Written for @beauty-beast-week 2025. Prompt: Free Day!
I've been busy trying to get novel #1 published and school starts in about eight hours, but here's my little entry.
Summary: A curse unbroken — well, broken in part. The walls of his study are too green for Adam’s sanity, and the whispers in the forest are too loud.
· · ────── *.·:·. ❀ .·:·.* ────── · ·
Adam sat at his father’s desk, as the afternoon rain bathed the study in a blue haze. He heard the pitter-patter of rain on the balcony, hitting the stone like dull piano notes.
The summer of 1779 had been cloudy and wet. Adam received word that Spain had just entered the war. He would have joined his men against the British, he would have sailed to America if it had come to it – somewhere far from this forest, far from the whispers on the breeze.
Belle did not think it wise, not that it was even possible. The ink had yet to dry on the new Treaty of Alliance between France and the young country. It had only been February, and the year had not yet reached September. There was no telling what would come from this war, what would come from his country’s entanglement with the New World. He was surprised no one had come for him yet.
With the oak and sycamore in this forest, he would remain still, unchanged, until death found them. No war would come for Adam. There was no salvation from his curse.
He was reminded of this, when he would pen letters to some of his men who resided in Villeneuve, holding his white quill pen with claws; when he would walk past a wall overlaid with silver or gold, and catch a glimpse of his reflection; when he would lay beside Belle in their bed, pull her close, and she would reach for his horns, her gentle touch shattering his illusion.
The rain beat harder on the balcony, fast and quick like a clock running out of time. His father’s study became Adam’s. The walls were painted with a new green paint; emerald essence born of arsenic and copper. The red mahogany bookshelves contrasted against the green walls, piles of dusty papers and old books unopened since the time of his father’s death.
It had been years since the curse was broken – if only in part. His servants were free, and his people remembered who he was. What work was there to do, if only to satisfy Belle’s insistence on a return to some normalcy?
People in town whispered of the war, and of Adam’s involvement – or rather, his lack thereof. He came to the understanding the forest still held onto Villeneuve and the castle, keeping them hidden from the rest of France. Travelers had come and gone, passed through the town like ghosts. Nobody ever returned, and he wondered if everyone had forgotten Villeneuve.
The forest grew brave in summer. Ivy would climb the castle, thick bushes would appear overnight and cover the lawn. Adam’s most skilled gardeners could not tend to the grounds fast enough.
He never cared to stay outside for long, especially in the summer. The forest took his body and wouldn’t let him leave. Now it taunted him with overgrown bushes and strange whispers on the wind. If he were free, would he run far away from here? Would he take a hastily packed bag and disappear into the night? Would he flee to Paris, or to Italy? Would he sail across the ocean to fight for the New World?
Or, would he stay? In the same castle he died a thousand times in, and was reborn? Would he stay by his lady’s side, remain in their bed, continue to walk down these still halls?
Was he chasing something he never could find?
Adam kept up his attendance, would come to dinner and greet the servants, he came into town at Belle’s imploring. His tailors fitted him in reds and garnets, in blues deep as the sea.
Belle wouldn’t wear green. Her gowns were the color of sunset and rain, of a summer meadow and bright dawn. She would say that yellows and blues and reds suited her hair, her eyes.
Soon enough, after too many years, it all looked wrong for Adam. Belle was content to be confined to this half-life. He was not. The forest’s grip was still deeply lodged in their lives, and no gardener or tailor could hide that.
The rain stopped. Sunlight peaked through the clouds. Adam looked down at his empty desk, and at the green walls around him. Sunlit dust hung in the air like a golden haze.
He stood hastily. The walls sickened him, too green, too cloying. He left the castle grounds. It was a Thursday in August, as the earth like a flame was brightest before dusk. There was a lightness in the air, something bright and something pleasant. It was the deepest he had gone into the woods in years. Adam sank his feet into the earth. His grip was better than it was before the curse, he dipped his toes into the ground. It was cool and begged to envelop him. He walked down an overgrown path, between the birch and oak, over the thick understory. His horns kept getting caught on the branches above. Soon the woods gave way to a lake.
Light shimmered on the surface of the water. Twinkling like the light was woven like fabric, still and ever rippling. Belle was there, by the water. Her white dress blew gently in the wind, and her hair cascaded down her back in waves.
In her hazel eyes, he saw specks of gold like sunlight upon the waters. Her brown hair was deep and rich like the trees around them.
He realized at once, she was entangled with the forest, not separate, and he could not hate the woods without forsaking her. He suddenly wanted to see her in a green dress, a vibrant emerald like the walls of his study. He was bound to her, and bound to the forest.
