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missmeikakuna · 4 months

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My "Buddy" Santa (Short Story)

Rated: T

Fandom: Original/Christmas Lore

Relationship Type: M/M

Description: In the months following Mrs Claus's death, Santa has relied on an elf from his factory for comfort. To show his affection, he gives him various gifts and the two cuddle together. But the two of them have gotten too close, and the elf wants more out of the relationship than presents.

Content Warning: Mourning the pre-story death of a character

The sound of Michael Bublé on repeat almost hid the low electronic buzz. Almost.

Santa Clause was in a three-month long Bublé mood for reasons unbeknownst to anyone but a singular elf.

Those weren’t the only sounds, though. Eccentric whizzes of spinning machine arms, the cranks of levers, cogs turning. Most importantly, quiet chatter and occasional grumbles.

Rows upon rows of green and red-clad elves sat and packed toys into boxes. They did their ribbon-adorned origami quickly enough to catch up to the toy-making machines. At one end of the aquatic centre-sized room was a row of desks with elves dressed in gold and silver filling in paperwork. The workload had doubled in the past month due to a certain upcoming holiday.

A bright-faced, chubby, tall elf with curly hair as rosy as her cheeks walked down an aisle. Her gold and silver dress swayed back and forth as she moved, shimmying when she tapped a short elf on the shoulder.

‘Passing on a message from Mr Claus. Your new present is in your room, Bellomir.’

Laughter flanked the Bellomir on both sides. He groaned and sank into his seat, his scowl visible from the South Pole. He instinctively twirled the black curl sticking out of his pointy hat.

A stocky elf with a buzz cut nudged him in his ribs. “What do ya bet you got this time? A Rolex? A convertible?’

A waifish elf with long, flowing locks in a low ponytail grabbed Bellomir’s hat and rubbed it over his head until it mussed his hair, musical giggles playing from her mouth.

‘Maybe he finally went crazy and gave you the deed to a platinum mine!’ she added.

The red on Bellomir’s shirt was a dead ringer for the colour in his cheeks. He gave both his coworkers a death glare before looking up at the speakers on the roof. Throughout all of this, the three elves were still packing just as efficiently as before.

‘You guys have been listening to this song too much.’

‘Well, I guess Mr Claus plays what he wants,’ Mistlebo the stocky elf said with a shrug.

‘I think I’ve heard this song at least five times today. Did any of the other Bublé songs repeat this much?’

Snowren the waifish elf stroked her chin. ‘I think I heard ‘It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas’ a few times.’

‘But not five,’ Bellomir retorted with a sigh.

The messenger elf returned. ‘Passing on a message from Mr Claus. Meet Mr Claus at 7:16 tonight. Bring the hot chocolate and the present to open upon arrival.’

The laughter returned as well. ‘Looks like Mr Claus thinks you’re his best buddy,’ Mistlebo remarked.

Bellomir’s mouth contorted into half a smile and half a frown. ‘Yeah, Santa’s my buddy, alright.’

Two hours and one more ‘Santa Baby’ later, Bellomir hung up his hat and clocked out of work. He rushed to his room and picked up the present and hot chocolate. It was a modest one-bedroom apartment sandwiched between a hundred or so identical ones. The only difference in his room was the mountain of various gifts in the corner, torn wrapping paper sticking out at every angle like branches on a Christmas tree.

After eating a microwave dinner, he looked at his watch. ‘Jingleberries,’ he muttered under his breath. He put on his black coat and ran out of his room. He went up the stairs to the top floor, passing by the public dining hall and the toy research facility.

A red door with an emerald green wreath stood on the top floor. Bellomir knocked it six times, playing ‘Jingle Bells’ in his head.

A friendly old voice rumbled through the door. ‘Come in, come in!’

Bellomir closed his eyes, took a deep breath and opened the door. The dark air cracked with frequent little bursts of orange as the fireplace blazed. Some instrumental jazz music played from a forties-style radio. Above the gold-trimmed marble mantle hung a framed photograph of Mr and Mrs Claus.

A tall crimson velvet chair stood beside a little wooden table by the fire. The fireplace hid the man sitting there in silhouette, though the light captured the curves of his protruding cheeks. A glimmering teardrop ran down his face as he hummed the melody on the radio.

Santa Claus still maintained his round shape but had lost a noticeable amount of weight over the past few months. His coat hung from his body like it was on a coat rack, and his eyes were sunken in to an almost skeletal degree. His kitchen was untouched and had been that way since the incident, at least as far as Bellomir could tell. He had only started visiting after that event transpired. A couple of takeout boxes littered the floor, though not enough to match Santa’s pre-incident eating habits.

The jolly old man turned his head and showed Bellomir a smile one could roast chestnuts on. ‘Come closer, my dear boy.’

Bellomir frowned at that. Did he look young enough to earn that title? He was an elf. Still, he obliged, placing the can of hot chocolate atop the kitchen bench as he waddled over to the man.

He sat on Santa’s lap and looked up at his face, now illuminated by the flames before them. Santa’s eyes egged him on. Bellomir sighed and tore open the package.

Inside was a sweater the shade of pine leaves, a deer and the words ‘Merry Christmas’ stitched in with white wool. Bellomir couldn’t help but match Santa’s grin.

The man wrapped his arms around Bellomir’s waist and held him to his solid chest. Despite his sturdy hold, he dropped his chin onto the elf’s shoulder with the insecurity of a child looking for their parents’ approval.

‘Did you like the gift?’

‘If it’s from you, why wouldn’t I-’

‘Don’t beat around the bush, Bello. The truth, boy. Out with it.’

‘I like it.’

‘Good, good.’ Santa kept his arms around Bellomir but lifted his head from his shoulder. He looked up at the photograph. ‘She always loved sweaters. She used to knit me one almost every week. I wish she could have taught me more.’ His words caught in his throat, turning his voice raspy. ‘But I’m still proud of this one. I made a few mistakes but I doubt you’ll be able to spot them.’ His belly laugh resounded through Bellomir’s chest.

Santa gently rubbed his thumbs against Bellomir’s arms, and the elf relaxed into his embrace. For the next five minutes, the only sounds were the intermittent crackle of the fireplace and the slow breaths that, after some time, perfectly synchronised.

Eventually, Bellomir offered an alternative to the silence. ‘Feeling better?’ He asked with the corners of his lips reaching his pink cheeks. Santa nodded, his head stroking Bellomir’s back.

‘You’re always so comforting.’

Bellomir gazed at the photograph, focusing on Mrs Claus’ beaming face. He looked away and clenched his hands into fists, inadvertently scratching his thighs in the process.

‘Do… you have any other elves that do this?’ He asked as he twirled a strand of his hair.

‘Of course not.’

Bellomir cranked his head to an angle and bit his lip before speaking. ‘Why me? I don’t exactly look like her.’ His voice carried more venom than anticipated, but he wasn’t taking it back.

Santa let go and curled his fists. ‘You think I’d just use you as a replacement?’ His voice carried concern, but his words were just a little louder than what he said before.

To match his energy, Bellomir glared up at the once-jolly man. ‘Isn’t that what you’re doing? Isn’t that the whole point of this?’

Santa spluttered nonsense, his brain containing no words to the contrary. Bellomir hopped off his lap, causing the wrapping paper to fall onto the wine-coloured carpet. He looked down at the sweater in his hands and pushed it back onto Santa’s lap.

‘I don’t need this,’ he said before turning his back and walking out the door.

The next day at work contained the same old drudgery of the previous. Mistlebo’s elbow attacks gave Bellomir a crushing sense of deja vu.

‘How were things last night with your new buddy Santa?’

Bellomir sank into his seat again, his growl almost louder than the machines.

‘Didn’t like the gift?’ Snowren asked without looking away from the present before her.

Bellomir hesitated, then gave a small smile as he carefully wrapped his present. ‘The gift was nice. It was heartfelt and sweet. He made it himself and everything.’ Another sigh left his lips. ‘But that’s just it. At the end of the day, it’s another gift.’

Mistlebo scoffed at that. ‘If someone handmade me a gift, I’d be pretty grateful.’ Bellomir bit the inside of his cheek, trying to come up with a retort but finding none.

The messenger elf walked up to him. ‘Passing on a message from Mr Claus-’

‘Tell him I don’t want to see him,’ Bellomir said flatly.

She blinked. ‘Excuse me?’ Several elves in the factory turned their heads.

‘I don’t want to see him…’ He suddenly remembered the warmth of the fireplace threading through the warmth of Santa’s arms like a hand-knit Christmas sweater. ‘…today. Tell him to invite me tomorrow.’

‘V… very well, then. Do you still want me to relay the message?’

Bellomir waved his hand dismissively and went back to work. The elves who had a quick entertainment break rushed to catch up with the machines. Toys began to pile up on the conveyor belts, pushing up against each other and falling off the belts.

While still working on their presents, Mistlebo and Snowren looked at Bellomir out the corner of their concerned eyes. Then they looked back at their gifts as if nothing had happened.

Despite the chill of the night, Bellomir lay atop his quilt on his bed, the crack in his ceiling the only object in his view. He played with a curl in his hair as images flashed through his mind like reels in stereo slide viewer glasses.

Santa standing in the factory beside the desks like he used to, staring at Bellomir for some reason. The red outlines of his eyes from rubbing them too much. The mugs of hot chocolate on the little table by the fire as Bellomir reached out to hug Santa for the first time. Santa’s first gift, a bottle of cologne with a leathery scent. A messenger elf walking up to Bellomir and making the short elf realise that Santa was no longer in the factory.

Mrs Claus smiling as she handed the elves cookies. Santa giving her a peck on the lips with his arm around her waist. Mrs Claus coughing over and over again. Elves wearing black during the ceremony. A tear sliding down a silhouetted Santa’s face as he looked up at the framed photo.

Bellomir blinked, his nose itching as he finally noticed his own tears. When he started to shiver, he considered pulling the covers over him, but he figured they couldn’t compete with the cosiness of Santa’s arms.

He turned his head to the gold alarm clock beside his bed, another gift from Old Saint Nick. It was 3 in the morning. Should he? Was he crazy?

The next thing he knew, he was knocking on the big red door in two bursts of three. He heard the gasp of someone just waking up.

‘Uh, come in, my dear boy, come in.’ Santa was still sitting in his chair, a carton of eggnog and a small bottle of brandy beside a shot glass on the table. There were dark bags under his eyes but his smile was bright. The fireplace was still ablaze. No music was playing this time. ‘What brings you here?’

‘I guess… I wanted to talk.’ Bellomir looked at the eggnog on the table, his heart twisting. ‘But first, have you had much to drink?’

Santa shook his head. ‘I didn’t have much, and I’m pretty sure I slept off what I did have. He lifted his bottom off the chair and used his big, beefy arms to pull it around to face Bellomir. Despite now being away from the fireplace, his cheeks were rosier than usual. ‘So what’s, uh, going on, Bello?’

Bellomir finally noticed that the Christmas sweater was on the floor next to the table, yet it was folded perfectly. Santa grabbed it, unravelled it and held it up in front of his face. ‘Did you change your mind about the gift? You said earlier that you liked it. Was that a lie?’

The elf took slow steps towards Santa, and when he finally got up to him, he pulled the sweater down so they were staring face to face. He raised his leg until his knee was on Santa’s lap. Santa blinked, his cheeks getting redder and redder. Their hands met as they held onto the sweater, sending a little spark synced with a crackling sound from the fireplace.

‘I like your gifts, but there’s one little thing I really need.’

‘Oh, a fur coat?’

Bellomir wrapped his hands around Santa’s cheeks, brushing his thumb against the man’s lips.

‘All I want for Christmas is you.’ Just as Bellomir started to lean in closer, Santa turned his head away.

‘I-I’m flattered, but you’re my employee. I mustn’t-’

‘Oh, so you can’t kiss me but you can treat me like your sugar baby?’

Santa turned his head back around to face him. ‘I’m Santa Claus! What else can I do to show my affection besides giving you gifts?’

‘Oh, so you do like me,’ Bellomir whispered into his ear, running his hand down his cheek. ‘If you want to show affection, just be honest with me.’ He snatched the sweater. ‘You put a lot of effort into making this, but why? Why did you choose me, Nicholas?’

Santa gulped as his eyes darted around the room, always avoiding Bellomir’s gaze. ‘Well, I, uh, I don’t know. I was just drawn to you for some reason. I thought you seemed lonely like me. You were the only one in the factory not doing small talk.’

Memories of chatting with Snowren and Mistlebo played in Bellomir’s mind. What was Santa talking about? He always conversed with people… He suddenly remembered the truth. Those memories were from after starting this situationship with Santa. Love filled Bellomir’s heart, almost overflowing into tears.

‘I wanted a friend, honest!’ Santa added. ‘But then you hugged me that night, and everything changed.’ He scratched his own cheek. ‘I kind of like it when you take charge.’ He sighed. ‘But, to go any further when you work for me…’

‘Alright, then. I’ll get another job. I hear the reindeer barn is looking for work.’

‘But I still work with them-’

‘At least I won’t be working under you.’

‘Are you really willing to go this far? You’d have to move out of your apartment-’

‘Can I move into yours, then?’ Bellomir asked with his pointer finger against Santa’s chest. He leaned in closer and whispered in his ear again. ‘Please, Nicholas?’ When he leant back, he spotted the golden frame of the photo of Mr and Mrs Claus. He closed his eyes and spoke at the speed of the machine in the factory. ‘If you think Mrs Claus would be okay with it. You’re still grieving, after all. It’s only been a few months and I’d hate to interrupt that process-’

A belly laugh from Santa roared through the room. ‘You’re really worried about that? She would be happy to see me happy.’ He smirked and whispered in Bellomir’s ear. ‘In fact, we occasionally brought in a third person.’

Now Bellomir’s cheeks were reddening. ‘I… I see.’

Santa reached behind Bellomir’s head and threaded his fingers through his curls. ‘May I, my dear Bello?’ he asked as he took a candy cane from the pocket, unwrapped it with one hand and bit a big piece off. He speedily chewed it into smaller pieces and swallowed it all.

The answer was given not by words but by a peck on the lips, which quickly became another one, then a series of deeper kisses that went on for several blissful minutes. The scent of eggnog and brandy was still on Santa’s breath, but the minty taste of the candy cane mostly covered it. Bellomir thanked Santa’s courteousness with more kissing. Despite the icy coolness of the peppermint, everything else about Santa was warm and comforting, from his arm wrapped around Bellomir’s waist, pulling him closer, to his soft lips. The couple’s movements were slow and delicate but passionate.

When they finally pulled themselves away, Bellomir sat on his lap and cuddled him. They silently stayed in the chair, Santa resting his chin on Bellomir’s head as he ran his fingers through his hair. Eventually, Bellomir buried the fireplace in cool ashes until the flames went out, hopped back on his lap, and rested in his big, cosy arms.

‘Good night, Baby,’ Bellomir whispered as he drifted into a pleasant sleep. Snow began to fall outside, but neither man could feel the cold.

#christmas #santa #lgbt #romance #short story #gay #bisexual #story #fiction #original fiction #gay romance #shounen ai #writing #literature

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missmeikakuna · 1 year

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Let Me Speak to the Manager! Ch. 6- Karen x Manager [END]

The sixth and final chapter of my new story, a Karen x Manager yuri romcom. Yes, you read that right.

Fandom: Original (unless Karen memes count as a fandom)

Rated: T (some swearing and mature themes)

Pairing: F/F

Description: After being denied a discount at a supermarket, single mother Karen demands to see the manager. Much to her horror, the manager is hot enough to be her first woman crush. But Karen would rather join a pyramid scheme than deal with her feelings, much less admit them.

Potential Content Warning: Religious homophobia

Cover art by Galdsy- Tumblr: www.tumblr.com/galdsy Twitter: twitter.com/galdsy Instagram: www.instagram.com/galdles/?hl=…

Chapter 6: Karen and The Manager vs Society

Kyle, Sharon and Carol sat by the dining table. ‘What’s up with mum?’ Carol asked, stirring the chocolate powder in her cup of milk.

It was nighttime and Karen had already gone to sleep. The three children were lit by the flashlight feature on their phones, unwilling to turn on the kitchen lights and risk awakening their mother. The room still reeked of lavender and honey, which would be nice if it wasn’t so potent. Karen had a habit of leaving the oil diffuser on for hours.

‘It’s that dumb business she’s started,’ Kyle answered, slamming his fist against the table.

Sharon nodded. ‘She tried to put oil in my ear last night. Claimed it could help me get to sleep. As if I could sleep if I’m worried about getting shit poured in my ear.’

‘So… what do we do?’ Kyle asked. The other two shrugged, then Carol took a sip of her homemade chocolate milk. Sharon absentmindedly tapped the placemat in front of her. They collectively sighed.

The next day, Karen came home from work with bags under her eyes. She collapsed on her bed but forced herself to take out her phone and check her WonderLiving page on Friendful.

Kyle, Sharon and Carol burst through the doorway to her bedroom and Kyle stood in front of the door to block Karen from leaving. Carol and Sharon swooped to Karen’s side.

‘What are you guys doing?’

Sharon ‘Well… you see, we’re concerned about-’

‘Your new business sucks,’ Carol interjected.

