#sick and twisted i tell you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

12.7% of mobile users access Tumblr.

#sick and twisted i tell you

vendettasfanfictioning · 8 months

Text

sick and twisted how s10 ends with castiel being cursed while dean gets cured of the mark.

how s11 starts with a parallel destiel's iconic phone call scene of s10 where, instead of dean holed up in the bunker trying to fight the mark and all its murderous intent poisoning him, it's castiel in the forest, hiding from humans who are trying to hunt him and him, tamping down the urge to kill anyone and everyone on sight.

instead of dean saying, "i'm fine, cas, how about you?" it's castiel saying, "dean, i am fine, (besides, whatever i have, you can't help me.)"

how dean's most desperate resort was death and castiel's was heaven.

#SICK AND TWISTED I TELL YOU #god i hate them sm #meanwhile sam is there just. drowning in his own guilt #watching spn #supernatural #spn dean #spn dean winchester #castiel #spn castiel #deancas #destiel #spn #spn.txt

3 notes · View notes

fabaceous · 11 months

Text

Past me was sick for this…

#sick and twisted i tell you #and i TOTALLY FORGOT ABOUT IT TOO 😭

3 notes · View notes

victorxaxvale · 9 months

Text

why is my dash not loading but everything else is

#sick and twisted i tell you

0 notes

lotus-pear · 4 months

Text

doing a social experiment where i am introducing my friend to bungou stray dogs solely through knkdz content/official art and portraying kunikida and dazai as the "main" implied relationship in bsd. no skk, she does not know chuuya, i have not mentioned chuuya, and she will not meet chuuya until episode nine. this is solely for the purpose of seeing whether or not new bsd fans' pyscholgies are skewed bc of skk or whether they start the show solely for them. after she meets chuuya i'll ask her which pairing she prefers more

#LISTEN DONT YOU THINK IT WOULD BE INTERESTING IF THE ROLES WERE REVERSED FOR ONCE #SKK AS THE RAREPAIR??? KNKDZ AS THE MAIN PAIRING??#this is so evil and delicious of me i am rubbing my sick twisted little hands together and grinning maliciously #what happens when a pairing is forced down someone's throat since the start of the exposure to the media they are indulging #will they stick by the pairing bc they associate it w the introduction of the show? or will they move on to another pairing?#only time will tell #bsd #skk #knkdz

525 notes · View notes

thefrogdalorian · 16 days

Text

I was watching Chapter 15: The Believer yesterday and something stood out to me that I guess I'd never really thought about before...

When the Juggernaut is getting attacked by the Pirates, we see several shots of Din struggling without his armour. It's a new way of fighting for him and he struggles to adapt at first.

He quickly rallies and skilfully fights them off, though. But more pirates soon appear and after fighting them off, Din is thrown backwards. He sees several pirates approaching.

Din lies down in defeat, powerless to fight them off without his armour or weapons. Knowing his death is likely imminent, without hope of survival.

Instead of giving up and accepting defeat, he does not allow himself to wallow in despair and mystery. After sighing deeply he steadies himself and gets right back up:

Facing down death as the pirates approach, he does not show weakness or fear.

He doesn't allow himself to be cowardly, or dwell on his likely impending doom and the fact he has failed in his quest to rescue the child he loves so much...

Instead, Din stands there with his fists up, outnumbered and without weapons, prepared to fight to the end even in the face of certain death...

Fortunately, of course, the TIE Fighters appear to save the day and Din succeeds in his quest to rescue Grogu and, well, you know the rest.

But I think this little moment in one of the best episodes is such a good insight into his character.

Standing up with his fists clenched like that, outnumbered and hopeless but refusing to accept defeat is perhaps one of the most Mandalorian things he's ever done. Yet only a few minutes later he removes his helmet and that act leaves him rendered an apostate in the eyes of his people. Told he is a Mandalorian no more, even.

It's kind of heartbreaking because he really did not deserve to be told that. Mandalorians are proud warriors, who never give up. Being a coward is the worst insult in Mando'a, their ancient language. Here, Din showed that he is nothing of the sort.

Din Djarin is as honourable a Mandalorian as they come.

