im-too-obssesed

[im-too-obssesed]

Oh my god are you still active? (that is... such a dumb question because if you answer this obviously you are lmao) Idk I'm just glad to see you around. I miss the good old days! I hope you have a wonderful evening -- myfellowcandlesticks

hey!! I’m in and out nowadays (especially because of college and some other fun stuff), but it’s always great to see everybody out and about doing their thing. I’m always available on other socials nowadays, but it’s great to see y’all when I’m on! :)

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I've arisen from my grave to see this wonderful work, and I couldn't be happier. (ty for tagging me!!)

“What does it mean to be a father?”

Maurice will never know how he got to be in such a position as this, and he certainly wishes for a handkerchief—or something to wipe his paint-stained hands with—to be nearby.  He’s sitting next to the most powerful man in the land, after all, though at the moment, his looks did not match his title.

The regent—or is he the king? Maurice wonders—is dressed in a simple coat and trousers, both of which are an earthy brown. The absence of the wig reveals natural greying hair, and without any bracelets or jewels he looks quite…normal. Nothing at all like the paintings in the West Wing.

Even more of an interest, he muses, is the look in the man’s eyes.  They are a hard, rather miserable gray, a shade Maurice would only use when painting a thunderstorm or a cloudy night.  But his expression does not match such a sad color.  The man’s hands are folded politely in his lap, and on his face, there is a genuine look of interest.

He somehow looks skeptical even without the skepticism, Maurice thinks, and tries to compose himself before speaking.

“Forgive me, Sire, I believe I misheard you.”

“Please don’t,” the man replied, and for a second Maurice’s thoughts flew to the etiquette lists Cogsworth had so graciously made for him, wondering if he had said the wrong thing.

“I have been neglecting my duties for years now,” he continued.  “I am no more a royal than you are.”

Oh. Maurice opens his mouth, compelled to reassure him that it isn’t his fault, that magic is a fickle thing, but something stops him.  There’s a flicker in that gaze, hinting that he meant more than what was said.

The old artist did not know much about Adam’s father, only that he was absent the night the curse was cast, meaning he had forgotten about the inhabitants of the castle just like everyone in Villeneuve.  Maurice had arrived with Monsieur D’Arque, just as the sun rose above the highest turrets and towers.  In his search to locate his daughter, he had noticed this same man, haggard yet joyful in the presence of his son.  He had no idea he was staring at the true master of the castle until Lumiére—the candlestick, he still couldn’t believe that—had addressed him as such.

“Well, I…I wish I had an answer that would suffice, Monsieur,” Maurice finally says. “To tell the truth, I’m not much of an expert on the matter.”

“And yet your daughter is one of the most remarkable women I have ever had the pleasure of meeting,” the king replies. “Most of the princesses I would have picked for my son would only have their titles going for them.  Shallow, easily influenced, lured here under the prospect of an alliance.  Your daughter is—”

“Perfect.” The word is out of Maurice’s mouth before he can think of what to say.  He stares hard at his hands.  One has a rather large smudge of yellow on it.

“Certainly,” the king admits.  “I’ve not found fault with her yet, and I usually have a knack for that sort of thing.  Strange how things dissipate over time.”

Maurice blinked, again struggling to speak properly, but now there was something like a cloud over them, and he wondered if the other man knew about the curse at all.

“Your—Monsieur,” Maurice begins again, “I—”

“Maurice, isn’t it?” he interrupts.

“Oui, Monsieur.”

“I am asking this genuinely, as someone who has no experience in the matter.”  He is silent for a moment, and stares out the window.  “It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen my son, and I’m sure his memories of me are…few and far between.”

Maurice notices it then. There is something keeping this man back. The way he speaks of the prince is not as a son, but as an unapproachable. Something that he is hesitant to think of.  

Is this man really Adam’s father?

“You believe that you cannot father the prince because of your absence? Is there something you’re afraid of?”

Sacre…the yellow smear now seems alarmingly bright. Since when did such a color exist?

He had thought that his initial fear of speaking to a royal was enough to stay his tongue, but…

It’s almost as if he has not spoken at all. The king retreats into himself, eyes glazing over, head inclined, on the verge of remembering, but not quite there.

“I don’t know.  I’ve forgotten how.  But I’d like to try again.”

Maurice blinks, and the cloud dissipates.  This is something that the curse had very little to do with.  Something that could have very easily been Adam’s childhood, or lack thereof.  He had never let the lives of the noblemen grace his thoughts, but now he imagines that because of their upbringings and various duties to attend to, they never had time to enjoy.  

The man sitting across from him probably has no idea what rain smells like.