Sharon slapped Carol’s shoulder. ‘Carol!’

‘What? It’s true. Mum, you keep saying you can’t buy us stuff because you’re trying to get your business off the ground. Why do you even need it? What are you even selling?’

Karen started her rehearsed spiel about the benefits of WonderLiving essential oils. Kyle’s eyelids quickly began to lower.

‘Are you making any money from these oils?’ Sharon asked.

Karen paused, then shook her head. ‘But I’m sure soon the money will start pouring in!’

Carol groaned. ‘Why did you need the extra money? We were fine before you joined this Wonder… whatever.’

‘Well, you know how expensive groceries are now, since I had to change where I shop.’

‘Just apologise to the supermarket,’ Sharon suggested. ‘That was ages ago.’

Karen crossed her arms and was silent for a moment, her face a blank slate. ‘I may or may not have had another… outburst… in front of the same manager.’

‘Then apologise to that manager.’

‘No way am I talking to that temptress Frema again!’

Carol raised an eyebrow, noting the redness of Karen’s cheeks. ‘Temptress?’ The memory of Karen’s behaviour upon first meeting Frema lit up like a lightbulb in her mind. She held in her laughter and looked at her siblings to see if they had any clue what was going on.

That question brought Karen to her feet. ‘Get out of my room,’ she said as she reached past Kyle to grab the doorknob. Kyle stood resolute, not budging an inch.

‘It’s okay,’ Carol said to Kyle, who moved on command. Despite Karen telling her children to leave, she was the one who exited the room.

Sharon sat down on the bed. ‘What was that all about?’

Carol paused to think. Was she crazy? ‘Temptress… did this manager tempt mum? Into what, exactly?’ She looked to her siblings to see if they picked up on her cues.

Sharon lifted her legs until she was sitting cross-legged on the bed. Her eyes grew three sizes and her jaw hit the floor.

‘But Mum’s not a lesbian!’

‘I never said she was.’

‘Wait, Mum’s a lesbian?’ Kyle asked with the face of an F-grade student given the Mensa test.

‘Either way, we need to talk to this manager,’ Carol said, her eyebrows low with determination.

Sharon pointed out, ‘And get her to do what? Even if Mum goes back to the supermarket, she might still want to stay in that company.’

Kyle looked at his hands like they were fading away. ‘Woah, woah, woah. But if Mum’s a lesbian, then how was I born?’ He patted down his body to check it was still there.

Carol ignored him to continue discussing with Sharon. ‘Well, if my deduction’s right, then this manager might be the last person left who can talk some sense into her. She might listen. Or hell. She could be tempted to leave Wonder-whatever.’

Sharon shook her head. ‘We don’t even know when this woman’s on her shift. How do we find her and convince her to help?’

‘Listen to me!’ Kyle yelled. Carol and Sharon turned their heads. ‘Is Mum a lesbian?’

The twins shrugged in perfect synchronisation. ‘Anyway,’ Carol said. ‘Time to make a plan.’

Frema pushed the trolleys into each other, struggling to get all of them to fit. A single drop of sweat slid down her forehead. After wiping it away, she smiled at customers and began visiting each aisle to inspect the employees’ recovery work.

A bland and repetitive but vaguely upbeat pop song played through the speakers. This should have been fine, as Frema was no music snob despite her personal tastes. That being said, hearing it for the fifth time in an hour would turn anyone into a hipster who funnel-chugs lowercase ambient albums.

Sunlight burst through the windows and glass doors but the building was still a little chilly, thanks to the frequently opened but rarely closed fridge doors in the frozen produce section. As she made her way through the aisles, she made sure she closed every single one of those fridge doors.

This was a rather average work day.

The company phone buzzed in Frema’s pant pocket. She immediately took it out. ‘Welcome to Wilco’s. Frema speaking. How may I help you?’

‘Oh, you’re there,’ Carol said. ‘How long will your shift last? We’ll be there as soon as possible.’

Frema’s eyebrows met in confusion. ‘Could I have your name? I’m afraid I don’t recognise your voice.’

‘Oh, you probably don’t remember us.’

Kyle had to butt in the conversation. ‘We’re Karen’s kids.’

‘I see… is there anything you need?’

‘Nope!’ Sharon replied. ‘We’ll see you soon.’ She hung up.

Frema stared at the phone in her hand, dumbfounded. She released a quick chuckle before pushing the phone back into her pocket and continuing her inspection.

It wasn’t long before the three kids arrived. Carol asked a staff member where Frema was. Frema wound up recognising the three pretty quickly. They were the spitting image of Karen.

‘Can I help you?’

Kyle said, ‘Maybe.’ His face was still shocked as he tried to understand what his mother’s sexuality was.

‘Yes!’ Carol yelped, stepping on Kyle’s foot. Kyle yelped even louder at the shoe on his foot. He glared at her but she ignored him. ‘We need you to get Mum to leave a company she keeps spending money on.’

Frema raised a single eyebrow and wore an awkward grin. ‘I’m not sure I’d be much help with that. I doubt she’d-’

‘But you have to try-’

‘I did. I can’t deal with her anymore.’ She pulled a line of items forward on the shelf. ‘She doesn’t listen to reason.’

‘But you’re a temptress!’ Sharon argued a little too loud. She lowered her head as shoppers turned theirs. ‘I mean, that’s what Mum said. Can’t you tempt her to leave the pyramid scheme she’s in? She won’t hear what we have to say.’

That word shot into Frema’s brain like a pinball, bouncing around it faster and faster. Temptress. What a word. Frema’s heart couldn’t help but grow wings and gently fly up. She closed her eyes and thought.

Following half a minute of deliberation, she spoke. ‘Fine. I’ll give it one more shot. Where’s your mum? My shift ends in a few minutes.’

Once her shift was over, she drove the kids to Karen’s home. They walked up to the front door and Carol knocked on it.

When Karen opened it, her face went through the entire spectrum of emotions. She eventually settled on fear and began to close the door. Frema held the edge of the door with the grip of a coconut crab. Karen may have been an unstoppable force, but Frema was an immovable object. The result turned out to be an explosion.

‘Leave me alone!’ Karen screeched.

‘Not until I have a good talk with you!’

‘And what? Judge my life while you live the worst possible lifestyle?’

‘Coming from the woman who called me a temptress!’

Karen gulped. She sighed, looked at her feet and opened the door. A voice unfamiliar to Frema entered her ears from behind Karen.

‘Oh, is someone late to the party? You’re not going to give the whole presentation again, are you? That’s a common rookie mistake.’

Something about that voice and its platitudinously plastic tone ground against Frema’s ears. It was a sensation akin to hearing the familiar squeak of a roller shopping basket scraping against the floor. She looked up and saw a middle-aged woman, taller than even Frema herself, with a blonde bun whose tightness highlighted her extensive use of botox.

Behind her, a gathering of similarly aged women stood in the living room like they were surrounding a water cooler at work, wine glasses in their hands. Most of them had a haircut eerily like Karen’s.

The bun-wearing woman, herself holding a wine glass in one hand, shook Frema’s with her other. Her smile was positively Stepfordian.

‘Nice to meet you. I’m Brenda. Did you want to try some of Karen’s products?’ Her wine flipped like a pancake in her glass as she swung her arm towards a full table of WonderLiving products. ‘There are still some left to buy.’ Despite keeping the same plastic smile, her voice smirked when she said that last part.

Frema finally stepped through the door, inadvertently pushing it into Karen. ‘Frema. You must be Karen’s upline.’ The air between Frema and Brenda was like the surface of still water. Karen’s shoulders felt much the same way. She smiled big enough to show her teeth but not enough to be convincing. The only movement she could make was turning her head from Frema to Brenda and back again like she was watching a tennis match.

Brenda blinked her wide but dead eyes. ‘I see you’re already familiar with network marketing. How wonderful! You seem like you’d be a good fit as a distributor like Karen.’

‘Oh, no, I really couldn’t-’

‘Anyone can! That’s the beauty of working at WonderLiving.’

Frema laughed but its lack of ugliness caused Karen’s body to clam up even more. ‘Well, you know the saying. Just because they can doesn’t mean they should.’

‘Where do you work? I’m sure you could use some extra cash.’

‘I’m a supermarket manager.’

The smirk transferred from Brenda’s voice to her face, finally showing itself. ‘Well, you definitely sound like you should work at WonderLiving,’ she said as she took another sip of her wine. Her words cut deep, surprising Frema. She should have been used to this kind of thinking by now, and yet-

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

The two battlers turned their heads towards Karen, who looked akin to a deer angry at the headlights.

Brenda swallowed the wine in her mouth. ‘Well, who would want to work at that kind of place when you could be your own boss and earn a lot more? A supermarket manager…’ Brenda shivered before stepping towards a finger food table. She wiggled her fingers but decided not to eat anything Karen had prepared. ‘Though I guess you can tell a lot by the company you keep.’

Karen’s shoulders rose, she spluttered drops of wine left inside her mouth and she began lending a magpie’s eye to the nest that was her table of essential oils.

‘A supermarket manager is a perfectly fine job!’

‘Do you really believe that?’ Brenda asked.

‘Of course, I do! Frema works hard and is making a life for herself, unlike SOME people! You don’t know her, so stop talking shit!’

The crowd of bob-haired women gasped. Even Brenda was taken aback. ‘How dare you talk to me like that. Let’s not forget who helped you gather people for this Pharaoh’s Court. You couldn’t do it without me.’

Karen looked down in shame. Then she felt Frema’s comforting hand on her shoulder and looked back up with fire in her eyes.

‘Yeah, you’re right, and I think it’s time for them all to leave! Go! Shoo! Shoo!’ She stormed into the middle of the gathering and shooed them away just as she said. She looked at the essential oil table and raised her arm to push them all to the ground. She saw Frema’s embarrassed stare and brought her arm back to her side.

After closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths, Karen said, ‘I’d rather not share my home with someone who doesn’t appreciate hard workers like Frema.’

Brenda glared at Frema before grabbing her purse and shutting the front door behind her. Frema opened her mouth but Karen held up her pointer finger with her eyes closed again and her lips pursed.

She said nothing but led Frema to the study. There was no way in hell she was going to take her to her bedroom.

Naturally, once the kids finally walked into the house, they kept their distance from the study but listened in. Karen, to their luck, didn’t notice. ‘What do you want? Did you enjoy ruining my party?’ she asked Frema as she plopped down onto the swivel chair.

‘I want you to be honest with me.’ Karen swirled in her chair until she was facing away from Frema. ‘I’d also like you to be more mature, but we can’t have everything, can we?’ A groan jumped out from Karen’s lips. ‘Why did you join a pyramid scheme?’

Karen whipped back around to face Frema. ‘It’s not a pyramid scheme! It’s network marketing. Pyramid schemes are illegal!’

Frema considered arguing over this point but decided to move on. ‘Okay, then why did you join a network marketing company? And don’t give me a sales pitch.’

Karen started to turn back but Frema grabbed the top of the chair and pulled it towards her. She leaned down until their faces were inches apart. Karen couldn’t form words when confronted with Frema’s horrifying beauty. All she could do was stare silently at Frema’s lips.

Frema’s whispers tickled Karen’s own lips. ‘What changed in your life to make you decide that?’

Before Karen could think, she kissed Frema. The other woman’s lips were soft and the kiss was delicate, as if they both feared the other would disappear if they went too hard.

Frema broke the kiss almost immediately. ‘Nope. Less kissing, more talking.’

‘I knew it!’ Carol exclaimed. Karen’s eyes popped out of her sockets. Frema slid open the door fast enough to make a thud against the frame.

‘Shoo! Get outta here, you weirdos!’ The three kids obliged. With a sigh, Frema shut the door again and rubbed the side of her face. ‘Your kids are… something else.’

Karen nodded, her head hung in the greatest shame she had ever felt. ‘They know… they can’t! I’m not even…’

Frema kneeled down and placed a soft hand on Karen’s. ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to come out as anything if you’re not ready.’

Karen shook her head. ‘I was supposed to forget. I was supposed to do something, anything, to forget about you.’

‘What makes you think you could forget this ugly mug?’ Frema’s gorgeously awful laugh returned.

Karen gradually joined in despite disagreeing, then gradually stopped. ‘I haven’t known you very long. I barely-’

‘And that’s completely fine,’ Frema replied, slowly sliding her hand up the other woman’s arm. ‘We can get to know each other over dinner, maybe. Just, please leave that company. I beg you. Your kids are so worried and I hate what it turned you into.’

Karen pushed Frema’s hand away. ‘Turned me into? You already had every reason to hate me. I’m a mess who can’t handle any change. All I can do is knock things over and leave.’

‘Can’t argue with that. But you know what I discovered when you complimented my jacket?’ Frema brushed some of Karen’s hair behind her ear. ‘Even the worst customers can change, and maybe that means I’ve been able to change myself. Trust me, you’re not the first bad customer I’ve run into. When they left, I always saw them as complete scum who could never be redeemed. But you listened to me when I was complaining about my life. No one’s really done that for me before. Hell, look what you did just now at your party!’

Tears rolled down Karen’s cheeks and Frema wiped them away. Karen asked, ‘But what about all the stock I bought? No one wants it.’

‘I’m sure we can figure something out. But buying more stock won’t solve the problem.’

Karen nodded and wrapped her arms around Frema’s neck, pulling her closer. She continued sobbing as she whispered thank yous and sorries into her shoulder.

She could not sell the stock, but she concluded that the essential oils smelled nice enough to use in moderation. She diffused a bottle of oil every couple of days, enough to lessen the stock without polluting the air her children breathed.

Every weekend or so, she and Frema would go on a date. They spent a chunk of their time together whining about their lives, but they both listened to each other intently. By the end of the date, they had moved on to chatting about anything that brought them joy, from a new tv show to a series of photos Frema was proud of taking. It was as if they had forgotten what they had whinged about at the start.

After seeing sparkles in Karen’s eyes when she talked about the things Carol and Sharon had built, Frema suggested that she try woodworking again. At first, Karen shook her head and laughed awkwardly.

‘I couldn’t.’

‘But do you want to?’

Karen couldn’t help but nod.

A few days later, she invited Frema over without telling her what she wanted to do. As soon as she came in, Frema was greeted by the smell of wood chips. Karen handed her a hammer and led her to the backyard, where the whole family was building a dollhouse.

‘If I sell these, I can make back the money I spent at that....’ Karen’s words trailed off and a blush appeared on her face.’

‘That pyramid scheme?’ Carol asked with a chuckle.

The blush got redder. ‘Yes, that pyramid scheme. Now quiet down and do your job!’

The three kids snickered. Frema chuckled and gave Karen a comforting kiss before joining her in hammering nails into the dollhouse. It took a couple of hours, but they eventually created a little home for themselves.

#story #writing #Karen #lgbt #yuri #shoujo ai #original fiction #romance #romantic comedy #literature #bisexual #fiction #Let Me Speak to the Manager

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missmeikakuna · 1 year

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Let Me Speak to the Manager! Ch. 5- Karen x Manager

The fifth chapter of my new story, a Karen x Manager yuri romcom. Yes, you read that right.

Fandom: Original (unless Karen memes count as a fandom)

Rated: T (some swearing and mature themes)

Pairing: F/F

Potential Content Warning: Religious homophobia

Cover art by Galdsy- Tumblr: www.tumblr.com/galdsy Twitter: twitter.com/galdsy Instagram: www.instagram.com/galdles/?hl=…

The fifth chapter of my new story, a Karen x Manager yuri romcom. Yes, you read that right.

Fandom: Original (unless Karen memes count as a fandom)

Rated: T (some swearing and mature themes)

Pairing: F/F

Potential Content Warning: Religious homophobia

Cover art by Galdsy- Tumblr: www.tumblr.com/galdsy Twitter: twitter.com/galdsy Instagram: www.instagram.com/galdles/?hl=…

Chapter 5: Karen vs Nature

Friendful was a powerful app. It could connect mothers from all over the world, allow them to give advice and, most importantly, distract Karen from memories of a particular wavy-haired temptress.

She wrote a post about her children’s angry behaviour and received a wide array of suggestions, from herbal tea to fresh pee. One mother believed Karen’s children had autism and that she should try calming essential oils. That option certainly seemed more beneficial than drinking human waste, so Karen asked for details. The mother sent a link to her work Friendful page, where she advertised the essential oils from a company called WonderLiving.

Karen grinned. Wow, a person with her own business was going out of her way to help a stranger like her!

The page included many posts with the hashtag #girlpharaoh accompanying essential oils, which the page claimed to be based on Ancient Egyptian medicine and made with “all-natural ingredients”. The oil blends all had strange names like Ankh, for healing, and Scribe, for increased intelligence. The calming oil Karen wanted was called Amulet, a little turquoise bottle filled with honey and frankincense, among other ingredients. Karen bought a dozen bottles immediately.

The words #girlpharaoh stuck with her, so she read more posts even after buying what she wanted, trying to understand the meaning. Over half of the posts were not about the actual oils but about working for the business. The mother claimed to be making bank with this side hustle and encouraged other women to join her downline. During the following weekend, there was going to be a seminar for people who wanted to join the business.

Seeing this opportunity, one thought entered Karen’s head.

