

              “I never would’ve thought of that.  Yer so brilliant, my love.”  Sally chuckled.  “And she’s got blue peepers like you.”

              “Not exactly like me, but close enough that it won’t raise alarms.  She don’t have any hair yet, so hopefully she don’t wind up with some color what don’t make sense.”

              “What about a name fer her?”

              “We can just use the name we had prepared in case Lute turned out to be a girl.”

              “Then that’s what we’ll do,” Mearl said softly.  He stroked his daughter’s face.  “Welcome to the fam’ly, Banjolina.”

-----

              Banjolina, or Banjey, as they called her, seemed like a regular child.  Until the day she didn’t.  At three years old, Banjey and Lute were playing in the living room, supervised by Mearl, who was sitting on the couch, tuning his fiddle.  After a few moments of tuning, Banjey got to her feet and toddled to Mearl’s side.  She tugged on his pant leg.

              “Yes, sunshine?” Mearl asked.  Banjey was like a ray of light in their family, with her golden hair and musical laugh.  She’d gotten her pet name early on.  Banjey scrunched up her face.

              “Papa, noise is down.  Make it up,” she said.  Mearl frowned at her.

              “Pardon?”

              “Make it up!” Banjey insisted.  Mearl’s eyes widened as he realized she was referring to his tuning.  The string he’d been tuning was indeed flat, or “down”, though only subtly.  Mearl pulled his bow across the string and tightened the tuning peg.  Banjey cocked her head so that her ear faced the instrument.  For the split second that the string was in tune, she smiled.  However, when Mearl continued to increase the pitch, she scowled.

              “Somethin’ wrong?” Mearl asked.

              “Noise is up now.  Make it down.”

              “You tell me when it’s right, okay?” Mearl said.  Banjey nodded.  Mearl loosened the tuning peg.

              “Stop!” she said.  Mearl plucked the string experimentally.  It was perfectly in tune.  Fighting back his growing discomfort with his daughter’s ear, Mearl had Banjey help him tune the remaining strings.  Each time, she did it flawlessly.

              She’s just a lil tot.  She shouldn’t be able to tell when a single string is out of tune, let alone four!

              “All good, Papa,” Banjey said happily.  Mearl forced a smile.

              “It sure is, baby girl.”  He ruffled her hair.  Clearly pleased with herself, Banjey toddled back to Lute and resumed playing with him.  Sally walked into the living room.  She cooed at the twins before joining Mearl on the couch.

              “You look a bit shell-shocked, dear,” Sally commented.  Mearl nodded.  “What’s wrong?”

              “Banjey could tell my fiddle was out of tune.  I had her tell me whether the string was sharp or flat, and either increased or decreased the pitch like she asked.”

              “And?”

              “She did it perfectly.”  Mearl stared at his wife.  “Sally, Banjey’s got an ear like I ain’t ever heard of.  My whole fam’ly are gifted in music, but this?  This is somethin’ dif’rent.”  Sally’s face darkened.

              “Somethin’…supernatural?” she asked in a low voice.

              “I think so.”

              “Well…”  Sally looked over at the twins, who were squealing with delight as they played together.  Her face softened.  “We’ll just keep an eye on her.  See if there ‘re any other oddities that pop up.”  Mearl nodded again, trying to deny what he already knew.

              There would be many more oddities to come.

-----

              As Banjey got older, the comments started, as did the lies Sally and Mearl had to come up with to cover their daughter’s unconventional origin.

              “I ain’t got the foggiest clue where she got these darlin’ curls!” Gramama McGucket cooed, once Banjey’s hair was long enough that it was obvious it wasn’t stick straight like her siblings’.  It was also a shining gold different from Sally, Harper, and Viola’s blond.  Luckily, it was easy enough to explain away.

              “It’s from my father,” Sally lied quickly.  She forced a laugh.  “Who would’ve thunk that sort of thing could skip generations?”

-----

              “You said Banjey got Sally’s eyes, right?” asked Stanley Hillcrest, grandfather to Lute’s best friend Max.  Mearl, who was joining him in supervising a playdate between Max and the twins, nodded.  “I’m surprised.  I didn’t think her eyes were quite that shade of blue.”  Mearl chuckled.

              “I guess ya ain’t seen her up close, then,” he said.  Stanley Hillcrest watched Banjey wrestle with Lute and Max.

