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lesbianmonsterlover · 5 years

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Beauty and the Beast, Part 2

She isn’t quite sure what she expected from you, but a sweet if nervous smile flitting across your face was not it. “I’m not going to run from you.” She wants to scoff, but she just fixes you with a confused look and stays silent for you to continue. “I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.” Now she does scoff, but something about how softly you’re looking at her prompts her to give a resigned rumble of a growl from her chest and turn on her heel.

She begins stalking out of the room, mulling you over in her mind. She had never had much interest in the princes that would come calling for her hand, and the power of their kingdom gave her the luxury to remain unmarried. Her tastes had always leaned toward the fairer sex, often instead of the princes that had come to court her she would instead find herself in a dalliance with their sisters or even mothers in a few cases. You were precisely her taste, as far as physical attributes went, but what intrigued her most was the sharpness about you that was tempered by a feminine kindness she found almost intoxicating. So soft, so gentle, she wanted to be pinned by your gaze forever.

She’s a few steps out the door when the notices that you aren’t following, and she turns to look at you from over her shoulder. Her emerald eyes shine from the darkness like a beacon. “Are you coming to dinner? Or are you just going to stand there gawking?” She doesn’t mean to be so rough, truly, but when you go several decades without meaningful human interaction it’s going to take a toll on your social ability. Especially when presented with someone so alluring. She growls to herself as she turns again, continuing to stride powerfully down the hallway but slowing her gait to give you a chance to catch up.

As you’re walking beside her she gives a nod to a steward who gives the order to begin lighting the torches. She’s delighted by the gasp of wonder you let out as the palace is lit from within. She watches your face as you take everything in with wide eyes, and seeing as you’re distracted enough she takes a moment to appreciate your form. The dress you have on is a beautiful cornflower blue, and topped with a rather cute white apron. It’s simple but it suits you, although she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t imagining draping you in every bit of finery she could scrounge up in this place. You’d look wonderful in yellow, she’s sure, dripping with gold and gems from her mother’s jewelry box, looking like the sun had been pulled down from the sky just for her.

Dinner is an affair, her chef-stove taking the opportunity to create a culinary masterpiece the likes of which the castle hadn’t seen for decades. Pulling out all the stops, she’s delighted to watch you eat dish after dish as she plies you with questions, tongue loosened by wine. “I just needed to get away for the day. My father, he’s rather ill and the doctor isn’t sure if he’ll ever wake. I’ve left him in a care clinic, but that leaves just me in the home and, well, there aren’t any jobs for unmarried young women in my village that I’d be willing to do, if you understand me.” Her heart breaks for you. She understands you perfectly, even if she doesn’t have the firsthand knowledge of what it’s like to be put in that kind of situation. Her rumble of assent seems to be enough for you to continue. “On top of that, there’s this...this man…” the way you spit out that word makes her huff out a laugh “this horrible monster of a man who doesn’t seem to understand what the word no means. He’s asked for my hand a dozen times, in increasingly desperate ways, and every time I rebuff him his reactions get worse. After my father collapsed...well I didn’t want to be in the house today for when he inevitably came by to ask to marry me again. I’m not sure I’d have made it out entirely intact.”

The snarl on her face makes you squeak a little in fear, eyes widening. She takes a deep breath in to school her expression. “What a horrid pissant.” Your rather unladylike snort of laughter makes her smirk. “I do not miss my interactions with men. Dreadful, entitled beings with rare exception.” Your giggle is what she was after, and the two of you trade stories back and forth about your experiences with men. When you collapse into a heap of laughter at her telling of the time she managed to convince a rather stupid prince that the castle was haunted by simply kicking the post of the table they sat at for tea, she knows it’s time to bring you to your room. You’re definitely drunk, but bubbly and lively. When you stand and wobble she offers you her arm, like a gentleman should, and escorts you to a rather lavishly furnished guest room.

When she returns to her own chambers, dark and decrepit from years of her pent up aggression being taken out on the furnishings, she collapses into her pile of pillows and down comforters with a sigh. You could it be, could be the one to break the curse and the one she would spend hopefully the rest of her life with. But you’ll be going back to that shitty little village tomorrow, you’d forget all about her as those who leave these lands always do, and she’ll be left here to rot along with all of the poor staff who she’d brought down with her. If only she could convince you to stay longer, to give her a chance to show you how she could provide for you. But she would not keep you prisoner. She knows too well what it means to be trapped by these four walls with no real freedom, longing for connection and intimacy. No, you were not a bird to be kept in a gilded cage. With a heavy heart she sinks into sleep, resigned to her fate and whispering apologies out into the void for the lives of those in her employ who would fall victim with her to her own weaknesses.

