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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 4 months ago

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could you please do a Beauty and the Beast au with Jake and Cassie, I love your content!

The day he came of age he went forth, as all younger sons must, to seek his fortune. For his parents had no other heir, his only brother having disappeared many years before.

They sent him with what they could, his parents. A few days' meat, wrapped in preserving cloth. A sturdy bow and a hunting knife. The warmest fur-lined cloak they owned. "Return to us," they told him, "make your fortune and return."

The younger son walked, all that day and into the night. He knew this forest well, having lived at its edge all his life. But as he continued on, always with the sun at his back in the morning and ahead in the evening, the trees grew dense around him. Their trunks were so thick around that three men holding hands could not have encircled one, and their topmost branches blotted out the sun. Many days he walked. Many days he ate and shot. Many days he waited for his eyes to grow used to deeper darkness and deeper still, and then for many days he walked on.

One morning, as the days grew warm and the first spring roses unfurled, he awoke to a howl of pain echoing from somewhere far in the distance.

Hand on his knife, cloak drawn back, the younger son moved toward the sound. It was strange, the sort of howl he had never heard before despite living near these woods his entire life. As he drew closer he at last understood why: it lacked all harmony, and a single voice on the wind. As if a jackal were out there, and yet speaking with the voice of a much larger dog.

When at last he found the wolf, he found her caught in a snare.

The ropes were drawn tight around the beast's legs and snout, tying her to the ground and to the surrounding trees. It was like no snare the younger son had ever seen, far too many knots and anchors for any single animal. The wolf howled hoarse and heaving in her despair.

Just for a moment as he looked upon her, the younger son thought of his hunting knife, and of his empty satchel. Then he looked not to the wolf but to the forest around, and he felt unease dance across his skin. "Where is your pack?" he asked aloud.

The wolf lifted her head to look at him. "Where is yours?" she answered, in his tongue.

Again they stared, looking each other over with care.

"We have a saying, among men," the younger son said. "About wolves who are alone. A lone wolf is a dead wolf, we believe."

"We have a saying about men who are alone," the wolf said. "That a man alone is easy prey."

"I come to seek my treasure," the younger son said. "For my family has no other way to provide for me. What brought you so far from your kin?"

"I know of a treasure," the wolf said. "For the taking, for any man bold enough to take it. Among the enchanters far to the north. The journey is far, but the reward is great if you can brave the cold. It is said the maker of puppets will grant a boon to any man brave and diligent and clever enough to reach his inner hall."

The younger son took off his cloak, and showed her that he wore the skin of a great striped cat from the lands on the edge of the world, one who stalked through snows deep enough to bury a man alive and yet never lost strength. It had been passed through his family for many generations, its origin lost to time, but he knew that it would shelter him through the long nights to come.

"Very well," the wolf said. "Let us go, then."

He cut her loose, and together they walked the forest. She was a skilled hunter despite being alone, returning with rabbits and squirrels. In return he dug them roots and used nimble fingers to remove blackberries from the vine once he had paid the price in blood for such sweetness. They slept each night curled beneath his cloak of sunset and shadow-colored fur, and they woke each morning to put the dawn at their right and journey on.

"What is your name?" she asked him, one night as they sat before the fire feasting upon a deer they'd worked as one to kill.

The younger son looked at the wolf, their eyes lit gold from the fire. "How do I know that you are not fairy folk?" he asked. "For I know of no other wolves who speak men's words."

The wolf considered. "Cassie," she said. "My parents call me Cassandra, but my true name is Cassie."

If she was fair folk, then she would not be able to lie. And it would be a dangerous thing indeed, to give a human her true name. "My parents call me Jacob," the younger son said, bowing low despite his blood-sticky hands. "But my true name is Jake. What story underlies your name? An odd name indeed, for a wolf."

"It's an old story, where I'm from," Cassie said. "Of one who sees far, but cannot speak of the truths she sees. She knows of what's to come, but she is the only one who does, and thus even if she did speak such truths she would be dismissed as a liar. A strange name, not one oft-chosen."

