Charlie shut the water off and stepped out of the lava shower after she rang out her hair. Steam poured in and out of her lungs, yet it was relaxing. She plucked a scarlet towel off of a rack that supplied them and dried off in front of the vanity mirror. Her head dipped, and her jaw went slack at the sight. Even her toenails were black.

The shocked blonde studied her fingernails for comparison. While her toenails were a normal cut length, her manicure was a bit lengthy for her own taste. As an aspiring musician in her previous life, long nails were a huge no for her, therefore she was not accompanied to them. Charlie tucked the towel around her torso like a mini dress.

Alastor already had everything she could ever think of (even what she could not) laying around, so maybe he had materials for grooming. Charlie rummaged through each of the drawers to the vanity one by one. She located a makeup bag in the top left, then a set of hair curlers, a mani/pedi bag, and a comb kit in the top right. Her hands immediately swung out the drawer below it. Over a dozen shades of nail polish were gathered inside.

There perched a velvet, crimson chair of French design beside her, but she hopped up on the countertop and resided there instead. She rummaged through the pouches and bags.

She started with clipping her nails—short, but not too short. The petite damsel went for the face powder next. She possessed minor surprise that Al managed to get the exact correct shade. Charlie examined her white forearm as she sucked in a breath, attempting to not release it, but it heaved out of her anyway. Then again, it probably was not all that hard to guess. She twisted her waist sideways to catch the dead girl in the mirror. The skeleton narrowed its hollow eyes in response, almost challenging her.

"You're next."

Once she was fully groomed, she exhaled at her reflection as a newfound comfort was brought to her. She slipped off the counter and landed on the balls of her pasty feet. Charlie located a soft, blush pink robe in her size hanging up on a hook from behind the bathroom door. After removing her damp towel and sliding it on, she emerged into her bedroom, making a beeline for the wardrobe. She wanted to wear something different today. Something more...modern. The problem was while all of the clothes Alastor had prepared for her were stunning with impeccable taste, she missed her own fashion.

Charlie dropped the robe on the floor and flipped through her choices.  She was hasty to pull on a pair of black tights, then slid on a pastel button up with black studs, which she buttoned before tucking into a flared skirt at her waistline. The garment was designed to drop to her kneecaps, but in this fashion, it only covered to her mid-thighs. The young girl took a moment to admire the golden engravings of roses along the hem of the cerise fabric. Her feet carried her over to the full length mirror by her dresser, where she adjusted her sleeves until they were neatly folded at her elbows.

"Hm, something's missing," Charlie muttered, tapping her chin. She trotted over to a box on her dresser that was built of polished, black ebony. Alastor had it filled to the brim of ribbons, bows, and other pendants or gemstone brooches for his guest to accessorize with. She opened it, plucking out a pitch black ribbon of satin. Her hands went to weave it in her hair, but she stopped.

'I have a better idea.'

After tying it around her neck into a makeshift choker, she whipped open the door to the hallway with a large beam across her cheeks. "Gosh, I'm starved," Charlie panted to herself. "Alastor is probably down in the ki—" She paused when she heard a song on a radio playing. Her attention moved to one of the French doors of Alastor's chamber at the end of the corridor. It had been left ajar, where a jazz song poured out from behind it. Charlie's face lit up. "Oh, good! He's right there," she remarked. The chirpy demoness marched across the hallway. The nearer she drew, the clearer the song became.

"The falling leaves,
Drift by the window,
The autumn leaves,
All red and gold—"

The blonde damsel was familiar with the ballad. It sounded like one of Édith Piaf's, but as an English cover. She never really understood what the French lyrics meant, so it was as if she was hearing it for the first time. She peeked into Alastor's bedroom, to where she had never once been. The door was open, so she did not have to knock...right?

"I see your lips,
The summer kisses,
The sunburned hands,
I used to hold..."

'Alastor did say to come and find him at anytime if I needed anything...'

Charlie's mouth fell as she continued to listen. That voice belonged to Alastor. He was performing Autumn Leaves. With his radio static, it only sounded like any other song playing on a station from far away. She felt giddy and was filled to the brim with joy, jumping up and down on her feet. She tiptoed inside the master suite, quietly closing the door behind her, but not before Otis dashed in at the last possible second. Charlie furrowed her eyebrows when there was no Alastor in sight. Unbeknownst to her, the shadow minion streaked under the bed with a shit eating grin. The King of Hell's guest allowed her focus to wander about the bedroom as she took a seat on the bed. It was a California King mattress, and she almost had to jump to sit on it. She gasped, lifting her palms to discover dust lining them. A breath exited her. 'Poor Al...he really can't sleep.'

