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‘mystery of love’ by sufjan stevens but you’re picking flowers in your countryside backyard while your neighbor who you’re secretly in love with plays music you can hear through their open window. (headphones recommended) (youtube)

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MISS BENNET ! ( prjudice· )

  @laventuriere   ,   nerd. 

   skip in her gait , book held firmly to her chest.  there was a mysticism held within the print of yellowed parchment , there was adventure which enraptured a mind that was so little pleased with the realities in which encompassed her.  &  there were pleasure in which she reveled in , walks along to the hymnal of birds chirping  &  wind a soft sough , there was romanticism in the novels which promised love was not a mere fabrication of a woman’s dreams in which , sadly , were believed to be fabrications on follies and hopes.  

  the silhouette in the distance was something of familiarity  ,  there was no shame in the way her steps became more rapid , the eagerness of their discussion already bubbled within her chest  and  books , books were not something of common talk.  a dear friend and companion which she had the pleasure of meeting at the small book shoppe was something which prickled beneath her skin ,  the roseate flush rise to her cheeks   ❛  belle  !  ❜  she exclaims ,  juvenescent joy lacquered in the way she delivered it ,  breathing teetering on labored from the recent exercise   ❛   oh , i have been practically on the verge of death  from awaiting our meeting again ,  your pick was astounding  !  really ,  i never thought i would enjoy such a tale and yet my words have proven what a folly in which judging a book by it’s cover can bring.  did you enjoy yours  ?   ❜

  our heroine must be forgiven for not always paying heed to her surroundings -- what could the small world around her offer her that she could not find within a book? within those well loved pages could all manner of mundane things become extraordinary within her mind. ( it is to be remembered, dear readers, that our heroine’s mother once took her small hands in her own; soft and unused to work, and told her that to know magic in this life, one must believe in it entirely ) it is no small wonder than, that belle utterly immerses herself within the world constructed around her. no longer a meadow, but a glen for the fair folk to revel in; where a traveller might succumb to a spell and a maiden might rescue him; all these possibilities, and more, lurking at the tips of her dainty finger tips, just waiting to be discovered; and then -- and then!

  and just like that, everything vanishes. there’s no grass beneath her worn shoes, just cobblestone; no wildflowers blowing, no shade of the great willow tree, no babbling brook. just a poor, provincial town in varying shades of dishwater brown, coated in dust. were it anyone else, our heroine would have felt the familiar coals of annoyance lick at her - instead, she smiles. and what a picture she paints amidst the hustle and bustle of village life in her pastels! HOW COULD THE WIND BLOW HER HAIR AROUND LIKE THAT? how could the sun kiss her cheeks like that? ‘ good morning, mam’selle elizabeth! ’ she can think of nothing more that could brighten her day - her entire week, perhaps - a kindred spirit that was so free of the judgement so many others possessed and wielded like the bluntest of kitchen blades. she thinks of the happy moments spent with heads pressed together in thought and observation; both so dark that to a casual passerby, they may appear as one. it is with that same excitement; that same tenderness, that causes our heroine to rise upon her toes in a moment of most childish joy, readers. belle does not regret it. ‘ oh, but your first thoughts may be your undoing, elizabeth. you must never look at anything and take to heart that first glance. ’ that is what we in the story writing business call ‘foreshadowing’, dear reader. and in answer to elizabeth, belle clutches the book to her breast. ‘ it was wonderful. i can’t put it down, it has -- oh, it has everything that i’ve ever dreamed of. i think it may become one of my favourites, and i will have to put it on the top shelf with the others. ’

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If I loved you less, then I might be able to talk about it more.

EMMA. 2020 | dir. Autumn de Wilde

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The soft wind of spring breathed in from the nearby park through the open windows; she did not know why it made her want to cry.

Angela Carter, from The Courtship Of Mr Lyon in “The Bloody Chamber And Other Stories” (via adrasteiax)

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i love this blog - anon

and i wuv u........ 

