“No one’s as slick as Gaston~!” The tavern sang in perfect harmony.

“No one likes dick like Gaston,” LeFou added under his breath.

I shot him a glare from across the tavern, silently screaming at him to stay quiet.

The Harlots linked arms and spun in circles around me. “No one’s as quick as Gaston~!” I winced at their obvious need for singing lessons. Or clothe gag for a quick fix.

“No one needs to get a wife like Gaston!” My mother slammed open the tavern door, silencing the singers.

I straightened my collar. “Hello mother,”

She hobbled up to me and pinched my ear, bringing me down to her level. “You’re twenty-three, Gaston! Far too young to still be single.”

“And you’re far too old to still be alive,” I muttered as I eyed her leathery wrinkles.

“Have you picked out a suitable wife?”

I wrestled my ear free, soothing it as I answered. “Yes, actually.”

“Who?”

“Well, you know that girl who doesn’t have any interest to marry someone? It’s her.”

“Belle? You can’t marry her! She’s too strange.”

I snapped my fingers. “Oh darn. That is such a shame because I was really feeling the feelings of… sexual attraction to women with her and all that…” I glanced away, “stuff that straight men such as I do feel… yes.” I lied as LeFou face palmed in the corner of the room. Nonetheless, I continued. “I simply cannot marry another!”

“What about these girls?” My mother gestured to the three Harlots with stuffed bras and yellow smiles.

With a cheeky scoff, I remarked. “These hoes? No way! I mean, just look at what they’re wearing! That dress is so 16th century. I won’t marry someone so tacky.”

One of them gawked at me and tugged anxiously as the ruffles of her dress. LeFou gave me a warning look. Like those dresses didn't cross the line first.

“Since when do you know about women’s fashion?” My mother taunted.

I gulped. “I don’t, it’s just—“

Suddenly—perhaps to save me from my misery—the tavern doors busted wide open, with Belle’s father, panting in the sun’s blinding light. “It’s horrible!” He gasped.

“What is it, Maurice?” My mother asked.

“It’s Belle! There’s a beast! *wheeze* He took her captive and locked her in a tower! *wheeze* Gaston! You must save her!”

“Well, I don’t know if that’s really necessary—“ I began.

“Of course he will save her!” My mother cheered. “But!” She waves a finger at Maurice. “In return, you must promise her hand in marriage to my Gaston!”

“I—I don’t know. Belle doesn’t want to get married…”

“Then I guess she doesn’t want to be saved either!”

Maurice bit his lip before saying. “Fine. If you can save my daughter, you have my blessing.”

My mother clapped her hands together with joy. “Perfect! Belle will become your wife after all, Gaston!”

Between my clenched teeth I agreed. “Great.”

My feet shuffled through the snow and I gripped my arm so tight my perfect nails drew blood. “‘Go rescue the girl’, they said. ‘Go marry the girl’, they said.” I kicked a tree trunk. Snow avalanched down, nearly burying me. “‘Go get hypothermia and die just trying to stay in the closet’, is what they should have said!”

I popped my head out from the snow pile and crawled forward. By the time I reached the crumbling castle, my skin had turned blue and my teeth were moving faster than my mother when she heard the word ‘scandal’. I knocked twice on the oak door because manners, people!

No answer.

Okay, fuck manners, I just wanna get this over with. I stomped inside, letting the packed snow fall off my feet into silhouettes of my shoes on the wooden floor. “Belle?” My voice echoed across the empty castle.

As I continued to move forward, my footsteps rang across the room. That is, my footsteps and the faint sound of claws drawing across the floor. I stopped. So did the claws.

Sweat thickened on my forehead. My breath became heavy as I felt the weight of a new pair of eyes watching me from the shadows. “Hello?” I called out. “Is anyone…” I slowly turned around. “There—“

Shivers of imaginary ice froze my blood as I stared at a seven foot tall monster of a man. Unruly hair jetted out from every inch of this body. His clothes puffed out from the patted masses of his fur. “So… you’re the… Beast.” I squeaked.

He remained silent. I could only hear the quiet rhythm of his breathing. “It’s a… nice castle you got here.”

No reply.

