Apr 12, 2019
GUYYYSSS!! GUSTO KO LANG I SHARE NA ANG CUTE NG MONEPY!! 😍
Just look!! Ang cute nilang dalawa!!
Ano Kaya BINUBULONG NI MON? HIS LOVE FOR EPY MAYBE?
PUTA!!! MALAPIT SILA SA ISA'T ISA!!
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GUYYYSSS!! GUSTO KO LANG I SHARE NA ANG CUTE NG MONEPY!! 😍
Just look!! Ang cute nilang dalawa!!
Ano Kaya BINUBULONG NI MON? HIS LOVE FOR EPY MAYBE?
PUTA!!! MALAPIT SILA SA ISA'T ISA!!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Some monepy/rpf family under the cut. This is the first time I’ve ever written a grown-up Amy and posted it! ---
Mon doesn't like IG stories.
It isn't because he doesn't know how to use it-- god knows he's had to use it for numerous film promotions back when he thought they'd actually made a difference. And it isn't because he doesn't have friends who use it, so why bother-- Alvin posts enough stories for the both of them (and then some). And it isn't because he doesn't have anything to post, either. He has plenty to post because he likes taking pictures and videos of every little thing to the point where his husband or his daughter chide him for not "living in the moment." Not to mention, he does post a lot of pictures anyway. Contrary to popular belief, he doesn't hate any kind of Social Media outside of the typical, like Facebook or Instagram itself. Social media is a nice tool, a fun tool. It's certainly made things a whole lot more interesting, and it's real easy once you get the hang of it. So, no. Mon doesn't like IG stories for these reasons.
But Mon doesn't like IG story for one reason: and its the fact that his daughter likes using it against him.
"Tatay, Tatay, Tatay." Amy says, giggling. Her face is half-hidden by the phone she is holding in front of it, camera rolling. Mon doesn't even have to look to know that she's on her IG story feed, filming him for yet another post that he knows will be recorded and posted somewhere online to be circulated amongst the newly established PHCU twitter fandom. "Tay-- may tanong ako."
He contemplates ignoring her, but he knows it will never work. His daughter, much like his husband, is relentless when she can't get what she wants, and even if she wasn't, he knows he'll somehow give into her demands anyway. That's his curse-- he's a serial konsintador and he's a bit of an attention whore anyway; he sees a recording camera, and he'll interact with it. That's just how he's wired, and Amy knows it.
"Ano 'yun, 'nak?" he asks her, even though he can hear the exasperation in his voice the second he is met with the mischievous twinkle in her eye. He's going to regret this.
Amy grins. "What are you eating?"
"Mamon."
The second he says it, he knows he's made a very big mistake.
"Cannibalism!" Amy laughs, before stopping the recording and furiously typing, no doubt about to-- "I'm tagging your fanclub." Ah, there it is.
He flushes dark red. "Pangga--"
That's another thing about having a daughter-- she is virtually unimpressed by anything he does or acquires. Sure, she's proud of him, god knows she hasn't been able to shut up about how awesome her Tatay (and her Dad) are in their field of work, but god also knows how mercilessly she likes to tease them both about the little things, like how they sometimes don't get current slang or how, recently, all the admirers they have acquired are either 1) her age and/or 2) find them very sexy and handsome despite being, you know, probably as old (if not older) than said admirers' parents.
Of course, he himself is very flattered and so is Epy, but their daughter remains completely irreverent-- which he figures is fine. It dampens their egos a little bit. Pulls them back down to earth. To many, they might be amazing actors (and #RelationshipGoals), but to their little girl, they were just two silly old men playing dress up for a living. He loves her for it. And he's sure Epy does, too.
"Are you teasing your Tatay again, baby girl?" Speaking of the devil--
Epy saunters into the living room having just come home from a long day on yet another set, shedding his bag and dumping it on the single seatee next to the door before joining the both of them on the couch. Immediately, Mon greets him with a kiss, one on the cheek and another on the mouth when Epy narrows his eyes at him and pouts. It isn't enough to appease him, as usual, but Mon is used to this game they play so he simply smiles and pulls his husband down to join them on the couch, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close. That, at least, melts the pout away into a preening smile, and that smile widens when Amy crawls on her knees to plant a kiss hello on his cheek. Instantly, his husband relaxes against him and settles down-- finally. He's home and they're complete.
