#aprinceinthetower

[wellreadbeauty-blog]

@aprinceinthetower plotted for an Olympics starter !

Sports reporting hadn’t been her intended field - for reasons that she preferred to keep under wraps. It was simply a world that she’d spent too much time in growing up and - while the opportunities laid out for them had been vast - it hadn’t been all that Belle wanted to do with her life. 

Growing up in Villeneuve was taxing; there was just so very little to do. She’d been content, for a while, simply reading her life away, but that only lasted until she was around six; at that point, she’d begun declaring to her father that she “wanted to have her own adventures; to do something, to be someone.” They were rather deep thoughts for a child her age, but they’d been true nonetheless. Of course, with the limited extra curricular activities in their small town, her passion ended up being a simple one; ice skating on the pond over the hill. And she was good. She skated with an intensity that none of her classmates shared and, while it made her stand out, it didn’t necessarily do so in a bad way. She wanted to learn more; to learn how to skate like the people on television did, with their jumps and spirals and twizzles. She wanted so much more than anyone in Villeneuve could ever give her - so, ever the doting father of a headstrong little girl, Maurice had taken her the day’s journey to Paris. It seemed harmless at the time; she would get to meet other children at the bigger rink, take a class or two, and satisfy her curiousity.

Ten years later, they were still in Paris because, on that day when she was a little girl, taking her first steps onto an indoor skating rink, she met him. Adam - a young boy with a hot temper, just a few years her senior. He was a good skater - the best skater, actually - in the class, and none of the other girls could keep up with him. Shockingly enough to all of the adults present, Belle had turned out to be his equal; Belle, the tiny girl from a small town who had no professional training up until that very moment. The two had appeared, at first glance, to be a match made in heaven - and, on the ice, they were. They moved with together with grace that was shocking for how young they’d been. Off the ice, it was a different story; the squabbled almost constantly, and it took months before they’d started to get along. He’d been hot-headed, spoiled, and a tad bratty, and she’d been equally as feisty and stubborn. It was an energy that, as they got older, ended up complimenting one another. 

They were a dream team, with titles in all of the junior circuits from the time they were old enough to start competing - but, when an Olympic year rolled up and their coach - along with Adam’s father - had insisted that they start competing professionally, Belle had clammed up. She was only seventeen; she wasn’t sure if she wanted skating to be her entire life, even if it had been up until that point. Competing full time would mean dropping out of school, possibly with a tutor, but that wasn’t something that she wanted to do. She loved going to school; she loved classes, and books, and learning everything that she possibly could, from literature to scientific principles. While skating with Adam was a tremendous part of who she was, it wasn’t all that she wanted to be. 

Quitting had been the hardest decision that she ever made. Not because she was afraid her father would be disappointed in her; Maurice was always supportive of whatever decisions she made, skating related or otherwise. It was the thought of losing her best friend that had plagued her. Adam had already graduated secondary school - with high honours at that. He’d finished learning what the school had to offer. But she hadn’t. It was painful to think of him moving on without her; no one understood her quite like he did. While everyone else their age had always thought her peculiar, Adam never did. She was fairly certain he understood her decision, but that didn’t make watching him take on a new partner for the season - (a pretty young woman his age named Plumette who skated as if she floated atop the ice) - any easier. She missed him terribly when the two of them left to train.

Since then, Belle had hardly seen him. Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true; she saw him all the time, on television. Ever since he and Plumette took home Olympic gold in ice dancing that year, they’d been France’s darling duo. Rumors were constantly flying about whether or not they were an item, and if they weren’t being featured on the local news, they were on the sports channels or the latest gossip program. The Adam that she’d grown up skating with was a prince in the eyes of French media, and she was proud of him - but she did miss him. 

Things got easier when she started attending journalism school. She was able to throw herself into her work, focus on real news, and she graduated top of her class. Now, a senior reporter for the Marianne, she was given top stories every month - and, this year, her editor just happened to drop one on her desk that, reasonably, startled her.

She’d forgotten that they were in an Olympic year; she didn’t cover sports, after all, so why should she have known? But there it was, at the top of the list she had to deal with in February; travelling with the top sports journalists to cover the French team’s competitions. And what should she, of all people, have been assigned to? Ice dance. 