No more worrying about the price of bananas.

On the day of the seminar, Karen found herself in a conference room full of middle-aged women with similar haircuts to hers, mixed in with some college-aged women and one lone man. The walls were covered with shiny gold curtains, possibly to make the business look prestigious. The neatly-placed rows of fifty chairs were almost full and filling fast. At the end of the room was a slightly-raised stage, flanked by two standing posters showing a smiling thirty-something woman.

Karen took a cookie from the craft table and scanned the room for a free chair. Finding none, she stood against the left wall and began taking little bites out of her cookie.

The same woman from the posters walked up onto the stage with a cordless microphone. After testing the mic, she gazed at the audience with glimmering eyes.

‘You know, I was a lot like all of you when I was younger.’ Her voice was commanding but soothing. ‘So eager to do something with my life. I could have just done a 9 to 5 job and tried to make a living out of that. How many of you work those kinds of jobs? Raise your hand.’

Most of the room raised their hand. The woman continued. ‘I wanted something more, and I knew I had to do it the right way. I was determined not only to make a little cash but also to empower women. That’s what WonderLiving is all about. How do we do this?’

The projector screen behind the woman lit up and displayed a business structure chart. ‘This is network marketing. Now, I know it looks like a pyramid…’ the audience laughed, Karen included. ‘...But if you look closer, it’s a tier system, and anyone can rise through the ranks. You’ll start off in the Farmer Tier and, if you make enough commission, you can become a Craftswoman, then a Warrior, a Noble and finally a Pharaoh. We at WonderLiving are all about lifting women up and letting them be their own bosses. You choose the hours, how much product you sell and who you sell to. You can even choose to make this a side hustle to make a little passive income while you work elsewhere. It’s all up to you.’

Karen beamed at this idea. The slide changed to a stock photo of a smiling group of women. ‘In joining WonderLiving, you also get to become a member of a welcoming community of women who treat each other like family. These are your fellow Girl Pharaohs.’

Before the woman could finish her speech, Karen had already taken her pen out to sign up.

She bought 99 dollars’ worth of products and headed home. The items arrived a week later. She set up a Friendful page for her business and waited for customers to start pouring in.

They did no such thing.

She started recommending her products to people on the mum groups and got a couple of people interested, though not enough to pay back the startup cost. She expanded the scope of people she contacted to her friends on Friendful, most of whom didn’t reply.

Over the next few weeks, Karen didn’t speak to Frema when she shopped, even when Frema waved at her. It didn’t take long for Frema to give up. An idea popped into Karen’s head when she heard a shopper complain to another about having trouble sleeping.

‘Oh, have you tried the Sarcophagus oil from WonderLiving? It’s perfect for that kind of thing.’ A blush adorned Karen’s cheeks. ‘Sorry, I overheard you and wanted to help someone struggling. We women have to stick together, you know?’

The shopper smiled with a raised eyebrow. ‘I’ll look it up.’

Karen’s heart jumped up and down at this little victory. She was so excited she forgot to tell her about her Friendful business page.

Every weekend she went shopping, she brought a few bottles of essential oils to the supermarket to conveniently have on hand whenever a shopper had a problem.

‘Oh, you have trouble concentrating? You should try Scribe. I’ve got a couple of Scribe oils if you want to buy a couple from me. They’re real cheap.’

‘Oh, your husband’s struggling with indigestion? That’s awful! Has he tried the essential oil Oasis? It has peppermint in it, which aids with digestion.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry your son has cancer. I hear the Ankh essential oil is great for that.’

By the time she uttered that last suggestion, Frema had noticed what she was doing and took her aside.

‘What are you doing in my supermarket?’

It took a while for Karen to gather her thoughts when faced with Frema’s beauty. ‘I-I-It’s not your supermarket. You don’t own your own business like me.’

‘Good for you. You still can’t sell things here.’

Karen held the oil bottle in her hand close to her chest. ‘Why not? I’m helping people who need me.’

‘If you try and shill your products here, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’ Frema crossed her arms and stared down at Karen.

‘But I’m a customer! I have every right to be here!’ To demonstrate this, Karen took a packet of chips from the shelf and plopped it into her almost empty trolley. She had been in the shopping centre for more than an hour.

‘Not if you’re bothering the other customers.’

‘At least I’m not trying to date them!’

Frema blinked. ‘What does that have to do with… Look, I’m sorry about that day. I got caught up in the fun of the day and I thought you liked me too. I shouldn’t have assumed that and I should have been more careful not to misread the situation. Can we at least stay friends? I’m content with that so long as you don’t try to sell things in this store.’

‘Why would I want to stay friends with a lesbian?’ Karen asked that question a little too loud. As customers turned their heads, Frema and Karen shared a blush. Frema’s eyebrows met up high and her lips parted ever so slightly as she took in Karen’s words. She then looked down.

‘Well, if that’s how you really feel, I’ll leave you alone.’ Her voice was deep and quiet. ‘Just leave my customers alone.’

Karen shoved her oil bottles back in her handbag and stomped away with a huff, until she realised she still had shopping to do. She gingerly walked back to her trolley and pushed it down the aisle with her nose turned up.

Anger brewed within her gut, slowly rising as she thought of Frema and her stupid gorgeous face and her dumb adorable laugh and her infuriatingly endearing spontaneity. She then remembered the hurt look on Frema’s face from moments before. She wondered if she herself would have that face if someone found out about her own attraction.

Heads turned again when Karen held her arm out on the shelf as she walked forward, knocking everything to the floor.

‘Out!’ Frema shouted.

Upon her arrival home, Kyle asked Karen if she could get him a game he wanted for his birthday, which would take place in two weeks. Karen didn’t answer, storming off to her room and slamming the door shut.

On the WonderLiving website, she bought more inventory. She was going to afford that game for Kyle. She made a habit of buying more items every day. Her fellow Girl Pharaohs on Friendful always emphasised the importance of buying lots of products. According to them, if someone didn’t make money from this business opportunity, they simply hadn’t worked hard enough.

The day she planned on buying Kyle’s present, a week before his birthday, she checked her bank account and saw she didn’t have enough to buy a single game. A labyrinth of dark thoughts weaved into her mind as she held her phone with trembling hands.

She asked the WonderLiving page on Friendful if anyone was also struggling to make back the money they spent on products. The Girl Pharaohs on the page told her to network with more people.

As desperation ate at her, Karen searched Friendful for Frema and read through her public posts. She had posted a picture the previous day with a thermometer in her mouth. The caption read, ‘The flu’s a bitch.’

Karen didn’t send a friend request but did send a message.

Hey girl!

I saw you’re feeling a little under the weather. I know just the thing to help with your symptoms. You should try the Ankh essential oil from WonderLiving! It’s made of all-natural ingredients and it has incredible healing properties!

I also have a great business opportunity for you. I don’t know how much you make managing the supermarket, but I’m sure it’s not much. I know you and you deserve more. You’re so smart and I would love to have you as part of my team.

At first, Frema left Karen on read. By the end of the day, however, Frema made her thoughts known.

You must have nerves of steel if you think you can try to sell me the crap that got you kicked out. I thought maybe you were going to message an apology but no, you had to turn it into a money-making opportunity for you. Screw you. I’ve been so patient with you but now I’ve given up. No more trying to reason with you or keep any friendship with you. I’m done.

Karen dropped the phone on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She was stuck in a frustrating limbo, miserable enough to want to cry but not enough to actually do it.

#story #writing #Karen #lgbt #yuri #shoujo ai #original fiction #romance #romantic comedy #literature #bisexual #fiction #Let Me Speak to the Manager

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missmeikakuna · 1 year

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Let Me Speak to the Manager! Ch. 4- Karen x Manager

The fourth chapter of my new story, a Karen x Manager yuri romcom. Yes, you read that right.

Fandom: Original (unless Karen memes count as a fandom)

Rated: T (some swearing and mature themes)

Pairing: F/F

Potential Content Warning: Religious homophobia

Cover art by Galdsy- Tumblr: www.tumblr.com/galdsy Twitter: twitter.com/galdsy Instagram: www.instagram.com/galdles/?hl=…

Chapter 4: The Manager vs God

Carol and Sharon were arguing in the kitchen. Kyle was holed in his room with his cheap gamer headphones on and Kero Kero Bonito playing loudly in his ears. Anything to block out the yelling.

Sharon was the loudest but Carol was the one with the clever comebacks. Well, she thought they were clever anyway. What was the topic that tore this household apart? Whose job it was to take out the rubbish.

Karen had tried to calm them down but was now sitting by the kitchen bench with her head in her hands. She eventually stood up and walked to Kyle’s room to confirm something. He was now swearing at a rival player in a game. She saw all the empty cans and dirty clothes on the floor. She went to her bedroom, took out her phone and began her search for babysitters on Friendful Marketplace.

The next day, she told the babysitter all she needed to know and made her way out into the outdoors. The sun dipped her smiling lips in a golden feeling of freedom.

After a moment of glory, the smile faltered a little. What was Karen going to do now?

She began wandering around the suburb, basking in the sun but feeling the dead coldness of boredom in her gut. Her eyes searched everywhere they could for something, anything, to do.

Her icy interior melted upon seeing a familiar face in an unfamiliar setting. Frema, clad in plain grey sweats, waved goodbye to a teenage boy wearing a kippah as he got inside a car with a man.

When the car passed Karen, Frema saw her. Frema’s mouth and eyes widened. ‘H-Hello. Fancy seeing you here.’ She placed her hand on a piece of air where she thought the mailbox was, almost tripping over nothing as she continued lowering her hand in search of the mailbox.

Karen blushed on her behalf. ‘Yeah… I’m guessing that was…’

‘My son, yes. So, uh, what are you up to?’

‘Not much. I’ve got the day to myself, but I don’t know exactly what to do with it.’ Karen chuckled awkwardly.

‘Same here.’ Frema’s eyes began to glisten. ‘Would you like to go to the beach together?’

Karen blinked. ‘The beach? Isn’t that a little…’

‘Well, you’ve got nothing to do, right? Ooh, wait, I’m gonna get my camera!’

Before Karen could protest, Frema ran inside her one-story red brick house. Karen waited next to the lush garden, with its vast array of photogenic flowers. The garden stood in stark contrast to the house itself, which was plain and displayed a big crack in the front window.

After a few minutes, Frema came out of her house with a large, age-worn black camera around her neck, two wide-brimmed hats in her hands and a green blazer on her body. Underneath that blazer was a navy blue and white striped top. Her tight denim skirt hugged her curves. Did Karen notice? Is water wet?

Karen looked down at her old, raggedy three-quarter jeans and her loose, slightly holey green t-shirt with the words ‘Follow Your Dreams’ stuck on the chest.

‘Oh look, we match,’ Frema said. ‘Cute top, by the way.’

Karen grabbed the hem of her top and raised it ever so slightly. ‘This old thing? I didn’t exactly plan on you seeing it.’

‘I know. Still cute.’

Cute.

That word lodged itself in Karen’s brain and refused to let go.

Karen laughed a little too loud. ‘Let’s go to the beach!’ she yelped as she snatched one of the hats and plopped it on her head. Her eye twitched a little at the hat mussing her hair, but ther corners of her mouth stayed up.

‘We’ll take my car,’ Frema insisted. Karen agreed. After Frema drove it out of the garage, Karen squeezed into it. Her knees were nearly up to her chin sitting in this cramped car, but at least it was clean and smelled like lemons.

While gently putting the camera in the back seat, Frema told her, ‘I’ve got an old MP3 player. Choose any songs you like.’

As she scrolled through the songs, Karen recognised virtually none of them. Some songs appeared to be in foreign languages and others looked like obscure indie rock songs. Frema’s taste looked eclectic, having every genre under the sun. That is, except for pop and popular rock.

Karen eventually settled on an obscure rock album that had a pretty cover. Frema grinned. ‘Good choice.’

‘I can’t believe I’m doing this. The beach? Really, Karen?’

‘Live a little. It’s your day off, right?’

Karen nodded. The car was silent for a moment until Karen spoke. ‘So, uh, your son…’

‘Joshua. He’s spending the rest of the week with his father.’ Frema’s grip on her wheel tightened, her knuckles turning white. Karen felt a slight sting in her chest at the mention of Frema having a male partner. Frema shook her head. ‘Anyway, what are you looking forward to doing at the beach?’

Karen looked up at the car ceiling in thought. ‘I haven’t built a sandcastle in years,’ she said. Frema hummed. Karen tilted her gaze down to her lap. ‘How old am I?’ Frema’s pleasantly unpleasant laughter spilled from her lips like expensive wine.

Throughout the ride to the beach, Frema spoke the most. However, Karen added to the conversation with relative ease. She asked her where she got the camera from and, after receiving the answer (her father), when she got interested in photography.

‘I always wanted to try photography but I only really got into it around last year, after…’

The white knuckles returned. This time, Karen changed the subject and the heavy air quickly lightened.

After an hour or so, they arrived at the car park above the beach. Karen’s hat blew away as soon as she got out of the car. She gasped and ran after it but cool gusts of wind kept pushing it away. When she finally managed to pick it up, she pulled it down until it was tight on her head. Frema laughed again, eliminating any chances of Karen’s cheeks cooling down any time soon.

There was a constant temperature shift on Karen’s skin as the cool sea breeze battled against the blazing sun. The air smelled salty and sounded like giggling children, reminding Karen that she was a grown woman going to the beach without her family. She tried to pull down her hat even further to cover her face but it would not budge.

The two giggled like the kids nearby as they hobbled down the wooden stairs to the beach. Frema raised her arms and drank in the sun before taking her shoes off and running to the shore. Karen gingerly sat down on the sand and watched her splash around.

At one point, she looked up at the sky. It was mostly clear but had a few clouds. The very last time she had gone to the beach with her husband, it was completely clear. She frowned until her gaze returned to Frema. A few clouds would have to do.

Karen began digging into the sand, taking a large sum of it and dropping it next to the hole. She ignored the stares and continued doing this until she had created a makeshift castle. The dry sand frequently slipped through her fingers, but she loved the coarse texture in her hands. It reminded her of the wood shavings she brushed away when building a cubby house with her daughters.

Sharon and Carol, around age seven at the time, had found a book on woodworking at the school library and begged Karen to help them build something. Her husband joined them and, eventually and reluctantly, so did Kyle. The whole family painted the built cubby house and took multiple photos of Sharon and Carol entering through the little door.

At the beach, Karen finally realised she had stopped building the sandcastle and was now absentmindedly playing with the sand. Her face was overtaken by a solemn expression, one that Frema noticed all the way from where the shore met the water.

The taller woman ran back to Karen and asked if she was having fun. Karen crossed her arms and looked away.

‘I am too old for this after all,’ she said.

Frema knelt down by the sandcastle and inspected it. ‘This is actually pretty good, though.’

Karen, her cheeks rivalling the sun above, lifted her hand to push the sandcastle down. Frema grabbed her hand to stop her. Her hand was warm and soft, contrasting against Karen’s skin, chapped from years of building things with her daughters.

‘Wait, leave it. I want to take a picture.’ Frema ran back to her car to grab the camera. ‘Smile!’

‘I said I’m too old for-’

‘Then quit acting like a child,’ Frema retorted with a glare that immediately softened. ‘Come on, smile for me.’

Karen sighed but complied. ‘I’ve never been photogenic.’

Frema looked at the photo she had taken. ‘Well, congratulations, 'cause now you are.’

Karen covered her face. ‘Stop it!’

‘I’m serious.’ Frema showed her the photo, widening Karen’s eyes. Karen turned her head at an angle as if admiring herself in the mirror. ‘I can take a more stylistic photo with you looking in the distance if you want.’

‘No, that’s quite alright.’

Frema sat next to Karen and took some photos of the ocean, then different shots of the crowd of beachgoers. The two talked as she did this, only taking one break for a lunch of fish and chips near the beach. Over time, the crowd weakened as more families left. Even with the sun beginning to set, Karen didn’t ask to head back home.

‘So, what was your son’s name again?’ Karen asked.

‘Joshua. He’s a very sweet boy. I like to think I raised him right. But try telling his father that.’ Frema paused. ‘Never mind. I’ve said too much.’

Did Karen seem like the type not to pry? ‘I’m guessing you two are… divorced?’

Frema nodded with a sigh. She looked into the viewfinder at the ocean like it could transport her anywhere else. The crashing waves were not quite soothing enough to make the conversation easier.

‘Now Younes has custody every day of the week except for Fridays.’

‘But surely they would give custody to the mother.’

‘Well, in the legal system, sure. For the religious divorce, well, I guess I’m just lucky he agreed to divorce me instead of keeping me with him. We made a deal. I get to separate from Younes and see Joshua once a week, so long as I don’t corrupt him.’

Karen’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. ‘Corrupt?’

The camera shook in Frema’s trembling hands. ‘Younes thinks… well, his synagogue thinks… I’m going against the Torah. He’s Orthodox, you see. His particular synagogue doesn’t take too kindly to, uh, gay members.’

Something burst in Karen’s chest, creating an explosion of shock, hope and shame. The sensation was so powerful she had to cough it out.

‘I see. Are you still, uh, Orthodox?’

‘I’m Reform now.’

‘Do you like it better?’

