#《 so that Charlie can recognize him and feel safe 》

[differenteagletragedy]

Part Two of Simon Riley meeting a single mom at the park and going "that one, I want that one."

As much as Simon feels the persistent gnaw of want, he can’t pinpoint exactly why it’s there, and as the days since he met you drag on, he can’t figure out which is more frustrating — the wanting itself, or the fact that the reason behind it keeps eluding him.

Maybe it’s some biological impulse, that’s one thing he considers. Maybe it’s just a primal impulse drudged up by the sight of your belly and the helpless fear he’d heard in your voice that day. His rotten genes kicking around inside him, whispering to him that they want out.

Or it could be that you look like exactly the type he tends to go for when he allows himself the little indulgence of a pretty woman’s company. Present state aside, that is.

Regardless, he finds himself walking by the park nearly every day, scanning the area just in case he sees you or your little boy there again. He doubts he'd approach you again even if he did cross your path a second time, but even so, his aimless walks don't seem quite so aimless anymore.

It's not until one day, a few weeks after that first time, that he sees your somehow familiar form standing by one of the picnic tables. He'd thought you looked fit to burst the first time he saw you, but now you were somehow bigger still. Even from a distance, he can make out the sweat on your face, the wet bits of hair sticking to your forehead that show your overexertion, as if your rundown expression doesn't give it away.

You look absolutely miserable, and Simon pushes down whatever odd little instinct it is that makes him think about how much he'd like to kiss it all better.

Close by, safe on the ground this time, is your son, Charlie. He darts around the grass by the table while you unload a bag with snacks and drinks, your eyes firmly trained on him while you do it.

Simon walks slowly, trying to decide if it would be better to turn and go back the other way or to walk by as if he doesn't notice you -- he shouldn't notice you. If he did recognize you, it should only be in passing, a brief flicker of recognition that quickly passes, not ... whatever this is.

A small part of him, one that he'd never let see the light of day, considers the idea of approaching you.

The choice is taken away from him when Charlie spots him while doing spins in the grass. The little boy lets out a squeal, pointing directly at him, and begins bounding over.

"Charlie, for the love of --"

Then you look up and see him, and he can't be sure from the distance, but he thinks he sees the flicker of a smile.

He notices how you let yourself take your time a bit as you amble towards him, a small rush of pride going through him that you're not panicking over your child's safety as he runs in his direction. Charlie reaches him first, and he has to tilt his head nearly to his shoulders to look up at him.

"You were on the slide before."

"I was."

"You're too big for the slide."

"Wasn't there to slide."

By that point, you'd manage to waddle your way over, your hand going to rest on Charlie's shoulder as you look to Simon. You greet him, a quick "Hi," then look back down to your son.

"Let's not bother strangers, ok? Come on, we have a picnic."

"He's not a stranger," Charlie argues. "He was on the slide."

If Simon wasn't trying to keep his eyes off the drop of sweat that was trailing down by your collarbone, he would have taken a moment to properly appreciate the simplicity of the argument.

"Sorry," you say softly, glancing up at Simon again. "He's a friendly little thing."

"Quite all right."

"You want juice?"

He can't help but let out a chuckle at the kid's question -- he's never been much of a talker, and it seems like you might not be much of one either, but someone's putting in some effort.

"Mum made crackers too," Charlie adds. "You want some crackers?"

"I'm sure this man has more important things to do than have crackers and juice with us, don't you think?" you say.

But he doesn't. At this moment, he feels like he's never had anything more important to do.

There are a few more precocious little invites, along with some puppy dog eyes, and before he knows it, Simon is being led through a stretch of grass to a picnic table with you and your son.

The conversation is ... not great, honestly. You're either shy or guarded, maybe both, and Charlie isn't quite old enough to spark any kind of intelligent discussion. But he does enjoy the juice box the boy insists he takes, and he likes the strange warmth that spreads through his chest at the sight of you across from him at the table even more.

"Come watch me swing," Charlie demands after a bit. You shrug, apparently content with letting the child run the show at this point, and Simon lets out another deep chuckle, standing and hesitantly following you both to the swingset.

"Thanks for humoring him," you tell him quietly as you push your son on the swing.

"Not at all," he replies. "He's ..."

He trails off, not sure what he was even planning on saying. Sweet? Funny? They don't feel like words he'd use, but this doesn't even feel like an interaction he'd have. It's all new territory for him.

Thankfully, you don't seem miffed by his short responses, or by the silence that follows. You just stand there, one hand pushing Charlie while the other rests low on your belly, while he stands further back, watching.

And there it is again. The wanting. Brutal and undeniable.

“When’s the little one due?”

The question comes out low and gruff, as if it clawed its way out of his throat on his own, which it may have, because he rarely willingly engages in small talk like this.

"Couple of weeks," you answer.

Charlie breaks the next stretch of silence by instructing Simon to watch him kick his legs to swing even higher, which he does. After he gives him what he hopes sounds like a hum of approval, his eyes move back to you, watching the way your hand moves to rest on your hip, your fingers pressing towards the small of your back as if you're trying to keep yourself propped up.

"Kid seems like a bit of a handful to keep up with all by yourself," he murmurs. "Presently, anyway."

It's not his business, but you don't seem to mind because you reply again, eyes still on Charlie.

"He's been ... well, I think he's a little nervous, about the new baby," you explain. "So I've been trying to make these last few weeks of just us special."

You don't talk much, he's coming to understand that, but he doesn't either, so he knows how much can be said in the spaces between. He stays quiet for a moment, taking a pause to watch another one of Charlie's tricks.

"'Just us'?" he asks. "And what about that husband who was supposed to come to the rescue last time?"

"I lied so you'd think twice about kidnapping us."

Simon chuckles at the blunt response, and says, "Decided you're not in danger now, have you?"

"More like I've decided that if you kidnap us after we gave you juice and crackers, you're a monster and we never stood a chance anyway."

You glance up at him then, the first time you've looked at him since the party moved to the swings, and you smile. It's more playful than flirty, but it's for him, and he finds himself smiling back.

Simon doesn't do this. When he's home, he doesn't really talk to people. There's a quick exchange with a cashier or a bartender, or the occasional mutually distant transaction with a woman who wants the same quick release that he does. Some days are so bad that he'll spend more time than he cares to admit considering whether he wants to wear a mask out -- if he wants to just blend in as much as he can like he usually does, all dark clothing and hunched shoulders, or if he wants to risk attracting a bit more attention by wearing the mask since even so, it'll ensure that no one can see his face.

But here he is, for a reason that he still can't quite pinpoint, smiling at a pregnant lady in a park and watching her little boy play.

It doesn't make sense, but it doesn't feel bad either. So he doesn't stop.

It was late afternoon when Charlie first approached him, and now the sun is getting lower in the sky. You reach a hand up to pull on the chain of the swing, slowing the boy down, and tell him it’s time to go.

He whines for just a moment before obediently dragging his feet to stop the swing, standing up. Before Simon can process it, he comes up to him and wraps his arms around his legs.

“Thanks for playing,” he says before running back off towards the table where you’d left your things.

He helps you gather everything, walking the empty juice boxes over to the trash can so you don’t have to move any more than necessary. When you’re all ready to go, he watches you take Charlie’s hand and offer him another smile.

“See you around,” you tell him before turning and walking off towards the sidewalk.

He tries to think of something clever to say, then he kicks himself for wanting to say something clever, and before he can get out of his own head, you’re already halfway down the sidewalk. And, he notices, you happen to be headed in the direction of his own apartment.

Something in him wants to catch up with you, to say that he’s headed the same way, which wouldn’t be a lie. It’s the same part of him that made him a good soldier — the part that sees an opportunity to go in for the kill.

But the part of him that makes him a good leader stays put. The timing isn't right, and he doesn't want to take a chance on a half-cocked impulse, especially when he still hasn't even figured out what it is that's pulling him to you.

So he walks. He goes the opposite way, away from home, away from you, deeper into town. He walks past the shops as they start closing for the night, the pubs as they get more lively. He walks until he's sure that you and Charlie made your way to wherever you were headed, and only then does he make his way back to his apartment.

It's as dull there as ever, the overhead light flickering when he turns it on and walks inside. He hears the familiar creaking of his cheap old couch as it sinks under his weight when he sits, sees the white expanse of the walls, no pictures or paintings or whatever else people put up to make a house feel warmer than this.

But tonight, it's not quite so bleak. There's the faintest taste of apple juice lingering on his tongue, a sweetness he's not accustomed to, and he can still feel a bit of warmth on his face from being in the sun so long.

He wants more of it. He still doesn't know the ins and outs of it all, but he's ready to accept that it exists. And he's ready to start strategizing on how exactly he can get it.

PART THREE and PART FOUR and PART FIVE and PART SIX and PART SEVEN and PART EIGHT and PART NINE

[iinryer]

Eddie sees ghosts you say 👀

EDDIE SEES GHOSTS! my little exploration of thinking about ghost daniel too hard and making myself cough up blood (word vomit the skeleton of a fic).

the premise is just little vignettes of eddie encountering daniel and other 118 ghosts through the seasons, and piecing together who they were :’) it’s mostly about ghost daniel tho

a longer excerpt bc i love the world i built in this one…

—

What Eddie does know is that first responders tend to get shadows pretty frequently, doctors too. Souls who have imprinted on someone who tried to save them, or save their loved ones, or sometimes just the last face they saw before they met their end.

All that to say, Buck’s shadow was never a surprise.

Even if Eddie was open and forthcoming about what he… sees—which he’s not—he wouldn’t go around telling people they’ve got the echo of a dead person following them around, or asking if they know who it might be. In this line of work, he can only imagine the pain it could revive. Calls with kids are even worse.

So, no, Eddie doesn’t know who the little boy is, just that he seems particularly fond of Buck. And he’s not the only one.

The only soul. Obviously.

There have been others on occasion. The older couple they lost—one to the crush injury and the other to heartbreak—stuck with Buck for the rest of the day. Eddie thinks maybe they wouldn’t have lingered at all if it weren’t for Buck. They seemed happy, fulfilled. The kind of souls that wouldn’t float at all, but made a choice to stay for a bit. For Buck’s sake. Eddie knows the feeling.

The others will catch shadows every once in a while. After bad calls, inevitable losses. Someone holding on to Hen or Chim, usually. Grateful to them for saving someone else, for trying, sometimes upset, scared. Not that they can do much harm—besides distract Eddie—but they usually make themselves scarce after a while.

Aside from the ones who only hang around for a day or two, there are a few lurkers that Eddie had come to recognize over his first few months at the 118 too. Not constant presences, but repeats. Flashes that he’s grown familiar with.

Bobby has a duo, two kids who will bound by every few weeks. Eddie’s never seen them head on, but he knows the flickers of their blonde hair. There’s an older man who shows up sometimes to stand with Bobby on calls, arms crossed in the same way, pupil-less eyes observing alongside the captain. Sometimes he’s in turnouts too, sometimes not. He doesn’t do much, just stands sentinel almost like he’s keeping Bobby safe, maybe backing him up—or at least giving him some company. He’s never very defined, his form and features hard to get a look at.

Chim also has a shadow in turnouts. The coat is more clear and familiar to Eddie’s eye, enough so that he’s been able to catch the name LEE printed on the back. Lee doesn’t come by too often, but Eddie will catch him running closely behind Chim on more difficult scenes, so close it’s like he’s seeing double. Once, Lee even pointed Eddie in the right direction to find Chimney after they got split up on one of their more chaotic rescues, for which Eddie is deeply grateful.

But none of them are around quite as often as Buck’s.

Eddie has gotten good at telling when he’s seeing a soul and not just another body in a crowd. The first few years he couldn’t always tell without focusing, but it’s like his eyes just needed time to adjust. Now he knows at a glance. Which is good, because a seven-or-eight-year-old climbing into the back of an ambulance with him and Buck and an explosive in a man’s leg his first week on the job would have probably tripped him up a little otherwise.

(At first he wasn’t sure if the kid was Charlie’s, Buck’s, or the ambulance’s. Could have even been the parking lot they stopped in if he really felt like speculating. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen the kid perch with his chin resting on Buck’s shoulder, and he’d known.)

(This is Buck’s shadow.)

—

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Can I request Ror x HH? Like the Ror works Reader is the adopted child of the gods, they get sucked into a portal leading to Hazbin Hotel and meet Charlie. The two become friends and Reader often tells Charlie about their lives. In the Charlie meets Adam episode, Reader openly mocks Adam because he is not as good as their father Adam in Ror's world (I'm out of ideas :(( )

-It had been an accident, an experiment gone wrong from Nikola and Beelzebub, that sucked you into another dimension.

-While at first you had been freaked out, realizing that you were in Hell, but you were quick to calm after you met Charlie, after you landed in her hotel from the swirling vortex.

-Allister didn’t recognize the magic that brought you here, but he did admit it was powerful, so your story checked out as plausible of coming from another dimension.

-Charlie welcomed you with open arms, until your family could figure out how to get you back, but you weren’t going to be a freeloader- you were going to work hard and help where you could, all while learning how things were done in this version of hell.

-Your new friends enjoyed hearing of Valhalla, and how your version of hell was, which was different parts of the underworld, shared by the different death gods, like Anubis and Hades.

-You were not only disturbed but angered to hear what the heavens do to hell every year, killing as many sinners as possible to purge evil, but to do it in such a cruel way was heartbreaking.

-You were stunned when Charlie told you of Adam, who was one of the head angels, and how he was the one in charge of this purge and you were quickly yelling- ranting on how cruel this Adam was!

-They were stunned by your anger and once Charlie calmed you down, you told them of your Adam- how gentle and kind he was- he was a mentor to all, even those who looked older than him, and how strong he was and always determined to protect all his children, no matter what!

-Your Adam sounded like such a nice person, one that this world needed.

-You ended up staying in this world for about a week, but when the portal opened, revealing Hades, Apollo, Adam, Thor, Lu Bu, and Leonidas, you were happy to see them, but they were stunned to see you dressed like you were prepared for war.

-You explained the situation, on what this world’s Adam was going to do, and how there were good people in this world, like Vaggie and Charlie- people who didn’t deserve this fate.

-Leonidas grinned as he lit up a cigar, giving one to Husk, “Seems to me we get to have some fun before we head home.”

-Charlie wasn’t going to turn down help and Lucifer welcomed them to the battle.

-When the opposing Adam appeared he glared, seeing your Adam, “What the fuck is that twink wearing- a leaf!?” Adam smirked up at him, “It’s all I need to take on someone like you!”

-The two Adam charged at each other while the other warriors of Valhalla charged in, and you cheered your dad from a safe distance away as he easily handled this pathetic excuse for an Adam, scolding him while disciplining him for being such a terrible person- a father should love all their children, no matter if they did good or bad.

-In the end, you had been stunned with Nifty killed Adam after he was shouting, seeing that he had lost, and while you didn’t want to leave your new friends, you and Charlie embraced as she grinned, “We know now we can fight back, and that our lives aren’t worthless. We’ve got this!”

-You nodded and the portal opened, and you stepped through, waving goodbye to your new friends, feeling content that you were able to help them. And your family enjoyed the fun workout as well.

[first-frost-fallen-snow]

Charlie hiccuped, lifting their head to look up at him. They were clutching a plush that had ripped almost in half, trying to keep the stuffing from falling out. They looked up from their knees, squinting at Ed through tears.

As soon as they fully recognized hum, they scrambled over. Immediately tackling Ed's shins in a tight hug, dropping their plush in the rush to get to him. They gripped onto him, sniffling and shutting their eyes as tight as they could.