              “Banjey also seems a bit more athletic than I’d expect from yer fam’ly, no offense.”

              “Lute’s the same way,” Mearl said with a shrug.  “Guess we just saved all the athletic capability fer the last two to have.  It’s fer the best, since yer lil Max is quite the firecracker hisself.”  Banjey pinned Max to the ground while Lute cheered.  Stanley Hillcrest frowned thoughtfully.

              “Yes.  He is.”

-----

              “I’m sorry, Ma, I forgot sunscreen,” sobbed their eldest child, Violynn, after she took the three youngest children to the park to play.  Viola and Lute were already turning red, but Banjey wasn’t even slightly pink.  Sally grabbed the aloe off the kitchen counter, where it lived during the summer months, smiling reassuringly at her daughter.

              “It’s okay.  At least Banjey ain’t sunburned,” she said soothingly.  Violynn crossed her arms with a frown.

              “Banjey never gets sunburns.”

              “It’s ‘cause she’s got that tan from my Spanish grandmother, honey, remember?” Sally lied.  The lies were easier than they used to be.  Violynn’s scowl deepened.

              “It ain’t fair she’s the only one what got it, and the rest of us got Pa’s Irish skin,” she muttered.  Sally began to apply the aloe onto Lute’s arm.

              “It’s genetics, sweet pea.  Can’t predict ‘em.”

-----

              “Wait, yer tellin’ me that Harper somehow caught chickenpox fer a second time, but lil Banjey, who was playin’ with him the very day he got sick, ain’t got a single mark?” asked Mearl’s older brother, Bassett.  Mearl was calling to cancel a planned visit, due to the bug currently making its way through the household.  “And her twin got it, right?”

              “Yep.  Viola and Basstian ain’t had it ‘fore, so they’ve got it, too.”

              “But Banjey don’t.”

              “Correct.”

              “Huh.  Y’know, now that I think ‘bout it, that lil girl of yours ain’t never got sick.  At least as far as I can recall,” Basstian said slowly.  Mearl swallowed.

              “Uh, yep.  We figure it’s one of ‘em weird immune things.  Luck of the draw, I s’ppose.”

              “Maybe she should enter the lottery, with luck like that.”

              “Heh.”  Mearl rubbed the back of his neck, barely able to muster up a weak chuckle.  “…Yeah.”

-----

              Mearl counted his lucky stars every day that Sally had the idea to claim Banjey was Lute’s twin.  Lute was unmistakably the full sibling of the other children, which kept those who picked up on Banjey’s unique features from realizing the truth.  Or, at least, they kept their conclusions to themselves.  Mearl was terrified of the day that someone questioned Banjey belonging to the family in front of her.

              But today wasn’t that day.  Mearl, Sally, and the five-year-old twins were the only ones at the playground.  The other children, who seemed wary of the twins at times (though Mearl suspected most of the wariness was directed towards Banjey), had opted to stay home.  Mearl smiled at Sally chasing Lute around while Banjey sat on the ground, her face turned up towards the sun.  Banjey enjoyed basking in the sun, though had to be reminded frequently to close her eyes when looking up.

              His smile faded at the sight of a strange man he didn’t recognize approaching the playground.  The man walked awkwardly, like Cousin Gert, who had a muscular disease.  Mearl straightened but remained sitting on the bench.  Banjey seemed to attract strange trouble, primarily in the form of creatures from Greek mythology, but a strange man was a perfectly mundane problem.  The man made a beeline for Banjey.

              Mearl sprang to his feet, but Sally beat him to the punch.  She stopped chasing Lute and rushed over to Banjey, standing in front of her protectively.  The man came to a stop.

              “Who are ya and why-” Sally started.  She cut herself off with a gasp.  Mearl sprinted over.  Sally’s face was pale as a sheet and filled with horror.  Mearl put a hand on her shoulder protectively.  “You- you ain’t human,” Sally whispered.  There was giggling from behind them.  Mearl glanced over his shoulder.  Banjey and Lute were now wrestling with each other.  They could do that for hours, and, thankfully, were always careful enough to avoid injuries.

              Good.  They won’t have any idea of what’s goin’ on right now.  Mearl turned back to the strange man.  He frowned.

              “Are ya sure, Sally?” he said softly.  The man sighed.

