[fanfic] KHR - Beauty and the Beast (10069)
Title: Beauty and the Beast (A spin on the Disney fairytale)
Characters/Pairing: Byakuran/Mukuro (10069)
Rating: G/PG (worksafe)
Summary: Love is fickle.
Warnings? AU; May contain implied bestiality which I know fangirls will find even though it has nothing of the sort.
A/N: And so here is my crappy contribution to send a friend off to sleep which I never did finish that night, but have completed here for your viewing or puking pleasure. If it makes little sense or feels fragmented, it's because I wrote it on the spot with little refinement afterwards.
therainshark also posted a contribution: here.
...Well. Enjoy. I apologise because I have khrfest commitments right now.
Once upon a time, there lived a handsome prince in a mansion built on a bluff overlooking the Italian sea. His name was Byakuran, and he was infamous for his volatile temper despite his seemingly sweet disposition. One night he held a grand ball to which he invited all those who mattered in high-class Italian society. The ball was a great success (because the powerful, wealthy Byakuran had yet to lose his temper once that night).
Everything was proceeding smoothly...until there came a sonorous knock on the heavy oak doors.
Byakuran, as master of the house, went to open them. By now, a storm had brewed without the knowledge of those warm and comfortable inside, and there in the midst of the thunder, lightning and sheeting rain stood a hooded figure. This cloaked figure was visibly shivering and in a pitiful voice, croaked, "Please, sir, have mercy on a poor traveller. I have naught to give but this rose in exchange for your kindness."
Byakuran had yet to be known for his charity and sneered at the offering. "I don't need a rose. Leave now, you wretched thing." And with that, he slammed the doors shut.
It was the wrong thing to do, for the traveller was in fact a powerful deity in disguise - a deity known as Viper for the poison she dripped in men's ears. She had come to test Byakuran's heart and he had refused her shelter. Now a radiant light burst into existence inside the grand ballroom where he and his guests were gathered and the deity proclaimed:
"Your heart is cold and empty of compassion." Her voice rang out strongly, forcing all to cower except for Byakuran, despite his bearing the brunt of her fury.
"You shall be forever despised and unloved, bearing the visage of a beast until one comes who can melt the ice in your heart." As she spoke a transformation was taking place in Byakuran. He was no longer dark and handsome: his hair turned a pure white and his body grew disfigured, becoming what was reflected in his soul - an abhorrent beast. A hulking, monstrous white wolf.
At his howl of outrage and anguish the guests fled, taking with them tales of what had transpired that stormy night. As tales did, they grew distorted and time stripped them of what truth they had. The mansion grew decrepit and was forgotten by the townsfolk, who lived a peaceful life on the fringes of the coast with the shadow of the old, desolate mansion looming over them.
Many years later, a youth growing up in the village (now a lively town) had reached the prime of his life. Preparations were underway for the yearly celebration of those who had reached adulthood and it was the responsibility of Mukuro (for that is the name of this youth) to collect and bring back ample firewood for the night's feast. Taking his sometimes-reliable horse, Cavallone, and his always-reliable cart, he trundled off into the woods with a sharpened axe resting on the seat beside him.
In his search for dead trees to cut, he somehow found himself lost. As he paused at a junction to decide his way, a chorus of howls from behind him startled his horse into motion and they and the cart attached fled down one misty path.
Struggling to control his horse, one of the cart's wheels hit a large stone and splintered, throwing Mukuro from the driver's seat to land in a thicket while the quadruped galloped away, eyes rolling in terror with the cart bouncing noisily behind. They were swallowed by the mist and soon all became silent.
Cursing, he got to his feet, brushing himself down and looking around to regain his bearings. The howling had ceased but the slightest cracking of a branch set his nerves on edge. He was sure he could feel the eyes of one of the beasts upon him as he collected his axe from where it had fallen and started after his troublesome horse.
Mukuro soon came across the battered cart, broken beyond repair. Cavallone was nowhere to be seen. He chanced a call out into the thickening mist, only to be greeted with a low growl. Out stalked a large, albino wolf with the mist eddying about its paws and shimmering fur. Baleful amethyst eyes regarded him hungrily.
The youth was, naturally, eager to get as far away from this monster as he could. He vaguely recalled stories of such a beast terrifying the village in times past but had dismissed them as tales to frighten children to sleep.
Before he could take two steps from the place the wolf leapt, knocking him to the ground and there keeping him, heavy paws weighing down his chest. Mukuro fought as best he could, trying to kick the beast away but the wolf would not be deterred. Snarling in pain, its claws accidentally left bloody scratches down one arm in the struggle. The youth cried out in pain and that caused the wolf to rear back in surprise, freeing Mukuro and allowing him to scramble up with axe in hand.