"What truths do you know, Madam Wolf?" the younger son asked.

"That the roses are beautiful tonight," the wolf said.

Strange words, for there were no roses visible around them. But the younger son remembered the power of her nose, and contrary to her name chose to believe her. The beauty she spoke of must be one beyond human senses.

"Jacob," she said. "Jake. What story explains your name?"

"A man saved my ancestor's life. He was called Jacob, and thus so am I." He did not ask the wolf the question upon his tongue that night, nor all the next day.

They spoke in those following days of the younger son's hopes for his parents, once he had enough money of his own to make them proud. They spoke of the wolf's skill with hunting, and the things she heard through the trees that no mere human would. They did not speak of the past.

A figure stepped into the road before them, shrouded and cloaked. The younger son nonetheless recognized his stride, and moved toward him straight away with open arms and open smile. "My brother!" he said. "It has been too long. We thought you lost."

The figure did not speak, only drew his bow.

The first arrow whispered past the wolf's left ear, even as the younger son cried out in protest. The second struck solidly into her shoulder.

"Stop!" the younger son cried once more. "Don't hurt her!"

In response, the figure turned and fired on him as well.

The younger son ran forward even as the arrow pierced the flesh of his arm, and tore through. "Stop!" he called again, and "Please!" to no avail. Desperately he drew his knife, and — when the figure notched another arrow and drew back to fire at the wolf — the younger son drove his blade through flesh and lung.

A terrible silence filled the glade, when at last only two bodies breathed there.

"Jake?" the wolf dared to ask, once her breathing had slowed.

The man stared down at the familiar face revealed by the cloak's fall, pointed toward a sky that now gave no light to those eyes. "This was not my brother," he said. "It could not have been. Some fairy trick, some illusion."

The wolf looked at the figure, scented its clothes. She considered for a span: he had saved her life. "Yes," she told her companion, her gaze on the sky. "It must have been."

When the sun began to lower between the trees, they were forced to walk on. They built a small fire far enough from the glade that they could not longer see the crumpled form, and the wolf explained to the man how to tend their hurts. Under her guidance he drew out the arrow from her flesh, then packed both their wounds with a paste of leaves that would draw out infection before binding them with tight linens to make the skin heal smooth.

"You know a great deal of medicine, for a wolf," the man said as he boiled willowbark to a tea, at her instruction.

She heard the question that had lingered in his heart, for all that his tongue was too kind to give it voice. He saved her life, at great personal cost. "I was not born a wolf," she confessed. "I was as human as you, until three days before the day that you found me. That was no mere trap which held me, but the remains of a spell to bind me in this form. I committed a great transgression, and now I am exiled in this shape until..." She met the man's eyes, which were steadfast and kind. "Until the end of my life," she lied.

"What could you have possibly done to deserve such a fate?" the man asked. "For you are selfless and wise, Madam Wolf."

"Perhaps too selfless," the wolf said bitterly. "I gave shelter in my home, to one I should have turned away. I was fooled by appearances, by the surface seeming of innocence and candor, and thus I am cursed to look like that which I am not."

"Giving shelter is no great sin," the man said. "Quite the opposite, where I am from."

"She was a slaver."

The man's cheek grew pale, but he did not speak.

"The child with her was not her daughter, but one she had kidnapped to replace with a changeling. Concern for the child fettered my eyes, so that I let them pass freely through our lands." The wolf stared into the fire, ears flat to her head. "The slaver claimed that she had come to regret what she had done, and that she was on her way to return the child to its family. I chose to believe her, for all that she had no proof. And for that, I am to live out my days as you see me. A hideous beast, human no more."

The man knelt on the ground before her, so that they might look eye to eye. "There is beauty in your poultices, I find," he said. "There was beauty in the steadfastness you showed in joining me on my quest. There is, I believe, even a beauty to be found in choosing the care of a child over revenge on one's enemies."

The wolf scented the wind, as she considered his words. "The days grow shorter once more," she said. "Soon only the marigolds will bloom."