Maurice folds his hands and smiles.  

“The reason I happened upon this castle was because I was attacked by wolves, and I was seeking shelter from an oncoming storm. I let myself in, as the lamps were lit, but no one was inside.”

Maurice pauses, but there was no sign of anger from the other man, so he kept going.

“After I left, I noticed that the garden—your garden, I suppose—was filled to the brim with roses.  They were white, absolutely pristine despite the snow. Though I was in quite a state of distress when I left, I remembered the last thing my daughter asked of me was that I bring her back a rose.”  Maurice chuckles.  “In hindsight, that action could have cost me my life, but I still would have done it, thinking back on it now.”

“Pardon me,” the other man interrupts, “it could have cost you your life?”

“Ah—” Maurice halts, staring. He quickly shifts his attention to a paintbrush he left by the window. Perhaps this man does not know the entirety of it. Surely, he could explain, but this man is still a stranger. And Adam’s father. It’s not his place to tell. “In a way, yes. But there’s no need for concern. If there had been a threat before, it has long passed.”

In the window, Maurice can see the young boy, Christopher, and his mother, playing outside.  Maurice cannot see them smiling, but he can tell just by looking.

I suppose I have a knack for those kinds of things.

“I’m a lucky man,” he admits.  “I was able to use my passion to create a living for us. But I would burn every canvas if it led to her happiness.  I would give up anything and everything for the sake of my little girl.”

The king is quiet, and for a moment Maurice thinks he got through to him.  Then he said “And your wife? Where is she in this wonderful family?”

It is Maurice’s turn to be quiet.  He closes his eyes and her face swims before his, smiling and proud, tears in her eyes. He is able to smile back, and he thanks God for it.

“Her mother died of plague a few months after she was born.”

There is nothing from the king.  In the silence, Maurice turns his hands over in his lap, wondering if he should say more.  Instead, he glances up, and the king’s expression is one of a man trapped. He stares at Maurice with such sympathetic agony that Maurice wonders how long he should hold his gaze.

He’s caught in something, Maurice thinks, but does not look away.

In this moment, the answer forms.

“Sir, if I may,” he begins, “I think the answer you are searching for is just to be there.”

The other man snaps out of his reverie.  “I beg your pardon?”

“Be there.  Smile when Adam notices you watching him.  Answer any question he asks as honestly and as truthfully as you can. Support him in everything he does, even if you don’t like it.”

“But that seems too simple.”

“It’s the hardest thing in the world,” Maurice replies.  He goes to gesture to his studio—before cringing inwardly at how haphazard and disorganized it is.  “When I was a young man, I lived in Montmarte, in an old repurposed windmill that my wife was able to earn. When Belle was born, I—I wanted everything to be flawless. I felt like she would never experience any of life’s troubles, not as long as I was around. I never wanted her to stop smiling. Of course, life will never work out the way you want it to.”

The king nods. “I’ve no right to call my life treacherous. But wandering these halls again, it’s so different. Familiar.” He raises an eyebrow as his gaze travels upwards towards the chandelier. “But lost.”

“To be lost is to be blind to everything around you,” Maurice replies.  “In a way, I was cursed to be perceptive in everything I did. I saw everything in painstaking detail. So much so that the only way to be rid of it was to paint it.

“But in recent years,” he continues, “I’ve begun to forget small things. How many gears fit into a music box.  How many folds to draw in a frilly dress. And almost as if to correct my memory, my daughter will round the corner with the correct gear in her hand or twirl for me until I remember.”

The man tilts his head, but Maurice can tell that he’s getting it.

Good, he thinks inwardly, I fear I’ve started to ramble.

“Though our relationship needed no improvements before, I’m grateful for my weakening senses,” he finishes, “because now I am constantly reminded of how much she means to me.”

“You’ve made no mistakes, sir, it seems,” is the response. Maurice laughs.

“Oh, don’t say that; I’ve made plenty of mistakes. There was a time, after her mother died, when I refused to acknowledge it.” This sparks something in the king’s dark eyes, and Maurice pushes on, refusing to let him think of it. “It wasn’t until Belle decided to find her mother on her own that I knew I couldn’t hide from it any longer. And there have been moments like that as long as I’ve lived.”

“Sometimes those moments seem to last forever.”

Maurice grins then, at what the king probably thought was a morbid statement. But that is what makes life beautiful.

“You, sir, are not blind, so you are not lost,” he decides. “In fact, the very action of asking me for advice shows that you see your son, and you see the bond that you want with him. But pay no attention to my story; I’m a humble painter with no knowledge of the world inside these exquisite walls.”