She would be shadowing Adam and Plumette for the entire month, reporting on their events from practices to the final Gala. She was even expected to share a suite with them. How on earth could this have happened? No one knew that she and Adam used to skate together; once Plumette came along and charmed the world with her grace and poise, it was like all of France forgot that Belle had been his partner for over a decade. She’d capitalized on it; it made it easier to live her own life. But now? Now, it was all going to be out in the open. Someone would surely sniff out the story...

She had no choice, though. To refuse the story would have been even more suspicious. So, that’s how she found herself nestled in the heart of the French Olympians’ village, sipping tea to calm her nerves. When was the last time she spoke to Adam in person? Eight years ago, nearly? They’d both changed so much since then. The idea of coming face to face with him, after all this time, had her reasonably on edge.

So, when she heard the delicate chiming that was Plumette’s voice approaching the food court, Adam’s lower, rich tones not far behind, she nearly dropped her cup. The urge to run and hide was strong - but that wouldn’t make for very compelling journalism, would it? So, instead, she practices her smile in a nearby reflective surface, taking a deep breath before tossing her cup in the trash and venturing in their direction. Clinging to her phone, press pass gleaming around her neck, she tried not to let her breath hitch when she actually saw Adam. He was just as handsome as she remembered; more so, actually, now that he was older. She’d hoped the childhood crush would have faded by now, but apparently not.

“Sorry to bother you; I know you’re probably starving after all the traveling you had to do to get here. I just thought I should... introduce myself.”

God, that sounded stupid. Introduce herself? They’d known each other since they were children!

Plumette, on the other hand, didn’t know her. So, holding out her hand, she managed the smile she’d been practicing as she said, “I’m Belle Delacour from the Marianne; I’m going to be shadowing you this month, to keep everyone back home informed about the ins and outs of your world. Behind the scenes bits and such. You were told I was coming, I hope? My editor assured me you would be.”

[apictureofspace]

DISNEY RPG: #gv. welcome to the jungle

In the 1980s, anything goes. The music scene was unlike it ever would be again, Hollywood was on fire, the hair was outrageous - the clothes even more so - and the world was caught in an endless cycle of sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll. Dominated by glam rock bands, primadonnas, and all of the people who manage them, everyone’s moral codes are a bit flimsy - but what does that matter if it gets you to the top? 

CHARACTERS:

Belle Desrosiers: @wellreadbeauty

Adam Valmont: @aprinceinthetower

Adrian LeFou: @temeraaires

All other characters in the Disney Cinematic Universe are up for grabs, and OCs are welcome. APPLY HERE. List will be updated as characters are claimed.

[wellreadbeauty-blog]

@aprinceinthetower plotted for a chivalric starter !

Everyone told her, quite constantly, that she worked too hard. When it wasn’t her father worried that she would “shrivel up like a mummy if she stayed in that museum day and night”, it was her friends complaining that she was sacrificing the London nightlife by burying herself in the tattered pages of Arthurian myths. But was it so terrible that she actually enjoyed her job?

She’d been transferred about two months ago from her previous post, archiving in the Renaissance department at Oxford, into her first real scholarly position. It was no secret that people with a passion for Medieval Old English were far and few to come by; it was difficult to read on its own, and the normally yellowed and tattered pages that it was printed on made the task even harder than it needed to be. Hence why the Renaissance canon is so much heftier. But Belle adored a challenge and, when she was offered first dibs at translating a newly discovered Arthurian text, she hadn’t been able to pass it up. She’d grown up pouring through books that told tales of chivalrous knights, benevolent kings, wise wizards and wicked witches; to be given the opportunity to translate a new one for the world was everything she could possibly ever dream of.

The post had required that she be transferred to the British Museum to take on the challenge in their basement archives; the text, being fragile, couldn’t be exposed to natural light and had to be examined with the utmost care and precaution. This, of course, meant that she wasn’t the most social person for her first few months on the job. She’d managed to get through roughly twenty-eight pages of the three-hundred page volume, with extensive magnification and careful recopying, and hadn’t met a single person in the process.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true; she’d met the night guard, Tilly, once or twice after emerging from the basement following a long night of attempted translation. The woman always seemed startled to discover that she’d worked all night long, but Belle had just chalked it up to the fact that no one else in the respective departments appeared to pull all-nighters here.

