#I'd side eye fit but I think he'd be just as out his depth here as mike if not moreso | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

factorialsotherfandoms · 8 months

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So um yesterday's tazercraft stream happened and I caught up mostly with other people's notes and now... have this I guess. I hesitate to call it a fic, but its definitely fictional prose imagining the night after Pac's return with the two of them in Chume Labs.

Usual disclaimer of I only speak English with any fluency and so characterisation is likely to be abysmal. I just... also love these two guys and I'm doing my best to make them happy. But it doesn't seem very realistic, so I'll make Mike cry instead.

Pac will not wake up screaming, he never does. Mike had when Pac was taken from him - when Walter Bob was taken too, and each and every time he remembers the cells they have been held in. Pac, though, Pac was the strong one, the one who could handle it, who could just manage whatever situation was thrown at them - who acted like everything was okay so he could look after Mike.

No more.

Now Mike is the one sat at Pac's bedside, holding his hand even as he sleeps. Pac seems frozen in time, perfectly still even with the tension running through him. His muscles are so tight that even his back shakes with the tension, clearly stuck in a nightmare despite how quiet he is.

And Mike... Mike does not know what to do.

He thought he was a protector, but he has failed to protect in every way that matters. It had always been the two of them - Mike would shield Pac as they fought the world, and Pac would be there to patch up his wounds. But then they were taken, and then their friend was taken, and then Pac was taken leaving Mike alone and now-

If there was something to destroy it would be easier, Mike thinks.

Destroying the Federation will not be easy, and whatever he has seen in his time, alone in their grasp, Pac does not even think it possible any more; something in Pac has been broken, or perhaps stolen, and Mike can only hope that it is something that, despite his clumsy attempts to soothe, will heal.

Impossible is not a word that should be found in Pac's vocabulary, and yet...

There it is.

Mike has never been good at picking up the pieces, not when building, and certainly not of a person. But, but if Pac has broken, has slipped beneath the water, then Mike will not give in until either he is dead, or until he has Pac in his arms, fully this time around. If Pac has learnt the word impossible then Mike will forget it, and bludgeon head first into a world trying to destroy them, tearing it piece by piece until they are all safe once again.

Pac is his friend, and Mike is Pac's friend, and they mean everything to one another.

So, when he catches Pac's eyes, half-lidded, barely open, Mike will reach slowly out, and brush the hair from his eyes. He will tell him he is safe, that Mike will protect him, that nothing will be allowed to touch him again. Perhaps Mike will fail, but he will get back up and scream and try again, and do everything Pac can't until his wounds have healed and they move together again.

He will be scared when Pac does not respond beyond a slow blink, hesitate only a little before squeezing his hands. He will help Pac sit up, fold his hands around a water glass, and keep those hands steady as his friend drinks.

He will ask Pac if he is okay, and receive only a slight bowing of his head in return.

Fear will grip him tighter - it has not left yet, it had never gone - but he will pull Pac against his chest, hold him close, clutch him closer as he tries to outsqueeze the fear.

Pac will turn his face into Mike's chest, and wrap his fingers in his shirt, and say nothing as Mike makes promises of them being together, of them being home, of having trapped the area around the beds to hell and high heaven and that, even if something can make it past, it will not be quiet enough to escape Mike's notice.

Mike will hold him and comfort him and, when the words run out with Pac still silent but now trembling against him, he will let himself sob, and he will cry for the both of them.

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hoaxsen · 3 years

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| angst has been coming to me easy now and idk how to feel about that.

| tw; character death, in depth talk of death, mentions of blood and other gruesome parts, season three spoilers.

| word count; 1.8k.

It was all over, spreading like a plague inside the walls upon their arrival. The victory of Wall Maria, along with the near extinction of the Scouts. How many supplies were lost during it? How much destruction was there while it all went down? Does anyone have a true number on how many bodies were being carried back on those flatbed carts after that expedition?

They were mostly parts of bloodied and mangled things, some weren't even able to be called a body. More like a massive piles of mixed dirt, debris and whatever part of the human body there could be. One hundred and ninety nine people, turned into one enormous jigsaw puzzle that anyone has ever seen. How many carts were used for that, and which cart did this specific body rest upon?

This body held the features of bright blue eyes, that the captain of the Scouts could sometimes find himself staring into for hours on end. Unknowingly at that. Blonde hair just swept back and kept so neat with its undercut. Sometimes Levi wonders if it was soft to the touch, it doesn't look to be hard, or dirty. Just right, minus those brows. If anything there were times where Levi wanted to trim the blonde bricks of hair off Erwin's face himself.

Now, days like that will never come. For the sole purpose, of Erwin Smith being deceased. Giving his life up to his stupid cause and dream, this isn't what Levi meant by plundering your dream and lead those crying brats to hell. Was it selfish of him to think that Erwin might come back alive for him? It was, wasn't it? The man having to live through this shit as the leader, making gambles that no one knew how the hell they paid off. Let's not forget about the cadets and soldiers lost along the way in his gambles. A devil among men, though it was Levi wanting to be the one to raise hell right now. Bring a darker hell to the one on this very Earth for the fact that he chose to revive Armin instead of Humanity's Hope.