( console ) : one muse finds the other sobbing uncontrollably 

Mackey was nowhere to be found, yet his child, Charlie, was heaving sobs just outside of Ed's office. It was impossible to tell how they got there, or even why they were there. Unfortunately for poor Ed, he was the only responsible adult nearby.

@first-frost-fallen-snow

The day had been quiet. Suspiciously so. No arguments or drama with the rest of the development team, and no Mackey barging into his office with whatever fire he needed to put out. No attacks on the Encom server. For once Ed had a productive morning and managed to accomplish his his project goals on time. He'd been so productive, he forgot about lunch until 2:30 in the afternoon.

Of course something had to go catastrophically wrong as soon as Ed let his guard down. He'd just returned from the deli around the block, lunch in hand, when he found the Mackey's child outside his door.

"Charlie?" Ed asked dumbfounded. "What's wrong?"

[wisteria-blooms]

the hogwarts opposition and interrogation society (pt. 1) (prelude)

"STUCK" DRABBLE SERIES

PAIRING: Percy Weasley & You  TAGS: enemies-to-lovers (soon) A/N: Just a drabble as part of a drabble series to get the creative juices flowing. I feel like I haven't written anything Christmas-themed and it makes me sad. Bill and Charlie up next! Divider credits to @bernardsbendystraws.

SUMMARY: It's the night of the Hogwarts Christmas Fundraiser and you and Percy get into an argument about... well, everything. (762 words)

the hogwarts opposition and interrogation society (pt. 1) (prelude)

“I told you the silver wouldn’t work. It looks like tin. And it’s clashing with everything. It’s so ugly.”

You were pointing at the stupid, horrific, and grossly-coloured archway that led to the ballroom. The Christmas Fundraiser was tonight and it was a disaster all thanks to one man. Your fiery eyes were trying to burn a hole in Percy Weasley’s thick head and failing because as far as you were concerned, he was all insulation, no brains. 

“And I told you that gold was out of our budget,” Percy countered, his freckled face flush with equal anger.

“How many times have I told you, Percy?” Your voice was growing louder with every sentence. You flung a decorative ribbon out of your hands.The crowd that had formed around you dissipated immediately, running back to their stations to continue eavesdropping at a safe distance. “A Christmas fundraiser is about spirit, not how much we’re over-budget. We can always make it back, but this cheap display isn’t going to make the Malfoys want to empty out their pockets.” 

“Oh, really? Christmas for you is about how much the Malfoy are going to drop into your pathetic plastic container? Newsflash, Lucius Malfoy isn’t going to touch that box with his green velvet glove.”

You balled your hands into fists. One more wrong word out of his mouth and you were going to punch Percy. “We need their support. Their son is coming to Hogwarts next year. They’re going to be looking for any reason to donate.”

“Hold on.” Percy raised his hand, his palm facing you as a way to tell you to shut up. You gritted your teeth; you absolutely hated it when he did this. Percy the power-tripping prat. He could never make you grovel at his stupid, shiny, leather-clad feet. “Who was the person who just said, ‘A Christmas fundraiser is about spirit?’”

You stepped perilously close to Percy. Your expression served as your only weapon for he was freakishly tall. And always perfectly groomed from his hair to his starchy collars which pissed you off even more. “I mean spirit on our side. The Optimization and Improvement Society. Your penny-pinching has hurt everyone's morale.”

“Oh?” Percy guffawed. “Really? Because your proclivity to micromanage every aspect of this event didn’t?”

“Well, let’s take a survey. Everyone’s here, so why not?” You circled around the room for someone to ask, but everyone was working diligently, for some odd reason. You were sure the walls didn’t need dusting. “Let’s ask them how they feel about Percy, the pompous, properly practical, power-tripping, penny-pinching prat.”

He gritted his teeth. “Your alliterations are asinine, (Y/N).”

“You just made one,” you pointed out. “It seems like you’re rather fond of them.”

“Excuse me.”

“What?!” You and Percy yelled at the same time.

The tall, muscular boy was unbothered. You recognized him as Duke, the Slytherin beater. As far as you knew, he was thrown into the Optimization and Improvement Society because he’d accrued far too much detention from bullying other students and needed a different form of remediation. You and Percy complained heavily about it. 

Well, that was one thing that you could agree on. 

“Could I make one suggestion?” Duke asked. 

You crossed your arms. “Sure, Duke.”

“Enlighten us,” Percy said.

“Sometimes, when I get really angry, you know, like, when I lose a Quidditch match, I know I’ve got to make out with someone to calm down.” Before you could ask him what this had to do with anything, he latched one hand on the back of your head, and the other on Percy’s. You lurched forward, falling just mere inches from Percy’s face and his buggy blue eyes. Duke, with his brutal strength, had you locked in. You curled your lips inward, and Percy mirrored your actions. No tonic could ever wash the disgusting taste of Percy’s lips off. 

 “So, you two should make out and get that anger out,” Duke suggested.

A light chorus of giggles and ‘ayes’ rang out in the room. Oh, so now people were listening? Before he could mash your faces together, Duke dropped both of you at the same time. You landed on your elbows and knees but bounced right up with a new fixation: chewing out whoever had voted in favour of Duke suggestion. Percy, on the other hand, was threatening Duke, saying that Snape would be hearing of this incident and dealing with him appropriately. 

You’d never, ever make out with Percy Weasley. Yuck.

But his eyes were kind of pretty up close…

No.

Never. 

Ever.

…Right? 

[writerslittlelibrary]

You should make one where Wanda and nat get taken by the snap and it leaves there 14 year old daughter for her to grow up alone, later when they return there surprised to see her grow up at first they dont even recognize her because she turns out to be a cold badass. You can add some angst of her not being able to trust them and so on. But over time there family dynamic falls back but they notice y/n is hiding something because she always disappears and is seen talking on the phone. One night they think they hear talk in y/n’s room so they wait a few hours before they check it out and its y/n being super cute with her gf. she introduce her gf who helped her through the snap.

5 years is a long time

masterlist requests masterlist

pairing: WandaNat x daughter reader

warnings: grieve, loss, pain

genre: angst, fluff

words: 2093

a/n: thank you so much anon for the request. I love the idea and I hope you like it 🫶

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work 

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Tears. That’s all you remember. The endless crying of that night. Your moms had told you they had to leave for a while to fight an important battle. They told you they would be back. They lied. 

You remember Steve coming to your home. The home you grew up in. The home you three had lived in for your entire life. You were excited when you heard the door open. You thought your moms had returned. They hadn’t.

Steve was standing in the door opening, and the look on his face alone was enough to make you cry. So that’s what you did. For the entire night you did nothing but cry. You couldn’t believe your moms would break their promise. You couldn’t believe your moms would never hold you again. 

Steve had taken you out of your home that night. He said he wanted you to stay with him, so you would be safe. He told you it’s what your moms would’ve wanted, but you had no interest in listening to him. You didn’t sleep that night. What happened wouldn’t leave your brain. You were devastated. 

After a few weeks in the compound, you had started feeling angry. The first few days you felt numb, and you supposed feeling angry was better than that, but in reality it wasn’t.

You would ignore Steve. You wouldn’t eat or take care of yourself. All you could be was angry, and you and Steve fought all the time. After two months, you decided to leave. You were a few weeks away from your fifteenth birthday, and Steve was trying to get you excited for it, but you didn’t want to be.

Usually, you would be so excited you couldn’t sleep, but this time you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Steve talked about it non-stop, and you just couldn’t take it. What was the point in celebrating your birthday if the most important people wouldn't be there?

That was when you decided to leave. 

You found an apartment in Seattle, wanting to be as far away from the compound as you could. That’s where you lived for the past 5 years. You were 19 now, and your life was different than it was when the snap happened.

You used your training to kill. You found that killing people was the only way to ease your anger, ease your thirst for revenge. 

You weren’t proud of it. How could you? Your moms had taught you how to fight to protect, not hurt. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care, however. Your moms were gone. There was no reason in thinking about what they would or wouldn’t agree with. 

You were currently sitting on your couch, cleaning some of your knives. You had another successful assignment yesterday and you were exhausted. There was a lot of commotion in the world, and your assignments were flooding. It seemed that suddenly everyone wanted each other dead. You didn’t know why, but then again, you didn’t follow the news.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock at your door. Besides Charlie, no one knew where you lived, and she wasn’t set to come home for another few days. 

Hesitantly, you opened your door, and you almost broke at the sight. 

In front of you were two people. Two people who you believed you’d never see again. Wanda gasped, clearly shocked by the wounds you carried on your face. Maybe the fact you’d grown 5 years shocked her too. Natasha just stared. She couldn’t believe it. Their little girl was all grown up, but that isn’t what shocked them the most. 

The emptiness in your eyes did. 

Wanda made the first move to hug you, and in your shock you didn’t react. You hadn’t thought this day would ever come, and now it did. 

Natasha seemed to snap out of her shock, moving to embrace you as well. 

They cried. You didn’t.

When they moved into your apartment you were quick to clean the knives from your coffee table. You were afraid of how they would react. You knew they would be disappointed, but you just weren’t ready for a lecture of them yet. 

Natasha and Wanda stayed in your guest room, and much like the night you lost them, you were awake. You couldn’t sleep, and you knew they wouldn’t be able to either.

The next day Natasha and Wanda had convinced you to move back into their apartment. They kept telling you how sorry they were for leaving, and how they wanted to make up for all the years they lost. You agreed, moving back into your childhood home. You didn’t know how you’d react if they ever were to return, but you never expected to feel so… numb.

You had lived together for a few days now, and you had a hard time trusting them. You fought a few times already, mainly with Natasha. You refused to call them mom and mama again. You just couldn’t. Wanda was just trying to be there for you, while Natasha was more set on getting answers.

You were frustrated. You couldn’t provide your moms with any answers. You didn’t have any. 

Last night you and Natasha fought again, and she yelled at you saying she couldn't recognise you anymore. You were lost. You didn’t know how to react.

All those nights you wished your moms would return to you, and wishing things would go back to the way they were. Now you wished things would go back to the way they were after they disappeared. You didn’t want to face them, and living with them again after so many years proved to be much more difficult than you initially thought. 

Most nights you spend in your room, talking to the only person that stayed the same through all of it. 

You spoke to Charlie most nights. She was the only person you had found comfort with all this time. The only person you felt you could trust, and the only person you felt you could be yourself around.

Charlie lost both of her parents in the snap as well, and when you were on an assignment one day to kill a dangerous man, you had found Charlie in one of the rooms in his house.

She was locked up, and she looked sick. You had taken her home with you, caring for her wounds. She didn’t speak much, only thanking you when appropriate. You didn’t mind much. You were happy you could still do some good. You were both 17 at the time, and you grew close quickly. 

Charlie had told you what happened. How she lost her parents and the man had taken her. You offered her to stay with you, and she agreed. You grew closer quickly, and your friendship soon developed into something more. 

Charlie was the only person you cared about. The only person you could be yourself around. The only person you loved through those years. 

Charlie had reminded you of your humanity, and she never scolded you for doing what you did. 

It’s funny, really. All those nights you spend on your own, in the bed of your new apartment, you longed to be laying in your own bed, with your moms downstairs. Now, while you were lying in the bed of your childhood home, with your moms downstairs, you longed for the nights in your own apartment. Spend watching movies and eating cheap take out with Charlie. 

You hadn’t told your moms about Charlie yet. You didn’t know how to. You didn’t know you wanted to.

Your moms were downstairs, discussing your behavior. Wanda was crying. She felt so incredibly hurt by the fact you called her ‘Wanda’ now. She missed the days you called her mommy. When you would come running downstairs all excited because you had a random thought you felt like Wanda should know. 

Her and Natasha were talking about how you seemed so closed off. So cold. How you were always in your room and how it seemed like you were hiding something.

Tonight, while you were on a call with Charlie, Natasha had decided to check on you, wanting to talk to you about their concerns. When she reached your room, she could hear you talking to someone. She decided not to knock on the door, instead opening it to see you lying on your bed, with your back turned to the door. You didn’t notice she was standing there, to captivated by your phone call.

You were giggling, and Natasha wasn’t sure when she last heard you laugh. 

Natasha just stood there, soaking up your happiness. When you ended the phone call, you told Charlie ‘I love you’, which didn’t go unnoticed by Natasha.

When you turned around you were startled, and when you released Natasha was eavesdropping you were upset. 

“I’m sorry,” Natasha told you, and you sighed, sitting up in your bed. Natasha sat at the end of your bed, not wanting to make you uncomfortable by sitting too close. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, it’s just been a while since I’ve seen you laugh.”

“I’m sorry too,” you told her, not wanting to look at her.

“I understand it must’ve been hell for you, and it must have been so confusing, even now we’re back. It’s confusing for us too. A few weeks ago you were our little 14 year old girl, and now you’re all grown up. I’m sorry we don’t know how to help you, and I’m sorry we weren’t there,” Natasha told you with tears in her eyes. 

You sniffled and shook your head. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been a terrible daughter. I was never mad at you. I’m just so angry, and I didn’t know how to handle that,” you explained to her, tears rolling down your cheeks.

Natasha pulled you into a hug, the first you’d had since the night they returned. You cried together, and Wanda, who probably heard the crying, came upstairs and sat next to you on the other side. 

You kept crying, repeating ‘I’m sorry’ until you were so tired you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore. 

You fell asleep in their arms, and when you woke up, they were still there. 

You had all moved down to the kitchen for breakfast, and for the first time in 5 years, you were eating breakfast together, talking. There was no tension, no crying, no fighting and no yelling. Just talking.

“So who was that girl on the phone yesterday?” Natasha suddenly asked you. 

You looked up at her quickly, surprised with her question. “What?” you asked her confused. “Yesterday you were talking on the phone with a girl. You seemed really happy.” 

You looked at your plate, pushing the leftover fruit around on it. “We’re not mad, just curious,” Wanda told you. “Her name’s Charlie. She’s kinda my girlfriend,” you told your moms hesitantly.

You didn’t look at them, but you felt Wanda scooting her chair closer, engulfing you in a hug. “We’re so happy for you!” she exclaimed, and you relaxed in her arms. “Thanks,” you mumbled. Natasha sat down in the chair on the other side of you, rubbing your back. “Where is she now?” Natasha asked. 

“Still in Seattle. We lived together in that apartment,” you told her, sitting up straight again. 

“We should invite her over, if you want too,” Wanda suggested. You nodded. “I’d like that,” 

Two days later Charlie was standing in front of your door again, and she hugged you tight. “I’ve missed you,” you murmured. She nodded, kissing your forehead. 

When she let you go, she noticed your moms standing behind you. Natasha was the first one to introduce herself, telling her it was nice to meet her. Wanda was next, giving her a small hug. 

You had dinner that night, the four of you, and after finding out you had lived together for 2 years, Wanda suggested she should stay for a while. Charlie agreed, and you couldn’t be happier. The night was ended with movies, you in Charlie’s arms, just like all those other nights. The only difference was your moms sitting next to you, smiling at the wonderful young woman you’d grown into. 

