kelyon

[kelyon]

One of my favourite things about Sinners is the use of colour to symbolize belonging and home vs assimilation or separation from self and the environment.

When Annie is in her home, connected to her ancestors by practicing Hoodoo and speaking Yoruba to the man she loves , her skin tone blends into the earthy, natural tones of her home. Who she is, is not at odds with her environment . She even wears the same deep blue as Smoke

When Sammie is singing the blues, filled with passion and surrounded by the love and joy of his community, his shirt matches the warm yellow glow of the lights in the Juke Joint. He fits in perfectly and effortlessly

Delta Slim is the embodiment of The Blues, every part of him is harmonious with the dark brown walls of the Juke Joint

In contrast, the church walls and the clothing of the congregation reflect the assimilating influence of whiteness to the land and people, the false binary of black and white. The pop of green of the wild, natural world beyond the stark walls stands out as a symbol of freedom and untamed passion. There is no warmth or vibrancy in this place that demands Sammie give up his music, his voice, his culture.

And this split dividing the twins is interesting to me. Stack shown with the open air behind him, foreshadowing his eventual escape and freedom from the Jim Crow South. His red hat, tie and car reflecting the blood spilled and his vampirism as the only means he has for leaving this world of division.

Then Smoke on the right is shown contained within the Juke Joint, his home and his metaphorical casket as this will be his final resting place with Annie. His blue hat and shirt are symbolic of the sky/spirit world where he will spend eternity, unnaturally separated from his brother

[kelyon]

[kelyon]

I am never ever ever getting over the way Rumple looks at Belle when she talks. He constantly looks like everything she’s saying is 500% the only thing that matters in that moment. Which might not seem like a big deal but the first time we see Belle she’s getting literally shoved around a room and ignored by everyone (when the whole plan to ask Rumple for help was HERS to begin with). 

Never forget the absentminded shake of the head in this scene

Especially in Family Business, when she is telling him about what happened with Anna and the mirror, and she’s distraught and Rumple just…listens. And then, when appropriate, summarizes what she said in an affirming way: “You were only doing what you thought was right.” There’s just something very beautiful about that moment, especially considering Rumple could have EASILY been more preoccupied with Belle’s attempted use of the dagger. And he isn’t, he’s very willing to engage with Belle in what Belle wants to talk about in a very sincere, gentle way. 

Like, he remembers shit that she said thirty years ago when he hated her. The things that she says are important to him, and they have been for almost as long as they’ve known each other. 

Even when she’s absolutely furious at him he listens. As soon as she says, “I’m fucking talking now,” he lets her, and his face shows that he’s absolutely engaged in what she is saying in just the same way he always is.  What Belle says matters to him. He is listening, he can’t help but listen.

And it’s sweet and important because not a lot of people can get Rumple’s undivided attention and trust, and he does both in these instances. If Belle says something, he believes it. He hears it, he internalizes it, and it matters. Of course, he also gains something from listening to her. If Belle has faith, he does too, and he has a tangible need and desire to actually hear it from her in specific moments, which is interesting. He values each and every affirmation of hope and love she gives him, and he seeks them out. Even Shadow!Belle worked for Pan because Rumple instantly believed she was a personification of the hope and faith she gave to him before he left. 

The fact that so much of his love for her, from the very beginning, is based on this desire to really actively listen to and internalize what she is saying is just incredibly beautiful. Rumple made a lot of things very difficult and problematic by not communicating with Belle, but he is always more than willing to let her communicate with him, and love is written on his face whenever she does. 

[kelyon]

anyway, here’s one of my recent Rumple drawings to go with my obsession

[kelyon]

As Certain Dark Things are to be Loved, Chapter 4

Summary: Rowan Gold knew there were three certain things in life: death, taxes and his innate inability to be loved. Which is why he hardly believed it when he found himself, pushing fifty and a pariah in the town he lived in, sparking with the local town librarian, after an accidental public touch that left them both reeling. Belle French was everything he wasn’t: beautiful, kind and loved. And now a stone around his neck he can’t wait to rid himself of. Love made you sick, after all. Made you weak.

Rating: M

The first thing he became aware of was that the side of his face hurt. The next thing he noticed was that he was in bed and it was the middle of the night. He could hear nothing, and see nothing amiss. He hadn’t fallen out of bed, or banged the side of his head against the headboard. He was alone,  from what he could tell using the light of the moon  spilling from the window. Other than his head he his entire torso throbbed, making it a bit hard to draw a full breath.