But not wanting the village to which this boy surely belonged to come after it in vengeance, the wolf's jaws clamped around Mukuro's leg tightly, bringing him down and dragging him to its den.
The youth was in agony the whole way, yelling and screaming for help as his blood left a dark smear on the long grass. His reach could not extend so far that the axe could cut the wolf's muzzle, so he threw it. The wolf's mauling of him meant it fell far from its target and, now deprived of a weapon, could only resort to his voice. It soon grew hoarse with none to hear and the wolf had soon managed to confine the boy in its lair. A loud growl and a snapping of its jaws inches from Mukuro's fair face quickly shut him up before the snowy predator's eyes fell upon the livid wounds it had inflicted.
Hesitantly, and with much revulsion and flinching on Mukuro's part, the wolf's warm tongue licked the blood away. The disgusted boy shrank as far back against the wall of the den as he could until his back pressed against the damp rock. He could smell salt, which indicated its nearness to the sea.
"Stay away from me," he said roughly, glaring down the beast which, undeterred, simply padded closer and resume its strangely motherly ministration.
With a warning look (if it could be called that coming from a wolf), the albino beast turned around and trotted out, returning shortly with a branch of berries which it nosed towards Mukuro. Then it sat on its haunches and waited expectantly.
Mukuro stared at the wolf. Then at the branch. Then back at the wolf. Cautiously, he learned forward, eyes on the white beast's pale ones the entire time, and quickly snatched the branch to him with his good arm.
Apparently satisfied, the wolf lay down with its head between its paws and yawned. It had deliberately spread itself out lengthwise so that the youth would be forced to clamber over it should an attempt to escape be made. Mukuro took note of this and remained where he was, tearing the tiny fruit off of its branch as the sun ran its course, shifting from day into night.
With but an hour until sunset, the town elder was growing worried. The boy charged with bringing back firewood had yet to return and his father was beginning to fret. What's more, there had been sightings of lean wolves prowling the village's perimeter and that did not bode well.
Tsuna (for that was the elder's name) dispatched groups to search, ordering them to return before the sun had truly set. Reason told him he should not have high hopes for the boy's safe return, but another part told him that they would find him alive. Even should he have met with the white wolf of legend, he would be found well. He was sure of it.
For days Mukuro was forced to remain in the cave with the wolf, using the salt to wash his wounds, fed from whatever food the wolf hunted or foraged. On occasion he would try to escape but the wolf always found him, hunted him down like one of the rabbits which were so common in the woods, and dragged him back. Its teeth always left marks which had to once more be cleansed, though Mukuro did notice the amount of punctures to his skin lessened the more he did attempt escape.
The wolf, while terrifying in its unnatural largeness, slowly lost much of the fear it has first inspired in the youth. Mukuro eventually felt brave enough to approach the beast and managed a rudimentary form of communication with it. When he conveyed his wish to leave and return to the village, the wolf's eyes flashed and its rumbling growl from deep within its chest told him no, he could not leave.
In a fit of anger, he demanded to know why. The wolf simply shook its head and nosed him back to the makeshift bed assembled as the days had passed from the greenery outside, ferns and the like. The wolf didn't know gentleness for it was only an animal - a beast - and robbed of its voice could only speak as an animal could. So when Mukuro refused to be complacent it lifted its lips, showing rows of sharp teeth in a clear threat. 'Don't go; stay.'
It continued this way until Mukuro chanced one night to risk the wrath of the large, ghostly bulk that lay between him and freedom.
It took but one leap to clear the white beast's back. Then he was out and under the pale crescent moon's light once more. Not knowing which direction the village was from here, he decided to follow the sound of the waves which would lead him to the coast and, in turn, civilisation.
On and on he walked, feet clad in noiseless leather shoes, heading purposefully in one direction while peering through the dense foliage in hope of a glimpse of the sparkling sea. So caught up was he in the heady thought of freedom that he came to the edge of a sheer cliff without knowing.
His foot trod air. Eyes flicked down to the sand waiting below. His mouth opened to scream as, slowly, he teetered forward past the point of no return.
It seemed a roar split the air then. A flash of white, a sharp jerk and suddenly his back hit hard earth. Dazed, the youth yet managed to scramble quickly up as a long howl vanished over the edge. On all fours he watched in slow horror as the one who had saved him - the self-same wolf who had kept him prisoner for nigh over two weeks - tumbled to its sure death.
