#she’d beat Miguel’s ass then let him eat hers

[shinebrightlikeanarwhal]

Rio’s friend that Miles ends up accidentally introducing Miguel too at a spider cookout.

Cute, Afro-latina, plus sized with a lot of cake that barely fit her bakery. Single and debating on mingling. Happy to spoil her nephews friends. Especially friends that saved her bestfriend and her best friends family.

She helped bake the desserts and her little 4 year old that toddles after Miles and Pav tries to offer some to everyone. Miguel couldn’t possibly refuse. Even if the little boy happily runs to Miles to tell him all about Miguel’s head pats and kind words.

Rio keeping a sharp gaze on the bitch that chased and hurt her boy, was pleasantly surprised to see his eyes lingering on her long time friend. Miles god mother who was happily chatting with Jess and Peter B while wiping up Noirs face. (Poor boy was so invested in his conversation he forgot he had a mask on his mouth and smeared cake everywhere.

Hobi, ever the instigator, enjoyed trailing behind her. Remarking on how he simply loved kids. Was a big fan of older women. Miguel was seething. Claws shredding innocent plastic cups everytime they made eye contact and the Brit gave a cheeky smirk.

Surprisingly, Rio permitted Miguel to advance on her friend. Unsurprisingly, said friend only let him flirt after she dragged him by the ear to her god baby and kicked him to his knees to apologize. Miles has never been more impressed and embarrassed at the same time. Margo happily recorded and sent Lyla the video.

It all worked out in the end tho. It seemed some cross versal events can be canon if you try hard enough. Like a cute baby girl to toddle behind the curly haired little boy that thought his new step dad was the coolest. (Until miles petty self tells him what he did to his favorite cousin and for a few months Miguel is desperately apologizing to his son and miles)

[artificialqueens]

Have Yourself a Super Merry Christmas 2/3--Christmas Present: No Other Version of Me I Would Rather Be Tonight (Branjie)--athena2

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone that read and commented on part 1, I really appreciate it! I’m so happy to be back in this universe and I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please leave some feedback if you’d like! Thank you so much to Writ for beta-ing and brainstorming and also sorting all the girls into Hogwarts houses with me. You’re the best. Chapter title from Jackie and Wilson by Hozier.

*This chapter does have a fire, implied PTSD/anxiety, and some mild religious content.*

Read on AO3

—

Christmas Eve has always been Vanessa’s favorite day.

It was the day she couldn’t move through the house without bumping into a cousin or aunt or person she was supposedly related to but had never seen in her life. The day she ate so much food she didn’t think she could eat dessert, but always did. The day when everyone laughed and screamed and six different conversations were shouted at one table.

Now, it’s Christmas Eve morning and Brooke is in the kitchen and Vanessa is in bed, her body wanting to get up but her mind commanding her to stay because she shouldn’t be allowed to have fun without her family.

It’s gotten easier over the years, the sense of loss. The feeling of wanting her mother to hug her while she cries, of wanting to call her brother and listen to him roast annoying family members, have lessened since the fire. Now, she has Brooke to hold her, A’keria to laugh with, and she tries not to feel like she’s replacing her family. She thinks of what Nina told her at her last appointment. Nina said she could still honor her family’s memories while making her own, that she doesn’t have to feel guilty for having a good time without them, that she isn’t a bad person for being alive when they aren’t.

She’s going to do her best to listen to Nina, to let herself have fun without beating herself up for it. She jumps out of bed and crisps up French toast and Brooke piles hand-whipped cream on top, super-strength making short work of it. She can’t stop smiling, climbing into Brooke’s lap instead of her perfectly good chair, the morning dusted with the Christmas magic she always felt as a kid.

“Is it lasagna time now?” Vanessa asks.

“Yes.” Brooke grins.

Vanessa ties on her apron, quickly spattered with butter and parsley and other unknown substances.

Brooke is layering the lasagna and Vanessa is wiping away sauce that she somehow managed to fling on the wall before Brooke notices. Brooke has that tiny wrinkle between her eyebrows she gets when she’s focused, her tongue sticking out a little, and it’s adorable, but also kind of sexy, and Vanessa thinks with a jolt of excitement that she might have another present for Brooke after everyone leaves tonight.

Vanessa throws cheese at Brooke that sticks to her forehead, and Brooke splashes sauce at Vanessa’s apron, the food fight reaching its peak when Vanessa tries to throw flour but it backfires into her hair, and Brooke laughs so hard she falls on the kitchen floor, Vanessa retreating to the shower.

“How did you get cheese in the bathtub?” Brooke demands when she enters the bathroom for her shower later.

—

“You doin’ okay after the breakup, Nessie?” Her brother pulls her to a quiet corner of the house near the bathroom, though it won’t stay quiet very long considering the amount of cheese their lactose intolerant uncle consumed.

“Yeah.” She punches his arm. “And don’t call me Nessie.”

“Real shitty of her to dump you before Christmas with no reason. And she planned that beach vacation for you next week. That’s just cold.”

“Do you really need to remind me?” she retorts, pulling out the napkin-wrapped cookie she’d stored in her pocket that morning. Her mother would yell if she caught her, but Vanessa needs cookies to forget how the woman in her bed last week suddenly decided she didn’t want to be there anymore, how the first and only real relationship she’s had went up in smoke for no reason.

“This girl that started at my job is cute.” He gives her a knowing look. “I’ve been dropping hints about you.”

“I don’t–”

“She’s tall,” he tempts.

“How tall?” Vanessa shoots back, unable to help herself, swatting her brother when he smirks.

He shrugs. “Maybe five-seven? Taller than you, that’s for sure.” He pats the top of her head. Vanessa considers the day he outgrew her an injustice of the world.

“Come down here and I’ll fight you like when we were kids,” she threatens, and she’s sure he’s remembering the time she clobbered him with her Nikes.

“Okay, okay.” He holds his hands up, then pulls her against his side. “Seriously, you don’t need her ass anyway. Anyone that dumped you is an idiot. The right girl is out there for you somewhere, and she’ll get you that beach vacation you always wanted for Christmas.”

She hugs him tightly. Even though she was planning on having a girlfriend with her and dodging all her aunts’ questions about why she was single, things feel right. Maybe it’s because things have always felt right to her on Christmas, like all the world’s problems could be solved with a snowflake sugar cookie and a sparkly bow. She’s not a kid anymore, but it still feels like the ribbons and wrapping paper and shouting relatives are patching the hole in her heart, making her forget all about the asshole that dumped her.

