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leiawritesstories · 1 year

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A Rose As Red As Blood

well, once again, i didn't write what i said i was going to write. *sigh* but here's.....this thing, pulled from the depths of my WIPs. and YES your model/designer au is coming i PROMISE

A loosely Beauty and the Beast-inspired AU :)

Word count: ~3.4k

Warnings: some language, illness, bad parenting, grouchiness

Enjoy!

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Evening was just beginning to darken the blush of sunset when Kasida galloped up the dirt path leading to the Galathynius home, her reins hanging loose around her bridle. The mare stopped mere inches from Aelin, whinnying and panting like she was desperate.

Aelin dropped the basket of vegetables she'd been harvesting from her little garden and grabbed the mare's reins, smoothing a hand down her neck and speaking soothingly into her ear. "Shh, my girl, it's all right, you're home." She stroked Kasida's sweat-dampened coat. "What's wrong, Kas? Spooked in the--Da?"

She'd just realized that Rhoe, who'd headed out early that morning to go to the market three towns over, was not with Kasida.

"Da?" Looping Kasida's reins around the hitching post, Aelin all but sprinted into the stable, praying to whatever gods existed that her father would be there, putting away the saddlebags with a grin on his face and a joke on his lips. You worry too much, my Fireheart, he'd tease. "Da? Are you there?"

Out in the yard, Kasida whickered, scuffing her hooves against the dirt-and-gravel front path.

Rhoe was not in the stable.

A furrow wrinkled Aelin's forehead, concern creasing her thoughts. She strode back over to Kasida, stroking the horse's sides in a gesture of comfort. "Shh, it'll be alright. We'll go find him, I promise." The horse huffed as if in agreement. "I know, I know. We need to go now."

"Talking to the horse again?" interrupted a male voice--far too loud for a conversation at dusk.

Bracing herself, Aelin turned slowly around to find Chaol Westfall leaning against her front gate, a stupid grin curling across his face and his ever-present quiver of arrows peeking over his shoulder. "I don't recall inviting you here, Westfall."

"No need," Chaol declared. "Miss Galathynius, chérie, I simply happened to be walking past and saw you conversing with your horse." He laughed. "And I thought, how adorable, she thinks the horse can understand her."

"How wonderful," Aelin grumbled, hurrying up the front steps into her house. "Goodni--"

"Why don't you come to the tavern with me tonight, darling?" Chaol appeared at her side, propping one arm against the doorframe and smirking down at her. "I've been hoping to have the most beautiful woman in town on my arm."

"I'd rather die," Aelin muttered.

"Quoi?" He placed his free hand dramatically against his heart. "Surely you tease, ma belle?"

She rolled her eyes. "Get off my porch, Westfall. Then take your disgusting thoughts about marrying me and shove them up your flat little ass."

And she slammed the front door in his face.

Chaol remained on the porch for another two minutes before storming off in a huff, grumbling about ungrateful women and his inestimable glory under his breath.

Aelin grabbed a couple of hunting knives, strapping one to her thigh and sliding another into her belt, threw some food into a small bag, laced up her boots and pulled her thick cloak around her shoulders, and hurried back out the door, locking up behind her. She checked Kasida's saddle, tightened up the straps, fastened her saddlebag in place, and swung herself up. "Alright, Kas, let's go find Da." Kasida whinnied and launched into a half-canter at the bares touch of Aelin's heels, only pausing for Aelin to fasten the gate before galloping off into the falling night.

Within an hour, they had reached the Oakwald Forest, its vast expanse of greenery dimmed to a gray, charcoal, navy, and black blur by the night. Aelin patted Kasida's neck, encouraging her. "It's alright, my girl, just a bit dark." She rooted around in the saddlebag, grinning when she found the striker. "Here, let's have a little light, yes?" Catching a stray dry branch, she lit it aflame, casting a circle of firelight around herself and the horse. "Let's go, my girl. Da's waiting, I know he is."

Kasida trotted into the forest, guided by whatever instincts had led her on her mad dash back home to Aelin. Eventually, they came to a fork in the path, partially obscured by a great old tree that had fallen across the road, its trunk splintered by what looked like the marks of a lightning strike. Aelin nudged Kasida leftwards, onto the fork that wasn't blocked.

It wasn't quite another two hours before they reached a wrought-iron gate that hung loosely on its hinges, creaking faintly as the curling breeze nudged it further open. And just in time, too--Aelin's torch had burned to a bare stub and she snuffed it with a breath, tossing the blackened end into a patch of slushy snow.

Odd--she could have sworn it was barely autumn, and yet here, there were patches of snow scattered across the ground. The Oakwald opened up beyond the gate, giving way to...a palace? A castle?

Even more odd.

She'd never been aware there was any kind of castle in the forest.

Still, the once-landscaped gardens wound towards a dark stone building, and a building meant shelter, if nothing else. And she needed shelter. So Aelin dismounted, wrapped the reins around her hand, and led Kasida into the castle grounds, her boots crunching gently against the fine layer of snow crusted atop the cobbled paths. Distantly, some part of her brain noticed how well-kept the grounds must once have been, with lush greenery and smoothly raked paths extending all across the property. But it had clearly long since fallen into disrepair, probably abandoned by whoever the last owner had been.

Eventually, Aelin came to the castle proper, finding it just as empty as the grounds had been. She led Kasida to the stable and unsaddled her, settling the mare in a stall with plenty of water and, surprisingly, a bucket of fairly fresh oats. She didn't allow herself to wonder how in all hell there was fresh feed in an abandoned castle.

That train of thought could only lead to runaway imaginings.

A little more cautiously, Aelin headed up the castle's front stairs, her saddlebag gripped tightly in her hands. She nudged the great oaken door with her foot, jumping slightly when it opened a fraction. Quickly recovering her wits, she pushed the door open enough to get herself inside, then closed the door behind herself and stood for a moment in the silent, dark entrance hall.

At least the place was warm.