              “No, she’s right.”  He removed his baseball cap.  Mearl goggled.  Poking through the man’s hair were horns.  He tightened his grip on Sally’s shoulder, signaling to her to get ready to run.  “I’m surprised ya noticed, ma’am.”  Mearl’s eyes narrowed.  The horned man had a southern accent, but his drawl was softer and warmer than people in the area had.

              He ain’t from ‘round here.

              “I, uh, I’ve been doin’ a good job at spottin’ the dangers what keep comin’ fer Banjey,” Sally mumbled.  The man’s eyes widened.

              “Oh, yer Sighted,” he remarked.  Mearl’s heart began to pound furiously in his chest.  Family stories from Ireland told of mortals who were punished by the Fair Folk for being able to see past their glamour, a gift called the Sight.

              “Ya ain’t touchin’ her,” he rumbled.  The man looked at him in surprise.

              “I- I wasn’t goin’ to, sir.”

              “I know what the Fair Folk do to Sighted humans.”

              “Fair Folk?”  The man seemed confused.  “I’m a satyr, sir.”  Mearl felt the blood drain from his face.

              That’s a Greek mythology critter.  He and Sally had been doing their research into Greek mythology since Banjey arrived.  They opted to view it as a different form of the parenting books they picked up for their first children.  All the critters what have been comin’ after Banjey ‘re Greek mythology.  Mearl let himself relax slightly.  But this is the first one what came and talked to us, rather than just attackin’.  It might be worthwhile to hear what he has to say.  Maybe the god what gave us Banjey sent him.

              “Why are you here?” Mearl finally said.

              “I, like many other satyrs, are s’pposed to track down half-bloods and bring ‘em to safety.”

              “Half-blood?” Sally asked.  The satyr nodded.

              “Also called demigod.  Children of the Greek gods with mortals.”  The satyr looked past Sally and Mearl, at Banjey and Lute.  “Like yer daughter.”

              “Yer not takin’ her,” Mearl snarled.  The satyr held his hands up.

              “Relax, sir.  She’s clearly too young to go to camp.”

              “Camp?” Sally asked.

              “Camp Half-Blood.  In New York City.  It’s a safe location fer demigods to go, where they can train and learn how to control their abilities without bein’ in danger from monsters.”  The satyr met Mearl’s eyes.  “Once she’s old enough, that’s where she’ll have to go.”

              “We can protect her,” Mearl said desperately.  The satyr smiled, but there was a sadness to it.

              “Maybe right now, you can.  But eventually, the day will come that you realize you can’t any longer.”  Mearl closed his eyes.  He knew in his heart that the satyr was telling the truth.  Banjey attracted danger like a fly to manure.  “We’ll be waitin’ fer her.”  The satyr pulled a business card out of the pocket of his jeans.  He handed it to Sally.  “Call this number when it’s time.”

              With that, the satyr put his hat back on and left.  Only once he had faded into the distance did Mearl allow himself to stop watching.  He turned to Sally, who was staring down at the business card.

              “Can we trust ‘im, Mearl?” she asked softly.  “You’ve always had a knack fer sniffin’ out scammers ‘n bad news.”

              “You’ve got that knack, too, darlin’,” Mearl said gently.  Sally rubbed her eyes.  “Oh, no, don’t cry.”

              “The feller was right, weren’t he?” she choked out.  “I just- I feel it in my gut.  It ain’t safe fer Banjey here and it ain’t safe fer the other kids.  She’ll- she’ll have to go-”  Sally let out a sob.  Mearl pulled her into a tight embrace.

              “Yes,” he confirmed.  “But I could tell that feller weren’t givin’ us guff.  He was genuine.  Banjey can stay with us fer now, and when the time comes, he’ll help us get her somewhere safe.”

              “Hopefully that day won’t be fer a while,” Sally whispered.  Mearl kissed the top of her head.

              “God willin’.  Or, rather, gods willin’.”  Mearl could have imagined it, but it seemed like, for a brief moment, the sun shone brighter.  Sally let out a soft chuckle.

              “Mama, Papa?”  Sally and Mearl pulled apart.  Lute and Banjey had finished wrestling and were staring up at them with big eyes.

              “I know that look,” Mearl said, forcing a smile.  “What do the two of ya want?”

              “Um, can we get ice cream?” Banjey squeaked out.  Mearl looked at Sally, who smiled at him.  He turned back to the twins.