He gestures to a painting in the far corner of his studio. His daughter stands there, mid-twirl, the sun on her smiling face and a few rose petals drifting in her wake. Her joy is his now, and he will experience it every time he looks at her.

“Maurice, I possess none of the detail-oriented capabilities of an artist like yourself—”

“No,” Maurice interrupts, and this time he’s not afraid. “It’s just smudges on a canvas. I don’t see every detail anymore. But I see the emotion, and that’s far more important than any scrutinizing on my part.”

Maurice leans forward, smiling. “Be there. And if you truly want it, the rest will come.”

The man nods then, and Maurice can see that his words have somewhat fallen through the other’s sadness. “Imagine finding such a profound man in a village somewhere. I’m very lucky, aren’t I.”

“I’m an old fool,” Maurice assures him. “The villagers used to call me crazy.”

“I imagine they stopped when you moved in,” the king murmured.

“No,” Maurice shakes his head, “they stopped when your son greeted them.”

The man’s lips part in surprise, and for a split-second Maurice can see a smile on his face. “I suppose that’s very like him.”

Then the moment melts away, the two rise, and he offers his hand. Maurice freezes. He’s not wearing gloves. The handkerchief is once again at the forefront of his mind. But he’s also not one to leave a hand unshaken, so he takes it.

“Merci. I would like to visit with you again, if my presence was not a bother to you.”

“O-of course,” Maurice responds. “But please, a word of warning. My study…is not a sight for sore eyes at the moment.”

“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” is his reply, and he’s gone. Maurice can hear a second set of footsteps tailing him, and he wonders if the attendant heard the conversation or not.

But instead, he sits back down and stares out the window. Chapeau and Lumiére have joined the Potts in the courtyard now. The roses are in full bloom. It’s a lovely picture. He’ll have to remember it for when he buys a bigger canvas.

He raises his paintbrush. The smear of yellow is gone. He can feel tears coming.

“Be there,” he murmurs, and adds a stroke of carnation pink. “And the rest will come.”

He glances at one of the roses outside. Have I done enough, mon ange?

-

Tagging those I think might enjoy this: @lumiereswig @tinydooms @naturepointstheway @im-too-obssesed @morgaine2005 @forr-everrmorre @greensearcher @firstherofirstlove @ginnyweatherby @sweetfayetanner 

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@lumiereswig looks like I'm gonna be active for a night :)

Okay. March 17. Come on, people, let’s make it happen.

I may have just come back from a three-month coma, but BatB 2017 is just around the corner and I’m calling for a group movie once again.  @lumiereswig, @tinydooms, @naturepointstheway, @sweetfayetanner, @ginnyweatherby, literally anyone who wants to come.  9pm CT is good for me, what about everyone else?

However!  I cannot work rabb.it to save my life.  And I need help.

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I had enough sense to just tell her because I wouldn't know what the hell would be going on on my dash when I opened it up

Surprise update that I never got to tell you: Audra McDonald is (or was at some point in time) vaguely aware of this blogs existence (ily and I'm gonna try my best to get back on here)

HOLD THE FUCK ON AND COME THE FUCK BACK AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF. THE FUCK

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So, three of these quotes are from me. Anyone want to guess which?

Another marvel characters as shit my friends have said/done because I’m not creative

Tony Stark: A S S N G S T (asshole angst) 

James Rhodes: *inhale* *vibrates out of annoyance* 

Peter Parker: I’m doing a staring contest with my dog but he keeps licking my nose and winning

Steve Rogers: AN EARRING…no…I DONT UNDERSTAND

Bruce Banner: *laughing gurgling noises* im sorry *choking*

Thor: the Kool Aid is gay/yeet yeet my brioches 

Hawkeye: ITS A HAWK *screeeeee*

Natasha Romanoff: this town aint big enough for the both of us sheriff. I’m gonna kick your ass all the way to toon town

Sam Wilson: oof and mood had a child and its moof

Bucky Barnes: *inhale* steeeeeeeeeeeeeeb

Wanda Maximoff: I will yippie-i-oh your ass back into prison

Pietro Maximoff: *nyooms past 2 people after chasing them*

Vision: I think a moth just tried to kiss me

T’Challa: Im nOt A fUrRy

Nakia: thats a fucking furry bitch

Shuri: *singing along to the Hamilton soundtrack* why do you assume youre the smartest in the room…because I am

Okoye: you keep singing and I swear I will stab you

Peter Quill: *singing hollaback girl in theology class*

Gamora, to Peter Q: nO

Mantis: sPoOn

Drax: *in a high pitched voice* I AcTuALLY WA S frOM THE SOUTH/our father who art in heaven hallowed YEET thy name