Frema lowered her camera at that question. After a long pause, she replied, ‘I miss the Orthodox traditions sometimes. That’s why I keep following kosher even after leaving.’ With a laugh, she added, ‘Some of my Reform Jewish friends give me funny looks about it, but I want to keep that close connection to my faith. It’s not like I had much choice to leave my Orthodox synagogue. I wasn’t welcome there.’

She gulped and held her head in shame. ‘I spent so long being my parents’ perfect little girl that I lost myself. I even picked on a boy in year 7 ‘cause he looked gay, whatever 13-year-old me thought that meant.’ Her laugh was pretty but bitter, a shell of its usual self. ‘And for what? So I could end up a giant lezzo myself? I mean, I didn’t know I was at the time, but I still feel like a hypocrite.’

She kicked the sand in front of her. ‘As soon as I told Younes the truth about me and asked if we could separate, I knew I had to leave my old life behind. You couldn’t make me go through conversion therapy if you dragged me there by my legs. I had to start anew.’

Karen, unsure how to respond to that, kept silent. The duo listened to the sounds of the beach and matched their breaths to the crashing waves.

After several minutes, Frema finally spoke. ‘What about you? Did you get divorced?’

Karen bit her lip. ‘He died… wow, I think it’s been almost three years. Cancer. It’s funny you brought up religion since I’m pretty sure God’s against me. Or, at the very least, he owes me big time for taking him away from me.’ Tears pinched her cheeks as they fell down them, turning them red and sore. Frema reached out to comfort her but pulled back before touching her. ‘He should be making my life easier after letting something so horrible happen, but no! He had to leave me to care for my children alone and find a way to keep my finances together without my husband’s income.’

She flailed her hands about. ‘When I see these young people complaining about dealing with shitty customers, I’m like, boo-hoo! Wait till you have to raise three children alone! Wait till you have to feed more mouths than your own! Wait till you have to worry when the prices of groceries go up! Bloody ungrateful pieces of…’ the rest of the words were jumbled under her low-pitched swear fest.

Frema scowled at her. ‘It’s not their fault life hasn’t dealt you the best cards. You don’t know what their lives are like.’

‘It’s got to be easier than mine!’

Having finally spilled these thoughts out of her mouth, the cluttered mess in Karen’s mind cleared. ‘I… I’m sorry. Why do you even put up with me? You hated me until…’

‘I wouldn’t say ‘hate’. I was half pissed, half amused.’ Frema leaned back on her hands behind her. ‘But when you complimented my jacket, I didn’t know what to think. All I knew was that I had to learn more about you, about how one person could change their treatment of you on a dime. And I’m glad I tried to learn more.’

Frema’s glorious chuckle returned. ‘I guess it must have been the halo effect or something. I have a feeling I wouldn’t have been so forgiving of your behaviour if you weren’t so cute.’

Karen coughed again. ‘What?’

Frema looked away from her and towards the shore. ‘I said what I said. Don’t worry, I won’t try anything if you’re straight.’

Karen grasped her own shirt in front of her heart. ‘Of course I’m straight! I had a husband!’

‘So did I. I don’t know your life.’

‘A husband who I loved. Genuinely.’

‘Fair enough. There is bisexuality, though.’ Frema nonchalantly placed her hand on Karen’s. Karen had to remind herself to breathe. Of course this had to be happening during a beautiful sunset. Frema’s hand enveloped Karen’s like a warm blanket. ‘Is that a possibility for you?’

Karen couldn’t bring herself to answer. Eventually, she pulled her hand away. ‘Take me home now!’

Frema’s eyes glazed over with an unknown emotion. ‘Fine.’ The two headed back to the car and drove back to their suburb. Karen reluctantly gave her address and allowed Frema to take her home. Aside from that, they did not talk the entire trip home.

#story #writing #Karen #lgbt #yuri #shoujo ai #original fiction #romance #romantic comedy #literature #bisexual #fiction #Let Me Speak to the Manager

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missmeikakuna · 1 year

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Let Me Speak to the Manager! Ch. 3- Karen x Manager

The third chapter of my new story, a Karen x Manager yuri romcom. Yes, you read that right.

Fandom: Original (unless Karen memes count as a fandom)

Rated: T (some swearing and mature themes)

Pairing: F/F

Potential Content Warning: Religious homophobia

Cover art by Galdsy- Tumblr: www.tumblr.com/galdsy Twitter: twitter.com/galdsy Instagram: www.instagram.com/galdles/?hl=…

Chapter 3: Karen vs Karen

It became a weekly ritual: Karen and Frema shopped on Frema’s day off, Karen said something embarrassing, Frema’s ugly laugh resonated through Karen’s soul. Just a typical interaction between gal pals.

Their conversation topics were often benign and ordinary: work, the weather (which mainly consisted of Karen ranting and Frema giggling) and the footy (which garnered tirades in equal measure from both Karen and Frema). Whenever Karen brought up her own kids, Frema listened silently but added nothing to the conversation. Her face went solemn, only for her to laugh again when Karen complained about the weather again.

One fateful day, the bananas rose in price again. Frema winced, expecting a fit of rage from the other woman. Instead, Karen quietly complained and added an unexpected comment.

‘Well, maybe there were some issues with the supply.’ She picked up a bruised, almost caramel-hued banana at its end like a dirty napkin. ‘These do look pretty old.’

Frema had to smile at that.

Throughout these mundane ventures, Karen thought herself remarkably good at hiding her attraction. She didn’t even gasp when droplets from Frema’s checkout-bought water bottle slipped down her chin and neck. Well, her breath stopped as she took in the seductive view, but at least she wasn’t obvious about it.

As weeks turned into two months, they graduated from shopping to eating lunch together. Frema suggested it and basically dragged Karen along to a restaurant with no clue how much it annoyed her. Over time, it became Karen’s respite during her lunch breaks, though the clock of capitalism constantly ticked in her ears to remind her that she would soon be due back at the office.

Frema always tried something new but Karen stuck to chicken salads. Occasionally, Frema would suggest adding variety to the other woman’s diet but Karen refused most of the time. After almost ordering something for her against her wishes and accidentally sparking an argument, she gave up on mentioning it. One afternoon, Karen eyed Frema’s dish.

‘Want some?’ Frema asked with a smile-smirk combo. She twirled her fork around the fettuccine and gently held it up. Karen paused, then nodded. Just as she was about to grab a fork, Frema fed Karen herself. The absolutely heterosexual woman nearly choked on the fork in her mouth, her cheeks as hot as the steam rising from the pasta.

She swallowed the alfredo-covered noodles in one go and coughed the heat out of her mouth. Frema apologised but her laughter called her sincerity into question.

Once she was home on these hangout days, Karen looked at herself in the mirror, asked herself what her sexuality was meant to be and immediately decided to procrastinate on that train of thought. She was too tired. She could think about it tomorrow.

Much like someone swearing they’ll go on a diet soon, the special “tomorrow” never came.

One day, the two… friends? Karen wasn’t sure what to call her and Frema. Anyway, the two acquaintances went to the nearest shopping centre. It was Frema’s idea, as she saw some ads featuring blazers the other day. Why she needed more blazers than she already had was beyond Karen’s understanding, but more time with Frema was more time with Frema.

An employee at one shop was a teenager with a cold expression and a bored tone of voice as she failed to help Karen. Frema quickly spotted the telltale signs of an incoming tantrum in Karen: raised shoulders, spluttering as she spoke and glaring at a nearby table of folded clothes like she wanted to knock the piles of shirts to the ground. She released a defeated sigh but placed a hand on Karen’s shoulder.

To her surprise, Karen deflated. Her shoulders lowered, her speaking returned to normal (if a bit sheepish) and she stopped staring at the table like a magpie looking at another bird’s nest. If Frema didn’t know any better, she would have thought Karen had melted into her touch.

She began to notice other little details about Karen as they shopped: the self-interrupted stares, the frequent blushing, the moments of stepping closer for a moment before shuffling further away. The way Karen chortled at the start of each hangout but laughed freely by the end of it, the way her dimples showed when she beamed at her, the way her short, stumpy hand gently brushed against each item as she considered buying it.

Frema groaned. She was in trouble.

Karen heard the groan that was meant to be internal. ‘Are you alright? Did you strain a muscle or something? We can sit down and have a break.’

Frema shook her head but gazed upon the other woman with eyes that looked like melted gold.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, absentmindedly caressing Karen’s cheek. When they both realised what she was doing, Frema quickly pulled her hand back. Instead of apologising, which she had initially planned to do, she turned her attention somewhere else. ‘Oh, this store has lots of nice blazers!’

As Frema walked past her towards the store, Karen touched her own cheek where Frema had touched it. Her eyes were wide and her lips were parted

#story #writing #Karen #lgbt #yuri #shoujo ai #original fiction #romance #romantic comedy #literature #bisexual #fiction #Let Me Speak to the Manager

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missmeikakuna · 1 year

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Let Me Speak to the Manager! Ch. 2- Karen x Manager

The second chapter of my new story, a Karen x Manager yuri romcom. Yes, you read that right.

Fandom: Original (unless Karen memes count as a fandom)

Rated: T (some swearing and mature themes)

Pairing: F/F

Potential Content Warning: Religious homophobia

Cover art by Galdsy- Tumblr: www.tumblr.com/galdsy Twitter: twitter.com/galdsy Instagram: www.instagram.com/galdles/?hl=…

Chapter 2: Karen vs The Supermarket

Upon seeing the banana prices outside a local grocery store, Karen received a rude awakening. They were even higher than in the supermarket! Sure, they seemed to be a smidge better in quality, but if she bought a kilogram of these, she would have to only buy half a kilogram of grapes and that simply would not do. If Kyle punched one more hole in the wall, Karen was sure the wall would crumble and the ceiling would fall on top of him.

She weighed her options. Would it be worth it to drive to a cheaper grocery store? How much did petrol cost that day?

Eventually, she compromised and pulled a couple of bananas off the bunch to make it lighter. Keeping Kyle’s hunger for grapes satiated was much more important than some bananas.

She went inside the store to pay for groceries, grumbling about the prices to the poor woman at the register.

The sun was just beginning to set when Karen was done with all her shopping. Her back was sore from hunching over a desk all day, made worse by carrying the grocery bags to her car. Once she was home, she ordered her children to help her put away the groceries. Sharon and Carol didn’t bother but Kyle joined her.

‘About bloody time,’ Karen said.

Kyle opened one of the bags, picked a single grape and popped it in his mouth. ‘Just here for these,’ he claimed, though he continued helping.

Karen pulled out a pack of energy drink cans. ‘And these?’

Kyle snatched it from her. ‘And these.’

‘How was school?’

‘Alright. Boring. Keith said he’ll let me borrow his copy of Code of Revenge: Gears of The Soldier.’

‘Is that a g-’

‘Yep.’

Karen fell silent. Her knowledge of video games was limited to what she heard on the news, not nearly enough to carry a conversation about them.

All she managed to say was, ‘Uh, that’s nice. Just make sure you don’t stay up too late playing it.’

Ah, the classic line when you don’t know how to talk to your children about video games.

‘Oh, and Kyle, give me your pocket knife. I know you bought one.’

‘But mum-’

‘I don’t want that game influencing you!’

‘It’s for self-defence!’

‘Why would you need that?’

Kyle kicked one of the grocery bags on the floor. ‘You know what? Put this shit away yourself.’ He stormed back to his room and shook the frame as he slammed the door shut.

‘Hey, come back!’ Karen shouted. No response. The ache in Karen’s back got worse as she leaned down to pick up items from grocery bags herself. Her arms were too weak to lift an entire bag onto the kitchen bench, which would have lessened the strain of leaning down.

The following week, Karen tried another grocery store. The prices were better but the selection was downright embarrassing. There was none of the variety promised by living in the great capitalist landscape of Australia. Karen was sorely disappointed.

Of course, Karen had to make this disappointment known to the cashier. ‘I may as well live in Russia if I’m getting this little choice.’ The cashier had no choice but to laugh awkwardly and grit her bared teeth.

When Karen looked into the half-empty boot, devoid of many of the groceries she needed, she knew enough was enough. She winced at the thought but could no longer avoid a simple truth: she had to return to that supermarket.

As she drove home, she considered how to avoid that manager and decided to shop on a different day. For the first time in a while, she grinned.

That grin did not survive the following week’s shopping trip. Frema Nazarian, that beautiful witch, was at the supermarket, albeit as just another shopper. She wore a tight red shirt, scandalous high-waisted pale lemon shorts and a form-fitting blazer the colour of sand.

And, of course, the witch smirked upon seeing Karen. ‘I must have misheard you a few weeks ago. I thought you said something along the lines of ‘I’m never coming back here again!’ Did you actually say something else?’

Blood scorched rapidly through Karen’s veins. ‘I’m not here for you.’

Frema raised an eyebrow. ‘When did I suggest that?’

That boiling blood went straight to Karen’s cheeks. That dumb vixen must have cursed her with her luscious lips and spellbinding eyes!

‘Uh, that… you just seemed like the kind of person to think about something like that. And why are you being so rude to a customer?’

‘I’m not on the clock, am I?’ Frema asked as she pulled a jar of instant coffee from a shelf. A strong, agonisingly palpable desire nestled in Karen’s heart, eager to be quenched. This desire? To one-up Frema.

She reached up towards an even higher shelf on the opposite side of the aisle. Alas, she was too short to pick up the packet of biscuits. Frema saw Karen’s flailing arm and grabbed the item for her, gracefully placing it in Karen’s trolley.

Karen snatched the biscuit packet from the trolley and held it up to her chest like she was guarding it with her life. She stared at this audacious succubus with wide eyes that popped out of their sockets.

Upon realising how ridiculous she must have looked, she put the packet back in the trolley.

‘It’s not like your customer service was great even when you were working,’ she said.

‘I apologise.’

‘Thank y-’

‘I should have magically been transferred to both the marketing department and the accounting department so I could change the prices of bananas for you.’

‘Surely you’re allowed to give discounts!’

A few shoppers turned their heads to witness this loud argument.

Frema put her hands on her hips, swishing her blazer behind her. Karen noticed. ‘On what grounds would I give you a discount?’

‘Y-you… have a nice jacket!’

Karen scrunched her lips inside her mouth like she had just drunk unsweetened lemonade, her entire face now the colour of raspberries. Frema froze, as did the shoppers. Karen mulled over ways she could dig a hole in the ground to die in without breaking the pipes down below.

Frema’s laugh was perhaps the ugliest laugh possible, a nasal cackle with plenty of snorting. Yet, somehow, it was also the sweetest laugh Karen had ever heard. A few customers grew bored of the deflated conflict and resumed their shopping.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ Frema said in between laughs. ‘I’ll give you 1 per cent off per compliment. Do we have a deal?’

Karen crossed her arms and looked beside her at the seemingly mocking smiles of the various brand mascots. At least their stares didn’t embarrass her as much as Frema’s beautifully horrendous giggling.

‘I meant to say I should get a widow’s discount,’ she admitted.

Frema wiped a tear from her eye and held back the dregs of her laughter. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. I don’t know how you got from widow’s discount to how good my jacket looks, but hey, I’ll take it.’

Karen glared at Frema. ‘Well, enjoy your one compliment. It’s all you’re getting.’

‘Shame. I have a whole collection of these blazers at home. All different colours.’

Karen thought to ask if she had a collection of shorts no one her age should wear, but she held her tongue and returned her gaze to the mascots on the shelf.

‘I’m Frema, by the way.’

‘Karen.’

Frema went back to her task of putting items in her trolley. She looked for a symbol on an instant coffee jar and groaned when it wasn’t there.

‘Don’t tell the higher-ups that I’m complaining, but there really should be more kosher stuff here,’ she murmured.

Karen whipped her head towards Frema. She felt a twinge of disappointment that Frema wasn’t Christian, though she had a feeling when she first heard her foreign-sounding name.

Wait, why was she disappointed? It wasn't like, if Frema was a Christian like Karen, they could…

Karen blinked quickly and her cheeks somehow got even hotter. Why was she even entertaining this idea? Hell, what idea was she even entertaining?

‘Are you okay?’ Frema asked, getting just a little too close to Karen’s face.

‘I’m perfectly fine. I was just surprised. You don’t exactly-’

‘Look Jewish? Yeah, that’s probably because I’m a Mizrahi Jew.’ She pulled a necklace chain out from underneath her shirt, revealing a Star of David pendant. ‘Persian, to be exact, though my mum was born in Israel.’ Frema chuckled, though the sound took on a bitter tone. ‘Sorry I don’t look like Woody Allen.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘All good. I’m used to it. Shouldn’t be, but I am. But hey, I managed to get an apology from you. That’s a start.’

Karen started pushing her trolley as Frema chatted about various topics, also pushing her trolley. Frema was surprisingly talkative and Karen was content to listen because, every so often, her laughter would come out. Karen found herself grinning ear to ear every time she heard it.

By the end of their shopping trip, the corners of Karen’s mouth had lowered completely. A realisation dropped two tonnes’ worth of bricks onto her heart.

She was deeply, intensely attracted to this woman.