Torchlight flickered some distance down the corridor to the left, so she headed that way, hoping to hell and back she wasn't walking into the lair of some criminal. You stop that! she chastised herself, swatting her cheeks. Find Da and go home. That's why we are here.

Someone or something must have been guiding her path, because before long, she found herself at the foot of some prison-like stairs. The stone steps spiralled steadily upwards into the tower, the stairwell's damp darkness broken every several steps by a wall sconce. The torchlight flickered and wavered, unsteady, only enhancing Aelin's sense that this was a prison. And if it was a prison, that was likely where her father was.

And she would do anything to get him out.

Torch firmly in hand, Aelin started up the steps, climbing with single-minded determination. Her focus helped the stairs go by faster, and it was only a few moments before she reached the top and found herself, as she suspected, in a hallway lined with iron-grate cell doors. Raising her torch, she crept down the hall, scanning each cell for her father. Most were empty--strange, but not so strange for a castle in such a remote, almost forgotten, part of the woods.

Then she heard it. A muted, broken moan.

Her father's voice.

"Da!" She darted towards the sound, finding her father in a cell towards the end of the corridor. "Da, it's me!"

"Fireheart?" Rhoe croaked, gripping the bars of his cell door.

"It's me," Aelin repeated, shifting her torch to one hand and pressing the other atop her father's hands. "I'm here to get you out, Da."

Terror flashed across Rhoe's face. "No, you--he'll--Fireheart, no." He clutched her hand, earnestness and deep fear warring in his face. "I can't let you risk yourself for me."

"Like hell you can't." Aelin set the torch in a nearby sconce, freeing her to look for lockpicks. "Why are you here, Da?"

He shuddered. "He said I trespassed. Stole."

"Da..." Her brows furrowed. "Who? Said what?" Tugging a couple of pins from her hair, she inserted them into the cell lock and poked around, figuring out how the lock mechanism worked.

"The...the prince," Rhoe whispered. "He found me in his garden, found the rose, threw a godsdamned fit."

"The rose?" The lock clicked, and she tamped down her pride.

Rhoe's hands shook. "I only wanted to bring you back something pretty, my Fireheart, I thought the castle was abandoned and I could just spend the night in some kind of shelter, I never meant to harm anything."

"Da." Aelin yanked the cell door open, only wincing a little at the grating screech of the metal, and grabbed Rhoe's arms, tugging him to face her. "There's a prince?"

Rhoe nodded shakily. "He--he was--"

He was right behind them, a kerosene lantern in one raised hand and a near-feral snarl on his face. "Who the hell are you?"

Ten Years Ago

Prince Rowan Whitethorn was supremely uncomfortable.

The jacket was too tight, the pants were far too tight, and the stupidly massive wig his valet had placed atop his head made him look ridiculous, like a small child trying to play at being his father. He was barely fourteen--indeed, this whole elaborate costume ball was supposedly to celebrate his birthday--and yet his father insisted on the most pomp and ceremony possible for every event.

He didn't have the words or the heart to say he didn't want it.

"Son!" Prince Pyotr Whitethorn entered the room, regally imposing in his own ornate suit and towering wig. "Ah, lovely. You are ready!" Without waiting for an answer--because the Prince of Doranelle did not ask questions--he took hold of Rowan's arm and led him out towards the ballroom.

"Father." Rowan managed to pull free partway down the long hall. "I..."

"What, boy?" Pyotr looked crossly at his son. "We haven't the time for your nonsense."

Rowan gulped. "Might--might I see Mother before I go to the ball?"

"We do not--"

"It would be wise to allow the boy a visit." Gav, who had been Pyotr's valet for many years, interrupted. "To soothe his temper, as it were." Gav had long been skilled at the art of placating Pyotr, knowing precisely how to phrase his suggestions so Rowan's father would see reason.

"Very well," Pyotr relented. "I will be there momentarily, son."

Rowan bowed quickly and hurried off towards his mother's room, slowing down as he approached her door. He knocked twice--their secret knock--and entered, going silent as he walked over to his mother's bed.

Princess Enna Whitethorn laid pale and silent in her bed, her pine eyes fluttering weakly as her son came to her. "My son," she whispered, her voice a frail thread of breath.

"Mama," Rowan croaked, folding her wasted hands into his.

Enna managed a flicker of a smile. "I love you, my Rowan," she rasped. "To whatever end."

"Mama, please, don't go," he whispered back, heart cracking in two when she squeezed his hands.

His mother's face was placid, restful. "If only I could stay," she murmured, thumb brushing weakly over the back of his palm. "Now tell me, little hawk."

He gulped. "To--to whatever end."

Enna's lips twitched upwards, the only bit of joy she could express.

Then Pyotr's hand laid itself onto Rowan's shoulder, his father's commanding presence brooking no refusal, and Rowan was directed away from his mother's bedside, keeping his eyes--her eyes--trained onto her until the dark mahogany doors closed before his face.

"Stand tall, son." Pyotr murmured, his way of trying to encourage Rowan before they entered the ballroom. Despite his attempt, though, he couldn't quite mask the harsh undertone.

Rowan sniffed once, straightened his spine, and schooled his features into the same unfeeling neutrality he so often saw his father wear. "I'm ready."

Too many hours into the ball, Rowan lounged in his decidedly uncomfortable throne, wondering idly if his father had consumed enough liquor to let him escape unnoticed. He was on the verge of standing up to weave through the throng of dancers and slip out a side door when the entire room went dark.

A frigid gust swept through the expansive ballroom, extinguishing every flame and light in its path. Seconds later, thunder cracked through the grand hall, bringing a ripple of gasps and shrieks from the gathered people. Directly in front of the dais--directly in front of Rowan and his father--a writhing cloud of light took form, expanding and morphing into a female shape, a woman's form.

His...mother's form?

"Enna?" Pyotr inquired, frowning at the figure. "What on earth--"

"Silence." That was not Enna Whitethorn's voice. That was not the voice of the woman who comforted Rowan every time he sought out her gentle, loving warmth.

