okay okay i'll shut up now

Some thoughts on the new “Belle” clip


Okay, lemme start off by saying that Emma sounds GORGEOUS and the whole clip itself just made me even more hyped than I already was. I keep thinking there is no way I can be more excited for this movie, and then they surprise me with new stuff and my excitement goes even higher.


This clip, man, so many feels. I just love the attention to detail in just this 58-second clip!

(Sorry that the caps are kinda blurry, I grabbed them from youtube and I can’t go frame by frame on there)

I loved this shot right here, this guy is being thrown in jail (probably public intoxication or something like that), and she just takes the time to wave at him. 

When I first saw this, I thought she had stolen that bread and the baker was giving her a look for doing that. But no, she paid for it, and the baker is just looking at her for being such a strange girl because it’s Belle and she’s weird.

THIS RIGHT HERE. This exchange between her and Monsieur Jean (sp?) really stood out to me.

Monsieur Jean: Good morning, Belle!
Belle: Good morning, Monsieur Jean. Have you lost something again?
Monsieur Jean: I believe I have! Problem is, I can’t remember what. Oh well, I’m sure it’ll come to me.

I didn’t think much of this at first until a friend pointed it out on Facebook, but Belle seems to be the only one who is concerned about Monsieur Jean and his memory problems. Again, this is only a 58-second clip and there may be more with him in the movie (I sure hope so, I love him already), but you don’t see him interact with any other villagers before he begins speaking with Belle. She notices right away that he’s lost something, and he’s not quite sure what it is he lost. Then, Belle does this:

Where did that apple come from? There weren’t any villagers nearby selling fruit, and we don’t see a bin of apples for the horses. Which could possibly mean that Monsieur Jean tends to forget to feed his donkey, and Belle remembers this and brings an apple with her to be sure it gets fed. I’m sure this donkey is important to him and his business.

Monsieur Jean: Where’re you off to?
Belle: To return this book to [I didn’t catch his name, I’m sorry]. It’s about two lovers in fair Verona.
Monsieur Jean: Sounds boring.

I seriously already love this guy and his donkey that’s chewing on its rope. It looks like he sells china and puppets? And odd combination, but it fits with what we’ve seen of him so far. Also, sounds like Belle just finished reading Romeo & Juliet!

I will admit, I was a bit disappointed at first that she wasn’t reading during her trek through the village, but the more I watched the clip, the more I actually appreciated them making that change. She still looks like she’s in her own little world, not paying attention to the world around her and the villagers who judge her. It’s Belle doing what Belle wants to do, even if that means skipping across the pond past the geese that are singing along with the music. Like, she straight up walks through the laundry area, practically stepping on stuff that the girls had most likely just cleaned.

Anyways, I love how in this short clip, they were able to establish the gender roles in the village with just two shots. Above, you see the boys marching into school and watching Belle as she passes by, and then in the last shot…

…you see the girls are doing chores with all of the other women, because that is what they should be doing and why isn’t Belle doing that too, she’s so weird.

One more thing that I absolutely love: the costume design!!! While the villagers aren’t strictly wearing earthtones like in the original film, the colors they do wear are more muted and the patterns on the fabrics are simple and understated. But then Belle’s dress is a brighter blue, and Monsieur Jean is wearing a bright red and paisley vest, making them stand out a lot more amongst the other villagers.

I am seriously infinitely excited for this movie! 

And the award for my favorite part of YOI episode 5 goes to:


This blatant misspelling of the name of the country where this entire show was made:

imagine if it’s actually “apple tree yard” that airs tonight and the producers and writers get all happy because of the great viewer ratings and then someone’s like
“…sorry but no one was actually excited for your show. it was just the whole sherlock fandom hoping for a 4th episode”

”Why do you want them to come out so badly, anyways?“


friendship da(y)te

summary: au where simon and baz are best friends and friendship day comes around. okay, i promise it’s not that lame,, please read my fic

word count: 1.4k

this is for @carryon-valentines day 1: friendship day

i’m sorry i might’ve made it less friend and more SHIP but yeah


“BAZ!” I yell as soon as I spot his tall, lean figure heading towards me. “Happy Friendship Day!”

I run towards him and envelope him in a bone-crushing hug.

“You too, Snow!”

His arms come up around my waist and we just stand there. Holding each other. Like we’ve done so many times before. Not romantically.

But I wish it were.

Romantic, I mean.