"You're teasing him again, aren't you?" Epy says, when Amy crawls back to her spot on the other end of the couch, her toes now shoved under Epy's thigh instead of his. "About what this time?"
"Yung fanclub niya, syempre." Their daughter says, without hesitation. Mon frowns, trying to hide the furious flush he gets every time she mentions it. Epy, however, laughs, rolling his eyes.
"Ay, nako, 'yang fanclub na 'yan." He says in a mock-huff, laughing when he turns and sees Mon's flush deepen. "Wala ka na bang ibang pwedeng pagtawanan, hun?"
He's trying to defend him, in his own Epy way, Mon knows this. But it really isn't working-- Amy still snorts out a laugh and Epy himself is smiling rather smugly at his expense, reaching over to help himself to the tray of bakery mamons Mon had been snacking on earlier. He eats it, slowly, basking in his unfairly won victory, and now it's Mon's turn to pout, furrowing his brow in an exaggerated hurt expression.
"Selos ka lang, eh." He attempts to save face. But he's never been good at this game-- Epy was always better at getting his goat, and now is no exception.
"Bakit naman ako magse-selos?" He purrs, his eyes going soft and his smile turning flirtatious and coquettish like it always does when he's about to lay the charm on thick and mean it. It's been years, but that look still sends butterflies fluttering around Mon's belly and in his chest. And people wonder why he finds it so easy to love this man. "Alam ko naman na ako lang ang mamon na tinuturing mong iyong-iyo, diba?"
Amy explodes in giggles that are a mix of a noises resembling a coo and a disgusted blanch. Which, in retrospect, could be something he could tease her about, flirting with his husband until she's grossed out enough to leave them alone ("Ew, mga erpats, not in front of me!"), but he can't find the words to do it properly, feeling his previous blush both rise to his hairline and sink down his neck. Damn his husband. He's got no fight left in him now-- he's tongue tied and in love. And Epy knows it.
God, does he know it.
"Kainis ka." He mutters, unable to stop the little grin that appears on his lips and threatens to overtake his entire face. Epy grins right back at him, soft and warm around the edges, like a well worn blanket, and Mon can't help but kiss that smile a little, chest still fluttering when Epy kisses him right back. Chaste and sweet, just a small exchange of familiar contact that means more than just the world.
Behind them, Amy sighs. "You know," she says, breaking them up. "If one of you were a woman I would have so many siblings by now."
Epy yelps, slightly affronted, but Mon, on the other hand, lets out a surprised laugh. They turn to look at her, at her pinched expression frozen between the typical disgust one has for parental PDA and a small smile of delight, and Mon finds himself thinking, some things just never change. Twenty years of that expression, living with it and getting chastised by it. They're immune to it by now, but still, the knowledge that they could still conjure it out of her by just being her embarrassing, malandi dads warms him up in ways he can never describe.
Epy wags his finger at her. "Shouldn't you be somewhere else?"
"Hey, I wanted to go out with friends tonight," Amy retorts, shrugging. "But I heard my darling fathers wanted to spend time with me, their favorite child--"
"Only child."
"-- so here I am. Aren't you happy to see me, Daddy?" She bats her eyelashes at them, pouting, a perfect rendition of Epy's own pout. "Aren't you just elated?"
Epy pinches her calf. "Pinagiisipan ko pa."
"Ay," Amy rolls her eyes, though she herself is grinning and pinching him right back. "Ay, ganun. Ganyan na pala."
"Kelan ka ba magkakaroon ng sarili mong bahay, ha? Para pwede ko landian Tatay mo nang 'di ka nakikiusisa?"
"Mami-miss niyo rin ako, ano."
"Weh nga. Pustahan."