They slept that night underneath his warm sunset cloak, and did not look back as they walked on the following day. That day was indeed shorter than the one before, the spheres turning on and the blackberries turning forth smaller fruit.

Many days on, the man shot a rabbit as the sun rose, for meat was more precious with each passing day. But as he drew near to his quarry, a hawk dropped from the sky and sank talons through the neck of the wounded creature, killing it in a trice. The hawk tossed the arrow aside, tearing into the open flesh underneath.

Hawk was no chicken, but game was scarce. The man nocked a second arrow, and took aim.

"Wait!" a voice rang out. And despite all that had happened these past weeks, the man's heart raced in surprise as he understood it was the bird who spoke to him. "I should not have stolen your prize," the hawk said. "But we hunger too, for meat above all."

Slowly the man lowered his bow. The wolf ran to his side, her eyes upon the hawk as well. "Sir Hawk," the man said, "are you also a human under a curse? If it is so, then do you know how such a curse might be broken?"

"He is no human." The figure who stepped out from the trees then looked human enough, but the light behind his eyes had a sharpness that drew up the hair on the wolf's hackles. "We are the Wild Hunt. You are a curiosity, little man." A smirk danced at the corner of his mouth as he spoke.

"I answer to Jake, and she to Cassie," the man said, before the wolf could stop him. For he had not heard tell of the Hunt. "What are your names?"

A third creature stepped forth then, this one with no resemblance at all to human or hawk or any other beast the man had ever heard of. An elf, perhaps, if an elf could also be a blueberry and a scythe and a deer with the eyes of a snail. "It would please me," the elfen creature said, "to answer to Ax."

"Tobias," the being with the light behind his eyes said, tilting his head at the bird, "means 'one who speaks with angels' in your human legends, does it not? And what are angels but wings and eyes? As for me..." He smiled more, behind the dark veil of his hair. "Marco, I shall call myself. As they say, you are what you eat."

The man did not drop his bow, and the wood drew tight under his hands. He did not ask why the wolf's teeth showed between her lips, not where the Wild Hunt could hear, but he did not fail to notice.

"Dine with us," said the one called Ax. "You provided the meat, thus it is only fair."

"We eat only that which we provided," Cassie said. "Thus, it is only fair."

More creatures drew around, as the man made fire and drew water to stew the rabbit over the coals. Some were from the human legends: tunnel-makers, tree-herders, three-fingered apes. Some looked like the one called Ax, some like nothing more than tiny soft fish. Some, most frighteningly of all, looked as human as the smiling being that called itself Marco. One dropped herbs into the stewpot, another a rasher of fat to season the meat. Roots went into the pot, and fragrant grasses. Soon the smell grew so delicious that it became impossible to think of anything else.

"You are too kind," the wolf said, when Marco handed a bowl her way. Her mouth watered, but she swallowed hard. "We have just eaten a large meal, and could not take another bite. Not one single crumb. Neither of us could have so much as a drop of broth, for we are fit to burst."

Jake stared at her in surprise, for they'd had only bitter lichens to chew for nearly three days. But he kept his mouth shut, and he did not reach for the proffered bowl.

"You refuse our gift?" the one called Marco said. His smile remained, but so did the light in his eyes. "Our food will not suffice to sate you?"

"You have showed us great kindness already," Cassie said. "We would not want to grow greedy."

"There was a frost last night, Madam Wolf." Marco's smile grew. "Did you know that? The roses are all dead."

These words struck her like a blow, Jake could see, for all that he knew not why. Cassie drew into herself, ears flat and tail stiff, but her next words came out clear. "I care little for roses," she said, staring the fae creature in the eye. "Though their scent is sweet, their flesh does not nourish me. And I prefer not to bleed for no reason. Far better to plant cabbages, far better to harvest peas. Give me ordinary and serviceable flowers, not beautiful and cruel."

"You asked my friend about curses," the one called Marco said, looking now to Jake. "If you will not take our food, let me give you a different gift: the way to break the curse that transforms a human to a beast."