He concentrated on breathing, and felt the sensations dull after a while, as if he was healing at an accelerated rate, the pain in his head feeling now more like a migraine. He got up, determined to take something for it and try to fall back asleep, when suddenly the headache went away completely, as if the mere thought of painkillers had driven it away. A moment later he realised it wasn’t just the headache that had gone away but everything else. There was no gentle buzz on the back of his head, no faint echo of someone else’s presence, someone else’s feelings, on the edge of his consciousness. For the first time in months he felt… alone. Completely and utterly alone.

Where the fuck was Belle?

He concentrated on the bond, which he seldom did, but it was gone. She was gone, as if she had disappeared off the face of the Earth. It was bizarre,  how strange it felt. He had spent over forty years unbonded and yet it felt wrong to not feel that invisible presence curled tightly on the back of his head.

He decided, a second later, that the existential fucking crisis could wait for later. First he needed to know what the fuck had happened to Belle. He dressed in a hurry, only donning a vest in concession to the coldness of the weather, and  drove directly to the hospital. Whatever had happened she was likely to be there. The entrance hall was almost completely deserted, but a pop of bright colour let him know Ruby Lucas was there, dressed in a skimpy, eye-watering red dress, hair teased into what likely had once been an artful mane, but now looked like a bird’s nest.

”What the fuck happened, Miss Lucas? How’s Belle?”

He rapped his cane against the front desk, barking for a nurse.

”I don’t know because they won’t fucking tell me anything! There’s this bitch of a nurse who doesn’t even wanna tell me where Belle is.”

Said nurse materialised a second later, looking as unwelcoming and dour as the waitress had implied. Her sour look might have worked on Miss Lucas, but it didn’t do anything to him. 

“I’m here to see Miss French.”

”Are you a relative?”

”Even better, dearie.” He smiled, a harsh baring of teeth that would’ve looked more at home on a wild coyote than a man. “I’m your landlord. And starting right now for every minute you keep me away from Miss French I’ll add fifty dollars to your rent. This could get pricey rather quickly, so think fast.”

The nurse tried to stare him down, but common sense eventually took hold of her before the first minute passed, reluctantly typing a few words into the computer in front of her to pull the necessary information, telling him the room number and being clear about the fact that he wasn’t allowed in the room, specially after visiting hours were over.

”If anyone asks I’ll tell them you tried to stop me, don’t worry.”

He strode past her like he couldn’t hear her sputtering nonsense threats about calling security on him. She wouldn’t dare and, if she did, he’d simply deal with them like he had dealt with her in the first place. Storybrooke General was a small town hospital, so it was easy enough to find Belle’s room even though there was almost no staff around to ask for directions. What he noticed immediately when he went in was the blood staining a small but very visible bandage taped to the side of her head. She was asleep, or looked it, a hospital blanket draped over her. Someone had changed her out of her clothing and into one of the patented ugly yellow hospital pajamas, the short sleeves letting him see her mark almost completely. The sight gave him an instant shot of relief, as did the rise and fall of Belle’s chest. She was alright. 

“You can’t be here.”

The pawnbroker turned around, pleased when the newcomer took a step back. Given the white coat and the stethoscope wrapped around his neck this had to be some low-level attending who got stuck on the night shift. Hopefully, given his young age and general look, he wouldn’t be too difficult to push over.

“What’s wrong with her?”

He dragged a chair to the bed, close to the headboard. The doctor straightened up, rifling through a sheaf of papers.

“You’re not Beverly Lucas.”

The Scotsman snorted.

“No, I’m not. How observant of you. Now tell me what I want to know.”

“But… You’re not her emergency contact. Or her family.”

Oh, so Widow Lucas was Belle’s emergency contact. It made sense.

He didn’t like it.

“I’m her fucking soulmate. Now tell me what the fuck’s wrong with her.”

That got the doctor talking. He told him everything he knew. Apparently, there had been a disturbance at the Rabbit Hole, which is where the ambulance had picked up Miss French, along with Miss Lucas. The gash on her head had required a few stitches, nothing major, and would likely heal without leaving a noticeable scar if properly cared for. But basic imaging had shown a few hairline fractures on the librarian’s ribs, which had necessitated she be sedated for the pain, knocking her out. 

