#the inside of his head must be a truly hideous place

[laffy-saphy]

Projecting again are we?

[burningcheese-merchant]

Y'know how Cacao has a son, you remember dark Choco right? Y'know how Vanilla got custard the II right? And then there's holly with royalberry and Golden Cheese with fettuccine and White Lily with.... Gigngerbrav-

What the beasts think?

Could be yandere, could be their already a thing, some other stuff idgf i must hear your words on this

Been wanting to try to answer this one since I saw it haha. Let's go both routes I've got for these bozos, Reformed Beasts and Yandere Beasts

Reformed Shadow Milk: I want to imagine that, once upon a time, Shadow was an actual people person and was genuinely fond of children. After he reforms, he regains that old fondness, and it extends to Custard III (perhaps more than all other kids, just because he's close to Vanilla). Such a cute, silly boy, with his silly crown and his silly dreams (not that he wants the kid to feel bad for wanting to be a king, it's just... Kid doesn't seem to understand what a king actually is, you know? It's funny, and a bit sad... But Vani is there and now so is Shadow, so it'll probably be fine). He keeps calling Custard his son/nephew/grandson/apprentice/heir (he keeps thinking of new titles all the time, all tongue-in-cheek) and cooing over him... in a not-so-different manner than how he likes to fuss over Vani lol

Yandere Shadow Milk: Ohhhhh this tiny little creature. This bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, ignorant little WEAKLING. None can take Pure Vanilla's place in ANY capacity, including leadership; though he might be a soft-hearted fool, Vanilla is nevertheless a capable king, and Shadow knows this - and he deeply, violently resents the thought of anyone usurping him, even if that throne no longer truly exists anymore. The thought of a small child wanting to be a king? To be like his Silly-Vanilly? Foolishness - and Shadow only tolerates foolishness if it occurs on HIS timetable and HIS terms. But it's fine... This child shall pay for his hubris eventually. Vani means so much to the boy, and vice versa... Perhaps Shadow can use this to his advantage. Perhaps he can breathe a whisper or two into his ear. Leave a footstep or two behind in his dreams. Tie a string to him somewhere, see if he notices - and after he doesn't, which Shadow knows he won't, he'll tie another. And another, and another. Until Shadow can greet the world with his brand new puppet. Poor little orphan boy, nowhere to go and no one to care about him... Stupid, arrogant, foolish little boy, who thinks he can rule the world and that he can ever be a fraction of who Vani is and was. He shall atone for his sins. For his pride, for that empty head, for that hideous little costume (he would try to stitch together such a haphazard monstrosity in the face of Shadow's own superior craftsmanship? He would try to don his Silly-Vanilly's face this way?!)... For being dear to Pure Vanilla at all, because the only person who deserved to exist in Vanilla's world is Shadow Milk himself.

Reformed Eternal Sugar: Now that she has found a place in the world and by Hollyberry's side, Sugar has likewise found good company in those surrounding Hollyberry herself - including and especially her dear son. Such a sweet man; so much like his mother, inside and out, albeit without the same energy... but that was alright. Royalberry's passion simply manifests in a different manner, one more similar to Sugar's own. Calmer, quieter, but no less sweet and sincere. Sugar almost acts as a motherly figure to him herself, sometimes... He doesn't mind, though. They get along quite well. She only hopes that whatever wisdom she can offer in service of the kingdom is actually worthwhile.

Yandere Eternal Sugar: Hm... Perhaps she would like him more if he was HER son. If he'd come from her rightful union with her dear Hollyberry. But he didn't, so she doesn't. Shame, really; he's quite adorable. So much like his mother... but not like her at all, at the same time. He lacked her drive, her spirit. Perhaps that was for the best; Sugar cared nothing for drive or spirit anymore, save for that fire that burned within her dear Hollyberry that awakened what was long-dormant within her... that strange, ethereal feeling that she dared to call happiness. And that lack of drive would make Sugar's plans all the easier... He's a weak, silly man who worries much and often. She has experience with people like that. She'll put him down for a nice nap, let him dream happy dreams where he can pretend he's a worthy king and son. Then she can right the wrong of his and the entire kingdom's existence and have Hollyberry to herself. Hollyberry could even join her in a special dream she'd gladly make up just for the two of them, where they have their own child, a better one than this fool she already wasted time loving and raising...

Reformed Mystic Flour: In all honesty, Flour actually harbors a bit of admiration for Dark Choco, for the path he once walked wasn't so different from hers... and he, like she eventually did, found the strength and wisdom to turn back. She's had a good few conversations with him about it all; about the nature of redemption and atonement, and how one answers to evil when it calls for your soul. Dark Choco can't help but understand and relate to Flour, always lamenting his own fall to darkness and betrayal of those he meant to protect and serve. Lots of commiserating between them, I'd say. Outright wallowing, at certain points lol. But it's this understanding between them that actually helps Flour along her journey to redemption, arguably more so than what others offer her. She cares for and respects Dark Choco, and vice versa. She can see so much of Dark Cacao in him... whatever mistakes Cacao made, he nevertheless raised a fine young man, even after making mistakes of his own. It only proves to her that Cacao really is the rightful owner of the Soul Jam after all...

Yandere Mystic Flour: ...What a strange feeling this man gives her. So much like Cacao. Too much so, in some places... yet, unlike his father (and, more importantly, exactly like her), he strayed from the path and ultimately stumbled and fell into the same abyss as she and so many others. Flour's denial of her attachment to Dark Cacao likewise extends to those around him, his son more than all the others - in fact, one might be tempted to say that her denial of having any thoughts or feelings regarding Dark Choco is stronger than what she has regarding Dark Cacao. The reason behind this goes as such: with how similar to Cacao he is, and with his fall from grace... it almost makes Flour hope believe ponder whether or not Cacao could fall from grace, as well. If Cacao could follow in his son's footsteps, as his son once tried so hard to follow in his. Dark Choco worsens her sickness, feeds her delusions, albeit indirectly. If he can fall - if he can become a beast - then Cacao can, too. And if he did, then perhaps she... they... No. No, no, not this. Not this nonsense... Dark Choco angers her worse than anyone else in Dark Cacao's life, because he inadvertently offers her this fantasy of Cacao turning out just like her, thus increasing her chances of having him. But... she doesn't want him. She doesn't want anyone or anything. She's not supposed to. Damn it, even things and people tangentially related to Cacao make her worse...

Reformed Burning Spice: Not unlike Shadow Milk, Burning Spice also once liked kids. He liked being seen and admired as a larger-than-life figure, figuratively and literally. He liked that he was "cool", he liked that he could be a big, strong protector to them. It's... difficult for him to lean back into this sentiment again. When you're a mass-murdering tyrant for so long, you tend to lose your people skills (it's something he always envied Shadow Milk for; even as a Beast, he knew how to hold sway over others with AND without violence. That envy was small and buried deep, but it existed nevertheless). And... many of his victims were children. Spice once killed wantonly, indiscriminately. He's beheaded children, cleaved them in two. Left them in pieces, scattered across the earth. The weakest, most vulnerable members of society... when he remembers how dishonorable and pathetic it is to target children, it deals quite the psychological blow. So he's quite awkward and uncomfortable around them while he's working through his redemption; they inspire a particular guilt and remorse in him that adults don't. Golden Cheese keeps pushing him, though, and brought Fettuccine around him most often as a sort of "practice". Fettuccine is calm, sweet and trusting; an "easier" child than most. Plus... she's a mummy. She, too, perished during the Dark Flour War. She's already endured pain, she's already faced death. There's nothing Spice can do that hasn't already been done to the poor girl. And Golden tries to remind him that she doesn't know him; they're complete strangers from different times and places. This is as fresh of a start as you can have with a person. So Spice is made to be an unwilling babysitter for a while... until he does eventually come around and warm up to the girl. And after he overcomes his reservations with Fettuccine, he goes on to overcome those he has with children in general. A series of baby steps that led him down the path of appreciating other people again, and he's grateful this little mummy girl helped him along

Yandere Burning Spice: Pfft. A mummy, huh? Amusing. Are his little bird's grief and desperation so great that it's infected the corpses of her oh so precious subjects? And one actually felt compelled to crawl out of her casket because of them, how charming. Burning Spice HATES Fettuccine. He hates ALL of the Golden Cheese Kingdom's citizens. He hates every single person, every single living organism that Golden Cheese ever paid an ounce of attention to besides himself. All the time and effort, all the blood and sweat and tears his little bird wasted on her oh so precious treasures - all of which should've been spent on HIM. Devoted to HIM. Nothing matters, no one matters, destruction is the only way. He will wipe EVERYTHING she ever held dear off the face of the earth, including Fettuccine. ESPECIALLY Fettuccine. This tiny, weak little worm that wiggled out of the dirt, trying desperately to crawl towards his little bird, craving her presence, her radiance. No. Golden Cheese's radiance is for Burning Spice alone. He can, he will, he MUST maim and dismember this pathetic child as soon as possible; the quicker he separates Golden Cheese from who and what she loves, the better. The quicker he can have her to himself. They can fight, they can dance, they can touch and taste each other, all without her treasures getting in their way. The world is theirs to do with as they please, and together, they shall wreak glorious havoc. And... well... if she gets upset... he can fix it. She likes children, he knows that. He can give her some. Such is his devotion to his other half that he'll briefly betray his nature and create something with her, for her. As many as she wants. As many times as she wants. Their children are the only children he'll ever give a damn about. And so help him, they'll be the only children that SHE gives a damn about, because he's going to slaughter all the other ones, STARTING WITH FETTUCCINE!

Reformed Silent Salt: Same deal as Spice tbh, only x1000. Salt struggles to be around anyone, let alone children, such is his soul-crushing guilt and shame. White Lily is the only one he's able to spend time with for a very long time; she has to coax him into coming into others' line of sight, and it doesn't work half the time. She ends up bringing people to him instead of bringing him to people - and, believing his demeanor might help soften him, she brings Gingerbrave and co. What an... unusually upbeat and forgiving boy, that Gingerbrave is. Lily acts as Salt's translator (I headcanon Salt as being mute and using sign + body language to communicate with people) as well as... a security blanket of sorts, because if she wasn't there, then Salt wouldn't be, either. But she's insistent, and so is Gingerbrave, and so are his friends. It's... strange, to have people be happy to see him again (I'll explain in a separate post, but I have some headcanons regarding Salt's old life and upbringing that basically amount to "I try to make myself useful so people think I have worth"). But it's nice. Nice enough that... he eventually lets more people near him. And eventually, he lets Lily and these kids lead him back to civilization, where he doesn't need to be alone with himself and his guilt anymore...

Yandere Silent Salt: Sigh... White Lily... His White Lily... All Silent Salt really wants is to make her happy. To see her pretty smile. For her to stop being so... sad. So somber. But that happiness needs to come from him. It NEEDS to. He tries so hard to pretend... He tries to be patient, he tries to let her focus on others for only a moment. But it never lasts. She's HIS White Lily. She moves too far away from him, she speaks too many words to someone else, she spends too much time in another's company- and he snaps. And that doesn't change with children, including Gingerbrave. ESPECIALLY Gingerbrave. That boy doesn't... suit her. Her countenance, her demeanor. He's too loud. Too annoying. Too simple. Silent Salt wants him to go away. He wants EVERYONE to go away, really, but Gingerbrave can go ahead first. Leave him and his White Lily to their peace. He tries so hard to pretend to be unbothered, Salt really does. But every passing moment, every ticking of the clock, every sound of that insipid boy's shrill voice and laughter reaching his ears (and all but drilling into his White Lily's, as he knows it must be)... He stands by in the shadows, waiting, waiting to take her back, his grip on his sword only tightening further and further...

[yanderemommabean]

Am I the only one who needs to be strapped down by the wrists and ate out against my will by alpha elias while I struggle to not show how good everything feels and beg for him to stop despite my arching body telling him the opposite?

Bonus if he flips darling over, jerks their hips upwards and sets a teasing pace with one hand pushing their upper body down so they can’t do anything but arch backwards into him and grip the sheets for dear life. All the while licking a stripe up their neck before burying his teeth into their nape to mark them, growling possessively when they refuse to moan for him, digging deeper and thrusting into them harder until they whimper in submission.

Bonus Bonus if it’s Doc Lee’s butterfly and he’s made to watch, threatening to cum inside them if he looks away.

((Female reader! Hope you beans can enjoy!))

“You’re so cute when you try to fight this” The deranged man murmurs against your skin, ice once again filling your veins as his fingers come to clutch at your thighs to spread them apart, massaging the meat and fat of them as he soaks in the sight of you, bare and open, ready for him to gorge himself on.

“The fact no one has kissed every scar and told you they were beautiful paint strokes on your canvas, shows me there’s truly less hope for humanity than I thought” Elias praises as his fingers begin to trace up and down your hips and the apex of your thighs. “Every pretty vein, every mark and mole, every scar from small to large deserves to be savored and kissed. You’re a beautiful soul who does nothing but give and give and give” he murmurs, placing a soft kiss to the top of your mound. “Such battle scars. Gorgeous even if they came from a time of hideous treatment to you”.

You feel his warm breath against you while your bindings only tighten, holding you still as the maniac worships you, praises you like you’re truly a relic or a god, as if He truly believed you gave him a purpose. You were ashamed of how your breath was stolen from you, his nimble fingers hardly touching you yet bringing out such pleasure, even when in such a state of panic.

“I know you say you don’t want this, that you only have feelings for that rat of a doctor…But I know he’s just simply brainwashed you. He doesn’t know how to treat you, hoards you like an object rather than spoil you like a lover”.

You spit something out to him, but the gag in your mouth doesn’t allow it to truly be heard. It's just more amusement for the psycho as you tremble and hiss like a terrified cat. How absolutely precious. Elias just grins, wicked and wild as he helps turn your head to face the right of you, where in the corner of the room, Lee had been bound and gagged as well, anger clear in his eyes and features as he venomously spews words that are muffled and garbled.

Elias just kisses down your bare body once again, amused and gleeful as the doctor struggles. “Oh don't tell me you thought this was a private show? Tsk tsk tsk then how would that doctor learn his lesson? No no my dear, he’s going to watch, and you are going to be good and put on a good show. I’d hate to have to take his fingers or pull his teeth, but if you insist on misbehaving…I can give it a shot”.

Oh god he was serious. Lee wouldn’t ever be caught, not by someone so easily. But again, Elias isn’t just anyone. He’s at this facility for a reason. His hand comes to cup your warmth, slowly letting his fingers spread your lips so he could feel the dewy skin, shuddering as he breathes in your scent. “Don't be too in your own head, lovely. Just relax, let me take care of everything else. Lee will be fine, if he can behave. Don't worry your cute little head about it”.

You whimper at that, his fingers sliding up your folds to toy with your clit, his eyes molten and hot as they watched you writhe and gasp from just a few quick circles being rubbed. Cute. You must really be pent up if that's all that gets you going. Not that he minds, mind you. Sensitivity just means more fun for him.

“Good. So good for me. Look at you, arching into my touch already. I haven’t even done anything” he muses, sliding his body back down until your legs were once again around his head, not that they had much of a choice. He hears Lees grunts and muffled vulgarity, but pays it no mind as he drags his tongue up from your fluttering hole to your twitching clit, greedily sucking the bud while his shoulders relax.

Yes. This is exactly where he needs to be. Between your thighs while you use his face, make him your little toy to use and throw away when you’re done. But of course, Lee had to try and take that luxury away from him too. If he had it his way, well, you’d be doing a lot more room visits for him that’s for sure. He doesn't mind following the majority of rules in this place, but he draws the fucking line at Lee trying to take you away from him.

Listening to your moans and whimpers as his tongue happily laps away, it almost makes him forget that the doctor is in here, watching as he drinks your ambrosia. He almost hates that he’s here, listening to you, but having him just an arms reach away and unable to take you, it gave him a wicked feeling of amusement.

His soft petal lips suck on your folds, moving to suck on your little bud aggressively as you gasp and try to kick, the pleasure shooting up your spine being too much and making you go taut, before once again relaxing as he holds your legs still and drags his tongue through your wetness again and again like a thirsty animal, drool covering his chin as he loses himself and tries to show your body just how much he loves you, loves your smell, your warmth, your taste- everything about you was mouth watering.

You have fresh tears dripping down your beautiful face when his viper like eyes stare back up at you, and his cock only throbs harder. He loves sending you to such planes of bliss that it’s too much to handle. So much love that you can’t fathom, so you cry. Every time you climax, it’s a sign of how much you love each other, right? That has to be why your pretty eyes are so wet and weary. You just feel so much love, you don't know what to do.

Don’t worry. He knows exactly what you need.

His hands grip your legs more firmly, lifting them up so they rested on his shoulders as he completely loses himself in you, giving you no reprieve or break as his mouth gets to work, slurping, sucking, licking and swirling right where you need it to, bringing you to the edge and not just tipping you over- with how strong it felt you might as well have been launched off, your body arching and shaking as Elias still, rather obscenely, eats you out, helping you ride through the orgasm as he continues drinking you down and savoring you on his tongue.

It’s wet, his face is covered, sweat drool and your essence is dripping down his face as he pulls away to lick his lips, chuckling darkly as he rubs up and down your legs that were still shaking on his shoulders. “Did that feel good? You came so hard baby, looked so beautiful, so sexy. Just a few more and I think it’ll shake that stage fright, don't you? Then we can really show that doctor over there how your body should be worshiped”.

(Hey! engage in some way if you enjoyed! Tell me what you thought! Comments show I'm doing good, or what I can improve on :3 Thanks for reading! -Mommabean )

[thievinghippo]

Have a ficlet on your Wednesday night! Decided I wanted to write my own version of the moment Sonnet is rescued from the Fade

#

They almost dislocate her shoulder, pulling her out of the Fade.

She ends up sitting back on her knees, fingers splayed against the stone. Rook looks around wildly, not quite believing what she’s seeing. They’re at the ritual site, a mirror from where she was in the Fade just moments ago. But the sun is shining. Leaves are rustling. Birds are singing.

The world looks exactly as she remembers, but everything’s changed.

The pain in her shoulder is extraordinary. All her friends are talking at once, asking questions and it’s just too much. It’s too much. Varric is dead. Harding is dead. Neve is as good as.

Everything is just too much.

And her shoulder is on fire. She holds out her left hand. “Give me a health potion.” Not the words of a tender reunion, but she is in too much pain to care.

The talking stops. Rook looks at everyone and seeing the gaps of where her friends should be chips away at her very soul. And then there’s Emmrich, kneeling in front of her, his glamour on for some reason when she just wants to see his face.

“Give me a potion. Please.”

It’s Lucanis who hands her the vial, unstoppered. “Thank you,” Rook whispers. She downs the vial in one gulp, hating the taste. Truly, health potions are one of the most hideous creations known to man.

Rook stands, suddenly unbalanced. Is gravity different in the Fade? Is the air pressure? She considers herself a scholar. Why didn’t she take notes?

There’s only one thing she can do. Only one thing that makes sense. Rook holds up her hands, asking for space—why won’t they give her space, can’t they see she needs air?—and walks to the edge of the platform.

She places a hand on one of the statues for balance, to help simply keep her upright. Her shoulder is numb at this point, and she’ll have to deal with it soon, but not right now.

Now? She has to let out all the fire and tension and fear inside or it will boil over and she will be no use to anyone.

So Rook throws back her head and screams. She screams for all she’s lost. All her friends have lost. All the world has lost. And now that she’s screaming, she may never stop.

She screams until her stomach hurts, until her hands are on her knees, and she’s having trouble remembering to breath. Which leads her to start to scream some more.

A chill at her back interrupts her. Rook is trying so hard not to cry, not when her friends need her to be a leader and she doesn’t even know what day of the week it is. Or how long she’s been gone. She doesn’t know if the gods have won and they’ve lost or if there’s even any hope left in the world.

(Please let there be a little hope left in the world.)

Emmrich’s arms surround her, pulling her close so that her back is flush against his chest. Rook stops screaming.

Because he is here. Because she loves him and he loves her. Because when there is love, there is hope.

She takes a breath. One with purpose. Even if the gods have already won, there is hope.

He starts chanting. Softly. Just loud enough for her alone to hear the words.

Rook closes her eyes as she grasps his hands, grateful she feels his wraps, knowing he must have taken off his glamour. The familiar words wash over her. The Chant of a Dusk Resplendent. Her absolute favorite of all the chants of the Grand Necropolis.

The one chant that gives her peace, no matter how troubled she is. The one chant that reminds her that even though the sun will set, it will rise once again. No matter how bleak things look, they will make it through the night.

She starts to chant along with him, their voices a soft chorus mingling together. The slow rhythm of the chant settles the wild beating of her heart. It is a long chant, longer even than the Chant of the Starless Dawn, but one verse will be enough.

One verse is all she needs to soothe her soul.

The verse ends and Rook closes her eyes, keeping her grip strong on Emmrich’s hands, the bones underneath the wraps holding on just as hard.

“How long?”

Time can sometimes move differently in the Fade. Unlike the Lighthouse, which has protective wards and barriers to regulate time, keep it the same as the outside world, the raw Fade…

What was only hours for her might be—

“Three weeks.” His voice is broken glass.

The Mourn Watcher scholar she is wants to analyze that. She’s not hungry or thirsty or needs to relieve herself. Perhaps one day, assuming the world is not in ruins, she will write down her thoughts. Maybe even present a proper paper. It’s been too long since she’s been published.

“Three weeks,” she repeats dully. “It felt like only hours.”

“You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

Is that all that matters? She hasn’t forgotten their argument and she can’t imagine that her imprisonment in the Fade quelled his fears. Maker, she promised they would talk and then…

“Are we alright, Emmrich?” Rook whispers.

Emmrich places his hands on her shoulders and turns her around, so they’re facing each other. Rook takes a quick peek and sees the rest of the team walking back to the Eluvian. For now, the two of them are alone.

She’s so glad to see his face, the bright green glow from his eyes are a comfort now. There have been times when she’s woken up in the middle of the night, those precious nights he stays in with her instead of reading or scouring the Fade, and she sees the glow from his eyes, and a gentle stillness will settle over her. Somehow, she always manages to fall back asleep more quickly when he’s near.

His hands still on her shoulders, Emmrich leans forward, but instead of the kiss on the lips she expects, he presses his mouth against her forehead and shares his essence.

There is nothing sexual in what he shares, which is what she’s used to from his kisses. The overriding feeling shared is relief. But underneath? There is comfort. Exhaustion. And when Rook closes her eyes, she feels safe.

Even if her mind tries to convince her otherwise, here in Emmrich’s arms? She is safe. And the two of them? Discussions are needed, true. But she has no doubt that they will figure everything out.

Rook raises her chin and kisses him. Properly. His desire quickly flows through her, even though they both know this is not the time. A little reminder never hurts, though.

“Let us go back to the Lighthouse,” Emmrich says, taking her hand and bringing it to his mouth. The briefest of kisses. “There we can inform you of all that transpired while you were locked away.”

“Alright. I probably need some food, too.” She takes a step towards the stone stairs. Rook feels fortified in a way she can’t explain. Ready for whatever is ahead of them.

“And Rook?”

She turns back towards him, wondering what else there is to say. “Emmrich?”

“The answer to your question is yes. I tried desperately to temper my hopes, but here you are, standing in front of me.” He takes her hand. “I will never again ask you to be anything other than who you are. This I vow.”

Rook gives Emmrich one more kiss, grateful that he understands at last. She will never hold back in a fight. Ever. Not when there is a world to save.

Then she squeezes his hand, and together, they walk towards the battles ahead.

[thelazycorset]

A Glimpse of Us

Geto x gn!Reader The reader is a sorcerer, with a unique domain

You inhaled deeply, enjoying every second of the time you have. A strong musky fragrance tickled your nose, with a hint of gunpowder and something that smelled like the ocean. You threaded your fingers through the silky, dark hair, eliciting a sweet hum from its owner.

You smiled, eyes still closed as you felt his arms hook around your waist, pulling you even closer.

“Gosh, I love you.”, he said, voice deep but so, so sweet.

You opened your eyes to find his already staring at you.

“I love you too, Suguru.”

He smiled, but it was tinged with pain. He knew that this time he had with you wasn’t going to last forever. It was going to end painfully; physically for him, and emotionally for you.

“Don’t look at me like that, Suguru.”, you sighed, wanting to make the most of the little time you had.

He immediately corrected himself and smiled, truly happily.

“I’m sorry.”

You held back tears as you leaned over to kiss his forehead, the scar from those hideous stitches scratching against your lips.

You held him there, lips against his scars, hands in his hair, as you allowed yourself to feel all the emotions that had been piling up inside your chest.

Suguru held you as you sobbed, hating himself for having to put you through this pain.

But he had to do this, for the sake of the people he loved the most.

And sadly, the only one who could help him end this misery, was the one person he loved the most.

You.

He nudged you to look at him, and held your tear streaked cheek as he spoke.

“I’m so sorry, my love…”, he said, voice lowering, “But it’s time.”

You sucked in a breath, and nodded.

You knew this is why you were here. It was comfortable, but agonising.

It had been a while since you had heard about Geto’s death. You were heartbroken and destroyed. But you somehow made it through the agonising nights and drab days.

Everything was finally going well, when he walked in through the door.

You saw him, standing so tall and alive, that you almost thought that you must have been dreaming.

But then you felt him.

The presence that had taken over your beloved’s body. A curse so evil and strong, that it almost overshadowed Geto’s energy.

You just stared at him, feeling the time around you freeze.

You hadn’t been in contact with anybody from jujutsu high for quite a while. The last time you spoke to Gojo, you had fought, during Geto's funeral.

The man, who was a mix of two sorcerers, turned to look at you, sensing your gaze. He seemed perplexed. 

You couldn’t read his face. He looked nonchalant, until you saw a sliver of shock.

He smiled at you, a crooked grin, as he said, “It’s been so long, y/n”

That’s when you broke out of the momentary spell, and gulped, choking out a feeble, “Yeah.”

Kenjaku cursed himself for running into one of Geto’s old buddies. He could sense the slight unease his body felt the moment he saw you looking at him, shock and an unknown expression on your face. He could remember your name, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t remember anything else about you.

He found it strange. It was almost as if Geto was purposefully keeping information from him.

But that was impossible, wasn’t it? Mahito had assured him that no traces of Geto remained in this body.

“You’re going to have to die now..”, he mumbled to himself, planning to lure you outside and get rid you in an alleyway; somewhere out of sight.

“Why don’t we head out of this cafe?”, he said, the smile ever-present.

“Why?”, you asked, not trusting him. You knew he was an enemy if he had taken over Geto’s body, but you couldn’t cause trouble here. The place was packed with people. And a fight here would mean many would get injured, if not worse.

“You know what, it’s been so long.”, you chimed quickly, “Sure, let’s get out of here.”

That’s how you got here, in your domain. Your domain separated the soul from the body. Any soul that enters, takes a form that it is most comfortable with. In this domain, everything is transparent. There are no lies, and everything is seen, including all the scars your soul has gathered throughout this lifetime.

This allowed you to talk to Geto, his soul. He explained everything that had happened, and how he needed you to do him a big favour. A favour that he hoped nobody would ever have to go through; to kill the person you love.

Your domain didn’t let Kenjaku enter, as you had control over whom to allow in. He remained on the edge, an area that was just outside the real world, but not fully inside your domain.

If you decided to let him enter, he would be equally as powerful as you and geto, which was fairer than in the real world, as Geto had little to no control there.

In your heart, you held a lot of love for Suguru. When your souls entered the domain, you felt the scar on your chest, a reflection of the hurt your heart had felt when he passed.

You were both selfish, utilising this time to express your love to each other, and mutter those promises that had been left unsaid back then. That’s how you found yourself lying next to him on a silk bed, with sounds of birds and nature singing you awake from outside the window of the quaint house you were in.

It was all fake. 

A mere figment of your imaginations; a glimpse of the life you both had wanted.

“Is it already time for us to go?”, you whispered, scared to let go. You wouldn’t mind exhausting all your energy in keeping this domain up, if it meant that you could spend more time here, with him.

He chuckled, kissing you.

“It is, I’m afraid.”

You nodded, looking down. You had to do this. This is what he wanted. He just wanted to die, peacefully.

With a flick of your wrist, you changed the scene.

The house was gone, so was your bed. The sheets you both had spent hours shuffling were replaced by a darkness, everlasting and endless.

He stood a few feet from you, smiling, hope in his eyes.

That’s when you realised just how tired he was.

He looked forward to death.

“Okay.”, you whispered, a sad smile on your face.

“I loved you Geto. I always will.”

A flame rose in his chest, eating away at him.

That’s when you closed the domain, merging kenjaku and Suguru’s soul in that split second.

In the real world, you saw Geto bend over, clutching his chest.

He looked up at you, eyes wide, “What the fuck have you done?!”

“Rest in peace, Suguru.”, you said, a tear escaping.

“And I hope you go to hell.”

You watched him collapse to the ground, flames engulfing his body.

This time, you will see it through.

This time, you wont leave early.

This time, you will ensure that’s its a final goodbye.

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] part 6

For days after his night out at the club, Simon struggled to sleep. His mind continuously replayed his interaction with the stranger. Every time he closed his eyes, vivid images of him violently attacking the man, breaking his ribs and nose, would flash before him. Whenever Simon looked at his hands, a wave of dread would wash over him as he saw his bruised knuckles and the stranger’s blood staining his skin. But then he would shake his head, blink twice, and realise that it was just his mind playing tricks on him.

Simon was on the verge of losing his mind. He had been confined to the house, never venturing beyond its four walls, constantly berating himself and regretting what he did. But when being on his own became unbearable, and he started feeling like he was being suffocated, he decided it was time to go outside, hoping that the fresh air would offer some respite from his thoughts.

The night slowly faded away as he strolled through the empty streets.

Eventually, his feet carried him to you.

The early morning sky was devoid of sunlight, draping the outside in a sombre, muddy palette. Simon stood across the street from your house. His brown eyes searched for any signs of life in your home, but the darkness behind each window revealed nothing. You were most likely not awake yet.

He still wasn’t sure whether you lived alone, with parents, or had roommates. However, the longer he lingered in front of your house, the more he wanted to go inside and find out. Yet, he knew he couldn’t even think of breaking inside until you left, and it was safe to do so.

Simon had mapped out your daily schedule. At the very least, a sizeable portion of it. From what he could tell, you worked from Monday to Thursday. Friday was usually free and reserved for your friends. He still needed to figure out what you did on weekends, but that was going to be a task for another time.

You left home. Since it was Monday, he assumed you were going to work.

You were wearing a cosy, warm jumper, black jeans, and white sneakers. He enjoyed seeing you dressed like this. Your appearance at the club left quite an impression on him — he thought you looked stunning. Your dress clung to your curves in all the right places, and your black heels accentuated your legs and ass. However, it was your casual outfit that truly bewitched him, making him believe you were the most beautiful woman on this planet.

Simon stealthily crept into your backyard after deducing that there was no way to get in from the front of the house. He meticulously surveyed the surroundings and noticed a cracked window on the first floor. The fact that you would leave a window open was beyond his comprehension. If he were your boyfriend, he would scold you for such reckless behaviour because you shouldn’t be so careless and make it easy for intruders, like him, to break in.

Although the gap to get in was narrow, he was determined and managed to push the window up and widen it enough to squeeze his body through. A tall fence wrapped around your backyard, and he was certain that no one saw him climb inside.

Your place was devoid of furnishings. The kitchen was crammed with run-down appliances and the cabinets were painted a hideous shade of yellow. The living room had a ripped leather couch, an enormous rug underneath it, and next to it stood a shelf that was overflowing with books. He scanned a few titles. Did you enjoy reading or were you simply collecting these? But the covers weren’t dusty, so you must open these books, and at least flip through the pages now and again.

Overall, the home appeared clean, well-kept and cared for. Despite the lack of cohesive furniture, it was evident that you made an effort to keep it tidy.

Simon found only one bed when he made his way upstairs and looked through the other rooms — you lived here alone. Relief and concern warred within him, leaving him unsure of how to feel. On one hand, he felt a sense of satisfaction knowing that if he ever wanted to come back and sneak in again, all he had to do was to make sure you weren’t at home. However, it also meant you were vulnerable. This was a shady neighbourhood. He had done his homework and knew that in the last few weeks, at least eleven people had been attacked and robbed on their way home, while walking down these streets, not too far from your house.

