"Once upon a time there was a girl name Charlie. (No, not me, of course not. A different Charlie- obviously) She was, well, to put it nicely, a nerd. A flat out geek. Which is completely obvious to everyone who knew her. Or talked to her. Or looked at her. Or- okay, she was a giant dweeb and everyone can just agree to that fact.

Her awkward fangirlishness was simply stemmed from her love and excitement of the things she read and watched and played. It all just really boiled down to the fact that she loved stories. Loved each and every one of every single kind. Loved them a bit too much, some might say, but those some are the haters, and nobody should listen to them.

But is it really that bad to love a tale, or to get so invested in a story that it fills you and makes you feel? (The correct answer is no). Stories were stories and she loved them all.

Stories were good. I mean, who doesn't love a thrilling adventure to take them away from their problems? Or a romance to set their heart aflutter? (Yes, I did say heart aflutter- and no, I'm not talking about book porn, which is actually called harlequin romances, not that I know- shut up) Stories helped us deal with our reality, and fuel our imaginations, and give us hope. It was a great escape, and was better than cocaine or mental breakdowns or other, sketchier, escape techniques. So sue her for liking a good story.

(Yes, this story does have a point. Shut up and listen to it. Frak, you make things difficult, don't you?)

So, Charlie the nerd grew up around these tales. From her mother reading to her, to learning to read to herself, she was entranced from a young age. And it wasn't just books, either, but movies and games and shows too. They shaped her and her life more than almost everything else. She wanted to be a hero like Eowyn, or a genius like Hermione, or loved as much as Juliet.

Well, maybe not Juliet. Bad example.

But that was not the life she had.

Her life was several kinds of shitty. Too shitty to delve into right now (You already know my tragic backstory- and I will get someone to tape your mouth shut if you don't just let me finish this damn story- okay). It was different sure, but nothing like what she imagined for as a kid. Pretty much the opposite, now that I think about it.

Wow. That's sad.

Okay, never mind.

Even after she sorta helped bring down a huge evil company that was run by nightmare creatures, after she met the two biggest monster serial killers out there, after she kinda became a Hunter, and kinda became a Woman of Letters, it still wasn't what she imagined.

Now, a lot of people's lives don't end up being as they imagined them as children. Just ask any accountant. Or gas station clerk. Or anyone who works in a cubicle- ask about any human-or even any supernatural creature, now that I think about it- and I guarantee over 80% will agree. (Well maybe not 80% exactly. But at least 75%. Maybe. Well, 70% at the lowest. Shh)

But this Charlie is a stubborn little shit. (No, her red hair color does not play any sort of factor in this. You Ginger-racist.) So she kept digging and poking, trying to get her life that extra something it needed, just enough to finally make her truly happy.

LARPing didn't work. Neither did any reading or writing or watching. Not even hunting. Nothing.

But then, of course, Charlie went and did cliche plot point #17. She met a girl.

Her name was Dorothy. (And any relation to situations or people living or dead is accidental and not the author/ storytellers fault. Trust me. Really. Okay, maybe but- wait, aren't you supposed to just sit and listen? Thank you.)

Yes, Dorothy. Straight from a story herself. A living, breathing, slightly completely gorgeous story. She popped into her life as suddenly as a Prince Charming in a fairy tale, except she was real, and better, and doesn't give into any of society's gender roles. She was what Charlie had imagined, but still somehow managed to be more. The air around her seemed to tease of secrets only she knew, her fingers trailed letters and ink, her breath sounded like the whispering of an old book. (And no, that's not overly romanticized or illogical. It's called artistic license. You have to admit it sounded really cool- like Dorothy was a super heroine and that was her fancy narrator. Admit it or be quiet. Okay.)

Plus, she was really hot. That did help. I mean really, really hot. Like, dang, girl.

So, Charlie followed her into Oz to begin her story. It was Oz-Oz. The Oz. Complete with a yellow brick road and emerald city and wizard.

Of course, there was political unrest and violence everywhere, death was way too common, the flying monkeys more horrifying than cute, and the wizard was a total assbutt (which is totally a word, just ask-never mind). But it was still more than she ever expected. So was Dorothy. This wasn't exactly what she had pictured, no, there would have to be more magic wands and horses and volcanoes- but it still felt- I don't know- right. Better than right. It was a kind of home she didn't know existed, a peace she never really had before.

Of course, the girl she was with helped. (Duh.)

Because while Oz was in the middle of revolution, and Dorothy was kind of the symbol/ head of said revolution, there was a lot of down time for the two.

So, they did what most people would do around the campfires or tents or halls or wherever they were- they told stories. (Duh.)

It started out with lighter stuff- if you can call this lighter. Charlie told Dorothy about the Winchesters, and how they saved the world a couple times- though she told and abridged version. Carver Edlund may have been a literary genius, but he was also very wordy and wrote some weird stuff- Charlie didn't go into detail about Dean's pie habits, or the survival rate for Sam's hookups. She didn't even make any kind of reference to Bugs. (Because ew.) And Charlie isn't one to go off on only slightly related topics when storytelling. (Really)

But by the end, Dorothy actually kind of respected the two apes she met. (Don't lie. You love them.)

Charlie also told her about a group of dwarves driving out a dragon, and teenage wizards fighting evil. Dorothy also may have started to believe that they may have actually, you know, happened, but Charlie never mentioned it to her- it was pretty cute. (Yes, of course they are real. Totally. Trust me- shouldn't you be listening quietly?)