Can she feel her body hurtling toward that night, less than a year away? Can she feel the ash clinging to her skin as her world comes down around her? The emptiness when she looks around for someone to help her, to tell her where her family is, only to meet silence and smoky air? The loneliness of having no one, no mom or dad or brother or nosy aunt to talk to or hug her?

She can’t, and Vanessa Mateo eats cookies a happy woman.

—

“Brooke?” Vanessa asks nervously after breakfast.

“Yeah?”

“My f–we always went to church on Christmas Eve, and I haven’t been since…you know, and I kinda want to, but I don’t know if I can do it alone.”

It’s okay to ask for help, Nina always says, and maybe she couldn’t ask directly, but this is close enough, and from Brooke’s kind eyes, she gets the hint.

“Of course I’ll go with you,” Brooke says. “I’ll be there the whole time.”

They slide into the pew later that afternoon, sunset throwing bright colors from the stained glass windows all over the church. Vanessa is restless, hand flying to the snowflake necklace Brooke got her, hoping to steady herself. Church had been boring as a kid, and she and her brother had secret thumb wars in the pew. Now, she clamps her hand on Brooke’s knee to gain control of the emotions whirling inside her like a winter wind, moving too fast to settle on one.

In a perfect world, her family would be here, and they’d all love Brooke. But it also occurs to her that if her parents were here, Brooke wouldn’t be, because Vanessa wouldn’t have her powers without the fire. She’d just be normal Vanessa, joking with her family, not knowing Brooke existed, unaware she was missing the happiness Brooke brings her. She wouldn’t change her life with Brooke for anything, but did she have to suffer so much to get it? She’s grateful for Brooke always, but is she supposed to be grateful for all she went through? She knows from Nina that she doesn’t need to justify her trauma, and she isn’t going to.

Vanessa cranes her neck up at the painted ceiling, angels dancing in a soft blue sky. I found her, Miguel, she thinks. The right girl. I found her, and I love her. And she’s tall, too, you jerk. She manages a smile through her thin line of tears. Brooke’s thumb wipes them gently, and then her arm nestles around Vanessa’s shoulders, pulling her close and whispering soft comforts.

Vanessa sings the songs in her head, and she knows her family is singing with her.

—

They set up the dining room with their fancy plates decorated with reindeer and polar bears. Vanessa pulls on her blue Frosty the Snowman sweater with snowflakes on the sleeves and Brooke wears her green one with a sloth eating cookies on the front.

“Why are we wearing scarves in the house?” Brooke questions as Vanessa wraps the bright yellow Hufflepuff scarf around Brooke’s neck.

“Because Yvie wanted to do it and I’m not about to argue with the bitch,” Vanessa answers, grabbing her own Gryffindor scarf.

“Fair enough. I feel like Yvie is the one of us actually capable of murder.” Brooke shrugs.

“True, but Silk is out for blood in bingo this year. She’s still pissed Scarlet beat her last time.”

“Merry Christmas.” Brooke bends down to kiss her, and Vanessa doesn’t have to remind herself to be happy, because she already is.

—

Brooke doesn’t have many memories to go on, but she’s positive Christmas Eve is one of her favorite days.

She replays that memory of herself at six years old constantly, speechless with joy that she has it to look back on. It makes her feel cozy, like she does wrapped in her blankets at night, and that feeling stays with her all day.

The church is nice, but unfamiliar. Brooke assumes her parents must have taken her at some point, but she doesn’t get any flickers of memory in the pew, and she’s almost grateful that her mind is clear to take in the scene: the bright red and white poinsettias on the altar, the stained glass windows come alive with sunset, the smiling paintings on the ceiling.

Brooke knows this is a big deal for Vanessa, and she’s so proud of her for asking for help and doing this when it can’t possibly be easy for her. Vanessa is always praising Brooke but reluctant to praise herself, and Brooke vows to make sure Vanessa knows how strong she is. Brooke doesn’t mind Vanessa’s nails digging into her knee; she just wraps her arm around her in safety and relishes in the sturdy warmth of Vanessa against her side.

Brooke doesn’t know what to do, what the rules are here. Is she supposed to pray? If there is some higher power that let her become a lab experiment, that let Vanessa lose her family, does she want to pray to it? She can’t remember any prayers, if she ever knew them to begin with, but she tells her parents that she’s happy and that she found someone she loves more than anything, just in case they’re listening.

—

They set the table and Brooke finishes the whipped cream for her peanut butter-swirl cheesecake, and her and Vanessa are getting the food laid out and giggling over what sweaters everyone will wear when the guilt breaks through, like a wind wailing at the windows that finally shatters the glass.

It hits her hard at holidays, when everyone is over and they’re a big happy family. When everything she has, all the love shared toward her is on display, filling her senses. That’s when it gets hard to look around at it all and think she deserves it. Killing wasn’t part of her missions, but she didn’t need to kill to ruin lives. And she had ruined so many. She stole formulas and medicines that people spent years on, that could have helped countless people who were sick or suffering. She wounded heroes that could have saved more people if she didn’t force them to retreat. She destroyed buildings and laboratories and homes, stripped the people inside of their safety. She shed blood and broke bones and sent people to the hospital with injuries that would plague them the rest of their lives.

And she knows. She knows it wasn’t her fault, that she wasn’t in control of herself. She knows she can’t blame herself, and after so many sessions with Nina, she doesn’t. But she still did those things, and someone who did those things didn’t deserve someone like Vanessa, snatching a steaming roll off the tray. Someone that did those things didn’t deserve the friends on their way over, or the cats at her feet, or the safety and happiness she’s been given–

A hand on her shoulder silences the thoughts. “I could hear you thinkin’ a mile away,” Vanessa says softly. “You okay?”

Nina says she doesn’t always have to be okay, and she knows Vanessa would see through the lie anyway, so she shakes her head.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just–you and A’keria and everyone, everything we have…sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve it, because of what I did.” Brooke sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I just talked about this with Nina, I’m sorry.”

“Shh, you know you don’t have to be sorry,” Vanessa soothes, rubbing circles on Brooke’s back. “If it helps, I just talked about basically the same thing with her. But you do deserve it, Brooke. I know your brain tells you you don’t, but you do. We both do, okay? We deserve to be happy.”