Simon finally stepped into your bedroom, which was the room with the most furniture in it. The familiar scent of your perfume enveloped the air, permeating every inch of the space. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as his fingers slowly dragged across the blanket that adorned your bed. He imagined the two of you sleeping here together. Your bodies intertwined amidst the soft sheets. If you would roll away from him during the night, his arms would sneak around your waist and draw you back into his embrace.

He approached the wardrobe. Curiously, he proceeded to look through it. The first shelf contained neatly folded and organised clothes. As he moved his gaze down, he noticed your socks casually strewn about. Lowering himself to his knees, his eyes scanned the bottom shelf. When he realised what he was looking at, his pupils dilated and his eyes grew wide. He picked up a pair of your panties. Then another one. His fingers tightly curled around the fabric as he raised his hand to his face, bringing it close to his nose. Simon inhaled deeply.

As his desire intensified, a powerful wave of heat coursed through his entire body, making his trousers feel increasingly constricting. Consumed by an overwhelming lust, he acted on his impulse without any hesitation, not even bothering to consider the possibility that you may notice things were missing if he took them. He stuffed your panties into his pocket.

Simon continued to look around, driven by his unwavering interest. He was eager to learn more about you, and your room provided the perfect opportunity to do so. As he perused the various items scattered about, his eyes were drawn to a stack of notebooks resting on your desk. He reached for one and began flipping through. His fingertips were tracing the edges of pages while his eyes scanned your handwriting when he heard the front door open.

Fuck. You weren’t supposed to come home so early. Only an hour has passed since you left. His eyes examined the room as he put your things back, making sure to leave everything as it was. Someone else in this situation might have been terrified because they were about to be caught, but not Simon. He maintained calm, fully aware he had to keep his head above water and quickly find a way out of there.

He was on the second floor. The thought of simply jumping out of the window crossed his mind, but he didn’t want to risk dislocating his shoulder or breaking his spine. His mind was running at a thousand miles per hour. He could hear the distinct sound of footsteps echoing from downstairs. You were pacing from room to room, talking with someone on the phone.

In your tiny bedroom, there was nowhere to hide. Simon weighed his options. For a moment, he considered trying to crawl under the bed, but he quickly realised that he wouldn’t fit and it would only waste precious time. Ultimately, he concluded that his only choice was to conceal himself in the bathroom, located across the room. Once you come to your bedroom, he will quietly pass by the room while you are in it, rush downstairs, and exit through the window, just as he had entered.

Despite his stature, he moved quickly and silently, like a ghost, his footsteps making no sound. His plan worked out, and he left the house without you knowing that he had been in there with you just a few moments ago.

As quickly as possible, and without being seen by anyone, he crossed the street and positioned himself under the tree’s shade. Simon’s heart raced, and his back was soaked in sweat. However, he maintained a composed and emotionless exterior.

His hands were in his pockets, fumbling with the panties he had stolen.

It had only been a few days since you last saw him, but Simon, after today’s little adventure, couldn’t wait any longer and wanted to ask you out on a date. He quickly retrieved his phone, scrolled through his address book, and found your number. All the while, his fingers continued to play with the fabric inside his pocket.

‘It’s Simon, the guy to whom you owe a cup of coffee... Are you free on Wednesday?’

[suekeyyyy]

Merry Christmas.

Homelander x Spider-woman! Black! reader

Warnings: Smut, Fluffy, Christians,Degreeting, Spider-woman, pink, lingerie.

Summary: Jesse is Telaraña or The Boy's in World Spider-woman at 19, and she gets to be a part of The Seven Homelander likes her and they spend Christmas together.

Telaraña sits on of a Billboard Homelander with a Satan hat and his well-known smile. she had her suit on with a pink scarf eating her lunch from a food place nearby called Lucy's, I was just cheese fries with a sprite.

A group of people were below her what, then phones, taking pictures of the Supe some times she would glance at the crowd. When she felt a tap on her shoulder when she looked up, it was Homelander with that smile on. " Hello, Miss Telaraña." Homelander looks at her with an overly happy face almost Lust.

She smiles up at him. " Hi Homelander." She smiles back he looks away with a smirk and cleans his throat." I wanted to ask if you were still up for me coming over from Christmas?" Homelander put an emphasis on the word christmas. She faces him and tilts her head, "Of course."

Jesse sat in her kitchen eating a bag of Ruffles with a small glass of ice tea. When she heard her doorbell, she walked over to her front door to find Homelander right there.

The sudden site of Homelander sent Jesse into a small fan girl of panic, which, of course, Homelander enjoys. 'Ah, that's why Im here her.' He thought as he scrunched his face into a grin as he hovers at the doorway where Jesse is standing. She's wearing the ugliest sweater he has ever seen.

He points to the sweater. "What in the christ is that?" Jesse looks at her sweater that had a white cat with pink all over. "My christmas sweater. " She says with a pure smile.

"It's hideous," he points out. As he takes a closer look at it, he notices Jesse's cute face, her eyes, her smile—he's been with dozens of women, but none of them have had anything on her. "Did you pick that thing out?" " Yeah, to match the house." She says.

He raises an eyebrow. She's definitely not like the other women he's been with. The ones are all concerned with his fame and fortune. This one—there's nothing he could offer her. He finds it curious. "It's still hideous. But you're not..." "The white and pink lights match from head to toe, yes i am." She points to her house.

"Ahh... I don't mean that." He laughs, his eyes drifting up and down her body. "You're—quite beautiful actually. Gorgeous." He leans in and starts to whisper. "Much more lovely than you even realize. Perhaps I can show you." She knew what that face meant Sex... " So you wanted me to wear lingerie on christmas?" She asked.

"Would that be such a crime?" He chuckles. "I'm just saying, if I've got a woman as hot as you are in these—disgusting clothes, then she must wear something far more attractive. If we were going to be... Intimate, it would be a shame if you didn't look like the goddess you truly are." He grabbed her chin. " John, you didn't even come into the house yet to see my gift to you." She says sadly, and he just wanted sex how original. "Really? What is it?" He can't help but smile at how cute she looks when she's disappointed her face would blow up into a pout. " Why don't you come inside and see." She says, opening the door for him.

He follows her in, grinning as she shuts the door. It isn't often that he's in a position like this—being led along by someone, let alone a female, with no power or leverage to use on him. It's something he enjoys now that he's here. She walks into her huge living room where there is a big Christmas tree with pink around it.

He follows her into the massive living room filled with all the pink decorations, and he can't help but whistle. "Wow... You really like pink." He notes that detail."But this isn't... A little much for Christmas?"He asked most people have all kinds of corols." My family is coming cover on Christmas day, so I need the stuff. Oh, and would you want a normal gift or Sexy gift?" She grabbed I small box made of meal zinc.

"Hmm... Well..." He looks off and thinks about it for a moment. "I think sexy is the way to go." He smirks." Well, then you just sit on the couch, and I'll get your gift, Mr." She says, opening the box.

He plops down on the couch with a dramatic sigh, leaning back on it as he watches her. "Take your time, sweetheart. I know you're going to blow my socks off..." 'That's not the only thing I'll blow,' she thought. She comes back into the room with a Christmas bag. " I come only wear one of these outfits, okay?" She says, looking into his eyes.

And, oh my, is he ever looking into those eyes. Beautiful. 'Damn, is she ever not cute?' "Of course, sweetheart," he replies, nodding. "Show me the outfits." First, she pulled on a green Grinch lingerie that had Fur all over the bra top and had the word ' Naughty. ' On the panties. " This was my lease's favorite one." She says

"Your least favorite one?" He asked, amused. "Why not your most favorite one, then?" He glances at the outfit, imagining her in it. "I don't doubt that he was pleased if these are your choices." He smirked. " It's ugly and green, I don't look good in green, but the woman at the store insisted on me buying it so." He stops to think.

"Well..." He looks the outfit up and down, thinking about her in it. "I like that outfit on you. Green or not, I have no doubts it'll be a treat to see you in it. I don't think any color would be able to hide those curves."

" Fine." She drops the outline and pulls out the next one. " I like this one a little more." She says.

( The outfit two )

"... Good god." Homelander mutters, his eyes nearly popping out of his head when he sees the second outfit. She would be stunning in enough the Grinch outfit, but this one-piece...

"How... How could you even ask me which one for you to wear?" He says, laughing. "This one, honey, without question." "I have two more through." She says."What?! Well, by all means, don't leave me hanging on the other two. I just want to see how you can possibly top something as sexy as that one." He grins ear to ear. " Then you hold it." She hand him the outfit.

He smiles and takes the outfit from her hands, feeling the soft texture of it. He looks it over and can't help but raise an eyebrow as he looks back at her. "How the hell did you think anything else was gonna be better than this? Did you just pick the worst outfit to make the rest even more sexy?" He asked with a smirk." Yeah." She says in a teasing voice. " This you like?"

( Third outfit )

Her playful tone and the teasing in her eyes have John almost salivating over her. "I don't like it—I love it." He answers, his breath catching in his throat as he tries his best to keep his cool. "Your body looks absolutely stunning in anything you put on... But that is a show stopper." He looks off into thought." So this one or the second one." She says.

"Honestly... I can't even choose." He chuckles, a hint of admiration in his voice. "You would look hot in both. But if you want me to choose, that one. By a mile." She smiles he always compliments her, but this feels genuine. " Okay. " She hands him the outfit and takes the other.

He takes the second outfit but can't help but turn from it as she hands it to him, his eyes drawn to her hips and how they move. How her body hugs the suit so perfectly.

He clears his throat, his attention being snapped back to the outfit in his hands. "So... You're going to just... Put this on in front of me or?" She chuckles at him. " We still have one more handsome." She smirks. John smiles, biting his lip a bit. "Oh, is that right?" He asks. "Is it safe for me to say that this one is my favorite yet, or that is there still a chance I love the next one more?" She grabbed the outfit slowly. " This one is a little more conservative.

( The last outfit )

The outfit makes him chuckle. He can't help but smile at the absurdity of the fluffy balls, thinking of what it would look like on her body. "Hm... This one really is a lot more conservative than the others, not as sexy as the one before. But you never know... You've got a body that can make almost anything look hot. I'll reserve my judgment until you put it on." He looks her up and down. " So which one do you want for tonight?" She asked.

"Well..." He looks between all three of the outfits, making a mental image of her in each. "Honestly... I don't think there's a wrong choice here. But if you wanted to make me want this night to last as long as possible..." He pauses for a moment. "Then I say we go with that second outfit." He did really care which one it was." Okay." she grabbed the outfit and went upstairs to her room.

He chuckles, watching her walk away—her hips and body swaying with each step. "God, this is going to be a good night."

" Johnny, you can come up now!" She yells from upstairs.

"Don't have to ask me twice," he chuckles. He hurries up the stairs, walking into her room with a smirk. She was wearing the black and red one, and she had a pinkish red Santa hat in her hand.If it wasn't already obvious, he couldn't take his eyes off of her body. Her figure was filled out just perfectly by the outfit. He couldn't have imagined any other outfit that would look better on her. Even her hat made her seem somehow... Cuter.

"You look like a goddamn angel," he remarks, walking up to her. John steps towards her without hesitation.

She slowly sits up. " If you want all this." She moves her hand down her body." You have to wear this." She hands him the hat. He raises an eyebrow and grins. "You want me... To put on that hat?" He asks, taking the hat. " I had to put the outfit on." She says with a pout. He laughs.

"God, you really are adorable." He says, fitting the hat on his head. There's no reason for what it does to him, but she looks so much cuter after he's put the hat on... And she even seems to find it endearing, her eyes widening, her mouth curling into a smile. "There, you happy? Do you think this makes me look stupid?"

" Oh so handsome." She says, kissing him. He can't help but chuckle, kissing her back. It's a silly hat, and he feels stupid wearing it, but she's just so goddamn sweet and lovable that he can't bring himself to hate it. "I'm surprised someone hasn't snatched you up already. You're a goddamn angel." She giggled he pulled her even closer, his eyes closed as his lips met hers. His heart is pounding, and he thinks about how good she feels in his arms.

"God, you're so gorgeous," he says in between kisses. She holds onto his face. John pushes her back into the bed, kissing down her neck. She moans out loud.

The sound of her moan makes his heart race even faster. She's so hot and adorable, and he wants her right now. He lets out some moan of his own when she leans forward on the bed, allowing him access to her neck and the soft curve of her body.They hear a small brak from the other side of her pink room, and she stops to look.

"What was that?" He pulls away from her neck, looking for the source of the noise. She looks over the bed to see Lily the toy poodle on the side of the bed braking. How did they not see her she was sleeping on her dog bed until the moaing started.

Lily's sudden appearance causes John to flinch a bit in surprise, wondering if he'd been spotted.

"Uh... You got a pet?" He asks, noticing the little poodle.

" Yeah, she was a gift from my dad." She says, sitting up and walking Lily out of the room.

"Huh." He says, chuckling. It's probably just because they're in their early 20s, but the idea of someone having a toy poodle is strange to John. He follows her out of the room, though, his eyes lingering on her hips as she walks away."But don't you have the bunny too?" He asked.

" Yes, I do." Jesse let the puppy into the hallway the puppy wandered away.

Once she's out of the room, he follows close behind her. "And where do you think you're going?" His voice has a playful tone to it as he steps up next to her. She giggled. " No where. " She kissed him and closed the door.

He kisses her back, pulling her even close to him. Her soft lips make him shiver. "Good." He says, his hands roaming across her body. Coming to the top of her bra and pulling it down.

🩷 Time skip 🩷

John's laying beside her, his body wrapped around hers as he rests his head on her breast. Her skin is soft and warm beneath his head. He looks down at her face, seeing her face at the most relaxed he's ever seen. The small smile on her lips, the way she looks so peaceful, makes his heart flutter.

"God, you're so beautiful." He whispers and kisses her boobs.

" You're not going to live me here again?" She asked, playing with his hair."How could I?" He smiles, his eyes closed as he basks in her touch. His body still felt warm from their time together. His fingers run through her soft hair. "You're too amazing for me to ever want to leave. I want to spend every night next to you."

" On Halloween, you did it." She says softly.

"Yes, I did." He answers, not wanting to tell her the reason why. How could he tell her? She'll never look at him the same way again. He knows it. "I'm sorry... It won't ever happen again."

" I hope not." She says, holding him close.

Maybe I'll tell her one day... But definitely not now. "I promise." She can feel his heart beating. Her body makes him feel so at ease, and he's never felt anything more peaceful than this. It's impossible to be unhappy or sad when she's here, holding him close.

Notes: 🩷🛍🩰MERRY XMAS!!!🩰🛍🩷

[oxiosa]

Characters: Luciano (Brazil), Martín (Argentina). Relationships: BrArg. Additional Tags: The Beauty and the Beast AU. Beast!Luciano. Summary: Martín makes a deal with the Beast that lives in the forsaken castle deep in the forest.

by @oxiosa and @disaster-fruit​

Once upon a time, there was one Martín Hernández, a young handsome man who left his quiet country life and enlisted into the King’s army to join the War, dreaming of becoming a knight in shiny armour, a protector beloved by everyone. However, Martín’s dreams are shattered to pieces when he gets discharged young because of injury - it’s not too serious, but it makes him a liability which makes him no longer fit to perform his duty to the King and so he gets sent home.

Heartbroken and with hurt pride, Martín moves to a distant little village to start a new life far away from his old life and the War. The little village is quiet and homey, and the villagers are kind and welcoming, however not everything is as uneventful as it looks for there is a horrible Beast living in its dreadful castle inside the eery forest by the village.

The villagers tell Martín that the hideous Beast has been tormenting the village for years; every summer solstice, it demands from the village that they send to his castle a young girl as sacrifice. The sacrifice must stay with him for a whole year, until the next solstice when another girl must be sent to take her place. The girls return to the village safe and unharmed, and they all share the same story: they lived inside the palace, prisoners of a Beast which never showed its face and had only one demand for them: every night, they were to share dinner with it.

Martín hears of the village’s terrible situations and decides to slay the Beast to stop this madness. He might not be enough for the King, but he is strong, brave and eager to prove himself and show his worth by helping these people. He heads for the castle, which is hidden in the darkest corner of the forest and seems abandoned – it truly is a sigh out of nightmare. He heads inside and roams through the dark corridors with his sword in hand, searching for the Beast.

A booming faceless voice warns him to turn back, to leave the castle, but Martín refuses and taunts the Beast to face him and fight him. However, the Beast refuses to face Martín and prefers to camouflage and stays in the dark, avoiding direct confrontation altogether. Martín can hear it slithering around and talking to him from the shadows, constantly changing locations impossibly fast, and this is just not working, this thing is basically toying with him. As long as the Beast refuses to engage, there is literally nothing Martín can do. Martín cannot win against something that refuses to fight him and thus he is forced to take another course of action. He puts down his sword and announces he is willing to trade places with the captive girl. He says that if the Beast wants a prisoner, then it can have him. Spare the girl this year, have him instead.

The Beast hesitates in stunned silence, but after a beat it accepts the trade. It puts only two terms to the deal; he requires from Martín that every night they share dinner and it also warns Martín that while he may feel at home and roam as he pleases, he is not welcomed in the West Garden.

Martín accepts the deal bravely, but he also puts a condition back. He requests the Beast steps into the light so he may see it. The Beast hesitates, and for a moment Martín fears he might have ruined the deal. But the Beast complies and reveals its monstruous appearance; it is a chimera like creature, slim and stealthy like some nocturnal predator with glowing eyes that watch Martín from the dark. It lets Martín take all his monstrous splendour in for a few brief seconds, and then it steps back into shadows. It questions in an angry sour voice if Martín still is willingly to trade places with the sacrifice, and Martín nods his head swelling his chest proudly.

The Beast lets the girl go and Martín stays in her place. He gets his own chambers and the castle pretty much to himself. Days are long and lonely, for the Beast remains all day hidden in the West Garden, that one place that is out of limits. It only joins Martín during dinner time, which they share in silence and shadows in opposite ends of a long table with only one candle in front of Martín. This way, the Beast can see him but all Martín can make out of it are its big yellow eyes staring at him, eerily reflecting the candlelight.

Although the Beast is the only company he has, Martín refuses to talk or be civil during their meals and instead either ignores it or shoots angry defiant glares in its direction. The Beast tries starting conversation, but it’s all in vain; Martín might have accepted to stay in the castle in the Beast’s terms, but he hates it and there is little the Beast can do to change that.

It is a lonely miserable stay for Martín, until one night he is visited in his chambers before bedtime by a beautiful mysterious Voice. The Voice claims to be a cursed soul tied to the castle, a prisoner very much like Martín himself. The Voice is cheeky and charming and very fun, and as time goes Martín eventually falls for it. The Voice keeps him company at night by chatting in the dark for hours when he can’t sleep and during the day it fills his room with the most beautiful flowers when Martín is away.

The Voice tells Martín about how the castle used to be beautiful and how the Voice used to be a handsome Prince who ruled these lands before the Beast arrived and better days were gone. His curse can be broken, but it never says how whenever Martín begs he tells him so he may help.

Days go by, and Martín slowly grows more and more miserable during the day. He has the beautiful Voice to keep him happy in the night, but days drag on endlessly when the sun comes out and he is left alone – no Voice, no Beast even to keep him company. He roams across the castle until he has explored every nook and cranny, until there is nothing else to explore except for the forbidden West Garden. Martín resists the urge of unravelling that mystery for some time, but he eventually decides to defy the Beast’s order and he ventures into the West Wing.

He finds that the West Garden is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. The garden is wonderful and lush, filled with so many plants and bushes and trees and flowers. It is heavenly, Eden-like, and a very stark contrast with the rest of the dark gloomy palace. So much beauty concentrated in one place for such an awful hideous Beast.

Most beautiful of all is one single rose which has almost run out of petals, held by the gentle hand of the handsome statue of a young prince with curly hair, big eyes and perfect lips. The Prince, the Voice’s true form, Martín realises with a swelling heart. As Martín stares at the beautiful sigh of that marble face, he feels a dark looming presence behind him and swiftly turns around to find the Beast towering behind him. It no longer hides and doesn’t seem mad at Martín for trespassing. Instead, a sour expression darkens his monstrous face as it stares at the handsome statue holding the withering rose. There is sad bone-deep longing in his eyes as he stares at the angelic face of the Prince, and with horror it dawns on Martín that the Beast is the Prince, and that the Beast he so hated is the Voice he fell in love with.

The Beast admits so when Martín angrily confronts him about it. It explains his name is Luciano and that once upon a time he was the Prince of this castle. He had been a superficial man in the past, one who had only cared to indulge in fun and pleasure, who had paid the price of his shallowness one dreadful night he took a beautiful woman to his bed only to send her away in the morning. The beautiful woman begged he loved her and he had laughed in her face – humiliated by Luciano’s cruelness, she revealed to be a witch and in revenge cursed him to look like a hideous beast.

Only if Luciano could learn to love another and earn their love in return before the last petal of the withering rose fell would the curse be broken. If not, he would fully turn into a beast for eternity, loosing what little humanity was left of him. Luciano admits he demanded sacrifices searching for the one who’d break his curse, and he also admits to have tricked Martín visiting his chambers every night under the disguise of his mysterious Voice hoping to make his way through Martín’s stone hard indifference.

This discovery is a huge betrayal that breaks Martín’s heart. Luciano has imprisoned Martín in a castle and has dared to come to his chambers at night in the safety of the shadows and lie to Martín’s face over and over again, to make Martín open up and bare his soul - to make him trust him and love him. But it all was a lie. The sweet gentle Voice Martín had fallen in love with is not real. Luciano created a whole different identity just to lie to him and trick him into falling in love. The Voice’s careful wooing had been nothing but the Beast’s scheme to break his curse. Luciano never cared for Martín, he means nothing to him, he was just a tool to break his curse.

It’s so low. Martín is prideful and Luciano has made a fool out of him. Martín is angry and hurt and humiliated and completely heartbroken. And if it would be hard for Martín to fall in love with a beast before, now it’s impossible. He sees Luciano not as both his captor beast and the angelic voice he loves, but as the captor beast and the one who betrayed him. He loved the Voice that was kind to him and fun and charming, not this horrible beast that - first and foremost - has tricked him.

All of this Martín spits in Luciano’s face. He tells him he is not worth of love, not Martín’s, not anyone’s, and he unsheathes his sword, driven by hurt and anger, set in piercing the Beast’s stone-cold heart in half.

Martín fights Luciano with the whole intention of ending this once and for all. This battle is a little more direct this time around – Luciano doesn’t hide, but it still refuses to fight back. He bears down Martín’s angry attacks, lets him get it out of his chest until he tires himself out. Then Luciano very easily disarms him and tells him to go. Martin refuses to leave; that would mean that another girl from the village would be sent in his place. But Luciano promises he won’t take any more sacrifices. He does so with sad heartbroken eyes that cannot meet Martín’s furious glassy glare.

Without dignifying Luciano with another word, Martín abandons the castle; he returns to the village and is surprised to be welcomed like a champion. He is back before his year was up, and the Beast is not demanding for more sacrifices, he must have slayed it! Bravo, the village is free! Martín tries to explain the Beast is still very much alive but the villagers won’t listen.

Martín heads home, tired and heartbroken and ready to put this in the past, but he instantly gets visited by Luciano’s former sacrifices. A bunch of girls knock at his door and demand to speak with him; they are worried and want to know the truth. Did Martín really slay the Beast? Is it ok? Why hasn’t it asked for another sacrifice once it let Martín go? Martín realises with surprise that these girls are worried for Luciano’s well-being, and the reason for that is that they have fond memories of the year they all spent at the palace. Everyone in the village thinks the Beast is a monster and no one believes them when they speak about how it was kind and gentle. But they say Martín has lived in the castle, he must know better, right? He must know the Beast is fun and charming, that it doesn’t deserve to be killed like some wild rabid animal.

It is bewildering for Martín to hear. These girls speak wonders of Luciano - not the Voice that had visited Martín every night, but the *Beast*. These gives Martín some perspective. Maybe the Voice wasn’t an act, but Luciano’s true colors, a way to get past Martín’s stubborn prejudice. He is not sure what to do with this new information, it’s very confusing. He’s still angry, but he’s also still in love, but he’s furious and hurt. All these feelings, as different as they are, still live in his heart.

Luciano keeps his promise and doesn’t ask for more sacrifices; there is no point in doing so, for he has fallen in love with Martín, the one who hates him the most, and now that his love is unrequired there is no breaking his curse. He spends all day locked in his castle, deep in his heavenly garden nursing his broken heart as his magical rose withers away. He has so very little time, he realises as he watches the last of the petals fall. He has no time left. As some sort of dying wish, he leaves his castle for the first time in years and heads to the village for he wishes to see Martín one last time.

Luciano uses his camouflage powers and slips into the village in the dead of the night to see his true love one last time, but he gets spotted and causes massive panic. The Beast is alive, and it has come down from its castle and into the village! This has never happened before, nobody is safe anymore! So the villagers decide it is time they end the Beast’s reign of terror themselves and gather in an angry mob with pitchforks and torches.

Luciano retreats to his castle, but the mob follows. This ends tonight.

Martín is drawn out of his house by all the angry yelling and bright torches, and he only gets a glimpse of Luciano’s monstruous form jumping from one rooftop to another in the dark night, barely illuminated by the angry mob. He’d recognise his shape and his swift agile moves anywhere and thus he follows the mob. Martín remains still very confused about his feelings, but one thing is certain: he doesn’t want Luciano to die. He takes his sword and horse and rushes to the castle in a race against the mob, hoping to get to Luciano before the villagers do.

Martín gets to the castle first and rushes through the empty palace towards the one place where he knows he will find Luciano: the West Garden, his hiding place. Just as he expects, he finds Luciano’s familiar monstrous form in front of the statue, of the withering rose which is on the very edge of death at this point, a single flimsy petal left. Luciano has his back to Martín, who approaches him slowly and calls his name. Luciano raises, and when he turns around Martín is faced with the eyes of wild mindless beast baring fangs with blood-thirsty eyes.

The curse has taken over him and the Beast jumps at Martín, but Martín manages to pull out his sword just in time and stabs it right across the chest, the sword going in effortlessly due to the pounce’s momentum. The pain is enough to snap Luciano out of the temporary lapse that had taken over him, and he looks down at Martín’s terrified sorrowful face and then at the sword buried to the hilt into his heart. Luciano holds Martín’s gaze numbly for a moment, and then falls to the side. Martín kneels to his side and begs him to please hang in there, even though there is no saving him. Luciano cups Martín’s face and tries to smooth his frantic fretting. He smiles at Martín, for all he wanted was to see him one last time and would you look at that, he got his wish granted. His last words are his heartfelt confession, asking for Martín’s forgiveness while also telling him that he never meant to deceive him, that he really truly loved him.

Martín cries at their fate and confesses his love amidst tears. Luciano manages one weak smile at his words before his eyelids close his eyes and a sudden light engulfs his form to transform his monstruous shape back into a handsome prince.

The curse has been broken, barely in time.

It is quite a shock for both: one moment ago Luciano was dying looking like a monster and now he looks like himself again and he’s very much alive. Luciano is more than a little disoriented, and Martín doesn’t help by grabbing his face and kissing him between tears while mumbling how much he loves him and hates him and how angry and happy he is, and that he’s so glad Luciano is alive that he could kill him with his bare hands.

The curse is lifted and there’s no beast to slay when the villagers arrive. Just the young prince that had disappeared all those years ago.

Now that Luciano is human, he has a lot of stuff to sort out. The villages around spent too much time without their Prince, he’s disoriented and confused and having to get used to his old skin after years as a monster. Everything is too much and he really wants Martín by his side so that he doesn’t feel so alone and confused. Martín hesitates, but he can’t say no; he was already too in love from the beginning, and as Luciano turns more and more into his real self as he settles back into his life, the less Martín can really be angry at him. The longer they spend together, the more Martín can recognise both the Voice and the Beast meshed in the Prince; Luciano is neither but a mix of both. Martín needs time to heal but the love he has for Luciano trumps over everything; he eventually forgives him and they eventually live happily ever after.

[chloe-spade]

Throned Love - Prolouge: That Funny boy, that Vil

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young Prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the Prince was spoiled, selfish, and unkind.

But then, one winter's night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the Prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress, one of magical powers. The Prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart.

And as punishment, she transformed him into a hideous Beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there, causing those to be deceased, ghosts of the castle. Ashamed of his monstrous form, the Beast concealed himself inside his castle, with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world. The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his twenty-first year. If he could learn to love another and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a Beast for all time.

As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope.

For who could ever learn to love a Beast?

🥀

Vil hums as he leaves his cottage, followed by Epel.

"I hate going to the village," Epel complained, "people stare and whisper to each other and it's normally so crowded, and I hate that."

"I told you to ignore those rumors, Epel." Vil lectured, "I have told you before, you know Father cares about you as much as I do. No one else should change that, ok?"

"I know, but the town makes me very uncomfortable. And every day is boring here."

"Oh?"

🥀

Vil:

Little town, it's a quiet village

Every day like the one before

Little town, full of little people Waking up to say...

Bonjour!

Bonjour!

Bonjour!

Bonjour!

Bonjour!

🥀

Epel sighs as Vil pulled him towards the village, already bombarded by many greetings, already putting Epel on the spot. "Ugh, I'm already so overwhelmed," He muttered to himself. "Come on, let's go to the bookstore, ok?"

Vil grinned and leads Epel into the village.

🥀

Vil:

There goes the baker with his tray, like always

The same old bread and rolls to sell

Every morning just the same

Epel:

Since the morning that we came

To this poor provincial town

🥀

"Good Morning, Vil!" The baker greeted, taking out fresh bread from the ovens.

"Good morning, Monsieur," Vil spoke, and looks back at Epel, "Epel, don't be rude."

"Ah, good morning, Monsieur." Epel mumbled.

"And where are you off to?" The baker asked.

"The bookshop," Vil answered excitedly, "I just finished the most wonderful story. About a beanstalk and an ogre and a—,"

"That's nice," The baker interrupted," Marie! The baguettes! Hurry up!"

"And you call me rude," Epel sighs.

"Yeah, no one appreciates books anymore, I suppose," Vil groaned and opens his book as he begins to read, arms linked with Epel's.

"Yeah," Epel agreed.

🥀

Look there he goes, that boy is strange, no question

Dazed and distracted, can't you tell?

[Woman:] Never part of any crowd

[Man:] 'Cause his head's up on some cloud

[Townsfolk:] No denying he's a funny boy, that Vil

🥀

"The bookstore is just around here," Epel hums, helping Vil around the town, as he was greeted by many townsfolk as he tried to rush past them.

"Bonjour!"

"Good day!"

"How is your family?"

"Bonjour!"

"Good day!"

"How is your wife?"

"I need six eggs!"

"That's too expensive!"

Epel finally found the bookstore and pushes Vil inside as fast as he could, finally having a sigh of relief, leaving the streets of the town.

🥀

Epel:

There must be more than this provincial life!

🥀

"Ah! Vil! Epel!" The Bookstore greeted, "Anything new today?"

"Ugh, I wish," Epel laughs, looking around the bookstore.

"Good morning," Vil greeted, holding the book," I've come to return the book I borrowed."

"Finished already?" The Owner laughed.

"When has he not finished a book?" Epel joked, "He's always ready when he isn't working around the house, doing chores."

"Oh, I couldn't put it down! Have you got anything new?"

"Not since yesterday," The owner sighs, "sorry about that, Vil."

"That's alright. I'll borrow...," Vl looks around and takes out a big book with a grin, "this one."

"That one? But you've read it twice!" The owner gasped, "My, what a reader you are, Vil."

"It's my favorite. Far-off places, daring swordfights, magic spells, a prince in disguise..." Vil drifted off, looking into the book, already distracted. "If you like it all that much, it's yours."

"Oh, how much?"

"Oh, free of charge!"

"But sir..." Vil hesitated.

"I insist," The owner smiles, "You are the best customer I had in years, so I'd be happy to give it to you."

"Well, thank you! Thank you very much!"

🥀

Look there he goes, that boy is so peculiar

I wonder if he's feeling well

With a dreamy, far-off look

And his nose stuck in a book

What a puzzle to the rest of us is Vil

🥀

Vil looks around and sits by a fountain.

"This town is always so full, and people love to gossip, and...Vil?"

🥀

Vil:

Oh, isn't this amazing?