[zo1nkss]

Seeing a lot of different sentiments about Charlie and Babe's fight this season and just wanted to clarify some things that can all be true at one time:

- Charlie was wrong for lying and hiding things from Babe in season 1

- It would not be right to punish, belittle, or mistreat Charlie for past actions that he has already made ammends for

- Babe was wrong for pushing Charlie around and generally being dismissive and cold toward him in s1

- It would not be right to punish, belittle, or mistreat Babe for his past actions that he has already made ammends for

- Babe was wrong for lying and hiding things from Charlie in s2

- It would not be right for Charlie to punish him with aggression or violence regardless of the situation and he is doing the right thing trying to take space and process his needs for himself

- Charlie was wrong for throwing himself into his work and setting everything else aside, including his boyfriend, knowing Babe — who already had to mourne him once — was worried for his safety while he was there

- It's not right of Babe to punish him with insensitive jokes, or freezing him out of what Babe is doing with people Charlie has told him he's insecure about, or refusing to respect his boundaries, or unloading his feelings on him as a means to convince him to back down

- Babe is being manipulative and selfish in refusing to give Charlie time and space that he deserves

- It's okay to recognize that Babe's justifications come from a place of hurt and loneliness, and to allow him the grace to feel those feelings

- That does not mean he doesn't have a responsibility to respect Charlie's boundaries and let him come to Babe when he's ready to make up in a safe and healthy way

- Charlie is wrong for going through all of this and continuing to hide the same things from Babe that Babe hid from him and continue putting himself in danger when he knows how much it effects Babe

- and it does make his refusal to listen to Babe out to be somewhat of a punishment if he is just going to turn around and do the exact same thing Babe is guilty of doing

- It is possible to be manipulative or gaslight someone unintentionally. No it is not only a malicious action done with intention. Yes it is possible to be so consumed with your own emotions that you inflict what you consider justified emotions onto another person in ways that are cruel and unfair to them

- Yes it is possible for those choices to come from real hurt that may have been caused by the other person

- That does not make it okay, and it is the responsibility of each person to consider the impact of their words and actions, and how they will influence another person's emotions

I'm sorry but, did we not all watch the season one plot of "It's not right to abuse and mistreat children this way"? At what point in your life do you lose the grace of being a child and become deserving of abuse?

I really hope we get a breaking point soon and they finally start making better choices together, and really try to rely on each other rather than trying to shoulder all of the problems until they inevitably blow up in both their faces.

[bairdthereader]

Time to pay homage to the Spring Queen, Tori.

[This is a long one, folks. I have lots of feelings. Sorry, not sorry! TLDR can just look at the gifs for the gist of the story.]

Having read Solitaire, This Winter, and Nick and Charlie in addition to Heartstopper, my thoughts on Tori and how she's portrayed in the show are a bit difficult to organize and express. Since we don't get her backstory in the show (yet), we see her exclusively engaging with Charlie's story; this leaves out a lot of her depth and complexity, or at least leaves it to the viewer to piece together. BUT . . .

The specific ways she goes about protecting Charlie say so much about her.

It's established from their first on-screen interaction that Charlie feels safe with Tori, both to be himself and to confide in her that he's ended his pseudo relationship with Ben, a relationship no one else knows about at this point. Tori automatically assumes the fault was with Ben, which is not only peak awesome older sister behavior, but a cue to Charlie that she knows him well enough to trust that he was not only not the offending party, but that the breakup was a very positive move for him. She's affirming and bolstering Charlie without any platitudes or unsolicited advice, a sign of her care and respect for him, as well as her understanding of him and his needs.

In Solitaire, Tori explains that she rides the bus with Charlie when he's dealing with particularly bad mental health struggles, which puts the scene toward the end of S1E7 in a slightly different perspective. She knows that something is deeply wrong, but also that Charlie isn't ready to talk about it. She keeps an earbud out just in case, but doesn't pressure him in any way, another sign of respect and silent support.

And of course the moment when Charlie is desperately vulnerable, scared, admitting his darkest thoughts to her, when she realizes for the first time (in the show timeline) just how deep the pain goes, she takes it seriously. She knows what it could mean. Though we as viewers haven't seen it yet, Tori knows her own version of this particular darkness and recognizes it in Charlie. She grounds him with firm, safe, physical touch and a truth that only she can give--which makes it the truest kind of truth, a bedrock truth for Charlie to stand on--that he is valuable to her and vital to her life.

After Charlie tells his parents about his relationship with Nick (with fairly negative results, but that's a whole other post), Tori's concern for Charlie is immediate. Not only does she remember how terrible the bullying Charlie experienced was, but she also knows how fragile his newfound happiness really is. Charlie misinterprets her question--whether intentionally or not I think might be up for debate--and assumes that her concern is mainly for Nick, asserting that he can protect Nick. Tori knows that Charlie will need that protection as well, maybe more, but also respects his choice to view the situation in this way. [Side note: respect is like Tori's secret love language; she doesn't give it very willingly.]

"Look after him or you die" seems funny, but Tori is dead serious. Her later accusation that Nick doesn't keep his promises feels harsh at first, and he doesn't really deserve it, but we have to see it for what it is. Tori is trusting Nick with a responsibility that she usually puts on herself, and she doesn't take it lightly; very few people can care for Charlie the way Tori does, and to her, failure to do so is indefensible. Nick's failing her test in this moment, though she's a complete enough person to recognize that it's a momentary lapse and trusts Nick with Charlie later in the story.

And of course there's the infamous Nelson dinner party, where Tori does in reality what we ALL want to do in spirit and knocks David down several pegs. She sees in him exactly the kind of person who bullied Charlie and made his life miserable, and she's not about to let it happen right in front of her. No real commentary here, just a deep appreciation for Tori's sisterly rage and complete disgust with David.

And then there's this:

Oh, season 3 Tori is going to be something to behold. I absolutely cannot wait. All hail the queen.

[dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy]

Rearview - Chapter 3 - Dodges, Deceptions, and Drinks

Summary: You start to feel watched when a black Challenger keeps appearing on your route, but the real shock comes from a text claiming to be Dean. After you escape the uneasy situation, Dean calls asking about plans for tonight. Though you're scheduled at work, it doesn't stop him from entertaining you for the evening.

Characters: Dean, Cas, Charlie, others mentioned

Word Count: 7.3K

Warnings: cursing, MAJOR fluff (calm before the storm), stalking, paranoia, dean is feeling the alcohol

Author's Note: I am so disorganized and fueled by panic sorry it was late but its getting interesting

Songs: Shiver by Coldplay, Tell Me by Groove Theory & Honey by Mariah Carey (at the bar), Hot for Teacher by Van Halen

Series Masterlist - Chapter 4

"...But all my mom has been doing is asking if 'this is what you really want'." You mimic her pressing tone, adding a scowl before you take a drained sip of your coffee. "I can't transfer now, it's way too late for that." 

You love your parents, you do. But even in your twenties, your mom still has a claw-like grip around you, somehow from states away. After last summer's incident, she was calling every day, checking in on you and asking if you were safe, or to make sure you knew where the local police station was- mental hospitals, even. 

Your dad has texted every now and then, too, regarding your new living situation, but he doesn't really bring up too much from the past. He cares from a distance and offers his threats to those who would dare try anything with you now, but, even he recognizes that there is only so much he can do.

Mom doesn't quite understand that. In fact, she loathes his forfeit of the situation, but that doesn't make her too much better. Mom refuses to acknowledge the helplessness she feels and persists with all kinds of unsolicited advice and information.

Across the table, Charlie nods intently as she listens, her lips never leaving her straw, as she sucks down on her salted caramel mocha (with an extra shot of espresso). Cas has long since abandoned his drink, soaking in your vent. His attention has been directly on you as he ponders your situation.

Cas sighs, torn and almost unwilling to admit, "Well, technically you could still transfer. It's the beginning of the semester and it would allow you some time to catch up on work wherever you decide to finish."

Charlie almost spits out her last couple of sips, aggressively gulping before a hurt gasp leaves her as she turns to Cas, "What? No! She can't leave us, Cas," She turns to you with a pleading demeanor. "You can't leave!"

Your palms face her in assurance, "Charlie, I'm not going anywhere."

She puts a hand over her heart, dramatically sighing with relief as she relaxes in her chair. Internally, you smile at her wish to keep you near.

"Do you think you'd feel better?" Cas queries after a moment, tilting his head, really trying to figure out what your best options would be. 

Short answer, yes. Slightly less short answer, "I mean, I can't just run away from my problems. I have one more year of school after this and I have roots here now. Plus, I do actually like it here."

"Then don't let what's-his-ugly-face rule where you live. If you let him take this city from you, he wins. Stay. Assert your dominance!" Charlie firmly encourages.

Cas squints his eyes at her, "I don't think that this should be about who 'wins' here. Her mental well-being is more important than her pride."

You roll your eyes, a gentle affirmation, "I'm fine, Cas. My mom is the one who's getting all freaked out about this."

"She has reason to be," Cas says your name, scoldingly.

"Not anymore- everything that has happened is done and it's all in the past. I'm moving forward. I'm completely separated from it."

"So you don't have the nightmares anymore?"

An irritated swell keeps you from explicitly telling your truth, "No- I, but- I mean, I do but they're getting better."

Charlie presses her lips together in a thin line, "I hate to side with Mom #2 over here, but I'm the one that shares a room with you- And it's totally fine, it happens, so don't even worry about it!" She prefaces kindly before she grimaces as she informs you, "But, they definitely aren't better yet."

You have definitely woken up mid-scream or mid-cry, probably at some point this week, too. And you don't really go back to sleep once you wake from it, most times you find yourself in the kitchen with a cup of tea or coffee, or doing homework in the odd hours of the night/morning. And Charlie is a light sleeper, so she too is often a victim of your restless sleeping habits. It was hard to shake the nightmares. Hell, you have day scares almost as frequently. There's still essences of him all around. You see him in your peripheral when someone stands too close to your back, as you expect to meet with his cold, bloodshot gaze and predatory sneer. You recoil at the scent of harsh, straight alcohol, reliving the moments when his breath would fan threateningly over your face, reeking of whiskey, or something cheap. You flinch when a car revs or backfires, stopping your heart in its beat. And if someone's light grasp finds its way to your forearm, or shoulder, or neck...you feel like you might have little control over how you react. The worst part is that nothing has really tamed. The nightmares aren't really any better, and Charlie and Cas were right. 

You're just thankful that she hasn't mentioned anything about your sleep-talking. Sometimes, you wonder how coherent it is, and if Charlie makes a mental note of it. Your nightmares usually consist of that night, and you were afraid- no. Terrified, that one too many details would slip through your lips at the fault of your tormented psyche. 

Because truthfully, no one knew exactly what happened that night. Only you did. Cas understood what happened based off your hysterics and pleas for him to keep it to his self, but you couldn’t bring up the rest.

You didn't tell anyone what really went on. You couldn't. You told what you couldn't hide. You could explain the bruising. You could explain the bouts of depression that came and went in tidal waves. But you couldn't get into too many details. You never could. For your own safety.

"The nightmares will go away in due time." You dismiss with a light finality. "If the nightmares are my only problem, then I should be considered lucky. He hasn't tried to reach out and call, or text, or anything like that. So what if my subconscious hasn't fully caught up? Life will go on and I'm going to have way more pressing matters in my dreams, like finals and finding a school to intern for."

Cas inhales, unconvinced of your dismissal. But nonetheless, he doesn't push, "I suppose you're right."

But he can't help but add.

"Although, it doesn't hurt to consider other options. You have to do what's ultimately best for you, and if that entails a transfer, you must think of yourself before anyone else- Charlie." 

Cas barks a warning at Charlie's open mouth ready for imminent protest, but it dies on her lips, forming a puppy dog pout at his tone desperate to vote against his advice. She looks away in dejected acceptance. "Ugh. I guess he's right, or whatever." Charlie directs her somber, yet understanding eyes to you, "Do what you need to do."

You appreciatively grin, softly responding, “Thank you, Charlie, for your blessing. And you, Cas,” you turn to him, “For your insistence on bettering my mental health. Need I remind you, I am fine. Better than fine.”

“Then that is great to hear,” Cas nods his head, a small smile on his face at your claim, but he continues to stare into you, hoping the truth would spill out if he gives you that overly sensitive gaze that seems to see through your bullshit. 

Conversations between you three shift, change, and evolve. However, when Charlie begins to chatter about her DND group, your eyes begin to drift, landing on what looks like a black Dodge Challenger about one block down, parked but still running by the meter. It’s too far away to see the inside, but everything looks tinted anyway. Hairs raise on the back of your neck, you’re not sure why, but the presence is cryptic. You figure it’s just lasting paranoia that you repeatedly denied having, though it was hard to tear away your stare. 

Cas says your name, waiting for your response to the question you undoubtedly missed. You shake away any attention you have on the black car, and look to Cas, “Shit, I’m sorry, say it again.”

He narrows his eyes, constantly reading you it seems, and he brings his wrist up, looking to his watch. "You have class soon?"

Your brows scrunch, and you look at your phone. 11:27. You begin to sling your purse string back on your shoulder and stand up, giving your friends your typical farewell. "Oh, you're right. Thanks for the coffee meet, guys.- be safe and all that."

The other two start to gather their things as well, finishing their drinks and waving you off once everyone is split in different directions.

You notice the Challenger linger, and your mouth goes slightly dry at the sight as you try to push away this sixth sense bullshit that's happening. You decide to cross the street at the light, staying on the opposite side of where it's parked. And everything is fine.

It's fine until you notice it parked at another meter across from the building you have a class in. Your footsteps falter, and you pause on your way to the entryway of the campus building. You stare at it for a moment or two, and its lights end up turning back on, and it slowly drives in your direction.

What the fuck.

Your heart rate speeds, and you give it another glance before you swing the door open and view the car. It doesn't slow down at your building or anything, it just keeps driving south of you. And you think to yourself that this is stupid.

Paranoid bitch.

It was probably a different car. It's not like there was one black Challenger car in the city.

You try to move past the feeling, but it's gum on your shoe. Sticky is probably the most perfect word for how this situation feels.

AFTER CLASS

You practically skip out of class. Professor Murphy had let the class go early to let us work on our assignments at home. Bless him. The best part is you were already ahead on the assignment, so now you can go back to the apartment to finally cook a proper meal for yourself and catch up on other school work.

And life gets even better today.

You feel a buzz in your back pocket and reach for your phone, looking at your notifications.

Maybe: Dean 1:12PM Hey, it's Dean

Instagram 12:45PM queencharlieb just made a post.

Cas 12:34 Did you see the schedule for next week

You had completely forgotten somehow that Dean had gotten your number the other night. You almost giggle to yourself like an idiot, but then catch yourself when you remember that there can't be anything yet. Especially not after what Jo admitted. Who knows, maybe he would even get with Jo if he knew how she felt. She obviously was okay in bed if he kept going back to her.

Unless of course, he had better options.

Jeez. Maybe too harsh.

Regardless, just getting as far as phone numbers is still friendly. You text with Cas all the time. Guy friends are great, you could always have more friends, and you convince yourself that's the only intention you have.

You start typing then backspace. Type, type, type. Backspace, backspace, backspace.

Did you forget how to text? Just say hi back!

You give up, and maybe it's lame but it was safe.

Hey, Dean :) 1:17 PM Delivered

You set your phone back in your back pocket, desperately trying to wipe the smile off your face. This all felt like middle school all over again.

Get a handle on yourself, it's a guy. That's it.

But logic seems to fly out the window when a returning buzz brings back that instantaneous smirk. You pull your phone out:

Maybe: Dean 1:19PM What are you up to right now?

It felt too good to be true, to have him genuinely interested. You push the denial out, responding back.

just got out of class early, walking 1:20 PM back home. what's up? Delivered

The bubble of three grey dots pops up before you can even close out of the iMessage app. You gape, not exactly used to that immediate attention.

Maybe: Dean I just finished a meeting with my advisor at the student center on sixth street, you wanna meet me here? 1:21 PM

Out of class early and being asked to meet up with Dean. Things are working out neatly today.

I'm headed in that direction, I'll meet you there in ten 👍 1:21 PM

A funny scene pops in your head of the pigeons cooing and singing to you as you hold out your hand in Snow White fashion. The traffic lights animatedly wave to you, and every passenger stuck in clogged traffic gives you a big smile and a wink that says "Go get 'im, tiger!"