"Since you went away,
The days grow long,
And soon I'll hear,
Old winter songs,"

Charlie's worries were instantly drawn from her as Al's singing crescendoed. She grabbed a silk throw pillow and clutched it to her chest. The young demoness sighed dreamily as his notes carried on. Her lashes soon fluttered shut.

"But I miss you most of all, my darling...
When autumn leaves start to fall..."

Her champagne eyes shot open. There was an echo in his voice, like it was coming from—

The bathroom door unlatched, shortly uttering a creak. Charlie sharply gasped and jumped off the bed, whereas Otis was resting on his stomach underneath, awaiting the opening of the show from his front row seat.

"C'est un chanson,
Qui nous ressemble,"

Alastor stepped out with a towel over his head, which he used to thoroughly dry his long ears.

"Toi qui m'aimais,
Et je t'aimais—"

The stag lowered the towel and halted as he lifted his head. His guest gave him a sheepish smile with a small wave, their eyes finally meeting. He visibly tensed at her presence, his grin tightening until it went lobsided. Alastor hastily fastened the tie on his red, satin robe more securely. His gaze repetitively scanned the young girl up and down.

Charlie's button nose had disappeared, her black lips were now a bright fuchsia; also, her pink clown cheeks had been erased with light blush to replace them. The radio demon watched her forefinger carefully tug at her lower lip. Her once-long nails were trimmed short and coated with pastel pink.

The fashionable damsel batted her eyelashes at him innocently. They were elongated and luscious as always, yet her eyes themselves stood out to him better in the absence of her previously accompanying, charcoal facial features.

Her hair was additionally styled down that day with enormous, elegant curls formed all over.

"—and I know that was rude, but I didn't think it was a big deal at the time, but obviously it was wrong to do that, and I'm so so—"

"Are you wearing makeup?"

Alastor brought a fist to his mouth and averted his stare. He did not mean to say it aloud, and did not realize that until he had, that he had also interrupted what was most likely an apology. The blonde's skin grew warm as she bashfully looked away as well, twirling one of her locks. She should have been completely flushed from such a question coming from him, but thankfully, she had laid it all on quite thick. "O-oh, um...yes...I found the stuff you picked out in the bathroom for me...thanks, Al," Charlie shyly replied. Her sweet smile that followed had his heartbeat quickening.

The radio demon shifted and crossed his arms over part of his exposed chest, clearing his throat. Her eyes followed, picking up on some scars nicked into his flesh. Some where tiny. Others where deep and jagged. "I thought so. Yes, well, I...How did you get in? I am positive I locked the door," he affirmed, his body rotating to the side, allowing his guest a good view of his damp tail protruding from a hole sewn into the back of his robe.

Charlie's scleras dyed themselves into a bright scarlet as her vision focused better on the furry extremity. "Um...I'm pretty sure the door was open. That's how I heard the music, er—you. I didn't know you were busy."

Alastor stole a glance at his bare nails, seemingly quite distracted. His ears were dipped back somewhat until they flicked upright at her words.

"What?"

"I-I said I was sorry."

She avoided his sharp eyes with shame as hair slipped over her face. The stag only exhaled, slowly blinking while pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm merely...surprised. I did tell you to come find me and knock if you needed anything, but if the door was open as you said, I'm not upset, darling," he simply stated. Charlie held her forearm, carefully lifting her head. Alastor's crimson orbs grew large at her bloody ones.

'There it is again—that scent of hers...'

His nostrils flared as the aura of the source became stronger. The demoness' view traveled up his wrists and ankles. Marks, scratches, and cuts, marred every inch of his skin that she was able see. And then, she spotted his horns. She could have sworn they were shorter yesterday. Her expression contorted into one of intrigue.

"Al, did your antlers grow?" Charlie questioned, gesturing to the top of her own head in the process. Alastor subconsciously reached for them and winced. He internally cussed, fighting the urge to scratch. "Ah...yes. They do that sometimes," he reluctantly informed, attempting to rip his eyes apart from hers, yet he failed. Stars sprung out of his guest's blazing orbs. "Really?! That's so cool, Al! So, you're a six pointer now??" She pressed, stepping closer to him. "Well, I think they look dashing you!" Charlie gave him a teasing wink as she poked one. Alastor jolted at her touch, and his brows raised.

