Hello, lovelies. I heard from a little birdie, EllaAnnieGrace, that a few people wanted me to put all my stories together. So here you go.

This is a Caleo future fic from Calypso's point of view. I'm not sure what I was going for with this. It wasn't supposed to be deep and meaningful and wasn't supposed to be fluff.


In all your years, whenever you thought of your future, a small child with chocolate eyes and pointed ears dancing around the yard in a cardboard box never did appear in your mind's eye. Maybe once, a long time ago. A time you had forced yourself to forget, because hope and memories had been pointless and only brought pain.

"Olivia," you call to the cardboard box with curly hair, "Be careful!"

"Yes, Mamá," your cardboard box replies as she tries to jump over the neighbor's cat. She's supposed to be a robot, but she looks more like a washing machine to you. You, of course, told her she looks like a robot.

"Oh dear," you mutter as she sticks the landing. "Leo!"

"Yes, Sunshine?" your husband says, sliding out from under the back porch.

You roll your eyes at the nickname that you secretly love. "Are you sure she cut the arm holes big enough?"

He stands up and wipes sweat and grease from his forehead with his just-as-sweaty-and-greasy shirt. "Her arms can fit through them, can't they?" he answers sarcastically.

"She won't fall, will she?" you ask worriedly. You glance at the robot spinning in circles around the now very annoyed cat.

"Sol!" It's the nickname for your daughter that your husband fashioned after yours. It means sun in Spanish. Your husband and daughter speak Spanish, but they aren't Spanish. They are Hispanic or Latino, but not because they can speak Latin. It's because they are from a nationality that speaks Spanish but isn't Spain. It still confuses you.

"Sí, Papá?" Olivia stops spinning around the cat.

"Are you going to fall?"

"No, Papá." She continues spinning around the cat.

Leo turns to you. "See? She isn't going to fall." He slides back under the porch and keeps working.

You wonder why you married him and then you wondered why anyone wouldn't marry him and then you wonder why he married you and then you wonder why you questioned any of it. So maybe you imagined once that you'd be married to a tall, strong hero and, instead of a robot costume, your daughter would be wearing a chiton, but now you can't even imagine anything different.

"Mamá!" You turn to Olivia. Olivia bounces up to you and her dark brown curls bounce with her. So you stop wondering about life and possibilities and deep, existential questions, and you take a pair of small, tan hands in your callused, pale ones and you let the robot drag you inside to make cookies. When you finally finish and you and your robot are covered in flour and dough, your mechanic joins you and pulls you both in for a greasy, dirty hug, careful not to crush the robot or the baby boy on the way.

Maybe you never thought that your hero would be a mechanic or that your princess would be a robot, but that's okay. Your little boy will probably be a creator, too. And that's okay. Because you made this family and it's not at all like you imagined. It's even better.


Go vote for who you want.

Basically, Lissy