#din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #din thoughts #din djarin brainrot #my gifs #I JUST HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT HIM I LOVE HIM SO MUCH he deserves endless forehead kisses #imagine telling this man he is no longer a mandalorian #the armorer when i cATCH YOu #jk i like her i think shes amazing and i loved her arc in season 3 #but din is so incredible #he GETS what it means to be mandalorian even though he wasn't born one and i need to hUG HIM RN ITS SICK AND TWISTED #i also desperately need sleep bc ive been busy the past two days lol but i really needed to get these thoughts out #because i lovve HIMMMMMMMM

293 notes · View notes

rceibo · 6 months

Text

furudate is insanely sick and twisted for this btw

#draft clearing again #hinata’s eyes… SICK AND TWISTED I TELL YOU!!#hinata shouyou #kageyama tobio #kagehina #haikyuu #hq!!#kghn

184 notes · View notes

dark-side-blog3 · 2 months

Text

(Minors and ageless blogs do not interact)

Consider making squid ink pasta, but instead of squid ink, it’s ink from the overblots.

Squid ink has a deep, woodsy, nutty flavour, almost like a black truffle, and pine nuts. It goes best with roast portobello mushrooms, and some fish, in my opinion.

The overblot ink is more akin to writers ink at first glance, but it is a secretion from a body, is it not? Sort of like how sweat and tears are water.

Granted I’m sure if you ever got found out for eating essentially globs of vomit from the latest sick overblot student, your reputation would tank faster than Grims— because at least he’s only eating the magistones.

But even so, I’m curious! Sue me. Some weirdos might even find it fascinating (Rook might be intrigued, yet sickened).

Perhaps some students who haven’t overblotted would feel a strange… Jealousy. The intimacy of consuming someone’s literal insecurities manifested, of cherishing a remnant of their worst personality traits and turning it into something beautiful. Or at the very least, meaningful.

Ace tries to gross out other first years by showing an exposè of your dinners, and the only one who’s grossed out and remains grossed out is Sebek. Everyone does recoils and exclaims that’s disgusting, and Jack can’t even look you in the eyes for a week!

But slowly, Epel comes to the idea that maybe he wouldn’t mind if you ate his ink— if he was gonna overblot, it’d suck major dick, but at least you’d find a way to make it less shitty? Like, at least you’d care more than every’ne else, who prolly just wouldn’t wanna die.

Deuce cannot and will not articulate that he wants you to eat his overblot— he sure as hell doesn’t WANT to overblot! But maybe you’d be down to eat some mochi? Or fresh squeezed juice? Something that’s got a lot of handwork and might make him a bit sweaty. It’s like a diet version of the overblot! You’re consuming something he made to show you the bond, and you’re eating something he made from his body to show the bond! It doesn’t have to be life or death!

#tell me what you think other characters reactions would be!#I think Vargas will make you throw it up and go on a cleanse diet. Don’t eat random magic disease stuff! it’s gonna get you sick!#it’s not quite cannibalism but what would you even call this? overblot isn’t vomit sweat or spit. it’s its own liquid #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst

76 notes · View notes

astrum-aetherium · 7 months

Note

begging on your knees to go down on henry, like full on crying and whimpering on your knees

there is simply something so helplessly wicked about begging and pleading and reasoning with your partner to pleasure them, for merely their own good, out of the sheer kindness of your heart (and, admittedly, the unbearably fervid stirring in your gut). and do you know what? henry would delight in that a whole lot; he would put that tendency of yours to use so frequently it could be considered routine.

as i've discussed on this blog, i believe him to be someone who isn't exactly in dire need of intimacy, let alone anything of overly sexual nature, wherefore he would be perfectly willing and even eager to tease it out of you for as long as you can bear, as he wouldn't be the one to have launched the initiative (the fact whereof he would use against you shamelessly). in fact, he would urge you to the limits of your sanity — have you teetering around them sheepishly, and you'd still follow his every order. plus, we know he has that elitist urge to force people into submission with his charm and imposition, so this is only an added ego polishing for him. painfully true, and yet too good not to give in to. he would 100% have a thing for degradation, and who are you not to play into that? antithetically, it would be an utter sin not to do so.