And Dorothy returned the favor. She told her about the revolution's history, and her old friends, and what had really happened in Oz. She told her about the stories she had growing up, and what daily life was like back in her home time. Even if she didn't ever say it out loud, it was easy to tell that she missed her own time, even if it was full of racist, sexist jerks.

And through the shared stories and camps and nights spent together, the acquaintances turned to friends turned to something more. Well, something more-ish.

You know. Something more-ish. You've seen something more-ish before. It's something there, definitely, and its definitely happening. Just happening slowly. Maybe.

So, the stories began to shift with them as their relationship did. Charlie told her about her parents, and being on the run so long she could almost forget her real name. Dorothy told her about her father's work, and how much she did miss her family.

Their relationship was one of words. Nothing brash or overly emotional, but subtler, sweeter. They showed worry over trading stories of other lost friends after a long or dangerous mission. They showed friendship over telling each other the stupidest and funniest stories after an emotional day. They gave compliments through the thinly veiled meanings of the tales. Dorothy told Charlie how much she loved the new short haircut by telling her her own version of Rapunzel. Charlie told her thank you by never mentioning how she's heard that story since she was a child. (Sorry.)

They were able to express all of their emotions through tales of others, so that only the other understood. Like a language just for them. A spy language of friendship. Yeah.

And of course, love just sort of happened from all that.

And despite all her help saving people and hunting things in her past, and the dangerous mission she's in the middle of right now, Charlie is still a coward at heart. So instead of actually telling Dorothy she loves her- in the serious I love you way, not the simple sisterly or friendly way, which would be so much easier- she tells a long, kind of weird story-type-thing.

On second thought, she should have just told her about that one time her pseudo-older brother nearly banged an Angel of The Lord. That would have gone better, and would not have her be freaking out right now because Dorothy is just sitting there watching her and not saying anything.


Oh- by the way, me Charlie is the Charlie in the story, if you didn't catch that. I was pretty obvious, but this barely made sense, so I wouldn't blame you if you didn't.

And you're still my Dorothy in the story and out here. Well, not mine mine, but you know."

Charlie forcibly cut off her ramblings before they got to an extreme point. She watched Dorothy for a second longer before turning her eyes to the campfire in front of her, and began picking at sleeves of her coat. Dorothy continued to stare at her.

"You done yet?" Dorothy asked, straight faced and serious.

"I- uh- think so?" Charlie responded, still watching the fire.

"Good. My turn." Dorothy clapped her hands together once, and took a small breath, preparing to start her own storytelling.

"What?" Charlie squeaked. "You're not going to say anything about what I just told you?"

Dorothy released her breath in a huff. "Don't interrupt my story. That's rude." She took another breath, once again readying herself.

"You interrupt mine all the time," Charlie muttered under her breath, causing Dorothy to exhale her breath once more.

"Seriously? Sh.

All right.

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Dorothy. (Quiet, Red, I can see you about to say something so don't- shh). Her life kinda sucked. Then witchcraft and a seventyish year nap happened and caused her to meet this girl named Charlie, who was amazing in every way, except her tendency to interrupt stories and complain about a lack of WiFi in Oz. But Dorothy fell in love with her. And her life sucked less.

The end."

Dorothy watched Charlie with a slight smirk on her face. Charlie was still facing the flames, and Dorothy could pretty much see the wheels turning in her head.



"Me-" Charlie's eyes were slowly moving from the fire across the ground to eventually meet Dorothy's.

"You." Dorothy's smirk was now more pronounced, but softened by the affection in her eyes.

"You love me?" Charlie asked, only barely allowing herself to hope, despite the evidence pointing to an affirmative answer. Concrete evidence was never of much use in matters of the heart- it was never trusted, no matter how obvious.

"It's what I said." Smirk was now turned full out beaming grin, the kind only ever seen in lovers. Charlie gave a small smile back.

"I love you," Charlie told her, reaching forward to grab her companion's hand.

"I know," Dorothy replied, fingers curling around Charlie's.

Charlie gave a light laugh. "You don't even know why that is so perfect." So, instead of trying to explain about the complex and beautiful relationship between Han and Leia in a galaxy far, far away, Charlie kissed Dorothy in a moment no words can describe.

She pulled back after a second. "Wow."

"I hope you realize that I love you too, Red," Dorothy said, voice softer than normal.

"I know," Charlie tried to hide the grin on the inside, but it still managed to burst free across her face. Looking at the face a few short inches away from her own, it was easy to tell that she wasn't the only one with this problem.

And for the first time in a long time, Charlie would not have traded places with anyone in any universe. She was happy, right here.

So, guess who recently re watched season nine and chose to focus on how great Charlie is in order to ignore the pain? Yeah. Me.

Ah. Guess who is also incredibly eager and terrified for midsession break to be over? Me!

Guess who might actually be writing stuff and posting it again now that her life isn't completely batshit insane? Me. And other people too probably. There are a lot of people in the world.

Guess who wants the Declaration of Independence more than Nic Cage? Not me. No one wants it more than he does. No one.

Since we are apparently playing "Guess the Obvious," guess who thanks you or reading and would love for you to review? Me. And Nic Cage. And several squirrels currently on the run from the Federal Government due to their wild views on reviewing.

Appreciate the squirrels' sacrifice, and Nic Cage's desire for historic documents, by reviewing.