At least, that’s what she chose to believe until, one night, she emerged before sunrise.

It had been done out of sheer desperation; aka, she’d run out of coffee and had hoped that, perhaps, someone upstairs might have a few extra pods stashed away in an unlocked kitchenette. She’d reasoned that, once she found what she was searching for, it would be back down to the basement to finish translating the thirtieth page. Thus far, it seemed to be a story about King Arthur and the most esteemed of his Round Table knights - the infamous Sir Lancelot. The exact nature of the story was still rather unclear, other than that Arthur had somehow fallen ill and that Lancelot was on a quest for a cure - whether it be a medicinal cure or a magical cure, Belle had yet to decipher. 

She had been mulling over the possible paths that the story could take when instinct prompted her to stop walking down the corridor she’d been venturing through and listen. Surely enough, she could hear music coming from somewhere within the building; quite loud music, actually. Why on earth would the night guard be listening to music at such a loud volume? Furrowing her brow, she temporarily abandoned her search for coffee to follow the noise, letting it lead her all the way to the lobby, staggering to a stop when she reached it.

It was a mixture of a raving celebration and utter chaos; animals from every corner of the world were running amok, people of every size, shape, form, style and nationality were dancing and drinking and talking loudly, and... were those dinosaur skeletons moving?

“This isn’t possible,” she managed to gasp out, slightly hidden behind a pillar, simply gaping with astonishment and shock at the sight before her. Had she passed out and was having some kind of a fever dream? Her new surroundings must have been getting to her. That was surely the only explanation for the fact that the exhibits that she’d passed by every day in this museum appeared to be alive.

She’d planned on staying out of sight, partially out of fear of what might happen if she were caught spying on this mad party - but the inhabitants seemed to have other ideas. Moments after stumbling upon the congregation of exhibits, she heard the distinct sound of stone clinking against marble accompanied by a low, guttural growl - and, upon slowly turning around, found herself face-to-face with the stone tiger that she recalled having seen in the Wild Animals art exhibit not a week earlier. Only now, it was very much alive, and looked poised to attack her. 

She was going to be mauled by a statue!

[wellreadbeauty-blog]

‘hookups & hearts’

@aprinceinthetower plotted for a CRAZY STUPID LOVE starter !

Belle was content with her life. She was an Oxford graduate with a bachelor’s degree in English Literature, and she’d just received her master’s in Shakespearean Studies from Cambridge less than a week ago. With a job already lined up at the British Museum, heading up their Shakespearean research department, she was quite certain that she had it all.

Except, according to her best friend, the elusive L-word.

“You drive me positively mental. You know that, don’t you?” Plumette declared emphatically as she and Belle shared drinks at one of the nicer bars in London, gesturing at her emphatically, “You look like that and you aren’t even trying to catch anyone’s eye! Your name literally means ‘beauty’. Why don’t you ever take advantage of it? We’re young, Belle! And we won’t be that way forever!”

“I’ve just always had more important priorities than catching a man,” Belle spoke wryly, shaking her head with amusement at Plumette’s grievances. This was typical of the two of them; they would go out, Plumette would groan about Belle’s non-existent love life (or, rather, her non-existent sex life), and then Belle would go home and spend the rest of the night studying for a test or working on her dissertation. According to Plumette, Belle’s life was dull. Dry. Boring. But Belle was happy with her books and her quiet apartment. Hooking up with a random guy with no appreciation for the arts which she adored so much would be beneath her and in poor taste. It just wasn’t her idea of ‘fun’.

Besides - she didn’t need a man. She could take care of herself. If she happened to meet someone along the way, then so be it. But she wasn’t worried about it.

“Yes, but you’ve just graduated! You’ve got a job lined up! You don’t have to worry about your ‘priorities’ anymore. Have some fun! Meet someone! Get with someone. Do it for me! Please?” her friend all but begged and Belle rolled her eyes. She was convinced, at this point, that Plumette just wanted her to hook up with someone so that she could hear all of the racy details about it the next day. She was probably tired of sharing her own stories and wanted to hear some, instead.