as for a specific scenario, i'm thinking it would have to take place during the late hours of a day which has left you feeling useless and idle, with you merely being set on doing what you know and have numerously proven to excel at: pleasuring henry. he, on the other hand, would have to be in one of his more sullen, stern moods — more rigid than usual, perhaps even angered — in order to elicit that acrimony, that torment out of him. he'd have to be so utterly spent emotionally that he would abandon his studies for the night, and instead merely linger, sunk in an armchair, nursing a tumbler with scotch that is considered far too expensive for a university student. he will have just finished his third cigarette in a row, when you, all class and dignity at first, would initiate, “is there anything i can do for you?”

of course, the inquiry would be vague enough not to immediately translate as being of lascivious fashion (even though that would be your honest and admitted goal), and he would simply scoff in response, if offer any answer at all. this is when you'd approach, maybe adding a pinch of suggestiveness to your air by innocently undoing the topmost button of your blouse and gracefully lowering yourself into his lap. he wouldn't flinch nor try to remove you in any way, though express his distaste differently: having briefly drunk, he'd scrutinize you fiercely, and maintain that strict expression one could easily crumble under after a certain amount of time. you'd wiggle in your seat, then, and your intentions would be clear.

this is when he'd say, “i do not like this backward strategy of getting your way by asking for something you so clearly seem to want.”

“henry—” you'd want to put forth an argument, maybe even try to charm him into thawing for you, and reach out your palm to slide up his thigh, and yet, to no avail, as...

“no touching,” he'd interject firmly, gaze fixed, “in fact, get off me. humor the floor with your crude ideology instead.” the command would be sudden, not entirely surprising, and thrilling at once — you'd do precisely as said, scramble to your knees before his spread legs, and fold into a position so small and passive that it would immediately translate to him as an act of submission. nonetheless, it simply wouldn't do.

“if there is something you want, you can try to appeal to me for consideration.”

for this precise reason, you'd begin: lightly at first, holding back for the most part, half-heartedly at best. as a reaction to multiple sequences of rejections, one more blunt and striking than the other, however, you'd soon enough be reduced to a begging, blubbering, sobbing mess for him. your make-up would be ruined before you'd even as much as laid a finger on him — or he on you — with your eyelashes stuck together as a doll's and your face aglow in the dim light, upsettingly. and still, he'd string you along, growing more and more derisive each time, more hurtful, more harsh — “can't you do better than that?” — which would affect your act tremendously. you'd sit there, restless and needy, with streaks of tears, some dry and some being drawn in real time, gasping for some of the tension-thick air and whimpering for him to have mercy on you. the situation would only be exacerbated by the fact that all the while, you would be able to see the clear, prominent, swollen outline of his hardness in his strained slacks, and instinctively grow even more frustrated with the realization he would deny both of you this kind of pleasure — until he wouldn't, and the permission to do so would finally glide from his lips.

you wouldn't need to be told twice, then. the tears of pleading would dry, only to be replaced by new ones, except this time for an entirely different reason — a reason you'd shed them for more gladly, in all honesty. and in the end, it will have been worth it. especially worth the deep kisses he'd place upon you after pulling you up by your face and folding you back into him upon his lap as a crooked rendition of gratitude.

#astrum asks #henry winter imagine #henry winter x reader #henry winter thirst #henry winter smut #indulgent thoughts #dacryphilia territory oops #don't tell me he wouldn't like it #i have a feeling he would lol #help #it's okay henry #he sees you cry for the first time and feels it twitch #yup sick and twisted #why do i love it though #HELPPPPPPP #MY GOD

95 notes · View notes

mcybree · 27 days

Note

hi I know about dear Evan Hansen so I’ll tell you about this.

The story is about a teenager killing himself and the kid he bullied (Evan Hansen) pretends he was the dead kid’s friend to make his family feel better. And also for attention a bit, also to get with dead kids sister.

the story is LITERALLY about someone pretending to be friends with a dead person after they died to get pity points.

for forever in particular is an INSANE pick from Scott. Like. this song is Evan Hansen singing about all the things he and dead kid did, and he’s lying about all of it. It seems like a pretty romantic song if you don’t know the context but it’s just Evan lying about what he and this dead kid did together

and then only us is a love song between Evan and dead kid’s sister. Who breaks up with him by the end of the musical after she learns he was lying. And they only got together because Evan lied about being friends with her dead brother

but yeah idk how Scott??? Interpreted dear Evan Hansen??? But. It was wrong

normal.

