#beauty and the beast 1987

[zoeloveconvers99]

This is out of fun and personal ideas and i watched more versions but I was tired to find them all

[iolaussharpe-24]

Am I just a delusional shipper or does this feel like it should have been a thing?

Spoilers for Gargoyles (1972) ahead.

"Go on, your voice pleases me."

"'The sin was not my own, but forced upon me by the incubus; who overnight did slip into my bedchamber and taunt and seduce me with demon's promises until I was as if on fire. He was of uncommon height and finely built. A devil's face of frightful beauty that did put me in a spell. I had no will of my own, but did let the incubus do his will until I was driven mad.'"

Those are actual lines out of the movie. I didn't paraphrase. At all. I played the scene where she was reading out of the book, and typed every word she said. This is a movie about demons who "sometimes take human women" who are trying to conquer the world. Also, in this movie, the gargoyles with wings are the breeders. This one says as much. He was basically the leader. His reaction to being told that he's lost is literally, "Not as long as there are two winged breeders."

Also, the way the gargoyle acts when he first sees Diana just SCREAMS "shipping fuel". If this were written in the modern day, they would have done it. You can't convince me otherwise. You know why I say that?

BECAUSE THE 90s DID IT!!!

I don't care that these two stories have nothing to do with one another. This is a really good comparison. And, even if it wasn't, I have plenty of fuel for this fire. (I don't even need my usual go-to of vampire movies to prove this point.)

Diana and The Gargoyle fit into two categories that I love and frequently ship. Hero/Villain (though I guess this is more damsel/villain) and Human/Monster. I'm going to give examples from both categories that I will die shipping. (They overlap quite a bit, actually.)

Jareth the Goblin King x Sarah Williams

Katara x Prince Zuko

Rey x Kylo Ren/Ben Solo

Vlad Dracula x Mina Murray/Mina Harker

Erik x Christine Daaé

Batman/Bruce Wayne x Catwoman/Selina Kyle

Elisa Esposito x The Amphibian Man

Catherine Chandler x Vincent

So, with all that context in mind,

DOES THIS REALLY LOOK LIKE THAT MUCH OF A STRETCH?!?!

[randomfoggytiger]

"No One Gets There Alone"

The X-Files and Beauty and the Beast 1987 crossover. A sequel of sorts to "I Know You. It's What I Do."

Dedicated to @amplifyme, once again (and always), for introducing me to the World Below.

*-*-*-*-*

It was a year later: cancer had taken root, and Dana Scully hadn’t thought about the significance of age thirty-two since she emerged from the New York tunnels. 

“Thirty-three,” she murmured, staring at the Apollo 11 eagle and stars twirling around and around with her keys.

“What?” Mulder turned away from the basement door, his own keys suspended mid-air as his chin tilted to match hers.

She rolled the moment away, rolled her head sideways, rolled her thumb once more over her birthday medallion before trotting forward down the hallway, coat swishing in time with his and her steps.

He caught up effortlessly and beat her to the car.

*-*-*-*-*

“Thirty-three,” Mulder said over noodles, taking a quick, wolfish breath to blow over his soup broth.

Of course he wouldn’t let this go. “What about it?”

They could have danced around the issue, takeout paper bowls heating their clammy hands as each probed and deflected further and further from the more personal, perilous nature of his request. 

“Seemed… big, back there.” 

Big: a detached, all-inclusive, non-committal catch-all. Scully appreciated the tact.

“It’s just.” She pursed her lips, lowered her increasingly stained chopsticks. “Last year, when we investigated the string of murders in in New York--”

“The deaths in Central Park?” Mulder was shifting: not just his posture-- his whole demeanor was withdrawing, drawing into himself. Odd, she thought. Another twist inline with journal peeping and birthday acknowledgements.

“We never discussed it in-depth but… the woman I told you about, Diana Bennett? She said something that I’d forgotten-- until tonight, oddly enough.” 

“What?”