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THE BEAST ! ( unmonstre‌ )

                 she pressed both hands to her ears and declared herself frightened . alain should not care . why would he , he thought . had he not been terrified for all these years as well ? and had the horror not crystallized and become part of his home ? if alain had learned to live in terror then so would she . though the desperate sincerity in belle’s voice tugged at the beast’s heart strings , he continued to keep his distance . he watched her struggle under the darkness of his monstrous shadow with teary eyes and reddened cheeks . slowly , the tightness of his clenched jaws seemed to fade . and the more alain looked into his prisoner’s wet eyes , the more he became self-aware ; was he committed to torturing this woman ? had that , finally , become his goal ? belle sniffed . by the corner of his eye , alain saw the reflection of his hideous snarl upon a glassed window . he turned away from her , granting belle a moment of privacy . he hoped this would make it easier for her to gather herself but , mostly , he wished to spare her from looking at him .

                                              ❝     wipe your tears .    ❞      the prince ordered , sounding exasperated . the word “ please ” died on the tip of his tongue . he was too much of a coward to allow his guest to think she had a right to a choice within his palace . for if she was to be granted any liberties , belle would , most certainly , use them to flee from him .    ❝     they are of no use here .    ❞       alain knew this for , during the first year of confinement , he had bawled like a child . oh , he too had apologized and begged . but the statues had stood still and the fire had burnt and the snow had fallen . life carried on without him , completely undisturbed . and that was a curse in itself ; belle would soon realize this as well . with his back to her , the prince hunched over , allowing himself to look smaller , hoping this would offer some form of comfort to the young woman .      ❝     you shall dine with me at seven .    ❞       alain announced over his shoulder , not committed enough to actually look belle in the eye .  

  belle thinks of everything she has ever read in her short and unbothered life; how every heroine and any maiden would have loosened their tongues and said something, anything. sharp and witty and surer than an archer aiming for his mark. nothing comes. she thinks of the wive’s tales and fables her mother whispered to her during storms; wrapped tightly in blankets as the rain’s cold fingers dragged against the window panes. let me in. let me in. and despite herself, she shudders. the cold was the same, bone deep and petrifying. if it came any closer, it would freeze our heroine’s heart; and what then, what then? did the beast feel it too? could he taste it in the air? childishly, still; she continued to rub at her eyes; her tear stained, ruddy cheeks. another sniff. there is something heavy in her heart, and it sinks like a stone. “and why should i?” a whisper; her voice small and soft and far too strained. “i have lost my home and my family, and you can offer not even an ounce of kindness!” no hand ( or paw ) to hold, not an approximation of a smile, no gentle words. why was he so intent on making her as miserable as he? it surely could not have brought him joy. for despite his temper, our heroine does not think him cruel. 

  in many ways he reminds her of a spoilt child. half boy, half man and never accustomed to the blow of such a simple word: ‘no.’ she thinks upon the storm that passed through him as quickly as it had appeared, and just if she could weather it once more. our heroine thinks she can, and so she must. dinner. not so much an apology as it was a demand. why, was he afraid? was he truly that proud of a creature? her brow knots with mute frustration -- and it is with a spark of anger that she notes that the bright yellow of his gaze cannot meet with her own watery one. HE HAS NOT THE CONVICTION TO BE ANYTHING LESS THAN COWARDLY BEFORE HER. “no, thank you.” a pause. the wind outside bays a mournful tune and if belle listens close enough, she can hear her mother’s voice at the bedside. her stomach churns. if he will not look at me, i will make him see me. her gaze burns; twin flames of terror and mutiny welling up inside of her and her lips part; “i find that this conversation has ruined my appetite.” 

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you could be my silver spring blue-green colors flashing i would be your only dream your shining autumn ocean crashing don’t say that she’s pretty? and did you say that she loved you? baby, I don’t want to know

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“I’m sick. Tainted.”

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Poet | Bastille

now you’ll live through the ages 

i can feel your pulse in the pages

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Beauty and the Beast (1991) Dir. Gary Trousdale & Kirk Wise - Scenery

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the entire ost of emma. (2020) remains the base inspiration that has dragged me back here and im not sorry about it. 

