Jenna as Lydia Wickham in Death Comes to Pemberley
why isn’t strong incestuous overtones a genre on netflix that would save me so much time
Sometimes the satire on The Daily Show is far too intelligent for me. I’m watching a segment and I’m like “I don’t understand what point they’re trying to make…is this person in on the joke? What’s going on here?” But mostly my question is “is this person in on the joke.”
me: oh my god guys what if secret history coffeeshop au
me: imagine henry winter trying to run a coffeeshop. that is literally it. that is the tweet. that is my life.
me: IMAGINE HENRY WINTER TRYING TO MANAGE A COFFEESHOP OWNED BY JULIAN MORROW. THIS IS LITERALLY THE PEAK OF MY ARTISTIC CAREER
martha: oh jesus christ
me: this is flat out as good as an idea is ever going to get. this is the apex of my writing. this is it
me: imagine francis as the barista who’s permanently on a smoke break. imagine bunny OH MY GOD IMAGINE BUNNY TRYING TO WORK IN A COFFEESHOP
me: RICHARD PAPEN APPLIES TO WORK AT A COFFEESHOP BECAUSE HE THINKS IT’LL BE LIKE A COFFEESHOP AU
me: richard papen thinks that henry is so impressive and businesslike and that everyone Has Their Lives Together
me: in the meantime charles keeps a bottle of scotch under the counter to spike his coffee to get him through the day
me: camilla tosses her hair at the register and richard is carried away in paroxysms of ecstasy
martha: he pours espresso down his shirt. francis makes a very bored pass at him in the break room as he’s changing his shirt
me: charles also gives an uncomfortably intimate Stare. richard can’t tell if it’s bc he’s shirtless or bc he’s scalded himself
me: julian stops by every so often to carry one of them away on a trip to roast beans and also instill in them his life philosophies
me: ‘and what does one seek in coffee? TERROR, my boy. coffee is terror.’
martha: richard wonders where all these coffee-stained bedsheets are coming from and why everyone whispers in corners these days
me: one morning he finds a carafe full of bits of burlap boiling away. the next-door cat vibrates uncontrollably for a few days
me: ‘there are beans all over the floor,’ richard points out. ‘it’s part of henry’s method,’ camilla says vaguely. richard puts away the broom & marvels at the sophistication of it all. behind him a small child slips & falls in a pile of beans. ‘how plebeian’ he thinks distastefully
martha: richard hopes the espresso machine likes him.
You are Lucrezia Borgia.
There’s a little girl waiting in a garden. She’s going to wait a long while, so she’s going to need a lot of hope. Go to her. Tell her a story.