"Hey, mom?" Morgan asked as she entered the room. Her curious eyes searched her mother's face as she turned around to look. The older woman was in the middle of cooking a dinner that was much to fancy for just regular home life, as per usual. But that doesn't mean she can't hope that one day it would be in a restaurant.

"Yeah, sweetie?" Sarah Shortman wiped off her hands as her oldest daughter sat in an high-rise chair across from her brother and leaned against the island. The 13 year old was biting her lip with a contemplative look on her face.

"Um, well... You know how you're a famous author and all?" After a quick nod, Morgan continued with, "Well... How did you start writing? I mean, yeah by getting an idea and all, but you probably didn't just sit down and say, 'Oh hey! I'm going to magically become a good writer!' So... How?" Morgan was currently out of breath from her nervous rant and extended gesticulation. By the end of her speech, she managed to get up, arms flailing, and end with her hands on her mother's shoulders and was nose to nose with her.

"Well." Sarah started as she pushed her daughter's head away. "Truthfully? I started writing fanfiction."

"What of?" James asked tentatively. Some how, some way, he was failing 10th grade English so his parents made him study or do his homework in their presence, which is what he was doing now. But he couldn't help but be intrigued. His mother had written fanfiction too?

Sarah giggled lightly at all the old memories, of staying up late to write or draw something so her fans wouldn't be disappointed, or rushing to finish whatever it was she was doing so she could get her amazing idea down in paper. She kinda missed all those long and extended PMs with friends she would never meet, or waiting anxiously for the next chapter to be up, and only being able to blush and not able to read it out of excitement. And how she was sometimes reduced to hysterical giggles by the end if the author had mentioned her or...

"Mom?" Her two oldest looked at her with vague annoyance and curiosity.

With a blush, Sarah swiveled to flip the food in the pan. "Sorry." After one more moment, she turned and smiled. "Well, do you guys remember that show I had you guys watch when you were younger?"

"The one Morgan still watches, yeah?" James asked with faux innocents, which caused said sister to elbow him hard in the shoulder. James laughed slightly at her obviously being offended when their mother cleared her throat and got their attention.

"But the one produced by the awesome and amazing Craig Bartlett?"

"That's the one." A small smile was flashed at Morg when the no-longer-Bennette continued with, "Well, yeah, I wrote stuff for that and MBAV and Lost Boys and-" Out of no where, the youngest and most energetic and dramatic of the household popped out from behind her mother.

"Lost Boys!" Was asked with a strong and crazed feminine voice. Sarah shrieked and then swiveled to face Michaela with her hands on her chest. The 11 year old shot the woman a 'WTH?' look and sat down next to her brother.

"You need to stop with that magic-oh-hey!-let's-scare-my-poor-mother-to-death stuff. It's kind of getting old." Sarah rolled her eyes at her children and turned to twist the burner to off and put the chicken on a plate.

"Sorry mommy." A small and gentle voice murmured from behind her with a sniffle. Mickey brushed a tear out of her eye and she looked down, with her chocolate braid swinging slightly back and forth.

Sarah sighed. "Oh, I forgive you sweetie." With a small peck on the cheek, Mickey perked up with a bright white smile. "But save the theatrics for your father." Her smile faltered as her mother sauntered back to the cupboard so she could get the dishes.

"Alright mom." Michaela shrugged at her mother's side when she popped up there again. Sarah jumped, more slightly than last time, and glared at her daughter.

"Hmph. Whatever." The mother walked over to the table in the dining room that was connected to the kitchen. "But I swear if your father popped up behind me, I'll-"

"What?" Phillip Shortman questioned his wife cooly as she placed one plate on the table and turned.

"YEEEE!" She shrieked and the dishes tumbled out of her arms to the ground as her hands went to her mouth.

The plates landed with a clang, but the couple learned long ago that they joule not get easy, flimsy, breakable dishes. Unfortunately...

Phil groaned in pain as he lifter his foot out from underneath one of the plates. "Ancient damnation! Horrible Fates! How I curse the day these damned plates were ever made or even thought of! I wish thee, foul ceramic, to the darkest, deepest, bloodiest parts of Tartarus and to forever remain there for your entire miserable li-" Phil was caught mid-rant when his wife leaned in and kissed him sweetly on the lips. His anger drained out of him as he slowly righted himself to kiss his beloved properly.

"Mmm, I'm sorry that I dropped the plates." Sarah whispered in a loving tone.

"It's alright." Phillip murmured deeply as his nose swiped against hers. "I'll live."

"Good, now may we eat?" Michaela loved how her parents were so madly into each other, but she loved her mother's chicken more. So Mickey sliced her way in between her parents to pick up the plates from the ground.

"I'll wash 'em quick." Morgan suggested and ran off after her sister. Both of the parents look at their oldest and only son.

"I'll just... Sit down." And awkwardly, he did. James observed his parents in front of him, kissing for a moment and then pulling away, only to carry on the pattern. It was sort of gross, but hey, if it meant that James could be born, he guessed it was okay they were so touchy-feely.

The girls came back harboring slightly damp dishes and as soon as they were set down, everybody jumped onto Sarah's cooking.

"So, mom," Morgan chewed her food and looked up at her mother over the rim of her glasses. "What were you saying before, about fanfiction?"

Phil snorted. "Not this again." A moment after that snarky comment, the man yelped and glared at his lover. She sent him a fake, sweetly smile but then turned back to her kids.

"Well, I wrote a lot of fanfiction. But my most 'famous', and I use that term lightly, one was my fanfiction on a fanfiction." James frowned at her.

"A fic on a fic? How does that work?"

"Well," Sarah sighed and placed down her fork. She clasped her hands together with a thoughtful look and then leaned back in her chair. "It was all so long ago. But the story-line was post-canon," She glanced at her two daughters who nothing of fanfiction terminology, "Er, after the actual story-line from cartoon, but it was canon with her fic, but still slightly AU."

The children's heads tilted at the small, wistful smile on their mother's face. "Um, what's… A… U… and who was 'her'?" Mickey asked, trying to work it out in her head.

"AU is Alternate Universe. So I had some things in my fic that she didn't have and vice versa. And as for who… her account name was SuprSingr, but I don't her actual name. She was honestly one of the best writers and artists I have ever met and it's a shame that I haven't contacted her for years, even though I still keep in touch with starrynights1987. You know, my pen pal?" Her children nodded. "There was also Panfla. She was real cool and an amazing drawer, like Supr, and they both had a deviantart account under the same name. Actually, I think theirs is still up. You guys should go check it out."

"What was your name, mama?" Mickey wondered and made sure to check it up later to see her mother's original work.

Sarah flushed. "Um…. For …. it was writergirl97." She winced and picked up her fork. "I was uncreative. It's still up but I took down my DA account long ago."

There was a moment of silence as the kids contemplated this. "Mom?" Mickey asked hesitantly.

"Yes, dear?"

"Can you help me make up a cool fanfiction account name?"

"Me too!" Morgan jumped in and batted her eyelashes in a plea. The 38 year old looked from one daughter to the next, seeing so many qualities of her own with so many she wished she had acquired. They wanted to follow in her footsteps, while maybe making some of their own.

She couldn't wait to help them on their way.