“But–”

“No buts. You listen to me, Brooke Lynn Hytes-Mateo. You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met. You love me, and you take care of me, and you always help people that need it. And I love you, and I’ll always take care of you, and I’ll always help you when you need it.”

Brooke turns around and pulls Vanessa to her chest, hearts pulsing together. She knows how hard it is for Vanessa to talk about her feelings, but she’s let herself be vulnerable twice today, and Brooke knows how much Vanessa loves her. She knows that tomorrow she’ll take her medication, and next week she’ll go to Nina, and she’ll keep fighting.

“I love you,” Brooke breathes.

“I love you too. Always.”

A fist pounds on the door. “Let us in, hoes!” Silky booms.

Silky barges in first, thrusting the pork roast she made at Brooke to parade up and down the kitchen in her green sweater with working Christmas lights, clashing with her red Gryffindor scarf. Everyone else trails behind, arms loaded with dishes and presents that get tossed on the table to resume the fashion show.

A’keria flaunts her sparkly red reindeer sweater, griping that the Hufflepuff scarf she was forced to wear doesn’t match. Scarlet is decked out like a Christmas tree, bright green sweater dripping with tinsel that reflects the light so harshly Brooke’s eyes water if she stares too long, Gryffindor scarf blending into her red hair. Finally Yvie strolls in, in a black sweater with a Santa hat-wearing T-Rex on the front, scarf half-blue and half-green.

“This is my hand-sewn Slytherclaw scarf, because I defy categorization,” Yvie announces proudly.

“You defy somethin’, all right,” Silky mutters.

Yvie walks over to Brooke and Vanessa, smirk spreading on her face at Vanessa’s sweater.

“Tell me you picked that sweater on purpose,” Yvie begs.

“What do you mean? Don’t you be saying anything about my sweater. Frosty is cute���oh, damn,” Vanessa mutters, and Brooke realizes for the first time, unable to hold back her smile.

Yvie roars with laughter and clutches at her side. “I can’t believe you got a Frosty the fucking Snowman sweater and neither of you realized Brooke literally is Frosty. That’s tragic.”

“What’s really tragic is them not being Snow Miser and Heat Miser from Year Without a Santa Claus,” A’keria insists. “I would’ve made costumes just to see that.”

“Don’t you all have something to do?” Vanessa demands.

—

Dinner has been devoured, Silky demanding that A’keria produce a recipe for her cheesy potatoes to ensure she wasn’t being ‘poisoned by rabbit food’, when Yvie gets the look.

Vanessa always refers to it as the That’s So Raven look, prompting Yvie to lecture on the differences between them despite the undeniable accuracy of Vanessa’s comparison.

Yvie stares blankly at the wall, and Brooke herds everyone but Scarlet to the kitchen to give her some privacy. Brooke hates when people are there when she has a flashback, skin prickling with their stares when she returns from wherever her mind was trapped, and she assumes Yvie would feel the same.

They stand around impatiently, and Brooke can’t fight the tension creeping into her shoulders, the sense that something is about to happen, and it intensifies when Scarlet calls them all back in.

“There’s gonna be a fire,” Yvie explains, hand wrapped around Scarlet’s. “At a townhouse down the street–73’s the number–and the fire department can’t get there.”

“When?” Vanessa asks, urgency radiating off her.

“Soon,” Yvie says vaguely. “Right after Silk spills her drink.”

“I’m not spilling anything, Momma’s too smooth for that!” Silky swings her arm around to prove her point and her glass flies off the table, the fragments floating in a pool of orange soda on the floor.

“Damn it, Silk, this is why we can’t have nice things,” Vanessa whines.

“So I guess this is happening,” Scarlet mutters.

“Suit up?” Brooke suggests.

Vanessa nods. “Merry fucking Christmas.”

—

Bright orange flames sear through Vanjie’s vision, smoke billowing around the people assembled on the street. If this goes too far it will be a pile of ash, just like the one–You’re not there, she reminds herself.

“You’re sure about this?” Frost asks seriously, like she’s read her mind.

“I’m sure. Silk said there’s a car accident at some intersection, fire trucks are held up. We have to do this,” Vanjie responds.

“Okay.”

“Silk and A’keria, you’re on crowd control,” Vanjie commands. “Frost”–she has to think of her as Frost now, can’t let the fact that it’s Brooke behind that mask, that she might get hurt, enter her mind– “Frost, you gotta tame that fire. Me, Scarlet, and Yvie are gonna see who needs help.”

Everyone nods and assumes their positions.

“Be careful, okay?” Frost says. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Vanjie replies, trying not to think that the last time they had a farewell like this, it ended with her in the snow in a churchyard.

Vanjie talks to the crowd as Frost fights the flames, trying to determine who got out and who is stuck inside. For all the times she resisted going to Nina, she knows that those sessions and the breathing techniques Nina taught her are the only things keeping her from plummeting into her memories, the only things keeping her alert and on her feet.

You’re not there. You’re not there. She breathes and takes in her surroundings, counting the people on the street, windows on the house. She’s okay.

“There’s a kid on the second floor balcony,” Yvie says. “The fire’s almost gone, but the building isn’t safe. We can’t go in and he can’t come down.”

“Firetruck’s still five minutes out,” Silk informs them. “I don’t know how long the balcony’s gonna hold…”

“I got the kid,” Vanjie declares. The back of the townhouse opens into a tiny, snow-covered patio, the kind she hopes she and Brooke can have some day.

Wailing rings out in the night, a kid standing on the charred balcony, railing melted and gnarled like broken teeth, base warped downward from the heat. A piece of it crashes onto the lawn, and Vanjie knows they don’t have five minutes to wait. The kid’s gonna have to jump.

“Hey!” she calls up. “It’s gonna be okay. You gotta jump, okay? I’ll catch you.”

“I-I can’t,” the kid cries.

“Sure you can. Be really brave and jump, okay?” Another piece of metal breaks off, sinking into the snow. She needs to get this kid out now.

“I can’t! I’m not brave like you,” he sniffles.

The idea pops into her head on a wave of desperation. “You wanna be brave like me?” She peels off her mask—she can just hear Silk scolding her for making mask removal a habit—and sends it soaring over the balcony. “Put my mask on. Pretend you’re a superhero, okay?”

The kid smooths it over his eyes, and Vanjie counts. “On three, okay? One, two…” The kid inches toward the ledge and jumps, slamming into her arms with a loud cry.