"Charlie!" He gasped, gripping the spot she felt.

"Oops...they're not sensitive, are they?" She asked before tucking her foot behind the other. "I'll be more gentle, next time. Promise." The last sentence unintentionally came out rather seductively instead of playfully. The deer demon's eyes enlarged, then his grin stretched tensely as his little blonde guest's focus meandered up and down him once more. "Sorry again, Al. I'll knock next time...I'll leave you alone, now." Charlie sent him a shy smile, backing away from him toward one of the open French doors. Alastor could only watch speechlessly while she disappeared behind the latching door.

It was all so clear, now. The smell that adorned Charlotte was thick with fragrance. Heavy traces of it lingered in his private chamber. The moment that obsessive gaze had penetrated him, he immediately knew. His jaw clenched.

"Damn."

His eyes squeezed shut before he shivered, clenching his robe tighter yet. After laying a palm to his forehead, he unleashed a loud sigh garbled in static.

'She's a succubus.'

When Alastor's eyes flashed open, radio dials were evident in them. They shot daggers at the abyss underneath of his bed. "Get him," he snarled, snapping his fingers as his neck cracked to the side. His shadow melted out of a dark wardrobe nearby, an evil grin dragging up its facet. It seized a figure from the hiding place, clawing at Otis until he was yanked out. The black entity held the imbecile captive around the neck so that the radio demon was able to properly glower at him. "Oh, you didn't think you would actually get away with it, did you?" He chuckled darkly as the filter in his voice made itself known. The shadow minion trembled at the malice oozing off of the radio demon's tongue. "It is one matter to betray your own master, but it is another one entirely to toy with a guest in my own abode under my own nose. It is time...you finally...learn...your...place...S o t i s s e s..."

Meanwhile, Alastor's guest had eventually reached the kitchen. 'I feel a little bad barging in on Alastor like that...I know he excused it, but I want to make it up to him, somehow...' She strolled throughout the sparkling clean kitchen. Her attention was drawn to the cold tiles below the tights on her feet. She had forgotten to put on shoes today. Charlie shrugged, leaning on the countertop of the wide island. She spotted the ticking grandmother clock above a massive window. It was already eleven thirty.

What if she made brunch for the two of them?

"That's right," she realized. "He's done everything for me anyway. Now, I want to do something for him." She stood up straight and whirled around in confusion. "But I don't know where anything is..." The succubus sighed with defeat. "Darn." She snapped her fingers before giggling. "I've been around Alastor too long," Charlie admitted with a tender smile, heading for the tall pantry. When she entered it, her jaw went slack. It may as well have been Narnia.

There were exotic ingredients of every kind, spices she never heard of, all types of hot peppers hanging on a string to dry out, as well as so much more. She could make anything, although...she could not. Despite the King of Hell having the ability to hand make any meal he desired, the young blonde had grown up pampered, where she had been encouraged to stay far from the kitchen.

'It's not a playroom, sweetie,' her father would say.

As she matured—somewhat—every so often Charlie had crept down the stairs late at night and would experiment with baking. She had only learned to make cookies or brownies up until now, though maybe she could try something new? She returned a bottle of cinnamon she was touching to its spot on a spice rack. Reflexively, she nervously checked over her shoulder. 'I think I want to make him muffins!' She happily decided. Until the demoness' shoulders dropped. "I want to ask him how, but then it won't be a surprise..."

She located a towering bookshelf in the corner that was wrapped in cobwebs. A groan slipped out of her. Dozens of cookbooks were lined up, unfortunately, almost all of them were in foreign languages. "I forgot he was a polyglot..." She muttered, squinting at the broad selection. "English, English, English..." Her forefinger travelled along the spines. It came to a halt and hovered over one: Louisianan Baking.

Charlie picked up and blew off the dust. It was something from her home country, so it should not have been too difficult of a choice. "I wonder where Otis is. I haven't seen him around, lately..." She realized. The succubus whirled around as she studied the shadows in her surroundings. "Otis...?" She hesitantly called to nowhere in particular. "If you're here...can you lend me a hand? I want to bake muffins for Alastor..." Charlie quietly stated the last bit to herself. The idea sounded brilliant in her head, but now, saying it out loud made her feel oddly shy about it.