The doctor paused there, his gaze settling on Belle’s exposed mark, some sort of understanding dawning in his eyes. With a less nervous, more soothing tone he told the pawnbroker that sometimes heavy pain relief or sedation could cause a temporary disconnection from a soulmate. The bond would go numb, for lack of a better medical term, until the medication mostly wore off. It was impossible to predict whether it would happen or not when people were only slightly sedated or medicated, as some bonds were more sensitive than others. Newformed connections, it was concluded, were more likely to be more affected.

”Thanks for that science lesson, now get out.”

He resented it. Resented the pity in the doctor’s eyes even as the rest of him felt relief at the notion that whatever was happening to them was temporary. But a voice, insidious and accusatory, reminded him it shouldn’t have happened at all. Theirs wasn’t a new bond, it was closer to a year old already. It should have settled months ago, if only he hadn’t been so determined to fight it. To reject it.

He made himself go downstairs so that he could fill in Ruby on what the doctor had told him and, artfully, coerce her into giving him the information he wanted. In the end he didn’t have to cajole anything out of the waitress, so willing was she to sing like a canary, clearly mad about what had happened.

Unsurprisingly enough, the story featured Keith Nott, like most bar stories in Storybrooke tended to do. Gold reluctantly acknowledged the man’s existence once every month when he went out to collect rent, but otherwise avoided wasting his time thinking about the town creep. He was vaguely aware that Keith was a regular at the sheriff’s station for drunk and disorderly conduct and more than once for harassment, though he usually only spent a couple of days in jail at the most before he was let go.

Apparently, Keith had been bothering Belle for a while, under the misguided impression that the librarian was easy pickings. He had read somewhere that soulmates that were rejected by their significant other often sought solace somewhere else, but most people wouldn’t date someone who was marked. It was considered a big social taboo. So he had figured Belle didn’t have a lot of options and would surely be desperate for whatever was offered to her. She had disabused him of that notion repeatedly, with increasing firmness, but hadn’t quite been able to convince Keith she wasn’t an easy lay playing hard to get because that’s what “all women did”, according to him.

That particular night Keith had gotten quite insistent, bothering Belle while she was out with Mary Margaret, Ashley and Ruby till Belle had told him emphatically to leave her alone (Ruby had been even more emphatic and had told Keith to fuck off and get lost, and Gold mentally applauded her for that). This hadn’t been enough for the leech to take the hint. That had led to a scuffle and in the midst of it Belle had been knocked forcefully to the ground, hitting her head on the edge of a table in the process.

Though unable to express it, the pawnbroker silently commended Ruby for being the one to stick around, noticing that neither Mary Margaret, the formerly pious primary school teacher nor Ashley Boyd had seen fit to make sure Belle was alright. For all of the waitress’s salacious reputation she was a steadfast and loyal friend and he would remember that for the future.

With the pertinent information acquired he went back to Belle’s room, sitting down to stew for a while. Eventually he began to fidget, noticing a very faint ache around his torso that let him know Belle’s medication was likely beginning to wear off. If he concentrated he could begin to feel her on the back of his head, a fluttered, agitated presence. Next to him, on the bed, Belle stirred, brow furrowing in pain as her eyelids fluttered, threatening to open. 

“Wh-what-?”

“It’s alright. You’re alright. I’m here.”

She was in pain well beyond what he felt. She tensed, breathing growing quick and ragged, unknowingly increasing the ache around her ribcage. Without thinking much about it he quickly shed his coat, rolling up his sleeve till his mark was visible. It was the first time it had been fully exposed outside his home or his shop and it felt as unpleasant as he had thought. 

Quickly so he wouldn’t talk himself out of it he pressed their marks together, the connection intensifying just as the pain melted away. He could feel her relief like it was his own and, in some way, it was. It was followed by a heady sense of contentment, of peace. He laced their fingers together, unwilling to risk breaking the connection and losing that strange sort of happiness. He saw her and felt her calm down, giving into the sedatives still in her body and falling into a more restful sleep.

Twice every hour a nurse would barge in to check on Belle’s vitals, causing discomfort as their eyes focused on their joined marks for a beat or two before a quick glower had them returning their attention to the task at hand so they could scurry out of the room as soon as possible. When she stirred he murmured some soothing nonsense so she would quiet down, feeling her clutch his hand in hers before she went back to sleep, curling her body slightly to the side, as if she could tell he was there.