“You good, kid?” she asks, lowering him gently to the ground.

“Y-yeah.” His arms close around her in a tight hug. “Thank you.”

“Just my job.” She plays it casual to hide the tears leaking from her eyes. The kid is tiny and warm, like a puppy, against her, and it’s nice. She and Brooke have chatted idly about having a kid one day and damn if this doesn’t make her want one.

He steps back, holding her mask out. “Here.”

Vanjie hesitates. She’s about to tell the kid to keep it, but Silk’s lecture on secrecy runs through her mind. She wouldn’t have cared who saw her and had a mask with her DNA on it before, because she had nothing to lose. But now she has more than she could have dreamed of, a life she wants to protect forever, and she puts the mask back on before taking the kid back to his parents.

Their happy reunion springs more tears in Vanjie’s eyes, and her head spins around frantically for Frost. Vanjie spots her and runs, colliding into her and hugging her to make sure she’s really okay, heart slowing from its pounding. They’re both okay, and she breathes for the first time since they got outside.

It’s only when she pulls away that she sees the red painting the side of Frost’s neck.

“You’re bleeding,” Vanjie says.

“One of the windows exploded and a piece of glass got me. I’m fine, it’s nothing,” Frost insists, but Yvie emerges and shakes her head lightly.

“She’s gonna need a couple stitches. It’s a small cut but it’s too deep to heal without them,” Yvie explains.

“Please? I’m fine, really,” Frost begs, and her voice is so small that Vanjie almost tells Yvie to forget it. It pains her to do this, but Frost will be worse off if she doesn’t.

“I’m sorry, baby, but you need them,” Vanjie says.

“It’s okay.” Frost sighs in acceptance, taking Vanjie’s hand. Vanjie grips back, sharing some of her strength with Frost.

“I can do it for you,” Yvie offers. “I had Ra’jah teach me. Then we can just go to your place, no doctors.”

Everyone agrees, and ten minutes later the masks are off as A’keria gets Brooke set up on the couch, helping calm her, and Vanessa follows after Yvie to get her med kit.

“Yvie?”

“Yeah?”

She grabs Yvie’s arm to make sure she listens. “When you do the stitches, tell Brooke what you’re doing before you do it,” Vanessa instructs. “They never told her what they were doing at the lab. She gets scared when she doesn’t know.”

Vanessa had almost punched a wall when Brooke admitted that the lab would do their procedures without warning or explanations, and Vanessa had told Ra’jah to go slow and explain everything she did so Brooke wouldn’t be so scared and expect pain every time she saw a doctor.

“I understand.”

Vanessa gets Brooke some Tylenol, knowing not to push her into taking something stronger. Brooke refused anything that made her mind cloudy, anything that made her feel like she wasn’t in control. She swallows the pill and Vanessa drops next to her on the couch, hand wrapping around Brooke’s sweaty one.

“I’m gonna disinfect it now, okay? It’ll sting a little,” Yvie checks with Brooke, who nods.

“Chicks dig scars, you know,” Silky says.

“They do?” Brooke asks, cringing as the disinfectant meets her skin.

Yvie explains that she’s going to start stitching it up. Brooke winces as Yvie pulls her skin together and Vanessa holds on tighter, lifting her other hand to stroke Brooke’s back with a whispered ‘you’re okay’ before turning to Silky.

“First of all, don’t be calling me a chick. I’m a tiger or some shit.” Vanessa glares at Silky. “And you know the scars don’t matter to me, baby,” she soothes, knowing how self-conscious Brooke could get.

“It’ll be a small one,” Yvie adds in reassurance. “Plus it’s behind your ear, so it’s barely noticeable.”

Scarlet talks about how she’s started online education classes and might become a teacher, and A’keria exudes her calm and has them all in tears over the time she moved Silky’s desk chair little by little until Silky completely missed it and fell on the floor, and Brooke is relaxed as Yvie tapes a gauze pad over the wound.

“All done,” Yvie says.

“It’s present time, bitches!” Scarlet yells.

—

Brooke slips her arm around Plastique as they pose for the camera. The air is alive with conversation around her, the ballet studio Christmas party in eager discussion over the upcoming tour.

“You nervous, Brooke?” Plastique asks, once they’re away from all the phone flashes.

“Maybe a little. It’s my first tour as co-director, you know?” She sighs. “I can’t believe this is really happening.” Some small part of her wishes her parents could have been here to see it. Next May marks 12 years since she lost them. Most days she’s fine, the absence just a dull ache in the back of her mind, like a missing tooth you only noticed when your tongue brushed the empty space. But sometimes, when she’s around lots of people, people that could feel like family if Brooke would just let them, the absence burns like a raw wound.

“You’re gonna kill it. I’ve only been your assistant a year, but I know you got this.”

“Thanks.”

“Soooo…” Plastique begins, the word drawn out until she runs out of breath.

“So?”

“I think 2018 should be the year we get you a girlfriend.”

Brooke sighs. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but we’ve got the tour coming up. I don’t have time.”

“I just want to see you happy, B,” Plastique says softly.

“I am happy,” Brooke insists. She is. She has her dream job, friends, a tour set out in front of her in just three months. So why does it feel like she’s lying?

“I know you are,” Plastique deflects. “It’s just sometimes I feel like a part of you isn’t. Like a part of you is lonely. You deserve someone that loves you.”

Brooke doesn’t say anything. Plastique knows about her parents but she’s never brought them up, if dancing around the topic counts as bringing them up.

Brooke plasters a smile on her face. “After the tour wraps up, maybe I’ll go on one of those dating apps.” Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have someone to share things with, someone who would love her even when she got quiet sometimes, lost in her own thoughts.

Plastique claps her hands and then pulls Brooke on to the dance floor. Brooke goes with it, letting her body take over and clear her mind, the night blurring by as she twirls around with Plastique.

Can she feel her body hurtling toward that night, just three months away? Can she feel the pain as the bones in her arm and leg shatter, as her ribs puncture her insides? The emptiness in her mind when she tries to speak her name and remember who she is? The loneliness crushing her when she goes over a year with no friends to laugh with, no one to talk to at all?

She can’t, and Brooke Lynn Hytes dances a happy woman.

—

Brooke forgets all about the cut behind her ear as the living room fills with shouts, Yvie shrieking that the dinosaur succulent holder she got will look great in her and Scarlet’s apartment and A’keria demanding everyone look at her new jewelry.