And it's stupid to think this will end in your favor. You can acknowledge that, and you are weary of that. And yeah, it dulls the sparkle of this situation a bit, but hell, a little optimism in spite of that is healthy. Here and there, it might do you some justice.

Ping.

Maybe: Dean I can't wait to see you again 1:23 PM

Oh...that's a bit forward.

A weird feeling grapples around your chest, and your smile falters. Maybe he didn't mean it like that. He could just not have many friends and doesn't know how to act. It's nice to feel wanted but, that piques your interest some.

You don't respond this time, waiting to talk to him in person.

As you near the student center, you start to pay more attention to the people walking by, the people sitting on the benches, the cars driving into and out of the parking lot.

Cars. Dean's car. He's got the black muscle car, right.

Rounding the corner, you figure your best bet is to stay near the front for the view of all the cars here. And you may look a bit odd, staring at all of the cars but you figure it's most efficient to stay close to the building in case he happens to be in there, as well.

Red Camry... white Elantra... a fuck-ass grey Tesla... a black-

No.

Your breathing picks up before you even realize it.

The same black Challenger is parked, but not even in a real parking spot. It's hovering along the side of the lot in wait.

Your phone starts to ring.

Oh, God. Fuck.

785-555-0128

Lawrence, Kansas

Accept Decline

Wait.

The number that now shows up as calling was different than the phone number that said Dean. It didn't say "Unknown Caller".

You could've sworn you just came from a run with how fast your heart rate is.

You hit "Accept" without thinking and shakily bring it to your ear, and you can't bring yourself to say anything, as you leave your mouth open. Frozen.

"Hello?"

It sounded like Dean.

"Hello?"

Shit. "Hey- Hi. Sorry, the connection is terrible where I'm at." You clear your throat, backing up to where you came from, behind the corner so you remain out of immediate sight of the Challenger.

"Hey," He repeats, a voice like honey as his true greeting seems to settle into your head, naturally calming you for a second- albeit it's a split second when you have to bring yourself back to the present with fear. He continues through the line, "Sorry, for calling out of the blue but uh, I had a question. A proposition-"

"You didn't just text me, right?"

You blurt it out by mistake, an uncontrollable concern in your voice. And you can almost see Dean's eyebrows raise with confusion.

"No...? I- I haven't. Should I have, is this a bad time?"

Your eyes are brought back to the Challenger, as you follow it as it slowly rolls out of park.

Jesus H. Christ-

"Oh, fuck. Dean, I'm sorry- let me call you back." Your voice falters slightly in fear, moving with haste through an alleyway behind the building to get out of the Challenger's view.

Dean calls out your name through the phone, but you barely register it, "Yeah- is everything okay?"

You don't even know what you said back before you hung up, but it was breathy and you're sure it was hardly coherent. Cutting through the back of the building, you find yourself at the sidewalk connecting to the street you live on. You flinch as you hear a loud engine, and turn behind you to see the Challenger fly in the opposite direction, whilst you're still invisible to its view.

Holy fuck.

What the hell is going on...

You damn near jog back to your apartment, only about two blocks away right now. It's an awkward jog. You hold your purse against your side so it stops banging against your thigh, and once you near the building, you duck into the lobby and fumble for your keys in your purse, finally catching your breath.

You reach the elevator and aggressively and repetitively press for floor four, even after it's lit up.

"God..." You blink back tears now that you're by yourself. You don't even know how to properly digest what's happened. You can't even bring yourself to acknowledge it.

Because if you did, it meant that it was true.

You aren't separated from what happened. And Nick, or something Nick-related is still there in the shadows.

The elevator rings, and you step out. Your hands are shaky, sweaty, and hardly able to wrap around your key as you stick it through to your door. Inside, you drop everything close to the door, still in a state of shock.

The apartment is quiet. Charlie is still at a DND meet, and Jo must be off at class, work, or at an appointment.

You stand in the middle of the apartment, unknowing of what to even do. Your heart is still a mess, and you're feeling tingles in your chest. What the hell is a girl to do.

You violently flinch as your phone rings again.

It was real Dean again.

Damn. You must've sounded crazy to him on the phone. Damn.

You accept, this time being the first to say, "Hey-"

"Are you okay?" He sounded genuinely worried for you, and boy, did that make you feel awful.

"Yeah, I'm- yeah, no. I'm fine- sorry." You sputter out, closing your eyes as you talk to him.

"What the hell happened?" He asks, and despite his own urgency, his voice comes out softer.

You're sick of lying. But, is it even worth it to bother him with the truth?

You exhale, running a hand on my face, "I just... I got a weird text. A prank-like text and it was eerie and stupid and probably just a bunch of kids or something- I thought it might've been you but then you called. I'm sorry, I did not mean to worry you."

You can hear Dean relax with an exhale of his own, and he huffs a bit of a laugh, "No, no...don't be sorry, I just didn't know if I had to come down to get you or something."

You scoff guiltily for making him think like that, "Dean- I wouldn't have put that on you to do that. I'm fine-"

"All due respect, you wouldn't have much of a choice if I thought you were in serious danger," Dean replies with protective assurance in his voice. Welcome back, butterflies.

"I- well, I don't want to ever have to make you do that, but thank you. The thought is considerate." You've managed to calm down slightly, his voice bringing you back to center. "Uh, before I hung up, you were saying something?"

Dean clicks his tongue in recognition, "Right, right." He pauses for a second, "Well, I have tonight off, and I was wondering if you wanted to go out." He slows down the syllables as he talks. Was he nervous?

"Go out?"

"Yeah," You can hear the smirk in his voice, "Go out."

You chuckle a bit, walking into your room distractedly, "The thing is I would love to, but I picked up a shift tonight from five to close. I'd rather be 'going out' though, trust me, but I have a feeling tonight isn't one of those nights where I make it out at a given time. Restaurant life- never any guarantees."

"Ahh, gotcha." He almost sounds disappointed. "Well, maybe you can just text me when you get off, and we can figure something out. Doesn't have to be tonight but, y'know..." He trails off, leaving you to fill in the blanks. Message received.

"Will do. Will do."

Before the inevitable end of the call, Dean pipes up with another question, "You still work with Cas, right? Down at Silver & Flames?"

You nod, though he can't see you, "I do, yeah. I'll say hi to him for you if you'd like."

Dean sounds weirdly like he's plotting. "Right...yeah, send him a hi for me. I won't keep you, just uhh, wanted to see if you were free. Text me when you're off."

You nod, noting his tone but responding nonchalantly, "Sure, Dean. I'll see you later."

"Bye, sweetheart." Your voice fails you for a moment before you utter a quick, "Bye, Dean."

You set your phone down on the bed, then stare at it. The texts, Challenger, and call interweaving one another in your mind.

You pick it back up and quickly update the "705" number under Dean's contact information.

SILVER & FLAMES

B. TICKET CAS T15 - Old Fashioned 8:35

SUB Buffalo Trace instead of house

B. TICKET MEG T23 - Smoke & Flame 8:36

B. TICKET BELA T09 - Margarita 8:36

SUB Casamigos Reposado Spicy

B. TICKET JAKE T63 - Midnight Ember 8:37

B. TICKET BRADY T40 - Manhatten 8:37

B. TICKET BRADY T40 - Negroni 8:37

This is the last time you offer to take the bartender's shift. 

You've worked behind the bar before, but normally it was a random Monday evening he needed covered for a couple hours, or to close on a Wednesday, basically any time it's expected to be slow. 

It is a Friday night, and you have no idea what you signed yourself up for. 

Normally, you are on the floor most nights waiting four to five tables, up to seven if you were lucky, or unlucky for that matter. You're good at it though. You can upsell to your heart's content, run all your food in a timely manner, flirt with the weird, older men who come in on 'business', so you can get that extra pocket change, and finish your side work barely fifteen minutes after you're cut.

But now, you're in deep shit.

After cashing out two bar guests who've already been waiting for ten minutes, you turn around and suddenly you're six tickets deep and hardly familiar with the drinks being rung in. The shift becomes mentally suffocative, and all you can do to maintain your composure is just take an unwilling moment to breathe with a blank, numb stare at the papers printing out, all attached by the top-right corners. You snatch it by the end, holding up the link of papers, shaking your head in just absolute regret. 

Luckily, the bar-back, Andy, was here tonight to help out. And thank whatever is holy out there, because he was one of the nicest and most patient people to work with. A little nervous and fidgety, but still very sweet. Plus, he knew what he was doing.

"Sweet fucking Jesus," You gape, reading all the tickets to yourself.

Andy awkwardly sets down a keg of one of the local brews in its respectful place underneath the bar top, and immediately walks over to you and draws a breath through his teeth. "Okay, wow- uh...I'll just get the glasses and find the substitutions for you then?" His face is stained with sympathy, and it makes things a little more bearable, knowing that he finds it just as stressful as you do.

You sigh in appreciation, closing your eyes in a silent thanks for Andy's presence. "Oh God, thank you...." You start to find all the liquors lined up behind you that you were familiar with. "My knight in shining armor."

Andy comes back with a variety of drink glasses that are specialized for some of the cocktails, and he frowns at the tickets, "We still carry Buffalo Trace?" 

You can only give him a look that says, "Dude, I have no fucking clue." 

From the corner, Cas then turns towards the bar entrance, holding out a tray of water glasses. He hovers around the corner with a concerned hesitancy, "Did you get the ticket for the Old Fashioned?"

Glancing up to him before your eyes land back on the empty glasses, you sigh with a stressed pinch in your brows as you gesture to his drinks, "Just- fuck, go drop those off first. I need a minute."

He understands, not taking your terse answers to heart. His eyes are still on you as he nods at you, "Okay, it's no problem." He gets ready to head back in the direction of his tables, but asks quickly, "You okay?"

Damn Cas for being thoughtful and kind towards you when you're bitchy and overwhelmed. I'm an asshole. You spare a second to actually look at him as you talk.

"I'm fine, honestly, just..." You cup your hands to your face, pushing your middle fingers into the inner corners of your eyes, trying to find some way to relieve pressure. 

You don't even have to finish your sentence before Cas waves a hand in a peacekeeping motion, already on his way to deliver drinks and anything else before coming back for the cocktail. 

All of the drink tickets are finished and delivered in under seven minutes, thankfully. Obviously not ideal timing, but for an amateur bartender on a bustling Friday evening? You'll take it.

About an hour and a half later, the last 'pop' of the night was in and they all had their drinks and bar bites. You keep busy- restocking, checking on customers, dropping bills, or other drinks that servers couldn't run. 

Midst wiping down counters with sanitizer water, Andy makes his way back over to you.

“Hey, uhhh, there’s some guy asking for you specifically- at bar seat nine. Do you want me to tell him you’re busy?” Andy clasps a fist into his other hand, rubbing it with nerves and anticipation as he looks for your direction.

It catches your attention though as you cast your glance in that general direction, though you can’t see seat nine from here since it was around a corner. Your stomach drops slightly. Please, please, please don’t let this be who I think it is. You wonder if everything you had been grateful for this morning had been jinxed.

You look back to Andy opening your mouth to answer, then pushing your teeth together and pulling down your lower lip in anxious contemplation before responding in a bit of a hushed tone, “No, I’ll check it out.”

Cautiously bringing one foot in front of the other, you scope out seat nine where you are met with a menu in front of the man’s face. Your eyebrows scrunch as you try to look around it, and ask, “Can I help you, sir?”

He drops the menu on the bar top, and his lips grow into a disarmingly bright expression, “Yeah, I was wondering what you recommend here.”

You scoff in immediate relief, almost turning away for a moment with a hand rubbing the corner of your forehead with a fixed grin, “Jesus, Dean, that’s a bit ominous, don’t you think?”

Dean licks his lips, and he cocks his head to the side, oblivious, still flashing his teeth at you. “What? I just asked your other bartender if I could see you.”

Your heart flutters at the admission. He wanted to see you. You didn’t think it would make you as giddy as you felt but it did. You purse your lips to keep from smiling too hard. “Well, I didn’t know it was you!”

He asks, “Who else would it be?”

Oh, shit. You swallow, quickly coming up with, “I mean, you could’ve been an angry customer that was overcharged or something, for all I know.”

“Well, what if I am an angry customer? I’ve got no drink in front of me to drown my sorrows in, and the bartender hasn’t taken my order yet.” He leans back, crossing his arms in feigned irritation. 

You take a couple steps closer to him behind the bar, resting your hands on the counter, “‘Drown your sorrows’? What’s got you down, Winchester?” You ponder, amused.

Dean shrugs, keeping up with the false woe, “Tried to ask out a girl and she said that she couldn’t because she was ‘working’.” 

Oh my God…he's not even trying to hide his flirtations now.

Why should you?

“Well, that’s a damn shame. How could anyone say no to that face?”

His eyes exaggeradely widen in agreement, “That’s what I’m sayin’-” he leans in a bit, resting his forearms on the bar- "though, I've got a nice view from right here. Might just forget feelin’ rejected.”

You smirk, “Yeah, Andy’s got that effect on people.”

He drops the cocky expression comedically fast. “Alright, you just ruined it.”

You throw your head back in a cackle, eating up his instant disengagement in the banter. He sits back again, light-heartedly shaking his head, not making eye contact with you. You can see him bite his cheek to keep from laughing with you. 

“I’m gonna need the check-”

You giggle even more, “No, no, no,” you reach out to his pointed index finger in the air as he gestures for his nonexistent bill. You cover his hand with yours, and push it back down, “I’m sorry, can I actually get you something to drink? Though, I’ll warn you, I’m not the real bartender- I’m just here covering a shift.”

Dean runs his tongue over his upper canine, staring up at you with a sensuous gaze, and you watch it unravel in adoration, “Surprise me.”

Slumping a bit as you step back to grab a glass, you argue, “I don’t know what you like.”

"Anything."

"You have to give me some kind of descriptive taste preference, or you're getting a girly drink served with extra frill." 

"Promise to get me Andy's number on the side with that?"

You bite your lip to conceal your smile, trying to stay focused, "How about this- beer, wine, or cocktail?"

"I want you to make my drink, not just pour it. I came here to see you work." Dean answers jestingly.

You roll your eyes, "Alright, cocktail it is- Now, I do this with every customer that comes in when they don't know what to order- what's your favorite dessert?"

He looks at you skeptically smirk, but confidently answers. "Pie."

"That's such a grandpa food."

"It is not," He defends exasperatedly.

"If you say so," You hold back another chuckle, continuing, "What kind of pie- so help me God if you answer with what I think you're about to answer-"

He offers a mischievous grin, but shakes his head, "I would never make such a crude joke in front of a lady like yourself."

"Right," You don't believe him.

"You're the one who went there first- not me!"

"You thought of it the moment I let it escape without a filter," You narrow your eyes.

Dean feigns an offended scoff, looking the other way before answering the question from before, "Any pie. Maybe apple. Or cherry."

You start mulling over the ingredients and the assortments of flavored spirits behind you before an idea pops into your head.

"Alright, game on." You point a finger at him before grabbing a couple of different bottles and containers. You keep the labels facing you so Dean can't see what exactly you're making it, upholding his request for a surprise.

Whilst pouring some liquors into the jiggers and shakers, Dean watches, mesmerized by your movements. It might've helped that you were in a mostly black outfit; slacks that complimented your hips, and a tucked-in button-up (with a button or two down) which was the only white on you, with an accompanying tight, black vest over it, accentuating the right spots. Your hair is pulled back into a classy, yet messy bun. The front strands were pulled down with light curls, complimenting your face, and you look comfortable. Not just in the outfit, but in the job.