Rocket: Break the rules defy the system fuck the laws

Groot: how do yEET, yEeT, and YEet sound when said out loud

Nebula: all those people can have my wise words, “fuck you and your beliefs”

Valkyrie: let me rest in my gayness

Loki: oh my god does that mean they fuck the peach and then eachother

Stephen Strange: I will bippity boppity whoop your your ass into oblivion

Scott Lang: *trying to use surreal in a sentence* I’m having a cereal experience

Hope Van Dyne: this is bullshit and I want to die 

Wade Wilson: He smacc he tapp he take dat ass

Negasonic: When I find myself in times of trouble I think, “at least we have fucking personalities”

Yukio: I’m a weird queen

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Ok @lumiereswig here we go:

It was a while ago; sometime last May. Audra was having a recital tour, and one of her stops was here in LA. Now, where was she performing? At the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. Where LA Opera is. Where I usually am. I had bought a ticket already and was going to go see the recital regardless. But then, a few days before, a friend of mine was placed on helping to set up back/onstage the day before/make sure everything was set up & working the day of. She knew I was coming (and how much I stanned Audra), and so when she found out, she let me know about it and had the idea of getting me backstage. So, me being me, I (obviously) said yes. Fast forward to the recital. I get there, and somehow, through a series of excuses and me being aquainted with/knowing most of the people working there, I'm able to make it to where Audra is. As you would expect, I'm a whole mess. I know I have a VERY limited amount to talk to her so I'm just telling her about how much I admire her, how she's inspired me, ect. All the while she's SO FREAKIN GRACIOUS AND WONDERFUL and she was just GRINNING. 

And while I was talking I remembered about you and I quickly explained you and the squad and the blog and told her that all of my previous sentiments applied to y'all. She told me she appreciated it and was glad that she was able to inspire us and make us happy. Then, the friend that had brought me back came in to tell her that it was almost time to start. She smiled, she left, and just like that, she was gone to go start the show. And I still had to get to my seat.

Surprise update that I never got to tell you: Audra McDonald is (or was at some point in time) vaguely aware of this blogs existence (ily and I'm gonna try my best to get back on here)

HOLD THE FUCK ON AND COME THE FUCK BACK AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF. THE FUCK

[im-too-obssesed]

@lumiereswig still answering bc it's halloween 25/8

Hi-chew, jabberwocky, maybe?? It probably will happen 

Halloween asks, tag 5 people

Reblog with your favorite candy, favorite monster, whether or not you expect to die a violent death

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We do that every time @lumiereswig.

Working on a new oneshot.  Title is “A Cracked Facade.” Any guesses as to what it’s about?

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whoops I am actually alive 

ily @lumiereswig @batbobsession @forr-everrmorre @cad-enza 

WHERE IS MY SQUAD

[im-too-obssesed]

I'm on the same hiatus train

I think I should explain my recent hiatus.

Yeah, I’ve got a lot of asks in my inbox and a requested fanfic that’s halfway finished (and boy will there be tears) but I haven’t been online as often as I should. 

That’s because over the summer…I’ve acquired a job.  

I’m working at a creative arts camp center for the summer on a marketing internship and I’m swamped with work I’ve got to do for that.

So I might not be on as often, but I’m still brimming with BatB/Disney spirit and I enjoy being on here.

Thanks for your patience.

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reblog to see what your fear is

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True. 

He should've aimed for the head tho

This may very well be the coolest scene in Infinity War.

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Ooh, is it your special day? Happy Birthday!

Just a day after! Today's @hathor-frozens special day, so everybody should go flood their inbox with love and appreciation.

Thanks for the birthday wish!

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Princess Ask

Snow White: What is your strongest virtue?

Cinderella: What sort of night out/in do you need?

Aurora: Take this as an excuse to just talk about how tired you are

Ariel: What is your favorite possession?

Belle: Name a book that changed your life

Jasmine: What’s a country you want to visit?

Pocahontas: What’s something you wish people understood more?

Mulan: What’s unexpected about you?

Tiana: What’s your favorite recipe?

Rapunzel: Are you artistic?

Merida: Ever turned anyone into a bear? Or other large mammal?

Anna: What’s your relationship with your sibling(s) like?

Elsa: What would your superpower be?

Moana: Are you a princess?

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IT'S FINE MY DUDE

It's 6:14 in the morning

and I feel great because birthdays exist

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY KIDDO 🔥 LOVE YOUR CANDLE MOM

I'M JUST SEEING THISTHANK YOU MOM

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It's 6:14 in the morning

and I feel great because birthdays exist