The Headless Hatter of Gracey Manor!

Indie RP/Ask blog for the Hatbox Ghost from Disney's 'The Haunted Mansion'. Open-RP, Multi-Fandom

[theheadlessgroom]

              {ATTIC} {INQUIRIES} {ABOUT} {THE GROOM} {VERSES}

{x} Image Credit

[frostedmagnolias]

Dress

c. 1745

Cream-coloured corded silk, with silk and gilt metal threads

British

National Museums Scotland

[theheadlessgroom]

Tumblr is a place to express yourself, discover yourself, and bond over the stuff you love. It's where your interests connect you with your

@beatingheart-bride

At this, Susannah was stunned into a brief silence, her eyes widening at this assessment of her potential for motherhood: After all, the idea of her ever having a child was about as much a pipe dream as her getting married, just another thing for her coworkers to make passive-aggressive digs at her about. She wasn't deaf to their comments, the snide snickering as they looked at her: Who would want to marry her, let alone spawn with her? More half-breeds taking up space.

But...he really thought she'd make a good mother? What's more, he thought she would be as great a parent as her father? It was such a weighty concept to her, to be compared to August Pace in any capacity, but to have someone belief she'd be as solid and dependable and loving a mother as he was a father? It struck her hard to hear, made her heart ache, yet a smile crossed her face all the same at the thought.

"Th-That's...that's funny," she replied with a soft, shy giggle at this recount of his dream, a dream that sounded mighty familiar to her. She cast her gaze down for a moment, unable to keep from smiling as she recalled her own:

"I, uh...I had a dream very much like that not so long ago, a-about us having a family...the children-our children-they looked more like you in my dream, though, with their golden hair like yours...they looked like little cherubs, playing at our feet."

[beatingheart-bride]

Philippe let out a silent sigh of relief, thankful that his recounting of his dream hadn't discomforted Susannah in any way: although he'd known deep down that his recollection would've been unlikely to have done so, he was somewhat concerned that he'd 'jumped the gun' so to speak, bringing up such matters before they were ready. So to have Susannah reciprocate with a similar dream of her own was a pleasant surprise, and he couldn't help but charmed by the image of two beautiful cherubs (although he preferred if they took after their mother) playing at their feet in their cozy California home.

"It sounds like both of our minds are ready for us to go away and start our new life," he snickered, wrapping an arm around Susannah's shoulder and pulling her in close. "It must be because of all of our talks about the future lately. But I'll be honest, those dreams make it hard to wait. Sometimes I'll wake up in the morning and just want to fall back asleep, just to let those beautiful dreams play out a little bit longer."

[theheadlessgroom]

"I...I know that feeling."

At this confession, Susannah didn't miss a beat in leaning into her future husband's embrace, cheeks still warm as she wrapped an arm around his waist. It felt good to talk aloud about it, this desire for family, and not feel so awkward about it-there was something relieving, honestly, about knowing that they both wanted it, both wanted a family, and were looking forward to such wants and dreams coming true in California.

(The dreams were wonderful, but there certainly was a melancholy they left her with when she awoke, one she found hard to shake in the morning light, as she moved to dress and prepare for the day ahead...they're not even here yet, and I don't want to leave them behind! she thought to herself with a half-smile; they weren't even real, just wispy dreams in a hazy, sleepy mind, and yet she already loved them. Perhaps it was melodramatic, she's sure others would deride it as so, but it really was just how she felt: Real or not yet, she loved the children she and Philippe were to have.)

"Have you...thought about any names?" she ventured to ask curiously; if he was already dreaming about them, surely he must've bandied around a name or two as well, right? Susannah certainly had, as she added, "I-I saw a lovely name in a-a book sometime ago-Erik. I-I think the book said that it was Swedish, i-it had such a pretty sound to it. It seemed like a good name for a boy, I-I think."