#story #writing #Karen #lgbt #yuri #shoujo ai #original fiction #romance #romantic comedy #literature #bisexual #fiction #Let Me Speak to the Manager

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missmeikakuna · 1 year

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Let Me Speak to the Manager! Ch. 1- Karen x Manager

The first chapter of my new story, a Karen x Manager yuri romcom. Yes, you read that right.

Fandom: Original (unless Karen memes count as a fandom)

Rated: T (some swearing and mature themes)

Pairing: F/F

Potential Content Warning: Religious homophobia

Cover art by Galdsy- Tumblr: www.tumblr.com/galdsy Twitter: twitter.com/galdsy Instagram: www.instagram.com/galdles/?hl=…

Chapter 1: Karen vs The Manager

The bananas were not on sale. The catalogue said they were on sale. Sure, the catalogue ended the previous day, but wasn’t that unfair to people who couldn’t shop that day? Some people had to work.

Karen made her points very clear to a pimply-faced teenage boy trying to stack shelves. She was calm and classy and-

‘Let me speak to the manager! Clearly, you can’t help me!’

Admittedly, a hair in Karen’s asymmetrical blonde bob may have fallen out of place. She pushed it back into place and glared daggers at the boy, who spoke into his headset while Karen rapidly tapped her feet.

‘I see the manager’s taking his sweet time. Honestly, the customer service here is-’

‘What appears to be the problem?’

Karen turned towards the deep but feminine voice. When she saw the manager, she instinctively held her breath.

The manager stood tall and slim. Her black wavy hair fell to her shoulders, just short enough to not require being pulled back in a ponytail. Her amber skin was smooth and soft. Her large bronze eyes carried years of experience looking friendly to customers- even customers like Karen.

‘Excuse me, ma’am? Are you okay?’

Karen finally gathered enough concentration to see the manager’s name badge. Frema Nazarian.

Karen delivered the same speech she had previously given to the boy with at least 70% more stuttering.

‘With all due respect, ma’am, you could have enjoyed this sale this day last week.’

‘B-but, I received my catalogue in the mail a day later.’

Frema took a gentle step forward. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. How about I give you a copy of this week’s catalogue? There are plenty of items for sale.’

Karen tried to glare at her, but her gaze quickly softened. ‘But not bananas.’

Frema gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘But not bananas.’

Behind her, Karen could hear a distant yet familiar set of voices, her son Kyle and her daughters Sharon and Carol.

She got in Frema’s face and yelled, ‘Do you expect me to pay full price for these bananas? I’m a single mother!’

Frema’s smile slipped as a fire lit up in her eyes. ‘I am too, ma’am.’ She tapped the boy’s shoulder to get him to return to work.

‘Well, w-well…’

‘Well, what, ma’am?’

‘You’re a disgrace! This supermarket is a disgrace! Your motto is ‘Low Prices for Everyone’, and yet you can’t offer a single mother a discount for fucking bananas?’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You’re disturbing the customers.’

‘I am a customer! You’re not taking me away. I have a right to be here just like everyone else!’

Right on time, Sharon and Kyle grabbed Karen and pulled her back. Carol apologised to Frema in her trademark monotone voice.

‘Hey, let go of me!’ Karen shouted. Kyle and Sharon only did so once she was a good metre away from Frema. Karen pointed at Frema. ‘I don’t care if you’re…’ She gulped. ‘I’m never going to this place again!’

She stormed out of the supermarket, though not without first kicking the shopping baskets on the floor. Frema sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

Karen’s children followed her out into the car park. 17-year-old Kyle picked his nose and scratched his butt under his baggy jeans. His Monster logo cap was thirty degrees off-centre. 16-year-olds Sharon and Carol were identical in appearance but wore very different clothing. Sharon was clad in short shorts and a rather age-inappropriate tube top, while Carol wore a long, loose top with the Collingwood Football Club logo and a pair of tracksuit pants.

Sharon placed her hand on Karen’s shoulder. ‘What the hell was that, Mum? Mum?’

Karen paid no attention to her daughter, focusing all her attention on the burning sensation in her cheeks. She was silent the entire car trip to the next nearest supermarket. And when she shopped. And when she drove her family home. Her cheeks were still warm.

Karen’s home was a modest one-story brick building. As she stepped into the house, she was greeted by paintings with motivational sayings such as ‘Live, laugh, Love’ and ‘Dance like no one is watching’. She continued to frown as she passed them.

Kyle’s room was covered in posters of motorbikes, one of which hid a hole in the wall from an angry punch a few months ago. Half-empty cans of energy drinks littered the floor.

Sharon and Carol shared the biggest bedroom, with Sharon’s side covered in boy band posters and Carol’s side covered in footy posters. Towards the line between their sides was a small, empty birdhouse they had built together. Underneath the birdhouse was two toolboxes, one pastel blue and the other black.

After passing these bedrooms, Karen finally arrived at her own. The plain beige walls were adorned with little photo frames of her family, from her children to her mother and father. One side of the queen-sized bed was made up, as always. She dropped her leather bag by the bedpost and collapsed onto the untidy side of the bed. Her eye caught a glimpse of a photograph on the bedside table. The photo contained a man around her age kissing her cheek.

As sighs took out her energy, she reached for the sheets and pulled them over her, shivering a little at the coldness. She let the empty silence lull her to sleep.

‘Hey mum, when’s dinner?’

One eye opened. ‘Get it yourself.’

‘But you always-’

‘Well, maybe, Kyle, it’s time for you to do it for a change. I’m not your personal chef.’

Kyle shuffled out of the room. ‘Nevermind. I’ll wait.’

The damage had been done- Karen could not get back to sleep. She rolled over to face the made-up side of the bed. She started tripping through her memories of the man in the photo until she stumbled upon a more recent memory- a certain manager’s glossy hair.

The flushing face returned. Karen started wondering if she had finally reached The Change. Then again, The Change wasn’t known for making someone tongue-tied or causing them to focus on the little details of another woman’s appearance.

Or cause them to throw a tantrum in a supermarket. Not that Karen was in the wrong. Those banana prices? Insulting!

Karen groaned and stood up, mentally preparing herself to cook dinner. Under her breath, she muttered, ‘Who does that woman think she is?’

#story #writing #Karen #lgbt #yuri #shoujo ai #original fiction #romance #romantic comedy #literature #bisexual #fiction #Let Me Speak to the Manager

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missmeikakuna · 2 years

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No One Loves Like Gaston Ch 11- Gaston/Beast fanfic [END]

Rated: K+ (The plus is due to canon-compliant beer and violence. Other than that, I made it as family-friendly as I could.)

Fandom: Beauty and the Beast

Pairing Type: M/M

Pairings: Gaston/The Beast, Lumiere/Cogsworth

Potential content warnings: References to beer and light references to homophobia.

Description: Ah yes, a man falling for a male furry creature, a tale as old as time. Wait, what? In an alternate timeline, Gaston spots Maurice's horse before Belle does and decides to save Maurice to earn Belle's affection. He is so excited to do this that he forgets to bring weapons and, unable to win a fight against the Beast, he takes Maurice's place as the castle's prisoner.

The last thing he expected was for the Beast to have a kind and gentle side. After all, how could someone ever learn to love a beast, especially a man as intent on shielding his genuine emotions as Gaston?

Lumiere and Cogsworth bicker over the possibility of a relationship between Gaston and the Beast, becoming closer in the process. However, Lumiere keeps flirting with the feather duster, and Cogsworth is adamant that no relationship between two men could work.

Chapter 11: Thanks to him, my new life is exhilarating

Two men walked towards them, a twig-like one with a long face and a short, round man with a matching head shape and a thin, straight moustache that jutted outwards.

The thin one spoke again, revealing himself as Lumiere. ‘Did I or did I not tell you, Cogsworth?’

The other man crossed his arms. ‘How on earth was I supposed to know it would work?’ The voice was unmistakably Cogsworth’s. ‘It’s a crazy idea!’

‘Is this crazy?’ Lumiere kissed him on the cheek.

‘Why you-!’ Cogsworth twisted Lumiere’s head until their lips met. The kiss was broken by Cogsworth almost as soon as it began, leaving Lumiere grinning with a dazed expression. ‘We’re human again!’ Cogsworth’s voice sounded freer than it ever had been, matching his open arms and the way he tilted his head towards the sky.

Gaston looked up. The sky was bright blue and the castle shined in light colours like new. Flowers blossomed on once-dead vines. Statues of angels had replaced the gargoyles. The air felt fresher and he could hear a chorus of chirps from little birds.

As he stared at everything with awe, Gaston instinctively grabbed Adam’s hand. Adam, in turn, instinctively squeezed Gaston’s hand, a blush forming on his cheeks. Upon feeling this, Gaston looked down, saw their interwoven hands and considered letting go. However, he noticed how soft and smooth the other man’s hand was compared to his former paw. He grinned as he yet again participated in that most dangerous of pastimes: thinking.

He tugged Adam by the hand out of the castle, only stopping when they reached the archery range. He dropped a bow and quiver into Adam’s arms.

Adam raised an eyebrow. Gaston lightly touched Adam’s hand until he understood. Adam raised the bow and took a shot. The arrow went straight into the centre of the middle target.

He beamed at Gaston and laughed when the other wrapped his arms around him. Gaston grimaced like he was trying to pick up a carriage with one hand.

Adam asked, ‘What are you-’

‘I thought it would be easier to pick you up since you had gotten smaller. Clearly, you’re still at least the size of one and a half barges.’ Gaston let go of him and crossed his arms. ‘One day, I’ll be able to do it.’

Adam placed a hand on Gaston’s shoulder, his intense grin simmering down to a soft one. He leaned down and kissed him.

‘You’re plenty strong, Gaston.’

Gaston looked down, conflicted, before flexing his arm with his long-lost confidence. As the two walked back to the castle, Gaston chuckled to himself.

‘Okay, but what if I ate six dozen eggs?’

Adam sighed. ‘Gaston…’

‘Seven dozen?’ In response, Adam groaned. ‘Too many?’ Gaston grabbed one of the door knockers and pulled the door open with it. ‘I think I’m a little tired of eating eggs.’

A few nights later, Adam and Gaston hosted a party, inviting everyone from the village who hadn’t attacked Adam. The couple danced all night in front of a surprised crowd.

Cogsworth and Lumiere watched with their hearts beating slowly and contently in their chests. For a moment, Cogsworth’s heart sped up upon remembering something.

‘Lumiere, what about Fifi? Do you not love her?’

‘I wouldn’t say ‘love’. I had fun flirting with her, though.’ Lumiere cast down his eyes, glimmering with mischief. ‘It’s even more fun flirting with you.’

Cogsworth scoffed, moving his head away with righteous indignation. ‘Is that all?’

Lumiere spun his head in the opposite direction, equally indignant. ‘Cogsworth, I wouldn’t have let you kiss me if I didn’t love you. Do you think I treat l’amour like a joke?’

The two paused, realised what they were arguing about and burst into laughter. Lumiere wrapped his arm around Cogsworth’s shoulders while Cogsworth wrapped his own behind Lumiere’s back. They stood side by side, watching the main attraction at the party.

When he started to dance with Adam that night, Gaston looked down at his feet, keenly aware of how he must have looked to everyone. But Adam held a curled finger beneath his chin and lifted it, gazing at him with an expression tantamount to an adult rereading their childhood books for the first time in years. Suddenly, Gaston felt like he and Adam were the only ones in the ballroom, lost in the fond memories swimming in his ocean-blue eyes.

#Disney #Beauty and the Beast #pride month #Gaston x The Beast #fanfiction #lgbt #romance #writing #lgbt romance #drama #fiction #gay romance #fanfic #slash fic #gay #No One Loves Like Gaston

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missmeikakuna · 2 years

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No One Loves Like Gaston Ch 10- Gaston/Beast fanfic

Rated: K+ (The plus is due to canon-compliant beer and violence. Other than that, I made it as family-friendly as I could.)

Fandom: Beauty and the Beast

Pairing Type: M/M

Pairings: Gaston/The Beast, Lumiere/Cogsworth

Potential content warnings: References to beer and light references to homophobia.

Chapter 10: No one makes Gaston ride through the woods like the Beast

Gaston caught up to the mob just as they arrived at the castle. The once-blue sky was red with flames as the townspeople stormed to the front door.

Gaston hid behind a tree, trying to figure out a plan. The mob thrust a tree trunk through the door, broke it and stampeded into the castle.

He heard cheers, followed by yelps and squeals. Gaston jumped off the horse and ran to the entrance, peeking from behind the door.

A light flashed before Gaston’s eyes as Lumiere lit a man’s bottom. Cogsworth pulled a woman’s long nose towards his pendulum and repeatedly smacked her with it.

Lumiere and Cogsworth stood back to back as they continued attacking the intruders. Lumiere gave Cogsworth a wink, which made the pendulum slapping go even faster. Despite his embarrassment, Cogsworth gave Lumiere a smile with enough warmth to rival Lumiere’s lit candles.

Mrs Potts and Chip poured tea onto the villagers. Madame de la Grande Bouche dropped from the top of the staircase and slammed onto a man’s back, all while belting out the highest note Gaston had ever heard.

Gaston took the commotion as an opportunity to sneak up to the West Wing. If he could warn the Beast ahead of time, maybe things would work out.

Before he could sigh in relief upon seeing the Beast’s face, he saw the Beast stepping backwards onto the balcony as a knife-wielding Lefou inched closer.

‘How dare you take away my Gaston!’ He yelled, taking a step every few words. ‘You took him and… a-and changed him!’

‘He changed me!’ the Beast retorted in the voice of someone about to cry. Euphoria bloomed in Gaston’s chest when he heard those loving words. This feeling disappeared when the Beast stood dangerously close to the balcony rail.

Lefou snickered. ‘Did you really think someone like Gaston could ever care about an ugly monster like you?’

Gaston picked up his bow and arrow, aiming them at Lefou. He took a deep breath but saw the Beast staring at him.

He looked at Lefou, his longtime friend. He tried to will himself to shoot, but the sight of the Beast in danger made him unable to breathe properly for the shot. The arrow hit the balcony floor beside Lefou, who spun around. Loose strands of hair fell down Lefou’s face and the floppy bowtie around his neck was crooked. His teary eyes glistened like his knife in the moonlight.

‘Don’t worry, my dear,’ Lefou said. ‘No need to kill this beast for me. I’ll do it for you.’

Gaston pulled out a dagger, hoping it would somehow be easier to use on his target. ‘You little-’

He lunged at Lefou, who slipped underneath him. Gaston’s unused momentum sent him running towards the Beast, knife still in hand. The Beast stepped to the side on instinct. Gaston saw the tops of the trees beneath him as he began to fall.

His core went through whiplash when the Beast wrapped his arm around his torso. The Beast pulled Gaston back towards him and caressed his cheeks as if checking for injuries. The ends of his claws dug into Gaston’s cheeks ever so slightly, but his fur was soft against his skin. Gaston placed his hands atop the Beast’s to get him to soften the grip of his claws. He reached for his face and brushed his thumbs against the fur above his cheekbones. Their smiles were as soft as the Beast’s fur.

The Beast roared in pain as his upper half curled backwards. Lefou pulled the knife from his back, a crazed yet hopeful smile on his face.

Gaston picked up Lefou by his collar and held his dagger up to his face. Lefou was heavier than usual. He kicked the dagger out of Gaston’s hand, freeing himself from the distracted man’s grasp. He leapt off the roof onto an arcading. Gaston picked up his dagger.

Lightning punctured the sky with strike after strike, momentarily lighting it before leaving it in darkness. During those flashes, Gaston could just barely see Lefou enough to follow him.

‘You… monster!’ Gaston shouted as he pounced on Lefou, who had a broken castle piece in his hand like a club. Lefou swung the club in Gaston’s direction, hitting his shoulder. Although the club's top broke into pieces upon impact, Gaston only slightly winced as if the club weighed little more than a chestnut seed pod. Any other day he would be proud to be so impervious to attacks, but at this moment, all he could see was the red-tinged image of the man who attacked the Beast.

Lefou held the club up to defend himself and Gaston tried to push it away. They engaged in a battle of pure strength with their hands tightly clutching the club. Eventually, Gaston won.

He shoved Lefou down, ground his fist into his chest and raised his dagger-wielding hand into the sky. His chest heaved with each laboured breath.

Lefou’s eyes were wide and his jaw was open. ‘I’m the monster? Look who you were just making kissy faces with! Did that beast make you go blind? If he hurt you, I swear to-’ Lefou screamed as Gaston lifted his arm in preparation to strike.

‘No!’ The Beast roared, reaching his paw out into the sky.

Gaston held the knife in the air with a shaking hand. He looked up at the Beast, slumped over the balcony with his hand reaching out to Gaston but being much too far away. Those blue eyes of his were full of so much suffering.

Gaston dropped his dagger. He leaned in towards Lefou with a scowl. ‘Get. Out.’

He then stood up and twisted his body towards the Beast. He took a few steps towards the balcony, hoping to climb up to him. Lefou had other plans.

Lefou took the dagger and a step, hoping to stab him. ‘If you’re not mine, you’re no one else’s!’ he screeched. His foot rolled on the half-broken club beneath him, sending him falling backwards. Gaston reached out to him but it was too late. Lefou disappeared into the mist below like that vase Gaston had knocked off the balcony.