With barely a thought to his own safety, Mukuro nimbly clambered down the cliff face, hopping from rock to jagged rock until he was beside the body of the great white beast. His hands roamed the wolf's great chest feeling for a heartbeat, some sign that would indicate life had not left his saviour.
But there was none.
The youth hid his face in the soft, lupine fur and wept. For his life, the wolf had given its own. Never before had an animal shown such selflessness or shown such self-sacrifice. And to think he had despised it with such vigour. He regretted all that now and let his tears flow freely.
It took but one drop. A liquid tear slipped from the tip of his nose to fall noiselessly upon the wolf's fur. There was a rushing sound, like the wind tearing through the trees, and the body Mukuro clutched seemed to shudder. It was like some maw yawned and he fell back in shock as the wolf shrieked and was engulfed in white flame. Not a flame which burned the skin but a flame which burned away the form that a disgraced prince had worn for most of his prolonged life. As the tatters fell away, a man rose from the ashes: a man with hair as white as snow, eyes of pale lavender and skin as fair as a babe's.
"What manner of being are you?" the youth asked in wonderment.
The man-who-was-no-longer-a-wolf stepped forward, arms held out in supplicancy, smiling gently. "I was once a wolf, but now I am a man."
The youth stood slowly, fearful that it was a trick being played on his sight. "How has this miracle been wrought? By the gods?"
"No," the man answered simply, "by Love."
"Love...?" Mukuro hesitantly came forward and the man took his hands warmly.
"Love," the man affirmed. "A god locked me into the form of a monster as you saw. Your tears, shed for my passing, broke the spell which She cast upon me." His strong arms embraced the youth. "Will you love me as I love you?"
The youth returned the hug with the awkwardness of his age. "I do not know your name..."
"Byakuran was what I was known as in years past." The man - Byakuran - smiled. "I love you now as I have never loved another human being before. Please, do you return my affections?"
"Byakuran..." The youth rolled the syllables off his tongue and found he liked them. "Yes, I do."
The two smiled and it was hand-in-hand that they made the long trek back to the village where Mukuro had since been given up for dead. There was much rejoicing and the two were wed the next spring by an obliging Tsuna, who recited the vows that were repeated by the couple flawlessly and without hesitation. Wolves no longer troubled the small town and it enjoyed a newfound prosperity.
And, of course, they all lived happily ever after.
Characters/Pairing: Byakuran/Mukuro (10069)
Rating: G/PG (worksafe)
Summary: Love is fickle.
Warnings? AU; May contain implied bestiality which I know fangirls will find even though it has nothing of the sort.
A/N: And so here is my crappy contribution to send a friend off to sleep which I never did finish that night, but have completed here for your viewing or puking pleasure. If it makes little sense or feels fragmented, it's because I wrote it on the spot with little refinement afterwards.
therainshark also posted a contribution: here.
...Well. Enjoy. I apologise because I have khrfest commitments right now.
Once upon a time, there lived a handsome prince in a mansion built on a bluff overlooking the Italian sea. His name was Byakuran, and he was infamous for his volatile temper despite his seemingly sweet disposition. One night he held a grand ball to which he invited all those who mattered in high-class Italian society. The ball was a great success (because the powerful, wealthy Byakuran had yet to lose his temper once that night).
Everything was proceeding smoothly...until there came a sonorous knock on the heavy oak doors.
Byakuran, as master of the house, went to open them. By now, a storm had brewed without the knowledge of those warm and comfortable inside, and there in the midst of the thunder, lightning and sheeting rain stood a hooded figure. This cloaked figure was visibly shivering and in a pitiful voice, croaked, "Please, sir, have mercy on a poor traveller. I have naught to give but this rose in exchange for your kindness."
Byakuran had yet to be known for his charity and sneered at the offering. "I don't need a rose. Leave now, you wretched thing." And with that, he slammed the doors shut.
It was the wrong thing to do, for the traveller was in fact a powerful deity in disguise - a deity known as Viper for the poison she dripped in men's ears. She had come to test Byakuran's heart and he had refused her shelter. Now a radiant light burst into existence inside the grand ballroom where he and his guests were gathered and the deity proclaimed:
"Your heart is cold and empty of compassion." Her voice rang out strongly, forcing all to cower except for Byakuran, despite his bearing the brunt of her fury.
"You shall be forever despised and unloved, bearing the visage of a beast until one comes who can melt the ice in your heart." As she spoke a transformation was taking place in Byakuran. He was no longer dark and handsome: his hair turned a pure white and his body grew disfigured, becoming what was reflected in his soul - an abhorrent beast. A hulking, monstrous white wolf.
