#beauty and the beast wip idea

[theboarsbride]

Toying with Edgar’s design…

Trying to give him the vibe of a guy who peels himself from the shadows of a dilapidated haunted and abandoned house…a part of the house, a part of its haunting and grief, if you will…

[ninadove]

One of the best things about Feligami is that I could go out and say:

“Hey! What if we put these two in a Beauty and the Beast AU?”

And you’d be like HELL YEAH THAT IS SO THEM

But then, I would add:

“With Kagami as the Beast and Felix as Belle”

And at first, you’d gasp confusedly.

But then, you’d think about it.

And eventually, you’d realise I’m right.

[ninjadeathblade]

Thinking about the Clone Prom doc I just have sitting around

[the-mountain-flower]

I was rewatching Beauty and The Beast in the background, and it got to the song "Gaston", except it froze during the first line, so all that happened was:

"Gosh, it disturbs me to see you, Gaston-"

...

And that was seemingly where it ended 😂

And in case that weren't really funny on its own, it kind of perfectly describes his role in an upcoming chapter of The Exiled and The Outcast

To explain, I do plan on having a Gaston-insert cameo in The Exiled and The Outcast, but he doesn't play a big role, and pretty much his only point in the story rn is confirming some of Dainix's suspicions. Aside from being a clear danger if he tries to follow through on his bravado, he basically just gets on Dainix's nerves.

[a-strange-inkling]

Hellcheer Anastasia AU

Summary: Chrissy doesn’t remember where she came from nor who her family is. She has no memories, no last name. She’s been alone all her life, passed from orphanage to orphanage with only a locket and a folded up letter inside that says:

Meet me in Paris

My Darling

Snippet:

That’s how she finds herself in The Hideout, a seedy old tavern on the outskirts of the city, standing in front of the notorious conman Edward Munson. Traveling papers are difficult to come by these days, but she’s heard rumors on the streets that he can help procure them. For a price, of course. She doesn’t have much, but she’s saved a little. She hopes it will be enough. He’s appraising her slowly, warily, dark eyes wide and a little formidable.

“What?” she asks anxiously, subconsciously touching her face and neck to make sure she can’t feel any dried mud there.

“Nothing, sorry,” he murmurs, still gawking. “You just… you look…”

She waits, fiddling her fingers nervously.

“Nevermind,” he shakes his head slightly, motioning toward the seat across the small table from him. “Take a seat, Miss…”

“Chrissy.” she supplies, slowly lowering herself down.

“Chrissy…?”

“Just Chrissy.” she tells him.

“Ah ha,” he drawls slowly, thoughtfully, giving her another once over.

“So… how does this work, exactly?” she asks him quietly as the barhand walks by, setting the glass of water she ordered on the table.

“…Oh, just like any ol’ sale.” he waits to reply until the boy’s gone. “Money first, I get you the papers, it’s as simple as that.”

“H-how do I know you won’t disappear with the money?” she asks. “After I pay you?”

He grins slowly, devilishly and she feels her heart skip a beat. He’s younger and more handsome than she imagined he’d be when she heard his name being whispered in the streets.

“What’s the matter? Don’t I look trustworthy?” he asks teasingly, leaning forward, tilting his head to one side for her to assess for herself. Flushing, she quickly looks down at her hands, her fingers are still red and stiff from having walked all the way here through the snow.

“…Something tells me you’re not going to have enough anyway, sweetheart.” his voice is gentle, sympathetic.

“I have some saved,” she murmurs bashfully, feeling her lower lip push forward slightly.

“How much?”

With a sigh, she pulls out the coins and paper banknotes, laying them out on the table. It’s almost eighty rubles, her entire life’s savings since she left the orphanage.

“You do realize I’d be risking my life for this, right?” he chuckles at the meager offering.

“It’s… all I have.” she shrugs her shoulders hopelessly, feeling as though she might cry.

“Sure about that?” he reaches forward and she gasps brokenly at the feel of his rough fingers suddenly against her throat, leaving a hot trail against her snow kissed skin in their wake as they follow along the chain hanging around her neck. He stops just when he reaches the plush skin above her breasts, tugging upward to reveal the gold locket that was hiding between them.

She can feel her own blood racing through her whole body.

No, please, not that.

His eyes gleam as he takes it in, running his thumb over the engraved lilies and the white pearl embedded in the center. “Now that’s a pretty thing.” he muses breathlessly. “Where did a little waif like you get something like this?”

“I didn’t steal it if that’s what you’re wondering.” she tells him, frown deepening. “I’ve had it for as long as I can remember.”

His twinkling gaze meets hers with a giddy smile. “This is real gold, sweetheart… the pearl alone could get you back and forth over the border ten times if you wanted.”

“…it’s not for bartering.” she tells him firmly, pulling it back and shoving it between the layers of her coat and blouse.

“I’d reconsider,” he rests his cheek into the palm of his coal tainted hand still lingering between them. “A few hot meals and somewhere to sleep would probably serve you better than a cold trinket to wear.”

“It’s important to me.” she replies, pocketing her money. She’d be angry if she wasn’t so weary, so devastated. Another deadend. “I think this was a mistake.”

“Hey, hey, hold on,” she stills when he feels his hand grip hers. “Hold on…let me buy you a drink, something besides ice water, maybe?”

She glances back at him, brows furrowed. The warmth in his eyes makes her slowy sit back down. His thumb runs over her raw knuckles before he makes his way up to the bar. “I’ll be right back… Don’t disappear,” he rasps as he passes, though it’s more of a plea than an order. She blinks up at him, nodding slightly. She watches his back as he goes.