Cold, and hardened steel grey hues watched as his body was pulled away, riding alongside on his own horse with this cart. Levi felt only himself at fault, what if he did revive Erwin? Despite the small specks of rocks, falling out and shredded intestines, and lack of life in the blonde's eyes, how would he look taking on the power of the colossal titan? Would he have looked the same as the treacherous Bertholdt, or better? If anything, he'd be alive right now. . .fighting a war once more in this hell. Yes, it was selfish, but Levi Ackerman had his reasons to be selfish in a time like this. Bringing back Erwin instead of Armin wasn't just going to be for humanity, it was also going to be for his own desires. To stop toying with the feelings the ravenette has for the blonde, to stop the daily lies about his ' small crush ' being just a phase.

The captain never even got to make good on his promise before the commander passed. Wanting so hard and bad to end the Beast Titan, to make him feel the pain Erwin did before his final moments. Hopefully that chance comes back for him some other time. How badly Levi needs it, it'd only be fitting since Erwin gave up his dream for the wall retake to even have happened and succeed.

For all Levi could do now, was regret and hope that Erwin's funeral would bring him into a small state of piece. Since the ex-commander was already in a permanent state of his own, never to be disturbed. The Ackerman slowly starts to wonder to himself, which kind of suit would really bring out a dead man's eyes? For blue, it had to be a subtle white, right? An ashen grey? Whatever color it was going to be, Levi knew he'd detest it. Knowing it'll be the final suit he sees Erwin in.

Fast forward a bit to the lowering of the old Scouts' commander into the ground, Levi stayed behind a little ways after the ceremony. Standing before Erwin's grave, a short sigh leaving him as he placed a hand on Erwin's tombstone.

Erwin Smith

xxxx - xxxx

Humanity's Beacon of Hope.

The words Levi read over, and over, and over again. Humanity's Hope, snuffed out a little ways too soon. Levi just had to wake up and face the music, it was bound to happen one day or another. He just wishes that day came a little later than this. Brushing his hand over the words, better now to say this before he keeps it inside for too long. He already regrets not saying this to him when he was alive.

" How many of these have we attended for our fallen? Now look at you, dumbass. Right there with them, tell Petra I said hi when you see her. "

His last chance to say this all know, because whatever God out there knows that Levi wouldn't visit Erwin's grave again after this. For the small grudge he'd hold against himself for using the syringe on Armin.

" I followed you into the fire, made it out with a few scrapes. Though you were burned, still had the guts to carry on more bravely than me. . .even make a choice with that odd line. ' What if there is humanity outside the walls. ' Or some shit like that, and then I realized, and knew. . .that was how you were plundering your dreams and leading those crying brats to hell. "

Unbeknownst to the captain, he wasn't alone. Just standing from afar, was another grieving heart. Armin Artlet, another soul wanting to say an unspoken peace to their old commander. But ended up seeing Levi there before him.

" It's not fair you know, Erwin. Or that just might be me being selfish right now, yeah sounds like it. A biased opinion, since I fucking loved you and didn't have the guts to say it. Wanna know why? Cause I'm a coward. Since people I love keep leaving me in ways like this, death. Am I that detestable that death is the only way out? Gotta be, shitty way to go if you ask me, but probably your only way. Call it a curse, I guess. Sadly shit like this happens in the fucked world. I didn't even want to use it on Artlet, but you made your choice. So I had to make mine, fucking bastard. "

Now that was a surprise to the little eavesdropper in the back, covering his mouth with his hand to not make a sound. Azure eyes bugging out of his head as the captain droned on. Armin himself wasn't even sure why he was saved, wouldn't Erwin have been a better pick? The power of the titan wasted on him, that's how it sounded. On the bright side, the colossal titan was in their arsenal with Eren's titan. Just with the wrong user in Artlet's mind.

" It's not fair, you asshole. You get your peace, and leave me behind in this hell with a bunch of brats! Yes, they can pull their own weight. But you're not leading them anymore, instead it's gonna be someone else who can't live up to your name. All because I got emotional and saved that runt, when I knew, even with Hanji, that you were the better pick! A massive fuck up on my end, but then a small lived victory right? We have another titan ready to fight for us when needed. But I want you here! It's not fair, you trusted me to do the right thing with that weird liquid, and I don't know if I did! I promised myself that I'd follow you wherever, why did you have to go somewhere I can't go yet?! You and your stupid gambles, well make one with the devil down there and win, come back goddamn it! "

At this point, Levi was screaming to a grave on the verge of tears. From standing to dropping on his knees, the turned up dirt from a freshly dug hole in the ground was staining his pants. Giving him the feelings of touching the underground floors, though this time he didn't care. Fighting back an attack of tears, his hands digging into the soil and gripping it. Dirt being trapped in his fingernails, a fierce look on his face with a few stray falling tears from his eyes.

" I promise you, I'll make that sonva bitch pay. Along with aiding in to see that your final goal, your final dream is fulfilled. Even if I have to die to make that happen. "

It was a footstep, and the use of sharp senses that brought Levi out of his moment. Spinning around quick as could be, just to be met with a crying, tear stained face of one of his cadets. This was Levi's moment of vulnerability, being seen by Armin as if privacy wasn't a thing. Though now, the man couldn't hold it against the boy, dusting off himself to be free of the dirt and grime. Levi sent Armin a small glare, no words have been spoken yet, and not one really knew what to say.