“���I was thirty-two when my life changed'. I guess what struck me is... I was thirty-two then; and she knew, somehow. She said she wanted to help me 'start my own thirty-two'." This was rapidly evolving into an important conversation; and one, Scully decided, rising to store her soup in the kitchen, that required purposed focus. She returned empty-handed, noticing her partner had set his food aside. “It didn’t…. It didn’t hit me until now that Melissa was thirty-two when I was taken against my will, and returned. And that Melissa was thirty-three when she was murdered.” 

His mouth popped open; his breaths slowed, stilled, through practiced concentration. “And that means...?” 

“I don’t know. All I know is, I'm now the same age my sister was when she died."

“When she was murdered, Scully.” The distinction between the specifics of 'murdered' and the broad generalities of ‘died’ mattered to him, then. Any other time it would matter to her, too. 

“I’m not--.” She stopped, sighed roughly through her nose. It was imperative he understood. “I’m not giving up, Mulder. I told you: I won’t let this thing beat me.” Watching his shoulders droop with relief, she added, “But….”

“You’re wondering if it means something.” 

Her partner’s eyes were a shadowy, secretive green when she looked up.

“No. It does-- mean something to me. But why?”

*-*-*-*-*

Mulder was never one to dwell long in silence: spiraling into melancholic bouts of reflection and distemper or flying off and away before those dark moments descended. It fell to either one of them to break the tension, deflect the mood, or jump on the next lead or topic. It wasn’t a surprise, then, when he looked down to flex his restless fingers-- gathering resolve, she vaguely supposed, to voice a different thought he’d flicked to. 

“Scully, did I ever tell you what happened in Central Park?” 

“No,” she confessed, poised against the shift in his tone. “You only said you’d heard the angels sing.” 

“And you wrote that in your report to Skinner.” 

“Yes. And he decided we'd possibly ingested too many sewer fumes and put us on mandatory leave. Why? You read my report.” 

“But you never mentioned Diana Bennett or her story, or Vincent or the Tunnels.” 

Scully sighed, craning her neck upward. “Mulder, for all we know Diana Bennett and whoever her cohort was overheard our conversations and decided to, to lead us through an elaborate prank. There was no proof what she’d said was true, nor that she, and whoever Vincent is, was part of the murders.” 

“So you don’t believe her?”

Mulder wouldn’t let her eyes go, and she knew she was caught. “I don’t know if I believe everything she said, but she seemed to believe it.” 

“I saw it, Scully.” 

“Saw what?”

“I saw the Tunnels, I saw Vincent. I spoke with Vincent. I saw some of where they live. I saw--” he stumbled for a word, scrunching his face for a second, “-- the Chamber of the Winds. I saw the study, I saw their patchwork existence, I saw… I heard the angels sing.” 

She didn’t know what to say. For a half second, she considered taking up Skinner’s line of reasoning. “Mulder--”

“I know what I witnessed, Scully. People live down there, good people. Outcasts, wanderers, loners-- they formed a free society. I was told children are born and grow and thrive there.” He laughed, a wheezing, deflated noise through his grinning lips. “There was a Samantha there, too. She wasn’t…. Vincent had a recording of her singing along with some kids. She leads the choir down Below.” 

“Wh….” What was there to do, or to say, to properly measure this revelation? “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Mulder shook his head, flexed his whole hand. “I don’t know. Maybe because you seemed….” 

Her voice had sunk to an involuntary whisper. “What did I seem?”

He moved closer, only a little closer, to stifle his fidgets. “Like thirty-two wasn’t your year.” 

*-*-*-*-*

“What made you believe him, Mulder?”

“Who?” 

Evasive maneuvers. But she wasn’t Skinner; and she wouldn’t be put off. “Vincent. What did he say that made you keep everything secret?” From me, she didn’t clarify; but she thought of the key chain he’d given her, and thought of her ideals of teamwork. 