[nerdieforpedro]

Last Stuff

I was tagged by some very fun people @seratuyo @sp00kymulderr @chronically-ghosted

Last song: (If it) Hurts Just a Little - Donna Summer (actually used this in a Dave York fic lol)

Three ships: Pedro Pascal characters and me (the reason for fanfiction 🤣), Santiago "Pope" Garcia and Frankie "Catfish" Morales (highly encouraged by @for-a-longlongtime 's WIP - I won't be okay when the other part of that drops), and Steve Rogers and James "Bucky" Barnes (No one can tell me that these two were not supposed to ride off into the sunset. I don't care that Steve went back in time, he shouldn't have. He should have kept his Nomad look and made a three man team with Sam and Bucky.)

Favorite color(s): dark and light blue, red and purple

Currently consuming: brownies and almond milk

First ship: Belle and the Beast from Beauty and the Beast. This tracks with my tastes now, should have known.

Relationship status: Same as my mug "mentally dating Pedro Pascal" add "while writing various levels of fanfic for his characters"

Currently working on: WIPs, there are too many. A few of them:

Sard'ika Sessions

Weddings 101 with Dieter

Pickled Pena

Peg that Middle Aged Man

A Dave York fic (maybe one shot or may be a series)

The Dave York series I never finished

A Santiago fic

Joel and Layla (one shots for them - there's two)

A Robbie Reyes fic

PBJ ask with Joel (way overdue)

Two Benny fics

Last Movie: Triple Frontier, watching it with my mom. She had a lot to say about it. 😆 I wrote what she said here.

Tags: @musings-of-a-rose @laurfilijames @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @trulybetty @goodwithcheese @frenchiereading @maggiemayhemnj @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @fhatbhabie @grogusmum @joels-shitty-puns @morallyinept @megamindsecretlair @saturn-rings-writes

[monstersandmaw]

WIP Extract:

The shuffling scrape of a shoe on the carpet somewhere in the deepest recesses of the room brought her to a startled halt, half-looming over the open book on the mahogany table. Panic flared bright and wild in her throat and she stared around, head twitching like an owl caught unawares. Then, between those fluttering heartbeats pounding at the pulse point in her throat, she heard a low, softly-scraping voice that raked through the pressing silence like a kitchen cleaver on a glass cutting board. “Get. Out.”

Watched 'The Invitation' on Netflix while under the influence of some hefty cold medication, and I've just half-hallucinated a Beauty and the Beast style 'vampire recluse x unwitting human woman' story, minus all the non-con and assault etc. from the film because that's really not my thing.

Oh and there's a werewolf gardener and his handsome son. And some lesbian vampires.

[narenohate]

the reckless, the wild youth (WIP)

(since eda and raine's backstory is so different in this AU, i'm pondering a comic about the two of them and just how and why it went so wrong) (infodump.... ramble?? ig down there + design notes on how my progress is going with this project)

Seb's design notes: anyways i've been dancing with the idea of making canis caninam's witches more animalistic. because yeah im just having fun at this point. bonus, sphynx / owl beast design. i'm not a big fan of her canon design, and it's not because i think she's scary.

my current inspo for the witch faces is a mix of good ol' na'vi 3d models, deerchip's s work (they're on twitter!!) and olya bossak's anthropomorphic portraits!! i didn't just want them to be elves who purr, tbh... though more and more as i post this i'm kind of hoping to get harrassed off the fandom for my weird ideas and "forced" to make this into an original story.

ramble on story derived from conversation with Bow (idea beta tester, victim of the circumstances of my hyperfixation, beautiful white hetero man who got here by accident). IT'S A ROUGH, UNEDITED DRAFT. PARTS OF IT ARE DIRECTLY FROM A CONVERSATION. IT'S ROUGH. Eda is born to the Clawthorne family - daughter of Gwendolyn, a healer, and Dell, a toy maker who married into her clan as to escape the hardships of living outside the barrier, amidst bestial demons... and probably something else, smart enough to scare him into hiding, though that usually goes unsaid. She is one of a pair of twins, and, for the first fourteen suns, eleven moons and twenty-nine sundowns of their lives they are inseparable.

It's their fifteenth birthday when Dell gives them an old grimmoire that has been in his family for centuries. Some of its words have been altered with the years, rewritten and repaired by generations, their meaning lost - symbols re-drawn from memory with each unfortunate accident.

Lilith partakes in that tradition - having to repair a page of a long-winded wild-spell meant to be cast by a powerful warlock, after she spills some tea on it.

that night, the two set out to camp with a group of their friends -hyacinth, a selk nobleman who, despite his young age, served under belos as his huntsmaid and personal cook, and his apprentice, darius, a prodigy who'd already been branded for a coven, and who'd been personally selected by belos to be a companion for the golden-haired boy who'd earned his favor.

and, of course, trailing slightly behind, raine whispers. their glasses are foggy and they already smell like the alcohol they brought to the party.

nobody leaves the outermost wall to camp these days, of course, so the bunch of them settle in an abandoned park, before doing as teenagers do when provided alcohol, and getting plastered.

at some point, eda, raine and hyacinth get into an argument of some kind - one that results in eda opening the grimmoire she brought along, and going along with the plan she'd nearly abandoned: using her rudimentary knowledge of the old tongue the tome was written in, she makes a circle out of salt around herself, and reads the spell.

