What do you mean I “have a problem”? :,,,3
I saw your art in plantyourtreeswithme's work on ao3. Its absolutely stunning
Oh? OH was that the pirate thing for @gastvn ? I’m glad it’s still getting reads! And thank you so much! 💕⭐️💕
awwww omg, thank you so much for the mention darling!! i miss this fandom so, so much and i’m so sorry i’ve been ridiculously inactive for a while:( i’m hoping to start writing more gafou again (i definitely will if they come out with a gaston&lefou movie!!).
your artwork still holds an incredibly special place in my heart, skippy - especially that pirate illustration in particular. i go back to look at it at least once every month or so. i have so many old drafts and story ideas saved up in my notes, and i promise i’ll get to them someday soon 🥰
Follower Friday Request by lumiereandcogsworth ↳Prince Adam in Beauty and the Beast (2017)
a WHOLE ASS MOOD™
i think the Most Extreme thing abt the whole fading thing is that afterwards? they're functional objects. i mean, a corpse is still recognizable as like 'human' or 'was a human' so we can feel pity and whatever towards it, but the staff's not even close to human anymore. no empathy can be given unless you knew about the curse. if someone found the castle, they'd light up a footman, peer at a major-domo, try to cook food using a literal chef. but not really, bc That's What The Staff Is Now.
what an A++++++++++++ fucking gothic fucking awesome ask. holy shit. holy fuck. i fucking love this FOREVER
Don’t imagine them then being thrown away or put in some antique museum or collector’s home as technology advances.
We have electric lighting now–we won’t need that candelabra anymore. Would be great as a theatre prop though–I’ll go donate it to the theatre in the next town over tomorrow when I have time after work.
We have electric stoves now–we won’t be needing that old fashioned oven now. Best remove it and give it to someone who might find more use for it (or a museum that would be interested).
We have battery-run clocks now–we don’t need some old wind up mantel clock anymore. Throw it away unless some museum or antique enthusiast would like it instead.
We have electric kettles now–oh but that rest home down the road would love this set–be a love and donate this kettle and teacup set to them will you?
- lumiere and plumette getting separated: he goes to the community theatre, she goes to an eccentric collector’s country estate. (her feathers have long since crumbled away).
- cogsworth getting repurposed, fixed, dandied up: a tinkerer finds him (just a boy, really; digging through the rubbish scraps), loves the steampunk aesthetic, replaces half his insides with cast off gears and cheap-bought decoration
- cadenza in an attic. no one remembers he is there. they find a trove of his forgotten symphonies: ‘who was this great genius? they ask, ‘and why is there no record of his life?’ Another key rots away.
- garderobe is placed in a museum. every day thousands of people come and stand before her. and it is so SILENT in the museum. and everyone is so bored.
- about 250 years after the last petal falling, something goes wrong. Agathe disappears.
- and the servants come awake again.
just to fucking elaborate some more
- they turn into fucking humans. it’s the 21st century and agathe is gone and the curse is dead but :
- lumiere wakes up in a dusty basement, the storage space of the local theatre club, surrounded by broken glass. (a mistake, storing a 6′ tall man among all your vases.) he stumbles to the light, hand rippling through his hair, and immediately gets almost run over by a Honda Civic
- plumette wakes up, and her legs feel out of use, and she’s on a table in a minimalist ikea-furnished room, and the collector sees her and screams and then she screams and then she runs and soon she has the police after her, everyone thinking she’s some thief of old antiques
- cogsworth wakes up and OH. SHIT. someone’s done fucking rearranged his heart—and replaced most of his chest—and his arm is made of steel now? cogsworth is a fucking cyborg. he’s fucking tony stark. he can shoot nails through his fingers, to his absolute shock and horror
- cadenza takes his symphonies and runs. across the whole world, historians suddenly remember the life of the greatest musician to ever live
- garderobe sets off every fucking alarm and walks out of that museum in a spray of broken glass and ‘caution’ tape. it’s the most fucking fabulous entrance of her life (she instantly understands how a selfie stick works.)