"Enna, what in the name--"

"I said, silence." The woman who was and was not Enna lifted a hand, cutting off Rowan's father's words. He opened and closed his mouth, trying in vain to force words out, until he was propelled back down into his throne. "You know why I am here, Pyotr."

Pyotr's face blanched and he gripped the arms of the throne, drilling the ferocity of his glare into the woman's face.

She wasn't intimidated in the slightest. "What is the price, Prince?"

No answer.

"You will respond to me." She flicked her fingers. "What is the price, Prince? What is the cost of this, your reign?"

"Th--that which I love the most," Pyotr rasped, the words escaping him against his will.

She nodded. "Indeed. Look before you, Prince Pyotr Whitethorn, and see the cost."

He swallowed harshly. "If the price is paid, go."

A soft, menacing laugh. "Foolish words, Prince. For how could you love anything more than your own self?" When he tried to respond, she silenced him once again and turned outward, towards the gathered crowd. "Hear me well, my people. See what befalls those who would care only for themselves." Threads of her light wrapped around Pyotr, coiling up his arms, his legs, his body. "See how the selfish one is repaid."

Rowan could do nothing but watch, stunned, as those threads dragged his father into the enchantress's--for that was what she was, his mother, an enchantress--light.

And then she turned to him. "Little hawk."

"M--mother?" he whispered.

Sorrow flickered briefly across her face. "I am sorry, my little hawk, but the price must be paid." Once again, threads of gold spiraled out, this time towards him.

This time, though, the threads wove around his head and heart, not to kill but only to curse.

"Until the prince learns the meaning of true love, let the loveless winter blight the land." Enna's voice was a thousand voices at once, layers of sound echoing through the great vaulted ballroom. "Until love is the meaning and foundation of this place, let the land reflect the heart and mind of the father." Those threads burned, and Rowan groaned, feeling the curse sink into the fabric of his being.

Gently, Enna brushed her hand across her son's cheek. "Fear not, my son," she murmured, now speaking only to him. "For you are my son, and I taught you to love." Her touch was a cooling balm after the burn of the curse. "Now tell me, Rowan. Promise me."

He forced back his tears. "To whatever end."

"To whatever end."

With that, Enna Whitethorn exploded into shards of glowing gold, the sparks shooting through the ballroom and re-igniting all the lights.

And Rowan collapsed backwards into his throne, shaking, a barrier of ice forming around his heart.

That ice--his mother's curse--protected him for years, keeping his heart sealed off and inaccessible. It was a blessing when the court abandoned him and his castle, when the land forgot the Whitethorn name and lands and stories. It was a blessing when, every so often, a lost traveler stumbled across the wintry territory and Rowan had to growl and menace the lost traveler away from his castle.

It was a curse, though, when he couldn't shed a single tear at his mother's grave.

It was a curse when he found himself growing into a moody, temperamental recluse with a bad habit of snapping at the handful of faithful staff who remained to care for the castle and the prince.

But Rowan had never been so aware that he was cursed as he was when he came face to face with a gorgeous woman in his prison tower, a woman protectively shielding the middle-aged man Rowan had caught trying to steal a rose from his mother's garden. She'd clearly picked the lock of the cell he'd thrown the man into, was clearly in the process of breaking him out.

And his soul screamed at him that this was the woman to break his curse.

He shoved his soul aside. "Who the hell are you?"

"None of your godsdamned business," the woman snapped, sparks kindling in the gold flecks of her eyes.

Rowan nearly growled. "You're trying to break out a prisoner I rightly claimed; it very much is my business."

"Rightly claimed?" she echoed, indignant. "My father was seeking shelter for the night, not trying to kill you."

"Seeking to steal from my lands, too." Enna's roses were incredibly precious to Rowan. It might have been a bit much to throw the man into a cell for marveling at the roses' beauty enough to try and pluck one, though.

The woman raised her chin in defiance. "My father was trying to bring me something I asked for. If it's a prisoner you want, take me. I'm the reason he tried to clip one of your roses."

"Aelin, no," the man whispered, trying to maneuver his daughter away from the cell.

She turned to face him, sorrow and determination in those beautiful eyes. "I'm sorry, Da." Then she pushed him aside, swung herself into the cell, and slammed the door shut before he could stop her. "Go, Da. I love you."

The man gulped, looked to Rowan's menacing stance, and took off down the stairs, running as fast as his legs would take him. Minutes later, the outer doors slammed shut.

Rowan glanced out the window to his left, watching the man gallop away on his horse. Then he turned back to the woman, striding right up to the cell door to glare down at her. At Aelin. Gods, but the name suited her--and struck something in his curse-frozen heart.

She glared right back, unflinching. "Are you just going to stand and scowl, or do you have better things to do, prince?" She spat his title like a curse.

"You took his place." Rowan was not expecting his voice to soften like that--like there was something human in him after all.

"Some of us possess human qualities," she scoffed.

Just like that, the curse shot ice through his veins. His expression shuttered. "You are not to leave this castle unless and until I release you," he recited. He'd had this little speech down for a few years at least. "The staff will bring your food. Do not even think about escaping--the castle knows me and I know it."

Aelin rolled her eyes. "Anything else?"

He had no words. So he just took his lantern and stalked away, ignoring the faint little voice inside of him that had, despite his efforts, returned to yell at him not to leave her there like that. That voice sounded suspiciously like hope.