There was a struggle: his cheek muscle twitched violently, his eyes darted away, his legs shifted in restless impatience. Trust won out. “He had everything, Scully, tucked away under the city. A home, a family, a shared community. Love.” Mulder recaptured her gaze. “All of it was built on a tenuous foundation of secrecy, and so constantly in danger from threat of exposure that I couldn’t betray them, to anyone. He and Diana… they were fighting for their own truth. And we Mulders,” he added, bitterly, “know how to keep secrets.” 

Scully kicked her foot at him with a one-two poke. “That’s a pretty big secret, Mulder.” 

“Yeah?” He looked unwound, exhausted. Ready to drop. The night, it would seem, was drawing to a close. 

“Yeah.” 

Goodbyes were coming: he standing, she following; both of them casting one last glance at her tidy key bowl and shiny new key ring; she locking the door after he disappeared. It was now or never to remind him that thirty-three was a new year-- that she needed to know everything he hadn’t told her in thirty-two. 

Instead, she said, “Good night, Mulder.”

Instead, he smiled, and nodded, and led the way to the door. 

*-*-*-*-*

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic.

[theashandpaper]

My favorite man-imal.

[ariel-seagull-wings]

ARTWORK BY RITA TERRELL

@themousefromfantasyland @thealmightyemprex @princesssarisa

[historicalreusedcostumes]

This Green costume with golden on is worn on uknown actor as Beauty brother in Beauty and the Beast (1987) and later worn on Lysette Anthony as Princess Gilda in The Emperor's New Clothes (1987)

[do-you-ship-it-polls]

Do you ship it?

[amplifyme]

George R.R. Martin on Writing TV's "Beauty and the Beast."

The show has a devoted cult following. What do you think draws them to it 30 years later?

It was such a literate show and such a smart show. Vincent may have been a beast but he was highly read and always fond of quoting poetry and citing Shakespeare and dropping in a sonnet from one poet or another. That had an enormous effect. We would get letters from librarians across the country about all the people who would come into the libraries on Monday after we’d aired on Friday saying, “What was that poem Vincent read?” They were going back to Shakespeare. 

I was able to do an episode called “Ozymandias” where we had Ron Perlman read the entirety of the poem by Shelley. To be able to do that kind of thing was amazing, to work in some of the classics of English literature that way. Vincent was an intellectual who loved words and stories and poems. He was not by that reason like a geek or a figure the other characters made fun of but was in fact a classic, Romantic, Byronic hero. Being able to bring that to television, to a mass audience, was great.

The production values were also pretty ambitious for the time. 

It was a gorgeous-looking show. There was a beautiful, lush look to the whole Underground world. By the standards of 2017, television has come so far in terms of its cinematography and its look. But if you compare Beauty and the Beast from 1988 in terms of the other shows that were on, the photography was so lush, the sets and costumes, the Beast makeup created by Rick Baker — it took Ron four hours to get in and out of it. You could stand next to him at the craft services and not tell he was even wearing makeup, it was so brilliantly done. (x)

[brienneoftarth]

Beauty and the Beast was a TV series starring Linda Hamilton and Ron Perlman in the 1980's. George R.R. Martin was one of the writers and producers. It's also strange. This will be my last video for a long time as I'll be giving birth in three weeks.

[jollyhaunt]

how is it that we get them in the same series but different episodes TWICE

[strangenocturne]

started watching Beauty and the Beast from 1987 and it’s cheesy as all hell but I’m a monster fucker so I love me a monster man lol

[babybluebanshee]

hey, did you guys know that there was a live action Beauty and the Beast tv show that was part romance, part crime drama that aired from 1987-1990, starring Ron “Hellboy” Perlman as the beautiful, noble, supportive, well-read beast man love interest to Linda “Sarah Connor” Hamilton’s sexy badass lady lawyer? I’ve never seen it, despite the fact it seems like it was made specifically for me, but what I do have is the show’s sorta soundtrack. I say sorta because, between the songs, Ron Perlman reads poetry in that rumbly bass of his. I know this because I have a copy of the cassette that I found at a flea market.

It’s one of my favorite things that I own. I can make kitty Ron Perlman read me Frost, Rilke, and Shakespeare to help me fall asleep whenever I feel like.