When he noticed dawn breaking he decided it was time to go. The diner would open up soon and people would soon be out and about. It wouldn’t do to have anyone see him as he was. Quietly, he snuck home, with just enough time for a quick shower and an unsatisfying breakfast before he had to force himself to open his shop. He was tired and irritable from lack of sleep and the memory of how blissful it had been back at the hospital, even though he had spent the entire night uncomfortably sitting on a hospital chair.

What bothered him the most, however, was the knowledge that he had left Belle alone, vulnerable. He could tell when she slowly awakened, could feel her initial agitation followed but a rather tense feeling of discomfort. Belle clearly didn’t like hospitals and he couldn’t blame her. The doctor called him twice during the day, once to appraise her of her health and another to inform her Belle was to be discharged and she had already called Miss Lucas to come pick her up. Relief at the notion that she was alright clashed with an absurd feeling of affront that she hadn’t thought to call him. Then again, she had been so careful around him, ever since they sparked. Careful about not relying on him, about keeping her distance outside their mutually-agreed sessions at his shop. All because he had dictated that it be so. She was simply following his very clear lead and he couldn’t blame her for it, even though he now hated how he had no rights to her.

Still, by the time the day was over he found himself with a lot of anger he didn’t have an immediate outlet for. Thankfully, he knew how to put that anger to good use. There was, after all, a problem that he needed to solve. So after closing the shop and having a quick dinner he parked his Caddy on the shady alleyway next to The Rabbit Hole and waited. His patience was eventually rewarded when, close to midnight, a drunken Keith Nott left the bar, looking more like he had been kicked out than he had left of his own will. He snuck right behind him as he pissed on the side of the bar and made sure to maintain a sanitary distance before he swung his cane out and caught the side of his jaw with its handle. There was an inevitable but unwelcome spray of blood before Keith went down like a sack of potatoes, mumbling incoherently.

”Careful, dearie, that you don’t accidentally swallow whatever teeth I’ve managed to knock out. It’d be an unpleasant way to die.”

”Whaa-?”

The pawnbroker brought his cane down over the man’s ribs this time, trying to aim for the same ribs that Belle had fractured. Poetic justice and all.

“No, no, dearie. I do the talking. And you do the listening. And I suggest you take your role very seriously, for the sake of your health and wellbeing. Is that understood?”

He paused, fearing perhaps that he had been a bit too forceful with his first blow, given how Nott’s eyes struggled to focus. And this wouldn’t really serve its purpose unless he was sure the eejit understood him loud and clear. Finally, after what felt like forever, he nodded.

”Wonderful. You must know why I’m here, Mr Nott, but just in case let me spell it out: you hurt something of mine. And I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

Though he hoped the message would come across bright and clear from the beginning, but even in the dim light of the empty street he could see confusion spreading across Nott’s face. He sighed, figuring  he’d have to hammer his point across. With that in mind he took his cane and landed two more solid blows on the man’s torso, being careful to avoid the head. Keith grunted, using the wall of the bar as support to slowly and painfully pull himself up. The alcohol must have been dulling the pain, since he didn’t flinch as much as Gold would’ve expected.

”I’m talking about Miss French.” The pawnbroker’s accent thickened, as it often did when his temper got the best of him, but there was nothing he could do about it. “I’m talking about the way you’ve been accosting her. How you assaulted her last night. How you thought you ever had the right to lay your filthy fingers on her.”

Even before Keith replied the Scotsman could tell he was going to say something supremely stupid. His face was a mixture of confusion and ill-conceived cockiness.

“Sorry, Mr Gold, didn’t mean to break the bro code. I thought you wouldn’t mind me helping myself to your leftovers.”

The punch was satisfying, the crack letting him know even before Nott howled in pain that he had broken the man’s nose. The idiot went down for the second time, blood gushing out of his nose and spraying all over the floor. Some of it got on the pawnbroker’s shoes, causing him to step back, looking vaguely disgusted. Thankfully, his cane was long enough to jab the man on the ribs a few times, till he was satisfied he had broken a couple of ribs at least.

“Let me make this very clear: Belle is mine. And that means you don’t touch her. You don’t talk to her. You don’t even look at her. Is that understood?”

He dug his cane into his left shoulder till he wailed in agreement and he let go.