“I have plenty of fun with my books,” Belle remarked as she sipped her vodka soda, well aware of how much Plumette hated that statement, laughing when her friend moaned out her complaint.

“Honestly, Belle, you need to live a little...”

Belle had been about to launch into her typical speech about how she was living, and that she had a pulse and everything, when something - or, rather, someone - caught her eye. An almost impossibly handsome man, walking in their direction from across the bar, his blue eyes most definitely fixated on her. His blonde hair was that male model type of perfectly messy, and he had the five o’clock shadow to match. Watching him approach their booth was like watching something out of a Dior cologne commercial -

- and it made Belle snort with amusement. Who was this guy and who did he think he was? Ryan Gosling?

[wellreadbeauty-blog]

‘it all comes crashing down’

{ CONT. || @aprinceinthetower } 

Adam had gotten off work early that day, and he had never been so relieved in his entire life.  Yanking the offensive apron off his body, he tossed it into the seat  beside him and started his car.  Director Thompson had been annoyingly thorough with his assignment, down to the crappy car to match his crappy job.  He suspected this was punishment for refusing to take out Ms. Delacour in the first place.  She was a fairly impartial woman, but he supposed even she had her vindictive moments.  His burner buzzed in his pocket, and he dug it out while he waited at a red light.

-Anything new to report?

He gritted his teeth and tapped out a reply quickly before the light changed.

-No. Plan to interact this evening.

He tossed the burner on top of his apron as the light changed.  He stopped at a sandwich shop to purchase a couple of subs.  As he waited, he made a mental note to research local gun ranges.  If he was going to continue working customer service, he would need to alleviate his stress elsewhere, lest he pulled a gun on some suit bitching about him using whole milk instead of skim.  He made it back to his apartment just as the sun was setting.  Not spotting her room mate’s Volvo, Adam walked across the tiny courtyard to Ms. Delacour’s apartment.  As he knocked, he peeked through the gauzy curtains of the apartment.

“Fuck,” he growled when he saw her body on the floor in her kitchen.  Dropping the food, he quickly picked the lock and rushed inside.  Grabbing a spoon from the table, he held it under her nose.  A second later, condensation fogged the surface, causing him to breathe a sigh of relief.

The last thing the agency needed was to lose this resource.

Truthfully, it was a miracle that Belle hadn’t accidentally injured herself more severely than she did. She’d been mere inches away from both the kitchen table and the counter when she collapsed; she could have easily whacked her head on the corner of either surface, causing who knows what kind of damage. 

As her consciousness began to return, she came to the conclusion quickly that the worst of her condition would be some bruising from the fall - and then she registered someone hovering above her.

Exhaling a startled cry, she’d been about to squirm away when her brain evidently had other ideas - that increasingly familiar vacant expression slid over her face, images flashing before her eyes at a mile a minute. The next thing that she knew, she was kneeing her attacker in the groin with expertise that she didn’t have moments before, rolling away and springing to her feet. She’d been about to make a grab for one of the knives on the chopping block to defend herself when she realized who she’d just unwittingly assaulted.

“Oh my god!” Belle exclaimed, dropping the knife back on the counter, her cheeks turning a vibrant shade of scarlet with mortification. Her new - and incredibly flirtatious - neighbor had come to her aid, and she’d maimed him. Dropping back down to her knees, she fluttered above him, searching for the proper way to fix this situation.

“I’m so sorry - I don’t even know why I did that! I didn’t realize that it was you, and I’d fainted, and-!”

[wellreadbeauty-blog]

‘every rose has its thorn’

@aprinceinthetower plotted for a starter ! {x}

Belle had dealt with her fair share of pompous, egotistical, over-inflated, big-headed, big-haired musicians in her time at Villeneuve Publishing; she’d written biographies about big names like Simon Le Bon, Cyndi Lauper, Bret Michaels and - most recently - Gaston. Dealing with the latter had been dreadfully tiresome; if the fact that he only went by his first name didn’t imply that he thought he was special, his constant stories about his workout regiments and ‘how everyone who met him couldn’t get enough of him’ served as fairly large red flags. He’d been horridly unprofessional during the entire writing process, constantly trying to get into her panties and being far too handsy. She was used to inappropriate remarks, given that she worked with rock stars on a daily basis, but Gaston hadn’t known when to quit. He couldn’t process the fact that she just wasn’t interested. 