Jake knew to be wary, but his arms betrayed him in leaning him closer to hear every word and his heart betrayed him by growing faster in his breast.

"A human must swear fealty to the cursed one forever," Marco said. "This human must abandon the family of their birth and dwell forever in the home of the afflicted, never once returning to the hearth of their youth. The human must swear an oath to obey the afflicted in all things, to honor their every whim, and to love them from the depths of their heart. That, Sir Human, is the way to break the curse."

"But this is wonderful news!" the man cried, turning to his companion. "I will gladly swear such an oath." The joy died from his voice as her tail lowered still further, its plume trailing the ground.

"One thing more," Marco continued. "The oath must be sworn before the last petal falls on the last rose of summer. Otherwise, the curse takes hold forever. But then, your companion would have known all this already."

Jake had seen as much already, from Cassie's demeanor and the soft whine of her breath. "Cassie," he whispered, caring not who heard, "Why did you not tell me? I would have sworn this oath, abandoned my family, obeyed you and loved you forever."

"Such a thing would be monstrous," Cassie told him. "And you are kind. Your family cares for you, and they depend upon you. I do not want a bondsman or catamite, and I will not become a slaver to save my own skin. Wolves are swift and strong, hearing much and scenting more. I chose, my beloved friend, and I do not regret my choice."

The man stood, then. He bowed deeply to each person around the fire. Side-by-side he and the wolf walked away from the beautiful and bountiful fete. They'd walked only the span of the clearing when a voice spoke his name. His full name, the name he had not given.

His kinswoman stood there, when he turned to find the voice. The kinswoman he had long since given up as dead, for she had gone into battle and never returned.

"There is another way to save your beloved," she told the man. "Eat of their food. Drink of their wine. Thus you will be young forever, and both of you as beautiful as the dawn."

She spoke truly. There was no chance of a lie, for she was one of the fae now. And she was beautiful, the most beautiful woman either the wolf or the man had ever seen. Forever she would be young. Forever she would hunt, and fight, and dance. Never would she see home again. Never would she leave the circle of the Hunt.

"Be well," the man told his kinswoman. "I will speak of you, when I return home. You have not been forgotten, nor will you be."

Then he embraced her, before he and the wolf walked on.

The following night the frost came again. What few flowers may have remained curled up their leaves, and bare bulbs littered the bushes. The man and the wolf spoke little, and only of trivial concerns.

At last they came to the gates of the enchanters' castle. The guard who stood outside had the seeming of a child with wide eyes and missing teeth, though the man knew enough by now not to trust such things. "Why do you seek to enter?" the guard asked.

"I seek treasure," the man said. "I will not be turned away."

"You will die if you enter," the guard said. "Most men do."

The man straightened his spine. "I will not be turned away."

"And you?" the guard asked, looking to the wolf.

"I am no man," she said. "And I seek to enter for love."

The guard stood aside, then. "There will be three trials. If you turn back, you may. If you go on, you die. If you go on and you do not die, you may ask our leader for a boon."

The first trial lay before them, a dark cavern. Together they walked into the dark. The air grew cold around them, and colder still. The man drew his cloak around himself and his companion, and as one creature with six legs they crept onward.

No speck of light was visible no matter where they looked, no tiny glimmer to relieve the blackness. It mattered not. They followed her nose, and onward they went. The cave continued until they were sore of foot and trembling in every limb, but they dared not stop to rest in this cold. The cave continued until his eyes conjured phantom sights and her ears drew forth imagined sounds, but they drew closer still to each other's warmth and walked ever forward. The cave continued until thirst swelled his tongue and cracked her nose, but they staggered onward.

At last it ended in a lush garden, trees dripping with fruits. A mark of their trust, that the man looked to the wolf and waited for her nod before he tore loose a soft sunrise-pink orb and bit into its flesh. Together they supped on the fruits, leaving a trail of stones behind them as they went.