Gaston stood there momentarily, trying to grasp what had just occurred. He resumed his task upon hearing a whimper of pain from the Beast.

He climbed up the balcony and knelt by the Beast, hovering a hand over his back.

His voice was hoarse with panic. ‘What do I do? I don’t know how to heal wounds! You can’t die on me! You just can’t!’ Tears escaped from Gaston’s eyes.

The Beast rolled onto his back and rested his paw on Gaston’s cheek. His breaths were ragged and yet strangely serene. He grinned at him.

‘Maybe it’s better this way. At least I got to see you one last time.’

He dropped his paw and slowly closed his eyes.

‘No, come on, stay with me! Beast!’ He slammed his fists on the Beast’s chest. ‘You can’t just leave me like this, you idiot! I…’

The last rose petal began to fall.

Gaston hesitated. Was he really going to say this? The words seemed so foreign coming out of the mouth of someone like him. It was like a child swearing or Belle saying yes to marriage. And yet, no words had ever rung so true.

‘I love you!’

Gaston saw a streak of red rising from the Beast and initially assumed the worst. But then an orange light shot up in the sky to meet it, followed by yellow, green, blue and violet. The streaks of light twisted around each other and transformed into two intertwined hands. Finally, an almost blindingly bright white light lifted the Beast off the ground, sending waves of wild wind outwards.

The hairs on Gaston’s neck stood up as he watched with utter confusion. This was followed by fear when the light appeared to swallow the Beast.

Parts of the light subsided, revealing legs and hands where there were once paws, luscious locks of auburn hair where there was once a mane and a handsome, clean-shaven face where there was once a furry beast.

The light gently laid the man back on the floor of the balcony. Gaston’s hand stalled, but he eventually touched his face, stroking his fingers against the man’s strong jawline. He winced a little, unsure what to make of this unfamiliar face.

The man opened his eyes and Gaston’s tight shoulders loosened. It was those same brilliant blue eyes he loved.

‘It… it’s really you…’ Gaston whispered. The other man sat up. Gaston leapt forward and wrapped his arms around his waist in a bone-crushing hug. ‘You’re alive!’

The man patted him on the back. ‘Okay, you can stop now.’ His voice was still deep, but not nearly as much as before.

Gaston obliged but not without giving the man a light nudge in the shoulder with his fist.

‘Don’t scare me like that, big guy. Why did you tell me to stop when I tried to attack Lefou?’

The man twisted his head to the side at a low angle. ‘I… I didn’t want to see you take a human life.’ He looked back at Gaston with a smirk. ‘So… you love me, huh?’

Gaston’s face went completely red. He spluttered, ‘That… th-that… Okay, fine. I love you. Happy now?’

The man shrugged. ‘I’m not complaining. It saved me.’

He put a smooth hand around Gaston’s cheek and leaned closer. ‘Wait,’ Gaston said. The man puckered his still-thick eyebrows in disappointment. ‘I can’t exactly call you Beast now, can I?’

The man laughed. ‘Call me Adam.’

‘Well, then, Adam, I love you. You better love me back after all this.’ Adam’s smile grew as he closed the gap between their lips. Gaston’s eyelashes fluttered at the contact. He felt as though he was the one being lifted by light. His heart danced around his chest in every direction. After a second of experiencing these sensations, he kissed him back.

Gaston put his arms around Adam’s head and brushed his thumbs against his hair. Adam had his hands around his waist.

When they finally stopped, Gaston’s lips tingled with electricity.

‘Ah, l’amour is in the air!’

In a perfectly synchronised motion, Gaston and Adam turned their heads towards the entrance to the balcony.

#Disney #Beauty and the Beast #pride month #Gaston x The Beast #fanfiction #lgbt #romance #writing #lgbt romance #drama #fiction #gay romance #fanfic #slash fic #gay #No One Loves Like Gaston

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missmeikakuna · 2 years

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No One Loves Like Gaston Ch 9- Gaston/Beast fanfic

Rated: K+ (The plus is due to canon-compliant beer and violence. Other than that, I made it as family-friendly as I could.)

Fandom: Beauty and the Beast

Pairing Type: M/M

Pairings: Gaston/The Beast, Lumiere/Cogsworth

Potential content warnings: References to beer and light references to homophobia.

Chapter 9: No one should love the Beast

In the village, something was different. The first thing Gaston noticed barreled towards him and grabbed his hand.

‘You’re back!’ Lefou shouted, jumping up and down. He almost looked the same as usual, except his arms were swollen with muscles that made his jacket appear uncomfortably tight. ‘Where have you been? Was crazy old Maurice telling the truth?’

The two were standing in the middle of the street, in front of the water fountain. Onlookers surrounded them, cheering on Gaston’s homecoming.

‘I’ve… spent some time with a beast. Lefou, you look… different!’

‘I eat five dozen eggs every morning, just like you always said to!’ Lefou’s face carried the hopes and dreams of thousands of children on Christmas Eve, with Gaston being the present.

Gaston ignored him, looking around for Belle. As expected, she was strolling home with a book in her hand. He strode towards her, restitching the overconfident masculinity that the Beast had unknowingly unravelled.

‘You’re welcome,’ he said, leaning down towards her. At first, she scowled, but then her memories pushed context to the front of her mind.

‘Thank you. Maurice is safe and well.’

‘So, where do you want the wed-’

‘I simply couldn’t say yes.’

‘You-’ Gaston raised a hand but stopped himself. Belle had already dodged him at this point, now standing a few steps away from him. He lowered his hand and sighed.

He tried to look into her eyes but he could barely see through the image of the Beast’s eyes. The Beast’s pools of nocturnal skies, vast and strange and yet the most painfully human things Gaston had ever witnessed. As he attempted to gaze at Belle, a question, the most dangerous of all thoughts, inserted itself into his brain.

Did he ever love her?

This thought sent Gaston stumbling backwards, his vision blurry like he had just drunk five jugs of ale one after the other. He barely noticed himself tripping over his heels until a big arm cushioned his fall. He whipped his head towards his saviour and was greeted by Lefou’s confident expression. It was a look so unexpected from Lefou, yet Gaston somehow found it familiar.

‘You’re losing your touch, Gaston! I think you need a rest. Or did that beast put a curse on you?’

‘The Beast would never…’ he didn’t finish that sentence but it was enough information for Lefou to knit his brows. Gaston gulped. ‘He’s too kind.’

Lefou helped him up. ‘Kind? But isn’t he a hideous-’

‘Oh, he is completely hideous. He is covered with fur and has horns on his head that are all bent. He’s got sharp claws…’ Gaston remembered the Beast awkwardly trying to not break a bow. ‘... and sharp teeth that stick out of his mouth…’ He recalled messily eating together with him. ‘... but his eyes…’

His heart felt like a magnet in a compass. It was pulled away from this poor provincial town towards that dark but beautiful castle. The sensation overwhelmed him, forcing him to grip his shirt as if reaching for his heart. He momentarily forgot to breathe. Lefou looked at him with suspicion, followed by anger. Gaston shut his eyes. ‘H-his eyes are black and lifeless.’

‘See?’ Lefou asked the crowd that had gathered around them. ‘This ugly monster attacked Maurice, then Gaston! What do you think he will do with your children?’

A choir of gasps bounced between the buildings in the town. Gaston almost protested but kept his mouth shut and his head low, holding onto the last morsel of his pride between his clenched teeth.

‘I say we kill the Beast!’ Lefou declared. The crowd chanted a chorus of ‘Yeah!’s before rushing to their homes to pick up torches and pitchforks.

Gaston grabbed Lefou’s arm. ‘You… you can’t-’

Lefou took his hand and gave it a gentle rub, gazing into his eyes with that same look he gave the day Maurice’s horse was found. Now Gaston was finally starting to recognise it.

‘It’s okay, Gaston. I’ll protect you.’

A chill ran down Gaston’s spine. How long had Lefou been looking at him like that?

Gaston jerked his hand away, eyes wide with terror. After seeing this reaction, Lefou’s fiery glare matched the lit torches behind him.

A line of flames bounced up and down and around the town. Lefou ran to the front of the line to lead the way.

Only a few people stayed in the village, including Maurice, Gaston and Belle.

Gaston turned to Belle. ‘You’re not going?’

Belle cast her eyes downward. ‘I’m not one to do a witch hunt.’

‘Could you help me-’

Belle shook her head. ‘He still hurt my Father. I can’t forgive him. I’m sorry, but you’re on your own.’ Despite saying this, she looked up in curiosity. ‘What are you planning to do?’

Gaston didn’t answer, which was itself an answer. He simply looked up towards the castle, just barely able to see the tip of the tallest tower over the trees.

He headed home, picking up all the daggers he could find in his bedroom. He searched the entire house but couldn’t find a single gun. Lefou’s confident smirk entered his mind.

‘That good-for-nothing-!’ He took a deep breath. Think, Gaston, think!

He figured breaking into Lefou’s house would be easy. He may have gone soft hanging around the Beast, but he surely hadn’t become that much of a softie.

He was correct. One kick to Lefou’s door was enough to get in. He found his guns hidden all around his room: in the tiny wardrobe, inside his chest of drawers, beneath his pillow (much to Gaston’s discomfort). Also under the pillow were a few arrows. A bow was under the bed.

On his way out, he pushed away a thought that had slithered into his mind.

Who was he going to have to shoot?

Before he could even reckon with the implications of this, the Beast’s oceanic eyes burst through his mind’s walls, flattening any doubt under the weight of their beauty. He grit his teeth as the description of the Beast he had given to Lefou repeated in his mind.

He shoved the guns into the same satchel that housed his daggers and ran to his horse, leaping onto it and tapping it with the riding crop to get it galloping.

#Disney #Beauty and the Beast #pride month #Gaston x The Beast #fanfiction #lgbt #romance #writing #lgbt romance #drama #fiction #gay romance #fanfic #slash fic #gay #No One Loves Like Gaston

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missmeikakuna · 2 years

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No One Loves Like Gaston Ch 8- Gaston/Beast fanfic

Rated: K+ (The plus is due to canon-compliant beer and violence. Other than that, I made it as family-friendly as I could.)

Fandom: Beauty and the Beast

Pairing Type: M/M

Pairings: Gaston/The Beast, Lumiere/Cogsworth

Potential content warnings: References to beer and light references to homophobia.

Chapter 8: No one could love a beast

The air was cold but the light breeze was pleasant against Gaston’s face. He sat on the short balustrade and gazed at the sky, whose hue almost perfectly matched the Beast’s coat. It felt like this was a sky made just for him and the Beast.

The Beast hesitantly sat next to him. Gaston raised his legs onto the balustrade and leaned back against one of the stone vases. It didn’t take long for his weight to accidentally knock the vase off the balcony. As he fell back, he immediately expected the Beast to save the vase, but instead he grabbed Gaston’s hand and pulled him up before his head could hit the stone.

‘Are you okay?’ the Beast said, holding Gaston up to his chest with his hand still clasped around the other man’s.

Gaston peered over the balcony but couldn’t see the vase in the mass of darkness below. He gulped. His face flushed before he could even say the word, the one word that felt the most alien coming from his mouth.

‘Sorry.’

‘That wasn’t an answer.’

Gaston swivelled until his feet were on the balcony floor, letting go of the Beast’s hand. His hand suddenly felt icy cold by itself.

‘I’m fine,’ he said. A chuckle left his lips. ‘You know, for a beast, you sometimes forget to act like one.’

The Beast’s eyebrows furrowed for a second, but then his expression softened. ‘I wasn’t always this way.’ He bashfully ran a hand through the fur behind his head.

‘Wait, you mean you used to be more of a jerk, or you used to look like a normal man?’

‘Both.’ The Beast raised his paws to the sky and stared at them. ‘I made some foolish decisions and wound up with this curse. I’ve spent the last few years waiting for a cure while telling myself every day that I don’t deserve it. I got myself into this mess, and now I’m a monster.’

Although the Beast laughed, his frown showed little amusement. Tears welled up in his eyes but he refused to let them spill. ‘I guess I always was one. This curse held a mirror to my face and told me no one could ever love someone as monstrous as me.’

Gaston put one leg on the balustrade and rested his arm on it, looking over at the forest beyond the balcony. His sigh floated in the cool air.

‘I wonder what a cursed mirror would tell me. Would it tell me that Belle would never love me? Huh, ridiculous!’

‘Belle?’

Gaston whipped his head towards the Beast and saw the creature’s body tense up until it shook. Gaston couldn’t recognise the emotion that pulled his heart down. The closest thing he could compare the feeling to was when he had an unsuccessful hunt.

‘Yes… Belle. The most beautiful girl in town.’ The more he spoke, the more his voice withered. ‘I haven’t seen her in so long. I…’ He looked into the Beast’s eyes, still shiny with potential tears. He immediately looked away and coughed. ‘I miss her,’ he said with a more commanding voice. ‘I wish I could see her one last time.’

After a few moments of deliberation, the Beast slowly exhaled. ‘Speaking of mirrors… there is a way for you to see her.’

Gaston raised a puzzled eyebrow, matched by the other when the Beast led him to the West Wing. He searched for words until the Beast picked up a mirror beside the wilting rose on the table.

The Beast handed it to Gaston. ‘This mirror will show you anything. Anything you wish to see.’

‘I… I’d like to see Belle,’ Gaston said. The mirror did nothing. ‘Please.’

The mirror glowed green and the glass showed the moving image of Belle, surprisingly enough, talking to a male villager. The two stood close to each other. Perhaps too close. Gaston’s blood boiled.

‘What do you see?’ the Beast asked.

Gaston held the mirror against his chest to hide the vision. ‘She…’ He did the dastardly act of thinking. ‘She needs my help. I must rescue her.’ He looked up at the Beast. ‘But…’

A million emotions clawed at each other to take control of the Beast’s face. ‘Go, rescue her,’ he eventually muttered, his voice as hollow as the glass case surrounding the floating rose.

‘But you said-’

‘You’re free.’ The Beast finally settled on a small but comforting smile. ‘You’re no longer my prisoner.’

Prisoner. That word sounded like a relic of centuries past to Gaston’s ears. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. Something pulled his heart down again.

He took the mirror to his room, where he changed back into his regular attire. He hopped on Maurice’s horse and rode it into town.

The Beast rested a paw on the table and slumped over it. Cogsworth, Lumiere and Mrs Potts entered the room as if on cue.

Upon seeing his body language, Lumiere asked, ‘Where is your amoureux?’

‘I… I let him go…’

Mrs Potts gasped. ‘You WHAT?’ the three servants shouted simultaneously.

‘He loves another. It would be better for him and this… Belle… to be happy together.’ He uttered Belle’s name like it was the name of a recently discovered, invasive species of flower.

Lumiere and Cogsworth looked at each other with wide eyes before casting them down in perfect sync. Lumiere, unsure what else to do, reached out to Cogsworth, who writhed away from him and bolted out of the room.

The second-last petal fell onto the table. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t save us,’ the Beast said.

After a few solemn moments of contemplation, Lumiere crossed his arms behind his back, straightening his back like a good servant.

‘Well, I suppose there is nothing you could have done,’ he said.

Mrs Potts chimed in with, ‘If he did not come to love you, you can’t change that.’

To the servants’ surprise, the Beast smiled. It was a half-smile accompanied by eyes narrow with exhaustion, but they figured it still counted.

#Disney #Beauty and the Beast #pride month #Gaston x The Beast #fanfiction #lgbt #romance #writing #lgbt romance #drama #fiction #gay romance #fanfic #slash fic #gay #No One Loves Like Gaston

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missmeikakuna · 2 years

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No One Loves Like Gaston Ch 7- Gaston/Beast fanfic

Rated: K+ (The plus is due to canon-compliant beer and violence. Other than that, I made it as family-friendly as I could.)

Fandom: Beauty and the Beast

Pairing Type: M/M

Pairings: Gaston/The Beast, Lumiere/Cogsworth

Potential content warnings: References to beer and light references to homophobia.

Chapter 7: And they'll tell you whose team they prefer to be on

Out of all the things one could expect upon reentering the castle, the last thing Gaston anticipated was a horde of chattering household goods sweeping him off his feet and taking him to his room. On the way, brushes went through his hair and he coughed when perfume was sprayed into his mouth. He almost kicked some of the servants away but calmed himself when ideas of what the Beast would look like entered his mind.

Madame de la Grande Bouche put Gaston in a cream-collared golden coat nearly reaching his knees, embroidered by equally golden leaves. The vest underneath was also cream in hue. His coat, vest and white breeches and shirt fit him perfectly.

He grunted when his hair was pulled back in a tight low ponytail with a golden bow. ‘Hey! Woudya mind-’

‘Care for a spot of tea, Sir?’ Mrs Potts offered. Chip leapt into Gaston’s hand, tiny in his thick fingers. Gaston was more of a beer man but he took a sip. Anything to calm his nerves. Which he certainly didn’t have.

He looked at himself in the mirror and licked his teeth to ensure they were clean. He beamed at himself. Perfect. As always.

Once he stood up, his head began spinning. He leaned on his hand, which was placed on his seat. He made a grave mistake: committing the great crime of thinking. Paintings of him and Belle, living in a cottage with several dogs and six or seven strapping boys, slowly burned to a crisp in his mind. The servants surrounded him, supporting him with whatever could pass as limbs. Gaston shook his head.