Given that she was still fending off calls from his assistant, months after his biography had been published and there was no need for further contact, Belle had been hoping that her next assignment might be simpler. Or, at the very least, not quite so excessive. A woman, perhaps; working with Cyndi had been the highlight of her career, and she longed for a repeat experience. Someone who would be focused on the task at hand and not on her breast size. 

But, of course, she wasn’t so lucky. When Maxwell Lechant, the head of Villeneuve Publishing, sauntered into her office and informed her that “he had a big, big, big project for her”, she’d instantly gotten a bad feeling. Big, big, big projects typically translated into ‘big, big, big egos’. And she wasn’t wrong. Instead of getting an interesting female biography to write, she was given the impossible task of Adam Valmont. He was the front man of Evermore, Britain’s most popular glam rock band as of 1985, and he had dubbed himself “the prince of rock n’ roll”. 

Anyone who coins their own nickname is bound to be hard work. The second that Maxwell left her office, Belle had groaned and beat her head against her desk several times. She’d just gotten rid of Gaston, and now this was being dropped into her lap? She loved her job but, sometimes, it just wasn’t worth it.

Unsurprisingly, on the day that they were supposed to meet for the first time, Adam kept Belle waiting. She’d been sent tickets to fly out to Paris and get their draft interview done before the final concert of Evermore’s “Lost & Found” European tour, and had been waiting in the green room of sorts for over an hour past the time when he was supposed to be there. Perhaps she wouldn’t have cared so much, if she weren’t wearing her best pink skirt and jacket set in an uncomfortably warm room, with heels on her feet that had been pinching since she got off the plane. To put it plainly, she was crabby. She’d chatted with his other band members, who all seemed pleasant enough, but Adam was nowhere to be found, and the concert was set to start in less than an hour. At this rate, she would be lucky if she got three of her questions answered before he had to go out on stage.

If he went out on stage. Where the bloody hell was he?

[wellreadbeauty-blog]

@aprinceinthetower plotted for a Victorian romance !

Belle Devereux had never had the luxury of living a simple life. She was well loved, when she was small; her mother had doted on her, before she died of consumption, and her father had adored her until his grief consumed him a mere three years later. Alone in the world and heartbroken at the mere age of six, and with no other family to speak of, she’d been sent to a girl’s school in a small town, for the wretched and unfortunate orphans of France, and she lived out her life there for the following fifteen years. 

The school wasn’t a wonderful place, but it wasn’t dreadful, either; for one thing, Belle grew up with her nose constantly buried in books. Her teachers admired her for her quick wit and kind nature, and her classmates hated her for it in equal measure. They hated that she was bright, and intelligent, but most of all they hated that she was beautiful. Most of the girls abandoned to the school were thin, blemished, and of a generally imperfect nature, but Belle, from the time she was dropped on their doorstep at six years old, had always possessed an almost ethereal glow. She had warm eyes and rosy cheeks, a kind mouth and a delicate dusting of freckles. Her hair curled naturally - to the envy of every straight-haired girl that saw her - and she had a singing voice so pretty that it brought a tear to the superintendent's eye. Because Belle was so beautiful, and blessed with limitless other gifts, the other girls at the school sought to bring her down - because they were as ugly on the inside as Belle was enchanting on the outside. From her very first week at Villeneuve School for Ladies of the Less Fortunate, they’d taken to calling her cruel names; she was coined “odd”, “funny girl”, and “a most peculiar mademoiselle”, among others. Belle, innocent as she was, could never figure out why her classmates hated her so; she’d never been anything but kind to all of them.