It’s been this way for months now, since I figured it out. That I liked Baz. He’s my best friend, he’s been my best friend for years, and I know everything about him. Only later I realized that my obsession with him was not just because of our strong friendship.

It was because of his deep, grey eyes and how they twinkle when he smiles.

It was because of his silky, soft hair that falls in perfect waves- framing his face (really, everything about him is a piece of art.)

It was because of making him play the violin not just because he’s brilliant, but also so that I could watch him focus while his eyes are shut.

Yeah, I’m obsessed. And I don’t even know how to tell him because…

What if he takes it badly?

It might fuck up our friendship.

And there’s no way in hell that I’m taking that chance.


I can see his mop of bronze curls from a mile away, and I can recognize them within seconds. Because I’m whipped. He hugs me as soon as he sees me, and I hold him there, just like I do all the time. I rest my head on his, and I breath in his smoky, refreshing scent that’s all too familiar by now. I don’t think he knows that I love him, and I don’t think he realizes how much it pains me to celebrate “Friendship Day” with him, because honestly. Enough of this friendship thing. I’m pretty sure I fell for him two days after we met, but he’s a moron and he’s straight. So. I just wallow in my misery everyday. We have only a few minutes here anyway; he has to go to his classes (astrophysics- his first class on Tuesday mornings) (it is sad that I know that) and I have to go for mine- History (honestly a really boring subject- I happen to know everything already since I studied it during the vacation.) We’ll meet again at lunch for an hour and a half, and then if he decides to come over, then maybe longer. But that’s it. Nothing special to look forward to.

“Baz, how about dinner today?” he asks.

“Sure. As a Friendship Day thing?”

“As a date, I guess.”

I pray that I’m not blushing. He says it so plainly. It can’t possibly mean more that being just a get-together in the name of our friendship.

But I guess I do have something to look forward to.




Did I just say that? Oh my god.

As soon as Baz turns away, I’m pretty sure I’m red enough to stop traffic. I rush to class, worried about just about everything that could possibly go wrong. I float through the day, until it’s lunch, where I finally see Baz again.

He starts conversation immediately-

“So, what, for our dinner do you want me to wear a suit?”

He says it sarcastically, and obviously I know he’s being sarcastic, but it would be great to see him in a suit.

So I say, “Sure, if you want to.”

He cocks his head towards me. “Okay. I’ll wear a suit if you do.”

If it means seeing Baz in a suit, then yes I’m wearing a suit.


Fifteen minutes before I have to get there, I start searching for suits, and simultaneously realize how my time management skills are equivalent to those of a coconut. I have none.

After three minutes of frantic searching, I find a grey suit that looks about my size and that’ll have to do because honestly, I’m having a bit of a time crisis here. I head to the bathroom and hastily get dressed, and then I rush to the restaurant where I’m should’ve reached ten minutes ago.


I happen to have an entire collection of suits because of our family dinners. So I just went through them and chose a dark, black one. Typical.

I left the house giving myself twenty minutes to get there. We’re going to a relatively fancy restaurant so we don’t look too out of place with our outfits. I reach there five minutes before time, and I’m pretty sure I’ve reached before Simon. He’s late all the time anyway, so it’s no surprise. And I like the idea of being here before him so I can take some time to take in the surroundings, and so that I can choose a nice place to sit- preferably in the corner, so Simon and I can talk in peace.

Why does our little friendship day outing feel like a date?

Simon walks in ten minutes later, his eyes searching. I wave to him, and he heads towards me. Are his pupils a little blown or is that just me?

It’s probably just me.

He’s wearing a grey suit, and it’s sitting on his shoulders perfectly, outlining him and somehow not looking too tight. His hair is messy and tousled, as it is all the time, and his eyes are like shining wells of clear water reflecting the brilliant blue sky above. It’s overwhelming.

He looks stunning.


I look at Baz, and I just can’t stop looking.

Because shit.

He’s beautiful.

In a black suit that compliments his lean, muscular features and his grey eyes (that look bright now, because of his dark clothing) perfectly. I think it’s too much for me to take. I just really want to kiss him. He’s sitting in front of me, and even though we’re talking about what food we’re about to order, I’m just thinking about his lips. And how they move when he talks to me. And how they would taste if I, you know, hypothetically of course, kissed him.

This really does feel like a date. He insists on paying. And that leaves me feeling like I should give him something in return.