#WHAT RHE FUCUUCK WHAT THE FUUUCK WHATR HE FUCK MAN #ITS NOT EVEN LIKE I DIDNT KNOW THE PLOT. I KNEW IT VAGUELY. IVE DONE MUSICAL THEATRE MYSELF I HEAR PEOPLE AROUND ME TALK ABOUT THIS #How did scott interpret this i have to know. I have to know. What was going on in his head #the spiral.#thabk you for explaining this to me anon this is sick and twisted #It appears I have suddenly fallen ill #Goodbye #asks #asks i hate #asks i want to tear apart #asks that tell me poisonous information That will kill me #slash lighthearted. the lake

13 notes · View notes

bookshelf-in-progress · 2 years

Text

A Day Late: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling

Beatrice scrambled through the rose garden, tripping over the deep gold skirts she'd worn specifically to look nice for her host. Where was Beast? He wasn't in the library, dining room, conservatory, aviary, music room, ballroom, study, parlor, billiard room, or any of the castle towers. She'd thought she'd find him brooding in a melancholy corner, awaiting her return, but she was running out of melancholy corners and beginning to get frustrated. Where could an eight-foot-tall dog-tiger-monkey man possibly hide?

The garden had changed. The usual balmy summer had become oppressively hot and humid. The roses drooped. The damp air clung to Beatrice's skin and red curls escaped her hairpins and frizzed around her face. Where were the sparkling sunshowers that kept the gardens moist? Where were the playful breezes that kept the air fresh and cool? Beatrice hadn't seen so much as a fluttering curtain to indicate the presence of an invisible servant. Everything was silent. Still. Dead.

Half-mad with anxiety, she raced down cobbled paths and across the wide lawns where she and her Beast had played so many games of croquet. Past fountains where they'd splashed each other in ferocious water battles. She trampled beds of pansies and tore holes in hedges and prayed the invisible gardener would forgive her. If Beast meant to get revenge for her delay in returning, he was doing an excellent job of it, but when--yes, when--she found him, they would have words about how a single day of waiting did not justify throwing your guest into a blind panic.

She checked every bench in the garden, navigated the entire hedge maze, and even took a raft to check the bottom of the lily pond. When she came ashore, she leapt a short hedge and found herself at the far end of the south lawn, where the lush grass gave way to rougher scrub as the palace grounds approached the surrounding woods. A creek babbled over stones, separating forest from palace, and not far from its bank, Beatrice saw a lump of tawny-striped fur covered in a familiar blue cloak.

Beatrice raced to Beast's side and found him barely conscious. His fur was dull, his eyes were glassy, and he panted in the heat. The sharp teeth sticking out of his pointed muzzle were as dry as his black nose.

Beatrice struggled to catch her breath, then gasped, "Beast! What happened?"

Beast lay curled up on his right side, legs bent to his chest like a newborn babe, while he clutched his long tail in one monkey-like hand. Softly, he said, "You broke your promise."

How could he be so maddening? "It was one extra day! I haven't seen my family in nearly two years! I thought you could manage without falling into a melancholic decline!"

Beast squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw against some internal pain. "I told you. Three days only. Or I waste away and die."

"I thought it was a metaphor! You know how dramatic you get!"

He shook his head. "Rules of this place."

Beatrice's stomach sank. Though the sun shone hot as ever, it seemed to Beatrice as though a cloud had blocked all the light. She didn't...he couldn't...

Had she killed him for one extra day at home?

She clenched her jaw to hold back tears, furious that she was even considering wasting time by crying.

Beatrice pulled off the Beast's cloak, revealing that he was clad in the loose white shirt and rough brown trousers he typically wore in the gardens. She knelt beside him and snarled, "You can tell whoever runs this place, from me, that I am sick to death of their rules." She started loosening the shirt's laces, grinding out words with each piece of the string she yanked from the bindings. "Life imprisonment because my father stole a rose. Required daily marriage proposals. No dessert unless you eat the vegetables first. And now this!" She pulled out the entire string and threw it aside in a huff. "And worst of all, you follow those rules. You call yourself a beast, but you're just a fluffy little chicken."

Beast grimaced, and sounded apologetic as he rasped, "Not like...those rules. Law...like gravity."

Oh, was he really going to lecture over semantics when he was dying? "And that one's breakable! Haven't you heard? There are men in the south who fly in balloons. You can break any rule you want if you've got enough gumption." She grasped his muzzle in her hands and turned his head so he met her eyes. "Do you understand? You are not going to die on me."