He speaks up, after staring for a moment as you muddle something he can't see, "You get any more weird texts?"

You freeze in your muddling for a moment, before quickly resuming after shaking off the reminder, "No, actually. Thankfully, it stopped."

"What kind of texts were they?"

"Uh...just," God, you like him. You can't keep lying. "They had personal information about me. Nothing- nothing crazy, I'm sure it was something you can look up on whitepages.com but it freaked me out for a second."

"Let me know if it happens again, I'll call the number from my phone and give 'em a couple of choice words." He flashes a threatening brow raise to you, and you smile at the thought.

You smack the drink proudly in front of him.

His expression brightens a bit, and he asks, "What is it?"

Shrugging, you come back with, "You wanted a surprise."

The bourbon glass was rimmed with graham cracker bits and caramel sauce dripping into the glass, and the drink itself was a faded, burnt orange-bordering on brown- with three large cubes of ice, bringing the liquid up to about four-fifths of the glass.

Dean sneaks in a quick sniff, then raises it to his lips, allowing a sip or two to pass through his mouth. Once it hits his throat, he coughs a bit, baring his teeth at the strength of the drink.

"Is it too strong?" You laugh a bit at his reaction.

He composes himself, taking a slightly bigger sip, exhaling in a refreshing manner and he shakes his head with a pleased grin, "Honestly-" Sputter. "I just wasn't expecting it but that...that is something."

You look at him a bit worriedly, "Good or bad something?" His eyes expand a bit in emphasis, "Oh, very good something." He takes another light sip. "What the hell did you make?" He admires the glass, lifting it slightly as he takes in all the details.

"I'm not too sure what to call it, but what do you taste?" You test him.

Another sip, dipping his tongue lightly.

"Bourbon."

"And what else?" You knowingly press.

Dip of the tongue.

"...I have no idea, but I'll tell you something, it's strong."

You wickedly scrunch your nose and flash your teeth. "Apple Pie Moonshine."

Dean almost blows a kiss at the drink, appreciating the concoction once more. "Wow. Didn't realize that was a thing."

"We have it for this fall only, I guess. We run a couple of specials with it, but no one has really started to buy them." You begin, and you point to the drink, "But what I did was two ounces of the Moonshine, two ounces of Knob Creek, a dash of simple syrup, a little bit of lime juice, and then the rim is graham cracker and caramel...with a bit of a leftover lime juice to help it stick."

Dean looks like he might've just fallen in love with you right there.

"And you say you're not a real bartender..."

You shrug, pleased with yourself, "I'm not. I don't know how I did that if I'm being transparent. It's probably a one-time thing."

"Well, sweetheart, if I didn't know any better I'd say you've got a gift." Dean brings the glass up in cheers and takes a drink.

You make light conversation here and there between the last of the drink orders. You cash out a couple of customers and before you know it, it's fifteen to close.

And Dean's still here.

There are still people scattered in the restaurant itself but at the bar? You've got one customer.

"You know, the rest of the night isn't very interesting. I've gotta bring the drawer up and get my money and that's it. You can go home if you want." You offer.

"Why don't I walk you out?" Dean finishes the last of the beer that I sent his way about thirty minutes ago and sets the bottle to the side closer to your glass bin.

"But your car's here, I don't want you to walk all the way-"

"I parked at your apartment."

Shut up.

Your mouth stays open, gaping at his gesture.

Though, it was only a fifteen-minute walk, it still meant something grand to you.

"Dean, you didn't have to do that-"

"I wanted to."

Your face flushes at his soft insistence, and you give him a warm grin. "If you're sure. Gives you a little time to get fully sober, so it works out."

He cocks his head with a lop-sided smile, "It all works out."

Once Dean pays his tab (which he tipped forty percent on, with more assurance that it was well-deserved), and you drop off the money to the manager, Roy, everything was just about done. You grab your purse from the server table inside the kitchen and before you head out, you see Cas walk over from the mop sink nodding his head in acknowledgment. "You're leaving?"

"I am," You give him a happy look. And he seems to work his way to match it.

"You seem like you're doing better."

"I was overwhelmed earlier, but all is well."

"Right. And it wouldn't happen to be because of your lingering bar guest, would it?" He raises a teasing brow.

You can't help but look away, slightly embarrassed, but Cas is quick to cut it out.

"You look happy. I hope you two get along."

You inhale for a moment. "Me too. Have a good night, Cas."

"Let me know when you get home."

"Alright, Mom." You call as you walk out the door, heading back to the bar.

You gesture to Dean to follow you around the bar top and to the side doors, as you clock out on the POS machine and leave together.

Nearing midnight, the streets are a little quieter with the occasional line of traffic here and there dusting the cityscape, and conversations ever flow between you and Dean.

It was pretty effortless. Being yourself around him. He wasn't judgmental, and he listens to every word you say like it's a hymn. He's asking you questions, and he's bouncing off your responses with thought and care. And God, he's funny. It's hardly in his words, interestingly enough, but his facial expressions. They tend to be dramatic if it's a light topic. It's nice to see passion and emotion again, other than irritation, and resentment. But his presence isn't overwhelming, and you feel somehow free around him. The night isn't as scary anymore.

"So, are we heading straight back to your apartment?" Dean is obviously hinting at something.

"That's the plan...I have a bit of work to do." You add, looking to him with dread.

"What kind of work?"

You blow out a breath of air, "So, for my class Curriculum Design and Instruction, I have to create a lesson plan for kindergarteners, just to start small and get the gist of lesson plans. So, I figure 'rhyming' is a good subject to present. I just have to practice it."

"Why don't I help you?" He offers, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets.

You laugh, looking at him in disbelief. "What?"

"No, really- I'll sit down criss-cross-apple-sauce on the floor. You can use the yardstick and point to your whiteboard or chalkboard or whatever, and I'll be a student." He proposes.

"Dean- it's a Friday night. I'm sure you have better things to do than help me study."

"Oh, no- this... this is all the action I need. I'll be thoroughly entertained." He devilishly grins.

"Well," You think it over for a moment, "Charlie and Jo are out of the apartment tonight, going to a concert. So, it's feasible."

"Then we better hurry," Dean chuckles a bit, "We can't be late to class."

He brings a hand to your back, giving you a slight nudge to pick up the pace, as you giggle childishly. You wonder if he was getting comfortable around you, or if he was feeling good from the drinks, or possibly a mix of both.

THE APARTMENT

"Okay, we have the word 'mat' here. Let's go ahead and spell it," You bring an expo marker to the piece of paper with the word clearly and neatly written on it with the 'm' underlined.

Dean lays back against the pillows on your bed, one knee brought up as he lounges.

He raises his hand.

"We're not doing this-" You shut him down.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

"M-A-T. Great job!" An aggressively clear teacher-voice is activated as you ignore Dean's shaking shoulders. He wasn't kidding when he said this was all he needed. He is very much amused.

"Now, we're going to find some words that sound like mat that have a different first letter. Like, 'sat'," you write on the paper underneath 'mat'. "Now, there's a couple more, can we think of some?" You blink at Dean, giving him his signal to give you some words.

"Pussycat."

"I heard 'cat'! That's one."

"Combat."

"'Bat' is another good word, okay..."

"Asshat."

"'Hat'. That's-" You scoff, dropping the paper and giving Dean a scolding look. "I'm gonna call the fucking principal's office in a second."

"Oo-hoo-hoo, the teacher said a bad word." He sits up a bit, "How long til you spank me with the paddleboard?" He flashes his eyebrows up with a smirk.

You huff, shaking your head, trying to keep your amusement hidden. "This is not helping me."

"What? You're going to have kids interrupt you, and say all kinds of shit. You've got the lesson down, but you need to focus on the behavioral part." He sounds almost serious.

"No, you need to focus on your behavioral part." You bite back playfully.

He scoots a bit closer, his hands up in surrender. "Okay." He looks at you with all of the attention he could possibly give you, a small, attractive smile.

You bite your cheek, clearing your throat and pulling up another piece of paper, "Alright, the next word we're going to try is 'rug'."

"I called it off with Jo."

You double-take to him, dropping the paper.

"What."

Dean licks his lips, looking at you with sincerity.

"I reached out to Jo, today, and-" he shrugs, shaking his head a bit- "I told her that I wasn't interested in the friends with benefits thing."

You blink at him. And suddenly your lips are on his.

And yet somehow you were more surprised than him.

He pulls away for a few seconds, looking between your eyes and your lips. And for a fearful moment, you thought you fucked up. "I'm-"

And his lips return to yours, finding a rhythm between the two of you, as he brings a careful hand to your cheek, pulling you in closer.

You've long since dropped your paper and marker, your free hand finding the nap of his neck. Your thumb brushes his jawline.

The butterflies take off for flight, making their journey through your whole body. The flutter resounds in your chest, and makes its course into your head, leaving you lighter- like you're flying. The feeling of his gentle hand ripples, though he holds you like glass.

And you don't allow yourself to think of much else besides this moment. There's no fear, no regret, no hesitancy...not yet. Right now, it's an act of the moment.

When Dean slowly pulls away again, he charmingly gazes, and under his breath, he sings softly, "I've got it bad, so bad, I'm hot for teacher..."

You give in, pressing your forehead against his neck, allowing yourself a bit of a laugh.

Because you think that you deserve it.

-

A/N: SORRY ITS LATE I ADDED 3K WORDS BY ACCIDENT

[coolnameloading]

Lute x Fem! Reader Part 2

Part 2 of Lute x Sinner Reader story yaaaay

Over the last few months, the hotel has been in what you can only describe as organized chaos. The hotel gained a new resident in Sir Pentious who was a spy for the Vee’s and then wasn’t or something. Charlie reassured you constantly that Pentious was not working for the Vee’s anymore and you had nothing to worry about.

But those sick fucks have been chasing you for longer than any of the other overlords so you’d rather be more safe than sorry. 

After that particular event, you started to feel less safe in the hotel. 

You heard Vox, he tried to infiltrate the only place where you’ve felt safe since you got to the literal hell hole and he tried to send in a fucking spy who Charlie just let walk in instantly after he had attacked the hotel twice.

Who knows what would have happened to you….all of you if Angel Dust hadn’t seen him planting those stupid cameras? 

You love Charlie, she’s nice and she gave you a place to stay. Being mad at her is like being mad at a puppy but all you could keep thinking about for the rest of the month was wondering if Vox saw you.

If the Vee’s know where you are.

If they’ll come looking for you.

What they might do to you if they do catch you.

You had a close call with Velvette one time and one time was enough for the rest of your afterlife. Bitch tried to color-match your fucking fur! You’re pretty sure the only reason you got away was because she was drunk off her British ass.

Vaggie could tell right away that there was something wrong with you and tried to reassure you.

“He didn’t see you Chesh”

She whispered approaching you slowly. 

“You don’t know that boss! What if he did? He could be on his way right now with the other two and he already beat the radio demon once! I need to lea-”

Vaggie cut off your rant by placing her hand on your shoulder gently and pushing you down to sit on the couch.

“Charlie and I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. We promised when you started staying here that we’d keep you safe and we will. You don’t need to run.”

“Thanks, boss… I’m sorry for freaking out. It just really shook me up, I guess.”

You mumbled out, blushing at how pathetic you sound. 

You may not remember much about your life but you’re pretty sure you died sometime in your 20’s. Yet here you are whimpering pathetically and having to get comforted over a fucking video camera. 

After that incident you became more jumpy, every sound put you on edge, and it was worse whenever you were around any form of technology that didn’t look like it was from before the 1980s.

The others tried their best to calm you down in their own ways. Angel Dust started leaving his phone in his room because you’d flinch every time he got a text or phone call from Valentino. 

“Don’t make a big deal outa it, he was annoying me too.”

Husk would keep your favorite booze on standby at all times, when you’d thank him he’d simply grin at you and say, 

“Us feline demons got to stick together.”

Alastor was happy to throw out any and every piece of technology that would make you tense up even slightly, which included most of Pentious’ weapons and very nearly his airship. 

He obviously wasn’t doing it for you but it still felt nice.

“Don’t worry my friend! I’ll happily get rid of these infernal contraptions! I’ve always believed they lacked class anyway.”

Pentious recognized his part in your new-found anxiety and tried to gain your trust by handing his machines to Alastor with many, many, many tears.

“I am more than happy to…give up my arsenal as an apology for invading your persssssonal boundariessss.” He’d hissed out while trying to hold his tears back.

You couldn’t really be mad at him after that.

Nifty even volunteered to go out and ‘hunt phones’ for you.

You said no but that didn’t stop her from bringing you the….remains of some people’s phones.

 “Sometimes I kill mother phones in front of their children as a warning to the other phones!”

“Niffty phones don’t have mothers.”

“Hehe, not anymore…”

Charlie was actually very happy to see how the others stepped in to help you and she was very proud of them even if their methods were…unorthodox.

But that lead her into a spiral. She was desperately trying to figure out why the hotel wasn’t working even though everybody showed considerable improvement.

This leads to her talking with her dad, which somehow leads to you being here in heaven.

“Um, boss why exactly am I here?”

You ask Vaggie nervously, glancing around at the pastel clouds around you. God you haven’t seen pastels in years.

Vaggie looks over at you and sighs, “Well Charlie figured you wouldn’t want to go out with the others and you wouldn’t like to stay in the hotel alone so this was the best option.”

You nod, understanding her point but on the other hand.

“And the…exorcists?”

Vaggie’s shoulders tense for a moment before she looks away from you and mumbles, “I have a feeling they won’t do anything even if we do run into them.”

You want to ask more questions but decide against it, today was stressful enough as it is without you asking stupid questions. 

“Whatever you say, boss.”

You whisper following behind Vaggie and Charlie as they enter the gates of heaven after another fucking song. 

Is it just you? Are you the weird one? Should you be singing more often?

The three of you follow behind the two seraphim, Emily and Sera, while they give you a tour of heaven. Charlie looks completely enamored by the place but Vaggie looks annoyed, as if the pastel clouds had offended her personally.

And you…well honestly you feel a little underwhelmed.

Heaven looks like a glorified mall so far, a mall with strippers because there are way more people walking around shirtless than you thought there would be. 

So you keep trailing behind Vaggie, Charlie, and the angels when you see someone who looks familiar.

She’s a cat demon like you, same color pallet and everything, except she seems much shorter and has a pair of pastel-blue angel wings coming out of her back.

You end up drifting away from the group and start following the small cat angel through the crowds. 

Eventually, you get close enough to reach out and tap her but when you’re about to get her attention you feel a firm hand on your shoulder and you get pulled away roughly and pinned to one of the walls.

You’re completely disoriented for a moment and then you hear a familiar annoying voice.

“Well, well, well look what the cat dragged in.”

You look up to see Adam and Lute, Adam has a wide smirk on his face and Lute looks….wow.

She’s not wearing her helmet so this time you get to admire her completely.

You’d probably be happier about her pinning you to a wall if she wasn’t also holding a giant spear to your neck.

Then again…-

Yeah, it’s still pretty hot.