“Look, I’m just here for the girl you have imprisoned. Once I get her, we’ll be on our way and never bother you ever again. And doesn’t that seem fun? Not having to deal with people?? And being able to stay here… alone in your…” I glanced around. “Charming home?”

“You cannot take her,” he bellowed as he took a step forward—obviously invading my personal bubble.

“So, I have this whole thing on personal space so if you can just take a step back—“

“You can only take her place.”

I snorted. “You mean never go back to that homophobic, unfashionable village? Yeah, sign me the fuck up.”

Belle wasted no time in running the fuck out of the castle—and who could blame her, the place was the embodiment of human misery with its lifeless color scheme—but just before she did, she gave me on final look and asked me. “Gaston, are you sure about this? The food is bland and the sheets aren’t even a thousand count.”

“I’ll be fi—wait a minute, this place is a castle! How are the sheets not a thousand? What are we?! Animals?!” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” the Beast grimaced.

“Poor choice of words. My bad.”

“Just for that, here’s your room.” The Beast swung open a door laced with chains.

“Besides, how bad can this place be—” I gasped. “Ew! What color are those curtains!”

“Brown.”

“Eck! That is not brown, that is the definition of disgusting.”

Belle put a hand on my shoulder. “Have fun.” Then she darted away.

I clapped my hands twice. “Alright, Beastie, we certainly have our work cut out for us.”

“We?”

An hour later, I was calling the shots and a weird group of furniture followed me, completing them. “Alright, I want a new rug, new windows…” I smelled dinner. “Ugh, and a new chef.”

A table grumbled. “You try cooking without thumbs.”

“You try eating your food with taste buds,” I remarked. “Oh right, you can’t!”

The Beast snorted. “What are you laughing at, Beastie.That mess you call ‘fur’ is next.”

His jaws gaped out. “What? What’s wrong with my fur?”

I lightly touched it, feeling years of oils harass my soft skin. I know this is 1790s France, but there are still standards. “What isn’t wrong with it? Ms. Potts can you please draw a bath?” I gave him another once over. “On second thought, make that two.”

I handed the Beast a towel as he exited the bath and averted my eyes. “All of the staff are preparing dinner. I’m here to prepare you.”

“Huh?”

“To get dressed. I’m here to help you get dressed.”

“I can dress myself,” the Beast grumbled.

“Yes, but not in style.” I held up a maroon waistcoat and a devious smile.

He sneered and thundered towards me. “Watch your tongue. I am still in charge here.”

“You say that with your lips, but eyes scream the truth…” I sauntered up into his personal space and whispered. “You love the maroon coat and curtains.”

“Why aren’t you afraid of me? Everyone is.”

“Hun, please, there’s nothing scarier than this disaster of a castle before I started fixing it. Now, take the clothes and get dressed.”

Without another word, he took the coat and threw it on. I ruffled my hands through his fur. “Now what are we going to do with this?”

“Nothing.”

“Braiding it is!”

I rested my hands on the Beast’s shoulders as he stood in front of a full length mirror. His eyes locked onto his reflection, mesmerized by his new appearance. A perfectly fitted maroon waistcoat with a tight shirt beneath told the innocent observer there was a seriously buff body underneath those hunks of hair. To manage the unmanageable locks he called ‘facial hair’ that would have—without a doubt—either winded up in the food or with food in it, I twisted it into a french braid. His blue eyes shone out from all the mud-colored fur. “Wow,” he breathed.

“I know. I know. I’m a miracle worker.” I sighed. “I’ve wanted to do something like this for so long. I should have been a hairdresser, not a hunter.” I smiled and rubbed his shoulders. “You look really handsome. Now, come on. Let’s go eat.”

After dinner, I decided to take a small stroll to help digest the first edible food I’ve had since I arrived here. Probably shouldn’t have been in the ‘forbidden’ West Wing. But then again, they probably shouldn’t have called it ‘forbidden’, tempting me like that. I mean, that’s practically a written invitation.

And let me tell you, there were too many shiny things in that wing to not not touch. Especially that rose in a crystal case.

“Woah,” I breathed as I caressed its cover. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s not for touching,” the Beast growled from the shadows. “Get away from it. Now!”