~~~

When you wake the next morning you’re rather hungover but still remember last night with decent clarity. The mysterious beast who lived in the castle was a woman, seemingly a noblewoman of high standing who before whatever happened here used to cavort around with the princes and diplomats from foreign nations. She was sharp and witty, her dry sense of humor magnifying the absolute stupidity of some of her former compatriots. Even in this form she was attractive, in a dangerous way that made your heart thrum in your chest and nerves feel on fire. Her fur was so soft, and your cheeks heat when you vaguely remember burying your face against the fur of her neck when she caught you from stumbling.

Part of you is loathe to leave today, but you know that you must get back to the cottage and sort things out. You’ll need to count your coins and talk to the owner of the book shop about perhaps taking on a position there in some capacity dusting, cleaning, anything he needed. So long as you could get some coin in your purse to scrounge up a living on so you wouldn’t have to seriously consider the advances of Gerard. If you got to that point you don’t know what you’d do, so it’s best not to dwell on it.

When you finally muster the energy a few minutes after waking, you stand from the bed and stretch. The pop and crack of your back and shoulders makes you sigh in relief, and you take a moment to limber up before washing your face in a basin and slipping your dress back on over your shift. Peeling back the curtains your face goes worried at the blizzard raging outside, the happy pop and crackle of the roaring fire in your fireplace was enough to drown out the wind whipping outside of the castle walls.

The knock on the door of your guest chambers surprises you, but when your hostess opens the door after you call for her to enter you fix her with a large, if sheepish, smile. “I see you’ve noticed our predicament, sweetheart.” The pet name makes your cheeks flush and she smirks, hitting the mark. “I’m afraid you may be here for the foreseeable future, I know you needed to get back to town but I don’t believe you’d make it there in these conditions. I’d offer you the use of a horse if I had one, darling, but I do not.” She looks at you sadly, although hopeful, and her eyes brighten when you giggle and smile at her sweetly.

“Well, I can think of worse places to get stuck, and with worse company.” When you wink you can tell she’s flustered by the way her jaw tightens and she looks away from you. “I appreciate the effort, but seriously, I’m happy to be here. Thank you for not leaving me out there last night.” You place your hand on her arm, your fingers sinking into warm auburn fur and finding hard corded muscle beneath. She grumbles at you, gaze unreadable, and you can tell she’s gone somewhere in her mind that isn’t exactly pleasant.

“I learned long ago not to turn away those in need. Come then, let’s find us something to do today. Tell me, sweet, what do you enjoy? Chess? Painting? Needlepoint?”

“Books.” Your answer is immediate, and your cheeks are still flushed as she gazes at you with warm eyes. She doesn’t answer you though, merely nods and turns to walk down the hall at a slow enough pace that you can follow alongside. When she walks slowly she can manage on just her hindquarters, those hugely muscular thighs and hips too much to be contained by regular breeches. She had been wearing them last night when she took you to dinner, but you could see how they strained at the seams. She’s in a pair of riding pants today, the fabric seems to have more give to it and is cut on the bias to allow for even more stretch. Her white blouse is tucked into the pants, although her collar is open to leave room for her neck and scruff. The swell of her breasts is prominent but not overly so, and you find yourself wondering what she looked like before whatever happened. Has she always been like this? Is this a new predicament?

Before you can ask anything she stops you in front of a set of huge, wooden doors. “Close your eyes.” Under normal circumstances this would be an odd request, you find it especially odd coming from your kind-if-rough-around-the-edges host, but you do so anyway, not only closing your eyes but covering them with your hands. When the door before you opens you’re hit with a blast of cool air that smells like old paper, worn leather, and firesmoke. It smells like the book shop back in town, a scent you’ve come to love. You feel a large clawed paw on your lower back that gently guides you in. You’re still left in the dark for a bit as you hear someone stoking a fire in the fireplace, but once you can hear the cheery crackling of split wood and the gentle roar of the flames you hear your host’s voice again. “Alright, sweet, open them.”