I mean, it’s available on YouTube and stuff, but I feel like having the cassette really adds to the experience.

[loddyjean]

One hug from her can tame the beast

[randomfoggytiger]

"I Know You. It’s What I Do."

The X-Files and Beauty and the Beast 1987 crossover.

Dedicated to @amplifyme, who nurtured me into the wonderful world Below~. Saw this post again and couldn't resist (though Mulder and Vincent were sidelined quite unexpectedly.)

*****

The hulking shadow had vanished from the tunnel mouth, slipping through cold, faded stone as easily as mist; and taken her partner with him. Mulder’s ferocious “FBI--” wilted into an unanswered echo while she yelled for him, hit the rock, hit it again, and began pushing, shoving each of the weathered corners to find a weak spot. 

*****

Werewolves, he’d pronounced two days ago, toying her with gruesome crime scene photos. There has to be two-- one to bait the victim, the other to catch him unawares and cleave him in half. The targets were always men, were always attacked at night, were always within a respectable radius of each other. Mulder kept his math sharp since the Dupre-Phillips case. 

She’d argued this was a case for serious intervention from animal control, laying out the impossibility of his theory in the singular (let alone as a coupling of homicidal carnivores.) 

They never eat the bodies, Scully-- just shred them. Probably protecting themselves or their families.

The debate was picked up and set aside at various junctures-- taxi, plane, taxi, motel, taxi, police station-- but while he entertained theories of another mated Jersey Devil pair, she avoided recollections of Lyle Parker groaning and shrieking in pain in the dark. 

*****

The tapping could have been mistaken for the wind innocuously sweeping up pebbles littered around her feet had Scully not been earnestly listening for a sign. Louder, softer; longer, short, short, long. Code-- and not one her father had taught her when starching her nouns and adjectives with the repetitive heartbeat of Morse Code pounded out on the table, on the dashboard, on the wheel of their rented vacation boat. But whoever was out there making noise would at least hear her own attempts at communication. 

SOS, HELP, LOST, Scully beat, fingers splayed to protect her manicure while she banged out her distress over and over and over. 

The wall gave way, softly grinding across the floor and spilling out the warmth of torch light, dazzling to Scully’s unadjusted eyes. She wheeled back, searching for purchase on the slick stone and dirt and dust, grappling for her holstered gun as a tall silhouette emerged from the secret door. Not as tall as the shadow, not even as tall as her partner; not an animal and most definitely not a werewolf. 

The stranger stretched her palm up and out, her friendly face and flaming hair escaping over one shoulder in the twin beams of her own and her guest's light. 

“Nice to finally meet you, Scully, FBI. Diana Bennett. I’m with the New York City police department.” 

*****

The Tunnels, Diana explained, were a sacred part of the world Below. A couple miles the right way and you came straight to the Chambers; a couple yards the wrong way, and you were likely to find a nasty surprise or two. 

“Then where’s Agent Mulder? Are you taking me to him?” 

“He’s with Vincent. Rather, Vincent’s with him, letting your partner think he’s in charge. Don’t worry about him: the two of them’ll be back once they’ve had their fun.”

Scully halted their steady walk and stood back, weighing the truth in Diana’s eyes. There was a keen intelligence that edged somewhere between clever and clairvoyant-- but the edges were straight all the way down; and kind. “My partner will know he’s being fooled with.” 

“I figured,” Diana nodded, turning to slide the torch into the nearest hook, “but Vincent doesn’t play a fool’s game. He wants to take your partner’s measure.” Her smile, wide and fleeting, carved through the darkness. “It’s been a while since Above gave him anything, anyone, new to abstract over.” 

It was, Scully decided, wisest to evenly match Diana’s stride, light bearer that she was. Carefully, she cooled her voice to a sharp, practiced nonchalance: “Did Vincent have anything to do with the killings?” 

