Ever have that one family member that you really don't like? As in, someone will say "Are you related to them", and you say "No", like a liar? That's me all of the time. Of course, nobody really believes me, given I'm the spitting image of my dad. Dark skin, a disaster of dark strands that I call hair, tall height, and lavender eyes. I think the eyes are what really makes people recognize me for who I am, or rather who my dad is.

I'm willing to bet you know my dad. Heck, you probably know just from my description of myself. You probably put two and two together enough to think "Hey, this is Dr. Facilier's son, Jamie." And you'd be right, biologically speaking. But according to me, that man is not my dad. He never was. I'd never really known him from my childhood before he got all voodoo-uno-reversed or whatever, but I do know him from others. Especially the Hero Kids. They like to make sure I don't forget my roots.

The door to my room swings open with a loud bang, and I hear a voice call, "Jamie, it's nearly eleven, get your lazy butt out of bed!"

I groan, trying to hide under my covers.

"Cindy, just give me a few more minutes," I grumble, and then the blanket is yanked off of me.

My older sister towers over me, her green eyes narrowed. She grabs my leg and begins to pull me out of bed. Startled, I sit up and slide off myself. She smirks triumphantly, and I roll my eyes.

"You're such a jerk," I say.

"That means I'm doing my job as an older sister correctly," she replies, tousling my hair playfully.

I can't help but giggle a little. "Alright, alright, I'm up."

I follow her downstairs to the main floor of the orphanage. A fun fact about the orphanage- it's run by the sole heroine that cares about us villain kids, Snow White. She's married to Prince Florian, obviously, but she devotes most of her time to taking care of us. She smiles as she sees me enter the kitchen.

"Good morning, Jamie," she says sweetly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, thanks," I reply, opening the pantry and fishing through for a box of cereal.

"I made pancakes, if you'd prefer those. Everyone else is in the multi-purpose room, if you want to grab a plate and join them." She hands me a plate and points to the stack of fluffy, delicious-looking pancakes. I grab a few, thank her, and make my way down the hall to the multi-purpose room.

The first thing I see is Jennie and Ryan Gothel absolutely going at each other in an intense game of chess. Honestly, they play that game so much that I get concerned when I see them doing other things. Jennie's long, dark ponytail swings and she shakes her head, objecting to one of Ryan's moves. Ryan's icy blue eyes twinkle with amusement as he engages in the friendly debate with her.

"...It's totally legal- check the rule book if you need, Jen," he's saying as I approach. I take one look at the board, grab one of Jennie's pawns, and move it way too far for it to be a legal move. She stares at me, appalled.

"Jamie!" Jafar's daughter says, but her dark eyes reveal that she's amused by my antics.

"Oh come on, I bet there's a rule in that rule book of yours that says it's totally fine," I tease.

It's true- Ryan and Jennie have come up with multiple different versions of chess with their own separate rules. It's impressive, and also highly concerning for the rest of us that are actually sane and have lives. Well, I guess I can't really say that I have a life, given I'm cooped up in this orphanage most days unless I want to go outside and get pushed around. I decide to go find someone else to terrorize, and promptly walk right into a petite blonde, who squeaks upon impact.

"Sorry, Jamie!" she squeals, her face turning red with embarrassment.

"Nah, it's my fault, Els," I apologize, giving her a smile.

Ellie is Ursula's daughter, but she sure as heck doesn't look it. Except for the eyes, maybe- those ocean blue irises are awfully enchanting. Maybe it's why most people don't recognize her as a villain kid. Regardless, the truth gets out eventually, and people are ruthless, even with a cinnamon roll like Ellie.

"That's cute. Now kiss already," another voice calls.

I turn to glare at Maddie, who grins smugly at me from her spot on the couch. Her short, dark hair falls in her face as she shifts her golden eyes back to her social media. Maddie is the hothead of our group, if her horns didn't make it obvious enough. Maleficent's daughter is definitely a force to be reckoned with. Except for when she's sleeping with her stuffed dragon, Sir Snuffles. Then it's okay to laugh at her.

Cindy walks into the room with her own plate of pancakes and a towel wrapped around her head of wet black-and-purple hair. She approaches the couch, leans over, and kisses Maddie on the cheek, saying "Good morning, babe."

Maddie blushes furiously, her piercing gaze soft as Cindy sits down next to her. The fact that my sister got a girlfriend before is something she never fails to let me forget. But they're a cute couple, so I don't complain as much as I could. I glance down at my plate of pancakes again, only to realize that the stack looks smaller than I remembered. I groan, then look down.

A dark-furred lion cub stands at my feet, slowly chewing with a guilty look in his green eyes. He swallows, then gives me a sheepish, fanged grin.

"Sorry," Scrape mumbles.

We don't know what Scar had originally named his son, but Kovu was obviously already taken by his half-brother, so Snow White decided to go with a slightly friendlier version of the name, Scrape. He is our loveable furball, that's for sure, even if he's going to grow up one day to be the spitting image of his father. Unless, of course, things take a turn and he ends up looking like his mom, which would be pretty dang funny if he suddenly went all hyena instead of lion. But for now, he's the youngest and the smallest, and by default the most cuddly, so long as we let him steal our snacks from time to time.

"I gotta remember to never take my eye off of my food," I sigh dramatically, and Scrape snickers.

"Nothing edible is ever safe from Scrape," Cindy chimes in with a laugh. Her arm is wrapped around Maddie as she speaks.

"Are we sure inedible items are safe from him too?" a new voice asks teasingly.

My gaze shifts to the back corner of the room, where a guy in his late teens sits reading, an empty plate next to him. His red-brown gaze never leaves the pages of his book, and he doesn't seem to care that the streaks of red in his wavy, shoulder-length auburn hair get in his face as he reads. The three piercings in each of his ears as well as the piercing in his left eyebrow catch the natural light peeking in through the window, but it also draws attention to a nasty burn scar on his neck that disappears beneath his orange hoodie. I don't think I've ever seen how far the burn scar goes, but that's Chris's story to share, not mine. I'm not going to lie, I envy him a lot. Given he looks nothing like his villain parent, who I will not mention for the sake of Chris's comfort levels, he's had it really easy when it comes to interacting with non-villains. Especially because by the time they find out what monster he inherited DNA from, they've already heard the gut-wrenching story of how he got his burn scars and can't find it in them to hate him after that. I wish it could be the same for me, but like I said, I inherited my dad's looks.

Except in my humble opinion, I pull off the looks much better.

I look back at my plate again, realizing I've looked away a second time. And sure enough my pancakes are all gone, and there's Scrape, chewing again. I sigh, glad that I'm not very hungry anyway.

"You're lucky I refuse to practice voodoo," I tell him. "And that I suck at sewing dolls."

Scrape burps in response. The room erupts into laughter.

As much as I hate being the son of a villain, I can't imagine a life where I'm not, as hard as I try. I have to remind myself that if I were "normal", I never would have met these incredible people. I'd probably have wound up a jerky kid of some stuck-up hero. I likely would've done the same bullying to my friends that's done to me. And the thought of that makes me uncomfortable. Maybe it's a good thing I'm stuck here, even if it doesn't seem like it most of the time.

Because what kind of life am I living if I don't have these crazy, goofy people to call my friends?

It ain't a good life, that's for sure. 

(1570 words)