" Captain . . . I'm sorry, but you should have us--. "

" Can it brat, I dunno how much you heard, and I hate repeating myself. But I'll make an exception, Erwin made his choice. I acted on it, now you might have to step up to bat. "

Levi's words drew a small gasp from Armin, making him want to roll his eyes.

" No one can live up to be Erwin, but I trust that you know what you're doing. Don't make me regret saving you now. "

" Y-Yes sir! But can I ask a question? "

That made a brow raise on Levi's face, a sign for Armin to carry on with what he was saying. The boy had to take a deep breath to even get the first word out. It almost made Levi scoff at a time like this.

" Y-You l-love Commander Erwin, sir? Is-Is that true? "

The stuttering fool really had the balls to ask. The captain almost looked impressed, but at the same time angered somewhat.

" Yeah, I loved him, Artlet. A main factor playing on in why I wanted to use the syringe on him. But something happened during it, like I said. Don't make me regret it. "

All he got was a frantic nod from the other blonde, even a salute for some reason. Levi responded with his own nod back, figuring now that his time alone with Erwin was up. Looking behind him at that grave, he sighed, his eyes narrowing somewhat.

' Don't worry, Erwin. You won't be along for long, I said I'd follow you right? Into that same fire I'll soon be going. '

He whispered out, making his way to leave now. Going as far as to pat a startled Armin on the shoulder. His own line echoing inside his head to help cope with this, just tweaked a bit this time.

' Plunder all your dreams, and lead those crying brats to victory. In his name. '

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 4 years

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12. Watch This

"Okay," Erik paused. "Wait." One more shallow curve of his small black blade. "You can look," Erik breathed, eyes alight with excitement. Slowly, his face lowered closer to her thigh, catching the details of his work. He had gone over it twice ensuring that the lines were cut evenly in width and depth, the curves round with no breaks or edges, the picture pristine and clear. There would be no mistaking this time of what he had crafted. He was sure that what he made.. was absolutely perfect. His best work yet.

Briefly he glanced at Ivy's face strewn with tears which stained her youthful cheeks and reddened her once cotton white scleras. She hadn't made a peep, but she couldn't stop her tears or the lip she'd bitten throughout the process. He thought she'd chew through it. That would've been fun to watch.

His thick fingers traveled through blood from her thigh, rubbing it between his stocky fingers, allowing to stain his skin red.

"Such a pure red."

Touching the droplets of blood once more, he tapped his stained fingers to his tongue. The taste was metallic from the iron.

"You know this shit is lethal? Yeah, that vampire shit is bullshit. It looks fun until you end up in the hospital." A lightbulb went off in his head.

-----

"Hey Ivy," his head tilted watching her with the sickly ghost of a smirk. Ivy could hear his breathing pick up. It was a bad sign. Tired of his games and exhausted from the knife torture, she refused to respond. Not even a look in his direction. She continued to purposely ignore him until she saw him lift the knife in his hand. She watched from the corner of her eye.

"I see you looking at me. Watch this."

Blood began to drip down his forearm from his hand. It seemed he'd stuck himself in the hand with his knife on purpose. Ivy frowned, her lip twisting like her brows.

"Now you just sat up here and said that shit would send somebody to the hospital. You ain't got nobody else to fuck with as it is. One half dead, already in the hospital, one hate your fuckin guts by now, and here you go again... on that bullshit."

"You calling me out, Ms. Stevens? You think I'm reckless?"

"Why the fuck you gotta bleed cuz I'm bleeding? We both injured in this bitch because you wanna be a serial sadist. For no reason you on that bullshit!"

Turning his arm, he held his hand to her lips. "Drink," he commanded, smearing it on her lips when she refused.

-----

Ms. Stevens was a firecracker. Even under her current circumstances, she was on his ass and Erik couldn't help but to smile. It was refreshing to deal with a woman who was not so easily tamed. It meant she could take more of his art.. more play.. and he could push the envelope even further. , his attention returned her thigh. It looked even better with his changes.

"If this shit wasn't toxic, I'd lick it off your thigh," he sighed rubbing the skin he hadn't cut. He couldn't drink it because of the amount of iron that's in blood. A slight muscle movement drew his eye to the junction of her thighs.

"Wait, did that turn you on?"

Ivy's face screwed tightly into a tiny expression that read 'how the fuck?'

"Are you on crack cocaine?!" She was so fiery.

He hoped that part of her was actually turned on. Not that he'd fuck her, but he'd have a lot of fun exploring why exactly she was turned on.. making her explain it to him in detail. Maybe he'd cut her a slight break and leave her tied up for the night, check on her mom, carry on the next morning. It sounded like a plan.

"Whose this," he mumbled pulling his phone from his pocket. It'd vibrated and looking at the screen, he could see his security cameras had picked up a police car outside. He had company. If it was that dick-hungry officer, then maybe he could really have some fun.

"You stay put," he pointed to Ivy leaving her on her own still tied as he closed the soundproof door. He'd had installed and tested with the twins. Standing on one side, he'd had them yell as loudly as they could muster the other side. No sound had come through. This meant Ivy had no chance of ruining his fun.