The windows are too dark with snow to let in much natural light, but the fireplace does a good job of illuminating most of the first level. Looking up into the hugely vaulted ceiling you see at least two more levels above with small walkways and huge moving ladders. You can’t help the gasp you give and the awestruck wonder with which you take in the sight of so many books. “I didn’t know there were even this many books in the world.” You miss the gentle look the queen gives you as you speak in hushed and reverent tones.

“I want you to be comfortable here, especially with how long it looks like you may be stuck here between the blizzard and the havoc it will undoubtedly wreak on the forest paths. So long as you’re here with me, sweet, you may come here at any time. Nothing but my private quarters are closed off to you, but I implore you to ask for guidance from myself or my staff if you wish to wander, I would hate for you to get lost in our maze of halls just to perish while I search for you.” She’s rambling a little, but you find it endearing and just laugh and nod along.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve met your staff, are they...like you?” Her face is steel after your question, eyes hard and angry. She shakes her head a gruff no.

“No, I am the only one cursed to look like such a beast. They were all victims of my hubris and selfishness.” Okay, so she hasn’t always looked like this and she’s bitter about it. While you’re mulling over the fact that you’re, well, pretty attracted to her, and you’re trying to figure out how to tell her you think she’s beautiful without coming across as patronizing, she calls out someone’s name.

You hear what sounds like wooden legs scurrying across marble when you’re bowled into by the ottoman who saved your butt from hitting the marble last night. It lets out a low, rumbling bark that makes you laugh at the absurdity of the situation. You do your very best to pet the ottoman, running your palms along its broad back and taking the time to scratch at the seam where the cushion met the frame. Your host is smiling fondly down at you as you play with the “dog,” who has chosen to settle on your lap with a satisfied sigh.

“Okay, so your staff are...furniture?” She sighs, kneeling down beside you to scratch under what you’re hoping is the chin side of this ottoman.

“Many years ago, I was spoiled and selfish and vain. I allowed my bitterness and anger to turn me into a monster, and I justified all of it by the fact that I was queen and none could defy me. I was cursed, and rightfully so, for denying an old woman shelter on a night much like last night. I denied her because she was ugly, and I thought such creatures didn’t deserve a place in my beautiful palace. It wasn’t her that was ugly though, it was me. She proved it simply by making the outside match the inside.” She way she gazes, almost unseeingly, down at her paws makes your heart hurt for her.

“How do we break the curse?” She’s startled out of her reverie by your hand on hers, and when she glances at your face she’s struck by the sincerity and openness on it. “I want to help, you’ve been so kind to me, I think you’ve...I hope at least you’ve learned the lesson you were meant to. Let me help you, it’s the least I can do.”

She gives you a sad smile, more of a grimace or a sneer than a smile really but you understand the sentiment behind her bared teeth. Her huge paw comes up to touch your cheek gently, not daring to cup your face in her hand lest you realize what you’re sitting across from. “Oh you sweet, gentle girl. Thank you, but I am resigned to my fate. If you’re happy to keep me company though while you’re here, that is more than I could ever ask.” You agree readily, eyes bright as you instruct her to get settled on the chaise by the fireplace.

“We’re going to read together! Or, well, one of us will read to the other. Now...let’s see…” You let her instruct you to her most beloved collection of books, all of them well worn with weak spines and creased leather. She loved her books, you can tell, and you’ll do right by them. You swear. Picking the most loved and creased volume of all you wander back over to the chaise and settle yourself closest to the fire, between the warm wall of muscle and fur of your host and the hard arm of the chaise.

She plucks the book from your hands, looking down at it longingly. Her huge paws dwarf the small, leather-bound tome. She flips it open to a particular page, the book falls open there easily so you guess that she studied this page a thousand times. Her long tongue licks nervously over the corner of her muzzle and she skims the page with one claw, eyes full of unexpressed emotion.

“That man to me seems equal to the gods,

The man who sits opposite you

And close by listens

To your sweet voice/

And your enticing laughter--

That indeed has stirred up the heart in my breast.

For whenever I look at you even briefly

I can no longer say a single thing,/

But my tongue is frozen in silence;

Instantly a delicate flame runs beneath my skin;

With my eyes I see nothing;

My ears make a whirring noise./

A cold sweat covers me,

Trembling seizes my body,

And I am greener than grass.