I backed off. “Alright fine. No need to get your underwear in a twist about it.”

He growled at me and continued to march closer. “Relax, Beastie. No harm, no foul.”

His body loomed over me, his furs rustling with every breath. His lips were ajar, and his bared teeth glistened in the candle lights. “H-hey,” my voice quivered and my body leapt back. “Why don’t you calm down a little…”

“Do you know what you could have done?! You could have ruined everything!”

His claws extended from his paws. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up like even they were trying to run away from the Beast. So I did. I bolted into the forest and I didn’t look back.

My frosted breath spilled out in front of me as I charged my way past the crooked tree branches. “Jesus, what’s a guy gotta do to get a horse around here?”

Just as I thought the worst was behind me, my ears twitched at the sound of a wolf’s howl. “On second thought, can I get a gun instead of a horse?”

Their bushy tails flew behind their darting bodies, weaving in and out of their familiar territory. Oh, how the hunter has become the hunted.

Acting on instinct, I grabbed the nearest branch and whacked the first thing with eyes I saw. It was a rabbit. Damn. The poor thing was a bloody mess now. And the smell of blood only made the wolves more agitated.

The first one lunged at me. Quickly, I stabbed it in the neck and barrel rolled away. Another snapped its jaws and I jammed a rock in them. A third came from nowhere, sinking its teeth in my calf. I yelped and tried to wedge it off with the branch. Shockingly, it didn’t work. I glanced as the blood stained snow as a shadow leapt over it. It was… the Beast.

His claws ripped into the wolf's tender flesh. He tore one into shreds and threw its mangled body at a pine tree. The pack moved in sync now, all attacking him at once. One latched onto his shoulder, tearing through the waistcoat, as the Beast tried to shrug it off. “Run!” He bellowed at me.

I gritted my teeth. “No fucking way!”

I sprinted towards the rabbit and ripped it in half, letting the guts and blood spray. Waving in front of the growling wolves’ noses, I taunted. “You want it?!” I chucked it over a rotting log. “Then fetch!”

The pack dashed off towards the rabbit carcass, I grabbed the Beast’s claw and yanked him back towards the castle. “Let’s go, lesbians! Let’s go!” I screamed.

We caught our breath in the ballroom covered in dust and haunted by the spiders of webs past. “Ah ha. Ahaha!” I broke down into a fit of laughter. “That was a close one, wasn’t it?”

The Beast glared at me.

“Alright, maybe still a little too early for jokes. But not for first aid.” My eyes fixed on the blood oozing from his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you fixed it.” I offered him my hand.

Cautiously, the Beast took my hand in his and followed me.

The next night, I sat on the steps of one of the ballroom’s twin staircases and stared at the empty, glossy floor. A cruel darkness rested over the once luminous room. The bandages on my leg itched, but I refused to scratch. I sighed as the Beast took a seat beside me. “This is depressing,” I announced. “This place was made for dancing, not collecting dust.”

“It’s hard to throw extravagant parties when everyone hates you.”

I stood. “Well, good news, now everyone minus one hates you.” I extended my hand. “And this one would like to dance.”

“No,” he stated. “Absolutely not.”

With a smirk, I said. “I think you mean, absolutely yes!” I grabbed his claws and tugged him to his feet.

One by one, the candles on the walls flickered to life as Lumiere—not one to miss a romantic opportunity—raced to lit them.

“It’s impossible to dance with this bulky body,” the Beast told me. “Plus, we’re injured. It’s not a good idea.”

“Injured, but not dead,” I corrected as gentle piano music filled the void of silence. “Besides, even being a ghost wouldn’t stop me.” I smiled at him. “So it shouldn’t stop you.”

He opened his mouth again, but I spoke in his turn. “Ah! No excuses. Just follow my lead.”

I pressed his body close to mine. His fur tickled my skin as I flung my head back and laughed. And out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Beast smile.

Sweet music notes lifted our heavy spirits, drowning out our past sorrows. Making us forget about curses or the disapproving world we both lived in. Nothing outside this perfect little castle existed.

I rested my head against his chest.