In the body he was cursed in, he found her. She loved him as any other man, more than she had ever loved another before. Belle went into the meadow and picked flowers and grass. She curled them around his horns, flowers on his crown. Adam could never tire from the view. Never tire from her touch, her warmth, and her voice.
The forest had taken his body, and given him Belle in return.
I completely forgot I scheduled this post a year in advance and woke up to see the cat fish of fortune had come in the night to deliver the good news. Auspicious September everybody
Growing up is hard enough, even moreso growing up with an angry man for a father and without a mother. Thankfully for twelve year old Adam, Lumière has lived through just that and is there to help. Even at his own cost at times.
Fic: The tale of happy ever after, ch7 (Adam/Belle, T) by @annaofthenorthernlights
The castle church bells ring loud and happy.
The couple vowing love and respect to each other mean their words like only those who have lived through the curse will ever understand.
Fic: Around the Fur (Beast/Gaston, T) by @gastonxwindy
When half of the couple that is destined to break the curse dies, what happens to everyone that is left behind
Fic: A Lion's Roar, ch7 (Cogsworth/Lumiere, cw attempted murder and sa) by @scaryfangirl2001
[1701] Lumíere (age 19) rescues Cogs (age 24) from nightly attackers, and then the King visits him
Fic: Resolution, ch8 (Beast/Belle, M) by @firawren
Fic: Epilogue, ch9 (Adam/Belle, Beast/Belle, E) by @firawren
Beast has been cursed not merely as a creature of mixed animal parts, but a shapeshifter who can transform fully into each of the animals his mixed form is made up of: bear, wolf, bison, lion, boar, and gorilla. He knows this is unnatural, freakish, repulsive.
But after he uses his shapeshifting to save Belle’s life two times in the same night, he’ll slowly have to admit that maybe it can be useful sometimes. And as Belle’s curiosity and acceptance of his different forms grows into affection and intimacy, it will be harder and harder for him to hate all that he is.
Fic: Human Again (Cogsworth/Lumiere) by @ticenchantedtoc
Fic: A Beast By Any Other Name (Adam/Belle) by @crownprincessoftherusalkas
Fic: Scheele’s Green (Adam/Belle, G) by @calaroseeey
A curse unbroken — well, broken in part. The walls of his study are too green for Adam’s sanity, and the whispers in the forest are too loud.
Podfic: How Do You Define Success? (Adam/Belle, G) by @firawren
Art: Belle with book by @sunflowers-and-sandwiches
Art: Belle with rose petals by @gravityglitch-blog
Art: "Belle..." (Beast) by @sofyakpr
Art: Glasses (Adam, Belle) by @luni-mina
Art: It'll turn out all right in the end. You'll see! (Mrs. Potts & Chip) by @owdreyart
Art: Disney Say Polyam (Cogsworth/Lumiere/Babette) by @fuzziekins
Art: For the Reader's Eyes Only (Cogsworth, OC) by @mreynolds23
Art: Break time (Babette) by @thisisnotlunatic
Photography: Belle and Luigi by @vulpixfairy1985
Gifset: TV tropes of the Beast by @riddlerosehearts
Memes: Text post memes F-word edition by @firawren
Playlist: Beauty and the Beast Character Playlist by @crownprincessoftherusalkas
If you haven't yet posted for Day 7, or any other day, no worries—you can still post your work whenever it's ready, and we'll reblog it!
If you already posted your work and we missed it in this Day 7 list, shoot us a DM with the link and we'll fix it.
Written for @beauty-beast-week 2025. Prompt: Free Day!
I've been busy trying to get novel #1 published and school starts in about eight hours, but here's my little entry.
Summary: A curse unbroken — well, broken in part. The walls of his study are too green for Adam’s sanity, and the whispers in the forest are too loud.
· · ────── *.·:·. ❀ .·:·.* ────── · ·
Adam sat at his father’s desk, as the afternoon rain bathed the study in a blue haze. He heard the pitter-patter of rain on the balcony, hitting the stone like dull piano notes.
The summer of 1779 had been cloudy and wet. Adam received word that Spain had just entered the war. He would have joined his men against the British, he would have sailed to America if it had come to it – somewhere far from this forest, far from the whispers on the breeze.
Belle did not think it wise, not that it was even possible. The ink had yet to dry on the new Treaty of Alliance between France and the young country. It had only been February, and the year had not yet reached September. There was no telling what would come from this war, what would come from his country’s entanglement with the New World. He was surprised no one had come for him yet.
With the oak and sycamore in this forest, he would remain still, unchanged, until death found them. No war would come for Adam. There was no salvation from his curse.