- The problem is, how to find each other.
WRITE THE THING @lumiereswig S’IL VOU PLAIT. I ALREADY WANT TO READ IT!
- lumiere is having trouble grasping that (1) he doesn’t work for the prince anymore, because 250 years and (2) 250 YEARS. He’s standing outside a phone booth twenty miles outside Villeneuve, clutching an old woman by the arm, staring into her eyes (and my god, thinks the woman, i have never seen eyes like those before; they don’t make them that way anymore, do they, so pure and blue—it’s as if they’ve known fairytales, those eyes, magic like we don’t have anymore—if we ever did.) “250 years, mademoiselle—c’est impossible, tell me you jest”
- plumette can’t speak swedish. but she can still move faster than anyone else—and more quietly, too, and she can pass like a whisper; never mind her tattered skirt,the decayed feathers in her hair. she slips on a train and no one sees
- the tinkering boy INSTANTLY understands. this old man with the robotic eye was once his clock? yup. makes sense. he’s read sci-fi. he sits cogs down and looks him over, and they figure out he can still drink tea, and then Tinkerer and his new Awesome Half-Robot Friend try to work their way over to France (because this is Lithuania)
- cadenza gets to a public library, is instantly accepted as yet another Denizen of Homelessness because he has no teeth and his wig looks like shit, and gets himself down on a public computer and starts SEARCHING FOR GARDEROBE. you’ve never seen a man’s hands fly this fast over a keyboard
- it’s been 2 seconds and garderobe’s been hired as alexander mcqueen’s latest supermodel. #ka-ching
- the villeneuve castle tour ends and the tour guide counts off. Funny—one more tourist must have joined them. There’s a very tall, skinny, silent man at the back of the group; he asks, quietly, if there is any record on where the castle’s objects may have been dispersed to. He has particular care about a stove.
@lumiereswig you have to fucking continue this, please? It’s perfect!
*bows elaborately* i cannot refuse to such a gentle lady
- everyone has the same idea: get to France. Get. To. France.
- lumiere, after 6 days wandering around in Ye Olde Classic Footman Garb, realizes that maybe people would be more receptive to him if he dressed in modern fashions
- cue him buying the most ridiculous suit (with what money, you ask? this man had gold coins dating from fuckign 1747 in his pockets. he’s a walking collector’s item.) He is looking Snazzy™
- plumette does not LIKE the accidental boho-chic look her ripped feather skirt has earned her, but she has 0 other choices so she’s flying with it. street style blogs snap pics and send the world into a frenzy. she’s trending on twitter and has no idea (#WhoIsFeatherGirl)
- cogsworth, after a solid inventory of his new (awesome fucking scifi) self, is relieved to see that he is still much the same. it’s just now he can scan barcodes with his eyes
- garderobe hears through her publicist that she’s receiving a shit-ton of fan letters from a homeless man in vermont. she opens one out of curiosity and an original, never-before-seen, actually-written-two-days-before-specifically-for-his-wife Authentic Cadenza Opus falls out. the publicist screams and garderobe is off to vermont in .07 seconds
- chapeau sits down with cuisinier—who, Dieu merci, was just being showcased in the gift shop and only has a little eye shadow to show for the ghastly paint job the renovation team did on him— and they start compiling a list of where everyone is. the tour guide is at his wits’ end. he can’t get them to leave.
- nobody who sees him can take their eyes off lumiere. there’s just something about the combination of extravagant, old world courtliness in a modern tailored suit that—just—dayum, son. So many paper bags of groceries are dropped as he runs by.
- he runs. after some false starts, he gets to Villeneuve. It’s a bustling place now: not a great city, but a town that thrives on tourism. where the meadows were are suburbs, now. the fountain in the middle of the square remains, but he can barely see it beyond all the cars and trucks and buses and people.