Even though he could barely hold open his eyes, a corner of his wide mouth twitched upward. Good. He had enough life in him to laugh at her. "I'll try."

"You will do more than try." She stood and looked around wildly, desperate for something that could help. Where were those servants?

"You're just overheated," she said, willing it to be true. "Nothing to do with me. You're the one who came out here covered in fur in this eternal July."

Water. She needed water. She rushed to the creek and cupped what she could in her hands. She brought it back to him and he lapped at the scant film of droplets that she managed to hold through her mad flight. It barely dampened the tip of his tongue, yet Beatrice rushed back to the creek again, again, again, not knowing what else to do and thinking that any water was better than leaving him here to fetch other tools. Knowing him, he'd die the minute she walked away.

She babbled as she worked. He couldn't die so long as she kept him distracted, right? "It was one extra day. I didn't think you'd mind. My eldest sister has a new baby. The smiling-est thing you've ever seen. Four months old. I nearly stuck her in my bag and brought her with me. I couldn't leave so soon when there were babies."

Beast lapped weakly at the water in her hands, his eyes shut, as if merely moving his tongue was exhausting.

"My father begged me to stay," she said, desperate for him to understand. "He's gotten so old since I last saw him. I was afraid he'd be dead before I got leave for another visit."

Now Beast lay dying, and all she could do was bring sips of water. There had to be a better way to help him.

Her eyes fell on the cloak and inspiration struck. She gathered it up in deep blue folds, carried it to the bank of the stream and dunked it beneath the water. She fumbled it, dripping, into a ball against her chest, then staggered back to where Beast lay and squeezed as much water as she could over his body.

That woke him up. All his limbs jolted and his eyes opened wide.

"Good," she said with triumph, mercilessly squeezing more water from the saturated cloak. "You wake up and pull yourself together."

She squeezed the last of the water onto his tongue, then carried the cloak back to the river, shouting back to him, "You're the only dog-tiger-monkey-man thing in existence, you know. If you die, you'll be responsible for the extinction of an entire race, and you don't want that on your conscience, do you?"

She dunked the cloak back in the stream, shivering from more than the cold shock of the water. I don't want it on mine.

What if this didn't work? What if he died? Would she be set free? Could she even call such a life freedom? What would her life be without his morning grumbling and his terrible jokes? Who would listen to her ramble about the books she never finished? Or try the bread recipes she burned? How could her life have any joy, without him there to ramble through the gardens with her, or trounce her at billiards, or put up new curtains in her room, or talk about...well, everything, in a way she could with no one else?

It didn't matter because he wouldn't die. She couldn't let him.

But there were things she had to tell him.

She hefted the water-soaked cloth, struggling to gather it in her arms. "You know what I decided, in that extra day at home? It wasn't home anymore. Oh, it's nice. My family's there. Good memories. But I was homesick that fourth day. For the palace. For you." She gathered a heavy fold of the cloak against her chest while another one slipped from her grasp. "It seems that I love you. And the very next time you propose, I plan to marry you."

If the situation hadn't been so desperate, Beatrice would have looked back to see Beast's reaction. After she’d refused him five-hundred and twenty-eight times, her acceptance would be a shock. It had shocked her, that night at home, to realize how much she missed the nightly proposals, and how slim her reasons for refusal were getting.

Behind her, Beast said weakly. "You'll...marry me?"

The cloak slipped from Beatrice's arms, and she cursed under her breath. "Yes, you overgrown throw rug, but first you have to live long enough to do it."

That was unfair. He deserved an explanation. She reached under the water for the cloak, but the current pulled bits of it just beyond her grasp. "You’re as much a prisoner here as I am, so I can’t blame you for that anymore. Your face is kind of endearing, now that I’m used to it. And marriage doesn’t seem so terrible now, not if it’s with you. You’re much smarter and kinder and more fun than any of the human-looking men I know. And you’re much more patient with my temper and my tongue.”

"Beatrice."

Beast's voice, filled with awe, sounded stronger. The dousing must have done him good.

She sprawled across the bank and flailed an arm beneath the water, catching a corner of the cloak. "You’re too good of a man inside to really be a beast. You said once you had human parents, didn't you?"

"Beatrice."