“Glad we understand each other, Mr Nott. Good evening.”

In the aftermath of it all he didn’t dedicate Keith Nott one measly thought. It wasn’t the first time he had beaten a man and, like times before, what he cared for the most was that the violence had served its purpose and he was fairly confident that it had. 

What did bother him was that, as the days went on, Belle didn’t come. And of course she didn’t, she wasn’t in a state to do so, but he found himself missing her, and worrying about her. He knew that if missing their sessions was beginning to affect him, leaving him stiffer and more tired at night, she would be feeling it more in her condition. He could feel her in the back of his head, restless and uncomfortable at all times, even deep at night, keeping him awake, making him feel like a coward for not simply visiting.

In the end he caved in. Went to the market and bought a few things, so as to not arrive empty-handed, and knocked on her door after closing his shop early. When she opened the door there was an immediate feeling of relief, the anxiety that had been steadily growing in his chest popping like a balloon. She looked lovely, more homely than he was used to seeing her with a simple sweater-dress over a pair of tights, her hair half-up in a messy bun, but what caught his attention the most was her seemingly real smile at the sight of him.

“Rowan!”

The way she said his name was lovely, her accent wrapping around the syllables, turning them into something almost musical.

“I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Of course not. Come in.”

The apartment was just like he had imagined, a loft with exposed brick walls and floor-to-ceiling bookcases. What furniture she had was clearly old but had been lovingly restored, including a Chesterfield with exposed wood framing that his keen eye for antiques could appreciate as easily the most expensive piece in the apartment. 

“What brings you here?”

He gestured towards the cloth bag in his hand, filled with every manner of small things that he thought she might need. Some of her favourite blackberry jam, along with a loaf of bread, some of the loose-leaf black tea she enjoyed at his shop and a tin of Danish Butter Cookies, a rare find at the local store. He wondered, idly, when he had noticed so many things about her tastes, feeling strangely pleased when she cooed over every little one of his presents.

”This is very thoughtful. But you needn’t worry. Ruby’s been taking really good care of me, bringing me food and such. Archie too, whenever he has the time.”

As always, she was giving him an out. A way to absolve him of guilt or responsibility. But instead of relief he felt annoyed. Angry. It chafed at him that she pulled away, that she respected the distance he had been so adamant to create between them. Also what the hell was the town shrink doing, visiting Belle in the privacy of her own home?

”Yes, well, there are things Miss Lucas and Dr Hopper can’t really provide, can they?” His tone was cutting, but he regretted it almost immediately. He forced himself to relax, adopting a softer tone. “I thought we might benefit from resuming our biweekly meetings. And, since you’re currently unable to make it to my shop, I thought I could pop by, make some tea, and we could spend some time together.”

“Oh, that’d be lovely.”

He ushered her out of the kitchen when she made to grab the kettle, telling her to sit down and let him handle the tea, as he always did.

”I’m very fussy about steeping times and water temperature, so there’s no sense in you trying unsuccessfully to do it my way.”

He knew she didn’t buy his excuse, but was mollified when he saw her sit down, draping a tartan blanket around her feet. By the time he had the tea and biscuits ready she had pulled up some documentary on the TV in front of the sofa, some investigative piece about the controversy over the Salvator Mundi painting discovered a few years ago, and attributed to Da Vinci. Though he had heard about the case he hadn’t really delved deeply into it.

“That looks interesting.”

“I thought it might strike your fancy. Do you wanna watch it with me?”

Though he agreed, sitting down beside her on the couch and pouring them both tea as she started the documentary, he still expected it to be unpleasant, with both sitting close together, in a more cosy setting. He had expected her apartment to unnerve him a little bit, to bring some awkwardness by shifting the balance of power subtly in her favour. This was her domain, whereas previously they had only met in his. And yet, far from being unpleasant, it was relaxing. He had missed Belle’s company the past few days, her soft demeanour and sharp little retorts, the way she laughed at his acerbic comments. She didn’t shy away from silence, didn’t try to fill every moment with conversation like a lot of people did, but whenever she said something it was interesting and welcome. Conversation flowed easily between them, as did the shared tea and cookies. He realised he had, over time, stopped thinking about the bond as a tug-o-war or an argument he needed to win. When she leaned against him he didn’t shrug her off or acted put upon, her weight and warmth reassuring instead of stifling. He found himself leaning back against her, letting go of the stiffness that he carried around everywhere that wasn’t his home or his shop.