Lacking but little of death do I seem.”

Her voice is low and longing, each word dripping unbidden with hidden meaning. “Did you write that?” You voice is wondering and it makes her laugh loud and clear. It doesn’t sound like that’s a noise she’s made in a long, long while if the rasp from its disuse is anything to go by.

“No, sweet, but thank you for thinking that something so beautiful could come from someone as ugly inside as I was.” She pushes a long lock of hair behind your ear as she stares down at you softly. “It was written by Sappho, a woman from Ancient Greece who wrote poetry about loving other women, the way men love them.”

Your cheeks are hot but you can’t look away from her face. Loving other women? You’d never given much thought to the fact that you hadn’t found a man attractive in, well, ever. You figured it had more to do with the lack of options in your little village than anything about men as a whole. Thinking on it though, whenever you imagined your life going forward you never really imagined a husband. Sure, you imagined a partner with you, someone to share your days and your burdens, but as you dwell on it for a moment you come to a rather sudden realization that you never much liked men in the first place. “Will you read me more?”

Your host chuckles, thumbing your chin. “Of course, sweet. Here, let me read you some of my favorite fragments…” She trails off, flipping through the thin pages looking for something in particular. That’s how the two of you spend the whole of the morning and most of the afternoon. A rather sweet teapot brings a rolling cart with lunch and tea on it, chattering happily with her companions as they leave when you thank each of them individually with a sweet smile.

When you collapse back into your bed that night, the storm still raging outside the castle leaving the sky nothing but a sheet of gray, you do so with a smile on your face.

At the same moment you collapse into bed, your horse has been found still saddled but without you on it, shivering in the barn and eating the last of the hay that had been set out. The stablehand from the inn takes charge, and Gerard has plans to use this to his advantage. He pays, quite happily, for the inn to board and care for your mare. Once the snow lets up he is going to go into the woods in search of you. Either he will bring you back agreeing to be his wife, or he will leave you there to rot and claim to have found nothing but some tattered remains of your dress. Yes, he will get what he wants, or you will just have to die, because if he cannot have you then, well, what’s the use of you existing?

You fall asleep, blissfully unaware of the plans of that toad back at your village. You’re simply looking forward to tomorrow, wondering what else your host can introduce into your life.

#Beauty and the Beast #BATB #WLW #Lesbian Love #Lesbian Fiction #My writing #Female Beast #Female Reader #Fem Beast #Fem Reader

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j-writes-and-suffers · 6 years

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NaNoWriMo Day Eleven

Wandering around the top floor of the library, Philip took a minute to explore before properly searching for Lucien. He discovered several nice alcoves for studying, as well as a large collection of dictionaries, thesauri, and other writing resources surrounding a big desk. He was busy snooping about for anything else cool when a voice murmured in his ear.

“Finding everything alright?”

“Fuck!” Philip jumped about a foot in the air, spinning around to glare at Lucien. “Dude, I swear, you’re gonna be the death of me…”

Lucien chuckled. “Sorry. I can’t help myself. You’re so easy to scare.”

Philip rolled his eyes. “You’re an ass.”

“Perhaps so,” Lucien shrugged, “but you came to visit anyway.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” Philip’s cheeks were tinged pink, and he tried to change the subjects. “That Kyle kid is a piece of work.”

Lucien sighed deeply. “Oh. You met him, did you?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Yeah, he’s… he’s something.” Lucien grumbled, “Sadly, no one but Heather and him applied, and I need the extra hands.”

“Jeez man, if you’re that desperate, I’ll chop off my hands and you can have those instead.” Philip jested.

Lucien’s resentful scowl faded, and he chuckled warmly. “I appreciate the offer, but I think you need those.”

Philip shrugged. “Nah, it’s fiiiine. Voice typing is getting pretty good. I’ll just learn to open doors with my foot or something.”

Rolling his eyes, Lucien dropped into a nearby chair. “You’re ridiculous.”

“The world needs a little ridiculous.” Philip replied, sitting next to him.

“That it does.” Lucien smiled. “You do make for some nice entertainment in my incredibly bland life.”