How about a kiss? My mind nags. I force it to shut up.

But it doesn’t stop.


We walk out of the restaurant, and it’s dark.

He asks me if I want to stay over, and obviously, I don’t deny.

We’re walking alone to his place.

It’s dark.

And I want to kiss him.

“Baz…” Simon says.

I stop and turn to him.

His eyes are bright with some kind of unidentifiable fire.



Okay, fuck it. I’ve had enough. I need Baz’s lips on mine.

“You know what?” I say, “I didn’t give you anything for friendship day.”

I take a step closer, and I can only hope that his expression is a reflection of my own.

“I mean…” I go on, “You gave me that dinner.”

A step forward.

“So thank you for that.”

And another.

“And now…I want to give you…”



He’s so close, so close.

And then he kisses me.

His lips are on mine, moving, and hot.

My arms move slide up around his back, and he pushes me.



Baz is kissing me back.

It’s unbelievable.

His lips are magical. Just what I expected.

It’s hot and it’s cold at the same time.

And I’m kissing Baz.



He isn’t stopping.

And honestly, I’m glad.

Simon Snow is kissing me.

I’m kissing Simon Snow.

My best friend.

My love.


The moment stretches and the kiss feels much longer than it actually is. It’s not like I’m keeping track of anything.

I’m way past rational thought.

The sparks I feel running through my veins and the tingles I feel every time I make contact with Baz’s skin seem imaginary and all too real, at the same time.

Let’s never stop this.



Okay, firstly, Simon is gay. Or bisexual. Whatever it is, it’s an actual blessing.

Secondly, Simon is so good at this kissing thing?

His arms, his jaw, his tongue.

They all seem to exactly what they’re doing.

I, on the other hand, have my mouth jammed against his; my arms are tracing random patterns on his back. It all worries me, really. What if I’m not good enough? I’m probably shit, considering my experience with this stuff.

But Simon is smiling against my mouth.

And Simon is sighing and saying my name.

Maybe…maybe I’m doing okay.




I pull away, reluctantly.

It takes so much effort.

“Let’s go home?”

Baz sighs, nods, and takes my hand.

It is a happy friendship day indeed.

I can't seem to shut up...

But I love Moana so much….

I literally recognize some of my culture in it…

But there is one that LITERALLY touched me in the heart really really deep…

That was the part where Moana’s grandmother Tala’s ‘aumākua ( Hawaiian language meaning Guardian ancestors or ancestors ) or Nā 'aumākua ( an Ancestor that is manifested as an animal ) is the Manta Ray. when she passes… she will come back as one of them, she will become as one of them, with her ancestors. She will protect and watch over Moana where ever she goes.

And when grandma Tala passed away and manifested into her Nā 'aumākua… guiding and protecting Moana as she crosses the edge of the tides…

That one scene literally touch my heart…

I couldn’t say this enough! Moana is a Polynesian Princess! And this is the FIRST time that Disney has put so much love, effort, and time into this film. It is entertainment, yes, but I seriously recognize ALL of the cultures within this movie, including my Hawaiian culture! I am just… this movie is WORTH watching twice maybe not but watch a BILLION times!!! I love it so much.

This movie still touches my heart in a cultural way. It still makes me cry tears of joy and appreciate for my culture.

Throwing away something so beautiful, so wonderful… It’s mind-boggling to me. I’ll still go to the theatre to see TFP with my boyfriend in London, because I need to know everything, but afterwards I’ll be done with them. I’m a queer historian and literary critic, and I know what I’ve seen. Everything was heavily queer coded. It wasn’t even subtext. It wasn’t a mass hallucination. And believe me when I say we should write an anthology of essays to tell the world what they’ve done to us.

okay, but can we talk about jim robbie and the wanderers

A full minute ticks by. Two minutes. Then five. Phone in his hand, brows furrowed, and a network of cogwheels turning rapidly in his mind, Sherlock continues to decode the text he has just received, unable to figure out the meaning behind the three numbers forming the entirety of the message content: 2, 10%, -2. Can’t be coordinates, the format is too inconsistent. In fact he doubts they specify a location or time at all..

Sherlock doesn’t realise he has uttered the numbers out loud until Mary’s casual, curious question. Apparently, within the past few seconds, she has entered the room with John, heard Sherlock speak, and instantly comprehended what the numbers represent, as if Sherlock was plainly stating a piece of information.