It's my favorite part because you'll see

Here's where she meets Prince Charming

Epel:

But she won't discover that it's him till...?

Vil:

Chapter three

🥀

Epel smiles and rests on Vil as he listens to him read to him, ignoring many people and their judgmental stares.

Epel knows why, and so does Vil. But unlike Epel, Vil didn't care and often lectured those who judged them when he does notice. But that couldn't stop many of those who are jealous or vain.

🥀

[WOMAN]

Now it's no wonder that his name means "Beauty"

Her looks have got no parallel

[SHOPKEEPER]

But behind that fair façade

I'm afraid he's rather odd

Very diff'rent from the rest of us

[TOWNSFOLK]

He's nothing like the rest of us Yes, diff'rent from the rest of us is Vil!

🥀

Epel looks over at two other men and gasps, "We should get going, Vil. He's back from his hunting trip."

Vil groaned in disgust, "Alderic?"

"Yep, with his stupid sidekick too," Epe huffed and gets up from the fountain, "Let's go before he sees us, and by us, I mean you." He pulls Vil up and rushes away.

The previously mentioned Alderic walks by, followed by Cedric, holding on to his shotgun.

Alderic was known for two things, one was his hunter spirit, and he was known for hunting and bringing those dead animals for food if he wasn't so self-absorbed with his beauty. That was the second thing, he was the most handsome man known to man, and he knows it and flaunts it endlessly, much to Epel's dismay.

His younger brother, Cedric, was a different story, not known for much other than following Alderic around, and not a hit with the ladies, so he's one of the better hunters, aside from Alderic, of course.

"Wow! You didn't miss a shot, Alderic! You're the greatest hunter in the whole world!"

"I know," Aledric laughs, admiring his reflection on a pan, "Aren't I just the best."

"No beast alive stands a chance against you," Cedric panted, lifting the bag "And no girl, for that matter."

"It's true, Cedric. And I've got my sight set on that one," Alderic mentions over toward Vil, who's trying to ignore his gaze.

"The inventor's son?" Cedric stammered.

"He's the one, the lucky boy I'm going to marry." Alderic declared, fixing his hair. "

But he's-," "The most beautiful boy in town."

"I know, but-,"

"That makes him the best. And don't I deserve the best?" Alderic smirks, looking back at Vil.

"But of course! I mean, you do! But I-," Cedric stammered again.

🥀

Alderic:

Right from the moment when I met him, saw him

I said he was gorgeous and I fell Here in town, there's only he

Who is beautiful as me

So I'm making plans to woo and marry Vil

🥀

As he walks by, he flashes a smirk and flexes by 3 young women getting water from the well, causing all to swoon, even close to fainting.

🥀

[BIMBETTES] Look there he goes Isn't he dreamy?

Monsieur Alderic

Oh, he's so cute!

Be still my heart

I'm hardly breathing

He's such a tall, dark, strong, and handsome brute!

[Woman 1:]  Bonjour!

[Alderic:] Pardon

[Vil:]  Good day

[Woman 2:] Mais oui!

[Woman 3:] You call this bacon?

[Woman 4:] What lovely grapes!

[Man 1:] Some cheese

[Woman 5:] Ten yards!

[Man 1:] One pound

[Alderic:] Excuse me! Please let me through!

[Cheese merchant:] I'll get the knife

[Woman 6:] This bread -

[Woman 7:] Those fish -

[Woman 6:] It's stale!

[Woman 7:] They smell!

[Men:] Madame's mistaken

[Women:] Well, maybe so

[Townsfolk:] Good morning!

Oh, good morning!

Epel:

There must be more than this provincial life!

Alderic: Just watch, I'm going to make Vi my wife!

[TOWNSFOLK] Look there she goes The boy is strange but special

A most peculiar mad'moiselle! It's a pity and a sin

He doesn't quite fit in

'Cause he really is a funny boy

A beauty but a funny boy

He really is a funny boy

That Vil!

Bonjour!

Bonjour!

Bonjour!

Bonjour!

Bonjour!

Bonjour!

🥀

"Why hello, Vil!" Alderic greeted, causing Vil to drop his book in surprise, getting it dirty into a muddy puddle below him.

"Ugh, you don't know when to quit, do you?" Epel huffed, "What do you two want?"

"If it's another attempt to woo me, I am not interested." Vil hissed, grabbing his book, and begins to clean it, "And besides, we got what we came for."

"Another book?" Alderic mocked, snatching the book from Vil, "Vil, come on, you are one of the most gorgeous people I've ever met but reading? You'd get ideas, and when you have ideas, you'd become a nutcase like your papa."

"Don't bad mouth Papa like that," Epel yelled, "Don't you ever say his name with your disgusting mouth."

"For such a cutie, you have a huge mouth, Epel."

"Leave him alone," Vil pushes him away, "You are not insulting my younger brother to get to be with me," He grabs Epel's hand, "Come on, Epel, we are leaving."

Vil and Epel rush back to their cottage, hoping that Alderic didn't follow them.

Epel peaks out the window,"He's not here, that's good."

"Good. The nerves of that man, thinking he can insult anyone he wants because of me," Vil sighs, resting on a chair.

"Boys, back so soon?" called Oliver.

"Yes,"

"Could one of you please help me down here?" Oliver chuckles, "Your old man got himself stuck again."

Epel and Vil shared looks and stayed silent for a small moment. "I helped him last time," Epel reminded, walking toward the kitchen.

Vil sighs and walks downstairs to the basement, watching his papa fix a screw in a large machine before it exploded with dust.

"Well," coughed Oliver, "It's ready." He dusts himself off, "Thing's got clogged with dust so I was trying to clean it up."

Vil coughs and laughs softly, wiping himself off, "Looks perfect, Papa."

Oliver smiles and looks at Vil, "So, enough about me, how's your day?"

Vil looks down and sits down, "Papa, I have a question for you." "Of course, my boy, what is it?"

"Papa, do you think I'm...odd?"

"My son? Odd?" Oliver laughs, Where did you get an idea like that?"

"I don't know," Vil muttered, "It's just that, well, people talk.."

Oliver pats his son's hand and gives him a reassuring smile, "they talk about me, too."

🥀

Oliver:

No, we're not odd, it's true

No fam'ly could be saner

Except for one uncle who...well, maybe let that pass In all, you say or do

You couldn't make it plainer

You are your mother's son; therefore you are class

Vil:

So I should just accept

I'm simply not like them

Oliver:

They are the common herd

And you could take my word

You are unique, creme de la creme

No matter what you do I'm on your side

And if my point of view Is somewhat misty-eyed

There's nothing clearer in my life

Than what I wish and feel for you

And that's a lot

No matter what

🥀

Vil smiles and hugs his Papa tightly.

🥀

Vil:

No matter what they say

You make me proud

I love the funny way

You stand out from the crowd

Oliver:

It's my intention

My invention

Shows the world out there one day

Just what we've got

Vil:

No matter what

Oliver:

Now some may say all fathers just exaggerate

Vil:

That every son's great?

Oliver:

You are!

Vil:

And every son tends to say his father's tops

Oliver:

He pulls out all the stops

To praise him

Both:

And quite rightly!

Oliver:

No matter what the pain

We've come this far

I pray that you remain

Exactly as you are

This really is a case of father knowing best

Vil:

And son too!

Oliver:

You're never strange

Vil:

Don't ever change

Both:

You’re all I've got

No matter what

🥀

"Thank you, Papa,"

"Of course," Oliver grinned, "Trust me, we are a small fam'ly of weirdos, and that's what makes our family strong."

He stops for a moment and smiles, "Smells like apple pie, how about we eat before I travel?"

"That was today?"

"Yeah, I couldn't ignore their demands, Vil, and trust me, this is the first time my inventions were well known." Oliver beams and walks upstairs.

Vil smiles and follows.

🥀

"Are you sure you got everything, Papa?" Vil asked and helps with the jacket.

"Vil, I am pretty sure," Oliver chuckles, "I have traveled before."

Epel hands him his pouch of small inventions, "We know, but we can't help but worry about you. You're getting old and you should be relaxing."

"I understand, and besides these old bones won't stop me," Oliver smiles and hugs his boys tight, "I'll be back soon and I'll write. I promise." Oliver gets on his horse and starts to ride off, the wagon behind him creaking as he rode away.

Epel and Vil waved toward their Papa until he disappeared into the forest.

"Is it normal to be so worried?" Vil asked. "Oh yeah," Epel answered, "but I can trust him. He's one of the strongest people we know."

"Stronger than Alderic?"

"Oh, defiantly stronger than Alderic." Epel looks and sighs, "Speak of the devil himself,"

He points towards a head in the distance.

"You're right, we should get inside," Vil walks inside, "and find a plan to get rid of him."

"Let's."

Epel and Vil rushed inside, staying silent as much as they could, thinking of a plan to get rid of the snarking man.

"Vil," Alderic called out, fixing his hair, "I know you're in there, my love." He knocks on the door again. "Vil, don't be shy now. You know I don't bite."

Vil silently scoffed and looks through the peephole, "Just a moment." Vil sighs before opening the door and shows a shy grin.

"About time," Alderic laughs and walks inside, "Now, today was a bad start, and now I come to make things right."

"And how do you suppose to fix it?"

"Oh, Vil," Alderic grinned and grabs Vil's hand, "Just listen to me."

🥀

Alderic:

You've been dreaming, just one dream

Nearly all your life

Hoping, scheming, just one theme:

Will you be a wife?

Will you be some he-man's property?

Good news! That he-man's me!

In this equation, girl plus man

Doesn't help just you

On occasion, women can

Have their uses too

Mainly to extend the family tree

Pumpkin, extend with me!

We'll be raising sons galore

Vil:

Inconceivable!

Alderic:

Each built six foot four!

Vil:

Unbelievable!

Alderic:

Each stuffed with ev'ry

Alderic gene!

Vil:

I'm not hearing this!

🥀

Vil tries to reach for the door but is swept back when Alderic grabbed his waist and pulls him back to his arm. "Please let me go," He groaned.

🥀

Alderic:

You'll be keeping house with pride!

Vil:

Just incredible!

Alderic:

Oh so gratified

Vil:

So unweddable!

Alderic:

That you are a part of this idyllic scene

🥀

"Picture this," Alderic hums, "A rustic hunting lodge, my latest kill roasting over the fire, my little wife massaging my feet, while the little ones play on the floor with the dogs. We'll have six or seven!"

Epel from behind gagged as he silently opens the door, leaving Vil to distract and push him, so he started to touch his chest. "Dogs?"

"No, Vil! Strapping boys...like me!"

"Imagine that!" Vil faked a swoon.

🥀

Aledric:

I can see that we will share

All that love implies

We shall be a perfect pair

Rather like my thighs

You are face to face with destiny!

All roads lead to...

The best things in life are...

All's well that ends with me!

Escape me?

There's no way

Certain as "Do, Re,"

Vil, when you marry...

🥀

"So Vil, what would it be?" Aledric insisted, "Is it "yes", or is it "oh, yes"?"

Vil giggles and pushes Aledric towards the door and watches as Epel lifts his foot slightly, ready for impact.

"You make a good compelling argument," Vil stammered, "I...I just don't deserve you!"

"Who does? Me- ah!!" Pushed by Vil, Aledric tripped over Epel's legs and onto the muddy hills below, immediately sinking into the mud, and the band he ordered, started to play as Cedric tried his best to serenade, unaware of the situation.

"But thanks for asking," Vil laughs and closes the door.

Epel laughs, "He got what he deserved." He looks out the window, "I wish I could take a photo."

"Is he gone?" Epel nodded, "Pretty sure."

"I need some air," Vil moaned, walking outside the porch, grabbing some of the seeds, and walking by the animal barn. "Oh, can you imagine?" He complained, feeding the chickens, "He asked me to marry him! Me, the wife of that boorish, brainless-!"

🥀

"Madame Alderic!"

Can't you just see it?

"Madame Alderic!"

His "little wife", ugh!

No sir!

Not me!

I guarantee it!

I want much more than this provincial life!

🥀

Vil looks over at the sun slowly setting and walks over to the hill and sits down, feeling the breeze, just trying to ignore everything around him, words around the town that caused distress.

🥀

I want adventure in the great wide somewhere

I want it more than I can tell

And for once it might be grand

To have someone understand

I want so much more than they've got planned

🥀

Night slowly falls as Vil reads his book, with the only light provided was a candle.

"Chapter 3," he hums and he continues to read until a harsh breeze shook him. He looks by a nearby window, opens up, and snow falls inside. He rushed over and tries to close the window, with the help of Epel.

"A snowstorm," Vil sighed, "Poor Papa, I hope he's alright."

"Same here," Epel agreed, "Maybe he's in a nearby shelter..."

🥀

In the deepest forest ahead, Oliver coughs and shivers as his horse trudges through the now snowy path, but with the heavy impact of the snow, it was now harder to see his path. But this man was determined to get to show his creation to the world, and he knew he was on the right path.

🥀

First prize is nearly mine

It's quite my best invention

So simple, yet complex; So massive, yet so small

This triumph of design

Will be my old-age pension

That is, provided I can find the fair at all

🥀

Small sounds around him as he continued, but an unfortunate thing happened, as he fell out of his ride. He begins to look around but the snow was really starting to pile up, and small growls begin to grow in sound.

🥀

I must have missed a sign

I should have paid attention

Drat!

That's not a nightingale, and not a mating call

🥀

Oliver looks around and gasps at beady yellow eyes looking at him hungrily.

🥀

Wolves!

🥀

Oliver begins to speed off, ignoring the barks and growls of the wolves chasing him, and he slowly slowed as his body surcome to the cold and he suddenly faints on the snowy ground.

"Shoo!" called out an unknown voice, trying to sway the wolves away.

"Are you ok?' asked another voice, a gentler one.

"...who," he coughed.

"Oh, Trey, he's so cold, let's take him to the castle."

"Sure," the other voice hesitated, "but, what if Leona...?"

"Who cares about him at this moment? He's going to die in this cold."

"You're right. Let's take him inside." Oliver's eyes shut as he felt his body being lifted.

[mochiiikko]

Prologue + Little Town

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 !

Beauty and the Beast au, Eventual Clevarr, Multi-Chap

↳ Catherine Parr, Henry Tudor, Bessie Blount, other characters mentioned, Anna of Cleves

𝐀𝐨𝟑

2.202 words

Once upon a time in the hidden heart of France a beautiful young princess lived in a beautiful castle. 

Although she had everything her heart desired, the princess was selfish and unkind.

She taxed the village to fill her castle with the most beautiful objects and her party's with the most beautiful people.

And then one night an unexpected intruder arrived at the castle, seeking shelter from the bitter storm. 

As a gift she offered the princess a single rose.

Repulsed by her haggard appearance the princess turned the woman away. But she warned her not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within.

When she dismissed her again the old woman's outward appearance melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. 

The princess begged for forgiveness but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in the princess' heart. 

As punishment she transformed her into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there. 

As days bled into years the princess and her servants were forgotten by the world for the enchantress had erased all memories of them from the minds of the people they loved. 

But the rose she offered was truly an enchanted rose. If the princess could learn to love another and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell, the spell would be broken.

If not she would be doomed to remain a beast for all time.

As the years past she fell in despair and lost hope. 

For who could ever learn to love a beast?

.....

Catherine fixed her dress as she walked out the door, her eyes slowly adjusting to the vastly different light outside. 

She took in the still quiet streets, looking up at the town's clock tower, it'd only take about a minute for the quiet to change.

In an effort to fill the silence she started muttering to herself as she went down the steps.

"Little town, it's a quiet village every day like the one before." 

Catherine smiled as she went, her gaze still fixed on the clock waiting for the bell to ring inside. "Little town full of little… people."

Her gaze traveled to the windows and laundry lines. "Waking up to say.."

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour!" 

"Bonjour!"

Catherine chuckled as she waved at the people she passed, the streets which were silent and empty now bustling with life in under a second. "There goes the baker with his tray like always. The same old bread and rolls to sell."

Despite her words, she bought a roll of bread and stuffed it into her bag. "Every morning just the same." 

She went up to pet one of the horses, the horse attempting to eat the few crumbs on her hands as she smiled brightly. "Since the morning that we came. To this poor, provincial town."

"Good morning Cath!"

Catherine turned around and waved, moving closer to talk. "Good morning monsieur John, have you lost something again?" She asked, a small tease in her voice.

He nodded. "Yes i believe i have, the problem is i can't remember what." Catherine laughed, like every single day.

"Oh well, i'm sure it'll come to me." He said, grinning. Cathy nodded as she turned to wander off.

"Where are you off to?" He asked, getting Cathy to turn around and dig into her bag.

She got out a book, showing off its cover. "To return a book to Edward Burgh, it's about two lovers in Fair Verona."

The other shrugged. "Sounds boring." Catherine giggled, shaking her head as she continued on her journey.

Catherine caught small pieces of chatter as she wandered through the town's large streets.

"Bonjour, good day. How is your family?" Ah Thomas, always trying to woo a new lady.

"Bonjour, good day. How is your wife?" Catherine snickered at that, turning for just a second to see the look on the man's face.

"I need six eggs… that's too expensive!" 

Catherine sighed as she continued. "There must be more than this provincial life." 

The woman reached her destination, taking out her book and smiling at the familiar sound of the bell ringing, which signified her presence to the man dusting.

Edward smiled. "Ah if it isn't the only bookworm in town, where did you run off to this week?"

Catherine smiled and went to put her book back in place. "Two cities in northern Italy, i didn't want to come back." She turned to him with a bright grin. "So, have you got any new places to go?" She asked.

Edward sighed, shaking his head. "I'm afraid not, but you may reread any of the old ones if you'd like."

Cathy frowned for a second, before spotting one of her favorites and taking it happily. She gave the man a coin as she clutched the book to her chest. "Thank you, your library makes our small corner of the world feel big." She said as she walked out.

"Always a pleasure, bon voyage!"

Catherine smiled and waved. "Bye!"

She immediately opened the book and started reading as she wandered back home, catching a few people talking about her but she couldn't care that much.

She smiled as she reached the flower shops, just in time for her favorite part.

"Oh, isn't this amazing? It's my favorite part because.. you'll see.." She flipped another page. "Here's where she meets prince charming, but she won't discover that it's him till chapter three."

"Look at her, Bessie." Henry Tudor put down his monocular and gave it to the girl beside him. The two stood on a hill a bit away from the village, both on horseback.

"My future wife." He added as Bessie adjusted so she could see as well. "Catherine is the most beautiful girl in the village, that makes her the best." 

Bessie pushed down her offense at the comment and gave the man his monocular back. "But she's so well read and you're so.." She bit back the word 'not'. "Athletically inclined."

Henry grinned. "I know, Catherine can be as argumentative as she is beautiful."

"Exactly! Who needs her when you've got us?" Bessie said rather enthusiastically.

"Yes, but ever since the war i've felt i've been missing something. She's the only girl that gives me that sense of.." Henry stopped, trying to find the right words to describe it.

Bessie searched through her mind for a second in an attempt to aid. "Je ne sais quoi?"

"I don't know what that means." 

Bessie froze in a moment of confusion before following alongside the man into the village.

"Right from the moment when i met her, saw her. I said 'she's gorgeous!' and i fell." Henry started. Bessie raised a brow as she turned to the three women staring at them walking by.

"Here in town there's only she, who is beautiful as me, so i'm making plans to woo and marry Catherine." 

The two dismounted, a few people immediately rushing to their aid with their horses.

The three women quickly ran out of their small boutique to gush over the man, which Bessie had to resist the urge to gag at.

"Oh there he goes, isn't he dreamy? Monsieur Henry! Oh, he's so cute! Be still my heart, I'm hardly breathing!"

Henry spared them a single glance.

"He's such a tall, dark, strong and handsome brute!" 

And with that Henry's horse stepped a little too hard in a puddle of mud, sending splashes of it onto the three.

Henry walked away from them, While Bessie quickly rushed over to them. "Never gonna happen ladies." She whispered before she followed the older man.

Catherine still walked through the market while reading, though minding to greet anyone who greeted her. There was still a lot of chatter around her, in fact it was kind of hard to get through the swarm of people.

She closed her book with a sigh as she reached the fountain where she took her chance and tossed a coin in. "There must be more than this provincial life!" 

"Just watch, I'm going to make Cath my wife!"

Catherine continued reading again as she walked, now noticing most of the chatter was about her.

"Good morning Catherine!" And as if on cue the many people behind her continued with their day and normal conversations.

She gave a polite smile to the man and closed her book to take part in the inevitable conversation. 

"Lovely book you have there." He said, a little hesitant.

Her smile brightened immediately bringing it closer to Henry's view. "Have you read it?"

Henry stopped for a second. "Well, no. But i've read.. books." He handed her the flowers he'd gotten in an attempt to change the topic. "Here, for your dinner table." He said.

Catherine hesitated, but put her book away and took the flowers with a small smile. 

"Shall i join you this evening?"

Catherine's smile dropped. "Sorry, not this evening." She said as she slowly backed away. 

Henry raised a brow. "Busy?"

Catherine grimaced as she turned around to head for her house. "Not exactly." She said before leaving completely.

Bessie approached, whistling. "Giving up yet?" 

Henry hummed. "No, Bessie. It's the ones who play hard to get that are always the sweetest prey." He said.

Bessie sighed, groaning softly. 

"That's what makes Catherine so appealing. She hasn't made a fool of herself trying to gain my favor. What would you call that?" 

"Dignity?" 

"Outrageously attractive, isn't it?" 

Catherine let out a sigh of relief as she closed the door behind her, immediate relaxation hitting her as she untensed.

A quiet humming filled her ears, accompanied by the sound of a music box. Catherine smiled softly, wandering to the source of the sound.

She found her mother, humming to herself as she messed around with a music box, one she'd personally crafted to depict her family.

Maud grabbed a tool before she started to sing softly. "How does a moment last forever, how can a story never end?" 

Catherine's eyes wandered to a portrait mounted on the wall, one of her as a child with her father. Clearly, she wasn't the only one.

"It is love we must hold on to, never easy but we try." Maud turned back to her work, smiling at the moment it portrayed. "Sometimes our happiness is captured, somehow a time and place stand still. Love lives on inside our hearts, and always will."

Maud looked up, jumping back slightly when she saw her daughter. "Oh! Cath."

Catherine smiled as she came closer. 

"Oh, could you hand me a…" Maud stopped to think of the tools name for a moment, while Catherine chuckled and got what she guessed was needed out.

"Oh, thank you." Maud said, getting a giggle out of Catherine as she handed the tool.

"Oh could you get me a.." 

Catherine hummed as she searched again before showing what she thought Maud had needed.

Maud smiled but shook her head. 

"Oh wait, yeah that is.. what i need. "Thank you, love." Maud said, smiling sheepishly. Catherine laughed softly.

She hummed in thought as she watched her mother work.

"Mama, do you think i'm odd?" She asked quietly, maybe the chatter had gotten more to her then she'd initially thought. Maud raised a brow.

"Odd? My daughter? Odd? Where did you get that idea?" Maud asked, a hand on Catherine's knee in comfort.

"I don't know. People talk." Catherine shrugged. Maud huffed.

"This is a small village you know, small minded as well. But small also means safe."

Before Catherine could add anything, Maud continued. "Even back in Paris i knew a boy like you. He was so.. ahead of his time. So different. They all mocked him, until the day they all found themselves imitating him."

Catherine listened intently, taking her mothers hand in her own. "Could you tell me more about him?"

Maud nodded softly. "Your father was…. Fearless."

Catherine smiled, squeezing her mothers hand. 

Maud looked her up and down for a second before getting her own smile. "Fearless."

She took her hand back in order to close up her music box and put it away. "So.. what can i bring you from the market?"

Catherine hummed. "A rose." She responded. "Like the one in the painting."

Maud laughed. "You ask for that every year." 

Catherine chuckled and pressed a kiss to her mothers cheek. "And every year you bring me one." 

Maud returned the kiss before she continued. "And i shall bring you another one. You have my word." 

Catherine followed her mother outside after an extensive routine to check if she had everything she needed. 

Maud mounted the family's mare, Catherine going up to give it a treat in the form of an apple as she did.

"Bye, Mama." She exclaimed as her mother rode off, Maud immediately waving back.

"I'll see you tomorrow!"

Catherine smiled as she watched her mother ride away. The moment she lost sight of her she turned and got back into the house.

A pile of laundry awaited her inside. Right yeah she still had to do that.

Catherine examined all the supplies in the room.

Or… maybe.

[jonesy-and-max]

part 4: Lunch

One o’clock finally made its appearance, which meant it was time for Jonesy & Max’s lunch break. Jonesy went to the back room and grabbed her backpack while Max ushered some straggling customers out the door. Jonesy flicked the switch on the OPEN sign off, and hung the “OUT TO LUNCH (back at 2p)” sign in the window. Directly across from Popcorn Video in the strip mall was the Super Grasso Brothers Pizzeria, Jonesy and Max’s favorite pizza place since they were kids. Not only was the pizza delicious, but there were free refills on soda, and the best part was the ancient Donkey Kong arcade that had been there since 1981. Max held the second highest score on it, behind whoever had entered the initials “STN.” The two of them had spent hours and hours eating pizza, gorging themselves on garlic knots, and taking turns racking up levels on Donkey Kong. 

Jonesy said hi to Fabrizio Grasso behind the counter, his brother Massimo must have had the day off, she figured, and asked for the usual.

“One large pie, half extra cheese, half extra pepperoni, garlic knots, and two large sodas. You know the drill, Ms. Jones.” He handed her two large cups and gestured towards the fountain. His thick italian accent had diminished a bit since she was little, but his boisterous, husky baritone never had. 

She filled one cup with Cherry Coke for Max and mixed the Orange and the Sprite together for herself. She had a seat in one of the booths next to the Donkey Kong machine and watched Max go a few rounds before the pie was ready.

Max opened the back of his van and Jonesy slid the pizza box in first, the two of them followed behind it. She had dug out her weed purse and took a nice big hit as Max grabbed slices of pizza, one pepperoni, one cheese and smooshed them on top of each other.

“Pizza-wich!” He presented it as though a work of art to Jonesy who laughed and coughed at this miraculous new invention.

“You truly are an inspired artist, Signore Swartzwelder!” She chef kissed her fingers.

For the next hour they shared pizza, and knots, and the rest of the bud Jonesy had brought, taking turns noodling on the guitar Max always had in his van.

“Hey Jonesy.” Max strummed the guitar with each syllable.

“Yeah, Max?”

“Ok, so, like,” He looked up at his thoughts, “If you could pick how you’d die. Like number one death. How would you wanna go?”

“Demon possession.”

“Fuck! …That’s good!”

“Yeah, and I’m talking hideous deadite-style. You’d have to chop me up or blow my head off with a shotgun! But before that I’m all like munchin’ on your leg or clawin’ your eyes out, or like, comin’ at you with a rusty knife! Haha!”

“That’d be so fucking metal!”

“Either that or an evil doppelganger. Like, it wants my life, but there’s just something wrong with it, you know? Like, there’s something twisted inside it. Then we’re all like, strangling each other and maybe it bashes my brains in with a rock or something. Hahaha, that’d be rad as fuck.” 

“Holy shit, that’d rule.”

“What about you?”

“Asteroid.”

“Like the dinosaurs?”

“Nah, dude. Like, ok. So like, I want there to be an asteroid heading for earth, but it burns up in the atmosphere so much that it’s just, like, the size of a bullet, then BLAMMO: killshot right to the brain. Fucking sniped from a billion years ago. The big bang itself hittin’ me with the headshot from the beginning of time!”

“Dude, that’s fucking cosmic.”

“Like, that asteroid was on a collision course with my skull since the universe was born. Destiny. I wouldn’t even be pissed, I’d be like, hell yeah.”

“Yeah man, that’s like, beautiful.”

“Either that or choked out between Kelly Bundy’s thighs.” Max plucked a wailer of a high note on his guitar and clapped the string silent.

“Oh! Nice!”

The two fist bumped twice in quick succession in perverted synchronicity.

“Excuse me!” A voice came, seemingly, out of thin air.

“Huh?” Jonesy and Max asked the disembodied voice. 

“I said, excuse me!” Jonesy and Max turned their heads in the direction of the noise. To their surprise there was a man standing right in front of them. He was a stocky, middle-aged man, bearded, bespeckled, with a fluffy brown pony tail bringing together what was left of his hair. A green trench coat ended at his ankles, and due to his choice of denim shorts, if he had closed the coat it may have given the illusion that he wasn’t wearing any pants. 

“What’s up, doc?” Asked Jonesy, holding in a massive grin.

Max buried his face in his elbow to stop from laughing.

The pony tail man wasn’t amused in the slightest. “I’m sorry, but is that pot I’m smelling?? Are you two high??”

Max looked at Jonesy from inside his elbow, her rose colored eyes matching his.

“Uh. Nope.” Jonesy desperately tried to hold in her laughter as Max nearly died.

“Sure. Whatever. I want to rent a movie and the door is locked. Judging by your uniforms, I’m going to assume you’re the clerks?” Ponytail attempted to move past the snickering and cloud of weed that hung around the two chuckleheads.

Max, trying to keep his composure, looked down at his double entendre nametag, “My name’s Haywood Jablome,” He pulled it out towards Ponytail. “...Junior.”

“Can one of you burnouts please get your shit together for five minutes and open the store. I have places to be.” Ponytail sneered.

“How come?” Jonesy asked.

“How come’ what?”

“Why are you in such a rush?”

“That’s none of your concern.” Ponytail avoided their eyes.

Max tapped Jonesy with his elbow, “He’s getting porn.”

“I am not!” Ponytail sputtered.

“Sure.”

“I have a date, if you must know.” Ponytail composed himself.

“No you don’t.” Jonesy chuckled.

“Yes I do!”

“With who?”

“Is it your mom?” asked Max.

“Are you getting porn for your mom?” Jonesy laughed, scrunching up her nose, “Ew, sick!”

“Is she too old to get it herself? What does she like?” Max leaned forward, intrigued.

“They didn’t have porn on tapes a hundred years ago, so she’s probably just like, sampling it all, right?” Jonesy offered.

“You are both disgusting!” Ponytail was red in the face now.

“We’re only messin’ with ya, dude.” Max decided to let the fish off the hook and finally help Ponytail out.

He shuffled his butt to the edge of the van and hopped out, grabbing his soda to take along for the trip. All of a sudden, Ponytail’s hand was moving. It was moving quite fast in Max’s direction. Jonesy saw what was happening, but her brain and her thoughts couldn’t drag themselves together fast enough to understand the gravity of it all. Jonesy’s mouth fell open, intending to warn Max, but all she succeeded in doing was letting out a long “Uuuuuuuuuuuuuh…” By the time her brain had worked itself up enough to make the M sound in “Max” it was already too late. Ponytail had slapped Max’s soda right out of his grip. The cup crashed to the ground, its contents splashing against Max’s jeans and all over his right shoe. He looked down, then back up, meeting Ponytail’s gaze. He was smirking, but as soon as Ponytail’s eyes locked with Max’s the smirk vanished. Max snarled.

“What the fuck!” Max barked. Jonesy could see her pal shift into feral mode. He hunched, balled his fists and planted his feet. “I was gonna open the store for you, asshole!”

“Fuck you! I’ll be speaking to your supervisor about this!” Ponytail backed away and started to run.

Max was about to give chase when he noticed he wasn’t moving, Jonesy was holding him back. “Don’t! Don’t dude, he’s not worth it.”

Max looked at Jonesy and back at Ponytail scrambling into his car. He spit on the ground and flipped the man off. “You’re fucking banned, shitbag! Good luck finding another place to rent your mom’s porn!”

“Fuck you!” Ponytail wailed.

“Eat shit!” Jonesy fired back, chucking her soda at him. The cup splattered all over his rear windshield as he peeled out of the parking lot, swerving and narrowly missing an oncoming car.

Max turned to Jonesy, “Can you believe that fucker?”

“Who the fuck was that guy?” Jonesy adjusted her hat and hopped back in the van, laughing to herself.

“I was gonna drink that.” Max sulked and ate a garlic knot.

Jonesy crawled over to Max and pet his head, “Awww, Max! No be cry! Today is Chain-Slaughter day!” She gave him a big hug from behind and bit his ear, “Don’t let that chucklefuck get to you!”