He had to rinse his hand and arm of blood, bandaging it quickly and he had to check his clothing for blood. Finding a spot on his shirt, he scooted quickly to his bedroom hamper to toss it in. The doorbell alerted him that he had no time to waste. Chest bare, he walked coolly through his corridor to the front door, cracking it to where only a sliver of himself was seen

"Officer Howard," he greeted brows high. Perfect.

"You have a good memory," her head tilted looking him in the eye.

"I don't forget beautiful women easily, especially the ones who bring their own handcuffs," he smirked.

She shook her head. He could see in her humored expression she was into him, but why had she come?

"What brings you over here Officer?" He blatantly looked her up and down hoping that she noticed. His eyes roamed details of her uniformed curves before moving back up to focus in on her flattered freckled face. She was alone, no backup.

"I'm actually here to ask you a few questions.... What else can you tell me about Ivy Stevens?"

This late? Damn.

"You mean the young lady who tried to ruin my career and try my character," Erik sighed resting a hand high on the door frame so that his body was even more on display. What was she asking him for? Did it look like had anything to do with that girl?

The way Officer Howard ogled his chest and arm muscles, looking over his pattern of scars, he wondered if she'd actually drop her guard. Then he could have the upper hand. She gave a tight smile, nodding empathetically.

"Sorry to bother you at home, but as I said.. protocol. You mind letting me in?"

"You gonna arrest me if I don't?"

Her eyes narrowed but there was a hint of a smile on her.

"Cuz I might like that," he teased holding out his wrists. When Officer Howard smirked, he chuckled and opened the door wide for her. He had the perfect spot to lead her to.

In the parlor, he went straight to the bar which was covered with various liquor bottles. The custom wine rack was of reclaimed wood and held 40 bottles of wine. He held his hand out over the bottles on the bar.

"Pick your poison."

-----

"Rum and coke."

Settling on the white plush velvet couch, Trinity looked around the room noting the paintings. This was a man who loved art.

"..Since you're offering," she added.

The art seemed purposely rough, textured. Wild horses mid-run and green forestry. It all seemed average enough.. masculine and active. Seemed to fit Dr. Stevens well.

"What's that," Trinity nodded toward the glass Dr. Stevens hovered above. He'd just drizzled an off white semi translucent glaze into it.

"Coconut syrup..," he paused. "You ain't never mix it in your rum & coke," his brow raised. Trinity rolled her eyes as he tsked. "What type of wackass liquor you been drinking Ms. Howard?"

She bristled at the unexpected profanity. She knew she had a potty mouth, but his caught her by surprise. She was really in his house. He was definitely more comfortable and free compared to when she'd first met him. He'd seemed a bit more uptight in his office. Blinking, she watched as he rubbed his hands together as if getting serious. This relaxed side of the good dentist really turned her on.

"I drink STRAIGHT rum mixed with coke," Trinity stressed slowly.

"Watch this." He ducked low and when he came up, he produced silver tongs holding a large clear and perfectly square ice crystal cube and a small white sack which he removed a brown mallet from before dropping in the cube.

Trinity was impressed. In level of class, he'd already surpassed every excuse for a grown man she'd been with. He knew how to cater to a woman like a real man ought to. If she could end this Ivy Ivy Stevens situation and confirm her location off in the islands or, hell, Mexico.. wherever. As long as she was breathing.. she could make a move on this man and claim a husband.

Wham! Wham! Wham!

Trinity watched his thick forearm as he slammed the mallet against the sack holding the crystal ice block. He had aggression, but it didn't touch his baby-like face.

"You caught me just in time. I was just about to shower," he smiled up, dumping the crushed ice into the glass filling it passed the rim.

"Mhm. Your markings," she gestured to her own chest, "Those are unique. What's uh.. what are those about?"

Someone had scarred him all up. That was worth remembering and recording. He didn't seem shy or ashamed, in fact he appeared to be parading his markings. Maybe he liked them. Maybe he'd had them done for whatever reason, which was odd. She hadn't figured him for a guy into those bizarre modifications. But then he surprised her with his profanity as well. He seemed more extreme or mischievous than what she'd originally thought. The thought came to her that maybe she should question him a bit more just to be thorough.

"My family is officially from Africa and in our tribe, it's not abnormal. It's simply cultural."

Trinity nodded as he juiced a fresh lime into the glass chasing it with half a can of coke, and topping it off with rum. After stirring, he handed her the rum and coke in the pint glass and returned to the bar pouring shot of vodka for himself.

"Cheers," he said raising his glass.

Trinity watched him as they drank in silence.

"You said you're from Africa. What country?"

"Wakanda."

"Isn't that near Kenya?"

"It is, you been to Kenya?"

"I haven't been past Mexico," Trinity scoffed. She'd gotten piss drunk there with friends after calling off work with a fake death in the family. It was a trip she couldn't miss. "I went by your office earlier to speak with you but it seemed that you were closed."

"No appointments. I went ahead and let my staff go home."

"Speaking of staff, how's Draya," Trinity stared, sipping her drink. She watched his eyes narrow briefly before lowering to his empty glass.

"She's in the hospital.. I'm sure you've heard about the attack."