[sidsinning]

You should do a simp(even if platonic) post for your fave female hazbin character for varieties sake

I think my fav is Charlie

Although I feel like she's been done a lil bit dirty despite appearing in every ep? Like she mostly gets involved in other people's stories rather than her own which is why I appreciate episodes like Dad Beat Dad. Her and a lot of different characters are being explored all at once in the most organic way the show is capable of in its current state (biased from me bc the characters focused here are all my favs lol)

She's my favorite but I do wish we would get deeper focus on her

Not that she has no focus and is an empty character ofc

But yeah

I like how she is a go getter and very motivated in her goals despite how impossible they are, despite the lack of support she gets from even the people on her own side

Ofc how her personality is vastly different from the rest of the cast who are all less naive and more cynical than her, almost like she should've been born in heaven which catches people off guard in hell (most definitely gets this from Lucifer)

(The fact that Lilith thrived in Hell kinda tells you things but that's for another post for another day lol)

Sir Pentious' redemption is absolutely thanks to her direct influence- and bc of that the mans ended up the first sinner in heaven which is a HUGE W for her, bc it's smtg no one, not even the king of hell has been able to achieve

Angel Dust has definitely been more influenced by Husk from what we've seen in the show, but its bc Charlie gave Angel Dust a safe space in the first place for him to flourish despite his raunchy behavior

So even if she fails when trying to directly confront an issue with a flawed perspective, she still ends up positively affecting others which is cool

Also appreciate that her efforts to make people listen to her message are finally recognized by the end of the season with the cannibals

She's powerful and full of potential, but definitely not at the point where she can handle certain things on her own without help or mentorship which is cool and smtg we can still explore

Yes

She's best girl so far

[prettytoxicrevolver]

Love Story | Trent Frederic

wc. 5.2k

It's a love story, baby just say yes

Your eyes flit around the stuffy ballroom, the heat causing your body temperature to flare and you can feel the prickle of sweat lining your features. Your hand is forced to be a makeshift fan, lifting to try and gather some air against your face. Finding no reprieve, you lean close to your brother, tugging at his suit jacket until he’s leaning down close to hear you. 

“I’m going to step outside for a moment,” you tell him and when his eyes find yours he nods quietly. 

“Be safe,” he responds and now it’s your turn to nod. 

Your shuffle through the crowded room, smiling at some of the faces you recognize and nodding at the others you don’t. You finally make it to the balcony and step out into the cool summer air. The wind is a treat, blowing your hair lightly around your head and giving a much needed temperature change to your heated state. 

You lean against the balcony, hands splayed on the cool metal as you look across the vast city. You can’t help but wonder how in the world you would ever get to know this unfamiliar place. How would you memorize the subway routes or the layout? 

You turn away from your current dilemma, casting your eyes back towards the party in the ballroom to try and find your brother. When you do, he’s grinning wildly as he talks to another unknown person. The person turns and you’re met with a soft brown gaze that has your body temperature flaring up all over again. 

You avert your gaze, unable to hold its intensity and look around at all the beautiful ball gowns floating by, the lights reflecting on the glitz and glam of the whole event. You find the courage to look back towards the set of brown eyes and watch nervously as he makes his way through the crowd. 

You turn quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice your staring and try your best to act casual when he approaches. 

“Hello,” you hear his soft soothing voice greet and you turn with a small smile. 

“Hi.” 

“I’m Trent,” he says, offering his hand in such a formal way that it makes your heart jump at the action. “Trent Frederic.”  

“(y/n) Mcavoy,” you respond, slipping your hand into his and reveling in the feeling of how his skin feels against yours. 

Recognition flashes across his face at your last name but he doesn’t show it otherwise. You’re quietly grateful he doesn’t say anything about Charlie. 

“Beautiful huh?” he says instead, stepping further out towards the edge of the balcony. 

“Sure is,” you murmur, turning back towards the view that captivated you moments ago. 

“Have you lived here long?” 

You two trade the basic information back and forth between you like a tennis match. Where you were from, how old you were, what you do for a living, what position he played in hockey, and so on. 

“Uh, favorite Shakespeare play?” you ask, running out of basic questions. 

“Shakespeare?” Trent asks, his shoulders shaking with laughter. 

“I’m an English major! Gimme a break,” you joke back, bumping his shoulder with yours. 

“Okay uhm,” he pauses and you admire him as he genuinely thinks about his answer to the question. “Romeo and Juliet?” 

“Oh boo,” you yell back at him, cupping your hands around your mouth for emphasis and Trent nearly doubles over in laughter. 

“Okay Miss English major, what’s yours?” 

“Easy. Hamlet or Much Ado About Nothing,” you state with a shrug like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. 

“Isn’t Hamlet the one where they all go crazy and die?” 

“Yes, and?” you ask and Trent stares at you with a blank look before you’re both cracking up all over again. You’re both straightening up and calming down from your laughing fit when Charlie appears at your side once more with a soft smile and a curious glance towards his teammate. 

“Ready to head out?” he asks and you nod. 

“Nice to meet you Romeo,” you say to Trent and he grins at the nickname. 

“See you around.” 

“And what was that about?” Charlie asks when you’re out of earshot and you can’t help the eyeroll that is produced from your brother's question. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

The second time you run into Trent is ironically at your own apartment. You were standing in front of your door, keys in hand as you shuffled to find the right one. Just as you do, your door swings open before you and a loud shriek leaves your mouth in surprise. 

“Romeo?” you question when Trent’s guilty brown eyes finally land on yours. 

“Come on man let’s go before,” you hear your brother's voice from behind Trent and lean around the hockey player to stare at Charlie. 

“What are you doing in my apartment?” 

“I thought I left my airpods here,” he states, shrugging his shoulders and pushing past Trent who is still stuck in the doorway. 

“So, instead of texting or calling me, you break into my apartment with your partner in crime?” 

“It’s technically not breaking in if he has a key,” Trent chimes in and you turn towards him with a look that says who asked you? 

“Correct,” Charlie says, pointing at Trent in agreement  before throwing him a thumbs up. “I gotta go pick up Kiley.” 

Before you can hurl anymore questions or remarks back at your brother, he’s flying down the stairs and out of your apartment building. For one final time, you turn back to Trent who has a nervous look on his features, unsure of what to do. 

“Gonna let me in Romeo? Or is there a secret password?” you joke and he flushes at your words, stepping aside and letting you into your own apartment. 

“Come on in,” you call back towards him when you realize he’s still standing awkwardly in the doorway. His body half in and half out not sure which way to go. “You’ve already seen the place.” 

“I’m really sorry about that,” he says, finally shutting the door and walking back into your place. 

“Don’t worry,” you say, leaning back against the kitchen bar. “I know what it’s like getting caught up in one of Chucky’s schemes.” 

“Was he worse as a kid?”

“You got six hours?” you ask jokingly and Trent grins. 

Finally, you take a moment to pull off your jacket and shoes, put your bag away and pour a glass of water. You instantly pour one for Trent as well, holding it out to him and he thanks you quietly. 

“Have you tried that new pizza place down the road?” he asks, breaking the silence. 

“Not yet. I’ve been researching a bunch of places that I want to try out and it’s been on my list forever.” 

Trent nods at your answer and you search his brown eyes for an explanation. He smiles sheepishly over his glass at you and the sight sends a slight shockwave through your heart. 

“I haven't either,” he begins and you nod. “Have you eaten? Would you maybe wanna…I don’t know I don’t want to seem too forward we could order in or go there or not go at all I just,” 

“Slow down there Romeo,” you joke and Trent is grateful for your interruption of his nonsense ramblings. “Show me the menu.” 

Trent pulls up the menu on his phone and you start to scroll through it. Trent leans across the kitchen bar to look as well and you realize how close you are. You focus on glancing through the menu quickly when a loud sound erupts from your front door and quick footsteps echo through your apartment. 

“Trent!” you hear your brother's voice and you both jerk your heads up so fast you end up knocking into each other. 

“Fuck,” you curse out, dropping Trent’s phone onto the table and clutching at your head. 

“What are you still doing here?” Charlie asks, accusatory eyes flicking between you and his teammate. 

“Well we were thinking about getting dinner,” you mutter bitterly, still holding your head. 

“Yeah, no,” Charlie says. He marches over to Trent, places both hands on his shoulders and starts to lead him out of your apartment. 

“I’ll see you later?” you call out to Trent and get Charlie’s furious glance in return. 

“No you won’t!” 

You can’t help the small chuckle that releases from you at Charlie’s stubborn words and you roll your eyes. You loved Charlie but he was always going to be way too protective over you. Lord knows he’ll keep you away from Trent at all costs if he finds out you might be starting to develop a crush on the young player. 

It’s been about three months since Charlie and Trent had been to your apartment and you were starting to miss Romeo’s big brown eyes. Trent had successfully been scared off from you by Charlie but that didn’t keep you from crossing his mind almost every day. 

“Freddy you good?” 

Trent is broken from his thoughts by Jeremy skating over to him, nudging the young player to gain his attention. Trent had been off all practice and while he was still fairly new to the NHL, it didn’t excuse how distracted he was today. 

“Yeah man just thinking,” he says shrugging Jeremy off. 

“About?” 

“A girl,” he admits shyly and Jeremy grins. 

“Well whoever she is, you better go get her soon. We don’t need you to be this distracted for the upcoming games.” 

Trent thinks about Jeremy’s words for the rest of practice and ultimately till the moment he gets in his car he realizes he has to see you again. Seeing it’s only about 6 pm, he heads back to your apartment, having no other way to contact you. 

You’re sitting relaxing in your living room, a hockey game playing on your TV in the background as you attempt to finish up some homework. Through the sounds of skates starting and stopping and the passing of the puck, you hear a sharp knock on your door. 

You place your homework down on the coffee table in front of you and wonder if you placed an order for food and somehow forgot. However, when you open the door, your Romeo stands there before you. 

“Hi,” Trent greets, awkwardly waving at you and you smile at his nervous actions. 

“Hi?” you say, giggling a little at the weirdness of the situation. “What are you doing here?” 

“I was wondering if you wanted to finally try that pizza place with me?” 

Your heart flutters at the invitation and you smile widely at Trent. 

“Give me a few minutes to change?” 

You end up at an old school pizza place about 20 minutes later, Trent being kind enough to drive the two of you and you’re admiring the atmosphere as you wait for your food. 

“Why do you wear number 11?” you ask Trent and he smiles at the continuation of your conversation from a few months ago. 

“Well, I wanted the number 7,” he begins to explain, leaning forward as he answers your question and the closeness has you losing your breath. “But it was retired so I kinda liked the idea of 7 and 11 rhyming.” 

You smile and nod, enjoying the explanation for his number. Growing up and watching Charlie play, you knew there was a certain special reason for the numbers players chose even though so many of them want to play it off as a random choice that meant nothing. 

“What number would you pick if you played?” 

Conversation flows like a lazy river between you and Trent and you’re shocked at how easy it all is. It felt like you had known him all your life and not like this was the third time the two of you have interacted. By the end of the night, your stomach hurts from laughter and you find yourself not wanting the dinner to end. 

“How much do I owe you?” you ask when Trent grabs the check and scans his eyes over the total. 

“Suddenly I’m blind,” he responds and you roll your eyes. 

“How much do I owe you!” you insist, not wanting to come off as rude and not pay the boy back. 

“We pay up front, right?” he asks, standing and gesturing for you to follow him. 

“Trent,” you whine out, following him up to the register. He hands the check over and when the cashier announces the total you grin mischievously. 

You dig around in your purse before pulling out your wallet and fishing out a 20. As Trent leans on the counter to sign the check, you sneakily pop the 20 dollars into the pocket of his sweatshirt. His eyes flick down to see what you’re doing and he tries to nudge you away with his arm. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, giggling as he stands back up straight. “Get out of my sweatshirt.” 

He nudges you away too late, the 20 dollars successfully slipping into his pocket and staying there. He turns to you and you offer your most innocent and heart stopping smile that has Trent shaking his head with a smile just as wide. 

The two of you head back to your apartment, the conversation never ceasing until you get to the front door of your place. You turn around, instinctively leaning against the door and fighting the urge to invite him in. 

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” you say, smiling up at Trent and he grins down at you. 

“So did I. Would you wanna do this again sometime?” he asks, his nerves spiking as the words slip from his mouth. 

“Same time, new place?” you respond and Trent grins. 

“Sounds good to me.” 

“See ya later, Romeo.” 

Trent watches as you slip into your apartment, his heart beating wildly in his chest no doubt trying to fight its way into your place and attempt to stay next you forever. He sighs, a ridiculous and happy sigh, before turning away and thinking over every detail of tonight. 

For the rest of the season you and Trent become completely attached at the hip. You went to dinner together every week at a new place, tried coffee shops in the mornings, new movies at either your place or his. Charlie could tell there was something going on between you two, but he never really could figure out exactly what. 

The Bruins make it to the playoffs and you’re at every game you possibly can make up until their final one. You watched the boys fight hard and you knew both Charlie and Trent would be kicking themselves and feeling like they didn’t do enough for their teams. 

You head down to the locker room, waiting in an eerie silence with the other wives and girlfriends. Kiley and you talk quietly but stop instantly when the boys start to trickle out. Charlie is one of the first and you offer a squeeze to Kiley’s hand before she makes her way over to him. You watch your big brother basically melt into his fiancee's embrace and you’re even more grateful for Kiley than ever before. 

Your attention shifts when Trent comes out. His hair is a mess, his cheeks are flushed and his stare conveys every emotion he is feeling in that moment. His eyes slowly find yours and you see a sigh physically release from him. Without a second thought or a word exchanged, you’re making your way to Trent and pulling him into your arms. 

“You played great, Romeo,” you tell him quietly and his smile is hard against your skin. When you pull back, you spot Charlie’s curious gaze and you break off from Trent and make your way over to your older brother. 

“It’s okay if this loss takes longer than 5 minutes,” you tell Charlie, pulling him into a hug and he chuckles against you at the inside joke. 

“I’ll let you know how it goes,” he responds and you smile. “I’m gonna head back to Kiley’s. Go cheer up Trent.” 

You give your brother an accusatory glare and he chuckles before shoving you in the direction of Trent. 

“Ready to go?” you ask Trent and he offers a sad smile and a nod. He takes a chance, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and you’re quick to reciprocate, the two of you heading out of the arena. 

Trent spends the days following the loss at your apartment, claiming he needed to be around company or else he would think about the loss far more than he wanted to. You were happy to oblige, your heart picking up in pace whenever Trent was near sent you into a bliss that seemed endless until your beautiful bubble burst. 

“Do you have everything you need?” you ask Trent, your arms folded securely across your body trying to keep yourself steady. 

“Think so,” he says nodding to his heavy suitcase and your eyes pull to the straps of his backpack that is no doubt weighing him down. 

You were mad at yourself and therefore mad at Trent for being so upset at his leaving to go back home for the summer. You knew he had these plans since way before he met you, but it still hurt nonetheless. You wanted him to stay, wanted to explore the city with him more, wanted to hope those simmering feelings for the boy might finally come to fruition. 

“Three months and I’ll be back in no time,” he reminds you, nudging your saddened state. 

Your eyes gloss over at his words, the reminder that you wouldn’t be able to physically be in his presence hurting so much more than you thought it would. You nod quietly in response to him, not able to trust your voice in the moment. 

“Come here,” he murmurs quietly and you find yourself falling into his strong embrace, the warmth of his body circling yours to form a bubble around the two of you. 

“Don’t go?” you ask pitifully, a tear or two finally making its way down your cheek. 

“Three months. The second I get back, I’m yours.” 

You hold onto those words from Trent all three months. The three months of summer where you slowly lose contact but only manage to think about the young hockey player even more. Three months where you bury yourself into work and family and so on to ignore the reminders and thoughts of Trent that never seemed to cease. Three months and you had started to question what happened to your Romeo. 

The summer without Trent was like a year without rain. Dry, deserted, and uneventful. Waiting for the drought to end felt like it lasted for years. 

When Charlie’s wedding had started to approach and you were in the midst of chaos leading up to it, your brain couldn’t help but think about how the hockey season would start shortly after as well. The idea of hockey and Trent made you feel like you were coming back to life. The drought has ended, the rain has come and you can see a rainbow forming on the horizon. 

