//re-proofed and pastebinned for your... Enjoyment?//
 
You decide to take a kid in, you've got a good job but you're all alone and your pay cheques are pilling up, so why not? The government completed all the checks, all the paper was done, social workers had checked throughout your house and, finally, AOK'd you to be a foster patent. You were incredibly excited, you put in a huge amount of effort and cash to prepare your house for the kid, for the big day to arrive. The day, and kid, does indeed arrive. It's a monster girl. A monster girl? You weren't expecting that, you thought you were going to get a human kid, maybe you aren't as prepared as you thought you were?
Oh shit! You're not making a great first impression on the... The... What is she? The baggy hoody comes down to almost the knees of her little, lithe frame, you can't make out much of her features.
SHIT! You still haven't said anything, you begin to stammer out something.
"I expected that! I knew that was going to happen, you lied to me miss!" - it's the little girl, she isn't happy.
"No body likes Manticores! Nobody! You said it was going to be different... I'm so stupid that I believed you, miss!"
OH FUUUUUUUCK! A manticore? What's a fuckin' manticore?! Jesus, do something!
You slam to your knees as quickly as possible to get to her eye level and finally greet her; a little too quickly. She squeaks and jumps back, you wince hard at your already bruising knees' sharp complaint.
"Uh ha ha, I'm sorry kiddo, you were just so cute and all I lost my tongue!"
"Bullshit! And I'm not "Kiddo", I'm Frankie!"
Yeesh. Tough crowd, and for a kid who'd be primary school aged she's got a bit of a mouth on her. You can't help but laugh at her prideful anger though.
"What's so funny mate? Y-You just stand there and stare at me, now you're laughing? You must really... Hate Manticores like everyone else" - the last bit, almost too quiet to hear, hurt you more than her swift kick to the knee cap.
before you can form a reply, the social worker's taken off the girls hood, two fluffy ears spring free, and a decidedly tomboyish, pixie cut, red, hair-do is brought to light. The social worker doesn't look, or sound, extremely pleased.
"Francesca! Don't kick the man, even if he's apparently clueless," you're not getting any help from that quarter apparently, "he's probably just surprised you're not human, as inane a reason as that may be. Look in the stack of mail by the door."
All three present look at the embarrassingly large amount of unopened mail, you'd been meaning to look at it for a while. To her credit Frankie even waits for your nod of approval to root through your mail.
"Look for something from the Govt."
An envelope, right near the top, is procured, Frankie thrusts it at you; she's still pretty upset, you guess you can't blame her honestly. Your face goes from curious, to surprised, to really embarrassed, all in turn.
"Well sir? What does it say, make sure to let little Francesca here in on it too, would you?
You both glare at the social worker, for different reasons; the letter basically says that there was a mix up and your papers were sent to the monster girl division, and since you qualified there too they just shrugged and said "fuck it" and accepted it. Typical bureaucracy.
"What does that mean mate?"
Loves that tough guy act, huh?
"It means you were wrong Frankie, I don't hate you, nor do I hate Manticores. You're the first I've ever met even, I want to get to know you better, all right? So forgive me and let me introduce myself again, okay?"
"F-Fine. I'll give you a second chance, but I'm warning you! You won't get a third mister!" She even has the gall to grin at you as she says it. Also: Mister? That's slightly more polite at leas-JESUS CHRIST WHAT IS THAT?!
Frankie notices your expression and follows your gaze behind herself. She does a full circle.
"W-what? Is there a spi-spi-spider on me?!"
You note the arachnophobia even as you point out the thing on her back, lifting up the hem of her hoody. Jesus Christ, is she just going to keep going around in circles? You're not even that shocked anymore. Frankie's gotten more and more stressed however. You take pity on the revolving manticore and just grab it on it's next round pass. She jumped just about a metre vertical and lets out what could be the cutest squeak you've ever heard.
"D-D-D-D-DON'T JUST GRAB THAT!"
She wrenches the... Tail? Out of your grasp and looks at you with an adorably wounded expression.
"It's a tail you idiot! H-have you never seen a tail? All Manticores have tails! There's nothing weird about it okay?! It's just a tail, and it's normal!"
This girl's had a fun life hasn't she? Your raised eyebrow to the social worker is met with the same indifference as any other time you've looked at her. Definitely no help from that quarter.
"Hahaha, I'm sorry Frankie, like I said, I've never seen a manticore before, not hiding any more surprises are you?"
"No! Well... There's my paws and I've got wings, they work too before you say something stupid! I-I've got ears like this too, but one's a bit... Wrecked."
She was right, even if she had them flat against her head you could tell the tip of the left was scarred over, it twitched a little as if conscious of your gaze.
"They're cute, all of you is cute Frankie, from the tip of your ear to the tip of your tail."
"T-Tip?! There's two! Tip-SSSS! A-A-And I'm not cute!"
You get a glimpse of a face as red as her hair before she barrels into you and starts whomping you. You decide it's the perfect time to press the attack and keep teasing her. That is until the social worker coughs, Frankie and you both pause, you in a headlock.
"Well, you get on fine, and whilst you're an idiot, you're not a pervert. Probably. We'll come by and check on you regularly; right now you're getting on in a satisfactory way, and honestly I've wasted enough of my time here. Good day."
Frankie sneers at the slammed door.
"What's her problem Frankie? Can you let go of my head now too?"
"She's just a big cow. You better be nicer, all right! Or I'll run away, I mean it, I've done it before!"
The thought of dealing with a barely school aged runaway manticore fills you with enough dread to take care in the future.
 