The cloak slipped away again. She stuck her arm in the current, almost up to the shoulder, and snapped, "Will you quit distracting me?"

At last, she snagged one edge in her left hand and continued, "Not that I mind if you naturally look like that. You can’t help the way you were born. But have you ever considered that it could be an enchantment? Maybe we could find a way to break it, after we’re married.”

"Beatrice, look at me."

Beatrice was offended at the hint of laughter in Beast's voice. Enchantment wasn't a completely ridiculous idea, not in a place like this.

"I know what you look like," she snapped. She rose to her knees and pulled the wet cloak halfway out of the water. "Doesn't mean you always looked like that. Maybe you're enchanted and just forgot about it."

A heavy hand gripped her shoulder. A human hand. A male hand.

Beatrice shrieked and pushed the hand away, scrambling backward along the bank like a crab. A tall, olive-skinned, dark-haired man stood over her, grinning like a madman.

Beatrice glanced wildly around. How had he gotten here? Had he come from the forest? He looked rough enough, wearing nothing but a long white nightshirt. Someone's escaped lunatic relative? Or maybe he was the true master of this place, the one who'd made all those maddening rules.

She looked to Beast for answers--except that Beast was nowhere in sight. No sign of him save the matted grass where he'd been laying a minute ago. Beast had been weak. Vulnerable. Had this stranger finished him off? Perhaps she’d run out of time, and the rules of this place had dissolved what was left of him.

She reached further up the bank and seized a fallen branch with a thick shaft and a spray of branching twigs. Madman or mad fairy, she wouldn't go down without a fight. She hefted her weapon, pitiful as it was, with all the menace she could muster in her small form. "Stay back!"

The stranger backed away, hands held protectively before him, but his eyes sparkled with laughter. "Beatrice, don't you recognize me?"

There was something familiar in his voice, which might explain how he knew her name. Cautiously, she rose, the branch still held protectively before her, to examine him more closely. Recognition flashed like a lightning bolt. "The narcissist!"

The stranger gaped. "Excuse me?"

Beatrice examined the features. She was right. She was sure of it. She'd know those green eyes and sharp cheekbones anywhere. The clothes were different and the hair was longer, but the face was identical. "The man with all the portraits!"

How she and Beast had laughed over those portraits, which seemed to haunt every corner of the palace, far outnumbering any other faces in the artwork. The sitter could be seen wearing military dress in the foyer, riding clothes in the library, and evening dress in the ballroom. He had posed in summer, winter, and spring, and had been painted with hunting dogs in autumn. A child version of him had even posed, sulking, next to a standing globe in a portrait hung in a back hallway. She had privately dubbed the subject a narcissist–a man with so many portraits was far too in love with his own face.

Now the vast array of portraits made sense. He was the master of the castle, maker of the magical rules, come to deal with her now that Beast was...no, he wasn't dead.

She brandished the branch again. "What did you do with Beast?"

"Nothing. You--"

She whacked him with the branch. "I did not kill him!"

He pushed the twigs out of his face and backed away. "Beatrice, my love, please!"

She whacked him in the stomach for that one. "I am not your love."

"Then why," he gasped, doubled over and wheezing, "did you just agree to marry me?"

Beatrice froze. What did he mean? Had he overheard...?

She was missing something here.

She discarded her theories and looked at the evidence afresh. Beast dying. Beast missing. Portrait man here. Wearing shirt a lot like Beast's that was far too big for him. Talking, now that she thought of it, in a voice remarkably similar to her Beast’s.

She threw the branch aside. "I am the biggest idiot alive!"

The man caught his breath and stood upright, grinning ear to ear. Even his smile looked a bit like Beast's. "I'd agree," he said, in Beast's velvet, teasing tones, "except that I'm still living."

Beatrice leaped toward him, flung her arms around his neck, and buried her face in his shoulder. He smelled of sweat and mud and rotting fur. She’d never smelled anything sweeter. "I told you that you were enchanted."

Beatrice sat with her Beast on the riverbank as the sun sank toward the horizon. The enchanted high summer had given way to the mellow autumn of the outside world. A castle full of servants, now visible, roamed the grounds behind them, greeting each other with joy as they celebrated the end of the enchantment, but Beatrice had yet to move from the river’s edge. She had too much to discuss with her prince.