its words are all wrong. whatever she summons she angers, and, at first, nothing happens.

then, as she and raine lay together on her hammock the afternoon after the party and the tiny backyard camping "trip", eda falls ill.

it was fever and it was vomiting. then the lining of her stomach, then her gums and her teeth and her tongue. her skin sagged and it was like she was all liquid inside it.

raine slept by her bedside, singing to calm her down whenever she awoke. lilith laid in the old manor's basement, endlessly brewing potion after potion to try and quell the pain that refused to ebb away.

darius and hyacinth did not go to belos - instead they were stopped at the door by the clawthorne patriarch, and with his help, took a griffin out of the city, found an old thing. it called itself queen of bats, and it was made of wood, and it knew dell very well.

the three give her the griffin, and spend four sunsets and three sunrises walking back with their prize - it's a living tether, a wooden owl dell had made as a toy for his daughter when she was very young. filled with the griffin's soul, it was given by its enchantress the mission of tethering its holder.

they arrive to a burning house. darius and dell don't speak of it, but the only time they both see the emperor is when they deliver his selk concubine's mutilated carcass at the throne room, laid at his feet like an offering.

dell lost one eye to his daughter, the other eye and both hands to the emperor.

raine was gone to everyone except the thing that eda had become, a sphynx that spared their life for the price of their song. they land atop a rocky cliffface, a few miles away from the outer border of the bonesborough wall - soon, something finds them.

the owl her father had carved for her followed eda, and raine became sure, at that moment, that she wasn't lost.

lilith and darius compensated for hyacinth's loss, sitting for years at the foot of the throne as the emperor's guards, until belos found it fit to entrust them both to make for him a new selkie servant - they took hyacinth's old heart, a blue stone that ebbed and flowed, and they took the lungs of a dragon, the innards of a maiden, and all the blood they could get from a seal-devil, along with a tiny fragment of bone that had been strapped to hyacinth's old heart.

they spend day and night putting him together - the rough face of clay mixed with blood, the organs gracefully gifted, the bone.

they bury the sculpture. a boy digs himself out of the dirt while they sleep in the temple, curled up together in a mess of ratty old sheets they'd found.

they name him hunter because he was more demon than boy, but had hyacinth's face, and, though something seemed very wrong, he had somehow killed and dragged in a rat to eat by their side during the time they'd spent asleep.

belos allows the name to stay, and grants them both titles and robes of white, and allows them to mary whomever they wish.

lilith secludes herself to a temple and studies every grimmoire she can, and darius takes on apprentice after apprentice, teaching them how to pull the throat strings of a bard out, and how to best slay a sphynx.

hunter looks just like hyacinth, and, despite how strongly he'd imprinted on his makers, they both hate him from just the look in his eyes.

lilith finds the portraits of every other selk concubine, every other golden guard.

it's always hyacinth's face. meanwhile, raine managed to unearth eda - partially.

they bind her to them, and she remembers very little, but she is undeniably herself, and despite the tragedy of her body, or maybe because of it, she seeks to cause chaos. she embraces the life of a wildling, and raine follows in her stead.

a year passes. then two. three, maybe. probably more, considering everything that comes after. what really matters is that, as raine grows more frantic in their search for something that can help her, occasionally coming in contact with the fragmented clawthorne family's matriarch (before finding her treatments too harsh), all in search for a way to stabilize eda's mind and body...

she accepts that fate she was given.

the system of castes and castings and divisions becomes pointless to her, and she eagerly, easily pushes raine to rebellion by her side. the wards around the walls have nothing against her - usually, griffins and dragons don't fly that high.

raine found gwen's attempts to heal her daughter too much - but at some point, more than a decade after the two set out together, a night after raine settles a chain with a golden ring around her massive paw's wrist, they catch wind, through that shared palisman of theirs, that raine's mother has passed.

they leave eda to sleep atop the church, tail around its tower, and enter it to pray.

they meet someone - a who who dances on the edge of being a what - and, in their grief, bear to her their heart, and are offered a deal in return.

all they want in life, for a price, their mind.

eda wakes up, a moon later, transformed, and with every memory made vague, erased except for vague outlines.

naked but for a wedding ring around her neck, in a dark, low chunk of the city, with the body of a beast, she's seen as exotic enough to work the night for a couple years, as she catches up on a life she lost, and takes the name of a harpy, not knowing she's a clawthorne.

… clawthorne health clinic seems so familiar of a name, though. she jots down their contacts. attends every speech given by darius deammonne, head of the carnomantis force, and often borrows from the library books on forbidden magic written or translated by one lilith clawthorne.

it's not familiar.

she feels like it should be, though. so she digs into it all - never takes the name of clawthorne, but as her social standing falls and she teeters ever closer to living outside the walls, the people around her take to calling her the owl-lady.

she eventually takes to stealing from old homes - the abandoned sort, full of hobs and rats and hexes she can easily bypass, with magic as strong (as well-trained, despite the lack of any memory of schooling) as hers.

there's a farm-house, though, mostly burnt, long ago vacated, that feels very familiar when she enters. she tears up despite not remembering her, when she recognizes her twin's face beside her own in a portrait. in the rubble of a bedroom, a large woven hammock still has an old violin sitting broken on top of its torn fabric.

inside its case, the thing she knows she gave up her memories - or maybe something more - for, sits waiting and patient.

... a key to the human realm. she knows a lot about it, and remembers an unbound fascination.