You impatiently waited for your Romeo to come back to you and in a weird twist of fate, he did. 

Charlie’s wedding was a beautiful success. Kiley looked stunning, the library was decorated beautifully, Charlie was clearly over the moon happy, and you could finally relax knowing your brother was happily married to the girl of his dreams. 

The speeches had come and gone, you were able to get lots of laughter and even a few tears out of your big brother and after dinner it was officially time to dance. You drank and partied and enjoyed the beautiful atmosphere. Your favorite song had just ended and you took a minute to walk away, get some air and relax for a moment. 

“There’s my Juliet.” 

Your whole body comes to life at the words from the boy behind you. You try to tamper down the ever growing smile on your lips but it escapes anyway. Trent’s eyes trail over your figure before you’re graced with those big brown eyes that have you weak in the knees. 

“I was starting to wonder if you were ever gonna come back around Romeo,” you tell him and he smiles, looking down and shaking his head shyly before stepping towards you. 

“Of course I came back,” he says and your heart picks up at the words. “Besides, I needed to properly ask you out at some point.” 

You’re slightly shocked, especially at the fact that you and Trent had somewhat fallen out of contact over the summer. However, your heart was pounding wondering if Trent had been as head over heels as you were. If he thought about you all summer like you had. 

“Can’t wait to catch up, Romeo.” 

“It’s a date.” 

The speed in which you and Trent became inseparable again was alarming to some, but comforting to you. Your weekly dinners, morning breakfasts and coffee shop stops all became dates that had your heart thrashing like a hurricane in your chest. 

The one downfall in your honeymoon phase? Charlie, along with the rest of the world, still didn’t know about your relationship. You both were nervous to let anyone in on your relationship. The fear of the media is strong on Trent’s end and the fear of your brother's reaction on yours. 

You were laying down on your couch, Trent was coming over soon and you were scrolling on your phone to pass the time. You spot a picture of Jeremy and his girlfriend, the instagram caption something adorable and you smile lightly at the happy couple. You like the photo, leaving a quick comment, and pause when you swipe back over to the photo. 

You can’t help but wish you or Trent could post something like that. You wanted your friends to openly hype up your relationship, wanted the fans to call you guys cute, you even wanted the guys to chirp the two of you for being so deep in puppy love. Your thoughts keep you so distracted you don’t even realize Trent has made it to your apartment until he’s standing over you with a worried expression on his face. 

“Princess?” he whispers, and your eyes move from your phone to his face, smiling sadly at your Romeo. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You sit up, Trent instantly coming around to sit next to you and pulls you into his arms. You rest your head against his chest, his hands come up to twist in your hair and you sigh quietly. Trent gives you a minute, wanting to give you the space to talk about it if you want to or move past it. 

“I want to run away,” you murmur, turning to press your cheek against his chest. 

“Where do you want to go?” 

“Anywhere but here,” you admit and Trent worries about your words but plays along. 

“Bahamas are beautiful this time of year,” he says and you laugh lightly. 

“Running away from everyone, no job, relaxing on the beach, no media and no older brother? I think it’s an excellent plan.” 

You finally sit all the way up, turning to fully face Trent and he gazes at you with so much intensity that you have to look away again. Trent leans in, presses a kiss to your cheek and when you turn to look at him he pecks your lips before cupping your face in his hands. 

It's been a few days since that conversation with Trent when your relationship is exposed. 

You had skipped the Bruins game today, deciding to stay home and get some work done with the stream playing in the background. You barely even register when the game ends, the stream switching to another game playing and you’re far too engrossed by your book to notice. The only thing that pulls you out of your strength is the sharp knock on your front door. 

Your head tilts at the sound, the book in your hands dropping slightly. You wait for a moment and the knock becomes more prominent. You finally drop the book from your hands and make your way over to the front door. You expect your boyfriend on the other side, a guilty smile on his lips followed by an apology about forgetting his key, but you’re shocked when you meet your brother’s angry glare and a guilty look from Trent for a whole different reason. 

“When the fuck did you two start dating?” Charlie demands. 

Before you can respond, Charlie pushes past you and further into your apartment. Trent follows behind him but stops at your side, leaning down to brush his lips just over the top of your head before leaning down to whisper in your ear. 

“Media found out.” 

“Wha-” 

“(y/n)!” your brother shouts and you flinch slightly. “Get in here and explain please.” 

You and Trent slink guiltily into the living room, a million questions running through your mind as you face a half angry and half disappointed Charlie. You sit back down on your couch, running through the timeline of yours and Trents relationship and by the end of it, Charlie has settled on a look of disappointment. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“To be fair, I didn’t tell anyone,” you murmur in response and when Charlie glares at you, Trent nudges your side. 

“I was worried about your reaction and I didn’t want the rest of the media to find out and have this whole fit about it and I didn’t want you to think I came here just to start dating some guy-”

“Hey!” Trent responds and you smile, leaning over and kissing his cheek. 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Firstly, gross,” Charlie says, pointing between the two of you. “Secondly, I’m pissed you didn’t tell me but I understand. Just be careful around the media now okay?” 

You jump up, running over and hugging your brother tightly and he can’t help smiling at his little sister’s happiness. 

The navigation around the media is hard at first, but you’re happy that you get to flaunt your man around now. It was killing you seeing all the fan pages and the girls who looked like models fawn all over your Romeo. The comments were of course pretty brutal at first and weren't looking too much better even after months had passed. 

It had been a particularly long week, Trent was gone on a roadie, and you had back to back bad shifts and too much homework to do. You found yourself laying on the couch, ignoring all of your responsibilities and counting down the minutes until your Romeo came back home. You start to drift in and out of sleep, the weeks work finally weighing down on your body. 

When you wake up for the last time, you find Trent next to you, running his fingers softly through your hair, You lean into his embrace, a sleepy smile resting on your lips and Trent can’t help but think about how infatuated he was with his Juliet. 

“How are you doing baby?” he asks, his words barely above a murmur next to your ear. 

“Still down to run away?” you ask in response, still desperate to escape from the world with your Romeo. 

“I have a long weekend coming up,” Trent says and you watch as he twists a piece of your hair around his finger. “Clear your schedule next weekend and I’m all yours.” 

Your eyes gaze over Trent, wondering if he’s genuinely serious about this. With him being away and the season winding down, your insecurities were running wild wondering if he actually wanted to be with you. If he actually wanted this to last, to work. If he didn’t, you didn’t think you would make it through a heartbreak that difficult. 

Trent was your Romeo. You didn’t want to suffer the same fate Juliet did but you were okay with at least trying. 

Trent was hoping his love story didn’t suffer the same fate as the age old drama. He wanted this to last for the rest of his life. That’s why he had already asked Charlie’s permission to marry you.

Over the recent roadie, he had pulled Charlie aside and explained everything. He knew how hard everything with the media had been with you and how your insecurities were running rampant and he didn’t know a better way to reassure you. He could be engaged for a few years, but he wanted to give you that fiancee title if you let him. He wanted to give you that constant reassurance through a ring on your finger and a commitment he would never break. 

Charlie was hesitant at first. The two of you are young and having just gotten married himself, he knew how big of a step this was. But when he saw the determination in the young players' eyes and remembered the smile on your lips whenever someone even mentioned Trent, well how could he say no? 

“This place is beautiful,” you say, eyes wandering around the small cottage that Trent had rented for your weekend away. It was quaint, with all the feelings of an older home and the lived in feeling you loved. It had character, as your mom would say. 

You and Trent get settled, touring around the small property, taking a quick nap together before getting up and cooking dinner. Your conversation ranges from topic to topic and Trent is practically shaking with nerves the whole time. He’s been waiting and waiting for the perfect moment and didn’t want a single thing to go wrong. 

Your mind was still fluttering with the idea that maybe Trent took you here as a last hooray before you weren’t together anymore. You had been trying to ignore those feelings for the whole drive up from Boston but they still plagued you. 

“Wanna go look at the stars?” Trent asks and you nod, heading into the rapidly chilling night air with him. 

The back porch is raised up, vines and plants covering the area with fairy lights strung around to create a romantic atmosphere. You can’t help but lean into Trent’s embrace as you stand outside and look at the stars. The ones you had both shared for so long, ones that were around before you and would be there after you and would comfort you till your final days.

“Princess?” Trent whispers, turning to fully face you and you smile up at him. 

“I love you. I care about you so incredibly much,” his words are soft in the night air and your eyes are already brimming with tears from the words spoken. 

“And I was wondering,” he continues. 

You watch with wide eyes as he kneels down on the ground and pulls out the most beautiful ring you had ever seen. You blink a couple of times, wondering if this was all in your head but you’re quickly brought back to the moment when Trent takes your hands. 

“Marry me, Juliet,” he begs more than asks and you chuckle quietly at the nickname. “You’ll never have to be alone. I love you and our date nights, our early mornings, the way you’ve always called me your Romeo and that’s the only thing I really know so please, just say yes.” 

And just like that, the worries disappear. You get your Romeo, forever. 

“Yes.”

[abel-morningstar]

Abel’s grip on the phone tightens.

His fingers tremble just slightly, but his expression stays frozen in polite neutrality.

Lucifer Morningstar.

The name alone carries weight, enough to make even the holiest of angels falter. And now, that voice—smooth, rich, and commanding—is speaking directly to him.

To him.

Abel swallows hard. He knows he can’t say anything. Can’t let Lucifer know who he is. Can’t let his voice betray the storm rising inside him.

But…

‘But I want to keep hearing him…’

He forces his voice to stay steady, a warm smile on his face even as his vision blurs at the edges.

Abel: Oh! Lucifer Morningstar! *He lets out a small, nervous laugh.* Well, it’s a pleasure to speak with you, sir! I, um, I just found this phone here in the main city of Heaven, and when it started ringing, I thought—‘Oh! This must be someone calling to find it!’ So, I—ah—answered…

‘Deep breath, Abel. Keep it together.’

Abel: I—I imagine you must know the owner, right? *His voice wavers, just a little, but he presses on.* I’d be more than happy to return it to them! I don’t want them to worry about it being lost.

There’s silence on the other end.

Abel grips the phone tighter. His nails press into his palm.

‘Does he—does he recognize me? No, no, he can’t. He doesn’t know’

Lucifer: Right…and you are again?

Abel freezes. His breath catches in his throat.

‘Who am I?’

He could say his name. Could let Lucifer know. Could break the silence of centuries.

But he can’t.

He can’t risk it.

Abel: Oh! I—um—just an angel! A nobody, really! Just someone trying to do the right thing! Hehe, that’s what we do up here, right?

He winces at how forced that sounds. His fingers curl around the phone, nails digging in.

Silence stretches again.

Abel bites his lip. His throat is burning. His chest feels tight.

Lucifer: *hums on the other end, his tone unreadable* Just an angel huh? How wonderfully vague.

Abel: *lets out another soft, nervous laugh* ‘Keep it together, keep it together.’ Ah, well, you know how it is! Not really supposed to give out names to just anyone on the phone. Security reasons and all that! *He tries to joke, but it comes out stiff, his throat too tight, his hands gripping the phone like a lifeline.* B-But! If I know who you were trying to call, I can make sure the phone gets back to them safely!

Abel holds his breath, praying Lucifer won’t ask him any more questions.

Lucifer: Hmph. I was trying to call my daughter.

Abel feels his heart lurch.

Daughter.

Of course.

His grip tightens until his knuckles go white. He forces himself to keep breathing, to keep his voice light, even as the world around him starts to feel unreal.

Abel: Oh! Your daughter! That’s wonderful! That means she must be here in Heaven right now, right? Visiting?

Lucifer: Yes. Official business, apparently. She has a meeting with the high Seraphim.

Charlie.

Abel swallows. He isn’t supposed to know that name. That face. That person.

His baby sister.

He suddenly feels so small, standing there in the middle of Heaven’s grand city, clutching a phone like a lost child holding onto something precious.

He shouldn’t ask. Shouldn’t pry. Shouldn’t push this moment any longer.

But he can’t help himself.

Abel: Oh! Well, I’d love to help get this phone back to her! What’s her name? Just so I know who to look for, of course!

‘Just so I can hear you say it. Just so I can hear you talk about her.’

Lucifer: She should be easy enough to spot. Blonde hair, bright smile, far too eager for her own good. Honestly, if she hasn’t already run into trouble up there, I’d be surprised.

There’s something fond in his tone—something amused, exasperated, warm.

And oh, it hurts.

Abel clenches his jaw, blinking rapidly against the sting behind his eyes.

‘He talks about her with love.’

That’s how a parent should sound when speaking about their child. That’s how his voice should’ve sounded when talking about him.

Abel forces out a chuckle, even as his chest feels like it’s caving in.

Abel: She sounds like someone really special.

Lucifer: She is.

Abel’s throat closes up. He swallows hard, blinking back tears.

He should end this call. He should say goodbye. He should return the phone and walk away.

But he doesn’t.

Not yet.

Not when he can still hear Lucifer’s voice.

Abel: I can’t wait to meet her *he pauses before he quickly added* TO GIVE HER BACK HER PHONE OF COURSE!

Lucifer: *chuckles—a low, velvety sound that sends a shiver down Abel’s spine* Oh? Excited to meet my daughter, are you? I must admit, that’s not the usual reaction she gets from Heaven’s angels.

Abel’s stomach twists. He knows that. He knows exactly how most angels view Charlie—the same way they view him. With suspicion. With wariness. With the weight of her father’s sins on her shoulders.

But Abel doesn’t care about any of that.

Abel: Well, why wouldn’t I be? She sounds… wonderful. *His voice is soft, genuine, before he remembers himself and quickly adds* A-And, you know! I like meeting new people! And returning lost items, of course! That’s the most important part, hehe!

Lucifer hums again, and there’s something considering in it, something that makes Abel’s pulse hammer.

Lucifer: Mm. Perhaps you’re not like the rest, then.

Abel: *stiffens* ‘Does he—? No. He can’t know.’

Lucifer: Or perhaps you’re just an exception to the rule.

Abel forces out a laugh, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His hands feel clammy, and his grip on the phone is too tight, but he can’t let go.

Abel: I just try to be kind, that’s all! Heaven could use a little more kindness, don’t you think?

Lucifer actually laughs at that, a rich, deep sound, like he finds something about Abel amusing.

Lucifer: Oh, you really are something, little angel. If more of Heaven thought like you, perhaps things would have turned out differently.

Something about those words makes Abel’s breath hitch. He doesn’t even know why, but suddenly, there’s a lump in his throat, and his vision blurs just a little more.

Little angel.

Abel: ‘What if he had said that to me? What if things had been different?’

Abel blinks quickly, shaking the thought away. He can’t think like that. He won’t.

Abel: Well, I should, uh, get going! Need to find Charlie and return this before she notices it’s gone! Thank you for your help, sir!

He hesitates.

Just for a second.

Because once he hangs up… that’s it.

Lucifer’s voice will be gone.

So he lingers, just for a breath, savoring it.

Lucifer: …Very well. Good bye.

And then—click.

The call ends.

Abel stares at the screen, his reflection staring back at him, eyes too bright, too wet.

Carefully, slowly, he lowers the phone, clutching it to his chest.

He should move. He should find Charlie. He should do something.

But for now, he just stands there.

Listening to the ghost of Lucifer’s voice in his ears.

Abel’s hands shake as he stares at the phone’s screen.

It’s still unlocked.

His breath catches. He shouldn’t—he really shouldn’t. This is a violation of privacy, it’s dishonest, it’s wrong—

But his fingers move before his conscience can stop him.

He taps the call log.