And if there was one thing Rowan Whitethorn had learned from a decade under the curse, it was that hope had no place in his heart.

~~~

TAGS (please lmk if you want to be added or removed!):

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

#my writing #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #beauty and the beast inspired #beauty and the beast au #a rose as red as blood #pls be nice 🥺#i've been wanting to write this forever

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the-element-siren · 1 year

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Darklina Prompt

Inspired by an Italian version of Beauty and the Beast. It's on Amazon Prime in the US and I'll post a link.

Aleksander Morozov was the envy of all men. Prince of Kirigan, happily married to a woman of grace and beauty and loved him as much as he did her and controlled some of the richest lands in Ravka. That was until one night when a fire broke out. His favorite cousin, Elizaveta lives with them as his ward until he can find her a husband. His wife's body was found untouched by the fire by a balcony, many assumed that the Prince killed her while others rationalized that she must have jumped to avoid the fire's path. The prince's face was covered with scars as though he'd been scratched. (Think his new look from SaB)

Alina and Mal live in the village and struggle to survive. Alina works at a bookbinder that paid very little while Mal barely ever manages to hold a job for more than a week and spends whatever money Alina makes in the tavern. He dreams of a farm in a new place with fertile lands and finding a beautiful wife. Alina holds on to hope that he'll finally really see her.

One day, Mal decides that he needs to change his life. So spurred on by his friends, he decides to steal from the Prince. He does manage to get into the estate and find some jewelry, Luda's jewelry, but he gets caught and destroys some precious vases. Aleksander decides to imprison him for now until he decides on Mal's punishment.

After hearing about what happened, Alina rushes to the estate. She is able to see Mal and they are interrupted by Aleksander. She pleads for Mal's life and offers to pay off his debt by working as a servant, Mal doesn't even try to object. Aleksander agrees and gives Alina the day to settle her affairs.

Sadly, it's one of the ones with ads 😔😔 but still so good!! Made in Italy but english dubbed

#darklina #shadow and bone #darklina au #shadow and bone au #darklina prompt #vague regency/victorian period #regency au #period au #prince!aleksander #beauty and the beast inspired

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rosedmuse · 6 months

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hearts of roses; for harusoie 850 days

Everyday, a single stem of a rose is placed upon his lonely doorstep. Not once have I missed a day, and never will Iーa vow made and rooted in my heart. Thus a promise born from the moment I learned of the cursed prince.

Everyday. Everyday, a single stem of a rose is placed upon his lonely doorstep. Not once have I missed a day, and never will Iーa vow made and rooted in my heart. Thus a promise born from the moment I learned of the cursed prince. "A miserable, fallen fellow with the blood of the late King in his veins," as the clique of old ladies in the kingdom would so describe him. Having been treated nearly as an outcast myself for years, I can share in His Highness's current status. Has anyone ever seen him? Met him? Talk to him? For people to spread falsities far and wide about someone they find rather eccentric is completely unacceptable (well, in my books, at least). To think the prince is the common subject of ridicule by his own people... Just what kind of a person is he? I ought to find out. Determined to perhaps make a new friend, I set straight my approach, and never have I been more grateful to be working at the local flower shop. Right before the sun shines from its night-long slumber would I rise, and pick the flower in fullest bloom from one of the shop's vases, in trade of a few small coins worth of my earnings for that particular day's shift. I don't earn much to begin with, but I don't mind. Especially if I could get myself someone to laugh with, talk about my problems with, and come home to, finally in turn. And so, as do every young soul alive, what used to be hopeful enthusiasm soon turned into anxiety. Then confusion. Then doubt. Then, almost very closely now, defeat. "A rose a day, attracts a friend my way," I repeatedly say? Is it just my wishful thinking? But the roses... All the roses I've offered for him are gone the following days... As if, he had actually accepted them? Or did I assume too far ahead?

Regardless, my mind is made. I never once saw his face. Nor heard his voice. Nor felt his presence nearby. But at least one of those has to change. Hence today, as I fulfill my promise towards the unrequited friendship I've become so loyal to yet again, I devise a scheme. From right out of the blue. Nothing big, just a foolish attempt on something I never really put much thought into. What... What if I wait a little longer? Up until now, immediately leaving the roses on the ground unattended has been the routine. But to have even only some of my questions answeredーit's at stake. I can't waste any of my options. I just can't. Besides, my first and (probably) last case of work tardiness is understandably forgivable, no? Placing thus the rose I'm holding so tightly in my hands that its thorny stem had grown quite warm, down on the ground leading directly into the palace, a deep breath escapes my lips. It's been so long. I refuse to count the total number of days I've subconsciously done all this. If anything, I won't be breathing my last breath withoutーat the very leastーphysically meeting the person I'm giving my favorite flowers to on a daily basis. If I don't meet the prince now, I don't think I'll ever be able to. "Hah..." In an instant, my eyes go round at the sound of the old, steel palace doors loudly opening like a painful screech. Pale, slender fingers protruding from a hunched and cloaked figure reach toward the rose laying on the ground. And for what seemed like only a quarter of a split second, my gaze finally meets with His. Hence, all becomes crystal clear. A case of long-term neglect it sure is; but the elegance of royalty in his delicate features cannot be denied. With unkempt, tousled hair as pink as the finest silk in the land, and shocked, tired eyes as purple and lonely as the starless expanse of twilight. The cursed prince. The most beautiful entity I ever laid my eyes upon. I let out a faint gasp in awe, "Y-Your Highneー" But life is cruel. Just as I open my mouth to graciously acknowledge His Majesty in my midst, the palace doors quickly shut with a scornful bang, leaving me cold and dusty from the impact of its sudden closure. I feel so conflicted. So alone. So devastated. "No... Please, come back..." I struggle to fight back the tears that threaten to taint my face with the emotions I've kept locked deeply within my heart for so long. Unable to bear the weight of the world on my shoulders, I ball both my fists and use them to pound against the palace doors, desperate for anyone to listen to my plea and let me in. I could care less about the