No Thoughts Just Jack Dawkins' Stupid Flowy Sleeves Covered In Blood

Patrick Doyle is the goat amongst movie score composers. Sense and Sensiblity (1995)? A classic. Cinderella (2015)? Absolutely gorgeous. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire? I could go on. Particularly his pieces for dances are some of the loveliest things I've ever heard. Everyone should go now and listen to La Valse de L'Amour immediately, it is the embodiment of fairy tale in music.

This scene fucking killed me. Jack keeping his fingers on Belle's pulse all night just to make sure she was still alive is such a romantic yet sad little detail. Man probably didn't get an ounce of sleep that night. 😭

Toni Morrison? Alice Walker? Zora Neale Hurston? Ralph Ellison? James Baldwin? Lorraine Hansbury? Maya Angelou? Octavia Butler? Langston Hughes? Bell Hooks? Many many many many others? Go fuck yourself you lazy, anti-intellectual asshole

I need this man groveling

We’re all in agreement that seeing Penelope for the first time when he returns to London in season 3, is going to take Colin Bridgerton’s breath away, right?

Just checking.

You wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me

we all talk about elizabeth’s kiss of death but i want to talk about how every ship james ever sails on  ( the dauntless,  the interceptor,  the pearl,  the endeavor )  ends up at the bottom of the ocean with the exception of the dutchman,   which is the ship that he himself dies on

Oh how I love being a hinged woman fighting daily to not let the screws go loose

i love unhinged women but i also love women who try so fucking hard to be hinged. clinging to those hinges by her fingernails.

"Wigged Norrington is still hot, y'all are just sleepin on it."

I'll be honest, I don't think the brief appearances of the Midnight entity that we get in this episode are actually what the creature literally looks like so much as it's just a representation of what the mind sees if someone catches a glimpse of it in the corner of their eye or in a shadow at the end of a long sparsely lit corridor.

We only ever see it in those contexts; moments in which the mind can't quite grapple with what it sees, or even if it saw anything at all, and hence it's left as a vaguely blobby and featureless grey mass.