You two get on fine, her habitation started pretty smoothly, Frankie was pleased with the house, and even more so at the prospect of having her own room. After attempting to cut and hem tail and wing holes into the clothes you had bought, and having them swiftly thrown back at you in disgust at your hack job, to make up for it you took her on her first spending spree. Clothes for little monstergirls run towards the expensive, apparently fashion designers have no sympathy towards put upon husbands, and monster girls needing an emergency change of clothes, and as always, clothes for kids are even more expensive. She certainly doesn't waste an opportunity, it's not long before you're a pack mule and a very happy manticore child is eating her weight in shitty food court food. Apparently the foster parents before you were frugal to the point of abusiveness. You can't blame the kid, and honestly, she's so cute you couldn't have helped it if you tried to set a spending limit at all. Sure, she was a stubborn tomboy with a foul mouth and a smartass whenever she had the opportunity, but you were easily able to give back as good as you got, and if you treated her with a bit of respect she'd even listen to you. Even if her anti-authority figure instincts meant she didn't necessarily do what you had asked of her. You couldn't understand why the kid was churned through the system so much.
 
That's how the two've you stayed for a year or so: the foster parent and the quickly growing manticore girl. You comforted her after her first day at her new school after she had been bullied mercilessly. You stormed down to the school and yelled in her defence on the second day, after she beat all the bullies up. That weekend you were met with a shy and embarrassed manticore girl introducing you to her new friends who had come over to play. You made sure the incredibly scary expression you wore for a second told the girls you definitely remembered the shit they were up to a few days beforehand, and wouldn't soon forget, before quickly brightening up to a gracious smile and providing some nourishment. You gave the one, put upon and obviously dragged along boy a look of sincere sympathy. His eyes pleaded for you to save him from the not-so-metaphorical lions den. You looked down and your eyes said: no. That's how her life with you progressed, you often went out and played with her: rough housing, playing catch, helping her learn how to fly properly. You held her close when she had to have a dislocated shoulder popped back in, hating yourself every moment for fucking up, knowing her claws digging into you were a fraction of the pain. You had fun with her on the first holiday she had ever been on, snorkelling on a little island, covered in pines. You comforted her when she fell out with friends, and cleaned up after her get togethers and sleep overs. With said friends.
 