But, possessing a wholly good soul and incredibly thick skin, the years of bullying and berating didn’t get to Belle. She only grew more beautiful as she aged, to the dismay of all who lived with her, and her intelligence expanded beyond the bounds of all of their minds put together. She poured through books with a vivacious thirst of knowledge and, by the time she was seventeen, she’d stepped up from the role of student to that of teacher, joining the staff of Villeneuve School and teaching its girl’s science, mathematics, Shakespeare, poetry, drawing, music, French and English. Not all of the teachers approved of her science and mathematics lessons; those were a boy’s faculty. They felt that her time would be better suited teaching sewing and needlepoint, but she left that to them. They could teach what they liked, and she only asked that she be awarded the same freedom.

Four years passed with Belle filling the post of head teacher and, while she wasn’t unhappy, she was not extremely happy, either. She’d known nothing of the world outside of Villeneuve School and its small, bordering towns; she yearned to see more of the world that she taught of in her geography lessons; to live the life of a romantic heroine, and do some good in the world outside of the school’s walls. Always a free spirit, she longed to break out of her confining routine and experience her life before it passed her by - and, while she loved her students, she knew that they couldn’t keep her content forever. She watched the girls come and go, but she always remained the same ever fixed mark. It was time to try something new. 

So, aware that she was unqualified to do anything else, Belle put an ad in the local newspaper, seeking out work as a governess; if she received any responses, she would be getting a significant pay raise to her current post and a much needed change in scenery. To her immense pleasure, she received a letter just over a week later:

Assuming that Delaroy could only be the name of the estate she was to be employed at, and Tolbert its location, Belle had eagerly sought out the necessary proof of education and letters of recommendation from her superintendent and colleagues, and she was sent for by carriage to leave for her new post no more than a few weeks later. 

Arriving at Delaroy Hall, her meager luggage in tow, on December 3rd, Belle was greeted at the door by a servant girl in maid’s clothes, with fine dark hair, kind eyes and a thick French accent.

“Tres bien! You must be la gouvernante de la petite miss! Come in, come in, out of the cold. I will fetch Madame Potts.”

After shouting for a chap called “Lumiere” to come and fetch her trunk and coat, the maid scuttled off down the hall toward the first floor sitting room and, moments later, another woman followed her back out, smiling brightly.

“Miss Devereux! Oh, we’re so happy that you’re here; the little miss will be thrilled. She hasn’t stopped talking about you since we told her she was going to have a governess to teach how how to be a fine and proper lady. Come in, out of the entryway! Plumette is fetching us some tea. You must be cold and tired after such a long journey.”

“It wasn’t terribly long,” Belle countered reassuringly with a grateful smile, handing off her belongings to the footman the maid had called down, surprised by how warmly she was being received by who she could only assume was the lady of the household. Madame Potts was what the maid had called her, wasn’t it? 

“I’m just happy to finally be here. I’m eager to get started.”

Taking a seat by the fire when instructed, Belle appreciatively accepted a cup of hot tea when the maid - Plumette, was that her name? - brought it in. Turning her gaze back to Mrs. Potts, she asked, “Will I be meeting Miss Potts tonight?”

“Miss Potts-? Oh! Good gracious, no,” the woman laughed, shaking her head. “Miss Rose isn’t mine, although I love her like my own. I’ve only a son - Chip - and he’s off at school. No, no; Miss Rose is the master’s ward. Took her in when her mother died, he did; gave us all quite a shock.”

Laughing at the memory - a sound Belle found quite warm and comforting - Mrs. Potts took a seat by the fire, across from Belle. But this new piece of information gave her pause.

“The master - is this not your house?”

“Mine? No, not really. This all belongs to Master Adam; he inherited it after his father passed. I’m just his old housekeeper.”

Smiling as she sipped her tea, Mrs. Potts shook her head, and Belle blinked with surprise. In their correspondence, there had been no mention of a “Master Adam”; she had just assumed that Mrs. Potts was a wealthy widow, seeking to give her daughter a proper education. Not that this changed anything; it was just... something new to wrap her head around.

“And no,” Mrs. Potts added, “You won’t be meeting Miss Rose tonight. She’s been in bed for a while now, and I expect you’ll want a good night’s sleep, as well, before you’re introduced. She’s quite lively, that one. That’s why we were all so surprised when the master took her in; he’d always fancied parties more than children, much less excitable children. Or so we thought...”