“You shoulda let me bash him up,” Max swatted at Jonesy, “That would’ve made me feel better. Now I’ve got itchy static in my brain!”

Jonesy laid back in the van and sighed. Normally she was the one who was bent out of shape and Max was always there to bring her out of a funk. She hated when she couldn’t do the same for him. Her brain had been baked thoroughly at this point, but she muscled through the fog, through the seductive dopamine being released, until she arrived at the answer. The one thing she knew that could help Max. He just needed somewhere to release all that tasmanian devil energy that was gumming up the works.

She sat up and grabbed the boombox from Max’s van. She rummaged with determination through her backpack until she found exactly what she was looking for: Gang Green’s Another Wasted Night. She set the boombox down in front of the video store and turned it all the way up. “Haunted House” began its opening riff and Jonesy let loose, dancing and skanking by herself with abandon.

“Hey Max!” She motioned for him to join her. 

He couldn’t help himself, he smiled, “Yeah Jonesy!” and joined her.

The two danced and crashed into each other, as “Haunted House” faded into the title track, blasting throughout the strip mall parking lot. By the time “Skate to Hell” started playing, Jonesy could see her plan had worked, Max was singing and bouncing around, spinning and kicking and releasing all that unfocused rage. She smiled to herself and jumped onto her pal’s back, hugging him. The end of “Skate to Hell” brought them to Gang Green’s cover of “Voices Carry,” slowing the duo down, Jonesy and Max joined Chris Doherty’s charmingly off-key vocals. The two created a romantic pantomime as the song drowned out the world around them. The instinct to destroy (that guy’s face and property in particular) drained from Max completely, having converted into the primal joy of moshing with your best friend.

As the final cord of “L.D.S.B.” rang out into the dwindling friday afternoon, a punctuated “BWOOP” brought Jonesy and Max’s attention back to reality. A Lake’s End squad car had pulled up next to the van, directly in front of them. Max snarled, Jonesy crossed her arms and spit on the ground in front of her.

“Howdy hey!” A young officer in a clean and crisp, blue uniform emerged from the black and white. He had neat brown hair with blond highlights parted to the side, his toothy smile and apple cheeks shaped his blue eyes into crescent moons. He smoothed his lovingly tended mustache and hiked his belt as he made his way over to the video store.

Jonesy rolled her eyes and leaned back against the store, “Hey Stewie.”

“Fuck off, Stewie!” Max growled.

“What’cha guys up to? Ooh! Dance party?” Officer Stewart Mooney asked with genuine excitement. “I’m particular to the Lawnmower!”

Jonesy and Max stared blankly at Officer Mooney as they watched a grown man humiliate himself.

“The Sprinkler’s pretty great, too!” He demonstrated. “But that’s neither here nor there.” He chuckled, entertaining himself.

“What do you want, Stewie?” Jonesy almost rolled her eyes out of her skull, “We weren’t doing anything. Just playing music before our break ends.”

“Golly, Jonesy, that’s no problem!” Officer Mooney furrowed his brow, looking at his shoes and back to Jonesy. “It’s just that, unfortunately, we got a complaint about…” He raised a finger asking for a moment and pulled out his notepad, reading from it, “A pair of rude thugs loitering in front of the video store…” Jonesy and Max smiled and nodded at each other, fist bumping twice in quick succession.

Officer Mooney continued, “...harassing respectful and handsome potential patrons.” He looked up at them with his guileless baby blues. “Possibly out of jealousy.”

Max scoffed, “That’s bullshit! Come on Stewie, you know us. You know that’s a load of crap!”

“Well, Max, I mean, I know you guys are a couple of sweet little sugar cookies. All buttery and comforting, warm, like a Sunday morning in June.” 

“Okay, well, no that’s…stop saying stuff like that.” Max made sure no one was around to hear this. “We’re more like, nachos. Or maybe like, pickles…?

“What are you doing?” Jonesy interrupted.

“I don’t know!”

Mooney continued, ignoring them, “Just, crunchy exteriors. Hiding a soft, whipped, nougaty inside. Best friends. Just two lovely, sweet-”

“Yeah, okay!” Max cut him off. “Look, dude, that guy was starting shit with us, he slapped my soda out of my hand. Before that happened I was just about to let him into the store and everything.”

“Well, dang, that’s rude!” Mooney frowned, “Are you alright?” He took Max’s hand.

Max quickly took his hand back, “Hey, come on…”

Jonesy snickered at the bristling Max, “Stewie, is there something you need us to do, or whatever?”

“Nah! No worries. I just love an excuse to hang out with my oldest and best pals.” Mooney beamed.

“Is that how you see this?” Max asked delicately, raising an eyebrow.

“See what?” Mooney could not be phased.

The three just sat in thick silence for what felt like the rest of eternity, glancing at each other.

“Well!” Jonesy finally broke them all free from the conversational stand-off, “Looks like our break is just about over. We better get back to work and all…”

“Fiddlesticks! We were just starting to have some fun, too. Oh well!” Mooney was genuinely bummed their time together was ending. “Hey! You guys gonna be at the theater tonight?? I mean, it’s opening day of Chain-Slaughter 6, so I know that’s a goofy question to ask, but I just figured-”

“Yup, we are.” Max desperately searched for the store key in his pockets, desperate for an escape.

“I was thinking about catching that one myself! Now do I have to see the other five to understand what’s happening in this one, do you think?” Mooney began following them.

“I mean, it probably would improve your viewing experience…” Jonesy elbowed Max, whispering, “Come on, man.” 

Mooney chuckled, “You’re right, you’re probably right! You two are the experts! You know I’ve never been a big fan of scary movies. All that blood and killing. It’s a little ghoulish, don’t you think?”

“Stewie, we gotta get going, dude. Sorry! Store and all, you know.” Jonesy desperately tried to untether them from this conversation.

Mooney finally realized he had been following them into the store, “Golly! Sorry, guys! I’ll let you get back to it,” He turned to leave, but stopped in his tracks and spun back around, “I almost forgot, do you guys have Free Willy 2 in stock, by any chance? I gotta see what kinda mischief that big ol’ fish has gotten himself into this time!”

[charnelhouse]

spent so much time scrolling thru the rick flag tag last night before bed that i dreamt of thigh riding w/ rick, full of praises 🤤🤤🤤

i’m so feral for this military cowboy i want him so bad-

A/N: Rick Flag x F!Reader. Thigh Riding. Dirty talk. A little violence. I have terrible writer's block and idk what this is SO hopefully it's OK.

It’s one of those moments that really highlights their fucked relationship.

Rick is exhausted - hanging by a dry thread - burnt twine - and he’s filthy with dust and blood and sweat. His tac pants stick to his skin and he’s favoring his knee. He scrubs a grimy hand across his week-old stubble. He can’t wait to just fucking lie down and go into a soft coma.

But then you’re knocking gently at the door to his room - or to be more apt - a closet - in this dingy safe house in bum fuck nowhere.

You step in and it’s you in all your glory. A dirty tank top and panties. Skimpy pale ones where if the light hits just right he can straight up see the shadow of your pretty pussy.

“The others?”

“Asleep,” you confirm, petal lips quirking upward in the thin veneer of a smile. Your mouth took a hard punch and it’s swollen and Rick burns with a careful rage at the thought. Whoever hit you is probably dead.

Well - Rick could make them…deader.

He drops down onto the side of the bed and it creaks and rocks, but he can’t care. It’s thin and uncomfortable and the whole damn place is hideous. He shifts again - tests his weight and the frame screeches. It’ll have to do.

He doesn’t give a shit if the team hears anything because they probably already know.

He glances up at you when you clear your throat.

You’re staring at him - regarding him with a thoughtfulness that he thinks must mean you’re trying to figure out if he’s up for it. It always goes like this after a fight or a mission. The adrenaline pumping bright through their blood - the tang of potential death flitting away from their heels as they ease back into safety.

The pendulum swings and swings and it could go one of two ways…actually no....fuck it...Rick can’t kid himself because it really truly always ends up being the first option.

How can he say no? How can he refuse when you’re dripping and your fingers smell like the press of your cunt as you peer up at him and say “C'mon Flag - please” and then you grasp the hinge of his jaw and kiss him so fucking tender it could be a love song. You just breathe against his tongue: “Make me forget.”

And he does.

It’s a demand for medicine. He’s seen you dig your fingers into a garish hole in your arm in order to pluck a bullet out. He’s seen you do all sorts of things like fix your broken nose by jerking it between your knuckles or sewing your gut shut while sitting cross-legged on a motel bed.

This though. You standing at the center of his room nearly bare and palms spread. This is your own brand of want. The dark little head of yours that demands his touch and fuck he really does adore you and it’s kind of complicated and very much screwed up that the only time they interact beyond duty is through filthy sex.

He’d like to take it further. He’d ask you out if you gave him the chance. For now, it’s just these tiny rooms in these torn-up cities and towns and shit hole nowheres.

He rolls his neck and then his shoulders as he leans back.

Pleasure at the end of chaos and pain and his body is practically trained for it at this point. His cock nearly half-hard the second he calls it and they’re on their way back to their rendezvous. He’s ready before he knows up from down - before you cross over into his space and demand that he put himself inside you.

“You gonna come over or just stand there?” he finally asks and it startles you. You’re strange tonight - slightly off and almost uncertain but he can’t figure out why. Felt like any old mission - definitely was a close call, but all their fucking missions are close calls. The Suicide Squad had a 60% mortality rate.

He’d ask you, but he doubts you’d tell him. He doubts you’d offer up all your thoughts and fears.

But one day…maybe one day.

“Pushy,” you snort before you stride toward him. His eyes travel across your bare thighs - the stained tank top and panties. Your hips and breasts and your hair still a mess from battle.

You move to sit in his lap and he stops you. He grips your waist and pushes his thigh out before he forces you down onto it. Your brow quirks, but you seem game. You’re game for anything most of the time.

Except holding hands.

He clasps your hips - yanking you forward an inch before nudging you back. He can see the soaked fabric of your underwear - barely covering anything at this point. You get wet - wetter than any woman he’s ever had before and it drives him damn crazy. Sometimes he’ll spend hours thinking about your pussy - the taste and smell and way it reacts to him.

“Ride my thigh, baby,” he growls.

His tac pants are dirty with god knows what, but you like it. He’s painted in the mission and so are you and when you dig your nails into his shoulders and grind down onto his thigh, you whimper like a kitten. It’s a contrast. His battle-ravaged honey who can look so sweet and pure when he’s got you under him or on top of him or any which way.

“That feel good?”

“Yes, Flag,” you mutter - pushing down into him. His pants are thick, but he can imagine it - the warm silky plush of your cunt dragging across the muddy cloth. Your clit - puffy and aching from the pressure. You reach for his cheeks - chin tilted upward and he immediately responds with a kiss - lips parting hungrily over yours as he slides his tongue behind your teeth.

“Fuck, honey,” he growls. “You like that? Look at you ride me - fucking gorgeous perfect girl. You must be drenched.”

You give him that look - that flash of wanting to snark at him because fucking obviously, Flag, i’m getting your pants all wet - but you don’t - you bite your lip and jerk and shove and fuck yourself down on his thigh while he tenses the muscle.

He palms the cotton-covered skin under your tit and you gasp - arching as their foreheads meet.

He draws back. “Are you hurt?”

“Scratch,” you shrug as you curl your fingers around his tac vest to anchor your body.

He yanks your shirt up just enough to see that it’s an angry slice - parted and angry and sticky with blood.

“Looks nasty, sweetheart.”

“It’ll heal.”

“Don’t be stubborn.”

You pause - eyes flashing hot and fierce. “Flag - if you don’t shut the fuck up. I will leave this room right now.”

“Shit - alright. Just making sure you don’t die of infection.”

You soften - expression rounding out. “I know.” You kiss him again - sweet and sincere and to cut the bite in your words. “You can patch me up later.”

He grins - flexing his thigh just a bit and pulling you forward. “Then best get a move on, baby.” He slaps your ass before hitching your panties to the side so he can graze his thumb over the peak of your sex. He sees it - the way your lashes flutter as you lurch into him. He drops his voice - tone thickening to something rough and hitched. He presses his mouth to your ear - grazing his cheek across your jaw. “Need to make tonight last, sweet girl. I gotta fuck you with my tongue and my cock before it’s over.”

[sweetbunnykook]

Only You (10)

Word Count: 11,267 // [SPOILER IN WARNINGS] angst (mention of double homicide, gore/blood, miscarriage, mistreatment of a corpse, panic attack, meltdown, blackmail, gun, abuse), toxic relationship, manipulation

Photographer!Jungkook X Noona!Reader

Summary: Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.  

A/N: Thank you for waiting so long! Please let me know if you enjoyed this chapter if you want to. Enjoy! - 🐰

The distant sound of television in your living room.

‘We bring breaking news…Kim Namjoon, the heir of…yesterday morning…in questioning…accessory of the crime…kidnapping and killing of pregnant fiancée…found motive…’

The splatter of blood on his skin, the taste of blood on your tongue. Your whole world melts into a puddle of red. You feel him inside you, around your throat, his grip tightening, his kisses searing against your lips to pin your tongue underneath his.

A whisper against your ear.

‘You’ve made me the happiest man in the world, noona.’

You wake up with a start, gasping for air as you reach over to where Jungkook should be only to be met with a gray rabbit plushie. It has been a week since the night your life changed. Whether for the best or the worse, you can’t tell just yet. You rub a hand over your stomach where you’re cramping, taking deep breaths through your nose and exhaling through your lips to calm the panic of hearing and seeing red in your dreams once more. The brain is a relentless organ. No matter how much you force yourself to forget, to justify the past, to let your anger roam free, your dreams follow you as soon as your body succumbs to exhaustion.

Jungkook gifted you a bottle of melatonin for such nights but it was rather hard to sleep when every thought goes back to the sound of Yori’s lifeless body swallowed by the rustle of a black plastic trash bag. It’s a stark dichotomy from the images you have of her in her soft chiffon dresses, bleached hair swaying in the wind, her lithe frame moving effortlessly between the trees in your family garden. To think that you would lose her in such a way is unfathomable even when there is a sick, hideous part of you that felt almost relieved that you’re alone at last. Her existence only served as a reminder of your humiliation. 

It’s why you’d spent so many weeks and months back then cursing her – hoping she miscarry during your most vulnerable nights, hoping Namjoon would leave her for another woman so she gets a taste of how you’ve suffered; yet when the day comes when she’s truly gone, your heart and mind is restless. 

As your stomach settles, the residual guilt rising like bile up your throat gives you a newfound reason to tell yourself you’re still very much a good person. You’re still the woman Jungkook loves for your understanding and hardworking spirit. Partly feeling guilt towards her death meant you still loved her in your true, good nature – or at least you love the memory of what she used to mean to you. The girl you remembered – the girl who would make crowns for you with wildflowers, paint your sleeping form, talk about all the men she wrapped around her fingers – was long gone before you found her lying at the end of a staircase. Your mother can’t kill someone who was already dead in your eyes. 

The body your boyfriend stuffed in his freezer didn’t deserve your kindness nor repentance. It’s why you were able to waltz right into work the next morning from Jungkook’s studio, drinking the same cup of coffee at your desk, working the same files, and mentoring interns with a smile albeit the sudden panic episodes had caused you to empty your stomach after each meal.

You’ve run out of fingernails to bite. You’d expected the world to crumble and fall at your feet in the following days but everything feels oddly normal. The sun still rose. Flowers still bloomed. And Jungkook still loved you. 

Sitting at the edge of the bed, the thin sheen of sweat on your body makes the valley down your spine tingle, prompting you to reach back to scratch your skin raw. When you look over at the nightstand, the red digital numbers on your clock glare into your irises through the sleep haze – it’s barely two o’clock in the morning. With a groan, you stretch an arm towards the floor and pull Jungkook’s shirt towards your feet before bringing it to your chest. The half-buttoned cotton still smells like him. Like comfort.

When you slip the black long-sleeved shirt over your head and roll it down your body, buttoning up to cover your chest, you’re struck with the realization that tonight is the night Jungkook must finish the job. He hasn’t left your side since the accident, treating you with the utmost care, his prying eyes following your every move to the point you ended up pressing your lips against his each and every time just to cease his worries. His fingers melt like butter on your skin when he cups your jaw in search of any anxieties you might have hidden from him. It’s evident that he’s in awe and in confusion at your strength. Maybe he thought too highly of your capacity for forgiveness; like the loud saccharine-faced women you work with, you’re just a tantalizing red apple infested with rot beneath. 

And it’s with that very same façade you faced the detectives. 

The police came knocking at your door two days ago. Jungkook promptly informs you that there was nothing you need to worry about for now except keeping your composure. 

The two men explained the situation – a vague description about Yori’s disappearance, suspicion with Namjoon’s prolonged stay abroad, and odd evidence that she may be kidnapped or blackmailed – just as Jungkook predicted. You feigned passive concern as they took your statement about the last time you saw your former friend, inquired about the wedding incident, and noted the places she could be from your childhood memories. You answered every question with the calmness of an experienced storyteller, comforted when Jungkook confirmed your alibi with his hand wrapped around your fingers to keep you grounded when you trembled. A few angelic tears you shed hearing about Yori softened the mens’ heart although they didn’t have a single inkling of a different kind of fear buried inside you now that there is an investigation ongoing. 

There was something about the glimmer of their handcuffs that made you fear for Jungkook playing the role of the clueless but supportive boyfriend like a seasoned actor. The thought of the men pinning your boyfriend on the ground and ripping him away from you had you hurling digested dinner over the toilet shortly after they left. Your tears must have done much of the heavy lifting during the interrogation that even Jungkook had asked if you were feeling alright, thumbs rubbing back and forth over your cold, wet cheeks. 

You can’t live without him and if he were to be taken away from you, you wouldn’t know what to do. You’ve learned to fear his absence more than his capability for murder. Such thoughts threaten to cut the last strings of sanity holding you together. 

Despite Jungkook being there for you every step of the way, he was powerless when it comes to protecting you from the stench of office gossip that you must endure for the sake of calming suspicions about your outside activities. It was obvious what your coworkers thought of you as soon as the news came flooding about Yori’s sudden disappearance. Whether you feign concern or not, there have already been rumors about a sabotaged pregnancy. Their fake kindness and whispers gave you the freedom to look as disastrous as you feel. 

If only they knew that the true reasons for your sunken eyes and weight loss are far, far beyond their comprehension. If only they knew you were on your hands and knees scrubbing bodily fluids; the longer their mouths yapped, the more you thought about the red on your fingertips, how satisfying it felt to watch it spiral down the drain.

The first week was grueling but the second week – this week – when the voices of the two detectives, blood-filled memories, and buried dreams resurface, you’re completely cornered. Oh, how much you crave Jungkook’s touch, his gentleness, his ability to read your mind and body even more now that he’s gone to settle your debts. 

You take your cellphone resting on the nightstand next to the digital clock, place the rabbit plushie under your arm, and make your way out of the bedroom. The condo is dead silent except for the muffled cracklings of vehicles running over pebbles on the highway nearby. It’s awfully cold but the sight of the fridge makes you clench your jaw and turn towards the couch, sliding onto the padded surface when another pang of panic hits your stomach, leaving you to press your abdomen inwards with the heel of your palm. You grab your laptop from the dirty coffee table with your free hand and place it on your lap, cursing once more when your nerves refuse to ignore the coolness of the aluminum surface. You squeeze the soft fur ears of the plushie, but it doesn’t feel the same as holding onto your boyfriend’s fingers in times of need. 

It’s cold in the room, you note once more, but Yori’s body curled in Jungkook’s freezer is even colder. 

Would he let her thaw before burying her? Would he burn her somewhere in the woods? Dump her in a lake? Would he admire her beauty first and brush his fingers down her cold cheeks, feeling pitiful about the woman who humiliated you just because she was carrying a child? 

You shake your head, watching the laptop come to life. You need a distraction. Any kind of distraction to forget that your boyfriend and Yori might be alone in a room right now as if they’re on a little date.

The cramp twisting your innards isn’t caused by panic this time. It’s jealousy. 

… 

Taehyung is exhausted to the marrow of his bones. If he didn’t consider Jungkook to be his only family left, he would never have flown to South Korea on such short notice. It’s expensive to leave clients on hold when he’s spending a fortune every month lining bribery pockets. He hopes Jungkook is prepared to work without pay for the next month. Judging by how eager the younger man is to see him, he decided to cut him some slack in the end. That’s what families do. 

Right now, Taehyung is only annoyed to find out that his partner – who had already left the refrigerated room – brought his least favorite pliers when he asked her to lay the tools on the table next to the body. The pliers are black but coppered with rust and prone to slips with its slippery silicone padding resting where his gloved fingers would go. He doesn’t even know when or how he came across such an awful tool but he’ll have to make do. 

He turns back to Jungkook who is sitting on a plastic-covered stool across him on the other side of the body, brows scrunched together as he looks down at the nude woman’s slightly protruding but stiff stomach. There’s no sense of discomfort on his face; a good sign, Taehyung notes, as it has been some time since Jungkook has dealt with a body. Yet he finds himself uncomfortable when looking down at the vicious woman he’d heard an earful about. It’s not a good omen to cut open a pregnant woman, not when Jungkook has been preparing for parenthood ever since he dumped your birth control down the toilet. 

“Are you sure it’s wise to leave her alone?”

Jungkook scratches behind his ears, watching Taehyung’s fingers pry open Yori’s frozen mouth to reach her teeth. The older man places a balled cloth inside the mouth before lining the plier towards the molars, gripping the frozen teeth between the iron clamps before yanking the tool to one side. The tooth pops out with a crisp snap, leaving a deep black hole in Yori’s pale gums. Freezing her made cleaning extremely easy – Taehyung can’t help but pat himself in the back when Jungkook seemed to remember all that he’s taught him about the work. He is, however, a bit disgusted that the body was kept in the same fridge as food. Hell, even an experienced butcher like himself has some decency not to do such a thing.  

“I think it’s fine,” Jungkook murmurs, watching Taehyung’s sturdy hands yank each tooth out of her gums with razor-sharp precision. “She’s been sleeping better than the first week so I don’t think she’ll be awake by the time I get back.”

“She’s not like us,” Taehyung scolds, his baritone voice low. A puff of smoke dissipates in the cool air as he speaks. The younger man lowers his head; there should be a limit to the favors he ask for and he’d crossed professional boundaries one too many times. “It’s a big risk you’re taking.”

Jungkook juts his lower lip out like a child filled with remorse. “I know, hyung. But...I trust her and she trusts me. Or else we wouldn’t have gotten this far.”

Taehyung hums at that, finding it rather odd that a girl with a fine upbringing had the guts to do cleaning work (poorly as expected, according to Jimin showing up with the rest of his crew to spot-clean the rest).

“Trust can be an expensive thing, Jungkook.”

Desperate to appease the older man, Jungkook snaps his gloves in place and reaches over to take an electric saw in his hand, watching the silver glimmer under the lights before standing. He waits until Taehyung finishes the removal, placing the teeth neatly in a plastic cup, before lining the blades to Yori’s pale neck and quickly sawing down her esophagus. The saw groans as it hits her spine but with Taehyung’s palms pushing the saw down further, Yori’s head comes apart clean from the rest of her torso. Under the sharp blue lights her insides look tar black. Such a pretty exterior holding such ugliness inside of her, Jungkook thinks, before he shakes the thought away.

Her beauty can never be compared to you. You’re a goddess. And her? A mere insect to put back into the earth. Yori had caused you immense pain and he would see to it that she will be treated with utmost disrespect.  

“What’s your plan after this?”

Jungkook moves the woman’s hair away from her face then removes the cloth from inside her mouth. He then pushes her jaw up to cover her black gums. 

“I’m going to try to convince her to leave work for a while. Hopefully...she’ll be pregnant by then and it’ll make it easier for her to marry me.”

Taehyung nods. “Then?”

“T-Then…” Jungkook nibbles on his lower lip. Something about Taehyung’s gaze makes his insides queasy and he doesn’t know whether it’s because the older man is upset or just exhausted. With a poker face like his, with eyes that sink deeper than an eternal labyrinth, it’s difficult to tell. He settles on the most comfortable answer. “Then we’ll live like a normal family. Maybe after she gives birth we can buy a house instead and live near the sea like we used to.”

It’s not a definite answer, but it will do for now. When you regain confidence that life will continue on as it always had, it should be smooth sailing from there. Namjoon or Jin have been a threat but once the baby comes they’ll know better than to approach you again.

Taehyung’s assistant comes back into the room with a soft smile. She glances down at the decapitated woman briefly before walking towards the incinerator in the far corner. Like clockwork she appears once there is a twenty minute time limit before the room reverts back to a comfortable temperature. Jungkook’s freezer preserved the body enough that they can pull apart Yori’s limbs and burn each piece separately; the burning will be handled by her but dismemberment is intimate, a family bonding type of activity that re-establishes their brotherhood.

“Are you happy you’ll have a family soon? Does it bring you joy?”

The younger man nods, lips trembling softly as he looks down at the severed head. His cold breath fans over Yori’s eyelids. “Yes, I am. Very. It’s all I ever wanted. ”

Taehyung stares. From the scar on the left cheek to the mole under his lips, he watches Jungkook as the younger man saws through the arms, letting the frozen limbs fall to the plastic-covered floor with a rustle and blunt thud. Once all four limbs are torn apart on the floor, he lines the saw down the navel just above the slight hill of Yori’s protruding belly. Just as he moves to switch on the saw, Taehyung grips his wrist with a tightness that alarms Jungkook.

They look at each other, truly look at each other in the darkness.

“Will you ever tell her the truth?”

Jungkook jaw tightens as he holds the older man’s gaze. His fingers are going numb, not from the cold but from the grip around his wrist.

The question causes him to chuckle incredulously. One small step and everything can fall apart like a house of cards. The risk he is taking burning someone closely associated with you can pull them both back into the times when they lived like rodents; hidden from light, at risk of being poisoned every step of the way out from the ground.

When Taehyung doesn’t mirror him, he falters. “…What use will it be if we tell her? She doesn’t have to know anything about me.”

“Is it because you’re afraid she’ll be hurt or afraid she might leave if you do?”

The reaction is immediate. Jungkook’s brows come together and he lays the saw on top of the torso, releasing a harsh exhale as he desperately pushes back tears. Taehyung expected the reaction; it’s what he was aiming for in the first place. The minute he walked in the room and saw Jungkook smiling happily in the distance he knew the boy has taken his delusions too far. He’s willing to oblige with the many ridiculous requests in helping him secure you as a wife, but he’s not a hopeless romantic. He doesn’t believe in soulmates and pure, perfect love that Jungkook pines for. There is only so much luck Jungkook can depend on before you stumble upon something you shouldn’t have. With a criminal bond, the stakes have never been higher.  

The boy takes his bottom lip under his teeth. “She won’t leave me.”

“Answer the question.”

“She loves me, okay? That’s all I need.”

He peels his arm away from Taehyung and brings both hands behind his head, burying his face in between the elbows. He turns away towards the concrete wall, his temples pounding from how hard his teeth are clenched. Couldn’t Taehyung just be happy for him? Couldn’t he take time away to celebrate this victorious night?

The reality is that two people who love each other may still never truly know each other. Just like how he doesn’t know the true reason why you wanted him as you watch him from the balcony in silence all those months ago, you won’t know why he can’t tell you everything about his upbringing. There’s no doubt that you would see his lies as betrayal, perhaps even worse than what Yori did because he made you believe he worshipped the ground you walked on (and it’s the truth). If you learned that the doe-eyed boyfriend part of him is dramatized, your heart will take irreversible damage. He had shown what it meant to be in love, to have a place where you both can call home, to care for each other through sickness and crime. He can’t ruin that illusion. Not when he’s this close to taking you away from everyone you’ve ever known.  

“The fire is ready.”

He brings his arms back down to his sides and turn towards the assistant who stands with her hands clasped in front of her as she looks between him and Taehyung.

When neither of them move, she kicks opens the incinerator and releases a waft of hot air towards the thawing body. Jungkook turns back to the body and kick the limbs towards the fire. He grabs Yori’s head by the hair and tosses it towards the limbs, wondering if you would still love him if you saw him now in a grimy lab coat, reeking of frozen flesh. You most likely won’t. You most likely will be disgusted with him, your eyes might resemble his mother’s, peering at him as if you couldn’t waste one more second breathing the same air as him.

“I’m scared,” he whispers at last, walking towards the torso on the table. He places his hand over the blood-stained stomach. The baby didn’t deserve this death, he thinks, but it would have ended up as miserable as he was when he was a child.

“I don’t know how not to be scared. That’s why I…I’m doing all of this for her. It’s why I still can’t tell her everything even if we’re tied together now. But…but I’m…we’re still men, right? We’re not monsters who do this for fun. We do this to protect the people we love.”

The older man puts his hand over Jungkook’s on the cold stomach and rubs his thumb over his knuckles. The younger man relaxes a bit more now that he understands Taehyung isn’t frustrated or upset that he put them all in danger, only concerned.  

Taehyung’s life’s purpose has been to protect this boy and now it’s Jungkook’s turn to protect the woman he’d fallen for. It’s all the more cruel that the woman Jungkook believes to be his soulmate came from wealth, from prestige, from a family that may be dysfunctional but more often than not normal. It pains him that he’s willing to live the rest of his life under a façade just to keep the illusion of a perfect romance alive. If only Taehyung could have convinced him that the beautiful couples in movies aren’t real, that the men in those movies are not like them and the women in those movies are not perfect little angels he think you are.

But that’s a battle Jungkook has chosen to fight and he could do nothing but support. That’s what families do.

“We’re not monsters,” Taehyung finally speaks at last as he walks towards the limbs and crouches down to the open incinerator. He brushes his long fingers along the metal edge, letting the tips of his fingers burn pink. His deep brown eyes reflect the orange hue of the fire yet his pupils welcomed no light. “But we’re damn close.”

…

Your skin prickles with goosebumps as you gulp down the remaining ice cold water from the fridge, laying your forehead on the door handle. It’s unbearably hot and cold at once and you’re growing impatient as the minutes tick by and you’re still alone.

It doesn’t take long to bury a body, does it? Jungkook never specified what he was going to do. Maybe the reason why it’s taking too long is because he’s driving far into the woods but your heart pangs in worry at the thought of a witness catching sight of him hunched over with a shovel. He seemed confident when he left (in your sleepy haze you don’t remember clearly) that the thought went away as quickly as it came. Your boyfriend can be meticulous; there’s a high chance that he’s taking extra precautions. He probably isn’t calling because he assumes you’re still asleep. He’d tucked you in and kissed you on the forehead, only murmuring something about being back soon and bringing back breakfast.

You set the glass down in the sink and walk past the kitchen counter, halting in your steps when you find your purse laying haphazardly next to the fruit basket. It’s been there since the police came and the contents of your wallet and keys threaten to tip over into the basket. You pull the undone zipper apart, rummaging around the inside to straighten the sides until your nails click against the uncapped flash drive. It makes your insides quiver when you realize you had been opening the files when your mother called during that day and the world crumbled. Oh how blissful you would be standing here if you never picked up the call, if you let her deal with her own problems, if the guilt of her being alone and scared didn’t affect your tender heart. The worry that Seokjin had written a love letter seemed rather insignificant now that your boyfriend can be taken away in cuffs if evidence surfaces. The tabloids would have another field day for sure.

You turn towards the digital clock on the stove, noting the time once more, and grasp the flash drive in your hands before making your way towards the living room. The flash drive blinks green as you slide the silver end into your computer propped on the coffee table. The laptop will keep you sane because you know damn well if you see Namjoon’s face on the television once more you’d spiral into panic. It’s not wise to speak of his name under your roof.

It’s not wise to speak of Seokjin’s name either, but if Jungkook isn’t coming anytime soon, the least you can do is read what your old friend has to say and be rid of this little tool in case your boyfriend’s curiosity leads to a temper tantrum.

Once again, the document window reveals a ZIP folder along with an array of photo files. You extract the file first, letting it load before double clicking to pull up the document window. It’s not what you’re expecting. There’s no sweet words and no mention of Seokjin’s name on the page. The document is over two hundred pages long and still loading as you scroll down the pages. There is a case number in the middle of the first page and then several police reports from several years ago, all dated within the same year.

Busan.

Two victims.

Two suspects.

Juvenile.