- across town, the people are screaming. there’s a robot coming across the streets: one who wields a vintage cane, and wears a monocle, and has a small Lithuanian boy riding on his shoulder. he’s not doing anything harmful (but he is sending out a minute radio-wave to set all the clocks to his time. in the village square, the belltower clock that hasn’t ticked in years tolls out an old, ancient chime, despite no one pulling the bells.)
- garderobe flies her private jet in (badly) and pulls off a magnificent
crashlanding straight into the belltower. the clock chimes its first and last in the space of 5 seconds. cadenza jumps out, garderobe holding tightly to his hand, and they start running for the village square: never mind the Dior original garderobe wears, never mind cadenza is overdue on all his library books - chapeau and cuisinier look up from the old gravestone they were sitting on. (it’s only right to visit Pere Robert.) mrs. potts and chip should be on their way—they were in an antique shop in Berlin, not separated, thank all the saints—but surely it’s not them causing such a commotion ?
- they run for the village square.
- there’s a girl in the square, fresh off the train from sweden; her hair is tangled, and feathers cling to what is left of her skirt.
- across five lanes of traffic, plumette sees lumiere.
- it doesn’t matter he’s not wearing a suit, that he’s lost the wig. it does not matter that it is 250 years too late.
- lumiere sees plumette: no car or bus or train could stop him.
- it’s like every other light on earth has gone out, and there’s only one spotlight, framing his chérie in the glow of ballroom tapers
- nobody has tapers anymore, nor balls either. nobody dances. nobody falls in love. no matter. he has plumette: across five lanes of traffic.
- every car stops to watch #FeatherGirl go running, arms already thrown open, toward the man half of France has been dropping their groceries over.
- the polished suit collides with the dusty bohemian, and Plumette’s hands are fierce on his lapels, and he has swept her away—dear god, think the old women gathered around, no one has been kissed like that for years; we don’t do that anymore, we don’t love with so much innocence or passion—and for a moment Villeneuve is as still as it was 250 years ago, when a maid loved a footman, and there was a Beast in the palace.
- and then the bell tower chimes its death-knell—every last bell smashed to pieces by Garderobe’s jet—and there’s a cyborg in the square, and cuisinier and chapeau are running in still covered in graveyard grass stains, and Vermont’s least favorite homeless man is screaming Italian at everyone.
- It is a joyous reunion. and they still aren’t home.
Lefou with a female gaston??
1) i don’t change relationships that are originally gay into straight ones
2) i don’t feel particularly inclined to answer more of your requests, since you didn’t feel inclined to reblog or comment on the last one i answered for you. sorry.
vgault883 said:
That's a shame cause I do love these fics. Do you know anyone that would write this?
this fandom is mostly dead and i don’t know anyone who is currently posting gafou writing here besides myself. there is not currently a female!gaston tag on ao3, but maybe you can take a look at the gafou tag and see if there’s anything there. if you’re going to continue to ignore what i wrote for you and keep pestering me instead, then please leave me alone
God I still love your writing.
thank you kindly, dear! i really appreciate your feedback. i’m trying to come back to this fandom slowly but surely now that school’s over. hoping to post more of my writing soon xx
Lefou with a female gaston??
1) i don’t change relationships that are originally gay into straight ones
2) i don’t feel particularly inclined to answer more of your requests, since you didn’t feel inclined to reblog or comment on the last one i answered for you. sorry.
Hi love stories about Gafou. Would you ever write one about Lefou with a female gaston. Or Lefou saves Gaston in time from falling off the castles bridge.
Have truly missed these two.
This ficlet’s also on AO3!
ALWAYS
“Let go.”
He stared his companion down with what he thought was a fierce gaze, but paled at the look LeFou sent him in return. He did not loosen his fingers on Gaston’s sleeve, clutching at him like one of his steel hunting traps, laying wait in the forest for an unsuspecting beast.
