Honestly, I will get over this show eventually. My re-watch progresses, and really, Rumpel’s encounters with both Snow and James have coloured the first scene we are given with all three of them in the mine-prison. I didn’t realise until I got to the Shepherd episode especially.
James has seen a…
I don’t know what to think with this show anymore. Up until Skin Deep I pretty much thought the writing was shit, and I was comfortable with that. It was my terrible, terrible fairy tale show with two very pretty villains who insist on acting as if they’re reading an entirely different (much better) script than everyone else.
Now after Skin Deep all the previous episodes are retrospectively better what is this???
From wikipedia: The corseque is a type of European pole weapon, characterised by a three-lobe blade on a 1.8 to 2.5-metre shaft. The head features a long spike and two shorter and stronger lateral blades.
The Corseque is said to have originated in Corsica, from where it takes its name. It would have evolved from the spetum in the later Middle Ages.
It was popular in Europe in the 16th and 17th centuries. Surviving examples have a variety of head forms but there are two main variants, one with the side blades (known as flukes or wings) branching from the neck of the central blade at 45 degrees, the other with hooked blades curving back towards the haft.
Keene. You could have put that money to such better use.
“I don’t think there’s any place in the country where you can say, ‘That isn’t a likely terrorist target,’” Massery said. “How would you know? We don’ t know what the terrorists are thinking. No one predicted that terrorists would take over airplanes on Sept. 11. If a group of terrorists decide to shoot up a shopping mall in a town like Keene, wouldn’t you rather be prepared?”
I think Sammy answered this best: “WHAT MALL IN KEENE?”
What the actual fuck?
I don’t blame Keene for that. It’s specifically an anti-terrorism grant so it’s not like Keene could have put it to any ACTUAL use, and if someone’s waving shiny new toys around for the taking, why not apply? No, this is on the federal end. Feds? What are you doing listening to Keene and giving them money for this. Have you seen Keene? Have you seen this entire state? Come on.
“I’m sorry, I’m so—but look, it’s just barely chipped on this edge, you can hardly see it.” Her words spill out in a rush. She is repeating herself. She has never said that before. (It is only a cup!)
Mr. Gold looks at the cup in her hands, looks at her. “It is only a cup,” he says, coming around to take it from her hands. She smiles at him in desperate relief—it is not a matter of consequence, he has said the right words—and she can’t read his face.
“But you’d best be on your way,” he adds, “I’m sure your father needs you.”
He is not looking at her when she turns back as she opens the door. He is holding the cup, his eyes closed, and his fingers tracing the ragged, chipped edge as if its contours were the most familiar thing in the world.
No, Belle thinks, not again, God, I can’t take it again. No, she thinks, I am not Belle. That is not my name. I do not remember anything.
I commented on this fic on AO3, but on AO3 I feel the need to remain somewhat coherent and I can’t actually talk about this fic coherently. I can’t even read this fic coherently. I had to stop several times in the middle to collect myself because I don’t know how to handle ALL THESE FEELINGS.
I found you first in the speakeasy on the fourth floor of the hotel, tending bar. After a bloody massacre and a body gone missing, you cleaned up the mess as if nothing had happened. I followed you- your eyes held something behind them, something I wanted so desperately to know. I followed you to the bar where the lady in the red dress reclined. The way you looked at her… I wanted those eyes on me. Soon after I lost you to a locked door. But I spotted you throughout the night, including in the Manderley Bar after hours during the party. I said something a bit too loudly, and we locked eyes. You looked away before I could gather up the courage to approach. You’re absolutely enchanting, and I wish I’d had the chance to say so.
Is this going to be a thing now? McKittrick Missed Connections? Because I am completely in favor of that.
I’m starting to think I should stand up at a public forum and announce “I am a Belle and Rumpelstiltskin shipper”. Never has there been a pairing that has caught my imagination so much. I used to write a lot of fanfic, but there’s never been a pairing which had me produce four fics in as many days. Or attempt fanvids. Or all the other potentially embarrassing fangirl stuff I’m now trying to resist doing.
I’ve been trying to nail down what it is about this particular pairing, and these are some of the things I’ve come up with:
When we started we HAD no style, no understanding of ourselves or what we were doing. We had feelings, vague ones, a sense of what we liked, maybe, but no unified point of view, not even a real way to express our partnership. We fought constantly and expected to break up every other week. But we did have a few things, things I think you might profit from knowing:
We loved what we did. More than anything. More than sex. Absolutely.
We always felt as if every show was the most important thing in the world, but knew if we bombed, we’d live.
We did not start as friends, but as people who respected and admired each other. Crucial, absolutely crucial for a partnership. As soon as we could afford it, we ceased sharing lodgings. Equally crucial.
We made a solemn vow not to take any job outside of show business. We
borrowed money from parents and friends, rather than take that lethal job waiting tables. This forced us to take any job offered to us. Anything. We once did a show in the middle of the Benjamin Franklin Parkway in Philadelphia as part of a fashion show on a hot July night while all around our stage, a race-riot was fully underway. That’s how serious we were about our vow.
Get on stage. A lot. Try stuff. Make your best stab and keep stabbing. If it’s there in your heart, it will eventually find its way out. Or you will give up and have a prudent, contented life doing something else.
The beginnings of the American Revolution, simplified
BRITISH EMPIRE:All right, fine, your stupid embargo worked. We won’t levy any more taxes-
AMERICAN COLONIES:Huzzah! Time to get drunk!
BRITISH EMPIRE:Except on tea.
BRITISH EMPIRE:Get over it, it’s just tea. Seriously, where do you get this idea that you’re special and should never have to pay taxes? We hope that idea doesn’t go on to infect your political discourse centuries from now.
AMERICAN COLONIES:We’re not buying your stupid tea.
BRITISH EMPIRE:Are you being serious right now? What are you going to do, just stop drinking tea?
AMERICAN COLONIES:Yes. We’ll drink coffee.
BRITISH EMPIRE:Do you even know what that is?
AMERICAN COLONIES:No, but we’ve heard it’s good and we’re feeling surly.
BRITISH EMPIRE:Fine, whatever, we don’t even care what you do anymore.
BRITISH EAST INDIA COMPANY:Actually, we are pretty much bankrupt, so you need to make them drink the tea.
BRITISH EMPIRE:Oh, for—just drink the tea.
BRITISH EMPIRE:Do it.
BRITISH EMPIRE:Drink it.
AMERICAN COLONIES:Fuck you.
BRITISH EMPIRE:Drink it or we’ll punch you in the face.
AMERICAN COLONIES:*Boston Tea Party*
BRITISH EMPIRE:What the hell?
AMERICAN COLONIES:We heard it was Indians.
BRITISH EMPIRE:That’s interesting, because we heard it was a bunch of colonists wearing paint and dressed in costumes that were remarkably similar to what a crowd of drunks who wanted to look like Indians would assemble if the only supplies they had were found in an alley behind a bar.