(her one visit goes very wrong, of course - but she can spy through her palisman's little eye, so it's worth it. it's all worth it.)

meanwhile, raine wakes up, married to a woman whose face is foggy to them, with three apprentices who don't know their name but promise they've been there under them for weeks.

whomever wiped their mind didn't bother to take the human-styled wedding ring off their finger.

[edgeray]

Heyyooo!! I was wondering if you could make an Arle x afab reader with like a beauty and the beast plot?? Arle’s curse is slowly killing her though which is why her arms turned black and the only way she can save herself (this curse could also be affecting the House of the Hearth, up to you) is if she finds someone whom she can open up her heart to and they accept her fully and love her back in return! It doesn’t have to be exactly like that but I do think having a beauty and the beast au with arle x reader would be pretty fun to see.

Cursed Human

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)

A/N - Hi anon! This is a super interesting AU anon! If you choose to request as an anon again make sure to give yourself a name/emoji 🫶. I actually really love this idea. This gives a little bit of hanahaki au vibes (which is something separate that I should write and have been meaning to write, ack– too many wip). This will lean more into dark fairytale and will be based off of Arlecchino's backstory. (This turned out darker than I expected, and I'm very sorry for that.)  The switch up is crazy to me. 💀 How do I pull out horse girl au, platonic au, and domestic fluff, and then this shit? I'm versatile like that, I guess. But I promise it gets better after all the dark stuff.  Content warnings / info - afab reader, pretty dark, some brief religious notions, semi-graphic details of violence, a little bit of arlevie but only ‘cuz of the angst, hopefully not forgetting something, 1.8k words

Here tells the tale of a cursed monster. 

Peruere was said to be cursed from childbirth. A child who caused misfortune wherever and whenever, it was a surprise to none of the villagers when Arlecchino was dropped off at the doorstep of Crucabena, the head of an illegitimate orphanage. Misfortune began with the death of her birth mother. Afterwards, her father was stricken by an unknown illness, quickly becoming too ill to take care of her. The first day that Peruere arrived at the orphanage, the stocked vegetables and fruits had all rotten. And the first night, every child in the same room as her was suddenly struck with insomnia.   

(The pregnancy only intensified the already ill mother  in the first place. The stress from a newborn child and the death of his wife caused him to be ill. The recent intensity of humidity accelerated the spoilage of the produce. The mattresses were far too solid, the room was far too cold, and the piercing cries of Crucabena's daughter were far too loud to allow slumber.)  

The villagers deemed her as cursed, a threat to their quaint little town. They tried to persuade the town head, a powerful sorcerer, to eradicate the hell offspring. The town head rejected, suggesting that the mere existence of a child did not warrant taking away her life. Crucabena had stepped up to the conference, easing the villagers’ concerns by ensuring that the depravity would be beaten out of the wretched child. 

And Crucabena did just as she said she would. 

“Mother” had no issue every night carving the symbol of her archon into Arlecchino's skin in an effort to exercise the demon inside of the child. “Mother” sullied Peruere's once flawless skin with bruises, lacerations, and blood. The cursed child clawed and struggled away every night, and yet every night she only knew of the pain that was etched far past the layers of her skin, carved into her bones, and syringed into her veins. 

The wretched child became very familiar with the acute sting or the prickling ache. However, there was something else she became familiar with. While “Mother" dealt her pain, what Clervie dealt her was love.

Clervie was young and naive. Perhaps if the cursed child knew better, Clervie would not be tainted.  

“Mother” did not stop even when the screams of a six-year-old child rang through her ears. “Mother” did not stop when even her other children begged her to stop her demonstrations. “Mother” did not stop when her own daughter rose against her. “Mother” did not stop when her own daughter's blood spilt on her hands. 

Love is a strange thing. It can transform a meek sheep into a vengeful wolf. 

The same night that Clervie's life was extinguished, Peruere burned bright, hot enough to scorch Crucabena's life away. 

After hearing of the child's atrocity, the town head cursed the child, expeling her to a decrepit home amidst a dark forest, condemning her to a slow, painful death. Peruere will die a death befitting an unlovable, inhuman creature. For if she sins under the pretense of something so pure, then she shall forever be undeserving of it. Stripped from her final piece of humanity, her name, a new name is thrusted upon the child: Arlecchino, the Knave, the servant of a devil.

—

At Arlecchino's feet lay the corpses of the intrusive villagers, the ones that dared to enter her forest and prey upon her children. How dare they? 

It had been a decade since she had been cursed. A simmering fire burns within her veins, sometimes the constant ache so acute that Arlecchino believes that she is truly burning from within. She had long presumed that that was the very nature of her curse, that she would eventually burn from the inside like the very flames that consumed Crucabena. Her arms had attained the same color as char, the spread of the physical toll of her curse growing with each passing day. And her eyes, they gain red-crossed pupils, said to be the mark of a demon inside. 

After having been expelled, the villagers were ‘generous’ enough to give her an abandoned abode. With her hands, she made it into something liveable. After a few weeks of living in the forest, she encountered intruders on the eastern borders of her forest: children from another town, said to be cursed and so were being chased out by villagers with torches and pitchforks. Arlecchino had sheltered them, and they had remained with her since.

Arlecchino gives it another half-decade before the char completely consumes her body, and she will meet the same fate as “Mother.” But until then, she will protect her forest, her home, her children. Perhaps her children will grow strong enough to protect themselves when she is gone. 