“Oh! Speaking of entertainment…” Philip remembered what he had actually come to the library for. “Do you want to go see a movie this weekend? I hear the newest superhero one is pretty good.”

Lucien paused to think, “I haven’t seen a movie in theater in years… It sounds nice, though. Dinner and a movie or just a movie?”

“How about a movie and a walk in the park?” Philip suggested.

“That sounds excellent.” Lucien smiled, but his cheeriness faded at the sound of bickering from downstairs. “I have to go deal with my lackeys… see you Wednesday, perhaps? Hopefully, by then, I’ll have them more under control.”

“Yeah, sure.” Philip nodded, following Lucien down the stairs and heading out the front door.

Wednesday afternoon, Philip returned to the library as promised. He and Lucien spent a few hours talking, with Philip helping carry stacks of books so they could actually stay productive. The evening drew to a close when it started raining outside, as Lucien urged Philip to get home before it got bad. As much as he wanted to stay, Philip knew that he’d be royally boned if he waited to leave and the rain got worse. With a reluctant goodbye, he hurried home, getting misted the whole way by the growing precipitation.

Philip spent most of Thursday bouncing around, his energy increasing as date night grew closer. He practically jogged to the library on Friday, wanting to iron out the details of their plans for tomorrow. Bolting in the front door, Philip was relieved to see Heather, rather than Kyle, on circulation duty.

“Hi, Heather.”

“What’s up, blondie?” She asked, looking up from her bio textbook.

“Uh, where’s Lucien?” Philip asked, “I wanted to talk to him.”

“Then you’ll have to call him, cause he’s not here. Sick or something.” Heather shrugged, as if this didn’t worry her at all.

“What?” Philip’s jaw dropped, heartbreak shining in his wide, dark eyes.

She shrugged again. “He’s out sick a lot, it’s probably nothing.”

“B… but we had a date tomorrow.” Philip was trying to hide his distress, but his voice wavered audibly.

“That sucks, man. I’m sure he’ll make it up, though. Luci’s loyal. He’s just also sickly as hell.”

Philip didn’t seem convinced. “But what if he’s not sick? What if he doesn’t wanna see me, and he’s just too nice to say so?”

Heather rolled her eyes. “You’re being paranoid.”

“Or maybe I’m being realistic. I was always suspicious that he wasn’t really into me. I’m too young and dumb and annoying. I don’t know why I ever thought we had something.”

“Dude, calm down. Go drink or something. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” She snapped, losing her patience with Philip’s nervous antics.

“Sorry. I don’t mean to bother you. I’ll… I’ll go now.” Philip hung his head shamefully, hurrying out of the library and heading for home. He only made it about ten minutes before tears started dripping down his cheeks. His already sluggish pace slowed further, and he sniffled softly, rubbing his eyes as he trudged off campus, heading for his miserably empty apartment.

Philip curled up on his couch as soon as he got home. Though he was normally hungry after such a long walk, today the pain in his stomach was a gut-wrenching sadness. He felt rejected, unwanted, pathetic. He’d known somewhere in the back of his mind that he wasn’t good enough, but he’d convinced himself that Lucien didn’t mind. Why was he such an optimistic idiot?

He buried his face in the couch cushions, sobbing loudly now that he was in private. As the night dragged on, he finally quieted down, sitting up and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. Maybe Heather was right. He should drink or something. That would cheer him up, or at least distract him. He went searching through the kitchen, wondering if he even had any alcohol around at the moment. All he could find was a bottle of blueberry wine; it must’ve been a gift or something, because he never drank wine and he fucking hated blueberries. However, he was in no mood to go out shopping, and decided he’d rather drink some gross wine than be sober.

Philip woke up on Saturday morning with no memory of the night before. His phone was on the floor by his bed, dead as a doornail. He groaned in dismay, plugging it in and praying that he hadn’t drunk-texted Lucien. The screen glowed with life, and he narrowed his eyes against the brightness. His heart skipped a beat as he saw a heartfelt plea sprawled out across the screen complete with typos and a confession of love. Philip cringed, ready to commit seppuku just to restore his dignity from this disaster, when his eyes wandered to the name at the top of the screen.

Team Snapchat.