[etcstims]

His life is just this... struggle | source 🌱

[theheadlessgroom]

Tumblr is a place to express yourself, discover yourself, and bond over the stuff you love. It's where your interests connect you with your

@beatingheart-bride

At this, Susannah was stunned into a brief silence, her eyes widening at this assessment of her potential for motherhood: After all, the idea of her ever having a child was about as much a pipe dream as her getting married, just another thing for her coworkers to make passive-aggressive digs at her about. She wasn't deaf to their comments, the snide snickering as they looked at her: Who would want to marry her, let alone spawn with her? More half-breeds taking up space.

But...he really thought she'd make a good mother? What's more, he thought she would be as great a parent as her father? It was such a weighty concept to her, to be compared to August Pace in any capacity, but to have someone belief she'd be as solid and dependable and loving a mother as he was a father? It struck her hard to hear, made her heart ache, yet a smile crossed her face all the same at the thought.

"Th-That's...that's funny," she replied with a soft, shy giggle at this recount of his dream, a dream that sounded mighty familiar to her. She cast her gaze down for a moment, unable to keep from smiling as she recalled her own:

"I, uh...I had a dream very much like that not so long ago, a-about us having a family...the children-our children-they looked more like you in my dream, though, with their golden hair like yours...they looked like little cherubs, playing at our feet."

[stupittmoran]

[captain-price-officially]

[lelif]

on nostalgia

the handmaids tale, margaret atwood// @firstfullmoon // @stigmatawife // @jb-blunk // forever winter, taylor swift// @an-attempt-at-living // the memory of a memory, katie maria // erica jong // secrets from a girl whos seen it all, lorde; poster by mlgrsdesign// ? // @n1ntendos // @fairycosmos // @inanotherunivrse //@robertszombie // @notbigthief

[thisflighttonight]

Celestial blue ball gown

1867

Maker: Marie and Josephine Virfolet

[theheadlessgroom]

Tumblr is a place to express yourself, discover yourself, and bond over the stuff you love. It's where your interests connect you with your

@beatingheart-bride

"He...he was."

A melancholy crossed Susannah's face as she turned her gaze to the mantle, and the two portraits hanging on it, one each of her mother and father, portraits having been done at a county fair when they were courting. Sure, there were other portraits around the house, both on the walls and in her family albums, but those were the ones she looked on the most-particularly when she was missing them.

"He was so...gentle," she recalled, trying to think of happier memories to share with Philippe: Not the bittersweet ones, of her trying to help her father with work, trying to supplement their meager income however she could, nor the nights she would come downstairs to find him at the kitchen table, staring pensively at the bills. And certainly not those last memories of him, sick in bed with fever.

"He was gentle and kind and...warm. Patience of Job, really. He liked to...take his time, with everything he did: Cooking, working with his hands, gardening, even something as small as...reading a bedtime story to me."

She smiled at this memory, however fuzzy-of herself, in her father's arm, head on his shoulder and her arm around her favorite toy (a teddy bear, who sat proudly on a shelf in her room, all these years later) as he read aloud to her, his voice warm, slow, letting her digest each and every word on the page before he turned it. To August, there was no point in doing something if all you were gonna do was rush it: No, things really were just better if one took a little time with it.

"He tried to involve me in whatever he was doing, to make sure I didn't feel left out," she chuckled softly. "Even if it didn't make a lick of sense to me at the time, I...I liked to be included. So he would put me on his knee while he stitched up a shirt, or put me up on the counter to watch him, and he'd explain it to me-what he was doing and why, where he learned it, how it would help...I learned a lot from watching him. Seeing him stitch things up probably helped get me interested in making clothes, honestly."

[beatingheart-bride]

There was something so bittersweet about Susannah's words, something about them that made Philippe's heart ache and bring a smile to his face in equal measure.

He was thankful that his love had been blessed to have such a positive influence in her life, that she'd had someone who'd adored her so purely and thoroughly, more than anything else in the world. Susannah and her father hadn't had much, but they'd had one another, and that was enough to keep them both going through it all.