"Daddy--"
Grinning to himself, Mon sits back and watches the loves of his life bicker back and forth, affectionately. Unconciously, he fiddles for his phone and snaps a photo of them both, making sure to capture Epy's indulgent smile and Amy's indignant puppy eyes. Once he has it, he moves to pocket his device, but thinks the better of it and clicks the share button.
It takes him a moment (he doesn't quite remember how tag) but in about a minute, he has it how he likes it and immediately presses send.
A second later, Amy is whining; "Tatay, I look so ugly here!"
And he laughs, having gotten his revenge. "Cute mo kaya!"
"Noooo, take it again!"
Epy laughs, leaning his head against Mon's shoulder, and Mon figures, as he watches his daughter pout at him, maybe he can learn to love IG stories after all.
baby damulag
FR: Mahal RECEIVED: 11.45 pm
:: Guess who fell asleep while watching civil war??
((no spoilers bc i myself have not watched it charot under cut kasi medj mahaba due to format))
from the eyes of another
the rpf fam from the eyes of others
(This is honestly purely indulgent because I love Amy and I love this family/pairing and I s2g somebody needs to stop me pls this is not healthy anymore I need to go lie down nakakahiya ako juskopo.)
it’s fiction. not real. don’t get butthurt. tnx.
i. Age 8
“Amy, halika na.”
It wasn’t that Angelica was uncomfortable seeing them together—father-daughter, father-father, daughter-father—she was just… jolted, perhaps, is not the right word.
Stunned? Startled?
Culture shocked.
It wasn’t a secret, really, their relationship and their marriage. And it really wasn’t a secret that they legally have a kid. Everybody in the industry who was anybody in the industry knew who exactly Amy Quizon-Confiado was. Knew all her tastes and her dislikes, all her wide-eyed innocence and her genuine curiosity. Her dads always made sure that every intern on every set they ever brought her on doted on their little girl just as much as they doted on her.
Nevertheless, she was a good kid. Maybe a little spoiled, but not entitled. She sure had a lot more to learn, though. But like everything else, she took it all in stride. With a smile to match.
“Wait lang, Daddy, Ate Angelica is almost done!” Amy pleaded with the voice who called her from the entrance of the little break tent they were in. Then, to Angelica herself; “Are you done, po?”
Angelica smiled, and handed her the paper star she had just finished folding.
“See?” she said, chuckling a little as the girl marveled at the origami like it was a miracle in her hands. “Easy.”
“I’ll make a thousand.” Amy giggled back in a reverent, breathless whisper. “Then I’ll give it all to you.”
By the end of the shooting, Amy hadn’t reached a thousand. But Angelica was drowning in at least thirty to fifty paper stars. It was sweet, really, how the little girl had tearfully handed her the last one she had made on the day of the wrap party, apologetic that she was unable to keep her promise. Angelica gratefully accepted it and carefully put it in her pocket before kissing the sniffling child on the crown of her head in thanks.
“Thank you.” Sir Epy said a while later, when the three of them were saying their goodbyes, Sir Mon carrying Amy, fast asleep, drooling on his shoulder. “She needed a friend.”
Angelica still wasn’t comfortable, not entirely anyway. But as she watched the two actors make their way to their car, hand in hand, talking in hushed tones as their baby girl snored away, dead to a world that was wary of her, she thought, they’re not so different after all.
She kept all the paper stars in a jar. Just in case Amy wanted to add to it, if they ever meet again.
ii. Age 9
Robert used to say that she would never be fit to be a mother. Or a wife. She was too focused, but also too flighty. But there isn’t anything wrong with living by yourself, you know, Rhina, he used to tell her, right before he would steal a bit out of whatever desert she had on the table before her.
“You would make a lovely princess, Kuya Epy.”
Watching them made her ache for her brother and sister-in-law sometimes. What would Robert have done? Would he have worn the crown too? Would he have allowed her to draw on his face? What would Ate Diane have done? Would she make stories up for her, too? Would she tie Amy’s hair and iron her clothes and kiss her goodbye every day whilst she dropped her off at school?