Brooke unwraps new cookbooks she can’t wait to read, plus new boots and clothes and more blankets, so she can roll herself up into what Vanessa calls a blanket burrito at night.

Vanessa loves the new cooling pajamas Brooke got her, and the stuffed lion she got just because it was cute. Vanessa opens the red dress she would drool at in the window of her favorite store, along with sneakers and a fancy purse, and everything is better than Brooke could have dreamed.

She’s surrounded by family, and she doesn’t fight it. She lets herself smile and laugh and feel loved.

Brooke fiddles with a bow as Vanessa opens her last two presents.

Vanessa’s eyes widen as she sees the flowers neatly arranged in a shadow box.

“Wait. Brooke, are these…”

Brooke nods.

When they first moved in together, after Brooke got shot and was recovering mentally and physically from what she’d been through, Vanessa would bring home flowers every Friday. Soft lilacs one week, sunny orange tulips another, deep irises the next. Vanessa had said she knew they couldn’t magically heal Brooke, but she thought they might cheer her up a little. Even on her bad days, when the worries and anxiety preyed on her and told her she was worthless, the flowers could bring a smile to Brooke’s face, give her hope that she would be okay.

Vanessa didn’t know, but Brooke had taken a flower from each bouquet and watched tutorials on how to preserve them, keeping them in her dresser so they would always be near.

She decided to give them to Vanessa, so they can both have the memory of those days, bodies becoming accustomed to each other, peeking over the vase of flowers and smiling during breakfast, hopeful of their future.

“Brooke, they’re beautiful,” Vanessa breathes. “I love them so much.” She reaches for Brooke’s hand, and Brooke gives her a quick kiss on the cheek before turning to her present.

She rips the paper and lifts the lid and gasps.

Three framed photos lay in the box.

Photos of herself.

Brooke’s jaw hangs open but nothing comes out.

She’s maybe nine years old in the first one, dressed as Clara in the Nutcracker, smiling between people she recognizes as her parents. Another of her in a black graduation robe, parents on either side of her. The third is her alone, maybe 20, in a light blue ballerina dress with matching pointe shoes.

Brooke’s fingertips brush over the glass, grasping out for these versions of her from years ago, for a life and family she can now look at whenever she wants and not have to force their images in her mind.

She turns to Vanessa, eyes asking the question she can’t speak.

“Plastique called me a few weeks ago,” Vanessa begins. “She’s moving apartments and found those. She took them from your office at the studio after the crash. She wanted you to have them.”

Vanessa reaches for her, and Brooke knows then she’s sobbing. Vanessa just holds her as her body quakes, tears soaking Vanessa’s collar. Brooke will never have the words to thank her for this, but from the way Vanessa strokes her hair, Brooke thinks she knows.

“Shit, you got me crying like a Hallmark movie up in here,” A’keria mutters.

Brooke pulls away with a laugh, holding out her last box to Vanessa.

Vanessa pulls out the train tickets with a look of confusion. “South Carolina?” she asks.

Brooke grins. “I know how much you like the beach, and A’keria said some girl did you wrong with a beach vacation before, and I wanted to do it right. The ride is kind of long, I hope that’s okay. I—a plane, I just can’t.” Brooke knows she’s made a lot of progress, but all she has to do is think of flying and her ears fill with screams and her whole body plummets.

Vanessa silences her with a squeal, pulling her in for a hug.

“At least you can put your thousand swimsuits to use, Vanj,” Silky proclaims, and Vanessa whips wrapping paper at her.

Brooke unwraps her second present, and her eyes aren’t even dry before more tears fall. It’s the pink music box she’d seen in the mall, almost like the one she’d seen in her dreams. Vanessa must have figured it was important to her. Another stolen piece of her past reclaimed.

“You gotta open it,” Vanessa explains. A smirk wins out on Vanessa’s face as Brooke lifts the lid, and she can’t figure out why until she sees…train tickets?

“Not again,” Silky moans. “Y’all need to get your asses together on the matching presents.”

“I thought maybe you’d want to see Toronto again,” Vanessa explains. “I’ve never been, and we can see it together.”

Fresh tears well up and Brooke’s warmth intensifies. She can’t remember much about where she used to live, and now she’ll get to experience it all with Vanessa. Visiting her old life with her new life at her side.

“I literally can’t right now,” Scarlet snorts as they embrace.

“I think this brings new meaning to ‘make the Yuletide gay.’” Yvie observes.

Scarlet pins a bow on Yvie’s head and A’keria amasses a boulder of wrapping paper that gets kicked around, and Brooke grins with a joy she knows she deserves.

—

“Bingo, bitch! That’s three in a row!” Silky booms, hoarding her candy prizes like a dragon.

“This isn’t even statistically possible,” Yvie whines.

“I don’t bow to the laws of statistics!” Silky declares. “How dare you think you could beat me!”

Vanessa rests her feet on Brooke’s lap under the table, shaking her head with a smile at the chaos around them, Silky climbing on a chair for a victory dance.

Everyone is stuffed with cheesecake and cookies when they finally leave. Vanessa pulls Brooke to their room and teases that she has one last present while taking off her sweater, and Brooke lets Vanessa’s touch fill her with enough love to split the room apart.

“Can we cuddle?” Brooke asks after, both of them breathless and tingling.

“Of course, baby.”

Vanessa wraps her arm around Brooke’s waist, and Vanessa Mateo and Brooke Lynn Hytes fall asleep happy women.

[timeisacephalopod]

Sunflower

Just a little spider verse AU in which Peter and Miles meet. Minor Peter/ Miles.

“-so yeah, the multiverse is a thing but we don’t have Tony Stark. I have no clue who you are but you’re pretty cute,” Miles says and Tony feels skeevy for having been subjected to a child deciding he’s attractive.

Peter wrinkles his nose. “Ew Miles, that’s my dad,” he mumbles.

“What about your aunt May? Because the other two Peter Parker’s had aunt Mays,” Miles says.

“Oh yeah, she’s still around. I go to her place on the weekends!” he says excitedly.

Miles considers this for a moment and then nods. “Cool. Can you turn invisible?” he asks and Peter gives him an upset look.

“What? No. Can you?” he asks and Miles gives him an awkward look.