Other children, in one way or another, made their way into her forest. One, whose mother had abandoned after giving birth to them, was left to die with nothing but a blanket bundled around them. Another, seeking a sanctuary to peacefully die was convinced otherwise, and now smiles everyday. Each and every child within her cabin had some tragedy placed unjustly on them, and so Arlecchino welcomed her arms to them. 

Arlecchino had taught them well, each child could not venture out beyond the woods for their own safety. But the villagers, across all five villages surrounding her forest, had grown bolder, determined to ‘exterminate vileness.’ 

She cannot protect her children for much longer. She will die, and her children–her nest of the outcasts, the abandoned, the cursed, the hurt–will be left to fend for themselves. Even she cannot escape fate, no matter how much she challenges it. That is the tragedy she must shoulder.  

She is tired. 

The warmth of her children, while welcomed, is not the same as the warmth she longs. The warmth of her children does not comfort her at nights when the bloodfire, so she calls it, creeps up, maiming any semblance of sleep. The warmth of her children does not undo or prevent the curse's effect, her arms still remain black, her hands still resembling the claws of a monster. The warmth of her children does not melt her frigid heart, does not make her any more human. 

She longs and longs for something she is destined to never receive. 

Because this is the most she deserves. 

—

One day, a person stumbles into her forest. She is neither a child or a malevolent aggressor. She encounters you, breathless and heaving as you clutch your bleeding side. Arlecchino can tell that you do not bear any spite towards her or her children, but she cannot deem you nonthreatening. 

“A-are you the Knave?” you're able to choke out, leaning against the tree.

“Would you like the misfortune of finding out?” Arlecchino forewarns, extending out her hands and showcasing her claws, remnants of other victims’ blood still on her fingers. You swallow thickly, your hand clutching onto the small dagger behind your back. 

“I'm… I'm looking for my child. They wandered into here and never came back. But… I refuse to believe that they're dead. They're alive, aren't they? You have them, don't you? Let me see them,” you boldly demand, despite your injured state. Your eyes burn with a dangerous determination, a familiar fire dancing among your pupils. 

“Are you unaware? That the Knave kidnaps and feeds on young children?” That was obviously a lie, but an effective lie that has dissuaded most villagers from entering her territory. 

You shook your head. “They're just rumors.”

“And how would you know?” 

You breathe in deeply. “I've heard of you. You're the first cursed child. But, I know why you were cursed. You wouldn't… you wouldn't do that.”

Arlecchino pauses, hesitance in her for the slightest moment. “I am cursed,” she says it like a shield, a wall that defends her from futile hopes. 

“The world isn't as just as most people like us to believe.”

The cursed human breathes deeply. “What is your name?” 

—

You were telling the truth. Arlecchino remembers one of her children yearning for their mother, the only source of comfort before they found the House. She takes you to her home, and you're reunited with your child.

Your child pleads with Arlecchino to allow you to stay, and begrudgingly, she does, to your amazement. You adjust well to living in the secluded home, often filling in for her the emotional support that the children always needed, but she could not provide. The children take to calling you ‘Mother.’ You joke with the children, insisting that Arlecchino was the ‘Father’ in that case.  

Something inside of her stirs when she does. It is both a familiar and foreign sensation, somehow a sweet and bitter taste in her mouth, soothing but perturbing at once. You are unbeknownst to this. 

There are traits that you learn about the cursed once-child, traits that you find endearing, and traits that you later learn to love. Although her words may be cutting, they can carry a tenderness with them. Her hands, that she so frequently despises, protect her children. There is no reason for you not to love them, despite their appearance. She utilizes her cursed status to protect all of you, and for that, how could you possibly see someone who is ‘cursed’ or ‘inhuman?’ 

One night, you lay awake, suddenly jolted by the sounds of scratching, originating from the room besides you. You approach the room, and view the forlorn sight of Arlecchino, hunched over and writhing in pain, the bloodfire overtaking her once more. Pained groans escape from her as her claws dig into the wall besides her, dragging them down as she searches for any sense of grounding. Her eyes glower, the color reminiscent of blood. It is in this moment where she looks nothing more like a beast. 

Still, you do not see her as such. Not when you take her hand, kissing each knuckle and finger, the same ones that had saved your child from danger, the same ones that had saved you. 

“Arlecchino,” you whisper out to her, and it calls out to her soul. The bloodfire weakens, and she gazes at you. Your eyes fill with a warmth that melts her.

“Don't,” she warns with a harsh gruff that wavers, attempting to wrench her hand out of her grasp, but she finds herself vulnerable when you grip tighter. You lean down, bringing your lips on her blackened skin, the very skin that signifies her inhumanity. The black gradient recedes, and you continue until you kiss up to her shoulder. By then, the charred hue only spreads up to her knuckles.

Shock envelops her expression, but she is hardly given the time to process when you slot your lips over hers. She sighs and leans in, bringing up her hand to cup your face. 

Her hands are neither clawed, nor charred at that moment, but the two of you hardly realize until the next morning. The bloodfire inside of Arlecchino dissipates.

Fate can be challenged, and destiny can be broken. Cursed or not, deserving of or not, Arlecchino will take what is rightfully hers. 

[jules-writes-stories]

I had a couple of asks about WIP Wednesday (including a playlist!) so wanted to post a blurb for Chapter 6. I threw a playlist together really quick. They're songs I listened to while outlining/ made me think of the story, setting, and characters. All vibes. No order or hidden message. This is not my strength, lol. 🖤

The Night Court Lounge | Tribeca, NYC | Ch 1-5 on AO3

Azriel x Eris

Chapter 6 (Excerpt)

Tribeca, NYC

“Lemme guess. Black hoodie?” Akon’s eyes peered back in the rear view mirror. 