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my soul is a rose garden

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THE BEAST ! ( unmonstre )

“ magic does that. it wastes you away. “ : @laventuriere· /  DEATHLESS MEME .

  the words were as sharp as a blade . they sank into the prince’s heart with such precision that , for a moment , the master of the castle felt as if he may have been the one being brought to his knees . how could it be that a small woman like her would be the one to offer him such bold stares ? countless men and women of higher birth had chosen to advert their eyes from alain’s wrong doings when his flesh was still pink and now , she , belle , a girl who looked as if she had risen from a flowerbed and lived through nothing but kind springs , looked the beast in the eye . HOW BIZARRE IT WAS                  to feel that defenseless before something so frail . why was it that her voice did not tremble when addressing him ? was she aware of what the stillness of her stare meant to alain ? it had been so long since anyone had seen him as something other than a wild animal . alain considered then that , perhaps , he ought to tell belle that it was not magic which weakened him , but her deep brown eyes .

                              but as he stood there by the doorframe of her chambers , he realized the ridiculousness of it all ; a creature like him could not expect such declarations to be received with anything but disgust . how could he expect anything BUT that ? belle was his prisoner ; a girl locked away in a tower because a monster had ordered it . alain thought of belle then , recoiling , backing away from his hideous clawed hand the moment he tried to reach out to her ; it made him upset . and , just before prince alain could decipher the burning building behind his eyes , he became extremely mad . so he straightened his back , letting his large shadow fall upon belle’s figure , and bared his fangs the same way he had bared them when meeting her father .     ❝     then you may sit in this room and pray for magic to finish its’ deed !    ❞      the beast growled . his voice was a deep horrible thing which echoed against the walls of belle’s room and filled it with wild fury  . 

                               ❝      for until then , we waste away together .   ❞     

 THE SILENCE THAT FALLS AFTER STRIKES HER TO THE CORE; and Belle wishes she could swallow those words back into her lungs where she would keep them under lock and key. Our heroine must remember that not all things need be said, lest she find herself in a position she cannot undo. This narrative, this tale that she now lived and breathed was unfinished. Alien. There was no skipping ahead to glimpse the happy ending at the very last page and for a moment, Belle tenses; balls her tiny hands into tight fists and waits for --- For what? A scream, a roar; a gust of wind to tangle her hair and steal the breath in her body. Nothing comes. The absence of that, she finds, frightens her more than any act of brute strength or biting words ever could. With her blood rushing through her ears,she dares to steal a glance at the yellow of those eyes she had spent so long avoiding. HE IS SURPRISINGLY HUMAN TO OUR HEROINE. And under that bravado,there is hurt; perhaps an ocean he could drown in; and in this moment, Belle wonders that if she offered him her hand, would he take it?  

 “I did not mean to—”And what had she meant? Our heroine would say that it was a simple, astute observation: a parallel. Him, entrapped by whatever curse he had had the misfortune to be given, and she; wasting away dreaming, hoping, wishing for a world that would compare with all that she read. “I did not mean to upset you.” There. Louder, this time; but no less timid. Just where was that bravado, Belle? Gone the second his shadow stretched over her, and she had never felt smaller in his presence. In an instant, she recoils from him; hands pressed to her ears and for one terrible moment, Belle is not sure what is louder: the thudding of her heart in her chest, or the cry that seems to shake the very foundation of the winter palace. Some desperate part of her wants to run, keep running; out of the snow and the cold and the woods, and back into the safe arms of her family. This part of our heroine knows that most would have done so already: a deal was a deal; and what was she, if she was not a woman of her word?And before she can stop herself once more, the words bubble up again, dark eyes snapping open and they regard his as a mirror image of a mirror image; that same hurt reflected. “Stop it! You’re – You’re frightening me. How am I to stay if you – If you – ” Her vision blurs, stings; hands wiping childishly at the tears which threatened to betray her. If they were to rot together, Belle saw no reason that they could not be at peace, if friends could not be made. A sniff. Her head dips down, down, down.  “It was not meant as an insult. I am sorry if I – If what I said hurt you. I wasn’t thinking.”

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u know. i could deal with the inaccuracies in belle’s dress in the live action remake. i could. i could deal with the horrific yellow prom dress. what i can not deal with and refuse to deal with is the fact they made her BLOOMERS when split drawers were not a fucking thing until i believe the 1820s or 1830s. thats right ladies your 9th great great grandma went COMMANDO her whole life.

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ellise chappell as morwenna chynoweth ( 01/?? )

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belle’s inner monologue whenever gaston begins to speak to her.