A couple beats had passed, yet there was no Otis in sight. Her shoulders sulked until her hands flipped open the book and scrolled through the index. Alastor's words abruptly rang throughout her memory.

'Now, smile, my dear! You know, you're never fully dressed without one!'

Charlie giggled at the thought of his silly expression and hand gestures. It was so easy to imagine him mindlessly twirling around that microphone of his like it was a baton. She stood taller with her shoulders pressed back, spreading a smile that extended from ear to ear. "That's okay! I'll do such a good job that he's going to be so impressed I did them all by myself!" With no time wasted, she scurried out of the food pantry and into the kitchen. "First, I need to hurry up and finish before he finds me! Now, I have to find all the utensils!" She declared. The petite damsel zipped to and fro from drawer to drawer, cupboard to cupboard, and bin to bin, collecting her needed supplies as she rushed along.

Being that the kitchen was a smidge more spacious than the one in her own mansion she grew up in, it was not until ten minutes later when she had gathered everything. Measuring cups clattered on the countertop as she placed a whisk in an empty mixing bowl. One hand flipped a page of the cookbook to the ingredients, and one hand cleared a space. Her frantic eyes darted to the clock on the wall, simultaneously running to the storage space that she had previously explored. Back and forth, Charlie continued to race with each ingredient, one by one. A heavy sack of flour, a hefty bag of brown sugar, a floppy pack of white sugar, and so on.

After another ten minutes of locating, collecting, and transporting materials, the young, exhausted blonde was ready to collapse on the island of her workspace. She had yet to begin, and here she was panting nonstop. It was no wonder how Alastor constantly chose to use his powers. She groaned at the ticking of the clock, wiping her forehead. "I just want to be useful, for once," Charlie breathlessly sighed as her voice wavered. She was almost too tired to push on.

Charlie suddenly shook her head. "No, I can do this! I can make breakfast!" She tried to brush aside the fact it was noon. Once she had opened the flour, she quickly spun to her other side and reached for the mixing bowl. She lost her balance as the hosiery over her feet decided to skid across the polished kitchen tiles. Her hand knocked the bowl off of the counter, then she slid over the floor, slamming into a cabinet.

Alastor was currently taking his time strolling throughout the hallway. Out of nowhere, a loud crash echoed from the other end. His fluffed ears straightened. He dematerialized and reappeared with his staff into the kitchen in an instant. The sight that met him had certainly robbed him of his words. He stood wide eyed as he observed baking supplies all neatly prepared on the counter, aside from a haze of flour lingering in the air. His helpless guest sat on the ground with her legs apart and a clean mixing bowl on her head. It was apparent she rammed herself into a lower cupboard somehow, but the cause of it was a definitely a mystery to the radio demon. Flour had settled onto her clothes and the rest of the area.

Alastor wiped a small patch of it off the shoulder pad of his fresh red suit. He tucked his staff behind him and concealed his crooked, close lipped grin. Charlie tensed at the large footsteps gradually approaching her. Her posture slumped. She was too late. It was such a goofy display for the King of Hell to process, he simply failed to contain himself as a giggle slipped out of him, progressively forming into outright guffawing.

He bent over the clumsy demoness as his laughs crescendoed and lifted the dish off of her face. Silence struck him across the face. His darling guest's head was tilted upward as tears leaked down to her quivering lip. The stag remained motionless for several seconds as their eyes were locked.

"I-I just wanted...I just...I...I didn't mean to, father!"

It took every ounce of Charlie's will to hold back her sobs. She squeezed her eyes tight, only for them to open wide again as a gloved finger laid on her mouth when she wished to speak again. Alastor was kneeling next to her, and his staff leaned against the wall nearby. "Now, now, dear, don't concern yourself with the mess. It was only an accident," he spoke calmly. On cue, he snapped away the flour from her outfit and the area surrounding them. The deer demon reached up and placed the bowl on top of the island, staying by her side. He sent her coaxing smile, then retracted his hand from her lips. He made sure to speak evenly in a lower voice. "What were you making, hm, darling?" The recipe book teleported into his arm as he examined the page she had left off from. "Persimmon muffins? Why, that's a lovely choice, chére. I couldn't have chosen a better one."

Alastor carefully wiped an askew tear in order to preserve her delicate make up. "Now, why don't I lend you a ha—"

"No!"