With your brows furrowed, you scroll further down the file, slowly falling back down to earth from the blanket of mental exhaustion. You feel a cold breeze down the curve of your spine, your fingertips slowly coaxing the cursor downwards. Several sentences are censored or cut in the corners. The further you scroll the more you find yourself asking if Seokjin had given you the wrong flash drive or if he was pulling a vicious prank on you. It all seemed like a whirlwind of information you don’t know how to translate until you pause on a page halfway through the document.

Kim Taehyung.

The name is most definitely familiar. The second name listed in the following page, however, you recognize in entirety.  

Jeon Jungkook.

The universe must be playing a sick joke, you think, as your cursor swims around your boyfriend’s name. He would have told you about an incident big enough for a case report that spans over a hundred pages, wouldn’t he? Jungkook wouldn’t hide anything important from you, not after he had urged you to be transparent with him. Not after he had punished you for something as silly as keeping jewelry gifted by or ex or forgetting to wear a brassiere in public. Something in your gut tells you to keep scrolling despite your vision beginning to blur and the air around you becoming heavier as if you’re breathing over a pot of boiling water.

You scroll further down, lips parting as your eyes scan over the document with record speed. The Jeon family massacre, the shack in Busan, the weapons used on the bodies for both murder and disposal – everything is written in clear detail. But it’s impossible, you think, as Jungkook has never once hinted that his parents were deceased. In fact, there were several times when he welcomed the idea of you meeting his family. He wouldn’t have agreed with enthusiasm if he had to reveal the details of this case, would he?

He wouldn’t have his mother’s number saved. It doesn’t make sense and the more you wonder who that woman could be in his cell phone, the more your insides twist.

When you hit the last hundred pages the censorship worsened. Most of the pages are illegible with black boxes shadowing over sentences but you don’t need the missing sentences. The last five pages summarized the timeline of the incident and highlighted possible motives from abuse to undiagnosed mental disorders for both Jungkook and Taehyung. You’re not sure if the file is even reliable considering what you’re reading and the boyfriend you’re living with seem like two different people.

There is hardly any record about the two of them except the elementary, middle, and high school they’ve attended. The paragraphs blur together as you scroll with trembling fingers. Something about Jungkook’s instability, his codependency on Kim Taehyung, the manner in which he was released shortly after Taehyung’s escape from the facility despite facing juvenile charges for second degree murder.

Then, the details of the crime.

Jungkook couldn’t do something like that, could he? Your lungs ache as you pant, a sudden sob leading you to clasp a shaky hand over your mouth. There is no reason for you to claim this case as unreliable when Jungkook is disposing Yori’s body somewhere within the twenty mile radius. There is no reason this case is talking about another Jeon when the first thought your boyfriend had when you confessed your mother’s accident was to help with the cleaning.

This couldn’t be anyone else but Jeon Jungkook, the boyfriend who kisses you until you melt like butter in his arms and pouts whenever someone looks at you the wrong way. Despite the file in front of you, you shake your head.

“It’s not him…it can’t be him.”

Closing the file window, you take a deep breath before opening the image file next to the folder. The first few photos were of the crime scene and your blood turns cold at the disfigured corpses in the room. The room is dirty with peeling wallpaper, blood splatter, broken furniture, and schoolbooks and papers. The couple in the picture is your boyfriend’s parents, there’s no doubt about it. You can see the resemblance in what remains of his father’s face and you wonder if that’s the reason why he never felt comfortable in his skin, as he once told you during pillowtalk.

With your core tightened, bracing for the worst, you open the last image. There is Jungkook, in the flesh, pictured with a uniform and handcuffs, eyes blacker than your morning coffee. His face is littered with bruises and the corner of his lips are swollen, caked with dried blood. The purple and green bruises stretch over his eye socket, reaching far back to his temples where his hair falls. Somehow the fact that his mother had abused him didn’t register in your mind until now. It feels somewhat far away, like a distant memory that has no effect on the person he is now. But Jungkook didn’t become the sensitive and hardworking man you know now because of sheer willpower; he was forced into the role.

He did what he had to do to survive and you know deep in your heart you can’t hate him for it. You can’t justify murder, but you can’t ignore that he was desperate to leave.

You place a trembling hand over your heart and lean back into the couch.

Either way you look at it, one thing remains true. Jeon Jungkook had spun lies upon lies to be in your life. He had successfully kept you in the dark, hardly ever showing how truly dangerous he can be until the time is right. His anger has been, at times, loving and sweet. Other times, it spurred fear. He had promised you time and time again he would never hurt you. Yet, that promise holds no substance when he doesn’t practice his own standards for loyalty and truthfulness that he instilled in you.

There’s the Jungkook from Busan who showed no remorse for what he did and there’s the Jungkook who held your heels in his hands as he led you to safety from that fateful wedding night. Burying your head in your hands, you fist the roots of your hair until your scalp burned.

You’ve been sleeping with a stranger.

…

The precinct is a large, block building next to the subway station that would be invisible if it were not for the newly painted gray-blue gates set around the perimeter of the building. There is a group of photographers huddled against the gates despite the very late hours of the night, sporting the same black padded coats as they tumble over each other like penguins. When Namjoon steps out of the building and into the Mercedes parked in front of the building, the camera shutters click. Reporters shouts his name for a statement. He merely glances at the crowd before stepping into the vehicle, adjusting his coat before slamming the door shut. 

The crowd of reporters part as the vehicle makes its way down the concrete path to the streets. There are no officers in sight to control the crowd, prompting him to watch in silence as they knock on the tinted glass and the side of the car. His chauffeur would seem unbothered if not for the whiteness of his knuckles as he grips the steering wheel, stepping on the gas with urgency while being careful to not anger the hungry journalists desperate for next morning’s cover story. 

He can understand Lee’s anxiety as they drive towards one of his apartments in the city with higher security. He has been in a state of paralysis ever since he landed and was immediately brought into questioning. The handcuffs at the airport wasn’t necessary, he thinks, and he’s convinced some of these cops must be journalists in disguise, blaming him for a crime he had no knowledge of. Aside from such inconveniencies, there are other problems to address such as the dent in his parents’ pocket to keep the media from prying too much into the investigation. He’d faced his father’s wrath earlier before his first shot of whiskey, and then his mother’s who cried on his shoulder as she was too relieved to see him walking freely. He doesn’t understand why people are surprised that he isn’t the culprit when there is so little evidence against him. The precinct wanted to make an example out of him, about how the rich aren’t safe from persecution; however, they fail to consider that the rich aren’t always guilty with whatever they are accused of either. It’s been an exhausting last few weeks to face the same mob of cameras before, during, and after the questioning. They must know by now that Yori’s disappearance was as surprising to him as it is for everyone else.  

There is no end to the investigation – especially when they are set on finding evidence that it was premeditated - and his exhaustion reached its peak this morning when he realizes today was the day the baby is due. Yori wasn’t fond of motherhood – unbeknownst to outsiders who only saw her poised nature – and neither was he. But he had made an oath that he would be there for the child at least financially if not emotionally and would provide the necessities while he legalize their marriage and transfer abroad for work. He swore to not touch a single drop of alcohol when the first cry of his child reaches his ears yet here he is, pouring himself a drink from the mini fridge assembled between the seats.  

“Where do you think she is?” He asks, then takes a shot of straight vodka. This was one of many times he despised how poised he can be when the situation is dire. His lawyers had advised him to be emotional, but he can’t bring himself to put on an award-winning act when he’s one sleepless night away from a coma.

The older man glances at the rearview mirror, lips setting in a thin line as he eyes the bottle in Namjoon’s hand. 

“I’m unsure, sir. The police and your father has been searching in all of the places she could possibly be. I’m sure they will find her soon.”

“Dead or alive?”

The car jolts to a stop at the red light. “Sir?”

“It’s been a week. She hasn’t called, there’s no activity from her bank account, no money taken from the house, and no report of her fleeing the country. She left her belongings behind, including her cellphone and a coat during this weather. The investigation is only ongoing because there’s data from security that she let someone in at night and the back gates were open. The surveillance in the main roads nearby didn’t pick up any suspicious cars either. Now tell me…do you think she’s dead or alive?”

Lee presses on the gas pedal and sighs, staring straight ahead at the roads but unable to focus on any of the signs. 

“I don’t think I can answer that question, sir. Please forgive me.”

Namjoon takes another shot and turns his head towards the cars passing by him. There was no money taken, which concludes that the culprit’s motive had nothing to do with financial gain. It must be the reason why he’s under suspicion.

“Perhaps…” Lee speaks again, his careful eyes meeting Namjoon’s apathetic ones through the rearview mirror. “Perhaps _____ might be able to help with finding Miss Kim. She was very close to her. Maybe she knows a few locations we’ve missed.”

He considers the offer for a moment, knowing that the detectives had reached out to you for more information at the same time of his questioning. It’s true you were Yori’s closest friend for most of your life. Until last year, you talked to her on the phone several times a week and shared a meal with her at least once a week in your former apartment. You invited her to all social events and dressed, shopped, and spent quality time together. It would be a wise choice to call you in such a catastrophic time. He does, however, understand that you would be reluctant to involve yourself in the investigation for you had started a new life with this new boyfriend of yours and had distanced yourself from even Seokjin himself. Not even your mother knew about what you were up to on most days. 

Nonetheless, the situation is too severe to preserve his own pride as well as yours. Yori is with child and there’s still a morsel of a chance that she – and the baby – is safe. You may have changed in the last several months, but if there was one thing he’s still sure about you, it’s your willingness to set aside differences to help others. 

He hopes you would take the call once he musters the courage to dial your number. Maybe he’ll call Seokjin instead if he has a change of heart.

“I’ll consider it.” Namjoon nods as Lee nods back, slightly relieved. 

For the second time in his life, Namjoon is terrified of losing someone close. He had watched you, white chiffon and silk in your hand, as you ran out of the lobby and his life forever. He hoped that he can do right and bring Yori and his child back to safety and make sure – this time – to cherish what he has rather than what he’d lost.

Knocking the last shot of vodka, he leans his head back against the plush leather upholstery and closes his eyes, hoping more than anything to be taken out of his misery. 

…

They say a woman’s intuition doesn’t lie.

You’re thankful that it’s too late in the night and too early in the morning for your neighbors to hear the ding of the elevator as you make your way down the building. You didn’t bother dressing, merely grabbing your purse with the flashdrive tucked safely in one of its compartments on the way out. You’re still wearing Jungkook’s shirt as a dress and you slid into the first pair of sandals you can find through the burning tears. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to feel in the haze of betrayal but there’s a sense of humiliation that comes with finding out you were lied to – perhaps laughed at behind your back – for months. It’s the same feeling as that wedding night, but a million times worse now that you’ve reached the end of no return.

Even if you call Seokjin and urge him to help, there’s nothing you can do to change that you’re an accomplice. There’s nothing you can do to change that a sick part of you enjoyed scrubbing blood off the floors, fucking your dirtied boyfriend afterwards, and pretending life will continue as normal.

Furthermore, there’s nothing you can do to change that you’re still utterly in love with Jungkook.

It can’t all be a lie, can it? The reason why he chased after you, jumped over fences to bury his nose in your intimates, and carve your skin isn’t because he’s using you, right? There’s only so much pretending a person can do. Deep in your heart, you feel that Jungkook does really love you. You wouldn’t feel this safe with him, even after knowing he had done something irreversible in his childhood, if his tenderness towards you isn’t genuine.

Yet, you’re also acutely aware of how much money your family has. You know how many valuable assets you have under your name after your father’s passing. You know how easily you can change your life at any given moment if you choose to meet your mother’s expectations in marrying into a conglomerate family and living without worrying about money. The reason why Jungkook helped you during that wedding night can be because he had the opportunity to be with someone who can offer him financial security he didn’t have growing up. Maybe he was attracted to how easygoing your life is, only having to worry about which restaurant you want to pick for date night, unlike his formative years surviving on scraps.

You’re also pathetic, desperate, unloved. It was too easy for Jungkook to charm his way into your life in a moment of vulnerability. He must’ve known you came from money just by the size of the venue and how much you offered to pay him for his photography services. He must’ve known how naïve you were when you were willing to sleep in his arms that night, how willingly you swallowed the painkiller he gave you.

Even then, it doesn’t make sense. He owned a studio. He bought you gifts and took offense when you denied his offer to help pay for things only married couples do. He gifted you flowers every week and take you out to beautiful places when you were sad, never thinking twice about putting down his last dime if that’s what it took to see you smile. He’s patient and empathetic. He’s kind because he understands the pain of being hurt by the ones you love but he can also be kind because staying with you is convenient.

And you don’t want to be the convenient woman. Not anymore.

…

Jungkook’s phone vibrates in the back of his pocket, prompting him to remove his gloves and throw them in the fire with the rest of the corpse. The assistant is asleep on the couch, unaccustomed to night cleaning when Taehyung keeps her in charge during the day. Taehyung, on the other hand, slides his sanitized tools back in the slouchy leather bag, turning his head towards the fire when the alcohol from Jungkook’s gloves reawaken the fire for a moment.

Jungkook reaches behind him and fishes the phone from his pocket to see the notification from a security sensor. His stomach drops when the notification loads, the buffering swirl of the loading screen feeling eerily similar to the swirling aches in his stomach. He’s relieved that there are no police cars in front of the garage, but the relief is short lived as his eyes land on your car instead, the door to the driver’s seat left open.

He quickly switches to the cameras from the inside, pointed directly at the front door to see a figure walking through. He watches as you stumble inside, falling on your hands and knees as you tumble into the boxes of books and accessories he kept near the front steps. He haven’t had the chance to throw them back in the garage when Jimin and his team took away the freezer and left behind a mess.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung comes next to him, peering down at the phone. He watches in silence as Jungkook’s hand trembles.

He watches you grab onto the nearest table and pull yourself up from the ground before switching on the lights. And it was the sight of your swollen eyes, your bloodied knees, and your heaving breaths that had him running out of the room, grabbing the car keys and jacket from the hooks next to the door. The thought that someone might have hurt you set his head into flames. Taehyung’s assistant wakes with a slight gasp the moment Jungkook slams the door open into the bright reception desk area of a run-down funeral home. The walls vibrate.

“I’ll come with you,” is all Taehyung says as they fly out front door. His assistant would know what to do without him.

Taehyung takes the keys from his grasp and starts the car, stepping on the gas without hesitation as Jungkook buries his face in his hands and fold over in the passenger seat. He reaches over and runs his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, cursing underneath his breath. The younger man takes a moment to collect himself before his shaky fingers unlocks his phone once more, the loading screen causing him to bounce his knees as he waits. Even Taehyung’s comforting hand does nothing to soothe the panic rising up his esophagus.

“S-She’s going in the dark room,” he huffs as he keeps his eyes locked on his screen. “I don’t…d-don’t know why she-”

“We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

There are no cameras in the dark room, not even ones he can hide inside everyday objects.

In half the time it usually takes to get to the studio, Taehyung steers the vehicle into the familiar neighborhood, head swinging left and right to check if anyone else is nearby. Before he parks outside the garage, Jungkook undoes his seatbelt and steps out of the moving vehicle, running towards the front doorsteps. His shoulder crashes into the front door as he twirls his head around the studio, checking to see if he missed anything. He sees your handbag on the floor, the sliding doors to the darkroom remaining closed.

You’re inside there, hurt, bleeding, needing him. He should’ve stayed behind with you and let Taehyung take care of Yori; it wasn’t necessary for him to be there, but he didn’t want to be seen as ungrateful after asking for numerous favors.

Taehyung steps inside the studio and closes the front door behind him as Jungkook slides the darkroom doors open and step inside, sliding the wood back into place behind him. He steadies his breathing and takes a few seconds to adjust his eyes to the dark red bulbs above him. When he hears a crunch he looks down to see numerous photos of you underneath his soles, entire binders and broken photo frames laying across the concrete floors.  

Jungkook steadies himself with one hand on the wall, lining the perimeter of the room until he can spot your hunched figure in front of the metal cabinets. Your shoulders are shaking, hand patting around the inside of the of the cabinet, knocking over medication, empty film canisters, and stationery.

“Noona?”

You gasp, your hand flying to cover your mouth in the semi-darkness. The bottle of pills in your hand clatters to the floor, rolling towards Jungkook’s boots. Your back slams into the cabinet behind, eyes wide with fright as your tears roll down your face. He keeps his eyes on you as he kneels and takes the bottle in his hands, briefly looking down at the transparent bottle before looking back up at you.

“What’s going on? Why are you crying?” He asks, panting as he strides towards you with outstretched arms.

In the midst of your anger you fail to realize someone like Jungkook would have taken extra steps to track where you are. You didn’t even check if the car or phone is bugged. Even during this time you’re still stupid, you think. No wonder it’s easy for men to lie to your face with that kind of carelessness.

You shake your head, backing away from him. “Don’t.”

His eyes brim with tears as you clutch your chest, your body trembling. Jungkook shakes his head, holding his bare hands in front of him to show he won’t touch you. You look at those hands – the hands that have caressed your cheeks in the morning, massaged your shoulders after long work hours, buried your old best friend – like they were weapons.  

“I-I don’t understand,” he breathes, his hands trembling as his eyes rake over the scattered pictures on the floor, the open cabinet doors, and at your tattered appearance. You’re still dressed in his button down shirt, the material falling mid-thigh and he catches a glimpse of dried blood on your knees from your fall.

“I thought it was strange. How calm you were about all this. I t-thought…” you put your hands together over your heart, your chest shaking with sobs. He can hardly make out your words from the tears and the sound felt so painful to his ears he wanted to smother you, put his hands over your mouth, and keep you locked in his arms tight.

Your teeth clatters, not because you’re cold, Jungkook knows, but because you’re scared. Of him.

“Noona,” he whimpers again as he waits for your sobs to subside. He struggles to understand.

With the heel of your palm you wipe away the tears but the more you rub the worse it gets until you feel as if your face would drown under your own ministrations. The gut-wrenching pain you felt reading his report lingers in the depths of your stomach, churned into fear that there is a possibility you could end up just like them. How could you even know if his tears are real? How could you even know if the last few months of your relationship was even real?

“You never loved me, Jungkook. You…this is just some sick fantasy of yours, r-right?” Your voice breaks. You don’t understand what’s coming out of your mouth when the only thing you wanted to do was hurt him. Make him feel the way you do now. “Making me fall for you. Believe I can earn your dead parents’ approval. Making me your fucking doll. You got off on me being a naïve little bitch, didn’t you? You sick fuck.”

You know.

Oh god, you know.

Jungkook feels as if someone had wrapped a rope around his neck and pulled. Is it punishment for wanting happiness? Is it because he was bound to this endless life of suffering where the people he loved end up hurting him in the end? End up leaving?

Jungkook shakes his head, mouth falling open as he watches you back away from him into the corner. His sobs are loud and pained as if you had hit him across the cheeks. With every step he takes towards you, you take one step back, as if to say you don’t want him near, you don’t want him to touch you, as if you don’t even want him to look at you with those seemingly innocent eyes.

“You lied to me,” your voice reduces down to a whimper. “You promised me you’d never do that. Did you intend to keep this from me forever?”

“N-Noona…”

He falls to his knees, putting his hands together in prayer as he sobs. Through your anguish and his, Jungkook still holds your heart captive.

Like a dam bursting, his apologies engulfs you.

“Noona, I’m sorry! I-I-I didn’t know how to t-tell you,” he gasps for air, putting his hands down in front of him in surrender. He puts his forehead against the cold concrete, clasping his hands together in prayer, writhing, withering. “I swear, it wasn’t me! I didn’t w-want you to think I was a mu- murd-derer,” he hiccups, coughing as his hunched figure trembles. 

Backing away until your shoulder blades lean against the adjacent walls, your body slides down, the phone from your grip clattering onto the floor. The screen brightens with the image of you and him as Jungkook’s trembling figure creeps closer, crawling towards your feet in the darkness. You can’t feel your teeth gnawing on your thumb until you taste blood in your mouth. You watch your boyfriend’s cold hands wrap around your ankles as he puts his forehead onto your calves and begs.

“I love you, noona. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you so much. Please don’t hate me noona, please, I don’t know what I’ll do if you hate me. I’m sorry I l-lied to you, I swear I was going to tell you everything soon, noona. W-Whatever you saw is all wrong. I never killed them, I l-loved them with all my heart,” he surrounds your folded legs in his embrace, leaning his wet cheeks against your scraped knees as he sobs. “They hurt me. They m-made me like this, I didn’t want to be like this noona, I ju-just wanted someone to love me. I didn’t mean to b-be bad-“ His clammy hands presses your calves together, keeping your knees still.

Jungkook’s head raises, slowly, his soft dark locks falling from his face. His doe eyes aren’t focused on you but on some invisible spot on the ground. He whimpers your name before doubling over and hurling vomit onto the ends of your shirt, his head slamming into the cabinet next to you. The stench of bile wafts towards your face but you’re given no chance to move when Jungkook gags and empties his stomach once more, acidic saliva slipping down the corner of his mouth as he sobs.

With no warning whatsoever, he brings his head back and slams the side of his head against the metal cabinet doors. You’re frozen stiff, your body trembling as you watch the love of your life knock his head into the doors again and again, drool dripping down his mouth.

When he wails, you reach for him. “K-Kook-”

He brings his head back, eyes glazed, as he rams his head into the metal sheet again. And again.

“I-I’m sorry noona,” he cries, etching the words into his skull. “Noona I’m sorry…I-I didn’t meant to hurt you nng, noona…I won’t…”

With shaky limbs you crawl closer to your boyfriend, pulling him by the collar to stop but the panic causes your shaky hands to slip, merely finding success in pushing him towards the ground. He coughs, gasping for air. When his wails become louder, you hover above his writhing figure, hands on his arms to keep him still in desperation. It’s no use when he continues to apologize, not hearing your pleas to stop, to listen to your voice and breathe. Seeing him like this makes you want to take back your words.

The door to the darkroom slams open, revealing a tall man whose face you can’t see until he steps further into the red hue. You weren’t aware Jungkook didn’t come alone.

He must be Kim Taehyung; there’s no mistake from the stained lab coat he adorns to the tar black eyes that could bore holes through your skull. He looks awfully similar to Jungkook and if you hadn’t read the case and hadn’t known that Jungkook was an only child, you would think they’re brothers.

“Move.” He commands, the edge in his voice causing you to flinch back as he crouches above your blubbering boyfriend’s head and scoop him from under the armpits.

He’s strong enough to uncurl Jungkook’s shaking body, hushing the cries as he places your boyfriend’s face under his chin and press him against his chest. Like a child, Jungkook’s hand reaches up to fist the lapels of Taehyung’s lab coat, sobbing so hard that you were afraid his lungs might burst.

“Hyung is here, Jungkookie. I’m here. She’s here too, okay? We won’t leave you. Hush now.”

Taehyung’s voice is deep but filled with warmth, completely different from all the times you’ve overheard him speak through a call in your living room.

“I-I’m so-sorry noona, I won’t do it again- n-noona-,” he coughs.

The older man reaches inside his coat and fishes out a syringe. He cover Jungkook’s eyes with his long fingers, whispers a word of reassurance, before pressing the needle deep into Jungkook’s arm.

In a few short seconds, the cries lower, Jungkook’s body falling limp against the older man’s chest as your name falls repeatedly from his swollen lips. Taehyung places the syringe in his pocket and wipes the vomit and saliva from Jungkook’s chin with his thumb, his eyes sad as he peers at the boy in his arms.

The sound of water dripping down the faucet seems as loud as fireworks in the silence of the room. With your arms wrapped around yourself, knees pressed against your chest, you watch Taehyung brush away Jungkook’s sweat-soaked hair and wipe away the snot and tears on his nose and cheeks with the sleeves of his coat. Once his face is dry, he props Jungkook against the cabinet and stands to face the faucet, gathering a handful of water in his hands and cleaning Jungkook’s forehead where a bruise is starting to form.

“How did you find out?”

The tethered anger in his voice causes you to curl into the corner, making yourself as small as possible. You don’t forget that Taehyung is the reason why they are both free men; the man is every bit terrifying as he is handsome.

“A-A friend of mine…he showed me.”

Taehyung hums, knowing exactly who had caused tonight’s troubles, wiping his hands on his coat. He takes several strides and crouch down in front of you, glancing at Jungkook’s face before turning back. He stares into your eyes without commenting and you’re not sure where to look. You settle on looking down at your scraped knees, the trembling causing your voice to shake.

“Are you disgusted?”

You meet his eyes, biting the insides of your cheeks. “D-Disgusted…no. Not disgusted. I’m just…scared…s-scared of what he did.”

He exhales, his long fingers coming up to massage his temples.

“I killed them.” He blinks. He nods shortly afterwards, as if he were reliving the moment. “Jungkook was simply there. They were going to kill him. It was me who did everything you saw in those photos.”

You swallow, eyes brimming with tears as your body warms in response. Your boyfriend is innocent. Maybe not completely, but enough that you can release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Okay.” You murmur, nodding. You’re not sure what the proper response is for that kind of confession.

“There are some people who don’t deserve to be parents. His mother, especially. You would be surprised how happy he became when we had no more family.”

You nod, keeping your eyes lowered. Your eyes fall to your cellphone near Taehyung’s shoes, your lips parting.

“T-Then…he wasn’t adopted afterwards?”

Taehyung cocks his head. “Adopted?”

“I-it’s just,” you stammer, wondering if it would anger him if you asked but something tells you Taehyung is a reasonable man albeit his brutality. “There’s a co-contact in his phone…a-and he labeled her as ‘mother’…”

The older man nods. “We call her our mother. She helped us when we had nowhere to go, gave us a place to sleep.”

As if the weight from your shoulders melted away once more, you slump against the wall. Of course, Jungkook wouldn’t cheat on you with another woman.

Taehyung continues. “We did what we had to do. We learned how to make fake documents, little things like IDs, and it kept us afloat for a while. Jungkook prefers that kind of work still, but I don’t. You’ll never see a photographer making this kind of money without dabbling into…indecent practices. It’s expensive to feel secure, I’m sure you can at least relate to that.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Do you understand the kind of life we had now?”

You nibble on your bottom lip. There’s no doubt you love Jungkook but the wound remains agape, the initial ugly feeling of betrayal swimming in your belly. You have the right to feel this way, but Taehyung is rather unconcerned about your feelings. If you weren’t loved by Jungkook, he would have stuck the barrel of his gun down your throat and threaten to blow out your organs out the other end. He’ll be patient this time and let nature takes its course; there’s a possibility you’re pregnant. You won’t be able to leave now, and you won’t be able to leave once you carry the baby to full term.

“I do,” you answer, the trembling gone.

You glance over at Jungkook’s sleeping form. Despite how hurt you may be now, you need to be there for him. You can’t imagine how sick he would feel, how much panic he would feel, when he wakes.

“I’m glad you do. After all,” Taehyung stands. “You’re not completely innocent either.”

Your head snaps up to meet his gaze.

He knows about Yori.

“Did you…?”

He confirms your thoughts. “I did. There’s no need to worry unless you talk, and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t.”

You release a shaky breath. “Okay.”

You’ve reached a dead end. You can’t amend your mistakes like good people, sane people, do. You’re as good as married to Jeon Jungkook, Yori’s burial being the glue tying you to him in holy matrimony. You have no choice but to vow to protect and love him in sickness and health. In all honestly, you can’t imagine your life any other way.

Taehyung brushes invisible dust off his coat.

“There is one more thing,” he says and with new conviction you meet his gaze once more. “If by any chance you do something stupid, I will kill you. And Jungkook can’t stop me then. Remember that.”

…

Seokjin follows the scent of a cigarette. It’s hardly half past six in the morning and the wind makes him push his head down as he maneuvers through the trees to the abandoned park. The playground he played in as a child is torn down, the blue slides and yellow swings torn apart by ongoing construction. Between the trees and industrial machinery he struggles to find his former co-worker and friend who had messaged him quite suddenly about the investigation on Jungkook. It’s something big, he says, and Hoseok doesn’t say something like that unless he means it. And if it’s bigger than the case file, then it’s bound to be something incriminating. He wasn’t sure if Yoongi might be here too, but he doubt it since the man can hardly drag himself out of bed in the morning.

It’s a little odd that Hoseok asked to meet immediately and he wonders if it was because he responded as soon as he received the text. Maybe if he had answered later in the day he could sleep in before work, but with Yori’s disappearance his nights have been filled with thoughts about you. Some fresh air would serve him well.

“Hoseok?!” He turns his head left and right, huffing as he struggle to catch his footing on the uneven cobblestone paths.

When he hear footsteps near the playground he turns his head towards the noise, blinking as he struggles to make out the figure of a person on the ground. She must be homeless, he thinks, as he watches her wrap her tattered scarf around her neck while wailing in a strange, kitten-like voice. She mutters something to herself in another language.

He takes a step closer, calling out to the plump woman as she stretches a leg out in front of her and fans her hand over what looks like a bloody wound. The gash is deep enough for him to stop in his tracks.

“Ma’am are you alright?” He asks.

His phone rings in his coat pocket and he reaches inside, looking down at Namjoon’s number displayed across the screen before locking his phone. Seems like he’s quite in demand this morning. He tucks the device back into his coat and walks over to the woman.

“Ma’am?”

She looks up at him, her mud-caked face and hair crumbling as she whimpers and move her bloody leg away from his sight.

“Do you need help standing?” He asks, closing in on her rocking figure. It’s not safe for a woman – much less a homeless woman – to be alone and injured. The park hardly garners enough visitors for its awkward location. He might be her only help.

“N-no…n-no…no,” the woman holds her leg away, wailing as she rocks from side to side.

Seokjin hovers next to the woman, folding over to gauge the extent of her injuries when his eyes trails over the thin red paint covering from the bottom of her knee to the middle of her calves. She babbles and wails, flailing her arms over the leg until a silver glint flashes over his eyes and air is knocked out of his lungs. When he opens his eyes and groans, he’s facing the cloudless sky, his vision flashing purple and black. He curses and turns to his side only to come face to face with a pair of black shoes.

He doesn’t raise his chin. Rather, he’s not given the choice, not when he feels the barrel of a gun pressed upon his noggin. The sound of bullet entering its chamber sounds from behind and he realizes quickly that he’s been set up.

“Kim Taehyung,” he wheezes, sputtering as he catches his breath. The gun behind him trails up his spine until it’s pressing into the back of his skull. He doesn’t know who that woman his, but he knows for sure the man standing in front of him can’t be anyone else but Taehyung.

In his paralysis he can hardly think of how Taehyung was able to use Hoseok’s number to meet him at a place only he and Hoseok investigated. The last time he spoke to him, Hoseok had only warned that he couldn’t continue the investigation, that Kim Taehyung had formally requested him to quit meddling, and ended the call shortly after. Surely Taehyung couldn’t have done something to the man in Hong Kong? He couldn’t think of a reason why someone who isn’t even related to Jungkook by blood will go through such lengths to protect him.

“Didn’t I tell you not to meddle in my affairs?”

He nods, exhaling. “You d-did.”

The gun from behind slides from his skull to his temple.

“You should have listened the first time.”

[jossambird]

The scent on your coat P5

Summary: Otto spends time to reflect on his life and his encounter with you and decides to go find you… Only to meet someone else.

Otto Octavius x F!Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Warning: Fighting, mentions of bleeding, NS/FW Subjects, Doc Yearning, Doc Jealousy,

AO3 Link for Previous Parts or on my masterlist!

For the next few days after your encounter, Otto couldn’t shake the feeling inside his stomach after seeing you again, heart beating happily as the image of you sprawled out for him reappeared in his mind. Just how long had it been?

Nearly a year had he been forced into a life of criminality, and no matter how much time would have passed, nothing could have ever changed his ever growing love for you.

The stars over his head remained hidden, just like he had been after his accident. The memory of it all felt fabricated, like a story out of the newspapers, but it wasn’t, and here he was, tentacles and all, no longer living the same life as before.

The night he had broken into Oscorp, everything had felt much too nostalgic for his taste, yourself included. You weren’t supposed to be there, served like a decadent meal on display for anyone to see. But you had been, and now, that image would remain forever ingrained in his memory.

Seeing you again in his lab, panting and touching yourself had caused him to feel all kinds of emotions all over again, mainly jealousy coursing through his system until he heard his own name escape your lips as you came.