Eventually, their cosy little interlude was interrupted by the ringing of her phone. Belle excused herself, muttering something about Ruby being a little too overprotective as she went to her room to take the call. She didn’t close the door, though, which he found rather nice, knowing she felt comfortable having a semi-private conversation around him. 

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop on the conversation, but the utter silence in the apartment makes it impossible not to hear snippets of the call, especially when Belle mentioned his presence in her apartment. From the long pauses and Belle’s tone the waitress seemed to be giving the librarian a stern talking to, which she didn’t appreciate. 

“No.” A pause, and a huff. “No! Rubes, you’re making things up in your mind. It’s not like that between us.”

The pawnbroker was suddenly leaning to the right on the couch, closer to where Belle was trying to convince her friend of something rather vehemently.

”Of course it’s possible.” There the librarian lowered her voice, though not enough to avoid being heard. “Soulmates can be platonic. It happens all the time. We’re friends and that’s that.” Another pause, and when the librarian spoke again her voice was less strong, less sure, or perhaps that’s what he wanted to think. “It’s enough for me.”

The words floated around his brain, niggling at him. They stayed with him long after he was back in his own home, ruminating over his day as he sipped a glass of Scotch and pretended he was balancing the books. So much had changed, and yet he hadn’t realised it till he was sitting on that couch with Belle, with her leaning slightly against him as they traded comments in soft voices and shared body warmth. 

Being with Belle was not just nice, it was natural. Effortless. Easy. He didn’t have to have his guard up with her. She was safe. Their relationship wasn’t some game he had to win, some puzzle he had to solve first. But if it wasn’t that, what was it? What did he want from it? From Belle, from their situation? And why did it bother him that she seemed satisfied with simply being his friend? Isn’t that what he wanted, amicable coexistence?

It took two more glasses of Scotch for the truth to slip into his conscious mind. He had fought this whole thing tooth and nail, had wrestled their bond into the smallest box he had managed and it turned out that none of that had brought any satisfaction.

He wanted it. He wanted it all. The bond. Belle. The whole thing. He had spent his entire life utterly convinced that no one could love him, and that, as a result, no one could be safe, but that wasn’t true at all. Belle could. He used to think of her attitude and look on life as flighty evidence of an easy life, where love had been abundant and problems nonexistent. He had thought her character soft and meek, and her mind simple. He had thought she would be a nuisance, a stone around his neck.

He had been convinced that a bonding with another person could only ever be some cosmic joke. He had been wrong. He had been so wrong. Somehow he had managed to briefly come into contact with one of the few people in existence made to accept him. Trusting without being naive, kind without being a pushover, resilient without being jaded. The one person who could put aside his reputation and not care about how ugly and little his soul was, willing to embrace it and him nevertheless.

He should’ve felt happy at the revelation. Relieved, even. He was lovable. He was, against all odds, capable of being loved. But his first feeling was dread at the knowledge of how royally he had fucked things up for himself. He had gone and fallen in love with his soulmate first, after months of keeping her at arm’s length and making it impossible for her to get close to him. He had imposed on both of them a dynamic that was now untenable to him.

Fucking great.

Emotional vulnerability was something he had spent his entire life avoiding. And yet he had painted himself into such a neat little quandary that he couldn’t see any way out of it that didn’t force him to put himself out there to an uncomfortable degree. There was no other way around it. He was going to have to woo her. Sweep her off her fucking feet and trust that her kind nature would allow her to accept his rather extreme change of heart. 

He wasn’t the greatest flirt, but how hard could it possibly be to charm his own soulmate?

[kelyon]

Wrong Number | Chapter 19

Rating: T

Pairing: Rumbelle

Summary: Belle has struck up a strange friendship with a man she only knows over text. Having finally escaped a bad living situation, she gets involved in the local city council, where she meets Mr. Gold, who seems hellbent on hating her guts. It’s a good thing she has her mysterious text friend for comfort.

Read from the beginning

——————————

Gold lay in bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling so hard, he was starting to see clearly defined shapes. The evidence in Neal’s favor was piling up. Was he the man that Belle had met? 

Still. As before when he thought his Belle might be librarian-Belle, the evidence was currently circumstantial. It was compelling, but could have been coincidence. Being optimistic in the past had only hurt him. What he needed was solid proof.