“Tita Rhina, look! Tatay looks like a butterfly!”
The face paint was glittery pink and was probably really, really itchy. But Kuya Mon stayed still as Amy fawned over him, dancing around before plucking the plastic tiara off of Kuya Epy’s curly head of hair and placing it atop Kuya Mon’s head, clapping delightedly at the finished product.
And just like that, the ache was gone. Rhina laughed. Threw her head back and fell against Kuya Epy’s shaking shoulder, trying her best to keep her embarrassing snorting to herself.
It didn’t really help that her visit had caught Kuya Mon in the middle of repairing one of his cars. His hands still had grease on it, dingy tank top hanging loose on his broad frame and worn out jeans sporting smudges and marks from every part of the of the engine she could name and probably more. He was mortified, she could tell. But only a little. His smile gave away the affection that overcame his pride.
“Thank you, pangga.” he said, bowing his head when Amy handed him the matching wand to his tiara.
Rhina grinned and pulled her niece into her lap for an impromptu tickle fight.
Pasalubong giving was the best part of coming home.
iii. Age 10
Patty was always allowed to stay over at Amy’s house, no matter the time and no matter the day. A part of her believed it was because her mother and her step-dad held a very soft spot in their hearts for the girl. They grew up in big families so the idea of somebody living as an only child both baffled and worried them at the same time.
“And her fathers have very demanding jobs, right? She must be so lonely all the time.”
In many ways, this was true. Amy had a mild aura of clinginess about her, a possessiveness over the ones she held dear, which resulted from a type of loneliness. But Patty never blamed this on her fathers’ absence.
“Wait lang, ok?” Amy said, getting up from her position on the floor, fidgeting with the hem of her pajama top. “I’ll just ask Daddy something.”
Patty nodded her head, face frozen in a frown of concern. Amy had been fidgeting all night, restless and inconsolable, worrying her head over something. What it was, Patty had no clue. But she hated seeing her best friend this way. “Amy” and “anxiety” should never be in the same sentence together unless the word “grades” was mixed somewhere in there.
So she followed a little way behind, quiet and cautious, just like a mouse, and she peeked into the living room, where her best friend was standing before one of her dads, looking like she’s about to cry.
“He’s coming home, baby girl.” Tito Epy said, a subtle kind of pain upon his face. “Diba nakausap mo siya kanina? Uuwi din siya… Hindi lang ngayon.”
“Ang tagal naman ng shooting.” Amy sniffled, scrubbing at her nose with the back of her hand. “Kailan siya uuwi?”
Tito Epy’s expression deepened, and he pulled Amy into an embrace, squeezed her to his thin chest.
“I don’t know.” was his only reply.
Patty slipped back into the bedroom.
People have always wondered why they were best friends. Aside from some odd quirks in each other’s personalities, she and Amy were as different as night and day. Nobody from the outside understood. But they did.
Patty lost her dad to the battle field. Amy lost her biological parents to a car crash.
Death had a weird way of bringing people together.
iv. Age 11
Everybody on set thought she was way too big to be sat on Epy’s lap like that.
But he didn’t seem to mind.
“Dad I found a Mudkip!”
Aaron watched as Epy paused in listening to the conversation to look down at his daughter’s game boy. What he saw there made him smile and kiss her on the temple.
“Make sure you catch it.” he said, before turning back to the conversation on going like he never really left it.
A little while later, Amy pumped her fist, a short cheer of triumph. Epy laughed along with her when she shoved the game boy under his nose out of sheer excitement. “I caught it!” she exclaimed in an exaggerated stage whisper, so as to not disturb the adults around her. “I caught it! I need a name now.”
Epy raised a brow. “What about Mud Kipling the fourth?”
“I wanna name it Mabini. Since you’re the one who brought Mud Kipling home.”
“Mud Kipling?” Aaron asked, quietly. He didn’t intend to be heard, but Amy picked up on it anyway.