“Ive only ever wanted you.” The very words replayed in his mind, heart beating faster at the thought. Did you also harbour a deeper emotion for him, just like he did for you? During your employment together, becoming close to you had felt like heaven, your smiles and gentle accidental touches always making his days better.

Otto sighed, eyes turning back to the endless black sky, and wondered if you were looking up too.

The state of his marriage to Rosalie had laid heavy on his mind, long before your employment as his assistant. Otto could still remember the moment he knew it was done, knew that his heart had stopped beating for Rosalie: You had smiled at a successful test, a simple little thing really, but the beauty in that moment, witnessing first hand your joy, had gotten him.

The love he had once felt for Rosalie had long since passed before that moment, just as her love for him had as well.

He had always felt jealous when Harry would come and see you, touching you innocently infront of him and everyone. Though, the very act of watching you always reject Harry Osborn’s advances left fire in his veins, pride radiating off him when you would turn back to him, smiling shyly as Harry left. Oh how he had always wanted to push you against his desk and take you right there, show Harry who you belonged to.

Now, in hindsight, he regretted becoming distant after the whole Harry hug ordeal, remembering how you would try to talk to him afterwards, worry painting your beautiful features with each passing day.

Most of all, he regretted not being able to properly tell you how much he had missed you, and just how much he loved you…

He started moving in seconds, claws burying themselves into the brick and steel of buildings, making his way towards the hideous Oscorp building. Perhaps, you would be working a late night shift again, and perhaps, you would be open to speaking with a villain and old colleague once more.

‘Speaking’ was perhaps not the right word to employ for what could potentially transpire between the two of you after his previous promise to you but he held no expectations, excitement coursing through his veins at the mere idea of seeing you again.

As he approached the Oscorp building and scaled up to the roof, he was met with a bizarre sight, momentary confusion equally held in the other man’s eyes.

Before him, on the very top of Oscorp Industries, sat Spider-Man. In seconds, Otto launched himself at the younger man, frustration rolling off of him in waves at the idea of not being able to see you tonight because of little Peter Parker.

A few moments passed, attacks flying left and right, yet… Something felt off, Otto thought, watching as Peter merely deflected his attacks and stood out of the way, never stepping forward to actually harm him or to the tentacles. He was taking the hits alright, but never retaliating, only receiving, as if to punish himself-

“S-Say Doc Oc- Doctor Octavius, can I ask you something?” Spiderman stuttered out, barely standing in place, face turned away from the older man. The younger man paused, mind jumbled while the villain remained still before him.

Otto didn't know what to do with this bizarre turn of events, looking at Parker in confusion and suspicion. He must have hit the boy on the head, or perhaps he was drunk, using his name for the first time in ages. Otto huffed out in annoyance, he’d much rather go back to trying to throw him across town then answer whatever stupid questions-

“If you loved someone… TRULY loved them, and you found out they loved another… Would you let them go?” Peter cut off his train of thought, making the elder man freeze at the intimate question.

Otto Octavius, renowned Scientist and villain, felt speechless. Of all people whom Peter Parker could have asked… Why him? Was this why Parker kept missing his attacks, barely avoiding his claws, tumbling left and right like a drunk? A broken heart?

“Yes, I would set them free.” Otto uttered without a beat, instantly regretting opening his damn mouth at the sight before him.

“How am I supposed to do that?” Peter tried to let out, a loud sob escaping as he staggered to the rooftops ground, mask in hand while the other hand furiously wiped his tears away.

Otto suddenly felt as if he were back in his old apartment, answering all of Peter’s questions, laughing and thinking just how bright and kind this young man was. But now, it was another woman roaming the halls of his apartment in his mind, another woman turning the corner to see him, your brilliant eyes shining as you smiled at him.

“Sometimes, to do what's right… we must be steady and give up the things we desire the most. Even our dreams.” Otto threw back the boy's own words that he had told him ages ago, knowing that despite everything, it was true. It was hard not to remember just how human they both were, and just how young Peter Parker was.

His eyes landed on the younger man once more, watching as Peter tried to regain a sense of decorum, despite the sobs that still shook his shoulders.

“Are they the one who told you they love someone else?” He asked after a beat, mild curiosity coursing through him as he tried to remember who Peter Parker had been interested in except that poor Mary Jane. The younger man let out a wet chuckle, surprising Otto as the boy smiled widely, fondly.

“She didn’t need to, she's always loved him, even if he didn’t know.” Peter uttered but shook his head, unmasked eyes turning up to look at the villain.

“She- she worked with him. They were pretty close.” Peter swallowed, sorrowful eyes turning away from the man.

“He left, and never came back, for her or his work. I'm the one who helped her pick up the pieces.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, our wedding is in a few days.” Parker smiled softly as if reliving a memory, eyes and skin blotchy red from his tears. He lifted his hand in the air, wedding band shining in the moonlight.

Silence reigned between the two men, a gentle breeze caressing Otto’s cheek as his mind ran wild, trying to discern who Peter kept alluding to, eyes turning towards the city around-

“You know, she loved you. Really love you.” Peter whispered with a laugh, but it didn’t matter, Otto had heard him loud and clear, body freezing at the younger man's implication.

“She loved you, waited for you. But you never came.” Parker continued, taking the man's silence as an invitation to be quiet.

The silence felt all too stifling, until a tentacle shot out from behind Dr Octavius, grabbing Peter by the throat and throwing him against the brick wall beside them. Emotions swirled in Otto, thoughts and memories flashing before his eyes as he imagined you with Peter Parker, imagined you under the boy, moaning Peter’s name instead of his own. Soon to be married, Y/N Parker.

The very thought of it all and the thought that Peter had had you under him caused liquid hate to course through the Scientist’s veins, wondering if Peter had ever been able to make you cum just as he had, remembering the way you’d gripped his hair and moaned HIS name, crumbling so beautifully under his tongue.

A growl escaped him as he launched after Peter, tentacles whipping right and left to try and catch the little shit.

Most of all, he imagined you disappearing forever, married to a boy, never to see HIM again. Never again would he hear you moan, never again would he hear you say his name, and most of all, never again would he see you smile for him. All of the dreams he had had of a life with you, ripped away because of Peter Parker.

Otto blinked, looking up to see the tentacles enthusiastically attacking Peter of their own volition, reacting to his jealousy, anger and sorrow. Though the scene before him took Otto Octavius by surprise, watching as Peter barely avoided the Claws, taking each hit that landed.

Otto watched the young man for a moment and decided, upper right Claw clasping itself around Peter’s throat, dragging the boy forward. Blood trailed down Parker’s mouth and nose but his quick hands reached out and grabbed Otto’s coat, hazy eyes focusing on his ex-Mentor.

Suddenly, Peter’s blue eyes sharpened, mouth opening to try and speak.

“P-Please, tell me… Could you love someone, be IN love with someone, as you are now?” Peter whispered, coughing up blood as he ground out his words, red splattering over Otto’s black turtleneck and leather coat.

“Pardon me?” Dr Octavius bite out, faltering for a moment at the way Peter watched him, as if trying to discern something important, shaking hands firmly balled in his coat.

“If you had that one chance right now, to tell her- to tell the person that you love that you want to be with them for the rest of your life and make them happy as you are now, tentacles and all, would you do it?” Peter asked, and in the brief second that followed his question, no matter how jealous he felt at the fact that Peter Parker had had you first, images of you coursed through his mind, your voice repeating every sentence you had ever told him. Peter’s little blunder had also not escaped him, the word ‘her’ ringing in his ears.

“In a heartbeat.”

Peter remained still under the claws hold, visibly debating something.

“Sometimes, to do what's right, we must be steady and give up the things we desire the most. Even our dreams.” The boy repeated once more, and even though Peter had thrown those words at him once before, now, it seemed the words weren’t for him. No no, instead, they were for Peter himself. Tears rolled down Peter’s cheeks once more but a smile appeared, tired eyes looking up at Otto.

[starryevermore]

tale as old as time ✧ colby brock ✧ 31doh 11

prompt: day 11, beast!colby

pairing: beast!colby brock x fem!reader

summary: he was the beast. you were the beauty. could i make it anymore obvious?

word count: 16,091

warning(s): most of the dialogue is from Beauty and the Beast (1991) with some from Beauty and the Beast (2017), reader is given a last name (“Bellamy”)

NOTE: IT HAS OCCURED TO ME THAT I HAVE JAKE PAUL AND JAKE WEBBER IN THE SAME FIC, BOTH ADDRESSED AS “JAKE”. TOO LAZY TO GO BACK AND FIX IT ALL. SO, IF THERE’S A JAKE IN THE CASTLE, IT’S JAKE WEBBER. IF THERE’S A JAKE WITH A LOGAN, IT’S JAKE PAUL. 

Once upon a time, in a far away land, a young prince lived in a beautiful castle. Although he had everything he could have ever wanted, he was spoiled, selfish, and spiteful.

But, on one cold, winter’s night, an old beggar woman came to the prince’s castle. She offered him a single rose should he allow her shelter from the bitter cold. Disgusted by her ghastly appearance, the prince turned her and her gift away. But she warned him to not be deceived by appearances, for true beauty is found within. Still, the prince dismissed her. And, as he tried to slam the door in her face, her ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. 

The prince tried to apologize, but it was useless. She had seen that there was no love in his heart. For punishment for his cruelty, she transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a spell on the castle and all who resided in its walls. 

Ashamed of his monstrous form, the Beast hid himself inside his castle. His only window to the outside world was a magic mirror. As days bled into years, the prince and his servants were forgotten by the world for the enchantress had erased all memory of them from the minds of the people they loved. 

But, the rose the woman had offered was truly an enchanted rose. If only he could learn to love another and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell, the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time.

As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope.

For who could ever learn to love a beast?

In a small provincial town, you walked the empty streets, headed to the bookstore. For a moment, the town was peaceful. Not a single person, save you, was up and about yet. That is, until the rooster crowed and—

“Bonjour!”

“Bonjour!”

“Bonjour!”

“Bonjour!”

Suddenly, the town’s entire population filled the streets. You skillfully dodged people, trying to stay out of everyone’s business. You passed the baker, Reggie, carrying his tray full of bread, who called out to you, “Good morning, Y/N!”

“Good morning, Monsieur!”

“Where are you off to?”

“The bookshop!” you said, showing off the book you had just finished. “I just finished the most wonderful story, about a beanstalk and an ogre and—”

“That’s nice,” Reggie cut you off, looking disinterested. “Marie! The baguettes! Hurry up!”

You shook your head, smiling to yourself, as you continued down the cobblestoned road. You passed a group of gossiping women, who whispered to themselves about a strange girl who lived in the town. You paid them no mind, though—you had no business in discussing such trivial matters. Surely, there must be more than this provincial life!

You reached the bookstore, tucked between the seamstress and the bank. You swung open the door, earning the attention of the owner, Cassie, who was dusting the shelves. 

“Ah, Y/N!” she greeted. 

“Good morning,” you said. “I’ve come to return the book I borrowed!”

Her eyebrows shot up as she laughed. “Finished already?”

“Oh, I couldn’t put it down! Have you got anything new?”

She shook her head, smiling. “Not since yesterday.”

“Hmm, that’s already,” you said, climbing one of the ladders perched against a shelf. “I’ll borrow…this one!”

“That one? But you’ve read it twice!”

“Well, it’s my favorite!” You climbed down from the ladder, saying, “Far off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise!”

Cassie thought for a moment, then decided, “If you like it all that much, it’s yours!”

“But Cassie!” you argued, almost putting the book back.

“I insist!”

You paused, thinking. “…Well, thank you. Thank you very much!”

You left the bookstore and passed by the townsfolk, still whispering to themselves about the peculiar girl. You made your way to the center of town, where the large, ornate fountain stood. You took a seat at its edge, leafing through the book, reaching your favorite part where the girl meets Prince Charming—but the best part was that she won’t discover that its him til Chapter Three!

Also arriving at the center of town was Monsieur Logan and his brother, Jake. Jake followed his brother like a puppy would its owner, shouting, “WOW! You didn’t miss a shot, Logan! You’re the greatest hunter in the whole world!”

Logan wore a smug look on his face. “I know!”

“No beast alive stands a chance against you,” Jake said, nudging his brother with his elbow, “and no girl for that matter!”

“It’s true,” Logan agreed. “And I’ve got my sights set on that one!” 

Jake followed Logan’s line of sight, realizing he was staring at Y/N, the strange girl who’d moved to the town a few years ago with her father. He looked back to Logan, his jaw dropped. “The inventor’s daughter?” 

“She’s the one! The lucky girl I’m going to marry.”

“But she’s—”

“The most beautiful girl in town!”

“I know but—”

Logan turned harshly on his brother, grabbing him by his shirt collar and lifting him off the ground. “And that makes her the best. And don’t I deserve the best?”

“Well, of course, I mean you do, but I mean…”

Logan dropped Jake, who stumbled and hit the ground with a dull thump. He ignored his brother’s sputtering and said, “Right from the moment when I met her, saw her, I said she’s gorgeous! and I fell. Here in town, there’s only she who is as beautiful as me! So, I’m making plans to woo and marry her!”

He continued on his walk through town, passing a group of three identical girls that fawned over him. Jake got back to his feet and scurried behind his brother.

Meanwhile, you had looked up from your book, taking in the all-too-familiar sight of the bustling town. You let out a sigh, muttering, “There must be more than this provincial life!”

You stood, deciding that perhaps you should return home before you became enraged with the simplicity of the town you called home. But you were stopped by the shout of a voice that only irritated you further.

“Hello, Y/N!” Logan greeted when he reached you, a charming smile masking the ugliness inside.

“Bonjour, Logan,” you replied, trying to walk around him. But you were stopped by him snatching your book from your hands. You blew air out of your nose, your blood pressure starting to rise. “Logan,” you said, trying to keep your tone even, “may I have my book?”

“I don’t see how you can read this!” He flipped through the pages, and you cringed as you heard a few of them rip from his manhandling. “There’s no pictures!”

“It’s called an imagination, perhaps you should invest in one.” 

You tried to reach and grab the book from his hand, but he tossed it to the side. You watched in horror as it landed in a puddle, soaking in its pages.

“It’s about time you got your head out of books and paid attention to more important things.”

You bent over and picked the book up, then pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket you had sewn in your dress. You carefully dried it as you asked, “Oh, should I? And what would those more important things be?”

“Well, me of course!” Logan puffed his chest out. “The whole town’s talking about it—it’s not right for a woman to read.” 

You gave him your meanest glare, but he didn’t back down. “Oh? Well, that’s a shame. I care so much what the town thinks of me.” 

He didn’t pick up on your sarcasm, nodding, as he said, “So glad you see it my way! When a woman reads, she starts to get…ideas…” He shuddered. “…and starts…thinking.”

You scoffed. “Logan, you are positively primeval.”

If you doubted his intelligence before, you knew he was a proper idiot now. His chest puffed out further, as though you had just told him he should be crowned king of the world. “Why, thank you, Y/N!” He placed a hand on your shoulder that you were quick to shrug off. “Hey, whaddya say you and me take a walk over to my tavern and have a look at my hunting trophies?”

You grimaced, but tried to hide it behind a fake smile. “Maybe some other time.”

Nearby, the three girls had been listening closely and gasped out at the same time— “What’s wrong with her?” “She’s crazy!” “He’s gorgeous!”

“Oh, come on!” Logan protested. “You have nothing else going on and—”

“I can’t,” you said. “I have to get home and help my father.”

Jake decided to make his presence known, laughing, “That crazy old loon? He needs all the help he can get!”

And, if you didn’t hate Logan already, you were imagining casting him to a volcano as he laughed alongside his brother.

“Don’t you dare talk about my father like that!”

Logan immediately stopped laughing, punching his brother in the stomach. “Yeah, don’t talk about her father that way!”

“My father is not crazy—he’s a genius,” you said through gritted teeth. “And he’s twice the man you could ever dream of being, Monsieur.”

When you returned home, your father had accidentally set himself on fire. Again. He was a genius, you were sure of that, but even geniuses had moments of…well…of Logan-level idiocy. You were impressed, though, that he had set himself on fire when he was around nothing that could have even started a fire. Your father was a genius, you decided, an incredibly stupid genius—but a genius nonetheless. 

“Are you alright, Papa?” you asked as he put out the fire. 

“How on earth did that happen?” he muttered to himself, kicking the machine that presumably was the reason he caught fire. “I’m ready to give up on this pile of junk!”

You laughed quietly. “You say that every time something goes wrong.”

“Well, I mean it this time!”

“No, you don’t. You’ll continue working on it, and you’ll win first prize at the fair tomorrow.”

He hmph’d.

“…and you’ll become a world famous inventor!”

His expression softened. “You really think so?”

“You know I always have.”

“Well, what are we waiting for? I’ve have this hunk of junk fixed in no time! Say, hand me that wrench.” You passed him the wrench. “So, did you have a good time in town today?”

“I did. I got a new book.” You paused, wondering if you should ask a question that had begun to weigh on your mind. “Papa, do you think I’m odd?”

He looked away from his invention, brows furrowed together. “My daughter? Odd? Why would you ever think of something like that?”

“I’m just not sure I fit in here. There’s no one here I can talk to.”

“What about that Logan fellow? He’s a handsome young man!”

You scoffed. What did his attractiveness have to do with being someone you could talk to? But, you knew what he was getting at. He had wanted you to accept Logan’s marriage proposal for ages now. “He’s handsome, sure. But he’s also rude and conceited and ugly where it counts! Oh, Papa, he’s not the one for me!”

“Well, don’t you worry, because this invention’s going to be the start of our new life!” He finished tinkering, then declared, “I think that’s done it!” 

He turned the machine on. It whirred. And then—

It chopped the tree the machine rested beside—exactly as it was designed to do!

“It works!” you marveled.

“It does?” your father repeated. “It does!”

You threw your arms around your father. “I knew you’d be able to do it!”

Your father beamed like he had already won first place. “Hitch up Phillipe! I need to get to the fair!”

You did just as he said, helping him to load the invention into the carriage and harnessing your family horse to said carriage. As your father climbed into the carriage, he asked, “Would you like me to bring you anything back?”

You pretended to think. “Hmm…I think I would like a rose.” 

He chuckled. “Why, you ask for that every year I go to the fair!”

“And every year, you bring it.”

He smiled softly. “Then I shall you another. You have my word. Let’s go, Phillipe!” 

As he rode away, you shouted to him, “Goodbye, Papa! Good luck!”

“We should be there any minute now,” your father said to Phillipe. “…I think. Maybe we missed a turn. I probably should have…wait a minute.” Your father inspected a sign on the side of the road that indicated if he went down the path to the left, through a darkened woods, he’d get to the fair quicker. “Let’s go this way.” 

Phillipe neighed, trying to move to the safer-looking path to the right.

“Let’s go, Phillipe! It’s just a shortcut. We’ll be at the fair in record time!” 

Begrudgingly, Phillipe traveled down the path to the left. But, as they ventured further down the path, the darker the woods became. Crows cawed ominously, landing on tree branches to watch the carriage. Your father eyed the crows, wondering if they were the type of bird to be omens of death. Further away, wolves howled and your father’s blood ran cold. Wolves around these parts were known to attack without mercy.

“This can’t be right,” your father muttered. “Where have you taken us, Phillipe? We’d better turn around and, whoa! Whoa…whoa boy, whoa Phillipe! OH, LOOK OUT!”

A swarm of bats flew out of a tree, spooking Phillipe. The horse galloped through the forest, not listening to your father’s commands, not until they nearly toppled off of the edge of a cliff. 

“Back up! Back up!” your father shouted. “Steady! Good boy, good boy. Hey now, steady! That’s good…Back up! Steady. Steady!” Phillipe bucked, freeing himself from the harness. “Phillipe!” The horse galloped away, leaving your father stranded. “Phillipe? Oh no…”

Your father finally saw what startled Phillipe out of his harness—a pack of wolves had arrived, snarling as they surrounded your father. Unsure if he could outrun wolves but desperate to stay alive, your father ran and ran and ran until—

He arrived at a large, foreboding castle. Well, outside of the gate of a large, foreboding castle. He shook the lock, shouting, “Help! Help! Is someone there?”

The gate creaked open. Your father took the opportunity to run in, not noticing the gate slamming shut as the wolves caught up nor his hat falling from his head. He ran to the doors of the castle, banging on them until they, too, creaked open.

As he entered the castle, a small candelabra whispered to a clock, “Old fellow must’ve gotten lost in the woods.”

“Shut up!” the clock hissed. “Maybe he’ll go away.”

Your father looked around, thinking he heard some voices. “Is someone there?”

“Not a word, Sam!” the clock said. “Not a word!”

“I don’t mean to intrude,” your father continued, “but I’ve lost my horse and I need some place to stay until morning.” 

Sam looked to the clock, feeling sorry for the poor man, and said, “Oh Jake, have a heart.”

“Shush! Shush! Shhhhhh!”

Jake put a hand over Sam’s mouth, who quickly set his own candle-hand on fire and put it to Jake’s hand. 

“OW ow OW ow OWW!”

Sam hopped onto a table, declaring, “Of course, Monsieur, you are welcome here!”

Your father grabbed the lit candelabra he saw on the table, not realizing it was the one speaking. “Who said that?”

Sam tapped on the man’s shoulder. “Over here!”

“Where?”

Sam hit the man’s hand. “Hello!”

Your father grabbed, dropping the candelabra. “Oh!! Incredible!”

Jake hopped over to the two, shaking his head at Sam. “Well, now you’ve done it, Sam. Splendid, just peachy—aarghh! Put me down!”

Your father had picked up the strange clock and candelabra, admiring the two before beginning to fiddle with them. “How does this work?”

“Put me down! At once!” The man fiddled with the clock hands. “Stop that! Stop that now!” The man tickled the bottoms of Jake’s feet, making the clock laugh. He wound up the spring on the back of Jake’s head, twisting his face around with the clock hands. He continued on his tirade, opening the front of Jake and playing with the pendulum. Jake, reaching his limit, slammed the door shut on the man’s finger. “Sir, how would you feel if someone opened up your fat old stomach and played with your intestines?!”

“My apologies, Mr. Clock,” your father said. “It’s just that I’ve never seen a clock that…aaah…aaah…Excuse me…aaah-chooo!”

Your father sneezed straight into Jake’s face, who quickly cleaned his face off using his clock hands like wipers. Your father continued to sniffle, earning the concern of Sam.

“Oh, you are soaked to the bone, Monsieur! Come now, warm yourself by the fire.”

“Thank you, Mr. Candle,” your father sniffled, following Sam to another room in the castle.

“No, no, no, do you know what he would do if he found you here?” Jake chastised, unaware that the Beast watched everything happening from an overhead walkway. “Stop…right…there!”

Sam led the man to a large, plush chair in front of the fireplace.

“Oh no, no! Not his chair!”

A footstool, Corey, ran into the room, situating himself under the man’s legs. They hadn’t had company in years—the least they could do was be a bit hospitable before sending the man away. 

“Alright, this has gone too far!” Jake snapped. “You need to—”

A cart wheeled itself into the room. A teapot, Aryia, and a broken teacup, Kevin, sat on top of the cart. 

“Would you like a cup of tea? It’ll warm you up in no time!” Aryia asked the man, who nodded. Aryia poured tea into Kevin. Once filled to the brim, Kevin hopped into the man’s hands.

“No! No tea!” Jake protested.

Your father ignored the odd clock, taking a sip of the tea, who began to laugh out, “Your mustache tickles, man!”

Your father blinked, surprised that even the teacup could talk. But what else could he expect from such a strange place? But he didn’t have time to dwell on oddities, because the teacup let out a quiet, “Uh oh.”

You see, the door to the den was thrown open and a strong gust of wind blew in, extinguishing the fireplace and Sam’s flames. Jake, panicked, dove behind a bookshelf. Aryia shook, and Kevin jumped back on the cart. 

A large…creature darkened the den’s doorway. It looked like nothing your father had seen before. It stood nearly eight foot tall, and had what could only be described as a buffalo head, the body, arms, and claws of a bear, tusks of a wild board, and the legs, teeth, and tail of a wolf. It was covered in thick, matted dark brown fur. Its eyes were a light blue, and held the rage of a man ready to commit murder. Oddly enough, it wore clothes—only a ragged purple cape with a gold clasp and ripped grey pants, but clothes nonetheless.

“There’s a stranger here,” the Beast growled. And not “growl” as one would describe an angry person, but growled almost wolflike.

Sam’s flame relit as he quickly said, “Allow me to explain! The gentleman here was lost in the woods. He was cold and wet, so…” 

The Beast let an echoing snarl, spooking Sam so badly his flames went out again.

Jake hopped out of his hiding place, trying to appease the beast. “I’d like to take this moment to say, I was against this from the start. It was all Sam’s fault. I tried to stop him, but would he listen to me? No, no…”

The Beast snarled again, shutting up Jake. His focus honed in on the man in his chair. “Who are you!? What are you doing here?!”

“I…I was lost…in the woods and…”

“YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE!”

“I…I’m sorry, I’ll just be going—”

The Beast advanced on the man, who froze as it got closer. “WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT!?”

“Nothing!”

Your father tried to leave, but was stopped in his tracks as the Beast growled, “SO, YOU’VE COME TO STARE AT THE BEAST, HAVE YOU?!”

“Please, I mean no harm! I just needed a place to stay until…”

“You need a place to stay? I’LL GIVE YOU A PLACE TO STAY!”

“No! PLEASE! NO! NO!”

The Beast picked the man up as if he weighed nothing, slamming the door shut behind him. No one dared followed the Beast, for they all knew where the man was headed. 

The dungeon.

Meanwhile, Logan had a plan. He was so sure you just playing hard to get—just denying his proposals until he really swept you off your feet. And he was sure he would able to do it this time! With the aid of his brother, he just knew you wouldn’t be able to say no this time around. 

“Y/N’s about to get the surprise of her life!” Jake declared, trailing behind his brother. 

“Today is her lucky day,” Logan agreed. They had just reached the outside of the Bellamy cottage. Following closely behind the brothers was a local band and, well, probably half the town. Logan turned to face the crowd and said, “I’d like to thank you all for coming to my wedding! But first, I better go in there and propose to my bride!”

The crowd erupted into laughter.

“Now, Jake, remember: when Y/N and I come out that door—”

“—oh I know, I know! I strike up the band!” He turned to the band and began conducting, causing them to start playing a lively version of Here Comes the Bride. 

Logan hit Jake, causing his actions to halt. He hissed, “Not yet, you idiot!”

“Sorry,” Jake muttered. 

Logan approached the front door to the cottage. He took a moment to straighten up his shirt and jacket, ran his fingers through his hair to make sure it was styled properly, then raised his fist to knock. A quiet “coming!” came from inside, followed by the door swinging open to reveal  the beautiful Y/N. 

You looked taken aback as you stepped out of her home, shutting the door behind you. You said, “Logan, what a…pleasant surprise.”

Not taking note of the thinly veiled disgust in your voice, Logan beamed. “Isn’t it though? I full of surprises, you know. Y/N, there’s not a girl in town who wouldn’t love to be in your shoes.”

“That’s not true, every girl in town thinks my shoes are hideous and I’d be better going around barefoot.” 

“This is the day!” Logan ignored her. “This is the day that your dreams come true.”

“The day my father becomes a famous inventor and we can leave this town?”

Logan huffed. “No.” 

“Then what do you know of my dreams, Logan?”

“Plenty. Picture this: a rustic hunting lodge, my latest kill roasting on the fire, and my little wife, massaging my feet, while the little ones play with the dogs.” Y/N’s nose scrunched up, and you looked like she was about to vomit. “I think we should have about six or seven.”

“Dogs?” Y/N said. If he meant the other thing, oh Lord, you might vomit on his shoes. Though, on second thought, that didn’t sound like the worst thing in the world…

“No, Y/N!” Logan said. “Strapping boys, just like me!”

You looked him up and down, imagining miniature Logans running amuck in the town. “Imagine that.” 

“And do you know who that wife will be?”

“Let me think…” 

Logan stepped closer to you, boxing you in against your front door. “You, Y/N!”

Your jaw dropped.

“Say something, Y/N.” 

“…I really don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll marry me.” 

You ducked under his arm and started to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. “Logan, we could never make each other happy. No one can change that!”

He turned and began to walk towards you. “Y/N, do you know what happens to spinsters in our town after their fathers die?” 

And you did—you thought of Tara, a girl around your age who’s father had passed on before she was of marrying age. Though she wasn’t much younger than you, she looked like she had age thirty years as her life became a life of hardship. 

“They beg for scraps,” Logan continued. “This is our world, Y/N. For simple folk like us, it doesn’t get any better.” 

“I may only be an inventor’s daughter, Logan, but I am far from simple. I’m sorry, but I will never marry you.” 

You turned and ran off, but froze for a moment when you saw practically the entire town, complete with a band. Upon seeing you, the band began to play Here Comes the Bridge and the town began to cheer. You suddenly felt sick again, realizing that Logan had intended to marry you and trap you in a life of simplicity that very day. You shook your head, trying to rid your mind of the memory, before running off to the stables. 

But, as you ran, you heard Jake ask, “So, how’d it go?”

And Logan’s voice was unmistakably vengeful as he snarled, “I’ll have Y/N for my wife, make no mistake of that!”

You didn’t even reach the stables when something else came to distract you: Phillipe, running like he had looked death in the eye. But he came without your father. 

You gasped as the horse reached you. You grabbed his reins, trying to calm him back down. “Phillipe! What are you doing here? Where’s…Where’s Papa? Where is he, Phillipe? What happened?” 

Phillipe neighed wildly.

“Oh, we have to find him! You have to take me to him!” you cried, unhitching the carriage and mounting Phillipe.

“What is this place?” you wondered aloud, staring up at the castle Phillipe had brought you to. Phillipe snorted as you unmounted him. “Phillipe, please, steady.”

You walked up to the gate, noticing your father’s hat lying on the ground. You picked it up, cradling it against your chest. The gate creaked open and, knowing you had no other choice if father had truly been here, you walked inside. You walked all the way up to the castle and entered, deciding that the cracked open door was an invitation for you to go inside. You called out, “Hello? Is anyone there? Hello? Papa, are you here?” 

Unbeknownst to you, you had all eyes on you. 

In the kitchen, Kevin had hopped up to the sink, where all the other teacups were being watched. “Aryia, dude, you won’t guess what I saw!”

Aryia rolled his eyes. “What?”

“There’s a girl in the castle!”

“You can’t keep pulling this joke. We all know about Cassie and Xepher and Kat and Devyn and—”

“No, a human girl!”

Aryia rolled his eyes once more, nudging Kevin, who fell into the sink. Kevin popped out of the water, sputtering.

“Not cool, man!”

Then—

“A girl!” A featherduster, Kat, came sweeping into the room. “I saw a girl in the castle!”

Aryia scoffed. “Did Kevin bribe you to go along with this joke?”

“No I didn’t!” Kevin argued. “There’s a real girl in the castle! And a real beautiful one at that!” 

Meanwhile, you continued to search around the castle, paying no mind to the bickering clock and candelabra nearby. 

The candelabra lit up upon seeing you. “Did you see that?” he whispered to Jake. “It’s a girl!”

Jake tick-tocked angrily. How do these humans keep getting into the castle? “I know it’s a girl.”

“Don’t you see? She’s the one. The girl we’ve been waiting for,” Sam cheered. “She’s come to break the spell!”

You continued exploring, finding a long, winding hallway. You followed it, your steps echoing off the stone walls. Sam and Jake followed behind you, a soft clink of Sam’s metal base sounding throughout the corridor. “Papa? Papa, are you here?” 

You were met with silence. “Hello? Is someone here?” You’d begun to think you imagined it, until you saw a shadow on the wall. “Wait! I’m looking for my father!”

The figure you’d seen said nothing, but further away, you heard your father call out, “Y/N? Is that you?”

You took off down the hall, reaching a cell where your father laid curled up on a hard bench, looking half an inch away from death. “Papa!”

“How did you find me?” he asked weakly.

You reached out to him, taking his hands in yours. “Oh, you’re ice cold! We need to get you out of here.”

Your father shook his head. “You need to leave, now.”

“Who’s done this to you?”

“There’s no time to explain—go, now!”

He stared just beyond you, his face draining of all color. For the first time in your entire life, you saw fear in your father’s eyes.

“No,” you argued, not realizing the danger that was just a few feet away, “I won’t leave you!”