‘I’m fine,’ he said, flashing a grin at the servants. Remember, he was feeling no nerves. Zero. Zilch.

His head cleared a bit once the mental paintings were extinguished. He straightened his back, wrapped his hands around each coat lapel, and strode to the ballroom door. The Beast was waiting for him, wearing a similar outfit but in different colours. A cobalt jacket with a gold collar, a golden vest and black breeches.

Unlike Gaston with his white stockings and brown shoes, the Beast wore nothing on his feet, showing his hind paws as per usual. The contrast between the put-together suit and the feral shoelessness caused a tiny skip in Gaston’s heartbeat. He almost chuckled at the sight, but then the Beast smiled at him like he was looking at a precious memento. That caused a few more skips in Gaston’s heartbeat.

The Beast held out his arm. Gaston hesitated but wrapped his arm around it, inviting the Beast to lead him to the dining room outside the ballroom. Red velvet curtains flanked a portrait depicting various statues that ran from just above the fireplace to the roof. Atop the mantle were two candelabras that did not appear to be living.

Next to the fireplace was a long table covered with a smorgasbord of dishes. The scent of freshly cooked meat wafted through the air, the steam from the dishes collaborating with the candles to create a warm atmosphere.

The Beast stood by the chair at one end, waiting for his brain to decide. Was he supposed to pull out a chair for a man? Was this in the code of chivalry his parents had tried to instil in him years ago?

Before he could even decide, Gaston sat in the seat and dropped his shoulders as he got comfortable. The Beast shuffled with his head hanging low towards the other side of the table.

He and Gaston, at first, tried to use their manners and daintily enjoy the delicacies before them with the appropriate cutlery. After a minute or so of awkward silence, they stared at each other, slowly smiling as the same idea popped into their heads.

They grabbed the food on their plate with their hands, stuffing it into their mouths. They tore food apart like children opening presents on Christmas morning. They couldn’t help but laugh at each other, even with their mouths full.

Watching the scene from behind the ajar doors, Cogsworth placed a hand over his open mouth, ticking several times a second.

Lumiere patted him on the shoulder from behind him. ‘Relax, it’s working.’ As if to prove himself right, he leaned forward to get a better look. He and Cogsworth were standing cheek-to-cheek.

The ticking somehow sped up even more. Lumiere backed away in worry. ‘Are you alright?’

‘I’m perfectly fine,’ Cogsworth spat, crossing his arms and breathing heavily until his ticking slowed.

‘Mon chéri,’ Lumiere began while caressing the number 9 on Cogsworth’s cheek. ‘You owe it to yourself to be a bit more honest.’

Cogsworth did not divulge any truths, but he did melt into Lumiere’s candle hand despite it not being lit. They stayed like that for so long that they forgot to return their attention to the messy eaters they were spying on.

That was until the Beast and Gaston stood and headed to the door. Lumiere and Cogsworth scuttled away.

The Beast opened the door to exit the dining room but Gaston insisted with his eyes that he open the doors to the ballroom.

Inside the vast marble room, a glittering golden chandelier hung from the ceiling, which was adorned with a painting of cherubs and birds.

A team of servants stood behind one of the pillars that held up the round balcony above everyone. They played an assortment of instruments, from violins to woodwinds to a miniature piano. Together they created a lush but gentle musical landscape for the two men to dance in.

The Beast and Gaston bowed before the Beast wrapped his arm around the other man’s waist and grabbed his hand.

Gaston opened his mouth to protest his role in the dance but the Beast swung him around and stepped forward to the rhythm of the piano. Gaston closed his mouth and smiled softly, placing his hand on his shoulder. As the Beast spun around with Gaston, he held his neck out and grinned at the servants as if to ask if they could see what was happening.

He got distracted by his own silent attempt at communication, something Gaston used to his advantage. He took the Beast’s arm and pulled it from its position behind his back, pulling it up onto his shoulder. Gaston then put his own arm behind the Beast’s waist and pushed him closer. The Beast was taken aback by these actions, but the proud, mischievous glint in Gaston’s eye convinced him to go along with it.

The violins swelled as the two continued dancing. The Beast’s hand was soft and snug. He must have bathed before that evening, judging by both the cushiony feeling of his fur and the fresh scent of thyme coming from him. The pair looked into each other’s eyes and forgot that anyone else was there.

The song ended and the dance partners bowed again. The Beast headed towards the glass door to the outside balcony and Gaston followed him as the blue-coated man opened it.

#Disney #Beauty and the Beast #pride month #Gaston x The Beast #fanfiction #lgbt #romance #writing #lgbt romance #drama #fiction #gay romance #fanfic #slash fic #gay #No One Loves Like Gaston

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missmeikakuna · 2 years

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No One Loves Like Gaston Ch 6- Gaston/Beast fanfic

Rated: K+ (The plus is due to canon-compliant beer and violence. Other than that, I made it as family-friendly as I could.)

Fandom: Beauty and the Beast

Pairing Type: M/M

Pairings: Gaston/The Beast, Lumiere/Cogsworth

Potential content warnings: References to beer and light references to homophobia.

Chapter 6: You can ask any Lefou or Billy

The toasty glow of the lamps made the beer look even more golden. Clinks of metal steins mingled with laughter and chatter. Now that Gaston had remained unseen since that afternoon, one of the blonde dames who usually followed him was now sitting next to Lefou. Usually, this would make Lefou smile. In fact, the atmosphere of the bar would usually make him smile.

This time the bar had a decidedly muscular silhouette cut out of it.

Lefou slammed his stein on the wooden table. The girl immediately receded, raising her arms to the level of her chest with her fingers curled in fear. After a second, she inched forward to prevent herself from falling off her stool, causing it to sway.

‘What’s wrong, Lefou?’ she asked.

If only Lefou knew.

Ever since he had led Gaston to the perfect hunting spot a year ago, he had long asked himself what was wrong with him. Gaston had rewarded him with a pat on the head and a glowing smile that silently said thank you. Lefou was always drawn to the man’s confidence and self-focus. Yet there was something special about him doing something out of his usual character in a way that still fit him perfectly, something magical about his love of life painted on his face.

The night following the end of that hunt, Lefou had considered drinking his sudden, inexplicable emotions away. What, was he destined to like men now? Was that his new calling? He had shifted his gaze to the women sitting next to Gaston and was entranced by their beauty. His eyes went back and forth between Gaston and his fangirls, confusion welling in his heart.

He had opted to drink nothing out of fear of revealing his new secret. Naturally, Gaston hadn’t noticed.

Now it was Lefou’s turn to ignore someone, the girl beside him whose beauty had faded not in appearance but in Lefou’s eye. Just as he lifted his stein to his lips, Maurice pushed through the doors.

‘Gaston’s been captured!’

Lefou’s ears perked up at that. Of all people, Gaston?

‘Who did it?’ a man asked. Billy was a tall (not as tall as Gaston, of course) and scraggly man with an equally scraggly beard. He had two steins of beer on his table.

Maurice, already panting from running, sped up his breathing. ‘A fearsome beast! He has the horns of a buffalo, the claws of a bear and the jaws of a wolf! He let me go in exchange for Gaston.’

A feeling of intense hatred sparked within Lefou’s soul for a tiny moment. Maurice let Gaston be captured? Lefou’s precious Gaston? He took a sip and calmed his nerves.

‘Ha, as if Gaston couldn’t have taken him on!’ Billy retorted, pulling up his pants to reveal a bite mark on his ankle.

‘Yeah!’ shouted multiple people in an out-of-sync chorus.

Maurice’s entire body trembled. ‘No, he was a terrifying, dangerous beast! No one could-’

‘Let me guess, crazy old Maurice!’ Lefou responded, putting on his best Gaston impression. He slammed his stein again and crawled onto the top of the table. ‘He could fly and shoot fire from his mouth!’ He leapt off the table like he was about to fly himself. Befitting his name, his decision to do this resulted in his bulbous nose crashing into the floor. He rubbed it, stood up and brushed off the dust on his clothes like it was nothing.

He was about to continue mocking Maurice when a memory whizzed through his brain. Gaston was riding on Maurice’s horse with no weapons at hand. After that, Lefou had taken all the weapons Gaston had left behind to his own house, glad to have pieces of the other man in his possession.

Once the memory disappeared, Lefou shook his head. Couldn’t Gaston have used his fists? Still, the memory bugged him.

Everyone laughed Maurice out of the bar and Lefou returned to his seat. He looked down at the beer still left in his stein, spotting his reflection. His chin was much weaker than Gaston’s. He angled his head towards his arm and saw how flabby and frail it was.

If Gaston really was captured, Lefou would be able to do nothing. He grit his teeth, hopped off his chair and stormed out of the bar. He headed into the forest, stopping by a boulder around his size. He reached around it and put all his effort into picking it up. It didn’t budge an inch.

Lefou slipped out of his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and picked up two less heavy but still weighty rocks the size of his palms. As he flexed his arms, their pain did little to dissuade the corners of his mouth from lifting to his cheeks.

#Disney #Beauty and the Beast #pride month #Gaston x The Beast #fanfiction #lgbt #romance #writing #lgbt romance #drama #fiction #gay romance #fanfic #slash fic #gay #No One Loves Like Gaston

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missmeikakuna · 2 years

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No One Loves Like Gaston Ch 5- Gaston/Beast fanfic

Rated: K+ (The plus is due to canon-compliant beer and violence. Other than that, I made it as family-friendly as I could.)

Fandom: Beauty and the Beast

Pairing Type: M/M

Pairings: Gaston/The Beast, Lumiere/Cogsworth

Potential content warnings: References to beer and light references to homophobia.

Chapter 5: Perfect, a pure paragon

Lumiere reached into the fireplace to light it with his hand. Cogsworth crossed his arms. ‘Is it really necessary to make them meet every night?’ he asked.

‘But it is going so well, Cogsworth.’ Lumiere turned his back to the burning fireplace and held his candles up with pride. ‘Love is in the air.’

‘There is no way these two men will-’

‘Ah, but in Paris-’

‘I don’t want to hear about Paris, you glorified tinderbox! Paris this, Paris that. We’re not there, and I doubt Paris is actually like that. Do you really think the master would be the type to fall for that oaf?’

‘Why do you always doubt me, Cogsworth?’ Lumiere snapped, leaning closer to Cogsworth and holding one candle before him as a gentle reminder of his capability.

Cogsworth leaned in even closer, murder in his eyes. ‘Because you’re wasting time with these flights of fancy when we should be looking for a lady who can break the spell before the final rose petal falls!’

Less than two centimetres of air separated the two servants. ‘If the Beast comes to love Gaston and he loves him in turn, we can be human again!’

As Cogsworth stood closer while pointing at him, Lumiere’s pointy nose poked his. ‘And we’ll never be human again if you don’t quit acting like a naive… imbecile!’

Lumiere cast his long eyelashes down as he stared at Cogsworth’s lips. The flames in his candles burned brighter. They illuminated the face he had grown accustomed to as a form of beauty after years of finding it strange. The clock began ticking faster, his pendulum swinging back and forth with the speed of a rattle in a bratty child’s hand. Concern painted itself on Lumiere’s face.

Cogsworth pushed Lumiere away. ‘Go back to your feather duster,’ he grumbled, crossing his arms again until the ticking slowed. He groaned and reached behind to wind the key and fix the time.

Lumiere’s lights went out and he dropped his hands, his entire body drooping. For the first time in a long time, he said nothing in response to Cogsworth’s words.

A few days later, Gaston and the Beast strolled to the archery range for more practice. Gaston grabbed a different bow this time, a simple yew longbow.

A bird had abandoned a nest on one of the targets. When Gaston saw a baby bird peeking out from the nest, He aimed his bow at it. Just as he was about to release the arrow, the Beast pushed the bow to the side, causing the arrow to hit the snow right next to them. He then raced to the nest to pick it up.

‘Have you never hunted a bird before?’ Gaston asked incredulously.

‘Baby birds are different,’ the Beast mumbled.

Gaston was going to retort with some insult against the Beast’s masculinity, but the baby birds in his hands were kind of adorable in an odd, ugly, misshapen way.

Additionally, the image of a big, bulky, hairy monster holding a nest of baby birds as if they were his own children was certainly a striking one. Not that Gaston was going to verbalise that thought.

The Beast lifted the nest to a nearby tree. Gaston gulped a gasp when he wrapped his arms around him and lifted him towards the nest, presumably trying to convince him to pet the birds.

With a sigh, Gaston did so. His expression softened. The feathers were wet and rough. Still, it wasn’t the worst sensation in the world.

Honestly, the feeling of fur around his tight-covered legs was closer to being in the running for that oh-so prestigious title. Not because of the sensation itself, but the way it stamped Gaston’s face with a heavy blush.

‘Put me down!’ he squeaked. As soon as that sound left his mouth, the blush got stronger. Heroes didn’t sound like that.

The Beast laughed with no trace of derision, plopping Gaston down. Gaston wound up laughing too. In the process of putting Gaston down, the Beast held the other man’s hand for a moment. The Beast’s heart lifted when Gaston didn’t shudder at his paw. While they took back their positions in front of the targets, Lumiere and Cogsworth watched them from behind a tree.

Lumiere pointed to them. Cogsworth finally nodded in agreement, subtly reaching for the candelabra’s unlit hand.

‘Oh, Lumiere, where are you?’ The female voice’s accent rivalled Lumiere’s. Lumiere pulled his hands away from Cogsworth as he sauntered to Fifi, the feather duster.

Cogsworth sank into the snow and buried himself in it for a moment.

His ticking sped up when he heard a loud thud next to him. He frantically pushed and kicked through the snow until he saw the Beast sitting next to him.

‘Yes, Master? Are you in need of anything?’

The Beast shook his head. He watched Gaston swivel towards him after a good shot and lift his bow in victory, accompanied by a bright smile.

‘I… I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Do you think I have a chance?’

Thinking back to the events of a few seconds ago, Cogsworth was highly tempted to answer with a firm, bitter no. But he held his tongue for a moment to think.

‘Why don’t you invite him for dinner?’

‘That didn’t work out last time.’

‘Well, y-you see, Master…’ Cogsworth shut his eyes as if that would protect him. ‘...You didn’t exactly… ask last time.’ He opened one eye and saw not a fierce and ferocious creature but a furry man nodding while in thought.

When Lumiere returned, the Beast grabbed him and held him to eye level. ‘Lumiere, ask Gaston if he wants to attend dinner with me.’

‘You should ask him yourself,’ Lumier replied, shooing him forward with his hands.

The Beast bit his lip, lowered Lumiere and sat there for a minute. Finally, he stood up and walked towards Gaston.

‘I thought you said you were tired,’ Gaston said. ‘I guess I must be stronger than you, huh?’

The Beast’s laughter was herky-jerky as he rubbed the back of his neck. ‘So I was thinking…’

‘A dangerous pastime.’

‘Gaston, would you be serious?’ the Beast roared. He coughed and looked down, silent for a moment before continuing. ‘Would you like to have dinner… with me… in the ballroom dining room?’ When the Beast looked up, his eyes shining with hope, he saw a confused expression on Gaston’s face.

‘Don’t you already have a place to eat? What’s special about the ballroom?’

‘Well, uh…’ The Beast rolled his head towards Lumiere and Cogsworth, his eyes a cry for help that went unanswered. ‘We could dance in the ballroom… together.’

A laugh left Gaston’s lips. ‘Why would you want to do something like…?’ Once he finally understood the Beast’s intentions, he took a step back.

‘I… I understand,’ the Beast mumbled. ‘It’s an odd request from one man to another.’

Gaston was about to point out that the Beast was hardly a man, but then he looked into those blue eyes that looked like an ocean about to spill onto the land.

The Beast turned around but Gaston grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘One night. We can dance for one night.’

The Beast kept his back against Gaston but swung his head back towards him. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’ His voice was the softest Gaston had heard from him.

#Disney #Beauty and the Beast #pride month #Gaston x The Beast #fanfiction #lgbt #romance #writing #lgbt romance #drama #fiction #gay romance #fanfic #slash fic #gay #No One Loves Like Gaston

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missmeikakuna · 2 years

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No One Loves Like Gaston Ch 4- Gaston/Beast fanfic

Rated: K+ (The plus is due to canon-compliant beer and violence. Other than that, I made it as family-friendly as I could.)

Fandom: Beauty and the Beast

Pairing Type: M/M

Pairings: Gaston/The Beast, Lumiere/Cogsworth

Potential content warnings: References to beer and light references to homophobia.

Chapter 4: For there’s no man in town half as silly

Every night for three weeks, Gaston would listen to the Beast slowly attempt to read the book. At first, he would make snide remarks but, when the Beast refused to read one night, he shut up and said nothing short of encouragement. He knew he would die of boredom in the castle if these nights of listening ceased. Plus, there was something strangely relaxing about listening to a children’s story in front of a fire.

Snow began to fall after the third week. Gaston made a snowman in the courtyard and pummeled it with snowballs. The Beast exited the castle, clad in a white shirt and blue cape that made his eyes pop, and was greeted by a giant snowball. He frowned at first, shocked, before scampering to the courtyard and rolling a snowball worth five of Gaston’s measly attempts.