Charlie's outburst had taken him aback as he immediately withdrew. Her tone was not angry, nor bitter—merely desperate. She grabbed at a gold curl in her hair and avoided his overwhelmingly gorgeous orbs. "I...I have to do this...because these were going to be for you..." Her voice quietly admitted, her attention intensively fixed on her skirt as she fiddled with the fabric. Alastor's arm went limp. The book dropped into his lap prior to sliding to the floor. For...him? He could not have heard that correctly. He must have had water stuck in his ears from the shower.

He gradually laid a hand to his chest. "For...me?" He asked faintly. His large eyes were boring through her.

"...I-it was supposed to be a surprise."

Alastor looked away, albeit his long ears were scarcely folding back. His chest was practically turning itself inside out. Why were such basic words from her flustering him this much? Is this what Charlotte experienced every time he cooked especially for her? Why did the thought of that embarrass him even more so?

"Why, thank you, my darling," he replied with a softened expression, gently wrapping his hand around hers as he picked up the book. The succubus instantly whipped her head up, and her skin glowed red at his sweeter than usual behavior. "Um...y-yeah," she answered. He helped her up to her feet out of the shade behind the kitchen island. Alastor took his eyes off her momentarily to place the open cookbook on the counter. Sunlight from the massive, glass window poured upon them. The stag slid his pointer finger across the instructions. "Ah, yes. I remember this one now. There's no shame in asking for help, ma chèrie. Why, mankind is useless without its counterpart, womankind. That's where Eve stepped in to give Adam guidance, you know."

"To trick him into eating the forbidden fruit," Charlie stated.

"Yes, precisel—well, that's not the point," Alastor's lively facet deflated as he cut himself off. The young blonde giggled until she became serious. "My father always blamed Eve for ruining humanity. He said it's why women were cursed to have the short end of the stick." The King of Hell's grip tightened around the edge of the book. He laughed bitterly. "Yes, well, if it weren't for that damn snake, no one would be in this goddamn—" He held his tongue, his darkening vision clearing up before the sun almost blinded him. He was swiftly aware of the dissipating black static.

Alastor blinked a couple times and attempted to distract himself by swiping a measuring cup to scoop flour with. "I'm terribly sorry; I don't know what came over me—" He peered over his shoulder to give an apologetic smile to the bewildered demoness.

The glass measuring cup shattered on impact with the ceramic tiles.

Charlie gasped sharply at the shards scattered about her feet. "Oh, no, Al! I'll get a broom—"

A hand tightly latched around her forearm as she twisted. "D-don't move...you'll hurt yourself..." The succubus arched an eyebrow. Alastor spoke so weakly; she barely understood him. What had gotten into him? She only heard the great radio demon stutter once, and that was when she asked him to stay the night with her. Her cheeks went pink at the reminder. "Al, what's wrong??" She pressed. Charlie did not bother to break free from his inhumane grip. His head was ducked out of her view with his other hand shielding his expression. "Why are you acting so weird? Look at me!"

"Ch-Charlotte, please, I—your top...it's...it's..."

"What about my top???"

Alastor could feel an unfamiliar heat surface to his cheeks, but it did not cease there. His flesh burned with a foreign sensation as it spread like a disease, soon reaching to the very tip of his furry ears. The King of Hell laid his free hand on the island for support, his eyes enlarging at his mistake as soon as he realized it.

"Al, your face...are you okay?"

Alastor falteringly met Charlie's bewildered look. Her mouth opened. The mild flush staining her stag's cheeks left her speechless.

He could only hold her gaze for but a moment. His eyes stole another glance at her bust, where the glistening rays from the window shone straight through the thin button up and exposed her lacy, hot pink bra. Just as fast, he shamefully tore his view from the sight the succubus had to offer. His grin was both stiff and wobbly, as a result of his best attempts to maintain composure.

How was he supposed to inform Charlotte without humiliating her? How was he supposed to inform Charlotte coherently??

Alastor drew in an unsteady breath, rotating his cranium so far aside that his neck cracked. "Good grief, dear. I-I am...I am afraid your shirt is see through," he awkwardly stammered. His guest's jaw fell further prior to her face flipping down. Scarlet bled through her flesh from top to bottom like watercolors seeping through fresh paper. Sure enough, she caught the pink hues leaking past the white button up under direct sunlight. Charlie screeched, somehow ripping herself free from his majesty's grip and slapped her arms over her chest.