The second trial sprawled before them at the far side of the courtyard. The pile of grains was nearly the height of the man's shoulder and would have taken half a day to walk across, each one as golden as the gold that locked the door they would need to go on. Once again Cassie's nose served them well, as did Jake's clever fingers. Though it took all that day and into the night, they found a gleam of real gold amidst the grains.

One part of a key revealed itself. One part, of perhaps a dozen, from the look of the lock.

They started at each other in new knowing, amidst the tiny fragment on the ground between them. "Perhaps it is for the best," the man said after a time, "that you have no time limit awaiting you anymore."

Despite her sore feet and weary heart, the wolf laughed with him. Then they set to their task.

The sun rose on their search, and it set once more. Twelve winter-short days they sorted grain, twelve winter-long nights they drew forth fragments of the key. From sunup to sundown they searched, and when the light failed they went on by touch. But the time passed lightly, for all the while they spoke to each other of all they had seen on their journey there and all they hoped to see on their way home.

When at last all the pieces fit into one whole, they constructed the necessary device and placed it into the lock. With a twist, the man unlatched the door and let them forth into the courtyard beyond.

The third trial fell upon them like a thunderclap. The guardian was human-shaped but fought like no human, arms around the man's throat, legs around his chest, strong as an entire team of oxen. The man wrestled and fought, outmatched but not beaten, even as the guardian drove him to the ground and the wolf sought any tender place for teeth or claws.

The man cried out in pain, exactly once, as the guardian's hand landed upon his hip and the joint was wrenched forth from its socket. His eyes met those of the wolf, through the cage of the guardian's arms, and once again new knowledge passed between them.

Cassie ran on, leaving him. Heart-heavy but sure of foot, she ran on. The far portcullis was aloft, and she passed through the final door to confront the head enchanter who lay beyond.

There was a smile on the puppeteer's face, when she burst forth into his antechamber. He was many, and he was all alone. He had the same eyes as the guard at the door. "Very well," he said. "You have proven you are brave enough to face the unknown, diligent enough to work beyond weariness, and clever enough to win against a stronger foe. Thus you will use a boon well, if I give it to you. What boon would you have?"

"For my companion to be brought to this room and given his wish," the wolf answered, "and for him to be hale and healed when he arrives."

The puppeteer laughed. "Clever indeed, my little friend. It shall be done."

And the man stood among them, pale with surprise but unharmed. "Once again you have saved my life," he told the wolf.

"Once again you have saved mine," she told the man.

Kneeling before the puppeteer, the man spoke his wish aloud.

Thus she was transformed, into a maiden strong of arm and callused of skin. And the younger son took her hand, and thus with his fortune did he at last return home.

#animorphs #beauty and the beast #long post #animorphs au #beauty and the beast au #jake berenson #cassie animorphs #cake #hope op doesn't mind i borrowed from other celtic and judeochristian and classical myths beyond the original fairy tale #and that i couldn't get myself to use the original ending with its Unfortunate Implications through a modern feminist lens #plus it'd be wildly out of character for cassie to lock jake into a bargain to save herself

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jupiter-letters · 1 year ago

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Dating Number 4/ Klaus Hargreeves would include☂️👻:

Fem! or GN! Reader TW: Brief mentions of addiction

A/N: I started Umbrella Academy a week ago and I’m obsessed, I’m almost done with season 3 and I can’t wait for season 4. I’d managed to fall in love with Robert Sheehan all over again and all that love has to go somewhere so here it is.

Waking up to little peppered kisses on your back and up your torso. If you don’t open your eyes he’ll just start blowing raspberries into your neck and on your face. Once he hears you laughing he’ll stop and flip you over. He likes being the first thing you see when you wake up. Some days are a little more peaceful and less silly, you wake to see him still asleep. A mess of curls and smudged glitter eyeshadow is the first thing you see. He’s at such peace and the most still you’ll ever see him.

Putting makeup on each other, whether it’s going out or just playing around with new looks it doesn’t matter. Being able to experiment with new colors and combinations with each other is so much fun. On date nights you’ll pick outfits for each other, sometimes even just wearing each other’s clothes. Doing things like this with him leads to doing most things together.

