Part One: The Proposal

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by baldiethew0rm

by baldiethew0rm

As you walk up to Matt James, you wonder if this is real life. It has always been your dream to be on the bachelor, and now that has finally come true. Not only that, but you've made it to the final two!

For today, you've put on a beautiful velvet green dress, with sequins on top and a tastefully short, tight skirt. You wear with this matching two inch heels. You hope that he will propose to you.

As you walk into the beautiful gazebo, Matt greets you with a smile.

"Hello, Y/N."

You smile back. "Hello, Matt." You say in a nasally voice, one very similar--the same, even--to the voice of Nagisa Shiota.

"You know, I've been waiting for this day." He says. "Ever since I met you, Y/N, I've known that you were the one. I've been waiting to do this."

He gets down on one knee and pulls out a box.

"Matt!" You gasp. You were hoping for this; you've been hoping for this.

But, suddenly, you remember the real reason why you went on the bachelor--the Instagram followers. You knew that you would never marry Matt, but lately you had been so caught up in the show that you had forgotten your true purpose. You came on because you needed the money, so you and your husband agreed that this was the best way.

Oh, my god, my husband! You realize, remembering the man that you've loved for ten years now. In fact, today may well be your anniversary.

You slap the box out of Matt's hand and scream in his face. "I'm married, you psycho! What is wrong with you?"

Matt looks startled and holds the hand that you slapped with the one that you didn't. "I'm sorry, Y/N, I didn't know. I thought--"

"You thought? Wow. I didn't know you were the kind of person to assume these things."

Matt seems confused and hurt. You react by pulling your hand into your cleavage and producing a small bag, like the ones those gift shop rocks come in. You slowly open the bag as Matt begins to cry a little.

"Go, my husbands!" You say, tossing the bag up in the air as you undo the straps.

Out from the bag pours thousands of humanoid bees. They each wear a black and yellow sweater and have spiked-up hair. Some have glasses.

Matt gasps, realizing that he is about to be attacked by a hoard of Barry B. Bensons and Adam Flaymans. "Those aren't your husbands, those are your hivesbands!"

Many, but not all, of them exclaim 'ya like jazz?' as they begin to swarm Matt, stinging him all over. He screams in agony. The bodies of bees hit the floor in the hundreds.

After a few minutes, Matt falls to the ground and lays among the bees. You check his pulse. Dead.

You crack a smile for the shocked cameraman and motion for the remaining bees to follow you.

You swiftly walk over to Matt's dead body and stand over him, one leg beside his right side and one leg beside his left. You pull out your phone--also from your cleavage--and begin to play your favorite song.

In response, the bees begin to do their little jigs. You follow suit almost immediately, grooving to the music as the cameraman runs off. He may be calling the police, but you don't care. You have your hivesbands to jive with, and that's really all that matters in this moment.