"GAH! Omigosh, Alastor, I'm SO sorry!!!" She yelped. She wanted to abandon the very place in humiliation, hell, at least spin the other way to hide her indecency. Alas, she had not forgotten the chunks of glass spilled about her exposed feet. 'Why hadn't I put on shoes?!' She internally screamed. She frantically scanned the mess that held her hostage. "I swear I couldn't see it when I put it on earlier—wait...had y o u...?" The demoness suspiciously narrowed her eyes at him. He was acting rather strangely earlier, too. "I-in your room??"

Alastor's ears became alert, and he ceased to conceal his eyes as he locked them onto her own. "Heaven forbid! Just what are you implying?" The shocked stag shot back. She scoffed, folding her arms, then listlessly blinked. "I-I couldn't help b-but notice...you...you couldn't take your eyes off of me," she meekly admitted, holding her ground. "There. I said it..." Her host's strained smile slackened at the bold insinuation on her part, his skin temperature climbing. He closed his eyes, taking a second to clear his throat, also to decide whether or not he wanted to take the defensive...or rather, the offensive route.

His eyes carefully opened, daringly staring her down. "With all due respect, ma chére," Alastor began, glass crunching under his shoe. "You are the one who imposed on me. Are you not?" He murmured with zero radio filters, only inches from her nose. Charlie swallowed when his scarlet orbs flashed dangerously over her. If the look he shot daggers at her with was so terrifying, then why did the energy between them feel the exact opposite?

A tremor travelled deliciously along her spine.

The noise of grit further breaking echoed into the room. One of the deer demon's ears lifted instantaneously as the succubus was torn from her fantasy. Her attention was pulled down her backside.

She screamed when the pain registered, blood leaking from her tights and immediately spilling on the floor. It was not a substantial amount, though that did not prevent the fresh wound on her left foot from causing an awful mess. All of the excess color had drained from Alastor's complexion, an eerie wave reverberating into his entire being. He removed himself from her personal space, but before he was able to instruct her not to move, a second crack ricocheted off the walls as she tried to step off the broken glass she backed into priorly.

"Ah!!" Charlie released another cry no less bone chilling than the last as her other foot was slit open. She balled her fists up firmly against her chest, biting back tears.

"Charlie, stop mov—"

Another crunch. Alastor winced at the noise and the whine that followed, a stabbing sensation impaling him to core.

"Charlotte, please don't—!"

But once she started, she could not quit. Instinct took over, instantly removing the newest injury from the pile of glass as each and every affliction inflicted the next. Each and every shriek impaling the King of Hell with a harrowing gash, one, after one...after one.

She was abruptly swept off of her feet by Alastor, who urgently perched her on a bare section of the island. His eyebrows were deeply furrowed as he grabbed her ankle to inspect the cuts and scrapes along her shredded hosiery. Her pale legs were bare underneath of her skirt after the black tights vanished with a snap of the radio demon's fingers. Once he tossed his gloves onto the counter, he delicately took Charlotte's bloody foot into his hold as it proceeded to trickle down his skin. He winced at the sight of his favorite color smearing across his hand.

It was odd. No, it was alarming. He never dreaded the sight of blood, pain, or tears. In fact, they were always something he craved.

But, how...?

How did such a beautiful thing to him suddenly become so horrific?

Over 5K words biatch!!! I wanted to finish this a couple of weeks ago but got sidetracked for a week learning the piano. We have an old one no one touches (super out of tune and half the keys don't make noise unless you slam them so it's hard to play under forte) but then I got busy since aghh.

But HOLY SHIT CHAPTER TEN YAY!!!!!! 🥳🥳🥳 This was originally supposed to be 16 parts when I started writing but HAH that's the world's biggest joke. Then it was recently planned to be set for 20 then 22. Now we're probably looking for at 25 if possible because I'm ocd with this fic fsr maybe because it's most likely to be my very first complete one!!!!

I'd love to hear your feedback with this one, mostly bcuz I went back and forth a lot with this one debating and rearranging the sequence of events in this one but I think my impatience with myself has overruled oops—Oh right also decided to make an edit of the original Charlie design for a better visual, I'm no Picasso (because that's what this fic was based off of since it started long before the release of the cast's redesign so yeah)

Hope you liked :3

~ Sapphire out