Why have him do things when you can do it for him? Or even with him? He loves having you wash his hair. Showers, baths? Of course we have to both be in there at the same time! Klaus is so touch starved any reason to spend time together he’ll take it,an added bonus is your company keeps the spirits away.

You’re always in close proximity to each other, so your skin is always touching. Klaus just can’t get enough, physical touch becomes his middle name. He’s a natural affectionate person but just having you near is very grounding for him.

He’ll draw on you with little glitter pens he carries in his pocket, he likes to call you his “canvas and his muse.” Even without the pens he’ll trace random shapes and words onto your arm or your back when you both lie in bed. Klaus also likes to play with your fingers when he’s bored.

Kissing!! He’s such a fiend for kissing my god, after that first kiss he’s finished. He always says he wants just one but it ends up escalating to a full on make out sesh. Doesn’t matter if you’re public or not you look too good it’d be a crime not to kiss you. Klaus doesn’t really give a damn about public embarrassment, if you wanted him to he’d run through central park naked, he would.

Once he knows you’re ok with all the random bursts of affection he really piles it on. Neck kisses, shoulder kisses, nose kisses, not one day goes by where he doesn’t kiss you. He kisses like he wants to devour you, if he wasn’t able to kiss you that’d be hell on Earth. If you’re a fan of random kisses at the most inappropriate times he’s a professional. You’re driving, he’s gonna make out with you. Out shopping, kissing! Right now! Doctor’s appointment? Kisses under your jaw in the waiting room, he can’t help it, he's bored.

Helping him get clean, you and Ben have been pretty good influences in his life. Trying to keep him on the straight and narrow for the sake of his health. He wants to be present for you, he wants to be able to remember the things you do together. You help him find fun things to do without getting drugs involved. Taking your time and being patient with him means the world to him. He loves his siblings but they aren’t the best at helping him with it. They do try a little harder when you come around seeing how serious you are about helping him. You stay awake with him when his nightmares get too bad or when the withdrawal is really wearing him down. If it’s the ghosts that are bothering him you just tell them to piss off.(he really appreciates that)

Klaus begins to teach himself new skills to help you out around the house, cooking, cleaning you name it. He doesn’t do it very well but you appreciate the effort anyway. Chores become another activity for you both to do. He’ll even indulge in some of your hobbies just for the fun of it.

Tattoos! He gets something on his wrist that reminds him of you, he can’t wait to show you too. If you get one related to him, god forbid a little number 4 on you he’ll cry. He does eventually tell you about the rest of his journey in Vietnam and Dave. Klaus wants to be sure you know he won’t compare you to him, He’ll always love Dave but he doesn’t love you any less. He’ll get really shy if you kiss his hand tattoos, there aren’t a lot of ways to fluster him so that’s a good one.

Being surrounded by death and destruction most of his life really makes him appreciate what you have. The way you indulge in his antics and impulses makes Klaus feel so seen. You don’t feel real to him sometimes; late at night he’ll just lay his head on your chest and listen to your heart beating.

When some crazy new developments or drama happens in his family you’re first to know. Luther tells him something very personal and secret and 15 mins later he’s calling you on the mansion’s phone.

Luther: “This stays between us Klaus I mean it…” Klaus: “Of course Lulu I wouldn’t dream of telling anyone you’re dirty little secret” A few moments later… Klaus: “Babe you’ll never believe what Luther just told me!”

He’ll always be looking at you, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing you have his full attention. Klaus will just be gazing at you lovingly while five is trying to talk to him, eventually he’ll just ignore him and go to talk to you. You're his favorite person to talk to; he never gets bored with you.

Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you think. Please like or reblog if you like my stuff.

#~⋆｡°tales from beyond #the umbrella academy x reader #klaus hargreeves #robert sheehan #robert sheehan x reader #tua x reader #tua imagines #the umbrella academy imagine #klaus hargreeves x reader

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