He was reminded of this, when he would pen letters to some of his men who resided in Villeneuve, holding his white quill pen with claws; when he would walk past a wall overlaid with silver or gold, and catch a glimpse of his reflection; when he would lay beside Belle in their bed, pull her close, and she would reach for his horns, her gentle touch shattering his illusion.
The rain beat harder on the balcony, fast and quick like a clock running out of time. His father’s study became Adam’s. The walls were painted with a new green paint; emerald essence born of arsenic and copper. The red mahogany bookshelves contrasted against the green walls, piles of dusty papers and old books unopened since the time of his father’s death.
It had been years since the curse was broken – if only in part. His servants were free, and his people remembered who he was. What work was there to do, if only to satisfy Belle’s insistence on a return to some normalcy?
People in town whispered of the war, and of Adam’s involvement – or rather, his lack thereof. He came to the understanding the forest still held onto Villeneuve and the castle, keeping them hidden from the rest of France. Travelers had come and gone, passed through the town like ghosts. Nobody ever returned, and he wondered if everyone had forgotten Villeneuve.
The forest grew brave in summer. Ivy would climb the castle, thick bushes would appear overnight and cover the lawn. Adam’s most skilled gardeners could not tend to the grounds fast enough.
He never cared to stay outside for long, especially in the summer. The forest took his body and wouldn’t let him leave. Now it taunted him with overgrown bushes and strange whispers on the wind. If he were free, would he run far away from here? Would he take a hastily packed bag and disappear into the night? Would he flee to Paris, or to Italy? Would he sail across the ocean to fight for the New World?
Or, would he stay? In the same castle he died a thousand times in, and was reborn? Would he stay by his lady’s side, remain in their bed, continue to walk down these still halls?
Was he chasing something he never could find?
Adam kept up his attendance, would come to dinner and greet the servants, he came into town at Belle’s imploring. His tailors fitted him in reds and garnets, in blues deep as the sea.
Belle wouldn’t wear green. Her gowns were the color of sunset and rain, of a summer meadow and bright dawn. She would say that yellows and blues and reds suited her hair, her eyes.
Soon enough, after too many years, it all looked wrong for Adam. Belle was content to be confined to this half-life. He was not. The forest’s grip was still deeply lodged in their lives, and no gardener or tailor could hide that.
The rain stopped. Sunlight peaked through the clouds. Adam looked down at his empty desk, and at the green walls around him. Sunlit dust hung in the air like a golden haze.
He stood hastily. The walls sickened him, too green, too cloying. He left the castle grounds. It was a Thursday in August, as the earth like a flame was brightest before dusk. There was a lightness in the air, something bright and something pleasant. It was the deepest he had gone into the woods in years. Adam sank his feet into the earth. His grip was better than it was before the curse, he dipped his toes into the ground. It was cool and begged to envelop him. He walked down an overgrown path, between the birch and oak, over the thick understory. His horns kept getting caught on the branches above. Soon the woods gave way to a lake.
Light shimmered on the surface of the water. Twinkling like the light was woven like fabric, still and ever rippling. Belle was there, by the water. Her white dress blew gently in the wind, and her hair cascaded down her back in waves.
In her hazel eyes, he saw specks of gold like sunlight upon the waters. Her brown hair was deep and rich like the trees around them.
He realized at once, she was entangled with the forest, not separate, and he could not hate the woods without forsaking her. He suddenly wanted to see her in a green dress, a vibrant emerald like the walls of his study. He was bound to her, and bound to the forest.
In the body he was cursed in, he found her. She loved him as any other man, more than she had ever loved another before. Belle went into the meadow and picked flowers and grass. She curled them around his horns, flowers on his crown. Adam could never tire from the view. Never tire from her touch, her warmth, and her voice.
The forest had taken his body, and given him Belle in return.
I love sitting down in the evening and trying to decide what activity I should do to unwind and then realizing an hour later that I have neither done an activity nor unwound
as if nature isn't the most prolific storyteller out there with her layers of sediment and mountain-top fossils. with her trodden down paths and carved out river beds. with her fresh springs and billowing waterfalls. rotting branches and hollowed tree trunks. creeping coastlines and collapsing cliff faces. a living record of time immemorial; both an archiver and witness!!
how can i communicate to you that this relationship in this silly little show is honestly sincerely one of thee most compelling and affective (and i do mean affective and not effective) relationships i have ever seen depicted on screen. can't even talk about it without sounding insane. i swear to god this is not a case of bad media that just scratches a brain itch, this is a genuinely incredibly well written relationship between two complex and compelling characters who just. happen to be stuck in a ridiculous detective show set in the 1920s. HELP