              “The two of ya were so well-behaved while yer ma ‘n I talked to that feller, I don’t see why not!”

              “Yay!” the twins cheered.  Lute grabbed Sally’s hand, while Banjey took Mearl’s.  As they headed back to the pickup truck, Banjey looked up at Mearl.

              “Papa, who was that feller?” she asked.  Mearl looked down at his daughter.  Despite how much she looked like him, he could see something in her that reminded him of the Greek statues he’d been fascinated by as a teenager.  He smiled warmly at her.

              “Someone ya don’t need to worry ‘bout.”  He ruffled her golden curls.  “Not yet, at least.”

[phoenix--flying]

“You and me, di Angelo? We’re not that different.”

He scowled as she spun around in the chair. “You don’t know what its like-“

“To what? Be outcasted? Pushed to the outside? Feared? All because you’re an Underworld kid?”

He blinked a few times and she stopped spinning, tilting her side and grinning.

“We’re both children of chthonic deities, Nico. We don’t have the same experiences, obviously. I’m not saying that. But when it comes to camp specifically. We’re not all that different.” She shrugged. “I used to be a solider in Kronos’s army, did you know that?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “Probably not, right? It’s sort of taboo to talk about the titan army. But I wasn’t exactly welcomed back at camp. None of us were. But eventually they said they trusted us. Spoiler alert, they didn’t. When Percy first went missing the titan army campers were the first suspects.” She shrugged again. “That got super off topic when all I was trying to say is we can be outcast buddies."

I'm here to spread my Lou Ellen Blackstone and Nico Di Angelo friendship agenda. You don't have a choice and this is a threat(/j)

[strawberryspence]

It’s bad. It’s really, really bad.

The sky is red and there’s so many black vines all over the ground. It hisses silently as it slithers around. There’s a monster at the end with mouth as a face, it oddly looks like a flower she used to draw in class, but it has so much teeth. Its body is thin, almost human like. It’s arms stretching long.

It’s chittering as it walks around, walking towards her.

She turns around, running away from the creature but her feet steps on a vine. The monster turns to her, it’s mouth opening widely towards her.

“No! Dad! Pa!” She runs away, as fast as she can. She turns her head to check the monster, but it causes her to slip and fall.

She uses her arms to shield her face as the monster looms over her face, screaming her head off until—

Until she wakes up. It’s just a dream. She tries to catch her breath, chest heaving, as she wipes sweat off her forehead.

She looks around her surroundings. She’s in her bedroom, familiar pink and yellow walls illuminated with stick on stars that has been there for 10 years now. The same walls she’s been staring at for the last 16 years.

She’s too old for this.

She knows she’s too old for this, but she wraps herself in the knitted blanket Grandma Joyce gave her for her 13th birthday. She takes the baby bear she got for her 2nd birthday from Uncle Dusty, the same one she’s never let go, the one named Dart for some reason.

It’s quiet in the house, as she walks to the end of the hallway. The only light is coming from an old lamp that stands in the middle of the hallway.

Her Pa never really liked the dark, they’ve never really explained why, but it’s always been a tradition to leave a light on for him. The light illuminates the hallway wall, filled with different kinds of pictures, some of it older than her. Pictures of graduations, weddings, birthdays, every holiday, always spent together with their weird conjoined family.

It’s not like she’s complaining. She has like 6 different uncles, and another 6 different aunts. She has the best Grandma, and two of the best Grandfathers she can ask for. They’re all not blood related, but they’re the best family. Also, she has like a 15 different cousins and it's always fun when they're all together.

The door to their bedroom is at the other end of the hall. It’s not a big house, her Pa has some kind of vendetta against big houses. But it’s big enough that Tietie Rob and Auntie Nance has their own room, and Uncle Dustin and Aunt Suzie has their own room in the same level even if they don’t live here. Big enough to also have her younger brothers bedrooms side by side.

The basement’s another story though. Uncle Lucas and Mimi has their own rooms, and even if Pa says he doesn’t really like Uncle Mike, he also has a room with Uncle Will. Auntie El has her own little house built in the backyard, because apparently, “She deserves the best. And she deserves her own little house.” She doesn't fully understand why, but eh, she got her second name from her so—

She stops in front of the door, she knows she doesn’t have to be nervous. Her parents has always been unbearably sweet to her. She’s at that age right now that it embarrasses her if they even smile at her direction. But she knows, they’ll understand.