“Yes. They came after him and…." She trailed off, changing directions before the silence became pronounced. "Vincent was captured by a ruthless, powerful man six years ago. Since then, the enemies have been pouring in by trickle and truckload. Can’t shake ‘em, and they won’t shake us. It’s become a three-way habit now. Vincent and I are hunters-- you can’t beat that on home turf. But... it wears on him. Then you two flew into town.” Again, the smile. “You should’ve seen him this morning when Agent Mulder found that tuft of fur. Both of them were practically quivering with excitement over the other.” 

Then she became serious; and stopped talking the rest of the walk. 

*****

Time was hard to determine in this unending darkness: it sank into one's mind, tearing out the crucial parts until all that was left was anxious awareness.

 “Look, I don’t know what you or, or Vincent want with me or with Mulder, but I’d like to know where he is so both of us can go home.” 

Diana stopped this time, appraising Scully’s rigid posture and shaking hands, opening her mouth halfway in contemplation, standing absolutely still. A pipe creaked, or groaned, or tapped; and she lifted her head higher as if from a daze, abrupt and wincing. 

“Back that way, then.” 

The women turned, gaining a foot or two before she clumsily lunged towards the wall-- “Forgot to alert Vincent”-- and squatted down to pick up the nearest rock she could find. Language was once more transmitted along an adjacent, sinewy pipe, swirling and jolting deeper into that impenetrable darkness. 

“Is he bringing my partner?” 

“I think Agent Mulder will be along on his own.” 

*****

Day was seeping into the tunnel before Diana spoke again. 

“I was 32 when my life changed. One day I was working on an unsolvable case about a woman found dead in her apartment-- many stories up, no witnesses, no evidence-- and the next I was mapping out Vincent's mind on my board at home. I anticipated him, tracked him, found him. I saved him, he saved me back. Now, we save each other.”

Scully watched her brush off another secret notion with another escaping tendril of hair: disturbed; and determined not to show it. They both knew she’d shown it. 

“It was my idea for the two of you to come down here, see Below for yourselves. Thought it’d be my way to start you on your own 32.” With a sigh, she straightened and ambled closer to the secret door. “But you’re not ready yet. Too bad.” 

“Too bad I won’t see more of the sewers?” A bluff affront, a wry offering of peace. And well-received. 

“Too bad you won’t hear the angels sing. Vincent or one of his books might call it something like, ‘Some glorious nothing I did see’.” 

“Hm. Maybe next time.” 

A rush of calm settled close, punctuated by scattered code calls faintly reverberating off the walls. 

*****

Taxi, motel, taxi, police station, taxi, motel. 

Mulder remained subdued after their reunion in the Park. 

She’d left Diana, walking ahead to relish the sun, the morning birds, the earliest joggers circling their usual route. 32, with three haunting years tailing behind her. 32, with darkness a comforting consideration rather than an oppressive presence. 

Taxi, airport. 

Scully turned on the nondescript bench-- coffee flavor of the month in one hand and guilty rag magazine in the other-- to stare at her partner, watching the blazing sun eat away at the shadows lingering in the peaks and valleys of his profile.  

“Mulder.” And he turned, staring back. “Did you see anything?” 

His mouth worked back and forth, eyes flecked with tangling emotions. “I… heard singing.”

*****

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic

[rjalker]

I finally found a list of the episodes so if you are planning to watch the 1987 show, Beauty and the Beast, if you are autistic, and especially if you are Black and autistic, you might want to skip Season 1's episode 23, "Chamber Music".

It's about an autistic Black boy being exploited, dehumanized, and ultimately traumatized and his entire life ruined because people only care about him because of what he can do for them, which in his case is his ability to play music on the piano without having to be taught.

The entire point of the episode is that the way he is being treated is horrific and wrong, but if you're autistic, and especially Black, you do not need to be told this. You can skip it.

I literally cannot hear any part of Moonlight Sonata without being filled with murderous rage.

If you're already aware that ABA is literal torture and abuse and that autistic people, and especially Black autistic people, are regularly dehumanized and abused, you don't need to watch this episode.

[ariel-seagull-wings]