stares, the whispers, the last judgement that society has declared upon me in that moment. All I ever wanted was a friend. And the only chance I had to make that come true, vanished before I could even fully understand it. Daysーno. Years of upholding the personal vows I made without any guarantee of a happy ending, all for what seems like naught. On my own accord, did I give my life purpose, and simultaneously did I break my heart a hundred times over. I was so close. Maybe even too close. The cursed prince had no proper human interaction in a long, long time. He's bound to react extremely to my sudden interest. Being stuck in his castle, rotting away overtime with only the roses I keep sending him, as his company. He may have taken the flowers, but he could interpret my intentions differently too. That, I must clarify. So... I guess I just have to try again. And again. And again. For as many times as I need. Someday, maybe we'll be friends. Maybe when I no longer have to wait outside, I could directly gift him all the roses in his domicile. And maybe then, he'll learn how to accept me, the way I accept him. Someday, maybe.

#harusoie #a3! yume #a3 yume #self-shipping #self-insert #first pov #flower shop / royalty au #beauty and the beast inspired

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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 10 months

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There's nothing he can't do. Yet.

(Thank you to everyone who participated in the poll!)

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #bonus comic #This whole poll and comic is very inspired by a convo I had with qourmet in one of their art streams.#namely that the Art Of Grilling is a powerful skill separate from cooking.#I've also been inspired by said convo to try and learn how to grill. What's the point of having a garden if I can't grill my summer squash?#Anyways. I hope this appeases the crowd that has been in arms about the prev prev poll.#I don't think teenji can cook. I think lan wangji is just very good at dedicating himself to whatever craft he needs to pick up.#give him a day and he will be a grill dad #the most powerful beast of the summer lawn biome.#Until then he will lie awake at night. Haunted by this inadequacy. He's just like me for real (chronic perfectionist).#I think this is the first domestic wangxian post i've made. God I'm so sorry wangxian fans.#wwx could not care *less* abt lwj having flaws. I think thats the beauty of this relationship. they *know* about each other's flaws FIRST.#Love each people *because* of the flaws - not despite them (thats my unsolicited advice for the day).#also if you noticed my medium gray marker slowly giving out...today it finally died on me....

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artist-ellen · 6 months

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Whatever could I be reposting these for? I guess you’ll just have to wait and see…

I would say it’s weird to look at the gap in years from there to here but 2022 was pretty fiercely dedicated to the Game of Thrones redesigns. Well, I guess there was also modern Belle…. But the Tale as Old as Time dress is the one that matters in reposting so… that’s the only hint you’ll get!

I am the artist! Do not post without permission & credit! Thank you! Come visit me over on: instagram.com/ellenartistic or tiktok: @ellenartistic

#beauty and the beast #redesigning disney princesses #redesigning heroines #ellenart #character design #costume design #digital illustration #historically inspired #historically inspired disney princesses #historically accurate disney #redesigning belle #the great belle redesign #belle #historical fashion

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thrumugnyr · 6 months

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Lucien making sure Tamlin is extra pretty to woo the human!

(This one is for @taymartiart who requested Lucien braiding Tamlin's hair~)

#am i late for lucien week? MAYBE SO!#tamlin #lucien vanserra #acotar fanart #acotar #where are the masks? SHHHHH DONT WORRY #I forgor ok #this was just supposed to be sexy tamucien but i made it silly instead IM SORRY #also yes this is clearly inspired by the beauty and beast disney movie scene you know which one #other fanart

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tonight-little-attack-leader · 2 days

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#descendants #xavier thorpe x reader #bad buddy #hannah brooks #kacchako #study inspiration #beautiful ass #beardedgay #muscle twink #hunter #kamen rider #sarah rose mcdaniel #fantastic beasts and where to find them

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loguetowns · 11 months

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blood red.

cw. mentions of blood/wounds, swearing.

fangs bared and flaring tempers. animosity in every look, an intensity that bubbles from just being in the same room. hate burns red, but then again, so does love. after all, isn't hate still an emotion of passion?

king is annoyed. he's pissed off, irritated – maybe even angry.

he drums his fingers against the fabric of the armchair. there’s a rip in his shirt, his hair is a mess, and – worst of all – his helmet is broken. he pushes his hair out of his face, irked that he can’t tie it up.

the bane of his existence walks in with a first aid kit. he sighs, loudly and obnoxiously, and you glare at him as you sit down.

“don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be.”

“who’s the one that made it difficult in the first place?”

without missing a beat, you simply state, "that would be you."

you carry on, unwrapping bandages, as king merely gapes at you. ever since kaidou placed you under his supervision, you have been nothing but disrespectful, disobedient and disruptive to what should have been an otherwise simple job.

"i'm not the one who tried to climb out a 10-story window," he hisses. "i should've let you fall straight into those thorns."

"no one asked you to help," you reply coolly.

the absolute gall of you.

"believe me, i don't care if you die," he squirms in his seat, biting back the sting of his cuts. "but kaidou wants you alive."

"as if i care what kaidou wants," you mutter as you cut away at his shirt. when he pulls away, you hold down his arm. "stop moving."

the idea of some brat ordering him around makes his blood boil, and if it weren't for the fact that he'd likely start bleeding again, king would love nothing more than to put you in your place.

"i'm not the problem," you continue, ignoring his death glare. "you're the one that's been hissy this whole time. you must be nothing special if your only responsibility is babysitting."

at the attack on his pride, his last thread of patience snaps. "you annoying brat! can't you just fucking cooperate?"

"fuck you!" you finally crack, a fierce anger taking over. "you want people to cooperate then maybe don't lock them up!"

"i wouldn't have to lock you up if you weren't such a pain in the ass!"

"i wouldn't be a pain in the ass if you weren't being an ass to begin with!" you grab his arm. "now fucking hold still!"

you slap disinfectant on king's bloody gash, and he howls at the sting. "that hurts, dammit!"