At his howl of outrage and anguish the guests fled, taking with them tales of what had transpired that stormy night. As tales did, they grew distorted and time stripped them of what truth they had. The mansion grew decrepit and was forgotten by the townsfolk, who lived a peaceful life on the fringes of the coast with the shadow of the old, desolate mansion looming over them.
Many years later, a youth growing up in the village (now a lively town) had reached the prime of his life. Preparations were underway for the yearly celebration of those who had reached adulthood and it was the responsibility of Mukuro (for that is the name of this youth) to collect and bring back ample firewood for the night's feast. Taking his sometimes-reliable horse, Cavallone, and his always-reliable cart, he trundled off into the woods with a sharpened axe resting on the seat beside him.
In his search for dead trees to cut, he somehow found himself lost. As he paused at a junction to decide his way, a chorus of howls from behind him startled his horse into motion and they and the cart attached fled down one misty path.
Struggling to control his horse, one of the cart's wheels hit a large stone and splintered, throwing Mukuro from the driver's seat to land in a thicket while the quadruped galloped away, eyes rolling in terror with the cart bouncing noisily behind. They were swallowed by the mist and soon all became silent.
Cursing, he got to his feet, brushing himself down and looking around to regain his bearings. The howling had ceased but the slightest cracking of a branch set his nerves on edge. He was sure he could feel the eyes of one of the beasts upon him as he collected his axe from where it had fallen and started after his troublesome horse.
Mukuro soon came across the battered cart, broken beyond repair. Cavallone was nowhere to be seen. He chanced a call out into the thickening mist, only to be greeted with a low growl. Out stalked a large, albino wolf with the mist eddying about its paws and shimmering fur. Baleful amethyst eyes regarded him hungrily.
The youth was, naturally, eager to get as far away from this monster as he could. He vaguely recalled stories of such a beast terrifying the village in times past but had dismissed them as tales to frighten children to sleep.
Before he could take two steps from the place the wolf leapt, knocking him to the ground and there keeping him, heavy paws weighing down his chest. Mukuro fought as best he could, trying to kick the beast away but the wolf would not be deterred. Snarling in pain, its claws accidentally left bloody scratches down one arm in the struggle. The youth cried out in pain and that caused the wolf to rear back in surprise, freeing Mukuro and allowing him to scramble up with axe in hand.
But not wanting the village to which this boy surely belonged to come after it in vengeance, the wolf's jaws clamped around Mukuro's leg tightly, bringing him down and dragging him to its den.
The youth was in agony the whole way, yelling and screaming for help as his blood left a dark smear on the long grass. His reach could not extend so far that the axe could cut the wolf's muzzle, so he threw it. The wolf's mauling of him meant it fell far from its target and, now deprived of a weapon, could only resort to his voice. It soon grew hoarse with none to hear and the wolf had soon managed to confine the boy in its lair. A loud growl and a snapping of its jaws inches from Mukuro's fair face quickly shut him up before the snowy predator's eyes fell upon the livid wounds it had inflicted.
Hesitantly, and with much revulsion and flinching on Mukuro's part, the wolf's warm tongue licked the blood away. The disgusted boy shrank as far back against the wall of the den as he could until his back pressed against the damp rock. He could smell salt, which indicated its nearness to the sea.
"Stay away from me," he said roughly, glaring down the beast which, undeterred, simply padded closer and resume its strangely motherly ministration.
With a warning look (if it could be called that coming from a wolf), the albino beast turned around and trotted out, returning shortly with a branch of berries which it nosed towards Mukuro. Then it sat on its haunches and waited expectantly.
Mukuro stared at the wolf. Then at the branch. Then back at the wolf. Cautiously, he learned forward, eyes on the white beast's pale ones the entire time, and quickly snatched the branch to him with his good arm.
Apparently satisfied, the wolf lay down with its head between its paws and yawned. It had deliberately spread itself out lengthwise so that the youth would be forced to clamber over it should an attempt to escape be made. Mukuro took note of this and remained where he was, tearing the tiny fruit off of its branch as the sun ran its course, shifting from day into night.
With but an hour until sunset, the town elder was growing worried. The boy charged with bringing back firewood had yet to return and his father was beginning to fret. What's more, there had been sightings of lean wolves prowling the village's perimeter and that did not bode well.
Tsuna (for that was the elder's name) dispatched groups to search, ordering them to return before the sun had truly set. Reason told him he should not have high hopes for the boy's safe return, but another part told him that they would find him alive. Even should he have met with the white wolf of legend, he would be found well. He was sure of it.