I think this was the first time I’ve ever… felt truly at peace.

Or in love.

Slowly, the song came to an end and we were left with nothing else to do but stare into each other’s eyes. I smiled, and I think he blushed under his fur. Carefully, I raised up on my tiptoes and placed a gentle kiss on his fluffy cheek.

In the background, there was a soft gasp as I stepped down and gold sparkles swirled around him. Suddenly, the big, hairy Beast I had come to love was watered down to a muscular man the same height as myself with a slimmer body that was much easier to hug. So I did. “Damn,” I whispered in his ear. “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more perfect.”

It took Belle one week to collapse from guilt and return to the castle with a fresh basket of rolls. Then, it took her three double takes to make extra sure it was the same castle. I had really done my work. She handed me the basket. “So, you seem to be fitting in here. Meanwhile, they’re going crazy back in the village without you. After all, their main hobby was singing about how great you were.”

I removed the cucumbers from my me-time and gazed up at the too-smart-for-her-own-good town girl. “This place is a dream. I love it here.”

She spotted the transferred Beast in the rose garden, tending a new bush. “I’d imagine you love the ‘Beast’ even more.”

“Yes, I do—wait, how did you know I was gay?”

“Honey, it was quite clear you were over compensating for something. I just thought it was a small dick.”

“Thank you for that unnecessary detail.”

She shrugged. “Hey, it’s in the silence where the weirdest conspiracies speak. So, what are you gonna do about the rest of the town? They’re all waiting for you to return with a story about how you bested the Beast.”

“A story, huh? Well, I don’t want them to come for me. So, tell them I died.” I glanced at my Beast. “Because I’m certainly in heaven.”

I

am

happy

I

am

ready

I

am

a

liar

Rider (Inheritance Cycle) - to touch the sky

Glader (Maze Runner) - to be bloody inspired

Blue (The Darkest Minds) - to be where it's us, and the future is an afterglow

Ravenclaw (Harry Potter) - to be in hogwarts and learn magic and fly on a broom, always.

Daughter of Hestia (PJO and HOO) - to make my own path and have instantly refilling plates

Dragonwhisperer (HTTYD) - to be in a world where nothing is impossible, only improbable

Diehard fan of:

Elenor and Park (Book)

Hello, Goodbye and Everything In Between (Book)

Legend Trilogy (Series)

Your Name (Anime)

States and Capitals (Artist/Singer)

Prose

Procrastination is a deadly thing.

It sucks you in with little chance to escape.

Due dates come sooner than you think.

Then you're angry at yourself and you want to cry.

You're going to fail.

Your grades are going to drop.

Say goodbye to your phone.

Unless you stop.

But you can't.

Procrastination.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So I'm writing this instead of working on my projects that are all due tomorrow (I have 3). I was going to wake up early but I turned off my alarm. I'm stuck with having to work on them ALL in study hall tomorrow. (They are all due at different times).

This is a message to you and myself.

STOP PROCRASTINATING!!!

"You are hurt...and I don't want to hurt anymore." My reflection repeats my words backwards.

I want to fight but I'm tired.

I want to be someone to look up to.

I want the experiences.

I want the success and money that comes with it.

I want to be sitting pretty when I die but I don't know if I have the strength to make it that far.

I want to be a good friend and daughter but most of the time my doubt shadows my success to the point that it feels so far away I can't breathe.

I want to love and be loved in return for who I am not who people think I am.

I'm not even sure what the difference is between the two and I don't know if I can keep my head above the waves long enough to find out.

I'm running from me and I trip up everytime.

Just when I think I've got a handle on things she catches up and squeezes my energy out of me.

She is my failure, my mistakes, and my love.

I want this to be the moment I turn around and accept all of it as a part of what makes me me.

What makes me good at whatever I'm good at

but I'm afraid I'll sink under her weight.

I'm running from the time that goes by quicker than I can move.

I run from my stress and I haven't stopped in a while

Maybe that's why I'm so exhausted when I wake up.

I want to be great at what I do.

I want to help people.

I want to help myself.

I want to wake up.

I want me.

I want she to be me in my truest sense, both in one.

I want me.

I want to not want to fail because success means eventually I fall down.