As he pummeled it towards Gaston, the other man raced away from it, only for it to tap the heels of his boots and trip him over. The ball collapsed atop Gaston’s body, snow dispersing across it. The Beast winced but tried to remain as cool as the snow. This got much more difficult as Gaston slowly rose from the pile of snow like a fish-man monster rising from the sea.

Gaston shook his head like a wet dog, inadvertently sending clumps of snow onto the heads of the servants in the courtyard. Lumiere scowled at him for taking out the flames on his hands but changed his tune upon seeing Gaston grin proudly at the Beast. The candelabra repeatedly nudged his elbow against Cogsworth’s door.

Gaston stood with a wide stance and his fists on his hips. His laugh carried the arrogance of someone who had conquered a town and collected an assortment of women along the way.

‘You thought that puny little tennis ball could defeat me?’

The Beast’s laugh was that of someone watching their pet kitten fail to catch a fly. Gaston threw another ball but the Beast dodged it. They danced around each other in a flurry of snowballs until the Beast, dodging yet another attack, fell atop Gaston. Seizing the opportunity, Gaston hit the Beast with a snowball without it leaving his hand. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, the snow falling from their heads onto Gaston’s chest. It started to melt under the heat of his full-body blush.

‘If you want to win against me, you’re going to have to practice your aim,’ The Beast said. A moment later, the Beast took note of their proximity and rolled onto his back. ‘Um, you see, uh, there’s something I want to show you. If… if that’s alright with you.’

The unsure frown on the creature’s face took Gaston back to when the Beast was wounded by the pack of wolves. Half of him was tempted to grab a cloth and tend to his face like he did his arm that night. The other half of him was calling himself crazier than Maurice. It would take more than a cloth to cure a face like that.

Gaston stood up and brushed the remaining snow off his tights. He smiled down at the Beast, who eventually lifted himself and led Gaston to a spot behind the castle.

Snow covered much of the clearing, which was the size of five tennis courts. The snow’s range included the twenty or so white, red-lined targets that stood in a line waiting to be hit by an arrow. Gaston regretted leaving his weapons behind the day he rescued Maurice. Before he could think about the beautiful blue-clad reason for his rescue attempt, The Beast placed a gentle arm behind his back and nudged him towards the shed just outside the range.

The shed was the size of a horse stable and housed dozens of bows against the walls, some seemingly from other countries judging by the unfamiliar shapes and carvings. Arrows of various materials filled ornately decorated leather quivers.

Gaston lovingly rubbed his hands over the bows. Stuck in his small provincial town, he had never come across so many varieties of archery equipment before. His smile itself was like a brow, curved from one ear to the other.

‘This is incredible,’ was all he could say, transfixed by a thin indigo bow with white stripes wrapped around it.

‘It’s yours.’

Gaston took the bow off its rack. ‘The bow?’

‘The range.’

Gaston blinked with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. He would have taken this as a given a few weeks ago. If there was something he wanted, he would have it. Belle’s rejection complicated things, but even after that, he was sure that he would be able to have her anyway. After all, he deserved a reward for his troubles.

And yet, here he stood, dumbfounded at this gift. ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘Do you… not like it?’

As Gaston shook his head, more snow fell from his hair to the ground. ‘Are you kidding me? This is the most amazing place I’ve ever been to.’ He picked up a quiver. ‘Why not keep this place for yourself?’

The Beast held his claws up. ‘I don’t need it anymore.’ He lowered them and looked down at them wistfully.

Gaston’s blood reached a temperature not matched since Belle’s rejection. He shoved the bow and quiver in the Beast’s arms and grabbed another set for himself.

‘I’ll break the string,’ the Beast warned, shaking his sharp-clawed pinky for emphasis.

‘You think I haven’t done that before?’

The Beast sighed and fumbled with the bow, carefully examining where his claws were. Gaston took a deep breath before raising his bow, eyeing one of the targets and releasing the arrow. It hit just outside of a bullseye.

Gaston rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck. ‘I’m a bit rusty, but I’ll be back to being perfect in no time.’

The Beast shook as he raised the bow. Gaston clicked his tongue in disapproval and wrapped his hand around the bow.

‘Breathe in, then lift.’

‘I really don’t think my claws will let-’

Gaston glared at him, letting go of the bow. ‘Breathe in, then lift,’ he repeated more sternly.

The Beast did as he was told. Gaston stepped behind the Beast and reached around to his arms, holding them in the correct position. The Beast’s shoulders flew into the air and, as a result, he missed his shot. The arrow hit the ground just below the target.

Gaston let go of the Beast. He was about to give the Beast a pep talk when the creature, the absolute madman, immediately prepared the next shot and got a bullseye.

His goofy grin of victory was so radiant that Gaston barely noticed how sharp the Beast’s teeth were.

As the sky grew darker and the duo grew tired of archery practice, they headed back to the castle. They went their separate ways for dinner, Gaston to the kitchen and the Beast to his living quarters.

#Disney #Beauty and the Beast #pride month #fanfiction #gay #lgbt #Gaston x The Beast #romance #writing #lgbt romance #drama #fiction #gay romance #fanfic #slash fic #No One Loves Like Gaston

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missmeikakuna · 2 years

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No One Loves Like Gaston Ch 3- Gaston/Beast fanfic

Rated: K+ (The plus is due to canon-compliant beer and violence. Other than that, I made it as family-friendly as I could.)

Fandom: Beauty and the Beast

Pairing Type: M/M

Pairings: Gaston/The Beast, Lumiere/Cogsworth

Potential content warnings: References to beer and light references to homophobia.

Chapter 3: Convincingly puts up a tough front like Gaston

A pack of wolves surrounded Gaston. After leaping off the horse, he cracked his knuckles, grinning from ear to ear. Finally, some easier- uh, more worthy opponents.

He threw some wolves into the snow, butted others’ heads together and kicked the rest. They were defeated in seconds.

And then more came. And more. There was a seemingly neverending supply of wolves. Gaston’s breaths grew heavier and his moves more sluggish. He tripped over the snow and fell into it, the other wolves pouncing on him and biting into his back.

Failure joined the cold in the invasion of Gaston’s body. He closed his eyes. This was it, huh? All those eggs he ate were for nothing.

A roar shook the trees, sending birds flying off them. The Beast effortlessly pulled off every one of them until one tore some skin off its arm. It kicked the rest away and they scampered back into the forest. Gaston looked up at his saviour and a seed of warmth was planted in his chest.

Gaston forced himself to stand up, now in such a weakened state that he had to hold onto the Beast’s unharmed arm like a stair rail. Neither had the strength to hop onto the horse’s back. The two trudged through the snow back to the castle, holding each other up. Despite the cold, Gaston’s entire body was set aflame with embarrassment.

Inside the castle, Gaston frantically looked around to find something to deal with their injuries.

‘Uh, what do we do?’ He had never had to deal with injuries like these. He was much too strong for that.

The Beast snapped its beefy fingers and some servants came to his side. ‘Get me a towel and some warm water.’ Gaston frowned, even more embarrassed than before. Once the items arrived, the Beast ordered him to turn his back towards him. Gaston groaned but obliged.

The wet towel against his back sent a searing pain through Gaston’s nerves. ‘Could you do that any harder?’ he snapped.

‘It’s what you get for running away!’

Gaston couldn’t come up with a witty retort for that. Still, the Beast softened his grasp on the towel. It remained painful, but Gaston could bear it.

The fireplace flickered, sending cosy light throughout the room. The silence between the two men somehow wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it almost put Gaston at ease.

Once the Beast was done, Gaston snatched the cloth and applied it to the Beast’s arm. The Beast hissed in pain.

‘Not so great now, is it?’ Gaston asked with a laugh. The Beast grumbled something Gaston couldn’t understand. Gaston bit his lip as he played a game of tug of war in his head. He took a deep breath. ‘Thanks. For saving me. Not that I needed it! I’m as large as a barge. You just happen to be worth two barges.’

The Beast chuckled. ‘I see.’ His laughter massaged Gaston’s ears. They looked up at each other and gazed into each other’s eyes. The Beast’s eyes somehow seemed even more human than when Gaston first looked into them. He was still ugly, no question, but he wasn’t nearly as hard to look at now.

Gaston coughed and swung his head away, the Beast simultaneously doing the same thing. What was he doing? They hobbled silently back to their rooms.

The next few days were spent by Gaston holed up in his room, bored to the point of deliriousness but reluctant to run into the Beast’s eyes- er, the Beast. He used this time to work out, lifting various servants like dumbbells. Madame de la Grande Bouche was rather pleased to be lifted. Gaston only left the room to eat and ask other servants to help him with weight training.

One night on his way to the kitchen to get some eggs, he found the Beast sitting alone by the fire and, feeling something strange tugging at his heartstrings, wordlessly sat next to him. Between their chairs was a wooden table with an assumedly non-living full cup of tea and a picture book.

‘Finally, a book worth reading,’ Gaston eventually said. The Beast raised an eyebrow, his arms tense. He was about to shout at the other man for insulting him when Gaston elaborated. ‘I don’t get why they make books without pictures these days. How can you possibly enjoy a book when you don’t have any drawings to show you what the characters look like?’

The Beast had to laugh at that. The sound reverberated through Gaston’s body. ‘Well, I… do want to learn how to read.’ He held his head in shame.

‘Huh, I thought having a castle came with free reading lessons.’

‘I had started learning, but… things changed, and I never got the chance to finish.’

He was unsure why but seeing the Beast look so down in the dumps greatly disturbed Gaston. He clenched his fists.

‘Well, I don’t know how to read myself, but I’m sure we can figure something out. Just…’ Gaston twirled his hand in front of him with a slight bow, still seated. ‘... Try and read it in front of me.’

#Disney #Beauty and the Beast #lgbt #pride month #fanfiction #Gaston x The Beast #romance #writing #lgbt romance #drama #fiction #gay romance #fanfic #slash fic #gay #No One Loves Like Gaston

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missmeikakuna · 2 years

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No One Loves Like Gaston Ch 2- Gaston/Beast fanfic

Fandom: Beauty and the Beast

Pairing Type: M/M

Pairings: Gaston/The Beast, Lumiere/Cogsworth

Potential content warnings: References to beer and light references to homophobia.

Description: Ah yes, a man falling for a male furry creature, a tale as old as time. Wait, what? In an alternate timeline, Gaston spots Maurice’s horse before Belle does and decides to save Maurice to earn Belle’s affection. He is so excited to do this that he forgets to bring weapons and, unable to win a fight against the Beast, he takes Maurice’s place as the castle’s prisoner.

Chapter 2: Is a dunce like Gaston

Gaston may have had little appreciation for non-antler-related home decor, but he knew luxury when he saw it. His assigned bed was soft as he lay on it. Finally, a home befitting of his greatness. Not that he would tell the Beast that.

He closed his eyes for a moment, exhausted from a day of hunting. ‘Do you think he’s, er… really the one?’ A posh male voice asked in the distance. Gaston opened one eye.

‘But of course! It is destiny that he has been brought here.’ The other voice had the thickest French accent Gaston had ever heard. ‘And look at how flustered the master is acting! He could be the one to break the spell!’

‘But he’s a man!’

‘You have clearly never visited Paris.’

By this point, both of Gaston’s eyes were open. He stomped to the door but, when he opened it, he saw no one. He looked down at the floor and saw a lit candelabra and a quietly ticking clock. Confusion washed over his face but he closed the door and lumbered back to his bed with his eyes already half-closed.

Before he reached the bed, he bumped into something. He gasped. Then he heard a gasp. Then he gasped again.

‘Ooh, careful!’

A portly wardrobe stood before him. With a smile. A human smile.

Gaston raised his fists. ‘What are you, you… you… creature?’

‘My, my, this one’s feisty.’

‘He could use a spot of tea, I think,’ a motherly voice claimed from behind him. A teapot bounced onto his shoulder.

Gaston grabbed the teapot and dangled it in the air by its handle. ‘Is everyone in this castle a freak?’

‘Hey, let Mama go!’ a squeaky voice attempted to command. On the ground was a little teacup with a chip in its rim, bouncing on the floor as he moved forward like the teapot earlier.

Gaston let go of the teapot, which was caught by the candelabra. The clock was there too, smugly smirking at the candelabra.

‘I told you so,’ it said.

Gaston plopped onto the bed, taking time to process everything in front of him. ‘Have I started dreaming?’

‘Oh no, dear, this is very much real,’ the teapot replied. ‘Oh, my apologies. I forgot to introduce myself. I am Mrs Potts, your humble servant.’

The candelabra was Lumiere, Cogsworth was the clock and the wardrobe was Madame de la Grande Bouche. The cup with a chip was, fittingly enough, called Chip.

‘Wonderful,’ Gaston said while rubbing his face. ‘Not only do I have to live with the ugliest monster alive, I also have to live with his band of creepy servants. What a time to be alive.’

Lumiere and Cogsworth looked at each other with concerned faces. As if on cue, the Beast knocked on the door.

‘You will join me for dinner.’ A pause followed. ‘That is not a request!’

Mrs Potts stepped closer to the door. ‘Temper, Master, temper!’

Gaston scoffed a laugh at the Beast. ‘And what will you do if I say no?’

The Beast was silent for a moment before growling. ‘Don’t push me! If you don’t eat with me, you don’t eat at all!’ Gaston could hear thudding footsteps that faded into silence.

‘You really shouldn’t make the master mad,’ Mrs Potts said. Gaston flexed his biceps as if that counted as a response.

He lied back down and considered doing the unthinkable- thinking. How easy would it be to escape? He was not one to make plans, but without plans, Belle would be out of reach.

Just as he started thinking, he fell asleep.

In the middle of the night, he awoke to a grumbling stomach. He headed out of the room in search of Cogsworth. When he found him, he picked him up and looked at the time. He then leaned in closer to intimidate him.

‘Where’s dinner?’

‘Well, M-master said-’

‘And I’m saying-’

‘Be our guest!’ The two twisted their heads and saw Lumiere, who led them to the dining room. A long table stood in the middle of it, a vast number of living appliances presenting an equally vast array of food. In song, no less.

Gaston ignored the smiling knife and fork on the table, grabbing a chicken drumstick and tearing the meat off with his teeth. As he ate, he put his feet on the table. He smiled at the taste and Cogsworth huffed a sigh like he had just dodged one of Gaston’s abandoned bullets.

Still, Cogsworth repeatedly turned his head side to side as if checking for traces of the Beast. Lumiere noticed this and lit one of his candles, holding it in front of Cogsworth as the two stood on the table. The clock closed his eyes and let the cosy heat engulf his body. His shoulders finally relaxed.

He looked up at a winking Lumiere and his pendulum rapidly swung back and forth. Lumiere pulled his candle back as a silent apology but Cogsworth took Lumiere’s arm and pulled the candle back towards him.

Cogsworth pursed his lips in thought. He gave Lumiere a sheepish wink back. The flame in Lumiere’s candle shot up, bursting with energy. Still, Cogsworth kept it near him, waiting patiently for it to die down.

After a few seconds of mutual silent gazing, Cogsworth let go of Lumiere’s hand and crossed his arms.

‘Th-th-this is most unorthodox! I cannot keep up with your methods of wooing. I am clearly at wick’s end!’

Lumiere’s laughter warmed Cogsworth’s soul more than any candle flame ever could.

The two were so embroiled in their flirting that neither noticed the absence of a certain muscular man. Gaston headed to the castle's front door, only to remember the West Wing. He tiptoed up the stairs to the wing as if to make up for his loud footsteps.

The wing was mainly one room, a dark and messy room at that. Upon entering it and stepping over the broken furniture, Gaston strolled past the portrait of a handsome young man, only to take a few steps back once he noticed the scratch marks. Envy at the man’s looks brewed inside his gut, the torn parts offering relief from such an emotion.

Another relief came in the form of a glowing pink light. Gaston walked towards it and saw a rose floating inside a tall glass lid, a handheld mirror lying next to it. He gazed at his reflection, the handsome portrait disappearing from his mind. The rose drew his attention again.

Some of the petals had fallen onto the table, but most were still intact. Gaston pictured giving a glowing rose to Belle. As soon as that thought entered his mind, he pulled the lid up and reached for the flower.

‘I warned you not to come here!’

Gaston pivoted towards the Beast. He was still not used to that horrid face, especially with its fur sticking up like a porcupine’s quills. The Beast’s shadow engulfed the spot where Gaston stood.

It snatched the lid from Gaston and pushed him away. ‘Do you realise what you could have done? Get out!’

Gaston held up his fists but then remembered how that went last time. He raced out of the room. He could take it on. He could totally take it on. He wasn’t afraid. He just wanted to leave anyway.

Once he was on Maurice’s horse and out of the castle, a chill seeped into his bones. Snow constantly pummeled onto him, the wind’s roar even louder than the Beast’s. But Gaston pressed on. He kept riding until he heard a chorus of howls shatter the air.

#Disney #Beauty and the Beast #pride month #Gaston x The Beast #fanfiction #lgbt #romance #writing #lgbt romance #drama #fiction #gay romance #fanfic #slash fic #gay #No One Loves Like Gaston

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