For a moment, Sherlock has trouble processing what Mary has asked him. But when the implication eventually forces its way into his denying mind, everything around him in his flat, everything of the physical world, goes out of focus.

If he did pause to give John a brief excuse for his sudden departure from 221B, he doesn’t remember what he said. He doesn’t remember how he left the flat, or how he hailed and got in the cab. His mind is threatening to enter a perplexing and unmanageable state, feasibly comparable to an anaphylactic shock of the immune system – both are severe responses upon recognition of something so ungraspably foreign.

Unlike an offending antigen, however, the alien concept that is currently trying to instil itself into his understanding also kindles a sparkle of anticipation within him. A thrill of an unprecedented brand, with a complex series of effects that not even his most captivating or demanding cases have ever brought about. He might’ve doubted particular aspects of his ability at times, but never has it been an anxious concern. He’s been afraid, occasionally, as he reluctantly admits, but never this strange trickle of fear for the unknown.

Too much, too much. Noise and chaos of rumbling trains of thoughts, rendering the brilliant mind of Sherlock Holmes at a loss for logical analysis of the situation. Input: overload. Output: null.

Fortunately, his body must have implemented some involuntary support mechanism, and he finds himself moving at a hurried pace. Heathrow. Flight. Traffic. And as he dashes once again through busy streets like a mad man, Sherlock tries to brush aside the clouds of unresolved emotions and force his focus on the practical.

Which of course leads to another torrent of problems. How the hell is he supposed to behave in..he estimates 17 minutes, give or take? God, should he get a balloon? A teddy bear? Flowers? Which kind? And what should he say, to her?

He isn’t panicking. The hall is quiet and he acts calm. He has got everything in control, and he isn’t panicking. He just needs to be his articulate self, he is going to make the enquiry whilst sounding controlled and smart.

But then he opens his betraying mouth. “I.. Am here to see a –”

He tries again. “Here to see my –”

The final word wouldn’t form. Perhaps it was stuck in his dry throat, or perhaps the language centre in his brain had simply blocked a set of vocabulary from usage when it comes to personal associations.

Eventually acquiring a room number, Sherlock leaves the nurses’ station, his nerves tangled in an ever-tighter knot. Whatever his demeanour is giving away earns him a warm, knowing smile from a passing stranger (businessman, late thirties, recently welcomed a third child). Has he really become as transparent as he’s always considered ordinary people to be?

Sherlock’s first sight inside the private room is one that he will, after he has had time to acclimatise to the overpowering levels of emotion, come to know as the dawn of his new world. Their world, which was constructed based on battling intellect between two parties, built upon by sentiments evolving into passion, and established with unrivalled complementarity, is now being painted with bright new colours as it greets a third member with tenderness and joy.

Presently, however, as Sherlock gazes in awe at the beautiful sight of mother and son, his feet frozen to the ground by the door, he is unable to think, forgetting to even breathe.

It is Irene who breaks the silence. “I’m still very cross with the both of you, you know.” But her voice is softer than he has ever heard her speak with. She looks up at him with a quirked eyebrow, and cuddles the tiny being on her chest closer.

Moments later, carefully holding his newborn son in one arm, and wrapping the other around The Woman’s shoulder, Sherlock leans forward to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, then to her lips. The confusion and anxiety associated with the foreign concept less than 24 hours prior have retreated, and in their place he feels a contentedness, a completeness.

Sherlock Holmes, MChem Oxon, Consulting Detective, and..Dad.

Pre-Series 4. Irene’s text means “2 cm dilated, 10% effaced, minus 2 station”. Because she either casually forgot, or didn’t think it important to tell Sherlock about a certain recent development in the preceding months. Mary wanted to know who the person in labour was. Sherlock was probably like “Case. I’ve got to go.”

Idea credits to the amazing @elinorx​ (thank you and sorry if I haven’t done it justice! With my deviations/additions/omissions etc. relative to the original) Another possible scenario of when and how Sherlock found out, as an alternative to at other stages of Nero’s life, e.g. during incubation, blue-eyed curly-haired little boy, or orchid-tending NYC detective.

“You know you love me.”

“Do I know that? Yes…Yes, I do.”💓


I was dying in the cinema when I heard that line(≧∇≦)…and I think that man who sat next to me was like “Damn…is that girl about to cry?…because I don’t think that scene is supposed to be sad”(* ̄∇ ̄*)