"An ex attacked her," Trinity nodded. "There is something that's been bothering me." It was a thought that had only recently come. She decided to go ahead and get his reaction. "Reports say that Draya was covered in scars. Is she from Wakanda too?"

He met her eyes then, quiet. She'd touched a nerve.

"No, Ms. Howard. She is not."

"Had you ever seen her scars?" Trinity took another sip, watching the irritation build in his eyes.

"I have not. In what instance would I have possibly seen them?"

"You tell me," Trinity squinted. "And what happened to your hand?" This was actually going somewhere and she hadn't expected it to. He was defensive

"I have a suspicion," Trinity stood looking around. She walked around the room touching random items that stuck out to her.

"And what is your suspicion?"

She turned at the edge in his voice. She was really hitting on something now. His brow was raised, arms crossed.

"I'll ask you once more time about Ivy Stevens. I'm beginning to think you did something to the girl. Unless you can change my mind, I might have to make you my suspect number one."

-----

Erik watched as Officer Howard moved around. She was getting nosier and thinking entirely too much. It was irritating and the more it went on, the more he couldn't hide it.

However.. He'd anticipated this when he'd seen her face. It was a good thing he'd invested in soundproof walls, she'd have probably called the department and had Ivy escorted out by now.

He poured himself another shot as she watched his movements.

"I told you what I knew," he said simply, a countdown starting in his head as he took a sip of his drink. He watched as she paced and moved his items around.

30 seconds.

Her feet crossed. She'd almost lost her balance.

"I somehow doubt that and I'm going to find out your level of involvement because something ain't adding up."

"Mhm," he sighed with another sip. As she rambled, he counted. 15, 14, 13..

"You're awfully silent now," she frowned. She looked physically uncomfortable, overheated. Her freckled skin developing a sweat sheen.

"Am I?" He chuckled.

"That's funny to you?"

"You're a joke," he laughed. "Don't hit your head on the way down."

She lowered her chin, a threat in her eyes. "Excuse you?"

"You feeling dizzy yet?" He could tell she was. She reached for her pocket and he ducked behind the bar, popping with a gun before she could touch anything in her pocket. He didn't even get to threaten her, she passed out, her body thudding to the floor, her head hitting the corner of the couch. He checked to see if there was blood, but there wasn't. She would probably wake with a heavy headache.

#original #dentist

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joannalannister · 7 years

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I’m taking notes on GRRM’s BATB (1987) for ASOIAF things. I’ve never seen this show but I’m interested in the recurring themes GRRM uses, and certain paternity issues.

idk if I’m getting everything right here or understanding everything, because I’m just reading some of GRRM’s scripts and looking at wikis and episode summaries.

From wikipedia:

Vincent (portrayed by Ron Perlman) – A man of extremely large build with the facial characteristics of a lion (fanged teeth, a flattened nose and a cleft upper lip) and fingers tipped with claw-like nails. He is also much stronger than ordinary humans and, when enraged, growls and roars like a lion. His parentage is unknown as he was found as a baby near St Vincent's Hospital and brought to Father by Paracelsus' wife Anna.

Jacob Wells/Father (portrayed by Roy Dotrice) – The patriarch of the "World Below" and Vincent's adoptive father. A physician who left the "World Above" after being unjustly blacklisted, fired from his job, and having his license to practice medicine stripped from him, he found sanctuary in an early tunnel community and became its leader.

John Pater/Paracelsus (portrayed by Tony Jay) – John Pater was a scientist and a former friend of Father's who helped organize "The World Below." But when he eventually desired power for himself, the community was forced to exile him. Father describes him as a "philosopher, scientist, magician" like the real Paracelsus, the name John Pater eventually takes for himself. When Father tries to reason with Paracelsus by calling him by his real name, he commented "John is dead." Paracelsus' late wife Anna was the one who discovered the infant Vincent near St. Vincent's Hospital and brought him to Father. Paracelsus tried to lead Vincent to siding with him while disguised as Father, but was ultimately killed by Vincent during a fit of rage. In his dying breath, Paracelsus quotes "At last, you are my son."

From what I understand, Vincent’s appearance and origins are never explained, and I couldn’t find any more info on this.

I did find that John Pater, a chemist, was performing experiments on his pregnant wife, Anna, and she miscarried in her third month.

Then she found Vincent, but then Paracelsus because obsessed with Vincent to an unhealthy degree, and started thinking of Vincent as the baby that was lost. Anna thus gave Vincent to Jacob Wells, to save him. When Paracelsus found out, he murdered Anna with poison.

FATHER When Anna lost the child in her third month, it did something to John... then she found the baby in the snows outside St. Vincent's, and somehow... in John's mind... it all became... confused... CATHERINE He began to see Vincent as the son he lost... FATHER Yes. Anna loved Vincent, but she could see how unhealthy John's obsession was getting. It broke her heart, but... she thought it was best if the child stayed with me. CATHERINE Didn't she know how Paracelsus would react? FATHER In spite of everything, she still loved John. She thought his grief would pass... that he would forgive her... instead... (long beat) He gave her the poison in a glass of wine... he told me later it was the hardest thing he'd ever done... that he'd done it for Vincent. He actually seemed to think I'd understand, and give the child to him.