I am nothing without me.

I need to slow down and breathe.

I need to close down the spaces in myself.

I need to be whole.

I need me.

This question isn’t hypothetical for me.

I, straight up, had a high school teacher that looked, sounded, and acted like Professor Umbridge, so this isn’t a ‘what would you do if’ scenario, it’s a ‘what we had to do, because of her’.

Essentially, we tried to get her fired.

But, let me start over...

Once upon a time, in a kinder era of hope and innocence, we had this super cool, amazing music teacher who looked, sounded, and acted like Robert Downey Jr. (Tony Stark version). Everyone loved this guy. The school itself was practically known for having him, and as a former music student, I can verify this.

Mid lecture, this teacher would stop what he was teaching, clap his hands together, and say “Okay guys, its story time,” and then go on a tangent about some crazy event that happened in his very chaotic life. On a personal note, he encouraged me to be a better person, and on top of that, he was hilarious. Hands down, my best times in high school took place in his classroom.

Then, one day, he was like ‘I’m going to try to be a principal’ and he left our high school for Dumbledore-train- I mean, principal training.

His replacement: Umbridge 2.0

So, picture True Umbridge, with greying blonde hair, a bit shorter in height, and a voice that usually remained an octave lower than True Umbridge-level, but definitely had the capability of reaching that wonderful soprano tone.

Now, when I say this lady acted like Professor Umbridge, I don’t mean she went around branding people or sending dementors after them, or drugging her students. No. I’m saying she did all that stuff, but within the laws of a muggle realm.

I kid you not, everyone hated this lady. Hands down – or I suppose, ‘hands raised up when speaking in her class’ – some of my worst times in high school took place in her class. There were rumors that she caused depression in the neighboring cool guitar teacher, who became not-so-cool after she showed up.

I was one of the five, yes FIVE, people who still took music class the following year that she showed up. I hated her too, but my love for music was stronger. Regardless, that class was cancelled because there weren’t enough students and I was forced to replace music with media arts. It was like switching from Hufflepuff to Ravenclaw. I was betraying my kind!

This lady ruined the reputation of the music-hallway. At lunch, the halls became quiet, whereas before you would hear the echoes of saxophones and flutes playing jovially in the background.

Plus! Like True Umbridge, she got into the school by using her authority. She was the vice-principal’s friend - we investigated this.

One of the crimes this woman committed included scrutinizing at the dress pants that one of my friends wore for a band performance, and proceeded to ask her, and I quote, “could you not afford better pants?” Just because her black pants were slightly paled.

What if she really couldn’t afford them? How could you say that to a teen? The most sensitive of all age groups?

Verbal abuse like this, reaalllyy irks my soul, especially when I witness it done to a friend of mine, or anyone who isn’t me for that matter.

There were a number of similar examples of her cruelty that I must have erased from my memory. Thanks to these numbers, me and a group of fellow victims to this... female warlock... banded together, collected a list of dated incidents and booked an appointment with our other vice principal – as in, the one that wasn’t her friend. Then we sat in a circle and presented our cases. *looks into the horizon*

Tears were shed that day.

Umbridge 2.0 went from a music teacher to an English teacher. She was not fired, no. And her becoming an English teacher might just have been because no one took her music class, but we put up a battle that day, and I’d like to believe we made a difference. Though, who knows.

Maybe what we really needed in order to slay her was a pack of centaurs... or a kid with a lightning-shaped scar.

I got an official diagnosis two years ago. It's a struggle to go to certain places and wonder who I am going to run into. Confrontation has always been something I have avoided. Anxiety over this has cost me one of my closest friends because I ghosted her rather than facing possible questions about a conflict. Anxiety has always made my blood pressure skyrocket. I have very bad white coat syndrome. I am nervous about doctor's visits and my blood pressure readings have always been something of concern. I did have a few therapy sessions. Though ultimately I did not agree with much of what he was saying to me or his methodology, it did make me more aware. When I went to my physical last year, my doctor commented on though well still elevated, she saw that my blood pressure was much improved. I believe that this improvement was caused by the knowledge that I have anxiety so I was able to control my feelings much better than I had in the past.