[wellreadbeauty-blog]

@aprinceinthetower wanted some ♡

During the endless winter that the curse had imposed upon the castle and all of its inhabitants, Belle had almost forgotten what summer felt like. Warm air, fresh grass, wildflowers, and the sound of rainfall at night; they were all things that she hadn’t even realized she missed until she had them back. But they were different, somehow, now that she had someone to share it all with. Lying in the west wing with Adam, listening to the sound of the rain falling in time with his heartbeat; trying not to laugh when he complained about how dreadfully c o l d he always was, even on the h o t t e s t of days, now that he was lacking several pounds and layers of fur; and days like today, lounging in the grass by the pond that was no longer frozen, the sun beating down on the two of them while he rested his his head on her lap, reading Shakespeare’s sonnets aloud to her. 

It was... peaceful. A kind of peace that Belle had only ever before found in solitude. It was nice, having someone to share in her contentedness 

Having already loosened the ribbon keeping his hair back and letting it fall free, Belle smiled as she carded her fingers gently through the strands, her expression turning playful a moment later when she plucked a daisy from the ground and gently tucked it into his hair, behind his ear. He was so engrossed in how passionately that he was reading, Belle couldn’t help wondering if he wold even notice.

[wellreadbeauty-blog]

- “Thank you for last night. I know it didn’t go exactly the way you planned, but…it was a lot of fun.” -  “Truthfully? It went much better than I had initially planned.”

VERSE: CRAZY STUPID LOVE SHIP: ~GAME CHANGERS~

pour @aprinceinthetower

[wellreadbeauty-blog]

{ CONT. || @aprinceinthetower }

Adam squatted down and lifted the mat that was decorated with flowers spelling out Welcome.  He winced as his aching body protested his current position, and he wondered briefly if he was going to be able to stand up again.  The Agency had insisted on him doing a solo mission apart from Belle, Director Thompson suspicious of their “close” connection.  It had been a drug bust in South America.  He had been called in to get a particular informant to share more information only to be sold out and taken hostage.  Thankfully the Agency had sent in back-up and retrieved him, but not before he got roughed up a little.

Belle had been working a mission in Russia and he messaged her on their private server. He gave her minimal details but that he was okay and heading home.  She just responded with, Okay, see you soon.  The key is under the mat.

It had been about six months since his cover as “Adam Walker” had been comprised and she had been brought in by the Agency.  While she still held him at arm’s length at times, there were moments when she looked at him as she did before.  He didn’t make it far into the apartment, barely removing his shoes before collapsing on the couch.  When he woke up briefly later, a blanket was covering him and he could hear Belle humming softly in the kitchen.  He smiled before falling back asleep.

It had been... difficult, at first, learning the truth. Finding out that there was a top-secret government database within her brain wasn’t even the hardest part. The hardest part was learning that, throughout their entire six month relationship, Adam had been lying to her about who he was and why he was really with her.

He insisted that things had changed from when he first took on the cover - that their relationship wasn’t just a ruse to ensure her protection anymore. That it had become real for him - that he loved her. But she found it terribly hard to believe him. How could she believe anything that a spy told her?

That being said, they still worked together. Director Thompson had insisted that, if she were willing to take on the proper training, Belle take on field missions. If she was to be the asset that Adam had promised she could be, she needed to start making herself useful. Adam, of course, hadn’t liked that - he hadn’t liked it at all. His concern for her safety reinstated a bit of her faith in him; if his feelings for her weren’t true, why would he care so much? If all that he wanted was the Intersect, he would have suggested an extraction attempt by now. He’d even fended off such suggestions for fear of what it may do to her brain.

Now, a further six months later, their relationship was in a strange state. They weren’t together, but they weren’t not together. They never used labels, but they still shared a bed whenever they had missions together. They didn’t kiss in public, unless a mission mandated it, but they didn’t not have sex when they were alone. Belle wasn’t sure what they were, but she was sure of one thing; she still cared about him.