he glowers at you, seething at the pain. you tell yourself that he deserves it, but – to your annoyance – you can't bring yourself to relish in his suffering. unfortunately, you're not nearly as heartless as king is.

there's a twinge of guilt as you take in his dirty clothes and blood-stained skin.

he wouldn't be in this mess if he didn't rush to catch you.

to king's surprise, you don't make any sort of retort or taunt at his outburst. instead, you press your lips into a thin line and start wrapping his cut in silence. you apply the bandage firmly, but gently, and it doesn't go unnoticed by king.

too angry and proud to say anything else, king merely looks away as you finish dressing his injuries.

"don't move," you deadpan when you're done. "raising your arms will only open the wound."

"fine," he grits. he shakes the hair out of his face, growling in irritation when it don't move the way he wants it to.

you watch as he sighs in resignation, and that stupid voice inside you tells you to do the right thing. you curse your guilty conscience.

"here, let me help."

you stand behind king, carefully gathering his loose curls together. the air is thick with awkwardness as your gentle hands betray the hostility that you're both used to. you start tying his ponytail and take a deep breath.

"thank you," you say in a voice barely above a whisper. "for saving me."

king stills, at a crossroads for how he wants to handle this. it takes this small admission of your gratitude to make him stop and realize the gravity of the situation.

he did help you.

king – one of the all-stars of the beast pirates, right-hand-man to kaidou – showed you mercy when he had no reason to.

and you – captive of the beast pirates, prisoner against your wishes – showed him a grace that he doesn't really deserve by tending to his injuries when you had no reason to.

still staring at the wall, he mutters,

"you're welcome."

like it or not, the two of you are stuck here together – and maybe with some time and a little bit of kindness, you could learn to like it.

part of my (ongoing) character + colour series!

#one piece king x reader #op king x reader #king x reader #one piece king #one piece x reader #not proofread and i'm not sorry about it #to the anon who requested king + red ages ago: this is so long overdue and idek if you're still around but #i couldn't let this hunky giant go and this scenario has been living in my head ever since #so pls accept my humble apology #anyway if you thought that this scene seems familiar #it is (heavily) inspired by that scene in beauty and the beast when belle is tending to the beast's wounds after she saves him #that movie taught me everything i need to know about enemies-to-lovers ok #¡! ❞ [ fics ]#¡! ❞ [ reqs ]#.cc

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princess-ibri · 6 months

Text

Darkside Disney Princesses: Belle

(Edit-put my original picture for her under the cut)

(So this one does rely somewhat on the backstories made up for my DisneyVerse versions of the parents of both Belle and the Beast. But I think it still has good precedent because of the whole Belle and Rumplestiltskin thing that happens in OUAT)

In the Darkside version of Belle's tale, Felipe never makes it back to the village to let Belle know something has happened to Maurice, either he gets lost in the woods, or the wolves find him again. And so Belle waits patiently for him to return. Waits, and waits, and waits…

Finally a month has passed, and Belle is desperate to find out what's happened to her father. With no way to know where along his journey he went missing though, she has no way to know where to start looking. And the town isn’t too worried about chasing after “Crazy Old Maurice”, gone into the blue.

Her own circumstances are getting dire as well, without Maurice there to bring in their little income from helping repair the villages various items, her resources are running low. She's taken in sewing or whatever small work people might give her, but its a small town after all, and the people are used to doing their own labor, and couldn't pay her much besides.

The kinder townsfolk give her what they can, but with winter coming on they've got to look out for themselves and their own families

Of course, there's always Gaston's ready offer of marriage, but Belle isn't that desperate. Yet.

Her refusals don't stop him from coming over and offering nearly every day, and they certainly spur him into making sure the town gets the idea that Belle is "too proud to accept charity, don't bother giving her any supplies"

So the winter closes in, Belle finds herself colder and hungrier, and her firewood is getting low. Finally, she bundles up as warmly as she can, and braves her way into the forest to gather what wood she can.

And in the glamor of the sudden snow, she too becomes lost within the trees.

The cold closes in around her. Deep and biting. The trees seem to twist around her, and finally she trips and falls, losing her axe beneath the snow that's piling higher and higher. She has no idea where she is or where to go, as the darkness deepens

Then suddenly, a light. Just ahead of her in the trees, flickering like a flame. She manages to stumble towards it. Following the dance of the light as it seems to lead her onwards, almost beckoning. Every bit of her is numb, but at last she makes it to the door of a ruined looking old tower. And inside, lounging by a roaring fire, is someone, something, between a man and a beast. It bears the shape of a man, but it's skin is mottled green, like the stuffed crocodile she'd once seen hanging in a church as a girl. It's eyes are black as coal, save for the irises, which shine-- like it's hair--like burning gold.

"Hello there Dearie", the being says, with a smile that glitters like a row of needles in the firelight. "Won't you come in? What is it that brings such a pretty young thing out into these dark and dangerous woods?"

Too numb with cold to feel fear, too desperate for warmth to think with caution, Belle accepts the offer, and lulled by the warmth of the fire and the being's careful coaxing, she begins to tell her tale. Her missing father, her growing desperation as Gaston drove away those who might have helped her, the dwindling food and firewood. And through it all the being listens, sympathizes, and finally, offers it's aid:

"For a price of course"

Belle is not put off by this caveat. She has read enough to know of Les Fées and the bargains they often make. She knows of the tricks and traps they lay. She also knows that at this point, she has little left to lose.

And so she agrees to make a bargain with this strange Imp

“You don’t know it, but there’s a power in you dearie. Flowing in your veins, deep down, like an underground spring. I can teach you to draw it up, so that you’ll never know weakness nor want again. You’ll be able to do all the things you ever dreamed of dearie, fulfill every wish—even finding your father”

The promise of this wished for dream above all lights a fire inside of Belle hotter than the one she sits by, but she asks warily: “And, what is it you get out of this?”

“Let’s just say that I’ll have the opportunity to pay something forward”