She twists the door open. The room is dark, with a night light lighting up the whole room in a yellow hue. Her parents are in the big bed, in the middle of the room. From where she is standing, she can see her Dad cuddling her Pa, her Pa cuddled deep into her Dad’s chest.

She can’t help but smile. Sometimes she thinks she’ll have a hard time finding love, because she grew up with this kind of love. She was adopted, yes, but not once did she doubt her parents love for her. What her parents have for each other, for their family, it’s something that no one can replicate. It’s something straight out of a fairytale book. It’s pure real love, that would fight monsters for you and stay with you even after the fight. She can’t ever believe that people can look at them and think, “That’s wrong.” How can a love that pure, be wrong?

She pads closer to the bed, from the corner of her eyes she can see the bat with nails standing in the corner of the room. At the bedside table, is a picture of the three of them in her first guitar recital, behind it a picture of her holding her younger brother the day he came home and there's a picture with all five of them in the back. There’s a dish for jewelry, filled with her Dad’s thousands of rings and the red pick necklace Pa always wears.

“Dad.” She whispers, poking his shoulders, “Dad.” She pulls a little in his long curly hair.

He pulls away from Pa, and with bleary eyes looks up at her, “Huh? Wen?”

“Dad.”

He sloppily pushes hair out of his face, “Wen? What’s wrong? What time is it?” He turns to the bedside table to open the lamp, affectively alerting her Pa. The one who sleeps the lightest.

“What’s wrong!?” He sits up in one swift movement, squinting around like he’s looking for a weapon.

Dad puts a hand on his shoulder, “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just Wen.”

Pa turns to her, eyes wide from sleepiness and alertness all at the same time, “Wen? What’s wrong?”

She clutches Dart closer to her chest, “I had a nightmare. This is embarrassing. And— I know I am 16 already. But—“

Her parents look at each other, before making a space between the two of them. Dad smiles at her, dimples pinching, “You’re never too old. Come, hop in.”

She crawls into the middle of the bed, sandwiched between her parents. She lays in the middle, staring at ceiling. It’s comfortable and she remembers sleeping just like this for years when she was younger. Her Dad turns off the lamp with a click, before they all settle down in silence.

“Do you want to tell us what the dream is about?” Pa whispers softly, turning to his side to face her, his hand rubbing on her shoulders.

“It’s nothing.” She whispers, embarrassment seeping to her voice.

“It’s not nothing if you were this scared that you came knocking at our door.” Dad reasons, his voice still deep with sleep. His hand plays with her hair, combing through it like he always does. Pa hums in agreement.

“It was a demogorgon.” She whispers, kind of out of breathe like she just ran a marathon, “We were in the Upside Down and it was running after me.”

Pa clicks his tongue, “Eddie, I told you to stop playing that campaign. It terrifies the kids.”

“But it’s my best one yet!” Dad exclaims.

“It’s the best one yet because you plagiarized it!” Pa argues back. Dad gasps, feigning shock, he's always so dramatic but it's one of his best features.

“You take that back, Steve Harrington-Munson!”

Pa rolls his eyes, “No, I am going to tell Will your taking his campaign and saying its yours.”

"But you like it too!"

"You know, I like it too. But the kids get bad dreams from it."

Dad laughs, making her smile at the sound, "Ha! You're a nerd! 20 years of marriage and I really turned you into a nerd!"

Pa sighs, but when she looks over to him there's a smile on his face, "Eds, love, I let you name our children with Lord of the Ring names. Dustin's been trying to turn me into one since the day we met."

"Alright, alright." Dad turns over, playful smile still stuck on his face. He reaches over the middle to hold Pa's waist, his arm resting on her stomach.

"It's just a dream, pumpkin." Dad whispers, kissing her temple as she lets her eyes close to the sleepiness.

"There's no Upside Down. No demogorgons." Pa adds, leaving a kiss on the other side of her temple.

"You're safe here, Wen."

"I love you guys." She whispers quietly as sleep finally takes her.

"And we love you too, pumpkin."

Arwen Elizabeth Harrington-Munson falls asleep, fast and easy, in the safety of her parents arms, Steve and Eddie Harrington-Munson with the knowledge that as long as they're around, no monster or evil can ever harm her.