Things I’m really confused about: if John Pater was infertile ... how did Anna conceive? Did she have an affair with Jacob Wells? But then why would Anna think it was a miracle? Did John Pater genetically engineer and implant the child in his wife? I’m really confused about what’s going on here, if there’s a BATB fan reading this, could you please explain?

FATHER He and Anna... had tried for so long to have a child, but... it was impossible, Vincent. The fault was in John. He was... unable to father a child. VINCENT Yet Anna became pregnant... FATHER Anna thought it was a miracle. but John just... smiled... as if, somehow... he knew... Father stops suddenly, struggling with painful memories. [...] FATHER [...] Anna... (beat, shaken) Vincent, she was only in her third month when she went into labor. We see Vincent's SHOCK as he whirls back on Father. VINCENT Her third month? FATHER The moment it began, I knew something was... wrong... but I never could have imagined... VINCENT Paracelsus... FATHER John was a genius in his own way, but... unorthodox... still, none of us ever dreamed that he would... experiment... on his own wife... VINCENT Did Anna know what he was doing? FATHER Right at the end... when she was too weak to scream... she looked at John and I saw the knowledge there in her eyes... (beat) Afterwards... I made myself perform the autopsy [on the baby]. What I found was... unspeakable...

If I’m understanding this correctly, John’s weird experiments caused hideous deformities in the baby that made it unable to survive. I feel like there are echoes of Daenerys’s Rhaego here.

I approached these scripts looking for hints of what GRRM is doing with Tyrion’s origins, but I don’t feel like I’ve found any answers, other than things I already knew about, like GRRM’s refrigerator full of dead and disposable women. It is another example of what GRRM does with the pregnancies he writes about, and more data is always a good thing. Also I enjoy reading about the themes GRRM likes to write about.

I might be missing something, though, not having watched the show.

~~Some other things~~

Number of mothers dying in childbirth in BATB: 3

(I think it’s 3? It might only be 2? I’m not sure. Either way, I think this is a lazy trope and occurs too often in GRRM’s writing.)

Note to self: consider using names from The World Below for Casterly Rock names

rock tunnels, across the bridge in the Whispering Gallery, down the great stone stairway in the Chamber of the Winds. Somewhere along the way, he removes a burning TORCH from a wall sconce, and carries it to light his way.

Vincent descends the stairs of the well into subterranean depths. He's far below the surface now. Down here, the well is VERY DARK; the only light is his torch. The walls are DAMP, covered with FUNGUS and NITRE. Far below, MISTS swirl so the steps seem to descend forever. We hear the sound of DRIPPING WATER, the SCURRYING of RATS.

Vincent moves through a natural ROCK TUNNEL, narrow and dark, its floor uneven. Thick FOG swirls around his feet, and here and there we see the BONES of long-dead animals. The passage twists and turns; in places the walls press so close he must squeeze through sideways. A low ceiling makes him duck. Jagged stalagmites thrust up from the floor like daggers; beads of water drip off the stalactites that descend from the ceiling.

A vast, cavernous chamber. This in an ancient place, gloomy and foreboding. What little illumination we find is a dim, sickly GREEN and a faint VIOLET, from the areas of FUNGUS that festoon the walls, GLOWING with its own faint phosphorescence. Below runs a swift, treacherous UNDERGROUND RIVER, its black waters thundering around a landscape of rocks and fallen pillars.

BATB Fan Websites:

batbforever.com/scripts/index.html

batbtv.com

GRRM discussing BATB

beautyandthebeastcultclassictv.wikia.com

classicalliance.net

“Ceremony of Innocence” script

#/#//#///#////#/////#beauty and the beast 1987 #batb 1987 #batb1987

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spicycreativity · 3 years

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A Place Where I Can Breathe - Ch 4

Chapter: 4/7 Additional Notes: See Ch 1 for more information. Read on AO3 under "WizardGlick." Any formatting/italics errors are holdovers from AO3 that I was too lazy to fix. Chapter Content Warnings: N/A; ask to tag Excerpt: Poor Roman. He made it so easy. Janus leaned in a little, not so much that he was intruding on Roman's personal space, and touched his knuckles to his chin. "Bore me? You're Creativity. What makes you think you could ever be boring?" He cocked his head and looked at Roman with expectation, inviting him to read between the lines. Who told Roman he was boring? Who made him feel like a burden?

The plan went into motion the following evening. Roman kept inconsistent hours and worked in inconsistent locations, and Janus had accordingly predicted long hours spent listening at the basement door for a chance at catching Roman alone. He was already working on a plan to lure Roman down, but it was difficult when his knowledge was barely surface-level. He didn't know in detail what Roman liked. But the wheels of fate turned and Roman bade his friends goodnight and announced that he would be staying up late to work on a project.

"That's lucky," Remus said when Janus informed him of the news.

Janus smiled at him. "Where reason fails, the Devil helps." He fussed with his gloves and straightened his capelet. "It's showtime."

"Beetlejuice is my thing," Remus said as Janus sank out.

He couldn't help the pang of loathing that pierced his heart at the sight of Roman scribbling away in a notebook. Remus had never been afforded the luxury of creative freedom, and it felt so obscene to stand here and watch Roman revel in it.