You felt a large hand on your shoulder, and you were whipped around. You were face to face with…Well, you didn’t know. He had backed out of the light and was now too far away to tell. 

“What are you doing here?” the…thing snarled.

“Run!” your father shouted. 

“Who’s there? Who are you?” you asked. 

“The master of this castle,” the thing growled.

You realized you had a chance to bargain with him for your father’s release. “I’ve come for my father. Please let him out! Can’t you see he’s sick?”

“Then he shouldn’t have trespassed here.”

Your voice shook with desperation as you pled, “But he could die. Please, I’ll do anything!”

“There’s nothing you can do. He’s my prisoner.”

“But there must be some way I can…wait!” You were a fool for what you were about to suggest, and you knew it. But it was the only way. An eye for an eye; a prisoner for a prisoner. “Take me, instead!”

“You!” The thing sounded as shocked as you felt. “You would take his place?”

Your father weakly argued, “No! You don’t know what you’re doing!”

You ignored him and asked, “If I did, would you let him go?”

The thing thought for a moment, then said, “Yes, but you must promise to stay here forever.”

You looked between the thing and your father, wondering why your father looked so terrified. You had yet to see the thing clearly. But how awful could he really look? Still, you wanted to have as much information as possible before you gambled away your life. “Come into the light.”

Slowly, dragging his legs, the thing stepped forward, allowing the light from the torches on the stone wall to illuminate himself. You stared in horror, realizing the monstrosity you were dealing with. But, you knew what you had to do, so you said, “You have my word.”

“Done!” the Beast agreed, unlocking the cell. He took your father out and pushed you in before you could properly realize what was happening. The cell was locked as quickly as it was unlocked.

“No, Y/N, listen to me! I’m old, I’ve lived my life—”

But the Beast was already dragging him away.

“Wait!” you shouted, realizing you weren’t being given the chance to say goodbye.

“Y/N!” your father shouted. 

“Please, wait!” 

The Beast ignored you both, dragging your father to the gate where an enchanted Palanquin awaited.

“Please, spare my daughter!” your father begged. “Please, have mercy!”

“She’s no longer your concern,” the Beast growled. He realized your father was too weak, and too emotionally distraught for that matter, to get into the Palanquin himself, so he picked the man up and put him inside. He said to the Palanquin, “Take him to the village.” 

And, like a horse, the Palanquin galloped away. When the Beast was sure they were gone, he headed back into the castle and began to retire to his quarters when he passed Sam.

“Sir?” Sam said.

The Beast stopped, looking over at the candelabra. He snarled, “What?”

“Since the girl is going to be with us for quite some time, I was thinking that you might want to offer her a more comfortable room,” Sam suggested, hoping his masterplan would work. But when the Beast growled, he muttered, “Then again, maybe not.”

Though, his words seemed to have some affect on the Beast, who grabbed Sam to light the way and made his way to your cell, where you laid on the ground crying, and opened the door. 

When you realized the Beast had returned, you raised your head and sent him the meanest glare you could muster. “You didn’t even let me say good bye. I’ll never see him again. I didn’t get to say good-bye.”

A pang of regret struck his heart, because he knew deep down the pain of not being able to say goodbye. But instead of showing emotion, instead of showing weakness, he said, “I’ll show you to your room.”

Your brows furrowed together. Your room? Were you not a prisoner? Were you not doomed to rot in this cell? “But I thought—”

“Would rather stay in the cell?”

“…No.”

“Then follow me.” 

You pushed yourself onto your feet, and followed the Beast throw the many halls. You looked around the castle, taking note of the various works of art that all had slashes through them, as though some monster had ripped them apart. Though, when you considered where you were, you realized you probably weren’t that far off. 

You were too busy looking at your surroundings to notice the Beast looking back at you, or to notice the tears still falling from your eyes. The Beast turned back to the front, trying to forget what he saw, when Sam whispered, “Say something to her.”

“Hmm? Oh.” He looked back at you for a moment and said, “I…um…hope you like it here.” He looks at Sam, hoping he had done something write. Sam motioned with his candle hands to continue. “The castle is your home now, so you can go anywhere you like, except the West Wing.”

“The West Wing?” Your curiosity was piqued. “What’s in the West Wing?”

The Beast immediately stopped, turning fully around. He flashed his fangs as he snarled, “It’s forbidden!”

Then, he turned back around and continued to the end of the hall. You followed, only stopping when you reached the door that the Beast was opening. You peaked inside as the Beast said in a softer voice, “Now, if you need anything, my servants will attend you.”

Sam whispered in the Beast’s ear, so quiet you couldn’t hear him, “Dinner—invite her to dinner.”

By now, the Beast was getting annoyed with Sam’s interference. Was it now enough to give you a nice room. He growled as you walked into your new room, “You will…join me for dinner. That’s not a request!”

He slammed the door behind him, startling you. You stared at the door, wondering how in the hell you had ended up here, before dissolving into tears once more. Suddenly, you were missing the routine of the small provincial town you’d once called home. At least there, you were never a prisoner to a deranged monster.

“Who does she think she is?” Logan ranted, flopping down in his chair by the fireplace at his tavern. “That girl has tangled with the wrong man! No one says no to Logan!”

“That’s right!” Jake agreed. 

“Dismissed. Dejected. Publicly humiliated. Why, it’s more than I can bear,” Logan ranted, turning his chair to face the fireplace. 

Jake, realizing his brother was spiraling, grabbed a mug of beer from the bar and practically sprinted to get it to Logan. “More beer?”

Logan huffed, turning his chair away from Jake. “What for? Nothing helps. I’m disgraced.” 

“Who you? Never!” Jake argued. “Gosh, it disturbs me to see you, Logan, looking so down in the dumps.” Jake set the beer mug down on a table, then tried to force a smile on Logan’s face by using his fingers to turn up the corners of his mouth. Logan was quick to swing at his brother, who backed away quickly. “Every guy here’d love to be you, Logan!”

Logan rolled his eyes, looking into the crackling fire. 

“There’s no man in town as admired as you! You’re everyone’s favorite guy. Everyone’s awed and inspired by you,” Jake continued, spinning Logan’s chair around so he could no longer stare into the fire. “And it’s not very hard to see why!”

The three identical girls who fawned over Logan giggled. 

“No one’s slick as Logan, no one’s quick as Logan, no one’s neck is as incredibly thick as Logan’s, for there’s no man in town half as manly. Perfect, a pure paragon!” Jake made his way to the bar, pointing at three men drinking. “You can ask any Tom, Dick, or Stanley, and they’ll tell you who’s team they’d prefer to be on!”

Jake and the three men declared, “Who plays darts like Logan? Who breaks hearts like Logan? Who’s much more than the sum of his parts like Logan? 

Logan smirked to himself and stood, saying, “As a specimen, yes, I’m intimidating!”

The entire tavern cheered, “My, what a guy, that Logan!”

Logan crossed the tavern to Jake, putting a hand on his shoulder, “I needed encouragement. Thank you, brother.” 

“Well, there’s no one as easy to bolster as you!” Jake throw an around around Logan’s shoulder, then grimaced when he saw Logan’s face. “Too much?” 

“…Yep.” 

The tavern interrupted the award moment by shouting, “No one fights like Logan, douses lights like Logan!”

One of the boxers in town walked up to Logan, pretending to jab at him. Logan went along with the fake fight, letting the boxer get the upper-hand until Logan bit him. The boxer said, “In a boxing match, nobody bites like Logan!”

The three identical girls shouted, “For there’s no one as burly and brawny!”

Logan flexed, declaring, “As you see, I’ve got biceps to spare!”

“Not a bit of him scruffily or scrawny!” Jake agreed. 

“No one hits like Logan, matches wits like Logan!” the tavern cheered. 

“In a spitting match, nobody spits like Logan!” Jake said.

“I’m especially good at expectorating” Logan agreed, spitting into a spittoon several feet away.

The tavern cheered, “Ten points for Logan!”

“When I was a lad, I ate four dozen eggs, every morning to help me get large!” Logan said. “And now that I’m grown, I eat five dozen eggs, so I’m roughly the size of a barge!”

“Say it again!” everyone cheered. “Who’s a man among men? And then say it once more! Who’s that hero next door? Who’s a super success? Don’t you know? Can’t you guess? Ask his friends and his five hangers-on! There’s just one guy in town who’s got all of it down…”

“And his name’s L-O…” Jake began to spell out before panic slowly washed over his face. “I believe there’s a J…It just occurred to me that I’m illiterate and I’ve never had to spell it out loud before…” 

“LOGAAAAAN!” the tavern cheered. 

The festivities were cut short by the tavern door slamming against the wall as your father came bursting inside. “HELP!” he cried. “Someone help me!”

The bartender was the first to say something. “Maurice?” 

“Please!” Your father ran up to the bar, desperation clear in his eyes. “Please, I need your help! He’s got her. He’s got her locked in the dungeon!”

“Who?” one of the patron shouted out.

“Y/N!” your father said. “We have to go now! There’s not a minute to lose!”

Logan, upon hearing your name, was in front of your father in a moment. He grasped the old man by his shoulders and said, “Whoa! Slow down, Maurice! Who’s got Y/N locked in a dungeon!”

Your father’s eyes were positively mad as he shouted, “A beast! A horrible, monstrous beast!”

The tavern erupted into whispers. Your father, unaware they were gossiping about his seeming insanity, thought that he had them all convinced. 

One patron called out, “Is it a big beast?”

“Huge!”

Another called out, “With a long, ugly snout?” 

“Hideously ugly!”

A third shouted, “And sharp, cruel fangs?”

“Yes, yes!” Your father looked around the room. “Will you help me?”

Logan looked around the tavern, a smirk curling up his face. “Alright, old man. We’ll help you out.” 

“You will?” Your father’s eyes lit up. “Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you!”

“Oh, we’ll help you right out,” Logan laughed as several of the patrons picked up the old man and threw him out the door. 

As the door slammed shut, one patron said, “Crazy old man. He’s always good for a laugh!”

Logan made his way back to the fireplace, staring back in the fire. Jake was close behind and, when Logan was sure his brother was close enough, he said so quietly no one else could hear, “Crazy old man, yeah? Jake, I’m afraid I’ve been thinking.”

“A dangerous pastime.”

“I know, but that wacky old coot is Y/N’s father, and his sanity’s only so-so. Now the wheels in my head have been turning since I looked at that loony old man. See, I promised myself I’d be married to Y/N, and right now I’m evolving a plan.” He whispered in Jake’s ear so quietly even I couldn’t hear every word. “If I…”

“Yes?”

“Then I…” 

“No, would she?”

“…GUESS!”

“Now I get it!”

And, with the plan made, together they said, “Let’s go! No one plots like Logan, takes cheap shots like Logan!”

“Plans to persecute harmless crackpots like Logan,” Jake cheered. 

The entire tavern, though many didn’t understand, said together, “So his marriage we soon’ll be celebrating! My what a guy, Logaaaaaaan!”

At the castle, you had taken to crying on the bed in the room the Beast had given you. You don’t know how long it had been, but you’d figured it hadn’t been very long since the sun had yet to set. As the tears began to slow, a soft clink clink clink! came from the other side of the door. 

“Who is it?” you asked.

“Aryia,” a voice said. The door opened, but no one stood there. “I thought you might like a spot of tea.” 

You sat up, looking around for the source of the voice. But, when you saw nothing at eye-level, you looked down…and down…and down…until you saw a teapot with a face. You gasped, jumping from your bed and crossing the room to pick up the teapot. “You’re a…You’re…This can’t be possible!”

You started to back up, both in awe and in horror of what you were seeing, when your back hit the wardrobe.

“Ooh! Be careful, dear!” the wardrobe said. 

“I…I must be dreaming.” You sat on the edge of the bed, burying your face in your hands. “This is impossible.”

“I know it is, but here we are!” the wardrobe said. “I’m Amber, by the way.” 

A small teacup with a chip on its lip hopped onto the bed, as did the teapot. “I told you she was beautiful, didn’t I, Aryia?” 

The teapot, who was presumably Aryia, rolled its painted eyes and said as he poured tea into the teacup, “Shut up, Kevin.”

Once Kevin was filled, he hopped closer to you. You picked him, still amazed and terrified of what was happening around you. Kevin the teacup asked, “Wanna see me do a trick?” 

“Uhh, sure, I guess?” 

Kevin took a deep breath and began to blow bubbles in the tea. 

“Oh. Um. That’s…an amazing trick?” 

Distracting you from Kevin’s antics, Aryia said, “That was a very brave thing you did.”

Amber chimed in, “We all think so.”

You frowned, sitting Kevin down. You chewed on your bottom lip before saying, “But I’ve lost everything because of it.”

Aryia hopped closer and nudged your leg. “Cheer up. Things will turn out right in the end. You’ll see.” 

“No offense, Mr. Teapot,” you said, “but I find that hard to believe when I live under that beast’s control.” 

Aryia looked like he was ready to argue when he realized the time. “Oh, Kev, we’d better head back to the kitchen! We need to help get supper on the table.” 

“Bye, Miss!” Kevin said, hopping out of the room with Aryia.

You were ready to flop back against the bed and cry some more when Amber said, “Well, speaking of dinner, we need to get you all dolled up!”

“Oh, no, that’s not—” you began to protest.

“Nonsense! Every girl needs to look her best,” Amber argued, her doors opening and dresses flying out. “Hmmm, let’s see…Oooh, you’ll look like a goddess in this one!”

You eyed the dress, still unsure. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m not going to dinner.”

“Oh, but you must!”

You stood, ready to fight it out with the talking wardrobe when a clock hopped into the room. It said, “Ahem. Dinner…is served.”

In the den, the Beast was pacing back and forth in front of the fire. Aryia and Sam looked on as he ranted, “What’s taking so long? I told her to come down. Why isn’t she here yet?!”

“Try to be patient,” Aryia said. “The girl’s lost her father and her freedom all in one day.” 

Sam took a different approach, stoking the flames of the Beast’s frustration. “Have you perhaps thought that this girl could be the one to break the spell?”

“Of course I have!” The Beast glared at the candelabra. “I’m not a fool.”

“Good! You fall in love with her, she falls in love with you and poof! the spell is broken!” Sam said. “We’ll be human again by midnight!”

Aryia scoffed. “It’s not that easy. Did you and Kat fall in love that quickly?”

“…Well, no.” 

“Then you know these things take time.”

Sam frowned. “But the rose has already begun to wilt, and hardly any petals left.”

“It’s no use,” the Beast interrupted. “She’s…beautiful and I’m…Well, me.”

Aryia hopped closer to the Beast. “So help her see past all that.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Well, you can start by making yourself more presentable! Straighten up, act like the prince you were raised to be,” Aryia coached. 

Sam lit up. “Yes! And, when she comes in, give her a dashing, debonair smile. Come on, show us the smile!”

Reluctantly, the Beast bared his fangs, but he seemed more like he was ready to eat the girl than charm her.

“But don’t frighten the girl!” Aryia said. 

“Impress her with your wit,” Sam said.

“But be gentle,” Aryia said.

“Shower her with compliments,” Sam added.

“But be sincere,” Aryia said. “Girls can tell when you’re insincere. Don’t ask me how, but they always know.”

“And, above all else,” Sam began. 

“You must control your temper!” the duo finished together. 

Before the Beast could argue, the door to the den slowly creaked open. The Beast stood a little straighter, wiping the ridiculous grin Sam and Aryia insisted he wore off his face. But, the only person to enter was Jake.

“Good evening,” he said. 

“Well?” the Beast asked. “Where is she?”

Jake stammered, “Who? Oh, yes, the girl! The girl. Well, you see, she’s, um, in the process of…Circumstances being what they are, you know…she’s not coming.”

“WHAT?!”

Before anyone could understand what was happening, the Beast was out of the den and heading straight for your room.

As Sam, Aryia, and Jake chased after him, Jake shouted, “Your grace! Your eminence! Let’s not be hasty!”

But the Beast ignored him as he reached your room. He started hitting the door with his large handing, growling, “I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO COME DOWN TO DINNER!?”

“I’m not hungry!” you said from the other side of the door.

“You’ll come out or I’ll…I’ll break down the door!”

Having finally caught up with him, Sam suggested, “I could be wrong, but that may not be the best way to win the girl’s affections.” 

Jake added, “Attempt to be a gentleman!”

The Beast turned on them, his snarl frightening even them, “But she’s being so difficult!”

“Gently!” Aryia encouraged. “Be gentle!”

The Beast huffed, then looked back at the door, looking almost like a kicked puppy as he asked in a kinder (but still rough around the edges) voice, “Will you come down to dinner?”

But still, you shouted back, “No!”

The Beast looked back at the trio as though he was ready to break down the door, so Jake quickly said, “Ah-ah-ah! Suave, genteel.” 

The Beast, remembering his princely roots, decided perhaps that that may have some effect. He bowed at the door and said in his best, most political voice, “It would give me great pleasure if you would join me for dinner.”

“We say please,” Jake added.

“…please.” 

“No, thank you,” you still said. “I’m perfectly fine in here.” 

The Beast abandoned diplomacy and shouted, “You can’t stay in there forever!”

“Yes I can!”

He let out a ferocious yell before shouting, “Fine! THEN GO AHEAD AND STARVE!” He looked at the trio and declared, “If she doesn’t eat with me me, then she doesn’t eat at all!”

As the Beast stormed away, Aryia said quietly, “That didn’t go very well, did it?”

Jake frowned, then looked to Sam, saying, “Stand here and inform me if anything changes.”

“You can count on me!” Sam said.

Jake then sighed. “Well, might as well go down and clean up whatever he’s destroyed now.”

Jake followed the path of the Beast’s destruction all the way to the West Wing. The Beast was throwing everything he saw, though had a sort of cautiousness about the sparkling red rose suspended in a glass container. The Beast, knowing that one of his servants had followed him, growled, “I ask nicely, but she refuses. What a…what does she want me to do? Beg?” He picked up a silver-plated mirror and said, “Show me the girl.” 

The mirror shone as it showed the Beast the scene in the girl’s room. You were sitting on the bed, dried tear marks streaked down you face, as Amber comforted you, “He’s not all that bad once you get to know him, starshine. Why don’t you give him a chance?”

You huffed, “I don’t want to get to know him. I don’t want to have anything to do with him!”

The Beast shut his eyes, slowly putting the mirror back on its table. His voice almost sounded fragile as he said, “She’ll never see me as anything but a monster.” As he reopened his eyes, he watched as a single petal fall from the rose. “It’s hopeless.”

The sun had set long ago when the door to your room creaked open. But Sam, who was supposed to be standing guard, had long since abandoned his position. He stood further down the hallway, embracing Kat in his arms, whispering plans about a date night to her. 

“Oh, no!” Kat said to the plans.

“Oh, yes!” Sam argued playfully.

Kat giggled, “I’ve been burnt by you before!”

Their attention was taken off of each other as they heard to soft pitter-patter of your feet as you tip-toed down the hall.

“She has emerged!” Sam said, much like how a parent will comment on their loner child finally leaving their room.

You froze for a moment, then said in a voice barely above a whisper, “I know he said that I wasn’t to eat at all, but I’m really hungry and I was wondering…if I could…”

“Follow me!” Sam said. “Our’s kitchen has world-class service!”

You followed Sam down to the kitchen, Sam chattering away about the various foods that they could make. As he reached the kitchen, he heard Jake saying, “Well, if you ask me, she was just being stubborn. After all, he did say please.” 

Aryia said, “But if he doesn’t learn to control that temper, he’ll never break the—”

Fearing that you could also hear the conversation, Sam was kick to throw open the doors and reveal you to the kitchen. 

Jake saw you first, cutting off Aryia by saying, “Splendid to see you out and about, Mademoiselle. I am Jake, head of the household.” He hopped over to you and leaned over to kiss your hand, but was butted out of the way by Sam. “…And this is Sam.”

“En chante, cherie,” he said. 

“If there’s anything that we can do to make your stay more comfortable…” 

“I am a little hungry,” you confessed. 

Aryia practically lit up like he was Sam. “You are? Hear that? She’s hungry! Stoke the fire, break out the silver, wake the china!”

The oven roared to life as kitchen drawers were thrown open, revealing the silverwares standing at attention.

Jake glared at Aryia, whispering, “Remember what he said.”

“Oh, pish posh,” Aryia dismissed. “I’m not gong to let the poor girl go hungry!”

Jake sighed. “Oh, alright. Glass of water, crust of bread, and then—”

Sam stared at Jake incredulously. “Jake, I can’t believe you! She’s not our prisoner. She’s our guest! We must make her feel welcome here!” He turned to you and said, “Right this way, Mademoiselle.”

Jake tick-tocked angrily. “Well, keep it down! If he finds out about this, it will be our necks!”

“We don’t have necks anymore,” Sam said. “But what is dinner without a little music?” 

“MUSIC?!”

“Hush, now, Jake. We mustn’t wake the Beast,” Sam chastised as he led you to a long table in the dinning room. He had you sit at the head of the table, then he went and stood at the center of the table, where a single spotlight shined on him. You looked around, wondering where the light was coming from though you could see no source for it, but your attention turned back to him as he said, “Ma chere, Mademoiselle. It it with deepest pleasure and greatest pride that I welcome you tonight! Now, we invite you to relax. Let us pull up a chair as the dining room proudly presents…your dinner.” 

Sam began to sing, “Be…our…guest, be our guest, put our service to the test! Tie your napkin ‘round your neck, cherie, and we provide the rest!”

The chair you sat in apparently was animated as well, as it immediately took the napkin from the table and wrapped it around your neck. You giggled, removing it so you could place it in your lap. The chair didn’t talk, but you saw it put its arms on the back of the chair like it was a mother who put her hands on her hips when her kids did something she didn’t approve of.

“Soup du jour, hot hors d’oeuvres! Why, we only live to serve! Try the grey stuff, it’s delicious! Don’t believe me? Ask the dishes!” Sam presented you with a plate of hors d’oeuvres, and you took one.

“They can sing, they can dance! After all, miss, this is France!” Sam sang. “And a dinner here is never second best! Go on unfold your menu, take a glance, and then you’ll be our guest! Oui, our guest, be our guest!”

A large cabinet on the other side of the room through its doors open, revealing an impressive fine china collection. The china began to roll out onto the table, presenting itself to you. Sam handed you a menu, which you took and began to look through.

“Beef ragout, cheese soufflé, pie and pudding en flambé! We’ll prepare and serve with flair a culinary cabaret!”

Plates of food danced across the table, Jake somehow managing to be in the pudding. Sam lit one of his candles and set it to the pudding, turning Jake’s sooty. 

“You’re alone and you’re scared, but the banquet’s all prepared! No one’s gloomy or complaining, while the flatware’s entertaining! We tell jokes, I do tricks with my fellow candlesticks!”

The flatware began to do a sort of synchronized swimming routine. Sam hopped onto a plate and began to be raised, juggling candlesticks. A group of mugs came into the room, swinging around like gymnasts as they passed a drink to one another and sang, “And it’s all in perfect taste that you can bet!”

All of the dishes sang, “Come on and lift your glass, you’ve won your own free pas to be our guest!”

Sam sang, “If you’re stressed, it’s fine dining we suggest!”

“Be our guest, be our guest, be our guest!” the dishes sang as they began to leave.

The room darkened and single spotlight shone on Sam. “Life is so unnerving, for a servant who’s not serving! He’s not whole without a soul to wait upon…”

Sam wrapped an arm around Jake, who was trying to leave the room. Jake blew out Sam’s candles in retaliation, snapping, “Get off!”

“Ah, those good days when we were useful. Suddenly those good days are gone…” Salt began to fall from the ceiling like snow. “Six years we’ve been rusting, needing so much more than dusting, needing exercise, a chance to use our skills!” Sam dusted some of the salt off of Jake’s head, who pushed him away and tried to escape again. But, alas, he fell and got stuck in the gelatin mold. “Most days just lay around the castle, flabby fat and lazy. You walked in, and oopsy daisy!” Sam jumped onto a spoon that was in the gelatin, catapulting out of the room.

From the kitchen, you could hear the teapot singing, “It’s a guest, it’s a guest! Sakes alive, well I’ll be blessed! Wine’s been poured and thank the Lord I’ve had the napkins freshly pressed! With desert, she’ll want tea, and my dear, that’s fine with me! While the cups do their soft shoeing, I’ll be bubbling, I’ll be brewing! I’ll get warm, piping hot—Heaven’s sake, is that a spot? Clean it up, we want the company impressed! We’ve got a lot to do—is it one lump or two? For you, our guest!”

The doors to the kitchen swung open and the teapot rolled in on a cart. Every dish sang, “She’s our guest!”

The teapot sang, “She’s our guest!”

“She’s our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest! Our command is your request! It’s ten years since we had anybody here, and we’re obsessed! With your meal, with your ease, yes indeed, we aim to please! While the candlelight’s still glowing, let us help you we’ll keep going—”

All of the dishes danced around the room as they sang, “Course…by…course, one by one, ’til you shout Enough I’m done! then we’ll sing you off to sleep as you digest! Tonight you’ll prop your feet up, but for now let’s eat up! Be our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest! Please, be our gueeeeeeeest!”

“Bravo!” you cheered. “That was incredible!”

As the dishes rolled back to the kitchen, Jake said, “Thank you, Mademoiselle. Yes, good show, wasn’t it? Everyone!” He caught a glimpse of his own face in the reflection of a silver platter. “Oh, goodness! Look at the time. Now, it’s off to bed, off to bed!”

“…but I didn’t even get to eat?” you questioned. “And I couldn’t even go to bed now! It’s my first time in an enchanted castle?” 

“Enchanted?” Jake gasped. “Who said anything about the castle being enchanted?” He turned on Sam. “It was you, wasn’t it?!” 

Jake and Sam rolled around the table, slapping each other, as you quickly said, “I figured it out on my own!”

They stopped fighting momentarily, before Jake began to dust himself off and Sam fixed his wax. Jake said quietly, “Oh.” 

“Anyways, I’d like to look around, if that’s alright.” 

Sam’s candles lit up. “Oh! Would you like a tour?” 

Jake tick-tocked. “Wait a second, wait a second. I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” Jake puffed up and said, “We can’t let her go poking around in certain places, if you know what I mean.”

With the kind of impulsiveness you often saw in a child, you poked Jake in his clock belly. “I’ll poke wherever I like.”

Jake humph’d. 

“Or, better yet, perhaps you could take me. I’m sure you know everything there is to know about the castle.”

Jake grinned. “Well, actually, yes I do!”

After grabbing a snack from the kitchen so you could at least having something in your stomach, Jake led you on a tour of the castle. As you walked around the castle, you were introduced to an excitable footstool who was apparently named Corey (also you finally learned the names of the others that you met so far, which was nice).

Jake stopped at a painting and explained, “As you can see, reveal a minimalist rococo design. Note the unusual inverted vaulted ceilings. This is yet another example of the neoclassic baroque period, and as I always say, if it’s not baroque, don’t fix it! Haha. Now then, where was I?” He turned to see the heads of the suits of armor following you. “As you were!” They all snapped back to position. “Now, if I may draw your attention to the flying buttresses above the—uh, Mademoiselle?”

When Jake turned around, you had made your way to the grand staircase, about to make your ascent. Panic striking them, Sam, Jake, and Corey all ran over, jumping in front of you.

“What’s up there?” you asked.

“Where?” Jake asked, then looked behind him. “Oh, there? Nothing. Absolutely nothing of interest at all in the West Wing. Dusty, dull, very boring.”

Sam was shaking his head in disagreement, until Jake nudged him and so he nodded. 

“Ah, so that’s the West Wing?” They all nodded. “The West Wing I’m forbidden to go to?” 

“Nice going,” Sam whispered to Jake.

You climbed one step, looking off in the direction of the West Wing. “I wonder what he’s hiding up there.”

“Hiding? He’s hiding nothing!” Sam said.

“If there’s nothing there, then why is it forbidden?” you asked, stepping over them. But they moved faster than you could think and blocked your way again.

“Perhaps mademoiselle would like to see something else. We have exquisite tapestries dating all the way back to…” Jake suggested.

“Maybe later,” you dismissed, climbing another step.

“Uh…the gardens?” Sam suggested. “Or…or the library, perhaps?”

You paused. “You have a library?” 

Jake nodded, realizing this was a way to entice you away from the West Wing. “Oh yes! Indeed!”

“With books!” Sam added.

“Scads of books!”

“Mountains of books!”

“Forests of books!”

“Cascades!”

“Cloudbursts!”

“Swamps of books!”

“More books than you’ll ever be able to read in a lifetime! Books on every subject ever studied, by every author who ever set pen to paper!”

The trio began to march off in the direction of the library, sure that would follow. And you nearly did. You made your way down two steps, before your curiosity overtook you. They were so sure you’d follow, but if you moved quickly enough and quietly enough, they won’t even notice your absence. At least, not before you’d already made it to the West Wing.

You climbed the staircase quickly, and head off towards the West Wing. But, your curiosity dwindled as you got closer. Just as Jake had said, it was incredibly dusty there. Dust and cobwebs and…was that a skeleton of a rat? You shuddered, but continued on your not-so-merry way. As you walked, you passed by a shattered mirror and had to walk carefully to avoid cutting your feet. 

When you reached the end of the hall, you found a closed door. And, well, you didn’t come this far to be turned away by a closed door. So, you grasped the gargoyle handles and opened the door. 

It revealed what was once probably a beautiful room. A beautiful four-posted bed was broken, and every mirror was shattered like the one in the hall. The chaise was ripped to shreds. Bookshelves overturned (though the books were piled neatly beside the shelves). Two panther statues were toppled over, and you wondered why one of them looked like it had some illicit substance. And—Were those fuzzy handcuffs?

You looked around, but didn’t notice a stray book in the middle of the floor. You tripped over it, toppling into a table. You caught yourself, and as you stood, you noticed a portrait on the wall. Like everything else, it was destroyed. But, you lifted the ripped pieces and put them together to reveal an incredibly handsome man. He had dark hair, colored purple at the ends. He had a nice smile, but it was also one of those smiles people had when they were trying to act kind but clearly wanted to rip your head off. But, most interesting of all, the man had the prettiest blue eyes you’d ever seen—the same pretty blue eyes you saw on the Beast. 

Frowning, you turned away. But you didn’t have time to dwell on the painting because something new caught your interest. On a table sat a glittering red rose under a glass jar. Entranced by it, you slowly walked over and pick up the jar. You leaned over, and reached out to touch the rose when—

“WHY DID YOU COME HERE?!”

You jumped back as the Beast slammed the jar back on top of the rose.

“I-I’m sorry!” you apologized, beginning to back away. 

“I warned you to never come here!”

“I didn’t mean any harm!”

“Do you realize what you could have done?!” the Beast roared, throwing the furniture around in a fit of rage.

“Please, stop! I didn’t mean to—”

“GET OUT!”

You turned and fled the room. As he watched you leave, the Beast sank into the broken chaise lounge. He buried his head in his hands, lamenting about how he might just have ruined everything.

You ran down the stairs, passing a confused Sam, Jake, and Corey. You grabbed your cloak, which was conveniently hung near the entrance to the castle.

“Where are you going?” Sam called after you.

You stopped for a second, turning to say, “Promise or no promise, I can’t stay here another minute!”

“Wait, please!” Jake said, chasing after you. “Please!”

You slammed the door behind you. There, at the gate, was Phillipe. You were surprised he was still there, but you considered it a blessing as you mounted him and took off. You paid little mind to where you were going. You didn’t care at this point—you just wanted to put as much distance between yourself and the castle. Then—

Phillipe came to a stop.You frowned, then looked up, wiping tears from your eyes and saw what he saw: A pack of large wolves. You gasped, pulling at the reins and fled the scene. You directed Phillipe through the forest, moving from side to side so that the wolves would stumble and slow. You were so focused on ensuring that the wolves would stop following you that you didn’t notice that you’d gone straight out onto a frozen pond. That is, until the ice started cracking under yours and Phillipe’s combined weight. 

In some ways, this was a good thing. The wolves followed you out onto the ice, some following through where the ice cracked and separate. But with every good thing comes a price: when you and Phillipe had crossed the pond and entered a clearing, you ended up getting surrounded by wolves. Phillipe, frightened, bucked and threw you off of him. As you soared through the air, the reins followed, getting stuck on a tree branch. When you landed, you watched as the wolves descended on your beloved horse. 