But alas, it sparked a twinge of melancholy in Philippe's heart to remember that he'd never had such a tight bond with either of his parents. Surely his parents loved him in their own way, but from an early age, he'd never felt like anything more than a pawn to them, an asset. Insurance that the de Claire legacy would live on for another generation. He never had such tender moments with neither his mother nor father, experienced such pure, unconditional parental affection. In a way, he felt guilty for even letting himself lament, since he was so fortunate in many other aspects of his life.

"I really would've liked to meet him," he echoed, faithfully studying the portraits of the late Mr. and Mrs. Pace on the mantle. "I...I would've loved to see what a real father is like."

[theheadlessgroom]

At that last remark, Susannah's heart broke.

It seemed so...surreal to her. She and her father had to work from sunup to sundown to provide for themselves. They worked themselves to the bone, working back-breaking jobs that paid little and respected them even less, constantly worrying about bills, about ensuring they had enough food in their cupboards and enough wood to fill their fireplace...and yet still, they found the time. They found the time to spend together, particularly when she was younger: Even when he was exhausted from work, August Pace made sure to carve out a little time to read to his daughter, to play with her, to just spend time with her. He never wanted to miss any opportunity to bond with her, even after a long, hard day.

But Philippe's family...they had everything Susannah never had growing up, a level of stability that seemed like a pipe dream. They had a huge, warm home, a well-stocked pantry, money the likes of which she and her father never would've seen in a thousand years. They had all the time in the world to spend with their son, moments her father had to fight tooth and nail to have some days...and they didn't take it? It just...it just didn't seem right.

(It was too much like the Gracey's, shuffling Doreen off to Belle's care at every opportunity...at least she had her, someone to fill in that gap, even as painful as it was, to see her best friend bounce upon and down, trying to get her mother's attention, and have her ignore her, while Belle listened gladly...but Philippe didn't have that luck.)

"I'm so sorry," was all she could say, as she reached out to take Philippe's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. It wasn't fair, and she couldn't help but resent the de Clair's a bit for it-didn't they know how wonderful a son they had, and that they should want to spend as much time with him as they could?

"You'll make a better father someday," she blurted out, without thinking, only for her eyes to widen and her cheeks to burn upon realizing what she'd just said.

[beatingheart-bride]

In a way, in Philippe's mind, it felt silly at best or selfish at worst to complain about his lack of involved parental figures growing up: after all, he'd been so blessed in so many other ways. He was far more fortunate than other men around in that he'd never had to worry about keeping a roof over his head or a meal in his stomach. Hell, he'd never had to want for any material object, the world had always been his oyster in that regard. He'd never even had to work, instead set to inherit a vast fortune one day. Most people in town would be downright offended to hear him complain about anything at all.

Somehow, all of Philippe's more melancholic thoughts were forgotten as soon as that final statement passed through Susannah's lips. For a brief moment, Philippe merely sat there in silence as his mind worked to process what he'd just heard.

"You...you really think so?"

[theheadlessgroom]

"I do."

Despite the panic setting over her upon having blurted her previous comment out, Susannah forced it down as best she could, as she took his hand in hers. For a moment, she searched for the right words, the best way to string her feelings together, but once she found them, she felt all the more confident in voicing them:

"You...you know what it's like to...to have parents who just...don't give you the time of day," she began. "Who think they know better than you about how your life should go, who...who don't really listen. And I can see you doing just...everything in your power to ensure that your children never go through something like that."

She could picture it perfectly in her mind: Little tots, golden-haired cherubs like their father, running up to him, knowing in their hearts already that when they did, he would scoop them up in an embrace, not even thinking twice about hugging them, kissing them, holding them, reading with them, playing with them. He wouldn't dictate to them how they should live their lives, merely give them guidance, a nudge in the right direction here or there, giving them the knowledge that, if ever they needed it, he'd be there to help them. That whenever they had a problem, they could turn to him to talk about it.

"I...I think you'd be a...a wonderful father," she confessed, pale cheeks turning red as she cast her gaze down shyly. "I think any child would be blessed, to have as...as loving and active and caring a father as you'd be."