So Belle begins her lessons, she has always been a swift student. Drawing out the latent fairy magic that lies sleeping within her, waiting to be called forth. In another life she might have discovered it with the help of a more benign teacher. But that is not this life. And she learns to call forth her power through the lens of her fear, frustration, and anger over the willingness of that small and small minded town to so easily cast her and her father aside.

Time passes differently within the environs of the old stone tower. When Belle finally leaves, for her months have gone by, and yet as she reaches the edge of the forest, clad in a gown of midnight blue, her eyes dark as the winter sky above her, she perceives that less than a day has passed since she entered the woods, seeking wood to keep back the cold.

She has no need of warmth anymore.

She reaches out with the power she has learned to yield, seeking the bonds of blood and love that link her to her father. She sees them, feels them, faintly running through the forest. She follows them through the trees, unafraid of the wolves that once would have stalked her, and now slink away in fear at her approach.

She follows them to the gates of a vast and terrible castle, echoing with dying magic, a curse reaching completion she thinks, with the new arcane knowledge she holds. But she does not think on that, but on following the call. Through the door, along empty passages,up the winding stairs, to a jail cell atop a tower. Where lies the frozen body of her father, long gone.

Belle’s grief consumes her, feeding the cold flames of her power. She stalks through the halls, seeking the one who locked her father away, who left him to his fate.

She finds him at last, a snarling beast, crouched around a bell jar that holds a rose, with but one petal left upon it. Magic swirls about it, the center of the web that binds this place. Once Belle might have been curious, wished to learn the secrets of this place, and it’s strange enchanted inhabitants.

Now, she wishes only for revenge

The beast is strong and fierce, savage, the last vestiges of human thought quickly fading away as the curse nears completion, for he has never learned to love, nor earn love in return. But for all his brute strength, he is still only a mortal, and once more finds himself overpowered by a sorceress’s magic

When Belle leaves the castle, crumbling into smoking ruins behind her, she holds in her hands a staff, grown from the dying stem of a rose; once the blushing pink of hopeful love, hope that withered as its petals fell, now burst forth into bloom, the deep dark blue of a winters sky, of a heart gone dark and cold.

She walks steadfastly, resolutely towards the small town she had once called home. There are more scores to settle. Somewhere on the wind, she thinks she hears the echo of the Imp’s laughter…

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leiawritesstories · 1 year

Text

A Rose as Red as Blood

Here....have a little something....you know, I don't really know what's going on here but this happened and I thought someone might enjoy it *hits post, runs away*

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: wolves, mild language, some injury

Enjoy! (i hope)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To Aelin's great surprise, the door swung open easily, its oiled hinges making nary a creak as she pushed the weathered, glossy wooden door open just enough to peer into the corridor. She cast her eyes side to side, exhaling with relief when she found the hall empty. No footsteps, no servants popping out at her, no mysterious shadowy forms lurking in the nearby alcoves. Inwardly, she shook herself. Of course there are no shadowy forms, Aelin! This is not a nightmare.

Cautiously, she raised the lantern in her hand high and crept out of her lavish bedroom suite, leaving the door just barely cracked open behind her. She tiptoed down the quiet, low-lit corridor, thankful for the light of the few flickering lanterns along the walls--it helped reassure her that this was just a normal castle, albeit a strangely abandoned-looking one.

A castle owned by a mysterious, raspy-voiced stranger who had yet to show his face to Aelin.

But that was beside the point. Aelin was in the process of escaping, not thinking about the growling rumble of the male's voice. Or the imposing height of his shadow.

Hells.

Shoving away that traitorous train of thought, Aelin focused on her escape route. As she reached the end of the corridor where her bedroom was located, the hallway divided, going both left and right. With a deep breath, she took the leftward corridor, praying it would take her to some convenient side entrance--or better yet, the kitchens, where she could swipe food and then make her escape unnoticed. Luckily, this hall was better lit, so she lowered her lantern, still keeping her footfalls as silent as possible on the polished wooden flooring. The floor, she noted, was surprisingly well polished for such an abandoned place--perhaps whoever lived here, lurking in shadow and secrecy, still employed some staff?

Apparently that was correct, as the next thing Aelin registered was a truly fantastic odor wafting up the hallway and into her greedy nostrils.

Swiftly as she dared, she followed that glorious scent, her body carrying her down the corridor and to the left, depositing her in the bustling, delicious-smelling hub of the castle's kitchens. Perfect. Now to slip through the bright, warm room before anyone noticed her.

Aelin snagged some bread, apples, cheese, and chocolate (a necessity) from the pantry, then grabbed a spare apron, tying it around her waist so she blended in with the handful of maids and cooks who were rushing about the kitchen preparing a lavish meal. Just as she'd hoped, nobody paid any attention to her so long as she kept something in her hands and strode with purpose, pretending to have some important task she was doing.

Until the worst possible thing happened.

"Has the bloody clock stopped?" grumbled a male voice. "I thought dinner was always at the same hour."

Aelin's blood froze. That same voice had ordered her imprisoned in this castle in place of her father. Had first demanded her father's life.

All for a single blood-red rose.

"Now ye just calm yerself," the cook retorted, her tone that of a mother brooking no surly children. "Dinner's just goin' up to the table now, so ye get yerself gone from my kitchen, Prince."

Prince. Aelin filed that away. The man was a prince. Hoping that neither the prince nor any of the kitchen staff would notice her, she stepped quietly into the shadow of the kitchen's back entrance, keeping her eyes and ears alert for any sign of someone seeing her.

The prince grunted something under his breath, whirled on his heel, and stalked out of the kitchens, his stride seeming almost predatory in Aelin's half-terrified mind.

The clamor in the kitchen resumed, and Aelin slipped out the back door unnoticed, exhaling deeply with relief once she was outside. She briefly considered leaving the lantern behind, then realized she would probably need it for light, as evening was rapidly darkening into full night, and the forest around the castle was dark and dangerous. Still, she had no better escape route, so she braced herself against the cold, burrowing into her cloak, and raced down the pathways, running headlong towards the forest.