“Haha, no, I can’t do that,” he says and promptly turns invisible. “This isn’t what it looks like,” he adds when he seems to realize somewhat late that he’s not visible anymore.

“It doesn’t look like anything,” Tony says, “so basically its exactly what it looks like.”

“This is the worst power ever honestly, its not even that cool and it only does this stuff when its inconvenient. Like I’m in the locker room getting changed for gym and bam, invisible and now I’m holding shorts and the whole grade of guys is looking over at me and I gotta pretend to be a ghost to keep from blowing my cover and now the whole school thinks I have a poltergeist attached to me because the ghost only ever touches my stuff,” he says.

Peter turns to him with wide eyes, “he’s adorable, can we keep him?”

Tony sighs, “well, he’s fucking fifteen. I can’t throw him in the street with a note pinned to his chest so I guess.”

“Wait, do I exist in this universe? I could just call my parents,” Miles suggests and yes, great idea because Tony is getting his child’s obvious crush all over him and he would rather not.

*

“Aw, my parents don’t exist in this universe? Stupid. Okay, so what are we doing today?” Miles asks Peter, moving past the parents thing fast. That’s, Tony figures, when he figures out that this isn’t the first time Miles has landed in another universe. No kid is that calm about their parents flat out not existing, which leads Tony to believe that he’ll be likely to run into other spider people soon.

“I don’t know, probably class. Can I skip class? Miles can sting people! Without webs!” he adds given that he has webs with a similar function.

Tony sighs. “Fine. but don’t let me catch you two doing dumb shit. A villain shows up and I’ll deal with it. Especially if its a Doom bot, those things are hard to take out and your webs mostly only make them sticky,” he says, shaking his head. Then the fucking things stick together, and then they have a hoard of Doom bots rolling down the street causing mass destruction as they shoot at everything and also each other in an attempt to free themselves.

“But Doom bots are fun,” Peter says and Tony gives him a look. He sighs, “okay fine. Can we go see a movie?” he asks and Tony shrugs.

“Knock yourself out. Don’t let aunt May catch you either,” he adds. Fuck that, he gets enough parenting lectures as it is and when he first got Peter that made sense. She’d spent more time with him at that point and knew his habits, but after a few months Tony pretty much got the hang of it. Also, that was when Peter was an actual baby so he thinks that after fourteen and a half years he’s figured it out mostly.

As soon as the boys leave he gets a call about a disturbance down town and of course.

*

Miles swings in because yeah okay, he got told not to interfere but Peter said Tony wouldn’t even be that mad and Doc Ock is kind of his villain so you know. Makes sense to go deal with her. Also Tony’s suit is really cool and colorful, which is probably why he gets smacked in the head- he’s looking at the shiny suit- but then Peter swings in and saves his ass so its all good.

“I told you two to stay out- Miles, you better be sticking around to listen to me lecture- Jesus lady I’m trying to parent a fifteen year old can you not swing your poorly designed and ugly tentacles at me!” Tony snaps, blasting one of Olivia’s tentacles away from him as he looks around. Miles swings himself up onto a building and watches as Tony starts lecturing nothing.

“He’s gunna be pissed when he realizes he’s not even talking to you,” Peter says.

“Yeah, probably, but Doc Ock is from my universe so like. I feel compelled to sort this out,” he says. And also show off because he has powers this Peter Parker doesn’t and this Peter Parker is adorable and also age appropriate. And he also doesn’t have a dad bod like his older and significantly more beat up predecessor. Does the other older Peter count as a predecessor? He doesn’t know, point is he’s got people to show off to and his uncle’s advice was no good so he needs to figure out something better than ‘hey’ in a weird tone of voice and fast before he’s sucked into another universe. Or back to his own, its a toss up lately and Miguel needs to calm it with his jumping around. Every time he shuffles they all shuffle and that’s annoying. His parents are probably mad that he’s behind on homework.

He tracks Ock’s movements for a bit before making his move, going visible just before he runs into one of her tentacles. He’s done this like three times before, he’s totally got this. If he moves right those stupid little tentacles end up tied together and its kind of funny to watch them struggle to free themselves. He’s half way through The Tangle Method when Iron Man, that’s what Tony’s hero name is, comes in and blasts a couple tentacles. “Oh come on, they were almost tangled!” he says.

“Kid, that third tentacle was going straight for your head you are not good at this,” Tony tells him and okay that’s just rude.

“I think I was doing okay,” he says in his defense.

“You make a good distraction. Do that,” he tells Miles and fine, okay, he can do that. He swings himself up to a building, sticking to the side of it and Peter can do that too so that’s cool. He assesses the situation for a moment before swinging back into things and letting a few webs fly. Only one lands where he wanted it to but it does mean one of the prong ends of a tentacle is out of business for at least five minutes and that’s good news. He webs that tentacle in particular to a building and Iron Man immediately blasts it free. “Oh come on! What’s that for?” he asks.

“Webs are strong, they tend to result in a lot of damage to public buildings when people get stuck to them and then rip themselves off. Try sticking her to stuff people don’t care about. Like billboards and McDonald’s advertisements,” Peter explains before webbing himself out again.

Miles kind of cares about McDonald’s advertisements, they’re funny. Or at least that’s what he thinks until he runs into one and okay never mind, in this universe McDonald’s looks like it sells chicken flavored bricks and also isn’t funny at all so he sticks Ock to that and she immediately pulls herself free.

“The infrastructure in this universe is not good,” he comments as Peter swings by.

“Yeah, we need to work on that as a country,” Tony says as he blasts another tentacle away from him. He swears those things reproduce super fast or something. Take one out and two more grow back and all that.

By the time they manage to secure Doc Ock another spider person has shown up and Miles doesn’t know this one.

*

Jessica Drew doesn’t look impressed, but looks especially less impressed with the knowledge that in this universe she exists, but only as a famous spider with an inexplicable last name. “What the hell is with me jumping around all the time?�� she asks, glaring at him for some reason and like Tony knows.

“Okay, so here’s what happened,” Miles says. “There’s this guy, right, Kingpin. And he wanted his dead family back so he built this thing to access the multiverse so he could pick up some other versions of his wife and kid. And then Peter Parker- not you,” he adds to Peter. “Got killed but this other Peter came through and also Gwen, who’s really pretty but she’s kind of upset because her Peter Parker died too, right in front of her and-”

“Get to the point, kid,” Tony tells him at the same time Peter says, “why do I die so much?”