“Listen to me, Gaston.” LeFou’s voice, once so cheery and buoyant, effortlessly spreading sunlight and warmth to his cold limbs on crisp autumn days, was now icy. “If you go up there, you will die. He will kill you. I am sure of it.”
“You know nothing” - he tried again to wrench his arm away, but his grip did not falter - “you know nothing of what fate has in store for me. You do not know of the glory that will come when I sever that monster’s head from its body. You don’t know - you’ve never known - as if you care; as if you’ve ever cared.”
“You have no idea how wrong you are,” LeFou hissed.
Gaston spat in his face.
He regretted it instantly, watched LeFou’s visage darken, watched him open his mouth to finally cast Gaston out of his life once and for all. He waited for the blow, but it did not come - for they were both suddenly reminded that they were in the middle of some strange sort of battle, as a chandelier came swinging at their heads - and they both crouched down, thanks in part to LeFou’s continuous hold on Gaston’s arm - looking up only to find a vaguely harpsichord-shaped object soaring through the air towards LeFou - and Gaston reacted instinctively, smacking it aside with brute force, a snarl curling at his lips - and - and it was like they were - on the hillside again, mere children, their faces caked with mud and their eyes sharp with panic and the… the hunger, the dull ache… and his fear, his absolute terror, for LeFou’s safety…
He came to, gasping for LeFou as a drowned man flails for air, and his knees buckled somewhat, and he sat shakily upon the steps leading up to the west wing, choking on the tears seeping down his cheeks, as LeFou held him close, his face pressed to the fabric of the broad brown overcoat, his weeping eyes soaking the cloth, soiling it, but LeFou did not seem to mind.
“Forgive me,” he sobbed, later, into LeFou’s chest: when the fighting had ceased; when townsfolk and servants alike came to the common ground of realizing what a terrible idea this had all been after all; when Gaston expected them to turn ‘round and tear him into tiny little pieces, but instead watched, helpless, awestruck, as LeFou stood tall and kept all of them at bay.
“Forgive me,” he repeated once more, as the courtyard he’d been led to began to empty, and the fog around the castle lifted, and the wreckage became clear. “Please forgive me.”
LeFou looked at him, his head bandaged, his loose curls matted and sticking to his temples, and then -
“Always,” came the impossibly gentle reply, and it was all Gaston could do to keep from collapsing again.
Oh my goodness!! I absolutely love your blog (especially your head cannons). Do you have any Potts family headcannons you would share with us? P.S. - Thank-You 😀
nobody ever asks about the potts family!!! thank you for thinking of the potts family!!!!!!!!! love and appreciate the potts family!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
- i’m not sure yet if jean potts is french—i assume so, cuz ‘jean’—but mrs. beatrice potts is definitely a Brit. She grew up in a cottage in yorkshire surrounded by a daisy-filled meadow. She constantly smells like lavender and earl gray. she waves a little union jack flag during french holidays just to piss lumiere off
- her mother was a Weaver™ and a Badass™
- before marrying mr. potts, mrs. potts had a…..mysterious gap year, let’s just say
- make that gap years
- anyway also jean took beatrice’s last name. of course
- jean and beatrice moved to villeneuve pretty early on, and mrs. potts was hired as housekeeper right away. she has always been Entirely and Totally The Housekeeper
- they had chip pretty late in life. they didn’t think they were going to be able to and then SURPRISE: HERE’S CHRISTOPHER, HERE TO WRECK YOUR SHIT
- jean has his lil business in villeneuve, but it’s understood mrs. potts splits her time at the castle. she’s a Thriving Career Woman™
- mrs. potts has always been a lil old fashioned. like even when she was 16 she was…..Old
- she is everybody’s mom. everybody’s. mom.
My Beauty and the Beast mood board!
Behind the scenes of BATB
Beauty and the Beast Concept Art by Karl Simon
commission
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