Eris saw Azriel’s figure the same time his driver did. Of course he would do something reckless like walk up the island of Manhattan in the early hours of the morning. The pretty man clearly enjoyed stressing him out. 

Eris took a breath. No good would come of acting distraught.

They followed him down a cobbled street to an overpass that crossed over a highway below. Steam rose over manholes. Squares of light from empty, lit office buildings reflected off rain slicked streets. 

The car slowed to drive alongside Azriel. He wore Airpods and his hands were stuffed in his pockets. Eris rolled down his window.

After several seconds, Az turned to look directly at Eris and his eyes grew wide. Something like embarrassment and rejection passed across the man’s face, before it froze into a cool mask of neutrality. He pulled his dark hood up and picked up his pace. 

His beloved bat was growing fangs… 

Akon’s eyes flicked up to meet Eris’s and laughter shined in those dark pools. He needed no directions as he began to drive alongside the petulant pedestrian. 

“Azriel. Will you at least tell me why you stormed off?” Eris called out of the slowly moving vehicle, his voice laced with humor.

Hazel eyes were brazen as they narrowed at Eris. There was the magnificent creature in his submissive. Jealousy made a beast of Azriel. And Eris had the strange impulse to pet the beast, to soothe it. 

Azriel pulled out his earbuds and faced the car. They were stopped on the overpass now. Traffic flashed below like a river of light through the chain link fence behind him. 

Eris could tell the younger man was struggling, was on a precipice. And he considered… In business, it was customary to offer a concession. Eris would give something, and then, perhaps, Azriel, the silly man, would get in the car. 

“Azriel. I can’t fix it, if I don’t know what’s wrong.” Eris tried to keep his voice reasonable. This was him being reasonable. He was being… Yes, reasonable was the word. 

The beautiful man stalked towards the car. “Why did you even follow me? What do you want?” 

Eris felt that prickle of panic, control slipping once more.

Thesan’s words clanged through him.  Be vulnerable with him, or end it… All or nothing.

And the thought of ending it, of not seeing those hazel eyes or that shy smile, the way Azriel’s dark lashes fluttered against his cheekbones when Eris praised him. No. He did not like that idea at all. And panic grew at the thought. 

In fact, if Eris was being completely honest, he wanted to learn more. Who were his favorite artists? When was his birthday? Why did everyone at the Night Court feel the need to protect him and what happened to his hands?

Be reasonable. The last time Eris fell, it had been for Thesan. And it had cost him a year of his life.

What did he want? Right now? 

“I want you to get in my car. And talk to me.” Eris kept his voice level, even as the authority he was accustomed to using slipped through his timbre. He pushed it aside. This was not the bedroom or the boardroom-- this was a highway overpass, and he wanted this man. 

Azriel stepped closer, backpack slung over a shoulder. “You’re used to getting your way, aren’t you, Eris?”  His tone was icey, but there was something soft and needful in his gaze. 

Eris stepped out of his car and leaned against the door. He crossed his arms over his chest. They stared at each other beneath the fuzzy glow of the street lamps. The hum of traffic rattled the overpass. 

“What if I want you?”

Please let me know if you ever want on/off the tag | @the-darkestminds @fieldofdaisiies @mistandmemories @secret-third-thing @chunkypossum @talibunny30 @amalhe-kofee @shadowsandlint @queercontrarian @molcat07 @c-starstuff-man0 @lovely-vanserra-sunshine @hieragalbatorixdottir @brunetterebel010 @pippsmcgee @theartofmischief @born-to-riot

[beauty-beast-week]

1 month until Beauty and the Beast Week!

Beauty and the Beast Week 2024 starts in 1 month, on September 23! The theme this year is “In the Garden,” with the following prompts and ideas of how to use them:

The examples in parentheses above are merely ideas to spark inspiration. Feel free to use your own interpretations of the daily prompts! They are meant to be metaphorical (though you can treat them literally if you want).

You are NOT expected to do something every day! Just 1 work for 1 day of your choosing is enough, though you are welcome to do more if you like. And you are NOT expected to create your fanwork on that day, just post it on that day! You have plenty of time left to start creating something now or finish up existing WIPs.

All creators and types of fandom works are welcome, as long as it contains at least one Disney BatB character (crossovers, OCs, and reader-inserts are allowed too!), and no AI. The full rules are here.

A month ago, I ran a poll showing that:

9 people plan to write fic

7 people plan to make art

1 person plans to make a comic

1 person plans to make another type of fanwork

An additional 21 people might also participate

Plus, another additional 23 people are looking forward to seeing what everyone creates!

Since then, even more people have shown interest in the event. All of this means it's a great chance to get your work in front of others who love BatB and connect with people in our fandom community.

We hope you will join us in celebrating Disney’s wonderful Beauty and the Beast productions!

Follow this blog to see all the creations as they are posted during the week.

[grogusmum]

WIP WEDNESDAY/SNEAK PEEK

Dieter Bravo x muse!f!Reader

A Xanadu inspired AU

A/N: Just a little proof that I am working on this idea threw out there earlier in the summer

Prologue: Don’t Walk Away

“Dieter, I foolishly thought a loving person could…” Anika was past crying, but the sadness in her eyes would break anyone's heart. But Dieter was too angry, so instead, he spat -

“No,” she sighed, “help you. Fill the void that you had been filling with -”

“Fix me!?”