“Mud Kipling Jose Salamander the third. It’s our axolotl!” Amy helpfully replied, beaming like a proud parent despite her stumbling pronunciation. “Here, I’ll show you Kuya—Daddy can I borrow your phone please?”
The said axolotl was a flesh pink one, with three rose tinted gills protruding from either side of its head. Amy had a lot of pictures, about fifteen in total, and Aaron saw each and every one.
“It really does look like a Mudkip.” he commented, unable to find any proper thing to say. He never did know how to properly act around children. Especially children as excitable as this one.
Amy looked at him funny but didn’t say anything, choosing instead to lock the phone and shoot him a small smile.
“I’m going back to Daddy now.” she said, skipping back to her father and settling in his lap again, game boy back in both her hands.
Five minutes later, somebody (most probably Archie or Alvin) made a comment about Mon’s hair and Epy, with a small smile in his tone, mumbled into Amy’s ear; “Do you like your Tatay’s flat top?”
Amy shrugged. “I wanna know how many five pesos coins we can balance on it.”
Aaron let out a bark of surprised laughter, loud enough for the make-up artists on the other side to pause and look over in curiosity. Nobody else seemed to have heard them, and perhaps that was their intention. Amy grinned, first at her game, then at him, sly and cheeky only in the way a child’s smile could be. Epy himself was giggling, hiding his amusement behind his little girl’s head.
Aaron smiled back, a whole lot more at ease than before, and made note of how their eyes lit up with triumph.
v. Age 12
“Eps, tigilan mo nga pisngi ko.”
Jasmine looked up from her script to see Sir Epy all folded up on one part of the couch, right hand saddling his chin, left hand pinching Sir Mon’s left cheek.
She stifled a laugh.
“Dad ikaw ‘ata yung dahilan kung bakit may dimples si Tay, eh.” Amy said from her seat next to Jasmine, briefly looking up at them from the pages of her novel, expression a mix of both boredom and exasperation.
“May nunal ka rin sa pisngi mo alam mo ba ‘yun?” Sir Epy laughed, ceasing his pinching in favor of poking Sir Mon’s dimple, utterly amused by what he was doing.
Sir Mon rolled his eyes and carefully swatted at his husband with the detachable pages of his script.
“Never get married, Jasmine.” he said to her, shaking his head. “You’re going to condemn yourself to a life time of this.”
“He’s just saying that.” Sir Epy said, grinning, dodging the pages and pinching Sir Mon’s nose in retaliation. “He loves me.”
Jasmine felt a coo nearly escape her mouth. But she held it in, turning it into a giggle of amusement instead as Sir Mon turned to glare half-heartedly at Sir Epy, wrinkling his nose in a valiant attempt to shake the offending forefinger and thumb off.
“You do.” Sir Epy teased, moving a little closer until the tip of his nose was touching the one he had in his grasp. “You love me.”
The glare faltered, gave way to something a little softer underneath, but it was quickly covered up by something more mischievous when Sir Mon titled his chin a little forward to land a swift peck on Sir Epy’s smile.
Next to Jasmine, Amy gagged. “You’re both so weird.”
“Ang sweet kaya nila.” Jasmine argued, laughing.
“You don’t have to live with them, Ate Jasmine.” Amy replied, rolling her eyes. “They’re like this every day.”
“Ayaw mo ‘nun?” Sir Mon raised an eye brow, wiggling his nose about now that it was finally free. “Sweet ang mga magulang mo?”
“Tatay,” Amy shook her head, a secret smile hidden behind a frown. “Hindi naman ‘yun ang problema ko. Ok lang ‘yun sa ‘kin. Maging sweet kayo, sige lang—pero please. ‘Wag naman sa harapan ko.”
Sir Epy laughed, the fake glasses he had on slipping down his nose.
“Nakukuha niya ‘to sa ‘yo.” Sir Mon grinned, pushing the frames back on their perch.