‘Dad’ sits at the top of the recents list.

Abel swallows hard, his heart hammering in his chest.

He taps the contact information.

A phone number. A direct line.

And beneath it—social media links. A private account.

He’s real.

Not just a name. Not just a voice on the other end of a lost phone. A person. With a number, with messages, with a life that Abel has never been a part of.

He blinks rapidly, his vision swimming.

I could call him. I could send a message. I could—

No.

No, he can’t.

But…

But he can remember.

His eyes dart around quickly. No one’s watching. No one’s paying attention.

He snatches a napkin from a nearby café stand, grabs a stray pen someone left behind, and scribbles.

Lucifer’s number. His social handle. Charlie’s contact information, too—just in case.

His hand is trembling, but he writes fast, stuffing the napkin into his pocket the second he’s done.

And then, just as quickly, he locks the phone.

His breath is uneven. His chest is tight.

Abel: *folds his hands together and bows his head, whispering under his breath* I’m so sorry!

He prays for forgiveness.

For lying. For sneaking. For stealing something so small yet so immensely precious.

But even as he prays, he doesn’t regret it.

Because now…

Now, he has a connection.

A way to reach Lucifer again…to reach out to his Mom…

And no matter how wrong it is…

He needed this more than he would ever admit.

[crazylittlejester]

Work was stressful today, so I have been trying to think of fluffy things. I was only party successful, so it turned out more hurt/comfort. And I'm throwing it at you. It's in your "Wars is Bella, but not really" au

Wars has a nightmare and Charlie comes in to wake him up. Wars doesn't recognize Charlie at first so he draws a knife. Charlie keeps his cool and does his best to be non threatening until Wars comes back to his senses

When Wars does calm down he's extremely apologetic. And puts the knife away. Charlie is all "we can talk about your hidden weapons later. First, come here and let me hug you. Make sure you're okay"

Then Wars does as he's told. Only to not want to let go of his dad and having a breakdown. He ends up crying himself to sleep in his dad's arms. It was a pretty bad nightmare

The next morning Charlie ends up making Wars favorite breakfast to try cheering him up. It works far better than he expected

Wars is later grounded for the knife thing (please note: Charlie is not upset that Wars has items for self defense. He's upset he wasn't told that Wars had them)

NAH BECAUSE I DO HAVE A SCENE LIKE THIS PLANNED ACTUALLY

Charlie really loves Wars, that’s his kid, and he does his absolute best to take care of him and make him feel safe. Warriors doesn’t have a father, not anymore and he hasn’t for YEARS, but he does have a Charlie, so he does have a dad now. He has someone who makes him feel loved and cared for in this strange world of Forks, Washington

Separating those two is gonna break MY heart

(also im sorry work was stressful for you bro you didn’t deserve that 💔)

[officalgeorgestaniel]

here's a cute little blurb I wrote yesterday ♡︎ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

18+ only word count: 1.2k

cw: George being a cutie pie, "good boy", reach around hj, vanilla

After a long day of meetings and work at the studio, George arrives home in desperate need of some space to unwind. Charli, of course, is always willing to give that space to him. They sit down in the lounge for a cuddle and a chat to debrief George's day and she kisses him softly, telling him he's such a good boy, recognizing that he needs time to recover from his busy work day. She says she'll take charge for the rest of the evening.

George goes down really easily- following Charli's every instruction because the way she praises him when he obeys her makes him crave to hear more. He's desperate for acknowledgement of his actions, so he sheds his clothes and gets on his knees at her command. She looks so gorgeous standing over him- he gazes longingly at her body, especially at the shape of her supple breasts and pebbled nipples underneath her near-transparent white baby tee. He feels so powerless to her, because he wants to do anything he can to earn her praise.

She takes her top off as a reward for his good behaviour, her heavy breasts falling from the taut fabric, and George is suddenly itching to reach out and touch, to get back on his feet and put his mouth on her chest, but he stays. He continues to kneel at her feet, because he wants to be good for her. 

“You're hard,” she says, and George's gaze travels down between his thighs. Sure enough, he is, just by the sight of her. He feels his face heat up, it feels a bit pathetic, getting hard without being touched, but he loves it, he loves feeling weak to his own desires after acting strong for such a long time. 

“Would you like me to touch you?” Charli asks and George nods right away. 

“Please,” he answers, his baritone voice pitched up with need. 

“Let’s go upstairs then.” 

When they get to their bedroom, Charli hops onto their bed and props herself up against the pillows, spreading her legs wide and patting the space between them. They've done this before, and George’s heart starts racing as he remembers how good Charli made him feel the last time. He settles himself between her legs and lays back against her chest, her soft, plush breasts supporting his head. She takes his jaw in her hand and guides him to look up at her. 

“So pretty for me,” she says, gazing into his eyes like he's her most treasured possession. “Just need you to open your legs now.”

George’s legs fall open without a second thought. Charli's hand moves from the side of his face and lands on his cock. His breath falters. She wraps her fingers around his shaft and starts a slow, rhythmical pattern as she strokes him. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on the feeling. Her touch is so soft and he feels so safe resting against her body…

“That's it, baby,” she murmurs. “just let me do the work. All you have to do is feel so, so good for me, can you do that?”

George hums deeply and nods. 

“Such a good boy,” she purrs. 

Gradually, she picks up the pace, stroking him faster. While he's distracted by the pleasurable sensation between his thighs, Charli's left hand silently sneaks its way to his chest and he whines in surprise as she rolls his left nipple between her thumb and forefinger. He likes it as much as she does, having his chest played with. She once made him cum just by edging his cock and playing with his nipples… She doesn't plan on teasing him tonight though, she knows exactly what he needs.

His face is contorted in pleasure, his eyes squeezed shut, his brow furrowed, and his bottom lip worried between his teeth as he tries to keep himself from moaning. 

“It's okay, George,” Charli says when she notices he's holding back. “Let yourself go, I love it when you moan for me.”

That's all the encouragement he needs to lose the last of the control he's been holding on to. His mouth falls open and the desperate sounds he's been suppressing start echoing between the walls of their bedroom. 

Charli feels her pussy flutter with arousal at the sound of George's whimpers and moans, but she keeps her focus dialed in on him. She adores it when he allows himself to be vulnerable like this, it's so different from his usual steadfast resolve. He's always taking care of others, including herself, so she loves to give back to him like this.

She coos at him when she notices a perfect pearl of clear pre-cum beading from the tip of his cock. “You're leaking, baby. You must need to cum so badly, hmm?” 

A very needy noise escapes George's parted lips and he nods, turning his head into Charli's chest to hide his burning face from her gaze. 

“That's okay, my love,” she soothes as she gathers the sticky liquid onto her fingers. “Don't be embarrassed, it's so hot when you can't help but get close so quickly.”

As if on cue, three more droplets of pre-cum quickly bead from his slit and dribble down into Charli's fist. She twists her hand as she continues to jerk him, slicking his length with the lube he's just produced by way of his own arousal. Her movements are suddenly accompanied by the wet sounds of the liquid shlicking between her hand and his cock. 

She can feel him throbbing and hear his voice pitch up higher as he gets closer and closer to falling over the edge.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” She purrs into his ear. 

“Yes- fuck! Yes, Charli,” he pants desperately. He squirms against her as he feels his arousal getting nearer to its boiling point. "So close, 'm so close.. fuck, please." He needs it so badly, to release the tension he's been holding in his body all day. 

Charli starts stroking as quickly as she can. "Cum for me, George," she urges, desperate to witness him fall apart. “I wanna see you let go. Let it go baby, let it all out for me.”

“Charli, fuck, I- I’m–!” George cries out into the room as his whole body tightens and his release spurts out from inside of him. One, two, three, four, five ropes of thick, white cum splatter against his belly, followed by a final sixth and seventh that slowly dribble out onto Charli's fingers. 

She lets go of his spent cock and reaches for the tissues on the bedside table to clean her hand and wipe his belly, murmuring soft praises to him all the while. 

“Fuck, that was so hot, baby. You're so perfect, so beautiful when you cum for me.”

George whimpers as she wipes his cock as well, making sure there won't be any sticky residue left behind. 

“Shh, you're alright, sweetheart,” she coos. “My good boy.” She places her hand over his heart and to ground him. She can feel his pulse slowing as he comes down from his orgasm.

After a long moment, he speaks up, his voice quiet and slightly hoarse. “Thank you.. I really needed that…” 

“I know you did.” Charli smiles down at him and plants a kiss on his forehead. “I'm always here to take care of you when you need me to.” 

“I love you so much,” George says, lifting his head to look up at her, his deep brown eyes filled with adoration. 

Charli wraps her arms around him and squeezes. “I love you more.” She leans in to plant another kiss on his lips.

[crystalkitty1220]

Said I'd post this on my birthday, so here y'all go.

Hullabaloo is by Rare Americans. | IBVS is by onebizarrekai.

I scrapped this pmv/animatic (whatever you wanna call it) because the AU had changed a lot, plus I ran out of time on the computers I was working on, plus I wanted to make some artstyle changes, etc. You can find out more about curse!ibvs here.

In case you're curious, the original script is below the cut. I made some changes while drawing, which you can probably notice, but the core is still there.

Speaking parts: Drew Isaac Edward Chris Charlie Nevin Each character other than Drew will have a blob of colors floating around their head at all times, except when stated otherwise.

(Intro) Foxfield High School, losing color and becoming the desaturated and more dangerous appearance that signifies Curse!IBVS. Drew walks into Foxfield and down one of the halls, looking a little confused at his surroundings. There’s a duller and more monstrous appearance to everything, plus all of the kids don’t seem to recognize Drew. He’s very saturated compared to the rest of them.

“Excuse the renovations, our Doberman Dalmatians.” Edward blocks Drew’s view of the art room. Edward believes Drew is a new student. After all, he’d never met this kid before. Edward just wants this new guy’s first impression not to be “This place is full of weirdos.”

“We're just making preparations for the false flag operation.” Ed making excuses and walking down the hall, Drew in tow. Isaac, with only half of his face shown, raises an eyebrow and follows.

“Anyway, your participation in The Lemming Corporation includes two full weeks paid vacation, white-washed accommodations.” Edward is still talking to Drew while walking, purposefully blocking half of Isaac’s face every time the trumpet in the song makes a noise. Whenever Ed isn’t blocking it, something else is conveniently blocking it from the camera’s view.

“At the company plantation, there's a safe sensation, bottomless libations with your full cooperation.” Isaac ignores Edward and joins in with the tour, walking around Drew in a clockwise direction so the other half of his face still cannot be seen. At “full cooperation” Drew tugs on Isaac’s sleeve, and Isaac stops.

“Thank you for your patience…” Isaac says this, confused, and turns his head, so the drawing half of his face is finally on-screen and very much moving. Drew isn’t really scared at this part, just frightened/surprised.

“We're here to help, we're here to help you! You need not worry 'bout that” Edward interrupts and quickly tries to distract Drew from Isaac. At the five guitar strums, everywhere around Drew flickers into a colorful void. The colors are actually Edward and Isaac’s emotions, but Drew doesn’t realize this yet.

“Hullabaloo, hullabaloo, hull-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laaaa-baloo” Drew, now panicking, looks around the void, and suddenly feels something touch his shoulder (this is Isaac, trying to see if Drew is okay, but Drew and the viewers are unable to see him). He freaks out and dashes down the invisible hallway, running into invisible walls and eventually finding an invisible corner to turn. There are different colors in the place he ends up in.

“Doom is the mood in the room.” The void fades back into reality, the colors fading away to reveal Chris and Charlie, arguing in an empty classroom. Neither have noticed Drew. No emotion colors at all in this part or the next.

“Evil looms, darkness lurks. Safety in numbers, members perks! Things are sad, they will get worse. We want you bad, this army church!” Chris appears to switch between different sides of the argument, but it’s actually him and Charlie arguing and flipping between who’s controlling Chris’ body.

“The fence is not a safe place for you to stay. Don't think you understand the forces at play!” They argue more, and Drew gets a headache so he holds his head in his hands.

“Care for a Serviette, James?” The room fades into colors once more, and Drew slumps against the invisible wall, head still in hands.

“You got Kool-Aid, kid, all over your face! Hear my words, sing my song…” Drew watches the colors swap places as the person speaking switches. That’s strange, ‘cause he was told Charlie wasn’t stuck with Chris anymore.

“Opportunities knockin, ding-ding-ity-dong!” Drew returns to reality, with Chris and Charlie talking to him. Charlie knocks on Drew’s head at the “ding-ding-ity-dong!” part, in an “earth to the new kid, wakey wakey” fashion.

“We're encrypted, subscripted, soldiers of the brand. Homo-lookalikes, million-man marching band.” Charlie points out that Drew looks so much like Nevin. Chris wants to leave this kid alone.

“So let me look ya in the eye straight when I ask ya!” Charlie talks to Drew, but Drew ignores him and stands up.

“Will you take my word? Will ya take my hand?” Drew wobbles over to the door, Charlie still talking to him in the background.

“Shake it, shake it, shake it! Shake my goddamn ole, wrinkly hand!” Drew looks down the hall and sees Edward’s and Isaac’s emotion colors getting closer (Drew has a sort of ‘shit, not again’ look), before he gets blinded by their and Chris/Charlie’s emotions again.

“Hullabaloo, hullabaloo, hull-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laaaa-baloo! (Hull-a-bal-oo, hull-a-bal-oo)” Drew once again panics and runs through the colors, occasionally running into the walls of the invisible hallway.

“I got this buzzin' in my ear, it's here for good I fear, my dear.” He eventually gets far enough away that he can kinda see the hallway, and opens a difficult-to-see door he recognizes leads out to behind the school. He runs through the door, slams it closed and sits against the wall next to it.

“Got these spots in my sights like I can't turn out the lights…” He closes his eyes, holding his forehead.

“Sweat drips from my palms all day long. Don't wanna fuck this up man, I can't get this wrong! It's clear in my mind as a traffic jam, I think there might be something wrong with Uncle” A new set of colors fades in, returning Drew to utter blindness. He looks up, scared, and watches where he guesses the source of the colors is. The colors drop down to the point where the source (or a barely visible silhouette?) would be at eye level with Drew, and remain frozen like that for the entirety of “I think there might be something wrong with uncle-”.

“Graham…” Drew can once again see and the source of the emotions is revealed to be Nevin, who has carefully placed his hands on Drew’s shoulders reassuringly.

“It's calm in my head as a high-speed chase.” Drew and Nevin stand up, and Drew hugs Nevin. Nevin is surprised and sad, keeping his arms at least a few inches away from Drew.

“Got those memories man, that you can't erase.” Drew talks to Nevin, and Nevin gives a reassuring smile.

“I do what I gotta do.” Drew backs away and pulls on Nevin’s wrist to get him to run, and Nevin accidentally grabs onto Drew’s arm for support, causing Drew to grip his own arm and cry out in pain. Nevin steps back, horrified. His expression softens and shadows shield his face.

“Just run away from that” He then turns around to face the door and speaks. He knows Drew isn’t meant to be here (though he thinks Drew is a ghost or something). The world once again flickers into colors.

“Hullabaloo! Hullabaloo!” Drew stays for a moment, but decides to just start running the opposite direction of Nevin’s emotions, still holding onto his own injured arm.

“Hull-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laaaa-baloo!” He runs far enough that the colors start fading away again.

“Hull-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-laaaa-” While running, suddenly a circular portal appears in front of him. He doesn’t have time to stop before he trips through it-

“-baloo!” -and finds himself on the floor of his bedroom, having fallen onto his injured arm. Afterward, he assumes he simply had a nightmare and fell off his bed, hurting his arm in the process.