She still hated to think Philippe hadn't known the love and support she'd had growing up, that level of security in knowing she could turn to her father no matter what, it still broke her heart to think about...but it also healed her to think that he would never let history repeat itself with his own children. He would be the sort of father he wanted growing up and never had, but would never deny his little ones.

[weaver-z]

This boomer comic incinerated every “I hate my wife” comic instantly

[thedupshadove]

If Katee Roberts can get away with her Sexy Disney Villains series, I should be allowed to do something similar with The Haunted Mansion.

[thedupshadove]

A woman on the road, headed nowhere in particular, knocks on the door of a huge old house looking to crash for the night. The house turns out to be super haunted, and its inhabitants are in the habit of offering hospitality to unwary travelers, the better to scare them for their own amusement. But the nominal leader of said inhabitants looks at this particular traveler and is like "Whoa. Wow. Goddamn."

He starts trying to put the moves on her (which in theory shouldn't be too hard, what with him sounding like Paul Frees and all) but this is complicated when all the other ghosts keep signaling him like "Okay, Boss! We're in position! Cue us in so we can start the show and scare the mortal like we always do!", and he has to be like "No, no, this time I want you to not do anything to scare the visiting mortal, and if I catch you doing it anyway I'm calling the exorcists on you." And the other ghosts are like "What the heck. Why are we sparing this mortal? This might be cause for a mutiny, or at least a vicious roasting."

(Also he's entirely intangible and usually invisible, so that's going to put a crimp in his romantic ambitions)

[retrotarisstuff]

1966 comedy film The Ghost and Mr. Chicken, starring Don Knotts. 

[loveridden1999]

[terrorwoods]

L’avertissement (Spirit Scene), 1905 by Serafino Macchiati (1861–1916)

[theheadlessgroom]

Tumblr is a place to express yourself, discover yourself, and bond over the stuff you love. It's where your interests connect you with your

@beatingheart-bride

"He...he was."

A melancholy crossed Susannah's face as she turned her gaze to the mantle, and the two portraits hanging on it, one each of her mother and father, portraits having been done at a county fair when they were courting. Sure, there were other portraits around the house, both on the walls and in her family albums, but those were the ones she looked on the most-particularly when she was missing them.

"He was so...gentle," she recalled, trying to think of happier memories to share with Philippe: Not the bittersweet ones, of her trying to help her father with work, trying to supplement their meager income however she could, nor the nights she would come downstairs to find him at the kitchen table, staring pensively at the bills. And certainly not those last memories of him, sick in bed with fever.

"He was gentle and kind and...warm. Patience of Job, really. He liked to...take his time, with everything he did: Cooking, working with his hands, gardening, even something as small as...reading a bedtime story to me."

She smiled at this memory, however fuzzy-of herself, in her father's arm, head on his shoulder and her arm around her favorite toy (a teddy bear, who sat proudly on a shelf in her room, all these years later) as he read aloud to her, his voice warm, slow, letting her digest each and every word on the page before he turned it. To August, there was no point in doing something if all you were gonna do was rush it: No, things really were just better if one took a little time with it.

"He tried to involve me in whatever he was doing, to make sure I didn't feel left out," she chuckled softly. "Even if it didn't make a lick of sense to me at the time, I...I liked to be included. So he would put me on his knee while he stitched up a shirt, or put me up on the counter to watch him, and he'd explain it to me-what he was doing and why, where he learned it, how it would help...I learned a lot from watching him. Seeing him stitch things up probably helped get me interested in making clothes, honestly."

[beatingheart-bride]

There was something so bittersweet about Susannah's words, something about them that made Philippe's heart ache and bring a smile to his face in equal measure.

He was thankful that his love had been blessed to have such a positive influence in her life, that she'd had someone who'd adored her so purely and thoroughly, more than anything else in the world. Susannah and her father hadn't had much, but they'd had one another, and that was enough to keep them both going through it all.

