It’s Nearing 2 A.m. And I Just Wrote Over 50% Of A Small One-shot I May Or Not Post. In My Notes App,

Claudia Jessie and Calam Lynch behind the scenes of Bridgerton Season 2.

As I’m trying to come to terms with whatever the fuck that was, I’ve decided that:

Seasons 1 and 2 are peak. Absolute masterpieces. Canon.

Season 3 can be taken or left. Has its moments, but overall not as good as the first two. Canon, but only if you want it to be.

Season 4 is a fucking crack fic written at 2am that the author rereads at a later date and decides to delete. Absolutely not canon.

SEVERANCE 2.10 "Cold Harbor", dir. Ben Stiller IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE (1946), dir. Frank Capra

Stiller: “It’s a Wonderful Life” — it’s one of my favorite movies. There’s that moment of that phone call where Donna Reed and Jimmy Stewart are together, and they’re listening to her ex-boyfriend, they’re together, side by side, and you could just feel the energy between them. For some reason, that image was in my head when I was thinking about the two of them as they’re finishing the file; where they’re focused on the screen and they don’t know who’s watching them or what, so they can’t really embrace. But I felt like that closeness, that energy, was something that made sense in that moment. Lower: They’re putting their faces close to the phone, but they’re really just trying to listen to each other breathe. This is their [Helly R. and Mark S.] last moment to listen to each other closely.

“You're my favorite, 100%. And I know that the others don't mind because they know how much I love you.”

Claudia Jessie to Luke Thompson, for Grumpy Magazine July 2024

Sex and the City (1998–2004)

anne shirley would be absolutely exhilarated if she knew she was a book heroine i love her

I feel like every time I come on here to post a snippet…it’s for a new WIP. 😭

Lorelei

by Sylvia Plath

It is no moon to drown in: A full moon, river lapsing Black beneath bland mirror-sheen,

The blue water-mists dropping Scrim after scrim like fishnets Though fishermen are sleeping,

The massive castle turrets Doubling themselves in a glass All stillness. Yet these shapes float

Up toward me, troubling the face Of quiet. From the nadir They rise, their limbs ponderous

With richness, hair heavier Than sculptured marble. They sing Of a world more full and clear

Than can be. Sisters, your song Bears a burden too weighty For the whorled ear's listening

Here, in a well-steered country, Under a balanced ruler. Deranging by harmony

Beyond the mundane order, Your voices lay siege. You lodge On the pitched reefs of nightmare,

Promising sure harborage; By day, descant from borders Of hebetude, from the ledge

Also of high windows. Worse Even than your maddening Song, your silence. At the source

Of your ice-hearted calling -- Drunkenness of the great depths. O river, I see drifting

Deep in your flux of silver Those great goddesses of peace. Stone, stone, ferry me down there.