Dieter knew Anika loved him and didn't make a project of him, at least not on purpose. But he was feeling defensive -

“What, Anika?”

“Every excess. I was enough of a distraction for a little while. But my novelty has worn off, I guess.”

And that is when Dieter’s tears began to fall.

“I’m sorry, Dieter, this is goodbye.”

He wanted to yell, cover all his insecurity and pain with rage, but he could never do that to Anika. But he couldn’t bring himself to be magnanimous about it either. All he could muster was a broken ‘fine’.

The fire is dangerously high, but Dieter doesn't much care as he tosses another painting on the fire. They’re shit and only represent his manic despair. When he reaches the bottom of the pile, he shuffles back into his studio and pulls out his most recent sketch pad. It fights him a little, and when he gives it a forceful tug, some loose drawings float to the floor. He trains his eyes onto the one on his croc clad feet.

The Cliff Beasts Debacle was finally complete, with his wife walking out the door. The one and only good thing he said came from that ridiculous film, and the fucked up experience of making it. Dieter would love to say he just threw himself into his work, but parts began scarce ever since. (Shocker.) So he drowned himself in whatever mind altering substance was available and painted. It only reminded him more of the worst time of isolation while making that wretched movie. So, not helping.

It’s you.

Eyes wide and a playful knowing smile; at some point, he had added color, and your eyes look so real. He looks around at the other drawings, some large sheets of good art paper, some torn scraps, all you. His muse. His beautiful muse. Now, if he was with anyone and described you as such, they may think he’s waxing poetic about a lover who supported and inspired him. Sure, you were his lover. And you did support and inspire him. But when he says you were “his muse”, he means it. Literally. A daughter of Zeus… and Mnemósine. Not that he can't pronounce her name, so he kind of forgets about the titan goddess of memory (to her vexation).

Dieter picks up the watercolor; his hands trembling. He looks out the picture window at his impulsive bonfire. He grabs a few items in his art studio, bursts out the door, rounds the pool, and places the portrait on a nearby table. Out of his pocket, his pulls a zippo lighter and a small bit of wood, lights it until the end is glowing, and sends off a sweet smoke.

“Terpsichore!” the actor intones. He’s only ever used the name one other time. Generally calling you by the name you gave him. But for this, he uses your greek name. The Official One. Trademarked and all that.

“I - I beg - I beseech you, return to me. You came to me once, and I squandered your gift and, um, yo-your favor. I have learned my lesson. Just let me prove it to you.”

The glow of the fire flickers on his face in the halflight, and he murmurs your name. The one you gave yourself, the one he moaned when you touched him - “Please come back to me.”

Suddenly, the Santa Ana winds kicked up, and his rendering of his lovely muse is pulled from his hand and flies up on the draft made by the fire. He can't see if it went into the blaze or not, only that it went up and over. Then the quiet but for the snap and pop of the flames was interrupted by the blare of a fire truck siren, called by a neighbor, no doubt.

THANKS FOR READING 💚

[void-ink-studios]

Charmes Fanfic Idea that's been Rotating in my Head

SO

This ship has me in a CHOKEHOLD!!!!

I so badly wish to write a fanfic but I have Zero energy to do so alongside my other WIPS, but that's NOT for a lack of trying...

Maybe dumping it out here with y'all will at least make the brainworms happy.

----------------------

Character Study where Charon is actually DEEPLY insecure. About a lot of things.

The fandom likes to portray him as certain, unmoving, unflinching, but I propose an alternative.

Charon is monstrous. Rotten. He fundamentally believes he is an ugly, greedy, unsightly ghoul and ghouls do not get Love, not in the way the rest do. Who could love a creature whose face is that of a long-decayed corpse, whose every word sounds more like a death rattle, whose only known character is an unyielding, if not fair and predictable, greed?

Charon is a god of nothing. He holds no domain, except for his boat. Not even the rivers he sails across, Lethe and Styx and Phlegethon and the rest all have their own gods and care takers. He holds no command over them, they just cooperate.

He is a frightening beast, one that no shade can understand or help but cower from.

Charon is a god of very little virtue, and he's long since accepted that fact. It was as unchanging as he was.

So what happens when that mindset is interrupted by a chatty little god from up above? Who keeps insisting on speaking to him despite getting no real words back? Who gives him gifts from the outside and has the audacity to call him beautiful?

What happens when Hermes dashes into his existence?

----------------------

Okay, there we go, it's out, now I can hopefully rest. The closest fic I've gotten to this idea is Lay Thy Weakness Down. It's a good fic, but I'd like to see one without the smut.

If one of you crazy people write this PLEASE tag me, I am STARVING for some Insecure Charon content.

[b0xerdancer-writes]

About to post 2 full weeks of fic after fic including one whole week of work for the @tamlinweek prompts!

Wip Fics:

Baby Fever fic oneshots:

Our Little Secret Eris x Azriel’s Twin!Reader

Snow White Peaks Cassian x Illyrian!Reader

A Second Chance Rhysand x Reader

Welcome Back Lucien x Tamlin’s Sister!Reader

This Little Light of Mine Helion x Reader

The Heir of Spring Tamlin x Archeron!Reader (This is both the last baby fever fic and the first Tamlin Week fic) coming Sunday April 14th

Tamlin Week fics

Monday April 15th: The Warrior with the Poets Heart

Tuesday April 16th: The Rockrose and the Thistle

Wednesday April 17th: The Maiden that Stuck Around

Thursday April 18th: Paper Faces on Parade! Inspired by Andrew Lloyd Webbers song in Phantom of the Opera

Friday April 19th: Beauty and The Beast

Saturday April 20th: Where No One Knows Your Name! Inspired by Aurelio Voltaires song Masquerade on the album Raised by Bats. Originally one of two fic ideas I had for Day 5 of Tamlin Week.