For days Mukuro was forced to remain in the cave with the wolf, using the salt to wash his wounds, fed from whatever food the wolf hunted or foraged. On occasion he would try to escape but the wolf always found him, hunted him down like one of the rabbits which were so common in the woods, and dragged him back. Its teeth always left marks which had to once more be cleansed, though Mukuro did notice the amount of punctures to his skin lessened the more he did attempt escape.
The wolf, while terrifying in its unnatural largeness, slowly lost much of the fear it has first inspired in the youth. Mukuro eventually felt brave enough to approach the beast and managed a rudimentary form of communication with it. When he conveyed his wish to leave and return to the village, the wolf's eyes flashed and its rumbling growl from deep within its chest told him no, he could not leave.
In a fit of anger, he demanded to know why. The wolf simply shook its head and nosed him back to the makeshift bed assembled as the days had passed from the greenery outside, ferns and the like. The wolf didn't know gentleness for it was only an animal - a beast - and robbed of its voice could only speak as an animal could. So when Mukuro refused to be complacent it lifted its lips, showing rows of sharp teeth in a clear threat. 'Don't go; stay.'
It continued this way until Mukuro chanced one night to risk the wrath of the large, ghostly bulk that lay between him and freedom.
It took but one leap to clear the white beast's back. Then he was out and under the pale crescent moon's light once more. Not knowing which direction the village was from here, he decided to follow the sound of the waves which would lead him to the coast and, in turn, civilisation.
On and on he walked, feet clad in noiseless leather shoes, heading purposefully in one direction while peering through the dense foliage in hope of a glimpse of the sparkling sea. So caught up was he in the heady thought of freedom that he came to the edge of a sheer cliff without knowing.
His foot trod air. Eyes flicked down to the sand waiting below. His mouth opened to scream as, slowly, he teetered forward past the point of no return.
It seemed a roar split the air then. A flash of white, a sharp jerk and suddenly his back hit hard earth. Dazed, the youth yet managed to scramble quickly up as a long howl vanished over the edge. On all fours he watched in slow horror as the one who had saved him - the self-same wolf who had kept him prisoner for nigh over two weeks - tumbled to its sure death.
With barely a thought to his own safety, Mukuro nimbly clambered down the cliff face, hopping from rock to jagged rock until he was beside the body of the great white beast. His hands roamed the wolf's great chest feeling for a heartbeat, some sign that would indicate life had not left his saviour.
But there was none.
The youth hid his face in the soft, lupine fur and wept. For his life, the wolf had given its own. Never before had an animal shown such selflessness or shown such self-sacrifice. And to think he had despised it with such vigour. He regretted all that now and let his tears flow freely.
It took but one drop. A liquid tear slipped from the tip of his nose to fall noiselessly upon the wolf's fur. There was a rushing sound, like the wind tearing through the trees, and the body Mukuro clutched seemed to shudder. It was like some maw yawned and he fell back in shock as the wolf shrieked and was engulfed in white flame. Not a flame which burned the skin but a flame which burned away the form that a disgraced prince had worn for most of his prolonged life. As the tatters fell away, a man rose from the ashes: a man with hair as white as snow, eyes of pale lavender and skin as fair as a babe's.
"What manner of being are you?" the youth asked in wonderment.
The man-who-was-no-longer-a-wolf stepped forward, arms held out in supplicancy, smiling gently. "I was once a wolf, but now I am a man."
The youth stood slowly, fearful that it was a trick being played on his sight. "How has this miracle been wrought? By the gods?"
"No," the man answered simply, "by Love."
"Love...?" Mukuro hesitantly came forward and the man took his hands warmly.
"Love," the man affirmed. "A god locked me into the form of a monster as you saw. Your tears, shed for my passing, broke the spell which She cast upon me." His strong arms embraced the youth. "Will you love me as I love you?"
The youth returned the hug with the awkwardness of his age. "I do not know your name..."
"Byakuran was what I was known as in years past." The man - Byakuran - smiled. "I love you now as I have never loved another human being before. Please, do you return my affections?"
"Byakuran..." The youth rolled the syllables off his tongue and found he liked them. "Yes, I do."
The two smiled and it was hand-in-hand that they made the long trek back to the village where Mukuro had since been given up for dead. There was much rejoicing and the two were wed the next spring by an obliging Tsuna, who recited the vows that were repeated by the couple flawlessly and without hesitation. Wolves no longer troubled the small town and it enjoyed a newfound prosperity.
And, of course, they all lived happily ever after.