But alas, it sparked a twinge of melancholy in Philippe's heart to remember that he'd never had such a tight bond with either of his parents. Surely his parents loved him in their own way, but from an early age, he'd never felt like anything more than a pawn to them, an asset. Insurance that the de Claire legacy would live on for another generation. He never had such tender moments with neither his mother nor father, experienced such pure, unconditional parental affection. In a way, he felt guilty for even letting himself lament, since he was so fortunate in many other aspects of his life.

"I really would've liked to meet him," he echoed, faithfully studying the portraits of the late Mr. and Mrs. Pace on the mantle. "I...I would've loved to see what a real father is like."

[theheadlessgroom]

At that last remark, Susannah's heart broke.

It seemed so...surreal to her. She and her father had to work from sunup to sundown to provide for themselves. They worked themselves to the bone, working back-breaking jobs that paid little and respected them even less, constantly worrying about bills, about ensuring they had enough food in their cupboards and enough wood to fill their fireplace...and yet still, they found the time. They found the time to spend together, particularly when she was younger: Even when he was exhausted from work, August Pace made sure to carve out a little time to read to his daughter, to play with her, to just spend time with her. He never wanted to miss any opportunity to bond with her, even after a long, hard day.

But Philippe's family...they had everything Susannah never had growing up, a level of stability that seemed like a pipe dream. They had a huge, warm home, a well-stocked pantry, money the likes of which she and her father never would've seen in a thousand years. They had all the time in the world to spend with their son, moments her father had to fight tooth and nail to have some days...and they didn't take it? It just...it just didn't seem right.

(It was too much like the Gracey's, shuffling Doreen off to Belle's care at every opportunity...at least she had her, someone to fill in that gap, even as painful as it was, to see her best friend bounce upon and down, trying to get her mother's attention, and have her ignore her, while Belle listened gladly...but Philippe didn't have that luck.)

"I'm so sorry," was all she could say, as she reached out to take Philippe's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. It wasn't fair, and she couldn't help but resent the de Clair's a bit for it-didn't they know how wonderful a son they had, and that they should want to spend as much time with him as they could?

"You'll make a better father someday," she blurted out, without thinking, only for her eyes to widen and her cheeks to burn upon realizing what she'd just said.

[baltharino]

Belle (2013)

[theheadlessgroom]

Tumblr is a place to express yourself, discover yourself, and bond over the stuff you love. It's where your interests connect you with your

@beatingheart-bride

"He...he was."

A melancholy crossed Susannah's face as she turned her gaze to the mantle, and the two portraits hanging on it, one each of her mother and father, portraits having been done at a county fair when they were courting. Sure, there were other portraits around the house, both on the walls and in her family albums, but those were the ones she looked on the most-particularly when she was missing them.

"He was so...gentle," she recalled, trying to think of happier memories to share with Philippe: Not the bittersweet ones, of her trying to help her father with work, trying to supplement their meager income however she could, nor the nights she would come downstairs to find him at the kitchen table, staring pensively at the bills. And certainly not those last memories of him, sick in bed with fever.

"He was gentle and kind and...warm. Patience of Job, really. He liked to...take his time, with everything he did: Cooking, working with his hands, gardening, even something as small as...reading a bedtime story to me."

She smiled at this memory, however fuzzy-of herself, in her father's arm, head on his shoulder and her arm around her favorite toy (a teddy bear, who sat proudly on a shelf in her room, all these years later) as he read aloud to her, his voice warm, slow, letting her digest each and every word on the page before he turned it. To August, there was no point in doing something if all you were gonna do was rush it: No, things really were just better if one took a little time with it.

"He tried to involve me in whatever he was doing, to make sure I didn't feel left out," she chuckled softly. "Even if it didn't make a lick of sense to me at the time, I...I liked to be included. So he would put me on his knee while he stitched up a shirt, or put me up on the counter to watch him, and he'd explain it to me-what he was doing and why, where he learned it, how it would help...I learned a lot from watching him. Seeing him stitch things up probably helped get me interested in making clothes, honestly."