Willing his face into a more polite expression, Janus sat down by Roman and waited to be acknowledged.

Roman caught the motion out of the corner of his eye, but was too busy writing to spare the processing power it would take to identify his visitor. Whoever it was, they knew better than to interrupt him while he was preoccupied. He finished up his thought, jotted down one final note in the margin, and turned to address his guest. "H--Uh-- Deceit!" He jerked backward in surprise, slamming his notebook shut. "I wasn't expecting you." Despite his best efforts not to stare, his gaze kept falling on Janus' scales, his slit-pupiled snake eye. Roman tried not to shudder.

Janus cursed himself for not anticipating this. He should have sat on Roman's left side. Ah, well. Nothing to do for it now but apply extra charm. "Good evening, Roman," he purred, turning his head a little beyond what was comfortable so Roman could see more of his human side. "Did you know that you bite your lip when you concentrate? It's cute."

"Oh, um." Roman touched his fingertips to his lower lip, equal parts flattered and confused. "Thank you?" The overhead lights caught on Janus' cheekbone, giving him a soft glow. He gazed at Roman with gentle anticipation. Roman looked into the rich brown of his human eye. "I was just working on a story about, um, well… Oh, I won't bore you with the details."

Poor Roman. He made it so easy. Janus leaned in a little, not so much that he was intruding on Roman's personal space, and touched his knuckles to his chin. "Bore me? You're Creativity. What makes you think you could ever be boring?" He cocked his head and looked at Roman with expectation, inviting him to read between the lines. Who told Roman he was boring? Who made him feel like a burden?

"The, uh, the others," Roman stammered, not wanting to talk badly about his friends.

To his surprise, Janus flashed him an almost guilty smile before hiding it behind one gloved hand. "The others don't understand your creative vision, do they? I always wondered how you put up with them trying to shut you down."

"I don't know that they shut me down, exactly," Roman said, making one last effort to be charitable before sliding over the brink. He lowered his voice to a whisper, "But they never seem to want to listen. Logan is always poking holes in my plots and asking boring questions about the worldbuilding, and Patton always spaces out and asks me to repeat myself, like he can't even be bothered to listen to what I'm saying! And he always says the same thing whenever I ask for feedback. It's like, I don't need criticism, but I'd appreciate something a little more in-depth than 'oh, it's fine,' you know?" Janus nodded. Roman took a breath. "And Anxiety. I don't even want to think about what he'd say. He's always trying to shut me down before I even start: 'What if someone has done this before? What if nobody likes it? What if you're not good enough?'"

Janus raised his eyebrows and looked away. Some of that certainly sounded like Virgil, but he had a strong suspicion that most of Roman's insecurities originated from within himself. "I agree, he's not good for you."

"Oh!" Roman ran a hand through his hair and looked away. "I don't- I didn't mean.. "

"You said it yourself," Janus said, preemptive triumph blazing beautiful and cruel in his chest, "he sabotages your function." He pictured Roman alone in his room, hunched over a notebook and scribbling furiously with a pen that would not and could not write. Or better yet, Roman with a functioning pen staring paralyzed at the blank page before him, his own insecurities stilling his hand. "He's bad for you."

"Hold on a second," Roman said, putting up a hand to stop Janus. How did they get here? He'd just been venting, and now suddenly Virgil was to blame for all his problems? He nearly smacked his own forehead when it clicked just who he was talking to. "I didn't mean that!"

"But you said it," Janus said, feigning misunderstanding. "So you lied to me?"

"No, no, that was true."

"Then we're in agreement. Anxiety is bad for you."

Roman shook his head emphatically. "It was true. Anxiety was bad for me. He's changed."

Janus couldn't help himself; he rolled his eyes. "He's Anxiety! It's literally his job to shoot you down."

"I used to think that," Roman said, anger spilling into his cheeks and turning his face red. "But I know better now. Anxiety isn't like you and my brother; he has a place with us and he helps us make Thomas the best possible version of himself. And if you don't understand that, then I don't think I have anything more to say to you. And don't even think about coming anywhere near Anxiety ever again. I won't allow it."

Janus took in a shaky breath, finally letting his hatred, his frustration, his despair show on his face. And he struck, envenomating the weapon Roman had unwittingly handed him: "Very well, Roman. But let me leave you with this: Anxiety has nothing to do with your inability to perform. You're only half a function, and nothing you make will ever stand up as long as you remain afraid of your own potential. You're just as inadequate as you think you are, and it's nobody's fault but your own."

And, still shaking with rage, he sank out.

"Shit!" Janus slammed his open palm into the wall and pressed into it, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

There was no reply but the scratching of pen on paper. Janus whipped his head around and the anger drained from him at the sight of Remus scribbling away in a notebook. At least some good had come out of his little confrontation.

"Well, I'm not sure what you did to my brother," Remus said, not looking up, "but he's definitely distracted."

"I may…" Janus said delicately, rubbing the heel of his hand with his opposing thumb, "have failed to account for certain unexpected variables." He sat down next to Remus, careful not to jostle him, and grit his teeth.

"Mm?" Remus said, turning a page.

"Such as your brother being too thick-headed and stubborn to listen when someone's trying to manipulate him." Janus scoffed.

"Mm," said Remus, still writing.