He told himself, as he walked to his car from her apartment building, that if she texted Robert right away, he would know that she meant him. But she didn’t. He went home, ate dinner, called Neal to confirm plans for tomorrow, undressed, got in bed, and laid there for an hour finishing the book before his phone buzzed at all.

Belle: The longer I think about it, the more I think you’re married. Or have a girlfriend. 

Read on AO3

[kelyon]

I have no real excuse for this except for “it seemed like a rad AU idea at the time" 

[kelyon]

I do think every single Goy should write the most basic, lukewarm, 101 post against antisemitism to see who are the freaks in your notes. And what I say the most basic, I do mean the most basic shit out there. Just say "I don't think we should vandalize holocaust memorial sites for any reason whatsoever or call random Jews nazis" on a random Tuesday morning and see what happens.

[kelyon]

Better call Saul in the Cool McCool (also Beatles cartoon) style ☎️

[kelyon]

please actually watch this all the way through

[kelyon]

once upon a time truly has its epic highs & dismal lows as a show but season 2 episode 19 “Lacey” is truly one of my favorite episodes not just of the show but on television ever. It’s definitely one of the things I was picturing looking forward to when I decided to perservere with this rewatch.

I think season 2 struggled to find its footing at times now that the curse is broken. While season 1 so beautifully executed these parallel timelines with fairy tale characters trapped in a modern world who can’t remember who they are, once that dynamic shifted the show had to adjust its focus.

a lot of plot-lines really worked like SUPER well like the little boy whose father disappeared in a town that doesn’t appear on any maps & came back to find the place & see everyone exactly as they were when he was a child. other plot lines like Regina’s constantly fluctuating moral compass & alliances, Frankenstein’s alcohol problem, Mary Margaret’s depression era after murdering someone, & adult Pinnochio’s whole turning to wood storyline culminating in him turning back human but as a little boy or Rumplestiltskin’s thing with Reginas mom… Ehhhhhh…. I mean… to each their own but I think they were scraping the bottom of the barrel at times if I’m being honest.

but “Lacey” is a glorious return to the style of season one playing with who we REALLY are deep down & how memories changing or being erased changes a person.

Belle has always been such a fundamentally GOOD person. Yet…. She fell for Rumplestiltskin. A man who imprisoned her under threat of exterminating her family. She literally is shown cleaning the blood after he tortures a man. And yet she falls for Rumple thanks to his small acts of mercy & kindness. Thanks to him doing things like making her a library even if he claims it’s just another room for her to clean. She is consistently shown to be one of the strongest characters mentally & the narrative is crueler to few characters than her having her locked up repeatedly & her memories erased against her will.

Lacey being loose & slutty & mean while Belle is none of these things is such a surprise when we meet her cursed self. And then to have her bored by Rumple’s attempts to be soft & kind & a gentleman throws the audience off so much.

The lines - “You really are as dark as people say.” “Darker, dearie. Much darker” - frame the episode so beautifully. I absolutely love the contrast to Belle uttering her horror at Rumple’s ruthless cruelty in the enchanted forest timeline & Rumple mocking her contrasted with Lacey saying the line in awe, impressed & glad to see the man she was bored with beating a man senseless & Rumple responding with a smile as he gives into his darkness. It’s such a wonderfully grim retelling of the classic beauty & the beast story! Probably my favorite fairy tale retelling on the show aside from Red Riding Hood which is also done beautifully (even if the show doesn’t always know what to do with my girl Ruby once her backstory is revealed).

The revelation that Belle fell for Rumple not in spite of his darkness but because of it adds so much dimension to their dynamic & further cements her status as a multidimensional character, not just some girl who insists a man is good when he isn’t. Not that I ever saw Belle that way but this is just another layer to her complexity. Deep down, she craves the dark. She needs a dark to see the light in if she’s going to fall in love.

Anyway I just had to ramble about this episode because it’s been one of my favorite parts of this rewatch yet ❤️

[kelyon]

Hopping on the Vine compilation bandwagon, part 1/?

[kelyon]

You know what thing from OUAT lives in my head rent free? This fucking moment right here. Just look at how smug he is. Swaggering out the door with his girl on his arm.

[kelyon]

Classic Creatures: Return of the Jedi TV Documentary (1983)

[kelyon]

golden lace date + incorrect quotes [part 2]