“Right. So the other Peter Parker was all ‘I’m not training you, I’m just going to shut down Kingpin’s stuff’ but then he trained me anyway and I think he wants kids. Also, he got dumped by his wife but he said he handled it real good so I think he’s mostly okay. Anyway, so he trained me a little, and Gwen gave me some tips, but then there are all these other spider people. Spider ham is the weirdest, he’s a pig and he can talk. Apparently all animals can talk in his universe or that’s what he implied-”

“Kid, the point,” Jessica says and Miles nods.

“Yeah, I’m getting there. So all the spider people eat Kingpin’s ass but not in a sexy way, like in a violent way. There were trains flying around, it was wild in there. But we shut it down and we were like hey cool, the universe is back to normal, all the spider people are where they belong, its good. But then my favorite dumbass spider person Miguel made a jump autonomously, he’s got a goober, but when he shuffles we all shuffle and that’s how I ended up here,” he finishes with a flourish.

“How do we get back?” Jessica asks.

Miles shrugs, “wait for Miguel to make another jump. Oh and also if you stay in the wrong universe too long your atoms will rip themselves apart and you’ll die so don’t stay here too long,” he adds like that’s a small caveat. 

Tony is going to die of stress.

*

When Miguel makes another jump the all know it because Jessica gets sucked into somewhere new and Miles feels the sensation coming on so he knows he’s going places too but Peter looks freaked out. “Its cool, you’re just going to a new universe its all good,” he tells him.

‘He’s going to a what!” Tony shrieks just as he and Peter disappear. They land in New York, Miles’ New York, he knows right away.

“Oh cool, home,” he says. “Come on, my parents will probably be worried,” he says to Peter, who’s looking down at his hands.

“Why am I animated?” he asks.

“Oh yeah, that’s just how we look here. Your world looks like my world’s video games so technically I was animate in your universe! Come on, there’s probably at least one other spider person hanging around here,” he says.

Peter follows him along and they don’t run into any spider people but that doesn’t mean there isn’t any here. Miles will feel them out eventually. When he gets home though his parents run to him and hug him, going on in English and Spanish about how worried they were. He tries to reassure them both at the same time, which results in some ugly spanglish, but that’s okay because they get the point.

“This is Peter, in his universe its animated!” he says excitedly. This results in his parents giving Peter weird looks but that’s rude, he can’t help being cartoon sometimes. Apparently Miles is a cartoon here so no one should judge. Multiverse is weird.

*

Peter can’t get used to having lines around his body. Its just weird and he doesn’t like it. “So um. This is my room,” Miles says and Peter thinks its unfair to look cute in cartoon.

Does this make him a brony? He hopes not.

“Uh, cool,” he says, looking around. Miles as a lot of drawing stuff around, and a lot of posters of what Peter thinks are musicians but none look immediately familiar to him.

Peter tries to get a grasp on being animated while Miles inches a little closer to him, probably also trying to make sense of his weird animated body and wait, what’s his junk look like? Is that animated too?! Oh god, he can’t handle animated-

“Hey,” Miles says, settling a hand on his shoulder. He looks vaguely pained and a little confused.

“Um. Hey. Are you okay?” he asks.

“Miles just ask him out like a normal person, Aaron was am awful pick up artist,” Miles’ dad, Jeff, says from the doorway.

Miles looks immediately horrified. “Dad what the hell, you can’t just say totally untrue things like that!” he says.

Jeff looks nonplussed, “you want to go to dinner with him or no?” he asks Peter.

He shrugs, “yeah okay.” Might as well see what animated food taste like. He hopes it tastes like the way Ghibli movie food looks.

[nivalvixen]

Framed, pt 4

Also on AO3

"Mr. Stilinski, a word before you start your day," Rafe said, practically standing in front of Stiles so he couldn't go inside the room. "Won't be a minute, Sean," he added to Stiles' instructor over his shoulder.

Sean nodded, though Stiles wondered if he looked a little too pleased that he was going to be delayed. He held the strap of his messenger bag a little tighter as he followed Agent McBastard down the corridor to the empty lunch room.

"I passed on your message; Scott says hi. Can I go?"

"Look, we both know that Derek didn't murder all of those people."

Rafe's words stopped Stiles short and he looked at him, suspicious, but not stupid enough to answer and incriminate himself.

"I looked for Miguel Juarez Cinqua Tiago when I got back to San Francisco, Stiles. As you probably know, I didn't find a thing about him. What I did find were pictures of Derek Hale. Don't look surprised; the FBI have access to more databases than you will ever know about. I found pictures of Hale soon after the fire that killed his family, and guess who he bore a striking resemblance to?"

Stiles gulped. "Uh... My cousin?"

Rafe's expression turned stern. "Don't play games with me, Stilinski. I will win."

"What's the prize? Hell, what's the damn game?" Stiles snapped.

Stiles was so angry that he didn't even notice that his messenger bag strap was melting in his his hand. The thought of Derek being used as a pawn in Agent Dickbag's shitty little game was enough to make him feel sick and so very angry.

Derek was more than a pawn, more than a king, more than anything to be used like this, and Agent Wanker had no idea what he was doing by putting Derek's life in harm's way.

"You've put a man's life in jeopardy again because you can't grow a pair and talk to your own son, is that it?! Either talk to Scott or don't, but stop fucking around like this! And stop hurting Derek!" Stiles said, his voice loud.

"Stiles, calm down. I'm not - " Rafe started to say, but Stiles put a hand up to stop him from coming any closer, and the agent was thrown clear across the lunchroom, crashing into a table and several chairs.

Stiles' eyes went wide. "Holy shit." He looked from Rafe to his hand, then to his ruined messenger bag. He regretted the bag more than hurting Rafe, honestly.

Rafe groaned a little and stood up slowly. Stiles couldn't bring himself to move, but stayed at the other side of the room; he was still pretty pissed off, and even if knocking Rafe unconscious would make him feel better, it would probably mean an abrupt end to Stiles' time at the Academy.

Stiles wondered what Rafe was going to do; there was no way he could explain this rationally or lie or bluff his way out of it. He hadn't even touched Rafe, yet he'd gone flying.

Shit, shit, shit. He might as well go home now.

Rafe stood and straightened out his clothes, brushing himself off. He wiped at a spot of blood that had appeared at the side of his mouth, accidentally having bitten his lip when he landed. "Get to class, Stiles."