Janus glanced over at him. Just as Roman had been doing earlier, Remus was chewing at his lower lip while he wrote, his brow creased. Janus tapped his fingertips against his own lips. He shouldn't have called Roman 'half a function,' and not just because it implied that Remus was as well. He knew from experience that lashing out only ever made things harder for himself. Now a whole new barrier towered before him and it was nobody's fault but his own. Janus laughed humorlessly, not missing the irony. He would blame Roman, though. It hurt less that way.

"I suppose it's too much to ask," Janus mused out loud, "that things could just be easy for once."

Remus stopped writing, ignoring the pang of regret, and scooted over so he could put his arm around Janus. It was undeniably painful to throw away an opportunity to make his voice heard, but Janus needed him now. He never admitted when he wanted comfort, so Remus had become adept at picking up on unvoiced desires over the years. "Yeah, probably."

"Please do stop writing; that won't make me feel guilty at all."

"I was pretty much done anyway," Remus said. "There's only so much debauchery and vomit you can fit into one story."

It was an obvious lie, but Janus let it go. He leaned into Remus' shoulder despite the way it knocked his hat askew and tried not to think about Virgil. "I don't even miss him," he said, the lie ringing hollow even in his own ears. "We just can't let him start working against us."

"We won't," Remus promised. "He'll come back. We can be his favorites again." After all, they had been friends before. Whatever Roman and the others had done to charm Virgil could be undone. He would remember his friends again. "And besides, we have Plan B for Butthole!"

Janus laughed despite himself and let Remus pull him in closer. "Maybe let's wait to implement that one."

Roman couldn't breathe properly; something was wrong with his lungs. Every inhale hitched in his throat and his mouth ached like he was about to cry.

But he dismissed that ridiculous thought with a firm shake of his head. He was the guardian prince, the hero! Heroes never wept for themselves.

He swallowed down the ache and got to his feet so he could find Virgil and let him know what had happened.

If a few wayward tears slipped down Roman's cheeks as he ascended the staircase, he wiped them away without giving them a second thought. The jaunt up the stairs did nothing to help his erratic breathing, and he was almost winded by the time he got to Virgil's door.

He had to knock for a long time before Virgil finally answered. He had been listening to his music as loud as he could tolerate it, and had only noticed Roman's knocking during a transition between songs.

Virgil's sarcastic greeting died on his lips at the sight of Roman panting in the doorway. His lower lip trembled and his eyes were suspiciously shiny, but his voice was steady as ever when he spoke. "Anxiety! I need to speak with you."

"Dude, are you okay?" Virgil asked, letting the walls of his brooding facade fall away in the face of his concern for his friend.

"Never better!" Roman declared. He was determined not to let Virgil see just how deep Janus' words had cut him. "May I come in?"

"Uh, sure, I guess." Virgil stepped aside, trying not to feel too self-conscious about his unmade bed.

Roman didn't comment on it, just followed Virgil's lead and sat down on the floor with his back against the foot of the bed. Despite the persistent ache in his chest, he fought for bravado. "I've just faced off against a fiendish foe!"

Virgil's heart dropped into his stomach. "Oh, yeah?"

"Indeed. I went toe-to-toe with a certain sneaky snake and scared him silly!"

"What did he say to you?" Virgil demanded. Everything slotted into place in an instant, Roman's shaky demeanor and false confidence.

Roman waved a hand, annoyed to notice it was shaking. "Nothing of import. You don't have to worry about me, Anxiety, I can handle myself in these matters."

Virgil supposed he should have seen this coming. "So let me guess. You're worried about me ."

"Of course I'm not worried about you!" Roman said, puffing out his chest. "You have the best protector in the world."

"You?"

"Me!"

"So why did you need to come see me?" Virgil asked. Whatever Janus had said to Roman obviously hadn't altered Roman's opinion of Virgil any.

"Exactly that," Roman said. "That you need not worry. I banished the snake back to the basement where he belongs! And I told him that I would not allow him to see you ever again."

Virgil couldn't stop the look of horror that crossed his face. He pressed his hand to his forehead, trying to calm his own breathing. "What?"

"I stood up to that fork-tongued fiend and told him to leave you alone forever," Roman said, a little less self-assured this time. He knew better than to expect a wondrous display of gratitude from Virgil, but he had been expecting some sort of thanks.

"That's great," Virgil said weakly. He knew he wasn't selling it, but was too overwhelmed to really care. "Thanks."

Roman nodded. "Well, I suppose l'll, ah. I'll just go, then." He hadn't realized how badly he'd wanted to stay until he was faced with the idea of leaving. But Virgil just nodded, his eyes empty, so Roman saw himself out.

Virgil immediately started to chew on his thumbnail, mind racing. He knew should have asked for more details from Roman but panic had a way of demanding attention, choking out rationality. He was thinking clearly now, though. He had failed. Whatever Janus had said had obviously hurt Roman badly, and Virgil hadn't been a good enough friend to try to fix it, and he hadn't been a good enough protector to prevent it. The only thing he could do now was try to stop it from happening again.

Virgil sighed and let his head fall back against the edge of his bed. He was absolutely certain that Janus would be out for blood now.

#spicywrites #spicywrites a place where i can breathe

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