With little thought for your own safety, you grabbed a large, broken branch and charged at the wolves. But, as quickly as you charged, one grabbed the stick with its mouth and broke it with its mouth. Another wolf jumped on you, catching you by your cloak and dragging you to the ground. You covered your face with your hands, ready to embrace your inevitable death when—

A ferocious roar sounded through the woods. The Beast leapt through the air, colliding with a wolf that was about to jump on top of you. He threw the wolf away, positioning himself between you and the rest of the wolves. The wolves and the Beast lunged at each at the same time. You watched in horror as one bit at his shoulder while the others clawed at him. Finally, the Beast gains the upper-hand over one wolf, throwing it. It hit a tree so hard it knocked out. Frightened, the rest of the wolves turned and ran. The Beast turned to you, his eyes drenched in despair, before he collapsed. 

You pushed yourself off the ground and prepared to mount Phillipe, when you looked back the Beast. You sighed, then motioned for Phillipe to lower himself. Slowly, and with great struggle, you dragged the Beast over and threw him over Phillipe’s back. Phillipe rose, and together you made your walk back to the castle.

The servants were alive with worry when you made it to the entrance. You rolled the Beast off of Phillipe, dragging him into the castle, where everyone watched in horror. Ignoring their questions, you took him to the den, somehow managing to prop him up in his chair. There, you answered everyone’s questions.

Once that was settled, Aryia came back, filled with hot water and carrying a rag on his head. You started to pour the water on the rag when you saw that the Beast had awaken and was licking his wounds.

“Here now. Oh, don’t do that,” you said, taking the drenched rag and cleaned his wounds.  “Just..hold still.”

The Beast roared in plan. “That hurts!”

“If you’d hold still, it wouldn’t hurt as much,” you countered as calmly as you could manage.

“Well, if you hadn’t run away, this wouldn’t have happened!”

You scoffed. “Well, if you hadn’t frightened me, I wouldn’t have run away!”

The Beast paused, thinking. Then— “Well you shouldn’t have been in the West Wing!”

“Well you should learn to control your temper!”

The Beast raised his finger, ready to deliver another argument, when he found he had none. The servants, who had hid when you had begun to argue with him, slowly emerged from their hiding places, amazed that you could hold your own against him.

You put that rag back to the wound, warning, “Now, hold still. This may sting a little.”

The Beast grunted, gritting his teeth. 

“By the way,” you said in a voice so soft that even you were surprised by the gentleness of it, “thank you…for saving my life.”

The Beast, who’s eyes had been shut as he endured the pain, slowly opened them and said in just as soft of a voice, “You’re welcome.” 

“I think we got off on the wrong foot earlier,” you said. “My name is Y/N Bellamy. Would you like to start over, as friends?”

The Beast smiled, and not the awkward, mean-looking smile he had on earlier when he was practicing with Sam and Aryia. No, a real smile. A real, genuine smile. “Yeah,” he said, “I’d like that.” 

The next day, the Beast was out on the balcony in his room with Jake and Sam, staring off at the lawn. You, along with Phillipe and Corey, were playing in the snow. The Beast smiled fondly as he watched you.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone.” Joy struck his face. “I want to do something for her. But what?”

“Well, there’s the usual things,” Jake said. “Flowers, chocolate, promises you don’t intend to keep…”

“No, no!” Sam dismissed. “It has to be something very special. Something that sparks her interest! Wait, I have an idea!”

With Sam’s idea in mind, the Beast asked you to come inside. You did, following him through a series of corridors until you reached a set of ornate double doors. 

“Y/N, there’s something I want to show you.” He started to open the doors, but stopped. “But first, you have to close your eyes. It’s a surprise.”

You did as he asked, shutting your eyes. He waved his hand in front of you, making sure you truly couldn’t see, before opening the doors and leading you inside the room.

“Can I open them now?”

“No, no. Not yet. Wait here,” he said. He walked away from you to draw back the curtains, letting light spill into the room.

You flinched as the light blinded you even through closed eyes. “Now can I open them?”

“Alright. Now.” 

You opened your eyes and immediately gasped. You, you couldn’t believe it! Even with what Sam and Jake had said earlier when you tricked them couldn’t do justice to what you were seeing. Walls upon walls upon walls of bookshelves, stacking as high as the ceiling! There were two beautiful levels, bookshelves galore! Oh, it was the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen.

“I can’t believe it,” you said. “I’ve never seen so many books in all my life!”

“You…you like it?” the Beast asked timidly. 

You smiled at him. “It’s wonderful.”

“Then it’s yours.” 

And, without even thinking, you threw your arms around the Beast, pulling him into a tight hug. “Oh, thank you so much!”

He wrapped his arms around you, too. You couldn’t see it, but he had the biggest smile on his face as he said, “You’re very welcome, Miss Y/N.” 

After taking you on a grand tour of your new library, the Beast joined you outside. The two of you walked the grounds, stopping on a bridge to feed some birds. You looked over at him, a faint smile on your face as you thought, There’s something sweet, and almost kind, but he was mean, and he was coarse and unrefined. And now he's dear, and so unsure. I wonder why I didn’t see it there before.

The Beast was busy trying to attract birds, trying to coax them to come to him with his paw full of birdseed. You laughed, taking the seed from him and spreading it out, creating a trail that the birds followed until one hopped into his hand. The Beast looked up at you, pure amazement on his face. You giggled at him, and he thought, She glanced this way, I thought I saw. And when we touched, she didn’t shudder at my paw. No, it can’t be, I’ll just ignore…but then she’s never looked at me that way before.

You ran off to find more birds, ducking behind a tree. You frowned for a second, doubting your feelings, but you couldn’t deny the joy as you looked back, seeing the Beast covered in birds. You thought, New, and a bit alarming. Who’d have ever thought that this could be? True, he’s no Prince Charming. But there’s something in him that I simply didn’t see.

Then, a lightbulb went off over your head. You quickly gathered some snow, shaping it into a ball, and threw it at the Beast. The birds all flew away, and he laughed, gathering snow and shaping it into a ball the size of his head. He started to throw it at you, but you hit him with another snowball, startling him and making him drop his giant creation on top of his head. He playfully growled, chasing you around the grounds as you tried to hide from him, throwing snowballs when you got the chance.

All the while, the servants watched the two of you from a window, and Sam laughed, “Well, who’d have thought?”

“Well, bless my soul,” Aryia said.

“And who’d have known?” Jake asked.

“And who’d have guessed they’d come together on their own?” Sam asked.

“It’s so peculiar,” Aryia said.

In unison, they said, “We’ll wait and see, a few days more, they may be somewhere there that wasn’t there before.” 

But, as they watched you hug the Beast, Jake said, “You know, perhaps there’s something there that wasn’t there before.” 

“What’s there?” Kevin asked, hopping into the room.

“There may be something there that wasn’t there before,” Aryia repeated.

“What?”

“Shhh, I’ll tell you when you’re older.” 

“Older? I’m three years older than you, brother!”

Jake interrupted the argument before it could go any further. “Right then! You all know why we're here. We have exactly 12 hours, 36 minutes, and 15 seconds to create the most magical, spontaneous, romantic atmosphere known to man or beast.” He paused then laughed. “Or beast. That’s funny.” He collected himself then continued, “Right. Need I remind you that if the last petal falls from this rose, the spell will never be broken! Very well. You all know your assignments. Half of you to the West Wing, half of you to the East Wing, the rest of you, come with me.”

Sam laughed. “Lighten up, Jake! Let nature take its course.”

Aryia agreed, “It’s obvious there’s a spark between them.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jake agreed. “But there’s no harm in fanning the flames. You know, a little. Besides, they must fall in love tonight if we ever expect to be human again.”

Again together, they devised a master plan.

That night, Sam was helping the Beast get ready for the night’s plans. Sam said, “Tonight’s the night!”

“I’m not sure I can do this,” the Beast said.

“You don’t have time to be timid. You must be bold, daring!”

The Beast nodded, repeating, “Bold. Daring!”

“There will be music. Romantic candlelight, provided myself, and when the time is right, you confess your love.” 

“Yes, I conf—I…No, I can’t.” 

Sam tutted. “You care for the girl, don’t you?”

“Her name is Y/N,” the Beast growled lowly. “…More than anything.”

“Well, then you must tell her!”

Before the Beast could argue further, Jake entered the room and said, “Ahem ahem.” They looked to him. “Your lady awaits.”

The Beast made his way to the grand staircase. He stared up at it as you descended, wearing the most beautiful glittering gold gown he’s ever seen. He smiles at her, extending his arm for you to take. Together, you walked to the center of the ballroom.

As the two of you began to waltz, music played and Aryia sang, “Tale as old as time. True as it can be. Barely even friends, then somebody bends unexpectedly. Just a little change. Small to say the least. Both a little scared, neither one prepared, beauty and the beast.” 

Every so often, the Beast would look to Sam and Jake who gave him encouraging thumbs-ups.

“Ever just the same. Ever a surprise. Ever as before, ever justas sure, as the sun will rise. Tale as old as time. Tune as old as song. Bittersweet and strange, finding you can change, learning you were wrong. Certain as the sun. Rising in the east. Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme, beauty and the beast. Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme, beauty and the beast.”

The waltz ends, and the servants leave the room as you and the Beast walked off onto the balcony. You stared up at the night sky, content with life for probably the first time in your life when the Beast asked, “Y/N? Are you happy here with me?”

You didn’t mean to pause, but you did. “…Yes.”

He frowned. “What is it?” 

“If only I could see my father again, just for a moment. I miss him so much.”

The Beast looked away, dejected. Even after everything, he knew you’d never be fully happy with him. Then, an idea struck— “There is a way.”

He led you back to the West Wing, where he presented you with the magic mirror. He explained, “This mirror will show you anything, anything you wish to see.”

You held it as if it was made from fine china as you said, “I’d like to see my father, please.” 

The mirror shined, before revealing your father, fallen in the woods. He was coughing, trying to push himself back onto his feet, before falling once more.

“Papa, oh no.” You looked to the Beast. “He’s sick, he may be dying. And he’s all alone.”

The Beast looked between you and the enchanted rose, before saying, “Then…you…you must go to him.”

“What?”

“I release you. You are no longer my prisoner.”

“You mean…I’m free?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, thank you!” you cried, throwing your arms around him. You said to the magic mirror, “Hold on, Papa. I’m on my way!”

You started to hand the mirror back to the Beast, but he pushed it towards you, saying, “Take it with you, so you’ll always have a way to look back, and remember me.”

You smiled, and said with the utmost sincerity, “Thank you for understanding how much he needs me. I’ll never forget you.”

You leaned forward, placing a kiss on his cheek, before turning and rushing out of the castle. As you left, Jake entered the room, saying, “Well, Your Highness. I must say everything is going just swimmingly. I knew you had it in you!”

“…I let her go.”

“Haha, yes. Splendid! You—WHAT?!” Jake stared at him. “How could you do that?!”

“I had to.” 

“But why?”

“…because I love her.”

With the aid of the magic mirror, you quickly found your father, unconscious and half-buried in the snow. You pulled him onto Phillipe, and brought him straight you. Once home, you got him inside and quickly worked to nurse him back to health. Only once he started to warm did he wake up.

“Y/N?” he asked weakly.

“Shh…It’s alright, Papa. I’m home.”

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

You frowned, the dull heartache becoming more apparent as you realized what you gave up. “I missed you so much.”

“But the Beast!” your father said, realizing that you were free. “How did you escape?”

“I didn’t, Papa. He let me go.”

“That horrible beast?”

“He’s not horrible,” you argued gently. “He’s…changed.”

You turned to go make some soup, when you heard something in the bag you had carried the magic mirror in. The flap of it opened on its own and out came Kevin, who let out a cheery, “Hi!”

“A stowaway?” you laughed.

Your father leaned forward, eyeing the teacup. “Why, hello there, little fella. Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Kevin grinned then turned to you. “Y/N, why’d you go away? Don’t you like us anymore?”

“Oh, of course I like you. It’s just…” Before you could explain yourself, there was a knock at the door. You opened the door to reveal a man you recognized as Monsieur D’Arque…the man who ran the insane asylum just outside of town. Panic struck you as you asked, “May I help you?”

“I’ve come to collect your father,” he said.

“My father?”

“Don’t worry, Mademoiselle. We’ll take good care of him.”

“My father’s not crazy.” 

Monsieur D’Arque moved out of the way to reveal a large crowd outside of your cottage. Jake stood at the front and shouted, “He was raving like a lunatic! We all heard him, didn’t we?!”

The crowd shouted in agreement.

You shook your head. “No, I won’t let you take him!”

Your father, who at that moment didn’t know what was happening, pushed himself out of his chair and came to investigate. He asked, “Y/N? What’s happening?” 

Jake taunted him “Tell us again, old man, just how big was the beast?”

Your father frowned. “Well, he was…that is…enormous. I’d say at least eight, no more like ten feet.”

The crowd laughed as Jake said, “Well, you don’t get much crazier than that!”

“It’s true, I tell you!” your father argued. 

“Get him out of here!”

Monsieur D’Arque’s orderlies kicked up your father, carrying him to Monsieur D’Arque’s carriage. You looked at the man, desperate, grabbing onto his arm as you cried, “No, you can’t do this!”

Logan emerged from the crowd as Monsieur D’Arque shook you off. “Poor Y/N,” Logan said. “It’s a shame about your father.”

“You know he’s not crazy!” you said.

“I might be able to clear up this little misunderstanding, if…”

You frowned, knowing exactly what he was hinting at but praying you were wrong. “If what?”

“If you marry me.” 

“One little word, Y/N. That’s all it takes.” 

“Oh, I’ll give you one little word. Never!” 

He shrugged. “Have it your way then.”

An idea struck you and you ran back inside to grab the magic mirror. When you came back out, you presented it to the crowd, shouting, “My father’s not crazy and I can prove it!” You said to the mirror, “Show me the Beast!”

The mirror shined, then revealed the image of the Beast, slumped in his den, staring into the fire. 

“Is it dangerous?” a woman shouted. 

“Oh, no, no. He’d never hurt anyone. Please, I know he looks vicious, but he’s really kind and gentle. He’s my friend.”

Logan blinked, then sneered, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had feelings for this monster.”

You scoffed. “He’s no monster, Gaston. You are!”

“She’s as crazy as the old man!” He snatched the mirror from your hands, and said to the crowd, “The beast will make off with your children! He’ll come after them in the night.”

“No!”

“We’re not safe ‘til his head is mounted on my wall! I say we kill the beast!”

The crowd became a mob as they cheered, “Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

One man shouted, “We’re not safe until he’s dead!”

Another said, “He’ll come stalking us at night!”

A woman cried, “Set to sacrifice our children to his monstrous appetite!”

A third man said, “He’ll wreak havoc on our village if we let him wander free!”

Logan, stoking the flames of mob mentality as he shouted, “So it’s time to take some action, boys! It’s time to follow me! Through the mist, through the woods, through the darkness and the shadows, it’s a nightmare but it’s one exciting ride. Say a prayer, then we’re there, at the drawbridge of a castle, and there’s something truly terrible inside. It’s a beast, he’s got fangs, razor sharp ones, massive paws, killer claws for the feast. Hear him roar, see him foam, but we’re not coming home, ‘til he’s dead, good and dead, kill the beast!”

You shouted, “No, I won’t let you do this!”

“If you’re not with us, you’re against us! Bring the old man!”

The two of you were dragged to the storm cellar, where you were thrown in and door was bolted shut. Logan declared, “We can’t have them running off to warn the creature!”

“Let us out!” you shouted, banging on the door. 

“We’ll rid the village of this beast. Who’s with me?”

The mob cheered. “Light your torch! Mount your horse! We’re counting on Gaston to lead the way! Through a mist, to a wood, where within a haunted castle, something’s lurking that you don’t see every day! It’s a beast, one as tall as a mountain! We won’t rest ‘til he’s good and deceased! Sally forth, tally ho, grab your sword, grab your bow, praise the Lord and here we go!”

Logan said, “We’ll lay siege to his castle and bring back his head!”

“I have to warn the Beast,” you cried to your father. “This is all my fault. Oh, Papa. What are we going to do?”

He rubbed your back, saying, “Now, now. We’ll think of something.”

And, luckily for you, Kevin was already cooking up an idea. 

At the castle, Jake said to the other servants, “I knew it, I knew it was foolish to get our hopes up.”

He had already delivered the heartbreaking news that you had gone, and that they would be stuck as objects forever.

Sam said solemnly, “Maybe it would have been better if she had never come at all.” But then, Corey went running up to the window and everyone jumped, expecting to see you. Instead, they saw an angry mob coming to break down their doors. “Sacré bleu! Invader!”

“Encroachers!” Jake shouted.

“And they have the mirror!” Aryia said.

Jake turned, and ordered, “We need to warn him.. If it’s a fight they want, we’ll be ready for them. Who’s with me?”

By the time the mob reached the door, everything was in place. So, assured that everything was under control, Aryia hopped to the Beast’s room, where he laid on the broken bed, staring at the ceiling. 

Aryia said, “Pardon me.”

“Leave me in peace.”

“But, sir, the castle is under attack! What should we do?”

The Beast sighed. “It doesn’t matter now. Just let them come.” 

Aryia snapped, frustrated with the Beast’s antics, and poured hot water on the Beast’s head as he said, “Up here, ya scurvy scum! Now!”

Meanwhile, Logan had found the Beast’s lair. He entered the room, raising his crossbow, and took aim at a dejected Beast who stood by a window. He released the arrow, striking the Beast in the shoulder. Logan rushed at him, sending them through the window and onto the balcony.

Logan laughed as he cornered the Beast. But even a cheating hunter like him got frustrated with the Beast’s nonaction. “Get up! Get up! What’s the matter, Beast? Too kind and gentle to fight back?”

The Beast turned away, ignoring him, ready for the end. But then—

“NO!”

The Beast raised his head, smiling as he said, “Y/N!” 

“No!” you shouted. “Don’t hurt him, Logan!”

Logan moved to strike the Beast with a shard of broken glass, but the Beast caught his arm, roaring. They fought, moving around the roof of the castle. The Beast hid among the gargoyles, waiting for the moment to strike.

Logan taunted, “Come on out and fight! Were you in love with her, beast? Did you honestly think she’d want you when she had someone like me?!”

The Beast was filled with rage, coming out of his hiding spot and jumping on Logan.

Logan continued his taunt. “It's over, Beast! Y/N is mine!”

The Beast picked him up by his throat, holding him over the edge of the roof. 

Panic struck in Logan and he said, “Let me go! Let me go! Please, don’t hurt me! I’ll do anything! Anything!”

The Beast paused, before slowly pulling the man away from the edge. He held him in front of his face, and growled, “Get. OUT.”

“Beast?” your soft voice came from the balcony.

“Y/N!” The Beast dropped Logan, climbing back over to you. He got on the balcony, embracing you as he said, “You came back!”

You stared at each other, enjoying being in each other’s arms, when Logan snuck up behind the Beast, a shard of broken glass in his hand and stabbed it into the Beast’s back. The Beast roared, throwing an arm back and knocking Logan to his death. 

You gasped, watching as the Beast collapsed on the balcony, a puddle of blood pooling under the Beast’s body. You fell with him, landing on his chest, as you cried. Unbeknownst to you, the servants had arrived, having successfully removed the mob. But none of them expected the sight that they saw. 

“You,” the Beast coughed. “You came back.”

“Of course I came back,” you cried. “I couldn’t let them…Oh, this is all my fault. If only I’d gotten here sooner.”

“Maybe it’s better this way.” 

“Don’t talk like that! You’ll be alright. We’re together now. Everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”

The Beast smiled, staring at you, as he said, “At least I got to see you…one last time.”

He raised his paw, holding it against your cheek. You took it in your hands, turning your face towards, tears streaking down your face. But, then his hand dropped and his head fell back. His eyes shut.

Your hand flew to your mouth as you began to sob. “No, no! Please! Please! Please don’t leave me! I love you!”

And, inside, under the glass jar, the last petal of the enchanted rose fell.

You fell forward, sobbing against the Beast’s chest. But what you didn’t know, and what the servants didn’t know, what that you were being watched. The enchantress from all those years ago had watched on, and she was satisfied by what she saw.

She came forward, leaning over the Beast’s body. You looked up, your tears blurring your vision, but even you couldn’t deny who you saw. “Tara?” you questioned.

“May I?” she asked, holding her hand over the Beast’s body.

“I don’t know what you can do to help, but…anything helps now.”

She placed her hand over the Beast’s heart, and a beam of light shot forward. Then another, and another, until she pulled her hand away. The Beast began to raise, a fog enshrouding him,  and light radiated out of his body. Slowly, his body began to shift. The paw slowly morphed to fingers, the clawed feet looking more human-like. Wind blows across his face, removing the fur and revealing the man from the destroyed painting. He slowly sank back to the ground, and you reached out to touch him.

But, as you did, you looked over at Tara. “What…happened?”

“He learned to love another,” she explained, “and earned their love in return.”

With that, she disappeared in a flash of light.

But before you could dwell on the oddities, your focus returned to the Beast, who’s eyes had opened. He grinned up at you and said, “…Hi.” 

“Hi, you,” you said, smiling. 

“I think we got off on the wrong foot earlier,” he said. “My name is Prince Cole Brock, but my friends call me Colby. Would you like to start over, as mine?”

You laughed, grabbing his face, and kissing him. And, as he kissed back, everything returned to how it once was, before the curse had been placed. 

When everything was cleaned up from the fight, you emerged on the grand staircase, your glittering gold dress repaired by the incredible Amber—who, by the way, was even more gorgeous than you were expecting. 

The Beast—no, Colby—led you to the center of the ballroom, his own suited also repaired. He spun you ‘round and ‘round the room, Aryia singing the greatest love song he knew.

Meanwhile, Sam looked on, Kat by his side, when Jake came over and said, “Well, Sam, old friend. Shall we let bygones be bygones?”

“Of course!”  Sam laughed. “You know, I told you she would break the spell.”

Jake rolled his eyes, scoffing. “I beg your pardon, old friend, but I believe I told you.”

“No you didn’t. I told you.”

“You most certainly did not, you pompous paraffin-headed pea-brain!”

“En garde, you overgrown pocket watch!” Sam said, removing his glove and slapping Jake in the face with it. 

As they began to fight once more, you and Colby continued to spin around the room. The song continued, as you stopped, Colby leading you onto the balcony. He looked at you, love full in his eyes, as he leaned in to kiss you.

“I never want this night to end,” he confessed when he pulled away.

You giggled. “Well, it must, but that only means we just have to continue having amazing nights.”

“So long as I’m with you, I’m sure that will continue.” 

Inside, the song finished, “Certain as the sun, rising in the east. Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme, beauty and the beast. Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme, beauty and the beast!”

And, so they lived, happily ever after. 

[separatist-apologist]

Um can I have a part 2 to Lucien finding out about solstice? Pretty please?

You can have a part 2. I was not planning a follow up to yesterday's little sass-a-thon but apparently everyone likes bratty Elain and irreverent Lucien.

--

--

Lucien woke wondering if he’d imagined the entire night with Elain. It certainly didn’t seem real. She’d barely said one word to him for a good year and some months only to turn around and tell him to eat shit. He wondered what it said about him that he liked it. Lucien groaned, kicking the blankets off his sweaty body like a petulant child. He was tired of waking up alone and more tired still having seen the fire lurking behind his mates’ eyes.

Lucien padded to the bathroom suite, still naked from sleep. He perched on the edge of the tub, turned on the hottest water he could possibly stand, and sank into the scalding water until everything but the top of his head was visible. He was supposed to leave today, back to the mortal lands. Back to sniping with Jurian and arguing with Vassa and daydreaming about Elain when no one looked at him too closely. He still had his apartment in Velaris. Perhaps, if today went well, he’d spend a week in Feyre’s starlit city.

He took his time dressing and grooming, still more than a little irritated with Azriel from the night before no matter how his angry outburst had worked in Lucien’s favor. He certainly would not be outdone in the one arena he knew he could run circles around the male in. Lucien had always had a sense for fashion and what worked well. He didn’t need to know Elain well to know it was something she appreciated about a male.

If Rhysand was surprised to see him that morning, he gave no indication as he handed Lucien the morning paper at the breakfast table. Their silence was companiable enough, sipping coffee while Lucien tucked away tiny pieces of information about Night Court he thought might use as leverage at some point. It was nothing the High Lord wasn’t willing to risk, given how he prized information himself, but Lucien never passed up an opportunity to keep himself well informed.

He felt strangely content in that moment until Elain swept in wearing a gown of pale, shimmering gold that was altogether inappropriate for the softly snowing day around them. Rhys glanced up at her from his cup of coffee, one eyebrow raised for all Elain seemed to notice. She had tea and a scone and, without a word to either of them, sat across from Lucien. Lucien’s eyes roamed what part of her body she could see; the long-sleeved dress seemed to be made of paper and exposed her shoulders and collarbone to him. His fingers twitched around his own mug as the mating bond woke with a vengeance.

Touch her touch her touch her touch her—

“Lucien,” Rhys interrupted Lucien’s musing. Elain kept her eyes focused on the wall behind him, her big, brown eyes framed by too-long lashes. Was she wearing make up, he wondered? Or had her lips always been so pink, so—“Feyre mentioned you were considering staying for a few more days.”

Elain’s eyes focused, glancing towards the High Lord. Had Feyre said that? He certainly hadn’t made any promises outside of his own mind.

“I have some business in the city,” he agreed, well aware Rhysand must know his only business was his mate.

“Are you planning to stay here? You are welcome to, obviously.”

Lucien shook his head as color began to creep into Elain’s cheeks. What was she thinking, he wondered?

“No, in my apartment,” he replied, catching how her eyebrows raised. Did she not realize he had one?

Rhysand’s violet-colored eyes shifted to Elain, his mouth curving into a smile. “I’ll have your things sent over, then. Please, feel free to stop by for dinner if you’d like. I know Feyre very much enjoys your company.”

Yeah, yeah, Lucien thought, still thinking of how Rhysand had shut Azriel down the night before. Not out of friendship, but politics. Still, it was better than tacit approval and, in some stupid, small way Lucien could appreciate the shrewdness.

Elain excused herself leaving Lucien to finish his breakfast and dress for the cold before making the trek towards his apartment. He’d try at dinner, he told himself. It would be easier to corner her somewhere alone, to let her lobby insults at him and, perhaps, kiss her on the mouth if she held still long enough for him to capture her face.

Lucien turned the lock to his apartment to find two things wildly out of place. His bags were sitting just inside the foyer next to a long, silver cape that was too feminine and small to belong to him, hung on the hooks beside the door. Just at the end of the hall, Lucien saw Elain in that same golden gown, arms crossed over her chest.

“I didn’t know you had an apartment,” she accused as he unwound his scarf.

“You never asked,” he reminded her patiently, his blood thrumming at the sight of her in his apartment. He could practically taste the argument floating between them.

Give me your worst.

“Must I do everything?” She asked him, arms crossed over her chest. He had to look away; she’d inadvertently caused her breasts to swell beneath her arms and Lucien was struck dumb at the sight.

“Not everything, no,” he replied, walking to the living room where she waited. “But perhaps something might be nice.”

She scoffed and Lucien dropped onto the cream-colored loveseat, stretching out his long legs as she watched her from the corners of his eye.

“I don’t owe you—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, bored. “Why are you here, again?”

Because it was her, after all, standing in his apartment. She shifted, her boots still wet from the snow. She’d created a little wet spot on the hard wood beneath her feet. He would normally have cringed at that, but it was Elain, if she wanted to ruin her floors, who was he to stop her?

She bit her bottom lip. “To tell you how hideous you looked at breakfast this morning.”

Lucien laughed as he ran a hand down his chest. Elain’s eyes followed the movement. “Liar.”

She scoffed. “I’m surprised you fit in this little apartment at all, given the size of your ego.”

He couldn’t help himself as he leaned forward, carefully watching her expression. “You know, Elain, they say it takes one to know one.”

Her mouth dropped open again as she stood, stunned into silence for a moment. “You find me ugly?” She asked, dropping her arms to her side.

“Impossibly ugly,” he agreed, the lie rolling right off his tongue. Her cheeks flushed as he took a step towards her. He was going to kiss her, he decided. “And ill mannered.”

“It is your manners that are offensive,” she retorted hotly. “Though not nearly offensive as your face.”

Lucien hesitated, surprised by how her words stung a bit. It was a game and yet…she’d touched on something he’d privately feared from the moment Amarantha gouged out his eye. He could still recall, in the early days, how people recoiled when they saw the scarring, how even now people stared, surprised at the brutality etched into his face. He’d spent more than one night wondering if Elain too found him abhorrent to look at.

He arched a brow, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t know what he’d do if she truly thought him ugly. It would wound him far more than anything, short of a flat-out rejection of the bond. “Oh?”

Her eyes drifted towards his mouth. Lucien blinked, some of his fear ebbing. “Disgusting,” she murmured, inching closer. He held himself exactly where he was despite his muscles screaming in protest, demanding he yank her into him and kiss her senseless. “The ugliest man I’ve ever seen.”

“Liar,” he told her again. She blinked, head tilted, eyes half-lidded, her lips parted ever so slightly. This was what had gotten Azriel in trouble, wasn’t it? This moment, right here. He suddenly felt immense sympathy for the male. Lucien was also rooted in place, desperate to touch her, too.

“I know,” she whispered. Her eyes fluttered closed the moment he reached for her face, holding her just as she was so he could kiss her. Words failed him the moment their lips touched, the world melting into nothingness. Whatever he’d thought, however he imagined that moment paled in comparison to the real thing. She was soft, her lips sweet. Every single piece of her seemed to radiate an invisible heat his blood recognized by contact alone.

Mate. Mine. His body sang, urging him to take things further, to strip her of her clothes and mark her with his scent so thoroughly no other male could get within a mile of her without smelling him, too. He had to stop himself, unsure what she wanted.

“You’re a shitty kisser,” he told her, forehead pressed to her own. Elain giggled, the sound ringing through his chest.

“You’re so rude,” she responded with a sigh. “How can anyone stand to be in your presence?”

“And yet here you are,” he reminded her, poking her in the stomach. “In my apartment.”

She looked around, her eyes taking in his furniture, his shelves of books, his artwork. “Why don’t you stay more often?”

He shrugged, unable to meet her gaze. “There is little for me to do here.” That was partially true. Why torture himself and sit around waiting on a female who had no interest in him? He wasn’t that much of a glutton for punishment. Elain stepped away, walking towards the wall length windows and pushing back the curtain. Gray, snowy clouds did little to hide the cheery day around them as fat snowflakes were carried along in a winter wind.

“I have been cruel,” she said after a moment. Lucien came up behind her, resting his hands on her delicate shoulders.

“Perhaps. But not without cause.”

She blinked, twisting her neck to look up at him. “It’s just a lot…even now.”

He nodded. “I could help, you know. I’m not your enemy.”

“What kind of help are you offering?” She asked as she turned around, letting him twine his arms around her body. His heart stuttered for a minute. Pretty, she was so pretty—

“Whatever help you’d like,” he managed to choke out. Elain smiled slyly.

“What if the help I want has nothing to do with being made?”

He was going to die, he thought. He cleared his throat. “Could you be more specific?”

She was mocking him. “I often struggle with the laces of my dresses, for example.” She gestured towards the back of her gown, neatly laced with a golden ribbon. Easily undone, he thought, his fingers twitching. It would take one pull to have her dress pooled at her feet. He brought his face closer to hers, well aware that his thoughts were likely not well aligned with what she really needed. Time. Space. Room to get to know not just him but herself.

“Sounds like you need a friend,” he murmured, brushing his lips across hers before dropping his arms and stepping away. She huffed a sigh.

“Do you treat all ladies so poorly?” She demanded. Lucien was back on the couch, legs stretched out as he willed himself to calm down.

“Only the ones I like,” he replied with a grin. Elain plopped down beside him and took his hand, much as she’d done the night before.

“Lucien?”

He’d never tire of hearing her say his name. “Yes, Elain?” She scooted a little closer, her eyes locked on his. She was looking at the scar, he realized. Panic flooded into his throat.

“I lied when I said you were ugly,” she confessed. He exhaled the breath he’d been holding. “And I like the scars. You’re beautiful.”

He reached for her chin, caressing her sweet face. Lowering his mouth to hers, Lucien told her, “Ah, well. It takes one to know one, now doesn’t it?”