She had to get out of that cursed place before the man--the prince--realized she was not, in fact, staying in his gloomy castle forever.

Frosty, dead leaves and twigs cracked and snapped under Aelin's feet and icy branches snagged at her arms, her cloak, her face as she ran through the forest, breath heaving. Once she thought she was a fair distance into the woods, she slowed her reckless pace, still hurrying but paying more attention to where she stepped, raising her lantern to see through the deepening darkness. She found a footpath and stuck to it, grateful to have that little bit of direction in the wildness of the forest.

Aelin strode along the path as swiftly as she dared, her boots crunching through the fine layer of snow. Gods, she disliked forests in winter; it was always so bothersome to navigate the winding paths without tripping over roots and branches, especially with the added slip factor of snow and ice.

The path opened suddenly into a clearing, allowing some moonlight to cast a faintly silvery glow over the ground.

And to illuminate the silver fur and gleaming yellow eyes of the wolf staring directly at Aelin.

Shit.

The wolf loped forward.

Aelin stayed in place.

The wolf took another stride forward.

Aelin stepped sideways, reaching for a nearby broken-off branch.

The wolf snarled, its luminous eyes tracking her movements. It crept closer, predatory, closing in on her.

Panicking slightly, Aelin hastily opened the lantern's case, yanking out the candle and throwing the glass at the wolf, which bought her enough time to light her branch on fire before the wolf, stunned and a bit scratched from the lantern, growled deep in its wild throat and lunged for her.

Aelin shrieked, brandishing her flaming branch at the wolf. It snarled, sidestepping her blazing weapon, and snapped at her. She felt its hot, fetid breath against her body and screeched, waving her arms and the fiery branch for all she was worth. It kept the wolf just enough at bay for her to still be able to breathe.

Until she sensed the other wolf creeping in from the side.

Burning hell.

Hardly aware of herself, Aelin reached blindly for another nearby branch, grabbing it and lighting it afire from her other branch, and brandished both makeshift torches at the wolves, clinging to her last scraps of bravado.

And then another wolf slunk up, and another behind it. The whole godsdamned pack must be there.

The wolves circled around Aelin, keeping a short distance away from her and her flaming branches, snarling and snapping and sending cold fear shooting through her blood.

Then they lunged.

Aelin screamed, whirling in a circle with her arms extended, flames crackling through the coldness of the night. More than one wolf yelped as the fire singed its nose, and a few retreated, pushed back by the power of fire. But the hungrier wolves remained, lunging and snapping at Aelin, keeping her trapped between three or four hungry, feral creatures.

She kept lunging back with her fiery branches, running on sheer adrenaline and terrified instinct.

Until one wolf's paw swiped across her side, sending her sprawling onto the cold, hard, snow-and-ice-crusted ground.

One of her flaming branches went flying, colliding directly with a wolf's side. A pulse of wicked satisfaction thrummed through her as the wolf yelped in shock and pain, dropping to the forest floor and scrambling to put out the flames that burned into its fur and flesh.

Then the wolves closed in around her prone form, growling and snapping, angry now. And she was trapped.

Aelin flailed with her one remaining branch, desperate.

It slipped her grasp, flying into a snowbank and sizzling out, steam curling up from the blackened end of the branch.

The lead wolf, yellow eyes glinting wickedly in the moonlight, tipped back its head and howled, the sound freezing Aelin's blood cold in her veins. Then it padded closer, circling her predatorily.

The wolf lunged, jaws snapping.

And a male form hurtled through the air, an animalistic growl ripping from his throat, and flung the wolf clear across the clearing.

Aelin scrambled backwards as fast as she could, stunned by the inexplicable appearance of the prince--the prince!--and even more stunned by his inhuman ability to tackle the wolves. The wolf he'd hurled into a tree was curled up on the ground, whimpering. The prince turned towards the next wolf, grabbing its opened jaws and yanking hard, grunting. Even Aelin heard the crack of the wolf's jaw snapping.

Furious, the other wolf still in the clearing sprang onto the prince's back, snarling, its claws raking lines down the prince's muscled shoulders. Blood as red as the roses in his garden bloomed through the fabric of his shirt. He growled and tumbled backwards, forcing the wolf to release him, and tackled the beast to the icy ground, rolling over and over as he wrestled with it. The wolf howled in furious pain as the prince grabbed hold of its forelegs, yanking the animal's limbs ferociously. Aelin heard bones creak and flesh tear, heard the wolf's howl of pain as the prince slammed his fist into its side.

The wolves withdrew then, tugging their injured pack members with them, fleeing from the prince's wrath and inhuman strength.

Panting, Aelin curled herself into a ball, breath coming in shaky gasps as she watched the prince slowly turn around. A near-feral gleam lit his eyes, which were a brilliant shade of forest green, and his posture was strong despite the bloody slashes down his shoulder and back and the dirt and bruises splotching his face, arms, and clothes.

Then he collapsed to the forest floor, groaning faintly in pain.

A horse whinnied, trotting nervously into the clearing and snuffling at the prince. So that was his horse, then.

Shakily, Aelin rose, stumbling over to the prince's side. "You...you saved me," she whispered, her voice creaking and cracking.

His pine eyes cracked open and fixed onto her face. "You...ran," he wheezed, wincing and swearing filthily at the pain.

"You kidnapped me," she snapped. "I'm still going to get you back to your horrid gloomy castle, though, because you need help."

He tried to push himself up. And failed. "Leave," he whispered.

"What?"

"Leave." Somehow, he managed to glare at her. "You wanted to."

She scowled. "I still want to, you ass. I just can't leave a man here to die in the forest."

"...deserve it," he croaked. "Go."

"No," Aelin hissed. "Damn it, I can't!" She swore softly. Then she turned to the prince's horse and stroked its neck, speaking soothingly. "C'mon, my boy, let's get your master back to his ugly castle, shall we?" She could have sworn the prince huffed something resembling a laugh at that.

"Don'need--"

"Shut it before I make you, you big lout," she snapped. "Now please do help me, because I can't lift you on my own." With some effort, she looped the prince's good arm around her shoulders, braced her arms around his waist, and half-pushed, half-yanked him upright. Once he was standing, she awkwardly got him onto his horse, having to manhandle his leg over onto the other side of the horse as the prince slumped in her arms, losing consciousness.

Shit.

As quickly as she could, Aelin swung herself up onto the horse, ignoring the pain lancing through her side, and snapped the reins. "C'mon, boy, get us home."

~~~

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