So, when he called her while she was waiting on extraction from her op in Russia, telling her about what had happened to him in South America, she hadn’t even hesitated in telling him to go home - to her home, which she now lived in alone. She’d been relieved when Plumette decided to move in with Louie; she’d be safer there, away from Belle’s new lifestyle. 

When she unlocked the door upon arriving home and saw him lying on the couch, bruised all over and with a split lip, she’d felt her heart sink. How sideways could the mission have gone for him to come out looking like that? They didn’t call him ‘the Beast’ for nothing; he did that to other people. Not the other way around.

Crouching on the floor briefly by his head, Belle had gently carded her fingers through his messy blond hair, sighing before pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead and covering him up with the nearest blanket. He was in desperate need of a shower and a proper bed, but she didn’t want to disturb him. He likely needed rest more than anything else. So, she’d wandered down to her room to unpack before making her way to the kitchen, putting the kettle on to make a pot of tea, quietly humming to herself while she did so. It was an old Russian melody - the after-effects from her latest Flash during her solo mission, in which she’d taken on the cover of a prima ballerina.

[wellreadbeauty-blog]

aprinceinthetower:

“Belle was incredibly intense when we skated,” Adam remarked, his wistful smile turning mischievous. “Mrs. Potts always had to remind her to smile during practice.”

In a way, Plumette has been a godsend. Their choreographer at the time had taken Adam’s loss and filtered it into his and Plumette’s routines, making them heartbreaking and beautiful to behold. He felt like he barely remembered that time leading up to his first Olympics. He would be forever grateful to Plumette for being so understanding and helping him channel his loss. It felt like losing a limb when Belle left.

He chuckled when Belle growled in frustration and Plumette lamented, “Yes, I’ve received the same lectures. ‘The judges don’t want to see a beautiful girl with a scowl on her face, dearie.’ It’s all so incredibly frustrating and sexist, but I couldn’t see myself doing anything else.”

“Well, I could,” Belle stated, smiling faintly and clasping her hands in her lap, toying with her fingers as she spoke. “I suppose that was the problem, in the end. Everyone wanted me to commit full time; to leave school and focus all of my energy on training. I... wasn’t ready to do that. I was only seventeen.”

Taking a breath, she stood, trying to change the subject to something less... well, /depressing/, frankly. She cherished her childhood memories - just not the ones leading up to her final days on the rink with Adam.

“I was lucky with Mrs. Potts, though, even if she did tell me to smile a tad too often. At least she wasn’t like some of the Russian coaches who scare their students into developing eating disorders...”

That had been yet another reason she hadn’t wanted to go professional. There would be more... pressure for her to be conventionally beautiful. To lose weight. To smile more. Maybe it was an irrational fear, given Plumette always seemed perfectly happy, but it had been a fear nonetheless. Belle hadn’t wanted to lose herself in pursuit of a piece of metal on a sash. It wasn’t worth it - not even for Adam.

[wellreadbeauty-blog]

aprinceinthetower:

“I will require your assistance for a few upcoming social events,” Adam stated after finishing off his cup of tea.  The governess seemed confused, so he clarified, “For Rose, you see.  I’ve acquired some books on etiquette, and I’d like you to work them into your current curriculum. Although she is young, people will still expect a certain level of decorum from her.”

Adam felt his knuckles ache with phantom pains from being struck by a ruler by his tutors for misbehaving.  That was why he had Mrs. Potts chose a governess who was younger and seemed less jaded by the world.  He had silently observed some of this woman’s lessons with Rose and felt an overwhelming flood of relief at gentle and patient she was with his daughter.  He couldn’t help but think that Margaret would be proud of him.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and freshened up his cup, the tea steaming against the slight chill of the air.

“Ah. Of course, sir,” Belle quickly agreed to the clarification, offering up a smile before adding, “Although, I’m really not sure how much she needs it; she’s already quite polite as it is. Mrs. Potts has done a remarkable job with her.”

Swirling her fingertip around the rim of her teacup, she perked up and asked, “Speaking of which, when should I be expecting her son to join Rose and I in the classroom? I’d like to have something prepared ahead of time for him, to make the adjustment from his ordinary school a bit easier.”