Series Parts

Baring Teeth Part 2

It Wasn’t Supposed to Happen Like This Part 7

[zepskies]

Hello hun! 😊

Okay, since I'm still on hold up here 🙈, I thought I send you a question.

How do you find a plot for your storys? What get's your inspiration going or what does spark you to make it a WIP?

So interested to hear how it works for you. 😁

Hey there, lovely!! 💜

Aww still waiting on Tracker to come out for you, huh? Almost there, right? 😅

But thank you for this question! The lovely @luci-in-trenchcoats asked me a similar one not too long ago in this ask, so my answer will be similar on some things.

⚡ Getting inspiration for stories:

Initially, my imagination always gets sparked by the "What If" question. Here are a few examples:

"What if Soldier Boy could be redeemed?" (Break Me Down - Soldier Boy x Reader)

"What if Dean Winchester had a Latina girlfriend?" (Midnight Espresso - Dean x Plus-sized Latina!Reader)

"What if Dean was a firefighter?" (Smoke Eater - Firefighter!Dean x Reader)

"What if Dean met his soulmate in season 1?" (Never Say Goodbye - Dean x Soulmate!Reader)

"What if Russell Shaw set his sights on his sister's best friend?" (Every Second Counts - Russell Shaw x Reader)

"What if you had a messy past you were running from, just like the new sheriff in town?" (Take Me Home - Beau Arlen x Reader)

You get the idea. 😂

✍🏽 Developing the plot:

After that, where I draw ideas for the plot depends on the kind of story I'm writing. And for that, I'm a big advocate of:

"Write what you know."

"Write what you can research."

"Write what you're interested in."

"Write what you've never tried to do before (but may secretly want to)."

Again, a couple of examples...

Break Me Down:

With BMD, I already had a loose concept in Checkerboard, with the reader working surveillance at Supe Affairs. It would paint her and Soldier Boy (Ben) as enemies from the start. "Enemies to lovers" was a trope I had never written before, but I thought it was a fun challenge, besides the obvious one of attempting to "redeem" Soldier Boy lol.

In general, I'm a sucker for the gruff, devil-may-care, rough exterior guy who only becomes soft for his girl. 😂

More practically though, I drew from the source material a bit for the Black Noir twist (the comics), and also from my love of Smallville for some of the superhero plot aspects. I also knew that if the reader was going to eventually give Ben a chance and see the humanity underneath, she would need time to do it. So what better way than with an accidental kidnapping? 😅

And somehow it became this quasi- Beauty & the Beast storyline that developed into Ben and the reader saving one another, in more ways than one. 💚

Smoke Eater:

With this story, I had several influences that helped me develop the plot. I have a deep and abiding love for cop and medical procedurals like Law & Order, House MD, and Chicago PD, but also for Chicago Fire in particular. (Also my uncle was a firefighter.) That helped me create Firehouse 25 and decide which canon characters I wanted to pull into the narrative.

It was my first ever full AU as well, so I drew a lot from the SPN canon S1-2 storyline to create the overarching murder mystery/the string of arsons. I was also very much impacted from stories my friends had told me of their experiences with sexual harassment, which is unfortunately where the Nick storyline came in.

And I actually drew a lot from my own experience with grief and loss in that story. Specifically in the challenges the reader faces with her family (with Dean's help). I wasn't conscious of it at the time, but after I wrote the initial drafts and started editing each chapter, I realized just where I was drawing from for that storyline. 💙

All that to say, that's a snapshot into my process from ideation to plotting! It's not always easy when you hit those difficult beats in a story, whether it's grief and loss, trauma and PSTD, or just the difficulties of making complex plot lines connect.

But overall, I do my best to have fun. If I'm not having fun, then why am I writing? 😘

Anyway. 😂 Thank you so much for this question, my friend! @jessjad I'm pretty sure this is way more than you wanted to hear, but I so appreciate you for asking about my writing process! 💗

[oopsiedaisiesbaby]

BILLY AND STEVE ARRANGED MARRIAGE!!!

I'm always a slut for fics where one character thinks that they're going to be subjugated/mistreated/etc and the other character wants to protect them but doesn't know the social norms that the first character is coming from and so accidentally implies the wrong things leading to stumbling getting to know each other and eventually tender moments of communication and real joy

Oooh Harringrove definitely needs more arranged marriage aus 😍 I have wayyy to many Harringrove WIPs to tackle this as an actual fic any time soon but if anyone wants to claim this I will be first in line to read 🙏

I just love the idea of Steve being petrified he’s marrying some playboy asshole that’s either going to abuse him at worst or ignore him for mistresses at best, both options crush his soul. Billy comes off terribly rough at first because of different customs but also no one prepared him for how pretty this boy is, like it’s unreal, so he’s awkward as hell.

I’m envisioning some actual hatred towards each other at first and then some beauty and the beast level type of awkward bids from Billy when he finally starts trying to woo his husband. While Billy falls first, Steve is ass over tits once he realizes he loves Billy.

Happily ever after without a doubt ❤️