Her prince. She still couldn't quite wrap her head around it. His Royal Highness Prince Matteo Adriano Edmondo Nicolo, twelfth son of King Inocenzo of Bellarosa, had rejected a fairy’s marriage proposal, and consequently found himself cursed into the form of a beast until a woman accepted his hand in marriage.

“Was that all it took?” Beatrice exclaimed. “You could have told me sooner!”

Matteo laughed. “It wouldn’t have been much of a curse if I could have told you.”

“You could have hinted!”

“Daily marriage proposals weren’t hint enough?”

She laughed, acknowledging his point. “What a pair we make–a girl too dense to accept a prince’s proposal and a prince obnoxiously in love with his own beautiful face.”

Matteo raised one of his perfect dark brows. “Why do you insist I’m vain?”

“Your royal highness, no one needs that many portraits of himself.”

He threw his hands up in feigned distress. “I’m royal! My mother commissioned them!”

“You didn’t need to display them so ostentatiously.”

“You think I had a choice?” His manner suddenly became subdued. “The fae arranged that. Made it impossible to forget what I’d lost.”

Beatrice took his human hand in hers. “I’m sorry I delayed so long.”

He pulled her into an embrace. “I’d say you were right on time.”

Her stomach twisted with guilt. She hadn’t been on time.

She rested her head on his shoulder, still barely able to believe he was alive and well. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the mental image of his dying beastly form. “What if I hadn’t accepted?” she asked. “Would you truly have died?”

She felt the rumble of his answer in her own chest. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Under the terms of the curse, I would remain a beast until you accepted my hand in marriage, or until you left and doomed me to death.”

She looked up and gaped at him in amazement. “And yet you let me leave.”

“I wouldn’t die immediately,” Matteo said, “and I couldn’t deny you the chance for happiness. So long as you returned before three days were over, neither of us would come to harm.”

Despite the risk to himself, he had taken the chance. He had trusted her.

And she’d returned after four days.

“I nearly killed you,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

“I still should have come back when I promised.”

He ran his thumb along her face. “Under the circumstances,” he said with a laugh. “I think I can forgive you for being a single day late.”

She put her hands and his shoulders and met his gaze straight-on. “You really are far too forgiving.”

“You saved me from my curse! I’d be worse than a beast if I refused to forgive you after that.”

He’d left her such an easy opening. She couldn’t resist the chance to tease him. “You’re worse than a beast now, your highness. You’re not nearly so lovable without the tail."

He became strangely subdued at that.

“Beatrice,” he said at last. “Do you truly wish to marry me?”

A natural question, perhaps, given her number of refusals. But she really wished he’d quit asking. "Of course I do. It broke your curse. What more proof do you need?"

He looked down, suddenly shy and earnest as a schoolboy. "Do you still wish it? You agreed to marry a beast, not a prince with too many portraits."

Beatrice laughed at that. She couldn’t help it. “How shallow do you think I am? If I agreed to marry you as a beast, I'm certainly not going to refuse you just because you have a little less fur."

His face eased. She was glad. She'd seen him in enough distress today.

Another thought struck her. "Did you mean it? Do you really wish to marry me, or did you just propose to get your pretty face back?"

Matteo threw back his head and laughed. "Beatrice, darling, I've loved you since the day you tied a knot in my tail for defeating you at billiards.”

Beatrice grinned, the last of her doubts flying away. "Then it’s settled. I'll marry you, you'll marry me, we both love each other. Does that sound right?"

Matteo pulled her in for a kiss. "That sounds like an excellent plan."

When they pulled apart, a cool wind came off of the river, and Beatrice shivered.

"I wish I had a cloak to offer you, but someone threw mine in the creek," Matteo said.

"You're terrible!" Beatrice said, but she accepted his arm and his escort back toward the palace.

As they crossed the south lawn, Beatrice said, "You know, I'll have to go back to my father's soon. Someone has to tell my family about the wedding."

Matteo nodded. "Of course. Under one condition."

She pulled away and looked up at him in exaggerated disgust. "More rules? I thought we were done with all that."

He waved a hand to dismiss her protests. "I think you'll find these conditions acceptable." He numbered his points on his fingers. "You may return if I can accompany you. And this time, you can stay as long as you like."

"That's two conditions."

"Do you object?"

Beatrice took his arm and continued walking toward the lighted palace. It was good to be home. "Not at all."