For a brief moment, Philip actually believed there might be a god. He sighed deeply, relieved beyond words that he hadn’t spammed Lucien with an embarrassingly badly-written sob story. He set his phone aside, pulling a pillow over his face; he was feeling pretty rough after the previous night, and didn’t really want to do anything. Luckily, it was a Saturday, and his date had cancelled, so he was perfectly free to spend his night on absolutely nothing.

The weekend dragged on in a consistently boring and somewhat depressing fashion. When he finally found the will to get out of bed, Philip made himself a dinner of cinnamon toast crunch and ice cream, curling up on the couch to watch romance movies and cry. When Sunday evening rolled around, he started to get anxious. Should he go to the library tomorrow? Would Lucien even be there? Would Lucien want to see him if he was there? Should he even go to work tomorrow? His thoughts grew overwhelming, and Philip forced himself to stop caring. He curled up, ready to go to sleep. He’d just roll with the punches tomorrow, and let what happened happen.

Monday morning rolled around in its usual sluggish manner. Philip had no desire to be up before noon, but he crawled out of bed in time to lead his morning lecture nonetheless. Even less awake than usual, he grabbed an extra large coffee between each lecture, as well as a muffin from the coffee shop. By the end of the day, he found himself bouncing off the walls from an overload of sugar and caffeine. The excess energy only lent to his anxiety, and Philip paced around the lecture hall as his last class let out, contemplating whether or not to go to the library.

He’d told himself last night that he would relax and do what felt right, but he wasn’t anxious and caffeinated when he said that. Now he absolutely had to know what Lucien thought of him, even though he was nearly panicking just at the thought of outright rejection. He made a few more laps around the room before finally gathering his courage. He had to go to the library.

Philip’s legs were shaking as he walked up the old stone steps, but he took a deep breath and yanked the door open anyway. Kyle was manning the front desk, too busy with his cheetos and anime to even look up. Philip was honestly grateful for that; Kyle was the last person on earth he wanted to talk to right now. Nervously creeping into the library, he looked around, scanning every aisle for signs of Lucien. Instead, he found Heather re-shelving books. She looked up at him, giving a brief nod of greeting.

“Luci’s in the lounge.”

“Oh… uh… thanks.” Philip forced a smile, shuffling off towards the door in the back. It was slightly ajar, and he peeked nervously inside. No one was visible in the sliver of the room he could see, so he tentatively pushed the door open. “Lucien?” He squeaked, his voice breaking front sheer anxiety.

“I was wondering if you’d show.” Lucien was tucked into the corner of the couch, tea in one hand and a book in the other. His voice was incredibly scratchy, as though he’d just gargled with broken glass, and he honestly looked more like a week-old corpse than a live human. He was paler than a cartoon vampire, with deep shadows under his eyes. His face was startlingly gaunt and thin, as though he hadn’t eaten all weekend, and his normally-impeccable hair was slightly disheveled and more grey than ever.

Philip’s jaw nearly fell to the floor, and a pang of guilt struck him for ever thinking Lucien was lying about being sick. “Of course I’d show… I wanted to talk to you. Are you okay? You look really rough. What’s wrong?” He asked, stepping closer to get a better look at the older man.

“It’s a chronic illness I’ve dealt with for years. It’s not deadly, it just… gets the better of me sometimes. It’s not contagious, so you’ve really nothing to worry about.” Lucien seemed intent on calming Philip down; he could tell that the younger man was stressed. “Come sit with me, and we can talk.” He patted the couch cushion next to him, motioning Philip over.

Philip plopped down next to Lucien, frowning in concern. “You don’t seem to be feeling that good. Why come back to work so soon?”

“If I skipped work whenever I wasn’t feeling well, we’d need a new librarian.” Lucien quipped, “I learned to manage years ago, you really needn’t worry so much. All that aside, I do apologize for missing our date on Saturday. I told Heather to tell you that, but I don’t know how well she relayed the message…”

“Nah, it’s fine. She told me.” Philip lied. “Anything I can help you with while I’m here? I don’t want you overworking yourself.”

“Don’t be absurd. That’s what student workers are for.”

Philip couldn’t help but laugh, and he leaned against Lucien, a smile spreading across his face. “I’m glad you came back to work. I missed you on Friday.”

Lucien smiled back, some of the life briefly returning to his face. “I missed you, too."

#nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2017 #fantasy #modern fantasy #comedy #school

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