"W-what?" Stiles asked, surprised.

"Go to class. I want to talk to you at the end of the day, about that, and... Beacon Hills."

Stiles stood taller at his words and glared.

Agent McJerkface had spent one month in Beacon Hills and suddenly, two years later, he's decided that he wants more information?! Stiles was beginning to doubt he'd ever got into the FBI on his own merit, only because Agent McShit was too scared to do a damn thing for himself. It was a thought he didn't want to dwell on for too long, and he had to remind himself that he was in the FBI, he belonged here now.

"Why don't you look for that in those databases you mentioned?" Stiles sneered, leaving to go to his class.

Along the way, he held the two broken straps of his bag and believed that they would mend. It ended up being crooked as his emotions were still a little over the place, but it was better than nothing.

Rafe sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Nice one, Rafe," he muttered to himself. He looked up to the camera in the corner of the lunch room and headed to security. At least he could deal with that in a professional manner.

...

"What are you focusing on, Stilinski? You've barely said a word in an hour; didn't think you could be so quiet."

Stiles looked up at the other recruit, blinking at the sudden adjustment from black text and white paper to bright fluorescent lights and white washed walls. "Uh. Sorry?" he said, realising that it was the woman he'd accidentally spat on on his first day.

She didn't seem offended that he obviously didn't remember her name. "Tomika Jones. If you shorten my name to Tom, I will kick your ass during every sparring session we've got."

Stiles grinned and tried not to laugh too obviously. "Not a problem, Jones. Do I dare ask if you have a cat?"

Tomika rolled her eyes at him. "Shut up. And hurry up, dammit, it's time for lunch. Think Agent McCall will be there again?"

Stiles shrugged. "Probably, he's gotta eat too."

Tomika adjusted her bag and frowned at him slightly. "You don't like him, do you?"

"You can tell?"

"You've got a tell on the side of your mouth. It's small, but obvious if you look hard enough."

"You've been looking at me?"

Tomika rolled her eyes. "You're my competition, of course I am. But don't flatter yourself, you're not my type."

"Who is your type?" Stiles asked, hoping to keep distracting Tomika from the fact that he hadn't answered her initial question.

"Well, do you have a sister?"

"No... Oh, got it. I have friends who have sisters. And some girl friends too, though... I think you with either of them might just be terrifying."

She grinned at him in response. "Now that's my type."

Stiles resolved to never let Tomika meet Cora or Lydia.

Agent McShitstain wasn't at lunch, much to the disappointment of the rest of Stiles' peers. Tomika didn't seem to mind as much as the others, drawing people into conversations instead. As Stiles listened and watched, he noticed that it wasn't just polite small talk; Tomika was gathering information from each person.

The questions were small things like how they liked the weather, what their favourite food was, how long their commute to Quantico took, but it gave surprisingly clear pictures of each of their peers and where they came from. More importantly, Stiles noted that Tomika never seemed to answer the questions herself.

Stiles wondered how much information she'd gathered from him so far, and just what she planned on doing with it.

...

It had been three days and Derek had only had small texts from Stiles with updates on what he was doing at the FBI and how his research was going, but very little about Derek's case with the supposed mass murders he'd comitted. Eventually, after unsuccessfully attempting to distract himself with a hot cup of tea and a book, Derek gave in and rang Stiles' number.

"'Lo?"

Derek looked at the time and winced. He'd forgotten about the time difference and while it was a Saturday, Derek still felt bad for waking Stiles up. "Sorry, Stiles. I'll call back later."

"Der'k? No, wait. 'S'good. Just... shit, one sec," Stiles groaned, sitting up with his body sore and aching and probably bruised from top to toe.

Tomika hadn't been kidding about kicking his ass during sparring (he'd called her Tom once by accident, honest!), and Stiles regretted not taking Coach up on extra training sessions for lacrosse over the summer. He was fast and while Stiles could dodge a fist (or a kanima's tail, or a Nogitsune's long fingers reaching out to him), Tomika was just as fast, and she had no qualms about using her full strength to hit him.

"Are you all right?" Derek asked, worried.

"Got my ass handed to me yesterday during sparring. I'm fine otherwise. Well, my pride and ego are hurt as well," Stiles admitted, standing up slowly and testing his limbs gingerly.

The spell and poultice he'd used to help reduce the pain and bruising had worked better than he expected, but they hadn't removed everything, just sped the process up somewhat. He was glad he wasn't blemish-free because that would be difficult to explain to every single person that had seen him get his ass beaten. (There were a lot; it seemed that watching the new recruits beat each other was something of a hobby for the other FBI agents.)

"You're only human."

"Yeah, well, so are they. I think. Tomika and Patrick might not be," he mused, frowning. "I meant to call you about the case yesterday, sorry, Der."

"That's all right," Derek said, more genuine than he expected. He sat down and sighed before asking, "Have you found anything of use, or should I start heading for the border?"

Stiles snorted. "Great, you wait until I leave to get a sense of humour."

Derek looked down at his feet and smiled.

"I haven't found out who's framing you, but I've excluded a few people. Argent's still pretty high on the list," Stiles said, looking to the string and notes he had tacked to one wall.

"Which one?"

"Both Gerard and Kate; they're tied for first in the world's shittiest competition, but, hey, what're you gonna do?" he said, trying for light-hearted and probably not coming across that way in the slightest. Stiles flexed his limbs, hoping to ease his muscles. "I'd frame an innocent person for your hands right now."

"What?"

"Y'know, your magic hands, with the healing thing you do."

"Oh. Right."

It took Stiles a second to realise exactly what he'd said and he wanted to smack himself on the head. "Uh. So... how's things in BH? That hellhound plan working out?"

"Scott and Lydia are dealing with it and the last I heard, Parrish was willing to use himself as bait or mediator, possibly both."

"Ah, good idea. So what've you been up to?"

Derek looked around the loft to the stack of books he'd read, the spotless kitchen he'd cleaned three times in the last two days, the duffel bag still unpacked by the front door. "Not a lot, honestly. I thought I'd be missed, I guess?" he said, scrunching his eyes shut at the admission.

"You were," Stiles replied, his voice soft but certain.

Derek opened his eyes and blinked a few times, trying to determine if Stiles had meant for him to hear that. "I missed you too, Stiles."

Stiles smiled. "Glad to hear it, sourwolf."

...

End of the fourth chapter.

Next parts: five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty