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rainstars2004

Mar 31

coulro-callipygous

Beauty and the Beast - A Snatcher x Reader AU || CH. 23 Never as Before (For Better)

Pairing: Snatcher x Reader

WC: 5070

Summary: In which Snatcher finally confronts his trauma and makes a friend in doing so.

TW: Emotional, mental, and physical abuse! Like we get into it! Read at your own discretion! Take care of yourself!

A/N: This work is solely mine-I do not consent to it being used in any AI works. I do not consent to it being intentionally copied in any manner.

It was hard to imagine that the dark forest—eternally damned to the biting chill of winter—had ever been sunny and warm, let alone flourishing with life.

But it had been, once.

Lex assures her of that. Long before the snow and silence, before the twisted trees and the endless cold, the forest had been vibrant—alive with color, laughter, and the quiet bustle of a small but thriving community. Houses once stood between the roots of these trees. Lanterns once glowed in their branches. People once called this place home.

Hattie listens more closely than she ever has before. If learning anything about this forest can help her save you, then it’s worth hearing every word.

Still, the story makes something uncomfortable twist in her chest.

Grief. Loss.

Not for you. For this place. For the forest she had always hated. The forest that took you away.

Apparently, it had not always been winter here. Once, the sun shone down on a small province hidden deep within the woods—tucked halfway between the sovereign kingdom and a quiet fishing village. (Where you and she had lived, Hattie muses, though Lex likely wouldn’t know what in the peck a “Mafiatown” was.)

At one point, there had even been a proper government. Laws. Leaders. Order.

But somewhere along the way, things changed.

No one remembers exactly when.

Or why.

Some say the province voted to secede from the kingdom—peacefully, at first. A simple bill, a quiet declaration of independence. Others insist the change came more suddenly, more violently. That something darker crept into the forest, twisting the hearts of the people who lived there.

Whatever the truth was, the little province did not remain the same for long.

Once, Lex says, the forest had been bright.

Not merely alive—but joyful. The great trees that now clawed at the grey sky had once grown wide and strong, their branches thick with green leaves that whispered in warm summer winds. Lanterns hung from those branches during festivals, their golden light swaying gently above crowds that laughed and danced beneath them. Music drifted through the woods at night, carrying laughter and fiddle-song between the trunks like wandering fireflies.

Now, only the wind moved through the branches.

Hattie can almost see it as Lex speaks—the ghost of what the forest used to be. Children racing between the trees where drifts of snow now piled knee-deep. Market stalls bursting with fish, bread, and bright fabrics where the ground now lay frozen and barren. Windows that once glowed warmly at dusk, now nothing more than dark hollows swallowed by frost and creeping roots.

The silence that filled the forest now had not always lived here.

It had arrived quickly.

Lex explains that the province had once thrived beneath the watch of the sovereign kingdom. It was small but prosperous, its people stubbornly proud of the life they had carved out among the trees. They traded with nearby villages, held lively seasonal festivals, and lived comfortably beneath the quiet protection of the crown.

And the queen—before everything—had been kinder then.

But that was before Prince Lukas left the kingdom.

It had only been meant to be a year.

At first, nothing seemed terribly different. The prince’s absence was felt, of course—his warmth had always filled the palace halls in a way few others could—but the kingdom endured. Life went on. The forests still bloomed. The people still gathered beneath lantern light and music.

Then winter came.

Too soon.

The first frost arrived before the harvest had even finished, creeping across the fields and forest floor weeks earlier than anyone expected. The people grumbled about it, of course, but early winters were not unheard of. They gathered their crops more quickly, stocked their homes with firewood, and prepared to wait out the cold.

But the cold did not behave as winter should.

The snow fell heavier than usual. The winds cut sharper. And when the time for spring should have come…it simply didn’t.

The frost lingered stubbornly in the soil. The ice clung to the rivers long after it should have melted. Even the sun seemed reluctant to stay, slipping behind thick grey clouds as though the sky itself had grown weary.

It was during that same year—Lex says quietly—the queen began to change.

She appeared less often among her people. When she did, her once gentle demeanor had hardened into something distant and cold. Smiles grew rare. The palace gates closed more frequently. Festivals were shortened… then quietly stopped altogether.

As though the warmth of the kingdom had left with the prince.

And the forest, somehow, seemed to feel it too.

As Lex speaks, Hattie feels that strange twist in her chest again.

Because the way they describe it—the sudden cold, the way warmth seemed to vanish all at once—it reminds her of someone.

Of how someone could once laugh. Once smile. Once feel like sunlight itself.

And how, in what felt like the blink of an eye…something colder had taken its place. Something darker. Considerably less feeling. Numb.

After what seemed like forever…Prince Lukas finally returns.

Word spread through the province faster than the winter winds that had come to plague it. Messengers rode hard through the villages, lanterns were lit in windows, and people gathered along the roads despite the biting cold. After nearly a year of absence, the prince had finally come home.

For a moment—just a moment—it felt as though the kingdom remembered what warmth was. Even the forest seemed to hold its breath.

The people believed his return would fix things. Prince Lukas had always been beloved among them: kind where others were proud, gentle where others were harsh. He had walked among the villagers as easily as any common man, laughing with fishermen, helping farmers repair broken fences, listening to stories and complaints alike as though every voice mattered.

If anyone could bring warmth back to the kingdom, it would be him.

When word of his arrival reached the palace, the queen rushed to meet him.

For nearly a year she had waited within those cold stone halls, her heart twisting tighter with every passing season. The moment she heard he had returned, she did not summon servants or prepare a formal welcome. She ran—out through the palace gates and into the town itself, eager to see him again.

But when she found him…

it was not the reunion she had imagined.

Prince Lukas stood in the village square, laughing softly as he purchased flowers from a young maiden at the market stall. The girl’s cheeks were flushed pink from the cold—and perhaps from something else—as she giggled shyly while handing him the bouquet. Lukas leaned close to thank her, his voice warm and easy, the two of them standing far nearer to one another than the queen found acceptable.

To anyone else, it would have looked harmless.

To the queen, it felt like betrayal.

The warmth that had followed the prince back into the kingdom faltered the moment she saw them together.

And just as quickly as it had returned…it began to fade.

Something sharp and bitter stirred within her chest, curling around her heart like frost creeping across glass. The laughter in the square suddenly sounded cruel to her ears. The closeness between them felt unbearable.

Jealousy, Lex says quietly, has a way of freezing even the warmest hearts.

In that moment, watching the man she loved smile at another, the queen’s heart grew colder than the winter that surrounded them.

The queen did not confront him there.

She did not shout. She did not call his name.

Instead, she turned away.

Lex says she fled the village as quickly as she had arrived, the cold wind swallowing the sound of her footsteps as she ran back toward the manor that overlooked the forest. Whatever warmth had returned with Lukas' arrival faded just as quickly as it had come, leaving the sky grey once more.

By the time the prince finished his errand and made his way back to the palace with flowers in hand, the kingdom had already grown colder again.

Inside the manor, the queen waited.

The stories say she stood alone in the great hall, pacing the floor like a restless beast, her thoughts twisting tighter and tighter with every passing moment, mangling her form with the same mysterious magic that had swept the land in its prolonged winter. By the time Luka arrived, the woman who had once been beloved by her people had already begun to change.

When the prince entered, he greeted her warmly—just as he always had. He held out the bouquet he had purchased, selecting the single most beautiful flower among them to offer her first.

But the queen did not see a gift.

She saw proof.

Proof that while she had waited for him, he had given his warmth to someone else. The story goes that her heart, already frozen with jealousy, could no longer hold its shape.

And something inside her finally broke.

The woman who had once been queen twisted into something darker—something monstrous. Her hands stretched into clawed shadows, her hair fell wild around her face, and the warmth that had once lived in her eyes turned bitter and distant.

The prince tried to explain. He tried to apologize. But by then it was already too late.

In her fury, the queen declared that if her heart could no longer beat for him, then it would not beat for anyone at all. She called the world diseased and cruel, declaring that beauty had no place within it.

And so she cursed him.

The prince who had once been loved by everyone was transformed into a terrible beast, bound forever to the manor that overlooked the forest. The land itself twisted beneath the spell, the warm woods turning into the frozen wasteland that still surrounds the mansion today.

Anyone who wandered into the manor from that day forward would never truly leave.

They would become servants of the beast, bound to the same lonely curse.

Yet the stories say the queen hesitated before she vanished.

Because despite everything…despite the jealousy and rage that had consumed her…there had once been love between them.

Before she disappeared into the ice, she left him with a final condition.

If the beast could one day learn to love another and earn that love in return before the last petal of the enchanted flower fell the curse would break.

If not—

then the prince would remain a monster forever.

…but that was only a legend. Meant to be a story.

__________________________________________________________

Grooves had heard the story before.

Everyone had.

The tale of the jealous queen and the cursed prince had been passed down for years, polished and softened by time until it sounded almost romantic. A tragic fairytale. A warning. A legend whispered in taverns and around hearthfires.

But the story people told was not the one that had actually happened.

Snatcher lets out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Oh, that’s a lovely version of it,” he mutters, his voice low and rasping as he lounges back in the armchair that was stationed by the window. One clawed hand gestures vaguely in the air, as though dismissing the tale itself. “Real dramatic. Lots of heartbreak, tragic betrayal, the whole poetic ‘love turned to ice’ nonsense.”

His golden eyes narrow slightly. For a moment, he is quiet. Not the theatrical kind of quiet he usually enjoys—the kind meant to make people squirm—but something heavier.

“...I didn’t know she’d seen me in the village,” he continues after a while. “I had no idea what she thought she saw. I was just… happy to be home. So happy to see her again.”

His claws drum lightly against the arm of the chair. “Bought the flowers because I knew she liked them. Figured I’d surprise her.”

Another humorless chuckle escapes him.

“Funny thing about surprises.”

Snatcher’s gaze drifts somewhere distant, somewhere long buried beneath centuries of shadow.

Why was he so happy to see her, again? Because at the time, he wa stupid. He was stupid and human and believed she loved him. How has it taken this long for him to realize that what they had wasn’t love?

Looking back now, the signs had been everywhere—subtle at first, then glaringly obvious in hindsight. Vanessa hadn’t loved him the way people in stories loved one another. Not the kind of love that lets someone grow, or laugh too loudly, or wander where their curiosity leads. No—hers had been something tighter, sharper. Possessive. She had adored him the way someone admires a beautiful thing placed behind glass: something to keep, something to polish, something that must remain exactly as she liked it.

He had been molded into that version of himself little by little, the way water slowly reshapes stone.

The things he loved had been the first to go. The music he played too loudly in the halls, the ridiculous poetry he used to scribble in the margins of books, the long afternoons spent wandering through the town speaking with fishermen and farmers and anyone else who had a story to tell. Vanessa would laugh at those things—lightly, sweetly, as though she were only teasing—but the laughter always lingered a moment too long. Too sharp. And eventually the teasing turned to gentle corrections, then quiet disapproval, then outright ridicule. A prince, she’d remind him, had more dignified pursuits.

And he believed her.

He stopped playing the piano. Stopped writing the poems. Stopped reading about law. Stopped wandering so far from the palace walls.

It pleased her when he stayed close.

She liked knowing where he was, liked knowing who he spoke to, liked knowing that if he spent time among the people of the kingdom, she would be there beside him. If she wasn’t, questions followed. Gentle ones at first—Who were you with? What were you talking about? Why didn’t you wait for me?—but the warmth beneath them cooled quickly if his answers strayed too far from what she wanted to hear.

Soon enough, it became easier not to go at all.

Easier to stay in the palace. Easier to let her speak for him, guide him, shape the image of the prince she wanted the kingdom to see. He told himself it was devotion, that her attention meant she cared deeply for him, that love simply looked different behind palace walls.

But love was not supposed to feel like shrinking.

Love was not supposed to leave him feeling smaller every year, quieter every season, until the only version of himself left was the one Vanessa approved of.

And the cruelest part—the part that made him want to laugh at his younger self—was that he had thanked her for it. He had mistaken control for affection, obsession for devotion, possession for love.

So yes. When he returned that day with flowers in his hands and hope in his chest, he had been happy to see her.

Because at the time, he still believed the lie she had spent so long teaching him to believe.

That he belonged to her.

And that belonging meant love.

“...When I walked into the manor, she was already different. I knew it the moment I saw her.” His voice lowers. “You spend enough time with someone, you learn the little things. The way they stand. The way they look at you.”

The way they judge you. Chastise you. Berate you in private and praise you in public. The way a hand at the small of his back meant they would have a discussion when they were out of the eyes of the public. He tilts his head slightly.

“And she didn’t look at me like she used to.” He pauses. “...She didn’t even listen when I tried to explain.”

He’s silent for a moment.

“You ever try talking to someone who already decided you’re guilty?”

Silence stretches for a moment. Then Snatcher scoffs.

“Yeah. Doesn’t work.”

For a moment, his thoughts flit to you. How you were so defiant and fiery when you arrived. How you opposed him at literally every single opportunity. And now…how you actually give him a smile while passing in the hallway. A real one. It’s brief, but it’s real. How you apologized to him in the library. How you continued to work so stubbornly just because you felt bad for other people doing work that was originally your responsibility.

…what was different about you and Vanessa? Many things, obviously, but…

His gaze drops briefly to the floor.

“When she changed… when the curse started… I didn’t even understand what was happening at first.” His claws flex slowly. “One moment she was screaming at me, the next moment the whole room felt like it was collapsing inward.”

He gestures lazily toward himself.

“And then I looked down.”

A faint, wry, humorless smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Claws. Shadows. The whole monstrous package.” Snatcher leans back again, though the movement lacks his usual smug flair.

“At first I thought it was temporary,” he admits. “Some kind of rage spell. She’d done similar things before. Something she’d calm down from once she cooled off.”

Another hollow laugh.

“But she didn’t.”

His eyes dim slightly.

“She was gone before the sun even set.”

The room grows quiet.

For a long time, Snatcher says nothing. Grooves looks at him in absolute horror - not at him, but at his story. The ghost scoffs and looks away.

“...told you not to look at me like that–”

“She hurt you?” Grooves interrupts, appalled. Snatcher blinks and looks at him in confusion.

“...yes. That was sort of the whole point of the story, Grooves–”

“No, like…before that, darling. You said that you thought it was some kind of rage spell, because she had done those things before.”

“…that’s the part you’re concerned about?” Snatcher cackles. “Not the ‘ooohh dramatic reveal, I was the prince from the fairytales oooooh—”

…he has the decency to cut himself off at Groove’s continued, pointed look of concern.

“Darling…she hurt you.”

Grooves’ words sink in like lead. Sure, he had only just been realizing the extent of her…mistreatment of him, but for the longest time, he had…written it all off. Even after she killed him, he had subconsciously forgiven her.

Snatcher had spent a long time convincing himself that Vanessa had simply lost control. It was easier that way. Easier to believe that the curse had been born of anger, of grief, of a moment that spiraled too far out of hand. She had always been intense, always a little possessive, but he had told himself that meant she cared. That kind of devotion had to mean something. Even after she killed him—after the manor twisted his body and the shadows sank into his bones—some stubborn part of him had continued to make excuses for her. If he had been more careful, more attentive, less embarrassing to her position, perhaps she would not have snapped like that. The thought had settled into him quietly over the years, hardening into something he never bothered to question.

It wasn’t until much later—much, much later—that the idea began to crack.

Watching someone else risk everything for another person had been… unsettling. You had come crashing into the manor not for power, not for vengeance, but simply to save a child. You had fought, argued, bargained, and endured far more than anyone reasonably should have, all for someone else’s sake. It was reckless and infuriating and strangely… selfless. And the longer Snatcher watched it unfold, the harder it became to reconcile that kind of devotion with the thing he had once called love. Vanessa had wanted to keep him close, contained, shaped into something that suited her. You, on the other hand, seemed willing to tear the entire cursed forest apart just to bring someone home. For the first time in a very long while, Snatcher found himself wondering if the difference between the two had always been obvious—and if he had simply never known what real love was supposed to look like.

It was…uncomfortable for him to confront that. So he just…ignored it. But you kept being so damn…you. Unapologetically you. Kind and caring even towards him, who ruined your life.

How can your hate be so much kinder than her love?

He looks away from Grooves, turning his attention to the eternal snow outside.

A moment of silence passes before he looks at Grooves again-just a brief glance before he’s looking out the window again, expression tightening. “She… had her moments,” he mutters, claws tapping idly against the armrest.

“The palace was never exactly kind to her. Everyone wanted something from her—advisors whispering, nobles circling like vultures, the crown sitting on her shoulders like a boulder. If she snapped once in a while, I didn’t blame her.” His mouth twists faintly. “Most of the time I figured it was because I’d done something to irritate her. Stayed in town too long. Talked to people she didn’t approve of. Made a fool of myself-and her, by proxy-in front of the court.” He shrugs, the motion stiff and hollow.

“You know. I…hah. I screwed up a lot.”

He goes quiet for a moment, gaze drifting somewhere far away. “And it wasn’t always like that,” he says more softly. “There were days she was… wonderful. We’d sit in the gardens for hours while I read her those ridiculous poems I used to write. She’d laugh, tell me they were terrible, then make me read them again anyway.” His claws curl slightly against the chair. “On days like that, the whole palace felt warmer just because she was smiling.”

A brittle laugh escapes him.

“So I learned to live for those days,” he admits quietly. “Learned how to stay out of her way when the court had been particularly cruel to her. Learned when it was better to keep my mouth shut.” His eyes dim slightly. “You start hoping if you just… handle things right, she won’t be angry this time.”

His smile turns thin and bitter.

“…funny thing about that sort of love,” he murmurs. “You spend all your time waiting for the good version of them to come back.”

A pause.

“...And when it does… you convince yourself the bad version must’ve been your fault.”

“Darling,” Grooves gently cuts in. He places a flipper on Snatcher’s claw, forcing him to loosen his death-grip on the armrest at the still-unsettling feeling of…well, feeling snaps him out of his memories. The avian’s eyes shone with that disgusting pity and it makes him want to–!

“That isn’t love.”

…no. Not pity, the human part of him gently corrects.

Compassion.

Tenderness.

Empathy.

It sits there between them, heavier than the accusation he’d been expecting. Snatcher had braced himself for revulsion, for horror, for the sort of soft, delicate sympathy people gave to broken things they didn’t want to touch. That was easy to sneer at. Easy to swat away with a joke or a cruel remark.

But this isn’t that.

Grooves’ flipper doesn’t pull away from his claw. It doesn’t tighten either. It simply rests there, steady and patient, as though there’s nowhere else it would rather be.

There’s no disgust in his eyes.

No fear.

Just a quiet, stubborn warmth that Snatcher hasn’t seen directed at him in a very, very long time.

Concern.

The realization lands awkwardly, like a foreign language he hasn’t spoken in years.

Concern meant someone was worried about him. Concern meant someone believed he deserved better than what had been done to him. Concern meant someone was looking at the wreckage of his story and not blaming him for it.

Snatcher doesn’t know what to do with that.

For centuries, every reaction he’s gotten has been predictable—terror, hatred, bargaining, the occasional burst of righteous defiance before the shadows closed in. Those emotions all made sense. They fit the role he’d grown so comfortable playing.

But this?

This soft, stubborn refusal to treat him like a monster…

It reminds him of something. Something old. Something buried under years of cold stone halls and colder winters. The way people used to look at him when he was still human.

Before claws. Before shadows.

Before the world had decided what he was.

Back then there had been warmth in people’s expressions when they spoke to him. Kindness. The quiet assumption that he was someone worth caring about.

He’d forgotten what that looked like.

Forgotten what it felt like to have someone sit beside him without fear, to have someone meet his eyes without flinching, to have someone care about the hurt beneath the teeth and the shadows instead of the spectacle of them.

Grooves is looking at him that way now.

Like he’s still someone worth saving.

And Snatcher finds that far more unsettling than pity ever could have been.

That isn’t love.

Grooves’ words repeat in his mind as he just…stares blankly down at him. Processing everything.

That isn’t love.

That wasn’t love.

And it’s not him saying that. It’s someone else. Someone with no connections or ties to either Vanessa or his human self to defend either one, to laugh at the story of how the clumsy prince got another bruise, to turn their head from her cruel behavior.

Yes, there were times when it was good.

But that’s all they were.

Something wet hits his hand. He wipes it away without looking. Snatcher heaves a heavy, shuddering sigh-distantly aching as he feels the way it makes his chest rise and fall, feels the air entering him and leaving like a breath should-and looks out the window again.

That wasn’t love.

You’re allowed to feel like you were wronged. Because you were. Because that was not love.

That hurt. He didn’t like that…but at the same time…it felt…necessary. All the pain he wasn’t allowed to feel before, everything he had repressed for decades, for centuries…now finally free. Free to be labelled and seen and felt.

“...I’m sorry for breaking the piano bench.”

Grooves scoffs. “My dear, frankly, I couldn’t give less of a damn about that piano bench.”

That, at least, gets a weak chuckle from Snatcher. Grooves didn’t really swear. Looks like it was a day of breaking habits for both of them.

“...can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.” He stops trying to wipe away the odd, viscous tears that fall from his eyes-most turn to vapor before they leave his face, anyway. He braces for whatever it is Grooves will ask him, most likely questions that have haunted him in recent years, like ‘why did you let her treat you that way?’ or ‘why did you love her?’ or ‘how could you be such a pathetic, foolish coward?’ or–

“Can you tell me what you liked? When you were alive.”

…what?

“...come again?”

Grooves falters a little at that, but clears his throat and tries again. “I-I want to know what you liked as a human. If you, ah…remember and don’t mind sharing.”

…what an odd request. Of all the things Grooves could have asked—about the curse, about Vanessa, about the shadows that act as substitute for skin, for any real part of him—that’s the question he chooses?

What did he like as a human? What had made him feel alive?

…hah….that feels like a question you would ask. He’s oblivious to the stupid, dopey grin that stretches across his fanged mouth. Grooves doesn’t say anything about it.

“...I, uh…played piano.”The words feel clumsy coming out, like something he hasn’t said in a very long time. The ghost clears his throat—more habit than necessity.“And, uh…I had gone overseas to study law, which…I thought was interesting, at least.”

Piano…law…

…was that it?

He wracks his brain, trying to find any fleeting glimpse of happiness that wasn’t focused on her. Snatcher frowns slightly, brows knitting together as he digs through the dusty corners of memory. He tries to find something—anything—that belonged to him. Something bright, something warm.

But every road he follows seems to bend back toward the same place.

Toward her.

Conversations shaped around her moods. Decisions filtered through her approval. Entire years where the only thing he remembers clearly is trying to be whatever version of himself she preferred that day.

His grin fades.

He searches harder, sifting through the wreckage of those memories, trying to find even the smallest flicker of happiness that hadn’t revolved around Vanessa.

Surely there had been something.

Hadn’t there?

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the slow tap of his claw against the armrest as he keeps digging, stubbornly refusing to believe that the answer might truly be… nothing.

“So…” Grooves finally interjects after an awkwardly long moment of silence, “this piano…it’s yours, then?”

Thank the maker for his gentle redirection.

“...yes. It’s mine.”

“Then…that music I hear at night sometimes. That’s…?”

Snatcher can’t help but sigh, but there’s no malice behind it. Rather, there’s the ghost of a smile on his face (no pun intended). It should bother him, he realizes. It should feel like an invasion, knowing that people have heard him in those quiet hours when the manor sleeps and the shadows grow restless. First the greenhorn stumbling into it by accident… now Grooves asking about it outright.

Those late-night melodies were never meant to be shared. They were one of the few things left that belonged solely to him.

…Strangely enough, he finds he doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would.

“No, actually, that’s the other malicious, unfulfilled, angry ghost.”

“The WHAT?!”

“Relax!” Snatcher cackles. “I was joking, Grooves. Yes, the piano you sometimes hear at night is me.”

The penguin clutches his chest dramatically, feathers slightly puffed from the shock. Grooves lets out a sigh of relief, “Well…it’s lovely. If you’re open to it…I’d love to collaborate with you sometime.”

The idea hangs in the air between them.

Snatcher had expected many reactions to his playing from her.

But an invitation?

That… is new.

…he…doesn’t hate it.

He blinks back out of his thoughts to Grooves gently pressing a handkerchief into his claws. The bird is smiling up at him.

…and Snatcher finds himself giving a gentle smile back.

And if his fangs seem shorter than normal, or his features softer, or his eyes a little more lively…well. That’s between him and Grooves.

This apology had gone much better than he anticipated.

rainstars2004

I think Snatcher’s speech in this chapter is one of the most realistic accounts of toxic relationships I’ve ever read.

I mean… sometimes it’s just so true: you meet someone and fall in love with their personality, but then that person starts treating you badly.

They want you to change for them, to adapt, and… when you do, you start walking on eggshells just so as not to upset them any further.

You change everything about yourself, just to see that sweet side of them you once knew.

And in the end, when that person gets fed up with you—because deep down they never wanted you to change, they’d just been looking for a way to get rid of you for a while, because you weren’t good enough for them.

Perhaps they just used you; perhaps they liked you once but no longer do, and... they treat you in the worst possible way because they can’t bring themselves to say no... they no longer want you in their life.

In the end, the victim (in this case, Snatcher) feels guilty; you believe it’s all your fault that that person revealed their worst side.

It’s such a human way of thinking… but in the end, it’s the right thing to say.

"This isn’t love"

I’ve already said this on Ao3, but I really loved this chapter of this story.

Perhaps because I saw so much of myself in it? I don’t know.

But I wanted to reblog it to share this thought of mine.

#a hat in time #a hat in time snatcher #beauty and the beast #i'm crying #I love that chapter #good job