But after a while, years in fact, you couldn't work up the energy to play with Frankie as much as you used to, and the thin skinned thing she was took it personally, and you drifted apart. You couldn't accept that, of course you couldn't! So you dragged the sulky manticore out to your favourite park and after a while you both got into it again. It was the happiest you've seen her in a while; she was showing off a lot more than usual with her flying. She shot up into the air, and shouting down to you, dove deep like a chased fighter pilot, you looked on in amazement, then horror, she wasn't going to pull up in time. You had to act now, and you did. Crying out her name you ran towards her, arms out stretched, trying to meet her before her earthbound arc met the ground.
And you did.
35 kilos of embarrassed manticore slammed into your stomach, and you rocketed on to your back from the force. You both lay there in the grass, before you started laughing, half from unwound adrenaline and half at her.
"Don't laugh jerk! I coulda hurt myself!" You laugh harder at that statement
"That's my line! What were you doing Frankie?! You're not a damn Spitfire or something. You'll give me a heart attack someday."
"Well... It's fine! No one got hurt."
Getting up off you, she dusts herself down, and extends a fluffy paw to you.
"Are you just going to lie around all day dad? Or are you weaker than I thought you were, you lame human!"
Oh how the times have changed! She could laugh a little less sincerely though.
You get up.
You get up.
You get up.
"D-Dad. Hurry up, you can't lie around all day."
You try again, but you can't seem to find the strength.
"H-H-Here! Take my paw! Alright?!" Jesus, Frankie, please, don't sound so scared. Please.
With a single yank she gets you upright. Everything goes dark.
Now everything's on it's side.
Frankie's... Somewhere, You can hear her. She's talking to someone. It stinks of iron and bile. What's she saying? No, Frankie no, you're not dead... Frankie, shut up, you haven't been murdered, if she doesn't shut up about that, you're going to  smack her and prove to her how "dead" you are... Frankie, don't sound so scared. Frankie, don't cry, You're sorry. You're sorry, Frankie, you're sorry. Frankie...
 
You'd know the short cropped red hair and 1 and a half fluffy ears laying in your lap anywhere. You don't know where you are though. The shitty bed, thin linen, scratchy woollen blanket and eye searing fluorescent light gives you a pretty good idea though. Any further questions are answered when you notice the plastic tube down your nose and the incessant bleeping of the drip machine and heart rate monitor. You try to talk. Bad idea. The pain'd suggest you'd been intubated recently. You settle on ruffling the sleeping girls hair. She's always been a slow waker. Alright, wakey wakey, stop nuzzling the hand, okay, you guess it's stretch time, are we awake now? aaaand, yes! Yes we are! Oh wow, Frankie, you're a mess.
"D-DAD?!"
The glomp hug was cute and all, but it didn't help your pain. She seemed to get the message and eased up, but not much, she must think you'd try and... Yeah... If she ever lets you go again.
"Don't try and talk okay? They only took the tube out a little while ago. Don't look at me like that, how was I to know you'd already tried?!"
She's handling this pretty we-Oh, you guess the anger and surprise awakening ran out. Her tears started to dampen the hospital smock.
"I... I thought I killed you! I really did dad! You were just mumbling there, and when I sat you up, you just-just-blood! Just blood and puke and you fell there and shook... I knew enough to put you on your side, you know, the recovery position, we learnt it in school dad, not long ago," that earned her a proud smile and a pat, it only seemed to upset her more though, "t-then you just laid there, just, not moving! I-I thought you were dead, I thought I killed you! It's all my fault, no! Don't look at me like that!"
She's pushed her self off of you now, she can't look you in the eye. Frankie, please, don't.
"I-I-I shouldn't have messed around! I just wanted to show off! It's my own stupid, stupid, stupid fault!"
She's beginning to punctuate her sentences by slamming her fists on to her knees; you're only going to hurt yourself Frankie.
"It had just been so long you know! So I practiced in secret! I just thought... You were bored of me, you know? We didn't play as much, and I'm such a fucking kid!"
Where'd she learn that?! She doesn't hear you fucking swearing!
"So I thought: I'll really impress you, or something stupid like that, I'll show you some really cool acrobatics, and it'd be really fun, and we'd play like we used to, and you wouldn't get bored of me, and I, and I, and I... I wouldn't be alone again! Pleeeeeeeeeeease don't die dad! Please!"
She's outright bawling now, you can't help but join her. Feebly you gesture for Frankie to get up onto the bed and you hug her close, your tears dripping onto her furry ear, causing it to flick. Even now she's cute, snotty nosed, puffy eyed, and weeping like a girl half her age into your shoulder as you stroke her hair as well as you can manage.
You manage to croak to her: It's not your fault, I love you, I won't let this take me away from you, Frankie.
She only cried harder.
 
It felt like months had passed by the time you were wheeled out of the hospital, all kinds of get well balloons tied to the chair, gifts from Frankie's school friends who had crowded into your room the day before. The young boy dragged along still, a white knuckled death grip on his wrist delivered care of cute lamia girl. You exchanged looks of pity with the young lad. There wasn't much that could be done. Maybe if you'd gone in when you first started feeling so tired, they could've done something. Guess it really was your fault after all. It was quiet around the house, you tried to keep up appearances, still joked and teased Frankie, but now she hesitated to whomp you in response. She noticed the hurt in your eyes when she treated you differently too, it hurt her as well. What could you do? The frustration constantly mounted, frustration at your uselessness, frustration at your lost agency, frustration at every healthy person you saw, frustration from your frustration, but most of all, frustration at your body and how little you could do for your daughter. For a girl as stubborn and standoffish as she was normally, it was nice that she was more physically affectionate. Add that to the upsides of untreatable illness.
 
The pain soon came, there wasn't much that could be done, Frankie rushed over when ever you so much as winced, she was trying to help, you know it, you know... But you couldn't help but resent her a little, but that only made you feel disgusted by how weak you were; it hurt Frankie just as much as resenting her would have when you couldn't meet her eye for the shame. You quickly got used to the pain medication, tramadol, endone, nerve blockers, the whole nine yards. It helped you mask the outward affects of the pain at least and a semblance of normality returned to your house. The social worker came by to check up on Frankie, she even set her disapproving face to simply neutral. It's like you're already dead. A nurse came around often to help with your treatment, she was a cute kitsuné, all fluffy tails and outdated, short nurse uniform. If she was trying to cheer you up via titillation, she was out of luck, the opiates had sapped any libido you had had. That didn't stop Frankie from hating the nurse with a burning, jealous passion. Whilst the nurse was surprisingly clumsy with housework, one of Frankie's classmates picked up the slack. A quiet, bookish, actually human, girl, she was apparently Frankie's closest friend, of course you knew her fairly well, and always wondered how such a cute, quiet, dutiful girl such as her would get along with the loud, brash, walking disaster area that was  your manticore daughter. For all the work she did, she brought no comfort though. Tip toeing around you like you could be killed by a sudden surprise. You couldn't blame her.
 
That's how things stayed, and you held out for years, living off of your amassed savings, until Frankie surprised you and declared herself the "man-no-woman of the house," and managed to find herself a part time job. 3 attempted part time jobs later and she managed to find a place that could put up with her and she could deal with too. That left you with a lot of time to brood, and it was a blessing every day when you heard the front door slam and padded feet run to your room, a tired, sweaty manticore launching onto your bed to regale you with her day as you rubbed her ears and laughed warmly at her stories and swore you'd get out of bed and storm down to her work to yell at the next problem customer, just like you had done all those years before at her school. She'd always just laugh at you, pin your shoulders down and admonish you. You guess she really could sort out her own problems. You hoped she could. You had to last. Had to last until she hit her age of majority. You weren't about to let her be churned through the system again, not when she's so close to freedom, to striking out by herself, to leaving your side, and letting you just become a bittersweet memory. A stranger, dying in a bed, no fault of her own, no tie to you, nothing to weep over, nothing to mourn. Could you ask that much of your useless, decrepit, deleterious body?
 
You took a turn for the worse. The very worst. When you came to in that hospital bed, just like you had 5 years earlier, you beckoned the sobbing, exhausted manticore to your side. She had found you in the kitchen, you were stupid, the snack could've waited, you can't nibble on a one way ambulance trip and a concussion.
"D-Dad... I don't know what to say. I'm old enough to know this is bad, very bad. I know you're suffering, but I can't let you go! Please, dad, pull through, I don't care if you hate me, I don't care if I'm selfish, I-I-I almost don't care of you suffer! I just want to keep you! I want you by my side dad! I'm just a selfish monster, I didn't deserve you dad, I really didn't didn't! I-I just don't know what to do!"
"Frankie, hush, it's alright, I never let you shy away from the realities of my situation, you're not stupid. I don't want to leave you either, I love you, truly I do! It's me who lucked out! I signed some stupid paper on a whim and I got a gorgeous, thick headed idiot! I didn't deserve to have a daughter as good as you, so you know, I won't ever let go of something better than I should've gotten, it's mine! No takesies-backsies!"
That earned you a smile and a laugh, amongst all the tears. You wipe away some of the tears, when did she start putting on mascara? It's so adorably clumsy, the tears are making it even worse. You put your hand on one of her big fluffy paws, when did they start to dwarf your own? When did she grow into such a beautiful young girl? She still had that close cropped hair, man, the school was pissed when she grew it out only to put an undercut into it. You had to go down and yell at them until they un-suspended her. Frankie must've been a source of jealousy, she grew up lithe but with nice curvesandjesus she's my daughter.
"...Frankie, I wanted to hold out until you reached majority, and you have, I'm so proud of the girl you've become, and I'm sorry your birthday was so shit haha, a cripple must be a pretty big downer. I-I'm sorry. I've ruined your life, haven't I? No, don't interrupt! I was meant to look after you, to help you grow into a good person, and then I spent the last god knows how long in bed, utterly useless to you, an utter parasite, a load on your back, y-you must've resented me. I can't blame you, Frankie, my hand's not a handkerchief... All I can do for you is sign over what's left of my property to you, my savings, everything. Take every cent Frankie, please, and do whatever you want with it, you're free, you don't have to worry about the foster system again, or anyone telling you what to do; there's nothing tying you here, nothing to m-me. I-I'm just dead weight. L-let me just be a sad memory, please Frankie, I'm begging you, p-please move on. I can't keep it together haha, I'm a mess, when you came to me you w-were all alone, and leaving you all alone again is my deepest sin, I-I'm so sorry Frankie, so so sorry. This is all I can do for you, and all I can hope for is that the good out weighs the bad, and eventually that you'll forget me, and the pain I caused you, and start your own family, and never have to be alone again."
It was a long speech, you knew that that was the most you were ever going to say in one go ever again; but you prayed it was enough. All Frankie could muster was a quiet "yes" and both of you lay there, quietly comforting one another, some strange semblance of family. It wasn't long before you went back home, it was your final trip. You hadn't even hit 50. You peacefully slipped into unconsciousness with Frankie ever by your side, she insisted she was to be the one to turn off all the machinery, not even you could talk her out of it when she first haltingly broached the subject. Secretly you were proud she was that strong, but even then, you knew you'd feel guilty forcing that weight upon her shoulders, even if you couldn't trust anyone else to do it; at least that alleviated a little bit of the fear. The paper work was done, and it was a quiet , lonesome ceremony, Frankie didn't sob or weep for you, just as you had asked in the will; in fact she did everything you had asked of her, Frankie went on to start her own family. But she was stubborn, from the day she met you, till the day you died and beyond; she named her child after you, Frankie had never forgotten.