Jasmine smiled, turned her eyes away when Sir Epy returned the gesture with a sweet peck of his own. It was an intimate moment done freely under the gaze of anybody who happened to just pass by. It was brave, Jasmine thought. To exist together in a world against them is already a feat. To flaunt their existence is courage. To love as openly as they do is valor. They were two very brave people.
Next to her, Amy sighed. Rolled her eyes and returned to her novel, muttering under her breath.
“So. Weird.” she said. “My dads are so weird.”
Jasmine grinned, reached over and ruffled her hair.
She’s going to grow up brave. She thought, pinching the little girl’s cheek. I can’t wait to see that day.
Amy whined, flushed a little pink, and hunched over her book, curling into a ball. “Whatever.”
Jasmine laughed and left her to finish her story.
A/N: the axolotl was ate @shuerrleshirley‘s idea it was too cute to pass up XDD
buntag
Amy stirred at the tender caress of calloused fingers upon the high arch of her brow and she let out a lengthy whine of indignation, annoyed at the sudden interruption of her sleep.
“Shhh, sorry, baby girl…” a gentle voice hushed, soft, just like the touch it belonged to. “Sorry.”
At that, she frowned, a small downward tick of the lips, slowly drifting back to sleep as she hugged her little blue bunny doll closer to her chest and rolled over, determined to get away. The fingers were gracious, though, letting her go with a quiet, fond laugh, and she whined a bit more, digging her face into the warm chest she was pressed up against. Arms, previously dormant, came about her, hugging her close the same way she was hugging her little blue bunny close. Now, everything was pleasantly warm and familiar, like the well-worn blanket she had kicked off herself a few hours before. It was cozy. She stifled a yawn, drifting back into a deep slumber.
A little while later, however, she was gently awoken once more. But this time, by the soft murmur of a voice tickling the fine hairs on her forehead.
“Ang aga ng wake-up call mo.” the voice said in a sleepy stage whisper. Amy identified it to be her Tatay.
“Sorry.” another voice—her Daddy—replied, this time from just behind her head, just as soft as the touch that had woken her up before. “Ang cute ninyo, eh.”
Her Tatay laughed, a small breath of air that ghosted her hairline, shifting carefully and pulling out the arm he had beneath Amy to heft himself up a little bit, but keeping her close to his chest, comfortable, cautious not to wake her up not knowing that she already was.
“Good morning.” he breathed, light and airy.
There was no reply.
Amy resisted the urge to open her eyes, and waited patiently for them to say anything else, excited by the idea of eavesdropping. When nothing came, however, except for the small added dip in the part of the mattress behind her, it became apparent to her exactly what they were doing, and she pouted.
“Ew.” she said, clear as day. “You’re both so weird.”
Her Tatay let out a small burst of surprised laughter as her eyes flew open and her head tilted up to greet their smiling faces, both flushed, slightly embarrassed to have been caught in the act of a chaste good morning kiss.
She grinned up at them, mischievously, and, with the air of a little peeping kuting just like how her Tita Rhina so fondly called her, said; “Hi.”
Her Daddy chuckled and pressed a kiss to the center of her eyebrows, ran tender fingers through her hair. “Good morning, baby girl.”
Amy yawned. “Um… Maayong buntag!”
Her Daddy laughed again, a low rumble in his chest. And her Tatay smiled, bright and sunny, proud at her proper pronunciation.
“Maayong buntag, pangga.” he said, kissing her cheek. “Kaon ta?”
“Yes, po! Pancakes, please!”
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just a day
... for the rpf family (part of this au)
(essentially i was feeling a bit shitty so i thought i’d write cute)
I’m rebelling against our piss-poor politicians
by writing goddamn monepy headcanons wala na putang ina you’ve all pulled me down this rabbit hole of domesticity and cute i can’t see the sky anymore
(... not that i’m complaining or anything...)
also once again before anybody gets butt hurt-- it’s fiction po. it’s not real. don’t take it too seriously. thanks.
So a friend of mine bet that I couldn’t write crack RPF with third person self-insert but guess what?
He has severely underestimated my love for money. Or for what that money can buy (read: food).
Now I have 500 pesos. Wew.